North American riot police: Start by arresting P. Diddy!

Chapter 166 It seems you've already prepared your prayers. (Seeking monthly votes)
Inside the hotel restaurant, the Bump family sat around a long table. The table was laden with exquisite dishes, but the Harlem godfather's face was ashen, and he didn't touch his knife or fork.

For the past half hour, his phone had been ringing incessantly, like a death knell.

He was completely discouraged after only two phone calls.

Now, no matter how much his phone vibrates, he doesn't even bother to look at it.

The first call came from the gang's old accountant.

His old friend, who had followed him since the last century, brought nightmarish news: the Harlem gang's strongholds and properties throughout New York City were wiped out in half an hour.

All gang members, regardless of rank, were labeled "accomplices to terrorism" and taken into custody for investigation. With the combined efforts of the Counterterrorism Bureau and the FBI, the Harlem gang has been nailed to the pillar of shame as "accomplices in the Statue of Liberty attack."

The Harlem Gang is finished.

The second call came from the city hall's biggest protector—Deputy Mayor Anthony.

Besides trying to find out where he was hiding, the other party also made righteous statements to distance themselves from him over the phone.

This stance clearly indicates that after the act of justice is severed, they intend to kill and silence the witnesses beforehand.

"Ugh"

Bump sighed in despair.

Having spent half his life navigating the New York underworld, he has been accused of countless crimes.

But a terrorist attack?
This is the first time ever!
He worked diligently as a gangster godfather his entire life, but in less than an hour, he went from being a gangster to a terrorist.

I don't know if this counts as a promotion or a demotion.

But judging from the swift and decisive methods the Federation used to hunt him down tonight, even if Al Capone were resurrected, he probably wouldn't receive such treatment.

"dad."

His youngest daughter, sitting to his left, gripped his hand tightly, her voice trembling slightly, "If all else fails, let's leave New York tonight. Atlantic City or Los Angeles, anywhere is fine. Didn't you already have a lot of businesses there more than a decade ago?"

Bump slowly shook his head, his wrinkles deepening: "This isn't an ordinary gang shootout, nor is it a game of cops and robbers; this is a counter-terrorism operation! Forget about escaping to other cities, we can't even leave New York right now. The Coast Guard has surrounded the docks like an iron barrel."

A flicker of despair crossed the youngest daughter's eyes.

She just couldn't understand how a respectable mafia family could suddenly become terrorists, and even more so, criminals on par with Rorschach Butcher!

They are the victims!

"or."

Her cold gaze swept towards the corner of the restaurant, where Ginny was being held down in a chair by two gunmen.

"Using this white woman as a hostage? Isn't she the daughter of the counterterrorism bureau chief? Using her life as a bargaining chip?"

"no!"

Bump abruptly interrupted, "A person who can sit in the position of counterterrorism director is definitely not a soft-hearted person. The thing that such a person cannot tolerate is being threatened. If they really do that..."

He frowned and didn't say anything more.

But the meaning is clear: if they really use Ginny as leverage, the counter-terrorism bureau will storm the mainland hotel in the next second.

A suffocating silence filled the dining table.

Just as Bump was about to comfort his family, an elderly man in a sharp suit with meticulously combed silver hair walked over.

"Bump".

Hotel manager Winston stood at the dining table, his voice cold and hard, "You only have one night. You must leave before dawn."

Do you know what you're saying, Winston?

Bump slammed his fist on the table and stood up abruptly: "I've spent at least seven or eight million at your hotel! And I'm a registered VIP! Is this how you treat me?" "This is an order from the High Table!" Winston interrupted sharply.

He looked down at the desperate mob boss and said, enunciating each word clearly, "Three minutes ago, the High Table held an emergency meeting specifically for your sake. The Continental Hotel can only guarantee you until dawn. After that, good luck to you."

Upon hearing the words "High Table," Bump's lips tightened into a line, and he didn't dare to say anything more.

In this underground world, the High Table represents an alliance of a dozen or so of the world's most powerful gangs, families, and criminal organizations.

Their business includes "Continental Hotels," which are located in major cities around the world. This organization is said to have a history of hundreds of years.

Behind every High Table council member lies an incredibly powerful private army and immense wealth.

This was something that a small-time New York gang leader like him could never contend with.

"Three days!"

A last glimmer of hope flickered in Bump's eyes as he looked at Winston almost pleadingly, "Old man, for the sake of our years of friendship, give me three days to plan my escape route."

"Ugh"

Winston shook his head, interrupting, "It's only because you're a member and we have some connection that I'm making an exception and letting you stay one night. If it were anyone else being hunted by the CTU and FBI, and being chased by Rorschach Butcher, I wouldn't even let him through the hotel door!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the family members at the dinner table immediately stirred, their terrified eyes all turning to Bump.

The godfather's face was terribly grim, and after a long silence, he finally spoke in a hoarse voice: "At least... can you guarantee the safety of me and my family tonight?"

"It's natural."

Seeing that the black man had finally come to his senses, Winston's expression softened, and he confidently replied, "Since you didn't harm the daughter of the Counterterrorism Director, everything is still negotiable. The Counterterrorism Bureau and the FBI will have representatives at the High Table to handle the negotiations. As for Rorschach..."

The old gentleman shrugged and gave a composed smile: "I have some connections with him, so getting you a night shouldn't be a problem. Besides, killing is strictly prohibited in mainland hotels—it's an ironclad rule of the High Table for hundreds of years. Anyone who dares to break the rules will face the pursuit of hundreds of thousands of registered assassins worldwide. Rorschach knows how to weigh the pros and cons."

Bump slowly closed his eyes and nodded.

One night was enough time for him to threaten and negotiate with those people at the city hall.

Even if he himself couldn't escape disaster, at least he could protect his family—after all, he still had evidence of those officials taking bribes.

"Alright, let's eat first. We can discuss anything else after the meal." He looked around at his family at the table and reached out to hold his wife and daughter's hands.

Other family members also tacitly held each other's hands, closed their eyes, and began their pre-meal prayers—a tradition that the Bump family has maintained for many years.

"Our Father in heaven."

"The world reveres your name as holy."

"We thank you for the food we eat today."

As the gangster godfather recited each line, his family members would devoutly repeat it.

This family doesn't look like a gangster family at all; they seem to be a devout Catholic family.

Upon seeing this, Winston couldn't help but curl a mocking smile at the corner of his mouth.

A villain with blood all over his hands pretends to be a devout believer when he is about to die.

He was flicking cigar ash, preparing to leave, as he needed to contact Rorschach beforehand.

Sudden--

A cold voice, sharp as a blade, shattered the tranquility of the restaurant.

“Very good, it seems you have already prayed to God.”

(End of this chapter)