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

Chapter 169 Jack: "Your broken leg isn't even asymmetrical!" (Seeking monthly votes)
Rorschach Butcher?

John was familiar with the name.

Even though I haven't left the house for more than a week, every time I turn on the TV, there are news reports about this man everywhere.

This is a terrorist who has terrified the entire United States.

The media is sparing no effort to portray him as a public enemy of the entire nation.

But none of this has anything to do with him.

What truly puzzled John was why the son of the High Table Council wanted to kill Rorschach, even resorting to using a "blood pact" to blackmail him.

"Santino".

John paused for a moment, then slowly spoke into the video, "Perhaps you should find another top assassin. I've already retired."

"retire?"

Santino, who was receiving emergency treatment at the hotel's medical room, wore an absurd expression.

The killer on the other end of the phone had recently single-handedly taken down two Russian gangs, and now he was using retirement as an excuse?

"John!"

Santino's face contorted as he shoved the watch-like metal box in front of the camera, his bloody handprint filling the screen. "This is what you owe the Antonio family! Your handprint is on the blood pact! Don't tell me you don't know the consequences of disobeying it!"

Faced with the threat, John stared at the blood pact mark for a long time before finally speaking: "Why kill him?"

"That bastard broke my leg! In the Continental Hotel!" Santino gritted his teeth.

"."

John ultimately shook his head and refused, saying, "I'm sorry, I've decided to retire and no longer get involved in the affairs of the assassin world. Besides, if Rorschach makes a move at the Continental Hotel, he'll naturally face a manhunt from all the assassins in New York. Even without my intervention, he won't survive tonight."

Without waiting for a response, he hung up the phone and casually tossed it aside.

He gently patted the puppy's head, looked around at the cozy love nest he had bought with his deceased wife, and sighed softly.

He took a can of beer from the refrigerator, sank lazily into the sofa, and casually flipped through TV channels.

That phone call from just now has long been forgotten.

Inside the Continental Hotel, Santino's face was so dark it looked like it could drip water.

First, a wanted fugitive dared to shoot at him, and now even an assassin who had received favors from the Antonio family dares to break the blood pact and disobey his orders without mercy.

He clenched his fists, his expression gradually twisting and contorting into a ferocious grimace.

After redialing, he gave new instructions to his men who were on their way to the hotel.

"That damned lackey can't even tell who his master is now!"

Saint Tino gritted his teeth and slammed the Blood Pact Iron Box against the wall.

He came to New York from Italy not for sightseeing, but to use a blood pact to have John eliminate his own sister—the first heir to the Antonio family's seat on the High Table.

Once his sister dies, he will be able to inherit his father's position and take a seat on the High Table Council. At that time, he will have even greater power in the underworld.

Unexpectedly, on the very first night, a reckless mad dog broke his leg, and now John has refused his blood pact command.

In his rage, even the excruciating pain from his broken leg seemed to lessen somewhat.

Just then, the sound of orderly and rapid footsteps suddenly rang out outside the medical room.

Santino's eyes lit up, and a look of joy appeared on his face. Could it be that the assassins from New York had arrived?
He disregarded continuing the surgery, pushed aside the surrounding doctors, and excitedly limped towards the hall, leaning on his crutches, eager to see Luo Xia shot to death.

However, when the door to the medical room was pushed open, the Italian Mafia heir was completely dumbfounded—the entire hotel lobby and corridors were filled with fully armed special forces soldiers with cold, piercing eyes.
At the front desk, Winston stared at the group of soldiers with loaded bullets and guns pointed directly at him, his face twitching uncontrollably.

"Sang Ao Fu Bi Chi"

He cursed inwardly, "Didn't Gao Zhu say he would negotiate with the Counter-Terrorism Bureau? What's going on now?"

The negotiations broke down?
Soon, two more people got off the bomb disposal vehicle outside the door.

When Winston saw the man with glasses and a slightly receding hairline, his heart sank to the bottom.

This is Robert Mueller, the FBI director who frequently appears on television, each time accompanied by news of major cases.

And needless to say, the man next to him, who was on the phone and had a cold expression, was even more so.

Looking at the prominent CTU logo on the soldiers' armbands, who else could it be but Jack Bauer, the head of the Counterterrorism Bureau?
"Have you finished talking nonsense?"

Jack said coldly into the phone, "Don't try to intimidate me with the president. If you want to threaten me, go find the Attorney General. The president has no jurisdiction over my counterterrorism agency!"

"If you dare to bargain with me again, I'll wipe out all of the High Table's North American strongholds before dawn! Harboring terrorists? I think you High Table have been living in comfort for too long and have forgotten who the real masters of this land are!"

After hanging up the phone, Jack's sharp gaze fell on Winston, who was trying to appear calm behind the scenes.

Although he didn't say a word, his sharp gaze sent chills down the old manager's spine.

Winston forced a smile and, without being asked, pointed behind him: "Miss Ginny is in the restaurant." Jack gave him a deep look, then strode towards the restaurant with Robert.

The sound of combat boots clapping on the marble floor was particularly jarring in the deathly silent hall.

But just as they were about to leave the hall, a loud shout suddenly came from the corridor:

"Where the hell did you guys come from?!"

Santino, leaning against the wall, looked at the soldiers filling the hotel and cursed angrily, "Do you know where you are?! Who gave you permission to trespass on the Continental Hotel?!"

There was no fear on his face.

As heirs to one of Europe's oldest Mafia families, many members of the U.S. Congress have close ties to the Antonio family.

Compared to these federal soldiers, he was more wary of Rorschach, a terrorist with no scruples.

But this time, he clearly messed with the wrong person.

Both Jack and Robert wielded far more power than so-called congressmen; even in Washington, only a few in the cabinet had the authority to restrain them.

Even privileged agencies like the Counterterrorism Bureau, which, under the separation of powers, only report to the Attorney General, strictly speaking, have no right to directly mobilize anyone other than the Attorney General, whether it's the President, the Secretary of State, or the Speaker of the House.

And now, this arrogant and ignorant spoiled brat dares to threaten them with a councilor.

Seeing Jack suddenly turn and walk toward Santino, Winston, though wishing the fool would be finished, still forced himself to step forward and bow: "Mr. Bower, Mr. Robert, this is the heir of the Antonio family of Italy. He has lived in Europe for many years and does not know you two. If he has offended you, I apologize on his behalf."

Seeing Winston's humble attitude, Santino frowned deeply. This old man had never been so humble in front of him and his father before.

Aren't these two people police officers?

"The Antonio family."

Jack stared at Santino's pale face and suddenly burst out laughing.

He turned to Robert and said, "Look at this, man, what a mess this country is in! Now even a Mafia boss dares to yell at us and question us."

Robert shrugged and chuckled, “I really miss the last century, especially the Roosevelt era. The FBI had so much more power back then. If I were the director, I could arrest whoever I wanted without even having to submit a report.”

"Report?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion, and asked, "Now we need to submit a report before arresting terrorists? Shouldn't we just shoot them and then complete the paperwork?"

"."

Robert really didn't want to respond to that.

Since 9/11, anything related to counterterrorism has been the highest priority in this country.

As for how to define counterterrorism, Jack could define it in a single sentence when the Counterterrorism Bureau has a director who has delegated all authority.

During the conversation, Santino's face had turned ashen.

It was only then that he noticed the counterterrorism badges on the soldiers' shoulders.

"Who broke your leg?"

Just as Santino was about to make an excuse to slip back to the medical room, he was startled by the cold question and stammered, "Rorosa Butcher."

Upon hearing the name, Jack and Robert exchanged a glance, their expressions immediately turning serious.

They actually ran into Rorschach.
"Jack, should we send two more teams over?" Robert suggested in a low voice.

Given Luo Xia's record, these current manpower are probably not enough.

But Jack seemed not to hear, his attention was entirely on Santino.

Looking at his trembling body and the broken leg that, though the bleeding had stopped, was still oozing blood, he suddenly let out a sneer:
"Terrorists are terrorists; even their methods of teaching people a lesson are so crude."

Under Santino's horrified gaze, Jack reached out to his side, and a soldier immediately handed him a submachine gun.

The next second, rapid gunshots suddenly rang out throughout the entire hotel lobby!
The submachine gun spat fire, and bullets rained down accurately and densely on Santino's other intact leg.

When the magazine was empty, the leg was severed from the knee by countless bullets.

"This is much more symmetrical, and it looks better to the eye."

Jack casually tossed the submachine gun back to the soldier, then glanced coldly at Santino, who was groaning in pain on the ground: "Go back and tell your father that it was Jack Bauer who broke your leg. I'd like to see if he has the guts to come after me."

Ignoring Santino's venomous gaze, the two strode past him toward the restaurant.

Winston stared at Santino, who had lost both legs in five minutes, and was speechless.

He just couldn't understand why a perfectly respectable Mafia member, a spoiled rich kid in the underworld, would always have to put on airs in front of terrorists and the counterterrorism bureau.
Before even reaching the restaurant entrance, a strong smell of blood hit us.

Jack raised his hand to signal the soldiers to stop, and only he and Robert stepped into the restaurant.

The first thing that catches the eye is a dozen or so corpses lying haphazardly—of varying ages and sizes, but without exception, all of them had their heads blown off.
(End of this chapter)