American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 157 The matter is settled, cleanly and neatly.
The restaurant of a five-star hotel.

The crystal chandelier cast a warm yellow light onto the long table covered with a snow-white tablecloth.

Beta sat by the window, tapping her fingers lightly on the rim of her champagne glass as she gazed at the city lights outside.

A commotion arose at the other end of the restaurant.

Fulton grabbed a Boston lobster with his bare hands, snapped the shell open with a "crack," and splattered shell fragments and sauce everywhere.

McCree, unable to bear it any longer, slapped Fulton on the back of the head.

He shoved a plate at Fulton through gritted teeth: "Use this! Are you a caveman?"

Not far away, Fordy was happily watching the grill, the chef's freshly cut ribeye steak still sizzling with oil. He eagerly forked a piece and put it in his mouth, squinting his eyes in satisfaction.

The mute man walked gracefully towards her, carrying a plate full of salad and seafood; his platinum blonde short hair gleamed under the light.

Sterling followed closely behind, his plate neatly arranged with salmon and asparagus.

The two sat down opposite Beta.

Beta tapped the table lightly with his fingertips: "Is everything cleaned up? Do you have a video?"

Sterling adjusted his glasses, pulled out a card, and handed it over: "Encrypted URL."

His voice carried a hint of smugness: "The password is 'Sterling is awesome, awesome' in all caps."

"Pfft—" The mute woman covered her mouth, the champagne swirling in her throat. She quickly grabbed a napkin to cover her lips, her platinum blonde hair swaying slightly with her trembling shoulders as she coughed softly.

Beta put the card into her inner pocket.

Upon seeing this, Sterling explained, "Regular cloud storage carries the risk of data leaks; this server is a ghost node I set up."

His voice carried the enthusiasm characteristic of a tech enthusiast: "Without a precise URL and dynamic password, even the NSA can't track it. Of course, you can access it anytime."

Beta gently swirled his champagne glass: "Name your price."

Sterling and the mute exchanged a glance. The mute shrugged, leaving the decision entirely to Sterling.

“150,000.” Sterling pushed up his glasses. “30,000 per person, market price.”

Without hesitation, Beta took out the encrypted phone, quickly swiped his finger across the screen, and brought up the overseas bank interface: "Account".

Sterling recited a string of numbers, Beta entered them, and $150,000 was instantly transferred from an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. The entire transfer took less than ten seconds, and even the bank transaction record was automatically deleted after 72 hours.

“Done.” Beta put his phone back in his pocket and raised his champagne glass.

Three crystal glasses gently clinked together in mid-air.

Sterling took a small sip, put down his glass, and narrowed his eyes slightly: "We have a 'big project' on hand, with very, very good pay. Interested in participating?"

The mute woman also looked at Beta, her platinum blonde hair falling as she tilted her head. She didn't speak, but her slightly raised eyebrows conveyed an invitation.

Beta's glass paused at his lips, his eyes sweeping over the two of them, before he slowly shook his head: "Sorry."

His voice was calm and resolute: "I won't participate this time."

Sterling's lips drooped slightly: "Okay."

He raised his glass and drank it all in one gulp, swallowing back the words he hadn't finished.

The mute man thoughtfully stroked the rim of the cup.

The New York cityscape outside the window was still dazzling, but the atmosphere at the table had subtly cooled. Only Fulton's loud laughter from the distant buffet table and McCree's exasperated shouts could be heard.
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Beta pushed open the villa door and casually tossed his car keys into a ceramic bowl in the entryway.

He glimpsed Leon watching a late-night talk show on the sofa, while John made noises of himself fiddling with kitchen utensils coming from the kitchen.

He ripped off the silicone mask from his face, revealing his handsome features: "Where's Matilda?"

Leon pointed upstairs: "She was in a bad mood and went up early." Beta looked towards the stairwell and raised her voice: "What a pity, she missed some good news."

He deliberately dragged out his words: "The enemy who killed her whole family has already died a horrible death in the abandoned factory tonight."

A rustling sound immediately came from the corner of the stairs.

Matilda's little head peeked out from behind the railing, her hair disheveled, clearly indicating she had been waiting on the stairs for some time. She pouted, her eyes still red, and ran down the stairs.

Beta opened his arms and caught the cannonball that flew into his arms, but was knocked back a step by Matilda.

Matilda buried her face in his chest, her hands clutching his clothes tightly. Beta gently stroked her trembling back, feeling the dampness spreading across her clothes—Matilda's tears.

Beta gently ruffled Matilda's fluffy hair with his fingers.

He took the card Sterling had given him from his inner suit pocket and handed it to the girl: "Go see for yourself. I've seen it; the visuals are very civilized and suitable for children."

Matilda hastily wiped her reddened eyes with her sleeve, then pouted as she took the card.

“Go ahead.” Beta gently nudged her shoulder. “We’ll give you some private space.”

Matilda took a deep breath, gripped the card tightly, and turned to walk towards the stairs.

Only when her figure disappeared around the corner on the second floor did Beta turn away, walk to the bar, and pour herself a glass of whiskey.

Tonight will be a long farewell for that girl, a farewell to her past self.

John took two steaming cups of freshly ground coffee from under the coffee machine, and the rich aroma filled the living room.

He walked over to Leon, casually placed one of the cups on the coffee table, and then turned to Beta: "Resolved?"

Beta sank into the sofa and sat down next to John: "Hmm."

John raised his hand and gently patted Beta's shoulder. There was relief, understanding, and unspoken support in his gesture.

The steam from the coffee rose under the light, and Leon turned down the TV volume.

The three men sat there quietly, the flickering flames in the fireplace casting dim light on their faces.

Leon's silhouette was blurred in the firelight, John's knuckles tapped lightly on his coffee cup, and Beta stared at the charcoal in the fireplace, his icy blue eyes reflecting the leaping flames.

Outside the window, the first snow of the year fell from the New York night sky.

Snowflakes fell by the window, instantly turning into water droplets. The distant city lights, blurred into indistinct clusters of light against the snowy backdrop, resembled an oil painting washed clean.

Inside, the only sounds were the crackling of burning firewood and the occasional soft tapping of a coffee cup against the table.

The snow fell even harder.

Beta suddenly spoke up: "We'll be heading to Italy soon."

His gaze swept over the two of them: "Everyone, including you, John."

John's fingers paused on the rim of his coffee cup. "Are you sure Jaina will tolerate me hanging around on her turf? I'm afraid I'll be thrown into the Tyrrhenian Sea to feed the fish as soon as I get off the plane."

The firelight from the fireplace danced on Beta's face: "No."

He twirled the ring on his left ring finger: "What she wants is me, her own flesh and blood. As long as I'm willing to take over the family business, she'll definitely be willing to let you spend the rest of your life in Italy."

Leon chuckled softly: "It seems our 'Mr. Antonio' ​​is finally returning to the family?"

The snow outside the window was falling even harder, and snowflakes were pattering against the French windows.

Beta didn't answer, but simply downed the whiskey in his glass.

(End of this chapter)