Marvel: Ma'am, I'm your husband's boss

Mrs. Stacy rolled her eyes and said, "You are indeed dead. Your brain is shattered into pieces. I don't know why you are still alive, but no matter from which angle you look at it, you are dead."

"Hahaha!" Fisk laughed and slowly moved his palm upwards.

Mrs. Stacy's pretty face was slightly panicked, and she quickly held it down, saying angrily, "You can't do that here. There are too many people. It's not allowed for everyone."

"Then I'll take it out?"

Fisk said a little too much.

Mrs. Stacy took a deep breath, her cheeks slightly red, and said nothing, but just leaned gently against Fisk.

Fisk saw this and didn't want to go too far. He slowly withdrew his hand, placed it on her calf, and continued to massage her. "How is it? Do you feel better?"

"Hmph! What do you think?"

Fisk's fingers gently massaged her ankles. Looking at the troublesome boots on her slender feet, Fisk pondered for a moment, glanced at Mrs. Stacy who didn't react, and reached out to untie the laces of her boots.

The boots slowly fell down, and Fisk's fingers went inside. His fingertips touched the instep of the foot. He could clearly feel the skin and bones under the stockings, and his heart itched slightly.

He rubbed his fingers on the instep, and then his thumb picked up the heel and took it off little by little, because he had no intention of hiding his actions.

Therefore, Mrs. Stacy could naturally feel clearly the abnormality coming from her feet.

Mrs. Stacy turned around and met Fisk's eyes. Her expression paused slightly, and she said lightly in a shy tone, "The boots are not breathable. Can't you smell the stink?"

"It's okay. My nose has never been very sensitive."

But Mrs. Stacy was obviously not going to take off her boots here, and she squirmed and tried to pull her legs back.

But Fisk picked it up casually, and there was a click sound.

The boots fell to the ground, and the slender white toes wrapped in black stockings were exposed to Fisk's sight. The five slender toes were neatly arranged at the front, tightly pressed against the dark seams of the socks. Under Fisk's direct gaze, they unconsciously curled up slightly, revealing the eye-catching black nail polish on the toenails. Even with a thin layer of black stockings, it still couldn't be concealed. However, because of the black stockings covering it, it was full of beauty and temptation at the same time.

Even though this was not the first time Fisk had seen this, his heart still began to beat rapidly.

The palm of the hand slowly slid down and touched the sole of the foot from the slightly bony instep.

It's like holding a ball of melted marshmallow in your hands, half of it has melted and solidified, but the other half is still soft.

Fisk raised his fiery gaze to look at Mrs. Stacy's beautiful face. His eyes were eager, staring at the rosy thin lips painted with dazzling red. Fisk's throat couldn't help but move slightly, and his breathing became heavy. "Mrs. Stacy, your lipstick seems to be a little smudged."

Mrs. Stacy seemed a little uncomfortable with Fisk's gaze. She turned away with a slightly red face, and her feet kept struggling in Fisk's palm, "Okay, the food will be served soon, let me go quickly.

Also, I’m not wearing lipstick, this is lip balm.”

Fisk paused and gently let go of his hand. Mrs. Stacy was suddenly stunned. She glanced at Fisk unhappily and was about to take her legs away from Fisk's legs.

However, before she could make any move, Fisk grabbed her around the waist and pulled Mrs. Stacy's body forward. Her thighs were even bent before she could lower them. Her feet stepped on the soft sofa, making a shallow depression, and her whole body was completely embraced by Fisk's arms.

Mrs. Stacy was still a little dazed after she had just stabilized herself. The close distance allowed Fisk to clearly see the expression on her face. Fisk's eyes were burning. When she looked up at Fisk, Fisk had already moved closer, "Mrs. Stacy, it looks like your lipstick has melted..."

"Humph!"

Mrs. Stacy was a little flustered. She twisted her body slightly, twisting and turning in Fisk's arms like a big caterpillar.

"Mrs. Stacy, let me help you clean it up." As he spoke, Fisk put his arms around her waist, holding her tightly against him. He stared at her rosy, shiny lips, opened his lips slightly, and slowly moved closer.

"Well!"

The two heads just overlapped.

Fisk's eyelids suddenly raised, and a sharp light flashed in his pupils.

Then, a loud bang suddenly came from the center of the matchbox-like building, followed by thick smoke billowing upwards.

There were screams coming from the airship.

At the same time, a man's roar came from outside the door.

"Are you treating me like I don't exist?

How dare you use a bazooka in New York!"

It's Mrs. Stacy's husband.

Mr. Chief George.

The direction from which the sound came was the house opposite.

Chapter 23 Can the husband be on the airship?

"Well!"

Fisk narrowed his eyes.

Looking at the place in the distance where thick black smoke was burning.

If memory served him correctly, that place should be the Hell's Kitchen that he had just left.

Time, go back half an hour.

Ena Maynard pushed open the door and saw Fazi and Melanie. One was reading a magazine, and the other was lying lazily on the sofa, watching the catwalk girl walking slowly on the screen.

Recently, the Miss America election competition has begun again.

Melanie's figure was no less than any other Miss America, but unfortunately, she didn't have the opportunity and had no desire to participate.

See Ena Maynard walking in from outside.

Melanie casually threw a can of beer over and said, "It's a holiday today! The boss is out on a date."

"Dating?"

Ena Maynard's gossipy heart immediately burned.

Came over immediately.

Melanie had no intention of hiding anything.

Tell everything you know.

However, the women's chat did not last long, as intensive gunfire suddenly rang out in Hell's Kitchen.

The three of them gathered around the window and looked outside.

The gunfire still came from the area controlled by the Irish.

"What's going on? Why are they fighting again?"

Ena Maynard lit a cigarette, which slowly circled around her fingertips. "I just saw the Mexicans heading towards the area controlled by the Irish.

However, I think since the two sides have already stopped fighting, it is very likely that they were negotiating in the past, but now it seems that the negotiations have broken down!"

"Mexicans never negotiate." Melanie walked to the window with her glass in hand. "It seems that the boss's plan was successful. The Mexicans really thought that the Irish killed Anno... But the Mexicans can never be a match for the Irish!"

"I don't quite understand. I haven't been in the United States for very long and I don't know what's so special about the Irish."

"The Russians thought the same before, with the continued support of a powerful country.

Various agents came to New York on various cargo ships. They had various head-on conflicts with the Irish. Today you bombed my store, and tomorrow I will kill your gang leader.

Death and blood became the main theme in New York during those days, and corpses covered the entire city.

But even the most elite agents from that country had a death rate of over half when faced with Irish gangs.

In fact, some agents might have just arrived in New York that day, and the bodies would be dumped in front of the police station the next day.

Then, the policemen threw these illegal immigrants who didn't even have passports into the crematorium with expressionless faces, burned them into ashes and sent them to the door of an embassy.

During this period, they did not ask any questions or even investigate how they died.”

Ena Maynard narrowed her eyes.

As a Norwegian mercenary, Ena Maynard has actually fought against that country's agents.

Of course I know how cold-blooded and ruthless those guys are.

These agents are highly skilled and adept at using a wide variety of firearms and explosives, as well as being experts in close combat and infiltration.

It can be said without exaggeration.

Even the strongest mercenary would feel a headache when facing those agents.

Therefore, even if the Irish had extraordinary abilities, they would never be a match for those agents, let alone be able to kill those agents with superb disguise abilities within a day.

Able to kill them the same day they arrived in New York.

There is only one other possibility.

The Americans also took action.

"You mean to say that there are other people standing behind the Irishman?"

“Isn’t this a very normal thing?

These Irish people have been in this country for about as long as the life span of the people in this country.

In a sense, they are the residents of this country.

Besides, the Russians have always been our mortal enemies.

In the first few months before that guy collapsed, even Russian special forces came here in droves, but the Irish territory still guaranteed them enough living space.

This is enough to prove how powerful the backers behind the Irish are.

Compared to the Russians, the Mexicans have no advantages at all." Melanie's tone was full of ridicule towards the Mexicans.

"Why do I have the feeling that you have objections to the boss's plan?" Ena Maynard's tone was a little strange.

"The boss may not be unable to do what the Mexicans cannot do." Melanie took a sip of the beer in her hand. "The Mexicans are outsiders. They are no different from the Russians at that time. They are even similar to the Russians.

It's just that the Russians had sufficient troops, strong strength, and well-trained at the time. Therefore, facing the geographical environment of having a backer and fighting in a foreign country, they still had the upper hand. It was not until the collapse of that country that they ran out of strength and retreated.

And the Mexicans... are poorly trained. Even though they have money and a vast army of thugs who are like cannon fodder, cannon fodder is still cannon fodder, and no matter how many cannon fodder there are, they are still trash.

More importantly, they are outsiders.

In this country, so-called democracy and tolerance are things that only idiots believe in, and freedom requires money to support it.

Even we know that Mexicans have been under constant surveillance by key U.S. departments, which is enough to prove how difficult the situation of Mexicans is.

In this case, what do you think the Mexicans' chances are of winning?"

"Not much! Then why do you think the boss has a chance of winning?"

“Because the boss is a local, a real local.