On the other end of the line, Wesley frowned. "Boss?"
He didn't think it was a good thing that the smiling man was too powerful.
The man looked at the snowy night sky and said in a low voice, "Personally keep an eye on the transfer plan. You have to speed it up. Ignore this smiling man for now."
Wesley was shocked. "What? Then our business … "
The man smiled. "If the smiling man dies, everything will be the same. But if the hitmen are all wiped out, how will the Continental Hotel and the people at the high table react? "
Wesley immediately understood. "They'll have to track down this smiling man with all their might, or their strength will continue to be questioned?"
The man said, "If a hundred elite hitmen can't even kill a smiling man, will the Continental Hotel still have the face to call itself the 'strongest'? This isn't a matter of money. It'll be more beneficial for us to complete the transfer plan. "
Wesley agreed inwardly. "Got it, boss."
The man said, "Go and do what you need to do."
At that point, he couldn't help but add, "Leave New York now. You can go to Boston or Philadelphia, but don't stay here. The Continental Hotel suffered a huge loss this time, and it's very likely that they'll find the real bounty hunter from D 'Amico's wife. Remember to clean up the mess. There's no need for us to get involved. We'll just watch them fight to the death. "
Wesley was a little hesitant, but he still agreed. He hung up and went straight to the airport.
During this period, the phone in his hand flowed like water as he quickly arranged all kinds of matters.
He wouldn't question his boss's judgment and decisions.
In less than ten years, this boss had become the brains of all the dark forces in America, and was given the honorific "Kingpin."
It wasn't just because of his strength, but because his boss was far smarter than those gangsters.
Now, there would be a lot of losses if they brought forward the transfer plan.
But it was worth it to screw over the Continental Hotel and the smiling man at the same time, and increase the success rate of the transfer plan.
If it were any other gangster, they would definitely be reluctant to part with their territory and business, and would fight the smiling man to the death.
Kingpin, however, had already extended his reach into other industries.
The illegal businesses in New York could at most reduce their income by 20%, but it wasn't enough to shake their foundation.
Furthermore, temporarily halting their confrontation with the masked men would allow them to devote more energy to the diversion plan and successfully infiltrate their forces into the high table.
At that time, they could indirectly influence the Continental Hotel.
In the end, whether they would swallow this powerful enemy force or allow it to fight and bleed with the smiling man was only a matter of a single thought.
They could advance to attack or retreat to defend, and they could even stand in the safety of the auditorium, laughing at the performance of the two sides.
Wesley thought as he boarded the private jet.
In front of the cabin door, he turned around and looked at the familiar New York night view.
Under the scattered snow, New York at night seemed to be shrouded in a tragic and austere atmosphere.
Wesley couldn't help but feel a little melancholy. He sighed softly. "I'll be back. Just you wait, New York!"
With that, he no longer hesitated and strode into the cabin.
A few minutes later, the private jet was airborne and headed for Boston.
…
A fierce battle was raging in Swamp Park.
Wade kept on cursing.
Thankfully, the V suit had a voice shielding function, so he wasn't discovered because of his endless trash talk.
Well, it was rare for him not to be discovered.
After the first few minutes of the appetizer, the battle between him and the hitmen quickly heated up.
Both sides had more or less figured out each other's strength.
The hitmen were certain that their advantage in numbers was unshakable. The biggest problem was that they didn't want to be buried with the smiling man before he died.
Wade had been shot seven or eight times. His headache now was how to explain this to Vanessa when he got back.
He didn't even need to look to know that his body was as ugly as a dalmatian's.
However, dalmatians were black and white, and the "flowers" on his body would probably turn blue and black by the time he got home.
But when he thought of the remaining 2.5 million, Wade was full of energy.
A human-shaped dalmatian was nothing! Five million was enough to make countless people want to be dogs.
Also, he wasn't fighting alone.
As a mercenary, he had killed his way out of a hail of bullets. He had long since discovered that someone was secretly wiping out the killers.
Although he didn't know why the hitmen didn't notice it, Wade knew.
His combat level and intuition were at least two levels higher than the strongest of these hitmen, so he was sure of it.
Several times, when he was about to be surrounded, the support system would send him a notification and mark out an escape route.
As long as he followed it, he would escape again.
And there were hitmen on these routes. Wade was very sure of that.
The support system was helping him keep an eye on the location of the hitmen around him, recording and reminding him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to hold on for so long.
As soon as these escape routes appeared, some of the hitmen who had only fired for less than ten seconds would mysteriously disappear, and the encirclement would naturally have a loophole.
If he couldn't sense that something was wrong, then Wade's mercenary heart must have grown to the point of being an asshole.
It was also for this reason that he hadn't made up his mind to escape decisively.
Wade wasn't stupid.
He already had 2.5 million in his hands, and he had no intention of fighting to the death.
He could take risks to complete the mission, but he wouldn't not escape knowing that he would die.
The completion rate of the mission was only meaningful to the living; the dead didn't need it.
Just like what V had said, he could only live happily with Vanessa if he was alive.
If he died, his future wife would be taken advantage of by another man.
On the other hand, the V uniform on him gave Wade a lot of confidence. He even had the leisure to complain about the hitmen in the uniform.
Unfortunately, he couldn't use his best "verbal attack."
Luke, who had a deep understanding of his stinky mouth, wouldn't give this b * tch a chance to ruin V's pretentiousness, nor could he let V turn into the legendary neurotic chatterbox.
Apart from not being able to eat, the low-end V uniform didn't have a voice system.
Tonight, Wade didn't need to talk. He just needed to dutifully be a moving target.
…
While Wade was in pain and joy, Luke was silently reciting a limerick in his heart: One, two, three, four, five, one thousand five hundred. Four, five, six, seven, eight, eight thousand eight hundred.
These hitmen were all "fat," and were all mini-bosses.
It was only when he dealt with someone who seemed to be a lookout that the system only gave him 40 experience and credit points.
When Luke tossed the man into his inventory, a thought flashed through his mind: This person was probably in charge of intelligence and logistical support, so he hadn't killed many people!
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