While Leo was still drinking and bantering with the newly recruited, unemployed bureaucratic elites, the icy wind of the Atlantic had John shivering uncontrollably.
In his mind, no matter how unreliable Mr. Samuel might be, the arranged ship should at least have been a large passenger liner.But never in his darkest thoughts did he expect it to be this tiny fishing boat, bouncing up and down with the waves, reeking of pungent fish stench.
He had boarded the vessel driven purely by his terror of Leo.When the boat first left port, he had gazed at the rolling sea with a fleeting surge of heroic passion—the vast ocean where fish leap, the high skies where birds soar. He imagined that once in Brazil, together with the Cotton family, he would gather strength and bide his time, waiting for the day of revenge.
He loathed Leo deeply. He could have become the White House Chief of Staff, one of the men controlling Truman, whose will was already weak. But that was when he first got on the boat.
Now… well.
John had vomited up everything he had eaten earlier in the car, turning his hamburger into food for Atlantic fish.
Though he had grown up playing on yachts and was usually immune to seasickness, he simply couldn't withstand the overwhelming stench of raw fish.
Weakly, he turned to the two men guarding him and asked:"How much longer until we reach that big ship you spoke of?"
Indeed, the other reason John had agreed to board this shabby boat was that his bodyguards had told him: to ensure his safety, they would first ride a fishing vessel into international waters. There, they would intercept a cruise ship's route. The liner would slow down, allowing John to board discreetly. Its destination was Brazil.
The plan had sounded very safe.
But now, the two guards—who had always obeyed him without question—offered no reply. They silently stepped out of the cabin.
Through the open hatch, John saw the captain of the fishing boat hand them a bag of money.
A terrible dread surged up in his chest. He looked around: nothing but the freezing ocean. No escape.
"This isn't Mr. Samuel's arrangement! You're betraying me! Do you know what crossing Samuel means? You'll never have a good end!"
John screamed in terror.
No one answered him. The captain, flanked by two burly sailors, walked toward him.
"I have money! Spare me! My family owns banks—we can give you all the money you want! Don't kill me—ahhhh!"
John was hoisted up bodily, thrashing desperately, howling as though sheer force of will might conjure a miracle escape.
The closer the frigid sea drew, the more his heart was crushed by the tidal wave of death itself. He was engulfed in bottomless terror.
The captain, who had one of John's shoulders, leaned in and whispered into his ear:"Mr. Valentino sends his regards."
Splash!
The man who, in another world without Leo, might have successfully become White House Chief of Staff—here and now, he sank into the Atlantic, just another feast for the fish.
When the news reached Washington, the city was already glittering with evening lights.
Inside the banquet hall of the Valentino Hot Springs Resort, there were no more "gentlemen."Instead, drunkards staggered about, bottles in hand, screaming wildly, laughing manically, living without restraint.
At the central table, leftovers littered the floor, while the people who should have been seated were instead sprawled drunkenly across the tabletop.
Roger, clutching a bottle in one hand and raising the other high, sang a flamboyant aria from an Italian opera. Singing had always been his hobby—though he wasn't Italian, he had learned this piece specifically for this job application.
None of the drunk men cared whether his voice was good or bad. When the song ended, cheers erupted.
Everyone was venting the bitterness of long months of unemployment.
"Let us drink to Mr. Valentino!" Roger cried, raising his bottle.
"To Mr. Valentino!" everyone shouted back.
The atmosphere had reached a fever pitch. Leo, his face betraying no trace of the alcohol he'd consumed, rose with a smile. His mood was excellent—Walt had just reported John's death.
Leo had dealt with too many enemies already; John's psychological threat barely compared to Patrick of Lynchburg back in the old days. John's death merely marked the close of one chapter.
What mattered now were these wild, half-mad bureaucrats before him. They would be the foundation of his next chapter.
He understood them well. No matter how polished they looked in suits, their entertainment came from the meager pleasures available to the lower rungs of society. Their most reckless indulgence was precisely this: alcohol flowing without restraint.
But as their future employer—and expert exploiter—Leo had prepared special gifts. To truly exploit, you had to let people taste beauty, so they would crave more. Leo was a professional at this.
Raising his glass, he addressed them:"Gentlemen, tonight shall be sleepless for you. If you enjoy thrills, stay here. If you are… more modest…"
He pointed to a small door behind him."…then behind that door are a dozen rooms waiting to be explored."
Every eye lit up. Many of them had accompanied their powerful patrons to the Lynchburg Hotel before. They had heard the whispers about Valentino—the man who knew how to play. That envy and longing could never be put into words.
Now, it seemed, they themselves might experience it. Already drunk, Roger leapt down from the table, shouting with excitement:"Gentlemen, I am modest! I'll go first!"
Bowing gratefully to Leo, he bolted out the door.
Many followed. But some stayed behind, eager for more… thrilling entertainments.
Leo smirked, clapped his hands. The side doors swung open. A blast of winter air swept in, making the drunken men shiver.
Through the doors marched ranks of tall, blonde Slavic women, wrapped in red coats of the Imperial Army.
Disappointment flickered in a few men's eyes. Yes, the girls were stunning, but they hadn't come for mere pretty faces.
Leo understood men all too well. At the threshold, before leaving, he said calmly:"Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen."
And at that moment, the women in unison flung off their coats.
In the lights, their bare bodies gleamed.
"Woooooaaahhh!"
The men roared like beasts, hotter than before, their drunken howls piercing the night.
Daniel and Leo exchanged a look—all men knew that look.
"Boss, are you alone tonight? Do you want me to—" Daniel began.
Leo cut him off."No need. I have… finer enjoyments waiting."
Daniel thought back to the report Walt had given earlier, two very particular names mentioned. He nodded knowingly.
Leo, ignoring him, shifted back to business."Is the company structure ready? After this taste of paradise, their motivation will be at its peak. We mustn't let their spirits cool. Lobbying is about momentum."
Daniel nodded."Yes, Boss. This morning, after you instructed me, I had the secretary begin preparations. Just now he confirmed: five real estate lobbying firms, two retail lobbying firms, and one science and technology lobbying firm are established.But Boss, I don't quite understand—what's the purpose of that science and technology lobbying firm? Is it really necessary for us to help such an industry?"
Leo shook his head, his tone heavy with meaning."Daniel, it is very necessary. Because that is the future. Trust me—find yourself a seat in one of the House committees related to science and technology. Ten years from now, that will determine whether you still have a place at my side.
If Roger—James's former bureaucrat—weren't the only one who understood this area, I'd have founded more than one such firm."
He glanced at the clock."All right, it's late. Get some rest. You have a family now—don't get too carried away."
Leo may have given Daniel this fatherly advice, but his own "double standard" was notorious. His own nightlife was… the real indulgence.
Later, Leo lounged in the steaming hot spring, Yelena sitting in his lap, her long body writhing gracefully. Yet she wasn't the true spark of his desire. Though Yelena's beauty and flawless figure—tall, leggy, with a sculpted waist and lethal curves—would dazzle most men, Leo's taste had grown more refined.
Behind him, the real warmth came not from the hot water, but from the Sicilian legend herself—Malena.
Having just learned English, seeing Leo again after a year, Malena's allure was beyond words. Her voluptuous figure, her intoxicating softness… Leo, now a connoisseur of such pleasures, found her unmatched.
The night was long, but Leo was tireless.
By contrast, Daniel—who had not heeded Leo's advice—looked utterly drained the next morning.
The two now sat together in the White House reception room. Louis, newly and swiftly promoted to White House Chief of Staff after John's death, served them coffee.
Placing the cup before Leo, Louis whispered:"The President is in low spirits after John's death. Perhaps you should return another time?"
Leo appreciated the kindness, but shook his head firmly. He had never planned to maintain a cozy relationship with Truman. He knew human nature too well—Truman owed him too much already. Gratitude would sour into avoidance, then resentment, then division.
And besides, power could not be shared by two. Better to push now, reap results, than waste time on sentiment.
Footsteps echoed. The three men looked up to see Truman, eyes red, emerge.
The President had not slept. The thought that Leo had dared kill James had unsettled him—but killing a founding family of Citibank? That shook him to his core.
He couldn't help but wonder: If he dares kill them, would he hesitate to kill me? Even though I am President?
For the first time since taking office, Truman entered without greeting Leo. He simply sat down.
Leo noticed his behavior and, inwardly, applauded his unseen opponent. Yes—killing John had shattered his carefully crafted "victim's" image. But so what? He could play from behind as well as he could from ahead.
"Hary, during your campaign's whistle-stop tour, you often spoke of how Roosevelt's New Deal did little for the poor. That's why you promote fair governance. Based on your own philosophy, I've drafted a plan. Not only will it extend fair governance to every working man and woman, it will also circulate money throughout America's body, not just clog at the heart.
It's time for your housing bill."
Leo slid the thick proposal across the table. Truman didn't even lift it. He just stared, absentminded. Leo left his hand there, waiting.
The air grew heavy, awkward.
As Chief of Staff, Louis knew this was his failure. He took the proposal, breaking the deadlock. Yet he also knew—by cutting short Valentino's pressure, he risked the ire of a notoriously vindictive man.
But he pressed on, opening the document, already familiar with every detail."Yes, Harry, I agree with Mr. Valentino. It's been nearly two months since you took office. Time to continue our fair governance path."
He placed the proposal in Truman's hands.
Now that it was there, refusal was pointless. Truman opened it. And, despite himself, he became engrossed.
The rustle of turning pages filled the room.
By noon, after Leo and Daniel had gone through five cups of coffee, Truman finally set the document down. His gaze was complicated.
How he wished Leo were still the young genius from a year ago—the one who needed his protection. Such a man would have been his greatest asset, his brilliance a crown jewel in Truman's presidency.
But there was no "if."
The proposal thrilled him—it aligned perfectly with his vision of fair governance. But it came from Leo, and today's Leo filled him with loathing.
"Well, Harry," Leo said smoothly. "As President, the right of first initiative belongs to you. This great bill can bear your name."
At first, Truman had been intoxicated by that power. Bills he proposed would pass both chambers swiftly. It had been heady.
But he had realized the truth: of the four bills he had initiated, three had come from Leo. He wielded the power, but the benefit went to this insatiable young man.
"Wait, Leo," Truman said firmly. "I've introduced too many bills lately. We need to give people time."
"Harry, time may not be on your side. You won this office on the people's hopes. You have only four short years to deliver. Re-election isn't guaranteed. We still have much to do—together."
Again, Leo pressed the proposal toward him.
Truman's fists clenched under the table. Anger laced his voice:"I am the President. And I said, Leo—wait!"
This time, Truman was resolved. He would not yield. He would show Leo that America's President was not a merchant's puppet.
Leo withdrew his hand at last. Louis exhaled in relief. But then Leo stood abruptly, icy eyes fixed on Truman.
"Harry, I regret that you've forgotten what you once said—that this presidency was won through our joint effort. But fine. You're the one in the chair. Still, I must remind you: without your initiative, my bill can still pass both houses. Without me, however, you may not hold that chair much longer."
With that, Leo strode out with Daniel.
In the car, Daniel asked anxiously:"Boss, isn't it bad to break with the President like this?"
Leo chuckled."This? This isn't breaking. Our interests are bound too tightly. One argument won't sever it."
Daniel sighed with relief.
Leo added with a grin:"It'll take at least ten more fights like this before the split is final."
He glanced back at the White House and muttered:"So… every visit here will be one less from now on. No matter. Push the proposal through our channels. And wake those lustful devils back at the resort. Tell them—if they want to keep living in Eden, they'll have to earn it."
Daniel nodded."And you, Boss?"
"Me? I'm heading back to New York. To mind my business. And wait—wait for Truman to come to New York, hat in hand, to invite me back himself."