"Who are they?"
Broli asked, watching the plane fly away.
"A group that caters specifically to assassins. They're from the Continental Hotel."
Alejandro replied.
"The Continental Hotel?"
This immediately piqued Broli's interest.
"The Continental Hotel is an organization established by people in the underworld to regulate the rules of the underworld. They provide assassins with various services, including firearms, equipment, target intelligence, lodging, and rest. Everything is provided. And no one is allowed to kill anyone in the Continental Hotel."
Yearning for revenge, he became an assassin and spent some time in the Continental Hotel. He met CIA agent Matt during an operation and became his informant before partially breaking away from the Continental Hotel.
(The Continental Hotel, from the John Wick film series, a hotel for assassins. Wonder if you guessed it from the old man collecting the corpses in the previous chapter?)
"Get me one of those after we're done with the Reyes Group."
Broli said, getting into the van. He was a little disappointed that he hadn't received any resurrection points after destroying the Reyes Group's drug factory.
Alejandro shrugged and started the van.
The dilapidated van bumped along the dirt road, quickly leaving the repair shop behind.
"Who is it! Are they from the Mata Group?"
Filiberto Reyes, with a stubble beard and somewhat tanned skin, had a large skull, like a Mighty Lion. He was clearly enraged, his eyebrows and hair trembling, his face flushed with blood. The dangerous aura he exuded silenced everyone in the room.
Everyone knew what the consequences were of offending Filiberto.
After suffering the most excruciating torture, having the corpse hung on a lamppost was just the Reyes Group's most ordinary practice. He had once chopped up people into pieces and sent them to his enemies in a refrigerator.
"We are still confirming. Almost no one saw them take action; they perfectly avoided all the cameras."
Bolton's expression wasn't good. He controlled the Reyes Group's armed forces, using cruel methods to strike at the Reyes Group's enemies and internal traitors.
"But they still left clues. This is what our friends in the police station sent us."
Diaz's armored car was more robust than Alejandro had anticipated. The engine compartment was still not completely destroyed, despite the damage from the grenade.
The informant in the police station sent a photo. A piece of the hood was sealed in a bag. Although there were traces of burning and severe deformation, a footprint from a heel could still be clearly seen.
"Mutants?"
Filiberto's expression immediately became serious.
"Are they from the Mutant Brotherhood?"
If there was an enemy the Reyes Group feared the most, it was definitely not the CIA, the FBI, or other powerful American departments, but the Mutant Brotherhood, a completely lawless terrorist organization. They had many connections with mutant factories, buying over a dozen brainwashed mutants from there as assassins.
"It shouldn't be them. If it really was the Mutant Brotherhood, then we should have already been turned into pin cushions by steel bars."
Bolton made a joke that wasn't funny at all.
"It should be the Mata Group. They hired a mutant assassin and thought they could deal with us."
Because of the bad relationship between the US government and mutants, neither the CIA nor the FBI had any mutant members. So they didn't suspect them.
"Then what are we waiting for? Immediately find a group of people to retaliate! I want Barlo Mata to feel the pain!"
Filiberto roared like an angry Mighty Lion. As a drug trafficking group, what they feared most was being perceived as weak. Competitors and collaborators would be like hyenas smelling blood, tearing apart and devouring the Reyes Group.
He drank a glass of water and caught his breath.
"Also, arrange for Antonio to follow my daughter. Those beasts from the Mata Group are capable of anything."
Naucalpan Carnival Hotel, twenty-seventh floor.
Alejandro was observing the school across the street with a large monocular telescope. He tapped the telescope and said:
"Swarovski. The aristocracy of telescopes. The CIA only uses the best."
The expensive telescope produced a clear and sharp image, allowing them to see the nose hairs in the gatekeeper's nostrils.
"We have two plans now. One is to rush into the school across the street and bring her over. It's relatively simple, and there won't be too many surprises; the other is to intercept her halfway, which will cause more chaos, but it's also more like what drug trafficking groups do."
Broli was dealing with a large pile of burritos, without looking up, he asked:
"Which way will kill more people?"
Alejandro shrugged.
"Of course, the second one. Filiberto Reyes has arranged a lot of bodyguards for his daughter."
Broli picked up a large bottle of beer and downed it in one gulp:
"Then let's wait here until they get out of school. Also, get me thirty more empanadas."
Saint Ignatius Girls' School was established during the Spanish rule of Mexico, and it was a model of girls' schools in the 18th century. Evolving to the present day, it is still one of the best schools in Mexico, and most of the students are the daughters of senior officials, foreign officials stationed in Mexico, and business tycoons.
Before the 1990s, the daughters of drug traffickers were not allowed to study in this historic school.
Isabella Reyes's school life was not pleasant. Her classmates were somewhat excluding her, and the daughters of American diplomats humiliated her in person several times.
When school was over, almost all the luxury cars in Mexico appeared at the school gate, and five identical Chevrolet Suburbans were particularly eye-catching.
Several bodyguards in black escorted Isabella into the middle Suburban.
Isabella absentmindedly tapped on the tablet on the seat.
"Why are there so many people today?"
She said, looking with a somewhat frightened gaze at the person sitting next to her. He was a stoic, muscular man, his eyes seemed to be covered with a layer of gray film, without a trace of expression, his rock-hard muscles stretched his suit taut, almost tearing it.
Isabella had seen how they killed people, cruel, efficient, without the slightest hesitation. They looked like people, but they were actually just killing weapons that had been crafted.
"Recently, someone has been causing trouble for the group, and the boss is worried that they will target the young lady."
The bodyguard in the passenger seat said.
Isabella lay back on the seat, expressionless, and continued to play with her tablet. Suddenly, the cartoon on the tablet was interrupted.
"Motherfucker, no network!"
The bodyguard in the passenger seat immediately became alert and picked up the walkie-talkie to contact the other bodyguards. He didn't simply regard the network interruption as a poor signal.
"Check the signal! Check for any unusual movements around! Someone may be about to take action against us."
The bodyguards in the other vehicles found that the signal of the entire convoy was cut off after a while.
"Quick! Speed up!"
The bodyguard felt his heart suddenly contract, as if gripped by an invisible hand. He took out a dagger, cut open the seat, took out the rifle inside, loaded the magazine, and turned off the safety.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
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End of Translation
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