022 | Chapter Twenty-Two - Misfortunes Never Come Alone

—How much longer can I hold on?

Now that things have come to this, there's nothing left to regret.

Since that day, Diaz has never shown any weakness again, and even Said felt a sense of unfamiliarity towards him. Faced with those hidden dangers that had been difficult to deal with for so long, he did not hesitate and led his men through the night to eradicate them completely.

He had no objection to the territories and profits that he couldn't negotiate with; if he could give them away, he would, and if he couldn't, he would simply take them.

The stabbing pain in his abdomen became more and more pronounced, and the dizziness became more frequent, but he could only swallow the medicine that Saine had given him to temporarily numb the damn discomfort.

"Boss, shouldn't you take a rest?" his subordinate said with concern, supporting the pale-faced Diaz.

"Rest? I don't have that much time." He brushed aside his subordinate's support, lit a cigar, and took a deep drag—

But that sip tasted like the most bitter liquor, causing his stomach to churn violently. The next second, he was leaning against the wall and vomiting wildly!

He pushed the wall with a muffled thud, vomiting splattered on the gray brick floor, and the air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood. He simply wiped the remaining liquid from the corner of his mouth, straightened his body, and stood up as if nothing had happened.

"Damn it...where did this piece of junk come from!" He threw the cigar in his hand to the ground, stomped on it, and roared angrily.

Diaz became increasingly irritable and refused to take his medication. He abandoned his normal eating and resting habits and focused solely on completing the unfinished tasks in a short period of time, using the most cruel and violent means possible.

Throughout the entire East Coast, extending outwards to Nanhai, Zhongjie, and Beicheng, rumors circulated that "the Godfather has been brought back to life," regaining his former ruthless and unscrupulous ways. However, no one knew that it was merely the beast's final struggle before his death.

However, after that day, Xiaoyue's condition began to improve.

He would eat obediently and was no longer lifeless like a living dead person. He could bathe by himself and would occasionally press the call bell to call him over—but Diaz was busy preparing for his funeral and was almost never home.

He sat in his Rolls-Royce, visiting school after school, then arrived at his office with a large sum of cash, leading a group of men in black, and bluntly asked, "I want your best teachers to educate my children."

"Keep going until my kids graduate, three times the price is fine too, name your price."

His subordinates placed a large bag of cash on the desk. Diaz glanced impatiently at the women in front of him, his disgust written all over his face, not wanting to take a single step closer.

He felt like an hourglass, with the sand inside slowly slipping away. His body kept screaming for rest, but even with Xiaoyue by his side, he couldn't sleep through the night.

He always closed his eyes peacefully, only to wake up in terror.

...because he was afraid that if he fell asleep, he would never wake up again.

"I still have things to finish... No, I have to finish them." He staggered to his feet, as if afraid of waking Xiaoyue beside him, and walked toward the door with heavy breathing and blurry vision.

His body clearly couldn't keep up with his thoughts; even though he used his willpower to step into the corridor, he immediately knelt down again the next second.

No matter how many times I shook my head, my vision was not as clear as it was normally, and I felt a sharp, throbbing pain in my temples.

"Damn it...useless thing, get up." He growled weakly, leaning against the wall to stand up and swaying as he moved toward the elevator.

Only when he returned to his study could he feel a sense of relief.

Whether he was vomiting into a trash can or collapsing onto the sofa and falling asleep, only in this place could he feel at ease. On the one hand, it allowed him to confirm just how "prepared" he was.

For a long time, Diaz was rarely home. He would rush through the bedroom and Mark's room like a whirlwind, and then be at the company dealing with business.

Xiaoyue thought that Diaz's words "I don't love you anymore" caused her to no longer cherish "home," so she poured all her energy into her work, and her mental state always fluctuated between recovery and deterioration.

But there's a saying that goes something like this—

Good fortune never comes in pairs, but misfortunes never come singly.

That day, Diaz was preparing to take over a newly emerging force on the East Coast. The leader there always avoided meeting people and had no name, like a ghost. However, he did the dirtiest and most despicable things—using drugs to control underage and homeless girls, forcing them into prostitution, and then selling them to the North City as slaves after seducing them.

Although he made money from all sorts of things, there was one thing he repeatedly warned Kane not to touch.

Diaz himself now needs to negotiate with the other side's leader to see whether to bring them under his wing or wipe them out.

He's a decisive person, and if someone like him exists on the East Coast, failing to handle the situation properly will only endanger Xiaoyue and the children.

"Paul, have you made arrangements with them?" He swallowed a painkiller, his eyes sharp as he looked ahead, his tone low and cold. "That bastard... playing this kind of trash game on my turf."

"I want to see what the other side's leader is capable of."

Diaz strode through the headquarters corridor, followed by Paul, one of his trusted confidants who had followed him for many years, and several other reliable subordinates. Just then, a familiar figure appeared ahead—

"Boss, about the routine checkup..." Sai squeezed through the crowd, his face pale, and hurried beside him, his tone urgent, "There's something here for you to look at."

Diaz merely glanced at it, impatiently waved his hand away, and said in a low voice, "Get out of the way! What's there to see? Get lost."

And so, Sain was forced out of the crowd. The tablet in his hand flickered on and off. He looked at the data in his hand, his face turning extremely grim, muttering to himself, "Should I show it to Madam...?"

But the eldest brother had given strict orders not to let the lady know a single word. Sain paced back and forth in a dilemma, sighing and uttering hesitant murmurs.

Finally, he had no choice but to take the tablet back to the clinic downstairs and then convert the report in his hand into an electronic document and encrypt it into Diaz's private email account.

Meanwhile, Diaz led a large group of men to the human trafficking gang. His subordinate, sitting in the passenger seat, looked at his phone and read, "Rumor has it their boss is called 'Olima,' an impulsive young man who'll do anything for money."

Upon hearing this, Diaz chuckled silently.

"Utmost means? Very well, I'll see who's more 'unscrupulous' between this piece of trash and me." He looked out the window, his face reflected in the dark glass, looking extremely tired and haggard, as if he might faint at any moment.

At this moment, his world was already a whirlpool of turbidity.

The only thing that sustained him was that unforgettable blue eye, and the person who would always whisper "husband" in his sleep at night...

"It's almost finished... Soon, you and the children will have a safe and stable future." He murmured, his eyes lowered as he looked out the window, his brown eyes devoid of any light.

About thirty minutes later, Diaz led a large force to the enemy's headquarters, a place that was even closer to a slum. He couldn't help but sigh—

This place is very similar to where he grew up, giving him a feeling of extreme disgust yet familiarity. The past flashes through his mind like a slideshow, making that dizzying feeling even more rampant.

The alley was dimly lit, and the other party's men stood one by one against the wall, trying to imitate the upper class dressed in gold and silver, but they couldn't pull it off at all. Instead, they exuded a vulgarity that even gold couldn't save.

Diaz, hands in his pockets, led the way into the alley. His men pressed his followers against the wall one by one, the low curses clearly audible as they said, "Don't you know how to give way to the Godfather of the East Coast? Have you no manners?!"

Once they reached the negotiating table, Diaz, without uttering a word, tilted his head back slightly and looked disdainfully at the other side's group of underlings under a swaying, dim chandelier.

"Call your boss out here, or I'll wipe out your whole den of rats today."

The moment the words left his mouth, a deep yet cheerful voice rang out from behind the group of henchmen: "Oh my! Isn't this the famous 'Godfather of the East Coast'? It's an honor to have you grace us with your presence!"

...This voice...it sounds so damn familiar, but I just can't remember it.

Diaz frowned, his fingertips tapping silently on the table. His eyes were fixed on the man in front of him, trying to see through the disguise. But a wave of nausea surged up in his stomach, and he could only force himself to suppress the damn dizziness and lower his eyes, his face pale.

Now that we're at the negotiating table, he absolutely cannot afford to reveal the slightest flaw!

The owner of the voice slowly emerged from the crowd, wearing a Halloween mask that covered most of his head, while his body was dressed in a regular suit, making him appear to be a sturdy and tall young man.

However, the bizarre scene before them clearly put Diaz and his men on high alert.

Until "Olima" sat opposite Diaz, the mask that obscured his expression remained on, and Diaz's face grew increasingly grim. His fingers, hidden under the table, tightened silently, and even as his nails dug into his palms, he could not stop his condition from worsening.

...Damn it, not now.

Diaz's vision became increasingly blurry, as if he were being sucked into a black hole and his breathing and heartbeat gradually slowed down, as if everything was in slow motion, and he gradually lost control of his movements.

The next second—

"Bang."

Diaz crashed into the table without warning and lost consciousness.

"Boss—!"

Diaz's men formed a human wall, dragging Diaz backward and surrounding him in the center, patting his shoulders anxiously and calling out to him incessantly.

"Sion! Inform Sion immediately!"

However, Olima merely raised his hand, signaling his men not to act rashly, while a deep smile already curved at the corner of his mouth beneath the mask.