Chapter 139 Shifting the Blame: Kicking the Ball Back
Russia's new-style mafia has been different from the rest of its history.
They possess weapons and equipment capable of annihilating the regular armies of small countries, and they have recruited top talents who can serve as mentors to the police and military.
This includes KGB agents, elite troops from the Ministry of the Interior, police officers, explosives experts, computer hackers, and athletes—all personnel with significant combat capabilities.
In addition, a large number of intellectuals, including professors and engineers, were also involved.
Oh, and there's also a bunch of chemists who help the mob manufacture drugs.
In short, they are different kinds of fireworks.
While newcomers elsewhere are still scheming to seize territory, develop prostitution, gambling, and drugs, and rise through the ranks like gangsters, the Russian mafia has already skipped levels and quickly moved on to the next stage, initiating a process of laundering their money and going straight to the big stage.
Their swift movements and decisive methods make it hard not to suspect that their initial goal was to cross the river on a single reed, and that their previous life as a pure gangster was just that reed that was trampled on.
Russia's sweeping privatization process provided them with the perfect opportunity for a complete transformation.
Their presence can be seen in almost every privatized industry that has commenced operations.
Once a new market is opened, they will immediately enter and dominate the entire market.
Undoubtedly, this infringes on the interests of others.
Although Russia has many industries, their market competitiveness is generally weak at present, and there are few projects that can guarantee a profit.
Ores, oil, rare metals... these are treasures that everyone wants.
With too many wolves and too little meat, the Mafia got there first, leaving everyone else seething with resentment.
Just to emphasize, this "others" does not include ordinary people.
In reality, privatization in any country is basically a game played by the powerful and their representatives.
They are not ordinary people, so of course they won't obediently submit.
As the Mafia rampaged through society, the newly rich banded together. The Doll Club was formed under these circumstances, each with their own hidden agendas.
Don't underestimate this absurd organization that looks like hippies flirting with society; its existence has provided a place for the nouveau riche to connect.
Here, they reached agreements and supported each other, successfully securing several projects.
Ovechkin suspected that this was precisely why the Mafia had resorted to such ruthless killings.
After all, everyone knows that paying protection money is the norm in this country.
Most people are willing to pay.
It's common knowledge that the Mafia is far more efficient than the police. At least they do things for money, unlike the latter, who simply accept payment.
Even if Cida Nko is not willing at the moment, everyone can sit down and talk.
Even if the Mafia wants to make an example of someone, it's not the monkey that's being warned about the protection money.
Ovechkin emphasized again: "My dear Ivanov, I think we should sit down and have a good talk."
Going to the sanatorium at this time would be far too late.
So he suggested going to a fancy restaurant in the city center.
Even in the capital city of Moscow, few people are willing to go out on a cold winter night amidst howling winds.
Most of the restaurants and shops on the main street were closed, with only nightclubs that partied until dawn and a handful of upscale restaurants still brightly lit.
When Wang Xiao got out of the car, he saw a number of imported luxury cars parked in front of the restaurant, including Mercedes-Benz, Peugeot, and BMW, all with their logos shining brightly.
Wandering beside the car are heavily made-up prostitutes.
The cold wind was howling, and even though they tried to wrap themselves tightly in their fur coats, they were still shivering from the cold.
Even worse, in order to attract customers, they wore stockings and high heels.
Wang Xiao even suspected that they might get frostbite.
Upon seeing the new car stop, some prostitutes excitedly tried to approach and solicit business.
But when they saw Wang Xiao, they curled their lip and turned their heads away in disdain.
A man in a black down jacket walked over, looked around, took out a small paper packet from his pocket, and tried to sell it to the prostitute.
Wang Xiao thought she would be shocked because she had witnessed a drug transaction firsthand.
But surprisingly, she didn't scream.
To be more specific, she merely glanced at it silently before looking away.
The patrolling police officers walked by without giving it a second glance.
It's as if the world should be this way.
Separated by a door, the luxuriously decorated upscale restaurant is another world entirely.
The place is luxuriously decorated, with huge crystal chandeliers glittering and a wave of warmth that makes you shiver.
A small band was playing light and melodious music on site, and everyone had a relaxed and contented expression on their face.
If it weren't for the burly thugs in black uniforms—whom they called "Bulls" in the gang—who were constantly pacing around the restaurant with handheld phones, it would be a different story.
It's practically synonymous with joy and peace.
It can absolutely be called a paradise on earth.
The waiter carefully carried the veal tenderloin and Moscow soup to the table, avoiding the burly man in black.
In a corner of the restaurant, a man was engrossed in eating his steak while listening to the complaints of a man in a suit across from him.
The man in the suit was robbed; someone took one million rubles from his safe.
The man, who had been engrossed in his meal, put down his knife and fork and looked up.
Then a bull that was patrolling immediately stepped outside and quickly came back in carrying a box.
As Wang Xiao was led by the waiter to sit down in an empty seat, she could just see the box being opened from her position.
There were stacks of banknotes inside, with the top layer probably being loose bills.
There are also two things that look like tree branches.
Because of the distance and the shadows cast by the light, Wang Xiao couldn't recognize what it was.
But Lyuba could read lips, and she quietly translated the words of the chief (the head of the gang): "The extra amount is interest."
What is interest? One thousand rubles plus two fingers.
At the current exchange rate, one million rubles is equal to two thousand US dollars.
It's like the thief paying the price of a finger for a thousand dollars.
It seems incredibly incredible.
But think about it, hiring someone to kill someone only costs two or three hundred dollars.
A thousand dollars for a finger seems like a lot of money.
Ivanov nearly slammed his fist on the table, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at Ovechkin sitting opposite him.
From the moment he entered and saw the bull, who was as strong as a bear, he knew something was wrong.
But since we've already come all this way, it would be strange to turn around and leave.
Seeing those two fingers, he finally lost his temper and demanded in a low voice, "What exactly do you want?"
Ovechkin made a gesture that resembled surrender to him: "Hey, my friend, you know, we can't escape it. All the high-end restaurants, all the slightly upscale nightclubs and restaurants in Moscow, are theirs. No one can escape it."
The chieftain seemed to have finished eating, and the owner went over to settle the bill himself.
No one knows what he said, but the chieftain's voice suddenly rose: "You won't accept rubles?"
The restaurant owner looked troubled: "Sir, we really have no choice. The ruble has fallen so drastically, and all our food and drinks are imported. Our suppliers are no longer accepting rubles; they only accept marks and dollars. We hope you can understand our predicament."
The chieftain's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were fixed on the restaurant owner. His tone was playful: "Not accepting rubles? Not even money?"
As he spoke, the man in the suit sitting opposite him had already pulled out five 10,000 ruble bills.
The devaluation of currency can be seen from the face value of the ruble; the Russian ruble has already been issued in denominations of 10,000.
When people go out to buy things or take a taxi, they pay with bundles of rubles.
"These?" The chieftain pointed to the large rubles and pressed the restaurant owner, "Aren't these money?"
The boss had no choice but to reiterate, "We have no other option. The suppliers don't accept it; they only want foreign currency."
"Ivanov—"
The chieftain suddenly brought up Ivanov, who was trying to remain invisible, and asked, "Do you also only accept foreign currency?"
Even being torn to pieces wouldn't be enough to ease Ivanov's hatred for Ovechkin.
But now, he had to force a smile and answer the Mafia's question: "Of course not, we accept rubles."
The chief immediately made a decision for the restaurant owner: "From now on, the restaurant will source its products from the farm. I think their wine is quite good."
The restaurant owner almost fainted on the spot.
The reason he emphasized not accepting rubles was that he wanted to use the opportunity of collecting foreign exchange to sweep these mafia members out of the country.
Which normal businessperson would want to see a chopped-off finger in their own restaurant?
He didn't want to get into any trouble, and even if the Mafia had money and wouldn't give him credit, he didn't want to earn that money.
He prefers to cater specifically to foreigners, as it saves him time and effort, and allows him to maintain the restaurant's ambiance and ensure a stable customer base.
Now that Ivanov has said this, he doesn't even know where to find a new excuse.
The chieftain smiled with satisfaction and began to speak at length: "That's more like it. What's wrong with our Russian products? Our flour is the most fragrant, our milk is the richest, our vegetables are the freshest, and our fruits are the sweetest. Even our beef is the best."
"That's hard to say. Customers have their own preferences. Some customers just like imported goods." Ivanov smiled and casually pointed out, "Just like how our Russian cars are not bad, but you, sir, prefer imported Mercedes-Benzes."
He pointed outside, his smile widening. "It's a really beautiful car."
The band in the restaurant had just stopped playing, and for a moment, the whole room was quiet except for the sound of cutlery scraping against plates.
Everyone was even holding their breath.
Only the restaurant owner had to bite the bullet and seize the opportunity to emphasize: "That's right, the customer is king. Our restaurant's biggest selling point is imported food."
Ivanov nodded to the chieftain and looked away.
In places where no one can see him, such as under the table, his legs tremble like a leaf.
Thank goodness, he was still able to turn his head to the side, as if gazing tenderly at Wang Xiao, even though his face was already stiff with nervousness.
Fortunately, the waiter arrived very quickly, carrying huge platters to serve them the food.
The dishes served included sashimi, sausages, ham, and red and black caviar.
The caviar was served on small bread rolls, so tiny they seemed unlike anything a Russian would make.
Next served was a soup called Hartso. Its main ingredient was tender lamb ribs, served with rice, potatoes, and carrots; it tasted quite delicious.
At least Wang Xiao didn't feel nauseous and drank a small bowl.
Their table was eerily silent, as if everyone was completely absorbed in the delicious food.
Ovechkin had wanted to have a good talk with Ivanov, but at this moment, he couldn't find a chance to speak at all.
When Wang Xiao put down the soup spoon, she was surprised to find a shadow looming over her.
The chieftain didn't leave the restaurant. Instead, he silently walked to their table and looked down at Ivanov: "Hey! Young man, I've always admired you. Although they all say you're a fool, I've always thought you're a smart man because you never meddle in other people's business."
He leaned forward, bracing himself on the table, his face almost touching Ivanov's, and emphasized in a regretful tone, "You're a rare and intelligent lad."
He was only half telling the truth.
To be fair, unless a serious conflict occurs, he has no intention of deliberately causing trouble for Ivanov.
It's really rare for someone born into a privileged class to look like this.
The chieftain visited a farm in the suburbs of Moscow and discovered that Ivanov, that conspicuous bag, was indeed farming.
He even set up a factory on the farm and found jobs for the farm's retired employees so they wouldn't have to come to the city to beg.
The chieftain found it rare to find such a fool; he was actually a Marxist.
Even his acquisition of oil and gas field exploration rights only serves to prove within Moscow circles that he was indeed incredibly foolish.
The truly shrewd people know that they directly acquire oil export rights or find ways to resell fuel oil. This risk-free, highly profitable business is what they love most.
Those who risk everything to exploit oil fields are truly pitiful fools.
Even the chieftain couldn't help but feel pity.
However, he has now infringed upon his own interests, and the chieftain certainly cannot turn a blind eye just because of that little bit of appreciation.
He stared intently at Ivanov and emphasized once again, "I believe you are a smart lad."
If you're not smart enough, then sorry, Moscow won't tolerate a fool.
The rumors about the Mafia that the 15-year-old girl heard were not accurate enough.
In fact, besides cemeteries, forests are also a common place for them to dispose of corpses.
There's no need to worry about the ground freezing in the cold weather, because they never dig pits; instead, they simply pour gasoline on the corpses and burn them to charcoal.
Yes, that's it. Dead people are no longer considered human.
Ivanov froze, but his mental fortitude, honed since childhood, allowed him to calmly look back at the other man, his voice unhurried: "My territory is off-limits to anyone who dares to act recklessly."
The chieftain sighed, "Victor is a very good guy; you two should be able to become friends."
Damn it, is it really that unlucky? Are you saying you should be friends with the dead, to make friends in the underworld?
Ivanov's gaze sharpened instantly: "He crossed the line? This is my territory, I call the shots."
The chieftain's tone grew increasingly regretful: "My dear Ivanov, it seems we're going to have to part on bad terms."
Ivanov relaxed slightly, tilted his head back, stared at the other man, and said, word by word, "I don't care about your affairs. On my territory, if anyone makes a rash move, I will retaliate in kind."
If this had been said before this evening, it would have been a laughing stock throughout Moscow's underworld.
The problem is, he actually did it.
Even though he knew perfectly well that the other person was Victor, he still ordered his men to kill him without hesitation.
They are not afraid of retaliation at all.
Actually, this is a huge misunderstanding.
When the banker was shot in the head, Wang Xiao was terrified, and Ivanov wasn't much better off.
The decision to draw his gun and return fire was entirely Sergei's own.
Ivanov simply thought he had done a great job and hadn't shifted the blame to his bodyguard.
Now, the business owner also emphasizes: "I don't want such regrets to happen again. However, since customers are spending money on my premises, I have to ensure their safety. Otherwise, who would dare to spend money?"
His tone became more relaxed, as if he were saying it casually, "If you can't follow my rules, then I'm sorry, I can only do things my way."
What rules?
The Mafia can kill Siddanko, and Victor can plan his own assassination at will, but they can't do it on Ivanov's turf.
Otherwise, Victor's fate is the answer.
The chieftain stared at Ivanov for a long time before suddenly shifting his gaze to Wang Xiao's face.
In an instant, the feeling of Cidaenko being blown in the head right in front of her returned.
Wang Xiao felt like she couldn't breathe, but she still forced herself to nod slightly at the other person, as if she were greeting them politely.
Ivanov reiterated with dissatisfaction, "This time he crossed the line, I'm just giving him a minor punishment as a warning."
The chieftain let out a snort that was difficult to decipher.
Whether it was because he had been posing on the table for too long and his old back couldn't take it anymore, or because he felt there was no need to press so closely, he finally straightened up and continued to stare at Ivanov with a gloomy expression.
After a long pause, he suddenly laughed, squinting as he asked, "So, madam, I wonder if your sanatorium would welcome us?"
He shifted his target to Wang Xiao, not out of respect for women or a belief in "ladies first," but out of deliberate provocation.
The intricate and complex relationship between the legitimate and criminal worlds in Russia, and the subtlety of its social dynamics, are beyond the comprehension of foreigners.
Even scholars who delve into the relationships involved, but are not Russian, find it difficult to grasp the ineffable and unpredictable nature of it all.
According to internal investigations within their gang, Wang Xiao is outwardly gentle but inwardly strong-willed, with a rather tough personality.
If she said something wrong, Ivanov could certainly salvage the situation.
However, this would mean that the two partners would not be telling the same story.
He said that Ivanov's complete denial of her words would inevitably affect her authority within the team.
Given her strong-willed nature, she would absolutely not allow this to happen.
In order to maintain her dignity, she had to stick to her previous statement.
Otherwise, her future words and decisions will be questioned by outsiders—do you keep your word?
From the moment he entered the restaurant, Wang Xiao tried to remain inconspicuous, because the Russian mafia was more hostile towards foreigners. Foreigners were seen as easy prey by them.
Now that the customer has come knocking, she has no choice but to answer: "I'm sorry, sir, we only serve members."
The chieftain then pressed on, "So, are we fortunate enough to become members?"
Ovechkin nearly jumped up, his eyes fixed on Ivanov.
As the latter opened his mouth, desperately trying to organize his thoughts, Wang Xiao already shook his head with a smile: "Sorry, this is not something the sanatorium can decide; it's a matter for the club itself."
She turned her head to indicate Ovechkin's direction, "Whether the club wants to recruit new players is up to the club's members to decide. Our sanatorium is only responsible for providing the venue and services."
That bastard brought them to this restaurant; it's obvious he was going to forcibly tie them up.
He wanted them to stand on his side and the side behind him.
But why did he and Ivanov get involved in this mess?
Once they step onto the field, they become easy targets.
The Mafia, having lost a key member, will undoubtedly be enraged and unleash a fierce retaliatory attack.
Yes, Ivanov does have a military background.
But which of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the KGB is a pushover? They have never been afraid of the military, let alone those protected by it.
Ovechkin wanted to shift the blame and draw attention to them; well, she would pass the buck back to them, and they should resolve their own conflict.
As expected, after giving Wang Xiao a deep look, the chieftain immediately turned his gaze to Ovechkin: "And you, my young sir, would you like to welcome us to join us?"
Ovechkin was truly going crazy; he dared not refuse on the spot, for fear of being assassinated.
But getting him to agree is out of the question.
Capitalists are the kind of creatures who, as long as the profit is large enough, will not hesitate to sell the rope that strangles them.
If you ask him to cede his interests, what's the essential difference between that and being assassinated?
Ovechkin could only give a vague answer: "This is not something I can decide; it requires discussion among the clubs."
But is the chieftain a simple character? He's the type to take whatever he can, and he won't let Ovechkin go: "So what's your opinion? Now I want to know your attitude."
The restaurant owner was on tenterhooks; he desperately wanted the Mafia to relocate their base elsewhere.
Ovechkin gritted his teeth but ultimately refused: "Sorry, I don't have any more nomination slots available."
He's insane to bring the Mafia in. That's like inviting wolves into the house; they'd be torn to shreds by now.
"Is that so?" the chieftain said in a somber voice. "That's such a pity."
With that, he didn't press the matter further, but instead turned and left.
The man in the suit gave Ovechkin a sympathetic look and then followed him out.
Ovechkin slumped into a chair, panting heavily.
When he came to his senses, he looked at Ivanov pitifully and eagerly, as if grasping at a straw: "My friend, you must save me. He will kill me, they will kill me."
Ivanov retorted, "Your noble soul will protect you."
Ovechkin panicked: "They'll turn the sanatorium into a new base, and I'm doing this to help you."
Ivanov remained calm and composed, adopting an indifferent attitude: "As long as they pay, it's fine. I don't only own one sanatorium."
As for the Mafia's abuse practices, they're all robots now. How can you expect them to receive any high treatment?
Moreover, Cidaenko was right about one thing: this chaotic country is itself a huge mafia organization.
Ovechkin had to plead with him: "My dear friend, you can't abandon me. You must help me, Ivanov, I swear, I will never forget your kindness."
Capitalist guarantees are always like throwing good money after bad—gone forever.
Ivanov knew himself and his colleagues too well; he didn't believe a single word they said.
However, he still demonstrated the responsibility of a shop owner: "I can only guarantee your safety in the sanatorium."
He shrugged. "I can't do anything about other places either."
Ovechkin gritted his teeth, prioritizing his own life: "Then I demand to be escorted to the sanatorium now."
Ivanov responded with a rather sharp retort: "Do you have enough money on you, my friend? I must remind you of something: our sanatorium does not accept credit."
"That's enough, that's enough," Ovechkin said, somewhat desperately, assuring them repeatedly, "I can definitely afford the bills."
His urgency is entirely understandable.
Because the car was driving to the suburbs in the middle of the night, flames could be seen burning in the forest through the car window.
At this hour, who would have nothing better to do than go into the forest and start a fire?
Ivanov remained silent.
After they had finally finished packing up and were preparing to go back to their rooms to sleep, he suddenly asked Wang Xiao, "Don't you think that investing in Russia was a mistake?"
Oh no, this is really terrible. From top to bottom, from the government to the people, everything is in complete chaos.
Now, their lives are in constant danger.
Wang Xiao was quite philosophical about it: "The son of Hong Kong's richest man was also kidnapped."
In this era, public security is generally not very good.
Besides, fortune favors the bold. You can't just want the pleasure of making a lot of money and completely cut off the risks involved.
There's no such thing as a free lunch.
Even at this moment, Wang Xiao still had the composure to analyze their next steps.
"We need more dormitory buildings."
She emphasized, "The worse the security situation in Moscow, the more vendors need stable accommodation and sales spaces."
The hotels that were originally frequented by Chinese businessmen could no longer be used for lodging, because theft was a minor issue; the most terrifying thing was robbery and murder.
Living in a unified dormitory building at least provides security personnel to ensure everyone's basic personal safety.
The series of murders will also cause those who previously harbored illusions to give up, which is a good opportunity for them to expand their market.
Ivanov was stunned and exclaimed, "Your Majesty, is this what we wanted to say?"
"Not just that."
Wang Xiao patted him on the shoulder and sincerely offered a suggestion, "Why don't we go out and lay low for a while?"
Although fortune favors the bold, and transmigrating into a book is a bizarre thing, she didn't want to die, whether in fantasy or reality.
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In the 1990s, the influence of the Russian mafia was astonishing.
The extent to which Russian criminals have infiltrated the Russian economy has reached a very dangerous level. In 2000, experts from the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs estimated that organized crime groups controlled 50% of Russia's non-state-owned enterprises and 60% of its state-owned enterprises. The most severely affected regions include: Krasnoyarsk Krai, Stavropol Krai, Novosibirsk Oblast, Ingushetia, Northwest Territory, Central Territory, Ural Territory, North Caucasus Territory, and Central Black Soil Region.
To put it simply, a significant portion of oligarchs have Mafia backgrounds. Furthermore, many government officials rose to power after being laundered by gangsters. Thank you to all the little angels who voted for me or watered my plants between 2024-02-03 23:50:09 and 2024-02-05 01:22:15!
Thank you to the little angels who watered the nutrient solution: 4116931823 bottles; Chuyao 20 bottles; Want Want Snow Biscuits 11 bottles; Affirmation and Water's Gaze 5 bottles;
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