Mercenary’s War

Chapter 2196 - 2172: A Part

Mario sat on the sofa with an expressionless face.

Even though he was getting older, Mario was definitely considered an Italian handsome guy with impeccable attire at all times; however, at this moment, his expression was extremely serious.

Surrounding Mario were eight fully armed men, no longer in suits holding guns with a gangster style—that was too low-end. Now, those protecting Mario were wearing bulletproof vests and helmets, completely clad in black except for their eyes, making them look incredibly professional, with a special forces vibe, giving people a strong sense of security.

Only with people protecting him could Mario feel somewhat at ease.

Mario was waiting; he had risked returning home just to see who dared reach out to him, who dared confront him in a fight to the death.

Although a fight to the death was entirely forced, Mario always avoided this embarrassing issue, preferring to believe everything was still under his control.

Cesare sat opposite Mario, holding a glass of red wine, yet his wine, after taking a sip, remained in his hand, never touched again.

Mario glanced at his watch, stared at it for a good few dozen seconds, then lowered his hand and continued staring at the TV expressionlessly.

Suddenly, Cesare’s phone rang.

Cesare immediately put down his wine glass, connected the call instantly, then said in a deep voice, "Hello."

Cesare’s eyes suddenly widened as he exclaimed, "Really?"

Mario stared intently at Cesare, who turned slightly to avoid direct eye contact with his boss—impolite but unavoidable for him.

Finally, Cesare set down his phone and spoke in a very weak voice, "Sofia has been found."

"Really? Where is she?"

Mario finally seemed invigorated as he stood up, looking at Cesare still seated on the sofa.

Cesare stood up, unable to meet Mario’s gaze, and said softly, "At the gate of the TV station, someone left her there."

Seeing Cesare’s demeanor and hearing his tone, Mario’s expression instantly changed again; he leaned back slowly and then collapsed onto the sofa.

Cesare lowered his head in silent contemplation.

Mario also bowed his head, interlocked his fingers, clasped his hands tightly, blew air towards his palms, and murmured, "She’s dead."

Cesare nodded, whispering, "Yes."

Mario closed his eyes, speaking weakly, "Bring her home, bring Sofia back, let me see her."

Cesare hesitated; he struggled with what to say, how to tell Mario in the least upsetting manner about what had happened. But after pondering, he found not a single acceptable word.

After all, no matter how gently phrased, facts remain merciless.

Seeing Cesare’s continuous hesitation, Mario’s expression grew darker; he reached for Cesare’s sipped wine, downed it entirely, then said softly, "Tell me what happened."

Cesare squeezed his hand fiercely, whispered, "They returned Sofia’s, uh, part of her. Are you okay?"

Mario suddenly seemed to age twenty years.

Mario gazed at Cesare, shaking his head, murmuring, "How dare they, Cesare, how dare they do this?"

The same question had been asked every day by Mario during these days—if something major happened, like the death of an important Cicero Family member, he repeated the same question dozens, or even hundreds of times. Thus, Cesare no longer answered, knowing Mario only asked rhetorically.

This question lacks an answer; there’s only consequence. Only God knows why a small mercenary group would dare challenge the Cicero Family, and why Grand Ivan would go mad with revenge for a mercenary. Such questions have no answers, only the reality of results.

After another bout of dead silence, Cesare whispered, "Are you okay? I suggest you rest in bed for a while."

Mario pointed at the empty cup, whispered, "Pour me a drink, a strong one."

Cesare poured a glass of whiskey; Mario downed it in one gulp, then after a few violent coughs, gestured to refill the empty glass, murmured, "Do you think they’ll come?"

"Probably... not."

Mario let out a long breath, then said softly, "Cesare, how dare they do this? How dare they?"

The same question arose again.

After repeating it, Mario said gravely, "Bring Sofia home; no matter what, I want to see her, then prepare the funeral."

Cesare said with difficulty, "Sofia, her, a secret funeral?"

"No, not a secret funeral. Sofia liked lively occasions; no secret funeral; let her friends and relatives come and see her off. There won’t be another chance in the future."

Cesare struggled to loosen his collar and tie, making his breathing slightly easier, then said softly, "Not very appropriate, Sofia, Sofia only came back, part."

Struggling but finally saying part, Cesare downed a large gulp of whiskey himself—at least, he had spoken the truth.

Cesare felt relieved, yet Mario seemed petrified. After a long period, Mario lifted his glass and drank again, but this time he said nothing.

After prolonged silence, Cesare’s phone finally rang again.

Cesare was deeply grateful for the call, releasing him from the dead silence.

After answering the call, Cesare excitedly shouted, "Really? Not mistaken? Where!"

This surprise was joyful, thus considered pleasantly surprising. Cesare put down the phone, covering the receiver, urgently telling Mario, "Fatino’s phone has a signal! Tracked to a deserted factory on the outskirts of Rome."

Mario’s eyes regained their sparkle; he asked gravely, "Can you confirm the location this time? The exact place."

"Yes! The phone is off, but after the signal appeared, it never moved, so they should be there; based on previous analysis, Fatino’s phone was probably blocked in a car, only showing a signal briefly when the trunk was opened, letting us approximate the location but not pinpoint it. Later the signal was lost possibly because the phone was discarded, but now it seems it stayed with them."

Mario closed his eyes, pondering briefly, then reopened them, decisively saying, "It’s a trap. This is a trap."