Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 106 The Great Cleansing of Beitan

The junction of North Beach and Barbary Coast.

This is a blind spot forgotten by the city.

There were no opulent banks, no brothels with dazzling lights, only a few abandoned tanneries and warehouses.

Dense fog is the only inhabitant here.

A four-wheeled horse-drawn cart was quietly parked in the shadows of an alley.

Beside the carriage stood twelve masked men from the Chongzuo Gang.

The canvas of the carriage was lifted, revealing rows of cold weapons.

Winchester 1873, Colt Peacemaker, sharp Boyce knives, boxes of bullets... all of these were just taken from Ross Precision's inventory.

"Tick."

The leader of the assassins glanced at his pocket watch.

23: 58.

At that moment, the air in the open space in front of them began to subtly distort.

Seventy-six figures appeared out of thin air.

"Change clothes."

Seventy-six new warriors immediately rushed toward the carriage.

Three minutes later, the first batch of ruthless bandits were fully armed.

The leader of the assassins glanced at his pocket watch again.

00: 01.

"Shh!"

Seventy-six more figures appeared in the same spot.

This is the second day that Lawson has used his quota to refresh it.

For tonight's "Night of the Three Kings," he used two days' worth of refreshed quotas, and 152 absolutely loyal assassins appeared out of thin air in the heart of San Francisco within two minutes.

"Squad up."

The leader of the assassins began to issue orders.

"Group A, of Dutch descent, fifty people. Target: Dutchman Van Coe. Location: Barbery Coast, Siren's Song Opium Den."

"Group B, Irish, fifty people. Target: Finnegan Quinn O'Malley. Location: North Beach, basement of the Clover Bar."

"Group C, Latino, 52 people. Target: Luigi Sforza. Location: North Beach, Golden Palace."

The trusted assassins had already infiltrated the three establishments.

At this moment, they will act as inside agents, leading their companions to hunt down their former king.

"action!"

One hundred and fifty-two fully armed assassins instantly transformed into three black torrents, quickly disappearing into the depths of the fog-shrouded streets and alleys.

The horse-drawn carriage carrying the weapons turned around and creaked away from the scene.

……

The Golden Palace.

This name is truly fitting.

This is Luigi Sforza's most luxurious den of iniquity.

The entire three-story building was painted a dazzling gold on the outside, with windows inlaid with stained glass imported from Venice, and two black doormen dressed in comical Turkish guard costumes standing under the porch.

Even after midnight, the place remains brightly lit.

On the third floor, in the Sultan Suite, which is not open to the public, Luigi Sforza was in a state of extreme pleasure.

His well-defined Latin face was now glowing with a ruddy sheen from the alcohol.

His shirt collar was open, revealing thick chest hair and a gold chain as thick as a thumb.

Tonight, his European route delivered another batch of "new cargo".

Twelve girls.

There were blonde German girls, petite Polish girls, and even two dark-haired, fair-skinned Hungarian Gypsies.

"Fantastic! So beautiful!"

Luigi was very satisfied. This route was his lifeline, continuously supplying him with these high-quality, untouched "virgin territories."

It was these new finds that made his golden palace stand out among all the brothels in San Francisco, becoming a paradise frequented by bankers, legislators, and even judges.

Making a fortune every day.

He, Luigi Sforza, is the king of this Latin Quarter.

"Take the rest away."

Luigi took a big gulp of wine and waved his hand casually: "Same old routine, starve them for two days first, let them know whose territory this is. Those who don't obey, let the butcher teach them a lesson on how to serve people."

His gaze fell on the last two girls.

These two girls are clearly the best of the best in this shipment.

They looked to be only sixteen or seventeen years old; one was blonde and blue-eyed, like an angel from Raphael's paintings; the other had red hair and cute freckles on her skin.

The two were still wearing the coarse cloth dresses with mud spots from when they arrived in America, shivering and huddled together.

“You two,” Luigi said, feigning gentleness, “stay.”

"Yes, Mr. Sforza."

The subordinate bowed knowingly and led the other girls away.

Inside the suite, only Luigi and the two trembling beauties remained.

“Come here.” Luigi patted his velvet-covered sofa.

The two girls hesitated, too afraid to move.

“Come here, you little bitches,” Luigi’s patience was wearing thin, “don’t make me say it a third time!”

The girls trembled with fright and could only move forward in small steps.

"sit."

They sat on the edge of the sofa furthest from him, their bodies taut like strings about to snap.

"Drink up," Luigi said, pouring them two glasses of wine.

“No, sir, please!” the blonde girl mustered her courage and spoke in heavily accented German. Tears streamed down her dusty face like broken pearls. “Please let us go! We’re not those kinds of women. My father is a watchmaker in Hamburg, he’s rich! He’ll definitely repay you! Please!”

"Oh?" Luigi raised an eyebrow with amusement. "Repay me? How does he plan to repay me? With his clinking little parts?"

“Yes! Yes!” the redhead quickly chimed in. “My family has a farm in Ireland, and they’ll give you money, lots of money!”

“Money is indeed a good thing. But do you know what? You are the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth girls this month who told me ‘my dad is rich.’” His smile, in the eyes of the two girls, became more sinister than a devil.

"How do you think you got here?"

He bent down, brought his face close to the blonde girl's, and greedily inhaled the scent of her hair: "Your families sold you to the smugglers, understand? To get a few boat tickets, or, simply to find wives for their sons!"

"No...no, you're lying!"

"I lied?"

Luigi's expression suddenly turned cold.

"Snapped!"

He pulled out a thin leather whip from somewhere and lashed it hard across the blonde girl's shoulder.

"what!"

The girl screamed as her coarse cloth skirt was immediately torn open, revealing a bloody gash on her fair skin.

The second lash struck the red-haired girl's calf.

"Mama Mia!"

The red-haired girl curled up in pain, letting out a mournful cry like a small animal.

"Do you still think I'm lying?"

Luigi trembled with excitement. He loved the thrill of trampling and ruthlessly crushing nobility and purity underfoot.

“Listen up, you two pieces of trash from Europe.” He casually lifted the blonde girl’s chin with his whip, forcing her to look at him. “From the moment you set foot on this land, your lives have been mine. Your bodies and souls belong to me, Luigi Sforza. Your families? They’re probably thanking me right now for feeding you two good-for-nothing mouths!” “Please, let us go…”

Overwhelmed by extreme fear and pain, the two girls could only cry and beg for mercy.

"Enough!" Luigi snapped impatiently. "You cry so horribly. If you cry again, I'll cut your tongues out."

He casually tossed the whip on the ground, sat back down on the sofa, and picked up his wine glass.

"Now, come here and serve me drinks with your mouths."

The two girls exchanged a desperate look.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Luigi's voice turned cold. "I already said, if I weren't worried about you being disfigured and not fetching a good price, I would have plenty of ways to deal with you today."

Seeing that begging for mercy was futile, the two girls could only crawl over, trembling, like two docile dogs.

"Hahaha!"

Luigi Sforza laughed triumphantly.

The numbing effect of alcohol and the sense of power he felt made him feel like he was in heaven. He imagined himself as Caesar, the sole Latin king of this new continent. He even began to plan how he would take over the yellow-skinned women after that Jewish man, Soli Ross, and that barbarian Erwin helped him conquer Chinatown.

He drank more and more, and the scenery in front of him began to spin.

In his dazed state, he seemed to hear something being hit hard.

The next moment, the suite's door, which was said to be able to withstand bullets, collapsed with a crash.

"what!"

The two girls screamed.

Luigi Sforza opened his drunken eyes, thinking the girls were playing some kind of trick. But this time, the girls weren't looking at him; they were staring in horror at what was behind him.

Luigi Sforza turned his head with difficulty.

Amidst the billowing smoke and dust, two tall figures stood backlit.

Their faces bore the same Latin features as his, but their eyes held no trace of human emotion.

Like two killing machines.

"Who the hell are you?" Luigi Sforza shouted instinctively, reaching for the short-barreled shotgun under the sofa.

But he no longer had the chance.

"puff!"

One of the assassins, seeing him so drunk, didn't even bother to use his gun. Before Luigi Sforza could even grope for it, a large foot in a size 46 military boot came slamming into him.

Right in the middle of Luigi Sforza's chin.

"Crack!"

Luigi Sforza's enormous body flew off the sofa, crashing heavily into the expensive wine cabinet, and passed out on the spot without uttering a sound.

……

After half an hour.

The biting cold, accompanied by a splitting headache, forcibly pulled Luigi Sforza from his unconscious state.

It took him a full half minute to regain the ability to process sensory signals.

He was about to roar when a sharp pain shot through his chin.

Along with the stinging pain came an extremely strong feeling of heaviness.

He was then horrified to discover that his jawbone appeared to be broken.

He tried to reach out and touch it, but found that his hands were tied behind his back to the armrests of the wooden chair with water-soaked hemp rope. The rope was digging deep into his flesh, and his wrists were burning with pain.

"damn it!"

He opened his eyes, his blurry vision barely able to focus.

What he saw before him was nothing like his Sultan's suite, which was covered with Persian carpets and had velvet cushions everywhere.

But he also recognized that this was the basement of the Golden Palace.

A fucking dungeon! His own dungeon, no less.

This is where his most skilled butcher works, and it's where he trains up disobedient new recruits.

On the wall hung chains, whips, and branding irons that he had personally selected.

In the past, the smells here always excited him, giving him the thrill of having the power to control life and death. But now, everything here chills him to the bone, making him want to vomit.

The kerosene lamp flickered on the wall, casting several menacing, enormous black shadows.

"Awake? King of Latin?" A voice filled with mockery rang out from the shadows.

Luigi struggled to move his eyes, each movement causing excruciating pain in his jaw.

Several tall, muscular Latino men stood in front of him.

They were dressed in the most ordinary coarse cloth clothes, with the same Latin features as him; their high noses and dark skin should have made him feel at ease.

But those eyes...

Luigi's heart skipped a beat.

That wasn't the look he was used to seeing in the eyes of his compatriots; it was deathly silence, murderous intent.

Matteo, the leader of the assassins, was slowly wiping the still-dripping Boy's knife with a dirty cloth.

Luigi recognized the knife; it was the one he had hung on his office wall as a decoration.

Three more people were kneeling at Matteo's feet.

Upon seeing this, Luigi couldn't hold back any longer.

Chico, Pedro, Hector.

These three were his most trusted confidants, his damn right-hand men! He brought them out of the poor mountains of Mexico and gave them money, women, and status.

One of them managed his source of human traffickers from Europe, another managed the accounts of his brothels and casinos, and the third managed his most capable henchmen.

But now, these three men, whom he regarded as his right and left arms, were like three mangy dogs with broken spines, kneeling on the ground with bruises and swelling, trembling, and two of them had even wet themselves in fear.

"What the hell are you doing!" Luigi roared incoherently, his broken jaw turning every word he uttered into gushing blood.

Matteo ignored Luigi and stomped on Chico's head, grinding it down hard.

"I'll ask you one more time, friend. What's the name of the contact person for the European shipment? Which port do we meet at? When will the next ship arrive? What's the code?"

"I...I don't know, boss! I really...Ahhh!"

Chico howled as Matteo stomped his toes into his temple.

"You don't know? Then Pedro, do you know?"

"I only care about money, only about money!" Pedro was so frightened he almost fainted on the spot, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Please, I really don't know anything about the source of the goods!"

"very good."

Matteo nodded, then suddenly grabbed Chico's hair and lifted his head up.

"It seems you have some misunderstanding about me, or about your own life."

Matteo gestured with his chin towards the corner of the wall.

Luigi followed his gaze and nearly had his heart stop in fright.

There, piled up like garbage dumps, were at least seven or eight corpses.

They were all bodyguards he had hired at great expense, Cuban gunmen who were said to be able to dodge bullets.

They all died tragically, some with their throats slit and others with their chests caved in, clearly killed instantly in close combat.

“Chico, I’m giving you one last chance,” Matteo said coldly. “If you tell me what you know, you can still live, and your share will still be yours. But if you want to waste any more time, then go with them…”

He pointed to the corpse on the ground: "Let's go feed the sharks in Golden Gate Bay!"

Luigi Sforza was on the verge of despair.

Where did these lawless bastards come from?
Mexico? Or other cities in the Americas?
Quinn, that Irish drunkard, or Van Coe, that Dutch bastard, they couldn't do a job this efficiently.

This was a premeditated purge.

"No!"

Luigi roared with all his might, "Chico, Pedro, you dare! Don't fucking tell him! You traitors, I'll go back and kill your whole family..."

(End of this chapter)