American comic book: Transmigrated into Dior and adopted by the Wayne family

"What exactly do you want, Mr. Brando?"

Penguin sat in the main seat, and Lob sat in the second seat. The two of them looked at Dio together.

Neither of them offered Dio a seat, clearly intending to give him a hard time.

"I just want some respect."

Dior didn't care about this trivial matter; he was more concerned about something else.

"penguin."

He deliberately emphasized the word "penguin".

He knew that the Penguin himself didn't like this nickname that struck fear into the hearts of Gotham's underworld.

Sure enough, a hint of disgust flashed in the penguin's eyes, but it was quickly concealed.

His sinister smile returned, but his eyes no longer looked normal.

The atmosphere began to become tense.

"Good boy, I have to admire your courage... Well then..."

"snort!"

Lob snorted coldly, interrupting him directly.

"Respect? Isn't the fact that you're sitting down and talking to us enough of a show of respect?"

"What are you without the Wayne family? Let me tell you, you're just—"

"Tsk...tsk...tsk."

Dio interrupted Lob, then took a stack of photos out of his pocket and gently placed them in front of him.

He looked at Lob and smiled mockingly:

"Let's take a look at this first."

The photo shows an inconspicuous little house.

Two elderly people sat on the porch, while a disheveled young girl squatted in the yard feeding the chickens. The scene was heartwarming, like the daily life of an ordinary family.

Lob's pupils contracted sharply after he saw the photo.

The girl was his daughter, who suffered from mental illness.

He paid those two elderly people to look after her.

He thought he had hidden it well, and that no one knew about this place for so many years.

But today, this blond boy found it.

Lob's expression shifted several times, but he didn't say a word.

Dio understood as he observed Lob's reaction.

The Gotham City Police Chief is going to lock up his own daughter.

This means that she knows enough to ruin his career, or even his entire life.

This is the police chief's real weakness.

"How...how could you possibly know about this place!"

Lob's voice was almost squeezed out through clenched teeth.

The penguin glanced at Lob unexpectedly, his expression immediately turning amused.

What kind of photo could make someone like Lob make that expression?

The penguin rolled its eyes, just about to move closer.

Kolob had already neatly and efficiently put the photos into his pocket.

He forced a smile, and his attitude improved considerably.

"Dio, what exactly do you want to do?"

"I've already said I want some respect."

Dior wore a perfect fake smile, but his attitude was anything but friendly.

Upon hearing this, both Lob and the Penguin's expressions darkened.

respect?

In Gotham, this word is harder to obtain than trust.

The Penguin outmaneuvered Maroni's second-in-command, and then Falcone's second-in-command, to get to where he is today.

Lob was once a passionate young man, but circumstances changed everything.

In order to gain respect, he made the already corrupt police system even more corrupt, yet more orderly.

But today, a little kid just spouts nonsense and says he's here to ask for some respect?

"Kid, respect is never something you earn."

Butch, the penguin's henchman, who was as muscular as a bear, spoke with a face full of resentment.

"You first..."

"Shut up, Butch."

The penguin man, exasperated, stopped him and pointed to the chair beside him.

"Mr. Brando, please have a seat."

Butch wanted to say something, but he instinctively closed his mouth and even pulled out a chair for Dio.

Has he been brainwashed?

Dior raised an eyebrow, but instead of sitting down, he walked up to Butch and looked him up and down as if he were a piece of merchandise.

Butch took a step back, feeling stared at: "What!"

"That's interesting, Mr. Penguin."

Dio withdrew his gaze and asked thoughtfully,

"May I ask whose work this is?"

"Sir, I—"

Butch was about to speak when the Penguin gave him a look that shut him up.

The penguin turned around and smiled again:

"It's Victor."

During the brief conversation, his intuition, which had fought his way up from the bottom, already showed a bad reaction.

The blond-haired boy in front of me is definitely not that simple, and given his identity, it wouldn't hurt to be on his side.

Besides, if the other side could easily find something on Lob, there's no reason they couldn't find him.

For those who have no worries about such dangers, the wisest course of action is to avoid offending them.

Upon hearing this, Dior was not surprised at all, and immediately turned his gaze back to the Penguin.

"Victor? That henchman of the Falcone family?"

The penguin smiled and nodded, then picked up his glass of wine and took a sip.

"Would you like me to introduce it to you?"

"No need, I have something better."

Upon hearing this, the claws behind him puffed out their chests, looking like they were second to none.

As for the best in the world, that would of course be the wise and mighty Lord Dio!

"Luo is the chief."

Dio turned around and looked at Lob, his fake smile fading slightly.

"I have a little brother in Blackgate Prison. His name is Peter Parker. Sixteen years old, a thief."

"I'm not asking you to release him, I just hope you can ask the prison guards inside to take care of him. I don't want him to die in there, it's that simple."

Lob frowned, seemingly weighing the pros and cons.

"this one?"

"That's it."

Dior shrugged, but his words carried a strong threat:

"It's very simple, isn't it?"

Lob was silent for a few seconds, then finally nodded.

"I'll get Deputy Warden Carlson Gray to help."

"Thank you, Director Luo."

Dior bowed slightly, his movements elegant.

"You are such a reasonable person."

Excuse me.

Lob snorted, stood up, nodded to the penguin, and quickly left the room.

Dio watched Lob's hasty retreating figure, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The owl's pieces were easier to control than he had imagined.

At this moment, only Dio, Claw, Penguin, and Butch, who was standing in the corner, remained in the room.

"Buch, you go out too." The penguin waved his hand.

"Azrael, you too."

Neither Butch nor Claw spoke; they turned and walked out, closing the door behind them.

The Penguin leaned back in his chair, his eyes sweeping over Dior with approval:

"Mr. Brando, you are smarter than I thought. You shut Lob up with just one photo. That's impressive."

"Just lucky," Dior said casually. "I happened to get the shot."

"There is no perfect time in Gotham."

The penguin shook his head, stood up from his chair, and walked to the display case on the wall.

The cabinet displays various antiques—pocket watches, pipes, medals, and a knife.

He opened the cabinet door, took out the knife, and weighed it in his hand.

Dior's brow twitched slightly, and with a quick glance, he memorized all the details.

It was an antique short knife.

It's not much different from other antique knives; it's probably a product from several centuries ago.

But the hilt of the knife is engraved with a badge, the Latin inscription of the Wayne family.

Dior frowned.

"Mr. Brando, I heard you've had some friction with Gallagher lately?"

"I hit his sister and sent her to the hospital."

"That's great."

The penguin laughed, placed the knife on the table, and pushed it over.

"This was entrusted to me by Gellervin to retrieve; it's a Wayne family item, and now it's yours."

Dio didn't reach out. "Why?"

"Because—" the penguin paused, "I hate him, I hate him more than you do."