Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1040, Section 1036: The Godfather of Brooklyn (Second Update)

Salomon still maintains a normal human physique, but his two-meter height combined with his conspicuous weaponry still exudes unparalleled oppressive power. Seeing this attire, Natasha Romanov knew today's conversation would be difficult; there would be no champagne, no beds, no pleasure. Standing before her was not Salomon, but the monarch of the Immortal City. His actions prevented the U.S. Navy's Office of Naval Operations from immediately noticing the loss of contact with three carrier strike groups. By the time others realized the chain of command had broken, the three most important nuclear-powered aircraft carriers had vanished, with wreckage of two of them only recently discovered. An investigation is underway, a fact kept strictly confidential, but the White House dares not inform the media, fearing a loss of public (capital) confidence in the nation. Latvian is one of the primary suspects, but similar actions have delayed the White House's signing of economic sanctions against Hungary.

Maria Hill's initial report indicated that many people had been shot through the body by large-caliber bullets. The military suspected that someone had stormed into the naval command post with a large-caliber machine gun never before seen on the market. Even so, they couldn't explain the penetrating and laceration wounds that cut through the bodies. Forensic and trace evidence investigators couldn't find a reasonable explanation for the bloodstains on the walls or the composition of the gunpowder residue left at the scene. However, even more deadly was the disappearance of a vice admiral. No one knew how much secret intelligence the person who captured the vice admiral had obtained. The entire Department of Defense was on edge, as if stunned by the attack. Apart from some particularly radical hawks, some politicians planned to persuade Congress to increase investment in the war on terror, provided a scapegoat was found. The military still hadn't figured out how the attack on the carrier battle group had been carried out, but Latvia was a prime suspect. Therefore, many people focused their attention on this small Balkan country, trying to find a pretext for war.

"You gave Russia the aircraft carrier of the 8th Strike Group? Do you want to start a thermonuclear war?"

"It's just a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. It's not particularly important to the Immortal City. Besides, my main goal isn't to let the White House drop nuclear bombs everywhere, but to instill fear in them. Even if they momentarily lose their minds and put their fingers on the button, I can stop them. Compared to that, your past is more important." Natasha Romanoff saw the mechanical eagle with a black wire attached to the back of its head turn to look at her, while its owner continued to gaze at the dazzling lights of Manhattan in the distance. That place and this neighborhood seemed like two different worlds. He had deliberately chosen this location for the conversation, perhaps because the following discussion wasn't exactly aboveboard, and could even be described as somewhat gloomy.

"The reason you've survived until now is because S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to shield you from pressure from the CIA and FBI back then. I think that's one of the reasons you were recruited in Budapest. Your choice was wise. In a country within a country, the cost of turning against S.H.I.E.L.D. far outweighs the value of Black Widow, so you survived, even if it meant picking up the dirty work you didn't want to do before." He ruthlessly reopened old wounds, exposing them to the air. "The previous Avengers could do it too, but now the Avengers are on the verge of destruction. Are you here to find a new place to belong?"

"You've studied me? I'm not surprised; it sounds like something you'd do." She felt Salomon staring at her through the ruby ​​eagle's eyes, yet even so, she unusually couldn't control her emotions, her tone laced with thorns. "Can't you look me in the eye when you talk? Or perhaps you don't actually want to see me, don't want to see someone who has betrayed their own country?"

"Natasha, don't say that. It will hurt me if you keep saying that. You haven't betrayed your country; it's Yeltsin and Gorbachev who betrayed you, betrayed our great ideals. If you're willing, no matter how tight their security is, I can take their heads for you." Salomon turned to look at her. As he moved, his huge, sharp claws suddenly closed in. "But that doesn't matter. I'm rebuilding it, and I'm going against the forces that dragged this world into the abyss—to put it another way, you might find it easier to accept. You just want a place to belong, a place filled with laughter and joy, free from oppression. You've visited the Immortal City; you know what I'm doing, and I extended an invitation to you many years ago. There, no one will know who you are, and you can stay far away from all that filth—all the world's vested interests want to kill me because I oppose every political system in the world. I will redistribute the world's resources with guns and swords, focusing them on investing in the future of humanity. I will promote scientific rationality and atheism, placing the future of human society on the stars and racial freedom. They will use every means to slander me, they will pin countless infamy on my head. So, would you still want to join me?"

"Who has joined you?"

"Wanda has joined, Pietro is still considering but will join soon, because Maximov is ultimately family; Steve Rogers and I have a slight disagreement, but he understands the cruelty of war; Tony Stark's attitude is unclear, but he is likely to stand by, because he accepted my mercy. My men will protect Stark Industries from emergency requisition by the White House and the military, that's the condition I'm offering him. Natasha, the world is about to burn, and no one can stand idly by."

The sudden knocking startled her.

Natasha had already scouted the apartment building before even reaching the top of the stairs. Only a few elderly people lived there; a nearby gang hideout had been destroyed by fire a few days earlier, and the survivors had scattered. A power vacuum had emerged in the neighborhood, yet the thugs dared not fire their guns in the streets as usual, clearly having been warned. Coupled with the extraordinary physical abilities of her interlocutor, the environment made Natasha Romanov somewhat relaxed. The wooden door to the balcony opened easily, and she instinctively raised her gun, aiming at the door, roughly at the level of a human head. Then she smelled a peculiar fragrance, and in the blink of an eye, a golden eagle took flight into the night sky. Salomon, beaming, walked towards the stairwell, speaking in a fluent, accented foreign language to two elderly voices.

The two voices showed no fear in the face of the terrifying yet exquisitely crafted metal claws.

Natasha saw Salomon reach behind the door, and the figure in the light moved like a folded piece of paper. She heard a respectful tone in his voice, followed by the indistinct babbling of a baby. After that, Salomon casually took the two plates, made a lighthearted joke, and closed the door, his face still smeared with baby drool. Only then did she realize the plates contained meatball spaghetti and sweet cream burritos. From the conversation, it was clear the residents knew Salomon quite well, and curiosity made her wonder what was going on. She holstered her pistol, took out a tissue, and wiped Salomon's face clean, subtly closing the distance. "You speak Italian?" she said. "It seems you didn't just pick this place randomly. Do you know everyone here?"

Salomon suddenly became talkative, and his expressions became more varied.

"I bought this building from the mafia. I also paid for the bakery owned by Bernardello's eldest son. I took his younger son from rehab, and I named the newborn baby. The Bernardello family are pure-blooded Sicilians. The second generation followed Al Capone's Italian Mafia during Prohibition. When they ran into trouble, they hired a lawyer, who then came to me for help. That's how we got to know each other."

He shook his head, a smug expression on his face. It seemed that the life of an ordinary family in Brooklyn, New York, was less important than his raids that destroyed three carrier strike groups, killed a (questionable) vice admiral, and traded nuclear-powered aircraft carriers with Russia. He never considered himself different from anyone else; this was his peculiar value system, and also what made him most fascinating.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)