Chapter 76

Tang Dao didn't hide his ambitions. The mercenary market was vast, with reports suggesting it could generate at least $100 billion annually, and this cake wasn't afraid of being shared because there were 233 countries and regions globally, all potential markets. As long as you were daring, the worst-case scenario was imprisonment.

Yingjiang had been in the business for over 400 years and had fought for more than 300. Wasn't it all about making money from wars? Some things were better left unsaid when they were so obvious. Many people made their livelihoods from this trade.

Cecilio's expression shifted slightly, his eyes shimmering with the prospect of wealth. "Can I choose to buy shares?" he asked.

Tang Dao smiled faintly and tapped his finger on the table. "Sir, let's talk about reality."

Shares? Perhaps in the future, capital could be involved, but did Cecilio have the necessary status?

"I think, Mr. Nicholas, you should reconsider," Cecilio pressed on.

Cecilio didn't give up easily. He had a keen eye for opportunities, viewing the Savior Company as a treasure yet to be fully explored. It possessed complete weaponry, control support, and strike capabilities that MPRI desired. With initial investment, the returns could potentially multiply.

However, Tang Dao continued to shake his head, which irked the Italian, and he almost pouted during their negotiations. He had learned to hide his joy but not his frustration, and this frustrated him even more. Such a person was of no use.

In the end, the two parties settled on a supply agreement with MPRI. MPRI would pay the Savior $150,000 per month, covering various supplies like vegetables and meat, which Tang Dao had to import from the West, a costly endeavor. The $150,000 had been negotiated as a fair price in U.S. dollars. However, there was no agreement on the price of weapons and ammunition; Cecilio simply stated that he would contact them when needed.

"When you do need them, I'll sell you a bullet for $10!" Tang Dao said with a smile on his face, but internally, he muttered to himself.

He personally escorted Cecilio out the door, but the Italian was still unwilling to give up. He adjusted his yarmulke and leaned on his crutches. "Mr. Nicholas, I think you should reconsider. We have prestige, and I hope we can join forces. Goodbye."

After a smile and nod to John and the others, he got into the car—an Audi, clearly a special one. The sound of closing the door, the unique materials used, and the softness of the engine caught Tang Dao's attention as they drove away.

"Boss, what did he mean just now? Are we going to merge with MPRI?" John asked softly.

"Merge?" Tang Dao raised an eyebrow. "He was sizing up our territory like a wolf."

But this wealthy wolf didn't seem to realize they were in Somalia, not Las Vegas. Here, missteps could lead to one's death.

John understood instantly. His face remained composed, and he even managed to light a cigarette. He trusted that the boss had a plan, and Cecilio wouldn't play himself into trouble.

Meanwhile, inside the Audi, Cecilio's face, once genteel, now appeared sour. His head drooped, and he sat back in his comfortable seat, playing with the diamond ring on his left thumb. He was a businessman, and businessmen were driven by greed, much like Edison. He might have been a great inventor, but where did his inventions come from? If he couldn't buy them, he would bankrupt the inventor and join his company. Such businessmen might appear insignificant, but that's how business worked.

In Cecilio's eyes, the Savior Company was a gift from the heavens, and he needed to find a way to acquire it.

"Bell," he suddenly called out to the driver.

"Sir?" Bell glanced at the rearview mirror, surprised. "What's wrong?"

Cecilio smiled again. "Nothing, I just think Somalia looks beautiful today."

Somalia beautiful? Bell peered out of the car window at the yellow sand, the sky obscured by a sandstorm, and the nearly parched and cracked land. This was... beautiful? He exchanged glances with another employee who also looked perplexed. The second employee furrowed his brows and shrugged, indicating his own confusion.

"I'll wait for two more days. There will be news in two days," Cecilio mused.

As soon as the sky began to dawn, Victor couldn't wait to get up, dressed in his winter gear. He put on his gloves and mask, then sneaked down the stairs. As he glanced back, he noticed that his parents' room was untouched. He took a deep breath and cautiously opened the door. The cold wind and heavy snowfall greeted him. Kyiv was blanketed in white, the streets and vehicles covered by the snowstorm.

Victor had barely hung up the phone after finalizing the agreement when his excitement overwhelmed him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bank card in his hand; he even kissed it affectionately. After jumping off the sofa, he spun around, but his joy quickly turned to shock.

Medevichuk, his father, stood there with a pipe in his mouth. He had his arms folded and a deep frown on his face. "Victor, what are you doing?"

"Father... Father," Victor stammered, his face draining of color. How long had his father been standing there, unnoticed?

"What are you doing?" Medevichuk repeated sternly, his gaze fixed on the bank card in Victor's hand. He snatched it away, his voice full of reproach. "What is this?"

"A bank card…"

"I know!"

Victor lowered his head, grumbling internally, "You already know, so why are you asking me?"

Medevichuk examined the back of the card, noting its origin: a German bank card. The current situation was tense, and items from capitalist countries were rarely seen in Ukraine. How had this card ended up here? He suddenly raised his eyes, fixing Victor with an intense gaze. "Explain yourself. What are you up to?"

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