Capítulo 1474: Chapter 695: He’s Just a Dog I Keep

The report was filled with phrases like “highly militarized,” “extreme violence,” and “serious threats to public safety,” and it especially emphasized that the new drug called “Extraterrestrial Object” was at the heart of all these bloody contests.

However, in the eyes of the headquarters, this report was not an isolated case.

On the same day, within the Italian police headquarters in Rome, officials from the Ministry of Internal Affairs and senior police officers were frowning over a consolidated report.

The report showed that in just the past month, the number of gang-related murders nationwide had surged by 300%!

It wasn’t just the Camorra in Naples, the Cosa Nostra in Sicily, or the Glory Society in Calabria; almost every traditional gang’s turf had erupted in similar, unprecedentedly fierce turf wars.

The motives all pointed to the same suffocatingly profitable new drug.

In a soundproof meeting room at headquarters overlooking panoramic views of Rome, the atmosphere had dropped to freezing point.

Finally, under the personal watch of the Minister of Internal Affairs, Police Director Luca Martino picked up an encrypted satellite phone.

Martino, nearing 60, had his graying hair meticulously combed and was known externally as a hero against crime.

Hmm…

Externally.

The call was connected to someone well-known to the police yet untouchable—one of the new rising stars of the Camorra, Vito Scappa!!

“Scappa.”

Martino barked urgently, “What are you doing in Naples, in Calabria, across the country? Turning the streets into battlefields? Grenade launchers, assault rifles; are you declaring war on the nation?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a slight sneer, as if mocking his alarming response.

Vito Scappa spoke, “Calm down, Director. The market needs vigor, we’re providing it. A little competition, eliminating those who can’t keep up with the era, it’s good for everyone, the order will soon be restored; a more efficient, stronger new order.”

“Order? Dozens of lives lost in a day! You call this a little competition?”

“Collateral damage, Director.”

“Enormous profits always come with enormous risks, and we bear the risks, create value, and eventually, all that value trickles down to benefit many, including you, Director.”

“Think about the latest equipment budget for your elite anti-gang unit, consider the lucrative pension you’ll receive after retirement, even the successful law firm your son has in Milan—where did all this ‘stability’ and ‘prosperity’ come from? Isn’t it all built upon our ‘hard work’?”

“So stop screaming about a few nameless casualties and get back to your office, enjoy the air conditioning, and keep your people in line. We’re making more luxury cars, prettier women, and lavish lives for you and your entire system, so damn it, start learning how to count.”

“Click.”

The phone was abruptly hung up.

Director Luca Martino stood there, clenching the receiver tightly in his hand, the veins on the back of his hand bulging, his complexion shifting from livid to a ghastly pale, his chest heaving intensely.

“Fuck you!”

…

Boss Vito Scappa casually tossed the satellite phone onto the silk-covered table. He took a deep drag on the thick Havana cigar in his hand, letting the rich smoke swirl in his mouth before exhaling slowly, surrounded by smoke.

Around the massive marble conference table sat a few of his core subordinates.

Scappa sneered, using the cigar to gesture at the phone’s direction: “That old dog Martino got so scared by the gunfire on the streets he pissed his pants and called to bark.”

The subordinates let out a low, agreeable chuckle.

Scappa sunk deeply into the soft Italian leather sofa, crossing his legs.

He nodded towards his subordinates, “From this month’s profits, set aside another fund, deliver it to our Director Martino and his friends in the Ministry of Internal Affairs.”

A subordinate named Alberto nodded immediately: “Understood, Boss. Still through the Swiss account?”

Scappa waved his hand, “This time, send it directly to his son’s law firm in Milan, under the guise of legal consulting fees, let him know we know where to put the money for his maximum comfort.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over every subordinate present, raising his voice slightly, “What are those bigwigs in Rome, those high officers in police headquarters?”

He answered his own question, “They’re my dogs, guard dogs that need regular feeding.”

“I’ve fed them, fed them till they’re fat, fed them till without me they can’t even afford a decent cigar. I hold the evidence of their embezzlement, bribery, whoring, money laundering, every fucking thing, enough to make every one of them rot in jail, or drop dead in the streets!”

“Director?”

Vito Scappa waved his hand, pointing at his crawling teddy bear on the ground, laughing, “He’s even named Vic.”

A bunch of subordinates laughed in agreement.

Yet while some follow the tide, others resist the darkness.

After weeks of difficult tracking, Naples’ anti-gang department’s chief Mario Esposito had locked onto a dilapidated church at the edge of the old town.

Intelligence suggested it was a significant distribution hub.

Esposito, taking four elite subordinates, decided on a surprise inspection without requesting large-scale support to avoid alerting the target.