Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Church Without Missionaries (5)
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The man in his forties lazily set down his wine glass on the table and spoke up.
His eyes glinted with irritation, as if something had thoroughly soured his mood.
"Still, whatever's stirring things up around here is really getting under my skin."
His name was Salvatore Moretti, the so-called "Godfather" Moretti who controlled the northern outskirts of Omega Detroit.
He glanced back and forth at the two other bosses seated across from him.
"You two interested in this mess?"
A seductive woman with an alluring air shook her head languidly, propping her chin on her finger.
"Appreciate the offer, Chairman, but was it 13th Street? The eastern outskirts, right? That's way too far from our turf. As you know, my business is mostly concentrated on the west side."
She was the owner of "Paradise," a secretive social club that dominated the western outskirts of Omega Detroit.
In the underworld, she was known as Madam Isadora.
The Asian man dressed in a modernized red cheongsam also replied in a calm but firm tone.
"The harbor's backed up with too many shipments that need handling. Customs inspections have gotten a lot stricter lately. Sorry, but I don't have the bandwidth for anything else."
He was Chen Wei, the leader of the Black Tiger Gang, which controlled the southern outskirts and the harbor district.
The two bosses, excluding Moretti, showed clear disinterest in the commotion on the eastern outskirts.
And they had good reason. The eastern outskirts Moretti mentioned were the sparsest of the three territories, with the fewest residents and the harshest conditions.
On top of that, it was overrun with petty local gangs, making it a headache. Too valuable to abandon, but not worth the effort to manage directly—truly a chicken rib of a district.
That's why all three organizations had tacitly left it as a neutral zone, ignoring it entirely.
Truth be told, once you reached the level of a mafia heavyweight rather than street-gang trash, the sheer size of your territory didn't matter much.
What counted was how tightly you gripped the prime money-makers.
In that sense, the three organizations represented here each had their distinct specialties.
Madam Isadora ruled the pleasure districts with her massive entertainment empire.
She oversaw every shady, decadent outfit that couldn't operate openly in the city center. Rumors had it even the mega-corp heirs snuck into her "Paradise" now and then to indulge their deepest human desires. It was a city that never slept.
Chen Wei's Black Tiger Gang specialized in smuggling.
Anything with demand—weapons, bootleg drugs, banned tech and cyberware parts, even people—they smuggled in and out of the city without discrimination. Their operation rivaled any legit trading company.
And then there was Godfather Moretti's Salvatore Family.
On the surface, they ran casinos and gambling joints backed by loan-sharking. But behind the scenes, no crime was off-limits: kidnappings, human trafficking, contract killings—they did it all with ruthless efficiency.
With such distinct mainstays, the three had maintained a strange symbiotic balance for decades, reigning as the shadow rulers of Omega Detroit's outskirts.
Moretti nodded, seemingly satisfied with their responses.
"So, if I clean up this eastern outskirts issue, I take full control of the district?"
"Do whatever you want."
"Go ahead, Chairman."
Isadora and Chen Wei agreed without objection. A faint smile tugged at Moretti's lips.
"Since we're on the topic, might as well handle it now. I'm heading out first."
With no further delay, Godfather Moretti rose from his seat, leaving the other two behind.
The moment he exited the banquet hall, Madam Isadora's face twisted in open disgust as she muttered.
"Just like that pervert to act this way."
Chen Wei, who had been silently sipping his tea, glanced at her impassively.
Isadora shrugged nonchalantly.
"That 'Saintess' girl. Caught a glimpse of her in a video—stunningly pretty. Probably his dick twitching. Guy's as filthy as his business."
Chen Wei asked in a low voice.
"The Madam's saying this?"
"What!"
Isadora bristled and shot back.
"There are girls with nowhere to go flooding the streets. Selling themselves for pennies, catching STDs, dying miserable deaths everywhere. If they're doomed anyway, isn't it more humane for me to take them in and manage them?"
A heavy silence fell. Chen Wei said nothing more and stood.
"Anyway, harbor business calls. I'll take my leave."
With that, he departed, leaving Madam Isadora alone.
The now-empty banquet hall echoed with oppressive quiet.
Isadora picked up her wine glass and walked to the window.
Gazing down at the city lights sprawling below, she let out a deep sigh and murmured to herself.
"What a... garbage city."
==========
Godfather Salvatore Moretti, leaving the hotel, returned straight to his hideout and questioned his shadow-like lieutenant.
His voice was cold and sharp, a far cry from the leisurely banter of moments ago.
"Got a full rundown on the church's forces?"
"Yes, Boss. Word is they've hired a bunch of ex-merc bodyguards called 'Guardians.' Checked their backgrounds—they're mercs with combat-grade cyberware averaging Class 4 to 6."
Moretti stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Class 4 to 6... That's about on par with a police company for a newbie outfit. Not bad for a cult. Guess these fake religions are booming after all."
He chuckled dryly.
Still, they were leagues below his "Family."
The Salvatore Family had drenched northern Omega Detroit's outskirts in blood over decades to claim it.
The quantity and quality of their forces dwarfed any upstart group.
'A cult like that... couple of capos, maybe... no...'
Lighting a cigar, Moretti issued his order.
"Round up every spare guy we've got."
Confusion flickered across the lieutenant's face.
"E-Everyone, Boss?"
"Yeah. If we're doing this, better prep thoroughly. It's a 'war,' after all."
Moretti exhaled smoke leisurely.
Even as he said it, he knew deploying this much firepower for a single upstart cult was overkill.
Mobilizing all reserve forces for something so minor didn't make financial sense. But he had a damn good reason for it.
"And that 'Saintess.' Capture her alive, unharmed, nice and gentle. Bring her straight to me."
The lieutenant instantly grasped his intent and bowed deeply.
"Understood, Boss."
"With this many men, make sure she doesn't slip away. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
As the lieutenant rushed out, the hideout buzzed to life. Orders crackled over radios, members moved with crisp precision. Dozens swelled to nearly hundreds converging on assembly points.
"Lorenzo Family, at rally point. Ready to move."
"Don Marco and 27 others departing for target zone now."
Listening to the nonstop radio reports, Moretti smiled in satisfaction.
The eastern outskirts districts he'd eyed for takeover.
And now, that girl whose looks had hooked him perfectly.
This op would net him everything he wanted.
Moretti had zero doubt it would all go exactly as planned.
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It took just two hours.
For the hundreds of Salvatore Family elite troops who entered 13th Street to vanish without a trace...
Just two hours.
And merely thirty minutes.
For Godfather Moretti himself—holed up in what was practically the Family's heart, his deepest hideout—to be discovered, then dragged out like a beast by the collar...
Merely thirty minutes.
"Grahk...!"
Overpowered by brute force, Moretti tumbled helplessly, dragged along like a dog. Gone was any trace of the dignity once commanded by the outskirts kingpin.
Outside the hideout on the street, his loyal elite bodyguards—mere moments ago his shield—lay mangled beyond recognition.
Blood pooled thick on the pavement as dozens of unfamiliar mercs in gore-soaked combat gear scanned the surroundings with murderous intent.
'Wh-What the hell are these guys...?!'
Terror gripped Moretti. His intel said the church's main muscle, the "Guardians," all wore black priestly robes. But these mercs sported mismatched combat suits and gear.
One common thread: every single one bore a dark crimson rosary—emblazoned with a cross—tightly bound to neck, wrist, or belt.
Moretti didn't know its meaning, but that blood-red hue marked those who wouldn't hesitate to bloody their hands for their god. The emblem of the "Saved Ones (Los Salvados)."
Dragged along, Moretti felt his sanity fraying.
'Insane... They're all insane...'
The sheer armed might lying in wait defied reason. Seeing his top elites swept aside so effortlessly, those mercs had to be elite-grade with military cyberware across the board.
But did that even make sense?
Sure, Moretti could've hired this caliber if he'd poured his fortune into it.
The issue was upkeep. The more powerful the gear, the more precise maintenance it demanded. Expensive inhibitors, constant software tweaks, top-tier cyberware costs—it was a massive ongoing burden even for a mafia don. That's why elites like these were short-term hires only.
'So they predicted my move and assembled this force in advance?'
No, his strike was near-surprise. He'd never imagined a full counter like this. It made no sense.
To maintain this many high-end cyborg mercs on constant standby? Astronomical costs. Beyond some back-alley outfit's means.
'Unless it's mega-corp money...'
A chilling premonition flashed through his mind.
'Did I... stumble into some mega-corp's secret op?'
Yeah, nothing added up from the start. A newbie cult seizing a whole district overnight? Expanding that fast?
Maybe some colossal power backed them—untouchable by the likes of him.
Clinging to desperate hope—maybe his old underworld ties could save his skin—he blurted.
"Wh-Who the hell are you with...? Novacore? Yashida Group?!"
But the man gripping his collar snarled.
"Shut your mouth. One more word, and I'll rip it off."
The low threat carried pure killing intent—not bluffing. Moretti felt true death's terror, hot piss soaking his pants unwittingly.
After dragging him farther, the man spoke curtly into his wrist comm.
"Clear."
"Clear."
"Sector all clear. Target secured."
Moments later, a calm voice replied over the radio.
"Copy. Bringing the Saintess now."
Saintess... The word made Moretti's body convulse again.
Soon, rhythmic heels clicked from the darkness.
The presence drew nearer, stopping right before him.
Moretti strained to lift his head. Their eyes met.
The dreamlike beauty he'd only seen in photos.
But her face held no warmth that had captivated him—only icy chill.
Her piercing blue eyes looked down.
"So, you wanted to meet me?"