met free Page 128
Page 128
Fiona asked warily, sensing something unusual in Victor's tone.
"Svetlana".
Fiona's voice suddenly rose, almost cracking, "That Russian bitch? Viktor, are you crazy?! Have you forgotten how she threatened you? Have you forgotten Veronica..."
She abruptly stopped speaking, her face turning pale—everyone in the South District knew that Veronica died under mysterious circumstances, and who would believe that Kevin, who had been trained by Veronica like a dog, would have the guts to kill her?
Anger and disbelief welled up in Fiona's eyes. She still believed one thing: if it weren't for the threat from her sister, Veronica wouldn't have revealed her true colors to Victor—yes, Fiona was that naive.
Viktor's expression turned cold, his eyes like icy flint: "I remember it very clearly, so I consider her a qualified helper."
"Useful? Her only talent is messing things up! And making money by any means necessary! Including stealing other people's businesses!"
Fiona waved her arms excitedly, "Are you going to shove this scourge into my hands now?"
“Fiona,”
Viktor's voice was deep and carried an undeniable pressure. "This is my decision. Svetlana has nowhere else to go. She needs this job, and she'll fight like a hungry wolf. She's ruthless and smart enough to handle the messes you're not good at or don't have time for. Those opportunistic thugs, those slow-moving suppliers—she has ways to deal with them."
Moreover, Svetlana is very good at accounting and has been noticed by Old Joe, who decided to recruit her as one of the auditors, under Connor West—the accountant.
He paused, looking at Fiona's face, which was flushed with anger.
"As for your conflict with her, that's your business. I'm your boss, and I care about results. You accept her and then do the things I've assigned you."
He didn't finish his sentence, but his eyes said it all.
Fiona's chest heaved violently as she stared intently at Victor, trying to find a trace of humor on his face, but all she saw was cold determination.
She understood that this was not a discussion, but an order.
Everything she has now is thanks to Victor. He didn't take it back directly, but instead placed a dangerous she-wolf beside her.
She felt a deep sense of powerlessness and betrayal, but even more so, a chilling reality:
She had no choice—just like the answer she had given Viktor long ago, Viktor gave the same answer: control your material life, then manipulate and bully your spirit, that's the so-called unspoken rule of leadership.
"...Fakyu! Damn it! Viktor, you'll regret this!"
She squeezed out those words through gritted teeth.
"Fuck you?"
Victor said calmly, "You mean what you say? I can find a hotel and I'll pay for it."
Fiona threw the empty lunchbox into the trash can, turned around abruptly, opened the car door and jumped out, striding away without looking back, her back stiff as a stone.
Viktor watched her figure disappear, his face expressionless.
He took out his phone and dialed a number.
A few hours later, Viktor met Svetlana at the apartment.
She was a bit thinner than the last time I saw her. She was wearing a down jacket and it was quite cool inside. She took off the down jacket as soon as she came in, but the sharpness and desire to survive in her ice-blue eyes were not diminished at all.
A little boy was quietly playing with building blocks in a corner, and Michael's wife, Liz Chan, was helping to take care of him—yes, that bastard Michael was the first to get married, and he got married at only nineteen because he was pregnant.
“Victor,”
She gave a smile, a smile that was both weary and deliberately seductive. "You finally contacted me."
“Fiona Gallagher needs an assistant to take charge of catering and some venue management in the South District.”
Viktor cut to the chase without any pleasantries: "You'll be reporting to her tomorrow."
Svetlana's eyes lit up instantly, like a wild beast catching its prey.
“You decide, Viktor. I’ll show her who’s more suitable…”
She stepped forward, her fingers tracing Victor's chest, her voice low, "I knew it, that 'conversation' in November... was effective. You're a man of your word."
Viktor grabbed her restless hand, his eyes full of rejection, and a surge of anger rose within him.
But he held back: "Svetlana, listen carefully. I gave you this job because you're useful to me now. Watch your claws and do your job."
If I find out you've sabotaged Fiona or ruined my business, you and your son will be back on the streets, worse off than the day Franky Lee took down your gambling den. Understand?
Svetlana's smile froze for a moment, but her hand touched her jeans, her palm burning hot, which then intensified. "Of course, Viktor. I've always been very...sensible."
She pressed herself against him again, and this time Victor didn't push her away.
This is a deal, naked and straightforward.
You can't expect nineteen-year-old Viktor to stay composed in front of a white truck:
"A halberd is enough!"
"Why? I took a shower when I came."
"I don't like Icarus."
"It's really hurtful to hear you say that. Fiona is also a Ford Victoria Crown."
"I now have a kind of mental fastidiousness."
"Fuck you! You're a bastard! You're even worse than Mickey!"
“You used verbs well, and then you can call out your husband’s name a few more times—each and every one of them.”
"The law will punish you!"
"Okay, that puts my mind at ease. Just pretend I ate caviar."
"Don't worry, I can't withstand the impact of a motorcycle, and Old Joe doesn't need to buy another motorcycle."
After Svetlana left the apartment, Victor felt his anger subside slightly.
He headed to the training base on the first floor. In the vast, empty space, only the dull thuds of Victor's fists striking the sandbags echoed.
Chapter 107 Fury Wants to Take Down an Easy Opportunity
But Frankie arrived the next day.
His face wore a strange expression, a mixture of excitement and sympathy.
“Victor, I have some ‘good news’.”
Frankie waved the newspaper around. "The fight between Rocky and that Soviet monster Ivan Drago has caused a huge stir! The media has all rushed to it, and your popularity, especially the discussion about your fight with Tyson, has been overshadowed. Now nobody's always focusing on you being a background character."
Viktor stopped hitting the sandbag, wiped his sweat with a towel, and snorted.
"Really? That's wonderful. Should I send Drago a thank-you note?"
His tone was clearly sarcastic.
No one likes to be forgotten, even if it's overshadowed by a more sensational event; it still feels like being slighted.
He would rather people talk about how he fought Tyson for fifteen rounds than completely forget about him.
"What's with the referee Trump hired? Those damn referees, resorting to such underhanded tactics in the boxing ring? Asking this question always results in a storm of complaints, two months in a row! Even a mute Black man could find his father!"
"The boxing association has investigated the referee, but they say there's no problem. There's another piece of news,"
Frankie rubbed his hands together, carefully observing Victor's expression. "Tyson Fury, he's sent a message."
Didn't he say I wasn't qualified?
Victor raised an eyebrow: "That 'Gypsy King' who just lost his gold belt? What does he want with me? Want to throw a party to mourn him?"
"He has tentatively agreed and wants to fight you."
Frankie quickly said, "He's dropped to seventh in the WBO rankings and desperately needs a big win to regain his title shot. He watched the video of your fight with Tyson and thinks you're badly injured... well, he thinks you're a good stepping stone. You're currently ranked 116th, and he thinks he can easily beat you and climb the ranks quickly."
For a moment, the air in the training hall seemed to freeze.
A look of surprise flashed across Viktor's face, which was then replaced by a surge of anger.
His fist clenched tightly, and the towel was thrown to the ground.
"Stepping stone?"
His voice rolled from deep in his throat, low and dangerous, "Who does he think I am? A piece of trash he can climb over and use to get ahead?"
Frankie quickly reassured him, "Calm down, Wiki! From a business perspective, this is a good thing! High visibility means higher appearance fees..."
"James Smith is trying to take advantage! Tony Tucker is trying to take advantage of my weakness! Tyson Fury is joining in too? Then let's fight! Let's fight the highest-ranked one!"
Victor interrupted him, his eyes sharp as knives, staring intently at Frankie:
"If I beat him, how high will my ranking go?"
Frankie choked for a moment, then took out some data and pretended to check it: "WBO's points calculation is very complicated, but a victory with this level of attention, plus what you've accumulated before... at least, I guarantee you'll be in the top 30! That would be a huge leap! Fury is, after all, a former champion."
From 116 to the top 30.
This is an irresistible temptation.
The sense of shame was somewhat lessened by the immense sense of opportunity, but the anger still burned, only transformed into a colder fighting spirit.
Viktor remained silent for a few seconds, his chest heaving as he weighed the pros and cons.
Tyson Fury's contempt was like a thorn, but also a ladder.
He needed this victory, this ranking, and to prove to everyone that he was not anyone's background or stepping stone.
He raised his head, his gaze regaining its calm and firmness, and said to Frankie, "Tell Fury's team that I've taken the job."
Frankie's face had just lit up with joy when Victor followed up, his tone resolute and leaving no room for negotiation:
"But we'll set the conditions! First, the appearance fee must be the same as his, not a penny less!"
Second, I'm not playing undercard matches; we're going to fight the main event! Third, the match must go the full fifteen rounds; I want to wear him down completely in a long battle!
Fourth, and most importantly—the referees! The most rigorous background checks are mandatory; I need the fairest referees! Those Tyson 'relatives' last time almost drove me to my death in the ring! If they don't agree to any of these conditions, then Fury can find someone else, some other 'stepping stone'!"
His voice echoed in the empty training hall, each word carrying a resolute force.
This is more than just a contract for a match; it's a declaration—especially since he and Tyson need victories to tell others:
'The match on October 25, 1985, was a high-level boxing match, not, as some claim, a reckless brawl between two young men lacking any skill!'
Viktor is no longer the chosen one; he will begin to choose his own path and make all those who underestimated him pay the price—before he wiped out the seventeen kingdoms, everyone thought that five thousand years of history was just village squabbles.
Frankie was taken aback by his imposing manner and hesitated for a few seconds before quickly nodding, "Okay! Okay! I'll go talk to them right away! These conditions are very reasonable!"
Viktor ignored him, turned and walked toward the heavy sandbag, putting his gloves back on.