Ferrand had a gun beside him, but unfortunately both of his arms had been broken, so he couldn't fire it.
He had been shot twice in the stomach, and immense pain swept through his entire body; his forehead was covered in cold sweat.
With difficulty, he looked up at the door, but his eyes suddenly widened.
"It's you!"
He recognized Leon's face instantly; this was the man who had broken his arms.
He couldn't forget it at all!
"We meet again, Ferrand!"
Leon slowly walked in, his indifferent eyes fixed on Ferrand, a faint killing intent emanating from his body.
"Le—, Leon, the assassin thing has nothing to do with me, I didn't do it!"
"Don't kill me!"
Ferrand, drenched in cold sweat, pleaded in terror.
He was scared!
He had never expected that this nobody of an ex-soldier would be so ruthless, rushing straight into his own lair and killing people!
"What assassin? Did I mention assassins? Why are you so nervous?" Leon said calmly.
Of course he was nervous! He had something to hide, how could he not be nervous?
"Leon, I have money, I have a lot of money, it's all in the safe."
"If you spare my life, I'll give you everything!" Ferrand pleaded desperately, lying on the ground.
But Leon smiled dismissively, not bothering to waste any more words with him, and the gun was pointed at his head.
"Fool, even if I kill you, all that money will be mine!"
"Bang!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Ferrand was shot in the head.
The peaceful night was shattered by the burst of intense gunfire, waking the surrounding residents from their sleep as they stared in terror in the direction from which the gunfire came.
No one dared to go out and join the commotion at this time; the only thing they could do was call the police immediately.
But less than ten minutes after the gunshots stopped, nearby residents noticed flames spreading across the night in the distance.
Ferrand's villa had caught fire.
"Fire! Help! Help put out the fire!"
Residents rushed out in a panic to put out the fire, and ten minutes later, three police cars arrived with sirens blaring.
The police were stunned. Hadn't they received a call saying there was a gunfight? How did it turn into a fire?
"Fire department! Call the fire department right away and have them put out the fire!"
The scene was chaotic and disorderly, while Leon had already driven far away.
He had prepared a can of gasoline beforehand and kept it in the trunk of the car, and set fire to Ferrand's villa before retreating.
Fingerprints, hair, footprints, and all traces inside the villa would be completely wiped out in the fire.
No one could prove that Leon did this!
Destroy the bodies and cover up the evidence!
Once he was sure he was safe, Leon turned his attention to the bag on the seat beside him, checking his spoils.
After killing Ferrand, Leon had ransacked his villa, taking all the valuables with him.
First, there were three Colt pistols and fifty bullets from Ferrand and his two henchmen.
In Marseille, firearms are not easy to obtain; a Colt can cost over ten thousand francs.
Moreover, even if you have the money, you can't buy one without connections.
Then there were some odds and ends, about five thousand francs.
Finally, there was the safe that Ferrand had mentioned. After some fiddling, Leon had broken it open on the spot and emptied what was inside.
Bundles of 500-franc notes, tightly wrapped, which came to 400,000 francs.
There was also some gold and silver jewelry, which looked like a lot, but it would be a bit troublesome to actually sell these things. They would have to be discounted by 50%, and in the end, they would bring around 100,000 to 200,000 francs.
"Murder and arson bring wealth; the methods for making big money are indeed all written in the criminal code!" Leon said with a light smile.
He had become rich overnight; when he was a cook, he only earned a hundred francs a day.
Making money was so easy these days!
Seeing that dawn was approaching, Leon quickly disposed of the stolen car, then drove the assassins' car, with the two bodies still in its trunk, to a deserted stretch of the coast and sank it in the sea.
The fire was finally extinguished after two hours of firefighting efforts, and the police slowly went in to clean up the mess.
An on-site investigation was conducted, but the scene was severely damaged, and apart from determining how the victims were killed, no other clues were found.
They asked the neighbors, but no one had seen any suspects, since it was past 3 a.m. and everyone was already asleep.
In the end, the police couldn't even determine how many people were involved in the murders.
"Ring ring ring!"
The telephone rang in the bedroom of an apartment.
Paul Rocca woke up, glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw it was not yet five o'clock.
"What is it?" Rocca's voice sounded very unhappy.
He was in his forties, with a sharply defined face that gave him a fierce look.
He was the head of the Old Port district and managed thousands of underlings. He was definitely a big shot in the Marseille underworld.
"Boss, something bad has happened!" The voice on the phone was urgent.
"I just received news that Ferrand has been murdered!"
"What?"
Upon hearing that Ferrand had been murdered, Rocca's expression changed drastically, and he abruptly sat up in bed.
"What happened? Who did it?" Rocca asked.
"I have no idea."
"Some people heard a gunfight in Ferrand's villa, and soon after, a fire broke out."
"The fire has just been extinguished, and the police haven't found any clues."
"Could it be the Syndicate?" Rocca asked in a hoarse voice, his face ashen.
Ferrand was his top lieutenant. A few days ago, he had both arms crippled by Syndicate men, and now he had been shot dead shortly after be