radicalducati Page 45
Page 45
Originally, the Hand had stopped its actions after the deaths of the two directors yesterday. But because you made things worse last night, the Hand has now gone completely mad and is targeting the Ryan Corporation at all costs. Even though they have been very careful, the Hand's assassinations are still impossible to defend against.
Another board member has just died.
They had no idea when it would be their turn.
“Young Master Hawke, we believe you didn’t do it. In fact, we confirmed it yesterday; it was indeed the assassin organization Hand that assassinated the director of the Ryan Corporation. We are pleased that you avenged the deceased director and shared our hatred, but could we perhaps reconsider this matter?”
"What do you mean?"
Hawke lost his temper and his expression changed drastically:
"The Hand is targeting the Ryan Group. Do you expect me to tolerate this, board members? I can't tolerate it!"
“Board members, you and I are all old acquaintances, some of you have even watched me grow up. The Hand actually dared to assassinate you. It hurts me more than you do!”
"Do you know how heartbroken I was when I heard about the passing of those two directors yesterday? You have no idea! I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. I'm planning to spend the next few nights comforting the two directors' wives and daughters!"
"So you are all my dearest friends and family, my brothers! To bully you is to bully me, Hawk! I will never allow it! Don't be afraid, if the Hand dares to do this to you, then I'll go after them! Let's see who can beat whom! They assassinated one of our directors, I'll kill 100 of them. I want to see just how many people the Hand, a mere assassin organization, can afford to die when they oppose Ryan!"
"Ryan will fight the Hand to the last board member!"
Directors: "..."
Young Master, please calm down. Even if one of us dies, you'll only have 100 fewer people to retaliate. That's still a huge loss for us. After all, we're top-tier billionaires worth hundreds of millions, while those 100 people are just worthless assassins. Are you trying to pit us against a tile?
Not to mention... do you really think we'd believe you'd want to avenge us?
"No, no, young master. The Hand might not necessarily want to oppose us. Let's give them a chance..."
The board members all tried to dissuade Hawke.
Despite their best efforts to persuade him, Hawke played along, and the board meeting lasted for over an hour without reaching any conclusion.
"Heh, you old folks, now you're getting anxious, aren't you?"
Hawke sneered and lit a cigarette.
The logic of doing things is different now than it was in the past!
Before this year, it wasn't this outrageous, but starting this year, 2008, the year Iron Man was born, the era of superheroes will truly arrive. Although capital is still a very strong force, it is no longer the only force.
Without extraordinary power to supplement it, capital is very likely to capsize in a ditch.
Evening, Long Island, New York
Tony Stark's extravagant seaside manor was brightly lit tonight, as if it were daytime.
Outside the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows lies the boundless black Atlantic Ocean, while inside, a golden ocean of money, celebrities, and top-quality champagne reigns supreme.
The air was filled with the fragrance of expensive freesia and iris, mixed with the rich aroma of cigars and the seductive sweetness of women's perfume.
Elegantly dressed waiters carried silver platters, moving silently under the shimmering crystal chandeliers. The platters were piled high with caviar, pastries adorned with gold leaf, and crystal goblets filled with the contents of countless bottles of Dom Pérignon.
Hawke arrived early, unlike some of the arrogance typical of old-money businessmen. He usually arrives early for dinner parties, when there aren't too many people around.
0 ······Requesting flowers···· ········
Those who knew Hawke's habits had already arrived early to wait for him.
He wore an impeccable custom-made deep dark blue velvet tuxedo tonight, with a diamond cufflink occasionally flashing a cold light under the lights.
The host of the banquet, Tony Stark, was dressed in a flamboyant burgundy suit, with two buttons deliberately undone on his shirt, and his signature mustache was neatly groomed.
He abandoned a congressman who was having an awkward conversation, his face beaming with an exaggerated mix of relief and "brother, you're here!" enthusiasm, and strode toward Hawke, followed by the real star of the night, Pepper Potts.
Pepper looked stunning tonight in a simple yet powerful pure white floor-length gown that accentuated her snow-white skin, while her short, golden hair was neat and radiant.
..... 0 ....
However, the coldness hidden beneath her carefully maintained perfect smile in the depths of her gaze as she looked at Tony was difficult to completely conceal.
“Hawk! My brother!” Tony opened his arms and gave Hawke an extremely tight hug, as if it were a cry for help. He could feel the tension in Hawke’s muscles even through his clothes.
He whispered quickly in Hawke's ear, "Thank goodness you're here! Pepper's eyes could freeze me solid. Try to coax her a bit later!"
Hawke's smile deepened. He gently patted Tony on the back, then naturally turned to Pepper, took her hand, which was clad in a long white velvet glove, and gracefully bent down to kiss the back of her hand with an impeccable gesture.
He looked up and stared directly at Pepper, his voice sincere: "Happy birthday, Pepper. Tonight, you outshone all the stars in New York."
Pepper's smile finally became more genuine, tinged with warmth: "Thank you for coming, Hawke. You just made a big deal recently, congratulations."
“A tiny, insignificant achievement,” Hawke shrugged casually, but his gaze swept meaningfully over Tony, “not as exciting as some people’s daily lives.”
He deliberately emphasized the last few words.
Tony's face fell instantly. He coughed a few times and frantically signaled to Hawke not to reveal his secrets.
Just then, a fragrant breeze carried the crisp sound of high heels clicking on the ground.
82 Natasha: Mission? Forgot... [Seeking all sorts of information]
“Darling!” A sweet voice rang out first.
A blonde bombshell had already pressed herself against him.
Miranda Kerr, wearing a mint green strapless mini dress, smiled sweetly as if coated in honey, her petite body almost hanging on Hawke's arm. "Long time no see! I've been waiting for you here this afternoon. You haven't been heard from since the yacht party in Monaco, which is really sad."
She pouted her red lips and blinked her big eyes, feigning grievance.
The details of the Monaco yacht party she mentioned instantly piqued Tony's interest, and his eyes burned with a burning desire for gossip.
“Miranda,” his voice was deep and teasing, his gaze sweeping over her feigned aggrieved face, “the sunshine and sea breeze in Monaco are so intoxicating that even the satellite signal has become lazy. That’s why I ran into you just as I regained the 507 signal.”
He then naturally turned to the waiter, took a glass of champagne and handed it to her, "Looks like at least one of the drinks tonight will be for 'apology'?"
Miranda gave a soft hum and was about to continue speaking when the mischievous and clever Cara Delevingne, with her signature messy blonde hair, happily walked over.
"Hey! Big capitalist!" Her voice was loud and clear, with a unique quality. She reached out and ruffled Hawke's hair, her gesture as affectionate as if she were playing with her own pet. "Now that you've made so much money, looks like you'll have the money to pay for our next bet of running naked in Times Square at midnight."
Her words instantly sparked laughter from the surrounding onlookers, and also successfully made Hawke look both amused and exasperated.
“Dear Carla,” Hawke raised his glass slightly and said with a wry smile, “please leave some last bit of dignity for the capitalists on Wall Street.”
Upon hearing this, Kara herself couldn't help but slap his arm and jokingly scold, "You cunning capitalist!"
At that moment, a slightly cold female voice with a strong Russian accent rang out. It wasn't loud, but it strangely pierced through the surrounding laughter.
“Mr. Ryan, it seems you’re quite adept at both the money games on Wall Street and the glamorous world of fame and fortune.”
Hawke looked up at the sound and stared in surprise!
The scene suddenly fell silent.
At the last dinner party, Hawke's affair with this Russian businesswoman made headlines in the entertainment section for three days, even surpassing Tony Stark's gossip.
Is this going to happen again?
"Nata... Natalia Romanova?"
A few steps away, Natalia Romanova, or rather, the Black Widow Natasha, was standing there.
Her outfit tonight was a perfect work of art.
She wore a dark green high-necked velvet dress that completely covered her graceful figure, revealing only a section of her fair and elegant neck.
Her long, golden-brown curly hair was styled into a seemingly casual yet incredibly sophisticated French updo, with a few loose strands casually falling down her cheeks.
She held a glass of almost untouched white wine, her eyes sharp as a falcon on an ice field. As she swept over Hawke and the supermodels adorned with flowers around him, a faint, yet unmistakably sarcastic, smile played at the corners of her lips.
That look in his eyes was as if he were looking at a group of kindergarten birds with gorgeous feathers fighting over carrion.
Hawke gently pushed Kara's arm aside and took two steps toward Natasha: "Ms. Romanova? What a pleasant surprise. I recall you saying last time that you scoffed at this kind of boring socializing?"
Natasha remained unmoved, seemingly oblivious to Hawke's implication, and simply replied, "Plans can't always keep up with changes. Some persistent invitations are always hard to refuse."
Her gaze drifted meaningfully to Tony Stark, who was standing beside her, looking on with a look of amazement and almost drooling.
Tony was startled by her gaze, snapped back to reality, and immediately plastered what he thought was his most charming smile on his face. He strode forward and said, "Natalia! It's so good to have you here! Pepper is also very happy!"
He completely ignored Pepper's smile, which instantly stiffened, and enthusiastically reached out to touch Natasha's arm.
Clearly, ever since he last met Natasha, certain thoughts had been lingering in his mind. He had finally managed to contact the Russian businesswoman, hoping that he could have a fleeting affair with her, just like Hawke.
Natasha subtly took a half-step back, skillfully avoiding Tony's groping hand, her face still displaying that aloof and unapproachable expression: "Happy birthday, Miss Potts..."
She nodded slightly to Pepper.
Pepper returned the greeting with perfect poise, but seeing Tony's pathetic state, the ice in her eyes thickened by half an inch.
Hawke almost burst out laughing at Tony's discomfiture.
He observed Natasha's unyielding demeanor with interest, then lowered his voice and said to her, "It seems Tony's taste is on point this time. Don't worry, I'll protect you. If possible, there's a luxurious gym in Stark's villa."
He raised his glass and gestured for others to proceed.
Natasha gave a meaningful smile, her eyes gleaming with a hint of something else...
Clearly, Hawke's invitation to the "luxury gym," with its double entendre, exploded in Natasha's mind.
Hawke led her around the noisy dance floor in the main hall, through an inconspicuous side door, and up a spiral staircase covered with a thick carpet.
The wall lamps cast a soft, ambiguous light, isolating the noise from downstairs.
They arrived at a spacious glass terrace, which seemed to be where Tony collected modern sculptures, and directly in front of them was the brightly lit, ever-sleeping Manhattan skyline.
“The view is much better than in the gym, and there are no security cameras, isn’t there?” Hawke closed the door behind him, shutting out the last bit of noise.
He walked 4.8 meters to the bar, poured two glasses of amber-colored whiskey, and handed one to Natasha.
Natasha took the glass but didn't drink it. Instead, she leaned against the cold glass railing, gazing down at the city skyline below.
Hawke walked up to her, not too close, but his presence was very strong: "Mission?"
Natasha turned her head to look at him and took a sip of the spicy liquor.
"I forgot." She uttered the two words softly, with a strange hoarseness, like the sigh of a weary traveler putting down his baggage.
It's not an order, not an excuse; it's more like a self-declaration.
Hawke's eyes flickered, and his smile deepened.
"congratulations."
There were no tests, no tasks, and no shackles of identity.
This time, it was purely about attraction and taking.