Chapter 13.2

Tom was energetically bouncing around as if practicing boxing, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he whispered to Mo Zimu, “Hatch drank that little cup of whiskey again.”

Mo Zimu smiled, and Tom continued, “Why let Hatch drink, huh?”

Mo Zimu didn’t reply. Instead, he bent down and plucked a handful of purple flowers, bringing them to his nose for a brief inhale. Then, he opened his hand, letting the petals scatter into the wind.

“Would Mammon send sick prisoners for medical treatment?” Mo Zimu asked, his long fingers wrapped around the wire mesh.

“Not a chance!” Tom laughed. “If that were possible, plenty of people would injure themselves just to get out. Even the prisoners in D block need a lengthy application process before Norton would allow them outside treatment. Emergency medical transfers? Mike’s tried a few times, but his patients either died in Mammon or miraculously recovered without any treatment at all.”

Mo Zimu slightly lowered his eyelids and said, “What if it were Hatch?”

Tommy’s eyes lit up with sudden realization. “So that’s why you’ve been growing foxglove!”

“What? What?” Tom jumped closer. “What am I missing?”

Tommy plucked one of the flowers and said, “This wildflower is called foxglove. It’s highly toxic. If ingested, it can cause severe heart pain.”

Tom picked up a flower in astonishment. “Seven, you really think ahead… But even if Hatch gets sent for treatment, so what?”

Tommy answered for Mo Zimu, “If it’s Hatch, Adolph would have to take the back door, sneaking him out for medical treatment without Norton’s knowledge. The most likely method… is via the supply ship.”

Mo Zimu twirled a purple petal between his fingers. “There are no prison guards aboard the supply ship, which means Mammon will have to assign two officers to escort him.”

Tommy chuckled, “Whoever the other guard is, it looks like Adolph will have to make the trip. With both Hatch and Adolph gone, no one will question the timing of the supply ship’s arrival.”

“We can blend in with the D block prisoners and not be easily detected!” Tom said excitedly.

Mo Zimu took a deep breath and declared, “Whatever happens, we leave this Saturday!”

—

Dinner was still at Norton’s, where today’s list seemed to have made breakthrough progress, suggesting Norton was ready to end their cooperation. Mo Zimu smiled subtly.

“Seven, if you could have a wish granted, which one would you choose first?” Norton broke his usual silence at the dinner table.

“A wish…” Mo Zimu set down his glass, giving the question some thought before smiling. “I don’t dare to dream too big. Right now, I’d be satisfied just listening to some symphonic music before bed.”

“Oh… symphonies?” Norton raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Who do you like?”

Mo Zimu smiled. “I’m particularly fond of Liszt. Faust Symphony is one of my favorites.”

“Romanticism, romanticism… young people always seem drawn to Paganini and Liszt,” Norton mused with a refined air. “I’ve always preferred classical music. However, as it happens, Faust Symphony is a personal favorite of mine as well.”

He stood up, pulled out a large record, spun it theatrically in his hands, then shot Mo Zimu a smug smile before placing it into a vintage Victor gramophone.

The music began, painting the image of the restless, tormented Faust, forever in pursuit of something just out of reach. He could never say, Let me linger here a moment, because the moment he did, the devil would tear open the sky and drag him down to eternal damnation.

The two sat in silence, immersed in the symphony. Norton closed his eyes, conducting an invisible orchestra as if utterly captivated by the music. After about twenty minutes, he stopped the phonograph. Mo Zimu opened his eyes slightly as Norton let out a long sigh.

“Time to get to work, young man,” Norton said. “We will enjoy this another time.”

Mo Zimu stood and followed him out of the room. When they arrived at the office, Norton retrieved a notebook and spread it open on the desk. Mo Zimu knew the real performance was about to begin.

Norton tapped a page with his finger. “Seven, how long will it take you to go through these names?”

The list was not long, maybe a dozen, but Mo Zimu knew each of these individuals bought dozens of people from Mammon every year.

“I would say about two weeks,” Mo Zimu replied. “But if I work through the nights, I can finish by this weekend.”

A flicker crossed Norton’s eyes. “Then work through the night… We both want to get out of here as soon as possible, don’t we, Seven?”

Mo Zimu looked up and met Norton’s gaze. With a smile, he said, “You’re right, boss. We both need to leave this place sooner rather than later.”

On the screen, data scrolled rapidly, weaving a web of names. Each thread carried the flow of billions, hidden in an intricate network of transactions.

Every night after they finished, Norton would carefully transfer the files onto a separate external drive, then wipe the entire computer and disconnect it from the network.

Mo Zimu had given him far too much, so much that Norton felt as if he were grasping the very foundation of these underground forces.

Behind money always lay secrets, and behind these illicit funds, the secrets ran even deeper.

Mo Zimu’s eyes skimmed over the names. Each one represented hundreds of IDs—hundreds of prisoners’ lives.

By the time midnight approached, he took off his glasses, looking utterly exhausted. He rubbed his temples, trying to relieve some of the tension.

His vision had once gone completely dark after his mother’s death. Though he eventually recovered, doctors had advised him to wear glasses to reduce eye strain. Over time, they became a habit, a convenient way to mask the striking color of his irises and conceal certain features of his face.

Across from him, Norton sat in his rocking chair, a glass of liquor in hand. His gaze, however, remained fixed on him.

Seven was undeniably captivating. Even a man with no particular inclinations might feel an unexpected pull toward him.

If Norton had been an ordinary man, he could have indulged himself in the paradise that was Seven.

But he was not ordinary.

Here in Mammon, he was like an emperor, controlling everyone, wielding absolute power. Yet Seven seemed like a deliberate mockery from God himself, a reminder that omnipotence belonged to God alone.

So at this moment, Norton felt an indescribable emotion, just like Faust encountering something he desired yet being unable to claim satisfaction, forever tormented by insatiable longing.

Norton’s feelings toward this young man were complex. At first, he simply regarded him as a toy, no different from how Donald or Rong Qing had treated him, just a plaything for their amusement.

But he had surprised him. His intelligence, excellent upbringing, and sense of justice astonished Norton again and again. In the end, Seven had won his reluctant admiration.

By the time he realized Seven had carved out a place in his heart, it was precisely when he had decided to eliminate him.

When it came to keeping secrets, Norton never trusted the living, especially not someone backed by formidable forces like Seven.

His sense of justice was like a blade. It pierced not only Norton’s heart but also his resolve.

Yet, he found himself struggling against the very decision he had made. He was searching for a reason to let Seven live.

At that moment, Mo Zimu’s gaze lingered on one name. Bonanno.

The extensive data on the screen revealed that this traditional Italian-American Mafia family was Mammon’s biggest buyer.

A startling realization flashed through his mind. He tried to suppress his shock, but a flicker of unease betrayed him for a split second.

And Norton never took his eyes off him.

Norton finally broke the silence. “Seven, you guessed right. Ivan is the Bonanno family’s intermediary.”

Mo Zimu’s palms were slightly sweaty. He had always thought of Ivan as a useful shield, but he was actually the biggest buyer in his calculations. The realization that he had unknowingly been playing with fire sent a chill down his spine.

He exhaled softly.

He should have seen it earlier. Ivan’s carefree, devil-may-care attitude had always been a mask. His true nature had been there all along, reflected in those cold, silver-gray eyes.

That night, Mo Zimu took out the silver serpent pendant once again.

Ivan had told him to return it after using it, yet he had never asked for it back. Mo Zimu hadn’t used it since, but something in his subconscious had told him that this object was significant. So, he kept it.

In ancient Western mythology, the snake symbolized sex and the origin of all things. A serpent coiling around a cross was the emblem of Western alchemy, representing the eternal cycle of existence.

Mo Zimu had once wondered what the pendant truly signified.

Now, he finally understood.

It was the insignia of the Bonanno family’s master of wealth.

Noè had likely let them off easily because he recognized the pendant. If Mo Zimu had kept wearing it, Geoffrey and the others might have discovered it as well.

Leaning against the wall, Mo Zimu knew how significant this pendant was to Ivan. The moment he gave it to him, he had placed him under his protection and, at the same time, declared his ownership to other factions.

However, revealing this emblem was nearly the same as exposing certain secrets of the Bonanno family or even Ivan’s true identity.

Displaying this insignia was not just a simple greeting to other forces. It was a warning, a threat.

Ivan had planned this from the start. He willingly took on the risk because he expected a return in the future.

This was a carefully laid trap. Even those who stepped into it found themselves unable to truly hate him. In fact, they might even feel a subtle sense of gratitude.

Mo Zimu rested his hand on his knee, realizing he had overlooked a critical factor, a hidden threat lying in wait.

Ivan’s interest in him might last for a while, but once it faded, he could gradually cast him aside. However, if something were to endanger the Bonanno family’s core interests, Ivan’s reaction would be far less predictable, and far more dangerous.

Closing his eyes, Mo Zimu knew that Geoffrey would be a crucial card to play on Saturday. Geoffrey was proud and competitive. After what Mo Zimu had said to him, Geoffrey would undoubtedly want nothing more than to kill him with his own hands, proving to everyone that he had never once been infatuated with him.

He also knew that Rong Qing, despite his easygoing appearance, was in fact a firm and decisive man. Since he had obtained the official documents, it wouldn’t be long before he found a way to transfer him to Florida.

But Mammon would never willingly let a living soul walk out of this hellhole.

Would Norton risk offending Rong Qing to get rid of him? The answer was obvious.

That made Geoffrey his best shield.

There was no scenario more beneficial to Norton than having Geoffrey kill him on Hunter Night. That was why Mo Zimu insisted on completing his work before the weekend.

He had given Norton the perfect opportunity, and he had no doubt Norton would take it.

Mo Zimu opened his eyes.

Outside the pitch-black prison cell, the sound of guards pacing back and forth echoed through the corridors. The rhythmic clack of their leather boots served as a constant reminder that he was still trapped in this cage.

—

During the morning exercise period, Mo Zimu and the others approached the wire mesh fence.

Tom gave him a knowing wink, directing his gaze to a group pushing barrels of hydrogen peroxide toward the cafeteria.

Exchanging a glance with Tom and Tommy, Mo Zimu said, “Today, we steal the hydrogen peroxide.”

At lunchtime, Tommy covered for Tom while he stole the hydrogen peroxide. Naturally, Jack was stationed as a roadblock, his massive frame making it impossible for anyone to pass without detouring.

The stolen hydrogen peroxide was replaced with buckets of cleaning liquid in the kitchen, ensuring Tom could access it anytime while working there. Mo Zimu remained in the cafeteria, keeping a low profile. His conspicuous presence made it safer for him to stay put.

Mammon’s lunch was as dreadful as ever, with dry, flavorless mashed potatoes. The prisoners ate and cursed, but Mo Zimu, sitting alone by the window, seemed unaffected as he slowly brought spoonfuls of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, someone sat down across from him.

Teabag placed his tray in front of him smiling as he stared at him.

Mo Zimu glanced at him briefly, then at Jude, who was glaring intently at him. Without saying a word, he continued eating.

Teabag grabbed a chunk of mashed potatoes, shoved it into his mouth, and licked his fingers. “Seven, where are your buddies?”

“They went to get food,” Mo Zimu replied calmly, scanning the cafeteria. Berrick was notably absent, while Ivan, sitting with his back to him, seemed engrossed in conversation and paid no attention to the scene.

Teabag chuckled derisively. “Getting food, huh? Since when did Mammon’s kitchen prepare special meals for C204? We’re stuck eating this garbage, and you guys get something better? Let’s see what Tom’s bringing out.”

He turned to his lackey. “Go check what Tom’s up to in the kitchen. Let’s see if we can share the spoils.”

Mo Zimu threw his spoon into the bowl. “Boss Teabag, have I ever wronged you?”

Teabag smirked, leaning closer and taking a deep breath. “Getting angry, beautiful?”

Jude added softly, “Seven isn’t the type to lose his temper. If he does, it’s nine times out of ten to draw attention.”

Teabag leaned even closer. “Tell me, why do you want my attention?” He placed his hand over Mo Zimu’s, his fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “Could it be that Ivan, that fake gay, isn’t satisfying you?”

Mo Zimu felt a wave of disgust at the dampness of Teabag’s palm. He quickly withdrew his hand, turned his head aside, and fixed his gaze on his plate, remaining silent.

Teabag sneered and stood up. “Then let’s go see what Tom’s up to in the kitchen.”

He headed toward the kitchen, and Mo Zimu had no choice but to follow. Teabag and Jude moved quickly, and as Mo Zimu entered the side door leading to the back of the kitchen, someone suddenly covered his mouth.

A strong etheric smell engulfed him.