The Tyrant Billionaire

At the manor's entrance, Hardy patted Michael's shoulder. "Even though other families have temporarily ceased hostilities, it doesn't mean it's safe. You must remain vigilant every day. Call me if you need anything."

Michael smiled. "I will pay attention."

Hardy and his subordinates departed for the airport together. When they arrived, they numbered 70. Now, their group has grown significantly. Along with Lancer and Andy's teams, HD Airlines new president, Franklin, joined, bringing their total to over 80.

However, this time they didn't need to charter a plane, they were flying back in their own aircraft. Franklin had coordinated with Los Angeles Airport, intending to establish it as their primary West Coast hub. They were dispatching 10 planes there in one go this time.

The pilots had been borrowed temporarily.

Running an airline was no simple task. There was much preparation yet to be done, such as assembling a management team, recruiting pilots and crew members, hiring technicians, contracting with major airports, and planning routes, among other things.

There was much to be done.

But Hardy left all these matters to Franklin. Why hire a president if not to delegate such responsibilities?

Meanwhile, Hardy himself was seated in his own B-29 Flying Fortress. Though it was somewhat bumpy and noisy, it didn't bother him. He felt content.

The flight to Los Angeles Airport proceeded smoothly.

Before disembarking, Hardy instructed Franklin, "Arrange for the aircraft manufacturer to modify this plane. Convert the cabin to a private airliner configuration and ensure it's as quiet as possible."

"Understood, boss."

This B-29 Flying Fortress was Hardy's personal vehicle, so it needed to be comfortable. Its bomb bay was also intact. What if the pilot accidentally pressed the bomb release button, plunging them into the Pacific Ocean? It was a scenario he pondered.

Ava wasn't in Los Angeles, so Hardy couldn't stay with her, so he returned to his Beverly Hills estate.

There were housekeepers and a few servants here.

After showering, the housekeeper brought him black tea. "Mr. Hardy, the chef is wondering what you'd like to eat."

Hardy shook his head. "Let him decide and prepare."

He picked up a newspaper from the table and began reading. As he flipped through several pages, he came across an article announcing that HD Films had completed preparations for a new film and was ready to commence shooting soon. The film was titled "Ghost," and anticipation for it was high.

It seemed to be a promotional feature for HD Films, essentially paid content masquerading as an interview.

Hardy thought of that beautiful woman.

He picked up the phone and dialed Hedy Lamarr's number. After a few rings, she answered in her slightly languid voice.

"Who's calling?"

"It's me."

"Ah, you're back."

"Yes, I just returned home."

"If you have time tomorrow, I'd like to discuss the movie with you," Hedy suggested.

Though Nolan was directing the film, Hardy had also secured a role for Hedy. Having been away for over a month, Hardy knew there were likely issues that needed resolving before a decision could be made.

"Why not come over now?" Hardy proposed.

"Now?" Hedy hesitated briefly.

"I'll have the driver pick you up," Hardy said, a hint of authority in his voice.

It didn't take long for the driver to bring Hedy Lamarr to the manor. After dinner, the two took a stroll through the garden. Hardy mentioned how infrequently he visited.

Hedy was surprised. "With such a beautiful home, why don't you live here?"

"It's too quiet."

"Then find a hostess, have a few children, and this place will liven up," Hedy suggested.

Hardy shook his head. "I don't plan on marrying anytime soon."

Hedy was taken aback. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want just one hostess here; I want a woman in every room," Hardy said with a sly smile.

"How many rooms do you have?" Hedy inquired.

"Thirty two in total."

Hedy Lamarr looked astonished. "You're quite the rogue, wanting thirty two women."

"It's a man's nature."

That night, Hedy Lamarr didn't return home.

Hardy expressed his dislike for solitude and requested she stay with him.

The two conversed late into the night.

The following day, Hardy invited Elizabeth Taylor over and spent the day playing with the young girl. When she departed, her lips were slightly reddened.

While Hardy savored his peaceful existence, significant events unfolded in Sicily, New York, and Las Vegas.

Sonny killed Bruno, Philip Tattaglia's son. Philip refused to yield, inciting other families to retaliate against the Corleone family.

That day, the heads of the four major families gathered and spent an entire day strategizing in the conference room, commencing separate operations the next day.

...

Sicily.

Sonny sought refuge in Sicily. Naturally romantic, he swiftly wooed and bedded a beautiful woman named Canalis, a rare beauty. Sonny visited her for trysts almost nightly.

This morning, satisfied, Sonny bid Canalis farewell and climbed into his car, starting the engine.

"Boom!"

Sonny's car erupted into flames.

Sonny himself was blown to bits.

Meanwhile, In New York, Michael prepared to visit the television factory.

Before leaving, Hardy warned him to beware of the other families vendettas and not underestimate the threat. Michael heeded the advice, traveling with a small entourage of bodyguards.

Loyal to the Corleone family, these bodyguards were seasoned veterans, no less skilled than those employed by security firms.

At a gas station, the car halted for refueling.

The driver disembarked.

At that moment, a black vehicle pulled up beside them. Its windows slid down promptly, revealing four neatly attired men who locked eyes with Michael's entourage.

Michael sensed danger from their gaze.

Then, machine gun barrels protruded from the other car's window.

Michael instinctively hit the deck.

"Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat~!"

Bullets riddled Michael's car and his bodyguards, claiming the lives of two.

Fortunately, one bodyguard, shielded Michael with his body, absorbing the bullets.

The driver, crouching beneath the car, drew his pistol and fired at the assailant's car.

The driver's aim was deadly accurate. In a few shots, two men lay dead, their cars's windshields shattered. Startled, the driver floored the accelerator, vanishing from sight.

"Mr. Michael, are you alright?" The driver called out, yanking open the car door.

The bodyguard beside him had fallen, revealing Michael drenched in blood and seething with rage.

He was unscathed, but all his guards had perished.

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