"The Widow" Bertha

Bertha took Thomas to the Italian factory.

It was Marco Esposito's butler who came out to greet her. The Italian butler said politely, "Sorry, ma'am, sir, he is not in a good mood today."

"not too good?"

"But it won't affect meeting you, ma'am," the butler replied irrelevantly, "Mr. Marco has always respected you."

It wasn't until she entered the Italian factory that Bertha realized what the phrase "not in a good mood" meant.

No one is working today, and there are only a group of people waiting in front of the huge stove in the empty factory building.Bertha led the Thames boys around the fire, seeing blood all over her eyes.

Marco Esposito is thin and thin. After taking off the expensive custom-made suit jacket, the white shirt and navy blue vest outline his almost sickly waistline. The man's sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and the forearm is exposed The lines are tight - all because he tightly holds an iron rod as long as a person's arm in his hand.

On his shirt, his suit vest, and his dark face with obvious Italian ancestry, there are blood spatters and radiating traces all over the place.

Marco spit on the ground, and then grabbed a bloody man from the stove. The man couldn't stop speaking Italian in a crying voice. Several of his front teeth were knocked out, and he opened his mouth with blood and saliva. It can't stop flowing down the gap between the teeth.

Such a disgusting scene, but Marco just grinned.

He raised his hand to wipe the blood man's hair back, stared into his eyes, and said face to face in English with an Italian accent: "Please forgive me, huh?"

The blood man whimpered and nodded desperately.

"It's getting late, my friend."

Marco dragged his sighing tone and drew the end of the sound. He wiped the blood off the bloody man's face with his fingers, but there was always an unstoppable bright red coming out of his eye sockets and nostrils.

"You know the rules of Esposito."

As he spoke, he let go of the hand holding the blood man's collar.

The body of the injured fell heavily to the ground, and Marco spread his hands. The joyful look had nothing to do with the "bad mood" that the housekeeper said.Italians habitually use gestures when speaking: "The Sicilian rule is that you betrayed me, you, your parents, your wife, your children, your friends, all of them must be buried with you."

"But now we're in London, so I'll give you a chance," Marco said with a smile, "tell me, who is it?"

The blood man on the ground trembled and uttered a sentence in Italian.

Marco showed a satisfied expression.

"Okay," he nodded seriously, "thank you."

Then the Italian slammed the iron rod in his hand.

When the iron shattered the bones, it made a muffled sound that almost broke melons and fruits, blood splashed everywhere, one after another, until the wailing of the begging man stopped abruptly, and he never got up again.

The Italian dropped the iron rod in his hand.

The housekeeper who greeted Bertha stepped forward and handed a towel to Marco himself.

He took the towel, turned around, and stopped suddenly as if he had just discovered Bertha.Then Marco quickly put away his murderous look, as if the previous threats and tense atmosphere, as well as his unpleasant confrontation with Mrs. Thames, did not exist at all.

"Ah, ma'am," Marco stepped forward while wiping the blood off his face with a towel, "don't worry about it."

After he finished speaking, he even raised his hand to lick the blood on his fingertips, and then let out a pooh.

"Just dealt with a few mice."

Bertha withdrew her gaze from the pool of blood that was no longer human.

Her beautiful face was half a smile: "It's okay. It's just that I didn't expect it."

Marco: "Didn't expect anything?"

Bertha: "The Esposito family managed to reap unexpected rewards when dealing with their own mice. It's really interesting to find the little ghost far away in the Whitechapel."

Marco tilted his head: "It's two different things."

He threw the towel to the butler, and slowly put down his blood-soaked sleeves.The men of the Italians sent over the man's suit, and Marco took over the coat of the same color as the vest and put it on.

However, the heavy custom-made coat could not cover the blood splashed to his neck and collar, as well as the strong smell of blood.

"Bring people up," he said.

Several Italians left in response, and it didn't take long for them to walk over with three young men in disheveled clothes.

Bertha recognized them at once--Lady Thames's boys, yes, two of them doing errands for Sikes, and the other running about as Ned.

They were not often at the office, but Bertha recognized them.

The oldest of these three young people was only 22 years old, and the youngest was just a boy.

Seeing the pool of blood men beaten to death in front of the furnace in the factory, the three young men immediately lost their legs in fright and fell to the ground.

"Husband, madam!"

"Sorry ma'am, I'm not, I'm not—"

"What are you not?"

Marco turned his head suddenly, the blood on his face frightened several young people to shut up immediately.

Then he straightened the hem of his suit and turned back to Bertha: "I didn't catch the little devils, ma'am, they exposed them themselves."

"What do you mean?" Bertha looked at him coldly.

"Don't be so cold."

Marco smiled and took a step forward.

He stepped forward, grabbed a certain young man's hair, and pulled him up from the ground abruptly.

"Come on, tell us Mrs. Thames yourself," Marco knelt down, "tell her, how did you show off?"

"I--"

"tell her."

Marco smiled: "You have been unclean from the beginning."

The young man sobbed in fear: "I, I did things for the Truth Society! Ma'am, ma'am, that's all in the past, please forgive me! I haven't done anything to sorry for you since the death of old Jesse matter!"

Bertha understood immediately.

There were former Truth Society people in Thames Office, she knew it well.

The gangsters in Whitechapel were, as Marco Esposito put it, a bunch of "mudlegs".At least a kid from the slums wouldn't starve to death if he joined a gang.

They are at the bottom of society, and the Truth Society doesn't like them. The so-called "doing things for the Truth Society" really means doing things—the Society contributes money, and they contribute.

Bertha would not criticize the people in the slums according to the morals stipulated by the upper class. None of these children are clean, but clean people cannot survive in the slums, it's as simple as that.

Therefore, after Old Jesse's death, except for those children who were directly implicated, like these three youths who had no backers and no ambitions, and took money to do things, she turned a blind eye and closed one eye to let them go.

And now...

"Didn't do anything to apologize to Madam?"

Marco repeated the young man's begging for mercy, then took out an envelope from his suit jacket pocket and threw it on the ground.

The clean white envelope was quickly stained black by the blood-stained floor.

"Explain to Madam," Marco said, "what's going on."

Bertha took a closer look, and found that the symbol of "light" belonging to the Truth Society was clearly hung on the already half-stained envelope.

"No, no..."

"no!"

After seeing the envelope, the youngest child hurriedly raised his voice: "Ma'am, we were framed! This empty envelope was sent to my home just like that, and it was signed and signed by Dr. Lang En's laboratory—" —”

"So you went to the lab," Bertha continued.

"Yes, that's right," the boy stammered, "but I definitely don't mean to betray you!"

The bloody drama had come to this point, and Bertha understood it all.

She raised her head slightly and looked at Marco Esposito who was squatting on the ground, her dark golden eyes flashed a little sharply.

"Unexpectedly," Bertha's hoarse voice was full of coldness, "the ones waiting for you are Sicilians, right?"

"Don't pour dirty water on me, madam."

Only then did Marco let go of the young man's scalp and stood up.

He flicked the seam of his suit trousers as if he thought it was dirty: "Irish people say that your detective suspects that the murder case is related to that Truth Society. A list that old Jesse left with me."

The Italian spoke casually, and then pulled a pistol from his belt as if by magic.

"Isn't this a coincidence?" Marco shook the gun in his hand, and the muzzle of the gun stayed on the three young people intentionally or unintentionally, "I just tried it, and I didn't expect to catch a few little devils for you."

"lady!"

"Madam we are not!"

Seeing Marco draw out his gun, the three young men who had managed to hold their nerve before completely collapsed.

The young man whose hair was grabbed by the Italian even changed his voice: "Mrs. Thames!!"

The young man in fear almost crawled to Bertha's feet, grabbed her skirt, and almost cried: "Please, madam, I really never thought of betraying you, I am not a traitor, I am not traitor!"

Marco's face immediately sank.

His smile disappeared suddenly, as abruptly as if it had just appeared.The Italian turned around suddenly and kicked the young man in the chest.

"You mean that I framed you?" Marco asked coldly.

Such a merciless kick almost kicked the young man a few meters away, which was not even enough for Marco to vent his anger. He even wanted to step forward to make up for it a few more times——

"Enough." Bertha said calmly.

Until she spoke, Thomas Thames, who was following Bertha, finally couldn't help it.

A handsome young man wearing a red scarf rushed forward. He grabbed Marco Esposito's shoulders and gritted his teeth: "Sir, even if they are traitors, they are also traitors of our Thames. It seems that it is not their turn yet." Are you going to deal with it?"

The Italian stopped.

He was half a head taller than Thomas, and Marco just glanced condescendingly at the young man who was holding back his anger, then shook his shoulders and shook his hand away.

Thomas Thames, who has been secretly protecting Bertha, came forward, which gave Marco a chance to move forward.

He strayed from Thomas and walked up to Bertha.

The Italian didn't seem to know how to spell the word "safe distance", and as he approached, the smell of blood covered in a custom-made suit rushed over his face.

"I suddenly remembered, ma'am," he said in a low voice close to Bertha's ear, "you seem to have learned to rise by fighting the truth, and occupied the Whitechapel area. It only took a year, The wind is so smooth that people suspect that you have agreed with the other party to perform a play."

"What?" asked Bertha.

"not very."

Marco sneered: "Now I understand, it's not acting, but you have political backing."