Just as Turner prepared to talk his way out of trouble, Leo cut him off—with force.
"In my experience, the first words out of a captive's mouth are always garbage. So before you speak, allow me to introduce you to a mysterious force from the East."
Leo picked up his needle box, displaying an array of steel needles—long and short, thick and thin.
These weren't ordinary needles. They were custom-made for special operations—designed to pry secrets from enemies in the quickest, most efficient ways. Needle to nerve. Pain like a symphony.
Leo wasn't a trained acupuncturist. But his lucid dreams—gifts from his past life—had shown him a vivid acupuncture chart during a childhood visit to a Chinese clinic. The doctor's face was a blur, but the anatomical chart behind him? Burned into memory.
Leo had memorized every point. With generous support from captured Japanese soldiers, his acupuncture skills never improved for healing—but in pain infliction? He made terrifying strides. Within six months, he had perfected his method.
Now, he described to Turner—slowly, in great detail—what each needle would feel like: the sting, the twist, the burn.
To Turner, Leo had transformed into a demon.
He hadn't even been touched, yet his prostate trembled in terror. Warm liquid spread across his pants.
With a shaky voice, Turner whimpered, "Sir... what do you want to know? I've always been honest."
The next morning, the Valentino household was in an uproar.
Besides the four veterans Leo had called, three unfamiliar young men had come with them—Joseph's friends from the European front. They'd heard about Leo's exploits and came to meet him. Shared blood spilled against fascists made them instant brothers.
Someone even joked they should start a Lynchburg Veterans Brotherhood.
Then came the next wave—angry, scruffy-looking men: the lumberyard workers.
Among them stood an outlier—Carlo, second-in-command of the old Lynchburg Gang.
Leo had his suspicions. Turner had only named Johnny, but Carlo had admitted yesterday that he and Johnny were still "running" the gang.
Yesterday, Carlo wore a clean suit. Today, he sported a blue work jacket. But it was spotless—mud on the pants legs looked freshly smeared.
Unlike the calm veterans, the workers were loud, some shouting curses.
"Sorry, brothers," Leo said. "Could you wait in the yard? This family matter will be settled quickly."
They nodded and stepped outside—except for Sean, who stayed put.
Seeing Leo's look of confusion, Sean grinned and pointed toward a worker in the crowd.
"That's Miller. My father."
"I thought you grew up outside town?"
"He lost his job as a ranch hand in '41. Joined Brown Lumber after."
"Good. Then don't let our fathers fight. Help calm things down. Whatever you or he heard—it's not true. The truth will come out. Right here."
With Leo and Sean working diplomacy and intimidation in equal measure, the angry workers gradually settled.
Carlo, who had hoped to stir the pot, was left fuming as his efforts fell apart.
The workers murmured among themselves and chose a strong, middle-aged man to speak with Ricardo.
Leo recognized him: John Billy, father of William—the gang's old fourth.
"Ricardo, Derry came to us today. Said he saw you take money from Michael Brown yesterday. Did you sell your union shares back to him?"
Leo turned to look at Derry—the tall, thin man stood at the door, visibly avoiding Leo's gaze.
But his eyes kept darting toward Carlo.
They're connected, Leo thought.
"John, we've known each other for years. You all know I'd never do that."
Ricardo had earned his workers' respect through fairness. His words eased the crowd a little.
Sensing his momentum slipping, Derry interjected:
"We haven't been paid in two months. Everyone's struggling. But you fixed your house yesterday. Everyone saw it. Where'd the money come from?"
Murmurs resumed.
Ricardo hesitated. He didn't want to admit he'd used Leo's money.
Maria stepped in.
"It was Leo's money. He saved up while in the army."
Some workers, who had known Leo since he was a kid, looked doubtful.
"Ha! Lynchburg's Robin Hood saving money? I paid for his drinks last night."
Years later, when Leo reflected on his rise, he always remembered this moment. Carlo had taught him Lesson Two of the New World:
In America, betrayal comes dressed as friendship.
Sean knew Leo had money—high officer pay and some freelance writing gigs. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Leo gave him a firm look.
Carlo's jab reignited the crowd's fury.
"You've changed, Ricardo. You're not the man we trusted. You're as fake as the capitalists."
"You sided with the Browns and the mob. You don't deserve to lead us."
"You lied. Maria lied. No way Leo saved that much. We all know how he used to lift from every coin jar in town."
"You stopped us from storming the lumberyard. When they kicked us out, you didn't say a word. You betrayed us."
"Enough talk! Let's search the house. If we find the money, we strip him of his union title—and send him to jail!"
Leo was sure: without him and Sean, the house would've already become a brawl zone.
The chaos had terrified his younger siblings. Leo scooped them up, his face cold.
"Gentlemen," he said flatly. "Search all you want.
But if we're innocent—mark my words—you'll regret it."