When the bulletproof SUV returned to the seaside villa, the sunset stained the Mediterranean with a burning blood red.
At the entrance of the villa, Henry and Ferrari were already waiting anxiously. Seeing Song Heping get out of the car, they quickly approached him.
"Boss!"
Henry's voice carried an irrepressible tension.
"How is it with Haftar?"
Song Heping didn't answer directly, he just nodded, his gaze sweeping over the tense faces of the two men.
Ferrari's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he ultimately swallowed his words.
The air was filled with a silent heaviness. This time, the Americans played a more insidious political stranglehold on "the Musician", rather than an open military confrontation. It was a soft knife.
A soft knife is harder to deal with.
"I need some time alone."
Song Heping walked straight into the villa. He didn't go to the terrace to enjoy the false calm of the sea but went directly to the study and closed the door.
