Chapter 91 — Praise Be to the Kind Father, and Recruiting Ian
William turned to look at Svetlana, three invisible question marks practically hovering over his head.
"I—"
The moment his gaze landed on her, a chill ran through Svetlana's entire body from head to toe.
Seeing her trembling like that, William felt genuinely speechless.
What on earth does she think I am?
I'm clearly a bright, sunny young man.
Why does she look like she's just seen a cannibal?
He shook his head and said calmly,
"Just deduct the rent from the profits. It's fine. And relax—I'm not interested in killing you. If you're dead, who's going to work for me?"
Hearing this, Svetlana didn't feel relieved in the slightest.
Instead, her heart sank even deeper.
To her, the meaning was obvious:
I'm not killing you because you're still useful.
The moment you're no longer useful—that's when you die.
"I understand, boss," she said softly.
"I'll work harder."
Someone who'd grown up at the bottom of society knew better than to beg at a moment like this.
If the other party had already given her a chance, then the only thing she could do was walk this road all the way to the end.
William, of course, had no idea there was such a dramatic internal monologue unfolding in her head.
All he knew was that Svetlana looked like she was heading to her execution.
---
A short while later, under Svetlana's guidance, William arrived at a dimly lit basement.
She opened the door.
A stench rushed out—boxwood flower mixed with rot and decay.
It was obvious that the working conditions for the two women inside were beyond terrible.
"These are the ones," Svetlana said quietly.
"One was born deaf and mute. Her parents abandoned her at birth. Her mother was probably a prostitute too—no idea who the father was."
She gestured to the other woman.
"The second one used to play the alphabet game. One time, a client poured sulfuric acid down her throat."
She paused, then added flatly, as if describing the weather.
"That's how she lost her voice."
And then…
Svetlana didn't bother to explain any further.
William didn't need her to.
Sulfuric acid burns to the throat—if the girl was still alive, it only meant one thing:
her former "patron" hadn't actually intended to kill her.
As for the capitalist world playing things this grotesquely, William felt no surprise at all.
Among the asset-owning class, where morality sits comfortably at zero, whatever perverted extremes they reach are nothing more than standard operating procedure.
---
Tasha and Nastya were both visibly nervous.
Svetlana had contacted them earlier, telling them that a big boss wanted to "play" with them.
They were instructed to serve him well—
otherwise, their lives might be in danger.
So now both of their legs were trembling.
The clients they usually received were already twisted enough, but out of fear of Sasha, none of them had ever dared to do anything truly life-threatening.
But according to Svetlana, this boss wasn't just rich—his background was mysterious.
If they failed to satisfy him, not even Sasha could protect them.
Looking at the terror in their eyes, William didn't need to think twice to know Svetlana had embellished things.
He couldn't be bothered to correct her.
The more afraid she was of him, the easier she would be to control.
"Svetlana, wait outside," William said calmly.
He had no intention of letting her know too much about his other line of work.
Svetlana didn't argue.
She even closed the door behind her on the way out, assuming William was about to get started.
---
Once the door shut, the cramped, foul-smelling room was left with only William and the two disabled prostitutes.
"So," William said, looking at Tasha,
"you can hear, but you can't speak."
Tasha nodded.
"And you?" He turned to Nastya.
"You can't hear—do you read lips?"
Nastya nodded and let out a few incoherent sounds.
Her vocal cords were clearly intact.
Truthfully, William already had Aphasia stored in his disease inventory.
The throat damage was optional.
But he figured he might as well recruit a few reliable subordinates while he was at it.
So, just as he had done with Sophia, he once again borrowed the name of the Plague Father and launched into his preacher's routine.
---
Ten-odd minutes later, William walked away with two new ailments absorbed:
Chemical throat burn
Congenital hearing loss
And two women whose loyalty was now firmly maxed out.
The way they looked at him—it was no longer human reverence.
He was a god.
"Remember," William said coldly,
"what I healed must never be mentioned to anyone.
Not even Svetlana."
With that, he opened the door and left the stifling basement.
Behind him remained two women, whispering "Praise be to the Kind Father" through tears.
---
Meanwhile, outside the juvenile detention center.
Mandy and Ian walked side by side.
"Mandy, how have you been lately?" Ian asked.
"I heard you're not living with the Milkoviches anymore?"
As they walked, Ian's thoughts drifted to Mickey inside, and he chatted absently.
"Yeah," Mandy nodded.
"Found a job. Doing alright. What about you?"
They hadn't been in close contact lately.
If it weren't for William's request, Mandy might not have even remembered she still had Ian as a best friend.
"I'm… hanging in there."
Thinking about what had happened that morning put Ian in a low mood.
Seventeen hundred dollars a month.
For the Gallagher family, already scraping the bottom of the South Side, it was devastating.
So he didn't really want to dwell on it.
"Forget me," Ian said.
"What about you? What kind of job did you get? You seem way better than before."
As close friends, the two still got along well.
"You know," Mandy said casually,
"the kind of work Milkoviches are good at. Interested?"
Ian nodded immediately.
With William's interference, a butterfly effect had kicked in—after Mickey was shot by Kash, Linda had fired Ian as well.
Now, aside from running errands for William to collect Bitcoin and doing petty theft with Lip, Ian had no income.
Hearing there was money to be made, of course he was interested.
"What exactly do you do?" Ian asked.
His curiosity made Mandy frown slightly.
She didn't really understand why William hadn't just brought Ian in himself, instead of having her do it.
But Mandy trusted William completely now.
Even if she had doubts, she followed instructions without question.
So she told Ian about selling guns.
"Selling guns?" Ian's eyes lit up.
Someone who'd always dreamed of joining the military?
Of course he loved firearms.
"Yeah," Mandy said.
"Want in? The South Side market isn't even close to saturated. The margins are huge."
Just as William had instructed, she extended the olive branch.
Ian didn't accept immediately.
After all, this was illegal.
"I'll… think about it."
If it had been before—before the $1,700 rent crushing Fiona—he wouldn't even have considered it.
His dream was West Point, becoming an officer.
A gun-trafficking charge would destroy that instantly.
In the original timeline, this was exactly why Lip had taken the fall alone for car theft.
"Cool," Mandy said lightly.
"When you decide, call me. You've got my new number."
She winked, and the two parted ways.
Ian stood there, watching her walk away.
His mind was filled with one thing.
$1,700 a month.
---
Night fell quickly.
William crouched inside a patch of bushes.
Across the street was Jasmine's house.
"…She didn't go clubbing tonight?"