The Son-In-Law Shot to Fame novel Chapter 940

“What are you doing! Let go of Mr. Larkin!”

Witnessing Donald subduing Jedidiah and subjecting him to rough treatment, a cluster of subordinates erupted into clamor on the sidelines. Despite their fervent shouting, not one among them dared to approach and intervene.

Everyone present possessed their fair share of intelligence. They knew they were no match for Donald. Confronting him would be akin to walking straight into the lion's den, yielding no meaningful outcome whatsoever.

Donald cast a nonchalant glance toward the underlings and remarked, “Isn't a bit of friction rather common in a bar setting? Didn't your Mr. Larkin just affirm that himself?”

The entire group of subordinates was silently letting loose a barrage of curses within their minds.

Is that what Mr. Larkin meant by friction? Look at what you're doing! You're practically grinding Mr. Larkin's face away. If this keeps up, he's going to die!

A divine-stage Penta Stella Warrior—never could Jedidiah have imagined that, once engaged, he would find himself under Donald's control.

At this moment, the Stella Warrior energy coursing through Jedidiah had been disrupted by the fall he had sustained.

It was no longer a question of resistance. Even if Donald were to stand passively and allow himself to be struck, Jedidiah would likely find it impossible to lift his fist.

Thankfully, the members of the United Hearts Society promptly detected the unusual situation.

The music within the bar came to a halt, and people from the society swiftly initiated the evacuation process.

A man adorned in a crimson suit emerged in the distance, drawing nearer, followed closely by a contingent of subordinates whose expressions appeared even more intimidating.

“Sir!”

“Mr. Livingston!”

Upon the arrival of the middle-aged man, those in his vicinity promptly made way, demonstrating their deference, and extended greetings.

Observing Jedidiah, his countenance marred by fragments of glass, Waldo Livingston settled onto the couch, lighting a cigar from his pocket with an air of nonchalance.

His gaze shifted to Donald as he inquired, “You've got quite the nerve to lay a hand on my people in my territory. So, tell me, who sent you, and what brings you to my establishment?”