American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior

When Dio heard the address, he didn't even raise his eyelids, let alone ask any more questions.

He just nodded casually and started walking. The hard soles of his leather boots stepped on the mirror-like marble floor, making clear and rhythmic footsteps. He walked straight towards the elevator that the waiter indicated.

Only the waiter was left behind to watch his tall figure disappear around the corner of the corridor:

"Oh, it's really hard these days. Only those who are handsome can do it."

-

Do Not Disturb

Locke and Clark looked at each other.

"What did he go to do?"

"I don't know. I asked him at noon and he said he had something to do. I was the one who picked up Sarafir."

Listening to Clark's words, Locke scratched his head in confusion.

Dior rarely comes home late

Was he tinkering with his Harley Davidson parked in Cebreloa again?

"Sorry, Lex."

Looking at the bald man who was feasting on his meal at the table, Locke said helplessly, "Dio may be back late."

"It's okay, Uncle Locke." Lex said vaguely.

Chapter 95 Dio: Diego

The elevator door slid open silently.

The blond young man stepped out and was greeted by a long corridor covered with dark red carpet.

On both sides of the corridor are tightly closed dark wooden doors, each with a golden house number inlaid on it. Under the ambiguous warm light cast from the top of the corridor, the doors exude a deliberately created luxurious luster.

The air was filled with the scent of high-end perfume and alcohol.

Faintly, one could hear the deliberately suppressed laughter and the crisp clinking of glasses coming from behind some closed doors.

Dio raised an eyebrow calmly.

Rather than being a high-end club, this place is more like a KTV room that is overly luxuriously decorated and tries to imitate the upper class.

His eyes swept to the end of the corridor, where a huge oil painting was hanging.

The painting shows a penguin wearing a monocle and a funny little dress, holding a champagne glass in an extremely exaggerated posture, with the words written in gorgeous cursive below:

“Welcome to Iceberg Lounge!”

"Ah."

Dior commented mercilessly in his heart, "What a low aesthetic."

But just as he withdrew his gaze, he caught a glimpse of a man standing in the middle of the corridor, leaning against the wall.

The man was thin, wearing a cheap suit that was obviously ill-fitting and a crooked tie. He was smoking in a rather impatient manner.

However, when Dio's figure appeared clearly in the corridor light, the man suddenly stopped all his movements.

It was like seeing something completely beyond my expectations.

“Are you new here?”

The man's voice trembled slightly, and his eyes darted back and forth across Dio's face, finally settling on that dazzling blond hair.

Dio didn't answer, but just narrowed his eyes slightly.

This reaction is not right.

The other party didn't look like he was interviewing an employee, but rather like he had seen something incredible.

Before Dio could think about the reason, the thin man suddenly extinguished his cigarette as if he was burned, and rushed to Dio in one step.

"Great! You're the kind of person we need!"

“Follow me! The supervisor can’t wait!”

The man spoke very quickly, barely giving Dio any time to react, before turning and hurriedly walking deeper into the corridor, his pace so fast that he was almost jogging.

Dio's eyes darkened, and after a slight hesitation, he followed.

He wanted to see what was going on.

The two of them quickly walked past a series of tightly closed doors with similar decorations, turned a few corners, and finally stopped in front of a heavy metal door.

The door looks unusually solid, somewhat out of place with the luxurious surrounding style.

The man turned slightly, raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door gently.

"manager."

His voice suddenly became flattering, "The next interviewee is here."

A vague and low muttering sound came from inside the door, but the content was unclear.

A few seconds later, the door was yanked open, and a man with a bloody face was thrown out like a rag doll, landing heavily at Dio's feet.

Then, two burly men in black suits and expressionless faces stepped out of the door, one on the left and one on the right, and skillfully lifted up the unfortunate dying man on the ground. Like dragging a bag of garbage, they dragged him away silently and quickly along the way Dio came.

The thin man seemed accustomed to this. He only quickly glanced at the marks on the ground, then moved closer to Dio and lowered his voice, speaking quickly with a soothing yet warning tone:

"Don't worry, you're handsome enough, you won't be like him."

Dio walked expressionlessly over the drenched blood on the ground and followed the thin man into the room.

The light inside the room was even darker and more depressing than in the corridor. Only a few wall lamps in the corners emitted a dim glow, barely illuminating the limited space.

The smell in the air is even more complex and strong:

The strong smell of cigar smoke, some kind of pungent cheap cologne, the sweet aftertaste of high-end perfume, and...

A faint smell of blood lingering just now.

Seven or eight bodyguards in black stood neatly on both sides of the room. They wore sunglasses and had their hands crossed in front of them, like a row of lifeless statues.

Opposite the door is a whole wall of surveillance screens, divided into countless small screens.

It displays the dynamics of every corner inside and outside the club in real time, like countless cold eyes.

In front of the screen, on a large black leather sofa with his back to the door, sat an extremely burly figure.

"boom!"

The heavy door closed behind Dio.

Two bodyguards in black were guarding the door.

"I'm Ignatius Ogilvy, the manager here." The man on the sofa spoke slowly, his voice as if squeezed out from deep in his chest, with a thick voice of smoke and alcohol. "Boy, Luo Koman brought you here, so you should be prepared. He should have told you that if you are ugly..."

He turned around and was about to continue speaking, but the moment his gaze fell completely on Dio's face, he was choked by something and stopped abruptly.

A trace of astonishment first flashed across his eyes, and then was replaced by a huge surprise, as if he had found a treasure.

"You... Tsk! God! You look damned good for our job!"

He couldn't help but exclaim in admiration, and the anger he had just felt disappeared, replaced by ecstasy as if he had discovered a large amount of gold.

Dio stood there expressionlessly.

Although he didn't fully understand what the other party meant, he knew that he couldn't show weakness now.

He nodded slightly, his voice steady:

"Can we start working now?"

Stunned for a moment by this extraordinary calmness, Ogilvy then burst into laughter, his thick chin shaking with laughter:

“Of course! Of course!”

He waved cheerfully at the thin man next to him, "Hey, take him directly to Room 312. Ms. Alana has been waiting for a long time."

Dio nodded without any extra expression, turned around and prepared to leave with that person.

But just as he was about to step out of the door, Ogilvy seemed to suddenly remember something and called him again:

"What's your name, kid?"

"Di..." Dio paused and almost blurted out his own name, but then realized that it was inappropriate and changed his words temporarily, "Diego."

"Diego?" Ogilvy chewed on the name and then chuckled. "Then work hard, Diego."

"Tonight will be a soft opening. After you receive the distinguished Ms. Alana, come back to me in three hours and report."

Dio's brows knitted slightly.

Reception?

Wasn't he applying for that cool-sounding position, one that sounded like he was in control of something and was called "King"?

He had clearly looked it up online and knew that the 'king' of such a high-end club usually referred to the DJ booth's main controller, or at least the central figure in some kind of stage performance...

Why does he need to "receive" others? Who does he need to "receive"?

This question had just arisen in his mind, and before he could figure it out, the thin man who was walking in front of him and leading the way suddenly lowered his voice in the corridor away from the supervisor's office. He spoke in a tone like a veteran, with a hint of sympathy and a reminder:

"You should know what a male escort does, right?"

"?!"

Dio's footsteps suddenly stopped!

Male host?

These three words were like three thunders, exploding in his mind in an instant!

High salary recruitment, special requirements for appearance, the so-called king

What the hell.

Dio cursed inwardly.

A cold rage mixed with the absurd feeling of being fooled instantly rose from the bottom of my heart and rushed straight to the top of my head!

It turns out that the so-called "king" is not the DJ who controls the stage, nor the bartender who calls the shots...

But let him be a gigolo!

Chapter 96 Three sentences to make the lady spend a hundred thousand dollars on me

"This is it. Just push the door and go in."

The man led Dio to a heavy wooden door decorated with intricate carvings and stopped. He pointed to the house number "312" and then, as if completing a task, with a look of "I wish you the best", quickly patted Dio's shoulder and said, "That lady may be a little picky."

After saying that, he trotted away almost without looking back, as if he was afraid of getting into any trouble.

"."

Staring at the heavy wooden door, Dio took a deep breath with a cold and resolute look, as if forcibly suppressing the violence churning in his body.

Forget it.

Come here.

but.

If that Ms. Alana inside dared to make him feel the slightest bit unhappy, or made any demands that exceeded his tolerance limit...

Haha.

Well, sorry, he needs to stretch his muscles in this Iceberg Club and try to fight his way out of Gotham.

-

The heavy carved wooden door closed silently behind Dio, isolating him from the noise of the corridor.

The light in the room was deliberately dimmed, and the huge crystal chandelier cast fine, blurry spots of light that danced silently on the dark Persian carpet.

The air was filled with the rich scent of rose incense, mixed with the aftertaste of some expensive perfume.

Dio walked into the room with a cold expression, his eyes immediately fixed on the center—

On the overly large purple velvet sofa, a lady wearing Chanel's latest haute couture collection was impatiently tapping the armrest with her fingers wearing a huge jewel ring.