As the jeering laughter of the hooligans filled the air, a slender silhouette appeared behind the bakery's glass window. Though only a shadow, the sight of that curvaceous figure was enough to silence the entire crowd.

  In Dream of the Red Chamber, Cao Xueqin introduced Wang Xifeng with her voice arriving before her presence, a masterful entrance. Similarly, Julie’s appearance had its own poetic charm—half-hidden, lips slightly parted behind a fan of secrecy. That shy yet teasing allure was enough to entrap any man in a dreamlike daze.

  I was lost in thought when the wooden door swung open with a clatter. A woman emerged, carrying a tray of freshly baked bread.

  Nicole Kidman! No way! The resemblance was uncanny. Golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, her nose was high and delicate like a sculpted jade ornament, and her deep blue eyes shimmered with a captivating softness. Her lips curled upward slightly, both warm and mischievous. Even dressed in a tattered linen dress, her ample curves and graceful figure made her impossible to ignore.

  “Bread Goddess!” I murmured in awe.

  “What bread goddess?” Berg nudged me.

  I chuckled. “Nothing, just talking to myself. This woman… she’s remarkable.”

  “Remarkable?! Boss, are you kidding me? ‘Remarkable’ doesn’t even begin to describe her! She’s more stunning than Pickford!” Gance shot me a look, questioning my sense of beauty.

  Mary Pickford was Hollywood’s brightest star in its early years—not only breathtakingly beautiful but also ambitious in a way rare for women. She was one of the founders of United Artists, a close friend of Chaplin and Griffith. Saying Julie was even more beautiful than Pickford? Gance wasn’t exaggerating.

  “Julie, got company tonight? Let me take you for a ride,” a slick-haired thug sauntered over, reaching to pinch Julie’s chin.

  Julie shot him a disdainful look, placed the bread into the display case, and said loudly, “Are you here to buy bread or cause trouble? A ride? No, thanks. I’ve got work to do.”

  “I’ll help you with that—we’ll do it together.” Another goon smirked. Some even reached out to grope her. Though Julie fended them off left and right, there were too many of them for her to handle alone.

  “A bunch of men bullying a single woman… Shame on you,” I sighed theatrically. A perfect opportunity to play the hero—I wasn’t about to miss it.

  The thugs turned their attention to us, momentarily leaving Julie alone.

  “Well, well, look who it is! The big boss of DreamWorks himself! We came for auditions today, and you guys turned us down. Haven’t settled that score yet, and now you waltz right into our turf? Listen up, boys! This is Harvey Street—our turf! Let’s beat the hell outta him!” Their leader grabbed a wooden club and charged.

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  Berg froze. Gance was stunned. Gist was even more dumbfounded.

  There were only five of us, and they had more than twice our numbers.

  As the gang of thugs bared their teeth and rushed forward, I cursed myself for my stupidity. Great job, idiot. Trying to be a hero? Now you’re just a fool about to get his *ss kicked.

  Bang!

  Just as my knees were about to give out, a gunshot rang out beside me, halting the gang in their tracks.

  “Who wants to die first? Come on, step right up. Let’s take this somewhere quieter,” James smirked, blowing the smoke from his pistol. The scar on his face made his grin all the more menacing.

  “Sorry! Sorry! It was our mistake!” Their leader immediately folded, laughing nervously as he bowed repeatedly.

  James sneered and kicked him forward. “Go apologize to the boss.”

  “Mr. Corleone, it was our mistake! You’re the sun of Hollywood, and we’re just worms beneath your feet! Please, spare us!” Now that I was close, I noticed the guy had a face full of acne. With his wide grin, he looked just like a toad.

  “Weren’t you calling me a b*st*rd just a moment ago? Now suddenly I’m ‘Mr. Corleone’?” I arched a brow, my expression darkening.

  “It was all nonsense! Nonsense! Mr. Corleone, we respect you deeply! You’re the hope of Harvey Street—how could we ever dare be rude to you?” The pimple-faced thug fished a box of cigars from his pocket and respectfully presented one to each of us, even offering one to Gist.

  Despite being a low-life, this guy was quick-witted. I made a mental note of him.

  In Hollywood, just having a legitimate business wasn’t enough. This city was a jungle—you needed connections in the underworld to survive. Paramount, MGM, Columbia, Universal—every major studio had its own dark forces at play. They sabotaged rivals, gathered intelligence, spied on competitors’ stars to dig up scandals, and weren’t above blackmail, kidnapping, or even murder.

  If DreamWorks was going to grow, we needed to be prepared. Even if we didn’t play dirty, we had to defend ourselves.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, taking a puff of the cigar—and promptly choking on it.

  “Jack. Jack Layton,” the thug answered with a grin.

  I nodded, pulling two hundred dollars from my pocket and handing it to him. Then, I gestured toward his gang. “Take it. Get your boys some supper—on me.”

  “You heard the boss! Say thank you!” Jack shouted.

  “Thank you, boss!” The deafening chorus echoed down the street.

  “Now scram.” I waved them off. Jack bowed deeply before leading his crew away, disappearing into the night.

  “Boss, are you secretly loaded? You just handed those thugs two hundred bucks like it was nothing! That’s our hard-earned money!” Fatty whined, clutching his chest.

  “Berg, the boss did the right thing. These guys aren’t to be underestimated. If we piss them off, we can forget about living peacefully,” James backed me up.

  I patted Berg’s shoulder as he sulked, then turned toward the young beauty behind the counter.

  Because we had just saved her, Julie offered us a smile. “So you’re Mr. Corleone. Thank you, truly.”

  I grabbed a small loaf, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “Not bad, not bad. Who would’ve thought a woman this beautiful could also bake such delicious bread?”

  “Boss, I never knew you were such a smooth talker! Respect!” Fatty whispered in my ear.

  Women loved compliments—especially those that praised both their looks and their talents. A double-edged flattery like that? Impossible to resist.

  Sure enough, Julie’s cheeks flushed pink, her smile blooming like a flower.

  “Julie, why didn’t you come to our auditions today? We’re casting for a leading lady.” I deliberately avoided looking at her, instead inspecting the shelves around us.

  “I was busy with work—I couldn’t get away. Wait… how do you know my name?” Julie asked, surprised.

  I yawned. “Who in Harvey Street doesn’t know the famous Beauty Julie? What a joke! Why wouldn’t I know?”