July 27th. Three days before the grand opening of the SSR Club.
New Jersey — headquarters of a narcotics enforcement task force.
Looking at the disheveled man standing in front of him, Richie Roberts wore a strange expression. He hadn't seen McClane in a long time, and he never expected their reunion to happen here.
Since the Times Square incident, McClane had spiraled further downhill. Eventually, the department suspended him indefinitely.
Come back when you've figured yourself out.
Back then, Richie hadn't even found the million dollars yet, and McClane had already "retired from the battlefield."
So what was this? A comeback tour?
And why him?
"I'm going to kill every damn drug dealer in New York!" McClane roared.
Richie: "…"
David Mills snorted. "What got into you? You're angrier than I am."
McClane inhaled sharply and recounted what had happened recently. By the end of it, Richie and David exchanged stunned looks.
They blew up his car?
Right outside his house?
Was that Frank? One of his distributors?
"This… sounds exactly like something drug dealers would do," Richie muttered.
He had already uncovered evidence that Frank once shot a Black rival in the middle of a crowded Harlem street—one bullet to the head, instant death. Dozens of witnesses.
It wasn't just murder. It was theater. Authority-building.
And yet Harlem barely reacted. The police didn't even file a case.
That reality had crushed Richie's remaining faith in the department.
So what if a car exploded?
Even if McClane turned up dead tomorrow, it wouldn't shock him.
"Roberts," McClane said firmly, "I know you're investigating them. Let me help. I'll do anything. They crossed a line. Beat me? Fine. But they threatened my wife and kids. That's not forgivable."
The hatred in his voice was sharp enough to slice.
As team leader, Richie could choose his personnel—including non-police specialists. His unit already had more than a few former gangsters who'd switched sides.
He extended his hand.
"Welcome to the team."
He knew McClane's record. With someone like that in the fight, the war just tilted in their favor.
---
The Bronx — Mariggio's Bar.
"Luca," Mariggio said while pouring wine, "you haven't succeeded yet? Run into trouble? You can tell me."
"In the past, jobs like this took you three days. Why is this dragging out?"
Luca calmly shook his head.
"If I truly wanted Richie and Galant dead, they'd already be corpses."
"Roberts isn't in New York. He's in New Jersey. His narcotics unit operates independently—federal backing, DEA support, serious resources. I haven't found a clean window."
"You said Richie's aligned with Galant?"
"I plan to move when they meet. Two birds. One bullet."
Mariggio frowned. "Dominic called me last night. He's getting impatient."
Dominic's tone had been clear: dissatisfaction.
"Should I assign more assassins to assist you?" Mariggio asked.
Luca's expression turned cold.
"Assassins work alone. I don't trust my back to amateurs."
Mariggio sighed. "You and your Assassin's Creed. Fine. But I need a deadline. Dominic's patience isn't endless."
Roberts had pushed too hard. His investigations were suffocating New York's drug bosses.
Delay time was nearly over.
"I'll handle it soon," Luca replied.
Mariggio nodded, then added, "Dominic will attend the club opening tomorrow. Impress him. This is your chance."
Luca smiled brightly.
Oh, he had something special prepared for the underboss.
---
Two nights later.
Brooklyn.
The nightclub "Joe & Mary" — a regular haunt of Carmine Galante, head of the Bonanno family.
Richie and his group stepped out of the car.
"Roberts," McClane warned, "working with the Mafia is like asking a Lion for its skin."
When he learned about the alliance, he'd been stunned.
The Bonanno family had once been New York's dominant drug empire. Teaming up with them to take down Frank sounded pragmatic.
But dangerous.
"Our enemy is Frank," Richie said calmly. "He's destabilizing everything—even the Mafia can't tolerate him. I need leverage. Just like bringing you in."
David shrugged. "They're criminals. But they're structured criminals. Frank's chaos."
They entered the club and met Galante poolside upstairs. Cigars. Bodyguards. No tension about police presence—this wasn't their first meeting.
They discussed Frank's political backers, the bribed officials, the stacked courtroom odds.
Galante promised that when trial day came, the scales would tip toward Richie.
Across the street, inside a parked car—
Luca checked his equipment.
"Another lively night, Leon. This one's complicated. Don't mess up."
Tonight's goal: perform the execution order.
He'd accepted the mission. Which meant a performance was required.
While he was at it, he could deepen bonds with these rare cards.
Leon glanced at the photos. Carmine Galante. Richie. David. McClane.
Luca grinned. "All actors in position. Veteran director, don't overact. And don't hurt our lead."
Leon stared. "You're the one who loves these strange productions."
"Right," Luca added casually. "Stay away from the bald one. McClane."
Your cheat isn't as abstract as his.
Leon nodded.
Mature. Efficient. Minimal questions.
That's what a real assassin looks like.
"Club opens tomorrow," Luca reminded him. "As head of security, make it unforgettable."
Leon forced a smile.
He'd signed up to teach people how to cultivate Silver Queens.
Now he was security director.
Yet… he kind of liked it.
Jimmy's gentlemanly charm.
Matilda's sharp tongue and precocious wit.
Brian dragging him to races to pick up girls.
Jordan losing hundreds of thousands at the card table, storming out, then returning days later shout out about revenge.
Agent Denham drinking black coffee with five spoonfuls of sugar like a man trying to chemically defeat bitterness.
Leon noticed everything.
Like how whenever the Dove of Peace was about to cause trouble, he dressed like he was going on a first date.
Right now, Luca was fixing his hair in the mirror.
"Leon. Tonight we're doing a high-speed chase."
He'd finally gathered this many rare cards in one place.
Time for a dazzling debut.
"Remember," Luca said dramatically, "fast and stylish."
Leon suddenly focused.
In the mirror reflection—a group dressed in black.
Japanese.
Luca recognized them from the Benihana Restaurant.
Two women led them.
One: black-haired, poised.
The other: blonde, eye patch, only one eye visible.
__________________________________________________________________________
[Rare Card Discovered: Elle Driver (Unlocked)]
[Rank: A]
[Source: Kill Bill]
[Skills: Snake Kiss; Poison Eye]
[Bond: Strangers]
[Rare Card Discovered: O-Ren Ishii (Unlocked)]
[Rank: SR]
[Source: Kill Bill]
[Skills: Snow Garden Zen Mind; Hundred-Step Serpent King; Asura Killer Princess]
[Bond: Strangers]
__________________________________________________________________________
The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad?
How was Benihana Restaurant tied to them?
This really was the world of assassins.
Every variety of lunatic had wandered in.
"Damn it," Luca muttered. "That bastard Bill."
He exhaled.
"I hope that yellow-suited war goddess isn't married."
Because if the Bride showed up too?
That would be another near-invincible SSR card.
And she knew abstract, borderline super martial arts.
The stage was getting crowded.
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