On the phone, Frank Fitzsimmons didn't sound particularly tense or afraid. When he brought up his former boss—the man who had mentored him—his tone carried more frustration and a pounding headache than anything else.
Fitzsimmons said, "He gave an interview right after getting out of prison and made it crystal clear—he wants the union back. Dove, I don't think that's a future either of us wants to see. Jimmy Hoffa returning to power? That's bad news for everyone involved."
Reporter: "What are your plans now that you've been released?"
—Hoffa: "First thing, I check in with federal parole, then I'm heading down to Florida with my wife to soak up some sun. After that… I'll think about taking the union back."
—Reporter: "How would you run it? Do you see Fitzsimmons as serious competition?"
Hoffa raised his fists and smirked. "Not even close."
During the interview, Hoffa came off decisive, aggressive, and absolutely serious about reclaiming control. Both Fitzsimmons and Luca knew this wasn't empty talk.
And that's exactly why this was turning into a problem.
If Hoffa came back, Luca's gasoline tax business would take a hit—and not just his. The entire Mafia's interests would be affected. Hoffa had always been a wild card: strong-willed, hot-tempered, and impossible to leash. Sure, he had cooperated with the Mafia before, but "cooperate" didn't mean "obey." He was never going to play lapdog the way Fitzsimmons did.
Which meant one thing: if Hoffa took over, Mafia control over the Teamsters would weaken—hard.
No one could predict what he'd do once he was back in charge. Cut off the union's interest-free loans to the Mafia? Break Fitzsimmons' existing arrangements? Both were entirely possible. After all, Fitzsimmons had spent the last few years being so obedient it was almost embarrassing—basically letting the Mafia run things however they pleased.
Between the two, the Mafia would obviously prefer Fitzsimmons. Hoffa, on the other hand, was like a brick in a sewer—stubborn, immovable, and impossible to deal with.
Listening to the complaints, Luca finally spoke, his tone calm.
"Fitz, no one's going to ruin our partnership. Not even Jimmy Hoffa."
From a business standpoint, Luca definitely preferred Fitzsimmons. From a "rare character card" perspective, though, Hoffa was on an entirely different level—too much presence, too much influence.
Which meant Luca had to think carefully about how to handle this.
Because if he did nothing, things would spiral fast.
In the original trajectory, the Teamsters would erupt into internal conflict—Hoffa versus Fitzsimmons. Bombings, threats, assassinations… one escalation after another, until the Mafia finally lost patience and stepped in.
And when they did, Hoffa would simply… disappear.
That disappearance would go on to become one of the most infamous unsolved cases in American history—drawing massive federal attention, triggering endless investigations, and dragging countless Mafia members into prison.
Hoffa's influence was just too big.
This was a man who once controlled massive voting blocs—someone capable of influencing presidential elections. If a person like that even caught a cold, it would make headlines. If he vanished? The entire country would start digging.
Worse, Hoffa knew far too much about the Mafia.
Fitzsimmons continued, "Luca, we've worked together well. You know what kind of man I am. I've backed your gasoline business without question—even handed you the union presidency. Over the past six months, I think we understand each other pretty well."
Yeah. Luca thought dryly. I know you—you're a professional survivor.
Fitzsimmons' whole philosophy was simple: be useful, make money, stay protected. The Mafia kept him safe and rich; in return, he stayed compliant. Golf, travel, easy living—that was his world.
Luca said, "We'll try to talk to Hoffa."
He couldn't ignore this. It wasn't just about money anymore—it was about the future of the Mafia itself.
Because if Hoffa disappeared, the fallout wouldn't stop. The federal government would keep digging until they found answers—whether Hoffa was alive or dead, and where his body ended up. And when that happened, a whole lot of people would go down with him.
The Mafia had seriously underestimated just how explosive Hoffa's death would be.
"Where is he now?" Luca asked.
"Detroit."
Of course. Hoffa's home turf.
On the drive to Uncle Bill's house, Luca stayed unusually quiet behind the wheel.
The silence was thick enough that Mathilda noticed immediately. Whenever the Dove went quiet like this, it meant one thing—he was plotting something.
"Luca, don't tell me you're thinking about my grades again?" she teased. "I've been working hard this semester. I even got a B."
He chuckled. "No. Something else."
"What, then? Uncle Mariggio setting you up with another girlfriend?"
"…No."
Luca smiled faintly. "I was thinking about Peggy. You've been helping her at school, right?"
The Irish painter had sent his daughter to New York last year, and Luca had arranged for her to attend the same school as Mathilda. The two girls had become close—almost like sisters.
Peggy was gentle. Quiet. The complete opposite of her father.
Her aversion to violence ran deep, rooted in childhood trauma. When she was young, she had accidentally damaged something in a grocery store. The owner tried to stop her, and she pushed him. When her father found out, he stormed in and beat the man half to death—right there in the street, in front of her.
That moment stayed with her.
As the years passed and the bodies piled up, she began to understand the truth: whenever her father watched the news about a murder, he was probably responsible.
Fear turned into distance.
Childhood shapes everything.
Peggy had been "protected" by violence—and came to hate it. Mathilda, on the other hand, had grown up in violence and adapted to it, even admiring strength in its rawest form.
For Peggy, the closest thing to warmth she found wasn't her father—it was Hoffa.
Despite his temper, Hoffa treated the people around him well. He took care of her, looked out for her, even treated her like his own daughter.
Now that he was out of prison, while most of the Mafia saw him as a problem, Peggy was probably one of the happiest people alive.
Luca figured that between helping her, helping her father, and removing certain obstacles Hoffa disliked, the old man would at least hear him out.
"Peggy and I are basically sisters," Mathilda said. "We go to movies together… even went to a Guns N' Roses concert."
Then she squinted, teasing again. "But her favorite person at the club isn't you."
"Oh?"
"She likes Uncle Jimmy the most."
"…Seriously?"
Luca was speechless. There were way too many "Jimmys" in this world.
At Uncle Bill's house, Luca and Mathilda's arrival made the already lively Lunar New Year's Eve even more festive.
Alongside Uncle Bill's family and relatives, Keung was there, along with neighbors like Nancy and her brother. Aside from Luca and a couple of others, almost everyone present was Asian.
At Dinner, they ate, laughed, and even turned on the TV—watching skits, crosstalk, and the whole thing. For Luca, it was a rare and oddly nostalgic experience.
At midnight, firecrackers echoed through the alley outside.
Out with the old. In with the new.
---
The next day—Lunar New Year's Day—Uncle Bill's wedding was held at the SSR Club.
As juniors, Luca and Keung stood as groomsmen, watching the older couple walk down the aisle.
"Dove," Keung said quietly, "I've thought it through. I'm staying in New York. McClane's helping me apply for a green card—said I did good work this time. The government might even throw in a bonus."
"That's great news," Luca said, genuinely pleased. "You helped New York big time. Honestly, forget a green card—if you wanted to open a store, they'd probably back you on that too."
Keung scratched his head, a little embarrassed. He'd just been blown up in a store not long ago, after all.
But when it came to his future, Uncle Bill's advice kept echoing in his mind:
"You can't drive trucks forever. The opportunity's right in front of you. Stick with someone like Dove—you'll go far."
Back in Hong Kong, he'd lived cramped, underpaid, constantly dealing with extortion. Here? No one dared mess with him. Even driving a tanker truck paid better.
The police treated him well. He had family here. And staying in the U.S. had been his father's final wish.
Keung had been thinking about this for days now, and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became—no matter how he looked at it, staying in the United States was the better choice. The only thing he still couldn't quite figure out was what exactly he would be doing by following the Dove.
When he finally voiced that question, Luca casually draped an arm over his shoulder and smiled.
"You're on my turf now, so help me deal with the people who break the rules—just like you did when you protected Uncle Bill's store from those punks and thieves. Little Italy needs more peace, Keung… and you're going to be one of the people who keeps it that way."
"Dove, I know your rules,"Keung grinned. "Don't worry—I can handle it. I may mess things up sometimes, but dealing with thugs? That I can do. I hate bullies."
"If you work for me, you'll be taken care of," Luca said, handing him a black membership card.
SSR Series — No. 007.
"With this, everything at the club's are on the house. You'll also get a monthly bonus. Same title as Leon—Head of Security."
"That's too much," Keung protested.
"We're like family," Luca replied simply. "Same table, same dinner. This is what family does."
Keung froze for a second. The word "family" hit harder than expected.
He looked toward the stage, at Uncle Bill smiling broadly, and couldn't help but smile too.
Then he slung an arm around Luca's shoulder.
"From now on… this place is home."
[Bond: Close Friend]
[New Skill Unlocked - Death-Defying Stunts]
---
After the wedding, Uncle Bill and his wife left for their honeymoon, leaving the store in Keung's hands.
He hired staff, managed the store, and spent his free time patrolling Little Italy—helping Luca maintain order and quietly farming skill points.
Meanwhile, Luca started planning a furniture store and even floated the idea of opening a martial arts school. Keung didn't fully get it—opening a whole restaurant just for the vinegar kind of logic—but rich people thought differently.
Still, Luca had his reasons.
And then there were people like Hoffa.
The man could've retired comfortably—pension, family, peace. Instead, he chose to walk straight back into politics and gang warfare.
Hoffa had already begun regrouping his supporters and preparing to run for chairman again.
The Mafia hadn't made a move yet. Instead, they sent someone to negotiate.
The mediator?
Frank Sheeran—the Irish painter, Hoffa's old friend, and one of the few men trusted by both sides.
Which made him the perfect man to walk into the storm.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please leave a review in this story so we get a rating atleast.
Support me on P Site/OrbisTranslation, just three bucks for 15 advance chapters.
As Always, each 100 power stones = 2 Bonus Chapters.