Detroit.
This Motor City sits in Michigan, in the northern United States—not far from Chicago, and not too far from New York either. When the Irish painter, Frank, came to visit his old friend, Hoffa was flipping through a truckers' union magazine while grumbling, "That bastard Fitz actually dared to run for president. He used to be nothing more than a dog trailing behind me!"
After saying that, Hoffa tossed the magazine over to Frank. "I let that bastard run the union for me, not so he could replace me. The moment I'm out, he gives the seat back. No discussion."
"Dogs like Fitz don't really care who they serve," Frank replied helplessly. "And right now, he's pretty popular with a lot of people."
"Of course he's popular!" Hoffa sneered, spreading his arms in exaggerated disdain. "The guy throws money around like candy. The Mafia asks, he pays. No principles whatsoever. He's using the retirement savings of millions of union brothers to build casinos and hotels for the Mafia, even funding housing and shopping centers for them in New York!"
He was practically burning through his brothers' blood money, trading away their future just to cozy up to the Mafia. Hoffa's voice rose as he got angrier. "I even heard he recently approved another project—a furniture store for the Mafia in New York? A furniture store? Since when do those psychos sell furniture? What's next, stuffing drugs inside sofas and calling it a buy-one-get-one-free deal?"
That furniture store was Luca's project, and Frank immediately felt a headache coming on. He didn't understand why Luca insisted on building it, but Fitz definitely wasn't going to say no—the guy had already made a fortune off Luca's gasoline business. At this point, those two were basically wearing the same pair of underwear.
And honestly, Frank had to count himself in that circle too. The union branch he managed had helped Luca quite a bit, and he had profited from it as well.
Frank sighed. "That's why Tony and Luca are backing Fitz. They're all-in on him."
Tony—full name Anthony Salerno, better known as "Fat Tony"—is the boss of the Genovese family, one of New York's Five Families. A heavyweight in the underworld, he was famous for mediating disputes and keeping the peace.
Mafia members across the country often turned to him to settle conflicts. He was also one of Fitz's biggest backers, regularly tapping into union pension funds for Mafia projects. Eventually, he died in prison from prostate cancer.
Hearing that so many people were backing Fitz, Hoffa grew visibly irritated. "But I've got more support, don't I? Frank, you're with me, right? And the unions in New Jersey and Philadelphia—they're on my side. Oh, and what about that bastard Pro? He had plenty of votes too."
"Pro is dead."
"…?"
Hoffa froze for a second. He never liked Pro—mainly because the guy was too close to Fitz—but he had still been someone Hoffa personally promoted back in the day. Now he was just… gone.
What the hell happened while I was locked up?
"So who's running Local 560 now?" Hoffa asked.
"Luca… the Dove."
"Fuck!" Hoffa snapped. "Where the hell did this 'Luca the Dove' come from? I never even heard of him before."
"He's from the Lucchese family," Frank explained, then went on to detail Luca's background, his rise, and how much influence he now held. "And like Tony, he's now a judge on the Commission. Honestly, his ability to mediate conflicts is on par with Tony's. A lot of gangs in New York go to him for help—that's how he got the nickname 'Dove.'"
He paused, then added, "Right now, Dove controls almost all the truck drivers in New Jersey, with Local 560 at the core. He controls the votes there. You still have influence out west, but the East Coast? That's no longer yours. If you want the presidency, you need Luca's support."
Frank couldn't help but admire Luca a little. Under Pro, Local 560 had been run through intimidation and exploitation. Drivers were squeezed dry and forced into compliance. Luca flipped that completely—higher wages, better benefits—and somehow the union fund kept growing instead of shrinking.
No one knew what the guy was investing in, but the money just kept multiplying. After the gold heist incident, the fund had grown even more. Maybe Luca had taken a swing at gold futures.
Either way, truck drivers in New Jersey were living better than ever. Luca's approval rating was probably north of 90%, and nobody wanted him gone.
Frank couldn't even imagine what would happen if Luca himself ran for Union President instead of just Branch President.
Hoffa listened to all of this and found it hard to believe. "So now I've gotta go begging for votes from the Mafia—and from a kid decades younger than me? What kind of joke is this?"
"Dove practically controls Fitz now. He's capable, and people trust him," Frank said.
"Damn it! The union belongs to the workers, not the Mafia!" Hoffa slammed his hand down. "It's our territory!"
"If Fitz becomes chairman, then yes—the Mafia controls the union. That's reality," Frank said patiently. "And if you want the seat back, you have to deal with Dove. I know you hate the idea, but there's no other way. Without Luca's support, you're not winning. Even if Tony backs you, it won't be enough. Luca's influence in the union is bigger than Tony's."
Hoffa fell silent for a moment, then sneered. "I don't believe Luca did all that for the union. Those drivers must've been pressured. I know them—I led them for decades. Nobody understands them better than I do."
"Jimmy, listen to me. Sit down and talk to him. It's not hard to deal with Luca—as long as your attitude's right."
"My attitude isn't good enough?" Hoffa spread his hands, dripping with sarcasm. "Ohhh—Little Dove, I need your support, please help me, oh mighty Luca the Dove… I'll even buy all the office furniture from your store if I win… yeah, go to hell. I'm not doing that."
"You just need to get through the conversation. It's not that hard. Dove likes making friends."
Hoffa shot him a look. "Frank, did Luca bribe you or something? You're practically singing his praises. You were never like this with Fitz or Pro. I thought you were on my side."
"I am on your side," Frank said firmly. "No question about it. But if you want to win, you can't avoid Dove . Unless you suddenly find a ton of votes somewhere else—and trust me, most of those places aren't exactly friendly. Dove's the only one willing to sit down and actually talk."
"…."
Hoffa went quiet again, clearly struggling to process how much the world had changed while he was in prison. This "Dove" had risen out of nowhere and now had the power to decide his future.
After a long pause, Hoffa finally said, "If I go meet him… you're coming with me."
Frank let out a breath. "Of course. I'll be there."
But deep down, he was worried. He knew Hoffa's temper—reckless, blunt, and absolutely allergic to thinking before speaking. Even if Luca was easygoing, he was still a major figure. One wrong sentence, and things could get ugly fast.
---
Meanwhile, at the SSR Club.
Luca met with Frank Fitzsimmons, who had come personally to secure his support.
"Dove, I need your backing in the upcoming election."
Fitz immediately played the emotional card, talking about their smooth cooperation over the past six months and how much he had done for Luca—helping expand the gasoline business, offering him the union presidency, mobilizing East Coast drivers, even using union funds to renovate the furniture store.
In short: I've done everything for you. You can't just sit there and watch me get crushed—definitely don't switch sides to Hoffa.
Luca felt a bit of a headache coming on. The situation really was messy.
Even after years in prison, Hoffa still had enormous influence among grassroots drivers. His appeal hadn't disappeared; if anything, it was still dangerous. Before even officially returning, he had already begun pulling strings—blocking projects, stirring conflict, and using his people among the trustees to push back against Fitz.
This wasn't a man who would ever become the Mafia's puppet. Hoffa wanted control—and he genuinely cared about the union.
Over the years, he had built the system that gave truck drivers their current power and status.
Luca smiled faintly. "What, you think I don't care about my union brothers?"
Truth be told, Luca's ideal outcome was simple: Fitz stays in power as the Mafia's obedient partner, Hoffa retires peacefully, and a nationwide disaster gets quietly avoided.
"I know what I'm doing," Luca said calmly. "Fitz, trust your ally. We've worked too well together for me to abandon you now."
Finding another chairman as obedient as Fitz would be… nearly impossible.
Hearing that, Fitz finally relaxed, letting out a long breath. Years of playing nice with the Mafia had paid off—at least now, they recognized his value.
Compared to Hoffa, that stubborn old bull, the choice seemed obvious.
After Fitz left, Luca picked up the phone and called Frank.
"Set a time. Bring Hoffa to New York. I'll be waiting at the SSR Club."
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