In a quiet Boston coffee shop, the Black man and the white girl sat together, lost in a conversation that spanned books and music. He loved to read; she dreamed of being a singer, even handing him a demo of her recordings.
Neither judged the other for the color of their skin or their station in life. It was a scene of pure, human connection—the kind of moment that was practically extinct on the East Side of Detroit.
The girl noticed the man's bare ring finger. When she asked, she learned his wife had passed. "I've met many widowers," she said softly, "but your eyes are different. They aren't just sad; they're lost."
Her words struck the deepest nerve in Robert McCall. As a former CIA operative—a state-sanctioned killing machine—his life had been defined by the mission. He was more numb than a professional hitman because he hadn't even worked for profit; he had simply followed orders, often without knowing why the target had to die.
Over time, the hollow weight of it had broken him. He had faked his death to escape, seeking seclusion and habitually helping neighbors in a desperate attempt to balance the scales of his soul.
He glanced at the copy of The Old Man and the Sea in his hands and realized he wasn't the old man in the story—he was the fish, hooked and struggling. He put the book down, took her record, and looked her in the eye. "I believe you can be anyone you want to be," he advised earnestly. "A man can be destroyed, but not defeated."
Back at the SSR Club, the negotiations were winding down. Fat Tony had stepped in as the primary mediator to bury the hatchet between the Lucchese and Patriarca families.
In Tony's eyes, the "Bronx incident" from two years ago was ancient history. So what if they got kicked out for dealing dope? He believed the smell of fresh money would eventually mask the scent of old blood.
Luca, however, wasn't betting everything on Tony's charm. If Abram couldn't settle things with the Russians, and Tony failed with the Italians, Luca had a contingency: the Irish crews of South Boston.
Boston was about to get loud. The South Side wasn't just the domain of the Winter Hill Gang; it was a hornet's nest of factions like the Killeen Gang and the Mullen Gang, all clawing at each other for territory. Luca had conquered Detroit's East Side, and he planned to do the same to Southie. He just needed the right puppet to hold the strings.
As Tony was leaving, he pulled Luca aside. "The Patriarcas are... unusual. They've split into two factions. The headquarters moved to Providence, Rhode Island, but half the muscle stayed in Boston. It's created a divide."
Luca smirked. To him, this signaled a second-rate operation. If a family that size couldn't even keep its house in order, they were begging for a takeover.
"The guys you're at odds with are the Angelo faction in Boston," Tony added. "I'll talk to Angelo. Just wait for the good news."
"I trust your silver tongue, Tony," Luca smiled. "I'll have a party waiting at the club for your return."
[Character Card: Anthony "Fat Tony" Salerno]
[Rank: C]
[Source: Real-life Mafioso]
[Skill : Gang Mediation]
Effect: Hostility between two parties at a sit-down is reduced by 10%. The success rate of reconciliation is forcibly increased by 10% when the user acts as the primary mediator.
Requirement: Bond: Friend or Above | 50 Skill Fragment
[Bond: Friend]
"Buy the Skill"
[-50 Skill Fragment]
[Ding! Skill Redeemed Succesfully]
Luca glanced at the panel. He was down to 80 Skill Fragments left. While the skill was useful, he knew that in his world, a 10% bonus was nothing compared to the weight of a heavy reputation. Once he sat at the head of the table, his status alone would be the ultimate "buff."
A few days later, David, Denham, and McClane rushed into the club with a bombshell discovery.
"Dove, we've got a problem," David said, spreading photos on the table. "Chinatown's Triads aren't just working with local thugs. They're in bed with an official from the Chinese Embassy."
The photos showed Triad members meeting with a man identified as a Chinese citizen working at the New York Consulate. Denham explained that while the embassy was in D.C., the New York Consulate covered all of New England—including Boston.
"Why would an embassy official get involved with street gangs?" McClane asked, bewildered.
"They wouldn't for drugs," Luca said, his eyes flashing with sudden clarity. "This isn't about heroin. It's about hardware."
Luca connected the dots. In the original Departed timeline, Winter Hill Gang had stolen a shipment of microprocessors—military-grade chips—from a Boston tech company. Costello intended to sell them to the Chinese. The transaction was the spark that ignited the hunt for the moles within both the gang and the police.
But Luca knew Costello. The man was an FBI informant and a greedy sociopath. In the original deal, the Chinese paid 100 million, only to receive a box of counterfeit junk, while the real chips were sold elsewhere for double the profit.
"I'm going to Boston ahead of schedule," Luca said. "The Winter Hill Gang won't disrespect the Mafia. If I get those chips, I don't just stop the drug trade—I get a seat at the table with the Chinese."
"Dove, this is sensitive," Denham warned. "Maybe stay out of this one? I should report this to my superiors."
"And let the Boston FBI blow it?" Luca raised a hand. "Leave it to me. I'll teach those Boston feds a lesson in manners. Peace is the priority, after all."
At the Boston Police Department, a briefing was underway regarding the theft of 20 microprocessors from Mass Corporation. Colin Sullivan, a rising star in the Special Investigations Unit, listened intently. As an undercover agent for Frank Costello, he was already planning how to relay this to his boss.
"We have reason to believe Costello is selling the hardware to a Chinese delegation," Captain Queenan announced.
"How do we know his movements?" an officer asked. "Do we have an undercover inside?"
All eyes turned to Sergeant Dignam, the most foul-mouthed man in the department. Dignam looked at the room with pure, unadulterated mockery.
"Maybe we do, maybe we don't," Dignam barked. "Maybe go fuck yourself. I treat undercovers like mushrooms—I keep 'em in the dark and feed 'em shit. You don't need to know a goddamn thing."
At that same moment, a black Cadillac rolled into South Boston. Brian was at the wheel, looking nervously at the passenger seat. This time, Luca hadn't brought Ma Hon Keung; he'd brought the Angel of Death, John Wick.
"Dove," Brian whispered, glancing at the rearview mirror. "Is everything okay? We're going into Boston without the heavy backup?"
"We have John," Luca said, looking out at the drab Boston skyline. "Tell me, Brian, have you ever spent much time on a rooftop?"
Brian blinked. "Why would I do that?"
"Just a hunch," Luca said leisurely. "I hear the undercovers in this city have a fine tradition of meeting on rooftops. It's a very... atmospheric place to die."
Brian went pale, feeling like Luca was peering directly into his soul. The car pulled up outside a gritty local restaurant. A young, stressed-looking thug stood by the door, looking like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
[Character Card Discovered: Billy Costigan (Unlocked)]
[Rank: A]
[Origin: The Departed]
[Skills: Gangster Disguise, Eternal Hell]
[Bond: Stranger]
Luca stared at the panel. It was the first time he'd seen the same skill on two different people. Both Billy Costigan and Colin Sullivan possessed [Eternal Hell]. It was a pseudo-divine skill, one that could only be learned by experiencing a life of total, agonizing deception.
Luca felt a chill. He looked at Billy, then back at the city. The pieces were all on the board.
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