SSR Club.
The phone call ended, and the massive office fell so silent you could hear your own breathing. Luca, dressed in a black suit, sat in a spacious executive chair with his head slightly lowered, the dim lighting casting a long, heavy shadow behind him.
The Russians, the Patriarca family of the North, and the Irish gangs of the South were now facing more trouble than ever—and worse, it directly involved Luca's core business: gasoline tax.
Luca's operation had expanded too far, touching too many people and families. Not just his own, but also the Bruno-Scarfo family of Philadelphia, the Detroit outfit, the Bufalino family, the Genovese family, and even the truck drivers' union.
To keep envy in check, Luca had strictly followed the Mafia Commission's golden rule—mutual benefit and shared profit—binding all these forces together so everyone could make money happily. That way, he could avoid ending up like the Bonanno family, "abandoned by everyone."
Back then, the Bonanno family's drug business was enormous, but they refused to share, offending the entire Commission. Luca had no intention of repeating that mistake.
According to the original plan, New England should have been absorbed into this "alliance." It didn't matter if Slavi and Pushkin were being difficult—but the Patriarca family? That damned, divided, self-serving family had actually turned around and joined Pushkin's side.
With Pushkin's influence stretching across both coasts, if they were allowed to expand their gasoline tax operation across the entire Northeast—New England included—and even push toward the West Coast, it would inevitably threaten Luca's business.
If you can't monopolize, how do you make real money?
And worse, they were reaching for his slice of the pie.
On top of that, Luca didn't believe for a second these people understood the business better than he did. He had nearly two years of hands-on experience; every step of the process was second nature to him now.
As for the Patriarca family, if their operation ran into trouble and got hammered by the IRS, Luca's side would suffer collateral damage. The entire gasoline tax scheme might collapse ahead of schedule.
"A bunch of idiots who won't listen," Luca muttered coldly. "You're allowed to sell drugs in the Bronx, but I'm not allowed to sell gasoline in your territory?"
He spun his chair to face the blackboard behind him. It was covered with rare character cards tied to Boston—targets his allies couldn't reach yet. But Luca knew exactly who could be turned… and who needed to disappear.
Originally, he had planned to let the Patriarca family survive in the Northeast.
But now…
A flicker of killing intent passed through his eyes.
Outside the window, heavy snow drifted down, and for a brief moment, every criminal in Little Italy felt an inexplicable chill crawl up their spine. Then, just as quickly, it vanished.
"Luca~~~"
The office door swung open. Only Mathilda dared to barge in without permission, wandering freely through the club like she owned the place.
She skipped over, grabbed Luca's arm, and hugged it tightly with a bright laugh. "Come on, let's go build a snowman and have a snowball fight! You're always stuck in here—you're practically turning into mold."
The little girl glanced at his sharp profile, and a trace of worry flickered in her eyes. Her brother looked thinner… and busier.
Before the club opened, he used to spend time with her—walking her to school, picking her up—but now those moments were rare.
He was only twenty-four, about the age of a college graduate, yet he already carried himself like a man in his forties or fifties.
Sometimes, she couldn't understand him at all anymore.
"Where's Brian?" Luca asked, ruffling her hair. "Go play with him—he's basically a professional at entertaining people."
"That blond guy went to the airport to race cars," Mathilda complained. "In this snow! Isn't he afraid of skidding?"
Luca: "…"
Mathilda tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, stop overthinking everything or you'll go bald."
Luca glanced out at the snow-covered night. White flakes scattered across the darkness like someone flicking paint onto a black canvas.
In the end, he gave in.
Downstairs, the two of them built a snowman right outside the club. One tall, one small, huddled close together. A waiter even brought out carrots and random props from the kitchen to decorate it.
Mathilda took off her scarf and wrapped it around the snowman's neck.
"Luca, Christmas is coming soon—and I'll be fourteen," she said softly, holding his hand. "I don't want any presents this year… I just want you to spend more time with me."
For once, Luca felt something rare—peace. No calculations. No schemes. No killing intent.
"Guess I'll borrow some of Lady Luck's warmth," he murmured.
He lifted Mathilda with one arm and sat her on his lap. She raised her hand above his head, catching snowflakes in her palm as they melted into water.
Even the coldest heart… could still melt someday.
The following week.
The fighting in South Boston intensified.
Now it wasn't just the Mullin and Killen gangs. The leaderless Winter Hill Gang had been dragged into the chaos as well, clashing with both sides. The entire South Side became a battlefield, each faction fighting to claim dominance—and crown a new boss.
The murder rate skyrocketed. Gunfire replaced Christmas carols.
And then came Costello's funeral.
On that day, everyone agreed to a temporary ceasefire. Major gang leaders showed up out of respect. Even the North End Mafia attended.
Luca—the so-called "peace ambassador"—also made an appearance.
He was here to meet some very interesting "cards."
The Winter Hill Gang's temporary leader was "the Frenchman," Costello's former second-in-command. They had met once before during the chip deal. Without Costello holding things together, internal conflicts had already begun tearing the gang apart.
The man looked exhausted.
When he saw Luca, he forced himself over. He still believed Costello had been killed by either the Mullin or Killen gangs. Luca? Impossible. Why would a business partner kill him?
"Please accept my condolences," Luca said calmly.
"Thank you… for coming," the Frenchman replied, his face drawn and hollow.
Luca had attended more funerals than parties at this point. After going through the motions, he prepared to leave—only to run into familiar faces.
The Patriarca family.
Among them stood Kahn Jones—the same man Luca had once held at gunpoint two years ago, forcing him to swear never to deal drugs in New York again.
And in front of Kahn stood an elderly man—the current underboss of the Patriarca Family.
[Character Card Discovered: Gennaro Angiulo (Unlocked)]
[Rank: D]
[Source: Black Mass]
[Skills: None]
[Bond: Stranger]
Gennaro was effectively the head of the Boston faction after the family split. Calling him the boss of the Angiulo family wouldn't be wrong. The Patriarca faction controlled Providence, while Gennaro ruled Boston.
Together? They'd probably kill each other.
Luca glanced at the panel, a trace of disdain hidden in his eyes. A D-rank card… barely worth noticing.
"Mr. Angelo."
"Dove."
They exchanged polite smiles. Behind Gennaro, Kahn didn't even dare meet Luca's gaze. The memory of Luca wiping out his entire crew alone still haunted him.
Times had changed. Luca stood far above him now.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Gennaro said with a fake smile. "It's a shame we couldn't work together. I did plan to meet you, but… circumstances changed. As you can see, Costello is dead. We were neighbors for years. He was younger than me… yet he went first. It's tragic."
"You don't owe me an apology," Luca replied with a faint smile, though his eyes were ice-cold. "If anything, you owe one to Fat Tony. You agreed to meet him, then backed out at the last second. He wasn't exactly pleased."
"I've already made my stance clear. Everyone stays in their own lane."
"Funny," Luca said lightly. "Slavi said the exact same thing." His smile deepened. "Didn't expect the two of you to get along so well. Must be convenient, working in the same city."
Gennaro glanced around at the scattered Irishmen. "And you? Siding with them now? Planning to step into Boston?"
"The South Side isn't your territory," Luca said evenly.
"But it's still Boston. Cars moving between North and South can refuel anywhere." Gennaro shook his head. "Go back to New York, Dove. Boston isn't your playground. Let's keep things… civilized."
"You're threatening the Commission's judge?"
The air froze.
Gennaro frowned. Several men behind him stepped forward.
Luca simply lifted his gaze.
Cold.
Terrifying.
Under the combined pressure of titles like "Mafia Judge" and "Anti-Drug Ambassador," the atmosphere turned suffocating. His aura alone made the entire funeral fall silent.
"Mr. Angelo," Luca said quietly, "the Commission doesn't like families that try to keep everything for themselves. Especially when I bake the cake… and someone steals the recipe."
He paused.
"That's all I'll say. Today is Costello's funeral. I don't want trouble. Leave."
Luca walked past them. Only one man followed behind him—Leon.
No one dared stop them.
Not until they were gone did people finally breathe again.
Kahn was drenched in sweat.
Gennaro watched Luca's retreating figure, his expression dark.
So… the Dove was really planning to step into Boston.
Not far ahead, another group approached.
—The Killen Gang.
One gray-haired man caught Luca's attention immediately.
[Character Card Discovered: James "Whitey" Bulger (Unlocked)]
[Rank: SR]
[Source: Black Mass]
[Skills: Corruption Symbiosis; Crimson Mass; Global Wanted]
[Bond: Stranger]
Another James. Apparently the world was running a surplus.
James "Whitey" Bulger—. Irishman. Leader of the Killen Gang. Future boss of the Winter Hill Gang. The "King of Boston." One of the FBI's most wanted men.
In the future, he'd help wipe out Gennaro's faction… alongside the FBI.
Luca studied the panel, a faint smile forming.
Boston really was something else.
Every gangster here loved working with the FBI.
But compared to Costello, Whitey played a higher game—he didn't just cooperate, he turned FBI agents into his own men.
Just like he turned Denham.
And the reason?
Not just reputation. Not just power.
But because his younger brother… was a U.S. senator.
And in the future—President of the Senate.
One foot in the underworld. One foot in the system.
That umbrella… was massive.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Big Thanks to Gerard Steeghs and zach pilkington for becoming my P Knight, my cats eat a feast tonight.
If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on P Site/OrbisTranslate. Access 15 advanced chapters for just $3.
Additionally, I will release two bonus chapters for every 100 Stones received.