The young punks were pale, silent, some looking like they might wet themselves. Liam finally waved a hand, his voice breaking the tension.
"Chopping off hands isn't necessary. I'm a civilized man, not some devil."
"Right, right," Elliot said quickly, smiling so wide his face twitched. He didn't dare meet Liam's eyes. Inside, though, he was thinking: Civilized? Yeah, sure. And Falcone's a philanthropist.
Liam leaned back slightly. "They've learned their lesson. Nobody's seriously hurt, so we can put this to rest."
He let the words hang a moment before shifting his gaze to David Patrick, who'd been quiet the entire time.
David stepped forward, hand clapping down on Elliot's shoulder. Elliot nearly leapt out of the chair in relief, stumbling back toward the rear. He could feel the scornful stares of his peers, but they didn't matter. None of them had sat across from Liam. None of them had felt that suffocating pressure.
If they had, they wouldn't be mocking him.
"So, Mr. Liam," David said, all polite civility, "any other instructions?"
"Nothing much. Just that my doorstep doesn't welcome trash. I spend enough time sweeping it away already. My time's too valuable to waste on scum, so from now on, the trash can find another route."
The insult landed clean. For an instant, David's eyes flashed murder, but he smoothed it away beneath another false smile.
"That's a little complicated. The Cross Gang doesn't usually linger around this district—it was a special case tonight. I've been working a deal. Not huge, but promising. It could open new markets and set a foundation for bigger business."
He raised both hands placatingly. "Of course, Mr. Liam, your territory deserves respect. I'll discipline my men, make sure they keep their heads down here. I wasn't prepared for this meeting, but I'll send a gift soon—"
"Save it." Liam cut him off with a flick of his wrist. "Tell me about this deal. Let me guess… school drugs?"
David's smile froze. "Well, everyone in Kingston knows how the Cross Gang got its start."
"Enough." Liam shook his head. "I can't fix Gotham overnight. But in my neighborhood—no drugs in schools. Not anymore."
David's smile slipped away, then returned stiff, forced.
"Mr. Liam… that's impossible. Gotham runs on its own rules. Even the mayor wouldn't dare say something like that."
"I'm not the mayor," Liam replied calmly. "And you've misunderstood—this isn't a request."
David's eyes narrowed. He'd spent twenty years in Gotham's shadows, and he prided himself on his ability to project menace with a look, to appear gentle or deadly at will. But tonight, for the first time, he found himself unable to meet another man's gaze.
Liam's presence pressed down like a mountain. It wasn't strength he understood—it was something deeper, heavier, making even breathing feel like a risk.
David's lips thinned. He jerked his chin. "Bryan."
A giant stepped forward, towering over Liam. His arms were covered in snake tattoos, scarred as if someone had slashed at them with knives. His leather jacket stretched across a frame thick with muscle. He was the Cross Gang's ace, its blood-soaked enforcer.
Liam studied him, already calculating the cleanest way to put him down without making a scene.
But before he could act, Bryan spoke in a deep rumble.
"Truth is, I don't really like the boss much."
The room went dead silent.
Bryan scratched the back of his neck. "He's soft. Sloppy. Inefficient. Only reason I listen to him is he's smarter than me. Otherwise, I wouldn't follow him at all."
He tilted his head, as if remembering something. "Oh, and his sister-in-law? Gorgeous. Great in bed. She's even got the same tattoo on her ass as he does. Pretty funny, actually."
"…?" Liam blinked.
David's face drained of color. He yanked his pistol free and shoved it in Bryan's face. "Say that again, you piece of—"
"Sorry, boss, I don't know why I'm saying this, I just… can't stop. Oh, right—your sister-in-law also said you're short and quick, and I'm better…"
David's hand shook with fury. He cocked the pistol. "I'll kill you—"
THWACK.
The crack of a baseball bat echoed through the café. David collapsed to the floor, unconscious. One of his own punks stood over him, bat in hand, chest heaving.
"Damn it! I've wanted to do that for years! Always barking orders like he's some genius—he doesn't know jack!"
Before the shock settled, another man launched a flying kick into his teammate's chest.
"And you! Last time I was napping, some bastard tied my brother to the bedpost! Nearly broke my back rolling over! I know it was you!"
The victim stumbled back, face red with rage. "You pissed in my drink first! Don't think I didn't notice!"
"Yeah? Come here and say that!"
Within seconds, the Cross Gang erupted. Fists flew, curses filled the air, grudges years in the making spilled out like poison.
Liam stood there, watching the chaos unravel, then turned toward the counter. The café's bearded chef leaned on it, arms crossed, grinning like he was enjoying the show.
"You," Liam said flatly. "That was you?"
The old man smirked. "Just a little truth spell."
He chuckled, then blinked, almost surprised at himself.
"…Didn't expect it to work that well."