Just over ten seconds later, Liv spread her legs in exasperation. Why wasn't she crossing them anymore? Cross what legs? The man was already dead.
She watched Axel swarmed by over thirty gunmen, riddled with bullets, enduring explosions, yet still moving. Liv rolled her eyes, lips twitching in disbelief.
"What the hell did I expect?" she muttered. Even with Falcone's sharp gaze, after death Axel was no longer extraordinary—just a dangerous, worthless corpse.
She shook her head, clapping to quiet the dancers. Then screams erupted from outside.
"Holy crap, he disappeared!"
"Who saw how he vanished?"
"It's on fire!"
"He had white phosphorus—he spontaneously combusted!"
Liv ignored the chaos, focusing on the looming interrogations. The attack began backstage; both Oswald and Falcone would want answers.
Not long after, Oswald arrived, umbrella in hand, donning a bulletproof vest. He pushed through the onlookers and jabbed the umbrella into the charred remains of Axel's vanished body.
"So, only one person?" he growled. "He broke into my club alone, stormed my backstage alone, took out a dozen men alone, and vanished alone!"
Rage thickened his voice. He would have preferred dozens of professional gunmen—at least that wouldn't make him look incompetent.
He pointed at the cowering subordinates. "How did he do it? I want everything!"
In less than a minute, the four men pinned to the ground—including Bartel—spilled everything. The doorman who had pocketed cash was included. The banknotes were piled at Oswald's feet.
Oswald jabbed the umbrella into them, his eyes sharp. "Sixteen thousand Dollars? Only sixteen thousand? After two years without attacks, this is the reward for all my efforts?"
He pulled out his phone and called Falcone. After a brief reprimand over the line, he turned back to the four still restrained. "Sixteen thousand? Heh. So all my guidance is worth barely that?"
"Maybe more, Mr. Oswald. I have some here," Liv said, stepping forward. She had gathered cash from panicked dancers, tossing more in front of him.
"Forty thousand more? That's fifty-six thousand altogether. Heh…" Oswald's lips twitched—at least some comfort. Enough to cover repairs to walls and floors.
But Oswald couldn't keep the money. Liv had long-term cooperation with Falcone's family and oversaw dancers across Gotham. She also brokered among various gangs. She wasn't his subordinate; she was an independent operator.
Oswald waved his umbrella over the pile. "It's yours, Liv. Take it and redistribute to the frightened women. But restore the club first."
"Thank you, Mr. Oswald," Liv replied. A girl immediately knelt to collect the cash.
As all eyes were on the money, a familiar, mischievous voice rang out.
"So lively. You weren't waiting for me, were you?"
Axel stepped forward, pistol in hand, brushing aside anyone in his path. The club was brightly lit after the violence, and everyone immediately recognized him.
Pistols clicked, aiming at him. Axel waved to Liv from the center of the crowd. She covered her mouth in shock.
Oswald studied him, umbrella ready. "Liv, you were closest. Are you sure it's him?"
"Absolutely," she said firmly. "You can disguise a face, but not a gaze. I will never forget that look."
"Very good," Oswald muttered, taking a deep breath. He stood, facing Axel. "It seems Gotham has one more incredible thing."
"Far from it," Axel grinned. "The incredible things coming will be countless, but unfortunately, you won't live to see them, Sabatino."
Axel's calm confidence stretched the distance between them. He raised his pistol. Oswald lost composure, trying to roll aside—but Axel's bullet struck first.
Bang, bang, bang!
Only one of three shots hit Oswald, but the Desert Eagle's force sent him flying.
"Boss is dead!"
"The feast has begun!"
"He killed the Boss!"
"Damn it, kill him, kill—"
"Wait, so many grenades!"
Before the gunmen could respond, Axel pulled nine grenades strung together from his bag, finger on a pin, ready to blow. The gunmen scattered.
Oswald, gasping, tried to recover. "Help… I'm not dead yet… bulletproof vest… bones… wait, don't come over!"
Before he could finish, Axel leapt onto him, pressing the Desert Eagle muzzle to his forehead. Adrenaline surged through Oswald.
"Wait, no! You've got the wrong person!"
In a sudden, Pavarotti-level high-pitched panic, Oswald screamed, "I'm not the Sabatino you want! I'm just a bouncer! I'm Oswald! Screw Sabatino—he deserves to die!!!"