In late March, there was still a week to go before the meeting, and Whitey's power kept climbing, putting him right at the peak of his influence within the alliance.
Right around then, a new shipment arrived in Boston from Ireland. It was a big one—too big for Boston alone to absorb—so Whitey planned to offload part of it to the Chinese crews.
Ever since the New York Triads and the Winter Hill gang split over that chip dispute, trade between them had dried up, and the rising Whitey had stepped in as their new partner.
The night before the deal, the two Bulger brothers invited Luca over to their place. The topic? The majority leader and that freight bill. The leader was currently locked up, drowning in lawsuits, and facing serious opposition within his own party.
People were already talking about replacing him—it was obvious to anyone paying attention that he wasn't getting out of this one. Too much evidence had surfaced, a lot of it leaked from inside the party itself.
Someone clearly wanted him gone, and at this point, it was only a matter of time before he stepped down. Even if he tried to cling to power, he'd end up like Jimmy Hoffa—pushed aside and erased from the board.
As for the bill…
"The House has already passed it. It's under Senate review now," William said over dinner. "Once the leader steps down, it'll go through."
Luca wasn't in a rush. The bill was just icing on the cake—his friendship with William mattered more. He smiled. "Thanks. Truck drivers all over Massachusetts will appreciate it. The union's more than happy to donate to the Democratic Party, and folks in the South know exactly where their votes should go."
William smiled back. Power came faster when you worked with the mob—money, manpower, muscle. Right now, it was just Luca backing them, but once his brother became chairman and took control of South Boston, half the city would belong to the Bulgers. The two men clinked glasses, the mood easy and confident.
[Bond: Friends]
Whitey joined in, but something about it didn't sit right with him. His younger brother was getting too close to Luca, and his own influence still wasn't strong enough to counterbalance that. It made sense, sure—cooperation was necessary—but once he secured power…
"I hear you've been dealing with some trouble lately?" Luca asked casually, turning toward him. "Police breathing down your neck over the Killen Gang?"
Whitey nodded, irritation flashing across his face. "Because of Dickman. Those cops are convinced I killed him, so now they're watching me like hawks."
It annoyed him to no end. Dickman's death had nothing to do with him, but the cops wouldn't let it go. Sure, he hadn't exactly liked the guy, but shooting a cop in broad daylight? That was asking for chaos. Still, the blame had landed squarely on him, and there was no washing it off.
"You sure you didn't do it?" Luca asked, half-joking. "You're everyone's prime suspect."
"Wasn't me," Whitey said flatly.
Luca tilted his head, as if thinking it through. "Could've been the Winter Hill guys. Even if the Frenchman sold out to the cops, some of his people still had loyalty. I heard quite a few of them bailed after he died."
Whitey frowned slightly. The Frenchman had been condemned for working with the police—but what about his own dealings with the FBI? That was something Luca and the rest of the alliance absolutely could not find out. If he'd taken out the Frenchman under the excuse of "betrayal," that same logic could easily be turned against him later.
Still, he was careful. Unlike the Frenchman, he never made direct deals—no cash exchanges, no phone calls, no face-to-face handoffs. Information was always left in predetermined spots, picked up later by the FBI. Clean. Untraceable. Not even fingerprints.
William stepped in, waving it off. "You're overthinking it, Luca. This has nothing to do with my brother."
Luca chuckled and let it drop.
After dinner, Whitey personally walked him out. On the sidewalk, Luca paused and said, "Don't worry about the police. I'll handle it—won't let it affect your rise. Once you control the South Side and your brother becomes Speaker, what are a few cops going to do? They'll be the ones bend down to you."
Whitey felt something stir in his chest. Boston… their city. The South Side was almost in his hands, and the FBI already had enough dirt on the North End mob. Anguilo was half finished. Soon, there wouldn't be North and South anymore—just one Boston, theirs.
Luca had helped them every step of the way. Without him, none of this would've happened. And yet… they hadn't really paid him back. Not properly. Even the bill was still pending.
Wasn't he worried about that?
For a brief moment, Whitey wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was no need to push Luca out once they took full control. Maybe they could keep working together… as long as Luca stayed out of alliance affairs.
"Dove," Whitey said, extending his hand, "I appreciate everything you've done. Once I'm in charge, I'll help you deal with the North Side. Every gas station in New England—you can have it."
Luca glanced at him, smiled, and shook his hand. "Then I'll congratulate you in advance, Mr. Chairman."
[Bond: Friends]
[Ding! New Skill Unlocked "Corruption Symbiosis"]
Two days later, the shipment arrived.
That night, Whitey personally went to the docks to oversee the deal, flanked by Killen Gang leaders, dealers, and a group of Chinese enforcers he'd brought in from Chinatown.
"How much can your Boston and New York crews take this time?" he asked a buzz-cut Chinese man leading the group.
The man grinned. "As much as you've got. Sell it by the ton—we'll take it. Tai Ge's not picky, and neither am I."
(TN: "Tai Ge" literally means "Brother Tai." I'm torn between using the English translation or keeping the original Chinese honorific. Let me know in the comments: do you prefer Brother Tai or Tai Ge?)
Whitey nodded, thinking about Joey Tai in New York. Young, but bold. A good partner to have.
"He's in Boston yet?"
"Already here. Waiting on your goods."
They arrived at the docks, weaving through rows of containers until they found the one they were looking for.
"Case 404. This is it."
Whitey unlocked it and signaled the drivers. The crates were labeled canned pork—but inside, some held something far more valuable. He cracked one open, popped a can, and revealed a bag of white powder. One of his men tested it, nodding.
"Good stuff."
"Load it up. Move!"
Then—
A shrill alarm tore through the docks.
Whitey's face went pale.
"The Boston harbor… really is a beautiful place," Colin muttered, stepping out of his cruiser as gunfire echoed in the distance. They'd already started shooting.
A year ago, he'd busted a gold heist here and earned himself a promotion. Tonight? Drug traffickers, a gang boss, and Whitey himself. Another big win.
Or it should've been.
Gunfire cracked like fireworks, but then came the report—Whitey had escaped by speedboat under cover of hired guns.
"Shit!"
Colin rushed to the shoreline, staring out at the dark sea. They'd had him cornered. How the hell did he slip through?
"Where the hell are Customs? Those idiots disappear when it actually matters!"
He grabbed his radio, barking orders.
Then his phone rang.
"Dove, I'm busy—"
"You chasing Whitey?" Luca cut in. "I know where he is. Bring your gun. Come alone. I'll hand you the credit."
The speedboat cut across the water.
Whitey looked back at the flashing lights on shore, fury boiling over. "How the hell did they find us so fast? And how did they know where we'd be?"
A mole. There had to be one.
But the Frenchman was dead. So who was it now?
"Find somewhere safe to land," he ordered. "I'm going to make those traitors pay."
No one answered.
He turned—
And froze.
Every man he'd brought aboard was dead, throats slit. The Chinese crew stood over them, blades still wet. The buzz-cut leader raised a pistol and aimed it straight at Whitey's head.
For a second, Whitey didn't react. Then his face darkened.
"So it was you. Following me all this time, playing the part. I didn't even realize you were cops."
"We're not cops," the man said calmly. "Don't know anything about that."
"Then what is this?" Whitey snapped. "You pointing a gun at me?"
"Tai Ge's orders."
"Joey Tai?" Whitey's confusion deepened.
The man checked his watch. "Right about now, he should be visiting Dove."
At the mention of that name, something cold gripped Whitey's chest.
Since when… were the Chinese working with him?
The boat began turning back toward the harbor.
The man pulled out a photo and handed it over.
"Dove said you'd understand."
Whitey looked—
And his blood ran cold.
It was him. Sitting with an FBI agent.
"I can explain—"
"Don't care," the man said, shrugging. "Dove told us to watch you the moment you came to Chinatown. You know what you did."
Whitey's mind reeled. He'd gone out of his way to deal with people who had zero connection to Luca—and still, he'd been watched the entire time.
"Goodbye, Mr. Bulger. At least your body won't end up at the bottom of the ocean like the Frenchman's."
Gunshots rang out.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Whitey staggered, bullets tearing through his chest, collapsing onto the deck as blood pooled beneath him. As the boat drifted back toward the glowing skyline, he stared at Boston one last time, eyes burning with hatred.
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