With both Billy and Colin officially stepping into power, the two lively meetings finally came to an end.
Up on the rooftop, Luca hadn't left. He stood there, looking north, when a notification panel flickered to life in front of him.
[Ding! The Irish gangs in Boston's South Side have unified under your influence. You have upheld the peace of Boston's South Side.]
[Skill Points +50]
[Skill Fragments +25]
[New Skill Acquired: Friend of Ireland]
[Friend of Ireland: Trust from Irish factions +10%]
"Huh. They actually tossed me a bonus skill?" Luca raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.
Boston was basically wrapped up at this point—just one last piece left: the North Side Mafia.
And Luca had never been joking about unifying Boston.
He'd figured he wouldn't unlock or upgrade his "Peacemaker" aura until everything was completely finished, so getting a small skill early was a nice little bonus. Not bad, either—there were Irish communities all over the world.
"This is just the curtain call before the final act."
"The Anguilo family's almost done, too."
"When they fall… Boston's will unified."
The FBI had been wiretapping the Anguilo family for a long time. They had to have stacked up a mountain of evidence by now. Once they put it all together with the RICO Act—the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act—they could bring the whole family down in one shot.
That law was no joke. It played a massive role later on, nearly wiping out the New York Mafia. The real backbone of that entire crackdown.
RICO allowed prosecutors to go after entire organizations—not just individuals. It meant bosses could be held accountable for crimes committed by their underlings.
That's how the feds managed to sweep up so many top figures in New York in one go.
Of course, it had its downsides. Taking out so many high-ranking members at once left power vacuums everywhere, which led to factions splitting, infighting, and a whole chain reaction of chaos.
Luca had no intention of getting dragged into that.
He deliberately stayed away from the messiest businesses—drugs, prostitution—while slowly "legitimizing" his operations and keeping himself in the shadows. He even played the part of the polite, respectable businessman when needed, making sure he stayed off RICO's radar.
That way, when the New York storm hit, he could walk away clean—and step right into the vacuum to take control.
Being just another family boss?
Not enough anymore.
And before that storm ever reached New York, Boston's Anguilo family would be the first test case—the FBI sharpening its blade.
"You could call it field training for the feds," Luca said with a faint smile. "If this works, they'll be a lot better prepared when they go after New York."
Naturally, that meant Luca himself would be better prepared too.
At the very least, the FBI wasn't planting any bugs inside the SSR Club.
He had the place swept regularly—especially the cigar lounges and meeting rooms where deals got made—making sure nobody was listening in.
"Honestly, rooftops aren't a bad place to talk business," he muttered.
That, or the pool.
Everyone strips down, no wires, no tricks. Simple.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Luca glanced down. Below, a convoy of cars—Billy leading the way—was pulling out of the resort.
The next day, Luca returned to New York and met with the Russians.
The fact they were willing to sit down and talk meant one thing—they didn't want a full-blown war. They just wanted a better deal.
Pushkin, for all his influence, had only been a business partner. Now that his revenue stream was gone, the Russians were scrambling to recover their losses.
Luca's offer?
Same as before.
"You want in on the East Coast? Fine. You don't even need to send people like Slavi. The Italian Mafia can handle operations."
They didn't like that.
They wanted boots on the ground. Their pick? The Ruska Roma—a relatively "clean" assassin crew. Their main business was contract killing. Headquarters in Berlin, with a base in New York… inside a ballet theater.
That's where Baba Yaga himself had grown up—trained by them.
In the end, the Russians agreed, but added a condition: they wanted in on the gasoline tax business—and expansion to California.
Which, conveniently, lined up perfectly with Luca's own plans.
The West Coast operation hadn't started yet. Shipping fuel cross-country was too expensive; better to build refineries locally, buy wholesalers, and keep production regional.
The talks went smoothly.
Pushkin's death?
Forgotten, buried under the promise of profit.
By April, a new boss had risen in Boston's South District.
The name of the alliance's first chairman spread fast—across the underworld and into legitimate society alike.
Decades of gang warfare?
Over.
For the first time all year, the South Side was actually… peaceful.
Police reports showed crime dropping by over ten percent. Gang-related incidents were cut in half.
Of course, gangs didn't equal all crime—but they sure accounted for a lot of it.
And now?
Less noise, less chaos, and more control.
Crime didn't disappear—it just got quieter, cleaner, more "professional." The fangs were still there… they were just biting deeper, faster, and out of sight.
On the police side, Colin became a rising star.
Working alongside Billy, he helped "manage" the South District beautifully. His influence inside the department climbed with it.
Before long, it was early May.
The Irish alliance expanded rapidly, absorbing smaller gangs—especially weaker Black crews, who took the hardest hits. The earlier "school bus incident" had been settled cleanly, with Colin playing a key role.
At this point, the South District alliance stood as the undisputed hegemon—directly opposing the Anguilo family in the North.
Elsewhere, Gennaro sat in a meeting with his men, a sneer on his face.
"Don't get dazzled by Billy," he said, cigar in hand. "He's just Luca's dog. Call him Billy, Tom, Jerry—it doesn't matter. Luca picks, the dog obeys."
Laughter rippled through the room.
"Luca wiped out nearly every old boss in the South," Gennaro continued. "Then installs a fresh face. You think he ever trusted those old guys? All that talk about 'peace' and 'alliance'—and now they're all dead."
His expression darkened.
Before Luca showed up, the South was chaos—but those bosses were alive.
After Luca arrived?
Dead. All of them.
Even the Russians took losses.
Dove of Peace? More like a damn Omen of Death.
If not for the protection he'd gained through the Mafia Commission, Gennaro had no doubt—he'd be next.
"Boss," his strategist said carefully, "there's something you should know. There's a charity dinner in the South District next week. You've been invited."
Gennaro blinked.
"…Charity?"
The word sounded foreign in his mouth.
"What kind?"
"Organized by the Teamsters Local 25. Supposedly raising funds for school repairs and scholarships for kids in the South Side. The Finance Committee's involved. Senate-backed."
Gennaro narrowed his eyes.
Luca again.
And the politician behind it?
William Bulger.
After a moment, he asked, "Who sent the invitation?"
"Dove."
Silence.
This was the second invitation. The first came through Fat Tony. This one came directly from Luca.
Gennaro's expression shifted.
"Fine," he said at last. "Let's go see him."
The charity dinner was held at a luxury hotel in the South District.
That night, Boston's elites showed up in force.
Billy attended with his lieutenants. Luca arrived as the alliance judge, accompanied by Robert.
Robert didn't mind charity work—as long as it actually helped people.
Standing in a corner with a glass of champagne, he remarked, "Security's improved a lot lately."
Luca tilted his chin toward Billy and Colin nearby. "That's Inspector Colin's jurisdiction now. Since he took over, things have calmed down."
Robert nodded. "The South finally has a capable, responsible officer."
Capable, sure.
Responsible… Luca just smiled and took a sip.
"When you get the chance," Luca said, "visit Little Italy in New York. You might like it. Probably the most peaceful neighborhood in the city."
Robert looked intrigued. The CIA files had said as much.
After years of drifting, the idea of settling somewhere… wasn't so bad.
On stage, William gave his speech and kicked off the donation ceremony.
Billy was first to step up.
"Five million."
The room stirred.
Others followed—but none came close.
Until Gennaro.
"Eight million."
The crowd erupted.
But he ignored them. He walked straight to Luca.
"Dove," he said evenly, "my family is happy to support charity in the South District. We hope those kids get a better future."
It was a signal.
A concession.
An olive branch—worth eight million.
But Luca's expression didn't change.
He looked at Gennaro and asked calmly:
"Mr. Anguilo … do you know how much money the gasoline tax business makes in a week?"
Gennaro's heart sank.
This wasn't going to end cleanly.
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