Gennaro Anguilo was well aware of the profits from gasoline taxes; after expanding his distribution channels and gas stations a few months ago, his weekly profits had already reached eight figures. He wasn't sure how much Luca could make, but the other man's business spanned New York and New Jersey, even reaching Pennsylvania and Detroit. Even if it didn't hit nine figures a week, the first digit definitely wouldn't be 1. Tens of millions in profit per week—something even elementary school kids could figure out.
Gennaro felt a wave of helplessness. Luca was dead set on expanding into all of New England, including his territory.
"Luca, do you really have to go this far?"
"Didn't I give you a chance?" Luca shot back. "Fat Tony came to Boston to talk this over, but you disappointed him. If you'd realized that earlier, we wouldn't be here right now, Mr. Anguilo. You've been playing king of the hill for too long—you forgot you're still just a committee member. Now you've only got one choice: hand over all the gasoline tax operations under your control."
"Luca, you've crossed the line!"
"You crossed it first by acting on your own. You can't handle this business, so leave it to me. This is the best outcome you're going to get."
Hearing that, Gennaro's face tightened. Once you've tasted that kind of money, giving it up isn't exactly easy. He tried again, forcing the words out:
"We can work together."
"Unnecessary." Luca shook his head. "I've made myself clear. You've got one option—give it up. Whether you agree or not, my tankers are heading north. Not just the North End—the entire New England region. And you'd better step aside and not get in the way."
He looked at Gennaro like a man already measured for a coffin.
Cooperation? Not a chance. Work together under the FBI's nose? Luca had zero interest in sharing a prison cell with Gennaro.
With nothing left to say, Luca lost interest entirely. Under Gennaro's dark stare, he turned and walked to the front of the stage, announcing the biggest donation of the night.
"Teamsters Local 560 would donating $2,000,000!"
The room erupted into applause. Wealthy ladies and socialites kept sneaking glances at Luca—the rich, handsome young man—and before long, he was surrounded by a circle of stunning women.
The moonlight tonight was especially soft.
Off in a corner of the banquet hall, Colin and Billy stood together, both looking toward the Dove of Peace.
"Wherever Dove goes, he steal the spotlight," Colin said, not even trying to hide the envy in his voice. Being single really was better. He already had a girlfriend—and not just any girlfriend, but a perceptive psychologist. Cheating wasn't just difficult, it was basically suicidal.
"If you wanted to, plenty of women would throw themselves at you," Billy said casually, his gaze sweeping the room. Quite a few socialites were clearly eyeing Colin, the rising star of the police department.
Billy himself, on the other hand, didn't draw much attention. Most people didn't know he was a mob boss; they just knew he'd recently started a freight company and was "some kind of boss." That was his cover.
Luca's official identity was even cleaner—Teamster Branch President. Respectable. Presentable. The kind of thing you could say out loud without hesitation.
Colin waved it off. At his level, there was no need for extramarital drama, and he wasn't some pent-up man chasing thrills.
He turned to look at Billy.
The Dove of Peace wouldn't stay in Boston forever. Billy was their representative in the South, and Colin… well, Colin was Billy's "protector." There was no clean way out of the gang's grip.
Still, working with Billy lately had been surprisingly smooth. Colin had climbed the ranks in the police force faster than ever—way faster than back when he was under Costello. That old man only knew how to demand things, never once considering Colin's situation or whether he might get exposed.
Billy was different. He always seemed to know exactly what Colin needed and never pushed him into a corner.
It was… easy, working with someone like that.
Thinking about it, Colin glanced around and joked, "We've met so many times recently—this might be the first time it wasn't on a rooftop, right?"
He'd been meaning to complain about that. Why did they always meet on rooftops? No chairs, no cover—what were they supposed to do, starve up there?
It was only tolerable now because Boston was warming up. In winter? No chance.
At the mention of "rooftop," Billy's gaze flickered.
Things were different now. Back then, going up there meant pressure, fear, and helplessness. Dickman had handed him task after task on those rooftops—but in the end, his plan with the detective still worked out, just in a roundabout way.
They wanted to back a "dog," push it to the top, take control of the South District, and stabilize it.
And now? Mission accomplished.
The South District was under their control. Same result, different path.
Billy looked at Colin, thinking back over the past month. The man seemed to have an uncanny understanding of the gang's inner workings. Every bit of help landed perfectly—no trouble, no dilemmas.
Nothing like Dickman. That bastard only knew how to push, push, and push—right up to the edge of death.
"Compared to this, I still prefer the rooftop," Billy said with a faint smile. "Better environment."
Colin blinked. "Better? That place is a dump."
Billy pointed up at the chandelier.
"I like the sunlight on the rooftop."
What I do might be dirty, but at least under sunlight… there aren't two shadows behind me anymore.
For a moment, Colin met his gaze—and understood, just a little. Something stirred in his chest.
What I'm doing now is completely legitimate. But my past? That can never see the light of day.
The Dove of Peace held his lifeline.
Colin found himself thinking that maybe the Dove of Peace should leave Boston sooner rather than later. He preferred working with Billy—it felt… lighter.
The two chatted easily for a while before finally shaking hands.
"Pleasure working with you."
The dinner came to an end.
Gennaro left with a heavy heart and immediately gathered his family to prepare for the storm ahead. If Luca openly stepped into the gasoline tax business in the North District, he needed a countermeasure.
But to his surprise, Luca did nothing.
Instead, he continued consolidating power in the South.
Until the end of May.
That's when Gennaro realized the truth.
What came for him wasn't Luca.
It was the FBI.
That afternoon, the FBI surrounded the Anguilo family's club headquarters and arrested several high-ranking members—including Gennaro himself.
The one who made it happen?
A childhood friend of the Bulger brothers.
The charges were extensive: murder, drug trafficking, prostitution, extortion, and more. And the evidence? Ironclad.
When the recordings were played for him, Gennaro froze.
Months of recordings. Supplemented with additional evidence. A complete, airtight chain.
His heart sank—but rage quickly followed.
Damn it!
Luca, you shameless bastard—you worked with the FBI to take me down?!
Of course it was him. Who else would want him gone?
"Luca?" the FBI agent repeated, suddenly very interested. "Mr. Anguilo, we'd love to arrest Luca too, but we don't have enough evidence. If you can provide some, we might consider reducing your sentence—and putting in a good word for you in court."
Gennaro burned with anger, ready to talk—but then hesitated.
What evidence did he actually have?
Gasoline tax operations? If he exposed that, he wouldn't just drag Luca down—he'd take several Mafia families with him. Even in prison, the committee would come for him.
And truth be told… he didn't have solid evidence against Luca anyway. Those wholesale companies were all backed by Russians.
Something else bothered him too—the FBI's attitude toward Luca felt… off. Like they wanted him, but couldn't quite touch him.
Gennaro forced himself to ask, "Then tell me—how did you find our headquarters? Who planted the bugs?"
If Luca did this, that kid would go down with him. The committee would never forgive a traitor.
The FBI exchanged a glance and didn't bother hiding it.
"The information was came from late Whitey. He was one of our informants."
Gennaro's face went pale.
So Luca didn't even need to lift a finger?
A man dead for over two months… still managed to stab him in the back.
No wonder Luca never even looked his way.
Even on the day of the trial, Gennaro never found out whether that betrayal had anything to do with Luca.
All he knew was that he was facing life in prison.
The Anguilo family of the North District was finished.
Cold. Clean. No ceremony.
Still, their core foundation remained, backed by the Patriarca family.
While in prison, Gennaro received word—the Patriarca family had absorbed the remnants of the Anguilo family. After years of division, the factions were united again.
But Boston's North Side?
Gone.
The Southern faction seized the moment and took complete control. The Patriarca family didn't object—they handed over Boston and retreated to Providence.
Naturally, deals were made.
One of Luca's concessions was allowing the Patriarca family a share in the gasoline tax business. Rhode Island, where Providence sat, would get its cut.
Across the greater New England region, Luca found his paradise.
And now?
Nothing could stop him.
[Ding! You unified the Boston gangs, ending years of conflict and bringing peace to the city.]
[Gain Skill Points x200]
[Gained 100 Skill Fragments]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 346]
["Peacemaker" Title Advancement Progress: 3/3]
[New Effect: When facing Irish criminals, title effects increase by 50%]
Peace Ambassador (Tier 2): Watcher
Watcher Effects:
Inherits all original "Peacemaker" effects. Aura range increased threefold (3 km → 9 km). [TN: About 5,6 Mile]
Disarm (Active Skill): Creates a 50-meter radius zone for 10 minutes, nullifying all hostile intent within the area.
Cooldown: 24 hours.
[TN: About 54,6807 Yard]
Peacekeeper: Designate a target as your envoy. They inherit all passive effects of [Peace Ambassador] at 50% strength.
Current envoy limit: 3 (Requires close-friend level bond or higher. Limit increases with upgrades.)
The title advanced to Tier 2—Peacemaker evolved into Watcher, unlocking several fascinating abilities.
"Disarm" was practically divine. Strip away the will to fight, and even the most vicious thug turns into a harmless lamb.
But what really caught Luca's attention?
"Peacekeeper."
He could now send out envoys—extensions of himself, carrying his aura into the world.
"This skill is basically made for me."
Luca mentally counted the people he trusted—those who had reached close-friend status. Sooner or later, every one of them would carry his influence.
And when those people spread across the world…
The image alone was enough to make him smile.
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