Carmine simply savored the smoke, drawing in the taste of an Italian cigar bought and imported all the way back in the eighties. A time when Gotham had been a more civilized sort of place, when the Falcones were respected and feared by all.
It was a bittersweet reminder that a better class of criminal had once ruled these streets.
"I'm saying we gotta do something!" some slimeball Capo snapped, banging on the table like a child. "The crazies and that stupid Union need to get taken down a peg."
"What the hell do you want us to do, Paulie? I'm not hearing any fucking great ideas from you," another Capo from the Maroni family shot back.
Ah, right. That was his name. Some upjumped New Jersey family, if Carmine recalled correctly.
What was it again? Started with an S.
"We could barter with Black Mask...?" the new underboss of the Bertelli family offered. Some young fool who had stolen the position after the Mad Hatter murdered the old one.
"Pissing in your boots, kid, and bending to some fucking crazy, eh?" Paulie spat.
"You—"
Carmine lightly tapped ash into the tray as the argument between the various representatives dissolved into childish screaming. Around him sat the delegates of every crime family with Italian roots left in Gotham.
Once upon a time, these families would have been kings in this city. Ruthless pillars. Men who took what they wanted and were respected for it.
Now, all he saw were upjumped brats and cowardly old sacks.
He had to stifle his disgust. The fact that the Cosa Nostra had fallen so far that idiots like these could even sit in this room was a disgrace.
It was representative of the times. Even the Maroni family had gone to shit after Sal kicked the bucket.
Hell, he hated Sal, but he would have taken him over these spineless slobs any day.
And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? It all pointed back to the crazies. The Bat, and the little coterie of lunatics that had come with him over the years.
Not one of these idiots had the backbone a real man ought to have. They buried their fear beneath bluster and noise, but Carmine knew the truth.
They were afraid of the Bat and the rest of Gotham's freaks like little fucking boys. Year after year, instead of biting back, they had withered and shriveled until this was all that remained.
Even now, with the city in chaos, all they could do was bicker.
If he were a weaker man, he might have wept at the sight of it. But he was Don Falcone. He would do what a real mobster was supposed to do and act.
He rose slowly from his chair, the screech of it loud enough that no one in the room could ignore it. Carmine made no effort to soften the sound. The childish bickering quickly petered out as every eye turned toward him.
As it should be.
Even now, in these diminished times, the Falcone family still stood first among Gotham's crime families. With the triads, cartels, and Russian mob all tangled up in their own power struggles, it was his family that remained the strongest.
At least the idiots had the tact to stay quiet as he strode toward the Capo who had been shouting the loudest.
"You wanted to attack the crazies and the Union, right?" Carmine asked, fixing the man named Paulie with a flat stare.
"...Yes, Don Falcone. Those little shits ain't gotta..."
"Do you have a plan?" Carmine asked, taking a long drag from his cigar.
"Uhh... we got guys. We'll hit all of 'em. "
"So no plan at all beyond sending some guys?" Carmine asked, smiling faintly as he placed a hand on Paulie's shoulder.
The fucking idiot actually seemed to perk up, as if he were being praised. "That's—"
Carmine drove the burning cigar into his eye.
Paulie screamed and tried to jerk away, but Carmine kept an iron grip on him. Even as the man shrieked, Carmine only looked at him with disgust.
"I'll keep this short and sweet for all of you," he said. "You're weak. And you've become an embarrassment to yourselves and to what we stand for."
He finally let go, and the slimeball dropped to the floor, clutching his ruined face.
"So if you want to keep yapping useless ideas, get the fuck out."
"Hey, you can't—" some brat started, scowling.
Carmine pulled out his gun and shot the idiot in the face.
The various delegates froze like deer caught in headlights.
Twenty years ago, Carmine would have been dead in the water for doing something like that in a meeting. But that had been when the mob was made of men.
Now these families could barely function, let alone fight a war against the Falcones. They only muttered among themselves, each refusing to meet Carmine's eyes as he scanned the room.
Pathetic.
All of it only proved he had made the right decision. The Cosa Nostra was a decaying, rotting corpse.
"Tell your men to prepare for war," Carmine said. "We're taking back what was ours. Refuse, and you can die slowly at the hands of one of the crazies or the Bat for all I care."
It was time for him to move on to bigger things. His fingers brushed the invitation in his pocket, one stamped with an owl.
The Falcone family would thrive, and if he had to burn every goddamn "goon" in this city to make that happen, then so be it.
—
A happy hum slipped out of my mouth as I headed back home. Professor Blood had sent me off with a promise that he would set up some lessons for me next time.
Of course, he'd also had a strange, lost look on his face and kept glancing up at the ceiling the entire time.
I did feel a little bad about how rattled he looked after Simmy's little display. Hell, I could sympathize. I'd met The Devil the night before, so I got it, really.
I'd make sure to compensate the professor generously in the future.
Still, as glad as I was that everything had gone well, that also meant I had to get back to work.
I rubbed a hand over my face. Ugh. I was a crime boss.
Why the hell did I have so much paperwork?
I understood it on a logical level, sure, but come on.
Back in my old idle fantasies about becoming a crime kingpin, I hadn't imagined most of my work would involve managing logistics or helping formulate a Goonion rules manual.
Cobblepot and Harvey ran a tight ship, so thankfully, I didn't have to handle much of the day-to-day. My own reputation and luck seemed to smooth over most of the kinks too.
I was half tempted to ask Simmy to do my paperwork, but whenever I had the thought, she would always disappear. It wasn't even that I didn't want to work, but even with Volition supernaturally keeping me motivated, there were only so many papers a man could sign before his soul started to give out.
Was this why so many rich bastards turned evil sooner or later? Did soulless paperwork slowly devour their hearts?
"Ahhh... I don't want paperwork to eat my heart," I complained dramatically.
That got me a few strange looks from the people walking around me, but this was Gotham, so I was quickly ignored.
Food sounded good.
Yeah, I'd grab some lunch before heading back. Maybe even take the long way around before returning to the mansion.
Hopefully, my luck would even help me run into some of the bastards who had tried to ruin my party. I already knew some branch of the Religion of Crime had been involved, but the zombie assassins were still a mystery. I had some of my people looking into it, but so far, they had come up with nothing.
John told me the League had taken the alien stuff, which was probably for the best because I sure as hell wasn't Superman. I'd let the pros deal with that. Even so, I kind of regretted letting them take the armor. It would've been fun to stress-test the recycle bin with it.
I pushed the thought out of my mind and let my feet carry me through Gotham. No assassins or cultists crossed my path, so I stopped by a park and picked up some tacos.
Most of the benches and tables were already taken.
Oh, there.
Heh. I guessed my luck was good for the little things too.
"Hey, do you mind if I sit here? There isn't a table open."
I offered a small smile to the trio of women at the table. One was blonde, one was a black-haired asian girl, and the third was a redhead in a wheelchair.
"Uhhh, hello?"
All three of them were staring at me like I was a ghost.
"If you don't want me to sit here..."
"No, it's cool," the blonde said, pointing to the chair.
"Thanks." I grinned as I set down my tacos and dug in.
Strangely, the three of them didn't say a word after that.
Were they shy?
I took another bite and figured I should probably say something before the silence got awkward.
"Hey, it's fine. I know how it is."
For some reason, that only made them look more on edge.
Huh. Were they really that shy?
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on my Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.