After examining the scene, David Mills and William Somerset did not linger. They handed the apartment over to the forensic team and left together. Downstairs, they happened to run into Luca, who had just parked his car.
After a brief exchange and learning what had happened, Luca frowned slightly. "Detective Somerset, was the victim upstairs killed for 'pride'?"
Somerset nodded. "Yes."
A flicker of surprise passed through Luca's eyes.
That wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
In the original sequence of murders, the second victim had represented greed—a corrupt defense attorney who profited from shielding criminals and rapists. But now pride had appeared ahead of schedule. The butterfly effect was already distorting the timeline. Once the pattern shifted, the remaining events might become unpredictable.
Somerset noticed Luca's subtle change in expression. "Greco, have you discovered anything new in the Bronx?"
Luca shook his head. He and Léon were still investigating quietly and would eventually trace the lead—but the killer was moving quickly.
Mills, burning with urgency, looked at Luca. "Want to come upstairs and take another look? You've got sharp eyes. You might notice something we missed."
He genuinely regarded Luca as an unofficial detective at this point.
"No need," Luca replied thoughtfully. Then he continued in a measured tone, deliberately steering the conversation. "The appearance of a 'pride' victim confirms our hypothesis. The murderer is executing people according to the seven deadly sins. His arrangement is overtly religious. Detectives, have you considered whether the killer might be Catholic?"
He paused, then added, "Or at least someone deeply familiar with Catholic doctrine. He quoted Paradise Lost. That suggests extensive reading—possibly works like The Divine Comedy, maybe even Dante's Inferno. These aren't random references."
Mills snorted. "He's a sadistic lunatic. Reading books doesn't make him cultured."
"Wait." Somerset's eyes lit up. "Books."
He pointed at Luca. "You've given me an idea. If he studied these religious texts, he might have purchased or borrowed them. Bookstore sales records. Library borrowing records."
He turned sharply to Mills. "You check the bookstores. I'll go to the public library."
Luca felt a quiet sense of relief. If the library records still existed, it would save him and Léon from painstakingly screening suspects one by one.
They split up immediately. Luca chose to accompany Somerset to the library. Even with the butterfly effect in motion, surely the killer's past borrowing history wouldn't simply vanish.
—
Outside the library, Luca and Somerset entered side by side.
Somerset glanced at him thoughtfully. Luca's nickname, his background in Little Italy, the rumors—none of it aligned cleanly with the man standing beside him.
"Greco," Somerset began, "there's something I've always wondered. You advocate peace so passionately. Why remain in the Mafia? If you want to do good, why not leave and adopt another identity?"
Luca smiled faintly. "If I didn't have the backing of a family, do you think those gangs would listen to me?"
Somerset had no immediate reply.
Sometimes, a criminal organization's deterrent power exceeded that of the police. Officers operated within legal boundaries; they arrested and prosecuted. Mafia families straddled both legal and illegal spheres—when they issued threats, people believed them.
The drop in crime and complaints in Little Italy was real. The irony was undeniable.
"You helped during the incident in Times Square," Somerset continued. "And now this. Because of you, crime in Little Italy has decreased significantly. You're unlike any gangster I've known."
Luca chuckled softly. "First time I've been complimented by a detective. I'm honored."
"You claim to believe in peace," Somerset said, studying him. "Do you truly think the world can become peaceful one day?"
Luca considered the question carefully. "That depends on what kind of peace you mean. A thousand years ago, philosophers described the seven deadly sins. Do you believe humanity will ever exist without them? If that day comes, detectives like you would be unemployed."
Somerset fell silent.
He understood.
A world without pride, greed, lust, envy, sloth, gluttony, or wrath would require saints—not humans. Laws and morality restrained evil, but they did not eradicate it. Conflict was inevitable.
The aging detective stood before a bookshelf for a long moment, then smiled wryly.
War and peace. Crime and order. Mafia and "Peace Ambassador."
The contradictions were absurd—and yet somehow perfectly logical.
—
While Luca and Somerset reviewed library borrowing records, on Long Island, inside a quiet villa, another scene unfolded.
A man lay on the floor, covered in blood, barely alive. He stared in terror at the bald figure standing over him.
Joe Doe calmly dipped his fingers into the victim's blood and wrote a word across the polished floorboards:
GREED.
"For years," Joe said softly, "you used your silver tongue to sell worthless stocks. You deceived clients and profited while they suffered."
"When you sat in luxury on Wall Street, drinking aged wine, did you ever consider the people you ruined?"
"You are guilty of the original sin of greed."
Joe crouched and drove a dagger into the man's throat.
"In this filthy world, your crimes are unforgivable."
The victim convulsed, coughing up bubbles of blood. His movements weakened rapidly.
Joe then sliced open an artery, allowing the blood to pour freely onto the carpet.
"If you greedily hoard wealth," he murmured, "then let the filthy blood drain from your body. Only then is there ritual."
When it was done, Joe traced a large cross over his chest and shoulders.
"Go to hell."
Blood soaked into the expensive wool carpet.
Joe rose and wandered through the study before picking up a framed photograph from a shelf—an image of company partners at an opening ceremony. The dead man had been one of them.
Joe smiled coldly.
In his eyes, these men were not guilty of greed alone, but also pride and lust. Predatory wolves of Wall Street, devouring lives without spilling visible blood.
Now, it truly begins.
One by one, he would judge them all.
The obese glutton who could barely stand. The actress whose pride in her beauty outweighed her will to live. The bloodsucking financiers who built fortunes on lies.
None deserved to exist.
A sickly smile curved across Joe's lips.
"I had no choice," he whispered.
"I was chosen by God."
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