Trupo, his face grim, led his team in a raid on a suspected drug house. Earlier that evening, he had received a tip from a so-called concerned citizen claiming that narcotics were being sold in the area and requesting police intervention.
The word "double-cross" felt too crude. As police officers, their duty was to conduct drug busts openly and by the book. As for what happened to the confiscated drugs afterward—that depended entirely on whether the dealers were cooperative.
If they behaved, some of the product might be returned after being "adjusted." If they didn't, they would never see that shipment again.
Trupo had already decided that whatever he seized tonight would be cut at least tenfold before quietly circulating again. He needed to recoup months of losses. Business had been bad—ever since Blue Magic flooded New York, the entire underworld economy had shifted. Smaller crews had been wiped out. Even the once-dominant Bonanno family was struggling. Naturally, corrupt cops like him were feeling the pressure too.
The last time he'd gone into the Bronx to shake down a dealer, he'd been publicly humiliated by that so-called Dove of Peace. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
"Where are those guys getting their supply?" Trupo muttered as he walked. Blue Magic was everywhere in New York, yet no one seemed to know where it originated.
"Not sure yet," one subordinate replied casually. "We'll ask around later and track down their boss."
Trupo sneered. Once he found them, he would squeeze them dry. No monthly protection money? Did they think they could sell product in New York without his approval?
"Trupo? What's he doing here?" David frowned in frustration from his surveillance point. "Damn it. He's going to wreck our operation."
If Trupo confiscated the drugs first, how were they supposed to catch the dealers in the act and secure a conviction? Trupo hid behind official enforcement, conducting "legitimate" raids that legally tied everyone else's hands.
"That guy lives to cause problems," Richie muttered darkly. He grabbed his radio and alerted the nearby ambush units to stay sharp and be ready to move.
Inside the house, Jimmy was high with his wife. Among all of Frank's relatives, he was the most reckless—skimming from his position and spiraling into serious addiction. At one of Frank's parties, he had lost control and shot a corrupt officer in the leg after the man touched his wife.
Lying on the sofa, Jimmy's expression twisted with resentment as the memory replayed. Couldn't he defend his own wife? Yet Frank had shoved his head into a piano in front of a room full of guests—public humiliation. Protecting a dirty cop over his own cousin.
Fine. Then don't blame me for skimming a little product on the side.
The thought soothed him. Nothing eased bitterness like getting something for nothing.
Just as he was about to sink deeper into the haze, someone knocked on the door.
When he opened it, four officers stood outside, led by a large white man with a thick mustache.
"Police." Trupo flashed his badge. "We have reason to believe you're in possession of narcotics. Cooperate with the investigation."
Trupo immediately noticed Jimmy's glassy eyes. He'd chosen well.
"Hell no! You can't just barge into my house!" Jimmy blocked the doorway. "You got a warrant? This is illegal!"
"You want to talk about legality?" Trupo shoved him aside. "Move."
Inside, the scene told the story—powder on the table, paraphernalia scattered across the room. They were in the right place.
"Bag everything," Trupo ordered.
One officer examined the product. "High purity. Not even cut. That's premium."
"You're not taking my stuff!" Jimmy's eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed a revolver from a cabinet. "Put it down or I'll shoot!"
"He's high," one cop said calmly. "He's actually pointing a gun at police."
"Think carefully," Trupo warned coldly. "Shooting an officer is a federal charge. You'll never see daylight again. I'm just taking the merchandise tonight. I'm doing you a favor by not hauling you in."
Jimmy hesitated, then lowered the weapon. Prison wasn't an option.
The officers cleared the table, but Trupo wasn't satisfied. He demanded to know if there was more. When Jimmy denied it, Trupo struck him and ordered a thorough search. They tore through the place with practiced efficiency—and found additional hidden stashes.
Just as they prepared to head upstairs, something rolled down the hallway.
Trupo's face drained of color. "Oh—"
The explosion hit a split second later.
The blast tore through the house, hurling bodies across the room. Walls cracked. Smoke swallowed everything. Several of the corrupt officers were killed instantly.
Jimmy, thrown back but still alive, stared in disbelief. What just happened?
One officer, barely alive, dragged himself forward and raised his pistol weakly toward Jimmy.
"You—"
Jimmy fired first.
The officer collapsed.
Jimmy's wife, dazed from the blast, screamed and bolted toward the exit. Jimmy snapped back to reality, grabbed a bag of drugs, and rushed out with her.
Run. Before anyone arrives.
Outside, Luca watched from his car.
__________________________________________________________________________
[Ding! You commissioned Leon to eliminate four corrupt officers with extensive criminal records.]
[You removed a malignant element from the police department and safeguarded New York's stability.]
[Gain Skill Points x10]
[Gain 5 Skill Fragments]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 103]
__________________________________________________________________________
Leon was no longer in the passenger seat.
The evening air drifted in through the open window. Luca remained silent as Jimmy burst out of the house clutching the bag.
Sonny Black and his crew leapt from their vehicle.
"Stop him!" Sonny Black charged first, followed by Lefty, Donnie, and the others.
As they passed the house, Donnie glanced inside uneasily. Where were Trupo's men?
Everything had unraveled in seconds—the raid, the explosion, the gunshots. No one fully understood what had happened.
Then another shot rang out.
Donnie saw Sonny Black stumble and fall, still gripping the bag. Jimmy lunged to reclaim it, but Sonny refused to let go.
When Lefty and the others closed in, Jimmy abandoned the bag and ran.
"Sonny!" Lefty dropped beside him. Blood soaked through his pants.
"You bastard," Sonny groaned. "Lefty—make him pay for that!"
But Jimmy was already fleeing, panic consuming him. He had to escape—leave the country if necessary.
Ahead of him, however, police units were already in position.
"Hands up!" David stepped out from behind a car, weapon raised. "Jimmy! Drop it!"
More officers poured in, sealing the block. Donnie and the others found themselves trapped before they could retreat.
"Where did all these cops come from?" Lefty spat.
Jimmy swayed, vision spinning. Whether from adrenaline or substances, he felt certain of one thing: he wasn't walking away from this.
He bolted into the street, firing wildly over his shoulder.
Headlights flashed.
A car accelerated directly toward him.
Impact.
Jimmy was thrown to the pavement. Had the vehicle been going any faster, it would have killed him outright.
Silence fell for a split second.
The car door opened.
A long leg stepped out, followed by a steady hand gripping the frame. Under the streetlights, a sharply defined face came into view—calm, composed, impossible to ignore.
Luca closed the door and faced the approaching officers with a faint smile.
"Officers," he said smoothly, "I helped you stop a fleeing suspect. That's not a traffic violation, is it?"
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