Joe Gallo's story was even more legendary than Joe Colombo's, and he had become famous much earlier.
"I'd already heard Mr. Gallo's name when I first joined the Mafia."
Luca leaned back on the sofa, crossed his legs, and spoke leisurely.
"Back then, in all of New York, who hadn't heard of 'Joe the Blonde'? Who didn't know 'Crazy Joe'?"
"You were surrounded by heavy hitter and movie stars. Those actresses were crazy about you, and the women every man in America fantasized about were lying between your legs, moaning."
Even the federal government couldn't do anything about him.
After all, during a federal hearing, Gallo had openly mocked the court, calling it a casino.
He said that casinos could only keep gamblers trapped inside—how could they possibly restrain a big shot like him?
Everything Luca said was true.
Gallo, that madman, had constantly appeared in the media.
He had slept with many famous and beautiful actresses, and his behavior was extremely flamboyant and high-profile.
He had done far too many crazy things to count, including—according to his own bragging—the murder of the previous head of the Gambino crime family, the boss before the family's name change.
Of course, that was something Gallo himself boasted about to enhance his reputation.
Whether it was true or not remained uncertain.
Luca didn't know either.
He figured the only way to learn the truth would be to ask Carlo Gambino personally.
But Gallo had always used these stories as bragging rights.
Keeping a low profile was never his style.
The more others feared him, the better.
Now that Luca seemed to know so much about him, Gallo unexpectedly found the kid slightly more agreeable.
Luca suddenly changed the subject.
"But what about now?"
"You've been in prison for years, and nobody outside talks about your exploits anymore."
"Everyone talks about Colombo now. They talk about his role as chairman of the Italian-American Alliance, about how many Italians he helped, and how many rights he fought for."
"Italians admire him."
"Nobody mentions you anymore."
Mr. Gallo—
Look at yourself.
You've fallen so low that you're hanging around with Black street gangs now.
Or do you really enjoy those admiring looks from artsy young people?
You've already become history.
Why bother crawling back out of the dust?
A strong wind might not shake the emblem of the People's Assembly—
But it can erase you completely.
Every sentence struck like a knife.
The person Gallo hated being compared to most was Joe Colombo.
Hearing this comparison made him furious enough to want to shoot Luca.
Gallo stared at him coldly.
"You killed so many of my people, and then you sit here just to humiliate me?"
"Where is the oil?" Luca asked calmly.
"You stole my cargo. The Russians are now cooperating with the Lucchese family."
Gallo frowned.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He had only been released from prison that year.
After so many years locked up, the underworld had changed dramatically.
Russians cooperating with Italians?
That sounded absurd.
Thinking about what had just happened to his men, Gallo took a deep breath.
"I didn't know anything about that beforehand."
"I'll return the oil. We'll call it even."
"And one more thing—starting now, you can't touch anything related to trucks."
"The truck drivers' union is also my partner."
Gallo suddenly realized what was happening.
He might be crazy, but he wasn't stupid.
"Did that bastard Pro send you to warn me?"
"It must have been him. Fitz doesn't have the guts!"
Luca didn't deny it.
"Pro just thinks you went too far."
"It's fine if you want to make money, but you can't steal from your own family."
"And you shouldn't have talked to him like that—calling his wife a whore and his daughter a prostitute."
"Pro isn't some nobody. Saying that was completely wrong."
"Bullshit!"
Gallo cursed loudly.
"I never said that! I haven't even seen him recently!"
"That guy has been avoiding me!"
"Is that so?"
Luca shrugged.
"Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe Fitz said it. Or someone else."
"Anyway, Mr. Gallo, I've delivered the message."
"Let's stay out of each other's business. Are you willing to make peace?"
Gallo lit a cigarette, his face gloomy.
Luca stared at him for a few seconds.
"Mr. Gallo… do you want money, or do you want to fade into obscurity?"
"You've only been out of prison a short time, yet you're already making so many moves—trying to attract all of New York's attention."
-
Gallo looked up in surprise.
His mind drifted back to a conversation he had with Gambino some time ago.
"You, Joe Gallo, were once the most promising candidate to lead the Profaci family."
"But now it's called the Colombo family."
"You and I—an old man with heart disease—are both about to leave this era."
"Soon we'll be forgotten."
"And eventually we'll only exist as a few dry sentences in history books."
They call me Don now.
But how will future generations judge me, Gambino?
And how will they judge you, Joe Gallo?
-
"Mr. Gallo, your paintings are pretty good."
Luca suddenly changed the topic again.
"Even though you've drifted away from the Mafia mainstream, many artsy young people in New York are talking about you now."
As the saying goes—
Many artists are crazy.
You can never understand what goes on inside their heads.
The conversation suddenly shifted to art and literature.
Gallo's attention drifted away from the earlier hostility.
He nodded and began discussing the philosophical books he had read in prison.
"When I read Jean‑Paul Sartre in prison, the other inmates laughed at me."
"But when they read their verdicts in court, I laughed at them."
Gallo glanced at the paintings on the walls and smirked.
"Dove, someone like you should understand something."
"Writers and painters lie with their pens."
"But only a butcher's knife reveals the truth."
Luca watched him with interest.
Gallo spread his arms dramatically.
"Joe Colombo."
"Carlo Gambino."
"Vincent Gigante."
He listed one Mafia boss after another.
"When those old geezers sit on the commission counting money, they look like accountants."
"But when it's time to fire a gun—"
"They all shake like Parkinson's patients."
"Want me to stop?" Gallo sneered.
"Now I know why they call you the Butcher."
"But do you know where my nickname 'Crazy Joe' comes from?"
__________________________________________________________________________
[Character Card: Joe Gallo]
[Rank: C]
[Source: The Irishman]
Skill:
[Seize Power:
You frequently violate and break Mafia rules while targeting powerful figures.
Your intimidation effect against Mafia members increases by 10%.
When the target has a higher status than you, the intimidation effect increases by an additional 10%.]
[Learning Requirements: Friendship or higher; 100 Skill Fragments]
[Bond: Attention]
__________________________________________________________________________
To be honest—
Luca was extremely interested in this skill.
A skill that could make high-ranking figures even more wary?
That was incredible.
As expected of Crazy Joe.
Considering how many committee rules he had broken—and how flashy his behavior was—
It was practically a miracle that he was still alive.
"Luca."
"Go back and tell Pro to stay out of my business!"
Joe Gallo straightened his collar and sneered.
"Or you can just kill me right now."
"I always have one more suit than bullet holes."
Luca raised an eyebrow.
"What the hell happened? We were just talking about philosophy and art."
"How did this guy suddenly go crazy again?"
Holy crap.
What kind of thought process was that?
"Tell me your conditions," Luca said, changing the subject.
"How can you reconcile with Pro?"
Gallo scoffed.
"He dies, and we settle the score."
"Or you hand over the money."
Luca narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You said that yourself."
"Mr. Gallo, do you know why I came here tonight?"
That question caught Gallo's attention.
Under his astonished gaze—
The peace ambassador calmly unwrapped an Oreo and slowly ate it.
Skill activated.
"It's all about business," Luca said.
He briefly explained the cooperation between the gasoline company and the truck drivers' union.
The gasoline had to be transported by tanker truck drivers.
In an era without GPS navigation, every experienced truck driver was essentially a living map.
"If I don't cooperate with Pro, my business is finished."
Luca leaned forward.
"Fitz wouldn't dare block my business."
"But Pro would."
"Anyone who goes against him goes bankrupt."
Luca pulled out a pistol and slammed it onto the table.
"Mr. Gallo, the choice is yours."
"Tell me what I should do."
"Should I kill you to eliminate Pro's worries?"
"Or should you make peace with him?"
"All I care about is that my business doesn't suffer."
"If killing you solves the problem, believe me—I'll do it."
Gallo stared at the pistol thoughtfully.
So that was it.
It seemed Luca and Pro weren't actually on the same side.
Luca simply cared about business.
With the Trust bonus and the misjudgment effect of Oreo, Gallo felt he had already figured Luca out.
A violent killer.
Working for money.
If Luca could cooperate with Pro—
Why couldn't he cooperate with him?
"So you went through all that trouble, killed so many people in Harlem, just for this tiny problem?"
Gallo sneered.
"Do you know why Pro doesn't dare meet me in person?"
"Because he's afraid of me."
"There are hardly any people in New York brave enough to negotiate with me."
"Even Gambino calls me Joe the Blonde."
"Because I helped him once."
"You're very good at bragging," Luca said seriously.
"But right now, I just want to know your choice."
"I can help you."
Gallo grinned smugly and poured himself a drink.
"You just want business, right?"
"What's the truck drivers' union?"
"Back when I was working with Jimmy Hoffa, Pro was still a nobody."
"How can you help me?" Luca asked.
"You don't need to worry about that."
"Give me some time."
"You'll see the results."
"No one will block your tanker trucks."
"But in exchange, your business has to pay me a share."
"At least twenty thousand a week."
"You're seriously underestimating my business."
Luca pulled out another Oreo, looking hesitant.
"Listen, Gallo."
"I never wanted to get involved in your conflict with Pro."
"I just want to do business."
"If you can guarantee my tanker trucks move freely…"
"I can give you one million a week."
Gallo's eyes widened.
One million per week?
What kind of business was this?!
"But regardless of what you do, I don't want my business affected."
"Pro can't vent his anger on me."
"Do you understand?"
"Pro needs an explanation tonight."
Gallo thought for a moment.
"A million per week… are you serious?"
"I can give you fifty thousand tonight."
"If my business expands and I get more tanker trucks, the weekly profit could exceed to tens of million."
Luca's sincerity created a strong sense of trust.
A wide smile slowly spread across Gallo's face.
"Haha! Fine!"
"I promise!"
"Tonight I'll reconcile with that bastard!"
The two shook hands with smiles.
__________________________________________________________________________
[Ding! You resolved the conflict between Pro and Gallo. You protected the peace of the truck drivers' union]
[Skill Points +10]
[Skill Fragments +5]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 49]
__________________________________________________________________________
In A Golf Estate in New Jersey.
Pro hung up the phone, looking shocked.
"Holy shit!"
"Gallo actually asked for peace!"
"Fitz!"
Pro turned toward the fat man lying beside him, enjoying a massage from a beautiful woman.
"Gallo agreed to reconcile!"
"That Dove kid actually convinced him!"
"Fuck! Those two violent lunatics—and somehow Dovegot Gallo to prioritize peace!"
"It's unbelievable!"
"So many people in New York tried to persuade Gallo."
"But Dove actually did it!"
Fitz looked equally stunned.
"How is that possible?"
"That madman never listens to anyone!"
"How did Dove manage that?"
"How the hell would I know?"
Pro muttered.
"His title as Peace Ambassador is well deserved."
"Even Gallo listened to him."
"That's unbelievable."
"Impressive," Fitzsimmons said.
"It's a shame Dove isn't a diplomat for the States."
Pro fell silent.
Regardless—
At least the problem was solved.
That bastard Gallo would finally stop interfering with his business.
Dove had done an excellent job.
[Bond: Familiari]
---
After returning to Harlem, Joe Gallo gathered several of his most trusted subordinates.
"I promised Pro that we'd prioritize peace," he said calmly while lighting a cigarette. "So behave yourselves for the next few days and don't try to rob the union's trucks."
The room fell silent for a moment.
His subordinates exchanged puzzled glances.
For Crazy Joe to suddenly talk about peace felt almost surreal.
But Gallo simply exhaled a long stream of smoke, his expression unreadable.
Then he added casually,
"Then, at the mass rally… arrange another gunman."
The men in the room froze.
One of them finally asked carefully,
"Boss… didn't you just promise peace?"
Gallo smirked.
"Of course I did."
"I promised peace for the next few days."
He tapped ash from his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
"But that rally?"
"That's politics."
"And politics…"
Gallo's grin widened.
"…is a completely different game."
The room erupted with rough laughter.
Clearly, their boss hadn't changed at all.
Crazy Joe was still Crazy Joe.
Peace?
Sure.
But only when it was convenient.
And when it wasn't—
There was always another gunman.
======================================================================
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