The situation in Detroit turned out to be far more complicated than Luca had imagined, because while he had expected chaos, he hadn't anticipated just how many children were involved in it.
Sure, Luca himself had entered the Mafia at a young age, but that didn't mean the Mafia relied on child labor at scale—cases like his were extremely rare—yet in Detroit, these young "delivery drivers" had clearly formed something closer to a full-blown organized system, and to make things worse, it all revolved around drugs.
If Luca stood anywhere along 8 Mile Road, he could already imagine how most ordinary people would feel—terrified, legs shaking, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
Listening to the well-meaning advice from the old-timers, Luca felt both helpless and speechless at how… hands-off the Detroit Mafia had become, though he understood it wasn't entirely their fault, because the broader environment was shifting as white residents kept leaving the city while the Black population kept rising, inevitably weakening Mafia influence, leaving only these aging men barely holding things together, and once they were gone, the Detroit Mafia would likely fade out with them.
Putting those heavy topics aside, Luca had dinner with the group of old men, chatting casually, joking around, and eventually the conversation drifted to Jimmy Hoffa.
The awkward part?
These guys had already been marginalized within the Commission—they knew Hoffa was causing trouble for everyone, but they had no idea that Anthony Salerno had already issued the execution order, which made their voting rights feel almost symbolic, because when Luca and Tony decided Hoffa had to go, they didn't even bother informing the Detroit side.
Luca could roughly guess what was going on.
Tony and Russell Bufalino were probably preparing to shift the blame onto the Detroit families, since in the original timeline, Detroit took the hardest hit after Hoffa's disappearance, with the federal investigation digging deep into everything, exposing one figure after another.
After all, if Hoffa vanished in Detroit, who would be investigated first if not the local Mafia?
And speaking of that—Joe Zerilli actually had a decent relationship with Hoffa.
He spoke tactfully, his tone calm and reflective as he said that he had recently visited Hoffa and talked to him about stepping back, because at their age, why compete with younger men when they could spend their remaining years with family, holding grandchildren and watching them grow up safely?
Zerilli was nearly eighty, practically retired in both body and spirit, long since losing interest in power struggles, and it was precisely this peaceful mindset that allowed many of Detroit's older Mafia members to die outside of prison—a rare "good ending" in their line of work.
"I'm guessing Hoffa didn't take your advice," Luca said.
Zerilli smiled helplessly and replied that the older people got, the harder it became to let go of old obsessions, and when someone started questioning the meaning of their life, they tended to cling even tighter to the past, adding that Hoffa had never been the type to submit, and that he had known him for decades, even helping him intimidate business owners back when Hoffa first organized union strikes in Detroit.
Back then, Hoffa had said he wanted to make the truck drivers' union the largest in the United States, and that he wanted every driver to be respected.
Luca took a sip of his drink, staring at the man's wrinkled face.
"And without the Mafia, he wouldn't have pulled that off."
"Luca," Zerilli replied, looking at him with genuine admiration, "there aren't many people in the Mafia who approach business with truck drivers the way you do, and as a capo, you understand better than anyone what the Mafia really wants."
He added that while Hoffa complained endlessly about many people, he never criticized what Luca had done, because what Hoffa truly hated wasn't the Mafia itself, but people like Frank Fitzsimmons—men willing to sell out the union without hesitation, parasites who would eventually destroy its dignity.
Luca frowned slightly.
"But what he said on TV crossed the line."
"He made mistakes."
"And blocking our loans?"
"That's being handled by Allen Dorfman—you could try talking to him."
Dorfman, who ran an insurance company and controlled part of the union's pension fund, had once been loyal to Hoffa and continued serving him even after prison, but after receiving Mafia pressure, he shifted back toward Fitzsimmons, although Hoffa still had loyalists inside the fund who followed his orders to block loans across multiple families.
Luca shook his head.
The Mafia had already tried talking to Dorfman, but it hadn't worked.
Hoffa's remaining influence wasn't weak.
And now that the execution order had already been issued, there was no point continuing this conversation, because Luca had no interest in arguing with a dead man walking—once Hoffa was gone, the union would finally calm down.
Zerilli, of course, had no idea just how far Luca had already gone.
Still smiling, he continued chatting and even offered to mediate another round of talks with Hoffa, which Luca neither accepted nor rejected, casually steering the conversation back to business.
"I don't want to miss Detroit's gasoline market. The profit margins here are huge. Would you be willing to help me?"
Zerilli agreed, explaining that while Luca could operate smoothly in the West District thanks to their influence, the East District was another story entirely, because the Black community there was too powerful, and the Mafia had a non-interference agreement with them.
Luca immediately realized the problem.
Most of Detroit's population lived on the East Side.
The northern suburbs and western areas?
Nowhere near enough people.
There were simply too many people in the East District to ignore.
Smiling slightly, Luca said, "Then let's start with a pilot in the West End. Maybe cheap gas will catch their attention."
Of course, what he didn't say out loud was that when it came to those gangs, he had no intention of playing nice.
He was already planning to work with the government on a large-scale anti-gang operation.
Because before peace—
There had to be war.
And this upcoming Detroit conflict?
It was going to shake the entire country.
If anything, Luca was thinking about lighting the fuse early.
After dinner, Luca left with Keung and Brian, and on the way back, as their car passed near 8 Mile Road, Luca told Brian to turn in and take a look.
What they saw was complete decay.
This wasn't just another rough neighborhood—it felt like an upgraded version of Harlem, where nearly everyone on the street was Black, wandering aimlessly, some carrying liquor bottles, others passed out on sidewalks, with drug deals happening in plain sight and walls covered in graffiti filled with violent and sexual imagery.
"Are there car gangs here?" Brian asked curiously. "This is the Motor City—shouldn't the street race scene be huge?"
Luca rolled his eyes, thinking Brian really did have a thing for speed no matter where they went, though to be fair, Detroit probably did have street car gangs—just not on the level of Los Angeles.
Along the way, Brian noticed several groups of Black men shouting at each other.
"Underground rap battles? I heard Detroit has some great rappers—some big names came out of here."
Luca, who had zero interest in music—especially rap—just found it noisy, but hearing that still made him pause for a second, because something about 8 Mile rang a bell, as if this place would eventually become a symbol of rap culture, attracting people from all over the world for underground battles.
And honestly?
Could outsiders even replicate it?
These people had spent years under pressure and discrimination, sharpening their tongues into weapons—fast, rhythmic, and relentless—especially when arguing with police.
Just as he was thinking that, Brian suddenly spoke up.
"Dove, something's off. Looks like a fight's about to break out."
Luca stayed calm.
In Detroit, no fights would've been the real surprise.
Looking over, he saw a group of Black men armed with sticks chasing a white guy, shouting and cursing.
Then Luca's expression shifted slightly.
…Seriously?
"You started your career on 8 Mile too?"
"Brian, stop the car."
Then he turned to Keung.
"Keung, go help."
As he spoke, Luca calmly pulled out a pistol and handed it over.
"Take it. If things go bad, bullets solve problems faster."
Keung didn't refuse.
He had been training with Léon, so while he wasn't a sharpshooter, he could handle himself.
Luca then pulled two more guns from under his seat, tossed one to Brian, and kept the other.
The moment the car stopped, Keung rushed out first, cutting off the white guy's path, who immediately panicked and tried to run another way, only to find Brian blocking him too.
Then—
Gunshots rang into the air.
Everyone froze.
The Black men turned toward Luca, uncertainty flashing across their faces as an invisible pressure filled the air, fear spreading fast enough to make several of them instinctively step back.
But fear didn't stop everyone.
Some of them pulled guns.
Bad move.
Before they could even aim—
Shots fired.
Clean.
Precise.
Bullets hit their arms.
The reaction was instant.
Chaos exploded.
Some ran.
Some screamed.
Some dropped to the ground after getting knocked down by Keung.
The leader of the group lay there, staring at Luca with pure fear, then glanced at the white guy and quickly turned his head away from the gun.
"Man—please don't shoot."
"Why were you messing with him?" Luca asked, pointing at the white kid.
The guy forced out a dry laugh and said it was just a misunderstanding, explaining that it started from a rap diss on the street, escalated into pushing, and somehow turned into this mess.
Luca just stared at him.
"…You're kidding me."
He waved his hand.
"There are rules to dissing. Next time I see a group ganging up on one guy, the bullet's not stopping at your arm."
Then his voice dropped.
"Now get out of here before I change my mind."
They didn't need to be told twice.
They ran.
Fast.
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[Ding! You stopped a conflict between different groups and maintained street-level peace.]
[+5 Skill Points]
[+2 Skill Fragments]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 304]
Luca glanced at the panel, then looked at the white kid, whose card had already appeared.
[Character Card Discovered: Jimmy Smith Jr. (Unlocked)]
[Rank: A]
[Source: 8 Mile]
[Skill: Dirty Rap; Lose Yourself]
[Bond: Strangers]
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Luca couldn't help muttering under his breath.
"Why is everyone named Jimmy…?"
Looking at the still-immature face in front of him, it was hard to connect this scrappy street kid to a future global rap superstar.
Detroit looked like a mess.
But somehow—
It was full of monsters waiting to rise.
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