Luca made the trip to Detroit once again.
This time, however, he traveled light.
The only people with him were his uncle, Mariggio, along with the Lucchese family's boss and consigliere.
Mariggio rode in the same car as Luca, while Jimmy took the wheel.
As the car rolled through the highway, Mariggio finally gave voice to the concern that had clearly been weighing on him.
"Luca… don't you think you've been moving a little too fast these past couple of years?"
Luca barely looked up.
"Uncle, if you've got something to say, just say it."
Mariggio exhaled slowly.
"Boss feels threatened."
Luca raised an eyebrow.
"Does he now?"
So the Big Boss was sharper than he looked.
He had already caught the scent of Luca's real ambitions.
Still, the Feds hadn't even begun their coming great purge of the New York families, and Luca had absolutely no intention of taking the post only to turn himself into the Department of Justice's favorite target.
Seeing Luca's indifference, Mariggio sighed.
"Your business and your influence have expanded at a terrifying pace. People are starting to whisper that you're planning to break away from the family."
Luca let out a short laugh.
"Uncle, I took the blood oath."
His tone remained calm.
"I kick up a massive percentage to the Big Boss every month. My loyalty is right there on the books for everyone to see."
Mariggio gave him a tired look.
"To be honest, the family can't really keep a leash on you anymore."
He gave a small shrug.
"I may not care, but the Boss does."
His eyes narrowed.
"The gasoline racket is technically under my name, but everyone knows you're the one holding the remote."
"Victor isn't stupid."
"It's been over a year."
"He's connected the dots."
Mariggio paused before continuing.
"He never expected you to scale this quickly—owning gas stations in Detroit, becoming Carlo Gambino's hand-picked 'Judge,' and building ties with the Russians."
He leaned closer.
"You're practically on a first-name basis with every major family outside New York."
Then he said it plainly.
"Luca… look at the board."
His voice dropped.
"Your power is already on par with an independent family."
What Mariggio didn't even know was that Luca still had deep, old ties to the Continental from his years as a top-tier assassin.
If he factored that in, he would realize Victor's concerns were actually an understatement.
(TN: For you guys who forgot, Victor is the name of Luchesse Family's Boss, nicknamed Little Vic)
If Luca ever truly wanted the seat, his odds were already far better than Joe Gallo's had ever been.
And that was exactly what terrified Mariggio.
Because if Luca ever decided a change in leadership was necessary, then someone might one day pay a quiet visit to the Big Boss.
And if that happened—
Mariggio already knew he would have no choice but to stand behind his nephew.
It would make Luca the youngest Mafia Godfather in history.
Luca fell silent.
He had done this math a long time ago.
Taking total control right now is a fool's gamble.
Once Gambino eventually passed, the Feds were guaranteed to launch a full-scale crackdown on the Commission.
Not just New York.
Philadelphia.
Jersey.
Everywhere.
Most of the old guard would be dragged into the net.
Only places far from the East Coast power center—Chicago, Detroit, maybe parts of the Midwest—would still have room to breathe.
Taking the post now would be like standing on a lightning rod in the middle of a storm.
Luca's vision was different.
He wanted to use the federal crackdown itself as a forced rejuvenation of the Mafia.
He would install his own handpicked people.
His own puppets.
His own loyalists.
And through them, he would secure a seat at the High Table.
That was his real road to power.
To survive that transition, he needed to fully master Russell Bufalino's Godfather-tier skills.
Especially the ones tied to navigating political storms and government infiltration.
Finally, Luca spoke.
"Uncle, relax."
His voice was steady.
"I have no designs on the Big Boss right now."
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"He's getting older."
"Maybe one day he'll be ready to retire."
"Like Zerelli, Like the others ... We can learn from that."
Mariggio's expression softened.
"I just don't want to see the family tear itself apart again."
His voice was low.
"The last power struggle cost too many lives."
He looked out the window.
"If you hadn't stepped up, our influence would've dried up."
A guilty feeling hit him.
Including former Underboss Dominic Truscello, almost every corpse from the internal struggle could somehow be traced back to Luca.
Luca had practically pruned the Lucchese middle management himself.
To say Luca had no interest in the throne felt… optimistic.
Still, Mariggio chose to believe him.
No matter what.
"Luca," he said quietly, "whatever happens, I'm in your corner."
Jimmy Hoffa's funeral was set for the following afternoon.
The sudden influx of bosses into Detroit wasn't just about mourning.
They had come to sink their teeth into the Rebuild Detroit contracts.
Engineering, Infrastructure, and Federal reconstruction money.
A buffet.
Luca left the business side to Mariggio.
---
Instead, he went to check on the Mercer brothers.
Bobby And Jack.
One White and the other one Black.
And together, now the undisputed kings of the East Side underworld.
Their takeover had been surgical.
With the major Black gangs wiped out, the neighborhood had been left in total disorder.
Using Luca's funding, Bobby had recruited a small army from both sides of the racial divide.
They were already raiding independent casinos, bars, and illegal joints.
Redrawing the map.
Establishing a new shadow economy.
A more orderly one.
Without Luca even asking, Bobby had already imposed one major rule:
No drugs.
If his mother didn't want poison on the corners, then it was gone.
Everything else, however, remained open season.
Even so, the East Side was still far rougher than Little Italy.
Banning narcotics had stirred resentment among street-level hustlers.
But once the gasoline business started booming, most of them quickly fell in line.
They realized something simple.
Black gold was worth a lot more than white powder.
And gasoline was just as dark as their nature.
"Almost every station in the East District is under our thumb now," Bobby reported during a meeting at his house.
"The owners signed on for protection."
He lit a cigarette.
"They hire our people."
"In return, we supply them with the cheap stuff."
Then he moved on.
Guns.
Protection.
Car theft.
In Detroit, stolen cars were practically the city's bloodstream.
But it took expertise.
That used to be Sweet's territory.
Now Bobby sat on that post.
"Sweet used to move inventory to South America and Asia."
He frowned.
"Mostly through Hong Kong into China, India, and Vietnam."
"But now that Sweet's dead, those routes are choked."
He looked at Luca.
"Dove… got a fix for that?"
A familiar face flashed across Luca's mind.
Yuri Orlov.
The man had one of the best logistics networks in the business.
If it could be shipped, Yuri could move it.
Weapons, Cars ... Anything.
"I'll handle it." Luca nodded. "When I get back to New York, I'll put you in touch with the big leagues."
Then Luca changed the subject.
"Do you know any Black rap groups in Detroit? Any major labels?"
Bobby blinked.
"...What?"
Luca briefly explained the kid he had met.
Jimmy Smith Jr.
Bobby frowned.
"Dove… I think you're missing the mark on this one."
"A white kid in the rap scene?"
He shook his head.
"The streets won't buy it."
"There's no market."
Luca smiled.
"Let's give him a shot."
"He might surprise us."
Bobby shrugged.
"Fine, I'll keep a leash on him."
"A rapper without a gang behind him is just a target."
His grin widened.
"From now on, if anybody wants to diss him, they'll have to look me in the eye first."
In America, a diss track was often just the warm-up act before bullets.
"I'll get him studio access too."
Bobby smirked.
"If he blows up, I'm making sure he writes one about the Mercers."
---
In the quiet northern suburbs, inside a peaceful, white-bread neighborhood, the Smith family was settling in.
Jimmy—
or B-Rabbit, as the streets knew him—
had accepted Luca's offer.
He was thinking about his little sister's future.
Compared to the trailer park, this place felt like sanctuary.
But the weight of the favor pressed down on him.
He had no idea how to repay Luca.
The anxiety had given him a brutal case of writer's block.
The neighborhood was so peaceful—
so clean—
so normal—
that his lyrics were starting to lose their edge.
He sat at his desk with headphones on, scribbling into his notebook.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy…
There's vomit on his sweater already, Mom's spaghetti…
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready…
To drop bombs…
Then he froze.
He hit a wall.
What came next?
A knock at the door broke his concentration.
His little sister stood there with a bright smile.
Behind her stood a tall, sharply dressed man.
"Jimmy!"
She grinned.
"Uncle Luca is here!"
Luca winced internally. I'm barely older than your brother, since when did I become an uncle?
Jimmy slammed the notebook shut, yanked off the headphones, and stood up.
"Luca! I thought you weren't back to this city."
He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sorry—uh… you want something to drink? Cola? Beer?"
The same kid who could verbally dismantle battle rappers on the street now looked completely restrained.
Luca laughed.
"Cola's fine."
As they sat down, Luca began dropping one bombshell after another.
He had secured a place for Jimmy's sister at a prestigious private elementary school on the North Side.
He had arranged a legitimate job for their mother at one of the higher-end gas stations.
And for Jimmy—he was being introduced to the new power on the East Side.
Bobby Mercer.
The news hit Jimmy like a freight train.
It was too much.
Too fast.
Luca leaned forward.
"This isn't a free lunch, Jimmy."
Jimmy immediately understood.
There was always a price.
"You're going to do something for Bobby."
"He needs a voice."
"A white rapper who can expand his reach."
"Just like the Black crews already have."
"If you want to cut a record…"
Luca's eyes met his.
"Bobby is the man who makes it happen."
Jimmy understood.
This was the trade.
"The choice is yours," Luca said.
"Opportunities like this only come once."
His voice sharpened.
"You either capture it…"
"Or you let it slip."
Like a bolt of lightning, the missing lines suddenly snapped into place inside Jimmy's head.
His eyes widened.
"I know the words now."
Luca smiled.
"Inspiration's everywhere."
Jimmy took a deep breath.
He thought about the trailer, the dirt, the dead-end life waiting for him.
Then he looked up.
"Luca… I'm not missing this oppurtunity."
His voice was firm.
"I thought my future was either a jail cell or a pine box."
"But after a month here?"
"I want this life."
"I want to change."
Luca nodded.
"Then earn it."
He handed Jimmy Bobby's card.
"One day, I want to see you under the lights."
Jimmy gripped the card like it was made of gold.
"Thank you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Character Card: James "Jimmy" Smith Jr.]
[Rank: A]
[Source: 8 MIle]
[Skill:
[Dirty Rap]
Effect: Increases the emotional resonance and psychological impact of verbal persuasion.
(TN: A waste of potential on a man of Luca's talents tbh)
Status: Unlocked
[Lose Yourself]
[Bond: Friend]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Before stepping out, Luca turned back. "You picked a stage name yet?"
Jimmy paused. "I was thinking... maybe Mannix, or maybe Eminem."
Luca nodded, making the call for him. "Let's go with Eminem. It's got a ring to it."
And in that moment, the man who would become a legend—the "Rap God" himself—found his name. Jimmy promised himself that once he made it, he'd write a track that the world would never forget, dedicated to the man who opened the door for him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon or OrbisTranslate. Access 15 advanced chapters for just $3.
Additionally, I will release two bonus chapters for every 100 Stones received.