On his way out of the cemetery, Luca wasted no time investing in his future. He burned through 240 skill fragments to lock in his latest acquisitions, averaging 80 fragments per skill.
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 190]
[Union Leader] increases trust among guild members, while [The Irishman] boosts trust within Mafia circles. Because Luca is of Sicilian descent, he also receives an additional bonus.
As for the assassin skill, [The Painter], it enhances combat effectiveness and stealth during execution missions, while also reducing the amount of residual evidence and forensic traces left behind when cleaning up crime scenes.
While Luca rarely dirtied his own hands these days, the underworld was a fickle beast. Having the instincts of a master cleaner tucked away in his back pocket was far better than being caught without them when the paint started flying.
By the time he finished handling the remaining business in Detroit and made it back to New York, it was already early November. Autumn had settled over the city, the air carrying that sharp, metallic chill that always made Manhattan feel a little more dangerous after dark.
Meanwhile, the SSR Club was burning hotter than ever.
Barely a year into its existence, the club had already evolved into a global known brand. Membership fees alone were now bringing Luca hundreds of millions every year.
But as new names poured in, some old ones were preparing to leave.
Following the departure of One-Eyed Elle Driver, O-Ren Ishii was now preparing for her own exit.
She was taking Zero and his squad of shinobi back to Japan to dismantle the stagnant Yakuza hierarchy and seize the throne in Tokyo.
Luca personally saw her off at JFK Airport.
The two shared a brief, firm embrace—the kind exchanged only between apex predators who understood exactly what the other was capable of.
It was a silent pact.
If she ever needed the Dove's reach in the East, Luca promised he would answer.
With O-Ren's departure, the city's assassin population had technically gone down.
The body count, however, had not.
If anything, the killings were becoming cleaner. More professional.
Inside the SSR Club's private lounge, the so-called Iron Triangle had reconvened: Patrick Denham, David Mills, and John McClane.
Their target this time: the heroin pipeline flooding out of Chinatown.
"Mr. Wei," Denham said, sliding a photograph across the polished mahogany table. "Full name Terence Wei. Current Dragon Head of the Triad."
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[Character Card Discovered: Terrence Wei (Unlocked)]
[Rank: B]
[Source: The Replacement Killers]
[Skill: Tiger's Blood]
[Bond: Strangers]
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Luca studied the photo.
"Does the old man have an heir?"
"A son," Denham replied with a nod. "He handles day-to-day distribution."
"And a grandson," McClane added, casually popping a pretzel into his mouth. "No telling whether the kid's gonna follow in the family business."
Luca smirked inwardly.
Probably not.
In the original timeline, a botched police raid would get the son killed, sending Terrence Wei spiraling into revenge.
He would eventually hire a certain slick-haired assassin to erase the soul of the cop's child in return—an eye for an eye.
But that hitman, a man still clinging to a shred of honor, wouldn't be able to pull the trigger on a kid.
And from there, everything would escalate into an all-out war between one lone wolf and the entire Triad Syndicate.
It was a story Luca had seen before.
One man dismantling an entire organization brick by brick.
With O-Ren gone, Luca needed a new heavy hitter.
If Terrence Wei is destined to fall, Luca might as well recruit the man fated to bring him down.
Keung was living the quiet life now, and perhaps this new slick-haired assassin might appreciate a similar retirement package.
"Where's the source?" Luca asked, pulling himself back to the present.
"Boston," Denham answered. "We tracked the high-speed shipments coming into Manhattan Harbor. They're coming out of Southie. The Irish mob up there is moving weight in quantities we haven't seen since The French Connection."
Luca recognized the play immediately.
This had all the fingerprints of the The Departed era Irish Mob.
With New York's Blue Magic Heroin supply lines choked off by recent busts, local dealers were desperate for a new fix.
"We've tried working with Boston PD," David said, clearly frustrated. "But they're a closed shop. No jurisdiction, no probable cause, no cooperation. If we don't cut the head off the snake in Boston, Chinatown stays flooded."
All three lawmen looked at Luca with those familiar, almost pathetic grins.
"You want me to go to Boston and negotiate with the Irish?" Luca asked dryly.
The flattery hit him all at once.
"Dove, nobody talks business like you!" Denham said immediately.
"My kid's first word was 'Dove,'" David lied without a hint of shame.
"I've got a third kid on the way, Luca," McClane chimed in. "You're the only choice for the godfather."
Luca rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said. "If I'm going to Boston, I'm making it mine."
Before heading north himself, Luca sent in an advance team.
Léon and several of the brothers moved first, using the gas station expansion as a legitimate front while quietly mapping the city's streets.
But Luca gave Leon a very specific side assignment.
Find a ghost.
He was looking for a man living under a false identity—a quiet man with a dead-end job, a low profile, and a habit of staying invisible.
A retired top-tier intelligence operative known in certain circles as The Equalizer.
Robert McCall.
The man was practically a shadow.
But he had one fatal weakness.
A hero complex.
He'd burn an entire Russian syndicate to the ground for a girl he barely knew simply because they stopped treating her like a human being.
Luca was currently aligned with the Russians.
The last thing he needed was a one-man army like McCall deciding the Dove of Peace had become a legitimate target.
Far better to have him on the payroll.
Or at the very least, seated at the table.
"I'm bringing John on this one," Luca muttered, pinning photographs to the blackboard in his office.
Then he picked up the phone.
The moment he mentioned a business trip, the legendary hitman sounded unusually hesitant.
Love had made the Baba Yaga softer.
Or at the very least, distracted.
"Luca, I don't know," John sighed. "Things with Helen... they're tense. She saw the footage from the Detroit apartment massacre. She's having a hard time with it. I don't know whether I should tell her the truth... or keep the mask on."
Luca rubbed his temples.
He had just finished patching up Frank Sheeran's family drama.
And now the Baba Yaga was having a midlife crisis.
Sicilians, apparently, were born to mediate these things.
"Bring her to the club, John," Luca said calmly. "We'll have dinner. I'll talk to Helen."
He paused.
"We'll sort this out before we hit the road."
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