The next afternoon, a bizarre scene unfolded on the streets of the South District: several corrupt police officers went door-to-door, returning the protection money they had extorted from local businesses. And it wasn't just the two officers from the night before—other dirty cops who hadn't shown their faces then also showed up quietly today, dressed in plain clothes, handing money back like guilty kids returning stolen lunch cash.
The sight stunned many shop owners. Some of them even broke down in tears as they clutched the returned cash, like they'd just gotten a piece of their lives back.
As Robert walked down the street, watching it all play out, his brows gradually relaxed, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. He enjoyed this kind of atmosphere—peaceful, almost idyllic—where people could live and work without fear, where neighbors helped each other instead of stabbing each other in the back. No schemes in the shadows. No bloodshed.
That was good.
But something still felt… off.
There were still too many gangs in this city, and the police were far too corrupt. He knew problems like these couldn't just be erased overnight, but at the very least, he hoped those things would stay in the shadows—where they belonged—and stop hurting innocent people who only wanted a quiet life.
After leaving the area, Robert drove home. Not long after, his phone rang.
It was his former boss—one of the very few people in the world who knew he was still alive. A high-ranking CIA official.
"I found the information you asked for. Luca is… not someone to underestimate," the man said over the phone. "Do you have any conflict with him?"
"I don't," Robert replied, shaking his head. "Not at the moment. But he's highly skilled—clearly not an ordinary person. What's his connection to those restaurant owners?"
"Strictly speaking? None."
The boss went on to explain Luca's background in detail.
"His grandfather was the head of a Mafia family in Sicily, Italy. After losing an internal power struggle, he immigrated to the United States with his family. Unfortunately, he died a few years later—before Luca was even born."
His father later joined the Lucchese family in New York but ended up dying in prison over a decade ago.
"Now Luca himself is one of the core leaders of the Lucchese family. He's involved in a wide range of businesses—clubs, gas stations, arms dealing, smuggling, casinos, even securities. He's also a branch president of the truck drivers' union. His influence stretches across New York and New Jersey, from Wall Street all the way to Detroit."
"He's built a massive and incredibly stable network along the East Coast, and he's connected to multiple out-of-town Mafia families. With his resources and connections, very few people would dare make a move against him—and even if they did, the price would be steep. Taking him down through legal means would be… extremely difficult."
"On the surface, he's a legitimate businessman. Underneath? He's operating on a completely different level."
Robert listened quietly.
"Your instincts were right," the boss added. "He's dangerous. Luca used to work for the Continental Hotel—he's skilled in assassination and infiltration. About three years ago, he stepped away from that life and started focusing on building his own power. That's when his nickname shifted—from 'The Butcher' to 'The Dove of Peace.'"
There was plenty more information, but most of it stayed on the surface. Digging deeper proved difficult.
After hearing everything, Robert had a clearer picture. Pure Mafia bloodline.
Still, a few details stood out to him.
"He's not involved in drugs?" Robert asked.
"Not that we've found," the boss replied. "And honestly, it's more likely the Mafia just can't compete with the drug trade anymore—especially with South America and Southeast Asia dominating the supply."
He paused before continuing.
"The old New York Mafia routes used to run through Europe—Italy, France, especially France. But those channels are now tightly controlled by the CIA. The Mafia doesn't have much room left to operate there."
This all traced back to World War II. Back when the CIA's predecessor, the OSS, had collaborated with criminals across Europe. The Italian Mafia had assisted with Allied landings, and French criminal networks had "cooperated" as well.
That cooperation eventually gave rise to the infamous French drug network—a massive smuggling route later used by the American Mafia.
Now? Those same routes were firmly in CIA hands.
"They built it together," the boss said dryly. "Now we're just taking it back."
How much profit the CIA pulled from it all? No one really knew.
"Since the last big drug bust in New York, the Five Families haven't been doing so well in that business," he continued. "They've shifted focus. But the New Orleans Mafia? They're still active—partnering with cartels in Mexico and South America."
"As for Luca, there's been zero evidence tying him to drugs. Not a single lead in years. Honestly, that's the most convincing proof he's not involved."
Robert trusted that assessment. If the CIA couldn't find a link, it probably didn't exist.
"They've been tied to the drug trade since before they officially existed," Robert thought. "If anyone knows that world, it's them."
Still, one thing bothered him.
"'Dove of Peace'?" Robert said, frowning. "That nickname doesn't exactly scream Mafia."
The boss chuckled.
"Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? What kind of 'peace' do gangsters bring? Their version of peace is either a handshake… or a bullet. Their order is built on fear, and their peace is stacked on corpses."
He added casually, "Peace in the gray zone just depends on whether the bullets have been taxed."
Robert smirked slightly. "And the CIA's any different?"
"Not really," the boss admitted. "We're just legal."
That answer didn't surprise him.
After retiring, Robert had spent a long time thinking about what "peace" really meant. He didn't follow the law strictly anymore—instead, he followed his own sense of justice. If the system failed, he stepped in.
He didn't seek procedural justice.
He sought results.
Give the enemy a chance to walk away. If they refused… remove the problem at the root.
That was his version of peace.
"Robert," the boss said after a moment, his tone turning more serious. "You and Luca… you're not that different. You both operate in the shadows. The only difference is, he has power, connections, an empire."
"And you?"
"You're alone."
He paused, then added quietly:
"You both chase 'peace.' But remember this—where doves gather… predators are never far behind."
In the coming days, undercurrents began to swirl across South Boston.
The Winter Hill Gang, led by the Frenchman, held the upper hand. He was building alliances within the organization, preparing for the upcoming chairman election.
But that momentum didn't last long.
The white-haired man made his move.
Through unknown methods, he rallied a large number of alliance members—he even managed to win over a leader within the Winter Hill Gang itself. His voting power quickly grew, nearly matching the Frenchman's, with signs he might even surpass him.
The Frenchman was livid.
"That bastard wants to run for chairman too?!" he roared inside one of his bars. "He didn't act like this when he betrayed the Killen Gang and jumped ship to us!"
A bottle shattered against the floor as he raged, hands on his hips.
His men—Billy and the others—kept their heads down, too scared to say a word.
Whiteys's behavior was disgusting. First, he pretended loyalty to the Winter Hill Gang, then helped take out the Killen Gang's leadership. Now, with the alliance in place, he was siphoning resources to build his own power base.
The Frenchman seriously considered having him killed.
But Luca stood as judge—knife in hand, enforcing the rules. Open conflict wasn't allowed.
Unless Whitey broke those rules first.
Only then could everyone unite and crush him openly.
Rules were meant to maintain peace—but they were also a leash. Everyone had to play along.
The Frenchman shuddered slightly, recalling Luca's cold expression when those rules were first laid down.
Breaking them? Not worth it.
"I'll find another way…" he muttered.
Meanwhile, at another clubhouse, Luca met with the Bulger brothers. They discussed their "black-and-white mutual aid" arrangement.
The first installment of Luca's political donation—30 million—had already been delivered.
In return, William Bulger was pushing new freight safety regulations and port shipping laws through Congress. On paper, everything looked clean, legal, even beneficial.
In reality?
He'd quietly left a "backdoor" for Luca.
Small loopholes—barely noticeable—just enough for Luca's operations to slip through, whether by land or sea.
William kept his hands clean. Everything he did followed the letter of the law.
What Luca did with those loopholes? That was none of his concern.
He was careful not to stain his "golden image."
Luca couldn't help but admire it. William was a natural politician—smooth, precise, and perfectly comfortable walking the line between legal and illegal worlds.
If not for his older brother—the unpredictable Whitey—William might've climbed even higher.
State legislature? Federal Congress?
Maybe more.
After a few drinks, William raised his glass. "The bill's been drafted and amended. It still needs to pass the House, but that won't take long."
Luca smiled, clinking glasses with him. "Once the Southern District chairman is elected, all those votes will be yours. Give it a few years… I'll be calling you Speaker Bulger."
They exchanged knowing smiles.
Then Luca turned to White Hair. "I hear you've been getting close to the Mullen Gang leader. He doesn't mind you stabbing him in the back?"
Whitey smiled faintly. "Compared to total domination by the Winter Hill Gang, he prefers a more… balanced situation. Since we can't act directly, it comes down to business potential—investment value."
"Dead men don't talk," he added. "Why dwell on the past?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"This is thanks to your gas business," he continued. "Once they tasted those profits, everyone figured out who's worth backing."
Luca raised his glass. "Then I wish you success in becoming chairman."
They drank.
Luca had already altered Whitey's path—prevented him from fully submitting to the Winter Hill Gang. But one thing he couldn't change was the man's ambition.
That wolf-like hunger.
No matter the situation, Whitey always found a way to climb.
The Bulger brothers were the same—different paths, same destination.
Higher and higher.
[Character Card: William "Billy" Bulger]
[Rank: SR] [Source: Black Mass]
[Skill: Corruption Symbiosis]
Effect: Each time a law enforcement officer or high-ranking official is successfully "Corrupted," the user gains 1 stack of "Protective Umbrella."
Requirement: Bond: Friend or above | Cost: 80 Skill Fragments
[Skill: Protective Umbrella]
Effect: Forcefully reduces the probability of legal pursuit or federal indictment by 3% per stack. Stack Limit: Max 10 layers (30% Total Reduction).
Requirement: Bond: Friend or above | Cost: 80 Skill Fragments | Must possess "Corruption Symbiosis"
[Bond: Familiar]
[Character Card: James "Whitey" Bulger]
[Rank: SR]
[Source: Black Mass]
[Skill: Global Arrest]
Effect: When placed on a national "Most Wanted" list, the user's Exposure Probability is reduced by 50%. Grants a ghost-like status while operating in the shadows.
Requirement: Bond: Close Friend or above | Cost: 100 Skill Fragments
[Skill: Bloody Mass]
Effect: Solidifies absolute dominion over a territory, increasing Regional Control by 10%–30% (scaling with Reputation, Feats, and Influence). Grants the following Passive Bonuses: Subordinate Loyalty +20%, Civilian Respect/Faith +20% (reducing local cooperation with authorities), and a 30% reduction in enemy infiltration success rates.
Requirement: Bond: Partner | Cost: 250 Skill Fragments
[Bond: Familiar]
(TN: Bruh, this is hard to translate, the original source is a mess)
Aside from "Global Arrest," which felt a bit underwhelming, the other three skills were solid.
"Corruption Symbiosis" alone significantly reduced the risk of being targeted by law enforcement.
As for "Bloody Mass," it leaned into something deeper—faith.
Mass, in Catholicism, was about spiritual reinforcement—rituals like Holy Communion that strengthened belief.
This skill tapped into that idea.
It was powerful.
But the requirements were steep.
Still, if the opportunity came, Luca wouldn't mind building a closer relationship with White Hair… as long as the man didn't have any ulterior motives.
Because Luca wasn't looking for a loose cannon.
He wanted loyalty ... Control ... An absolute authority over the South District.
Whitey? He was more like Joe Gallo—violent, erratic, unpredictable. The kind of man who'd discard anyone outside his family without hesitation.
Even his own men weren't safe.
Luca wasn't interested in a true partnership.
A surface-level alliance would do.
Just enough to take the skill ... Nothing more.
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I'm back from vacation, and my body is absolutely thrashed. I just finished a 185-mile (300 km) bike tour through the mountains with my friends. Seventeen hours on the road—I'm exhausted!
Anyway, huge thanks to Zodiac for being my P Knight once again. If you're enjoying the story, please consider supporting me on P Site/OrbisTranslate.
As always: Every 100 Stones = 2 Bonus Chapters!