After Luca left, the two brothers also headed out together. With no outsiders around, they could finally speak freely—especially about Luca, that out-of-town mob who had suddenly planted himself right in the middle of everything.
"Luca has ulterior motives," Whitey said without hesitation, jumping straight to the worst-case scenario like it was his default setting. "He didn't get involved in the South District just to do business. He wants all of Boston."
William paused for a second, caught off guard by how absolute that sounded. "You mean… expand the gas station business across the city?"
"Not just that," White Hair replied flatly. "He wants the whole city."
He wasn't entirely sure—but that didn't stop him from assuming the worst with full confidence.
"The Southern Alliance? That's just a knife he's using to stab the Northern Mafia. The Anguilo family is in his way. So what happens next?" Whitey's eyes darkened. "If it were me, I'd get rid of that old bastard Anguilo. And Luca? Don't expect him to be any gentler."
Birds of a feather.
William fell into thought. The logic wasn't exactly comforting—but it wasn't easy to dismiss either.
"Even so," William said slowly, "if you want to rise to the top, you still need his support. One word from him and those smaller gangs will swing their votes your way. And… I could use his help too."
He shifted the topic to the Boston Democrat leader.
As an assistant, William knew exactly what skeletons were buried in that man's closet—enough to send him straight to prison if exposed. If that happened, William could step in, take over, and consolidate support within the local Democrat Party.
From there? A shot at Senate President.
The House was full of small players and minor figures. The Senate, on the other hand, was where the real power sat—elites, upper class, people who actually held the core assets of society.
William couldn't personally make a move against his superior—that would leave too many loose ends, too many whispers.
But someone like Luca? Perfect.
Clean hands on one side, dirty work on the other.
And Luca's network could help secure votes—both in the House and the Senate.
Whitey understood what his brother was asking for, but right now, he couldn't offer much.
"Once I take power," he said coldly, "I'll consolidate the South District, push Luca out of Boston—or at least strip him of any real authority."
His eyes narrowed.
"I'm not becoming anyone's puppet. And you'd better watch yourself too. Don't let him use you. The Bulger family needs its own will."
William didn't respond immediately.
Truth be told, he actually preferred Luca's approach—steady, controlled, focused on stability—over his brother's chaotic, trouble-magnet style.
But family was family.
"I'll reach out to those Chinese assassins in Chinatown," Whitey added, as if ticking off another item on a grocery list. "There's a group of kung fu kids there. Might be useful."
Time slipped into late February.
Luca's gasoline business had fully taken root in the South District, and the price war with the Northern Mafia was in full swing. Surprisingly—or maybe not—the alliance remained relatively calm. Everyone was holding back, choosing negotiation over open conflict.
Shared interests had a funny way of making people behave.
Meanwhile, the Boston police were quietly pulling strings behind the scenes.
That day, Billy received another summons to the usual "secret meeting spot."
"The alliance is basically split into two factions now," Billy reported. "The Winter Hill faction led by the Frenchman, and the faction behind Whitey. Both sides have solid backing."
Dickman leaned forward. "Who do you think has the better shot at becoming boss?"
"I've had more contact with the Frenchman," Billy replied. "He brought me in, introduced me to Costello, got me into the Winter Hill setup. Whitey… he's different. Extremely violent. He wiped out almost everyone who opposed him. People in the alliance are scared of him."
He paused, jaw tightening slightly.
"Some are backing him just because they're afraid of being purged if they don't."
When talking about the Frenchman, Billy seemed more relaxed. But when Whitey came up, his hands clenched almost unconsciously.
Nobody in this world was clean—but Whitey made even other criminals uneasy.
"He hates traitors more than anything," Billy added quietly. "Even his own people aren't safe."
Dickman nodded, then smirked slightly. "Exactly why we can't let him take that seat."
Billy felt a bad feeling creeping in.
"This is why I called you here," Dickman continued. "If you want to take him down, you need to get close to him. Work with him. Gather evidence. I want to know everything—what he does, where he goes, even who he sleeps with."
Billy's scalp practically went numb.
"You're kidding, right?" he snapped. "You want me working for that psycho? What happens when he tells me to kill someone—am I supposed to pull the trigger? I've got limits. I'm done. I quit. To hell with this!"
"Quit?" Dickman laughed, not even trying to hide the sarcasm. "Go ahead. Write your resignation. Without the badge, you'll blend in even better. I hear you've got a gas station now—making good money, right? A cop's salary must feel like pocket change."
Being a cop meant rules. Limits. A line you weren't supposed to cross.
Being a gangster?
No such problem.
"I'm giving you an out," Dickman said coldly. "Take it."
Billy stared at him, face dark. "Do you even hear yourself? You call that being a cop?"
Dickman shrugged. "Whether I deserve the badge isn't your concern. What should concern you is what happens if the alliance finds out you are one."
He leaned in slightly.
"You said it yourself—Whitey hates traitors. Imagine what he'd do to you."
Billy snapped.
He lunged forward, throwing a punch, cursing loudly as his fist flew toward Dickman's face.
"You trying to get me killed?!" he roared. "You already screwed my life—now you want him to finish the job?!"
Dickman barely flinched. He twisted, countered, and slammed Billy to the ground, pinning him with ease.
"Look at you," he said, almost amused, landing a few heavy blows. "All that academy training, and this is what you use it for? Beating up cops? You're starting to look like the real deal—a full-time gangster."
Billy lay there, staring blankly, the fight draining out of him.
At this point… what was he, really?
Cop?
Gangster?
Something in between, stuck in the gears of two worlds grinding against each other.
When would it end?
Seeing that empty look, Dickman let him go and stood up, tone returning to something almost normal.
"About a month until the election. Hang in there. Just keep doing what you've been doing—stick with the Frenchman and keep us informed."
Billy closed his eyes, exhausted.
Back at the Winter Hill stronghold, the atmosphere was completely different.
People greeted Billy warmly. His status had risen alongside the Frenchman's. With Costello gone, he'd effectively become one of the core players in the gang.
Part of that was family legacy—his father and uncle had ties to the Frenchman, and that goodwill carried over.
Funny, really.
In the end, it was the gangster who looked out for him—not the badge he once dreamed about.
Billy sat down at the bar, only to notice Luca—the so-called Dove of Peace—already there, drinking with the Frenchman.
From what he could overhear, the Frenchman was trying to secure Luca's support, even offering up significant benefits. The conversation was smooth, but Luca kept steering it back to gas stations and port operations.
Then Luca spoke up.
"The local truck drivers' union needs manpower. I plan to bring in people from the alliance to help reorganize it. It'll benefit everyone."
Now that sounded serious.
The Frenchman nodded immediately, then glanced around before locking onto Billy.
"I've got the perfect guy. What about Billy? You've met him before. Reliable, efficient."
Caught off guard, Billy straightened up under Luca's gaze. "I'll follow your lead. Just tell me what you need."
Luca studied him for a moment.
[Character Card: Billy Costigan]
[Rank: A]
[Source: The Departed]
[Skill: Gangster Disguise]
Effect: While operating undercover within a criminal organization, Trust from gang members increases by 10% and Exposure Probability is reduced by 20%. Passive Bonus: This effect doubles if the user possesses a gang-related family background or criminal lineage.
Requirement: Bond: Friend or above | Cost: 80 Skill Fragments
[Skill: Avici Hell]
[Omitted...]
[Bond: Attention]
Two skills—one tailored for undercover work, the other… a literal hell.
Just like Colin.
In the original timeline, Billy eventually exposed himself and escaped that hell—but paid for it with his life shortly after.
Fail here?
Game over.
Luca's voice cut through his thoughts.
"The Frenchman speaks highly of you," he said. "Says you're a core member—capable, dependable. You're local, right? Got a truck license?"
"Yeah… I do."
"Good. Come with me to the union in a couple of days. I'll get you registered. Then you can help coordinate local drivers for fuel delivery."
"Got it."
No objections this time.
Honestly, anything was better than constant violence.
Luca smiled faintly. "Billy… once a pawn crosses the river, it can move sideways like a rook. Even the king has to watch out."
There was a catch, though.
No way back.
[Bond: Familiar]
Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
Luca secured Billy a position in the union, which only strengthened his standing with the Frenchman.
That night, Luca got a call from Colin.
Dickman had brought the Frenchman in for questioning—extortion charges tied to those corrupt cops. They'd followed the trail back to him.
But corrupt cops weren't undercover agents.
Their relationship with the Frenchman was purely transactional—symbiotic. When it came down to it, they'd sell him out to save themselves.
"Still," Colin said, "Dickman let him go. Said there wasn't enough evidence."
He sounded puzzled.
"I don't know what they talked about. Maybe he's backing the Frenchman? Or using this to pressure him—make him cooperate, then control the alliance through him?"
Luca thought about it.
The situation had already drifted far from anything predictable.
At this point, trying to guess everyone's angle was like trying to read tea leaves in a hurricane.
Still, one thing was certain.
Whoever wanted that chairman seat… needed his approval.
But just two days later, the situation twisted even further.
Whitey was arrested.
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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!