Sabatino nodded obediently.
"Alright, Boss."
He took a breath before continuing.
"To be honest, my men and I do not know much about this Wraith. When he appeared, we were in the middle of a heavy clash with the Dimitrov Family. We never saw him directly."
He swirled the whiskey in his glass.
"The Gotham Police know more. Deputy Chief Jim Gordon personally arrested the Wraith. If anyone has details, it is him."
Sabatino hesitated briefly before adding,
"As for whether Chief Savage knows about the orders you gave me, I cannot be certain. If he does, you can press him yourself."
He finished his drink and poured another, waiting silently.
Falcone did not keep him waiting long.
With a simple flick of his hand, he gestured toward Victor Zsasz.
"Bring Chief Savage in," Falcone said calmly. "And the women he is entertaining."
Victor nodded once and left.
Falcone took a slow sip of his drink, then glanced at Sabatino.
"You handled this well, Johnny. Stay and drink with me later."
He exhaled quietly.
"Gotham refuses to rest. Wayne's heir returns, and now the Wraith from old rumors walks into my city like he owns it."
The fatigue in Falcone's bones felt heavier than usual.
Age had been gnawing at him for years, tightening around his chest like a slow vise.
Maroni and Fish Mooney had noticed.
They had grown bolder, louder, more disrespectful.
Maroni had even drunkenly declared himself the future King of Gotham in his own restaurant, not bothering to hide his ambition anymore.
Falcone had unleashed Oswald Cobblepot to stir chaos among them, hoping to keep them busy tearing at each other.
It worked, for now.
But he knew the truth.
Time was winning.
And just as that realization settled in, an old nightmare resurfaced.
The Court of Owls.
Unlike fifteen years ago, they did not negotiate.
They did not threaten.
They interfered directly in his war.
Falcone despised them, circling like scavengers behind a wounded lion.
What troubled him was that the lion was, in fact, wounded.
His thoughts broke as Victor returned with Chief Savage and several women.
Falcone's eyes narrowed when he noticed one particular young woman among them.
She carried drinks and cigars, moving far too comfortably through the room.
He pointed at her.
"Why are you here?"
The woman smiled, unbothered.
"I grew up here, Mr. Falcone."
She placed the drinks on the bar and offered him a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
Falcone inhaled slowly and gestured to Victor.
Victor stepped behind her without a word.
She laughed softly and raised a glass toward him.
Savage chuckled, clearly amused.
"She is stunning, Boss. I can see she belongs here. If she were not yours, I would not mind getting to know her better."
"That is my daughter."
The room froze.
Falcone's stare was cold, predatory.
Savage stiffened, color draining from his face as he set his glass down.
"I am sorry. That was… stupid. I drank too fast. I truly apologize. Please tell me how I can make this right."
Sweat poured down Savage's face.
Falcone studied him in silence before speaking.
"Curiosity should be controlled. Especially in Gotham."
"Yes, absolutely. You are right. I will be humble. I was out of line."
"That is enough," Falcone said.
"No one blames ignorance."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Now, tell me. I heard Deputy Chief Gordon brought in an unusual prisoner today."
Relief washed over Savage.
He wiped his forehead.
"Your sources are accurate. I only heard about it recently myself."
Savage lowered his voice.
"Gordon claims he arrested a man who disappeared right in front of him. No records, no identity, nothing in any federal database."
Savage scoffed nervously.
"He also says the man died multiple times and came back. I think Gordon finally lost his mind. Gotham does that to people."
He stopped mid sentence.
Gunfire echoed from the hallway.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
An explosion followed.
Screams.
Chaos.
Falcone slammed his hand onto the table.
"Victor. Find whoever is ruining my night. Bring him to me. I want him begging before he dies."
"Yes, Boss."
Victor moved instantly, knife in one hand, gun in the other.
He pushed through hidden corridors and entered the Iceberg Lounge, already drowning in panic.
Bodies scattered.
Glass shattered.
People ran in every direction.
Victor spotted the source.
A tall man crouched behind an overturned gambling table, laughing as bullets tore through his body.
Grenades flew from his hands like toys.
The man stood, riddled with holes, still laughing.
Then fire consumed him.
His body burned, collapsed, and vanished completely.
Victor's blood ran cold.
That was no rumor.
He turned and ran back toward Falcone.
Earlier that night
Axel left the gun shop without getting into the borrowed car.
He walked several blocks before flagging down a taxi.
The moment he got inside, he pulled a thick stack of cash from his bag and slapped it onto the seat.
"Iceberg Lounge," Axel said with a grin.
"And step on it. I am feeling reckless as hell tonight."
He laughed loudly and tossed more bills forward.
The driver stared at the pile.
Thousands of Dollars.
Living in Little Italy, he knew exactly what the Iceberg Lounge was.
And he knew people like Axel were the type who never left quietly.
But money talked.
"Yes, Boss," the driver said quickly, flooring the gas.
Axel leaned back, still grinning like an idiot, using the cash to casually hide the grenades in his bag.
Tonight was going to be fun.
____
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