Tuesday 6 December 1997.
In the luxurious The Valleys Hotel near the ZAGE Campus, a venue where Zaboru often held high-profile meetings, a particularly important encounter was scheduled for today. This time, it wasn't with developers or investors—it was with none other than Don Marco Giordano, the enigmatic head of the infamous Giordano Mafia Family. The meeting had been carefully arranged and agreed upon last night.
Zaboru, always one to respect punctuality, arrived early—well before the scheduled time. It was just past 10 AM, but his appetite was already roaring. He casually placed an order that left the hotel restaurant staff stunned: seven full plates of Tomahawk steak. His hunger wasn't the typical kind; it was driven by his Enlightenment Body trait, which demanded massive caloric intake just to maintain normal function. The waitress, initially wide-eyed in disbelief, quickly relaxed once she recognized who was ordering. After all, Zaboru Renkonan was not just any guest—he was a global icon, the face behind ZAGE.
What truly caught the staff off guard, however, was Zaboru's unusual beverage request. Not Wine , Champagne , or Whiskey like normal rich people. He asked for milk. Not a glass or two, but a lot of milk. Unfortunately, The Valleys didn't typically stock milk for regular guests. It was seen as too mundane for the hotel's upscale clientele. But the manager, well-aware of Zaboru's status and influence, didn't hesitate. Refusing him was out of the question. Instead, he discreetly instructed a pair of hotel employees to run to a nearby store to buy as much fresh milk as they could carry.
Unlike some dad in Zaboru's previous world, the staff returned promptly, arms full of milk cartons, rather than disappearing entirely. The manager personally brought the first bottle to Zaboru's table, bowing slightly as he placed it beside the growing stack of steak plates. This attention to detail and willingness to adapt to Zaboru's eccentricities only solidified why he kept choosing this hotel for important meetings.
With steak and milk before him, Zaboru began to eat heartily, preparing himself for the serious conversation to come.
Zaboru continued to eat, slicing through the last few pieces of his Tomahawk steak before letting out a soft sigh. "This is pretty damn good," he muttered under his breath, "but definitely way too expensive. All of this must've cost me at least a few thousand dollars." He sighed again, a little dramatically. For someone in his position, thousands of dollars should feel like pocket change by now—but that didn't mean he enjoyed wasting money.
Even with all his success, Zaboru still held onto his personal preferences. He genuinely preferred cheap, flavorful meals from casual street joints or cozy neighborhood restaurants over these high-class, fancy hotel dishes. The luxury plating and high-end pricing felt unnecessary to him—it wasn't about status; it was about taste, comfort, and authenticity.
Not long after, the heavy footsteps of a familiar presence echoed through the polished marble floor. Don Marco Giordano approached with a confident grin on his face as he caught sight of Zaboru demolishing his stack of steaks.
"Damn, Zaboru. You really can eat," the Don said with a chuckle.
Zaboru looked up and smirked between bites. "Well, I haven't had breakfast yet, Mr. Giordano."
Giordano laughed heartily and took a seat across from him. With a casual wave, he ordered a glass of wine and a small meal. The waiter, already aware of who was at the table, moved quickly.
Moments later, with their food and drinks being prepared, Giordano leaned back and began to speak, his tone shifting toward something more serious.
"Thanks for accepting this invitation, Zaboru," Don Giordano said with a nod.
Zaboru returned the gesture. "Well, this place is close to the ZAGE Campus, and honestly... I could use some protection." He let out a short chuckle.
The streets of the United States, especially around major cities, had become increasingly unpredictable and unsafe. Danger lurked in unexpected corners, and even someone like Zaboru—young, sharp, and influential—wasn't immune to risk. Over time, he had come to accept that relying on formal law enforcement wouldn't be enough. That's why he'd decided to bring in professional guardianship—protection from people who actually understood the streets. And in this world, that meant working with the Giordano family.
Don Giordano smiled and leaned back slightly, cigar smoke curling from his fingers as he spoke. "You might be wondering how the Giordano Family has managed to stay strong, even after all these years—and especially with the RICO laws tearing apart most mafia organizations, right? Why do other families seem like nothing more than scavenging hyenas and sewer rats compared to us?"
Zaboru nodded slowly, his curiosity clearly piqued. He had wondered about that exact thing. In his previous life, by the time the 2000s rolled around, the American Mafia had lost much of its power—ruthlessly purged, dismantled from the inside, and reduced to scattered remnants of their former selves. Yet here, in this world, the Giordano Family was not only surviving—they were thriving. It defied logic.
Marco puffed on his cigar again, taking a deep breath before continuing. "First of all, we're not like the old-school mafia. We operate differently. I personally despise drugs. Always have. So under my leadership, the Giordano Family never touched that poison. Not once. You see, I've got history—bad history—with drugs. They ruined people I cared about. I watched good men fall apart, watched families break. So when I took charge, I made a vow: no drugs, no trafficking, no tolerance."
He tapped his cigar against the ashtray, his tone growing sharper. "Back in the early '70s, when the RICO Act not even there hit, most families were hellish, already rotting from the inside because of their drug money. Not us. The Giordano Family earned a name not just for staying clean—but for going on the offensive. We purged the drug-runners from the inside out. We declared war on the drug dealers moving through our turf. Ruthlessly. Efficiently. And it worked. We built a new kind of reputation. One of control, order, and discipline. While the other families were busy destroying themselves chasing fast money, we were building something that could last."
He paused, giving Zaboru a meaningful look. "That's why we're still here. And why are they gone."
Giordano grinned, then leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting into something more calculated. "Second, and this might surprise you—we maintain peace. Sounds strange coming from a mafia don, right? But it's true. Crime in general is still high, especially from gangs and street-level syndicates. These days, anyone can get their hands on a firearm. Legal channels exist, of course, but the illegal market is overflowing. That's where we step in—not to flood the streets, but to cut off the chaos."
He paused, flicking ash from his cigar. "We quietly sabotage black-market arms deals. We intercept shipments. We make sure the wrong people don't get access. And our client?" He flashed a knowing smile. "None other than the government itself."
Zaboru blinked. That was not what he expected.
Marco continued, clearly enjoying the surprise. "Yes, I've got a brother in government. That helps. It's easier for us to collaborate now, and let's be honest—the Giordano Family might be a mafia, but we aren't monsters. Sure, we run loan sharking and extortion operations—that's business. But we have rules. Strict ones. We never harm innocent people. Never. I made that a core part of our code. We only go after drug dealers and suppliers. The scum that poisons cities and breaks families. They deserve what they get." Margo grinned, "We kill them and hunt them."
He inhaled slowly, voice firm. "And the government? They love it. They've got red tape, bureaucracy, legal limits. They can't do what needs to be done. But we can. They look the other way because, frankly, it benefits them. It's complicated, but that's reality. The state can't eliminate certain problems without backlash. But we're free to clean up the mess."
Zaboru looked at him, eyebrows raised. "It's like you're more of a government agent than a mafia boss," he said, still trying to process it.
Giordano laughed. "That's what it looks like on the surface, maybe. But don't mistake us for their lapdogs. We're not. We clash with them plenty. We draw the line where we must. But right now? We're needed. And my family? They need to eat. They need to survive. Picking fights with police over pride is foolish."
His voice dropped into something colder. "I've seen too many families fall because of their ego. Pride killed more mafias than bullets ever did. I won't make that mistake."
Zaboru nodded once again, this time with a deeper sense of respect. Then Giordano continued, his tone shifting to a more optimistic one. "Right now, we at Giordano have already begun expanding into several legal ventures. The truth is, the mafia lifestyle isn't what it used to be. The thrill is gone, and frankly, it's no longer sustainable in this day and age. That's why, with the backing and protection of ZAGE, we're officially launching our own security service. A full-fledged, licensed operation—similar to what your Yakuza friends in Japan have done so successfully."
Zaboru raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He knew that Akechi, his brother in law, created Aoshidan in Japan which is rebranded into community-focused organizations and legal security businesses, also Akaishidan his legal Video game company which became really successful and it seemed like Marco was walking the same path. He gave a slow nod, clearly impressed. Marco Giordano wasn't just another crime boss clinging to the past—he was a man willing to adapt and sacrifice pride to ensure his family's future. That required real strength.
Giordano puffed on his cigar, letting the smoke trail toward the ceiling. "Those sons of mine—they're sharp. Bright. They've got vision, and I trust they'll figure out something powerful. I can already see them laying the groundwork for a future where we don't have to hide in the shadows. A future built on clean money. When that time comes, Zaboru, I hope you'll be there to help them."
Zaboru chuckled, resting his hand on the edge of the table. "Well, if their ideas are as smart and innovative as you say, Mr. Giordano, I'll definitely lend a hand. I'm always up for backing something brilliant."
Marco grinned wide, his gold ring catching the light. "And that's all I ever wanted to hear."
In the end, Zaboru struck a deal with Don Giordano. He agreed to pay approximately 5 million dollars per year for comprehensive protection services. The Giordano Family would ensure the safety of the ZAGE office perimeters, maintain a visible yet non-intrusive presence, and even guard Zaboru's private residence—all while staying discreet and avoiding interference with his personal life. Zaboru appreciated the professionalism and efficiency of the arrangement. With a firm handshake, both parties sealed the deal. From that moment forward, ZAGE and the Giordano Family were officially in partnership.
To be continue
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