When Billy stepped off the boat, his face was still pale, his throat churning with a wave of nausea he couldn't quite suppress. This had been his first kill—and not just anyone. He had pulled the trigger on the man who had probably treated him better than anyone else in his life.
Even if the Frenchman had been a gang boss, a ruthless killer with more sins than Billy could count, none of that erased the simple truth of how he had treated him. That kind of kindness wasn't clean—it was tangled up with the grime of the underworld, the kind of "favor" an elder gives a junior while still keeping one hand on the leash.
Still, the Frenchman had never once asked Billy to kill anyone. And yet, in the end, it was Billy's bullet that tore through his skull.
Billy stood there, staring out at the dark ocean. The night stretched endlessly, pitch-black, with no hint of light anywhere on the water. His mind was a mess. There was no direction left—no exit.
An hour later, Billy was brought to Luca's villa.
"Sit."
Hearing Luca's voice, Billy felt something strange—his racing thoughts slowed, and for a brief moment, the chaos inside him settled. He sat down across from Luca and listened as Luca calmly laid out what would happen next.
With the Frenchman and several of his key men dead, the Winter Hill Gang was effectively leaderless. A few minor players remained, but none of them had the weight to hold things together.
Luca, on the other hand, intended to push Billy forward—to make him the new leader of the Winter Hill Gang.
Of course, that didn't mean Billy would suddenly be crowned overnight.
"Your father and your uncle were both part of the Winter Hill Gang. And now you've made a 'contribution' by exposing the Frenchman. That gives you enough standing to compete for the top spot," Luca said evenly. "But my support alone won't be enough. You'll have to fight for it, take it, win people over yourself."
Billy fell silent.
So this was it—he was climbing higher, deeper into the very world he once tried to escape.
Strangely, he realized he wasn't resisting as much as before. The guilt of killing the Frenchman had numbed something inside him, like a voice whispering in the back of his head:
You've already crossed the line. There's no going back. Even if you return to the police, can you still wear that badge with a straight face?
Maybe it was easier to just keep falling.
Because the truth was, his methods… his instincts… they were starting to look a lot like a gangster's. And worse—he was good at it.
The opportunity was right in front of him.
Then, like a slap to the face, the image of his untouched police file flashed in his mind. What once felt like pride now felt like poison.
If anyone in the alliance found out he was a cop, he was dead.
A faint ringing filled his ears as Billy shook his head. "Am I too young for this? There are more experienced guys in the gang."
"They don't have your education. Or your brain," Luca replied calmly. "You went to the police academy, right? You understand the law. Even if you didn't finish, you still learned something."
Billy's heart skipped. That part of his past wasn't something he could ever erase.
Fortunately, Luca didn't dwell on it.
"I've been watching you. The way you work, the way other drivers talk about you—you're reliable. People trust you," Luca said with a faint smile. "I like capable young men. Disciplined, adaptable. The old poeple in these unions? They're rotten. Their positions will eventually be yours… including the leadership of the Winter Hill Gang. What you do with that is up to you."
If you want to rise, you step over bodies.
The stronger you are, the more people follow. The weaker you are, the faster they abandon you.
"You killed the Frenchman. Some people in the Winter Hill Gang will hate you for it. If you back down now," Luca added, his tone still calm but colder underneath, "the moment you turn your back, those wolves will tear you apart."
Billy's thoughts wavered.
There was no clean way out anymore.
He looked at Luca, who was smiling at him like nothing in the world was wrong, and let out a quiet sigh.
"…Dove… can you help me?"
The next day.
Inside a private room at a club, Billy met with Dickman to talk about what had happened the night before.
Billy was on edge—completely. His voice rose again and again as he vented everything he had bottled up.
"Is this what you wanted?!" Billy shouted. "I killed him! Now the whole Winter Hill Gang is watching me, waiting to tear me apart for revenge!"
Dickman frowned, clearly caught off guard that Billy had personally pulled the trigger.
"At least you're still alive," he said. "Relax. The police have your back. And you've got allies in the alliance too."
"Allies? Who?"
"Someone you know."
Dickman glanced toward the door.
It opened, and a middle-aged man walked in—the leader of the Mullen Gang.
Billy's pupils shrank instantly.
Wasn't the Mullen Gang practically glued to Whitey's side lately?
What the hell… the police turned him too?
"Billy, you need to gather the remaining members of the Winter Hill Gang as soon as possible," Dickman said. "Mullen Gang Boss will help you. During the election, all your votes go to him."
The Mullen Gang leader looked at Billy with interest. "Didn't expect it'd be you. With your help, even Whitey might actually be a challenge."
Dickman continued, "You were there when Whitey killed those men, right? We'll charge him with murder. You testify. Yeah, you were involved too, but you were undercover—you had no choice. We'll protect you in court. This time, Whitey won't walk away."
Billy stared at them, his emotions tangled beyond recognition.
Only now did he realize—he wasn't the only undercover agent.
The real traitor wasn't the Frenchman.
It was the Mullen Gang leader.
The police weren't just playing the game—they were rigging it, pushing their own puppet to the top.
Meanwhile, inside a hotel in Boston.
A tall, imposing assassin stood by the window and dialed Pushkin. He reported Slavi's death, along with the results of his investigation so far.
There was no direct evidence linking Luca to the killing. Only motive. Nothing more.
"All our East Coast partners—Irish, Anguilo family—deny involvement," the assassin said. "Luca is the prime suspect, but he wasn't even at the scene."
"This is most likely his doing," Pushkin replied coldly. "I don't care about that one percent chance it's not. I care about results."
"I'm still digging. Whoever did this… they were efficient. Extremely skilled."
"If you confirm Luca's involvement," Pushkin said, "then act. The New York Mafia won't go to war over him if we have proof."
"Understood."
After hanging up, the assassin reviewed several photos—underage girls who had come forward after Slavi's death. Their testimony had helped expose both the politician and Slavi's operation.
He didn't believe in coincidences.
One lead led to another, and eventually… it all pointed to Alina.
From Alina, they traced it back to Robert.
And from Robert—back to Luca.
"Mr. Pushkin," the assassin reported, "we can preliminarily confirm Luca's involvement. He used a black operative to eliminate Slavi."
"Are you certain?"
"They're sitting together right now. Having coffee."
Outside a café, the assassin sat in his car, watching Luca and Robert chatting inside like old friends.
"They seem… closer than expected," he added.
"Then proceed. Cleanly."
"Understood."
He ended the call and signaled his men. The café was quietly surrounded.
Inside, Luca smiled.
"I sent Alina to New York. Helped her get in touch with a record company. I've heard her sing—she's actually good. Better than half the so-called 'idols' out there," he said casually. "Give it a few months. You might see her records in stores."
With the Mafia's reach into entertainment, launching a singer wasn't exactly difficult—even one with a messy past.
Robert raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Didn't expect you to go that far for her."
"Don't make me sound like a saint," Luca said with a shrug. "I just help the people in front of me when I can. That's all."
Robert nodded slowly. "People like that are rare."
They sat there like ordinary strangers, drinking coffee, talking about nothing important—no gangs, no bloodshed, no secrets.
And somehow, that made it even stranger.
Then Luca's phone buzzed.
A message from Leon.
A strike team is closing in.
Luca glanced out the window. A black sedan had just stopped outside. The door opened, and a man in black stepped out.
A notification flashed in his mind:
[Character Card Discovered: Teddy Renson (Unlocked)]
[Rank: A]
[Source: The Equalizer]
[Skills: Armed Boss; Ruthless Hunter]
[Bond: Attention]
Luca chuckled under his breath.
So this was the result of all that digging.
But did they really think they understood what they were walking into?
After all…
Leon was already nearby.
And so was John.
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