Whitey's death came as a huge relief. The police were satisfied, and so were plenty of gangsters who had long feared his brutal methods. Luca, for his part, was equally satisfied—he'd taken out a traitor who had sold the Mafia out to the FBI. No one had any objections to the outcome… except William, the man's own brother.
Inside the restaurant, Luca calmly cut into his steak, speaking in an even tone. "I actually have some inside information. Someone in the alliance betrayed your brother."
"Who?" William asked.
"Mullen Gang Boss. He's been working as a police informant."
Luca set his knife and fork down, looking genuinely regretful as he pulled out a photograph and handed it over. "I never expected there'd be a traitor inside the alliance. I'm sorry. I can't pretend I'm not partly responsible for your brother's death. If I'd uncovered the traitor sooner… maybe this wouldn't have happened."
William studied the photo. It showed a detective and Mullen Gang Boss talking in a private room, both of them smiling, clearly pleased with themselves.
He frowned. "This photo…"
"Taken the night it happened."
Of course, it had been Billy who arranged for the photos to be taken—and then had the photographer quietly dealt with afterward.
Luca sighed. "The police wanted to push Mullen Gang Boss into power, and your brother was the biggest obstacle. The moment your brother died, they couldn't even wait—they were ready to celebrate. Not even a second of patience. I built the South District Alliance to keep the peace between the major crews, not to do the police any favors. They crossed a line."
William set the photo down and sat there in silence for a long time. Victory had been within reach—then it vanished overnight. The Bulger family was reduced to him, plus his sister-in-law and her kids. The dream of brotherhood, of dominating Boston together… gone.
For a moment, he looked genuinely shaken.
Luca didn't interrupt. He simply sat there, letting the man process it. With William's temperament, this was just a hurdle—one he'd clear sooner rather than later. If anything, politicians often grew sharper once they were freed from family ties.
As Luca watched, William's gaze slowly hardened.
It made Luca wonder—had removing one ruthless executioner just unleashed something worse?
After all, politicians killed without spilling blood. Change a law, and you could ignite an entire class war.
Eventually, William's expression settled. Calm again, save for a trace of lingering grief.
"Dove," he said, "what's your next move? With my brother gone, Mullen Boss would've been the only one with absolute power in the alliance."
(TN: Bruh, i searched the internet and couldn't found the right person who become Mullen Gang Boss in the same timeline as Whitey Bulger)
"Mullen Boss won't be running for chairman," Luca replied.
"...What?"
Luca picked up the photo and tore it cleanly in half, separating the detective and Mullen Boss right across their heads.
William understood immediately.
He exhaled. "Right. Violence really is the most efficient solution."
Looking back, nearly every old boss in the alliance was dead. In the past, that kind of power vacuum would've thrown the South District into chaos—new blood fighting nonstop over territory.
But this time?
Nothing.
The alliance still stood. Luca's rules still held. Most people complied—at least on the surface.
Officially, Whitey had been betrayed and killed by the police. Under alliance rules, traitors deserved death. That explanation was enough for everyone.
William looked up again. "So who are you backing to take over?"
Luca answered with a single word.
"Billy."
William froze.
Luca continued, "He personally handled the two traitors—the Frenchman and Mullen Boss. No one's better suited to sit in that chair."
William didn't even know what to say anymore. Only now did it really hit him how many bosses Billy had taken out.
Luca waved it off. "Don't worry about loyalty. Billy's one of mine. He'll help you rise in the future. You want votes in the South? You'll have them. This is just the beginning. And if you ever make it to Congress… don't forget you've got the entire American Mafia—and the truck drivers' union—behind you."
That hit home.
William felt something stir in his chest—heat, ambition, purpose. This was why he'd backed Luca in the first place. The unions. The Mafia. Power.
If one family could already move mountains for him, what could the entire network do?
He took a breath, then smiled. "Right now, the South needs me. Boston needs me too. I think my priority is serving the people—helping guys like truck drivers improve their standing, making sure their tankers can move freely across Massachusetts."
Luca couldn't help but admire him. The man's brother had just died, and he was already pivoting to his political future.
With Whitey gone—the gang leader who'd been under constant scrutiny—William's path was cleaner now. In another timeline, he'd risen with Whitey's help, only to be dragged down later because of it. Years of harassment, scandals… eventually forced to resign after nearly two decades in power.
Now?
That stain was gone.
His backing was stronger than ever. How far he could go from here… even Luca couldn't predict. At minimum, Speaker of the State Legislature. At best—no ceiling.
[Character Card: William "Billy" Bulger]
[Rank: B]
[Source: Black Mass]
[Skill: House Speaker]
Effect: Grants the authority of the Massachusetts Senate President. Democratic members' Trust is increased by 25%, while Republican members' Trust is reduced by 25%.Passive.
Requirement: User must be affiliated with the Democratic Party; Bond: Close Friend or above | Cost: 100 Skill Fragments
[Bond: Friends]
A simple skill on paper—but brutally effective. The downside, though, was just as brutal: half the country instantly trusting you less.
Massachusetts might lean Democratic, but the U.S. as a whole? It swings. Both parties hold serious power, and the presidency rotates between them.
Luca, being independent, wasn't interested in picking a side just yet. He cared about leverage—nothing else.
Better to leave the skill not to buy for now. Who knows—maybe a Republican counterpart would show up later.
"Next, I'm running for chairman of the Finance Committee," William said, laying out his plan. "Going straight for Speaker is messy. I'll use committee leadership as a stepping stone."
Makes sense. The Senate had all kinds of committees—Finance, Judiciary, Education, Housing. Each chaired by someone handpicked by the Speaker, each with real influence.
For William, it was the smarter move.
Luca nodded. "I'll set up a dinner with the local union president. We'll talk it through."
William smiled. "Sounds good."
As he stepped outside, he glanced up at the sky. The weather wasn't bad. Not nearly as bad as he'd expected.
Time passed quickly. Soon, it was the night before the election.
Luca received a message from New York.
Pushkin was dead.
Mariggio called him immediately. "Luca… did you set this up?"
Robert really didn't waste time.
Luca didn't deny it. "What's the situation?"
"The Russian Bratva's furious. The Ruska Roma already went straight to the committee asking questions."
The Ruska Roma? The ones running a ballet theater?
Luca let out a dry laugh. Russia really exported some interesting talent—first Baba Yaga, then a ballerina assassin. And both of them? "Traitors" kicked out of their own system.
Incredible.
"Who did you use?" Mariggio asked, clearly impressed. "Pushkin's dead, no witnesses, no clues. If the Russians had anything, we'd already be buried under retaliation."
"I've got plenty of friends in the business," Luca said casually. "All top-tier. If they can take out Pushkin, they can take out a boss just as easily."
Mariggio went quiet. "…Luca, killing Pushkin leaves room to negotiate. Killing their boss? That's full-scale war."
"I'm not a maniac," Luca replied. "What do they want?"
"The gasoline tax business involves too many families. The Russians don't want war either. The committee's holding them back—for now. Gambino's standing firm on protecting you. But this needs negotiation."
"Fine. I'll deal with it when I'm back in New York," Luca said. Then added, voice cold, "But I don't want to see a single Russian in Boston."
"One shows up…"
"I kill one."
The next day, the final alliance election was held. Every gang leader from the South District showed up. The meeting took place at a resort.
Billy stepped out of his car, trench coat sharp, shoes clicking against the pavement. Behind him, Winter Hill's lieutenants followed in formation—suits, silence, authority.
Inside the conference room, heads turned. Some leaders nodded respectfully. Others lowered their gaze, sweating, afraid they'd be next on the chopping block.
Billy took his seat—first chair beside the head of the table—and scanned the room.
Once, these men had terrified him.
Now?
They wouldn't even meet his eyes.
Meanwhile, at the police station, Colin Sullivan stood on stage, dressed in full uniform, receiving applause as a "drug enforcement hero."
He took the microphone, smiling that perfect blend of humility and resolve.
"Thank you, Director. Thank you, officers. Thank you, colleagues."
His voice rang out, full of conviction.
"We've just come through a hard fight—a fight to bring light into this city, to push back the darkness."
"Whitey cast a shadow over our streets. His empire was built on violence and greed. How many lives were destroyed? How many families torn apart? I saw it every day—and it mattered."
He paused.
"The era of Whitey, the Frenchman, and Mullen Gang Boss… is over."
Back in the conference room, Billy stood at the head of the table, face half-hidden in shadow.
His voice cut through the silence.
"The Frenchman betrayed us. I killed him myself. Whitey died by police gunfire—but really? He died because he didn't see betrayal coming."
He stressed that word.
Everyone knew what he meant.
But for Billy, the betrayal ran deeper—the police abandoning him.
He slammed his fist down.
"I used to think the world was black and white. Thought if I worked hard enough, fought hard enough, I'd earn respect. Fairness. Maybe even that damn chair."
He laughed bitterly.
"Whitey was more ruthless than anyone. And what did it get him? Betrayal. Used and discarded. Everything he gave—blood, life, soul—worthless."
The room was dead silent.
Then his tone shifted—calm, almost casual.
"The old bosses are gone. Let the past stay buried. They belonged to a different era—chaotic, short-sighted. The new era needs order."
"Peace!" Colin declared on stage. "That's the only outcome. Criminal empires like Whitey's were doomed from the start. Evil always pays its price!"
Applause thundered.
Billy's voice rose again.
"From today on, we're not rats hiding in the dark."
His eyes swept the room like a hawk's.
"We're the hunters."
"We make the rules. The alliance runs tight—disciplined. Everyone knows who's really in charge."
A pause.
"If the police come knocking again…"
"No matter how strong the enemy," Colin said, gripping the mic, "we will stand firm! We will protect this city—every street, every family, every moment of peace!"
Billy smiled faintly.
"Then we fight to the end."
"Loyalty earns power. Betrayal earns a fate worse than death."
"A new era starts now."
"Lock in. Stay sharp. Keep your mouths shut."
"Let's get to work."
Applause roared at the police station.
Billy stepped down into the shadows.
On the rooftop, Luca stood overlooking Boston.
Billy approached, head lowered.
"Dove… the South District is yours now."
They talked for a long time.
Billy received his orders: eliminate drugs within the alliance, unify all operations, bring every gang under one banner. No more Winter Hill, no more separate crews—just one alliance.
Anyone who resisted?
Removed.
Billy left.
In the elevator, Colin watched the numbers tick down.
18… 17… 16…
His phone buzzed—a message from Dove: Work with Billy. Clean up the South District.
The elevator hit the ground floor.
Colin touched the badge on his chest.
He'd just been honored as a hero.
And yet—
He was still working for the mob.
The elevator falls because of gravity.
But it seems ... to fight the weight of the entire world when it rises.
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