Inside the room, Milano continued briefing Luca on the French crews. They weren't necessarily the strongest faction out there, but their network was ridiculously deep. Their favorite trick? Secret photos—government officials, prostitutes, anyone useful—then turning those into leverage. Blackmail was their bread and butter. Some of those officials even had certain… private preferences, which only made the whole thing easier for the French to exploit.
Luca asked, "Do you know which high-ranking officials they're connected to?"
Milano shook his head. "Not exactly. That kind of information is tightly guarded. But they definitely have people inside both the police department and the prosecutor's office. That much is certain. As for who exactly… no idea. Our family never had direct conflicts with them, so I didn't dig too deep into it."
Luca, however, knew more than he let on.
In the original storyline, the French, the police, and the prosecutor's office had worked together to unify the Los Angeles underworld. That wasn't something Luca had seriously considered before—these people weren't just playing the game, they wanted to control the entire board.
Los Angeles was messy. Too many races, too many gangs, too many competing interests. On paper, unifying it all sounded impossible.
But with the police and prosecutors backing them?
That changed everything.
Using official power to suppress rival gangs… it was like a mantis stalking a cicada. The question was—were they the mantis… or were they about to get picked off by an oriole watching from above?
A faint, dangerous smile tugged at Luca's lips.
Looks like the plan just changed again.
The good news? If everything worked out, this would definitely push his title advancement to completion.
After Milano left, Luca returned to his desk and began organizing everything he had.
Police departments. Prosecutors. Major gangs. Racer crews.
The level of collusion in Los Angeles rivaled New York—if not outright surpassed it.
At this point, one thing was certain: someone in L.A.'s underworld was aiming to unify everything.
"But the picture still isn't clear…"
Luca pulled out Ramon's photo.
As long as this Mexican drug lord remained in control, the overall balance in Los Angeles wouldn't shift much. His supply chain kept every gang fed, keeping the chaos… oddly stable.
Take Ramon out, though?
That balance would shatter instantly.
Luca laid out several photos across the desk, arranging them one by one, narrowing his eyes as he traced the connections between these rare cards.
Vincent. Jack. The officers from L.A. Confidential.
French crews. Mafia families. Russians. Biker gangs. Mexican cartels.
Under the dim light, Luca rubbed his temples, his expression flickering between clarity and shadow.
He ran through the plan again in his head—what needed to be done, who stood in his way, who could be used, and who would flip sides the moment things got dangerous.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"Leon."
He handed over a photo—Pierce Bacho.
"Starting tomorrow, you keep a close watch on these people."
Luca listed several names.
"If you need more manpower, I'll pull people from New York. And these two will assist you."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Luca glanced toward the doorway.
Elle and Beatrix stood there side by side.
Leon was familiar with Elle, but Beatrix was still relatively new to him. After a brief look at the blonde woman, he simply nodded.
"Got it."
Early September.
Luca returned to New York—partly because Mathilda was starting school, and partly to handle business in New York and Boston.
Boston, in particular, had stabilized nicely. With Billy and Colin working together, the Southern District Alliance had effectively become the dominant force, controlling nearly 70% of the city's operations.
At this point, calling it the "Boston Conference" wouldn't even be an exaggeration.
Meanwhile, the gasoline tax model had expanded from Boston across the entire New England region, driving Luca's profits even higher. His allied families were making a fortune.
Now, he didn't even need to push expansion himself—people like Fat Tony were already moving into new territories like Chicago and Miami on their own.
All good news.
The bad news?
Gambino's health was failing.
Once he was gone, the loss of a top figure would shake not just New York, but the entire National Mafia Commission.
Luca could already feel it—
A storm was coming.
Out of respect—and strategy—he paid a visit to Gambino's Long Island villa.
Two trees stood in the yard. Gambino sat beneath one of them in a deck chair, a cigar between his fingers.
The end was near, but there was no fear on his face. Just a quiet, weary acceptance.
"The doctors gave me a notice," Gambino said, taking a slow drag. "Said I won't make it past next year."
He let out a faint chuckle.
"They keep telling me to cut down on cigars. Good for my health, they say. What a joke. This world is full of things that'll kill you, and people still run straight toward them."
He glanced at Luca.
"Why do you think that is?"
Luca shook his head. "Maybe some people just like the thrill."
Gambino smiled faintly.
"Or maybe… they just don't want regrets."
He exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
"If I didn't have cigars in these final years, I'd regret it when I die. Maybe that's all it is. People just want to try everything before the curtain falls."
Luca smiled, but didn't answer.
There was no single answer to a question like that.
At the very least, his idea of "peace" had nothing to do with avoiding regrets.
The two of them talked for a long time—about the Mafia, New York, the national structure, and the government's growing hostility.
"What happened in Vegas?" Gambino said quietly. "That was just the beginning. The government is looking for ways to break us. If they can turn the Sparazza father and son, they can turn anyone."
He looked straight at Luca.
"Their moves will only get sharper from here. You've made waves in Detroit, Boston… and now Los Angeles. Planning to clean up the West Coast too?"
Luca chuckled.
"Honestly? This started because someone stole my fuel trucks. That's it. But if more idiots decide to poke at me… I don't mind cleaning house while I'm at it."
"For peace?"
"For peace."
Gambino studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"You're starting to sound like an arbiter."
He leaned back.
"The High Table's adjudicators… they follow rules above everything. Even above federal law. They have ties with governments around the world—politics, wars, economies… all of it."
He shook his head.
"They claim it's for peace too."
But both of them knew better.
"Luca… when you reach that level, you'll understand."
The peace you're chasing?
Still a long way off.
"And me…" Gambino exhaled slowly. "I'm running out of time."
He gestured weakly.
"Come here. There's something I need to tell you."
A week later, Luca returned to Los Angeles.
Brian and Dom had already received word—Ramon needed them for a transport job. Tonight.
The sudden notice caught both of them off guard. There was no time to gather intel—just a location, a time, and instructions to follow when they got there.
That left Luca with less than half a day to prepare.
"Listen carefully," Luca said over the phone. "When the time comes, follow my lead."
Gambino's time was running out.
So was his.
This time… he was going to wipe out the Mexican cartel in one clean sweep.
-----------------
If anyone of you like this novel, please support me on P Site/OrbisTranslate