The Wolf's Children (2)
The Hevilly Police Department.
Among them, the officers tasked with investigating the city's most recent major incident—the one that claimed both the mayor and the godfather—had gathered in one room.
They were to be known as the Organized Crime Task Force, at least for the time being.
"Looks like everyone's here. With all the chaos lately, I'm sure you've got plenty to worry about."
The task force captain welcomed the new team members.
Behind him hung organizational charts detailing the criminal outfits of the city—most notably the five strongest families and the Fellini Family. Naturally, the charts couldn't display every single member.
There were simply too many.
At the very top sat the boss.
Directly beneath him were the underboss and the consigliere.
These three positions formed the core triangle that held the organization together.
Below that triangle were the caporegimes responsible for each district. Seeing the charts of all five families plus the Fellini Family displayed together created quite an impressive sight.
Of course, the charts were incomplete. The recent upheaval had triggered countless shifts, and the diagrams hadn't caught up.
"Shouldn't we remove Vito Fellini from the board?"
"There are already too many dead faces as it is."
After incorporating the team's input, the chart took on a revised form.
The five families' structures were a mess, but the Fellini Family's was absolute chaos.
It wasn't even clear who the boss was anymore. There was a consigliere lying in a hospital bed and an underboss rumored to have murdered the previous godfather.
"The Fellini outfit is finished."
"Forget the upper ranks—the mid-level caporegimes are in shambles too."
The Fellini Family had once boasted around thirty caporegimes, including the bosses of the five families. Most of them were now either dead, traitors, or striking out on their own.
"All right, pay attention. Our job isn't to sweep away all this garbage. We're here to catch the culprit behind this incident."
The captain then introduced the primary suspects.
They were the bosses of the five families.
"Are we excluding Luke Fellini?"
"Ah, excellent question. I wrestled with that one myself. But my conclusion is simple. He had no motive."
"...Even if he did, this isn't the outcome he would have wanted."
Another team member pointed at the Fellini Family chart, prompting a few officers to snicker.
"Exactly. Most importantly, the little wolf was apparently receiving a shipment of drugs down at the docks when it all went down."
"Couldn't he have been working with the real perpetrator?"
One team member brought up the urgent movement spotted from the port to the chamber of commerce.
"It's possible. But the ones we need to focus on are the others."
A few officers didn't seem convinced. Probing the connection between the little wolf and the true culprit didn't sound like a bad approach.
Yet the captain was determined to keep the spotlight on the five families.
Why? Perhaps orders had come down from above. After all, the current acting mayor—the vice mayor—was the very man rumored to have been in bed with both the late mayor and the Fellini Family.
"All right, let's begin again."
The captain started going over the five families.
The Russo Family in the north.
The Sanchez, Carmen, and Dragovich Families in the west.
The Marinelli Family in the southeast.
Among them, the most pressing threat was the Sanchez Family and its boss, Eddie Sanchez.
The captain named him the prime suspect, but the team reacted with skepticism.
"Captain, didn't you just say our goal wasn't to wipe them out?"
"I did."
"But to arrest Sanchez and his men... we'd be looking at full-scale urban warfare."
Eddie Sanchez. Hevilly's most famous golem.
And not just any golem. While others were made of stone, his body possessed a hardness closer to steel. People didn't call him Iron Fist for nothing.
A former street brawler with that unbreakable frame, he had never hesitated to throw himself into the fray.
At least until the wolf defeated him.
His powerful physique and rugged features remained, but the scars of countless battles now covered his body like some grim masterpiece.
"They say his temper's gotten even worse since then."
"More generous to friends, more merciless to enemies."
The officers spoke as if discussing someone else's problem, but the fear in their voices was unmistakable.
After suffering defeat at the wolf's hands and the humiliation of being reduced to a mere caporegime in the Fellini Family, Sanchez and his organization had taken a devastating blow.
But then the wolf died, presenting a golden opportunity. Sanchez seized it without hesitation.
He had declared the Carmen Family under Rita Carmen, the other Fellini caporegimes, and every organization streaming in from the outskirts as his enemies.
Collision with the Dragovich Family—whose territory would soon overlap with his own—was now considered highly likely.
"...."
Every team member understood exactly what confronting the Sanchez Family meant.
As one officer had already pointed out, this would be less an investigation and more a war.
But what choice did they have? The casualties would be heavy, yet if they didn't act now, countless lives would clearly be lost. Add to that the subtle pressure from higher-ups, and there was nothing they could do.
*
Rufus Carlton, a hotel in the port district of eastern Hevilly.
Elena and I were discussing how to deal with the newspaper that had spread those vicious false rumors.
"So, who do you think we should assign?"
Elena asked me first. Instead of choosing the right person herself, she had yielded the decision to me.
It was a show of respect for her underboss.
"Anyone but the wolves would be better."
I answered with equal respect, not making the choice for her but narrowing the field so she could decide from the remaining candidates.
"Armo doesn't seem suited for this kind of work. That leaves those two."
Armo was straightforward and fiercely loyal. His slow mind was a drawback, but those strengths alone made him valuable enough.
"You mean Lumini and Banella?"
"The madman would be perfect. He's always been good at this sort of thing."
"Understood. I'll contact him right away."
Now that Elena was our new boss, I had to handle things with her the same way I had with my father. I called Ricardo Banella immediately and gave him a quick summary.
That someone was spreading the ridiculous rumor that I had killed my own father. Banella seemed to catch the drift from that alone.
This was the man who had risen to caporegime by handling dirty work and catching the eye of the higher-ups.
"How should I handle them?"
"I leave it to you."
The short call ended. The moment I set the receiver down, I looked at Elena. She gave a small nod. No issues, then.
The view from the hotel's top floor—overlooking both the port and the city center—was incredibly stimulating.
"...."
Elena's gaze lingered on the territories we had lost. The Academy, in particular.
It was an important place to me as well, so I wanted to reclaim it as quickly as possible—while the network Elena and I had built still held its shape.
Even cracking the window open a little let in a fierce gust of wind.
"...Wait. What are you doing all of a sudden?"
The instant I reached out to brush Elena's wind-tousled hair, she reacted with surprise.
"It's a mess."
"Don't."
Considering the boss's dignity, I supposed she had a point. I pulled back immediately.
"...Just don't do it when others are around."
"Got it."
When I yielded so easily, Elena finally offered her condition. It was all right as long as we were alone.
I wondered if this was the same Elena who had been so prickly with me until now.
Marriage is easy, but family is difficult.
The distant clouds suddenly shifted shape, moving as if alive.
Marriage is easy? It sure as hell wasn't in the world I came from.
What was the bastard sending me this nonsensical proverb even trying to say?
One thing was certain: unless something unusual happened, this top-floor suite belonged to Elena and me alone.
Though a new family member named Felicia might be joining us soon.
Knock, knock.
Our expected guest had arrived.
"Come in."
The moment Elena spoke, Carso and another man entered through the doorway.
The man removed his hat with a perfectly balanced speed—quick, yet unhurried—and bowed to show his respect.
"Salmo. It's been a while."
"Miss. Mr. Luke. I apologize for missing the Godfather's funeral."
Anthony "Tony" Salmo, son of Vier Salmo, was one of the lawyers our Fellini Family regularly employed. His court record stood at five wins and one loss—an impressive tally.
In that sense, he was already sailing on the same ship as us. But if he succeeded his father as consigliere, it would become far more dangerous than simply sharing a boat. His life itself would be on the line.
That was the nature of the consigliere position.
Advisor to both the boss and underboss, third-in-command of the organization. In certain cases, the role could wield even more power than the underboss.
That usually happened when the consigliere was an elder of the organization. If Vier Salmo—Mr. Salmo—had still been serving as consigliere, my own rank might have been third rather than second.
"The Godfather would have been pleased to see the two of you like this."
"Thank you."
Elena answered Anthony's remark, and he kissed the backs of our hands.
As an Associate of the Fellini Family, he was not yet a made man. This gesture, then, was an oath of loyalty.
The initiation process usually required candidates to do something brutal.
The most common task was murder—but not just any murder.
Anyone with half a brain would understand the meaning behind it.
The man you're killing now died because he stopped listening to us. If you stop listening too, you might become the target of the next initiation.
That was the message.
Anyway, not every initiation test required proving loyalty through murder.
The important thing was proving one's loyalty, and Anthony Salmo had been fortunate. His parents' achievements and his own service to the family had been enough.
Those who proved themselves through murder were called made men. The term came from the simple fact that killing a person produced a corpse—and in doing so, you had "made" the bones.
Anthony understood his position perfectly. Seeing Elena and me together seemed to have reminded him of the exact nature of our relationship.
Boss and underboss. Husband and wife.
It was a complicated dynamic, to say the least.
Afterward, Anthony reported on the ledgers his father had managed to secure.
"...It seems my father wasn't able to collect every ledger."
"No, what Mr. Salmo accomplished is more than enough. Who could have managed even that much in the middle of such chaos? Luke, don't you agree?"
"Yes. Elena's right. Anthony, how is Mr. Salmo's condition?"
"The hospital says they can't make any promises. He's quite advanced in age, after all."
It was a shame.
Still, it was fortunate that Mr. Salmo hadn't followed my father to the grave.
At the very least, I wanted to show him the sight of Elena and me rebuilding the family. And completing my father's revenge.
Just as that thought crossed my mind, the phone rang.
Anthony rose at once to answer it. After exchanging a few words with the operator, he turned to us.
"Miss, it's the city's vice mayor. How should I proceed?"
"...Hand it over."
Elena took the call. The vice mayor provided us with critical information regarding the newly formed Organized Crime Task Force.
He had pulled strings so that the task force would target the Sanchez Family led by Eddie Sanchez.
It seemed our family's influence hadn't completely vanished yet. That was a relief.
*
Anthony Salmo had become the new consigliere, and our connection with the vice mayor was reconfirmed.
Meanwhile, Ricardo "Madman" Banella, acting on orders from the boss and underboss, hurried off to take care of business.
He approached the newspaper in question.
"Yes, who is this?"
"Richard Banella. I think you know exactly who I am."
In Hevilly style, Ricardo became Richard. Mafia names followed that pattern.
They adapted their original names to local style and added nicknames on top.
That meant Banella was called all sorts of things depending on who was speaking: the Madman, Madman Banella, Richard, or Ricardo.
"...Caporegime of the Fellini Family. Madman Banella?"
"That's right. I've got a tip for you. I saw the article you ran recently."
"Could you be more specific about what kind of tip you're offering?"
"No, I think it'd be better if we met in person."
The reporters weren't about to let an opportunity like this slip away.
Banella suggested they meet at a junkyard in northern Hevilly. The reporters didn't sense any danger.
The Fellini Family had been pushed back to the eastern port, after all, while the Russo Family was aggressively expanding in the north.
Besides, Banella had originally been the caporegime in charge of the area near the Academy. If he was asking to meet in the north, something significant must have happened.
"You think Banella flipped to the Russo Family?"
"Then he's probably planning to spill everything he knows just to screw the wolf over, right?"
The reporters were thrilled by the bait Banella had dangled.
Soon afterward, they arrived at the junkyard. It was broad daylight, so they never imagined anything could happen to them there.
"...."
When they reached the junkyard, menacing organization members greeted them at the entrance.
"Hands up."
A search to check for weapons. The reporters, going through the motions, actually felt more convinced that they had landed a massive story.
"Follow me."
The two reporters trailed the member inside. One of them was the very man who had written the offending article.
Soon they were greeted by a flamboyantly dressed Ricardo Banella.
He was admiring a car that still looked decent from the outside, positioned atop the crushing machine.
"Ah, you're here."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Banella."
"...Your name?"
"Matthew Carron."
Banella opened the newspaper at once and confirmed the byline. Matthew Carron. That was the bastard.
"I'm..."
"Shut your mouth."
The other reporter had been about to introduce himself as well.
Banella drew a pistol from his coat and put a bullet in Carron's left leg. Then one in the other reporter's right leg. He fed them the rounds personally.
"Aaaaaargh!"
"Aaack! You crazy son of a bitch!"
Both men collapsed where they stood. It was their first time being shot. Banella's subordinates moved to either side of them and hauled them to their feet.
Banella clapped his hands with glee.
His men then shoved the two reporters into the car sitting on the crusher.
"Let go! Let me go, you crazy bastards!"
"Aaaargh! My leg! My leg!"
The reporters struggled, but it was useless. Banella's men pushed them inside headfirst, slamming the doors before their legs were even fully in.
"Lock it."
Bang!
The front and rear doors were sealed, and two heavy chains were fastened around the vehicle.
Inside, the reporters thrashed desperately to escape, but it was a wreck, not a functioning car.
"Crush it!"
At Banella's command, the machine rumbled to life.
"Please! Save us! We were wrong! Please!"
"Open the door! Open it!!!"
Watching the car shake and buckle, Banella wore a deeply satisfied expression.
"Ah, the boss and underboss really should have seen this."
"Want us to take pictures?"
"No, we can't be stupid enough to leave evidence."
Banella ordered a subordinate to report the outcome.
But this wasn't the end. The newspaper's president would be shot dead in front of his house—where his wife and children could watch.
The mafia didn't usually handle things this way.
It was an insult to the victim's family, and an unspoken rule existed against it.
Exceptions were made only when the target was truly hated or when a very clear message needed to be sent.
As his subordinates withdrew from the scene, the crusher's press began to squeeze the car with tremendous force.
The windows shattered first. Then came the reporters' horrific screams.
The sickening sound of flesh and bone being crushed in an instant.
Through the gaps in the mangled metal, red liquid sprayed in every direction.
"Whew. That's that."
Banella savored moments like these. And his instincts were telling him something.
There would be plenty more opportunities to do this kind of work in the future.
Coincidentally, Banella's prediction proved accurate.
The moment we received his report that the two reporters had been dealt with, another report arrived that soured our mood.
The leader of the union we controlled and a professor at the Academy had both begun to openly rebel against us.
"...."
Anthony waited silently for our reaction.
"Which one should we handle first?"
I checked with Elena again.
"The union first. The Academy can wait."
"Then who should we assign to this?"
At Elena's answer, Anthony asked the next question. She was already considering her options.
"Elena, I'll take care of it."
"All right."
We couldn't afford to underestimate the union. Its members knew exactly how terrifying our mafia could be.