Atlantic City smelled like money trying to look clean.
The ocean wind carried salt and cigarette smoke across the boardwalk, past neon signs and half-finished casinos rising like monuments to legalized vice. This was not Las Vegas—too new, too eager, too political.
Which was exactly why Luke had chosen it.
Michael Corleone's arrival did not cause a scene. No motorcade. No obvious security. Just a quiet procession of black cars that drew the attention of men who already knew to watch.
Inside a private upper-floor conference hall, the Commission gathered.
The old wolves of New York. Chicago. Miami. Men who had survived decades of betrayal by assuming betrayal was inevitable.
Barzini's successor sat stiffly, eyes sharp.Tattaglia's representative kept glancing toward the windows.A Chicago Don—older, slower, but far from dull—studied Michael with open suspicion.
They expected blood.
They expected threats.
They expected the helicopter.
Luke saw it in their posture—the way men braced themselves when history had taught them violence was the only language Michael Corleone spoke.
He disappointed them immediately.
"Gentlemen," Luke said calmly, taking his seat. "Thank you for coming."
No theatrics.
No raised voice.
The room waited.
Luke placed a single folder on the table and slid it forward.
Inside were projections—legal filings, investment structures, government approvals already in motion.
Atlantic City casinos.
Legitimate. Taxed. Public-facing.
"You're looking at the future," Luke continued. "And an exit."
A murmur rippled through the room.
An exit?
Barzini's man scoffed. "You don't leave this life, Michael."
Luke met his eyes.
"No," he said. "You retire from it."
Silence fell.
Luke laid it out piece by piece, his tone steady, almost instructional.
The Corleone family would withdraw from traditional rackets—narcotics, street-level gambling, open violence. In exchange, the Commission would receive permanent equity stakes in Atlantic City casinos, laundered through legitimate corporate shells.
No turf wars.
No enforcement disputes.
Guaranteed income.
"And one more thing," Luke added softly. "My family exits. Completely."
The words landed heavier than any threat.
"You walk away," the Chicago Don said slowly. "And just trust us not to cut you out?"
Luke smiled faintly.
"No," he said. "You trust the structure."
He tapped the folder.
"Contracts. Government oversight. Shared risk. If I'm touched, everything freezes. If you move against us, your own money becomes evidence."
This wasn't domination.
It was mutual hostage-taking.
Luke watched their faces change as understanding crept in.
He was offering them something none of them had ever truly believed possible.
A way to stop.