Later that night,
As the world simmered with the news of mutants being granted participation in the Olympic Games, two figures began to move.
Their paths were nearly identical, each starting on marble floors, following a trail of breadcrumbs through New York City, until both of them had arrived at the Stork Club.
And there, before the double doors, stood Selene and J. Edgar Hoover.
"If it isn't the President's little rat, scurrying through the walls, chewing on telephone lines." Selene scoffed, lifting her gaze toward the man she knew all too well.
"And it is my honor to once again meet a member of the High Table." Hoover replied, his voice dripping with such dramatic sarcasm it grated on Selene to no end.
"Please, allow me." Hoover said thoughtfully, stepping toward the door with a natural elegance.
But instead of opening it for the woman behind him, he slipped through himself.
BAM
Selene's scowl deepened as the door slammed shut in her face, the click of the lock twisting into place as if to mock her.
Her eyes lingered on the polished wood, glowing an even fiercer shade of violet the longer she stared.
HUFF
Instead of unleashing her rage, she exhaled sharply through her nose, the corners of her lips twitching with restrained fury at reigning in this bubbling emotion.
With an irritable flick of her wrist, the door swung open under her magic, her hand shimmering with the same light that had moments ago burned in her eyes.
The heavy door obeyed at once, swinging open to reveal the scene inside.
Mobsters reveled and drank the night away, their laughter echoing through the smoke-thick air while waitresses hurried about, struggling to keep up with the demands of the rowdy, half-drunken men.
Yet as Selene stepped through, their eyes shifted, following hers, to the lone figure striding ahead.
Hoover, hurriedly waddling toward the back of the club, didn't dare look back, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief as he went.
But when his eyes finally landed on the man he'd only ever seen in newspapers, his brows shot up.
Instead of the confident grin that should've greeted his arrival, Ricky Luciano was mid-argument.
With what appeared to be a very angry gerbil.
"It was my tribute to you-" Ricky said unconvincingly, a shaky laugh simmering between each word, which only seemed to enrage Alexander further.
"You stole my speech, the very thing that kept my men from mutiny!" Alexander hissed, his voice trembling with restrained fury, fists clenching at his sides.
"And I twisted it into something to honor my mentor-" Ricky countered, trying to sound composed but failing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.
"You stole it without asking!" Alexander roared, his frustration spilling over, veins pulsing in his neck as his pride snapped.
"You didn't even have the courtesy to ask!" Alexander continued, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he was a little bit proud of him.
"I'm sorry-"
"You're obviously not!" Alexander laughed, gesturing toward Ricky's stupid smirk—the one that seemed to follow him everywhere these days.
"I know, right?" Ricky chuckled, throwing his head back as the laughter flowed freely from his cocky grin.
Until his eyes caught the figures approaching from across the room.
"I'll make it up to you later, but we've got business here-the one I wanted you to be part of." Ricky said, his tone shifting mid-sentence to accommodate this last minute excuse.
In reality, Ricky had planned to say something else entirely, but seized the moment to deflect, shelving the conversation for another time.
"This isn't over~" Alexander whispered dramatically, fire and blood coursing through his eyes as his hand slowly curled into a fist.
"It never is with you." Ricky muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and bringing the cigar to his lips.
"If it isn't the two people I totally never expected to see." Ricky chuckled, leaning back lazily in his booth as Alexander dropped into the seat beside him, arms crossed.
"Welcome to my celebration, to this glorious occasion of mutantkind taking another step-"
"Save it for the masses; you peddle it too." Selene scoffed, finally matching Hoover's stride as they both came to a stop before Ricky's table.
"I'm here-"
"You're here to celebrate this wonderful day, I already know." Ricky interrupted, waving his hand as if to calm Selene's nonexistent excitement.
"Ricky-"
"Cheers, boys!" Ricky called out, raising his empty glass just as a waiter rushed in to fill it to the brim.
"CHEERS!" The mobsters roared back, laughter rolling through the club as glasses clinked and liquor flowed.
"Ah~" Ricky exhaled with satisfaction, setting his drink down and tilting his head toward the two before him.
"Why aren't you two drinking? I mean, you all heard it on the radio." Ricky said, gesturing toward them with a lazy gesture, his smirk stretching wider.
"Alright, alright~" Ricky said, rolling his eyes at the two buzzkills before him, gesturing toward them casually.
"Let's get down to business." Rick finally added, leaning back in his chair, cigar in hand, and his other reaching towards his glass.
"I-" Selene stepped forward, her impatience written clearly in the tight knit of her eyebrows.
"But let's start with the new face." Ricky deliberately interrupted, tilting his cigar to the side.
Selene's eyes flared a deep, dangerous purple, but before the venom on her tongue could spill, Hoover hurriedly stepped in front of her and bent into a stiff bow toward Ricky.
"Ricky Luciano, I am J. Edgar Hoover, FBI Director of our great United States." Hoover said quickly, smiling warmly at Ricky, who could only chuckle at the formal introduction.
"And I am here to arrange a meeting between you and our esteemed President-"
"Enough." Selene scoffed, shoving Hoover aside as the man stumbled before catching himself on a nearby beam.
"That was rude." Alexander muttered, raising an eyebrow at the display as Ricky gave a slow, amused nod.
"Very rude-"
"Enough!" Selene snapped, her voice trembling with fury as the air around her seemed to ripple with strands of purple.
Huff
A sharp breath slipped past her lips, dripping with venom as her violet eyes locked onto the man before her
Something about him ignited a wrath she hadn't felt in years, a rage that clawed its way to the surface no matter how hard she tried to contain it.
BAM
"No more games, no more stalling from the inevitable!" Selene shouted, slamming her palms onto the table. Her nails scraped against the wood, leaving shallow grooves as her glare bore into them all.
Then, with her fury laid bare before Ricky's infuriatingly calm smile, Selene lifted her chin, glaring down at the man seated before her.
"Ricky Luciano~" Selene declared, enunciating every syllable as if carving his name into the air itself.
"As the head of the Luciano family, I, the Autem Imperator, order you to accompany me to Germany at the elders discretion." Selene revealed, her eyes flashing in a deeper puprlle while finally exerting her entire authority down upon the man before her.
"You're what?" Ricky laughed, glancing around the room as if expecting someone to pop out and reveal it was all a joke.
Only to find Selene's expression deadly serious.
"It is your duty to the High Table-"
"My duty?" Ricky cut in with another laugh, rolling her words over his tongue as if tasting them for sport, which only deepened her scowl.
"Yes, and you will do so obediently," Selene said, forcing a brittle smile as the sting of her wasted plan gnawed at her.
From the beginning she had crafted an entirely different way to corner Ricky, but with the sudden Olympics announcement, everything had shifted, leaving her to improvise under the weight of her own authority.
"Uh-huh." Ricky mumbled, leaning back in his seat as his eyes drifted down to the glass in his hand, watching the liquid ripple with a lazy swirl.
For a few long minutes, or what felt like an eternity to Selene, it seemed as though Ricky was silently conceding, the tension in his shoulders easing, his gaze lowered in thought.
Selene could almost taste victory, the faint curl of satisfaction tugging at the corner of her lips as she imagined him finally bending to her command.
But then his eyes shifted, and in that instant, her illusion shattered.
"You said the President wanted to see me," Ricky said suddenly, turning his head away from Selene as if she were no longer even in the room.
But his tone was calm, almost bored, as his attention slid to Hoover, who stiffened under the sudden shift.
"Yes, yes I did." Hoover chuckled, straightening his posture and shooting Selene a side-eye, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.
"Ricky, I don't think you understand-" Selene bitterly laughed, her eyes flaring violently as a faint glow began to pulse across her body.
"Nah, I don't think you understand." Ricky interrupted smoothly, dabbing his cigar on the ashtray with an easy, almost dismissive motion.
"And what could I possibly not understand?" Selene laughed, the sound sharp and dangerous as she dug her nails even deeper into the table.
"That all the chips have been pushed into the center of the table." Ricky said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mimed sliding invisible chips toward the center of the booth.
"Everyone here is all in." Ricky revealed, his eyes suddenly glowing to meet her violet purple on with a light shade of green.
"You've got your cards, even Hoover's got his." Ricky said, lazily gesturing first to Selene, then flicking his cigar toward the man beside her.
"But Selene, baby, I'm holding a royal straight flush." Ricky leaned back, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"I'm gonna win regardless, and you're still trying to bluff me? Really?" Ricky's tone was teasing, sharp, and impossible to ignore, each word a deliberate jab at her pride.
"I have the High Table and the Elders in my hands." Selene continued, squinting at Ricky, her posture rigid as if her hand alone could outmatch whatever he had laid before her.
"Could you give us a second?" Ricky asked suddenly, his gaze sliding to Hoover with a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted privacy.
"Of course, but could I steal one of those Cubans?" Hoover asked with a teasing grin, nodding toward the box of expensive cigars, his eyes lighting up at the indulgence of the most powerful mob boss.
"Knock yourself out." Ricky shrugged, sliding the entire box across to the FBI director, who quickly rummaged through it until he found his perfect match.
Hoover strolled over, cigar in hand, a smug smile spreading across his face as he glanced back at Selene, letting out a chuckle that carried just enough mockery before turning and slowly making his way out of the Stork Club.
BAM
The moment Hoover stepped out, Selene slammed a piece of paper onto the table, the force rattling the surface.
Ricky merely leaned forward, picking it up with a casual ease, his eyes scanning the contents with practiced disinterest as Alexander curiously waited for his turn.
"The Elder has left his seclusion to assign an important task in Berlin," Selene hissed, her words dropping into a whisper meant only for him.
"Now, you've already promised me that-"
"I would attend that stupid ball, I know." Ricky replied, his tone casual, until his eyes landed on a single line in the document.
A low, amused laugh slipped from Ricky, rolling softly across the table.
"But seriously, you're bluffing me with a pair of aces?" Ricky genuinely asked, tossing the paper toward Alexander, who immediately leaned in to read along, curiosity flickering across his face.
"You have a obligation-"
"I obligations to a bunch of people-"
"Ricky-"
"No." Ricky said simply, a wide grin spreading across his face as he flatly denied the direct orders of the High Table.
The most powerful organization in the world.
"What?" Selene snapped, disbelief lacing her voice.
"I refuse your draft notice." Ricky declared, tapping the paper with his cigar, deliberately sprinkling it with ash as if to mock the very authority it represented.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Alexander, unable to contain himself, threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming through the room at what he was doing.
"Do you understand what that would entail? Your family would be stripped of their zoning rights-"
"After the meeting." Ricky interrupted, raising the cigar to his lips while casually gesturing toward the notice.
"Is that what's making your cocky little smile bloom?" Selene laughed, raising a hand as if to shield her own mocking grin.
"Uh-huh." Ricky replied lazily, letting a thin plume of smoke curl from his cigar.
"Then wipe it off your face, since the second you step foot into that trail-"
"But when?" Ricky suddenly asked, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing at the weight of her words, as if trying to pin down the exact moment she intended to strike.
"Immediately-" Selene replied smoothly, concealing the very answer Ricky was probing for.
SIGH
Ricky sighed heavily, rubbing his tired features with his thumb as he shook his head before opening his eyes.
"C'mon, Selene, aren't you getting tired of trying to intimidate me-"
"You should be intimidated." Selene said, leaning forward deliberately, emphasizing every word with her posture.
"The high table-"
"Then assemble the High Table," Ricky whispered, leaning forward until their faces were almost touching, the tension crackling in the narrow space between them.
"And when they are able to gather at their 'discretion', I'm sure they'll vote in your favor or whatever."
At the very instant he spoke, Selene's icy expression twitched ever so slightly, a subtle crack in the armor of her composure.
Ricky leaned back slowly in his seat, lifting the cigar to his lips and drawing in the smoke with an almost theatrical relish.
For all its power, the High Table was still a bureaucracy.
The shifting gears, the meticulous positioning of its members, and the endless layers of protocol rendered it seemingly untouchable.
But its authority was exercised as much through procedure as through raw power, and that machinery of control could be anticipated, manipulated, or stalled.
Ironically, the very thing that made it untouchable was also its greatest weakness.
"How long would it take for them all to convene, though?" Ricky asked, his tone casual as he pieced the puzzle together in his mind.
As the picture formed, the realization darkened Selene's features, her expression twisting into something far uglier, sharp with frustration and disbelief.
"One, two, maybe three weeks?" Ricky mused, waving his hand with each number as if punctuating the timeline he laid out.
"Arriving wouldn't be a problem-" Selene said, lying through her teeth, but Ricky just rolled his eyes, scoffing at the flimsy excuse.
"But they wouldn't come immediately," Ricky interrupted, pointing directly at the line that now stood out like a sore thumb:
Every member of the High Table would gather at their own discretion for any refusal.
"I mean, every single member of the High Table is running their own organizations, their own criminal empires." Ricky said, emphasizing each word, fully aware that Selene, as a member herself, understood this glaring truth better than anyone.
"And for all of them to gather, to actually convene, especially under the supervision of the Elder, who's been in this so-called 'seclusion'?" Ricky added, pressing her on the slight slip she had made, watching her eyes narrow.
"The matters within Berlin are urgent-"
"About the Berlin Continental going rogue, right?"
The words slipped from Ricky's mouth with a casual ease, but the impact was anything but light.
As he tilted the wine bottle, letting the deep red liquid cascade into his glass at the side, time seemed to slow for Selene.
Each drop that pattered into his glass echoed in her mind, and a cold shock ran through her body, freezing every single nerve.
Since, after all, Ricky had just named a secret that wasn't meant for anyone outside the High Table.
At that moment, the memory of one demon's smug face flashed in her mind, and despite herself, a bitter laugh escaped her.
"Mephistio." Selene whispered, her entire body shook violently with restrained rage as she closed her eyes, trying to choke back the fury that threatened to spill over.
"To be fair, I knew about it months before I even met you." Ricky shrugged, recalling how he'd won the information in a card game back in Transylvania.
"I'm guessing that's your mission, and I'm your little golden ticket." Ricky sighed, tapping the table to emphasize his invisible hand before lifting his glass of wine.
"I mean, c'mon, just try to deny it." Ricky chuckled, raising the glass to his lips and giving her a moment to respond.
But Selene remained utterly silent, her eyes fixed on him as he savored the vintage, letting the rich aroma fill the air.
Only after a long sip did he set the glass back on the table, the faint clink echoing in the tense room.
"Inviting me to a ball and making sure I'd attend, that was just so conveniently moved to Berlin, which you said before I left for Otherworld by the way." Ricky laughed, remembering that little tid bit that it wasn't even originally held in that location.
"But it would never even reach that point," Ricky said, tilting his head toward her, his mind starting to inherently dissect Selene's every gesture, her every inflection, and most of all, her pride.
"Because imagine the shame you'd feel after everyone suddenly realized that the entire reason you're here-" Ricky paused, letting his green eyes lock onto Selene's, his cocky smile widening.
"Is because you need me."
The words hung in the air, a careful strike at her ego, each syllable calculated to unsettle the composure she so fiercely clung to.
"I do not-"
"You've been circling me in New York for months," Ricky said, a slow laugh curling from his lips as he rose, emptying his hands and pacing around the table toward her.
"And only now, with the Olympics looming, you decide to get snippy?" Ricky asked, his figure gradually towering over her as he closed the distance.
"I-"
"And then you snipped at my kids," Ricky said, his eyes burning a green so fierce it swallowed every trace of purple.
"You don't come to my city and threaten what I hold most precious," Ricky hissed, his gaze locking onto Selene's as she could do nothing but meet it head‑on.
"Going after Raven? Bad move." Ricky said, having already worked it out as Selene stared straight ahead at the man looming over her with a power no cage could hold.
"You ever pull that sh*t again, I will rip you to pieces, high table or not." Ricky lowered his head, the green hue reflecting entirely across her unwavering face as she simply stood before his wraith.
"Because unlike others, I do believe in killing the messenger." Ricky chuckled bitterly, his eyes glinting with a dangerous amusement.
"Do you wanna know why?" Ricky asked, leaning closer, the air around him tightening with menace that laced every single one of his words.
"Because it sends a message~" Ricky whispered, letting the words brush against her ear, his grin sharp as he revealed that his defiance of the High Table was fueled by the very thing Selene had done.
This entire time, Selene had been blatantly testing his boundaries, something that even Alexander had understood.
But what she hadn't yet realized about Ricky was far more dangerous: if you crossed his line, he didn't care about repercussions.
Laws, rules, alliances, even the High Table itself, none of it mattered.
All that existed in that moment was his judgment and the consequence that would inevitably follow, only afterward.
"You think about that while I go talk with Option A." Ricky said, patting her shoulder as he stormed past.
"Boys, give her some space." Ricky added, waving his hands and at his light gesture, the mobsters swarmed out of the Stork Club, leaving it completely empty.
"You've, as they say, overdrawn your hand." Alexander chuckled, shaking his head at Selene, who raised an eyebrow in surprise at the talking gerbil scurrying after Ricky.
"Ricky." Selene said calmly, morphing her expression into an emotionless deadpan.
"You underestimate the High Table's power." Selene warned, her voice even, carrying no threat, as she watched him disappear toward the double doors.
Until he stopped, his hands holding onto the handles.
"Nah, you've underestimated mine." Ricky laughed, side-eyeing Selene, ambition burning in those green, glowing eyes.
"But don't worry." Ricky muttered, turning his gaze toward the mountain that seemed to pierce the stars.
"We're gonna change that." Ricky swung the double doors open, Alexander crawling onto his shoulder with effortless ease.
"Let's go." Ricky said, holding out his hand as a portal shimmered into existence as Hoover flinched instinctively but hurriedly rushed after him.
The green portal flared, casting the room in an eerie, pulsing light.
Without even hesitating, Hoover followed him in, stepping into the unknown with a mix of awe and apprehension.
Already, he could see it in his mind: the faces of everyone in that hallway, frozen in disbelief as they watched him lead Ricky Luciano straight toward the President's doors.
But Hoover would soon learn the hard way: nothing was ever easy with someone like Ricky.
"This isn't the White House?" Hoover asked, a nervous twitch betraying his smile.
"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Ricky seemingly asked, turning to him with a perfectly timed expression of mock shock.
"What are you-"
"Hoover, boy, what are you doing here?"
At that familiar tone, Hoover's pupils shrank, his body freezing stiff.
It was as if turning around would shatter the reality he had carefully imagined in his head, but he creaked himself around anyway.
Because there, standing before the Director of the FBI, was J.P. Morgan Jr.
"He's here about our meeting with the President." Lucky chuckled, stepping in from the side and casually draping an arm around the man.
"Y-Y-Y-" Hoover stuttered, words failing him as the weight of it hit.
"We're going to the President for our merger." Ricky finished for him, sliding in beside the two with an easy confidence.
The President's future funding crumbled entirely, and Hoover could feel the slow, horrifying certainty of it forming in his chest.
The Luciano family had already sunk their claws into this stuffed pig, tightening their grip with ruthless precision.
Every plan, every calculation meant to secure the administration's resources now teetered on the edge of collapse.
"Wait, did you think this was about the Olympics?" Ricky asked, his tone deliberately teasing, amusing himself with the sight of Hoover's flustered expression.
"Slick's a lot of things, but he ain't an athlete." Lucky chuckled, giving Ricky a playful nudge.
"What are you doing?" Hoover said calmly, his eyes sweeping over his surroundings as a cluster of made men closed in around him, the weight of their presence pressing in.
"Well, our meeting's gonna be a little personal, so I thought I'd get you some company while you wait." Ricky said, gesturing with a wink at Benny at the side, along with a fleet of other mobsters.
"Mr. Luciano-"
"Which one?" Ricky asked playfully, gesturing first toward Lucky, then back at himself.
"You're making a mistake." Hoover said, his features twisting with anger as he glared at Ricky.
"The only mistakes are gonna be you doing anything that isn't sitting in that chair." Ricky laughed, already watching his guys force Hoover into the chair in the center.
"Now, guys, look after the President's friend here," Ricky said, opening another portal that was a direct line to the White House as Lucky and Morgan stepped through first.
"And remember, only shoot him if he tries to escape."
With those parting words, Ricky stepped through the portal, leaving the Director of the FBI, the head of the most powerful three-letter agency in the United States.
Surrounded by a bunch of thugs.
"Would anyone care for a chat?" Hoover asked, offering a warm smile but none of the mobsters even acknowledged it, ignoring both his expression and his words entirely.
Click
A random mobster cocked the hammer of his new pistol back, squinting his eyes to make their stance unmistakably clear as Hoover dabbed his forehead.
"I guess we'll simply wait in silence."
Meanwhile at the White House,
The three of them slowly arrived at the white house, Ricky looking around with a smile ashe took in the fresh, night air.
"Do you think he's still mad-" Cordell Hull started, until he froze, flinching back toward the wall as Ricky walked down the hall.
"Where's Mr. Hoover-"
"The portal can only transport three at a time." Ricky lied easily, brushing past the two as he strolled toward the double doors, watching a woman slip in.
"Mr. President, Ricky Luciano has arrived-" The woman hurriedly announced, running to his side as Roosevelt adjusted his reading glasses, scribbling onto documents.
"Good. Send him and Hoover in-"
"T-That's the problem, Mr. President." The woman stammered, her glance shifting nervously toward the door.
"He-"
BAM
"Mr. President, I'm so glad you want to see me," Ricky laughed, kicking open the double doors and spreading his hands wide.
But as Roosevelt's eyes swept over the people around Ricky, Hoover was nowhere in sight.
Instead stood Lucky Luciano, and most importantly, J.P. Morgan Jr, which made Roosevelt's rage boil over.
"You-" Roosevelt whispered, slowly rising to his feet as his cold gaze locked onto the man that was supposed to be his pawn.
"Could you give us a second?" Ricky asked, though it was more a statement than a question, turning his gaze toward the elderly woman at his side.
"Go." Roosevelt said, never taking his eyes off the three as they slowly strolled toward him.
Click
The door clicked shut behind the woman, leaving the room hushed and this palpating weight hanging in the air.
For a long time, Roosevelt's eyes were locked on Morgan, studying him with that measured, piercing gaze.
But instead of a storm of anger or a cascade of reprimands over the audacious threat Ricky had presented, he simply chuckled.
There was no explosion of anger, nor any reprimand for the blanket threat Ricky had presented before him, just a simple laugh.
"When I first heard of you, I thought you were nothing but a lucky fool," Roosevelt sighed, bitterly shaking his head as he leaned back into his chair.
"Be it from revealing to the families that you were, in fact, a mutant, colluding with Dewey, or making a deal with Joe Bonanno to bring yourself down," Roosevelt said, clearly acknowledging that the strings entangling most of Ricky's problems had come from his own hands.
The implication alone made Lucky furious as the mobster gripped his cane while Ricky only smiled.
"And then, after spending so much effort trying to keep mutants out of the Olympics, I just can't seem to get away from you." Roosevelt continued, a trace of bitter amusement in his voice.
SIGH
"It always leads back to you." Roosevelt let out a heavy sigh, his posture sagging as he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.
"You, you, you, you, you." Roosevelt repeated bluntly, tracing a hand across his desk before turning back to the window.
"Everywhere, from the papers, the whispers, even the looks on people's faces, it all just screams Ricky Luciano nowadays." Roosevelt murmured, spinning his chair away from the window to face what had clearly become the bane of his existence.
"Honeslty, I'm sick of it, of you." Roosevelt admitted, sharing his complete and utter stance on the man before him.
"And even now, instead of discussing these issues with you alone, I find myself accompanied not only by your adopted father, but also by J.P. Morgan Jr."
"About a merger, not the Olympics, but swindling this buffoon out of his family's control of his own fortune." Roosevelt said, scoffing at Morgan, who recoiled slightly at the bluntness of the accusation.
"That was very mean-"
"I take it this is you finally picking a fight, and our deal is off the table, both of ours, I mean." Roosevelt said, referring to both of them as Morgan nodded in agreement, but Ricky tilted his head.
"What fight?" Ricky asked genuinely, placing a hand over his heart as if mortified by the repeated bashing of his character.
"I'm here to broker this merger between my pop's bank and J.P. Morgan Jr., since we have such a long history together," Ricky continued, his grin widening as he leaned slightly forward, amused by Roosevelt's scrutiny.
"And why would I ever approve of that?" Roosevelt asked, narrowing his eyes and tapping a finger against his desk.
"Because-" Ricky started, but Roosevelt held up a hand, cutting him off.
"Actually, go on," Roosevelt said suddenly, spreading his arms in a rare gesture of openness, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Really?" Ricky's eyebrows shot up in surprise, leaning back slightly.
"Why not? I mean, it's been a while since I've been entertained, and this request will really help lighten my spirits," Roosevelt said, his tone dry but carrying a subtle amusement as he studied Ricky with careful interest.
"Pops, you're up, I guess," Ricky said, genuinely surprised since he hadn't expected the President to actually hear him out.
However, instead of speaking, Lucky fixed a rage-filled gaze on Roosevelt, holding it for a long, tense moment, until he finally slammed a folder onto the desk and tapped his cane against it.
"Lucky Legacy Bank and J.P Morgan propose-"
To summarize, and perhaps to genuinely amuse Roosevelt, the Lucianos were putting forth a complete 50-50 merger with J.P. Morgan Jr. Even on paper, it was barely defensible as an equitable partnership.
On the surface, Lucky Legacy Bank would retain its name, its prestige intact, while leadership and operational control would be handed entirely over to J.P. Morgan Jr.
Essentially, Morgan would stay exactly the same but swallow Lucky Legacy whole, leaving only the name at the front.
But Roosevelt, watching the proceedings unfold, only smiled.
His earlier words about being entertained were already paying dividends as here was Lucky, straining to sell a presentation that was audacious, almost laughable in its scale.
Anyone in their circle already knew how incompetent Morgan was.
The moment he approved this, the Luciano family would effectively control the most powerful banking situation in America, with their puppet installed at the head.
The subtlety of the scheme, the audacity of its execution, and the fact that it appeared perfectly legitimate on paper.
Roosevelt found himself almost glad he had taken the time to hear them out rather than shutting them down immediately.
"No," Roosevelt interrupted sharply, halting Lucky's words as a faint, amused smile played across his face at finally having enough of this fun.
"Anything else?" Roosevelt asked, laughing right in Ricky's face as the latter only shrugged in response.
"Then, I guess, if you were to accept this totally legitimate merger, I could represent my country in the Olympics-"
"Oh, f*ck off." Roosevelt scoffed, actually cursing and rolling his eyes at the audacity of the remark.
"Y'know what? You're right," Ricky chuckled, agreeing with the President before him, causing everyone in the room to exchange startled glances.
"This whole back-and-forth thing we've got going on is just getting annoying." Ricky continued, slowly rising from his chair as Roosevelt immediately mirrored his movement, his eyes never leaving Ricky's.
"What are you-"
"I mean, this constant hate you have toward me because I'm just better than you is, well, just a little tiring." Ricky continued, towering over the President's words as he slowly began to back up, letting the weight of his presence fill the room.
"GUARDS-" Roosevelt screamed, his eyes snapping toward the doors, which suddenly glowed with an eerie green light.
"All you do is cook up these grand schemes, and all I do is end up kicking your ass," Ricky laughed, waving toward the back as the room instantly soundproofed itself.
Lucky sprang to his feet, hurriedly following Ricky, his face a storm of confusion and worry.
Every instinct screamed that something was off, yet he trusted Ricky enough to move without question.
Alexander clung to his shoulder, gripping tightly as if to steady himself, his own expression a mix of exhilaration and cautious anticipation.
And Morgan, well, he sat in his chair a little confused, unable to process what was happening.
"And it's just this circle, y'know?" Ricky continued, his eyes locked on Roosevelt as the President pressed his back against the wall, instinctively trying to inch away from Ricky's advancing stride.
"Slick, what are you-"
"Yes, Ricky, enlighten us both-"
"But now, after kicking your ass metaphorically, and possibly soon, physically, I think it's time we end this once and for all." Ricky ignored the others as a jar slowly materialized in his hand.
Roosevelt's eyes narrowed; every muscle tensed as his mind raced through the terrible things Ricky might do with that single jar.
"You have no idea what you're doing-" Roosevelt said quickly, sweat beading along his forehead.
BAM
"I know exactly what I'm doing." Ricky whispered, slamming his hand against Roosevelt's throat and pinning him against the wall.
"Because I had this moment a couple days back." Ricky continued, his grip tightening on Roosevelt's collar as his eyes glowed.
"It was the kind that really morphs the way I look at people like you." Ricky said, pressing Roosevelt a little harder into the wall, letting every word carry the weight of his intent.
"I mean, when you get so powerful and someone weak just looks at you with this arrogant expression, you just sort of ask yourself a question."
"What makes them so confident?"
In that moment, the jar pressed against Roosevelt's chest while his heart thumped violently, eyes bloodshot as he tried to fathom what it could do, while Ricky leaned in closer.
"Guess we'll find out."
But instead of a soul ejecting into the jar as he had expected, a faint ringing echoed in the room.
A system message flickered to life before him, casting an eerie glow and freezing both men in place.
[Error: Target is about the rank of Legendary, cannot extract.]
"Well, that was anticlimactic." Ricky muttered, frowning as he stared at the jar and then turning to the message.
Everyone, Alexander perched on his shoulder included, froze, unsure how to react to what he was doing.
"Ha~" Roosevelt laughed, a slow, knowing sound as he realized the threat had completely backfired.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Roosevelt howled, tilting his head toward the ceiling, as if the skies above were the only thing offering him comfort in that moment.
"Ricky, you haven't the slightest idea why I hate you, do you?" Roosevelt said suddenly, a smile blooming across his face as if he were savoring a revelation Ricky had yet to grasp.
"I do not hate you because you treat life as a game." Roosevelt continued, lifting his gaze to meet Ricky's, whose eyes flicked back with a mocking glint.
"I hate you because you play it so well," Roosevelt whispered, jealousy flaring in his blue eyes as they locked with Ricky's fierce green.
"Everything you see before you be it politics, wars, or anything else for that matter, it's all one big game." Roosevelt continued, chuckling as he spread his arms toward Ricky, still holding him in his grasp.
"It's all it's ever been, since the very start of this world."
At the President's words, the sky outside the window darkened, clouds rolling in like a living, furious tide.
Blue lightning arced through the storm, illuminating the contours of the White House with every jagged flash.
The sound of distant thunder rattled the walls, vibrating through the floors and furniture.
THOOM
The entire building seemed to reverberate with the impact, the heavens themselves echoing the intensity of Roosevelt's presence.
He locked eyes with Ricky, unwavering, and the storm mirrored the raw force of his words that were so angry, so untamed, and most all, so alive.
Each flash of lightning highlighted the sharp lines of his face, his glare cutting through the room like a blade, daring Ricky to move, to react, to challenge him.
"This is no ordinary game, Ricky Luciano." Roosevelt laughed, his eyes glowing with a subtle, ethereal blue that slowly began to outshine Ricky's fierce green.
"This is the game of the gods."
Author's Note: Ngl, I'm gonna probably simmer down with the chapter length cause putting to much is a strain on me. I'm gonna keep it around like 5-8k words rather than just whooping 10-12ks until I'm not swamped. Thanks for reading though. Also I saw ur commetns and shiz, I've read them all but will reply when I'm done with otehr stuff like updating hte system shiz and chapters. Also I'm finding more picutres and stuff.