While Tatsumi was out renewing their permit at the Third District—a tedious but necessary task to keep the bureaucrats from sniffing too closely—Josef had already completed his part. After hours of negotiation and ledger comparisons, long nights spent over candlelit maps and shipment schedules, the path forward was clear. Josef moved with the certainty of a man who knew the risks and embraced them.
That morning, after scribbling his final notes and sending a runner with confirmation to their partners at the docks, Josef made a quiet stop at the orphanage. He found Vito mingling with the children, flipping a coin with rhythmic precision. It calmed him, helped him focus, and always appeared when he was planning something intricate.
"Signore Josef,"
"Vito-dono," Josef replied with a smile.
They embraced warmly before strolling through the orphanage dors. Vito adjusted the lapel of his coat, tugged at his sleeve cuff—a set of gestures Josef had come to recognize as more than habitual. They were tells, subtle markers of his thoughts shifting gears.
"So, how are the talks with… our new investors?" Vito asked, lowering his voice as they moved away from the children.
"We've reached an agreement. Both sides understand the opportunity. Whale oil is in surplus, and the olive oil trade gives them a channel into the heart of the city. Shipments begin by week's end."
Vito nodded slowly. "Very well, Josef. You've done us proud."
But Josef's brow furrowed. The question that had been gnawing at him refused to stay buried.
"Uhh… may I ask… how exactly are we funding ourselves for the reopening? We went out of business almost the same week we opened."
Vito didn't miss a beat. His coin flicked through the air and landed with a metallic ring in his palm. He smirked.
"Josef, I said we'd close the shop for a while. I never said we'd stop selling our products."
Josef blinked. They were approaching a narrow alley behind the orphanage that led to an inconspicuous building. Once a crumbling property marked for demolition, it had undergone a quiet transformation. The exterior was still worn, but new locks had been installed. Inside, it had become a secret hub of activity.
Ever since Josef had joined the effort, he noticed subtle movements: crates disappearing, trusted associates working late, whispers passed behind closed doors. Now it all made sense.
"Is that even possible?"
Vito smiled wider, flipping the coin again.
"Si, my dear friend. If Gamal thinks we've bowed out, then he'll grow complacent. Let him. There's power in being underestimated. The truth is—business is never clean. Clean is what you tell the inspectors. What we do is survival."
He pushed open the door, revealing rows of carefully labeled barrels and bottles. It was the same Genco Pura olive oil, but the packaging had changed—no logos, no seals. They were ghosts, slipping through the cracks.
Inside, workers moved with practiced silence. Some wore dock uniforms; others looked like they'd stepped out of a bakery or grocer's. It was a network, and Vito was the architect.
Josef looked around, absorbing the scale. This wasn't desperation. This was design.
"I thought we were rebuilding. Not hiding."
"We are rebuilding," Vito replied, straightening his coat again, smoothing down the folds of his pocket square. "But you can't rebuild while the wolves are watching. This is cover. This is power."
There was something different in his voice now. A steel edge beneath the calm. Josef realized Vito wasn't just leading a business.
He was building a fortress.
And yet, the smile on Vito's face remained soft. Innocent. Disarming.
A smile meant to comfort friends—and dismantle enemies.
Without meaning to, Josef smiled too. A small curl of the lips.
He doesn't just survive the Empire's oppression. He manipulates it, twists its weight in his favor. He creates his own order from the chaos. He's not bound by the rules—he rewrites them. He really is a demon.
Vito's eyes sparkled. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper, handing it to Josef.
"Our first shipment's going out today. Quietly. I want you to be there. Consider it your first hands-on lesson."
Josef took the slip and nodded.
"And what exactly am I learning, Vito?"
The coin flipped once more, then vanished into Vito's palm with a practiced ease that belied years of habit.
"My friend," he said, eyes glinting with quiet amusement, "I'm going to show you the basics of bootlegging."
"And that's how it is," Gauri concluded his story to Tatsumi. "I looked around the market and saw that olive oil. It was unmistakable—our product."
Tatsumi pinched the bridge of his nose, still processing what he'd just heard. They had planned a quiet withdrawal after the temporary shutdown. But this was far from quiet.
"You're telling me… they're selling our product while we're out of business?"
Gauri gave a simple nod, his expression calm. "Not just selling. It's moving faster than ever."
Tatsumi frowned. "We knew we might have to bend the rules, but that's not exactly what I had in mind."
"Apparently, it's been profitable. The Empire's blind eye turns a bit more willingly when its pockets are lined," Gauri said evenly, adjusting his gloves.
"Still, it's a risk. What if someone traces it back to us?"
"A calculated one," Gauri replied. "But one Vito insisted was necessary. He says it's buying us time, leverage, and the freedom to move the real product without scrutiny. And let's be honest—nothing legal moves fast in this city."
Tatsumi exhaled sharply, staring out the carriage window as they turned toward the bustling heart of the marketplace. "Let's just hope it doesn't come back to bite us."
They arrived in Little Italy and stepped down from the carriage. The warm scents of bread, spices, and smoke filled the air. Street vendors called out their wares, their voices competing with the clatter of footsteps and laughter of children weaving between adults. Colorful banners fluttered above cobblestone streets, and the neighborhood thrived with its own rhythm, untouched by the turmoil just beyond its borders.
There, they were greeted by Genco and Josef, who welcomed them with warm embraces and ushered them into the courtyard of an old villa now repurposed as their base of operations.
"Genco, where's Vito?" Tatsumi asked.
"Upstairs, in his study," Genco replied, glancing up at the open window above, where smoke lazily drifted out.
Tatsumi nodded and climbed the stairs without hesitation. He found Vito seated comfortably in a leather armchair, absorbed in a worn book on economics. The scent of pipe tobacco lingered in the room, curling through the golden rays of sunlight spilling from the window. Maps and ledgers were neatly arranged on the side table.
"Vito-san," Tatsumi called softly.
"Tatsumi, my boy," Vito said, closing the book with a smile. The ever-present silver coin spun slowly between his fingers, flashing in the light. He rose with fluid grace and extended his hand.
The two exchanged a brief but firm hug.
"Tell me, how's the job I gave you?" Vito asked, adjusting his cuff with a practiced flick and glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner.
"We struck a gold mine."
Tatsumi reached into his satchel and pulled out a folded document, handing it over. "This guy is trustworthy—unlike Tariq. He's more than willing to help with the legal aspects of our business, but for that to happen, he needs to be reassigned from his current post."
Vito leaned back in his chair, unfolding the paper with deliberate care. His eyes scanned the text while the coin clicked softly against his palm, never missing a beat.
"So he's at the docks, then?"
Tatsumi nodded, no longer surprised by how easily Vito saw through his words. It was as if he had anticipated every move.
"Then we can't afford to waste more time. Tatsumi, call Gauri. We're going to move him out today."
A long pause followed. The ticking clock filled the space between words.
Tatsumi was surprised by his decisiveness. "Today? But I'm scheduled to meet with him tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, he could be hanging from a gallows. Or lying dead in the gutter," Vito said without emotion, just cold truth.
Tatsumi froze. He understood the implications. Every moment delayed was another opportunity for the Empire to tighten its grip.
Soldiers under Gamal were already watching their new contact. The Empire's hand was subtle but ever-present. If they didn't act now, they would lose their chance—and a valuable ally.
It wasn't just business anymore. It was a skirmish. A quiet war fought in alleys and warehouses, behind permits and forged ledgers. Every transaction was a battlefield. And Vito, always calm, always smiling, played the long game. Every move he made reshaped the board.
Tatsumi took a breath, steadying himself. "I'll find Gauri."
"Good," Vito said, flipping the coin once more. The metallic ring echoed through the room, a sharp reminder of the stakes at hand.
"And Tatsumi?"
"Yes?"
"Remember—clean hands build nothing. We build from the shadows."
Night had fallen over the Third District, cloaking the cobbled streets in a hush of tension. The once-bustling avenues had emptied, with only the echoes of Imperial patrol boots breaking the silence beneath the flickering glow of lanterns. The air was thick with unease, as though the entire district held its breath, anticipating the violence that often followed the Empire's shadow.
From the edges of the alleyway, Tatsumi, Gauri, and Vito approached on foot. The Godfather himself had insisted on joining the mission—his instincts, honed through years of cunning survival and calculated ruthlessness, told him his presence might be more than symbolic tonight. Their goal was simple, yet dangerous: extract a critical contact before the Empire—or worse—got to him first.
Tatsumi stepped up to the designated apartment and knocked three times, his knuckles stiff with tension. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a chilling sight just inside—dark blood pooled ominously near the storage room, glistening under a swinging lightbulb.
"Shit! Vito, Gauri, with me!" Tatsumi snapped, drawing his sword as he rushed in.
The three men charged up the stairs two steps at a time. On the upper floor, a trio of burly bandits were pounding mercilessly on the door to the study, their roars echoing through the tight corridor.
Without hesitation, Gauri surged forward, tackling the closest thug and slamming him hard into the wooden floor. The force of the hit splintered one of the floorboards beneath them.
"Hey, we got a wannabe hero here!" one of the thugs sneered, turning just in time to feel the cold bite of a wire wrapping around his neck.
"What the hell—?" he gasped.
With a practiced yank, he was pulled backward and thrown against the wall. Standing over him was Vito, eyes calm, face unreadable. The Godfather's coat fluttered slightly with the motion as he lifted the butt of his revolver and smashed it into the thug's temple. As the man slumped, Vito drew the weapon again, pressed it to the thug's mouth, and pulled the trigger.
The silenced shot rang out like a suppressed thunderclap. Blood sprayed across the floral wallpaper, painting it crimson, and the man dropped like a sack of stones.
The final bandit froze, paralyzed by the violence he'd just witnessed.
Tatsumi didn't waste the moment. He hurled his sword sheath like a baton, catching the last thug squarely on the forehead. The man stumbled backward, clutching his face.
"No, no, no—please don't kill me!" the bandit whimpered, falling to his knees, his hands raised in a pleading gesture.
But mercy wasn't on the menu. Tatsumi stepped forward, blade gleaming, and plunged it into the thug's throat with a cold efficiency born from countless skirmishes. The bandit gurgled once, then collapsed, twitching.
A tense silence fell over the hallway, broken only by the soft drip of blood and the shallow breathing of the living.
Tatsumi sheathed his sword and approached the reinforced study door.
"It's me—Tatsumi, from Genco Pura," he said, his voice just loud enough to carry through the heavy wood.
There was a long pause. Then the door opened slowly, revealing the overseer, pale and visibly shaken. His barricade was splintered and overturned, a sad testament to his desperate defense.
"Thank goodness you're here," the overseer said. "Those unruly thugs tried to—"
His words halted as his eyes scanned the bloodied hallway. Gauri stood silently nearby, holding the one surviving bandit by the neck like a misbehaving child.
"Seems like you took care of the problem," the overseer muttered, still dazed.
"Not quite yet," Gauri said flatly, tightening his grip on the squirming captive.
Vito, Tatsumi, and the overseer stepped into a loose circle around the bandit, forming an impromptu tribunal beneath the flickering hallway light.
"You fools," the captive spat, blood on his lips. "When Gamal finds out, he'll hunt you to the ends of the earth."
Vito stepped forward, his movements calm and calculated. He adjusted his collar with a gloved hand, brushed a speck of blood from his lapel, and looked the bandit squarely in the eye.
"Then let him come," Vito said, his voice low and cold as a glacier. "We'll be waiting."
Without another word, Gauri released the man. The thug stumbled back, then sprinted down the corridor, boots pounding like a war drum as they faded into the distance.
Tatsumi turned to Gauri, brows raised. "Gauri… was it wise to let him go?"
"He's dead anyway," Gauri muttered, his tone flat.
Tatsumi shifted his attention to the overseer. "Luckily, we got here just in time. Take what you need—there's no time to waste."
The overseer nodded briskly and began gathering his belongings. He moved with urgency but care, stuffing a small satchel with a fountain pen, his ledger, a stack of economic and legal tomes, a seal stamp, and finally, a worn photograph of himself with his late wife. His hand lingered on the frame before slipping it into the bag.
Meanwhile, Gauri dragged the two corpses into the study, laying them at separate points on the floor in a deliberate, methodical arrangement. Vito and Tatsumi busied themselves tearing papers, scattering them across the room, mixing them with ink and broken furniture.
Many of the items were highly flammable.
The overseer watched silently. He understood what was about to happen.
"Let's go," Vito said firmly, glancing over his shoulder. "We're not going to wait any longer."
Without hesitation, Tatsumi picked up a lit lantern and hurled it onto the floor. It shattered on impact, igniting the paper-strewn apartment in a sudden blaze of orange and red. The flames quickly consumed the evidence, the bodies, and the history the room held.
As the group exited the burning building and climbed into a waiting carriage, Tatsumi looked out at the darkened neighborhood. The flames behind them cast a dim glow across shuttered windows and worn cobblestones.
"You know," he said quietly, "we're going to make most of these citizens homeless."
A long silence settled over the carriage. Then, slowly, all eyes turned to Vito.
"I know," he said softly. "That's why, if no one else is willing to extend a helping hand—then we will. We'll make up for the consequences of our own actions."
The fire behind them crackled louder as they rode away, its smoke curling into the night sky