Christmas night's "battle" was particularly intense.
The bed, sofa, armchair, and even the vanity were all marked with dried traces.
Emily probably spent all morning lost in dreams again.
When Leo came down for breakfast, Toussaint entered with a dark expression and reported:
"Boss. Bad news.
Our site on East Broad Street in Richmond has been approached by local gangs demanding 'management fees.'
Several bridge projects on the outskirts are getting the same treatment.
And at our headquarters on the East-South district border, gangs have been showing up constantly.
We can't even work normally.
Our recruiting tables in various spots were smashed up, and a lot of our workers have been hurt."
Leo didn't change expression, his tone calm:
"It was bound to come eventually. Did you call the cops?"
Toussaint, affected by Leo's calm, replied:
"We did—but the gangs clearly have the cops in their pocket.
By the time the police show up, the gang members are gone.
Worse, the police demanded a 'response fee' for even coming out.
It's like the senator's name suddenly stopped working here."
Leo shook his head.
"Low-level cops don't care about some distant senator—they care about bribes they can put right in their pockets.
These are problems we'll have to solve ourselves.
Tell me—which gang is it?"
Leo's voice was completely steady.
"The Declan family. Richmond's biggest gang, mostly Irish.
Their boss is Cormac Declan.
But day-to-day it's really run by the second-generation leader, Mel Declan.
I dealt with Mel back when I was a lawyer. He's hot-headed, violent, ruthless.
Honestly, boss, I don't see any way we can actually hurt them."
Toussaint's face was tight with worry.
"There's always a way.
So—where do they live? I'll go pay them a visit."
Leo's words surprised Toussaint.
He hesitated, then said:
"He's your neighbor. Also lives in the Highland neighborhood."
Privately, Toussaint was thinking: So your big plan is just to go grovel to them?
On a dilapidated old farm outside Lynchburg
The open land was busy.
Some men were practicing shooting, others were wrestling or sparring with knives and batons.
Beside the dirt yard was a two-story wooden building. Leo nodded toward it and said to Phis:
"Looks like they're learning the basics."
"Phony as hell. In a real fight they'll scatter in seconds."
Phis curled his lip.
"They're not supposed to invade Normandy—they're just meant to muscle in on turf.
Those guys over there with the decent aim, they're your core team?"
Leo gestured at the group whose stance was poor but whose shots consistently hit center.
"Sort of. They're all veterans who've killed before.
But they're either drunks or hard-headed. Couldn't reintegrate into society."
Phis shrugged.
"That'll do. Recruit more new blood in Richmond.
Tell them to get ready to move out. Richmond needs them."
After giving the order, Leo quietly left.
Except for Phis, none of them even knew who he really was—they just knew their boss by the nickname "The Instructor."
This unit was Leo's real ace.
The moment he'd decided to expand into Richmond under the senator's protection, he'd ordered Phis to gather up Carlo's old crew and absorb some of Jones's ex-thugs to train on this farm.
Richmond wasn't Lynchburg. It was the state capital—the center of all Virginia's power struggles.
A city of over 200,000. Real estate there meant dealing with jackals and vultures.
These men were his countermeasure.
And now that the Declan family was stupid enough to make the first move, it was time to unleash his dogs.
Richmond, Highland Neighborhood
Leo and Walter, carrying a gift, went to visit the Declan family.
They seemed to be expected.
The meeting had all the atmosphere of an old-fashioned gang tribunal.
Leo sat on one side. On the other sat five core members of the Declan family.
Leo tried to be polite, but only the aging boss Cormac responded.
The other four stayed stone-faced.
Especially the cocky man next to Cormac, legs crossed, looking Leo over like he was a slab of meat.
This had to be Mel Declan, the de facto leader.
A banquet with hidden knives, Leo thought coldly.
Seeing they had no intention of speaking first, Leo began:
"Respected Mr. Declan. I've heard you're an old-school man.
I also asked around about the going rate for 'management fees.'
Here's fifty thousand dollars. I hope my sites can operate without trouble starting tomorrow."
He nodded to Walter, who set the bag of cash on the table.
Mel didn't even wait for Cormac to reply.
He swaggered forward, grabbed the bag, waved it in the air dismissively, and sneered:
"This isn't enough.
Five hundred thousand! Pay five hundred grand and your sites can open."
Walter bristled immediately, but Leo held up a calming hand.
Still utterly even-toned, he said:
"Mr. Mel. The highest I can go is a hundred thousand."
Mel threw back his head with a mocking laugh.
"This idiot thinks we're negotiating?
Listen, country boy—this is Richmond. You want to do business here, you play by my rules.
And my rule is I say how much. Don't like it? Hand over the land and the projects and haul your ass back to Lynchburg!"
He got to his feet, leaning forward, glaring murder at Leo.
This move had always worked for him before—the meek businessmen always pissed themselves when he did it.
But not today.
Leo stood up too.
At once he towered over the leaning Mel, looking down at him.
He smiled calmly and lightly patted Mel's shoulder.
"Sit down. It's tiring standing like that.
Since you're refusing my offer, I guess that means our negotiation failed."
While Mel froze in confusion, Leo turned to the old man Cormac in the head chair and said:
"Sir. It's a shame.
The Declan family just lost its most important shield: its tradition."
With that he turned and walked toward the door, Walter at his side.
The sound of their shoes on the wood floor jolted Mel out of his daze.
He had never met someone who wasn't intimidated—someone who even dared to pat him on the shoulder like that, in front of all his men.
He felt a towering wave of humiliation.
"Bastard! Stop right there!"
He drew a Colt pistol and leveled it at Leo's back.
BANG!
Walter spun around and shot the Colt clean out of Mel's hand.
"With aim like that, maybe don't bother. Guns just aren't your thing."
Walter mocked him dryly.
Mel roared in fury:
"Kill them!"
Three others started to rise, hands going for their guns.
"STOP!"
Cormac barked.
"Dad!" Mel protested.
"If you still recognize me as your boss, put your guns down."
"But Herbert's instructions—"
"Shut up!" Cormac snapped.
"This is Highland. There will not be a murder here."
Outside, Leo and Walter got in the car.
Walter unfastened the bomb strapped under his coat and grumbled:
"Boss, I don't get it. Why bother coming here at all today?"
Leo smiled faintly.
"An old man once told me: keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer.
If I hadn't come here today, how would I know that my old 'friend' might already be waking up?"