“One shot each is all it takes.
Which one of you gentlemen wants to go first?” Oswald stared silently at the revolver on the table.
The engraved silver frame glinted in the candlelight.
It was a beautiful weapon, but beauty could be deadly.
Three rounds sat in the six-shot cylinder, leaving him with a fifty-fifty chance of getting shot in the head.
His mind was a chaotic mess.
He looked up at Falcone, his eyes begging for the old man to call off this twisted game.
Falcone ignored him, completely focused on his steak.
The medium-rare beef still bled a vivid red.
The old lion sliced off a small piece, popped it into his mouth, and chewed slowly, enjoying its rich, bloody flavor.
The pressure was pushing Oswald to the edge of a breakdown.
Dazed, he imagined that he was the steak on the plate.
A large fork held him in place while a knife cut through his flesh.
In a panic, Oswald snatched up the revolver.
His unfocused eyes showed that he was losing his mind.
He pressed the barrel to his forehead and let out a series of low, hoarse chuckles.
Then something inside him seemed to snap.
Slowly, he swung the gun around until it was aimed directly at Falcone.
If he had to die, he was taking the old bastard with him.
Before he could pull the trigger, Vincent slapped his hand down, forcing the barrel toward the table.
“Calm down.” “Vincent…
I should’ve listened to you.” Oswald’s pale lips trembled as he turned to face his partner.
“It’s not too late.
Give me the gun.
I’ll get us out of here.” Vincent offered a calm, steady smile, keeping his eyes locked onto Oswald.
A man whose psychological defenses had completely shattered was a ticking time bomb.
The priority was keeping him stable.
“But…” “No buts.
Trust me.” Oswald let go, and Vincent smoothly pulled the revolver from his grip.
His face remained completely blank, but the terror tearing through his chest was far worse than Oswald’s.
If that shot had gone off, they would both be dead men right now.
“Are you going first?
Make it quick, please.” Falcone didn’t look up, his tone entirely casual.
The old lion’s relaxed demeanor only confirmed Vincent’s suspicion.
He didn’t hesitate.
He pressed the cold steel against his head and pulled the trigger.
Click.
A dry fire.
Oswald let out a massive breath, collapsing onto the table like a sack of wet flour.
Vincent had fired without warning, nearly giving him a heart attack.
Falcone finally raised his head, picking up napkin to wipe his fingers.
“You survived.
Next is…” Before the old man could finish his sentence, Vincent pulled the trigger a second time.
Click.
Another dry fire.
Strangely, even after pulling the trigger twice, Vincent showed no intention of putting the gun down.
Falcone raised an eyebrow.
It seemed he had found the sharp, bitter spice his dull evening had been missing.
The two men locked eyes in silence.
Then Falcone gestured for Vincent to continue.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Six trigger pulls.
Six empty chambers.
Vincent set the revolver flat on the table.
A suffocating silence filled the dining room.
“Mr.
Falcone, I didn’t mean to ruin your game,” Vincent spoke first, breaking the tension.
“I just wanted to show you that I’m a smart man.
A smart man who can be useful to you.” “When did you figure it out?” Falcone smiled.
The shifting candlelight threw dark shadows over his face, distorting his features.
“I didn’t figure it out, I guessed.
I just doubted that the Roman Emperor would do something so reckless as handing a loaded gun to two suspicious thugs.” Falcone pushed his chair back and stood up.
He walked slowly toward Vincent, his fingers wrapping around the bloody steak knife on his plate.
“Yes.
The truth is always that obvious.
Plenty of people can guess it, but very few have the balls to bet on it.
Especially to bet six times in a row without flinching.” His raspy, gravelly voice echoed uncomfortably, sounding like harsh sandpaper scraping against bone.
Falcone stepped behind Vincent, suddenly grabbing his hair and slamming his face into the wooden table.
Thud.
Before the ringing in Vincent’s head could fade, the cold edge of the steak knife pressed hard against his throat.
Goosebumps spread across his skin as the metal bit into his flesh.
The old lion was ancient, but his grip was incredibly strong.
“I like smart people, and I like brave people.
But I absolutely despise people who are both.
They aren’t meant to be caged, and they will never stay under someone else’s feet forever.” Adrenaline flooded Vincent’s system, making his face flush as his breathing became quick and shallow.
Falcone’s words sounded like a simple observation, but it carried a hidden question.
Why should he trust them?
This was the ultimate test.
A single wrong word meant death for both of them.
But if Falcone wanted a direct answer, why go through this elaborate threat?
Vincent desperately tried to read Falcone’s mind, digging for his true intentions.
His brain worked at overclocked speeds until the realization hit him.
*Wait.
The person who is both smart and brave isn’t me.
Nothing I just did deserves that kind of praise from a mafia boss.
He must be talking about someone else.* *He is talking about Maroni.* The realization cleared Vincent’s mind.
He cleared his dry throat, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“You’re right.
That’s why I’m going to help you get rid him.
Get rid of Maroni.” Hearing this, Oswald clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles almost broke.
He couldn’t understand Vincent’s play.
Their plan to turn the two bosses against each other had already failed, so why was Vincent saying the same thing again?
It was suicide.
But a second later, Falcone pulled the knife away from Vincent’s throat.
“Get these two gentlemen some steaks.
Medium-rare.” The old lion strolled back to his seat, picking up his phone to dial a number.
“Maroni, my old friend…
it’s been a long time.” After a few seconds of fake friendly talk, Falcone got to the point.
“Your men are with me.
Yes, they brought your money back, but those Court of Owls girls scared them.
They couldn’t give it to you themselves, so they came to me instead…” Falcone hung up.
A few minutes later, a waiter served two steaming plates of beef.
While Oswald stared at his food, terrified it might be poisoned, Vincent abandoned all table manners and began shoving pieces into his mouth.
He hadn’t eaten in days.
The massive adrenaline spikes had caused his blood sugar to crash completely.
If he didn’t get calories into his system right now, he was going to pass out.
“For certain reasons, I can’t go after Maroni myself.” Falcone glanced at Oswald.
His contemptuous eyes mocked the fool for believing that five million dollars was enough to bring down a mafia boss.
“The cleanest way is putting him behind bars.
I need you to gather evidence of his crimes.” Falcone tapped his knuckles on the table as he observed Vincent’s reaction.
“Harvey Dent will arrive in Gotham in a few days.
He caused a lot of trouble for criminals in New York, and his arrival will shake things up.
Maroni has been drawing too much attention lately, so Dent will probably go after him first.
Use that to your advantage.” “Once you have the evidence, give it to Gordon or Bullock.” After giving his orders, Falcone’s expression became difficult to read.
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but in the end he simply waved them away.
“Leave after you finish eating.
Maroni will be cautious, but he won’t touch you.” Oswald looked like a man who had just been spared execution.
Well, he was spared execution.
He grabbed Vincent’s arm, eager to get out of there.
“Wait,” Vincent said, stopping him.
He looked straight at Falcone.
“I want to know what the payout is.
This is a high-risk job.” “You haven’t even started, yet you’re already talking about rewards?
Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you right here?” “You’re a businessman.
You know better than anyone that people are motivated by profit, not threats.” Falcone nodded, respecting the logic.
“Everything Maroni owns.
His money, his territory, his entire legacy.
If you succeed, I promise you his position in the Roman Empire.
Is that enough?” It was more than enough.
That was exactly what Vincent wanted.