"Be a sigma man—experience the full spectrum of life!"
Releasing Selena's face, Downton strode down the corridor, leaving her with nothing but his retreating back.
The moment he vanished from sight, Selena's practiced smile melted away.
What kind of person was he?
It wasn't the first time she'd been insulted—phrases like "stupid woman" or "good-for-nothing" weren't unfamiliar—but this was different.
Did Asians always use those kinds of insults?
She'd really learned something new today.
Downton, huh?
She shook her head violently, as if trying to physically dislodge the name from her thoughts.
While Selena wrestled with a storm of emotions, Falcone sat in silence in his private room, the quiet broken only when he finally lifted his wine glass.
"Victor," he said, swirling the deep red liquid with deliberate calm, "take a few more men and clean up Sabatino's territory."
Victor nodded. "Yes, sir. But… how should I explain Sabatino's death to the others?"
Falcone exhaled slowly, took another sip, then set the glass down with quiet precision. He tapped a single finger against the polished table.
"Isn't the Dimitrov family already at war with the Sabatinos? Sabatino's death was always going to provoke them into challenging me. So I'll simply act first—preemptively crush their ambitions before they even rise."
He paused, letting the implication settle.
"Don't worry about the cause of death. Just wipe out the Dimitrovs. After that, let the rumors take root and spread through Gotham's gutters like rot."
"I understand," Victor said, a sharp grin curling at the corners of his mouth. "With Sabatino gone, we'll launch a full-scale purge of the entire family. Even without an official explanation, people will assume the Dimitrovs were behind it. And honestly—compared to the scale of our retaliation, even if Downton stands in the middle of Times Square shouting that he killed Sabatino, who's going to believe him?"
Falcone gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod—acknowledgment, not approval.
"That's part of it," he conceded. "Silence breeds speculation. And speculation is far more useful than truth."
He leaned back, his voice dropping to something colder, heavier.
"But more importantly… it's about shattering the greed of every family in Gotham. My name's been hanging too high for too long. It's not just Maroni and Fish—though they're trouble enough. The others? They're circling like vultures, waiting for a crack in the foundation."
A shadow crossed his face.
"Sabatino wasn't as clever as Maroni. Not as ruthless as Fish. And certainly no match for Oswald. But he knew how to take risks. Losing an old friend like that…"
Falcone's fingers stilled on the glass.
"…is truly heartbreaking."
He looked up, eyes sharp as flint.
"So tell me, Victor—what do you think of Downton?"
"Downton?"
Victor's brow furrowed—though he had no eyebrows to speak of, the gesture still lent his bald face an edge of menace.
He pondered for a moment, then offered a cold, intrigued smirk.
"Boss, you know me. When I see a weirdo like Downton, I just want to test if he's really unkillable."
"That's definitely your style."
Falcone chuckled, then let his gaze drift toward the private room's door—the same door Downton had just walked through. To Falcone, it wasn't just wood and hinges. It was the threshold to Gotham's future, and Downton had pushed it wide open.
This world had always been extraordinary—but Gotham, more than most. Falcone had seen the Claws in action. He'd even met the Demon Lord, older than seven centuries, cloaked in myth and shadow.
Yet for all their power, such beings remained legends—whispers behind veils, unseen by ordinary eyes.
Downton changed that.
He didn't hide. He couldn't hide. And in doing so, he dragged Gotham's hidden truths into the light for the whole world to see.
Falcone straightened in his chair.
"Oh, right—Victor, while you're at it, have someone dig deep into Downton. His abilities are a problem, sure, but not the kind that keeps me up at night. What worries me… is that he might be a penniless loner."
He paused, fingers idly rubbing the face of his ring.
"How do you defeat an invincible man? Give him love. Give him hope. That's far more dangerous than any bullet."
After a beat, he patted Victor's arm.
"Also… bring Sophia to Gotham."
"Huh?"
For the first time, Victor looked genuinely stunned. "Boss… are you sure?"
Sophia was Falcone's favorite daughter.
Falcone's brow darkened. "Do I look like I'm joking? Or has my family grown so arrogant they no longer value a gift like immortality?"
He leaned forward, voice low.
"Think about it. Even the Queen of England would kill to weave that bloodline into her heirs. If it's inheritable, in a few centuries, the Falcones could be something more than crime lords—something eternal."
He sat back, expression thoughtful.
"But first, we need to know the source. Is it his body? A relic? A curse? If it's external… then Downton's already in over his head. The moment the world realizes what he is, every hand—clean or bloody—will reach for him. And even I won't be able to shield him from the greed that follows."
Falcone gave a dry chuckle. "Good luck to him… heh."
With a wave, he dismissed Victor.
Alone again, Falcone stared at the half-eaten dishes left behind by the other guests. A sigh escaped him—quiet, melancholic.
Gotham's future was about to burn brighter than ever.
But he—the man who once ruled its shadows—was growing old.
…
Meanwhile, at the Iceberg Lounge…
Oswald Cobblepot watched as Downton swaggered out the door, a grin already curling his lips.
"Downton! My good friend," Oswald purred, narrowing his eyes in mock surprise. "Boss Falcone is remarkably easy to talk to, isn't he?"
They exchanged a brief embrace. As they pulled apart, Downton clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh.
"Easy? He didn't just let me shoot Sabatino in front of him—he offered me his daughter's hand! Hah!"
Oswald froze for half a second. Falcone's vision was staggering—and Downton? He wasn't just playing the game. He was redrawing the board.
Ignoring Oswald's stunned silence, Downton slung an arm around his shoulders.
"Pity I can't accept. Married men aren't good men—and good men? They don't marry at all." He winked. "But that's all hypothetical. Why am I telling you this? Didn't you promise me a drink?"
He steered Oswald toward the bar, already loosening his tie.
"After putting down that bastard Sabatino, I've earned a few rounds."