Chapter 78: Valentine's Day

"I came here tonight solely out of respect for the relationship between my parents and your family."

The tall, upright man stood by the window, looking through the slats of the blinds at the bustling crowd below, the clinking glasses of the banquet, the glamorous courtesans, and the sense of satisfaction that drew everyone's gaze—all were present at this gathering, and the host standing below seemed to enjoy it all quite thoroughly.

Falcone looked at him, at Bruce Wayne by the window, and could never understand what was truly on his mind. It was a sincere bond forged between two families in times of crisis, yet it seemed this young master did not value it. Over the years, he had stubbornly sought to sever all ties with the underworld, regarding the Falcone family much like a blood-stained, filthy banknote, terrified of staining his own hands.

Was it the arrogance and loftiness unique to the upper class, or simply childishness and naivety?

Regardless, I respect the friendship between the two families, and I respect the doctor who saved my life back then; therefore, I will treat you with courtesy—this is the etiquette of a "Roman."

He shook his head slightly and said to Bruce, "To my father, your father was far more than just a friend, Bruce."

"But that was a long time ago."

The playboy replied casually, silently gazing at the magnificent wedding banquet below. Layer upon layer of gorgeous, expensive cakes, a golden glass Gao Ta built from precious champagne, the live, melodious performance of a professional orchestra, impeccably polite waiters attending to every need, a hall full of guests, music and women, extravagance pushed to the extreme.

The central figure of the wedding was that Johnny Viti, and the blonde, plump woman beside him was his mother, the Godfather's sister, Carla Viti; while other big shots within Gotham City—wealthy merchants, high-ranking officials, and famous socialites—had all appeared at today's wedding banquet.

"But today, you have so many new friends, Mr. Falcone, so many powerful friends—isn't that Richard Daniel over there? The president of Gotham Bank has now become your friend as well."

The Godfather could hear the sarcasm in Bruce's words, but he did not mind, cutting straight to the point: "I am a very lucky man. Richard told me that Gotham Bank is considering doing business with Falcone Import Company. I am counting on you, Bruce; do me a favor."

Family relationships must be maintained through profit; this was the first lesson Falcone's father taught him. Not just family relationships, but many relationships require exchange and interaction between both parties, whether emotional or material—and Carmine Falcone was indeed very smart; for what his father taught him, he always learned very quickly.

Doing business between Gotham Bank and Falcone Company would absolutely be a win-win proposal beneficial to both sides.

However, Bruce's mouth still only had those few repeated phrases, the answer he had given the Godfather countless times, and also his answer regarding the relationship between the two families countless times.

"No."

He turned his head to look at the Godfather: "I will not vote or influence the board for your benefit—no matter what favors you have bestowed upon Richard."

As always, unsurprising.

"That is... truly disappointing."

Although he spoke such words, the Godfather's face showed no anger; he elegantly inhaled the scent of the bright red rose in his hand, using the floral fragrance to dispel his displeasure, and still said to Bruce, "Enjoy the rest of the party, Bruce. Try that cannoli. I had them air-freighted from Italy; they are very fresh."

"Click"

With Bruce's departure, the door was also closed. The butler nearby, wearing a corsage, had a gloomy expression; he stepped forward two paces, walked to the Godfather's side, and suggested, "Perhaps I could 'advise' Mr. Wayne, just as I advise others."

The Godfather placed the red rose back on his chest, waved his hand: "I see no need for that, Miloš. Richard has guaranteed that we will have enough votes."

"Although Bruce could have absolutely guaranteed we would achieve this."

A few minutes later, the door was opened again.

A man wearing glasses, refined and gentle, walked in; it was Alberto Falcone, the Godfather's son.

The Godfather waved his hand, signaling him to come closer, his eyes still looking through the blinds at the people on the dance floor; his sister Carla, who had come all the way from Chicago, was worth noting, and the beautiful woman dancing with Bruce Wayne on the dance floor was also somewhat conspicuous.

For some reason, Falcone subconsciously reached out to touch the three claw marks of scars on his cheek; he always felt that the woman named "Selina Kyle" seemed somewhat familiar.

"Father, you must know, I saw Bruce Wayne sneaking around outside the door earlier—"

"Alberto, Alberto, Alberto."

The Godfather sighed; his youngest son Alberto always liked to think for him, thinking of solving the problems encountered in the family business for him. This was the thing he liked most about him, and also the thing he was least willing to see.

He was too smart, and he cared about him too much; this was precisely the reason he sent him for further studies—the black underworld kingdom could not be seen in the light; the Falcone family could not forever remain active in Gotham as a gang; he had to make plans for what came next, using the import company to launder money was precisely the beginning of the Falcone family turning from black to white—and after being whitewashed, the heir to the Falcone's vast empire naturally had to be white as well.

Falcone affectionately put his arm around his son's shoulder and said to him with a smile, "A handsome young man like you should be at the wedding, pursuing those pretty Misses. Not worrying about these small matters that have nothing to do with you."

This was what happened at Johnny's wedding last year.

The past came surging in like a tide and then receded, but at the thought of Alberto, the memories of old days unconsciously surged up again.

"Since Richard Daniel resigned, the other banks in Gotham are unwilling to deal with us—Falcone, our money is stuck here; other families are all watching you."

"Dad, I might have a way—"

"Alberto, be quiet, we are discussing business—Carla, my nephew Johnny should be back; I want to see him immediately—I want him to deal with that bank president who dared to go back on his word!"

This was what happened before Halloween last year.

"Sugar, tomato... you add some more sausage; today is Thanksgiving, we have many things to be grateful for, Alberto."

"Yes, Dad."

The door was suddenly burst open.

"Many things to be grateful for? Like what? Falcone, my Johnny is dead!"

This was what happened on Thanksgiving last year.

Now, I am the same as my sister, Falcone thought, looking at Alberto's tombstone before him, silently placing the blood-red rose in his hand down.

This was what happened in February this year, on Valentine's Day.

The Roman was alone, grieving silently within Gotham Cemetery.

(End of this chapter)