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Chapter 309: New Umbrella (1)

"That was an afternoon thirty years ago when I boarded a train to Santiago. I was going there to discuss business with people from Mexico. On the train, an Italian man approached me. He said his name was Richie and he came from Sicily. We talked for a while..."

In the book room of Falcone Manor, the voice of the old Godfather sounded like a faded record. Sunlight seeped through heavy curtains, casting a yellowish hue inside the room. Schiller was not sitting across from him but on the sofa beside, clipping his cigar with a cigar cutter.

The smoke from the cigar was thick, like layers of clouds on the horizon at sunset. Amidst the swirling smoke, shapes that ignited infinite imagination floated, resembling realistic paintings typical of a bygone era.

With the clang of the train passing over the tracks and the elongated whistle, a man with deep brown hair sat in the train carriage, reading a newspaper.

"Ka-cha!" The door to the compartment opened, and another man wearing a long coat took off his hat and placed it on his chest. He bowed his head to the person inside and greeted in Italian, "Hello, Mr. Falcone. My name is Richie, and I come from Sicily."

Young Falcone put down the newspaper and looked at Richie, who had entered the compartment. He spoke in Italian, "Hello, Richie. Are you here to find me?"

Falcone's Italian accent and Richie's were completely different. Falcone's intonation always fell at the end, a trace he carried from his hometown of Rome, which made his tone sound somewhat indifferent.

Richie didn't mind, he walked to the opposite side of Falcone and sat down, then said, "I heard that you came from Gotham and want to go to California. I took this train specifically to find you."

Richie had blond hair and brown eyes. His cheeks were slightly sunken, and his facial features were typical of southern Italians. He lowered his head, showing a humble posture, and said to Falcone in Italian, "Sir, I come to seek your protection. The Richie family has nowhere else to go."

Falcone silently watched him, lightly stroking the edge of the folded newspaper with his fingers. Richie placed his hat on the table and said, "My family and I got involved in a dispute in Chicago. We were deceived by an old man from the West Coast who had already depleted two mines. Now we owe a large sum of money to Federio in Chicago."

Richie looked up, his brown eyes meeting Falcone's, but he couldn't read any emotion in the young gang leader's eyes, making him less confident about what he was about to say next.

"The Richie family is unable to repay this debt, but the responsibility does not lie with us. The cunning Englishman has already left, and we cannot explain to Federio why we can't pay him back..."

"Lord Falcone, my family and I have heard of your reputation on the East Coast. We had no choice but to come to you and seek a way out. Federio is nothing more than a dog of the Chicago Mafia..."

"I beg you, Your Lordship, save us. The Richie family is willing to pay any price for this."

Young Falcone put the newspaper down on the seat beside him, leaned back against the chair, and looked at the scenery receding outside the window. Speaking in an indifferent tone of Italian, he said, "Indeed, Federio is nothing. He's just a small-time thug from Ragusa. If it weren't for his wife, he would still be at the pier, mingling with those shady characters..."

"But you, Richie... how can you prove that you are more valuable than

Federio? Federio at least has a father-in-law willing to support him, but what about you? The Richie family, aren't you also from a smuggling background in the pier?"

Falcone placed an arm on the table, flexing his fingers as he looked at Richie and said, "Most of the Sicilians who came with you to the East Coast have established their own livelihoods in the city. Only you remain a stray dog of the East Coast..."

"We all know why you were deceived by the Englishman. It's because you were eager to join Chicago and find yourself a doghouse in the city. And when you were kicked out, you came to me, wanting to join Gotham..."

Richie's face revealed a hint of embarrassment. Anyone being exposed like this would feel a blow to their pride.

But Falcone spoke the truth. Several families who arrived on the East Coast around the same time as Richie have flourished in the city. Meanwhile, Richie and his family, after a series of setbacks, don't even have a stable place to live and can only stay in a hotel at the train station.

"Sir, as I said, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be accepted by you. As long as you can save me and my family, I am at your command," Richie said, bowing his head.

Falcone took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one out and held it in his hand. Richie stood up and leaned over to light it for him. The flame from the cigarette flickered like a candle in the dimly lit carriage.

"Federico was a loyal dog. I hope you are too, Richie."

Richie lowered his head and lightly kissed the back of Falcone's hand, the hand that didn't hold the cigarette. Then he said, "As you wish, sir."

The smoke from the fragrant cigarette rose like incense in a temple. After a moment of dense milky white smoke ascended, it gradually dissipated and floated away like white gauze.

The window frame of the train formed the silhouettes of the two men like a painting. With a "click," the carriage door closed, sealing their private conversation inside. The old Godfather didn't want to dwell on it further. He simply made this remark:

"Over the years, many people have come to me seeking help. Many of them were unpleasant, offering me large sums of money to do business. But I am not a businessman, nor a hired killer."

"When Richie came to me, he had nothing. But that didn't matter. I liked his attitude, so we went to Santiago together."

"I've forgotten whether our business with those Mexicans was successful or not. But on the way back, Richie followed me to Gotham..."

"At that time, there were no Twelve Families here. I was just a leader in the North District of Gotham, with a little reputation..."

"Later on, I grew bigger and expanded to the North District, East District, Central City, and Financial Street... In Gotham, many people started mentioning my name, and more and more people followed me..."

"Professor Rodriguez, the human psyche is a fascinating thing. When Richie humbly asked for my help, willing to pay any price to save his life, he was willing to put aside his dignity and pride."

"But once he ruled all of Gotham by my side, he forgot all that. He felt like he was the creator of this business, thinking that as one of the first few to follow me, he should share in the glory and power..."

"At first, he looked down on those who came later, even though they were more useful than him. But he still saw himself as an elder, looking down on the Spencers from England, looking down on the Lawrences with their salt and iron business background, even looking down on the Greek with only one daughter..."

"Then he started to rank and order the Twelve Families, thinking that those who came first should have more rights..."

"Finally, he even felt that, as Uncle Evans, he had the right to interfere and guide his choices and actions..."

"Human beings always like to compare themselves to others and find themselves lacking." Schiller's voice ignited with the sound of the lighter as he slowly put the lit cigar into his mouth.

"People who have lost everything tend to yearn for power and control over everything. If they can't achieve it in reality, they convince themselves that they

have trampled on many people in their minds, creating a sense of self-consistency."

"Thus, they develop a personality with extreme control tendencies. They want to control everyone who they perceive as being beneath them in status, regardless of position, age, generation, or even physical appearance..."

"They derive spiritual pleasure from belittling and controlling others. Once they become accustomed to this way of doing things, everything will deviate from its original course. They become particularly arrogant and audacious, willing to do anything to satisfy their desire for control..."

"But he's not smart," the old Godfather continued. "When I first met him, I knew he wasn't clever enough."

"But at that time, I didn't care because all I needed was a dog. The louder he barked, the better. It would show the neighbors that I had chosen a good dog..."

"But after all these years, when he wanted to become the boss, he chose to send his own daughter to Evans' bed. That girl was taught to be so foolish, thinking that she could win over the new Godfather with her beauty and love..."

"And the one who slept with him should be Alberto, right?" Schiller asked. "Evans doesn't like to wander among women."

"Yes, Evans is more like his mother: stubborn, devoted, and virtuous. And Alberto... he's more like me. He doesn't care about such things."

Schiller shook his head and said, "Nevertheless, Richie played a rotten move. Even if his daughter is as beautiful as a goddess, it won't shake Alberto. To be honest, even Evans wouldn't fall for that."

"That's true, but I've grown tired of his foolish tricks time and time again. Letting him die at the hands of a mysterious serial killer is the most dignified death I can give a dog."

"I have to thank the serial killer's killer for that. Otherwise, I would have to gather everyone together, bring up those old stories and nag about them until everyone is sick of his stupidity. Then I would have to listen to the wailing of his family and those foolish girls, clean up the body, attend the funeral..."

The old Godfather exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke and said, "I don't have much time left, and I don't want to waste it mourning a dog."

"To be honest, that mercenary killer you introduced to me, although expensive, was quite efficient. It's rare to find a killer with professional ethics in this era..."

"Actually, I'm curious, Your Godfather, why don't you use gang killers and insist on hiring mercenaries from outside?"

"The people in the gang can handle shooting, bomb-making, or poisoning. But asking them to mimic a serial killer and dismember someone, they can't handle such a bloody task. They'll definitely come back and hide like ostriches, claiming to have some kind of psychological trauma. I'll have to pay them extra medical fees..."

Falcone showed a trace of annoyance and said, "In the latter half of my life, my reputation for kindness and tolerance has spread too widely, overshadowing my earlier deeds. It should have been a good thing, allowing me to enjoy my later years, but there are always some fools who don't know their place..."

Schiller relaxed his body, leaning back in his chair. He exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke and said, "Yesterday, the mercenary called me and said he had received the final payment. He praised you for paying on time and asked me to pass on his gratitude. If there's a next time, he's at your service."

Falcone pressed the almost finished cigar against the ashtray and said in a low voice, "Perhaps soon, his business will thrive."

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