Baccano! - Volume 21 - Chapter 21

Chapter 21 It’s Not Like Nothing’s Gonna Happen

One day in FebruaryIn front of Ra’s Lance

It really did look like a spear that pierced the sky.

On the coast of New York, not far from Manhattan.

Surrounded by several commercial establishments, the building towered proudly.

In two different senses of the word, the high-rise was cutting-edge. The farther up you went, the more the building tapered, and even among the skyscrapers of Manhattan, its design was avant-garde.

This structure, which had an even finer point than the Empire State Building, was an integrated commercial facility that included a hotel.

At present, tensions inside were high.

A few of the people involved knew why:

The building—which had been nicknamed “Ra’s Lance,” as in the spear of the Egyptian sun god—was the venue for an illegal casino party to which the local wealthy citizens had been invited.

Of course, the conscientiously law-abiding and those who had no interest in gambling weren’t participating. But they also weren’t foolish enough to report it to the police.

The invitations for this party had been issued by the Runorata Family, one of the East’s leading mafia syndicates. On top of that, many other outfits would be running rooms there. They couldn’t risk sticking their noses in and having somebody put the curse on them, so most of the wealthy kept their mouths shut.

There were quite a few people who seemed like the type to snitch—but the Runorata Family had somehow sussed out those with such a sense of justice and avoided sending them invitations.

The tension around the building wouldn’t dissipate in a day.

The casino party was being held for three days running.

The initial plan had been to hold the party only on the day of the building’s grand opening. Maybe the number of participants had grown, or maybe the under-the-table negotiations with the police had succeeded, because the window had suddenly expanded to three days.

It was fine to attend for only a single day, of course, and several syndicates that were wary of police interference or a trap had refused to participate for all three. However, about half the syndicates had chosen to run rooms for the duration of the event.

The Martillo Family and the Gandor Family were in the second category.

The Martillos in particular had no reason to back down from the fight Melvi had picked with them.

A variety of other syndicates had chosen to accept the Runoratas’ invitation, for reasons of their own—but gangsters and high-society types weren’t the only ones attending.

Near evening, when it was almost time for the gambling dens to open…

…those who had been dragged into the “current” and those who’d created currents themselves began to gather around Ra’s Lance, each with their own intentions.

The enormous spear thrust into the sky.

Everyone there seemed to believe they would be the one to pick up that weapon and impale their prey.

In the parking lot behind Ra’s Lance

“The sharp yet dull blade pierced heaven’s very eardrum, eviscerating the clouds… The gods are screaming! ‘Let us censure this raging appetite! Applaud it! Cheer it!’ Desires took the place of the gods, and the gods were returned to immaculate chaos!”

“……”

“Thus men testified: ‘Men are men! Therefore, we cannot allow heaven to exist,’ quoth they, in chokèd screams! Come, let us climb! Scale the stairways that lead to this heavenly hell—Gwuff!”

“Shut up.”

The whiskered man in the hat—the Poet—had been yelling his unsettling nonsense, until the toes of a beautiful woman in a green dress—Sickle—slammed into the side of his head.

“Why can’t you just say ‘That’s a weird building’?”

“Gnrrrrgh… Frankness appears to be a virtue at first blush, but it is no more than deception in the guise of purity. It is casting a contemptuous glance at the world! They who do not doubt the world scream with their so-proclaimed ‘ingenuous’ hearts: ‘The world is as we see it! There’s no cause for doubt! Let us give thanks to ourselves, for having been blessed with a tepid year’s luck!’ Then they wield their power openly, with no suspicions whatsoever, striving to compel others to accept that world! Yes! Just as you are— Nwughruff!”

The Poet toppled over, screaming as he went, and Sickle slammed a heel into his back. “Maybe you should have some doubts for your own brain.”

The parking lot of Ra’s Lance was filled with the mafia’s luxury cars.

In one area of the lot, there was a growing group of very odd individuals. They were the members of Lamia, a subunit of Larva, one of Huey’s handpicked organizations.

When they heard the Poet and Sickle’s conversation, the ones who’d previously been silent began to put their two cents in.

“Um, i-is it okay for us to be somewhere this obvious?”

The speaker was Frank, an enormous young child over six feet tall. He’d been badly hurt during the Chicago incident, but he was back in action by now. He looked around, murmuring uneasily, “D-do you think Rail will be here, too?”

Although he was talking to himself, an Asian man—Chi—overheard. “I hear Rail’s with Christopher. That’s all that matters.”

“I see. Then I won’t w-worry,” Frank said, sounding rather relieved.

A girl who was all bundled up and wore a stocking cap pulled down over her eyes hung her head; she seemed lonely. “…Do you think Christopher’s ever coming back to us?”

“No idea. Either way, Master Huey says it’s fine to leave him alone, so it’s not a problem,” said a woman with a beautiful design tattooed on her face.

All sorts of others had joined the gathering: a man in a swallowtail coat, a muscular bespectacled fellow who was naked to the waist, and an individual in a skull mask whose gender and age were unclear.

Since there was a circus tent pitched in the nearby plaza, the passersby decided they were part of the troupe and went on their way without giving them much thought.

That said, the members of Lamia didn’t know what that circus tent was actually for.

Inside the tent

A huge tent had been pitched beside Ra’s Lance.

There was nothing special inside it. It was just a large, quiet space.

That space was populated by a few scattered shadows.

Two small figures stood side by side near the center of the tent: Bartolo Runorata’s grandson, Cazze, and Senator Beriam’s daughter, Mary.

“What are you going to use the tent for?” Mary asked, perplexed.

Cazze gave her a sunny smile. “It’s a vacation house for my friend!”

“?”

“Eh-heh-heh! Just wait till you meet Charlie! He’ll knock your socks off, Mary!”

Two men stood a little distance from the children, watching their conversation.

Their faces were identical, and they wore matching goggles on their heads.

These were Gabriel and Juliano, twins who were acting as Cazze’s bodyguards on Bartolo’s orders. Normally, they were part of Bartolo’s personal security unit, and they worked with the other members to guard their boss’s family in shifts. However, for the past month or so, Bartolo had assigned them exclusively to Cazze.

“Now then, when was Charlie due to arrive, I?” Gabriel asked.

“He’ll get here sometime tonight, Me,” Juliano told him.

Gabriel was a gentleman, while Juliano was more coarse in manner. They were close, though, and they referred to each other in a peculiar way, as “I” and “Me.”

The two never hesitated to risk their lives for Bartolo or Cazze, but they had their concerns about this particular job. As they talked, they were scanning their surroundings with extra caution in their eyes.

“Why do you suppose Senator Beriam’s daughter is here again today, I?”

“No clue. She’s probably not here to game at the casino. Maybe the boss and Beriam struck some kind of deal, Me?”

“If this was by Mr. Bartolo’s design, there’s no need to ask about it.”

“Yeah. No need to doubt it, either.”

The two narrowed their eyes and nodded. Then they exchanged a brief glance.

“What will we do if Mr. Beriam proves to be plotting something, I?”

“Is that a suggestion to cut an ear off the little lady and send it to him, Me?”

“Perish the thought. She’s young Master Cazze’s friend. We’d never do something that would grieve him.”

“Yeah, that’s true. The young master would be crushed.”

Looking away, they laughed.

“Which means we’ll just have to dispose of Mr. Beriam directly.”

“Yeah. Better to keep it simple, Me.”

These two may have been guards, but they were also the Runorata Family’s brilliant “hunters.” As they fulfilled their duty of protecting Cazze, deep down, they couldn’t wait.

They just couldn’t wait for Bartolo or Cazze to sic them on a target.

And so the hunting dogs kept on waiting, ever so quietly.

The parking lot

“If you don’t mind my asking, Sickle, where are Adele and Leeza?” asked the woman with the tattooed face.

Sickle gave her a dour look. “Why are you being so deferential? Knock it off. That crazy poet is another story, but there’s nothing about me that’s superior to you people.”

She wasn’t being modest; she was just saying what she thought. However, while Sickle had a hot temper, she was also a born leader and capable of taking the initiative. Many of the members of Lamia looked up to her.

Regarding the missing members, she said, “Adele is with Larva, guarding Tim, as usual. Leeza says she’s looking for somebody.”

“She is? Who?”

“Some guy who sold out the Lemures, way back when.”

On the coast

“…Lotta birds flying around today,” Spike muttered.

He was in the backseat of a moving car, and he could hear the birds’ cries through the window.

Since he was blind, Sonia looked up at the sky for him from the next seat over. “Ohhh, you’re right, Teacher. I’ve never seen that kind before, and there are lots and lots of them.”

A multitude of nonnative birds were wheeling overhead. They hadn’t formed a flock, though; individual birds were flying off on their own here and there through the city. It was almost as if they were searching for something.

“I see, I see. Imagine shootin’ ’em all down, then. Visualization counts as experience, too.”

Spike gave her an ominous-sounding assignment, but Sonia didn’t seem to think anything of it. “Okaaay.”

In the driver’s seat, Pamela frowned. “…You’d better not be encouraging her to imagine shooting living creatures so she’ll be comfortable shooting humans,” she said warily.

Spike grinned. “Well, who knows? She might have to shoot a person one of these days. After all, the target’s gonna depend on the circumstances. If you don’t want to be a murderer, take it to Mr. Beriam, not me.”

“……” Pamela fell silent.

From the passenger seat, Lana spoke up. “Listen, I just thought of something.”

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me. I’m pretty sure it’ll be worthless.”

“You know how they say birds are attracted to shiny things?”

“Okay, I think I get where you’re going with this, so that’s enough.” Still driving, Pamela tried to shut the conversation down, but Lana went on anyway.

“So if we trained birds to collect jewels and things that got dropped on the street, I bet we could make a killing!”

“Yes, in a country populated entirely by millionaires careless enough to drop jewels and apathetic people who didn’t pick them up, that might work.”

“We could send them into the casino, and they might pick up chips for us.”

“They’d really get shot dead then, and that would be that.” Dealing with Lana was exhausting, but it was better than having a conversation with Spike. That’s why she’d been going along with her companions’ overly simplistic, off-the-cuff remarks, but then Spike broke in.

“Still, now you want to attend the casino party? What brought this on?”

“…Nothing in particular. I hit the jackpot at a casino once, a long time ago. I just wanted to test my luck. It’s been a while.”

She hadn’t told Spike she used to cheat at casinos.

She couldn’t say that she wanted money to fund their escape from Beriam, so she’d dodged the question with a plausible excuse, but—

“Excuse me?! What’s this about a jackpot?! Pamela, have you been making money behind our backs?!”

“……” Hit with this accusation from an unexpected quarter, Pamela started trying to think up ways to cover Lana’s mouth without pulling over.

“Well, I dunno what’s going through your head, but don’t have too much fun in there. There are gonna be loads of other syndicates around besides the Runoratas…and a ton of folks who aren’t fans of Mr. Beriam. If that crowd finds out you’re the cleaning ladies at his place, what do you think will happen to you?” Spike smirked, but Sonia turned to him.

“It’s okay, Teacher.”

“Huh?”

“If anything happens, Nader’s sure to save us.”

For a moment, Spike stared blankly back at her innocent declaration. Then he remembered the way the Nader he knew had died, and he burst out laughing.

“Haw-ha-ha-ha! That’s rich! So your boyfriend Nader’s a hero, and he’s gonna mow down a building full of mafiosi!”

“Sure he is.” Sonia nodded, still smiling.

Spike laughed even harder. “Hee-hee, hee-hee-ha-ha-ha! That’s really somethin’! He’s nothing like the guy I know.”

After he’d laughed for a while, he got to thinking. Eh, that Nader would never have put himself at this much risk to begin with.

…Actually, no, he might have shown up. He had a knack for finding tough guys and sucking up to them.

Well, if a third-rate crook like him turned up here, I bet he wouldn’t last the night anyway.

A restaurant on the third floor of Ra’s Lance

“Um… Why are you being so careful to hide your face?” Eve Genoard asked.

Nader answered confidently. “So that people see as little of it as possible, naturally.”

He was currently on standby with Eve in a restaurant inside Ra’s Lance, before heading down to the casino party as a guest.

Benjamin and the other servants hadn’t approved of her going anywhere alone with a strange gambler. However, Eve’s determination to bring her brother back home seemed to have affected them, and now here she was.

The restaurant was a fairly high-class place, but even after Nader had taken his seat, he kept his hat pulled down low and his thick muffler on.

“Of your face?”

“That’s right. The gambling’s already underway. First-rate gamblers catch your habits and tells from all sorts of places, then use them against you. Everything from the expression on your face to the movements of your eyes, from how your lips tremble to the number of nose hairs you’ve got. People who know I’m your proxy may be here, at this very moment, to steal my tells.”

Nader gave a random excuse, deflecting her question, but Eve seemed to believe him completely. She nodded energetically as she apologized. “Of course you’re right! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. These things are common sense for gamblers, but I know they look silly to folks like you.” Nader shook his head shamelessly. On the inside, though, he was bursting with fear and unease that Hilton might find him. As he listened to himself successfully hide that anxiety and fluently lie to Eve, he realized he truly might have an aptitude for conning people, and he started to feel guilty.

To cover up his guilt about misrepresenting himself, Nader spoke to Eve impassively. “This is going to go for three days, so I’ll spend today sizing up the place. Let’s find out if your brother is here.”

“Right!” Eve responded firmly. Then she turned her attention to Nader again. “…Mr. Nader?”

“What?”

“Thank you so much for agreeing to my request. I know it was selfish of me to ask.”

“…It’s a formal contract. You don’t owe me thanks.”

Nader took one look at the innocent girl’s eyes, then averted his own. He felt unworthy.

What kind of fella puts such a sweet, earnest girl like her through all that trouble?

This Dallas bastard must be a scumbag and a half.

That was when Sonia’s face rose in his mind.

Oh, damn… Guess I can’t talk, huh?

Hadn’t he also left her and gone around lying and cheating and doing whatever he wanted?

Did he have the right to call anybody else a scumbag after all that?

Nader decided to suspend his prejudice against Dallas, at least until he actually met him.

…We might actually have a lot in common.

Ra’s LanceThe second-floor lobby

While Nader was hiding his face—

—one man was letting his emotions show while hiding the rest of himself.

“Dammit… There’s no mistake. It’s them, all right!”

The man was watching a certain group, his eyes filled with hate—and terror.

He’d disguised himself with false whiskers he’d bought at a general store and a pair of costume glasses. He’d also pulled his hat down low on his head so that his face was completely obscured.

Hiding behind a pillar in the lobby, the man—Dallas Genoard—ground his teeth.

He was keeping an eye on the three men who stood at the foot of the stairs that descended into the lobby. The Gandor brothers.

He’d once killed some of their men, and then he’d shot up the bosses themselves.

They’d retaliated, and Dallas had spent several years perpetually drowning on the bed of the Hudson River.

Even after he was freed, he hadn’t repented of his dissipated lifestyle. The one thing he had learned was to give the Gandor Family a wide berth.

Since this casino party was being hosted by the Runorata Family, he’d never dreamed that the Gandors would put in an appearance.

What the hell?! I heard they were fighting the Runoratas!

For Dallas, this casino party had been a way to get some money fast, and that was it.

The Runorata Family had killed his father and older brother, and the idea of their party had made his little sister furious. On the other hand, Dallas didn’t hold his relatives’ deaths against them. His father and brother had considered him incompetent and shut him out, and he was happy somebody had bumped them off.

That was why he’d walked right into the Runoratas’ casino party. He’d even considered marching up to them and trying to get money out of them: I’ll act like that business with my father and brother never happened, so… You get me, right?

He’d drunk a liquor of immortality, incomplete as it was, so knives and guns couldn’t kill him now. That trait had made him a little bolder toward the Runoratas.

…But the Gandors were another story.

To Dallas, they were far more troublesome.

Remembering the cold water at the bottom of the river, and the sensation of his lungs filling up, Dallas broke out in a cold, clammy sweat.

Thing is…chances like this don’t come around every day.

He’d spent the last couple of weeks raising money through various unsavory methods. As far as he was concerned, it was too late to just give up.

After all, his pride as a thug didn’t give him the option of tucking his tail between his legs and running from the Gandors.

So after Dallas had spotted them in the parking lot, he’d made tracks for a general store to buy the beard and glasses for his disguise, and here he was.

They’ll never know it’s me.

Oddly enough, his disguise was identical to the one a certain redheaded fellow preferred to use—but at the moment, Dallas had no way of knowing that.

“Now, then… It’s about time we started to set up.”

At the foot of the lobby stairs, Luck Gandor checked his watch.

“……”

“All right, all right, all right, let’s go wipe ’em out!”

The oldest brother was silent, while the middle brother was shouting about violence again. Luck found their unchanging natures reassuring. He let his eyes go from them to his subordinates.

“Say, if I see anybody weird, can I cut them? It’s okay, right, amigo?”

“No.”

“Aww.”

“Especially not today. Don’t draw your swords under any circumstances unless I give the signal.”

Maria was the only one of the hitmen who was with them now. All the hired killers’ faces were far too memorable, so having the whole group together could easily have handicapped them. Ladd and the others were scattered around the hotel’s perimeter to give them more freedom. In an emergency, they were supposed to assemble at Ra’s Lance.

Not that they’ll do what we want in any case, Luck thought.

Maria grumbled. “Tch! You really are stingy, amigo.”

“There’s no help for thaaat. This is a paaarty; there are all sorts of people here. If you start fighting, lots of them will get maaad at us.” Tick Jefferson, the Gandors’ torture expert, reproached her. Several pairs of scissors were secured to his belt with special fasteners, although he couldn’t bring them out right now.

“Mgh… Fine, amigo. If you say so, I’ll behave, Tick.”

“Wow! Thanks, Maria.” Maria’s reluctant consent elicited a childlike smile from the young man.

Watching the two of them, Luck gave a small sigh.

After a certain incident two years ago, Maria usually listened to anything Tick told her. Tick was pretty messed up in his own right, but since he did function as part of a chain of command, he was significantly easier to deal with than Maria and the others. They’d brought him to the party for several reasons, one of which was to help keep Maria in line.

Luck had considered a variety of situations, and he was prepared to accept the results no matter what they might be. But personally, he hoped none of those situations would actually happen.

Granted, even he was dimly aware that this hope would be short-lived.

A port warehouse near Ra’s Lance

“Listen up, you idiots. There’s no way nothing’s gonna happen. Make that your base assumption here.”

A temporary branch of the Division of Investigation had been situated inside a warehouse.

Victor was the assistant director of a department that fielded incidents involving the immortals. As the person in charge of this site, he was briefing the row of men in front of him.

“If nothing happens here, that’s a worst-case scenario. It’ll mean there’s something going on that we missed.”

Thwacking the corkboard with his pointer, Victor glanced at the pictures and documents pinned to it. “If nothing else, remember the House of Dormentaire. Whatever you do, do not take your eyes off those people.”

One of the papers on the board held a drawing of the Dormentaire crest, which featured an hourglass.

“We picked up on this crew just the other day. They’ve been lying low. If they’ve suddenly surfaced, that means their plans are far enough along that they can afford to.”

“But, Assistant Director,” one of his subordinates said, “haven’t the higher-ups forbidden any investigation regarding their ship?”

“Yeah. Regarding the ship.”

“No, but an investigation into the House of Dormentaire itself…”

“Once they’re off the ship, who could tell Dormentaires apart from passing gangsters? I sure can’t. And if I can’t, there’s no way in hell you people can. Ain’t that right?”

Their boss’s suddenly very tenuous line of logic started raising a few eyebrows, but—

—Bill, the one who’d been working for Victor the longest, interjected evenly. “Uh… What the assistant director is trying to say is that he’ll take all responsibility for it, so fake like you’re investigating the mafia and watch that lot instead.”

“Don’t just say it, Bill! I’ve got an image to maintain!”

“Mm… I don’t believe you have any image to maintain, sir.”

Victor ground his teeth. “…You may be right about that. We’ve been playing catch-up all this time, and then we let Agent Edward Noah get worked over. At this point, we’re the dregs of the dregs.”

Admonishing himself, Victor turned to his men again.

“Which is why we’re gonna haul ourselves up out of this swamp. If they’re convinced they’re so above it all, we’ll grab their ankles and drag every last one of ’em down into the mud. Then we’ll see if they can call themselves winners. For us, there’s nowhere to go but up.

“Let’s go teach ’em that in the eyes of the law, there’s no difference between the residents of heaven and hell.”

The roof of a hotel near Ra’s Lance

On the very top of a comparatively new hotel, just across the street from Ra’s Lance, two women were gazing out at the reddening sky.

One was still a girl. The other was a young woman of about twenty.

The girl—Leeza—spoke crossly. “Honestly! Why do I have to patrol with you, Chané?”

Chané, who strongly resembled the girl, lowered her eyes in consternation. “……” She looked up again, at Leeza’s back.

A little sister.

How could this happen so suddenly…?

After she’d reunited with her father, he’d introduced this girl to her as her little sister.

The family resemblance was clearly visible. However, Chané hadn’t had any time to prepare herself emotionally before the introduction, and she hadn’t been given any real explanation. She couldn’t help but feel bewildered.

The prospect of having relatives besides her father had almost never crossed her mind.

Come to think of it, the woman who threw chakrams at Mist Wall was named Leeza, too, wasn’t she? she remembered vaguely. It was about all she could do.

That said, the other Leeza’s voice had been completely different, so she didn’t think anything more of it.

It was likely that Chané had been given hints that this girl existed, but Huey had been such a priority to her that she had discarded the information as unnecessary.

As a result, actually meeting her had left Chané with no idea how to act toward this “little sister.”

On top of that, apparently Leeza had known about her for quite a while already.

“How is that redheaded fellow of yours? Is he well?” the girl had asked at their first meeting, catching Chané off guard.

Seeing her blush a little, Leeza had puffed out her cheeks. “Lucky you, Chané. You always get your way,” she’d said, sounding bored.

Why is she avoiding my eyes? Did I do something to make her hate me?

Chané didn’t know about her sister’s complicated situation, so she ruminated on the idea, sure that this must be her fault.

She seemed to have decided that this and the mission Huey had set for her were different matters, so she didn’t get disturbed enough for it to get in the way of her work. She wasn’t satisfied with that state of affairs, though.

The moment her heart was the slightest bit unsettled, she was no longer a perfect pawn that could fulfill her father’s expectations. She’d always been fine with her status, and she couldn’t stand to lose even a little of her edge.

…At least until four years ago.

I have to go back to that time.

After all, Father’s returned.

Unless I become who I was as well, my life will be meaningless.

As she was thinking these things, Leeza turned back. “Listen.”

“……?”

“The other day, a man named Firo Prochainezo came to meet with Father. Remember?”

“……”

Chané nodded.

A little while after her father had come back, a man named Firo Prochainezo had visited his hideout. Her father had summoned him, apparently, and they’d discussed something in private.

Chané knew the man, very slightly. He was a childhood friend of Claire Stanfield’s; his name was constantly coming up in the old stories Claire told her, and she ran into him in town every so often. When trouble had broken out at Mist Wall in 1933, Firo had been there, too. She couldn’t recall spending much time with him, and Claire only dropped in to say hello to the guy when he got the time.

It had seemed a little odd for him to come to visit her father. She didn’t know what his relationship with her father was, but Huey hadn’t seen him as an enemy in any way… At least that was the conclusion Chané had come to. She didn’t know Firo was the one who’d gouged out Huey’s eye, and Leeza didn’t bother to tell her.

“I wonder what they talked about.”

“……”

Chané shook her head to show she didn’t know, either.

As a matter of fact, when the pair had finished their discussion and emerged from the other room, there hadn’t been any signs of conflict. The bitterness on Firo’s face had never left, but when he saw Chané, he’d sighed and said, “Tell Cla—Felix hi from me,” before he left. Huey was in high spirits, and neither of his daughters suspected any sort of problem.

The relationship wasn’t a hostile one. In that case, Chané decided, everything was fine.

Her father had probably laid the groundwork for some sort of scheme, but that happened all the time. It was nothing for her to worry about. Why would her little sister be concerned about this so long after the fact?

As Chané wondered, Leeza asked her a question. “Chané… Just hypothetically, if that redhead fought with Father…whose side would you take?”

“……!”

It was the sort of question she really didn’t want to hear, and her tension showed on her face.

She’d remembered something.

In 1933, a member of Lamia—the other Leeza—had asked her a similar question during the Mist Wall incident.

Up until just a moment ago, she’d thought they only shared a name, but could they be connected somehow? She couldn’t see a little girl like her up on the roof of a building throwing chakrams, though.

“So you really can’t answer?”

“……”

The question was a weak point for Chané. When she’d heard it at Mist Wall, Claire had been there with her, and he’d answered it.

“What’s the problem? Just carry out that order and choose me.”

“If he tells her to kill me, she can just keep trying to kill me. I’ll keep defending, and we can romance each other while we’re doing that. Hey, that sounds a bit like true love.”

Even now, she could remember it clearly—how very Claire that answer had been and how much it had reassured her.

Either way, it was something she preferred not to think about when she was by herself.

The matter she’d been mulling over in the shower, just before she’d reunited with her father, came back to her.

If that actually happened, what should she do?

If such a problem really arose—she’d probably side with her father. She’d try to bury her knife in Claire.

She was able to summon that resolve, even through her reluctance, because she believed in Claire.

His strength was superhuman, and she trusted him to dodge all her attacks completely.

At the same time, she wondered, Is that really all right?

Wasn’t she just relieved because she knew he wouldn’t die?

What if her father’s orders were to poison Claire’s drink?

He’d probably accept anything she gave him and drink it down without suspecting a thing.

Or would he figure it out from the look on her face?

It’s no use. If I’m thinking like this, I’m…I’m already…!

Everything about her previous self was being erased—and it felt as if her new self was the very one eroding it.

The sensation that she was losing herself swept over her and left her a little dizzy.

Even now, if either Huey or Claire had been here, her heart might not have wavered. She might have been able to open up to them about everything—but neither of them was present now.

For the next three days, Claire would be at Ra’s Lance with a man named Melvi. Her father was working on his “primary objective” at a location a little ways from here.

That meant the only one who could bring her back to center was herself.

Remember.

Remember who you were back then.

The one who was always Father’s blade.

Remember the sensation of slicing through human flesh.

Remember the moment you ran your knife between their ribs.

Remember the instant you took a life.

The times you erased your opponents from the earth.

Remember condemning Father’s enemies.

Remember, remember, remember—

“Chané, what’s the matter?”

“……!”

At the sound of Leeza’s voice, Chané came to herself with a jolt.

“……”

Should she write out an answer? Just as she was considering using her knife to scratch words into the nearby floor, Chané froze.

A noticeable change had come over Leeza.

“……?”

As Chané was wondering what had happened, Leeza murmured to herself, “…Found him.”

“?”

“That guy… Here…?!”

Immediately afterward—when Chané heard the name Leeza uttered—a wind seemed to blow through her. All the hesitation left her face, and her eyes could have belonged to an automaton. On the wall beside Leeza, she scratched out the following words:

Let me kill him.

“? What’s the matter, Mr. Nader?” Eve asked.

Nader was thinking hard. “Hmm? Oh, uh… No, it’s nothing, sorry.” Stealing glances at the window, he seemed puzzled. “There’s a bird out there. See it?”

“Oh, yes. …You don’t often see that species around here.”

The bird they were looking at had perched on a tall streetlight.

It was staring right at them, and Nader felt an odd chill. “I, uh…I can’t shake the feeling that it’s glaring at me. Like it wants to…kill me or something…”

“I figured this place would have more, y’know, murder in the air.”

In the port near Manhattan Island, which had a good view of Ra’s Lance, Ladd was wandering down a road that ran beside the river. He sounded bored. “It’s just a li’l bit of a letdown. Goddammit.”

Who was looking around nervously. “Hey, I’m sensin’ plenty of murder in the air. The only people we’ve passed for the last few minutes have been twitchy-looking gangsters.”

“That don’t count. I was thinking of something more like…like standing in an intersection with guys on every corner slingin’ lead at all the others.”

“I would say the murder is no longer just in the air at that point.”

Who had been cleaning up at the clinic when Ladd had half kidnapped him. “I’m bored,” he’d said. “Tell me about the crew in New York.” Fred had also been inconveniently considerate—“All of today’s exams are over, and you two did just meet up again. Go spend some time with your friend”—and so Who had reluctantly found himself taking a stroll through the port by Ra’s Lance.

“It’s about time to meet up with Kid Graham. Once I do that, you’re free to go, Who. The other hitmen should be loitering around here somewhere.”

“What did you do with Lua?”

“She’s in Ra’s Lance. In the restaurant or a café, probably.”

“…! Hey, hold up, isn’t that the most dangerous place to have her?!” After Who said it, he remembered the things Ladd had done in the past and sighed. “Oh, that’s right. You were always the type. You even took Lua along on the train robbery.” Then he asked another question. “Listen, fella, what are you planning to do with her after this?”

“Do with her? Same thing I’ve always done. We’ll just love each other, that’s all. I’m not thinking of anything else.”

That answer was Ladd all over.

However, Who followed up with a question that was a bit more personal.

Generally, he’d assumed he didn’t need to pry into this particular topic. That said, what he was sensing in the air was so ugly that he felt he might never get another chance. “Like the time with Leila?”

“……”

Ladd’s only response was silence.

Leila was a mutual childhood friend of theirs. She’d also been Ladd’s girl, several years before he met Lua.

And now, she was dead.

Back when they were still basically kids, she and Ladd had eloped—and she’d ended up losing her life.

“……”

“……”

Unable to take the silence, Who sighed again. He’s still not gonna answer, huh?

He was about to say Sorry, forget I asked, when Ladd spoke up.

“I was thinking. Back then, I thought too much. There was a stupid kid who didn’t know the difference between loving somebody and idolizing her. That’s all it was.”

“You mean when you eloped?”

“I’ll tell you one thing, though: I’m not the one who killed Leila.”

“…I see.”

That was all the answer Who got, but he nodded as if he was satisfied.

He didn’t say, That’s a relief. He also didn’t question Ladd.

Ladd hadn’t forgotten about Leila. He hadn’t written off the past the three of them had shared as if it had never been, and that was enough for Who. “I won’t ask any more questions, then.”

“…’Preciate it.”

“Enough with the thanks. You’re creeping me out,” he replied.

Ladd shrugged. He was walking in front of Who, so Who couldn’t tell what expression he was wearing just then.

And he didn’t need to.

That personality might have been the reason Who had managed to survive all these years with Ladd.

“So was there anything else you wanted to know about the big fish in town?” Who asked, changing the subject.

“Nah, I basically get it.” When Ladd turned around, his usual feral smile was back on his face. “Besides, other than my employers, I really only need to remember two of ’em today.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, the Martillo Family and the Runorata Family.” Giving the names of two syndicates of completely different sizes, Ladd seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. “I sure hope this turns into one hell of a fight.”

“…Why, exactly?” Who already knew why, but he asked anyway.

He got the exact answer he was expecting.

“The bigger the ruckus, the more fellas I’ll be able to slaughter in the confusion, see?”

Then Ladd murmured to himself in a voice too low for Who to pick up.

“After that…there’s the question of how a guy goes about killing immortals…”

And so they arrived.

A fleet of luxury cars pulled up boldly, stopping right in front of the main entrance to Ra’s Lance.

The men who stepped out of them belonged to the Runorata Family. They were all wearing expensive suits. Don Bartolo Runorata was nowhere to be seen, but each man carried himself with uncommon dignity. Just the sight of them standing in a row was massively intimidating.

“…Now then, shall we enjoy this gamble?”

The speaker was one of the youngest men in the group: Melvi Dormentaire.

As the syndicate’s main dealer, he took the lead, and the organized force stepped into the hotel.

The moment the Runorata Family entered the lobby, as if on cue, all the other mafiosi went dead silent. Those who belonged to small outfits scurried out of the way, while those whose organizations were powerful enough to rival the Runoratas watched them like raptors. They were sizing them up carefully, weighing whether they were “prey” or “enemies.”

However, there were a few anomalies among the mobsters.

Even though their force was smaller than any other group there, the members of the Gandor Family stood in front of the Runorata group and blocked their way.

Most of their people were underground, setting up their room; only the three bosses, Maria, and Tick were in the lobby. Even so, despite being outnumbered several times over, none of them seemed intimidated by the Runoratas.

“…Well, well. Thank you for your hospitality the other day.”

“No, I’m sorry we weren’t able to give you a better welcome.” As Luck returned Melvi’s polite greeting, his face was expressionless.

The redhead standing behind Melvi gave the Gandors an easygoing wave. “Hey, you three. You look rarin’ to go.”

“Aaaah! Vino— Mrglmmphmmph.”

As Maria began to scream the name of the legendary hitman, Tick clapped both his hands over her mouth. She kicked and struggled, but Luck ignored her and replied coolly. “Of course we are. After all, when all the gambling is said and done, there may be fewer syndicates than there were before.”

Melvi interjected with a smile. “Don’t worry. We aren’t hunting you this time.” He maintained the gentlemanly facade, ignoring his own attempt to eat Luck the other day.

“A hunt, is it? I don’t know which organization you’re after, but it would be wiser not to assume the hunt will be one-sided.”

“No, no. Mafia syndicates are always preying on one another,” Melvi replied sardonically.

As Luck watched him, he was increasingly certain that the man wasn’t a member of the Runorata Family. No made man would carry himself with such contempt for their entire trade.

Melvi’s behavior wasn’t self-deprecation. He was sneering at people he considered different from himself.

“You’re the same as the Martillos. Just pray that your turn as our quarry won’t be for a while.”

“What the hell was that, you dirty sonuva—?” Veins bulging, Berga took a step toward Melvi.

An eruption was imminent.

All the mafiosi in the lobby saw a bloodbath in the immediate future—that, or a one-sided massacre of the Gandor Family by the Runoratas—and the tension was thick enough to taste.

But then—

—a voice spoke from behind the Runorata group, tangling those threads of tension into an even more complicated knot. “Forget it, Berga. Don’t waste a punch on that guy.”

“Huh?”

At the sound of a familiar voice, Berga stopped moving, and all the mafiosi turned to look at the speaker.

He was with a group that had come in after the Runoratas. There were about ten of them, a relatively awkward number to travel with but small compared with the Runorata delegation.

The young man at the front of that group pushed up the brim of his hat slightly. “I’ve got plenty I’d like to say to you, but I’ll stick to making one correction.” He gave Melvi an intrepid smile. “We’re not mafia. We’re Camorra.”

“Well, look who’s here. Welcome, Firo Prochainezo.”

It was Firo and the Martillo Family entourage. Being from an outfit as small as the Gandor Family, they were a somewhat confusing presence; the surrounding mafiosi wondered what syndicate they were even from.

But without any information, they knew one thing for sure: Neither the Gandor Family nor this group of self-proclaimed Camorra was the least bit cowed by the Runoratas.

“You seem quite confident.”

“You shouldn’t be gambling at all if you’re not confident, wouldn’t you say?” Firo shrugged. His voice held none of the fury he’d shown when Ennis was kidnapped.

He’s oddly calm.

Melvi didn’t like this cool, casual Firo.

He can’t have given up on Ennis, can he?

This was his first guess, because it’s what he would have done in Firo’s shoes.

When Firo spoke again, though, he still had that assertive smile on his face. “I’m lookin’ forward to our gamble.”

“…Are you really? You can’t actually think you’ll win.”

“It’s not a gamble if there’s no chance of winning, right?”

“Yes, but fools never do.”

Threads of tension raced through the crowd, with Melvi and Firo as their focus.

Even people who knew nothing about the situation could tell from a glance at those two—one of them was destined to lose everything in the next few days.

The room froze again, and the three syndicates—Martillos, Runoratas, and Gandors—did not seem likely to back down anytime soon.

Then that atmosphere was instantly shattered.

“Hi there, Firo! Thank you so much for coming!”

A child’s voice, innocent but intelligent, echoed in the lobby.

Bartolo Runorata’s grandson Carzelio had come down the red-carpeted stairs.

“You remembered my name. I’m honored,” Firo said politely.

Cazze’s eyes were shining. “I’ll show you around. This way, please!”

His words sent a quiet stir through the crowd.

“Hey, ain’t that Mr. Bartolo’s grandkid?”

“So those guys are a big enough deal to get a personal tour?”

“They said they were Camorra…”

“I know ’em. That’s the Martillo Family.”

“That dinky little outfit? Ain’t they as small as the Gandors’?”

“What’s going on here?”

“I hear their capo Ronny is real bad news.”

As a hubbub of questions and rumors rose around them, Firo and his crew started after Cazze.

Randy, Pezzo, and Maiza were in the group, but they seemed to be following Firo’s lead. They made their exit quietly, without any unnecessary comments.

Even Maiza only glanced at Melvi. He didn’t say a word, even though the man had the same face as his little brother.

…Interesting. So he’s keeping his personal feelings out of this?

Melvi had picked up on the Martillos’ resolution to some degree, and he murmured to Firo as he walked past. “…We’ll settle this on day three.”

“All right, then. I’ll be looking forward to that.”

“Make the most of your last two days with your family,” Melvi sneered, trying to rile him up—

—but Firo responded in a voice like a knife blade, one that held no emotion at all.

“You took this a little too far.”

That was all he said.

He didn’t mention any specific punishment or threat of death.

But that voice was all it took.

He’d spoken softly enough that no one else caught the words, but when Melvi heard them, his right hand shot out as if it were spring-loaded. Fear had suddenly exploded deep inside him, and his body had reacted before he could think.

You’re going to die.

Kill him before he kills you.

Melvi’s instincts drove him to act on reflex.

The immortal’s right hand shot out for Firo’s head at an incredible speed.

Just before it got there, though…

…with the same unnatural speed, Firo’s own right hand intercepted Melvi’s.

“……!”

After capturing Melvi’s hand, Firo shook it lightly.

“Let’s make it a good match.”

Practically speaking, the handshake was all the people around them saw, and the threads of tension began to unravel.

However—even after Firo and the others had gone, Melvi didn’t move. He couldn’t.

The Gandor brothers seemed to have realized this. As they headed downstairs, they were smiling thinly.

“……”

Melvi didn’t even spare a glance for them. His eyes were on the palm of his own hand.

A nasty sweat was beading on his skin, as if he’d just startled awake from a nightmare.

“I think you really pissed him off,” his guard Felix said from behind him.

“……”

Melvi’s face was blank, and Felix grinned. “He’s a tough one to beat when he’s serious. In any kind of contest.”

Half as if it were somebody else’s problem, he gave his friend the greatest compliment he knew:

“He even gives me a run for my money.”

Oblivious to the flying sparks that might soon burn down the city—more and more guests arrived at Ra’s Lance.

The wealthy citizens who’d received invitations from the Runoratas.

The relatives of individuals with mafia connections.

Politicians who’d taken bribes.

As the crafty and powerful gathered, yet another group reached the casino party.

“Ohhh! Wow, Miria, just look at it! It really does look like a lance!”

“Yes, Gungnir! And Gáe Bulg! And Amenonuboko!”

Isaac, in a coat and tails, and Miria, who was wearing an evening gown, looked up at the tall building and offered their candid commentary.

“Mgh… Well, that’s it. We’re here. It would’ve been fine by me if we’d never gotten here, but…”

Jacuzzi followed them, dragging his feet. A crowd of his delinquent friends trailed behind him, making their usual racket.

“Hey, guess this is my castle, huh?!”

“What’s with you? Did you finally lose your marbles?”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m going to master the art of gambling here, and then the whole world will be mine.”

“I predict that 3,423 seconds from now, you’ll be stripped to your birthday suit and crying.”

“Yo, Melody, knock it off.”

“And then 6,983 seconds later, they’ll have taken your skin, too. You’ll be dead.”

“What’s gonna happen to me?!”

“Hya-haah!” “Hya-haaaw.”

“Uhhh…can we all…go in?”

“Technically, we’re here at the Martillos’ invitation, so yeah.”

“Once we’re in, we’ll be home free. Let’s scatter and pull in as many gamblers as we can from other areas.”

“Let me remind you that picking pockets and swindling are absolutely forbidden. You especially, Melody. Watch yourself.”

“I turned over a new leaf 839,200 seconds ago.”

“…That seems relatively recent…”

“I’m kidding. Please don’t get mad, Miz Nice.”

“Hya-haah.” “Hya-haw!”

“Hmm? Hey, where’s Rail?”

“Said she’s working solo ’cause she’d attract too much attention.”

“Donny and Jacuzzi stand out worse.”

“Maybe she really is self-conscious about those scars on her face…”

“Hmm. I can’t tell whether the conversations these kids have are natural or unnatural. I worry I might even fall into a trance. How about you, Ricardo?”

“Not really…”

“Let’s do an experiment: Try screaming ‘Hya-haah’ or something. It might change your outlook on life.”

“I doubt that would change my life, but it might end it.”

Christopher was bringing up the rear of the delinquents’ group. As he talked with Ricardo, he looked up. “Well, well! This really does feel like an enemy of Nature! The sky is the greatest natural phenomenon there is, and this building is trying to shatter it… Or perhaps waiting for lightning to strike.”

After expressing his unique opinion of Ra’s Lance, Christopher murmured to himself. He was wearing a vicious smile. “You know, it might be fun to be that lightning.”

Ricardo heard that disturbing comment without responding.

Sham’s knowledge was offering a warning—one step into this building was a step into hell.

Actually, it was a safe bet that the entire area was already the same as the building.

The schemes of the many syndicates were jumbled together in a veritable tornado.

They had arrived.

On that point alone, their group, Firo’s group, and Melvi’s group were all equals.

They’d probably end up betting their fates here.

Praying that the bet would at least turn out to be a beneficial one—Ricardo stepped into Ra’s Lance with the rest of Jacuzzi’s group, by choice.

And the vortex of destiny raged.

The whirlpools belonging to each individual tangled with the others in intricate ways, and no one could tell which way the currents flowed.

Their force could easily have washed Ra’s Lance itself away.

However, the man who had created one of the largest currents in this incident—

—Huey Laforet—

—didn’t show up.

This event revolved around the immortals, and it was missing one major piece that would have shown its full shape.

But even so—

—in a city transformed into a gambling den, the ruthless dice of destiny were cast.