American variety show: The Godfather, the Peace Ambassador, what the heck?

Chapter 165 Rebirth from the Fire
When the panel popped up in front of him, Luca was watching the live broadcast of the capital court proceedings on television.

The riots have begun in Detroit, and the capital city is not far behind. They have even spread to most cities in Michigan and are spreading towards neighboring Chicago and southeastern Pennsylvania.

Riots never happen in just one city, but the Black people in Detroit were the most violent. If they had been given a nuclear bomb, Detroit would have been razed to the ground.

[Through your behind-the-scenes guidance and instigation, union tyrant Jimmy Hoffa died, and the factional strife ended prematurely. You stopped the power struggle within the American Truck Drivers International Brotherhood.]

[Gained 20 Skill Fragments]

[Gain Skill Points x10]

[Vision +0.1]

The room was quiet at the moment, with only television broadcasts; there were no sounds of vandalism, arson, or murder.

The white-dominated suburbs far from the city center are like heaven and hell compared to downtown Detroit.

Luca called Lyon to confirm the details of Hoffa's death.

According to the plan, Hoffa's death was scheduled for after Philip's trial ended and at the beginning of the riots. If the Black people didn't act, there were Mafia members infiltrated into the drivers' group waiting for him, and the white people who egged on, beat up the Black protest leaders, and insulted niggers were all arranged by Luca.

If either of these two fails, then there's Frank and Leon; Frank will follow the original plot to pick up Hoffa and then secretly execute her; Leon will choose to assassinate her.

They are all trustworthy people who keep their mouths shut.

Luca glanced at the panel. The reward for killing Hoffa was barely acceptable. The real prizes came from the various black gangs in the East Side and the black riots in Detroit and the surrounding cities.

How can this riot be stopped?
Michigan's National Guard and the federal army drove armored vehicles into the city, and heavy machine guns locked onto every possible window on both sides of the street; anyone who peeked out would be hit by a burst of bullets.

—Under the military crackdown, nearly 10,000 black people were arrested, and dozens or even hundreds of deaths were officially counted.

Luca stood up, supporting himself on the armrest of his chair. "Now we need to go and find the lost tanker truck."

The first day of the riots.

Hofa's death was like a boulder thrown into a boiling pot of oil, the splattering oil scalding many onlookers.

The Detroit Mafia families, Black gangs and rioters, truck driver unions, business owners, and the Detroit city government.

Every force connected to this city, no matter how small, has been affected by this incident.

Within half an hour of Hoffa's death, police and Detroit Mafia members risked their lives to break through a Black riot, stormed into the union compound, and took Hoffa's body.

Detroit is indeed too dangerous now; the riots have turned into a “war.”

Black people took advantage of the chaos to loot and destroy everything in sight. They stormed into shops to steal goods and threw Molotov cocktails into gas stations, causing violent explosions. Not only white people, but even a white dog would be beaten up if it passed by.

The Black people cheered and turned half the city into an inferno, and gunfire echoed throughout the city.

That evening, Detroit issued its highest-level emergency alert.

The riots began after the court sentencing in the afternoon. The area of ​​unrest, originating in the slums of the East and West districts, has expanded to a radius of 30 kilometers.

Police were ordered not to fire.

More than 200 rioters have been arrested so far.

Police stated they did not have enough manpower to stop looting during the fire; their primary role at the scene was to protect firefighters as they worked to extinguish the blaze.

Detroit police backed down when faced with Black mobs.

Firstly, Philip's scandal had just happened, and the public pressure was immense; secondly, the police were simply short-handed. In the face of thousands of rioters, police would be killed if they rushed in, and even protecting firefighters to put out the fire required extreme caution.

Even when firefighters are on firefighting missions, Black people try to stop them by vandalizing fire trucks.

The slogan was "Burn down the city".

With the Black people doing this, Luca naturally wouldn't sit idly by. He joined forces with the Detroit Mafia to carry out assassinations against the leaders and high-ranking members of various Black gangs in Detroit, taking the opportunity to wipe out gang power in the city.

However, there was someone even more enthusiastic than Luca – Bobby Marcel.

Hoffa's death triggered Bobby's nerves. The street fighter grabbed a shotgun and began a massacre, especially targeting gangs like the YBI.

Without any fancy moves, at this moment he seemed possessed by the Night Demon, unstoppable and invincible.

That evening, in the northern suburbs of Detroit.

The major Detroit Mafia families held a meeting, with Luca, the referee, also present.

The topics of discussion were nothing more than how to deal with the recent Black Lives Matter riots: should we adopt a defensive posture or take the initiative? Should we play it safe or take advantage of the chaos?

Luca, who initially supported using violence to combat violence, now voiced his opposition, saying, "There's no need for a large-scale war with Black people anymore. I've already received word that the governor has deployed interstate police and the National Guard."

Luca briefly explained the situation; it wasn't a big secret, and the governor was about to release a public statement.

Since the government was going to use the military to intervene, no one wanted to risk any more trouble.

Besides that, another serious matter right now is Hoffa. His body has already been taken away by his family for disposal.

When his name was mentioned, the faces of the group of old men present were tinged with sorrow, their cigars never ceasing, filling the room with smoke, making it seem like a fairyland. Through the hazy light, Zerelli's sorrowful face appeared, "I am deeply saddened by Hoffa's death."

He recounted their past friendship, experiences that resonated with many of the older men present. They all lived in the same city, had fought side-by-side, and united to expand their influence. Without the Detroit Mafia's initial help, Hoffa wouldn't be where he is today, and vice versa.

Zellelli turned to look at Luca, but his face was completely obscured by the smoke. Now, recalling the whole incident, Zellelli realized for the first time just how insidious the young man before him truly was.

Whether it was the riots or Hofa's death, the root of all these events can be traced back to one thing—a tanker truck, which belonged to Luca.

Zerelli even suspected that Luca had orchestrated everything, that he clearly understood the city's flaws and potential dangers, and that with a simple push, he had triggered a riot that shocked the entire United States, while also eliminating Hoffa in the process. He also suspected that the black rioters and gangs involved would be suppressed and arrested by the federal government.

Everything that was against Luca vanished into thin air.

If a toilet is clogged for too long and can't be unclogged, it will just explode.

Thinking of this, Zelliri felt a chill run down his spine.

If I cooperate with such a schemer, won't I be completely taken advantage of?
Luca was also observing these old men—to be honest, he felt no threat whatsoever to these old men who had lived in peace for too long and were simply giving up. They were old and lacked energy, and since they wanted to end their lives peacefully without conflict, Luca was willing to grant their wish.

If only Hoffa had the same mentality as these people, how wonderful that would be?

The image of Hoffa's emotionally distraught face flashed through Luca's mind, stirring a ripple in his heart. They had all been moving towards the same goal decades ago; when they shook hands and cooperated, did they foresee this divergence? The rope binding them together was unbreakable; even the Mafia couldn't pull back Hoffa, this stubborn mule, who preferred to drag a corpse along rather than change his course.

As the meeting concluded and everyone walked out the door, Zerili looked out the window at the city in the distance, ablaze with firelight. In the darkness, it resembled a giant bonfire, flames lit with lives, intertwining in mid-air to form an angry, fiery red face.

"Pigeon, is this the situation you wanted to see? To achieve your goal at the cost of destroying the entire city."

There is an old Chinese saying: Only after being reborn from the ashes can one be truly reborn.

Luca glanced at it, his steps unwavering. "Mr. Zellelli, I alone cannot create such a tragedy for our times. The flames of this great fire began to ignite when the slaves were freed, and they have burned more than once since then, and today they have reignited."

The Federation can extinguish it this time, but it won't disappear; it will reignite sometime in the future. What can we do? We can control the timing, ideally starting it in winter so we can gather around the fire for warmth.

Despite the raging fire outside, Zelliri felt a chill.

It's only October now.
Yes, the weather is starting to get cooler.

Fall and winter often arrive earlier in Detroit than in New York.

Zerelli withdrew his gaze and followed behind Luca. "Pigeon, I have a question. Do you hate black people?"

Luca smiled and said, "You know I own a club, right?"

"Ah."

"Do you know who my concierge is? He's a very important face of the club. He has to greet every guest politely. He's the first person guests see when they walk in."

Luca turned to look at him. "He's black."

Zerelli was slightly taken aback, seemingly not expecting this answer; he had thought Luca was an extreme racist.

With a wry smile, Zellelli sighed softly, wondering what was important to someone like Luca.

Luca smiled and handed him a business card. "Welcome to the club. I can assure you that all the black people in the SSR Club are sane and principled. Mr. Zellelli, you want peace, and so do I."

Hoffa was right: all struggles, in the end, are about establishing order. And now, the black gangs are about to be destroyed, and a new order for Detroit's underground dynasty is about to be established. Then, we'll be the ones calling the shots here.

Zerelli accepted the business card. "We'll always be allies, right, Mr. Referee?"

This was the first time he had addressed Luca as a referee.

Luca: "Allies should hold onto a rope, help each other, and climb together. In this respect, I am a tolerant and generous person."

Zerelli's feelings were complicated. The other party was indeed very generous in terms of cooperation, and doing business with Luca could make a lot of money. From the perspective of business partners and Mafia allies, the other party was a very good candidate. However, he had unknowingly been used by Luca.

Now, thinking back to what I talked to Hoffa about, what I said...
Zellelli smiled bitterly. He had thought he was helping Hoffa, that he was doing it for Hoffa's own good, but instead, he had pushed Hoffa step by step into the abyss. Meanwhile, Luca got everything he wanted and kept his achievements hidden.
He suddenly realized that if he and the other old guys from the family passed away one after another, who in the Detroit Mafia would be able to compete with Luca in the future?

“I will tell my brothers and descendants,” Zellelli said softly, “that even if I die in bed in the future, they will continue to uphold my will and be your allies.”

"Pleasant to work with."

Luca smiled and shook the other person's hand. Just then, his phone beeped. He took it out and saw that it was the rapper calling—he was asking for help.

The riots in the East End left the family with nowhere to hide; their humble house had already been burned down by Black people.

Upon learning of this, Luca reassured them and sent someone to pick them up.

After hanging up the phone, Luca continued speaking to Zerelli:

"Oh, and one more thing. After the riots are over, remember to get rid of Philip secretly. That tanker truck will never appear again, so there's no need for him to look for it."

Was this a pledge of allegiance? A chill ran through Zelliri. "Is this an execution order?"

"Yes."

With a single, casual word, Philip's fate was sealed.

(End of this chapter)