There was a brief silence before Falcone suddenly burst into ughter. It was loud and filled with an air of confidence and swagger, as if he had just heard the funniest joke.

  "Unbelievable, I never thought someone like her would come along. If she were around in our day, I’m sure Maroni would’ve paid her to take me out."

  Sophia, with a bored expression, was fiddling with the white cat's ears, twisting them into the shape of a rabbit. She corrected him, barely interested.

  "Uncle Maroni couldn’t afford that much. Deathstroke’s a mercenary—she puts a price on her targets. It's usually about 30% of their total worth. I looked up her current quote for Briss Wayne—without considering Batwoman's identity, just Briss Wayne herself. Guess how much she’s asking?"

  "How much?" Falcone was intrigued now, raising his gss and taking a sip, his curiosity piqued.

  Back in their day, hiring a hitman was no big deal. The cheapest option was a street thug—just a few hundred dolrs would do. He couldn’t even remember how many times he’d hired people to take care of problems when he was younger. It wasn’t until the family grew and they had their own enforcers that he stopped needing outsiders.

  He was genuinely curious about today’s rates, since he hadn’t dealt with "small matters" like this for a while.

  "Briss owns 80% of Wayne Enterprises. Add in all her real estate, investments, and accounting for inftion over the years—her net worth is around 80 billion dolrs. So Deathstroke’s quote for her? 24 billion. If someone offers that, she’ll take Briss out."

  Sophia ticked off the numbers on her fingers, the result staggering.

  "Ha—what?" Falcone choked, almost spitting out his drink. He coughed a few times, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "She really dares to ask for that much?"

  It seemed that Deathstroke wasn’t just powerful, she was reckless, as if everyone’s life had a clear price tag on it. As if their lives were just sitting on dispy in Deathstroke’s personal supermarket, waiting for the highest bidder. Don’t have money? Forget the world’s top mercenary—find a street punk instead.

  "So, by that logic, even if Deathstroke had been around back then, you would’ve been safe. Our family didn’t have physical assets, but with the yearly protection fees we raked in, your price would’ve been over 100 million. Maroni would probably only get quoted at 40 million. He’d be the one worried about this."

  Sophia dropped the final bombshell. Falcone didn’t know how to react. He almost felt poor, and was suddenly struck by how good Briss Wayne was at making money.

  "How does she do it? The Waynes and the Kanes can’t have that much cash," Falcone asked, genuinely puzzled. In his years running operations in Asia, he’d never seen this much money—let alone from a legitimate business like Wayne Enterprises.

  Sophia shrugged casually. "She’s in the information age, Dad."

  "But with Deathstroke’s pricing, does she even get any business?" Falcone’s doubts surfaced. He set his gss down, feeling out of touch with today’s prices.

  "Actually, business is booming. Celebrities like Briss Wayne aren’t exactly a dime a dozen. Ordinary people have way more murders to deal with. Like she said on TV earlier—basic services start at two million."

  Sophia straightened up, casting a quick gnce at Gordon, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, and continued expining.

  "Say you're a small-time boss, and your competitor keeps causing you trouble. You just call up Deathstroke—two million—and that competitor disappears by the next night. When you wake up, the market's yours, and you might even swallow up their business. You’d think it was money well spent. There’s no way anyone would trace it back to you."

  "That’s it? Her highest fee is astronomical, but ordinary people can still afford her lowest rate?" Falcone was confused by the blurry pricing.

  "Yeah. Deathstroke doesn’t care who you want dead or why. She’s just doing business. Of course, the more money and fame the target has, the higher the price tag." Sophia crified.

  Falcone paused, thinking it over, before lifting his gss again. "But Barbara’s not part of this. Deathstroke’s target is Gordon. Why would she go after Barbara? No one’s paying her for that."

  Sophia didn’t know the answer, so she could only specute.

  "I’ve heard Deathstroke’s a bit... votile. When she’s in a good mood, she might kill for free. But when she’s angry? Anyone’s fair game. Barbara probably just got unlucky."

  "Crazy. Another madman," Falcone muttered, shaking his head. His patience with this city was wearing thin. He was ready for a new Gotham. "Well, in that case, let Deathstroke bring down Old Gotham with it. Even she couldn’t survive the Venom storm. At least that’d be some comfort for Gordon."

  "Yes, Father. But our other guests haven’t arrived yet. They might have been deyed by the storm."

  Sophia suddenly became serious, setting the cat down and allowing it to wander off.

  "The League of Assassins deyed by rain? Is that supposed to be a joke? They’re never te. Especially not when it’s revenge," Falcone immediately dismissed the thought. He knew them too well.

  "Let’s get all our surveilnce systems running. We’ll track every shadow that enters the city. As soon as they step into Gotham, we unch Venom into the clouds. They’ll never get out again."

  Sophia nodded, her long bck hair rippling in a small wave as the light flickered red. Then she asked, "But will Ra’s al Ghul and Talia be coming too?"

  Falcone’s expression shifted to a calm, collected one as he straightened in his chair, hands resting on his knees.

  "Yes. When they find out the target’s me, they’ll come for sure. They know their assassins can’t take me down. Are you sure Gordon left them a trail?"

  Sophia smiled and nodded. She poured herself some tea with a grace that suggested she’d practiced the movement, giving her an air of elegance.

  "Yes, Commissioner Gordon thought he was being clever, engraving a code on his gsses. But when you’re at my level of martial arts, even the smallest move doesn’t go unnoticed. I double-checked the license pte he left behind, made sure it was correct, and only then did I bring him back."

  "Good. When the League finds out it’s me behind the killings and sees Gordon’s clues, they’ll be ready to come into the city. At that point, we just need to make sure Ra’s al Ghul and Talia survive."

  Falcone looked approvingly at his daughter. He knew she was far more capable than his son Albert. Albert, the one who still needed to focus on his studies.

  "Why leave them alive, Father? Are you getting soft?" Sophia asked, her tone a little teasing.

  "No, it’s not about that. Ra’s al Ghul and Talia have both bathed in the Lazarus Pit. They’re incredibly hard to kill. Besides, the new Gotham needs enemies too."

  "Otherwise, you, Gordon, and Briss Wayne would just be a scattered mess. You need something to unite you. A mad ninja master is the perfect opponent for New Gotham."

  Falcone smiled, knowing the truth. New Gotham needed unity, and only an outside force could bring together three very different people—Gordon, Batman, and Sophia.

  When Ra’s al Ghul, stripped of his followers and driven to madness, wandered the outskirts of Gotham, Gordon and Batman would turn to the darkness for support—support from Sophia.

  Sophia gnced at Gordon, who seemed more awake now, as if he had come back to life. Her voice softened a little.

  "But, Father... are you sure Gordon will work with me?"

  "I had doubts before, but now..." Falcone picked up his gss, sipping lightly as his eyes lingered on Gordon, who was still lost in his thoughts.