American comics: Only I know the plot

Chapter 78 The Death of Alberto

"Is something wrong with the Falcone family?"

The officer's words startled both Levi and Gordon; they couldn't understand what could have happened to the Falcone family.

Gordon took the report from the officer, glanced at it, and frowned deeply.

"Take a look too, buddy."

After receiving the report from Gordon, Levi didn't care about anything else and quickly flipped through it.

He was stunned after reading just the first page.

Carmine Falcone is dead!

The head of the Falcone family, an old man who had controlled Gotham's underworld for decades, was found dead in his villa yesterday.

Just moments ago, he and Gordon were convinced that the Falcone family was behind all of this, but now the head of the Falcone family is dead.

In other words, all their judgments were flawed, and all their assumptions had to be overturned.

"You can go out now."

Gordon waved to the officer, signaling him to go down first.

The police officer saluted the two men, then respectfully withdrew, thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

"Hey buddy, what's your opinion?" Gordon looked at Levi and asked for his opinion.

"It looks like we're going to be quite busy in the days to come."

I don't know who did all this anymore. The Falcone family and the Maroni family are fighting each other, and I can't think of anyone who could benefit from it.

Oh, I misspoke. A decrease in criminals helps the police carry out their work.

Could it be that we are actually the masterminds behind all of this?

Li Wei told a corny joke that wasn't actually corny, but it was true.

The situation is becoming increasingly complicated, and he really can't figure out what's going on.

"The main point is that the mayoral election is about to start, and all of this is happening in such a rush."

Perhaps it's best to wait and see, and see who ultimately benefits from this situation.

After listening to Li Wei's analysis, Gordon nodded in agreement, agreeing that this was indeed the best approach at the moment.

...

The tree-lined avenues of the Falcone family estate were covered with a thin layer of frost, and the morning mist, carrying the chill of pine needles, drifted over the carved iron fence.

Cobbler wrapped his dark coat tightly around himself, the collar obscuring half his face, and his boots crunched softly over the cobblestones of the porch.

The butler stood with his head bowed in the entryway, clutching a brass keychain in his fingers, not daring to look at him even once.

As Cobb took the keys, his knuckles brushed against the butler's cold skin, and the butler's shoulder jerked.

Carmine's study is located at the deepest part of the second floor of the manor, with Roman column patterns carved on the lintel, replicating the "Gotham Empire" once controlled by this mob godfather.

Coppert turned the key, and the wooden door creaked dully, like a sleeping beast being awakened.

The room still smelled of cigars and leather, and the bookshelves were filled with finely bound ancient books, most of which had never been touched and were covered with a uniform layer of dust.

He took off his coat and draped it over the leather sofa. The hem of the coat brushed against the crystal ashtray on the coffee table, where a half-extinguished cigar remained at the bottom.

Coppert leaned down and tapped the rim of the ashtray with his fingertips, sending ash falling in a soft rustling sound.

He wasted no time and went straight to the hidden compartment behind the bookshelf—a secret he had spent three days prying from a former servant of the Falcone family.

The hidden compartment could only be opened by rotating the seventh book from the left on the third row, "History of Rome." Cobert gripped the spine of the book, twisted it forcefully, and the bookshelf slowly moved aside, revealing a hole about half a person's height.

Inside the cave sat an exquisite black tin box. Upon seeing it, a slight smile appeared on Copport's cold face.

He gently opened the suitcase, revealing everything inside.

The bottom of the box was lined with red velvet, on which a stack of documents and two leather ledgers were neatly stacked.

The document's cover bears the coat of arms of the Falcone family, its edges yellowed.

Cobbett picked up the document and opened to the first page, which contained Carmine's secret agreement with the former mayor, along with a blurry photograph.

Copeport's fingertips traced the paper, his nails brushing against familiar names of politicians, a cold, hard smile curving his lips.

He stuffed the documents and ledgers into the inside pocket of his coat, hid them close to his body, and then prepared to leave after putting everything back in order.

"What are you doing?"

A voice, tinged with alcohol, came from the doorway, its questioning tone filled with anger.

Copport turned around abruptly and saw Alberto leaning against the door frame.

The white shirt collar was open, the tie was askew to one side, and he stared fiercely at Copport.

He was clutching a whiskey bottle, which was mostly empty, with the liquid dripping through his fingers onto the carpet, leaving dark stains.

Cobbler instinctively pressed his hand against the inside of his pocket and slowly straightened up.

"Young Master Alberto, I'm just here to sort through Mr. Alberto's belongings."

His voice was steady, without the slightest hint of emotion.

Alberto chuckled and walked into the room with unsteady steps, spinning the wine bottle halfway in his palm.

"Sorting through his belongings?"

He moved closer to Cobblestone, his breath reeking of alcohol in the man's face. "What right do you, an outsider, have to touch my father's things?"

His gaze swept across the open compartment and landed on Coppert's bulging inner pocket, his eyes suddenly sharpening.

"Take the stuff out of your pocket." Alberto raised his hand, pointing the bottle at Copport's waist, his fingers turning slightly white from the pressure.

"Young master, these things are useless to you; keeping them will only cause you trouble."

Copport didn't move, but stared at Alberto with a cold look in his eyes.

"No benefit?"

Alberto suddenly burst into wild laughter, the arrogant sound echoing throughout the study.

"My father's things, even if they're just scraps of paper, are none of your business to steal!"

He threw the bottle violently, creating a gust of wind.

Cobbett dodged to the side, the bottle smashed against the bookshelf, shards of glass flew everywhere, and books of various colors were soaked with the liquid.

Alberto staggered to his feet, his anger burning even brighter.

"Who do you think you are? You infiltrated the Falcone family through flattery, and now you dare to covet my father's inheritance?"

He looked Cobert up and down, his gaze lingering on his slightly hunched back and short limbs, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips.

"A clown who looks like a penguin, does he even deserve to touch these things?"

Alberto's words made Copport's breathing quicken, his fingers tremble slightly, and his nails dig deeply into his palms.

He lunged forward and ducked to crash into Alberto's abdomen.

Alberto was caught off guard and was knocked back several steps, crashing directly into the coffee table.

The crystal ashtray fell to the ground and shattered into pieces with a sharp cracking sound.

The two began to wrestle. Alberto threw a punch at Cobbot's face, but Cobbot dodged it by tilting his head and grabbing Alberto's wrist, twisting it forcefully.

"ah--"

Alberto cried out in pain; he felt his wrist break.

Having finally broken free from Copeport's grip, he raised his other fist and slammed it into Copeport's back.

Copport grunted, but didn't let go. Instead, he pressed Alberto against the bookshelf and pressed his elbow against his throat.

Alberto's face turned bright red, and he frantically scratched at Copport's hair, pulling out a few strands with his fingertips.

Coppert's eyes turned cold. He abruptly released his grip, and as Alberto bent over, panting, he kicked him in the back of the knee.

Alberto fell to his knees, his forehead hitting the edge of the bookshelf, from which blood seeped out.

When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot, and he reached out to grab Coppa's ankle.

Cobo dodged to the side, bent down to pick up a shard of glass from the ground, and plunged it hard into the back of Alberto's neck.

Alberto's body stiffened abruptly, his hand, which had been reaching for his ankle, froze in mid-air before slowly falling to his sides.