That afternoon, around six o'clock.
Falcone's Rolls-Royce pulled up outside the Iceberg Lounge.
Oswald, dragging his injured body, came forward to greet him as usual and attentively held an umbrella over Falcone.
Gotham's rain was like the glaciers of Antarctica—eternal and unmelting.
Even though Gotham had borrowed the good weather from nearby regions and enjoyed a barely clear entire day, the rain clouds at night could no longer hold back the falling rain.
Listening to the patter of rain against the umbrella, Falcone looked at the slightly drunk Victor Zsasz beside him and asked quietly.
"Is Wraith still in the lounge?"
"Yes, boss!" Victor couldn't help rolling his eyes.
Of course he was still in the lounge. And he was fucking girls right now!
Victor instinctively wanted to make a snide remark, but ultimately restrained himself and nodded with a faint drunken sway.
"Ever since Wraith returned to Gotham, he's stayed in the lounge and hasn't gone out.
As for now, he... uh, he's still resting."
"I see."
Victor's words earned a smile from Falcone. Smiling, he patted Oswald on the shoulder and continued.
"Gotham may not have been Wraith's home in the past, but the Iceberg and our family have already become one of the places where he can settle. That is a good thing.
To strengthen our friendship, I also brought him a gift. Consider it a sign of my appreciation and respect.
Take me to Minus Forty-Four. I'll meet him there. I hope he likes the surprise I've brought him!"
As his words fell, Falcone beckoned behind him. A burly middle-aged man immediately climbed out of the car carrying a hooded figure.
The person whimpered incessantly, but their mouth had been gagged shut, leaving them unable to make a sound. As for the man who brought them