Sophia Falcone

"Is it good?"

In the apartment, Li Ang watched Kara treat the bowl of egg fried rice before her with extreme seriousness.

"It's... good."

If Kara weren't frowning, Li Ang might have believed her.

"How does it compare to that Chinese restaurant we went to before?"

"About the same."

Kara then wolfed down the bowl of egg fried rice in a whirlwind fashion.

It wasn't exactly bad, just a bit bland in flavor.

People cooking for the first time either dare not add seasoning, or they go overboard—Li Ang belonged to the former.

After that, Li Ang ate a little himself. He thought it was passable.

"Alright, I'm heading out for work. Be careful at home by yourself."

"Got it."

Even with powers akin to Superman's, Li Ang's life hadn't changed much.

Someone once said that superpowers aren't as good as Money Power.

Spider-Man Peter Parker couldn't pay off the loan Aunt May left behind.

Superman Clark Kent even had the farm left by his adoptive parents repossessed by the bank.

Beyond that, plenty of superheroes lived tight lives.

Li Ang had no thoughts like 'I don't eat beef,' nor did he want to become Homelander or even Ancestor Man.

Especially since this was Gotham, he didn't want some tight-suited freak eyeing him either.

In his past life, Li Ang lived with low desires, and now it was the same—he just wanted a stable life, to live better, and to raise Kara healthily.

He was used to being an ordinary person, not some savior.

For a regular person, having a job and even becoming a manager—wasn't that pretty good?

As for whatever shady things Penguin and the others did, that had nothing to do with him.

He wouldn't be morally blackmailed by that line, 'With great power comes great responsibility.'

Walking down the street, Li Ang only felt his body warm, a sensation of power slowly growing.

Though Gotham rarely saw the sun directly, Solar Energy was everywhere, and Li Ang absorbed it slowly.

'Iceberg Lounge.'

Open for business as usual today, as if nothing happened yesterday.

As the Bar Manager now, Li Ang naturally didn't have to do everything himself.

Unless a guest specifically asked for him to mix drinks, or to deliver to Penguin and the others.

But Penguin didn't show up all day.

Even his lackeys were hardly seen.

With Penguin absent, the two managers were the top dogs, but Li Ang wasn't actually any more relaxed—instead, he had more work.

Still, for Franklin's sake, he worked diligently.

Time quickly reached late night.

The crowd in the casino had thinned, all gathering over at the bar, making Li Ang and the others' tasks heavier.

The waitresses dressed as bunny girls all returned with their earnings, tips stuffed into every visible seam of their clothes.

"Bang!"

Amidst the decadence, a group of people suddenly burst in through the door.

This group was tightly organized and wore matching outfits—though not as formal as Penguin's men in suits and ties, they were still out of the ordinary.

Once inside, they immediately fired shots into the air.

"Aaaah!"

The crowd instantly fell into chaos. No one stuck around to watch; everyone instinctively fled for their lives, heads down.

Only a few, seemingly experienced, quickly found spots to crouch—either in corners or crawling under gambling tables.

Then, the largest Gunfight Li Ang had ever witnessed erupted.

Many innocent socialites and heiresses fell, their pure-colored clothes instantly stained blood-red.

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The few of Penguin's men didn't sit idle; they immediately drew weapons to return fire.

The people who suddenly burst in were even worse—they sprayed bullets like they cost nothing.

Li Ang didn't waste time either. With his lightning-fast reflexes, the moment this group crashed in, he grabbed the woman he'd been chatting with and pulled her down to crouch.

This white woman claimed she was from South Africa, unfamiliar with Gotham, and had invited him to "explore" the city together.

Li Ang hadn't even decided whether to agree when this mess landed on them.

"Call the police," Li Ang shouted at her, slightly stunned.

If she really was from South Africa, she was getting a taste of American hospitality now.

Or rather, Gotham hospitality.

The woman fumbled out her phone, dialed 911, and got a busy signal.

Just then, Li Ang felt a sharp pain in his arm.

He lifted his hand and saw a "bullet mark" on his arm—but it hadn't broken skin.

And the mark was healing at an incredible speed.

Super Physique!

Li Ang must have drawn Kara's current level of power.

Otherwise, bullets wouldn't leave even a trace on him.

Seeing this, Li Ang immediately relaxed.

Sure enough, in Gotham, a good body was essential.

In that short span of time, Penguin's men had been completely wiped out.

The number left was already smaller than usual, and the attackers were elites—outnumbered, they hadn't lasted long.

For a moment, the entire Iceberg Lounge fell into an eerie silence.

Only heavy breathing and the woman's sobbing could be heard.

"Everyone, gather here. Don't move, or bullets won't have eyes!"

"We're not here to massacre. Be smart!"

Then, these people immediately took control of the scene.

Penguin's men were all dead, so the others naturally didn't resist, obediently clustering together.

"Miss Sophia, it's safe now," a voice announced.

"Click, click!"

The quiet club echoed with the sound of high heels.

The noise was faint, but Li Ang, with his enhanced hearing, caught it clearly—he could even form a mental map, pinpointing her location in his mind.

The heels stopped. The woman had reached the center.

She scanned the surroundings, saw the disheveled socialites, and smiled. "Don't worry, everyone. We're gangsters, not madmen who kill for no reason."

"As long as you behave, I guarantee you'll live. And don't count on the cops to save you—they're as obedient as dogs in front of me."

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself."

"I'm Sophia Falcone!"

Some in the crowd clearly knew Miss Sophia's great name; even those who didn't trembled at the surname Falcone.

Sophia Falcone, daughter of Carmine Falcone, the legitimate heir of the Falcone family.

She was violent, full of rage, and thus called the "Executioner."

Seeing the crowd stay quiet, she nodded in satisfaction and asked, "Now tell me, since Penguin's not here, who's the spokesperson?"

One of her thugs grabbed a bartender, who stammered in fear, "Not me!"

"Then who?"

The bartender immediately pointed at Li Ang.

Li Ang was holding the South African woman, mostly to comfort her.

Sophia got the answer she wanted, drew her pistol, and shot the bartender dead on the spot.

"I hate traitors."

Sophia Falcone blew on the gun's muzzle and smiled faintly at Li Ang.