In a penthouse apartment in downtown Gotham City lay the home of Falcone, the Roman, perched at the very top of Gotham.
Unlike those mafia bosses who turned their homes into fortresses, Falcone had long since moved beyond that phase. He was a businessman, one of Gotham's upper class.
President of an Italian import company, renowned Gotham City philanthropist, entrepreneur, real estate tycoon, owner of a financial conglomerate—he possessed many titles and honors.
And those glittering titles allowed him to stand safely in this penthouse and look down upon Gotham. Day or night, a portion of Gotham had always belonged to him.
Even of the hundred dollars snatched by street robbers in the night, thirty would pass through layers of transactions before ultimately landing in his safe.
Falcone lay in bed. The one thing that displeased him was that damn Batman still prowled at night. If Oswald had not secured the "business" deal,
the company's income this month might have suffered a loss. Money no longer mattered to Falcone, but Batman had repeatedly challenged his authority.
That was absolutely unforgivable!
If the Roman lost his authority, it would be like an aged lion losing its strength. Those who usually behaved with obedience and respect would begin itching to challenge his power.
In his heavy sleep, Falcone dreamed of his deceased mother. They sat together happily over a meal, but his son, Alberto, rubbed his fork and dinner knife together.
The piercing sound made Falcone deeply uncomfortable. He suppressed his anger and reprimanded him, but Alberto acted as though he had not heard and continued scraping the utensils together.
"Enough!" Falcone roared like an enraged lion, awakening himself from the dream.
Falcone raised his head and looked around the dim bedroom, only then realizing he had been having a nightmare. He