Carmine Falcone's office sat high above the city in a curtain of smoke and soft jazz — a lion's den dressed in expensive wood and old-world quiet. The blinds were half-drawn, slicing the room into strips of gold and shadow. Around him stood three of his capos, stiff-backed, waiting.
A younger lieutenant stepped in, hat in his hands, voice low but urgent.
"Boss… we got updates from the docks."
Falcone didn't look up from the glass of scotch he was swirling. "Mm. Go on."
"The Dockyard Dogs," the lieutenant said, swallowing hard, "they, uh… they're buddy-buddy with the Underpass now. The underpass led a counteroffensive on Pier Twelve. Wiped out our new investments in minutes."
Falcone stopped swirling the glass.
The room froze with him.
Before anyone could breathe, the lieutenant added, "And… and sir, we're hearing whispers the Jade Leopards are getting friendly with them too. Word is, homeless numbers are rising in Jade turf. I already put feelers out around the city to see if they are making anymore moves.
A brief, thin crack appeared in Falcone's expression, it was gone in an instant but nevertheless unmistakable.
Pure unbridled Irritation.
He set the glass down with a soft click.
"Let me get this straight," he said without raising his voice. "The mutts on the docks and the Jades — the Jades — are getting cozy with that little sewer project? I was under the impression they were going to fall in line soon."
None of the men had the guts to answer.
Falcone turned his eyes — cold as carved ice — to his nearest capo, Vito Scarlini.
"When were we planning to hit the Underpass?"
Vito cleared his throat. "We had a crew staged to move in tomorrow. Was gonna be a massacre— just like you planned."
Falcone lifted a brow. "It was never going to be clean. Nothing with these new pests ever is."
Then he stood, adjusting the sleeves of his immaculate suit. "But we're changing course."
The capos tensed.
"Switch targets," Falcone ordered, voice smooth but carrying steel. "The Underpass just grew some limbs. The Docks are too hot now. Too uncertain, with the potential of the dockyard dogs stepping in."
Vito blinked. "Sir, then who—?"
"The Jade Leopards," Falcone said, cutting him off. "Take them out. Completely. They want to pretend they have reach? Influence?" He scoffed softly. "Let's remind them they've always been one call away from extinction."
Another capo stepped forward cautiously. "Uh, boss… hitting the Jades means Chinatown goes live. Triads might—"
Falcone's glare silenced him instantly.
"They're trying to build an alliance," Falcone said, pacing slowly behind his desk. "Dockyard Dogs. Jades. And whoever else that rat is courting." His jaw tightened. "We snuff that spark before it becomes a fire."
He paused, turning back toward them.
"The Docks are too fortified. The Dogs will answer any scream from the Underpass, and I don't like odds that rely on their incompetence."
He leaned forward, hands on the desk.
"But the Jades?"
A thin smile spread across his face.
"The Jades can be erased. Quietly. Permanently. And without risking another war."
Falcone waved one hand dismissively.
"Go. Assemble the crews. No survivors. I want the Leopards off the map."
The capos nodded sharply and hurried out.
Falcone picked up his scotch again, staring out over the city — toward the east, where the docks shimmered faintly in the night.
His smile faded.
"I'm already dealing with the triads and the cartels. The penguin is just waiting for a slip up and now this upstart?" The glass in his hands shattered
***
The Jade Leopards' safehouse didn't look like the den of a gang.
It looked like a forgotten herbal warehouse — cracked green paint, peeling signage, paper lanterns barely holding onto their frames. Chinatown's humid night wrapped around it like a blanket, muffling everything.
Inside, though, it breathed with quiet discipline.
Incense drifted through the aisles, mixing with the smell of dried lotus root and old wood. Half a dozen Leopards sorted shipments by oil lamp light, their movements careful and methodical.
Watching over them from the upper walkway was Mei Lin.
Late twenties. Sharp cheekbones. A long braid draped over one shoulder, tattoos running down both arms like coiled serpents. Her stance was relaxed — but her eyes?
Her eyes didn't relax for anyone.
A younger Leopard jogged up the stairs to her, breath thin.
"We got more intel on the pier twelve situation from last night," he whispered. "Seems the dockyard dogs got help from the underpass."
Mei Lin didn't blink. "And?"
"Well that's about it?" He said flushing in embarrassment
Good thing that embarrassment didn't last long,
The back wall detonated inward.
Wood splinters burst across the warehouse like shrapnel, shelves collapsing, jars exploding into clouds of chalky powder.
Falcone's men poured in through the smoke — faceless under balaclavas, armored vests, suppressed SMGs hissing.
"CONTACT!" someone yelled as the first bullets tore through the wooden tables.
Mei Lin didn't yell orders.
She snapped them like commands from a war drum.
"Positions! Two on the stairs! Move the wounded behind the altar wall!"
Her people moved with startling efficiency.
The Leopards weren't street thugs — they were trained. Not that anyone ever cared to test it.
They flowed between shelves, using narrow choke points, firing from cover with precision.
A Falcone enforcer kicked down a shelf row and rushed forward—
Mei Lin dropped him with a controlled double-tap, then slid along the catwalk, barking, "Lanterns down!"
Two Leopards shot out the paper lanterns overhead. The room plunged into a haze of deep shadow and drifting smoke — visibility cut in half. Exactly how the Leopards liked it.
Falcone's men hesitated.
And in that heartbeat, the Jade Leopards struck.
Knives flashed from the dark.
Silent takedowns.
The intimate sound of blades piercing flesh and blood spurting seemed to be highlighted in the chaos that ensued.
A Leopard vaulted over a fallen table, slashing a gunman's throat before rolling behind cover. Another dragged a bleeding ally to safety without breaking stride.
Mei Lin fired down from the mezzanine, pinning the attackers near the breach. She moved like someone who'd fought in tighter spaces than this — alleyways, basements, backrooms where walls were practically breathing.
But Falcone sent a full crew. Twenty men.
And they were forcing their way deeper.
"Reloading!" someone shouted behind her.
"Hold that corner!" Mei Lin snapped back. "If they flank right, we lose the shrine!"
Grenades hit the floor — metal clanks echoing across the warehouse.
"DOWN!"
The explosions blew out a section of the mezzanine. Mei Lin was thrown sideways, catching herself on the railing before it gave way.
She performed an effortless roll before sliding out her knife and jutting it upwards. The sickening sound blade piercing flesh was soon followed by a high pitched scream of soul wrenching pain and terror, "My BALLS MY FUCKING BALLS!"
A Leopard slid beneath a fallen rack, firing upward and taking a gunman in the knee, crippling him instantly.
They didn't retreat.
They didn't buckle.
They advanced.
Mei Lin snapped orders while firing:
"Unit Two, push left!"
"Cut their lights!"
"Aim for the hands — make them drop the weapons!"
Two Leopards shot out the breach team's flashlights. Darkness rolled across the warehouse, swallowing the attackers' visibility.
The Falcone crew faltered.
"Jesus— they're everywhere—"
"Who the hell are these people?!"
The Leopards surged. They weren't just holding — they were winning.
Falcone's seasoned killers were being carved apart one by one, precision overwhelming brute force.
The front doors burst open.
Underpass fighters charged inside ragtag armor, rifles, breathing hard. The leader raised her voice over the firefight:
"Jades! We saw movement from the roofs, thought you were—"
A bullet whizzed past her. She dove behind a fallen table.
But inside the warehouse?
The battle was already turning cold.
There were bodies on the floor —
Falcone bodies, not Leopard ones.
Mei Lin had the last of the attackers pinned in a narrow alley of shelves, cutting off their retreat. She gestured sharply to her unit.
"Take them."
Three Leopards moved as one, disarming and dropping the final survivors with efficient, brutal restraint.
The warehouse fell into silence except for the buzz of a broken lantern.
Underpass fighters looked around, stunned.
"…Uh," one muttered, "looks like you had it."
Mei Lin wiped blood from her cheek, unimpressed by their arrival.
"We were never in danger."
One of the Underpass fighters started to say something, but—
An elderly woman stepped from the shadows, leaning only lightly on her cane.
Silver hair.
Eyes sharp enough to cut through the dust-filled air.
Madam Jiang.
Leader of the Jade Leopards.
She surveyed the wreckage:
the bodies of Falcone's men,
the perfectly positioned Leopard units,
the Underpass intruders still dripping adrenaline.
She nodded once — at her own people.
Then turned her gaze on the Underpass squad.
"You may leave."
The squad leader frowned. "Hey, we came to help—"
"And you did," Madam Jiang said calmly. "By arriving after the danger passed."
Mei Lin smothered a smirk.
Madam Jiang continued, voice quiet but carrying:
"The Leopards defend our home. We do not outsource survival."
She stepped forward, her cane striking the floor once.
"You have my thanks for your… concern. But no more than that."
The Underpass fighters exchanged uneasy glances.
Their intervention had been unnecessary.
***
The front doors slammed shut behind the last of the Underpass fighters, their footsteps fading into the night. For a moment, the warehouse hung in limbo — dust drifting from the rafters, lanterns sputtering, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood.
Then Madam Jiang straightened her spine and lifted her cane.
One sharp crack against the floor.
Every Leopard snapped to attention.
"Clean this place," she ordered, her voice soft but absolute. "Sweep away the debris. Strip the bodies and send them back where they came from. And move operations into the larger shop tonight — the one behind the apothecary. We will not be caught in the same room twice."
Her people moved instantly — wordless, disciplined, precise.
Only Mei-Lin remained still.
Madam Jiang turned her head slightly. "Walk with me."
Mei-Lin fell in step beside her as they moved through the side corridor, past rows of drying herbs and crates stacked for transport. The further they walked, the quieter the sounds of cleanup became, until it was just the steady tap of the cane and Mei-Lin's light footsteps.
The matriarch didn't speak for several seconds.
Then:
"We have a serious problem."
Mei-Lin exhaled slowly. "Yes, Matriarch. Our strength was outed before we could make the move we've been preparing for."
Jiang nodded, displeased. "Not only that… The Underpass has positioned themselves as our allies."
Mei-Lin hesitated. "Well… now that we have rebuilt our numbers and reserves, we do not need them anymore. Correct?"
Jiang stopped walking.
Her eyes — old, sharp, unreadable — turned to Mei-Lin with a weight that made the younger woman straighten reflexively.
"It's not that easy."
Mei-Lin swallowed. "Explain."
"A homeless population suddenly swells in Chinatown," Jiang said, tapping her cane once. "Suspicious, but manageable. Then immediately after, Falcone attacks — and we defeat him soundly. Word of our strength spreads." Her voice tightened. "And then, just at the end, after all real danger has passed… the Underpass arrives."
Mei-Lin frowned. "…which makes it look like they helped us."
"Exactly."
Madam Jiang resumed walking, tone low and razor-sharp.
"To outside eyes, this sequence looks coordinated. Homeless appear. Falcone moves. We retaliate. Underpass swoops in at the last moment." She lifted her chin slightly. "The narrative writes itself: the Underpass defended their friends."
Mei-Lin's expression hardened. "So we now appear to be aligned with them."
"Yes." Jiang's voice chilled. "Their leader — Quentin — has effectively signed us into alliance without our consent. Without asking. Without needing our agreement."
She paused at the end of the hall, looking back toward the warehouse where her people moved like shadows.
"What an insidious man."
Mei-Lin clenched her jaw. "So what now?"
Madam Jiang's eyes narrowed, pupils sharp as pinpoints.
"Now," she said quietly, "we play the game he has forced us into. And we make sure that whatever he is planning… we are not the ones caught beneath it."
She tapped her cane again, final and decisive.
"Prepare a message for him. If he wants to pretend we are partners…"
A thin, dangerous smile curved her lips.
"…then let us discover what kind of partner he truly intends to be. Schedule a meeting I want to see this man face to face."
—-
A/N: Longer chapter and most importantly a show that not all organizations the mc will work with are worse than his own. This has been a long time coming. Also is mc really that strategic omg!