"The Maroni crime family operated out of Gotham's East End—an area far more vicious than the slums near Gotham University in the West.
To put it bluntly, the East End was Gotham's most impoverished district. Compared to it, the West Side ghettos looked almost posh.
The gangs there devoured each other constantly. Take the Gutter Gang, for instance: barely a hundred members, yet they still dreamed of controlling a nightclub. In reality, it was impossible.
By contrast, the Maronis owned a restaurant, two bars, a cabaret, and even a strip club—making them one of the largest players in the East End.
Their feud with the Red Crows ran deep. Their territories overlapped, and one particular bar on the border turned into a perpetual battleground. Neither side managed to claim it, so it became a no-man 's-land where information flowed fastest.
Sal Maroni had the brains to survive in Gotham—especially in the East End, where most crime families got swallowed whole.
He saw right through the Red Crows' scheme to hijack Wayne Chemical's production line. One night, in the basement of his bar near the no-man's-land, Sal lit a cigar and said to his men, "Word from our good friend at GCPD—Commissioner Victor—says that red-haired punk's about to stir something up."
One lieutenant answered, "Yeah. They've stolen heavy machinery from the south. A drunk loser told me their boss is trying to cook up some kind of chemical weapon—something that can control people."
Sal narrowed his eyes. "Funny. Victor mentioned a case the other day. The perp was some chemistry hotshot… a professor at Gotham University, no less. Think it's connected?"
Another man smirked. "I've got two plants guarding Redhead's mistress. He's been all over her lately. She'll slip eventually, and when she does, we'll know everything."
Sal clicked his lighter. "If they eat more meat, we get less. But from the looks of it, they're not satisfied with a bigger slice—they want the whole damn pie. Let's see who really got what it takes."
Maroni's instincts were dead-on. He easily intercepted the Red Crows' entire operation. Their boss might've been smart, but he was still young. Sal read him like a book.
Schiller helped, too—delivering the key piece. He leaked Jonathan Crane's fear-toxin formula just enough for Maroni's informants to "accidentally" stumble onto it.
With ties to Commissioner Victor, Maroni was savvier than the Red Crows' leader, with deeper contacts. He quickly hired a reliable chemist to analyze the formula. The verdict? A large-scale biochemical weapon of terrifying potency.
That sealed it. If the Red Crows succeeded, the Maronis were finished. Step one: make sure Jonathan never walked free on bail.
That same week, Gotham PD's Captain Lantaros—Gordon's superior—was leaving work when a speeding car slammed into him right outside headquarters. The impact launched him meters down the street. By the time Gordon scrambled back inside to call for help, Lantaros was dead.
He'd always been cautious, but greed had undone him. The Red Crows had showered him with bribes to secure Crane's release—even dangling the promise of marrying into the boss's family. He never realized Maroni had marked him.
It all happened so fast. Before Gordon could process it, he was promoted to his boss's post. Everyone in the precinct knew the bad blood between him and Lantaros, which made him the perfect candidate—for Maroni's purposes.
Of course, removing rivals was only half the game. Maroni also intended to mass-produce the toxin himself. Bolder than the Red Crows, he bribed a Wayne Chemicals manager to secretly repurpose a nitric-acid line. No moving parts—just hide in plain sight.
But scaling up the toxin required heavy separation machinery and specialized gear. Even with more money than the Red Crows, Maroni hesitated.
So he had his chemist whip up test batches by hand. The man was far better than the Crows' amateurs—able to reproduce almost 80% of Crane's formula. It wasn't concentrated, but it was potent enough.
One whiff was enough to drive a man insane.
Maroni saw the results and made his move—millions of dollars in equipment from out of state, a small army of chemists on the payroll. He even launched a bloody turf war, killing thirty men to seize a chemical plant in Red Crow territory.
Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne finally realized his family's plant had been robbed—and that the gangs were already making fear toxin.
At the same time, Gordon received an anonymous tip: a car with plates ending in 676 had been circling Wayne Chemicals.
Batman and Gordon teamed up. Following the lead, they caught the Red Crows flat-footed. Overnight, the gang's entire base was raided. Hundreds of members arrested.
Their boss nearly died of rage—robbed of both the stolen equipment and the chance to make even a drop of fear toxin.
In custody, he lashed out—naming Sal Maroni. Batman turned his gaze eastward.
But Maroni wasn't a hot-headed kid. His factory was fortified, his men disciplined, and his ties to Commissioner Victor deep. Cases vanished, trials bent, and pressure mounted to free Jonathan Crane.
And in the middle of it all, Schiller quietly poured fuel on the fire—nudging each side closer to the brink.
The Gotham University president himself even joined the fray, confessing to Victor:
"That girl wasn't careful. She bragged about dating Bruce Wayne. When she came to me, I took her. With her as leverage, Wayne's heir will help us free Crane. He'll have no choice."
Victor frowned. "Over one woman? Wayne's a playboy, but he's not a fool. One fling isn't enough to bind him."
"We don't need his consent," the president replied coldly.
"You mean to kidnap Bruce? That's madness. Fail, and the Wayne family's retribution will be catastrophic."
The president smiled. "Who said we need Bruce Wayne? If he can't be controlled… he can always be replaced."