Gordon had no words to offer. He didn’t even know if he should speak at all.

  Anyone with even a basic understanding of the situation could see it—she was far from normal. Batwoman and Brise’s identities were completely split, like two entirely different people. Every time a criminal was captured, she would always ugh and shout at Batwoman:

  "Dear Bat, you and I are the same!"

  "I understand you! We are of the same kind!"

  "You made me who I am! Hahaha!"

  And each time, Batwoman would remain silent, watching the criminal, battered and bruised, being hauled off to Arkham Asylum, without uttering a word. Then, with a flick of her cape, she would vanish into the darkness.

  No one knew what she was thinking, or what she would do next.

  Gordon should have seen it. Even a madman could figure it out. How could he not? The many insane freaks who had appeared in Gotham recently were drawn here by one of their own—by her.

  But on the other hand, Brise was someone he had watched grow up. He believed she would do the right thing. Gotham needed a force in the shadows to stop the spread of crime.

  However, today, Falcone had told him that he knew everything...

  The path Gordon had chosen was one he had foreseen. He had even arranged for backup.

  The Cobblepot family’s young dy—the Penguin—was supposed to handle the dirty work from the shadows. Today, it should have been her pying Batwoman’s role.

  "Look, Gordon, you're a man of integrity, and you can’t lie to me anymore. We both know Brise has lost her mind. Her personality is torn in two." Falcone said calmly, his voice not filled with triumph, but with endless regret.

  Gordon had chosen Batwoman back then to strike fear into Gotham’s dark forces. Compared to Penguin’s influence, she offered little help. Aside from the terror of the bat, there was nothing more.

  Gordon now knew—if Penguin took over, as the heir to one of Gotham’s ten families, her power would bring fear a thousand times greater than that of the Bat.

  Anyone in Gotham who had lived long enough to hear the names Falcone and the ten families would tremble in fear. Their bck terror was like true night itself.

  Penguin had known everything from the start. Falcone had already given her the pn. She had been biding her time, gathering power, waiting for the day Gordon would give up his partnership with Batwoman. Then, she would step forward and push things in the direction the Romans were hoping for.

  She made alliances with officials, built connections, and stocked up on weapons, all in preparation for this moment.

  To reshape Gotham into something new—a city governed by both light and darkness.

  If everything went according to Falcone’s pn, with Gordon representing the light and Penguin representing the darkness, Gotham’s board would have no room for other pieces. Everything would move forward according to Gordon’s ideal vision—a city of happiness, a dream city.

  Gordon wasn’t a fool. He knew where there was light, there was also darkness. Since darkness was inevitable, why not control it?

  But that would mean Gotham would remain a chaotic city of bck and white—just like ancient Rome. It would transform from the dictatorship of a Caesar to a republic of the Senate. It wouldn’t be much different.

  Rome would still be Rome.

  "No. That’s still your Gotham, not mine. A city run by the mob will eventually fall!" Gordon shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. He had his own principles and didn’t want to have anything to do with the underworld.

  "Yes, I understand your thoughts. You've worked hard all these years, even though Gotham has only gotten worse," Falcone consoled him, pouring more wine into his gss. "Under your watch, the daytime security has improved, and the government’s integrity has gone up. The only problem is at night. Cobblepot has disappointed me."

  Gordon frowned. People who disappointed Falcone never ended well. History had proven that much.

  But Falcone didn’t linger on that topic. He set his gss down and cpped his hands lightly, calling to the door. "Sophia, you can come in now."

  The familiar woman entered the room. She removed her felt hat, and her long bck hair cascaded like a waterfall. She looked at Gordon, sitting quietly on the sofa, before walking over to stand next to Falcone.

  "Let me introduce you," Falcone smiled, patting her hand. "This is Sophia Falcone, my youngest daughter. You've never met her before, because she was studying in Europe." He beamed with pride. "Though it might upset some people, Sophia is the most talented of my children."

  Gordon looked at her face. He hadn’t paid much attention before. She was always talking about "the boss" and "our boss," so Gordon had assumed she was just a high-ranking enforcer—a position Gotham had plenty of.

  But now, under the light, the only word that came to mind was "femme fatale."

  She still wore that smile, but it was cold, with an edge of something darker, more twisted than her father’s commanding presence.

  Gordon shifted his gaze back to Falcone, speaking with a hint of sarcasm, "No need for introductions. We’ve already met. She’s... very enthusiastic."

  "Oh? Is that so?" Falcone raised an eyebrow, turning to his daughter with a smile. "How’s your retionship with Commissioner Gordon?"

  "Of course, Father. Commissioner Gordon is a great man," Sophia cooed sweetly, her voice dripping with false innocence. But her eyes, those eyes, they were full of meaning as they lingered on Gordon.

  "After everything is settled, she will assist you in rebuilding Gotham. No more Cobblepot. From now on, the Falcone family will be your backbone."

  "Wait, what do you mean, after everything?" Gordon caught the unsettling note in his words. He couldn’t understand Falcone’s meaning. "What new Gotham?"

  Falcone closed his eyes, tilted his head as if reminiscing. Then he quickly fshed an apologetic smile.

  "Oh, didn’t I say? Ah, you know, when you get older, you start to forget things... Well, dear Gordon, do you know where we are?"

  "Where? The sewers of Gotham? Or an abandoned asylum?" Gordon stared at the firepce, then gnced at the ceiling.

  Falcone raised his right hand, pinching his thumb and forefinger together in a small gap, shaking his head in regret.

  "Close, but not quite. You really don’t understand Gotham, do you? What you see as darkness is just a thin yer of seaweed floating on the surface of a vast, deep ocean... But that’s okay. This is something for our families to handle."

  "Where are we?"

  Gordon’s gaze hardened. He had had enough of this guessing game, enough of feeling maniputed.

  Falcone leaned back in his chair, as if enjoying the warmth of a winter afternoon by the firepce. He smiled contentedly.

  "Indian Hill, Gordon. We’re at Indian Hill."