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The Godfather and the Gray Wolf – Part 01

Dawn of the next morning.

The phone roused the apartment caretaker from her sleep. Scratching her red hair, she rose sluggishly.

“14… Cranberry Street… Uh-huh? Fourth floor?”

After setting down the receiver, she cranked open the round window and tugged on the cord connected to the fourth-floor window. A bell tinkled above.

“Coming!” came the voice of the young and earnest East Asian man.

“A call from your sister!”

“From Ruri? I-I’ll be right there!”

“Kay…” She let out a yawn.

The sky retained the darkness of the night. The faint glimmer of the morning sun blended with the fading moonlight to cast a gentle glow on the roadside trees. The air was crisp. Another yawn escaped her lips.

A set of footsteps descended the stairs, followed by another, much slower. It seemed the woman was also coming down this morning, the first time in a few months since she moved in.

The door swung open. Kazuya rushed in and grabbed the receiver tight.

“Hello? Ruri? Why are you calling so early?”

“Something awful happened! Please come over right away!”

She said almost the same thing as she did yesterday.

“I’ll be right over,” Kazuya replied uneasily.

Victorique, still in her ruffled muslin nightgown, arrived a moment later.

The caretaker cast puzzled glances at both of them, wondering what was going on.

---

In the upscale residential area of Greenwich Village, the Mushanokouji family’s grand residence welcomed visitors with its majestic lion statue.

The speeding bicycle skidded to a halt, and Kazuya and Victorique dismounted. Victorique stumbled, but Kazuya caught her.

They hurried up the stone steps, and Victorique rapped on the door with her slender arm.

Ruri appeared, her face drained of color. She looked like a whole different person from yesterday.

“Kazuya, Victorique! I don’t understand how this happened!” She collapsed on the spot.

Helping Ruri up, they made their way down the hall and entered the bedroom at the back of the first floor. Normally, Rokushou would be curled up on the children’s bed, but this morning it lay empty.

The window had been shattered from the outside, shards strewn across the floor.

“He was gone when I woke up,” Ruri said, shaking. “Someone entered through the window and took Rokushou. But who, and why would they take him?”

Approaching the children’s bed, Kazuya noticed something gleaming silver on the pillow. He picked it up cautiously. Victorique let out a groan.

It was a bullet engraved with a banana.

Victorique’s lips quivered. “I didn’t expect them to come to this house.”

“Victorique, do you have a suspect in mind?” Ruri asked. Her face was deathly pale.

Victorique remained impassive, grappling with something internally. Kazuya answered bitterly in her stead.

“Yeah… Actually, Victorique received a case yesterday at the Gray Wolf Detective Agency from a man who seemed connected to the underworld. It has something to do with the Italian Mafia. When she turned it down, they threatened her like this.”

“They’re saying, ‘We use any means necessary,’” Victorique added quietly.

Ruri swallowed hard.

Kazuya, hoping to find Rokushou hiding somewhere, began searching under the bed, in the dresser and closet, behind the curtains, and even opened drawers. But there was no sign of Rokushou anywhere.

Afterward, they all gathered in the living room. Ruri sank onto the couch. Victorique stood frozen, unable to speak to Ruri, her face drained of color.

After a moment, Victorique whispered to Kazuya, “I know it’s early, but could you please call Nico? He should be familiar with Little Italy.”

Kazuya stepped away to make the call.

Holding a pipe in her mouth, Victorique studied the magazines and newspapers cluttered on the living room table. Her eyes gleamed coldly. Though her expression remained impassive, it was clear she was deep in thought, perhaps suppressing anger.

“What a dilemma,” Ruri said. “If the culprit is connected to the underworld, we can’t simply report them to the NYPD. There are too many rumors of their collusion with the Mafia. What should we do?”

Victorique agreed with her opinion.

Ruri lifted her gaze. “Victorique, do you know who the man is?”

Victorique remained silent. Moments later, she lifted a stack of newspapers. Kazuya returned to the living room.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at the man’s face through the car window,” Victorique said. Her voice seemed to rumble from the depths of hell. “But I recognize those eerie eyes. There’s no doubt about the man’s identity.”

She pointed to a photo of a man featured in newspapers, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, TIME, and Newsweek.

A man who was always featured with his left profile. Eyes as sharp as gun barrels. A large build and thick neck. Stylish fur hat with a fine red cashmere scarf.

Kazuya and Ruri exchanged looks. Victorique narrowed her emerald green eyes, sparkling like jewels, as she glared at the photo.

“The Godfather of Little Italy. A philanthropist and member of the Italian Mafia. Avenger and compassionate father.”

Kazuya and Ruri swallowed hard, their thoughts silenced.

“It’s Garbo Boss himself.”

“No way.” Ruri shook her head slowly. Her black hair rustled. “It can’t be. Garbo Boss is not someone you could just meet face-to-face. Yet he went to a private detective agency to see you? Why?”

Victorique, Kazuya, and Ruri exchanged tense looks.

---

Leaving the upscale Greenwich Village, they headed south on Manhattan Island, toward Little Italy.

As they rode, the elegant streets transformed into a colorful landscape reminiscent of an overturned toy box, bordered with reds and greens.

Victorique rode behind Kazuya on his old bicycle, while Nico, who had hurried over, rode alongside.

“Damn it, what’s happening?!” he cursed. “I’ve never heard of the Mafia kidnapping a civilian’s child!”

Beyond various establishments—cafés, restaurants, bars, markets, schools—rose a large Gothic-style church, its stained glass rose windows gleaming divinely. Crosses glistened atop spires.

As they neared a spacious lot dotted with tall trees, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Nico abruptly stopped in front of a plain four-story building across from the church. Kazuya parked his bicycle and gazed grimly at the building.

In contrast to the church, it had simple square windows enclosed by iron bars. Eerie fairy sculptures stood in the corners, but overall, it had a plain design, a time-worn building typical of the area.

A signboard reading “Italian Furniture Sculpture Import Association” hung at the entrance. The line of black boxy cars on the main street was somewhat concerning. At first glance, it appeared to be a typical, long-established furniture store.

“This is Garbo Boss’s office,” Nico said bitterly. “It looks like an ordinary furniture store, I know. When you open a store in Little Italy, it’s an unwritten rule to purchase overpriced furniture and tableware from here. The Sacco family’s restaurant had to do the same.” He was glaring at the building. “They run a furniture business by day, pay just a tiny bit of tax, and turn into gangsters at night. Rebecca’s mom says she can’t believe that young people of this city dream of doing the same thing. Me too… Actually, everyone in the Sacco family shares the same sentiment. There has to be a better dream out there, and that’s why I joined a newspaper company.”

“Hmm?”

“See how the main street is deserted? Everyone takes the back alleys. Even the pastor and the churchgoers from across the street sneak in and out through the back door every day. You could die from a stray bullet around here. If you go inside, you’ll be riddled with bullets in five seconds.”

Victorique toddled toward the building’s front entrance.

“Wait, didn’t you hear what I just said? Riddled with bullets in five seconds!” Nico raised a hand to stop her. “Hey, Kujou’s roommate! Why aren’t you paying attention? Kujou, stop her! You don’t wanna see a woman with bullet holes, do you?”

She wore a long dress, a blend of navy blue and burgundy cotton lace resembling a bouquet of flowers, topped with a white coat. A lace ribbon swayed at her chest. Her mini-hat resembled a red camellia in full bloom. The stilettos of her lotus-embossed boots clicked sharply with each step on the pavement.

The winter wind tousled her silver hair, and her stalwart visage took on a pale hue in the morning air.

Kazuya stared intently at Victorique’s small figure. He reached out his left arm to stop her, but changed his mind. Nodding to himself, he let go of the bicycle and followed after Victorique.

It was an instinctive choice, like water naturally flowing downhill.

His beloved old bicycle, which he maintained daily, crashed to the ground. But Kazuya didn’t even glance back or seem to care, as if the bicycle represented everything else in the world that wasn’t Victorique.

Kazuya’s jet-black hair stirred as he fell in beside Victorique. He positioned himself a little ahead of Victorique to protect her. They joined hands, hands that were cold as ice.

---

On the sidewalk, Nico stared at them with wide eyes as they entered through the double doors of the Italian Furniture Sculpture Import Association.

“Five, four, three,” he counted quietly, trembling. “Do you two wanna die here? You just recently came from all the way across the Pacific.”

Bang, bang, bang!

Multiple gunshots sounded near the door.

“Ah, shit. They’re dead!” Nico screamed, turning his back on the building.

As the guns fired, Kazuya instinctively shielded Victorique. After confirming the silence, he lifted his head. Wisps of smoke rose from the floor, sending shivers down his spine.

“It’s okay,” Victorique muttered hoarsely. “Those were only warning shots.”

“Yeah. But there are poor shots out there.”

Victorique chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.” Her voice, too, sounded tight.

Kazuya checked Victorique’s well-being, then looked around.

It was eerily dim. A four-story warehouse with an open central space, each floor divided into sections for tables, chairs, cabinets, tableware, vases, and paintings. Identical tables and chairs were stacked in large quantities.

Elaborate sculptures and plaster statues stood in every corner, apparently for sale. Semi-nude goddesses, old men with wings on their backs, golden unicorns—the kinds they had seen in front of restaurants and bars.

Simple but sturdy stairs led to the second, third, and fourth floors.

Black gun barrels protruded through the unadorned handrails, aiming at Victorique at Kazuya, who were standing at the entrance. Men in black suits also stood behind the sculptures, holding guns vigilantly.

Kazuya stood in front of Victorique protectively. She stifled a laugh.

“How can you laugh in this situation?!”

“I was simply reminded of something that happened many years ago.”

“Huh?”

“Do you remember the Queen Berry incident?”

“Yeah, I remember it clearly. But this isn’t the time for reminiscing. There are at least ten gangsters aiming banana machine guns at our heads! Those bullets can easily pierce through the human body… which means you’re not safe behind me either! What if something happens to you? Oh no! What should we do?!”

“Kujou.” Victorique glanced at Kazuya’s ashen face. “We’ve been together for quite a while, haven’t we? I even get sick of your presence sometimes.”

Kazuya fell silent. Then, in a calm tone, he said, “Well, our meeting was destined.” With the same straightforward and sincere gaze he’d had since he was younger, he stared back at Victorique, his one and only tiny master. “Fate led me to find you that day, a secret flower in the library tower, solely to protect you. Looking back, that was the happiest day of my entire life. I consider myself the luckiest man alive. I knew then that my duty would be a long one.”

“I understand. But you’re in my way at the moment, so please step aside.”

“What? Me? In your way? Why would you say that? You’re still as enigmatic as ever,” Kazuya grumbled quietly.

Receiving no response, he turned his head worriedly, only to find Victorique blushing and covering her cheeks with her small hands.

When she noticed his quizzical gaze, she hung her head even lower and turned away awkwardly.

“D-Don’t look at me!”

“What’s wrong? Your face looks weird. Let me see…”

“Get far away from me! Right now! To the opposite side of the world! Th-That’s an order!”

Victorique raised her leg and stomped on Kazuya’s toes with the pointed heel of her boot. Kazuya jumped, and the banana machine guns all stirred at once.

Bearing the pain, Kazuya circled around Victorique before stopping beside her once more. He collected himself and resumed his protective stance. Eyes on the floor, Victorique steadied her breath and inhaled deeply. Kazuya drew himself up and surveyed the surroundings warily.