Monday, January 2, 2017 – 9:59 AM – The Stromwell Residence, Gotham City, New Jersey, United States – Earth-0

Arnold Stromwell gripped the arm of his chair, and glared at the ringing phone. It was a very old dial phone, an antique dating back at least to the nineteen forties. There were only three people who knew the number, and they had similar phones of their own.

He reached over and wrapped his hand around the phone, lifting the handset to his head.

"Stromwell," he said.

"Arnold, is this a bad time?" said the voice on the other end.

It was exactly what, or rather who, Stromwell was afraid of: Carmine Falcone.

"Of course not, Don Falcone," said Stromwell.

"Arnie, please, there's no need for this formality. You can call me Carmine."

Stromwell swallowed.

"Of course, Carmine."

"I invite you to a riunione."

Stromwell took a deep breath. Dating back to the early days of Gotham's organized crime, a meeting was just a meeting, but a riunione was something more.

At one point, Gotham had 7 major crime families: the Falcones, the Maronis, the Zuccos (Italian), the Bertinellis (Sicilian), the Stromwells (German), the Rileys (Irish), and the Cobblepots (English).

The Falcones, Maronis, Zuccos, and Bertinellis created the riunione, hence the Italian name. It was a meeting of the bosses of each family on neutral ground, usually to discuss territory and business arrangements which affected everyone. The riunione was, for lack of a better word, sacred. It was not called for a frivolous reason, and if one of the bosses absolutely, positively could not be present, they would send the highest-ranking lieutenant available along with an apology.

The seven families eventually became four families. The Stromwells, Rileys, and Zuccos entered an alliance which was currently dominated by the Stromwells. Meanwhile the weakened Maronis began working for the Bertinellis in return for protection from the police. This was shortly before the Bertinellis died in a "tragic house fire" that left that fool Thorne in control of their organization.

"I would be glad to come, my friend. Where do you want to meet?" said Stromwell, voice shaking.

"O'Neil's, noon," said Falcone.

Monday, January 2, 2017 – 10:27 AM – GCPD Headquarters, Gotham City, New Jersey, United States – Earth-0

Flip.

The silver dollar came up heads. It wasn't surprising. Both sides were heads.

Flip.

Heads again.

Flip.

"Well?" Gordon asked.

Flip.

"One vigilante's testimony isn't enough to prosecute."

Flip.

"So we're just going to wait for him to strike?" O'Hara questioned.

Flip.

Dent shook his head.

Flip.

"We need to find Zucco and watch him. If we've got evidence, we bring him in."

Flip.

"I'm more concerned about the Batman," said Gordon, "He risked his own neck by coming here to help us."

Flip.

"Still a vigilante, and he's doing more harm than good."

Flip.

"How so?" O'Hara asked.

Flip.

"He's attacking the gangs. He's kicking the hornet's nest."

Flip.

"It's just making them angry. If he'd let us do our job, we could dismantle them carefully, without pissing them off."

Flip.

"Without Loeb to protect them, Thorne's organization is coming apart at the seams," Gordon pointed out.

Flip.

"Yeah, but Stromwell's getting more powerful, and Falcone's cleaning house. At this rate, he'll be untouchable by the time we've even started to deal with him."

Flip.

If only the way forward were as simple as a coin toss.

Monday, January 2, 2017 – 11:45 AM – O'Neil's Restaurant, Gotham City, New Jersey, United States – Earth-0

O'Neil's was a high-end restaurant in downtown Gotham. It was in the business district, outside any of the bosses' influence. The owner tended to ignore anything that went on in his restaurant, as long as his property wasn't damaged. It was the perfect meeting spot.

When Arnold Stromwell entered, he noticed that there were at least twelve men in dark suits and sunglasses seated facing a table near the back of the restaurant. Sitting at this table was the Roman himself.

He was tall, had a full figure without being overweight, had silver-white hair and a thin moustache, and always dressed impeccably. He was old enough to look distinguished, but was far from frail.

In most settings, Stromwell's short hair and brown suit would've looked quite formal, but next to the Carmine Falcone, he was downright dingy.

"Ah, Arnie, I'm glad you could make it. Please, sit down," said Falcone.

Technically, the Roman Empire had no particular authority over the other gangs, but they were by far the most powerful and could crush any boss who stepped out of line. Indeed, doing just this may have been the reason for the riunione.

As Stromwell did what he was told, a third man entered the restaurant. He was younger than Falcone or Stromwell, wore a pinstripe suit that was a little too big for him, and was chewing a toothpick.

Salvatore "The Boss" Maroni was a lieutenant of Rupert Thorne.

The Roman folded his arms and stared at Maroni as the latter slid into his chair.

"I take it Mr. Thorne could not be here," said the Roman.

"Unfortunately," said Maroni, who appeared to be holding back a smirk.

"Did he give an explanation?" Falcone questioned.

"Hey, I don't ask too many questions," said Maroni.

Falcone shook his head. Stromwell looked at Maroni. Rupert Thorne had just snubbed the Roman. This could get messy, and Stromwell was right in the middle of it.

His train of thought was interrupted by one last arrival.

The Cobblepots had always been outsiders among the gangs of Gotham. It was odd, since they'd been active in Gotham since the forties, but the other six families dated back to the twenties.

Of course, the Cobblepot family was a good deal older than that. They'd been powerful in London for decades, but lost almost everything in World War II. They moved to Gotham and rebuilt their empire. In recent years, their organization operated out of a nightclub called the Iceberg Lounge, bringing in most of their money as arms dealers.

Unfortunately, most of the family was dead. Indeed, the last one left was Oswald Chesterfield "The Penguin" Cobblepot. It was easy to see where he got his nickname. He was a short, portly man with a nose to put Cyrano de Bergerac to shame. Beyond this, while the other bosses were well-dressed, the Penguin wore an actual tuxedo, monocle, and top hat, which only added to the penguin-like image.

He was different from other Gothamite gangsters. He was flamboyant, egotistical, and deviously intelligent. In many ways, he was as much a showman as he was a criminal. He was also a wild card. The Roman, Stromwell, and Thorne all had their own unique politics between each other, but due to his status as an outsider, the Penguin was impartial. If a conflict erupted, there would be almost no way to predict Cobblepot's course of action. Thankfully, he preferred to play all sides and maintain balance, so as not to lose too many customers at once. At least, that's what Stromwell thought. One could never be too sure with Cobblepot.

So, when he stepped through the door, twirling a folded-up umbrella (odd – it wasn't raining outside), all eyes were on the Penguin. He hooked the umbrella's handle onto a hat rack near the bosses' table and plopped down into the last chair, clapping his hands.

"Gentlemen! I'm so glad to see you all here!"

He glanced at Maroni but said nothing. Falcone placed both hands on the table.

"Now that we're all here, we should see to business. Salvatore, am I to understand you are responsible for the Commissioner's arrest?"

Maroni adjusted his tie.

"I ain't responsible for the bat."

The Penguin cocked his head to the side.

"The bat? Mr. Maroni, are you saying you were foiled by the Batman?"

"Yeah, or some joker pretendin' to be him," said Maroni, "Your point?"

The Penguin chuckled his odd, birdlike laugh.

"Mr. Thorne ought to be more careful with such important documents," he said, shaking his head, "It's most unprofessional."

"Are you tryin' to say somethin', Cobblepot?" Maroni said, starting to get out of his chair.

Falcone lifted his hands in the air.

"Gentlemen, please. I'm merely concerned that Mr. Thorne's business could be damaged so severely by an urban legend. Besides, the commissioner is a friend of mine as well. I'm distressed to see him go. Regardless, after this happened, Mr. Stromwell chose to launch an unprovoked robbery of one of Mr. Thorne's companies."

Stromwell squeezed his chair. The topic of conversation had shifted to him, and he didn't like that.

"A clever move, Mr. Stromwell; you are to be congratulated," said the Penguin, nodding at Stromwell.

"Hey," said Maroni "What're you tryin' to pull here, bird?"

"I'm an opinionated man," the Penguin replied, "I do have a right to free speech."

"Then," said Falcone, trying to keep the conversation on track, "Mr. Stromwell's nephew proceeded to start multiple protection rackets in my territory. Do you care to explain this, Mr. Stromwell?"

"I didn't order it," said Stromwell, "I haven't spoken to Tony since ACE."

This was the truth. Stromwell was not dumb enough to interfere with the Roman. That level of stupidity could only be displayed by Tony Zucco. Stromwell just hoped the other bosses would believe it.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," said the Penguin, "I really don't know if I buy that story."

He turned back to Falcone.

"This is an insult to your authority. I wouldn't tolerate that, would you?" he asked

"What's your stake in this, Cobblepot?" Stromwell questioned.

Falcone interrupted any response the Penguin would've made.

"Mr. Maroni, Mr. Stromwell, there has remained for some time a very delicate balance between us. Your recent actions threaten to upset this balance. These acts are ones of incompetence and of hostility, two things which I cannot abide."

The Penguin leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. Stromwell adjusted his jacket. He didn't want any trouble, but at this point, it seemed like trouble had come to him. He had to stand up for himself.

"Tony acted without my knowledge. I'll deal with him. As for my other activities, I don't see why that's any concern of yours."

Maroni clenched his jaw and leaned forward, toward Stromwell.

"When you go steppin' outta line, it's all our concern."

The Penguin laughed.

"In troubled times such as these, we should support each other."

Stromwell glared at both of them, and decided to respond to Maroni first.

"And Mr. Thorne can't even be bothered to show up for the riunione. Am I the one who's out of line?"

"He does have a point," the Penguin said.

Maroni glared daggers at the Penguin. He slammed his hands on the table and stood up.

"That's it! I'm tellin' Mr. Thorne that you gone rogue, and when I do, that's war."

The Penguin turned back to Stromwell with the same smirk on his face.

"You'd best be prepared.'

Stromwell pushed his chair out from the table, got up, and stormed out of the restaurant.

Monday, January 2, 2017 – 12:13 PM – O'Neil's Restaurant, Gotham City, New Jersey, United States – Earth-0

The Roman narrowed his eyes at the Penguin.

"Why did you do that?"

"They go to war, they need guns, I get rich," said Cobblepot, adjusting his monocle, "They just needed a little push."

Falcone shook his head.

"You would start a war, upset the balance, for money?"

The Penguin grinned wickedly.

"Of course not. They're doing it for me."