Chapter 68: Sweet Highs, Accurate Mids, and Deep Lows

"Nonsense. Am I some kind of bad guy?"

"From a legal standpoint, sentencing you to a dozen years or so wouldn't be unjust at all."

"From a legal standpoint, sentencing Batman like that wouldn't be unjust either," Roland rolled his eyes. "There are some things that, while problematic from a legal perspective, morally..."

"I know. Trying to maintain order in this city while strictly adhering to the law is impossible, but I stick to my principles." Gordon's phone rang again. He shook his head helplessly and answered, "Hello..."

"Detective Gordon, hello there." On the other end of the line was an unfamiliar voice, surrounded by a murmuring commotion, as if from inside a banquet.

"Who is this?" Gordon asked, puzzled.

"I am Carmine Falcone."

"The Roman, what are you calling me for?" Upon hearing the other's identity, Gordon felt any trace of drunkenness vanish instantly.

"Just wanted to make a friend. I wonder if Detective Gordon would be willing to accept the friendship of the Falcone family?" Falcone's tone was gentle, devoid of even a hint of threat.

"I refuse."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You've made the wrong choice, but I'm still leaving the door open for you..."

Before Falcone could finish, Gordon hung up directly.

"Truly... a pity." Falcone sighed, listening to the dial tone on his phone, sounding genuinely regretful for Gordon.

"Dad, is something wrong?" Alberto Falcone asked as he walked over upon seeing this.

"It's nothing, just adult business. Alberto, you should be chasing pretty girls instead of frowning over matters that don't concern you..." Carmine Falcone smiled, pointing toward the focal point of the gala. "Look at Bruce, you should learn from him how to charm young women."

At the Gordon residence.

"It looks like they're going to make a move." Gordon put down the phone. He didn't for a second believe that Gotham's biggest mob boss would call him just to drop a couple of empty threats and let it end there.

"Probably in the dead of night," Roland said. "Don't worry, I'll keep the noise down as much as possible so we don't wake your son."

"That kid often wakes up in the middle of the night... and wails." Gordon shrugged. "Still, I've mastered the technique of lulling him back to sleep. It only takes half an hour to get him back under, so feel free to do whatever you like."

"Then I won't hold back." Roland nodded, glancing at Gordon's Bowers & Wilkins audio system. "Oh, the Nautilus speakers. Now that's a fine piece of equipment..."

Since its debut in 1993, the Nautilus loudspeaker has remained one of the top-tier speakers globally, celebrated for its exceptional sound quality and distinctive design. To minimize distortion and enhance acoustics, the designers adopted a matrix-crossover skeletal framework, ultimately shaping it like a nautilus shell, hence the name.

"Bruce gave that as a gift. You're not actually thinking of using that, are you?" Gordon froze. "The noise might just make Barbara kick both of us out."

"Cough... well, they aren't asleep yet, let me just listen to a bit..." Roland eyed the speakers with undisguised covetousness.

"Then I'll go ask my wife for permission."

"......Good luck."

Soon, rock music echoed through the Gordon household.

"There's a girl but I let her get away."

"It's all my fault cause pride got in the way."

"And I'd be lying if I said I was ok."

"About that girl the one I let get away."

"Highs are sweet, mids are accurate, lows are deep. In a word: transparent," Roland sighed, looking thoroughly blissed out.

Gordon emerged from the upstairs room. "Damn it, can't you play something cheerful? Barbara's practically crying."

"She's crying because of *you*, alright?" Roland said, mimicking the Joker's dance steps. "Even if I played 'Happy Days', nobody would be feeling joyous."

"Damn!"

"Go comfort your wife. If you don't know how, I can teach you," Roland offered.

"As if you have any idea how to comfort a wife." Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Needless to say, while I don't have a wife, I certainly know how to charm a girl," Roland said with absolute confidence. "The form doesn't matter; the key is sincerity."

"Shoo, shoo... I'd rather ask Harvey than you. He seems to have finally figured things out lately."

"Harvey? Can he compare to me?"

At the Grida residence.

After a grueling day at the psychological clinic, Grida opened her front door to find a pathway paved with rose petals.

"Oh..." Grida kicked off her shoes, stepped over the petals, and saw a sharply dressed Harvey sitting by the dining table waiting for her.

The table was set with candles, aromatherapy, red wine, cured ham, and a few pastries.

"You're a bit late today." Harvey stood up holding a glass of red wine and wrapped an arm around Grida's waist.

"So I figured... we should skip straight to the point." Grida picked up a wine glass, clinked it against Harvey's, and drained it in one go. "Is this the Latour from your collection? Is today some special occasion for you to pop this open?"

"Every day spent with you is special." Harvey took a sip from his own glass. "Cheers."

An hour later, Harvey lay quietly in bed contemplating life, wondering how his friends were doing in their romantic lives.

Bruce was a vagabond, never short of female company, yet no woman could ever truly tether his heart.

Gordon had been married for a while now, but he seemed incapable of balancing work and family... he himself used to be like that, though things were fine now.

Roland... heaven only knew what was going on in that head of his.

At the Gordon residence.

Several black-clad thugs holding firearms crept quietly up the stairs.

"This guy Gordon, still awake at this hour? Where did he even get the energy to pick a fight with us during the day?" one thug whispered, hearing the music, and asked with a puzzled frown.

"Probably can't sleep anyway. I heard his kid was just born; babies that age crying in the middle of the night is totally normal."

"You don't even have kids, why are you talking like you've got experience?"

"My younger brother was just like that when he was born, so what?"

"Shut up." Johnny Venti hissed a reprimand at his subordinates. "Gordon used to be a special ops soldier. His marksmanship and close-quarters combat are top-notch. Don't let your guards down, or Gordon will put a bullet through your heads."

"No way... there are so many of us."

"Yeah, and his wife and kid are right here. No matter how tough he is, can a woman who just gave birth and a baby under a year old fight back?"

"I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling about this." Johnny Venti frowned, gently picking the lock on Gordon's door with a piece of wire. He rolled inside, and seeing no one, gestured for the rest of the mobsters to crouch and enter behind him.

In the living room, the speakers were still playing music, but the moment they stepped inside, the track abruptly shifted to the next song.

As the upbeat intro of *Never Gonna Give You Up* rang out, the assembled gangsters were suddenly struck with the distinct sensation that they had walked into a trap.