Gordon found himself speechless, unsure if he should even respond. Deep down, he already knew the truth.
Anyone with a slight understanding of the situation could see it—she wasn't normal. Batwoman and the woman Bruce Wayne appeared to be two entirely different people, as if they had been severed into separate entities.
Even Joker, every time he was captured, would cackle at Batwoman, taunting her:
"Dearest Bat, we're just the same!"
"I know you! We're two sides of the same coin!"
"You made me what I am! Hahaha!"
And in those moments, Batwoman would silently stare, watching as Joker, bloodied and beaten, was dragged into an Arkham Asylum transport van. She never said a word. She'd simply vanish into the shadows, her cape flicking as she disappeared into the night.
No one knew what went through her mind. No one knew what her next move would be.
And if a raving lunatic like Joker could see it so clearly, how could Jim Gordon not? The reason Gotham was attracting so many twisted freaks was because it already had one of their own living among them—a beacon, calling out to them.
Yet on the other hand, Bruce Wayne was someone Gordon had watched grow up. He believed Bruce—deep down—was still trying to do the right thing. And Gotham needed that force in the darkness to stem the tide of crime.
But today, hearing all of this from Falcone... it shattered something in him. Falcone knew everything.
The path Gordon had chosen for Gotham, the path to justice and order—it wasn't one of his own making. Falcone had anticipated it long ago. He'd even set things in motion, laying out Gordon's allies in the shadows.
Oswald Cobblepot, better known today as Penguin, should have been the one to handle Gotham's underworld, working in the shadows to manage the city's darker elements. She was supposed to play the role Batwoman now held.
"Look at you, Gordon. You're an honest man. You can't even lie to me anymore," Falcone said quietly, his tone almost tender, as if speaking to an old friend rather than a rival. "We both know Bruce is broken. Her mind split clean in two."
Years ago, Gordon had chosen to ally with Batwoman, believing she could serve as a deterrent against the city's criminal underworld. But in hindsight, he realized now that compared to what Penguin could have offered, Batwoman had only provided one thing: fear.
And while fear was potent, it was nowhere near as terrifying as the weight that the Cobblepot family could have brought down on Gotham.
Anyone who had lived in Gotham long enough knew the power that Falcone and the ten ruling families held over the city. Even hearing their names was enough to send chills down a person's spine. It wasn't just fear—it was the feeling of being swallowed whole by the darkness, by something far more sinister than the Bat's shadowy tactics.
Penguin had always known this. Falcone had made sure of it. She had been biding her time, waiting patiently for the right moment, ready to step in when Gordon inevitably grew tired of working with Batwoman. Once that happened, Penguin would offer herself as the solution Falcone always intended her to be.
And while waiting, she had built connections with Gotham's politicians, stockpiled weapons, and made deals. She was preparing for the day when the city would need to be rebuilt, when Gotham would be shaped into the new vision of Rome that Falcone had always dreamed of.
A city where both the law and the criminal underworld coexisted peacefully—a Gotham governed by both light and dark.
If everything had gone as Falcone had planned, Gordon would have governed the city by day, while Penguin kept the darkness in check at night. The chessboard would have been cleared of all other players, leaving only white and black pieces. Gotham could have evolved into the city of Gordon's ideals, a place where safety and peace were not a dream but reality.
But that city would have been nothing more than a new Rome. It would have been the same old city, just with a fresh coat of paint, where the names changed but the power remained the same.
Rome would still be Rome.
"No. That's not the Gotham I want. A city run by crime will always fall," Gordon said, shaking his head, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He had his principles, and they would never align with Falcone's vision.
"I know what you're thinking, Jim." Falcone's voice softened, his gaze almost paternal. "I've watched you closely all these years. I know how hard you've worked. And yes, Gotham's gotten worse—far worse. But under your watch, things have improved during the day. The city's government has cleaned up its act. It's the nights that remain the problem. And Cobblepot... well, she's been a disappointment."
Gordon frowned. In his experience, anyone who disappointed Falcone never fared well. History had shown that time and again.
But before Gordon could respond, Falcone clapped his hands gently and called out to the door.
"Sofia, come in."
The door opened, and a familiar woman stepped into the room. She removed her wide-brimmed hat, letting her long black hair cascade over her shoulders. She gave Gordon a brief glance before quietly walking over to stand beside her father.
"Allow me to introduce you," Falcone said with a smile, patting the woman's hand affectionately. "This is Sofia Falcone, my youngest daughter. You wouldn't know her; she's been studying in Europe. But between you and me, she's the most capable of all my children."
Gordon looked at her closely. Up until now, he hadn't paid much attention to her. She had always referred to 'the boss,' and Gordon had assumed she was just another one of the many lieutenants in Gotham's criminal world—a foot soldier among thousands.
But now, under the soft light of the room, he could see her for what she truly was: a femme fatale, a dangerous beauty. She smiled that same cold smile, one that never reached her eyes. Compared to Falcone's steady, controlled presence, she had a wild edge, an underlying madness.
Gordon forced himself to look away, shooting a glance at Falcone. "No need for introductions. We've already met. She's very... enthusiastic."
"Is that so?" Falcone's brow arched in amusement. He turned to his daughter with a smile. "And how was your time with Commissioner Gordon, my dear?"
"Oh, Father," Sofia replied sweetly, her voice dripping with false innocence. "The commissioner is quite the gentleman."
Falcone chuckled and raised his glass, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.
"She'll be helping you, Jim. She'll assist in creating the new Gotham, one where the Falcone family stands behind you. No more Cobblepot. From now on, the Falcones will be your allies."
Gordon blinked. "Wait. What do you mean, after everything? What 'new Gotham'?"
Falcone leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple like a man searching his memory. After a brief pause, he sighed apologetically.
"Ah, did I not mention that part? Forgive me, Jim. When you get to be my age, it's easy to forget things. So, my dear friend, do you know where you are right now?"
Gordon narrowed his eyes, staring at the fire, then back at the ceiling.
"The sewers under Gotham? Or maybe an abandoned asylum?"
Falcone shook his head, lifting his hand, the distance between his thumb and forefinger showing only a sliver of space. He smiled sadly.
"Close, but not quite. You see, Jim, you've never really known Gotham. Not truly. The darkness you see, the evil you've fought, is only the surface—the weeds growing on top of the city. But there's so much more beneath, layers you were never meant to understand. That's for us—the families."
Gordon stood, his patience fraying. "Enough! Where the hell are we?!"
Falcone stretched, almost as if relaxing in the warm sun, enjoying the comfort of a pleasant day by the fire. His smile widened.
"We're at Indian Hill, Jim. Welcome to Indian Hill."