Stefano carefully leafed through the pages of the Fucking Newspaper's last edition. He still had utmost respect for Wagner (God bless his soul), and he's now wondering what glorious street masterpiece would transpire next. The wheels of the Mob Truffle stopped for now, not because of finances or dry ideas, but due to something profound. Something deep.

As he finished reading the paper, Stefano snapped back to reality. The door chimes rang, signifying the arrival of a customer. Stefano doesn't want to do business yet, but money is money. Who doesn't like that green fazool? He made a quick mental scan of the new weapon arrivals for his business. Ammo stock, good. Revolvers, going low. Hair gel, going low. Miniature collectible statue of Uncle Joe Ligambi, very limited supply.

The Crown Prince saw the one who entered. Not a customer. A skinny guy in an awkward brown vest and black pants - the harbinger of death, perhaps. Immediately, Stefano knew. The visitor is none other than Thaddeus McLovin - gung ho businessman and political puppeteer of all sorts. A real stand-up guy.

"Alas, the baron has come." Stefano stood up and offered his hand. "What do you have for me?"

"Information." McLovin shook Stefano's hand. "But I'm fuckin' hungry, got some food there?"

Stefano stared at McLovin for a second. Afterwards, he headed to the backroom and checked out a small food table. There's nothing much: a plate of greasy fries, a half-finished burger, and a bottle of beer. Kinda lame, Stefano thought. Still, he took the plate of fries and came out. 

"Feed!" Stefano said as he handed the plate to McLovin; the latter happily took what's offered and dug in. 

"So, here's the thing. My guys told me that Don Bongiorno is here in Chicago for business purposes. Perhaps he's planning to expand his operations after we slew his point man here. Prepare your shit. He might go after you, so you gotta move fast."

Stefano felt the bile of doom clouding his mind. Emilio Bongiorno must die, Stefano spoke internally. Despite the claws of vengeance hooking him in, Stefano is aware that he must be patient. A meticulous plan is needed to finally clip Bongiorno.

"Where is he staying?"

"Gold Eagle Tower - his usual base of operations. That, we are certain." McLovin replied.

"You know, Thaddy, I'm convinced about a lot of things in this world. But still, I don't know why would Emilio betray my father. They were great friends, and their alliance became the sole foundation of Corleone. Both our families...we were untouchables."

"Things change. Priorities come and go. You know how many families were wiped out here, right? Betrayal, part of the game. Create your plan, buddy. I'm going to help you all the way."

Stefano nodded. "This won't be easy. If I'm no mistaken, the Three Dukes are still alive. They'll protect Emilio with their last breaths."

"So you have to draw them out. One by one. Like moths to the fucking flame."

"Let's be careful about this. Meet me tomorrow at Vinnie's. I know how to bait these Dukes. I know how to bring them to their knees."

Thaddeus agreed. Stefano's mind spiraled into a haze of thoughts. The Three Dukes are not basic enforcers that any mafioso can whack. They know how to play the game of murder, deceit, politicking, and utter violence. But it's now or never - Emilio Bongiorno must die. 

The wheels of blood and self-imposed justice must turn.

Fill the Fucking Cup With Your Blood

The meeting was brief but full of valuable details. Thaddeus McLovin, as resourceful as ever, pulled all of his strings to gather information about the Three Dukes operating in Chicago. It was not easy, and Thaddy had to shell out 500-g's, fresh from his savings account. Since Stefano is a dearly loyal friend, Thaddy decided to let it pass. Maybe he'll ask for the Crown Prince's help someday; after all, business is still business. 

The First Duke is none other than Vito Masseria, the legendary 'Savage Butcher'. Masseria started out as a local butcher and cattle rustler, until he managed to find work under the tutelage of Emilio Bongiorno. He worked diligently, just like a butcher's knife carving through lean meat. He knew how to bide his time. Finally, when it was time to make his bones, he delivered the job near-perfectly. The target was a Carabinieri captain named Ezio Falcone. Now, attacking a captain is a suicide job. Almost immediately, such violence leads to a region-wide crackdown which can cripple many Mafia clans. But this was a different case - Falcone is a scumbag, and he had been courting death because of his shrewdness, double-crossing, and pointless emotional outbursts.

And so, Emilio Bongiorno took the risk. He gave the job to Masseria, and it took him less than 12 hours to do it. Falcone fought valiantly along with his retinue, but they were all cornered by Masseria. It ended badly for Falcone - gouged eyes, disembowelment, slashed throat, and lots of blood for everyone to see. Masseria was savage, indeed. A crackdown followed, but Don Bongiorno threw off red herrings, diverting the angry Carabinieri to other less powerful clans. Without those clans, Sicily has a greater breathing room. 

From then on, Vito Masseria was feared. Despite his graying hair and mellowing eyes, he's as strong as a bull, but very gentle to children. A classic textbook gentle giant. 

Stefano held great respect for the tale of Masseria. That's why he needs to kill him with respect as well. Thanks to McLovin's lead, Stefano found Masseria's discrete apartment, just two blocks away from Vinnie's. So convenient, but very dangerous. The Crown Prince felt his heart thumping like crazy. There's no guarantee that he'd get out of this mission alive. Still, it must be done. Today. No other moment because Masseria is an old hawk - a vigilant hunter who's aware of the game of death. 

As Stefano got out of his car, he prepared for the worst. The Savage Butcher's room is two flights up - not too high, so the chance for escape is somehow great. Stefano almost hesitated. Go home fucker, his mind shouted. But then, he remembered the downfall of his Family. He remembered his father. He remembered the bitter and harrowing truth that EMILIO MUST DIE.

Stefano Cavelli, bearing the weight of his vengeance and memories, entered the old and musty apartment. Somehow, he wondered why would Masseria pick a shitty place to stay in. Despite his riches, fame, and connections. Despite his tale aged by time. Still, a man's choice is a man's choice. Stefano refocused - one wrong drift and the Savage Butcher might get ahead of him. He smiled at few tenants, waited for them to leave, and climbed with utmost care.

Climb like you mean it. Climb like your life depended on it.

Alas, after what seemed like eternity, Cavelli finally stood in front of Masseria's room. The numbers '203' were etched on the door, as if inviting the Crown Prince to burst in and spread chaos. 

And chaos indeed! Stefano kicked the door - with the force of a thousand heartbreaks - and brandished his Luger pistol at the same time. As the door flew open, the room materialized. Like a predator searching for the kill, Stefano hunted the presence of the Savage Butcher. None. Not a mere fucking shadow. Was the information wrong? He saw nothing but a couch, a coffee table, and a few unopened boxes on the floor. 

Stefano turned his attention to an adjacent door. He waited. He knew Masseria was there. Moments later, the door creaked open and out came a buffed old man in a messy undershirt. 

Masseria!! Time to shoot, Cavelli pondered - but something stopped him.

"I knew this day would come." Vito Masseria spoke in a low, almost authoritative voice. "Every killer in this world deserves something. I've killed lots of men, and I'm comfortable with the fact that I'll die this way. You grew up, Stefano."

"I will make this quick. But spare me the time. Tell me the current whereabouts of Emilio."

Masseria laughed. "He's in Gold Eagle, but good luck with that. The moment you kill me, I want you to understand that the river of life will flow, and you will die as well. You're a mafioso - we're all bound to die."

"I've done good business with you, Vito. The fruit stands, the shops, we shook them up even for a short while."

"True." Masseria smiled, as if remembering a distant memory. "Your father was a great man, but the business in our world is always changing. Dead on. We just go with the flow."

"Only a dead fish goes with the flow." Stefano aimed.

Vito Masseria nodded. Only a dead fish goes with the flow. And the flow right now is to die. Am I just going to die without a fight? Will this ambitious young fucker run over me? These questions swirled around the old mafioso's mind. 

Quickly, like a bolt of lightning against a lone tree stump, Masseria dashed to the side. Stefano reacted, stepped back, and fired his pistol few times. The first bullet missed, but the second caught poor Masseria on the throat.

The Savage Butcher inched slowly, ever slowly, to the wall. He tried to cover the blood rushing out from his bullet wound. It was okay for a second or two, but he can now feel the crimson tide of death. A sheet of coldness enveloped his body...

"Finish...it...always finish the job." Masseria spoke with difficulty.

"Rest now, old man." Stefano said, and pulled the trigger one last time.

The gunshot echoed in the whole room. The bullet, always ready for the kill, bored deep onto Masseria's thick skull. He twitched for a while, and suddenly went limp. The Savage Butcher is no more.

Stefano Cavelli walked out like a gentleman. One victory. It's not enough, but it's something to be proud of. But it's almost a giveaway! What happened to the viciousness of Masseria? Did he mellow with age? 

As Stefano drove to the next location, his mind shifted to the Second Duke. The Venom Fox. The Queen of Trickling Death. Oh, how can Stefano forget her face? She who tried to kill him many times. She who always messed around with his businesses.

She, the fucking She, who almost tried to capture the Crown Prince's heart.

She must die.

She, Remembered

Stefano scoured the whole city for his next target: The Venom Fox. He wanted to forget about her, but the memory is strong. Especially now that Emilio Bongiorno is so close. Very, very close. Stefano remembered the Venom Fox's scent, the glossy but smooth jet-black hair, and those eyes that can murder anyone. Where are you now? Stefano muttered - as if the Venom Fox's presence is just nearby.

Her name is Leora Eisenbrave. Such a unique name for a harbinger of death. When Stefano learned the secrets of racketeering, he met the nimble and graceful Leora. She's already known in the underworld as a professional death-dealer - an assassin with a massive, ultranational scale. Somehow, the Crown Prince was smitten; he did everything to catch Leora's attention. 

Finally in Palermo, Leora gave in - the two of them shared three nights, away from responsibilities. Away from everything.

Stefano remembered Leora's tales. Her forsaken childhood, her distaste for Italian food, her acrobatic bed moves.

Spit on my mouth!! She muttered on night one. 

Don't you dare pull that out!! Her hushing, moaning prayer on night two.

Oh my Gooood!! You're inside meeeeeeee. Finally, her litany on night three.

And as Stefano woke up, eager to greet the Palermo sun, Leora vanished. Out of his life. Out of his misery. Out of his goddamn, half-forsaken, half-shattered journey. He spent days searching for her, venturing in the territories of the Leggios, Provenzanos, Inzerillos, and Barzinis. Nothing. It's as if she's a fading moment encapsulated by passion and desire. After composing himself, Stefano left Palermo and refocused on business.

And now, he is tracking her. Not for a night of love-making or catching up, but for death. The Crown Prince will deal death to the death-dealer. It felt wrong; it felt like bile mixed with whiskey.

Stefano stopped his car. He breathed heavily. From the rear mirror, he caught - for half a second - sight of the bloodied apparition of the Savage Butcher. A taunt? Or he's losing his grip on reality? With force, Stefano slammed the steering wheel. Once. Twice. 

Emilio must die.

After such tirade, Stefano resumed his drive. He passed by a couple of blocks until he reached small, almost unnoticed chapel. According to McLovin, this is Leora's temporary bastion. Stefano checked his pistol - loaded. He also sheathed a small ornamental dagger, the one gifted to him by the bounty hunter, Leman Russ. Quickly, he got out and proceeded to the chapel. He's ready to spread mayhem.

There were few civilians inside the chapel. They eyed Stefano, like some sort of a beast from the gaping maw of Hell. He proceeded to the altar, gazed at the marble saint looking down on him. He sat on the front bench and waited. 

"Let's escape. Let's leave everything behind...you and me...we can emigrate to Poland or whatever." Stefano remembered Leora's words.

Oh, how he hated that memory! How he hated the fact that he remembered. 

Stefano gazed to his right. Something moved beside him. He realized that almost all civilians left, save for an old man who's just staring ahead. 

"Stefano." A sweet, milky voice echoed. And a cocking sound. "Darling, stand up...and drop your weapon."

Stefano's heart raced upon hearing the sound of Leora's voice. It was threatening, but he'll pay a million bucks to hear it again.

"You caught me." Stefano turned and saw the beauty of the Venom Fox. The scarlet dress suits her, and her eyes are concealed by a gold-brimmed summer hat. Dropping his weapon, Stefano moved back slowly. He raised his hands as Leora inched closer.

"I have eyes everywhere, Stefano. I know your game. We just heard Masseria is dead. Our guys are scrambling and ready to bring chaos to everything important to you. You intend to kill me, right?"

"You left me. And you worked for the scumbag who killed my father. I should slash your throat, mi amor."

Leora giggled. "My twiddledum is hurt. I didn't forget you, Stefano. I just need to make something for myself. A girl's gotta dream, right?"

Twiddledum? Stefano almost cringed. "Listen, just tell me how to reach Emilio, and I'll let you go. You can hunt me later."

Leora pressed her pistol onto Stefano's forehead. She bit her lower lip. "This is hot, you know."

"Leora, I work for a powerful man. He might employ your services. Emilio...he's a dying, lost breed. His enterprise is doomed to fall."

"Even if I take you to him, there's no guarantee about my survival!" Leora raised her voice. "You leave. I'll give you a head start."

"I'll ask Uncle Joe to protect you," Stefano's hand twitched. He wanted to disarm Leora. "We can start -

"Cut the crap! I choose my destiny. And I choose to work for Bongiornos."

"Fine. If there's no more shred of longing in that flesh of yours, shoot me. I'm done."

Leora pondered deeply. She took a deep breath and readied herself to pull the trigger. That was the sign - Stefano pushed Leora's hand away, and quickly dashed in for an arm-lock. The lady lost the pistol, but she reacted by kneeing Stefano's hip. 

The Crown Prince reeled in pain, but he can't lose focus. One second of delay would mean sure death! He took out his dagger, and Leora did the same. Now, two warriors are ready to face each other.

"It shouldn't end like this!" Stefano roared. "I don't want to kill you!"

The warriors locked eyes. Their emotions swirled, just like the intermingling of galaxies and nebula zones prior to creation. Their hearts pounded. With a hidden pact, they dropped their knives and rushed towards each other. Their lips clasped, tongues fought, and saliva fluids exchanged. Leora lifted her dress, and Stefano dropped on top of her. Right on the chapel floor, their souls mingled.

Stefano came, and Leora followed - a rhythmical symphony which underscored their desires and ideals.

"I must leave..." Leora muttered, recomposing herself amidst her sweat. "You have approximately three hours before Emilio leaves the city. Last I checked, he's in his suite, mulling over a large coffee deal or whatever. A group of Jews is with him."

"Jews? He wants to take over the world now?"

Leora smiled and got up. Before she can walk away, she saw finely dressed gentlemen entering the chapel. Emilio's goons, she thought.

Stefano, on the other hand, came to his senses. He counted five or six men, spearheaded by someone menacing. Menacing, but remarkably familiar. It can't be, Stefano thought. He gazed at Leora, but she just took a deep sigh.

The leader of the group is a bulky fat man in a green suit. Flashy with a swag. He scanned the room like a feudal lord eyeing his domain. His eyes stopped at Stefano and Leora.

"The Crown Prince has come!" The fat man extended his arms and tilted his head up. "This is a fine moment indeed."

"Impossible!" Stefano said. "But you're dead! You've been dead for years!"

"Am I?" The fat man walked, each step heavier than the last. He gestured for his men to step back. 

Stefano wanted to pinch himself. Could this be a dream? How can someone rise from the fucking grave? 

But the truth is clear now - his old acquaintance and business partner is alive.

Nurgle is fucking alive. 

Endgame

"You're not seeing a ghost, Crown Prince." The man named Nurgle spoke. "I'm here in person, and ready to do business."

Stefano's mind was spinning. He shot quick glances at Leora, but the latter can't look straight. Still, she retained her goddess-like composure. 

"We can talk about this later, Papa N, but I have something to finish...the last Duke...and Emilio..."

Nurgle guffawed - it was a boisterous laughter from the pits of Hell. He laughed like a madman, bearing the pains and deaths of this world. His eyes shone, calculating, and with a glint of honeyed sweetness. He's like the doting father ready to take care of his own.

"You don't understand, kid." Nurgle said. "I am the LAST DUKE."

A great wave of searing thunder overcame Stefano. The last duke is Nurgle? He is a minion of fucking Emilio Bongiorno? What happened to his honor? These questions grated Stefano's mind - like coin against a rough pebble. For Stefano, this is sheer betrayal. Thaddeus McLovin believed in Nurgle. He was Nurgle's number one point man. And Stefano believed in Thaddy. 

"Don't drag Thad here, Stefano. He's not aware that I work for Emilio. His information superpower falls short on my identity. I know this would happen someday. How I escaped the carnage of Detroit, I don't know myself. It was pure luck. A small family took care of me, and I waited for the right moment. Finally, when I was strong, Emilio Bongiorno contacted me. The rest is history..."

"So, what's the plan now Nurgle? You gonna betray Don Bongiorno?" Leora said, with a hint of mockery.

"To tell you honestly, Emilio is losing one business opportunity after another. His family is no longer the powerhouse it once was. His business here in Chicago - it's for survival, not expansion. Sooner or later, someone will get to him."

"And it must be you, darling." Leora turned to Stefano.

"How can I trust you, Nurgle? Your men are positioned outside, ready to gun me down." Stefano said.

"Trust is a game of duality. Those guys...they're on my payroll. They're loyal to me. They're loyal to Chicago."

Stefano understood. No, he half-understood. Nurgle has his reasons. Leora has her reasons. Every career criminal must deal with something, whether it's vengeance or a business goal. For now, Stefano is certain: Emilio must die.

Swiftly, he took off. He's more than ready to deliver the hot rod of vengeance. Leoluca Cavelli must be avenged.

Don Emilio Bongiorno tried to comb his thinning, balding hair. He saw weakness in the reflection, but he felt prouder than ever. His future business with the Jews will herald a new beginning for the Bongiorno Family. After all, the books are getting low. Dozens of button men are getting removed from the once-massive Bongiorno payroll. Global war is also brewing. Potentially, this could affect business, but a Mafioso needs to stay tight and vigilant. 

All his life, Don Bongiorno was careful. His greatest regret was when he betrayed Leoluca Cavelli - his best friend. It gnawed at his heart, even though he became rich. Don Bongiorno also had to keep a firm eye over Stefano Cavelli, heir to the Cavelli throne. He could have him killed, but he can't do that. Somehow, he had to amend. The sins of an old man, Emilio thought. Though peace was impossible, Emilio pulled a few of his strings. He paid Leora a fortune, with the sheer intention of holding her back and rekindling her flame with Stefano. The lady was objective, and she can kill Stefano in a whim, but she took the money nonetheless.

And Nurgle, how can Emilio forget about this double-dealing fat businessman? Emilio knew that Stefano would undo him, and this is the fate of things. Why not leave something for the Crown Prince? So, the Don connived with Nurgle regarding the creation of a special investment fund. Just a simple payment for years of trouble.

Stefano must die. But not now. Not this day.

When Don Emilio Bongiorno stepped out of his regal bedroom, he saw Stefano outside. The Crown Prince is seething in anger, breathing hard, and with a heavy Tommy Gun on hand. He aimed. Emilio straightened and waited with a last dash of honor.

The gun bellowed, full of rage, full of hatred. In just seconds, Don Emilio Bongiorno, Patriarch of Bongiorno Family, was no more.

Stefano gazed at the mangled corpse for a while, muttered a silent prayer, and walked away. 

It was vengeance remembered, and - ultimately - vengeance delivered.