Prelude

The evening air is embedded with electricity, excitement and human fallacy. The streetlights fill the void that is the darkness. Sounds of car horns, sirens, chattering, laughter and upbeat jazz music. It smells like money, a smell that is synonymous with Las Vegas’ exhaust fumes, sweat infused gambling floors, and layered on cheap perfume; enticed to draw in a more expensive taste.

“Hey Kid”, calls out a youthful mono-toned voice. You look up to see one of the strip’s best dressed street enforcers; Danielli Rimhea, a connected guy in the Calico family. You’ve been taken under his wing in the hope that one day you can prove your worth to the Las Vegas crews. Danielli, leaning back with arms folded, one leg resting, flat footed on the wall behind; takes his thumb and index finger up toward his lit cigarette, extending out his other three fingers as he takes one last drag before flicking it to the ground.

“Walk with me kid. I have some business to take care off”. You quicken your step to keep up with the clean cut but strikingly imposing tall build of a man. You feel like you’re finally going to see some action after months of being kept out of the business, and being told not to ask questions, do what you’re told and never rat on your friends.

“I gotta’ go to this new place up on Summerlin. The guy is from the old country, my old country that is; he’s Irish. Just opened shop over by 10^thavenue, so we’re going to pay him a little visit, maybe exchange a ‘sláinte’ like back in the old country, and then politely offer my services to ensure his new business stays open. Everybody’s a winner kid”.

You feel nervous; an uneasiness grows in your stomach. You feel like you want to go in there like Al Capone, guns blazing, but that wouldn’t go down well with the upper structure, so you think of another plan. ‘How can you prove to Danielli you have what it takes to go far in this life?’, You think to yourself. You wonder about this Irish guy, ‘is he dangerous?’, ‘Will he fight back?’, ‘should I be packing?’, suddenly Danielli snaps his fingers in your front of your eyes. “Hey kid, you awake?, I want you to be sharp, y’hear me?, no fuck ups today, just keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you. This is a piece of cake, don’t worry too much”.

Danielli continues walking down the street, he has a swagger about him. His stride is full of vigour and commands respect. You’ve lost count of the amount of people who have waved at him or have said “Good evening, Mr. Rimhea, please tell Don Mastrosimone that we send our respects”, and a few visibly shaken poor schlubs have pleaded with Danielli to give them one more week or to reiterate that they haven’t forgotten the agreement. Danielli unfazed by such pitifulness just nods while slowly closing his eyes in acknowledgement each time.

Continuing down the boulevard, Danielli turns to you, “These people are hardworking chumps. If they don’t cause problems for me, I don’t make problems for them. If they stick to their end of the deal, then everything will be smooth sailing. I don’t like to intimidate the weak, I like to put fear into the mistaken. Then they will never be mistaken again, because one mistake is enough to make them see their error, and colt .45 is enough to make certain that they see their error.”

You arrive at the new business on the street, “Mick’s Butchers”. Danielli stops at the door, peers through the glass pane intently, “Okay, you stay here and keep an eye out. Don’t come in unless I call you. No one is to be allowed in”, Danielli enters the shop premises, the sound of a bell perched atop the door rings out. “Sorry fella’ we’re closing up now”, says a thick Irish voice from inside. You watch as Danielli stops in his stride, “Huh”, he exhales, “Is that so?”. You see Danielli turn his back to the butcher and close the door in front of you. You hear a loud clicking noise, understanding the door is now locked. Danielli turns over the ‘Open/Closed’ sign behind the door window. You turn around, lean against the door frame, take out and light a cigarette, and wait.

There’s now a calm in the street. The air that was once filled with buzz and excitement is now flat. You hear the distant sounds of a living city. On this street, however, you hear the unusual sound of silence. It’s almost as if the many people you passed by on the street, have now disappeared simultaneously. If it were not for the group prostitutes across the road waving at you and laughing giddily amongst themselves, you’d feel quite alone on the darkened street.

Time passes, you are now finished your second cigarette and third shameless exchange with the group of energetic Sirens across the street. You check if you can see anything in the butchers. The main shop is deserted. You tip toe yourself to get a better view into the shop, as you do you spot a trail of what you can only imagine to be blood, going from in-front of the cash register to the next room. Your heart starts beating faster. You feel as if you should do something. You look around for something to break into the shop with.

Taking off one of your loafers, you hear the group of ladies opposite the shop, start to laugh. Then you use it as a weapon to smash the door window. Laughing turns into screaming, as the girls run around the corner. The glass smashes, causing a loud noise to echo into the butchers and down through the side alley. You hear the faint muttering of what you assume to be a drunken vagrant down the alley, and then some trash cans being knocked over. Nothing to worry about.

You open the shop door from the inside, reaching your arm through the broken glass, cutting your forearm. You can feel the blood dripping down your arm discolouring your shirt sleeve, this gives you an adrenaline boost, and you burst into the shop. Stepping over the pool of blood, you follow the trail behind the counter and through the back door. Getting to the back room you’re met by a large freezer door on the left and steel plated stairs going up into the butcher’s apartment on the right. The blood continues up the stairs.

Clamouring up the steps, you reach for your .32 snub nose revolver tucked away behind your belt. You take a deep breath before preparing to open the door at the top. You hear a voice from inside obviously not American, aggressively cursing, “…Nothin’ but a shower of bastards is all they are!, I’d love to kill every single one of them…”, hearing this, you decide to burst into the room pointing your gun.

“Wow, easy, easy! Put the gun down kid!”, Danielli shouts out as he’s caught off guard, “What the fuck are you doing!?”, You see Danielli and the butcher sitting around a small table. The trail of blood leads to the carcass of a pig, which is laying on the tiled floor beside the table. Danielli, sitting down; arms folded, reaches out his hand to pick up a shot glass which you assume is filled with whiskey judging by the colour, and knocks it back before slamming it back onto the table.
 

“Now, put the piece away. Don’t point it if you ain’t gonna’ use it, kid”, instructs Danielli calmy. The butcher turns to you, “Here, young fella’. Get this down ya’, it’ll loosen the muscles”, he gives you the bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey. You quickly put the snub nose back behind your belt, take the bottle, swig it; then look down at your arm. You notice it’s bleeding. Your formerly bone-white sleeve is now darkened red with a moist shine, so you take out a rag from your back pocket, wipe your arm then apply the alcohol to the cut. You wince as you feel the burn shoot straight up to your shoulder.

Apologising to Danielli, you reiterate that you thought there was trouble, before you can finish your excuse, the butcher cuts you off, “…There was trouble! On the streets of Dublin, when Irishmen and Irishwomen were slaughtered by the foreign invaders from the other side of the Irish sea!”, passionately proclaims the now inebriated shop owner.

“Y’see Mick here is from the same town as my father. He knew my family. We were just discussing politics. You should never mix drink and politics kid. Bad for business”, Danielli says while looking at you like a mother at her son after he comes home with ripped trousers.  

“Okay Mick, I’ll give your respects to the boss. You keep your side of the deal and we’ll keep ours. I’ll also take care of the little problem you have with the butchers across the street”. Danielli nods in acknowledgement to the butcher as he steps over the dead pig on the floor, “...And eh, maybe put this somewhere cold before it stinks up the joint”. Turning to you, “Come on Lucky Luciano, let’s get out of here”.

As you exit the butchers, stepping over a pile of glass, you notice a scruffy looking homeless man relieving himself at the corner of the shop, leading to the alley. “Hey kid, we’re being paid to do a job. You gotta’ protect the business”, Danielli says as he gestures you toward the bearded bum. You look at Danielli, he smirks as his eyelids lower to a disappointed pause, “Sure thing Danny”, you less-than-eagerly oblige.

While you’re forcibly smashing the forehead of the vagrant rather aggressively on top of some trash cans, Danielli calls you back. “Alright kid, he’s had enough. This joint is now secure again. Let’s take a walk”. With the vagrant now left hunched over on top of the trash can regretting ever waking-up that day, you leave the alleyway to join up with Danielli. The street is filled with life once more, chatter, commotion and an irate pimp calling out for his missing girls.

CHAPTER 1

The next morning you’re woken up by two loud knocks on your apartment door. You jump out of bed, only wearing your boxers and ‘wife beater’ vest. You grab your gun holster belt, take the snub nose out and hold it up, arching your elbow closely into your body, with your little finger and thumb extended either side of the .32, you slowly straighten your arm out to point toward the door.

“Who is it?”, you call out. A few moments pass before you hear Danielli’s voice respond, “I ain’t got all day kid, you gonna’ open up or what?”. You breathe a sigh of relief as you tuck the gun into your boxers and open the door.

“Eyy’, is that a gun down your pants or you just happy to see me?!”.

“C’mon get dressed, we’ve got errands for the boss. Oh, shit kid, you actually live here?!”, Danielli says with astonishment. “We gotta’ get you a nicer place. Put some pants on without blowing your dick off and meet me outside”.

Danielli leaves the apartment to wait by the streetlight outside. You get dressed into the same blooded shirt you wore the night previous; you feel embarrassed as it’s the only shirt you own. You look around quickly making sure you have everything, grabbing the pitiful $16 dollars you find on your nightstand as you leave the apartment to meet Danielli outside.

“What are you wearing, kid? No, we gotta’ get you something more respectable. If a man can’t present himself in a manner that commands respect and trust, he is no true man. We’re going to Aurora’s tailors. Don Mastrosimone’s wife. She’s good with a scissors, but you keep that to yourself kid.”

You walk with Danielli, in a custom you are starting to get used to. You see the glances people make as you both pass by. A look that is neither fear nor love, it’s somewhat in-between. You feel under dressed and out of dept when you walk alongside this sharply dressed, sunglasses wearing dapper gentleman. You’ve heard many stories about this man. You glance over at him as you walk and wonder how this guy could do the things you’ve heard on the streets. His reputation precedes him immensely. Just as you glance into his inner jacket holster, and see the infamous 1911 model pistol, with the inscription “Dorothea’s Revenge” embedded on the side, Danielli catches your eye.

“D’ya like this piece of fine American steel”, questions Danielli. He, without a care in the world stops in his stride and unholsters the weapon. “Don’t worry, we own this neighbourhood. There may be people looking, but there ain’t nobody seeing. Here, hold it”, you take the weighted pistol into your palm. You feel the quality as you raise it to eye level. Looking down the sights you can see it was professionally serviced. Every piece of the gun is customized to perfection. The clip is extended, the trigger and hammer are custom silver. The slide is polished finely. This is a work of art. You hand it back to Danielli. “I’ve never seen nothin’ like it!”, you gush.

You continue walking toward Aurora’s, as Danielli holsters his gun. “I like you, kid. You’ve got spunk. You’re learning fast, and I like that. Stick with me and you’ll go far in this town”.

Danielli pats his jacket coat gesturing toward his inscribed 1911.

“Dorothea was my ma’. She worked to the bone for me. Gave me a life worth living. That woman went to hell and back for me”, Danielli reaches into his inside pocket, and takes out an old creased photograph of two young people. “This is her and my father back in Ireland. 1913 this was taken. Just before the war, and before the conflict closer to home started. He was a true Irishman. Gave his life fighting for the cause. Of course, when this was taken, they were just kids, madly in love. There was no conflict. There was no pain. They had met while my mother was in Ireland with her father. I never got the whole story, but when I think about what kind of a man my grandfather was, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he was gun running to his contacts in Dublin.

My mother was just a sweet, Italian girl back then. As for my father, I’d bet he was head over heels with this tanned Mediterranean beauty, any man looking like a berserker Viking, like he was, would be. They courted that whole summer, until he finally built up the courage to ask my grandfather, Vito DeLongano, for my mother’s hand in marriage. My grandfather, who was old fashioned and believed only an Italian man should marry his daughter, refused.

My mother heart broken, headed back to Italy on the ship with my grandfather, leaving behind the only man who’d ever loved her; Or so she thought. Apparently, my father didn’t take no for an answer. He too headed back to Italy on the ship. Only thing was, neither of them arrived in Italy. My father convinced my ma’ to go back to Ireland with him. Give it all up for him. Give up the privilege of being the daughter of a powerful man. Start new. I suppose, foolishly she agreed.

The two of them boosted a lifeboat from the side of the ship. My father was an intimidating man, even at the age of 16. He made sure the deckhand would keep his mouth shut as he lowered the lifeboat for my parents. Luckily, the ship wasn’t too far past Howth, which is an island off Dublin coast. They made it back to Dublin. Before my grandfather even realized; he was getting off the boat at Naples. Livid, my grandfather put out a hit on my father. For months no one could find him. There were some parts of Ireland that had more mobbed up Italian men in the towns than there were young Irishmen. Partly due to the outbreak of the war, there weren’t many men left at all. My father had avoided conscription into the British army, he had contacts too.

My father became a prominent member in the Irish Republican Army. An organization set up to promote a nationalist movement. To play Irish sport, speak the Gaeilge Irish native language which was being whitewashed out of history by the invaders. Fast forward a few years and my father is fighting in the 1916 rising. A failed rebellion which saw the streets of Dublin in a worse state than any city in central Europe at the time. The fact that the British rolled out heavily armoured tanks and essentially levelled the city to the ground, saw an increase in support for the rebels.

Once the British started to execute rebellion leaders at dawn with no notice, the people of the land sided with the rebels. The tide turned, and the rebellion became a success.

Anyway kid, long story short. The British wanted my father’s head on a spike, but people like my grandfather back in Italy wanted men like my father using their guns and ammunition to ‘continue the cause’.

My grandfather sent word that my father was to be protected. In an ironic turn of events, he blessed the marriage of my parents. In exchange, my grandfather became the sole supplier of weapons and ammunition to the Irish revolution. With my father one of the most prominent leaders of the ‘War for independence’, my grandfather became a very wealthy man.

My parents married in 1920. The war was over, and so too was the revolution, Ireland had its independence after 800 years of occupation, but my father was still wanted by the British government to answer for his treason to the crown. Eventually, they got him, a rat in the ranks lead them right to him and my pregnant mother. By the time my grandfather heard, it was too late. My father was executed in 1921, two days before my grandfather paid for passage to America, for all three of us. It was just my mother and me who made it”.

Danielli stops walking. “Jeez kid. I lost track of time. This is Aurora’s place; we’ll get you suited like a real wise guy”. You follow Danielli into the fine-looking establishment.

CHAPTER 2

This place is fancy, you think to yourself. You’ve never been in a joint like this. The fabrics laid out on the table in the middle of the establishment were all fine silk and masterfully threaded garments. This was an up-street kind of place. There are three smartly suited, big men sitting around a table near the back. None of them too bothered about your presence, but they did all send a tempered glance your way. One man was reading the newspaper, “The Strip Times”; another was counting a large amount of cash, and the last guy was just staring at you; his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and his demeanour burned straight through your soul. These are not your typical tailor hands.

A fashionably dressed blonde woman in a slightly stained leather jacket and denim jeans, enters from the back room. She has a dancer’s physique complemented by an athletically toned structure. As she approaches, you notice her amber coloured eyes changing focus onto your worn blood stain-soaked shirt.

“Danny, so good to see you”, she states warmly. “The pleasure’s all mine Aurora”, responds Danielli. Aurora embraces Danielli with a hug, as she comes away from him, she fixes her attention toward you. “And who’s this? A friend of yours or a friend of ours?”, Aurora quizzes. “This is a friend of mine. I’ve taken him under my wing, showing him the ropes. He’s a quick learner. Thought I’d take him on a few errands for Billy”. Aurora’s amber eyes lock with yours, the amber now seeming more flame-like. Your inner self fears for a conflagration in your very soul. “Where are you from, young man?”, you don’t respond for a moment as you’re still enchanted by her fiery stare. “Hey kid, when Mrs. Mastrosimone asks you a question; you sharply give her an answer, y’understand?”, Danielli reminds you in an irate manner. You snap out of it and reply to Aurora, “Apologies, I’m from Phoenix, Arizona. I grew up in the streets. Made my way to Summerlin to try prove my worth and show my respect to a crew looking for loyalty”. Your heart beats fast as you struggle to catch your breath. Aurora continues to stare into your soul. A moment or two passes before she focuses back on Danielli. “Alright Danny, what can I help you with?”, Aurora says with a smile.

After a few hours of getting measured, fitted, suited and booted; Danielli and yourself walk out of the tailors. “I’ll see you later about the ‘thing’, give the Don my respects”, Danielli says as he hands Aurora a thick brown envelope. Aurora closes the door behind you.
 

“Hey Kid, you did good back there. The first time I met the left hand of the boss, I nearly pissed my pants. You kept it together, kid. I’m proud of you”, joyfully comments Danielli. You continue to walk down the street. Now, late afternoon, Danielli checks his watch. “C’mon kid, I’ve got shit to do for the Don”, Danielli says as he picks up the pace. Looking like a smartly dressed businessman in your new dark grey three-piece suit with light grey vest, black tie and a brand-new white silk shirt, you feel like a million dollars. You keep up the pace with Danielli. A few blocks down the street, Danielli stops. He pauses at a shop window. “Can you believe this shit?!”, posted on the inside of the window is the front page of “The Strip Times” newspaper, the title reads “Las Vegas Mobster captured by police”, and a photograph of Danielli in the mid-section. “This piece of shit reporter, Kenny Jenkins or whatever; writing lies about me and friends of ours. People like him are the reason why society is so messed up. He’s trying to say I’m the bad guy. Fuck him, and fuck this joint”, Danielli says as he spits on the window of the Strip Times Newspaper office. “C’mon I don’t have time for this shit. Writing lies about me is one thing; but my family? that’s too far. I’m gonna’ call it in. This guy is walking on thin ice”, Danielli vents to you.

You continue walking. Danielli stops at a public telephone. “Wait there”, Danielli commands. You wait outside the telephone box, anxiously. You’ve never seen Danielli so mad before. This reporter has really gotten under his skin. You hear Danielli yell down the phone to some poor errand boy. He’s looking for blood. “…This cocksucker piece of shit has been gettin’ away with it for too long. The piece he did on the, eh’, what’d he calls’ it? ‘The Grand Carlton Slaughter’, or some shit?”, the voice on the telephone corrects him, “…The Massacre, the slaughter; who gives a shit Tommy?!, I want him dead. Y’understand. Dead”. Danielli slams the receiver onto the dial in a fit of rage. Danielli takes a moment to compose himself. He opens the door and exits onto the street. “Alright, lets get outta’ here, kid”. You follow Danielli across the road where there’s an expensive looking black Cadillac waiting. Inside are two of the three guys from the tailor shop. One guy sitting in the driver’s seat, the other sitting in the back. “Get in, kid.”, Danielli says calmly as he hops into the front passenger seat.

You travel along the road at a steady pace. You begin to see the lights of Vegas beaming over the horizon as the day starts to turn to night. There’s a silence in the automobile. You feel an unease coming from the guy sitting beside you. Still staring at you with his cold stare. His bottom lip extending his top, making him look like your average tough guy. You receive no warmth this time.

After a while, Danielli turns around in the seat to you. “Hey Kid, hope you’re up for some dirty work. We got a job to do for the boss. It’s gotta’ be done. And it’s gotta’ be done tonight. Y’understand?”, Danielli asks in a forward manner. “Anything it takes, Danny”, you reply excitingly at the prospect of you finally getting some action. This could be my chance to make it into the family, you think to yourself. You’ve waited a long time for this opportunity.

“So, kid”, Danielli begins, “You wanna’ hear the truth about the ‘Grand Carlton Massacre’, or whatever the fuck that prick called it?!”, He continues, “…So back in 41 I was mobbed up with a different crew. The Sicarios, a heavy crew from right here in Vegas. These guys were the real deal. I made my bones with them. Gave them my all. Nothing but respect and loyalty. Y’see kid, my uncle StJames took me in after what happened to my ma’ in New York. I’ll tell you that story another time, kid.

So, anyway my uncle took me in under his wing. He showed me the ropes. I was a pretty angry kid back then. I was out for revenge. I took it out on the poor schmucks here in Vegas. I was good. Give me a name, and it would be dealt with, no questions asked. So, back in 41, there was a huge war going on. No, not that war kid. An even bigger war. Not one where you shoot a guy from 50 yards and they give ya’ a medal. One where you get so close to a guy, you blow his God damned brains out and it goes all over your brand-new silk blue suit. This was business, kid. The six families of Las Vegas, at the time, were headed by Don Russo, Don De Luca, Don Stepallano, Don Beko, Don Colombo and the Godfather and chairman of Vegas, Don Mancini.

Now, at the time kid, there was at least one major wack’ a day. That’s shit for business, kid. So, the heads of the five families, and the chairman of them all, called a meeting. A truce. To be held at the biggest casino in town, at the time, ‘The Grand Carlton Hotel and Casino’ “.

Danielli paused. He cleared his throat before continuing. The brute driving took a sharp turn. Everyone was shifted to the left. “Take it fucking easy, Georgie!”, shouted Danielli.

You caught Georgie’s stare in the mirror, before you focus back at Danielli. “So, anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So, Godfather Don Mancini was the spear head of the meeting. He was the main speaker on the night. He talked about building a palace in the desert. Turning Nevada desert into a gold mine. Nobody believed the prick. In his mind, he was going to turn the Carlton into a beacon of hope and dreams. Really, the other bosses thought he was an old bastard who should get a bullet in the back of the skull, after the hits he fuckin' sanctioned during the war. Hey, at least there was alcohol and women at this joint!”, Danielli gets sidetracked, again.

“The Vegas families were all going to reap the benefits.  The cost of this little pet project was going to be 144-Million dollars. 144 Million dollars, Kid!”, Danielli emphasized the amount of money at stake.

 “The old prick, Mancini wanted investment from the five families to make the ‘Grand Carlton’ a mob run casino. The turnover would be in excess of 200 million a year. It was going to be family run. All the bloodshed in the last war was to be forgotten. Just like that, kid”. Danielli was now getting more energetic by the telling of the story.

“A blood pact was to be taken, and they were to start new. It’s that easy, kid. So, after they all signed their names, took the pact and hugged like a bunch of sissies, the five heads each handed over a briefcase containing 24 Million big ones each to the Godfather’s personal accountant Francesco Di Bardi. Franky was a weasel, kid. He was always up to something. Franky left the joint with over twenty-armed lug heads. No offence Georgie”, Danielli said as he patted the driver on the shoulder.

“Where was I when all this was happening? Well, I was in the casino. Officially, I was only there as back up to StJames. We were in the casino playing poker with the rest of the lower ranked guys. Drink was flowing. While the dons and Godfather were in the party suite, the rest of the crews were downstairs drinking and gambling like mad fuckers”. Danielli takes a second to give Georgie directions, “Turn left here, Georgie. That’s it. Now keep going to the end”.

Danielli turns back to you. “Once the money was out of the building the bosses were treated to over one-hundred show girls and prostitutes. It was heaven for those guys. Don Stepallano organized the party for the other heads and the Godfather. He raised his champagne glass to the other heads as he toasted their new partnership. The party went on through the night. Drink was flowing in the suite, and down on the casino floor, we were living the life. The whole joint was closed for the private use of every wise guy and gangster in Las Vegas, fuckin’ wonderful”.

Danielli continues, “So, the Godfather leaves the party to go to his presidential room with these two busty blondes. Miss Nevada and Miss USA. The smug prick. While he’s up there trying to get his dick hard, the other bosses are down in the suite, drinking and whoring themselves into the new era of Vegas crews”.

Danielli’s tone changes. “The boss, Don Beko, felt an unease in her gut. She felt something was up. She couldn’t get any of the guys to give her an update, she was in there alone. The higher structure was off out with Don Colombo’s goons, so she sent for StJames and unintentionally, me. We got word that the Don wanted to speak to us. So, we left the gambling and went up to the suite. We got to the door, only to be met by the Godfather’s RHM and LHM, two ugly pricks. No offence Georgie. These scumbags stopped us from entering the joint cause’ we weren’t made guys. There was nothing we could do unless we wanted to sleep with the fishes, kid. Don Beko was in there alone”.

Danielli goes on to tell you, “Just then the CEO of Calico Development Group, the boss, who at the time was still a made guy, and his trophy wife, the charming Aurora you met earlier, left the suite. Since I had worked with Billy Mastrosimone before, I knew he was a stand-up guy. So, I asked him if he could get us in. Billy turned to me and said, ‘Ah, Danielli Rimhea, it’s been a long time; I was just talking to a friend of yours’”. Danielli paused, turned back around to give Georgie directions, “In there Georgie. Park us by the door”, Danielli turns back to you, “Where was I, kid?”, You remind Danielli, “You were talking about some friend of yours, that Don Mastrosimone had talked to”. Danielli remembers his line of thought, “Oh, yeah, thanks, kid. So, I asked Billy, what ‘friend’? I ain’t here with nobody cept’ the Beko crew, I said to em’. Billy went on to tell me that this kid approached him, claiming to be a friend of mine. Claiming to be a Wiseguy in the Sicario family. He approached Billy to give him a package addressed to Godfather Mancini, which supposedly was from me. I asked Billy, what did this kid look like”.

Georgie stops the car. Turns off the engine. You look out the window, it’s now dark. You’re parked beside a warehouse of some sort. Danielli continues, “He said the kid looked something coincidentally similar to you, kid”. You feel a sharp cold shiver travel up your spine. Your skin breaks out in Goosebumps. You begin to sweat. Danielli continues, “…Because, that kid, who gave the package. Caused Don Stepallano to point the finger at the Beko crew, and namely, me; when that same package fuckin’ blew up in the Godfathers presidential suite, taken Miss Nevada and Miss USA, with the old prick. Stepallano, ordered his guys to open fire. In turn, the other five families, also opened fire. It truly was a massacre, kid. StJames and me got the Don out. We worked with Billy Mastrosimone to get the fuck outta’ there. A lot of shit went down, kid. Franky Di Bardi, the accountant to the Godfather, was never seen again, him and the 144 Million bucks. The whole thing was a set up”.

Danielli instructs the goon in the back to “do it”, you see that familiar cold stare as his punches your lights out. Darkness.

Chapter 3

As your eyelids open from a dazed darkness, you're blinded by a bright light swinging from a low ceiling. You look around. You're in a small room with nothing but the chair you're sitting on in it. You try to move but it's fruitless, you're tied up tight to the cold steel legs of the minimal chair.

You hear a door unlocking, a familiar sound to the one at the butcher's shop. You look up and see Danielli walk in. He's followed by Aurora and Don Billy Mastrosimone. "Good evening, kid. Did you sleep well?", asks Danielli in a patronizing manner. You feel the pit of your stomach turn inside out as fear sweeps across your body.

"That's the kid. huh, hasn't aged much since the Carlton", comments Don Mastrosimone. "You have my blessing. Do as you wish. It's your choice. Make it quick. I wan't you up fresh tomorrow. Big day ahead". The Don leaves the room, as Aurora leans back onto the tiled wall behind her, twirling the handle of a long scissors around her finger. "Did I mention Aurora is good with a scissors?", jeers Danielli. 

Georgie and the other goon from before, enter the room. They pull in two men with bags over their heads, hands tied. Georgie places two steel chairs loudly down, across from you. Your ears ring. He forces the two men to sit down on them.

"Now, I'm glad everyone could make it", Danielli says as he takes off his suit jacket and places it on a meat hook, hanging from the ceiling. He continues, "As you all know, I hate reporters. I hate em' with a passion. In particular, I hate ones that write about me or my family". Danielli takes the hood off one of the men sitting down. You recognize this man as Kenny Jenkins, reporter for the Strip Times. He looks worse for wear. One eye is blackened and swelled. His lip and nose are bleeding. There's dried blood on his shirt, he's been here awhile.

"Hey kid, you know this guy right? don't worry we'll get to that. Now, as well as reporters, I hate rats. Rats are the lowest of the low. They have no place in society. One such rat just so happens to be particularly vile, and he's here, live and in concert, with us today". Danielli takes the hood off the second man. You recognize him as Francesco Di Bardi, once the accountant to the Las Vegas Godfather, Don Mancini. He's not looking much better than Kenny. 

"Now, I find myself in a dilemma. On one hand I've got a rat, who, potentially knows where to find 144 Million dollars, and will kindly allow me to take that off of his hands so my boss can get to work with his Vegas casino, because if he doesn't, he knows he's going to be a very interesting gift to the heads of the five families still looking for answers from the Carlton". 

Danielli pauses. Takes a drag from his cigarette, "...and on the other hand, I've got a reporter who always just so happens to know my every move. My every word. My every thought".

You think back to 1941. You get flashes of meeting Kenny Jenkins. Receiving a bulky brown package. Meeting Billy Mastrosimone and handing him the package. Quickly walking out of the casino trying to avoid eye contact with anyone on the casino floor.

Danielli snaps his fingers in front of your face, "Hey, you with us? wake up kid", you snap out of it.

"This cocksucker right here", Danielli gestures toward Francesco, "...pulled off the master plan. Orchestrate the biggest mob war in 20 years. Get the Godfather to call a meeting. Come up with a grand scheme to build Vegas' biggest casino. Make it too good to be true. Take everyone's money. Get the hell out of town. Brilliant. Only flaw was you told this prick where to find you. This slimeball right here", Danielli kicks Kenny Jenkins, "This prick agreed with Franky's approach to hit the Godfather, while getting all the inside info on the Massacre. Your hatred for the mafia spurned you on to expose it anyway you could. Plant a gullible errand boy in the casino to deliver Franky's package. Meanwhile your errand boy here", Danielli points his gun at you, "reports back to you with the latest scoops, making the big bucks for your shit excuse of a newspaper. You were just about ready to make your big reveal, 'What really happened at the Carlton', no one would know where the $144 Million was, but you, after you ratted Franky's whereabouts out. Just what you wanted. To ride off into the sunset having single handily wipe out the Costra Nostra in Las Vegas, with a nice sum of cash in your pocket too".

"Wait!", Shouts Kenny. "We don't know where the money is. Only he knows", gesturing at you. Danielli pistol whips him unconscious.

Danielli looks annoyed. He looks at you. "You sneaky son of a bitch!", Danielli taps his gun off his forehead thinking about what to do in order to get the location of the money without killing you.

You think back over the last five years that you've been working for Kenny Jenkins, reporting everything you heard in Summerlin and the Strip back to Jenkins. You feel used. You only did what you thought would get you into a family. Get you respect. 'If there's less families, there'd be more demand for the likes of you', echoing the words of Kenny, manipulating your every move. You pressed the button which caused half of Vegas' crews to be wiped out. You were the rogue. All to push Kenny's agenda forward.

"okay, kid. You have the choice. either Aurora here gets to have fun with that scissors she's holding...", Aurora looks more fiery than ever as she stares at you. "...or you give up the these two assholes, and tell us where the money is. You get out of town. Way out of town. These two assholes die. We get the money. Everybody's a winner. What's it gonna be kid?"

You think about your choice. It shouldn't be too difficult.

[WAITING FOR GOOD/BAD ENDING COIN FLIP DECISION]