Destro_Whelan had just been released from federal prison and found himself thrust into what would become a long and grueling mob war.  His comrade and leader tiggy had been sentenced to death row by City Hall and was executed along with fellow comrade CommissarZverev.  Destro_Whelan hardly had a chance to grieve, as bullets flew and bodies littered the streets, claiming the lives of countless men and women.  Finally the shooting had stopped and those that had fallen could finally be laid to rest.

It was a cold December day and as expected, the cemetery had drawn quite a crowd of mourners there to pay their final respects to the beloved mobsters tiggy and CommissarZverev.  Standing room became more and more scarce as more and more people arrived.  The nearby @PhillipMarleau lot was used to accommodate people as well, with several mobsters even taking it upon themselves to actually lift and move his tombstone out of the way to make more room for people.  Destro_Whelan observed this and gave the mobsters a disapproving eye and demanded they return it at once.  Clumsily, the two mobsters dropped it while attempting to put it back into the neglected plot.  The tombstone shattered into pieces as the bumbling mobsters looked sheepishly up at Destro_Whelan and shrugged. Destro_Whelan shook his head and made a mental note to kill the two bafoonish mobsters for their disrespect.  But that would have to wait until later.  Destro_Whelan was there to speak his peace to his fallen friends.  He stepped over to tiggy's grave.

"tiggy, you were a truly sweet person, and a true matriarch to our family.  I have so much to thank you for, such as introducing me to great people like @Il_Matto, who is always quick to remind me what a nice and cool person I am.  I have to admit, I pretend that I don't like when she tells me that all the time, but the truth is I never grow tired of hearing it.  I was recently incarcerated, right along the time you were.  I did my time like a man and am actually even more well respected by everyone now as a result of it.  But you, you have dishonored yourself with your actions, and in doing so have brought shame to your name.  The name tiggy now reeks of disgrace, and will forever be equated to that of a turd.  Soiled forever.  I fear the history books will not be kind when the name tiggy is referenced.  But you were always nice to me, and for that kindness I hope you rest in peace."

Destro_Whelan bows his head and steps over to the Commissar's headstone.

"And you, Commissar.  Because of your actions, you too found yourself executed.  Had you not been so selfish you may have survived this war, but instead the streets are now left with no leader.  I've never been the type to give an insincere compliment just because a person has died, so I'm going to be honest here.  Despite my defense of the Commissar in the streets, I knew deep down that he was often an unfair Streets leader, probably even more unfair than some of the past Streets leaders This Thing of Ours has seen.  Be that as it may, it is often a thankless job and he did it quite well.  Anyone who is being honest with themselves would admit that themselves.  So who is left to pick up the mantle?  Or will the Streets go back to the way they were before with no guidance?  Who will serve as the Streets' figurehead in the wake of your death, Commissar?  Certainly not me, I don't want the position thank you very much.  

But I am not angry at you, Commissar.  My time in federal prison gave me time to reflect. I learned that I can't live in the past.  I can't let that baggage weigh me down.  I must put the past behind me.  I've wasted so much time chasing my own past, trying to solve this endless rubric of who my parents were and why they left me to fend for myself in this cold, cruel, world.  Maybe it's time to leave the past where it belongs.  Behind me.  It's time to look towards the future."

Destro_Whelan turns to the crowd.

Maybe it's time we all look towards the future.  Let's build the mafia into something extraordinary.  We have the opportunity to reshape This Thing of Ours into whatever we want.  Let's not squander this opportunity by looking to the past. Let's learn from the past and look to the future.

Destro_Whelan nods as the crowd erupts into applause.  Destro_Whalen waves to the adoring crowd as he steps backwards, tripping over a tombstone behind him.

"WHOOOAAA!" Destro_Whelan exclaimed as he tumbled over backwards onto the ground.  Embarrassed, he shook his head and looked up at the tombstone in front of him.  The tombstone read "Here Lies @Jen_Mooney".  There appeared to be a journal sticking out from underneath it.  Destro_Whelan reached for it curiously and examined the handwritten cover.  The cover read "Shannon's Side of the Story, and The End".  His hands trembled as he opened the book to the first page and began reading. 

He gasped aloud at what he read.  The crowd raced over to help him to his feet.  

"Are you ok?" they asked, very concerned.  But Destro_Whelan could not speak.  He could stare only off into the distance.  Finally he found it within himself to mutter only a single word.

"Father."

Yes.  His father was Destro.

Marty pulled Destro_Whelan to his feet with ease. The weight of a full-grown man to Marty was about as much as a small bird to any normal person. He positioned himself in a stunning front double bicep pose and began to talk.

"I've been following your story for a long time, young man. They call me Marty 'The Bodfather' Muscles, acting Godfather-Chairman of this community. I want to tell you that I think you've shown a lot of resilience on your journey. A lot of balls. Hell, you lived through a damn massacre to find the truth to your heritage. You're a man with a purpose. 

Look around us, what do you see? A bunch of human doormats, walking around with their fedoras pulled down, scared to make eye contact, barely able to keep the drool off their soul patches. This is the world I have inherited, Destro, a world full of people who had been reporting to a Godfather who is in jail. Pathetic. 

Keep up the good work, Whelan. Remember to train each muscle group every week and always maintain a caloric surplus, bro."

He walks along the row quietly with his head down in respect. When he reaches the tombstones he gives a nod. Ill miss you both. I dont fully understand but I could sense there was some good in you. Thats what ill miss the comradery and the generous writing contests which now seem the have been one final joke on the winners paying back the winnings. The Com really knew a good joke.
Whispering so not to show disrespect but only to advise. "I dont know who is here but I tried to,, recover some valuable family heirlooms with intent to pass along to his kin and I was told"

CommissarZverev was thrown in a mass grave with the other degenerates, there is no way to find him.

FuriousWolf also among other that wanted to pay the deepest respect to all fallen in the last war, he walked by the mass-grave and have roses he spread all over the bodies laying there, he got a tear also in his eyes since he knew many of those poor bastards laying here.

Hopefully it will take time to the next big war there many lost were in but we never know for sure so it was time to take care of each othe and make sure to have a good time to next one.