Time and time again, Franchesca found herself re-reading the newspaper in her hands. The title, and story on page number 9 on the "Daily Days." newsletter all read the same:

"Reputed Mobster; Vincent"The Shark." Vetrulio indicted on charges of racketeering, loan sharking, and murder. Sentenced to life in prison!"

"Fuck!" Franchesca cursed to herself, taking a hold of her half smoken cigarette from the table's middle ashtray. Taking a moment she stared down at her half filled cup of coffee than back up at the sight of the grey-ish atmosphere of the city.

"This'll probably be my last cup of coffee for a couple weeks, I gotta lay low for a while." Saying this to herself, she sighed gently. Quickly she scanned the room, noticing that she was positioned within the back of the cafe before she surfaced her small silver pistol. Quickly, she dumped the magazine and checked her ammo count. Soon she slipped the magazine back into the pistol coking the slide back before she hid the pistol again.  

With her boss now in the can indefinitely, she was certain that other ambitious players in her neighborhood would take a shot at taking over her loan sharking, extortion, and money laundering businesses. With her protection gone, she had no hope but to let them go. Surely she could've defended her now 'independent.' businesses but it would be to no avail. Her competitors still had their mob backed ties. Hers, was now serving a life sentence in maximum security. They'd keep coming back and she'd be on the endangered species list pretty soon.

All that money, the lifestyle she was living now, she had to leave it all behind, once again until she could find another employer with notoriety.

"All of it, down the fucking drain." She said to herself in fruststration. She'd been with Vincent for eight long years, and now she left down to scratch. Smoking her cigarette down to the filter, and finishing cup of coffee she got up and made her way to the front door. 

Walking at a brisk pace she made for her phone booth. sliding a quarter into the slot and dialing a number, she called for a friend of hers, someone who could possibly find her a new 'employer'/protector.'

Staring through the dirty glass of the payphone booth as she waited for the receiver on the other line to pick up, she could see the infamous heart of Southport, the lights, the sights, the atmosphere. It gave her a feeling she hadn't felt in so long; hope.