Las Vegas, Nevada
Eros' Social Club, Alleyway across 
2:45am - Feburary 16th, 19XX

"Do we have to do this shit? Why not have the rookie on this kinda job? They're grunts, meant for the hard labour. Sheesh do I miss the days where we treated grunts like grunts." 

Groaning in his black lincoln with tinted windows was Federal Officer, Gene "Genie" Neigh. He'd spent a few decades on the force before being drafted over to the Las Vegas field office at the very fuckin' least, he'd wanted to make sure this criminal scumbags where were they were, jail. 

These guys like the New York Mafia, with their organized crime, and commissions, or as they called, regimes. They always tried to class it up like they were a bunch of businessmen, fuck that.

The Genie, he knew, and so they had him shipped all the way out to this fucking desert with some no good ruffian who was more along the lines of a goddamn I-talian fella himself, he looked like he belonged with the group of goombas. 

Made him sick. 

"Gene, the kid's back, he easy will ye? Not all of us grew up where you did!" Snorting back at his partner was Special Investigator Antonio "Ant" Grasa

He'd been known for having a few run-ins with some of the West Coast famillies and so these guys were here investigating the new blood entering town after a few pieces of the puzzles started fitting in. 

"Look, Grass-"

"Gene, I'm not going to fucking tell you again, it's Grasa or fucking Antonio! I don't wanna write you up if you wanna be a prick, then I'll recommend you elsewhere. Maybe fucking Delaware with all those fucking Goons calling themselves Durdens. Maybe then you'll see real chaos, what we have here is peace and makes our jobs easier. Now, ease the fuck up." Antonio wasn't one for disrespect and so much to his dissapointment, Gene relaxed a bit and focused on the stakeout when the rookie let the hot blasting air in. 

And finally, the last one to make this more of a complete operation was the green as grass rookie, Angelo O'Bannion. Now, both Antonio and Gene didn't know what to think of the Irish-Italian but he definitely was a surprise, especially up here. 

His roots in this city seemed to go far that he was associated with a few known friends of the Intistution, a supposed network of bootleggers, drug smugglers, and more recently? Prostistution. All due to an associate that flew in all the way from Calabria. 

"He's coming in today, in about a few minutes I'm told, a big meeting is going down with a few connections from the Rising Dragons and from the east coast, a charter of bikers, all wanna meet with our friend, there he is. As the colombians call him, this is our friend, Guapo Diablo, Salvatore Provocu, the Insane Prince." The kid could have been a bit less excited but even Gene had to give the kid a little smirk, knowing he'd done his shit correct. 

Of course, creaking back into their seats with a few burgers and fries, they watched the group of men meet up, a few men swaggered up and down, trading stories like the good old days before the rookie had to but in with something. 

"So, I know the story regarding Salvatore but what about these bikers and the Rising Dragons, they got beef. They're competing over the same market share compared to our friend over here who has the other fifty of that same share. It's nothing." Antonio glanced back at the kid for a moment, stuffing a fry in his mouth before rolling his eyes. 

Pointing at Salvatore's picture, it wasn't so hard to see why he was considered both Guapo Diablo and the Insane Prince. 

"Salvatore used to run with the Provocu Clan out of Calabria, he became a high-ranked Caporeginme where he ran prostution. Now coupled with its more domestic violence issues, Salvatore ran a tight ship and supposedly raked in $750,000. This was every few days, in a couple months, he'd have a solid couple mil and be able to expand. That he did, and soon, he came over here, he left a bunch of his cash in Calabria and came out here to expand. Within a few fuckin' days, this fucker got a connect and already stations himself over here. The brass wants this fucker in a room, he's a key to some Old famillies and New famillies out here. He's connected, all the way to the top, and we're hoping to nail his old man." Antonio gives the kid the whole story before an old man's description and sketch is slammed on the dashboard with as much anger that the rookie had ever seen. 

"Capo Di Tutti Capi of Calabria, Mora Provocu, 75 Years old and he's Salvatore's grandfather, the kid's only in his early 20s too. He's got style, and it ain't something we want over here. So, we lean on the kid and we get him to squeal, but he's brought up from alliances and super-mafias. He's connecting the bridges because they make more together than apart, if he were to open the entire Nevada state to his plays, they'd be making ten million a week and that's before we factor in these goddamn casinos. So we watch 'em..." Antonio gives the kid a grunt before he lights up a cigarette with Gene watching the scene before when a black 1951 Lance Aurelia pulled up on the curb with Salvatore Provocu walking out all smiles. 

"Ay! Ay! We got him, he's here and he's heading inside, you want the kid to go in?" Gene grunted but Antonio kept his eye on the ball without so much as a blink escaping him. 

"Nah, I've got someone on the inside already, we're good. For now? Watch this motherfucker, that's him boys, the Insane Prince, Sal Provocu." Antonio watched him and it felt like it was finally time...

The good guys were going to win this time.