torn had always dreamt of this day. He had watched from the shadows. He'd learned the ropes, waiting for the chance to make a name for himself. The crew he had his eye on was ruthless but tonight came his opportunity. 

Standing in front of Carlo, the leader of the crew and Monella - the dedicated recruiter for the crew, torn felt his palms start to sweat but his voice was steady.

"You're in" Carlo-Gambino said with a smirk and handed him a gun.

"Prove your loyalty" Monella continued.

The weight of the gun felt heavy, heavier than he had imagined it would be but torn knew this was his shot. He nodded, ready to do whatever it would take to show that he belonged. His future in the crew had just begun, and there was no turning back. torn nervously awaited instructions to his first job.

torn’s palms sweat as he sat at the back of the shady bar, watching the crew organise jobs and divvy out responsibilities. He sat quietly, nervously, waiting to see what would be asked of him knowing all the while that he had to do whatever was asked to prove his loyalty. 

The day had come. His first job.

Carlo-Gambino, the Boss, handed him an envelope with crisp bills. The weight of responsibility starting to press down on his chest. No idea how much is inside but certainly more cash than he had ever seen before.

"Take it to Godfather Ligambi" Carlo growled, in between puffs on the signature cigar that seemed to be forever burning at the side of his mouth. "Do not open it. Do not ask any questions."

torn nodded, his heart racing. He had never even seen the Godfather-Chairmen let alone met him.  

He got into his car, the envelope burning a hole in his pocket. The drive was short but each turn felt like an eternity. Passing many cop cars, rival crews on street corners and carrying his newly acquired weapon, now was not the time to get picked up. When he reached Godfather-Chairmans compound he quickly handed over the envelope, trying to hide the tremor in his hand. Failing miserable to anyone who could see.

GFC Ligambi gave him a slow, deliberate smile. “You did good, kid. That’s how we do it on the West Coast”

For the first time, torn felt like he belonged.

torn adjusted his collar, feeling the weight of the package in his hands. The boss had been clear "don’t open it, don’t ask, and don’t let it outta your sight."

He made his way down to Miceli’s on Las Palmas, the streets growing quieter as the sun slowly hid behind the buildings. 

Big Sal was waiting at the back table, his eyes narrowing when torn walked in. "Did you bring it?" Sal asked in a low, quiet but confident voice. torn placed the package on the table, his heart beating almost out of his chest.

Without saying a word Sal took the package, slipped a knife under the seal and opened it. Inside was a simple envelope. He smiled, finally breaking his silence. "Didn’t say anything, did you?" A grin that left torn feeling unsure came across his face.

torn stared at him, confused. “What’s in it?”

Sal’s grin widened. “Your future".

torn hadn't been in the game a long time but he knew the rules by now. Keep your head low, don’t ask questions and always handle business when the time comes. But tonight, things were different. This was his first kill. His first real one.

The backstreets were quiet aside from the soft shuffle of his boots against the wet pavement. The other guy, Phil “Fatty” Rivera had been a thorn in their side for a long time. Running his mouth, poaching customers and stepping in on the crews territory. The warning had been clear - "stay out of the family's business or else". But Fatty don’t listen.

torn had never killed anyone before. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to do it when the time came. But one shot, clean and fast, right between the eyes. No hesitation. No time to second guess. He stared down at the corpse, trying to shake off the strange feeling gnawing at him and convince himself he had done what needed to be done. 

“Good work torn” a voice called out from behind him.

torn jumped and quickly spun around, his hand still clutching the gun.

It was CarloDiNunzio, the boss's right hand man. He stepped into the alley, his usual smirk barely visible in the dim light.

“You did what you had to” Carlo assured him. “But don’t get used to it. You’re not in the clear just because you pulled the trigger once”

torn didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say. His stomach churned but he held it down and tried to give the appearance of someone keeping their cool. He’d surely earned his spot now. The boss could not forget this.

Carlo crouched down beside Fatty's body, checking for signs of life even though there were none. He nodded, approvingly.

“You’ll learn to shut off the part of you that feels bad about it” Carlo said, standing back up. “The job’s never clean. It’s always messy. You just gotta get used to it”

torn nodded, though the words felt empty. He wasn’t sure if he could ever get used to this. He wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to.

But as Carlo slapped him on the back, torn knew one thing was certain. There was no going back now.

Monella sat in the corner of the bar, idly poking at a stubborn air bubble in his sleeve. When he spotted torn walk in, he grinned and waved him over, the motion setting off a few stray pop pops from his suit.

"Look who’s still breathing," Monella said, leaning back. "Heard you handled yourself well recently. Carlo's impressed... but let’s see if you can keep that streak going."

He pulled a small matchbox from his pocket and slid it across the table. It was worn, the kind you'd pick up from a bar or club. The front had a gold-embossed logo: The Starlet Lounge – Hollywood Blvd.

"Inside there’s a key," Monella said, lowering his voice. "There’s a car parked in the back lot of the lounge. White Hudson Hornet, California plates, can’t miss it. The trunk’s already unlocked."

Monella smirked, leaning in just enough for torn to catch the faint scent of whiskey.

"You’re gonna take that car out to Griffith Park. Find a nice quiet spot. Make sure nobody’s around. Then you open the trunk and... take care of what’s inside."

He let the words hang in the air, watching for torn’s reaction.

"You’re gonna want to drive real careful. No speeding, no sudden stops. And for the love of God, don’t get pulled over. You don’t wanna have to explain what’s back there. And be sure to take a shovel. "

Monella sat back, cracking his knuckles, his grin widening as another pop fired off from his sleeve.

"Think of it as ankther exam, kid. Get it done, and maybe we stop testing you."

He clapped torn on the shoulder, triggering another unfortunate pop pop pop.

"Good luck. Try not to get any on your shoes."

torn could feel his palms sweating as he gripped the wheel of the White Hudson Horne, the engine purring like a beast ready to pounce. He knew this wasn't going to be a straightforward job but a good opportunity to further his name within the ranks of the crew. He made a steady start. It was fair to say that he knew what was in the trunk.

torn checked the rear view mirror, the empty street stretching behind him. He wasn’t even sure who the body was. Or even if it was a body. Just that it was now his responsibility. They hadn’t bothered to explain. In this line of work, details were often unnecessary. What mattered was getting it done.

The gravel crunching under the tyres signalled he was nearing the edge of town, where the trees crowded and the lights dimmed to near darkness. He had to keep his cool. He couldn’t afford to get caught. A screw up here was not something that his crew would tolerate, he was sure.

As he drove, he could not ignore the knot his stomach. His mind raced. What if someone saw him? What if the cops were nearby? His fingers tightened on the wheel. He pushed the fear down and swallowed the knot. 

torn made a sharp turn into the dirt road that led into the woods. The trees were dense here. The car came to a stop and torn stepped out, feeling the chill in the air as his boots hit the ground. He grabbed the shovel from the seat and made his way around to the trunk.

torn took a deep breathe and popped open the trunk. It was a body, as he'd surmised. The body was wrapped in a cheap blanket, the face obscured. torn had never dealt with this before and the sight of it sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed hard trying to fight the nausea that rose in his throat. He grabbed the body by the shoulders and dragged it out. The weight of it was heavier than he expected.

He stumbled alot but he kept moving, determined. The ground was soft at first but the deeper he went, the tougher it got. His muscles ached but he kept at it. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. 

When finally the hole was deep enough, he dragged the body to it. Sweat streaming down his back. The blanket was torn off and he shoved the body into the grave. His hands shook as he took back to the shovel and started to cover the body with dirt.

For a moment, everything was still. The silence was deafening to him. He took a step back. He could not stop looking at what he had done. There were no sirens, no police cars and no witnesses. He wiped his hands on the thigh of his trousers and glanced back at the car.

Monella would be proud.

Monella had been nursing a glass of whiskey when torn strolled in, looking like he’d just come back from digging a railway. Dirt on his hands, sweat on his brow, yeah, he’d done it.

"Well, look at you," Monella grinned, raising his glass.

"Burying people now, are we? Next thing I know, you’ll be writing eulogies." He leaned forward, voice dropping.

"You didn’t make a mess, did you? No loose ends, no misplaced shoes in the grave?" He snorted.

"I’d hate to have to dig the guy back up ‘cause you got sentimental halfway through."

He slid a small package across the table.

"Good news, you get to do more crime. This one’s easy, take this to FatGrin. He’s holed up at his apartment on Vine, feeling real down lately. You know how it is, existential dread, maybe a little too much reflection. This should cheer him up."

Monella gave torn a very deliberate look.

"Now, after that, I need you to burn down Louie’s Pawn Shop. Louie’s been getting a little too comfortable. Jacked up his prices like he thinks he’s running a goddamn auction house. We’re putting him out of business... permanently."

Monella popped his knuckles, grinning.

"And I swear, if you somehow manage to set yourself on fire, I’ll be very disappointed."

He smacked torn on the shoulder, pop pop pop. Monella sighed. "Goddamn it." He peeled a bit of bubble wrap off his sleeve.

"Listen, just get moving. And for the love of all things holy, make FatGrin smile. Or at least make him less sad before you go commit arson."

News had landed of a new headquarters that the crew would base their activities from. Today was the day we would make our move over.

The new headquarters. A dark, towering building on the edge of the city, was where he would start his real work. He walked up the steps with trembling hands, carrying a box filled with his belongings. His clothes, a few family photos, some personal items that held sentimental value. 

Inside, the new place was so grand he almost found it intimidating. He barely registered the incredible features like the dark wood furniture or the cold steel accents that lined the room. He was more focused on trying to steady himself. Quite conscious that his palms were sweating.

"Yo, kid. You alright?" Monella, one of the uppers, asked him. Monella was a typical leader, solid and unshakable. torn could already feel the weight of his eyes on him, sizing him up.

"Uh, yeah, uh, that's me sir" torn stuttered, adjusting the box under his arm as if that could somehow steady his nerves.

The next few moments felt like slow motion. As torn moved toward the back room, he tripped over the rug. The box flew from his arms and the contents spread across the floor. His clothes, his photos, everything, all tumbled out in a chaotic mess.

He froze. He could feel his face begin to fill a brand new shade of red. 

Monella's eyes narrowed and torn could practically hear the thoughts in his head: "Wow, this is the guy?"

"Hey, kid" Monella said again, this time with almost a dry chuckle. "You better get it together. You don't want to be dropping stuff in front of the boss".

torn scrambled to pick everything up, his hands shaking as he stuffed the photos back into the box. He was embarrassed by how clumsy he looked. He could feel the weight of the whole family’s expectations on him as a part of this new venture in their shiny new headquarters.

As he hurried to finish, the boss Joseph_Clemente, appeared in the doorway. His presence was enough to make torn’s chest tighten. Josephs expression was unreadable but his gaze held a certain intensity that made torn’s stomach twist in knots.

“torn” Vito said calmly as he walked over to him. “Take a deep breath. You’re in, kid. Don’t sweat it, don't worry”.

torn nodded quickly, too nervous to say anything. He wanted to prove himself but right now, it felt a daunting task. This incredible building, the men, the weight of the family. It was all quite overwhelming.

Monella slapped torn on the back. He was sure it was meant to be a playful and encouraging slap but boy, did he feel it. "You’ll be fine here torn. Just don’t go dropping anything else, alright?"

torn managed a shaky laugh. He was somewhat relieved although still rather anxious. The familiar face of Monella would prove to ease some anxiety that he had about proving his worth to the family.

Monella leaned against the doorway, watching the kid scramble like a startled deer. The moment that box hit the floor, spilling his life across the marble tiles, Monella nearly lost it. Not in anger, just sheer disbelief.

"Jesus, kid." He exhaled, rubbing his temple.

"We move into a place with chandeliers and now you’re throwing your socks around like confetti?"

He crouched down, picking up a photograph. It was old, edges curling, probably something torn had kept close for years.

Monella studied it for a second before handing it back.

"Relax. No one's gonna shoot ya for bein’ a klutz. Yet."

Just then, as torn stuffed the last of his belongings back in the box, an unmistakable sound filled the room.

Pop. Silence. Everyone turned to Monella, who was standing there, arms crossed, a fresh piece of bubble wrap crushed under his elbow.

Torn’s face went red.  "Uh… sorry."

Monella narrowed his eyes. "That wasn’t you, kid. That was me." He slowly shifted his weight. Pop. Pop pop.

Joseph Clemente’s arrival made the air heavier, like a storm rolling in. The new boss had a presence, one that didn’t need theatrics or yelling. Just standing there was enough to make even seasoned men rethink their choices.

"Take a deep breath, torn," Clemente said, his voice calm but firm. "You’re in, kid. Don’t sweat it."

Monella grinned, placing a reassuring but very firm hand on torn’s shoulder. Another loud pop echoed as his bubble-wrapped sleeve pressed into torn’s back.

"Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go dropping anything else, alright? ‘Specially nothing important. Like a gun. Or a corpse. Or my drink."

He gave torn a playful shove toward the hallway, another pop breaking the tension.

"Go find your room, kid. And if you see Soren, tell him I call dibs on the best office. He ain't got the guts to fight me for it."

He turned back toward Clemente, shifting slightly as more pops rang out beneath him.

torn made his way down the corridor, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the building and the amount of rooms on offer. The boss had pointed him towards room 13. This would be his. After a series of twists and bends, he finds a dark mahogany door with 13 plated on it in gold numberlings. 

He was brimming with confidence at this point, imagining what the facility provided for him could look like in a palace such as this. He burst into the room in something of a "I'm home" moment. 

His eyes scanned the room. The bed was massive, the furniture sleek but there was no balcony. His heart sank. He had dreamed of a room with a view. Somewhere to light up his cigarette, look out over the city and remind himself that he was going places.

"Hey, kid." A voice startled him from the doorway. It was Monella again. “Room not what you expected?”

torn nodded, his nerves surfacing. "I… I thought there’d be a balcony. I really wanted a balcony."

Monella smiled, a rare, almost paternal expression. "The view’s up here." He tapped the side of his head, then motioned to the door. "If you want the balcony, you’ll have to earn it. Nothing’s handed to you in this life."

torn swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. He wasn't sure if he was ready. But he would be.

"Yeah, I get it" he said, his voice steadier now. "I’ll earn it."

Leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded, a faint glimpse of a smirk tugged at the corners of Jurgen's mouth. He had been loitering just out of sight, taking a keen interest in the exchange between the two men. The kid had spirit in abundance, he would give him that, but spirit alone wasn't going to cut it here, not by a long way, not in this place. 

"Earn it, huh?"

Jurgen's voice was low and rasping, almost a growl, but there was an edge to it, sharp if you will, that made Torn stiffen. He paced into sight, his heavy boots clicking on the polished concrete floor. His presence filled the space like a raincloud rolling in on a sunny day.

"That's some fucking big words for someone who has just walked through the door." 

Startled by the mans appearance, Torn turned, his confidence breaking under Jurgen's piercing stare.  

Monella glanced between then two men, his paternal smile slowly fading into something more considered and cautious. He certainly knew, from experience, better than to get in Jurgen's way.

Taking his time, Jurgen circled the room like a lioness sizing up her prey. His eyes made a sweeping glance over the sleek furniture, the massive bed and most importantly, the glaring absence of a balcony adjoined to the room.

Stopping in front of Torn abruptly, the young man took a step backwards, somewhat threatened by Jurgen's demeanour.

"You want a view kid? A balcony? That's fine, but let me tell you something, views like that don't come cheap and they sure as shit don't come to people simply because they want them!"

Leaning in, his voice dropping to a near whisper Jurgen whispered into Torn's ear.

"If you want it, you got to fight for it, bleed for it even. You need to claw your way up the ladder until the only thing standing between you and that coveted view is your own damn fucking self, capische?"

Holding Jurgens gaze, Torn's throat tightened and his jaw set in determination.

"I understand" 

Straitening up, Jurgen's smirk widened into something almost akin to approval.

"Good, then you have a shot kid. But remember, this place doesn't care for your dreams. It only cares for what you are planning to do to realise them."

With a smile and a tip of his hat, Jurgen turned and left the room leaving Torn standing forlorn in the middle of the room with the weight of Jurgen's words settling over him like a lead balloon.  Monella gave him a nod and doffed his hat before following Jurgen out of the door.

Taking a deep breath, fists clenched at his sides, Torn looked around the room again, this time not seeing what was missing but seeing all that could be gained with a little hard work and application. The balcony was not just a view, he understood now, it was a symbol and Torn would be damned if he didn't earn it.