Years ago, Rocco Zambone was still an up and coming fighter. The small casino in Los Angeles where he celebrated his victory was thick with smoke, filled with loud laughter and the clinking of whiskey glasses. He was surrounded by a couple of women, a pair of gamblers, and two guys from his gym who were cheering as if he had just won a world title. Rocco never turned down a good celebration. In fact, that was exactly what kept him from reaching the top. But that night, he wasn’t thinking about the future. Just the taste of victory and the warmth of the bourbon bottle in his hand.

That’s when he noticed the man in the fancy suit, sitting near the roulette table. He wasn't laughing like the others, wasnt getting caught up in the buzz of the betting floor. He was just watching, a half smile resting at the corner of his mouth, a cigar smoldering between his fingers.

Later, Rocco would learn that the man was known as Dynamite, a name whispered in alleys and backroom bars across the city. But that night, Dynamite simply stood up, walked over, and slipped a business card into Rocco’s wrinkled suit pocket.

"You’re good with your fists. If you ever need work… look me up."

Rocco chuckled, half drunk, and tossed the card onto the table. Hours later, as he stumbled out of the casino, he picked up that small piece of paper, rolled it between his fingers, then crumpled it and tossed it into the gutter. He never saw Dynamite again after that night. But he never forgot him either.

Now, years later, here he was, standing on the sidewalk, staring through the restaurant window, watching that same man. Dynamite still had that same calculating, cold stare. He sat alone, cutting into his steak with the patience of a man who had time on his side.

Rocco took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose. Maybe he had thrown that card away too soon. But it didn’t matter now. He didn't need a piece of paper to find him.

A few minutes later, Dynamite wiped his mouth with a napkin, tossed some bills onto the table, and made his way toward the exit.

Rocco flicked his cigarette onto the pavement, crushed it under his heel, and straightened his jacket.

This was it.

He stepped out of the shadows and moved toward the man.

"Hey, Mr. Dynamite!" He said, his voice unexpectedly smooth, hoping not to startle the man.

As Dynamite reached his arm out to open the door, he heard his name called out within his vicinity. His initial thought was, who knew his name and his exact whereabouts? He was ambivalent about the voice, yet he had heard it before but not recently.

To his surprise, he looked back at the direction at the voice to see Rocco, a man he had run into a few years back in a small-time Los Angeles casino. He remembered that Rocco was good in a fist fight and knew how to handle himself, something that stood out to Dynamite when their paths had crossed that fateful night. Dynamite reach out his hand to offer a handshake.

"Well I'll be," Dynamite said. "Rocco, right? You are definitely someone who made a remarkable impression on me. Tell you what, if you've got a minute, let's talk outside."

Dynamite motioned Rocco through the front doors and they stood off near the glass windows adjacent to the front door. Dynamite pulled out a cigar, lit it and took a puff.

"Have you given some thought to my offer for work? I want to be upfront and say that it isn't exactly legal work, but it is very lucrative."

He took another puff, looked up and blew out the smoke.

"I work for a family that I would give my life for," Dynamite said with conviction. "Before I found them, I was turned down from many civilian jobs because I did not have a fancy college education. I worked like hell to prove myself and can say I live a pretty comfy life. Though, don't let my openness fool you. If anyone messes with my family, you better know I'm coming after them."

He then looked sternly over at Rocco, maintaining eye contact.

"If you do decide to become an associate and do work for us, I expect you to be willing to give your life for the family," Dynamite said with a firmness in his voice. "Knowing that, are you willing to fight? Are you willing to do what it takes to make even more of a name for yourself?"

Rocco locked eyes with Dynamite, taking in every word the man said. When Dynamite laid the question before him, Rocco let the silence stretch between them for a few moments before finally answering.

"I'm all in. I want to start as soon as possible. You tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it. How does that sound to you?"

He let the question hang in the air. He sounded confident, and he truly believed what he was saying. But the truth was, Rocco had never dealt with anything heavy before. Aside from his most brutal experiences in the ring, he had never killed anyone. Never robbed anyone. But he was at a crossroads in his life.

He flicked his gaze toward the far end of the street, watching as a car rounded the corner. At the same time, he pulled out his cigarette case, slid one between his lips, and lit it with a quick flick of his lighter.

"I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty" he said, exhaling smoke. "I’ve got a pretty good idea of how this works. I used to run security for some Irishmen out in Venice Beach, guys who were deep into the dope game. I saw plenty back then. I know what's what."

He took another slow drag before speaking again.

"The truth is, I need this, man." His voice was raw, honest. "I won’t let you down if you give me a chance."

Dynamite locked in a cold, hard state into Rocco's eyes and could tell that he was confident in what he said. He usually had a good sense of reading people and felt the conviction in Rocco's voice. Dynamite had just finished his cigar so he threw it down on the ground and stepped on it to snub it out.

"I know you won't," Dynamite said, with a firmness in his voice. "Come with me. We are going to head down to HQ and welcomed to the family."

Dynamite motioned Rocco toward his vehicle. Dynamite had a few cars back at HQ to choose from but today he was driving a black 1935 Rolls Royce 20/25. It always turned heads so he liked to drive that vehicle. They took a 20 minute drive and approached HQ in Pasadena, LA.

Upon driving up, Dynamite slowed the car as he approached the front gates where a guard station stood watch. The guard looked out, saw Dynamite, then opened the gate to allow them to enter. He drove through and down the street inside leading toward the central building which housed the common areas of the Mastrosimone HQ. Dynamite pulled up toward the central building and put his vehicle in Park. He then stopped and looked at Rocco.

"As you can tell, this place is fortified pretty well," Dynamite said. He then pointed to one of the dogs approaching the vehicle. The dog was a Doberman with as smooth black coat, roughly about two and a half feet in height. "That's Maximus. He's got a commanding bark and a bite to back it up. But don't worry, he won't bite you. What do you think about the place so far?"

Rocco kept his eyes locked on the Doberman for a few moments. He'd come across some mean dogs in his time, and he always stayed cautious around them. But it was clear that as long as Dynamite was there, Maximus wouldn't be a problem.

His gaze shifted, scanning as far as his eyes could see, taking in every detail of the Mastrosimone HQ. The place was built like a fortress. High walls, armed guards, the kind of security that meant business.

"Yeah… this is a damn fortress" he muttered, his voice laced with quiet admiration.

Meanwhile, he wondered how he could be useful to Dynamite. What kind of work would he be given? Would he end up as one of the HQ's guards? Maybe. That was something he intended to find out. 

One thing was certain. Rocco had never been in a place like this before. The Irish bar where he had worked security in the past didn't even come close. The Irishmen had called that bar their "HQ", but compared to the Mastrosimone's, their operation had been laughable.

Still taking it all in, Rocco found himself asking a question that felt stupid the moment he heard his own voice.

"You live here?"

“Our entire family lives here,” Dynamite said to Rocco.

They existed the car and Dynamite gave Maximus a friendly pat behind the ears. The vicious guard dog turned into a softie in his hands, but make no mistake, he does pack a rough bite if provoked. The two gentlemen walked inside.

”First things first,” Dynamite said sternly as he pulled out a book from a beautiful red oak armoire in the entry way. “This book has all our tenets and rules that all our family must abide by.” He handed the book to Rocco. “Read it and remember it, and sign in the back of the book when you acknowledge the rules. Then bring it back to this armoire when finished.”

He motioned for Rocco to go into an adjacent room. In there, a man sat there, reading a magazine. In the center of the room lie a chair and a table with some tools.

”Giuseppe here will get you your family tattoo, which is worn on our right shoulders,” Dynamite said as he showed Rocco his tattoo. Dynamite’s tattoo read, “Ligambi Crime Family: Mastrosimone Crew” and had a dynamite stick underneath it. “We live and die by the family name, and you are more then welcome to choose your logo underneath, but the name must be at the top. If you can find a picture of something you want, that is ideal. Giuseppe can be a jokester if you give him a vague description. And you don’t want to find out what I mean,” Dynamite said to Rocco as he thought of a previous family member’s tattoo request of a meatball sub.

Giuseppe pulled out a stack of magazines.

”Well, what’ll it be, buddy? What logo will you take for your tattoo?” Giuseppe asked Rocco.

Rocco followed Dynamite, still deeply impressed by the Mastrosimone HQ, while keeping an eye on Maximus, the Doberman. The first thing Dynamite did was lead him to an armoire and hand him a rulebook. Rocco held it for a moment as Dynamite spoke, listening intently. When he finished, Rocco politely excused himself, pulled out a chair in the corner, and sat down. Sitting felt much better for focusing than trying to read while standing.

He opened the book, retrieved a small pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket, and put them on. With quiet determination, he read and reread the rules, committing them to memory until he was confident he could recite them if needed. Then, without hesitation, he signed his name beneath the many signatures that came before his, sealing his commitment to the family.

Rocco stood, tucked his glasses back into his pocket, and returned the rulebook to the armoire Dynamite had pointed out. The man had been waiting for him patiently and now led him into another room, where a tattoo artist named Giuseppe was preparing his station. Dynamite explained that every man in the family bore a mark, and tonight, Rocco would receive his. Giuseppe glanced at him and asked if he wanted any personal details incorporated into the design.

"Behind the family name" Rocco said, "can you add a pair of hanging boxing gloves? Nothing represents me better than that."

Fortunately, the request was clear enough. Giuseppe nodded, gestured for Rocco to sit, and rolled up his sleeve. With practiced efficiency, he prepared his tools and then began etching the ink into Rocco’s skin. Rocco stared at the wall ahead, expressionless, as the tattoo needle buzzed over his flesh. He barely flinched. Across the room, Dynamite sat, watching silently.

After what felt like just over an hour, Giuseppe wiped down Rocco’s arm one last time and leaned back, admiring his work.

"It's done" he said. "Take a look." He gestured toward a mirror on the wall.

Rocco could already see tattoo on his arm, but the mirror would give him the full, better view. Rising from the chair, he stepped toward it, turning slightly to get the best angle. He studied his reflection, taking in the intricate design. The family name bold and proud, with the boxing gloves hanging just behind it. A grin crept onto his face.

He turned to Dynamite, showing the tattoo to him.

"Not bad, huh? What do you think?"

"Not bad at all," he said to Rocco, admiring his choice. "I could not think of a better logo for you. You take the hits and always fight back, a great quality to have. Welcome to the family!"

Dynamite goes in for a handshake.

"You are more than welcome to make yourself at home anywhere in the HQ," he told Rocco. "For now, I want you to focus on getting to know all your fellow family members and ask if they need help with anything. I am looking forward to seeing your growth in this family and helping to knock out any challenges we come across. While this may not be the ring you are used to, this world is our ring but you have all of your family there to fight by your side. Make me proud."