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| New beginning in BIG APPLE | Started by: Stefan_Babic_Babs on Jul 07, '25 10:43 |
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QUEENS, NEW YORK — 1950 Winter came early that year. The air above the Hudson was cold, gray, and thick, as if the city itself was resisting new arrivals. The steamship SS Marine Perch docked slowly. On the deck, wrapped in a thin coat and carrying a worn-out satchel over one shoulder, stood Stefan Babic — the man who would soon be known in America as Babs. He was pale, quiet, but his eyes said too much. He wasn’t arriving as a dreamer. He was running. Belgrade, Autumn 1949. Night. Rain. A shattered cup on the table. A pack of morphine. Blood. Sirens from the secret police wailed beyond the curtains. Stefan sat in a smoky room with two Italians — one from Palermo, the other from Naples. Their bags were full of heroin. The line was clean: Yugoslavia to Bari, then Sicily. Stefan was the link. At first small, later indispensable. But someone talked. Or someone paid to make sure he fell first. Through the smoke and chaos, Stefan pushed the door open, leaped over a dead agent in the hallway, and jumped out the window. He never looked back. The ship for America left in three days. And he knew — he’d never be able to return. ⸻ A WEEK LATER – QUEENS, BACK ENTRANCE OF A CORNER STORE “You really thought you could unload all this by yourself?” said a stocky young man with a cap pulled low over his brow. His name was Carlo_Gambino ,and he had no connection yet to the legendary name he’d one day carry. At the time, he was just a streetwise local with a decent reputation and a habit of not asking too many questions. He and Babs first met when Stefan tried to sell stolen champagne to the wrong guy in Brooklyn. Carlo pulled him out of trouble, then suggested they do things “with more brains and less luck.” In no time, they became a team. They stole from the docks, resold watches to sailors, pulled small scams in backroom bars… Nothing too big. But sharp. Quick. Clean. And the street started to take notice. ⸻ ONE NIGHT – IN A BASEMENT CAFE IN RIDGEWOOD Babs and Carlo were counting bills from their latest batch of watches when a woman’s voice broke the silence behind them: “You’re not bad. Actually, you’re damn good. Fast, quiet, and nobody knows your names. In this business, that’s an art.” They both turned. Behind them stood Savannah Dubrinsky — elegant, composed, with leather gloves and eyes that left no room for jokes. “My name is Savannah. I won’t take much of your time. Kaime knows about you.” “Kaime?” Carlo asked quietly, glancing at Babs. “The head of the Haven’s Reach family. Maybe you haven’t heard of us — we like it that way. But when we call, you show up.” She stepped closer and placed a small box on the table. Inside: two pistols and a set of keys to a Brooklyn warehouse. “This isn’t an offer. This is the beginning.” Babs said nothing. He looked Carlo in the eyes, then slowly closed the box and nodded once. No more running. No more small-time. This was America. And here, you’re either the predator — or you get eaten. |
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