Malcolm stood at the ready, scanning the dozen men who were gathered around the table in the empty warehouse. He'd worked a lot of security jobs over the years, but this one was different: it was his. No more standing in the corner taking orders from some asshole who had the money to pay him for the day. Now he was in business for himself. The men around the table were paying attention to their cards, as well as the dealer. He'd overheard one of them bitching to a bartender a few days ago. Apparently there was a fairly dedicated group of poker players in the Soho area. They weren't high rollers like you saw in Vegas or Atlantic City, but these were men who managed factories, who owned construction companies, and who served as high ranking union executives. There was some serious money at the table, considering the neighborhood. Their issue had been security. They'd been robbed twice. Once by a disgruntled player who'd lost more than he could afford and once by some wise guy who crashed their party. Malcolm had approached the man at the bar and worked out a deal. He would provide security and, in return, take a cut for himself.

The game was being held in an abandoned warehouse in Soho; one that Malcolm had carefully scouted out. There was only one entrance from the street, although there was an exit from the fire escape in the back that could be dropped down in an emergency. Malcolm had mostly been stalking around the game like a wolf around a campfire, listening to the sound of chips being stacked and the friendly banter between the players, occasionally emerging to speak when he was requested. Social deftness was not a strong area for him, but he'd earned the respect of the players through a combination of his imposing build and calm attitude. Malcolm was ready to deal with any threats; his eyes were repeatedly flicking back toward the door and he had his contact in the NYPD in the area as well. He kept his arms crossed, with his right hand close to the newly purchased .38 Special in its shoulder holster, in case any troublemakers burst through the door. But the biggest threat to the game tonight seemed to be internal.

One of the players was down. Big. So much that the man's friends were starting to speak to him in softer tones and shooting glances at each other, while the players who didn't know him were prodding him and making jokes. The man in the hole, Patrick Crawford, tried one last desperate draw to reverse his fortune. When it failed and he sunk his head to the table, the other players exchanged looks and immediately ended the game. A few of the players close to the loser tried speaking to him with a hand on his shoulder, but the devastated man left his head on the table. The anemic, pale man had somehow become even more white with fear. The players started to leave in pairs and small groups, muttering thanks to Malcolm as they went, and the man at the bar handed a folded bunch of bills before leaving.

When everyone else had gone, Malcolm sat down at the table across from Patrick. He'd been hoping something like this would happen, although he didn't expect it to be so soon.

"Mr. Crawford, tonight has been a bad night for you. But it doesn't have to be as dire as you think."

The man didn't even raise his head from the table as he muttered his questioning disagreement.

"I can help you. Just like I helped you and your friends tonight. I can... persuade your creditors to set you up with a very, very generous repayment schedule. You may need to drop out of the game, but you'll keep your house, keep your job, and your family will never need to know what happened here tonight."

Malcolm slowly took out his pistol and laid it on the table. He barely knew how to use it, but Crawford didn't know that. Besides, he'd never needed a gun to intimidate a man. Crawford couldn't take his eyes off it.

"I can be very persuasive, Mr. Crawford. And you need my help. I'll take care of this for you, but I do have a price."

Malcolm paused.

"I want partial ownership in your construction company, Mr. Crawford. You'll still keep most of it, of course, and run it however you'd like. The only difference is that, on rare circumstances, you follow my instructions. As your partner, I'll be motivated to make sure you're successful, and having someone... like me will help your profits. You might even make more than you do now."

Malcolm waited. He knew the owner of the construction company only had one move. The silence endured for a couple minutes, until Crawford numbly muttered "What choice do I have?"

Malcolm rose and shook the man's sweating hand. 

"Go home, Mr. Crawford. We'll meet back here tomorrow night. I'll have this taken care of for you- and you'll have the paperwork."

Malcolm finally allowed himself a smirk.

"Partner."

He was in.

Emerging from the entrance of the abandoned warehouse, a man in his late thirties barely six feet tall lets out a deep sigh as he looks up to the dark blanket littered with twinkling stars. The sky is the epitome of what he is feeling right now, a trace of gloom and morose vividly seen in his handsome face. Losing to a lousy dice game or roulette is one thing but losing to a game of poker which he considers himself an expert of is unfathomable. 

Emanuele Caruso or "Mani" as he is frequently called by his coworkers is a man good with his hands as he was born from the family of atigiani (artisans) from the town of Mascali in Catania, Sicily. His plans to be repatriated to Italy after saving enough money becomes obsolete after a major eruption on the east flank of Mount Etna left his town demolished and his entire family tree extinct. Now he is trapped in the city of lights, hoping to escape the curse that has been bestowed to him by fate. 

"Incridibile, I just lost everything" 

A deep, gravelly voice resonating from his thin,wide lips disrupts the serenade of the crickets as the air cools accentuates the darkness of the night.

Malcolm walked out of the warehouse with a spring in his step, having said goodbye to Patrick Crawford. As he moves under a streetlight on the sidewalk, he hears someone speaking from the parking lot and recognized a man from the poker game. He walked slowly over to the man, clicking his new shoes on the pavement and tucking his hands in his pockets. Was this another opportunity?

"Lost everything, huh? Like what?"

Any man would be startled upon hearing a voice like that but Mani is different. A distinct voice much deeper than his can only belong to a man with a formidable physique, Malcolm. Mani stood still in his tracks and looked him in the face with his piercing brown eyes.

"I am a man of no importance, signore. I'm just a contractual worker of Mr. Crawford"

He explains himself before Malcolm can utter a single word.

"You may be wondering where did I get the money I used to buy in the game or how did I know about the warehouse but I can only tell you this, I'm also a man of discretion. I'm afraid I can talk to you no more unless of course you can inform me what has just transpired inside between you and my boss."

"Well, if you work for him you'll be hearing about it soon enough. And even if you're lying, it won't be a secret.  I'm going to be helping your boss. A man like me will be able to negotiate long term settlements for him without the mess of getting the courts and the law involved. In return, I become a partner in his business and help direct it. While I don't have too much experience with construction, I have no doubt I'll bring in more money."

Malcolm scanned the night sky with a quiet grin.

"That answers your questions, I hope. Now a few questions of my own. What's your name? And are you just worried about your job? Or is there something else going on here?"

"Trust family first, relatives second, Sicilians third, and after that, forget it", one of the beliefs inculcated in him by his father. But the promise of more money clouded his astute judgment, A mali estremi, estremi rimedi, desperate times calls for desperate measures. There is no need to doubt this guy, Mani thought, a man like Malcolm could easily have friends in higher places.

"Signore, I am Emanuele Caruso, the last of my kind. You can call me Mani like your currency here in America."

He paused for a moment to let Malcolm remember his name.

"Of course, a man like Mr. Crawford could not possibly remember my name and my face and you probably knew why. He treats us all the same. And you asked me if I'm worried about my job, the answer is no. Those who know me did not call me Mani for no reason at all, signore. What I'm worried about is this"

He put his rough, manly hand in the pocket of his dark grey trench coat jacket and pulls out a nickel, just enough to feed him a 20 oz loaf of bread one time.

"I lost my entire life savings in that game along with a fortune from a dead gentleman. But I know that if I work hard and work always, I'll never know hunger."

He flipped his coin before catching it middair and putting it back in his pocket. He turned to Malcolm waiting for a reply.

Malcolm listened carefully as Mani introduced himself.

"What do you mean by the last of your kind?"

He watched the man catch the coin out of the air.

"I've fought against hunger myself, Mani. I wouldn't bet against you. If you're looking for work, I might be able to help with that. I've got to help run this construction outfit now, and I could use someone on the ground who understands the work. Or perhaps you have other talents that could be used to our advantage..."

"It's a long story signore, Shepard. Needless to say, I'm more than willing to tell you all of it including my experiences working under Mr. Crawford, but I'm afraid I will have to postpone it because I need to experience first what it feels like to be under your leadership."

Mani bowed down his head before and gave a faint smile.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, my future boss. I hope you remember me the next time we meet."

He turned around and walked away, their conversation surely transformed his sullen face into a hopeful one. He took out his nickel once again to buy the bread that will satisfy his hunger for the night wondering of what the future will bring.