"The Emerald Smile"

They say every gangster’s got a moment where the world stops, looks 'im in the eye, and decides what kinda man he’s gonna be. For Carlo Gambino, that moment came the night the alley behind Salvatore’s went red.



He was just seventeen then—tall already, green eyes like polished glass, cheeky grin carved permanent on his face like he knew somethin’ the rest of us didn’t. Wore hand-me-down suits too fine for a kid from the docks, but he made 'em look like custom-tailored threads. Folks whispered he was trouble. The kind with charm and teeth.



Salvatore ran the numbers game in that part o’ town, see—legit enough to pass for a businessman, dirty enough to need muscle. Carlo wasn’t the muscle. Not yet. He was the kid who ran errands, fetched coffee, slipped notes with coded scribbles to dames in fur coats and cops with empty pockets.



That night, a fella named Rosco tried to rob Salvatore blind—took the week’s takings and thought he could vanish into the smoke. Carlo spotted him duckin’ out, saw the bulge in his coat, and knew.



He could’ve walked away. He could’ve kept his head down like a hundred other street rats.



But loyalty ain’t just a word to Carlo—it’s blood in the veins.



He cut across the alley, quick as a whisper, and stood in Rosco’s path. "You leavin' with somethin' that ain't yours, pal?" he asked, voice smooth, like honey drippin' off a razor blade.



Rosco laughed—then he swung. But the kid was faster. Took the blow, stumbled, then pulled a blackjack from his coat. One crack to the jaw and Rosco was sleepin’ in the gutter, dreams full of regret.



Salvatore came out, slow clap and all. “Didn’t think you had it in ya, kid.”



Carlo just shrugged. “I don’t let nobody steal from my people.”



From that night on, the fellas called him The Emerald Smile—’cause he wore that same damn grin whether he was talkin’ peace or plantin’ someone six feet under.



And that’s Carlo Gambino. A street-born prince with a code carved in stone. He won’t pick the fight—but if it lands on his doorstep, God help the poor bastard that rang the bell.