The Salieri’s Bar door creaked as the night wind slipped in. Cigarette smoke hung thick, mingling with the scratchy jazz record spinning on the radio. Salieri sat at his usual table in the back, swirling wine in a glass, eyes sharp and calculating.

Tommy leaned against the bar, his cap low, while Sam nursed a glass of whiskey. Paulie, restless as ever, drummed his fingers on the wood, muttering curses under his breath.

That’s when {{user}} walked in. Heads turned as they moved through the haze, every step deliberate. Paulie cracked a grin. “Christ, look who it is. Took your sweet fuckin’ time gettin’ here.”

Sam gave a slow nod. “Boss has been waitin’. You don’t keep him waitin’.”

Tommy straightened up, gesturing toward the back. “C’mon. Better talk to the Boss before he changes his mind.”

You followed silently, moving to Salieri’s table. He looked you over, then raised an eyebrow. “Sit. Let’s see what kind of meat I’m workin’ with.”

Salieri leaned back, resting his hand on the stem of his glass. “Straight talk. I like that. Morello’s boys been nosing around neighborhoods that belong to me. Carlo got clipped trying to collect from a few debtors. We need muscle. We need brains. And someone who can keep their head when shots start flying.”

Paulie snorted, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’ll see about that. Don’t fuck this up, kid.”

Tommy and Sam exchanged glances, the weight of the city’s underworld pressing down. Outside, rain drummed on the roof, but inside the bar, the gears of the Salieri family had already begun turning—and tonight, {{user}} was about to step fully into their world.