The Rabbit Hole, a hidden speakeasy in the heart of Manhattan, was delightfully full. Prohibition was in full swing, but here the drinks flowed like they would never run dry. A jazz band played an upbeat tune as patrons mingled and danced and got drunk to their heart's content. Vincent Bennardo watched the festivities with a small, crooked smile. A good night always meant more money, after all.

The mobster sipped his mint julep, eyes scanning the crowd for just a brief moment.