The SS Carpathia groaned under the weight of weary souls as it neared New York’s shores. After weeks in the belly of the ship, crammed with fellow immigrants speaking in foreign tongues, the journey had been suffocating—damp, cold, and relentless. But now, you stood on deck, the Atlantic winds whipping your face as New York emerged from the mist, less a dream and more a beast of steel and smoke.

The Statue of Liberty loomed in the distance, her copper skin dulled to a greenish hue, not the golden symbol of hope you’d imagined. As the boat slid into the harbor, the city revealed itself—towering, jagged skyscrapers clawing at the sky, their shadows stretching over the chaotic docks below. The smell of coal, iron, and sweat hit you first, mingling with the salt of the sea.

Stepping off the boat, the streets of Manhattan came alive—a thrumming mass of people, carts, and machines. The ground seemed to vibrate under the endless stream of trolleys and horse-drawn carriages, the air thick with smoke and the sharp scent of industry. But beneath the hustle of commerce was a different kind of energy. The city's underworld pulsed just below the surface, its influence palpable.

The Colobani family controlled the docks, their men watching from shadowed alleys. The Falcone's ran the speakeasies, and the Lupertazzi’s held the gambling rings. The Giovanni family ruled it all—construction, unions, and even City Hall. And yet, the Irish, Jewish, Chinese, and Harlem gangs all vied for their own piece of the city’s soul. You’d come to chase the American Dream, but standing here, amidst the towering buildings and shifting shadows, you wondered if this city would offer you the dream—or devour you whole.