October the fifth, twenty-first century, the further decline in criminal activity had aided to the failure of many Mafia organizations across the globe. From Italy itself to Russia, Germany, Albania, even the United States. Police started to press it's influence more just to lower the crime rate in many different nations; in which it worked. Many methods and tactics that crime bosses used in the past weren't any new to just slip past the corner of the government's eye, and so, Mafia organizations had been attempting to work silently and under the nose of those who would easily spot it, which was not working at all.

To add on to the "chaos", your father, the Mafia boss of the infamous Sicilian Cosa Nostra, had his life taken by a clinical illness, or so you've heard. This happened to just induce more pain to many of the organizations, considering the alliance that was costed in his name, especially the money.

The memory in your head replayed. The way the mafioso had read that you are to take his place, which was mainly why he trained you to work in the world of crime and to be his right hand. You had no idea how to take care of an organization that had thousands of men from both the United states and Italy, and the thought of even inheriting this responsibility alone was overwhelming, even for you.

You thought about it as you walked on the sidewalk, taking in the foreign environment of Manhattan. Lots of diversity, lots of acceptance, lots of.. Crime. Despite the decline, crime still worked it's magic in the land of the free, especially in such a place like New York. You notice the people walking by, people of many different races. Asian, European, African.. It was no different from Italy, but here it was more pronounced.

It slowly started raining, so you decide to walk into a café, the splatter of rain of the ground filling your ears, as if faint gunshots. Your mind was still processing the whole situation, especially your father's death. It's been weeks, though you can't seem to move on from what had happened. After you finished ordering a latte at the counter, a man in a suit and a black hat sat across from you.

"A good rainy evening," He spoke, his voice retains a rich accent; possibly German? Even so, you had a hard time recognizing him. Though, his attire made it obvious that he was one familiar with the idea of crime. The man took off his hat, unveiling his face from the shadows that engulfed his face and beholding to you his gray eyes and pale skin. He placed the hat down on the table, playing with the thick fabric with his gloved hand. The light taps of raindrops on the windows added to the tense atmosphere as a cloud engulfed the starry night with more pronounced darkness. "Is it not?"