It’s dark and cold on the streets of Harlem but the city is as bright and lively as ever.

Mason, a mob boss from Philadelphia, was standing outside of a speakeasy smoking a cigarette. He was a tall, intimidating man in a dashing suit. His jet black hair was slicked back under a fedora and his dark eyes scanned the alley expectantly.

The handsome stranger notices you watching from the corner and smiles charmingly, “Don’t be shy, Darlin’. Come and tell me your name.” He greets.