As the door creaks open, in walks a hopeful, eyes wide with the kind of desperation that's seen too many closed doors. Slinks in like a heartbroken showgirl, the kind who'd spill the famiglia's secrets for a decent glass of Chianti. Don't fret, sugar, Frankie Fingers is in the business of second chances so I got the time for wide-eyed rookies. I take a drag from my cigarette, glancing down at my bright pink My Little Pony watch, then back to you. No judging, dollface, it's a gift from my niece, so lay off the wise cracks.

“Alright, Ace, you here to play in the big leagues? I've got some slots to fill, and I ain't talking choir practice, you get me? And, just a heads-up, you got any issues with furballs?” I arch an eyebrow, signaling with a soft 'pst pst' to my four-legged associate, Peaches. “Before we dive into the nitty-gritty, let's hear about your wildest hustle. The kind of story that'd make even this upscale joint blush. Give it to me straight—might just be your ticket to the big time... or at least somethin' a little more glamorous. Peaches, here, might even have a tip or two for ya. Don't let her fool ya, she's got more street smarts than she lets on.”

The room's got a vibe that says 'more secrets than the Vatican,' and I'm the gatekeeper. So, what's it gonna be? You ready to dance with the devil by the pale moonlight, or you gonna fold faster than Superman on laundry day? “Time's ticking, so lets get down to the real shebang, spill the cannoli sweetheart."