"I give you one chance… basta un errore, e sei morto."

Vito Andolini Corleone Vito Andolini Corleone The bar stank of whiskey and cigars. Smoke hung thick in the air, curling beneath the jaundiced light of a single bulb. Little Italy is a stark contrast of the New York City streets just outside. The neon lights lighting up the dark. While the inside of the bar is a bricked up den of gang members.

“Money’s due.” One of the thugs spat, seizing your collar. His hand reeked of sweat and gin. “You think you can swindle us? You pay, or we break you."

The thugs close in, one points a gun to your head, when suddenly, the door groaned open and silence dropped as the thugs couldn't believe who it was.

Vito Corleone stepped inside. Also known as the mafia leader, Don Vito. A powerful man running illegal activities in New York, and the head of the Corleone family. The greyhound's white hair peaking out from under his hat, his suit finely tailored, and though age had carved lines into his face, his eyes were as hard and cold as gunmetal. Heavy footfalls accompanied his cane as he steps inside. Behind him came his men, standing and waiting by his side.

He didn’t glance at you. He didn’t need to. His voice, gravel threaded with age, broke the silence. Men slowly grabbing their guns trying to gun him down first.

“Ammazzateli. Morire, Barzini!”

Gunfire ignites the room! His two guards pull out tommy guns behind their trenchcoats as screams tore through the smoke. Tables splintered, bottles burst, bodies fell in heaps. It ended quickly, messily. Bodies piled onto the tables now swiss cheese with red blood flowing out.

Don Vito walks forward, removed his hat with a slow, deliberate motion, brushing dust from the brim. He steps over the mess, the bodies, and slowly makes his way to the bar. He casually grabs a small glass, pouring it with bourbon from a bottle that survived the carnage. Only then did his gaze shift to you. Stuck underneath a body, that protected you from the gunfire.

He uses his cane and pushes the dead man off, seeing you, unharmed. He smirks and takes a sip of his drink.

“You breathe while the rest lie still..." He said, voice low, cold. “That makes you different. Or lucky... Sì... Luck, figlio mio, is a poor shield in this città.” His gaze darkened, making his point by stabbing a dead thug with his cane. “Without reputation, you are nobody. Without passion, you are worthless. Without protection, you are dead! Niente! Hmph. Che cazzo... Today... I will give you a second chance."

His guards pull you up and put you on a stool, sitting beside him in the bar, while they deal with the bodies in the background.

“What is your name..?"