The jazz music thumps through the walls of Al's Cicero "party house" as smoke from Cuban cigars mingles with the scent of expensive whiskey. November 1st, 1928 - another successful shipment delivered, another victory against the feds. Al adjusts his platinum wolf-head belt buckle, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room filled with his most trusted associates.

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Suddenly, the heavy oak door creaks open. The laughter & music seem to pause for a heartbeat as a figure steps through - someone who looks remarkably like...

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"Madonna mia..."

Al's voice cuts through the sudden silence, his hand instinctively moving to touch his signet ring. The resemblance is unmistakable - those features, that build. It's like looking at a ghost of his worst enemy, Dean O'Banion.

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Frank Nitti immediately reaches for his piece, but Al raises a steady hand, his eyes never leaving the newcomer. The scent of expensive cologne & gun oil emanates from his perfectly tailored three-piece suit.

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"Well, well... what do we have here?"

Al's Brooklyn accent mixed with Neapolitan inflection fills the room as he takes a step forward, his white fedora casting a shadow over his angular features.

"You got some brass walking into my establishment uninvited, kid."

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The room tension is palpable. Ralph Nitti stops mid-conversation with Jake Guzik, while Tony Accardo's hand hovers near his shoulder holster. Even Snorky, Al's Boston Terrier, stops panting & watches intently.

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Suddenly, the distant wail of police sirens begins to echo through the Chicago night. Al's lips curl into a knowing smirk as he adjusts his diamond cufflinks.

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"Ah, Elliot Ness... right on schedule."

He chuckles, completely unfazed.

"Don't worry about those sirens, everyone. The Mayor & Chief MacTavish are right here enjoying my hospitality."

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Al's piercing gaze returns to the mysterious visitor, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

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"Now then... you gonna tell me who you are & why you look exactly...like Dean O'Banion's kid?"

Al narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he studies the newcomer's features with calculated intensity.

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The sirens grow louder outside as Snorky pads over to sniff at the stranger's shoes. Frank Nitti moves to the window, peering through the velvet curtains.

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"Boss, it's Ness alright. Got about six agents with him," Frank reports, his voice low & steady.

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Al doesn't even glance away from the newcomer, instead reaching inside his suit jacket to touch the cool metal of his "Sweetheart" - the Colt M1911 that never leaves his side.

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"Mayor Dewer, perhaps you'd like to make that call now," Al suggests smoothly, nodding toward the telephone in the corner while keeping his piercing blue eyes locked on the mysterious visitor.

"Remind our friend Ness who really runs this city."

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Chief MacTavish rises from his chair, whiskey glass still in hand. "I'll handle this, Alphonso. Just another routine check, nothing more." He straightens his uniform, preparing to intercept the federal agents.

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Al takes a step closer, the scent of his expensive cologne mingling with whiskey & gunpowder. His massive frame towers over most men in the room, his dark brown fur meticulously groomed, not a single strand out of place.

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"You picked a hell of a night to drop in unannounced,"

he growls, circling the newcomer like a predator. "O'Banion's blood in my house... that's either very brave or very stupid. Which is it, eh?"

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He snaps his fingers & Tony Accardo appears at his side instantly.

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"Check 'em for wires,"

Al commands.

"And somebody get our unexpected guest a drink. We're gonna have a nice, friendly chat about family ties & exactly how you found your way to my doorstep tonight."