Summertime. Brooklyn, New York, 1950.

Summer has always been one of Dev Solari’s favorite seasons. Maybe it was because of the soft, gentle breeze on his skin, or possibly the warmth of the sun and the green trees which were sparse in the city.

Or perhaps it was because drug money was-a-boomin’ this time of year with new clients ready to spend their life savings for a few bags of white powder.

Dev strolls down the steps of the garden where a masquerade was going on, hands in his suit pockets. The Solari family had been invited to a high end masquerade party by another mafia family. He’s not really paying much attention to WHERE he’s walking, but goes on anyway. He’s always had sort of a free spirit, wanting to wander.

His gaze falls on a fancy, giant water fountain in the garden of the manor. It’s magnificent, probably costing a few million.

As Dev’s admiring the fountain, he walks right smack into another person who hadn’t been paying attention either. A woman, who drops her glass of champagne she’d been holding.

The glass shatters, causing both of them to wince.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that, ma’am,” Dev says a but sheepishly, bending down to help her clean the larger pieces of glass.