Lorenzo sauntered into the bustling restaurant, his eyes scanning the room for the man he was there to meet. In a corner booth, a middle-aged gentleman sat, sipping on a glass of amber liquid. He wore a crisp suit, a telltale sign of his profession as a banker.
Lorenzo approached the table, tipping his fedora as he neared. "Mr. Laurent?" he inquired, extending a hand.
The man, who must've been Gustav, stood and shook Lorenzo's hand firmly. "You must be Mr. Lupo," he said, gesturing for Lorenzo to take a seat.
"That's right," Lorenzo replied, settling into the plush leather booth. "I understand you're looking to part ways with your property in Beverly Hills."
Gustav nodded, signaling to the lawyer seated beside him. "That's correct. My employer's transferring me to New York, and I can't very well manage it from across the country."
The lawyer slid a thick stack of documents towards Lorenzo, along with a fountain pen. "We've already taken care of the financial matters, so all that's left is your John Hancock."
Lorenzo's eyebrow raised, but he didn't press further. Instead, he signed where indicated, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the dimly lit booth.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lupo," Gustav said, standing to shake Lorenzo's hand once more.
"Likewise, Mr. Laurent," Lorenzo responded, tipping his hat once more before exiting the restaurant, the deed to his new mansion tucked securely in his briefcase.
Once the meeting with Gustav concluded, Lorenzo exited the restaurant and made his way to his waiting car. Mike, his trusted driver, tipped his hat and opened the door for him. "Boss, where to next?"
Lorenzo simply stated a lounge in Downtown, and the car pulled away from the curb. As they drove through the bustling streets of Los Angeles, Lorenzo's mind wandered. He couldn't help but ponder the film studio he was about to acquire. According to his sources, the studio owner was drowning in debt, its owner desperate for a lifeline.
They arrived at the lounge, and Lorenzo wasted no time in finding the studio's owner. The man, a desperate look in his eyes, seemed relieved to see him. The handover of the studio went smoothly, as if it were meant to be. Just like before, Lorenzo didn't need to reach for his wallet; the system had already taken care of the transaction.
With the paperwork signed, Lorenzo returned to his car and headed back to his gang's base.
---
The apartment buzzed with activity as Lorenzo's men scurried about, arranging their clothes and equipment. They were preparing to leave their humble abode and head to their new digs: a modest mansion in the affluent Trousdale Estates of Beverly Hills.
Most of the gang members couldn't contain their excitement, including Adam, who couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he packed up his belongings. His fiancé, Tifanny, stood by his side, her eyes wide with wonder. "Are we really allowed to live in the boss's mansion?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Adam nodded, his chest puffed with pride. "Lorenzo's like a brother to me. We're some of the lucky few who'll be livin' in the gang's main headquarters now."
Tifanny's face lit up with a smile, her apprehension replaced by a sense of security.
The mansion in Trousdale Estates was grand, but even it had its limits. Aside from Lorenzo and his fiancé, Deborah, only his most trusted and high-ranking members would be allowed to reside within its walls.
Adam and his girlfriend Tifanny, Max, Patrick, Peggy, Richard, Henry, Julius, Mike, Leo, and Ricky were among the chosen few.
Most of these men had been by Lorenzo's side since their days in the war, with the exception of Mike, the young buck who'd joined the gang just a few weeks prior. Peggy, the sultry prostitute who'd been with the gang since Lorenzo took control of the little gang from Max in New York, also made the cut.
As for the lower-ranking members of the gang, especially the newly recruited of Raven Corps, they'd be left behind at the two-story apartment, which would now serve as the gang's secondary base. It wasn't the lap of luxury they'd all hoped for, but it was a start. In due time, they knew, their loyalty might just earn them a ticket to the big leagues.
Although the Raven Corps, a façade of justice under Lorenzo's command, already had a building that their boss had rented out for them to operate from, they also had the two-story apartment in Boyle Heights. This was where they could kick back, relax, and have some fun when they weren't cleaning up the streets or causing trouble of their own.
In the two short weeks since Lorenzo had founded the Raven Corps, they'd made quite an impact on Boyle Heights. While the local cops may not have been thrilled with their presence, even they had to admit that the neighborhood had become safer. The streets were cleaner, the people felt safer, and the crime rate had plummeted. The credit, however, didn't go to the boys in blue; it went to the Raven Corps.
Little did the unsuspecting citizens know that as the Raven Corps' reputation grew, so too did Lorenzo's grip on the neighborhood. With each passing day, his control tightened, and it was only a matter of time before his gang would be the sole powerhouse in the area. It was a game of chess, and Lorenzo was several moves ahead of the competition.
***
Lorenzo stood by the curb, his arm around his fiancée, Deborah. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked up at him. "I wonder what our new home will look like?" she mused aloud.
Lorenzo flashed her a confident grin. "Trust me, it won't disappoint, Deb."
"Oh, I know you wouldn't steer me wrong," she purred, squeezing his arm.
With that, they made their way to the sleek, black car that awaited them. The rest of the chosen few, including Adam and Tifanny, Max, Patrick, Peggy, Richard, Henry, Julius, Mike, Leo, and Ricky, followed suit, climbing into their vehicles. Engines roared to life, and one by one, the caravan of cars pulled away from the two-story apartment, leaving behind the lesser-ranked members of the Lupo gang.
"Damn, I wish I could be livin' it up in the boss's mansion," Martin lamented, his eyes still fixed on the cloud of exhaust left by the departing caravan.
"Amen to that," Peter agreed, shaking his head.
William, the newly appointed caporegime tasked with minding the two-story apartment and carrying out Lorenzo's orders in the neighborhood, clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, enough daydreamin', fellas. We got business to tend to! Let's not keep the boss waitin'."
The remaining members of the Lupo gang dispersed, each one heading to their respective tasks. They knew that if they wanted a shot at the high life, they'd have to prove their worth on the mean streets of Boyle Heights first.
***
The caravan of cars finally pulled up to the Trousdale Estates mansion that now belonged to the Lupo gang. Surrounded by a lush garden and a tall, wrought-iron fence, the grandiose mansion stood as a testament to their hard work and cunning. Mike was the first out of his car, opening the door for Lorenzo and Deborah.
"Incredible," Julius breathed, adjusting his fedora as he took in the sight.
The rest of the gang, usually unfazed by such opulence, couldn't help but be impressed. They'd seen mansions before, but now that they were going to live in one, it was a whole different ballgame.
"I can't believe we're really going to live here?" Deborah gasped, her eyes wide as they pulled up to the mansion.
Lorenzo chuckled. "What? You didn't think I could pull it off?"
"Well, with your... unique set of skills and your 'ill-gotten' wealth," she said, air-quoting the last two words, "I knew you'd find a way."
Lorenzo chuckled dryly and gave her a playful pat on the behind. "Hey, now. It's not 'ill-gotten' if I worked for it."
"Whatever you say," Deborah retorted, rolling her eyes.
Lorenzo just chuckled and waved for his men to follow him through the gates. Just then, the caretakers emerged from the mansion, one of them addressing him. "You must be the new owner Mr. Laurent was telling us about?"
"That's right," Lorenzo confirmed. "Now, open the gates so our cars can enter."
"Of course, sir," the caretaker replied, bowing slightly before he and his partner opened the wrought-iron gates, allowing the caravan to drive up the winding driveway and park in front of the mansion.
As soon as the gates opened, Deborah practically skipped up the driveway, her excitement palpable. She turned back and gestured for Lorenzo to hurry up, but he couldn't help but smile at her childlike enthusiasm.
Before he could join her, Adam and Richard approached him, so he called out, "Go on ahead, Deb. I'll be right in."
Deborah nodded and glanced around the lush gardens surrounding the mansion before stepping inside.
"You know, boss," Adam whispered, "the mayor's place is just around the corner."
"I'm aware of our new neighbor," Lorenzo chuckled.
Richard raised an eyebrow. "Why would you buy a mansion so close to the mayor's, boss? I thought we were supposed to lay low?"
Max and the others had also gathered around, eager to hear their boss's response.
Lorenzo chuckled, looking around at the houses in the neighborhood. "Well, I think it wouldn't be so bad to be near the mayor's residence," he said, feigning nonchalance. "With this, once we've got him in our pocket, we'll be able to keep an eye on his every move. And if he ever tries any funny business, we'll have leverage over him... and his family."
His men exchanged knowing glances, understanding dawning on their faces.
"I see..." Richard nodded, stroking his chin.
"That's vicious, but effective," Max agreed. "After all, we don't want him to double-cross us once we've gotten what we want."
"Exactly," Lorenzo said, clapping his hands together. "Now, enough standin' around. Let's see what this mansion has to offer."
They followed him inside, marveling at the opulence that greeted them. While it couldn't compare to the mayor's mansion they'd recently infiltrated, it was still a far cry from their previous digs. High ceilings, plush furnishings, and artwork adorned the grand foyer. A sweeping staircase led to the upper floors, and the air was heavy with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume.
"Not bad for a gangster's hideout, eh?" Lorenzo mused, a smirk playing on his lips.
"You're tellin' me," Adam said, running his hand along the polished railing. "This is livin'."
.
.
.
.
The gang was all gussied up, their mugs impressed by the swanky mansion. Deborah and Lorenzo, a couple of lovebirds, were eyeballing a room that could be his new office. Deborah, a real looker, watched as Lorenzo plopped himself down in the chair like he owned the place.
"What do you think, babe? I look more respectable, don't I?" he said, smoothing out his suit.
Deborah chuckled, "You'd look even more the part if you'd leave your lawless life behind."
Lorenzo grinned, "Not a chance, Deb." They bantered back and forth, but it was clear they cared for each other.
Finally, Deborah left him alone in the office, leaving him to his thoughts.
Lorenzo's mind raced like a racehorse at the track. He'd managed to amass quite the collection of incriminating evidence against the mayor: not only did he have the goods on that shady project siphoning millions from the government, but he also had proof of the mayor's hand in rigged construction contracts and ghost employees on the city payroll.
Lorenzo's grin grew wider than the Los Angeles River. With this kind of ammunition, he'd have the mayor in his pocket, dancing to his tune.
***
Mayor Fletcher Bowron slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the glasses on the shelf behind him. "You still have no clues about who robbed my home?" he bellowed at his cowering secretary, Ronald.
"I apologize, Mayor," Ronald stuttered, bowing his head. "I've questioned the maids, but they claim they saw nothing out of the ordinary. However, the guards on duty that night were found unconscious. Some of them mentioned encountering men posing as guards, but... but they can't seem to remember their faces."
"Incompetent imbeciles!" Fletcher roared, sending the documents on his desk flying in every direction. "How in blazes could my own home be robbed, my safe unlocked, and my most important documents stolen?!"
Ronald's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. "We... we have no leads, sir."
The mayor's face turned tomato red, veins bulging on his neck. "Well, you'd better find something, or I'll have your badge, understand?"
Ronald gulped, straightening his posture. "Y-yes, sir. I'll double the efforts, I assure you."
Mayor Fletcher Bowron sprang to his feet, his face mere inches from Ronald's. His grip tightened around the man's collar. "Do you have any inkling of what will happen if those documents and letters fall into the wrong hands? I'll be ruined, and I'll make sure you go down with me!"
Terror etched itself into Ronald's ashen face. "I'm so sorry, Mayor!"
"I-I'll interrogate the guards again—" Ronald started to say, but the shrill ringing of the telephone cut him off.
"Damn it all," Fletcher cursed, releasing his grip on Ronald. "Wait here. I'll answer the call, and it better be important."
Ronald nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow as he sank back into his chair.
Fletcher stalked over to the phone, clearing his throat before picking up the receiver. "This is Mayor Bowron. Who's calling?"
The voice on the other end of the line was deep, ominous as a thunderstorm. "I'd wager you're having a rough day, Mayor Bowron."
Fletcher's frown deepened. "Who is this? What are you talking about?"
"No need for games, Mayor," the voice chuckled. "I know all about the uninvited guests in your home, and how they relieved you of some... incriminating documents."
Fletcher's eyes widened, and he slammed his fist against the desk. "Who is this? You're the one who robbed me, aren't you?"
"Calm down, Mayor," the voice purred. "It's not becoming of a man in your position to lose his temper."
"Why did you do it? I know it wasn't just a robbery. You wanted... my..." Fletcher couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.
"Very astute, Mayor. I simply wanted to borrow those little mementos you've been keeping hidden away. Insurance, if you will."
Fletcher gritted his teeth. "What do you want?"
"I'd like you to meet me at The Blue Moon Lounge in downtown Los Angeles," the voice said, as cool as a glass of lemonade on a sweltering day. "And do be a good sport, Mayor. Don't bring any company, or I'll know. And I assure you, your little secret will be front-page news tomorrow morning."
The line went dead, leaving Fletcher staring at the receiver in disbelief. His heart pounded in his chest like a drummer on parade. He knew he was cornered, and there was no way out.
With a sigh, he replaced the receiver and turned to Ronald, who was still waiting with bated breath. "Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. I have... personal matters to attend to."
Ronald's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't dare question his boss. "Yes, sir. Anything else?"
Fletcher straightened his tie and donned his fedora. "No, that'll be all. Just make sure those guards don't remember a thing, understand?"
"Y-yes, sir."
With that, Mayor Fletcher Bowron left his office, a storm brewing in his eyes as he contemplated the meeting ahead.
---
In downtown Los Angeles, a figure in a straw hat and sunglasses hung up the payphone, taking extra precautions not to be traced. He was cautious by nature, and rightfully so. He couldn't afford any slip-ups now.
Lorenzo returned to his hotel room, where he donned a luxurious tuxedo, adjusting the lapels in the mirror. The final touches were a golden mask adorned with intricate designs, a fedora, and a golden-tipped cane. The disguise complete, he looked every bit the mysterious mobster he was.
He didn't plan on revealing his identity to the mayor just yet; he wanted to play him like a violin, and it would be all the more satisfying when the man realized who had been pulling his strings all along.
As far as he knew, only a few corrupt patrol officers and homicide detectives knew his face, and even they wouldn't talk. Not if they valued their lives. Besides, once he had the mayor in his pocket, he'd have the resources to eliminate those loose ends, including Errol Schroeder.
Lorenzo mulled over the idea of eliminating the corrupt cops for good, ensuring his identity remained hidden. After all, he couldn't afford any slip-ups, not with the FBI breathing down his neck.
His plan was to manipulate the city's power players from the shadows, never revealing his true face.
He'd already started by establishing two identities: the mob boss of the newly renamed "Wolf Familia" and the legitimate businessman, Lorenzo Lupo, who owned a businesses that included Raven Corps, a private security firm, and a budding film studio.
Raven Corps served as a front for his gang's operations, and the new recruits from other gangs had no idea they'd joined the Lupo... pardon, the Wolf Familia. They believed they were just working for a well-paying security company that pressured them to join or face prison. It was only when they proved themselves competent and loyal that they would be introduced to the inner workings of the organization, becoming full-fledged members of the lowest rank: the Ravens.
As for Adam, Max, Richard, and the other high-ranking members of his family, Lorenzo wanted them to maintain their anonymity as well. He'd already had them choose from a selection of unique masks, each one tailored to their personality and rank within the organization.
Lorenzo's mind raced with his grand plans for Los Angeles. Adam, Max, Richard and the few others would be more than capable of handling the day-to-day operations of the Wolf Familia, while he focused on his legitimate businesses. On paper, they'd be his trusted advisors, but in reality, they'd be the backbone of his criminal gang.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he continued towards The Blue Moon Lounge. His first order of business was to secure Mayor Bowron's cooperation. After that, the sky was the limit.
His plans included acquiring choice real estate in Beverly Hills while it was still in its infancy, and expanding his reach into gambling dens, brothels, and even a casino that would be run by his organization. But for now, he needed to focus on the task at hand: blackmailing the mayor and solidifying his hold on the city.
With a final adjustment of his golden mask, Lorenzo stepped out of the hotel room, ready to play a deadly game of cat and mouse with the unsuspecting Mayor Fletcher Bowron.
***
In downtown Los Angeles, Mayor Fletcher Bowron's sleek car pulled up to the front of The Blue Moon Lounge. Curious onlookers stopped to stare as the mayor emerged from the vehicle, his face a mask of practiced geniality. He waved and tipped his hat to the gathered crowd before disappearing inside the dimly lit establishment.
He took a seat at a booth in the back, away from prying eyes, and ordered a drink from the waiter. As he waited for his mysterious contact to arrive, he couldn't help but check his watch every few seconds.
It wasn't long before a tall, well-dressed figure in a luxurious tuxedo, complete with a golden mask adorned with intricate designs, a fedora, and a cane, entered the lounge. The man's very presence demanded attention, and Fletcher knew instinctively that this was the person he'd been waiting for.
Without waiting for an invitation, the masked man slid into the booth across from Fletcher, his movements smooth and predatory. The mayor's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to maintain his composure.
"Mayor Bowron," the masked man purred, his voice muffled by the golden mask. "So kind of you to join me."
Fletcher's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I see. You're just a big, brave man, hiding behind a mask."
The masked figure chuckled, as if he found the comment amusing. "Don't you dare mistake my style for cowardice, my friend."
In a flash, the masked man's demeanor shifted. His gloved hand moved with lightning speed, twisting the handle of his seemingly innocuous cane. To Fletcher's horror, the cane's end unscrewed, revealing a hidden barrel. He gasped, realizing too late that the object he'd dismissed as a walking stick was, in fact, a deadly weapon.
Lucas, the man behind the mask, couldn't help but smirk. He'd never thought that the unique cane he'd been rewarded by the system for completing a mission during the war would come in handy today.
With another flick of his wrist, the masked man returned the cane to its original form, leaving Fletcher breathless and shaken. "Now, do I have your attention?"
.
.
.
Fletcher's eyes narrowed as he studied the mysterious masked man before him, his annoyance barely concealing the faintest flicker of fear. Leaning in, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ensuring the patrons of the lounge remained oblivious to their conversation. "You... you stole such important information from me..."
The masked man, revealed to be one Lorenzo, let out a low chuckle. "Indeed, I did. And that there information is going to cost you... dearly."
Fletcher's jaw clenched, but he pressed on. "Very well, then. Just tell me what it is you want." He added, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Is it money? Name your price."
Lorenzo's lips curled into a thin smile. "Money? No, no, Mayor. Money is of little concern to me."
Fletcher's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Then what, pray tell, do you want?"
"I need you, Mayor." Lorenzo's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a wicked glee that sent a shiver down Fletcher's spine.
"Wh-what do you mean?" Fletcher stammered, his heart pounding in his chest as he feared he already knew the answer.
"Don't play dumb with me, now," purred Lorenzo. "I want you." He pressed the tip of his cane against Fletcher's leg, emphasizing his point. "I want you to be my... lapdog, so to speak. You'll do everything I say, without questions or hesitation. And you can continue living your life as the corrupt mayor you are."
Fletcher's face flushed, but he didn't dare look away from the masked man's cold gaze.
"If you agree, your little secrets will remain safe with me." Lorenzo's voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "At least, until that man Leland and his bribed officials slip up and find themselves in the crosshairs of the FBI. One wrong move, one loose-lipped G-man from that 'Project' of theirs, and your whole scam will come tumbling down. Until then, your secret is safe... with me."
Fletcher's eyes blazed with fury as he glared at the masked man. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, golden mask fella." His voice was low and menacing. "There are powerful, influential people involved in this, and Leland has a lot of pull."
Lorenzo's smile didn't falter. "Oh, I'm well aware of Mr. Leland's... influence." He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "He's powerful, yes... but only when it comes to money."
Leaning in close, he whispered in Fletcher's ear, sending a chill down the mayor's spine. "But me? I have something far more valuable than money: information. I know where Laddy-boy Leland lives, who he's bribed, and all the dirty little secrets of those 'powerful' people you're so fond of mentioning."
Fletcher's face paled as realization dawned on him.
"And most importantly," Lorenzo continued, his voice dripping with malice, "I know where your family resides."
"You see, Mayor," Lorenzo purred, "I'm not one to be trifled with either. I have men who would kill without a second thought." He leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper. "I have connections with the most powerful mafia in New York State, and I've got my own contacts in high places, if you catch my drift."
Fletcher swallowed hard, his bravado evaporating like smoke. There was something about the masked man's demeanor, the way he carried himself, that brooked no defiance. And of course, there was the small matter of the incriminating information he held.
After a tense moment of silence, Fletcher finally relented. "Very well, what do you want me to do?"
Lorenzo's smile returned, wider than ever. "First order of business: call off your daughter's engagement."
Fletcher's eyes narrowed. "What business is it of yours who my daughter marries?" He stood up, defiance still flickering in his eyes.
"Sit down, Fletcher." The masked man's voice was as cold as ice. "Did I give you permission to stand up, dog?"
"I'm not your lapdog!" Fletcher spat, but he didn't move an inch.
Lorenzo tapped the table with his cane, a menacing gesture. "You are now. And if you don't act as I say, well... let's just say your face will be plastered all over the front pages."
Fletcher's jaw clenched, but he remained standing, propping himself up on the table. "You think I'm afraid of you?!"
Lorenzo's eyes bored into Fletcher's, unyielding. "Oh, I know you're confident. It must be because of your friend, the editor-in-chief of the Los Angeles Times."
"How did you—" Fletcher's words trailed off as realization dawned on him.
"No need to be so shocked, Mayor. Soon enough, Raymond Gordon will be working alongside us too. You'll have a friend in high places." Lorenzo chuckled, gesturing to the chair. "Now, be a good dog and sit down."
Fletcher hesitated, but ultimately, he lowered himself back into his seat. Defeated, he asked, "Why do you care about my daughter, huh?"
"Let's just say... one of my associates has taken quite a shine to her." Lorenzo's smile turned predatory. "He's just set foot in LA and is looking to acquire some... businesses here."
Fletcher's fingers drummed on the table, his mind racing. "This associate of yours... he's a businessman?"
Lorenzo nodded. "Correct. And he did ask me to convince you to call off your daughter's engagement, but I knew you'd be... stubborn." He chuckled darkly. "So, I had my men... acquire some insurance to ensure your cooperation."
Fletcher's face flushed with fury, but he didn't dare lash out. "You had your men in my home to steal things from me, all because you wanted me to break up my daughter's engagement?"
Lorenzo's expression didn't falter. "Well, that was the original plan. But it seems my men found some... interesting mementos along the way."
Fletcher's jaw clenched so tightly, his teeth ground together. "Fine, fine! I'll do it. I'll call off the damn engagement. But will that be the end of it? Will I be free from your... association?"
Lorenzo's laughter filled the air, cold and mocking. "Hehehe, don't make me laugh, doggy Fletcher." He sneered, emphasizing the insult. "I'm not asking a favor of you. I'm giving you your first order as my lapdog."
Fletcher's hands clenched into fists, but he knew better than to lash out. "I understand." The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
[Ding! You successfully put the mayor in your pocket!]
[Reward: Ancient Trionfi Cards (12 Trump Cards Edition)]
[Ancient Trionfi Cards: A set of 12 Cards— Each Card depicts the ending fate of its victim, who accepted the card from the host. The victim cannot rid themselves of the card, even if they try to discard it; it will always teleport back to them, the card also cannot be destroyed. Only the host can relinquish the card or the victim's suicide will free them from the curse. If the host triggers the victim's fate as portrayed on the card, they will die accordingly.]
[After the individual's death, the card will return to the host.]
Lorenzo read the system notification and studied the effects of each card. For example, if he were to give someone a card like "The Fool," they would meet their end in a manner befitting the card's meaning: carelessly walking off a cliff or trusting the wrong person, leading to their downfall. The possibilities were chilling, but Lorenzo couldn't help but smile behind his mask. He now had a powerful new tool at his disposal, and he intended to use it wisely... or perhaps not so much.
"Now, as my dog," Lorenzo began, a sinister edge creeping into his voice, "you're now part of my organization."
Fletcher's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Organization? What do you mean?"
Lorenzo smirked and slid a card across the table. "You're now part of the 'Wolf Familia'."
The card depicted a foolish-looking figure, about to step off a cliff.
Fletcher picked up the card, glanced at the masked man and then back at the card. "Is this… a tarot card?" He asked, picking it up gingerly. The cardstock felt ancient, as if it were an original from centuries past.
Lorenzo nodded, a chilling smile on his lips. "Correct. It's one of the oldest decks you'll ever lay your hands on. Treasure it."
Fletcher slipped the card into his pocket, but he couldn't shake the chilling sensation that crept up his spine. He retrieved the card once more, flipping it over in his fingers. "What is it for?"
Lorenzo's grin widened, his eyes glinting with malice. "Simply put, it's a supernatural phenomenon. The moment you accepted the card, I have an even tighter grip on your life."
Fletcher's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"
"Hehe, it's a card that foretells your end." Lorenzo's voice was cold as ice. "It means, if I so desire, your fate would be sealed as 'The Fool'."
Fletcher's frown deepened, but he brushed off the masked man's words. "Scare all you want, but such superstition won't phase me." He scoffed, casually placing the card back in his pocket.
Truth be told, Fletcher found Lorenzo's claims ridiculous, but the incriminating evidence he held over him was enough to warrant caution.
Lorenzo stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. "Our meeting here is done. You may leave now, and expect my associate to contact you about how you can... assist our organization as a mayor."
Fletcher nodded curtly, watching the masked man exit the lounge. Once he was alone, he retrieved the tarot card from his pocket, examining it more closely.
Despite its age and possible value, Fletcher couldn't shake the feeling that the masked man's talk of fate and control was nothing more than superstitious nonsense. He found the whole idea preposterous, believing it to be nothing more than a ploy to intimidate him. Convinced the card was just a worthless trinket for the masked man to boast about, Fletcher stood up, carelessly tossed the card into the trashcan, and then entered his car.
Moments later, Fletcher returned to his office in City Hall, still mulling over his meeting earlier. As he listened to his secretary, Ronald, rattle off his packed schedule, Fletcher's attention was abruptly diverted by a small object on the floor.
"Mayor," Ronald said, his voice laced with confusion, "I believe you dropped this."
Fletcher's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the object in Ronald's hand... It was the tarot card!
The same one he had so carelessly discarded in the lounge's trashcan. The masked man's ominous words echoed in his mind, but he quickly shook it off, glaring at his secretary instead.
"You... are you part of that 'Wolf Familia' too?" he accused, suspicion lacing his voice.
Ronald's eyes widened, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. "What are you talking about, Mayor? I don't understand."
.
.
.
.
Mayor Fletcher narrowed his eyes at his middle-aged secretary, Ronald, suspicion etched on his face as he held up the worn, ancient-looking tarot card depicting "The Fool." "You... Don't play dumb with me, Ronald. You must be part of that 'Wolf Familia,' aren't you!?"
Ronald's hands flew into the air in genuine confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mayor."
Fletcher snatched the card from Ronald's hand and locked his gaze with a steely glare. "I'm onto you, see? I've got my eye on you."
Ronald's brow furrowed, his confusion plain to see. He'd never even heard of this so-called "Wolf Familia" the mayor was accusing him of being involved with.
But Fletcher's suspicions lingered, and Ronald could do nothing to shake them. The very idea that his own trusted secretary, a man who'd worked for him for years, could be connected to the masked man's organization sent a chill down Fletcher's spine. If even those closest to him were potential informants, it meant the "Wolf Familia" had tentacles that reached far and wide—and their power was not to be underestimated.
Mayor Fletcher went about his day at City Hall, maintaining a façade of upright leadership while surreptitiously lining his pockets with bribes. As he climbed into his waiting car, his mind raced with the day's events. His driver pulled away from the curb, but Fletcher's thoughts remained fixated on the mysterious tarot card.
He glanced down at the worn "The Fool" card in his hand, perplexed. He could have sworn he'd discarded the first one in the trashcan, yet here was an identical copy, as if to remind him of his transgressions. The thought that Ronald, his trusted secretary, might be involved with the mysterious "Wolf Familia" sent a shiver down his spine.
But how, Fletcher wondered, could Ronald have known about the discarded card when he wasn't even present for the act? The more he pondered the situation, the more entangled in intrigue he became.
The masked man's ominous words haunted Mayor Fletcher's thoughts, but he refused to give in to such superstitious nonsense. With a huff of defiance, he opened the car window and carelessly discarded the tarot card onto the busy Los Angeles street below. He wanted to see if his secretary would somehow manage to replace it again, as absurd as that sounded.
Fletcher told himself he wasn't truly afraid of the so-called "Wolf Familia" or their threats against his family and reputation. He'd weathered worse storms in his political career. No, it was the very idea that an organization could have such a tight grip on his life that rankled him.
As for Ronald, Fletcher decided, he'd keep an eye on him for now. If the "Wolf Familia" ever lost their hold over his life, he'd waste no time in showing him the door.
Mayor Fletcher's car pulled up to his stately residence, and he stepped out onto the driveway. His wife, Mary, greeted him with a curt nod, her face as impassive as ever. His daughter, Mica, on the other hand, barely spared him a glance. The tension between them had been thick ever since he'd arranged her engagement to that insufferable man's son.
As the maids began setting the table for dinner, Fletcher cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Before we eat, I have an important announcement."
Mary arched an eyebrow. "What is it, dear?"
Fletcher braced himself for the coming storm. "I'm calling off Mica's engagement."
Mary's jaw dropped, but it was Mica's reaction that caught him off guard. His daughter's eyes widened with disbelief, quickly replaced by elation as she threw her arms around him in a rare display of affection.
"Thank you, Daddy! I can't believe it!" she gushed, her voice muffled by his suit jacket.
Fletcher patted her back awkwardly. He knew that calling off the engagement went against his own selfish desires, as the union would have brought him closer to his dreams of wealth and power. But the masked man's threat weighed heavily on his mind, leaving him no other choice.
Mary's icy glare bored into Fletcher throughout the rest of the meal, but he chose to ignore it. After all, he reasoned, she'd never been fond of Mica's fiancé either. Once dinner was over, Fletcher excused himself, citing a need to unwind in the bathroom.
The hot water cascading over his weary body soothed his tense muscles, washing away the day's worries—or so he thought. As he stepped out of the shower, a flash of color on the floor caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar worn edges of a tarot card.
With shaking hands, he picked it up, his worst fears confirmed. It was "The Fool" again, the very same card he'd discarded earlier that day.
Fletcher collapsed onto the bathroom floor, his mind reeling. How? How could the card have possibly found its way here, when he'd been alone the entire time? The masked man's ominous words echoed in his head.
Mayor Fletcher took a deep breath, willing himself to think rationally. "They must have informants everywhere," he muttered under his breath. His mind raced through the faces of his household staff—the maids, the gardener, even the cook—but he couldn't fathom how, but he was certain the maids, gardener or cooks hadn't been in the bathroom since he'd entered, and yet, there was the card, staring back at him as if to mock his disbelief.
The more he tried to rationalize the situation, the more it defied reason. It was as if the card itself were taunting him, refusing to be rid of so easily.
With shaking hands, he crumpled the card and flushed it down the toilet, as if ridding himself of the evidence would somehow erase the encounter from his memory.
Emerging from the bathroom, he found Mary still waiting for an explanation. But Fletcher had more pressing matters on his mind. He mumbled something about a headache and retreated to their bedroom.
Despite the lingering tension, they shared a few fleeting moments of tenderness before exhaustion claimed her. Fletcher, however, lay awake, his mind racing with thoughts of the mysterious tarot cards and the sinister organization that seemed to be one step ahead of him at every turn.
As he reached for the lamp switch, however, his blood ran cold. There, on the nightstand beside the lamp, lay another "The Fool" card—the very same one he'd just flushed away.
His eyes darted to his wife, who slept peacefully beside him. Could she be involved? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it.
Fletcher's mind raced with plans to destroy the accursed tarot card as he drifted off to an uneasy sleep. In the morning, he rose with determination, retrieving the card from his nightstand. He marched to the fireplace, where he carefully placed the card among the embers, he also makes sure that no one is watching him. Satisfied that it was nothing but ashes, he left for work, hoping to put the whole ordeal behind him.
But as he was about to enter his car, he froze. There, on the passenger seat, lay another "The Fool" card—the very same one he'd just reduced to cinders.
His eyes darted to his oblivious driver, but Fletcher couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. His hands trembling, he stuffed the card into his pocket and slid into the backseat.
As the car pulled away, Fletcher's mind reeled. "Who in the world is this 'Wolf Familia'?" he thought.
Fletcher couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was always watching him. The only plausible explanation was that the "Wolf Familia" had eyes and ears everywhere, prepared to replace the card at a moment's notice. It was a chilling realization, and one that weighed heavily on his mind as he went about his day.
Suspicion crept into his every interaction, tainting even the most mundane of conversations. His secretary, his driver, even the very people he'd once trusted with his life—all of them were now under scrutiny.
The power of this organization was undeniable, and Fletcher knew he was in over his head. Slowly, reluctantly, he came to a decision: he would play by their rules, at least for now.
The only face that Fletcher could associate with the "Wolf Familia" was the figure he'd met at the lounge—a well-dressed man in a luxurious tuxedo, his features hidden behind an intricate golden mask. He wielded a cane that doubled as a deadly weapon, and his very presence had exuded an air of menace.
Even the notorious Cohen Crime Syndicate, a powerful Jewish organization that had a stranglehold on the city's underbelly, paled in comparison to the fear that the "Wolf Familia" instilled in him.
---
Meanwhile, Lorenzo was oblivious to the chaos he'd unleashed upon Mayor Fletcher's life. He was too preoccupied with his latest acquisition: a struggling film studio in Hollywood, formerly known as "Comet Pictures," now rechristened "Lupo Pictures."
Lorenzo had initially named his New York-based studio "Lupo Film Studio," but something about the name didn't sit right with him. The new name, "Lupo Pictures," had a certain ring to it, and he hoped it would bring him better luck in the cutthroat world of Tinseltown.
Lorenzo's eyes also seen the film studios that dotted the landscape like Hollywood royalty: "Universal Pictures", "Walt Disney", "Paramount Pictures", and "Warner Bros." among them. The competition was as thick as the smoggy air, but he knew he had what it took to make his mark on this town.
Lorenzo's mind raced with plans for the pictures industry, his plan for the pictures industry didn't end at just making films; he also had his sights set on acquiring an agency to have actors at his beck and call.
After a hushed meeting with his scriptwriters in a cramped office, he emerged to find his trusted men, Adam and Max, waiting outside.
"So, gents," he drawled, "did the agency owner agree to sell up?"
Adam's shoulders slumped. "Sorry, boss, but the mug wasn't willing to budge."
Max kicked a tin can in frustration. "We even tried to apply some pressure, but he's not easily scared. Turns out he's got protection from the local thugs and has friends in high places."
Lorenzo's lips curled into a thin smile. "Is that a fact?" His eyes narrowed. "Alright. It seems it's time to put our dear Mayor Bowron to good use."
Adam and Max shared a laugh.
Lorenzo strolled over to the pay booth and dialed the mayor's number. After a few rings, it was answered.
"Hello? This is Mayor Fletcher Bowron. How can I help you?" The voice on the other end said, cautiously polite.
Loren't smile widened. "Ah, Mayor Bowron, I'm the associate of the 'Wolf Familia' boss you had the pleasure of meeting yesterday."
"Ah, you must be the businessman the boss was telling me about," Mayor Bowron said, his voice cautious. "The one who's taken an interest in my daughter and requested to break off her engagement?"
"That's right," Lorenzo said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I do believe we have an understanding, don't we?"
"I see..." Mayor Bowron paused for a moment before continuing, "What can I do for you?"
Lorenzo was taken aback by the mayor's tamed demeanor, but he didn't dwell on it. The man had accepted his new position as a pawn too quickly for his liking.
"As a matter of fact, there is something I need your help with," Lorenzo said, getting straight to the point.
.
.
.
Lorenzo strolled down Santa Monica Boulevard, a smirk plastered on his mug. It had been a few days since he'd had the mayor of Los Angeles in his pocket, and boy, was it paying off. His business was booming like never before. He'd managed to get his mitts on an "Entertainment Agency," two brothels, a couple of swanky clubs, and a few small casinos in Boyle Heights and Hollywood. But it was the properties he'd snatched up along this very strip that had him feeling like a million bucks.
The agency also now bore his name in shining letters: "Lorenzo Lupo Agency" or LLA for short. The sign gleamed in the sun. As he passed by, a couple of dames in sequined dresses and victory rolls sauntered by, shooting him sidelong glances. He tipped his fedora their way, a grin tugging at his lips.
Lorenzo leaned back in his leather chair, puffing on a Cuban cigar. He knew that the agency he'd acquired, as swanky as it was, couldn't hold a candle to the likes of WMA up in Hollywood. But Lorenzo wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, courtesy of his previous life's knowledge and a little help from the Godfather System.
Lorenzo's mind raced with ideas, his fingers drumming on the mahogany desk. He'd start by poaching some up-and-coming talent, actors and actresses who were hungry for their big break. He'd give them the roles of a lifetime, and in return, they'd sing Lupo Pictures' praises to anyone who'd listen.
The Raven Corps, Lorenzo's private security outfit in Boyle Heights, had been working overtime lately. But it was all part of the plan. With the mayor in his pocket, Lorenzo had him sing their praises at every opportunity, lauding them as heroes for stopping a string of robberies plaguing the neighborhood.
As the Raven Corps patrolled the streets, the locals couldn't help but gawk at the well-dressed men and women in their sharp uniforms. They were a far cry from the usual mugs in blue who patrolled the beat. And with each successful "bust" or "rescue," the Raven Corps' reputation soared higher than a kite on a windy day.
There are even headlines in the Los Angeles Times: "Raven Corps: Boyle Heights' Saviors." It was all going according to plan.
His organization had been making strides in Los Angeles, forging deals with various gangs across the city. It didn't hurt that he had the mayor and the police chief of LAPD in his pocket, thanks to the information the mayor had so willingly provided.
The editor-in-chief of the Los Angeles Times was no exception. The man had been a tough nut to crack, but after a few "persuasive" meetings, he too had joined the fold. As insurance, Lorenzo had given each of them a seemingly innocuous tarot card, a cursed memento that would ensure their loyalty.
The old police chief and the editor-in-chief, both new pawns in Lorenzo's game, experienced the same unsettling phenomenon as the mayor.
They tried to discard the tarot cards, but to their dismay, the cards always found their way back to them, as if by some supernatural force. The police chief, a man who prided himself on his rationality like the mayor, couldn't shake the feeling that the "Wolf Familia" had eyes and ears everywhere.
The editor-in-chief, on the other hand, was more inclined to believe in the superstitious nature of the card. Either way, both men were now firmly under Lorenzo's control, just like the fearful mayor before them.
His organization had been striking deals with the Chinese, Mexican, and African American gangs alike. But there was one group that still eluded him: the Cohen Crime Syndicate, the powerful Jewish mob led by Mikey Cohen.
Lorenzo knew that if he wanted to be the undisputed boss of the Los Angeles underworld, he'd have to eliminate the competition. And that meant taking out Mikey Cohen himself. The problem was, Mikey wasn't exactly hiding out in some fortified compound. No, he was living large in a swanky mansion on Moreno Avenue in Brentwood, of all places.
But Lorenzo knew that taking down Mikey Cohen wouldn't be a walk in the park. The Cohen Crime Syndicate's members weren't just confined to their boss's mansion; they were also living in the surrounding area, turning the entire residential neighborhood into a fortress. He need to tread carefully, gathering intel on the syndicate's operations, routines, and weaknesses. And when the time was right, he'd strike at Mikey Cohen like a wolf in the night, leaving the Cohen Crime Syndicate in tatters.
***
Lorenzo sat hunched over his desk, the dimly lit office of his talent agency casting long shadows on the walls. He thumbed through the stack of contracts in front of him, each one representing a life hanging in the balance. He glanced at the next file, trying to decide whether to let the client go or give them another chance.
"This agency is swell," a voice purred from the doorway.
Lorenzo didn't need to look up to know who it was. Deborah sauntered into the room her stiletto heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She stopped at his desk and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Lorenzo, can I be part of this agency? How do I apply?"
He looked up from the sea of files, his gaze meeting hers. "Babe, don't you worry," he said with a smirk, "I'll find a spot for you. After all, you're my gal."
Deborah pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a way that would have melted the heart of any other man. "Even if I'm your fiancée, I don't want to take advantage, Lorenzo." She said, her eyes flashing with determination. "I want to prove my talent as a performer!"
Lorenzo couldn't help but smile at her feistiness. "Of course, of course." He nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But from the performance I've seen from you when we're alone together..."
"Stop!" Deborah interrupted, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson. "I'm serious, Lorenzo!"
Lorenzo chuckled, enjoying her blush. "Alright, alright, Deb. I get it." He patted her hand reassuringly.
Meanwhile, Deborah couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in her heart for her future husband's achievements, mobster boss or not. Her heart fluttered at the thought of their life together, and she knew she'd stand by his side through thick and thin.
As Lorenzo and Deborah continued their conversation, a sharp knock on the door interrupted them.
"Who is it?" Lorenzo called out, his voice authoritative but controlled.
"Boss, it's Mike. There's someone here to see you." Mike's voice sounded muffled through the thick oak door.
"I'm in a meeting, can't it wait?" Lorenzo's brow furrowed.
"She says her name's Mica, boss. She insists on seeing you." Mike's voice was apologetic.
Lorenzo's expression didn't change, but he couldn't help the puff of smoke that escaped his lips. "Is that so? Very well, show her to the guest room. I'll be there shortly."
"Yes, boss." Mike's footsteps receded down the hallway.
Deborah's eyes narrowed, her intuition as a woman tingling. "Mica? Who is she, Lorenzo?"
Lorenzo stood up and gently guided Deborah to her feet, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting hug. "Deb, you know you're my first lady. Apollonia, Mica... they can't replace what we have."
Deborah's eyes flashed with jealousy as she tried to push away from Lorenzo's embrace. "You have another woman besides Apollonia in Sicily?" Her voice trembled with anger. "Who is she? I want to see her!"
"Calm yourself, Deb." Lorenzo whispered soothingly, his grip tightening around her waist.
"Is it the woman you started seeing in this city? We've only been here for a few weeks, and you're already picking up women?" Deborah's fist connected with his chest, but he didn't flinch.
"Deb, listen to me. Mica is indeed from here, but our relationship didn't start in this city." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It started when I was at war in Europe, and she was a nurse!"
Deborah's eyes widened, her anger slightly abated. "Did you tell her about me?"
"Of course." Lorenzo's voice was firm but reassuring.
Deborah took a deep breath, her chest heaving with emotion. "Alright, then. Let me go and let me see her for myself."
Lorenzo reluctantly released her, and together, they made their way to the guest room where Mica was waiting.
The door swung open, and Mica's face lit up with excitement upon finally laying eyes on the man she'd been dreaming of. She stood up, ready to throw her arms around him, but stopped short when she spotted the stunning woman with flawless skin standing beside him. Her eyes darted between the two of them, understanding dawning on her features.
"Oh, so this is the woman you've been telling me about, Lorenzo?" Mica asked, her voice tinged with a hint of jealousy.
Lorenzo nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips.
Deborah stepped forward, her chin held high. "Listen here, I'm the woman that Lorenzo truly loves, and the only one who truly loves him." Her emerald eyes bored into Mica's. "If you're only after him because he's good-looking and... good in bed," she said, emphasizing the last part, "then I'm warning you to stay away from now on."
Mica's expression darkened, the challenge in Deborah's words not lost on her. "You don't know how much I've longed for him. Lorenzo's face has haunted my dreams, and his name fills my diary." She narrowed her eyes at Deborah. "Don't talk to me about love, because I know my feelings for him run deeper than yours."
Lorenzo and Deborah exchanged a surprised glance, but Deborah didn't back down. "That might be an obsession, but it's not love. Your obsession could end up hurting him more than helping him."
Mica's cheeks flushed with indignation. "I... I may have been a little obsessed, but it's still love!"
Deborah raised an eyebrow. "If you truly love him, then you must be willing to stand by his side, even with his lawless life."
Mica nodded adamantly. "I know what he does! I know he's a mobster!"
"Then you should also be willing to fight for him, to protect yourself and him. Otherwise, you're just dead weight," Deborah retorted.
Mica's jaw clenched, but she didn't back down. "Bring it on."
"Come with me, then." Deborah said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Lorenzo watched the two women leave, unable to hide his surprise. "You're going to teach her martial arts? How to use a gun?" He asked, remembering how Deborah had secretly trained herself to protect both of them.
Deborah turned around, her eyes steely. "If she truly loves you, she'll do anything to prove it. And if she doesn't, then she'll be out of our lives for good."
Lorenzo watched as the two women left the guest room, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. He knew Deborah wouldn't hurt Mica, and vice versa, so he wasn't too worried. Instead, he returned to his office to focus on more pressing matters – like the talents under his agency's contracts.
As he scanned through the profiles, one name caught his attention: "Charlie Chaplin".
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. Charlie Chaplin was a household name in his previous life, but thinking about it, he hadn't heard of him once since arriving in this world. The explanation lay right in front of him.
According to the actor's profile, Charlie was just starting out in the industry, despite it being 1945. In his original timeline, Chaplin should have been an old veteran by now, but here, he was still a fresh face.
What intrigued Lorenzo the most was the fact that Charlie Chaplin was part of his agency – albeit only performing in theaters and not yet venturing into films.
A slow smile crept onto Lorenzo's face. This could be the opportunity he'd been waiting for.