"Well, it's a philosophical word." Nuki picked up his glass and took a sip. "Charlie, what do you think of this wine?"
"Good, because it made me feel like I saw the great Franklin," Charlie Lee said, raising his hands in an exaggerated gesture, excitement flickering in his eyes.
"Yes, these wines are as great as Franklin, especially now," Nuki said, standing up suddenly. His face had grown pale. "But the same is true for all great things—they come at a price. Capone never saw that. It's a pity."
"Capone is not the problem. What about Luciano?" Charlie inquired, his tone sharpening.
By now, Luciano was likely to have eliminated Marcelia and was planning to take down Malasano. With both rivals removed, Luciano would inherit their influence and power, becoming a new Godfather through his charm and ruthless determination.
As an emerging leader, Luciano displayed the qualities of the old generation—graceful, decisive, and highly strategic. Once he consolidated the power of the two fallen Godfathers, his empire expanded rapidly, impressing many with his methods.
His approach was clever and balanced: combining diplomacy with necessary violence. This combination had been evident in his handling of Marcelia and Maranzano.
"He'll be a problem, but not just yet," Nuki said, pulling a gold cigarette case from his pocket. Offering a cigarette to Charlie, he smiled when Charlie waved it away.
At this time in America, adding opium to wine and cigarettes was common, like adding a seasoning. Although Nuki avoided such indulgences in the movies, reality was far less idealistic, and he couldn't guarantee the same restraint here.
"If you take control of Chicago, we'll have a great partnership," Nuki said, lighting his cigarette and gazing into the distance through the window.
Life was no longer easy for Nuki. The chaos in the Capone group, Luciano's sudden rise, and the collapse of his political allies were hurdles he hadn't anticipated.
Especially concerning Luciano, Nuki could sense that Malasano's grip on him was weakening. Luciano's dominance was steadily growing, particularly as he took over the Marseillaria group and its drug trade.
Drugs were proving to be a far quicker source of profit than alcohol, forcing Nuki to reluctantly acknowledge their efficiency.
"What's in it for me?" Charlie said, leaning back and eyeing Nuki with curiosity.
"A hundred thousand dollars—and an invitation to Atlantic City," Nuki replied with a calm but proud smile, twirling his glass between his fingers.
"It's not just Atlantic City that has wine," Charlie countered, swirling the whisky in his hand before adding a bit more to his glass.
"Yes, but the wine from the North, West, and Midwest—all of it flows through Atlantic City," Nuki declared with unshakable confidence, knowing full well he had built the empire he now presided over.
Despite its current instability, Nuki believed his empire merely needed a solid cornerstone to regain its balance. And this cornerstone, to his mind, was the enigmatic newcomer Charlie Lee.
Nuki hadn't come all the way from Atlantic City to meet just any young gangster. Charlie had proven himself capable, eliminating key players like Frank, Capone's financial mastermind, and McGuin, his most trusted killer. Their removal had thrown Capone's operations into disarray.
Capone, absent and unable to control his crumbling empire, left a vacuum no one in his ranks seemed equipped to fill. Meanwhile, Nuki had watched the group lose ground in Chicago, knowing their influence in Cicero would eventually diminish as well.
"Two hundred thousand dollars," Charlie said, his voice calm yet firm. "And a piece of advice: don't give Luciano any chances. Tell Malasano to guard himself against assassination."
Nuki raised an eyebrow, visibly intrigued by Charlie's words. But Charlie merely smiled and shifted the conversation to lighter topics. For Charlie, muddying the waters in this volatile environment worked in his favor.
While he wasn't yet in a position to directly influence the affairs of powerful New York families, Charlie knew how to play the long game. Drawing attention to himself prematurely would only put him in harm's way.
As for Nuki, Charlie saw him as a useful ally—at least for now. Nuki's political connections and influence provided opportunities without the risk of territorial conflict.
But Charlie was aware of Nuki's precarious position. Within a few years, Nuki's political capital would be exhausted, and his empire might crumble. When that time came, Charlie intended to be self-reliant, leaving Nuki to retire with dignity or disappear into obscurity.
"This is yours," Nuki said, handing Charlie a check for $200,000 and a business card. "Also, I'm hosting a party next month. I hope to see you there."
Attending the reception would require Charlie to project both value and status. As Chicago's underground mayor, his growing reputation provided the perfect cover.
That evening, Charlie made a phone call. "William, we need to talk," he said, his voice steady and deliberate.
Later, a car pulled up on a quiet road in District 22. Wearing a trench coat and hat, Charlie entered the vehicle. Ten minutes later, he emerged, having secured the answers he needed.
Nuki, it seemed, wanted nothing more to do with Capone. The two had once shared a strong alliance, but their partnership had disintegrated long before Capone's rise to power. Nuki viewed Capone as reckless and uncontrollable, someone destined to bring trouble to anyone near him.
Moreover, the recent assassinations of Frank and McGuin had been orchestrated under Nuki's influence, with William Dever—a man firmly in Nuki's pocket—providing critical assistance.
"Surprising," Charlie muttered to himself, reflecting on Nuki's cunning. Behind the scenes, Nuki had masterfully maneuvered to dismantle Capone's empire piece by piece, revealing the depth of his strategic mind.
District 22 remained quiet, its streets eerily empty during the day. It seemed almost abandoned, with little sign of life until noon when chaos broke the silence.
A group of men—African Americans dressed in ragged suits—swaggered through the streets, wielding baseball bats, iron rods, and axes. They banged their weapons against walls and fences, shouting threats at the top of their lungs.
Inside a modest room, Bergman peeked nervously out the window, watching the commotion below. "Are you sure this is going to be okay?" she asked, her voice tense.
"You're not leaving?" Charlie asked from the bed, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
Bergman had repeatedly expressed her desire to leave, yet now that Charlie had given her the opportunity, she seemed hesitant.
"I'll leave tomorrow," she said, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
She had hoped for a different reaction from Charlie, but his indifference only left her more annoyed.
Charlie, oblivious to her intentions, pondered whether it might be time to find a reliable companion. Yet, he couldn't shake his concerns about where to look. A dancer? No. Their lifestyles carried too many risks, and Charlie had no desire to gamble with his health.
As he lay in bed, his mind wandered to the future—a future where he would rise above the chaos of the underworld and carve out a legacy that even the likes of Capone and Luciano would envy.
For now, though, the game continued. Every move mattered, and Charlie Lee intended to play his cards wisely.