Chapter 154: Investors Meeting
Meanwhile in Otherworld,
Within this realm, nudged between the dimensions of one horrid and one of its birth, stood Camelot in all its glory.
It was a city of legend, suspended between the fractured echoes of creation, one foot in the realm of men, the other in the tapestry of Otherworld's boundless magic.
Castles sprawled across the land, their spires reaching toward the sky like the hands of old gods as their stone, untouched by cruelty of time, gleamed as if kissed by an eternal sun.
But beneath them, the streets wove through the city like golden veins, carrying the lifeblood of the kingdom, it's people.
Knights clad in polished silver, scholars draped in robes of starlit blue, and wandering bards whose songs turned the air itself into whispered poetry.
Here, the wind carried voices long past as if they had not changed for millenia, the laughter of heroes who had rotted in the great halls and the murmurs of sages who had peered too far into the weaves of fate.
However, at the heart of it all, the great castle stood, the very one that held the deceased and once fabled King Arthur.
A cart, draped by a delicately woven blanket seemingly hid the contents beneath it along with any odor one would give off.
Unlike the people, who looked to be untainted by the aspect of fear, suffering, and misery, these golden knights stood out like sore thumbs.
They walked through this city, this kingdom with a vastly different aura from these citizens who wore faces that weren't burdened by the true reality of the world and instead, the living order within these walls.
Even the knights who passed them couldn't relate to their own brothers-in-arms, clad in gleaming silver armor without a single scratch, neither on their pristine skin nor their polished plate mail, while they themselves bore the marks of battle, their bodies and armor worn and tattered.
This was the Ordo Draconum, the old noble subdivision that used to be dedicated to guiding future rulers in the defense of their realms under the banner of God.
However, this society, the same one steeped in ancient traditions and secrets, where principles of honor and duty intertwined with strategies of warfare, split apart from the church not to form their own banner, but to gather under another.
It was why the wagon arrived at the main castle within the great land of Camelot, its wheels grinding against the polished stone of the courtyard, leaving behind a faint trail of dust in an otherwise immaculate realm.
"State your purpose." The guard held firm, holding the spear with such soft hands that had never been torn by the art of the very weapon he was holding.
"I am here to maintain what must never be tainted." One of the men said, peering his eyes from under the rob as the man looked at him weirdly but nodded.
"Uh, very well, papers?" The guard continued, feeling incredibly uncomfortable amidst the man with a husky voice along with his three comrades.
However the man didn't argue nor show any emotion at the disgust in the guard's eye, simply holding out the papers with a signia that made the guard freeze in place.
"CLEAR THE PATH, OPEN THE GATES!" The guard immediately shouted, turning back and almost demanding his comrades in charge of the gate adhere to his words.
The guard, visibly tense, bowed deeply, his head dipping into a full ninety-degree angle, while the man before him wordlessly withdrew his papers, tucking them back into the folds of his tattered cloak, concealing the battered armor beneath.
As he stepped forward, the wagon creaked through the gates, his three comrades following close behind.
Only when the doors sealed shut behind them did he finally exhale, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Cassian, what is the matter?" His fellow guard stepped forward, eyeing him curiously as he leaned in as Cassian pulled out his fair maiden's handkerchief, dabbing the sweat from his forehead.
"Those men bear the insignia of the great wizard Merlyn," Cassian whispered breathlessly, the weight of his words sinking in.
To be associated with the most revered figure in the kingdom, let alone to bear his mark, was an honor beyond measure.
"By the grace of Arthur, such majesty," the guard murmured, his eyes widening in awe as he jerked his head back, only to find the gates now closed before him.
A frown crossed his face as he strained for another glimpse of the four figures escorting the wagon, curiosity gnawing at him.
Creak
Beyond that very gate, the wagon creaked as the cloak that veiled not just its contents from the outside world, but the outside world from its contents, shifted slightly.
A limp arm, small and delicate, slipped lifelessly through the opening as one of the escorts swiftly pulled the cloak back over it, his eyes darting around as he ensured no one had seen.
"It is fine, no one saw, but be more careful since you know how the great wizard gets when dirty things pop up in Camelot," one of the men foretold, warning not only his comrade but the others as they nodded in silent agreement.
The wagon followed the winding path toward the magnificent castle, its towering form spiraling into the sky, with a single spire reaching as if to touch the very stars, the heavens themselves.
Atop that lone spire resided the most powerful and ruling figure of this great land, a being who had lingered within the realm of myth for as long as the otherworld had endured, Merlyn.
The greatest wizard to ever grace mankind sat with a passive expression, scribbling onto a scroll with a single quill.
Countless other scrolls adorned not only the desk before him but also the towering bookshelves surrounding him, each filled to the brim with his particular fields of study.
Knock
Knock
Knock
"Come in," Merlyn said tentatively, his eyes remaining fixed on his scroll as the four stepped inside, beholding the most powerful man they had ever known, masquerading as nothing more than a mere old man.
"Our report on the annihilation of the Caribbean coven," the man announced, bowing as he extended a tightly wrapped scroll as Merlyn slowly halted his scribbling.
"The materials?" Merlyn asked, his voice calm yet firm, still not looking up, as though any distraction would cause him to lose his train of thought as the four below him bowed even deeper, their respect palpable in the silence that followed.
"Perfectly intact, ready for your guiding hand." They all replied in unison, their words synchronized as if rehearsed while Merlyn slowly nodded, his expression still unreadable as he absorbed their words.
"Put it here," Merlyn instructed, gesturing with his other hand while continuing to write something down, his focus unwavering from the task at hand.
The man extended his hand, placing the scroll delicately on the desk before stepping back a few paces as a heavy silence settled around them, filling the room with an almost oppressive stillness.
The four never quite enjoyed being in Merlyn's space, not because of his presence, but because of the objects he surrounded himself with.
"Why are you still standing in place?" Merlyn asked calmly, unrolling the scroll after using up the last bit of space.
The members of the order exchanged wary glances, their unspoken understanding clear before they all nodded in unison.
"We have found traces of Morgana."
It was these six words that finally prompted Merlyn to raise his weathered gaze, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the four men before him.
"Where and in what instance is she?" Merlyn inquired, his voice steady but laced with an unmistakable tension.
His questions were sharp, demanding answers not just about her whereabouts, but the situation in which she had put herself in as the men all ducked their heads, acknowledging the gravity of his words.
"A vessel, within the territory of Agatha's coven," the man promptly informed Merlyn, the words falling from his lips as soon as the old man's question had ended.
"Interesting, so she has aligned with the very coven you repeatedly fail to obtain for me," Merlyn remarked, his words laced with a subtle jab as the men didn't miss the insinuation, and they all ducked their heads, their hands tightening into fists.
Agatha's coven was the only one they had ever failed to capture, and the weight of that failure was a constant, bitter reminder.
"Anything else?" Merlyn asked, his tone surprisingly unbothered by the mention of Morgana, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Y-Yes, one more thing," the man stammered, looking around at his comrades for support as they gave him subtle nods, urging him to continue.
"Morgana was said to have not shown interest in allying with Agatha's coven, but rather with the man under whom her coven is protected," the man informed Merlyn, noticing the shift in the old man's demeanor as his gaze finally lifted once more, an unmistakable spark of interest flickering in his eyes.
"And this man is?" Merlyn gestured, motioning for him to continue, his impatience thinly veiled as the man took a steadying breath, gathering his strength to finish.
"Ricky Luciano, the Black Knight and slayer of Dracula," the man said, delivering the name not with apprehension, but with a touch of intrigue. Merlyn didn't flinch in displeasure but leaned in slightly, clearly intrigued.
"Oh?" Merlyn responded, his voice laced with amusement, having heard whispers of the name through his own sources in the outside world.
"And what of his threat analysis?" Merlyn asked, his tone casual, as if testing the waters, but the man hesitated as the silence stretched for a moment, his uncertainty hanging in the air.
"We think, though we're not sure, as our source is unreliable, but they've informed us of a possible link to the realm of the Nethergods residing within New York, and they assume it's connected to Ricky Luciano." The man's voice faltered, uncertainty heavy in his words as he was merely repeating what he'd heard from his source, someone who had witnessed Ricky's powers just once before.
"So it is a possibility that he is a viable threat," the man continued, though his explanation of what constituted a threat was interrupted by a third person stepping forward.
Merlyn, deep in thought, tapped his finger lightly on the desk, contemplating the information for a moment.
"Observe him, do not interfere, and stay at a measured distance until a full psychological and physical assessment can be made of his being." Merlyn ordered, his voice unwavering as the men nodded in unison, acknowledging the command.
"And if he's worthy, we'll continue from there." Merlyn added, his gaze already returning to the scroll in front of him.
The four men, understanding the gravity of his words, turned and began to leave, the door creaking softly behind them as they departed.
"Before you go, next time, don't dirty the residing kingdom with your mistakes," Merlyn's voice hummed from behind them, sending a chill down their spines.
The words hit them like a tide, sweat breaking out across their backs as the full weight of his meaning sank in.
"I see everything within Camelot, everything," Merlyn reverberated, his voice steady and foreboding, seemingly drilling the words into their very skulls.
The men, unable to shake the sense of dread, bolted for the door, their steps hurried and panicked.
Merlyn shook his head, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he returned to his work, the silence of the room settling once more.
It was then that Merlyn's eyes drifted towards a crystal ball, always attuned to the real-time image of a man encased in a glass coffin.
He was unlike any other man, the epitome of perfection.
His features were chiseled with an almost divine precision, every line and curve of his face crafted as if by the gods themselves.
His skin, pale and flawless, almost seemed to glow in the soft light of the crystal ball, untouched by age or decay.
Golden hair cascaded across his body, each strand woven with a silkiness that made it look more like spun thread than anything natural as it clung to him like a crown, framing the visage of a king, even in death.
This was Arthur Pendragon, the once-living ruler of Camelot, whose reign had been the stuff of legends.
Now, he lay encased in a glass coffin, a cold and lifeless figure, his eyes closed forever, never again to lead his kingdom.
The flowers that adorned his body only seemed to enhance the stillness, as though they too mourned the passing of the man who had been the heart of Camelot.
Merlyn watched the image with a mixture of reverence and something deeper, an understanding of the weight the man once carried and the price of his fall, he carried the burden of humanity.
Arthur had been more than a king; he had been an ideal, a symbol of hope and strength for all who followed him.
"Soon Arthur, wait a little longer."
Meanwhile In New York,
[Mission Received 'Maria Profaci']
Difficulty: Hard
Description: Although Joe Profaci considers you a suitable marriage candidate for his beloved niece, he will relentlessly pursue you to the ends of the earth and tear you to pieces if you manage to complete this mission without marrying Maria.
Objective: Impregnate Maria Profaci as you avoid the constant helicopter parenting of the notorious mafia boss Joe Profaci.
Main Mission Reward: 100,000 IP
Impregnante Maria Once:
Reward: 200 Gacha
Impregnate Maria Twice:
Choose: 4 Epic Pull, 25 Standard Gacha or The choice of Maria's skills
Additional Missions:
Impregnante Maria in her childhood home(Complete)
Reward: Epic Skill Coupon
Impregnante Maria before marrying her(Complete)
Reward: Legendary Coupon
Impregnate Maria while Joe Profaci is in the vicinity(Complete)
Reward: +10 Vitality
Bonus Missions:
Cum in union with Maria on her first time(Complete)
Reward: 50 Gacha
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Take Maria's Anal Virginity(Complete)
Reward: +5 dexterity
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F*ck Maria into an unconscious state(Complete)
Reward: Epic Item Coupon
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Crunch
Right now, while plans were unfolding and strategies were being devised all in his name, Ricky was casually munching on a piece of slightly burnt toast, his eyes focused on the system in front of him.
Received:
Dexterity: 59→64 (Middle realm of Superhuman))
4 Epic Pull
25 Standard Gacha
Epic Item Coupon
Earlier in the shower, Ricky had received his rewards and wasn't holding off on the gacha but actually looking at his inventory before he added to it.
'Look at all this shit,' Ricky thought, slathering the slightly burnt toast with more butter as he scrolled through the cluttered mess in his system.
His eyes narrowed, a frown tugging at his lips as he realized just how much he had overlooked while always chasing the rarities.
There, buried among the chaos, were things he had received that he never bothered to examine things that, now that he looked closer, might actually be worth his attention.
(Uncommon Item) 9mm pistol: A reliable, compact firearm chambered for 9mm rounds. Known for its accuracy and ease of use, this pistol is an effective choice for self-defense or tactical situations. It comes with a standard magazine and safety features, ready for immediate use.
This was literally revolutionary to the weapons industry in this time period, if properly assembled and mass-produced.
Yet, for the last five years, it had been wasting away in his system's storage space, completely ignored.
Sigh
Ricky let out a sigh, chastising himself for his own negligence as no one else was to blame but him.
Still, it was better to come to this realization now, understanding the gravity of these items, how they could reshape the world and strengthen his position, than to never have figured it out at all.
That's when Ricky pulled out a sheet of mint-scented paper, one of the many he always kept on hand, along with a pen, and started scribbling down the useful items he could potentially use.
It was half-assed, but it was a start.
Ricky had slowly been trying to finish what he started, and this moment was no different.
He figured it was better to jot down a small number of items now and begin the process than to keep putting it off for some later time that might never come.
The list included all the useful items he'd received from tasting Irene, like the dryer, among others, but it also contained things he had pushed to the back of his mind.
Items he had ignored, dismissed, or simply forgotten about, but now, in the quiet of the moment, they were starting to resurface.
(Uncommon Item) Self-Watering Planters: Planters equipped with a self-watering system, ensuring that indoor plants receive adequate moisture and reducing the frequency of watering.
(Uncommon Item) Reading Light: A clip-on or portable reading light with adjustable brightness, allowing for comfortable reading in low-light conditions.
(Uncommon Item) Bike Repair Kit: A compact kit containing essential tools for bicycle repair, including tire levers, patch kits, and a mini pump, ensuring riders can handle common issues during bike trips.
They were items of low rarity, yet surprisingly useful in this day and age, which was why Ricky was finally making an effort to examine their definitions more closely.
After jotting down a few more, he slid the paper back into his system on what would become the next iteration of Lucky Incorporated products.
'Receive gacha and coupons.'
[Received:
(Epic Skill) Artistic Insight: The ability to deeply understand and interpret the underlying message or emotion that a piece of art is trying to convey.
(Epic Weapon) Dreadful Kazoo: A weapon disguised as a kazoo, capable of manifesting a real-time illusion that reflects the deepest fears or most dreaded thoughts of the person before you.
(Epic Item) Separation Cluster: A one-time-use item that, when thrown between you and another individual, creates an instant spatial divide, forcefully separating the two of you by 10 meters.
(Epic Item) Exit: A seemingly ordinary Exit sign that, when activated in a hopeless or inescapable situation, will illuminate and point in the direction of the nearest escape route.
(Epic Item) Insightful Whistle: When blown, sheds insight onto the current situation in which you find yourself stuck in.
(Rare Weapon) Screeching Shield: A regular shield that emits an ear-piercing wail whenever it is struck, disorienting foes and adding psychological pressure to their attacks. If broken, the shield unleashes a curse upon the destroyer, plaguing them with an agonizing affliction: a tetanus infection that constantly echoes with the screams of the fallen.
(Uncommon Item) Digital Clock: A regular, unassuming digital clock. It tells the time with accuracy and precision, displaying the hours and minutes in a straightforward manner. X 10
(Common Item) Breathstrips: Small, mint-flavored strips that dissolve instantly when placed on the tongue, effectively eliminating any bad breath. X 14
Ricky, eyeing the rewards with a quick flick of his fingers, grabbed the breathstrips and popped one into his mouth, the minty freshness instantly erasing the faint aftertaste of burnt toast.
He jotted down the item's details on the paper, his hand moving with ease as he noted its practical value.
As he scribbled, a plate was quietly placed beside him, the warm aroma of a fresh meal mingling with the crisp air of his space.
"Sorry for burning it all, but our cook is at her daughter's wedding up in Sicily," Maria said hesitantly, planting a gentle kiss on the top of Ricky's head.
She then moved over to Carmine, trying to lean in and get a glimpse of what his father was scribbling.
But just as he was about to tip over onto the table, a bowl was placed in front of him, interrupting his focus.
"Uh huh," Ricky muttered, still chewing on the bread, barely registering Maria's words as he kept writing down the items on his paper as his focus remained on the list until, without warning, a piece of bread sailed through the air and hit him.
"Wha?" Ricky asked, his mouth still stuffed full of the bread as Maria finally got Ricky's attention that seemingly was on matters unrelated to this world.
"Is it too burnt-"
"Nah, I prefer the crunch," Ricky chuckled, realizing he had zoned out as he placed the paper back into the system, grabbed the butter, and began spreading it on another piece of toast, while Carmine dug into his cereal, his spoon clinking softly against the bowl.
Maria watched with expectant eyes as Ricky nonchalantly devoured the meal she had cooked just for him.
A small sense of relief washed over her when he didn't push the plate away, despite the food not turning out as she'd hoped.
Ricky, however, didn't seem to mind the burnt edges or the runny eggs as he simply ate what was put in front of him, for all his complexity, he was surprisingly simple in that way.
"Y'know, you have to come and visit, all the time." Maria slowly reached out, slithering her hand over Ricky's free one as he looked up.
"Got it," Ricky nodded, shoveling the slightly burnt, yet runny eggs into his mouth as Maria laughed softly.
"I'm serious, I miss you," Maria chuckled, her voice softening with sincerity and when she looked at him, the longing in her eyes was unmistakable, a quiet plea beneath her playful tone.
"I promise I'll come see you and Carmine more, I swear," Ricky said, leaning forward to kiss her on the lips as Maria smiled warmly, the sincerity of his words settling in her heart.
Carmine, ever the little mimic, copied his father's movements and started shoveling cereal into his mouth with the same focused determination.
"Slow down Carmine, you'll choke-"
"Finished!" Carmine yelled, pointing to his bowl then bolting off to go play with his toys.
Sigh
Maria simply sighed, puffing out her cheeks as she rested her head on her hand, watching him scramble up the stairs, more crawling than running, before her eyes caught sight of Profaci hanging on the wall.
Her expression shifted, a mix of weariness and concern as she took in the familiar, unsettling reminder of something not only looming over her heart, but mind.
"Ricky." Maria turned back to him, watching as he took a sip of water, only to freeze midway and look up at her.
"Yeah, baby?" Ricky asked, his voice laced with concern, wondering if he'd done something wrong as he instinctively pulled his elbows off the table, but Maria couldn't help but laugh.
"No-hahahahaha!" Maria burst out, her laughter cutting through the moment as she wiped away a few stray tears of amusement.
"It's not about your manners, which do need some work, but about Carmine." Maria shook her head, grabbing the napkin and wiping the ends of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow.
"What? Is it about the toys-"
"No, it's about Uncy," Maria, referring to Profaci with her nickname for him, said, making Ricky actually put down his smile.
"I want to know what your plan is for him and I just, I wanna know." Maria said, wanting to speak more, only to stop and repeat the first part of her sentence.
"Well, unlike with the other families, I ain't gonna steal what Carmine is gonna inherit," Ricky said, waving his fork as if to emphasize the point that he wasn't about to take what Profaci intended for them.
"And when he gets to the right age, I'm gonna bring him into the family like Lucky did for me—get him familiar with how everything runs, then hand him Long Island," Ricky said, making Carmine's future clear.
There was no hesitation as he told Maria that Carmine would inherit Long Island, the territory Profaci had safeguarded for years.
"That's just it Ricky, I just don't know if that's what he wants." Maria rubbed her shoulder, not warning to outright go against Ricky since it felt wrong to shame the line of work that bought her this life, but at the same time, had this motherly instinct to protect Carmine from the family.
"Baby, listen, if he grows up and tells me he ain't wanna be in the family, then fine," Ricky shrugged, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease, though they carried the weight of a lie.
In truth, he wouldn't force Carmine to be him, wouldn't shove him into a mold that didn't outline him since Ricky had enough parent issues for both of them.
But deep down, he knew that no son of his would just walk away from the family like it was nothing.
Unless Carmine came to him, man to man, looked him in the eye, and said he didn't want this life, then, and only then, would Ricky would respect it.
For now, though, he kept up the front for Maria, pretending it was as simple as letting Carmine choose his own path.
"But let me tell you, Carmine's got a knack for it, I can feel it." Ricky pointed his fork at Maria, his voice confident as he spoke, eyes full of certainty.
Carmine, perched on the stairs, was quietly listening in, his wide eyes peeking through the gap between the railings.
"Oh yeah, the kid's gonna excel in the family, I can tell, it's in his blood." Ricky nodded to himself, so sure of his words that it caught Maria off guard.
She sat there for a moment, lost in thought, processing his certainty as her lips parted as if to speak, but she just let the silence hang, unsure of how to respond to his unshakable belief.
His entire confidence stemmed from the system window that broke down the makings of a great mobster before him.
[Name: Carmine Falcone Luciano
Mother: Maria Profaci
Grade: A+
Template: Carmine Falcone
Template Description: Carmine Falcone was one of the great crime lords of Gotham City, back when it was run by the mafia. Nicknamed The Roman for his unflinching ruthlessness and expansionism, he was one of the earliest enemies of Batman.
Description: After giving birth to Carmine, Profaci went to great lengths to cover up the truth, locking Maria away from the outside world to ensure her safety upon realizing who the father is. While the city buzzes with life beyond her confinement, Maria remains in a state of quiet anticipation, holding onto the promise of your bound love. She spends her days dreaming of your return to New York, cherishing the hope that soon you will be reunited and that she can reveal the truth about their child. In the solitude of her isolation, Maria's heart beats with unwavering faith, believing that your love will bridge the distance and bring her back into your embrace.
Abilities:
Indomitable Will: the ability of some characters to control their impulses and emotions in order to make their choice clear. Characters with this skill have the internal strength to overcome fear and resist mind control.
Skills:
Intimidation: Allows the user to command or control respect through the use of fear. This ability proves particularly useful when combined with the skill of Interrogation.
Leadership: The ability of some characters to delegate authority and to command the respect and obedience of others
Deception: the ability of some characters to convince others to believe information that is not true. Characters that can deceive often use tools like distraction, concealment, and propaganda. In many cases it is difficult to distinguish deception from providing unintentionally wrong information.
Tactical Analysis: the ability to strategize and develop complex plans of actions. This skill often works in tandem with Leadership.]
"Alright, baby, I gotta go." Ricky stood up abruptly after finishing his plate, wiping his mouth with the napkin that had been tucked into his lap as he leaned down, placing a quick kiss on Maria's dazed cheek.
"See ya later, Carmine." Ricky said, his voice steady as he spoke without even looking toward the stairs as he knew the kid was there and it made Carmine flinch, watching quietly as his father walked out the door, disappearing into the world outside with only one thought adorning the young child's moldable mind.
'My blood?'
20 minutes later,
"You know I can't smile without you, can't smile with you," Ricky hummed softly, tapping his knee in rhythm.
His driver glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected serenade and Ricky, lost in the moment, didn't notice as he just kept humming, letting the tune fill the space between them.
"Aye, boss, we're here." The driver pulled up to the bank, and Ricky gave his shoulder a pat before stepping out, adjusting his suit with a quick tug.
"Jesus, Slick, you're late!" Meyer stormed down the steps, his frustration evident as a few bystanders turned their heads at the commotion.
"Hey, hey, how you doing? I'm Ricky Luciano-" Ricky shamelessly grinned, waving at all the hot girls surrounding him as they giggled and waved back with Meyer, unamused, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the building.
"The meeting has literally been going on for an hour and all these ivy league guys are pitching and I prepared a speech for the companies I gave you and-"
"Meyer, I got this." Ricky smoothly unhooked himself from Meyer's grasp, striding toward the elevator at his own pace instead of being dragged along.
"I got companies that will stand the test of time," Ricky chuckled, having dug through those cluster f*ck for memories for this exact purpose.
Ding
The elevator doors slid open, and Ricky stepped out, followed by a visibly troubled Meyer, who was certain Ricky was holding back on some kind of briefing.
To the side, a pane of glass separated him from the meeting, young men, all eager to prove themselves, taking the shot Lucky was giving them.
Simply put, this was an investor meeting, but the only investor was Lucky, assessing a room full of Ivy League hopefuls, each vying for a place in his empire.
Although there were executives Lucky had hired, he always believed in finding talented people amidst the rubble of others' judgments.
All these guys had been written off as dreamers, but Lucky wanted to hear them out since after all, visionaries were often dismissed before they proved everyone wrong.
"What the-Henry?" Ricky almost stopped in his tracks, spotting Henry grinning and waving at him through the glass, all while Lucky's eyes trailed over to where Ricky was looking before narrowing.
"Nice of you to show up." Lucky scoffed, his eyes lingering on Ricky as he strolled in and casually plopped down next to him.
"Hope I didn't miss anything." Ricky nudged Lucky, giving him a toothy smile as the old man rolled his eyes at this nonchalance.
"Yeah, you only missed the entire meeting, no biggie." Lucky muttered, crossing his arms and slouching in his chair while looking at the next up to bat.
"Mr. Luciano, Ricky." Henry said, his voice steady but warm, walking up to the podium to give his speech that he had been tailoring for this exact meeting, giving his regards and respect to the two before starting.
"I am certain you are well aware of my name, though I find it proper and polite to make a formal introduction nonetheless." Henry gestured to them, his practiced business smile perfectly in place, as polished as his suit.
With a deliberate bow, he straightened up, meeting Ricky's eyes as he raised an eyebrow in a mixture of amusement and curiosity, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the guy he hadn't expected to show up and yet, here he was, right before him.
"I am Henry Ford III, and I've come today with one purpose in mind: to persuade Lucky Legacy Bank to take its place as a valued shareholder in Ford Motor Company." Henry introduced, then clicked a button, causing a well-arranged slideshow to spring to life behind him, illustrating the promising growth of his family's empire.
Henry allowed the moment to linger as the first slide projected on the wall behind him.
It showed a sleek, shiny Ford Model A rolling down a polished road, the sun gleaming off its chrome finish.
A symbol of American progress and innovation, one that had captured the imagination of millions.
"As you can see," Henry continued, his voice growing confident as he beckoned to the image behind him.
"Ford Motor Company has always been at the forefront of innovation. We've not just built cars; we've built a legacy. The Model A has become an icon, a representation of strength and reliability that has found its way into the lives of countless working Americans." Henry introduced the car, delivering his pitch with smooth confidence, hoping to captivate their attention and hold it until the very end of his speech.
He clicked the next slide, revealing a graph that showed a sharp upward trajectory in the company's stock price over the last few years.
"Now, as you know, Mr. Luciano," Henry said, his gaze shifting from Ricky to Lucky, the current chairman of this establishment.
"We stand at the precipice of something even greater. With the introduction of the V8 engine, we are positioned to not only maintain our dominance in the automotive industry but to surpass it. We are talking about a future where Ford vehicles aren't just tools, they're a movement. A movement that you, Mr. Luciano, can be a part of." Henry paused, his eyes firm while looking the man square in the eyes which garnered a raised eyebrow.
It was then that there was this subtle shift in the room as Henry leaned slightly forward, speaking now with a more personal tone, as though this were not merely a sales pitch, but a calculated invitation.
"I understand the world you operate in, Mr. Luciano. Power, control, and vision. And I offer you a chance to step into my world, through Ford Motor Company. Our success can be your success. Together, we can shape the future. Your influence combined with the Ford legacy could be all but unstoppable." Henry clicked another slide, displaying a projected roadmap of Ford's future expansion, including new factories, increased production capacity, and international markets.
"So, what I'm proposing today is simple," Henry said, his voice firm, yet inviting as gestured towards all of them.
"An opportunity to join the ranks of those who built empires not just with money, but with foresight. With vision. With ambition. You, Mr. Luciano, are a man who knows how to turn opportunity into power. This is your chance to do the same, on a scale far larger than anything before." Henry paused again, allowing the weight of his words to settle and really soak into their brains before his eyes flashed like the projector behind him.
"But the question remains." Henry added with a slow smile, spreading out his arms along with it.
"Are you ready to step into the future with Ford?"
It was then Lucky looked at Henry, really looked at him, and then at his speech, along with his performance.
It was no common thing in this day in age to understand the impact that was currently surroundings their struggling market.
As mentioned many times before, the Great Depression was still a lingering force in 1936, but through the New Deal programs, also mentioned before, it was showing signs of recovery.
However, although prominent, Ford, like many businesses, had faced significant struggles during the early years of the Depression.
However, by 1936, the company was recovering and gaining momentum again.
Henry Ford Sr. had maintained his position as one of the most well-known and influential industrialists, but though all his success it was his stubborn management style had led to tensions within the company and the broader automotive industry.
His commitment to mass production and a focus on making cars affordable for ordinary Americans helped to drive the industry forward, though there were still economic challenges in the air.
This can be referenced around 1932, which marked the introduction of the Ford V8 engine, a major milestone in automotive technology and by god did it change cars forever.
The V8 was a game-changer, offering more power at a relatively affordable price, and it helped Ford reclaim its competitive edge in the industry.
Even now, the V8 engine has established itself as a symbol of Ford's innovation and technical prowess.
But despite all its technological successes, Ford faced significant labor unrest during this time, with Lucky being one of the very roots of the problem.
His involvement had inadvertently strained any cooperative relationship they might have had but this was precisely why Lucky was so intrigued by his grandson making the initiative to reach out, even if he was friends with Ricky.
The sole reason for this resentment was due to Ford's notorious reputation for its treatment of workers, and the company's stance on unions was one of the most contentious issues in the 1930s.
Ford had previously resisted unionization efforts, as many large companies did, but by 1936, labor unions were gaining strength across the U.S. at a pace far quicker than anyone had anticipated.
Lucky's firm grip on the unions, especially the Teamsters, had already created a wedge between the Luciano family and the corporate elite, the 1%.
While the rich sought to maintain their power, the growing labor movement, fueled by the interests of Lucky and the family, made it increasingly difficult for them to keep their stronghold.
The tension between the two worlds was palpable, and it seemed like only a matter of time before it all boiled over into something bigger, which actually cultivated into a single event.
More specifically, the Ford Hunger March of 1932, where workers protested against the company's low wages and poor working conditions, had cast a long shadow that had reared its ugly head.
While protests like these weren't uncommon, it was the extensive media coverage that ignited widespread outrage, leaving the Ford Motor Company in a precarious position.
Now, in the present time, labor unrest was still a dire concern, though the company was attempting to manage relations with workers and avoid further strikes, especially as workers in the auto industry were becoming more organized and vocal, which could be traced back to Lucky's vicious tactics.
But the main focus shifts back to Henry Ford's stubbornness in failing to adapt to the changing times.
In the years leading up to the Depression, Ford had adopted a business model based on mass production, with the goal of driving down the cost of vehicles and making them affordable for everyday Americans while having his company at the center of it all.
This strategy was successful for a time, but by the late 1920s, there were signs of overproduction in the auto industry.
Ford had just pumped out too many cars, particularly the Model T, and it resulted in the market becoming saturated.
In fact, the situation had become so dire that investors were growing uneasy, with many opting to sell off their shares.
Ford had experienced stagnation for four consecutive years, posting significant losses.
However, none felt the sting more than Finnegan & Cross Hedge Fund since at its peak, the hedge fund had amassed over 200,000 shares in Ford, making them a significant minority shareholder.
By 1936, the hedge fund's substantial holdings in Ford had turned into a financial burden.
Once a promising investment, the stock had plummeted, and the fund's position in the company was sinking fast.
With mounting pressure to recover their losses and provide positive returns for their investors, Finnegan & Cross concluded that the only viable option was to sell off their stake in Ford, cutting their ties with the failing giant while recouping their losses.
"So, let me get this straight, you're here, asking me to buy a minority stake, not from you, but from a fund?" Lucky asked, his gaze fixed on the young man, who nodded just slightly.
"Yes, sir."
"And on top of that, you want me to invest in a motor company that's failing to innovate, all because of that old prick, Henry Ford, your grandfather, and his less impressive son, your father, Edsel Ford?" Lucky pointed at Henry, whose name was a direct tribute to his grandfather and received it from his father.
"Precisely."
"...." Lucky sort of sat there, looking around at the others who all shrugged at him while Ricky just leaned back, at the good side of the table.
"And why the hell would I do that?" Lucky asked, crossing his fingers as the young man began to sweat.
"Because of me." Henry puffed out his chest, trying to be strong but only made Lucky roll his eyes.
"You, the kid who only got in here because of your name and your friendship with my son?" Lucky asked again, demeaning Henry further, but the man stood firm.
"Yes."
"Alright, I'm interested." Lucky sat back, nodding in approval as it took guts to pitch for shares he didn't even own to a bunch of mobsters.
"I'll humor you with the question, why, why should we invest in you." Lucky gestured towards Henry, giving him the floor as the spotlight suddenly shined down on him.
"Because one day, I'll sit at the center of it all and quadruple your investment." Henry stood tall before Lucky, who casually rubbed the top of his ivory cane, considering the bold claim.
"And if you don't?" Lucky tilted his head, his tone casual, but there was something in his gaze that made Henry swallow hard.
It was only then that he finally looked around, at the men whose dangerous expressions spoke of lives they had watched drain away.
These weren't Ivy League businessmen, these were mobsters.
The sharp suits didn't change that fact nor did the sign on the door, these men had once shattered kneecaps for a living and holding a briefcase didn't change how they went about carrying out business.
"I'm willing to put my legs on the line, as collateral." Henry closed his eyes, speaking the words that not only surprised the executives, but even caught Ricky and Lucky off guard as they exchanged a look before nodding, clearly intrigued by his audacity.
"Hmmm, alright." Lucky hummed, rubbing his ivory cane in a counterclockwise motion as he promptly agreed.
"Great, then you-"
"If Slick here agrees too," Lucky gestured toward Ricky, who flashed a laughing smile, almost enjoying how this was all going.
Sigh
Henry let out a heavy sigh, wanting not only to befriend this family but also to give them a reason to tie themselves to his company so he would have his own backing when he reached the head of his family's company that was drowning under their past glory.
Henry also wasn't a naive idiot, he knew it was morally wrong, but at the end of the day, all that mattered was the color green.
For the gentlemen he was at heart, that could be set aside for the right opportunity.
It was just that Ricky was a demon, a shameless guy who would absolutely hold it over his head, and Henry knew that all too well.
"Man, I don't know, pops. Seems pretty risky." Ricky played his role, Lucky chuckling as Henry pinched his nose in frustration.
"What do you want-"
"What do I want? Good question." Ricky laughed, leaning forward as Henry stared at the shameless man.
"Nothing." Ricky tapped his hand on the table, leaning back, and it shocked everyone in the room who knew him.
"Pops, you should invest in him." Ricky nudged his elbow into Lucky's side, raising an eyebrow at his sudden proclamation.
"You're kidding, I thought you were gonna make him grovel-"
"I mean, yeah, that would be hilarious, but back then, he was probably one of the only guys who not only treated me like an equal, but with respect." Ricky gestured, smiling at Henry, since he was trying to pay Henry's respect with respect of his own.
"Cardinal Sebastion always says pay it forward, so let's pay it forward." Ricky nodded to Henry, the man actually baffled beyond words at this point and unable to speak.
"Bullsh*t." Lucky shook his head, pointing at Ricky, knowing he'd never let an opportunity like that pass by for no reason.
"Alright, fine. I actually think Ford is gonna stand the test of time, but most of all, I don't hate Henry." Ricky was straightforward with Lucky, dropping the facade as the real truth came out as Henry felt incredibly awkward, unsure how to react.
"Um, I'm right here-"
"But the kid just walked in here like he owned the place, we can't let it slide-"
"Pops, that's just how he walks, in reality he is like a little docile lamb." Ricky chuckled, uncaring at Henry's scrunching his brows in annoyance.
"And if he doesn't pay off, we can always skin him for his coat." Ricky laughed, the words sending a chill down Henry's spine as he instinctively glanced at his own skin.
Meanwhile, those young dreamers, the same that had pitched and hoped to pitch their ideas to them, now fully aware they were out of their depth, slowly began to back away, leaving only the hired executives, former mobsters, and Henry in the room.
"Should I-"
"You should stay." Meyer closed the door before the kid could escape, a smile playing on his lips as he turned to Henry, who, for a moment, felt like making a quick exit.
"Alright, now that the pests are gone, tell us the real reason you're here. And don't worry, you can trust these guys." Lucky gestured toward Henry after scaring off the wimps, realizing he might have stuck his neck out for some nobody losers, but at least Henry stayed.
"I want to take over the company from my father, to become chairman and CEO of Ford Motor Company." Henry nodded, outlining his goal, while Ricky suddenly had a thought on the cusp of fruition all while Lucky had already understood.
Snap
Snap
"Oh sh*t, I know the lingo it's a-" Ricky snapped his fingers, trying to figure out what the correct wording was only for it to appear in his mind.
"Hostile takeover, is that really necessary?" Lucky purposely interrupted, while Ricky scoffed, and Henry remained firm.
One of the key internal reasons for Ford's struggles during this time was Henry Ford's resistance to change that was becoming not only apparent to the Ford Family, but even the workers, investors, and even outside third parties.
Ford, who had revolutionized the auto industry with the Model T, was deeply committed to maintaining a standardized, no-frills design for his vehicles.
However, the Model T was becoming outdated, and consumers were increasingly interested in cars with more modern features, such as better styling, more powerful engines, and greater comfort.
Ford's unwillingness to update the design of the Model T and his reluctance to introduce more variety into Ford's lineup alienated potential buyers.
Competitors like General Motors, led by Alfred P. Sloan, recognized this shift and adapted to market demands, offering a wider range of vehicles at different price points.
This flexibility helped GM weather the storm of the Depression better than Ford, whose refusal to modernize the Model T slowed sales and hurt the company's ability to compete and led Henry Ford II to this path.
"It is," Henry said, his eyes hardening as he met the gaze of the devils around him, unflinching as he stood ready to make a deal.
"My grandfather and father are destroying this company and sure, no matter what happens I'll be rich and i-"
Henry rambled on, justifying why the Ford Motor Company needed to be taken from the hands of his grandfather and father, but deep down, he knew it was a lie.
The truth is, people are creatures of attachment, bound by the invisible threads of history, emotion, and dependency.
Henry's attempt to ruthlessly maneuver behind his father's back, thinking he could sever that bond with ease, was a naive belief.
It was easy to convince oneself that cutting ties would be a simple act, that the world could be reordered according to one's own ambition.
But that's the thing with ruthless decisions: while they might seem clear in theory, they often unravel into a web of consequences that complicate even the simplest of actions.
It's why you parade yourself with these thoughts of how or why you do it, building it all up in your mind, yet despite everything you've planned, the words of hate never actually leave your mouth.
Because the harsh reality is that very few people can actually go through with it.
There is a reason the world isn't full of ruthless people because it takes more than just desire, it takes the ability to remain detached, to sever ties without flinching when the inevitable echoes of that decision reverberate through every corner of one's life.
To bear the echoes of cries from all those you wronged, remaining unflinching in the face of what you truly desire, most people crumble under the sheer weight of those agonizing screams, let alone the actual action itself.
People always say they can break things off, eliminate others, remove any and all obstacles from their path, but in truth, most are paralyzed by the fear of emptiness that follows such actions.
Not with the aftermath of destruction, not even the consequences of your actions, but simply being alone with yourself.
It's the silence that looms over you after everything you've ruthlessly destroyed, that's when it becomes deafening.
Filling your ears with all the things you never wanted to confront; your own doubts, insecurities, and the void where your humanity once resided.
It's why it's easier to keep pushing forward, to just nod your head and go along with all the pain that comes with it, since it's better than actually feeling nothing at all, at least for the majority of sheep.
It's that illusion of progress, the constant noise, the distractions, they're all just ways to drown out the silence.
Because in that silence, you're exposed.
For most, the emptiness is more suffocating than the weight of the world, the weight of words or the weight of any actions.
It's why so many cling to the familiar misery because at least it's something they can hold onto.
But the problem with Henry's words, his ramblings, was that he was looking at two people who had crossed into that unfamiliar territory, into that silence, and it was why they saw right through him.
"Oh, come on, Henry, don't get all sentimental on me. Just f*cking stop!" Ricky cackled out a laugh, covering his face with one hand and nudging Lucky with the other, who was also chuckling at him.
"Aye Henry, do you know what kind of guy loads a gun but can't even pull the trigger?" Lucky asked Henry, watching the young man try to scavenge around for an answer only for Ricky to join in.
"A coward? A sissy? Nah, it's a chump." Ricky answered for him, shaking his head while basically insulting Henry to his face.
"If I were your father and failing your company, I'd hope Slick here would put me out of my misery," Lucky said, waving his hand in the air as Ricky casually leaned back in his seat, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Sh*t, ditto." Ricky chimed in, knowing full well that Lucky had done exactly that when he sent him away.
BAM
Henry's fist slammed into the table before them as his gaze bore into the mobsters who gathered around the table, his hand still pressing even deeper against the hard surface, his knuckles white.
The tension in the room thickened as the echoes of his harsh slam reverberated in the cold air before their attention fully enclosed back onto him, signaling he wasn't done.
The truth was undeniable, in fact, it was etched into his very being.
Henry had been born into a life most would envy, a life filled with privilege, luxury, and the constant adoration of everyone around him.
A golden spoon had been placed in his mouth before he even took his first breath.
But that very abundance, that constant stream of affection, had become nothing more than a hollow echo in his life.
He had everything, yet nothing seemed to fill the void inside.
When someone has it all, the meaning behind everything starts to slip away.
What's left when the things most people fight for have already been handed to you?
The love, the power, the wealth, none of it could provide the satisfaction he craved, to fill that hollow ache in his soul.
And so, like a moth to a flame, Henry began to chase after something else, something more elusive, something he couldn't simply have by birthright.
"But what's the point of being rich if you don't have any of the power that comes with it? That just makes you an empty shell." Henry's gaze pierced through the two of them, but both Lucky and Ricky only smiled in response.
"I don't want to live my life without power, I want it and I need it." Henry didn't even hide it anymore, he didn't lie or did he prance around the topic, he just blurted it out.
"I won't sit here and lie to you, I want to use you two to propel my company into the new age and even further beyond that." Henry pointed at the two of them, receiving that sparkling interest in their eyes once more.
"I want you to use me so that you can use me." Henry's words solidified his grandfather and father's fate in this very moment as Ricky wiped his mouth.
"And here I thought I was going to be the most interesting thing at this meeting," Ricky said, standing up and clapping, followed by Lucky, who prompted the others to join in.
"Listen Henry, you do know your getting mobster-"
"I don't care. I want my company, and I want it in my hands," Henry said, discarding the sly talk. He knew these men were straightforward, and he needed to be just as direct.
Then we'll be in touch." Lucky nodded, giving Henry the unspoken signal to leave as he returned the nod, walking out as Meyer gave him a quick acknowledgment.
Finally, all eyes turned toward Ricky as he reached into his suit, pulling out a cocktail napkin covered in scribblings.
"Jesus Christ, Slick-" Meyer sighed, shaking his head as Lucky held up his hands, silencing the growing discontent with a single gesture.
This meeting would determine where Lucky Legacy Bank would stand in the next ten, twenty years, and the companies they would get involved with had to endure.
So when they all saw Ricky pull out a cocktail napkin, it was only Lucky who truly decided to hear him out.
Ahem
The room was silent, save for the faint creak of old leather chairs as the men shifted uncomfortably.
Ricky leaned back, his confidence palpable, letting his words sink in as the names he had just rattled off hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to dismiss them.
"Ford, General Electric, Johnson & Johnson, Exxon, Mobil Oil, IBM, Boeing, and Coca-Cola," Ricky repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he read off all the names he had quickly scribbled onto the napkin.
"They're not just companies, they're institutions in the making." Ricky gave his short and sweet explanation, not giving a parade of words like the others and simply making it clear he believed in what he had said.
The gathered men exchanged skeptical glances, their deadpan expressions betraying a mix of doubt and confusion.
Right now, these companies were already known players, but Ricky's declaration went beyond the obvious.
To them, it sounded almost absurd to propose investing in companies that were already on an upward trajectory.
They weren't looking for safe bets; they wanted game-changers, something that could carve out a stake in uncharted territory.
"What's your point, Slick?" One of the older men finally asked, his tone gruff, masking the curiosity behind his question.
"The point is, these companies aren't just going to survive, they're going to dominate," Ricky boldly declared, his confidence unwavering.
"For the next 80 years, they'll be at the top of their industries, shaping the world as we know it." Ricky said it with such conviction, outright declaring a future none of these men had any way of predicting, yet expecting them to jump on board without hesitation.
The room grew even quieter as some of the men began to fidget, while others crossed their arms, skeptical but intrigued.
"Slick, we are looking for groundbreaking-"
"But," Ricky interrupted smoothly, leaning back in his chair, his confidence radiating like a beacon.
"Groundbreaking isn't always what builds empires. It's the foundation that holds them together." Ricky really caught them all off guard with these words, mostly how it didn't really fit with his crude and forthright narrative he had set painfully clear in their minds.
It was why the room quieted as the men exchanged skeptical glances again, their cigars burning low in forgotten hands.
"You want a bank?" Ricky continued, tapping the table for emphasis.
"You want to play with money, fine. But if you're wanting something, companies that can outlast wars, and market crashes, this is it." Ricky slammed the cocktail napkin on the table, his words making everyone in the room turn to Lucky, who remained calm.
"And you think you know what that is, what the future really is?" Lucky asked, squinting his eyes since the money they were 'playing with' ranged in the millions of dollars.
"I'll put my neck, my reputation, and everything else on the line," Ricky said, his confidence unwavering as Lucky rubbed his chin, studying him carefully.
The future was uncertain.
Ricky had literally changed it, and the ripple effects were already being felt, with the possibility of going bankrupt hanging over them if they made a wrong move.
But the problem with money was that it moved too quickly, like a current that couldn't be grasped.
Ricky, though, was trying to give this upstart bank some solid ground to stand on, hoping to turn the tide before it swept them all away.
"I trust you," Lucky's words hit the room like a jolt of electricity.
The executives, including Meyer, froze in surprise, and Meyer was the first to stand up, his expression filled with disbelief.
"Lucky-"
"Slick has gone through hell to prove himself, and with all of that comes trust," Lucky waved his hands, dismissing any potential arguments before they even had a chance to form.
"Unless my son breaks that trust, I have no reason to go against it now," Lucky revealed, making Ricky smile.
It was rare for people to wholeheartedly believe in you, especially when those people were the ones you called family, but when they did, it was a feeling like no other.
"But know this Slick, the world of money is different than how it flows in the family, and when it's time you're gonna need to take it more seriously." Lucky then stood up, adjusting his suit while walking towards the door.
"Invest the capital we have into those companies and get that stupid fund to sell those shares at a 'discount'." Lucky notified some of his executives who nodded as he stopped at the doorway.
"You coming to dinner?" Lucky asked, turning back since he wanted to know if he was setting extra plates.
"Yeah, I'll be there." Ricky laughed, watching Lucky nod before walking off to go back to work.
"Sorry Meyer, I didn't mean to step on your toes-" Ricky then turned to a disheveled Meyer who simply shook his head.
Sigh
"Honestly, I'm not even trying to go against you, but be a voice of reason." Meyer then walked after Lucky, waving to him, showing that they were squared.
"See ya around."
Ricky stepped out of the grand doors of Lucky Legacy Bank, his polished shoes clicking against the stone steps as he descended.
However as the usual sleek car awaited at the curb, he raised a hand to dismiss the driver.
For some reason, today just didn't seem like a day for riding in the back seat.
Today, he needed to feel it all beneath his feet.
It was why he turned onto the bustling streets of the boroughs, his coat catching the cold wind as the once-chaotic noise of the city seemed to quiet as he moved.
The crowd parted instinctively, like a tide making way for a ship, their murmurs hushed but their eyes unwavering.
Ricky could feel their gazes, some curious, some cautious, but most carrying a newfound respect.
Ricky walked with purpose, his chin held high, his hands tucked into his pockets.
The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the faint tang of smoke from a nearby chimney.
Street vendors paused mid-shout, their calls of hot pretzels and roasted chestnuts trailing off as their eyes followed him.
It hadn't always been this way.
Even just months ago, he'd been another face in the crowd and it took a little while to really recognize him but now, they had memorized his face from the papers constantly in circulation.
At this point in time, you had to be a hermit if you didn't know Ricky Luciano and that sleazy smile of his. another shadow in the alleys of New York.
Now, every step he took seemed to echo with the weight of his name, Luciano.
It just rolled off tongues of these passersby with a mix of reverence and caution, whispered in corners and shouted in backrooms.
Even in the distance, even when it was just a passing glance, a group of dockworkers paused their heavy lifting as he passed, halting their own work to reach towards their grime-covered caps and tilt it in a silent acknowledgement.
A mother tugged her child closer, whispering something that made the boy stare wide-eyed at Ricky before giving him a quick, awkward bow.
Even the usual rabble of street thugs, giving anyone a scowl if they even looked at them, didn't dare meet Ricky's general direction.
This was power in the form of recognition and Ricky couldn't help but have his lips twitch into a faint smile, but it wasn't one of arrogance.
It was the satisfaction of a man who had carved his name into stone with his own two hands.
In essence, this was a reward for his efforts that went beyond the system, beyond the family as with each nod, each glance of recognition, was a reminder of how far he had come, from a boy who had just awoke in an alleyway to a figure who commanded respect without even uttering a single word.
"It's that f*cking Luciano again." A teenager with an ego reinforced by all his Irish friends sniggering around him muttered, as Ricky side-eyed him.
This all applied, except for one marginalized group.
Although all the territories had fallen under his clutches, most ethnic groups weren't entirely satisfied but all bowed their heads to Ricky.
Except for the Irish Mafia, the first ones to fall to him in the event dubbed 'The Irish Massacre,' which had festered into a longstanding grudge against him.
'Little does that brat know that I'm not afraid to punch a baby, let alone a teenag-'
BAM
But just as Ricky neared the teenager, something unexpected happened.
From the corner of his eye, Ricky saw a scruffy kid, barely ten, with wild hair and a dirt-smudged face, dart out from behind a vendor's cart.
The boy was holding a wooden basket, half-full of apples, and he moved with the determination of someone much older.
Before anyone could react, even Ricky, the kid swung the basket overhead with all his might, smashing it against the teen's head.
THUMP
The teenager crumbled to the ground, his friends, already pale, became even paler as they immediately rushed to help him, but their eyes shot up to Ricky, who flicked his head to the side, a curious thought crossing his mind.
Looking off into the distance, watching them hurriedly carry the kid away, Ricky's interest didn't lie with the kids who didn't know their place.
It was something else, something deeper, that kept his focus and finally, he turned back to the kid, his head lowered, a silent acknowledgement hanging in the air.
"Why did you do that?" Ricky asked, his curiosity piqued by the kid's defiant behavior as the kid looked up, his blue eyes glinting beneath the mess of dirty blonde hair, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.
"Because I don't want him ruining my ma's business." The kid plainly stated, his voice low and monotonous as Ricky laughed at it.
"And why is that?" Ricky pressed further, his gaze fixed on the kid.
"Because everyone knows you run things, and words like that always cause trouble for my ma, so I didn't want him to say things," The kid monotonously explained, showing no hint of fear even when looking straight at Ricky.
Ricky rubbed his chin, eyeing the kid who had just smashed an empty crate over another kid for speaking badly about him.
"What's your name?"
"Benni, with an I."
"The f*ck, that's gay, your Benny with a y."
"Okay."
The conversation was short and brief, but Ricky couldn't help himself as the kid's name just didn't sit right.
"You know Benny, kids like you are rare since I haven't seen one willing to go to such lengths because of some word." Ricky chuckled, taking his hands out of his pockets and looking around since it seemed like Benny was the only one able to even look him in the eye.
"And for that, I like you." Ricky reached into his suit, looking down at Benny, who stood there, silently absorbing the praise from the most powerful man in New York.
"I need people like you, ones who know who to follow and don't hesitate to act," Ricky chuckled, pulling out a card and handing it to him.
"If you ever want power, real f*cking power, you ask around and give this to a guy named Johnny." Ricky nodded, watching him take the card out of his hand as he slowly backed away.
"Why do I want power?" Johnny asked curiously, not fully understanding the notion, as Ricky bent down to look him right in the eyes.
"Because power is everything," Ricky said, his voice low and deliberate as he bent down to meet Johnny's curious gaze.
"Power gives you control. Over your life, over your choices, over the people who'd rather see you crawl than stand tall," Ricky said with a wide smile, drilling the mindset into the unknowing kid before him.
"It's what made you straighten that kid out for talking bad about me, 'cause you know I have the power to wipe away this entire f*cking block." Ricky poked at his chest, not hiding the fact that if he wanted to, then he could downright destroy this entire block.
"That's power, that's my Luciano family." Ricky waved, backing up and walking down the road.
"You follow me, kid, and you'll see power that can uplift a simple apple vendor into something, something real," Ricky said, his voice smooth but filled with an undeniable edge as he sidestepped past Benny.
It was something so indescribable and yet, Benny's eyes widened, the harsh sunlight breaking through the urban canopy and seemingly highlighting Ricky in this celestial glow.
It was the sort of image that would stay with him, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.
What most people fail to grasp about leadership is that it's not simply a matter of giving orders or demanding obedience.
It's about a deeper, more subtle form of influence.
True leadership isn't about forcing people to follow you; it's about earning their trust, respect, and loyalty.
It's about inspiring them, not with fear or coercion, but with conviction and vision.
Leaders who can make others believe in them, who can ignite passion and commitment in their followers, are the ones who shape destinies and do it all without even trying.
Ricky had accidently inspired Benny, this seemingly dull kid, to actually crack his voice as he scrambled to catch up, his feet pounding the sidewalk with excitement.
"W-W-What can I get with your power?" Benny shouted, his words desperate for the answer of the only question that mattered.
Ricky's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his eyes catching the sun's fading light as he stopped walking, turning on his heel to face the young man, his coat swishing around him like the cloak of a conqueror.
Benny stopped, breathless and expectant, eyes wide and eager to absorb whatever was coming next.
Ricky spread his arms wide, almost theatrically, his voice a calm rumble that carried over the wind.
"Everything."
The word hung in the air like a promise, rich with unspoken possibilities as the wind swirled around them, brushing against Benny's face as if the city itself was shifting its focus onto their direct conversation.
Ricky was only a few steps ahead, but in that moment, with the golden light framing his figure, it felt as if Ricky was miles above him, untouchable, unreachable.
It's why Benny stood frozen, his heart racing to a beat he never thought possible, the weight of those words settling into him with a force he couldn't yet understand.
The light from the setting sun seemed to shine only on Ricky, casting a halo around him that made the young man feel like he was witnessing something bigger than himself, something that could change his life in an instant.
The truth was, Benny didn't know it yet, but that was the moment everything would shift for him.
Ricky had just drawn a line in the sand, and on the other side was the world that Benny had no way of knowing.
One where power, influence, and wealth weren't just for the lucky few, but for anyone who could grasp them.
As Ricky began walking again, Benny's legs seemed to move without his consent, pulling him forward.
Pushing past that line and onto the path that Ricky walked, unable to even stop himself from advancing.
And as the sun set behind them, casting long shadows over the streets, one thing was clear: Benny's life would never be the same.
It was then that Benny's foot, about to unconsciously muster forward, almost drawn to the path Ricky was walking on like a moth to a flame, only for a hand to be placed on his shoulder.
"Honey, what are you doing? We have apples to sell." His mother asked, kissing his cheek and pulling him back.
Ricky slowly disappeared from his vision, but Benny could never forget that feeling as he looked down at the card, clutching it close to his chest as if it were something precious.
He muttered the words under his breath, words that would ensnare him, and everyone of his generation, into the world Ricky had just shown him.
"Can I really have everything?"