Meanwhile, a different kind of meeting was taking place in another part of the city… A group of men were walking through an abandoned distillery. Two men led the group, which consisted of a total of seven members.
"It's only been a few days, Boss. Ya sure ya want to do this anyway? This place is a dump." Dante spoke with his heavy Italian New York accent. He scratched his head, his medium-length crimson hair falling over his face messily. He held his fedora in his free hand. And kicked some broken glass.
"I am sure, Dante. I have no choice but to succeed now that I managed to get the thumbs up from Don. I have to show him this was no mistake." Leone spoke in a confident tone, with an accent similar to Dante's. His voice is deep and smooth like butter.
Dante nodded to Leone. "If ya say so, Boss, then it will be so. I'll be backing ya up." Dante put his tan fedora back on his head and grinned widely.
Dust coated every surface, while shattered barrels and glass bottles lay strewn across the ground. Cobwebs draped from the ceiling like tattered curtains, and the faint scurrying of rodents echoed through the vast, once-vibrant distillery, where the air had once been thick with the scent of beer and the hum of industry.
Leone gestured towards the shadowy depths of the factory. After weeks of wrestling with paperwork and greasing the palms of local officials, he had finally seized control of the distillery, envisioning its revival from its current state of ruin. The Prohibition Act had damaged his company; his vineyard had been reduced to a measly grape farm now. Luckily, he had his other ventures keeping his pockets lined.
Leone was a tall figure of authority. He moved through the dilapidated distillery with confidence. His caramel-toned skin glowed faintly in the dim light while his honey-brown eyes swept the area. Planning and plotting for the future. His dark brown hair was neatly hidden under a fedora, and a glint from his gold watch punctuated his every gesture. As he surveyed the ruins, the scent of neglect and decay mixed with the more alluring aroma of potential profit. Every fiber of his being thrummed with plans and visions, certain that this desolate place would soon hum with activity under his command.
Dante is equal in height to Leone but noticeably skinnier. Dante had a lighter skin tone, pale in comparison to Leone. His crimson hair peeked from beneath his fedora. His tan suit, worn with an air of casual neglect, seemed a bit loose-fitting. His tie was loose, knotted in a half-assed way, and a few buttons of his shirt were undone. Dante's chestnut brown eyes moved lazily over the scene, almost in a disinterested way, despite his eagerness for this new endeavor.
Behind Leone and Dante stood four lackeys, each a different mix of size and age, yet uniform in their sharp black suits. They moved with a predatory grace, eyes scanning their surroundings for any hint of danger. Leone, the unchallenged big Boss, and Dante, his sharp-eyed underboss, commanded their respect. The pistols barely visible from their waistbands promised swift and decisive action, underscoring their unspoken vow of protection.
"We'll get workers here in the coming weeks and clean up this mess; then, we can get to work on selling our product. Our runners will be busy, but the legal side of things should be just as profitable," Leone declared, brushing his hand across a dusty railing, leaving a trail in the grime.
Dante and the other men nodded curtly. Each of Leone's men knew the plan and could smell the dough.
Exiting the factory, Leone and Dante climbed into the back of their waiting Ford Model T. As the engine roared to life, the car rolled northward, leaving the decaying factory behind. As the car rumbled along the road, Leone lit a cigarette, the flame briefly brightening his face before he exhaled a plume of smoke. Dante leaned against the car window, gazing out at the passing scenery with a faraway expression. Things were going exactly as intended.
The drive passed in silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional drag of Leone's cigarette. As they neared their destination, the urban city transitioned to rolling green hills with clusters of tall oak trees and native fauna. The Giovanni manor emerged on the horizon, a stately three-story residence set against a backdrop of sprawling grape fields, weathered storage sheds, and a breathtaking vista of the ocean stretching into the distance.
Upon returning to the manor, Dante and Leone headed straight to the clubhouse, a lively retreat for their men to gamble, drink, and unwind. Tucked away from the main house, its noise and revelry were of little concern to Leone. It was his one private speakeasy. Only close allies and members of his 'family' were allowed here.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the pungent scent of alcohol, mingling with the chatter of men gathered around tables. Musicians performed on the stage, playing upbeat tunes and swing jazz. Some vixens strutted about, serving drinks and flirting with anyone who looked their way, hoping to earn a few extra dollars or get a free drink.
Leone shrugged off his hat and coat, Dante mirroring his actions with a carefree grin. As they walked into the place, Dante casually hooked his arms around two waitresses, vixens, flashing them a roguish smile. Some men at tables straightened up and nodded their heads in respect to Leone. Leone, unfazed by Dante's stunts or the actions of his lackeys, made his way to a table where Marcus was meticulously cleaning an array of weapon parts spread before him.
"Good evening, Marcus. Did you take out the trash on Bickers St.?" Leone asked, his tone a blend of casual inquiry and underlying authority as he addressed the imposing figure at the table.
"It's been handled, Boss," Marcus responded in a deep, rough voice, glancing up as his piercing azure eyes met Leone's gaze with a brief nod. He was towering even while seated; the muscular Russian exuded a formidable presence. His long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his all-black suit blended into the dimly lit space. A gold ring glinted on his left ring finger.
Leone's lips curled into a satisfied smile as he swirled the wine in his glass. "Grazie. Let's hope those swine think twice before trespassing on what's mine again," he remarked, his tone lighter, reflecting his buoyant mood. Today was shaping up to be a good day, and everything seemed to be falling into place.
Dante lounged on the opposite couch, flanked by two women who clung to him, their laughter mingling with the din of the clubhouse.
"Hey Marcus, ya oughta join the next bash. We should celebrate our recent windfall, right, Boss?" he suggested, flashing a grin. Leone, sipping his wine, gave a nod of approval. Turning back to Marcus, Dante added, "And maybe bring your gal-" His voice trailed off abruptly as Marcus shot him a withering glare, stopping him cold.
"Absolutely not. You guys enjoy your revelry," Marcus replied curtly, eyes fixed on the gun barrel he was meticulously cleaning. Despite a decade-long camaraderie with Leone and Dante, he would never bring his wife into their world. She was aware of his work, but he wanted to keep her safe.
Leone chuckled, glancing at Dante with a knowing smile. "You should know better, mio fratello, mettere paglia al fuoco," he said before taking another sip of his wine.
(*Mettere paglia al fuoco: To tempt fate)
Dante sighed theatrically and turned to Leone. "And what about you, Boss? It's been nearly a month since you ended things with that Mary lady. Don't you think it's time to have a little fun?" He asked as he waggled his eyebrows in an impish way.
Leone shrugged, his expression apathetic. "You have enough fun for both of us," he remarked, casting a brief glance at the two women draped over Dante. In his eyes, they were all the same; different hair, different eyes, but ultimately opportunistic. He had often warned Dante about their ways, but his old friend remained unheeding. Leone knew these women only wanted one thing, money, power, and blackmail. Dante shrugged and nuzzled into the neck of one of the women at his side, eliciting a playful squeal and a burst of giggles. Dante could care less as long as he got to have some fun.
Marcus sighed deeply, gathering his gear with deliberate movements. "It's too noisy here, Boss," he stated, giving Leone a brief nod before heading out with his case. The raucous flirtations of Dante were of no interest to him. He had little interest in watching the other man make a fool of himself.
Leone raised his wine glass in a silent toast to Marcus as he departed, then drained it. Rising to his feet, he placed the empty glass on a tray and glanced at Dante. "I'm off as well. Try to show some decency, mio fratello," he said with a hint of amusement as he walked away.
Dante looked up at Leone and chuckled. "Non-ti preoccupare, buona notte, fratello," he called after him before returning his concentration to the women beside him. Leaning into their waggish flirtations and giving in for the night.
(*Non ti preoccupare: Don't worry; Buona notte: Good night)