The Charismatic Charlie Wade

As Jagoan spoke, a plan crystallized in his mind.

Having been in New York for this long, certain issues demanded a thorough resolution. With the Zano family’s reach extending into Chinatown, encompassing Hogan’s decades of hard work, there was no room for self-restraint.

He turned to Jordan, his tone resolute, “Jordan, change into those chef’s clothes and join me.”

Jordan’s gaze darted to the five imposing figures of the Burning Angels. “Mr. Jagoan, what about them?” he inquired urgently.

“Dispatch them, one bullet at a time. Make every shot count,” Jagoan affirmed, a steely determination in his voice. The five stood, trembling with fear. They never fathomed that the once-bullied cook, who wouldn’t even dare to breathe too loud, now harbored a resolute intent to end them all.

Witnessing Jordan’s unwavering resolve, Jagoan’s smile curled slightly. “It’s premature to end them now. Let Uncle Hogan and Casey Vigo keep a close watch. Once their affairs conclude, we’ll revisit this,” he advised.

Hogan wasted no time, seeking guidance, “Master, what’s your strategy? Is there something I should tend to?”

Jagoan’s grin persisted. “No, Uncle Hogan. When Jordan and I depart, lock up shop and await our return. Should any trouble arise, and someone with a keen eye stirs up strife, use these five as leverage and summon Micheala immediately.”

her. Yet, Jagoan preferred not to invoke her aid. Her intervention would dampen the intrigue of the matter. Still, he recognized his limitations. Taking Jordan to meet the Zano family meant fortifying the

Jagoan’s intention promptly and nodded in approval. Jagoan then turned to Casey Vigo, inquiring, “You’ve been in New York for years. What’s your intel on the Zano clan? their location, headcount, and

in the mafia, boasting a significant populace. I’d reckon at least ten

Jagoan acknowledged, turning to Hogan. “I’ll take Jordan to the Zano Manor. If all goes well,

caution, Young Master,”

***

Sicily, had lorded over New York for decades. Deeply entrenched in the mafia legacy, they held an enduring relic from World War II—a Thompson submachine

dominion in the American underworld, brandishing the Thompson submachine gun, often called the Chicago typewriter. Until recently, the gun adorned the main hall of Zano Manor, at position C. Only with the new generation’s decision to cleanse their reputation did

rather, they redistributed their illicit endeavors to seemingly unrelated entities. Behind the vest-clad gangs, they quietly propelled

old image and cozy up to the upper echelons. Antonio knew well that the more powerful the elite became, the more they needed entities

lavatory that could stand A openly, immaculate and odorless. The traditional Mafia was akin to the former—a dirty, pungent chamber pot. Antonio sought to guide the Zano family’s evolution from chamber pots to

distinguished guest from afar would grace their halls. This guest’s visit held

impeccably set. Flowers flown in from France adorned it, alongside the finest crystal and silverware. Forty-seven-year-old Antonio observed, with a