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.”

would dampen the intrigue of the matter. Still, he recognized his limitations. Taking Jordan to meet the Zano family meant fortifying the roast goose shop against potential threats from

approval. Jagoan then turned to Casey Vigo, inquiring, “You’ve been in New York

“They hold sway in the mafia,

Jagoan acknowledged, turning to Hogan. “I’ll take Jordan to the

caution, Young Master,”

***

family, hailing from Sicily, had lorded over New York for decades. Deeply entrenched in the mafia legacy, they held an enduring relic

brandishing the Thompson submachine gun, often called the Chicago typewriter. Until recently, the gun adorned the

entities. Behind the vest-clad gangs, they

Zano’s leadership, the current head, the Zano family endeavored to shed their old image and cozy up to the upper

that any mafia family seeking their favor had to clean house first. Essentially, what the upper crust desired wasn’t a hidden, shameful chamber pot but a 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

This

from France adorned it, alongside the finest crystal and silverware. Forty-seven-year-old Antonio observed, with a mixture of