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.”

gangsters, even the Zano family paled before her. Yet, Jagoan preferred not to invoke her aid. Her intervention would dampen the intrigue of the matter. Still,

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 mafia, boasting a significant

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

exercise caution, Young

***

Deeply entrenched in the mafia legacy, they held an enduring relic from World War II—a Thompson submachine gun, a cherished emblem passed

old Zano, who’d relocated from Sicily to New York, established their 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

Behind the vest-clad gangs, they quietly propelled them to conquer New

up to the upper echelons. Antonio knew well that the

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

from afar would grace their halls. This guest’s visit held paramount importance for the Zano family’s future. If collaboration was struck, they would ascend

sprawling table, over ten meters long, was impeccably set. Flowers flown in from France adorned it, alongside the finest crystal and silverware. Forty-seven-year-old Antonio observed, with a mixture of anticipation and