Marvel: Impregnation System

In the dead of night,

BOOM

A massive explosion erupted in the heart of New York, a towering inferno that drew the terrified gazes of countless pupils from every corner of the city. 

The sight was nothing short of apocalyptic, a grim reflection of the chaos that was to come, a harbinger of the complete destruction of everything they had ever known.

As the fiery spectacle consumed the skyline, it symbolized more than just the obliteration of the present. 

Today would be annihilated, leaving behind nothing but memories, while tomorrow loomed as an uncharted frontier, shrouded in uncertainty and devoid of the familiar. 

No one could predict what lay ahead in this new world forged from the violence of another.

It was why families clung to each other in fear, mothers clutching their children tightly in the depths of their homes, often hiding away in closets or basements. 

Meanwhile, husbands and fathers stood at the frontlines of their homes, behind closed doors, armed with whatever they could find to protect the ones they loved.

Outside, the city was a battleground, blood staining the streets and yet, amidst the carnage, the only ones who dared to roam the streets were mobsters, staking their claim in the lawless night, oblivious or indifferent to the desperate struggles happening behind closed doors.

The families, once steadfast in maintaining their distinct territories, now found themselves slowly seeping into each other's grounds. 

The territorial lines blurred as this shift allowed mobsters to cross the thresholds of what they once considered their own, staking new claims in a rapidly changing landscape.

Among them, the Luciano family, stirred to their fullest fervor, walked down the street with a determined stride. 

On the horizon stood those who had dared to challenge them, ready for the inevitable confrontation that loomed like a storm on the brink of breaking.

Johnny, who had started as nothing more than a mere grunt, had transformed into a man standing at the forefront of the looming battle. 

Once a boy who killed his mentor for his boss, he now embodied the ferocity of the Luciano family's ambitions as his young hands wrapped around the handle of his gun.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The roars of young men bellowed, charging forth at each other with tommy guns gripped tightly in their arms. 

Bullets sprayed from the muzzles, cutting through the night air with deadly precision. 

The mobsters, instead of standing with resolve, found themselves overwhelmed by fear as they faced the relentless onslaught of the Luciano family.

Tonight, New York City has officially transformed into a warzone. 

The families, once steadfast in their territories, now scrambled to defend against the insatiable hunger of the Luciano family, threatening to consume everything in its path.

BOOM

"Dammit, Joe, do you see what's happening out there? Look!" Carlo yelled, yanking the blinds open to reveal the carnage unfolding in the city. 

His voice was actually trembling with uncharacteristic urgency, a stark contrast to his usual carefree and hateful demeanor.

Right now, Carlo was in a hazardous state, teetering on the edge of snapping. 

The only thing keeping him grounded was the presence of the other mob bosses, wanting to keep his pride in front of the many others he considered his equals. 

But even now, he found that his eyes darted to the little lights flashing in the distance, each one signaling bullets tearing through the night. 

Watching the smoke rise steadily from all the explosions taking root, knowing that his family was out there being torn to shreds and yet, he was here.

"Listen, I have a last-ditch plan that, if it works, can settle this matter once and for all. I just need everyone's cooperation." Joe tried to smile, but it came out twisted, almost psychotic, as the others looked at him with unsteady faces, their expressions filled with doubt and fear.

That calm exterior, the facade he always maintained to hide his wicked nature, was crumbling.

His demeanor was disheveled, his eyes wild with madness, no longer attempting to conceal his true attitude as it made everyone a little unnerved.

"Where the hell is Profaci-"

Cough

Cough

"I'm here." 

The door to the side opened, revealing a coughing Profaci, who tucked his handkerchief into his suit pocket. 

Joe's eyes lit up with a crazed intensity as he immediately stood up, slamming his hands on the table.

"Profaci, good, good, you're here," Joe exclaimed, his voice charged with manic energy as he scanned the room, taking in the remaining mob bosses seated around the table, all except for Lucky.

"Here's what we do, while using Maria as bait we-" Joe almost laughed, his eyes returning to Profaci while gazing at him as if he was nothing more than a tool for him to use.

"JOE, ARE YOU F*CKING NUTS!" Tommy roared, disbelief etched across his face as he slammed his fist on the table as the other mob bosses shook their heads, their expressions a mix of shock and exasperation.

"PROFACI IS RIGHT THERE AND-"

Click

The roar from Tommy's mouth shrank at the sudden faint click as the entire room went dead silent within the span of a mere second. 

Joe's eyes were crazed but his hand was steady, his fingers wrapped around the cold grip of the revolver, the barrel pointed directly at Tommy. 

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, you fools," Joe's voice rang out, dripping with madness. 

His eyes were wild, his grip on the revolver tightening as he gestured toward the window where Carlo had opened the blinds. 

"If you don't believe me, look outside."

The room remained tense, every pair of eyes shifting toward the window as the chaotic scene was forced upon them in all its glory.

The view was undeniable; a hellscape of fire, smoke, and gunfire as the echoes of violence could be heard even through the thick glass, the sound of bodies hitting the pavement, the sharp crack of gunfire, and no distant wail of sirens accompanied this horror within the night. 

"You all want to sit on your paper thrones, then fine, be my guest," Joe sneered, his laughter echoing in the room, hollow and unnerving as his arms spread wide, mocking the others, the weight of his frustration clear in his twisted grin.

"But let's just face the facts, we have nothing against the Luciano family." Joe's voice dropped into a chilling calm, his jaw tightening as the weight of his own words hit him like a slap as the room seemed to grow colder, the reality sinking in.

"Look at the streets, look at this goddamn city. It's all coming apart. And you're all too proud to accept that we're no better than the rats hiding in the f*cking sewers." Joe wiped his face, trying to mask his own self-loathing in his tone while the mob bosses all slowly ducked their heads.

"They have the numbers, the guns, the backers. We don't need a coordinated plan. What we need is leverage, and the key to it all walked through that front door." Joe gestured towards Profaci, who stood calmly at the side, observing the scene unfolding before him.

"It's only a matter of time before Slick swallows everything whole and finds us, we need to keep him at bay!" Joe yelled, his voice filled with desperation as the tension in the room was thick, the mob bosses sitting in stunned silence, eyes downcast, each man avoiding eye contact before the truth hit them all at once, and Joe's words cut deep into their pride.

"Then are we all in agreement, huh?" Joe raised his hand fanatically, his eyes darting from one mob boss to another, desperate for a sign of support. 

He could feel the pressure mounting as he scanned their faces, each man displaying a mix of skepticism, hesitation, and, in some cases, pity for Profaci.

"Sorry Joe, it's not personal." Tommy, who had just moments before tried to argue, held up his hand, signaling his decision.

"Ha~" Profaci let out a small breath, shaking his head before covering his eyes with one hand.

"You're all just-"

SNORT

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Profaci let out hysterical laughter, his voice echoing off the walls, as the other mob bosses exchanged confused glances.

"God, you're all so f*cking predictable. I mean, you guys always do this," Profaci said, his tone carrying a mixture of incredulity and disdain.

"You all mouth off about how to solve the problem, but every, single, time, you give in to whatever the f*ck this crazy bastard says. Literally every time," Profaci continued, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"It's like watching the same damn reruns of a dumb show I know the ending to, over and over, even when I'm looking at it through another pair of eyes." Profaci scoffed before showing a sleazy smile, Joe's eyes shrinking at this display as if it was impossible.

"But thank god it's not personal Tommy, since this will be a lot easier." Profaci raised his gaze, a sinister glint in his eyes. 

To the horror of everyone in attendance, his form began to shift and contort and slowly, to the absolute terror of the mob bosses, Ricky emerged before them in his full glory. 

His face settled into that all-too-familiar sleazy smile, his arms spread wide at his complete transformation.

"Tada~" Ricky waved his hands, his eyes forming into crescent moons at their faces all registering that this was actually real.

The room was immediately filled with a palpable fear, the mobsters frozen in shock at the horrifying transformation that had just taken place before their very eyes.

"Oh man, I can't believe it took three years to get the old gang back together." Ricky smiled warmly, planting a heart on his chest and over dramatizing the moment to give them time to let their shock dissipate.

" And let me be the first to say, that you all look like sh*t-"

BANG

BANG

BANG

Three bullets shot towards Ricky, but he only rolled his eyes, raising a shimmering barrier that effortlessly deflected them. 

The bullets clattered to the ground, their shells echoing in the tense silence of the room as Ricky shook his head.

"Seriously-"

BANG

BANG

BANG

CLICK

CLICK

Joe continued firing, gnashing his teeth as sweat trickled down his forehead, until the revolver clicked, signaling there were no more bullets left to fire as his hands trembled, the empty gun still pointed at Ricky, whose barrier shimmered mockingly in front of him.

"S-S-Slick!" Carlo yelped, the sound of the bullets jolting him from his stupor as he stumbled back in his chair, frantically scooting away as Ricky snapped his fingers, a cold smile curling on his lips.

"The one and only," Ricky chuckled, his voice echoing ominously as he trapped the room in a shimmering barrier. 

"But your-......then that means-" Tommy spoke the words of the entire commission thought, his presence meaning one thing as Ricky grabbed a seat.

"Profaci is dead," Ricky declared, plopping down in the chair and lounging in it while gazing at the mob bosses before him. 

The irony hung heavy in the air; once, they all sat at this table as equals to Lucky, and now, they weren't even in the same league, unable to even have the privilege to sit down.

"So what, you came to negotiate or something?" Carlo stammered, his voice trembling as he stood up, trying to hold some semblance of authority despite the growing terror in his eyes.

Ricky leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, as if he were almost amused by Carlo's futile attempt at control.

"Not exactly, well, not at all," Ricky said, taking a moment to think it over as his gaze swept across all the bosses and underbosses seated around the table. 

"Slick, please, listen-KUERK!" Tommy tried to explain, stepping toward Ricky, who remained an iron clad hold.

Tommy struggled in Ricky's grasp, his strength no match for Ricky's overwhelming force as he clawed at his fingers, desperately trying to pry them off, but it was futile.

"I honestly don't want to listen to a single f*cking word, but don't worry, it's not personal," Ricky chuckled, his hand tightening around Tommy's neck, forcing their eyes to meet, before abruptly tossing him aside. Tommy tumbled backward, crashing to the ground in a heap.

GASP

Tommy tumbled backward, crashing to the ground in a heap before letting out a long drawn out gasp, his underboss coming to his aid.

Immediately, all the bosses and underbosses began chattering relentlessly, their voices overlapping like a flock of squawking birds. 

They shouted at Ricky, desperate, hoping their words might do something, anything, while he sat there, unbothered and composed, watching their helplessness unfold within his green eyes.

But Joe knew full well that if Ricky had killed Profaci, there was no chance he would be spared.

Resolute, he walked over to Ricky and amidst all their eyes, Joe fell to his knees before Ricky, who remained seated, gazing down at him with a cold, unwavering stare.

"I know what I did to you deserves everything coming, but all I ask is to leave our families out of this," Joe pleaded, bending down and clutching Ricky's shoes, his forehead touching the tips of his dress shoes while hiding his gaze that was desperate and silent.

The squawking birds shut their beaks at this impromptu display, but after witnessing Vinny's fate, Joe understood the gravity of the situation.

They were like bowling pins, lined up and ready to be knocked down, the only sound left to make would be a loud crash as the bowling ball collided with them. 

It was over. 

They could delude themselves into thinking otherwise, but Joe, even though he didn't want to admit it, was crazy enough to understand that conversations were no longer an option.

He would die here, they would all die here, and the only thing Joe could do to let a part of himself live was beg for Ricky's mercy. 

It was hypocritical, it was shameless, but sometimes, the very traits that shaped someone into a great leader could also be their greatest weakness, turning them into the very thing they sought to avoid.

"We all have what's coming to us," Joe's voice cracked, a rare vulnerability breaking through the hardened exterior. 

"But think about our wives, our kids. And as a father yourself, can't you find it in your heart to let it go after us?" Joe, the man who had never shown emotion before to any of these men, bowed his head completely, a final plea, the kind of desperation no one had ever seen from him. 

He was begging as a stark contrast to the cold, calculating figure that had just ruled the room seconds before.

Ricky's gaze swept across the commission bosses, observing each one as they bowed their heads in silent surrender. 

It was a slow and arduous process but slowly, their pride had shattered, and now before Ricky they were nothing. 

Their lives, once filled with power and authority, hung in the balance, entirely within his grasp. 

At that moment, the truth hit them all with brutal clarity; all the power, the influence, the years of bloodshed and control, they were meaningless now. 

Their names, once feared and respected, were nothing more than empty echoes in the face of Ricky's rise. 

The walls of their empire had crumbled, and with it, the illusion of invincibility. 

Outside the room, the city burned, and in here, they were no more than pawns, vulnerable and exposed as the game had changed, and they were no longer the players.

The room was heavy with the realization that their fates had already been sealed, and all that was left was for Ricky to decide when and how their end would come.

"Yeah, how about no," Ricky muttered, his voice icy and deliberate as the words sliced through the tension, freezing the men in place before grabbing Joe by the hair, yanking him upward, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"C'mon bananas, you can't actually believe that I'd fall for that crap?" Ricky asked, seeing that crazed look stare him in the face, the very same one he had been trying to hide.

"I just pointed out the pattern five seconds ago, you f*cking dumbass," Ricky sneered, his grip tightening as he held Joe by the hair. "

You say something crazy, they're in disbelief, then they agree with you, and finally, you get your way." Ricky laughed in Joe's face, enjoying the irony of it all, knowing this was exactly what he had predicted.

"Don't you all get it?" Ricky laughed, his voice dripping with mockery.

 "Me coming here was never about you. It was always about me." Ricky chuckled even harder, watching the expressions of the mobsters shift as the weight of his words sank in.

"I had to leave for three years, isolated while my girls had to raise my children while thinking I just left, and maybe deep down I did." Ricky's eyes turned black in front of Joe, whose breath became ragged.

"I'll give you the benefit that because of all your actions, I came back a better man, I came back whole." Ricky grabbed Joe's neck before throwing him over the table and into the other bosses.

"But all I have to say to you, to all of you, is three words." Ricky held up three fingers, savoring the moment he had been dreaming about ever since he sailed back to New York.

"Go f*ck yourself." Ricky spread out his hands, looking towards the bosses before him who were nothing but cattle waiting to be slaughtered.

"Everything your families own, be it legitimate or illegal, will be mine." Ricky listed off, pacing around the room and circling them as if they were his prey.

"The houses they live in and the money in which they lavishly spend, mine!" Ricky raised his voice, reveling in the looks of utter disbelief on their faces as his laughter grew even more crazed.

"NEW YORK'S UNDERBELLY, THE VERY SAME YOU ALL DIVIDED AMONGST YOURSELVES AND SQUABBLED OVER, WILL ROLL OVER TO ME BECAUSE THIS CITY WILL BE F*CKING MINE!" Ricky yelled at the bosses, smiling as he stood before them as powerful as ever.

Because the strong get to dictate what the weak do, and he had all the power now.

"I will consume every last bite of what is in front of me, then eat some more, because I f*cking can." Ricky waved his finger at them, tossing the table aside with a single motion as he turned his gaze toward the mobsters along with Joe who scrambled backwards before backing up against the invisible wall, their fear palpable.

"Profaci was right," Ricky murmured, his tone dripping with disdain as he slowly paced in front of Joe. 

"People like you, like them, are just sharks circling, waiting for me to show a sign of weakness, waiting for a drop of blood to entice them into attacking me, and I'm sure as hell not giving any of you openings." Ricky leaned in, his fingers lightly patting Joe's cheek as the latter flinched, a smile curling on his lips at the reaction. 

"Just like with my case, there has to be a precedent," Ricky chuckled, but his tone was completely hollow. 

"An example of what happens when you go against the natural order, my natural order." Ricky issued and without warning, he gripped Joe's jaw with a vice-like hold, squeezing down hard enough that the bones creaked beneath his fingers. 

Ricky's eyes turned pitch black, a void of darkness that seemed to swallow everything in its path. 

Joe's breath hitched as his eyes widened in terror, the horror of what was happening dawning on him as the grip tightened, cutting off his air.

"It's unfortunate, but all of you have to be that example." Ricky murmured, his tone cold and unfeeling. 

Without warning, he crushed Joe's jaw completely in his hand, the sickening crack of bone resonating in the air. 

Then, with a savage yank, he pulled Joe's jaw back, the tearing of flesh and muscle echoing throughout the room as he wrenched it free.

Splat

Immediately, a torrent of blood splattered onto the ground beneath Joe, his tongue dangling uselessly from his now mangled mouth. 

He collapsed backwards, his hands patting his face frantically, trying to stop the bleeding, but blood soaked his palms in an instant. 

His eyes went wide in shock, gazing down at the horror at the stark color of crimson that slathered onto his hands. 

The pain hit him with brutal intensity, searing through his body like fire, every nerve screaming in agony as the world around him blurred.

"THpspssss-" Joe tongue flailed about along with his body, trying to convey the words of mercy that never came.

"Please Slick, please I beg ya don't do this-"

SPLAT

A puncture hole appeared in Tommy's stomach, and through the gaping wound, the view of the other mobsters flickered in and out as he collapsed to his knees, his hands instinctively clutching the bleeding wound as Ricky stood motionless, his hand outstretched. 

"Aye, don't beg for mercy now, you all are the ones who started it, bringing up family and loved ones, it's only poetic that I'd do the same." Ricky snapped his fingers, lines being forcibly carved all around the wood as the veins in his eyes expanded into black.

The veins around his eyes darkened, expanding into inky blackness, as the room seemed to close in around the trembling mobsters.

The mob bosses looked around, huddling backward as the space filled with a low, sinister whispering that reverberated from all directions. 

A thick, cloying mist crept along the floor, clinging to their legs as if it had a mind of its own signaling that the ritual had begun.

In a frantic attempt to escape, the mobsters scattered in different directions, running aimlessly around the confined space like headless chickens. 

But their panic was cut short as a dead body suddenly dropped from above, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Thump

"N-Nitti?" Carlo whispered in recognition, his voice shaky as he gazed at the lifeless body of Nitti, his face frozen in a look of pure horror.

"YOU BA-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

All words were suddenly disrupted as one by one, their bodies began to betray them when the engravings started to glow all around them.

Their fingers started twitching uncontrollably, their muscles tensing and contorting, and their skin grew clammy, taking on a sickly, waxen color.

"W-WHA_AHHHHH!" Carlo yelped, feeling something foreign writhing under his own skin, as if threads of some dark magic were sewing them together from the inside out.

"S-Stop this, I SAID STOP!" Carlo shouted, but his voice came out in a strained rasp, barely more than a whisper. 

But their pleas would forever fall on deaf ears, overtaken by the growing, resonant hum of the ritual. 

Shadows seemed to peel off the walls, swirling toward them, each shadow carrying whispers from the damned. 

These ethereal wisps burrowed into their skin like hundreds of spectral needles, slowly stitching their bodies into a grotesque, connected mass.

They all tried to stumble away, only to find themselves rooted to the spot below them as their feet sank into the mist, merging, binding them to one another. 

Carlo gasped in agony as his arm, no longer his own, twisted and reformed, morphing into something monstrous like some sort of twisted appendage that fused with the shoulder of the underboss beside him. 

Hands melded, fingers stretched and split, becoming claws that joined with the limbs of others, forming a horrid, pulsating mass of flesh and bone.

Their cries of terror grew louder, but they became twisted, entangled with each other's voices as their throats merged and their faces contorted. 

Eyes shifted, slipping across faces, then popping up in unnatural places with their mouths gaped open, screaming, only to close as they were swallowed into the growing, monstrous form.

The mob bosses felt their minds slipping, scattering like shards of broken glass as their individual identities were drowned out in a tide of merging memories and fractured thoughts.

Faces rose and fell within the shifting mass, flashes of terror and rage visible for brief moments before being consumed by the growing horror.

Finally, the transformation halted and Ricky's revenge had taken root.

Where once stood the most feared men in the city now loomed the Corpse Colossus; a massive, horrific amalgamation of broken men, fused into a creature driven by mindless hunger and the echoes of their collective agony. 

Their bodies had become twisted weapons, clawed limbs and sharpened ribs protruding, eyes rolling in sunken sockets that appeared and disappeared across the surface of its grotesque body.

Ding

(Legendary Undead) Corpse Colossus: Towering at nearly twice the height of any man, this servant is a horrifying entity of fused flesh, sinew, and bone. Its body is a chaotic tapestry of partially preserved faces, grasping hands, and twitching limbs, each limb and feature haunted by vestiges of its previous owners.

Abilities:

Flesh Assimilation: When the Corpse Colossus defeats a living being, it can absorb the corpse, merging it into its own flesh. This grants it new limbs, eyes, or mouths, enhancing its physical power and senses. The absorbed parts retain a faint trace of the individual's consciousness, adding to the creature's maddening chorus of voices.

Recomposing Limb Arsenal: The Corpse Colossus can reshape its body to form weapons from its twisted anatomy; bladed arms, spiked maces, or skulls with snapping jaws. It can even tear off an arm to hurl it as a living projectile and act on its own but will die if not returned to the main body.

Screams of the Damned: The Colossus can release a terrifying scream from the souls it has absorbed, causing fear, confusion, and paralysis in its enemies. Those who hear it may be haunted by visions of its past victims.

"M-Master~" The Corpse Colossus rasped, its voice a distorted symphony of the mob bosses' echoes, each syllable a blend of fear and obedience.

Opening the portal to the side, the Corpse Colossus responded without hesitation, its grotesque form lurching forward. 

Its flesh slithered across the floor, leaving a trail of its new slime before vanishing into the black mist of the portal and as the last of the creature disappeared, Ricky stood alone in the room.

He sank back into the chair, his eyes drifting upward, but there was no emotion in his gaze, just this sort of emptiness.

After everything that had transpired, after everything he did nothing seemed to stir within him.

The weight of the actions, the lives lost, it all felt distant, almost irrelevant as he had claimed everything, and yet, the complete satisfaction he might have expected was absent.

It wasn't guilt that weighed on Ricky, but rather the absence of the satisfaction he had anticipated. 

After all that had transpired, after taking everything he had desired, he thought there would be at least something.

Three years ago, when he first donned the mantle of the Black Knight and slaughtered those three families with such brutality, he had felt something; a gut-wrenching sickness, a twisted recognition of the monstrous act he had just committed as if unable to accept that very fact.

Back then, the power, the violence, it had unsettled him momentarily, disturbed him to his core.

Now, after all the bloodshed, the terror, the twisted victories, Ricky had become numb. 

The line between the man he once was and the monster he had molded himself into had blurred, leaving only what he had become.

When he killed those mob bosses, giving them a fate far worse than death, a spectacle that outshone any brutality he had ever displayed, Ricky felt nothing except this faint little tinge. 

It was as if his own subconscious whispered to him, faint and distant, that perhaps he had gone too far. 

The thought was there, but it was barely noticeable, like a fleeting echo in the back of his mind, one he could easily ignore.

Nonetheless, Ricky stood, his feet clicking sharply against the cold floor as he walked toward the window, staring out at the burning skyline of New York, now his to control. 

Flames reflected in his eyes, but within them, there was no spark of victory, only the eerie calm of a man who had achieved everything, only to realize that the cost was more than he ever anticipated.

It could end right here. 

The bosses were dead, their power snatched from them, and the entire city was now within his grasp. 

Ricky could stop the war, cease the senseless bloodshed that stained the streets he had watched from his window as he could put an end to it all, right now.

But that wasn't the reality of the situation.

"If only it was that f*cking simple." Ricky whispered, his cold eyes gazing down at one of his own grunt being shot in the street, bleeding out as his blood stained the road beneath him.

Ruling New York wasn't just about having the power to crush his enemies, it was about controlling an environment where opposition would always find a way to rise. 

He couldn't simply put out the flames of conflict as these families, these gangs, had to burn to the ground under the weight of the Luciano family's wrath. 

Only then, after the ashes settled, would they be ready to rebuild, their foundation reshaped in his image.

Those grunts, those cannon fodder who had blindly laid down their lives in the hope of gaining power through Ricky's rule, needed to feel something more. 

They needed to feel like they were part of the empire, not just pawns in a game they barely understood.

They needed to taste the glory of the world Ricky was building, not simply the scraps of power they had been promised. 

He wanted them to imagine the marble roads they would lay down under his feet, gleaming and pristine, not the dull cobblestones that had been their reality.

If they were going to follow him, they had to believe they were building something bigger than themselves. 

They had to see their bloodshed as an investment in a future that would make them kings in their own right, their names etched into the very foundation of this new world. 

Only then, when they believed they were a part of something monumental, would they fight for him with the fervor he needed.

It was a sacrifice, greedy and ruthless at its very barebones, but Ricky had no illusions and instead a vision. 

He was prepared to watch the entire world burn if it meant he could claim everything he desired from the wreckage.

It was undeniable, Ricky was selfish, power-hungry, and ruthless. 

But deep down, he knew that he was merely a product of the world that had shaped him. 

The streets had taught him that only the strong survive, that betrayal, violence, and manipulation were the currencies that ruled the underbelly of New York.

He wasn't born this way; he had been molded by his very surroundings that had forced this upo, him, by the city, by the power struggles that took place in dimly lit alleyways, in the smoke-filled rooms where deals were made over blood and whiskey. 

He had learned early on that compassion was a weakness, and those who showed it often found themselves with knives in their backs.

Friends died because of complacency, his mentors and comrades falling at his own weakness, and loss suffered under his own incompetence.

But now he had power, real power that could make anything and everything within his view malleable.

He wasn't a villain in his own eyes, I don't think anyone truly sees themselves as a villain; he was just simply Ricky Luciano.

He was a father, he was a son, he was a comrade, he was the boss and now, he was the only one. 

Ricky pressed his hand lightly against the glass as it shattered with a sharp crack, sending jagged fragments scattering outward as he stepped into the open air, the weight of the world beneath his feet. 

Chastiefol, his ethereal weapon, appeared below him like a shimmering platform, supporting his weight as he hovered over the city.

The chaotic screams of misery echoed up from the streets, the air thick with the sounds of gunfire and violence. 

In Times Square, the gunshots rang out, Italian youth falling one after another under the rapid fire of Tommy guns as the streets were littered with blood, the pavement stained with the fallen.

But it was then, high above the city, that Ricky's gaze fell upon the carnage as the families were in full-blown war, the rival factions battling for survival in the midst of their inevitable collapse.

His Luciano family had become the sole target of the others, now desperate and panicked, fighting to push them back and reclaim their place in this fractured world.

A fierce brawl erupted on the streets below, men locked in hand-to-hand combat as they ran out of ammo, resorting to brutal force. 

They charged at each other with abandon, bodies slamming into one another as blood soaked the cracked streets as Ricky's eyes caught sight of Johnny, leading the way with a shank in his hand.

Bruises marred Johnny's body, the evidence of his fierce struggle against his enemies. 

A nicked arm, blood trickling from the wound, only added to the brutality of his appearance, but it was his eyes that truly told the story.

Johnny had given up everything for the Luciano family after they had taken in his mother, a single woman with three children, after she had emigrated with nothing. 

The family had been his lifeline, offering his own family safety and security in a foreign land, a place where they could grow and thrive.

It was why he had killed for them, killed his mentor, the one who had once shown him the ropes, had fallen at Johnny's hands, showing that his loyalty to the Luciano family was stronger than any bond of mentorship. 

And he had sacrificed more than that as he had forfeited countless moments with his loved ones, countless chances at a normal life, all for the Family.

Now, as the streets ran with blood and bodies piled high, Johnny was ready to lay down his life for them. 

He had given everything to the Luciano family, and in return, they had given him purpose. 

His loyalty to them was unshakable, and he would fight to the bitter end to ensure their victory, no matter the cost. 

He was the embodiment of a true grunt and he was prepared to die for the Family that had given him everything.

"DON'T LOOK BACK, THIS CITY IS OURS!" Johnny roared, his voice cutting through the chaos of the battle, a rallying cry for all who followed him. 

He lunged at an oncoming mobster only for the enemy mobster to swing first, a brutal punch landing square in Johnny's mouth, but he didn't flinch.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" Johnny roared out a battle cry, pushing through all the pain as his hand shot upward, driving the edge of his shank deep into the mobster's stomach

Johnny's shank sank deep into the mobster's stomach, the blade tearing through flesh with a sickening squelch. 

But he wasn't finished as his veins pulsed with the rush of adrenaline, his arm swelling with power as he drove the blade deeper, carving through the man's insides like a savage animal.

The mobster's eyes, his desperate eyes locked onto Johnny's for a brief moment before the agony became too much, but Johnny wasn't done yet.

With a brutal motion, Johnny twisted the shank, a deep gnash appearing across the man's midsection as the flesh tore apart under the force of Johnny's fury as the mobsters' guts sprawled into his own embrace.

Two more mobsters rushed at Johnny, their faces twisted in fury, fists flying as they berated him with a relentless barrage of attacks. 

He blocked and dodged as best as he could, slashing wildly with his shank, the makeshift weapon slicing through the air. 

Johnny gritted his teeth, adrenaline pumping through his veins, ignoring the blows that landed, ignoring the pain that coursed through his body.

The shank, worn from the fierce fighting, shattered in his hand, but Johnny didn't hesitate. 

His eyes burned with fury as he drew back his fist, and with a roar, he threw his body at the next mobster, his swollen right eye barely able to see through the haze of pain. 

However he was slowly being surrounded, the enemies wishing to put this wild animal down as one mobster, wielding a knife, had murder in his eyes as Johnny reflected in his pupils.

BOOM

Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind surged from the backline, ripping through the chaos of the battlefield. 

The force of it was so strong that it sent several Italian men flying backward, crashing into the ground or colliding with each other in a pile of limbs and confusion. 

Johnny staggered, struggling to maintain his balance as the blast threw him off his feet, his legs wobbling beneath him but just as he was about to lunge at the intruder, his eyes widened.

"THE MOB BOSSES ARE ALL DEAD, KILLED BY ME!" Ricky's voice thundered through the chaos, a roar that cut through the battlefield like a blade, silencing everything in its wake.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the sounds of fighting and desperation halting as every ear in the vicinity focused on him.

"THIS CITY IS OURS, THESE STREETS ARE OURS, SO FOLLOW ME AND TAKE IT, IT'S YOURS!" Ricky's words crackled with raw power, his words seeking to ensnare them all on the campaign of his own desires.

The Luciano family gathered around him, their eyes fixed on the man who had delivered onto them a promise, the man who had brought them to this moment of absolute dominance.

Ricky stood with an air of calm defiance, Chastiefol in one hand, and the Ebony Blade gleaming in the other.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The battle cry erupted from the Luciano family, a sound so fierce, so full of unrelenting force, that it seemed to shake the very foundation of the city. 

It was a roar of victory, a call to arms that carried with it the weight of everything they had fought for. 

The momentum of the battle shifted in an instant, as if the very air had thickened with power, and the tides turned in their favor.

The opposing families faltered, their resolve crumbling under the weight of Ricky's proclamation and the fierce rallying of the Luciano men. 

Their faces drained of color, disbelief and fear spreading like wildfire among their ranks as what they had thought to be a fight for survival was now a desperate scramble.

Under Ricky, his steps carried forward a new path and direction all while the Luciano family surged forward, following him towards the horizon.

A slash rang out, the sound slicing through the barrage of men before him as Ricky swung the ebony blade with a speed and precision that seemed impossible. 

Red electric sparks crackled in the air around him, the blade cutting through the mobsters in a single fluid motion. 

Twenty men fell in an instant, their bodies slicing into two and crumbling to the ground like ragdolls.

"RETREAT, RE-"

SPLAT

Without missing a beat, Ricky pivoted and hurled Chastiefol like a javelin, exploding the man's head like a meat ballon. 

The spear whistled through the air, its trajectory deadly and unyielding as it impaled three more mobsters, lifting them off their feet before they crashed into a nearby wall, bodies mangled and limp.

Corpses started to pile with every movement Ricky made, the sheer amount seemingly forming a staircase but even then, he sought to climb higher.

Blood soaked into the fabric of his new Italian suit yet Ricky didn't even care, his focus was always forward, clearing the way as he carved a path while the Luciano family followed, their steps firm and unwavering behind him.

The doubts, the thoughts, everything that had once lingered in the back of his mind started to fade, melting away with each decisive action. 

They no longer held him back; they were mere distractions in the face of his singular purpose. 

Behind him, the Luciano family mirrored his resolve as those lingering doubts, those hesitations that once plagued their hearts, slipped away with each stride they took. 

They no longer questioned the path before them; they followed Ricky with unshakeable faith, believing in the power of their leader, the strength of their family.

The Luciano family had finally united under the very man leading them as it all started to feel more than a fight to these grunts; it was their destiny unfolding before them. 

At this point, the fight had been won, the city had been claimed, and the Luciano family's victory was absolute. 

Yet Ricky didn't stop as it wasn't about defeating the enemy anymore; it was about utterly crushing their will to resist, to make them understand that he was law.

This was always meant to be a slaughter. 

The fight, the bloodshed, had only been the beginning as the war had sent brutal ripples across the city, and now, those ripples were turning into tidal waves. 

Throughout the night, one by one, the foundations of the families crumbled under the unbearable weight that was Ricky Luciano. 

He sliced through every obstacle with terrifying precision, his family members in hot pursuit, caught in a frenzy as they realized the power they wielded, forming this image within their mind of this invincible, unstoppable man.

Ricky had not uttered a single falsehood when he spoke to them earlier as he tore through everything in his path, leaving nothing untouched. 

No one, nothing, could stand against the tide that surged through the underworld. 

The night grew so brutal that even the Continental felt the tremors, posting guards outside in case anyone dared to challenge the chaos and when the sun finally rose, the damage was done.

Huff

Huff

Huff

Johnny gasped for breath, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand before pushing himself to his feet. 

His eyes scanned the devastation around him, the remnants of battle that had unfolded over the last four hours.

In his adrenaline-fueled haze, he had tried desperately to keep up with Ricky, never once breaking away from the madness. 

What he had seen, what he had witnessed, was only a fraction of the true extent of Ricky's power, yet it was enough to leave Johnny feeling both awed and horrified.

"You're crazy, boss," Johnny muttered, collapsing onto the ground, his body finally giving in to the toll, every inch of him aching as he sat down, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer.

Ricky didn't glance at him and with a quiet sigh, he wiped his blade clean, the weapon gleaming in the dim light as he surveyed the carnage around them.

"Like the bad-shit crazy or the good crazy?" Ricky quipped, flashing a cheeky smile that barely masked the hollowness in his eyes.

"The kind I ain't ever gonna mess with, that's for sure," Johnny added with a lighthearted chuckle, his voice betraying the weariness of his body. 

He was unafraid to speak his mind, unlike the others who, though they were slowly nurturing seeds of respect, still couldn't shake the fear of what Ricky had become. 

Johnny, however, found a strange comfort in the mounting strength before him, almost like an admiration, maybe, for the sheer power and control Ricky wielded. 

It was sort of a mix of awe and respect that none of the others seemed capable of mustering just yet.

"You remind me of your mother," Ricky said, bending down with a laugh. He extended a hand, and a faint green glow flickered around Johnny, the son of his father's maid.

It was then that everyone noticed Johnny's injuries, those same wounds that had nearly brought him to the brink of complete exhaustion, begin to heal before their eyes.

"What the-"

"Aye, Johnny, go round up some of the boys. Get me all the heavily injured ones, not the fatal ones." Ricky suddenly ordered, plopping down on a nearby seat before Johnny flinched but quickly shot to his feet, nodding in agreement.

Ricky's intent was clear, he wanted to display his power to heal, a gesture that would plant seeds of respect and perhaps a bit of gratitude among his men. 

But even he could heal so much, not wanting to look bad in front of his guys by failing to heal a mortally wounded man.

"That goes for the rest of you!" Ricky shouted, his voice cutting through the air. 

"Our boys are still out there waiting for us, and although we've won, let's not forget that all of us are the Luciano family!" Ricky ordered, watching the smiles of victory faded from the faces of his men, replaced by steely resolve.

Ricky rushed out of the warehouse, following Johnny, while the severely injured mobsters waited their turn to be treated by him, one by one. 

For the next two hours, the Luciano family didn't indulge in celebration, there was always work to be done. 

They patched themselves up, tending to their wounds with methodical precision, and when the last injury was tended to, they set to work cleaning up the mess they had made, ensuring there was no trace left of the chaos they had unleashed. 

They were mobsters, not monsters. 

They weren't going to leave dead bodies lying in the street for every passing citizen to see since after all, they were notorious in the waste management business for a reason.

Hours passed and the streets were slowly cleared, but remnants remained as the family licked their wounds, and the fallen members of the Luciano family were finally mourned. 

Unlike before, Ricky wasn't about to shy away from the responsibilities of being a leader, a mob boss. 

He took every initiative, knowing that Lucky would have done the same and after patching up the severely injured gangsters, Ricky got to work.

With Frank's help, he began dividing the already existing Luciano territories, distributing them across the swallowed-up districts amongst the high ranking members for a full integration.

Ricky was learning how to properly place his men into positions that would benefit the family in the underworld. 

It wasn't perfect, far from it as his decisions were hasty, his judgment slightly off in some areas, but that was to be expected. 

The learning curve was steep, but Ricky wasn't backing down and with Frank's guidance, he was able to get the job done.

Unlike before, Ricky was actually trying to do it himself, and he knew he would slip up, fail, but he kept pushing forward, he kept getting up. 

Like a cockroach, he was relentless, refusing to be crushed by his own mistakes. 

And by the time the sun rose in the sky, the only traces left of the war that had raged through the night were the stray blood splatters in the alleyways, the faint scorch marks, and the shell casings slipping into the sewers as a silent, final remnants of what had happened.

"We got the ports under our control, right?" Ricky asked, glancing at Frank with a sharp smile as they walked side by side. 

His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, as if he were expecting a confirmation that the power was firmly in their grasp.

"Yeah, it took a little longer for the Staten Island ports because of the mess, but after the week, our boys should have a complete handle on those ports," Frank informed Ricky, rubbing his eyes as exhaustion weighed down on him as he'd been up for the last 27 hours.

"What about the injured, the hospitals-"

"That kid Johnny already blackmailed the hospitals into giving our guys preferential treatment. He's pretty bright," Frank said, a rare note of admiration in his voice as he spoke highly of Johnny. 

"Alright, good, good." Ricky nodded, his expression unreadable as they approached a small house as he was listening, but his mind was already shifting, focusing on the next move which looked to be a small house.

"Aye Slick are you sure you want to do this, you don't gotta be like your pops?" Frank asked, his eyes shifting to the small house as Ricky raised his gaze to this single house.

A typical mafia family consists of around 1,500 members, broken down into various ranks. 

At the top, you have the high-ranking individuals, the pinnacle of the family, usually between 10 to 15 members. 

These included the boss, the underboss, the consigliere, and the capos, who each held power and influence within the structure.

Below them were the core or made members, numbering between 300 and 400. 

These were the officially inducted members of the mafia, the men who had proven their loyalty and earned their place within the family. 

These made men were the backbone of the operation, carrying out the tasks and decisions handed down by those at the top.

Made members were the core of the organization, with the ability to lead crews, carry out hits, and make decisions on behalf of the family.

Surrounding these made members were hundreds of associates, non-inducted members who worked closely with the family, running gambling rings, managing rackets, collecting debts, and handling various family enterprises. 

On average, estimates suggest that there could have been anywhere from 500 to 1,000 associates connected to the family at any given time.

However, Lucky had been planning this operation for years, and the Luciano family was far larger than the typical mafia family. 

With roughly 4,500 members, the family was broken up into different ranks, each serving a specific purpose in the intricate web of power Lucky had carefully woven..

The other families, when combined, totaled around 9,000 members, but they were easy pickings. 

For months, they had been cooped up, confined to their own territories, allowing Ricky to systematically pick them off one by one. 

When the war finally erupted, Ricky simply moved from territory to territory, each one falling under his control with ease. 

It wasn't until the last possible moment that the families tried to regroup for a final stand, but by then, how could they hope to resist a force so powerful, an individual they couldn't even comprehend?

However, for Ricky, the hardest part of it all was just the beginning. 

With every victory came the weight of a loss, each triumph layered with its own consequences.

The responsibility of leading the Luciano family, of shaping its future, was starting to press down on him, and the toll was becoming apparent.

Out of those 4,500, 350 had died in tonight's overtaking, and Ricky knew that he had to visit every single household and personally deliver the news. 

It might sound overblown or unnecessary, but what made Lucky so respected within the family, and the entire mobster community, wasn't just how skilled he was as a mobster, or how expertly he navigated the underworld. 

It was the fact that he never distanced himself from his people. 

He didn't hide behind his title or let his position make him forget the human cost of every move.

Lucky's ability to face his family, to bear the weight of their losses, was part of the reason they respected him so deeply.

Ricky was learning that responsibility wasn't just about conquering territories or building power, it was about bearing the burden of those who followed you, no matter how heavy it got.

That was the real secret as to why the Luciano family was so loyal to Lucky.

There were times when the family had faced internal troubles, but even still, these mobsters respected Lucky like no other. 

The reason was simple: Lucky wasn't afraid to admit his mistakes and show his vulnerable side to his allies. 

But it wasn't weakness he was displaying, Lucky wasn't so foolish as to constantly parade his flaws in front of his underlings but instead, he was demonstrating relatability.

Lucky made it clear that while he stood higher than his men, he wasn't some ostracized figure, detached and untouchable. 

He was one of them, someone who understood the weight of the struggle, the pain of failure, and the costs of their dangerous world. 

His vulnerability didn't diminish his authority; it amplified his humanity, and in turn, the loyalty and respect he earned was unmatched.

Lucky would talk to mere grunts, runners, and even take criticism from the likes of children, always striving to construct reason from their words. 

The reason why Lucky had so many unique figures around him was because he wasn't above listening to anyone, no matter their rank or age. 

It was this willingness to engage with every level of his organization, no matter how insignificant they might seem, that made him different. 

He understood that every voice had value, every opinion mattered, and that sometimes the clearest insights came from the most unexpected places. 

Chester was a perfect example of this. 

None of the mob bosses Ricky had wiped out would have listened to a crow, no matter how sharp or insightful he was, because they were too prideful. 

They were trapped in their own egos, incapable of recognizing value outside their inner circles. But Lucky wasn't like them. 

He didn't just listen to Chester; he understood the depth of his intelligence and the neutral perspective he offered. 

He saw the value in Chester's ability to observe without bias, and instead of dismissing him, Lucky probed deeper into his insights, knowing that even a crow could offer truths that others might overlook.

"I gotta do this Frank, I gotta prove that I ain't just some f*ck up with a lot of power but someone the family can lean on and follow." Ricky turned to Frank, his eyes serious as being compared to Lucky was an honor in his book.

One of the responsibilities Lucky took on was delivering the bad news personally.

Instead of delegating the task to someone else, the head of the family would go to the homes of the men under him, informing their families of the loss. 

It was a burden Lucky bore with respect, acknowledging the personal impact these deaths had on the family.

Ricky, on the other hand, aspired to be a boss who could rival, and even surpass Lucky one day. 

Although he was on his own path, he wasn't afraid to follow in Lucky's footsteps, learning from his methods and understanding the importance of maintaining those personal connections with the people. 

Ricky knew that before he could step into his own shoes, he had to prove himself capable, not just as a leader but as someone who truly understood the weight of responsibility. 

He would learn from the best, then forge his own way when the time came.

"Well, you're the boss now." Frank chuckled, holding up his hands since if that was his decision, then it was final.

Ricky let out a small sigh, walking up the stairs of this small house and appearing before the door.

Knock

Knock

Knock

Ricky's knuckles knocked against the weathered wood of a moderately modest one-story home.

The door creaked open, revealing a stern-faced man who had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of his son. 

But the moment his eyes met Ricky's, the man's expression shifted, his hope quickly deflating as he realized it wasn't his son standing there.

"Are you Mr. Enchenzo?" Ricky asked, the middle aged man shaking slightly as he bit his lip but nodded.

"I'm Ricky Luciano and it's about your son-"

"He's dead, ain't he?" Mr. Enchenzo hand tightly gripped the door, rubbing his eyes so that no tears would come out.

"He is." Ricky wasn't going to prolong it, nodding his head slightly as the man looked up at the roof, seemingly admiring the details.

"May we come in and chat?" Ricky asked Mr. Enchenzo, opening the door to show their hopeful family.

The family, once filled with hopeful faces, eager for good news, now stood in silence, their expressions crumbling as despair quickly took over. 

The moment they saw Ricky, the weight of their expectations shattered as the hope drained from their eyes, replaced by a collective heaviness.

Sniff

"MY BABY!" The shriek of a mother tore through the silence, raw and heart-wrenching. 

Her hands shot up to her face, as if trying to shield herself from the unbearable truth as the weight of her son's death came crashing down on her, and for a moment, it felt as though the world itself had stopped. 

Her body shook with grief, her voice cracking with the agony of a mother losing her child.

"Danny, handle your mother." Mr. Enchenzo had a sad expression, asking his now only son to take their mother away.

"C'mon ma, let's go to the kitchen-"

"YOU KILLED MY BABY, YOU MURDERED HIM-"

"MA!"

"SERRA!"

Both Mr. Enchenzo and his son yelled at her, stopping any words of disrespect from uttering out towards this figure.

They all knew who Ricky was, knowing the wraith he imposed but as they turned towards him, expecting some outburst, he only closed his eyes.

"I am sorry for your loss, cause I've never known what it's like to lose a child." Ricky first showed his symphony, trying to resonate with them before opening his eyes.

"But you can insult me, you can curse me out, but I ask you not to dismiss what your son died for." Ricky's words cut through this poor woman's heart as if it were paper, holding her cries and finally listening to his words.

"He died fighting for the family, with his brothers, and he died so that others could live, your son was a hero." Ricky propped their son up on this imaginary pedestal, having never even talked to the poor chump.

"Like a family, he took care of us, he laid down his life, and I didn't come here to say anything less, cause he has my respect." Ricky put his hand on his heart, causing Mr. Enchenzo to duck his head a little.

"I came here to tell you all, family to family, that his sacrifice wasn't in vain." Ricky words made Mr. Enchenzo had to turn away, the weight of everything just hitting him at the moment as his eyes became teary.

"It was because of his sacrifice, because of many of our members' sacrifices, that we claimed New York last night." Ricky revealed, the little brother widening his eyes at such a feat that he thought was a pipe dream.

"It's only right we take care of our family, that we take care of you." Ricky gestured towards Frank, watching him walk forward with an envelope of money and setting it down on the table.

"No amount of money is gonna put a price on your boy, it's not supposed to." Ricky explained, diswaying the thought before it could even rise to the surface.

"This is my way of showing gratitude, the only way I know how to express how much it meant to me," Ricky said, trying to carry his words in a more profound way that felt a little flat and unfeeling, lacking the depth that would've been noticed if they all weren't caught in the storm of grief swirling their mind. 

"And if you ever need anything, you come to the Luciano family cause we always look after our own." Ricky ushered in that powerful line that defined the family, Frank over at the side smiling since Lucky always said the same thing.

Sniff

Mr. Enchenzo couldn't cry in front of another man, the words getting to him as he walked towards the kitchen unlike his wife, who looked at Ricky with beady eyes.

"Are we your first stop?" Mrs. Enchenzo, unlike the others, realized that Ricky might be visiting the other families of the deceased as he smiled.

"The very first." Ricky forced a smile, a genuine one, instead of his usual sleazy expression as the woman slowly showed a downcast expression.

"Thank you, truly." Mrs. Enchenzo closed her eyes, feeling slightly ashamed for her outburst as Ricky sort of stood there for a moment.

"Thank you for giving us some closure."

It was then that Ricky saw what Lucky had always received: that strange, almost twisted form of appreciation. 

The mother, tears still fresh on her face, looked at him with a strange reverence, as though he were some kind of savior. 

He was the one who had killed her son, the one responsible for the pain she was enduring and yet, there she was, thanking him. 

Thanking him for leading her son to his death, for sending him to the slaughter as he had herded out a response while watching the gratitude form in her eyes despite everything.

It was unbelievable, and yet, in that moment, Ricky realized something. 

Respect, much like power, was an incredibly malleable force, able to take on forms that twisted its outward appearance, shaping what could be and what couldn't. 

It wasn't always clear, or straightforward and it wasn't just about admiration or fear, it was about influence, the unspoken force that governed actions and decisions.

Respect has always been preached as something obtained through abilities, qualities, or achievements. 

You give respect and you get respect.

But Ricky was beginning to understand that these concepts were more flexible than he'd ever imagined, far from rigid definitions. 

He showed his quality by offering her his thoughts, the rawness of his honesty, before demonstrating the power of what his actions had brought with her son's death, the aftermath, and the consequences. 

In that moment, he wasn't just a mobster or a leader; he was a force that shaped reality through what he could take from the world and what he could give in return. 

Respect, he realized, wasn't a simple transaction, it was a reflection of the choices that were perceived, and the undeniable weight it brought upon those affected.

"Slick." Frank whispered, nudging him as Ricky snapped out of his thoughts before showing a smile.

"Mrs. Enchenzo, if your family ever needs someone to lean on, know that the Luciano family will bear the weight." Ricky smiled, receiving a sincere one in return as she dabbed the ends of her eyes.

"Thank you, thank you so much."

Twenty four hours later,

For the last twenty four soul crushing hours, Ricky experienced a smidge of what Lucky had been going through for his entire duration as a mob boss while telling the parents, the siblings, and the children of those who died on his watch that their significant other would never be coming back.

It was around 9 a.m., and Ricky had been awake for way too long and yet there he was, sitting on the mansion steps with a beer in his hand.

"It's tough, ain't it?" Lucky strolled over to the steps and plopped down next to Ricky. Ricky took a slow sip of his beer before rubbing the bags under his eyes.

"And let me guess, it doesn't get any easier?" Ricky asked, watching Lucky laugh softly and pat his shoulder.

"Nope, it doesn't. In fact, shit only gets tougher as time passes." Lucky swiped the beer from Ricky's hand, downing the last of it before tossing it aside.

"But being a leader, a boss, it ain't all sunshine and rainbows." Lucky narrated the last twenty four hours of Ricky's life with those small amounts of words.

"It about walking into the fcking jungle and hacking a pathway through so others can follow." Lucky revealed, shaking his head at all the sht he'd had to step through when he was just starting out.

"That's what it means to be a leader, and it never stops until the last breath escapes your chapped lips." Lucky sighed, instinctively licking his lips after his own words.

"Now, come on, we've got a meeting." Lucky gestured toward Ricky, who raised an eyebrow.

"With who?" Ricky asked, standing up with Lucky who flashed him a smile as if it had all been building up to this moment.

"With the high table."

Author's Note: I'm about to reach 15k collections and I just wanna say, like I always do whenever I reach these milestones, thank you. Seriously, even reading my story means alot and I'm glad you all enjoy what I write. This is my hobby and you guys don't understand what it means to me when you take the time out of your day to enjoy it, so thank you, truly.