1941, New York City

In a back chamber of a New York City bakery, there lies a small dark brothel. One of the many rackets the Bass family owned. On the small stage several girls were dancing around in outfits that could only be classified as skimpy little nothings.

Charles 'Chuck' Bass was comfortably seated in a red fauteuil, his trademark smirk adorning his face as he watched upon the girls dancing in front of him and holding his scotch in another hand. The song ended and the girls all took a deep bow before standing up and watching him with hope in their eyes.

He pointed to a girl with ginger coloured curly hair and ruby red lips. "You," he simply said.

She looked at her fellow dancers arrogantly before throwing an angelic look at Chuck and smiling at him as she descended the steps of the stage. Another song was started and she seductively walked over to him, tracing a finger down his cheek before starting another sensual dance, climbing over him and dragging her lips across his throat.

A man walked into the small brothel, looking around for a short moment and then walking up to the chair where Chuck was sitting.

"Mister Bass, your father sent me to retrieve you. He wishes to have a word with you."

---

Bart Bass, head of the biggest New York crime family, sat in his office, impatiently tapping his fingers against his desk. He sent for his son quite some time ago and the young man had yet to show up. Bart Bass wasn't a man with a lot of patience and his blood had almost reached a boiling point when the door to his office finally opened and his dishevelled looking son came walking in. There were red smudges on his neck, leftovers from some whore's lipstick.

His son, Chuck Bass, slowly ran a hand through his dark hair. "You sent for me, father?"

"Yes, Charles. Please sit."

"I'd rather stand; I trust this will be over soon."

Bart Bass sighed. "Do not talk back to me, I told you to sit, Chuck. So sit."

Chuck shook his head, but he gave in and took a seat in one of the chairs placed before his father's big mahogany desk.

"I heard you've been enjoying our businesses."

"Yes father, some of the houses are truly magnificent."

"Chuck, you disgrace me and the family by being spotted all around town with those cheap whores on your arm. Our businesses are purely for generating income and respect, I do not want you in there anymore."

"But father, what am I to do with my time?"

"Spend more time with the family. Paul Mori suspects we might have a rat in our midst. Why don't you try and find it?" Bart suggested. "Or help extort some businesses, we can always use more money. You never know when it might come in handy."

"Surely you're not serious. You're asking me to become a mobster?"

Bart banged his fist onto his desk. "Stop it, I will not hear anymore from you. If I find you in one of those places again, you will not like what's going to happen. Now go." Bart bellowed. "Now!"

Chuck left the room quickly, intent on kicking something, hard. His father was taking away the only flicker of light he had in the dark existence of being a crime boss' son. He stomped his way through the halls of the Bass family compound.

In the living room some of his father's most important men were seated.

"Guys, is there anyone in this city that needs a beating? Because I'm feeling very capable of handing one out."

"He had the talk with you, didn't he?" Bernardo Daniel, one of his father's capo's remarked. He rose from his seat. "There this jewellery shop on the Upper East Side that isn't paying their protection money. I think it's time we tell 'em how it is."

Chuck followed the capo out to his car, somewhat bummed out that they weren't going to take his limo. He guessed this car was probably better to drive when they needed to get away fast. Bernardo pointed to a random low ranked member of the family.

"You," he said. "You're going to drive us."

The man walked over to the car and slid into the driver's seat without question. Bernardo didn't really tolerate anyone ranked lower than himself in the family. Thought they were worthless, potential rats. Turncoats.

"Upper East Side, the Waldorf Jewellery shop. And hurry up, will ya? We don't got all day."

The man nodded.

"What are you waiting for!" Bernardo boomed loudly. "DRIVE!"

---

The Waldorf shop was pretty, it showed class. No wonder his father wanted this shop giving him protection money. It was evident only the richer families bought their jewellery here. The owner, Harold Waldorf, really despised the New York crime families. His shop was one of the most fought over places. His shop was always in the hands of one of the families, but he always refused to pay the protection money.

He'd say he didn't need protection. Boy was he wrong.

Chuck watched the façade of the building, he could only see one person in the shop, it was currently vacant of customers. Good, that would mean fewer witnesses. Bernardo and Chuck shared a look and then both exited the vehicle. Bernardo was carrying a crowbar and swinging like it was something way less intimidating.

"You take care of the guy, I'll pretty up his displays."

They shared a nod, and Chuck was the first one to enter the shop.

Harold looked up from his counter, eyes wide. "You again. I told you I wouldn't pay protection money, I don't need protection."

"We're here to prove you wrong, turn off the alarm. Now, we'll hunt down your family if you don't."

Harold reached under the counter hesitantly and switched the alarm off, in response Bernardo swung his crowbar and slammed it into one of the glass sparkling displays. It shattered into a million tiny pieces and small bits of jewellery flew around the shop.

Chuck rounded the counter and grabbed the man by his collar, pushing him against the wall. "If you don't pay, this pretty little shop of yours won't be so pretty anymore. You hear me?" He roughly shoved the man into the wall again, watching his head loll back and smash into the wood. The man's eyes were turning back into his head and Chuck was afraid the man would lose consciousness.

As all this happened Bernardo was absolutely pleased with smashing a few more displays. By now the entire floor was covered in tiny fragments of glass.

"Pay up!" Chuck yelled at the man.

"Never."

Chuck punched him in the gut. The man doubled over which resulted in Chuck giving him an uppercut to the jaw.

In the back of the store, a door opened slowly. A young woman came walking out holding an envelop in her hands. She was beautiful, probably not a day older than eighteen. She had long flowing curly brown hair, and her lips were painted a dark red. Her big brown doe eyes were wide and filled with fear as she walked over to Chuck. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, completely forgetting about the shopkeeper he was beating up.

She held the envelop out to him.

"Here, take it. It's all that we have right now." A small tear fell from her eye and made a wet trail across her pale cheek. "But please, stop hurting my father."