AN: A little something I'm trying out, please R&R if you can!

Mafia: The City of Lost Heaven

Prologue, 1938

"Now we that are strong

ought to bear the infirmities of the weak,

and not to please ourselves."

-Romans 15:1

A lone seagull is perched on a rock, as the waves cascade it with a shower of glowing water. The sun begins to rise slowly in the east, as the sky turns a bright orange. Out here in the countryside everything is still.

On the hill looking out to the sea, there is an old abandoned lighthouse standing with all its perceived omnipotence among dusty plains and rolling hills of grass. It is a symbol of power, a precursor to that of the city.

The silence is disturbed by an old clunky motor, belonging to an old clunky truck that slowly drives along a dusty dirt road. It's creaky wheels and rusted cab are commonplace in America, a sign of the great depression. It is the only imperfect thing in an otherwise perfect scenery.

The countryside retains it's sweet innocence as it is untouched by man. Unlike the bustling cities of crime, thievery and revenge. And there is one city that tops them all in every respect: Lost Heaven. A sweet sounding name, for a city that is anything but.

The sun now shines brightly over an old brick church, it's rays reflected in every shingle. The church, seemingly innocent as well, is however the ultimate bane of corruption; where dirty politicians and mob-bosses pray to their god for forgiveness of their crimes. A personal illusion, that rids them of their hidden guilt.

The people of Lost Heaven go about their usual business, seemingly innocuous to who really controls their lives. Who really controls the money, the cars and the criminals.

The concept of the "end justifying the means" is taken in great stride here, as people will do anything to rid the city of crime. Their enemies' crime. For every person that fights, kills and steals for a certain cause, there is a person that will do the same for another.

In New Ark, cars drive through the streets, their drivers aware of the symbol of power they own. Less-fortunate passersby look to the future with hope, for it is all they have left. "The great depression" refers to many things, psychological and physical, but all bad.

The class system has changed in recent years, as those willing to do terrible things have earned great power, and subsequently money. The rest have been pushed down to the relative gutters of society, where everything is hard to come by.

The streets are beautifully paved… but only in the most expensive of areas. It is a combination of arrogance, guilt, and ego-inflation, the rich and powerful strive to make their surroundings beautiful to cover up the horrible things they've done.

In Hoboken, apartments and buildings are crammed together. People converse across small alleys from balcony to balcony, telling each-other the miniscule events of their days. Cars are even harder to come by in this area, people are lucky to have a place to live.

Small-time gangs and petty thieves prowl the streets at night. There is no respect, or even any laws. The lowest of the low struggle to survive by any means necessary.

Little Italy is the friendliest of neighborhoods, most of the inhabitants sharing the same ethnic background. People may not have much in terms of physical possessions, but one thing they do have is respect. Respect for those that do good, respect for their neighbors, and most importantly: Respect for the Don.

The Mafia has the strongest prevalence here, and the police the least. But it is not a dangerous place, not by far. It is considered one of the safest neighborhoods simply because the Don does anything necessary to keep it safe. In return, the people pay him in money and respect.

But above all else, the Don is not a man to be messed with. His connections reach far and wide, and he is respected by everybody. At least those that want to stay alive. Even the police fear him.

The Gulliano bridge is the most prevalent symbol of Lost Heaven, it's gigantic red support struts towering above the highest of buildings. Cars drive across it all day, generally oblivious to it's greatness.

It is one of many bridges connecting the mainland to Central Island, the bustling hub of the city. Here people conduct their business far away from the rigors of daily life, up in their high towers.

The train speeds by across the loud metal tracks, carrying it's many passengers to their intended destinations. Mothers with their loud children head to do their errands and construction workers sit and wait for their destination, their torn and dirty clothes a sign of what they must endure.

The large blue car creaks to a stop as the doors open with a whoosh of air and people begin filling out at a station in Central Island. Most people keep their heads up, looking to the future and their respective paths. But one man is different.

Dressed in a dark suit with a red tie and a brown hat, people generally avoid him. After all, a man like this hiding his face could only have things he wants to hide. And usually, that is true. But today is different as well.

The man continues to hide his face as he walks down the stairs of the station and is suddenly hit by a wave of noise. The noise of the city; people, cars, and anything else that moves. It is a noise he is well-accustomed to, and also one that he misses greatly.

He stands for a second, admiring all around him as he closes his eyes and takes it all in. But he does not have much time, this city is dangerous for him. He has a job to do, and the faster he is out of here, the better.

The cars honk at him while he crosses the street with no regard for anyone else. He hurries across to a café, and reads the sign over the door, recognizing it. He opens the door as the bell on top tinkles. He steps inside.

As soon as he lets the door close, everything inside goes silent, the noise of the city gone. The only sound is of light conversation and a radio playing big-band music.

People eye him suspiciously, and the man knows that look he's getting. He's afraid he might be recognized, it only takes one person to spot him. And he had no doubt that person would collect the reward without a second thought.

But the looks he's getting are ones of general suspicion. Normally, he would glare back, and that would be enough to make people look away and go about their business. But today is different, today he just wants to blend in. So he simply looks away himself.

Scanning all the booths carefully with his eyes, he notices only one that has a single occupant. After all he was told they would meet alone. He begins to slowly walk towards the booth.

A million thoughts race through his head, thinking what might happen. It could be a trap. He could be arrested on the spot, shot in front of all the inhabitants of the café to be made an example of, or he could be taken somewhere and beaten to death.

But he had already thought his plan through, and realized that this may very-well be his only chance for his survival, and the survival of those he loved most. He had fought enough, and whatever is to happen now is only fate. He walks slowly but with purpose, to perhaps the last important battle he will have to face his entire life.

He notices the man in the booth, a middle-aged detective with whitish-blonde hair. He sips his coffee without any notice of his surroundings. From first glance, this seems like the kind of man who would not make deals with anybody, someone who went strictly by the book.

He steps towards the booth and the man does not notice him.

"Detective Norman?" He asks with a quizzical look. The detective looks up at the man, and for the first time his features can be seen clearly. His expression says it all, he was definitely a man not to be messed with. But not like an outlaw, but like a man who fought for the law, for what he believed in.

To the man, it doesn't matter whose side he's on, they all seem the same to him; fighting for what they believe in most. They're the men who hold the power, the fanatics who do anything to achieve their goals, regardless of right or wrong.

"I'm Thomas Angelo, but you can call me Tommy." Says the man, while the detective just looks at him, analyzing with his deep blue eyes. "Can I join you?"

The detective still says nothing, just looks at him and sums him up for all he's worth. That's his habit, he believes that anything could be known about a man by the way he walks, talks and moves.

Tommy takes off his coat and hangs it on a nearby hook, along with his hat, finally showing his face to the world. He's a handsome man, with distinctive features and piercing blue eyes. They say everything about him, everything he's been through, good and bad. Mostly bad.

His hair is a very intense black, slicked back in the typical style of the era. The average person stays away from a man like this, a man with lots of money and a strong character. He's no businessman, not by far.

Sitting down opposite the detective, Tommy says: "Sorry for the delay, but I didn't want anybody seein' me. If you know what I mean." The detective simply reaches for his coffee and continues to drink it.

"What can I get you, sir?" Asks a polite young waitress dressed in an old-blue uniform.

"Just a coffee." Tommy wants to get rid of her, he wants to be able to have a private conversation.

"It's not my habit to sit with people like you." The detective finally speaks, choosing his words carefully. He wants to make his point clear, if only for himself.

Tommy sighs and looks him in the eyes. "Gotta business proposition detective."

The detective doesn't like what he's hearing. He isn't here to conduct business, he's here because he was told someone had information he'd like to know. The message he had received was cryptic, but he decided to follow up on it.

Many strange things had happened recently, Morello and his gang seemed to have disbanded completely. There were rumors that Morello was killed, but the detective knew better than to listen to thugs. The gallery had also been shot up, and many of Salieri's gangsters and hitmen had been found dead.

There was no explanation as to why any of this happened, but it was painfully clear that Salieri was not going to take what happened sitting down. Lately they had been more ruthless than ever, and he's here to find out anything he can.

Detective Norman is most definitely not here to make deals. "I ain't no businessman, and even if I were I wouldn't be dealing with the likes of you."

Tommy sighs once again. This is going to be a lot harder than he originally thought. His proposition is most likely going to be of interest to the detective, but he doesn't know whether he can get what he wants as well.

"I don't usually do business with your kind either." Says Tommy, "But this is a bit of a… strange deal. Good for you and your superiors, and good for me."

Tommy pauses for a second.

"It concerns a certain kind of trade."

"Trade…?" Detective Norman asks. He obviously understands what the man is talking about, but he wants him to say it out loud. It is not the Detective's job to fill in the blanks, everything he hears must be from the source.

Tommy continues. "Well, lets just say I hold a high position in a not so legal organization. It's just the kind of organization people such as yourself would like to know a lot about."

It's clear to the detective what the man is talking about, but his reasons are not terribly clear. Leaving the Mafia is something that is often rewarded with a bullet in the head, or worse. The detective eyes him curiously.

"While I, on the other hand, for certain reasons don't want…"

Tommy is interrupted as he sees the waitress coming back to their booth. "Your coffee, sir"

"Thanks." Tommy smiles politely as she leaves.

"I have my own personal reasons why I don't want to be associated with this organization." Tommy takes a sip of his coffee, feeling the hot liquid run down his neck. "It ain't too easy to leave this kind of business. If you know what I mean…"

The detective knows exactly what he means, and he's going to use it to his advantage. "I think I know where you're coming from." He says, with obvious confidence. "You'll get a bullet in your head, if you don't disappear quickly, right?"

Tommy takes a long, slow sip of his coffee. "That's not the only reason. Got any kids, detective?" He doesn't wait for a response. "I've got a wife and daughter. I don't want them to have any problems because of me."

The Detective gives him another long, hard look. Is he making all this up? He can't tell right now, but he decides to play the tough guy. Better safe than sorry, in his opinion.

"Yeah? Well I ain't just gonna hand out protection to any wop crook." Detective Norman says, while Tommy looks at him relatively unphased. "You should've thought about them kids before, 'cos I"

"Sure, sure…" Tommy interrupts, as the Detective eyes him carefully. "Listen, I don't want something for nothing. So here's the deal." Tommy pauses, looking around to see who might be listening in. "Does the name… Salieri mean anything to you?"

"Salieri? It damn well does." Detective Norman eyes Tommy even more carefully, his glare seemingly drilling through his skull. But Tommy doesn't seem to be that preoccupied. He had dealt with cops before. "You got something in common with him?"

Tommy once again looks around to see if anybody might be listening, but nothing of suspicion catches his eye. "You could say that. I've worked for him for several years." Tommy lowers his voice. "Now he wants to rub me out."

He finally gets the detective's attention. This doesn't look like some average crook who had annoyed Salieri and his thugs. This man, Tommy, has the air of a typical hitman around him, the type who would supposedly devote his life to the family. For him to desert Salieri, something really terrible must've happened.

Detective Norman doesn't know his story, but he is most definitely interested in finding out.

"If you protect my family and me I'll tell you everything. Names, dates, accounts, everything. Enough to put him away for life." Tommy does not believe what he himself is saying, but it must be done. Too much is at stake here.

Detective Norman decides to act cautiously. He can't trust the ramblings of some random man in an expensive suit. But he has a feeling this man has something important to tell. "I ain't Santa Claus. If I go to the chief with this I need to know everything you know, and I have to be sure you'll testify in court."

Tommy nods. "Sure, if you ain't in a hurry, I'll tell you my whole story: and all the deals I've worked on over the years."

"Okay, I've got time and I'm listening…" Detective Norman pulls out a fresh notepad and a pencil.

It would be here, in this very café that Tommy would divulge all his secrets; and the secrets of the family. Things he swore he would never tell anyone else. It is a tough predicament, but the way he sees it is his only choice.

He sits back and starts from the very beginning, ten years ago.


Chapter 1 – An offer you can't refuse, 1928