The diner door swings open, bells jingling overhead. Jake moves through the mostly empty diner and slips into a booth.
The waitress sits behind the counter flipping through a magazine. After a moment, she sets it down with an annoyed sigh and heads over to Jake.
"Anything to drink?"
"Coffee please."
"Sure thing."
The waitress walks off, clearly annoyed her magazine break got interrupted, then disappears into the back.
"If we're meeting here, I'm guessing it's pretty serious." A woman's voice sounds from behind him.
"You need to call your boss and tell him to hold off on bringing everyone in."
"I told you, he shut us down. I don't have the authority to tell him anything."
"I think he'll want to hear about the consigliere meeting coming up. One I'll be sitting in on."
"What are you talking about?"
"Tyler moved up. He's one of the Underbosses now."
"What? How do you know?"
"He called me in this morning. I was hungover and kind of just went in on instinct."
"What the hell, Jake? I told you to stay put."
"Listen, skip the lecture for now. Long story short, he made me his consigliere. And I'm meeting with all the others soon."
"He what—?!"
The waitress comes by.
"Here you go."
She carelessly sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. She stands there, pencil resting against her notepad.
"You want anything to eat?"
"No, just the coffee, thanks."
"Mhm."
She strolls back to the counter.
"Why'd he chose you over Simmons?— I mean regardless he'll want to hear about this. Give me a second."
Samantha stands up and heads outside, pulling out her phone.
Jake looks down into the cup, stirring the endless darkness as he sits in silence.
The door jingles open again and Samantha walks back in, taking her seat.
Still staring ahead, she says, "We're not shut down yet. We're clear to operate a little longer. But whatever time we bought ourselves, it isn't much. Let's go ba—"
A buzzing sound comes from Jake's coat pocket.
Jake reaches into his coat and pulls out his pager.
"I got to run."
Samantha turns to him.
"Hold on, we still need to talk through this. There's stuff we need to discuss and plan for."
"I have to go. It's important." He keeps staring ahead.
"You still got those burners?"
"Yeah. But—"
"I'll call when things settle down. Talk soon."
He stands from the table, tosses some cash down, and makes his way out of the diner.
Samantha watches the empty booth in silence after Jake is gone.
"Damn it."
Jake pushes open Tyler's office door and steps inside.
"Yo," he calls, looking around the empty office.
"Tyler?"
He approaches the desk. A tan packet waits neatly at the center, a handwritten note resting on top.
To Jake.
"I had to attend to some important business. Inside is the meeting location, along with some information on what'll be discussed. Make sure you're ready to talk business. It's happening tonight, so clean yourself up if you haven't already and don't be late.
— Yours truly, Tyler.
P.S. Wear something nice."
Jake sighs, tosses the note aside, and grabs the packet.
He slides a single typed sheet from the packet and scans the contents.
Discussion regarding future inter-crew coordination and communication protocol.
-Laundry coordination moved to 58-14 Grand Avenue, Maspeth.
-Future political contacts and permit approvals will be coordinated through V's office.
-Today's meeting location: Trattoria Bellomo, Bensonhurst. - 8PM.
At the bottom of the page, a few final instructions are typed beneath the rest.
Arrive separately.
No associates.
Destroy after review.
Jake enters a few details into his phone before slipping it back into his pocket.
I didn't expect it to be so soon.
He checks his watch.
"Guess I need to go get cleaned up."
He folds the sheet back into the packet and feeds it into Tyler's shredder before leaving the office.
Jake steps up to an old Italian restaurant glowing beneath a faded neon sign. Dressed in a suit, he pulls uncomfortably at his collar.
Damn thing.
He steps through the front door into a dim, nearly silent dining room. Empty tables stretch across the floor, stripped clean as if the place had closed hours ago.
Anyone home?
A light leaks through a pair of swinging doors near the back of the restraunt. Jake quietly heads for them.
The doors swing open as he steps into a dim red room with a round table at its center. A large mirror hangs along one of the walls. Something about it feels off.
Suddenly, something catches Jake's eye. In the corner, a tall, slender man in a charcoal vest and dark button-up exhales smoke toward the ceiling. The light gleams against his slicked-back hair.
He stays silent, smoke curling toward the ceiling as he keeps his back turned. Not even acknowledging Jake's presence.
Jake studies the man for a moment, then calmly takes a seat at the table without saying a word.
So that's how this is going to be.
A moment later, the doors swing open as two men enter into the room.
"Alright, let's get this over with."
A short, overweight man pushes through the doorway. His red dress shirt is buttoned a little too low, exposing more chest than necessary, while his suspenders stretch across his stomach hanging on for dear life.
His arm is wrapped around another man who doesn't stand out nearly as much as the other two. Mid-forties. Sleeves rolled to his forearms, thinning hair combed neatly back. His eyes carry the kind of tiredness you only see after too many years on a factory floor.
The two make their way to the table.
The other man takes a seat.
The short one stops behind Jake.
"You're in my seat pal. Scoot."
Jake slowly rises to his feet, towering over the man. He locks eyes with him in a hard, confrontational stare, then he eases up.
"All yours."
He steps aside, allowing the shorter man to take the seat. Jake quietly moves to another chair.
"God, the younger generation's got no spine in 'em. If someone told me to move, I'd give 'em one right across the jaw." He shakes his head.
The slender man steps out from the corner and glides toward the table. He pulls out a chair in one smooth motion.
"Glad to see time still hasn't dulled that spark of yours."
"Christ, I was hoping one of you learned how to crack a joke by now. These meetings are always miserable."
He points toward Jake. "New guy, stand up. Introduce yourself."
"Frankie, c'mon, we've got work to discuss. Give the guy a break. If he's here, that means he's got what it takes." The man he entered with finally says something.
The short man shrinks back a little and goes quiet.
"Paulie." He reaches out to shake Jake's hand. "But everybody just calls me Paul. Nice to meet you."
He gestures toward the slender man across the table. "The quiet one's Vinnie, and you've already met Frankie."
"If you intend to address me, call me Vincent. Anything else won't get a response." The slender man speaks without looking up.
"Jake. Nice to meet you guys."
"Jake? That doesn't sound very Italiano." The short man starts up again. "You got any old-country blood in you?"
"My grandfather came over from Sicily. Family mixed after that."
"Madonn'... they can't even get full-blooded Sicilians anymore. I mean com—."
Before Frankie can keep going, Paul cuts him off.
"Enough. Let's get down to it so we can all be on our way. We don't usually get together like this, so the bosses clearly think it's important. We're going over future inter-crew coordination now that there's a new Underboss and crew in the mix."
He gestures toward Jake. "That's you, new blood. What've you got for us?"
Jake stays quiet for a moment before answering.
"Not gonna pretend I came in here fully prepared to be leading the discussion, but I think the best way for us to move forward smoothly is keeping problems between crews here at this table before they spill out onto the street."
He glances around the table.
"The way things are now isn't working. We're losing money and men because no one's talking. We should be communicating more between crews to avoid stepping on each other's toes."
Silence fills the room as they all glance at one another.
"I'm not running my business by this bunch every five minutes. What, you think we can't handle ourselves?" Frankie shoots back.
"Couple days ago your guys were leaning on the same account we already collected from. Now the account pulled out."
"You little—"
"It's not about capability." Jake stays calm. "But when things like this happen, it causes problems for all of us. Better communication avoids those problems."
"You been here five minutes and suddenly you know how things should run?"
"Kid's not wrong, Frankie. Stuff like this keeps happening." Paul shrugs. "Wouldn't hurt to bring it up to the bosses. Hell, maybe we'll even start seeing each other more than twice a year."
He gestures around the table. "Nice one kid. Alright, moving on."
Across the table, the slender man eyes Jake with an almost intrigued curiosity.
"Okay next up on the list is… oh yeah our annual br—"
The doors slowly swing open as a younger man in a stained cook uniform quietly steps into the room.
"Sorry to interrupt, consiglieres."
The man bends beside Frankie and whispers quickly into his ear.
Jake manages to catch fragments of what he's saying.
"Fulton…"
"Two sedans parked outside…"
"New launder site..."
Frankie's brow furrows.
"Fulton?"
The messenger nods once.
"You're sure it's Fulton? Hmm."
The messenger nods again.
Frankie dismisses the messenger with a wave before slowly looking around the table.
Silence fills the room.
Fulton? Wasn't it Maspeth in the packet?
Jake studies the room carefully.
The name changes the mood in the room instantly.
Across the table, Vincent slowly lowers his cigarette, his attention settling onto Jake again.
"Well… that's fuckin' interesting."
Nobody answers.
His eyes drift around the table before briefly stopping on Jake.
"Funny timing for the new guy to show up and suddenly we got strangers sniffin' around things they shouldn't."
Jake keeps his expression neutral.
"If somebody here's talking, I'd assume they're smart enough not to make themselves obvious."
"Careful you two." Vincent's eyes on Jake.
"You start pointing fingers in rooms like this, people get nervous."
Jake holds Vincent's stare for a moment.
"People already seem nervous. I wonder why."
Paul finally shifts in his chair for the first time since the messenger left.
"Woah, what's all this about strangers sniffing around?" Paul looks toward Frankie. "That's a heavy accusation to throw at the new guy this early."
Vincent exhales smoke slowly.
"Maybe."
But he doesn't sound convinced.
"Alright, let's move this along. I'd prefer not to spend all night here, I got places to be, and we still got to talk coordination and whatnot."
Frankie scoffs.
"Yeah? Maybe coordination starts with someone not leaking our laundering sites!"
"Frankie, enough already. We got business to handle," Paul says firmly.
"Whatever."
"Vincent, how's that business with the councilwomen going?"
"She's still picking up the phone. For now."
Vincent taps ash into the tray.
"That it?"
"Yes."
He takes another drag from his cigarette.
"Alright then." Paul shifts his attention across the table. "Frankie, how're the crews handling the newly acquired spots out in Long Island?"
"Just fine."
Frankie leans back.
"Helpful."
A quiet pause settles over the table.
The tension thickens around the room as Jake gathers his thoughts.
Different information doesn't end up in different hands by accident. This meeting isn't about coordination at all. This is a rat hunt.
The meeting drags on for an hour or so. Short answers. Half-explanations. Nobody seems interested in saying more than they absolutely have to.
Jake's eyes drift around the table again.
Frankie looks genuinely aggravated, though it could still be an act. Doesn't feel likely though.
Paul sits there almost casually through all of it, like the tension in the room means nothing to him.
Vincent's different. Every word sounds measured now, like he's trying not to drift too close to whatever this really is.
"This isn't going anywhere tonight. Why don't we just call it?" Paul finally says, breaking the silence.
"The hell it isn't!" Frankie snaps.
He points around the table.
"Far as I'm concerned, we still got one problem sittin' in this room."
His eyes briefly settle on Jake.
"Does Fulton mean anything to any of you?" Frankie asks, looking between them.
The name catches Vincent's attention again.
"Is it supposed to?" Paul asks casually.
Vincent jumps every time he hears the name. If he were the one talking, he'd either stay calm or overplay the concern.
That only leaves one person.
Jake finally breaks his silence.
"Paul, it's strange you're the only one here who hasn't reacted to the word Fulton. Frankie clearly doesn't know what it is. Vincent gets tense every time it comes up. But you, you haven't reacted once."
Jake watches him carefully.
"Why is that?"
Paul lets out a laugh.
"That's your case huh?"
"Me not jumping every time somebody says a word?" And what about you? Have you not been composed through this all?"
"Everyone is still trying to figure out what Fulton actually is. You don't seem to be. Which means you must already know what it is."
Paul's jaw tightens as silence settles over the room.
Vincent exhales smoke through his nose, the sound cutting through the silence.
"How do you know Paul?"
Vincent's eyes settle on Paul with quiet suspicion.
"Guys, seriously?" He looks around the table.
"You're actually buying this?"
"You all knew me before tonight." He points toward Jake. "Him? Nobody here's even met him until now. Then suddenly there's the five-o stalking out our sites?"
"No one said they were cops, Paulie…"
Something changes in Frankie's expression.
"You bastard!"
Paul suddenly slams his hand against the table and rises to his feet.
"One word gets thrown around and because I kept my cool, suddenly I'm a rat?!"
The room freezes.
He stands there shaky and unhinged, slowly realizing his reaction is only feeding their suspicion.
"You piece of shit! You come in here and poison the whole room against me!"
He reaches for his belt.
A distorted voice suddenly crackles through the small speakers mounted above the mirror.
"That's enough, Paul."
Every person in the room goes completely still.
Jake slowly looks toward the mirror.
Paul suddenly snaps out of the freeze, quickly reaching toward his beltline.
A gunshot rings out and he drops to the floor.
A narrow slit reveals itself in the wall for only a moment before sealing shut again.
"Different locations were given to each of you."
Still, nobody moves.
"Fulton belonged to Paul."
Jake's eyes drift toward the blood spreading across the table.
"Carelessness and betrayal usually end the same way. Tonight was designed to reveal weakness."
The voice continues calmly.
"Paul was that weakness."
A brief pause follows.
"Impressive deduction given how little you were given. You chose well, Tyler."
The voice behind the mirror cuts out.
The swinging doors open again and two men step inside, silently moving to clean up the mess.
The room feels different now. Jake can feel it in the way Frankie and Vincent are looking at him.
Jake stares at the dark mirror lining the wall.
They're right there…. After all these years, and they're finally right there. I could end this all tonight!
He sits with it for a moment.
Guess Samantha was right to push earlier.
Jake abruptly turns away from the mirror and heads out of the restaurant without looking back.
The moment he steps outside, his pager buzzes against his hip.
HQ.