We played for an hour. Nothing heavy. A couple guys filtered in and out. Some familiar names. Matt Bevilaqua, mouthy and high-strung. Eugene Pontecorvo, quiet and clean cut, with eyes that didn't blink enough.
I didn't say much. Didn't need to. Just played the game, folded when I should, won small when I could. People like you better when you're a little lucky.
During a smoke break, Jason nudged me.
"You're smoother than I thought."
"I get that a lot."
"You get into any real action yet?"
"Kenny Falco."
Jason nodded like he was impressed. "Ralph's guy. You lean on him?"
"Didn't have to."
"Yeah, well. Don't expect that to last. Some of these guys only understand hospital bills."
Back inside, the mood shifted. Voices a little louder. Dino lost two hands in a row and started accusing Matt of eyeballing the cards. Benny defused it with a joke about his ex-wife teaching him to lose gracefully.
I stayed neutral. Sharp. Watchful.
That's when it hit me again.
The weight.
Not fear. Not nerves.
Awareness.
I was deep in it now.
No more test runs. This was my life.
And it was time to take stock.
I pulled out my cigarette pack and unfolded the napkin I'd scribbled on in the diner earlier. Just numbers and notes. Quick lines. Code for myself.
Current Snapshot – Ade DeSantis
Mob Etiquette: 12Understands when to talk, when to shut up. Reads the room like a poker table.
Charisma: 14Natural charm. Diffuses tension. Gains soft loyalty in casual interactions.
Street Smarts: 6Starting to understand the neighborhoods. Who runs what. Where not to step.
Reputation: 10People are talking. Not made, not feared, but definitely noticed.
Manipulation: 11Knows how to press buttons. Lean without barking. Convince without begging.
Combat Awareness: 4Fights smart. Not a pro yet. But no one's sucker-punching him.
Traits:
Quiet Credibility: Respected more for watching than talking.
Controlled Aggression: Presence carries tension.
Precision Pressure: Increased verbal dominance during face-to-face conflicts.
Foundation: Gym work improves intimidation slightly.
I folded the napkin and tucked it back.
I wasn't a boss. Not even close.
But I wasn't prey anymore either.
The game wound down after midnight. The older guys left early. Jason racked chips. Dino lit another cigar. Matt and Eugene stood by the door talking in low voices.
Jason leaned close to me.
"You ever consider pushing envelopes?"
"I'm considering everything."
"You make people nervous, you know."
"Why?"
"Because you're not chasing anything."
I shrugged. "I'm chasing peace."
"Bullshit."
He grinned.
"You're chasing position."
Later, outside, I lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. Benny came out a few minutes later, rubbing his nose.
He looked at me for a second, then said:
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The kind of guy people underestimate, until they don't."
I didn't say anything.
He flicked his smoke into the gutter.
"You're gonna need to pick sides soon, DeSantis."
"I know."
"Pick the ones that don't need you dead by spring."
He walked off into the night.
I stayed a few minutes longer.
Watching. Thinking.
The streets were quiet. But the city never really slept. Not this one. It just blinked slowly, hiding knives in its coat.
I flicked ash off my cigarette and whispered to myself.
"Noted."
I stayed out there for a while, listening to the hum of a vending machine and the hiss of tires rolling over cracked pavement. The air was cool for late spring. Damp enough to hang around your collar. It was the kind of Jersey night that made you feel like something was about to happen.
I liked that feeling.
Behind me, voices rose inside the card room again. Laughter, a curse, chairs scraping tile. Benny was gone, Jason was inside wrapping up his take, and I was alone with my thoughts. That was dangerous.
This world didn't reward people who waited. It chewed them up, slowly and with ceremony. I needed to move faster. Not with desperation, strategically.
Tomorrow, I'd reach out to someone low-level. Someone outside the crew. Civilian adjacent. A bar manager, a betting shop clerk, maybe even a guy in sanitation. Build soft networks. Start tying strings they wouldn't see until I pulled.
They all focused on soldiers and capos.
I'd work on infrastructure.
That's where real power hid.
Not in muscle. In movement.
Saturday morning came with a hangover of quiet adrenaline. No assignments, no tasks from Sally. Just silence and black coffee.
I took the free time to head to the gym in Belleville. A place with concrete floors, iron weights, and a boxing ring that smelled like sweat and pine oil.
The owner, Frankie "Hooks" Lucci, looked me over like I was a pair of boots he didn't trust.
"You looking to fight, or pose?"
"Train."
"Box?"
"Yeah."
He tossed me gloves without a word. Ten minutes later, I was skipping rope and shadowboxing in front of a cracked mirror with duct tape holding it together.
Footwork was still there. Guard was good. Jab was fast but needed discipline.
Hooks grunted approval. "You'll be alright. But don't let your hands get lazy. Lazy hands get you stitched."
Combat Awareness +2 → 6(Hands sharper. Reflexes recalibrating.)
He paired me with a southpaw kid from Lyndhurst for a few light rounds. Nothing heavy. Just blooding the muscle, reactivating the circuits.
Afterward, he slapped a towel against my shoulder.
"You got patience. That's rare."
"Patience ain't passive."
He grinned. "You one of those thinking types."
"Sometimes."
"You planning to fight?"
"No. Just planning to be good at it."
He nodded like that made perfect sense.
I left sore, calm, and focused.
The city looked different after you sweat into its concrete. More honest. Less cinematic. I wasn't in some mafia daydream. I was in a place where people vanished for less than a bad joke.
And I wasn't planning on vanishing.
That night, I met up with Dino at a low-key bar on McCarter Highway. One of those corner joints where everyone had a record or a cousin in jail.
He handed me a beer. "So what now?"
"Now I keep working."
"Any big plays?"
"Not yet."
"You ever think about what you really want?" he asked, leaning on the bar. "Like the endgame?"
I looked around at the room. Old pool tables. Plastic chairs. Bottles of Heineken lined up like tired soldiers.
"Survival. Leverage. Freedom."
"That's some philosophical gangster shit."
"I'm a philosophical guy."
Dino grinned. "Well, keep climbing. Just don't step on me when you do."
"No promises."
We clinked bottles.
Reputation +1 → 11(Known among young earners.)
Back home, I cleaned out the top drawer of my desk and stashed a burner phone, a notebook, and cash, separated by type, not value. I didn't have much yet, but it was growing. And the systems were talking.
New flicker across my vision.
Mini Perk Earned: Earner's Instinct – Slight increase in early profit venturesProgress Toward Path: Earner – 12%
I stared at the ceiling for a while after that, listening to the buzz of the fridge, the passing cars, a dog barking half a block away.
This world didn't care if you were smart.
It cared if you were prepared.
And I was.