The cell door slammed shut with a metallic echo that seemed to linger in Vito Scaletta's chest.
Cold. Empty. Final.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the iron bars, still trying to process how fast everything had fallen apart. One minute he was running through the streets with Joe, adrenaline pumping… the next, he was here—caught, alone, and facing consequences he had never truly believed would come.
A guard's voice cut through the silence.
"Get used to it, kid. You're gonna be here a while."
Vito clenched his fists but said nothing.
Prison wasn't like the streets.
Out there, you could run. You could hide. You could outsmart people.
In here?
There was no escape.
Days blurred into each other. Fights broke out over nothing. Food was scarce and barely edible. The air was thick with tension, like something bad was always about to happen.
Vito learned quickly: keep your head down, don't trust anyone, and never show weakness.
But even then, it wasn't enough.
One afternoon, a group of older inmates cornered him in the yard.
"Fresh meat," one of them sneered.
Vito's heart pounded—but this time, he didn't run.
The streets had taught him something. Survival wasn't just about avoiding trouble.
Sometimes… you had to face it.
The fight was brutal. Fists, dirt, blood.
But when it ended, Vito was still standing.
Barely.
And from that moment on, people looked at him differently.
Not as a boy.
But as someone who could survive.
Months passed.
Then one day, everything changed.
Vito was called into the warden's office. The man sat behind a desk, flipping through a file with little interest.
"You've been given an opportunity," the warden said. "War's still going on. Army needs men."
Vito frowned. "What kind of opportunity?"
The warden looked up.
"You go fight… or you stay here and finish your sentence."
There wasn't much to think about.
Prison was a cage.
War… at least, that was a chance.
"I'll go," Vito said.
The battlefield was chaos.
Gunfire cracked through the air. Explosions shook the ground. Orders were shouted, ignored, lost in the noise.
This wasn't like anything Vito had ever known.
But strangely…
It made sense to him.
In war, the rules were simple: kill or be killed.
There were no gray areas. No hidden deals. No betrayals behind closed doors.
Just survival.
And Vito was good at surviving.
He learned fast.
How to aim steady under pressure.
How to move without being seen.
How to stay calm when everything around him was falling apart.
Other soldiers panicked.
Vito didn't.
The same instincts that kept him alive on the streets now kept him alive in war.
But the cost was heavy.
He saw men die.
He pulled the trigger more times than he could count.
And with each passing day, something inside him changed.
Hardened.
Closed off.
One night, during a brutal firefight, Vito's unit was pinned down.
Bullets tore through the walls around them. Orders were shouted, but no one could move.
They were trapped.
Vito peeked out, calculating.
Same as the streets.
Same as every bad situation he'd ever been in.
Think. Move. Survive.
Without waiting, he grabbed his rifle and made a run for it, moving through cover, firing when needed, pushing forward while others stayed frozen.
Somehow… it worked.
The enemy line broke.
And for the first time, Vito realized something dangerous:
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was becoming good at this.
When the war finally ended, Vito didn't celebrate.
He just felt… empty.
The boy who had arrived in Empire Bay was gone.
The kid who got caught in that alley?
Gone.
In his place stood someone colder. Smarter. More dangerous.
As the ship carried him back home, Vito stared at the horizon once again.
Empire Bay waited for him.
But this time…
He wasn't coming back as a kid chasing excitement.
He was coming back as a man who understood violence.
A man who knew how to take what he wanted.
And deep down, he already knew—
The city was about to change his life all over again.