"The Veil Method."
"Is this the thing that Lucky woke my ass up for in the middle of the night to tell me about." Mouth asked, leaning back in his chair as some of the other older members also nodded at this.
"I thought it had to do with the negro." Neck added, side-eyeing Bumpy who had started to expect the subtle jabs at this point.
"Nah, that was just a spur of the moment thing." Ricky waved at Bumpy, brushing off the thought, and held up the pages to show the real reason they were all called here today.
"Alright, so basically, every page has its own thing." Ricky flipped to the first page after the title, letting it underline his point.
"But the first page is like-"
To put it simply, Ricky's writing had the feel of a mix between a manifesto and an instruction manual.
Each page was its own little world, filled with scrambled ideas, one-liners, and corrections that jumped off the page.
On the very first page, even before anything else, Ricky had written a quote of his own making.
Page 1: How Choice Ain't Really Choice
"Offer them the menu, but own the f*cking kitchen." – Ricky Luciano
If you wanna understand what I'm saying, you gotta start with how the Luciano family got so goddamn rich in the first place.
During the Prohibition, Lucky didn't just get paid selling booze. Any two-bit hustler could pour gin into a glass.
Nah, he made his fortune selling the choice to have it.
See, people like to think they're free. They tell themselves they're dodging the law, outsmarting the system, being rebels. They say, 'I picked this, not that'.
But the truth is, everyone wants that same thrill. Even the schmuck who swears he'll never touch a drop still wants to feel like he could.
But the trick wasn't just selling the stuff, it was creating the entire ecosystem.
The speakeasies, the bootleggers, the cops, the judges, even the goddamn jazz singers, every one of them a cog turning in a system people swore was bigger than any one man.
Lucky didn't sell booze, he sold the illusion of freedom.
And that's when I realized that it wasn't just liquor, it's everything.
It's literally exactly the same if you just looked close enough.
Coke or Pepsi.
Democrat or Republican.
East Side or West Side clubs.
I mean, they're choices to your eyes, but on paper, it's all the same f*cking choice.
It's LITERALLY the same f*cking choice just dressed up in different colors. Stories people tell themselves to feel special while they choke down a different flavor from the same kitchen.
And that's the power that made the Luciano family just thrive.
After I killed that f*cking loser Merlyn, I finally understood: control isn't about forcing people.
It's about shaping the menu and letting them think they're picking.
The choice is theirs, but the kitchen is mine.
At the end of the day, it ain't a conspiracy if everyone's interests converge.
Our society moves on a handful of decisions made by a handful of hands, and every bagel, ballot, and bottle is just another flavor on a menu somebody else designed.
And we gotta be the ones controlling that kitchen.
That, right there, is the truth behind the Veil Method.
Like Lucky said 'Power isn't taken, it's curated'.
You make them think they're choosing, and while they're busy savoring the illusion, you're collecting everything that actually matters.
The money, the influence, all of it, guiding with an invisible hand towards our Luciano family.
Ricky Luciano
Instead of the first page reading like some sort of an introduction, it came across entirely as a manifesto.
But in a way, that was expected.
Ricky had never really mapped out ideas like this before since he was used to thinking in bursts, in flashes, and in gut decisions.
Planning wasn't his natural language.
So what should have been an organized outline of steps and structure morphed into something like this: a manifesto of intent, a declaration of how he saw the world and how he wanted to bend it.
"Here, pass it around," Ricky said, quickly handing it to Lil Tony, who grabbed the page just as everyone else started making out a bunch of graphs on the second page.
"Alright, now here's where it gets crazy," Ricky added, holding up the second and third pages.
"But first, before I get into these two pages, I gotta go back to the first page, where I talked about the whole ecosystem thing," Ricky said, gesturing to the first page while holding the two in his hands.
"What made us profit so much was how easy it was to control this ecosystem," Ricky explained in his own way, emphasizing just how crucial that point was.
"But you all know how it got, with Lucky having to shift his attention to recruiting while we were just devouring territory from the Jews and the Irish, left and right." Ricky said, gesturing toward the older Capos.
"And Lucky delegated it, but when he did, the hand he used to guide the ecosystem sort of fizzled." Ricky continued, waving vaguely since Lucky had stopped prioritizing that mindset once he realized the family needed more people just to hold onto the territory they were taking.
"Wait, wait." Bug Eyes held his head, clearly struggling to follow Ricky's scattered words.
"What was the veil, y'know, in that ecosystem?" Bug Eyes asked in Ricky's own words, glancing around at the others as Neck and Mouth gave him a slow, knowing nod.
"The clubs, Bug Eyes. The f*cking clubs, keep up." Ricky said, gesturing toward him as Big Eyes sat up in his seat as the others chuckled at him.
"So are we going to open up clubs-" Neck started, trying to picture the scenario, only for Ricky to cut him off.
"No, it's not-"
SIGH
"It's like one of those metaphors, you know?" Ricky began again, trying to frame it in a way they could all grasp.
"The clubs were the veils that Lucky draped over the bootlegging operations," Ricky explained carefully, choosing his words to put it into perspective for the others.
"Ohhhhhhh~" Big Eyes said, a flicker of understanding crossing not only his face but the others as well.
"Wait, but what's with this invisible hand?" Mouth asked, holding up the first page and pointing at the word being underlined about twenty times.
"Yeah, I didn't get that part either." Gio chimed in, raising his hand toward Ricky, clearly looking for an explanation as well.
He ducked his head with another sigh, lowering pages two and three as he searched for the right words.
"When the operations were small, and all Lucky had to do was control Brooklyn, he had it on lock." Ricky began, holding up pages two and three as he tried to keep Gio's attention.
"And at that point, you know, everything ran through him," Ricky said, gesturing toward the pages as he tried to make them see the sort of structure he was going for.
"He wasn't blown up with paperwork across the city, just that single borough," Ricky continued, leaning slightly forward to emphasize the point.
"And using his invisible hand, he just guided the family into massive profit." Ricky added, letting his hand sweep over the notes for effect.
"I mean, seven years ago, did you guys do anything on our own without running it by Lucky first?" Ricky suddenly asked, locking eyes with each of them in turn only to see them become quiet in response.
"Exactly, cause everything was so small he could handle it all," Ricky concluded, letting the weight of it settle as he lowered the pages.
"But then I knocked off the Irish, and the thing with the Jews, and it all just got too much." Ricky explained, referring back to his earlier words as everyone nodded along.
"So what? You got more Lucky's-" Shades started, trying to joke and glance at the others for laughs, but Ricky cut him off.
"Nah, I got Merlyn's."
"You what?" They all said in unison, raising an eyebrow at Ricky, the name sounding oddly familiar to some of them.
"Alright, so, I didn't tell you, but-" Ricky said, finally revealing what he had been keeping hidden, gesturing toward the side.
A black portal opened, and Merlyn sighed heavily as he stepped through it, sending everyone scrambling to their feet.
"Jesus Christ, what the f*ck is that!" Shades yelled, yanking at his suit pocket, his eyes wide as the others mirrored his reaction, hands moving for their own weapons.
"This floating pile of sh*t is Merlyn," Ricky said, gesturing toward the portal with a mix of pride and amusement, letting the tension hang in the air as everyone processed the sight.
"Wait a minute, ain't that?" Johnny suddenly realized, his sentence trailing off as he shook his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, this is the guy who attacked our docks and the guy who sent the gold cloaks-"
BANG
Merlyn didn't even flinch, he simply lowered his gaze at the hole in his abdomen before slowly lifting it back to Johnny, who was gripping the pistol with a mix of fear and aggression.
"You f*cking bastard!" Johnny screamed, tears welling at the corners of his eyes as he realized this was the one responsible for the loss of his runners.
"I assume that one is Johnny?" Merlyn asked calmly, already familiar with the structure of the Luciano family, his gaze settling on the young man.
"And you're Shades-" Merlyn began, methodically naming each of them, his tone calm even as they all turned their pistols toward him.
"It's good to finally see the idiots who made that atrocious mess I'm having to clean up."
When he first came back to the Luciano family manor, instead of taking Merlyn with him.
Ricky had sent the undead over to Italiano's, where he, along with all the other Merlins, received instructions to familiarize themselves with the Luciano family's system, including all the inherited books from the other families.
To put into perspective just how annoyed Merlyn had become with the books, you had to understand that in the 1930s, the mob's bookkeeping was never meant to be neat or orderly.
A single operation might have three different sets of records: one sanitized version to show if the police ever came knocking, another accurate ledger for the boss and his men, and maybe a private notebook personally kept by a capo.
Nothing was standardized.
Accounts were handwritten in whatever notebook was handy, duplicated haphazardly, and stashed away in safes or behind false walls in social clubs.
The handwriting was often as cryptic as the language itself.
Payments for liquor shipments or gambling profits might be listed under 'shirts' or 'bread'.
A payoff to a judge could be disguised as 'flowers' and the codes shifted constantly, ensuring that if a ledger fell into the wrong hands, it read like nonsense to outsiders.
Even then, some of the most important transactions never made it onto paper at all.
Bribes to police officers, judges, or local politicians were often delivered in cash with no written trace.
When records were kept, they were deliberately misleading, showing inflated costs, fictitious employees, or expenses charged to front businesses like laundries, restaurants, or construction firms.
The result was a tangle of overlapping and contradictory books which might even be false.
Given that at the first sign of heat, incriminating records might vanish into a fireplace.
And Merlyn was, more or less, tortured by the unsophisticated mess of slop that was their bookkeeping, a system he had to be completely overhauled.
"You are all very terrible at your jobs, if I might add." Merlyn said, scanning the room before settling on the twins.
They instinctively ducked their heads, the undead fixing their gaze on the two who had actually scribbled in a ledger with crayon.
"What the f*ck, Slick." Shades asked from the side, unable to even stop his mouth from dropping down.
"I'm usually on board with whatever you throw at us, Slick, but this-I don't know," Neck said, sighing and rubbing the back of his head, struggling to process it.
Lil Tony wanted to speak up as well, but felt out of place, especially since his little brother had literally been thrown out of the meeting just seconds before as he let the others speak the thoughts on their mind.
"What about you, Eldric? This guy f*cking killed your daughter," Johnny asked, turning toward Eldric at the other end of the table, who sat quietly, listening.
"Are you even okay with this?" Johnny wondered, knowing that it must be killing Eldric since they had known each other before the coven flipped upside down.
"Jesus~" Mouth whispered, casting a side-eye at Merlyn, who shrugged lightly, as if the fact alone needed no further explanation.
"Whatever the boss needs me to do, I will do it," Eldric said simply, lowering his head slightly under Ricky's steady gaze.
"See, it's fine." Ricky said, gesturing toward Eldric, speaking for him as the other Capos shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
"And first off, Merlyn isn't gonna be one of us, he's my paper slave." Ricky said, letting the words hang as the room absorbed them.
"Hence pages two and three." Ricky added, flipping them up for emphasis.
"These are our invisible hands!" Ricky continued, gesturing excitedly toward Merlyn, who hovered in place, unmoving, standing silently amid the lackluster interactions of the others.
"This has to be a joke," Johnny muttered, staring dumbfounded at Merlyn, who seemed oddly meticulous in his writings and didn't exactly inspire hate.
"No, just listen. Merlyn here is actually a psychopath," Ricky said, gesturing and lightly shaking Merlyn's shoulder for emphasis.
"The dude turned an entire world into a f*cking playground-"
"I turned Otherworld into a perfectly running Utopia-"
"Hit your head against that wall," Ricky interrupted Merlyn's protest, issuing the command as the undead let out a heavy sigh.
BAM
Then, in front of all their already stunned eyes, Merlyn bashed his skull against the nearby wall, leaving a clear imprint of his face for everyone to see.
"You see what I mean? This guy literally has no free will," Ricky said, pointing toward him while shaking the pages in his hand.
"He's a useful brain inside a useless body, and I control both." Ricky added, letting the statement settle over the room as he waited for them all to register this fact.
"Goddamn," Leo muttered from the side, realizing that Ricky had more or less turned Merlyn into his slave.
"See, Leo gets how f*cked his situation is!" Ricky said, gesturing toward him as the other high-ranking members followed his gaze.
"Arlgiht, Slick, I guess, continue?" Johnny asked, feeling awkward as it was hard to argue with Ricky when he was that energetic about something.
"So, how it's gonna work is that Merlyn is gonna be like a clerk or maybe a librarian, ya know?" Ricky explained, spreading his hands as if painting the concept in the air.
"But this douche nozzle is at the center, the operator who's gonna be working exclusively out of our headquarters here in New York," Ricky added, emphasizing the point with a sharp gesture.
"And this is the best part."
Then, almost as if on cue, six more Merlyns began to emerge from the same portal, one after another.
Each had a different height, build, and posture, making it clear that while they shared a name, none were identical.
"What the f*ck, Slick." Big Eyes repeated, echoing Shades' earlier words, his gaze darting across the seven identical, or not quite identical, figures before him.
"Stand over there, and you over there," Ricky said, ignoring Big Eyes entirely as he maneuvered the six Merlyns into position, Merlyn himself settling quietly next to him.
"Okay, here's how it's gonna work." Ricky finally said, turning back to Big Eyes while holding up the two pages so that they could all see.
"While Merlyn here sits like a good dog and gets everything in order with all the different numbers and sh*t in New York," Ricky continued, pointing at the main circle he drew on the second page labeled 'Merlyn'.
"These Merlins are gonna be the ones we send out to the other cities," Ricky explained, tracing the lines from the central circle to the smaller circles branching out below it, mapping the entire operation for them.
It looked almost like a convoluted pyramid, stretching vertically downward as he held the third page beneath the second as if to continue on this maddening outline.
"These Merlin's are gonna be like the body, getting everything done for us, the brains who tell them what to do and they do whatever it takes to get it done."
Essentially speaking, these undead were living supercomputers.
Merlyn wasn't just a genius, since that alone couldn't describe the level at which his brain worked.
Intelligence, as most people understood it, meant remembering facts, devising strategies, or reacting quickly under pressure.
But Merlyn's mind worked on a completely different plane.
For him, intelligence wasn't a single skill or a collection of tricks, it was a living network.
Every system, every variable, every hidden calculation, every potential outcome could be held, analyzed, and synthesized in his head simultaneously.
And although he lost to someone like Ricky, it didn't take away what he accomplished.
He didn't just keep Otherworld's cities in line; he kept the economy, the trade, the underground flows, even the whispers of rebellion, all under his control.
Every network, every market, every faction of power was accounted for in that mind.
And as much as he was a control freak, he wasn't sloppy.
Every facet of that system was a fortress: redundancy, contingency, and fail-safes.
Nothing slipped through, nothing got lost, he remembered everything.
Every ledger, every resource, every rumor, every gun, every handshake.
What Ricky realized back in Otherworld, slowly, was terrifyingly simple.
He was basically using that mind that operated as Otherworld's ecosystem and rerouting it toward the Luciano family.
Ricky wanted the Luciano family to operate on that kind of scale, and he fully believed it was possible.
With the addition of six Merlyns, it became a sort of trickle-down effect.
Merlyn at the center managing New York, while the others acted as extensions of his mind, carrying his calculations, strategies, and control out to other cities.
It was an amplification of power, a way to stretch the family's influence without losing the precision and oversight that only someone like Merlyn could provide.
"This is our next step, and what we're gonna do from now on," Ricky said, gesturing toward pages two and three.
However, the inner circle wasn't particularly focused on him; their attention had shifted to the Merlyns of all shapes and sizes, who moved deliberately toward the different seats of the inner circle.
"What's gonna happen soon is that we're going to send these guys out with some of our people to different places," Ricky explained, scanning the room to make sure everyone was following.
"Chicago, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Detroit, and Miami will all be the first targets." Ricky added, letting the names hang as the scope of the plan began to sink in.
"Once we're ready, the guys I put in charge of those cities will take their assigned Merlins with them, and they'll all stay connected with each other," Ricky explained, tracing an invisible web in the air that connected everything on pages two and three.
"The Merlins themselves are technically like one entity. Everything flows through them, trickling up and down to Merlyn here, who'll stay at our home base in New York," Ricky continued, emphasizing the central role of the original Merlyn in the network.
"So now you're all wondering, what's the veil?" Ricky asked, raising his eyebrows as he set pages two and three down.
"Boom, page four."
Then, they were all shown the part of the plan they were currently involved in.
Ricky had designed the Veil Method as a whole to be a step-by-step process for guiding the family's operations.
Page four served as a visual roadmap, illustrating what they would be doing in the coming months and highlighting the areas where the Luciano family would be focusing its efforts.
Page 4: The Motherf*cking Veil
"The biggest con artists aren't mobsters, they're magicians." - Ricky Luciano
What makes a magic trick so f*cking cool?
The distraction.
It's like that one trick where you got two boxes, and the magician 'teleports' some busty blond from one box to another.
Everyone gasps, everyone loses their f*cking minds but the truth is really simple.
The trick isn't in the reveal, it's in the mechanism.
It's the hidden tube that connects both boxes that the busty chick crawls through to get from one to another.
It's the part you can't see, the part that really just ruins the trick if you find out, and is the reason for the wonder.
So what do you do?
You put a veil in between the boxes, to hide the tube.
So that the audience gets blown away at the reveal of the really busty big-titted blond because they have no f*cking idea how she got there.
The Veil Method works the same way.
You shine lights on things that the audience will marvel at, be it revolutionary house appliances or maybe a factory, a school, or even a hospital.
You let the world be in awe at what they're seeing, at the progress.
That's the spectacle.
That's the busty blond in the spotlight.
But behind the veil, in that tube, that's where the real sh*t happens.
The wars, the debts, the resources quietly siphoned, the strings pulled, and the hands that never show themselves.
Nobody sees it and nobody questions it.
Because the veil makes them look away, turns their eyes away from the tube and towards the other box and most of all.
It makes them applaud, makes them think it's magic.
And that, motherf*cker, is how you control the world without anyone realizing they're dancing to your song. - Ricky Luciano
"Guys, we've got the most perfect f*cking spotlight that just dropped into our laps," Ricky revealed, spreading his arms with a gleaming toothy smile.
"Is this the part where you bring out a busty blond?" Shades asked, glancing around as if expecting it to appear.
"Nah, this is where I talk about the Olympics."
"Literally, everyone's eyes are just gonna be focused on this stupid-ass event," Ricky said, a hint of excitement in his voice as if he could imagine it now.
"With all the Nazis riling people up, it's the perfect spotlight, the perfect opportunity to let everyone's attention be elsewhere while we slip our way into these major cities unnoticed." Ricky continued, letting the strategy sink in and settle between them all.
"So that's the veil-"
"Anything can be the veil, it's about catching people's attention away from the sh*t were doing." Ricky explained, his eyes scanning the room for understanding.
"I mean, guys, can you just imagine if the Lucky Corporation's products made it into everyone's daily lives?" Ricky added, letting the idea hang, letting them picture the reach and influence it would bring.
"A shipping container of what people would assume is Lucky Corporation product could be full of heroin, but they're so focused on that fact that when they open it, all they see are the new models of washing machines," Ricky said, shrugging as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"And that's just the now, the other pages are-"
However, the more Ricky went into it, the more their doubts started to slowly loosen.
It wasn't that everything he was saying made complete sense, or even perfect sense.
It was more that the longer Ricky talked, the more the others just wanted to believe it could work.
Sure, it was messy, all over the place, barely holding together.
But Ricky's drive, his ambition, his sheer confidence made them want to buy into his vision for the family.
They believed more in the person behind the veil than the method itself.
The method was just a bunch of scribbled words, diagrams, and manifesto-like ramblings but it was alive because Ricky was the pulse.
He was the reason to think it could actually happen.
The Veil wasn't a trick; it was literally him.
Every distraction, every spectacle, every illusion was colored by him.
Because at its core, this whole thing revolved around Ricky.
Every decision, every move, every unseen hand, all of it pointed back to him.
And I think that was the beauty of it.
They weren't really just following a plan; they were following him.
As the hours passed and Ricky continued to preach it, they began to genuinely believe that it could work.
Except for one glaring issue, a single question that kept creeping back into everyone's minds, pulling their thoughts away from the momentum Ricky had built.
"How are you gonna get into the Olympics?" Johnny asked first, finally raising his hand as Ricky reached the final page of the Veil Method.
"Yeah, because you said you were gonna make the Olympics the busty blond, but aren't you the magician?" Shades asked, holding up page four to Ricky while the others passed the other pages around the table to read for themselves.
"Yeah, that's one of the problems." Ricky sighed, rubbing his chin, honestly unsure how he was going to pull it off.
"Because, with everything about me on paper nowadays, it feels like I'm at the center of everything." Ricky said, hand pressed to his chest since today's newspaper was still fresh with his return to New York.
"That's kind of why I want to go to the Olympics, to shift the attention along with me, so you guys can go and set that sh*t up," Ricky said, explaining what he wanted to do rather than rushing to do it which was a surprise in itself.
"But can you do that, you know, just go to the Olympics?" Leo asked, rubbing his chin, eyes flicking to his twin brother Gio, who nodded in quiet agreement.
"Yeah, I was also wondering about that, do you have to buy a ticket-"
"I was thinking about using the Lucky Corporation as a front to sponsor the athletes," Ricky interrupted Gio, building on the idea rather than veering off course.
"But why would you go with them if the company is sponsoring-wait." Johnny stopped mid-thought, something suddenly clicking in his head.
"Are you going to make yourself the face of the company-"
"Damn right."
SIGH
"Oh, Slick." Shades sighed, burying his face in his hands.
The heads of the family usually kept themselves out of the public eye, not actvitly trying to draw in more attention.
"Chester is gonna freak out when he hears this." Lil Tony muttered under his breath, knowing how viscous that man's letters can be whenever he had received one.
"Listen, I'm gonna hold a convention, I'm thinking like a sort of car show vibe but for the companies products-"
"And let me guess, your face is gonna be plastered everywhere?" Lil Tony cut in, raising an eyebrow at Ricky, who only smiled in response.
"I'm already being dragged out in public, so I might as well own the persona," Ricky shrugged, flashing the biggest smile he could muster, his gesture selling it as though it were out of his hands.
"It'll be the perfect cover-"
SIGH
They all exhaled, a collective sigh of resignation.
Ricky was, in almost every conceivable way, the opposite of what a head of the family should be.
Reckless, impulsive, prone to letting his emotions dictate his moves as he was a headache wrapped in a charming grin.
And yet, arguing against him felt utterly pointless within the Luciano family.
For all his missteps in his personal life, Ricky had proven himself in ways none of them could ignore within the family itself.
He wasn't just Lucky Luciano's heir; he was the golden child, the one who carried the weight of the Luciano name with a strange brilliance to it.
Even when he was drunk out of his mind at the tender age of fifteen, he'd somehow managed to dismantle the entire Irish mob.
An act that should've been suicidal to anyone else, but instead went down in their history as a victory dubbed 'The Irish Massacre'.
Ricky was exhausting, stressful, and unpredictable.
But he was also their leader and in their eyes, he could do no wrong.
"Wait, are these our assistants?" Big Eyes asked, squinting toward Imp Merlin as though waiting for a denial.
But Imp Merlin only shrugged, his expression caught somewhere between indifference and reluctant agreement.
"That's a good way of looking at it, sure," Ricky said, sitting down in his chair and leaning back with casual ease, as though he had planned it this way from the start.
"Wait a minute, so we're the ones going to these cities?" Mouth finally asked, realizing something as Ricky's smile raised with their widened eyes.
"Who else can I trust with this other than my inner circle." Ricky replied, his tone calm but edged with finality.
"And before you say anything, I'm not just telling you to go, I'm giving you all the cities," Ricky emphasized, telling them all but indirectly that they would be running these cities.
"One of these Merlin alone can crush all the forces that live in the-"
"What about the High Table?" Shades finally interrupted, settling into his role as Consigliere and reminding Ricky of the most powerful entity within the underworld.
"Most of these cities are designated zones for other organizations, they won't sit still." Shades explained, wiping the sweat from his forehead, knowing the High Table wouldn't simply let Ricky do this.
How organizations worked under the High Table was not so different from how property was managed in America.
Everything was zoned.
Territories, rackets, and even safe havens were drawn up with boundaries as strict as municipal lines.
A city might be split by blocks, boroughs, or entire districts, each carved out for a particular syndicate, with rules that couldn't be broken without triggering a response from the Table.
Continental hotels, for example, were zoned as neutral ground; no killing, no fighting, no business spilling blood on the carpets.
Other areas were zoned for trade, smuggling, or specialized black markets.
Some entire cities functioned as strongholds for certain organizations, and stepping into one without permission was like building a house on someone else's deeded land, illegal and suicidal.
"I'll deal with the high table, all of you just gotta trust me."
They stayed silent, fingers drumming on the table, each tap echoing the weight of what was at stake.
Leaving New York meant abandoning the empire they had bled to build.
But these weren't small towns Ricky was pointing at, these were cities on par with New York.
And though they might only ever hold the rank of Capo, that didn't mean their power had to stagnate like their titles.
Ricky's earlier words lingered like smoke, reminding them the family was poised to either ascend to unimaginable heights or burn to ash, wings melting like Icarus in the sun.
And none of them were afraid to fly.
"Alright, you're the boss," Shades said, his tone carrying reluctant respect as the others nodded, conceding with the quiet authority of their consigliere's words.
Then, without missing a beat, Shades shot up from his seat.
"Dibs on Chicago!"
BAM
"F*CK!" Mouth roared, slamming his fist on the table so hard the glasses rattled. Shades had beaten him by a split second.
Then, almost immediately, the room erupted.
Every capo at the table started shouting over each other, calling dibs on cities like kids scrambling for the biggest slice of cake.
Within minutes, the map was carved up and each territory claimed, every major city spoken for by the inner circle.
Shades: Chicago
Mouth: Los Angeles
Leo & Gio: New Orleans
Big Eyes: Detroit
Neck: Miami
"We need to start getting ready, all of us," Ricky said, scanning the table as each man already pictured what they would do with their city.
"Before the end of the month, I need you to work with your Merlin to get your guys and everything you're bringing with you ready," Ricky said, motioning as he explained, then breaking into a wide smile.
"Got it?"
CLAP
"Then let's get to work, meeting adjourned." Ricky said excitedly, clapping his hands together before rubbing them eagerly.
"Johnny, Lil Tony, hang back for a sec," Ricky said, holding up his hand to stop Bumpy.
The older heads murmured among themselves, discussing the prospects unfolding, while the Merlins assigned to each hovered silently behind their new charges as they all strolled out the door.
"I'm sure you two can count, and notice why Incubus Merlin over there doesn't have anyone shadowing him," Ricky said, nodding toward Incubus Merlin, who waved at the two with a casual smile.
"Now, what I'm about to ask is basically the most important city I need under my control at all costs before the Olympics end," Ricky said, his smile evaporating as he revealed the part he had been saving for last.
"D.C."
"And I need one of you two to go there," Ricky said, fully aware that only one of them could take the job.
For Johnny, the reason he was chosen was simple, he was Ricky's guy.
It was painfully obvious to anyone paying attention how much Ricky relied on him, how deeply he trusted Johnny.
Every move Johnny made, every decision he executed, was a reflection of the grooming Ricky had invested in him, preparing him for greater heights than anyone else at the table could imagine.
But it was Lil Tony, on the other hand, who had been promoted to underboss.
The reasoning behind it was equally obvious.
No one else could shoulder the kind of work he handled, balancing his own operations while stepping in for his brother, Big Tony, whenever the younger man struggled with the conventions of their growing empire.
Lil Tony acted as an experienced hand, relieving burdens that would have crushed lesser men.
The only difference now was that Lil Tony's ascent came with a bittersweet twist.
His best friend and brother, Big Tony, was no longer at his side in the same capacity while Johnny had most of his runners completely fizzled.
They were both in very vulnerable positions with each having an equal stance to lunge at this opportunity.
"I'll do it."
But instead of Johnny, as Ricky had expected, Lil Tony beat him to the punch.
"Slick, I'm ready," Lil Tony said, hitting his chest and inching his chair closer to Ricky, ambition burning in his eyes.
"Give me the chance to prove myself, not only to this family but to you. I can deliver," Lil Tony said, knowing this was his moment to solidify himself as Ricky's underboss.
"Lil Tony, this ain't some borough but an entire city where all those uptight politicians hunker down in, the very-"
"I can do this, I know I can." Lil Tony's voice brimmed with gneiugne passion, wanting Ricky to just take a chance on him as even Johnny held up his hands in surrender.
"Alright, then you start immediately."
"You'll have unlimited funds, Lil Tony. Unlike the others, you won't be stopped by this loser over here," Ricky said, gesturing to Merlyn, who crossed his rotted arms.
"I won't let you down," Lil Tony replied, standing and nodding to Incubus Merlin, who returned the gesture in kind.
"And before you go, could you tell Junior that I want to see him," Ricky said, knowing that Franky Jr. was technically one of Lil Tony's men.
However, Lil Tony understood immediately with a simple look, giving Ricky a respectful nod and walking out of the room.
"I am Lil Tony by the way." Lil Tony first said to the undead Incubus Merlin, holding out his hand.
"I am Incubus Merlin, or Merlin if you prefer." Merlin replied, grasping Lil Tony's hand and giving it a firm shake, a hint of warmth in his otherwise eerie presence.
"Listen, I know it's a really weird thing to ask, but I don't work with anyone I don't know unless I break bread with them," Lil Tony said suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck as Incubus Merlin smiled warmly.
"I would be delighted, Lil Tony," Incubus Merlin replied, falling in step with him as they walked through the building.
Outside, Frank Jr. was lingering with the other made men, each assigned to different Capos under the family.
"You guys hear about Ol' Johnny walking again?" one of the made men asked, exhaling smoke from his cigarette as the others did the same, passing the time with idle chatter.
"I thought it wasn't that bad he-"
"It was pretty bad," Franky Jr. interrupted, exhaling a puff of smoke and tapping the end of his cigarette to scatter the ash.
"I saw the guy take four bullets to the chest. It was brutal." Frank Jr. sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead as the others coughed awkwardly, uneasy with the memory.
They had all been in different places when that long night unfolded, and Franky Jr. was the only one among them who had actually killed a couple of Gold Cloaks.
"Aye, sorry bout that Junior-"
"Nah, it's fine, we lost our brother that day." Franky Jr. chuckled, waving their sorrowful faces away as they laughed.
"At least-"
"Aye, Junior!" Lil Tony called out, his voice cutting through the air as the made men instantly stiffened, dropping their cigarettes in unison.
"Boss wants to see you."
A couple minutes later,
"Hey boss."
Franky Jr. or Junior, as the family called him, strolled into the meeting room, wearing a forced toothy grin.
"Take a seat, Junior," Ricky said, gesturing to his right as Franky paused for a moment, then slowly made his way over and settled into the chair beside him.
"First, I want to share my condolences," Ricky said, patting his shoulder with a sincerity that not even Bumpy on his left had received.
"I know it's been tough for the Costello family, and with the funeral coming up, I can tell it's weighing on you a bit." Ricky said, his eyes noting the dark bags under Franky's eyes as the man rubbed them, as if he could make them disappear.
By the time Ricky returned, he had already ordered Chuck to prepare for the funeral processions.
Not just for Frank but for everyone, once Chuck had finished gathering his list.
But, knowing the undead, Ricky sort of estimated everything would be ready in a couple of days, which was why he now wanted to speak with Frank's only son still left on this earth.
"Thanks, Slick. It means a lot, knowing how much he adored you," Junior said, bowing his head slightly as tears welled in his eyes as he quickly rubbed them away before lifting his gaze back up.
"Listen, I called you here to give you something, and I'm not gonna ease up to it, just say it straight, alright?" Ricky said, his eyes fixed on Junior as he leaned slightly forward, emphasizing the seriousness of his words.
"Junior, I'm giving you an out."
"What?" Junior exclaimed, taken aback, so much so that he stood up as Ricky held up his hands to calm him down, his expression steady.
"I know what you're thinking, but it's a no-strings-attached offer." Ricky quickly added, knowing that even this would be hard for Junior to
"Listen, this is where you can walk away into the sunset with everything your family could ever dream of, and I'll set you all up for generations," Ricky explained, his voice firm but reassuring as he met Junior's eyes.
"Any city you want, I'll take care of everything," Ricky said, spreading his arms with a confident smile, as if the decision had already been made.
"Boss, w-what are you talking about?" Junior stammered, nearly speechless at the magnitude of Ricky's words.
SIGH
"It's just you and your grandma," Ricky said, his tone steady but heavy with meaning.
"You both are all that's left of the Costello family."
"Boss-"
"Let me finish." Ricky said, holding up a finger adorned with a golden ring, and Junior immediately fell silent.
"Your family has sacrificed too much for this one." Ricky continued, gesturing down toward the ground, emphasizing the weight of his words.
"It's almost like a curse for a Costello to befriend a Luciano, because it always gets them killed," Ricky said, casting his gaze to the side, as if he didn't have the courage to meet Junior's eyes for the latter half of the sentence.
"And we both know what happened to Eddy."
"Now with Frank, I just can't bring myself to imagine your headstone next to both of theirs," Ricky said, returning his gaze to the visibly shaken Junior, who remained silent, barely holding himself together.
"It's why I'm asking you to take the out." Ricky said genuinely, hoping Junior would ride off into the sunset and live the life Frank had always dreamed for him.
"Because I just won't be able to look your grandma in the eye and tell her that she's all that remains of the Costello family," Ricky chuckled, his selfishness peering through since he hadn't even given his condolences to his grandmother yet.
"And it won't be like the others, the ones who also receive this offer," Ricky began, trying to dissuade Junior from thinking this was some sort of punishment, his tone softening as he searched for the right words.
"I can handle this family-" Junior finally broke his silence, but Ricky simply shook his head.
"That's not the point, this is: America doesn't know I'm about to run it," Ricky said suddenly, shifting the scope of the conversation as he leaned forward, intensity in his eyes.
"And as I've said, America is gonna bleed because of it," Ricky revealed, his words carrying more than a warning for Junior.
Even Bumpy could feel the weight of the gruesome reality Ricky was about to unleash on the country after hearing his so-called 'Veil Method'.
"A lot of blood is gonna be spilling, and some of it could be yours," Ricky said, tapping the table slowly, letting the words hang as an indirect warning to Junior.
"But the difference between the others and you is that I won't be able to even look your grandmother in the eye and tell her I know which is which," Ricky said in such a unique way that only they could understand.
"So, I'm asking you to leave the family."
"..."
For a long time, Junior remained deathly quiet.
His chest tightening as he struggled to keep his thoughts contained, much less arrange them into words that could respond to the weight of what the head of the family was asking of him.
"This-......this family is just as mine as it is yours." Junior finally said, his voice trembling slightly as he raised his gaze to lock eyes with Ricky.
"Junior-"
"No Slick, I'm serious." Junior almost whispered, grabbing his collared shirt and squeezing it tightly.
"I was just like you,in a way, Slick." Junior admitted, his voice tight with self-awareness.
"But I wasn't forced out, I ran away like a coward." Junior paused after that, his gaze slowly drifting toward the ground, the weight of guilt pressing down on him.
Since Ricky wasn't the only one who had fled New York after Eddy's passing.
"Left my own blood here while I ran away to Europe, drinking myself into oblivion every night." Junior let out a loud, bitter laugh as he raised his gaze towards the ceiling.
SNiff
"He jumped off a building, and I could've stopped it." Junior's words hit the room like a punch, and Ricky instinctively lowered his head into his hand.
"But I was so busy trying to prove myself within the family that when he asked to see me, I-" Junior trailed off, guilt written across his face.
"I told him I couldn't." Junior's voice broke, his hands clutching his face as if to hold back the tears threatening to fall.
"And the next day, I got the word of what happened." Junior's voice grew hoarse, each word heavy with guilt, and Ricky shifted slightly, trying to dissuade him from sinking further into this trail of thought.
"Junior, you couldn't-"
"But I should've known, I should've been there for him." Junior returned his tearful gaze to Ricky, wiping his eyes with a bitter, forced smile.
"And whenever I was drinking my sorrows away, all I could think about was if I could've changed it." Junior said, each word echoing with the regret he had tried to drink away.
Sniff
"I always wondered, if I wasn't just a f*cking idiot and took the time to see him, then maybe-"
"Junior stop-"
"HE COULD'VE LIVED, SLICK!" Junior lashed out, his eyes almost mad as Ricky looked up at how wracked with guilt he was.
"I wasn't there for my family and I suffered for it." Junior continued, his hands clenching into fists as if trying to hold himself together.
"I-"
"I was at a bar when I heard your speech, over the radio I mean." Junior laughed through the pain, a hollow, broken sound, rubbing at his face as if ashamed to show himself like this in front of his boss.
"Four bottles of wine next to me, and I just remember sitting up," Junior said, his hand gesturing vaguely to the side as if he were back in that desperate, dimly lit bar.
"Some drool on my face as my eyes just stared at the radio."
"Hearing what you've been up to-I mean, the Vatican?" Junior asked, his own words stumbling out as he paused mid-sentence, unable to fully grasp it even now.
"You were at the Vatican while I was curled up in some sh*tty bar in Rome." Junior shook his head, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"And then I just laughed at myself, for hours," Junior added, standing and pacing the room as Ricky watched silently, letting the confession hang between them.
"I mean, I was a fcking mess while you were at the actual vatican, doing sht." Junior laughed, shaking his head at himself more than at Ricky, the absurdity of his own failures hitting him harder than any words.
"Three years, I spent doing nothing but drinking," Junior said, gesturing to himself before turning his gaze toward Ricky.
"But in that time, you became an honorary cardinal and gave my own little brother the funeral I couldn't even give him!" Junior said, his voice thick with self-mockery, scolding himself for being so pathetic while someone not even of their blood gave his little brother more than he ever could.
"I was his older brother, Slick, and I did nothing but hope that I would join him!" Junior revealed, his self-loathing teetering on the edge of a suicidal level of drinking.
"I just-"
"I just don't want it to be in vain." Junior finished, his gaze locking onto Ricky with a resolute intensity that no promise could sway.
"Because I feel that if I just leave, then everything my family has shed will mean nothing more than a couple of dollars." Junior tried to express, knowing that no amount of monetary value could ever compare.
"I don't want it to be for nothing, just like how you didn't want Eddy to live without a funeral," Junior continued, his eyes showing nothing but motivation to prove that their deaths were worth it.
"So I'm not asking Slick, I'm begging you." Junior added, his tone cracking under the weight of his desperation.
"Please don't take this away from me." Junior said, his hands clenching into fists as he looked at Ricky for just even a hint of understanding.
"I can't lose this, please."
Frank Jr. was a mess, but who wasn't, in their own way.
He struggled to get himself back on the right path, having had four brushes with death from alcohol poisoning alone.
Yet, somehow, he had clawed his way back each time.
It was easy to walk away from this life, and even harder to not let it swallow you whole.
But Junior was owning up to his mistakes, facing the wreckage he left behind just like Ricky, and stepping back into the world.
Ricky wanted, for a fleeting moment, to tell him no, to protect him from whatever path he was about to take.
But all he could do was duck his head silently, out of respect for his choice.
"You'll be working under Bumpy from now on." Ricky said abruptly, rising to his feet.
In the very second he had said it, he could see the surprise flicker across both their faces, eyes widening as the weight of the announcement sank in.
"Wait, but you said-" Bumpy suddenly said, having been promised his own guys earlier only for Ricky to wave his hand.
"I know what I said, Junior here's an added bonus." Ricky replied, shrugging at his obvious displeasure as if the decision had been obvious all along.
"You want me to work for that?" Junior laughed, pointing at Bumpy, who shot him a glaring side-eye.
"Yeah, I do." Ricky laughed, walking over to the side of the meeting room and turning back to them.
"Why-"
"Well, you two are just so smart, I feel like both of you can figure it out," Ricky said with a smile, his patience finally reaching its limit for the day as he stepped back and promptly opened the side door.
"But-"
"Match made in heaven if you ask me."
Bam
Then, after finishing those words, Ricky promptly slammed the door behind him, only to be met with a bizarre sight.
Isaiah stood there, mouth agape, completely absorbed in a nudity magazine, its pages sprawled all the way down to the floor.
"Ha!" Ricky immediately laughed, the sound startling Isaiah, who looked up with wide eyes before his face flushed bright red in embarrassment.
"No, I-"
"HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!" Ricky started cackling, watching Isaiah scramlbing around the room to hide the obviously nude woman on the pages.
"IT'S NOT FUNNY-"
"You're right, it's not," Ricky said, finally letting his laughter simmer into small chuckles as he patted Isaiah's back.
"It's hilarious." Ricky joked, giving Isaiah a playful push into the portal before following him.
"W-Woah," Isaiah muttered to himself, steadying his footing as he turned his gaze back toward Madame St. Clair's massive Harlem mansion.
It was a gilded-age mansion on the west side of Harlem, acquired after Madame St. Clair realized she was pregnant with Ricky's child.
Isaiah hesitated at the front door, hand hovering uncertainly over the knocker, still painfully aware of how awkward it was to be asking to live under the same roof as Madame St. Clair herself.
"What are you doing?" Ricky asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched Isaiah freeze in front of the door.
"We aren't f*cking solicitors, just walk in," Ricky said, pushing the door open and glancing back at the flustered Isaiah, who scurried in behind him like a kid caught sneaking into a candy store.
"I know, honey, I know." Stephanie sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as she balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, her voice carrying both exhaustion and exasperation.
"I know-
SIGH
"We'll get you a fight soon, but I want-finally!" Stephanie started, her words cutting off as she yelled across the mansion, spotting Ricky striding in with his usual swagger.
"There's my beautiful chocolate dove-"
"Oh no," Stephanie hummed, shaking her finger from side to side to ward off Ricky's hug, her expression firm while his smile twitched at the rejection.
"Do not chocolate-dove me after breaking your promise," Stephanie said, holding back her anger while letting out a somber chuckle that barely masked her frustration.
"When have I ever broken a promise-"
"When you said you'd look after a young talent, that I scouted myself, by the way." Stephanie said, squinting and pointing at the phone, shaking it slightly to emphasize her point.
"He is wasting away his prime on garbage fights and you promised me over three times that you would-"
"That I'd look after him-"
"THAT YOU WOULD PROMOTE HIM!" Stephanie yelled, immediately reining in her anger as she closed her eyes and took two deep breaths.
"I did?"
"Well, you would have if you'd taken the time to even see him." Stephanie shot back, her voice tight with frustration.
"Oh, and let me guess, you're here to ask for a favor." Stepahnie shook her head, peeking behind Ricky to see Isaiah hiding behind him.
"Is it that obvious?"
"I'm not speaking a single word to you until you fix this," Stephanie said, holding the telephone out to Ricky, who slowly reached for it.
"But could you-"
"Deliver on your promise, or you can kiss goodbye to any desserts that were in your future," Stephanie cut him off, chuckling through her irritation as she stomped up the stairs, clearly fed up with Ricky putting this off for so long.
SIGH
"I'm just on the worst streak right now, I'm telling you." Ricky muttered, pacing over to Isaiah, who had no idea what he was talking about.
"Alright, who's the guy that's got my chocolate dove all in a f*cking mood?" Ricky asked, holding the phone up to his ear as the man on the other side drew in a deep, steadying breath.
"H-H-He-"
"Obviously someone with a stutter." Ricky muttered to Isaiah, who couldn't help but chuckle at the remark.
COUGH
"I apologize Mr. Luciano, I just didn't know I would be speakin-"
"Well, you've got my attention, for like, two minutes." Ricky said, glancing at his watch before returning his gaze to the phone.
"My n-name is Henry Jackson Jr." Henry quickly stuttered out, trying to reign in his clearly nervous breath.
"But I go by Henry Armstrong."
Author's Note: I know that this whoel Veil Method thing is confusing but I thought it was something that would be good for Ricky's devolpment. If it doesn't really come across well or you're confused, don't be afraid to tell me or poitn out areas that could use imporvement but I purposly wrote it in such a way that would come across in such a narrastic manfiesto type way cause this is his first ever real written plan so it felt werid if he just knew how to do everything.
Author's Note 2: Also sorry about not posting yesterday but I was just super hungover and didn't feel like doing anything except eating, I'll get to the comments and shiz later.