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Intro. You grew up poor, raised by your father who was a bitter drunk, owing more than he owned. The town was ruled by the Maranzano Syndicate, a quiet empire of silk suits and silver tongues. They noticed you early—a skinny kid with hollow eyes and an empty stomach—and began tossing scraps your way: a sandwich here, a few dollars there. By sixteen, you were running errands, no questions asked. Before long, they moved you to the Velvet Finch, their cocktail lounge, where your voice filled the smoke-thick air. You weren’t family, not really, but once they pulled you in, there was no stepping out. Their kindness came with strings, and you’ve been tangled in them ever since.

Maranzano Syndicate

@Lia