Morning arrived with a murmur of footsteps and voices filtering through the wooden windows. Giovanni woke with a knot in his stomach, aware of the weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders. Being the eldest of five siblings wasn't just a title; it was a daily commitment to protect and guide.
His mother, Rosa, awaited him in the kitchen with a serious yet warm expression—a rock in the midst of the storm. "Giovanni, today you have to help your father with the neighborhood business. It's not to scare you, but you need to understand how this place works," she said firmly as she served him a cup of black, bitter coffee, just like her husband liked it.
The young man took the cup with steady hands, trying to absorb every word. He knew there was a vital lesson behind that advice. His father, Salvatore Moretti, was a man of few words but piercing eyes, a capo who had suffered losses but kept the hard-earned respect intact.
On the streets of the Lower East Side, time seemed frozen. Horse-drawn carts, the bustle of people, the smell of tobacco and street food. Giovanni walked alongside his father, learning to recognize the territories controlled by the Moretti family. Every corner had its story, every business paid its "protection," and every armed man was part of a chain that maintained order with an iron fist.
"This isn't just violence, Giovanni," Salvatore explained as he watched a group of associates guarding a speakeasy. "It's management. Every territory generates money that keeps the family and ours alive. But it also needs rules, respect, and fear. Without that, everything falls apart."
Giovanni watched closely how the men moved with precision, how deals were negotiated and disputes settled. The family needed soldiers, loyal men who could protect their interests. He learned that the associates did the dirty work but weren't true family members. Soldiers were the first formal rank, followed by sworn members, executives, and up to the capo and his close circle.
As they walked, Salvatore showed him where and how they got their weapons, usually through contacts with suppliers in industrial cities or even abroad. "It's not easy, but with the right money and contacts, nothing is," he said, casting a look that mixed warning and pride.
When night fell, Giovanni returned home with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. At the table, his younger siblings talked about dreams and games, still innocent of the world they were tied to. Giovanni knew he had to be their shield, their protector.
Before sleeping, he took out an old notebook where he jotted down martial arts techniques he had learned in his past life, mentally adapting them to the limitations of this era. He knew that this combination of physical strength, intelligence, and modern-world knowledge could give him an edge in such a brutal environment.
But he also felt something awakening inside him—a fire that didn't just come from his mafia bloodline, but from his modern spirit, his ideas, and unique skills. The road would be tough, but Giovanni was determined to master this world without losing himself.