La Cosa Nostra

WARNING!!! If you are offended in any way by the liberal use of curse words or graphic violence, being that I could not find the section with the rules, should there be one, on any limitations on violent content or cursing, I will clean up this post as soon as possible should anything need be changed. Would an admin or mod (Or anyone who knows the rules, really) send a PM telling me I would deeply appreciate it.

1950's NYC-despite our misconception of this being the "pure" era of America, the streets run wild with Mafiosi, corrupted law enforcement and crooked politicians. This is the dusk of the golden age of the American Italian mafia-La Cosa Nostra-and 7 families maintain a stranglehold over their turf in NYC. All families have a "Color" they wear and paint their cars in to show others what family they're from. Everyone knows that gray cars are neutral, those who don't, probably don't live to find out, should a mob war break out...

They are divided as followed: (Named after the last name of their Don's)

Bonsiglio: Ruling over New Jersey, the Bonsiglios are pure fucking evil scum. When they're not fighting the other families, they're fighting eachother, and with a vengeance either way. They're identifiable by their blue suits and cars. The don's name is Emilio Bonsiglio, (Yeah...) a short, fat, balding man with a big mole on his cheek who seems to always be smoking a Cuban cigar. He is known for his cold demeanor and ruthlessness, nut he usually solves problems while remaining right below the "Being too bloody" limit. Unlike his son, the Underboss, Bruno Bonsiglio. They call him 'Little B.B'. Why? Because he's a 6' 8 giant with a neck as wide as his head, that's why, with an arsenal of weapons to match his size and temper. You have to be an absolute kiss-ass not to get him angry. They're a jack of all trades family, having a hand in diamonds, liquor, weapons, ammunition, the drug trade, prostitution, and illegal immigration-most anything you can think of, really-without maintaining a particularly strong presence in any of them.

Torttelini: Ruling over Hell's Kitchen, the Tortellini's, despite their food product last name (Or maybe because of it) are an extremely violent family. Maybe not as much as the Bonsiglios, they're pretty honorable, but cross them just once, and they will hunt you down to the ends of the earth. Identifiable by their red suits and cars, (Which most people believe is to hide the appearance of blood on either) they're run by Don Mario Tortellini, who demands respect, or he'll smash you over the head with his Babe Ruth signed baseball bat. He has quite a swing on him despite his age. His son, the Underboss, Vito Torttelini, is a cold calculating snake, who predicted how the drug trade would boom and because of it landed the Torttelinis vast riches compared to what they had before. They run in the dirty stuff, weapons, ammunition, the drug trade, and prostitution almost exclusively.

Strombardi: Ruling over Brooklyn, the Strombardis are what could perhaps be considered the weakest of the 7 families, and perhaps the most hated, as well, next to the Bonsiglios or Torttelinis, maybe. They are weak in all departments but do maintain some sort of presence in all of them. Although, while they aren't powerful, they do have more power in liquor than the other trades, as well as illegal immigration, thanks to being on the east and southern waterfront. Their color is brown, and their Don is Alexio Strombardi, a doddering old fool who is merely waiting to die. The real star of the show is his son, Benny Strombardi, who is just as stupid, reckless and weak as his father used to be.

Romerto: Allied to the Blancias, thanks to the marriage of their Underboss and Don Blancia's daughter 6 years ago, the Romertos are what could be considered the most powerful family of the 7, with a very significant presence in most illegal trading, including a legal one-Tourism. They own the part with all the famous landmarks like you've seen in the movies, the Empire state building, for instance. They own practically everything there, especially the expensive hotels, some of which are also legit. While the Romertos and Blancias make money separately, they are welcomed into the places the other family owns, and are served for free. Their colors (Black for the Romertos, white for the Blanchias) can be mixed in any fashion, but the undershirt must be the color of their own family to avoid confusion, along with their cars. They just might be the cleanest of the families, but that doesn't mean they don't have their fair share of dirty business, either... Don Plinio Romerto and his son Otaviano Romerto run their show along with their Consigliere, Luciano Fabrii.

Falcone: The Falcones are a small family, similar to the Tattagalas, they are a thorn in the Romerto's side, as they own Wall street and everything in it-including all the banks, prostitution and gambling rackets, which allows them to be extremely rich. They have just enough weapons and ammo, which they bought legitimately, to drive out any intruders or invading families. They say the reason they wear green is because it's the color of money, which they have plenty of. Don Adolfo Falcone and his three sons, Underbosses Sonny and Michael Falcone, and Consigliere Alfredo Falcone run the show. They all keep to themselves pretty much and don't keep many secrets, either. They say they have the Midtown police on the take, too.

Tattagala: The Tattagalas are a mysterious bunch who are closing in on the Blanchia from all sides and have already taken most of the stores on the outskirts of Little Italy and the rest of Manhattan. Perhaps their color is used to be confused with the Strombardis or Torttelinis sometimes, perhaps not. No-one knows who the current don or underboss is, at the very least none from the Blancia family. They just keep coming back for more, appointing new dons, underbosses and Consiglieres every time the Blancias kill one. So far four dons, 8 underbosses, 12 Consiglieres and god knows how many Capos and Soldiers have been killed, but they just keep on coming back for more and more. No-one knows of any racketeering they do...so just what is going on?

Blancia: The family you will be a part of. The Blancias used to own all of Little Italy but it's getting harder what with 5 other families trying to push in. Their don's first name is a closely kept secret, while his two sons and one 'adopted' son work below him, Tony "The beast" and Leone "Mr. Smooth" Lombardi are the Underbosses and Charlie "The chin" Blancia is the Consigliere. Why the nicknames? Tony's is probably the only one that's appropiate, while he is a jolly fellow most of the time his mood can change within the drop of a hat and he'll kill everyone and anyone in his way. Charlie's is more ironic, since he has practically no chin. (Think Don Knotts...) Leone's is ironic as well, he doesn't know many big words so he'll stammer and stutter trying to think of one before he settles on a normal one. Although, he is a ladie's man. He's almost never seen without two women at his sides. Though they struglle to maintain their power, it doesn't mean they are weak, far from it. They have a hand in most racketeering, with the exception of the drug trade.

Here are the ranks in the Cosa Nostra from highest to lowest:

Don-The boss, if you will, he gets a cut of all money the family rakes in, and oversees the major operations of the family. It is up to him who gets made, and he has to approve the killing of a made man of another family, otherwise you will be killed. The don wears a ring which you must kiss when addressing him.
Underboss-The second in command, he replaces the don should he be killed or incarcerated, (Until his release should it be the latter) and depending on the will of the don he may or may not be powerful. There are several Underbosses and the next oldest one is always the replacement, then the next oldest, and so on. The son(s) of a Don is usually made Underboss.
Consigliere-Third in command, he serves as the Don's advisor, and takes the place of the Don in meeting with other families should he be unable to make it, or thinks it's a setup.
Caporegime-The Capo oversees the day-to-day operations on the street and a team of 10 Soldiers.
Soldato- (Soldier) This is the rank where you are a made man, where you become part of the family forever, and you are really respected and/or feared. The ceremony involves the burning of a picture of a saint in one's hand that you must let burn completely, overseen by Capos and an Underboss-rarely, the Don performs the ceremony himself. Not all ceremonies are so extravagant, either. Sometimes it only involves the Sicilian kiss of death-a kiss on both cheeks. This means you are trusted, an asset to the family, and more power and respect.
Enforcer-You are somewhat trusted, but not completely, people start to know your name and over time fear or respect you. Those who are not pure Italians may never rise above this rank, as decreed by Sicilian law. However, this is sometimes not the case as jews and Irishmen are sometimes made.
Associate-The middlemen, they are the ones performing the deals, trading the drugs, etc. They're the errand boys, given a very small cut of what they make for the family, and relatively unknown.
Outsider-Everyone else.

Rules-Keep this 1950s and realistic. While I myself don't know much about the 50's, common sense tells me (And hopefully tells you) that there are no cell phones or super cars, etc. All weapons-guns-must be real life weapons from those times, but can be modified as you wish. Also, no freaky anime hair or anything of the sort. Keep in mind, also, this is the first in a timeline of a vast series, and will have an ending, this will not be an everlasting Rp.

As for weapons limit, just what you can carry. No unlimited ammo, I want you to state the capacity of the magazines in your descriptions, and you can can only carry with you what is humanly possible. Obviously they must be concealed as well, they're mafiosi, after all.

Since women are not allowed in the Mafia, and women that wish to join should make an arrangement with someone who plays a higher up character via PM, as a woman joining is not an everyday manner in the mafia. You must check it with me, as well. Remember the forum rules, and most importantly, have fun.

Characters-

Name: Vincente, most call him Vincent, last name unknown. (Not to himself, anyways)
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Height: 6'5 (Measure in feet and inches, please, I can't tell you how much the metric system has screwed me over)
Rank: Caporegime
Appearance: Short and curly black hair in a kind of cool elvis swerve thing, with light blue eyes, and scruffy beard as if he forgot to shave that morning. He wears a long sleeve white undershirt with an open black vest, open black sports coat, black dress pants, black wing tip shoes, and a reddish brown tie which he keeps untied. Built, but not overtly muscular.
Weapons: He keeps .38 Snub nose revolver (Saturday Night Special) in his right sleeve, thanks to a strap in the inside of his undershirt that allows him to let the gun fall when he limp wrists his hand. It's gold with an ivory grip to replace the usual wooden one, and he keeps ammo on his left sleeve, as well as a small holster on a chain wrapped around his neck which is where he keeps it after firing it. (He has to place the revolver in his sleeve while putting on his clothes, after all) On the insides of his vest he keeps two guns-on the left side a black colt .45 M1911A1 handgun, (Assassin's pistol) also with an ivory grip, and a golden .357 long hollow point bullet magnum revolver with engraving all along it, (Python) and an ebony grip. Ammo for either is also on the inside of his vest, the ammo for the opposite gun under each. On his back, outside his vest but inside his coat he keeps a black Tommy gun (The Dillinger) with a drum magazine capable of holding 200 rounds. He keeps the ammo on the inside of the back of his vest. And finally, he keeps a converted Remington shotgun, (Street Sweeper) a small, stockless sawed off barrel shotgun with a drum magazine capable of holding 10 rounds, with damn near automatic fire, in his right pant leg, the ammo in his left.
Personality: A real man of the streets, he's a fast talking, cool walking stone cold killer and businessman who kills with no remorse, mercy or enjoyment, the epitome or the mafia, he is the rising star of the Blancias, and by himself has siezed over a dozen warehouses and transport hubs. Many say he will probably be the next don, and he had become somewhat of a celebrity in NYC, (Especially amongst the cops) but an unspoken one. Everyone knows better than to spread any bad rumors about him... Though he is usually calm and collected and even a bit humorous, he's also calculating, and a great manipulator of feelings. He may not be easily angered, but when he is, you better get the hell out of his way or he'll come out swingin' with a lead pipe.
Background: No-one knows where he came from, who he was before he joined or even his last name-not even the don.

(All information above me is required with the exception of Background, you can keep it secret if you want to, I'd rather find out in the Rp)

Note that the don, Underbosses and Consigliere I mentioned are unplayable, (NPCs) and you can only be a member of the Blancias.

Whew, done. Post away.

He slipped out of his green Pontiac Bonneville Sport Coupe (http://www.kingoftheroad.net/pontiac_ph ... _black.jpg) onto the sidewalk in front of a simple restaruant. He smiled to himself as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from inside his coat, being very careful not to show off his "heat". He inverted the pack and tapped the bottom until one slid out the lowered top. Scotty slipped that between his lips and replaced the pack before fumbling around looking for a pack of matches.

Finding them, he struck one and lit the cigarette. He waved the flaming stick until it went out before stepping in the door of the small local restaraunt.

He walked right through the dinner into a black door at the back.It opened to a small room. Smoke filled the already darkened room. The sound of quarters in slot machines rung through the air. The ping ping ping of the wheels stopping polluted his ears. Scotty detested the sound, but it made his boss money and in turn it made him money. He dealt with it.

The flashing lights of the money sucking machines broke the darkness in what seemed to be in an organized rhythm. It made him kind of nauseous to look at it, so he kept his eyes on the back room where the door was. Right next to the bar.

He nodded to the tender as he walked past. Bear. A crazy mother fucker. He kept a sawed off under the counter next to the whiskey, in case someone decided to get "rowdy". I pushed open the door to see a small back room with a wooden table in the center. A man was tied to a chair in the back corner with a gag. His face was covered in blood and his left eye was swollen shut. and his suit was covered in blood. A bleeder. His boss was standing in front of the guy wearing his brass knuckles. He turned and looked at Scotty and smiled before throwing his arms up to give him a hug.
"Scotty "The Breeze" McCallister! Boys, it's Scotty!"
He said to two large men sitting in the opposite corner of the room. They smiled at him. One wore a grey suit, the other a blue pinstripped.
"Scotty! It's been a long time."
The one in the blue suit spoke up. It had been a long time. The on in the blue was Franchenzo, and the one in the grey was Marco. Both hired men of the Caporegime. Good guys.
"Yeah, it's been almost too long Franz."
I replied as I brushed my hair back over my one eye as I smoked. I had just returned from a month leave to Ireland to bury my papa, Don Bortolomeo.

I turned to The Caporegime
"You wanted to see me?"

-edited-

Why did you post without asking? We don't have enough people to start...and your post confused me, too. Are you indentifying me as the Caporegime? What is the rank of the men you mentioned? Why is a guy strapped to a chair, bleeding? Why is an open casino in NYC when gambling is illegal and not in the basement of a bar? GAH! MY BRAIN HURTS! HARD!

(I'da PMed you but I still can't... I fuckin' hate this shit.)

Okay, fine. I'll repost when you tell me I can. And I was going to answer all of your questions...except the gambling one in my next post. But I'll wait until you tell me that I can.

Fuck it, man I'm tired of waiting for you. So, apparentlly you all think hes just another newb, huh? Well fuck you! I'm posting!))

It was just another sunny summer's day in brooklyn and a tall, sharp looking man walked the streets with a near cock gait, people widening their eyes, getting out of his way and turning to look at him, especially the women, for all knew his name...

Vincente Scudiery, and he was a Caporegime for the Blancia family. All who see him, fear him. Hell, most people fear him WITHOUT having seen up, having only heard bar-room rumors of his ventures...his 'jobs' if you like. The sidewalk was no different and a proud smirk seemed plastered on his face, it would not move amongst the people as he heard them spreading rumors about him. Music to his ears. Makes it easier to work.

"I heard he's killed 800 people. How 'bout that, huh?"
"Oh my god, thats horrible...I heard the reason his tie is kinda red is from blood when he strangles people with it... so hard he breaks their neck."
"Ugh, the sick bastard..." With that the irishman that dared call him that fell to the ground, bleeding from his nose and grabbing it in pain.

"Keep it up and I'll show you just how I do it, Irish prick." He spat in his face and wiped the few drops of blood off his hand with a red hankerchief as he walked away nonchalantly, the gasping people standing in silence. No-one dared to do anything, no one dared to fight back, not even the cop watching on the corner.

"How do you keep that many cops in your pocket, huh?"

...Well, no one smart.

"Simple. With 500 a week to every cop." He said with a smirk. He got lucky. He was in a hurry.

He made his way to an out of the way alley, where he ran a hand through his own hair in front of two waiting bodyguards in brown two piece suits.

"Is Lambordini ready for our meeting?" Vincente asked, looking down at the 5'7 guard at the left.
He answered. "Yeah, hes around the corner of the alley. Theres an old poker table." Vincente nodded, and took two steps in before lunging out at the guard and stoppong inches in front of him, the guard jumping onto his back with a frightened gasp. Vincente let out a deep, cold laugh.

"Relax, kid. You're too tense my man, don't worry. I ain't the boogeyman, huh? Haha!" He let out one last chuckle and walked ahead, the floored man grabbing his head as he looked up at the guard across him who was snickering. "What?!" "Nothin'..." "Yeah, it better be..." He sighed and got back up.

Vincente meanwhile continued his carefree stroll to the bend in the alleyway which led to a wooden fence. A fat man in a Brown overcoat with blue with white spotted clothing underneath.

"You're late." A thick Sicilian accent left his lips with a hoarse tone added to this already threatening statement.

Vincente sat down across him with a smirk. An arm was on the table in front of him and he leaned toward the fat man slight as he spoke.

"Yeah. Got caught up in traffic." He calmly answered.
"At 11:30?" He questioned
"Yeah. Human traffic, on the sidewalk." He seemed to joke despite the tense setting.
"You walked here?" He asked, emphasizing the walked, fearing that he might have been tracked and didn't respect punctuality.
"'Course." He simply answered, still eerily calm
"Why?"
"Good exercise. Healthy for you. You should try it sometime, you need it." Ooh...! He insulted the man, whos betraying the Strombardis and telling the Blancias all about their trading deals...And he stared in a continuous, unblinking angry stare, in vein as the tall man just looked right back, relaxed as if he were in a bar with his buddies.

A hoarse laugh left him before a pause to catch his breath. "I need the excercise...HAHA-HA.......HA!" He continued, more high pitched at first, then continuing with a sort of hoo hoo hoo quality. Vincente, as did his bodyguard, laughed. The fat man stopped before yelling in Italian "What the FUCK are you laughing at, shithead?!" The guard was looking at Vincente as if trying to look intimidating, before noticing he was looking at him and not Lambordini. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" English this time. "Huuuh?!" A confused exclamation left his mouth as he looked down at the fat man who was red faced in anger. "B-but, boss, hes the one who-" "SHUT UP! I laughed at his joke, I didn't give you permission to laugh at it!" "B-but...but-" "QUIET! Leave us be. We must make the business." "Okay, sir..." The body guard hauled his tommy over his shoulder and rounded the corner with a low head. "Now, where were we...?"

"The locations of the drug warehouses." Vincente reminded the man who then nodded his head with a "Ah." There was a short pause before Vincente broke it with a "Well?"

"Oh, right, uhm..." The man paused to clear his throat. "Ahem...theres the one off-road, a warehouse near the brooklyn bridge. They store and make Heroin...eh, how you say, the coke, yes..." "What else?" "Ah, uh, there is nothing." "That's it?" "That's all I know, yes...listen, the Strombardis are getting suspicious, I need money for-" Click click. "Then what good are you?" BANG!

"What the?!" The guard rounded the corner to find Vincente standing over the table with a .38 snub nose revolver in hand, a hole in his boss' forehead. Vincente's arm raised faster than the guard could lower his own, and another shot rang out. His brains splattered all over the wall behind him...

BOOM! This was all Vincente needed to hear and he ducked, pushing the table over for cover as he ran around the corner as fast as he could, with the sounds CHK-CHK, BOOM! CHK-CK to aid his sprint as a man with a remington long barrel shotgun blasted two holes in the wooden fence. He began trying to kick between them to make a hole big enough for him to go through...

Vincente rounded the corner just in time to see the taller of the two earlier guards swinging a lead pipe to his face, which he ducked under and then placed his gun weilding right hand on his wrist and twisted his arm, then dropped his forearm onto his elbow which was facing the sky, bending his hand up to his fucking chest, then raised his arm and struck the man in the face with his elbow. His body falling let him see the short guard from before wielding a colt .45 M1911, and pulling the trigger, only to hit the body of his pall in the chest, wasting all his ammo as Vincente had pulled him back up by his arm to shield him. After 7 shots rang out he tossed the corpse aside and began walking toward the frightened and shaking guard, who was struggling to eject his clip and grab a new one...more than enough time for Vincente to pull on his collar, slide the .38 into the puch on a chain around his neck, and reach into the inside of his vest to pull out a black version of the M1911 with a beautiful Ivory grip...

But the guard did not have time to admire the beauty of the weapon for as soon as the entirety of the barrel was out it had moved forward to shoot him in the shoulder, BANG! This caused him to drop his gun and grab his shoulder with a "God...damnit!!" Before another shot rang out, BANG! This time in his stomach. He fell to his knees and gabbed his stomach, a gurgling cough left his
bleeding mouth, and he looked up into the piercing, nearly grey blue eyes of the man in fear, who then grabbed his head on the top and on one side and...SLAM! Smashed his skull into a mess of brain bits and blood, wiping off his suit with a "God...damn! Mother fucker got-!" But he interrupted himself with an inquisitive grunt as he heard wood break. The man with a shotgun had finally begun getting through the fence...Vincente wondered what he could do...and looked up to a fire escape. He jumped onto the half raised ladder and climed all the way up to it, right at the corner where he awaited with an M1911 pointed downwards. The man got through the fece and ran...but before he got around the corner BANG! A bullet entered the top of his skull and pierced through down his spine.

Damn good shot... Vincente though to himself as he then slipped his M1911 back in it's holster in his vest...and he climbed down the ladder and walked out the alleyway calmly, wiping the blood off of him with the same red Hankerchief from before.

WAREHOUSE BURNED TO GROUND OVERNIGHT! POLICE HAVE NO LEADS!
The newspaper headline read.

Police say there were no witnesses, and that sadly the workers inside all burned to death, along with all the items inside the unlisted warhouse. "We may only pray that this madman of an arsonist be captured before he strikes again...I can only speculate but this clearly seemed to me to be thework of a serial arsonist. The fact that no-one left the harehouse leads me to believe that the arsonist locked them in and listened to their screams."

It was then when Vincente put the newspaper down with a grin.

"I knew buying off those guys at the papers was a good idea." He said to himself as he drove down the Brooklyn Highway in a White Rolls-Royce.

As he asked the question his eyes broke over the two soldato's sitting on the opposite side of the room once again. A small grin came to his cold face as the caporegime turned around and stepped back behind the table picking up a newspaper and tossing it across the desk.
"What's this all about?"
Scotty picked up the paper and took a quick glance at the headline: WAREHOUSE BURNED TO THE GROUND OVER NIGHT! POLICE HAVE NO LEADS! He dropped the paper to the desk before butting his cigarette in an ash tray on the table and looked back up at the caporegime and shook his head.
"No idea."
His icy cold voice replied.
"You don't eh? They say the man listened to their screams as all of the workers burned to death. On top of that it's a Strombardi drug house. This guy, just told us that."
"Well then, we have someone doing us a favor then."
Scotty replied pulling another cigarette out of his pack and slipping it into his mouth. He lit it with the same pack of matches as before. He took a deep inhale before the caporegime started speaking again.
"Well, as a personal favor to me, I want you to find this guy and find out where his loyalties lie. If it comes to is, then...use your imagination to make him talk, or to make him talk no more."
"Understood"
Scotty turned around and walked out of the very back room, shutting the door behind him wearing a cold smile. It was job time.

As he got out into the day light he unbuttoned his blazer before slipping back into his Bonneville and starting up the engine.

OOC :: Sorry man, I've just been to busy lately to be able to put time into this post, and I kind of forgot Hope this ones okay. Any corrections just PM me.

Gah, still can't PM people...

I'd like you to lengthen it to include finding his place.

You see, right now Vincente is sleeping at an apartment of his in Little Italy...you'll have to find him, which'll be easy. Everyone knows where he lives and everyone knows who he is. Course, he doesn't know that Vincente is the arsonist and the whole listening to their screams is bullshit, or that he was ordered to burn the place down and kill off the fat man from the Don himself.))

Okay, but how can I find his place if I don't know who the arsonist is?

A drug transportation and manufacturing facility belonging to the Bonsiglios, UNLISTED I might add? Obviously a mob hit. The question is, which family?

Thats what you'll be asking the people for. If you have AIM contact me at Starwindjuno and we can sort out the details, if you need to think of names for some mobsters he might ask or any questions in general about the Rp. This goes for everyone reading this, too.))

I shall contact you on AIM and we'll work this out.

*Sighs* Still waiting, man...

I'd also like to request a name change from La Cosa Nostra to This Thing of Ours.))

Sorry man. I thought that I PMed you. I reformated and no longer have AIM I have MSN. Thats about it right now.