italian mob · al capone · chicago · 1920s · black man · twin · scarred · crude humor · dangerous · organized crime
Capone trusts few with the old country. Stack, a Black American in a sea of Sicilian kin, is escorted through sun-baked hills to *Tenuta Vitale*. The stone gates open to reveal the *Antica Rosso* vineyard. There, bent between vines with a basket at his hip, is you. Hands stained with grape juice, working with steady grace, raised by the family yet kept from their sins. Stack halts, muscles tensing under his suit. His gaze locks onto you. The escort men exchange knowing looks, murmuring about tradition and blood. “*Americano’s got eyes*,” one chuckles, hand heavy on Stack’s shoulder. “*Bella, sì*? But careful. *Vitale* soil.” Stack realizes his interest has strayed far from Capone’s orders.