" My tale is no different from those of many other fellas like me.
I laid my eyes on Bellavita way before prohibition dried America like an ol' moldy rag. They called it 'The city that never sleeps' - still do, actually, and for a reason: no downtown was ever under glossy lights as is Bellavita. T'was easy to get balled up by the roaring sound of the motors down the modern avenues. Man couldn't walk down the road without hearing some jolly din coming out from all the juice joints ahead. Bellavita, the swankiest jewel, a sweet fat pie where all the birds wanted their slice for good.
Didn't take too long to see that, under that shiny hood, something bad was shaking, like a dirty pig in its own mud.
Some would say that it's all the prohibition fault, that those damn mob wars came out of the blue 'cause of the booze. But they were always there: it only made the whole thing worse. And trust me, kid: sooner or later, anyone has to deal with them all, either you favor the ritzy Pangolinos or the brazen O'Cutters.
Because my tale is the very same tale of Bellavita itself; a place where, like it or not, you'll have to pick your side. "