Thread: Bright Young Thing ::: {Prince of Smut & Ariamella}

RE Bright Young Thing Prince Ariamella IMG150x112 Lucca Carbone Lefty! Lucca Carbone was adjusting his tie in the mirror and scowled at both the interruption and the use of his nickname. It was starting to bother him, reminding him too much of his days as just another penniless Italian kid growing up in Chicago's South Side. There hadn't been too many other left handers in his neighborhood and he had been very good at stickball, so the name Lefty had easily stuck. For many years he had embraced being Lefty, that scrappy kid who was a little different but very good at what he did, but now... Lucca glanced at himself one more time in the mirror. Black hair and brown eyes were paired with classic Italian features, a strong jaw and a nose that perhaps was a touch too big. He knew he was very handsome despite that nose, at least based on how the dolls clung to his arms at any chance. He was no longer a skinny kid, but had grown into a brawny man almost thirty and still fit like a youth. He hadn't given in to the pasta, wine and cannolis that were turning his peers into paunchy middle aged men as soon as they hit thirty. No, Lucca was still a dangerous man, in his prime and with his fortune still rising. A quick check of his clothes was reminder enough that Lucca had amassed quite a bit of fortune already. The three piece, chalk striped dark suit he wore tonight cost 100. His polished leather shoes and spats were 30. And on the other end of his body, his dark, flat brimmed hat with a white ribbon accent was a 20 custom piece made of the highest quality felt. Clothes like this would have cost his single mother her entire annual income as a seamstress when Lucca was a kid. Now he could afford a dozen outfits just like this one. Lucca had certainly come a long way from being Lefty from the neighborhood. Perhaps it was time to erase that nickname and make sure everyone recognized him for who he was, one of Al Capone's most trusted and feared capos. A man so valued that he managed Capone's violent and contentious Northern neighborhood, the spearhead of Capone's expansion to the North Side. Lucca was young and the older capos resented his success. He suspected they liked calling him Lefty to remind him that he was in their eyes still a kid. No one dared call Capone by his old nicknames after all, not even his closest friends. It was something to think about. Mr. Carbone, he snapped back without bothering to look. Only one of his crew could have gotten past the guards at the door to the private wash room he had been dressing inside. And knock next time or I'll cut your ear off. A startled, confused silence came and then a sputtering, fearful apology. I'm truly sorry Lefty.. I didn't mean to be rude... I mean Mr. Carbone, sorry Mr. Carbone... S-sorry! Skinny sent me in here all urgent, said the man. Lucca turned and gave him a sour look. It was Frank, or Frankie, really a boy still and new to the crew. A good person to start retraining to respect him correctly. Frankie was fidgeting, hat being crushed nervously in his hands as he stared at the floor. Yes sir, Skinny said to tell you that he's seen her. Some doll he said he told you about last week... she's at the roulette table! Lucca waved Frankie out and frowned. Skinny had mentioned a good looking broad that had frequent and suspicious runs of luck at games like roulette and craps where she couldn't count cards. Even more suspicious, he'd mentioned that she'd ducked out before a raid at two other gambling dens. Lucca knew that anyone could get lucky, but the tidbit on her leaving before raids was why he had asked Skinny to flag her if he ever saw her again. The new federal task force that moved into town last year, the gangbusters had been hitting hard and causing his profit margin to go down. They'd managed to pick out a crew of cops that weren't corrupt and every gangster in Chicago had been trying to figure out who their informants were and whether they had any moles. This dame was definitely worth a conversation, not that Lefty ever minded chatting with pretty dolls. Placing his hat on his head, Lucca opened the door and smiled as he entered the smoky, noisy din of the gambling room. The music was nice, a high class jazz band playing in the corner as always, but what he really enjoyed hearing was the noise of the crowd. The low rumble of conversation punctuated by shouts of joy, or exasperation, from the gamblers, roars from the craps table, the clink of glasses as the patrons drank, and the hum of energy from a hundred people buzzing with pleasure and escapism. The sweet sounds of Lefty making money.