The Amazing Son in Law The Charismatic Charlie Wade

As Charlie spoke, a plan crystallized in his mind.

Having been in New York for this long, certain issues demanded a thorough resolution. With the Zano family’s reach extending into Chinatown, encompassing Hogan’s decades of hard work, there was no room for self-restraint.

He turned to Jordan, his tone resolute, “Jordan, change into those chef’s clothes and join me.”

Jordan’s gaze darted to the five imposing figures of the Burning Angels. “Mr. Wade, what about them?” he inquired urgently.

“Dispatch them, one bullet at a time. Make every shot count,” Charlie affirmed, a steely determination in his voice. The five stood, trembling with fear. They never fathomed that the once-bullied cook, who wouldn’t even dare to breathe too loud, now harbored a resolute intent to end them all.

Witnessing Jordan’s unwavering resolve, Charlie’s smile curled slightly. “It’s premature to end them now. Let Uncle Hogan and Casey Vigo keep a close watch. Once their affairs conclude, we’ll revisit this,” he advised.

Hogan wasted no time, seeking guidance, “Master, what’s your strategy? Is there something I should tend to?”

Charlie’s grin persisted. “No, Uncle Hogan. When Jordan and I depart, lock up shop and await our return. Should any trouble arise, and someone with a keen eye stirs up strife, use these five as leverage and summon Micheala immediately.”

In New York, there was nothing beyond Michaela’s grasp. Not just some gangsters, even the Zano family paled before her. Yet, Jagoan preferred not to invoke her aid. Her intervention would dampen the intrigue of the matter. Still, he recognized his limitations. Taking Jordan to meet the Zano family meant fortifying the roast goose shop against potential threats from other Burning Angel members.

Jagoan’s intention promptly and nodded in approval. Jagoan then turned to Casey Vigo, inquiring, “You’ve been in New York for years. What’s your intel

the mafia, boasting a significant populace. I’d

turning to Hogan. “I’ll take Jordan to the Zano Manor. If all goes well, I’ll

caution, Young Master,”

***

Zano family, hailing from Sicily, had lorded over New York for decades. Deeply entrenched in the mafia legacy, they held an enduring relic from

relocated from Sicily to New York, established their dominion in the American underworld, brandishing the Thompson submachine gun, often called the Chicago typewriter. Until recently, the gun adorned the main hall of Zano Manor, at position C. Only with the new generation’s decision to cleanse their reputation did it descend from

entities. Behind the vest-clad gangs, they

endeavored to shed their old image and cozy up to the upper

but a lavatory that could stand A openly, immaculate and odorless. The traditional Mafia was akin to the former—a dirty, pungent chamber pot. Antonio sought to guide the Zano family’s evolution from chamber pots to pristine,

grace their halls. This

from France adorned it, alongside the finest crystal and silverware. Forty-seven-year-old Antonio observed, with

and spouses, all impeccably attired, lined up to extend their greetings. Antonio embodied the role of a patriarch, warmly welcoming each member. Once nearly all the

replied promptly, “Brother, I