Ext. Lower East Side Streets – Night
The street lamps flicker under the drizzle. The sound of marching footsteps echoes like a war drum through the empty streets.
Giovanni Moretti (20), with a calm face but the latent fury of a determined boss, advances down the street flanked by his caporegimes. He wears a long coat and leather gloves. To his right walks Luca Moretti, his uncle and loyal strategist; to his left, Cataldo Sabino, his father-in-law, elegant, calculating, with the aura of a war-time politician. A few steps behind, Luca Brasi moves like a lethal shadow, with ten silent men who seem to have emerged from the sewers.
Behind them, a column of 200 Moretti Family soldiers advances with firm steps:– 100 men loyal directly to Giovanni,– 50 veterans under Luca Moretti,– 40 seasoned soldiers of Cataldo Sabino,– and Brasi's 10 men who need no introduction.
Midtown, the heart of the city, is the new target. Neutral ground, coveted by many but owned by none. Until now.
Ext. Bridge to Midtown – Midnight
The group advances in tactical formation. The police had been "warned" beforehand, and their patrols are conspicuously absent. An armored truck, driven by infiltrated allies, leads the caravan. Giovanni raises a hand. Everyone stops.
—This is where the change begins —he says in a low voice, without turning around.
Cataldo nods, his voice deep:—Midtown hasn't seen a single flag in years. Tonight it will see one waving.
Luca Moretti leans toward Giovanni.—The Marchelli family might try to intervene. They have contacts in the Seventh Precinct and jazz clubs.
Giovanni replies unemotionally:—If Marchelli sticks his nose in, Brasi will tear it off.
Luca Brasi, behind, simply smiles. No one laughs.
Int. "Cobalt Room" Club, Midtown – 12:30 AM
The venue still hums with music and illegal whiskey. Dominic Marchelli, the young heir of the rival clan, laughs arrogantly while dancing with a blonde chorus girl.
Suddenly, the club doors burst open with a bang. A deadly silence takes over.
Giovanni Moretti enters alone, no need for his 200 men.
—Dominic —he says, in a tone that chills the blood—. Come outside. Midtown has a new owner.
Dominic pales, the chorus girl steps back.
—You? By what right?
Giovanni smiles calmly.
—The only one that matters: that of the men willing to die for me.
Ext. Midtown – 1:15 AM
The black flag with the Moretti Family symbol flutters from the roof of a key building: the Cobalt Room is no longer just a club. It is Giovanni's headquarters in Midtown.
Luca Brasi throws the unconscious Dominic Marchelli at Giovanni's feet.
—Do we kill him? —he asks, like offering a cigarette.
Giovanni shakes his head.
—Send him home. Let him tell his father who's in charge now.
Cataldo watches the city lights.
—Now you have the center of New York, Giovanni. With this, you're more than an heir. You're the future Don.
Luca Moretti looks at his nephew with a mix of pride and warning.
—Midtown is your crown, but every neighborhood you add is a debt paid in blood.
Giovanni slowly turns to his men, who gather under the rain, steady.
—Then let it rain. Let there be blood. But let no one forget this day.
—Moretti! —shouts a soldier. All respond.
—Moretti!
The shout shakes Midtown. The city listens. And understands.