Peace reigns at last throughout LA under Don Anton Marconi, always with the hand of the East-Coast Di Capo famiglia steering him from the shadows. Some call it protection, others call it a shakedown. Either way, the foreign influence is getting harder and harder to ignore. Rumour has it that now even the Irish Mob have started to push in from the East.

Just in time for a mob wedding-- now with Johnny the Strangler freed during the LAX riots, Angela Di Capo is looking to make it official. The guest list reads like a who’s-who of every major player from Hollywood Boulevard to Brighton Beach—and at least two three-letter agencies would kill for copy. Underneath the cigarette smoke and perfume, everyone smells opportunity: a seat at the table, a chance to settle old scores, maybe even a cross-continent coup.

Dress code is black-tie optional—kevlar recommended.

Don’t forget. No guns, no photos, and as always: no fucking cops.