Ext. SoHo Streets – Night
A cold mist blankets the narrow red-brick streets. Gas lamps flicker weakly, casting elongated shadows.
Peter Clemenza (22), sharp-eyed and hardened by the neighborhood's rough life, stops beside Luca Brasi (24)—burly, with a cold expression that barely hides his nervous energy.
Both wear simple but ready-for-action clothes: dark coats, rolled-up sleeves, and hidden pistols.
Clemenza surveys his group of thirty young, hardened men.
CLEMENZATonight, we show who rules SoHo. No one walks away if they don't respect us. Understood?
A murmur of affirmation.
Luca grips his pistol tightly, the tension making his skin prickle.
LUCANo mistakes. We can't afford to look weak.
Cut to:
Int. SoHo Tavern
A group of young Irishmen, caught off guard, prepare to defend their turf. They exchange nervous glances—some duck behind tables and barrels.
Clemenza and Luca lead the entrance with resolve.
CLEMENZAThis is Moretti. Surrender or fall.
An explosion of restrained violence: fists, shouts, gunfire. The youth and drive of the Moretti men give them the upper hand—but they fight with order and control.
Cut to:
Ext. Tribeca Streets – Early Morning
The operation continues. Clemenza and Luca's men move like a disciplined force, securing every corner.
Luca Brasi, despite his youth, commands respect with sheer presence.
Clemenza grins with brutal satisfaction—this is just the first of many battles.
Cut to:
Ext. Bowery – Sunrise
First light bathes a Moretti flag now flying above a key building.
From a dark car, Giovanni Moretti watches the signal of conquest with a mix of pride and concern.
He knows this is just the beginning.
Ext. SoHo Streets – Midnight
The city sleeps, but SoHo is tense. A light fog mixes with chimney smoke and the flicker of gaslights. Brick buildings and artists' workshops stand silent, save for the distant sound of horse hooves and wooden wheels.
A group of men emerges from the shadows: Clemenza, agile and decisive, gives orders to thirty armed men. Beside him, Luca Brasi, more solid and serious, checks weapons and keeps discipline tight.
Clemenza points at a workshop where a few Irish guards linger.
CLEMENZAFast and hard. No second thoughts. Respect comes with blood, if it must.
Luca nods, face unreadable.
LUCAWe don't want useless deaths—but if they fight back... they'll regret it.
Ext. SoHo Workshop – Minutes Later
The door is kicked in. Yellow light spills over stunned faces. Some grab pipes and wooden sticks.
CLEMENZAMoretti! This neighborhood's ours now.
An older Irishman raises a bat—but Luca steps in and knocks him out cold. Chaos erupts.
Bullets slice the air, tables crash, and screams echo in the cramped space.
Clemenza moves fast, dodges a blow, fires a shot in the air to restore control.
CLEMENZAShut up and drink with us—or fight and die!
One by one, the Irish are subdued or flee.
Ext. SoHo Streets – Moments Later
The Moretti gang now controls the main corners, painting "Moretti Rules" on walls.
Clemenza gives rapid orders:
CLEMENZASplit in two groups. One watches, the other finds allies in bars and taverns.
Luca leads the watch patrol, alert and calm.
LUCANo one gets in or out without our word.
Ext. Tribeca Tavern – Hour Before Dawn
Clemenza and Luca enter a tavern where Irish remnants are regrouping. The door swings open with no ceremony.
CLEMENZAYour time's up.
Inside, Irishmen grab makeshift weapons. Tension bursts instantly.
Luca grabs the first to react, slams him through a table.
LUCA(coldly)No more turf wars. Follow Moretti's law—or die.
His words land like a death sentence.
Ext. Bowery Streets – Sunrise
The sun slowly rises, bathing the streets in orange. Moretti flags are raised.
Clemenza watches his exhausted but triumphant men.
CLEMENZAWe took turf today. Tomorrow—we earn respect.
Luca approaches, wiping blood from a cheek wound.
LUCAGiovanni's expecting results. We can't let him down.
Clemenza nods, eyes on the horizon. The dream of an empire begins to take shape.
Int. Don Salvatore Moretti's Office – Afternoon
The room smells of old wood and cigar smoke. A large mahogany desk dominates the center.
Behind it, Don Salvatore Moretti (55)—authoritative, stern—listens intently.
Across from him stands his son, Giovanni Moretti (20), young and sharp, bearing the burden of an heir rising.
DON SALVATOREYou've done well, son. SoHo, Tribeca, Bowery—they're Moretti now. But territory is more than buildings—it's people, loyalty, control.
Giovanni nods, fully aware.
GIOVANNII've thought of that. With the father's blessing, I'll divide the lands among our trusted men. Clemenza takes SoHo, Tessio runs Tribeca, and Luca watches over Bowery.
Don Salvatore presses his lips, nods.
DON SALVATOREGood. But remember—results matter. I don't want ego or betrayal.
Giovanni pulls a worn map, points at the Lower East Side, where Giuseppe Rinaldi holds a key, though small, district.
GIOVANNII plan a trade. Giuseppe gives that block to Clemenza. In return, we give him Bowery.
Don Salvatore narrows his eyes.
DON SALVATORERinaldi's ambitious—but loyal. If he thinks this strengthens him, use it. But watch his hands.
GIOVANNI(confident)I'll handle it personally. This move strengthens the family—no fractures.
Don Salvatore stands, walks over, places a firm hand on Giovanni's shoulder.
DON SALVATOREThen it's decided. You're a good leader, son. Keep that cool head and strong heart.
Giovanni feels the weight of trust and power—a step closer to his destiny.
Ext. Lower East Side – Night
Giovanni walks calmly, flanked by Luca Moretti, his uncle and caporegime. They reach Giuseppe Rinaldi's turf—Rinaldi, older and calculating, waits.
Giovanni extends his hand respectfully.
GIOVANNIGiuseppe, I know this move may feel sudden—but it's for the good of the family. Bowery strengthens your hand, and Clemenza gets the East Side to root deeper.
Rinaldi eyes the city around him.
RINALDIIf this unites Moretti—I'll accept. But betray me, and I won't be merciful.
Luca smirks with that subtle threat only Morettis know.
LUCANo one defies the Don—or Giovanni—and lives to tell it.