Build Up Your Family

[The Guru]

Thanks, I'll post my story tomorrow.

[WelcomeToLibertyCity]

Sounds good Guru. Hopefully I'll have a story up this week but it's hard. I'm having some trouble coming up with a story line for the Tattaglias.

[The Guru]

Okay. Also, maybe give an outline of the BUYF like BUYA gave information on what is going on. I think it would give it an ease to understand to proper allies, enemies and other stuff. Just a suggestion.

[Tyla]

I'm up for joining the Cuneo Family at the NY Truck Hub. I'll have a story up soon.

[WelcomeToLibertyCity]

There isn't really a guideline you have to follow, just like Build Up Your Gang. The only thing I can say is your stories must be in the 1940s or 1950s seeing as that was the reason Osric and myself created this, to have a BUY_ that was based during the time period of the 40s and 50s. The Godfather just seemed like a good theme because it fits into that timeline and would be interesting.

[Osric]

Not exactly the 40's and 50's. You can include stories set in the 60's and 70's(Godfather III's timeline) but the cap off is 1980. However, most of the gangs(The Five Families, Irish Mob, etc.) are from the 40's and 50's(Godfather I and II), so naturally the stories would be set in that time period.

[Build Up Your Family]

Osric

2nd Story

Corleone Family

$41

An ok story, I would've liked to have seen more description. It was on par with your last story, but you got a little more for this one because of length.

 

Tyla, Welcome to the family.

Edited August 15, 2009 by Build Up Your Family

[The Guru]

Hey guys, I'm sorry to say this but I would like to leave this game. I want to write my own stuff but thanks for making this.

[Build Up Your Family]

Guru

Removed

 

Come on guys, let's get more active and bring some life into this.

[Ciabatta]

I would like to be a part of the Cuneo family at the Jersey Milk Factory.

 

edit: Here is my story.

 

Episode 1: The Accountant

 

The door opened to the back office of the Jersey Milk Factory. Sally Bonsagna sat with his eyes focused on the composition notebook in front of him as the door closed behind the man who just walked in, Sally did not even bother to look up at who or what wandered in the office. The man standing before Sally’s desk was young, his hair jet-black and greased with pomade. He was wearing a short-sleeve white collared t-shirt with dark, wet spots signaling where the sweat marks were, suggesting he the outside realm of the milk factory office was sweltering. Sweat beads were crawling all over the young man’s face as he looked at Sally as he pushed his pencil across the paper of the notebook, scribbling down the names and numbers on a small piece of paper which sat next to his notebook.

 

The young man grunted to grab Sally’s attention, as Sally did not even bothered to motion at him at all.

 

“Yes Frank?” Sally asked as he continued to write in the notebook.

 

“We got a problem, chief.” Frank Palisi said to his superior, his tone sounded as if he was irritated at something.

 

Sally finally took his eyes away from the notebook and put the pencil in the crevice between his ear and head. He folded his hands and looked at his young protégé.

 

“What’s the problem?” Sally’s dialect was from Brooklyn, with an attitude and tone that was too reserved for a native of the area.

 

“The Stokes account,” Frank reported, staring at the now interested yet tired eyes of his boss. “The payments are slow. I just got a call from Abe on the Westside. He said that payments are not enough and the money would come in a few-“

 

“Tell ol’ Abey to break a few fingers,” Sally took the pencil from his ear and went back to his notebook. He took a moment away from his list of names and numbers and flipped a few pages back to the name, Bill Stokes. He erased the amount of $150 next to Stokes’ name and wrote $250. “and then tell ‘em that he now owes $250 by the end of next week. That’s all. This isn’t a charity, Frank. You know that.”

 

Frank watched Sally, stunned that he didn’t recognize or even take special attention to the Stokes account. He moved closer to Sally’s desk.

 

“It’s the Stokes account,” Frank told him, as his figure got closer in Sally’s peripheral vision. Sally threw his notebook on the table and looked at Frank now more irritated and annoyed then when he first walked in unannounced. He stared at Frank.

 

“You think I don’t f*ckin’ know that?” Sally asked. “I know who Bill Stokes is. I don’t give a goddamn about who he is or what raising the vig on this schmuck would mean for us. I want my money, Frank.” He leaned back in his decrepit leather chair, staring at the soldatto.

 

Frank looked at Sally who sat waiting for him to leave. “But Sally,” Frank tried to plead.

 

“I want his f*cking thumb broken by the time I go for lunch.” Sally said, pronouncing every word, talking through his teeth.

 

Frank darted towards the door when Sally finished his sentence. He was done second-guessing. Sally watched as the door closed behind Frank. Sally leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Kids,” He said to himself. He picked his notebook back up and started where he left off at the name Phil Draney. This figure he paid extra attention to unlike the rest. He studied the number, which sat across from the name: $3,000.

 

A telephone sat at the corner of his desk, he picked up the receiver and began spinning the dial. The phone rang after he spun each number he needed to dial the office of Phil Draney. The voice of a female came on the other end of the line, it was an unpleasant shrill with the implied hint of monotony behind her voice. “Phillip Draney’s office,” She said.

 

“Put me though to ol’ Phil, will ya? Could ya tell him it’s his accountant?”

Edited August 19, 2009 by Ciabatta