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Picture this. A young immigrant boy
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arrives in America with nothing but the
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clothes on his back. Within three
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decades, he becomes the most powerful
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criminal mastermind in American history,
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revolutionizing organized crime and
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creating a billiondoll empire that still
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influences the underworld today. But
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here's what they don't tell you in the
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movies. Lucky Luchiano didn't just break
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the law, he rewrote it. He turned murder
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into mathematics, chaos into corporate
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structure, and street thugs into CEOs of
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crime. How did a kid from Sicily become
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the architect of modern organized crime?
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And what dark secrets did he take to his
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grave that could rewrite everything we
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think we know about the American mafia?
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Transparency note. Before we dive in,
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here's something to keep in mind. This
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story blends documented history with
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dramatic storytelling to bring Lucky
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Luciano's world to life. Some of what
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you're about to hear comes straight from
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police files and court records. Other
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parts, well, they're how it might have
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happened based on the whispers and
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legends that surround his name. Here's
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my challenge to you. Watch the whole
1:26
story, then tell me in the comments
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which parts you think are cold, hard
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facts and which are Hollywood worthy
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Trust me, the truth might surprise you.
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Ready? Let's begin. The story begins.
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Salvator Lucania was born on November
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in Lara, Sicily. His family lived in a
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stone house with no running water,
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sharing two rooms with six children. His
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father, Antonio, worked in the sulfur
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mines, coming home each night covered in
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yellow dust that would never quite wash
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off. Young Salvatore would watch his
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father count the meager coins, never
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quite enough to fill their bellies. One
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night, Antonio gathered the family
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around their wooden table and spread out
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a crumpled letter. "America," he said,
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his eyes gleaming with hope. "In
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America, even a poor man can become
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rich." In 1906, the Lucania family
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crowded onto a ship bound for New York.
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9-year-old Salvatoreé spent the voyage
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in the ship's bowels, surrounded by the
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stench of sickness and desperation.
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But while other children cried, Salvator
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studied the men who seemed unaffected by
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the misery, the ones who played cards in
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the corner, taking money from desperate
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passengers. He memorized their faces,
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their gestures, the way they shuffled
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the deck. When the Statue of Liberty
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finally appeared through the fog,
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Salvatoreé didn't see a symbol of
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freedom. He saw a city full of marks
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waiting to be played. The education of a
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criminal. The lower east side of
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Manhattan was nothing like the America
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Antonio had dreamed of. The Lucanias
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crammed into a tenement apartment where
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the walls were so thin you could hear
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every argument, every beating, every
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desperate prayer in five different
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By age 10, Salvator, now calling himself
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Charlie to sound more American, had
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discovered his first hustle. He'd wait
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outside the public school and offer
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protection to Jewish kids getting beaten
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The price, a penny a day. Those who
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didn't pay found their books
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mysteriously missing, their lunch money
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One day, a skinny Jewish kid named Mia
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refused to pay. Charlie cornered him in
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an alley, ready to teach him a lesson.
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But Maya didn't cower. Instead, he
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pulled out a straight razor and smiled.
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"You want my penny? Come and take it.
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Charlie laughed. Here was someone who
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understood the game. They became
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Charlie providing the muscle. Maya the
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Together they ran dice games in the
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basement of Rosario's grocery store.
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Skimming enough off the top to buy sharp
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suits that made them look older than
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their 14 years. School became
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irrelevant. While his classmates learned
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arithmetic, Charlie was calculating odds
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and interest rates. His teacher, Miss
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Morrison, pulled him aside one day.
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"You're smart, Charles. You could be
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somebody important." "I already am
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somebody important," he replied,
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flashing a roll of bills. "The moment
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that changed everything came in 1916.
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Charlie, now 18, had graduated from dice
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games to Opium. He was moving product
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for Big Joe Masseria when the cops
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nabbed him. 6 months in the reformatory,
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but instead of breaking him, it was like
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sending him to criminal university.
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Inside, he met Frank Costello, who
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taught him a crucial lesson. The real
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money ain't in the crimes, kid. It's in
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organizing the criminals. Becoming
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lucky. By 1920, Charlie Luchiano was
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running with the most dangerous crew in
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New York. Prohibition had turned the
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city into a gold mine, and every gang
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wanted their peace. But the old mustache
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pets, the traditional Sicilian bosses,
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were stuck in the past, refusing to work
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with anyone who wasn't Sicilian,
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fighting ancient vendettas instead of
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making money. Charlie had bigger
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visions. In the back room of a speak
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easy on Malbury Street, he held court
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with an unusual group. Maya Lansky,
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Bugsy Seagull, Frank Costello, and Dutch
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Italians, Jews, Irish, it didn't matter.
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Money has no nationality, Charlie would
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say, raising his glass of bootleg
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whiskey. But vision without power is
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just dreaming. Charlie needed to climb
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the ladder. And that meant working for
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Joe, the boss, Miseria, one of the most
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powerful and paranoid crime lords in the
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city. Miseria liked Charlie's earning
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ability, but distrusted his modern
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ideas. The night that gave him his
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legendary nickname started like any
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other. October 16th, 1929.
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Charlie had just left a meeting when a
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black sedan pulled alongside.
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Mr. Marano wants to talk. They said
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Salvatore Marano was Miseria's rival and
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this wasn't an invitation. It was an
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abduction. They drove him to a warehouse
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on Staten Island. Three men worked him
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over for hours demanding he switch
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sides. Charlie spat blood and refused.
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Finally, Marenzano himself appeared,
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pulling out a knife. Last chance,
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Go [ __ ] yourself. The blade went in just
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below his left eye, carving down his
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cheek. They slashed his throat and
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dumped him on a beach, leaving him for
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dead. But Charlie Luciano had something
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they didn't count on. The devil's own
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luck. A cop found him at dawn, barely
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breathing, and rushed him to the
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hospital. When he woke up, his face
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wrapped in bandages. My Lansky was
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sitting beside his bed. The papers are
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calling you lucky Luchiano. Maya said,
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"Guy who cheated death." "Charlie, now
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lucky smiled through the pain. Let them
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think I'm lucky. But you and I know the
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truth. I'm just too stubborn to die.
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The Castella Lamaresi war. The attack on
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Lucky was just the opening shot. By
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1930, New York was a war zone. The
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Castellamares war between Maseria and
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Maranzano was painting the streets red.
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Bodies dropped daily in barber shops,
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restaurants, even churches. The old
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rules were dead. Lucky played the loyal
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soldier to Masyria, but behind closed
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doors, he was orchestrating something
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Secret meetings in Atlantic City brought
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together the young Turks of organized
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crime. The topic, how to end the war and
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restructure the entire underworld.
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The old men are dinosaurs, Lucky told
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the assembled group. They're so busy
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fighting each other, they can't see the
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We're sitting on a gold mine and they're
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arguing over pebbles.
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The plan was audacious. Remove both
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Maseria and Maranzano, then create
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something new, a commission, like a
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board of directors for crime. No more
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boss of all bosses. Instead, cooperation
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Lucky invited Maseria to lunch at Nova
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Vietaro in Coney Island, they ate
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lobster and drank wine, discussing
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business. After the meal, Lucky
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suggested a card game. As they played,
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Lucky excused himself to the bathroom.
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He was washing his hands when he heard
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the shots. Four gunmen had entered and
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filled Maseria with lead.
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When Lucky returned, his boss was face
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down in his spaghetti. The ace of spades
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clutched in his dead hand. "Terrible
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thing," Lucky told the police. "I was in
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the bathroom. Didn't see nothing." With
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Maseria dead, Maranzano declared himself
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boss of all bosses. He summoned Lucky
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and made him his left tenant. But Lucky
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knew this was temporary. Marenzano had
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already drawn up a death list and Ly's
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name was on it. September 10th, 1931,
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four men dressed as tax agents entered
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Marano's Park Avenue office. They showed
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badges, said they needed to discuss his
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taxes. Maranzano's bodyguards, not
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wanting trouble with the government, let
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them pass. The moment the door closed,
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the agents pulled out guns and knives.
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Maranzano fought back. He was old
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school, tough as nails, but four against
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one wasn't a fair fight. They left him
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with six bullet wounds and multiple stab
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wounds. Lucky got the call while playing
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cards at the Waldorf Atoria.
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It's done, the voice said. What a shame,
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Lucky replied, not missing a beat in his
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game. He seemed like such a nice man.
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the commission. With both old bosses
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dead, Lucky called a meeting that would
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change organized crime forever. The
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location was a hotel in Chicago, neutral
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territory. The attendees included
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representatives from every major crime
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family in America. Lucky stood before
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them, a young man addressing killers
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Gentlemen, we can keep killing each
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other or we can get rich together. I
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propose something new. No more boss of
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all bosses. Instead, a commission. Each
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family keeps their territory, their
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But we coordinate. We settle disputes
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with votes, not bullets. The room
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erupted. Some called him crazy. Others
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saw the genius. Al Capone's
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representative leaned forward. "And who
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runs this commission?" "Nobody runs it,"
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Lucky replied. "We run it together. Like
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a corporation, board of directors,
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everyone gets a vote." It took hours of
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negotiation. But by dawn, they had an
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agreement. The commission would include
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the five families of New York, plus
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Chicago, Buffalo, and other major
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cities. Rules were established. No
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killing without commission approval. No
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musling in on another family's
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territory. And most importantly, keep a
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low profile. Under Ly's system, the
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chaos became order. Territories were
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mapped out like sales districts.
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Disputes went to sitdowns instead of
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Murder Incorporated was formed as the
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enforcement arm. Killing became a
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business service, complete with price
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lists and pension plans for the shooters
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families. The money flowed like water.
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Bootlegging, gambling, labor unions,
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construction. Every racket was organized
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and optimized. Lucky pioneered new
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ventures. Narcotics from the Far East,
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casino operations in Cuba, even
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legitimate businesses as fronts. By
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1935, Lucky Luciano was the de facto
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king of the underworld, running an
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empire that grossed hundreds of millions
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annually. He lived in a suite at the
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Waldorf Atoria, wore $500 suits, and had
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judges and politicians on his payroll.
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But success made him visible, and
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visibility in his business was
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The downfall, Thomas E. Duey was
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everything Lucky wasn't. Born into
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privilege, educated at Colombia,
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ambitious for political power. As New
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York's special prosecutor, Dwey needed a
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big win to launch his career. He set his
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sights on Lucky Luchiano.
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The problem was proving anything. Lucky
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had insulated himself perfectly. He
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never touched drugs or money directly,
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never gave orders that could be traced
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back. His legitimate front was as a
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sales executive for a furniture company.
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On paper, he was clean. Dwey got
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creative. If he couldn't nail Lucky for
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murder or narcotics, he'd get him for
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something else. His investigators
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started pressuring Madams and
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prostitutes, building a case that Lucky
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was secretly running a massive
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prostitution ring. The trial in 1936 was
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a sensation. Witness after witness
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testified that Lucky was the hidden boss
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of New York's brothel.
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Nancy Presser, a madam, claimed Lucky
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had personally threatened her. Koko
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Brown described meetings where Lucky
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supposedly gave orders about the
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prostitution business. Lucky sat in
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court, immaculate in his tailored suit,
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showing no emotion as the testimony
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piled up. His lawyer, George Morton
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Levy, tried to poke holes in the
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stories, pointing out inconsistencies,
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but the damage was done. The jury
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deliberated for just 6 hours, guilty on
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all 62 counts. The judge sentenced Lucky
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to 30 to 50 years, effectively a life
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sentence. As they led him away in
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handcuffs, Lucky turned to Myolansky.
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"Take care of things," he said simply.
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Even heading to prison, he was still
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thinking like a CEO.
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The deal with the devil. Danora prison
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was known as Siberia.
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Isolated in upstate New York. Brutal
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winters, harder guards. But Lucky
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adapted. He got a job in the prison
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laundry and soon was running it like one
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of his old operations.
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Guards were bribed, special privileges
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arranged. His cell became an office
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where he continued to run his empire
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through coded messages and visiting
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Then came December 7th, 1941.
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Pearl Harbor. America was at war and the
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government had a problem. The New York
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waterfront was vital for the war effort,
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but it was controlled by the mob. Ships
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were being delayed by strikes, cargo was
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disappearing, and there were fears of
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sabotage. The burning of the SS Normandy
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in February 1942 was the last straw. The
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luxury liner being converted for
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military use mysteriously caught fire at
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its Manhattan pier. Whether it was
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sabotage or accident didn't matter. The
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Navy was spooked. Commander Charles
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Hendon of Naval Intelligence made a
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radical proposal. Reach out to Lucky
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His superiors thought he was crazy, but
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desperation won. Through Ly's lawyer,
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contact was made. The meeting took place
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in a prison conference room. Naval
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officers in uniform sat across from
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America's most notorious criminal. The
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deal was simple. Lucky would guarantee
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no sabotage on the docks and provide
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intelligence about potential threats. In
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return, they'd consider his help when
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reviewing his sentence. Lucky didn't
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I'm an American, he said. America's been
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good to me. You got a deal. The results
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were immediate. Labor troubles vanished.
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Cargo moved efficiently. The mob's
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network became America's eyes and ears
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on the waterfront. Some reports even
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suggest Ly's Sicilian contacts provided
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intelligence for the invasion of Italy,
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though the Navy would never confirm
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this. When the war ended, Ly's lawyer
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petitioned for his release. On January
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3rd, 1946, Governor Thomas E. Dwey, the
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same man who had prosecuted him,
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commuted his sentence. The condition,
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immediate deportation to Italy. Exile
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and empire. February 9th, 1946.
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Lucky Luciano walked out of prison and
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straight onto a ship bound for Italy.
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Hundreds came to see him off. Reporters,
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curiosity seekers, and wise guys paying
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respects to the boss. As the ship pulled
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away, Lucky stood on deck, watching
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America disappear. But exile couldn't
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contain Lucky Luciano.
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From his new base in Naples, he
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continued to run his American
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Using coded telegrams and trusted
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messengers, he stayed in control. The
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commission still looked to him for major
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decisions. In October 1946,
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Lucky made his move. He flew to Cuba
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just 90 mi from America. The Havana
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Conference brought together every major
20:01
figure in organized crime. For one week,
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the Hotel National became the unofficial
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capital of the underworld.
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The agenda was ambitious. Expansion into
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Las Vegas, narcotics routes from Europe,
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casino operations in Cuba. Lucky
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presided over it all. The exiled king
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holding court. Frank Sinatra provided
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the entertainment, performing private
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shows for the assembled mobsters. But
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the US government was watching. They
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pressured Cuba to expel Lucky,
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threatening to cut off medical supplies.
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By February 1947, he was back in Italy.
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But the plans made in Havana would shape
20:45
organized crime for decades.
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Lucky settled into a villa overlooking
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the Bay of Naples, living like a deposed
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monarch. He had girlfriends, threw
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lavish parties, and met with visiting
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mobsters who came to pay tribute. But
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those who knew him said he was never the
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same. America was in his blood, and
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exile was a slow death. On January 26th,
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Lucky went to the Naples airport to meet
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an American film producer interested in
21:20
his life story. As he waited in the
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terminal, he suddenly clutched his chest
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and collapsed. By the time the ambulance
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arrived, Charles Lucky Luchiano was
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dead. Heart attack, the doctor said,
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natural causes. But in the world he
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created, nothing was ever that simple.
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Some whispered about poison, about
21:44
enemies who wanted to ensure his secrets
21:47
died with him. The film producer was
21:50
never identified. The briefcase Lucky
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was carrying disappeared.
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Lucky Luchiano transformed organized
22:00
crime from a collection of neighborhood
22:02
thugs into a sophisticated multi-billion
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dollar enterprise that operates to this
22:08
day. The commission he created survived
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for decades. The rules he established
22:14
became the code of the American mafia.
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Every mobster who came after him
22:20
operated in the world he built. So
22:23
here's my challenge to you. Watch this
22:26
video again and tell me in the comments
22:29
which parts do you think were straight
22:31
from the history books and which parts
22:33
were Hollywood worthy dramatization?
22:36
What was fact and what was enhanced
22:39
storytelling? Did Lucky really eat
22:41
lobster with miseria before his murder?
22:44
Was the Ace of Spades really in his
22:47
hand? Did naval officers actually sit
22:50
across from Lucky in prison? Some of
22:52
these details are documented fact.
22:55
Others, well, that's for you to figure
22:57
out. Drop your guesses in the comments
22:59
below. And here's the thing. Next week,
23:03
I'll reveal which parts were 100%
23:06
verified history and which were dramatic
23:10
You might be surprised by the truth. If
23:13
you love stories where fact and fiction
23:15
blur into something unforgettable, hit
23:18
that subscribe button and ring the
23:21
notification bell because the
23:23
underworld's greatest stories are
23:25
waiting to be told. And remember, in the
23:29
world of organized crime, the most
23:31
dangerous secrets are often hiding in
23:34
plain sight. Until next time, keep
23:37
questioning everything.