I was nine years old when my father took me to see the classic mob movie Goodfellas. As we sat there in the dim glow of the theater, his voice dipped low and filled with pride. “This is the neighborhood I grew up in,” he whispered”. “I know all these guys.”

The screen flickered with images of power—untouchable men, draped in respect and power—and for a kid like me, it was mesmerizing.

With divorced parents, I lived two lives. On weekends, with my father, I was pulled into a world that felt like it was straight out of the movies. One moment, we’d be pulling up to the hottest South Florida restaurants in his friend’s Rolls Royce.

Next, I’d be sitting in the back of a grimy social club. Surrounded by smoke, poker chips clinking against the table, and conversations that felt as dangerous as they were thrilling.