COSA NOSTRA COLLECTION Pt. II REVIEW

Newspaper clippings litter the floor like remnants of crime scenes—each one a phantom of the days when the Cosa Nostra loomed as large as the U.S. government. That was the backdrop. The vibe. A day before filming the Cosa Nostra Collection, we queued up a scene from “Fortunate Son,” an episode of The Sopranos, not just for inspiration, but to nail the mood. Pulling real references, building something grounded in blood, loyalty, and the weight of silence. Tony savors the moment like he’s the one getting made. You can feel it. He’s been there. He is that guy. So when he mutters, “Oh, here he is,” it lands—raw, knowing, restrained. That moment when Chrissy walks in, he says, “This is it,” and the wise guys just chuckle, we felt that. He couldn’t wait. Neither could we. This collection has been brewing for years. And now, finally, we were ready to pull the trigger. At the time of filming, there was no hesitation. We moved as one — an organization, a family, built not by birth but by bloodless vows. We had ambitions of mimicking it all: the finger pricking, the saint card set aflame, and when Chrissy sighted the raven which he’d interpret as a bad omen. However, when we lit the saint card the flame wouldn’t hold and that’s when superstitions came to play; when you’ve built what we have, a blood oath is redundant that was enough reason for us not to. Disagreements? Sure. They come with the territory. But they’ve never stood in our way. More often than not, the whole team put Quintessential Arts before everything else like some unspoken law we all lived by. No speeches. No declarations. It was already known, a thing of honour. But the collection wasn’t just about ceremony — it was about pressure, silence, control. The kind of silence that doesn’t just protect, but poisons. The kind of pressure that comes from institutions that want to see you broken—like the Valachi hearings, where omertà began to crack. Società Foggiana: A Sonical Signature, the Cosa Nostra Collection’s auditory counterpart does a hell of a job translating that into sound—dense, vintage, raw. It's not for the faint of heart. This collection? It’s levels beyond style. It’s commentary, a tribute to the dark glamour of organized chaos and to what it means to stay loyal, even when everything around you burns.