to the strongest….Alexander the Great’s Last Words
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Goodfellas 3: The Royals
TITLE: GOODFELLAS 3: THE ROYALS
WRITTEN BY: Joe Jukic & Martin Scorsese
DIRECTED BY: Martin Scorsese
FADE IN:
EXT. VANCOUVER – COMMERCIAL DRIVE – NIGHT
Rain glistens on neon signs. Italian flags hang from old brick storefronts. A Bentley idles at the curb.
JOE (V.O.)
You think you know power? You don’t. Not until you’ve seen Vancouver’s Italians sit down like kings… not gangsters—royalty.
INT. PRIVATE SOCIAL CLUB – NIGHT
Dark wood. Gold fixtures. Old men playing cards. Younger men watching silently.
At the head of the table:
JOE JUKIC (40s) – sharp, calm, dangerous.
VINCE MASTANDREA (50s) – old-school, calculating.
DOMINIC FERRARO (30s) – hot-headed, ambitious.
RITA PALADINO (40s) – elegant, cold, the real power in the room.
A bottle of red is poured.
VINCE
Italy’s weak. Politicians? Forget it. They sold the country piece by piece.
DOMINIC
So what—what are we now, saviors?
Joe leans forward.
JOE
No. We’re insurance.
Silence.
INT. BACK ROOM – SAME NIGHT
Maps spread across the table. Europe. Middle East.
A circle around Italy.
A line drawn to Eastern Europe.
RITA
Israel’s got the Samson option. You corner them, they burn everything down with them.
DOMINIC
That’s paranoia.
RITA (coldly)
That’s strategy.
Joe lights a cigarette.
JOE
So we get our own leverage.
VINCE
You’re talking about something that doesn’t exist for people like us.
Joe smirks.
JOE
Everything exists… if you know the right Russians.
CUT TO:
EXT. PORT OF VANCOUVER – NIGHT
Cargo containers. Fog rolls in.
A black SUV pulls up.
Russian men step out. Stone-faced.
Their leader: IVAN.
INT. SHIPPING CONTAINER – NIGHT
Dim light. A crate sits in the center.
Ivan opens it—inside, components. Not assembled. But unmistakable.
Dominic’s eyes widen.
DOMINIC
Holy—
Vince cuts him off.
VINCE
Don’t say it.
Joe steps closer.
JOE
What’s the price?
Ivan smiles faintly.
IVAN
Not money.
Beat.
IVAN (CONT’D)
Influence.
INT. SOCIAL CLUB – LATER
Tension in the room.
VINCE
You bring something like this into the world, there’s no going back.
DOMINIC
We’ll be untouchable.
RITA
Or erased.
Joe stands.
JOE
We’re already in it. You just haven’t admitted it yet.
MONTAGE:
— Money laundering through construction companies
— Politicians shaking hands quietly
— Encrypted calls
— Cargo moving across oceans
— Rita negotiating with European contacts
— Dominic losing control, getting violent
— Vince watching, worried
JOE (V.O.)
Power isn’t about pulling the trigger. It’s about making sure nobody else can.
INT. HIGH-RISE PENTHOUSE – NIGHT
City skyline behind them.
Dominic storms in.
DOMINIC
The Russians want more. They’re squeezing us!
VINCE
That’s what they do!
Dominic slams the table.
DOMINIC
Then we hit them first!
Rita stands slowly.
RITA
You don’t hit people who sell you the end of the world.
INT. PRIVATE DINING ROOM – NIGHT
Final meeting.
Joe. Ivan. Rita.
Wine untouched.
IVAN
You have what you asked for. Now we own a piece of everything you touch.
Joe leans in.
JOE
No. You own a piece of what we let you.
A long stare.
EXT. VANCOUVER – SUNRISE
The city wakes up, unaware.
INT. SOCIAL CLUB – DAY
Empty.
Joe sits alone.
JOE (V.O.)
In the end, it wasn’t about Italy… or Israel… or Russia.
Beat.
JOE (V.O.) (CONT’D)
It was about control. Who has it… and who thinks they do.
CUT TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD:
“POWER IS THE ONLY LANGUAGE.”
END
INT. ABANDONED AIRFIELD – NORTHERN ITALY – NIGHT
Cold fog rolls across cracked concrete. A massive cargo plane idles, its engines whining like something alive. The rear hatch lowers with a hydraulic groan.
Inside: a hulking, cylindrical shape—metallic, monstrous.
The SS-18 “SATAN” MISSILE.
A convoy of black Alfa Romeos pulls up. Doors slam.
YUGO JOE steps out first—calm, calculating. Behind him, DOMINIC FERRARO, intense, eyes locked on the cargo. Two figures emerge last: ALESSANDRA—sharp, political fire in her eyes—and SOPHIA, elegant, timeless, watching everything with quiet gravity.
From the shadows of the plane emerges IVAN—a towering Russian in a heavy coat, face carved from stone.
IVAN
(heavy accent)
You wanted the devil. I bring you the devil.
He gestures to the missile.
IVAN (CONT’D)
SS-18. NATO calls it “Satan.” Fitting, no?
Joe walks slowly toward it, studying the cold steel like a piece of art.
YUGO JOE
If Satan didn’t exist…
(turns, smirks)
men would’ve created him anyway.
A beat. Even Ivan cracks the faintest grin.
DOMINIC steps forward, running his hand along the missile’s surface like it’s a weapon and a promise.
DOMINIC
What’s the range?
IVAN
Anywhere you dream… or nightmare.
Dominic looks to Alessandra.
DOMINIC
Let’s make history.
She steps forward, pulling out a tablet—maps, coordinates, geopolitical fault lines glowing on the screen.
ALESSANDRA
You don’t make history by hesitating.
(points to screen)
You make it by choosing where the world bends.
Sophia watches her, then steps closer to Joe.
SOPHIA
(soft, but cutting)
Power like this… it never belongs to anyone. It just passes through.
Joe nods slightly, but doesn’t take his eyes off Dominic.
Dominic climbs a small ladder to the missile’s control interface, Alessandra joining him. She inputs coordinates with surgical precision.
A digital map flickers.
A targeting line extends… across the Mediterranean.
Landing point: ISRAEL.
The air thickens.
IVAN
(quietly, to Joe)
Once aimed… it changes everything.
Joe exhales slowly.
YUGO JOE
Everything’s already changed.
Dominic locks in the coordinates.
DOMINIC
Target acquired.
A long silence. Wind howls across the empty airfield.
Sophia closes her eyes briefly—whether in prayer or resignation, unclear.
Joe finally steps forward, voice low but absolute.
YUGO JOE
Nobody fires anything… unless they understand what comes next.
Dominic looks down from the ladder.
DOMINIC
And what comes next?
Joe meets his gaze.
YUGO JOE
The part nobody controls.
The missile sits there—silent, patient, apocalyptic.
Ivan lights a cigarette.
Alessandra stares at the glowing target.
Sophia looks at the horizon.
The world hangs… waiting.
CUT TO BLACK.
