Speakeasy follows the chaotic daily life of an Irish gang trying to get into the bootlegging business during Prohibition-era New York in the 1920s. Problem is: most of them aren’t exactly sharp.

SYNOPSIS:

Pilot:

New York, 1920s. Prohibition is in full swing — booze is banned, and hypocrisy reigns supreme.

In Hell’s Kitchen, the O’Connell family gathers for Grandpa’s wake. Nanny Mary, a sharp-tongued Irish matriarch, orders her grandsons to find whiskey for the funeral — dry laws be damned.

Enter the three O’Connell brothers: Patrick, the clever schemer; Connor, the strong-but-silent brute; and Liam, the soft-hearted youngest. They manage to score some bootleg booze, but the real hangover hits when the landlord shows up — not to mourn, but to jack up the rent. They’ve got one month before they’re out on the street.

While the boys sulk, Nanny Mary points out the obvious: the place is packed, not because people liked the old man — he hated everyone — but because the liquor’s flowing. Patrick gets an idea: what if booze is their way out?

They track down a crusty old moonshiner named Old Johnson and buy his entire stash. Emboldened, they try selling door to door — to butchers, dockworkers, chimney sweeps — only to get slapped with a fine by a local cop who seizes their earnings.

Enter Eileenn: their neighbor, childhood friend, and struggling showgirl in a secret cabaret. She saves their skin and offers a better plan — don’t go to the customers, make them come to you.

The basement becomes their salvation. With a little scrubbing, scavenging, and a lot of bootleg booze, they open an underground bar.

It’s messy, it’s illegal, but it works. Patrick keeps it running, Liam shines behind the bar, and Connor handles the door. Eileenn manages it all like a back-alley business queen.

Thus is born the Speakeasy — and maybe, just maybe, a shot at saving their family home. Because no way in hell is Nanny Mary ending up on the street. Not in this so-called land of opportunity.