“Don,” Steven said, bowing his head in respect. “It’s a pleasure. What brings you down here? Should I go get Sergio from the back?”
“No need,” Don Leone said as his eyes swept over to me. Roberto lingered just behind the Don, looking like he wanted to beat the crap out of the furniture. “I’m here to see your lieutenant.”
“Luca?” Steven asked.
“The one and only.” Don Leone took a step toward me. “How are you doing, Luca?”
“Very well, Don,” I said, bowing my head. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Come out from behind that table and let me look at you.”
I did as instructed and presented myself to the Don. My heart beat fast and sweat pooled under my arms.
Don Leone looked like a kind old Italian grandfather. His hair was getting whiter with age, and there were more lines around his eyes and mouth than I remembered from the last time I saw him nearly two years ago. He had olive skin, blue eyes, wore a comfortable sweater vest over a tucked-in white shirt and a pair of khaki slacks. His cane was a simple black with a silver handle at the top. He looked like any other old man in any Italian neighborhood in South Philly, which Luca kind of assumed was the point.
But Don Leone was a shark.
The man was a true player. He built the Leone Crime Family himself through years of brutal warfare and aggressive recruitment. He established one of the most robust and formidable mafias in the entire United States, and he did it almost entirely on his own.
He looked harmless and he scared the shit out of me.
And I’d been shot at. More than once.
I’d rather get shot at again than get stared down by Don Leone.
“I hear you’ve been busy,” Don Leone said.
“How so, sir?” I asked.
“The Jalisco.”
I suppressed my grimace. “They’ve been, uh, just a little problem,” I said.
Don Leone laughed like a kindly old grandfather.
“Oh, I think they’ve been more than a little problem,” he said. “We thought we squashed them, but two years later they’re already making waves.”
“We’ve been knocking them down faster than they can rebuild,” I said. “I think in a few more weeks, we’ll clear them out of the city for good.”
“Perhaps,” Don Leone said, bobbing his head up and down. “Perhaps that’s true. And I hear that has a lot to do with you and Steven.”
“And your son,” I said. “He’s been a big help.”
“Of course,” Don Leone said, gesturing dismissively. “But I hear you’ve killed… how many now?”
I glanced at Steven, just an instant, as my heart leapt in my chest. We weren’t supposed to talk about body counts, not with anyone outside of the crew, but this was Don Leone. Steven gave me the slightest nod.
“Twenty-three,” I said. “That I know of, at least.”
“Very impressive,” Don Leone said. “You’ve turned into quite the enforcer.”
I bowed my head again. “Thank you, Don,” I said.
“I have a job for you,” he said, his voice going flat and serious. “It’s going to seem like a small job, perhaps it’ll feel beneath you. But it’s an important job.”
“Anything for the family,” I said.
“Steven, would you mind if I borrowed him for a time?” Don Leone asked.
“Of course, Don,” Steven said. “Whatever you need.”
“Good.” Don Leone turned. “Come with us then, Luca. I think you’re going to like her.”
I frowned as Don Leone walked to the door. Roberto opened it for him, helped the Don out. I looked at Steven and he just shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Better go.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” I said, and followed after the Don.
He got into the back and Roberto gestured at the passenger side seat. I got up front as Roberto got behind the wheel, and we slid back out into the Philadelphia traffic, gliding down the narrow one-way streets, past red-bricked rowhomes, torn-up sidewalks broken for construction, past gnarled trees growing along too-small plots, past people walking fast, people walking slow, people laughing on their stoops and standing in small groups.
The living city, always growing, always morphing.
“What do you know about the Chicago families, Luca?” Don Leone asked me as the car turned and headed west.
“Not much,” I said. “I’ve never been there before.”
“Chicago has a very, very long tradition of crime,” Don Leone said. “When I began as a young man, I thought about going out there. But I decided I’d rather be a big fish in a small pond, and so here I am.”
“Now you’re a whale,” I said.
Don Leone gave me a small, tight smile as I looked at him in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t suppose you know who Fazio Pinto is,” Don Leone said.
“I don’t, sir.”
“No,” Don Leone said, turning to look out the window. “Of course not. Fazio was an important underboss in the Riva Family. He spent many years as the underboss, many, many years, nearly as many years as I’ve been head of the Leone Family. And do you know who his sister married?”