The driver of the black tinted Lincoln Town Car cut through the city streets like a true New Yorker. He dipped in and out of lanes, zipping through yellow lights and taking curves with aggression and finesse. But any casual observer would think he was lost, the way he squared blocks by making a series of right turns, until he was right back where he started. Or the way he would abruptly U-turn in the intersection, or suddenly pull to the side of the road on the Cross Bronx Expressway. But every maneuver was part of the plan to make sure they weren’t being tailed, and stretching a 20-minute ride from Manhattan to the Bronx into a two-hour adventure. But the evasion was well worth it. The man in the back would not stand for being tailed to a meeting as important as this. He didn’t even allow his people to say his name in idle conversation. They were to say “that guy” or “him,” or simply point their pinkie finger to signify the expensive pinkie rings he was known to wear. Any mention of his name was a death sentence. No reprieves. He was determined not to go down because his name was mentioned, so the driver knew what would happen if the Feds followed him to the meeting. He hated to think about it.
He pulled up to a small house in the Hunts Point section of the Bronx. A couple of other Lincolns and Mercedes were already parked.
“We’re here, Boss.”
“Everything clear, Jimmy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir.” Jimmy affirmed, knowing he had to show 100% confidence in his own abilities.
“Okay…Is it rainin’? I can’t tell through the fuckin’ tint.”
“No, Boss, it ain’t rainin’.”
“Eh, bring the umbrella anyway. You never know.”
Jimmy knew he wasn’t talking about rain. It was a last precaution, just in case any of the other Bosses were less careful than he was. Jimmy rounded the car, umbrella in hand. When he opened the car door, he opened the umbrella, thereby shielding the Boss from prying eyes.
The Boss, Salvatore Romano—or “Bill Sally,” his nickname since his bruiser days—rose to his full height of 6’4”. Even at 66, he still had the build of a linebacker, though good eating had given him a considerable paunch. Health-minded, he tried to watch what he ate and worked out three times a week. He wanted to be on top of his game in every way, because he said, “Everybody wants to be the Boss, but me…I just wanna be the best.”
And it showed. The Romano family was the second most powerful family in the country; second only to the Diamantis aka the Romanos hated archrivals. Before the Mafia war of the ‘70s, Vincenzo Diamanti and Salvatore Romano had been close. But greed, envy, and deception put them at each other's throats. The only thing that kept the fragile truce was the fact that they both loved money more than they hated each other. So the peace held on…
Until now, which was why the meeting had been called. As he walked the driveway, the 5’4” Jimmy struggled to keep the umbrella over Salvatore’s towering figure.
“Hey, Jimmy. Maybe if I carried ya, it’ll be easier, huh?”
“Sorry for not being taller, Boss.”
“You being a wise guy, Jimmy?”
“No, Boss.”
“Too bad,” Sal chuckled. “I like wise guys.”
By the time they got to the side door, a short, pudgy man with a receding hairline opened it and stepped aside.
“Nicky Four Eyes, c’mere. How you doin’, huh?” Sal greeted, as he stepped aside, giving Nicky a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “It’s been too long.”
“Hi ya, Sal. How are ya?” Nicky returned. “Everybody’s waiting for ya in the basement. Whatcha drinkin’?”
“Whatever you got,” Sal replied, as he descended the stairs.
Jimmy went upstairs to wait with the other soldiers, because they weren’t allowed in the basement during the meeting between the Bosses.
The basement was sparse yet neat. The floor was covered with an old, plain blue carpet. In a semicircle, several armchairs had been arranged. It was obvious that the chairs had to have been brought in to appease the ego of the Bosses. Each would be given a similar chair. Had an inferior chair been substituted and offered to one of them, that alone could be taken as a snub that could snowball disastrously.
Waiting for Sal was Joe “Joe Pro” Provenzano, the acting Boss of the Casini family, who stood for Sal when he came in a crossed the room to greet him.
“Big Sal, good to see you,” he gruffed in his trademark gravel toned voice.
Six feet and rail thin, it looked like Sal could wrap his arms around Joe Pro twice.
“Joe Pro, whaddya know, huh? It’s good to be seen,” Sal chuckled good-naturedly, then he looked to the man who didn’t stand to greet him.
Vincenzo Diamanti.
The two men sized each other up coldly.
“Vinnie,” Sal said in greeting with a slight nod.
“Sal,” Vincenzo begrudgingly returned, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching subtly.
“Have a seat will ya, Sal, so we can get started!” Joe Pro requested, and Sal obliged. Joe Pro slid to the edge of his seat and said, looking from one to the other. “I wanna thank you both for agreeing to this sit down. I called it because it pains my heart to see what’s going on. I’m almost 80 years old, almost older than the two of youse put together. I remember when both your fathers sat where you sit now. God bless their souls. I remember, ‘cause I’ve seen it all. Me and the Boss. The Boss is the last of the original Bosses. Luciano, Bonanno, we seen ‘em all. So I see where this thing is headed, and I wanna know what can we do to stop it…please.”
Sal leaned forward to take his drink from Nicky Four Eyes, who then headed back upstairs. He took a sip and said, “Uncle Joe, you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and Don Braza, but I did not start this…situation. This in an internal affair of the Diamantis, which I as a man of honor have become compelled to mediate for reasons already known. Now, blood has been spilled on both sides. But I’m a reasonable man. All I ask is that it be approved by the Commission for me to open the books to a man I’ve opened my home to. A solution, incidentally that would solve both Vincenzo’s and my problem,” Sal concluded.
Joe Pro nodded, then turned to Vincenzo.
“Vincenzo,” Joe Pro began, “I know the situation, and speaking on behalf of my Borgata, I have no objection to the Romano book being opened. But how do you feel about your son becoming a—”
Vincenzo cut him off.
“I…have…no…son,” he seethed.
Joe Pro dropped his head and raised his hands. “I meant no disrespect. But the fact still remains.”
Vincenzo tented his hands in front of himself and said, “It pains me to think such treachery would be condoned by a body as honorable as yours. An attempt was made on my life; a Boss, an act that demands the swiftest of justice. But not only are the culprits not pursued, but the only man to whom all fingers point is to be rewarded by my approval?”
Sal looked at Vincenzo and addressed him directly.
“Vincenzo, we have had our difficulties in the past, but I swear on my grandchildren that I had nothing to do with that. You must remember, that this man too—in the company of my own daughter—barely escaped an attempt on his life as well.”
“Vincenzo, as a member of the Romano family, Joey will be the responsibility of Salvatore. If anything were to happen, we will hold Sal responsible,” Joe Pro said to Vincenzo, then gave Sal a warning look that Sal accepted with a nod.
Vincenzo sat silently, then said, “If this man in question should become a problem…I will hold you both responsible.”
Joe Pro breathed a sigh of relief.
“So be it…now…can we renew the truce?”
Vincenzo slowly rose from his chair, followed by Sal. The two men stepped tentatively forward, then embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks. When they broke the embrace, Sal thought he saw a smirk on Vincenzo’s face, a smirk he knew all too well. It was the smirk Vincenzo wore whenever he had won. But Sal looked again, and it was gone.
Sal thought about it again as he got in the car a few minutes later. He prided himself on being astute, on picking up on the things others missed. But after assessing the situation, he shook it off.
“Hey, Jimmy. Stop at the phone booth will ya? Call Miami.”
“And say what, Boss?”
“Tell him…congratulations.”
Ten minutes later, Joey’s mobile phone rang. He was out on the patio of a high-rise condo overlooking Miami Beach. Several girls sat around the pool topless. When the phone rang, Joey’s boyfriend Enrico answered.
“Yeah,” Enrico said, nodded, then hung up. “He said, ‘congratulations.’”
Joey smiled and caressed his cheek. “C’mere and say ‘hello’ to the next Don.”
Joey pulled Enrico closely and kissed him sensually, causing Enrico to tingle all over. He hated that Joey could do that to him so easily.
Joey smiled at him, like he could read his mind, and he wore the smirk like a taunt.
“Everything is going according to plan,” Joey winked, then smacked Enrico on the ass and walked away.
Enrico watched him with a hate only love could muster. He had a plan, too—one Joey wasn’t planning for—and he contemplated it with a taunting smirk of his own. As he picked up the mobile phone, he thought about the chain of events that brought him there…