A/N: This is my first fanfic and the first piece of writing I've done in a few years. This idea popped into my head about a month ago and just wouldn't leave me alone. The story starts with a young Neal (Nico) and will progress from there.

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine, everything else is.

1985 – Palermo, Sicily

Carlo leaned his forehead against the locked door and sighed. It had been a long day. Up before dawn to haggle with the fishermen over prices of the fish he wanted, Carlo had spent the rest of the day in his small restaurant, serving locals and tourists their meals. It was after midnight and his last guests had just walked out the door. Marla, his wife, had stayed up with him, leaving only to run upstairs to their apartment to check on their sleeping son, Dominico. Sometimes it was nice to live above the restaurant. The convenience of the situation had long since made itself known.

"Caro mio," Marla said, startling Carlo. "Are you coming up to bed or would you like me to put a pillow on the door?" Marla was a slight woman with large, laughing blue eyes, a head of unruly chestnut curls, and a blindingly beautiful smile.

"Carlo?"

"Si, il mio amore, I'm coming. Just finishing locking up – I thought those people would never leave! Is Dominico still asleep?"

"Si, Nico still sleeps. And we should too."

Carlo went to his wife and pulled her into his arms. Marla kissed her husband and then nestled into him arms, head tucked under his chin. The radio was still on and a popular Italian love song was playing. Carlo and Marla swayed to the music, eyes closed, their love for one another evident. Neither heard their small son come down the stairs and into the room.

"Mama? Papa?" Dominico said, teddy bear in hand. "Paulo is thirsty," he said holding the stuffed animal up for his mother to see.

Marla smiled and walked to her son. "Paulo is thirsty? Well, let's get him some water then. Would you like a glass too, il mi cuore?"

"Si, per favore, Mama." Dominico smiled and scrambled up on a chair, Paulo the bear firmly in hand. Carlo smiled at his son. Born to the couple six years ago, Dominico looked more like his mother every day. His eyes were the same shade of blue, his hair the same unruly brown mass, and his smile, well, his smile was already getting him into trouble. Dominico had all of their neighbors wrapped around his little finger and had recently begun to charm the tourists who ate at his father's restaurant. Dominico, or Nico as people called him now, was the light of his father's life and everyone knew it. Carlo was walking over to his son when the front door crashed open.

Carlo whipped around and was confronted with three men, all carrying guns. His face blank for a moment with the shock, Carlo quickly recovered and pulled out the smile he usually reserved for difficult tourists.

"Pietro, Angelo, Diego. I'm sorry, but I've just closed up for the night." Carlo said.

For a moment, the three goons didn't say anything. They just stood there, guns raised, smirks on their faces. Finally, Diego spoke.

"As good as your lasagna is, Carlo, we are here for something else. Seems like you owe the Boss some money. We're here to collect."

Carlo winced and said, "Diego, I know I owe Senor Rossi money. I was going to come talk to him tomorrow afternoon. It's been slow here lately. It is the off-season and there aren't as many tourists. I don't…"

Diego cut him off. "Save it, Carlo. We've heard it before and the Boss doesn't care. If you hadn't been late last month too, we wouldn't be here. Or maybe we would. You are, after all, a Mancini. You're lucky the Boss let you buy the restaurant in the first place. You know how the Rossi Family and the Mancini Family feel about each other."

"Yes, I know. But I'm the 7th son of a 7th son and so far removed from the family business, I'm no threat. I want nothing to do with my father and my brothers. Mr. Rossi knows this and I've never given him reason to think otherwise."

"Yeah, that was true for awhile," Angelo sneered. "We had bigger pest problems than you when you first came to the Boss. Plus, we needed someone to run this place. But now, the Boss's nephew and his wife are in town and they need a place to live. So the Boss decided they could have your home."

Carlo paled. "My home? You're here to take my home? But…but…you can't do that! Where are we going to go?"

Diego stepped forward, gun still pointed at Carlo, and pulled the trigger. "Doesn't matter anymore," he said with a laugh.

Marla, who had been quiet since the three men broke in, screamed and ran toward her bleeding husband. "Carlo! Carlo! No!" She fell to her knees and cradled the dead man's head in her lap. "You animals," she screamed through her tears. "We…"

A second shot rang out, abruptly silencing the cry.

Diego looked at Angelo. Angelo looked blankly back.

"I can't stand it when women cry," was all Angelo offered. Diego stared a moment longer before looking back at the dead woman. That's when he noticed Dominico. He had silently moved from his chair across the room to where his parents now lay on the floor. He hadn't made a sound when either of his parents were killed and now just stood over them, shaking. Angelo swore and raised his gun again. Dominico raised his tear-filled blue eyes

"No," snapped Diego, pushing Angelo's arm down. "The Boss said not to touch the kid. He can be useful in our American operations."

Dominico raised his tear-filled blue eyes and stared hopelessly at the men.

Angelo shrugged and lowered his gun.

Diego told Angelo and Pietro to clean up the mess and then turned back to the silent boy. "You belong to the Boss now, you hear? Don't make any trouble and do what you're told to do, no questions asked." He then grabbed Dominico, slung him over his shoulder, and walked out into the night.

Dominico Mancini left Italy that night on a plane bound for Miami.