All in the Family
Prologue
100 Sicilian
New York, 1941
You never got made unless you were one hundred percent genuine Sicilian. That was the way things worked. In the past, present and future. So it was no surprise that Lil' Joey Manucci was inducted as a soldato into one of the Five Families of New York. The Montefortes. For the past fifteen years, since Don Nicolas organized the family and assigned the caporegimes and his consigliere, they had competed for power with the others. Yet it was generally agreed that they were third strongest, behind only the Corleones and the Barzinis.
This power struggle was what had Joey Manucci out at seven in the morning meeting with a Corleone bookmaker in Brooklyn.
It was pouring rain as Joey banged on the door to the candy store that housed a gambling front.
"Hold on a minute," he heard from inside as heavy footsteps came close and a small slot opened. "Hey, Joey… Get your ass in here."
The door opened and 250 pound gambling man Billy Buzzo grabbed Joey in a rough bear hug and pulled him inside.
Joey pulled himself off. "Sorry for waking you up so early, but I got a problem. Some prick in Nassau is running bad spreads and taking some of our business, and not even giving us any tribute."
"Are you serious?" Billy asked, placing his hands on his wide hips. "Damn, come on back and we'll figure this out."
Joey did as he was told and followed, slowing only to clip the phone line on the wall in the process. Truthfully, the whole story was a lie, but Billy was never going to know that. He put his gloved hand into his jacket packet and gripped the .38 snub-nosed that his capo had given him for the job.
Billy sat down at a card table and rubbed his temples. "Fucking wise guys. Always giving me trouble, gonna make my ulcer flare up again. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah," Joey replied. And with that he withdrew the .38 and put two in ol' Billy's head. It wasn't personal, it was business. That was what Don Nicolas always said, and you know what?
Joey understood it perfectly.