THE GLORY DAYS

Seven weeks after the "Cohen deal", Frank Vinci died of metastasized cancer of the colon. Everybody showed of course. Even a few ex-mayors and city councilmen. Leo spoke the eulogy and honest tears fell from his eyes. Even so, a day later, a meeting was held at the trucking company office, and me and the other capos unanimously voted Leo as the new Don.

1952 to 1958 was the best of the best, I guess. The Docks were paying off big time. We'd pull down three or four grand a month. Kaz never got greedy, so it just became standard practice for the insurance detectives to just "give up" and accept a certain amount of losses and write it off. Our operations in Las Venturas were paying off as well. Though the Leone Family and Sindacco Family still had some interests there, the Swan was the big draw. By 1953, we had also taken over the Fremont Hotel and El Montezuma, plus a few whorehouses outside of town.

My cut from the Docks was more money than I had ever seen as a simple "soldier". In 1952, I bought a house in Greenfield again. This time a little closer to town. My old lot (the house had been plowed down) was available, but I guess I was a little superstitious. The new one was a nice Colonial, two doors down from where me and Joe had hit that Angelo rat. It was much bigger than I needed, but something was coming up that made me feel like I was going to need a bigger place.

Lydia and I had grown very close. In fact, by Fall of 1952, I got her out of the Garden of Eden. Made her Wochesky's "secretary" down at the Docks, though she and I and Kaz knew that it was just another way to funnel cash out of the Docks. She proved pretty good at it too, keeping track of invoices that were "altered" and keeping the insurance dicks from getting wise. I figured she probably got us another one or two grand a month.

One night, lying in bed, I made my move. "Hey, Lyds," I started. She turned and looked over at me. "Already? Geezus, Vito, that's twice already and it's not even midnight." She moved closer. "You're insatiable." "Naw," I stopped her, "Well, not yet." I cleared my throat. "No, I was thinking…what would you think about getting married?" Her eyes widened and then she giggled, which turned into a guffaw. "Married?" she exclaimed, between laughs, "Christ, Vito. You don't marry a girl like me." "Why not?" She laughed, lighter this time. "I'm your goomah. I'm the girl you come to, when the cute little wifey back home is on the rag, or you need a blow-job and she's pissed because you're late for dinner or 'finds it disgusting'. You don't marry me, you …you 'keep me up'. In an apartment 'in town' with an 'allowance' or something."

I sat up. "Why the hell shouldn't I marry you?" She looked slightly surprised. I went on. "Hey, if I want some ditzy housewife who'll lay there and wonder when it's going to be over, I would have found one already. You're honest about liking to be nailed." She became serious. "Come on, Vito. What are you going to do? Join the country club up in Hillwood and bring your former whore wife along to the cocktail parties? Hell, half the guys you'd meet I'd have fucked or sucked." I pondered this for a moment. She went on. "You see me baking cookies for the PTA at Vito Junior's school… while the principal who banged me doggy-style for $20, looks on?" She smiled. "You're sweet, but I know who I am and what I am and I've made my peace with…being a piece."

I persisted. "No. No, fuck that shit. Some guy says something to you or to me at a fucking country club, I lay him out. And that principal can jerk off, remembering the good time that he'll never have again…cuz you're my wife now!" She smiled broadly. "Seriously?" "Hell, yes." Her eyes narrowed. "So you aren't going to mind being married to a ..slut…a tramp…a woman of 'easy virtue'?" I laughed. "You going to mind being married to a ..thug…a goon…a mad-dog killer?" She shook her head. "Me neither," I said. And we kissed, probably the longest romantic kiss we'd had up to then. Then we did it a third time and ultimately two more times until dawn.

The marriage was simple. Father Antonelli married us at Saint Crisogono's in Little Italy, my ma's church, on January 4th, 1953. My sister Frankie showed up. I wasn't sure she would. But it seems she finally had enough of that asshole husband of hers and knew I was right to have beaten the crap out of him. She told me she was leaving Eric and acted as Matron of Honor for Lydia, who didn't have any family. Leo and the boys showed, along with a few of the broads from the Garden of Eden. I later heard that Leo told any of the guys that if they cracked wise about Lydia or mentioned "being with her", that he would personally have Pepe bust their skulls.

Lydia wore white. We both figured we had enough hypocrisy between us in the eyes of the Church that what was one more. After the wedding, Leo sprang for our honeymoon, trip out to Las Venturas. Suite at the Swan, tour of the Grand Canyon, with side-trips to San Fiero and San Andreas. We were gone two weeks and when we got back, the girls at the cathouse had redecorated the bedroom of my house, again with Leo's cash, into a nice little bridal suite for Lydia. For all the world, you'd have just put us down as another middle class, ordinary married couple. The "Scalettas of 154 Oak Street." And not an ex-hooker and a gangster with dozens of murders to his "credit."

A year later, Lydia got pregnant. Well, technically, I should say "got pregnant and stayed that way". She'd had a half dozen abortions before. In fact, we kind of worried that she'd never get pregnant again because of them, but she did. On November 22nd, 1954, Antonio "Tony" Scaletta-II was born, named for my pop. He had my black hair, but Lydia's blue eyes. Strong little bastard too, bellowed out so loud when the doctor smacked his ass, I could hear it out in the waiting room of the Empire Bay Hospital maternity ward.

Two years after that, on May 3rd 1956, Maria Rebecca, "Becky", was born. Named after my ma and a friend of Lydia's. A real beauty. Got her mom's nose and red hair, and my eyes. Those eyes...still haunt me to the end of my days. She was my "little girl." Always was, even to her teenage years and ...

So there we were, one average American family in 1950s America. We even had a fucking dog. I'd pull in every evening, like any other "businessman" returning from "work". Wife would have the dinner on the table; kids playing in the yard, reading the newspaper and watching Arthur Godfrey or Steve Allen. Hell, I mowed the lawn on Saturday afternoons and talked with Bob across the yard. Told everybody I was in "account management and customer relations" for Leo's cover business "Vinci Trucking & Storage." Except for the beatings of rival mobsters, embezzlement, larcenies, bribery, and occassional murders...it was true.

By the way, when Tony went to Hillwood Academy, his principal was this guy named O'Malley. He'd been a regular "customer" of Lydia's back in the day. She recognized him and he recognized her the first day of school. He also recognized me. His uncle by marriage had been a torpedo in the Falcone mob. I'd taken him out at the Observatory that day. Principal O'Malley never said a fucking word, except to be EXTRA nice to me and "Mrs. Scaletta". I also think he may have gotten Tony a few As when he maybe would have gotten B grades. Everything was pretty sweet.

But the peaceful life isn't the life of the wiseguy. And things were in the works by 1957 and into 1958, that were about to see that whole thing turn upside down.