KD's message: Apologies for the delay in updating the story! Work and medical commitments being what they are. Please note - I will TRY to have the next chapter up by the beginning of next week (19 June). However, I may be away for up to three weeks due to a work trip that will require me to be out of town for about two weeks. So if you don't see a weekly update through June, don't worry. I'll be back after 4 July. Please read and review (if desired). Thanks!


Chapter 13: Metanoia, Part 2

The following morning, Mario sat on a navy blue chair in the crowded airport concourse at LaGuardia Airport, waiting for his nearly four-hour flight to Denver International Airport. The Army was cheap, even with weekend Special Forces soldiers; thankfully, a few buddies stationed in Colorado Springs would come pick him up and make the two-hour drive down to annual training. Sitting straight in the chair so as to avoid too many wrinkles in his duty uniform, he tried to relax and review his orders and schedule for the next two weeks. But after three attempts, Mario gave up, as his mind was whirling with bad- to worse-case scenarios that could happen in Phoenix, Arizona.

God damn his fratellino.

Shaking his head and mentally cursing one Luigi Masciarelli for the ninety-seventh time in three days, Mario alternated between confusion and anger over being left to wonder about the who, what, where, when, and why of his three-week jaunt to the desert. The arguments with Giuseppe and Peach did not help. While at last Sunday's dinner, he, Lucia, Zia Maria, and Nonna had to stop the irate Uncle Joe from buying a five-hundred-dollar round trip from Newark to Phoenix to confront and drag his young nephew back to New York. Ever the voice of reason, Lucia told her husband that any attempt at force would have the opposite effect with Luigi, as had been the case in the past. The shaken and irate Giuseppe retreated into his garage-cum-workshop for the rest of the evening and only responded to his eldest daughter's coaxing to come to bed. Lucia then proceeded to warn her eldest nephew from doing the same thing. Mario returned to his Bensonhurst home later that night to fight with Peach over Luigi. Like Lucia, Peach attempted to reason with Mario to leave him be, that he would be back. She beseeched him to "come home" to Manhattan. Mario angrily shot back that she should make her relationship to he and Luigi 'official' if she wanted to make demands of either of them. A frustrated Peach threw a pillow at him and shouted in Italian that this was one of two reasons why she declined his marriage proposal. In response, he dumped her on the couch where they had several rounds of rough sex, with two intermissions for water and some fruit that she had bought for the nearly empty refrigerator. Near the climax of one of those rounds, Mario panted in her ear, "Non abbandonerò né te né Luigi!"

In spite of their differences, particularly over Peach, he understood and sympathized with Uncle Joe. The only reason why he sided with Nonna and Lucia was because the Masciarelli patriarch was in no condition to be away from Staten Island for an extended period of time. It was an unstated fact known by family and friends alike that his health had been declining for the past year; the proud master plumber refused to visit the family doctor, knowing he and the specialist in Manhattan would confirm the grim prognosis. He had been living on borrowed time for years; Mario knew that he should feel gratitude for Giuseppe's longevity, but he could not let go and did not know if he would ever be ready.

One more person that he could not save.

And he knew that Giuseppe felt the same way.

Luigi was his remaining immediate family member, and it had been just the two of them since 2009. However, that was the crux of the problem; their father had been gone for almost thirteen years, he had joined the military soon after, and missed roughly eight years of his little brother's life. After returning from Afghanistan, Mario spent over a year at Walter Reed. To the present, he did not remember much from the day in which the Taliban sniper fired the high-velocity bullet from a mile away. The brass and doctors later informed him that he had pulled two broken and bleeding men – one American serviceman and one Pashtun translator – out of a dusty Kabul street where an unknown improvised explosive device took out two jeeps and began an ambush. Only one man besides him survived. The second bullet lodged in his shoulder, associated blood loss, and subsequent fever put him in a state two steps shy of death. In the military hospital, he flatlined three times. When he awoke, the Green Beret found himself peering weakly at the faces of his terrified brother and his grief-stricken aunt and uncle. The first six months of his rehabilitation were spent in denial, anger, bargaining, and depression over the stump that was fashioned from a third of the way down from his right knee, and he often screamed and hissed at Luigi to let him rot away in that hellhole of a hospital, "to stop looking at the fucking cripple." Yet his fratellino returned every weekend, sometimes to sit and stare sternly at him like their father had done whenever his eldest son refused to admit to screwing around on 65th Street. At times, Luigi became as caustic as their Abruzzese grandfather and Giuseppe had been in the shop, shouting at the soldier to "stop being such a whiny pussy and get the fuck up." During the next, painful three months, he held Mario up and encouraged him to walk three more feet until he learned to maneuver with the prosthesis, enough to retrain for duty. He owed Luigi his life – his brother who was now almost a complete stranger to him. Mario vowed that he would fix whatever had happened to their relationship once he and Luigi came back from the West. Under no circumstances would he lose Luigi.

The attendant at the gate desk announced boarding for all servicemen bound for Denver. He immediately stood up, picked up his beat-up camouflage backpack, and walked toward her, ticket in hand. Scanning the barcode, she thanked him for his service and bid him a good flight. Smiling his thanks, Mario ambled down the bridge and boarded the medium-sized flight, moving toward the middle rows. Putting his backpack in the overhead bin and sliding to the window seat, he sat down and buckled his seatbelt. He had been to Colorado a handful of times, all of which were military-related, but never for more than a couple weeks at a time. When he was small and before Luigi's birth, he remembered meeting Rigassi cousins from Denver, but only briefly, as his parents and Giuseppe routinely sent him to Lucia's and Nonna's while they were in Brooklyn. He never knew why, though he had his suspicions, given Gabriella's and Sal's fear of certain members of the family. As he had not heard from them since before his father's death, he felt no obligation to reach out to them and had no connection to the state beyond his military service. Some things were left buried in the past.


After Thursday afternoon lunch, Pete and Matt had insisted that Luigi come stay with them for the rest of the two weeks in Denver. Being assured that Lucas would not mind, Matt drove him back to the Brown Palace Hotel to collect his things, then brought him to the Morell family home in the upper-middle-class community of Highlands Ranch. South of Interstate 470, which served as the informal Denver city line, Pete and his wife, Michelle, moved to the five-bedroom home shortly before Matt's second year at the University of Colorado-Boulder. While the twenty-nine-year-old Sam attended the highly-regarded Colorado School of Mines in Golden for his Master's degree in Nuclear Engineering after serving six years in the U.S. Navy, he and the younger Matt shared an apartment halfway between Boulder and Golden in Broomfield, which was an hour drive to the Morell family home. Notwithstanding the distance and traffic, Matt and Sam frequently went to Highlands Ranch on the weekends and for the holidays, except when the Carlin family hosted Christmas and Thanksgiving in Pueblo. As for the twenty-five-year-old Matt, he was finishing his Master's degree in Computer Science at CU-Boulder, which he sardonically called "The University of California at Boulder."

At dinner, which Lucas was conspicuously absent, the Morells and Sam entertained him with stories of the Colorado Rigassis and showed him a black and white photo of his maternal grandfather as a young man in Sicily. It was as if he were looking at a photo of himself dressed in 1950s-era clothing – a light-colored shirt, suspenders, and dark trousers – sitting on a rock next to the Palermo shore. According to Pete, Luigi Rigassi was born in 1930 in Mondello to Vincenzo and Emilia Rigassi and was the star pupil of his liceo classico. Following the end of the Second World War, Nonno Luigi was admitted to La Sapienza in Rome to study engineering. He finished with the prestigious Laurea and, instead of teaching civil engineering as had been expected of a Dottore, returned to Sicily to marry Audenzia Campisi per the family's demand. Though he initially resented the arranged marriage, Nonno Luigi eventually came to love the headstrong Audenzia. Next came another black and white photo of his maternal grandfather with a three-year-old Gabriella in his lap in front of a grand piano. The curly-haired toddler was copying her smiling father's long, slender fingers at the keys. Apparently, his grandfather was an accomplished pianist and he enjoyed playing Liszt in his leisure time. An overwhelmed, yet skeptical Luigi made a mental note of the fact that Pete glossed over how the academicLuigi Rigassi ended up face down in a Palermo street. No one on the Rigassi side wanted to talk about his potential involvement with the Mafia or the Campisi's building rackets in 1950s Sicily.

Luigi sleepily stretched in the plush queen-sized guest bed and gazed out of the second-floor window to a gray morning sky. Within a twenty-four period, the temperature had dropped thirty degrees, and the weather had changed from partly cloudy and early spring to silver skies and winter snow. The pleasant and rich smell of bacon frying emanated from the kitchen downstairs to his room and sniffed appreciatively. Flipping back the blue comforter, much to the audible displeasure of the Siamese cat, Pinocchio, sleeping at the corner of the bed, Luigi grabbed some fresh clothes from his suitcase and entered the bathroom to shower and get dressed. Attempting to follow him, the seal point found the door closed in his face and he meowed in a medium-pitched whine until the door opened a crack to allow him to pass. Fifteen minutes later, Luigi exited the humid room, Pinocchio meowing and following closely behind him, and went downstairs to the wooden, Western-style kitchen. A dark blonde-haired woman was moving several frying pans around the stove top while Luigi's slender cousin sat in a blue sweatshirt and pajama bottoms in one of the ivory leather-cushioned chairs at the breakfast table. He looked up from his iPhone and murmured, "Morning, Luigi. Dad had to get to the restaurant early, so we and Mom will be eating breakfast together."

"Good morning, Luigi," said Michelle cheerfully. "I'm making some eggs and bacon. How do you like your eggs?"

"Uh, thanks," quietly replied the New Yorker. "However's easiest."

She nodded and asked her son if he wanted bacon or spinach. He took the latter, not wanting to risk irritating his ever-present digestive issues related to Crohn's Disease. Eying him carefully, Michelle made him Eggs Florentine on a gluten-free English muffin with herbal tea while she and Luigi split the bacon, over-easy eggs, and whole-wheat toast. Brewing some Russian Dazbog coffee for them, the three sat at the table and chatted pleasantly while Pinocchio pleaded and begged for the minutest scrap of bacon. The blond-haired, blue-eyed Michelle Morell, née Mauro, also grew up in the Denver area, and both she and Pete went to the University of Denver as undergraduates. Her mother, Suzanne, was neither Sicilian nor mainland Italian. Matt's maternal grandmother was a third-generation Coloradan whose ancestors were among the first white settlers in the Kansas and Colorado territories. Her Italian-American and second-generation Coloradan father, Leo Mauro, owned a grocery store in the Sunnyside area. Unlike the Morells, he refused to change the family name and openly displayed his collection of shotguns to the racist neighbors who lived down the street.

Afterward, Michelle went to work as a certified professional accountant and left Matt to feed Pinocchio a proper cat breakfast of canned chicken and gravy. Although the Siamese rolled his eyes dramatically and voiced several complaints of discrimination, he reluctantly accepted the plate. Matt asked Luigi to be ready to leave in fifteen minutes, as he ran upstairs to take a quick shower and change into street clothes. Alone for the first time in nearly thirty-six hours, he unlocked his phone and checked his text messages and voicemails. Aside from two unopened voice messages from Uncle Joe, he received a few pictures of a sunny day in Prospect Park with a note from Daisy that she missed him and wanted to go out upon his return. He paused; should he tell her the truth, that he was in Denver? He knew that he should, but ultimately decided to do it next week to avoid suspicion. The plumber wrote back that he missed her, too, and asked where they would go. Next, he texted Miles and offered him free Brooklyn pizza if he could look up the name "Pete Morell" or "Peter Morello" in Colorado; he also made secrecy a condition of said pizza. Finally, he played the messages from Uncle Joe:

(4/2/2014, 2:21 pm Mountain Time) "Kid … What-what were you told by that fat fuck Tony or that little asshole Bowser, exactly? You listen to me – You were never the sacrificial pawn of the family. Never! We – your parents, Mario, me – wanted you safe. You don't know the full story, and no, your father and I never told tell you and weren't gonna ... We didn't tell ya because … the truth would've hurt ya more. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the Rigassis and Campisis are lying sacks of shit," he coughed harshly into the phone. "I mean it, son. They are liars and worse. They lied to your father, they lied to your mother, they lied to me and Lucia, and now, they're lying to you. Stay away from them! Please give me a call back, Luigi. Please, son. I know … I know you're angry. But this is important."

(6:13 am Mountain Time) "Kid, I know you're pissed. I'm tellin' ya – do not listen to them. Mario – your father – did once, and he paid for it. He thought … He thought that accepting their help when you were born wouldn't come with those strings attached. Lookin' the other way with one arson or another; that was one thing. Everyone did that back then – plumbers, FDNY, NYPD. But those bastards – they waited until he had to make a choice – your mother and you or his soul. But they ended up bein' the same thing, kid. Luigi, call me."

A pallid Luigi jabbed the end key. What the hell was Uncle Joe talking about – what choice? Somewhere in the background, he heard Pinocchio's excited meowing as well as rustling toward the staircase, so he knew that he did not have the time to call Giuseppe and confront him. Taking several deep breaths to remain composed and play his role of ignorance with Matt, Luigi tucked the phone away and waited for his second cousin to return. Quickly, he reviewed what he knew: Pete Morello was definitely a Rigassi; his great-uncle Carlo Morano, whom the Masciarellis were careful not to mention by name, paid for his mother's care and his birth in Manhattan; both Giuseppe and Lucas seemed to fear the Rigassis and Campisis. Regarding the latter, Luigi understood their fear: as stupid as Big Jackass Morano was, no one within the general radius of Bensonhurst dared to cross him; since the 1980s, several 'disappearances' of FBI witnesses were rumored to have been orchestrated or carried out by Cousin Jackie. But what Luigi failed to understand was why he had been sent to live with Jackie, his wife, Tony (who was at the time awaiting sentencing at the Kings County Jail), and their two daughters instead of Uncle Joe and Aunt Lucia. As it took some time to have Mario Senior declared legally declared dead as well as organize his funeral with all honors, his will was not read until nearly seven weeks afterward. To everyone's shock and in spite of Giuseppe's expletive-laced vows to contest the will, it was revealed that in the absence or death of his son, Mario, custody of fifteen-year-old Luigi would go to the Rigassi family, the closest maternal relatives being the Moranos. Eventually, Joe "abducted" his nephew at the beginning of his third year at Brooklyn City High and brought him to Staten Island, to which the Moranos never protested, at least publicly.

"Ready?" asked Matt behind him.

"Yeah," answered Luigi, still pondering the never-ending family drama. The plumber followed Matt out to the front curb beside the Morells' cream and light-blue house. They laughed at the dictatorial meowing coming from the warm interior. As Matt pulled the Subaru away from the curb, he remarked that in his absence, his mother's friend brought the seal point – then a kitten – to keep her company. Pinocchio then took over the house room by room and reigned with an iron paw. As Matt negotiated the winding Colorado State Highway 93, Luigi stared out at the flat-topped mesas near Golden and the snow-covered brown and blue Flatirons which rose over Leyden and Eldorado Springs on the way to Boulder. Matt snickered to his cousin that in the past couple years, rich Californistas eagerly laid down half a million dollars in greenbacks for newly-constructed, four-bedroom houses near the Leyden mountain range, unaware of what was rumored to have been buried in the area. When Luigi asked what he meant, Matt gave him a knowing smirk.

About ten minutes later, hills soon changed into the outskirts of a city with traffic backup, trees, parks, bike lanes, and lights. SUVs, Subarus, Hummers, and Teslas merged into narrow four lanes as they approached Table Mesa Drive.

"Welcome to the People's Republic of Boulder: population 150,000 and twenty-five square miles surrounded by reality," announced Matt.

"You make it sound so appealing," replied Luigi sarcastically, looking around at the parks on his right and the mountains ahead of them.

"Boulder's … Boulder," he finally answered after negotiating the bumper to bumper traffic moving slowly toward the university. "It's different from the rest of Colorado. Always has been. People say it's different politically, and it is, as it's very leftist, but …. Hey, do you watch South Park?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

"Remember the episode where Kyle and his family go to San Francisco to be around 'like-minded' people?"

Luigi chuckled, "You mean where they're smelling their own farts like a fine wine?"

"That's the one," Matt laughed, nodding. "Well, that's Boulder. They're so vegan and Marxist that they drive Hummers and made housing unaffordable for anyone making less than 100,000 dollars a year or who isn't a trustafarian. So all the in-state students live at home in surrounding areas. Hence the twenty-minute traffic jam every day and smog hanging in the air."

Once they reached the southern edge of the CU-Boulder campus and Baseline Road, marking forty degrees northern latitude exactly, Matt turned left and drove a few streets westward to find a parking spot. As a graduate student, Matt was technically able to park in the campus parking garages; however, there were usually none left by eight o'clock in the morning. The university used a billion dollars in tuition revenue to construct several fifty-million-dollar buildings and invest in athletics; they did not bother to address the parking congestion that had, thanks to them, plagued Boulder since the late 1990s. After ten to fifteen minutes of circling and dodging the Boulder Police Department's meter maids, Matt parked near Chautauqua Park a half-mile away from the campus. Handing the Brooklynite spare gloves to protect his hands from the bitter, dry cold, Matt and Luigi exited the Subaru and proceeded to walk toward Baseline and the red brick and mortar of the science and engineering complex. With Luigi's unacclimated lungs to high altitude, the snow-covered sidewalks, and heavy morning traffic along Baseline, it took the pair about thirty minutes to reach the interior of the campus and the irregularly shaped, gray-concrete, red shingle-topped Engineering Center. No one knew just what the hell the architect was thinking, if blue prints actually existed beyond dressing up a concrete slab for the poor engineering, math, and physics students. Inside was a maze of signs dividing the computer science, mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, and chemical engineering departments into discrete sections of the building. But what brought them altogether was a make-shift coffee bar and snack shop next to the main entrance. The line was habitually five, ten, or fifteen minutes long, depending on the time of day and whether it was within the ten-minute period between back-to-back classes. Still wired on the mega strength Dazbog, Luigi stood in line with Matt as he waited to order his favorite, 'off-menu' herbal tea – a milky, mint and vanilla tea that, once steeped, required no extra sugar. Once he purchased and had his tea, Luigi followed his cousin down one of the white halls into a back room with several Macs and PCs. A young Indian guy, Advik, was sleeping at the main desk while two white undergraduates taunted each other during a competitive game of Minecraft on their MacBook laptops.

"Hiya, dudes," called out Matt, waking Advik from his morning nap. "I brought you guys a present."

"Present?" asked Adam, looking up from his Minecraft game. "You brought us donuts or pizza?"

"Dude, pizza in the morning? That's a no way in hell. Everyone, my cousin, Luigi. Luigi, everyone. Enjoy. I gotta go to Professor Putz's class, which is why I can't bring him. He'd throw him out for 'not being a paying student.'"

Before Luigi could protest, he was quickly surrounded by the three geeks who inquired as to what his favorite first-person shooter was and if all Brooklynites say fugetaboutit.


Around eleven-thirty, Matt rescued Luigi from the clutches of the CU-Boulder Computer Science undergraduates and, like a caged cat at the vet tasting its freedom, sauntered out into the late-morning cold. Due to the lack of parking spaces downtown as well as practically anywhere in the city, Matt and Luigi hopped on one of the buses heading north along Broadway to the Pearl Street Mall. The New Yorker gazed out of the exhaust-crusted bus windows to the red brick buildings and Renaissance tile of the rest of CU-Boulder campus. They got off at a large, snow-covered park with a rainbow-colored amphitheater. Luigi laughed at its name, Central Park, which hardly resembled the Manhattan original. Following Matt up several streets, they arrived at the Mediterranean restaurant which, according to Matt, was authentic enough for "that little prissy bastard." As they entered the blue-green and sable-themed restaurant seating area, Matt and Luigi spied a jeans-and-sweatshirted Sam and a subdued Lucas who was dressed in a lilac zip-up sweater and matching Italian suit.

"Hey, dude," called out Matt to Sam while completely ignoring Lucas.

"Yip," replied Sam in his usual taciturn manner. "Brought Lucas."

Taking off their coats and sitting in the remaining two wooden chairs, the skinny man said, "Yeah, I can see that."

Lucas glared at the two Colorado boys who were being rather obvious in their disrespect of him. He watched as Luigi wordlessly sat down and naively took in the scene. The man in purple noticed that Matt and Sam sat at each side of him, thus acting as a joint force to guard Luigi. This was no doubt by the order of that sneaky sonofabitch Pietro 'Pete' Morello himself, the mild-mannered, yet ruthless Denver caporegime whom the guys back home either feared or simply respected. His father warned him never to cross Morello; though he was rarely violent, Pete successfully ruined enemies using information and bribes, so badly in fact that both political parties in Colorado, Mexican and Salvadorean drug cartel lieutenants, and several interest groups in Nevada, Illinois, and New York stayed clear of him. He did not participate in the usual drugs or prostitution of Colfax Avenue, thus keeping the Latino gangs off his back; instead, he sponsored the illegal arms trade across state lines, the still federally illegal marijuana industry, and manipulated the lucrative, usually closed housing market throughout the Denver metro area. Like a member of the board or Wall Street speculator, he invested capital but rarely intervened directly in illegal activity, making any district attorney's burden of a prima facie case difficult to meet. Pete prided himself on his non-violence, which helped him avoid the scrutiny of both the FBI and the ATF and allowed him to be a significant money-maker for the New York-based Boss of the famiglia. And in the Mafia, money meant influence at the family table. His two soldiers, Matt and Sam, learned his lessons of "low-profile above all else" well.

The Morellos contacted his father for assistance with two objectives: render their money untraceable via cryptocurrency and bring 'Cousin Luigi' for a visit. The first made sense, as marijuana had just been legalized in Colorado, and they did not want any investigation into a growing war chest. The second, however, was unclear, even to Lucas. Mario was understandable, as he was a Bensonhurst tough guy who understood the said and unsaid. Luigi was a naïve teenager, more or less, who had little interest in anything beyond survival. He was certain that his father knew the reason; when he asked him over the phone in Phoenix, the elder replied in Greek, "It's none of your fucking concern. So do your job and keep your big mouth shut. We cannot risk any incident, so don't engage in one of your fuck parties under Morello's eye."

Screw that. In the past decade and a half, he made a name for himself independent of his father, and he would not let these shitkickers keep him in a secondary role. Luigi was his friend; together, they would make more money than the Morellos could dream of in West Podunk, Colorado. Glancing at the menu, he smirked and suggested that he and Luigi would have the kebab and fries entrée, and not the tapas plates, like they used to eat in Brooklyn. Matt raised an eyebrow as Sam stared at Lucas warningly. The computer scientist flagged down the waiter and politely asked for a few waters and sodas as well as saganaki as a starter.

"So," Lucas began, "Weeg and I go way back, best of pals! We both attended Brooklyn City together for two, almost three years. Through thick and thin, isn't that right, Weeg? We're working on a big – huge project involving SCADA. Fixing systems back home."

"Uh, yeah, that's right," confirmed Luigi softly as he scanned the menu. "Lucas and I went to Brooklyn City High together to the beginning few months of my third year."

Eyes narrowing, Sam glanced at Matt, who then answered, "Huh, right on. So what's the story with Brooklyn City High? You didn't graduate there."

"Uh, no. I, uh, transferred to Staten Island for my final two years. Well, almost year and a half. You have to specifically test to get into Brooklyn City and since I wasn't failing, it was generally not allowed. But my Uncle Joe – Giuseppe – brought me to Eltingville. I became a plumber more or less while in high school."

"Yeah, Giuseppe's a first-class scumbag," interjected Lucas. "Even as sucky as that school was, he could have sent Weeg here to York College up in Queens or one of the private schools in Brooklyn, but he dragged him to West Bum Fuck to become a tunnel rat. At least it's better than Jersey."

The waiter reappeared with their appetizer and drinks. Matt ordered several tapas plates; Sam and Lucas selected full-size ravioli and kebab respectively, as Luigi remained undecided. Sam sipped at his Coke, still eyeing Lucas. "So, do you guys ski or get outdoors in New York?" he asked.

"Why the hell would I do that?" retorted Lucas. "Racquetball and squash in the gym's good enough for me! Although," he said, taking a sip of ice water, "I'm eager to do a little skiing in Aspen. I've heard Telluride's good, too, though not enough time for that, and I really don't want to take a seven-hour drive for that. By the way, where's the best place to buy top of the line ski wear? I've got a few things, y'know, here and there from North Face, but it's a couple years old."

Sam chewed a piece of crostini and cheese. "I'm a Columbia man, myself. Lasts a decade. All of my skiing stuff, I bought at a discount in a sports shop. That, and the Internet."

"So they're Carhart's, right, Weeg?" said Lucas smugly. "That's okay; I'll do a little window shopping while up in Aspen. It's been a long time since I've been to Winter Park. Has the snow been pretty decent up there? I'd imagine that with the most recent snow, it's going to be fresh."

He shrugged. "Dunno. We go to Copper Mountain."

"And what about property here? Where do you buy a mountain home in these parts?"

Wiping his mouth, Sam calmly responded, "Candelas near Leyden."

Choking slightly on his ice water, Matt blotted his mouth with his white cloth napkin. Luigi's blue eyes shifted between the cowboy who nonchalantly swallowed a bit of his soda and the incredulous Lucas. The latter then smiled, putting his right hand on Sam's shoulder, and forced a pleasant laugh. "Ah, Sam, you kidder! Weeg, your cousin's got a great sense of humor! Did they tell you what's out there?"

Confused, Luigi shook his head. "Uh, what are we talking about?"

Fake-laughing still, Lucas explained, "Sam here doesn't think a city slicker," the latter emphasized in a Western drawl, "knows about Rocky Flatts. Weeg, we got Three Mile Island; they have a nuclear testing plant. Or, well, had a nuclear plant. They used to make nuclear weapons out by Leyden. Gee, I'm surprised that Sergeant Major Dickerson didn't say anything about it. Probably some UFO classified shit. Anyway, some of their … product kept goin' missin' back in the 80s and 90s. The plant closed and no one quite knows where they buried all that plutonium, though there are quite a few hills out there, and Geiger counters still pick up interesting shit. That's where Candelas is, right?"

Before Sam or Matt could reply, the waiter returned to take Luigi's lunch order. Glancing once more at the menu, he decided to try the vegetarian sampler, which included hummus, falafel, baba ghanouj, and Greek-style flatbread. Once the waiter left, Sam stated, "Well, Lucas, you're into the latest and hottest fashion and tech; I figured glow in the dark would be a nice bonus."

Though Lucas outwardly grinned, his dark eyes burned with hostility. Sam returned the silent animosity with an almost bored expression. Matt changed the subject once more, making small talk with Luigi, Sam, and to an extent, the Manhattanite about Professor Putz at CU-Boulder and the laboratories being built on campus at Colorado School of Mines. The awkwardness lessened somewhat with a comfortable semi-silence as they ate their food. Toward the end of the meal, Sam excused himself to the men's room, leaving Matt to pay the bill, a semi-nervous Luigi, and a self-satisfied Lucas.

"So, Matt, when are we doing, y'know, the thing?" inquired the man in purple.

"Tuesday evening's good, I think," confirmed Matt as he handed his debt card to the waiter with the bill. "I need to check with Sam to see if he's got anything. Sometimes, he plays b-ball at Mines on Tuesday evenings."

"Not this weekend? Why not get this done ASAP?"

"Because my family has plans for the weekend," he answered simply. "You're here for three weeks, so what's your rush, anyway? Go to Aspen for the weekend." Sam returned to his seat as if on cue. "Hey, Sam," began Matt as he signed the check and added a generous tip, "Tuesday?"

The cowboy nodded lightly. "Sure."

Lucas beamed, standing up from the table. "Perfect. We can hit the slopes in Aspen and be back for the extravaganza on Tuesday."

As he tried to put his hand on Luigi's back to take him out of the restaurant and, presumably, en route to Aspen, Sam stepped in to separate the New Yorkers. Matt said sternly, "Lucas, I believe I said that my family has plans because Cousin Luigi is in town. Have fun in Aspen, my dude."

Escorting Luigi into the cold Boulder air, the Colorado Rigassis left the incensed Manhattanite where he stood. Wordlessly, they took the bus back to the Baseline and Broadway stop and walked to Matt's Subaru. Exiting the city limits to return to the Morells' family home in Highlands Ranch, Matt began, "Hey, Luigi, sorry that lunch was so … awkward. It had nothing to do with you."

Becoming a bit anxious and frustrated at the entire situation, Luigi turned to Matt, then glanced at Sam, who was sitting in the backseat. Do I sit back and observe passively? If Lucas and his father were involved with the Morells, then the probability of Mafia involvement was extremely likely. Even though he wanted to give Matt, Sam, and Pete the benefit of the doubt, it was more or less confirmed at lunch, as there was no other reason why Lucas would have bothered. Though it was more subdued, the plumber recognized the code-switching from several family dinners and restaurant outings over a decade ago with Cousin Jackie and the Bowsers. If he was correct, then Lucas committed at least three faux-pas. The question was whether to say anything. Fight your own battles! echoed Bowser's voice. Luigi wondered if Lucas did this purposefully to goad them into a fight, counting on him to open his mouth like he had done so many times in the past. But there was the rub; he had no one to protect him from the fallout, and the Morells struck him as a smarter version of the Moranos. Keeping quiet and doing nothing allowed him to observe and avoid danger, yet it could also seal Lucas's fate, as there would be a reckoning. This was also all conjecture, and the Morells could be largely unaware of Lucas and his father.

"Don't worry about it," Luigi finally answered. "So the cousins are coming up this weekend?"

Nodding pleasantly, Matt cracked a bright smile. "We can't wait for you to meet the family! I think you'll find the Pueblo cousins interesting!"

Once they returned to Highlands Ranch, Pete regretfully informed them that the Carlins were not coming up until the following week due to a last moment issue regarding the business down in Pueblo. They would, however, arrive on Wednesday to make up for their absence. Not wanting to cause issues with the Masciarellis who would no doubt, in Pete's semi-joking words, "send the FBI and NYPD if he isn't home by Easter," they assured Luigi that he would be back in New York on Saturday the 19th. Their weekend plans thus cancelled, Pete waited for Michelle to come home early from work and decided to load up the silver 2010 Toyota Land Cruiser to drive down to the shared cabin with the Carlins in Frisco. Since both Sam and Matt had classes on Monday morning, they would stay to ski at Copper Mountain until Sunday evening. Refusing to take what Pete called "the disorganized shit sandwich" that was Interstate 70 on a Friday after snow, he drove south along the back roads toward the Frisco-Breckenridge area, though stopping first at a grocery store to pick up breakfast and snacks. Over the next two and a half hours, Luigi watched as the city turned into small towns resembling some of those in upstate New York and Vermont; he could feel the increase in elevation from a mile high to almost 10,000 feet above sea level, and he felt himself grow increasingly tired and his ears pop harshly. Watching him furtively, Michelle handed him a bottle of water and ordered him to drink to help with the altitude sickness. Not wanting to drink due to a churning stomach, Luigi sipped at the water until it was finished, after which he was handed another one. He wished Daisy were there to stroke his hair in her plush lap.

The Morells stopped at a favorite Breckenridge gastropub for dinner, as most of the shops in Frisco closed by six or seven o'clock in the evening. Helping the slightly disoriented New Yorker out of the car, they explained to the concerned hostess that he was from the East Coast and it was first time at high altitude. She nodded, sat them promptly, and brought him a tall glass of ice water. Luigi murmured a thanks, though he was embarrassed that his first time to the mountains made him feel visibly sick. Matt and Michelle insisted that he should not be, as even long-time residents had trouble with 9000+ feet. Though Pete forbade him full alcohol consumption until the following day, he nonetheless was allowed a couple small sips of a locally-made, fairly decent microbrew. They split a crudité appetizer to force Luigi to eat more of the simple carbohydrates, followed by burgers and a roasted chicken with vegetables plate that the recovering plumber split with Matt. During dinner, Sam told them of the story of the Ass-pen tree that "hit" him while on the Garrett Gulch Run, which he and his Navy buddy may or may not have chain-sawed in revenge.

Luigi woke on Saturday morning to a warm, full-size bed which contrasted to the cold snowy scene outside. After dinner the following evening, he vaguely remembered being led by Matt to bed and told that he would likely adjust to the altitude in a day or two. He heard whispers of his cousins, presumably getting ready to ski at Copper Mountain. Hurriedly, he jumped in the shower, brushed his teeth, and then chose the most water-proof clothes that he had, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved green shirt. Matt knocked on his door and handed him a pair of snow pants, suspenders, and a Columbia jacket, as his jeans "would make him miserable a half-hour into it." He changed into the olive green ski pants, black suspenders, and blue-green coat. The normally ten-minute drive from Frisco to Copper Mountain took a half-hour due to heavy ski traffic; while on the road, they split the thermos of hot coffee, fried bacon, and croissants. They arrived at opening time and Pete took Luigi to rent boots, skis, and poles. Shaking his head at the ski dudes who waxed philosophical on pizzas and French fries, he took him to the bunny hill at the foot of the mountain and had him use the poles to balance himself, correcting his stance every so often, and then take small steps forward, backward, and then against the edges to learn how to stop or adjust speed. Throughout that hour and a half, Luigi fell on semi-powdered snow a grand total of twelve times – face-down, sideways, ass, ass again, sideways, sideways twice, ass three times more, and finally, face-down and sideways. Once he found his center of mass, he was able to guide himself down the small slope, then wedging his skis to stop. When Matt returned, he traded places with Pete who went on the chair lift to the advanced-level runs. Giving the wet, sore, and semi-frustrated Luigi a mischievous grin, Matt encouraged him to try a run. Despite his pleas to let him 'practice' a bit longer and to keep him from 'injuring others,' he dragged him on the chair to the green runs. At the top of the tilted hill, where the sun had started to peak from behind the clouds, both Matt and Luigi could see tall and dark green trees with a large snowy run in the middle. Matt set the pace, moving slowly as Luigi felt the rush of movement. Twenty feet down the hill, he fell on his ass. His cousin stopped until he picked himself up and started to move again, trying to control his speed or to match Matt's. Two minutes into the run, he found balance and pace, allowing the poles to drag a little at his sides and the mountain to slide his body. Matt whooped as he caught up to Luigi and watched for teenage snowboarders who had little concept of green run, child crossing, and speed. Luigi chuckled as a four-year-old girl whizzed by him sans poles, and he oriented himself away from her to avoid any potential collision. The New Yorker approached the bottom of the run and began to bring his skis to a wedge when a black- and purple-suited douchebag on a snowboard cut him off and, inches from his skis, caused him to tumble into the snow in front of the benches. As Luigi was about to use his Brooklyn best, he recognized the tall snowboarder.

"Lucas?!"

The man suddenly removed his thousand-dollar goggles and helmet. "Weeg?! What the hell are you doing here?"

A full minute later, Matt skidded to a stop and held a hand out to Luigi, who was staring up at the six-foot-four snowboarder. "Lucas? What the hell are you doing here? Aspen too crowded or something?"

Shrugging, the tall man replied, "Well, Sam spoke so highly of Copper Mountain that I thought I'd try it out."

"Huh, well, have fun," he deadpanned, pulling Luigi up from the snow and away to the chair lifts.

Lucas quickly detached himself from his blue, black, and purple printed snowboard and, flipping the board underneath his arm, followed them. "Ah, c'mon, Matt! Is this how you treat a guest? Weeg's my best friend, dude. I'm also friends with your cousin Tony. You may be the Prince of Denver, but I brought Luigi." He leaned into a visibly annoyed Matt's ear, "I also own, you know, your, uh, accounts, if you know what I mean. So stop being such a prissy little fuckboy. Capisce?"

At that moment, Pete, Michelle, and Sam approached them, each carrying their set of skis. The latter looked stormily at the smug Lucas while Pete and Michelle observed the scene with mixed curiosity. Matt refused to take his blazing eyes off the tall New Yorker, still keeping a protective hand on Luigi's shoulder.

Pete smiled benevolently as he carefully moved toward his son and Luigi. "Well, hello, Lucas. I didn't know you skied at Copper. Do you come here often?"

"Nah, I usually prefer Aspen or Telluride. But my best plumber pal, Luigi, invited me. Gotta get away from the union," he answered nonchalantly, though he narrowed his eyes at his friend to emphasize the underlying threat.

The entire group turned their heads to a wide-eyed Luigi whose mouth perfectly emulated a flounder's. Soundlessly, he struggled to utter a single word, too shocked at Lucas's sheer chutzpah. "Uh, yeah, I did," he finally said. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

Noting Luigi's reaction, Pete relaxed and replied, "Well, okay, Lucas. The more the merrier. We're off to grab some lunch if you would like to join us?"

Lucas beamed and followed the older man's outstretched hand. As the group began to walk toward the Copper Mountain's village resort area, Pete made brief, yet meaningful eye contact with Sam.


Following the Saturday morning and lunch fiasco between the Morells and Lucas, Sam goaded Lucas into a 'friendly' extreme skiing competition at neighboring Silverthorne and Breckenridge on Sunday morning, thus leaving Pete, Michelle, and Matt to have 'family time' with Luigi throughout the weekend. The Morells were somewhat disappointed not to have had more time with Sam, but he assured them that there would be plenty of time after Tuesday. After a couple days of solid practice on Copper Mountain, Luigi was sad to leave, as he was finally getting the hang of alpine skiing and, thanks to Matt, snowboarding which he found to prefer. Since Monday was a work day for everyone, Luigi was left to his own devices, though he was frequently and passive-aggressively bossed around by the offended Pinocchio who did not understand why he could not join the family to Frisco, yet the guest, who had been there a grand total of a single day, could. The only phone call that he made was to his princess, letting her know that he was now in Colorado to meet previously unknown maternal cousins. Daisy sympathized, as she knew that she had second and even third cousins in Hong Kong and Macau, but had never been invited to see them, and asked if he was having a good time. Although he mentioned skiing for the first time to avoid worrying her, he secretly did not know what to make of the Morells. Even though he was eighty percent sure of Mafia connections, they were low-profile and lived unobtrusively compared to Fat Tony, Big Jackass, and the Bowsers.

On the surface, they were like any upper-middle-class family of the Rocky Mountains.

Tuesday evening came swiftly. As they had done the previous Thursday, Luigi accompanied Matt to Boulder and spent the day at the Engineering Center with the Computer Science Geeks, pranking him and each other using wifi disruptions and joke names like "Silence of the LANs," "My Load's Bigga Than Yos," and "3389 Me Plz." Lunch consisted of free Abo's pizza provided by one of the engineering PhDs and the occasional snack from the corner café. For dinner, Matt and Luigi headed to a well-known Indian buffet across from the Law School, where they met Sam who had taken the bus from Mines to the CU campus. Of all of the meals that he had eaten in Colorado, this was Luigi's favorite – the samosas were hot, crisp, and filled with savory peas and potatoes, the chicken korma was nicely spiced, the naan was garlicky and soft, and he even enjoyed the creamy rice pudding with saffron. He took a picture and sent it to Daisy with the caption, "Best in Boulder ❤️ ❤️. I wish you were here with me."

Sam paid the bill and they walked to Matt's Subaru. Matt made a quick phone call before starting the engine. They insisted that Luigi sit in the backseat and handed him a black eye mask.

"What's this?" asked Luigi.

"We'll offer you the choice. We can either drop you off at Matt's apartment to chill or you can come with us. But if you choose the latter, you'll need to cover your eyes and lay in the backseat. Cellphone turned off for the rest of the evening. Make sure that your seatbelt's on, as cops around here are serious about 'Click it or Ticket,'" answered Sam. "Don't worry; it's for your protection. No pressure; it's entirely up to you."

Luigi considered the black eye mask carefully. Back home, Fat Tony, Mario, and Bowser told, ordered him alternatively to keep quiet or to come to the Koopa; he was never given a choice. Option two seemed ominous, and he was certain that they were going to do something illegal. Yet the power of deciding for himself was exciting. What exactly would he see? Given their low-profile nature as well as their adamance of being a mere 'observer,' Luigi did not believe that it would be violent. A small voice in the back of his mind pleaded with him to choose option one and spend a quiet, legal evening alone. Yet a devilish voice asked why Mario got to have all the fun; this would be far less brutal than the fight circuit. In his mind, he heard his father's Billy Joel record echo that only the good die young. Glancing at the hopeful Matt and Sam, he buckled his seatbelt, slipped the mask over his eyes, and lay down in the backseat. Luigi's cousins remained eerily silent throughout the twenty- or twenty-five-minute drive, never giving him any indication of where they were going. Suddenly, the car parked and the back passenger door opened. He felt a tap on his shoulder, heard the seatbelt unclick, and was gently helped out of the car. He was escorted into some sort of building and led down a staircase. Matt removed the mask, causing Luigi to blink several times. Sam opened a door to reveal a bright, medium-sized room filled with state-of-the-art computers, computer monitors, and several server cabinets with ethernet cords jutting in and out of them. Lucas, who was dressed in his normal lilac Italian suit and shoes, was seated at one of the four-monitor consoles.

"Weeg!" cried Lucas happily. "Are you ready to see some wicked shit?"

Ignoring Lucas's utterance at their cousin, Matt took the console next to Lucas's while Sam took off his coat and, leaving his Denver Broncos cap on, gestured for Luigi to sit at the back next to his "desk" at the wires and near the server cabinets. Matt tossed Sam a basketball-sized, multi-colored decahedron dice with numbers on each side.

"Alrighty then," began Matt. "Do we have the list?" The cowboy held up a piece of notebook paper. "Perfect. Kali and VMs fired up?"

"Of course, I am a professional and not a fucking cheat like Sam here," bit out Lucas. Sam gave him an unreadable stare.

"Good. Luigi, whatever you see here does not leave this room. You're an observer only, got it?" At Luigi's timid nod, he added, "Don't worry; just enjoy the show. Now to explain how the game works. This little ten-sided dice tells us who to hit first out of ten pre-selected organizations. We aren't robbing them; instead we're seeing what's … interesting and what Dad can use. Getting them to hand over the cash is a whole lot easier than just stealing it. Lucas here encrypts the information. We don't go after churches, charities or, like, the International Red Cross. But big businesses, politicians, and other assholes are fair game – just no one extremely high profile. Okay, so let's start. Sam, roll it."

Sam flipped the dice, which landed on a deep blue face displaying a white number four. "Looks like a '4.' Our favorite former House Representative. Oh, that'll be fun."

"Oh, that idiot," replied Matt, activating a virtual machine within another virtual machine to mask his real location. "Like a certain well-known politician, he keeps his router in his supply closet, with no security whatsoever. Pervert. But at least I didn't roll Anthony Weiner again." He turned to Lucas and griped, "Thanks for that, by the way." The man in purple snickered in response.

"Don't worry, Matt; he's not on the list this time," said Sam.

"Okay, I'm going in through the usual back door that Boomer Dude usually keeps open, and … Open Sesame!" The hacker took a sip of ice water from his Nalgene bottle. "Alright, what did Mr. Pervert leave for us? Oh…ew….EW! Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with these people? Goddamn, if the American public knew what kind of assholes they elect! Taking shots of … ew."

"What makes you think that they don't know?" challenged Lucas. "Never estimate human depravity."

"Yeah, you'd know," retorted Matt as he closed out his virtual machines.

Lucas just shrugged nonchalantly. "Sam, roll for me. Hopefully, it's true jackoff material." The cowboy rolled his eyes and flipped the decahedron. "Lucas, it's '2'. CEO of NDR Bank."

"Fuck me in high heels. That must have been your choice, Matt. Boring," growled Lucas as he went to work. "I'm in. For a major financial institution, their security's a joke. Probably hired Navy." From the corner of his eye, Lucas saw Sam flip him the bird. He continued to scan through the CEO's unprotected files which included personal and financial records. "Whoa, wait a moment. Maybe not so boring. Let's take a look-see … Yep; he's stepping out on his wife. He's been buying expensive gifts for the sidepiece."

"Secretary?" asked Luigi.

"Nope, Weeg. His pool cleaner. Copy and save that shit. Okay, I'm out. Luigi's turn."

Matt angrily twisted his head and hissed at the New Yorker, "Absolutely not! Dad was crystal clear about this; he's an observer only. Sam, roll."

Sam tossed the ten-dice which landed on an orange seven. He made a small fist pump. "Yep, we have a '7.' Seattle Seahawks."

An incredulous Lucas swiveled his chair 180 degrees to face the smug blond. "Okay, why the fuck are we involving fake football in this?"

"A little revenge?" inquired Luigi amusedly. Sam shrugged with fake innocence.

"Not that I disagree. I know Dad and the rest of Denver wouldn't," replied Matt. The Seahawks' security was more difficult, though after four minutes and a couple burned VMs, he was able to gain access. Other than a few assholish emails from Pete Carroll, there was little to be found, so Matt decided to leave them a parting gift, by changing their official website address to ' .com.' Logging off, Matt shouted a "Go Broncos!", to which Sam gave a satisfied round of applause.

"Can you do that to the Yankees?" gasped Luigi as he climbed back into his chair, having fallen out from laughing so harshly.

At the same time, Lucas raised a bored eyebrow. "Got that out of your system now, dorks?"

They rolled the decahedron several more times, some of which were repeated and generated another roll for a fresh number – a "1," "3," and "6" – all of which were major international banks or Washington-based economic institutions with histories of multiple data breaches and cover-ups. Number eight, however, was Lucas's selection and a last-minute change – Applewood Industries, a government 'special contractor,' which was a nicer term for international mercenaries for hire.

"No!" shouted Sam. "Absolutely not! I took this shit off before, Lucas, but you added it back. You know this is a no-go."

Lucas rolled his brown eyes. "Oh, you're just being bitchy because it's related to the military. We've done it before. It'll be fine."

"Yeah, and Dad slapped us for doing it. He was clear – no military," yelled Matt, crossing his arms.

The suited man raised his arms slightly. "It's related to the military, not directly military. If you pussies won't do it, fine; I'll do it." Not waiting for their permission, Lucas began his attack, locking out Sam or Matt from cutting his connection. As the company's firewall and booby-traps were world-class, it eventually necessitated a group effort. Sam almost signaled for them to abort mission, as the company's blue-team on duty nearly succeeded in tracking them. After ten minutes of cat and mouse and extra tech to cover their tracks, they were able to access the most sensitive records.

"Okay, it's your show, Lucas. What are we looking for?" inquired Matt.

Lucas quickly sorted through various file names which used alphanumeric coding in order to add an extra layer of security and to deter any potential in-house 'lookie-loos.' "Fuck, I have no idea how to read this shit. Sam, you were in the military. Any of this looking familiar?"

"Not a fucking clue. It's your show."

"Okay, fine, I'll start clicking on shit."

"Dude, better hurry it up before we get caught," warned Matt.

"Clicking on shit, it is." He selected a video file which showed a grainy black and white video of a tall, redheaded Caucasian man in Baghdadi-style clothes accepting a thick manila envelope from a Middle Eastern-looking soldier covered in camouflage and a bullet belt slung over his shoulder. Luigi audibly gasped, covering his mouth. The three hackers turned to him and saw the Brooklynite become visibly pale.

"Weeg, what is it? Dude, you've seen Taliban assholes on the ten o'clock news before."

"It's not that, Lucas. I don't think you've met him, but that – That's Marco Bowser," whispered the plumber, pointing at the redheaded Caucasian.

"Who the hell is Marco Bowser?" asked Matt.

"Asshole extraordinaire who was killed by terrorists in 2008. That bastard made my life hell for years," growled Luigi. "He also was the husband of my brother's girlfriend … wife…ish."

"Jesus," mumbled Sam. "Well, it looks like he had been working with said terrorists. Special place in Hell for fucking traitors like that guy, especially those who," he glanced at Luigi, "were responsible for 9/11. Guys I know in the SEALs never liked Delta Force – they blend in, do what they want, and you never know what the fuck they're up to. Makes you wonder who actually killed him."

Wheels excitedly turned in Lucas's head as he went to copy and encrypt the videos for his own purposes. He could use this as leverage against both Fat Tony and 'Bowser the Younger.' Inwardly, he grinned at how popular they would be on 65th Street, to say nothing of Bensonhurst, if it were discovered that they were associated with or related to an Al-Qaeda traitor. As for Mario, his name might be spelled 'M-U-D' if his little chickadee were also implicated. Hmm, this is absolutely yummy, he thought.

Meanwhile, Luigi began to breathe heavily and his hands began to shake violently. How much did Mario know about Marco Bowser's activities? How much did Fat Tony and Bowser know? Moreover, how could they associate with someone who betrayed his country and, in Fat Tony's case, betrayed his family? "I … I need some air, now!" The plumber stormed out of his chair and ran to the door.

Growing alarmed at Luigi's reaction, Matt closed out of his machines, locked his terminal, and bolted out of his chair to flank his agitated second cousin while Sam double-checked to make sure that no one backtracked or could backtrack them. "It's okay, dude. We're done here, anyway. Let's grab a coffee. Sam and Lucas will close up." The cowboy nodded at Matt to concur. "C'mon," he cajoled, putting an arm around Luigi's shoulders. Though he insisted that Luigi wear the eye mask again for "ten or fifteen minutes," Matt allowed him to crack the window and sit in the front seat of the Subaru. Once they were safely on Colorado Highway 93 heading south toward Highlands Ranch, he told Luigi to remove the mask and relax. Matt said nothing, but Luigi could tell that their discovery worried him as well, as he occasionally rubbed his forehead and sighed to himself. Forty minutes later, they pulled up to the curb beside the Morell family house. The New Yorker exited the car, fished out the pack of Marlboros and lighter that he had bought in downtown Denver, and lit a cigarette. Moving away from Matt due to his 'nasty habit,' he told him that he would be inside shortly.

Now alone, Luigi puffed on the Marlboro and wished that he could unsee that video. While he was frankly unsurprised at Marco Bowser's involvement with terrorism, as he was singlehandedly the most dangerous man in Brooklyn throughout the 1990s, he knew that either the Morells or Lucas would use that video to its fullest advantage. Though Bowser's reign of terror ended in Baghdad with a bullet to the head, Mario was present during the skirmish, and Luigi always wondered if he had more to do with his death than simply witnessing it. If the U.S. Government, for which the British-American Applewood Industries was a major contractor, found out about a Delta Force double agent, it would have been imperative to eliminate him, as he would know and have access to top secret information, including the locations of other Special Forces units in the area. He could hardly blame Mario if he received orders to 'deal with the problem,' but if the truth were to come out, it would cause a rift with the Moranos, as their honor would be at stake by sponsoring the Bowser family so intently. In Bensonhurst, the only thing worse than a rat was a traitor.

Grinding the cigarette butt against the street pavement, he picked the fragments up, put them in the large trash bin, and headed into the large living room of the Morell house. He heard voices coming from down the hall from behind the closed oak doors of Pete's study. Having done enough spying for one day, he climbed the staircase to his room, shut the door, and went to brush his teeth. As he finished, Luigi heard a soft knock; wiping his mouth with a washcloth, he opened the door to a sheepish, though empathetic Matt. "Hey, dude. Um, Dad wants to see you in his study. He'd come up to talk, but, uh, given the nature of the situation, it's better than you do it there."

Luigi sighed, knowing that he had little choice in the matter, and nodded. Matt escorted him down to the study, but proceeded no further. The Brooklynite entered to a wooden-paneled office with a tired Pete behind an antique, glass-topped desk. Directly across from him was an empty brown chair and 1950s-style leather armchair where Pinocchio slept in a ball.

"Shut the door and have a seat," Pete said smiling.

Nervously, he shut the sliding door and sat down across from him. Giving a whisper of a smile again, he continued, "I think you now probably know certain things about what I do and what Matt and Sam do at my request. Some of it is legitimate and some of it is, well, flexible. I heard what happened this evening. Hacking into a government contractor is risky – too risky – and not one that Matt would immediately do. Though I have corrected him on the matter, I'm sure that was Mr. Kariolis's idea." At the mention of the latter's name, Pete's pleasant demeanor immediately changed into annoyance and hostility. "Nonetheless, the deed's been done. Matt and Sam were telling you the truth about not knowing who Marco Bowser is. I, however, do know the name, and I have nothing but revulsion for that man. What frankly pisses me off, Luigi, is that Cousin Jackie has connections with him. I also don't know what your relationship is with the Bowsers."

Luigi recognized the tone of his last sentence as a demand for information. "I don't have any relationship with them. In fact, Marco Bowser is, was, one of my least favorite people on the planet."

Pete nodded, leaning back in his chair to study the younger man before him. "That's what Matt said. Can you elaborate?" Sensing Luigi's hesitation, he added, "Nothing will happen to you. I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but given how problematic this could become for the Rigassi family, any information would be appreciated, son. This is not a time to keep quiet."

Taking a deep breath, Luigi spoke. "Marco Bowser was essentially the 65th Street bully, terrorizing the Bensonhurst kids. I – well, my friend and I were his favorite targets of abuse. I got a fuckin' concussion from him when I was nine or ten. The only one who could or dared to stop him was Mario. Marco was told to leave me alone shortly thereafter. I know that, somehow, Marco got married to Cristina, who's now Mario's significant other. He was abusive; Mario knows more about their history than I. As for Tony and John Bowser, I try to stay away from the Koopa Bar."

Pete's face reddened slightly, and he leaned back further in his chair, as if deep in thought. They stayed quiet for several minutes before the elder Rigassi said, "Okay. Do me this favor: say absolutely nothing about what you saw, not even to Mario or the Masciarellis. I do intend to use this information, mainly because it would look bad for the Rigassis to be associated with a known terrorist. Big Jackass may be a stupid sonofabitch, but he's still family. But it's better if you're not associated with it."

The plumber raised his eyebrow. "Was it Lucas's idea for me to be included tonight?"

"No, that was my idea. Matt and Sam were supposed to do their usual thing – pick on hypocritical politicians and CEOs who get off on extorting regular folks. And the was a nice touch," he chuckled. "See, that's historically what Our Thing was about – calling us when you couldn't call the police. But some people got greedy and turned a good thing into a mess. Well, that's Italy in general, I suppose."

"But why me and not my brother?" hissed Luigi. "No offense, Pete, but I'm being jerked around here. Lucas brings me to Denver, not by accident, and now … I'm back in the web of Fat Tony and Goddamn knows who else."

"I won't lie, Luigi; you are being jerked around by everyone involved – the Masciarellis, the Moranos, Lucas, and even me at times. I do regret that. Unfortunately, it is the nature of the business. Though Sam's dad and I operate somewhat independently, we do answer to New York on matters of importance. You're right that you weren't brought here by accident. And as for your brother, as I said before, he's a Masciarelli. He's the eldest son. And especially given what happened to your father, he belongs to that family."

"So what am I, the sacrificial lamb?" demanded Luigi.

Pete quickly shook his head and held out his hands in a calming gesture. "Heavens no! Luigi, you are anything but the sacrificial lamb." He glanced at the shelf to his right at the chessboard. "Do you play chess?" Luigi waived his hand back and forth to indicate that he played it a little. Pete stood, carefully picked up the wooden board with pieces positioned on various squares, and set it very gently on the glass. Selecting the smallest piece, he went on, "You know the pawn; they're the throwaway pieces, the ones that the everyone else orders to do the King's bidding." Setting it down, he pointed at the bishop and knight, "Now, these are your minor pieces – they're the soldiers and useful to put the other king in 'check,' capture other pieces, or otherwise do the bidding of the King. But they're limited; they can only move either in an L-shape – the knight – or diagonally – the bishop. Next, you have the rooks; they move up, down, and side to side. They are major players and help their Queen set up a checkmate against the opposing King and lead the army. Finally, we have the most powerful piece which is the Queen. She does everything each piece can do, save for jumping over pieces like a knight. Lose the Queen, and it's very hard to recover the game." Pete hands the larger Queen piece to Luigi. "In many respects, she's more important than the King who stays completely behind the line of attack." Taking a breath, Pete placed a reassuring hand on Luigi's hands which held the chess piece. "Patience, cuscinu; it'll become clearer very soon."

Luigi nervously and uncomprehendingly studied the piece for a few more seconds, then handed it back to Pete. "What about Lucas?" he murmured.

Pete stood up and opened the door to let the young plumber out of his study. "It's nothing that you need to worry about. You're a guest, not a player in all of this. It's been a long day; go to bed, get some sleep. The Carlin cousins are coming up from Pueblo tomorrow. They'll be with us until Easter. Good night, Luigi."

The plumber rose from his chair and gazed into Pete's eyes for a moment before whispering a good night to his host and leaving the office. Pete shut the door behind his younger cousin, returned to his glass-topped desk, and took out a phone from a secret compartment. Pressing a button, he lifted it to his ear and spoke in a low tone, "It's time for his lesson." He then hung up, turned off the phone, and placed it back in the false container.

Miles away from Highlands Ranch, the limp, bound, and gagged body of Lucas Kariolis was dropped carelessly in the back of a black SUV and covered with a dark blanket. A sneering Sam Carlin slipped into the driver's seat and calmly drove down the adjacent two-lane road toward Denver.