Author's notes: Anyway, yet another chapter! There are two more chapters to come by the end of the year, which I'll discuss as they're printed. I'll probably release the first part of two on 24 December, then the second by 31 December, after which I'll go on hiatus for a month. As always, comments, kudos, and even flames (lol) are appreciated.


Chapter 34: An Ace in the Hole

Luigi returned to Daisy's on Wednesday evening and brought the promised Tofu Pad Thai takeout for his beloved princess's consumption. Intentionally downplaying his meeting with Pete and Matt earlier that afternoon, the master plumber instead shifted the attention to her new job. Though a bit suspicious of his blasé dismissal of his day as 'routine,' Daisy nevertheless indulged him. Her immediate boss was a quintessential New York Ashkenazi in his forties who had started his career in the financial sector and worked on Wall Street before rage-quitting in 2008 over the bosses playing fast and loose with real data. Retraining in information technology, he found his niche in fintech and then data analytics. While 'anal-retentive' and extremely 'Type A,' having missed his true calling as a certified public accountant, he was eager to teach Daisy about data cleaning and modeling to show "government nitwits what their numbers actually do to the economy." In his words, "Math isn't magic." Her fellow team members were just as enthusiastic and helpful, most of whom were former accountants or math geeks. After dinner, Daisy persuaded him to attend an evening yoga session with her. Not surprisingly, he was the only man in attendance, which earned him a mixture of quizzical and appreciative looks from the female students. One portly, curly-haired woman in her early forties was in particular an ardent admirer of the plumber's ass during the downward dog position, earning her a warning stare from the auburn-haired lioness. This led to a very hot bedtime, as Luigi discovered that her feral possessiveness of him was a massive turn on.

He arrived at work the next morning to several tickets for residential jobs as well as his nosy older brother asking questions about the previous day, given that he had returned an hour past normal lunch. Promptly telling him that he had a meeting related to the business, the manager sent a skeptical Mario on a job in Manhattan and encouraged him to make a stop on 5th Avenue instead of harassing him. The scowling red-hoodied plumber gave the finger to his brother-boss and departed the shop with a promise to resume the conversation. At lunch, he called Daisy's super and stammered a request to fix the malfunctioning HVAC unit. After getting the run-around for fifteen minutes, he informed the man that he was certified in HVAC maintenance, and he could fix it for free in exchange for a fifty percent discount off Daisy's rent for the next two months; should he decline, the man was welcome to pay full price at another shop. The super, whom Luigi mentally referred to as Slimy Jerkoff, saw the benefit in saving thousands for a short-term reduction and accepted the offer. The smug plumber texted his lioness that she would have a functioning air conditioner as well as a lesser rent charge. Returning to Park Slope an hour earlier than normal, he proceeded to inspect and replace the entire unit, as the old compressor had completely broken down. Once he was done, he called Slimy Jerkoff, washed his hands in the bathroom, and messaged Daisy that the problem was resolved and he would be back in the evening.

Returning to his house in Bensonhurst, Luigi arranged his private router and personal laptop on his desk while waiting for Dr. Czernin to log onto Skype. At around six o'clock New York time, he received a videocall from the platinum blonde's account. Putting on his headphones to make it more private in the event that an overbearing asshole was lurking, he accepted the call and the woman appeared, teacup in hand.

"Hello, Luigi!" greeted Rosalina cheerfully.

"How you doin'?" he answered back.

She giggled a little and replied, "Fine, thanks. Your, uh, Brooklyn accent has become stronger in the past few weeks. How are life and new job there?"

The plumber laughed and shrugged. "I suppose. It's been, uh, interesting. I've been the manager now for a week – well, two, if you count training and the transition. More freedom, yet more stress. Different types of stress, I should say." Sipping a cup of americano, he added, "You were, uh, right about Daisy." At her silent, raised eyebrow, he went on, "She had to deal with her parents. Right after our last session, she sent a text to let me know that … she wasn't giving me up. And she didn't. She told her family, so it's out in the open. She came back to Brooklyn, and we've been together."

Rosalina nodded while taking a sip of her tea. "And it's been good?"

Luigi smiled. "Yeah. She makes me happy. Calmer."

"I can tell," she said, her lips upturning at the corners. "You seem … healthier."

"Yeah. I've been eating more and not overexercising. Daisy and I went to a yoga class together last night, and it was … good for both of us. I haven't craved cigarettes or alcohol, for the most part. I did, however, have an issue where …" he trailed off, drinking his coffee to avoid continuing the story.

Dr. Czernin sat up in her chair and, setting the teacup on her desk, asked, "What happened, Luigi?"

He glanced at her uncertainly. "I, uh, had an emergency visit from a doctor. He prescribed me Xanax, though it was a temporary script. I had a panic attack, I think. Actually, I had two separate panic attacks, but I only used Xanax once. The stuff made me too … sleepy."

"I'm so sorry, Luigi. Why didn't you call me?" she inquired, hand over her mouth.

The plumber inhaled again, hesitating over how much to tell the psychologist. After a pregnant pause, he said, "I've told you a little about my family. Well, the Masciarelli side – my older brother who's in the Army Special Forces and my uncle who's a plumber. My mother's side, the Rigassis, are … complicated. My mother's cousin, Jackie, wanted to have lunch … in Manhattan."

She nodded again sympathetically. "I recall that you dislike going to Manhattan. Did he know that?"

"Yeah, he knows. That's why he did it. He got custody of me after my father passed. We never got along. Let's just say that he has very little tolerance or empathy for others. I spent most of that year sleeping in the school or in my empty house. Don't get me wrong; he never abused me, at least not physically. But he, uh, called me finocchio, made fun of me." The psychologist frowned uncomprehendingly. "Sorry. Finocchio is slang for 'faggot' in Italian."

Rosalina shook her head in disgust. "I'm so sorry that happened. It sounds like he didn't abuse you physically, but was, as you said, unempathetic and homophobic. Does he know that you're bisexual?"

"No," he responded. "No one except Daisy knows, though I think Mario – my brother – suspects it. I don't know how much you know about Bensonhurst here in Brooklyn, but it's a very macho place. Mario fits that archetype: he played football, baseball, is in the military, does martial arts, and wields a Louisville Slugger. He's the guy you go to if you're havin' a problem with someone. He's respected. I, on the other hand, am not: while I played baseball and soccer, I also did ballet, which, uh, was not a popular choice with either the Rigassis or the Masciarellis. My father was a bit more enlightened and went with it. Mario made fun of me until he saw how high I could jump and how cute the ballerinas were. Anyway, a Brooklyn Italian boy doing ballet earns him the title of finocchio by pretty much everyone. I got the shit kicked out of me more than once. Long story short, I hated it."

"Does Jackie live in Bensonhurst?"

"Er, yes and no. He's pretty well off, so he has houses in Bensonhurst and Massapequa in Long Island. When I went to stay with him, I lived in Bensonhurst so that I could go to Brooklyn City. His wife didn't like me much, either, and eventually relocated full time to Long Island."

"So you … lived alone for how long?" she asked, disturbed by the notion that a fifteen-year-old was left to fend for himself.

"A year and change. Then Uncle Joe came and brought me to Staten Island. I stayed there through high school and my first year of apprenticeship."

She took another sip of chamomile. "And Joe is your father's brother, right? Why didn't he get custody?"

Luigi shrugged and shook his head perplexedly. "It was in my father's will. It was bizarre because, in my recollection, Pops wasn't a fan of Jackie's at all. He kept us – Mario and me – away from that side whenever possible. The will said that I would live with the nearest Rigassi family member if Mario wasn't able to take care of me until the age of majority. He went into the Army, so … Anyway, Jackie didn't object when Joe brought me to Eltingville. I, uh, tried to commit suicide, which is probably why."

"Wow," she stated in an uncharacteristic daze. "This was … well, there are a few 'colorful' words I could use to describe that situation. I'm sorry this happened, Luigi, because this was not okay or functional. It sounds like you felt … unsafe for an entire year."

He nodded empathetically. "Yeah, that's precisely it. I felt unsafe. So when I was … summoned, I felt unsafe, too. And I couldn't call anyone because I didn't have time. You don't say no to Jackie."

"Why couldn't you say no?"

"Because …" Looking away, his fingers began to tremble and his blue orbs shifted to the green cigarette lighter sitting on the top shelf. He took a quick sip of coffee and refocused his attention to the waiting Dr. Czernin. "Have you ever seen the Sopranos or Goodfellas?"

"Once. My ex-partner's brother loved watching mob movies, but I never got into them. I do remember Goodfellas vaguely, but I've never seen the Sopranos."

"Okay, you remember the Joe Pesci character?" She gave a single nod. "That's Jackie exactly … literally."

At his pointed stare to emphasize the point, Rosalina's mouth, ever so slightly, dropped open. "Luigi, are you saying he's …?"

"Yes. I, uh, have personally witnessed him and his son shake down businesses in the area."

Rosalina took a deep, relaxing breath to keep her professional detachment upon Luigi's disclosure about his mother's family. "It's no wonder why you felt unsafe. Because you were unsafe around a man like that. And it would be, I would argue, normal to have a panic attack when being 'requested' to dine with a hardened criminal. Frankly, I'd be more worried if you hadn't experienced anxiety."

Luigi leaned back in his chair and swiveled around a bit, pondering what she had said. "I never thought about it that way. Honestly, I, uh, was thinking that it was me with the problem, being that I have panic attacks whenever I'm near Manhattan. I guess I was more focused on that than the big picture." He chuckled a little, then added, "Daisy said something similar; I was worrying about bringing her takeout when she reminded me that I'd been through hell by going to eat with Jackie and his 'friends.'"

Taking a few more sips of tea, Dr. Czernin paused and her blue eyes shifted as if she were debating whether or how to ask the next question. "You mentioned earlier that Jackie did this on purpose. Why do you think this?"

His fingers began to shake violently, spilling coffee over his hands and jeans. He rose and, swearing in both English and Italian, fetched a towel from his adjacent bathroom to clean up the mess. A minute later, he sat back down in front of the camera and, eyes cast downward, murmured an apology.

The scene was not lost on Rosalina, who observed it with a forced impassivity. Internally, she could not understand how his firefighter father could trust such people to care for a child or teenager; as both a psychologist and mother of a small child, she found it personally and morally repugnant. "It's okay, Luigi. I'm a bit concerned about Jackie, which is why I asked the question. I'm sorry that it upset you so much."

"It's fine," he mumbled softly. "I … I'll try to answer the question, even if it …" Tearfully, he gazed at the screen and his therapist. "I don't want to be like my brother or my family and keep endless secrets. I, uh, recently saw the blowup of the century between Mario and his long-time partner over … secrets. Daisy deserves better." He gulped the remainder of the lukewarm coffee, then stared into the empty paper cup. "My father … died in Manhattan. Jackie was always a sadistic sonofabitch; he pretended not to understand why I avoided the fuckin' place – called me a finocchio and said I needed to toughen up. Like me not crying at my father's fucking funeral wasn't tough enough!"

"That's … disgusting," gasped the psychologist. "I apologize; I know I'm not supposed to make judgments, but what Jackie said is truly reprehensible. It should go without saying, but you're not weak or less of a man – a person – for having such an aversion. It's …" she inhaled again to think about her next words, "it's common for loved ones to have such aversions when the death was particularly … traumatic."

He nodded somewhat robotically, "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Steeling herself for the next question, Rosalina finally spoke, "As for your father's funeral, did you ever cry following his death?"

Looking into his empty cup, Luigi answered, "Why? It wasn't going to bring him back. Right after it happened, I just … felt nothing. And years afterward, I just blanked out."

"Blanked out …? The event or the anniversary?"

"Both. There's an entire week of my life that I don't remember. In dreams or flashbacks, I get bits and pieces, but that's it. And right around that time, even now, I become numb."

As she began to put forth another question, the chimes signaled that they had reached the end of the session. "Well, it sounds like our time's just about up. I would like to offer an observation before I give you the homework assignment. What I'm hearing from our last session and this one is that secret keeping is triggering for you. In the last session, you were angry at Daisy for keeping your relationship from her parents, as wise – or not – as it might have been. Then there's the secret of why you were originally sent to live with Jackie instead of Uncle Joe. Finally, there's the secret that your unconscious is keeping from you about your father's death, perhaps to protect you. Your homework assignment, in addition to practicing self-care, is to keep a journal – just for you. Write down any emotion that you feel for that day. I will not look at it, as they're your private thoughts; rather, I would like you to see if you notice any patterns or changes."

They bid each other goodbye until the next Thursday. Luigi logged off his laptop and descended down the stairs to drive back to Park Slope. As he was about to walk out of the front door, he spied Mario channel-surfing from his Lazy-Boy. Upon sighting his fratellino, the plumber in red turned off the television and rose from his chair. "Yo, Weegie, I, uh, heard your voice. You were talkin' to someone, so I didn't wanna bother you. You have dinner yet?"

"Ah, not yet," responded Luigi. "I was going to return to Park Slope. Daisy's at capoeira, then she and her friend, Amy, were going to grab a bite."

Mario grinned. "Aight, c'mon. Let's get some dinner. I'll drop you off at the Sfacciata's afterward."

Luigi let his brother guide him toward the black Honda and the garage. "Her name's Daisy, asshole."


As promised, Mario dropped his little brother at Daisy's apartment building and bid him a good night. He let himself into the small studio where his lioness had already showered and dressed for bed. Subsequent to taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth, he climbed into the space next to her. Between kisses and moans, they talked about their day, and the lioness thanked her plumber for resolving the air conditioning issue. Since Monday was Labor Day, Daisy's department gave the interns Friday off, as very few people would be in the office to train or supervise them. Given that the poker game was that evening, Luigi was glad that she would meet him for lunch.

Plumbing requests normally skyrocketed a day before, during, and especially right after national holidays. Friday was no different; beginning at five in the morning, there were seven voicemails requesting service to unclog a few restaurant sinks in Queens and perform maintenance on five Brooklyn residential HVAC units, as it was supposed to be eighty-five, if not ninety degrees with more than forty percent humidity over the Labor Day weekend. As José and Ginsburg were off for the entire weekend, he assigned the tickets to Mario and requested that he take one or two apprentices to assist with the HVAC servicing. By ten o'clock, the number had doubled; Alassane was too happy to accept the assignments because they meant overtime, and Luigi reminded him to mark up the clients appropriately. Between service calls, Luigi argued with the decrepit computer, which inexplicably gave him the blue screen of death three times in twenty minutes, to verify bi-weekly finances for the company's accountant. At noon, Daisy strolled into the shop with a few paper bags of food; some of the journeymen on their lunch breaks began snickering and, unaware that she spoke Spanish, whispering about the arrival of the boss's hinchapelotas. The bemused woman raised an eyebrow at them, yet declined to respond; instead, she greeted her hungry boyfriend with a quick kiss. Luigi was delighted at both her presence and the pastrami on rye and black and white cookie from Katz's. As she munched on her egg salad sandwich, he showed her the back-end operations of the plumbing shop in which, again to his glee, she seemed genuinely interested. Shortly after one o'clock and lunch hour's end, he escorted her outside and captured her lips with his. Feeling her shake ever so slightly, he enfolded her in his arms and, murmuring that he would return from Poker Night, invited her to spend Labor Day with him and Mario in Bensonhurst or Staten Island, whichever she preferred.

Mercifully, the service requests started to decrease at around half past four in the afternoon. Except for the junior journeymen and a few of the third- or fourth-year apprentices, Luigi sent the crew home for the weekend, though he asked that they remain reachable in case they received a surge of Labor Day emergency requests. The manager checked his phone nervously; he knew Mario would be on his way and interfere if he saw Lucas or the Morellos around the shop. Suddenly, his iPhone buzzed with a message from the man in purple: "Weeg, I'm outside your shop. We should leave now." Sighing, he grabbed both cellphones, his green backpack, and keys to lock up the office and shop. Exiting the building, he sighted Lucas's black BMW and climbed into the passenger seat. As Lucas moved away from the curb and down the street, in the rearview mirror, Luigi saw Mario's black Honda approach the now closed shop.

"Hey, Weeg!" greeted Lucas cheerfully. "I know I'm a little early, but I didn't want to risk running into Sergeant Major Dickerson."

Luigi nodded. "Yeah, that's probably for the best. He's on call for emergency tickets this weekend since he got the Fourth of July off, so he'd be snooping, for sure."

The man in the usual purple polo shirt and brown khakis glanced at his passenger and, with a grin, said, "So I'm sure you're hungry. There's a cooler of goodies in the backseat. It'll probably take two, two and a half hours to get there, so feel free to eat what you want."

"Two and a half hours?!" exclaimed Luigi confusedly. "It's not in Bensonhurst or Bushwick?"

Lucas chuckled, "Oh, fuck no! No one wants to risk getting their asses caught in the same place. Plus, these guys like to, uh, party in style."

"So, where are we going?"

"East Hampton."

"What?!"

Lucas lifted his right hand against the steering wheel. "Take it easy, Weeg. We're going to my father's house in the Hamptons. This isn't the normal illegal gambling ring located underneath gelato and pizza shops in Long Island or Queens; this is high stakes and for the elite. It's poker, but as you'll see, it's much more than that."

"Hamptons – of course," said the passenger sarcastically. "Like no one will notice a bunch of Greek and Italian guys among the WASPs!"

He snickered. "You'd be surprised at what America's elite will tolerate. Rappers with gold teeth and tech-9s walk around in East Hampton Village or, shit, even several presidents and their mistresses. Trust me, they won't and don't blink at wiseguys shopping for swordfish and lobster. They only give a shit if you're loud about it or if you're a poor gangbanger." Wincing a little, he maneuvered the steering wheel with his injured left hand and put his right on Luigi's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You'll have a good time."

"Why was I invited, especially to your father's house? It's not like youse value me. They forced you to befriend me," he growled while staring angrily out of the window.

"Wait, what's this?" demanded Lucas. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Back in high school – your father put you up to be my … buddy. Makes sense. Sold me out at every turn."

The Manhattanite nodded heatedly. "Did Pete Morello tell you that?" At Luigi's cold silence, he continued, "Well, like usual, he told you a half-truth. No, a quarter of the truth. Yeah, my father pushed me to befriend you. And yeah, I wasn't happy about it … initially. But when the fuck have I ever done what my father wanted?" The plumber shrugged his agreement. "Exactly. I am still your friend despite the Woodland Critters, that fat fuck Jackass, and Dad of the Century. If I didn't care, I wouldn't have given you my doctor to help you get through that bullshit Jackass pulled. Now eat."

The suspicious plumber reluctantly fetched the small cooler on the backseat and balanced it on his lap. He removed containers of warm pita bread, hummus, tzatziki, kolokithokeftedes, dolmades, and spied bougatsa and a couple cans of Pellegrino at the bottom. Like an Italian mouse, he took a piece of bread, dropped a little hummus on it, and quietly nibbled on it. They did not speak for several minutes, save for Lucas's occasional requests for a few kolokithokeftedes, which he popped into his mouth as he drove down the Belt Parkway; he refused to lose his temper on the BQE which would inevitably be a cesspool. While the Belt was a marginal improvement, Lucas used his horn less, particularly past Merrick. About an hour into the car ride, his phone began to ring.

"Weeg, would you please answer that? It's probably my father, so you can put it on speaker."

Mid-bite of a second pita bread and tzatziki, Luigi quizzically turned to his frenemy. "Isn't that private?"

Lucas smirked. "Fucker thinks I need to practice my Greek, so unless you've been taking lessons, I doubt you'll understand." Nodding, Luigi answered the call, putting it on speaker. "Ναι πράγματι?"

The older masculine voice boomed in Greek, "Αγόρι μου, quit fucking around. Is the boy with you?"

"Yeah, he's with me," replied the Manhattanite in Georgie's language. "We just passed The Bellmores on our way to the Hamptons."

"You left early; that has to be a first. So you'll be here in about an hour and a half or two hours. Excellent. I will let our guests know. I will expect you at seven, seven-thirty." With that, Georgie ended the call.

"Love you, too," bit out Lucas in English while extending his middle finger. His features softened when glancing at the almost concerned Luigi and started to sing in the manner of Paul Simon, "Still an asshole after all these years." The plumber choked on his piece of bougatsa. After coughing for a full minute, as Lucas laughed maniacally, Luigi spoke, "My Pops loved that song! He, uh, loved Paul Simon."

"I do, too, but sometimes …" The tall man shrugged. "Anyway, we got another hour and a half to kill, so tell me about the shop. How annoying is it being the boss, am I right?"

Luigi tried to smile, though he suspected that it came out more as a wince.


Daisy hung up the Skype call with Harry and Yael, who were going to spend Labor Day in Napa Valley this year, as they would instead visit New York for the High Holy Days at the end of September. Yael seemed especially pleased that the Italian goy was again absent from her apartment, though Daisy was quick to assure her that the Italian goy was not only alive and well, but was moreover a guest at her small studio on a number of occasions. Harry just shook his head and gave her the warning look to mind her manners. The truth was that her borderline disrespectful mood came from anxiety over his whereabouts. What the hell did the Rigassi side really want with him? Their encounter with Pete and Matt Morello at the Santa Rosalia festival did not seem serendipitous to her; Daisy could sense that Pete was evaluating her, whether it was to find a weakness or to see if she knew who he was. Changing into workout clothes, she decided to go work out on the downstairs gym's elliptical bike when she heard a buzz at the building door. She frowned and, speaking into the intercom, asked, "Who is it?"

"Yo, Sfacciata, let me in," requested a familiar voice.

Mouthing Luigi's brother's name to herself, she buzzed him inside and waited for the knock at the door, which came about a minute and a half later. She unlocked it and let him pass; the plumber strolled inside, looking around expectantly for his fratellino. "What'd he do – go out to the bodega or somethin'?"

After staring at each other for a while, her brown eyes widened upon realizing that Mario had no clue about Luigi's Friday night whereabouts. "He … He didn't tell you?"

Mario crossed his arms and asked somewhat irritably. "Tell me what?"

"Mario, he … he went to Poker Night."

The older plumber burst out laughing. "Poker Night? Just when the fuck does Luigi gamble?" At her pointed stare, his joviality soon evolved into horror. "Wait, wait a goddamned minute! Are we talkin' 'bout the same thing? Justwhat exactly do you mean by 'Poker Night?'"

"He was summoned by Jackie Morano to lunch in Midtown last week." Mario's blue eyes shifted into two black dots of silent rage, yet he said nothing at that point, instead focused on hearing Daisy's account. "Jackie was apparently amused enough that he requested his presence at Poker Night, wherever the hell that is. Luigi didn't know." After a ragged exhale, she cast her eyes up at Mario's enraged ones. "There's more. At Santa Rosalia, we ran into Pete Morello and his son."

"Motherfucker!" exploded the plumber, causing Daisy to jump. He put his hands out toward her in an unspoken apology. "I don't know where Poker Night is. Rumor's that Big Jackass – Jackie – changes the location to avoid having the capos and some of the bosses all in the same place for the FBI, ATF, and whoever the fuck else wants to listen. I've never been, nor have I ever wanted to. But I know someone who might know." Slamming his right fist into his hand, Mario stalked toward the door when she began to follow him. Upon hearing her footsteps behind him, he spun around and growled, "No, you stay here! Where I'm goin' isn't safe for ragazze!"

"Mario," she said firmly, "let's just stop, wait, and see. The last time, Jackie didn't harm Luigi. I think he'll do the same, especially if Pete Morello is in town."

Scoffing, the plumber crossed his arms again and glowered in a crescendo, "That's your grand plan? Leave him for fuck knows how long with the fuckin' Mafia?! The goddamned Mafia, Sfacciata!"

"I don't like it, either, but what choice do we have?" she shouted. "If we go storming into Bensonhurst, it could get him killed, and you know that! Plus," she took a few deep breaths, choosing her next words, "I think this is why Luigi didn't tell you. He knew that you'd go after him."

"Of course I'd go after him!" he hissed. "He's my fratellino! He's my family – my only immediately family. I will not risk or let anythin' happen to him – over my dead fuckin' body!"

"Can you … can you call Peach? Ask her to come?" asked Daisy. "He's her friend, too."

He shook his head and turned away from his brother's girlfriend, moving to sit on the couch. "No. We … she wants a break from me. I've tried callin' her, but," he threw up his hands, "she ain't answerin.' Best to leave her be." Putting his head in his hands, he uttered, "I can't lose him. He's all I got."

"I know," she murmured, sitting next to him. "But I trust him - implicitly. As much as I trusted you a few years ago."

Mario scoffed again, then lifted his head to face her. "Really? Weegie's pulled this shit before. When he went out to Los Angeles, he … let that little shit Lucas make us – Peaches, Joe, Yoshi, Miles, and me – think he'd jumped off the Verrazzano. His phone's signal ended right on that fuckin' bridge!"

"Lucas's a skilled hacker. Miles's been running countermeasures against him since Palo Alto because he hacked Luigi's phone. Luigi's not with him; I have seen him personally stand up to that slimy prick. You've got to trust that he can handle himself. It doesn't mean, however, that you can't … worry."

"Yeah, well," he answered, launching himself off the couch, "I can't just sit here doing nothin'!"

"Yes, Mario, you can!" Daisy insisted as she moved to block him from leaving. "How about this? If Luigi doesn't return or communicate by tomorrow at noon, then you can go charging in. But until that point, there's nothing you can do! He's the main player now."

Like a caged lion, he growled his objections to Daisy's compromise as well as his fratellino's choice to go to a Mafia-run establishment. Nevertheless, he agitatedly sank back onto her couch, still glaring at anything and everything. "Tomorrow at noon," he finally relented.


Luigi sat nervously against the wall of a basement gaming room as several large men, Georgie, and Pete took turns casting furtive glances at their cards at an octagonal poker table. The "bambini" – Luigi, Lucas, Fat Tony, and Matt – were told to wait until it was their turn. Cuban cigar in his mouth, Jackie served as the dealer for the who's-who of wiseguys and associates: Pete; Georgie; Carlo's underboss, Junior, whose real name was Michele; Jackie's younger and equally fat brother, Tommy; Paulie, a senior capo from one of the New Jersey crews, and his hotheaded, thirties-something soldier in a thousand-dollar suit named Rocco. Unlike private Texas Hold'em games, the dealer for this small tournament was not allowed to play; Tommy made a cryptic allusion to "a cheating fuck" who ended the normal practice. Several plates of alcoholic drinks, finger sandwiches, and traditional Italian antipasti – prosciutto, olives, sliced cheese, sliced bread, various crostini, and bruschette – rested on silver stands alongside the table. Whereas Lucas and Luigi each sipped local IPAs, and Matt nibbled on bruschetta with caponata, Fat Tony predictably gorged himself with a full dinner plate of the sandwiches and prosciutto, though he was mindful enough of his seniors to leave plenty for them to enjoy.

"Aight, we got a six of spades, a ten of diamonds, and a Jack of hearts. Pete, your bet," announced Jackie with a smirk.

Pete selected a stack of chips, tossed them into the pot, and responded, "Four hundred."

Georgie and Junior folded immediately while the remaining three men called the bet. Lucas gleefully snorted into his hand at his father's loss, and Matt watched Pete calmly control the pot. Sipping his beer, Luigi unexpectedly recalled Saturday poker nights at his Bensonhurst A-frame with Mario Senior, Giuseppe, and several fellow firefighters. Normally, the young child was sent to Lucia or had sleepovers at Yoshi's house since he had little interest in or understanding of gambling. On one occasion, a thirteen-year-old Luigi stayed to watch the men play Texas Hold 'Em. As Mario Senior's fellow firemen playfully pointed out, he was "the biggest bullshit artist at the table," too often bluffing his way to the final round only to lose to a superior hand. Nevertheless, Mario appeared to delight more in seeing how far he could bluff before either having to fold or getting exposed than in actually winning. New York's Bravest, however, groaned whenever Giuseppe came to play. Named "The Fucking Shark," or TFS for short, he triumphantly collected fifty, seventy, and even a hundred bucks in a night. At the game which Luigi was invited to observe, he won seventy-five dollars by the night's end. No one knew precisely how he won, only that he had an innate sense of whom had which hand. In a past game, a tilted probie had accused Giuseppe of cheating, provoking an outraged Mario Senior to throw the former out of the house. Thereafter, the plumber avoided playing for months until he capitulated to his older brother's pleas to return. He watched his uncle scrutinize the cards, as if calculating odds, as well as the expressions of each player. Poker was about probability and tells, from a turn or river card yielding a strong hand to the psychology of the human holding the cards.

Knowing that it would soon be his turn, Luigi put aside his fear and focused on reviewing what he had learned of each man at the table. Pete had perfected the poker face and was the hardest to read. Conversely, Tommy and Rocco were the easiest to read, with the latter having already experienced tilt over Pete beating him with three kings in the previous hand. Georgie, Junior, and Paulie fell between Rocco and Pete, though the underboss and New Jersey capo unknowingly telegraphed suboptimal hands; Junior chewed his lip while Paulie reached for his plate to nosh on prosciutto. Georgie's mustache twitched when he opted to bluff, succeeding with everyone except for Junior and Pete. Jackie dealt the turn and river cards – six of hearts and ace of spades. This time, Pete and Paulie were left; as the latter had not gone for the prosciutto plate, he had a decent hand, hence why he also called Pete's rather steep bets of several thousand dollars for the fourth and final rounds. Pete edged out Paulie's three sixes with three Jacks.

As Paulie called the chuckling Pete a motherfucker, one of Jackie's guys came and whispered something in his ear. Rolling his eyes and pinching his fingers, the capo set down the deck of cards and apologetically announced, "Gotta take care of something. I need to step away for a bit." Looking at the bambini, he said, "Yo, Tony, Luigi, you're in. Petey, take over dealin' and give the boys a rest from your fuckin' sharkin.'"

Tony cracked his knuckles and, bringing his plate of antipasti, waddled to Pete's left at the table. Luigi, however, glanced wide-eyed at the expectant poker players. "Uh, sh-shouldn't Matt go first?"

"It's okay, kid. C'mon," replied Junior, motioning him to come forward with his hand. "Gotta get your cherry popped sooner or later. You'll sit next to Georgie and me." Matt gave him a thumbs-up and encouraged him to follow the underboss's instructions. Lucas, however, gave the plumber an unreadable stare, silently fuming at having been excluded by his father and guests. Nodding, Luigi reluctantly took the chair to the left of Junior. Pete handed him a starter amount of chips and, as Tony and Georgie tossed in the small and big blinds, dealt each man two cards face down. The plumber discreetly examined his cards – a three of clubs and an ace of diamonds. Junior called the big blind, and he did the same. While Tommy, Paulie, and Rocco studied their cards and tossed their calls into the pot, Luigi mulled over his plan of play. All of these men were powerful, ruthless, and likely homicidal; although he knew that, all things being equal and fair, he could do well at poker, mouthing off at or otherwise embarrassing a made guy would inexorably end in his disappearance and demise. Fat Tony, being the greedy bastard that he was, decided to raise the table to a thousand, causing everyone else to match his new bet to move on to the flop.

Luigi watched Pete toss the top card aside before dealing and turning over three cards: four of spades, queen of hearts, and a five of clubs. Having also been advised not to appear weak, he decided to play to the turn or river at most and subtlety fold. Junior opened with a thousand, and the young plumber immediately folded, unwilling to toss in twenty for the possibility of a straight, which was a moderate hand at best. The others called, even Fat Tony who was not as aggressive, which the newcomer surmised as indicative of a crappy hand. The turn card was a seven of spades, causing Luigi to blink slightly. Goddamnit, he thought to himself. By the showdown and a jack of hearts, only Georgie and Junior were left; the former won with a pair of jacks, having bluffed a grumbling Paulie.

This continued for several games, with the plumber folding either at the flop or turn betting rounds and, on occasion, the pre-flop. Pete observed him carefully and chewed on his lip in a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. In the third round, he knew that his cousin had a three of a kind which would have taken an enormous pot. His original assessment had been correct; Luigi was terrified both of exposing his mathematical abilities and thus angering all of the players. Pete could not blame him, and he was in fact following his instruction in a twisted form of malicious compliance. Yet this was not what he, Jackie, or Junior wanted. But before he could think of a plan to force him to actually play, he heard Lucas heckle in exasperation, "Oh, c'mon, Weegie – you're the biggest bullshitter at the table! I call shenanigans!"

Everyone turned to the young man in purple, including Luigi, who retorted, "Uh, don't know what you're talking about, Lucas. As everyone can see, I'm losing, so obviously, my bullshit isn't working."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Yeah, chickenshit, you're doing it on purpose, and we all fucking know it. C'mon, Weeg – play the game! If I and Matty-boy here have to sit on our asses, at least make it worth our time!" Though Matt said nothing, he glowered at Lucas, mentally envisioning and delighting in his death by trash compactor.

Seven sets of eyes shifted from Lucas to Luigi. "Kid, why don't you want to play?" asked Tommy in an almost accusatory tone.

"Hey, I'm tryin' here," faltered Luigi, still attempting to deny the truth in Lucas's statement. "I guess it ain't my night."

Junior noticed his nervous denial and glanced wordlessly at Pete for corroboration. The Denver capo stared at the deck for five seconds before meeting the glance of his questioning superior and silently admitting that Lucas's allegation was indeed true. The sixties-something man, whom crews called Il Mago – the Magician – for his ability to dodge countless federal and state charges as well as for his temperance, recognized the dilemma that the young man faced. Over the years, he had heard many tales of the boy's mathematical talent; poker was partly about statistics which he could undoubtedly calculate in his head. But contrary to many young men, Luigi was cautious and, unlike Lucas and Tony, avoided the cockiness that vexed veteran capos and soldiers. He respected that sense of discretion. Nevertheless, it was essential that the plumber play that night. Holding up a hand to quieten the wiseguys' audible speculation and demands, Junior spoke, "It's always good to know when to play – when to fold 'em and when to bet. We're all good guys here; no one's gonna get pissed off over a few thousand bucks. Right?" Unwilling to challenge the underboss's delicately stated directive, everyone nodded. A sweating Luigi looked at Pete, who glared pointedly at him, and then at Junior. Finally, he gave a single, rigid nod. As the Boss crooned, none but the brave.

Luigi let that song play in his mind as he played the hand he was dealt. This time, he stayed in the game through the showdown, beating Tommy with two pairs of jacks and threes. Scraping the moderately sized pot toward him, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pete breathe a sigh of relief. He imagined a simpering Daisy next to Lucas, encouraging him as well as eyeing the wiseguys who might think of hurting him. I'll do it for you, cat-face, he thought. Over the next two games, he measured his bets through their tells and his calculations of the probability of which pocket cards each man held. He folded in the first and collected the pot in the second. Forty-five minutes later, Jackie returned to the room, yet refrained from playing to observe his cousin's debut. Much to his shock, Luigi almost had the same amount as Pete. Junior and Georgie seemed amused by the turn of events while Fat Tony mumbled that Luigi was "a card-counting cheater." However, Rocco was growing angrier by the minute. Slamming his cards down, he hopped out of his chair to grab three mini-sandwiches. On the surface, Luigi collected the pot passively; internally, a chill ran down his spine. The phantom Daisy glared at the man, brandishing her knuckles. Paulie and Tommy softly told the New Jerseyan basta and enjoined him to take it easy. Even as Matt grinned at his second cousin and Lucas snickered at the meltdown, the plumber's face betrayed a certain amount of fear. Jackie moved behind him and slapped a hand on his shoulder. His auburn-haired lioness smiled at him, whispering that she loved him.

Over the next hour, the plumber channeled his inner "Fucking Shark" and proceeded to systematically take the pot, even from Pete who had resumed the game once Georgie became dealer and Matt was tapped into the game. The sneering Lucas crossed his arms at the snub; by the flop round of the ongoing game, he went to the beverages tables for another beer and, dejected, sank back down into his seat. At the beginning of the turn round, Pete, Paulie, Tommy, and Matt folded, leaving Junior, Luigi, Tony, and Rocco. Luigi discreetly looked at his hole cards – two sevens – and then at the four community cards; the latter were the seven of clubs, three of spades, three of hearts, and queen of hearts. He tried to keep calm as he bet, knowing that unless someone had a four of a kind or a flush, which were at best a 1 in 4,165 or 72,193 chance, he had the winning hand for a very large pot. Tony chewed on the end of his cigar eagerly for the river card, yet groused at the appearance of the two of spades. Tossing his cards to the center, he muttered, "Cazzo! Take it and get lost. And take a piss in peace, 'cause I'll get youse next time, fuckers!" Glancing at his cards once last time, Junior also folded, leaving Luigi and Rocco to bet in the showdown. As the remaining player to the left of Georgie, Luigi began with four thousand on a suspicion that the other man was attempting to bluff him. Rocco, whose pile of chips had become more and more meager, matched his four thousand and raised him eight. The plumber calmly tossed eight into the pot and raised him ten thousand.

"You got nothin,' kid!" grumbled Rocco as he fiddled with his ten thousand and threw in twelve.

Aside from Luigi, the entire table rolled their eyes at the soldier's trash talk, which he had done – hollowly – throughout the evening. Mistake; the comparatively small bet betrayed a lack of confidence in his hand. Affixing the best poker face that he could muster, Luigi pretended to hesitate before sliding in his twelve and raising him twenty.

It was then Rocco's turn to dillydally. "You're bluffing!" he yelled. The plumber wordlessly shrugged.

"Fine, you little cocksucker! You suck fuckin' cocks, and we all know it. Here!" he tossed in twenty and roared, shoving all of his chips toward the center, "All in, you monkey-ass motherfucking asswipe!"

"You sure you want to do that, son?" interjected Pete.

Rocco grinned thinly and pointed his finger at the anxious Luigi. "This cocksucker needs to be taught a fuckin' lesson! Now either call or fold, you fuck!"

Luigi glanced at the phantom Daisy who gave him a single nod. He pushed in the remaining fifty thousand and replied, "Call." He turned over his cards to reveal a full house of three sevens and two threes. Rocco gawked at the hand, knowing that he only had king high with the pair of threes from the community cards.

"Well, Rocco," Pete began, coughing into his hand to avoid an outright belly laugh, "I get the impression that you don't have a flush or four of a kind. Do ya?"

Except for the soldier and Luigi, the men howled their amusement. The rage that had been simmering ultimately boiled to the surface, and the New Jerseyan screamed in exasperation and indignation. Standing up, he again pointed at Luigi and hissed, "I ain't losin' to a fuckin' snot-nosed bitch! You fuckin' cocksucker, I'm gonna fuckin' …!" Whipping out a switch blade from his ankle and flicking it open, he lunged at him with the knife. As the plumber's eyes widened, and he internally prepared to be injured or killed, Paulie and Tommy intercepted the irate man, prying the knife from his clenched fingers.

"Why the fuck does he still got that?!" demanded Junior, upset that his order had been disobeyed. While Rocco belonged to a different crew, every wiseguy swore an oath to respect another's chain of command. "Get his ass outta here! The fresh Hampton night air will do him some good."

Wrapping an arm around Rocco to control him, Paulie answered, "Sure thing, Junior. Sorry, Luigi. Rocco here just lost his mind for a sec, but he's also sorry." He added with a sharp hiss, "That right?" The soldier simply glared at the plumber, despite knowing that he would receive the asschewing of the century for having embarrassed his capo in front of an underboss and his crew. Paulie then escorted him outside; Jackie followed to make sure that the former could control his wild soldier. Breathing a rough sigh of relief, Luigi closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks that he might see the real Daisy, his brother, and his zii again.

"Why don't we cash Luigi out and let him get some air? That alright, Junior?" suggested an upset Pete to his boss.

"Si, bene. Tommy, cash him out. You did good, kid," spoke Junior, who waived his assent with a tiny smile. "Real good."

Tommy walked over and, patting Luigi's shoulder, counted his chips. Muttering to himself the number, he went to the cash box and took out two stacks of greenbacks. Matt escorted a numb Luigi over to Jackie's brother, who handed him the money. "Yo, Lou, here's your cut. We take some, and the amount depends on … who's who, y'know."

"Lucas, it's past midnight. Luigi and Matt must be exhausted. Can you show them to the guest rooms?" requested Georgie in a no-nonsense tone.

The Manhattanite blinked at the group in disbelief at his figurative assignment of caddie for the Woodland Critter and Luigi. "Yeah, no problem," he deadpanned. Putting his arm around Luigi, he guided the dazed man out of the room, with Matt a step behind them. The three of them climbed the broad, winding staircase to the upper-most floor of guest bedrooms. Lucas steered Matt to a large bedroom next to Pete's before pushing Luigi toward the room adjacent to his own. They entered the spare ensuite which contained a king-sized canopy bed, chairs, its own bathroom with tub and shower, and French doors opening to a deck that, in the daytime, overlooked the manor lawn and the Atlantic Ocean. Luigi, still clutching the stacks of money, eased himself into bed while his frenemy fetched him some clean clothes and pushed one of the doors open to let in some fresh air.

"Lucas, what just happened?" asked the plumber in a tremoring voice.

"Well, Weeg, you humiliated a Jersey asshole and won twenty-five grand in cash prizes," he replied with a mischievous grin. He sat on the edge of the bed and tucked him into the covers.

"Why did you do that?" whispered an angry Luigi, who was trying to hold back tears. "You almost got me killed."

Lucas sighed and crossed his arms. "I didn't have a choice. Half of those guys – Pete, Jackie, Tommy, and Junior certainly – knew or heard about your math talents. If you hadn't played in the open, they'd have accused you of cheating and killed you on the spot." He furiously spun his head away and said, "They – Pete, Jackie, and Matt – put you in an untenable situation. In their world, we're nothing to them because we're not made."

Suddenly, the two young men heard a knock at the door. Both spied Matt in the doorframe. "Is Luigi okay?"

Standing up to confront him, Lucas growled, "Well, Denver Dumbass, does he look okay to you?"

A livid Matt stepped into the room, ready to answer back, when Luigi cried, "Both of you just shut the fuck up and leave me alone!"

Dumbfounded at the normally introverted plumber's outburst, Matt and Lucas eyed each other one last time and, turning out the lights and shutting the door, exited the room. Now alone, he extended the comforter over his head and sobbed into the pillows, wishing Daisy and Mario were there to comfort and protect him.


Daisy sat on the worn living room couch of her boyfriend's 17th Avenue home, an unwitting audience to Mario's swearing and bagging of pans and plates. The latter had insisted on returning to their house where he "could protect her better" and wait for Luigi's safe arrival. She checked her iPhone – 8:32 am. There was no sign of her plumber, which only angered his older brother more. She was convinced that Mario had not slept at all, and had in fact gone out several times to search for his fratellino on the streets of Bensonhurst and Bath Beach. He dismissed her questioning looks; instead, he handed her an espresso and claimed that he had to go kill a few man-eating plants for her breakfast. As he busied himself with making bacon and eggs and, for her, a vegetable omelette, Luigi's lioness sent an emergency encrypted text to Miles. Five minutes later, he wrote back that he was on his way.

"Miles is coming," she called out to the grumbling plumber. He nodded mutely while shutting off the stove and sliding her breakfast on a plate. Collecting his coffee and breakfast, he placed the food on the kitchen table and motioned for her to sit and eat. Taking bites of her vegetable omelette, she studied the older, gray shirted man with increasing alarm. Silence at an Italian table was inevitably the sign of immense distress; he had not shaved and he picked at his bacon strips. "Hey," she said softly to get his attention. Though Mario did not raise his eyes, he grunted to indicate that he had heard her. "We'll find him. Miles can find him." He did not reply. "Luigi could also be on his way." He took a sip of his espresso, scanning the top shelves until he spied the Jack Daniels sitting atop the refrigerator. Daisy observed Mario's silent despair and pushed away her omelette. "I feel powerless, too."

For the first time that morning, Mario made eye contact with his little brother's girlfriend. "You wanted to wait!" he barked, his blue eyes burning with unexpressed ire.

"Call Peach," she answered, not taking his bait. "I know she wants space, but you can leave a voice message. He's her family, too."

He stared at her for a solid minute, then exhaled harshly. As he picked up one of the pieces of bacon to nibble, he murmured, "I will if he doesn't come back by noon, Sfacciata. Finish your omelette."

"Only if you'll finish your bacon and eggs, even with ketchup," she countered, albeit with a wrinkled nose. Mario raised a bemused eyebrow and shook his head.

They finished breakfast in comfortable reserve; the plumber waived her off when she came in to help clean the dishes, telling her that she needed to stay by the phones in case Luigi called. Daisy checked their phones every ten minutes, then every five, growling as time passed. At just past 10:30, they heard a car park in front of the house. Mario jabbed his finger at Daisy to stay put as he grabbed his Army service weapon and carefully peered out of the peephole. Breathing easier and lowering his gun, he unlocked and opened the entrance. The auburn-haired lioness bolted up to see Miles and Yoshi step inside the house and close the door.

"Dipshits," greeted the plumber weakly.

"Hey, sorry I'm a little late. I brought Yoshi, too. Birdo's working today, so she couldn't be here," Miles explained, laptop and router underneath his arm. "Still no word from him?" Mario and Daisy shook their heads. "Lucas has been AWOL since Friday, so I assume he went wherever Luigi did. I haven't been able to pick up a signal from him, though I did see that his cellphone hit the tower near Bellmore on Long Island. The trail went cold after that. Still working on why." Miles began to set up a portal workstation at the kitchen table while Yoshi followed.

"Yeah, Loser-boy's 4chan's also been radio silent. The guy was eating up my catfished shit online until Friday afternoon. Then he disappeared," added the physicist.

Mario banged the soaking frying pan in the sink. "Did everyone fuckin' know about Lucas except for me?!"

"No," replied Miles, who was plugging in the router and typing commands. "Yoshi didn't know until a few weeks ago."

He more aggressively scrubbed the pan. "Oh, that makes me feel so much fuckin' better!" The Japanese walked over to Mario and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Poker night ended last night! So what the fuck do they want with him this morning?!"

"I smell a rat, namely Pete Morello," bit out the hacker as he cracked the New York DMV's server and did a search for vehicles owned by Lucas Kariolis. "I'm doing a search on his vehicles. The guy drives fancy cars, and they tend to have an internal tracking system. Hmm … WAH2U. What an original license plate. Black BMW. Alrighty, time to see if I can hack a sophisticated security system to see where they went." As he accessed his virtual machine system, he glanced up at Yoshi and asked, "Yosh, can you monitor Twitter and 4chan and see if Loser-boy appears for an ego stroke?"

"Yeah," nodded Yoshi as he accessed his iPad and logged into his online accounts.

The plumber finished with the dishes and sank on the couch next to Daisy. Silence fell upon the house once more, each person's eyes glued on their electronics. As the minutes passed and ticked closer to noon, both Yoshi and Daisy sensed Mario becoming increasingly agitated and eyeing his service weapon with greater frequency. Miles amplified his focus and zoned out the scene unfolding in the living room; normally, he followed the forty-eight-hour guideline for missing persons, yet he knew that he might only have thirty minutes if Mario decided to wage war on the Moranos. Unable to control himself any further, Mario sat up and marched into his room to put on his sock and footwear. Daisy checked her phone – 11:37 am. As she was setting her iPhone down, it began to buzz with an "Unknown" caller ID.

"Hello?" she answered suspiciously, a little annoyed at whomever decided to call. Her amber eyes widened and she shouted, "Luigi?! Is that …" Miles motioned her to keep him on the phone for as long as possible. Hearing Daisy shout his brother's name, he barreled out of his room and tried to snatch the device, but Yoshi quickly moved to intercept him. "Where are you? What …? Uh-huh. Sh-sure, sweetie. Yeah. Yes, always. Okay, I … I love you, too. Luigi, sweetie, wait –"

The line went dead, and the hacker yelled, "Spock fucking damn Kirk and Bones to Rura Penthe! They kept the call short to avoid a trace! Fuck!"

"Sfacciata, why didn't you use that mouth a-yours to keep him on the line?!" cried Mario.

"I tried!" she yelled back. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Luigi's fine, though I think someone was with him. He wouldn't say anything about where he is or who he's with. He just said that he was okay, he'd be back soon, and that … he was visiting relatives. I thought I heard voices in the background."

"Anyone you recognized?" asked Yoshi.

Daisy shook her head. "No. There was some … clattering, like kitchen utensils or something. I also thought I heard seagulls."

"They could be at a house or a restaurant. Seagulls means close to the ocean," reasoned Miles. "Mario, what do you know about this … Poker Night?"

Shrugging, the plumber scrubbed his unshaved face to maintain some of his composure. "Not much. Just … rumors and innuendo. Mafiosi are real fuckin' bullshit artists. Supposedly, it's where the capos and higher-ups try to one-up each other. The, uh, location changes so they don't have the FBI up their asses."

"So they could be anywhere," spoke Yoshi, running a hand through his black hair.

"But we do have a clue – The Bellmores," interpolated Miles. "That's past JFK on the Belt, so we know that he's likely in-state and somewhere on Long Island that's within walking distance from the shoreline. I wonder who has a residence or restaurant on Long Island?"

"Jackie does – Massapequa. I think some of the capos live near there, too. As for the ocean, I dunno," said Mario.

The hacker shook his head. "They're not going to risk their private residences – FBI's probably sitting on them. It's got to be somewhere they wouldn't look." He steepled his hands, then his eyes widened, and he returned to type in his computer terminal. "I have a theory … Yes!" he exclaimed, pumping his fist. "I think I know where he might be!"

"Well, Dipshit? Where's he at?!" demanded the Italian.

"George Kariolis, Lucas's father, has a residence in the Hamptons, one that's large enough to host several capos, his son, and Luigi. That's where I think he is. The FBI won't risk announcing their presence in the rich WASP capital of America – well, next to Martha's Vineyard. It's a theory, though."

Mario, Yoshi, and Daisy nodded in satisfaction. "Let's go with it. Now, why does the Mafia want to keep him?" inquired the physicist. "Is it like Star Wars - y'know, turn him to the Dark Side?"

"Something like that, yeah," replied Daisy.

"Now what, guys? We know where he likely is, yet we can't do a fucking thing about it!" he hissed.

The plumber sighed and rubbed his face again. "We wait, Yoshi. That's all we can do. If we try to go to the Hamptons, they'll see us comin' a mile away. At least he's alive and well. I'm … I'm not gonna do shit to risk that. Not yet, anyway."

While Luigi's friends were debating their next move in Brooklyn, the habitually green-shirted plumber was wearing the borrowed black and green swimming trunks and long-sleeved tunic from Georgie's closet. After breakfast, he persuaded a tired Pete to let him call Daisy on a burner phone to avoid unwanted attention or a rampage from his older brother. The Denver capo was his collected self, save freshly-bruised knuckles on his right hand and an overprotectiveness over both Matt and Luigi whom he always kept in eyeshot. Georgie played up the role of Greek host and patriarch, happily ordering his kitchen staff and his grumbling son to serve Junior, Jackie, Tony, Pete, Matt, and Luigi any dish they desired. Paulie, Tommy, and Rocco had left sometime in the night due to an "unexpected family matter," leaving the others to enjoy the morning in the seventy-degree, sunny weather. Eager to show off his private beach, Georgie proposed that they go swimming; whereas the bambini, Pete, and Jackie accepted the invitation to swim in the freezing Atlantic, Junior opted out to "keep his fuckin' bones from turnin' to ice." Despite the late-August temperatures, the Atlantic currents kept the deep blue waters frigid, and it became a game between Tony, Lucas, Luigi, and Matt to see who could swim or wade the longest. The latter three could not outlast Tony, who used his extra padding and farts to chase them out early. Jackie shook his head and called them "a bunch of fuckin' idiots" and told him "not to cianciriif they get a fuckin' cold or bitten by sharks!"

After they had showered and warmed up, Matt set Luigi up with a new system for the plumbing shop, for which they successfully tested a transfer of emergency tickets to journeymen's phones; thankfully, there had only been three, and the more advanced apprentices could handle them. About an hour later, the men came to the indoor dinner table displaying every traditional Greek dish: choriatiki, moussaka, potatoes, roasted lamb and pork, keftethes – meatballs which Jackie argued came from Italy – lobster pasta, octopus, and an assortment of breads. While Georgie occasionally engaged in conversation with his son in Greek and English, he was more focused on impressing the underboss and capos with his generosity and wealth. Jackie and, to a lesser extent, Junior, appreciated the ass-kissing; Pete was polite, though somewhat aloof with the Athenian, preferring instead to engage the bambini in conversation. Georgie stuffed them further with ouzo, an assortment of desserts including baklava, and Greek coffee. Impressed that Luigi took the strong drink without sugar, the tycoon noted, "He drinks like a man!" Jackie raised an eyebrow and merely said, much to an amused Junior and unaffected Pete, that "the kid had apparently done a lot of growin' up." Lucas scowled at his baklava, having never received that type of compliment from his own flesh and blood. Leaving the capos and underboss to discuss business, the bambini went down to the entertainment room, which was more like a small theater than a home entertainment system, to watch boxed sets of South Park and Fat Tony's 'gift' of Orgazmo. Neither Matt nor Luigi had seen the film, and they were open-mouthed or laughing for much of it.

The hours passed, and Luigi found himself spending yet another night in East Hampton. As he was about to climb the spiral staircase, he glimpsed Pete, alone, standing on the outside deck to gaze out into the abyss of lawn, sand, and seawater. He knew that it was past two in the morning, and he should go to bed, but something drew him to the figure. Ambling as quietly as he could across the dimly-lit kitchen, the plumber opened the French doors to the lit deck and Denver capo. The man twisted to see whom was behind him, then relaxed as he saw his cousin's youngest son.

"You can't see the stars as well as you can in Highlands Ranch, unfortunately. I know they're the same ones, but … somehow, we all think they're going to be different elsewhere," Pete whispered, looking up at the ink-colored sky. Luigi did not reply; he too stared into the darkness across the barrier of the white railing. "Friday night, you did … marvelously," the capo added with a grin. "I don't think Jackie thought that you'd rise to the challenge as well as you did." He chuckled a little. "Not even I anticipated how well."

"I'm not sure that's true, Pete. Lucas was right; I didn't want to play against them," disputed Luigi. "I don't think I'm right for this."

Pete gave a single nod, as if he considering what the plumber had said. "Once upon a time, there was a … ragazzo from your neck of the woods – Brooklyn. Small compared to everyone else. Not a single malicious bone in his body. He, uh, used to get the shit kicked out of him by bullies at home and on the street. Every goddamned day. He'd show up to school with bruises, sometimes a black eye. In those days, no one … questioned things. Not in Colorado and not in Brooklyn. It was just how it was. He never tried to get revenge or pick a fight – ever.Anyway, like you, he was a little different and had to find his own way. Having been rejected by almost everyone for not being the quintessential tough guy, genius, or sports hero, he hopped from job to job. Soon, he had a small family to support, so he had to settle on something. One day, a family friend had him doing the last thing that anyone expected. I mean, Jesus was he small, especially compared to his fellow guys. He had to convince 'em that he was up to the task. They called him Rover, like the dog. But underneath that smiling, jokey exterior, that passivity, lie a lion's heart. Until then, he never had the right opportunity to prove it to the world and especially to himself."

"What happened to him?" he asked after several moments of silence.

"He found himself and grew into his own skin," answered Pete. "And that heart led to so many powerful and beautiful things. As it will for you. Note that I said will, Luigi, and I suspect sooner rather than later. In just a few months, you beat Slaughter at his own bullshit game, brought the damn union to its knees, aced Stanford, endeared yourself to two very contentious factions, and now, Junior owes you a big favor. I can't give specifics on the last one, but it's important you know the consequence." He glanced down at his bruised knuckles. "And I got a little … satisfaction. Long story short, you are the right guy for the manager's position." He smiled brightly at his cousin. "Jackie's bringing the entire family tomorrow. It'll be good for you to spend Labor Day with your cousins – all of us. His daughter just got married last year, so … I just hope that he's able to keep his latest Russian, Polish, Hungarian, insert Eastern Bloc mistress away from his wife. Last year, that poor woman ran into the yearly flavor, and it blew up the rest of the weekend." Laughing a little too loudly, he abruptly covered his mouth and leaned toward Luigi, murmuring, "I actually had to crawl under the table to avoid all of the dinner plates that she threw at Jackie."

Sniggering, Luigi nodded. "Yeah, Angela's a firecracker. I remember a few arguments between her and Jackie over Tony in jail, their spoiled daughters, and one or two accusations of infidelity." The plumber paused and, turning to face Pete uneasily, said, "Pete, I appreciate the invitation, but I can't stay beyond tomorrow. Aside from work, I got to get back to Brooklyn. Mario will go postal and …"

"Giuseppe," he finished matter-of-factly for him. At Luigi's raised eyebrow, he continued, "Yeah, I know about the chemo. We'll talk to Junior and Jackie in the morning. As much as we wish that you could stay the entire weekend, I think both will understand. Go on to bed, now."


Mario felt a soft hand shake him awake in the Lazy-Boy. Slowly opening each eye, he was faced with a weary auburn-haired woman studying him. In spite of his assurances, he had neither shaved since Friday morning nor had he called Peach to let her know of Luigi's semi-disappearance. Miles had returned with Yoshi to his Borough Park apartment, and they promised to come back to Bensonhurst by mid-morning. Daisy had slept in Luigi's cold bed, letting his fading scent, like a balm, provide some comfort to the expanding pit in her stomach. Yet she steeled herself against fear and doubt, as either one would set off a chain reaction of fury and impulsivity in the older Masciarelli. "What time is it?" he inquired while stretching his arms.

"Nine in the morning," Daisy responded. Extending a small plate with a bagel and a schmeer on it, she murmured, "Here. I needed to release some energy, so I went on a run and bought a few bagels. I know it's not your usual, but, uh, I'm a horrible cook."

Taking the plate, he bit into the bread and shrugged. "It's aight, Sfacciata, though you should've told me beforehand. Nothing from him, I assume?" She shook her head. "Goddamnit, Weegie!" he growled as he shoved more of the bagel in his mouth. As he was about to unleash an expletive-laden rant about his little brother, an iPhone began to ring. Making brief eye contact, they both bolted for their phones, only for Daisy to discover that it was Mario's. The plumber swore in Sicilian at the caller ID.

"Who is it?"

Hissing a cazzo and a final fuck, he set the plate down on the coffee table and, staring at the screen, allowed it to go to voicemail. "It's Maria, our cousin. Uncle Joe's getting out the big guns. Fuck!"

"The big guns for what?" she queried, crossing her arms over her yellow knit running shirt.

Mario took another large bite of the bagel. "Weegie and I blew off Aunt Lucia last week. They know that I'll blow 'em off again, which is why he sent her." The phone rang once more. "Fuck! She is not going to give up." Punching the green key, he put the phone to his ear, "Hello? Yeah. Maybe. Look, what the fuck do you want? I don't care if you buy it or not. Why's he not …? Well, Weegie's busy, y'know, running a shop! Uh-huh. No, he better not! No. No, Maria, I swear to Jesus – Hello? Hello?!" Growling another set of Sicilian curses, he ran a thick hand through his hair. "Shit!" Daisy gave him a pointed look. "Maria called Luigi's cellphone yesterday and today, but because he didn't pick up or return her calls, they know something's amiss. They're trying to stop Joe from coming here."

She closed her eyes. "Shit. Giuseppe shouldn't be around this in his condition. Not to mention that he'll blow a fuse."

It was Mario's turn to stare. "And just how do you know that?"

"I've met him. Him and Uncle Sal. Correction: they came to find me after the Bowser thing."

Shaking his head and making a comment about sfacciate, he ordered her to get cleaned up and he would watch for his missing brother, the Twin Dipshits, or a plumber's pickup truck. An hour later, Daisy descended the stairs, showered and wearing fresh clothes, relieving Mario to do the same. With the speed and efficiency of a ten-year Army veteran, he exited his ensuite in a white tee-shirt and jeans, resembling his usual plumber self, though he still had not shaved. They heard slamming car doors and the scattered voices of Yoshi and Miles. The latter opened the door, hoping their childhood friend would be sitting in the kitchen; a grimacing Daisy dashed their optimism. Once again, Miles set up his laptop and router in the kitchen, scanning the towers, especially those on Long Island, for any pings to Lucas's or Luigi's phones. Despite the notoriously poor service in the area of the Hamptons, Miles hadreceived a faint ping for Luigi's work phone, confirming his theory. However, there was no further telecommunications or social media traffic after Saturday night. Although they absolutely knew his whereabouts, Mario, Daisy, and the Brobot Boys were left with the same quandary: how long should they wait before attempting a confrontation or rescue?

By noon, they were no closer to a consensus. Miles wanted to go to the police the following morning; Mario, Daisy, and Yoshi favored challenging Bowser at the Koopa Bar and forcing Tony's hand. The quarreling among the four was interrupted by the sound of a SUV pulling in behind Yoshi's car. Mario winced as he heard a woman's voice loudly ranting about dick wars and "fucking Masciarelli stronzi."

"Is that Maria?" whispered Daisy. The three men shook their heads.

"Maria's first teacher in the ways of verbal kung fu," answered Miles with a dazed, almost fearful look.

The door pushed open to reveal an irate blonde-haired woman supporting a weak, almost emaciated Giuseppe. "Fucking idiot!" she hissed. Her eyes narrowed at Mario, who instinctively recoiled from his furious aunt. "Happy now? The fucking stronzo wouldn't take no for an answer! I also have words for your little brother! Where is he?" she demanded, easing her husband into the Lazy-Boy. The engineer rushed to close the door behind them, eager to put distance between him and Giuseppe's angry wife. Mario's blue eyes shifted, mulling over how much to disclose. "Well?! Where is Luigi?!"

"He-he's not here," said Yoshi, avoiding eye contact with Lucia.

Though Giuseppe blinked to keep the fatigue and nausea at bay, he growled at the group, "He's not here. Where is he? And don't … lie to us!"

Lucia's brown eyes scanned the group of four. Focusing on the newcomer, she extended her hand at the woman. "Hi, I'm Lucia Masciarelli, Luigi's aunt. You must be Daisy. I assume you won't lie to us."

Daisy took her hand and mumbled, "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Masciarelli." Gazing at the males who silently begged her to keep it short and sweet, she hesitantly spoke, "Luigi's in the Hamptons. He should be back tonight."

The woman crossed her arms. "Uh-huh, so why aren't you with him? And why are Mario and his friends here?"

That short and sweet didn't work, she thought with alarm. Before she could come up with another short and sweet, Giuseppe's voice rasped, "Cut the shit, Daisy, and tell us the truth."

She sighed. "Alright. He was taken to the Hamptons for a long game of poker."

"Taken? Taken by whom?!" exclaimed the now frightened Lucia.

"Fucking … Pete Morello," growled her husband. "Pete's got Luigi."

"You knew about this?!" she exploded. "I swear, if you didn't have cancer, Giuseppe Ludovico Masciarelli, I'd kill you myself! Jesus! We need to go DK, call the police! Why haven't youse already done that?!"

"Because, Zia, they might hurt him if we do," interjected Mario quietly. "Don't youse think that if I could've, I'd-a already gone after him?"

Shaking her head in disbelief, she sat gently down on the couch. "Why now? I thought that they'd given up after Luigi left Brooklyn City."

"Pete … never gives up. And the … Mafia never forgets. God, if I were healthier …"

The Napolitana scowled at her spouse. "Don't even think about it, Joe!" Daisy put her hand to her mouth, feigning a yawn to hide her laughter at the look of pure fear that the four men were giving the irate middle-aged woman. If Mario's afraid of his mother, Peach, and Maria, Luigi forgot to mention that he's absolutely terrified of one Lucia Masciarelli. "Alright, do we have a plan? Your nonna, Mario, is already upset over his condition and especially since they can't come for Labor Day. She hasn't seen him in a few weeks, and I've got enough on my plate as it is! I can't imagine how she'll feel if Luigi's also missing. And worse, it's the beginning of September."

"Zia, I'll … I'll go after him if he ain't here by tomorrow morning. Just … tell her that we're both sick with a flu, and we couldn't risk exposing Joe to it." As she was about to voice her objections, Mario held up a hand. "I know it's lying to Nonna, and I'll go to confession, aight? But if Luigi doesn't turn up, we don't have a choice."

"We'll all go!" interjected Daisy. Yoshi and a reluctant Miles nodded while Mario narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired woman.

Lucia sighed and shook her head. "Luigi's lucky to have youse. But this is the Mafia. These people are dangerous! If they find you in their territory, they won't hesitate to kill you all. Call DK, please!"

"Mario's right. They will … kill him if we call … the police, Lu." Too frail to speak, his blue eyes pleaded with her. He's my last piece of Mario. I can't lose him.

Reaching no decision on a plan, they sat vigil at the 17th Avenue brick house. Every once in a while, Yoshi and Mario took turns stepping out to acquire Gatorade for Giuseppe and takeout for the group. By seven o'clock, the sun had started its descent toward the horizon, and the shadows increased in the house. Daisy turned on a few lights to avoid disturbing the sleeping plumber in the Lazy-Boy, his wife right next to him. Miles and Yoshi haphazardly monitored social media while Mario sat on the couch, service weapon and iPhone laid carefully in front of him on the coffee table. As he reached for the phone, the plumber, along with Daisy, Lucia, and Yoshi, noticed a black Lincoln stop in the middle of the street parallel to the house. The curtains, which had been closed to help Giuseppe sleep as well as for security, obscured further detail, yet a tall figure exited the car and approached the A-frame. Noiselessly, Mario took the safety off his weapon and put a finger to his lips before sneaking to the door. He glanced through the peephole, then put the safety back on and backed away from the entrance. A moment later, Luigi, wearing the same clothes from Friday and carrying his green backpack, walked inside; his eyes widened at the small crowd of people who had obviously been awaiting his return.

"I …" he began, but no words emanated past his lips. Suddenly, the entire group, except for Giuseppe who was starting to awaken, moved to embrace him in a bear hug.

"Lu … Luigi?"

The younger plumber spied his uncle in the Lazy-Boy. Leaving the green backpack with Mario, who frowned in confusion at its unexpected heaviness, he rushed to Giuseppe's side. "Yeah, Zio?" Upon seeing that his nephew was alive and well before him, tears fell from his blue eyes, and he enfolded him in his arms.

"What the fuck is this?!" demanded Mario. The entire group, including Luigi and Giuseppe, turned to the red-shirted plumber. In his left hand was his brother's backpack; in his right was a stack of uncreased one hundred dollar bills.