Author's notes: I'm going to issue a temporary increase in rating (from Teen to low-level Mature) for this chapter as well as the next due to disturbing themes. I have taken great care NOT to include anything graphic. PM me if you have questions or concerns.


Chapter 37: Descensus

"You think that scares me?" Salvatore asked in an abruptly and unnervingly calm, almost demonic voice. Mario's blue eyes widened in fear at the change in cadence. "What makes you think that I don't already know Hell?"

The now hesitant plumber stared at the man in a priest's frock. Throughout his adolescence, he remembered Father Rigassi as a kind, devout Christian who spent his free time in soup kitchens, visiting old paesani in hospice care, and fostering interreligious understanding between Catholics, Jews, and Muslims. His first gig as a Shabbos goy came from the mild-mannered Sicilian, who was on friendly terms with one of the Orthodox rabbis in Borough Park. However, the man before him was complete stranger; his normally warm brown eyes were glacial, and a sneer played peak-a-boo at his thin lips. Not knowing precisely whom or what this was, Mario decided to use his reconnaissance training to build a rapport instead of angering him further. He needed that information.

"You might," he replied in a gentle tone, nodding. "We got that in common." To demonstrate his indolence, he slowly sat in the pew, keeping his hands in the open. The man did not move; instead, he observed the staff sergeant's actions like a lion hunting a tasty giraffe. "I ain't here about that, though. I'm here to protect my fratellino. He and Peach are all I got in this world."

"Wrong," he stated in that same voice. "You are here about that. If you want … information as you called it, then be prepared. Be sure that this is what you want."

"As opposed to what? Luigi and Giuseppe dying?" answered Mario.

Salvatore lifted a finger to warn the soldier before him. "Don't try to manipulate me, nicu. It will not end well for you."

He shrugged. "I'm not manipulating you or anyone else. I'm tellin' ya the truth. You became a priest to escape, I assume? Obviously, a part of you was done. You didn't rat, at least to my knowledge; that was a choice. Luigi doesn't want to join. That's his choice. But neither Pete nor Cutthroat Carlo will take no for an answer."

"Choice," the mafioso explained, "is a fantasy, niputi. They … have means to motivate you. Money, broads …" He trailed off, unwilling to finish his answer. "Most guys willingly join 'cause they want easy money or protection."

"Okay, so reading between the lines, you're sayin' that they'll find his weakness. How do I fight 'em? Is there a deal that I can make?"

"You don't," responded Salvatore, sitting coolly in the pew. "As I told you before, this isn't Fat Tony or even Big Jackass. This is Pete Morello, Uncle Carlo's successor. Not even Jackass will interfere if this is what Uncle Carlo and Cousin Pete want."

Mario breathed in to keep his temper in check, his father's words rumbling in his mind to use his head and not his fists. Now what? Then he frowned as he replayed this conversation as well as the one with Bowser to which he had been an observer. "Why the change, Zio? You were ready to beat the crap out of John for information regarding Lucas Kariolis. You weren't just okay with Lucas bein' involved with Luigi. So what changed?" He inwardly pumped his fist at the man's visible surprise at the question. Gotcha! "Why's Pete better than Lucas? Lucas's a little stronzo."

"He's not."

After reflecting on the little that the mafioso had said, the plumber nodded in understanding. "You were interrogating Bowser about who's behind the Kariolises, weren't you? About what happened in '95? Do you think they … ordered a hit on Luigi?" At Salvatore's silence, he hissed, "Damn it, Sal, how is that protected by omertà?! Your own flesh and blood!"

"Uncle Carlo and Cousin Pete would never harm Luigi … or you, niputi."

"So someone else was behind that. That's why, given all bad options, you'd prefer Luigi with Pete. It's about protection. And you don't trust Jackass to see whatever's comin.' Well, can't blame you there." Mario inhaled while watching his haunted uncle stare at the rim of his pew. "What about the … Commission? Wouldn't they want to avoid a potential war between crews of different families?"

"I can't answer that."

He nodded in resignation, knowing that Salvatore would thereafter stonewall him. "Aight, one final question. Why'd you come back to Bensonhurst? If you had ratted someone out, they'd have killed you, but that don't mean that you'd be able to return."

Several moments passed in silence. As an exasperated Mario rose to leave the church, the priest's voice tore on the words, "Perché è la mia casa. E Giuseppe, Luigi e tu siete il mondo, per me."


After he left St. Rosalia's Church, he decided to drive around Bath Beach and Queens to process the little that he had learned from Father Sal. Goddamnit, Pops! Why didn't you or Giuseppe tell either of us that Salvatore had been in the life?! Part of him was curious as to the extent of his former role in the Mafia, especially as Bowser seemed frightened enough of him to spill his guts upon request. However, he knew that it was infinitely better that he did not know for the same reason. While the idea of their maternal uncle being a soldier terrified and revolted him, he was far more disturbed by someone ordering Marco Bowser to kill a child. Apparently, Salvatore thought so, too, as he had been ready to do more than threatenthe bartender. But that had been in 1995; recalling the conversation with Giuseppe just before he collapsed, a weary Mario chewed on his lip at the suggestion by his paternal uncle that there could have been a second attempt on Luigi's life:

"Luigi was in no condition to be anywhere but his home! Yeah, I pushed him into plumbing! Aside from it bein' a solid, noble profession, I could keep an eye on him, so that little prick couldn't get to him! So that … so that he'd stay alive!"

What else were Salvatore and Giuseppe not telling them?

At a little past nine o'clock in the evening, Mario maneuvered his black Honda into the garage on 17th Avenue. He noticed that Lucia's SUV was still parked outside of the house. He walked into the living room to find Luigi, Daisy, and Miles in various spots in front of the television. His fratellino's blue eyes narrowed angrily at him, yet he said nothing, instead pulling his girlfriend close and kissing the top of her head. Miles glanced at him with an unreadable expression from his computer terminal.

"Uh, Lucia and Giuseppe's SUV's still parked outside," began the older plumber, gesturing outside with his thumb. "Everything aight?"

Luigi glared at him. "No, cazzone. He's got your room and won't leave 'cause you fucked off to places unknown. So what was it this time? Cagefights or smashin' bricks?"

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Neither. I just … took a drive to Jersey. My head needed clearing. I, uh, went to St. Rosalia's."

Casting his eyes to the television, the younger plumber sarcastically replied, "I didn't know there was a special hour on Labor Day for confession."

Mario chuckled mirthlessly and went to sit down in his Lazy-Boy. "There wasn't. I went to ask Father Sal about … Pete Morello."

Daisy, Luigi, and Miles all gaped at him in disbelief, and the younger plumber turned off the television. "You went … ?"

"Yeah, let's take this upstairs to your room, eh?" He moved his eyes to the occupied downstairs room. "I don't want to disturb 'em."

All four people quietly walked up the stairs to Luigi's bedroom. As soon as Miles entered, Mario closed and locked the door. Luigi and Daisy sat attentively on the bed while Miles leaned against the opposite wall. Mario grabbed the chair and, sitting down, started to speak, "I didn't get much outta him. But, uh, he's made. I'm ninety-nine percent sure. And as such, he won't tell us shit. Weegie, you gotta know that I didn't know about this! Pops never said dick to me!"

"I know, Mario. Just … tell us what you do know."

"Aight. Uncle Sal didn't say much, but … there was an attempt on your life. Back in '95. I think there might have been a second – sometime between 2001 and when I got back in 2009. Uncle Joe thought so. And they both think the Kariolises have something to do with it. Sal seems to trust Pete more than Jackie."

Miles nodded. "We knew about '95. And we were beginning to suspect Salvatore's possible Mafia connections. What's his relationship with Giuseppe?"

The plumber frowned. "Uh, they grew up together – Joe, Sal, Pops, and Mama. Sometime in the early '80s, I think, Sal went into the priesthood, then returned in the early '90s. They were sometimes at odds over Luigi's education, though not as dramatically as Joe and Pops. Beyond that, I don't know much. Why?"

The three others exchanged a look. "Pete talked about how they … pair kids up when they're first apprenticed, hence why Lucas Kariolis entered my life in early 2001. Pete's too old to have been paired with Sal," his brother responded.

"Whoa, wait a sec," said Mario, raising a finger, "you think Joe was Sal's street buddy?" He shook his head. "Nah, that's … Nah. And it's not because I don't want to believe it. Look, I've studied these assclowns since, shit, my early teens. I know what youse are talkin' about, and yeah, they operate in pairs or threes, depending on the job. But one of the first things they learn is respect for the administration, which includes knowing the structure – who reports to whom. The Mafia's all about relationships, didn't seem to know much about that. My impression is that he knows names and immediate relationships, but not much else."

"Okay, let's back up a second," interjected Luigi. "Bro, how do you know that?"

"Because right before I brought Joe to Manhattan, he and Sal were interrogating John Bowser for information. Joe went to Salvatore; if they were 'paired,' as you call it, he'd have known more than he did."

"Then what the hell is Giuseppe's role in this?" breathed Daisy.

"Lucia said something bizarre," added Miles, thinking aloud. Mario turned to him and waited for him to continue. "She said that Giuseppe was adamant that Luigi be kept in Brooklyn. The only exception was when he went to Italy with your class in eighth grade. With Father Sal."

He gave a nod. "Yeah, I remember that. I had just gone to our shop to work for Sal Maldonado. Joe never liked Weegie goin' anywhere. Pops knew I couldn't go with him, and he definitely couldn't because he was savin' for Luigi's college education. That's why he took the lieutenant's exam back in '96 or '97 – better pay. Anyway, Joe was against it until he learned Father Sal was gonna chaperone. So … rather than askin' Carlo or Pete Morello, he preferred the devil he knew."

Miles began to pace, which they recognized as his way of analyzing information. "Yet Giuseppe told me that he knew a pentito – a reformed man. He has to be talking about Salvatore. I think … no, I know that he knows more than he's telling. He may not be made, but he's definitely an associate of Salvatore's. Spock's ears, there's something to this! Mario …" He looked to Luigi and Daisy, then said, "We have to tell him now – about the video."

The red-shirted plumber frowned. "What video?"

Luigi scrubbed his face with his hand and answered, "When I was in Colorado, I was brought by Pete to … observe Matt, Sam, and Lucas hack into various places. Lucas found a video of … Marco Bowser selling secrets to Al-Qaeda. It was on a government contractor's server."

"What?!" cried Mario, rising from the chair. "Weegie, are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Matt and Sam were disturbed enough that they told Pete, who brought in Vinny DiScala. I met the guy. He seemed … personable for a serial killer."

"Minchia!" swore the older plumber. "If a contractor had that video, then I'm guessin' the CIA or AQI took care of the prick. God knows I wanted to on several occasions …" Then his eyes widened and his mustache twitched. "Was the Mafia sellin' shit to terrorists?! Nah, nah … That goes against everything they believe in, and that ain't much! Why else bring in Vinny? The fucker's notorious!"

"Marco Bowser, the root of all evil. I mean, we know John answers to Fat Tony. Did Marco follow orders from someone in the Moranos? And what's the deal with Tommy Morano, Jackie's little brother?" asked Luigi as he tucked Daisy's head underneath his chin to comfort himself as well as her.

"Tommy?" Mario's voice raised an octave. "I don't know much 'bout him. He's Jackass's little brother. Rumor's that he has maybe three I.Q. points more. And he wouldn't act without Jackie's knowledge or approval, let alone his father's. And Uncle Sal seemed pretty sure that neither the Moranos nor the Morellos would ever harm Weegie."

"If Giuseppe is an associate of Salvatore's, then he probably won't talk to us. He certainly hasn't to his wife. And wouldn't that necessitate … criminal activity of his part?" inquired Daisy.

Mario and Luigi gave her an incredulous look while Miles once again leaned against the wall. "No, it's a fair question, guys. I'm probably on some Homeland Security watchlist due to how many books I've recently bought or read about the Mafia. Normally, an associate, especially one who's fully Italian and is trying to be made, would have to prove his loyalty by committing petty crimes and working up to a contract killing. While things may have changed for the current generation, back in the 1970s, when the books – uh, ability to become a made member – were closed, then limited, killing someone was an essential prerequisite. And if you're right, Mario, that Salvatore's a soldier, that means he, Pete, and Jackie all committed murder. Giuseppe has to know that."

"Great," deadpanned the green-shirted plumber, "Mario and I've got at least four or five killers in the family. Why the hell did Pops marry that side?!"

"Because Mama wasn't, Weegie!" retorted his brother, raising a finger at him. "She kept me – us – away from that side. I remember once … when Pete came to visit. It must've been right before you were born. She didn't let me stay around him. Risking herself and you, she sent me to Joe and Lucia's next door. I remember gettin' a bad feeling, y'know? So I told Lucia. Joe had just come home from work; he took off like a bat outta hell, presumably to confront him. And that in itself is notable – even lookin' at a wiseguy wrong, let alone confronting him could getcha killed. Back in the day, every Italian guy knew or knew of a mafioso in Bensonhurst."

"Yeah, that's what Zio said. That's when they … made Pops agree to have the Moranos serve as my godparents."

"Which tells us that Joe's not a fan of Pete Morello," concluded Daisy. "That was my impression, too."

"Agreed," spoke Miles. "So we need to decide whether Giuseppe's relationship with Salvatore is necessary information. On one hand, it is pertinent because we know the former can get certain details from the latter without the … Mafia red tape. On the other hand, knowing the details could put us in danger." The blond shook his head. "I think it's too early to tell. What do you guys want to do?"

"I don't like this," exclaimed Mario while rubbing his face. "There's … something comin', that's for fuck's sure. And I don't like Weegie bein' in the middle of this. Maybe … Maybe we should think about goin' to Massachusetts."

"Bro, I just can't take time off now that I'm the manager. I mean, we got … next week. But then the earliest I'll be off is Thanksgiving, and that's if Uncle Joe's health doesn't take a turn for the worst."

"Weegie, I meant permanently." Both Daisy and Miles's eyes widened in shock, and they gaped at the resolute older brother. "You can go to school in Amherst, and we could live just off base. I'd take the promotion to first sergeant. That would require me to go active to make it work, but …"

The rest of his justification was cut off by Luigi furiously launching himself off the bed to loom over Mario. "What … ? I just took the master plumber test! I came back to New York 'cause you and Uncle Joe asked me to! And now, I'm the only one who stands between the guys at the shop and these Mafia bastards! They trust me somewhat, so no, I can't leave. Moreover," he made eye contact with the alarmed woman, "I got Daisy. And aside from … loving her with all of my being, they all know who she is. Nah, I won't run this time. I can't!"

An irate Mario rose and crossed his arms. "This is bullshit, Weegie! Pops was right; you can't trust these motherfuckers! And I won't lose you! If we can leave this shit behind and go to Mass, let's do it!"

"Mario," interrupted the hacker, raising a hand, "I don't – "

"Stay the fuck outta this, Miles!" he growled. Then he turned to Daisy who was about to express her thoughts and barked, "You, too, Sfacciata!"

"Fuck off, fratello!" hissed Luigi. "They're every bit involved in our family as Peach is! I know it … pisses you off to know that I lived a life in your fucking absence, but guess what? I did. And now, it's my decision! You ain't my keeper! I am staying … because it isn't just about me anymore. If you wanna go, then … go. I told ya before – take Peach and live your life. I'll be okay."

Screaming a fuck and calling him a scemu, Mario marched to the door and threw it open. Before descending downstairs to his Lazy-Boy, he spun to face his fratellino with burning blue orbs, he rasped, "This isn't over!"


The next few days fell into a disquieting routine, with Mario sleeping in his Lazy-Boy, Miles taking the couch, and the couples in the remaining rooms. To avoid disturbing their aunt and uncle, the older plumber used the shower in Luigi's ensuite, once the couple were done using it and dressed. Since Luigi scheduled himself for the early-morning shift to relieve Miles in the afternoon, he drove his lioness to downtown Brooklyn, where she could take the subway to the United Nations and Columbia's campus in Manhattan. Kissing her goodbye, they promised to see each other later in Bensonhurst, though on the first day, Luigi assured her that he would understand if she needed to stay in Park Slope. Daisy gave him a stern like hell and flashed him a hungry smile as she descended below street level. Once in his office, the master plumber called Dr. Czernin to postpone their appointment for two weeks, briefly explaining the situation with his uncle's health issues and desire to stay in Bensonhurst. Chatting with José over a morning cup of coffee, he checked the holiday revenue; it had been a very good Labor Day for the shop, earning more than they had in previous years, thanks to a markup of five percent which he had requested from the journeymen, as Maldonado had not adjusted for inflation or additional cost since 2011. Needing space from his overbearing brother, he assigned Mario to north Manhattan and the Bronx for the rest of the week, which resulted in the latter texting him a sarcastic, "O grande capo, why not just send me to Mars?"

As for Miles, he soon understood what Lucia intended by her small laugh and muttered "Good luck" at the beginning of each morning. Giuseppe Masciarelli was among the most obstinate humans that he had encountered. He comprehended why his older brother, whose pacificism was legendary, ended up in shouting matches with the man. Using reason to explain why he needed to replenish lost fluids yielded a success rate of twenty-five percent; pleading with him generated ten percent; finally, telling him that he would jam a funnel down his throat returned fifty percent, the caveat of being the recipient of hostile looks every time he entered the bedroom. Exasperated, Miles asked why he had to be so difficult, to which the older man did not reply. The Masciarelli patriarch was a proud man, and he resented the weakness of his body. Spock would do this for Bones and Kirk, he reminded himself.

At around three o'clock, Luigi came home to take over for Miles, who would retire to his room for a few hours of sleep. Like with the blond engineer, Joe was resistant with his quasi-son, though he would comply if he saw him become visibly upset. A few hours later, both Lucia and Mario returned to Bensonhurst; Joe was more compliant with them in his presence, though he steadfastly refused to leave and made sure to convey his disappointment in his eldest nephew. Daisy was the last to arrive. On the Tuesday following Labor Day, she had spoken with her father who acquiesced to his daughter staying temporarily in Bensonhurst; while he was unexcited at the prospect, he was more receptive upon learning that the non-Mafiosi Masciarellis and Mario would be present. Dinner was a subdued affair, with each member, except for Miles and Daisy, taking turns buying groceries and cooking the meal. Giuseppe still could not tolerate anything but pureed carrots, chocolate cake, and mashed peas. His weight was worrying to all, and Mario quietly pulled Lucia aside to agree upon a limit for readmission to the hospital. Maria and Lucy remained in Staten Island due to work; however, they would drive to Brooklyn on the weekend.

By Friday afternoon – September 5 – Miles had achieved a sort of détente with the older man. Bribing him with extra chocolate cake increased his cooperation by a factor of four. Although he had to ration it so that he would not feel sick or regurgitate, he noticed Joe was drinking more and seemed less agitated. He was still fatigued; letting him sleep past ten also improved his mood and concentration, giving him energy to move about the house. These bursts were always temporary, with an hour or two of rest becoming essential. It was 2:30 p.m., and he was sleeping off one of the bursts when Miles heard a knock at the door. He frowned; Mario and Luigi each had a key, and it was too soon for Lucia or Daisy's return. At the second knock, he scrambled to his feet and first checked the peephole. His brown eyes rounded in surprise and alarm at the priest standing on the doorstep. Why the hell is he here?

Slowly opening the door, Miles asked, "Father Rigassi?"

He raised an eyebrow and blinked, as if trying to remember the young man's name. "You … You're one of Luigi's friends, right? Miles, I think? And yes, I was, uh, in the neighborhood. I thought Luigi or Mario might be home. But, uh, what are you doing here and at two-thirty?"

Miles quickly mulled his options for the best outcome, particularly as he did not believe Father Sal's too-convenient story. "I'm, uh, housesitting."

"Housesitting?" he deadpanned. "Did Luigi or Mario go out of town?"

Before he could answer, they both heard a man's moan echo throughout the living room. A displeased Father Sal, now conscious of Miles's lie, pushed past him and followed the sound to the bedroom where Giuseppe was dreaming. "Mio Dio!" he breathed, rushing to the man's side. Angrily, he demanded, "Why didn't you call a doctor?! Did you leave him on his own?!" Pointing a slender finger at Miles, he bellowed, "And don't even think of lying to me, son!"

Suddenly frightened of the man, Miles immediately cried, "No, Father Rigassi! Giuseppe wants to be here. Lucia needed to work, so I'm watching him during the day until Luigi or Mario returns. He refuses to see a doctor. It's, uh, the chemo and radiation."

Ignoring Miles, he shook the man until his eyes fluttered open. "Joe, wake up!"

"S-Sal?" he inquired uncertainly, feeling around for his glasses. The priest looked around and, locating the man's spectacles, slid them gently onto his Roman nose. "Sal, w-what are you … doing here?" he whispered.

"I was in the neighborhood," he replied with a watery smile. "You're not looking too good, kid. We should get you to a doctor."

"No," refused Giuseppe, shaking his head. "It's the chemo. It's … side effects. The kid's doin' a better job than the nurses, to be honest."

As Salvatore brought and sat in one of the chairs next to Giuseppe, Miles left the room and sent a text to Luigi requesting his ETA. Then he chose a spot where he could observe the interaction without interfering. However, he inwardly cursed when the priest began murmuring to the bedridden man in Italian. Unable to understand them and having no time or equipment to fashion a makeshift translator, he decided to listen for words and tone of voice. While he could not pick out individual words or phrases, he did hear Father Sal's tone shift from aloof and angry to warm and anxious. A clearly weakened Giuseppe nonetheless responded reassuringly to him, much as Miles had seen him do with Luigi and Lucia. After several whispery exchanges, Sal took out his rosary and began to pray over the semi-conscious Joe.

Fifteen minutes later, Luigi entered the house and spied Father Sal who, despite having finished his prayers, still clutched the rosary and kept vigil over his laboring childhood friend. What the hell did Mario say to him? Glancing up at his youngest nephew, the priest smiled briefly before turning back to Giuseppe. Soon joining them were a stunned Mario and reticent Daisy; in a wordless agreement, the brothers divided their attention between Salvatore and Giuseppe and Miles and Daisy, with one supervising each pair at all times. Unwilling to be herded, the lioness surveilled the living room and bedroom, occasionally meeting Father Sal's gaze; the Sicilian gave her an amused look, both for her lack of deference to his nephews and for her need to prove that she was unafraid of him. Nonetheless, he made it clear to all that he was not leaving Joe's side.

At around dinner time, the house fell silent as Lucia walked inside. She was apologizing for being late, as the traffic from Staten Island had been particularly awful, when she halted at the threshold of the bedroom. Brown met brown. "Hello, Salvatore," she greeted neutrally. He gave a single nod at Giuseppe's wife, yet he did not move from his chair at his bedside. Mario and Luigi, who were right behind her, noticed a split-second flicker in Father Sal's eyes. Blinking, he affixed his usual priest's benevolence like a mask and gripped his rosary even tighter. Dinner was delivery pizza from J and V's; although Giuseppe attempted to eat the sausage and cheese slice, which was normally his favorite, his chemo-warped taste buds caused him to spit it out, and he sadly returned to his "fucking baby food." Sal sheepishly proffered the excuse that he was fasting, though he took a plain cup of coffee from Lucia. Except for the fatigued Uncle Joe, they made light conversation throughout the evening until shortly before ten o'clock, at which point Father Sal took leave to his residence near St. Rosalia's. Once he left, Lucia, Mario, Luigi, Miles, and Daisy stared at each other uneasily. The matriarch then turned to Mario and groused in a near whisper, "What the hell did you do?"

"I asked him questions on Monday – that was it! I swear! I don't know how the fuck he knew Joe was here!" cried the red-shirted plumber, holding up both his hands. "I didn't get shit from him!"

Miles moved the curtain back a little and peeped outside. "Someone could have seen your SUV, Mrs. Masciarelli. He's the parish priest, so one of your neighbors could've told him." Letting the fabric go from his fingers, he twisted his body to face the group of four. "It's like there's two of them – Father Sal and Salvatore Rigassi."

"The question is, why now?" spoke Luigi. "What set him off? Mario? Me? All of the above?"

"I'm not sure I care to know, nipoti miei. Tomorrow morning, Joe and I are going back to Eltingville, even if we have to drag him out kicking and screaming," said Lucia in a no-nonsense tone.

The others gave each other a nervous glance before acquiescing to her decision, and they retreated to their respective sleeping arrangements. Daisy tried to coax Luigi to sleep, but he paced or sat upright in bed to stare at the wall. Her hair sprayed across his bare chest, she listened to his faster, more erratic heartbeat. Caressing his chest hair with her fingertips, the lioness refrained from probing further, which her lion seemed to appreciate. Instead, his hand copied her movements against the satin of her cream-colored sleepwear and soft skin of her back and triceps. Luigi smirked at his innate ability to pull a reverse uno on his beautiful Sefardita; relaxed from his touches, her amber orbs closed behind her eyelids and long lashes. Slumber continued to elude him well into the early morning hours, yet he found some comfort in watching her dream.

Downstairs, Miles finished his security reports and emailed them to his contacts; payment would arrive in the next few business days. He then worked into the night on researching anything related to Georgie Kariolis or Salvatore Rigassi. He came up with nothing. The priest disturbed the honest-to-a-fault blond engineer on several levels; he refused to believe that Salvatore's arrival, especially following Monday's confrontation, was coincidental. From his work in cybersecurity, Miles learned two things: first, cover your ass (and router); second, there's always a motivation for an attack. Was this an attack and, if so, on whom? If this had been a computer system, the hacker would have answered in the affirmative; the second half of the question would depend on whatever Mario had said to draw out the former wiseguy. Attackers were normally drawn to money and information. Given a priest's vow of poverty, he could reasonably rule out money, leaving information.

A man's moan brought him out of his mental question and answer session. He looked over to the Lazy-Boy where Mario aggressively tossed and turned, mumbling half-syllables in English and Italian, neither of which he could understand. A moment later, his body relaxed. As the hacker was about to resume his work, he heard a man's scream from the lower-level bedroom. The startled blond saw the light illuminate the doorframe, and a woman's voice struggled to calm her gasping husband. Luigi, who had clearly been awake, descended the stairs and went into the room; the three of them remained inside for at least two hours – Miles lost track of time after perceiving Giuseppe's nightmarish cry. Daisy had come down to look for her lover, but Luigi assured her that everything was alright and, with a deep kiss, to go back to bed. Mario stayed asleep, even though he would occasionally speak to someone in Italian.

Everyone awoke mid-morning. Following brunch, Lucia began the arduous process of pleading and arguing with Joe to return to Staten Island. The argument quickly evolved into a screaming match. Luigi played his usual familial role of peacemaker and diplomat, offering a compromise to the exasperated wife and hard-headed husband: they would return over the weekend, as Maria and Lucy no doubt wanted to see their Papà, and he and Mario would take over watching him in Bensonhurst the following week. Each growling a bene, they helped Lucia and Giuseppe pack and put the latter into the vehicle. After they drove away, Luigi and Mario thanked Miles and told him that they would take over for the next week. To everyone's surprise, Miles refused. He would return over the weekend to his Chelsea apartment, but would be back Sunday evening. "Guys," the hacker spoke, "I didn't want to say it around Lucia or Giuseppe, but Father Sal will be back. His visit was no accident, and I don't want him here unsupervised. I haven't found anything on him, so whatever it was, it happened under the radar." However, he held back that the supervision should come from someone uncompromised.

The weekend went by uneventfully, with Luigi and Daisy going out on their first date since the St. Rosalia Festival. First, they went to an upscale vegetarian restaurant in Williamsburg, then they attended a showing of North by Northwest as both were aficionados of Alfred Hitchcock – as had been their respective fathers. Following the movie and their playful discussion over which film was his best – North by Northwest, Psycho, or Rear Window – they returned to Daisy's apartment for a bit of private time. Over the course of their lovemaking, Daisy grew concerned; instead of his usual flirty, lascivious nature in bed, Luigi was clingy and kept her body against his, even afterward.

He did not sleep.


Miles was waiting for Giuseppe who arrived at around seven o'clock on Monday morning. Despite being frail, he was more composed and cognizant than in previous days. He also spent more time in the living room with the blond, who was revising an article on the use of bots and other forms of artificial intelligence as potential security risks. As the latter worked, Joe watched old reruns of Bonanza and The Andy Griffith Show; he fell asleep around mid-morning. While Miles waited for his beef chow fun for lunch and put the final touches on his submission to the editor, a moan, then a yelp emanated from the sleeping middle-aged plumber in the Lazy-Boy. Joe's blue eyes fluttered open, and he gasped, coughing a little before locking a gaze with his nephew's friend.

"How … how long was I out?" he asked.

"An hour and a half, perhaps."

Nodding, he sat up in the chair and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. As he tried to shake himself awake, they both heard a knock. The young man immediately went to the door and, momentarily forgetting his paranoia, opened it, cash in hand for his food delivery. His eyes widened at the amused look of Father Sal. His twinkling brown eyes focused on the two twenties in Miles's hand. "Sorry, I don't have the collection basket with me at the moment," he quipped.

He managed only to mumble, "Father Rigassi, you're, uh, back."

The weak Giuseppe ambled toward Miles and blinked at the sight of his old friend. "Sal? What are you doin' here?"

"Checking up on you. Can I come in?" The young man twisted to the plumber who blinked his consent. He stepped aside to allow the priest to enter, shutting the door behind him.

Resuming his position in the Lazy-Boy, Giuseppe waited for Salvatore, who had gone into the kitchen and dining room. With a subtle motion of his eyes, he conveyed to Miles to stay at his makeshift work table and keep quiet. Father Sal soon came back to the living room with a chair and sat next to his friend.

"How'd you know I was here?" inquired the plumber.

He shrugged. "Just a guess."

The second knock on the door indicated that Miles's Chinese takeout had arrived. Paying the courier, he brought in a sack containing several cartons of steamed rice, egg rolls, and beef noodles. "Uh, you can try it. They, uh, provided enough food to feed the Terracotta soldiers."

"Ah, kid, I don't know if I'll be able to eat it. Everything tastes wrong," lamented Giuseppe. He turned to a questioning Salvatore. "Everything either tastes like metal or salt."

"So … we need to go to a hardware store and a fish market," reasoned the priest. At both his friend's and the blond's confused looks, he clarified, "Well, if you go for the metal or anchovies, then they'll taste like cannoli." Despite himself, the hacker coughed a laugh as Joe muttered, "Get the fuck outta here."

Miraculously, Joe was able to eat some of the chow fun, which Miles noticed that Salvatore also partook, though he only nibbled on as much as what his friend consumed – no more, no less. Following lunch, Father Sal took out the rosary and, just as he had done the previous week, quietly prayed over Giuseppe who was falling asleep. By the time he was finished, the plumber was dreaming peacefully. Miles expected him to leave once the latter lost consciousness, yet to his continued disbelief, Salvatore remained in his seat. What the hell is this guy doing? Several minutes had passed when the priest spoke softly, "Kid, I can feel your eyes on me. Why don't we go to the backyard?" He rose out of his chair and moved to the outside door. Pocketing his cellphone and personal alarm, Miles followed, keeping him at a safe distance.

Once outside, the blond leaned against the brick of the house while Salvatore sat on the old wood of the deck and squinted against the midday sun. "Miles, Giuseppe obviously trusts you. He trusts you as much as Mario or Luigi. So you got nothing to fear from me. If you're afraid that I'd harm any of them, you'd be very wrong."

"That seems … logical. But your presence here is not coincidental, is it?" he posited somewhat timidly, mindful of the priest's past.

"No, it isn't. What's important is that I will never allow Giuseppe, Mario, or Luigi to be harmed."

He chewed his lip uncomprehendingly. "And what about Lucia and Giuseppe's children? Grandchild? Peach and Daisy? Shit, Yoshi?"

The priest did not answer Miles's question, which frustrated him. Chewing on his lip again to debate how far to push a wiseguy of all people, he finally mustered his courage and hissed, "You know, I don't get you." Salvatore faced him with irritated brown eyes, waiting for him to rant. "The Mafia claims to protect fellow Italians, and maybe that was true once, but now? It's all bullshit. Your family has put my friends in danger! No, I'm not Italian, so undoubtedly, there're things I don't get! As a human, though? I'm offended. They exist. They are part of Giuseppe's, Mario's, and Luigi's family. You? I don't know you, Father Rigassi!"

Breathing heavily, Miles's eyes rounded as an enraged Salvatore stood up and advanced toward him. To both men's surprise, he did not flinch and looked the mafioso in the eye. "They do exist," he finally spoke. "I … Please forgive me." Putting his head in his hands, he added, "You're right, you know? The Mafia is a shame upon us all." Taking a deep breath and backing away from the equally angry engineer, he went on, "But there are things you don't get, and I pray you never do, kid."

Before Miles could give a retort, they heard Giuseppe's voice cry out inarticulately. Both men rushed back into the house where the plumber was thrashing about in the Lazy-Boy. Father Sal cradled his body between the cushioning and his chest, shaking him awake. "Joe! Joe, svegliati!" Still in the midst of his nightmare, Joe struggled against Salvatore who refused to let go. "Svegliati, sangu mo," he murmured over and over until his blue eyes fluttered open.

"S-Sal? How …?" Now conscious, the middle-aged man realized that he had fallen asleep in the Lazy-Boy of his nephews' living room. His eyes darting to the picture of Lieutenant Mario Masciarelli in his dress blues, circa 1998, he started to sob. Pulling the distraught man into his thin arms and frame, Salvatore let him express the wave of emotion and glanced meaningfully at the open-mouthed Miles Prower.


Father Sal stayed into the afternoon, even when Mario and Luigi returned from work. He excused himself shortly before Daisy's and Lucia's anticipated arrivals. Again, dinner was somber, with no one speaking or yelling over pasta with a basic red sauce. Giuseppe munched on leftover Chinese food, which contented Lucia, as it was arguably better than a strict diet of pureed carrots, peas, or chocolate cake. Afterward, Luigi and Daisy went for a walk in the pleasant Brooklyn twilight, though her boyfriend was subdued, expressing himself only with a squeeze of her hand or a kiss atop her head. Once they were back, Miles went to stay with Yoshi and Birdo in Borough Park.

Mario took his place in the Lazy-Boy; whereas Luigi was silent and clingy, the older brother was gruff and cross, snapping at his fratellino, Daisy, and Lucia. He drummed his trembling fingers against the arm of the plush chair and shifted positions every two minutes. Like a caged lion, his eyes wandered the living room for either a passive target or a path of escape to the outside. Neither he nor Luigi slept that night, and the former was already gone by the time Luigi, Daisy, and Lucia had risen for work at 5:30. Daisy could not help but shudder at the date – September 9. She wondered if Father Sal's appearances were related; by Lucia's and Giuseppe's admission, it had been some time since they had spent a significant amount of time in the Rigassi-Masciarelli family home. Is that why he wanted to stay?

At seven-thirty, Miles took up his vigil at the Bensonhurst A-frame, and Father Sal appeared after celebrating Mass, a library copy of Mondo Piccolo: Don Camillo e il suo gregge in hand. Giuseppe was less energetic than in the previous two days and tried to resist sleep; eventually, his body won, and helped into bed by the priest, he was transported to an eerie dreamworld of metal, floating paper and post-its, fire, and ash. As Salvatore chuckled halfway through his book and Miles was taking a break from his research to play Minecraft, a groan and half-completed words in Italian emanated from the bedroom. The priest closed the book, held up a hand to the alarmed engineer, and rushed into the room. The latter overheard a murmured discussion in Italian, and he heard Giuseppe gasp and cough. Then he saw Salvatore help the plumber into the living room; however, he moved to the sofa instead of the Lazy-Boy. Except for weakness and distraction, Joe seemed normal thereafter, calmly having a small conversation with Father Sal in Italian; unable to understand any spoken language other than English, Miles put on his headphones and busied himself with his laptop.

Of the group of five, Luigi came home first, appearing exhausted and answering each time in a brusque fashion to Miles and Father Sal's mild questions. Both exchanged a glance of mutual understanding and apprehension, as his brother would undoubtedly be worse. Putting a hand on his paternal uncle's shoulder, Luigi grunted that he was going upstairs. Ironically, Giuseppe gave a worried look to Salvatore, who nodded without uttering a word. Hours passed, and Father Sal remained at his friend's side, even when Daisy and Lucia arrived. Joe's wife checked her wristwatch while Daisy went upstairs to check on Luigi – six o'clock. Taking out her cellphone, the former dialed Mario's number which went to voicemail.

"Shit!" she swore. She, Salvatore, and Giuseppe exhaled, knowing what he had likely done.

"Miles," rasped Joe, "can you track Mario's cellphone?"

He nodded, suddenly afraid of what he would find. Several minutes went by before the hacker spoke again. "He's … Well, his cellphone is in Manhattan. Upper East Side off 5th Avenue."

"Peach … lives there. Maybe he's with her?" asked the plumber.

"Let's hope," growled Lucia, shaking her head in dismay. Salvatore patted his friend's arm, then stood up to leave. To his astonishment, the woman pleaded, "Salvatore, please … stay. Either until it gets too late or Mario comes back." Looking down at Giuseppe who seemed to agree with his wife, he acquiesced and sat back down.

In the upstairs bedroom, Luigi lay flat on his back, his lioness covering his chest, still unable to sleep. She had closed the door, wanting to talk, though uncertain as to how to begin the difficult discussion. He was more detached that she had ever seen him; although he acknowledged her presence with a kiss and strokes of her silky auburn strands, he was mute, and his heart thudded against his chest. The four-day insomnia now manifested physically – dark circles underneath his eyes, his skin clammy and ashen, and his frame feeble.

"Still not sleeping?" she spoke aloud. He shook his head. Sitting up to gaze down at him, she caressed his hair a few times before breaking the silence. "Sweetie, I … I don't know how to start this conversation. I know you'd rather not have it, but … it's making you sick. Do you have an appointment with your therapist coming up?"

"I had to reschedule for next Tuesday," replied her lover, who stared blankly at a point on the wall.

"Luigi, I don't think it can wait that long. And I say this out of concern." Sighing to summon all of her courage, Daisy inquired, "Is this about your father? You, Mario, and Giuseppe? Is the anniversary of his death … two days from now?"

His blue eyes snapped to hers – stunned, pained, and outraged. She unwittingly flinched at the onslaught of unexpressed emotion; turning to leave out of fear that she had caused offense, she felt her body being slammed to his. Gripping her like a lifesaver, he buried his face into her neck and let out a low roar of pure grief. She stayed immobile, dropping her chin to his head, while the now silent Luigi tremored against her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, rocking him slightly. He did not speak, yet he did not move away; she copied him, recognizing his need to feel as opposed to talk. Daisy adjusted her right arm to caress Luigi's wavy hair and back of his neck, which he found comforting, and he gave a brief purr between whimpers to encourage her. He eventually calmed down; the lioness gently flipped him on his back, placing his head in her lap, and intertwined their hands. Every so often, he would try to suppress a sob; each time, she bent down to kiss his forehead. While she consoled him as best as she could, Daisy found herself lost in a myriad of thoughts, fears, and disbelief. Early on, she had suspected the nature of Luigi's father's demise, Harry's background check having factually confirmed it; witnessing its consequences and devastation agitated and crashed into her sense of being, leaving her breathless and uncertain. What do I say? What can I say? she pondered. She gazed down at him once more, and his distressed wintry blue orbs met her rueful, compassionate amber ones. Maybe sit with it, let him say it when he's ready, she heard her therapist's voice say. Voices go silent when the faintest amount of joy has become absent.

Daisy put on a soothing and soft Spanish guitar tune on the iPhone player and continued to stroke Luigi's hair. He closed his eyes and finally began to relax; he stroked her hands and sank further into the space between rest and unconsciousness, his heartrate slowing to his normal sixty beats per minute. As his eyelids started to flutter, they both heard a loud crash downstairs and even louder shouting. A man cackled and slurred something that she could not understand. Sliding from underneath Luigi and firmly telling him to stay there, she came rushing downstairs to find Lucia and Salvatore standing between a seated, aghast Giuseppe and a pink-faced Mario, who was hiding an object behind his back. Miles was frozen in place, too shocked to move.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Daisy.

"Sf-a-chee-at. She got a fuckin' mouth!" giggled Mario as he attempted to step forward, landing on his ass after tripping over his foot and prosthetic. He displayed a large, black-labelled glass bottle, which was half empty of its brown liquid contents, screwed off the cap, and muttered a Salute before swallowing more of it.

"Jesus Christ, Mario!" breathed Lucia as Giuseppe looked at his eldest nephew in repugnance.

"Wha? Jus' gettin' started early," he replied drunkenly. "P-private p-party wit', uh, my ol' amico, Jack. Not Jackie – tha' Weegie's new amico. Or Don. Wha'ever." He turned to an unreadable Salvatore and burst out laughing. "C'mon, 'Ncle Sal, I … think you can appreciate … joke!"

"Where's Peach?" inquired Lucia. "You were in Manhattan earlier."

"Hmm, where's Peachie?" he slurred. "Peachie, Peachie, Peachie? Peachie. Uh, less-see. Peachie. Another castle? Nah, thass not right. Lemme think." He took another swig of Jack Daniels and, his eyes widening, tried to snap the fingers of his free hand. "Oh yeah, now I, uh, remember: she's fucking one-a her doctor friends. She playin' doc-tor!" He cackled at his own inebriated explanation. "But my right hand's here, and she ain't in no castle!"

Miles blinked while the three older adults shook their heads at Mario's crude commentary. "Did we really need to hear that?" hissed the younger woman, arms now crossed.

"Ah, don't be such a pa-rude, Sf-a-chee-at," chortled the plumber. "Here, have a sip – it'll lighten you up."

"You've had enough!" snapped Giuseppe, his steel blue eyes glaring at him. "Give Lucia the bottle! Then go sleep it off!"

"Why? And nope," he guzzled more of the alcohol in front of his paternal uncle, "I … haven't nearly 'nough. Still cog-cog-coggy-ni-zi. Ha! Still speakin'. Where's Don Coglione? Diggycha tell 'im …" he glanced briefly at Father Sal, "consigliere's lookin' for 'im?" His eyes narrowed as Mario slapped his hand against the floor, howling with mirth. "I should get drunk more! Ah, shit…"

The priest cautiously approached the younger plumber and held his hand out for the Jack Daniels. "C'mon, Mario," he pleaded, "give me the bottle. You know that it only makes you sick later."

"Y'got twenty bucks?" he retorted with an impish grin. "Thought you … made vow of poverty? 'Cause thass what I spent on Cap'n Jack here. Twenty Manhattan bucks. To take me to tha' spesshhhal i-sland!" He drank some more. "Tried smack, shrooms, y'know? In Iraq. Didn't … do shit."

Everyone twisted to the thumping on the stairs, where a weary Luigi stared incredulously at his older brother who raised his bottle of whiskey in 'his' honor. "Weegie … 'elcome to da pa-ty!" Suddenly frowning at the disappearing contents, Mario added, "Need-a buy more Jack."

"Mario, Jesus, give Uncle Sal the damn bottle!" yelled the younger brother.

"Asss I said, twenty bucks, Weegie!"

Angrily, Luigi reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He held it up between his fingers to Mario's gaze, marched over to the living room, and flicked it at him. As the red-shirted brother became momentarily distracted by the paper money, Luigi snatched the glass bottle and handed it to Salvatore. Seizing the crumpled twenty, Mario snickered, "Grazie. Now I can buy another! Grazie, Petey-boy!" The unsteady man somehow stood and wobbled toward the front door, muttering incoherently in Italian.

"They ain't gonna … give you more!" shouted Giuseppe from the sofa, frustrated that he was unable to confront him.

"Ah, sure, they 'ill. My … money's green. Like Weegie's shirt!" He started to laugh again, distracted enough to lose his balance and smack into the wall.

Luigi, Giuseppe, Miles, Salvatore, and Daisy, who had moved closer to her boyfriend, all looked at each other for a solution. Ultimately, Mario would regain the strength to walk out of the front door. Had Joe been healthy, he and the three other men might have been able to restrain him; nevertheless, the drunk man possessed his father's and grandfather's physical strength and, coupled with his Army training, could seriously injure them if pushed hard enough. Miles inwardly regretted leaving his stun device at home; functioning like a taser, it delivered an electric shock to incapacitate an attacker without causing irreparable harm. They were left with one unpalatable option: let him leave and hope that the NYPD would keep him in custody until he regained sobriety. Realizing that they would not stop him, a sneering Mario sarcastically gave them a small bow and staggered out of the house.

"You're going to let him go?!" cried Lucia.

"Zia, we don't have a choice. Even if Zio were healthy, the four of us wouldn't be able to hold him. Not without hurting him or ourselves," explained Luigi. "The police will either bring him back or hospitalize him."

"And if they don't find him? Does he still have his car keys?"

"Lu, he's right. I … can call DK in the mornin' if he doesn't turn up. But tryin' to stop him would've been too dangerous. As for drunk driving, since he took a cab here, I don't think there's a risk of that." Exhaling in defeat, Giuseppe glanced up at Father Sal, who was mentally debating on whether to look for him. "Sal, go home; there's not much … more you can do, and," he chuckled, "your bride's waiting."

Giving him a forlorn and reluctant nod, he placed the whiskey bottle on the coffee table, walked to the front door, and, as he opened it, spun to face the remaining occupants. "I celebrate Mass morning and afternoon tomorrow. But I can return afterward; Father Ramirez can take over Wednesday night, as it's a one-off. I'll also keep the church open in case Mario …"

"Thank you, Salvatore," rasped Lucia. "That would be appreciated." With a fleeting smile, he exited the house, closing the door.

The lingering five people stood in dumbfounded silence. Shaking her head at her nephew's behavior, Lucia went into the kitchen to put together a small dinner for Giuseppe who had not eaten since midday. Luigi rifled through several delivery menus and settled for Mexican; he called the restaurant and, with the help of Daisy's Spanish, made sure that they would not use lard or meat fat in cooking her vegetable quesadillas. Then he ordered pork tacos and birria, as the latter might be suitable for Joe. With a side of chocolate cake and Gatorade, the fatigued man was able to stomach some of the beef broth, much to Lucia's relief. Luigi made sure Daisy ate well, even when she pouted at his lack of appetite. Miles found his desire to eat lacking as well, texting a concise update to Yoshi, who promised to be there by the following day, even at the risk of his assistantship.


Wednesday, September 10. Despite her boyfriend's caresses, Daisy did not sleep well that night, preoccupied by the rising anxiety and melancholy in the house. That evening, she had a passing thought whether to return to Park Slope, which subsequently horrified her, as she wanted to support Luigi and his family. Tiptoeing into the ensuite and her morning shower, she wondered if Giuseppe's refusal to leave Bensonhurst was his attempt to deal with the loss of his brother and almost-loss of his adopted son. Following her talk with Harry, she asked her therapist about family trauma and mentioned the circumstances surrounding Luigi's father's death; although the psychologist eschewed an in-depth analysis, she did mention that it was unfortunately common for families to disremember the person, as the nature of his or her death often became too closely associated. Daisy tried not to judge; however, their collective denial frustrated her, and she could tell that Miles felt similarly. A sense of guilt passed through her bones; what Luigi, what they all, needed was her compassion.

She heard the shower curtain pull back and a masculine hand touch her wet body, causing her to moan in pleasure. Still cleaning her hair, she spun to face an insomniac Luigi whose eyes were black with desire. Daisy was about to protest when he backed her against the wall and nibbled on her sensitive spots without mercy until the water ran tepid. Afterward, she dressed for work and he put on a pair of jeans and a ratty green tee-shirt in a comfortable quiet. She rued leaving her distressed plumber behind; Luigi, whose fingers constantly twitched for a cigarette, whispered that both he and Mario always take two days off – the day before and the day of the anniversary. Nodding, she asked if he would be alright, if he wanted her to stay. With a small smile, he ordered her to go, as no employer would appreciate a new employee taking time off within weeks of hire, and even volunteered to drive her to her usual stop. Daisy, however, shook her head; she did not want him driving when he had not slept well in almost five days. He walked her to the front door, mindful of the slumbering Miles on the living-room couch, and kissed her goodbye.

Hands tremoring, Luigi gave in and went outside to the porch for a smoke. As he flicked the green lighter against the Marlboro, he made a mental note to brush his teeth right away to hide his weakness from Daisy. In his mind, he could also see the disapproving gaze of Dr. Czernin, though, at that moment, he sarcastically responded that he couldn't give a shit. Mario had taken off to parts unknown and had made a royal Abruzzese ass of himself last night in front of Giuseppe, Father Sal, and Lucia, though part of him was glad that they finally saw what he had put up with for years.

Not to mention what Pops would have said.

Once, when Luigi was about ten, Mario and his high-school friends had acquired a few fake IDs and conned a liquor store clerk in selling them several bottles of triple sec, vodka, and Jack Daniels. After the party, the drunk teenager tried to sneak into the house; unfortunately for him, their furious father was waiting in the living room. Despite the early-morning hour, they yelled at each other, with the older Mario shouting how fucking stupid it was, especially before graduation and the younger bluntly informing him that he didn't give a single shit what Mr. FDNY-Absent-Dad thought. Just as Mario Senior had done with his own father, the next day, Mario gave the lieutenant a similar screw-you by waiting outside the Queens office for a plumbing apprenticeshipapplication.

So lost in long-forgotten memories of the two Marios that he had not heard the back door open and a man walk outside. Feeling eyes on him, Luigi twisted around to view a frail Giuseppe in a white tee-shirt and blue pajama bottoms studying him. Suddenly feeling like he had been caught smoking in the school parking lot (which he had at Brooklyn City), he rasped, "Zio, what are you doing out here? Go back inside!"

"Still smokin'?" he asked, though without accusation or judgment.

"Most of the time, no. I just … needed one today," he answered. "Zio, you need to go inside; this isn't healthy for you."

"It's not … healthy for you, either, figlio mio."

Stubborn as ever, Luigi growled inwardly as he took a drag. "The Masciarelli vice is alcohol; the Rigassis' is cigarettes," he heard him say.

"I didn't know Mama smoked."

Giuseppe laughed a little. "She didn't."

"Uncle Sal did," he concluded. Flicking the ashes into the dirt, he took another puff and inquired, "Zio … why do you want to stay here and … why's Salvatore really visiting?"

The older man sighed and leaned against the brick house for support. "Same reason. You and Mario." He respired several times before continuing, "Kid, I … may not make it. Dr. Gauthier was pretty clear that I've got a fifty-fifty chance … at best. Even if I get … through the chemo and surgery, they may only … give me a few years more. I know my time … might be at its end. Sal knows it, too. Hell is leaving this earth with … regrets."

Unwilling to lose yet another parent, Luigi twisted away from him and brought his shaking hand with the half-burned cigarette to his lips. "Life ain't fair," Giuseppe's voice echoed in the still early-morning air, "and we don't get to choose when we go. But we can choose what … we leave behind. Your … father once told me that. That's why … he became a firefighter." Blinking back tears, he muttered, "Always the fucking idealist. But he was right about that."

"And Sal?" Joe chewed his lip, debating how to answer the question. This time, it was time for him to listen to his nephew's voice. "It's been … suggested that he was a wiseguy. I know he isn't now, but … what do I do with that? Zio, all I wanted was to live a quiet life. Now I got the family shit to deal with, which Pops clearly didn't want me to know. You once said it was Pandora's Box. Well, isn't not knowing the same fuckin' thing?"

"Don't do anything, figlio. I fuckin' mean it. Father Sal always has a reason. Always. Trust that."

"How the fuck do you know?" challenged Luigi while stomping out his finished cigarette butt. "He disappeared in the seminary in '82, '83? Hell, I didn't even really know him until I was eight, nine? Yeah, he supervised my studies, then he fucked off to California in August 2000. Didn't come back until, shit, three, four years ago. He wasn't even fuckin' there when Mario got his leg blown off. So, yeah, I got my doubts." He took note of Uncle Joe's stern look and shrugged flippantly at him. "Frankly, right now, I'm over the Masciarelli penchant for secrets and running. Mario wants us to fuck off to Massachusetts. You … fuck, I don't even know anymore. Pops wanted to fuck off to … wherever… I'm beginning to think that I never knew any of youse."

As the younger plumber reached for the door to go back indoors, Joe stopped him by placing a bony hand on his shoulder and spoke, "Luigi, you can trust me. Per sempre." His angry blue eyes softened, and he nodded just once.

By the time they entered the house, Lucia had dressed and collected her car keys, with the promise to return later in the afternoon. Although she had the rest of the week off, she had to return to Staten Island to assuage the fears of her mother-in-law and sister-in-law who were living in New Jersey and normally made the trip to Eltingville for the anniversary. Earlier that morning, she had spoken with her youngest daughters who offered to drive to Middletown, where Nonna Mia was living with her daughter and her husband, Tony. Her and Joe's eldest was undecided, though her preference was to come with her to read his name. Lucia was admittedly a bit hesitant; Salvatore's potential visit to his familial home and Cousin Mario's inebriated state might yield a scorching reaction. In addition to her father, Maria idolized her late uncle; while it was never outwardly expressed, she felt his loss as profoundly as she and her father had. It had been a secret between she, Mario Senior, and her daughter that the latter was preparing for the next firefighter's exam, a dream that had been destroyed by John Slaughter. Mario Senior once joked to Lucia that it was "his payback for Joe's constant meddling." Thus, Maria had little patience for disrespect, either of her uncle's memory or of the anniversary of his death. Kissing her husband, who seemed a little stronger physically, if more subdued emotionally, goodbye, she departed for Eltingville.

Miles persuaded Luigi to go out for pastries at Villabate Alba, if only to distract and keep him from following his older brother into more self-destructive tendencies. As his paternal uncle was less tired and more independent, they quickly made the breakfast run, buying cornetti, sfogliatelle, and a few fresh cannoli. They returned a half-hour later; Giuseppe had called and left a message for DK at his precinct to request any news concerning a drunken Mario Masciarelli. He also tried Mario's cellphone to no avail. Despite the severity of the situation, the plumber's Italian nose twitched at the smell of warm and buttery pastries. Praying to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit that the chemotherapy would not cause him to reject the delicacies, Joe found that he could finish the sfogliatella – his brother's favorite. Luigi, however, ate sparingly, despite Miles's not so subtle encouragements and Joe's occasional concerned, yet understanding glances. After the mid-morning breakfast and coffee, Giuseppe went to rest, and the hacker continued his deep dives on Salvatore and Lucas. Luigi stretched out on the couch, phone on the coffee table in case Mario called, and stared at the ceiling, too exhausted to sleep. As his mind went blank, Enya's "Only Time" fainted resounded and repeated itself without distinct, accompanying memories, a vague, yet reviled feedback loop from thirteen years ago. He twisted irritably, facing the mantle and the photographs of his parents.

Although his eyes obeyed the torpor that had been building for days, Luigi's mind remained partly conscious, the same goddamn Enya tune played like an antiphon. He badly needed another cigarette, yet the stench would be off-putting, especially to his lioness. Rising from the worn couch, he nonverbally signaled to Miles that he was going to the front porch for some air, to stave off his Marlboro craving. The blond waved with a couple fingers, engrossed in his work. The green-shirted plumber walked out the door to the steps facing 62nd Street, closed his eyes, and inhaled the Brooklyn smog.

"Man, you look like hell," spoke a familiar voice.

Immediately opening his eyes, Luigi was shocked to find Lucas standing at the base of the small staircase. "Lucas? What are you doing here?"

He shrugged in his beige suit and purple polo shirt. "I wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing after Labor Day and before … the you-know-what. How long haven't you slept?"

"I'm … okay, thanks," he replied with a slight smile.

An unconvinced Lucas slowly approached his friend by climbing the first two steps, then wrinkling his nose. "Jesus, you've been smoking. Look, Weeg, let's get you out of here. My mother's place on Long Island's free; it'll be relaxing, more than … being here of all places. You shouldn't be alone."

"Lucas, I appreciate it, but … I'm not alone, actually. And I can't leave."

"Why not? Surely Sergeant Major Dickerson isn't here!"

Before Luigi could respond further, a man stepped directly behind Lucas, causing him to gape in shock. Noticing the plumber's surprised look and feeling someone's eyes on his back, the man in purple pivoted to face an impenetrable Father Salvatore Rigassi. The Pretending Priest, he thought with a mixture of curiosity, irritation, and alarm.

"I came as soon as I could. Am I interrupting something?" he asked lightly, though his brown eyes remained fixed upon the tall Greek.

"Uh, no, Zio. This, um, this is Lucas. He's a … friend of mine. From Brooklyn City," he explained. "Lucas Kariolis, this is my maternal uncle, Father Salvatore Rigassi."

"Hello, uh, Father Rigassi," greeted Lucas, unexpectedly feeling trapped under the man's piercing gaze. Jesus, what the fuck is it with these Rigassis? Best get the hell out of here. "Um, I'll call you later, Weeg."

As Lucas tried to escape, the front door opened to reveal a frail, nonetheless outraged Giuseppe Masciarelli, followed by Miles. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded. Salvatore side-stepped in front of the Manhattanite, blocking him from his envisioned exit. "Luigi, get inside. Now!" barked Uncle Joe.

The tall man scoffed and crossed his arms defiantly. "Hey, Luigi and I were having a friendly conversation! What the hell's your problem, man?" His eyes shifted to the blond engineer. "And what the hell's Twa-Tails doing here?"

"Zio, he was just leaving. Right, Lucas?"

"Really?" bit out Giuseppe sarcastically, ignoring his nephew. "You just showed up – what – to go for a drive?"

Lucas hated miscalculating his moves. It did not happen often, but when it did, he learned to improvise. He knew that neither uncle would allow him to leave without being interrogated or, worst-case scenario, getting slapped around. Working in his favor was Mario's absence; Weeg's older brother would shoot him without any chance to bullshit his way out of the tight spot. The question was whether he should go on the offensive or defensive. Oh, hell, why not both? "Actually, yeah," he finally answered. "I know what tomorrow is. I remember it well. After all, unlike any of you, I was with Luigi the entire time!"

The incensed Joe glanced briefly at his childhood friend who stared meaningfully at him. Miles and Lucas watched the nonverbal conversation between them, which, for the former, appeared on the same level as Joe's communication with Lucia. The engineer found it fascinating, however unsurprising, as their friendship had lasted, by his mental math, for forty-five years, give or take a year or two. Without saying another word, Joe moved next to Luigi while Salvatore spoke in a carefully neutral voice, "Lucas, if you're here to support Luigi, then we don't have a problem with that. That being said, if you have any other motives, you'd best be on your way. And if you choose to stay, you will leave upon request."

Blinking several times in disbelief, it was Lucas's turn to scratch his head. What is this guy doing? Having studied their body language, he knew that Joe the Plumber had considered slugging him for longer than a split second; the Pretending Priest was nevertheless clearly giving him a chance either to prove or hang himself. Based on what his business partner had shared, he surmised that Father Sal was perfectly comfortable because he was perfectly in control; he knew that he did not need to threaten him to compel a certain respect. Lucas did not know whether to be in awe or in fear of the man; perhaps they were the same thing. Opting to keep his mouth shut for the time being, he nodded once to the satisfied Father Sal who eyed the reluctant Giuseppe. The latter growled, spun Luigi by the shoulder toward the door, and guided him inside. Tails raised a Spock-like eyebrow at Lucas, then followed Joe and Luigi, as the priest gave him a welcome gesture to enter the house.