Author's notes: Hello, hello! Apologies that this too longer than expected. Between traveling and the holidays, life got unexpectedly busy. Anyway, here we go. Once again, I ended up splitting up the chapters because, well, a certain character did a hijack AGAIN. (We all know which one.) Flames to HIM are always welcome, lol.

This chapter has a raised rating to M/Mature simply due to the jokes within it. I warn you that they were a little much for ME, but I went with them due to a challenge from a couple of loyal readers. Those who wanted Lucas/Waluigi commentary about a certain country, well, be careful what you ask for. If you are easily offended or aren't sure that it's your cup of tea, PM me, and I'll give you a synopsis of essential points.

Updates will likely come every 2-3 weeks. I hope sooner, but I make no promises.


Chapter 44: La Cerca, Part I

"And everything dies, baby, that's a fact.

But maybe everything that dies someday comes back,"

– Bruce Springsteen, "Atlantic City"

Despite Lucas's numerous attempts to coax his friend to eat the promised fattening lunch of freshly smoked salmon, creamy daikon potato salad, a variety of croissants, breads, berries, sliced melon, dragon fruit, a chocolate fountain with dark, milk, and white chocolate, and Kona coffee, the annoyed Luigi remained in his seat with a small granola bar and a cup of black coffee. For the duration of the four-hour flight, the plumber stared out of the window at the passing clouds and what his co-passenger called Jesus-fly-me-the-fuck-over Country, upset at leaving his family and friends in such emotional turmoil. He could only imagine the loud objections of Zia Mario, Zio Tony, and his nonna after Giuseppe and Lucia managed to make some excuse about why neither of Mario Senior's sons would be at Sunday dinner, to say nothing of Mario's birthday. He was furthermore angry that he was unable, due to scheduling and his frenemy's machinations, to bring his beloved Daisy on his first trip to Frankfurt; in some alternative timeline, he would do business during the day, spend the evening with her at a biergarten, and return to their five-star hotel for a steamy bath.

After Lucas made him eat some of the smoked salmon and chocolate-dipped biscotti, the flight attendant announced that they would soon arrive at Eagle County Regional Airport. At Luigi's panicked look, a snickering Lucas explained that he refused to fly into an airport with a blue devil horse, and they would be landing in the cool part of Colorado – Vail. He watched the plane gently touch down at the foot of several Fourteeners and famous ski slopes. Quickly collecting their luggage and disembarking, Lucas rushed them through the small terminal, glancing in each direction to make sure that no Woodland Critters were present, and immediately had the pre-arranged driver take them to the Four Seasons. Though October was the beginning of the ski season in Colorado, Lucas used his father's VIP to secure a two-bedroom suite through Monday.

"Ah, now we can breathe, my man! No Satanic blood orgies for two days!" exclaimed Lucas as he strolled past the large kitchen and dining room toward his bedroom as an aghast Luigi collapsed on one of the plush off-white armchairs, roller suitcase next to him, in the living room. A moment later, the tall man returned with a pair of swimming trunks on his arm. "Dibs on the jacuzzi tub tonight. Anyway, there's this great little Italian restaurant in town that, I think, will impress even you. In spite of Vail being a crappy town in the equally crappy state of Colorado, it does have a few positives."

"Lucas, are you fucking insane?!" yelled Luigi, a film of sweat starting to form upon his brow. Hiding the unopened text message from Miles, presumably about overshooting Denver International Airport by one hundred twenty miles, he held up his smartphone to display the four missed calls from Pete and Matt Morello. "Do you really think that they're going to somehow let this slide? They're probably on their way to Vail right now!" Scoffing and putting his face into his left hand, he sunk into the armchair once more and mumbled incoherently.

Still unperturbed, the tall man shrugged. "Calm down, Weeg. I have this completely under control. Let me call them and do the talking, alright?" Taking out his eerily silent iPhone from the back pocket of his dress pants, he fished through his phone log for a single, unmarked number and dialed it. Luigi faintly heard several rings and then a beep, to which his frenemy hung up with a smile. "Okay, it went to voicemail. Perfect. They'll see that we 'tried' to call," he said, making air quotes using his free fingers. "We'll try again later," he snickered, winking comically.

"Pete Morello's a fucking capo in the Mafia. You don't cross guys like that!" responded Luigi in a serious tone.

He rolled his eyes. "Look, Weeg, thanks to my asshole dad, I've been around guys like him all my life. You got your ass kicked by them. That's not the same thing. No matter what, they won't kill you."

"Exactly right!" the plumber shouted, rising a second time from the armchair. "And while I might be family, neither of us is made, you stupid asshole! Before we took off from LaGuardia, Fat Tony gave me a little message. Know what it was? Hmm?" A blasé Lucas crossed his arms and pretended to show interest. "He warned me not tofuck him over because we – not you – are family!"

"Gee," he growled sarcastically, "that sounds like a personal you problem."

"No, it's an us problem! I'd rather not get whacked by either Tony or Pete! And while I know you're using me for God knows what, I actually and surprisingly don't want to see you disappeared! Because that shit still happens!"

For the first time since they landed in Vail, Lucas seemed contrite. He frowned and uncrossed his arms. "That hurts, Weeg. Truly. I do care about you and no, I'm not just using you for God knows what. I was truthful; I want us to be a team! I don't want you stuck as a successor to …" feigning noises of nausea, which caused his friend to roll his eyes, "Joe the Toilet Man." Scrutinizing the angry Luigi, he inhaled and, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, murmured, "Alright, you win. Just because you said that you cared about yours truly, we'll return to Denver in the morning, okay? It's a little late to head back tonight. I think the Critters can deal with a minor setback." He smiled brightly as Luigi reluctantly nodded. "Good man. In the meantime, let's head to the pool. It's heated year-round, and they even serve s'mores! Besides, you didn't eat much on the plane, so you should be hungry."

"I didn't bring my swim trunks, Lucas," protested the plumber, but the Manhattanite held up his hand. Retreating into his room and returning just as suddenly, he threw a pair of green, purple, and black polyester shorts at him.

"No problem. I brought an extra pair for you. Normally, I'd suggest that we go into town and buy them, but I'd rather stay at the resort. Meet me out at the pool in ten, okay, my man?" He gave the weary Brooklyn plumber a chuck on the shoulder and went to change in his room. Sighing in exasperation and whispering a prayer to God, Jesus, Saint Rosalia, and Santa Claus that the Colorado Mafia would not dump their bodies in an unmarked grave somewhere between Vail and Glenwood Springs, Luigi nearly ran into his spacious room with king-sized bed and fireplace. Once assured of complete privacy, he fished out his phone and decrypted Miles's message that had been sent thirty minutes prior to landing:

(2:02 pm MT): "Your plane's going to Vail (EGE). Original flight plan filed by pilot says EGE, not DIA. Whatever we – P.M. presumably and me – were looking at was fake. Sit tight once you get this. I'm on it."

Texting a quick acknowledgement, though ignoring the texts from Mario and Daisy until he had more information, Luigi kept his phone in reach while he removed his street clothes for the loaned swimming wear. He put his black tee-shirt back on, as the outside temperature was barely forty degrees Fahrenheit, and then exited the suite, keycard and phone in hand, to the Olympic-sized heated pool at the main lodge. Shivering at the autumn chill, his eyes relaxed at the large fire where a small crowd of young children, their mothers, and an old man had gathered. Taking a seat next to it, he spied the whooping, sunglasses-wearing Lucas in the middle of the pool, his tall frame trembling at the sixty-degree difference between the heated water and outside air. One of the waiters kindly approached and proffered each person in the group a s'more with a hot apple cider, which the plumber accepted. As he tried not to think about a certain, irate Mafia capo, he bit into the gooey treat and reveled in the cinnamon, marshmallow, and dark chocolate, finding a moment's peace and pleasure. Closing his eyes, Luigi focused on his respiration and imagined a strip of mandarin orange – one of Daisy's favorite colors – emanating from his lips like fire against the dark blue sky.

"Dude, is that good? I'd ask for one, but my Crohn's would kick up a fuss," spoke a pleasant voice. The Brooklynite opened his eyes, which became enormous at the sight of Matt Morello.

He gulped down the bit of the chocolate. "M-M-Matt! Where's …?" At his unspoken question, they both turned at a familiar yelp in the vicinity of the pool. An infuriated Pete Morello was looming over the now pale Lucas as his nephew, Sam Carlino, dropped to one jeans-covered knee and forced the New Yorker's head into the water.

At the quizzical and concerned looks and pointing to the bubbles by the onlookers, the spectacled Matt laughed and announced, "Ah, it's a friendly joke. He's a New England Patriots' fan. Go Broncos!" Most of them smiled thinly, as they were from out of state, and eventually resumed their conversations. "We'll get one to go, huh? Let's get back to your room."

To avoid attracting the crowd of tourists, Pete, Matt, and Sam slowly and unobtrusively escorted the plumber and the drenched, gasping Lucas back to the suite. Pete sternly ordered both young men to dress and be out of their bedrooms with their luggage in five minutes. Once he was clothed in his original outfit, making sure to enable the watch-cum-tracking device, a trembling Luigi moved a favorite picture of him and Daisy together as the wallpaper of his phone while he leafed through saved photos of Mario, Peach, Uncle Joe, Aunt Lucia, Maria, Addy, Lucy, his nonna, his Zii Maria and Tony and their children, Yoshi, and Miles one last time. Regrettably, he had no photographs of his parents; visualizing them in his mind – Gabriella in a bright red sweater and wide-flared pants and Mario Senior in his FDNY sweatshirt and a pair of ratty blue jeans – he took numb steps into the living room like a dead man walking. A moment afterward, a forlorn, yet defiant Lucas exited his room, luggage in hand.

"Matt, take Luigi to the SUV. Your Uncle Gene's waiting," hissed Pete.

As he gently guided the shaking man to the door, the capo nodded to Sam who viciously punched Lucas in the solar plexus. Spinning around to see his frenemy on the floor, wheezing and shrieking in shock and pain from the blond mafioso repeatedly kicking him, Luigi began to whimper incoherently. "Now, Matt!" yelled the man's father. The latter pushed the now squirming plumber out of the suite by the elbow. Once outside, Matt grabbed the suitcase and, keeping a hand on his cousin to keep him from fleeing, brought him to the SUV where Gene was waiting in the driver's seat. The thin mafioso opened the rear door and tried to help him inside, which he resisted with all of his strength. Thrashing against the active force Luigi was exerting to break free, "Zio!" he cried. The former grunted and yelped even more when they heard the driver's side door open and footsteps approach.

"Luigi! Just take it easy!" said Gene calmly. "You'll hurt yourself!"

"Lemme go! Please! I just want to see Daisy and my family again, please! I'll do anything, per favore!" he sobbed.

Matt and Gene exchanged a confused look, then the latter's eyes broadened. "Aw, shit!" he lamented. "Matt, hold him in a bear hug, just like I taught ya. Give me a second." Nodding at his senior mafioso, he clasped his arms around Luigi's solar plexus, which made it harder for the New Yorker to use his wiry strength to escape. The burly, middle-aged blond ran to the driver's side, popped open the back door, and fished around in a blue cooler. Locating a vial containing an unknown clear liquid, he returned to the hysterical man. Gesturing to Matt to steady him as much as possible, Gene filled a syringe with some of the fluid, quickly yanked the young man's coat off his shoulders, and exposed his bicep to inject him. Luigi felt his muscles become heavy and, though he attempted to fight it, soon lost consciousness. Gene lifted his limp body from Matt and positioned him into one of the passenger seats in the middle row. Buckling the safety belt across his torso, he tucked the roller bag and backpack in the space next to the unconscious man, closed the open car doors, then re-entered the driver's seat. The younger mafioso climbed into shotgun and they sped away.


Luigi's blue eyes slowly fluttered open to a bright white light. They must have killed us both, he thought as a purring Siamese cat entered his view. He swallowed harshly while the seal point settled upon a warm spot on his upper chest and outstretched a paw inviting his newest human crew member to pet him. Unsure of whether this was reality or a dream, the plumber obeyed, stroking the cat's fur and long black tail. Satisfied with the pizzo, Pinocchio stretched out and lowered his head, allowing the former to see that he was in Pete Morello's guest room. His backpack and roller bag were placed neatly in the corner, and his fully-charged iPhone was easily accessible to him from bed. Careful not to disturb the Boss, Luigi reached over to see that he had three missed text messages – two from Miles and one from Daisy – and several missed voicemails from Mario and Uncle Joe, no doubt threatening to kill Pete and Lucas. His eyes widened at the date and time – Sunday, October 19; 7:07 a.m.

Texting a quick encrypted message to Daisy, telling her not to worry, that he would explain later that evening, he then read the messages from Miles that he was tracking his position heading east to Denver. Apparently, he had anonymously alerted Pete and the Colorado Critters to their location in Vail, having panicked that Lucas was planning something dark. "Gee, thanks for the heads up," Luigi whispered acerbically, thinking of Gene's syringe. Afterward, he mentally castigated himself; left with few good choices, the pragmatic Miles picked the lesser of evils to save his life. "Mi dispiace, amico," he apologized to the absent hacker. "Grazie per guardarmi le spalle." He soon felt the points of a cat's claw against his wrist, demanding that he resume his obéissance. He was about to lay back against the pillow when he heard a faint knock against the door, which opened to reveal a tired-looking Pete Morello in a pair of men's navy blue pajama bottoms and an old-style Denver Broncos hoodie. Shutting it behind him to prevent gratuitous noise from echoing throughout the hallway, he gently approached the now frightened Brooklynite.

"Easy, Luigi, easy," he murmured like he would a spooked horse. Sitting at his bedside, he sighed, gave the expectant Pinocchio a scratch, and said, "I'm sorry about … yesterday afternoon. I hadn't noticed how … terrified you were until Gene called from the house." Scrubbing his unshaven face with his hands, he went on, "He had to give you a sedative. There was no time to explain, and we absolutely needed to get you away from that Greek piece of shit. You were unaware of what was happening, but Lucas re-routed the plane at some point. Before you left LaGuardia, I insisted that his pilot send the flight plan; now, the destination clearly said DIA, which we verified with the FAA that morning as well as at one o'clock, and that is where we were waiting. However, an anonymous tipster let us know that the plane was headed to Vail. Matt checked with the FAA again, and sure enough, the flight plan showed Eagle County as the destination. No explanation; no mechanical issues or weather difficulties. Nothing!" Pete held up his burner phone to show the reclined Luigi the message. "Now, it's very difficult to get, let alone text my number. Very difficult. The person who sent the message is talented. He … or she … is looking out for you, cuginu." Pocketing the phone, Pete petted the Siamese, who had been rubbing his sharp incisor against the phone and his hand for attention. "I won't lie; I was pissed off, hence why I missed the signs of your … distress. We drove to Vail, not knowing what to expect. I was … at one point convinced that we'd have to fly your … fucking body back to Giuseppe and Lucia." Luigi's eyes widened as Pete bit his lip from displaying his inner trembling rage. "I was thinking of placid ways of ripping out your zio's heart!" Inhaling to keep his temper in check, he added, "Not to mention having to explain this to Carlo and Junior. My only question is why did you not answer my calls?!"

The young plumber stiffened at the man's raised voice. "Because the anonymous tipster told me that you were en route to Vail. I hadn't realized that we weren't going to DIA until the pilot announced that we were landing at Eagle County Airport. I argued with Lucas to contact you, which he did, albeit in kind of a bullshit way. He called, but you didn't pick up. I think you were already halfway to me by the time I was able to check my messages."

Pete nodded deliberately. "Yeah, I saw the little shit called Matt. And as for your … friend, is he or she reliable? You know this person?"

"Yes. I can't … I won't tell you who it is, but you're right that they're talented. And I trust this person with my life. They have no interest in your business save, well, me." He gave a single nod, accepting both Luigi's explanation and assurance of Miles's trustworthiness. "What … what happened to Lucas? Is he … ?"

"Son, it's better right now that you don't ask too many questions. You'll know soon enough. As for today – and take this as an order – you need to rest for the trip to Germany. Against my better judgment, you are still going. You're going because New York wants you to go. But one of us will go with and escort you back to Brooklyn." His caresses turned into a chin scratching session, to which Pinocchio responded by purring anew.

"I didn't know! I guess I should've looked at a topographical map of Colorado …"

"Luigi," Pete interjected firmly, yet in a softer tone, "you're not the guilty party in this. You know that we – Gene, Matt, Sam, and I – have a history with the Kariolises. Furthermore, Gene and I are now aware of what happened at Brooklyn City. Some … will achieve whatever status they think they deserve by any means. Understand that, cuginu."

"Yeah, I get it," muttered Luigi, vexed that his cousin had brought up the fiasco at Brooklyn City. "Lucas was out of my life until February. And not because I wanted it!"

"And believe me absolutely when I say that if it were up to me, he'd have stayed out of your life permanently." Giving the Siamese a final scratch, he rose from his spot on the bed's edge. "Rest now, son. Pinocchio will take good care of you. Gene and I'll be in and out all day, and the boys are going to the Broncos game tonight. I think they did get an extra ticket for you, but we'll play that by ear, see how you're feeling. Michelle and Laura will be home all day. They're only aware of some of this, so I'd appreciate your discretion over the details." With a final nod and an almost paternal pat on Luigi's shoulder, he quietly left the guest room, shutting the door behind him.

As he continued to pet the Siamese, the plumber shed a few silent tears of frustration, anger, and fear. How would he return Mario's and Giuseppe's calls and pretend that everything was fine after he had truly believed yesterday afternoon would be his last day on Earth? In the safety of his mind, he quietly moved the cat on the queen-sized bed, hurriedly dressed, sneaked out of the house via taxi, and headed to Denver International Airport where an emergency ticket back to New York was waiting. In four or five hours, he would be home in time for Sunday dinner and to immerse himself in the warm embrace of his beautiful lioness.

He could do that.

However, his heart fell at remembering Fat Tony's words and Pete's angry comment that New York wanted him to go.

If I don't go, then everyone dear to me loses.

Luigi sank back on the pillows to avoid the shakiness from his empty stomach. Wincing at the distance between his backpack and granola bars, he eyed the Siamese who shot him a warning look not to move. "Yo, uh, Boss, I haven't eaten in over twelve hours. Can you budge for a minute so I can grab a snack?"

The cat went back to sleep, his position remained unchanged.

Unable to do anything more, the plumber absently gave the unyielding feline a scratch in his fur and closed his eyes to fall asleep. He blinked awake when he heard a soft knock and Pete's younger sister and Gene's wife, Laura Morell-Carlin, enter his room with a tray of fried eggs, buttered toast, bacon, and coffee. "Hey there," she greeted delicately. "Pete mentioned Pinocchio was up here with you, so I figured that I'd better bring you breakfast as His Majesty can be quite bratty when he has a warm spot." On cue, the Siamese lifted his head at her and flashed a fit of canine.

"Uh, thanks," replied Luigi shyly. She arranged the tray so that it was accessible while managing to work around the stubborn Pinocchio. He still could not get over Laura's uncanny, twin-like resemblance to his late mother.

To his surprise, she sat at the edge of the bed where Pete had been. "Luigi, I don't know all of the details of what happened. I do know that Gene brought you home. Unconscious. Gabby would never have approved." He took note of her angry brown eyes. "My son made his choice, Matt made his choice, one which I did not agree with, but one that is a part of our family history. Neither Gabby nor Mario – your father – would want you to follow in that tradition. And neither would your Nonno Rigassi."

Slowly chewing a piece of the toast, he responded between the small bites, "Laura, I … I don't want to be in that tradition, either. But I have to go to Germany to save my shop in Brooklyn. I have thirty men, their families, and my older brother who're depending on me. Then there's my former friend who's making trouble."

She scoffed. "Your nonno was faced with a similar issue. He … was an engineer, but he was also made. He killed an Italian fascist officer so that his family could continue running the construction black market in Sicily. Zio Luigi felt such remorse, both for having murdered the man and having overseen a subpar housing project, that he tried to run away. He bought tickets for himself, Audenzia, Gabby, and … They were about to leave for New York when they killed him. My grandfather ordered the execution of his own son. His executioner? Luigi's best friend."

"Bisnonno killed Luigi?!" whispered the plumber, his voice breaking over each horrifying syllable.

She nodded wordlessly. "And that's why … Gabby never wanted you or your brother around this. Mario – your Papa – never knew the real story. She and Audenzia never wanted him to know. I'm telling you because your choice … has to be made with all available information."

"What about … Salvatore? Did he know?"

Her attention shifted from sad to terrified at the mention of Salvatore's name. "I don't know. The only reason why I knew is because … Audenzia tried to talk sense into my brother and her son, tried to keep them both from getting too close to Carlo. I guess neither listened."

Luigi took a sip of the black coffee, finding the rich bitterness strangely comforting. "Laura, I … Thank you for telling me. No offense, but I'd rather be in Brooklyn with my brother, his, uh, girlfriend, and my … significant other. Daisy. I would if I could."

She smiled genuinely. "No offense taken. When I plugged your phone into the spare charger, I noticed the picture of you with … I assume it's her?" He nodded, taking a larger bite of the eggs and bacon. "She's very pretty. Pete told me that she's hopefully going to law school, that she went to Oxford?"

"Yeah. She's so … beautiful and smart. As Mario – my fratello – says, she's got a mouth. I don't know how I got so lucky."

Laura snickered and, leaning into her cousin, said with a grin, "Rigassi men and women always go for the beautiful, smart, and stubborn types. But especially the men. I have my part-Italian cowboy, true; my brother has Michelle who gives him a run for his money. And behind closed doors, the ass-chewing that she can give him … I never saw Audenzia with Luigi, but she was quite the firecracker, even later in life."

"Then perhaps you can explain a mystery for me?" At Laura's beckoning look, Luigi continued in what he hoped was an innocent tone, "It's been said that Salvatore, before he went into the priesthood, had a lost love. Was she like that, too?"

The woman's eyes grew pained. Taking his free hand over the now annoyed Siamese cat, she murmured, "I never saw him with a woman. There were rumors …" She sighed and mumbled, "If Pete or Gene ever heard me say this …"

"It's okay, if it's too sensitive …"

"No," she interrupted firmly. "There's a lot I don't know about Salvatore. After Audenzia died, he changed. A lot. And not for the better. The last time I saw him was in 1980 or 1981. But when I was in school there, in Brooklyn, I was about a year behind Joe and Sal. Pete, Gabby, and Mario were in ninth grade, and I was in the sixth. I was a little too young to understand, mind you … While your father was already chasing your mother, and my brother was learning from him and – unfortunately – Jackie Morano, Salvatore never … did. Do you understand? His peers, starting at twelve, thirteen, fourteen, were chasing girls. Much like you and Mario probably did. But Sal withdrew into himself. He never let anyone in, not even his own sister, save for one person. Joe. That … intimacy is what kept the residual shred of humanity in him, I think."

Luigi nodded, finishing the bit of breakfast. Then the meaning behind her words hit him, and he froze in place. He heard her rise from her spot at the foot of the bed. "I should go. But I hope … that answers your question, even if it is rumor." He did not acknowledge her exit, remaining immobile, fork in hand, which allowed Pinocchio to bite on the little piece of bacon attached to it.


For the next day and a half, the green-shirted plumber kept to himself, too stunned at the revelations about his maternal grandfather and uncle. He skipped the Broncos game to lay in the guest room and stare at the shadows across the ceiling. Oddly, Luigi was far more shaken by Laura's conjecture which he, at his core, knew to be the truth. He, neither Sal nor Giuseppe, ascribed the feminine pronoun to the former's lost love. It was ironic given his own history, and he wondered just how he could have missed the signs. Did his mother know? Did his father know? Did the Mafia? And what about Uncle Joe? Did he …? Was he …?

Was that why Lucia disliked Salvatore? Did she know?

That question still haunted him throughout Monday morning and afternoon, through his feigned smiles and conversation with Matt, who had left early for class, Michelle, and Laura. Shortly after breakfast, he walked past Pete's study up to his room where he heard the echoes of heated arguing between the capo and his lieutenant. Though the closed, heavy oak doors precluded active eavesdropping, Luigi made out the phrases "Kill him now before Germany!" and "What the fuck are we waiting for?" from Gene, followed by "And risk a goddamned war?! Are you fucking pazzu?" from Pete.

He inhaled sharply upon hearing those words, and Fat Tony's voice taunted in his mind, "Whatever happens in Frankfurt, don't even think of fuckin' me over, Lou."

Then another voice echoed even louder: "Play the game and remember who you are, Luigi Gabriele Isidoro Masciarelli. Real power comes from love, hope, and endurance."

He repeated this to himself throughout the day and late-afternoon drive to Denver International Airport. Everyone was present except for Gene, though Pete mentioned that he would meet them there. Aside from his green backpack and roller suitcase, there were one blue suitcase and black backpack. Given that Matt was still in school, Luigi doubted that he would be accompanying him to Frankfurt, leaving either Pete or Sam as the likely candidates. Arriving at the drop-off zone on Level 4, they disembarked, with a smaller black car pulling up behind them. Luigi watched passively as Gene put the car into park and ordered his passenger – the slightly pale yet alive Lucas Kariolis – to join the group. The Manhattanite slowly ambled toward the now blank Pete Morello; the plumber mentally scanned him for any bruises, cuts, or obvious signs of torture. None that were visible. He saw Laura, Gene, and Matt first embrace Sam as the latter collected the luggage, then Pete nodded at him gravely and shook his hand. They repeated the process for Luigi, only Pete, as he hugged him, whispered in his ear, "Be careful of your surroundings, son."

The three young men entered the busy main terminal and queued in the thirty-minute line for the Toilet Security Ass-ministration where everyone's asshole was thoroughly probed Denver-style, even those who had been pre-checked and fingerprinted by the aforementioned agency. The normally descriptive Lucas remained quiet during the screening and short ride on DIA's Official Porno Express to Concourse A. Sam stayed close to both men as the taller man silently pointed to the men's room to the right of the food court at the middle of the concourse. Rolling his eyes, Sam shadowed him as the latter gripped Luigi's shoulder and steered him to the bathroom. Halting at the urinals, the blond mafioso lined up next to the unzipping Lucas. Animatedly pointing to his nether regions with both hands, the New Yorker gave Sam his best Do you fucking mind look, to which he merely raised his eyebrow. After several, standoffish seconds, the Coloradan growled that he would be right outside and left.

"Why can't you speak?" asked Luigi somewhat worriedly.

Lucas sadly pulled out his phone and typed a message with one hand as he peed into the urinal, which his friend then read aloud: "Because the bastards cut out my tongue!" The Manhattanite opened his mouth for inspection; as the petrified plumber leaned toward its floor, he flicked his still present tongue at him.

"Goddamnit, Lucas! You fucking prick!"

Laughing hysterically and turning pink in the face, he replied, "Nah, I was just fucking with you. Plus, I wanted a moment alone with my bestie outside of the Crazy Cowboy."

"What the hell happened to you?"

He shrugged, then pressed down on the lever to flush. "Oh, the usual. I got the shit kicked out of me and was imprisoned in a windowless room on Colfax Avenue. It's a real crack-ho den, but we've seen worse in Bushwick."

Suddenly, Luigi pushed them both into a silver stall and slammed the door for extra privacy. "Lucas," he began in a stern, raspy voice to the dumbfounded man, "they could've killed you! They aren't fucking around here! If we – if I – don't generate money for them, we both end up in a Jersey landfill. I wish this were a nice trip to Germany. Really. But it's not." The tall man started to interrupt, yet Luigi held up a fuming hand. "No, goddamnit! It's my turn to talk! As I told you before, I care whether you get hurt. But more than that? I want to see Daisy and my family again! And I will not let you get in the way of that!" Glaring at him, he unlocked the door and stormed out of the bathroom where Sam was waiting impatiently.

Subsequent to their argument in the bathroom, Lucas kept uncharacteristically silent, though every so often, he would get out a fountain pen and paper to start doodling some design in an attempt to get his friend's attention. Luigi, who was flanked at all times by his second cousin, ignored him, preferring to send and receive texts from Mario, Daisy, and Yoshi. His older brother, who was at Peach's with Daisy, Yoshi, Birdo, and Miles, sent stick-figure drawings of his foot as well as a piece of PVC pipe going up Lucas's ass. Snickering, the younger plumber texted in a cryptic message that it's already happened, lol. Prior to first-class boarding for their flight, he received a short voice message from Giuseppe requesting a call from his hotel in the evening European Time and ordering him back to New York in two weeks.

Having boarded with the business-class passengers and Californians continuing their ski trips, Luigi found himself in a compartment nearest to the window. As he put his roller bag in the overhead bin and stepped out of the aisle, he overheard Lucas and Sam arguing over the spot next to his seat. Apparently, in a retaliatory move, Matt broke into the Lufthansa system and switched Lucas to the seat behind his frenemy, leaving Sam to take the aisle seat in Luigi's row. Despite the New Yorker's insistence that he sit next to his business partner, a smirking Sam sniped, "Tough shit, douchebag."

Hissing like a Sphinx cat, Lucas took the seat behind Luigi and angrily crossed his arms, muttering in a mocking, cartoon-like voice, "Hail Satan!"

A couple hundred-odd passengers then followed; the entire process took an hour, with the flight attendants, most of whom were German, succinctly pointing to their Gäste which aisle to use. Toward the end of boarding, Lucas grabbed his backpack and removed three items: the black fountain pen, his doodling notepad, and a sealed package of multi-colored gummy bears. Glancing around him, he pinched open the plastic wrapper, careful to keep the ziplock intact. He hummed an eeny, meeny, miney, moe, finally choosing two green bears. Setting them in a neat row on the shared armchair table, their cute little faces pointing in the direction of the cockpit, he noiselessly re-sealed the package and put it into an easily accessible corner of his backpack. As one of the flight attendants — a middle-aged Turkish-German woman — passed by his row and spotted the bears, he flashed a baby-faced smile at her and sipped his bottled Perrier. Extending his legs to the edge of the semi-cubicle, or as best as he could with a six-foot-four frame, he debated on whether to kick Luigi's chair or to ask the younger, cuter Filipino attendant whether she would like to join the Mile High Club.

"Good evening, welcome aboard Lufthansa 644 with service from Denver to Frankfurt," announced a German-accented voice over the loudspeaker. "Our flight time will be nine hours and fifty-five minutes, bringing our time of arrival at 12:55 in the afternoon. To make the flight as efficient as possible, the captain will fly in a northernly direction at precisely 887 kilometers per hour over Minnesota, Ontario, Québec, Labrador, into the United Kingdom and finally into Germany."

Lucas rolled his eyes and popped one of the gummy bears into his mouth. "Sounds like h-e-double-hockey-sticks. Canada, heh."

"Once we are cleared for takeoff, we will be passing through the business class cabin to offer a three-course dinner and tasting menu. As for our economy class passengers, they will be offered an exploratory menu entitled 'The Best of Europe,' a single choice between Hungarian Goulash with mashed potatoes and Vichy carrots or the Cavatappi pasta made with Nuremberg bratwurst and Vichy carrots. For dessert, we offer a nice apple compote."

The two men in front exchanged a questioning glance, then hesitantly looked back at the Manhattanite, who was covering his mouth with both hands. Sam glared at him, silently warning him that he would not say jackshit. Lucas plucked the other gummy bear and shoved the head into his lips, breathing through the candy like a pacifier.

Luigi filtered out the rest of the announcement, including the proper use of emergency equipment aboard the aircraft. He texted a final I love you to Daisy, set his phone to airplane mode to the perfunctory nod of the second passing flight attendant, and gazed at the darkness of the Denver evening. He heard the pilot ask the attendants to take their seats in German and English. Abruptly feeling his heart pound against his sternum, the plumber closed his eyes and leaned back in his wider, armchair-like seat as the plane began to jerk backward and bounce to the longer runways on the outer airport periphery. His eyes still closed and his hands clawing the arms, Luigi failed to notice a red gummy bear appear at eye level. "Eat me, Weeg, eat me!" whispered a high-pitched voice into his ear. Opening his eyes, he saw a small, candied bear doing an enticing dance. The plane slowed to a stop as it spun to the start of its cleared runway. Due to facing the imminent reality of leaving the country, the sweaty and nervous man disremembered his normal motto never to accept candy from Lucas Kariolis; three chews into the red bear, Sam did a double take, first at his anxious cousin, then at the smirking New Yorker behind them. Swearing underneath his breath, the Colorado mafioso wordlessly added this infraction to his sixty-three-item list of reasons to bury Lucas somewhere near Limon.

Now having a gummy strawberry taste in his mouth, Luigi elongated his spine in the chair as the pilot announced that they were second in line for takeoff. Was it too late to run to the door and jump from the plane? What the hell was he doing — Sam would kill them both if they did not deliver a product or make progress toward a contract. As a tear escaped from his right eye, which he tried to hide by turning toward the window, he noticed the shape of a familiar burly man sitting in the space where his second cousin had been. Slowly twisting his head to face the stranger, Luigi gasped at the blue FDNY hoodie, middle-aged frame, and dark brown mustache of his father who, smiling, raised both eyebrows in an almost provoking manner, when he wanted his young, fearful son to make a decision — pizza or burgers, stay at the small Catholic school in Bensonhurst or go to Brooklyn City, remain in a comfortable enclave or see what else was out there in the world.

Whatdya think, figlio mio? It's easy to do easy.

A sense of calm passed over him when the plane's engines gave a rising, high-pitched screech; the cabin suddenly pushed forward, accelerating with intermittent bounces, and a minute later, he felt his feet leave the Earth. His body at an extreme tilt, the plumber glanced outside to see thousands of little lights — yellow, white, blue, and the occasional red — decorating the Denver evening, with a few dark spaces in between and just above the horizon. He turned to grin at his father, only to find Sam observing him carefully, as if expecting him to climb out of the airplane window. Only when he eased back in his chair did his cousin do the same.

During the first half of the nine-hour flight, the flight attendants passed through the business-class cabin to offer a selection of coffee, tea, soda, juice, and alcohol. Although Luigi felt a strange and comforting sensation of zen, he opted for a can of Pellegrino while Sam asked for a Coca-Cola. As for Lucas, he plucked one of the glasses of Pinot Noir and immersed himself with his fountain-pen art until dinner. Over a green salad, pasta with lobster sauce and Vichy carrots, and pot de chocolat, the tall man in purple completed his pièce de résistance; making sure that the Colorado Crazy was in the toilet, he meticulouslyfoldedthe drawing into a paper airplane and tossed it into Luigi's dinner tray. He snickered as the plumber grumbled a what the hell, uncreased it, and gasped: Lucas's small mural containedseveral silty-eyed, angry Snuggle Bears vested in black SS uniforms complete with swastika armbands, though one peculiarly wore a sombrero. Each had a dialogue bubble; all but one lifted their little paws up in The Salute and chanted Sieg Heil, Vichy Carrots! The leader, who was naturally named Adolf, carried a bull whip, saying, Deutschland und Nuremburg Sausage Parties über Alles! His blue eyes still large, Luigi nervously shoved the drawing into his backpack as his frenemy snorted with laughter and Sam returned to his seat. Recognizing that something had transpired in his absence, the Coloradan spun around to give the New Yorker a menacing stare to which the latter pretended to yawn, stretch his arms forward, and flash the double bird. Sam's lack of response promised a future retaliation once they disembarked. Like an unruly child who did not receive the desired reaction from the grown-ups, Lucas eventually settled down and flipped through the movie selections, settling on Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, which he stopped midway through out of boredom and lack of gold bikinis. He tried to slap the Filipina flight attendant's ass, only for his fingers to become inexplicably jammed.

For the remainder of the flight, Luigi tried unsuccessfully to sleep, dozing off every twenty minutes, only to awaken and squint at the display showing the plane's inch-by-inch progress across the Atlantic Ocean. Ultimately, he chose to quietly stare at the monitor and the endless blue behind and ahead of them. While it was a simple two-week trip to Germany, the plumber quaked from a deep sense of foreboding as well as from pure adrenaline. Is this what Mario felt on each secret mission in Fallujah or Kandahar? Those thoughts persisted into a croissant, coffee, and fruit breakfast, which blocked everything else out, including Lucas's sporadic kicks to his chair. His heart began to race when the captain announced that they would be landing fifteen to twenty minutes early in Frankfurt and asked the attendants to prepare the cabin for arrival. Luigi opened the window shade to reveal the intermittent greenish-mahogany fields and thick cloud cover; he felt the plane begin its descent into southwestern Germany, fluffy white and gray clouds whirring past the aircraft. As he gripped the armrests once more, the plumber overheard Lucas grumbling in Greek at the Turkish-German flight attendant who requested in Deutsch that he bring his seat in the upright position and open the window shade. He then cringed when he caught his frenemy muttering something about Turkish bitches and lamp shades. Looking out of the window again, Luigi spied green fields, wet concrete, and the markings of an airport. Several mechanical whirs and vrooms afterward, they felt the wheels make contact with the runway.

While the plane taxied to the gate and the lead flight attendant made the concluding announcement, Luigi felt lips and a mock Berliner accent right next to his ear, "Danke schön for riding with Heil Hitler Airlines. We demand you enjoy the Vichy Carrots on your way to the East. The trains are awaiting your arrival, ja." Too shocked to do or say anything at the "joke," he froze in his seat, mouth slackened ajar. Yet as he was about to add more to his commentary, Lucas felt an elbow connect with his nose. The Greek cupped his hands over the now red organ and swore in pain. The plumber turned to find Sam calmly unbuckling his seatbelt and lifting his smartphone to take it off airplane mode.


It took an hour to deplane, navigate the medium-sized airport, and go through customs; still angry at the aberrant assault, Lucas left both Luigi and Sam in the customs line for non-European Union citizens and by-passed a somewhat long wait using his Greek passport. Walking together to the baggage claim, the two Americans collected their checked roller suitcases, and went to the ground transportation where an airport shuttle should have been parked. Rolling his eyes and muttering about that little Greek shit, Sam attempted to call Lucas, as did Luigi, but received no answer. Motioning for the livid and exhausted Brooklynite to follow him to the train station in Terminal 1, the Coloradan, who had been to Germany several times during his time in the Navy, withdrew funds from the cash point and bought two tickets for the S9 to the city center. They boarded the red S-Bahn soon after, enjoying the full, nonetheless semi-tranquil ride into Frankfurt proper; a group of youths were having a muted discussion and a middle-aged man made a quick phone call to his client that he was on his way. At Hauptwache, they departed the train and took the escalators up to a pedestrian shopping center and grayish sky; they strolled through the area, with Luigi trailing behind his cousin to observe his surroundings, which were a mixture of cobblestone, eighteenth- and nineteenth-century, Parisian-like brick immeubles,and a modern, glass-and-steel skyline resembling that of several Midwestern cities. Passing several cafés, Sam inquired whether Luigi was hungry for lunch; the latter shook his head, wanting nothing more than to check into his room and sleep. Ten minutes later, he and Sam walked into the five-star, château-like Steigenberger Frankfurt Hof, where their junior suites were ready. Upon learning that they had flown in from Denver, the concierge volunteered to have the kitchen bring them a light meal at seven o'clock. Luigi asked him whether Lucas Kariolis had checked in; strangely, he had not. Neither man being willing to entertain the Manhattanite's puerile antics, they accepted their keycards and took the elevator to their suites. Entering the spacious room, the plumber haphazardly dropped his bags and, removing his coat, climbed into the king-sized bed.

At seven o'clock sharp, the Brooklynite was awoken by a knock and German-accented Italian that he had Abendessen for Signore Masciarelli. Too sleepy to question how they knew he spoke Italian, he mumbled an acknowledgement and went to the door. A man greeted him and carried a tray of breads, butter, sliced wurst, a variety of soft cheeses, a small pot of mustard, a bottle of mineral water, and silverware to his large desk. Nodding perfunctorily, he wished him a Guten Appetit before leaving him to his small dinner. Sitting down to eat the fragrant bread and cheese, he heard a second knock. "Um, yes, si?"

"Luigi, it's Sam. Can I come in?"

Setting his white cloth napkin next to his room service tray, he opened the door to find the tired-looking mafioso carrying his own tray. He stepped aside for his cousin, who set his dinner next to Luigi's and pulled up another chair. Closing the door, the New Yorker cautiously sat back down, plucked a slice of baguette from the bread basket, and buttered it. "Um, how did you sleep?"

Sam, who was making a small sandwich of bread, butter, wurst, mustard, and pickles, shrugged a little. "Okay. I'm still jetlagged. I woke up about an hour ago. You?"

Luigi bit into a piece of quark cheese and the buttered bread. "I just woke up. Still tired."

"Yeah, I figured. You went from New York to Denver, then Denver to Germany." After a few more bites, he spoke again, "You sure you know what you're doing? Lucas isn't trustworthy."

The plumber slowly chewed the meat and cheese. "Yeah, I … I know that. If it were up to me, I would be in New York with my family and Daisy. But I'm in charge of the shop which employs thirty guys – all have families. The, uh, pizzo takes a shit ton out of our profits. And we need to hire more help."

"Yeah, that's the part of my job that I hate. My father does, too. We should be getting money back from the sonsabitches in Congress, y'know? Assholes who took a man's hard-earned dollar," replied Sam, licking his fingers of the briny pickle. "Not guys who're trying to make a living."

Luigi nodded and poured some of the mineral water into his glass. "Then why are you and Gene in it?"

Shrugging, the Coloradan answered, "Someone's gotta be. If honest, principled guys were running the show, there'd be no Jackass or Kariolis." From his tray, he opened a small bottle of beer and dispensed a quarter of the contents into his glass. "Do you know who you're meeting here?"

He shook his head. "No. I tried to get that out of him. He just said that he's had dealings with them before. If that's the case, I don't know why I need to be here. Do you?"

"No. The supposed investor is no one we know. And we don't know if Jackass or Tony are in cahoots."

"I don't think they are," responded the New Yorker, which caused Sam to set his beer down in curiosity. "Tony warned me not to fuck him over. He wouldn't bother with a threat if he was inon it."

A third knock echoed against the door. Lifting a finger to his cousin to indicate that he should remain quiet, Sam went to the entrance, looked through the peephole, swung it open, and yanked the tall man inside. Slamming it shut, he tossed the red-nosed Lucas to the ground like a ragdoll. "You fucking piece of shit!" he hissed. "You abandoned Luigi, your so-called business partner, at the airport! If this trip wasn't so goddamned important, I'd disembowel you right here, you worthless asshole! Now, where have you been?"

"Save a cowboy; go fuck a horse!" he spat. "You and your shitkicker uncle!" Chuckling, he added, "What are you going to do, Sammy the Snake? Waterboard me again? 'Cause that won't work – I've been practicing anti-waterboarding measures!"

"If I have to," Sam growled in a cold tone. "Now, for the last goddamned time, asshat, where were you?"

Lucas put up his hands in surrender, causing Luigi to sigh in relief and Sam to raise his eyebrow, only to rotate his hands to give the latter the double bird. "Eat cowshit and die."

As he picked the Manhattanite off the floor by the lapels, the other man called out sternly, "That's enough! We're in Germany, not New York or even Denver. Someone will call the police. And then we have to explain all of this to them." They heard Lucas snicker arrogantly, to which Luigi angrily snapped, "And you! You motherfucker! That's twice that you've left me." Sam watched as his cousin loomed over the man, "You will tell me what we're doing here. Because if you don't," the plumber then came within inches of his face, "I will call Pete, Tony, and Salvatore. Then I'll arrange a fucking coffee-and-chat with Zio Carlo. Mario will be the least of your troubles. Have I made myself perfectly clear, Kariolis?"

"Crystal," he spoke in soft, almost hesitant voice.

"Bene. Talk!"

Keeping his brown eyes on his irate friend, he answered nonchalantly, "He's an investor at Deutsche Bank. Or was at Deutsche Bank. Similar to what we have in the States, a group of investors are funding start-ups that want to go international. We're going to have our first meeting tomorrow at eleven o'clock."

"Then what? Why two weeks in Germany?" demanded Luigi.

"It'll take that long to convince them. I have the plans; don't worry, Weeg. Meanwhile," he glanced at the blond Coloradan, "I thought we'd tour Frankfurt, go to a few biergartens. If only Shithead here would go back to Denver!"

"Well, wish in one hand, shit in the other, Lucas; see which one fills up first," retorted Sam.

"What are the plans? Because the Germans aren't going to waste time on bullshit," the other New Yorker interjected. "Why is this a state secret?" At his silence, the Brooklynite crossed his arms. "Okay, now I know you're full of it. You don't have them. If you did, then you wouldn't resist a chance to brag about it!"

"I've got 'em!" insisted Lucas. "I just won't show shit-for-brains here!"

"Aight, prove it. Sam will go back to his room; you show me the plans." Luigi lifted his blue eyes to the burly man. "That work for you?" For a full minute, the Coloradan eyed his second cousin and his tall 'partner' who remained in his grip, then gave a single nod.

Both men turned to the Manhattanite and noticed that he had started to perspire and swallow nervously. "Alright, I'm down with that," the latter gasped. Sam shoved him away and barked that he would be back in five minutes. Taking his sandwich, he exited the room and left the two New Yorkers alone. Arms still crossed over his chest, the plumber silently waited for Lucas's blueprints.

"Weeg," the purple man began, but was cut off by his friend's enraged look. He mumbled something.

Luigi scoffed, "What was that?"

"Alright, I don't have them yet!" he yelled. "I was going to work on them overnight."

The Brooklynite rolled his eyes. "Oh, bullshit! You … You were gonna risk my reputation, my shop, for your half-assed plan! You took me out of my life, from my family, from Daisy! For what?! Did you honestly think you weren't gonna get caught?"

"Well, I wasn't going to tell them anything!" shouted Lucas. "But you opened your goddamned mouth, and now they'll know! Fucking goody-two-shoes who doesn't know how to play the game! You stupid asshole!"

"You're the stupid asshole!" he bellowed, jabbing his finger at him. "Pete and Carlo are fucking killers! These people don't play around. You think that your rich Manhattan ass will save you? Fuck, man, I grew up in Mafia central, where guys got whacked for less! And while you may not give a shit, I have a reason to live!"

"Daisy!" he sputtered hotly.

"Yes, Daisy, goddamnit!" Inhaling deeply to control his temper, he went on in a quieter tone, "And not just her. Mario and my family!"

Lucas snorted. "Yeah, the family that shunned and abandoned you! After the Great Mario of the FDNY got killed by terrorists, where were they? Huh?"

He nodded. "They aren't perfect. But here's the difference, Lucas: they – Mario, Uncle Joe, and Uncle Sal in particular – learned from their mistakes. They know they make them! You? You think your shit don't stink. You've … always acted like you deserve to be Number One just for existing! That shit might've been cute when we were fifteen – hell, even eight months ago – but now I got adult problems and an adult life. Think that's beneath you? Fine, fuck off and do whatever." He shook his head and muttered, "But I ain't gonna die for you."

"No, fuck you, man!" he raged. "You wouldn't have the 'adult life' if it wasn't for me! No, you'd still be Mister Nobody living in your brother's, hell, your uncle's shadow! You'd be so boring that Daisy would've left your ass months ago! I gave that to you, so I can take it all away!"

Luigi abruptly moved toe to toe with the outraged taller man and snarled, "Try it. G'head. Because," he tittered mirthlessly, "I can count at least ten people who'd have no problem wasting you right here, right now. Ten. You got away with shit at Brooklyn City because there weren't ten people ready to kick your ass. And all I'd need to do is make one," he gestured leisurely with his index finger, "phone call. One. Now, here's what you're going to do. You are going to postpone that meeting for a couple days until I see something of value. And if I don't, you can bet your ass I will make that fucking call."

"And what makes you think that I don't have ten people in my corner?" he sneered.

"Because you wouldn't have brought me. And spare me your lying bullshit about friendship."

Lucas's arrogant smirk fell as quickly as it had appeared. Though he loathed to admit it, even to himself, his friend had an uncanny ability to foresee and dodge bullets. Luigi did have a point about the ten people itching to beat his ass, not least of all Pete Morello. However, he thought gleefully, within a few days' time, the Colorado Crazies would no longer be on the list, reducing it from ten to six. And assuming Tony and Carlo were on the aforementioned list, due to Pete's treachery, it would further come down to four. Four people wanting to kick his ass was more manageable. If Luigi wanted to postpone for a few days, then it would only help him. Once the plumber was alone, he could get him back under his control. "Alright," he conceded with a false reluctance. "I'll give Felix a call in the morning. We can have the meeting on Friday. That work?"

"Fine," said Luigi as he walked to his suite door.

"Y-you're not going to tell Sam, are you?"

Pivoting to face his frenemy, the Brooklynite rasped tiredly, "Not if you keep your end. But if you try to fuck me, I'll sing like a canary."

They waited in silence for Sam's knock, which promptly occurred three minutes later. In his best liar's tone, Luigi assured the man that Lucas did indeed have the plans, but was mistaken about the date of the meeting – Friday instead of the next day. The blond cowboy eyed them suspiciously, nonetheless acquiescing to the Manhattanite's latest scheme. Once the situation had been temporarily diffused, he exaggerated his symptoms of jetlag and hunger and asked them both to leave so that he could eat and sleep. Though neither man wanted to depart, they did so, with Lucas exacting a promise from his friend that they would meet in the lobby for lunch the following day. Securing the door behind him and shoving more bread and butter into his mouth, Luigi logged into Miles's VPN and sent a hurried message: "Lucas doesn't have prototype. 48 hrs to meeting. Need to get SOS to P.M. without L knowing. I think something's going to happen."


Much to Luigi's and Sam's displeasure, Lucas spent Wednesday lounging in bed, shopping at Frankfurt's high-end department stores near the hotel, and going out for drinks. Though Luigi was impressed by the three-course lunch of Handkäse mit Musik and green sauce, a round steak with saffron-spiced potatoes, and apple strudel with the traditional Hessen Apfelwein, all of which he photographed for Daisy and his family, he was exasperated by his frenemy's cavalier attitude toward actual work. Whenever he suggested reserving a conference room for a few hours at the Hof to go through the blueprints and sales pitch, Lucas would shift it to something fun like shopping or going to the observation deck at the Commerzbank Tower. To preserve his own plan, he allowed the man in purple to lie to Sam that they were putting the final touches on the presentation. Surprisingly, Sam said nothing, and Luigi hoped that the Morello-Carlino Syndicate was now aware of the ruse.

In the evenings, despite the objections of both Sam and Lucas, the plumber shut himself in his room to work on his thermal sensor. Via texts as well as a brief videoconference call with Miles and Yoshi, who had reproduced a functioning, second prototype while he was en route to Frankfurt, they provided access credentials to Professor Omaya's computer system at NYU and helped him collect and interpret the incoming data from the sensors. Earlier that day, Miles's translation device had come in handy, as the staff at the hotel did not understand 'hardware store,' a word not in general usage for travel or tourism, but Baumarkt and Eisenwarengeschäft. Taking the train to the Home Depot-like store on the outskirts of the city, per the concierge's directions, he had used the device again with the middle-aged staff who, although conversant in English, only knew some of the words on his list. Subsequent to his own shopping trip and adjustments, there existed two sensors which collected data using the North American 110 volts and 220 volts elsewhere. As he worked, Luigi ignored Lucas's pleas to come out, merely stating that he would once the latter was ready to work.

With exception of Yoshi, Miles, and Daisy, whom he soothed over the Giants' loss to the Kansas City Royals in the World Series and, thus, her twenty-dollar loss to his triumphant older brother, he kept communication to a minimum, infuriating both Mario, who routinely took the phone away from Daisy and greeted him with a fuck are you doin', and Uncle Joe, whose voicemails became more colorful and descriptive over the course of the week. Between amassing the necessary data and preparing his presentation, Luigi slept sparingly and took all of his meals in his room, refusing to talk beyond perfunctory explanations with either Lucas or Sam. By early Thursday evening, like a Bohemian hermit surrounded by empty coffee cups, dirty silverware, papers, and his laptop, he had collapsed at his desk due to sheer exhaustion. From deep in his consciousness, he heard a heavy knock at the door. Now awake, he moaned, "Fuck off, Lucas."

"It's not Lucas. It's Sam. Open up. I'm not taking no for an answer this time."

Muttering curse words in both English and Italian, Luigi threw open the door to the visibly concerned Sam Carlino who looked around the junior suite. The mini-bar had not been touched at all, save for a single can of regular Coca-Cola. Plates, cups, and silverware were stacked on a tray next to his work area which, like his bed, was covered in paper, bits of resistor and computer parts, and other smaller tools. He ambled to the desk as the plumber shut the door behind him. "What do you want, Sam?"

"I'm checking in on you. You, uh, shut both of us out – no explanation, nothing. It looks like you're working on something?"

Luigi did not reply; he groggily sat at the desk and logged into his laptop.

Sam rolled his eyes and barked, "Goddamnit, Luigi! Tell me what's going on! Are you having some kind of a breakdown? What did that little asshat do?"

"Have you spoken to Pete recently?"

He shook his head. "No. We usually … keep tabs, but he hasn't been in contact. Neither have my father nor Matt. I don't know why."

"Cazzo di merda!" the plumber swore underneath his breath. "Where's Lucas?"

Rolling his eyes, the Coloradan responded sarcastically, "The usual – beer-tasting or shopping." After a moment, his brown eyes widened, and he inquired, "You think he's behind this?"

Putting his head in his hands, he mumbled, "Sam, I ... You're going to get pissed off at me for lying, and I'm sorry, but I tried to contact Pete so that Lucas wouldn't be suspicious."

"He doesn't have the prototype. Yeah, I figured that," Sam interjected. "Whenever Lucas's lips are moving, it's a fair assumption he's lying. So what were you trying to tell Uncle Pete?" Luigi gave him a worn-out stare, to which the blond spoke in a dumbfounded manner, "You do. That's … what you've been working on – you've got a prototype. Jesus, just you?"

The New Yorker smiled weakly. "Yeah, just me. It's uh, thermal control; no real techie shit, sorry."

He shrugged. "Engineering's still engineering. What's it do?"

"It's, uh, well … It's a thermal control device that reads how well a room or enclosed area is air conditioned or heated. When used in conjunction with a boiler or climate control system, it can read and indicate when a repair's needed. That way, we can send plumbing and HVAC crews out to replace them before they die. Saves the client money and ensures repeat business."

Sam nodded a little and scrubbed his face with his hand. "Pete'll be pleased. Now, if he'd just call ..."

"Look, cards on the table?" Reaching for the second chair next to the desk, the blond waited for him to continue. "I don't trust you. I don't trust Pete, either. And I sure the fuck don't trust Lucas. The only reason why I contacted Pete is so I don't die! I have a life in New York. A family! A girl whom I love dearly." Luigi took a deep breath as the mafioso sat down. "I just want to go home."

"Luigi, no one's going to kill you. I don't know why you've got that idea in your head. That was never Pete's order. Nor my father's."

"Then why was I drugged and brought to the house in Denver?" the plumber challenged.

"To protect you. After that stunt that Lucas pulled in Mexico, the Padrino as well as Uncle Pete and my father did not want you to go out of the country unaccompanied. Hell, Pete and my father were opposed to you going anywhere outside of the New York area. But for some reason, the Padrino, Jackass, and Fat Tony wanted you to go to Frankfurt. When Lucas lied to us again and tried to abduct you to Vail, we needed to get him under control. However, you … Is that why you refused to go? You thought we were … ?" The New Yorker sat down in his work chair and glared at him. "Okay, that's how they do things in Bensonhurst. Pete's told me stories of … executions. Out in Colorado, that's not how we do things. If we choose to execute someone, it's an absolute last resort. I have only known of one such case, and it was Pete's father, Paolo, who did the deed. Or at least, according to rumor; even I don'tknow the details. We embarrass so we don't have to take the risk. And you've done nothing to warrant that, not even close."

"But Lucas has?" asked Luigi, suddenly unable to face his second cousin.

He sneered at the man's name. "I'd say so, yeah. I can't … tell you much. It's, uh, privileged. That being said, Kariolis is one little shit who, for whatever reason, escapes that particular penalty. Given New York's penchant for blood, I can't understand why it hasn't been suggested, let alone been carried out." He studied the Brooklynite's shadowed gaze toward the window and Frankfurt's financial district. "Why are you friends with him? That's the one thing that … Matt and I never could figure out. And if Pete knows, he's never said. You're a successful plumber, smart guy. Honorable."

Several moments passed before he answered, "Because everyone left me. After my father … died, I was given to Jackie and his wife. They acted like I was a ghost in the house. Maybe because I reminded them too much of Pops, who … was still missing, or Uncle Joe, who was with Paddy McCollough at the Pile looking for him. Anyway, I was left alone. And it was just as well; I wanted nothing to do with life, let alone the Mafia. So I stopped coming back to their home. I hid from the security guards and slept in the school. No job, so I'd steal food. Lucas caught me sleeping in one of the classrooms. He, uh, took care of me. Fed me. Took me back to Bensonhurst. Took me to parties. Until he stole my work. When I protested, he made it look like I plagiarized him. And since I was the favorite student of a former teacher whom the administration hated, they chose to believe him over me. I was pulled out of that place soon afterward by Uncle Joe." He exhaled raggedly and went on, "As for Lucas, he'd been out of my life until February. Until youse in Colorado brought him back."

"Fuck," breathed Sam. "No wonder why Pete …" At Luigi's expectant look, he smiled sheepishly. "Privileged again. Luigi, I'm … I'm sorry. We really did want to meet you, but if my father, Matt, or I knew just what would have followed … We'd have left well enough alone. Anyway," he rose from the chair, "no use trying to change what's in the past. The question is how do we get through this? I mean, is your prototype good enough for the Germans? If it isn't, I'd just … rather know about it sooner rather than later. We – and I think I can speak for Uncle Pete on this issue – know that you made a legitimate attempt. However, I don't know what the hell Lucas or his father told New York."

"Honestly, I don't know, Sam," replied Luigi. "All I can do is try."

"Yo, Weeg!" called out a familiar voice and knock. "Stop being such a goddamned pussy and open up! I have tasty sausages, hmm, some chocolate, and Monika's number."

The Coloradan and Brooklynite exchanged a look. Now what?