The Chairman: Let’s take a recess.
Sonny
Poughkeepsie, Dutchess County, New York- October 17th, 1930
When Sonny frisked the captive, he found only a wallet, a pistol, and a pocket New Testament in Italian.
The wallet contained a license belonging to “Francesco Siragusa”, as well as papers to prove his citizenship.
“You just get off the boat?” Sonny asked, realizing the man hadn’t been in the States for more than a year.
The captive remained silent in defiance. A cool breeze wafting in from the Hudson River shook the old barn, causing the rotten wood to creak.
Continuing to dig through the wallet, Sonny noticed a studio photograph of a pretty young woman. He admired her and then stepped to the captive to cut his restraints. He returned to his chair across from him.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Sonny said, noticing that the man was contemplating whether or not to run. Sonny pulled back his suit to reveal a pistol, as proof that it was a bad idea. “Is this your wife?” he asked.
“Don’t speak of her.” The man spit at Sonny’s feet.
“I mean no disrespect. She is a pretty woman. I’m sure you’d like to return to her.” Sonny looked up, and contrived a look of empathy. “It would be a shame for you to die looking at something ugly like me when you could go back to someone like her.” He said, reaching across to return the wallet and its contents to Siragusa.”
“What do you want from me?” the man spoke in broken English, but Sonny turned his attention to the New Testament. He flipped through the pages, and found a verse underlined.
“You know what I want. I need to know where Steve Ferrigno is.” Sonny said. Ferrigno was the target Gagliano had given to Maranzano’s family. Sonny asked to avoid being involved in any more murders, so he offered to find out a location instead. Siragusa was a known associate of Ferrigno’s, and he was the best place to start. Siragusa’s penchant for late night gambling made him an easy target.
“I’m not going to tell you anything. Vafanculo.” Siragusa again collected his saliva and spit, this time covering Sonny’s shinned Oxford shoes.
Sonny took out a handkerchief and cleaned them, but made it clear that he was unperturbed.
“I love this verse. My father read it to me often as a boy, when I would have nightmares.” He reflected for a moment.
“What verse?”
“Are you afraid, Mr. Siragusa?” he looked the captive in his eyes.
“No. I am not afraid.” He said, but his darting eyes and fidgeting feet betrayed him.
“‘And I say unto you my friends, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do.’” Sonny read from the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 12.
“‘But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into hell.’” Siragusa finished the verse. Sonny looked up impressed.
“You know your scripture. I appreciate that.”
“That is why I do not fear you,” Siragusa spoke now in Italian, “Because you cannot cast me into hell.” He jutted out his chin.
“You are right. I cannot. Nor would I want to. But unfortunately, I have the power to bring hell to you.” Sonny stood up and nodded. Antonello stepped out from the shadows with a leather bundle in his arms. He sat it out on a table between Sonny and Siragusa. Unfolding the bundle, he revealed the contents. Hammers, screwdrivers, and many other wicked looking tools were placed inside.
Siragusa began to squirm in his seat.
“I have tried to treat you with respect, Mr. Siragusa. I have no quarrel with you. In fact, I don’t even have a quarrel with your boss.”
“What are you going to do?” Siragusa’s was now trembling.
“I don’t want to kill you, Mr. Siragusa. Nor do I want to kill Mr. Ferrigno. I am simply to find out where he is, and pass that information along to those who care to know. Will you help me?”
“Fuck you!” Siragusa cussed with all the willpower left within him.
Sonny stood and stepped between Siragusa and Antonello, as if to say that this was the last time he would be able to pacify his violent friend.
“I bring you here without a bruise on your body. I have not threatened you, hurt you, mocked you. You spit on my shoes and tell me to fuck myself.” He stepped in and grabbed Siragusa by the shirt. “I even cut your restraints. Now, if you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’m gonna have my friend cut off your hands. You won’t even have hands to tie up anymore.”
Antonello stepped closer to Sonny, a pair of sharp sheers in his hands.
“What makes you think that I know anything about Ferrigno? I’m nobody!” Siragusa began to weep, his face contorting pathetically.
“It is too late to play foolish, Mr. Siragusa.” Sonny stepped aside, Antonello taking his place. “And you will talk. You will tell me. The only thing that remains to be decided is how much hell you would like to endure before you do so.” Sonny nodded for Antonello to proceed. Siragusa fought back, but was half Antonello’s size. Siragusa was easily restrained, and the violence commenced.
Sonny stepped away and turned his back. He didn’t want to watch, and he didn’t want Siragusa to see the weakness in his eyes. Sonny’s own hands began to tremble as he lit a cigarette, and tried to block out the sound of the screams.
After Siragusa was relieved of a few of his fingers and a pint of his blood, he wanted to talk.
“Okay, okay.”
“Step away, Antonello.” Sonny said, pushing his friend aside. “I hope that we can end this now.” He helped Siragusa from the floor back onto the chair.
Sonny pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and placed it in Siragusa’s lips, who puffed gratefully.
“Don Ferrigno has an office in the Bronx. He has been working there since Joe the Boss put out notice that your people were trouble.”
“Where in the Bronx?”
“I don’t know,”
Antonello grabbed a hammer and hoisted it over his head.
“Okay, okay,” Siragusa covered his face with his bloody palms, but Sonny held out a hand to stop Antonello, “its in a Jewish neighborhood, where he figured he wouldn’t be seen.”
“Which one?”
“Pelham Parkway. That’s all I know, I swear! Give me that Bible and I’ll swear an oath on it.”
Sonny stood and patted the pitiful man on the shoulder. “That won’t be necessary.” He stood and showed Siragusa his back again. Then he turned to Antonello, “let him finish his cigarette.”
Antonello nodded complicity, and began to bundle up his tools. When Siragusa stamped out the cigarette, half unconscious from the pain he had endured, Antonello grabbed an empty cement bag and wrapped it over Siragusa’s head.
Sonny kept his eyes closed until the man’s feet stopped thrashing against the floor. It didn’t take long for the job to be completed, but it was too long for Sonny.
“Alright, it’s over.” Antonello said.
“Thank you, Antonello.” Sonny said, and meant it. He was glad he didn’t have to do it. Francesco Siragusa didn’t kill his father after all.
Sonny recovered the wallet and tried to ignore the man’s bulging eyes as he did so. He pulled out the license and handed it to Antonello.
“His address is on there. Have flowers sent to his wife.”
“Got it,”
“Then afterwards make sure the body is disposed of. The Hudson is probably the easiest place. Find something to weigh him down.”
“Consider it done. Make sure Old Caesar hears about how good I done.” Antonello smiled. Sonny didn’t return the gesture, but nodded his head and turned to leave the barn.
Also by Vincent B. Davis II
The Man with Two Names
The Noise of War
Son of Mars
Blood in the Forum
Acknowledgments
I’d first like to thank my cover designer, Hannah Linder, who did an incredible job and mo
st certainly brought many of my readers here. I’d also like to thank my editors, Michael Rowley and Michelle Hope, who’s fingerprint will forever lay on this story. You all made this story what it is.
This book required an extensive amount of research. At first blush, one might assume that my books on Ancient Rome would require more research than The Consentino Crime Saga, and perhaps I even believed that when I began the project. That being said, I wanted to ensure I had the details and historical details correct (as best I could), and therefore I should mention a few of the sources that were invaluable to me during the planning phase of this series.
The Origin of Organized Crime in America by David Critchley was the primary source for all of my research into New York’s underground societies, so I’d like to thank both the author and the University of Tennessee library which lent it to me.
The First Family by Michael Dash was consistently on my desk and open during both my research and my writing, and it taught me far more than just about “The Hook Hand”, but also about the city during which Morello was active in organized crime.
The Valachi Papers by Peter Maas and A Man of Honor by Joseph Bonanno were absolutely invaluable to me, the latter being a first hand account (and written by a main character in this series), and the former being a written account of the man on trial which the series is based around.
Ensuring I had the geography, style, automobiles, and slang authentic was just as important as ensuring the historical events are correct. For this, I used The Writer’s Guide to Everyday Life from Prohibition through World War II by Marc McCutcheon, The Historical Atlas of New York City by Eric Homberger, and New York: An Illustrated History by Rich Burns and James Sanders, amongst many others. Without these resources, this story would feel much less authentic.
I’d also like to thank the tour guides of Little Italy, and those that showed me the restaurants (and bakers) where these men congregated and ate.
And as the old saying goes, what mistakes and inaccuracies remain are my own.
Finally, I’d like to thank you, the reader. Cliche as it may be, you are the reason I am able to write. Without your support, I wouldn’t be able to continue doing what I love. And for that I truly, humbly, offer my gratitude. Please feel free to email me at [email protected] with comments, suggestions, or complaints.
Keep fighting,
Vincent B. Davis II
About the Author
Vincent B. Davis II is an author, entrepreneur, and soldier. He graduated from East Tennessee State University in 2017, and has served in the United States Army since 2014. His fascination with the development of the creation of the Five Families began at an early age, and Sins of the Father is the result of many years of research. When Vincent isn’t writing or researching for his next book, you can find him playing poker, spending time with his dogs, or watching Carolina Panthers football.
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