Bound By Blood: The Rise of a Mafia Prince

by Tony Farraj

  “Hey, whatta doing, here?” Sonny’s voice broke the spell Anthony was under.

  “Hey Frankie, how’s it going?” Helen asked softly.

  “I asked you a question?” Sonny didn’t like Helen walking down to the club unescorted.

  Helen cross her arms over her shapely chest and stared at her little brother. “I got tired of waiting for one of youse to take me to the airport. I wanted to come down here and see what happening. Hello Chris, it’s been awhile. How you doin?”

  Chris smiled and nodded his head. A few years ago, Helen and him had a summer time romance. But, as autumn drew near, she dumped him like a bad habit. He never forgave her for breaking his heart.

  “You’re not still bad at me for what happened, are you?” Helen asked.

  “Me? No, I couldn’t care less.” Chris said, lying through his teeth.

  Helen’s eyes tore through his flesh and straight into the core of his heart. No matter how much he put on airs, he was still infatuated.

  Meanwhile, Anthony took in a deep breath, the sweet smell of her perfume tingled all of his senses. He wanted to grab her by the arm and kiss her hard on those pink full lips.

  “Anthony, have you met my sister Helen?” Sonny asked.

  “No I haven’t. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry about your father.” Anthony’s voice cracked, as he shook Helen’s hand, which was soft to the touch.

  Helen looked down. She knew if she made eye contact with Anthony, she would start crying. “I saw you with uncle Carlo, how is he?”

  “The death of your father took everyone by surprise. We’re all trying to deal with it the best way we can.” Anthony said, trying to reassure Helen. “I hear you’re going back to New York?”

  “Only if Frankie feels like taking me to the airport?” Helen asked.

  While they engaged in small talk, Michael stepped out of the club and stood in the doorway. He watched Helen, Anthony, Sonny, Chris and Frankie laughing and having a good time. Michael could feel the anger within him build. “What the fuck!” He finally snapped. “I thought you where suppose to be home packing? What the fuck are you doing here? Frankie, I thought you where taking Helen to the airport? Why are you out here fucking around?” Michael was now yelling at the top of his voice.

  “Why don’t you calm down? Your sister was bored, so she came down to the club. What’s the big deal?” Anthony asked.

  “You, stay out of it. This is a family matter! Mind your own business!” Michael lashed out.

  Helen began to say something, but Michael quickly cut her off, before she could speak.” You watch your mouth! I don’t need shit from you, either! Go home and pack. Frankie, take her home!” Michael pointed at his sister, as he shouted.

  “Screw you Michael! You’re not dad!” Helen ran down the street crying.

  As quickly as the yelling started, it stopped. The only sound that could be heard was a small breeze rustling some dead leaves, which had gathered by the club entrance. Everyone had been thinking the same thing, but only Helen had the balls to say it. Sonny turned and gave his brother a dirty look, then went chasing after his sobbing sister.

  Michael watched as his siblings disappeared in the far off distance. Anthony knew what Helen had said tore Michael’s heart out. Michael had always considered himself the strong one of three, but those four words changed his demeanor. He slowly turned back toward the club, his face pale, his eyes looking toward the ground; the ground his father had walked on only a short time ago. He closed the door behind him and stared at the empty club. A single tear ran down his cheek and stopped at his upper lip. Michael didn’t bother to wipe it away; he continued toward the back and slipped into his father’s booth. It was here that he saw his father alive for the last time.

  He remembered they where having a nice quiet lunch, until Anthony (“that son of a bitch”) had to show up. The thought of Anthony and the words his sister said rang in his ears like a broken record. Angered and saddened, Michael leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Alone and quiet in his father’s booth, he began to weep.

  The months quickly passed like sand through an hourglass. The club remained closed and Anthony spent most of the day playing poker, emptying trucks for Carlo and the weekly poker game. His collecting duties were giving to Frankie. His relationship with Sonny and Chris drifted apart ever since Mr. Mazellie’s death. He knew that Michael had a lot to do with that. As for Michael he became more and more of a hermit. Every now and than he would show up at the café, have dinner, talk to Mr. Sabbetini and leave with an angry look on his face. He never made eye contact with Anthony.

  One evening after the weekly poker game, Mr. Sabbetini called Anthony into his office. The pungent smell of garlic and cigar smoke filled the air, as he opened the door and walked into the office. “You wanted to see me Mr. Sabbetini?” He asked amiably.

  “You don’t knock anymore?”

  Anthony noticed a difference in Carlo ever since Mr. Mazellie passed away.

  “How did you do tonight?” Carlo asked, while smoking on his fine cigar.

  “I’m not sure.” Anthony said caustiuosly. “Why do you ask?”

  Carlo leaned back in his chair and glared. “’Cause, from now on, I’ll take ten percent off your hands.” That was the first time he asked Anthony for money. He could see that Anthony wasn’t happy about the new arrangement.

  “You want the money I made, tonight?” Anthony asked puzzled.

  “Yeah, whatta, deaf? From now on, you come in here after the game an you empty out your pockets an place all the money on the table.”

  Anthony wasn’t going to argue with Mr. Sabbetini. He walked over to his desk and began to pull out all the tips he made tonight. Each time he reached into his pocket, he felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Three hundred dollars? Is that all if it?” Carlo asked.

  “Yeah, that’s all of it.” Anthony snapped back.

  Carlo could hear the animosity in Anthony’s voice and he didn’t like it, not one bit. “You got a fucken problem? I gave you this fucken job. Don’t you ever take that fucken tone with me, you understand?”

  Anthony knew he crossed the line and it was to late to turn back now. He took one-step forward and looked Mr. Sabbetini square in the eyes. He could feel his pulse quicken, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “I know you gave me this job. I know I owe you a lot, but this isn’t like you, what the hell is going on? You never asked me for money, why start now?” Anthony felt boulder with each question.

  “Why? Who are you to question me? You’re nothing but an associate, don’t you ever question my authority, you got that?” Carlo was fuming with anger. He grabbed the money and shoved it in an envelope and threw the remaining cash at Anthony. The bills floated around the room and landed at his feet. Anthony bent down and began to pick up the money like a common bum. When he was done, he turned and headed out the office door, just as the phone in Mr. Sabbetini’s office rang.

  “Hello?” Carlo asked, still angery at Anthony’s disrespect.

  “It’s me, is Anthony there with you?” Michael asked. “If he is, tell him not to leave. Make sure he doesn’t leave.” Michael insisted. “ I want to see his face when I take his cash. You got it?”

  “Yeah Michael, I got it.” Carlo slammed the receiver down. “Don’t go no where, Michael wants to talk to you.”

  “About what?” Anthony had nothing to say to Michael and he didn’t care what Michael had to say to him.

  “How should I know?” Carlo said agitated. “The bastard just wants you here.”

  The restaurant was empty, except for the cleaning crew. They where replacing the dirty table clothes, with fresh clean white ones. Each table was also given a new bottle of wine. The sound of the vacuum echoed throughout the empty restaurant. Anthony and Carlo spoke little, while they waited for Michael to arrive. They both stared aimlessly out the two-way mirror. Moments later, Michael swung the door open and walked in, with Sonny close
behind. Michael’s eyes darted straight for the two-way mirror.

  “Don’t you start an shit in my office?” Carlo said firmly.

  “Tell him that.” Anthony pointed to Michael, who was making his way through the café.

  “You got my money?” Michael said, the minute he stepped into Mr. Sabbetini’s office.

  Carlo reached into his desk drawer and pulled out two white envelopes. Michael snatched the envelopes out of Mr. Sabbetini’s hand and tore into them like a shark tearing into a surfer. He stood over Carlo and counted the cash. One of the envelopes had thirty thousand and the other had Anthony’s cash. Michael placed the money in his jacket.

  “This is a start, but it isn’t enough. From now on, Anthony, you will give Carlo fifty percent of your take. Fifty, you got that?” Michael turned and headed out the door.

  “You know what, Fuck you! I ain’t giving you shit! You want my money, come and get it.” Anthony held his ground and waited for Michael to make a move.

  Carlo stood up and stepped in between them both. “There will be no fighting in my office. Michael, aren’t you being a little ridiculous? Anthony works hard for that money and come to think about it, he works for me. Your father… God rest his soul never put you in charge. I’m the under boss of this family. You got that?” Carlo had enough.

  “You listen to me old man. You’re too old to run this family! I’m taking over!” Michael stuck his finger in Carlo’s chest. Which was a big mistake.

  Carlo grabbed Michael by the neck and slammed him up against the wall. He began to squeeze so hard; Michael’s face was turning red. You could hear Michael struggling to swallow. Sonny tried to come to his brothers’ defense, but Carlo shot him a look that made Sonny quickly sit down. “You little bastard! Who the fuck do you think you’re talking, too?” Carlo growled. Michael tried to apologize, but Carlo wasn’t listening. He sent Michael sprawling into the opposite corner. The force of the fall sent pictures crashing to the ground. The thunderous sound brought a flash of terror to all in the room. “Don’t you ever show me disrespect like that again, I don’t care if you are Victor’s son! So help me god, I will kill you!” Carlo screamed. He stuffed Michael into a chair, then straightened himself up and regained his composure.

  Anthony had seen this thin, almost fragile man, turn into the meanest son of a bitch that walked the face of the Earth. Then with the same astonishment, turn back to the gentle, soft-spoken man that he usually was every day. Carlo sat down and lit a cigar and exhaled toward the ceiling. Michael sat in his chair gasping for air. The color, slowly returning to his face.

  “This is what I’m going to do?” Carlo finally spoke. “I’m going to ask the boys’ from New York to send someone down to help us out. For now, Frankie is going to move to my under boss. Anthony you’ll work with Frankie running the club. Sonny, you’ll work under Anthony and Chris will work under you. As for you…” Carlo turned and stared at Michael. “If you ever come into my office like that again, I will rip your arms off and beat you to death, you understand?” Carlo got up from his desk and reached into Michael’s jacket and removed the two envelopes. “Now, get the fuck out of my sight! You make me sick.”

  Everyone gingerly stood up and headed it for the door.

  “Anthony, I want to have a word with you.” Carlo waited for everyone to leave his office. “I owe you an apology.” He handed Anthony back his money. “ I knew that Michael was out of control and still I let him get away with his bullshit.” Carlo began to put the pictures up on the wall and like a jig saw puzzle, he hug the pictures back in there rightful place. “It’s just, he’s Victor’s son.”

  “I understand.” Anthony had heard this speech before. He stood up and gave Carlo a hand.

  “You know what this means? I have made Michael an enemy; he won’t let this go. I made him look like a fool and I stripped him of his title. He’ll eventually seek his revenge. That’s the way of our world.” Carlo sat back down and stared at a picture of him and Mr. Mazellie. They both stood arm in arm in front of a packing company in little Italy. “Victor and I where sworn enemies at first, but then we became the best of friends. It all started with a knock down, drag out fight, that neither one of us would back down. We bloodied each other good that day. Victor knocked out one of my back teeth, I broke his nose, but right there and then, we both decided to be friends, rather than enemies. So, we started our crew. Back then Anthony, every block in New York had it’s own crew. One day, Victor and I happened to run into a rival. I’m looking at him and he’s eye-balling me…” Carlo lit a cigar and stared openly into space. “This guy has heard that Victor was suppose to be tough, so he takes a swing. Well, needless to say, Victor starts cracking this guy over the head with a piece of concrete lying on the sidewalk...” When Carlo spoke of the old neighborhood, it was like a drink from the fountain of youth. The soft-spoken man seemed to be filled with life. “With every blow, I can see Victor’s face an I swear to you Anthony; the guy is smiling from ear to ear. Victor’s reputation grew. It wasn’t long before Jimmy(an under boss of a crime family) called Victor in; He wanted Victor to collect gambling debts. Jimmy liked his no nonsense way of doing things. Yeah, Victor had it all.” Carlo wiped the picture and hung it back on the wall. “So, when Victor decided to move down here and open shop, I couldn’t wait to tag along. That man had a way of overpowering anything that stood in his way.”

  As Anthony sat there and listened to Carlo talk about Victor, Andrew knocked on the office door and walked in holding an arrangement of flowers. The colors immediately brightened the room. The smell filled the office and choked the lingering order of garlic and fine cigar. “Where did that come from?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. They where left by the front door.”

  The large crystal vase sparkled as the light from Carlo’s office danced off the vase. Carlo removed the card and read it out loud. “It’s from Hong. I’m deeply sorry for the lost of your good friend. I want to express my deepest condolence. I would also like it, if we can find a solution to our differences, now that you’re acting boss. I think this would be a good opportunity to sit down and talk. Please except this as an invitation, sincerely Lee Hong.”

  Anthony remembered Mr. Hong wanted to see him the night Mr. Mazellie had passed away. “Just before you showed up, Mr. Hong’s men wanted me to go with them for some sort of sit down. I told them to come back later, but that’s when Mr. Mazellie had his heart attack. Mr. Mazellie wanted me to go to that sit down.”

  Carlo removed his glasses and wiped the lenses clean. “Anthony, I’m not sure about this. Frankie should be the one talking to Lee, not you.”

  “Mr. Sabbetini, I can handle this. You just have to trust me.” Anthony wanted to prove to Carlo he was ready to take on more responsibilities in the organization.

  Carlo stretched out his arms and sighed. The events of this evening had taken its toll; he seemed to have aged right in front of Anthony. “I would like to wait until I hear from the commission. If they approve my changes, then you can deal with Hong, but for now, why don’t you go home and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

  The evening chill soaked through Anthony’s clothes like water through a wet towel, as he walked home thinking how proud Mr. Mazellie would have been. He remained calm when Michael tried to muscle in on his money, he remained calm when Carlo tried to push him into a confrontation and now he had a chance to prove he was more than just a waiter. Anthony slipped upstairs, passed his sleeping mother and crawled into bed.

  The following evening, Anthony made his way back to the café. A storm was forming miles away. In the far off distance, the mighty clouds clashed and lightening danced across the evening sky. There was a long line in front of the café; people shuffled in for the Saturday special; spaghetti and meatballs. Anthony made his way passed the crowd and headed for the poker room. Inside, he found Frankie nervously puffing on a cigarette. The ashtray was full. The amber from the previous cigarette was still burning inside the glass stained
ashtray. The air was shocking with smoke. Anthony pulled up a chair and sat next to Frankie. “How you doin?”

  Tiny beads of sweat rolled down Frankie’s large fore head and across his cheek. He quickly got up and stepped out of the room, never speaking a word to Anthony.

  “Nice talking to you, too.” Anthony mumbled.

  Minutes later, Frankie returned, dragging Andrew by the arm. “What the fuck are they talking about in there?”

  “Carlo is asking for the case of cognac that Victor brought back from France.”

  “That’s it, nothing else? You didn’t hear anything else?” Frankie asked nervously.

  “What’s going on?” Anthony interrupted.

  “I didn’t hear anything else, sorry.” Andrew jerked his sleeve from Frankie’s grip and headed back to the kitchen. “Oh, wait, I did hear one thing.”

  “What you’d hear?” Frankie asked irritated with Andrew.

  “Mr. Sabbetini wants to see you, Anthony.”

  “Me? Why does he want to see me?”

  Frankie turned and glared in Anthony’s direction. “Let me give you a piece of advice, that guy in there is an under boss from New York. Whatever you do, don’t be stupid. I’ve seen this guy crack someone over the head with a bat, just for coughing in his presents.”

  Anthony finished getting dressed and made his way to Mr. Sabbetini’s office. The sound of the kitchen rang throughout the back of the café. The smell of chicken piccata and veal parmigiana bellowed out into the dinning area. Andrew was busy preparing dinner for all the hungry patrons. Every Italian receipt you could imagine was being prepared as quickly as the order came in. Anthony stood just outside of Mr. Sabbetini’s office. He took a deep breath in, before knocking.

  “Anthony, is that you?” Carlo called out form the other side of the door.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Come in.”

  Anthony walked through the door and stood just inside. Carlo was sitting behind his desk, while Salvatore Giganti sat facing Carlo.