Chapter 29: Generations
**Luciano**
In front of me is a man I have met once. We were children then.
I was only eleven, and he was eight.
"Where is your father?"
The man in front of me offers a shot of whiskey. He pours it front of me, pours himself one.
"You've done your homework."
He just smiles. He sure does smile a lot. It's irritating. I'm contemplating using his teeth as target practice.
"Well, that's you do. My Father handed the reigns to me a few days ago. According to my knowledge, he threatened you?"
I drink the shot of whiskey. It's a sign of goodwill and peace when in the Mafia.
"Tried to. I don't respond well to threats. Attempts or not."
He smiles—again!—and shakes his head. His red curls flip all over the place, and he just looks a kid in daddy's chair, playing boss.
"No one does, Mr. Vitale. I recant that threat. My father is ..." He grits his teeth. Now that's a Mob face. "Well, he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed."
"And you are?"
There goes that smile. "The sharpest? No. But I'm not dull either. Might makes right. You consume this side of the country. I don't let ego get in the way of facts."
I kinda like this kid. I mean I would gladly use his face for target practice, but...
"So you're cowering? You're offering peace, only because you know you can't win the war?"
"That, and the fact that's it's unnecessary. My men are my family. I have no beef against you. According to records you don't attack us unprovoked."
He looks me in the eyes, no smile. I remember why we became friends when were children.
"Why provoke you? It doesn't benefit me. It doesn't harm me. We have no need for war. So why fight?"
I nod. Niccolò has left. I sent him back to Savannah. It just now dawned on me that putting two, well three, crazy as women, two Italian, together may not have been my best idea.
"Let me level with you."
He holds my gaze blankly.
"I agree. The Irish, we're not allies, but we're not enemies. You stay in your territory, I stay in mine. I want do business on your side, I ask you. Because it's your territory, same goes for you."
"I'm sending a catch."
"That's just it, Ferris. The catch is it's not your family as a whole, it's your father. And by extension, you."
"Visiting the wrath Father's upon sons huh?"
"You know that saying exist Ferris? Because Fathers and Sons tend to be a lot alike."
He sits back. "Your father is partnering with the Russi. The last time he did that—"
He knows. He was there.
"So what are you saying?"
"All I'm saying is expect what has been happening. But I don't ally with Ferris."
"You couldn't be convinced into lending a hand."
Interesting.
"How many hands, and what is for?"
"Mexicans. The other groups are mostly small but the Eses are gunning for us. Figure dumb kid, easy takeover. Like you did, when you saw me."
"But that's not going to happen. I try to avoid war. I try to keep peace. But if the phone doesn't stop ringing, I got answer don't I?"
I made a mistake. I'll lean from it. "Not only are the Mexicans trying to take over my fool of a father believe the Russians will help us."
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Help my ass. They want to take over. And if they kill everyone, then I guess they will. So they will branch out, rivaling and possible surpassing you."
"I think I'm better than the Russians. Who do hate more? Who is the least trustworthy? I leave that to you. But, I will warn you. My father is making deals behind my back."
"Until I can..." He looks for a word, "remedy his ever running mouth, you need to watch your back."
I nod. "I owe you one. I will get in touch with you on this by October 12th."
We stand, shake hands.
"And Ferris?" He looks at me. "I remember you. You hate your father more than I do."
With that I leave. Yes, war is simmering on the horizon.
I get in my SUV, where Niccolò waits. As soon as I get in we swerve away from their compound.
"And?" He urges me.
"I need you to get a church that can hold three hundred people, catering, and wedding cake."
Niccoló gapes at me, his eyes darting o road and back.
"You are my best man. I'm getting married in two weeks."