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Somewhere on the outskirts of Manhattan, I pulled up outside a large estate. Its Victorian style and the lack of fancy stuff like a power gate, had me wondering. I expected to find more luxury at a Don’s house. Beyond a short wall just off the sidewalk, I could make out a small pool in the front yard. Rocco emerged from a door to the right, wearing a navy-blue suit. Jogging across the yard, he welcomed me in typical, Rocco fashion: His face was just as stiff as his posture.
“Hey. Matteo’s already here,” he said. “Don Gambini and his two capos have been waiting for you. I’m going to repeat the same things I told your cousin when he got here. First of all, what do you know about being made? Have you heard of the process?”
“Not really,” I shook my head in denial. “I know I have to take an oath, but that’s it.”
“Abloodoath,” he corrected me. “That’s why I got out here. You’ll see a knife at some point. Don’t freak out; nobody’s going to try to kill you. If they wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I hear you,” I said with a nod. “Any tips?”
“Just relax,” he advised and patted me on the shoulder. “Show those men the necessary respect and you’ll be fine.”
He turned around and I followed him, my gaze studying the front yard.
“Whose is this place?” I asked, Rocco strutting to the front door.
“It used to be Nick Roselli’s, until he died,” he answered. “It belongs to Maggie now.”
Turning the key in the lock, he stepped aside for me. In the living room to the right, I saw three men. Two of them were sitting on the couch, while an older, graying man was sitting in an armchair. Leonardo was to the left, still standing up as our eyes met across the room.
“Gentlemen, this is Cesare Borelli, a friend of ours,” Rocco said, halting next to me. “Cesare, this is Don Michael Gambini,” he added, gesturing to the man in the armchair. “Pat Torello and Steven Luciani. They’re his capos.”
“It’s a pleasure, Don Gambini,” I spoke in a firm voice, bowing my head as I offered my hand for a handshake. The boss slammed his palm into mine and rose from his seat.
“Nice to meet you, Cesare,” he stated in a gruff voice as I tried to wrap my head around his gesture. He’d stood up for me. A mafia Don had just shown me respect. “Rocco and I were just talking about how you and your crew helped them out in Vegas. You showed a lot of balls back there.”
“Thank you, sir,” I told him, tipping my head down. “We just did what we had to do to stay alive.”
“Which made me sure he was worth it,” Rocco tried a louder voice, settling his gaze on the Don. “Don Gambini, I vouch for Cesare and Matteo Borelli. They pulled their own weight during that thing in Vegas. Their help in the whole Kanin matter was invaluable.”
“True that,” Gambini nodded in agreement. “Kanin underestimated their crew and paid the price. Now, the question is, are you gentlemen willing to take the oath of Omerta?”
“Yes,” Matteo and I said in one voice.
Gambini snorted in amusement. “Not so fast, boys. Omerta is our code of silence and honor. We don’t rat on our friends and we always keep our mouth shut, no matter what. Youmusthonor that oath. Breaking Omerta is punishable by death, you understand?”
“I do,” I said with a swift nod.
“Yeah,” Matteo spoke, stepping closer to me.
“Good,” he nodded, standing between me and my cousin. “Remember this, boys. In case you break that oath, there’s no place in the world where we can’t find you. Torello, do the honors.”
His capo standing up, he reached into his jacket. My eyes were glued to the object in his grasp. It was a rather long blade with a silver handle, polished to perfection.
“This oath is sealed in blood,” Torello said, flipping the knife around. Holding it by the blade, he handed it over to me.
I didn’t utter a word. It was time for the messy part. Compared to everything else Matteo and I had done, though, it was easy.
I set the blade down into my palm. I sensed its double edge against my fingers as I clutched in my grasp. With a firm grip around the handle, I began to slide it back. I watched drops of my blood drip off the heel of my palm. They formed a trail and began to fall on the floor, in the narrow gap between my shows. Just then, the two capos, Rocco and Gambini put their hands together. I took my eyes off my bleeding skin to look over at them. They were all smiling and flashing me glances of appreciation, Gambini approaching me. He spread his arms out to the side, Torello then holding his hand out.
“Welcome,” Gambini said, his arms locking around my upper back. I left the knife in Torello’s hand and returned the gesture, my bleeding hand staying well away from his fancy suit.
“Thank you,” I told him, my heart singing in my chest. I’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. I had bled for it. I had been shot at. Damn, I had suffered too much to consider abandoning this goal. I looked at the men around me, no longer feeling like an outcast. I was one of them now. I would be under the organization’s wing, just like Matteo would. At last, we would be untouchable. Nobody was going to mess with us, unless they had a death wish.
38
PIPER
I wokeup in the morning, feeling on top of the world.
