By the time Cross reached the age of twenty-one, Pippi De Lena was impatient for Cross to follow his destiny. The most important fact in a man's life, conceded by all, was that he must make a living. He must earn his bread, put a roof over his head and clothes on his back, and feed the mouths of his children. To do that without unnecessary misery, a man had to have a certain degree of power in the world. It followed then, as night the day, that Cross must take his place in the Clericuzio Family. To do that, it was absolutely necessary he "make his bones."

Cross had a good reputation in the Family. His answer to Dante when Dante told him that Pippi was a Hammer was quoted happily by Don Domenico himself, who savored the words almost with ecstasy. "I don't know that. You don't know that. Nobody knows that. Where did you get that fuckin' hat?" What an answer, the Don exclaimed with delight. So young a man to be so discreet, and so witty, what a credit to his father. We must give this boy his chance. All this had been related to Pippi, and so he knew the time was ripe.

Pippi gave Cross a briefing on the Clericuzio Family. Their great war with the Santadio Family, which established their dominance. Pippi said nothing of his part in that war and was indeed scarce on details. Rather he praised Giorgio and Vincent and Petie. But most of all he praised Don Domenico for his farsightedness.

He started to groom Cross. He sent him out on collection assignments that were difficult and required force. He discussed the old history of the Family and how operations were executed. Nothing fancy, he stressed. But when you had to get fancy, it must be planned in extreme detail. Simple was extreme simplicity. You sealed off a small geographic area and then you caught the target in that area. Surveillance first, then car and hit man, then blocking cars for any pursuers, then going to ground for a time afterward so that you could not be immediately questioned. That was simple. For fancy, you got fancy. You could dream up anything but you had to back it up with solid planning. You only got fancy when it was absolutely necessary.

He even told Cross certain code words. A "Communion" was when the victim's body disappeared. That was fancy. A "Confirmation" was when the body was found. That was simple.

The Clericuzio had spun many webs, but its most extensive was gaming. It dominated all forms of casino and illegal gambling in the United States. It had a very subtle influence on the Native American casinos, it had a serious influence on sports betting, legal in Nevada and illegal in the rest of the country. The Family owned slot machine factories, had an interest in the manufacture of dice and cards, the supply of chinaware and silverware, the laundries for the gambling hotels. Gambling was the great jewel of their empire, and they ran a public relations campaign to make gambling legal in every state of the union.

Legal gambling all over the United States by federal law was now the Holy Grail of the Clericuzio Family. Not only casinos and lotteries but also wagering on sports: baseball, football, basketball, and all others. Sports were holy in America, and once gambling was legalized that holiness would descend on gambling itself. The profits would be enormous.

Giorgio, whose company managed some of the state lotteries, had given the Family a breakdown on the expected numbers. A minimum of two billion dollars was bet on the Super Bowl all over the United States, most of it illegally. The sports books in Vegas, legal betting alone ran up over fifty million. The World Series, depending on how many games were played, totaled about another billion. Basketball was much smaller, but the many playoff games carried another billion, and this was not counting the everyday betting during the season.

So gambling was low-risk and had great growth potential. To achieve legal gambling, cost was no object and even greater risks were considered.

And the Clericuzio Family had the expertise and the political connections and pure force to control a great deal of this market. Giorgio had charts to show the complicated prizes that could be constructed based on big sports events. Gambling would be a great magnet to draw the money from the huge gold mine that was the American people.

The Family was also made rich with income from drugs, but only at a very high level, it was too risky. They controlled European processing, provided political protection and judicial intervention, and they laundered the money. Their position in drugs was legally impregnable and extremely profitable. They dropped the black money in a chain of banks in Europe and a few banks in the United States. The structure of the law was outflanked.

Once made legal, all this could be easily doubled or tripled with special lotteries and combination betting, except for the Super Bowl, whose increase would be tenfold and might even provide a net revenue for one day of $1 billion. The overall total could reach $100 billion, and the beauty was that there was no productivity involved, the only expenses were marketing and administration. What a great deal of money for the Clericuzio Family to rack up, a profit of at least $5 billion a year.

Shortly after his twenty-first birthday, Cross was finally put to the test.

One of the most prized political assets of the Clericuzio Family was Walter Wavven, the governor of Nevada. He was a man in his early fifties, tall and lanky, who wore a cowboy hat but dressed in perfectly tailored suits. He was a handsome man and though married had a lusty appetite for the female sex. He also enjoyed good food and good drink, loved to bet sports, and was an enthusiastic casino gambler. He was too tender of public feelings to expose these traits, or to risk romantic seductions. So he relied on Alfred Gronevelt and the Xanadu Hotel to satisfy these appetites while preserving his political and personal image of the God-fearing, steadfast believer in old-fashioned family values.

But then, Pippi cautiously pointed out, despite all this there came times when risks had to be taken, when an iron fist must be shown. This the Family did with the utmost discretion and with terminal ferocity. And that was when you must earn the good life you led, when you truly earned your daily bread.

The Villas had been Gronevelt's greatest inspiration…

Gronevelt had recognized Wavven's special gifts early on and provided the financial base that enabled Wavven to climb the political ladder. When Wavven became governor of Nevada and wanted a relaxing weekend, Gronevelt gave him one of the prized Villas.

Gronevelt had come to Vegas early, when it was still basically a western cowboy gambling town, and he had studied gambling and gamblers as a brilliant scientist might study an insect important to evolution. The one great mystery that would never be solved was why very rich men still wasted time gambling to win money they did not need. Gronevelt decided they did so to hide other vices, or they desired to conquer fate itself, but more than anything it was to show some sort of superiority to their fellow creatures. Therefore he reasoned that when they gambled they should be treated as gods. They would gamble as the gods gambled or the kings of France in Versailles.

So Gronevelt spent $100 million to build seven luxurious Villas and a special jewel-box casino on the grounds of the Xanadu Hotel (with his usual foresight he had bought much more land than the Xanadu needed). These Villas were small palaces, each could sleep six couples in six separate apartments, not merely suites. The furnishings were lavish: hand-woven rugs, marble floors, gold bathrooms, rich fabrics on the walls; dining rooms and kitchens staffed by the Hotel. The latest audiovisual equipment turned living rooms into theaters. The bars of these Villas were stocked with the finest wines and liquors and a box of illegal Havana cigars. Each Villa had its own outdoor swimming pool and inside Jacuzzi. All free to the gambler.

In the special security area that held the Villas was the small oval casino called the Pearl, where the high rollers could play in privacy and where the minimum bet in baccarat was a thousand dollars. The chips in this casino were also different, the black one-hundred-dollar chip was the lowest denominator; the five hundred, pale white threaded with gold; a gold-barred blue chip for the thousand; and the specially designed ten-thousand-dollar chip, with a real diamond embedded in the center of its gold surface. However, as a concession to the ladies, the roulette wheel would change hundred-dollar chips into five-dollar chips.

It was amazing that enormously wealthy men and women would take this bait. Gronevelt figured that all these extravagant RFB comps ran the Hotel fifty thousand dollars a week on the cost sheet. But these were written off on tax reports. Plus the prices of everything were inflated on paper. Figures (he kept a separate accounting) showed that each Villa made an average profit of a million dollars a week. The very fancy restaurants that served the Villas' and other important guests also made a profit as tax write-offs. On the cost sheets, a dinner for four totaled over a thousand dollars, which since the guests were comped, was written off as business expense for that amount in taxes. Since the meal cost the Hotel no more than a hundred dollars counting labor, there was a profit right there.

Governor Walter Wavven was one of these men. And he was the only exception to Gronevelt's rule of the million-dollar Drop. He gambled modestly and then with a purse supplied privately by Gronevelt, and if his markers exceeded a certain amount they were put on hold to be paid by his future winnings.

Of course there was a little more. These were Villas where important public men could bring their mistresses or boyfriends, where they could gamble in anonymity. And strange to say there were many titans of business, men worth hundreds of millions of dollars, even with wives and mistresses, who were lonely. Lonely for carefree feminine company, for women of exceptional sympathy. And for these men, the Villas would be furnished by Gronevelt with the proper beauty.

And so, to Gronevelt, the seven Villas were like seven crowns that he bestowed on the heads of only those gamblers who risked or made a Drop of over a million dollars on their two- or three-day stay. It didn't matter that they won or lost. Just that they gambled it. And they had to be prompt in paying their markers or they would be relegated to one of the suites in the Hotel itself, which, however plush, were not comparable to the Villas.

Wavven came to the Hotel to relax, to golf on the Xanadu course, and to drink and court the beauties supplied by Gronevelt.

Gronevelt played it very long with the governor. In twenty years he had never asked an outright favor, just the special access to present his arguments for legislation that would help the casino business in Vegas. Most of the time his point of view prevailed; when it did not, the governor gave him a detailed explanation of the political realities that had denied him. But the governor provided a valuable service in that he introduced Gronevelt to influential judges and politicians who could be swayed with hard cash.

Gronevelt nurtured in his secret heart the hope that, against long odds, Governor Walter Wavven might someday be the president of the United States. Then the rewards could be enormous.

But Fate foils the most cunning of men, as Gronevelt always acknowledged. The most insignificant of mortals become the agents of disaster to the most powerful. This particular agent was a twenty-five-year-old young man who became the lover of the governor's eldest child, a young woman of eighteen.

Freed from the stiffness of a political household, Marcy was entranced by the freedom of the university, its orientation toward the political left, its openness to new music, the insights offered by drugs. A true daughter of her father, she had a frankness of sexual interest. With that innocence and the natural instinct for fair play in the young, her sympathies were with the poor, the working class, the suffering minorities. She also fell in love with the purity of art. It was therefore very natural for her to hang out with students who were poets and musicians. It was even more natural that after a few casual encounters she fell in love with a fellow student who wrote plays and strummed the guitar and was poor.

The governor was married to an intelligent, good-looking woman who was more fair, more liberal in her political views than her husband, though they worked well as a team. They had three children, and this family was a great political asset for the governor. Marcy, the eldest, was attending Berkeley, her choice and her mother's, not the governor's.

His name was Theo Tatoski and he was perfect for a college romance. He had dark good looks, he came from a family of Catholics who worked in Detroit's auto factories and, with a poet's alliterative wit, always swore he would rather fuck than fit a fender. Despite this he worked part-time jobs to pay his tuition. He took himself very seriously, but this was mitigated by the fact that he had talent.

Marcy and Theo were inseparable for two years. She brought Theo to meet her family in the governor's mansion and was delighted that he was unimpressed by her father. Later in their bedroom in the state mansion, he informed her that her father was a typical phony.

Perhaps Theo had detected their condescension; the governor and his wife had both been extra friendly, extra courteous, determined to honor their daughter's choice, while privately deploring so unsuitable a match. The mother was not worried; she knew Theo's charm would fade with her daughter's growth. The father was uneasy but tried to make up for it with a more-than-common affability, even for a politician. After all, the governor was a champion of the working class, per his political platform, the mother was an educated liberal. A romance with Theo could only give Marcy a broader view of life. Meanwhile Marcy and Theo were living together, and planned to get married after they graduated. Theo would write and perform his plays, Marcy would be his muse and a professor of literature.

They all made their adjustments to a banal situation. The parents just wished that Theo was not such a bore.

The surprise was Theo. He reacted to the situation not as a tolerant Berkeley radical, but like some benighted Polack. Despite his poetic, musical bohemianism, the teachings of feminist professors, the whole Berkeley atmosphere of sexual laissez-faire, he became violently jealous.

A stable arrangement. The young people did not seem to be heavily into drugs, their sexual relationship was no big deal. The governor even thought idly that if worse came to worst their marriage would help him politically, an indication to the public that despite his pure WASP background, his wealth, his culture, he democratically accepted a blue-collar son-in-law.

But the young are perverse. Marcy, in her final year of college, fell in love with a fellow student who was rich and socially more acceptable to her parents than Theo. But she still wanted to keep Theo as a friend. She found it exciting to juggle two lovers without committing the technical sin of adultery. In her innocence, it made her feel unique.

But when Theo found out about Marcy's other lover, he struck her in the face. Then he burst into tears and begged her forgiveness. She forgave him. She still found their lovemaking exciting, more exciting because now she held more power with his knowledge of her betrayal. But he became progressively more violent, they quarreled often, life together was no longer such fun, and Marcy moved out of their apartment.

Her other lover faded. Marcy had a few other affairs. But she and Theo remained friends and slept together occasionally. Marcy planned to go East and do her master's in an Ivy League university, Theo moved down to Los Angeles to write plays and look for movie-script work. One of his short musical plays was being produced by a small theater group for three performances. He invited Marcy to come to see it.

Theo had always been moodily eccentric, it was part of his youthful charm. In conversation, he often took the extremely revolutionary position that blowing up a hundred innocent people was a small price to pay for a free society in the future. Yet Marcy knew Theo could never do such a thing. Once when they came to their apartment after a two-week vacation, they had found a litter of newborn mice in their bed. Theo had simply put the tiny creatures out into the street unharmed. Marcy found that endearing.

Marcy flew to Los Angeles to see the play. It was so terrible half the audience walked out. So Marcy stayed over that night in Theo's apartment to console him. What exactly happened that night could never be established. What was proven was that sometime in the early morning, Theo stabbed Marcy to death, knife wounds in each eye. Then he stabbed himself in the stomach and called the police. In time to save his life, but not Marcy's.

The trial in California was, naturally, a huge media event. A daughter of the governor of Nevada murdered by a blue-collar poet who had been her lover for three years and was then dumped.

The defense lawyer, Molly Flanders, successfully specialized in "passion" murders, though this case proved to be her last criminal case before she entered entertainment law. Her tactics were classic. Witnesses were brought in to show that Marcy had at least six lovers, while Theo believed they were to be married. The rich, socially prominent, sluttish Marcy had dumped her sincere blue-collar playwright, whose mind then snapped. Flanders pleaded "temporary insanity" on her client's behalf. The most relished line (written for Molly by Claudia De Lena) was "He is forever not responsible for what he has done." A line that would have incited Don Clericuzio into a fury.

Molly Flanders loved California juries. Intelligent, well-educated enough to understand the nuances of psychiatric trauma, exposed to the higher culture of theater, film, music, literature, they pulsed with empathy. When Flanders got through with them, the outcome was never in doubt. Theo was found not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. He was immediately signed to appear in his life story for a miniseries, not as the primary actor but as a minor one who sang songs of his own composition to link the story together. It was a completely satisfactory ending to a modern tragedy.

Theo looked properly stricken during his testimony. His parents, devout Catholics, had persuaded powerful members of the California clergy to take up the cause, and they testified that Theo had renounced his hedonistic ways and was now determined to study for the priesthood. It was pointed out that Theo had tried to kill himself and was therefore self-evidently remorseful, thus proving his insanity, as if the two went together. All this was varnished by the rhetoric of Molly Flanders, who painted a picture of the great contribution Theo could make to society if he was not punished for a foolish act triggered by a woman of loose morals who broke his blue-collar heart. A careless rich girl, now unfortunately dead.

He was deeply sympathetic to the governor's problem. You cannot cultivate a man for over twenty years, even out of self-interest, without having some affection for him. But the reality was that Governor Walter Wavven, resigning from politics, was no longer a key asset, had no future potential. He was simply a man destroying himself with booze. Also, when he gambled he did so distractedly, Gronevelt held two hundred grand of his markers. So now had come the time when he must refuse the governor the use of a Villa. Certainly he would give the governor a luxury suite in the Hotel, but it would be a demotion, and before doing that Gronevelt took a last stab at rehabilitation.

But the effect on Governor Walter Wavven, the girl's father, was disastrous. Alfred Gronevelt saw his twenty-year investment going down the drain, for Governor Wavven in the privacy of his Villa announced to Gronevelt that he would not stand for reelection. What was the point of acquiring power when any son-of-a-bitch low-life white trash could stab his daughter to death, almost cut off her head, and live his life a free man? Even worse, his beloved child had been dragged through the papers and TV as a silly cunt who deserved to be killed.

There are tragedies in life that cannot be cured, and for the governor this was one of them. He spent as much time as possible at the Xanadu Hotel but was not his old jolly self. He was not interested in showgirls, or the roll of the dice. He simply drank and played golf. Which posed a very delicate problem for Gronevelt.

Gronevelt persuaded the governor to meet him for golf one morning. To complete the foursome he recruited Pippi De Lena and his son, Cross. Pippi had a crude wit the governor always appreciated, and Cross was such a good-looking and polite young man that his elders were always glad to have him around. After they played they went to the governor's Villa for a late lunch.

Wavven had lost a great deal of weight and seemed to take no pride in his appearance. He was in a stained sweatsuit and wore a baseball cap with the Xanadu logo. He was unshaven. He smiled often, not a politician smile, but a sort of shameful grimace. Gronevelt noticed that his teeth were very yellow. He was also extremely drunk.

"Sure I can," Walter Wavven said. "Fuck the people of Nevada. Who cares?"

Gronevelt decided to take the plunge. He said, "Governor, you are letting your family down, you are letting your friends down, and you are letting the people of Nevada down. You cannot go on like this."

Gronevelt said, "I do. I care about you. I'll put the money together and you must run for senator in the next election."

"Why the hell should I?" the governor said. "It doesn't mean anything in this fucking country. I'm governor of the great state of Nevada and that little prick murders my daughter and goes free. And I have to take it. People make jokes about my dead kid and pray for the murderer. You know what I pray for? That an atom bomb wipes out this fucking country and especially the state of California."

Pippi and Cross remained silent during all this. They were a little shaken by the governor's intensity. Also, both understood Gronevelt was working to a purpose.

"I can't forget," he said. "I lie awake at night and dream about squeezing that little cocksucker's eyes out of his head. I want to set him on fire, I want to cut off his hands and legs. And then I want him to be alive so I can do it again and again." He smiled drunkenly at them, almost fell, they could see the yellow teeth and smell the decay in his mouth.

"You have to put all of that behind you," Gronevelt said. "Don't let this tragedy destroy your life." His unctuousness would have irritated a saint.

The governor threw his baseball cap across the room and helped himself to another whiskey at the bar.

Wavven now seemed less drunk, his voice became quiet, he spoke almost conversationally. "Did you see how he stabbed her?" he asked. "He stabbed her through the eyes. The judge wouldn't let the jury see the photos. Prejudicial. But I, her father, could see the photos. And so little Theo goes free, with that smirk on his face. He stabbed my daughter through the eyes but he gets up every morning and he sees the sun shining. Oh, I wish I could kill them all -- the judge, the jurors, the lawyers, all of them." He filled his glass and then walked around the room furiously, his speech a crazy ramble.

"I can't go out there and bullshit about what I no longer believe. Not while the little bastard is alive. He sat at my dinner table, my wife and I treated him like a human being even though we disliked him. We gave him the benefit of the doubt. Never give anybody the benefit of the doubt. We took him into our home, gave him a bed to sleep in with our daughter and he was laughing at us all the time. He was saying, "Who gives a fuck if you're the governor? Who gives a fuck if you have money? Who gives a fuck that you are civilized, decent human beings? I will kill your daughter whenever I like and there is nothing you can do. I'll bring you all down. I'll fuck your daughter, then I'll kill her, and then I'll stick it up your ass and go free." " Wavven staggered and Cross quickly went to hold him. The governor looked up beyond Cross, to the high mural-decorated ceiling above, all pink angels and white-clad saints. "I want him dead," the governor said and burst into tears. "I want him dead."

Gronevelt was studying him carefully. He was catching something that Pippi and Cross did not. Passionate grief so often led to weakness, but Gronevelt decided to take the risk. He said, "Walter, will you run for senator if the man is punished? Will you be the man you were?"

Gronevelt said quietly, "Walter, it will all go away, give it time. File for senator. You have the best years of your life ahead of you, you can still do so much."

Wavven shook himself away from Cross and said quite calmly to Gronevelt, "Don't you see, I don't believe in doing good anymore. I'm forbidden to tell anyone how I really feel, not even my wife. The hatred I feel. And I'll tell you something else. The voting public has contempt for me, they perceive me as a weak fool. A man who lets his daughter get murdered, then can't get him punished. Who would trust the welfare of the great state of Nevada to such a man?" He was sneering now. "That little fuck could get elected easier than me." He paused for a moment. "Alfred, forget it. I'm not running for anything."

The governor seemed not to understand. His eyes rolled slightly toward Pippi and Cross, then stared into Gronevelt's face. Gronevelt said to Pippi and Cross, "Wait for me in my office."

The governor went to the bar and poured whiskey. But he did not drink. He smiled. "I'll file the day after I go to that boy's funeral to show my forgiveness," he said. "My voters will love that."

Pippi and Cross quickly left. Gronevelt and Governor Wavven were alone. Gronevelt said to him gravely, "Walter, you and I must be very direct for the first time in our lives. We've known each other twenty years, have you ever found me to be indiscreet? So answer. It will be safe. Will you run again if that boy is dead?"

Pippi and Cross were waiting for Gronevelt back in his penthouse office suite. He led them into his living quarters so that they could be more comfortable, then told them what had been said.

Gronevelt relaxed. It was done. Out of relief, he indulged his temper. "First, go see your dentist," he told the governor. "You have to get those fucking teeth cleaned."

"I'll fly East tonight," Pippi said. "This must get the Clericuzio OK."

"The governor was not as drunk as he pretended," Gronevelt said. "He gave me the message without really implicating himself."

"Giorgio and the Don will understand that," Pippi said. "I just have to lay everything out and get the OK."

Gronevelt looked at Cross and smiled, then he turned to Pippi. He said gently, "Pippi, I think it's time Cross joined the Family. I think he should fly East with you."

"Tell them I think the governor is a man who can go all the way," Gronevelt said. "To the very top. He would be an invaluable friend."

"The governor is okay?" Pippi asked.

But Giorgio Clericuzio decided to come West to Vegas for the meeting. He wanted to be briefed by Gronevelt himself, and Gronevelt had not traveled for the last ten years.

Giorgio and his bodyguards were established in one of the Villas, though he was not a high roller. Gronevelt was a man who knew how to make exceptions. He had refused the Villas to powerful politicians, financial giants, to some of the most famous movie stars in Hollywood, to beautiful women who had slept with him, to close personal friends. Even Pippi De Lena. But he gave a Villa to Giorgio Clericuzio, though he knew Giorgio had spartan tastes and did not really appreciate extraordinary luxuries. Every mark of respect counted, mounted up, and one breach, no matter how tiny, could be remembered someday.

"Not for sure," Gronevelt said. "But he must have heard rumors. And he's not a dummy. I've done some things for him that he knows I couldn't do if I were alone. And he's clever. All he said was that he would run for office if the kid were dead. He didn't ask me to do anything. He's a great con, he wasn't that drunk when he broke down. I think he figured the whole thing out. He was sincere, but he was faking it too. He couldn't figure out his revenge but he had the idea I could do something. He is suffering, but he's also scheming." He paused for a moment. "If we come through, he'll run for senator and he will be our senator."

White money was far more valuable than black money. But Giorgio's great asset was that he was never stampeded into rash decisions. "Does the governor know you are with us?"

Gronevelt explained the situation. "The governor can be an enormous asset to the Family," Gronevelt said. "If he pulls himself together, he may go all the way. First, senator, then the presidency. That happens and you have a good shot at getting sports gambling legalized all over the country. That will be worth billions to the Family and those billions will not be black money. It will be white money. I say it's something we have to do."

They met in Giorgio's Villa. Gronevelt, Pippi, and Giorgio…

"Yes," Gronevelt said. "It was a matter of persuasion. I had to be positive to give him a sense that he still has power. That he could, still, cause things to happen, and so make power appeal to him again."

Giorgio prowled uneasily in the room, avoiding the statues on their pedestals, the curtained Jacuzzi whose marble seemed to shine through the fabric. He said to Gronevelt, "You promised him without our OK?"

Giorgio sighed. "I hate this part of the business," he said.

"But will he do it?" Giorgio asked. "It's a big step."

"I'll talk to him," Pippi said. "He'll do it."

"I think we need Pippi's expertise on this," Gronevelt said. "And I think it's time for his son, Cross, to join the Family."

Giorgio looked at Pippi. "Do you think Cross is ready?" he asked.

Pippi said, "He's had all the gravy, it's time for him to earn his living."

Pippi smiled. Giorgio was so full of shit. He had helped wipe out the Santadio Family with a savageness that made the old Don proud.

Giorgio turned toward Gronevelt. "We do it for the governor, then what if he forgets about us? We take the risk and it's all for nothing. Here's a man who is governor of Nevada, his daughter gets killed and he lies down. He has no balls."

Giorgio said, "Pippi, it has to look like an accident. This will get a lot of heat. We want the governor to escape any innuendos from his enemies or the papers and that fucking TV."

"So he'll come through?" Giorgio said.

"He did do something, he came to me," Gronevelt said. "You have to understand people like the governor. That took a lot of balls for him."

"We'll save him for the few big things," Gronevelt said. "I've done business with him for twenty years. I guarantee he comes through if he's handled right. He knows the score, he's very smart."

"No, this is perfect for him," Pippi said. And they could not object. Pippi was the commander in the field. He had proved himself in many operations of this kind, especially in the great war against the Santadio. He had often told the Clericuzio Family, "It's my ass on the line, if I get stuck, I want it to be my fault, not somebody else's."

Gronevelt said, "Yes, it's important that nothing can be implied about the governor."

Giorgio said, "Maybe this is too tricky for Cross to make his bones on."

"I won't live forever," Pippi said. "And you have to make a living. The Collection Agency is a big moneymaker but tough to keep. You have to be in solid with the Clericuzio Family." Pippi had prepared Cross, had sent him on some tough collecting missions where he had to use force and abuse, had exposed him to Family gossip; he knew the score. Pippi had waited patiently for the right situation, for a target that would not arouse sympathy.

Giorgio clapped his hands. "Okay, let's get it done. Alfred, how about a round of golf in the morning? Tomorrow night I go on business to L. A. and the day after I go back East. Pippi, let me know who you want from the Enclave to help, and tell me if Cross is in or out."

And with that Pippi knew that Cross would never be admitted to the inside of the Clericuzio Family if he refused this operation.

Just off the ninth hole there was an orchard of trees with a bench beneath. They sat there.

Golf had become a passion for Pippi's generation of the Clericuzio Family; the old Don made malicious jokes that it was a game for Brugliones. Pippi and Cross were on the Xanadu course that afternoon. They didn't use driving carts; Pippi wanted the exercise of walking and the solitude of the greens.

Cross was amused by his father's psychology. "And the governor is our friend," he said.

Cross said quietly, "I understand."

Pippi grinned at him. "This job is for Gronevelt. You saw him with the governor. Well, we're going to give him his wish. Gronevelt had to get the OK from Giorgio. And I said you would help me out."

Cross looked down the rolling greens, the flags above the holes dead still in the desert air, the silvery mountain ranges beyond, the sky reflecting the neon signs of the Strip he could not see. He knew his life was about to change and he felt a moment of dread. "If I don't like it I can always go to work for Gronevelt," he said. But he let his hand rest on his father's shoulder for a moment to let him know it was a joke.

Pippi said, "That guy that killed the governor's daughter. A punk prick and he gets away with it. That's not right."

"That's right," Pippi said. "Cross, you can say no, remember that. But I want you to help me on a job I have to do."

Far away on one of the greens, Cross could see a foursome of two women and two men shimmering cartoon-like in the desert sun. "I have to make my bones," he said to his father. He knew he had to agree or live a completely different life. And he loved the life he led, working for his father, hanging out at the Xanadu, the direction of Gronevelt, the beautiful showgirls, the easy money, the sense of power. And once he did so he should never be subject to the fates of ordinary men.

Cross rose from the bench. He could see the flags on the seven Villas flapping, though there was no breeze on the golf course. For the first time in his young life he felt the ache of a world that was to be lost. "I'm with you," he said.

"I'll do all the planning," Pippi said. "I'll be with you all the way. There's no danger. But you have to be the shooter."

In the three weeks that followed, Pippi gave Cross an indoctrination. He explained that they were waiting for a surveillance team report on Theo, his movements, his habits, recent photos. Also, an operations team of six men from the Enclave in New York were moving into place in Los Angeles where Theo was still living. The whole operation plan would be based on the report of the surveillance team. Then Pippi lectured Cross on the philosophy.

"This is a business," he said. "You take all the precautions to prevent the downside. Anybody can knock somebody off. The trick is never to get caught. That is the sin. And never think of the personalities involved. When the head of General Motors throws fifty thousand people out of work, that's business. He can't help wrecking their lives, he has to do it. Cigarettes kill thousands of people, but what can you do? People want to smoke and you can't ban a business that generates billions of dollars. Same with guns, everybody has a gun, everybody kills everybody, but it's a billion-dollar industry, you can't get rid of it. What can you do? People must earn a living, that comes first. All the time. You don't believe that, go live in the shit."

Pippi laughed. "Never let anybody tell you how to run your operation. They can go fuck themselves. They tell me their maximum expectations. I do what is best for me. And the best is to be simple. Very, very simple. And when you have to get fancy, get very, very fancy."

The Clericuzio Family was very strict, Pippi told Cross. "You have to get their OK. You can't go around killing people because they spit on your shoe. The Family has to be with you because they can make you jail proof."

Cross listened. He only asked one question. "Giorgio wants it to look like an accident? How do we do that?"

When the surveillance reports came, Pippi made Cross study all the data. There were some photos of Theo, photos of his car showing its license plates. A map of the road he traveled from Brentwood up to Oxnard to visit a girlfriend. Cross said to his father, "He can still get a girlfriend?"

"You don't know women," Pippi said. "If they like you, you can piss in the sink. If they don't like you, you can make them the Queen of England and they'll shit on you."

Cross was surprised at the luxuriousness of the house. It had a beautiful view of the ocean across the highway, a swimming pool, and a huge sundeck. It also had six bedrooms. The men seemed to know Pippi well. But they were not introduced to Cross nor he to them.

Pippi flew into L. A. to set up his operations team. He came back two days later and told Cross, "Tomorrow night."

The next day, before dawn, to escape the heat of the desert, they drove from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. Driving across the desert, Pippi told Cross to relax. Cross was mesmerized by the glorious sunrise that seemed to melt the desert sand into a deep river of gold lapping at the foot of the distant Sierra Nevadas. He felt anxious. He wanted to get the job done.

They had eleven hours to kill before the operation started at midnight. The other men, ignoring a huge TV set, started a card game on the sundeck; they were all in bathing suits. Pippi smiled at Cross and said, "Shit, I forgot about the swimming pool."

They arrived in a Family house in the Pacific Palisades where the six-man crew from the Bronx Enclave was awaiting them. In the driveway was a stolen car that had been repainted and had false license plates. Also at the house were the untraceable guns that were to be used.

"We can go bare-assed," Pippi said. "Nobody can see except the helicopters and they'll be looking at all the broads sunbathing outside their Malibu houses."

"That's OK," Cross said. "We can go swimming in our shorts." The house was secluded, shielded by enormous trees and an encircling hedge.

After the meal, Pippi took Cross on a reconnaissance in the stolen car. They drove to the western-style restaurant and coffee shop farther down the Pacific Coast Highway where they would find Theo. The surveillance reports showed that on Wednesday nights Theo, on his way to Oxnard, had made a habit of stopping at the Pacific Coast Highway Restaurant at around midnight for coffee and ham and eggs. That he would leave about one in the morning. That night a surveillance team of two men would be tailing him and would report by telephone when he was on the way.

Both of them swam and sunbathed for a few hours and then ate a meal prepared by one of the six-man crew. The meal was steak, cooked on the sundeck grill, and a salad of arugula and lettuce. The other men drank red wine with their food, but Cross had a club soda. He noticed that all the men ate and drank sparingly.

Back at the house Pippi rebriefed the men on the operation. The six men would have three cars. One car would precede them, another would bring up the rear, the third car would park in the restaurant lot and be prepared for any emergency.

Cross and Pippi sat on the sundeck waiting for the phone call. There were five cars in the driveway, all black, shining in the moonlight like bugs. The six men from the Enclave continued their card game, playing with silver coins: nickels, dimes, and quarters. Finally at eleven-thirty the phone call came: Theo was on his way from Brentwood to the restaurant. The six men got in three cars and drove away to take up their appointed posts. Pippi and Cross got into the stolen car and waited another fifteen minutes before they left. Cross had in the pocket of his jacket a small.22 pistol, which, though it had no silencer, only gave off a sharp little pop; Pippi carried a Glock that would make a loud report. Ever since his only arrest for murder, Pippi always refused to carry a silencer.

Pippi drove. The operation had been planned in the most specific detail. No member of the operations team was to go into the restaurant. Detectives would question the help about all the customers. The surveillance team had reported what Theo was wearing, the car he was driving, the license plates. They were lucky that Theo's car was a flaming red and that it was a cheap Ford, easily identifiable in an area where Mercedeses and Porsches were commonplace.

When Pippi and Cross arrived in the parking lot of the restaurant, they could see Theo's car was already there. Pippi parked next to it. Then he turned off the car lights and ignition and sat in the darkness. Across the Pacific Coast Highway they saw the ocean shimmering, parted with streaks of gold that were the moonlight. They saw one of their team cars parked on the far side of the lot. They knew their other two teams were at their stations on the highway waiting to shepherd them back to the house, ready to cut off any pursuers and intercept any problems before them.

Then they were surprised. Theo, instead of going to his car, walked across the Pacific Coast Highway, dodging traffic. On the other side, he strolled out onto the open beach to the very edge, daring the waves. He stood there gazing at the ocean, the yellow moon setting on the horizon so far away. Then he turned and came back across the highway and into the parking lot. He had let the waves reach him, and there was the squish of water in his fashionable boots.

Cross slowly got out of the car. Theo was almost on him. Cross waited for Theo to go past, then smiled politely to let Theo get into his car. When Theo was inside, Cross drew the gun. Theo, about to put his key into the ignition, his car window down, raised his eyes, aware of the shadow. At the moment Cross fired, they looked into each other's eyes. Theo was frozen as the bullet smashed into his face, which instantly became a mask of blood, the eyes staring out. Cross yanked open the door and fired two more bullets into the top of Theo's head. Blood sprayed into his face. Then he threw a pouch of drugs on the floor of Theo's car. He slammed the door shut. Pippi had started up the motor of his car just as Cross fired. Now he opened the car door, and Cross hopped in. According to plan he had not dropped the pistol. That would have made it look like a planned hit instead of a drug deal gone sour.

Cross saw the figure emerging from the restaurant, caught in the glow of the door lights. He was struck by the boyishness of the figure, slight and short, a shock of curly hair above the pale, thin face. Theo looked too frail to be a murderer.

Cross looked at his watch. It was twelve-thirty. They had to wait another fifteen minutes. Suddenly Pippi hit his shoulder. "He's early," Pippi said. "Go!"

When they drove past the restaurant there were no signs of police activity. Obviously Theo was still undiscovered. Pippi turned the car radio on and listened to the news broadcasts. There was nothing. "Perfect," Pippi said. "When you plan right, it always goes perfect."

At almost that exact moment, Theo was discovered, his face ghostly in a paler dawn. Publicity centered on the fact that Theo was in possession of half a million dollars worth of cocaine. It was obviously a drug deal gone sour. The governor was in the clear.

Pippi drove out of the lot, and their cover car pulled out behind them. The two lead cars swung into position, and five minutes later they were back at the Family house. Ten minutes after that, Pippi and Cross were in Pippi's car heading toward Vegas. The operations team would get rid of the stolen car and the gun.

They arrived in Las Vegas as the sun was coming up, the desert a sullen red sea. Cross never forgot that ride through the desert, through the darkness, through the moonlight that never seemed to end. And then the sun coming up and then, a little later, the neon lights of the Vegas strip shining like a beacon heralding safety, the awakening from a nightmare. Vegas was never dark.

Cross observed many things from this event. That the drugs he had planted on Theo cost no more than ten thousand dollars, although the authorities had placed the value at half a million; that the governor was praised for the fact that he sent condolences to Theo's family; that in a week the media never referred to the matter again.

Pippi and Cross were summoned East for an audience with Giorgio. Giorgio commended them both for an intelligent and well-executed operation, making no mention of the fact that it was supposed to look like an accident. And Cross was aware on this visit that the Clericuzio Family treated him with the respect due the Family Hammer. The primary evidence of this was that Cross was given a percentage of the income of the gambling books, legal and illegal, in Las Vegas. It was understood that he was now an official member of the Clericuzio Family, to be called to duty on special occasions with bonuses calculated on the risk of the project.

Gronevelt, too, had his reward. After Walter Wavven was elected senator, he took a weekend retreat at the Xanadu. Gronevelt gave him a Villa and went to congratulate him on his victory.

Gronevelt said, smiling, "No man can afford to carry blank checks in his wallet, but thank you."

Senator Wavven was back in his old form. He was gambling and winning, he had little dinners with the showgirls of the Xanadu. He seemed completely recovered. He made only one reference to his earlier crisis. He said to Gronevelt, "Alfred, you have a blank check with me."

By the age of twenty-five, Cross was known in the Clericuzio Family as the Little Hammer. He himself found it curious that he was so cold about his work. His targets were never people he knew. They were lumps of flesh enclosed in defenseless skin; the skeleton beneath gave them the outline of wild animals he had hunted with his father when he was a boy. He did fear the risk but only cerebrally; there was no physical anxiety. There were moments in his life's repose, sometimes when he awoke in the morning with a vague terror as if he had some terrible nightmare. Then there were times when he was depressed, when he called up the memory of his sister and his mother, little scenes from childhood and some visits after the breakup of the family.

In the next five years, Cross became an expert on gambling and running a casino hotel. He served as an assistant to Gronevelt, though his primary job was still working with his father, Pippi, not only in running the Collection Agency, which he was now certified to inherit, but also as the number two Hammer for the Clericuzio Family.

He didn't want checks that paid off all the senator's debt. He wanted a long, continuing friendship, one that would never end.

Which triggered other memories. When his mother kissed him with cold lips, her arms embracing him for tiny moments of politeness. She never held his hand as she did Claudia's. The times he visited and left her house short of breath, his chest burning as if bruised. He never felt her loss in the present, he only felt her lost in his past.

He remembered his mother's cheek, her flesh so warm, her satin skin so porous that he imagined he could hear the blood flow underneath, contained, safe. But in his dreams the skin crumbled like ash, blood washing over the obscene breaks into scarlet waterfalls.

When he thought of his sister, Claudia, he did not feel this loss. Their past together existed and she was still part of his life, though not enough. He remembered how they used to fight in the winter. They kept their fists in their overcoat pockets and swung at each other. A harmless duel. All was as it should be, Cross thought, except that sometimes he missed his mother and his sister. Still, he was happy with his father and the Clericuzio Family.

So in his twenty-fifth year Cross became involved in his final operation as a Hammer of the Family. The target was someone he had known all his life…

A vast FBI probe destroyed many of the titular Barons, some true Brugliones, across the country, and among them was Virginio Ballazzo, now the ruler of the largest Family on the Eastern Seaboard.

Virginio Ballazzo was a Baron of the Clericuzio Family for over twenty years and had been dutiful in wetting the Clericuzio beak. In return the Clericuzio made him rich; at the time of his fall, Ballazzo was worth over $50 million. He and his family lived in very good style indeed. And yet the unforeseen happened. Virginio Ballazzo, despite his debt, betrayed those who had raised him so high. He broke the law of omerta, the code that forbade giving any information to the authorities.

One of the charges against him was murder, but it was not so much fear of imprisonment that made him turn traitor; after all, New York had no death penalty. And no matter how long his penalty, if indeed he was convicted, the Clericuzio would get him out in ten years, would ensure that even those ten years would be easy time. He knew the repertoire. At his trial, witnesses would perjure themselves in his behalf, jurors could be approached with bribes. Even after he had served a few years, a new case would be prepared, presenting new evidence, showing that he was innocent. There was one famous case in which the Clericuzio had done such a thing after one of their clients had served five years. The man had gotten out and the state had presented him with over a million dollars as reparation for his "false" imprisonment.

It was not luck but foresight that the Clericuzio had removed their old friend Ballazzo from its confidence in the last few years. He had become too flashy for their tastes. The New York Times had run a story on his collection of antique cars, Virginio Ballazzo at the wheel of a 1935 Rolls-Royce, a debonair visored cap on his head. Virginio Ballazzo, on the TV at the running of the Kentucky Derby, riding crop in hand, talked about the beauty of the sport of kings. There he was identified as a wealthy importer of rugs. All this was too much for the Clericuzio Family, they became wary of him.

No, Ballazzo had no fear of prison. What made him turn traitor was that the Federal Government threatened to seize all his worldly goods under the RICO laws passed by Congress to crush crime. Ballazzo could not bear that he and his children would lose their palatial home in New Jersey, the luxurious condo in Florida, the horse farm in Kentucky that had produced three also-rans in the Kentucky Derby. For the infamous RICO laws permitted the government to seize all worldly goods of those arrested for criminal conspiracy. The stocks and bonds, the antique cars might be taken. Don Clericuzio himself had been angered by the RICO laws, but his only comment was "the rich will rue this thing, the day will come when they will arrest the whole of Wall Street under this RICO law."

When Virginio Ballazzo opened discussions with the United States District Attorney, it was Ballazzo's lawyer who informed the Clericuzio family. The Don, who was semi-retired, immediately took charge from his son Giorgio. This was a situation that required a Sicilian hand.

A Family conference was held: Don Clericuzio; his three sons, Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie; and Pippi De Lena. It was true that Ballazzo could damage the Family structure, but only the lower levels would suffer greatly. The traitor could give valuable information but no legal proof. Giorgio suggested that if worse came to worst, they could always set up headquarters in a foreign country, but the Don dismissed this angrily. Where else could they live but in America? America had made them rich, America was the most powerful country in the world and protected its rich. The Don often quoted the saying, "Rather a hundred guilty men go free than one innocent man be punished," then added, "What a beautiful country." The trouble was that everyone got soft because of such good living. In Sicily Ballazzo would never have dared become a traitor, would never even have dreamed of breaking the law of omerta. His own sons would have killed him.

"I'm too old to live in a foreign country," the Don said. "I will not be driven from my home by a traitor."

A small problem in and of himself, Virginio Ballazzo was a symptom, an infection. There were many more like him, who did not abide by the old laws that had made them all strong. There was a Family Bruglione in Louisiana, another in Chicago, and another in Tampa, who flaunted their wealth, who showed off their power for all the world to see. And then the secafoni when they were caught sought to escape the punishment they had earned by their own carelessness. By breaking the law of omerta. By betraying their fellows. This rot must be eradicated. That was the Don's position. But now he would listen to the others; after all, he was old, perhaps there were other solutions.

Giorgio outlined what was happening. Ballazzo was bargaining with the government attorneys. He would willingly go to jail if the government promised not to invoke the RICO laws, if his wife and children could keep his fortune. And of course he was bargaining not to go to jail, for that he would have to testify in court against the people he betrayed. He and his wife would be placed in a Witness Protection Program and would live the rest of their lives under false identities. Some plastic surgery would be performed. And his children would live the rest of their lives in respectable comfort. That was the deal.

Ballazzo, whatever his faults, was a doting father, they all agreed. He had three well-brought-up children. One son was graduating from the Harvard School of Business, the daughter, Ceil, had a fancy cosmetics store on Fifth Avenue, another son did computer work in the space program. They were all deserving of their good fortunes. They were true Americans and lived the American dream.

"So," the old Don said, "we will send a message to Virginio that will make sense to him. He can inform on everyone else. He can send them all to jail or to the bottom of the ocean. But if he speaks one word about the Clericuzio, his children are forfeit."

"The threat will be from me personally," Don Domenico said. "He will believe me. Promise him nothing for himself. He understands."

It was Vincent who spoke up then. "We'll never be able to get near him once he's in the Protection Program."

The Don spoke to Pippi De Lena. "And you, Martello of mine, what do you say to that?"

Pippi De Lena said, "Threats don't seem to scare anybody anymore."

Pippi De Lena shrugged. "After he testifies, after they hide him away in the Protection Program, sure we can. But there will be a lot of heat, a lot of publicity. Is it worth it? Does it change anything?"

Giorgio said, "We could just let events take their course. No matter what Ballazzo says, it can't bury us. Pop, your answer is a short-term answer."

The Don pondered that. "What you say is true. But is there a long-term answer to anything? Life is full of doubts, of short-term answers. And you doubt that punishment will stop those others who will be trapped? It may or may not. It will certainly stop some. God himself could not create a world without punishment. I will talk personally to Ballazzo's lawyer. He will understand me. He will give the message. And Ballazzo will believe it." He paused for a moment and then sighed. "After the trials, we will do the job."

The Don said, "The publicity, the heat, is what makes it worth doing. We will send the world our message. In fact when it is done it should be done abella figura."

The following day the message was transmitted to Virginio Ballazzo by his lawyer. In all these messages, the language was flowery. When the Don spoke to the lawyer he expressed his hope that his old friend Virginio Ballazzo had only the fondest memories of the Clericuzio, who would always look out for their unfortunate friend's interests. The Don told the lawyer that Ballazzo should never fear for his children where danger lurked, even on Fifth Avenue, but that the Don himself would guarantee their safety. He, the Don, knew how highly Ballazzo prized his children; that jail, the electric chair, the devils in hell, could not frighten his brave friend, only the specter of harm to his children. "Tell him," the Don said to the lawyer, "that I, personally, I, Don Domenico Clericuzio, guarantee that no misfortune will befall them."

"A good woman," the Don said. "But she has become too American. We cannot leave a bereaved widow to shout her grief and secrets."

"And his wife?" Giorgio asked.

Petie spoke for the first time. "And Virginio's children?" Petie was the true assassin.

"Not if it's not necessary. We are not monsters," Don Domenico said. "And Ballazzo never told the children his business. He wanted the world to believe that he was a horse rider. So let him ride his horses at the bottom of the ocean." They were all silent. Then the Don said sadly, "Let the little ones go. After all, we live in a country where children do not avenge their parents."

Then Ballazzo sang, "Tra la la…" at his lawyer. "I think we better go over our testimony very carefully," he said. "We do not want to involve my good friend…"

Everything proceeded according to plan. Virginio Ballazzo broke omerta and testified, sending numerous underlings to jail and even implicating a deputy mayor of New York. But not a word of the Clericuzio. Then the Ballazzos, man and wife, disappeared into the Witness Protection Program.

"Yes," the lawyer said, as he reported later to the Don.

The newspapers and TV were jubilant, the mighty Mafia had been broken. There were hundreds of photos, live TV action shots of these villains being hauled off to prison. Ballazzo took up the whole centerfold of the Daily News, TOP MAFIA DON FALLS. It showed him with his antique cars, his Kentucky Derby horses, his impressive London wardrobe. It was an orgy.

The lawyer delivered this message word for word to his client, who responded as follows. "Tell my friend, my dearest friend, who grew up with my father in Sicily, that I rely on his guarantees with utmost gratitude. Tell him I have only the fondest memories of all the Clericuzio, so profound that I cannot even speak of them. I kiss his hand."

Cross remembered Ballazzo and had fond memories of him as a jovial, generous man. He and Pippi had had dinner at the Ballazzo house, for Mrs. Ballazzo had a reputation as a fine Italian cook, particularly for her macaroni and cauliflower with garlic and herbs, a dish Cross still remembered. He had played with the Ballazzo children as a child and had even fallen in love with Ballazzo's daughter, Ceil, when they were teenagers. She had written him from college after that magical Sunday, but he had never answered. Alone with Pippi now, he said, "I don't want to do this operation."

When the Don gave Pippi the assignment of tracking down the Ballazzo couple and punishing them, he said, "Do it in such a way that it will get the same publicity as they are getting now. We don't want them to forget our Virginio." But it was to take the Hammer more than a year to complete this assignment.

His father looked at him and then smiled sadly. He said, "Cross, it happens sometimes, you have to get used to it. You won't survive otherwise."

Pippi set up the probe. The Clericuzio Family, with huge bribes, penetrated the screen of the Witness Protection Program.

Cross shook his head. "I can't do it," he said.

The Ballazzos felt secure in their new identities, false birth certificates, new social security numbers, marriage papers, and the plastic surgery that had altered their faces so that they looked ten years younger. However, their body builds, their gestures, their voices, made them more easily identifiable than they realized.

Pippi sighed. "OK," he said. "I'll tell them I'm going to use you for planning. I'll make them give me Dante for the actual operation."

Old habits die hard. On a Saturday night Virginio Ballazzo and his wife drove to the small South Dakota town near their new home to gamble in the small-time joint operating under the local option. On their way home, Pippi De Lena and Dante Clericuzio, with a crew of six other men, intercepted them. Dante, violating the plan, could not resist making himself known to the couple before he pulled the trigger of his shotgun.

"I must apologize for my son," Pippi said. "Cross is young and the young are sentimental. He was very fond of the Ballazzos."

No attempt was made to conceal the bodies. No valuables were taken. It was perceived as an act of retaliation, and it sent a message to the world. There was a torrent of rage from the press and television, the authorities promised justice would be done. Indeed, there was enough of a furor to make the whole Clericuzio Empire seem to be in jeopardy.

Pippi was forced to hide in Sicily for two years. Dante became the number one Hammer of the Family. Cross was made the Bruglione of the Western Empire of the Clericuzio. His refusal to take part in the Ballazzo execution had been noted. He did not have the temperament to be a true Hammer.

Before Pippi disappeared into Sicily for two years, he had a final meeting and bon voyage dinner with Don Clericuzio and his son Giorgio.

"We were fond of Virginio," the Don said. "I never liked a man better."

"Then why did we kill him?" Giorgio asked. "It's caused more trouble than it's worth."

"Of course, Don Domenico," Pippi said. "But you and I are of the old school. Our sons don't understand." He paused for a moment. "I wanted to thank you also for making Cross your Bruglione in the West while I'm gone. He will not disappoint you."

Don Clericuzio gave him a stern look. "You cannot live a life without order. If you have power, you must use it for strict justice. Ballazzo committed a great offense. Pippi understands that, no, Pippi?"

They were having a dinner cooked and served by a woman whose husband worked in the Enclave. She had forgotten the Don's bowl of grated Parmesan cheese, and Pippi went into the kitchen for the grater and brought the bowl to the Don. He carefully grated the cheese into the bowl and watched the Don dip his huge silver spoon into the yellowish mound, put it in his mouth, and then sip from his glass of powerful homemade wine. This was a man with a belly, Pippi thought. Over eighty years old and he could still order the death of a sinner, and also eat this strong cheese and harsh wine. He said casually, "Is Rose Marie in the house? I'd like to say good-bye to her."

"I know that," the Don said. "I have as much trust in him as I have in you. He is intelligent and his squeamishness is that of youth. Time will harden his heart."

"She's having one of her fucking spells," Giorgio said. "She's locked herself in her room, thank God, or else we wouldn't be able to enjoy our dinner."

"She thinks too much," the Don said. "She loves her son Dante too much. She refuses to understand. The world is what it is, and you are what you are."

Giorgio said smoothly, "Pippi, how do you rate Dante after this Ballazzo operation? Did he show any nerves?"

"Ah," Pippi said. "I always thought she'd get better with time."

Pippi stopped eating and looked directly at the Don and Giorgio. He said almost regretfully, "Dante has a bloody mouth." In their world this was an idiom for a man who went beyond savageness, an intimation of bestiality while doing a necessary piece of work. It was strictly forbidden in the Clericuzio Family.

Pippi shrugged and remained silent. The Don gave a little grunt and looked at him sharply. "You can be frank," the Don said. "Giorgio is his uncle and I am his grandfather. We are all of one blood and are permitted to judge each other."

Giorgio said angrily, "It's because that prick of a nephew is short. He's a fucking midget. And then he wears those fucking hats. Where the hell does he get them?"

"He was a good pupil," Pippi said. "He has the temperament and the physical strength. He's very quick and he is intelligent. But he takes too much pleasure in his work. He took too much time with the Ballazzos. He talked to them for ten minutes before he shot the woman. Then he waited another five minutes before shooting Ballazzo. That's not to my taste but more important you never can tell when it might lead to danger, every minute might count. On other jobs he was unnecessarily cruel, a throwback to the old days when they thought it clever to hang a man on a meat hook. I don't want to go into details."

The Don said good-humoredly, "The same place the blacks get their hats. In Sicily when I was growing up everybody wore a funny hat. Who knows why? Who cares? Now, stop talking nonsense. I wore funny hats, too. Maybe it runs in the family. It's his mother who put all kinds of nonsense in his head ever since he was little. She should have married again. Widows are like spiders. They spin too much."

Giorgio leaned back in his chair and said, "Jesus Christ." The Don gave Giorgio a disapproving look for his blasphemy and then waved a hand at Pippi to continue. He did not seem surprised.

"Better than Cross could ever be," Pippi said diplomatically. "But sometimes I think he's crazy like his mother." He paused. "He even scares me sometimes."

Pippi and Giorgio knew this was a lie but also knew that if the old man wanted to hide his hand, he had a good reason. At that moment they heard steps overhead and then someone coming down the stairs. Rose Marie came into the dining room.

The Don took a mouthful of cheese and wine. "Giorgio," he said, "instruct your nephew, repair his fault. It could be dangerous to all of us in the Family someday. But don't let him know it comes from me. He is too young and I am too old, I would not influence him."

The three men saw with dismay that she was having one of her fits. Her hair was wild, her makeup was bizarre, and her clothing was twisted. Most serious, her mouth was open but no words were coming out. She used her body and hand flailing to take the place of speech. Her gestures were startlingly vivid, better than words. She hated them, she wanted them dead, she wanted their souls to burn in hell for eternity. They should choke on their food, go blind from the wine, their cocks should fall off when they slept with their wives. Then she took Giorgio's plate and Pippi's plate and smashed them on the floor.

Giorgio said with intensity, "But he's good at his job."

This was all permitted, but the first time, years ago, when she had her first fit, she treated the Don's plate in the same fashion and he had ordered her seized and locked in her room and then had her dispatched for three months to a special nursing home. Even now the Don quickly put the lid on his cheese bowl; she did a lot of spitting. Then suddenly it was over, she became very still. She spoke to Pippi. "I wanted to say good-bye. I hope you die in Sicily."

Pippi felt an overwhelming pity for her. He rose and took her in his arms. She did not resist. He kissed her on the cheek and said, "I wish to die in Sicily rather than come home and find you like this." She broke out of his arms and ran back up the stairs.

"Very touching," Giorgio said, almost sneering. "But you don't have to put up with her every month." He gave a slight leer with this, but they all knew that Rose Marie was far past menopause and she had the fits more than once a month.

The Don seemed the least upset by his daughter's fit. "She will get better or she will die," he said. "If not I will send her away."

At supper time, Dante helped Rose Marie set the table, grate the Don's cheese, kept her company in the kitchen. She cooked his favorite meal of penne with broccoli and then roast lamb studded with bacon and garlic.

The next day, with Pippi on his way to Sicily, Dante was summoned to the Quogue mansion to spend the weekend. The first day Giorgio let Dante spend all his time with Rose Marie. It was touching to see their devotion to each other, Dante was a totally different person with his mother. He never wore one of his peculiar hats, he took her on walks around the estate, took her out for dinner. He waited on her like some eighteenth-century French gallant. When she broke into hysterical tears, he cradled her in his arms, and she never went into one of her fits. They spoke to each other constantly in low, confidential tones.

Then he addressed Pippi. "I'll let you know when you can come back from Sicily. Enjoy the rest, we're all getting older. But keep your eyes open for new men to recruit for the Enclave. That is important. We must have men we can count on not to betray us, who have omerta in their bones, not like the rascals born in this country who want to lead a good life but not pay for it."

Giorgio was always struck by the rapport between the Don and Dante. Dante was solicitous, he spooned the penne and broccoli into the Don's plate and ostentatiously wiped and polished the great silver spoon he used to dip into the grated parmesan. Dante teased the old man. "Grandfather," he said, "if you got new teeth, we wouldn't have to grate this cheese. The dentists do great work now, they can plant steel in your jaw. A miracle."

The Don was playful in kind. "I want my teeth to die with me," he said. "And I'm too old for miracles. Why should God waste a miracle on an ancient like me?"

Rose Marie had prettied herself for her son, and traces of her young beauty could be seen. She seemed happy to see her father and her son on such familiar terms. It banished her constant air of anxiety.

When the Don and Rose Marie had both gone to bed, Giorgio took Dante into the den. It was the room that had neither phones nor TV and no communication lines to any part of the house. And it had a very thick door. Now it was furnished with two black leather couches and black studded leather chairs. It still contained a whiskey cabinet and a small wet bar equipped with a small refrigerator and a shelf of glasses. On the table rested a box of Havana cigars. Still, it was a room with no windows, like a small cave.

Giorgio, too, was content. He was pleased that his sister seemed happy. She was not so nerve-racking and she was a better cook. She didn't stare at him with accusing eyes and she would not be subject to one of her fits.

Giorgio made them both a drink and lit up one of the Havana cigars. "Thank God you don't wear those weird hats around your mother," he said. "Why do you wear them anyway?"

Dante's face, too sly and interesting for so young a man, always made Giorgio uneasy. His eyes were too cunningly bright and Giorgio didn't like it that he was short.

"I like them," Dante said. "And to make you and Uncle Petie and Uncle Vincent notice me." He paused for a moment and then said with a mischievous grin, "They make me look taller." It was true, Giorgio thought, that hats made him look handsomer. They framed his ferret-like face in a flattering way, his features were strangely uncoordinated when seen without his hat.

"Dead men don't talk," Dante said. "I kill everybody who sees me on a job."

"Nephew, stop fucking me around," Giorgio said. "It's not smart. It's a risk. The Family doesn't take risks. Now one other thing. The word is getting around that you have a bloody mouth."

"You shouldn't wear them on a job," Giorgio said. "It makes an identification too easy."

"The Don knows nothing about it," Giorgio lied. He was a very expert liar. "And I won't tell him. You're his favorite, it would distress him. But I'm telling you, no more hats on the job and keep your mouth clean. You're the Family number one Hammer now and you take too much pleasure in the business. That's dangerous and against Family rules."

"Yes," Giorgio said. He was curt. "And Pippi is the best. We put you with Pippi so you could learn the right way to do things. And do you know why he's the best? Because he has a good heart. It's never for pleasure."

Dante let himself go. He had a laughing fit. He rolled onto the sofa and then onto the floor. Giorgio watched him sourly, thinking he was as crazy as his mother. Finally Dante got to his feet, took a long swig from his drink, and said with great good humor, "Now you're saying I don't have a good heart."

Dante for the first time reacted with anger. Suddenly he looked deadly. He put down his drink and said, "Does Grandfather know that? Does this come from him?"

Dante seemed not to hear. He was thoughtful now and his smile reappeared. "Pippi must have told you," he said amiably.

"That's right," Giorgio said. "You're my nephew but I know what you are. You killed two men in some sort of personal quarrel without the Family OK. The Don wouldn't take action against you, he wouldn't even reprimand you. Then you killed some chorus girl you were banging for a year. Out of temper. You gave her a Communion so she wouldn't be found by the police. And she wasn't. You think you're a clever little prick, but the Family put the evidence together and found you guilty though you could never be convicted in a court of law."

"Yes," Giorgio said. "But you're still his favorite. He said to let it pass, that you're still young. That you will learn. I don't want to bring this bloody mouth business to him, he's too old. You're his grandson, your mother is his daughter. It would just break his heart."

Dante was quiet now. Not from fear but from calculation. "Does the Don know all this crap?"

Dante laughed again. "The Don has a heart. Pippi De Lena has a heart, Cross has a chicken shit heart, my mother has a broken heart. But I don't have a heart? How about you, Uncle Giorgio, do you have a heart?"

"Do Vinnie and Pete know all this stuff?" Dante asked.

"So, I'm the only one who doesn't have a fucking heart?" Dante said. "I love my mother and my grandfather and they both hate each other. My grandfather loves me less as I grow older. You and Vinnie and Petie don't even like me though we share family blood. You think I don't know these things? But I still love all of you though you put me down lower than that fucking Pippi De Lena. You think I don't have any fucking brains either?"

"Sure," Giorgio said. "I still put up with you."

Giorgio was astonished by this outburst. He was also made wary by its truth. "You're wrong about the Don, he cares about you just as much. The same with Petie, Vincent, and me. Have we ever not treated you with the respect of family? Sure, the Don is a little remote but the man is very old. As for me, I'm just giving you a caution for your own safety. You're in a very dangerous business, you have to be careful. You cannot let personal emotions in. That's disaster."

"No," Giorgio said. Which was another lie. Vincent had also spoken to Giorgio about Dante. Petie had not, but Petie was a born assassin. Yet he, too, had shown a distaste for Dante's company.

"Any other complaints about how I do my job?" Dante asked.

"Vincent has one of his restaurants out by East Hampton," Giorgio said. "You could take your mother there."

"No," Giorgio said, "and don't be so tough about this. I'm advising you as your uncle. But I'm telling you from my place in the Family. You do not anymore make anybody do their Communion or Confirmation without the Family OK. Got it?"

"OK," Dante said, "but I'm still the number one Hammer, right?"

"Sure," Dante said.

"I'll enjoy my work less if that's what you want," Dante said. "OK?" He tapped Giorgio on the shoulder affectionately.

"Until Pippi comes back from his little vacation," Giorgio said. "Depends on your work."

"Good," Giorgio said. "Tomorrow night take your mother out to eat. Keep her company. Your grandfather will like that."

Dante said suddenly, "Is she getting worse?"

Giorgio shrugged. "She can't forget the past. She holds on to old stories that she should forget. The Don always tells, "The world is what it is and we are what we are," his old line. But she cannot accept it." He gave Dante an affectionate hug. "Now let's just forget this little talk. I hate doing this stuff." As if he had not been specifically instructed by the Don.

Giorgio had one great virtue. He spoke his mind when he really wanted to, even to his father, the great Don himself. "He talked too much to his mother. And he has bad blood." They were both silent for a time after this.

"And when Pippi comes back, what do we do with your grandson?" Giorgio asked.

After Dante left on Monday morning, Giorgio reported the whole conversation to the Don. The Don sighed. "What a lovely little boy he was. What could have happened?"

He frowned and said to Giorgio, "Soon you will have my responsibilities. Remember always that the task is that the Clericuzio must one day stand with society, that the Family must never die. No matter how hard the choice."

"Despite everything, I think Pippi should retire," the Don said. "Dante must have his chance to be foremost, after all he is a Clericuzio. Pippi will be an advisor to his son's Bruglione in the West. If necessary he can always advise Dante. There is no one better versed in those matters. As he proved with the Santadio. But he should end his years in peace."

Giorgio muttered sarcastically, "The Hammer Emeritus." But the Don pretended not to understand the joke.

And so they left. But it was to be two years before Pippi returned from Sicily, the killing of Ballazzo receding into the bureaucratic mist. A mist manufactured by the Clericuzio.