Tommy Gallo stood outside DeRobert’s Pastry Shoppe waiting for his right hand man, Antonio Carillo, to unlock the back door and let him inside.

A made man, known on the streets by his nickname ‘Two Gun Tommy’, Gallo talked the talk and walked the walk of a New York City mobster. Brioni suits, shiny shoes and custom bulletproof Cadillacs came with earning for the family; a family that will love you one minute and kill you the next. ‘The Life’, as they called it, was a one way ticket to immortality or a six-foot grave outside Manhattan.

Tommy, puffing on a Toscano cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“Come in, Tommy, come in.” Antonio said, opening the screen door. “Alphonse will see you now.”

Alphonse DeStefano had been the boss of the Luciano Crime Family since ‘64. Now in his seventies, DeStefano was known for his hair-trigger temper and high-risk, high-reward bank robberies. He just finished serving a 12-year pinch for racketeering and money laundering in San Quentin, and DeRobert’s was the perfect cover for a crime boss on the low.

Tommy Gallo made his way through the back door and down the shallow steps to the basement. He got to the bottom of the staircase and was met by two DeStefano bodyguards. Arms raised, the bodyguards patted Tommy’s legs, waist and chest for hidden pistols and knives. An old voice echoed from the corner of the room, “Just protocol kid, you know how it goes.” Tommy lowered his arms and remained where he stood, waiting for the boss to give orders.

“Sit down kid. Antonio, why don’t you get me and Tommy some coffee.” DeStefano said, sitting across from the chair Tommy would soon occupy. Tommy made his way across the stone-flooring of the basement interior, undoing the top button of his Brioni suit jacket and taking a seat. He didn’t utter a word.

Alphonse slid a Bluebird cigarette into the crease of his mouth and lit it. “Ya know what? I’ll give you three guesses as to why you’re here right now Tommy.”

Tommy paused and thought hard, “You tell me boss, I don’t kn—.”

DeStefano slammed his fists to the roof of his wooden desk and stood, making the room of gangsters flinch slightly. “You cock suckin’ motha fucka, don’t talk stupid with me, capisce? I’m gonna make this easy for you tough guy. Tell me why you ratted to the fuckin’ feds.” the crime boss added.

Tommy loosened the black tie around his neck, crossed his right leg over his left and cupped his hands together in his lap. It was a heated moment and he knew the consequence. He tried to tread lightly.

“Alphonse, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it wasn’t me. I swear to God.” Tommy braced himself in his chair, pleading for understanding.

“You were like a son to me, Tommy.” the boss continued. “I trusted you!”

Antonio made his way down the basement steps. He placed a coffee on DeStefano’s desk and turned to Tommy and offered him the same. Tommy accepted the coffee and Antonio shuffled to the back of the room, behind Tommy’s chair.

The boss eased up and sat back down in his brown leather recliner. “Listen, if you look me in the eye and admit what you did, we’ll shake hands like men and go our separate ways. What’ll it be, Tommy?” the boss added calmly.

“I didn’t do it,” Tommy started, “and I’ll go to my grave with that answer.”

Alphonse DeStefano locked eyes with Tommy ‘Two Gun’ Gallo, took a soft breath and grinned.

“I thought you’d say that.” said DeStefano.

The crime boss shot a look at Antonio Carillo and rotated his chair away from Tommy. “I’ll see ya around kid.”

Antonio pulled a .38-caliber pistol from his waistline, pointed it to the back of Tommy’s head and pulled the trigger. The back of Tommy’s head opened like a smashed pumpkin and brains escaped onto the floor and down his back. Tommy sat hunched in his chair, motionless.

“Get him outta here and clean up the mess while you’re at it.” the boss of the Luciano Crime Family said sparingly.

And Antonio did just that.