“Many people don’t know this...” Papa always started this story out the same. He talks about the family restaurant and how he did the “taxes” in the office in the back, then proceed to go into the stories of guns, drugs and money. The kids loved hearing the history. They could take it back to school with them and tell their friends, who rarely believed them. Papa always made it seem like they were made up, but most of it was true.

Our family restaurant was always doing well. Johnnie, Chuckie, Jimmy and Frank always made sure that the food was our true family recipe straight from Sicily itself and that you got what you paid for. You want spaghetti and meatballs? You’ll get a heaping mound of spaghetti lathered in rich and tasty sauce with a meatball the size of your fist on top. They gave the kids little chef hats to take home. Our family was important, so we treated the families that came in to dine with us important. When you walked through the kitchen there was a curtain hiding a staircase. Once you walk up the staircase, behind a giant locked door, was my Papa’s office. One desk, one chair, one couch, a giant bookshelf full of black binders with all the papers from years back, the window was barred and it smelled like stale cigars. There was another door with a closet containing cleaning supplies, but if you looked close, there was another door. In there was where it happened. You didn’t pay up? You never came out of the closet. You snitched? We never saw you come out of the closet. Once you went in, you were carried out in a bag.

Just like Papa would tell it, there were different mafias back in the 50’s and some still exist. The Russians, the Jews, the Irish, the Polish and then us. The Italians. The Russians, Bratva, you didn’t mess with them. They were ruthless, but we had an accordo with them. We didn’t bother them and vice versa. The Jewish “posse” was only sometimes a nuisance. The Polish were in Chicago, so we didn’t deal with them in NY. The Irish... now that was our biggest pain in the ass.

The Westies. Crazy motherfuckers is what they are. Drunk and disorderly. We stuck to the books and our word, they partied and fought. We used guns,them fists. I had many uncles, not blood, but they gave me cash every birthday and holiday. Vito Genovese, Carlo Gambino, Frank Costello and Lucky Luciano. My famiglia had it out with the leader of the Irish mafia James Bulger aka “Whitey”. He smuggled drugs into our side of town and his street rats were stealing our customers. We had given him enough warnings. This is the story my Papa always told the kiddos. Papa Toto said, “It was time to take care of it.” The kids asked “What does that mean, Papa?” “Bang, Bang.” He replied.