(This story is a work of fiction. It is not meant to reflect how things actually happened IG, or the personalities/attitudes of the people mentioned in the story. I was simply inspired by the events of the NPC war - and it's similarities between the conflict between Turk Solozzo in the Corleone's - to write a story; and the story seemed more interesting when naming real people and referencing real events. This one is a little longer than the last but based on the excellent feedback I had, I decided this would more of a 'scene setter' for many stories to come, based on last weeks 'prologue'. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!)

If you wanted an idea – some sort of physical symbol – that embodied the power and the influence the Chicago mob wielded; the room in which a group of middle aged and elderly criminals were now sat in was a fantastic example.

The floors were varnished hardwood overlain with imported Persian rugs of immense finery. The walls were not ostentatious, but only so they provided a neutral complement to the exquisite oil paintings that hung in gilded gold frames. The wealth was visible in everything; from the mahogany boardroom table that dominated the room, to the solid silver cutlery and intricately carved crystal tumblers that adorned the sideboard along the back wall.

It wasn't the money on show that was the true reflection of the Mob's status, though. It was the location and, more importantly, the tenants of the building in which this fine room was located that truly signaled that. The address was 50 South LeSalle Street in the Windy City's financial district or, as more people knew it, the headquarters of the Northern Trust bank.

Northern Trust was a powerhouse; a banking behemoth. In the Great War, Northern Trust had cemented its reputation as a solid, dependable bank with its involvement in the Liberty Bond drive; and in the great crash that followed its reputation was enhanced as the bank came out relatively unscathed where others faltered; mostly thanks to the sensible and prudent management from board level down. To the public and the politicians, Northern Trust was seen as reliable and stable.

What wasn't known to Johnny on the Street, though, was the genial relationship between Northern Trust and the Italian-American organised crime syndicates; such a genial relationship, in fact, that when the Chicago Commission met on urgent business they did it right here in the Northern Trust boardroom.

And so it was on this day that ten impatient men gathered together at the request of The Loop Godfather Captain Harris The Caporegimes and the Underbosses were not present, today. In an ever present atmosphere of paranoia and 'oneupsmanship', meetings of the Chicago Commission adhered to a strict code dating back to the old country – notably that the Godfathers present would bring with them only one extra, who would serve both as bodyguard and attendant, serving to their employers drink and food as it was requested. Since the the latter duty was seen as something 'below' a Consigliere, the Godfathers generally opted to bring with them an up-and-coming Made Man to these meetings; and so it was that the bearded Frenchman, Cantona, found himself in such illustrious and infamous company.

As he looked around the room at the Godfathers seated around the board-table and the made men who stood at their right shoulders, he chuckled inwardly at the contrast. The made men were wide eyed, barely able to conceal their own delight and good fortune at being fast tracked in such a manner. The older gents – wearing pinkie rings down to the last man – cast different figures entirely. Weary might be a kind way to describe the the general atmosphere of the seated mobsters; a more realistic assessment might be 'fearful'. These were not cowardly men, you understand, but Commission meetings were not a regular occurrence despite the fact that each of the Godfathers had the equal right to call them. In this instance it was Godfather Harris who had requested the meeting and it was him who would chair it. Naturally, it was his tension and the concern etched into every line in his face that was reflected in the other Godfathers; and concurrent with tradition, it would be him to speak first.

“Commendatori. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, I am indebted to all of you. I have invited you all here because there is a matter which, whilst currently is only encroaching on my own interests in The Loop, will soon affect all of us in this room, and everything we stand for.”

“Many of you will have heard of an upstart – a cafone – from Detroit styling himself as 'Godfather' Joseph Zerilli. What you may not know is that he is no longer in Detroit, he is in Chicago and he is challenging my authority which is a challenge to us all, given my status as a Commission member.”

Harris sat down heavily and flicked a wrist in Cantona's direction who padded over on the thick Persian rug to the sideboard to pour out a single measure of whiskey and soda water. Upon returning with the drink and a coast, it was Godfather Solastalgia from up on the North Side who was speaking

“With all respect Godfather Harris, how can we take what you say as fact? You call a Commission meeting – the first in years – and we all assume the worst!”

Solastagia looked around to several muted nods that emphasised his point before continuing,“But this is not so bad, I think. How many upstarts have we all seen in our time? How many Young Turks trying to grab a piece of the pie have taken a slice too big for their stomachs? You are too modest, Godfather. It is no secret in this room how many rackets are operated by your button men in the Loop; no secret how many numbers games and hooch joints are under your control or how many politicians and judges you have dancing like so many puppets. You have the wherewithal to deal with this upstart, I think.”

As he replied, Godfather Harris motioned towards Cantona with an outstretched hand; and Cantona was grateful for his beard as his face began to redun under the intense glare of five of the most ruthless, dangerous men in the world

“Eric Cantona is a friend of ours, he came to his Underboss who sent him to me with some rather worrying news. Like all of us, he has contacts amongst our natural enemies, and one such contact is no longer doing business with anyone in The Loop from now on Why? He was subjected to a mock execution outside his own home by Zerilli's enforcers and he is too scared to work with us any more. This contact – I want to make absolutely clear – was not a two-bit nobody. He was a federal agent. A federal agent. You think these people who are willing to lean so heavily on a G man would have any qualms in coming after any of us? All of us?”

As Godfather Harris looked around the room he noticed a few rueful shakes of the head, perhaps in shock rather than disagreement, but he could see they still needed some convincing so he took a deep breath before continuing

As Godfather Harris looked around the room, he noticed a few rueful shakes of the head, perhaps in shock rather than disagreement, but he could see they still needed some convincing so he took a deep breath before continuing.

“I must also tell you, I am lucky to be here today. As you may have heard, I lost a friend of ours just two days ago in a car bomb. What you will not know; this man was my driver and it was by pure dumb luck that I was not in the car at the time. This monster, Zerilli, not only has the manpower and inside information to put bombs in place but he actually goes through with it. The Commission banned bombs years ago for good reasons, are we going to forget so easily? I ask you this my friends, is this something that can go unchecked? An insult we will suffer? You seem to forget an insult to any one of us is an insult to us all.

The next to speak was Godfather ChaosSpike; but his first action was to make the sign of the cross – a gesture copied by everyone in the room – and offer his condolences to Godfather Harris which were acknowledged with a subtle nod. Only when this tradition was complete did he speak on the matter at hand.

“I appreciate what you say is true, Godfather, but what concern is it of ours? You speak of an insult to one as an insult to all but times have changed old friend, we are no longer in the Old Country and we cannot always rely on the old ways. To me, this seems to be only your fight – Zerilli has not attacked our button men after all. I'm afraid I don't see how I can commit my families to the mattresses for Madonna knows how long over this.”

Harris, still seated, looked at ChaosSpike with eyes full of regret, shaking his head sadly.

“If you truly believe that, old friend, you are a much bigger fool than I was in times gone by. Detroit requested me to send a crew to establish a presence in the Motor City sometime ago, to fend off the threat of Zerilli who was only a small time hoodlum then. I said no, I believed the time wasn't right; and yet here we are at this junction now, will you make the same mistake I did?"

“We are talking about a man who uses bombs. Do you think your businesses won't suffer when the Sun-Tribune decries us for the civilians which will surely be injured in such indiscriminate violence? Do you think the journalists or the police, under the pressure from the press, will make distinctions between our Families? Of course not, we all will suffer in this. Do you think Zerilli, who so callously intimidates G-Men, cares who's feathers are ruffled on his quest to glory? Do you think he would come all the way from Michigan to Chicago and be content with just one District now he is here? I do not, I believe he is a cancer that must be cut out and alone I do not wield a big enough scalpel – if our honoured society is to survive we must put on a united front!”

This impassioned speech was the catalyst that set the meeting on fire. The conversation – at times argument – raged for hours until Cantona's feet were numb from standing for so long. The mental strain for the Godfathers was more intense however, as they each maneuvered their pieces in this incredible game of verbal Chess. Eventually, an agreement was hammered out. The 5 districts would come together to bring the hammer to Zerilli and his crew. In return, Harris would share more of his political power – the judges, politicians and G-Men that made his enterprises so lucrative.

It was war, then, and a long few months lay ahead. Cantona escorted the Godfather down two flights of stairs to his waiting car in total silence – each lost in his own thoughts – and it wasn't until the Frenchman held open the door for his Godfather that the old man spoke.

“Do you still have the Butcher's shop on that street off Wabash?” When the Frenchman nodded a reply, the Boss continued. “Good. The mole was Frank Serafini. He was the tip off for the carbomb. He'll be at the speakeasy on West Quincy Street. Go pick him up. Make him talk. Don't let me down”

Without a further word, Harris pulled the door shut sharply and his new driver eased away from the kerb, taking the Big Man back to his palatial home out in Cicero. Eric sighed heavily, he wanted to get back to the wife tonight but he knew this was a job that couldn't wait. Making his way over to the nearest payphone, he called up the restaurant his family used as a HQ and was pleased to get through to the man he wanted straight away.

“Tommy, eet's Eric. 'Ead on over to my store, ze boucherie, ze spare keys are een ze HQ. Cover ze floor with all ze sawdust zat is een ze barrels and lay some tarpaulin over eet. Tell a couple of ze boys wiz you to meet me in ze alleyway next to the Quincy speakeasy as soon as zey can. Tell zem eet is an opportunity to make zair bones. You may want to change out of your suit, too! I'll be at ze boucher in an 'our.