~~" 'nother one o' you Ando-leeni's, eh? Thought I had seen the last of your kind."

Johnny remained motionless and stared at the man with cold, unwavering eyes.  He let out just the smallest of  grins. None but the man intently focused on him could say they saw it. The individual doing all the yapping was a mountain of a man, mid 30s. Hair slicked back like all the famous Western cowboys he had pictures of as a boy back home. Unstrapped sidearm accompanied. Big booming voice that was obviously exaggerated to intimidate, but this cowboy was mistaking one thing: JJ was no indian.

"What you smilin' about, boy? Think you're better than all this?"

Silence

"Coffee please," Sheriff Douglas boomed at a passing waitress. His eyes never left Johnny in the exchange.

"You know", he leaned a bit closer to the center of the table and put on a smirk of his own," the apple obviously does not fall too far from the tree." Douglas sipped at his coffee.

For the first time since the conversation had been abruptly started, JJ's pokerface faltered. He clinched his jaw and his hand twitched to his side. He stopped himself.

It was him...

Years ago his father and uncles had left Italy to start a better life in America. They would come back from time to time with people JJ had never seen before in his country. These men did not look like men. They never made a noise, never expressed one single emotion. Hell, he had never known any of them to sleep for that matter. Eyes always looking for something that wasn't there, and anything that COULD be. These men intimidated Johnny. Made him feel smaller than he already was. His father had attempted to explain to him why these brutes carried weapons around with them all the time. It never worked. JJ was young, but not in the least was he dumb or naïve. He was always good at putting pieces together. For these men to be THIS scary and intimidating, yet hold so much regard and respect for his father and uncle, something more had to be going on.

The years passed like this and JJ had begun to follow in his father's footsteps. As he got older he realized just what merit his last name held in Corleone, Italy. He had seen others like him who glorified themselves so much, that it became the end of them. Young Johnny was not going to go out like that. He and his group of young thugs were foot soldiers for a small syndicate that centered themselves on getting food and water to the less fortunate. Was a shame that something so good  natured had to involve instances of the worst natured. Such was the life he chose. Embraced.Loved.

As time went by, the letters and visits from his father grew farther apart. Each time there was a new look of weariness and anxiety in his face. JJ had never seen his father look so worried. One night, for the first time in young Johnny's life, his dad sat down with him and poured a couple of drinks from a bottle that JJ knew had to be older than him. They sat down in the atrium of their home and Johnny Sr. opened his journal which had contained the events of the family legacy. Fully descripted with names, allies, enemies, titles, bloodlines, origins and a lot of other miscellaneous notes that various forefathers had jotted down in their times of leisure. The picture it drew for JJ gave him all the confirmation he needed to know just what it was that had him so captivated with the life of La Cosa Nostra.

The cigars burned and the drinks poured. The hunger for knowledge burned deep within him. His father was going on about how the herd was thinning and how it was up to him to keep the flame lit. It was a defining moment in JJ's life. He knew all too well that when he accounted for the time-gaps of visiting, looks of worry and grief, that Johnny's father did not intend on living much longer.

Some corrupt cop from the United States was laying hard into his dad. Had a file of his own on the lineage of the Andolini's. Ever since the first of them had come through immigration, the agency had been keeping sharp eyes on the Italian crime wave that hit the states when the borders opened. Related to this was the cause of anxiety in his father.

"It has to be that" JJ told himself.

The last time he saw his father, he was out in the field shooting old milk bottles with his longtime friend, Vinny, who was just about to be flying to the states for himself to open up a legitimate café somewhere in a place called Florida. Johnny Sr. had told him to come inside. Didn't await a response, just turned around and began walking back towards the steps of the Villa. Once inside, his father asked him to sit down for what would be the last conversation he would have with his son.

Johnny held back his tears. His father was not coming home again. There was too much for his father to explain and far more for JJ to learn on his own if he was to have any sense of street smarts. The game that was played in America was indeed in a league of it's own. Whatever sense of bigheadedness, egotistical issues JJ had would have to be reevaluated and put to the states when he got to where he was going. He hugged his father, kissed his cheeks and said his last goodbye. He would await orders in Corleone as to when to meet his father in America.

Early spring, before the sun had laid it's blanket over the field, one of the guards came into his room with whispers and a journal tucked under his arm. He left JJ with it and returned to the atrium. He read the last entry from his father. Consumed with the thought of his father knowingly walking into a trap, he threw the journal up against the wall and many pages flew out of it. He stared at the littered pieces that contained so much insight into his family's lives, their livelihood. He reluctantly began picking up the pieces and placing them where they belonged when he noticed a name scribbled at the top of the page of his father's last letter.

JJ's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He muttered through his teeth.

"Walter Douglas"

The chatter in the café was beginning to get a bit louder. Johnny's mind was already racing and the increasing bustle around him was making him edgy. He began to sweat. He still had his head facing down at the table. Moving only his eyes upward, he met the gaze of the spineless piece of shit sitting across from him uninvited. Vinny was supposed to be sitting there. JJ had not seen his friend in many years and was given the address of this place by one of Vinny's pals when he first arrived.

Sheriff Walter Douglas......

The man sat across from JJ with a grin that made him want to make just a little bit wider. Johnny gained his composure back and along with it returned the poker-face that he had lost for a moment. He put on a grin of his own.

"This may be YOUR country, but you just stepped into MY world", Johnny thought to himself.

He looked around the café to take in his surroundings. He did so very casually, sure not to give Officer Shit-stain reason to feel he had locked eyes with someone in the room

There...

The center of the café was mismatched with different tables with chairs, little stand-alones with stools next to them. There was a small bar that lined the side of the wall where patrons could get some of Italy's finest exported fermented wine. Big, thick-paned mirror hugged the entire length of that wall. Following it towards the back of the establishment, was an entrance that was only accessible to those behind the counter. Just around the corner, there was ano--

Vinny.

With little more than a few strands of hair and half an eyeball peaking around the corner, Johnny met Vinny's sharp gaze. So intently focused on him, JJ was SURE Vinny could just about read his every thought. For the first time since the cop sat down with him, all worry drained from Johnny. He kept turning his head so as to throw off any suspicion Douglas may have had. His head moved, his eyes did not. He kept the gaze with Vinny as he started back towards Douglas and ran his fingers through his hair.

Gotcha!

As all this was happening, the young lady with Douglas' coffee was rounding the corner when she abruptly stopped, mouthed a few words to someone out of sight, then returned to the back. She reappeared soonafter.

"What took ya so long, girl?" Douglas sneered.

The young woman gave the best apology she knew how. Her lack of English-speaking ability seemed to disgust Douglas. He mumbled some derogatory somethings under his breath. He sipped at his coffee and somehow still felt there was conversation to be had. JJ was getting impatient. Just sat back and looked at him. In between words he would glance around, out the window, back to the bar. Then ba-

Vinny was at the bar, plain sight. Staring at his friend and his company. Vinny winked and went back to drying out a glass with a smirk on his face.

Johnny leaned back in his chair and threw both hands behind his head. No grin, but a big, ear-to-ear smile that took Douglas aback.

"What the fuck's so funny, BOY!?" Douglas boomed.

"I could bust yer ass right here and now, you fuckin' guido. Just like I busted yer da-"

Douglas seemed to choke on that last word. He tried to clear his throat. Nope. Tried to talk. Nope. His eyes got very big and pupils did the same. It became very apparent that them man was having trouble catching any breath at all. Douglas stared at his half empty mug of coffee, then back up at Johnny, who was all but looking sinister at this point. Johhny just smiled and stared at the man.

Douglas fought it for just a few seconds, whispering "help" to anyone that could hear. The pouring of wine, the clang of glasses, and the music that Vinny had turned up minutes ago drowned out any attempt of the man being heard. Johnny leaned closer to the table now. He got right in the officer's face and said:

"I AM too good for this"

The sheriff went face-first into the table cloth. Saliva came spewing afterwards. Johnny calmly got up out of his chair. He grabbed his coat and hat from the corner of his chair, left a bit of money on the table and casually walked towards the door. He glanced over at Vinny on the way out, who gave him a short nod and wave of the hand.

Once Johnny made it back to the street, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter he had received from someone claiming to have known his father. This letter contained the opportunity that his father had spoken of the last time they had spoken. This was it. This is where it was going to start.

Chicago....

Were it not for the loud expleti-.............