A letter mailed from Brooklyn, NY arrives at one of your legitimate business fronts.  It is a simple stationery with words written in a practiced and feminine script - it would appear that the writer has a very decent educational background as there are proper punctuation and spelling throughout.

Enclosed is a very old photo of a teenage Salvatore & a beautiful young Italian woman from his past.  On the back of the photo is the date of the event in question.  She is seated on a bicycle and he his holding her up - they are both laughing as someone clearly struggled to take the photo as the image is blurry in some areas.  It appears the photo has been folded and unfolded many times over the years.  It also bears marks of age and dampness.

The letter reads:

Mr. Luciano,

I'm sorry for contacting you without having met you first, but I was concerned an unannounced arrival would be taken far worse than a mere letter.

My name is Isabella.  I am the only daughter of Alessandra Meloni, a girl from your neighborhood in New York State  - I suspect you may remember her and the day in this photo?  My mother held you in dear regard these many years, and spoke of your time together with a fondness I do not think is appropriate for me to attempt to convey. 

You see, when she'd found out she was carrying me outside of wedlock, her family could not bear the shame.  Like many people of the time, they thought they were doing right by sending her away to give birth in a home run by nuns.  It's my understanding they had planned to explain my mother's departure by telling friends and family that she had gone to visit an Aunt in upstate New York where they hoped she'd find a suitable husband.  She suspected this is what you believe had occurred... that she had, after your brief romance, been sent away by her family who disapproved of you (or simply did not know.)

I was nearly put into an orphanage.  Had my mother not been the sort of woman that she was, I don't know how my life might have turned out.  In her ninth month, she snuck away from the nuns in the dead of night.  I will, for the sake of her honorable name, not convey to you how she happened upon the money to care for us in those early years. She did, however, save up enough money for a typewriter and a correspondence course in typing.  She eventually came to work in an office in New York City, and made an honest living which she was quite proud of.  I was brought up in the church and was well care for by her. I wanted for nothing, until recently, which is my reason for reaching out to you now.

Mr. Luciano, as you have no doubt guessed by this point, my name is Isabella Maria Luciano.  My mother gave me your name, though you were never wed.  She felt that you held family in a very high regard and as your daughter, you would have been deeply injured had I not (at the very least) been given your family's name.  

My mother had, for some time, managed to keep track of your movements and thought to contact you upon several occasions; but as she came to learn of your success in business, she feared you might mistake her reasons for reaching out.  She worried too much time had passed, too much had happened, and that there was simply no way to turn the clock back for you and her.  Neither of you were the innocent children who had fallen in love so long ago - and, because of this, she felt it was better I remain out of your life entirely.

I had known about you for a while now, but until very recently I felt it was more important to honor my mother's wishes than it was to satisfy my curiosity.  When the stock market crashed, my mother's boss lost everything.  So, I fear, my mother lost her job... as many of us did.  My mother tried everything to find work - but no one wanted or needed a secretary with so many out of work and seeking employment.  I lived in Brooklyn, I didn't see her all the time, but I came by every few weeks for dinner.  She managed to fool me for a while, but in time I came to realize she was not eating and our Sunday dinners were likely her only decent meal in many days.  My mother was too old to revert to any other previous employment she'd engaged in and, to be honest, she's far too dedicated to her faith.  So... I took it upon myself to try to make ends meet in whatever way I could manage.

I was doing well for her, for both of us really, but she'd fallen quite ill.  The doctors at the state hospital say nothing more can be done and I've spent every penny I have trying to get another opinion.  I know that she would never call upon you.  I know she'd never ask for your charity - she's too proud, too goodhearted, and (for lack of a better word) too innocent.  If she knew what I'd been involved with these last few months... she'd never forgive me, just as she'd never forgive me for seeking you out and writing.

But I am not my mother.  I can not sit by and watch those I love starve or die of sickness which might have some hope of being cured when there is yet something I can do.  Laws mean nothing to me, they're words put to paper by criminals who just happen to have the advantages I lack.  And pride?  What good did pride ever do me?  I know who I am and where I come from and I am not ashamed. 

Mr. Luciano... I would burn the world to spare my mother a moment of pain.  The doctors say it's Tuberculosis and things have progressed too far; but I can't let go without doing this one last thing.  I beg you, and will not ask anything more of you - in fact you never have to hear from me again if you like; please, help me secure the help of a real doctor.  Help me find one who is keen to cure my mother, not just send her to a grave.  Money motivates men and if all I have learned about you is true, it is a small thing I ask of you.  

You now have the address where you can correspond with me.  My mother's fate may well rest with you.

Kindest Regards,

Isabella

Lucky sat at his desk as he went back and forth from the photo to the letter over and over again. He was deep in thought back to his early days in New York and the time he spent with Alessandra. Her parents hated him from the start, and rightfully so, he was making a living as a criminal and did not hide that fact. Alessandra was beautiful, smart and funny and he could remember the day the photo was taken. He had been teaching her to ride that bike in Central Park and a photographer had asked to take their picture. 

He did not know she was pregnant, the truth was he had to leave in New York in a hurry and only knew she had gone upstate to visit family. He had left a note for her telling her had to leave but he did not know if she ever received it. Looking back on it now he figured she hadn't. He looks over the letter again and says "I have a daughter" over and over to himself. That fact had his world spinning and add to that the fact that Marie was pregnant...

Lucky got up and poured himself a drink and downed it. Then a second, this was a lot to take in all at once. Reading through the letter again he realized that he had to help Alessandra in any way he could. Not just for his daughter but for all she had gone through alone. He had to step up and be there for her now. 

He reached over and grabbed the phone calling the family doctor. He asked the man about TB and its treatments, Lucky found out that the situation did not seem good for Alessandra especially in a state hospital. The doctor gave him the name and number of one of the top doctors in TB treatments who also happened to be in New York. 

The doctor worked out of Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan and Lucky arranged for her to be transferred and treated there. He also arranged for her to have a private room and her own nurses, so that whatever she needed she had and didn't have to wait. When the doctor started talking about costs of all this Lucky told him it would be no problem and to make sure she had the best treatment and was always kept as comfortable as possible. 

Lucky got off the phone and folded the letter up in along with the photo and put it into his jacket pocket before heading out to meet Marie.