The train doors opened to platform three at 30 Street station, the newly opened hub in Philadelphia. The train from Los Angeles, had pulled in after a two day journey. A young man walked off the train and looked about to reset his bearings. This had been a journey three years in the making.

He walked across the platform and looked at a map of the neighbourhood, his shoes clipping across the tiled floors. He scratched his chin, the tiredness seemingly making the stubble hurt. The map provided little assistance, he knew where he planned to go but really wanted to just get back on the train and keep heading east.

He hailed a passing cab….the cab wasn’t really passing quickly, it was pretty much stuck in a jam...

“Race Street Company please”, he sat back as the cab pulled back into the traffic jam and reflected on his past

The last thing he had said before leaving three years ago was using old man as a pejorative and storming out. To be fair he was a petulant teenager.

The road long travelled had allowed him to learn about his mother.  She had died when he was very young, barely two years old so he knew nothing.  His father had mourned her deeply but only talked about her in fits and bursts throughout the years.  He never went into too many details except to say how lonely her life had been growing up and how happy Wednesday had been when she was re-united with her father.  To him he was Grandpa Jack; the steely old man of Philly however when you knew him he was generous to a fault.

But here he was back ”home”, as close as it was to an actual home now. Growing up on the West coast; born in Seattle and raised there and Los Angeles his father had insulated him from the bulk of his affairs but allowed him to mess about in the kitchen of his restaurant.  They had bounced around regularly between there and Philly; Artie letting him hang around Race Street Pier as a 10 year old while he visited associates.  His father knowing nothing of the little scams he tried to pull behind the back of Dante’s or Purgatory, the thick ears his grandpa gave him on finding out while smiling with a twinkle in his eyes.

Then his father died and that was it.  His life was now officially a mess but grandpa Jack had taken him in.  As a 14 year old he still didn’t have a clue about the world he was actually growing up in except that it was never talked about.  For three years he stuck in at school, spending some  nights at the gym and meeting some very interesting people like agirl who was the first person to show him what the hustle actually was.  Yet when he brought it up to grandpa Jack, the topic was changed.  Politely but firmly..."No more...eat your dinner". 

Then on his 18th birthday, Louis finally went too far

“Let me in! Show me what you ACTUALLY do!”

Louis was getting nowhere and Jack sat impassively looking at him

“Finish school, we’ll get you in Penn, I can get you looking after all my businesses on the outside keeping the inside safe...but not just now.”

“Gaaah...you’re just a crazy old man...and you don’t know me at all”

And just like that Louis was gone, on the next train headed West.  It had taken two years for Louis to run out of opportunities and cash generated by using the Bucco name.  He had developed into a young man of his time; cars, movies and girls and then it had all dried up as the memories faded.  The realities of a harder life out here came with consequences and the lithe body he arrived with had developed a toughness only brought about taking and giving a beating.  Slowly but surely he developed a traction engine of a right hook he used when intimidating dealers.

Only now, to retain an element of anonymity, he would refer to himself not as Louis Bucco but as Louis Mezzo.  He felt a huge amount of pride…”As in @Jack Mezzo?” he would be asked.  Out here grandpa Jack was a well known name but he would deny any relation.  How could he claim a relationship when he had stormed out like that?

So here he was, in a cab on the way to Race Street, about to turn up as a Mezzo.  Begging forgiveness and a chance to help...really help.  Not on the outside but on the inside.

Despite a lifetime of smoking, Jack found separating himself from the vice relatively effortless. It was the idea of not having control, being manipulated and controlled by something, a force other than his own free will. That consideration alone made it easy to be without the burning glow at the end of his fingertips. 

He sat now studying a document delivered to his office in the East Cat. The idea of leaving the pier had been difficult, however for all his involvement in the boxing world, the recent wars and growing the business, the notion of setting up an office in South Philly had been delayed. 

The items on his desk appeared to be plans, designs of sorts lay strewn, an indication that they were actively being reviewed. The office was comfortably organised, especially for a man in his later years who had no real expectation to plan too far into the future. Whatever his current focus was though appeared to have captured his attention quite intently. 

He held to the light a proposed location, peering up at the glowing item with scrutiny. 

The door knocked. The paper stayed held to the light.

"Enter."

He rasped, clearly hadn't spoken much this morning.

A figure passed through the doorway and stood, obscured by the document held to the light. Jack continued to observe the detail on it, eventually lowering it. His brow furled and his expectations lowered, a feeling of anticipation to be disappointed descended on him.

"Louis."

It was a gruff acknowledgement.

"Smartest thing you ever did was walk away from this place. The fuck have you come back for?"

Louis’ expectations had been low as he left the train but the naïveté of youth and the emergence of relatively familiar surroundings had raised them slightly. It’s not as if he was expecting grandpa Jack to jump with joy on his appearance, the old man’s age had put paid to that but he had high hopes of a smile.  What was it about hope springing eternal again?

”The fuck have you come back for?” and the look of disappointment knocked hope right out of the fucking park though.  He could feel three years of work and endeavour flash out of his body and it was like he had never left.  And not only that, why had he come back?  It wasn’t for a handout, it certainly wasn’t for a warm embrace...although Louis could hardly fault Jack for that and the tension now. Jesus, even Artie would have struggled to cut that with a knife.

”Hi...”

and here Louis hit another block...grandpa? Too juvenile. Jack? Too familiar.

...godfather.  I’m sorry I haven’t been back”

The words struggled to come out, he was starting to feel like that 14 year old getting scolded for hanging around outside closed doors.

”I’m here to help.  I want to help.”

Louis stood staring at the floor in front of the desk.  He hated feeling like a puppy who had been found chest deep in cushion filling but experience told him that looking into Jack’s deep eyes felt that you were giving him access to the deepest parts of your soul. 

“I just want to help”

The old man's fingers fiddled at his lips. A subconscious frustration he had noted since putting down the cigarettes. He allowed it to continue as in some small way it helped with the process of ridding himself of them, though it was another of those things he didn't like. It suggested he wasn't in control of himself. 

His brow relaxed and he shook his head, aghast at the notion his grandson was suggesting. He took a long, labored breath and exhaled deeply, standing to place his hands on the desk.

"How do you know what you want, kid? What is it? Money? Fame? Power?"

He muttered to himself, standing upright again and fiddling with his lip once more. The other hand plunged into his pocket and Mezzo began to walk around the table.

"It's none of those things, you understand? It's sacrifice, burden and blood. It's taken people from me, friends, family. Your mother, your grandmother, your father."

He stood toe to toe with the boy. Their eyes met and Jack's sharp features, made prominent by his aging complexion and stress, cast shadows down his face, illuminated by an overhead light.

"So what is it you really want, Louis?"

Louis resisted the urge to take a step back, Jack retained an intimidating presence despite his advancing years.  In his head Louis kept in mind that this was possibly a test so stood his ground. 

“I want to be like you, just like I wanted to be like my father. I saw what he did with the restaurant and what went on behind. Do you think I’m stupid?  I see this...”

Louis points to the desk and office but with a tilt towards the city in general,

”and I worry about your age and what happens after you go.  You’re all I’ve got now and you shouldn’t do it alone.  Yes you’ve got Gavin, Tara and Bella but I didn’t appreciate you and what you’ve done until now.”

Louis explained parts of the last three years leaving out some of the names and just how deep he had almost ended up. He didn’t get too far into why he’d chosen Mezzo over Bucco. But he did talk of the pride he felt when he spotted the imperceptible pause when Mezzo came out. 

“I never ever used it to get something I didn’t deserve and I never implied I did something on your behalf.  I know the risks, I truly do but you must be doing something right...maybe not right...different.”

For a moment the pair remained inches apart. Jack's eyes flickered back and forth between Louis's, his face expressionless and removed of any emotion. Eventually he stepped away, disinterested. His heels struck the wooden panels of the floor, carrying him to the window looking out across the pier. 

He watched the ships rocking on the river, the people milling between the businesses. A low growl escaped his lips.

"Things have changed since you've been gone. Eddie is dead. Isabella-Luciano's father, too. She's with us now."

He turned, pacing to his desk and seating himself. The talk of death already made him reconsider the path he was now walking. It was too late now, though. He picked up his building designs once more. There was no eye contact, no acknowledgement of Louis other than the words which flowed without hesitation.

"You're to spend some time with ArturoStrigliori, distribution. He'll get you running a couple of deliveries to our people. After that, Joe Adonis will be able to introduce you to Midas Air. Be prepared to go cross country."

He looked up at him sharply.

"Can you fight?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just a raised brow and a sigh.

"When you're back from LA, William_Bowden will take you round to Purgatory and see what you can do. You remember the twins, GavinAndTaraByrne?"

Again, no opportunity to answer.

"Tara is busy, leave her alone. And just stay the fuck away from Gavin, too." Those words brought a slight rise to his voice, a tease of emotion.

"If you need anything reporting to me, go through Bella Byrne. I'm going to be out of town for a while, she'll be able to get hold of me. Now go, before I change my mind."

The man returned to his work, focus had shifted and he no longer paid any attention to the boy stood at his desk. The door soon closed and Mezzo dropped his papers, staring blankly at the closed door. A cough followed. A hand ran through his hair. He reached into his draw and removed a silver cigarette case.

He lit up. The tip flared as he drew from it. 

"Joy, Wednesday, ...perdonatemi."

Louis listened, barely able to get a word in edgeways.  When Jack turned to study his papers, Louis waited to see what happened next... again it was the tone that sent him hurtling back in time. 

“Put the bin out” or “Tidy this fucking mess” rang through his head, phrases used time and time again when he was younger and said in that self same tone. He didn’t say thank you for the opportunity to tidy his room back then and this wasn’t a request either. It was in order to get to the distribution centre. 

So he did. 

Louis left the office without saying a word. He didn’t have a clue anymore about where to go so he asked one of the secretaries in the office who drew him a little map.  Soon enough he was on his way.