At the foot of the Monte Lauro was the comune of Giarratana, a very small village in the Province of Ragusa, Sicily. There, a couple lived, in the midst of the region's poverty and wrapped in the mafia's webs, so fierce at that time. The man worked in the field, for the richest farmer in the region, in exchange for food, shelter (a little hut of stone and clay) and a few change. The woman worked in the main farmhouse, cooking and cleaning. Despite the difficulties, they were happy and moved on, one day at a time. The man's name was Desiderio and the woman's, Filomena.

One day, Desiderio was assigned to drive his boss's wagon to the center of Ragusa, as the old man wanted to cut his hair. So there he went, on the winding road of red dust that led to the city. The boss was seated in the back of the wagon, smoking a stinky cigar and grunting along the way, not bothering to engage in conversation with his simple employee, of course.   The wagon rattled slowly all the way, the silence hanging over the farmer of few words and Desiderio, the peasant. 

Finally, they reached the barber, in the center of Ragusa. Unlike the farmer, the barber was a chatterbox, such a charismatic man that he could even get laughter from the old farmer! And he was gossip, too. While cutting the man's hair, he talked about the lives of many others. Standing at the door of the barbershop, Desiderio heard his prose, while watching the movement of the street and the square ahead. Apparently, Nico's cousin had been caught in bed with his wife and was missing from the city. The wife had obviously been beaten viciously and kicked out of the house to learn her lesson. What about the mayor's brother, who was seen coming out of the woods with another man in the late night? Both claimed they were hunting, but had no weapons. Imagine that, exclaimed the barber, and the farmer laughed, delighted.

When the barber was trimming the farmer's thick mustache, the conversation took on a twist that began to interest Desiderio. He walked into the barbershop and sat down. The barber was telling the old farmer that his nephew, his sister's son, had moved to America. In the letters he wrote to his mother, the young man told how life was improving, and how he was making money working in the Port of Philadelphia - a lot of money, when compared to his old life in Sicily. The barber also commented that soon the nephew would be also taking his mother to America, for her to have a better life near him.

The conversation continued, but Desiderio was totally disconnected now, lost in his own thoughts. He had heard of America before, of course, and that kind of conversation always kindled a flame in him. Lost in reverie, he remained. When his boss finished the haircut, they got back in the wagon and took the road back to the farm.

Desiderio whipped the horses vigorously, making them ride along the path much faster than when they came.

Time passed and Desiderio and his wife continued their simple lives in the warm sicilian countryside, working hard for little benefit. The difficulties were even greater because, from the little money he earned, Desiderio still kept a part, under the straw mattress, in their poor stone hut. While working under the sicilian sun, Desiderio imagined what life in America would be like. And then he daydreamed.

Soon, the wife began to share the dream and to encourage it.

And then she got pregnant.

"Nostro figlio deve essere nato in America", he said to her one night.

"No! Nostro figlio sarà Siciliano", she replied vehemently.

And so it happened. The mother's desire prevailed, and they remained in Sicily until the child's birth. For, however difficult life was, most Sicilians were very proud of their origin and some even believed that the blood-soaked soil was sacred. Thus, during a very hot february night, a boy was born on the floor of the stone hut, led by an old local midwife. Francesco was his name.  

A year later, Desiderio wrapped the family's clothes in a burlap sack and took all his savings from under the mattress, just enough to buy two ship tickets bound for America, leaving their homeland behind, with a heart full of hope for better days.  The little family ended up in Philadelphia, the only point of reference they had. There, Desiderio found out that things were really in better shape, at least for him, than in Sicily. He got a job at the docks and, although he didn't earn as well as he imagined, he still earned better than before, that was for sure. He rented a small apartament in the suburbs. The wife didn't have to work anymore, she was only responsible for taking care of the little Francesco. They could be considered a happy immigrant family.

Not everything in life is perfect and nothing lasts forever, though.

Desiderio soon found out that the docks were turning into an active night spot. Prostitutes, alcohol and gambling, you can imagine how it all got him quickly. He slowly turned into a different man, an absent husband and father. One night he got home so drunk that he slapped the wife in the face after an argument, in front of the little child, Francesco.

Then, things started to get gradually worse, the addiction to alcohol and gambling transforming more and more an once good man. Not to mention the constant disrespect to the sacred marriage, with all the prostitutes and beatings. Ah, the beatings! How they increased. It wasn't just slaps anymore, he started punching her. Somehow, those terrible worldly vices clouded that man's mind so badly, that he no longer saw happiness in his family. He started feeling attached to them, in a very negative way. As if they were burdens, very heavy burdens.

He would even look at his own son with contempt. Poor child.

Filomena - the wife and mother of Francesco, was getting more and more depressed about it. So depressed that she didn't cry when, a few months later, the husband, Desiderio, got stabbed in the back one night on his way home, after having an unbelievable streak of luck at the blackjack table at the docks. A lowlife delinquent followed him and stabbed him, before stealing the money that he had witnessed him win.

Just like that, the mother and son were on their own.

Filomena never recovered from her depression.

Without her husband's income, she had to look for work, so, she started cleaning houses for the rich in the Chestnut Hill all the way to Queen's Village. Earning much less than the deceased husband, she and the son had to move to a cheaper apartment. The son, Francesco, was left with some neighbors, who, sensitized by the woman's situation, took turns taking care of the boy during her workday.

Time passed and the woman remained steadfast, working and trying to raise her child in the best way she could. By the time he turned seven, he was put to work as a newspaper seller and delivery boy, sometimes delivering them to the houses, sometimes just standing at some corner to sell them to passers-by. The boy also went to school, something that frankly did not interest him very much.

Spending so much time on the streets, it was almost inevitable that the boy would follow an obscure path, and so it happened. He started to get involved with other boys in his neighborhood - mostly older than him - who were a terrible influence on him. Francesco quickly escalated from a troublemaker to a delinquent, pickpocketing on the streets and stealing from local grocery stores, a real heartbreak for the mother - one more wound over so many others that had not even healed.

Some time later, Francesco quit his job as a newsboy, and not long after, the school, judging his average writing and reading and basic math domain enough for his life. He also became the leader of his group of juvenile delinquents, which turned into a gang - a small borgata - known as The Girard Ave Boys, whose main activity was smoking cigarettes, getting drunk and stealing everything and everyone, in addition to depredation and riot in general.

The relationship with the mother had not been the best for a long time. She, always depressed and indifferent, seemed no longer able to show love for anyone, even the son. He, always a mess, did not insist on being at home for more than a couple of hours a day, always sleeping in abandoned places or in brothels, when he was lucky. He sent a little money to his mother from time to time, in a poor attempt to help.

By the time he was fifteen, the mother Filomena died from a severe pneumonia.

The boy then became a real demon, making trouble with neighboring gangs just for fun, stealing like never before, and even flirting with heavy substances like Opium. Perhaps it was his way of expressing that he missed his mother and had regretted his behavior in recent years, who knows. Each person deals with loss differently.

That way he went on for almost two more years, when the frustration really started to hit. He wanted more. He wanted to be something, to make something. To earn more money, to be able to have a real home and not sleep with cheap prostitutes every night, or in the open. To buy nice clothes. So it was only natural for him to resort to the role models he had, having been raised in Philadelphia. It was only natural for him to knock on @JackMezzo's door and almost desperately ask for a job, the option that to him, clearly seemed the best.

And the man held out his hand.

He would not let him down. He just could not...