It had been almost two years since Francesco had been imprisoned at Holmesburg after robbing a bank with Runa. His arrest caused quite a stir, both in the media across the country and in the prison itself. For the prisoners, he had become a kind of hero - a legend. The guards, however, were not that impressed. Francesco had killed a few guards on the robbery and, somehow, the prison guards felt like it was one of them. So, they made sure that Francesco had a very special stay in prison, at least for the first month, giving him daily beatings as a welcome. Out of pure vengeance, they almost sent Francesco to the D1 wing, where, according to rumors, were sent the prisioners that would be used as guinea pigs in chemical experiments. Only Francesco's external influence prevented it. The beatings, painful and humiliating, also stopped after the first month. Francesco knew that it was all part of the game, and the guards needed it to have some sense of power. 

What hurt Francesco the most, however, was what happened in the outside world. During his stay in prison, Race Street moved to Detroit, under an agreement between the mafia commission, to command one of their turfs. That was something that cheered Francesco's heart. When he left, he would move to Detroit, to a prosperous life with his companions, with a lot of business to explore and a lot of work to do. But that never happened. In life, there are things that cannot be explained. To Francesco, the deaths of Jack Mezzo and Runa Katte were exactly that. The day the news came to him was one of the worst days of his life, leaving him totally devastated and with a sense of injustice he had never experienced before. They were mobsters, all of them, he knew it. Death was something they lived with daily, always around them, always watching them, but to go out that way was not right. He failed to protect them, his beloved boss and his more faithful and close friend. And it haunted him.

The Race Street operation in Detroit was now in Elle's hands, who kept contact with Francesco, in jail, regularly, and who was doing everything to get him out of there. Illiana Santoro's office was working hard to find a legal way and release him, because Francesco wanted to go out the front door. Working tirelessly, Illiana managed to turn the situation around, suing Holmesburg for mistreatment and violence against Francesco and other inmates. The case gained momentum in the national media, and, to cover up the case, the prison board contacted Illiana's office, as well as the judges involved in the case. A lot of money was spent to silence the journalists and to make the judges forget, and the agreement was for Francesco to finish serving two years in the prison and then he would be free.

And so it happened. There was little more than a month to go until they were two years, and Francesco did them with satisfaction. His time there had been a lot of learning, despite everything. Of course, prison can leave anyone psychologically shaken, with marks and scars that even time cannot heal.  The clock inside moves in slow motion. But Francesco used that time to reflect.

And, of course, to make connections.

Francesco walked down the long outer corridor of the prison, which led to the exit gate, not looking back even once. He felt incredible. Right there, in that corridor, which was not exactly outside the prison, the air was different. Fresh. Light. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, very few clouds wandering separately, unable to outshine the sun. When he finally reached the gate, one of the guards in the security cabin looked him up and down and laughed mockingly.

"Leaving already, Frank? I bet we're gonna see you again soon!" He said, provocatively, then laughed along with the other guard.

Francesco smiled, staring at the guard who'd just talked to him.

"Would you bet your life on it?"

Francesco kept a calm smile on his face. Everything in his body posture exuded tranquility and lightness, except for the tone of his voice when he spoke. The guards got the message. They could scoff as much as they could, but that was still Francesco Bagarella, and he could assert a deadly threat like that. In silence, they opened the gate and Francesco walked out, with a nod, the smile still on his face.

His smile widened when he saw who was waiting for him, parked in front of the prison. A friend from the old days, from the early days of the borgata, before Race Street and everything - Jimmy Adamo. Jimmy was one of the few of the old borgata who still had contact with Francesco and, actually, worked for him. A few years ago Francesco offered Jimmy a bodyguard spot, which he gladly accepted. But, being friends for so long, both left aside certain formalities.

Jimmy threw what was left of his cigarette on the floor and ran to Francesco, embracing him fraternally and almost rudely.

"Heya, Frank! It's so good to see you, my friend!"

"Jimmy! Good to see you too, you fucking bastard. How've you been without me here to take care of you, uh?"

"Oh, I'm good. Everything's under control, except for the whole chaos in Race Street." said Jimmy. Francesco nodded and walked around the car, entering at the passenger's side. Jimmy took the driver seat. "It is what it is, right? Now Donna Elle is putting everything back on track, again, I heard."

"Yeah, I know. And I heard Detroit's godfather, Takkar, got wacked too." He looked at Jimmy, who nodded, while slowly conducting the car, getting out of the prison vincinity.

"It's true. Someone put a prize on his head."

Francesco shook his head, unpleasantly. The information, although it reached the prison, sometimes took time and sometimes it was delivered incomplete.

"Madonna. And did they catch those responsible?"

"Nah. Not that I know of. Word on the streets is that the hit was placed anonymously. Not sure how can they do that, but it's done. A fucking large amount of money and nobody knows where it came from. But it went to some fucking bounty hunter from Delaware city."

Francesco lit up a cigarette.

"Hm. Probably dead by now, too, uh?" he asked.

"I don't know." Jimmy replied and they reached an intersection. "Where we goin' again, Frank?"

"Lombard street. Take me to that brothel we used to go. I need a woman. And a drink."

"Of course, Frank."

They continued to talk, casually, all the way to the brothel.

Francesco finished the job on a blonde named Margaret and lit a cigarette. Oh, how he was in need of that, to feel the warmth of a woman! He lay there for a while, the prostitute lying next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, stroking the hair on his chest. When Francesco noticed that the whore was trying to engage in a post-sex conversation, he politely stood up, saying that he had to go, dressed and threw some bills on the bed.

He quickly descended from the second floor to the first, where Jimmy was waiting for him at the bar. Jimmy was married, and devoted to his wife. He and Francesco sat at a more reserved table in the corner and ordered two glasses of whiskey. A waitress brought the glasses of whiskey, and they both toasted at Francesco's freedom.

"What now, Frank? I assume you will be heading to Detroit." Jimmy asked.

Francesco was shaking the glass slightly, making the liquor swirl inside it.

"Yeah, I'm not sure about that. I don't know if I could leave Philly, you know."

Jimmy seemed relieved by that answer. His entire life had been built in Philadelphia. He had a family. It would not be so easy to just move out. Francesco picked up a cigarette pack from his pocket and lit one, before continuing. 

"Elle knows about it. I've got her blessing to stay. And I have to lay low for a while, now. Slowly get into the swing of things. There is this guy I met some years ago, Wayne. A little strange guy, but a good man. One of his guys was inside Holmesburg with me, for a short time. Uh...Daniel, I think. Or Dan. I don't know. Anyway, they run a farm out of Philly, and I think it would be a great opportunity for us. In fact, I already sent a message to Wayne from prison. We should be meeting soon and taking care of the details."

Jimmy giggled a bit.

"We're gonna be farmers, now?"

Francesco smiled quickly and nodded.

"It seems so."

A few days later, a meeting was organized. Francesco won Wayne's heart by gifting him a six-pack of a local beer named Puppers. Wayne's operation was in its early stages and they quickly decided that they could use Francesco. 

It was time to roll up the sleeves and get to work.