Il preludio

Sitting on the edge of the ship, Carmine gazed out at the huge ocean separating his former life from the uncertain and scary future. Even at the young age of nine, he saw that the world he was leaving behind in his little Sicilian village was considerably different from the one that awaiting him in America. His family was running from need, not for excitement or adventure. Even though the Great War was over, its effects could still be seen everywhere, particularly in southern Italy. The family had taken the difficult choice to sell what little they had and travel across the ocean in search of a better life, but poverty, starvation, and uncertainty hung over his village like a shadow.

Families like Carmine's were crammed onto the ship, holding on to their possessions and aspirations. They had to put up with crowded accommodations, poor bread, and the constant movement of the water for weeks. Carmine frequently imagined what America may look like, dreaming, wondering, hoping that it is everything and more. When his father talked about opportunity, he described streets lined with gold and work for anyone who was prepared to work for it. His mother, who was more circumspect, emphasized to him the importance of family and faith. They prayed together every night, reciting rosaries while their voices blended with other travelers' whispers in the faint candlelight of their cabin.

On a cool November morning, they eventually reached New York Harbor. When Carmine first saw the Statue of Liberty, its shiny brown form soaring tall and strong against the sky, his pulse raced. With a voice full of sorrow, his father said, "There she is. Lady Hope." Carmine knew it was significant even if he didn't fully comprehend what it meant, how could he, his whole life he had known only sorrow, poverty, starvation, he did not know what hope was or can do. People around them clutched to one another in quiet thanks or wept aloud. Even though none of them could have predicted the difficulties that would lie ahead, it seemed as though the monument assured them that their struggles were over.

Ellis Island was a haze of uncertainty and racket. As officials shouted commands in a language he didn't understand, Carmine held his mother's hand tightly. Like many others, his family was examined, questioned, and analyzed. They were given permission to enter the United States after what seemed like hours. With just a suitcase and some lira converted to US dollars, they set out on the streets of Manhattan. The noise, crowds, and chaos of the city were overwhelming. Automobiles and horse-drawn carts jostled, and Carmine could hear people shouting in a variety of languages everywhere she turned. It was not at all like his peaceful Sicilian hometown. A new life, a new destiny and for the first time, hope.

Il secondo atto

In the center of Little Italy, the family moved into a small and claustrophobic apartment, with creaking flooring and peeling wallpaper, but it was home, they made it home. Carmine's father worked long hours for little money in a manufacturing. In order to make a few more bucks, his mother took up sewing, using her dexterous fingers to repair clothes for neighbors. Despite their lack of wealth, what mattered was that they were together. Just as before their time and time before that, family is what mattered.

America was a difficult place to live. In the faint light of the one bulb they could manage to keep on, Carmine, frequently went to bed hungry, stomach complaining. Their apartment's flimsy walls let frigid drafts in during the hard winters, at some times, the family thought that it would be warmer if they lived in a cave. Carmine missed the taste of fresh figs from the tree in his backyard and the warmth of the Sicilian sun. His parents, however, never voiced any complaints. His mother would exclaim, "We are blessed," in a forceful, conviction-filled voice. "We will take full advantage of the fact that God has brought us here."

Carmine was old enough to understand the suffering, but he was also old enough to understand that life that he has now, does not bring any future. It was not living, it was surviving. Carmine and his family had a strong religious conviction that served as the foundation for their existence. They went to Mass every Sunday, where the priest, who spoke Italian, urged them to have faith in God's plan. Carmine admired the church's majesty and the way the sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the walls. After services, he would frequently stay and burn candles for family members they had left behind in Sicily and look up at the statues of saints.

Carmine took on duties to assist in providing for the family as he grew older. He began delivering loaves of bread to customers at a nearby bakery after school when he was twelve years old. He learned to maneuver through the busy streets of Manhattan with a cart full of freshly baked goodies and awoke before morning to carry large sacks of flour. Despite his meager income, he was proud to support his mother and gave her every cent.

The Tragedy of Carmine Moretti

Carmine Moretti's life ended suddenly and tragically on a cold winter evening, somewhere around Christmas. The typical commotion of the busy streets continued to echo. Children played in the alleyways, vendors shouted their wares and prices, and the smell of hard working immigrants filled the street, with pride, joy and sadness. Carmine's hands moved in a familiar patters, with ease, as he walked around the block, carefully inspecting those who were paying protection. He was barely a young lad, but all the hardships pushed him over the edge and in matter of few months, he went from a good city boy, to a mobster. If you could call that a person that barely had any beard on his face.

Down the street, there was a ruckus as was just finishing his route, his tour. Upon raising his head, Carmine saw two men running through the crowd, their expressions tight and frenzied. They sprinted, shoving past pedestrians and toppling barrels and crates. A third man, with a gun in his fisted palm, pursued them from behind. People yelled and ducked for shelter, as panic filled the air. Uncertain of what was going on, Carmine froze. Even through the confusion, the men's labored breathing could be heard as they ran closer. The first pair sped by him, their boots banging on the sidewalk. Just a few steps behind stood the man with the gun, his face flushed with anger.

"Get out of the way!" the gunman barked, his voice raspy and desperate. Carmine instinctively stepped back, raising his hands. "I don't want no trouble," he mumbled in his thick Sicilian accent, the English still broken after all these years. In that moment, one of the attackers glanced back and stumbled, slamming into a stack of crates next to Carmine's and tumbling over. As the containers fell, a stream of oranges rolled into the street. The shooter narrowed his eyes and raised his gun. Like a thunder, the shot echoed through the winding street.

Carmine stumbled back, a shocked expression on his face. He was hit squarely in the chest by the bullet, which had missed its aim. Blood gushed out, painting his white shirt into crimson red, and with that, he sank to his knees and muttered the last words ever spoken "Damn you, BadWolf." 

The family mourned deeply, their grief being a testament to love, respect and loyalty. A man who has given everything to the family. Although the life on the streets moved on, name was whispered for years. A reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of chance.