<em>The last few sunny days that Detroit had been graced with, during a particularly poor summer season, were quite eventful for one of the Motor City's young residents. This was his fifteenth summer, all of which he had spent within the limits of Detroit. The city had been kind to him, as had the family friends whom he had taken shelter with after both his father and uncle found themselves tragically taken from him.</em>

<em>In his last days, Salvatore Gato had sat with his nephew and spoken in great length about his brother, Louis. He took great care in explaining to the young man the underworld tales and illegitimate deeds the two had done in the name of Miss Rossi and Detroit. He explained many things, in a way that would suggest he was passing on a legacy, giving the young Gato the chance to decide for himself which life he would opt for.</em>

<em>Samuel Gato suddenly found himself knocked out of deep thought as another passer by brushed him aside as they went about their daily chore. What of that life? Is it strength which keeps these people working long hours for small gain? Or is it fear of anything different?<em>

<em>Shaking his head, Sammy continued on his way, looking back and forth at the café's and bars that lined the business district. He was looking for Edward Rossi, and so far had gotten nowhere. The younger Rossi was the only possible link between Gato and Miss Rossi herself. His father had left some items with her before his death, and now Samuel had to get from the bottom of the pile to the top in one step. </em>

<em>Edward was one of the few contacts even considered approachable by someone of Samuel's position, and such was his determination that he found himself wandering into and being forced back out of bars again in his search more times than he could now count. But where do you find one man, of his position?</em>

After a long afternoon of research and studying his family's genealogy, Edward stepped out of the library and walked down the street.  He headed to the local delicatessen store for his weekly selection of cold cuts to take home.  He enjoyed his capicola, as did most Italian-Americans. 

After getting his order and paying the man, Edward left the deli and continued his journey back to his home.  He only lived a few streets over so walking would suffice.  It would do him well to get some fresh air and mingle with some civilians.  He would stop and greet with several of them sitting out on their stoops.  Making friends with the locals would benefit a man in his position so many ways.  Safe houses, the use of their extra storage, and no one ratting you out to the police.

Several blocks of mingling and Edward needed to get a move on.  He had some business to take care.  Another guy who could not pay his debts and he was given word that his time was up.  This was always the messy part of the job.  No one wanted to do this but they had to.  To teach everyone else a lesson.

Edward rounded the corner and bumped into another man.  "Excuse me, sir.  My apologies", Edward said to the man.  But wait!  He looked very familiar.  Perhaps he had seen him before, but where?  The mysterious man glanced at Edward for a moment and tipped his hat.  That was it!  That facial expression.  He remembered why the man looked so familiar now.  Edward's cousin, Doc Santoro, had a picture at his home of Doc, his friend/boss Cruel, his former boss Louis Gato, and Louis' brother Salvatore.  This man looked just like Salvatore.  The reflection of his face, the stride when he walked, even the way he would tip his hat.

"Hey, did you know a man by the name of Salvatore Gato?"