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There have been 3 months since I left America, where I started as a poor imigrant and achieved a well respected place on the company ran by Bruiser, under the wings of Godfather Iota.
I grew so much, I got trusted by my bosses to be their representative in Italy, working as a link between both organisations.
One morning, however, I woke up with someone knocking at my door. I opened it up and a couple of thugs were standing there. Alarmed, I moved his hand to his gun, but immediately they identified themselves as members of the Chicago's mafia, proving it by organisation secret means.
They said they had ordes to deliver one letter and escort me to the docks. They handed me an envelope and while I read it they start packing my personal objects and clothes. I had climbed high enough to not need to bother with those simple tasks.
As I opened the letter I recognized Iota's handwriting, which updated me with the new situation in my old home. Many things had happened after my departure that I already knew. Some really heavy for me, as the death of all upper structure in Bruiser's but Luigi Trabotti, who was now in charge of a crew himself. It was quite hard for me to follow this happenings so far away and miss my friends funerals and the chance of doing something good for his families.
The letter though brought me some recent news. Jim Levenstein, a Chicago's captain in former times, was now Godfather of New Orleans, and brought Luigi to the city with him. But the most interesting part was that the son of Bruiser's was also working on the big easy and, having the same leadership skills of his father, was already authed to set up. Tough kid he was!
What Iota and Jim intended for me, as the only former member still alive besides Luigi (who was already in charge of too much) , was my return to America and I should join Bruiser Jr, to make sure the boy had all experience and counseling he might need.
I was obviously very happy with this task, since I was very fond of the his father and was really broken hearted when he I heard he was killed and that I would not be able to show up at his funeral. When my luggage was ready we head on to the car and they drove me to the port. Over there I boarded a fast transatlantic ship which would take me back to my old/new home: USA!
Three weeks later, here I am, back on the US, now on New Orleans' streets to restart the american dream. Or at least the dream America let's us have.
Big easy, be ready for me! |
