Armando Caparelli sat in his spacious home office late one morning in early December, sipping tea laced with anisette. He hated coffee. His consiglieri, Bruno Messina, was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his large, ornate desk going over the previous month’s take. “We broke a record last month,” Bruno said. “We took in more than a million bucks for the first time. Not bad for November, no?”

Armando nodded, a slight smile on his face. He put his glasses on to have a look at the numbers. “The gambling slows down in November. Men need to think about Christmas. Where did we make up the difference?”

“The garment union twisted some arms and then, I think the gambling wasn’t off as much this year.”

Armando nodded approvingly. As the head of the most powerful mafia family in New Jersey, he was looking forward to the East Coast commission meeting in January. It had been a very good year for the Caparelli family. “When JFK takes office next month. things will really open up. I want you to…” Just then his office door opened, something that was rarely allowed. Armando looked up, startled by the intrusion. Then he smiled. It was his nephew Tony, a headstrong 21-year-old he doted on.

“Hello, Uncle! It’s your favorite nephew. I got something for you.” He nodded at Bruno, who returned the kid’s nod with a grimace. He was not so charmed by Tony. He thought the kid was weak and foolish. Of course, he never dared to say such a thing to Armando. When it came to his nephew, Armando seemed blind to the kid’s weakness. He was carrying a box that held four, gallon sized jugs of homemade red wine. “My father wanted me to bring this over here. It’s for the holidays.”

Armando smiled. “Tony, tell your father thank you. I won’t forget it.” He paused and stroked his chin. “Never mind. I’ll tell him myself on Christmas Eve when you’re all here for dinner.” Tony’s mother was Armando’s sister. Her family of five always had Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner at his home.

Tony glanced at Bruno again. “I need to talk to you about something,” he said to his uncle. “You got a minute or should I come back later?”

Armando smiled at Bruno. “Give us a few minutes, Bruno.”

Bruno stood up. His powerful body somehow seemed small, being dismissed like that. A smart man whose muscular frame and dark face belied his intelligence, he hid his resentment. “I’ll be watching TV in the basement. Call me when you’re ready.” He stretched his tall, middle aged body, and nodded toward the kid as he walked to the door.

Tony took the chair where Bruno had been sitting. “I got a little problem,” he said.

Armando didn’t move a muscle. “What is it?”

“My girlfriend’s pregnant.”

“She tell you that?”

“Well, yeah, she did, why?”

Armando scratched his mustache and didn’t answer right away. “So, what’s the problem,” he asked, finally. “You’re going to marry her in the church. I’ll get the bishop to perform the ceremony.”

 Tony frowned. A worried look in his eyes now. “There’s another problem.”

Armando picked up the pencil from his desk and started to draw circles. He loved his nephew but he secretly agreed with Bruno. The kid wasn’t especially sharp. Bruno never said so. He didn’t have to. Armando was a student of body language. “What’s that?”

“She’s already married,” Tony said, his head tilted toward the floor.

Armando stood up and walked around his desk to where his nephew was sitting. He cuffed him on the back of his head. “What’s wrong with you? How could you be so foolish?”

“I love her, Uncle Armando. I want to marry her, but you know it’s almost impossible to get a divorce in this state.”

“Who is she married to?”

“A Newark cop.”

Again, Armando swatted his nephew. “Sei pazzo o solo uno sciocco?” He was asking his nephew if he was crazy or simply a fool. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

Armando went back to his chair. He took a deep breath. “What you’re going to do is let her go. Let her have your child. She can tell her husband the child is his.” He started drawing circles again, something he often did when he was thinking through a problem. “Is the husband Italian?” 

“Yeah, last name’s Tucci, but she wants us to get married.”

Armando shook his head, getting angry now. “What did you come here for? Do you want money to send her to Mexico where maybe a divorce is possible?”

“I don’t know. I need your advice, Uncle.”

“Let me ask you something. How do you know the child is yours?”

“She told me it is.”

“And you believe her?”

“Yeah, she don’t do anything with him. She hates him.”

“Does she already have children?”

Tony shook his head. “No.”           

Armando looked at his nephew, his face impassive; deliberately keeping what he was thinking to himself. “Listen to me, Tony. Be smart now. Let her go.”

Tony shifted his weight. He was near tears, but he didn’t dare cry. “There has to be another way.” He looked into his uncle’s eyes, trying to convey his real reason for his visit without uttering the words.

Armando grasped it immediately. He knew what the kid wanted. It was unthinkable and he was disappointed that his nephew was so naïve that he would suggest such a thing. The kid had hopes of joining the family business full time, which, supposedly, was trucking. Until now, Armando had limited Tony to minor tasks, like comparison shopping, driving one of the trucks and picking up the family’s cut from bookies.

Just a few days ago, Armando had asked Bruno if he thought Tony was ready for more responsibility. Bruno had said, “I would give that more time. Our friend at the terminal says he spends too much time making calls from phone booths. We don’t know who he talks to. Probably a girlfriend.” Armando wondered now if Bruno was aware of Tony’s affair with a married woman.

He fixed Tony with a stern look and said, “This is not an unsolvable problem. It calls for a creative solution, not a blunt instrument. Give me your girlfriend’s name and address. I’ll look into the matter for you. Until then, you are to take no actions. Don’t even speak to the woman, capisce?”

“I gotta talk to her Uncle. We talk five times a day.”

Armando smiled in spite of himself. “I understand. Just keep it light. Does she know you’re my nephew?”

Tony shrugged. “Everybody knows that.”

Armando tapped his pencil on his desk. “Did you tell her you would speak to me about your problem?”

“Hell no! I’m not that stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid, nephew. Now, do what I said and write down her name and address and get out of here. I have work to do. And leave the wine in the kitchen with your Aunt Gina.”

 

When Bruno returned to the office the two men continued their review of the prior month’s financial results, much like any business would. Thy also discussed promotions of a few good earners, who they deemed ready for more responsibility. But Bruno noticed his boss seemed a bit distracted. “Everything okay with Tony?” he asked.

Armando smiled, appreciating his consiglieri’s astuteness. “He’s got himself in a bind. He still uses his little head when he should be using the big head.”

“Anything I can do?” Bruno asked.

Armando explained the situation. He picked up the slip of paper Tony gave him and handed it to Bruno. “Get someone to talk to the woman. Donna Tucci is her name. Find a young woman who can talk to her. Maybe this Donna woman has a friend who would like a few extra dollars for Christmas.” He paused a moment, drawing more circles. “See if you can find a cop who knows Tucci. Someone discreet who might be able to find out if Tucci is happy at home. Don’t tell either one of them why we’re asking.”

“How much time do we have to get this done?”

“I want it done in 48 hours. My nephew says he’s in love. He’s young, he’s impetuous and that might make him do something foolish.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

 

After lunch, Bruno had Stephen, one of his young lieutenants, who came from Tucci’s neighborhood, come to his office, an Italian American social club in Newark’s North Ward. Bruno had driven there in his five-year-old Buick Roadmaster. He had always been careful not to look too prosperous. He could easily afford a top-of-the-line new Cadillac, but he wouldn’t dream of it. He made a point of telling his people that if they ever drove up in a car that looked too rich, he would have it crushed at the junkyard the next day.

“Stevie, do you happen to know Donna Tucci?” Bruno liked being the man behind the desk.

Stevie was a short, wiry guy who was surprisingly effective at high jacking trucks filled with easy to fence goods. “Sure, I know her. She went to high school with my sister, Janice.”

“How is your sister?” Bruno brushed some crumbs from his vest.

“Janice? All right, I guess. She’s got three bratty kids and a jerk for a husband. I give her a few bucks now and then.” Stevie waited, anticipating there would be some connection between Donna Tucci and his sister, but he couldn’t imagine what that might be.

“Does Janice stay in touch with Donna?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“You think she would do us a little favor and talk to Donna about something? It’s worth a hundred bucks if she does a good job.”

“For that kind of money, she’ll do a great job.”

Bruno explained to Stevie what he was looking for without telling him the specific reason behind the request. “Just see if Donna is happy at home and whether there might be anybody else in her life.”

 

Donna Tucci was surprised to hear from her friend, Janice. They hadn’t spoken or seen each other in three months. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Donna said when Janice showed up at her door. Janice had gained a lot of weight, but Donna, still trim, pretended not to notice

“I was in the neighborhood and my mother is watching the kids,” Janice said. Donna invited her into her apartment and the women sat together on the couch.

After some brief chit-chat, Janice asked, “So, how are you?”

“Okay, I guess.” Donna looked away from her friend. 

“Trouble in paradise? Is Danny giving you a hard time?”

“You were always good at reading me,” Donna said.  The two young women moved to Donna’s small kitchen. The third-floor apartment where she and her husband lived was in a decent neighborhood, but it was beginning to change. “I’m pregnant, and this one-bedroom dump isn’t even big enough for Danny and me.” She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her house dress. She was weeping now.

“But you and Danny can afford something a little bigger, can’t you?”

“He doesn’t want me to work. But there’s something else.” She was bawling now. “The baby isn’t his.”

Janice stiffened. This was more than she’d bargained for. She knew instinctively that this was why her brother offered her so much money. “Who’s the father?”

“I can’t tell you that. I want you to know that I love him. Danny has been a prick since the day I married him. This is such a mess.”

Janice, making herself at home now, got up and put a pot of coffee on. She lit the stove and sat back down. She felt a genuine affection for her old friend. She looked at Donna and saw a young woman who was still very pretty with dark eyes and coal black hair. Even without makeup, she was attractive. “Could it be Danny’s child?”

Donna shook her head, no. “I think I have to get an abortion. Does your brother know anybody?” Most of the people from the neighborhood knew how Stevie earned his living.

Janice quickly made the Sign of the Cross. “Don’t say that! My brother wouldn’t know anything about that.”

 

Plainclothes Officer Mike Wade sat in his patrol car counting the twenties and fifties he’d just received from a member of the Caparelli family. He didn’t know the guy’s name. He just met the man the first Tuesday of every month behind Dugan’s commercial bakery on Third Street in Newark. He’d been a cop for fourteen years now and had gotten used to the extra income partly for looking the other way, but mostly for tipping the Caparelli mob off about investigations or possible raids. “Do you know Danny Tucci?” the man asked.

“Yeah, I know Tucci. Seen him around. Odd duck if you ask me.”

The man, who wore a fedora, nodded. “I need you to check him out. Somebody is interested in his home life.”

“What about it?” Wade asked.

“Is he happy? Does he step out now and then?”

“What’s this about?”

“Finish counting your money.” The man said. It was a signal not to ask questions like that.

“What’s it worth to you?” Wade asked.

“Can you do it?”

Wade thought about it. “Yeah, I think so. I know a couple of guys who would probably know Tucci’s situation. They all talk, you know what I’m sayin’?”

 

“I’ll make it worth your while, but the answers can’t be guesses. I need to know specifically what’s going on.”

“Wait a minute. If there’s any chance Tucci’s gonna disappear, no deal.”

“No chance of that happening. But I’m going to need you and whoever you talk to…” he paused and stared at Wade to make sure he understood, “to be discreet.”

“Is there any bread in it for my guys?”

“How much do you need?”

A C-note each should do it.”

“You got 48 hours, Mike. Make it happen and meet me here Thursday at four o’clock.”        

 

 After dinner that Thursday night, Bruno arrived at Armando’s home just before 7:30. It was brutally cold out and he was grateful that the Don was such a thoughtful man. Just as they were about to sit down in his den, Armando’s wife, Gina, walked in with a brandy snifter, glasses and a bowl of shelled, roasted chestnuts. Gina, a slightly plump woman, exchanged a few pleasantries with Bruno before leaving to watch television.

“So, what do we know about my nephew’s problem?” Armando asked.

Bruno reached for a couple of chestnuts. “The young woman says she’s in love with Tony, but wants an abortion. She asked if Stevie could arrange it.”

Armando frowned. “Un peccato mortale,” He pointed his finger at Bruno. “Stevie knows better than that.”

Bruno agreed. A mortal sin like that was unforgivable. “He does. I’d break his neck myself if he did something like that.”

Armando poured them each a healthy dose of Brandy. “What else?”

“The girl is scared to death, but Stevie’s sister told her to wait a while. She might have implied that Stevie could help some other way.” Bruno took a gulp of his brandy. It was the perfect accompaniment to the chestnuts. “The cop is another matter. Tucci is a good looking guy. The girls like him and he likes them back. He sees two of them on a regular basis. Thinks his wife is cold and unimaginative.”

Armando held up his hand. He wasn’t interested in Tucci’s sex life; only what could be done to fix the problem for his nephew. Bruno flushed a little. He tipped his glass toward his boss in apology. “There is something you should know. One of Tucci’s girlfriends is our friend Cosgrove’s wife.”

Armando’s head snapped upright. “The State Senator?”

“Yeah, the cop’s got balls,” Bruno said.

Armando nodded. “That doesn’t make him smart, though.” 

“I don’t know how we can fix this for Tony,” Bruno said, shifting now into his consiglieri role. “Divorce is a real problem. Legally, and for religious reasons, the problem’s practically impossible to overcome. The families on both sides of that marriage are all good Catholics. A divorce would be traumatic for them.”

Armando changed the subject, asking questions about college football and income projections from the betting slips his men distributed all over North Jersey. They ate more chestnuts and sipped more brandy, but Bruno could see that Armando was also thinking through his report while they talked.

It was a trait Bruno admired in his boss. The man had a great capacity for complexity. He could see opportunities, even in the midst of the most complicated problems. He came up with solutions that other men would never even imagine. In short, he could turn a seeming disaster into a fortune. He had a brilliant mind, Bruno thought. The man could have been a brain surgeon had he chosen a different path.

Armando, himself, had no such illusions. He simply believed that if he took his time, examined issues from all sides, a solution could be found to almost any problem. And, if need be, he had the means and the will to make some problems disappear. He didn’t think his nephew’s problem was important. Had it been one of his soldiers, he would have ordered him to do what his nephew should do. Let the woman go and move on.

But Tony was his sister’s only child. He could see that, left to his own devices, the kid might do something very foolish. He was headstrong and, like many young men, he had little patience. He might use his connection to his uncle to convince a naïve member of the Caparelli family that he was relaying orders directly from his uncle. That was something even Armando might not be able to fix. In the long run, it would be easier to find a solution that would allow his nephew to have what he wanted. He would have to find a way.

On Saturday morning, as he occasionally did, Armando went to the Italian market to buy veal chops and broccoli rabe for dinner. When he stepped outside, he saw Father Como, the parish priest, walk by. He could tell that the priest had seen him, but was pretending not to. The man was always nervous around him, as if Armando might ask him to break his vows or give last rights to someone who was dying from a gunshot wound.

“Father Como, come stai?”

“Oh, I didn’t see you Mr. Caparelli. I’m fine. How are you?”

Armando wondered if the priest might feel it necessary to confess his lie. “Well, Father. I’m glad I ran into you. Let me buy you an espresso. I need your advice.”

The priest considered whether he could ask Armando to come to the rectory to chat, perhaps on Monday, but he thought better of it. He might as well get whatever Armando wanted over with. “Sure,” he said.

The two men walked into a bakery a few doors down. The hot, fresh Italian bread’s aroma was delightful.  The Don ordered an espresso for the priest and hot tea for himself. He added a piece of pastry for each of them. The priest made a gesture to pay for his, but Armand gave him a sideways glance, and the young man removed his hand from his pocket.

“How may I help you?” the young priest asked.

“Father, I ask on behalf of a young man, a good Catholic, whether the Church ever grants a divorce.”

“No, that isn’t possible. Is the young man struggling in his marriage? Perhaps I can offer him and his wife counsel.” The priest shifted his heavy frame in the chair, trying to get comfortable.

“It seems so, Father. I don’t know about counseling. Isn’t there some way out of the marriage that would permit them to remain in good standing and continue to receive the sacraments?”

The priest took a forkful of pastry and swallowed it, barely pausing to chew. “An annulment is the only way. But annulments are very hard to get. One must have sufficient grounds.”

This news peaked Armando’s interest. He hadn’t thought about that option, but he saw immediately that an annulment might well do the trick. “Refresh my memory, Father. What are the acceptable grounds?”

“Failure to consummate the marriage, bigamy, or refusal of a spouse to have children would likely be sufficient, but again the approval process can be grueling.”

“Describe the process for me.”

“There is an enormous amount of paperwork. Each party must answer a lot of questions. If the annulment is approved by the diocese, it goes to another one for tribunal review. If the tribunal approves, the matter goes to Rome for a final decision.”

“How long does that take?” Armando asked,

“Hard to say. It’s a long process.” The priest put his hands in his lap. “And, it’s expensive.”

Armando thanked Father Como and headed home.

As soon as he got home, he called his fellow Don, Pete Orciuoli in New York, and explained the problem. Orciuoli laughed. “Tell your nephew to find a new girl.”

The men chatted about business for a while, until Orciuoli returned to the topic at hand. “I’m pretty sure my friend, the Cardinal, can expedite this. It will cost you a pretty penny. Your nephew, he has the scratch for this?”

“He’ll have to find it. How much?”

“I’ll get back to you. Might be upwards of fifty G’s”

Armando knew Tony didn’t have that kind of money. Certainly, his nephew would have to pay for his foolishness. It would teach him a lesson. It was no different than a gambling debt to Armando. The kid would have to make payments until Armando was satisfied that Tony understood that actions have consequences. The Don knew, of course, that if the plan he had in mind worked, there would be additional expenses he would have to cover. He could afford it. In the long run, it would probably cost him less than letting his nephew try to solve the problem on his own.   

Armando spent Saturday night and Sunday morning mulling over the best way to approach the situation. He knew that an annulment would work only if Mr. and Mrs. Tucci were willing to go along with it. Late Sunday afternoon, just after five o’clock, he called his nephew. “Tony, come to the house. I need to talk to you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tony was there, wearing a high roll dress shirt, black slacks, black flyweight shoes and an expensive black leather jacket. “You have a date tonight?” Armando asked, concealing a grin by clenching his pipe in his teeth.

“Yeah, Donna’s husband is working tonight.”

“I want you to ask her if she is willing to file for an annulment.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Don’t it take at least a couple of years to get one of them?”

Armando didn’t answer Tony. He just waited.

“I’ll ask her,” Tony said.

“Ask her if her husband might be willing to get one. Don’t press her, just ask. Call me in the morning.” He patted Tony on the shoulder. Softly, he added, “Ask her if her husband wants children.”

 

The next morning, Armando was sitting in his kitchen drinking coffee and eating bacon and eggs. Gina sat close to him. Even after 37 years of marriage, they had never lost affection for each other. She was still in her pajamas and robe. He was dressed and ready to go to work. She never asked him about his work, having learned long ago that for many reasons it was better not to know. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

“It’s Monday night. I have a poker game on Monday nights,” he said.

She pouted a little. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

He looked at her and reached over to kiss her. “I won’t be too late. You gonna wait up for me?”

She laughed now, knowing he wouldn’t be home until after midnight. “Wake me up when you get in.” She kissed him back.

He went to his home office to pick up a few letters he wanted to mail. His phone rang. It was Tony. “Hey, Uncle Armando, I asked Donna. She would love to get an annulment, but she thinks it’s impossible. And, even if she could get one, the kid would be three years old by the time it was final.”

“What about her husband? Does he want children?”

“Oh, she said they never talk about it.”

“Tony, did you ask her?”

Tony let out a loud sigh. “I forgot, Uncle.”

Armando shook his head. He wasn’t surprised.   

Armando had his driver take him to the social club. In his earlier days, he spent a lot of time there. Now, he rarely went to the club. When he arrived, the men who’d been standing around chatting, did one of two things. The younger men scurried about looking for their coats and headed for the door after inquiring about Don Armando’s health. The older guys took turns, based on their rank, welcoming the boss and thanking him for favors he may have granted even a year or two ago. They inquired about his health and asked how his family was doing.

He took this in stride. He was irritated that the younger men weren’t already out hustling. After all it was almost ten o’clock, but he said nothing and didn’t show it in his countenance. He would mention it, privately, to Bruno later.

“Where’s Carlo?” he asked nobody in particular.

“Getting a haircut,” one of the men answered.

Armando looked at his watch. “I need to talk to him.”

“I know where he is. I’ll get him,” the same man said. Another man, much older, and retired now, brought Armando a cup of tea and a biscotti.

When Carlo arrived, slightly out of breath, he approached Armando cautiously. “I heard you wanted to see me. Why didn’t you call me? I could have come out to your house.” Carlo Natoli was one of the organization’s captains. Athletically built, he was younger than most of the men who had attained that rank.

Armando waved him off. “Good to see you, Carlo. You putting on weight?” He smiled, letting his captain know he was teasing him. He led the man into another room so they could talk privately. “I have a little job for you. I need somebody who knows how to use a light touch and yet let someone know that not cooperating could be a problem not worth having.”

“Thank you, Godfather Armando. I will do whatever you ask.”

Armando explained Tony’s problem, without revealing that Donna was pregnant or that his nephew was involved.

“I know Tucci. I used to hang out with his older brother when we were in high school.”

Armando smiled. Carlo didn’t realize that Armando knew this; that he picked Carlo partly because he knew Tucci. “Good, I need you to talk to this cop. Tell him there’s trouble headed his way. That maybe there’s a way out” Armando gave Carlo specific instructions, hoping his man would use tact and not sound threatening.

“It sounds tricky. I mean why would the guy want an annulment?”

“Just see how he reacts to the idea. Tell him people are talking, but don’t mention the Senator or his wife. See if he catches on.”

 

Carlo made it his business to see Danny Tucci that afternoon. He caught the officer as he was walking to his car after his shift had ended. “Hey, Danny, how’s it going?”

“Carlo.” Tucci didn’t care for the man.

“I gotta admit, running into you like this isn’t a coincidence. We need to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Tucci unlocked his 1953 Plymouth and started to get in. As a police officer, he wasn’t intimidated by men like Carlo.

“About your love life, Danny.”

That brought Tucci up short. “What are you talking about?’

“Meet me at Ting-a-Lings. I’ll buy you a hotdog.” Tucci nodded, a bit worried now.

The men sat down and ate their hotdogs, neither of them in a rush to get down to business. Finally, Carlo spoke. “There have been some rumors about you and a woman, not your wife. Certain people are pissed off about what you been doing with her. They want to make trouble for you.”

Tucci, young, and not yet sophisticated in matters like this, studied the man sitting across from him. “What woman?”

“Come on Danny. You know who I’m talking about. You’re about to make page two of the Newark Star Ledger. Maybe page one. But there is a way out if you’re smart enough to take it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got nothing to hide.” He put his hand on his holster, a not-so-subtle message to Carlo.

“Have it your way, kid. I’m just trying to help.” Taking his time, he started to stand.

“If there was something going on, just to satisfy my curiosity, what do these people want from me?” Tucci asked.

“Talk to your wife. Tell her you want an annulment. Tell her you don’t want kids. Tell her you know people who can arrange one in a matter of weeks.”

Tucci thought that over. The hotdog was suddenly ripping up his stomach. “How does that make any sense? How would getting an annulment make any difference to the people you say are pissed off?”

“Is your marriage good?” Carlo asked.

“What difference does that make?”

Carlo smiled. “Is it good?”

“It’s all right, I guess. My wife won’t agree to a divorce or an annulment, no matter what I say. I can tell you that.”

“After she sees your picture in the newspaper as a co-respondent in a divorce case, she might change her mind. But what I’m telling you is she don’t have to know anything about your situation.”

Tucci waved his hand in the air. “If she didn’t know anything, why would she agree to an annulment? You’re not making sense, man.” Tucci stood up. He paused for a moment before turning to leave, eying Carlo carefully. “If you come within ten feet of me ever again, I’ll shoot you and plant a gun on you. I don’t care if you and my brother are friends.”

Carlo was not impressed “Think it over, Danny. There’s more going on here than I can tell you about.” He took another bite of his hotdog as he watched Tucci leave.

Carlo drove to Armando’s home to give him a report. Bruno was sitting with the boss when he arrived. Carlo looked at Armando, not sure he should say anything.

“It’s okay, what did Tucci say?” Armando asked. “Go ahead, take a seat.” A more experienced captain would have been more relaxed. But Carlo had been promoted less than a year ago.

“He wasn’t convinced. Worried a little, maybe, but not enough to take my suggestion seriously.” Carlo provided the details of his conversation with the cop.

Armando looked at Bruno for his reaction. “It would be easier if we knew how he really feels about his wife. If he loves her, we might be better off dropping the matter entirely. This could get ugly. Like it or not, as a cop, the guy’s in a position to take revenge on Tony. If that happens it could be years before we could settle the score. Word would get around and we would look foolish, weak even, especially in front of the other Families.”

“The man has a wife and two girlfriends,” Armando said. “Let’s assume he isn’t in love with his wife.”

“Right, we have some room to maneuver,” Bruno said. “We can make it so he isn’t exposed. He gets to keep his job and if he wants to continue playing around with the senator’s wife, who cares?”

“We could pay him for his trouble, right?” Carlo asked.

Armando picked up his pipe, added tobacco and lit it. The two men sitting in front of him waited patiently.  The boss picked up his pencil and drew a couple of circles.

“Bruno, have our contact at the Star Ledger call this cop and ask him if he’s ready to confirm or deny the story about Mrs. Cosgrove. Tell him to say the paper has pictures.”

He turned to Carlo. “Tucci is young. I’m sure he’s worried in spite of his defiance. After we know he’s heard from our reporter, call him and tell him he’s got 24 hours to start the annulment process. He’s to call this number.” He handed Carlo a slip of paper with just a phone number on it. “That’s the direct line of the Cardinal that’s going to handle his case. Let him know there’s $10,000 waiting for him if he does the right thing. Otherwise, he’s going to make page one of the Ledger and his wife and family, his neighbors; everybody is going to know what he’s been up to. Tell him his other girlfriend is going to be in the papers too.”

“Remember, he told me his wife ain’t gonna go for an annulment.”

“Tell him not to worry about that. She’ll go along. Tell him a friend of yours guarantees it.”

Carlo shrugged “He’s gonna want to know who, what friend?”

“That will be a good test for you,” Armando said. “I know you won’t disappoint me.”

 

 The next morning, Tucci was home, sitting in his underwear and drinking coffee. It was his day off. He’d had a restless night. He’d slept on their tiny couch, thinking about his conversation with Carlo Natoli. He wondered exactly how much the guy knew. Usually, he would see one of his girlfriends on his day off. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Should he say anything to Claire Cosgrove? Further complicating his life was Donna. When he got home from work last night she’d been in a pissy mood. They argued and he accused her of stepping out on him. She denied it angrily, but something in her face suggested she was lying. He slapped her a few times. He’d hit her before, but this time, he left a couple of ugly bruises on her face.  

She didn’t get up to make him breakfast. He looked in on her before he jumped in the shower but she was curled up in the bed and still crying.

The phone rang. “Tucci residence.”

“Good morning Mr. Tucci. My name is Lou Bradley. I’m with the Newark Star Ledger. I’m working on a story about you and a certain senator’s wife. It’s a love triangle. I have a few questions to ask you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tucci said. His entire body went stiff. He felt as if he had been slapped.

“Sir, we are running this item tomorrow. It will be in the morning papers, with compromising photos. Don’t you want to tell us your side of the story?”  The reporter had been instructed by the people who had him on their payroll to add what he said next. “You’re going to lose your job and probably your marriage anyway once this story is out.”

“Go to hell!” Tucci whispered, slamming down the phone. An hour later, Donna was still in bed and he was still sitting in his skivvies unable to move. The phone rang again. He stared at it and it kept ringing. Unbeknownst to him, Carlo was calling from a phone booth across the street from his apartment. Finally, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Danny, it’s Carlo. I know you’re in a jam, buddy, but I got a way out for you.”

Tucci was eager now for any way out. “I’m listening.”

“Good, now you’re being smart. Take this number down. It’s the private line of a Cardinal in New York. Tell him who you are and that you and your wife want an annulment. Make sure you mention you refuse to have kids. He’s expecting your call. Do this right and there’s ten grand in it for you. Oh, and all this other stuff goes away, even the newspaper stories. Got it?”

“What if my wife won’t go for it?” Tucci asked.

“She’ll go along. An impeccable source says so.”

“Who?”

“Wise up, Danny. You got 24 hours, but I wouldn’t wait that long if I were you. Make that call now.”

Danny hung up and went into the bedroom. “We gotta get an annulment, Donna. You okay with that?”

“Yes, I’ll do whatever it takes to get away from you.”

Slowly, Tucci was catching on. He didn’t know the details, but he suspected his wife was somehow involved in this if not behind it. He looked at her half in anger and half in relief. He didn’t love her and never did. He got dressed and called the Cardinal.

It was a month later when Tucci heard that Donna was pregnant and living in Florida with a member of the Caparelli family. He was incensed. He vowed to take his revenge and foolishly, let a good number of fellow officers and friends know what he was thinking. A week later, Mike Wade, the plainclothes cop who had done the reconnaissance job on Tucci, got him alone in the locker room early one morning. “Danny, you might as well clean out your locker now. You’re resigning today.”

“What? You’re crazy. I’m not quitting.”

“Yeah, you are. If you don’t your affair with Senator Cosgrove’s wife is gonna become known and you will be fired. Go quietly. Better for you that way.”

“The Caparelli family isn’t going to get away with this. I’ll get every last one of them.”

Wade stared at Tucci, a sad look in his eyes. “You’re making threats again that you can’t back up. Somebody on the force, a higher up, asked me to deliver a message,” Wade said. “Resign quietly and keep your mouth shut. Do that and your trouble goes away. I hate to hit you between the eyes with this, but if you don’t do what they want, you will go away.” An hour later, Tucci resigned from the force and made plans to move to Los Angeles.      

 

The Cardinal had worked his magic, expediting the Tucci annulment just a week before Donna Tucci’s baby was due. The Caparelli family arranged for Donna to spend her pregnancy in a nice condo in Miami, with Tony at her side. On the day before she delivered a beautiful baby girl, Donna and Tony got married.

Armando refused to go to Miami to attend the wedding and he forbade his wife and two daughters to go either. He had taken care of business, but he was neither proud nor pleased with what he’d had to do. He loved his nephew but he worried that the kid was prone to make foolish choices. Well, he’d done what he could for him. The kid’s fate was in his own hands now. At least the kid seemed happy and that was worth something. How long that would last was anybody’s guess.