Another fanfic? What the heck is wrong with me? But I won't deny that writing this is way too much fun. Seriously. But anyway. Le Disko needs to be updated, I know. I dunno if i'm up to writing it anymore, though. xD Ah well.
This is, all the way, written for Sarah. Again. Poopface.
Edit:/ Mooost of the little mistakes here have been fixed. I think. o.o
Disclaimers and such: I don't own One Piece. I just used the No Code-of-Honor Time short as reference for the names. I don't own the Godfather, or ... the mob in general. Wiki was used as reference points and traditional terminology and Italian will be used for this fic. Kthx.
Reviews would be awesome.
Capo di Tutti Capi
There was a rumor going around New York City.
They were saying that Don Luffyone was looking for some new associates.
And punk, you would only hear that rumor if you were in the right circles. The right families, you know what I'm saying?
And if you were in the said right families and circles, then you would most certainly know that to be offered a part in the Luffyone family is a big deal. A very big deal.
But don't be getting any ideas. You can't go seeking out Luffyone. No, you'll bring in fresh air, and he doesn't like that. Where do you think Don Crocodilo went last month? It wasn't out of town, buddy. He got a one-way trip to Six Feet Under and trust me, he ain't coming back.
The point is, if the Don wants you in his crew, he'll come looking for you. And he'll find you, no doubt about that. Luffyone knows all of the right people and is even pretty tight with some cops up in Brooklyn. There isn't anywhere you'll be able to hide. But why do that?
Joining the Luffyone family is a high honor. The man is a true Mafiosi member, gangster through and through. He's not much of a gentlemen, but he has enough manners to let you join the ride with him to the top.
'Cause everyone knows what Luffyone's been up to these days. He's making room for himself in the upper ranks of the Five Families.
He's gonna be Capo di Tutti Capi. (1)
Boss of all Bosses. Supreme Don. The Strongest Man in the Cosa Nostra.
King of the Mafia.
Not all children grow up and decide they want to be members of a gang. Few wish to evolve from their petty teenage fist fights to full blown shell games. Little to none want any part in an organized crime organization.
Zoroscia Roronoa was hardly any different. Raised in a modest section of New York, he spent the better part of his childhood going to school and coming home every night to have lengthy discussions with his father, like any normal teenager in the bright and shining year of 1945.
Roronoa Senior was a police officer who patrolled the rougher sides of New York City. Tall, broad shouldered, and sporting the same green hair that his son had inherited, Roronoa Sr. was a respected man. A good cop. With his loving wife and healthy, cheerful son and a promotion at work on the way, it appeared that life was getting good.
The officer taught young Zoroscia all he knew about New York street life. As much as his son's innocent little mind could handle. But Roronoa Junior's favorite topic wasn't NY life. It was weapons.
From machine guns to stealthy little butterfly knives, that was Zoroscia's passion. And his proud father was more than happy to lecture his only offspring. They started on hand guns, proceeded to machine guns, then into blades. Zoroscia absorbed everything with as much energy as boys his age could.
And so, life went on. Roronoa Senior became captain of his police squad and things improved for the Roronoas. But then the proud cop dug too deep one night. Went too far and stuck his nose where it didn't belong. He had turned his sharp eyes on the Five Families of New York and openly vowed to rid the city of any filth, mafia and other criminals alike.
Naturally, the Mafiosi didn't take kindly to such threats. They immediately set to buying off the police officer. Full of foolish pride, Captain Roronoa refused. Passer-bys heard him announcing that he'd rather die than accept such dirtied money from scum like the mafia.
That night, Roronoa and his wife set out to go see On the Town on Broadway, reminding Zoroscia to get to bed on time and not stay up too late fiddling with his pocket knife.
The next morning, New York awakened to find the Roronoas, still in their best attire, shot down in a back-alley. Their bodies were riddled with bullets and soaked in blood. A gruesome site, indeed. And who did it?
No one had enough guts to point the finger at the obvious perpetrators.
"What a tragic loss!"
"They were such kind people!"
"And poor Zoroscia, left to fend for himself!"
"He was only 15, too!"
"It was their own fault. What were they thinking, meddling with the mob?"
"They were doomed from the start when Don Dragon got his hands on them."
"May the Roronoas rest in peace."
And so, the police closed off the case quickly, eager to set it away and forget the whole ordeal. No one wanted any part in the double murders. They knew better. And the mafia knew it, too. They owned the city, after all.
Soon, only memories remained of the poor Roronoas. It was a horrific loss, but nothing could be done. Life, once again, moved on for everyone.
... Everyone, that is, except Zoroscia Roronoa.
"Get yer papers, get yer papers! Double 'omicide on Fifth and Broadway! Killer unknown!"
It was 1949 now, a brisk October morning, and Zoroscia Roronoa, Zoro for short, was getting angrier by the minute. The nineteen year old was walking to work. It was only a few blocks, but the short distance had enough of a crowd to get him bristling.
The up and coming cop wasn't a big fan of people. They were pesky and loud. Rude and annoying. And most of all, they were in his damn way. Shoving past the screechy newspaper boy, Zoro impatiently fixed his cap and shoved his hands into the pathetic little holes in his uniform that were apparently supposed to be pockets. The early morning chill hadn't picked up yet, but that didn't stop the massive hoard that was now out and about on the sidewalk.
Granted, the massive hoard consisted of about 10 people, but we can disregard the facts.
Four years had passed since the infamous murder of his parents. The event had left Zoro feeling empty and cold. Not only that, but it implanted an irresistible urge for revenge and the young adult was more than happy to give in. He needed something to do with his time, anyway.
The youngest police man on his squad, Zoro had already shot through enough cases in September alone to earn a short vacation. He didn't exactly want it, but took it anyway. He would spend the time as he usually did: tracking down Don Luffyone's men.
His Captain, Smoker, had warned him not to poke into business like that, revenge or not. "You'll meet the same end as your folks, Roronoa. Or worse."
The weapons expert ignored the warning, however. Zoro could handle himself and if the mob came sniffing around for him, he'd welcome the opportunity to get his hands around one of the damn gangster's necks.
So with one last huff in the newspaper boy's direction, Zoroscia entered the police station that was nestled on the street corner and went to work.
Most of the information he had was old. The Luffyone family had been keeping quiet as of late. In fact, not much else had been coming up until last week. The most recent little tidbit had been a year ago, when Don Dragon had stepped down and allowed his son to take the head position of the family.
Then, the previous week, the amount of murders shot up around Brooklyn. People were being shot and stabbed left and right. Rich men were killing themselves in suspicious suicides. Important figures had gone missing and Zoro had lost count of how many cars had been set on fire since then.
And no matter how much Zoro insisted that all of the evidence led to the Luffyone family, Smoker refused to send out squads. The seasoned cop refused to stick his nose into territory that was doomed to blow up any second. "Besides," he would add, "Brooklyn's not our territory. Let the other guys handle it."
The whole situation was fishy and Zoro had enough sense to figure out just what exactly was happening. Smoker was corrupt.
Realizing to his horror that his own captain had been bought off, Zoroscia had set off to work alone. In secret, of course. If any of his fellow cops found out what exactly he was doing, he'd be off the pay roll in no time at all.
Unfortunately, he had little leads to go on. No mobsters had been caught alive and Luffyone himself changed headquarters every week, word had it. They were practically untraceable. They worked well. But Zoro was determined and even if he didn't have any good connections, he was resolute on meeting the Don face to face.
But like we said before...
You don't see Don Luffyone unless Don Luffyone wants to see you.
Luckily for Zoroscia Roronoa, that was exactly was Luffyone wanted. And he always got what he wanted.
The air was thick with smoke and laughter and the smell of expensive cigars and rich alcohol permeated through every corner. For a cheap lounge, it was living pretty well. There were certainly enough whores slinking about to prove that.
Lip curling in disgust, Zoroscia turned back to his small glass of whiskey, sulking over it. The day had proved to be fruitless. Just like yesterday. This kind of result was becoming a usual thing and only fouled the cop's mood further. Earlier in the day, he had decided to check out the double homicide on Fifth and Broadway. It had been a young couple, out for a night on the town. Both bodies had been pumped so full of lead that they had become unrecognizable.
Sighing heavily and contemplating whether or not getting drunk off his ass tonight would be a good idea, Zoroscia hardly even noticed the haughty female sliding onto the bar stool beside him and ordering a glass of vodka straight up. He also failed to see the crafty little smile the woman was flashing him.
But she was quite set on making her presence known. Leaning in, blood red lips flicked upward in a sly smirk, she spoke. "Hey there, cutie."
Grunting, Zoro hardly spared her a glance. He wasn't in the mood for women. It really wasn't his night, so he mustered up the manliest, grumpiest reply he could.
The lady wouldn't take no for an answer. Using the sweetest, most seducing voice she could muster, she flicked out an elegant, manicured hand to feather her fingers down Zoro's inner thigh. "Word around the block is that you're looking for Luffyone."
Zoro couldn't ignore the woman anymore now. Looking sharply from his drink, the young police officer shoved the unwelcome hand from his leg and turned his suspicion-clouded eyes to the stranger. "Who are you?"
"My, my, that got your attention." She laughed softly, turning back to the bar as soon as the bartender slid her vodka across the table to her. "Zoroscia Roronoa, you're a curious man. The Don finds you interesting."
"Does he, now?" growled Zoro, hands itching to go for his gun. Something about the woman made the bristles on the back of his neck stand to attention. Perhaps it was the bright orange hair that swayed gently as her head moved. Or mayhap it was the little pink cocktail dress she was wearing that revealed more thigh and breast than absolutely necessary.
But it most likely was the way that the woman was downing her vodka effortlessly in huge gulps, drinking it as she would any other regular drink. She was tough. How many elegant ladies chugged their spirits like that?
Willing himself to calm down, Zoro turned back to hunch over his whiskey. "What does he want with me?"
"Mm." Dabbing daintily at her lips with a handkerchief, the lady smiled to herself. She kept her voice low. "He's seen you poking around in his business and he likes your nerve. Haven't you heard, copper? He's hirin'. And he wants you."
This was certainly news to Zoro. What was Luffyone doing, hiring more men like this? Sending women to recruit more gangster members was a little unordinary. But more importantly... why in the hell was the Don looking for him? When the cop voiced this, the woman laughed, hand lifting to cover her mouth.
"Why? You shouldn't even be asking that. If Luffyone wants you, he'll get you, cutie. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."
"And if I refuse? I'm a cop, lady, you can't expect me to drop my respectable job to join a mob. That's not how things work. You're supposed to buy me off or kill me, not hire me."
"First off..." The woman cast Zoroscia a sharp glance. "The name's Namimore. You either call me Miss Namimore or Lady Namimore. No variations. No Nami, no lady, no nothin'."
At Zoro's bemused silence, Namimore continued. "Secondly, we don't really care about that. Luffyone says that if you're really your dad's son, you won't be bought off, and you're too valuable to be killed. You're a weapons expert, right?"
Brow furrowing at the mention of his father, Zoro nodded, hand tightening around the whiskey glass. He didn't dare speak, but his teeth were clenched together so tightly that he probably wouldn't have been able to manage it, anyway.
"Our other weapons expert got killed last night. Hear about that double murder? That was him. Genzo and his wife, Bellemere."
That was enough to unstick his tongue.
"They were your men?" Zoro stilled at this, puzzled. "But I thought..."
"That we did it? Nah. It was another family, we just don't know who."
Ah yes. The plot was undoubtedly thickening. The consistency of a hearty meat sauce. Throwing back his head to down the rest of his whiskey, Zoro sighed and shrugged. The nearby clock read that it was ten minutes to midnight. He couldn't deny, this was the perfect opportunity to get into the Luffyone's inner workings, despite the bizarre way he would be getting in. But still. Being offered a job there was almost... too convenient.
Ignoring the way Nami was eyeing him over the rim of her second vodka, he burped briefly before flicking his cap onto his head and tugging off his over-coat from the back of the bar stool.
"So, Roronoa. Are you in?"
Pausing, Zoro shrugged on his coat. It was now or never. He could take the risk and go with this Namimore. He'd be putting his own family's honor and his job on the line, as well as his life. There was every chance he could die if he made one wrong move.
On the other hand, this meant that he could finally avenge his parents and bring the Luffyone's to justice. It was tempting and Zoro only had a few seconds to fully process it.
Maybe he shouldn't have had that whiskey.
With a mild scowl, he nodded. "Alright. I'm in."
Almost immediately, the casual seductive atmosphere that Miss Namimore had set up dissipated and the blunt woman stood abruptly. Snarling briefly at the bartender who had been in the process of meekly asking for payment, the female mob member motioned with her head to the back of the lounge. "Head out that way, Roronoa. Down the alley way and across the street. The girls will see you in."
Back on alert with hands still craving the feeling of a weapon in their hands, Zoroscia tucked his coat in closer around him and shouldered his way out of the bar to the chilly alleyway out back. He didn't look back at Namimore or say anything else. A procedure like this was to be handled carefully. She obviously was cautious and didn't want to be followed, which was perfectly alright with him. He didn't want the woman around him, anyway.
The alleyway was dark, but empty. That wasn't enough incentive, however, to have Zoro be less cautious than he usually was. Lowering the front of his cap low over his face so that it hid most of his green hair, the young cop walked through the narrow alley. It emerged on a silent, but well-lit street. Directly in front of him was a small apartment building unlike the one that he himself lived in.
The night was quiet and the sky clear. With the vivid moonlight and the street lamps, there were suspicious shadows being cast all over the place. Keeping his gaze directly in front of him, Zoroscia crossed the empty road and stumped directly up to the apartment.
Rosywoods Apartments. Guaranteed to leave you smiling!
That's what the obnoxious little sign said next to the doorway, anyway. Already starting to feel the misgivings, Zoro shook his head at the little phrase and shoved the door open.
The first impression he had of the place was hearts. They were everywhere. There were framed pictures of hearts on the walls. Flowers arranged in the shape of hearts. Hearts woven into the carpet, crystal hearts dangling from the grand chandelier in the middle of the lobby. Hell, there were even hearts on the lamp shades.
If not for the two girls idly chattering on the other side of the room, nasty looking knives hanging from their belts, then he surely would have turned on his heel and immediately left. But as it so happened, the bizarrely armed women hooked his curiosity. The mafia usually didn't allow their women to carry about knives or guns, and yet here were two girls hardly out of their teens, carting about live steel.
As soon as the heavy-set metal door clanked behind him, the pair fell silent, eyes traveling across the room to set on the grumpy looking cop who was wrapped up tightly in his overcoat. They blinked, looked at each other, looked back at Zoroscia, and then proceeded to fall over themselves scurrying back through the door they had been standing near.
Those must've been the girls Namimore had mentioned. Eyebrow quirking in the now silent lobby, Zoro sniffed and unbuttoned his coat as he made his way over to the door. He only hesitated for a moment, hand twitching on the door handle, before he turned and walked through.
The heart theme, thankfully, ended in the lobby. This was a plain room like any other. Probably a back room used by the apartment owners. The two girls now sat at a desk, looking up at him expectantly. Or, at least, one was. The other was very occupied with waxing a small pocket knife and didn't bother sparing Zoro a glance.
These girls appeared to be on guard duty. Grunting, Zoroscia politely slipped his hat off and nodded to the first woman. His sharp eyes took in the sight, storing away the information for later. She looked the least distrustful, anyway. With brown hair cut into a gentle style down to her shoulders, the woman's features seemed to be more inviting, even if there was a butcher knife and revolver placed on the table alongside her. The other one, on the other hand...
With tightly curled ringlets of a light brown color growing down to her shoulder blades, the other girl seemed to be in a foul mood. Her nimble fingers expertly played over her butterfly knife as she waxed it and in the brief moment that she lifted her head and met Zoro's eyes, she clearly said through her cold eyes that if he made any wrong move, he'd be getting that knife through his gullet.
The cop took all of these facts in within seconds. He frowned slightly. These girls were toughened by the mafia but somehow still maintained their lady-like ness. The mob was getting cleverer by the day. Once again, the man found himself asking, "Since when had they been hiring women as associates?"
"Officer Roronoa, we've been expecting you." The first one, the one actually paying attention, said, breaking through the police officer's thoughts.
"So I've noticed." replied Zoro wryly, referring back to how he had just startled the two not a moment before. The girl shrugged, unruffled, and nudged her partner.
"Russiano, show the guy over to the back."
The curly-haired girl stopped her movements, glancing at the other out of the corner of her eye. "Can't you do it, Fratelli?"
"You owe me."
Russiano, with a grouchy 'hmph', set down the knife and stood while Fratelli smiled apologetically at Zoro. "Sorry about this. She didn't get much sleep last night and she almost always acts like a bitch, anyway."
The "bitch" comment elicited a smirk from Zoro and another 'hmph' from Russiano, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned and walked away from the table to the other end of the room, giving Zoro full view of her well-armed hips.
And aside from the multiple little daggers and knives that were decorating the girl's waist, the way that her hips were swaying from side to side as she strode over to the door definitely caught the cop's eye.
What? He was a guy, wasn't he? It wasn't often that he met even semi-respectable girls in Brooklyn anymore, anyway. Prostitutes were hardly even women anymore, but usually property, if the right people had their way.
Perhaps Russiano shouldn't have been wearing that ruffled pencil skirt that appeared to be fashionable these days. Even the frilled-collar blouse she was sporting wasn't entirely safe for a respectable community. Yeah, she was definitely a mafia woman, through and through. Her sense of modesty stopped a fraction short somewhere.
Not wanting to get caught oogling, Zoroscio hurried forward to catch up to the cranky woman. He hadn't even noticed the wooden door that was hidden in the corner of the living space. Russiano was currently knocking on it. Once, then twice, then a double tap. There was a brief silence, broken only by Fratelli's innocent little patter of her heeled toe on the wooden floor.
After what felt like ages, there was a dull "come in" from inside the room. Now Russiano chose to show a little more emotion than just "pissed off." She smirked, pushing open the entrance and motioning for Zoro to walk in.
"Go on in, copper. Mind your manners." With a leer and a wink, she shoved past him to return to her seat, clipping his shoulder as she left and leaving the unamused cop to walk in alone, which, after rubbing his abused arm, he did so.
As soon as his body passed the doorway, the exit behind him became blocked. Someone had closed the door behind him and in the poor lighting, Zoro couldn't even see at first where the hell he was.
There was a soft clicking sound somewhere and a small flame appeared in the darkness. It was a lighter. Zoro trained his eyes on the sight, still tense and ready for some fight or flight action. The mysterious person was lighting themselves a cigarette and the tiny fire quickly disappeared again with another muffled snapping sound.
"Namimore, my dear, if you please."
Immediately, light flooded the room, momentarily stunning Zoroscia. He managed to recover just as fast by blinking rapidly.
"The hell..." He muttered, rubbing at his left eye as he took in the occupants of the room.
"Took you damn long enough, Roronoa. We were getting impatient." The voice of Lady Namimore registered behind him. So it was she who had shut the door behind him. And that meant that she wasn't the one in the middle of the room...
No, indeed, the one seated in the center of the area at a huge, antique desk was most definitely not the boorish orange-haired woman. To begin with, it wasn't a she, but most definitely a he. And he had perfectly normal colored hair. It was a common shade of banana yellow.
More lackeys. No Don Luffyone.
Zoroscia resisted going for his gun then. There was something about the blonde that immediately made him distrustful and this slow procedure of going from associate to associate was getting annoying. "Who the hell are you?"
"You're very rude, you know that?" The smoking man said in a low voice, leaning back in his chair. This allowed Zoro to get a full view, but it wasn't much. The thick yellow hair didn't reach past the mobster's ears and half of his face was shaded with the blonde locks, anyway. It wasn't that that set Zoro's shackles on end, though. Nor was it the little chin hair that the man had or the way that he was blowing circles with his cigarette smoke.
It was the damn curly eyebrow that was resting over the blonde's only visible eye. Zoro's own choppy eyebrows twitched at the site and it made his stomach curl. Who the fuck was this guy that he was carting around a monstrosity like that on his face?
So horrified was the cop that he almost missed the man's next words.
"You really should be gettin' down on your knees right now and thanking me for not killing you. You were rude to Miss Namimore before, and that, to me, is a very serious offense. But since you're a newbie and don't know shit, I'll let it go." The blonde blew out a stream of smoke to the side, leaning forward again in a very "Let's get down to business" manner.
"The name's Sanjino. That's all you need to know. As I am the Don's Consigliere (2), you'll report anything you do to me, capisce?"
Zoro started at the name. He knew this man. He had been in the newspaper several times. Mainly for being kicked out of bars. The claims and complaints had been that the man had hit on one too many women. Figures. Give a guy a flashy zoot suit and a nice hair-do, and he'll think he's a ladies man.
"You're saying this like I've already joined. What if I want to back out of this? Right now?"
Namimore moved forward to seat herself on the edge of the desk, laughing softly. "Hear that, Sanjino? He's wants to back out."
"Yeah." A strange look passed over the blonde's face and he nearly seemed to choke on his cigarette smoke, but he hurriedly recovered. "Let me get this out while you're here, Roronoa."
Zoro frowned, arms crossing over his chest as he listened.
"You've been hired by the Don himself. Not by me or the darling Lady Namimore, but by the big man. You either accept this or you're dead. There ain't no other alternative here."
"Alright, alright..." Zoroscia muttered. How many more times was he going to have to sit through these blunt death threats? Nevertheless, they were having an effect. A feeling of foreboding rose up in his throat. This wasn't going to end well. This definitely wasn't going to end well. "I'm in."
Sanjino sneered around his smoke. "Good. We thought you'd see things our way. Now, back to business. You're an associate now. A hired man, but you ain't a member of the family yet. You'll have to earn your way there with your skills that Luffyone seems to really like."
"So what exactly do you want me to do?"
This was the question that Sanjino had been waiting for. "Your first hit'll be simple. We want you to keep working with that police crew of yours for now and help us get the other cops off our backs. Some of 'em have been bought, but not all. You do that well, you might just get a promotion. Hell, you're already getting some fuckin' good benefits now that some of our soldiers never had."
Zoroscia irately shoved back the mental screaming in his head that were protesting that this whole situation was wrong and completely against his morals. It was past the point where he could get out of this and if he didn't go with the flow now, he'd just end up dead. So instead, he'd milk it for all it was worth. It'd be a ride to even get some goodies out of the job while working on his revenge.
"Benefits?" He smirked slightly, noting how annoyed the blonde looked. Something about seeing the other man upset cheered his spirits.
"Yeah, benefits." Sanji nodded, taking another deep whiff of smoke. "Don't be getting' cocky, though. You'll be getting paid well for all your jobs, depending on how well you do 'em. And you'll be getting helpers. Someone to get you in on how you should be behavin'."
"I don't need help." the cop immediately said, scowling. "I like to work alone."
Sanjino waved off the remark. "And you will, as soon as you prove yourself. Oi, Fratelli and Russiano!"
The two guard girls were instantly in the room, looking alert. "Yessir, what is it, Mr. Sanjino, sir?"
The weird look came back on the Consigliere's face. A silly little grin that Zoro supposed was meant to look gallant tilted the blonde's lips upward as he stood to hurry over to the pair.
"Girls, what have I said about the Mister stuff? Sanjino or even Sanji will do me fine. I don't want to have any formalities between us, after all."
"Oh, no, Mister Sanjino, sir, we couldn't." Fratelli insisted, shaking her head as Namimore hid her giggles behind her hand, staring pointedly at the loose sweater the girl was wearing and her trousers. Zoro was surprised he hadn't noticed Fratelli's fashion choices before. It wasn't often that he saw girls wearing sweaters with stiff-collar blouses underneath. Perhaps she was a trendsetter of sorts.
"You're too kind, Mr. Sanjino, we'd never allow ourselves the pleasure," added Russiano, smiling lightly.
"Ah, girls!" The tall blonde practically swooned, taking a step back and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. "You are too polite and well-mannered! I don't deserve you, really!"
Taking the time to kiss each of the girls' hands repeatedly, Sanjino then returned to his desk, clearing his throat as he struggled to attach the serious, badass mafia look to himself again.
"In any case, Zoroscia... Russiano there will be the one help you with our weapons storage, along with passing messages along to you and getting you to the right places. She'll be your secretary of sorts." He glared briefly at him. Zoro blinked at this. Was that a hint of jealousy he had spotted?
"We'll have other members of our crew come along in the next few days, but for now, you have your assignment. Head back home, get a good nights rest and all that. You'll be hearing from us."
Sensing that the meeting was coming to a close, Zoroscia ran a hand through his short hair. "That's it? You're just gonna let me go? No blindfolds or drugging?"
"Well..." Namimore suddenly leered, eyes bright. "If you insist."
"What, hold on, I didn'-"
The last thing Zoroscia Roronoa, the 19-year old cop and son of Roronoa Senior, heard that night was the evil cackling of the Lady Namimore as he lost consciousness from a well-aimed sucker punch to the head. The first sounds of his brand new life as a member of the mob in the up and rising city of New York.
Things were only going to get more interesting from here and the impending headache that he was going to get the next morning were proof of it.
(1) Italian, meaning The Boss of all Bosses.
(2) Italian, meaning an advisor to the family. They wield great power and are usually quite close to the Don himself.