“May I help you, sir?”

“My name is Antonio Russo, Mr. Fontane. You’ve met my son and grandson, I believe. May I come in?” I waited respectfully for his response while he checked out the men behind me with curiosity. I can imagine how they look to him or anyone who’s ever seen a badly written mafioso movie. Thugs all of them, but my sons won’t let me leave the house without them; even here, so many miles away from where I lived that life and did my ...