He felt the river wind turn cold as it did at the first light of day. It was then he realized that he laid alongside the dirt road leading through audubon Park and very near the Mississippi so why should he not feel its breeze. And the autumnal wind made a shrieking sound as if someone was pushing a child upon a swing or a passing ship was sounding from its creaking boards. But the echo drew neither nearer nor furthet away and thus he knew it could not be a ship or even a child on a swing. No. It was there, just rasping to and fro like the solemn strokes of a hanging ornament or the rusty hinges of an old door.
In these pages unfolds the story of my Grandfather, his sense of honor, loyalty, dignity. It's a story of his rise to a place of honor among Men of Honor, a tale that reaches far into the history of Sicily and an organization that has been stamped down only to rise again and again.
This book will rivet the reader like no other. It is THAT exciting. As a child of five, I saw the infamouse head of Murder Incorporated hiding on my grandafther's New Jersey farm. I was there when the FBI raided the property, cars screeching to a halt, guns waving in all directions. Only two days before, Lepke had abandoned his hiding place to return to Staten Island. It was only when the Mafia felt threatened that they insisted he surrender or face the penalty.
But what persuaded a simple immigrant working in a shoe shop to enter the Mafia and become a capo, a boss of his own family? What occurred on one tragic night to embitter him enough to join an organization so powerful that even thirty years after his death, his name struke terror inthe hearts of thos who knew him?
