Alejandro
Growing up in Chicago, I knew from an early age that the Mafia wasn’t just a myth or a distant story- it was part of our family’s fabric. My father had always been a shadowy figure in our family, known for his connections and the respect he commanded, even if we never openly talked about it until I was almost ten.
My father was a proud man, though he never bragged.
One summer evening, I found myself sitting across from him in his dimly lit study. My siblings were outside playing catch with Mama and Uncle Aemon. The air was thick with the scent of his cigar, the smoke curling upwards like wisps of secrets. He sat back in his leather chair, exuding a calm authority that had always both fascinated and terrified me. While he left Mama to the affairs of bringing up their kids, h
