Warm rays of sun shimmered on the quilt of snow that had fallen during the night.  The air, tainted only by the smell of auto exhaust, was uncharacteristically warm for this time of year, a welcome change for New Yorkers.  The rattletrap Checker cab Boo had hailed clattered to a standstill in front of the red facade of Rao’s Italian restaurant.

Vincent stood alone behind the bar, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, his black tie loosened at the collar.  He was a hard worker and basically a kind man, but people never crossed him.  The East River was full of people who tried to cross the Rao brothers.  He took up all the slack while his brother Louie was doing time in Sing-Sing for racketeering.  If it could be called ‘doing time.’  It was more like a vacation.  True, he spent his days in a cell—a very private cell with blackout curtains and every modern convenience, including a phone... 

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