Carl Lea was once a pitiful man. He was only four years old when his mother, Marlene Lea, was murdered.
He was adopted by a kind Italian woman who had been close friends with Lea's mother.
She gave the child everything she could, but for a single woman with two adopted children, raising Lea and putting him through public high school was the limit.
The American Mafia suffered a series of setbacks in the late 1980s, and by the 1990s, it had completely collapsed and become a regional power.
But for Lea, who grew up in New York's Italian-American community, none of this mattered. He was obsessed with rising in society, and to that end, he joined the Mafia without telling his adoptive mother, becoming a gang member.
Perhaps the Lea surname was too conspicuous in the eyes of those with ulterior motives, or perhaps the young man was simply too "outstanding," but within a year, this illegitimate child was recommended to Moretti Sr.
Young Carl Lea respectfully addressed his "physiologist father" as "Sir," eager for a chance to prove his abilities.
Old Moretti, pleased and pleased, offered Lea a helping hand, then lured him into the fold.
A few days later, two gang hitmen approached Lea and, under the pretext that their boss wanted to see him again, drove him to the suburbs.
In the wilderness, the gossipy hitmen inadvertently revealed the truth: it was Old Moretti who had ordered Marlene Lea's murder.
The ensuing story is a poignant one: the seemingly frail 18-year-old, through incredible willpower and the two hitmen's underestimation of their enemy, successfully carried out the murder.
This marked Lea's 20-year-long journey of revenge, transforming the youthful 18-year-old into the bald, elderly man he is today.
Lea had successfully dyed himself the color of the crow.
He exploited the conflicts between the various families, using profit as bait, to incite resentment among young Italians against the decadent and decrepit elders, secretly cultivating a new force of loyalists.
Just as the Eastern tradition of "don't despise the young and poor," the Western tradition of "prince's revenge" is equally popular, even if the prince is an illegitimate child.
And now, this revenge story is finally coming to an end.
"Date of birth?"
"August 18, 1978."
"Social Security number?"
"306-00-****"
Taylor Kelly's eyes sparkled with excitement as he watched Leah taking the statement through the one-way glass. "A godfather-level figure who almost made the American Mafia great again, Jack, you actually caught him.
Oh my God! My colleagues will definitely be jealous to death."
Jack, whose arm was tightly hugged by her, tried to pull it free several times but failed. He could only remind her helplessly, "Don't forget our agreement. Both exclusive news are yours, but please be sure to consider the image of the NYPD when reporting on 'HR'."
Taylor leaned close to Jack's cheek and kissed him. She was also considerate and took out a wet wipe from her small bag to wipe off his lipstick marks. "Then see you tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock. Ah, it's less than four hours. I have to go back and finish the manuscript right away."
Jack watched the beautiful reporter disappear at the end of the corridor with the sound of high heels, and knocked on the door of the interrogation room next door with a faint smile.
"Have you completed the registration?"
"Yes, sir." A senior agent, at least a generation older than Jack, quickly gathered up his documents and respectfully stood up to make room for him.
Hearing the door quietly close behind him, Jack sat down across from Leah, placed an unregistered phone on the table, and slowly pushed it toward him.
"The surveillance cameras and recording equipment in this room have been turned off. You have five minutes."
"One minute is enough. After all, that man and I don't really have much to say." Leah smiled back at Jack, his eyes a bit complicated.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number he had memorized. When the call connected, Leah took the initiative to greet him, "Hello, Dad."
--
"I'm so glad to see you're okay, Dad." Moretti II happily greeted the elder Moretti as he walked out of the hospital alone.
Although the elder Moretti was over 70 and slightly stooped, his legs were still nimble. In just a few steps, he still exuded the aura of the family's "godfather."
"Go home, son."
The old man had been kidnapped by Leah shortly after being released from prison and held in a wine cellar for several days. Although he hadn't suffered much physical torture, he had certainly experienced a lot of fear and anxiety.
After being rescued by the NYPD and FBI, he was taken to the hospital for a checkup. Seeing his biological son, Moretti Jr. finally felt relieved.
Daylight was fading, and the hospital parking lot was deserted. Father and son had just gotten into their car when, before Moretti II could start the car, his cell phone suddenly rang rapidly.
"What's going on?"
Moretti II pulled out his own phone and glanced at it. Realizing it wasn't ringing, he looked at his father with a bewildered expression.
Having been kidnapped by Laia shortly after being released from prison, Moretti Jr. clearly didn't have a cell phone. Following the sound, he opened the glove compartment facing the passenger side and found a large, unsealed envelope.
With a gentle shake, the vibrating phone slipped into his hand. A sense of foreboding washed over Moretti Jr., who quickly answered the call.
"Who is it?"
"Hello, Dad," Laia's voice called.
Moretti Jr. pulled the only other item from the envelope: a faded crime scene photo bearing the NYPD logo.
The photo showed a woman lying on the ground, a knife stuck in her back, blood spilling onto the carpet.
Old Moretti had seen this photo over 30 years ago, in the next day's newspaper, after he had ordered the removal of the troublesome woman.
"What? Is this some childish trick?"
the old man snorted disdainfully. "Or do you think you still have a chance to get out of prison?"
"No, I just wanted to say goodbye to you." Laria's voice sounded relaxed and cheerful, without any sense of embarrassment from being imprisoned, only with a hint of regret. "I really wish I could be there right now."
Moretti II, standing by, was completely confused. He saw his father's hand holding the phone drop weakly, and his dim old eyes, filled with despair, slowly met his own.
"What?"
"Boom!"
The short explosion ended abruptly after the phone and the person answering the call were destroyed. With an unconscious twitch of his cheek, the smile on Laria's face disappeared.
(End of this chapter)