Taming, Beating

As the last remaining Mafia boss in Sicily, he was a ruthless figure even the sheriffs did not want to provoke.

Alessandro commanded considerable prestige and intimidation within the family and throughout Palermo.

Moreover, as time passed, his status and power only continued to grow.

Ordinary people had to address him as "Sir" when they saw him, as a sign of respect.

As for the other family bosses, they were either won over or suppressed. Gradually, every meeting became Alessandro's personal stage, where he alone voiced opinions and divided up benefits and territory.

Though the Mafia was no longer as glorious as before and always had to worry whether Mussolini might launch another purge, Alessandro, who had risen by riding the tide, steadily expanded the power in his hands. That was an undeniable fact.

That was why the Strategic Scientific Reserve had taken an interest in him and recruited him as an informant.

Yet Alessandro, respectfully called "Sir" by others and worshipped by a crowd of enforcers, showed a flicker of fear when he heard Luke's indifferent tone.

Having lived through Mussolini's era of great purges, he harbored a deep psychological fear of the military, which was essentially an apparatus of violence.

If he offended this young captain, it would mean letting go of the Allies' coattails. Sooner or later, he would become a target for postwar reckoning.

Even if he defected to Mussolini's government, given that dictator's temperament, he probably would not meet a good end either.

At that thought, Alessandro's hands trembled slightly, and a savage glint rose in his fleshy face.

"Mr. Corleone, I apologize for Elio's disrespect toward you!"

He laid his palm on the table and, with a swish, pulled a dagger from behind his waist and brought it down viciously.

"Ahhh! Ahhh—"

Painful screams echoed through the Copper Bell Tavern.

A thick finger, like a stubby radish, rolled across the table.

Beads of sweat seeped from his forehead and the tip of his nose, dripping slowly downward.

Alessandro panted heavily. "Mr. Corleone, are you satisfied now?"

Luke removed the hand pressing down on Elio's head and slowly shook his head without expression.

"I never asked you to apologize! Cosa, I want you to explain how the Mafia should deal with people who don't show enough respect to their friends."

"Mr. Corleone, I..."

"Still don't understand? I want an explanation! Cosa, tell me, how much does the Mafia's friendship weigh?"

Luke's voice remained indifferent, yet it placed immense pressure on Alessandro.

He already knew that this young captain was not some clueless outsider who could be easily fooled.

Cutting off a finger was the Mafia's customary way of begging for mercy, yet it still failed to move the other man.

Alessandro glanced at the pale-faced Elio and sighed inwardly.

"Carmelo! Drag Elio away and cut off one of his hands!"

To have seized the right opportunity and risen to become a top boss of the Camorra Family, Alessandro naturally possessed some courage.

Although Elio was his nephew and his favorite junior, he could still abandon him to quell Luke's anger.

Who told him to be so stupid?

Just like Mafia members in the past, he had looked down on everyone else and believed they were Italy's true masters!

For instance, Francesco Cuccia, who had brought about the Mafia's doomsday, had been just such a fool!

He had been both the mayor of Piana degli Albanesi and the local Mafia boss.

Yet when he welcomed Mussolini, then known as the "Great Leader," he had actually questioned him in a rather arrogant tone about why he had brought so many police officers.

Cuccia believed that on his own turf, with the Mafia protecting him, no one could possibly threaten Mussolini.

That nearly rude attitude had angered Mussolini, who wielded enormous power at the time.

A few months later, the dictator assembled four thousand mobile unit members and six thousand police officers, launching a heavy-handed campaign to wipe out the Mafia.

As for Cuccia?

He was arrested and imprisoned on multiple charges, including "insulting the Fuhrer," "disregarding the law," and "resisting the government."

Having endured terrifying experiences of being wanted and nearly executed, Alessandro would not follow Cuccia's example and make the same mistake.

"Mr. Corleone, you are the Mafia's eternal friend. Anyone who disrespects you is disrespecting me! Disrespecting the Camorra Family!"

In less than a minute, the burly enforcer named Carmelo presented a hand resting on a tray.

"May I ask whether you are satisfied with this explanation? If it is still not enough, I will have Elio sent to the slaughterhouse later."

Seeing Alessandro's terrified, almost groveling posture, Luke's cold expression softened like snow melting under sunlight.

He picked up the wineglass on the table. "Come! A toast to our friendship!"

His smile was gentle, showing none of the aggressiveness from before.

Dum Dum Dugan, standing behind him, was stunned by that swift change in demeanor. The captain really is a terrifying man.

The savage and brutal Mafia had become as docile as sheep before him.

Amid the spreading scent of blood, Alessandro forced a smile and drained the red wine in his glass.

"Get it done as soon as possible. The Allies will not forget your contribution."

Before leaving the tavern, Luke patted Alessandro on the shoulder and continued, "Your countrymen are doing very well in North America, in New York. They come and go from high-end hotels with senators, holding Hollywood starlets in their arms—Cosa, I think highly of you. You deserve an opportunity."

"Mr. Corleone, I will remember this personal friendship!"

Alessandro froze for a moment, then understood.

He bent slightly and lowered his head, waiting for Luke to extend his left hand.

Within the Mafia, this was the highest gesture of respect!

Usually, only someone like the Godfather could receive a boss's hand-kiss.

"No need. I have already seen your respect and your attitude."

Luke's mouth twitched. He had no habit of letting men kiss the back of his hand.

After leaving the Copper Bell Tavern, Luke and the Howling Commandos got into their cars and checked into Palermo's finest hotel.

Along the way, Dugan, seated beside him, wore a stifled expression as if he wanted to speak but could not.

"You want to ask why I treated Alessandro that way?"

Luke opened his eyes after resting them. Manelli was driving in the front, and there were no outsiders, so he did not hide anything. "Dugan, you do not understand how gangsters think."

"Although the Italian Mafia has always used family honor and blood ties to guarantee loyalty, that does not mean they are truly a group of trustworthy thugs."

Dugan nodded thoughtfully. He remembered that Luke seemed to have close ties with the Irish Mob.

"When dealing with a vicious dog, if you want to tame it, you have to beat it hard with a stick until it no longer dares bare its fangs at you. The same applies to the Mafia."

Looking through the car window at pedestrians passing along Palermo's streets, Luke smiled. "Besides, human nature is inherently complicated. Perhaps Cosa still harbored resentment toward me before, but he did not dare show it because of my status and the Allies' string of victories."

"But when I told him that I would support him as the Allies' representative in Sicily, and that he would receive generous rewards after the war, Cosa might have felt nothing but gratitude. Any unpleasant feelings would have been cast aside."

"When you use harsh methods to establish unquestionable authority, then give them the reward they deserve, they will instead be deeply grateful to you—this is typical gangster thinking!"

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