Albert Neri

In the factory, Lorenzo witnessed his friend Adam being rushed to the hospital, just moments before he and the other workers were sternly reminded to resume their duties.

"Why are you loitering around? Back to work!" bellowed the middle-aged man, directing his frustration at Lorenzo, who was visibly upset about his friend's plight.

Despite being reprimanded by his boss, Lorenzo couldn't peel his eyes away, retorting, "How can I concentrate on work after what happened to my friend?"

The middle-aged man, who typically showed a softer side to Lorenzo, scoffed, "Listen, kid, it's high time you learned about the harsh realities of life. No matter what, the work must go on!"

This provoked an involuntary smirk from Lorenzo. "Oh? Don't be mistaken, I've had my fair share of harsh realities of life."

Flashes of his past life in the criminal underworld, where he ascended the ranks to lead a faction within a notorious gang, committed unspeakable acts against fellow outlaws, and faced death only to be discarded into the sea, flooded his mind. All these memories were vivid, marking his tumultuous journey before he found himself in this new reality.

The middle-aged man eyed Lorenzo, unnerved by his uncontrollable grin but ultimately shrugged it off with a grunt. "Alright, cut the act. Get to work."

"I just told you, I can't. Not after what happened to my friend..." Lorenzo replied, shaking his head. "I need to take a break."

"You're starting to get on my nerves, kid," the man retorted, locking eyes with Lorenzo. Yet, seeing Lorenzo's unwavering stance, he exhaled a resigned sigh. "If you weren't such a good worker, I'd have fired you for your backtalk, but... if you're really not up to it today, I'll let you off." Checking his watch and noting it was only about 11 AM, he reluctantly handed Lorenzo his pay, a mere three dollars for the incomplete shift.

"Leave now, before I change my mind," the man dismissed Lorenzo with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you, boss," Lorenzo replied, stepping out of the factory. Once outside, he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"Antonio..." he whispered under his breath. Spotting an unsmoked cigarette on the ground, he picked it up. He had never allowed his current body to smoke, but overwhelmed by his emotions, he felt the urge to light it up.

Lorenzo approached a young policeman, who was enjoying a cigarette, and boldly asked, "Could you light my cigarette?"

The request took the policeman aback, not used to such directness from a young man towards an officer, especially over a cigarette.

Lorenzo's confidence stemmed from knowing that at this time, it wasn't unusual for minors to smoke, and there were no laws yet in place prohibiting minors from smoking.

The policeman chuckled, took the cigarette from Lorenzo, and lit it with his own. "There you go," he said, handing it back.

"Thanks," Lorenzo responded, placing the cigarette between his lips, taking a drag, and letting out a cloud of smoke.

"Don't mention it," the policeman replied, noting Lorenzo's sullen mood from his posture and expression.

"You seem to be having a tough day," the officer remarked.

"Is it that obvious?" Lorenzo chuckled, trying to mask his distress.

"I've been there, feeling down and out on bad days myself," the policeman shared, finishing his cigarette, crushing it underfoot.

"I don't want to intrude, but what's got you so down?" he inquired, genuine concern lacing his voice.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Lorenzo shared, "My friend was beaten up. He was attacked by a gang..."

"Really?" The policeman seemed taken aback, then asked, "So, what's next? You're thinking about revenge?"

Lorenzo gave a wry smile, "I'd like to, but it's not something I can do at the moment..." He took another drag, releasing a thick plume of smoke as if trying to expel his current turmoil—the sense of helplessness, the vulnerability he detested.

Adam's ordeal wasn't the sole source of Lorenzo's anguish. The incident had unearthed a torrent of haunting memories for Lorenzo, moments when he felt utterly powerless—like being murdered and discarded in the sea or witnessing his family in his past life being massacred by foes. These memories dredged up a profound sense of frailty he seemed unable to shake off.

The policeman placed a reassuring hand on Lorenzo's shoulder, recognizing the depth of his predicament.

Lorenzo sighed, "I just can't stand feeling so powerless."

At this, the policeman's demeanor brightened slightly as he introduced himself, "By the way, I'm Albert Neri. And you?"

After a brief handshake, Lorenzo replied, "I'm Lorenzo Lupo."

"An Italian, I presume?" Albert inquired, picking up on Lorenzo's heritage from his name.

Lorenzo nodded. While his current identity was indeed half-Italian, the surname "Lupo" carried over from his previous life's legacy.

Albert gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, adding, "Well, that's even better."

Lorenzo, clearly puzzled, watched as Albert added, "I have a contact who might be willing to help you with your quest for revenge. If you're interested, reach out to me at this address." He then handed Lorenzo a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it.

Lorenzo studied the address, confusion written all over his face. "What's this for?" he asked.

"It's simple," Albert explained with a grin. "If you're really looking to settle scores, visit this address. I can connect you with someone who can make it happen."

Intrigued, Lorenzo couldn't hide his interest. "You have a contact who can assist me in taking revenge? I'm all ears..." He paused, then asked, "Who might this be?"

Albert wasted no time in revealing, "I'm acquainted with someone from the Corleone family. They can introduce you to the Don himself. Don Vito Corleone could certainly lend you a hand with your situation..."

Hearing this, Lorenzo was taken aback. He hadn't expected the officer before him to have ties with the mafia, especially not the renowned Corleone family!

"Could a powerful don really step in to help me?" Lorenzo asked, though he was already somewhat aware that a figure like a don could indeed offer assistance. He was more interested in gauging Albert's perspective.

"Absolutely," Albert replied with conviction. "I've heard from a friend closely connected to the Corleones that even ordinary folks can seek Don Vito's aid. As long as you approach him as a friend and show him respect, Don Vito won't hesitate to lend a hand."

Lorenzo remained quiet, digesting Albert's words. After a moment, Albert checked his watch and said, "I should get back to my duties. It was good to meet you, Lorenzo." With that, he departed.

Lorenzo watched Albert leave, then bought a train ticket and found himself aboard the next train. Seated, he revisited the piece of paper in his hand—Albert's address. The potential it represented churned through his mind; it could be the doorway to a new chapter. Tucking the paper into his pocket, he resolved it might come in handy later.

With thoughts of his hospitalized friend swirling in his mind, Lorenzo looked out the train window until he reached his stop. He made his way to the Jewish neighborhood and entered the Gelly family's delicatessen, a place tinged with nostalgia and now, a touch of sorrow. He settled into the familiar table he and Adam often shared.

Fat Moe, busy attending to other customers, caught sight of Lorenzo and approached. "You're here early today, Lorenzo. Where's Adam?"

Lorenzo offered a subdued smile. "He's... under the weather," he said, before changing the subject. "Fat Moe, does the deli serve alcohol?"

Fat Moe responded matter-of-factly, "We're a delicatessen; we serve food, not drinks."

Feeling a bit deflated, Lorenzo replied, "Alright, then. I'll have the chicken noodle soup."

"Coming right up. That'll be 25 cents," Fat Moe said before going to prepare Lorenzo's order.

Once Fat Moe disappeared into the kitchen, Lorenzo slipped away to the restroom, climbed onto a wooden crate, and carefully removed the panel concealing a secret peephole.

Lorenzo Isn't expecting to catch a glimpse of Deborah, the young and enchanting woman he found himself drawn to, in the backroom of the deli. Given the time of day, he thought she'd be at drama school. Yet, to his astonishment, he heard footsteps and saw her dancing gracefully.

As he watched her move, the weight of his earlier gloom began to lift. Deborah's presence, her dance, seemed to cast a spell over him, drawing him away from his troubles, if only for a moment.

But the spell was abruptly broken when Deborah turned towards the very peephole Lorenzo was using to watch her. In a flash, he withdrew, quickly covering the hole and making his escape from the bathroom.

"That was close," he muttered to himself, a mix of adrenaline and relief pulsing through him. Despite the scare, a smile played on his lips.

This encounter had been unexpectedly thrilling. Facing danger usually didn't unsettle Lorenzo this way, but the thought of being caught spying on Deborah had sent his heart racing in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Though he narrowly avoided being discovered, Lorenzo felt the risk was somehow worth it. The brief distraction had lightened his spirits, offering a fleeting escape from his somber mood.