Chapter 39: The Free-Riders

"Lefty," a soldier in the Bonanno crime family, walked into the restaurant accompanied by "Donnie," a low-level associate he had taken under his wing just a few months prior.

"I’m going to introduce you to the others soon. I’ll say, 'You’re a friend of mine,' which means you’re my guy. If I refer to you as 'a friend of ours,' it means you’re a made man. You understand?"

Donnie, who had recently "transferred" over from the Colombo family, nodded. "Understood. A friend of mine... a friend of ours." He listened to these rules with the utmost seriousness.

As an FBI agent, he had adopted the alias "Donnie" years ago, reinventing himself as a jewelry merchant to "lay low" in the New York underworld. It had taken years of effort to earn even a modicum of trust, eventually leading to him running errands for a Colombo associate. Only in the last few months had he been introduced to Lefty, a full-fledged member of the Bonanno family. Now, he was barely considered a low-level associate.

Donnie found undercover work in the Mafia infuriatingly difficult. These Sicilians were paranoid, barely trusting anyone. It was only because Lefty was a man who valued loyalty and friendship—and was perpetually broke and in need of cash—that Donnie had managed to get in at all. Otherwise, becoming an associate would have been impossible. After all, he was the first undercover agent to ever penetrate the Mafia!

Donnie asked, "And how should I refer to you around others?"

Lefty replied, "Don't you dare mention my name."

Donnie silently noted Lefty’s foul-mouthed nature.

Lefty then reached out habitually. "You got any cash? I’ve got some urgent business tomorrow."

Donnie: "..."

*If you don't have money, just ask! Forget calling it the Mafia, call it the "Hand-Out-ia"! The organization's expense budget is running dry!*

He pulled out his wallet, which Lefty snatched away. Lefty then scolded him, insisting that money shouldn't be kept flat but rolled up. With that, Lefty rolled up Donnie's cash and tucked it into his own pocket. Donnie felt a pang of frustration, though he took comfort in the fact that it was technically organization funds. Still, the thought of meeting the rest of the Bonanno family was heartening. These were criminals, and by building rapport with them, he would have the chance to gather evidence of their crimes.

***

A moment later, Donnie followed Lefty into the restaurant, where he was introduced to a man nicknamed "Sonny Black" and several other mobsters.

"This is a friend of mine, Donnie," Lefty introduced him.

Hearing the phrase "friend of mine," everyone understood that Donnie was Lefty's guy—under his protection. Donnie greeted them all warmly, getting to know them one by one.

One member enthusiastically introduced the restaurant. "My wife saw it in a Prada magazine. She said Japanese food is the latest trend—it's very famous!"

These tough guys were all visiting a Japanese restaurant for the first time, curiously eyeing the unique decor and customs. When Donnie saw some guests taking off their shoes, his expression shifted. *You have to take off your shoes to eat? My wire is hidden inside my shoe!* Donnie grew anxious; he hadn't known they were eating Japanese food and was completely unfamiliar with the customs.

***

What should he do? Lefty had already taken off his shoes and sat on the tatami mat, while Donnie stood in a dilemma. He shoved his hands into his pockets, putting on a defiant, thuggish look that said, "I'm not taking my shoes off, what are you going to do about it?"

"Sir, please remove your shoes," the waiter, dressed in a suit, reminded Donnie with a polite smile in English.

"Are you kidding me?" Donnie sneered, aggressively intimidating the waiter. "Why do I have to take them off? What is this? Why don't you take off your pants?"

"It is the rule; it is a Japanese custom." The waiter explained patiently, doing his best to remain polite.

*It’s just taking off shoes, not asking you to streak. Do you have foot odor or something? Are you afraid to take them off?* Lefty, Sonny Black, and the others began urging Donnie to comply.

"We're here to eat," Sonny Black said in a low, threatening voice. "Either take them off, or we'll cut your damn feet off."

Donnie's expression darkened. He quickly thought of a plausible excuse. "You want me to listen to these damn Japanese? My family was killed by the Japanese in Okinawa; they nearly destroyed my life. Do you think I should listen to this Japanese son of a bitch? No! Never!"

The mobsters' expressions shifted. They hadn't realized there was such a history. That made it a blood feud—a different matter entirely! Sonny, though arrogant and overbearing, was protective of his own. He put his own shoes back on and threatened the waiter along with his brothers: "Listen, my friend here isn't taking off his shoes! That's his principle!"

"I'm afraid that won't do," the waiter insisted. "The restaurant has its rules; everyone else has."

"And we aren't taking ours off either!" Sonny Black said coldly. "Before I beat you senseless, lead us to our table!"

"You must—"

Before the waiter could finish, Sonny grabbed him by the collar. His men joined in, pinning the waiter’s arms and dragging him toward the restroom. Donnie knew exactly what was about to happen: these mobsters were going to beat the Japanese man to vent their frustration for him. That was just how unreasonable they were.

He followed them into the restroom, where the group of men began punching and kicking the waiter, leaving him bloodied. Sonny even took off his own shoe and handed it to Donnie. "Hit him! Use the damn boot!"

Donnie: "..."

Since the boss was standing up for him, protecting his dignity as a subordinate, Donnie couldn't afford to be ungrateful. To avoid blowing his cover, he had to grit his teeth and swing the boot at the waiter. It was his first time truly experiencing the brutality of the Mafia. Yet, he felt a strange, resistant stirring in his heart—he had been bullied, and these mobsters had sided with him regardless of who was right, fiercely protective of their own. And he was the one being protected.

After the outburst, Lefty patted Donnie on the shoulder. "That’s what happens when you offend us. Next time you run into a fool who won't listen, tell me. I’ll back you up."

Sonny Black grinned, thumping Donnie gently on the chest. "Feel better? These Japanese killed so many Americans back in the day; I’ve got that debt recorded, too! The Mafia always pays back eye for an eye!"

Donnie felt helpless and speechless—that was a story he had made up! His entire identity was a fabrication.

The group swaggered out of the restroom, leaving the bloodied man behind. Because of the commotion, they lost their appetite for eating there and planned to go elsewhere. But as they reached the hallway, a group of Japanese warriors in *haori-hakama* appeared, each brandishing a katana.

The mobsters' expressions shifted. *How come there are so many gangsters hiding out in this dump? Do they react this fast?*

The restaurant manager, leading the group, sneered. Ever since his place had been trashed last time, he had hired plenty of men and weapons from a gang to beef up security, specifically to prevent trouble. A thousand days of keeping soldiers for a single moment of need!

"Daring to cause trouble on Japanese territory! Take them!" the manager shouted in Japanese, ordering his men to charge.

One group yelled "Baka," while the other cursed "Motherfucker," exchanging polite greetings. Just as tensions boiled over, the door to the side was kicked open, the foot catching one of the warriors.

"I told you not to use these paper-thin doors; they break at a touch."

Seeing Luca suddenly appear, both groups froze.

"Dove?" Lefty and Sonny shouted in unison. As veterans of the Mafia, they recognized Luca immediately.

Luca was speechless. How had a fight broken out for no reason? He had just wanted to sit down and have a meal with these guys to build some rapport. With a few quick moves, Luca repelled several warriors, picked up a katana, and shouted, "Stop!"

The manager charged forward in a rage. "Who the hell are you? Get out of the way, don't meddle—"

*Hum!*

The katana plunged into the floor right in front of him. The manager stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Luca with a grim face.

"If you haven't heard the nickname 'Dove' Luca," Luca teased, "then surely you've heard of 'The Butcher'?"

The manager turned pale. In fact, he had heard both, but this was the first time he realized they referred to the same man.

The manager was unconvinced. "I know your rules, but this isn't your territory! You have no say here!"

"No say? You dare break my rules right in front of me? I'll give you five seconds to rephrase that," Luca said coldly. "If you're in a place to eat, then eat in peace! Do you want to keep doing business here, or should you close shop tomorrow and have your wife and children collect your corpses? I can guarantee that by this time next year, your grave will be covered in cherry blossoms!"

Instantly, the surrounding warriors looked hesitant, glancing at the manager to see if they should continue. They might not be able to beat The Butcher!

Donnie watched this scene, utterly stunned. *Is this Dove Luca? Hearing about him is one thing, but seeing him in person? This is infinitely more overbearing than the police!*

As a law enforcement officer, beyond the sheer intimidation, Donnie felt a strange sense of affinity toward Luca. The feeling of being protected was even stronger than the satisfaction of beating up the Japanese waiter in the bathroom. Feeling this shift in his heart, Donnie's expression flickered. *Damn it! I... I’m actually starting to like the Mafia already? Is it possible I was born to be a gangster?*

[Bond: Attention]