MTLNOVEL Chapter 130 New York's Five Mafia Families - Lucchese Family_2
After a few home-brewed beers, everyone loosened up.
Bart shared strange tales from his years on the road: scavengers who stumbled upon storage units belonging to deceased elderly people and became rich overnight; industry bigwigs who made huge bets, only to spend a whole night hauling away a truckload of garbage.
Beck was much quieter. The only thing perhaps worth mentioning was that in just over three years, he had earned the nickname "Lion Beck" in the industry. The number of people he'd beaten up was easily eighty, if not a hundred.
The biggest sum Beck had ever made hadn't come from warehouse scavenging. Instead, it was when he and Bart were preparing to return but found they lacked money for plane tickets. Out of options, they took jobs at a bar to earn their travel fare. Bart worked as a bartender, while Beck worked as a "sexy" drink server—the kind of muscular waiter wearing a revealing little apron. Occasionally, Beck would accept invitations from female customers to go to their homes and help fix pipes or clear clogged drains, earning some hard-earned cash. In one month, Beck found he'd earned more money than in the entire previous year. If it weren't for wanting to return for Christmas, Beck figured he might have considered a career change. But that wasn't something he felt comfortable bringing up.
All in all, the dinner was quite enjoyable.
「The next day.」
A large group of people set off in two cars, heading for the farm in the suburbs.
American farm owners, strictly speaking, are more like landowners, possessing full rights to their land and forests, enjoying great freedom whether cultivating crops or grazing livestock. Dean's maternal grandfather was one such small to medium-sized farm owner. He had several plots of farmland planted with a significant amount of corn, several pastures for beef and dairy cattle and lambs, as well as a dedicated horse farm, a vineyard, and a moderately sized oak forest. It was hard to estimate his total assets, but the farm supported over ten cowboys and their families.
In the early years, Dean's grandfather, along with his cowboys, had killed quite a few competitors, burying their bones in the rich soil underfoot before finally establishing stability. All in all, he wasn't a good man.
But as he got older, things changed. In Dean's memory, his eldest uncle and the cowboys now managed the farm. His grandparents spent their days fishing or traveling to New York to visit old friends, essentially retired.
Near the oak forest, Dean's grandfather had built a very ordinary Italian Tuscan-style building. White railings fenced a neatly trimmed grassy yard, exuding a cozy sense of seclusion in the mountains.
The little old man, wearing overalls, was busy preparing a plump lamb with a middle-aged man and a younger one. Around them, a dozen white families formed a large circle, sipping home-brewed corn liquor and chatting animatedly.
Hearing the cars approach, Old Laine quickly put down his work and came to greet them.
For Dean, it felt like the 'first time' meeting his maternal grandfather's side of the family, yet surprisingly, there was no sense of unfamiliarity. The integration of his predecessor's memories was one factor. More importantly, his grandfather, Old Laine, and his eldest uncle, Little Laine, were exceptionally forthright and warm; their unreserved enthusiasm made it difficult for anyone to remain guarded.
Dean and the others received a warm welcome.
Bart, however, had it tough. Old Laine immediately picked up a nearby riding crop and gave him a few harsh lashes. Only then did a concerned old woman—likely Bart's mother and Dean's grandmother—tearfully lead Bart into the house, where they began catching up, expressing their longing after years apart.
After disciplining his son, Old Laine turned his gaze to Beck and Dean, his eyes filled with unconcealed fondness. "Beck, you look even more like a man than you did over three years ago! Truly worthy of our Lucchese blood! And Dean, you're the spitting image of your maternal great-grandfather. If it wasn't for your mother..."
"COUGH, COUGH!" Sheila coughed twice, her gaze full of warning as she looked at Old Laine. She quickly changed the subject, "Dad, why are members of the Sicily Family here?"
Nearby, Little Laine frowned slightly. "Harry Siri was murdered in his bed the day before yesterday. He was a maternal grandson with ties to the New York Lucchese Family. Those bastards want us to go and offer our condolences."
Hearing the name, Dean, who had been silent, raised an eyebrow and interjected, "Uncle, are you talking about Harry Siri? The guy who owned the car supermarket?"
Isn't that the moron who cuckolded Ross and then sent photos to humiliate him? That top assassin from South America had been intimidated by Ross's background and said he'd take care of the target for free, but there had been no news since. It seemed Harry Siri was dead now. His family probably knew something but hadn't dared to make it public.
"Yes, that's him," Little Laine confirmed, his expression grim. "He probably offended some powerful figure. His own father hasn't even spoken out. But our families do share some distant blood ties from decades ago, so we might have to make a trip to New York this time."
He continued, his face darkening further. "We're a branch of the Lucchese Family. During the height of the Mafia in the 1940s, we lost a power struggle, relocated to Los Angeles, and gradually went legitimate."
The New York Lucchese Family was now using this as an opportunity to suddenly contact their long-overlooked branch. Who knew what they were really up to!
"Alright!" Old Laine shot his eldest son a glare, cutting off the topic. He then led everyone into the yard and formally introduced Dean to the cowboys and their families.