"Frankie, give this envelope to Mr. Passano when you see him tomorrow," club manager and ever-vigilant doorman Jerry D'iorfio said. The envelope was sealed but I could tell there was a great deal of cash in it. I'm just the drummer with the band, and now suddenly I am making some sort of delivery to the syndicate. My mother would have been proud. "Don't worry," Jerry laughed. "We trust you. After all, you're a paesano, am I right?" He suddenly grew serious. "Plus, you pull any fast one and, bing bada bing, you're history." Then Jerry laughed again. Frankie Severino wasn't laughing. When the...