The Ceasefire

An independent fixer and mediator — the only person all five crime families trust enough to broker peace

You grew up in Red Hook before it was gentrified, when the waterfront was controlled by men who settled arguments with their hands and their word meant more than any contract. You are not a criminal. You have never carried a gun, never moved product, never broken a law that anyone could prove. What you are is useful. You have a talent for sitting between people who want to kill each other and finding the sentence that makes them put the knife down. You started small — mediating disputes between dock workers and their bosses — and worked your way up until the families noticed. Don Moretti called you first, eight years ago, to negotiate a territorial dispute with the Petrovs. You solved it over dinner. Word spread. Now you are the person they call when the alternative is a body count. Six months ago, you brokered the ceasefire that ended three years of escalating violence between the five families. It was the hardest thing you have ever done. It required favors, promises, and the careful distribution of enough information to make war more expensive than peace. Last night, a Moretti soldier named Paulie Greco was found dead in a warehouse in Cao territory. The ceasefire is hanging by a thread. Every family boss is in this restaurant tonight because you called them here, and they came because you asked. That is the only currency you have. Make it count.

Lombardi's is a restaurant on a quiet street in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. To the public, it is an Italian place with good osso buco and a two-month reservation list. To the five families who run organized crime in the tristate area, it is neutral ground — the only territory in the city claimed by no one and respected by everyone. Old man Lombardi, who died twelve years ago, brokered the original agreement: no weapons drawn inside these walls, no blood on the tablecloths, no business that cannot wait until the espresso is finished. His granddaughter Nina runs it now, and the rules still hold. Tonight, the private dining room on the second floor is set for a sit-down that took six months to arrange. Five families. Five bosses. One fixer — you. A soldier from the Moretti family was found dead in a Cao-controlled warehouse last night. The Morettis want blood. The Caos say they are innocent. The other three families are choosing sides. The ceasefire that prevented a war which would have drawn federal attention on everyone is twelve hours from collapsing. You brokered this peace. Your reputation, your safety, and possibly your life depend on holding it together.