The Mafia Hit Man's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

experience on Avenue J was when the kids around the block started throwing mud balls at me and my brother. My father had to go and talk to their fathers. That was our first day there. We were miserable; we hated living there at first. But things eventually got better.
    Although I hated the neighborhood, I loved our house on Avenue J, especially my room. I had pictures of all the hot movie and TV stars tacked up on my walls: John Stamos and Scott Baio—Chachi from Happy Days —I loved him. He was all over my room. I always had beautiful furniture in my room. It was Formica back then, but it was all white Formica.
    The rest of the house was mainly brown and white—my mother’s favorite colors. We had bamboo wallpaper and brown furniture. Really fancy furniture, big wall units, the best TVs and sound systems. We had the most up-to-date gadgets in the kitchen—things other people didn’t have, except my father’s friends. Whatever was new, we had it in the house. We even had a tanning room in the basement.
    Our house was always the place where everyone wanted to be. My father was a very big family man, and he was very into holidays and birthdays. His friends, their wives or girlfriends, my aunts, uncles and cousins all came to the house on Avenue J for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We had a huge table. My father and mother did most of the cooking. My brother and I couldn’t wait for the holidays. It was the best time for us. The Christmas gifts, the people and the parties—it was just so much fun. There was such a feeling of warmth.
    We had a very welcoming house. My father would make breakfast for his friends if they came to the house in the morning. There was always coffee brewing; pancakes, sausages and eggs cooking on the stove. My father was just like a regular father and a regular guy who loved his family and friends.
    Our house was always filled with people. My parents liked to party. They were always having parties at the house. They also enjoyed getting all dressed up to go out drinking. They were completely different from the parents of my friends at school. I never thought of my father as a typical guy who worked a 9-to-5 job and then came home to his family.
    My father’s crew was always in and out of the house—even when we lived on Fifty-Fifth Street. At first, I just thought they were his friends. They were so nice to me. They’d pick me up and swing me around. They’d hug and kiss me. And they’d always buy me gifts. To me, they were the greatest people in the world. My mother hung out with their wives or girlfriends—or their wives and their girlfriends—and I didn’t really understand that, either.
    My father and his friends weren’t like everyone else. Most members of my father’s crew were pretty good-looking. Those guys were charming. Flashy dressers, with nice cars and nice jewelry. They smelled nice, wearing cologne like Grey Flannel. They always wore sunglasses—even at night. All the guys, including my father, shopped at the George Richland men’s clothing store in Bensonhurst. They all wore leisure suits, seamless dress pants and patent leather shoes. Some of them even had their initials embroidered on their shirts. I never saw any of this going on in other people’s houses.
    Joey and I loved his friends, too. They were so different from other people. And they treated us like we were really special. Everybody treated us very warmly—we had a lot of love from a lot of people. We had the best time of our lives on Avenue J because of the family and the friends—my father’s friends, not our friends—and all the get-togethers.
    For a long time, though, we were confused about what my father was and what he did. He was a professional gambler. He owned a restaurant. He came up with different stories all the time.
    Finally, one day, I just asked.
    â€œDad, when people ask me what you do, like at career day at