The Return of Stephanie Chalice and a First Look at NONNA’S COSA NOSTRA

Nonna’s Cosa Nostra

A New Stephanie Chalice Mystery

by

Lawrence Kelter

non·na

/ˈnänə/

noun: nonna; plural noun: nonnas

(among Italian speakers) a person’s grandmother.

ZERO HOUR

Sonny DeLuca, flat on his back in a Long Island hospital, was comatose being kept alive by life support machines. There are medical terms for obstructions of the circulatory system. If blood flow in a vein is impeded the docs call the condition thrombophlebitis. An obstructed artery on the other hand is called atherosclerosis and is usually caused by a buildup of fibrous or fatty material. In Sonny’s case, the flow of blood to his vital organs was impeded by a pair of lead slugs. I’m not sure what that’s called, only that the prognosis was bleak, bleak as in knocking on death’s door, bleak as in all the Lipitor in the world wasn’t going to push those two slugs out of the way.

However, a trickle charge of current was still running from Sonny’s brain to his heart, so to paraphrase a line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, “He wasn’t dead yet.” But, if you asked me on which side of the empty line DeLuca’s gas tank needle pointed, I’d have to say poor Sonny was about to break down somewhere along the highway to hell and probably closer to the fiery pit than purgatory.

Sonny DeLuca had been whacked.

Sort of.

He’d been semi-whacked but that was whack enough to set the mafia universe on its ear because Sonny DeLuca wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears nobody. He was a don, a boss among bosses, and an attempt on made men like Sonny DeLuca didn’t happen every day. Or any day, practically. Mafia dons weren’t supposed to be put down. A don is a whacker, not a whackee, which means he decides who lives and who dies but never ends up on the business end of a sidearm. They called John Gotti the “Teflon Don.” DeLuca had earned the moniker, Sonny “The Shield” DeLuca. He was supposed to be bulletproof.

Now we know better.

Sure, every once in a great while a mob boss gets clipped but it’s extraordinary. Carlo Gambino had Albert “The Mad Hatter” Anastasia wasted in a barber chair while he was getting a shave and a haircut. It’s also common knowledge that “Big Paulie” Castellano took six rounds from a pair of semi-autos just as he was about to fill his belly with porterhouse at Sparks Steakhouse.

I freely admit, it happens.

But not often. When it does, a firestorm usually ensues, ferocious war between rival mafia families, a struggle for power and control, yada, yada, yada. It’s an absolute nightmare for anyone trying to uphold justice, cops and government law enforcement agents for instance. A bona fide shit storm.

Now, there are some who will tell you that the mob is a thing of the past, that La Cosa Nostra is dead, gone and forgotten like traditional family values and respect for the elderly.

But here’s the thing, half a decade back, fellas dressed like Cary Grant, the quintessential gent whose name was synonymous with classic men’s style. They went to work wearing freshly ironed suits and spit-shined wingtips. Haircuts were neat and faces, cleanly shaven. Nowadays by contrast, bearded dudes head off to work, if they even bother to leave the house, wearing mustard-stained hoodies and sweatpants. And they don’t work in offices. They while away the hours in incubators. Do you hear that, incubators? Adults going to work in controlled environments initially conceived to protect fragile prematurely-born infants. And now, apparently, Gen Zers as well. Can you appreciate the irony of burly, hairy-faced men applying their trade in a hatchery? Are you kidding me?

And that’s the thing with the mob, its look may have changed but the organization’s DNA remains unaltered. Sure, you don’t see goodfellas hanging out at the local wiseguy club as often. Nor do they cruise the boulevards in droptop Cadillacs but the black heart of the mafia still beats strong.

Take my word for it. My name is Stephanie Chalice. I’m a fed and I know shit.

The attempt on DeLuca’s life took place on a Sunday afternoon. In the Roman-Catholic religion, Sunday is a day reserved for church and big ass dinners with family. It’s a day to give thanks to the Lord for all of your blessings, your family, your home and…your health. There’s a certain sanctity associated with the Lord’s day. Even those who walk the line, those whose life is always at risk, take for granted that they can drop their guard for a few hours to watch Green Bay duke it out with the Chicago Bears while gulping bear and nibbling chicken wings.

I doubt Sonny “The Shield” DeLuca saw it coming. Scratch that, I’m sure of it.