"So where were we failing?" Silvio asked.
Joseph did not answer immediately. He poured another measure of cognac and watched the surface tremble inside the glass as though something alive had been dropped into it.
"We were failing," he said finally, "because my father forgot the order of things."
Silvio raised an eyebrow.
"The order?"
Joseph nodded slowly.
"You remember what I told you earlier about the three forces that hold a Cosca together."
"The ancestor, the blade, and the architect."
"Yes."
Joseph leaned back.
"My father began to believe the third was enough."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"He thought intelligence could replace instinct."
Silvio said nothing.
Joseph continued.
"My father believed the world had evolved beyond violence. That men could become civilised creatures if you simply dressed them in good suits and gave them respectable businesses."
He tapped his temple.
"But our brains were not built for this world."
Silvio frowned slightly.
Joseph continued quietly.
"Human beings are outdated biological machines. We were designed to survive in forests and deserts, to hunt and kill and compete in small tribes. The modern world arrived far too quickly for the human mind to adapt to it."
He took a slow sip.
"Our technologies advanced like alien machines falling from the sky, but the creature holding them remained the same primitive animal."
Silvio nodded slowly.
"And your father forgot this."
Joseph nodded.
"He thought the old traditions could simply be retired."
Joseph's eyes darkened slightly.
"But tradition is not decoration."
He leaned forward.
"It is the mechanism by which violence is organised."
Silvio said nothing.
Joseph continued.
"The problem DeSantino was facing when I returned from the rehabilitation centre was simple: the balance of the family had collapsed."
He began counting slowly on his fingers.
"Don Vincente — the ancestor — had been murdered."
"Don Vitelli — the blade — had been removed."
"And my father…"
He paused.
"…had begun pretending we were businessmen."
Joseph smiled bitterly.
"But we were still gangsters hiding inside expensive suits."
Silvio leaned forward.
"And your enemies?"
Joseph nodded.
"They understood something my father did not."
"What?"
"That the future of the islands no longer belonged to construction and cement."
His voice hardened.
"It belonged to the sea."
Silvio already understood.
"Smuggling."
Joseph nodded.
"Yes."
Across the strait the San Aurelio families had already adapted.
Their leader — Don Bontarelli — was not a romantic man. He understood markets better than most bankers.
When the French authorities dismantled the Corsican laboratories that had once supplied the European heroin trade, a vacuum appeared across the Mediterranean.
Bontarelli saw the opportunity immediately.
He formed an alliance with Nunzio Mattara, a Neapolitan trafficker who controlled the docks of the mainland. Through him the San Aurelio Cosca gained access to shipping routes stretching from the Levant to Marseille.
Soon every criminal organisation in the islands wanted a piece of the new trade.
Joseph continued.
"One of the first men to exploit the opportunity was Bandini."
Silvio nodded.
"I've heard the name."
Joseph smiled faintly.
"Of course you have. Bandini understood something very simple — when a door opens in our world you don't knock politely."
"You break it down."
"Exactly."
Bandini entered the heroin trade like a man entering a burning building — quickly and without hesitation.
The profits were enormous.
Soon the harbours were full of ships that officially carried fruit, machinery, textiles — and unofficially carried powder worth more than gold.
Meanwhile the DeSantino family remained committed to the old empire.
Joseph continued.
"Our wealth came from concrete."
Silvio frowned slightly.
"Concrete?"
"Yes."
After the war the islands experienced a construction boom. Entire cities were rising from the ruins. Roads, ports, apartment blocks, hotels."
Joseph gestured vaguely.
"Half the island was being rebuilt."
And DeSantino controlled much of it.
Don Giovanni oversaw the construction firms and cement supply.
Don Vitelli ensured that no competitor interfered with the business. Anyone who refused cooperation discovered very quickly that construction sites were dangerous places.
Vincenzo handled the accounts and the distribution of building permits through the municipal offices.
And above them all stood Don Vincente, whose task was far more delicate.
He ensured the Council of Families remained satisfied.
He ensured the authorities were paid.
He ensured every contractor received his portion of profit.
It was a delicate equilibrium.
Joseph paused.
"For years it worked beautifully."
Silvio nodded.
"But then?"
Joseph exhaled slowly.
"My father began forgetting what kind of empire he was managing."
The buildings DeSantino constructed were not always legal.
Planning permissions were obtained after construction had already begun.
Contracts were secured through intimidation.
Regulations were ignored.
"And that kind of empire," Joseph said quietly, "requires fear."
Silvio understood.
Joseph continued.
"But my father removed the source of that fear."
"Vitelli."
Joseph nodded.
"Yes."
Don Vitelli was taken out of the organisation.
Without the blade, the Cosca became soft.
Families who resented the Council's distribution of power began to whisper.
Rivals began testing boundaries.
Joseph continued.
"The conflict with the Bontarelli family began during this time."
Silvio leaned forward.
"And the bombing?"
Joseph smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"You've heard the story, I assume."
Silvio nodded.
"The explosion that started the war between the families."
Joseph shook his head slowly.
"That's the public version."
Silvio frowned.
"You're saying it wasn't?"
Joseph leaned forward slightly.
"The bomb was real. The deaths were real."
His voice lowered.
"But the war it started…"
He paused.
"…was carefully arranged."
The device had been planted to kill a rival boss.
Instead it detonated prematurely, killing a team of bomb technicians who had been called to defuse it.
The explosion shook the entire island.
Public outrage followed.
Police investigations intensified.
For the first time in decades the authorities declared open war against the Cosche.
Silvio stared at him.
"And you're saying…"
Joseph nodded.
"The anonymous phone call that alerted the authorities came from inside the Council."
Silvio blinked.
"Why?"
Joseph smiled faintly.
"To clean the board."
The criminal world of the islands had grown chaotic.
Too many independent families.
Too many vendettas.
Too many small kings.
The Council needed to restore control.
So a secret alliance formed between several modern members of the Council and certain officials within the government.
The explosion provided the perfect justification.
Police operations dismantled dozens of rival families.
Arrests multiplied.
Businesses collapsed.
Territories emptied.
Joseph leaned back.
"For a few years the island belonged to us again."
Silvio nodded slowly.
"But the exiles survived."
Joseph smiled darkly.
"Yes."
Those who fled the island did not disappear.
They rebuilt their empires abroad.
They learned new trades.
They gained new allies.
They returned richer, harder, and far more ruthless than before.
And when they came back…
Joseph's voice became quiet.
"…they did not come back for negotiations."
They dismantled the Council piece by piece.
Bosses disappeared.
Families were wiped out.
Associates vanished.
Anyone capable of inheriting power was hunted down.
"It was not a war," Joseph said.
"It was extermination."
Silvio asked quietly:
"And Don Vincente?"
Joseph stared into his empty glass.
"They killed him last."
Silence filled the room.
Finally Silvio spoke again.
"So when you returned from the rehabilitation centre…"
Joseph nodded slowly.
"…there was no Council."
"No Don Vincente."
"No balance of power."
He leaned back.
"And the island was drowning in blood."
Joseph smiled faintly.
"That was the world I came home to, Signor Silvio."