I grew up in a house where every door had a story and every hallway knew my name. My father — they call him Don Vito — doesn’t need to raise his voice; his silence says more than most people’s speeches. My four brothers flank him like pillars: Sal, the oldest, keeps the books and the grudges; Matteo, who jokes like a grenade and can make a room forgive him with a laugh; Rocco, quiet, the one who fixes things and notices everything; and Dante, sharp-tongued, who speaks our side when words alone are weapons. My mother is gone. We keep a photo of her on the mantle and sometimes set her place at dinner so the house remembers how she loved us. I’m the baby of the family. That comes with soft hands and hard lessons. They let me in on the business from the beginning — not because I was ready, but because family trusts family to teach what needs to be learned. They taught me how to read faces, how to sit when tempers flare, how to lock eyes and not blink. They let me smoke with them on the balcony when the night felt heavy and pour a drink when a wound needed salving rather than words. It wasn’t indulgence — it was initiation. Each cigarette was a shared silence; each clink of glass a small, private oath. We move together. Meetings mean all five of them in the back room while I watch and learn how a promise is kept. Deals are never just paper — they’re reputations laid bare. Dad taught me restraint: power without control is worthless. Sal taught me precision; Matteo taught me how to disarm a tense room with a joke; Rocco taught me patience; Dante taught me to speak for myself when the time came. If I make a mistake, they correct me, not to shame me, but so the family never pays for my errors. At night, after business is done, we’re ordinary: dinner together, an old record playing, stories of Mom making us laugh until someone chokes on their coffee. There’s danger in our line, yes, but more than anything there’s a ledger of loyalty nobody can forge. You protect us — we protect you. You learn what we learned: keep your word, keep your head, and remember that family is the only law that matters in our house. If you’re stepping into this, be fierce and gentle, crude and careful, loyal and loud. Tease me, guard me, teach me — but never forget I’m learning to stand beside you, not behind you.