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"Thank you, Mr. Brook!" After arriving home, Francesca got out of the car and thanked the driver.
"Don't mention it, just doing my job for the boss!" Brook waved his hand and drove away.
"Seems like your boss might be even more impressive than I imagined." Watching the car drive off, Vito said to his sister.
"Why do you say that?" Francesca asked, puzzled.
"If I'm not mistaken, that driver used to be a soldier, and the kind who's seen combat." Vito explained.
"Really? I'm not too sure about that. But it's not surprising—Mr. Kane isn't just a newspaper-featured anti-Fascist hero, he's also a supplier to the military. So it's not unusual for him to have a few veterans around, right?" Francesca thought for a moment and said.
Seeing her naïve expression, Vito shook his head and didn't say more. Others might not notice, but having fought in Europe, he knew very well—Brook's demeanor didn't resemble that of a typical laid-back American soldier, but more like those German soldiers he encountered when he was captured.
"Why is our new home here? Isn't this Irish territory?" Redirecting his focus, Vito couldn't help but ask as he looked around the neighborhood. The new home was in the West Side, which was a much better environment than the Little Italy they used to live in. But to Vito, that was a problem.
For the past decade or so, the living areas of new Italian immigrants were clearly separated from those of other ethnic groups. Unless they were wealthy, Italians wouldn't willingly move into neighborhoods dominated by others.
For example, if an Italian lived in Little Italy and ran into trouble, he could spend a little money to get the local Italian mafia to handle it. But if you lived in the Irish district—who would help you then?
Before getting drafted, Vito had also been a street punk, and he understood how these things worked.
"Vito, don't say things like that. There's no Italian Mafia in all of Chicago now. The Irish are in charge but don't worry, Mr. Kane has a high status in Chicago. The local gang members know I work for him and wouldn't dare bother us." Francesca immediately tried to reassure him.
"...Alright. By the way, Sis, have you seen Joe since I got drafted? He took all the goods in that last deal—did he give you the money?" Vito changed the topic.
The "Joe" he referred to was none other than Joe Barbaro—the same guy who stole a car, got into debt thanks to Josh, and was later hired by Tony Wendis to tail Margot.
But that poor guy had already been killed by Josh and traded to Daenerys through the exchange device—what she did with him (planted flowers or fed him to her dragons) wasn't Josh's concern.
Before Vito was drafted, he had been running with Joe.
It was during one of their nighttime shoplifting sprees that Joe ran off, leaving Vito to get caught. Because Vito spoke Italian, he was drafted into the army.
"No, I haven't seen him since you were arrested, let alone gotten any money. If it weren't for Ms. Margot's kindness, we wouldn't even have had money to bury Father. Now that you're back, you'd better find a proper job and stop messing around with those people!" Francesca said earnestly.
"...Dear sister, you're overthinking. The war isn't even over yet!" Vito said helplessly, not yet knowing Francesca had pleaded with Josh.
"Oh right, I forgot to tell you—I already asked Mr. Kane to find a way so you don't have to go back to the war. He agreed. Tomorrow, you have to come with me to thank him." Francesca finally told Vito.
"What? Really? Is that possible?" Vito's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Of course. Since Mr. Kane agreed, it'll definitely happen." Francesca said confidently.
Vito opened his mouth but couldn't say a word.
That night, lying on the bed in his new room and feeling the soft and comfortable mattress, Vito couldn't sleep for a long time.
He hadn't enjoyed such peace and comfort for over a year.
If he really didn't have to go back to the battlefield, like his sister said—that would be amazing.
But then he couldn't help thinking of someone's invitation...oh well, who knows where they're fighting now. They've probably already forgotten about him.
After a good night's sleep, the next morning, Vito followed his sister to Josh's villa.
"Vito Scaletta?" In the study, Josh looked at the tall and handsome Italian youth before him and asked. He had to admit, the sister was pretty, and the brother wasn't bad-looking either. God knows how their drunkard of a father produced such a good-looking pair.
"Yes, sir, I'm Vito!" Vito replied somewhat nervously. Josh looked younger than him, but there was a natural air of authority about him, like facing a high-ranking officer.
"This is your discharge certificate." Josh nodded and pushed a document over. "An official file from the Veterans Administration, so no need to worry about any lingering consequences."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Kane!" Vito's eyes lit up. He finally understood what kind of influence this "Mr. Kane" his sister mentioned actually had.
Normally, in times of war, unless you faked a medical condition, there was no way to get discharged.
But Josh just handed over an official document from the Veterans Administration—Vito had never even heard of that happening.
"It's nothing. Francesca works diligently, and I'm not a stingy employer—so I won't refuse a small request." Josh waved his hand, then asked, "I heard that Captain Rogers saved you while you were in Europe?"
"Yes, sir, it was Captain Rogers who saved both Captain Bucky and me. If it weren't for him, I probably would've died on Hydra's test bench." Vito replied with timely flattery. The moment he walked into the study, he noticed the photo on the wall of Josh with Captain America—without the mask.
That made him instinctively think that Mr. Kane must know Captain America, and probably had a good relationship with him but Josh didn't care at all about the flattery.
He cared about something else entirely.
"You're saying you and Bucky were on the test bench?" Josh, who hadn't taken Vito very seriously before, now stared at him with a serious expression and asked.
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