When I was a little kid, I used to love listening to the stories that my great-grandmother would tell. She was born in Sicily in 1898 and had a very full, very interesting life. She was a tiny woman with a quiet voice and a very nostalgic heart when I knew her, and she was one heck of a story-teller. She loved telling stories about the Mafia, to my Grandfather’s horror. He would always tell us not to listen to her, that the stories weren’t true, and he didn’t want her glorifying the mob. But, I didn’t know what he was talking about and loved listening to her, and would sit with her whenever I could.