“Look, Luciano, I’ve done all I can,” said Gotti, shrugging helplessly. “If you want to stay here in town, and you want a government job with a nice pension and good hours, this is all I have for you right now.”

“Come on, Giovanni,” cried Luciano. His powerful voice, the pride of the local opera, virtually blasted his old friend back in his seat. “You know I have too much tied up in my house here to move! Especially after Roberta got everything else in the divorce.”

“Well, this is as good as I can be to you as your patron,” said Gotti. “I’m sorry, I really am. I’ll look for better, I promise you, since this doesn’t even begin to pay you back for all those free tickets for me and Esmerelda.”

Luciano looked at the paperwork. “I like the money and I like the hours, but…”

“If you want something right now, it’s this or selling hot dogs to fat American tourists,” said Gotti. “Or you could keep singing.”

“No,” said Luciano. “Not after what happened. I can’t, I just can’t. You know this.”

“Well then, you start Monday,” said Gotti. “One week’s training with the current guy before he retires off to a villa in Tuscany with his grandkids.”

“Still, I don’t know,” said Luciano. “I’m just not sure what an opera singer does the only available job is in the quietest library in town.”

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