Politics

The ink was more than dry on November fourth's issue of the New York Times by the time Rica Pasqua got to it late that evening and read the headline's proclimation of "It's Bush (really)." Endeavouring to read and walk at once, she put her shoulder to the door of Ayman's, walked inside, and then took the paper down from eye level.

She had been looking forward to hashing out the results of the ballot with some of the other mafiosi, but the bar was fairly empty tonight. There were only two faces she recognized, and the second had her turning to the door again even as the first broke into a knowing grin.

"Rica. Where ya goin' so fast?" Seth called. "C'mere." He turned to the man behind another copy of the Times. "Hey Adriano. Rica's here."

The Don's consigliere lowered his own paper, smirked at the newly minted caporegime.

"Rica. Any thoughts on the results?" As he asked, Adriano beckoned her over with a gesture that, had it come from anyone else, would have been funny.  

"Bush'll do." She sighed as she settled onto the barstool, but Adriano pretended not to notice. "He's been in for four years now, he'll get another four, and then..." She trailed off with an expressive Italian gesture, but almost immediately wished she hadn't. Ricadonna hated to see the Tzmicie smile.

"And then who?" She also hated to answer his questions, especially if he already knew the answers.

"Guiliani."

"Rudy Guiliani?" Seth spoke up as he poured Pasqua a glass of the nicotene enhanced vitae she drank. "The mayor?"

"That's him." Rica crossed her legs on the barstool, fiddled with the glass.

"Hey," Seth suddenly seemed to notice something. "Where's The Kid?"

"I can do without him for a couple hours..." She snapped at the bartender and deliberately avoided the disapproving eyes of Adriano. "He'll know where to find me."

Ayman shrugged and wiped down his already gleaming bar with a cloth.

"You need protection, Captain." Adriano said in Italian, just at the edge of her hearing.

"I know." She answered back, for once loathing the rapid dialect. "But I was just coming here. Rafael will know where I am."

"So you will make it look as though that soldier does not know his job just to keep things quiet in the car." Something in the tone of the Consigliere warned against any argument, so Pasqua offered none. Flipping through the paper, she thought back to the nights of her own soldier's career. They had been good nights. Slightly lacking in politics she thought....then the two men heard her laugh aloud. She could not have been more wrong. In the winter of 1993, eleven years before, she, a soldier, had been part of the visit that would be certain to make what she had predicted for Rudolph Guiliani come to pass the next time America went to the polls.


A Sicilian girl to the core, Rica had been made furious by the storm that had nearly paralyzed the New York area in early December, 1993. No jobs would come in with the winds so high, and the soldier was anticipating a long evening alone in her East district penthouse with only her Sinatra records for company. Still, she remained ready for work in a double breasted pinstriped dress and kept an ear open for a call. Stretching out on the leather sofa with a glass of whisky, she watched the snowflakes stick to her window.

The door buzzer startled her, and the ice clinked in her glass as Rica went to the door and peeked through the bulletproof glass enforced peephole. Immediately she stepped back, letting Domenico Sansovino in. He shook snow off his boots before speaking.

"Something's come up, Rica, and Liam and I thought of you. If you'd like the night off, though, all you have to do is say." He grinned at her. This soldier was well known, even after just three years in the Family, for her drive both on and off the streets of St. Lucas.

"Where are we going?" Was Rica's question as she moved to step into her trademark stilleto heels and rummaged in the closet for her coat.

When they were approaching the Don's car, Domenico answered her question. "To see Guiliani. We've helped him win the mayoral election, but the Boss has other ideas for him too."

He held the passenger side door open for her, next to Delano's ghouled bodyguard, and Pasqua was uneasy for a moment until the caporegime sighed, and Liam chuckled from the back seat.

"Dress, soldier." He reminded her, and she unhesitatingly slid in.


The lavish New York apartment in which Rudolph Guiliani made his home now was a far cry from the Bronx where he had been raised, but after only half an hour in the man's presence, Rica could understand why her Don was such a staunch supporter of him.

"More coffee, Signorina?" He offered, and when she shook her head no he went on with his story. "When I did some research on my grandfather Rudolpho, I found out that when he went back to Italy to get his sister in 1920, he only had twenty dollars. Imagine that."

"I can." Rica said softly.

"It is because of your strong family background that we first supported you." Liam Delano smiled slightly. "We got you through the Courts, and we got you to the mayor's post...or at least, in a couple of days we will have. What do you plan to do after your two terms have been served?"

The man looked rather taken aback for the first time in the conversation. "Well, I love America, Mr. Delano...and I think New York State is the best part...maybe Governor?"

"What about President?" Liam straightened his tie as if he had said nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

"Well...I..."

"We could help you." Delano spoke with calm assurance. "You'd be good at the job. Just what we need."

On the other side of Liam, Rica smothered a smile. It sounded almost like the second 'we' referred to America, not the Family itself. The Don was working his magic.

"Thank you..." Guiliani still sounded dazed. "That would be..."

"A good way to give back all that America has given you. Take a term off once you're finished with the city...then we'll talk again."


A hand on her shoulder snapped Rica back to the present. Rafael was behind her. He had changed in the months since his siring and position as her secretary. Now, as her bodyguard, he dressed in darker colours, was harder in some ways, but those fashionable purple shades still remained.

"Evenin', Boss Lady...Adriano....Seth." He let no trace of the irritation he was bound to be feeling with her creep into his voice. He had been taught well.

"Evenin', Rafael..." She glanced at her watch. "Christ, that was quick." She had only left the house an hour ago.

"Well, I figured I could find you somewhere discussing politics, now that you're a caporegime."

He blinked as his boss went off into gales of rare laughter. The weirdest things struck her funny sometimes.