“Today,” said Manny Fontaine, who had joined their party as well. “Crazy story. Do you know Marty Gosch? A producer. Flew to Italy to pitch a picture he wants to make about Lucky’s life. Lucky had a heart attack at the airport.”

“He was in his early sixties,” said Giancana. The table was silent for a second as everyone waited to see how Giancana felt about Luciano’s demise. “That’s a hell of a ride for a guy like him,” Giancana said. “We should all be taken out by God and not by a wiseguy.” He raised a glass of red wine. “Salute.” Everyone joined him.

“Cento di questi giorni!” added Martin.

“He should never have been deported,” said Sinatra. “All the good he did for the U.S. during the war, he shoulda got a medal.”

A young woman at the table—she had red hair and sweet pinches of baby fat that appeared when she smiled, which was often—asked Sinatra what he was talking about. The singer was only too happy to air what was clearly a long-held grievance.

“You kids! You’re just babies!” Sinatra started. “Okay, so, during the war, Navy Intelligence was concerned that Italian spies were infiltrating the docks. So they reached out to Socks Lanza for help—any info to protect us from Mussolini’s double agents. Project Underworld. Socks gave ’em union cards so they could be undercover.”

“Socks controlled the docks,” Giancana said.

“Hey, that rhymes,” noted Martin. He began to croon “Socks…controlled the docks” to a round of titters and chuckles.

“Seussian,” Margaret said to Charlie; Lucy and Dwight loved The Cat in the Hat. They made sad pouts at each other, missing their kids.

“You shoulda seen Socks,” Martin added. “He was like a refrigerator with feet.”

“And Socks worked for Lucky,” Sinatra continued. “So G-men met with Lucky. In prison. Where was he, Momo?”

“Dannemanna,” Giancana said, botching another name.

“Dannemora,” Martin corrected him.

“That’s the one,” said Giancana. “So they moved him to Great Meadow to be closer to the city.”

“Yeah,” Sinatra said. “So Lucky got to work. He had nothing else to do in prison, right? He also gave ’em names of Sicilians in New York who might know things, anything to help us prepare to invade Italy. So after the war, Lucky’s sentence got commuted—but he had to leave the country.”

“He went to Naples,” Giancana said.

“And then Havana!” said Sinatra, winking at Giancana.

Salute.