samurai warrior his. He would become a samurai warrior; he would be fearless and remorseless and unbeatable. Invincible. The killer in Tommy Pitera had flown halfway around the world to find a comfortable place to develop, grow, learn. Here, the dragon would find nourishment and sustenanceâbecome a dangerous creature of the night.
Wide-eyed and innocent, though with war on his mind, Pitera showed up at the martial arts school in Tokyo, Japan. He studied under Japanâs revered sensei, Hiroshi Masumi. Every day Tommy showed up at class and worked out with a fervor and dedication that was religious. Seven days a week, he fought with his hands, his feet, and various Japanese weapons: tonfa, nunchucks, bs, and katanas. His muscles, which had been toned already from his years of training, became rock hard. His facial features changed, too. His cheekbones became higher. The teenage fat melted off his face; his face became more angular and defined. His stick-straight black hair grew even longer and contrasted with his blue-gray eyes, making him an unsettling sight.
Though his effeminate voice stayed with him, here, however, nobody made fun of him. Here, Pitera was respected and thought of as a champion athlete, fighter. Pitera ate mostly fish and rice and seaweed and there was little fat on his body. For entertainment he read voraciously, books about war, martial artsâhow to kill. He read about where to stab and slash and cut for the maximum effect. He studied killing people the way a dedicated student involved in physics studies numbers. He became obsessed with not only winning every fight he fought but winning decisively, irreversiblyâkilling his enemies.
For the first time in his life, it seemed like he had discovered aplace in the world where he fit in. When it was time to go, he wasnât ready to leave and instead went to work in a chopsticks factory to help underwrite his stay and make ends meet. His mother and her sister Angelina Bugowski came over to visit him. They were both impressed by the change in his physical appearance, how he had matured, how much he had grown, and how much he thought of the Japanese culture and people, his grounded sensibility. Now when Pitera fought in tournaments, he always won. Even his sensei shied away from him in fights. When he hit people, he broke bones, traumatized flesh and muscle and sinew; he left his opponents covered in black-and-bluesâcontusions.
Like all championship fighters, Pitera inevitably began to think of himself as invincible. He no longer walked, he strutted, head high, shoulders back, his chest outâ¦defiant. Now it was he who looked down on people; now he was an alpha male, a predator, a burgeoning dragon.
Tommy Pitera became so absorbed in his life in martial arts, in the culture of Japan, that the days went by unusually fast. In no time, the young man had been there some twenty-seven months. He had learned everything he could, developed himself into a fighting machine. His muscles were much like those of a Thoroughbred horse; it looked as though steel cables were alive under his flesh.
Still, he was not sure what he wanted to do with his life. Could he make a living at martial arts? Perhaps he could open a martial arts school, though he was not the type that had either the patience or inclination to teach. He was, by nature, self-centered and was not apt to teach what he had learned through hard work, blood, and sweat.
Tommy Pitera knew it was time to go home, time for him to return to Brooklyn. Even he, back then, there in Japan, had no idea he would end up one of the most feared assassins the Mafia had ever knownâa capo in the Bonanno crime family, a killer who would take a place of honorâinfamyâin the Mafiaâs infamous hall of fame.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BONANNOS
T he history of the Bonanno crime family goes back several hundred years, beginning in Castellammare del Golfo in Sicily. Back then, the Bonannos were men
Wide-eyed and innocent, though with war on his mind, Pitera showed up at the martial arts school in Tokyo, Japan. He studied under Japanâs revered sensei, Hiroshi Masumi. Every day Tommy showed up at class and worked out with a fervor and dedication that was religious. Seven days a week, he fought with his hands, his feet, and various Japanese weapons: tonfa, nunchucks, bs, and katanas. His muscles, which had been toned already from his years of training, became rock hard. His facial features changed, too. His cheekbones became higher. The teenage fat melted off his face; his face became more angular and defined. His stick-straight black hair grew even longer and contrasted with his blue-gray eyes, making him an unsettling sight.
Though his effeminate voice stayed with him, here, however, nobody made fun of him. Here, Pitera was respected and thought of as a champion athlete, fighter. Pitera ate mostly fish and rice and seaweed and there was little fat on his body. For entertainment he read voraciously, books about war, martial artsâhow to kill. He read about where to stab and slash and cut for the maximum effect. He studied killing people the way a dedicated student involved in physics studies numbers. He became obsessed with not only winning every fight he fought but winning decisively, irreversiblyâkilling his enemies.
For the first time in his life, it seemed like he had discovered aplace in the world where he fit in. When it was time to go, he wasnât ready to leave and instead went to work in a chopsticks factory to help underwrite his stay and make ends meet. His mother and her sister Angelina Bugowski came over to visit him. They were both impressed by the change in his physical appearance, how he had matured, how much he had grown, and how much he thought of the Japanese culture and people, his grounded sensibility. Now when Pitera fought in tournaments, he always won. Even his sensei shied away from him in fights. When he hit people, he broke bones, traumatized flesh and muscle and sinew; he left his opponents covered in black-and-bluesâcontusions.
Like all championship fighters, Pitera inevitably began to think of himself as invincible. He no longer walked, he strutted, head high, shoulders back, his chest outâ¦defiant. Now it was he who looked down on people; now he was an alpha male, a predator, a burgeoning dragon.
Tommy Pitera became so absorbed in his life in martial arts, in the culture of Japan, that the days went by unusually fast. In no time, the young man had been there some twenty-seven months. He had learned everything he could, developed himself into a fighting machine. His muscles were much like those of a Thoroughbred horse; it looked as though steel cables were alive under his flesh.
Still, he was not sure what he wanted to do with his life. Could he make a living at martial arts? Perhaps he could open a martial arts school, though he was not the type that had either the patience or inclination to teach. He was, by nature, self-centered and was not apt to teach what he had learned through hard work, blood, and sweat.
Tommy Pitera knew it was time to go home, time for him to return to Brooklyn. Even he, back then, there in Japan, had no idea he would end up one of the most feared assassins the Mafia had ever knownâa capo in the Bonanno crime family, a killer who would take a place of honorâinfamyâin the Mafiaâs infamous hall of fame.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BONANNOS
T he history of the Bonanno crime family goes back several hundred years, beginning in Castellammare del Golfo in Sicily. Back then, the Bonannos were men
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