Once upon a time, I hadn’t either.
I remembered what I’d told Niccolo the day I entered San Vittore, in the final moments before I walked into the prison.
Don’t be so glum, future consigliere. This is a minor setback. One day, we’re going to rule the world.
Part of that was to buck up Niccolo’s spirits –
But mostly, Imeantit.
Back then, I craved power. Iwantedto expand our family’s influence, to increase our reach.
But that was before I was Don. Before the full responsibility of the family weighed on my shoulders.
I had a wife now, and a child on the way.
Things had changed.Ihad changed.
Niccolo hadn’t.
As far asconsigliereswent, there were two types.
Peacetimeconsigliereswere good for matters of administration and governing. They were excellent advisors when there was very little on the line other than money.
But when it was a matter of life and death, a wartimeconsigliereis what you wanted.
A wartimeconsiglierekept his head when hell was raining down.
A wartimeconsiglierewas the one who would urge you to make the hard decisions.
If you were out in the wilderness all alone, and you stepped in a bear trap and it was impossible to free yourself, the twoconsigliereswould give radically different pieces of advice.
A peacetimeconsiglierewould say,Wait!
Someone might come along to save you.
You won’t bleed out immediately.
You have time.
A wartime consigliere would say,You have no idea if anyone is coming – and the odds are, they won’t.
Cut off your foot so you can escape.
Apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but give up a part to save the whole.
Better to be maimed and alive than to have two shoes in your casket.
Niccolo was a wartimeconsigliere.
He relished the battle. Itched for it.Welcomedit.
Getting back into drugs and prostitution was his way of ensuring westayedin the family business.
His reasoning was valid –
But I could see into his heart.
I knew his true desire – a desire he possibly hadn’t even admitted to himself:
