The jazz was swinging at Milano's. Plates of pasta swung their way to customers as the chatter of a very full restaurant ebbed and flowed to the beat. No one noticed the guy with the gun until it was too late.
No one really called Don Givenni a victim; if anything, people said, he had it coming, and he had been asking for it. Well, he's got it now, thought Tony Milano, as he spied yet another camera crew doing a piece for the evening news outside the front door. Wish they'd just go away.
But, of course, they didn't. If anything, the shooting had advertised the place to all of Chicago, and he was having to hire more staff just to keep up. The place had mystique now. Milano's was cool. He could have done without the college kids dressing in too-big overcoats and trying to talk gangster through their rolled-up paper cigars, but he couldn't complain.
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