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“Yes. At the time of my convictions.”
    “And that’s your face there, is it not, to the left, among those listed as soldiers?”
    He smiled affably. “It’s an old picture. Not my best. But yes, that’s me.”
    “Sorry, Mr. Machia, next time we’ll be sure to update it. What I want to know is if you were always a soldier in this family, Mr. Machia, or did you have to work your way up the ranks?”
    “Everybody’s got to work their way up. I got in by my uncle Richie. I started doing little jobs. Picking up some cash, stealing a car. A B and E.”
    “By ‘B and E,’ you mean ‘breaking and entering’? A burglary?”
    “Yes, that’s right, Mr. Goldenberger. Maybe knocking someone’s head clear, so they’d see the light.”
    Again, a few snickers trickled through the courtroom.
    “And then you graduated,” Goldenberger pressed on. “I mean, from petty stuff, like knocking people’s heads clear, to some of the more serious crimes you’ve admitted to. Murder, attempted murder, drug trafficking . . .”
    “I graduated.” Machia nodded. “Only thing I ever graduated,” he said with a crooked smile.
    “Please just answer what the government asks you, Mr. Machia,” said the judge, leaning over.
    “Thank you, Your Honor.” The prosecutor went back to his notes. “So I want to get back to the way in which you were promoted, Mr. Machia. From an associate to a soldier. If I’m not mistaken, I believe it’s called being made, right?”
    “You mean like the ceremony? It was at Melucchi’s on Flatbush Avenue. In the back. They have a private room there. I never even knew. They asked me to drive one of the captains. Frankie Stamps. We called him that because there were two Frankies, and Frankie Stamps was into mail fraud. I figured it was just a meeting. Every one of the captains was there. Mr. Cavello, too.”
    “By Mr. Cavello, you mean Dominic Cavello? The defendant? He was there? At that meeting?”
    “Sure he was there. He was the Boss.”
    “We’ll get back to that later,” the prosecutor said, letting the word boss resonate over the courtroom. “But I’m actually more interested in what got you to that ceremony.”
    “What got me to the ceremony?” Machia shrugged. “It was a Lincoln, I think.”
    This time, full-out laughter spread throughout the courtroom.
    “I meant, what did you do to make yourself worthy, Mr. Machia?” The prosecutor pushed through the laughter. “In order to be promoted.”
    “Oh, that.” Machia sat back and reached for his water. He took a long drink. “I killed Sam Greenblatt in front of his house.”

Chapter 14
    A HUSH SETTLED over the courtroom. Everybody felt it. Andie DeGrasse couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
    One minute this guy’s making a joke, a regular guy. Then he admits to blowing someone away. She’d never heard anyone speak so casually about killing someone. Like he had to run an errand and pick up something at the store.
    “You’re admitting you killed Mr. Greenblatt in front of his home?” Joel Goldenberger looked just as shocked as everyone else.
    “I already admitted that, Mr. Goldenberger. To the police and to the FBI. I wasn’t exactly proud of it, but that’s how you get ahead in this game.”
    The prosecutor stepped back, letting the full effect of Machia’s testimony settle in. Andie recalled the crime pictures, the bloody scene. “Can you describe for the jury how that particular job came to be?”
    “All right.” The witness took a deep breath. “I worked for Ralphie D.”
    “Ralphie D.,” the prosecutor interrupted. “You mean Ralph Denunziatta, right?” He pointed to a round, heavy face higher up in the family tree. “He was a lieutenant in the Guarino crime family?”
    “That’s him.” Machia nodded. “We called him Ralphie D. because—”
    “We got it, Mr. Machia. Because there was another Ralphie.”
    “Ralphie F. ”
    “Ralphie Fraoli.” The prosecutor pointed to another face on the other