The wind was blowing hard over the Hudson River, it bounced against the tall pillars of Don Vito's Riverdale estate, carrying the smell of rain and tension with it.
Up on the second floor balcony, Don Vito stood with a thick cigar burning between his fingers. A white splint was placed across his broken nose, the skin around both eyes swollen into dark purple rings. Beneath him, the private road that led up the hill was pitch black, lit only by the occasional sweep of the light placed along the perimeter fence.
Silvio walked out to the balcony, his coat buttoned to the collar. He carried a tactical radio in one hand and an umbrella in the other.
