A feared Mafia boss heard a poor little girl whisper, “I’m so hungry,” after she realized she couldn't afford a single sandwich. But when he approached her, she revealed why she was really alone, and the black car waiting across the street suddenly became far more important than the food.

That evening, the snow stopped completely, giving way to a clear, starry night over Manhattan.

I sat in my usual corner booth at the back of the bakery in Little Italy. The bell above the door chimed softly as local customers came and went, buying fresh bread and warm pastries.

Marco sat at a nearby table, quietly reading the evening newspaper.

"Boss," Marco said, looking over the top of the paper. "Valenti's old territory in Queens has been completely absorbed by our captains. The union reps have signed the new labor agreements. The harbor is secure."

"Good," I replied, sipping my coffee. "Make sure the port workers get their hazard pay starting Monday."

"Right away."

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper Emma had given me before she left. I unfolded it carefully on the wooden table.

It was a child's crayon drawing.

On the left was a crude black sedan surrounded by dark, scary figures. On the right was a large building with a bright red curtain over the door. And standing in the center, holding a small girl's hand, was a tall man in a black suit with a yellow star drawn over his heart like a shield.

At the bottom of the page, written in shaky, irregular childish letters, were four words:

MY HERO, MR. CALDER.

I looked at the drawing for a long time.

I was a man who ruled an underworld built on blood, fear, and iron. My name struck terror into the hearts of corrupt politicians and rival syndicates across the eastern seaboard. I was the tiger of New York, a king who governed from the shadows.

But as I carefully folded the drawing and placed it inside the cover of my father's silver pocket watch, I knew the truth.