This is strutting into Vito Corleone’s house, on the day his daughter is to be married, and requesting Java plum nocino, maraschino pocket squares, cacao switchblades, Di Nobili cigar wrappers, balsamic-glazed trigger fingers, and rose petals cast across the maple-syrup dashboard of a 1941 Lincoln. Feel the air in the room, heavy with tension, and the bright jubilation outside. Someday, and that day may never come, he’ll call upon you to do a service. But until that day, accept this brooding power and deep complexity as a gift
