I don't know what a Mafia don's wife should look like, since you never see one in public or on the news, but I guessed that Anna Bellarosa was better looking than most. Sometimes, when I'm in my male-chauvinist-pig mode – which, thank God, is infrequent – I try to imagine if I would go to bed with a woman I have just met. So, I looked at Anna Bellarosa.

When I was in college, there were five classifications for a woman's looks, based on the maximum light you would want on in the bedroom. There were the 3-way-bulb women – 100-watt, 70-watt, and 30-watt. After that you had your night-light-only women, and finally all-lights-out.

Anna Bellarosa saw me looking at her and smiled. She had a nice smile. So, I figured, with the number of drinks I'd already had, I'd probably turn on the 70-watt bulb.

Frank Bellarosa proposed a toast: "To our new neighbours and new friends." I drank to that, though I had my fingers crossed under the table. Sure I'm superstitious.

We chatted awhile, and Susan made a big deal over the pile of pastry, then complimented the Bellarosas on all the work they were doing on Alhambra. We tossed around a few names for the estate, and I suggested Casa Cannoli. Frank Bellarosa inquired about Susan's vegetable garden, and Anna asked me if I wanted to take off my coat and tie. I certainly did not. And so it went for ten or fifteen minutes, breaking the ice as they say, until finally Frank Bellarosa said, "Hey, call me Frank. Okay? And my wife is Anna." Susan, of course, said, "Please call me Susan."

It was my turn. I said, "John."

"Good," said Frank.

I've never been on a first-name basis with a Mafia don, and I was just thrilled.

I couldn't wait to get to The Creek with the news.

Mrs Bellarosa stood and served the coffee from the urn. We all helped ourselves to the pastry. The coffee and pastry were superb. No complaints there. The conversation turned to children, as it usually does with parents, whether they be kings and queens, or thieves and whores. Parenting is the great equalizer, or more optimistically, a common human bond. I loosened up a bit, partly because of Mrs Bellarosa's presence, but partly because I felt oddly at ease.

Anna Bellarosa told us all about her three sons in detail, then added, "I don't want them in the family business, but Tony – that's the one at La Salle – wants to be in business with his father. He idolizes his father." Frank Bellarosa said, "I got into the family business through my uncle. My father said, "Stay out of that business, Frank. It's not good for you." But did I listen? No. Why? I thought my uncle was a hero. He always had money, cars, clothes, women. My father had nothing. Kids look for what you call role models. Right? I think back now, and my father was the hero. He broke his tail six days a week to put food on the table. There were five kids and things were tough. But all around us was money. In America you see too much money. The country is rich, even stupid people can be rich here. So people say, "Why can't I be rich?" In this country if you're poor, you're worse than a criminal." He looked at me and repeated. "In America if you're poor, you're worse than a criminal. You're nobody."

"Well," I said, "some people would still rather be poor but honest." "I don't know nobody like that. But anyway, my oldest guy, Frankie, he's got no head for the family business, so I sent him to college, then set him up in a little thing of his own in Jersey. Tommy is the one in Cornell. He wants to run a big hotel in Atlantic City or Vegas. I'll set him up with Frankie in Atlantic City. Tony, the one at La Salle, is another case. He wants in." Bellarosa smiled. The little punk wants my job. You know what? If he wants it bad enough, he'll have it."

I cleared my throat and observed, "It's not easy to bring up kids today with all the sex, violence, drugs, Nintendo."

"Yeah. But sex is okay. How about your kids?"

Susan replied, "Carolyn is at Yale, and Edward is graduating from St Paul's in June."

"They gonna be lawyers?"

Susan replied, "Carolyn is pre-law. Edward is somewhat vague. I think because he knows he will inherit a good deal of money from his grandparents, he has lost some of his motivation."

I've never heard Susan say this to anyone, not even me, and I was a bit annoyed at her for revealing family secrets in front of these people. But I suppose the Bellarosas were so far beyond our social circle that it didn't matter. Still, I felt I had to say something in Edward's defence. I said, "Edward is a typical seventeen-year-old boy. His main ambition at the moment is to get – is girls." Bellarosa laughed. "Yeah." He asked, "He's graduating college at seventeen?" "No," I replied. "St Paul's is a prep school." Talking to these people was like reinventing the wheel. I asked Bellarosa, "Did you go to La Salle on scholarship?"

"No. My uncle paid. The uncle who took me into the family business. One less mouth to feed for my old man."

"I see."

Anna had another wifely complaint. "Frank spends too much time at work. He's not enjoying his new house. Even when he's home, he's on the phone, people come here to talk business. I'm always telling him, "Frank, take it easy. You're going to kill yourself.'"

I glanced at Bellarosa to see if he appreciated the irony of that last remark, but he seemed impassive. For about half a second I thought I had made a terrible mistake and that Mr Frank Bellarosa was just an overworked entrepreneur. Susan chimed in, "John doesn't keep long office hours, but he brings home a briefcase full of work every night. Though he does take Saturdays off, and of course he won't work on the Sabbath."

Bellarosa said to Susan, "And he took Easter Monday off. Wouldn't talk business with me." He looked at me. "I know a couple of Protestants. They don't work Sundays neither. Catholics will work on a Sunday. What if you had a real big case in court on Monday?"

"Then," I informed him, "I work on Sunday. The Lord wouldn't want me to make a fool of myself in front of a Catholic or Jewish judge." Ha, ha, ha. Haw, haw, haw. Even I smiled at my own wit. The sambuca was finally working its magic.

Bellarosa, in fact, picked up the bottle and poured some into my coffee, then everyone's coffee. "This is the way we drink it."

The coffee had steamed my glasses a few times, and I wiped them with my handkerchief without taking them off, which caused Susan to look at me with puzzlement. Anna Bellarosa, too, gave me a few curious looks. So far, the conversation had not touched on the unfortunate occurrence at Alhambra on Easter morning, and I hoped that Frank Bellarosa had forgotten his request that I speak to his wife about how nice and safe this area was. But Susan asked Anna, "Do you miss Brooklyn?" and I knew where that was going.

Anna glanced at her husband, then replied, "I'm not allowed to say." She laughed.

Bellarosa snorted. "These Brooklyn Italian women – I tell you, you can move them to Villa Borghese, and they still bitch about being out of Brooklyn." "Oh, Frank, you don't have to sit home all day. You get to go back to the old neighbourhood."

"Listen to her. Sit home. She's got a car and driver and goes to Brooklyn to see her mother and her crazy relatives whenever she wants." "It's not the same, Frank. It's lonely here." A little light bulb popped on in her head. I saw it, but before I could change the subject, she said, "How about Easter morning?" She looked at me. "I was walking out back on Easter morning, out near the pool we got out there, and this man -" she shuddered – "this maniac is there, on his hands and knees like an animal, growling at me." "Really?" I asked, adjusting my glasses.

"My goodness!" Susan exclaimed.

Anna turned to Susan. "I ran and lost my shoes."

Frank said, "I told John about that. He said he never heard of anything like that before. Right, John?"