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over the world were to have his new lines of Italian frozen foods. Big money flowed from sharing the tastes of home cooking. Big, big money. It was a genuine hit. Young Frankie conceived and engineered new food production and refrigeration technologies that allowed the frozen transport of complex food items that would not have survived trucking and shipping before. Frozen pizza and refrigeration transport patents, perfect together. To sell, though, a product has to be sold. It has to get to market. It has to be on the shelves to be sold. What shelves? Ahhh. There's the catch. No product, no matter how clever nor how tasty, gets to those mass market shelves without a big, very big, killer payment - to somebody or somebody's somebody else. Well, not unless, of course, you have the right buttons to push. Louis Prio kept his button. Who would say no to a nice man like Nino? Prio kept his end of the bargain. He would never issue any unseemly command. Just a simple musing, "Nino, do you think the people in the North Ward have been given adequate access to our marinara?" might get a shoulder shrugged Potrebbe essere migliorato, piuttosto, it could be tweaked a bit, and that was all. It would never come up again. But, Christ, even the used car dealers were selling marinara. Want a news paper? Hey lady, gotchore paper? Gotchore marinara? Nino knew he could keep Harrison Hayn tweaked a bit, keeping the lines drawn, the North Ward was had it limits to Hayn. If it went too far, though, Prio just hinted. A twinkle in the eye was enough. Nino sat, always in the shadow, in the rear, near the end of the bar of the restaurant that was the temple of his own new respectability. Prio contented himself with the family business relationships and goings on as Frank took over the details of new family business - the food business - a respectable business. But there was that