Don Bianchi glided down the aisle alongside his daughter, Angelina, who was overly dressed in a sweeping white bridal gown that trailed elegantly across the marble floor. It was her childhood dream coming to life right before her eyes—marrying my brother, Adam.

She looked genuinely radiant, while her father exchanged practiced, authoritative smiles with his syndicate associates and attending Capos, all of whom rose to their feet out of respect as the procession moved forward.

They glided past my adoptive parents. Though they were unacquainted with the high-stakes dynamics of the Italian underworld, my parents offered warm, gracious smiles to the bride. Don Bianchi caught my eye and offered a...