Erika: Fuck art, Mario. Start typin'.
Mario: You want me to write about the mafia?
Erika: Yeah.
Mario: How do I tell that story any differently? Everybody knows they steal, they control gambling, they run whores, unions.
Erika: OK. So maybe it's not just a book about the mafia!
Mario: What do you mean?
Erika: Well, the guys you grew up with, they didn't start out so different from you -- immigrants. They eat, they drink, they love, they cry. They worry about their kids' futures, just like us.
Mario: They kill.
Erika: OK, so maybe we don't kill, but maybe this book is about findin' the reason we would.