A dilemma is defined as two bad choices. In my case it was either continue to work at my soul-crushing corporate law job for the next forty years, or to become the mafia don’s personal attorney.
But I made my decision, and now I plan to defend him from figurative bullets in the courtroom, and literal ones outside of it.
Everybody deserves good counsel, even made men. Justice for all.

After thwarting the corrupt Mayor and Brooklyn DA at the polls, their NYPD lackeys are out for our blood and cracking down on our business.
I’m going to have to spend half my day in court defending our guys from petty or trumped up charges and the other half coming up with a plan to expose the Mayor’s ties to organized crime and bring his political machine to the ground.
To do it will require dodging corrupt off-duty NYPD, Serbian gangsters, and the wrath of the recently returned family patriarch who definitely wants to handle things the “old school way.”

When I left my corporate law firm in order to become the personal attorney to a chief mafioso, I envisioned glamorous business trips to the Sicilian or Tuscan countryside.
Instead, I get sent to Nowheresville, West Virginia in order to close a boring deal, and rather than negotiating with high powered New York businessmen, I’m stuck schmoozing with sleepy local politicians.
But just because a town is small doesn’t make the local good old boys any less corrupt than the mobsters in New York.
Or any less deadly.

In the old days, they called my job “consigliere,” but these days I’m just a young lawyer with a very specialized practice.
For example, my job today is to get rid of a corrupt District Attorney who is in the pocket of a rival organization. In the old days-- actually, I don’t want to think about how they would have handled it in the old days-- These days, I’ll have to run a dark horse political campaign for our preferred candidate without the powers-that-be, the media, or our rivals finding out.
And failure isn’t an option when you work for the mob.