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The virtual-reality goggles hug his head as he looks left, toward Saturn.

He had prolific tattoos, a gleaming head, and a rasping South Philly accent that played well on television. Now the empire is crumbling from within, and he hardly cares. He sat and watched an episode in which Fonzie confronts Rocky Baruffi, a Falcons gang member.

“To be at peace, you must be in the present,” the woman says. The present is painful: him, sitting alone in a white-walled room. It starts with old Armando Lucidonio, who emigrated from Italy to Philadelphia four generations ago. One day when he was 12, he summoned the courage to write her a note with two questions, in the eternal adolescent form: He passed her the note as she walked by, and she smiled as she accepted it. “But my friends say it’s best if I don’t talk with a pig.” It’s the sort of moment that crushes boys into powdered saline and testosterone, and from that material shapes the men they will become.

A room barren of any decoration or furniture except his chair, his virtual-reality goggles, and the computer that powers them. Tony’s high-rise condo extends directly over the water, so that from his perspective the river is a silver ribbon stretching from beneath his feet to the horizon. He was a large man, more than 500 pounds, with fists like bags of cement. He had an immigrant’s work ethic and fastidiousness with money. He watched her carry it to the street corner, where she met two girlfriends and opened it in their presence. They giggled, looked at him, and then whispered something among themselves. She wore a smile so sweet, and which bore so deeply into the boy’s brain, that decades of time would do nothing to blunt it. He took the note from her and ran inside, where his grandmother stopped him.

A breeze has just driven away a squall, and the sun plays across the waves. He kept each dime and dollar in a can assigned to its purpose: the grocery can, the rent can and so forth.

Once, when the insurance man came around the apartment early to collect, Armando discovered his wife had slipped a few quarters from that can into another one, to cover an expense.

He beat her so severely, and so immediately, that the insurance man was still in the doorway and begged him to stop. The boy — Anthony Lucidonio — grew up and became “Tony Luke” when he started selling sandwiches to blue-collar workingmen across South Philadelphia. But he did hold on to some of his father’s hardness.

And one of Armando’s small sons, Anthony, tried to intervene. He started small in the 1970s, selling from a truck, slaving over a grill to build an empire one roll at a time.

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“Hey, Torpedo Tits.” Then one day, when he was 13, the world brought him what seemed to be a gift. “Just because he’s Tony’s son.” People came to Geno asking, “Do you think he’s here to spy on us? Years ago, when Geno still felt awkward about being public in his sexual orientation, Tony Jr. a few years ago, the shoot featured a Tony Luke’s shop in the background. He had some Hollywood experience by this time and had played a rabid Eagles fan in another Wahlberg movie, . So the things my father was doing just seemed ridiculous to them.” Gradually the cheesesteak civil war put the youngest Tony — Tony III — in an untenable position, trapped between his father on one side and his grandfather and uncle on the other. Making and selling sandwiches usually takes several people working as a team — at a prep station, at the griddle, at the cash register and so forth. He just had a mind for it.” So he made an unexpected flight, last year: He went to work at Geno’s, the legendary South Philly cheesesteak spot. visited the set one day and was shocked to see his son in line to eat cold chicken with the extras and crew.

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