Dean Martin saw Jackie Romano’s face before he heard what his assistant was saying.
Jackie was standing in the doorway holding the phone and he looked like he’d just been told someone died.
It’s Bill.
Emergency.
Dean took the receiver.
Bill, what happened? His brother’s voice was tight, controlled, but Dean had grown up with that voice.
He knew when Bill was trying to sound calm and failing.
I got myself into something.
borrowed money from the wrong people.
They came to the house today, talked to Sarah, mentioned the kids by name.
Dean’s hand gripped the phone harder.
In the mirror, his reflection looked exactly the same, but Jackie could see his jaw muscles working.
How much and who? 15,000.
Guy named Eddie Santini.
The name hit Dean like cold water.
Eddie Santini was connected to the same families that owned half the casinos in Vegas.
To understand what that phone call meant, you need to understand who Bill Martin was.
Bill was Dean’s older brother.
While Dean had something special that would take him to Hollywood, Bill was ordinary.
Steelmill, wife, three kids in Stubenville, Ohio.
Dean had always taken care of Bill.
When Bill needed money for his house, Dean sent it.
Family took care of family.
Bill’s weakness was gambling, small stuff.
Dean had paid off debts before, but last year, Bill borrowed 10,000 for a business deal from a man who worked with Eddie Santini.
The business failed.
Eddie Santini ran the loan operation for the Cleveland Crime family.
His reach extended to Las Vegas, the casinos Dean performed at, the men who owned them.
They all knew Santini.
Bill had been making payments, but he was drowning.
That’s when Santini’s people came to his house and talked to his wife and mentioned the kids.
Dean could have written a check and not noticed, but he knew how this worked.
Pay once, there’d be another debt next month.
They had gone to Bill’s house, spoken to Sarah, mentioned the kids.
That wasn’t business.
That was a message.
The men threatening Bill weren’t street thugs.
They were part of a network connecting organized crime from the Midwest to Nevada.
Eddie Santini’s operation had tentacles everywhere.
Some of those bosses had investments in Las Vegas casinos.
The Sands had financial backing from people who knew Santini personally.
If Dean paid, it would tell Santini that Dean’s family could be leveraged.
In the world these men inhabited, paying without push back meant showing weakness, and weakness invited more demands.
But if Dean refused to pay, Bill was in real danger.
Santini had a reputation built on people who thought they could ignore him, discovering they were wrong.
Dean had three options and all of them were bad.
He could pay the full amount and hope Santini left Bill alone.
He could refuse to pay and try to protect Bill some other way or he could do what Dean Martin had always done when someone tried to back him into a corner.
He could walk straight into the fire and make them deal with him directly.
The problem was that going directly to Santini’s people meant crossing a line.
Entertainers in Las Vegas had a role.
They performed.
They brought in crowds.
They stayed out of the business side of things.
But Dean also knew something that most people didn’t know about him.
He didn’t care about impressing anyone.
And nobody threatened his family.
That night, Dean called Bill.
Past midnight Vegas.
Past three Ohio.
Tell me everything.
Bill’s voice was defeated.
Started last spring.
Borrowed 10,000 for a business deal through a guy named Russo in Youngstown.
Term seemed reasonable.
15% two years.
The business failed in six months.
That’s when Russo told me the real terms.
15% compounded monthly.
By the time it folded, I owed 14.
I’ve been paying what I can, but I can’t keep up.
How much now? 20 total.
15 + 5 penalty.
Tell me about today.
Two guys showed up.
Big guy, gray suit, said his name was Frank DeMarco.
Said he worked for Mr.
Santini.
wanted 20,000 by Friday.
I said I didn’t have it.
He looked at Sarah, said it would be a shame if something happened and the kids didn’t have both parents.
Then he said, “Your brother’s doing well in Vegas.
Maybe he can help.
Give me DeMarco’s number.” After hanging up, Dean called Herman Citroen.
I need you to set up a meeting.
Eddie Santini’s people, Vegas Connections.
Let me handle this through channels.
How long? A few days.
Bill has two days.
Set up the meeting tonight.
Herman called back at .
Tonight at , behind the Stardust Lounge on Industrial Road, Carmine Battalia will meet you.
I know who he is.
At noon, the phone rang.
Mr.
Martin.
Carmine Battalia.
I understand you want to meet.
That’s right.
This is unusual.
If you’re calling to pay his debt, that can be handled over the phone.
I’m calling because two men went to my brother’s house and threatened his wife and children.
Pause.
Mr.
Demarco and his associate were simply collecting a debt.
They told him it would be a shame if something happened and his kids didn’t have both parents around.
That’s not collecting a debt.
That’s a threat.
Another pause.
And what exactly are you hoping to accomplish? An understanding about my brother’s situation.
Your brother owes a substantial amount of money.
I understand that.
That’s why I want to meet face to face.
Long silence.
Tonight at 8, the alley behind the Stardust Lounge.
Think carefully about what you’re going to say.
Once certain things are said, they can’t be unsaid.
That evening, Frank Sinatra called.
What the hell are you doing? I just heard your meeting with Carmine Betaglia.
It’s about Bill.
Handle it by writing a check.
You don’t sit down with these guys.
Frank, this is my problem.
Call me when it’s over so I know you’re still alive.
At , Herman arrived.
Last chance.
Dean put on his jacket.
Let’s go.
The Stardust Lounge sat on the edge of the E strip where the neon gave way to darkness.
Herman drove around back to the alley.
Rain had started to fall, light but steady, making the pavement shine.
Two dark sedans were parked at the far end.
Dean got out.
Wait here.
The alley ran behind the lounge, narrow and shadowed.
Dumpsters lined one side.
The back wall rose up on the other.
A fire escape zigzagging into darkness.
Neon from the lounge’s sign bled red and blew into the wet air reflecting off the puddles.
Two men were waiting.
Frank DeMarco stood near the wall, big and solid, arms crossed.
Rain beated on his gray suit.
The younger man stood 10 ft behind him, hands in his coat pockets.
Dean could see the bulge under his jacket.
Carmine Betaglia was leaning against the building, protected by the fire escape overhang.
Silver hair sllicked back, expensive coat.
He was smoking a cigarette.
Mr.
Martin.
Betaglia’s voice was calm.
You wanted to meet face to face.
Dean walked forward until he was standing 5t from Baglia.
The rain was soaking through his jacket.
We need to talk about my brother.
Your brother has a debt problem.
My brother borrowed money for a failed business.
He’s been making payments.
Insufficient payments.
Vitalia took a drag on his cigarette.
The terms were clear.
The terms weren’t clear.
He was told 15% annual.
Your man Russo changed it to compounded monthly after the business went under.
Battalia’s expression didn’t change.
Your brother is a grown man.
He made choices.
Choices have consequences.
Dean took a step closer.
The neon cast shadows across his face.
and your people made a choice to go to his house and threaten his wife and children.
That choice also has consequences.
Demarco straightened up.
The younger man’s hand moved inside his coat, but Taglia raised a hand slightly.
Mr.
DeMarco was collecting a debt.
Your man told him it would be a shame if the kids didn’t have both parents around.
Dean’s voice was quiet, but there was steel underneath.
That’s not collecting a debt.
Vatalia flicked his cigarette into a puddle.
Did you come here to pay or to tell me how to run my business? I came here to reach an understanding.
The rain was falling harder now.
Natalyia was watching him with those cold, calculating eyes.
Behind him, DeMarco and the younger man were waiting for a signal.
This was the moment.
Dean smiled, not the easy smile from his act.
Something else.
Something from Stubenville.
You know what’s funny, Carmine? Dean took another step forward.
We’re both in the same business.
What business is that? The respect business.
Dean was close now.
You need people to respect Eddie Santini’s operation.
I need people to respect that nobody threatens my family.
Battalia started to say something, but Dean moved fast, deliberate.
His hand shot out and grabbed the lapel of Battalia’s coat, yanking the mobster forward off the wall.
Battalia’s eyes went wide.
behind them.
Demarco surged forward, but Dean had already pulled Battalia close, his other hand coming up, fingerpointed directly in the mobster’s face.
“You listening to me, Carmine?” Dean’s voice was still quiet, still controlled, but the danger in it was unmistakable because I’m only going to say this once.
The younger man had his hand inside his coat now, gripping the gun.
Demarco was 3 ft away, ready to move.
But Battalia held up his hand, stopping them.
His face was inches from Dean’s.
“I’m listening,” Battalia said.
“You’re a smart man.” Dean’s grip on Battalia’s coat didn’t loosen.
The rain was running down both their faces.
“You know that hurting me causes problems you don’t need, but you also know that if you let me walk out of here without paying, it looks weak.
So, we’re stuck.
” Dean’s finger was still pointed at Betaglia’s face.
Unless we’re both looking at this wrong.
Go on.
Dean pulled Betaglia even closer.
Eddie Santini’s operation works because people are afraid.
But fear only works until someone decides they’re not afraid anymore.
He paused.
I’m terrified, Carmine.
I’m terrified something’s going to happen to my brother.
I’m terrified your boy DeMarco here is going to show up at Bill’s house again.
Dean’s jaw tightened.
But I’m more terrified of what happens if I walk away and do nothing.
You understand what I’m telling you? Battalia held Dean’s stare.
The rain kept falling.
Finally, he spoke.
“So, what are you proposing?” Dean let go of Batalia’s coat, but kept his hand up, finger still pointed.
“I pay the original loan, 10,000, not the interest, not the penalties, just what Bill actually borrowed.
In exchange, the debt is cleared, and your people never contact my brother again.
” That’s half of what he owes.
That’s what he borrowed.
The rest is your accounting.
Behind them, Demarco spoke up.
Boss, you can’t let him.
Shut up, Frank.
Vitalia’s eyes never left Dean’s face.
And why would I accept that? Dean finally lowered his hand, but didn’t step back.
They were still standing close.
The rain had plastered Dean’s hair to his head.
Because it solves both our problems.
You get your principal back.
I get my brother protected.
And nobody has to find out that Dean Martin stood up to Eddie Santini’s people in an alley and walked away clean.
He paused.
As far as anyone knows, I paid the full amount and were all friends.
You’re asking me to take a $10,000 loss.
I’m asking you to avoid a war you don’t need.
Dean took one step back now because here’s what happens if we don’t settle this tonight.
Your people go back to Bill’s house.
I find out about it.
I start talking.
I talk to newspaper people.
I talked to casino owners.
Maybe some of it sticks, maybe it doesn’t, but it becomes a problem.
Dean gestured at the alley.
Or you take the 10,000.
Bill is off limits forever.
You tell Eddie Santini that you met with Dean Martin, negotiated a settlement, and closed the books.
No drama, no publicity.
Which story would you rather tell? Betaglia was quiet for a long time.
The rain kept falling.
Finally, Betaglia spoke.
You’ve got balls, Martin.
Coming to this alley, grabbing me like that, acting like you’re in charge.
I’m not acting like anything.
I’m offering you a solution.
A solution that cost me $10,000.
Natalia looked past him at Demarco.
Frank, how much did Bill Martin pay before he stopped? DeMarco’s jaw was tight.
Maybe 34,000 total.
So, we’re already 6,000 into profit on a $10,000 loan.
Vitalia turned back to Dean.
Rain dripped from his hair.
Here’s my counter offer.
You bring me 12,000 tonight.
Not 10.
12.
That covers the principal plus 2,000 for Frank’s time.
Your brother’s debt is cleared and my people never contact him again.
But Dean, if your brother ever borrows from anyone in our network again, the deal is off.
He won’t.
I’ll make sure of it.
And one more thing, we never had this conversation.
As far as anyone knows, you paid the full 20,000 and we were all friendly.
You don’t tell your people I gave you a discount.
I don’t tell my people you grabbed my coat.
This stays between us.
Dean extended his hand.
Deal.
Battalia looked at the hand for a moment.
Then he stepped forward and shook it.
You’re either very brave or very stupid, Mr.
Martin.
Maybe both.
Battalia almost smiled.
Frank, give Mr.
Martin your number.
He looked at Dean again.
I respect what you did here tonight, but Dean, don’t ever grab me like that again.
Next time, I won’t be so understanding.
There won’t be a next time.
Dean turned and walked back down the alley.
The rain was still falling.
When Dean reached Herman, his manager’s eyes were wide.
Jesus Christ, Herman said.
I saw you grab him.
I thought they were going to kill you right there.
Dean got in the car.
It’s handled.
I need 12,000 in cash in 2 hours.
Herman stared at him.
12? I thought Bill owed 20.
I negotiated.
Dean called Bill from his suite while Herman was arranging the cash.
Almost midnight Vegas.
Almost 3 Ohio.
Bill answered on the first ring.
It’s over.
You’re clear.
Silence.
What do you mean clear? The debt settled.
Santini’s people won’t contact you again.
How much? Don’t worry about it.
You’re safe.
Sarah’s safe.
The kids are safe.
Bill’s voice was thick.
I don’t know what to say.
Promise me no more gambling.
No more borrowing except from banks.
You need cash, you call me.
I promise.
I swear.
You do this again, I can’t fix it.
This card’s been played.
Herman came back with a briefcase.
12,000 in hundreds.
Dean called DeMarco.
It’s Dean Martin.
I have your money.
The Sands loading dock.
15 minutes.
They waited in the car.
5 minutes later, a black sedan pulled up.
Demarco walked over.
Dean handed him the briefcase.
Demarco counted, closed it.
We’re square.
My brother.
Your brother’s clean.
As long as he stays clean.
Demarco started to walk away, then stopped.
What you did tonight walking into that alley.
That was either the ballsiest thing I’ve ever seen or the dumbest.
Dean looked at him.
Does it matter? Demarco almost smiled.
I guess not.
The story stayed quiet.
Dean didn’t talk.
Bill didn’t talk.
Carmine Betaglia had no interest in letting people know Dean Martin had negotiated down a debt.
But in certain circles, people knew.
And it changed how they saw Dean Martin.
Frank Sinatra called 3 days later.
You’re out of your mind.
It worked.
Bill kept his promise.
Never gambled again.
He and Dean talked every few weeks, never about what happened.
Years later, Bill visited Vegas.
They sat watching the sunset.
Bill brought it up the only time.
I never properly thanked you for 65.
Dean waved it off.
Ancient history.
You took a risk that could have gone wrong.
Why? Because if I just paid them, they would have owned you forever.
The only way to stop it was to make them understand that touching you meant dealing with me.
The truth about Dean Martin was simpler than most people realized.
The cool persona was real.
Dean didn’t care about impressing most people, but he cared deeply about the things that mattered, his family.
Those things he would go to war for.
That night in the alley wasn’t about bravery or stupidity.
It was about a code Dean learned from his father.
You protected your people.
You didn’t let anyone threaten them.
Carmine Betaglia understood that.
When Dean grabbed his coat, Betaglia recognized a man who’d drawn a line and wasn’t going to move.
Most people negotiated from fear.
Dean negotiated from absolute commitment.
That’s what made Betagley agree.
The microphone Dean offered to Vincent Anteneelli became a legend.
But the $12,000 he handed to Frank Demarco stayed private.
It was just Dean Martin protecting his brother the only way he knew how.
That’s what defined Dean Martin more than any performance.
He was cool because he knew exactly who he was and what mattered.
A kid from Stubenville who made it big but never forgot where he came from.
Dean Martin was the king of cool.
But on that night in a rain soaked alley behind the Stardust Lounge, he proved he was something more.
He was a man who would stand up for the people he loved, no matter who was standing in his
