
It’s 3:05 P.M. on a Friday. I’m waiting for a call from Vito Bratta. He’s late. Five minutes late, to be exact. But considering it’s taken years of knocking, followed by an additional three weeks of scheduling back and forth via email, to gain entry into the proverbial Casa di Vito… what’s a few minutes more?
A few nervous sips of Johnny Walker Blue later, at around 3:10 p.m., my trusty iPhone 10XR buzzes with anticipation; I’d used that old iPhone for countless interviews prior, but this one is different. The number scrolling across the screen is one I didn’t recognize. I mutter to myself, “That’s gotta be Vito...” It is.