Send us feedback! The night smells like wood smoke and wet asphalt as Billy’s ledger finally speaks out loud. We open on the South Side—clean hits, quiet exits, and a cardiganed capo named Frank Calabrese who prefers indications over blessings. Billy’s gift isn’t muscle; it’s control. He moves cash and messages through Bridgeport with surgical precision, turning violence into administration and mercy into math. For a while, the neighborhood loves the results. So does he. Then Sunday dinner br...