Another cortege to the font and back to a different kind of baptism of gunfire and although much of this generational novel takes place in the small kingdom of Little Italy, there are other reminders -- one much higher-toned -- namely the Faustian covenant of the title. When first and last seen, in a teak and aluminum wheelchair, Giacomo or Jock Carlona has barely survived the pact agreed on with a vague, suave, evil presence called Adam Dante made when Jock was only a second generation boy in Brooklyn and agreed to share his progeny with Dante who would become his unseen patrono. At that time Jock is still a kid, justifying his soubriquet, but far more interested in making money -- big money. He will, in Wall Street, also selling boats to FDR during World War II, and later moving into spheres of political influence with sons one, two, three and four (this of course has Kennedy associations) as relatively unwilling heirs while his once very simple, beautiful but prescient wife Olympia watches them go to their doom (one shot in Germany; another in a ball room; etc.) never realizing just who or what Adam Dante is. Petrocelli has capably and commercially actuated his story and makes it pretty exciting: even while waiting for the cigar smoke to clear -- you won't be rubbing your eyes.