Post by Dackle on Jul 3, 2018 21:15:48 GMT -5
In the backroom of Antonio’s, an Italian Eatery in Brooklyn, three obese men are smoking cigars. On the left, is Dominic Anton Finchenzo, head of the D’Antonio Family who runs the Upper East Side. On the right is Michael Figaretti, son of the head of the Figaretti Crime Family. In the middle, Alfredo Scarducci Figaretti, the Don of the Family.
Don Figaretti takes a puff from his cigar and flicks the ashes into an ash tray. As the door to the room opens, Michael and Dom each reach into their jackets for a gun. The waiter freezes for a second, then comes into a room when the men relax. He puts down several bowls of food, lasagna, spaghetti, alfredo, ziti, and garlic bread. Dom waves him off.
Two more waiters come in, one with parmesan and one with a bottle of wine. The wine steward pours three glasses of a cabernet before turning and leaving. The waiter with the parmesan covers every plate with a thick layer of cheese before being told to leave.
Dom and Michael begin digging in. The Don takes a sip from his glass. Something is weighing on his mind. His niece, Guilia, was half a world away fighting in some tournament. He hadn’t heard from her, or the man he put in charge of her, Joshua Jeffrey Jones, in over a month.
She was supposed to check in. She was supposed to be in contact. With the chaos going on, he needed her back here.
Don Figaretti never had a daughter. His two sons, one sitting next to him sucking down a bowl of spaghetti, and the other hadn’t quite turned out the way he wanted them.
Michael was supposed to be a strong man. He was supposed to be the heir to the family. He had turned into a Momma’s Boy, and couldn’t shoot for shit. He was as intimidating as an order of restraint on a rat. Mikey turned out to be a big pussy. Even the way he ate his spaghetti, slurping it like a gay, made The Don cringe.
His other son, Vinnie, named after The Don’s father, Vincent Giovanni, was drafted to serve in Viet Nam. Vincent had connections and was willing to get his grandson out of the commitment, but Vinnie wanted to go.
He would have been 64 today. The Don believed he had his heir. Vinnie was the perfect heir to the family. He was The Don’s only child. When word of Vinnie’s death got back to The Don and Mary, his mother, they had Michael.
Michael was the exact opposite of his dead brother. Michael had Guilia before he graduated college, yet another disappointment. Guilia was his only granddaughter. Michael, trying to be an “extreme” athlete on a skateboard, ruptured both testicles. He was sterile. Since then, he put on 250 pounds.
Guilia was his last best hope for an heir to the family. She was his little girl. She never went wanting, and he taught her everything. She knew how to do the shake downs, how to perform the perfect hit, how to lean on the pig’s informants, and how to cook Steak Pizzaiola like they did in the Old Country.
Guilia was perfect. He loved her more than Michael. Mikey didn’t know it, but she was the one who would get control of the family. The Don missed her greatly. She should have been here.
For months, there had been a rather bloody turf war between the Figarettis and the D’Antonios. After 17 deaths, 14 serious injuries, and three bomb detonations, the heads of both families were brought together in the back room of Antonios. D’Antonio came alone. Guilia was supposed to be there with The Don, but with her tied up in Japan, he had no choice but to bring Mikey.
While the other two ate, The Don got up from the table. With a full mouth, Mikey asked what’s up. The Don just grunted and left the room. Mikey and D’Antonio resumed eating.
The Don wobbled his way outside. He looked at his cigar, as if he was disgusted with it, and threw it into the alley.
Standing outside the restaurant was his chauffeur, smoking a cigarette. When the driver saw The Don, he threw his cigarette and opened the back door of the Lincoln. The Don shook his head in derision, and stuffed himself into the back of the car.
The driver raced around and quickly got into the driver’s seat. With the divided window down, he asked The Don for a destination. The Don said just drive.
Tires squealed and the Lincoln pulled out into the traffic.
The Don reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out an iPhone. His fat finger unlocked the phone and three screen taps later and his phone was ringing. He took a deep breath, his clogged heart beating faster. After the fourth ring, the screen flickered on.
Triple J had a difficult time adjusting to the Japanese culture. He felt at home in New York, but here, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He couldn’t pronounce the language, hated the food, had no luck with the ladies, and money was running low.
His meal ticket, “The Made Woman” Guilia Figaretti, was having just as hard of a time. She couldn’t gain traction and was bordering on going insane. She knew the Feds were closing in on her family. She wanted to be home to help her Poppy. She still had obligations here, and her Poppy told her: “Her word is the only thing she truly has in life.” Triple J knew she was losing it. So was he. And now his phone was ringing, and Don Figaretti was not a man to be put on ignore.
“Yes, Sir. How, uhh, can I,…what do you need Don?”
The Don, who had been in a perpetual state of disappointment for the last two months since Guilia left, snorted again. His rhaspy voice bellowed out into the phone.
“Don’t disrespect me. I made you and I have no problem giving you concrete gollashes. Where is my Guilie?”
Triple J panicked. He had always been very respectful to The Don. He struggled to get in good with the Figarettis. His family lived in D’Antionio Family turf, and he was the very definition of an outsider. He got into wrestling as a way to prove to The Don he could make money.
When Guilia wanted to become a wrestler to keep in shape for intimidating others, and for gaining powerful allies, The Don suddenly had a use for Triple J. Triple J now had an “in” with the Figarettis.
When Triple J took the job, he was supposed to keep Guilia out of trouble and look out for her. He had done a decent job of that thus far, but he had failed in his promise to keep the Don up to date. He was in hot water now, and The Don was calling him now.
“Sorry, Don. She is training and workin’ out right now.”
“Joshua, when I took you in and gave you a job, I tolerated you doin’ half-ass work and fuckin’ da family over. I looked da other way when ya lost us 20 g’s. I liked you Joshua. Hell, when you did dat gay shit with dat big guy, I laughed my ass off, even though I don’ agree wit’ dem people. But now, now yous got my li’l girl with ya. Nobody fucks wit my li’l girl. Capiche?”
Triple J was shaking in fear. He could barely hold his phone. The last time he heard The Don speak to someone like that, they weren’t found. Triple J didn’t wanna be one of them. He cleared his throat.
“I…I’m sorry, sir. I am looking out for her…”
“I ain’ payin’ ya for lookin’ out for her. I am payin’ ya to keep her safe. She is safe isn’t she?”
“Yyyyyyes.”
“Good. Now from what I gather, she has a few of dem matches coming up right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Wanna try dat again?!”
“Yyyyes sir. Sorry sir.”
“Listen to me very carefully. I got the pigs coming at me from all sides, and if I get locked up, I want my li’l girl back here. You bring her back to me as soon as those commitments are done, Capiche?”
“Buuuut sir. She has some big things coming up. She needs to stay.”
The Don paused. He weighed the options. He wanted her back home right now. There was a very realistic possibility the actions of tonight, combined with the ongoing investigations into Michael, could land him behind bars. He needed Guilia back home to run the family.
On the other hand, this was her chance to get out. The Family has a way of making people live relaxing lives, but most of those lives end with jail or murder. Guilia could get out, and actually enjoy her life. She wouldn’t have to worry about the Feds, the constant back biting, the ulcers that come from running this empire, or the issues with tonight.
The Don nodded into the camera phone. He knew what had to be done. He didn’t like the decision. Hell, he hated it. His heart broke. No matter what happened, how much time he spent in prison, how many funerals he had to go to, or even star in his own, he could take solace in the fact his li’l girl was happy.
He told Triple J to keep him updated every week, but make sure Guilia was happy. He was going to send more money, and if necessary, a few guys over there to help Triple J out. Before Triple J could respond, The Don hung up the phone.
As tears filled his eyes, he pressed the red circle. No one saw The Don show emotion, especially some piss ant like Triple J. The driver circled back around and was a block from Antonio’s when they spotted the flames.
Over the next few days, details of the explosion came to light. It was said to be a gas leak from the ranges in the kitchen. Three were dead, including Michael Figaretti, Dominic D’Antonio, and Peter Jenkins, a waiter.
The Don knew it was no gas leak. He planted an explosive device under the table. Yes, his son was dead, but so was his closest rival and perceived informant. He could now expand his empire, and not have to worry about that disappointment.
Bad news found its way to Japan. Triple J received word of the death of Nathan Thunder. While Triple J and Thunder had a falling out and the two had not spoke in months, he still mourned his friend. He knew Guilia would not take it well. While he wasn’t sure of the details, those two had a thing.
He feared his other news would be worse. He had to tell Guilia of the death of her father. She had just lost the Finals of the tournament when he got the news. He was scared of what she was going to do. Hopefully, she would channel it into her matches.
Hope was all Triple J had, and hope is a fleeting thing.
Don Figaretti takes a puff from his cigar and flicks the ashes into an ash tray. As the door to the room opens, Michael and Dom each reach into their jackets for a gun. The waiter freezes for a second, then comes into a room when the men relax. He puts down several bowls of food, lasagna, spaghetti, alfredo, ziti, and garlic bread. Dom waves him off.
Two more waiters come in, one with parmesan and one with a bottle of wine. The wine steward pours three glasses of a cabernet before turning and leaving. The waiter with the parmesan covers every plate with a thick layer of cheese before being told to leave.
Dom and Michael begin digging in. The Don takes a sip from his glass. Something is weighing on his mind. His niece, Guilia, was half a world away fighting in some tournament. He hadn’t heard from her, or the man he put in charge of her, Joshua Jeffrey Jones, in over a month.
She was supposed to check in. She was supposed to be in contact. With the chaos going on, he needed her back here.
Don Figaretti never had a daughter. His two sons, one sitting next to him sucking down a bowl of spaghetti, and the other hadn’t quite turned out the way he wanted them.
Michael was supposed to be a strong man. He was supposed to be the heir to the family. He had turned into a Momma’s Boy, and couldn’t shoot for shit. He was as intimidating as an order of restraint on a rat. Mikey turned out to be a big pussy. Even the way he ate his spaghetti, slurping it like a gay, made The Don cringe.
His other son, Vinnie, named after The Don’s father, Vincent Giovanni, was drafted to serve in Viet Nam. Vincent had connections and was willing to get his grandson out of the commitment, but Vinnie wanted to go.
He would have been 64 today. The Don believed he had his heir. Vinnie was the perfect heir to the family. He was The Don’s only child. When word of Vinnie’s death got back to The Don and Mary, his mother, they had Michael.
Michael was the exact opposite of his dead brother. Michael had Guilia before he graduated college, yet another disappointment. Guilia was his only granddaughter. Michael, trying to be an “extreme” athlete on a skateboard, ruptured both testicles. He was sterile. Since then, he put on 250 pounds.
Guilia was his last best hope for an heir to the family. She was his little girl. She never went wanting, and he taught her everything. She knew how to do the shake downs, how to perform the perfect hit, how to lean on the pig’s informants, and how to cook Steak Pizzaiola like they did in the Old Country.
Guilia was perfect. He loved her more than Michael. Mikey didn’t know it, but she was the one who would get control of the family. The Don missed her greatly. She should have been here.
For months, there had been a rather bloody turf war between the Figarettis and the D’Antonios. After 17 deaths, 14 serious injuries, and three bomb detonations, the heads of both families were brought together in the back room of Antonios. D’Antonio came alone. Guilia was supposed to be there with The Don, but with her tied up in Japan, he had no choice but to bring Mikey.
While the other two ate, The Don got up from the table. With a full mouth, Mikey asked what’s up. The Don just grunted and left the room. Mikey and D’Antonio resumed eating.
The Don wobbled his way outside. He looked at his cigar, as if he was disgusted with it, and threw it into the alley.
Standing outside the restaurant was his chauffeur, smoking a cigarette. When the driver saw The Don, he threw his cigarette and opened the back door of the Lincoln. The Don shook his head in derision, and stuffed himself into the back of the car.
The driver raced around and quickly got into the driver’s seat. With the divided window down, he asked The Don for a destination. The Don said just drive.
Tires squealed and the Lincoln pulled out into the traffic.
The Don reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out an iPhone. His fat finger unlocked the phone and three screen taps later and his phone was ringing. He took a deep breath, his clogged heart beating faster. After the fourth ring, the screen flickered on.
Triple J had a difficult time adjusting to the Japanese culture. He felt at home in New York, but here, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He couldn’t pronounce the language, hated the food, had no luck with the ladies, and money was running low.
His meal ticket, “The Made Woman” Guilia Figaretti, was having just as hard of a time. She couldn’t gain traction and was bordering on going insane. She knew the Feds were closing in on her family. She wanted to be home to help her Poppy. She still had obligations here, and her Poppy told her: “Her word is the only thing she truly has in life.” Triple J knew she was losing it. So was he. And now his phone was ringing, and Don Figaretti was not a man to be put on ignore.
“Yes, Sir. How, uhh, can I,…what do you need Don?”
The Don, who had been in a perpetual state of disappointment for the last two months since Guilia left, snorted again. His rhaspy voice bellowed out into the phone.
“Don’t disrespect me. I made you and I have no problem giving you concrete gollashes. Where is my Guilie?”
Triple J panicked. He had always been very respectful to The Don. He struggled to get in good with the Figarettis. His family lived in D’Antionio Family turf, and he was the very definition of an outsider. He got into wrestling as a way to prove to The Don he could make money.
When Guilia wanted to become a wrestler to keep in shape for intimidating others, and for gaining powerful allies, The Don suddenly had a use for Triple J. Triple J now had an “in” with the Figarettis.
When Triple J took the job, he was supposed to keep Guilia out of trouble and look out for her. He had done a decent job of that thus far, but he had failed in his promise to keep the Don up to date. He was in hot water now, and The Don was calling him now.
“Sorry, Don. She is training and workin’ out right now.”
“Joshua, when I took you in and gave you a job, I tolerated you doin’ half-ass work and fuckin’ da family over. I looked da other way when ya lost us 20 g’s. I liked you Joshua. Hell, when you did dat gay shit with dat big guy, I laughed my ass off, even though I don’ agree wit’ dem people. But now, now yous got my li’l girl with ya. Nobody fucks wit my li’l girl. Capiche?”
Triple J was shaking in fear. He could barely hold his phone. The last time he heard The Don speak to someone like that, they weren’t found. Triple J didn’t wanna be one of them. He cleared his throat.
“I…I’m sorry, sir. I am looking out for her…”
“I ain’ payin’ ya for lookin’ out for her. I am payin’ ya to keep her safe. She is safe isn’t she?”
“Yyyyyyes.”
“Good. Now from what I gather, she has a few of dem matches coming up right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Wanna try dat again?!”
“Yyyyes sir. Sorry sir.”
“Listen to me very carefully. I got the pigs coming at me from all sides, and if I get locked up, I want my li’l girl back here. You bring her back to me as soon as those commitments are done, Capiche?”
“Buuuut sir. She has some big things coming up. She needs to stay.”
The Don paused. He weighed the options. He wanted her back home right now. There was a very realistic possibility the actions of tonight, combined with the ongoing investigations into Michael, could land him behind bars. He needed Guilia back home to run the family.
On the other hand, this was her chance to get out. The Family has a way of making people live relaxing lives, but most of those lives end with jail or murder. Guilia could get out, and actually enjoy her life. She wouldn’t have to worry about the Feds, the constant back biting, the ulcers that come from running this empire, or the issues with tonight.
The Don nodded into the camera phone. He knew what had to be done. He didn’t like the decision. Hell, he hated it. His heart broke. No matter what happened, how much time he spent in prison, how many funerals he had to go to, or even star in his own, he could take solace in the fact his li’l girl was happy.
He told Triple J to keep him updated every week, but make sure Guilia was happy. He was going to send more money, and if necessary, a few guys over there to help Triple J out. Before Triple J could respond, The Don hung up the phone.
As tears filled his eyes, he pressed the red circle. No one saw The Don show emotion, especially some piss ant like Triple J. The driver circled back around and was a block from Antonio’s when they spotted the flames.
Over the next few days, details of the explosion came to light. It was said to be a gas leak from the ranges in the kitchen. Three were dead, including Michael Figaretti, Dominic D’Antonio, and Peter Jenkins, a waiter.
The Don knew it was no gas leak. He planted an explosive device under the table. Yes, his son was dead, but so was his closest rival and perceived informant. He could now expand his empire, and not have to worry about that disappointment.
Bad news found its way to Japan. Triple J received word of the death of Nathan Thunder. While Triple J and Thunder had a falling out and the two had not spoke in months, he still mourned his friend. He knew Guilia would not take it well. While he wasn’t sure of the details, those two had a thing.
He feared his other news would be worse. He had to tell Guilia of the death of her father. She had just lost the Finals of the tournament when he got the news. He was scared of what she was going to do. Hopefully, she would channel it into her matches.
Hope was all Triple J had, and hope is a fleeting thing.
