It was three o'clock on a Tuesday morning. It was cloudy and cold out that day in New York. Matty Lamberti, formerly known as Matty Demaret, was now 40 years old. It had been twelve years since the incident in Montana took place. He had since changed his last name so getting a decent job would be easier; nobody would hire him as long as they knew he was related to an underboss. The surname he chose was his mother's maiden name, from before she married Benny "Chains" Demaret. She had also been Italian.

Matty sat still in his black Buick, the car he bought to replace his Cadillac. He was parked before what appeared to be a deserted, broken down building on the other side of the Brooklyn bridge. It was hidden, surrounded by trees, and was just by the water. Matty kept his dark and hateful eyes locked onto the entrance of the building as he waited for two particular men to exit. He was disappointed as three men opened the door and headed down a pathway; they weren't who he was looking for, but he knew they were of the same mafia family.

Day turned to night as Matty waited hours and hours, just sitting and watching. Finally, much to Matty's pleasure, one of the two men he was looking for left the building. At the sight of the man, Matty's heart jumped and his breath hitched in his throat. He'd never been the type that wanted to hurt or kill others; but this man he did. In fact, he'd never wanted to kill somebody as badly as he wanted to kill this man and his friend. He wanted to shoot him right then and there with his p226 pistol, the same gun he used to kill Teddy in Montana at the Beef Terminal. Though Matty was smart enough not to do that; he knew he'd be ganged up on and killed instantly at the first sound of gun shots. Matty wasn't afraid of death, but he wasn't willing to risk dying before the both of them were dead and buried. It was his mission to put them in the ground after what they'd done.

Matty took a breath and swallowed, starting his car and driving off, satisfied that he was right about where they'd been going. As he drove, his memories took over; they were vivid and clear, as if the past were his present.

Flashback...

It was twelve years ago. Matty and Taylor had just returned from Montana to New York. After everything that had happened, Matty became a different person; he realized that Taylor had been right and that the only thing you'd get being in the mob was a bullet to the head or life in jail. The death of his friends Chris Scarpa and Johnny Marbles was a big wake up call. So Matty gave his father the bag of money and proceeded with letting him know that he couldn't live up to his expectations, that he couldn't be a mobster and that he was done with all of it.

Once Matty left the building, Taylor immediately asked him if he'd told his father the news, that he was out. Matty confirmed much to Taylor's pleasure. He'd been a wreck knowing that Matty wasn't safe and it was a big relief. He walked over to Matty and looked him in the eyes as he gripped his arm and shook it.

"Good. Good, you're finally done with it..." the tattooed man had said.

"Done with this, too..." Matty replied, throwing the keys to his Cadillac threw the window. He didn't want it anymore; he'd only got it in the first place because it was the vehicle of a mobster, which was no longer what he wanted to be. He and Taylor then drove away into the city to get something to eat.

At the cafe, they sat side by side, sipping on coffee. Matty was thoughtful; he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened at the Beef Terminal. He couldn't stop the image of Scarpa being shot from replaying in his mind over and over again. He tensed his jaw and swallowed, looking down at his cup of coffee, a sadness in his eyes.

"I never should have gotten them into it..." Matty suddeny said, his voice quiet and a frown on his face. Taylor looked at Matty, his brows creasing with pity.

"Matty, you can't blame yourself for what happened... Teddy's the fuck to blame," Taylor said, reassuring Matty. Matty nodded; he knew that was the case, but deep down, he felt he was partly responsible for the whole thing. If he hadn't been so desperate for his father's approval, he never would have asked Marbles to help deliver the bag of money, and Marbles then would have never lost it and none of what happened in Montana would have come to be.

After leaving the cafe, Taylor told Matty that he was going to go see his mother and let her know he was alright, as she asked him to do for her ever since he started doing the same work as his father. Matty rode in the van with Taylor, but asked to be dropped off by the docks; Taylor's mother was very protective of her son and once seeing the bullet wounds, she wouldn't take it easy on Matty and he knew it. Taylor obliged, instinctually understanding why Matty wanted to stay back.

So once Taylor left for his mother's house, Matty sat down at the docks, letting his feet hang over the edge as he thought. Memories of the time in Montana constantly pestered him. He'd never see his friends, again. He'd never be able to hang out with Scarpa as they did every weekend, he'd never again be able to tease Marbles. There was a deep sadness and a slight sickness brought on by the thought of their deaths. There was also anger as he knew that uncle Teddy was the cause of all of it. That he'd been the one to order his men to kill Marbles and Scarpa, even after he promised that Matty's friends wouldn't be hurt. But it had been a lie; everything had been a lie, ever since Teddy took Matty into the basement when he was 12 years old to kill Bobby Boulevard. He felt so betrayed; he was glad to have killed that greedy and manipulative piece of shit.