Author's Note: HAHA! Finally figured out how to make a note! :D Anyways, I had to stop writing because, coincidentally, the hard drive I had my story on crashed, and frankly, I don't feel like retrieving it. So every chapter, from now on, WILL BE HAND WRITTEN AND UNEDITED! :D But yes, review me! Tell me that you like my Ita-Heavy!
Chaper 3: The Heavy
"You gonna eat that stromboli, fra?
Why yes, my fat brother. I am. To alert my brother of this, I took a much too large bite from the sandwich, swallowed, and suckled the pepperoni juices from my fingers. "Oh come on, fratello. I'm starvin' over here!"
"You've had three. That was my first, deal with it."
"One day, fra."
"Che palle?"
"Che palle." Alright. Our dinner is finished, now for him to tell me why I'm really here. "What's the dish?"
"Pasta. A light sauce. You're a meatball, and you're gonna sprinkle some cheese on the dish. I read it on a blank receipt. Got it, fra?" He snapped his fingers.
It didn't take long for me to comprehend his statement. It was scare tactics. He was told by an unknown associate to light up a nightclub a few blocks down, a make it a little messy, but he was passing it down to me.\
"Price check?" He leaned in close.
"Cinquecentomila dollari," he whispered, smiling mischievously. My eyes went wide. My jaw dropped. Five hundred thousand dollars! I couldn't resist this offer, especially for such an easy task. I held out my hand for him to shake it.
"Cenare in un inferno?"
"Cenare in un inferno."
And dine in hell I did.
It didn't take long for me to realize I was being set up. First off, the nightclub parking lot was empty. Second, there were no lights on. It was almost obvious.
And see, I'm a fucking mafioso. I don't get baited. No matter who's in here, I'm lightin' them up. Il formaggio sara svizzero, I miei amici.
So I walked up to the dank, dirty nightclub doors, kicked them in, and guess what.
I lit the place up.
After a nice thorough spray of tommygun bullets, I tossed in a few hand made nail grenades for good measure, and took a moment to piss on the carpet. Amidst the wreckage, a single seat at the bar, occupied by a single smoking old hag, remained. I decided to take a seat next to her, taking note of her admirable calm in the hellish wreck I had made of the club.
"Any sudden movements and we shoot." All admiration I just had got flushed down the toilet by that comment. My face took on a nervous look, but I quickly replaced it with my usual confident expression. "Mister Moretti, I have here very detailed and revealing evidence about your little... organization. If you don't do exactly what I say, when I say it, I will take the entire Moretti family down. Every single one of you will spend the rest of your lives in a maximum security prison; now you don't want that, do you?" I stayed silent, dumbstruck. I looked at the large folder she had been keeping in her lap. It was labeled Bibiano Moretti. Why this hag would have all that information on me, I will never know, but there wasn't much I could do at this point. "Are you willing to cooperate, mister Moretti?" I nodded my head.
"Good. Welcome to Reliable Excavation and Demolition."