Don

11

DiAngelo and Pierto sat down in lugubrious silence. Despondent thoughts reigned among them, both thinking of the women they'd have to leave behind.

"One of us should stay here," Pierto suggested somberly.

DiAngelo scoffed. "And which of us would do that?"

Pierto said nothing, his aphonic message clear in his distressed demeanor.

Neither of us, his silence spoke.

"We have a week. We can just-"

"Not possible." Pierto shook his head mournfully. "We have meetings with the borgatas here. We can't go alone."

"Fanculo!"

(f**k!)

"Ti sento, fratello." Pierto nodded.

(I hear you, bro,)

DiAngelo let his head rest in his hands. He hadn't said goodbye to his Miranda, and he didn't want to spook her in case he did make it back.

Funny, I thought she'd leave me, he thought bitterly.

"We can't leave them unprotected," Pierto called above him. "If we can't stay someone has to."

"How would we arrange that?"

Pierto thought about it.

"We can ask for a protector and kiss their asses until they relent."

DiAngelo scoffed, shaking his head. "A person can only kiss so much ass until they choke on shit." He said matter-of-factly.

Pierto nodded, "True."

DiAngelo's eyes brightened as he had an idea. "What about Nonna?"

Pietro blanched.

"Nonna can make anyone behave. Remember that time that bear got out the zoo?"

Pierto nodded amused. "Yeah. She looked at him and he sat down meekly till animal control got there."

"That's perfect!"

"There's just a teeny tiny problem with that, fratello."

"What?" DiAngelo frowned.

"She's dead."

DiAngelo's brows furrowed. "Oh, yeah."

Two 6-foot-something shadows moved lithely across the terrace.

The guard who was supposed to be monitoring the CCTV cameras overlooking the terrace was asleep.

He'd be dead by tomorrow.

As the broad figures traversed the large lawn, one of them glanced up at the camera.

"He's sleep, isn't he?" One said.

The other nodded in solemn affirmation.

The man face palmed. "We're doomed."

Another affirmative nod.

"We've got to get his attention some way." The youngest of two whispered.

"Small fire?" the oldest suggested.

"Small fire! I thought you said small fire!"

"It is a small fire!"

"No, this-this is a medium fire. Medium fire indicates hostility!"

"Well, help me smother it."

The youngest of them glared at his brother under the shadows of the night, the medium fire flickering lighting up their faces.

"How about we smother you instead?"

The oldest one thought about it, then shook his head deciding against it.

"No, that'd just be counterproductive."

Eventually the siblings gave up on harnessing the flames and just set the entire garden on fire so it matched.

That proved to do more harm than good, but still it accomplished their goal.

In a way.

The guard ripped the sack off of DiAngelo's lulled head.

The second guard ripped the sack off of Pierto's head. He was alert and glaring at his brother.

Footsteps echoed through the cement basement in a foreboding manner.

A light beamed into the small prison, making Pierto groan. "Worse than the Gotdamn sun," He swore.

From the light emerged a man about their age. His cigar hang from his mouth in an incredibly cliche way, but at least he didn't have a fedora.

The first thing out of his mouth was:

"Are you stupid, or are you just stupid?"

His Brooklyn accent rang clear, his eyes narrowed in irritation.

"I was in the middle of some really good p***y, so you'd better start talking with sense."

"Ah," Pierto nodded his head in understanding. "That makes sense."

The Don raised a brow.

"We need your help." 

"Well, Italy, you got a awful of showin it."

Pierto couldn't have agreed more.

Chapter Word Count: 640

Current Total Word Count: 9,907

Edited☑️

C O M M E N T

V O T E⭐️

F A N