Page 4 of Capo Baby, All Of Your Heart Will Do
I’m a fucking man, and I’m not going to cower. I’m ready for this.
“Thanks, Capo, but I’m here to see if I can work for the Boss as his loyal Soldier,” I say, sitting up straight looking him in the eye.
“Chris, how old are you,” Capo Bruno asks, lowering his eyelids, focusing on my face.
I know that he’s looking for me to lie, but I’m not. I’m ready; Papà has been grooming me for years.
“I’m eighteen,” I say, stoned face, refusing to show any emotion.
“Chris, you know that becoming a Soldato is not that easy or a spur-of-the-moment decision. But because you’re Matteo’s son, I’m going to give you the opportunity of showing your worth, of demonstrating your skills and commitment to the Boss Cappola Crime Family,” Capo Bruno says, clasping his fingers lowering his eyelids.
“I’m ready to work and to take care of business. My Papà groomed me to follow in his footsteps,” I say, nodding.
“Indeed, that’s fuckingtastic! I need you to check in with me every day to get your task, and if you work hard, you can become the Soldier for the Cappola Crime Family,” Capo Bruno says, nodding.
“Thanks, it’s an honor,” I say, nodding.
“I’ll expect you tomorrow in the morning,” Capo Bruno says, leaning his forearms on the desk.
“I’ll be here,” I say, nodding.
I’m fucking relieved that Capo Bruno will give me a chance to be a Soldier because I need to provide for Mom and my brother Vince. He’s still in junior high, and I’m going to make damn sure that he never gets sucked into the Mafia.
Of fuckingcouse, I don’t talk about the hit or that I’m going to get revenge from the motherfucker that killed my Papà. I don’t care how long it takes, but that bastard is going to die.
I walk out of the office, getting into my old Honda. I fucking can’t wait to tell Mom not to worry about anything.
I know that I’m going to earn a lot of money working for Capo Bruno.
One
Cristiano
Nine years later.
It’s been nine fucking years since those motherfuckers killed my Papà. I still don’t know a damn thing about those motherfuckers.
Fuck.
I drive up the circular driveway to meet up with the motherfucker Associate; that’s a fucking pain.
I don’t know if I can stand hearing the motherfucker Winter demanding to be a Made Man, and I don’t fucking see how that can happen. The fucker is not a full Italian, and the Boss doesn’t want to make any exceptions, and besides, his books are closed.
Period.
But Winter doesn’t fucking listen, and the Boss wants to keep him as the Associate because motherfucker takes damn good care of the legal issues we encounter.
I get out of my new BMW, because of fucking course, I’m making tons of money. I walk up to the door, lifting my chin to greet the two buffoons that guard Winter.
“Ug,” the guard grunts, opening the door.
I walk inside the huge mansion, because of fuckingcourse the man has money. He earns fucking shit load of money as the Cappola’s attorney.
I walk down the hall into his office without fucking knocking.
“Fucker! Chris, you don’t call to even fucking advise that you’re coming,” Winter growls, closing his laptop.
“You know that I have to stop in to check on you, to give you additional orders from Cappola and fucker, it’s my job,” I say, walking over to the bar to grab a beer from the small refrigerator.
