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“They need a lot of work.”
“Great,” he said sardonically.
“We have a bigger problem, though. The older guys have a bad attitude.”
“The older guys?”
“Everybody 40 and up, basically. I had eight of them walk out.”
“Ah… the ‘old guard,’” Niccolo muttered darkly. “I’ll have my father let them know what’s what.”
“I have a better idea.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I want you and your brothers to train with us.”
Niccolo stared at me in shock. “…us?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“What, being the mafia don’s son exempts you from getting shot at?”
He looked irritated. “No, but – ”
“You need to train. All of you. You never know when you’ll need it. Plus, it will have the added benefit of being a good example for the guys with bad attitudes. They won’t dare say shit if they see the don’s sons out there sweating next to them.”
“I’m a consigliere in training,” Niccolo said, as though that were an excuse. “I’m supposed to use my brain, not my brawn.”
“Uh-huh. Does that make you bulletproof?”
He glared at me. “You know, I’m beginning to regret what I said about you being good for the family.”
I grinned. “I don’t care, as long as you show up for training.”
“Alright,” he grumbled. “Let me talk to the others.
Massimo, Valentino, and Roberto showed up for afternoon practice. Massimo and Valentino were in better shape than the foot soldiers, but there was a lot of room for improvement. Their gun-handling skills were sloppy, and Roberto’s were practically nonexistent – but all three brothers had a good attitude.
Even better: the younger foot soldiers were absolutely thrilled to have the don’s sons training alongside them… and the old guys didn’t say jack shit. They looked like they might have a heart attack, but not a single person walked out.
As everyone trudged wearily back to the house at the end of the day, Roberto said, “That was actually kind of fun.”
“That was a LOT of fun,” Valentino enthused.
“Glad you liked it,” I said. “See you again at one o’clock tomorrow, and we’ll do it all over again.”
Even better was what happened the next morning.
Niccolo and Adriano showed up at 7 AM. All the old guys who had walked out yesterday were back; they’d clearly been given a talking-to, and I could see the resentment on their faces.
Adriano needled me with jokes as we started exercising – This all you got, Army Boy? – to the point where he started to annoy me.
But then he proved himself invaluable.
When I started having everybody do wind sprints, one of the old-timers – the prime instigator from yesterday – started to walk away.
