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Oh God.
It feels like I'm on a suicide mission, by choice, but...I just can't find it in me to do nothing. I'm not sure this is enough to get me into Heaven, but...God always love the foolish, right? And honestly, I can't remember feeling any more foolish than I do now—-
Please God, please let me get to her in time!
Marko raises his fist to punch the daylights out of the old lady—-
"That should do it, young man."
I crash into a halt when I see her shooing Marko away like he's some harmless little fly, and things get even crazier when Marko actually backs off.
"Sorry, Pens,"he says sheepishly as he turns to face me."And good luck."
My mind feels like it's about to unravel when Marko even starts whistling as he walks away with his hands buried deep in his pockets, and I'm pretty sure it's absolutely not a coincidence that Marko also happens to be whistling One Republic'sI Ain't Worried.
He's acting like the three of us weren'tthisclose to being the newest statistical data point in New York's fast-growing crime rate—-and I just don't get it.
What the hell's going on?
Cesare
LABORERS ON A CIGARETTEbreak outside the public market turned a blind eye when they saw a convoy of vehicles rolling up to the entrance of the Marchetti warehouse across the street. Doors simultaneously opened as men in dark-colored suits stepped out, and being dragged behind them was a man in chains, yelling for help.
Life in the city had been peaceful ever since the Marchettis came into power. It was like having an Italian brotherhood of Bruce Waynes to look after folks like them who worked their asses off day in and day out.
It was just plainnice, to wake up and know they lived in a city where no one was going to mess with them, just because they were broke and powerless. As far as they were concerned, Boston, and not a theme park, was the happiest place on earth, and all they had to do, for the status quo to remain in place...was to occasionally look away, every time a Marchetti was in the process of teaching a valuable lesson to one of their enemies.
The cries of pain and agony continued well into the night, but not a single call to 911 was made. Time...as well as the whole city was on the side of the Marchettis', and after over forty hours of torture, their captive finally broke down and began talking.
Cesare had just finished scrubbing the blood off his knuckles when his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from his grandmother,and it was short and viciously simple as always.
I found her.
'Her' was someone he had long assumed dead, and whileherexistence meant that it was his life which would now be upended—-
Do you need me to do anything?
