The night is a mistress of life. It is the hardest time to be alive for, those silent hours bring forth Melancholic air and scandalous actions. In its prime it feeds off of the secrets, schemes and lies made within it, knowing it was only a matter o...
"Your friends will believe in your potential, your enemies will make you live up to it." Tim Fargo
Brooklyn, New York NOVEMBER
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The sound of rain washes the streets and the delicate drops pour down in large groups, making every puddle formed mirror an ocean's wave as cars drive through them. Dark clouds hover over the entire city. Heavy winds, pitter patter splatter against everything the water touches, the air is misty, foggy and filled with sorrow.
I've heard that people associate rain with death. Something to do with washing away the past and welcoming a soul to start anew or something like that.
Whatever it is, the idea makes no sense, but people still find it comforting. Right now, I wonder, in the wake of Giuseppe's demise, if his family feels comforted by the weather. It's unlikely.
As I predicted, the corner ruled Giuseepe's death as a natural heart attack because of his age and health records. Since then, the Lombardo family have been scrambling, left in a vulnerable state without the head of their family, open for attack.
Standing in his reception, I watched dozens of people dressed in dark colors interact with one another, most of which are pretending that they aren't happy that he's dead.
His widow weeps as loud and as hard as the rain, almost as if the two were in competition. But she does not weep for the loss of his life, instead she weeps for the life she bled and cried for. The life she was accustomed to and the power that came with it. Her tears are for herself, not him, and they only appear when someone of importance approaches her to gain pity. The energy is wasted because pity won't save her when vultures come.
His daughter couldn't afford to make her grief visible. Bianca Lombardo had to dress in something that was appropriate for a funeral yet provocative, hold in her tears so that it wouldn't mess up her makeup and work the room as if she was a call-girl. Instead of mourning the death of her father, she was on the hunt for a husband. Someone of influence, someone who could protect her and all that she cherished. It was smart to choose here as a hunting ground but still unfortunate that she had to choose the best of the worst men in order to survive. For her sake, I hope she finds a match before her brother arranges one for her to keep power.
Speaking of, Marco has yet to show his face. In fact he's been MIA ever since his father's death was announced.
I recognized all of Giuseppe's friends, both old and young, who came today. Most of them were mobsters from New Jersey, Philly, and Detroit and they each came with an entourage. Their body language gave away if they were actually here to pay their respects or if they wanted to confirm that he's dead. But their attention kept flickering towards where I was standing with Diego, wondering who we were.
I had no desire to provide clarity so they wouldn't receive any.
The rest of the room was filled with his distant family members as well as the members of his familia. Stuck in the old ways, every soldier that was under his control is a full bred Italian and they each were here dressed in their best suit with their wives and children following behind.
