"Right here, asshole." Giovani said, pointing to the dotted line on the document.

Jimmy looked up, following the finger to the wrist wearing a cleaning Rolex. Higher up the custom tailored suit and into Giovani's face. It was a pudgy tanned cicilian face, framed by neatly combed hair. The upper lip had the typical mafioso pencil stripe mustache.
Seeing the look on Jimmys face, Giovani smiled, his front gold tooth glinted in the lamp light hanging from the ceiling of the cellar.
Giovani addressed the two bulky men behind him, "You see! This little pisser is not worth shit. Just like his father." He smirked and asked Jimmy, "Aren't you, boy?"

His smirk died on his face seeing the steel in Jimmy's eyes. But before he could recoil, Jimmy snatched the fountain pen and drove it into the back of Giovani's hand and into the table top. Giovani opened his mouth to utter a scream and before any sound could escape, Jimmy grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head into the table top, right next to his impaled hand.

The two goons too startled to move at first started to reach into their suits for their guns. Jimmy slammed Giovani's head one more time and the gold tooth skittered on the tabletop. He yanked the pen out, spun the bloody Don around and pressed the pen into his neck and held it there.

"Drop your fucking hands!" He roared at the goons. "Move and the Don gets it!" He yelled.

"S… Stop." Giovani spat past his bloody lips at his dogs. They lowered their hands and put them in front of their bodies, empty.

"Now what?" Giovani asked, bloody drool running down his chin.

Good question, Jimmy thought.


Fifteen years earlier.

“Who is that?” the five year old Jimmy asked his dad. Jimmy’s dad put another crate of apples on his stall and squinted at the indicated man. He took off his spectacles and cleaned them on the sleeve of his shirt and put them back on.

“Son, that is Don Karlo.” He answered.

Don took his weekly stroll through the market district. He wore an impeccable white suit with a white fedora and white long coat slung over his shoulder. The blood red ruby in the family ring on his small finger glinted when the Don gestured to his teenage son.

“Wow! Really? Will he stop and talk to you? You are the best seller on the street.” As usual, Jimmy’s excitement made him chatty.
Dad only smiled and asked him to pass the wicker basket with the straw on the bottom. When Jimmy looked up, the Don was at the stall. The Don casually picked up an apple and kept walking by all the while gesturing with his left hand.

Jimmy’s curiosity could not be held back any longer. He hunched down, hid behind the seller stalls and followed the Don and his son down the street, keeping out of sight.

“Son, I keep telling you. All of this will be yours when I retire.”The Don said with another gesture. “But it looks like you don’t care.” He added.

“This filthy market? We make more money in a single brothel than this entire flea market combined.” Giovani argued.

“Aaahh. Now I get it.” Karlo said. “You think too small, son. In twenty years, we will turn this street into something more. See that lamppost?” he asked and gestured to where Jimmy’s dad haggled with a customer, “I’ll put one of the new Cinemas there, it will make us hundreds. And there,” he pointed to a small alley, “I’ll put a Casino and it will make us thousands.” He gestured expansively and noticed the red apple in his hand. Without looking he tossed it at Jimmy, “Here, kid.”

Jimmy stopped with the apple in his hands, took a bite and ran back to his dad.

 

Ten years earlier.

Rain came down in a slow drizzle over the cemetery. The “Family” gathered here to honor the late Don Karlo. His young widow and son stood in the front row. Mindful of the rain, the Consigliere held an umbrella over the somber attire of the close relatives. The widow wiped corners of her eyes under the black veil. The son, Giovani stoically kept his face calm. He was the new Don after all.
The old Don had an unexpected heart attack a week ago. He was loved by all and regretted nothing. His son, on the other hand, was not Karlo and never could be.

 

Four years earlier.

“Pay up! All of it.” Tony yelled at Jimmy’s dad. Jimmy was sixteen and starting to come into his full height and his frame no longer put a scarecrow to shame. Years of lifting heavy boxes of fruit put on solid muscle on any man's frame. He flinched at the yell, he had his head pressed to the door of their small bedroom, listening to his dad and Tony.

“That’s all I have.” His dad said and the rustle of money indicated an exchange.

“Not the full amount.” Tonelessly Tony rumbled.

“Tony, we have known each other for years. That is all I have, I swear. Give me a break, I’ll make it up next week. I swear.” His dad pleaded. Jimmy hated the pleading note in his father's voice. His father was a better man than all of the mob put together.

“For all times sake, make sure that you do.” Tony said.

He heard the door close as Tony left. Jimmy ran out into the sparse decorated living room. His father sat slumped in a chair by the empty fireplace.

“It’s not fair. We should be making more and would be if not for Giovani’s dogs on the street intimidating the customers and not controlling the pickpockets.” Jimmy raged.

“Son, you are very perceptive, as usual. Life is hard right now, ever since your mother left. It will get better. I know it will.” He said in a soothing voice.

“I will see Capo Carleone. I will ask for help and we will get protection.” Jimmy said.

“No! You will do no such thing!” His father yelled and Jimmy flinched at the anger in his voice.

“You will not betray our family. We will get through this. Going to Carleone’s will mean leaving our place behind. The little patch by the lamppost has been in our family for generations. You will not give it away. I forbid it.” His father said and Jimmy subsided.

 

Two years earlier.

Jimmy and Kris stopped at a little flower stall. Jimmy picked up a purple flower in full bloom and gave it to Kris. She inhaled the arome and smiled at Jimmy. She was the most beautiful woman that Jimmy had ever known in his seventeen years of life. He basked in her reflected beauty.

“You are very sweet, Jimmy.” She said in gratitude.

“I love you.” He replied simply.

Just then a young woman walked by, holding a parasol over her ten dollar hairdo and makeup. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Kris asked wistfully.

“Yes, she is the beauty of a candle in a dark room, you can’t help but look.” Jimmy replied and Kris raised an eyebrow in question.
“But you, you are a bonfire. So bright and hot and life sustaining that no man can resist your attraction and can’t help but what to touch.” He said and Kris blushed at the compliment.

They turned as an argument broke out behind them.

“I said, your protection ran out last week. You pay or bad things happen.” The man said to a bread seller. Jimmy recognized the nasal voice of Tony.

“I don’t owe you shit. You just take and take. My family is starving. I need this money so tell you boss to Fuck off.” The seller replied in defiance.

Tony pulled out a gun and shot the seller in the head. His son overturned the stall and bolted as fast as he could, unfortunately running towards Jimmy and Kris. Tony shot three times and the boy crumbled mere feet in front of Jimmy. Tony put the gun away and left the scene.

Jimmy unfroze and pulled his stare away from the dead body in front of him and turned it towards Kris. She was not standing next to him, she was on the cobblestones, gushing blood from the hole in her neck.

He dropped on his knees and frantically ran his hands over her body to try to stop the blood. It was too late. She was dead. He kneeled next to her and cried like he never cried before.

The weight of the tiny diamond ring in his pocket burned in symphony of his sorrow.

 

One year ago.

“Son, promise that you will never give up our family lot.” Jimmy’s father gasped. Jimmy’s chest was tight. His father was dying.

“I promise father.” He said through the curtain of tears.

“I love you son.”

“I love you too father.”

For hours, Jimmy held his father's hand, until it was cold and stiff. The last person that meant anything to him had died. Jimmy could have saved his father if he had money for a hospital. But he did not. It was Don Giovani’s fault. When the old Don was in power, he did not squeeze the small street vendors to breaking point. He had a dream for this city, he cared. Giovani did not.

Jimmy knocked on the door and at a curt “Enter.” opened the door and bowed to Capo. “What can I do for you?” Carleone asked.

“Capo, I want to give you the Lamp street.” Jimmy said simply.

Capo and his bodyguards laughed. “And how do you propose to do that?” He asked.

“I will give you Giovani’s head in a basket.” He replied with steel in his voice.

Capo gave him a closer look, taking in all his features and the muscled and athletic build. “Son, can you fight? Shoot? Have you ever killed?” Capo asked.

“No sir, but I will learn and when I’m ready I will give you his head.” Jimmy said.

“I see. Why me?” Carleone asked.

“I do not mean any disrespect.” Jimmy said and at a nod from Capo continued, “You are ruthless and have an iron hard grip on your men and interests. And you are fair and have a dream. Don Karlo had a dream to turn the Lamp street into something better. I believe that you will too.”

“If you succeed and give me more territory, what do you want in return?” Capo asked.

“All I want is the patch by the old lamppost preserved in memory of my father.” Jimmy said.

Don Carleone thought about it and weighed his options. A minute later he told his bodyguard, “Train him.”

 

One week ago.

"The Boss wants your spot." Tony said. Jimmy did not reply and put another box of apples in his stall.

"Are you def boy?" Tony asked, exasperated.

"Not for sale." Jimmy said.

"I didn't say, he wants to buy it. I said he wants it. Out of personal respect I had for you father, I'm offering to buy it. Don't make it difficult." Tony explained.

Jimmy let out a breath of air with a sigh.

"Why does he want the spot?" Jimmy asked.

"You shits don't make any money for him. He wants to open another brothel right where we are standing."

"My dad's last wish was to keep the spot for the family. So you see I can't sell it." Jimmy pleaded.

"Jim- " Tony began. "Jimmy." Jimmy cut him off firmly.

"Right. Jimmy, I'm not one to stand between a son and his father's last wish. I was sent to get the spot, at all costs." He speared an apple with his stilleto to emphasize his point and held Jimmy's eyes.

"I'll sell it. Where does the Don want me to sign the deed?"

 

Present time.

Good question. Jimmy thought.

"With two fingers only, reach in your pocket and pull your your gun." Jimmy hissed in Giovani's ear.

He handed the gun to Jimmy. Keeping the pen tip pressed to his neck, Jimmy raised the gin and with the quick pulls on the trigger, dispatched the bodyguards. He let go of the Don and with a kick to his back, sent him sprawling to the floor.

The Don turned around, fear filled his eyes and a little spark of hatred.

"I was there on the day your father gave you his dream. All you had to do was to follow and the city would have been yours. But you are a pig, Giovani. A fat glutenous pig." He shook his head.

"Who sent you?" Giovani rasped past his broken teeth.

"Nobody. Your greed killed my father. Your undisciplined dog murdered my only true love. Now you tried to take away the last thing that I own. Goodbye." Jimmy said and pulled the trigger.

 

The next day.

"Boss, there is a basket at your door." Lee told Carleone.

"Well bring it in." He replied.

His right hand man brought in the parcel and lifted the lid. There on the straw covered bottom sat Giovani's head. On his forehead was a nearly folded piece of paper. The Capo took it and opened it.

Dear Capo,

I have delivered Giovani's head, as promised. The Lamp street is yours. I trust you to keep your word as I kept mine. Please see attached paperwork for a bronze plaque that will be mounted on the Lamppost. Please see that it gets done. It is a dedication to a good and kind man, best that I know. To my father.

If it is done, you will not see me again. If you fail, I'll be the last thing you will ever see.

Sincerely yours,
Jimmy.

Capo handed the note to his Consigliere. Realizing that Jimmy somehow managed to kill the second most protected man in the city said, "Make it happen. Then pull up a map of the street and raw up plans for cinemas and restaurants etc. Rename the damn street. Let's call it… I don't know, something poetic. The time for it has come."