“Yes, boss.”
“Boss?” He scoffed. “Don't hurt my feelings. I can't possibly be your boss, can I?” He looked up at his real boys to help answer his question.
“He's mocking,” Giovanni snared.
“Sob story,” Mario nodded in agreement.
“Hear that, Arturo? They don't believe you, and neither do I. I can't be your boss when you're dipping from my purse.” He sounded genuinely perplexed.
“Bo–ss please,” he begged.
“Now he's begging? For what, Arturo? What do you want from me?”
“Forgiveness.”
Makros chuckled. Then he threw his head back and laughed with all his strength.
The boy knew he was in a hopeless situation and began to tremble.
“You're one funny lad. That's how the Americans speak, you know?” He ended his speech with another short laugh.
“That's how they steal too. Sloppy,” Giovanni said, fueling the tension.
Makros snapped his finger in agreement. “Very sloppy thieves, Gio. Very sloppy.” His eyes trailed back to Arturo. “Why did you do it?” He asked.
“I was–”
The cock of a gun stopped his words.
“That's a question I would have asked if I was an American. Probably hold your hand and lead you to a therapist. It's not him. Think about his mental health.” He mimicked an American accent. “But we aren't as civilized, are we?”
“No, boss.” Arturo's voice quivered.
“Good man,” he stretched out a hand and tapped his shoulders. “At least you agree we're not like them. We're beasts.Bloody monsters. Vagabonds. Those filthy Sicilians. All of those things, but not thieves!” He suddenly thundered.
Arturo jerked, his heart jumping into his mouth. The mocking laughter of Giovanni did not help. It didn't look like there was any escape from the boss's anger. Defeated, he licked his wounds before they even came.
The chair scraped against the smooth floor as Makros rose to his feet. He pointed the gun down and sneered. “Money is significant to me, but principles trump it. If you needed money that bad, you should have asked for it. You bit the hand that fed you because you chose to be greedy. Now, I'm going to take something important from you. That thing you stole to please.”
He moved the gun until it was leveled with Arturo's midriff.
“Gio?” He called.
“Si, boss.”
“Read his mistakes.”
He cleared his throat and began. “He stole by inflating the prices of drinks and pocketing the change. Not because he had a sick family to tend to or school fees to pay for. He stole to fuck a whore.”
Mario flinched at that phrase, and Makros saw it happen.
The boy was still just a boy in many ways. He was indeed good at shooting, but the gangster life wasn't something he thoroughly enjoyed like Giovanni did.
He had toyed with the idea of sending him to university. Maybe he could become a lawyer and return to help the family business. But for now, it was fun to watch him squirm at the raw words.
“A whore. You finger tucked my cash to fuck a whore.” Makros chuckled. “And the verdict, Gio?”
“A bullet to his balls. Burst the bastard so it'll never nut again,” he said.
