Page 118 of Mafia Kings: Valentino

I’m sure it was a fair amount of cash for the shopkeepers, but it was chump change for theCosa Nostra.

Back before Fausto fucked everything up, our family made ten times more money than Rocco’s stupid extortion racket.

If Don Vicari was richer than us, why bother with this penny ante bullshit?

The only conclusion I could come up with wasthiswas the way Don Vicari kept his idiot son and his dipshit sons-in-law busy.

At least there wasn’t any violence –

Until one of the shopkeepers couldn’t pay.

It was a tourist shop, the kind of place that sells t-shirts and stuffed animals with ‘I Heart Italia’ on them.

The old guy who ran it looked like he was in his 60s. Grey hair, glasses, dress slacks, and polo shirt.

As soon as he saw us enter the shop, his face filled with terror.

“Nazzareno!” Rocco called out in a chipper voice. “It’s your favorite customer!”

There were a couple of tourists looking at metal paperweights of the Colosseum – two sunburned women with frizzy blonde hair.

“Please,” the old man said to the women in broken English. “Please, we close.”

One of them answered in an American accent. “But it’s the middle of the – ”

“Urgent meeting,” I said in English. “We need to confer with our friend here. You can come back later.”

“But – ”

“ESCI DI QUI!”Rocco roared at the top of his lungs.

I don’t think the women understood Italian, but they understood getting screamed at.

They bolted out the door without another word.

Then Rocco turned back to the old man. “So, Nazzareno – where’s my fuckin’ money?”

“Signor Vicari… please…” Nazzareno begged.

“Please what?” Rocco asked, turning his head slightly like he was hard of hearing.

“I don’t have your money this week…”

“Youwhat?”Rocco asked in fake surprise.

His reaction let me know he was expecting this all along.

This was all a set-up.

They were about to make an example of the old guy.

My stomach tightened with dread.

“My wife has been very sick, Signor Vicari,” Nazzareno whimpered. “I’ve had to take her to doctors in Palermo – ”

“What the fuck do I care about your wife?” Rocco asked.

One of the meatheads used his arm to rake a bunch of knick-knacks onto the floor. All the dipshits laughed.

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