I - A Good Measure

Stefano watched the puff of smoke linger above his head and dissipate towards nothingness. He compared the smoke to a person's ambition in the new world. Temporary. Fleeting. Unstable. In this time, everyone craved for money, wealth, and escape from poverty. Only few are lucky enough for such privilege. The great majority is just waiting for hand-outs or whatever will come their way. 

The Crown Prince. Oh, how Stefano hated his nickname; he doesn't want to be the heir to Leoluca Cavelli. After all, his aspirations are too great to decipher. He wanted to travel the world, but fate played a different card. Leoluca Cavelli is now dead, gunned down by lupara-slinging demons. Stefano is now settled in the new world, plotting his vengeance. Or is he? Life in 'Murica is so good that you might forget about your cold-blooded plan of vengeance. Well, somehow. 

Stefano puffed from his cigarette and threw it away. He observed the busy streets - people running to and fro, minding their businesses. Cars speeding up, leaving behind wisps of smoke. Among the crowd, he can make out who's the nobody and who's the wiseguy. The hustlers can be recognized easily by their gait, happiness, and overflowing confidence. Stefano knows his place, but he deeply wondered about his future. 

"You see him?" A voice disrupted Stefano's thoughts. It came from Thaddeus McLovin, a businessman-cum-political instigator.

"Yeah. He surely loves pasta." Stefano replied. McLovin was pertaining to a man on a diner across the street. "Fuckin' prick."

"How he loves the good life. He brags about it, claiming he's protected by the Bongiornos. Hah! What a fool. I know he's in the Bongiorno payroll, I'm sure of that. You waste him, then you hurt Bongiorno."

The Bongiornos. How can Stefano forget about the fuckers who killed his father? 

"I owe you a lot for this great information." Stefano stared at McLovin. "Your boss was a good man."

"Well, you can help me with something after this. Besides, 50 grand upfront can really help me a lot."

Stefano smiled and shook hands with McLovin. Moments later, he crossed the street - as if he's Christ walking on water. A Ford almost hit him, but he doesn't care. The goal is just few yards away. 

Pasta-loving sonofabitch. Carlos Agassi, what a great name for a faggot who's about to die. 

As Stefano entered the diner, the door chimed. Adorable sounds for an impending doom. Stefano walked towards the direction of Agassi, his sidearm ready for a quick draw. He made a quick observation and counted less than ten people eating on the diner. Good. 

"Carlos?" Stefano greeted. The man looked up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

"Yes, how can I -

Two loud gunshots boomed. In just two or three seconds, Cavelli drew his pistol and shot Agassi. The first bullet caught him on the cheek, while the second hit his throat. Blood spurted out from his wounds, but he still gasped for air. Or for one last chew of spaghetti. Stefano pumped two more bullets on Agassi's chest, and the fucker slumped dead. Lightning fast, Stefano darted out of the diner and rode in the getaway vehicle prepared by McLovin.

"Now, you just crippled the Bongiorno point man here. I presume there are five more targets, but you should relax for now." McLovin spoke.

Stefano nodded. Murder drains the soul, no matter how tough you are. Fate wanted Stefano to deal with the Bongiornos within a short time frame. But he doesn't care about that. Not yet. 

He wants to explore the world more. Full-scale vengeance can wait.