Patrick Gonterico of the Gonterico Crime Syndicate  

Kissing the wife and the little bastard goodbye I made my way downtown. Don't look at me like that, I call'em a bastard cause that what the fuck he is, aint he? I got blonde hair and blue eyes, the kids got green eyes and red hair, and the wife's the same coloring as me, now I aint the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I know that one plus one equals two.

Anyway, back to the fucking story. Walking down the streets of South Philadelphia always filled me with pride, this is where I came from. No one knew what it was like back in the early life before the family me in and then took over, gutter rats they called us. The taste of the gutter filled my mouth and spit to rid myself of that reminder. Chuckling As I pass by a local grifter name Tommy. I shook my head as he managed to swindle another sorry sonofabitch out of his money.

God damn finally, I thought. As I arrived at the families warehouse. Walking through the front doors I noticed three sheba's sitting just outside the Old mans office, they smiled as I approached. I didn't smile back. One I recognized as Lizzy. I winked at her, a my eyes slid to her mouth remembering her rather fondly from last week. Two of my fathers personal bodyguards stood outside the door.

 "Morning' Swalley, Tommy." I said as they opened the door to the entrance of someone I thought of as a father figure, "Morning Pat." They said in uni-some before sliding the door closed with a soft click. Barely managing to cover my smile with a quick show of concern I said,

 "You sent word that you needed me?" It seemed that dear old dad had aged even more since last night. I somehow manged to stifle the laugh that almost bubbled up in my throat. I could almost bet that he was sweatin' bullets, because after all somebody was trying to kill him. Funny this was by somebody, I meant me.

Mr Gonterico swivels around in his chair. He had been staring at the scenery unseeingly for what felt like hours, but probably only a few minutes. He rubs his bottom lip with his hand as he stares at the man he considers like a son to him. He saw what was in his eyes, but didn’t acknowledge it.

Smiling he said, “Figlio, povero noi un drink. In modo che possiamo festeggiare!” As Patrick began doing as told his father leaned back in his seat. Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak. -The Art of War was never pleasant, but it was always necessary.

Smiling at Patrick as he gave him his drink, “Let’s answer your first question. Shall we..” he takes a sip “You said, and I quote “father do you need me?” Gonterico chuckles.

“No, figliolo, non ho bisogno di te. tu hai bisogno di me. Questa è stata la prima cosa che hai dimenticato.”
He continues his accented English becoming thicker with displeasure, “The second thing is, this is my family, and any act of attack in any manner we put down like dogs.”

Gonterico never moved a muscle, but his eyes burned with such fire Patrick felt them searing straight to his soul. He made a move, but he was seized by the two guards he had spoken to briefly earlier. They pushed him roughly to the desk before slamming his face down so hard on to it that he saw stars.

“I gave you my daughter, treated you like a son, gave you my fuckjng money, and you repay me by conspiring with the Banditos.” He laughs once more as if the very idea was ridiculous. “I have been in charge of this family since I was 13, I was born to lead, but you my son was never going to take my place.” Allow me to show you what we do with rats like you.”

Unwrapping the item that had been sitting on his desk, he came over to Patrick. The fear in Patrick’s eyes grew greater. “Apri la tua fottuta bocca.” Patrick tried to resist the order, but the two guards pried his mouth open with their own fingers. He thrashed trying to avoid that deft hand, when his head was yanked back and the cheese stuffed inside, promptly his head was slammed back onto the desk and a hand covered his mouth preventing him from spitting the cheese out.

Gonterico smiles once more while looking into his eyes, “I should tell you a secret. My dead wife’s family was originally from the Banditos. Did you know that?” Gonterico laughed at the surprise in Patrick’s gaze. “Too bad, you should also know, they sold her to me to call a truce between our families. I killed her because I only needed her for one thing, and one thing only. For a daughter that could produce men. See where I’m going with this?” Patrick nods his head furiously choking on the cheese. “Good, now swallow the cheese and open your cazzo mouth.” One muscle man pushes Patrick onto his back while the other opens his mouth. Looking bored Gonterico steps in close as Patrick’s mouth is pried open. He smiles and in a flash takes out the knife behind his back, and in a quick movement cuts out Patrick’s tongue. Blood filled Patrick’s mouth in great gushes as he thrashed attempting to speak, but mumbling instead.


Gonterico smiles, “This is what we do to rats. You will be a living testament to all those that think to betray me. You are my son, I will claim you as such until the day you die. You are to be stripped of your right hand status immediately, and my beloved daughter is to divorce you.”

His smile brightens as he looks to his real right hand man Christop, “Incontra il vero padre di tuo figlio.” The redhead with green eyes smiles wickedly. “Do you think I would allow someone of your ilk to produce with my daughter?” He laughs at the audacity as he begins methodically wiping the blood from his fingers. Patrick stares bitter hatred in his eyes at the audacity of head of his family. Gonterico licks his lips, “Good keep that anger it will serve me well. I think you will be very useful in the coming years. I have plans. Now clean up this mess, and I like you better now that you have been permenanently silenced. Think of this as a blessing. I could have killed you, but this is much more satisfying.”

Gonterico and associates left the office, and Patrick did as he was told before heading to the hospital with vengeance in his heart. This would not be the last thing you heard from me. I swear to God. I will kill that rank bastard if it’s the last thing I do. He thought just as the anesthesia took hold and knocked him out.