Kirsty has been researching this piece for some time.  She has interviewed many associates, and found out that family journals usually contained at least one kill they were righteously proud of...  

"Friends, if you will, please share with me a secret, or not so secret, account of a kill that someone from your bloodline enjoyed.  Or is proud of.  Or both?

I had a rummage around my boa drawer and found a million bucks, which I'll give to the most interesting one!"

Ivy smiles fondly, knowing just which story to tell.

I have one for you Kirsty... Long ago, My great grand mother several times over was left in charge of protecting her boss in the middle of a war... only problem was that he boss and his hands had gone to bed and couldn't be reached. This shouldn't have been a problem. This war had been going on for days and she had stepped into her mother's shoes just the day before and had only just gotten her gun....

And here she was left to guard her bosses chambers while he slept.

At first the task seemed simple enough, there was allot of activity going on in other cities, but for now, things seemed quiet and her bosses BG's were helping with the watch, but little by little, they drifted off, and soon his protection was running low and finally it came time to stir up the locals enough to deter attacks from ... a shot from a starter pistol would stir things up enough to keep enemies at bay...

Only...

Here was a problem... In the mists of confusion and exhaustion, No one had given my ancestor the caps for the starter pistol and she needed an auth note to get them from the armory, so she had no means to alert the HQ of danger...

And a well known Don had just landed at the airport. Gran was frantic and sent her daughter to get the note and caps she needed. Hoping her daughter could rouse someone in time, She squared up in the door way as the don approached. He was an old acquaintance of my family and seeing my gran, he paused to speak to her. We don't know the exacts of what was said.. Her daughter caught the tail end, but the conversation essentially went:

"I know the security is pretty much asleep. You have yet to awaken your bosses protection. Hold off, and I'll see to it that you and your daughter are taken care of."

"You know I can't do that Don. I'll stand by my word and my honor."

"You know this will end in blood... Yours or his, Are you sure your daughter will be taken care of without you here?"

"You know the answer to that Don. You know You'll be stepping over my body to get to my boss."

It was his shooting my gran that woke her bosses protection, And he survived that night because the don couldn't get to the boss through the commotion his shot had woken.

Sometimes, it's not our own shots we celebrate. I don't remember who won that war, it was a long and bloody one, but it happened long ago and the outcome no longer matters... but I do know that the boss survived that night because she stood in that doorway that night.

I tell you what...mine was not a Godfather, not a Don. They were not even associated with a family.

My bloodline's favourite kill was not its most illustrious, but its first.

You see, it was getting that feeling for the very first time. That understanding that a life had been taken and it was my own gun that did it. That created a sensation like no other, a tingling down my spine - the rush of adrenaline was greater than any other high.

That is why my bloodline's first kill will always be remembered as my favourite.

I wish I could say that I live a life of pacifism, but sadly sometimes I, like all of us, must kill. It is bred into my very nature, you see. As someone who once used the mafia as an outlet for violence I have learned to love who I am and no longer tell of my past exploits. As the great Gandhi once said to me on my travels in India; The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.

We can all learn a lot from this, I think. Really beautiful stuff.

That's why instead of talking about my favorite kill in this violent world, I will instead share with you all a poem about one of my favorite pastimes-- birdwatching.

There, in the corner of my eye.

I noticed a warbler warbling in the sky.

High. High.

I wish I could fly.

Like the red-crested cardinal, I cry.

Why. Why.

I wish I could fly.

Anyways, that's all I really have to say on that particular subject. I think every kill I've ever had was my favorite, but in that same vein they are also all my nightmare. A boulder that I carry with me, if you will. I remember all of their names, all of their faces. There is nothing beautiful about the more violent side of our work and I urge you all to love your fellow man. For while we are in the mob, we are still human beings with feelings and an ability for compassion.

Sell drugs, but also laugh. love. live.