You're walking along the street, when you glance over at a row of brownstones to see a bunch of boys, around sixteen years old, talking to a man with a fine tailored suit with a vest who is sitting on the steps to the building. You decide to walk up and see what this 'commotion' is about.

Hey there, boys, my name's Marty, Marty Carini.

He looks at you.

Hi there, uhh, my name's Marty.

He looks over the rest of the group.

Ha, you boys probably think that I'm some tough nut big shot, don't ya. Well, I'm not even that big, that high up, yet, but this thing of ours runs in my roots. My grandfather was a man connected with some family out of Los Angeles, he was killed for doing something stupid, shot, in front of my father and grandmother, my father moved to the midwest, but couldn't take this mafia stuff. So he moved back to Sicliy, using our pre-Ellis Island name. He was real close to the man of honor in Carini, our hometown. My father was the button man, the bookie, the jack of all trades... But a man of honor from the inner island didn't like him, my father was shot in the city center, and my brother was murdered at his funeral.

The man takes out a flask, and has a drink from it.

After that incedent, my mother thought it be best for me to come to America, the 'land of opportunity'. So that's where I'm from, from Sicilia, Sicily. My mother used my father's connnections to an extreme, calling every contact she had, but they only workerd with my father, not any family members. But one family, the Angels in the shadow, they are known by, they took me in with open arms.

He takes another drink from his flask and pockets it.

You boys may think that I'm a big shot, but a little over a week ago, a was just some boy, wearing rags, with nothing but my name, my balls, and my duffell bag, and none of those have been broken so far, and I don't plan on them ever being broken. My father was a wise man, back in the old country. But my grandfather, from here, he said some wise words, and they are true. "One day, you have to be prepared for this line of work, because one day, you might have to kill your best friend," and no truer words have ever been spoken.

He stands up, and knocks on the door to the brownstone. A man opens up, they shake hands and walk inside, three gunshots are heard and the kids flee to find a corner to sell papers, and to get away from a possible crime scene. You stand there, and see Marty step out a minute later with blood tracking on his feet as he walks out. He walks up to you and looks into your eyes, with a cold stare.

You didn't hear anything.

Then he walks away, down the sidewalk, and disappears into a back alley.