Disrespect

Story by Logan; Illustration by Game Master Virtuoso

Time: Late Evening – 8pm – Thursday

Location: Vito’s Office – In “Common Commerce” (His Bank)

Snip

Blow

Scrape

The end of the cigar, freshly polished and ready for use glares eagerly at the man who operated the guillotine cutter. The stainless steel smiled brightly in the low amber light glistening along the various wooden bookshelves that lined the east and west walls of the room. The heavy desk shielding the lower half of the stoic male as he peers upon the tobacco cylinder, twirling it idly between his olive fingers. His look pensive. His mind stabbed with a wicked sharpness that sliced the quiet of his meditative state. One word tore through his synapses that forced a scowl of silent fuming to rupture his otherwise stone visage.

Disrespect.

The very mental saying of such word soured the demesne it was spoken in to. What causes such a deceitful, vile word to wring his brain meat with such a violent intensity? Vito sets the cutter down releasing a metallic clang in the otherwise silent abode focusing his thoughts on here and now. Drawn to the material plane of thought and physicality. “...Such a mistake.” His whispered, deep voice rumbled out from the depth of his chest. “You should have known better, David.” 

Spark

Intake

Exhale

A plume of chocolate and heavily drenched earthy scents filled his nostrils and the aura about him. A heavy sigh causes the shoulders to slump and roll. A futile attempt to relax the building nerves. “You were family to me, David...why?” A tinge of regret stained his otherwise accented voice before it was snuffed by a heightened sense of justified anger. The now free hand clutched tightly in on itself cursing the knuckles white with their rage.

Knock

Knock

Knock

“Enter.” A single command given with bass to the backdrop of his voice. The wooden knob twists, contorting with intent for entrance. A man stood in the hallway with a smaller man behind him. Vito steeled himself, business was here. Standing and revealing his outfit. Black blazer pants, Italian shoes to match. His dress shirt is a deep blue with the cuffs rolled to his forearms and buttoned squarely. His collar and three buttons on his shirt undone. Clearly, relaxing. Clearly not happy.

Bringing the cigar to his mouth, he went about the routine to light the stick, filling the room with this scent of wood and deep sweetness from dark flavors. The soldier brought the smaller framed individual in to the room, tied him down, and shut the door behind him and locking it. 

“Hello, David.” 

‘David’, for his part, stripped down to his shirt and boxers, finding himself bound via rope to the chair in front of Vito. There was a look in David’s eyes that looked for sympathy and appeal to the humanity of the Mob Boss. A quick look from Vito, his green eyes obscured by slightly by silky white smoke shot down this hope with brutal precision. It pained him internally to hurt someone he considered family at one point but there was no room for that, no room for weakness or hope.

“I’ll be brief, why did you do go behind my back? Have I not always been kind to you and your family?”

His words were slow and methodical, his body moving around the enraptured male like a predator stalking it’s prey. With an idle hand, Vito removes the binding that silenced his tongue. He’d give him the chance to plea his case though it seemed pointless in his head, his humanity demanded a fair trial.

“C’mon man! You have to believe me, I would never do some shit like that!”

His bleating offended his ears his something fierce, nearly causing Vito to recoil from the disgusting frequency of his begging. Stopping in front of David, he held up a single hand to cease the meandering mewling.

“This is not a trial to determine guilt, David. This is a sentencing.”

His words buffeted against the otherwise delightful silence of his office. A deafening calm suddenly fell about the room with a twisted sense of depraved vigor. It hungrily ate up the sound till nothing but the calm breathing of Vito was duet with the heavy erratic breathing of David.

“Please...don’t do this. I’m family, Vito…”

That word stung more than any punch or knife could. Family and the bonds were more important to Vito than anything else he could think of. Yet, betraying that bond was the most grievous sin that ever could cross his heart. The brief moment of hesitation was washed away by the act that stained their bond in such an unholy manner.

“You have corrupted that bond, do not take it upon your tongue again.” A silence flitted about the room, tense and heavy before flow of speech resumed with a new weight, the weight of malice, “Who made you the offer? What were the details? Be honest and you will find your sentence much more tolerable and potentially livable.”

David seemed to consider this genuinely, pausing and calming his errant heart down. In an attempt to aid in this process of self-realization of the situation David found himself in, Vito went to his record player and put on the song ‘Kick in the head – Dean Martin’. Sure, an interesting song for the setting but he felt it was appropriate for the time being.

“Ok, okay...hear me out before anything else happens, please.”

Vito was many things but unreasonable to requests was not normally among them. Moving to the edge of his own desk, he leaned against and held the eye contact of David and inclined forward ever so slightly. Listening in with genuinely rapt attention. Vito enjoyed learning about the human mind when it came to social decisions. The complex choices that make up a person and their path in life of a vast interest to him. Like solving a puzzle of shattered mirror pieces. Some match, some do not and that mystery drove his intellectual pursuit.

“You have one chance to make this...conceivable, David. Do not mistake this as mercy. Speak.”

The stench of sickly sweat rapt it’s putrid knuckles unabashedly against the door of protective smog defending Vito’s sensibilities. Nose crinkled with a vehement disgust at the notion of such a foul scent invading. The prisoner took in a shaky breath and let the thoughts formulate whilst his tongue would ruminate the reasoning of such a lack of candor.

“Look...they got my Daughter, my little girl Vito. They said- Don Vinchy, all I had to do was not show up for a delivery at the docks. Just to turn a blind eye for one night and I would get her back. I didn’t...like, I didn’t know that he would...he would...you know.”

Oh, Vito knew what happened. There was an attempt made on his life via some heavy hitters that came from the Old Country as his mother called it, Sicily. He was on his way home from work and very nearly lost his life to a barrage of gun fire and rogue cars threatening to slam in to him. Had it not been for a lucky break, Vito was sure the bullets would have hit his head instead of his shoulder and right leg.

A deep sigh left Vito’s lips with something sounding like a tired boredom. God, he could still smell the smoking gun barrel and the scent of burnt gunpowder. How it sickened him. A crackling of exhaled air from David drew his attention back to the moment at hand.

“Where is your daughter now?”

A simple question that seemed to take David back slightly, as though the question slapped him with the realization that this was about more than just his own life and his own situation. A stammering rebuttal of potential truth seeped from behind cracked lips, a desperation spilling forth from battered throat and withered tongue.

“Home but Vito please, she isn’t in the game! Leave her be, I’m beggin’ you, man!”

Crack

The sound of skin meeting skin in the sheer force of discipline spoke loudly over the music. Already the flesh began to swell and rise with the vindicated redness of justified correction. David was silenced and Vito loomed over him with the cigar in his mouth and river of smoke billowing from his lips. The ceiling light obscured slightly by the angled head of Vito, casting a smothering silhouette over his visage. His emerald orbs shone with a dark brilliance.

“You mistake me greatly, David. Your Daughter will not be harmed by me or any one I influence. With the Lord as my witness, you have my word.”

There was a pregnant pause that hung about the air, as though David was attempting to measure how truthful Vito was being in this moment. A stream of tears fled his eyes, a whispered delight fled his core.

“Th-thank you…”

Vito placed a hand on his shoulder then lightly patted his face before moving around behind him, ambling towards the door, stopping only when he placed hand on the knob, turning back to face David.

“I believe you, David. Perhaps if the situation was reversed I might have done the same if they had taken my daughter. I cannot bring myself to blame you nor rob your Daughter of her father at such a young age. As such I hope you forgive me for what has been done to you thus far. Who am I to punish your earthly sins?”

Overly ecstatic at the prospect of survival, David bounced in his chair, attempting to look to Vito. A flurry of ‘thank yous’ and gratitude hurricane the room with ferocity. Upon exiting the room and closing the door behind him, Vito found himself looking to two of his soldiers. Paul Gimmi and John Palemetti. Neither were full blooded but they worked hard and that’s all that mattered. Paul spoke up, his thick accent pushing American words off foreign tongue.

“Everythin’ alright in there, Boss?”

Paul and John looked to Vito for answers. One more puff of chocolate smoke filled the space between them. Vito looked back behind him, to the wooden door that held the fate of a once loyal man and sighed. Looking to Paul he spoke,

“Take one another with you, not John, and take care of David. He was once loyal so make sure it’s quick. The Archangels can have his soul, his body is mine.” Turning to look to John, he placed a hand on his shoulder, “You, go to David’s address and find his wife. Tell her the news and if she ever needs anything to call me. Make sure she’s set up nicely. I don’t want her worrying about anything, you hear me?”

The two men nodded and left to perform their tasks. Vito went to windowed wall of the top floor, looking out of the city. A bile filled his mouth and rotted his stomach. He couldn’t stand having to do things like this but he wasn’t going to let that word win. That nasty, disgusting word that threatened to rob him of reason in a flash of deepened anger…

With a plume of smoke, a clenched fist, and the sound of a screaming man being stuffed in to a trunk, Vito spat a word forth that encircled him with it’s mockery. Oh how he hated it…

“Disrespect.”