Cruel King

I packed the knife at half past one. My mother died on the marble of my father's front step when I was fifteen. He raised me on the inside of one name for nine years, and on one truth: the Castellano Don had ordered the bullet. For nine years I sharpened a paring knife every Tuesday. It was for the Don of the Castellano family. Then the four families voted. The old Don is dead seven nights. His so...