Short Story submitted to Kabam
The Godfather: Five Families
"Write a short story with an origin story for Eugene De Luca and how he came to be in Atlantic City."
“Eugene, wake up!” A balding, burly man pressed the day’s newspaper to Eugene’s chest. He removed the lit cigar from his mouth and said, “Take a look at the front page headline.”
Eugene De Luca ran a hand over his slick brown hair, grabbed the paper and sat straight up. Staring at the front page, he winced.
“I told you not to trust that girl,” family friend, Anthony Massolo mumbled from across the room. Massolo sat on an oversized leather chair holding his own copy of the morning paper.
The burly man, Eugene’s longtime assistant, Jacopo handed Eugene a cup of coffee. “What do we do now? Ain’t we gotta leave town?”
Eugene slammed the paper on the sofa where he had been sleeping. “No! We ain’t gotta leave town. If anyone’s leaving town, it’s her father.” Confirming his worst fears, he searched his mind for answers. “Her father’s behind all of this. This ain’t her doing.”
Massolo folded the paper and leaned forward, pointing at Eugene. “The way you stand up for this girl, it ain’t right. Your family comes first, even before love. Your father taught you better than that, Eugene. You’ve been entrusted to my care and I’ll be damned if you go down over a dumb broad.”
Jacopo sucked on his cigar and said, “Massolo’s right. What did I tell ya ‘bout going out with the daughter of a snitch? It ain't nottin' but trouble.”
Eugene buried his face in the palm of his hand. He regained composure and stood up. “Jacopo, call Nicky NoNose and tell him to get a hold of the Doctor.”
“What Doctor?”
“Who do you think?” Eugene groused. “The Park Avenue Doctor.”
Jacopo dropped his cigar, “Oh, yeah, that Doctor.” He looked over at Massolo and said, “He ain’t a Doctor I ever wanna see.”
Eugene rolled up the newspaper and pointed at Jacopo. “Tell Nicky I said to order the hit on Laura’s father. Tell him to hit that rat bastard brother of hers while you’re at it. Tell him no matter what the cost.”
Massolo reclined in the chair and with a smooth, calming voice said, “You did the right thing, Eugene.”
Eugene grabbed his coat. “I need some fresh air,” he said and opened the office door. He walked down Prince Street, letting the cold New York air permeate his face. He entered a phone booth and made a call.
A woman’s raspy voice came on the line. “Hello?”
“Laura,” Eugene said excitedly.
“Eugene? I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”
“Listen to me Laura, pack a bag and get the hell outta that house.” “Eugene, I’m so glad you don’t think I had something to do with your brother’s death.”
“My brother’s what?” He went over the newspaper story in his mind; the indictment of a Boston Mafia boss on criminal racketeering and man slaughter. “Laura, my brother’s in jail, he ain’t dead.”
“Eugene,” she paused, “My dad’s got somebody on the inside. It’s too late, I heard him on the phone an hour ago.”
Eugene’s eyes widened, “And you didn’t call to warn me, Laura? Why didn’t you call me? …Laura?”
“Eugene, there’s somebody—”
Eugene placed the phone over his heart, holding back the emotion of having listened to the rat-a-tat-tat of the Tommy Gun fired on the other side of the receiver. At that moment he vowed to move far away, from the gut wrenching pain of betrayal, and start fresh in a new city…Atlantic City.
Short Story submitted here.
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