The End of an Era

There I sat, on the wooden chair. My brother was at the podium, making his speech, paying his respects. Everyone in the room had their eyes on him, everyone but me. His words right now didn't mean jack-shit, even if I did look up to him. All I could do was stare into the open casket. There he was, his short, well-kept, black hair. His handsome brown eyes shut. And suddenly I though I'm never gonna see those again. A single tear rolled down my face. My father was sometimes called: The Last of the Greats, I remember how he used to visit other gang bosses and make deals with them. I used to think he was untouchable, but times change. Family is the most important thing to me and to lose it is a devastation to us all. I shook it off and looked at my mama. She was in tears, her hands covering her eyes, her sobbing. My sister, Lisa, was comforting her trying to quiet her, but her efforts were in vain. I looked back at the casket, I'm never gonna see him again.

***

"A toast to my father, che Dio vi benedica, may we never forget him and his legacy." my brother said solemnly

"Amen" the collective responded as they bowed their heads. My brother sat down at the table as the food was being served. Linguini with clams, my father's favorite dish, was served. I ate slowly, as did everyone at the table. I looked around. My brother was whispering to my sister about something I couldn't hear. My mother was talking to some distant relative in the family, probably giving his condolences. My brother's family was silent.

"Are you ok Michael?" my brother asked

"I'm fine, just a little shaken." I responded quietly

"We all are. Pop had a dying wish, he wanted me to run the family and you to take charge of its finances and business when he...passed." I nodded and he continued "The doctor came to me at the end of the funeral. Pop's been murdered." My eyes widened as I sat up and looked at him.

"What?!"

"Someone injected a lethal dose of venom into his collar, the mark was too small to see with the human eye." I looked down into the linguini and with my knife I stabbed the table. Everyone in the room looked at me, stared at me. I didn't care what they were thinking, I was looking at my hand, anger, frustration, and confusion overtook me. I stared at my brother, who looked terrified. I walked hastily towards the exit grabbing my coat on the way out.

I'm going to find out who did this, and once I do they'll pay.