A Trap Within A Trap

Chapter 26

Looking out from the penthouse terrace, the wide vista of "The Family's" Roman, Italian estate, high enough on the mountain to overlook the first civil city of the Western world, according to the Western world itself, now known as Vatican City.

"... for history is only written by the victors." - Winston Churchill

Rome had fallen, yet from its remains lies the cream of the mafioso'. Feed stopped his sweeping gaze over the cemetery fields of his ancestors. Picking up a pair of binoculars for a more defined view he searched for the great roman politicians traced to the beginnings of the greatest empire of ancient times, again how great the spoils of war really are. Drinking in the deep sense of pride he felt welling up from inside, wearing his American made Nordestrom triple breasted black suit. He rolled his Tuscano cigar within his puckered gluttonous lips, and took a pensive sip of Italian red wine. The waves rolled over his tongue, and palate before swallowing. 'It's the little things of the motherland, I always miss.' the native Jersey Shore boy thought to himself.

Full blooded Italian–American, Feeds family actually had no ties to the known bloodlines of the ancient Roman aristocracy . Feed's father started running numbers and as such took advantage of the immigrated flavor of gambling addiction. In the late 1800s, New York City was that perfectly infested city filled with scores afflicted peoples far from home with little to no chance of financial stability within the blue-collar confines of impoverishment.

Michael Auturo SR was a spiteful, cold, racist bigot who passed on these qualities to his seed, Michael Auturo II who then became so powerful he forced his way into the Mafia with aspirations of being made. His name carried back to his great grandfather's small village with reverence and fear, for they had cast him out over a small misunderstanding, allegedly smashing the mayor's wife.

Feed eventually succeeded his father's failing business venture with the advent of the drug dazed 70s and 80's, business went into overdrive with the sale of crack cocaine. Now basking in the grand success of Mojo in the US feed had a seat among the Don's for a hefty contribution. He sensed their lack of respect he worked so hard for, and knew it was due to the close connections he had with the filthy monkeys. "Even the wops and sand niggers shouldn't be in such intimate contact with your level of the organization." 'Is what they are saying behind my back.' He thought, fist clenched. He thought over the earlier mornings meetings at "Il Tavolo" which means simply the table. The side glances and underhanded jokes made at his expense by the elder captains.

"Even the junior level of our family will have to practice proper Italian speech for much more than just appearances." 'The old fuck Fernando said with his multi-leveled under-handed insult, making sure not to even look in my direction!!' "Mr. Auturo?" The steely voice asked low and reverently. "What!?" Feed responded irritated by his thoughts while also concentrating on the secreted whispers of the whisper chambers during the all hands meeting of the mafioso. The whisper chambers was the internet of the ancient world. A cacophony of echoes carried through exquisite piping and tunnels of the estate. There was still no way to have these conversations tapped or decrypted by little snot nosed pimple faced tech junkied hackers for sale to the government agency.

Feed pressed his mind to allow the self deprecating thoughts to flicker out before concentrating on the message that had better be worth this interruption. Stepping out of earshot of the whispering conference call emanating from the hidden cavity which sounded like only a subtle unrythmic breeze blowing through a straw Feed focused on Troy.

"What is it now?"

Troy kept his dark sunglasses on under all circumstances, even during formal gaterings and Feed couldn't care less. Though he did think it was an odd habit of his most trusted aid, Feed put up with the complaints of the old world. The old world would give way to the new, such as it always does with usually protest. "Such coverings of the face indoors are seen as an attempt to conceal violent intent." was the latest blunt argument made to him to order his aid to remove his aviator style mirrored spectacles. Only he knew the full picture of Troy's ugly and stark smile which revealed years of pain. Both in his deadly eyes and the scar tissue that always peaked noticeably from behind the left lens. Really Feed was doing them all a favor, because to see it all at once was frankly revolting.