Hidden Witness 3: Tony's Story (BWWM)

TONY

CHAPTER ONE

I can't believe after fourteen years I am able to be me, Anthony Carlo Magarelli again no more Tony DeRosa.

The blood shed I have seen throughout my life would be astonishing for others but not for me. It is second nature. I was one of two hit men for my family the Magarelli's.

I am the oldest of my siblings. Federico Kirkland Magarelli is four years younger than me and Cristina Aria Magarelli's is the baby, she is six years younger.

Growing up a Magarelli we had everything. My father commanded respect when he walked through the streets of New Jersey. My father would often take me to a little deli our family frequented.

My father rested his hand on my shoulder as we approached the deli counter. "Tony! It's good to see you!" the owner Larry gleamed.

"Larry, good to see you too."

Larry glanced over the deli showcase. "Little Tony, you're growing like a weed."

I smiled.

"What can I get you, Tone?"

"Two pastrami sandwiches on rye, a Yoho for little Tone and a coke for me."

"Coming right up. I'll bring out your order soon."

"Thanks," my dad said.

My father ushered me toward a table in the back of the establishment. My father sat across from me facing the front door of the tiny shop. "Anthony, you understand what I do for this family right?"

"Yes Pops."

"Explain it to me in a way only you and I know what we are talking about."

I glanced down at the table pondering on what to say.

My blue eyes glanced up at his. "If there is problem you make it disappear."

He slapped my cheek twice, smiling. "That's my boy."

Larry approached placing our meals before us.

"Thanks, Larry."

"No problem, Tone."

"Hey Larry, my boy is going to grow up to be just like his old man," he smiled wide.

"Little Tony, you have some tough shoes to fill. But you will be great!"

"Thanks." My pudgy cheeks widened.

Larry stepped away.

I sipped my Yoho.

My father took a large bite of his sandwich. "Tony, lets get down to business. I taught you how to shoot at five and sharp shoot at ten. What is your favorite weapon and why?"

"A Glock. The handle is comfortable. I can handle the kick back better. I hate the way the revolver feels."

"Good." He glanced around the deli. There were only two other customers sitting in the deli near the front door.

"You put a muzzle on a Glock and it sounds like a whisper in the dark," he gestured with his hands and whispered.

"It's time you accompany me on a few jobs. This will put me at ease when you take over at eighteen. No one can ever know what we do." He placed his finger up to his pink lips.

My father ran his fingers through his shoulder length black hair. "Tony, it's time to get in shape. Less eating and more exercise. Your stomach is to big to be a little boy."