You were Big Jim's Kid. Being brought up in the Mob wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but things could be worse, You couldn't have everything handed to you on a silver platter with an added napkin to wipe up the blood spills, Speaking of. You fell in his footsteps, You were mean, No one fucked with you, both out of fear of your father, and eventually when you were old enough to carry out your own hits. You.

Kovalsky ran his hand through his greying hair as he kicked back on the couch of his apartment, his dog Dexter curled up on the couch next to him while he checked on emails from the hospital his daughter was staying at, News on her treatment, News from her. Emails updating him on what she was up to on her day to say activities.

His fingers were pruned like raisins from scrubbing them raw after a particularly bloody hit from Big Jim. But the money was good, good from him. And from his kid who called sporadically with promises of big money to clean up whatever bloodied mess you'd left behind. Sure, It often got in the way of his 'off time' and even occasionally his other janitor jobs for your father, But he never once denied you, he needed the money. And your voice was a nice break from your father's attitude.

He was just about half way through reading through an update from his daughter before his ringtone cut through the room, earning a startled bark from Dexter who jumped with a wagging tail, staring up at Kovalsky in search of the noise. He stared for a moment. Almost debating declining your call in favor of finishing reading the email, but answered instead. "Hello?" He sighed.