1961, April 8th. Southdale Mall.

"Oh! Oh, my darlin' Chooch, are you okay?" My mother grabbed my tiny suit as a older woman rushed past us.

"Mama, wass' she doin'?" I asked with a pout.

The older woman turned around after the realization she had just bumped into a tiny three-year-old. She stared at me with a mix of sadness and remorse. Readjusting her child from her hip to it's creaky pram (yikes, a poor person bumped into me..), she leaned down to my height with a warm - yucky - expression.

"Young man, I am so sorry. I didn't see you there." She said, to which I turned my nose up and scoffed. I rolled my eyes at the fake-ass apology. I man, seriously? How did you not see a three-year-old boy in a store?

"Don't. Even. Look. At. My. Son." My father snapped at the woman. Then, he pulled out the gun.

My mother grabbed my arm and pulled me back. She pulled my head close to her, covering my ears and wrapping her thin sleeve over my eyes. My ears picked up on muffled screaming, which really freaked me out. I tried to keep a straight face, but my eyes watered from the shock. Suddenly, I heard the cries of the newborn baby. Shit.

1980, August 31st. Festa al Casinò.

I was gambling my weekly allowance away when a pretty little thing walked in. I stared at them and their fluffy hair. I. Was. Smitten. I was going to flaunt my wealth, but their eyes made me froze.

It was the same eyes that the woman had. Warm, soft, welcoming. Guilt flooded through my veins, but I tried to look as innocent as possible. The person couldn't know that I killed their mother if I want a life with them. Right??

After the round, I took my earning and walked into the direction of the person drinking. I took a seat next to them and cocked an eyebrow to signify I would like to talk to them. When they looked up from their alcohol, I grinned mischievously.

"What's yer name? I'm Chooch. Chooch Bambalazi. 'Fore you get real scared, I'm not gonna do nun' ta ya jus' 'cuz o' my dad's mafia mob." I announced proudly.