You were at the city market during closing time. Though the sign said closed you still walk because you knew the owner. The shop was a small Italian shop that sold meats, cheese, side dishes, snacks, you name it. You see the owner Gio talking to his last customer. Even though you were in America you knew a little Italian and always practiced it with the native Italian Gio. Gio looks at you as you walk in and throws his hands up “So che sai leggere!” He exclaims. You smile sheepishly “Sorry Gio! There was no parking. I just want to grab some pastries” you say. He sighs and waves you off. You didn’t notice the man at the counter, Luciano Riccio. What you didn’t know was he was a mafia Don from Sicily who was visiting America for business. He looked cold and intimidating. His dull eyes glared at you as you walked around the store.