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>>There are two ways to skin a cat; either you do it right or you fucked up...<<
Anthony was not averse to risk. Ever since birth, he'd been dealt a less-than-stellar hand. Born and raised in New York, even from an early age he had seen his older brothers fall in with wise guys. Despite having little to nothing during his youth, he made do. He and his family were a resourceful bunch and made the best of what little they had. Although this often meant taking from those who might've had even less.>>There are two ways to skin a cat; either you do it right or you fucked up...<<
To compete with his brothers consistently bringing home the bread, and a deadbeat, drunk father; Tony taught himself how to steal. Pick locks, shoplift, and lie. There was no reason not to. The police didn't much like setting foot in that neighborhood unless it was a serious crime, and even then it was nothing more than a formality, for the cops to be able to cross it off their list as having gone there to investigate. Not that they'd ever hear or see anything. Everyone knew to keep their mouth shut, or they'd be labeled a rat and get one through the mouth to make sure people remembered who was judge, jury, and executioner in their small community. The Adrazzo Family.
It didn't take Tony long to start marketing his skill, and that is exactly what happened. One day when stealing a beer for kicks during a snowy winter, he was caught red-handed by one of the enforcers. Turns out, he'd been the reason the shopkeep had been light on the books for the past year and a half. Thankfully, both of his brothers were made, and as a result, Tony was made an offer: To put his tenacity and fearlessness to use for the Cosa nostra, or have his hand cut off.
Life as an associate was a blast. Booze, broads, and money. The high life. Finally able to connect with his siblings over a shared lifestyle. But everything would prove to change drastically twice in his life. The first time was at the age of 16. Someone had been caught skimming the register at a protected business despite numerous warnings. Just because the shmuck was a cousin of a cousin or something, and as such Tony and his brothers were sent to deal with him. At this point in time, Tony had been made very aware that the books were open. He knew it meant only one thing to him; The button was his to press. To finally, after all these years, he would finally get made. All he had to do was clip the guy. Two in the head, and he'd be set for life.
On the ride there, his oldest brother Angelo would pass Tony a loaded USP Match wrapped in a satin cloth. This would be the murder weapon. He'd been with his brothers before to do this kind of thing with them. At first, waiting in the car as the getaway, then at the door as the lookout. Inching closer and closer. By the end, he'd seen what it looked like when a man was shot dead. The brains spilling out like a fatty lump from an exit wound in the back of the head, and the front. Even the sides. The smell of that sort of thing doesn't come out of your memories. It sticks with you...
As they pulled up to the front of the man's apartment block, it became clear his family was home. A wife and two daughters. He gripped the gun and placed it into his waistband before speaking to his two brothers: "You two bozos stay in the clown cah and keep it wahm fo' me. Won't even be a second."
On his way out of the car, they laughed and patted him on the back. Franceso joked, telling him not to slip in the blood and to not fuck this up like he fucked up Thanksgiving. "Yeah, yeah. You keep runnin' dat moutha yours, pal."
Tony kept going over it in his head. Over and over. He ran his finger down the buzzer. Someone usually opened without giving a damn who was buzzin' 'em. And that's exactly what happened. He opened the door and saw some drunkard taking a piss in the corner. It took everything in him not to say something, and he instead opted to pass by the man and bump him with his shoulder. The man tripped and fell into his own piss. Tony kept walking, his mind on the task. He went up the stairs and got to the apartment. 3B.
He picked up some loose paper on the ground and held it in his hand as he banged on the door: "Ey it's Johnny from two floors up. I think I must'a gotten your mail by accident, but I'm not sure." He waited for the sound of the door being unlocked after the obligatory check through the peephole, where he'd see Tony shuffling papers in his hand. The deadbolt rolled over and Johhny immediately dropped the paper and drew his firearm. As the handle turned, he kicked the door and rushed into the apartment: "You think you can get away with stealing from Fat Mikey? You fuck! This one's from him!" The man was already on his ass. Drunk. He aimed his gun at the man's head and caught something out of the corner of his eye. In the livingroom was the man's wife. Bloody. She'd been beaten.
Tony immediately let go of all his doubts about the job. The few he'd had, anyway. And he did the job. The safety came off the weapon. One. The wife started screaming. Two. She ran and locked herself in the children's room.
Tony knew he had to get out fast, and he did. He bolted out through the same door he'd come in through, down the stairs and past the drunk man who had now fallen asleep, or passed out, in his own piss. He bolted out through the door and immediately into the car where he and his brothers took off immediately. "Ayyyy! We heard the pops go off from way down here! You really did it, eh? I'm out fifty bucks!"
"What. You fuckin' doubted me? Bettin' against your own flesh and blood? There're only two ways to get something done. Either you do it right, or you don't." Tony replied.
"Ain't nuttin' personal, little brother- What the fuck is that? Watch out!"
The Portal Storms had come, and this would prove the second drastic change in Tony's life...
