Seven-Roman

My father blows out a puff of smoke as he continues to chuckle with Nicolis Ricci, one of his–our men. “He played that boy like a violin,” my father says, coughing out a hard laugh, and hitting his chest. Nicolis laughs too, hard and says, “You would think he'd seen it coming, Malcolm never liked that family” he chuckles leaning back in the chair–my chair.

They're sitting across from me in my home office, my father came over under the pretense of wanting to talk but just instead shoved a bunch of folders of suitable women for me. He says, “I'm getting older and my good looks are running out” and that I need to find a wife, and random hookups aren't going to cut it anymore as if he stopped having random hookups when he married my mother. I ignored him as usual because none, including my father, tells me when to get stuff done.

When he finally gave up he invited Nicolis and has been sitting here laughing at Caspers's situation. Being in the mafia word gets around quickly, being Casper'