If any of them heard the old man’s furious invective, they ignored it, sunk in blessed oblivion. “God damn you to hell, Pauli. You fucking, ignorant piece of pig shit.” Pauli, the trembling object of the tirade and the unlucky messenger who brought the news, kept his eyes downcast, risking an unseen blow rather than face the hideous wrath of the man berating him. The outraged man was short, slight; at first glance, an old man pounding on the table with clenched fists. He looked more like a spoiled two year old child than the leader of the Brooklyn based mob, the largest and most vicious of the East Coast Costa Nostra gangs. Glaring at the circle of silent men in front of him, Aldo Marcello visibly struggled to control his anger. Shaking, he spit out his furious questions, enraged bullets of venom directed at the cowering men in front of him. “Tell me. Someone?
