There was a ruckus outside the restaurant. A bunch of gangbangers negotiating a piece of a territory.
The scene was getting heated. Until a man seated at the corner of the restaurant, with his date — a tome.
Gestured, by slightly moving his head to the direction of the altercation. It was subtle but the instruction was clear.
Out about a few patron left the restaurant. They are his lackeys. Immediately a haunting noise accompanied those men; a shootout!
The message was deafening and brutal. Written by the blood soaked street of those dead gangbangers.
This is the dominion of the man who reads!
Watching what has transpired. A boy, not too young; not too old. Walked towards the silent and solitary man.
And asked, “Hello Mister, are you a gangster?”
Looking at the boy with a smirk. The man signaled with his finger to the boy to come closer. The boy heeded and the man whispered,
“I’m no gangster. I’m the damn master that uses them gangsters as my pawns. You shall call me Don.”
The man left as he said his last word. A little unsettled, the boy on that day, learnt a curse and a title that denotes the Mafia.