She nodded her head happily, loosely braided pigtails swaying and bobbing. She was a peculiar case of a child, especially in terms of awareness. In some degrees she was naïve and didn’t fully comprehend some of her father’s malicious intents and yet, at the same time, seemed to perfectly understand in a phrase simply put that she spoke aloud;
❝He’s real important, mister. My Daddy’s a bad man.❞
A bad man was a man in power too. Only the crooked and the corrupt could get their way to the top by any means necessary. Rather than bad, some tried to rephrase it as the only ones with real courage to take initiative. But her father was simplistic and enjoyed what he was. 'Remember who ya are an' what ya are, Mel. 'Cause the world ain't gonna let you forget it.' she recited to herself.
Delightful, childish laughter escaped from her. This funny sounding man was funny in general. Or real dumb. But not all the new folks got the memo about who was in power and all. They’d learn quickly.
❝He might as well be. ‘Cept he don’t like politics. They’re shit. But he knows how to scare ‘em an’ control ‘em, ‘cause ol’ Falcone taught ‘im. Don’cha know ‘bout the Sionis family, mister?❞
It had been an inopportune time to return to his coffee. Oswald found both his heart and heavy gulp of hot acrid liquid caught in his throat. He gagged and the little pigmentation in his features drained, granting absolute pallor.
"Da, myshka. They are very very powerful people, yes? And you - you're a little one of them. That's what you're telling to me?"
Tremors of fear were scratches on a record, jostling around the rhythm of Oswald's words. The accent desperately clung, exaggerated as his smile. He could feel the quivering in his expression, the blisters in his mouth and every vein go cold.
The Sionis Family couldn't be looking for him. Would they kill on sight? Or worse? Mafia was creative he knew that, first handedly - but from a more favorable end of the equation. Would Roman return him back to Mooney?
That vile bitch played with her food.
Oswald would be dying for days.
He was panicking. The last few weeks had been hard living. Scraping by on petty murder, paltry lies, and grit did the body a terrible injustice. And it favored the body to the mind. Oswald's nerves were coiled too tightly to let his emotions be prodded by a child.
He cleared his throat. It stung.
"I am sorry. Your family is big and strong. It's hard not to be a little - intimidated."
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