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"Mama.. Mama!" Carlo shouted from the front step of there Manhattan apartment. "What! What is it?!?" Screamed the short, dark skinned women from the kitchen, stiring a large steel pot filled to the brim with bright red tomato sauce. "I'm goin' to play ball wid' Vido'!" Carlo replied in a loud but casual tone, stepping out onto the hard concrete slabs, paving the street. Carlo was four years of age, Greasy black hair like his fathers, and delicate hazel eye's like his mothers. Carlo had a dark round face, button nose and pure white teeth. "OKAY, but don't be late for dinner!" His mother yelled at him. Vittoro Valasia, known to the street as "Vito" was Carlo's best friend, almost brother. Barely a day went by without Vito and Carlo seeing each other, and today was no exception. Carlo, bat in hand, strolled off across the road to the sucluded spot where him and Vito usually played ball.
YOU ARE READING
A True Manhattan F*ck-Up.
Historical FictionThe story of how a young boy from Manhattan grew to be one of New Yorks most feared gangsters.
