Giovanni was a very intelligent man.
And it was usually in moments like these that it was very clear to everyone around him just how intelligent he was.
He was seated in an armchair, his one leg ontop of the other as he dragged a big mouthful of smoke I to his mouth, pushing it into a ghost and then pulling it back.
"Are you going to speak before I take your tongue, or will you write for me then?"
"Fuck you, Armani,"
He sighed, tipping the cigarette. The bloody and dirty man glared at him, making him raise a brow. "Nothing? All right, Andy? Have me the knife, please,"
The man handed him a black butterfly knife and Giovanni flipped it open and closed a few times, deciding upon something as he smoked his cigarette. "I'll spare your balls if you tell me what I need to know, Lucky. Don't make this harder for yourself. If you know me like you think you do, you know that I don't falter at the possibility of of getting blood on my hands. Speak, or lose your swimmers,"
In response, the man spat a fat glob of blood and spit onto the concrete. Giovanni stood, running his empty hand through his hair as he made his way towards the man. He bended in front of him, squinting to lessen the burn of the cigarette smoke as he bit onto the butt of the cigarette.
"Are you positive on not speaking? Because once they're gone, they're gone,"
"All right, all right! Fuck, I'll talk,"
"Smart man. Go on,"
"The shipment-"
Giovanni landed one hard, damaging blow to the man's cheekbone. He gurgled and lurged to the side, "Don't lie to me, Luck, I didn't use the shipment agency,"
The man sighed and looked like he was about to cry. Giovanni rolled his eyes, taking the cigarette and flicking it away.
"You're wasting my time, Lucky!"
As Giovanni was growing up, he attended anger management classes. And when he turned sixteen, Giovanni started going on his own, but the thing was, he didn't go. He lied to his mother, and his physiatrist didn't give enough shits to let his parents know.
So, Giovanni was a very angry man. His hatred for everything around him made his anger double and he was a ticking bomb, everyone knew that. He got into these fits where he would do everything on his own, even the dirtiest of jobs, Giovanni did.
It was only a matter of time before Giovanni would stop ticking and take everything with him as he erupted.
"Lucky, I'm giving you one more chance,"
"Kill me, Gio just do it already. You're wasting my time and yours,"
Then, Giovanni's common sense button went dim.
He asked so nicely, he should give him a proper death.
He took out his black Revolver from inside his suit jacket, pointing it at Lucky's forehead.
"Spero che il diavolo ti trovi prima che lo faccia Dio,"
[I hope the devil finds you before God does]
One loud bang echoed through the run down warehouse, and Lucy's body went limp in a second. Blood splattered everywhere, including on Giovanni's forehead and nose. He grunted, taking the handkerchief from Andy as he held it out.
"What now?" Andy asked, following behind Giovanni as he made his way out of the warehouse. "Now we find Gergio. Find out where Enzo found Lucky and tell him to meet you there. Get on the quickest train to London and call me, all right?"
"Understood,"
"And take care of this shit, Andy," He added, tilting his head in Lucky's direction. He handed Andy the handkerchief back and nodded curtly at the redheaded man before he made his way to the black Jeep that stood around the corner.
He had just run out of cigarettes and Giovanni groaned, his mouth feeling empty without the long white stick. He drove back into the city, turning a few corners until he made his way to the nearest shop. It was a flower and grocery shop and he personally knew the owner, and the owner personally knew him too, and that's why his cigarettes were on the house.
He walked across the street, his black charcoal coat flying behind him as he did. He nodded at the security guard at the front door before he made his way inside, the warmth of the shop easing his tense muscles.
He remembered his mother asking him for a carton of milk earlier in the day, so he made his way to the back of the shop, curtly greeting one of the employees.
Just as he turned the corner, Giovanni stopped dead in his tracks.
Arabella and a redhead stood in front of the milk. Giovanni clenched his fists at the sight of her. She was dressed in a lilac dress that stopped just above her knees and her brown hair was braided behind her head, giving Giovanni a great view of her delicate neck.
His legs had a kind of their own then and he approached the two, making them look up at him. Arabella's eyes widened, and she parted her lip as surprise took over her features.
He smiled at her, and she frowned then, "Giovanni? What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean? This is a shop, no?"
The girl rolled her eyes, and Giovanni then saw the redheaded boy put his hand out, his lips in a tight smile.
"Marcus Evergreen,"
Giovanni nodded slowly, keeping his hands at his sides, "Giovanni Armani." He said, watching as the man balled his hand into a fist, lowering it.
Arabella sighed, "Marcus, this is the investor I was telling you about,"
"Oh, yeah! I knew the name sounded familiar. You're the guy who owns Marcelle's, right?"
Marcelle's was a strip club. Giovanni narrowed his eyes, anger almost making him go temporarily deaf. What ticked him off was that Marcus knew about a strip club whilst he was in a relationship with the wonderful Arabella Jones.
"Correct,"
"What's Marcelle's?"
Giovanni looked down at Arabella, then at Marcus. His blue eyes flashed with momentary panic and he opened his mouth to speak, but Giovanni beat him to it.
"A strip club across town,"
Her eyes widened, and she looked at Marcus. Giovanni rolled his shoulders gently, making Marcus shoot him a weak attempt of a glare.
Arabella cleared her throat then, awkwardness thick in the air. "Well, then. We'll be on our way," She smiled tight-lipped at Giovanni, her annoyance with both men clear on her face.
Giovanni merely nodded, watching as she and the boy made their way to the registers. He spun on his heel, making his way to the milk fridge. He grabbed his necessities and payed at the register, shooting Arabella a wink as she looked at him from her spot at the register behind him.
Giovanni drove to his mother's house, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He stopped in her drive way, careful not to step on her flowers as he crossed the lawn to her back door. He knocked twice and then one last time.
He had told her to not come to the door if it was someone else's knocking and he was glad that she listened to him, or else she wouldn't but a guard at every window and door of her little house.
She threw open the door. The greying woman smiled widely, standing on her tippy toes to place a fat kiss against his cheek.
"Buongiorno, mama. Ho portato il tuo latte," He said, stepping into the kitchen. "Grazie, ragazzo mio. Come è stata la tua mattinata?"
[Good morning. I brought your milk]
[Thank you, my son. How has your morning been?]
"Bene, e il tuo?"
[Good, and yours]
The elderly woman merely shrugged, unpacking the milk. "Have you seen Enzo?" She asked, pulling two mugs from the top shelf. Giovanni took his seat at the kitchen island, putting his stubble covered chin in the palm of his hand.
"Sí. He said he'd be busy for the rest of the day,"
Although Giovanni's mother was no stranger to what Giovanni and his brother did, she hated it. As any normal person would. She would scold them almost every chance she got, tell him that they were going to end up like their father; dead. With his hands cut off and buried face down, sending him on the first class plane to hell.
That was the Gypsy way. His mother and grandmother were and are Italian-Gyspy and they moved to the United Kingdom when the two boys were no older than nine.
Giovanni was taught Italian and Gypsy by his mother and he had adapted to the English accent because he had to. In his line of work, being Italian would mean that he would be hunted for life by the Italian mafia. Something about betrayal.
The Italians and the English had feuds dating back to the nineteen-twenties and Giovanni had put himself and his brother smack in the middle of said feud.
His Italian only came out with his brother and mother and other than that, he spoke English and Gypsy when he was mad.
"Have you eaten yet?"
"No, mama,"
She huffed in annoyance. She took a bowl out from under the kitchen island, putting it in front of him with a box of Rice Krispies.
"Mânca,"
[Eat.]
Giovanni didn't protest. He ate whislst his mother told him about the new ladies at the book group she attended once a week, and he told her about nothing. Giovanni had a pretty uninteresting life. Home, work, home, work, repeat.
He'd occasionally go out to his bars, clubs and restaurants to see how they were doing. Occasionally bring a girl home, give her the best night of her life, then arrange her a car back to her place as soon as the clock hit seven.
His mother rounded the island and kissed his cheek, whispering that's he loved him before she made her way to her bedroom to do her usual reading and finishing crossword puzzles. Giovanni stayed at her house whenever he grew tired of his own home. And today was a tired day for him, so after he finished his Rice Krispies, he had a cigarette on her back porch and slugged down on her couch, falling straight asleep.