The King of New York

The story of how I got into “The Business” is quite an interesting tale. I was 17 years old on that particular Thursday morning. Arising at 4:00 a.m., I went for my morning run through Central Park; it was about five miles from my house in lower Manhattan, also known as Little Italy. The exact time is forever embedded in my brain, because it was a milestone for me. My five miles were completed in twenty-nine minutes thirty-seven seconds, a personal best for me. After my cool down, I arrived at my family’s old brick town house on Mulberry and Spring Streets. I directed myself straight to the basement for weight training. It was abs, triceps and calves day.
I ran up the stairs to the second story of the house. I set out clothes for the day: a purple Polo set with a pair of black Dickie's. I walked across the hallway to the bathroom, and sat down on the sink. I needed a second to chill my nerves and think. I turned the knob shower to hot. I stared into the mirror, and examined my brown eyes. I took a long, hard look at my dark complexioned face, and thought about how nice it was to always be tan.
I took off my sweat-drenched shirt, and examined my muscles in the mirror. I flexed my huge arms. There were dominant cuts in my biceps and triceps. I flexed my abs and pectoral muscles, they looked great. I had a gut, but my abs showed the outline of a four pack. My pectoral muscles were as hard as rocks. The mirror was starting to steam up, so I took off the rest of my clothes and got into the shower.
While in the shower I thought about football. My Senior year was coming up, and it was going to be a big year. The starting left tackle position was mine to play for my high school. This accomplishment was a big deal, because I was a legacy at the school. My Dad played Varsity, until he was a Senior, when he blew out his right knee. I decided to quit thinking about football, and completed washing my hair and face. I got out of the shower, walked across the bathroom, and grabbed a towel from the cabinet under the sink. After drying myself, I wrapped the towel around my waist, and walked down the hallway into my bedroom.
I decided not to wear the purple Polo and black Dickie’s, but rather, to wear a white Polo shirt with black Under Armor shorts. After dressing, I walked back into the bathroom and used my towel to wipe the condensation off the mirror. I shaved, put on deodorant, and splashed with Aqua Di Gio cologne. Bounding down the first few stairs, the smell of Mom’s biscuits greeted my stomach kindly.
Mom was in the kitchen, presumably, cooking biscuits and gravy. She was wearing a pearl white robe making her black hair and tan skin exeriliant. She was concentrating on whatever. I slowed my pace down the stairs, as if to sneak up on her, but when I hit the last step it creaked loudly. Mom turned around and said,”Good Morning, Salvatore. I have two questions for you: Did you sleep well? Do biscuits and gravy sound good for breakfast?”
I replied,” Yes, and well, yes. I think you should at least know I’m going to be hungry, after my run and workout. Seriously. Look at me, I’m 6’2” and weigh 250 pounds.” I flexed my 22” pythons and said,” Look at me. I’m a beast. Do you want a piece of this, Momma? Let’s Go!”
She laughed and said,” Yes, Son, but right now you are going to have breakfast and eat your biscuits and gravy, like a good boy. Did you really think you could sneak up on me? Remember, I’m from Sicily, so I can hear you coming from a mile away.”
I smiled back at her, and said,” Ha-ha, really funny. I can smell the aroma from your biscuits three miles away. I’m starving to death, when is it going to be done?”
She pulled the biscuits out of the oven, and said,” Now.”
Dad walked into the room and said,” Hey Sal-le! How are you doing this morning? Did you work out?” My Dad was wearing a pinstriped suit this morning. He was, also, wearing the tie I got him which read:”Best Dad Ever.”
I said,” Yes Dad, I worked out, and I ran a personal best to the park.” Mom put the blue plate filled with biscuits and gravy at my place on the island of the kitchen.
Dad said,” That’s excellent son. You’re going to go much further than I ever did. Do you want a ride to school?”

“Sure, let me finish my food, and get my stuff for school,” I said.
“All right I am going to go warm up the car,” he said.
I smiled at him and said, “I’ll see you in a minute.” Dad then kissed mom and told her he loved her. He strolled out of the room and a few seconds later I heard the front door close.
I took a bite of my food. Mom’s biscuits have always been the best. I heard an explosion, and felt a wave of shock throughout the room. It was so strong that mom nearly fell down. I felt a sudden panic, and bolted to the front door. I threw the door open and stood staring in complete disbelief at the horrific scene before my eyes.
My Dad’s car had been turned into an inferno. My guts retching and turning inside of my body, I sprinted to the burning car, which was surrounded by debris. My Dad was trapped and screaming inside of the car! My father was howling from the excruciating pain of the fire. I could see he was suffering. I could see he was in Hell. Somehow, I needed to save him. I ripped my Polo off and wrapped it around my hand. I yanked on the door handle with all of my power. The feeling of the hot metal burning through the shirt was excruciating. Condemning my father to die in this fiery abyss was not an option. I continued pulling, and finally it came open. At that moment I noticed Dad’s screaming had stopped. My father was dead. I quickly pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed 911. I explained to the operator that my father’s car had exploded. The operator to tried to calm me down, and since I wasn’t up for it, I spiked my phone onto the hard, cement driveway.
Walking back to the house I suddenly felt a sickness float upon me, and I proceeded to vomit. After a few minutes, I had regurgitated everything, but I could not stop vomiting. I examined the palms of my hands, all bloody and burnt. Looking up at my house, I could see my mother on the phone, tears free-falling from her cheeks