Post by Mario Falcone on Jul 8, 2010 22:58:08 GMT -5
A delivery boy drove up to the large house-come-mansion where the Falcone family made their den. He was weedy and lanky and scrunched his face unattractively whenever he pushed up his too-thick glasses, and he seemed entirely unawares of the type of destination he had been called to that day. He looked up at the large home, daunted perhaps by the wealth on show, and then rang the doorbell. Not long after, a tall, well-put together man in a tailored suit opened the door.
"Afternoon," the man greeted, too smooth again by half. The lad didn't notice.
"Hi! I'm here to pick up a delivery from Mr. ..." He had to check his notes. The man smirked without being seen. "Mario Falcone."
The man before him nodded and then waved him in lazily. Without another word he turned back around and wandered into the foyer, where a table sat adorned with fresh flowers his housekeeper kept track of. On the table sat a large, nicely wrapped box with a dozen fresh cut roses inside, and next to that a white mask with a silver sheen. As the delivery kid followed him in, Mario instructed carefully,
"I'd like for her to have it by dinner." Without looking up at the kid, he began to assemble the package. He set the mask in the box, adding an artistic flair by sliding one of the roses through the eyehole, and then bent to pick up a business-card sized piece of stationary.
"I'll go straight there," explained the deliverer. Then he laughed goofily and asked, "She your girlfriend?"
Mario glanced back at the boy for the first time, over his shoulder, and then smiled sickly. It was as if he thought the word 'girlfriend' were somehow infantile and amusing. "Not quite," he quipped, turning his attention to his note. He considered for half a moment what to write, the felt-tip red pen in his hand seeming to leak blood, and then it occurred to him. He smirked darkly.
He didn't have to underline or capitalize was for the word to be emphasized.
He stood, pulling a bill out of his pocket and holding it airily to the delivery boy. "Don't be late," he cautioned, and the kid, not realizing that the instruction was more threat than request, nodded emphatically.
"No, sir," he said, taking the box and jogging dorkily down the stairs. Mario watched him for a moment before his amusement got the better of him and a half-smile cracked his features. He laughed once through his nose.
"What's got you in such a fine mood, Mario?" asked a balding cousin as he walked up through the open door, there to discuss some business for later that evening.
"Crossing the point of no return," Falcone replied enigmatically, placing an arm around the man's shoulder and squeezing lightly to pull him off balance.
The man laughed a bit, pushing his cousin off. "You know you're fucking crazy."
Smirking, Mario agreed. "You have no idea."
"Afternoon," the man greeted, too smooth again by half. The lad didn't notice.
"Hi! I'm here to pick up a delivery from Mr. ..." He had to check his notes. The man smirked without being seen. "Mario Falcone."
The man before him nodded and then waved him in lazily. Without another word he turned back around and wandered into the foyer, where a table sat adorned with fresh flowers his housekeeper kept track of. On the table sat a large, nicely wrapped box with a dozen fresh cut roses inside, and next to that a white mask with a silver sheen. As the delivery kid followed him in, Mario instructed carefully,
"I'd like for her to have it by dinner." Without looking up at the kid, he began to assemble the package. He set the mask in the box, adding an artistic flair by sliding one of the roses through the eyehole, and then bent to pick up a business-card sized piece of stationary.
"I'll go straight there," explained the deliverer. Then he laughed goofily and asked, "She your girlfriend?"
Mario glanced back at the boy for the first time, over his shoulder, and then smiled sickly. It was as if he thought the word 'girlfriend' were somehow infantile and amusing. "Not quite," he quipped, turning his attention to his note. He considered for half a moment what to write, the felt-tip red pen in his hand seeming to leak blood, and then it occurred to him. He smirked darkly.
Your husband was a lucky man.
-Falcone
He didn't have to underline or capitalize was for the word to be emphasized.
He stood, pulling a bill out of his pocket and holding it airily to the delivery boy. "Don't be late," he cautioned, and the kid, not realizing that the instruction was more threat than request, nodded emphatically.
"No, sir," he said, taking the box and jogging dorkily down the stairs. Mario watched him for a moment before his amusement got the better of him and a half-smile cracked his features. He laughed once through his nose.
"What's got you in such a fine mood, Mario?" asked a balding cousin as he walked up through the open door, there to discuss some business for later that evening.
"Crossing the point of no return," Falcone replied enigmatically, placing an arm around the man's shoulder and squeezing lightly to pull him off balance.
The man laughed a bit, pushing his cousin off. "You know you're fucking crazy."
Smirking, Mario agreed. "You have no idea."
