"In my father's time," Vincenzo whispered, "they would have kept you alive for three days. But I am a modern man." He patted the traitor’s cheek. "I will make it thirty seconds. But you will feel every single one."
And that, he thought, was the art of being Don. the italian don
The wine cellar was silent except for the drip of water—or was it blood? "In my father's time," Vincenzo whispered, "they would