Tony Corvelli was ticked. He’d become too good at this. When someone in the family needed a body to disappear, he was your man.
But how was he going to rise in the ranks when all he ever did was dump bodies?
Today’s request though came from the Don himself. He knew he had to follow marching orders. Anything else was suicide.
Tony stared at the freshly dug grave. That wasn’t some nobody down there. It was that loudmouth union leader. A big name. A somebody.
“Arrivederci, Jimbo,” he said, shoveling more dirt down the hole.
“Better you than me.”
The Weekday One Hundred 