Sins of the Father: Part II
Jun 16, 2018 2:14:02 GMT -5
The Anarchist, Kyle Shane, and 1 more like this
Post by Gerard Angelo on Jun 16, 2018 2:14:02 GMT -5
June 11, 2018 1:21PM
GERARD
My eyes opened to a bright and powerful light nearly blinding me.
I groan and rolled over, covering my head with a pillow as the sun poured into my hotel room. My head was pounding. I don’t usually get hangovers anymore, but I guess I over did it last night. Hell, I deserved to celebrate. I put that moron Braddock down for good. I still have no idea why he wanted to attack me, only thing I have to go on was some cliche answer he gave in a church. Hell, PCW was trying to spin it into this years long, fight forever, blood rivalry. Kinda weird my employers don’t even know the history, or lack there of, between two talents. Maybe the powers that be don’t care enough to actual do their homework. Or maybe they just don’t care and thought telling Jerry and Ace to sell it like a blood rivalry because there’s more money in that. I don’t want to believe it, but there seems to be more and more evidence surfacing that Pure Class sees me a nothing more then a name to slap on a Pay-Per-View to increase Network buys.
My iPhone buzzed on the nightstand next to the queen sized bed. I groaned again and reached my hand out, smacking it around on the table until I grab my phone. I looked at the screen, seeing various missed calls and congratulatory texts from the night and the morning. I looked at the time, it was 1:21PM. I sighed, looks like I was hitting the gym tonight. Two notifications caught my eye. One was an alert from the PCW app telling me Braddock has been suspended for a failed drug test. Great, now my win is gonna be disputed by nerds and virgins on the Internet. The second was a text from my father. I rolled my eyes but I opened it. CONGRATS ON UR WIN SON, it read. I grit my teeth and threw my phone down, it bounced off the bed and on to the floor. This fuckin’ guy! The nerve of him! He spends my entire childhood missing games, huge events, cheating on and divorcing my mother, having to spend my summers and holidays flying back and forth from San Diego to New Jersey, but now because the asshole wants something, he tries to treat me like his been a father for my whole life. Last time I saw him before a week ago, he was trying to buy ESW and drive a wedge between me and my ex-wife. I haven’t seen Yvonne in four years and ESW went out of business, so forgive me if I’m a little wary of Tony Angelo. The only thing I’m worried about is guys like my father aren’t used to being told no.
I decided it was time to actually get up and I rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. I groaned for a third time in ten minutes. My head was pounding and it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I looked and saw a half empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the opposite night stand and I grabbed it. A little hair of the dog was gonna have to suffice until I could get something. I unscrewed the cap and I took a long swig from the bottle, draining a third of the liquid. I wiped my mouth and stood up, walking from the bed to the sliding doors. I slide the open and stepped out, finding my pack of Parliaments and my lighter. I slide a poison stick out of the pack and light it taking a deep drag before taking another sip looking out onto downtown Greenville. I sat down in one of the two chairs on the small balcony and tried to ignore the hangover. Usually I would stay in a suite at a hotel on the road, but due to the PPV being this past weekend, the city was pretty booked up. I thought about causing a stink in passing, but I really just needed a place to sleep for a night since later today I’d be on the jet back to L.A. for a meeting with Jimmy. We were still trying to get Iron Horse off the ground in pre production. Still trying got find a studio to back it and hopefully get a great director for it. I’m hoping it does soon, since NBC might not pick up Miami PD for a fifth season. Rating have been falling since the director switch, and to be honest, I absolutely HATE playing my character now. The writers took a strong character with such great undertones, and basically turned him into another carbon copy cop character that litters the landscape of prime time television. I was wondering what was next in all aspects of my life.
I flicked the ashes off the end of my cigarette. Did I still wanna be an actor? That was a good question, even surprised myself. The money was, obviously, fantastic, and the toll it took on my body was a lot less then getting slammed on my back and neck five hundred times a week. Hell the fame was great too. I’m a thousand times more famous now then I was when I was wrestling main events around the world five years ago. And the quality of women that I get now. I mean, I did pretty well with the ring rats and other female wrestlers. But now I’m dating actresses and models. But wrestling will always have my heart. From age five I fell in love with the sport. While I excelled at football and baseball, the only thing I could see myself doing with my life for the longest time was performing inside the squared circle. Also, it was something that my father disapproved of, saying you couldn’t make a living off that nonsense. It only made me want to do it more and prove him wrong. And I’ll admit I was a bit of a dick about it. The day after I won my first World Championship I sent him a bottle of Ace of Spades with a note that pretty much read “Suck my dick, Pops.”
I put the cigarette out in the ash tray and took another sip from the whiskey bottle. I might be the only person ever to transition out of wrestling into acting, and then come back to wrestle full-time while still keeping the acting gig.
But was what next for me in wrestling? I had no direction now. Originally, the plan had been to win the Ice Mann. That hadn’t worked out. I vanquished Braddock last night, finally. But where does that leave me? What was next for The Hollywood Hero? Maybe it was something I could mull over a late lunch I thought as my stomach growled.
===========
He never did anything for no reason.
This corner office was the biggest one in the building. You could almost fit a small plane inside of it.
Why?
Proof of power.
There were only three things people respected in the world of business. Power, Money, and scotch whiskey. Anthony Angelo was a man with an overabundance of all three. One of the reasons that was is he never did anything just because. His office was massive because he wanted to make sure everyone knew he was in charge when they came to his office. He sat in the this office, staring out the window that made up the wall at the skyline of New York City. He leans back in the leather chair, sipping a glass of scotch. All of his plans were coming together. AngCorp had just had its most profitable quarter in the history of the company. He had secured his nomination as senator for the state of New York. He had even begun the process of naming the new chairman and CEO of AngCorp. He held the board meeting today. He saw the hungry, jealous, eyes of every member lock on him when we discussed it. They all wanted the crown. To sit on the throne that Anthony’s behind had sat in for the last thirty plus years. They were all fine in their positions, but you don’t get to be the top dog by being complacent. He certainly didn’t.
The board room was basically a school of sharks. They were all swimming in the same direction, feeding on prey. But if one was wounded, then his was food for the rest of the school. Tony didn’t plan on being food. He was not going to let one of them take control of his company that he carefully crafted into a multi-billion dollar business rivaling Amazon and Apple in value. No, he was going to have his hand picked successor. He was going to be in control still, even if not in name.
He was always in control.
Except when it came to his eldest son. Gerard made it adamant he didn’t want to get involved with any plans Tony had for him. That’s a shame because Gerry was integral to all his plans. Tony would be the first one to admit he wasn’t the best father. But he still made sure his sons never went with out. He put them in the best schools, bought them each their first cars. He even let them use his summer house for parties when they were teenagers. Sean was fine with it. But Gerard, he always held resentment towards him. Catching your father cheating on your mother would do that.
He took another sip of his scotch, the sun setting behind the skyscrapers of Gotham. Hell, Tony wouldn’t trust himself after some of the things he’d done to his son over the years. But, they were family, and family needed each other. He would get his son back on his side. No matter what.
He always got what he wanted.
================
GERARD
I quickly chewed and swallowed a piece oft he biscuits and gravy I was given. Oh my god, this was the best biscuits and gravy I’ve ever had. I rolled my eyes back, enjoying the flavor. I moved over to my other plate. It was a salad with grilled chicken on it. I couldn’t eat too unhealthy, the biscuits was just a treat for my hangover. I looked out onto the road, watching all the people go about their day during a lovely day in the south. I was sitting out side a nice, little, restaurant on of the bellhops at the hotel told me about. The food was excellent so far i thought as I took a dip draught from my large glass of sweet tea. I looked at my phone from behind my sunglasses. They served two purposes. One, so I don’t fucking die from the sun since my head was pounding when I left the hotel. And two, I just didn’t want any unwanted attention from fans of both wrestling and Miami PD. Especially with this damn hangover because the last thing I need is internet nerds talking about how much of a dick I am when they met me in person. It was one of the few draw backs to being a celebrity. Overtime you met a fan you had to be overly nice to them to the point of almost being fake. But then if you came across as fake then its even worse then being a dick. Wrestling fans were even worse then most. Not all of them were bad. Hell, most of them were good. But there always seemed to be a few that thought you owed them much more then you did. Some thought they basically owned you and you needed to hop to when they asked for an autograph or a selfie. If I was doing a meet and great thats fine. But if I was trying to enjoy some lunch after a night of heavy drinking, then please, fuck right off.
My phone buzzed as I was shoveling sausage gravy smothered biscuit into my mouth. I see it’s an update from PCW and I check it. The card for Trauma was posted next week. I scrolled though it to see if I was booked. Indeed I was scheduled. Shockingly it was against one half of the Ice Mann tournament final.
Gabriel.
I thought about how great of an opportunity this was for me. A match against a man who main evented the most recent PPV. A guy who formally used to be one of the most famous wrestlers in the world. A former North American and Underground Champion. A victory, or even a good showing against him would do wonders for me in the eyes of PCW management and fans who haven’t followed my entire career.
But what if this was just them trying to offer me up as a sacrificial lamb to try and help get a prominent talent back to his winning ways. I quickly shook that off though. Why was I always thinking there was some kind of conspiracy against me? I was gonna drive myself crazy. I earned this chance to prove I can hang with the heavy hitters of PCW. And that, of course, started this week with Gabriel.
I didn’t know much about Gabriel. I’m sure I could, and would, go back and watch his stuff of old on PCW Network. Which could be subscribed to for the low prince of only $9.99. I dunno how much that is in pounds or gold dragons or beans or whatever fairy tale currency they use in Europe. But I digress. What I did know is, I knew of Gabriel’s former self.
Rick Majors.
I don’t expect him to recognize me, or even remember hearing my name. I worked for NLCW for shorter time then it takes to get a cup of coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts. He was in the embryonic stage of his epic Cruiserweight Championship run. I was a young punk who washed out because I was taking too many bookings at that time. But Rick Majors left a lasting impression on a young Gerard Angelo. Hell, I stole the name of one of his signature moves for one of my own.
But that being said, Gabriel is a different animal then Rick Majors. This is a guy who lucked into making the finals because his boss has some weird agenda with Jesus, or Allah, or Amen Ra, or whatever. Hell, he was gifted nearly every match in the tournament. The guy should technically be on a losing streak right now.
But that’s neither here nor there. What I needed to do, was prepare for a match with a man, who after the events of Sunday, might not have anything left to lose.
I sent a text to Jimmy, telling him to push back the meeting for Iron Horse. I needed to go train and do some film study. I quickly finished the rest of my salad and biscuits. I paid my tab and caught an Uber to the airport. It was time to start taking completion more seriously. No more distractions, wether it be from conspiracy theories, deranged drug addict wrestlers, or even my own father.
It might be juvenile to quote the theme song of Pokemon, but, I wanted to be the very best.
============
It was late night when Tony Angelo had finished up his work at the offices of AngCorp. He exited the building, bidding good night to the door man as he stepped out onto the still busy street of New York. He walked down the steps of the building with the grace of a tiger. The driver of his limo opened the door and Mister Angelo got in. He adjusted himself in his seat as the limo slowly pulled out into traffic.
“So, gentleman, has everything gone according to plan, so far?” Tony asked the two other well dressed men sitting across from him in the limo. One was a short, fat, older man. He was balding terribly and had a thick mustache. The other was young, mountain of a man. Tall, and well built,i t almost seemed like a cruel joke that he was cramped into the back of a limo, no matter how spacious it was, as his blonde crewcut was scraping the roof as he hunched. The older gentleman spoke.
“Everything has almost gone accordingly to plan, Mr. Angelo.” He said, tapping his fingers almost nervously on his thighs. Tony eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean, ‘almost’?”, The powerful billionaire asked, calmly, “Paul, you are supposed to have everything in place. I’m suppose to hold the press conference this week announcing my successor at AngCorp. You told me this was a sure thing.”
Paul tugs on his collar nervously.
“While I have no doubts that you will become the next senator for the great state of New York, but it might not be as cut and dry as that. Bill McGrogan, who is running against you, is a former colonel in the United States Marine Core, and he’s already had success in politics. He has a legitimate shot of beating you out in the elections this year.” He still nervously taps his thighs, as if waiting for an outburst from Tony. But Mr. Angelo simply sighs.
“Why did I hire you as campaign manager then, Paul?” He turns his gaze on the giant. “What do you say about this, Pytor?” The man looks at Tony.
“I have no doubts that you will be victorious in November, Mr Angelo,” Pytor says with a slight Russian accent, “Especially if Mr. Semenov has anything to say about it.” Tony smiled at the monster of a man.
“Excellent. See, Paul? You need to be more like, Pytor.” He said as he opened a compartment in the side of the limos, producing three glasses and a glass decanter of scotch. He pours some into each and distributes them to his guests. Tony raises a glass.
“Let us toast. To new friends.” He gestures to Pytor. “And to a new day.” the three men clink glasses and take a drink, Pytor immediately draining his as Paul sips slowly. Tony grinned. He would get what he wanted. No matter the cost.
He never did anything just because.
GERARD
My eyes opened to a bright and powerful light nearly blinding me.
I groan and rolled over, covering my head with a pillow as the sun poured into my hotel room. My head was pounding. I don’t usually get hangovers anymore, but I guess I over did it last night. Hell, I deserved to celebrate. I put that moron Braddock down for good. I still have no idea why he wanted to attack me, only thing I have to go on was some cliche answer he gave in a church. Hell, PCW was trying to spin it into this years long, fight forever, blood rivalry. Kinda weird my employers don’t even know the history, or lack there of, between two talents. Maybe the powers that be don’t care enough to actual do their homework. Or maybe they just don’t care and thought telling Jerry and Ace to sell it like a blood rivalry because there’s more money in that. I don’t want to believe it, but there seems to be more and more evidence surfacing that Pure Class sees me a nothing more then a name to slap on a Pay-Per-View to increase Network buys.
My iPhone buzzed on the nightstand next to the queen sized bed. I groaned again and reached my hand out, smacking it around on the table until I grab my phone. I looked at the screen, seeing various missed calls and congratulatory texts from the night and the morning. I looked at the time, it was 1:21PM. I sighed, looks like I was hitting the gym tonight. Two notifications caught my eye. One was an alert from the PCW app telling me Braddock has been suspended for a failed drug test. Great, now my win is gonna be disputed by nerds and virgins on the Internet. The second was a text from my father. I rolled my eyes but I opened it. CONGRATS ON UR WIN SON, it read. I grit my teeth and threw my phone down, it bounced off the bed and on to the floor. This fuckin’ guy! The nerve of him! He spends my entire childhood missing games, huge events, cheating on and divorcing my mother, having to spend my summers and holidays flying back and forth from San Diego to New Jersey, but now because the asshole wants something, he tries to treat me like his been a father for my whole life. Last time I saw him before a week ago, he was trying to buy ESW and drive a wedge between me and my ex-wife. I haven’t seen Yvonne in four years and ESW went out of business, so forgive me if I’m a little wary of Tony Angelo. The only thing I’m worried about is guys like my father aren’t used to being told no.
I decided it was time to actually get up and I rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. I groaned for a third time in ten minutes. My head was pounding and it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I looked and saw a half empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the opposite night stand and I grabbed it. A little hair of the dog was gonna have to suffice until I could get something. I unscrewed the cap and I took a long swig from the bottle, draining a third of the liquid. I wiped my mouth and stood up, walking from the bed to the sliding doors. I slide the open and stepped out, finding my pack of Parliaments and my lighter. I slide a poison stick out of the pack and light it taking a deep drag before taking another sip looking out onto downtown Greenville. I sat down in one of the two chairs on the small balcony and tried to ignore the hangover. Usually I would stay in a suite at a hotel on the road, but due to the PPV being this past weekend, the city was pretty booked up. I thought about causing a stink in passing, but I really just needed a place to sleep for a night since later today I’d be on the jet back to L.A. for a meeting with Jimmy. We were still trying to get Iron Horse off the ground in pre production. Still trying got find a studio to back it and hopefully get a great director for it. I’m hoping it does soon, since NBC might not pick up Miami PD for a fifth season. Rating have been falling since the director switch, and to be honest, I absolutely HATE playing my character now. The writers took a strong character with such great undertones, and basically turned him into another carbon copy cop character that litters the landscape of prime time television. I was wondering what was next in all aspects of my life.
I flicked the ashes off the end of my cigarette. Did I still wanna be an actor? That was a good question, even surprised myself. The money was, obviously, fantastic, and the toll it took on my body was a lot less then getting slammed on my back and neck five hundred times a week. Hell the fame was great too. I’m a thousand times more famous now then I was when I was wrestling main events around the world five years ago. And the quality of women that I get now. I mean, I did pretty well with the ring rats and other female wrestlers. But now I’m dating actresses and models. But wrestling will always have my heart. From age five I fell in love with the sport. While I excelled at football and baseball, the only thing I could see myself doing with my life for the longest time was performing inside the squared circle. Also, it was something that my father disapproved of, saying you couldn’t make a living off that nonsense. It only made me want to do it more and prove him wrong. And I’ll admit I was a bit of a dick about it. The day after I won my first World Championship I sent him a bottle of Ace of Spades with a note that pretty much read “Suck my dick, Pops.”
I put the cigarette out in the ash tray and took another sip from the whiskey bottle. I might be the only person ever to transition out of wrestling into acting, and then come back to wrestle full-time while still keeping the acting gig.
But was what next for me in wrestling? I had no direction now. Originally, the plan had been to win the Ice Mann. That hadn’t worked out. I vanquished Braddock last night, finally. But where does that leave me? What was next for The Hollywood Hero? Maybe it was something I could mull over a late lunch I thought as my stomach growled.
===========
He never did anything for no reason.
This corner office was the biggest one in the building. You could almost fit a small plane inside of it.
Why?
Proof of power.
There were only three things people respected in the world of business. Power, Money, and scotch whiskey. Anthony Angelo was a man with an overabundance of all three. One of the reasons that was is he never did anything just because. His office was massive because he wanted to make sure everyone knew he was in charge when they came to his office. He sat in the this office, staring out the window that made up the wall at the skyline of New York City. He leans back in the leather chair, sipping a glass of scotch. All of his plans were coming together. AngCorp had just had its most profitable quarter in the history of the company. He had secured his nomination as senator for the state of New York. He had even begun the process of naming the new chairman and CEO of AngCorp. He held the board meeting today. He saw the hungry, jealous, eyes of every member lock on him when we discussed it. They all wanted the crown. To sit on the throne that Anthony’s behind had sat in for the last thirty plus years. They were all fine in their positions, but you don’t get to be the top dog by being complacent. He certainly didn’t.
The board room was basically a school of sharks. They were all swimming in the same direction, feeding on prey. But if one was wounded, then his was food for the rest of the school. Tony didn’t plan on being food. He was not going to let one of them take control of his company that he carefully crafted into a multi-billion dollar business rivaling Amazon and Apple in value. No, he was going to have his hand picked successor. He was going to be in control still, even if not in name.
He was always in control.
Except when it came to his eldest son. Gerard made it adamant he didn’t want to get involved with any plans Tony had for him. That’s a shame because Gerry was integral to all his plans. Tony would be the first one to admit he wasn’t the best father. But he still made sure his sons never went with out. He put them in the best schools, bought them each their first cars. He even let them use his summer house for parties when they were teenagers. Sean was fine with it. But Gerard, he always held resentment towards him. Catching your father cheating on your mother would do that.
He took another sip of his scotch, the sun setting behind the skyscrapers of Gotham. Hell, Tony wouldn’t trust himself after some of the things he’d done to his son over the years. But, they were family, and family needed each other. He would get his son back on his side. No matter what.
He always got what he wanted.
================
GERARD
I quickly chewed and swallowed a piece oft he biscuits and gravy I was given. Oh my god, this was the best biscuits and gravy I’ve ever had. I rolled my eyes back, enjoying the flavor. I moved over to my other plate. It was a salad with grilled chicken on it. I couldn’t eat too unhealthy, the biscuits was just a treat for my hangover. I looked out onto the road, watching all the people go about their day during a lovely day in the south. I was sitting out side a nice, little, restaurant on of the bellhops at the hotel told me about. The food was excellent so far i thought as I took a dip draught from my large glass of sweet tea. I looked at my phone from behind my sunglasses. They served two purposes. One, so I don’t fucking die from the sun since my head was pounding when I left the hotel. And two, I just didn’t want any unwanted attention from fans of both wrestling and Miami PD. Especially with this damn hangover because the last thing I need is internet nerds talking about how much of a dick I am when they met me in person. It was one of the few draw backs to being a celebrity. Overtime you met a fan you had to be overly nice to them to the point of almost being fake. But then if you came across as fake then its even worse then being a dick. Wrestling fans were even worse then most. Not all of them were bad. Hell, most of them were good. But there always seemed to be a few that thought you owed them much more then you did. Some thought they basically owned you and you needed to hop to when they asked for an autograph or a selfie. If I was doing a meet and great thats fine. But if I was trying to enjoy some lunch after a night of heavy drinking, then please, fuck right off.
My phone buzzed as I was shoveling sausage gravy smothered biscuit into my mouth. I see it’s an update from PCW and I check it. The card for Trauma was posted next week. I scrolled though it to see if I was booked. Indeed I was scheduled. Shockingly it was against one half of the Ice Mann tournament final.
Gabriel.
I thought about how great of an opportunity this was for me. A match against a man who main evented the most recent PPV. A guy who formally used to be one of the most famous wrestlers in the world. A former North American and Underground Champion. A victory, or even a good showing against him would do wonders for me in the eyes of PCW management and fans who haven’t followed my entire career.
But what if this was just them trying to offer me up as a sacrificial lamb to try and help get a prominent talent back to his winning ways. I quickly shook that off though. Why was I always thinking there was some kind of conspiracy against me? I was gonna drive myself crazy. I earned this chance to prove I can hang with the heavy hitters of PCW. And that, of course, started this week with Gabriel.
I didn’t know much about Gabriel. I’m sure I could, and would, go back and watch his stuff of old on PCW Network. Which could be subscribed to for the low prince of only $9.99. I dunno how much that is in pounds or gold dragons or beans or whatever fairy tale currency they use in Europe. But I digress. What I did know is, I knew of Gabriel’s former self.
Rick Majors.
I don’t expect him to recognize me, or even remember hearing my name. I worked for NLCW for shorter time then it takes to get a cup of coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts. He was in the embryonic stage of his epic Cruiserweight Championship run. I was a young punk who washed out because I was taking too many bookings at that time. But Rick Majors left a lasting impression on a young Gerard Angelo. Hell, I stole the name of one of his signature moves for one of my own.
But that being said, Gabriel is a different animal then Rick Majors. This is a guy who lucked into making the finals because his boss has some weird agenda with Jesus, or Allah, or Amen Ra, or whatever. Hell, he was gifted nearly every match in the tournament. The guy should technically be on a losing streak right now.
But that’s neither here nor there. What I needed to do, was prepare for a match with a man, who after the events of Sunday, might not have anything left to lose.
I sent a text to Jimmy, telling him to push back the meeting for Iron Horse. I needed to go train and do some film study. I quickly finished the rest of my salad and biscuits. I paid my tab and caught an Uber to the airport. It was time to start taking completion more seriously. No more distractions, wether it be from conspiracy theories, deranged drug addict wrestlers, or even my own father.
It might be juvenile to quote the theme song of Pokemon, but, I wanted to be the very best.
============
It was late night when Tony Angelo had finished up his work at the offices of AngCorp. He exited the building, bidding good night to the door man as he stepped out onto the still busy street of New York. He walked down the steps of the building with the grace of a tiger. The driver of his limo opened the door and Mister Angelo got in. He adjusted himself in his seat as the limo slowly pulled out into traffic.
“So, gentleman, has everything gone according to plan, so far?” Tony asked the two other well dressed men sitting across from him in the limo. One was a short, fat, older man. He was balding terribly and had a thick mustache. The other was young, mountain of a man. Tall, and well built,i t almost seemed like a cruel joke that he was cramped into the back of a limo, no matter how spacious it was, as his blonde crewcut was scraping the roof as he hunched. The older gentleman spoke.
“Everything has almost gone accordingly to plan, Mr. Angelo.” He said, tapping his fingers almost nervously on his thighs. Tony eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean, ‘almost’?”, The powerful billionaire asked, calmly, “Paul, you are supposed to have everything in place. I’m suppose to hold the press conference this week announcing my successor at AngCorp. You told me this was a sure thing.”
Paul tugs on his collar nervously.
“While I have no doubts that you will become the next senator for the great state of New York, but it might not be as cut and dry as that. Bill McGrogan, who is running against you, is a former colonel in the United States Marine Core, and he’s already had success in politics. He has a legitimate shot of beating you out in the elections this year.” He still nervously taps his thighs, as if waiting for an outburst from Tony. But Mr. Angelo simply sighs.
“Why did I hire you as campaign manager then, Paul?” He turns his gaze on the giant. “What do you say about this, Pytor?” The man looks at Tony.
“I have no doubts that you will be victorious in November, Mr Angelo,” Pytor says with a slight Russian accent, “Especially if Mr. Semenov has anything to say about it.” Tony smiled at the monster of a man.
“Excellent. See, Paul? You need to be more like, Pytor.” He said as he opened a compartment in the side of the limos, producing three glasses and a glass decanter of scotch. He pours some into each and distributes them to his guests. Tony raises a glass.
“Let us toast. To new friends.” He gestures to Pytor. “And to a new day.” the three men clink glasses and take a drink, Pytor immediately draining his as Paul sips slowly. Tony grinned. He would get what he wanted. No matter the cost.
He never did anything just because.