The Mafia - Personal Narrative

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The Mafia - Personal Narrative

Mafia. That word, what does it mean? It reminds me of Black Death,
cold murder, of pitiless, heartless people who don't understand the
meaning of life. Life is another one of those tricky words just like
Mafia, yet the words are inevitably associated with each other,
although they are different in context.

The story which I am going to tell you will give you a view on those
heartbreaking words that are indescribeable.

My name is Robert Pitino. I am thirteen years old and I once lived
on the south coast of Italy, right next to Sicily. The city which I
lived in was highly populated with Sicilians who escaped Sicily as
refuges because of the war there amongst different Mafia Clans. So the
market place on a Saturday was always jam packed with Sicilian
refugees. My cousins and relatives lived quite far from me so I wasn't
bored on the weekends. I couldn't visit them on the weekdays, so
weekends were always packed with a happy exchange of news and gossip.

My family includes one brother. He is called Pacassio Gambino and is
twenty-one years old; he is mostly with my papa, who owns a private
business exporting guns. The Warehouse where the guns are stored was
turned from an old factory, which initially made coffee. This was why
the old warehouse smelled rich like antique furniture. The business
was handed down to my papa by my great papa. My brother originally
started six form collage, but immediately he stopped when my father
needed help with the business. He is always willing to help all the
time and never asks for help himself. I also have a younger sister who
is called Rina she is three years old. She is too young to go school,
therefore she spends the day with my mama. My mama is called Rita and
she is forty years old, a house wife who always stays at home. My
papa, Pablo Gambino, is thirty - nine years old and although he owns a
gun business, I think he is quite naïve at times.

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"The Mafia - Personal Narrative." 18 Mar 2018
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Friday 13th June 2000, was the day that I would realise the meaning of
real money. At least that was what my papa told me. He would always
nag about lack of business, and only eight months after he had taken
over the business; he was suffering a set back. We only had enough
money to live on, but as we had a lot of help from our cousins we were
able to weather the shortage.

My papa began to rebuild the business. This was fortunate for him
because the Sicilian army needed a new supplies of guns, for now this
was ok, considering the war wouldn't last long. The reason he worried
so much about money was, he said, "I've got a deal and if it goes
through all of will be living on a permanent vacation in England!"

The big day arrived. We got up at the normal time and did all the
regular morning chores. I went off to school while my papa and older
brother went to the family business, with the big deal in mind at 8'o

My papa and my brother had talked about the so-called deal, the night
before in the spare room, which was based next to the toliet. I could
hear voices throughout the night as I lay back in my bed; staring into
the thick blackness of my room. I heard them mention the Italian Mafia
a few times, and began to realise what was going on between my father
and the mafia. He was going to do a deal with them. How stupid could
they be not to relise what they were going to get themselves into?
Weird thoughts began to flood my head, monstrous images, coming home
from school and finding my papa dead on the floor with in a puddle of
thick red blood. Eventually I drifted into a deap sleep.

Once at school I never really thought about the deal at all. I was
feeling happy because this could be my last day at school, although I
would miss most of my classmates and, most of all, my best friend
Fernando. My first lesson at school was Italian, which I throughly
enjoyed because my mother taught me at home and I knew everything the
teacher was going to tell me. During break I swapped a game for my
Playstation console. It was a game which I had waited for. It was the
latest game on the Playstation. Fernando's mother had bought it and I
had swapped it for 'Smackdown!' when we were in the dining room, which
was two doors away from our classroom. First it was our form room
which was based on the languages corridor. Next to this was the
Spanish class which was Mr George's class. This was a pine door with a
silver plated sign that read 'Mr George', next to this was the English
room. And the teacher in this class was Mr Antonio the door was
similar but read the name of the teacher. After break the day went
fairly quickly because we had PE and soon it was lunch. For lunch I
had pasta, sweetcorn, tuna and a can of 'Coca Cola'. Then it was time
for English, which lasted all afternoon. After school I ran all the
way home, not even stopping for a breath of fresh air. I felt
extremely excited and satisfied with the Playstation transaction.

As I swung open the gate to my house I encountered an Italian man. He
was extraordinarily tall; he was probably thrise my size, with a big
black moustache. He grabbed me by the back of my neck, squeezing his
fingers tightly around my neck in a firm grip. And using his other
hand directly covered my mouth so I couldn't shout, he dragged me
inside where all my family were sitting, except my papa and my older
brother. No passer-by would see me struggle because of the long,
brown, high, wooden fences around the house.

As I entered the house I was met by my mother,who was sitting on the
green sofa which reminded me of relief or the fact I was comfortable
in the space of my home with my family. The sofa matched the carpet
and the wall paper. There were also two other men in the room. They
all looked similar, wearing long black leather jackets that went down
to their ankles and black, flat shoes. The most distinctive thing
about them was that they had moustaches. They were so covered with the
colour black that if they were outside on a dark night no one could
recognise them.They looked very similar to my papa but if they were my
papa's friends, then why were they holding or treating us like this?
Perhaps they were the people doing a deal with my papa?

Then after a nervous five or ten minutes wait, they began to speak
English to my mama. I wasn't fluent at English and the only few words
I did pick up didn't make sense. I could only speak Italian like many
of the people in this part of Italy. As the man was speaking there was
a knock at the door. One of the men mumbled at the other, who went to
open the door. As I heared the crooked wooden door open there was a
silence which was suddenly broken by the loud cracks of two gun shots.
The other man who was standing next to me hastily ran out of the room
while the other made a sprint at mama he grabbed her to protect
himself. To use her as a sort of sheild. While all of this was
happening I ran out of the room through a small arch way which joined
the two rooms together. I rushed upstairs with my younger sister to
protect her. She was just so small; she wouldn't understand anything
in this big evil world. Once I was upstairs I ran into my parents
room, rolled under the bed grabbing the cover so that it consealed the
side so they would not see me.

I waited. Presently, I heard gun shots. I could imagine the living
room area with bullets flying every where each one like a rocket being
launched into space.

Suddenly I heard my papa shout 'NO!' it reminded me of Agentinian
fotball when a footballer scores the commantator shouts 'GOAL'; the
cry seemed to last an age and filled me with terror so I ran
downstairs with my baby sister in my arms. As I got downstairs I saw
three men lying dead in a puddle of blood. The colour of the blood was
like a lake which had a dark red dye mixed into it. As I looked
further to my amazement my mama was also dead; she had suffered a blow
to the head to the head. You could clearly see where the bullet had
entered as there was a black mark on her forehead. My brother also had
a blow to his head, but you could her him breathing perhaps his last
breathes. My papa, in a state of grief and distress, told me to dial
'911' for my dying brother. After I had made the call I collapsed in
tears as reality sank in. My mother was dead; she was innocent. She
had been caught in the middle of all this bloodshed and evil. My inner
being cried out,"this is unjust!"

My voice shook as I asked my papa what had happened. Pausing
frequently to dry his eyes, Papa explained that the big deal was with
the Italian Mafia which I had gathered from the night before. And they
had given him a message that said,"We will give you your money later".
When he had refused they decided to take it out on us. As I heard the
words 'Italian Mafia" I understood the fact the three men had been
dressed this way.

The police charged my papa with murder as he had killed the three men.
He is currently serving a sentence in a prison in Rome. My brother
suffers from permanent brain damage and will live in a private nursing
home for the rest of his life. My younger sister and I are living with
my grand parents in London, England. I suppose I still got to live in
England, although it was all for the wrong reasons.

As far as the business is concerned it was set alight by the Italian
Mafia, as was the house we lived in. My cousins and relatives in Italy
have since all moved out of the area because of 'The Gambino'

I don't know whether the remainder of my family will get away from the
Italian Mafia, or whether the Italian Police can ever put a stop to
this violence and the suffering of innocent people.

The story may make you understand why I hold these views about the
Mafia. I always wonder at night about whether they will come for my
sister and me but as these people or, should I say animals, have torn
my family apart I don't suffer in fear of them. My only fear is
whether I will ever see the remainder of my family again.

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