"Where is my son?" Silas asked as he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, which was already full.
He had smoked an entire pack after hearing the news of what his son had done.
"He's on his way here." Laszlo the underboss of the family said.
Silas didn't respond immediately. He simply closed his eyes, trying to relax, but his mind was already running through the possible scenarios of what would happen next.
"I think James is mad..."
"Mad?" Silas looked up at him. "I've said it a hundred fucking times, we stay still, we don't do anything." He got up from his seat. "And my fucking idiot son stole from him, when his brother just died?!" He shouted, slamming his fist into the table.
Laszlo remained silent, more concerned about Silas's health. His watch, which monitored his heart rate, was beeping rapidly.
"This shit too." Silas muttered, turning it off. "I already half in the coffin, and my son just fucking threw dirt on me."
