Betrayal is punishable by death.
I killed so many because they betrayed our cause, because they betrayed the Outfit.
A hypocrite. A liar. A murderer.
That’s what I was.
Capo. Boss. Judge over life and death.
That’s why I was still here, not dead for my crimes, for my betrayal.
Five times I betrayed the Outfit. With my blood, I’d made a vow to our cause, had sworn my life to it, promised to put the Outfit first. Above all else.
Five times I’d chosen a woman over the good of the Outfit. I had betrayed my father. My vow. My men.
Some Capos considered themselves above the law, above failure. They couldn’t betray the cause because they were the cause. They couldn’t fail because they were without failure. I didn’t share those beliefs. A Capo wasn’t the cause in itself. The Outfit was, and I was accountable for my actions.
And yet my betrayals remained unpunished, at least by the laws of our world. But I’d paid with every betrayal with a betrayal in turn. I’d betrayed and been betrayed. Justice in its purest form.
You reap what you sow.
My life was a tale of betrayal. Eventually I’d have to make sacrifices that could cost me everything if I wanted to preserve what mattered the most.
