As far as I can remember, I always thought I would become a leader that would make history. Years later, I was the CEO of one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world. But I lost it all.

Embezzlement, crime against humanity and sexual harassment were the main accusations, but there was many others that might resurface. Despite all my efforts to cover everything up, I ended up being ratted out. I was a walking dead man facing multiple years in prison, unless…

A new kid in town

There was only one solution that would keep me from going to jail: moving to Canada under a new identity. It would mean leaving my wife and kids behind, but I never really liked them anyway so that was not a problem. I also had millions hidden in multiple overseas accounts, so money was not an issue either. One phone call later and I was now Bruce Brown, a 55 year old retired janitor. Janitors had always been overlooked, and it was a safe bet for a new life under the radar.

I moved to the sketchiest neighborhood I could find. It was the land of the addicts and the homeless. Everything around was ugly and depressing. There was not much to do besides getting high and drunk, and after a week under my new identity as a retired boomer, I was bored out of my mind. I was so used to ordering people around, making million-dollar decisions and firing people that living a simple life was worse than actual death. I was feeling useless, worthless and dead inside.

I was buying a pack of cigarettes when the idea hit me like a divine illumination: I was going to become a boss again. A drug lord. Deep down, I’ve always had a thirst for power, action and crime, so the underworld was the ideal playground for me. The idea started to make me come back to life, and I was now starting to become animated by a strong internal fire. My soul was rising from the ashes, and I was eager to put my new plan into action.

The first step to infiltrate the criminal community was to befriend someone who would tell me who’s who and what’s what. Not unfamiliar to drugs and alcohol, I was not afraid, and I was ready to turn myself into a pretended drug addict. After walking around and analyzing the neighborhood for a while, the heart of the drug market was the homeless shelter. It didn’t take me long to introduce myself and buy drugs that I knew I would never use. Soon enough, I was there almost every day. Buying drugs and smoking cigarettes with society’s rejects. Getting myself known. I got acquainted with a few small-time dealers, but the big shots were obviously not hanging out in the mean streets. They were too busy leisuring in their mansions while their little soldiers were doing their dirty work. 

After a while of buying large quantities of dope, people were starting to recognize me and trusted me enough to refer me to Fiero, a descendant of the Italian mafia.

Establishing reputation

Fiero finally invited me to his place after hearing I was his biggest customer. The small apartment was poorly-decorated, with bed sheets for curtains and a plywood plank patching a broken window. I was expecting more from the biggest neighborhood drug dealer, but what was there to expect from the king of the shittiest place on Earth. As soon as I met Fiero, I was secure in the fact that I would dethrone him and take his place in no time. I started to party with Fiero often, and he was the biggest tattletale I’ve ever met. In about three months, I had more than enough information to sneak my way into the Italian mob. I couldn’t have had it better: His father was the Italian mafia boss, the infamous Fabrizio Calabreso. 

Fiero started to trust me blindly after a short amount of time. I was obviously smarter than him, and even himself noticed. I loved having that power over him, making him notice his mistakes counting money or constantly reminding him one thing or another he had forgotten. I was making myself indispensable. One hot summer night, Fiero invited me to one of his father’s legendary parties. Even if I was used to mansions, I had to admit that the mob boss’s house was nothing short of colossal. It was hidden in a remote area only accessible by boat. The party was extravagant, and it was men-only, apart from the hookers that we could enjoy, free of charge. 

My plan was very simple, but it would take some time: First, I was going to replace Fiero as the head dealer of the neighborhood. After, I would win the mafia boss' trust, and his associates would follow. Ultimately, I will frame Fabrizio and take over the business as the new mob boss. It was extremely ambitious and life-threatening, but I had nothing better to do, and I was not afraid to die.

Framing Fiero

The worst thing that can ever happen to you is to be dumb. They were the ideal victims. I was in luck, because the man I was about to take out of the game was too dumb to ever saw it coming. I knew where Fiero was hiding his drug stash and money. Inside his bathroom walls. He had a gun right under his mattress at all times, and a safe full of stolen jewelry was sitting in his apartment in plain sight. Once, he forgot the code and had to call his father, who got mad as hell and the incident officially made him the family’s weakest link. It was finally time to frame Fiero. I waited until he got a fresh, full stash of drugs, and I made an anonymous call to the police saying that there was illegal activities happening inside his apartment, and rumor has it that there was a bunch of drugs hidden in the bathroom walls. When the cops knocked on his door, Fiero was so high that he invited them in, drugs scattered all around his shameful excuse of an apartment. Fiero got sentenced to nine years. 

A new boss in crap land

When he heard the news about Fiero’s arrest, his dad reached out to me directly. He said that everyone had a good word to say about me to become Fiero’s replacement. Just like I had carefully planned, he offered me Fiero’s job on a silver platter. I was flattered, but not that much, since literally anyone with an eye and a leg would be a better drug dealer than his son. I started to assume the role of the new head dealer of the shittiest neighborhood in town. The transition happened organically, as people knew me and respected me already. I had five runners working for me. A runner is the term to designate the drug dealers that are directly doing business in the streets. I was moving up the criminal ladder, and getting more power was nourishing my soul unlike anything else. I started by being recognized, appreciated and then trusted, and now it was the time to go to the next level: being feared.

I started to tighten the leash around my runners to make them afraid of me so they would spread the word. Whenever one of them was not selling enough, was late, or any stupid detail I could blame them for, I would tell all the other runners, and threaten to have the fool beaten up. People started to acknowledge that I was not one to mess with. Soon enough, the runners were going out of their way to bring me money, resorting to all kinds of crazy schemes to make a buck. One of them was caught robbing a convenience store, and when he went to prison, I made sure he was whopped in front of the all the other inmates. I was installing a climate of fear in order to keep them in line and my reputation solid. And it was a total success.

Becoming right hand

I was in frequent contact with the Italian mob boss Fabrizio Calabreso, and over the span of five years, I managed to gain his trust. I made sure that the traditional mafia code was respected by everyone. I wasn’t afraid to order a hit, publicly humiliate my runners, throwing money left and right, and after being patient, cool, calm and collected, I finally got recognized. Lately, the mafia boss and me became so close that I was invited to members-only meetings and family vacations. I was in on a lot of scams that went far beyond my imagination. Elaborated schemes and fake contests, political shenanigans, firearms dealings and human trafficking, there was nothing shady going on without the Italian mafia being involved. It was like an octopus, extending its tentacles to dominate small businesses until crushing them entirely after bleeding them dry. Members started to be at ease enough in front of me to discuss the wildest schemes or ordering a hit, and I always made sure to keep my mouth shut. I’ve been observing their dynamics for the past five years, and I understood that the loudest mouths were always the first ones to go. I was always staying in the background, analyzing the situation to carefully plan my next move. 

One night, after five years patiently waiting in Fabrizio’s shadow, he invited me to his house. He confided that his right-hand man just got diagnosed with terminal cancer. When I arrived at the party, the members as well as their whole families were there, all gathered to celebrate the big event: My initiation as the new official right-hand man of the Italian mafia’s boss. From now on, there was no turning back. I had a new family that I was tied to for the rest of my life. 

A true king never dies

During my multiple years as the right-hand man to the Italian mafia boss, I made a lot of smart business moves as well as a huge profit. I had the power to decide who deserved to die, who would get a beating, I came up with crafty schemes to fool the government, and I was excellent at all of it. I was in the loop about absolutely everything. I was ordering people around as I pleased. I was treated like a king and the members made me feel like I was family for real. Patience is a virtue, but it was starting to come to an end. All the old members were dropping dead one after the other, but Fabrizio was still standing strong at nearly a hundred years old. Just like a cockroach, he was impossible to kill, surviving against all the odds for so long it was almost mythical.

His reign had to come to an end because I was convinced I was next in line to become the Italian mafia boss, even if I was just a regular white dude from Alabama. Fabrizio had bodyguards surrounding him at all times. The only way to take him down was from the inside. I started dropping hints to the other members that Fabrizio was seriously losing it. I spread rumors about him ordering hits that he didn’t, another rumor about him trying to kill his wife, and the nastiest one of all: I spread the word that he was collaborating with the police. That the Italian mafia boss was a rat. In the mafia world, being a rat was an immediate death sentence. I was just waiting for the others to turn their backs on Fabrizio to make me their new king.

They say tragedy hits when you least expect it, and this is what happened to me for real. For my birthday, Fabrizio invited me over to celebrate. I would lie if I said I saw it coming. The boss invited all the members to the cinema room, and he said that we were about to witness the greatest betrayal in the history of the Italian mafia. On the big screen, I immediately recognized myself being filmed from behind in my driveway. I was talking on the phone, and everything I said was subtitled for everyone to see. I was saying that Fabrizio was starting to act demented and we couldn’t trust him anymore, that he tried to kill his wife, and I said word for word that I was suspecting him of being a rat.

The old mafia boss stood up slowly from his chair, and pulled out a gun from his expensive suit. At that point, I was just hoping for a quick death. He looked at me straight into the eyes. Crouching over me, he pointed the gun directly to my forehead. His face was the last thing I ever saw in my life, and before pulling the trigger, he whispered the words that ultimately killed my soul and my life‘s sole purpose:

'The only way to be king is through blood, didn’t you know? I’ll see you in hell soon, you common blooded piece of shit’.