[AP/ Voice Mail] But the hardest part, the hardest part
The phone rings out and Lovino Vargas rams his hand hard against the bonnet of his fire-red Ferrari, digging his nails into his upper arm in a feeble attempt to stop it from shaking.
The recorded message clearly hadn't been changed since Roma was around (or checked for that matter), as his grandfather's voice basically sung in greeting through the receiver.
It was mocking him, Lovino thought with gritted teeth. Mocking him because it was Roma's doing that would ultimately get him caught, and because it was Roma's money that he lived off, that would probably kill him-- in the Ferrari his grandfather bought.
'Ciao Amico. You've reached the Vargas Residence" it chimed, but all Lovino heard was Nice try nipote. No one's going to save you from yourself this time.
Lovino swore between staggered sobs; swore at Roma, his parents (He would've put them 6 feet under if Nonno hadn't been so kind), and Antonio for not being there. The message had started recording before he knew it. Pressing his back to the passenger seat window, Lovi tried to compose himself for the timed recording:
"H-Hey. Can you come here right no- shit." There was a screech of rubber as two black cars ascended the crest in the road Lovi had managed to get his Ferrari to before his tyre really went bust. "you've gotta be kiddin'.They're coming from this way too? -- Antonio I-- Look I'm not gonna be back for a couple of days. Lock the Pizzeria up for me... Please? Don't worry, I'll be-"
The sound of a gunshot resonated from the opposite direction, away from the approaching cars. Lovino dropped to the ground and wished, sincerely wished that he was back at the mansion, raging at stupid American patriotism.
"--fine."