• Issue 1
  • Issue 2
  • Issue 3

Issue 1

Journal entry text ver:

September 24th-

It’s been around 4 months since I began looking into the Romano crime family. Recently, documents I would’ve had to look for in the backs of firms held up by hush money fell right into my lap. An envelope sent to my apartment came filled with evidence of Giorgio Romano’s numerous felonies. I already knew what he was guilty of, however the papers to prove it were certainly helpful. He has a very long, obvious track record unlike his son, Tito, who currently runs the syndicate. Tito is infuriatingly talented in his ability to fly completely under the radar. Not one contact knows where he currently is, and the other sources would run my pockets for a single word. However, I believe he is very local, considering my son lost his right pinky recently and won’t tell me how. I never know what that boy is up to, but I know it’s never good. I think I’m very close to finding him. I will update as soon as a breakthrough appears.


Issue 2

September 25th-

9:52 PM

It is still yesterday. I haven’t slept since the call. As imagined, this did not lead to the most pleasant Day of Atonement, although it wasn’t supposed to really be pleasant in the first place. The fast was easy. I felt too sick to eat.

Do I truly expect to die tonight? To be truthful, I’m unsure. I would rather know with certainty than be left questioning. All this atonement for nothing would just make me look sorry. I’ve prayed hard enough to make up for the rest of a natural life. It would be nice to see the kids tomorrow, so I believe I’ve weighed my options enough for dying to simply be more disappointing than surviving.

12:49 PM

Tito Sofia Romano was born in Upper Manhattan, 1969. For a man 55 years of age, his salt-and-pepper mop is still mostly pepper. He’s too loose-lipped for his own good. Or he’s giving me just enough information to run myself in circles over what high school he went to. I don’t like how calm he is. He’s calm in a way where he’s already won. Like there’s no stakes for him, unlike me.

He’s unlike me in a lot of ways. He’s a Roman Catholic. I’m a Jew. He refers Camels. I’m partial to Lucky Strikes. He’s killed people. I only stick out my jaw like I have and will. He’s possibly an alcoholic, or at least was. I can’t piece together what his life was like between the ages of 20 and 40, which makes me think he isn’t as open as he seems. Maybe I forgot to ask.

Maybe he didn’t want me to know yet.

Maybe I don’t care what a murderer wants.

He mentioned his family history at one point. That was when I started asking my questions. He told me I’m too eager, and to pipe down. I listened. I’m not sure why I listened. I have reason to believe his grandfather, Tito Brando Romano, had ties to some trouble boys adjacent to another, more recent case. I’ll have to ask Bruce myself.

All in all, I'm not dead

Although, I’m not sure how long that will last.

I’ve had a long enough day surrounded by the thought of every possible way I could die at either his hands or the hands of one of his boys. It’s hard to remember how dangerous one man can be once he’s sitting in your office and discussing his taste in television.

I could sit and ask myself what the hell I’m doing as long as I want, but it’s one of those things someone needed to do eventually. Taking one for a team I’m not part of. It’s been a long day. I’ll fall asleep eventually.

Reminder: Arrange a meeting with Bruce to discuss further.


Issue 3