I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
I lived a short life. Just 42 years young; at the peak of my career as a well-renowned chef in New York City. Most people say it was an accident; the gunman ran into my restaurant, and randomly shot rounds into the kitchen and at the restaurant patrons.
As a dead person, unreliably, I can tell you this is not true. I say unreliably because no one will ever know that I am telling the truth here. I was also a member of the Mattioli family. Yes, I was second in line to be the "Godfather" if you must call it that. Being a chef was not only my cover, but my passion. My grams Rosa from Naples taught me everything I needed to know about cooking. But it was my father, Joseph Anthony Mattioli that taught me loyalty, respect, and family above anything else. So when my brother Joey Jr. was "accidentally" thrown off the Brooklyn Bridge I had reason to show my "respect" for the guys who were responsible.
So my being shot was no accident. But that's between you and me.