The Godfather

Amerigo Bonasera sat in New York Criminal Court Number 3 and

waited for justice; vengeance on the men who had so cruelly hurt his daughter,

who had tried to dishonor her.

The judge, a formidably heavy-featured man, rolled up the sleeves of

his black robe as if to physically chastise the two young men standing before the

bench. His face was cold with majestic contempt. But there was something false

in all this that Amerigo Bonasera sensed but did not yet understand.

“You acted like the worst kind of degenerates,” the judge said harshly.

Yes, yes, thought Amerigo Bonasera. Animals. Animals. The two young men,

glossy hair crew cut, scrubbed clean-cut faces composed into humble contrition,

bowed their heads in submission.