57

“Here you go,” Niko says holding out an old brown book.

Like the mafia rules, there’s nothing written on it, no title, or author's name. not even an abstract design. Just a plain book.

At least this one seems to be just an old journal not like the other one Niko described to be bound in human flesh, yuck. The original Mafia rules, not the copy I read but still.

I still sniff at it a little. Only smelled old woodsy smell and nothing gross like rotten flesh or skin.

And so I flip it open. I blink once, twice at the words written on the first page.

“What is this?” I flip through the book seeing more of the same gibberish writing. “Niko…” I hold the book out to him flopping down on the couch beside him.

Looking away from his computer, he takes it from me, his eyes smiling as he pops it open between two fingers and reads the words out loud. “Le regole della famiglia.”

“It’s written in Italian?” I blink at him.

“Yes,” he hands it over going back to his work.

“Ah! Come on” I groaned, I s