I didn’t have a housewarming party because the Feds wouldn’t let me, plus there was no one to invite. My misfit parents had been disowned by their families when they eloped. I never knew any aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents. Strangely enough, my parents decided not to have any more kids after me. They didn’t tell me much about where they had come from, but our name left no doubt as to our origin: there was spaghetti in our DNA. They died within one year of each other, both from cancer, shortly after I graduated from college.
It was for the best. My lawyer had promised me that Jimmy Sicily would do two things if I contacted anyone associated with my old life: find and kill them, and then find and kill me. Point taken.
It wasn’t as hard as I thought it might be to uproot my whole existence and become someone else. As a general rule, I don’t like people and I want them to stay away from me. The rare times I’m desirous of human company usually pass like kidney stones: painfully but quickly. Suffice to say, no one had to sign my Memorandum of Understanding but me.
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