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“My old man left Ireland's stone, green fields to migrate to the glass, concrete canyons of New York in 1950.”
― Confessions of a Bronx Bookie
― Confessions of a Bronx Bookie
“Rio? Why Rio?" I asked Red. "Whores, coke, beaches, what's not to like? We made $20,000 each this week. Let's go have some fun.”
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“I knew I had to kill him," Dom said. "I used my dad's hunting rifle and boom -- in the head -- right over there by that tree.”
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“I skipped two short steps and walloped the back of his head with an energy-charged swing of the pipe. The street collided with his jaw.”
― Confessions of a Bronx Bookie
― Confessions of a Bronx Bookie
“The longer the wars, the younger the men who must finish them.”
― Confessions of a Bronx Bookie
― Confessions of a Bronx Bookie
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