Anthony Sorrell's second-in-command finished his daily report and hesitantly awaited the mob boss' reaction. “Nothing has changed, Mr. Sorrell.”
“I had not expected it to. Michael Corinthos is ineffectual as a leader, but he is not stupid. Nor suicidal. He will not talk.”
“Oh…alright.” The new consigliere obviously wanted to explore his employer's thoughts a bit further. But just as Anthony Sorrell anticipated, the man swallowed his curiosity and backed out of the room.
Sorrell sighed. He didn't look forward to training his new consigliere. Gone were the days when young men spent nearly a lifetime perfecting their positions in the ‘family'. They rose up slowly through the ranks and got to know every facet of mob life. No, nowadays even the rawest soldier planned his future progression around the premise of leaping directly into the position of mob boss.
The gradual loss of their way of life saddened him.
“Ah, such is life.” With that pronouncement, Anthony Sorrell banished the melancholy he was feeling. Such self-indulgent emotions had no place in his thoughts for the day. What should have been a time for celebration and relaxing of tension was marred by the disturbing rumblings that made their way to Sorrell's ear by way of the murky underworld network.
Word from an impeccable source warned Sorrell that plans were in progress to bring to Port Charles a nuisance greater than Sonny Corinthos had been. The rumor was just the barest of whispers, the mobster had been told, but its content was far too great to disregard. And if proven true, the results of such an action would be disastrous for the underworld presence in Port Charles.
“Boss, why haven't we taken out Sonny Corinthos?”
Anthony Sorrell started. He'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard the return of his young consigliere. “I'm sorry if I startled you, Mr. Sorrell. But I was wondering,” the young man repeated, “why we hadn't done something about Corinthos? Why haven't we made sure he won't talk?”
It had taken him a while, Sorrell reflected, to work up the courage to challenge his boss' decision. But still, he had done so. Perhaps there was hope for the promise Sorrell had seen in him all along.
“There are only two rules for success and longevity in our business.” Sorrell began the task of molding his new consigliere. “The first is the most important. Know yourself. Far more men are dead because they did not know their capabilities or their limits.”
“And the second rule?” the consigliere asked.
Sorrell readily replied, “Know your enemy. Corinthos has failed all those he loved. His enormous guilt will not allow him to fail those that are left.”
“What about his people? Are we going to do something about them?”
“They will be dealt with later.” Sorrell waved the subject off. “It is possible that we have a far greater enemy looming in the background; an enemy looking to return to Port Charles and make business impossible for us here.”