"Yeah, yeah." Giuseppe said, slumping into a chair next to the kitchen bar and removing his shirt.
He put his finger through the hole that was caused by a poorly aimed bullet that had hit his arm instead of something more vital. He then removed the bulletproof vest. I almost wish that he had been shot a few inches to the left, because the vest would have taken the bullet. Still, the source of blood on his arm was not that bad. It was a graze from a shot that could have been a lot worse. A few sutures would close it, leaving a scar. I am sure that Giuseppe’s least worry was how he looked with a scar.
"What happened?" I took the opportunity to ask after numbing the area and getting a needle and thread ready for a second time.
Giuseppe held his shirt and examined the hole. I think he wa
