“You can have one of my kidneys,” one goon tells him in my presence.
“No, let me have that honour,” pleads another.
They all make the offer, one after another. The Don looks at me as if daring to follow suit.
I chuckle inwardly, remembering the fate of the bull, who was pounced upon by the courtiers the moment he offered himself to his famished lion-friend.
They don’t know that my blood group doesn’t match with the Don’s.