Mafioso

Was at Safeway with Breanne when I was approached by a short Italian man. He had pearly white dentures and a smooth round hairless head. His Italian accent was thick. He asked me to get him some milk off the top shelf. The milks near the bottom were all nearing expiration and he wanted milk that would last. I picked a milk carton from the top row.
What's a-the date?
I told him what it said, the 25th.
Perfect, he said. He put his hand on my arm and walked over to my cart with me cause he wanted to talk. He said I looked familiar, asked me if I was some one's brother, some guy named Pavorelli or something. I told him it wasn't me. He couldn't believe it.
How old are you? 18?
I'm 26, I said.
Whoa! he brought the hand that wasn't on my arm quickly up over his head, brushing back invisible hair.
It's a gooda thing you gotta the milk for me. I'm a mafioso. You not get the milk. Pow, Pow! he shaped his hand into a little flesh gun and shot both me and Breanne in the heart.
He assured us he was joking and gave us a God bless you before shuffling away.