Johnny Marconi was regretting where life had led him. He had never had the interest or the stomach for his family's traditional line of work, and had always intended to leave it on as good of terms as he could as soon as he was out of college.
But it was harder than he had anticipated to say 'no' to his mother as she lay dying in the guest bedroom of the family mansion, especially as the only surviving son of the Marconi family, and so somehow he had ended up a 26 year-old Construction Management graduate (the family had insisted on that field of study, as a "cover") taking the reins of a business he didn't care about, surrounded by people who had always hoped to take orders from one of his more competent (and more ruthless) brothers.
Johnny often wished he had gone to graduate school in a topic he enjoyed– literature, or French, or something like that. It might have allowed him to put off his entry into the real world.
EDITOR'S NOTE: So I guess I'm writing this longer, multi-character story now. 21 notebook pages of it exist from the last two days, and I reckon I can keep it up for at least a few more. The above is a selection therefrom.