It's a story as old as America, but with a nasty new twist: Papa Luigi/Pepe Rodriguez/Mr. Rosenblum/Seamus O'Stereotype moves to America and pours all of his life's savings and sweat into his bistro/taqueria/delicatessen/South Boston pub. He tries to get Number One Son interested in the family business, but in a fit of teen angst, Junior rebels and starts running with goodfellas/gang bangers/accountants/Riverdancers. Pop goes into his declining years, nobody in the family is left to run the shop, it gets sold to some faceless corporate chain, and Billy Joel writes a song about it.
The nasty twist for Muslim Tatar and Super Mario's Pizza is that the bad crowd that Number One Son fell in with was a bunch of bush-league Al Qaeda wannabes, and the particular way he was going to act out his teen angst was by shooting up a bunch of dad's customers. This has understandably cut down on dad's business.
I feel for the guy, but it's kind of a predictable consequence. I mean. if your delivery drivers had been planning on machine-gunning me in their off hours, it might keep me from taking advantage of your "two-for-one" lunch special, too.