Bribes, Blood and Bullets

Michael looked out over his territory. queens was in a bad state right now, but they were progressing along quite well right now, but he had a bit of business to tend too now. The smoked glass door swung open, letting in the harsh electric light from the office in. The local baker stumbled in, clutching his hat to his chest like it might save his life.
"Don Fazzolari!" He jumped when he'd seen him, his hands shaking uncontrollably now.
Michael smiled and turned on his heel slowly, coming away from the window and over to the trembling baker. "You know how late you are?" Michael asked coldly.
"Signor Fazzol-" The baker started, before stumbling back from the slap Michael had delivered. His green eyes soon with a coldness that was almost inhuman. "I am Don Fazzolari, not Signor."
"Don Fazzolari, I-I-I I have the money, I have double!" The Baker sputtered, pulling a wad of cash from out of his pocket, fumbling with the bills.
"you know I have no money problems, but you know you can't leave unpunished..." He said, smiling at the unlucky baker.
"No! Please, I have children, three piccolo bambini!" The Baker pleaded, now on his knees while Michael took a steak knife off of his mahogany desk.
"Don't we all..." Said Michael, holding the knife at his side. The Baker stared in horror at the knife before starting up his pleas again. "You know that all I require is respect, you disrespect us like this... and bad things happen." Michael bent down to look into the baker's wild eyes, two of his men coming into the room.
Outside the room, the next man in line paled as the screams and shouts echoed out of the closed door. a minute later the Baker came out, as equally pale as his flour covered apron. He clutched a finger in one hand, and the other he had wrapped in his hat.

"Sir, the Don will see you now." A man said, stepping out of the room.

Waiting down the hall, was the infamous little Ameressa. She had a bad reputation for being a street killer and a ruthless wit that had a sharp tongue and a sharper blade. But more importantly, she was the don's woman.

She tapped her long and perfectly kempt burgudny nails upon the cedar desk, staring at the notebook- beside of which sat a tiny desk lamp that lit her hazel eyes with a rich white glow. It illuminated her every facial angle, showed the dark temptation in the face of danger.

Her nails were halted, as the sound of a pen moving words onto paper seemed to echo through the thick air.

And the door opened, with a tiny squeak, as one of the capos stepped in.

"Ahem." He said nervously. Amy's eyes instantly jumped the distance in a calm but threatening manner- meeting his eyes even through the abyss between them.
"The Don is almost done with his, eh, affairs, if you'd like to see 'im." The man said in a thick hoarse Italian accent.

Her nails tapped again, and she spun a tiny fraction of distance to avail her entirety to him. Smoke rolled up in white curls from her lips and clouded the vision, until she blinked and the smoke had rose through the air in its intimidating fashion.

"Thanks." Ameressa said in her rich accent, flooding over her smooth and feminine voice that always carried a seductive temptation and parlous edge.

She then let her eyes flick down to her notebook. Written and recorded on which was information the capo would've been stunned to find. All the fundings and recordings for funds and trusts set aside and used in the most recent weapon sales up into the beginning spark of Michael's business.

The man still lingered, and though she contained herself well, she hated lingering fools.

Her eyes snapped up to his, and she dragged the cigarette- making the tip flare a bright red.
Removing the cig from between her full glossed and rounded lips, she sighed out a straight stream of white smoke, and then showed her true side as her eyes hardened like ice-covered stones.

"Che diavolo?!" Her nails spanned the desk as her palm hit it and her shoulders tensed up as if she were to leap from the seat.
"Why are you still standing? If I wanted you here, I'd give you something to do or say. Now get out." Amy said sharply, her tone darkening a great deal.

The tall burly man fumbled back for the door knob and stumbled outwards, leaving the door opened.

Ameressa rolled her eyes, and put her pen down, shut her notebook it and slid it into her bag. Standing up, she smoothed out the small folds in her fitting black dress and fixed her hair to spiral down over her chest. Then, she moved to the door, and down the hall- walking through the capos as if they meant nothing.

They didn't like her, but they damn sure wouldn't make an arguement against her.
She'd murder them herself.

Coming up to the door, she heard a final scream and whimper, before she stepped aside. The door opened, and a man walked out, the look of utter destruction fluttering over his face. He was a man who must've had his dignity ripped apart by Michael. And just this thought, had Amy smiling. She winked at the man as if to degrade him more, as she turned and stepped inside the long room containing her boyfriend. There he stood, the man she saw and worked with everyday. Her boss, her friend, and her lover.

She smiled brighter, shutting the door as the sound of her clicking high heels carried her to him. Setting the bag aside, Amy turned her head down to it, and then back up to Michael.

"So how has your day been dear?" She said in the most gentle tone that she could be caught using. If any of the other mobsters had heard this particular tone, they probably would've buckled and stumbled before her in fear of what cruelty she would enstill with a slap and those sharp nice nails.

Her hand smoothly crossed the air to his cheek and her lips met his other cheek, soft and warm against his skin. She then moved away and sat on the edge of a small desk settled there, awaiting today's news.
Sitting there, the long window's open view shadowed different colored lights over her form, over the olive skin, and over the curled spirals of black. And even did they shower over that strange smile and those earth-shattering eyes.

The man, who had been waiting just outside the entrance to the Don's business gave a quick glance to a non-discript car parked on the other side of the street. That trademark brown fedora turning one-hundred and eight degrees as two men, and a woman emerged from their respective doors. The man didn't flinch, or even so much notice the apparently mauled man clutching his hand deep inside his hat. Only giving a nod of approval that the Don would now take audience with him.

A casual, brisk stride was taken as he made his way past the "waiting room" and into the Don's office. Hand's crammed into his pocket, they eventually produced a pack of Marlboro Red's. Plucking a solitary stick from the pack, he placed it in between lips and sparked it to life. Taking a long, calculated drag before speaking. Exhaling as he began to speak.

"Don Luciano sends his regards."

A formal greeting, and one to let the man know just why he was here and who he was. A messenger of sorts. Granted, the two families did not get along well, and the Don would be wise to note that a single man would not have been sent there to delivery a message unless it was important. Even more so, the fact that he was alone implied a certain level of trust. Obviously he expected to make it out of this situation alive. Waiting for a simple reply and acknowledgment, he'd let the Don talk before pressing the conversation further. Not once breaking eye contact, blissfully ignoring the beautiful woman who sat mere feet away from him. Another drag off the cigarette.

Micheal smiled, truely smiled, and watched Amy move over to his desk. "I've had a good day today, chopped the baker's finger off, dealt with a kid selling drugs on our streets, and I bought a cigar." he said, pulling it out of the case on his desk. "Any luck with your day, and any news for me? I think I heard some rumors that some gang had sprouted up in the south, news on that?" He asked, putting the cigar in his mouth, but not lighting it. Micheal never smoke, he thought it was a horrible habit and the smoke smelt and tasted horrible. And this is coming from the man who cut people up without emotion.
"And I have some drugs that need to hit the street, the stuff we took from the kid. So get that on the street, and I need a man taken care off." The daily orders continued, until he was finally done and looked back at her with a smile.

Her eyes flicked to the stranger.

As he spoke, her smile only softened. Ameressa slid off the desk's edge, her sharp heels touching the floor as she walked back over to him. Pushing her hair back, she lifted her hand then to his lips. Gripping the cigar, she pulled it away and sat it back in the case. Shutting the tiny wooden case, her hand lingered back up to his cheek.

And as though some major miracle had robbed her of all hard exteriors, she softened before him into a kind and gentle woman. Ameressa leaned forward and stole from him a somewhat time-consuming kiss that lit her heart ablaze, and had it thundering beneath her breast. She truly had so much for this man. He was far more than a thug to her.

Her hands slid down his arm until her palms touched his, and her slender fingers laced with his.
Parting lips, she looked back into his enticing eyes and grinned.

"I shall tell you when we are alone, tonight, my bello." She whispered into his ear, turning to the other man.

"As well, it is nice to see you here sir. Do you have business beyond such, with my fiancee?"

Again, a stoic response was all that was given to the display. Frankly, the man could care less if the other chose to show off his dames. Another puff was given on the cigarette, as he averted his gaze to appear to be inattentive to the Don talking of business in front of a member of another family. He was either very cunning......or very stupid. It wasn't until the female addressed him that the man showed any sign of emotion. A quick, almost imperceptible furrowing of brows, and it vanished just as quickly.

"I do."

A curt reply, devoid of anything resembling respect. She was, after all, a woman. Though there seemed to be more going on than he knew, but for now he'd stick to the plan.

"The boss is crackin' down on this whole drug non-sense. He's sent word to the other three families, and respectfully requests that you and your men...." A quick gaze to the female, before continuing "join him in getting the junk off the streets.....Even though we've had our....differences." Stepping rather boldly forward to place out the smoldering ashes of his now dead cigarette. He returned to his original position and locked eyes with the Don. There was no disrespect in the gesture, or the request, but the message was clear: Don Vincenzo hadn't asked. He requested and there was, to those aware, quite a difference between the two.

Micheal looked the man up and down and grinned at him. "you think you're tough, eh? Well tell your boss, I don't care WHAT he says, and 'sides, I don't even sell the stuff, makes me wonder where he get's his information from? It's almost disrepectful." He stopped his rambling and stared the man down for a few seconds.
"tell ya what, since I don't want no war with your boss, I'll do what he says, but don't think I'm all hunky-dory with you nitwits." Micheal announced, waving the man off. "And my boys will escort you back to your car." he said, two men coming into the room, ready to drag the man out if need be.
"And if you'd like to talk over dinner..." Micheal said to Amy, clasping his hands with hers. "I would gladly take you, eight o'clock tonight?" He asked, feeling like things had been interupted by the man. He itched to hurt him in some form, but his ties with the Vincenzo weren't great anyways, so he'd best let him leave now, keep his boys off of him.
It would help him out later.

No response was given, just the smallest of smirks, as he raised both arms in defenseless gesture. Turning around on a heel and walking out. Taking a look at the two men standing at his door and giving a casual

"I can let myself out."

There was no "information" the Don was merely spreading the word, and obviously it had been done, albeit with a few ruffled feathers. Shutting the door quietly behind him, it took the man very little time to be inside the car and on his way back to Staten Island.

Amy watched the eyes of this Vincenzo flick to hers, and his disrespecful, curt, and terse answer register in her mind. What did he think he was? What was he going to do if she whipped out a blade from underneath her dress, and slit out her tongue merely for not containing a decent tone? He would surely not be happy.

But her hands were wound with Michael's- thank god- for otherwise, they's be making mean fists right about now. She stared the man down, until Michael's warm voice flooded her ears, and directed itself to the man.

Two other men came in, and gripped the man's shoulders softly.

"C'mon." They said instantaneously, the burly men appearing to be quite threatening.

Ameressa turned herself back to Michael. He had now offered to take her out to dinner. Her smile softened once more back into this calm and compassionate woman that only he... and maybe one other... knew of. She leaned up to him, pressing their bodies close as she stole from him another kiss that she could never resist.

Tearing herself away, she nodded softly.

"Si, I would love dinner... I'll bring the reports... And..." Ameressa smiled a bit more, leaning up to him again. "Am I staying at your place tonight?"

Alessandro sat down in a chair inside a small room waiting for someone he was supposed to recruit. He took out a cigarette lit it and started smoking; he hated this kind of stuff. Death was his business and he hated straying from it, a normal hit man wouldn't have been given this gig but he wasn't normal and his foster father in the family was always looking for ways to make Alessandro a more essential part of the business.
He took the cigarette from his lips and looked at his watch, it was getting late. He was about to start going home when he heard the sound of high heels from in front of him. It was a girl, crap. He looked up at her, she was attractive. Double crap. It was weird how Ali could handle a gunfight in a back alley but hook him up with an attractive chick and KAPOW! Knockout.
Ali touched his lucky fedora hat for good luck and then started to talk. “Hi, I’m Ali and I’ll be your gangster for today.” The crap joke flowed easily out of Ali’s mouth as he sought to break the ice “a quick personal question before we get down to business, why does a pretty girl like you want to become a gangster?”

The man was sitting behind a wooden desk his head was resting in his right hand. He massaged his furrowed brow as if troubled by something. A thin plume of smoke rose from a recently put out cigarette. Only the cigarette, a small lamp and the man’s perched elbow were on the bare desk, which sat diagonally in the corner of the room. Next to the desk several filing cabinets lined the inner wall. Directly opposite was an empty round table with a few empty beer bottles on it. The burgundy room was almost in complete darkness if not for the red light beaming in from a large window which covered almost the entire area of the wall facing the desk. Through the window you could see a long catwalk stretching almost the entire length of a large open hall. Three poles were evenly spaced along the catwalk and three topless women were going about their trade, oblivious to the man’s troubles. A bar cornered around the end of the catwalk and the black outlines of men could be seen along it.

There was a firm knock on the door leading into the room. This disturbed the man who lifted his head from his hand and brought it over the top of his waxed head flattening any rebellious hairs. Leaning forward he flicked the lamp on and light burst from the bulb flooding the desk and surrounding room in a faint light. Following this the man leant back in his cushioned chair and finally spoke “C’mon in”. The door swung open and several men dressed in long black coats entered. Between them was a man in a stained white polo shirt, he wore torn jeans and had thinning brown hair which covered most of his thin head. He was dragged into the room and forced down onto a stool which had been placed in the centre of the room. One of the suited men went straight to the window and lowered a bind cutting the room off from the outside club. After the men had finished closing the blinds they then went and stood either side of the polo shirted man. Several silent minutes passed, the only noise was the faint thumping beat from behind the window and the whimpering of the man in the centre of the room. Finally the silence was broken “It’s ‘im boss, we found ‘im trying to get a gun from fat Toni”. The man rose from the behind his desk and walked around it, his eyes never leaving the now shaking man. “Answer me this, an bear in mind I already know the f**king answer, did you kill her?” the man spoke calmly without a hint of emotion. “I-I didn’t mean to, I just got carried away is all, please Alfie I swear I..” the man stopped as Alfie raised a hand to silence him. Alfie let out a sigh “No one touches my girls, no one” he brought his fist across the man’s face a number of times until the man fell limp in the chair. “Dispose of this filth” growled Alfie. With that one of the men dragged the limp body out. The other re-opened the blinds before sitting down at the rounded table and reading a newspaper.

Alfie strode to the window and looked out over the club. He didn’t mind his girls earning a bit on the side as long as he got a taste every now and then. Most of the men new that they got more than a dance if they paid a little extra and he didn’t mind because he got a lot of bills from it. But when it started eating into his business he had to take action. He had lost one of his best girls, a good earner, because some lonely fool had lost his temper with her. Now he had to find someone else.

Ali smiled as the girl shouted at him outlining her points about why she should join the family; it was nice to sometimes pay for what he did. He had underestimated this girl and her drive to become what he was and now he was paying for it with her spite. Ali was useless with the opposite sex and it showed here.

Her hatred for her family was unusual, normally for people who worked for one of the families family was everything. Her brother must have done something really bad to her. It didn’t matter Death would be the price for his sins, no matter what he had done. If he had known his real family would it had turned out like this? Question number 101 of the one million questions he would never be able to answer.

Ali looked up; she had finished her “proposal”. It seemed like quite a good deal. He got an assignment finally, she got revenge and the family gained an invaluable ally. All that was left was to say yes. “I’d be the one who killed him you know, would that bother you?” he said softly.

Micheal couldn't help smiling at her, she was so sweet around him, yet so ruthless when it came to work. The two men walked the Vincenzo messenger out to his car, forcibly pushing him into the car. "I really wish that those Vincenzo's would just stick to their own business." Micheal said coldly, watching the man as he left. "And now I think I want him dead, yet that will just start war." He said, averting his gaze from the car and back down to her.

"I'll pick you up for dinner or is Al going to take you again?" he asked, not sure if he trusted her limo driver. If it were up to him, he'd assign a hundred men to her every minute of the day, but that would attract too much suspicion, a couple of his own men surrounding just this girl? That would attract too much attention.

He had so many things he needed to do for the family, decisions to be made, hits to make, and now he had to assign a man to keep an eye on this messenger, who knew with the Vincenzo? Just a year previous, one of his men had been shot, and the case suddenly went "cold" in a few days. Micheal wasn't stupid, he knew who'd actually killed him. And why would they send a messenger and not gather the Don's like the last big decision? He forced himself to abandon the thoughts and return back to Ameressa.
Micheal kissed her again and released her hands, walking to the door. “If you’re going to get picked up, call me at six and I’ll come get you, traffic’s a nightmare, so you know how that is...” Micheal smiled at her and wished he didn’t have to leave. He had something to do, and the men wouldn't forgive him if he didn't show up at the casino. "I gotta go, but Ill be at The Dice if you need me." He said, grabbing his hat and heading outside, for his only casino and prime hangout for his boys. He had to check up on the other two hangouts, and make sure his mother was doing okay. He nodded to his bodyguard and was soon in his car, heading out. Micheal’s eyes lingered to the viewing window, searching for her face one last time.

Ameressa clung to his lips when they were at her mercy, but she knew full well he could not stay for the entirety of her desires. She merely smiled, feeling the lingering warmth of his hands far after he had left the room and traveled out to his car. Stepping up to the window, she placed her palms against it, and stared out unto night upon Queens. What a beautiful place, regardless of its master architecture holding these towers of beauty and stubs of marvel up and glowing.

"Possediamo la notte, noi fa non? "

Her voice echoed beautifully through the silence, as if it were meant for a million ears to hear it. But none were there.

Turning sharp on a thin black heel, she moved in smooth strides to Michael's desk, and took her little black notebook and bag under her arm. Pushing the notebook deep into her bag, she slid her bag's straps over her shoulder, and flicked a hand shortly through her spirals of black hair.

And she left...

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5:47 p.m. : Queens
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The night was falling now. It was already settling in when she had met with Michael, but it was truly flourishing now. The horizon was bright on one end of sight, but upon the other, it was dark. Lights flickered on and illuminated the shadow of sin that swallowed up the northern cities these days.

Amy had gone to her condo and changed into a white wife beater, and long black dress pants. She even wore a nice pair of heels, those being her favorites. These were a knee-high assortment that held the lower part of her briches, and had 3-inch heels, thick, the shoe itself being a rounded closed-toe. Over her wife beater- one fitting to show marvelous curves and scars dancing over her chest- was a long black trench coat that had the collar flipped up to cover the smooth skin of her neck. Her hair was pulled up nicely, letting the black spirals bounce against her back in a smooth stream as she walked down the impoverished alleyways of Queens.
In her pocket, was a thin little note scribbled in a woman's beautiful cursive on faintly yellow paper. With it, was a manilla envelope of drugs. Michael said it needed to be done. She was meeting with one of the lowly little runners of the Fazzolari to do this bit of dirty work.
Atop her head was a slightly wide-rimmed hat that was embellished with a white ribbon tied smoothly around it.

As she strutted through the darkness, into a rich and dark alley, she saw the shadow of a tall man emerge.

And as secretive as an affair of the wealthy, she placed one hand on his neck, and leaned up to his ear. In that same quick, quiet sense, he had reached into the pocket of her trench coat and slid the materials into his own jacket. Sliding away, Ameressa had told him his mission, and given him the necessities for it.

Turning away, the secretive mafioso woman strolled back towards her condo, a short walk away...

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6:04 p.m. : Queens
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Having now bathed, Ameressa wore a long gown of a silverish beauty. Her hair was done up nicely, and a young woman- a capo's wife- was fixing her make-up. Lifting the phone up to her ear, the young woman dialed up Michael for her.

Amy waited, watching the woman tell him that she would prefer to ride with him tonight.

As the young woman hung the phone up, her make-up was continued, a smooth and flawless cover with a dark coal colored eyeshadow and rich red lipstick.

Bellisimo...

"Wheres the protection money!" Rick yelled at the bartender, grabbing the bartenders shirt with both of his hands and lifting him up in the air. "Vincenzo has been very patient with you scum bag!" Screaming at him at the top of his lungs with his voice echoing in the empty bar.

"Please! I'll get it in tommorow!" The bartender started breaking out in tears. "Just dont kill me! I'll have it in! Its the damn Mazza's! They've been trying to get me on their side for days!"

Rick was getting annoyed, and he was getting more angry at the second. "Thats what the Protections money's for you moron!" He screamed again. "We're tryin' to protection YOU! From the Mazza's!!"

"O-Okay! Okay! I'll have it in by tommorow! Please... I-I'm sorry...." Rick dropped him down on the floor, the bartender slowly picked himself up. Rick pulled out his black leather gloves and the bartender flinched as Rick slamed his fist into the Bartenders gut and fell down again.

"That! Was a warning, tommor'a! I WILL be back. You better have the money by then." Taking off his black leather gloves and walking out of the bar.

He had spotted a nearby telephone booth and decided to report to his Capo-Regime. He opens and closes the door and slides the dial a few times picks up the phone and hears the Capo's voice. "Yea this is Bacon... Yea he's going to pay up tommor'a, alright I'm headin' back." Places the phone back and exits out of the booth and begins to walk back to the headquarters.

Alfie leant against the bannister which followed along the outside of the walkway overlooking the club. He always liked to keep in touch with what went on in the club. It had become buisier as the evening had progressed on. This was prime time for Peroni's and only best of the girls performed. Although Alfie liked to keep a high standard among his strippers some always stood out and were crowd pleasers. The area surrounding the catwalk had become crowded with men, some were deep in conversation others had come to try their luck with the girls. A large portion of the men in the club had some association with the Vincenzo's and most of them could be seen with ease. Several men sat near the entrance to the club. Both wore a black fedora's and, although intwined in coversation, kept a watchful eye on who entered and exited. Alfie knew that several more would be outside the club and at the back exits. He always liked to keep a tight control over his fronts, even more so with his prize possession 'Shakers'. Two generations of Peroni had kept watch over the club and he was not about to let slip now.

His thoughts were interupted by a commotion nearer the toliets of the club. A man was shouting as he was dragged towards the exit of the club by several of Alfies soldiers. Alfie waved another over to him, "Find out whats going on, be quick about it" "Yes boss" replied the man as he made for the winding staircase leading to main floor. Several minutes passed when the man returned, the club had long since returned to normal. " 'e was trying to sell powder in the toliets boss" informed the man who then stood as if waiting for an order. Alfie waved a hand to send the man away, "Whole city going down the toliet" he muttered aloud shaking his head.

Hans sat in his lousy appartment, the walls had cracks, the severs weren't tightly closed enough, so the stank escaped the rods, the toilet never worked, the bed was half bed half garbage can, for there were open beer bottles, papers, and other junks.

He sat at his chair with a cold beer and listened to the Radio, the 'Clone War' was being sent. He loved the show, especially because he had heard the farmers had panicked and fled from their homes, believing that the Earth was being invaded by Marsians.

What the hell is the time?, Hans thought and looked at his watch, 04:02 PM, Damn, I'm late again! he thought, grabbed his jacket, turned off the radio, ran out of the appartment (he remembered to close and lock the door) and then he was off for his weekly meeting.

In an abandoned building in the Hoover Viles

"Hans what the Hell, this is the third time you are late! You're the one always telling us to be on time," Erik said in an accent of Norwegian who spoke for all the men that was there. Erik was a small man, who worked for Hans, selling the drugs which he provided them with, and so far, it was a steadily raising market. There was about three people, all immigrants, who wanted to be a member of the Gambino Family. They weren't the only ones, Hans knew others who were more than happy to help him when he needed to do jobs or kills people.
"Sorry...anyway, do you have it?" Hans asked.
"Certainly do, we got around 1'374 Dollars, in cash of course. And there are more people that owns you money now," Erik explained, as he got the money out. Hans had been selling a lot of cocaine, lately, for everyone was getting addicted to it, however Hans forbade everyone that worked for him to ever take it, not if they still wanted to work for him.

"Looks good," Hans said, nodding, "Here's your share," he gave each man $120 of his own pocket money, for he didn't want the Don to find out that he was working with unregistered associates.
"Alright, Mr. H, anything else?" Erik asked.
"Yes, you all go home, there's nothing else for you. And don't you think about taking any Coke!" Hans warned. they all knew that he wasn't the biggest fan of drugs, he did it for the sake of business.

Hans then reported to the local Capo, an Italian man, "Here's the money," he said, handing it all over.
"Good job Hans, very good. Now, there's a local mechanic who is hasn't payed protection for some time now. Got get the money, and give him a gentle treatment," the Capo instructed.
"Gladly," Hans answered, and then he got into his car and drove off.

At the Mechanic's place
*Knock*Knock*
"Who is it?" the Mechanic asked, and opened the door slightly, "Signore e paradiso"
"Hello, I'm here on behalf of the Gambino Family, you haven't paid your protection for a while, I hear. If you refuse to pay protection money, then life WILL get rough for you," Hans threatened.
"I got the money! I got more! I swear, just give me more time, I'll get it for you," the man begged.
"You just said you had more than what you owned us....I can't just walk away from this, you have to be taught some manners when it comes to respecting, and paying the Gambino Family," Hans said, then he kicked the door open, making the Italian man fall back, and Hans pulled him up and began punching him in the stomach, the back, then he threw him down on the floor and kicked him several times, "Best regards from the Gambino Family," Hans said, and left, heading back for the Capo to report.

Deep within the heart of Staten Island laid a large, but somehow quaint neighborhood. Far removed from the average populace, all houses had been bought paid for, and occupied by "like-minded" individuals. To the untrained eye it was just like any number of upper-class housing areas in the better part of the island. To those who knew what to look for, however, the men sprinkled through the flora, streets, and houses, told a different tale entirely. This was as much a fortress as could be had in these modern days. Among the numerous distinct but strangely similar houses, one stood out in particular. The largest of course, which rested deep within the heart of this modernized fort, housed a man of power. A home few ever saw, and even fewer ever dared enter. Located on the second floor, pouring himself a half-glass of vintage whiskey, Luciano Vincenzo sniffed it lightly before taking the bitter liquid down in a single gulp. There were problems on his island, and in his city.

Namely, the infestation of drugs. While the man could abide by, and even enjoy himself, the occasional drink; drugs were simply unacceptable. Even to the animale, blacks and Irish, and the like. The powder, pot, and whatever else was being snorted or smoked.....simply changed a person. On such a fundamental level that the Don could feel nothing but bitter hatred to anyone who would offer such substances to another human being. His own personal feelings aside, Luciano held a certain amount of foresight into the future. Knew the ramifications that such easy profit for such a vile substance would cause to his beloved city. No, this would simply not stand. Another half-glass of whiskey was poured before he turned to face the messenger who had just previously greeted the Fazzolari family. Compared to his earlier demeanor of clean, curt, composure, in the presence of his boss, his Don, the man had an air of unquestionable respect about him now.

"The message was delivered, Boss. The Fazzolari know drugs are a no go in New York."

As if he hadn't even heard the man speak, Luciano went to grabbing another glass. That crisp hand pressed suit working in tune with his body in an almost effortless grace as it poured yet another drink. Finally turning around to face his employee, the Don offered one of the two glasses of fine Whiskey to the man. He had been called many things in his day, many, many things, but a bad host? Don Vincenzo had yet to be called such a thing.

"Here, take a drink."

The man accepted the alcohol without question. Waiting until his Don took his own before meeting glasses. An exchange of 'Salud's' exchanged as they both downed the fine drink. When they had finished, the Don wandered over to a nearby window. Peering out, with a very unneeded air of paranoia about him. Always cautious. Always careful, and always wanting to be aware of his surroundings. The man fumbled with the glass, quite unsure with what to do with it now that the drink was empty and his boss being so quiet. A moment or two later the Don broke the silence, finally continuing the conversation.

"They might know I disapprove, but I doubt, given our........"relationship" that they'd take it worth a lick. The Fazzolari's are hot tempered, and eager for power.....and respect. We'll let them play their little comedy out for now. They won't move anything huge as long as they know our family is against the drugs. The Gambinos......They......."

He let his words trail off. No one needed a reminder of how hard pressed that particular family was to get the drug trade off the ground. As far as Luciano was concerned, they were the enemy worthy of all interest, but a move against a family with the numbers the Gambinos had would take time.

"Take this."

The Don took a moment to ruffle through papers that rested atop the solid Mahogany desk that rested dead center of the room they both sat in. Eventually producing an envelope and handing it to the man.

"You know who to give it to. Put a detail on Fazzolari's. Nothing big, they cannot be seen, but I want to know what they're up to."

The Fedora wearing man nodded succinctly, taking the envelope and standing to leave. Thinking the Don was finished with him, but as he turned to exit, he was halted by a lifted hand from the boss.

"And I've heard words that a Lombardi wants to join our ranks. Sister, or something, of their Don. Bring her to me once she's been interviewed. We.......should talk."

Emphasis was put on that last line, letting the man know that this was his top priority, and not the envelope which rested in his hand. A nod of respect was given and all that needed to be said was said. The man quietly took his leave and left the Don alone, who was now intently staring out at the great expanse of buildings and skyline that made up New York City. Once the door had closed, Luciano allowed himself the smallest moment of self-reflection.

"This city.......It will be clean."

Muttering to himself, before turning away and making his way out of his office. Business for the day was done. There were other things that now required his attention.