Roxanne Fox's Story

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As the sun rose, casting an array of oranges, pinks, and yellows into the sky, Roxanne laid huddled on a side of her bed. She hugged a pillow to herself, also using it to shield the sun from her eyes. It was another hour or so before she awoke; her head pounding in a familiar way. The current light flooding in from her windows was much to bright, it filled up every corner of the small dingy bedroom. She slowly slunk from beneath her covers, and trudged into the bathroom. It was also small, and the flowery wallpaper could be seen peeling in a few places. She looked in the mirror, staring at last night's mascara smeared under her eyes. She didn't know when she came home last night, or fell asleep for that matter although they were probably close in occurrence. She turned the sink on, splashed cool water on her face, and tried to scrub the make up off. Her hair was also a mess, a bit frizzy and tangled. She ran a brush through it a few times only to have it frizz more, so she put it up into a bun.
As her headache throbbed, she slowly shuffled to the kitchen. Her apartment was only three rooms basically, the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen that opened into a sitting area or living room. Reaching into a cabinet she retrieved a small bottle of pills to hopefully numb her mind. She took two with a glass of water, and started to make some coffee.

Last night was foggy. This wasn't a surprise, but seemed to always be a regret that she didn't remember. Dazed and weakened, as from lack of sleep in the first place: Late nights always made her groggy the next morning. For many hours she spends her nights dancing, that is until her performance is over and time for more money arises. She remembered slinking down from the stage, her body graceful and fluid. Compared to how she felt now it was shocking she'd ever felt anything but tired and gross. It was almost a high for her, all those eyes watching her move. Even what she did after was somewhat of a thrill. Rich men bought her drinks, and she spent her night listening to them talk. Flirting became natural as the alcohol increased, and she worked the men for as much as she could. In a sense they had been using each other, him for company and her for money. It was hard to tell right from wrong in situation like this, Roxanne seemed to live in the grey area of black and white.
Last night had been no different, as soon as she moved to her usual location and her client approached her. She recalled his height, much taller than her, and his dark hair. He bought her a few drinks and talked about business for awhile, until he mentioned travelling. Roxanne had always dreamed of travelling, the farthest she'd ever gone was from her home town to here. She gazed at him dreamily as he told her stories of the places he'd been, it seemed many of the men she worked with could tell her fabulous stories that she'd never be able to experience for herself. But, she could dream.
The two eventually moved to the VIP area, located in the back of the club. The room was lighted dim but colorful. Now thinking about it she got a feeling it was too dark for comfort but felt nice on the eyes after drinking so much. What happened next was obvious, and as he left Roxy zipped her own dress back up and collected the money he left on the table.
Remembering too much after that was difficult, mostly when she worked she felt unpresent from her life. As if her body was going about her life and she was just a ghost trailing behind. She stumbled out of the room, and passed the bar to leave. The club wasn't closed yet, but she usually left after her clients did. Occasionally she'd hang around and talk to Dickie or another coworker, but last night she just headed to the exit. Only now did she recall Dickie reminding her of something.

Roxanne saw that her coffee was done, but ignored it realizing that she'd forgotten about the meeting with the boss until now. That's what Dickie had told her before she left. She groaned lightly, feeling stupid for forgetting. Back in her bedroom she threw on a presentable dress, casual but tight like everything else in her closet. She kept her hair up, not bothering to fix it knowing she was already late. She threw on some make up and grabbed her purse, and pushed her feet into black pumps. She didn't really care how she looked at the moment, considering the only time it really matter was when she was being tipped for it. She threw on a jacket that would match the dress, and exited her apartment. She locked the door behind her and briskly strode to the stairs.
She hadn't eaten breakfast, so a cigarette would have to suffice. She took out a half empty pack, and pulled one from the box. Holding it between her lips as she rummaged through her purse for a lighter, she continued walking down the street. She turned and cut down an alley, and held her hands up to lit her cig. Her apartment was only a couple streets from the big building, so when she arrived shortly outside of it she waited at the door to finish her smoke. She inhaled every last drag, impatiently tapping her foot. She always smoked her cigarettes down to the filter, and had a distaste for wasting anything. The taste of the last couple drags always made her want to gag, but she resisted the feeling as she threw the butt on the ground and stepped on it to put it out.

The elevator seemed to take forever in the building, she anxiously looked around the metal box. She bit her lip and fiddled with the strap of her purse, until finally the ding sounded her arrival. She stepped out of the elevator, only to be greeted by six men carrying random objects. She frowned slightly in confusion, passing them and continuing to the meeting room. A woman with sleek blonde hair stood, arms out, "Surprise, bitches. I'm home." She exclaimed.
Roxanne quietly stayed a good distance from her to not interrupt her homecoming. She hadn't ever seen the woman before, or for that matter she didn't even know who she was. It had been rumoured that the Santoro's had another daughter, so that was Roxanne's only guess. She slipped into an empty seat and looked around at other's reactions to the women, which she had ignored at first when she entered.

“Relax, darling,” Adriana murmured for what seemed like the utmost time, a small smile adorning her lips as she flipped through her binder once more. Carlos sighed to himself, running his fingers over the slight stubble across his jaw before sitting up a little straighter.

Just as he was about to glance at the door yet again, he heard a voice that calmed him somewhat. Dickie Glenmore. Well, at least they weren't the only ones waiting then. Granted, the boy was always early, a habit he had obviously picked up from Vince.

Adriana looked up, smiling politely at their adoptive nephew. “Hello, Richard. How are you doing, darling?” The man looked a little tired, perhaps like he had just awoken, but no one commented on that. In fact, there wasn't time to comment on much of anything, because Alexandra was following her cousin in the room.

Their youngest greeted them both one at a time, crossing the room to kiss them on each cheek. Adriana first, who replied with a simple, “Ciao, amore mio.” Her Italian, even though it wasn't her native language, was just as smooth as the rest of her family.

Carlos let out a sigh as he met his daughter with, “Bene, Principessa.” He smiled at her, knowing he didn't need to get into how he actually was. Which was worried, nervous, questioning his decisions...none of that needed to show. Not even in front of family.

Adriana was already backk to her books by the time Lexie took a seat next to her, only glancing up when the girl asked when the others should be arriving. “Anytime within the next ten minutes,” she answred, then added with a knowing grin: “We told Vanni to be here thirty minutes early. You know how he likes to oversleep.”

Carlos chuckled softly to himself, thankful when others entered the room shortly after. Louis, with Nico Kato at his heels. He smiled at the sight of his old friend, murming a 'Louie' as he gave a slight bow in return to his own greeting. He had to admit...the more people that showed, the more at ease he was feeling.

“Good morning, Nico,” Adriana greeted, verbalizing while Carlos only nodded his head. She was definately the more outspoken than the two, even if her attention was elsewhere. This time, on her phone. She glanced at him for only a moment, dark brown eyes filled with knowing.

After all these years together, Carlos and Adriana could speak without saying a word, and he knew exactly what that look meant. Eleonora. They had known their eldest daughter was returning for awhile now, but part of them had each hoped she hadn't been serious...that she'd change her mind. Unfortunately, she didn't, and Carlos would be damned if he let her roam his city unwatched. But Leo was smart...crafty...and he knew by the look in his wives eyes that he had already lost the first battle.

She twisted the screen of her phone towards him slowly, showing the security footage around the building. Their daughters entrance was impossible to miss with her entourage, but they would recognize her anywhere anyway. No one in Boson looked quite like her.

Now Carlos knew where his nerves had been coming from all along. Not because he was worried about Giovanni...but because he was worried about her. About what she would say, or worse...do. And as if that thought was some kind of cosmic cue, Eleonora Santoro entered the room ever bit the princess that she was. Which was almost ironic, considering that had always been her younger sister's namesake.

Adriana, every bit woman and understanding this show on some sort of catty level, sat straight in her seat and watched with interest. It was grossly overdone – trumpets, flowers, and an announcer...Yet, oddly, Carlos had to admit he felt somewhat smug that her darling brother wasn't around. While Leo was perfectly on time, Gio had yet to show.

Adriana gave a slow clap as the men around their daughter fanned out to clean up the mess they had created in record time, the woman settling back in her seat as she focused a smile on the willowy blonde. Roxanne slipped in the room, blessedly silent of any spectacle, as did Jaquline right behind her.. “Eleonora, darling, so nice for you to have joined us.”

A snort from the doorway caught the rooms attention, subtle after her spectacle but random nonetheless. Perhaps he had spoken too soon about his son, because there was Giovanni leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a small smirk on his face.

It was only his mother—perhaps even his wife—who could see through the tense exterior. It was his eyes that really gave him away...questioning, uncertain, maybe even a little scared, as they searched over his sisters body. “Why would anyone faint over you? Because you're so ugly?”

Adriana sighed, placing her fingers against her temples, shaking her head at the smile that replaced Gio's smirk. It was a childhood jab, one the twins had shot at each other since they could talk, and completely untrue. If anyone complimented Leo on her beauty more than humanly possible, it was Gio. Apparently habits died hard...even if they had been apart for a little over three years.

“We just need a few more,” Carlos mumbled under his breath, glancing past Gio's frame towards the door. “And we can begin.”

Walking in a big city, while relatively cost effective and quite exciting for tourists, can be absolutely irritating for those who didn't quite appreciate the hustle and bustle of city life. Martin was one of those people. For all of the resentment and bitterness he held towards his former life, he did occasionally pine for his old surroundings, clutching onto the memories of tall mountains and plentiful greenery like a child's security blanket. These bursts of nostalgia were few and far between these days, too busy with work and too caged by tall buildings and water that you couldn't even pay him to go swimming in. However, walking down the streets of Boston, inhaling the fumes of cigarettes and the traffic-filled streets, stepping around litter and people too busy tapping away at their smartphones to notice that they were about to run into another human, the pang of homesickness hit. Well, that and annoyance.

It took a lot to irritate Martin because, even on his worst day, he had more self control than the average man. Still, walking through Boston did put a damper on his day with the sheer noise and chaos that was the streets. Car horns, even this early, blared with an unpredictable staccato rhythm, car engines revved and roared, and the voices of the people pressed around him was a constant noise in the back of his mind. It was, therefore, excellent news that the streets leading up to Santoro Incorporated were far less crowded, like the building had enough power to glare down and intimidate anyone attempting to break the perfectly ordered chaos that it kept in check. Well, almost anyone.

"I'm just saying, Marty," Jude said amiably as they continued their walk, "If you're going to get a car, you might as well get something flashy, yeah?" It was easier to hear Jude now that the noise pollution had toned down, not that Jude was ever loud. No, he spoke in a certain way that demanded attention, like a primal awareness that listening to him just might save your life one day. "Not one of those Mercedes that you Americans like so well, or one of those hyper-cars; you need an Aston Martin."

It wasn't often that Jude spoke cars, but, on their walk to Santoro Incorporated, the flash of a red Koenigsegg Agera R rushing by had caught his attention like a kid in a candy store, changing the strain of conversation almost immediately from where they were going to get dinner that night to what cars tickled Jude's fancy. Martin bit back a sigh; they'd certainly had this conversation before and, just like before, he was prepared with his own line of dialogue in this casual repartee.

"You just want one because you want to feel like James Bond," Martin accused tiredly, bespectacled eyes glancing down at Jude who merely nodded, a smirk crawling its way onto his face.

"You know me so well, Marty. Of course I do. Although…" He paused, which, of course, meant nothing good was about to come out of his mouth, "I think that would make you my Bond girl, wouldn't it? Now, what sort of name would you have…"

Martin almost spluttered in indignation because he would at least be Q or Eve Moneypenny as they approached Santoro Incorporated when a voice cut into his exasperation and Jude's thoughts, catching both of their attentions for very different reasons.

“Hey baby. I have a good ten minutes if you wanna play...only fifty for a quickie.” The speaker was a boy in scruffy clothes, blonde hair messy in a way that even Martin could guess at the origin, a lollipop dangling in one hand as he licked his lips.

Both men froze. Martin's face twisted into one of pure horror. It wasn't the prostitution that bothered him, or even the boy's probable age; oh no. He was worried that he'd have to see this kid die in front of him, and all before a big meeting too. Jude's face, on the other hand, remained achingly pleasant, which, Martin knew as he tried to grab the smaller man, was the worst possible way for his face to look. However, he was too late.

As quick as a striking cobra and potentially twice as deadly, Jude's fist was flying through the air, connecting with the poor boy's smirking mouth with excessive force. The bare-knuckle hit didn't rattle him at all, hands too used to the bare-knuckled brawls he so enjoyed, and his second movement was a grab for the lollipop, which he plucked gracefully from the boy's hands.

"Let me show you where you can shove your lolly, you fucking poofter-" In contrast to Jude's amiable expression, his voice was pure malice hidden behind the tone of someone giving a helpful suggestion instead of a man willing and more than excited to shove a lollipop into someone's eye socket. It was then, of course, that Martin had enough time to move himself and quite knowingly save the boy's life.

"Jesus Christ, Jude!"

The translator grabbed the Irishman from behind, arms wrapped tight around him as he heaved him backwards. It wasn't much on the physical side of things- Martin had never been one for physical confrontation, but it was all it took for Jude to give in, allowing himself to be manhandled so that the candy in his possession was no longer a potential lethal weapon.

"We're done- no, no more. We have a meeting to go to and you can't just kill someone or maim them." Even in times of pure chaos, Martin's tongue hardly failed him. "It's not worth it, Jude. It's really not."

"Fine." It was like a switch had been flipped, the Irishman nodding before turning back to his very near victim. Instead of saying anything, instead of going for one more strike, he dropped the lollipop to the ground before grinding it to dust with his heel.

"Oh, not the sucker too," Martin mumbled as Jude turned away and headed up the steps to the building, stopping only at the door, holding it open expectantly. Martin bit back his second sigh of the day and briefly turned towards the prostitute.

"Right. Well." There wasn't much else to say, but he did fish around in his pocket for a white handkerchief, passing it over to the boy. "Here. You need it more than I do." And, with that, he jogged up the stairs after his psychopath, trying not to glance back.

As soon as the door closed behind them and they followed the familiar path to the elevator, Jude finally spoke.

"I'm thinking Gavin Goodhead. That would certainly be your Bond Girl name," He concluded sounding too entirely pleased with himself.

"Wouldn't that make me a Bond Boy technically?" Martin replied because two could play at the "let's never mention what just happened" game. Jude began to laugh in reply, a great howling sound, when he suddenly stopped, an look of confusion so out of place on his face appearing. Call it a sixth sense, call it a gift for finding the not quite right, but something seemed off in the building. It wasn't until both of them came upon the six beefy men apparently posing outside of the meeting room that it all began to make sense. Well, kind of- there were still six weird men, one with an honest-to-God trumpet and another with a basket full of flower petals, with the rest having assorted other items, like, for some odd reason, a boom box blaring AC/DC. In almost perfect unison, the two peered into the room and caught sight of a young beauty who looked like she'd stepped right out of a magazine, standing before the assorted collection of the Santoro Family Mob like a goddess returning to her people(well, she did. The others didn't seem nearly as impressed and/or pleased). Recognition was instantaneous.

"I think it's safe to say the meeting's cancelled. Come on, let's go," Martin said, spinning on his heel and nearly avoiding beefcake number four with his wind machine. It was far too early for this, although, to be fair, it would never be the right time for this in Martin's opinion. It had been years since he'd seen the eldest Santoro girl, but not nearly long enough for him to expect a pleasant meeting with her arrival.

Jude, on the other hand, was beaming and grabbed Martin by the wrist. Their thoughts went along the same strain, but rather than being tense about whatever insanity was to follow, Jude was more than pleased to see Eleonora returned. She, he was convinced, was going to make things even more interesting than the motley crew collected in the meeting room already would have.

"Now, now, Marty, this is a very important meeting. Can't just leave, now can we?" Martin wanted to reply that, yes, of course they could, but Jude was a force of nature making resistance futile as he dragged Martin into the room behind him.

"What a pity. I would have loved to see that entrance," Jude commented, skirting around the Santoro twins with a smile and a wink for the prodigal daughter returned before finding his way to the same seat he'd always sat in since the beginning of his employment with the Santoro Family. Martin managed a little half-smile, well aware that eyes would probably brush right over him and onto the more obvious and more than likely clinically insane people and things in the room as he slid into a seat next to Jude.

"Our apologies, Don Carlos. We didn't mean to keep you waiting," Martin offered up quietly, threading a hand through his tangled hair as he tried to tame his mess of curls. It was, as always, completely ineffectual.

❂ ℓєѕℓιє янσ∂єѕ ❂

Leslie rode the elevator the whole way rested against the hand rail. The pain was beginning to grow irritating, and not necessarily in the usual way that it always was. There was nothing to do about it, but he traced through his actions of the previous night, recalling many of the details of the day which had put more stress on the limb and probably had caused the amplified ache. He sighed, tapping the end of his cane against the floor in aggravation. For the moment, his expression had dropped, but he quickly and effortlessly put a good face back on as he took note of the slowing elevator. Noise was welcoming him the moment the doors slid open and he made his way to the meeting room.

He took a deep breath, expression flinching to reveal his irritation for a mere second before composure had set back in, forced back on his face. He had managed to catch just about a second of the end of a spectacle; the overly-dramatized entrance of a tall beauty in blonde, and the interjection of Giovanni Santoro. A few large thugs shuffled about with odd objects, a few people weaved about them to get into the meeting room and get situated, and as Leslie drew closer, the tapping of his cane echoing audibly in the hall despite other noise clouding the space, he could see plenty of people were appropriately staying out of the matter, themselves. The idea seemed fair enough, no questions asked, as he paused by the door, leaning heavily on his cane and simply not having the energy to attempt to weave his already difficult to move body around some of the bodies that clung at the entrance with their odd objects and pointless duties.

One eyed him a mere moment before the concept to shuffle out of the way finally crossed him, and the unidentified man gave him just enough room to get through without hassle. Lez hobbled forward, slipping past without so much as a word. Perhaps on a better day he would have managed an 'excuse me' or even a sarcastic rendition of a 'thank you,' however, he found no ounce of remorse for saying nothing in his current state, only focusing on moving forward towards the closest available seat. While others were available in the room, it was an obvious choice to make as far as selecting one which required the least amount of effort to get to, after all.

"I apologize for the delay," He announced politely, directing at Mr. and Mrs. Santoro as he grabbed hold of the back of the chair for support, slowly lowering himself down to it. He suppressed an audible sign of the struggle by clenching his jaw when he let himself plop down, his bad leg outstretched in front of him for mere seconds before he brought it back to a normal position, letting his hand move from the back of the chair, the support no longer needed. He took a deep inhale, the hand with his cane still gripped firmly pressing against his thigh as if the pressure could help at least a little. He left the concept of further explanation hanging, but supposed it could not be helped much. Excuses were never his favorite activity, not unless one counted the lies he constantly told as a child. Now-a-days, he simply left people to speculate, and often it was far too easy for them to do so.

Leslie crossed his injured leg over the other, resting both hands on the silver hilt of his cane in front of him while he leaned back, letting his gaze circle around the room at the others who'd arrived before him. Just about everyone, actually, as far as he was sure, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. There was no going back around and taking a quicker, easier rout, waking up just a few minutes before the usual time. The point of dwelling on the situation was, however, nowhere in sight.

His eyes settled on a few people at a time; the Santoros, of course, along with Dickie Glenmore, Louis Cappola, Martin and Jude, Nico Kato, the list continued onward before Leslie decided to end his scan of the room. His gaze focused on the Santoros. After all, that was where the real point of the meeting was lying. Any simple person could detect the heaviness in the air, anyway, and it hardly took a rocket scientist to know who and where it was coming from. He let his quick glances fall upon one person at a time, before falling back to the Don, who seemed near plagued with the thought of the meeting ahead of him. No one could blame him, however, it was piquing Leslie's interest further into the event before him, to say the least. After all, it had seemed a bit more along the lines of mundane business at the start of the day, but the room was simply so... weighted. At the very least, Lez was sure that a show ensued.

Max had been hit in his life more times than he could count. He had the scars, bruises, and the occasional hospital records to prove it...He grew up on the streets, lived with a bunch of mobsters, and had a mouth on him that would cost him his teeth one day. Thing was, he always at least saw the first punch coming.

Not this one.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. One moment he was fine, the next there was a flash, and then pain was irrupting from the same damn area that always got him in trouble: his mouth. It fucking hurt. Knuckles slammed into lips, skin ripped from being forced between bone, his teeth rattled so damn hard he thought he might actually lose one or all of them.

Normally, Max even knew how to get hit – roll with the punches and it doesn't hurt as bad. This time the only reason he moved was because the hit literally took him off his goddamned feet. He smacked into concrete steps on his ass, new pain sliding up his spine, before he spit blood off to his left and glared up at the asscake that just messed up his face.

The other guy, Sexy McScruffy, was holding off said Asscake. He could hear words, though they bounced around in his head and didn't really make any sense whatsoever, but it was obvious Asscake was being talked down. Max felt his fists curling at his sides, blunt fingernails digging into his palms.

He didn't get up, though. Just stayed on the ground, eyes narrowed, willing his ears to stop ringing. It was really only then that he actually realized he no longer had his lollipop...Asscake stole it. And Dropped it. On the ground. Then stomped on it mother fucker.

“Fucking cockwad,” he grumbled under his breath, feeling skin break beneath his nails. He didn't get angry a lot...but what was he going to do? Jump up and get the ever loving shit beat out of him? Because Asscake was twice his size...and probably more than a little mentally unstable. He cursed again as the men moved passed him, going for the door, and it was only just before he rubbed his bloody palms down his pants that he realized Sexy McScruffy had turned back to him.

"Right. Well." the man was digging around for something, and Max arched an eyebrow as he finally raised one of his hands to cup under his jaw. He probably looked like shit, he could feel blood traveling down his chin and just didn't want it all over his shirt...a handkerchief. He was being handed a handkerchief. Both of Max's eyebrows were up now, but after a minute he slowly reached out with his free hand to take the offered cloth. He barely had it in his grip before both men were disappearing into the building.

He stayed there for a minute, blood filling up his mouth while he pretty much regretted every life decision he ever made, then he leaned to the left again to spit out another glob of red before finally climbing to his feet.

He still had a couple of minutes before he had to be anywhere, so he took the elevator up to the third floor, keeping his mouth covered and his head down as he slid into the cafeteria, lifting a bottle of water and a salt shaker then sliding down the hall and into the mens restroom.

The handkerchief was already stained red by the time he got to soak it under warm water, but he could still use it to wipe up the mess then swish a bit of saltwater to make the bleeding stop. It took a good five minutes or so, but then he could see the damage. It could have been a lot worse...His lips would probably swell, probably bruise, but he had all his teeth so that was good enough for him. His bottom lip was split wide open, and he kept having to fight the urge to suck it into his mouth or it'd start bleeding again.

With a sigh he shook his head, rung the water out of the ruined handkerchief before running it under a hand drier, and stuffed it in his back pocket as he jogged towards one of the elevators.

---

Giovanni lingered in the doorway for a moment after his sister addressed him. Nothing in his expression gave him away, it was only his hesitation that hinted what he was thinking about. The words used...the tone...the general way she regarded him made his heart tighten in his chest. He was glad, now, that he hadn’t hugged her like he so desperately wanted.

He didn't move until Jude and Martin were sliding in the room next to him, maneuvering their way around both twins. He stood up straight then, reaching behind him to take Aluara's hand again and pull her into the room, picking a spot to sit just in front of his parents. Though he stayed standing, hands resting on the back of his wives chair.

"Our apologies, Don Carlos. We didn't mean to keep you waiting.” The don sighed at Martin's words, shaking his head lightly and dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand. He knew that this meeting was going to be a disaster...now there was just proof.

The generation was half filled with rambunctious young adults leveled out only with the few who knew what they were doing. Thankfully, with the entrance of Martin, Jude, and finally Leslie Rhodes after them made things a bit easier. He too apologized for being late, but Carlos was too exasperated to really care much.

It was then that the older man realized a new sense of heaviness weighing on the room. Elenora, seemingly for the first time, recognized Aluara Santoro was in the room. Gio was watching his sister, closely, hands lifting from the chair he was leaning on as if he might have to make some protective movement over his son or over her. Aryan, even, seemed closer to the small group than before.

Everything snapped back into place the moment Leo spoke, and Gio seemed to relax only a little, his hands falling gently onto his wives shoulders while he smiled softly down at Alphie in her arms. “He is,” he murmured. “More than you can imagine.”

Crisis adverted, Carlos deflated slightly, only really long enough to catch the look Lou shot him. He hesitated for a moment, going over his options, but this morning was too important...his eldest daughter too unpredictable, and he ended up shaking his head once.

Maxwell Parks slid into the room finally, his head ducked and one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to inconspicuously make it to one of the chairs by the door. He didn't, of course, because he was a klutz and tripped at least twice before managing to sit down.

"How many cocks you think you have to suck before taking a job as a flower girl?” His bright blue eyes glanced up at Louie's comment, soon followed by an arched eyebrow as he glanced back at on of Eleonora's men who had just finished gathering petals off the ground. He let out a snort, covering his mouth when he did, and muttered a: “More than me. Fuck, that's a lot...”

Eleonora turned away from Alaura then, a very serious expression on her face as she pointed her gaze towards Fast Louie. “Fourty-two,” she answered, as if she was stating a fact as simple and unarguable as the color of the sky.

Max laughed, hard, grabbing his sides and shaking his head. “I stand corrected.”

Gio made a face, leaving the others to converse amongst themselves before he crossed the room. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and knew that something was wrong the moment Max just shrugged. The kid was much too verbal to just shrug. “Max~” he tried to lean down to the blonde's level, but when Max moved backwards, Gio shot out his hand to grab the kid by the chin.

Max squeaked, looking up finally, and Gio felt a rush of anger. “Who hit you?” he demanded, eyes glazing over the freshly split lip, light bruising appearing around the kid's mouth. Max jerked his head back, opening his mouth to pop off something he was certain Aluara needed to cover their sons ears for, but then he...froze.

Gio arched an expectant eyebrow, following Max's gaze to the opposite end of the room...landing on Jude King. Of all people. “Ohmygod, Maxwell!” He dropped his head, running a hand down his face as he groaned. “You were not soliciting sex in front of the building again...!”

“...no?”

A snap of something hard and plastic demanded the room's attention then, and silence feel as Giovanni looked up at his mother who had purposely dropped her binder against the desk. “I think that's enough,” she said clearly, running her fingers through her dark hair. “If everyone would, please, sit down and gather around, there are some important announcements that need to be made.”

Within the interior of the meeting room was a thick, cloying tension, an additional heaviness in the air that weighed down on anyone observant enough to notice the situation. This was not singularly abnormal, however, when it came to meetings with the Santoro mob. Granted the addition of the eldest daughter giving out false platitudes towards her brother's family- Martin would rather not ruminate on what exactly was going on there, thanks very much- was an oddity, but this was around what Martin had expected. If you place enough big egos into one room, they're sure to clash, battling for dominance, and everything was just a hair's breadth away from total chaos, only the few societal norms that the mob actually clung to keeping it from devolving into hysteria. It was, Martin decided as he sank further into his chair, way too early for this.

While Jude watched on as the last members of their motley gathering filtered into the room, Martin pushed up his glasses, rubbing tired eyes with one hand. It had only been a few hours ago that he'd been in this very building, sequestered in his office like the good little worker he was, working until the time shifted from late to early on an account from a new business partner in Saudi Arabia. He was running on little sleep and even the caffeine boost from the tea Jude had broken into his apartment to fix for him(which was still vaguely kind in a psychotic sort of way) had begun to fade from his system. Maybe, when he had these early morning meetings, he should at least try coffee again…? Or maybe a coffee drink filled with so much sugar and chocolate that the coffee was just hinted at?

Jude, on the other hand, was as awake as anyone could claim to be this early in the morning, sharp eyes surveying the room. There was this delightful tension in the room, thick enough to cut with a knife- something that he'd be tempted to attempt for boredom's sake but refrained from doing so because half of the people in the room would not react well to seeing an open knife, no matter who's holding the blade. However, quite unfortunately, everything had come to a standstill, only the deliciously fake trivialities passed between the blood members of the Santoro family(Eleonora, he was quite sure, was far too like himself for him to fall for her innocent sister act) and the caustic wit of one Fast Louie doing anything to break the tedium. That is, until the distinct sound of stumbling caught his attention. It couldn't be- his grin grew to levels that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. Oh, oh this was fantastic, wasn't it?

Martin was woken from his sleep-deprived stupor by a finger being pressed incessantly into his side. There was only one person he knew that invaded his personal space with such ease and eagerness. He slid his glasses back into place and noticed two things. One, Giovanni Santoro was fretting over someone in the middle of the meeting room with, which, considering it wasn't anyone Martin instantly recognized, was a bit odd. And, two, Jude was beaming at him, eyes glittering with barely contained mirth, which either meant that he'd thought of something hilarious or was about to do something socially unacceptable, or, more likely than not, a combination between the two.

"What…?" Then it clicked. Oh. Oh, Lord. The boy currently being fawned over by the Don's son was the boy from earlier, lip split open but the blood already starting to congeal. And here was Jude, beaming and still poking him incessantly, like a child showing off a homework assignment to his parent that he'd gotten a smiley face on. 'See, Marty?' Jude's expression eagerly conveyed, 'Didn't I do good? That is a bloody fantastic split lip.' Martin groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. What were the odds? Fantastic. Fan-freaking-tastic. It was far too early for this.

"Who hit you?" The question rang in the duo's ears as Martin sank lower in his chair and Jude straightened up, hands clasped in front of him, smile shrinking from a beaming grin to a content smile, an artist waiting humbly for appropriate acknowledgement for his work. He wasn't disappointed as anger flashed to realization to shock to rage on the Santoro boy's face, rounding on the poof with all of disbelief he could muster. Martin, who would have preferred never to meet their little friend ever again, just sighed for the third time that day.

The sound of plastic clattering across the meeting table drew both of their attentions and an immediate shift overtook the two men. Martin rose in his chair, back straightening out until he was once more seated like a normal human being, not like a teenager who was particularly embarrassed by whoever they were with. His tired eyes gained focus, leveling on the Don and Donna of the Santoro family with all of the attention a meeting like this required. Jude, on the other hand, swiveled in his seat to face Don Carlos and his wife, elbows pressed against the table as he leaned towards them, all of his attention now solely on them.

The announcement wasn't a complete surprise- the rumor had made its way around the office gossip mill several times by now and it seemed, if not optimal, then inevitable that it would be Giovanni Santoro who would be named as the new Don when his father officially retired from the business. Still, to hear it spoken by the man himself was enough to bring its own shock with it. As the assignments were administered, Jude's smile completely faded away, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes darted over to the boy who had the gaul to think he could become the Santoro's family next Don after the shit he tried to pull only a few years back. He was weak and had yet to earn respect from the consummate professionals in the room, which made him seem terribly inadequate.

Eleonora fled first, her excuse about parking meters hollow and as obvious a lie as any, and Jude was sorely tempted to join her, to leave the room and jump ship before it could officially sink with this wrong choice when a hand caught his wrist in a tight grip. Martin wasn't looking at him, was instead staring ahead as he had before, posture upright and head bobbing in an understanding nod. Jude sat back as Martin relinquished his grip, his initial ire quelled as reality set in as dictated by Martin's simple gesture.

Martin, in comparison to everyone else in the room, was in a unique position. He hadn't grown up fighting the man from the bottom of society, had never known the need or environment that drove men and women to break laws with little care. He hadn't grown up in a wealthy family either, hadn't known what it was like to be in power over others. No, for the entirety of his life he had been somewhere in the middle, a subservient sort of role. It made him realize something that perhaps no one else in the room had; leaving wasn't an option. It was just a pretty phrase meant to calm and cajole, but he knew, he knew that none of them ever really had the option to say so long and waltz out those doors for good. Not here, not now.

"I take it that we're going to begin immediately," He said dryly as he made steady eye contact with her, voice calm despite the situation.