New Model City


PROLOGUE
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St. Alben's Hotel, Broca Heights
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February 12th, 1933
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6:45 PM
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Rain pattered against the window as Adolfo looked out on the street, smoke curling around his face from the cigarette wedged between his lips. On the other side of the pane, a line was forming at the Holy Cross Church for the afternoon breadline. Rain fell on the stooped and battered figures of out-of-work men, pining at the church for their daily bread.


"Good times to be in the business, eh kid?" The voice of the vulgar man behind him drew his attention back from the window and into the dimly lit hotel room that he actually stood in. Adolfo took the cigarette between his index and middle finger and flicked ash on the dingy green carpet before looking up at the grizzled face of the middle aged man who shared the room with him. Emilio Umberrato, part of the old guard of the Abandano Family, a capo with keen senses...a dangerous adversary.


"Sure." Adolfo said, dismissively. "Cigarette?"


Emilio nodded in the affirmative. Adolfo removed one of the cigarettes from the white package of menthols in his coat pocket, and handed it to Emilio--now an arm's length away. He took a steel lighter out of his pocket and struck it. Emilio leaned forward as he lit his cigarette, then blew smoke in Adolfo's face. He held his breath and let the cloud of smoke disappate before speaking.


"Mr. Umberrato," he said, "my family would be willing to provide you with protection, money, women, whatever you want."


"Of course, the standard package." Umberrato countered. "But what do you want from me, in return?"


Adolfo put down his cigarette in the ash tray. "Names, the names of everyone in the Abandano organization, their ranks, their salary... Their addresses, aliases. We want all of it."


"To do what?"


Adolfo smirked, "Information first. It was my understanding that you were here to sell your family out, Mr. Umberrato. Why the questions?"


"You ever thought.." Emilio started as he went to look out the other window, beside Adolfo, "of how much you learn about your enemies by talking rather than shooting?"


Adolfo tightened his jaw. Umberrato continued.


"Well, I knew the Marinellos were cowards, because they talk more than they walk." He said. "But I didn't know that you wouldn't even do your own talkin'. You want me, as a mouthpiece."


"One smooth-talking lawyer with his briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns, Mr. Umberrato." Adolfo said, sensing the meeting was taking an unexpected turn. Emilio was unarmed, the guards had made sure of that, but he was still much bigger than him. He balled up his right hand and relaxed it a few times as he spoke.


"True, but when men with guns do it, is it really stealing? God hasn't made man equal, man has. You're just taking what rightfully belongs to you, y'know?" Emilio said, smiling a crooked yellow smile. He took a step closer.


"Do you think you can kill me and make it out of here?" Adolfo asked.


"No," Emilio admitted, flicking dust off the shoulder of his dingy tan sports coat, "but I have lived my life and done my service, and what better final mission than to kill the next Don Marinello? To kill the weed at the source."


Adolfo swung, but Emilio was prepared and deflected with his meaty forearms, catching the Marinello off-balance and hitting him with a devastating right hook that sent him reeling. He hit the wall hard enough to cave in the sheetrock. Somewhere downstairs, gunfire erupted. Adolfo looked up at Emilio before regaining his feet.


"I'll kill you."


"Ain't doin' great so far, kid."


Emilio launched another hook, but Adolfo sidestepped and cleared the corner, stepping around the bed before grabbing the knob of the bedside table. By the time Emilio had lunged over the bed, Adolfo was brandishing a revolver, but the force of the Abandano capo hitting him was enough to make him lose his grip and send the gun flying towards the middle of the room.


Adolfo gained his feet first, and lunged for the revolver, but Emilio was there only a second later and stepped on his hand, forcing him to relinquish his grip on the weapon. He sprung to his feet as Emilio launched another punch, and he was able to grab his arm and use his own weight to launch him into the far wall, sending him crashing through the sheetrock and hitting his head on the exposed waterpipes in the wall. Emilio slumped, knowing he had been beaten. Adolfo picked up the gun and crossed the room to where his adversary lay, blood trickling down out of his hat from a head injury.


Adolfo pressed the gun under his chin.


"It was a good try, but I suppose I'm just your better, eh Emilio?"


"The Marinello line is like vermin. You bring your guns to battle, but do not pull the trigger."


"You want to bet I won't pull this trigger, Umberatto?"


"Do it, it will change nothing. Your family will burn like Nero's Rome. You don't have the warrior's---"


The sound of a revolver being discharged and a bullet caving in Emilio's skull reverberated through the hotel room. Adolfo stood up straight and wiped blood and brain matter off of his face.


"God, I wish they would just fucking shut up, sometimes."


The door burst open, a Marinello soldier emerged brandishing a pistol. "You okay boss?"


"Yeah, what happened downstairs?"


"The Abandanos made a move on us, but Jimmy got em' with a machine gun between two cars. It's a bloodbath, boss. We gotta go, this place will be crawling with cops in ten minutes."


Adolfo nodded. "You drive, take the North Bridge and don't slow down once."








Marinello Compound, Italian Quarter
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7:13 PM
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"I promise you, Don Marinello, they made it out alright. I can't..."


The door opened, shedding some light from the hallway on the dark interior of the Don's office. In the door, Adolfo stood. He looked to be wiping something off of his tie, before looking towards the guard who had been speaking only seconds ago.


"Leave us." Said the Don, quietly, waving his hand. The guard left the room, passing by Adolfo and shutting the door behind him, leaving Adolfo in the room with his father.


The office, unlit though it was, was richly decorated with mahogany furniture. In the corner, the fire in the hearth was in its death throws. Adolfo took a few lumps of coal from the box near the mantle and tossed them in before making his way past his father's desk to look out the window. It was still raining, the raindrops falling on the grounds of the Marinello Compound, an oasis of green encapsulated in a stone wall near enough the industrial buildings of the Foundry to smell the smoke, but close enough to the Italian Quarter for it to conflict with the smell of canoli. It wasn't the nicest place to put a house, but it was a nice house.


Outside the window, cars were rolling up the drive while Marinello guards, brandishing rifles and long shotguns, stood in the guard boxes and watched. Don Marinello, a man of about fifty, hunched and grey, did not turn around but merely spoke.


"What happened at the meeting?"


"Emilio Umberrato was sent there to kill me."


"I thought so."


Adolfo turned around abruptly. "You thought so?" He asked, more of demanded.


"Yes, the one wanting to make the deal would be a false flag. They took our love of peace and turned it against us."


"Pops," Adolfo said, incredulously, "he could've killed me."


"But he didn't." Don Marinello reminded him, turning around in his chair. The Don had a long, slender face that was well-lined with stress and age, balding but with grey hair clinging to the temples, and a certain twinkle in his eyes that communicated an immense, if somewhat frightening, intellect.


"It was the only way to be sure. There was always the chance I was wrong. Plus, now that you have survived this dastardly attempt on your life," he said the last part ironically, "you can take your case to the Kellies. Make them see that the Abandanos don't respect the honor of thieves."


"Can the Abandanos out-gun the Kellies?"


"Maybe, but we can clean up the mess." Don Marinello turned back around in his chair. "This war just needs to end. We're losing guys faster than we can take 'em in. How long is it before we go to the mattresses?"


"It won't come to that, surely. The Abandanos haven't pressed us that hard before."


"Adolfo, my boy..." He sighed. "Don Abandano has a war-time consigliere. He whispers nothing but blood in his ears all day. How can we expect him to hear reason?"


"What about the Lucianos?"


"What about them? I can't trust 'Lucky' as far as I can throw him. No one can..."


Adolfo nodded. Don Marinello smiled and said, "Clean the blood off your suit, boy. Mama's making her gnocchi." He gave his son an affectionate slap on the face, which he shied away from embarrassed.


Outside, the cars that were arriving were Marinello men being sent in to reinforce security at the Compound, in case of an attack. In their inner sanctum, they stood under trees in the rain brandishing long guns. Inside the house, a record player was going in the parlor as a few of the household guard were sipping table wine and waiting for Mama Marinello to finish dinner. Adolfo found the room after putting on a new suit and tie, and when he entered he immediately clapped his arm around the nearest guard.


"Mopin' around here all day? Too bad you missed all the action."


"Hey, Addy," the guard turned around, "heard you whacked Umberrato."


"Yeah, but he about handed me my ass. Son of a bitch was built like a linebacker."


"He was a linebacker."


"Well shit, what is this? Abandano trivia night? Get me a drink, will ya?"


A glass made the rounds and ended up in Adolfo's hand, who smiled and raised a toast. "To family."


"To family." The men echoed, with small, toothless smiles.


"Salut." Adolfo muttered as he sipped wine, straight from the Marinello cellar, shipped from the family vineyard in California.


 
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Lorenzo Cullen
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The stench of brandy and smoke filled the hotel bar, laughing and yelling outshining the light sound of the lobby piano playing. Trying to focus on the piano, Lorenzo took a sip of his whiskey, then glancing at his boss Adolfo. He was sent for security tonight unfortunately, but at least the drink were free. Finishing the bottom of the glass, he rested his elbows on the table with a sigh. But his boredom was soon quenched as he heard the voices pick up their volume. Glancing over at the window, where a soilder stood ready, Lorenzo quickly gestured his head to the door. Lighting a cigarette casually, as he heard a crash, then some more yelling followed by the sound of a revolver. Taking a drag and picking up his hat off the bar, he looked over at the situation which unfolded. The soilder stood at the door holding the rifle, the dead man on top of Adolfo. Smiling, he extended his hand to help up his boss, before following him to his car, taking a seat in the passengers seat. He knew the Don wouldn't be to fond of the fight tonight.
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Around 30 minutes later the Marinello car, which was heavily armed pulled up to the home where the group help up. Stepping out of his seat, opening the door for his boss, and let him pass. Lorenzo knew he wasn't allowed in the meeting, and frankly he could give a shit what went down. Leaning against the cool brick exterior wall, placing his foot against it and tucking his hands in his pocket. "I want this place guarded!" He yelled out into the night once Adolfo was inside. and watched his men scramble to get a gun. He'd wait to go inside until Clark or the other Capo arrived.
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Guagenti Law Practice, Downtown
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7:00 PM
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"Uncle Nestore!" 


The voice belonged to one of the family's enforcers, a former amateur boxer by the name of Ricci. The call took Nestore by surprise, as his mind had been in another world, contemplating the continued value of his shipping vessel. It wasn't paying too well, with global exporting in the garbage after the Crash. 


"What is it, Ricci?" The consigliere mutters with clear annoyance. He had always told these boys he didn't like being disturbed unless it was of the utmost importance, and they never failed to bug him with the most minor of nuisances. When he looked up to shoot the boy a glare, however, he was greeted by the sight of a shotgun cradled across Ricci's arms. 


"Its the Abandanos, Uncle. Shot at some of our boys and tried to bury Adolfo. Capo sent me and the boys to getcha, and keep the Madam and Rosa safe. Don wants ta see you." Ricci explains quickly. Through the windows, the other two men sent to keep watch over his wife and daughter waved at him. 


"Let me get my briefcase. Can't keep the Don waiting, can we?" Nestore mutters before rising from his chair. He dons the brown long-coat draped over his chair and puts on his hat, then heads upstairs, to his family's apartment. His wife and daughter were remarkably used to such sudden absences, as they were well aware of the manner of his business. After retrieving his antique pistol and loading it, he tucks it into his coat and returns to Ricci. He'd never used the gun, never so much as killed a man, but it made sense to carry one on such nights. 


"Uncle? Thought you said you needed to get your briefcase." Ricci comments, tilting his head to the side. 


"And I've got my briefcase. Lets go." Nestore replies, brushing past the man and pulling his coat open just enough to display the ivory handle of the pistol within. As he opened the door to leave, his other hand grabbed the cane propped up against the wall. 


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Marinello Compound, Italian Quarter
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7:20 PM
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The streetcar carrying the Consigliere, Ricci, and their driver pulled up at the compound entrance, and one of the men on guard approached to open Nestore's door. He stepped out, murmuring a gracious "Thank you" before patting the man on the shoulder and walking slowly through the rain. His arthritic hip was a nuisance, but he did pose quite the figure in the rain, punctuating each step with a thump against the cobblestone with his cane. 


He entered the parlor first, the conversation within going silent as he passed the threshold. A quick chorus of "Hello, Uncle"s greeted him and he gave a slight nod. One of the boys approached and Nestore gave him his soaked hat and coat before speaking. 


"It is a great joy to see you are all still with us." He says softly, then gestures to Adolfo with his cane. "Quite the shiner you've got there, lad. Lady friend hit you?" He asked, getting a chuckle out of a few of the men. 


"But, jokes aside, I'm glad to see you're well. Mr. Marinello asked to speak with me, I believe. Is the Don available, or is he occupied with your mother's exquisite cooking?" Nestore continued, having picked up the scent of gnocchi as he walked in. Though it was certainly something of an emergency, he wasn't one to interrupt dinner. Manners, manners, manners. 
 

Kenny Torres
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             He just wanted one day where he didn't have to look over his shoulder every ten minutes. One day. He didn't get that one day. Instead, he got news of the Underboss being attacked by an Abandano member. He awaited orders silently as he sat against a wall, though questions, as always, raced through his mind. Was the Underboss okay? What happened to the other guy? Did anyone get hurt? Does this mean all-out war? Kenny had lost himself in his thoughts when a familiar voice yelled, "I want this place guarded!"


            Kenny sprung to his feet and grabbed his .38 revolver off the ground. He checked to make sure it was loaded, holstered it, and then found a rifle. He stood guard outside, unable to stop the heavy rise and fall of his chest. He was scared. As one of the youngest of the family, certainly the youngest soldier, he was still prone to some moments of fear. This was one of them. His hands shook restlessly on his gun. Where are the Abandos? Did they follow Adolfo back? The questions never stopped racing. It wasn't his place to ask, but he wanted to desperately.
 
"Glad to see you made it safe, Nestore." came a genteel voice from the hall. 


"Don Marinello." Someone said, and the room got quiet in reverence. Even Adolfo dropped the smile he had cracked at Nestore's joke. The Don appeared in the doorway, his grey hair seeming almost white and keen dark eyes scanning the room. "The dinner won't be long now, but Mama still has to finish the sauce. Someone tell the boys in the yard that dinner will be sent to them." 


Don Salasar Marinello looked towards his childhood friend, Nestore and ushered him into his office. When the pair had gone into the office, a guard shut the door behind them. 


"Thank you, for coming over Nestore." Don Marinello began. "I'm sure you have heard by now that Emilio Umberrato was indeed a false flag, like you suspected. It was a risky maneuver, but we've forced Don Abandano's hand." The Don fell back into his leather chair behind the desk. The fire in the fireplace had regained it's luster by now and through a pale glow about the dark room. 
 

T H E  S P I D E R
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7: 20 PM


Clark would reach on the same location with his own car without much protection or guards around him, keeping a low profile for everyone to even notice. He parked up near by just to relax, laying over his seat, taking his time to breath as he thought, "Another hand to shake. A rational idea. Mix it with casual moments of social behavior such as dinner. Blood and food." he reached to open the door and move out the car, setting it off.


Once the door is closed, he would fix his own suit and stare down the gate, but his sight would only slide towards Lorenzo who may not be aware of Clark's presence just yet. "Good." another thought invading his mind like if the two different personalities started to discuss the next move, "Lorenzo, just when I thought this would be a quiet dinner." he started to walk towards the man as he let his thoughts continue forward, "A brute, a weapon perfect to become a tool, yet alone... without a goal... becomes useless. Do not worry now, Lorenzo, you are in good hands."


Once Lorenzo may or may not notice Clark, The Spider would smile and nod towards him. His hands would remain inside his pant's pockets, always his hiding posture-like. "Lorenzo, are you waiting on someone?" "Clarify what is obvious, make yourself clear with your idea..." he then directed his attention towards the door, ready to move forward and continue his charade with the rest of people. 
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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Crossing his arms after taking a drag, Lorenzo watched as car after car came up to the Marinello household. First it was Nestore, who he completely ignored since his mind was wandering elsewhere.
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The cold February wind blowing his mind to a distant memory, one in Germany. Feeling ropes upon his wrists as if they were tied, looking down urgently to see nothing but the sleeves of his coat. Damn it! As of late his mind hadn't been all the way there, often drifting off to a unrelated memory in Germany or some part of the War, which throughly annoyed him.
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But out of the corner of his eye, spotting a pair of bright headlights flicker out, and slow footsteps approached him. Lorenzo's cold icy eyes making contact with Clark's mahogany pair, as he tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it with his foot for good measure. Clark was a main of wits, always having a way to do something efficiently, and in a way for Lorenzo to enjoy. Dipping his head to Clark in response, everyone knew he wasn't much one for words, only speaking when he chose to. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes, gesturing it to Clark to take one if he wanted to. Glancing over Clark's shoulder, he noticed a wandering eye of a young soilder. Glaring at the young man, who ran off to the other side of the home not wanting to be caught in his crosshairs. "Drink?" Lorenzo asked Clark, who he knew he'd get his invitation to their usual watering hole.
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Darcy K. Marinello
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Darcy slipped into the back of her limo,
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fur pulled tightly around her. The night was far too chilly for her liking...
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"The compound," she demanded, shutting her side door, "Step on it." 
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The driver did as commanded, speeding along as she fixed her red lipstick in a compact mirror. 
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The driver, a younger Italian boy with a thin, wiry figure and greased back hair stole glances at her all the way.
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She pursed her lips in annoyance, "Are you new, daor?" She asked, looking at him with interest. 
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Her nodded quickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. 
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"Y-yes ma'am." 
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Her gaze morphed into a glare, her green eyes gaining an almost predatory glow.
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"Then you haven't heard the rules," she snapped, "Number one, do not stare at me. " she said, her voice dripping with malice.
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The boy's eyes snapped forward, his frame slightly trembling as he was sweating profusely. 
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"Yes ma'am!"
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"And one last thing...?" She said, pausing to light a cigarette, "I expect a Soixante Quinze cocktail waiting for home when return from dinner, got it?" 
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The boy nodded once more, and she smiled.
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"Good. Now drive faster, I refuse to make Mama wait." 
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T H E  S P I D E R
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Clark stared at him, having no verbal respond but a very clear one with the cold look on his eyes. "Silence. Of course, he isn't the kind that needs to put a mask. But the kind people that scare away with the eyes." he then saw the cigarettes and rejected them, grinning and moving his right hand. He then positioned himself to encounter him for a chat, obviously a very short one. He do notice the young soldier running away, but it wasn't his business... 


But then Lorenzo spoke,... Drinks. "Drinks. Whatever is needed to get him to talk. I will just pretend I drink, he never notice, he won't notice today." "I do always eat before my drinks but I won't be so unkind to leave this one slide." he nodded once more, his smile becoming a very friendly and warm one. The perfect model of a good friend that share one, maybe two drinks with. He wouldn't cross his arms or look away from Lorenzo now as he expected him to lead. "One drink, then back to the dinner." "You lead." "I rather have you looking forward than right behind me."
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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Lorenzo rolled his eyes, Clark intrested him in an odd way, his eagerness always weirded him out. The only reason he'd offer him to a drink was to study the man, and the two were alongside each other. Not saying more, he lead the way to the door, in which a frightened soilderd stood holding it for the two of them. He knew Mama wouldn't mind them, they were of rank and welcomed in the home, plus the old woman loved everyone. 
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"Evening Mrs. Marinello," Lorenzo said simply as he made his way into the kitchen. He'd knew she'd chew his head off insisting to call her her Mama, which he honestly didn't like doing. He wasn't going to stay for dinner either, he'd have a bite now so he wouldn't hurt her feelings. " 'Fraid I won't be able to stay for dinner Mama, i've got some overdue business to attend to." Grabbing the bottle of brandy  and a pair of glasses, in which he set on the table pouring his own. Setting the bottle down for Clark, he held his cold gaze as he took a drink.
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Darcy K. Marinello 
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The limo pulled up out front, the driver hurrying out to open the door for the passenger. 
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Darcy then began to exit, one long, bare leg leading, then another. She then stood, readjusting her fur as the chauffeur closed her door and scrambled back to the front. 
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She gracefully began walking up from the car, a diamond studded clutch in one silk-gloved hand, the other crossed over her chest, a large diamond ring on her finger, concealed in the white plush fur coat. Her dainty heels clicked on the pavement as she casually waved to a few soldiers and such milling about. 
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"It's good to be home." She murmured, her  red lips pursed in a small smirk. 
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Her carrot red hair identified her quickly, but she was obviously at ease among her Italian in-laws. 
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Nestore remained silent until the door was shut behind them, merely nodding in deference to his superior as he entered the room. He could feel the fear practically radiating off of some of the younger members. They'd have to learn sooner rather than later the reason they ought to cower - loyalty, not fear. 


"I am always available to be of your service, Salasar." Nestore murmurs, crossing over closer to the fireplace. He turned three quarters of the way to face the Don, while slightly tilted toward the fire. The warmth was welcome, and over the years they had gradually whittled away some of the subtler signs of deference; taking a seat, constant eye contact, the like. Their relationship was merely understood rather than constantly reaffirmed by such meaningless gestures, and Nestore was wise enough to know his place. 


"Risky indeed. The Abandanos will not suffer the death of a Capo without retaliation. I suspect they have more plans in mind for the evening. If Adolfo was the target, he must remain home for the evening. His mother would be in fits if he left the Compound." Nestore replies, his shadow wobbling gently on the wall behind him as he nods. 


"You know me, Salasar. I am not a man of war, but even I cannot let such offense go without answer. If it is war the Abandanos want, it is war they shall have. I have received word that a ship will be reaching the Waterfront this evening with Abandanos' cargo. Whether we burn or steal it is no matter to me, but I propose we begin with their pocketbook. Shall I send word for..." Nestore paused, stopping himself from saying 'the Wolf." Such names annoyed him. "Shall I send word for Mr. Cullen? I believe he is fit for the job."
 

T H E  S P I D E R
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He continued to smile until Lorenzo faced the door, his faked smile faded away in moments knowing he didn't need to fake anything for just seconds before continue. When he entered with Lorenzo, he could hear how he said Mrs Marinello instead of Mama. "How impractical..." "Mama, please excuse us. We are very thirsty." gentle touch, a very long and warm glance, and words that came in form of roses... The charming yet humble, Clark, respectful as always.


He continued his way along with Lorenzo and the cup of glasses that he had on hand as he commented that he wouldn't be for the dinner, he struggle not to speak up before his commentary, insisting he remain near by the building, "We have better priorities, Lorenzo doesn't need to be vigilante more than needed." "Well, I would love to attend the dinner but I don't think it would be proper." he smiled once more, his hand reaching for his own glass, moving up in order for a toast, though Lorenzo has already began. He followed lead with a single quick sip as if he was testing the drink rather than enjoying. "We should be focus on the people around us rather than Lorenzo. He is too focus on us... we must deflect him."  as much as his thoughts flew free upon his constant paranoia, Clark seemed calm and happy, enjoying the drink with his best drink-buddy, nothing outside the normal. His suit is clean, his shoes shine and his smile captures everyone's optimist. "Pathetic..." he thinks once more.
 

[SIZE= 24px]Kenny Torres[/SIZE]
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Capos. The most terrifying thing on the planet earth. Kenny couldn't help but stare when Lorenzo and Clark met up with each other. Questions raced through his mind, unable to stop the hundreds of inquires in his brain. The nervous energy started building up in him and he had to tap his foot to stop himself from bursting. He was about to get comfortable in his observation of the two Capos. Then Lorenzo glared at Kenny.
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There is nothing more terrifying than being noticed. Kenny decided when a certain Capo noticed his wandering gaze. Kenny's grip on his gun tightened, his eyes went wide, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He couldn't help but run off to the other side of the building, hoping against hope that he wasn't going to get in trouble for staring. He scolded himself for being so stupid. He should have known not to stare at the Capos. They were his superiors. He should have known better.
​
 

Darcy K. M.
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Darcy entered the Compound, immediately seeking out Mama. 
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Once she found the matron, she wrapped her arms around her in a hug. 
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"Mama, mo stór, mio caro!" She kissed each of her cheeks, "I've missed you." She turned to the rest of the room, flashing a warm smile. 
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"Hello." 
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She leaned into one hip, the smile still on her lips, 
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"Anyone care to fix a girl a drink?" 
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Lorenzo Cullen
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Clark was always a charmer, which he displayed apologizing for his rudeness. But everyone in New Model knew he wasn't a nice guy, but he would be respectful to those who deserved it, which is why he called her Mama the second time. Taking another sip of his drink, and watched as Adolfo's girl, Darcy waltzed in. She was a beauty, her scarlet red hair matching her lips, but of course he respected his boss. Pouring the woman a drink due to her remark, then handing it to her as his lip twitched to a polite smile.  "Why do you talk so much?" Lorenzo asked simply, turning his attention back to Clark.
​


The room began to fill quickly, seeing as the meeting ended, and he'd know he'd need to leave soon. He didn't have any current plans for once, maybe he'd go rough some guy up Downtown by his apartment.
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Don Marinello
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The Don steepled his fingers. "Yes... After the dinner has settled in their stomachs, have Mr. Cullen pick some men and go out to the docks."


He looked up at Nestore. "Tell them to exercise the utmost care. I don't want to write condolence letters. I'm not the Army Board." He settled back in his chair.


Adolfo Marinello
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The sound of implements raking against china was deafening as twenty men in suits crowded around the massive polished oak dinner table, presided over by the large-and-in-charge Mama Marinello, with a giant pot in one hand and a large wooden spoon in another.


"Grazi, Mama Marinello," one of the guards said slyly as he tried to leave without seconds.


"You're so thin, Georgio." She said in a thick Milanese accent. "No girl will want a man so thin. Eat eat!" She said, slapping more food onto his plate. If she had her way, all of these men would have the buttons on their coats bursting off. At least the food was good, exquisitely good.


The first disturbance came in the form of Lorenzo and Clark, who came in to grab a quick bite. They were higher ups, so they got a pass on the typical "you need to eat" lecture. Although, before they had left a comely redhead in a silk dress had entered the room and embraced Mama, who went along with an outburst of womanly zeal in the testosterone charged environment. Adolfo averted his gaze. He hadn't spoken to Darcy in a few months, and even then it wasn't really "speaking," per say. His sister-in-law, and Henry Kelly's sister. There was a reason that the Abandanos and Lucianos called them the "Irish Gang," they were almost as green blooded as the Kellies. It helped the relationship between the two families, but the other Cosa Nostra weren't keen on the intermingling.


Adolfo cleared his plate while his mother was thus distracted and made his way back into the parlor. Duke Ellington was playing on the victorola in the corner and the room was full of cigar smoke from lazy guards having their after-dinner smoke breaks. He took a cigarette and lit up, adding to the haze in the room.



 
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T H E  S P I D E R
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Clark raises both eyebrow as he saw Lorenzo helping the woman on his desperate need for a drink, though Clark would be ready to do such thing if no one else would, yet it was not on his plans. Nevertheless, Lorenzo done something magical for Clark, interested in how he moved to pour the drink on the woman's glass, the way he smiled. He couldn't manage to get the full view but he could somehow see it by the reflection of the glass, the liquid, the projection he self imagine on his perversion through the woman's eyes... all that as his glance just shifted slightly over his shoulder.


He then got attacked by such inquiry. "Considering you don't even talk. I will ever be a chatter to you..." he smiled as he answered, "For the same reason you gave her something to drink." he grinned, hand making the drink dance on his glass as he took another short sip, "The real question is to know why? A hell of a gamble..." "I completely disagree he would ever have my same motto..." his eyes obviously obligating the woman that just entered, never cared about woman in that way. "They are too... unpredictable." he thought for himself, giving her a small space on his mind just to consider her as a resource to be exploit. 
 
"Of course, Don Marinello." Nestore replies, tapping his cane on the floor. He bowed his head slightly, uttered a farewell, then departed to the dining room. 


He bypassed the majority of those present, making his way straight to Mama Marinello. "Missus Marinello, a pleasure to see you. I trust you're keeping the boys well fed? I'd love a taste, but Valentina already stuffed me full of spaghetti earlier." He says, exchanging a quick greeting gesture with the matron before departing. "And you, gentlemen. Eat up, and ease up on the drinks. Better to do business with a clear head, is it not?" 


A faint, apprehensive mumbling answered him as he turned to address Cullen. "Miss Darcy, I hope I'm not interrupting, but I really must take Mr. Cullen off your hands for a moment. Business matters. You understand." He said pleasantly. "The parlor will do, Mr. Cullen, and if you're still in a bartending mood, I'd be grateful for a Negroni, the Florence varietal. Vermouth rosso, Campari, London dry gin. Over ice, with orange bitters if there are any." 


Nestore shuffled past the man, out into the smokey parlor where some of the men, Adolfo included, were gathered. One of the younger guards quickly offered a cigarette, though the Consigliere politely refused and took a seat in the corner of the room. 
 

Darcy K. M.
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She made eyes at the man who handed her a drink... 
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Lorenzo, was it. 
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She lazily looked over at Adolfo as he entered and quickly left. 
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She cleaned her plate fairly easily, sipped her drink, and then gasped.
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"I forgot my coat is still on. Silly,"
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she removed her coat, revealing the sexy gown underneath. 
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"Much better."
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[SIZE= 14px]The draped it over her seat, standing and sauntering over to Lorenzo and the other men.[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]She sipped her drink, red lips pursed as she stood, simply listening and observing. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]She looked back over to Nestore.[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]"Not at all, sir. I understand."[/SIZE]
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Lorenzo Cullen
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Biting his lip in irritation of Clark's remark, he was just being polite, he had zero intrest in the woman. "Cut the bullshit," Lorenzo said simply, as he watched Nestores walk in with his icy cold eyes. Narrowing them as the man spoke, and dipped his head once he finished, following him into the parlor, glad to leave behind the twat Clark.
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Keeping his usual straight face as he began to make the drink Nestore requested, even though he'd rather cut the man's throat out with his knife. After a short while he finished, making it to his request then handing it to the man. Leaning against the mantle, crossing his arms as he dipped his head to gesture to the man to speak.
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Adolfo Marinello
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Adolfo watched as Nestore entered with Mr. Cullen. He was itching to know what was said in the office. He knew the prudent course of action was to hit the Abandanos back, tonight. He wondered in what form the retribution would take.


He decided to lean against the wall near the bar and watch as Lorenzo made Nestore a drink, contempt somewhat easily detectable in his eyes. Adolfo had always thought that the two capos, Cullen and Clark, were promoted more on merit than out of love or loyalty. Sometimes, that's a dangerous kind of person, sometimes it's the sort you need.  
 
Nestore waited patiently for the Capo to arrive with his drink. Once it had been brought to him, he took a sip and set it on the small table next to his chair. "Your speed is appreciated, Mister Cullen." Nestore murmurs. 


"There is a boat coming into the Waterfront today. It belongs to our good friends the Abandanos. I'm under the impression its cargo is a stolen load of firearms from an Army surplus warehouse. Leftovers from the war, I believe." Nestore explains, scanning the man with his eyes. "We will not win this war if the enemy possesses crates of liberated German grenades. Take your men, and the young Mr. Torres, to the dock. Insure the cargo comes into our ownership or ends up at the bottom of the bay. The details are up to you, Capo. Its the dock by that little Jewish bakery on 37th; don't make a mess of the place. They've never missed a protection payment, after all." 


Nestore coughs off to the side, then looks back up at the man. "And do feel free to set the ship alight. It is expected to reach the Waterfront at 10 P.M. and unload its cargo. That gives you... a little over an hour to prepare. I look forward to hearing you regale tales of your first strike against the scum."
 

[COLOR= rgb(39, 42, 52)]Lorenzo Cullen[/COLOR]
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Crossing his arms as he listened to Netstore intently, occasionally his icy eyes wandering to Adolfo or another member in the room. He was gratefully he wouldn't have to drag along Clark, knowing he was the favored Capo due to his ruthless methods, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the chipper man. Once he finished Lorenzo dipped his head, "Of course Sir," He said with a glint in his eyes, the kind a dog gets when they get a whiff of the squirrel that drives them crazy. Making his way to the door, he turned his head around right before he left. "And you won't be hearing the story from me, i'm not one to brag. It'll be the young men outside drunk off the rush." 
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Making his way outside, quickly pulling his newsboy cap from his coat, and setting it on his head. "Torres! Get a group of 3 and get a car! We need to set shop off 37th!"
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