New Model City


KENNY TORRES
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Kenny sat silently for a while, staring at the gun now halfway across the room from him. The Spider was gonna kill him anyways, right? The Don's been shot, and Kenny couldn't stop it, so maybe he did deserve to be killed. It's not like the Don was ever gonna forgive him. Sure, Adolfo seemed thankful that Kenny had gotten his father to the hospital, but if the Don doesn't make it, Kenny would probably be the first to get the axe. Kenny struggled to get up as his deep wound in his side protested, and walked over to his gun. He picked it up, unloaded it, and put the gun back in his pocket. He then left his secluded room.


Kenny went downstairs to see the Spider outside and he paled. He covered his cut with his hand and tried to stay as quiet as possible. Kenny went down to the bathroom and grabbed some guaze so he could bind his cut and hoped against all hope the Spider didn't see him.


@ShadowBroker @Proxploxtops
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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As the two exited the train, Lorenzo's icy eyes darted at the police officers. There was so many of them.... The warning shot didn't even faze him, as his eyes widened in a look he rarely exposed to the world, the look of fear.
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But he wasn't in New Haven anymore, no he was back in Germany. His arms dangled in chains above his head, legs bent on the moist cobblestone floor of a basement he never knew where. His ragged breath filled with the taste of warm blood from a fresh beating, and his icy eyes filled with fear. Lorenzo felt a hand grasp his shoulder, a man he knew all to well. "Wir hoffen jedoch, dass sie bei Ihrer Reiseplanung weiterhilft.." The voice of a man he knew all to well said as he came into Lorenzo's view. His sleek brown hair was brushed back into his hat, German uniform shining though in the darkness of the basement. "Ihr etwas anderes junger Mann. Deine wie ein Wolf, du gibst niemals auf. Dieser Name passt zu Ihnen. Du wirst einen guten German-Jungen machen..." 
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Snapping back into reality, he looked over at Eliza, her beautiful eyes quivered with concern. He somehow threw on a weak smile, as he stroked a strand of hair from her face. "It'll be ok..." Kissing her for a brief moment, then pulling her into a desperate hug. He needed solace, he just wanted this mess of a love to end... He barely felt the police throw him to the ground, it was all distant to him as his eyes were still locked with hers. Closing his eyes in the dirt, he could feel tears begin to swell, Eliza had given him the thing in life that he never had. Love. And now he was taken away from it. Swearing to himself inside his head, he will do everything to get her back.
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T H E   S P I D E R
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Clark chuckles for a moment, "Mr Smither, Mr Baresotti. I belong to your family, but I keep my legacy beside me." "I want to bite my lips and punch him through eternity." "About Mr Torres, maybe you can be so kind to fetch him to me, maybe come with us once you leave the message to the guards of the compound?" he made such a short and shallow suggestion though meaningful at the same time. He was requesting yet Marcos, with his sharp perception, he would manage to distinguish the demanding posture The Spider had, even with his soft smile and warm brown eyes.


His hands locked behind him as if waiting for Mr Torres's arrival. The curve of the smile almost visible and followed up with his mustache. Straight posture but also relaxed. It had the air of supremacy, desired and corrupted yet untouchable.







The Police officers would start to take Lorenzo out of the train, taking him to the nearest car and drive to the station. Their job was done.


The informants watched away from the train, they saw how the plan backfired yet gave them a brand new possibility. One of them took a gun from behind him under his sheet and sneaked up inside the train, entering as he made his way through the police officers. He would be far but close enough to try to shoot towards Eliza, searching to wound her- a fatal wound that would send her directly to the Don.


Meanwhile, the other informant begins to walk away but he wouldn't run until he saw the results of his partner's attempt. Taking step by step behind him, staring at the stopped train full with armed people. They never questioned how suicidal was the mission, they were careless to the consequences knowing they would be rewarded even if in prison. Persuaded they would get out of there rich like never before.


Another fly inside the large Spider's web.

 

 Marco Orsini Baresotti
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Marco knew he fucked up when he called the Spider "Mr. Marinello". He was happy, ever so slightly however, that he would not due today. He heard the Spider's orders. The smile and soft demeanor only made his presence ever.more unsettling, he would have much preferred the usual psychotic tone and look rather than a calm yet meaningful attitude.
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"Right away sir, I shall do as told then..." Marco nodded before picking up his gun and walking inside.
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The gun was strapped to his shoulder. He didn't see where Kenny was. Marco could've sworn he heard Kenny's voice in the very room he stood. He noticed the bullets that lay on the table. Bullets from a pistol, they were much too small for a main weapon. He picked one up and placed it in his pocket, suspicious of where and what Kenny might be doing.
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He recalled Kenny to be a scared but loyal boy. Kenny didn't seem the type to commit suicide. He definantly seemed shaken up after the gun fight however.
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"Where the hell are you Kenny? Get your ass over here, Mr. Smither wants a word!" He shouted down the hall.
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Marco was worried as to what Kenny might do. Perhaps he would cut hi.self and die with no blood. Perhaps he would jump off a bridge yet no car has left. Maybe Kenny would be overdosing though Kenny wasn't the type to do drugs from what Marco could tell.
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He sighed and shook his head. The Spider would be impatient yet his annoyance was always subtle from what Marco noticed. He kept walking down the hall, telling the guards around to bugger off. As pleasant and firneldy as the guards may be, they were incompetent and nosy fucks.
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KENNY TORRES
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Kenny heard Marco call for him and he winced. He finished bandaging his wound and looked to his shirt, which he had removed so he could properly bandage the four-inch-long gash in his side. His shirt was completely bloodied on the left side, but Kenny didn't really have time to find a fresh shirt. He just put on his bloodied shirt and walked out of the bathroom. "You don't have to yell." Kenny mumbled to Marco, keeping his eyes glued to his feet. He pretended that his wound didn't hurt as much as it really did, but the pretense was becoming hard to keep up. 


"What does Mr. Smither want? Did he say?" Kenny asked, obviously nervous. From what Kenny could tell, Mr. Smither was the kind of capo that would cut off the fingers of any soldier that failed him. Kenny wasn't in the mood to lose his fingers today. Or any day, for that matter. Yet perhaps Kenny deserved it, as the Don was currently in the hospital with severe injuries that Kenny failed to protect him from.


@Proxploxtops @ShadowBroker
 

Marco Orsini Baresotti
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Marco saw Kenny in a sorry state. It was quite pitiful how he looked and acted. Marco almost felt sorry for the kid. He smiled.
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"Yeah... Well my bad," Marco said sarcastically, "Mr. Smither wants you for a special mission. If it's any comfort, I'm coming with you"
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It wasn't much to offer, any mission with Mr. Smither was just as dangerous for the victims as it was for his accomplices. Mr. Smither was a ruthless and psychotic being. He didn't like much of the mission either.
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"Listen, Mr. Smither's right outside, I gotta go tell the guards and we'll be off," he said with a small smile.
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Marco didn't feel it however he was sure that Kenny would almost be a child in the mob. He was frightened to easily. He chose a hard but rewarding life yet he had little skill in surviving with it. Kenny was only loyal but loyalty doesn't make up for skill. A kick in the ass would set him off at the moment if it were to happen. Kenny's demeanor didn't shape up to much either; he looked like a dog that had just been rescheduled begging and and with little hope.
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"Here, I'll go while you go outside and talk to Mr. Smither..." Marco cautioned. His expression and demeanor made it clear it was an order, "I'll talk to the guards and I'll meet you outside"
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With a nod, Marco nodded and went to the guards, repeating Mr. Smither's orders, or at least the part Mr. Smither wanted told.
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KENNY TORRES
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"Alright, Marco." Kenny mumbled. He knew Marco didn't really see the tougher side of Kenny, but that didn't really bother Kenny that much. The less people knew about who Kenny really was, the better. Sure, he was frightened easily and didn't handle pain too well, but Kenny was stronger than he seemed. If it came down to it, Kenny would kill without a second thought. On the inside, Kenny was cold and selfish, but on the outside, he was a frightened young adult struggling in the world of the mafia.


That aside, Kenny was currently terrified to his core. He had to face the Spider after a failed mission. There was nothing on the face of the planet earth that could scare Kenny more than seeing the Spider angry. Kenny left the compound with fear gripping his head. He opened the door and saw the Spider. His right hand instinctively went to grab his wounded left side, as if he were trying to cover the massive bloodstain on his shirt. "S-sir, you needed me?" Kenny mumbled, obviously very frightened. Mouse. The word sounded through Kenny's head and he tried to ignore it. 


@Proxploxtops @ShadowBroker
 

T H E   S P I D E R
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Clark warm smile shined again as he turned around to face Kenny, since he was distracted by the sun though he wasn't watching directly to it in order to not go blind. His voice sounded rather happy though his sinister posture, hands locked from behind remained the same, "Mr Torres, you seem quite well for someone that got shot." he tried to chuckle but a controlled snort came with it instead. "Lets focus on busyness" "I am about to take you to a long journey, forget everything that disturb you and focus on me." he aimed to his car pulling something out, it was his camera. Clark takes a moment as if he was reconsidering and then gives it to Kenny, "Get on the car, and don't damage it... or the camera. I will drive."


He remained on his place, eyes looking back towards the Compound, waiting for Marcos to arrive as well.
 

KENNY TORRES
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Kenny took the camera and looked at the car. "Sir, shouldn't I stay here? I was given orders from the Underboss to be here tomorrow morning, I can't exactly go on too long of a journey if I'm to be here tomorrow morning." Kenny didn't know where the guts to say that came from, maybe it was because he was too tired to really give two thoughts to what came out of his mouth. "And what exactly are we going to do that would require a camera?" Kenny had started thinking, and it would all be downhill from there. "And who are these orders coming from, anyways? Certainly not the Underboss, he's with the Don in the hospital, and he wouldn't give orders that contradict the orders he'd given us earlier..." Kenny looked up at Clark with sudden distrust in his eyes. "Sir, you were asked to do whatever we are going to do, right? You aren't just... you haven't just made up a mission on your own, have you?"


@Proxploxtops @ShadowBroker (please don't kill him...)
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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Eliza's heart shattered at the defeated look on Lorenzo's face when his eyes locked with hers. They both knew what came next, and the force of the situation struck her like a wrecking ball. She accepted his desperate embrace, clinging to him as if that would stop the police from taking him away. She closed her eyes for a brief moment when he was pulled from her arms, opening them to lock eyes with him as they pushed him to the ground and secured the handcuffs around his wrists. She turned away when he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the tears that formed. Her own eyes were wet with tears as the police pulled him up and began leading him away.
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Amongst the crowd, she was unaware of the gunman approaching her until he was already close enough to take a shot. She saw the gun pointed at her a second too late to avoid getting hit, but she did manage to move enough that the bullet struck her left thigh, rather than her chest as it had been originally aimed at. She crashed to the train's floor, her head knocking against the seats as she went. Pain ricocheted through her body from the bullet wound and she grit her teeth to keep in her groan of pain. She dragged her body up to lean against the wall, her fingers splayed over the wound as blood pulsed out of it. Slowing her breathing so she could hear over it, she searched the crowd for the gunman she had seen.
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T H E   S P I D E R
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"Yes, in fact I did." his eyes shifted back towards Kenny, the smile faded but not because of the abrupt change of personality from Mr Torres but the curiosity that lays behind his change of mind, "Then again, I am a Cabo of this family. My interest lays beside our family and our family alone. Everything have I done, everything I will do; all for the good of the family." clearly avoiding some points that only a clever and sharp person would detect, the speech had the air of a politician yet, like any good politician, no one can see the hole between words until to late, "I wonder, Mr Torres, what are you expecting to do inside this compound? Mhm? By all means, if you see it fit, reach for a chair, patch your wound and take a nape. Sure, you deserve it, don't you?" "I got him, bloody idiot." he thought for a moment, knowing where to press the buttons, "You should begin now, right about now. Go. Because, Mr Torres, I hope you have not neglected the fact that Don is inside a hospital, grasping for each of his lasting breaths, and - god forbids it- and if he dies..." he stopped for a moment, raised his hand above his shoulder, his finger pointing towards the sky, "For how long can you ran away, Torres?"


He grinned as he patted Kenny on the left shoulder, beckoning him to enter on the car, "Now, get on the car and I will give them a reason not to cut your throat... or your manhood. Not sure what methods The Under-boss is into." he exclaimed as he opened the door.







"The Abandanos send their regards." that is the only thing Eliza would be able to hear before the man puts a bullet on her. Then the man would run away, hiding his gun inside his coat. Lowering his head and sneaking back away with his revolver still smoking and warm.


Nevertheless, the man doesn't goes far away. Another gun fires up from his partner killing him in action. Then the second informant escapes from the scene, giving the police officers too much mess to chase another reckless thug, none aware of the true plan, the plot behind the schemes. Finally, the police would as well take the lady to the nearest hospital.

 

St. Mary's Hospital
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Old Town 
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The ambulance followed by a squad car pulled into the garage at the back of the hospital. They wheeled Eliza into the triage as they prepared the OR to recieve her and remove the bullet lodged in her thigh. The doctor and the nurses told her she would be fine and shot her up with a low dose of morphine. As the morphine began to kick in, looking to her right she would see her father lying in the bed beside her waiting for a second surgery. He was stable, for now, and a nurse was standing at the foot of the bed with his clipboard. 


He looked rough. Wearing a white hospital gown, she could see where the gown had been stained with blood. He was on a morphine drip, and his hand lacidasically touched at the metal pole the drip was suspended from. 


"Elizabetta." He croaked hoarsely. 
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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Hatred and pain mixed together in her eyes as the gunman's words registered. Abandanos bastards. She flipped him off as he turned and walked away, jumping in shock when blood spattered from his head and his body dropped seconds after. She never saw the second gunman, and didn't really care. Armed policeman rushed over to her with looks of determination and concern. She winced as they pulled her to her feet and she leaned her weight against them as they got her into an ambulance that drove her straight St. Mary's Hospital, a squad car following with sirens blaring. To keep her mind off of her father and Lorenzo, she focused on the pain in her leg, her hand hovering over the wound protectively. 
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Inside the hospital, two different doctors and a few nurses ran with the wheeling bed she lay upon, repeated telling her she'd be alright. She protested when they gave her morphine, because without it her mind went straight back to her father and Lorenzo. As the drug took affect, the pain from the day's events brought tears back to her eyes, and the grimm feeling only intensified when her head lolled to the side to find her father lying there in a white hospital gown, a nurse standing at the foot of his bed. His skin was pale, his gown stained with blood, his movements weak. When he spoke her name, his voice was dry and rough. Anger at her own foolishness, guilt at her actions, and worry for her father made her own voice thick with emotion when she spoke.
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"Dad," she croaked, trying to swallow the lump in her throat that made it hard for her to speak. "I'm so sorry."
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KENNY TORRES
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Kenny couldn't track the thoughts in his mind until they had reached a screeching halt. His eyes had focused on a spot in the distance and his heart raced. The words that Clark had spoken made him sick to his stomach. The mission was made up, and Kenny was expected to follow orders with no hesitation when he didn't know what the damn orders were beyond taking a camera into a car and sitting quietly or risk being killed for failing to protect the Don. The omnipresent headache grew nearly unbearable in that moment. Kenny just wanted everything in the world to make some remnant of sense for once, but he knew that was impossible. The young soldier climbed into the back seat of the car and looked out of the window, silent and confused and feeling sick to his stomach.


Then the thought hit his brain that for the entirety of the attack on the Don, Clark was nowhere to be found. Kenny nearly keeled over and vomited. He was thinking too much, and it was making him sick. He hoped Marco would hurry up, he couldn't stand to be alone another minute with the snake called the Spider.


@ShadowBroker @Proxploxtops
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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What had he done! From the rear-view mirror he saw the fate that unfolded for Eliza. Who would shoot her! It was all his fault for doing nothing! He was weak and broken! Just a fucking veteran trying to find his damn way through the only thing he was taught to do! Kill. Banging his head against the side window out of frustration, he placed his watery eyes in his cuffed hands. He was a wounded, caged animal. Nothing more. Nothing less.
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Sitting in the holding cell, Lorenzo stared at the concrete wall, his once sad eyes now filled with the cold anger he had only once in his life. And that time being in the basement in Germany. His foot taped methodically, he knew the Marinellos would send someone lower to check up on him if the family was with Eliza and the Don. And he knew who the dreaded man would be. He could picture the man, even though Lorenzo was bigger and stronger, Clark was quick in the head. His pencil mustosche reminded him eerily of Germans. But he knew it wouldn't be long before the Spider came to inspect his prey in the web.
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Nestore frowns and stands in front of the hospital doors in silence for a couple seconds, then reaches inside his coat and produces a notepad and a pen. "Write down the cleanest version of the story you can manage, and then go home. Until your father comes out of that operating room, you're in charge of the family name. Leave the doctors and questioning to me." He explains, offering the pen and paper to Adolfo. "You understand me? The compound. I want every gun in the house pointed outward. No booze, no smokes, no cards. Eyes open, weapons loaded. One always burns the body after cutting the head off the snake, and I suspect they'll try their damndest to follow through despite not quite getting a clean cut." 
 

Marco Orsini Baresotti
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Marco was getting tired with the shouting match against the other guards. Some wanted them to stay here as Adolfo had ordered, seeing as the Spider was just a Capo. He grew tired and with a simple smack, he left with a warning.
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"When the Underboss calls, go fuck yourself, the Spider knows more than you"
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It wasn't much. It sure as hell wasn't informative but he only said what needed to be said and left the compound. He exited through the mlfront door to see the Spider and a very pale Kenny Torres. The scene looked as if Kenny was poisoned and the Spider a journalist or bystanders; a man with no interest to help, just more gossip to tell at the salon.
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By the time he exited out completely, the light hurt his eyes. He was tired of the guards and was still exhausted from the mission before. It took time to compose himself though now he showed no facial expression, just determination in his mind not to lose his manhood. He simply stared at the Spider blankly.
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"I'm sorry it took a while sir, the guards were rather...uncooperative.. to say the least," he said dully. He was still scared to the bone though with his fatigue and mission at hand, he was unwilling to even speak to anyone. His hands were pale however, surely the Spider would notice. He cared not. "Shall we be off then sir?"
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Marinello Compound
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By now, dusk had begun to settle in as the bullet-riddled Ford truck that was unmistakably Adolfo's lumbered up the drive. He had called ahead, ensuring that the guards were on high alert. The truck pulled up to the detached garage near the first compound building and Adolfo climbed down from the cab, tired. 


So tired in fact that he didn't even notice whatever sinister machinations Clark had going this time. He merely walked past his car and inside the main building of the compound. Immediately, a dozen sets of eyes turned and rested on him. 


"The doctors don't know." Adolfo muttered simply. 


One of the guards, an older soldier, approached Adolfo and took his hand, bowing and kissing his family ring as he did so. 


"It was an honor to serve your father, it will be an honor to serve you, Don Marinello." 


"Don Marinello." The other men repeated, lifting their hands solemnly in a type of salute. 


Adolfo looked between all the faces in the room, and suddenly his spirits picked up a bit. These men would follow him into the breach, this much he knew. Then his face grew stern. Someone had tipped off the Abandanos. Somebody had known. 


"There is a traitor in our midst." He scanned the room. None of these men, he thought to himself. 


"Try to remember that." 


Abruptly, Adolfo left the room and went into the dining room. Mama Marinello stood looking pitifully into the sink, her arms up to her elbows in warm dish water as she stared at the faucet with a depressed forlorn look. 


"Mama." Adolfo murmured, embracing her. This caused the rotund woman to burst into hysteric tears. Her pained wails touched every heart in the house and weighed heavily on it. 







St. Mary's
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Old Town
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Shortly after Eliza spoke to her father, he had lapsed back into unconsciousness. The morphine had thoroughly racked her system by then and put her into a troubled sleep. 


The Don was wheeled into the operating room for a second procedure. Eliza was taken care of in another room while she slept, and both were wheeled into a double room on the second floor. A nurse went to fetch Nestore from the first floor, as St. Mary's was sympathetic to friends and extended family who wanted to see their loved ones. 


Entering the room, it was white and smelled of antiseptic mixed with sprucewood from the small fire burning in the fireplace. It was an old-fashioned hospital that hadnt yet been outfitted with gas heat. 


Eliza was asleep, but the Don was sitting up propped against about a hundred pillows talking to someone. That's when Nestore would notice the other presence in the room: Detective Timothy Philips.


Philips was the most dangerous kind of cop, a principled one. The kind that can't be bought. They were a rare breed in New Model. Philips had given the Marinellos plenty of trouble when he worked with the Treasury Department's sting operations against speakeasies back when Prohibition was the law of the land. Now, Philips was NMPD's best homicide dick and he seemed eager to cut his teeth. Although his career path no longer clashed with the Marinellos' interests most of the time, it wouldn't be out of character for Philips to go out of his way to trip them up. 


"Did you get a good look at the guy's face?" The detective asked, pushing the brim of his fedora up with his pencil before writing something down in his notepad. He wore a tweed suit with a black and blue plaid pattern; he certainly wasn't on the take if he wore a suit like that. 


"No, detective. I don't remember." Don Marinello muttered. 


"Mr. Marinello, you were shot today. You mean to tell me you have no idea why someone would want you dead, or who could have possibly done it?" 


The detective turned around to see Nestore standing in the doorway and huffed. They were old rivals. Nestore had a knack for throwing out his court orders and destroying any cases he could put forward to the DA involving La Cosa Nostra. 


 @Vudukudu







Central Holding
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Downtown, New Model City
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The hours ticked by as Lorenzo awaited his arraignment. He was facing down a full gauntlet of charges: six counts of murder, felony larceny, assault with a deadly weapon, battery, reckless driving, and he had forgotten to pay the meter at the train station. 


In the dimly-lit hallway outside of his cell, Lorenzo would hear footsteps. Not, however, the footsteps of the Spider. Rather, when he looked up he peered into the lined face of Willy the Duce. 


The old man took a seat on a bench across from his cell and took out a handkerchief, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth. 


"Hello, Mr. Cullen." He said simply. 


@ReverseWells


 
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Nestore enters the Don's room without a word, at least until he'd found a place to hang his coat and hat. "Mr. Phillips. I see NMPD has forgotten some very basic etiquette. Mr. Marinello has just had a very, very traumatizing experience. There's been an attempt on his life, and as I saw mere rooms away, his daughter's as well. I would beg some decency of you, sir, and request that you leave my friend be until he is well enough. I trust fully in the excellent capacities of NMPD and your laudable investigative talents, and that waiting a mere few hours won't let the would-be assassin slip our grasp." Nestore says in his typical soft, diplomatic, but firm tone. 


The Consigliere pulls up a chair next to the Don, but remains standing. "Sometimes men simply go stark raving mad and shoot men of prestige. As a lifetime associate of Mr. Marinello's, I can attest to his personal merit. A true character of generosity, grace, wisdom, and public service has never been seen in this City, I assure you. No one of sound mind would want him dead. With that said, Mr. Phillips, I ask that you leave my friend to his convalescence. It would be a true shame if the city councilmen heard the tale of an admirable upholder of the law harassing a man just out of surgery while his daughter bleeds no more than thirty feet away, would it not?" Nestore finishes, tilting his head toward the door. "You may follow up with me at my office Downtown later this week by scheduling an appointment. I'll have Mr. Marinello's statement prepared in full for your review. Good day." 


Phillips knew better than to tempt the wrath of Guagenti. The old nutjob had gotten him barred from a promotion years ago, had his pay docked, and even taken off active investigations. Phillips was unsure of the depth of Nestore's arthritic reach, but of this he was certain; no small number of police officers and a few aldermen had been invited to his home for dinner, and he'd had more than a few drinks alongside judges and councilmen. Whether he liked it or not, and Phillips quite hated it, Nestore was a large cog in the back of the political machine. 


"I'll follow up with you two days from now at 4 PM, then. I hope you have a speedy recovery, Mr. Marinello." Phillips replies through clenched teeth, then makes his exit. 


"You do have a way with words, Nestore." The Don murmurs as Nestore crosses the room to shut the door. 


"A way with vermin, more like." Nestore chuckles, then turns around. "Doctors treating you alright? Would you like me to check up on Eliza?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. He didn't dare ask the question of whether or not the Don would live. It didn't even cross his mind, truthfully. The man was iron. Nestore had been around in the days when Salasar wore Adolfo's shoes, and he'd taken worse. Just.. not at this age. 
 

T H E  S P I D E R
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"Absolutely." Clark would tell with an eager tone, though not enough to sound agitated by Mr Torres is discussion, "Take the seat next to Mr Torres, he require of your attention." his eyes shifted carefully but quickly to his whole body expression detecting nothing but his expressionless face. A new thought chased him, "Maybe I have misjudged Mr Torres all too quickly. Mr Baresotti shows more potential. It shall be put into consideration." as his mind spoke for itself, having a voice of it's own, Clark aim for the driver seat and began to drive the moment everyone was on the car.


"Mr Cullen."  he spoke when the compound was no longer seen from the car, his small smile appeared as a reminder, "That is our mission. To be more precise, a recovery. I have the information, very solid confirmation, that the ex-cabo Mr Cullen is now under detention." his right hand left the steering wheel to take something from his pocket, it was a forged ID created by The Spider himself to impersonate a lawyer. He gave it to Marcos in order to check for any mistake on the card, "I will enter with valid proof that will mislead the police. Enough proof to set Mr Cullen free and take him before the under-boss. He may like to chat when he hears what Lorenzo did to Eliza."


Leaving some information under his sleeve for self interest, he gestured a smile as silver as his own tongue. Although he did not meant to injure anyone or punish Lorenzo. He needed to have an excuse to leave the compound for better purpose than stand guard. He had his own personal mission to finish and it was still too far from done. He needed someone he could trust with such task and it could be any of the two.


Kenny has proven to be loyal to the family but also a misfortune one after the other. What has also came as unexpected conclusion is that Mr Torres is slowly losing control of his self-control. Irrational without a purpose, a goal; a soldier that has lasting doubts of his superiors.


Marco on the other hand, he prove to have the correct properties for an informant. Although his loyalty can be questioned it is also a perfect attribute. He has yet to show his own skills but it was a very tempting offer, though risky.


( Next post and the car will reach the detention center - - - @Shireling ) 
 
"Don't wake her, she's asleep." The Don murmured in Italian. At least, he thought she was asleep. 


"Where is Adolfo? Give me the phone, I want to call--- ahhh!" The Don let out a pained cry as he attempted to reach for the telephone on the nightstand only to recoil back into his previous position. He muttered to himself. A long silence passed. 


"Where is that snake, Cullen? He did this to my Elizabetta..." He turned to look at his daughter. She was in a lot better shape than he was at least. 
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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Not bothering to look down at his watch at all, instead indulging himself deep in thought. Lorenzo knew the Marinellos would try to spin the story anyway they could, he just prayed Eliza wouldn't go without a fight. Hearing the sound of footsteps ring through the room, they sounded different than a guard. Less stomping, more of a casual walk. But when he looked up to see a chair waiting for whomever was to turn the corner, his mind automatically though the pencil- mousthace would appear. Instead a man he was more found of, Willy the Duce. The man was like the rest of the Capos, cruel, but in their own way. Clark mentally, himself physically, and Willy was a mixture of both. "As to you," Lorenzo said simply. He had been more talkative than usual the past month or so, maybe the war was slowly fading. "Now I know why you here, your going to ask me why I did what I did, and maybe rough me up. But if I may  make a request? Kill me before Clark gets here, i'd be sad to have a man of poor skill kill me." 
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Nestore sighs and plods across the room to the telephone. "Rest, you old fool. Can't take a bullet like you used to." He mutters, taking the seat he'd pulled up earlier. "I've yet to hear of Mr. Cullen's fate. I'll let you know once I've heard. Adolfo is home, where I sent him, because the boy thought it sensible to stand out in the open mere minutes after escaping death. If you're going to be upset over his absence, spare him. Better that he be home safe rather than here, where an Abandanos rifle could put an end to the family name." He adds in Italian, ever wary of being overheard. 


He shifts the chair over a couple inches, just far enough to reach the phone, then dials the operator and passes the phone to the Don once the call has been connected to the Compound. 
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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Eliza woke up maybe fifteen minutes after her surgery. She lay with her back to her father. Inside the room, she could hear Detective Philips' voice as he spoke to her father. She didn't move, showing no signs that she was awake. She wasn't ready to face her father. A moment later, Eliza heard the door open once more as Nestore entered. There was a warning in his diplomatic tone as he spoke to Detective Philips. After his speech, the NMPD Detective grudgingly took his leave. It was quiet for a moment, and Eliza waited, her ears perked to listen.
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"You do have a way with words, Nestore," her father said softly. Eliza heard Nestore chuckle. "A way with vermin, more like. Doctors treating you alright? Would you like me to check up on Eliza?" the Consigliere asked. Guilt rolled through her. Even after running off with a man the consider a betrayer, they were still concerned for her. Her father huffed, telling Nestore not to wake her. The groan of pain and the grunt her father let out after asking for the phone sparked a pang of worry in her chest. God, she'd been so stupid. Where had she been when her father, her brother, and the men she considered family were getting attacked? Off betraying them with her lover. Eliza didn't regret running off with Lorenzo, but that didn't make her feel any less like a terrible person, and an even more terrible daughter. 
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Eliza had to hold back a sob at her father's next words. The mention of Lorenzo and what was to become of him paired with the pure fatherly concern and protectiveness in his voice was too much.
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[SIZE= 18px]@Shireling@Vudukudu[/SIZE]
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