MASSEDUCTION.

He studied the woman. Beautiful, surely. But that wasn’t the notion of the game, his job was to study them all. The government worked on a theory of innocent until proven guilty. But Silas had seen the underbelly of Atlanta, the gargantuan beast that became those who undermined the law to make their own. It was abhors of an action, but one the faceless took. Bestowing a smile, and his own theory of guilty until proven innocent, he extended a polite hand to the brunette to shake hers. “Silas King—“ He begun, pocketing his hand afterword’s and lifting the glass of scotch to his lips. “’Fraid I didn’t, I stick out like a sore thumb like that.” He smiled. “Thought it was best to come down, show my respect for victims of a heinous crime.” He paused, continuing.  “And you—did you know any of them?” As he asked, pointing to the four photos that stood on stands before them.

Not that she ever wasn’t -- Gen was a lady after all -- but she knew all eyes were on them. There was an undeniable tension in the room: the citizens of Atlanta were on edge due to the ghastly murders and clearly with the Dixie’s making an unplanned arrival the Bianchi’s were expecting the worse. She shouldn’t but deep down Gen was hoping for the worst to happen. This funeral could use a little livening up. “Genevieve DuBois, it’s a pleasure.” She stated, shaking his hand with her free one. “So, if you didn’t know anyone, you just make a habit of popping up at funerals? Not that I blame you, the food is decent and the booze is free flowing.” Gen commented, a little crude humor for the dire circumstances. “Not directly but I thought it was best to pay my respects.”

Callie let out a breath at the brunette sitting in her chair. “Jesus Christ Gen, ever hear of a phone call?” She asked as she put the gun away. Throwing her bag in the corner and kicking her shoes off, Callie walked over and turned the light on as she went into her kitchen. The water and the advil would help in the morning and if Gen was here she needed to sober up then. Walking back into the living room she sat down and looked at her. 

“So what is so important that you have to break into my house instead of waiting for me to be home at a normal hour?” Callie asked as she started drinking the water. 

Gen would gladly blame Richard for the love of theatrics and entitlement that she’s developed over the years. When you’re at the top and untouchable like she is, there’s very little she can’t and won’t do. She doesn’t hold back the chuckle that escapes her lips, the reaction alone enough of a reason for her impromptu visit. “Because I can.” She responded after a beat. “Anymore stupid questions or are you going to stop wasting my so we can get to business?”

He was curious to see the turn out. Badge tucked neatly into his pocket, as Silas crossed the foyer of the event hall. Dressed in black to filter through the crowd, not lingering long enough, no one would ask questions. But he presumed curiosity—if four people died—at the hands of someone, there’d be a name to blame. And they would be in this building. He wasn’t about to quick announce his intentions—he was smarter than that. Moving to the refreshment stand, making himself a coffee, and standing off to the side, where he spotted someone already lingering. “Shame, isn’t it?” He commented to the person on his left. “They were all so young.”

Besides not really having a choice, intrigue is what had Genevieve lingering at the wake way past saying a few hello’s and I’m sorry for your loss to people. It seemed as if all of Atlanta showed up to pay their respects, mourn or, if you were like Gen, get a front row seat to what would surely be a spectacle. With no real connection to any of the deceased, she figured hanging in the back to observe would be the best place for her to be. And, for the most part, she went unnoticed until she heard the person beside her break the silence. “Oh, of course.” Gen stated, mustering up some sort of sadness. “The loss of anyone is awful but it’s even more so tragic when it’s the youth. Are you connected to any of the deceased?”

It was late. Way later than Callie had wanted to get home. After the funeral she went and had a few drinks with Pietro but that was a bad idea considering she stopped way past her limit. The cab on the way back to her apartment felt like it took forever and the drunk girl was cursing herself as she fumbled with her keys in the front door. Finally walking in, Callie’s eyes narrowed as she noticed all the lights were off and slowly made her way over to the table in her hallway to set her bag down. Opening the drawer to put her keys away, the brunette grabbed the gun in the drawer and spun around, pointing it at the person sitting in her chair. 

“You know, I could shoot you right now for breaking and entering and no one would be wiser.” She said trying not to sound too drunk. “What do you want?” 

The bodies are barely in the ground and Genevieve is already thinking next steps. As far as she is concerned, the so-called tragic death had little to no bearing on her personal or professional life. If anything, it made the American Mob look weaker and Gen couldn’t wait to capitalize on the moment. So, maybe (probably) she got a little ahead of herself popping into Callie’s place unannounced -- but since when did she ever need permission?

The gun pointed in her direction didn’t make the brunette flinch. “You could but you won’t.” Gen stated knowingly, a smirk spreading across her lips. “One, because I don’t think you have the guts to pull the trigger. Two, because you’re dumb but you’re not that dumb. And three, we both know it wouldn’t end well for you if you did. So how about you put the big girl toys away and sit down so we can chat like civilized people.”

She sat alone in a corner of the coffee shop, thoroughly exhausted with helping mark who was still alive in the Mob, re-scheduling the missed meetings due to the weather, while at the same time checking in with her other job and trying to organize meetings with clients. Trivial matters in comparison to what had just happened, but Camille took both seriously. Someone passing by alerted her attention, and Camille assumed they were a waitress or barista. “Sorry, can I please have a mocha latte?” Her request was polite, kind, though eyes were unable to tear themselves away from an email she was sending out on her phone.

Things went from bad to worse in what felt like a matter of a few hours. The devastation was grave but, honestly, all Gen could focus on was how that affected her business and the Dixie’s. As with most businesses, Noir had been hit, the water damage fixable but it’d be a few weeks, maybe even a little over a month, until it could be up and running again. Sure, no one was looking for a burlesque show after a major disaster but her club served as a pipeline for some of the Mafia’s dealings being shut down was not good. After going back and forth with the insurance company, she entered the coffee shop with a frustrated sigh. Coffee wouldn’t change her mood but it’d make her more awake. “Make that two.” She stated, putting down some cash after appearing at Camille’s side. “How you holdin’ up, sweetheart?” 

She had a point – on occasion he did like a chase, when the woman was worth it, but other times he couldn’t be bothered with someone mediocre who had more faith in herself than she was worth. He was a complicated man and the grass was always greener, but the brunette seemed too old for games, which he could also respect. “ And you’re tired of putting up a chase, is that it? I take it that enough men have tried and you got bored of it all, huh? Poor thing.” West teased. He assumed, truthfully, that all women enjoyed being pursued in luxury, but the woman beside him was proving him wrong about his assumptions, which rarely happened. “ I have no use for good girls or clingy women.” West admitted confidently, since they were being candid.” I’m too busy to put in the long term effort a daddy’s girl needs – I’d rather pay that kind of attention to myself.”

With a chuckle, the woman was making herself clear,and Westley was up for the challenge she lay before him. Shifting to face her more, her cleavage shoved in his face in the most obvious way, Westley placed his hand on the brunette’s knee. “ Who says we still can’t?” He grinned. “ Seems like you’ve had enough smooth talk and gifts and you’re looking for a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it, too.” West wet his lips as his hand traveled up her thigh. “ Whether or not you get that depends on how important your business her today was and how willing you are to leave with me right now.”

The smirk on her face remained, amused at the conclusion he’d come to and shifting into a pretty little pout at his mock pity. “Poor me, wanted by men but never satisfied.” If only he knew but she was fine sticking to that narrative. Satisfaction was hardly anything she concerned herself with nowadays but every once in awhile even a seasoned escort like Gen could use a little bit of fun that was paid for and fake. “Not surprising, you didn’t strike me as the type who liked a weak woman.” In the middle of this stuffy ass DMV, the verbal sparring turned into a mutual understanding. Or maybe their callous approach to well...everything was enough to ignite something within them. 

His hand settled on her thigh and, really, it took voice in the back of her head to stop her legs from spreading -- it was a natural instinct after all. Before she could answer his question, a number is called out -- hers to be exact. Dark hues flicker to the piece of paper in plain sight, confirming how inconvenient the timing was. Standing up, instead of heading to the line, she bends over to tap the shoulder of the woman sitting in front of her. “Excuse me, do you wanna take my spot in line? Something just....arose and I need to handle it.”  Brushing off the woman’s many thank yous, Gen handed over the ticket before turning her attention back to him.“Or maybe I’m just in the mood to get fucked.”Low but loud enough to hear, she picks up where they’d left off without a beat before heading towards the door, figuring he’d follow behind. 

“Genny…” He sighed, a little frustrated that she was doing this in spite of him actually trying. August never let anyone get too close – not a woman he was sleeping with, at least – it was not only dangerous but just plain stupid. And yet, even though he knew better, someone time had worn him down, not sure if it was her wit and charm or a hidden, deeply buried need for companionship that kept August coming back to Gen at the end. “ One of these days I sweat you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? You know it isn’t like that – it isn’t just that. We’re…you’re my…. We’re friends, aren’t we? Kind of…?” He paused after, realizing how awkward that sounded and how bitter and dry it left his mouth. “ You can’t say that after a decade we aren’t a little more than business partners.” He tried, but had a feeling his smooth recovery was lacking.

“Since when do you care who–” August paused when delicate hands reached out to undress him slowly, Gen knowing his weaknesses a good and bad thing when it came down to the nitty gritty. If this was an argument – which it wasn’t - he would have no way of winning. “ Since when do you give a fuck who I fuck? You fuck around and I never get upset about it so why are you acting like your boytoys are any different from whatever model I’m taking out? It’s not like I’m putting a ring on anyone’s fingers. You’re acting like you’re jealous… What, are you jealous?”

Genny. The stupid nickname was a soft spot. An easy thread to pull that’d unravel the stone cold heart she’s built over the years. It was business, that’s how she tried to approach everything but somehow this...whatever had a bit more emotional weight to it than she’d like to admit. Gen would blame the length of time they’d known one another. That, besides Richard, he was probably the only man she’s allowed herself to be comfortable around. Which was a mistake -- but it was inevitable one after all the time that’s passed between them. Her brow peaked, taking a sharp inhale as August stumbled over the words to even attempt to define what this was. They weren’t naive enough to slap a label on this. Expectations were nonexistent or, at the very least, unspoken. Their roles in this were defined and Gen had no wishes of being whisked away and taken care like this was some fairytale. Gen never was and never would be that woman. “You pay me for a service, that’s business.” Her shoulders shrugged nonchalantly, sticking to the script she’s self-taught herself over the years.  

“Who said I cared?” Gen countered, answering his question with a question. Continuing to deflect, her hands moved to push the suit jacket down from his shoulders, tossing it onto the nearby chair. “You’re a very notable figure in this city and you aren’t exactly discreet.” Stepping a little closer, her arms moved to wrap around his neck. “No, I’m not jealous. I’m not a teenager. Even if  you were to slap a ring on some debutante’s finger, it’d take a lot more than that to stop...this....” Her voice trailed off, afraid if she talked too much she’d expose herself or say something she won’t be ale to take back. Throwing up her own version of a white flag, her lips gently brushed against his. “The bracelet is beautiful.” She relented, letting out a soft sigh. “Thank you.”

“It’s the latter, what’s wrong with that?” It was the former. Admittedly he’d gotten caught up with work and various other women, and maybe it was a few weeks….or months that he hadn’t seen her. But it wasn’t like it had been a year….had it? “ Look it’s the gift for the sake of giving gifts. I was passing by the store, saw it, thought it’d like nice on you and so I got it for you.” He said it like it wasn’t a big deal, but August knew that throwing money around on jewelry for a former prostitute was the kind of thing that scandals were made of. The only reason he didn’t care worth a damn about getting caught was because he knew who was watching his back. Any reporter trying to seek a story with his name in the title would be found cold on a pile of trash bags near a dumpster behind a McDonald’s before they even had a chance to wrote their name.  August was more afraid of Gen’s cold shoulder than a tabloid finding a receipt in his trash.

“Oh c’mon on, baby, don’t make it sound like that. I got busy – you get busy too, but you know you’re my best girl. Don’t make it sound like that.” August cooed, daring to move in closer and test the water with her. Of course he didn’t mind paying for it, but after the years they’d known each other, he hated her mentioning it.  “ Don’t act like you’re too grown up to be wooed a little. Every woman deserves to be wooed. Besides, who else would I do all this for, huh? At least give me some credit here for trying.”

“Because I know you well enough to know when you’re full of shit.” Honestly, Gen didn’t know why she was throwing a fuss. There was no confusion about what this was -- she provided a service and he paid for it. It was a simple as that. What August did was little to none of her concern, even if him parading around Atlanta with a new woman on his arm did rake her nerves more than she’d ever admit. August wasn’t the first politician or man of power she’d been entangled with, and she had no naive delusions of what this was outside of the bathroom. There was no way a Senator could be seen with the owner of a burlesque who had ties to the mob (not that August was aware of that part) and was a Madame slash prostitute. That reveal would be one career ending headline. 

As he stepped closer, Gen’s eyes drifted down his frame -- annoyed that even when she was irritated with him, he still managed to look devilishly good looking. “Sound like what? The truth?” Gen countered with an arched brow, closing the distance between them with a few steps. “Who else? Oh, I’m sure there’s some debutante...model...whoever is the flavor of the week you can shower with gifts.” She pointed out, fingers moving to undo the first few buttons of his shirt. “I’m not like every woman you fuck, we both know that, Auggie.”

Knocking on the door a few times, a wide grin appeared on her face at the sight of the red head. “I know, I probably should’ve called, but I brought over expensive wine to make up for my impromptu visit.”

This wasn’t how that night was supposed to go. It was supposed to be a routine guard shift with the weapons, then Callie could go home. Just a routine shift…

no one was supposed to die. 

A father and his two kids. Barley old enough to know the future that they had ahead of them. Killed because someone had a grudge against the club, and Callie felt like it was all her fault. The doctors had checked her over and deemed it necessary to stay overnight. A concussion, a few broken ribs and a sprained wrist. The bruises on her face were blooming from where she took the hits and the brunette reached her hand up as she looked in the mirror. 

She had seen them bring the other three in and heard the screams of the mother left behind when she found out that her entire world had been taken from her and it broke Calliope’s heart. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hearing someone come into her room, Callie barley looked over her shoulder as she faced towards the window. 

“I’m really not in the mood for visitors.” 

As the nights events played out on the evening news, Gen should be more concerned about what it meant for crime in Atlanta or the poor children who would now be without a father. Instead, she was pissed that they were not only ambushed but Gen didn’t see it coming. Most importantly, this made the Dixie’s look weak and that was something that didn’t settle well with Gen. She did not work this hard for these years for it to be tossed away and put into question because someone got sloppy or lazy or whatever the fuck the excuse was.

Those answers are why high heels could be heard click clacking through the hospita’s hallways. Her uniques position as a local business owner caused little to no eyebrows being raised, more than a few times she’s popped up in the late hours because on of her girl’s got roughed up. Flashing a smile at one of the nurses, she played it coy and waited a beat before slipping into Calliope’s room.

“You aren’t really in a position to make demands.” Gen stated, closing and locking the door behind her. For once, her caring, calm nature isn’t present as she looks at the other woman. “Count your blessings it’s me showing up and not someone else.” Like Richard or one of the goons, who’d be far more trigger happy than she is.

Elijah sat back. Introducing himself seemed redundant, the name plate upon the door and his desk rang clear. “Pleasure,” He offered simply. Intrigued, as he tilted his head to the side. Door locked, office–secure for whatever need be discussed. “I’m intrigued, Ms. DuBois. What business does this entail?”

“Believe me, Mr. Rothschild, the pleasure is all mine.” She stated, legs crossing and smoothing down the material to her pencil skirt. Time really has changed her, once upon a time ago she’d be on her knees beneath a politician’s desk, not sitting across from one ready to talk business. “Please, call me Gen, everyone does.” She stated. “My business partner, Richard Johnson, is interested in expanding his transport needs to air. I know it may seem like a simple solution but with customs and flight laws, we think it’d be important to have someone who was willing...to work with us when it came to these endeavors.”

The grin on his face widened when she spoke, surprised that the woman was almost as crass as him. It was amusing, actually, which was rare for Wes. “I can take you up on that later, I hope.” A cheeky smirk on his face as he freely let his eyes fall to the curve of her bust for a long while just to be shameless. His eyes only came back to hers when she freely admitted her position, something Westley didn’t exactly expect, but had a hint of speculation because of her personality and boldness. “ Easy…” He tsked, shaking his head a bit. “ The thing with easy is that it’s lazy. Fun? Convenient? Yes, but a real man has the stamina to chase a challenge, and I like a challenge.”

The number changed but still wasn’t his, making him sigh before he went back to his distraction for the moment. He took another look at her and decided she was quite pretty, not that looks were everything to him. It was her skill in battle that aroused his interest more than her face. “ Oh I’m sure you do, most women do – they’re just usually too afraid to admit it. They go through life unsatisfied until they meet a man confident enough to bring it out of them and next thing you know they turn into…” He trailed off, looking her up and down before snickering.  “ No,” He sighed again as he checked the time. “ This is the part where I offer to satisfy that itch if you’re willing.” He proudly grinned, turning back to her. “ Maybe you’re right, but we’ll never find out because I never pay for it. I work hard and get it for free. It’s called earning. Something rich men who buy it never learned.”

Decades in the game, Genevieve didn’t have the luxury of innocence. Then again, the woman couldn’t even remember a time when she was modest. They were in public, she should dial it back and set up some boundaries, but neither of the above existed in the vocabulary of a long-term madame. Especially one that crawled and climbed her way to the top, earning a spot as the right hand woman to one of the most powerful men in this city. To summarize: Gen had nothing to lose. Leaning in closer, more than aware her bust was spilling out of her low cut top, she waited a beat before letting out a humorous chuckle. “All mean say that, darling.” Gen countered with a knowing grin. “They get off on the thrill of the chase. Want a woman to make them work for it, so that it feeds their ego and makes them feel like they’re a man.” Pausing, her head canted to the side, tongue gliding across her plush lower lip. “But let’s be honest, men say that then get bored once they finish their conquest. So, by all means, go after the tight lipped Daddy’s girl who plays coy and makes you work for it, only for to suffer through pathetic clinginess and being forced to pretend like you give a shit about the words that come out of her mouth.” Rolling her eyes, she continued. “I may be easy but I know how to give a man what he wants and that the good girl is too afraid to do herself.”

Her lips then twisted into an a smirk, more so amused that he think he’s got her nailed down to some cliche. It was fine with Gen, her entire job thrived off of it. “Well, you can’t blame the girl’s for feeling like that they have to be a virgin saint to get a man’ attention, can you? You all harp on and on about how you want a good girl but still expect them to give you a good blowjob. It’s quite the conundrum women are put in these days.” Gen mused out loud before shrugging her shoulders. “Not that I have that problem, I have no issue going after what I want and how I like to be fucked.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see an older woman balking at the tail of Gen’s statement. With a slight chuckle, her attention turned back to him. “Shame.” She stated, a less than convincing put forming on her lips. “You and I could’ve had fun together.”

“There’s no charming here,” He scanned the room as he spoke, rolling his head back. Carrying the weight of his company, the gang—at times it was stressful. Of course, he’d never admit to it. Fuck the world and their apt for honesty. Grinning, he sat back. “God, I can’t wait to kill them all.” He spoke so cheekily, like a child on Christmas morning. The idea enough left him with a giddy-like feeling.

“Good–beats us trying to work on land, ambushes are not in my best interest.” Sitting back, he swirled the glass for the time being, back and forth, as he listened more than outwardly paid attention. “Hm,” He mulled for a moment. “This isn’t going to be an issue–long time client and all.” He cocked a brow. “Tell me he’s potential to be your first love, Gen, I’m dying for a good cry over a sweet story.”

“Shocking.” Gen muttered beneath her breath before taking a sip from the glass in hand. The now mostly empty glass is set down, legs crossing as she watched her President closely. He’s always a tad bit unhinged, but Gen could see the wheels turning in his head more than usual -- which usually meant nothing good come of it. “In due time, Richard. Remember, we’re in the long game here.” She echoed, feeling as if she drops that reminder on a daily basis. 

Nodding her head in agreement, she was glad they were on the same page. “I’ll give you the rundown of what we discussed. Shouldn’t be too hard to get him on our side. I don’t know him well but he doesn’t strike me as the White Knight type.” Her lips then pursed at Richard, followed by eyes narrowly glaring at him. “Shut up, Richard. I’ll save the fairytales for you and your bride to be.” Rolling her eyes, she downs the remnants of the glass before continuing. “It’s nothing like that -- it’s business. He’s got ambition without being a saint and doesn’t have a problem cutting some corners to get there. I’ll work on him, I think if we can present him with a proposition that leaves both parties happy, he shouldn’t have an issue aligning with us.”