For being a paper heavily established upon the authentic word of the many, the editorial before them read much more like a profile-raising piece laced with empty recommendations. Listening to Sal, while skimming the article, Angelo shook his head in something of amusement. What kind of absurd business venture was this shit; a businesswoman’s touch if anything. He searched the quotes, found few of worth, and none that addressed a passion in defeating the odds per the Russian owner’s interests. Just as he himself had thought, Sal was right to judge the woman as disrespectful – the entire restaurant project was an insult.
“She knows nothing of business, even.” Angelo laughed into his porcelain cup, “What does she expect from this restaurant? Profit? Stupido. The world is drowning in restaurants as business ventures it would seem. A novice move, if anything.” The Italian laughed again, joining Sal, as they quietly and quickly enjoyed the play on words.
Before Sal need ask, Angelo pulled out a cigar clip, and handed it off. “Jurisdiction over neighbors in Launceston don’t seem to be a line of thought in her brain anymore. What a bold move.” Angelo scrolled father down the page, taking note of the pictures of Aleksandr’s. The red-orange interior was displeasing to his eyes, and was probably influenced by his utter fucking aversion to its existence. “I don’t think we’ve eaten in Brenton for quite some time, anyways – sounds awful.”
He flicked his wrist at the laptop screen, looking at Sal with fun, “So this is what we missed? I couldn’t be more glad.”
There was nothing short of amusing in Angelo's words, so cunningly referring to the New Year's incident. What a joke they were, the Russians. Our of all crime syndicates, they were perhaps the most villainized, and for a good fucking reason. There was no code of honour behind their actions, merely the greed of a few individuals who would destroy everything in their way. They were rabid dogs; and the Mancini would gladly put them down. Still, it wasn't the right time. All they were doing was snatching meaningless headlines in a journal that is slowly losing its prestige. Not a significant threat just yet. Katarina Vorshevsky, more like an irritating buzz from a mosquito nearby: not close enough to draw blood, so it shall live.
"No, she really doesn't," Salvatore agreed, further inspecting he page for anything worth mentioning, "Think she'll be offended by our reluctance to arrive at her party, fratello? I hope she is. That woman could have gone in so many directions had she wanted to put Valence down, but now she has a post on enemy territory. We don't have to burn the place down, simply make it clear that no Italian can ever be seen inside. No Italians, no business, no profit; we'll see how long she survives off of people travelling to the borough." Following Angelo, Salvatore snickered at the photo of the restaurant. How Russian of them, to design a place so tacky, made for the sole purpose of flaunting their wealth. He almost misses the simplicity of the Communists in the face of such gross extravagance. "I don't intend for us to start, either."
"Not quite. There had been some whispers, not worthy of The Press, but worthy of our attention. I've had Mathias, Federico, and Giovanni mail me the important bits. Should be done by now," Sal looked at his own laptop, going into his email account. In there were several unread mails, all by his trusted confidants. The information in the files was, as expected, described with none of the actual names of the people involved. "Who should we start with? Oh --" Mancini stopped as he read the third title, showing it to Angelo before clicking in. 'A Speeding Car Out of Business', the title read. The content, as Sal read silently, with even puffs from the cigar was: "Valence's Resident Slacker has been MIA in his most beloved business for months already, making no attempt to regain his status as a King in the racing circles. Instead, he's taken to frolicking about with the loyalists of other families. Notably, their women. A significant loss to the Auditore, for shame. Could it be that officials were involved, or has the man simply given up on his passion for... well, nothing? It's suspicious, to say the least. We'll be keeping an eye on him."
"Now that, is either deeply unfortunate or financially stupid."
