#coffinfaced

@coffinfaced​

​Vincenzo reached a hand out in greeting. “Vincenzo Cassano. An honor to meet you, Mr. Sionis.” The proper way to greet any ‘Don’ or acting ‘Don’ unless you want to cause disrespect. And that was exactly what he was trying to prevent. Though this wasen’t officially a mafia, was it? 

She’s in a rough spot, sobbing, and snotting, and ruining the make-up she’d put on BEFORE she got black-bagged... but all in all, it’s not absolutely DREADFUL!

  Making acquaintances in the Criminal Underground of New Jersey was always a strange experience. Some had nightclubs you could dance in, others had sewers you could wade through... and some where of a more old school gangster aesthetic. It was the gangsters that you needed to make an appointment with, and those appointments sure did vary in terms of availability.

    “He- He wouldn’t! I swear, he’ll get you what you want!” She was his little princess, after all. Besides, with the ‘revolving door’ prison system problem inherent in the country? Even a Superior Judge knew that the easy way out was to open the coffers.

    “Ve- Ver... N- No?” Of course, she had. Film nerds loved to praise the film. Rightfully so, in some cases. A woman pretending to be someone else. A shadowy figure wielding death with their appearance. A fall of Dumptyan proportions... Oh, she understood where he was coming from. Clever. “I know the... the U2 song?”

She looks unsure-- 

@coffinfaced​ said:  not so gentle reminder. i fucking own you.

@coffinfaced​

“Just run that down for me again-- what, exactly, you wanted me to do and how much you were starting off with for the pay. Because if I did hear you right? You’re going to need to add a few more figures to it.”

He'd flung his phone from his pocket eager to make a call when he'd noticed another message had been waiting for him. A voicemail without a missed call. He knew who it was. It would have been ignored if he didn't. Tentatively he listened growing more and more anxious coming to a rise when the talk of gardening came on the scene. By the time the phone call ended, he was about to burst at the seams. With a shout, he kicked his desk as he'd as he could and punched at the wall. Damn it! Damn it all!

This sick fuck unraveled everything and has a knife at his throat already. This wasent good news for him. Not at all. He'd be damned if this faker ran him out of town and showed him up. Go ahead and torture your rats, scum. He held his head in his hand and exhaled harshly. There goes his plans for that.

It was waiting for him in his office set neatly in the middle of his desk. Someone had come in and left with the door locked. It wasent a big enough office to hide in, yet still approached with caution. It was a beautiful box. Gorgeous even. As he rounded the desk, he wondered at what was inside. Who had visited him. Who went through the trouble? It could be a bomb. It wasent unusual among the dark underbelly of the world, but alot of effort for someone like him who'd been here just a little over two months. Hardly long enough to make waves. His clients have been interested in private settlements for the most part, and pressuring these mooks wasent all that hard either. For all their boisterousness, Gothamites weren't all that impressive. At least, compared to true blooded Italians.

So who sent this? And why? And what was inside? He was hesitating. Putting it off. Friend. Surely many thought they were on friendly terms with him but friend? It wasent what it sounded like. This wasent from a friend. This trouble wouldn't have been gone through. What if it's a bomb? Not this again. Well he can't just leave it here. His hands delicately smooth over the box. He presses his ear against it. Smelled it. Shook it even. It gave him absolutely no useful information.

Okay. Fuck it. He flicked it open quickly. And....he was still here. It wasent a bomb. He released a breath he didn't know he had held. Black fur. Beautiful presentation. It was carefully picked up And then imediately thrown back down again. He fell over himself and back into the wall. No way. No fucking way. His stomach was turning. No fucking way. From that single glimpse, he knew what it was and who it was from. He just KNEW.

How? How did he get them all? When the other two didn't suspect a damn thing, here was Roman fucking Sionis with this. This was insane. This was bad. Really bad. He was going to have to hire guards now. Damnit all. His ear into Roman's operations gone. He was made. He should get out of town. Leave. It was only going to get messy from here. Ah....but if he fled now he might as well never come back again.

He shoved his knuckles against his eye. Damn damn damn damn. Americans! Even with how tightly he latched their collars they still found a way to fuck it up. They must have had a very unpleasant death.