Of Love and Blood (LoveLossLearnxHoratio)

The building was dingy and cold. Moonlight streamed in the only non-boarded up window. On the floor illuminated in those beams was a man, clutching his leg. He looked up in a pain-induced haze at the man who had shot him. He was standing there, cigarette hanging from his lips, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding the gun. He was the picture of nonchalance and Zeke was almost in awe of how someone could be so calm when threatening a person.
"So Ezekiel, changed your mind yet?" a thumb pushed up the brim of that fedora so Zeke was looking into dark, haunting eyes.
"I don't have your money!" the man spoke vehemently and clutched tighter at his bleeding leg.
"Mal loaned you that money out of the goodness of his heart and you don't repay him?" the mobster asked in fake surprise.
"Just give me more time!" tears leaked from Zeke's eyes and the other male clucked his tongue.
"Desperation is so unmanly Ezekiel," he kneeled next to the injured man and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Last chance, come work for Mal and we'll forgive this minor inconvenience," Zeke blinked then scowled.
"I'd never work for that devil's spawn!"
He'd said the wrong thing. The man's calm broke and he glared as he shot Zeke right in the head. The mobster smiled at the shocked look on his victim's face as the blood pooled around his skull, ruining that nice blonde hair.
Mick wiped some blood from his lip and walked towards the door. He needed a drink.
-
The Bigg Easy was a club right in the heart of Manhattan. It was owned by Mal's greatest ally, the illustrious Mr. Biggs who owned stock in every kind of business you could imagine. He practically owned half the city. And Mal owned the cops. Together they were a perfect team.
Mick smiled as he entered the club, letting the smooth jazz music wash over him as red eyes took in the crowd milling about the speakeasy-style room. Mick swore he'd been born in the wrong decade, he didn't belong here in the modern, no he belonged in the 20's. As his 20's style custom tailored suit clearly suggested. Mick knew he looked good and that was the way he liked it.
He walked up to the bar, where the barman instantly gave him his usual glass of rum. Mick sat with his back to the bar and watched the crowd. It was mostly people who worked for Mal and Biggs but a few non-family had made their way in as well. The brunette smiled, life as a mobster was good.

Meanwhile at the darkest end of the bar, a new girl in town with dark auburn hair and eyes so dark brown they might've been black, sat alone, facing the crowd. Her eyes mulled back and forth over the crowd a million times as she looked at the place she would soon frequent. The downed another double shot and returned her peppermint gum back to her mouth. Whiskey and peppermint, some find it strange. Mischa calls it ideal. She leaned back comfortably as she waited on the person she was to meet tonight. Possibly a new business partner. She hoped things would go well. She wanted to return to the US. For the first time, sitting in a bar finally felt safe. And, 'God,' She thought, 'I love these accents.'

Mick licked his lips as he finished off his rum and reached into his pocket, pulling out a cherry dum-dum sucker. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sugar that spread over his tongue.
Red eyes continued to survey the club when suddenly, they spotted someone who didn't belong. One of these things is not like the other! What was Tony's brother doing here? He should know he's enemy number one in these parts.
If there wasn't any civilians around, Mick would draw his gun here and now. Maybe he could invite Georgio out back for a nice, little chat. But the schmuck hadn't done anything wrong yet, Mick would watch him and at the first sign of trouble, he'd catch the little rat and have some fun. A chance at two murders in one night? It was his lucky day!

8th shot down, Mischa was getting bored... Not to mention livid, and fast. Mischa doesn't like waiting, not one bit. She decided to entertain herself in he mean time. She set out to find the least drunk guy in the bar and ask him to dance; a difficult task indeed. In no time at all Mischa had wandered upon someone tall, erm... Not too terribly handsome but he didn't seem very drunk so he would have to suffice. She had heard someone call him by name a moment ago. "Georgio?"

Mick's eyes widened as he watched an admittedly pretty girl walk up to Georgio. She was way too good-looking to be his date. And based on her body language as well as Georgio's confused look on his stupid mug, they didn't know each other. So Mick couldn't blame the girl for making this potential mistake. Georgio was scum and it was Mick's job to save damsels in distress. Okay, so his official title was Intimidator but Knight in Shining Armor was in the job description, read the fine print. He bit into his sucker and swallowed the candy, tossing the stick onto the bar before stuffing his hands in his pockets and meandering towards them.
"Gorgeous, there you are, I've been waiting for you," he put an arm around Mischa's shoulders, red eyes glancing at Georgio. He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Hey DiNardo,"
"Monelli," Georgio grunted, not bothering with faking a pleasant expression.
"Let's find some less hot air shall we?" he led Mischa away, waiting until they were near the dancefloor before speaking. "Sorry but you don't wanna talk to that sludge. Not a people person," Mick chuckled.

Mischa smiled curiously, "And what makes you so certain I don't want to talk to that 'sludge'? Maybe I'm not much of a people person myself, Mr.... DiNardo, was it?" Mischa found herself quite intrigued by this mystery man.

Mick smirked, "It's Monelli, Micky Monelli, DiNardo's aren't blessed with these amazing genes," he waved a hand towards his face, winking roguishly.

Mischa couldn't help but chuckle at him. 'Well, Mr. Micky with amazing genes, would you like to dance?' She smiled expectantly.

"Of course, I could never deny a request from such a beautiful woman," he gripped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it as he smiled. He then led her onto the dancefloor as the band on the stage above them began to play a nice, jazz tune. Mick's smile grew, ah Sinatra, couldn't go wrong with Ol' Blue Eyes. He put one hand on her waist and held her hand with the other, sliding easily into a graceful waltz.
-
(How come I always catch you an hour after you've posted?)

"Mr. Micky I must say you're quite a good dancer. What brought you here tonight?" Mischa gently placed her hand on his shoulder and followed lead. Well, the night finally got interesting.

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(Who knows, I notice you're usually online when I post but I wait about 15 minutes and I can't catch your post until the next day.)