Defiance - LiquidNitrogen & Jaxi [I.C]

[Jaxi]

Act I

There was a sense of beauty in the insignificant details of the dead end
city. Trees lined the streets, their leaves surging with the wind to and
from, before falling lifeless and russet to the streets, just to be trampled.
Their colors right before the fall, right before everything went to shit were
what mattered, right? Magnificence shimmered in gold, orange, and
mahogany each so untranslatable that it was hard to comprehend. The
musty fog which crept onto each of the windows just before dawn – all of
it kept the locals willingly coming back for more regardless of the
staggering city statistics which showed smuggling, drug use, trafficking,
and murder rates had all increased. Elsie was there for one reason and one
reason only – she had no one else to turn too.

The first snowfall would bring about another change – the prospect that
the trails of blood, footprints, and answers all unknown to the police
before might somehow make sense. Still most involved already knew
there was little anyone could do to change the human nature which
swarmed around this city in full force during all seasons. There was only
luck, and fate. Both which had somehow forced Elsie into finding her way
back to the city, and under her father’s reign. Some things were given, like
the monthly payment which her father so decently granted her. Other
things were earned like her usefulness. Unfortunately for Elsie that was
being produced in a means which she had no control over – marrying a
respectful and well known man who her father chose. Love, was
nonexistent to her father, and that was clear by the number of wives he
had disposed of – her mother included in those numbers.

Contempt was something she knew too much about. Cracked sidewalks,
frigid air, and curious rugged bystanders moved around her, but she took
no notice. Instead her mind was mulling over the photo which had been
taken the day before and was published on the front of the newspaper this
morning. Andrei Varenkov had his arm slung around her dainty waist, a
grin on his distinguished and dark facial features. They were the talk of
the town, her father a wealthy lawyer, and Varenkov a wealthy bank
owner – ‘A Merge of Two Monumental Families’ as the paper deemed it.
Finally her father was allowing his only daughter to marry – to one of the
many succulently sexy scum of the city. Hell, of course she found Andrei
attractive – every woman in town found him attractive – but there was
something off about him. Off about the way Patrick, her father, and him
interacted. So obviously his attractiveness didn’t change the fact that the
way he looked at her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on ends.

Tonight wasn’t about the winter, the dim street lamps offering too little
refuge, or the curiously bad part of town which she had found herself in.
Stopping just before rounding the corner Elsie ran a hand down the front
of her dark blue dress, her large green eyes taking in her surrounding
before letting out a deep and worried sigh. What was she thinking coming
here? Still there was no way she was to back out now – she was there for
information, and she was going to it. Her hair fell in curls down her back,
and it was pinned out of her face. She moved forward, her black heels
clapping against the cement.

Shining off down the road was the place she was seeking. A little dive bar
known for rowdiness and accidents. Retrieving information had its price
– a whole two months worth of her allowance, and meeting a shady
characters in an even more questionable location. Two blocks away she
slinked off into the shadows. Part of her was suspicious of this offer which
was almost too good to be true – answers and proof of her father’s illegal
activities. Hell if it was that easy why hadn’t they just turned him in? She
pushed it from her thoughts, her eyes attached to the front door. Few left
but many went in, and all appeared as if they were typical males wanting
a drink or two.

Surrendering to her curiosity she began the short trek to the door.
Reluctantly opening the door she stepped forward, letting the door clap
against its frame behind her.

Smoke filed out, and up her nose. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it caused
her to cough slightly. Glancing around there was an overzealous voice
accompanied by a tune booming from the jukebox in the corner. Bodies
moved as one on the dance floor, and she looked like a doe in the
headlights of a truck – staring astounded. Gathering herself, she finally
moved away from the door slowly, and towards the bar. The person she
was to meet was very vague only told her the location and that ‘he would
find her’. Swallowing nervously she sat, the man behind the bar eyed her
as if to predict her purpose there.

“Something to drink?” the deep voice was barely heard above the music.

“Well,” she glanced left, right, and back to him, “I am meeting someone –
but I don’t really know who.” She looked like an obvious idiot, and the fact
that the tall bald male had an eyebrow raised at her confirmed her
thought. “Just forget it,” she tried to shrug it off. “I’ll drink what she is
drinking,” Elsi nodded towards a women down the way with a deep pink
colored drink in her hand.

[LiquidNitrogen]

God dammit, this place sucked! Not that the man, currently sifting through the crates of liquor in a cramped pantry, could do anything about it. There was no form of organization in this damned bar. Just liquor, dancers, loud music, and men who never knew when they were bat-shit drunk. Honestly, Salvatore had no idea why the boss wanted to keep this shitty place. It was certainly not due to its charm (or lack thereof). The dingy little place constantly reeked of piss, alcohol, nicotine (or any other form of inhaled drugs), and body odor. Location was not a reason to keep the bar around either. The hell-hole was in the worst part of town and quite a ways away from the rest of the city. But it wasn't as if he had any say in what happened to the bar. Nor was he allowed to question the higher authority. Such actions would not be looked upon lightly.

Disgruntled, Sal continued to rummage through the old crates unable to find that one bottle of—finally. Locating the aged Grappa, he stood up and tried to make out the faded date by the light of a single naked bulb. No accomplishment. The yellowish light only succeeded in blending with the yellowish parchment dating the brew. The result was an incomprehensible jumble of letters and numbers that made his brain hurt.

He frowned but kneeled back down to grab a few more of the deep green bottles before tucking a couple under his arm and exiting the pantry. “Toni, head’s up.” Sal admonished tossing the undated bottle towards the bald bartender, who was chatting pleasantly with another drunk-off-his-rocker customer. Said portly bartender, glanced up at the mention of his name, and quickly grabbed the Grappa from the air before it could shatter on the ground. Toni, apparently, was not in the mood for his games and had taken to shouting at him in Italian. “Master DeLuca, I have no problem with hauling your sorry ass out of my bar if you so much as even spill some of this Grappa! It’s worth more than your hide.”

“Yeah, yeah. Would’ve been your fault for not catching it big guy.” Sal countered—also in Italian—with a sly smile.

“My name is not ‘big guy’ or ‘Toni’. My name is Antonio! I would like to be addressed as such.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure,” Sal promptly ignored the comment and began walking towards the liquor cabinet. “I can’t read the date on that one.” He added as he placed the remainder of the bottles in the cupboard.

Toni just offered him a curt glare and turned back to his precious Grappa. He uncorked the bottle, gave it a whiff and then tipped a small amount into a glass and sipped it. “It’s fine you whelp.” He said before re-corking it and placing it in the liquor cabinet behind him. Sal shrugged. He had assumed as much, but the thought of offering to serve sub-par liquor at Toni’s bar was not something he wished to endure. Better safe than sorry.

A couple of minutes passed, not without subtle bantering, when the door to the bar opened to admit another guest. The woman, however, did not look the part of their usual crowd. Curled brown hair, light make-up (nothing like the whores here usually wore), and she was dressed… formally? If the look on her face said anything, she was definitely out of place. She made her way quietly to the bar and took a seat next to Juliet—one of their regulars. Sal studied her for a moment. Even in spite of her obvious unease with the place, she somehow looked familiar. Sal frowned. Unable to place her. “Toni, I’ll be right back.”

“That’s Antonio, bastard!”

But Sal had already disappeared into the back room leaving Toni to deal with the unusual customer. Upon his entry, Sal made a beeline towards the pile of loose papers on the writing desk in the corner. Newspaper. Where was that newspaper? He rustled through them, quite noisily, until he spotted the parchment and liberated it from its nest of insanity. He flipped through the pages quickly. It wasn't hard to spot her picture. Especially when it was right next to Andrei fuckin’ Varenkov.

Sal withdrew from the backroom, and with some urgency beckoned the bartender. “That’s Varenkov's fiancée. What the flying shit is she doing in Romani territory?” He said quickly in Italian nodding towards the woman currently situated beside Juliet.

Toni frowned disbelievingly and took hold of the paper clutched in Sal’s hand. His frown grew more troubled. “She said she was looking for someone.”

“Really specific. Who?”

“She didn’t specify.”

“Great.” Sal said sarcastically staring at the woman sipping her prim little dark pink beverage. She better not be here to bring the family trouble. It was around 15 minutes later that someone approached her in the bar. Sal glanced at the man, initially disinterested, but was stunned to find he recognized him. If not personally, then he was definitely part of the Romani family.

OOC:: I will likely not be on much tomorrow, seeing as it's a Sunday and I still have a crapload of HW to finish >.>

[Jaxi]

It was like Bambi in the city - a stark, stark contrast. That didn’t stop her
emerald irises from scanning the place. Posters lined some of the walls
many torn, the lights outside offered more than the faint present here,
there were women thick noticeable sheets of makeup covering their faces,
and Elsie couldn’t get enough of the palpable differences between her life,
and this one. Glass against granite thumped just in front of her, causing
her to jolt visibly from her curious daze. Smiling sheepishly she revealed
her pallid but straight teeth.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching into the clutch which sat comfortably on her
lap. Pulling out a bill which was much larger than needed she handed it
off to him, received her change, and sat in uncomfortable silence.

She lifted the drink to her lips, letting a mouthful past her lips.
Immediately she regretted it, swallowing only to have a hand cup over
her lips. It was strong, a bitter taste she knew nothing about. Wine was
one thing, but hard liquor was another. From there on out as she waited,
she only lifted the drink to her lips, and down the smallest of sips. This
was no café and she had no newspaper to stare at to pretend she was
occupied. Beneath her dress, her leg shook, up and down anxiously.
Occasionally she would shift her wristwatch to glance at the time, aside
from that there was little else going on for Elsie. Though she vowed to
leave in ten minutes… she didn’t budge. Just as she was about to stand to
exit, the door behind her sent a gust of chilly night air into the bar, and
she glanced in that direction.

Much like the other males she had watched walk in this one appeared
casual, and comfortable with his surroundings. Momentarily glancing
around he connected his dark, cold eyes with hers and from there he
didn’t inspect the place any further. That was what told her he was the
one she was meeting. Turning back towards the front of the bar, she
twirled the bottom of her glass before lifting it and forcing down a large
gulp. Each of those nerve endings were swelling, bursting, and causing her
to feel way more than she wanted.

He sat wordlessly next to her with his eyes straight forward. She watched
from her peripherals. A hand lifted for the attention of the bartender –
when he came over a short exchange occurred. Nothing she was able to
understand.

“Scotch on the rocks,” he said with a brief pause in his free flowing Italian,
“I’m taking her in the back, I have orders. If I’m not out in twenty, then I’ll
need some assistance, if you understand me.” Each of his brows rose,
attempting to give further meaning without saying too much – just in case
she understood.

Another swig of her own drink was taken; she wanted to let herself
become more relaxed. Though she cringed she only had one swig left if she
kept it up. It wasn’t until the male beside her had a drink in his hand did
he finally turn his words to her. “Nice to see you decided to meet me,” his
eyes were on the glass, but his tone told her that she was to stay quiet. He
was domineering, in control, and mostly he wanted her to know that. She
did as she thought he wanted. “I’ve arranged to use their backroom, we
can’t talk of such serious matters out here,” this time he glanced sideways
as her and the women a few seats down. “That is, if you're still up for it.”

Was this another one of his subtle challenges? Quietly her teeth clamped
together, her jaw tightly clenched, amplifying her already high
cheekbones. While she may not have been from here, or used to dealing
with people in regards to her father – she didn’t like to be challenged.
“What is your name?” she removed her eyes from his and to her drink but
her tone was decisive, almost demanding. Again she toyed with the glass,
her little insecurities hopefully not giving her away. Lifting his drink, the
glass connected to his full lips, and a number of gulps were taken. Part of
her envied that he took his liquor so well, envied that he was so much
better at this game than her...

“Join me – or not,” Elsie could tell a sneer was plastered on his face and
with that he stood with his glass in hand. Casually he sauntered behind
the bar, and into a door. Elsie watched mesmerized by his sheer cockiness.
She sat there for a time, watching, waiting, and then she angrily sighed.
Downed the remainder of her drink, and took three steps towards the exit
before turning angrily on her heels.

All this way to get nothing? Something about it dulled her fears, and
convinced her that she was doing the right thing. Marching back the way
she came, clutch in hand, she nodded to the bartender as she went behind
the bar, and into the backroom. Leaning casually against a second door
was the nameless man. A smug look showing he already knew she would
be right behind him. Pushing away from the wall, in his prim blue and
white suit, he headed into the doorway which he had been leaning
against, and left the door wide open for her to go through.

Inside a bookshelf lined one wall, in front of it a desk, two other chairs
were scattered about the room, and one couch firmly planted against the
opposing wall. Surprisingly it was a smaller room, built for meetings, or
something of the sort, but it was definitely the leader of the establishment’s.
Elsie stood for a moment watching as the male walked behind the desk,
threw his feet onto the edge, and lounged back. Gesturing to a seat, his
gaze jumped from her and to the chair he wanted her to take.

“Name?” Elsie demanded.

“You sure are stubborn,” but she didn’t budge, so he continued, “We’re not
here for me, but it’s Vincent.”

Given what she wanted, she contently headed for the seat he previously
commanded, “Thanks. I have your money.” Her hands were folded over
the purse which held the money.

“How much do you know, then I will tell you everything else,” he said
casually sipping on the glass which he had taken from the bar.
Dumbfounded Elsie stared a moment at him. From there she shook her
head barely back and forth.

“Nothing, that is the problem,” she said, “My hand in marriage is being
bartered for – something, but no one will tell me what. Or why my father
is in so much trouble that he has to use me as a bribe.”

Chilling sardonic laughter came from Vincent; his feet dropped from the
desk, thudded against the floor, and his gruff face came level with hers.
“You really are clueless,” the half smile on his face was a mix of amazement
and deviancy. “Your father offering your hand is to get in business with
the mob, your soon to be husband, a mobster,” the words lingered like
smoke. Each of his words echoed inside of her, and she began piecing
together the clips stored in her memory. Elsie shook her head, “What is
this, some sort of joke? What proof do you have?”

“The money,” his hand extended before wagging his fingers for her to
hand it over, “And you’ll have all the proof you need.”

Elsie tossed it on the table, the same creepy look which Andrai gave her
was being given by Vincent. She was still trying to figure out what it
meant, if they were just mesmerized by her pitiful nativity, or undressing
her with their eyes – she couldn't tell.

“I’ll leave it on the desk, and I’ll be right back. I left it with the bartender
before you arrived,” he said the same deviant smirk there. He strutted out,
and let the door behind Elsie slam shut. Elsie was left there watching the
lifeless room around her. The words which Vincent had offered reverberated
inside of her, and she tried to deny that the evidence wasn’t overwhelmingly
obvious. She tried convincing herself that she shouldn’t feel stupid for not
knowing sooner but she failed.

~~~~

Strolling from behind the bar and around to where he had previously sat
he leaned against the bar top. From there Vincent nodded towards the
two males. Once both were closer he glanced around for onlookers, once
certain the coast was clear of eavesdroppers he let the same sneer appear
on his face.

“Bitch is clueless,” he shook his head, “I got direct orders, we are to keep
her here, either in the cellar, or if you have a better place, then so be it. But
one of you get the dirty work, tie her up, and keep her alive until further
notice. This place is low key enough, and the music is loud enough that it
will work perfect.” With a wag of his brows he finished up, “Don’t keep
her waiting too long – oh and the cash, it's the payment for the duty.”

Just as quickly as he arrived he headed back out the door.

~~~~

Waiting wasn’t the worst part, it was the unknowing. It was the quiet
little secret that had been so well hidden from her yet still right in plain
sight. Tapping her fingers impatiently against her purse she wondered
what the proof was. What other atrocities her father had committed to
stay in business with these men? The door behind her swung open and
she turned. This time it was a different face.


(OOC: Sorry had this for you hours ago, but RPG wasn't letting me on, to
post, view, or do anything. Hope you enjoy, let me know if I can change
anything to make your reply easier! <3

[LiquidNitrogen]

“Who is it?” Were the first words that came from Sal’s mouth when Toni returned from the bar. Privacy, apparently, had been expected, and the bartender—though stout—was not dense. He had taken the blunt hint and, within minutes, had rendezvoused with Sal at the table he was cleaning. Toni frowned and wiped his forehead with the towel no longer secured around his waist. Once the beaded sweat, which had accumulated between the wrinkles on his forehead, had successfully been wiped from his person, the bartender sighed and plopped into the booth.

“So?” Sal prompted, expectantly.

“…It’s Vincent.”

“Vincent?” he deadpanned straightening up impetuously. “Vincent?! What the fuck is he doing here?! With a Varenkov nonetheless? That little fucking bastard; I’ll ring his scrawny little neck if he so much as—”

“DeLuca, shush. You’re drawing attention to yourself.” It wasn’t an overstatement meant to keep him quiet, either. His outburst had drawn a few gazes from the people around them (thankfully, Sal had chosen his native tongue to convey his dissatisfaction, and, as a result, those curious were oblivious to his clever choice of diction). The subject of his present conversation, who wasn’t exactly “around them” (really Vincent was on the other side of the bar) but had hearing like a fucking dog’s, had also taken to turning around to offer a quick glare. The prick. Sal ducked his head and went back to furiously scrubbing the table with an old rag. The question, however, still hung in the air. And just to make sure Toni didn’t forget it, Sal glanced up at him expectantly while still “immersed” in his cleaning.

Toni leaned forward, his arms resting on the top of his knees as he eyed Sal beadily, contemplating whether or not his apprentice was privy to that information. Sal stared back just as intently. They’d played this game before, when Sal was younger. Of course, when he was younger, Sal hadn’t learned how to compete properly. As a result, his loss was eminent the moment he was made uncomfortable by the intensity of his opponent’s gaze. Sal, however, had learned since then, and Toni knew it.

The bartender broke their gaze and sighed. “He’s here on official business.”

“‘Official business’ my butt. What did he say?” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t believe I’m at liberty to discuss that with you.”

“Fuck that. Tell me what he said.” Sal hissed, ceasing his scouring. He was still clearly annoyed with the fact that Vincent was sitting so casually in his bar (well, the bar really belonged to Toni, but it would be his eventually so the implication was justified) looking all smug and asshole-like as always. It took all of Sal’s self restraint not to sprint across the bar and give the guy a good ass-kicking. And oh how he needed one. With any hope, it would knock loose that infernal stick obviously shoved up there somewhere. Not that Sal really had any other choice but to be cordial to the guy—he was higher up on the food chain after all. His personal issues with the man would just have to wait until this damned debt was gone.

“Look Sal, I know you’ve got a vendetta against the guy, but I ain’t stickin’ my neck out there just so you can be appeased. Fair enough?”

Sal swallowed his anger and went back to wiping down the table not taking his eyes from the man situated by the Varenkov slut. He knew that Vincent could feel his gaze, and frankly didn’t care, even if it resulted in another “lesson.” It was moments later that he was leading the girl into the backroom. Sleaze-ball.

Moments later, he was exiting—quite alone—and taking Toni aside. But not without a glare in Sal’s direction. Childish, yes, but Sal stuck his tongue out at the man once his back had turned to him once again. Brief words were exchanged between the bartender and the ass, and then he blessedly was out of their space.

Toni however still looked peeved. “We’ve got a job.” He mumbled.

“So I heard.” Sal chided, frowning. “Are you ‘at liberty to discuss this with me’ now?”

Toni frowned again. “You know the gist of it. Varenkov’s fiancée is a curious little thing, and got herself tangled up in something larger than she could handle. We’re just storing her.” Leave it to Vincent to dump something like this on him.

Sal was glowering. “Who’s doing the dirty work?”

Toni mulled it over a moment then shrugged. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

- : - : - : -

He had lost. Of course he had lost. Sal made his bitter way into the backroom already regretting it. Why couldn’t he have been some master genius and chance hand games? Ah, whatever, a job was a job, no matter how unpleasant. And money was money, no matter where he got it from—and by hell Sal really needed that money.

He opened the door and slipped in quietly shutting it behind him. “You must be Elise Varenkov.”

OOC:: Or, apparently, post sometime in the morning because Franklin was being an old fart last night. -sighs- Oh and usually I'd post something more stimulating, but I wanted to give room for conversation if you wanted it.

[Jaxi]

Confronted with a man she had never seen before there was little Elsie
could do to keep her eyes off of the face of the man. His dark hair and even
darker, sculpted facial features were accented by his only light feature,
his eyes, aside of course from his skin. Initially it caused her eyes to fall
from his face, and to his attire, she had seen him, working, or behind the
bar… but why was he here with her? When his deep voice matter-
of-factly stated her name her eyes flashed back to his face. There was
something more there, but Elsie had trouble placing it. Suddenly she got
the feeling that she should stand, and leave... so she did at least one of the
two. Continuing to have her hands folded in front of her she wished to
appear at ease with this all, even if she was getting suspicious.

“Elsie Swarsovi – not that that is any of your business, who are you
anyway? And where is – that other guy – Vincent?” her eyes were glued
to his face, and each movement as he made it. An eyebrow moved
upwards, slowly, as her mouth fell open. Annoyance and frustration
balled in her stomach to create anger which typically never appeared.
Sighing deeply, she glanced back at the door, as if Vincent would walk in
at any moment. When that expectation was short lived she turned her
attention back to the man who deemed himself Sal. He rounded the desk
casually, not as if he owned it, but more so as if it was a feat. Something
which was untouchable by him, but he was crossing that line regardless.
Closing her mouth, she glared for a moment, before settling on still
standing, as if it would make a difference.

“If you don’t have my proof I want my money, and I’ll just – I’ll leave,” she
leaned forward with her hand extended, the frustration finally apparent
in her mascara and eye liner smudged eyes. With his next set of words she
bit down on her lower lip, and slowly lowered herself to her chair. Her
extended hand dropped back to her purse still clutched at her waist. He
had no idea what proof she was speaking of… was this some kind of game
to them all? Or did he have the proof she needed, but she just had to get it
out of him? She convinced herself of the latter, hoped for it, and refrained
from speaking while she attempted to think of a plan. She was content
with the awkward silence which her lack of words brought on. She
wanted to get a good look at his face, figure out what exactly she thought
his intentions were, and what he was hiding – if anything.

“He… had proof, of my father, Andrei, something about the mob –,”
exasperated, and babbling she finally raised her voice, “I don’t know." Her
hands lifted and dropped in frustration. "Don't you see, that is the
problem, he was going to give me the proof!” While her words filled the
air, her arms continued to flail, leaving her clutch stranded in her lap –
much like she was stranded here.

[LiquidNitrogen]

She was nervous. Of course she was nervous. It was slightly unnerving, to be honest. Yes, she might have had every reason to be nervous, but still. Doing what he was going to have to do… while having someone scared of him… the combination didn't provide a very pleasant feeling. Truthfully, it made him feel like a ruthless asshole who took pleasure in causing pain... a little too much like Vincent for his liking. But Sal hid his thoughts. It would be worse if she knew that he didn’t want to do this. Her fear would waver. She’d fight back. All hell would break loose. And this would be a hell of a lot harder than it need to be.

Her eyes flicked across his face; he studied her right back still oblivious to the reasons why she had chosen to meet with Vincent of all people. How the hell had she met the guy to begin with? Vince wan't one to go knocking on Varenkov doors. Elsie stood up. Was she suspicious? He raised an eyebrow even if her suspicions were also understandable. Nonetheless, Sal frowned and flipped the wooden chair, previously situated by the door, around. He straddled it, rested his arms on the top back rail, and laid his head on top of his arms. While it may seem like the act was meant to convey his utter lack of fear, it, in all actuality, merely hid his sleight of hand. He had locked the door, when turning his chair, to forestall any of her escape efforts. This would undoubtedly get messy.

“Elsie Swarsovi – not that that is any of your business, who are you anyway?”

“Hmmm…” He lifted his head and contemplated whether or not he should answer. Fuck it. A name was a name. It probably wouldn’t giver her any leverage. “Sal. Not that that is any of your business.” He responded with only a little cheek.

“And where is – that other guy – Vincent?” Yup. She was suspicious.

“Vincent had a prior engagement to attend to.” Sal responded easily still leaning against the chair. She frowned. Oh? Had he touched a nerve? Whatever. Less chat, more action. He needed to get this done. With her anger in check, Sal rounded the desk and leaned towards her. She stood up quickly, not that it really made much of a difference. She was quite a bit shorter than him.

“If you don’t have my proof I want my money, and I’ll just – I’ll leave.”

“Proof?” He disregarded her last comment about leaving. He’d deal with it later, if she attempted to carry out that threat. “Vincent had proof? Of what?” She looked confused, if not a little frightened. She allowed an uncomfortable silence to fall between the two, not that he cared much, but two minutes of silence was really too long. He just wanted an answer, and if she was going to be difficult, then he was willing to do whatever it took to pry it from her. Luckily, the woman responded before he snapped.

“He… had proof, of my father, Andrei, something about the mob –” Incessant babbling. Sal frowned. The idiot, why on earth would you trust a Romani if your family was Varenkov? “I don’t know. Don't you see, that is the problem, he was going to give me the proof!” Well that was useless information. Sal reverted back to calm and collected, hoping that she hadn’t noticed his slip in persona, even if it was increasingly unlikely. Either way, he almost felt a little sorry for her. Almost. She was a naive little girl, who had no idea what she was getting into. How sorry could you feel for an idiot?

“Oh sei fottuto acefali.” She didn’t take too kindly to that little comment, though he doubted that she understood it. Not that it mattered. “What I want to know is why on earth you would choose to trust a Romani if you have ties with the Varenkov family?” She was silent. He frowned again “Vincent’s using you. You’re just leverage against the Russian mob. Against your fiancée, father whoever has status in the internal ranking system. This meaning, of course, that you’re not going to be leaving any time soon, honey.” He cocked his head, offered a slow smile, and grasped the 3.2 caliber hidden in the small of his back. “Unfortunately, the dirty work falls on me.” She inhaled sharply.