Skip sat in his pillowy leather chair behind his desk, staring out the window of his huge third story beachfront office. He'd bought the space several years ago to escape the craziness of home. It was his "man-cave" so to speak. He came here whenever he and his wife fought or the kids were screaming or he needed complete silence. This was about eighty percent of the time that he wasn't working at the shop.

It was a gray afternoon. Clouds covered the sky and deep green-blue waves crashed violently on the shore. Skip reached for a crystal bottle and a matching glass. He poured the amber-colored contents of the bottle into the glass and then set it back down. He crossed his legs and continued to watch the angry waves attack the sand in a never-ending onslaught. He took a sip from his cup and cleared his throat.

"I told you no. I don't want to have the Feds swarming the place. We will not be bringing in extra goods to any of the places. Do you understand? It's hard enough bringing in a few hundred cases a month. I really don't want to make it any harder." Skip was about ready to start yelling.

"But, sir. We'll even give you a discount--" The visitor had a thick Canadian accent.

"I said no!" Skip stood up and shoved his chair back against the desk, still facing the window. "I thought you Canuks spoke English. I guess I was wrong."

"Exc..." The Canadian sighed. "Yes sir. I understand. I'll just take my leave now."

Skip didn't bother to respond. He listened silently as the man let himself out. He took another drink from the cup. He looked down at it. Cheap apple juice. He should have known to get the expensive stuff. Lord knows he could afford it and live quite comfortably.

"Hey you, Ash. Lend me a hand, will ya?" Charley shouted from across the room. Ashland looked at him questioningly. "I need some help with this here box of props. I swear. Some of these ladies don't know how to clean up after themselves." He shook his head. Ashland moved to help him place the tattered costumes and various other parts into the chest. "It's disgusting. We're running low on money and they think they can treat these like shit. They should be treating it like fucking gold because they ain't gonna be seein' new stuff for a loooooooong time."

"Give 'em a break, Char. They're drunk most of the time." Ashland said only half meaning it.

"All the more reason." He muttered almost too quiet to hear. Ashland rolled her eyes. She and Charley had been friends since childhood. It was because of him she landed this job. Even so, she knew he was a bit stiff sometimes.

"Relax, Charley. We'll be fine. I swear." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Easy for you to say. You're not handling the money around here."

"Well nor are you, so quit fussing." She shoved him and stood up. "Even so, it isn't our problem. Let the higher ups deal with it." She walked away, waving over her shoulder at Charley. "See ya tomorrow, Pal."

Annalisa sat next to a man on the red sofa in the sitting room of her house, tears running down her face. They weren't real, of course, she just wanted money and pity, and she knew exactly how to get it. "It's... It's just been so hard- I expected the family to take care of me, since I've lost Mama and Papa and Leonardo, but they've barely done anything. The money won't last forever and I'm not getting enough." She said, but what she really meant was 'I want another string of pearls and a new dress, and I don't feel like paying my house payment.'

"Uh.." The man next to her was obviously uncomfortable,"Could I help you in any way? " He asked.

Annalisa grabbed a cigar and lit it, still sniffling,"Well.. I don't know how I'm going to make my house payment." She whined, making her voice ridiculously high- pitched. "I'll pay you back- I promise." She took a drag off of the cigar and then leaned in, kissing the man's cheek, even though she hardly knew him. This was how she got them- she showed them affection.

The man stared at her,"Okay Miss Cavallo, but I expect the money by next month." He said lowly and handed Annalisa the money.

"Oh thank you! I will I promise!"She hugged the man, and then ushered him to the door quickly, struggling to hide her happiness. She knew she wasn't going to bother to pay him back, but she would deal with that problem later. She then took the money and hid it in the dresser, she knew the shopping would have to wait until a later time, she had work to do. She didn't like how she had to work- she thought she should've been waited upon hand and foot because of the amount of loss she had suffered- but no one else did, so she just had to cope.

Antonino puffed casually on his cigarette as he watched the crates of illegal alcohol being loaded aboard ship while at the same time trying to swallow back the quizzyness that kept trying to escape from his belly. Travelling across the Atlantic Sea aboard a ship from Italy had left him with a huge dislike of being out on the open waters, he also was developing a dislike for working with upstart Mafia Families from Boston, but the money was good...and needed, Torpedo work in New York had taken an unexpected slow turn with the rumors of a Russian Mafia Family coming to the New York area spreading like wildfire. Antonino finished his cigarette, wishing he was already back in New York as he watched the ships crew load the last of the shipment into the hold then battened down the hatches and finished preparations for the ship to make sail.

Captain Mark Evens navigated his converted fishing schooner, The Canadian Star, from the hidden cove just a mile or two east of Saint John New Brunswick, once out into the open waters, he turned the wheel over and pointed the bow of the boat in the direction of the Boston MA Port. In the wake of a storm that had blown through the area just a few days before, the sea was now relatively calm, which he was thankful for, since his holds and every other available space were near to overloaded with contraband and would of made for a rough voyage home had the lakes been anything other then calm. Captain Evens took a final bearing check from the compass, looked out the windows of the wheelhouse to make sure his crew had lashed and tied down what needed to be, then sat back and lit a smoke, now that they were underway, he was now able to return his attention to the stranger who had entered his wheelhouse prior to the last of the contraband being brought aboard.

Antonino opened the door to the wheelhouse and walking in, the look on the Captains face as he turned to see who had walked in without permission was one of annoyance, Antonino raised a hand and with a stern look stopped the uttering of expletives that was on the tip of the Captains tongue, with a solemn and simple pronouncement," I work for Don Muccino". Though the lights of the wheelhouse were dim, Antonino could almost see the Captains face turn a pasty white but at least he had sense enough to keep his mouth shut and return to his work, as Antonino moved to a chair and sat down, remaining silent the whole time the Captain was getting his boat underway.

Antonino reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and lit a cigarette shortly after the Captain sat back and lit up one of his own. He could see by the continued silence, now that the Captain had a chance to sit back and relax and return his attention to his unannounced guest, Antonino could see the Captain was slowly becoming increasingly unnerved and fidgetty by his presence and lack of sound as they both sat and smoked in silence. Antonino put out his cigarette then cleared his throat and watched with a slight smirk as the Boat Captain nearly jump out of his skin, now hat he had the mans attention, Antonio's tone of voice was low and matter-of-fact,

"Captain Evens, call your second in charge up here if you would please, I'll explain everything once he arrives", though the Captain gave him a puzzled look, Antonino was content to sit back without further explanation and watched as the Captain stuck his head out the door and called for one of the deckhands to go fetch Duncan, after a few moments the man called Duncan walked in and stood near his Captain, looking between the both of them with curiosity. Antonino unbuttoned his jacket then crossed his legs, then reached up and tilted his hat up on his forehead giving off the appearance that this was going to be a casual conversation,

"Captain Evens...",, Antonino began, his voice mimicking his casual appearance, "Don Muccino has been looking over last months books and compared them to your last manifest...there seems to have be a slight discrepancy between what was shipped from our suppliers in Canada and what was received by his people in Boston, it goes without saying Don Muccino was not happy...", as the color again drained from the Captains face, his features contorted in a growing look of panic and Antonio's tone of voice slowly deepened with menace as he continued to layout the Captains stupidity,

"By Don Muccino account, he figures you stole roughly one crate for every five crates of Bourbon shipped, one crate of Scotch stolen for every eight crates shipped and there's also three fresh young ladies not accounted for from the last shipment, tell me Captain, if I were to look down in the crews quarters, would I find them, or have they done had their way with the girls and tossed them overboard?" Antonino calmly held the Captains gaze and watched as the man did his best to muster up some bravado ,"So what if you got proof, I bring in more money per shipment then any other boat out here on Muccino's payroll, so I took a few crates, so what, its not like the other Captains don't do it, what you gonna do?,fire me?, I put the word out and there wont be a Captain one that will sail for Muccino", replied the Captain with a growing tone of arrogance and swagger.

Antonino noted the disrespect in the Captains tone of voice and not using the title of Don, and he about shot him there and then, but he forced himself to control his temper, but his tone and demeanor changed within a blink of an eye, his features turned ice cold and the tone of his voice dropped murderously deep and reverberated off the walls, even rattling a few of the loose window panes ,"You signed an agreement with DON Muccino, and no where in that agreement did it state it was ok to help yourself to HIS property...your not going to be fired Captain Evens...your going to be retired, consider what you stole as severance pay, not that its going to be of any use to you", Antonio's lefthand moved like a flash of lightening and pulled the Colt.45 from the shoulder holster, the look of shock still registered on the Captains face as two .45 slugs slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards into the side windows of the wheelhouse then sliding down the wall to the floor in a shower of glass.

Antonino turn his attention to Duncan even before the light faded from the Captain's now saucer sized eyes, Duncan looked on the verge of pissing his pants, but sighed with relief as Antonino re-holstered the colt and spoke again, his voice once again casual, "Congradulations on your promotion Captain Duncan, Don Muccino sends you his best regards and hopes this becomes a prosperous arrangement for you as well as himself....fuck up like evens did, and I'll be calling on you, understand?, now where's the guest quarters, I could use a nap", Antonino lit another cigarette and got to his feet, walked to the door, but stopped short of exiting, then turned back to the new Captain, "Toss that piece of shit over the side, whatever he still has that was stolen is yours...keep it as a reminder DON Muccino don't take kindly to being stolen from".

Skip pulled the ring of keys from his pocket and selected the one that would lock the office door. With his other hand, he wiped the irritated sweat from his forehead. He really didn't feel like going home. He had already had his fair share of stress for the day. As he walked out into the early fall night, he thought about returning home to his family. He shook his head to clear it when the only thing he could see was the red face of his angry wife. She was never happy with him. Seventy-five percent of the time she was drunk. The other twenty-five percent she was hung over.

He passed a blinking sign. RESTAURANT AND ENTERTAINMENT it read in flashing bulbs. There was a faint light where the sign must have also alcohol. Skip stopped and looked at the sign for a few moments. A couple came out of the building. The man had a girl at least half his age hooked on his arm. He walked along with her staggering beside him, giggling and talking loudly. Saturated in alcohol, no doubt.

"Heyy there, paaaal." She slurred and giggled when she saw Skip. "Whachya doin'?"

"That's enough, Alice, dear." The man said, tugging on her arm. "Leave the gentleman alone."

"Oooh, but he looks so looonely." She tried to pull free from the man's grip. He didn't let her go.

"He's fine. Let's go home." He gave Skip an apologetic smile. "C'mon." He pulled her away and she finally gave in.

Skip nodded to the couple and watched them walk away. He turned his attention back to the club. He looked at it a moment more before deciding he'd step inside for a while. He walked in and took a seat at the bar. The bartender leaned on the counter.

"What'll it be?" He asked.

"Just water is fine." Skip took his hat off and set in front of him.

"Water?" The bartender gave him a funny look. "You look like you could use something stronger."

"I said water, thank you." Skip folded his hands on the counter. "I don't drink much." He gave the bartender a warning smile.

"Whatever you want." He said slightly confused. He turned around and then back. placing a glass on the counter, he said, "One water. Water is free."

Skip took a sip from the glass and looked at his pocket watch. Half past eight. He put the watch back in his pocket and turned the glass in his hands. A hand slapped him on the back.

"Water, eh? Too stingy for the real stuff?" A man chuckled and sat down.

"I would hardly call it that." Skip held his hand out for the man to shake. "You're late, Rich."

"I know. But I'm here, ain't I?" The man chuckled again.

"Sure. Where's my rent?" Skip didn't find it the least bit funny.

"Hey! Relax! We're at a club." Rich said. "There's booze and pretty girls. Take some time off. Life ain't just about money and business. Get this man a whiskey. On me." He waved at the bartender. Skip didn't bother refusing. It would be bad taste to turn down such an offer. "And Charley! Go get that new girl!" He turned back to Skip. "Man, you are going to love this girl."

"This isn't a whore house." Skip took the whiskey from the bartender.

"I know. She's a cutie though."

Grigoriy grabbed the box of tools and walked them over to the back of the truck, putting them down on another box that was already there. On his way back he passed his friend, who was walking towards the back of the truck as well. This was how he spent his days - lifting boxes from one place to the other and earning a small bit of money while doing so. Some days he earned a dollar or two, some days he earned merely twenty cents. But Grigoriy wasn't one to complain. He knew there were people that were itching to get his job. For every employee there were five people waiting for him to get fired so they can take his place.

Besides that, many of the people in charge were unwilling to hire Russians, something Grigoriy didn't really understand. Were they not hard workers? Sure, many didn't speak the language well. But there were always a few that spoke a few words and that could translate. It boggled Grigoriys mind. Instead they hired many Italians, whom generally spoke the language better and were fine with working for even less than the Russians.

Suddenly a bell rang, signalling that the work day was over. Grigoriy put down the last box in the truck before tapping the top of the cabin and walking off of the truck. The truck drove off, the driver still smoking his cigarette as he had been doing the entire time they were loading it in with tools. “Ghaa, chyort.” he cussed at the truck driver. “He never helps, that guy.” he said to his friend, in Russian. His mate laughed and walked off towards the docks. Grigoriy took off his gloves and put them on a box before following suit. He sniffed in the air of the sea, the saltiness was something he always favored over the smog in the city. Not to say that there was no smog here, ofcourse.. it was just less noticeable.

Outside, they met one of their friends. Grigoriy smiled at him and shook his hand. “Privet, brat, kak dela?”, or otherwise asking him how he was. The man answered that he was well, and that he had made arrangements for them to visit a small restaurant and entertainment place that still served alcohol. “Good, very good comrade. It's time for a drink.. I went two weeks without in this place.” They laughed and walked off, conversing and laughing, slapping backs and making fun of eachother like real pals. Poverty hadn't gotten the best of them yet.

They entered the club, loudly conversing in Russian as they entered. They didn't pay much mind to what was going on around them, the girls, the guys throwing angry and aggressive looks their way. They sat down at the bar area, not far from the Scotsman, but far enough to be unable to hear his conversation. The bartender soon came towards them, though it was obvious that he had no real interest in the Russians. He sighed loudly before asking them what they wanted. The two other Russians looked at Grigoriy who translated it for them. The men smiled at the bartender afterwards and said in unison, “Vodka.” The bartender sighed, once again. Why did he even bother to ask them what they want - the answer would always be vodka. But money was money so he went and got them three vodka's. The men thanked him in Russian, and though the bartender couldn't understand he understood the meaning of it. He nodded and walked off again after taking his money. 6 dollars for three vodka. You could almost call that a fortune. But Grigoriy nor his friends had to take care of a family - the money was there for them to spend as they pleased and they pleased themselves some vodka. Besides, Grigoriy had already sent back some money to his parents. This was not a time to feel guilty.

Annalisa got paranoid, and went back to her dresser, taking the money back out and counting it again, coming up $30 short. This wasn't going to fly with her- no one could simply rip her off and get away with it. She opened another drawer of her dresser, and took out a pistol, sitting it on top of the dresser. She sighed, and figured that the man couldn't have made it too far yet- she had forgotten his name, she had only met him the night before at a club. A big chunk of her income was finding businessmen, inviting them over, and then pretending to be an emotional basket case in order to get money- and that was exactly the case with this particular man. Anger had welled up in her, because she didn't like when men tried to short change her.

Annalisa walked outside, and saw the man standing at the street corner- she ran after him,"Sir! Sir!" She called after him,"You forgot something! Please come back!" The man turned around, and walked back toward her,"I don't recall doing so-"

"But you did!" Annalisa said urgently, and took his hand, dragging him in, and locked her front door once he was in. "Now just let me go and get it.." She said softly,"Then you can be on your lovely way."

Annalisa walked into her bedroom, and grabbed the pistol off of her dresser, her hands were shaking, she wasn't very good with killing people, it wasn't something she enjoyed doing, but if she wasn't going to get her way, she wasn't going to just let him get away with it. She held the gun up, and walked out slowly into the sitting room, pointing it at the man,"Now, don't try to leave, just hand the money over, if you don't I'm afraid you won't be leaving alive." Her voice was low and shaky.

"Miss Cavallo, I don't know what you're talking about." The man insisted,"Just sit the gun down, there's no need for violence."

"You don't fucking know? Where's the other $30? Theres no way you could miscount that bad!" There was a twinge of fear in her voice.

"Now, I don't see why you need all of that money, you have obviously been getting along just fine." The man snorted,"Plus, it's not like a pleasant young woman like you would actually shoot me."

"Well, you obviously have mistaken yourself." Annalisa whispered, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. She opened her eyes to see the man laying on the ground. She bit her lip and ran to get her purse. She looked at the man's body and sighed- she would clean it up later. Dazed, she made her way out of the house and to the nearest place that still served alcohol and sat down between three Russians and a Scotsman,"One vodka please." She said numbly, and scanned the place for a familiar face- someone, anyone, to help her dispose of the body laying on her sitting room floor.

Grigoriy and his company faced the girl walking in swiftly, not taking too much time to look at her. They talked about her in Russian, so she probably wouldn't understand. They noted her order for vodka and joked that even Americans knew that Russian alcohol was better. They also noted her apparent beauty.. though they used less flattering words than ''beauty''. Something referring to a nice ass was in place here. After that short talk they returned to talking about the glorious motherland. Grigoriy, sitting on the most right side, closest to the lady of the three Russians, grabbed his vodka shot and gulped it down in one go. Nothing special, but none the less an attempt to impress his friends and perhaps the lady.

His demeanor towards the others changed a bit when he leaned in closer and spoke more hushed. “I need money, comrades. This all.. leeching off of you two. I don't like it. I wanna provide for myself, you know. Make a living. Now, I work in the docks with you, Igor,” he spoke in Russian to his one friend, the one that he worked with all day. He wore a black flatcap, with a shaved head showing underneath in the parts the cap didn't cover. A simple sweater, and linen working pants. His shoes were.. smudged with grime. Looked well enough for a dockworker. “.. but you, Pawel, you don't work. Not legally, either way. Maybe you can ask your friends for a job for me.”

He faced away for a second to check if there was any people listening in, more of a habit than anything else because they spoke Russian anyway and he strongly doubted any Russians were nearby. “I mean, nothing too big. I know you have to start small. I just want to earn a few bucks, you know? Do some work. Maybe start my own shop here. I don't know.” The man named Pawel, a short man with a balding head and round reading glasses nodded. He answered Grigoriy that he would ask, but that he couldn't give any certainty. The many Russians moving here now were enough to feed the constant need of enforcers for the bratva's. But a good word never hurt anyone.

The discussion ended with the man agreeing to put in a good word, and soon after they continued joking. But not before Grigoriy beckoned the bartender to come to them again. The man sighed again, finishing up with a customer that was also requesting something. He walked over slowly, almost as if he was trying to avoid the conversation with these Russians. “Yes? Can I help you gentlemen?” Grigoriy looked at the man with a confused look, before looking at his friends and mumbling something in Russian. The two friends started laughing and Grigoriy faced the bartender again. “Gentlemen? I work in the docks, as my friend here. The other one is jobless. We are anything but gentle men, my comrad,” he spoke to him in a thick Russian accent, before pointing at the man sitting a few seats from him, conversing with another gentleman. This man was Skip, ofcourse, but Grigoriy didn't know that. “.. but that there is a gentleman. You can tell from his hands, brat. Please inform me.. what is the term for a ''gentle woman?'' I will think it's not gentlewoman, yes?” The Russian's English made the question somewhat unclear and the bartender obviously grew impatient with the Russian. “It's a lady. In any case, what can I get you, mr. Dockworker?” Grigoriy grinned and then answered with a somewhat arrogant look on his face, “more vodka, lady.” The bartender grew annoyed but complied, ignoring this childish and unnecesarily rude comment that Grigoriy made and simply served him more vodka. Grigoriy threw two dollars onto the bar then drank the shot once again in a single go.

Then he got up, putting on his flatcap again and closing his coat. “Spasibo for the drinks, comrades. But I will head home now.” He patted Pavel on the back, put his scarf on and around his neck and walked towards the exit, burying his neck and chin as much into the scarf and coat as he could. It was fucking raining, and cold as well. “Fucking American weather, so shit.” he said to himself as he walked into the rain towards his home.

"Do you mean Ash, sir?" Charley asked Rich. Skip was growing impatient. He didn't care about some girl. He just wanted his rent money.

"Whatever her name is. The brunette one." Rich shooed Charley away to go get the girl.

"She went home twenty minutes ago." Charley said, apologetically.

"Forget it, Rich." Skip said, movement at the other end of the bar catching his attention. He looked back at Rich. "Just give me the money."

"Jesus, Skip." Rich sounded a little shocked. "I know you only ever cared about money but you're usually nice about it. Fine." Rich dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. two hundred bucks bound together by a piece of jute string.

Skip took the money and counted it twice. Two hundred each time. "Just remember. This is a club. Not a whore house. If you start making money off of prostitution, you owe me fifteen percent of the profit. Got it?" Skip gave Rich a stern look as he stood up.

"Sure thing, Skip." Rich stood up.

They shook hand and then Skip finished his whiskey. He shot a glance at the men at the other end of the bar. They were looking at him but then averted their eyes. The bartender looked irritated. If he got to upset, he could lash out and that would be bad business. Skip made his way over to the men and took and empty seat.

"Is there a problem over here, gentlemen?" He put his empty glass on the counter for a refill.

In a building which overlooked Brooklyn's harbors, there were two men sat calmly, engaging in small conversation of both business and family. One man named Lorenzo lighted his pipe as a crisp sound of fire echoed while he inhaled the smoke that emitted from the pipe, leaving the room with a scent of tobacco. The other, Giovanni, casually sat down behind his new desk of a building both brothers had just purchased, his hands neatly wrapped around one another as he waited for his brother to say the first words. The room, just purchased, was already neatly organized, an affinity which Giovanni had. Giovanni was a man who always had his priorities straight and had a keen eye and memorization on dates, plans and events on what he was going to do, he was man of organization, which is what made him such a good businessman in the growing city of New York. Lorenzo exhaled a warm cloud of smoke from his mouth, the smoke floated freely across the room as the ugly scent of tobacco became even more dominant in the Giovanni's office.

"Why don't you smoke Johnny? It's good for you." Lorenzo said.

"I don't think inhaling any smoke is necessarily going to be good for you." Giovanni replied, waving smoke away from his hands as he stood up to open all three windows. The sounds of the city began to creep in while smoke left the building, the sounds of horns of cars and the Atlantic wind settled in as the window overlooked part of the blue sea and Manhattan. The Island ahead was now a busy and ever-growing city as building grew and reached as high as the sky, tearing through the clouds and making way for business opportunities. Maybe one day, Giovanni settle in Manhattan while half of his family took care of the rest of Brooklyn but for now, it was Brooklyn. "Eh. It's a nice view. Don't you think?" He said, leaning on the window and breathing the fresh, morning air of the sea. "I'm glad to decided to settle down with me on this part of town. Especially way from the smog of the in-lands."

"Well, we gotta find have a way of laundering the money we earn." Inhaling his pipe again. "Speaking about the money, did you think about what we might do with the Russians?" His brother replied after exhaling another warm cloud of smoke from his nostrils.

"Screw those Ruskies, I don't trust em. Those loonies almost ripped me off last time we gave them money." Giovanni said.

"Ripped us off? They were only two days late on their payment!" Lorenzo implied, laughing while smoke shot out of his mouth with every chuckle. "But they still paid."

"I don't trust that jerk-off Zaburdaajev and his Ruskie hoodlums, they just rub me the wrong way."

"Hey, I think we could put some trust in him. He did after all apologize greatly." Lorenzo gestured, he knew his brother well and realized he hardly put both his trust and his time in anyone. The slightest mistake and Giovanni would go ballistic. "They say he's an honorable man, you gotta learn to just calm down and trust him, he seems like a good guy to me and you know how I don't trust people easily." After all, they did know Grigoriy Pavlov Zaburdaajev quite well, as he sometimes would invite them to certain events. They were somewhat allies but more importantly, businessmen.

"I don't care what kind of man he is: Mai fidarsi di nessuno al di fuori della famiglia." Giovanni insisted, the saying was something his father used quite often even when referring to trust. It meant, "Never trust anyone outside of the family." It was something Giovanni adopted into his own philosophy in running the business for years after his father had died. Giovanni casually fixed his tie as he sat back down on his chair behind his desk. Lorenzo looked down and nodded his head, concurring with the wise words of his father who died when all of his brothers were very young. Giovanni was like his father, who was wise and cautious and Lorenzo knew to trust his older brother due to his responsible actions he portrayed while keeping his family and his business alive after all of these years. Suddenly, there came a knocking at the door.

"Huh? It must be our other two brothers. Late as always." Lorenzo stood from his chair to open the door behind him, quickly inhaling and exhaling another batch of smoke as he rushed towards the door..

The sun had started making it's move to the horizon, dipping slowly across the sky to touch the waters of the sea beyond. Enzo was sat in the drivers seat of the car, it was a modest car and it was meant to be, the gang didn't want to attract attention which was understandable, there were a lot of people out there who wouldn't mind taking a pot shot at a Bracco or associate for a lucky chance of hitting them. He was parked out side one of the boss' numerous houses, this one a rather tasteful brick house by the seaside, Enzo was there because he was driving around a broad who was looking Mr Bracco, something about a son and favor, Enzo wasn't too worried, his "job" was to drive people around but his job was to gain relevant information and what hewas doing didn't seem relevant.

He'd been waiting outside for what had to be half an hour, he was sure the boss wasn't home, his guards weren't there, nor was his car -the only town car of a different make the Bracco's had. Decideding to check it out he shut the car off and got out, shutting the door behind him and making sure it was locked. Stuffing his hands in his pockets he walked across the lawn towards the front door of the home, at the bottom of the stairs in a crumpled heap was the woman, sitting on the bottom step crying her eyes out.

"Miss," Began Enzo, "I think we should leave.", he stood above her weeping form patiently, after a few moments of sobbing she nodded and raised her hand for his help. Holding it gently he pulled her up and walker her over to the car, walking her around to the passenger door instead of the backseats and opening the door for her. Shutting the door as she entered he walked around and took a seat in the drivers position and started the car, pulling out of the driveway the rest of the trip was done in silence, him concentrating on the road and the other woman resting her head on the window giving occasional directions to her house. After arriving at her apartment and exchanging awkward goodbyes he drove off, feeling the need to wet his whistle before he got back to the station and gave a breifing of today's goings ons.

Rich's place, he knew his way there like it was tattooed on the back of his hand, pulling the car over infront of the drinkery he shut the engine off and got out, happy to be out of the metal coffin. Entering the bat his ears were deafened by the noises of laughing, shouting and conversation, it was much more packed then usual, new faces mixed in with the old ones, striding over to the bar he plinks himself down in an empty seat by a brown haired woman.

"Tonic." he called to the bartender as he rolled up his sleeves.

"And?" replied the man behind the counter waiting for the other part, like gin of something.

"Just the tonic." said Enzo with a smile, he wasn't much of a drinker, between the law and his ability to be inebriated faster then the average snail he really didn't find it enjoyable. Picking up his drink he took a sip and got a bit loose after a day of driving and drama.

The men sitting next to Annalisa made her nervous. She heard them speaking in a foreign tongue, but couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. She drank the shot down quickly, and made a face, vodka really wasn't her thing, but she wasn't thinking straight. For a second, the thought of asking one of the Russians to help her with the body of the businessman crossed her mind, but they seemed shady, and she'd probably have to pay them off, so she dismissed the idea.

"Another one please." She said to the bartender softly, the fact that she was in a bar alone without any male protection made her a bit antsy, she had done it plenty of times, but it still got to her.

The bartender handed her another shot, and once again, Annalisa drank it quickly. She then went back to scanning the people in the room, looking for someone suitable to hide a body, or keep her company and convince to give her more money. She heard one of the Russians say he was looking for work- and once again considered paying them to hide the body of the businessman. But, she restrained herself, they were Russian, and a Russian killed her parents.

Annalisa took one more scan around the room, and got prepared to leave. She wasn't going to stay here longer than she had to- she would go directly to Giovanni, her boss, and admit her error- or crime, and hope he didn't go off on her, and get someone to help her clean up her mistake. Just then, a man sat down next to her, he looked vaguely familiar- did he work for Bracco too? Of course, Annalisa wasn't highly involved, basically all she did was go around and seduce feds and members of rival gangs, and get information for the boss, of which he paid her in return for.

Remembering that she was on a mission to find someone capable of hiding a body, she leaned in to the man next to her,"I think I know you, do you work for Bracco?" She whispered into the man's ear, hoping she wasn't mistaken.

Skip looked at the men whom he was addressing. There were fewer then before but they all had the same expression.

"No." One of them said, taking a swig from his glass and emptying it. "We were just leaving." He had a thick accent. Russian, no doubt. He stood up as well as the man next to him. Together they walked out, chatting away in their mother tongue.

***

Ashland rummaged through her purse. How could she have forgotten? She needed this week's paycheck to pay the rent on her apartment. If she didn't pay today, she'd lose it. She sighed and turned around, heading back the way from which she had come.

She came back to the club clutching her purse tightly. She rushed in nearly bowling a couple over. "Charley!" She shouted, going behind stage.

"Yeah?" The man looked up from the tangled pile of scarves.

"I forget to get my money." She said, breathing heavily.

"Oh. Me too. Hold on." Charley dug into his pocket and pulled out bag. Inside were the checks for all the girls.

He handed her one. One hundred and fifty dollars for two weeks. Ashland's heart dropped. "That's it?" She was about to start crying.

"We didn't have enough people come in this time around. I'm sorry Ash. I would give you more, but then I'd be fired." Charley looked sincerely apologetic. "I can't pay my ret with this. Char, They're going to evict me." Warm tears finally broke through and streamed down her cheek.

Charley looked at her and sighed. "I really am sorry, Ash."

"It's fine." Ashland sniffled and left him behind stage.

Out in the bar area, she saw Rich sitting at the counter, glass of whiskey in hand. She came to sit in the empty seat next to him. He looked at her. "I thought you went home."

"I did. But I realized I forgot to pick up my pay." She sniffled again.

"You talk to Charley?"

"Yeah. It;s not enough, Rich. If I don't have three-twenty-five by eleven tonight, I'm going to lose my apartment." Another tear streaked down her cheek.

"I can give you an extra fifty, but that's it." Rich reached into his pocket and pulled the last bill out. "I just payed my own rent." He eyed someone in the distance.

"Thanks. You're too good, Rich." Ashland took the bill from him. It still wasn't enough, but it was better.

"I wish I could pay you girls better. You work so hard." He shook his head.

A man came to stand behind Ashland. "I'm heading out, Rich. thanks for the drink."

"Not a problem, Skip." He looked at Ashland. "Oh, before you leave. This is the girl." He motioned to Ashland who stood up.

"Ashland Reynolds." She smiled, swallowing her worry to put on a fake air of happiness. She held a hand out to Skip.

"Skip Morris." Skip smiled back and shook her hand. "Can I get you a drink, Miss Reynolds?"

"No thanks. I was about to head home." She put her hat on her head and smiled again.

"Alone?"

"Yep. I came here alone." She looked at the clock in the distance. She was running quickly out of time.

"Allow me to walk you home." Skip held an arm out for her to take. She thought about it for a moment. She shot a glance at Rich, looking for approval. He shrugged. Ashland took Skip's arm and let him lead her to the door.

Lorenzo opened the door in front of him, it was Michael, Alessandro, and Francisco whom were all wearing formal attire with black ties, all with smiles on their faces to see their brother waiting for them by the door.

"Hey! How's it goin'?" Giovanni stood from his chair with both arms up to give his brothers and embracing hug and kiss on the cheek. Each of which greeted one another, slapping each other and calling each other by their nicknames, it was a while since they all have been together alone since last month's meeting. "Buonasera, fratelli. Come stai?" (Translation: "Good evening, brothers. How are you guys doing?")

Usually, the brothers saw each other if not daily, but hardly ever all together at once. There was: Michael (the second youngest at age 30) who was in charge of financial issues or business affairs, Alessandro (the third youngest at age 28) who was an attorney from Harvard and quiet a smooth talker, Lorenzo (the fourth youngest and considerably a dangerous and also Alessandro's fraternal twin who was younger by 5 minutes) who was in charge of foot-soldiers and men who "took care of business," and Francisco (The youngest who just turned 26 in August) who was in charge of keeping things in order as well as setting up parties and overseeing speakeasies and distilleries. Giovanni (at age 32) was in charge of everything, whenever there was a problem, Giovanni would deal with. If it were whackings needed to be done, it must be approved by Giovanni. If there were ever a purchase of a business or laundering of money, it must be approved by Giovanni. If there needed to be a meeting, it must be approved or set up by Giovanni. Any wars or other acts of violence against others outside the family, it must be approved by Giovanni. For Giovanni was a very organized and cautious man and was overall the leader of the Bracco family.

"Not bad big brother, I brought some good old Italian Wine so we could have something to drink while we talk." Said Alessandro, the youngest brother. In his hands was a bottle of a new Abruzzo wine.

"Bellissmo, come on fratelli, let's sit down and discuss what's on our minds." Giovanni brought his chair and chairs for others to sit on to the center of the room while Alessandro grabbed glasses. The five brothers were huddled loosely in a circle as Giovanni began as each glass was given to each brother.

"Well, as you all know my son began his first semester at Harvard." Giovanni first brought up, he was quite proud of his son and maybe one day when he does happen to have enough money to move and start a business so his son could take care of it and not participate in the dangerous gang Giovanni had started when he was his age. Away from violence and distraught as every father or mother would want better for their sons and daughters. The illegal business was supposed to be temporary but Giovanni realized he will probably do this for the rest of his life, at least his son would be all away from that.

"That kid's smart. I bet he'll do as good as his father when it comes to running the business." Said Francisco as he took a sip from the sweet wine.

The further conversations consisted about problems that were already dealt with but could be reviewed again just in case another similar incident happened in the future. Then it transitioned into conversation about problems which need to be resolved. It was nothing serious, first it was financial and then it was dealing with foot soldiers which they all had plans for doing. Nothing this month, only a re-mentioning of a mere goofball, hothead foot-soldier who didn't follow orders and got whacked and left in a ditch. There was not much to discuss this month, it was a good month for Giovanni. Hardly any violence, not like last month. While he concluded the meeting, the five brothers later transitioned to simple talk and humor about the next baseball game and how the Yankees were going to win because they had a sufficient number of Italian-Americans on their team and most importantly, Babe Ruth. After spending hours talking of business and family, it was getting late.

"Hey, it's getting late boys why don't we go to the Bewry downstairs, I would use for a drink and a wager on a couple of dollars." Francisco mentioned.

"I can't do it." Giovanni said, his brothers turned to him as they all got up from their chairs.

"Well, why not Johnny, come on." They all urged, like the little brothers they were except for Michael. It was something that became quite annoying to Giovanni, but Michael was never that type of "little brother." He was smarter than that.

"Nah fellas, I got some numbers to do. I'm gonna get ahead of things this month." Giovanni replied.

"Ah, come on Johnny, what's more important: numbers or family?" Francisco urged.

"If you mean keeping my family alive and in business by doing the numbers, then it's the numbers first." Giovanni said.

"This guy." Francisco laughed, lightly punching Giovanni on the shoulder with his boney knuckles.

"What the fuck do you think I am a joke? Don't fucking touch me." Giovanni raised his voice.

"Well, jeez louis, lighten up a little I was just askin'!" Francisco said, turning towards his brothers who were also laughing.

"Is something fucking funny Franny or would you like for me to smack that smile off your ugly face." His foot stomped on the floor. Hard. His brothers stopped laughing. "Look my eyes motherfucker, do you think I'm not serious? Is this the kind of fucking face who's joking you ugly, deranged fuck?" Giovanni's blood began to boil as a vein popped from his forehead, his eyes infuriated while he made Francisco scared, his smile quickly disappeared from his skinny little face.

"Oh. Gio- I." There was a quiet silence his face turning into a grieving concern, Francisco was shitting his pants while his brothers looked at Giovanni in a serious manner. Suddenly, he said. "Oh, you almost got me that time." as Francisco and Giovanni began to burst with laughter. "You motherfucker, you almost got me that time."

"This guy was shitting his pants!" Giovanni joked while he pointed at his younger brother. "B-b-b-b-but Giovanni!" He mocked and the room was roaring with light laughter. When it was time to go after they stopped joking, the four brothers hugged and said their goodbyes to Giovanni before leaving the office, except for Michael.

"One more thing before I leave, I gotta tell you somethin' Giovanni." Michael told Giovanni, he turned towards him as the three brothers walked out of the room pushing and shoving one another as if they were teens again getting ready to go on a first date. Michael closed the door behind them.

"With all of these investigations going on, I don't think we could buy every cop or FBI agent in the city and with the Russians and Scots starting to move in on business again, something doesn't add up. I don't know why, but I got a bad feeling about what's going to happen soon." Michael said.

"And what's that?" Giovanni asked.

"There's a war coming Giovanni, I don't know how or where Giovanni, but it's coming." Michael drank the rest of his glass before setting it down on a table next to him. Surly he was serious, never before did Michael use "Giovanni" in a sentence when he wasn't serious. Giovanni had a instinct to trust him even though it was just a "feeling" after all. but Giovanni sensed trouble and he always trusted his wise brother Michael as he normally would have taken it as a joke from anyone else he knew but with Michael having to tell him, Giovanni soon started to become worried about his own enterprise and the future of his family.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." He added. "All of us will take care of it, I promise." Giovanni smiled, hugged and his brother, Michael, before Michael left to join his brothers downstairs, leaving Mr. Bracco to attend his calculations and financial issues, if there were any at all.

"I'll see ya tomorrow then, Johnny Boy." Michael finished, opening and closing the door behind him.

Just as he brought the cup to his lips he froze.

"Do you work for Bracco?" the woman next to him whispered to me, clearly not wanting to attract the attention. Taking a gulp slowly he calculated what path he should take, lie or say yes? Putting the cup on the counter he looked into it's contents, not wanting to look at the woman and feel obliged to answer the question

"I don't see how it's your business, miss" he replied as he picked the glass up and took another sip, he could have been crueler in his answer, much crueler but he wasn't that kind of person so he didn't, instead just concentrating on his drink and how it bubbled but he felt compelled to carry on conversing with the woman, "but I will listen to what you have to say.", spinning the barstool his heart skipped a beat when he saw her, expecting a 40 year old tart looking for a way into Bracco's pants he wasn't ready for her. He reached for his cup quickly to take a swig, trying to hide his expression from her.

Annalisa listened to him, and a bright blush crossed her face. What if she had been wrong? Yet, at the same time, his answer seemed to scream yes. She didn't want too say something wrong to this man- because if she was mistaken about his identity, the consequences could be truly awful for her. "Well.. I kind of need to know, this isn't something I'd say to someone if they didn't." She raised an eyebrow at the man and nodded.

She was automatically afraid she had given away the fact that she worked for him- which could spell trouble if the man were to inform anyone. If the man worked for him, she could surely trust him, and get help from him- because that's what family was for, wasn't it. "I kind of have gotten myself in a..." she searched for the right wording, not wanting to come straight out and say that she had simply killed a man over money he didn't even have to give her. "...a very messy situation. And I need help with it."

Well, a dead body was kind of messy, wasn't it? And the way that the man died was also messy, so, she figured it counted as one."Desperate help." She added on slowly, still trying to keep somewhat of a charm about her, she didn't completely know this man, she may have even mistaken his identity, and so, if she were to be hostile toward him at this point, he would probably not help her with her problem.

Skip smiled as he held the door open for the lady. He smiled bigger when Ashland thanked him. "Of course." He followed her onto the street. "Where to?"

"Few blocks." She said, letting Skip catch up.

"You a showgirl?" Skip awkwardly tried to start some conversation after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that. Mostly just the smaller skits. They call me in when they need a 'cute, innocent' girl." She chuckled. "I am by no means either."

"Hardly. I'd say more like pretty. As for your innocence, I cannot speak." Skip smiled a little.

"Well thank you kindly." Ashland gave a half-curtsie and grinned. She laughed.

"Anytime." Skip laughed too.

Wind blew off the water. It was a cool wind. There would be a storm that night. Skip could hear the waves angrily battering the shore. He could smell the mixture of salt water and storm clouds. He hoped he could make it home before it started.

"So, where do you live?" Ashland broke the silence this time.

"Other side of town." Skip said, rubbing the back of his head as he realized he wasn't going to make it before the storm hit and he'd left the car at home.

"Yikes. That's quite a long walk." Ashland made a mock concerned face. "You have a car?"

Skip nodded. "At home."

"Well it's not doing you any good over there, now is it." Ashland turned around and walked backwards so she could face Skip. "It's gonna rain. Why don't you sit and have a drink with me for a while."

"I guess I don't have much of a choice." Skip chuckled. He knew what she was up to. She was obvious. She wanted him. She giggled and came to walk beside him again. She took his arm and held it tight, the beaded tassels of her dress raking up against his pant leg.

Grigoriy and his companions strolled up to the back of Rich's restaurant and entertainment place, through the dirty, nasty and smelly alleyways that this city had so so many of. He had two men with him, both were average built and one had a flatcap on, which was grey. His eyes jolted from side to side, checking the alleyways to the sides of them. His hands twitched, went from his pockets to his chests, to his hair to his pockets.. this man could not keep still. The other man was silent, smoking a cigarette. The moon, which had risen during the time spent by Grigoriy to fetch his companions, was reflected in a nearby puddle right in front of the backdoor to the building.

The reflection was suddenly broken when Grigoriy stepped into it, splashing the water. He opened the door further, as it was already open to let in fresh air. Fresh air and criminals. It turned out they were in the kitchen, but the staff wasn't too surprised to see people in the back - it happened more often than not. However the Russians ignored them, one of them passing a table with a few cleavers on it. As he passed it he grabbed one of the large meatcleavers, which stirred some confusion amongst the staff, and soon after prompted some fear. The Russians continued on their way, opening another large set of doors, leading into a hallway. One of them split off without orders. It was the bald one, who seemingly had other goals in his eyes.. he dissapeared into one of the rooms in the hallway on the left side of it. The other two, Grigoriy and his bald friend, moved to the right and into the main hall where the bar and stage was located.

As they walked into the vision of everyone there, the twitchy Russian pulled out a gun from his waistline. It was an old looking gun, but a gun is a gun, and guns are deadly.. he lifted his arm and shot into the ceiling - sure to grab everyones attention.. He yelled some commands in Russian, and Grigoriy looked around the crowd. He was quite sure none of them got that.. he told his friend that he'd do the talking to which the man nodded, making sure to lower his arm and aim around the crowd to make sure nobody ran. Most of the people were frozen in their place, others were hiding under tables.. “Now.. please get away from the doors and gather in the center.” Most of the people complied immediatly, gathering near the bar area. Some had to be persuaded by being grabbed by the arm and pushed there.

Then a large group of dancers walked in, joining the group in the center. The bald man held the cleaver at his side, a small amount of blood on it. Anyone paying attention would note that one of the girls had a small cut in her arm, bleeding slightly. “Now, please. Put your valuables in this bag. We are simply redistributing your wealth to some of our less.. well-off friends.” Some of the people started taking out money and some took their necklaces off. However due to the mixed type of people going to this establishment the profit from this small stick up probably wasn't that good - it was enough to sustain a decent living. Grigoriy walked around the crowd, taking the money and jewelry - it was low quality stuff, anyone could tell. As he passed a certain lady, he stopped and looked her in the eyes. It was Annalisa, however Grigoriy had no idea that was her name. She looked quite well off. Perhaps they could take a risk, make this one a hostage and ask a ransom. Just when he was about to ask her for her money, a loud bang was heard.

Smoke cleared and it was obvious who shot. The twitchy man had fired at the bar area, where the bartender was now standing, barely. He grasped his chest with one hand, the blood seeping out of the wound. People yelled, screamed and clawed their way to the doors escaping en masse. Even though they couldn't see, it was quite obvious the kitchen had cleared out as well. The screaming and yelling, pots and pans falling over as people dumped them, or ran into a pile of them on the way out gave it away. “Chyort!” he yelled, as the twitchy man lowered his gun and ran closer to check if he did kill him. By now the bartender had sunk into a pile of miserable nothingness. The twitchy man put a hand on the bar and swung his legs up onto it, then slid over it. In Russian he said that he was certain that the bartender was going for a gun, but that he couldn't see where the gun went. Grigoriy shook his head and told them to wrap up.

He started walking towards the kitchen exit with the bald man, when he heard two more gunshots. After that, running steps behind him. Had to make sure he was dead, he said. Grigoriy nodded and told him it was okay. They left through the kitchen back door, and ran into the darkness, the cover of the night taking them in. Certainly this would stir up trouble with the PD..

Suddenly, Annalisa heard a gunshot, and jumped over the bar, hiding behind it. She knew it wasn't a good idea to be in a bar alone, of course, but, she figured no one could protect her at this very moment. Wait- had it been the Russians from earlier? They surely had looked shady, but would they have done such a thing? She could've been only back there for a matter of seconds, but she was laid down, curled up in a ball and shaking.

She heard the order to come into the center, noticing the Russian accent. She crawled back out from behind the bar, and felt her eyes fill with tears, but held them back. She made her way towards the center, noting that is had been the Russians from earlier. She felt slightly relieved that she hadn't asked a favor of them, but was petrified. She knew they were robbing the restaurant, and she would be expected to give up her jewelry and money- something she was very unwilling to do.

She heard the order for money and valuables, but didn't take her money out or her jewelry out- pointing a gun at her wasn't going to be enough to get her belongings from her- they'd have to be forcibly removed. She hadn't gotten to where she was for free- and she wasn't going to give anything up easily. She made eye contact with the man as he got to her, but before he could ask her, a gunshot was fired. Annalisa dropped to the ground, to try and avoid being shot if the man with the gun happened to be shooting into the crowd.

The only place that got Annalisa was trampled. As people hurried to escape, they ran right over her, and one of her heels slipped off. She eventually got up, and ran out of the back door, bruised and bloody, with only one shoe on. She looked around, nervous, venerable, and sobbing. She was highly afraid, but began making her way down the back alley, to go and make her way home. The body in her house could wait- staying out any longer wasn't a good idea.

BANG!

Before Enzo could answer the woman a gunshot rang out through the building prompting everyone to scream, he snapped his head to where the gunshot came from to see a group of men by the door to the kitchen entrance yelling at the bar customers to get in the center. Being the level headed person Enzo was he got up from the chair slowly and bolted to the nearest window, jumping through it and smashing it into millions pieces on his way out, he landed on his side with a sharp pain wracking through his side but he had no time to concentrate on that. 'what the Hell are the Russians doing' he thought to himself as he ran (limped quickly) to his car, clutching his side and groaning as he went.

He took a turn around the bar to where his car was parked and started to pick up speed, limping vigorously at the prospect of getting out of there, as he approached his car he heard quiet sobbing from the ally near by, turning to see where it was coming from he saw that it was the brown haired woman from the bar. Looking between her and the car door he finally sighed and limped towards to crying figure, he grabbed her by the wrist softly and looked her in the face.

"yes," he said slowly, huffing and puffing from limping a long way, clutching his side with his free hand, "I work for Bracco.", he proceeded to pull her across the ally to the street where his car was parked and opened the passenger door for her, waiting for her to get in.