The night was young and bright in New York City. Traffic was filled with anxious cars ready to get to their destinations. Men and women wore their best as they strolled on the sidewalks, debating where to eat, if they should go dancing, or just spend a night looking out at the city. This decade was a time of peace. No wars, no disputes. Just for once in a little while: Peace. If only they knew that there was a whole new war taking place right in this very city, and its been going on for a very long time.

A black car drove quietly through the streets, music playing through the radio. Three nicely dressed men sat, the driver singing along to the music. "Holy shit Dean, shut your mouth. Sound like a fuckin' cat dying." "Hey fuck you I can sing however I want! The Don gave ME this car!"

"Yeah? Well he gave me this gun and i can do whatever i want with it!"

"Hey, hey, you two can kill each other later, we're here."

The car pulled up on the side of the road right in front of The Silver Suit, New York's finest club. The three men climbed out of the car, fixing their suits. One was barrel chested, and grizzly, wearing a silver suit. The other was a bit smaller but just as strong, wearing a brown one. The last one was tall, fit, and has a simple charm to his face. He had a small bit of facial hair. A black suit, a rose on his chest pocket, and he wore a worn out fedora that once belonged to a powerful man. Jones Lombardi's dark green eyes scanned the area.

The club's exterior had a large neon sign above a silver canopy. A red carpet was in front, and a line of eager people were waiting to be let in. The three of them walked to the door, a very large man gave them a nod and stepped aside. "Evenin' Mister Lombardi." The bouncer said. Jones tipped his hat and gave a flash of white teeth. "Evening Jeff."

---

A young woman sang smooth jazz in the dimly lit room. The stage was surrounded by tables, to the right of the main room was a bar with men and women ordering drinks, and above was where the VIP's sat in the balcony to watch the entertainers. Backrooms were also used for people who had the money to purchase one. Jones walked past the bar, giving a small nod and smile to the bartender before making his way through the crowd, through a door leading to the back stage, and in the back corner, entering a door.

"We don't have much time with this man, boys. So lets make this quick, but don't forget your Lombardi charm." Jones said, unbuttoning his jacket. The bottom floors of the Club were not seen to the public. This is where they kept their food, alcohol, and persons of interest if need be. The three of the men made it down the hall, hearing muffled screams from behind the steel door. He opened it to reveal a rather nice place. A carpeted area, a fireplace, bookshelves, and nice furniture... It would have been nice if a scrawny man was tied to a chair with dried blood on his face.

"Good afternoon, Mister Brighton! How are you doing?" Jones said with a smile, hanging his hat and jacket up on the coat rack. "Screw You!" The man screamed. "Somebody help me!" Jones rolled up his sleeves, walked up to him, and crouched down to be level with his face. As Jones did that, one of the two men that followed Jones down here named Dean walked over to the fire place, grabbing a fire poker, and sticking it in the flames. Jones gave a shake of his head and smile, even in this situation the man known as Brighton couldn't help but feel ease with the grin. What could he say? Jones had a likable face! "The only one who can help you is yourself pal... I'm a reasonable man. My family is a reasonable bunch... But when we find out that one of our employers has been sending dirty little secrets to strangers... well, fool us once, Mister Brighton..." Jones sat back up and walked towards the bookshelf as Dean came back over, and pressed the red hot fire poker against his cheek.

The family only went to violence when needed. Now was one of those times. Jones turned around to see the man had some fresh blood on his face. "Now we gave you a few hours to think about how you want to tell us who it was you were sending information to. Choose your next words wisely friend."

---

Jones Lombardi and his cousins Dean and Michael walked casually out of the back stage, and in to the club. Now that the hard work was done, he could enjoy himself at his own bar! Of course when he got home he will tell his dad who Brighton was talking to.. but until then he'll socialize, have a drink, and be a good owner of the best club in New York! Jones Lombardi and his family has been through a lot in the last few decades, but now they were getting the respect they deserved!

Moriarti Family Residence, 9:37 PM

Outside the somewhat grand villa that belonged to the feared Moriarti familiy, a black GAZ-12 pulled up, the Soviet-made luxury auto idling in the courtyard for a few moments before its engine was turned off. The men standing guard disregarded the black car, knowing perfectly well who it belonged to. In fact, the guards tensed up a bit.

With a subtle click, the door opened, and out stepped Lucan Gorbachev, his tall, dark figure somewhat blending with the car behind him. He appeared as a near silhouette, even though the lights around the villa provided somewhat ample (if not slightly dim) lighting for the courtyard at this hour. With the sound of an old, 1920s lighter being turned on, his face was illuminated by the cigarette he started smoking. Placing his hands in the pockets of his black leather coat, Lucan started walking towards the entrance to the villa.

"h-Hello, Mister Gorbachev sir. Having a good evening?" One of the guards spoke up, and Lucan practically ignored the guy, giving him a blunt "That is yet to be seen, tovarishch (comrade)" without even stopping or looking at him.

He entered the villa, considering himself lucky that there was nobody there to greet him save for the posted guards that knew better than to try to make conversation with him. He made his way up to the Godfather's room, and knocked slightly on the door, awaiting a reply.

Lorenzo woke up yawning from his nap on his couch in his manor, the one his grandfather used to live in. The seat of the don for the russo family, completely guarded of course but that didn't stop Lorenzo's favorite assassin from doing her morning routine.....of trying to kill him. Mica snuck in and tried to stab Lorenzo in the back but he simply smiled and grabbed her hand before she got the chance and he flipped her onto the ground in front of him and she growled putting her knife away "as sharp as ever you howling phyco"
like your one to talk trying to kill your boss every time he wakes up" Lorenzo said laughing a little as he got up stretching knowing that what mica was doing was ultimately helping Lorenzo in the long run so he can avoid a real assassins attack. Mica gave Lorenzo a bow and asked "so what's my hit list for today" "none for the moment mica I feel the winds changing an right now we need to have you at your best condition so no killing yet." mica growled a little but nodded as she left. Lorenzo was young and could be considered a slacker to the his henchmen but those that knew him knew he was the soul of the russo family trade and knew his mind was sharper then any sword as well as his bloodlust.
A henchman came by asking what was on the agenda for today "send a few of our boys to the stations and make sure they are paid off, I don't want cops interfering for whatever my boys get into. Get me an escort as well im heading into the club today to see about adding to the territory" Lorenzo said, of course he could send anyone he wanted to do but Lorenzo wanted to be in the middle of a fight and see the blood explode from the enemies, today he would see about expanding the russo territory....

The club was full of jazz. A soft voice, and trumpets of a sax, and the ring of a piano filled the dim air, the anthem of the fifties. Many voices whispered among the music, speaking of politics and life, drawling lazily through the bar as an accompaniment of sips and sighs sang from the drunkards just below the stage. The stools at the bar were mostly full of chatters, pretty ladies in evening gowns and men clad in suits and shining shoes. She was among them.

Sitting daintily on one of the many bar stools was a familiar, dark-haired dame. She was elegant, head raised as smoke slipped from her parted lips and filled the dark air of the club, and a drink of similar elegance was currently being swirled in her left hand. Mimi Keller was alone for once, alone and thinking deeply, a rare thing to see in public. She had arrived at the bar only thirty minutes earlier, looking out for a certain someone, but it seemed that her intel was incorrect. They were no where to be found.

'Ah well,' her mind whispered as she took a small sip of her drink, 'maybe he's just a bit late... Or he's not coming at all. Ugh!' Mimi nearly bit her tongue at the pessimistic thought, feeling both annoyed and impatient at the thought of not getting paid. She rose her right hand, taking a long draw from her cigarette holder, and then returned her stare to the door. People came in slowly, one after another as the doorman probably assessed them before allowing them to enter, and she counted each fedora-clad man and evening dresses woman until something familiar entered her vision.

'The Lombardi kid, how queer, what's he doing here?'

She polished off her drink and followed the man with her eyes, watching curiously as he vanished backstage. The thought to follow him came and went quickly, just as unfamiliar hands clutched her shoulders. Mimi turned quickly, eyes narrowed into two dark slits as she glared at the side grin-wearing man that dared to touch her. But, as fate had prepared, this was anything but a problem. It was her target, a Mister Robert Saddie, husband of the late Mrs. Saddie and father of Gloria Saddie, her current employer. The young woman had only one request for Mimi; to kill this fucker before he ruins another woman's life. She was not told much about the death of Mrs. Saddie, the only thing she knew of was that her death was a suicide.

"Hello, beautiful. Can I make you company?" The man said in a deep voice, drawing circles with his thumb as Mimi smirked, sighing in another smoke filled breath and releasing it through rounded lips. She drew away from his hands and stood, stamping out the cigarette on the bar before leaning forward, red lips parted in a dazzling, fake smile,

"Oh yes, sir, but give me a moment. I have a few things to attend too." She tapped her nose and lips, and then sashayed towards the restroom, slipping into the dimly lit women's bath. A mirror, lit by round bulbs, showed off Mimi's face and gown easily, but she wasn't there to fix herself up. Instead, she reached into her small bag, pulling out a vial of liquid. Antidote, an easily gotten solution thanks to her apothecary-running mother. She took a long swig of the medicine, wincing at the bitter taste, and then she returned it to the bag and pulled out instead a lipstick tube. It was a sharp red color, almost blindingly so, and as she applied it to her first coat Mimi instantly felt a slight sting. It was drugged lipstick, poisonous, one that works slowly but surely. While she wasn't exactly book smart, Mimi was rather good with medicines and drinks, so infusing some arsenic or lye into her lipstick wasn't exactly an issue. Finally ready for her kiss of death, she grinned, posed, and then strode back out into the club, easily finding and capturing Mr. Saddie with her playful hands. They talked lightly, with Mimi mostly listening to Saddie talk about his job and money and recent lose. They spoke and spoke and spoke until finally, Mimi leaned in, eyeing him seductively, and their lips met.

It was a kiss made by professional heart breakers, quick and passionate and fake. Mimi felt her lips break into a smirk at the sight of him licking the redness from his lips, and as he leaned in for another peck she stood, rubbing her lips furiously with the back of her hand,

"Thank you for the drink, Robert, but I really must be off. Appointments and such, you know the deal," she eyed him curiously, noting his sudden sleepy expression cheerily, "perhaps I'll see you around, though. Ta-ta, love!" She blew him a kiss and walked away swiftly, ignoring his sudden whine of confusion and anger. Didn't need to be at the crime scene, didn't need to get caught now. She walked briskly out of the club and into the smoggy New York night, where she easily sought out a pay phone. One turn, two turns, three...

"Gloria? Yeah, it's me. Got your dad, he's good as dead now... I'm expecting my money tomorrow... Yeah my apartment... Thanks, pleasure doing business. Night." She spoke quickly in a hushed whisper, glancing around excitedly as the bright city bustle surrounded her. The woman on the other end sounded tired, tired and glad. Mimi felt the same, though she still had a little bit of business left for the night. The odd appearance and disappearance of the Lombardi son had caught her interest. Might as well loiter a bit, say hi if he passes again, get some more information on these damn mafia families. Easy peasy.

Lombardi Manor- 10:00 P

Vito Lombardi sat in the office of his manor, he was heavily guarded and safe from any intrusions. He slipped on a pair of spectacles and began to look through some paperwork regarding his clubs. After a short time he hears a knock on the door. "Come in" Don Lombardi said nonchalantly. A young man in a well-trimmed black suit with a Thompson M1928 in his hand and an excitable look on his face enters the room. "Boss, uh, Giuseppe Clemenza wants to see you- says its important," says the guard "should I, uh, let 'em in boss?" The dons face instantly lit up with joy. "Yea- what the fuck ar'ye waitin' for? Let 'Im in!" The guard begins to leave when the don says, "Oh and one last thing," the Don throws him a $20, "keep the change." After a few moments a jolly man wearing an expensive suit, overcoat, and hat walks into his office with a cigar in his mouth.

"How the fuck are you?" says the Don. Giuseppe interrupts, "Look we can catch up later, something bad's about'a happen! Someone's gunna whack your son Vito! Someones gunna whack Jones!" The Don stands up, "What tha' fuck! What's happening! Don't answer that...get six other guys and my car I'll meet you out front in a minute!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Silver Suit, 10:24 PM

The men pull up to The Silver Suit with Giuseppe and Lombardi in between the six guys, all armed with tommy's. They quickly walk around to the back door, the men enter the building into the back rooms. Lombardi and the boys waited in the back and Giuseppe walked through the crowd and to the bar, where he knew Jones would be. Jones turned behind his back and excitably said, "Hey Uncle Joey, what are you doin' aroun-" Giuseppe interrupts him "No time to talk kid, come to the back room" They hustle hurriedly into the back and just as the door closes a shady figure sits at the bar. "Can I get you a drink sweet heart?" says the bartender. The man replied "Sorry honey, can't drink on the job."

Alfonse sat in solitude in his study. The room was incredibly elegant in its design. Being a true believer in the second amendment and an avid gun collector, Alfonse had a glass-cased gun display, which displayed a Colt Walker Model 1847, a Webley MK I, a Carcano 1891, and 10 gauge black powder Coach Gun. He sat in his chair in a rather worrisome mood; he couldn't stop fidgeting. It wasn't out of boredom; it was out of the anxiousness that the Moriarti family is losing it's vise-like grip on New York City. Alfonse needed to get his mind off of things, and one way he could do that was in this room. He walked up to the glass case and opened it up. Lest he dirty the guns by touching them, he had a pair of white cotton gloves and a cotton rag for just such an occasion (as there were many of them). He had decided upon pulling out the Coach Gun, as he was a admirer of shotguns and their devastating power. He then sat back in his supple leather chair. He managed to notice that, due to disuse, the gun had developed a fine, yet noticeable layer of dust. The issue needed addressing and, with that, he began delicately and gingerly clean the shotgun. You would think that a man as violent as Alfonse couldn't has the patience nor passion to care about a hobby; you couldn't have been more wrong.

After a modest amount of time in silence, there was a knock at his study door. He wasn't expecting visitors, but considering he hadn't heard gunshots, screaming or explosions, nothing bad must've been happening... he hoped. "It's open; let yourself in", he said, rather curtly.

Slowly and respectfully, the black door opened, revealing Lucan. Lucan, being the family's go-to hitman, had a sort of close friendship with Alfonse. Both were men of violence and bloodshed who had built their legacy using war, and both had an addiction to death. Lucan's addiction was more under control, however.

"It's a nice night, comrade." Lucan said, blowing smoke out of his mouth. Quietly, he stepped over to the chair closest to Afonse's desk, and allowed himself to slouch into it. "Listen, my friend. There are some personal matters I must attend to, so I have come here to ask you if I can take tomorrow off. I need to...wipe off some old stains, if you catch my meaning." He said, lifting up one of his legs and resting it on the knee of the other.

"Of course, If you happen to need me to do something tomorrow, I can attend to my personal matters at another time."

Lorenzo smiled as he put on his green coat and grabbed his favorite box of cigars and told one of them to call the don of the Lombardi family known as Vito and ask for a meeting. Lorenzo went into his car with his enforcer and his trusted advisor. His henchman called the silver suit and asked to speak to the don vito to arrange a meeting in his club later to meet with the russo family. Lorenzo went and got into the car as they started driving to one of the clubs that the Lombardi family owned right now Lorenzo was waiting on one of his men to report back to him about when and where this Vito wanted to meet man to man about a few business arrangements, Lorenzo was no fool while he was a snake in the grass when it came to strategy he was still a small mafia when compared to numbers so Lorenzo needed to find a family to act as their vanguard, or front line attackers with manpower while Lorenzo worked on the sidelines to kill two birds with one stone....

Katrina watched the door swing with a close frowning as she swung around the counter at Silver suit, managing to keep all of the empty bottles and glasses on her tray from falling off. That was the second person through that door in just a few minutes and that wasn't the only suspicious thing happening. A man stood beside the bar looking like he was about to fall over and while that wouldn't be too suspicious at a bar there was something about the cloudiness of his eyes that made Katrina feel that alcohol had little to do with his inability to stand. There was also the fact that she hadn't seen the bartender give him a drink. She swung into the kitchens at the back depositing her load of dishes on the counter for the bus boy before heading back out. She had some suspicions that tonight was going to be a night full of strange unexplainable things. That's what she got by agreeing to go undercover in the mafia and not just any mafia the Lombardi family topped the cake with enough charm to hide the worst of offenses including ridding themselves of an FBI agent that was undercover in their midst. .

Being the owner of the Silver Suit had its advantages. Free drinks, seeing new people, getting new and powerful allies for his family... but being a high and well known member of the Lombardi family had its disadvantages. He saw a brown haired beauty walk to the rest room. He had seen her from time to time, each time he did she had two personalities. One where she was alone. She looked tactical, focused, knew exactly what she had to do... and then the times she looked like any other drunk girl in this club. Flirty, giggly, willing to compliment any guy with a nice suit on if it meant a free drink or money... Maybe it was just a job. A prostitute, a gold digger, trying to make a husband jealous... Or maybe she was just someone like him. Hiding behind his charm and looks, but wanting that one girl to blow him away... Hey, he knew New York was not a place of happy endings, but I man could hope.

His thoughts were soon disturbed when the doors opened to reveal Vito Lombardi himself, with his Uncle Joey! Jones quickly straightened his tie, ran a hand through his messy yet perfect brown hair. Jones' father was a loving man when he was a child. He played ball with him, he taught him everything a boy should know, he would get icecream after watching a Sox game... But it became a bit more professional as soon as he took over the role of Don, and Jones joined in on the whole family business. "Hey Uncle Joey! What are you doin' aroun--"

He was then cut off by his father and him, pushing him in the back room as the woman singing before no longer was on the stage, but now a big band jazz group. As soon as all three of them were safely in, Jones stopped and looked at them. "What the hell is the problem?" Jones asked looking at them with confusion.

---

In the club the staff noticed something rather interesting. A man was slumped at one of the tables... It wasn't uncommon for this club to have deaths to be honest. The staff new how to handle it really well after the decades this place has been up and them a family of interest. It wasn't hard to fake it as a drunk who had one too many. So two security officers examined him, casually checking his pulse, and them "escorting" him out by his arms to the back, where a man Don Lombardi hired will take care of these kind of people. Hey, they had to keep this place up and running.