The Spanish beauty irritated tone echoed off of the hard glass mirrors of the gym, impatience tracing her determined features. They'd been trying to complete this skill for hours, attempting it over and over again. When she watched her trainer do it things which seemed so easy. He slipped under her body so effortlessly, throwing her over his shoulder like it was nothing. Why couldn't she? They had previously been practicing to help her master this move.

"Okay, we'll try it again. This time take it slow," Esme nodded, and licked her lips to moisten the dry skin on her face. She took a moment to straighten out her shorts and recompose, sucking in a deep breath before raising her hands in the defensive stance and nodding in approval. Her master stepped forward, throwing a punch in slow motion. Esme shoved it away using the defensive portion of the skill before moving in for the offense. Her hand slid past his shoulder and over his shoulder blades until she felt his belt. In a matter of seconds she had grabbed onto it, and assumed the position perfectly: Her body under his in a parallel manner, back pressed up against his chest. The dark beauty was preparing to do the small, unsuccessfully hop that she'd been practicing for hours now when her trainer stopped her.

"Stop, stop, stop," He called out, tapping her side with his free arm. She let go of his belt willingly, but didn't move, thinking that maybe he would show her where to go from the position they were in. "Your legs are too far apart. It's dispersing your weight. You’ll never be able to use this throw with your footing like that." Esme looked down at her bare feet, and sighed.

Esmeralda loved to learn Sambo, but things such as this confused her. In Muy Thai she had been taught to always let her feet be apart in some manner, to maintain balance. If she brought her feet together such as he was suggesting then she would lose her footing, and he would fall on top of her – more than likely crushing her ribcage in the process. "Don't be afraid to lose your balance for a couple of seconds. Roll with the throw, you're not supposed to be left standing after this." Esme nodded and pulled herself out from under him so that she was standing straight up once more. Sambo reminded her of an odd combination between Brazillian jiu-jitsu, classic American kickboxing and Silat. She knew quite a bit about Silat, the style that she had trained with in Indonesia but as for American kickboxing, well, she knew very little about it. And Brazillian jiu-jitsu was a joke as far as the Spanish beauty was concerned. "Okay, let's start from the beginning. And we're going all the way this time. I'm tired of taking it slow." Her trainer nodded and smirked, resuming the stance that he had held earlier. And when he threw the punch, Esme was grateful that he had put all of his weight and power into it. That was the one thing she loved about her trainer – he didn't underestimate her.

Esme shoved the punch away with graceful accuracy, and turned quickly. Her back hit his body, and this time she put a bit more of a shove into it as her hand gripped his belt. This prepared her for the big jump, the one that would throw them both. This wasn't part of the technique, but rather a last minute addition thrown in there to help the girl out. And it worked. She placed her feet close together, six inches apart exactly, squared right under her hips, before straightened her bent knees with force, leaning forward and rolling on top of the trainer as she completely the throw. The achievement was met with a bright smile from Esme, something that was consistent with her mastering difficult tasks. Moments like this reminded her that sometimes prior knowledge of other martial arts was sometimes the opposite of helpful. "Okay," Esme said, breathless from excitement rather than physical demand. “Let’s do it about ten more times, and we will be done for the day." When they had first started their training with Sambo. Esme had let her trainer make the lesson plans, and schedule the conditioning.

They finished up for the afternoon with a three mile run through nearby park, followed by basic conditioning in the gym, and a thorough stretch. Tomorrow her trainer would be teaching her a few more throws, and then they could focus more on grappling.

Esmeralda grabbed her gym bag, and waved goodbye to her trainer before leaving the small small gym. She went straight to her lamborghini, beeping her car open and throwing her bag into the back seat before slamming it shut. Esme headed across the street to a nice hot spot where they served the best iced coffee with milk and cinnamon chip scones.

Esme entered the shop, she was greeted by the friendly owner and was seated by the back booth. Right now, was the moment to relax before heading back to the reality of her life.

Thirty sat sleepily in the coffee shop, slowly working on his fourth cup of coffee. The shop was a little up-scale for Thirty, definitely not a space he would normally enter, but they had been open at 5am and the owner hadn't kicked him out yet.

It had been a rough night. After ending his shift at the bar at 2am, Thirty had gotten a call on his phone from one of the smaller street gangs. There had been a scuffle over some drug money that had escalated and they needed help disposing of a body. And so Thirty had spent the next two and a half hours running through his contacts before handing the body off to a garbage disposal man. And he meant that literally. The garbage man was affiliated with one of the giant mafias that dominated New York and regularly did these kinds of pick-ups, though Thirty couldn't remember if the man was with the Sicilians or the Spanish.

Either way, by five in the morning Thirty had been tired, grumpy, and in need of coffee and a place to sit down for a few hours. Now in the shop, Thirty was still tired and grumpy, but he felt rested and capable to staying awake for his next job, a quick drop off for the Russians. The garbage man would text him later tonight to let him know the body was completely taken care of.

It was then, as Thirty was contemplating going out for his next job, that Esmeralda walked in. Thirty occasionally did business with the lower levels of the Cosa Nostra and recognized her immediately. It paid to stay aware of those at the top of the underground society.

Thirty stared at the girl. So Esmeralda Cardona, underboss of the Cosa Nostra, frequented this coffee shop. That was valuable information. She was bound to have some enemies that would pay for it.

The information broker, a man with his finger on the pulse of New York City, sat on a cold bench; staring at the steel bars of the jail. Nick ran his fingers through his short brown hair and sighed gently, looking up at the police officer that smirked at him through the bars of the cell.

“Smyth, you fucked up this time” The officer shook his head and grinned “Getting caught with those Russians?”

Nick sucked on his teeth and raised an eyebrow “You’re an idiot aren’t you, Officer Little?” Nick leant forward, lacing his fingers together “They were the Sicilians...not the Russians…” he sighed again softly as Officer Little immediately gulped heavily “It’ll be now that you scamper off and go get your key and let me out” A finger tapped gently at the Brokers chin as the officer stepped back from the bars and grabbed for his keys “much better.”

-A few hours later-

Nick pulled at his dress shirt, pulling the cuffs out through the sleeves of the black suit jacket. Nick was nothing if not a man of impeccable taste. Maybe the Sicilians were rubbing off on him, as the members were so fond of telling him. He recalled his first meeting with the Sicilian Consigliere, a fresh faced Nick dressed in a Metallica shirt, jeans and a beat up pair of converse. That was a weird and interesting meeting. He smiled and tapped his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone, Black Book. His fingers flexed, the four rings that adorned his digits glittered slightly in the sun. All good. All was there. That night sitting in the jail put him slightly behind on the schedule he had set up for himself. Admittedly he had to check in with the Underbosses over the next few weeks, ensure that they remember that he still held some keys to their families. He yawned, scratching gently at his chin and looked down at the phone in his hand as he walked to his car. He idly wondered who to chat to today. He entered the car and flicked through his contacts. If his information was right, and it generally was...he could deduce where some of the Underbosses would be at this time of day. Key in the ignition, the Broker decided just to drive to the closest place he could guess an associate of his would be. The sounds of Tiger Army blasted through his speakers and the Broker grinned. The Impala growled and roared out of the precinct impound lot and around a few blocks.

The trip to where he intended was not too far. He entered the small coffee shop, grinning to himself as his educated guess was correct. He hadn't expected the self described hard ass Thirty to be in a quaint coffee shop, but Miss Cardona was expected. He smiled politely to the owner behind the counter and sauntered over to the Spanish underboss. A sat down across from her in the booth, a knowing and probably all too confident smirk playing on his lips “Pedimos disculpas por la intrusión” he pulled out a small black tablet from his jacket, his eponymous Black Book “Miss Cardona...La Diabla” Nick smiled “I sure hope you remember who I am?” Nick’s fingers rapped gently against his tablet “It's been too long since I've had to speak with someone from your organization...all so secretive...until last night…” he said softly “I hope to solve this little issue I've come across without a grudge or widespread feat hmm?”

Yaozu Au-Yeung groaned, his sore body splayed out on a heap of rich silk and satin that was worth enough to feed several families for years on end. He had nothing on but a pair of boxers, which had a childish design of yellow shooting stars that raced along his groin in a pretty sort of pattern. On his face was a light sleeping-mask that was infused with remedial herbs and oils to tend his baggy eyes as he slept. Those damn facial imperfections were a curse for him being a straight-up night owl.

But they were well worth it, for he had thrown quite a damn successful party last night. Through his mask, his eyes glinted and he grinned to himself before suddenly sitting up with an exaggerated yawn and propelled his legs to the side of his bed. Giving an overhead stretch and tossing his sleeping-mask at the end of the bed at the same time, Yao allowed his tense muscles to work themselves from their sleeping stupor. When he was feeling less stiff, he got himself out of bed and did his morning - well, glancing at the clock, it was way into the afternoon now - stretches. His room was quite spacious - in fact, it was a giant, luxurious loft that incorporated a small stairwell to the living room and a kitchen underneath, surrounded by big, open windows that sprawled good ol' NY before him. Feeling his mind and soul waking up to the day, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to the previous night, where he had flashes of a massive crowd of people bumping to both today's hit and underground house music. Nothing says unadulterated, youthful fun more than a giant rave filled with expensive booze, party drugs, and exotic dancers.

Not to mention that the heir now knew the White Dragon's opiates had indeed seeped it's pernicious, persistent allure to the far corners of the five boroughs. The size of the crowd last night was damned evidence of that. To outsiders and pretentious elder's of the local gangs, Yao's wild soirees were nothing more than gatherings of a bunch of wealthy, spoiled youths who had nothing better to do than to throw away their parents' money at an attempt to impress their friends with a nights worth of drug-induced fun. But in reality, it was much more than that. At the party last night, Yao had broken several records that concerned his Triad's recent local drug traffickings and distributions.

Yao had used his opponent's blind eye as an advantage. Local youths across New York city had came to the function just because of a rumor about his newly-synthesized party drug that was known for it's infamous, heavenly-touched high that even modern-day heroin can't reach, and the joint was pretty much overflowing with money. For several months he had built a hidden empire through the usage of the senior gang's ignorance and their children's ignorance. By targeting influential individuals of his generation (and even younger) that he knows to be neglected from the authority of their parents, Yao had manipulated them to be his dealers so that he may spread the drug far and wide, and along the way, had build a deep, protected link for his market right under the noses of his adversaries and their territories.

Yaozu smirked to himself as he postured up, craning his neck side to side for the last of his stretches.

He loved it when people underestimate him. All they see him for is some kid who likes to party with his father's money. But that's okay - it'd be a lot more fun for when he reminds them of why he is called the Bloodless Dragon.

-----------------------------

With his usual awakening routine finished, Yao began to dress for the day after a light shower. He kept it casual as he usually does when going about a regular day, wearing faded, light-blue skinny jeans and a tan v-neck long sleeve that hugged his torso appealingly. For shoes, he wore clean, white sneakers and a black watch rested neatly on his left wrist. Yaozu yawned slightly as he was finally prepared to head out of his personal loft. Making sure his blonde hair was styled neatly at a nearby mirror, Yaozu opened the door and made his way down the residential building and to his car. He kind of wanted to visit the local park today, get some fresh air. It was quite a popular place, filled with vendors and regular samaritans alike...so that's where he decided to go. He heard a great coffee shop was just down a few streets, too.

Spring had finally made its debut; it was threatening to be over seventy degrees with no chance of rain. Certainly, mother earth did not fail to comply with her promises. It meant the older sibling had to keep her word; today, Isabella felt-no needed to witness the ancient art of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As promised, Esmeralda would company the young girl after school. One afternoon of the week, the two Cardona Sisters would spent the time reconnecting the bond set since the birth of the princess. Her muscles ached from earlier exercise and as for the dark circles under her eyes from the sleepless nights. For Isabella, Esmeralda would all she could to keep her smiling. Her slender tanned fingers brushed her hair back as she took another sip of coffee. Mentally, her brain thanked her for the shot of the bitter stimulant drug; caffeine. Her eyes fluttered shut, and enjoy the brief moment of solitude. It been so long...

"Pedimos disculpas por la intrusión."

The Spanish beauty was startled by a masculine voice, her eyes flew opened to reveal the beautiful green eyes which she was named for. In her line of vision she notice a man, standing in a expensive black suit. Esmeralda could tell the famous info broker by the glimmer in his eye and the black book in hand. His tired eyes that claimed his face from probably from overtime gloating.

“Miss Cardona...La Diabla”

God, how she detest that name and yet, so little she have done to be compare such as so.

Esmeralda smiled sweetly at the man and her right hand gripped on the metal fork as she carefully slice her delight in half. Any wrong move, she won't hesitate to stab the young man in his neck. "I have told you countless of time. I do not do interviews outside the office." Her soft accent did little to hide the irritation rising from her voice.

Mornings were always her favorite part of the day. You awoke, refreshed and feeling like the day was going to be good. And today Isabella felt that way. She had awoken from a deep REM sleep, her blue colored eyes watching the sun as it poured through the clouds and into her window. She smiled faintly to herself feeling the warmth from her bed made her want to settle back into the plush blankets and pillows. She loved this comfy bed that her provided for her. She did well as a daughter, sure she didn't make must, as long she had arts in hand, she was home.

Pulling herself from her bed's warm embrace the young woman stepped down onto the plush carpet. Her pale toes clutched at the nearly shag carpet. Isabella sighed, happy to be in such a great place, with today as bright as yesterday. Walking into the her own bath room she quickly undressed and turned on the shower. The warm water felt great on her bare skin. Her pale complexion and vibrant blue eyes made her an interesting person to say the least. Isabella was infamous at the school for her blue eyes and her wicked skills on the violin. Everyone knows her by her bright smile and he blue eyes. She seemed always to be the quiet beauty that no one had a shot with, so petite and small.

Pulling a towel around her thin pale frame, she wiped the fogged up mirror, seeing her eyes reflected in the smeared glass. Hopefully the rest of the school year she could move on, past her history and her fears, maybe find someone for herself, some one to make her feel whole, loved, and not so weak. Of course she was not physically weak, carrying a cello all year long does take strength but her mind and emotions were only held together by a thin sheet of glass... sometimes.

Clothed in St. Joseph Catholic School For Young Women's blue, white and grey, her uniform, the young princess left her small apartment like room in the right wing of the massive compound, waiting out front was the famous black SUV to escort her to school.

In the Afternoon

Almost as soon as she had finished exchanging goodbyes with her classmates, and they had gotten back into their cars, leaving her alone. Today was Esmeralda turn to pick her up. Which meant no weird looking men tagging along or settling nearby. The two was planning to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Glancing around, Isabella watched as the kids and adults walked right by her, looking so confident in themselves.

" Esme, where are you?" she whispered to herself, with her feet planted firmly on the ground before the school as gripped the strap of her black backpack hard.

"Fuck." Nick, the information broker, had just walked in and sat down across from Esmeralda, meaning that there was no point in Thirty trying to sell out her favorite coffee joint. If there was anyone who would have paid enough for that information, Nick probably would have already sold it. It had been a crazy idea anyway, too out of line with his usual go-between work, even if he hated passing up a chance at quick cash.

Thirty contemplated his next move. His latest cup of coffee was already finished and he didn't feel he needed another one. Maybe it was time to leave. He could go do his drop off and then have a few hours to spare before his next shift at the bar. Whatever drama Nick had to share with the young Cardona really wasn't his business.

Then again, Thirty kinda hated Nick. Something about "Ace" the information broker pissed Thirty off, though he suspected it was related to Nick's smug attitude. Should he stay to see if he could pick up dirt on Nick? The young Cardona looked pretty annoyed, maybe he could score favor with the higher ups of Cosa Nostra and humiliate Nick at the same time. Glancing at the clock, Thirty decided to scope out the situation for a few more minutes first. Better make sure he wasn't going to risk pissing off Esmeralda.

The bright emerald eyes of the information broker twinkled as he smiled at Esmeralda. They twitched from the tightening grip around her fork to the forced smile she pressed across her full lips. He had her in a bit of a bind. He smirked and pulled at the sleeves of his shirt, the red fabric poking through his suit jacket. This happened to be a misdirection he had developed over years, it was rumoured that when Nick pulled at his sleeves, he was nervous. Nick was never nervous.

Always needing the upper hand, Nick pressed forward “I understand that you don’t do interviews, Miss Cardona...Can I call you Esmeralda?” He pried with a gentle smile “but I assure you this is not an interview” he tapped at his tablet a few times, pulling up some CCTV footage he had stored on the device. The footage loaded and he scrubbed through the footage. The dark grainy footage showed a group of men, one of whom was lying in a pool of blood. The others were still beating on the corpse. Nick pushed the tablet around towards the Underboss “It's more of a warning” he zoomed in on the faces “They are boys of yours...beating up and killing a cop right?” he sighed softly “I’d suggest you talk to them…”

Nick stopped the footage and clasped her hand, his rings once more glinting softly in the light “Esmeralda, I’d prefer this to not be a bad meeting...so...was there anything you’d like off me at this time?” Nick smiled at her.