New Model City


Marco Orsini Baresotti
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Marco frowned and only nodded, this was the first he had seen the spider in person and he had only heard of his uncertain mentality to say the least. He stubbed out his cigarette by throwing it into the ground and stomping on it.
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"Shame, it's good tobacco too," he said blandly.
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He watched as the spider took a picture of the house. For a psychopath, he never realised one might be passionate in such art. Perhaps it would be safer for him and beneficial to befriend the man, though not an easy task with his reputation. He held onto the strap of his BAR gun, his pistol concealed in his coat.
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The Day After
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Marinello Compound
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9:46 AM
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The parlor was quiet and warm, save for the droll crackling of the victorola playing on the blank part of a record. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted in from the kitchen, as well as the pattering of feet and scattered high-pitched voices of grandchildren playing in the courtyard. 


Lorenzo had talked to Adolfo the night before, but had yet to talk with Don Marinello. Adolfo seemed on the fences about the success of the operation, but commended him on his work for the Family. Adolfo had also given Kenny a solid pep-talk, not that it had done any good. He liked Kenny. Most people did. 


In the morning, a squad car showed up with the other two members of the crew that had survived to be fished out of the river. They understood Lorenzo's motives for leaving without them and weren't particularly miffed after Adolfo handed them a wad of bills and told them to get new suits. 


Lorenzo had made it back before The Spider had made the trip, saving him the trouble. Clark had been dismissed by Adolfo, but given orders to return the next day. 


Don Marinello appeared in the hallway outside the parlor, mason jar full of tea in his hand. "Lorenzo," he said with a genial grandfather smile, "come join me and Nestore in the kitchen. You eat bacon don't you?" Don Marinello looked at Kenny and winked, motioning his head in such a way as to say "come get some food." 


They sat down at the table by the window. The blinds were drawn back. Outside, Antonio's eight, ten, and eleven year old sons were playing what looked to be cowboys and Indians. Don Marinello smiled at his grandchildren and looked towards Nestore, who was reading the paper. Mama Marinello appeared and started handing out breakfasts. 


"The job is done, Lorenzo." Don Marinello said softly. "I believe that was the important part." 


New Limerick
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9:46 AM
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"You're unarmed, ain't ya?" The guard looked at Adolfo while smacking a piece of Double Bubble. 


"Yeah, what do you think I am? Some sort of wiseguy?" Adolfo replied, allowing the man to feel his jacket and around his clothes. 


"He's clean." Said another man, shotgun across his lap. Adolfo looked towards the door and nodded, with the first man opening it wide for him.


During the 20's, this warehouse was a notorious speakeasy. Now, smoke and sweat still lingered in the air as the space had been converted into an underground casino. The odds were in the house's favor of course. Adolfo walked across the crowded floor, nearly missing being hit by a crap shoot gone awry, before opening a door on the far side of the room and disappearing down a flight of steps. 


In the basement, he walked past a few mean-looking guards before walking into a small, barely furnished lounge where he took a seat and lit up, waiting for the man of the hour. 


Henry "Killer" Kelly emerged from the far doorway. He was tall, lanky, and conventionally handsome with fiery red hair leaving no doubt he was a descendent of the Emerald Isle. He had a long green coat, grey vest and pants, and sharp black and white spats. The outline of a gat was unmistakable in his coat. 


"What's up, Addy?" Was his opening line, pouring himself a dry scotch from the liquor cabinet and downing half of it. 


"Not much, Henry." Adolfo replied. "Just thought maybe your boys would like some skulls to crack instead of sitting around busting the fingers of card-counters." 


Henry gave Adolfo a funny look, one he had never seen before. "Abandanos?" 


"Of course." 


Henry stood and walked towards Adolfo. "Now, why would I help a..." his voice picked up anger and vibrato. "A goddamn family of dirty greaseball rats!" He cried, catching Adolfo with an unexpected uppercut and sending him rolling into the floor along with the overturned sofa. Adolfo rose to his feet and felt his sore jaw. 


"Jesus, Henry! What are you goin' on about?" 


"You tried to kill my kid sister!" He shouted, pinning Adolfo against the wall. 


"I didn't do shit to your kid sister!" 


"Liar!" He shouted, hurling Adolfo into the liquor cabinet. Thankfully it didn't shatter, it just hurt a lot. 
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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Lorenzo's icy eyes studied the houses in the Italian Quater as Kenny drove through, swishing back on the right side of the road every once in awhile. But eventually they arrived at the Marinello homestead, and noticed Clark, who looked fruitier than usual, more than likely mad of his return, as he walked inside. Quickly speaking with Adolfo in closed doors, he summoned a driver to take him home. His apartment, which used to be a old office space Downtown, he converted to a suitable apartment. The walls brick like the building outside, dusty concrete floors, but the apartment was very roomy. An open kitchen and living room with a gigantic window, which faced the wild city of New Model. Skipping to turn the lights on, Lorenzo stumbled his way to the bathroom, grabbing onto the sink for support. He refused medical help from anyone, preferring to do his own when needed, in which case he needed. Buttoning down his blood-stained shirt and vest, revealing his bare chest, which was bruised on the left side from his fall. Touching it lightly he winced, no broken ribs thankfully just bruised. He had a bleeding cut near his temple, probably stitch worthy, but other than that nothing more. Deciding to take a shower, as he basked in the steaming water, the water began to turn a murky red, from all of the Abandonos blood upon him.
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The next morning he dressed simple, a white button down shirt, gray vest, his gray Newsboy cap, and gray pants to match. A car had been sent for him per usual, since he never trusted himself to drive. And after a short drive, he was back at the compound. Walking into the home, he was greeted by the Don himself odd enough. He wasn't quite sure what the man would want, maybe Kenny would speak for him, the young man kinda grew on him. Nodding his head as he followed the Don outside, for a moment his eyes lingering on the children. Sadly he wasn't granted a childhood, ever so badly dreaming of one, even though he lived through the harsh reality of life early on. Taking his seat as he placed his hands in his lap, as the food was served. Looking up at the Don once spoken too, he nodded, seeing no need to say more.
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Kenny Torres
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As Kenny drove, he started to go numb. His broken ribs ceased their aching, his pounding headache disappeared, and Kenny hoped that this was a good sign and not an indication that he was getting worse. When he got to the Marinello home, he stumbled out of the car and leaned against the hood, catching his breath. He wasn't doing too well. Kenny couldn't find the energy to really listen to what Adolfo said to him and just nodded. He was silently happy when the chat was over. He walked home to his Italian-quarter apartment and went to sleep on his couch, too exhausted and confused to stay awake any longer. 



Kenny woke at five in the morning with the worst headache he'd ever had. He couldn't move. He just stayed curled up on the couch, holding his throbbing head in his hands. The headache took two hours to pass, and when it did Kenny popped a couple painkillers to fix the pain in his ribs. He needed to get medical attention, but he wasn't going to get any unless told to. Doctors were expensive, and Kenny pinched pennies. Unlike most of the people he worked with, Kenny didn't wear expensive suits or own an expensive apartment downtown. He kept himself reasonably poor so that he had money in the case of an emergency. In any case, Kenny just popped a few painkillers, bandaged any open wounds, and washed his face and hair. He then changed into fresh clothes and walked to the Marinellos house. He vaguely remembered being told to return last night, and he supposed it wouldn't hurt to show up. 


When he did, he found himself being invited in for breakfast. He found this strange. He didn't usually get breakfast, especially not with the Don. Kenny sat down silently at the table and kept his eyes focused on the ground. 


(Sorry for the shit post, I'm about to go to the beach and wanted to get this up)
 

Darcy K.
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Darcy stood in the doorway, plainly dressed, looking beat to all hell with an arm in a sling, slashes across her face and arms, a bruised eye, and a busted bottom lip, looking pissed, and weak, and broken. 
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She didn't say a word to help Adolfo, she simply watched in bitter silence, her eyes revealing how hurt she really was, and not just physically. 
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A woman stood behind her, seemingly there to catch her if she were to collapse. If Darcy were honest with herself, she knew Henry would be pissed as hell she was ever out of bed. 
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She wanted to see this. Even though it broke what was left of her stone heart, it was worth it to see her attempted killer pay. 
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Nestore glances up from his paper as the Capo and soldier enter, adjusting the pair of circle-rim glasses perched on the edge of his nose before slapping the paper down on the table. The headline, in bold, all-capitalized print, reads "WAR ON THE WATERFRONT."


"It appears someone had a busy night, hmm? Shame that the Army allowed nearly two hundred pounds of explosives to go missing from a warehouse near Buffalo. Good thing a couple of men concerned with public safety prevented them from reaching the streets." Nestore says, sounding totally sincere. He flips the page over, then jabs a finger onto the top of the next segment. "I am not a happy man, Mr. Cullen." He adds, his tone shifting to one of displeasure, albeit only mild. He lifts the paper in front of his face again, no longer bothering to look at those he is addressing. 


"Mr. Torres, I'm glad to see you're alive. I hate to take you from bed rest, which you have so very much earned with your distinguished service, but, alas, I need an explanation of the night's events that align with the truth, not a journalist's rambling or Cullen's self-defense. Could you walk me through the raid, step by step? I would like to know how exactly an experienced Capo lost two thirds of the men we sent with him, and why the two survivors appear to be holding on by a thread." He asks, peeking out over the top of the paper to make eye contact. 
 

Kenny Torres
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Kenny paled slightly at Nestores request. His headache returned mildly and he rubbed his temples. "Um, I can try. It's all a bit fuzzy..." he mumbled. He didn't like this at all. Kenny didn't talk much, and long winded explanations made him uncomfortable.


"We went to the bakery, the four of us and Mr. Cullen. Set up a camp there. I think a few of us had coffee, but I didn't have any I don't think. Anyways, um..." Kenny looked down at his hands beneath the table, as they were fidgeting restlessly. "Mr. Cullen and I walked down about a block before crossing to the docks, because that way they wouldn't know we came from the bakery. If we'd just crossed straight from the bakery they'd've known we came from there but if we crossed down a block they wouldn't." Kenny scolded himself silently for talking so much. He needed to get to the point, but he could barely remember the point. He hit his head pretty hard.


"When we got to the docks there were four guards, and Mr. Cullen took care of them before I could really do anything. Then there was this rifle that went off and almost hit Mr. Cullen. I think it came from behind us, or maybe to our right... I don't really remember all that well. I just remember that we shot after that guy, but didn't hit him. The other men, the ones we'd given the cocktails to earlier, they came out to back us up but the man with the rifle shot one of them down. Then there was... gunfire..." Kenny's eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't remember the details. "I think the Abandanos had machine guns on them and they killed a couple more of our guys. I remember I had to go to a body and grab a cocktail to throw... and... I'm sorry, it's all blurry from there." Kenny rubbed his temples. His headache was back in full force. He did his best, but he was pretty badly concussed and his memory was spotty. 


@Vudukudu


@ReverseWells


@Shireling
 
T H E  S P I D E R




Clark moved his attention towards the enigmatic problem that was the docks, hearing Mr's Cullen arrive, stepping out of the car as he register Mr's Cullen and he registered him back. His smile never fading, not very tempting or attractive smile as his mustache marked the curve it had. "Hello Mr Cullen." he thought joyful, "Are you glad to see me?". He said nothing about it, he didn't need to know the rest of the information, he really didn't care as much as for the results. Not just the fact they get the job done, but the impression of how would it look. "So much for a Capo he turned up to be. Putting his men under the barrel of some gun."


0:00 AM / 12:00 PM


He moved away, leaving the rest as he drive for a long time until reach his own "house" at the outside, hidden at the outside. Too small to be seen and too rusty and creepy for anyone to dare enter it. Inside this container-like house, a hatch would be hidden under a rug and surrounded by objects that would call anyone's interest if a robbery it was. Under the ladder, down on the hole it leads, a metal door that wouldn't be far away from the bank's gate. It would be the last breach of defense before Clark would be found next to a desk, working with some materials such as muriatic acid. Making his own bombs, The Spider started to sign along a song, "Aaaoooh, I'm a little booy-" he finished tapping the can with a small rope covered with ignited material, "Hiding from my parents. Oh please mom, please... I broke my father's law. Please don't tell him I did..." he walked away from the desk, shaking the can a bit, aware nothing would happen yet, "I ran and ran, hide and ran... Oh please uncle, please... mother's scared, told father I did... Please- Please- Pleaseee... Don't tell them I am here..." he abandoned the room and walked in another caved room, opening the iron door and turn on the lights of the spooky cave, showing a tided man on a chair, the man started to struggle, shouting "Let me out!" "Help" that sort of things, "Oh please Mr, please... I am scare." he left the cane meters away from the man on the chair, continued signing as he light up the cane, "My father wants to beat me, my mother betrayed me and my uncle doesn't let me iiiiin..!" he said closing the door behind him, until the explosion blew up, stopping the man's struggle. "Please... Mr Spider... Please..." he opened the door once more, showing blood all around the door, having no trace of the body except for the body-parts away from the legs; torso, head and left arm, "Please... I want all of them dead..."  the song ended, and the lights turned off.


9:50 AM


The Spider would arrive on the place once more, but away from the main door. He wanted to watch from the far before breaching in.
 
The Torpedo kept himself quiet as got into the car. He didn't much care too much about replying to smart ass. As he they started to drive off he said "I you spent less type being a smart ass and more time actually focusing on jobs maybe you wouldn't need muscle as often as you do" in a sarcastic tone. He didn't much like being in metal box on wheels with a guy who could stab you at any moment.  Still this was a job and it had to be done. It didn't sit well with Lucas, one of them not being around. As they seemed to arrive the Torpedo asks "What now?". @ShadowBroker
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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The room was awash in the yellow glow of the morning sun when Eliza opened her eyes the next morning. She had gone to sleep soon after Clark and a few others were sent out to assist the raid team. She had heard the Lorenzo was leading it, and spent half the night awake wondering if he was alright. The two had a bit of a complicated relationship, if you could even really call it that. Nevertheless, she was worried about him. Eventually she'd fallen asleep but now, as she pushed the duvet back and stepped onto the plush carpet of her old bedroom, it came rushing back. Eliza pushed her worries aside, taking her time dressing and getting ready for the day. She knew Mama would want her to stay a while longer before returning to her place in Downtown so she didn't see the point in rushing. When she was ready, she ventured downstairs and into the dining room. Several of the Marinello family's men were seated at the table as Mama Marinello rushed back and forth from the kitchen serving them all. 
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Eliza waved at them all, offering a friendly smile before venturing into the kitchen. Nestore, Kenny Torres, Lorenzo, and her father were all seated at the smaller table there, eating the food Mama had served them and discussing, she assumed, the events of the previous night's raid. She smiled softly at them and moved over to her mother, placing a kiss on her cheek as she always did when greeting her mother. Then she grabbed a plate and leaned against the counter to eat. She preferred not to sit in the dining room with a group of rambunctious boys.
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Nestore gives a quick "good morning" to Eliza as she comes and goes, though his attention never truly leaves Kenny. His information was less than completely useful, but all the same, it was enough for Nestore to go off of. 


"Thank you, Mr. Torres. I do hope you're feeling better soon. I've been told your ribs are quite a bit damaged. Typically takes a month or two to heal, by my understanding. I advise you take it slow from here, perhaps get comfortable with a rifle so you don't have to move as much." Nestore says pleasantly, then pulls a folded wad of bills from his jacket pocket and slides them toward Kenny. "For painkillers, and whatever treatment you may need. Your service, as always, does not go unrewarded." He finishes, then turns toward Cullen.


"And you, Mr. Cullen. By my understanding, seven or so Abandanos were killed, their shipment was sunk, two of our men were killed, and the other four were critically wounded. If this was Europe fifteen years ago, perhaps I would call that a victory." Nestore says softly, then takes a long sip from his coffee. The empty mug thuds loudly as he sets it back on the table. "But we are not fighting in the Somme, and we do not have millions of lives to throw away like cigarette butts. Casualties are never acceptable, Mr. Cullen, and you will take care to remember that in the future. If we weren't at war, I'd sideline you for incompetence. Lick your wounds and find your capacity to lead, Lorenzo, because I expect you'll be back in the thick of it soon enough."
 
Kenny just wanted the conversation to stop. His ears were ringing. He saw the money and blushed slightly. He always felt awkward about being paid. "Thank you, Sir." Kenny mumbled as he pocketed the money. His head throbbed painfully. He couldn't even think of eating the breakfast given to him. He heard Lorenzo being scolded and wanted nothing more than to stand up for him but he couldn't. Every noise caused a stabbing pain in his head. Kenny's eyes found the floor and he stayed completely silent, hoping the world would just be quiet for a few minutes.


@Vudukudu @ReverseWells
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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Staring directly at the newspaper, reading the pages faced away from Nestore as Kenny recalled the events from last night. The young man was a good
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guy, he said what needed to be said about last night and not going into light about leaving the two men behind. Kenny could be a good hand to keep in him, maybe he'd make him his driver to assure him around.
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But his thoughts were short-lived by the thundering sound of the mug hitting the table. Lorenzo had been scolded many times by Nestore, in which the tone of voice he used lost its sting. "Apologies Sir, i'm afraid my German instincts kicked in last night." Lorenzo loved playing the Nazi card, because that was what people truly feared him for. Everyone in the world belived he was one, due to his fruitful stay with the group for 5 years. He didn't agree with their ideals, but their methods and fighting style was quite remarkable, and he never regretted learning it. "Also I know this isn't my place, but I wish to request a driver. I don't own a license simply because I don't trust myself, and Mr. Torres impressed me last night, so i'd wish to make him my driver. He could be apart of my crew since I have 2 openings, plus you'd get a pair of eyes to babysit me with." His straight face had a hint smile, not sadistic like Clark's, more of a amused one for his words just spoken. Everyone knew he never requested anything, and he'd figure Nestore to turn it down due to the oddity of it. Glancing at Elisa for a brief moment, his icy eyes locking hers, before staring back at Nestore's spruce eyes.
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T H E   S P I D E R
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Clark moved himself out from the car, taking another photography to the compound. The image would become vivider, warmer than the last with the veil of night. He let go a sight as if he enjoyed that shot of his camera. Almost as he felt the shot piercing the fabric of reality, then the weapon backfired and tear up his very soul apart, making the floor... his world... everything started to shake. "It's not that important..." he thought as he moved the camera away back to his car, ignoring completely how it felt.


He walked towards the door and waited there, no one to see him or hear him. Without presence of anyone, he ensured his black coat would cover his chest and then he would hide his hands on his pockets. His eyes shifted from one corner to the other, paranoid. The thoughts started to talk... awakening the memories, "Clark? Clark what are you doing?" "Well... What I am doing is... -let go-" the images of two brothers, faceless. The memory is too weak and too spontaneous to be tangible, "Clark... tell me you had to do this- Tell me, it was you or-" "Goddess forgive me... for what I am about to do." "Clark- Tell me you can stop... tell me you can stop!" "I will never stop." the sound of a gun would break the silence from where his thoughts lay in serenity. "God..." he would mutter as he recover a mind of his own, "Stop messing with my head..."  he moved back to the door, knocking twice and speaking his name as if he wanted to request for his own task.

 
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Don Marinello
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"Done." The Don chimed in, being silent for most of the conversation. He pointed at Kenny. "Listen, my boy, there's a doctor on York Street that's a personal friend of mine. Have him look at you, sometime soon preferably." 


Adolfo Marinello
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Adolfo glanced over at Darcy and was shocked to see her bludgeoned and beaten. His shock didn't last long on his face as Henry hit him with a hard right hook that sent him to the ground on his hands and knees. 


"Jesus, Henry. I'm tellin' the truth!" 


The Irishman tossed Adolfo again against the wall. 


"Listen, I swear it! Would I walk into this damn meeting if I had planned to hurt your kid sister? You know that would mean war." Adolfo felt the back of his head, sore. Henry grabbed him by the collar and shook him, as Adolfo had yet to fight back. 


"Come on, you greaseball gingo guienna-wop fuck. You just gonna stand there and take it?" 


"I'm tellin' you, Henry. I didn't do shit to your sister!" 


Again, Henry launched him into the bar, sending bottles flying and shattering. The Italian was about to get up, but two of the guards grabbed him. 


"Here, hold him still." Henry told them as they held him, legs flailing. The Irishman, a skilled boxer if he wanted to be, hit him across the face where Umberrato had hit him yesterday and blood and spit sprayed out in a fine mist. 
 

Kenny Torres
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Driver? Before Kenny could say a word, it had been decided. He was to be Lorenzo's driver. He paled slightly and rubbed his temples. He didn't have a license. If he drove last night, it was out of either panic, necessity, or both. He never drives. Yet he was in no position to decline. So he nodded, pretending that he had no qualms with the decision. When he heard the Don talk to him, Kenny sat straight as a board and looked up at him. He nodded as he was told to see a doctor. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He said quickly. You act like a mouse sometimes, Kenny. He thought to himself, growing slightly amused at his own behavior. 


@Shireling @ReverseWells @Vudukudu
 
Nestore frowns at Lorenzo and shakes his head. "It wasn't your German instincts that kicked in, and don't think you can scare me, boy. The Germans were tacticians, clever, adaptable. You're a hound, Lorenzo. A hound, not a wolf, because at least wolves have the sense to implement strategy rather than dive headlong at their prey. I've been in this business longer than you've been alive, Lorenzo, but I'm not sure I've ever seen a man stupid enough to think he can intimidate me. Get out of my sight." Nestore growls, pointing to the door. 


With his tirade finished, Nestore returns his attention to his breakfast and newspaper, as if nothing had been said at all. 
 

Darcy K.
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"Henry." 
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Darcy strode over, wiping away a smudge of blood that had dribbled from the corner of her mouth. 
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"Are you going to kill him?" She asked, her voice level and careful.
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"Phil, give me your gun." 
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[SIZE= 14px]The nearest guard relented, handing over his pistol.[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]She leveled it with Adolfo's head, brushing her brother aside. She pushed it against his forehead. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]"Move an inch and I'll paint the walls with the contents of your skull." [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]She looked over at Henry, wiping the blood away with the back of her hand again. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]"Ba cheart a dhéanamh liom é? Ní bheidh aon leisce orm. Ba mhaith liom is fearr a choinneáil air san íoslach, cé. Beidh mé chéasadh admháil. sa dá linn, is féidir do na fir a fhiach síos aon drochamhras eile?"[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]@Shireling[/SIZE]
 
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[SIZE= 14px]translation: [/SIZE]
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should i do it? I will not hesitate. i would prefer to keep him in the basement, though. i will torture a confession. in the mean time, your men can hunt down any other suspects? 
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Lorenzo Cullen
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Clenching his fist under the table as Nestore spoke, his verification on his request flew over his head as the words the man was speaking filled him with rage. Lorenzo knew if he made any movement, or interjected he'd more than likely end up in the bottom of the river, but he hated being trampled on. Biting his inner lip as he stood up, he spoke with a quiet rage. "With pleasure," he said simply locking eyes with Nestore, before walking out of the kitchen knowing Elisa would follow him soon.
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Storming out of the household, as he heard the
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mutterings of the deranged man he hated. Lorenzo's icy eyes glared at Clark, then stretching his clenched fist which was turning white. He wouldn't mind killing the prick, he annoyed him, and he knew he was going to get a cryptic lecture from that pencil thin mouth of Clark's
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Adolfo Marinello
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Henry relented. He looked over at both of his guards, neither one of which spoke the Gaelic tongue. Adolfo was the most confused, but also angry. He absolutely glowered at Darcy as she leveled the gun on him. He hadn't plotted to kill her, but if he had the opportunity now he certainly would. 


Henry nodded to his guards. "Take him down in the basement and tie him up. Oh, and take this." He ripped Adolfo's coat unbuttoned and unhooked the straps on his bulletproof vest, then handed it to one of his guards. He knew what to do. 
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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Eliza's attention was focused on the men as the heated discussion continued. Her father remained indifferent and silent for the majority of it, as he always did. The Consigliere, however, had no problems speaking his mind. Kenneth was like a skiddish recruit, only speaking when spoken too. And Lorenzo, cocky as ever, spoke his mind when the chance was given. But sometimes, it was better to simply keep quiet. Because Nestore's reaction was boiling with anger and irritation. Half the room visibly flinched when the mug hit the table the first time, including herself. The tirade of words that left his mouth were like spikes shooting through the room, but nevertheless, they were true. Lorenzo's reply angered Nestore, and the older man came back even harder than before. 
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Eliza watched as Lorenzo stood up abruptly, his own anger clear on his handsome features. When he left the room, she turned her gaze to the three men remaining. She knew not to say anything. As a woman, it wasn't her place to interfere in the matters of men. So, she simply nodded respectfully at the three of them, placed her dishes in the sink and slipped from the room. She grabbed her coat from the back of a chair in the parlor as she passed through and then left the house. Just outside the front door, Lorenzo stood glaring hatefully at Clark Smither. Not many in the people liked the man's deranged, creepy personality, but Lorenzo had a particularly strong dislike for him. 
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"Lorenzo," she said. "Are you alright?"
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Darcy K.
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[SIZE= 14px]Darcy removed the gun and fell into her brother's arms, hugging him tightly. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]"I'm sorry, Henry, I'm so sorry..." she sniffles, pressing her face into his shirt. "I know he was a friend." She choked back a sob, "Thank you for doing this, big brother, thank you." [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]She released him for long enough to glare and Adolfo, "I hope you're happy. I hope it hurts you that you failed. I hope it brings you some sick satisfaction to know that I crawled from the burning wreckage of that car, my driver dead, in the middle of some god forsaken ditch because of you! I hope you're fucking proud of yourself, Marinello! You dishonor your family, you dishonor your brother, my husband!" She bit[/SIZE][SIZE= 14px] back tears, trying to hold onto her strength, "I always knew he was the better man. Only god knows why I ever loved you." She spat at him, watching as the bloody splotch ran down his forehead. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]"Take him away. I can't look at him anymore."[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]Her voice trembled as she said her final piece, before she sobbed and fell back into the embrace of her brother. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]@Shireling[/SIZE]
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T H E   S P I D E R
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A nice morning broken upon the always upset Lorenzo, or Mr Cullen however you wish to introduce him. However Clark's mood did not change for an instant as he spoke innocently, "Good morning, Mr Lorenzo-" but his speech would be soon cut off by Lorenzo's hatred, "Is there something wrong?" "Let me guess, the dog didn't got his bone?" one of his hands would remain inside his coat, seem to be holding something on the inner pocket, though his glance would shift towards Eliza that came on a rush to, obviously, find Lorenzo, "How convenient, this information seems quite... interesting." Clark manage to see through her tone of voice and her sharp eyes, learning more than what she would say or pretend. But his sight wouldn't shift for long.


An expert of the disguise would be able to know all he needs with one single check, though he could learn more if the conversation may last more than just moments. Knowing it was not his place to interfere, he raised his shoulders with a long sight, ignoring Lorenzo and Eliza to meet Nestore on the room. "Maybe the dog may have his bone after all..." his interested moved once more, impressively how his mind could target so many objectives at once yet gain information. "Nestore... Let's hope your mood switch as fast as your appetite..." he thought for himself as he kept his always calm smile, "Sir Nestore, Don-" he made a pause, recalling those he could see, "I wonder for my new daily task... eager to help the family." wiping the dust on his hands if there was any at all.



 
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I don't need to say that "This is a thought" and "This is what he says"  :D
 
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Adolfo Marinello
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Iron doors swung shut in front of Adolfo as he was locked in with two of Kelly's guards down in the basement. The idea was to get him to confess before ending his life, because Henry would bend over backwards for his kid sister. 


Meanwhile, a Kelly footman ran out to the market with Adolfo's bulletproof vest. He found the nearest fishmonger and paid a dime for a fresh codfish and some ice, and had it and the vest wrapped in brown paper. The fishmonger asked no questions. 


Marinello Compound
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10:20 AM
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A mail carrier arrived with an anomalous package. As per usual, these packages were inspected in the guard house by one of the Marinello soldiers whom was particularly skilled with explosives. He carefully opened the packaging to reveal the vest, unwrapping that to find the codfish. 


Another guard looked at him. "What the hell is that, Roy?" 


"It's a Sicilian message. It means Adolfo Marinello sleeps with the fishes." 
 

Lorenzo Cullen
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Well today wasn't a day for the fight the two man had been craving. Clark shoved past him, eager to show his supieror skills to Nestore. Grumbling to himself, Lorenzo soon heard the voice he'd expected to hear all morning. "I'll be fine, Nestore just gets on my nerves. I'd join the Kellies to kill that son of a bitch." Of course he was being sarcastic on joining the Irish gang, but he wasn't about Nestore. 
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"But enough of my grumbling, how are you Eliza? It's been awhile." Feeling himself relax more, which wasn't a normal thing for him unless he was around the beautiful woman. He was as if a different person around her, and he could never understand why.
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