【ßroken Θrder】

[U n d r a w n]

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Roland had been up all night. It wasn't because he was out partying and it wasn't because he got too involved with videogames to bother with sleep. It was because he couldn't. How could you sleep upon knowing your brother's life was in danger? The boy sat there in front of the fireplace staring into the rolling flames with a gun cradled between his hands. "Roland, are you ready to eat anything yet?" One of the house servants came to the room to see him there. "No." He murmured as he continued to stare into the flames. "Sir, I know things have falling apart since yesterday, but might I advise you care for yourself first? Your father has always put himself first before anyone. How do you expect to care for those you love if you aren't strong enough yourself?" Roland's eyes shot to the side as he glared towards the old man. "Don't you talk about my father. Go make me something to eat." He finally said, allowing himself to cave in to the older man. Roland stood from his chair and moved towards his current prepaid phone. The phones he used were constantly changing, the boy never kept one of them for more than a week at a time. His fingers ran across the buttons as he dialed up a number.

He waited for Alexander to pick up. It had taken Roland a while to calm down, not that he even showed it on the surface, but inside he was having a goddamn heart attack. When he had first heard the news he told the other male to wander the city streets until he got his brother back. He didn't care that it was snowing all of last night. He demanded Alexander get his brother back that instance. With... Well, nothing to work with. Upon calming down Roland realized having one guy run around the city with no information about it would be a waste of time. Roland wasn't sure how much time he had but wasting a whole night like that was something he didn't plan on doing again. They'd have to be productive. He was still waiting to hear word from the kidnappers. What did they want? Money? Drugs? Part of him wanted to believe that the kidnappers were just a few high guys who wanted a few hits of their favorite drugs. All they'd need was to drop off a small bag and his brother would be returned safely. Why couldn't those be the kidnappers?


[ p h o n e .c a l l : Alexander Volkov ]

"Come back home." He stated calmly. "Having you wander around the city is a waste of time. I'd rather us try taking some productive steps. Get together some guys and show up here. We'll pay the clubbing district a visit." That was the last place his brother was seen. Alright. Not seen but everybody knew his brother had been going out to clubs lately. Roland's father had a few ties with some club owners down in the district anyways. If rumors of trouble had been stirring up lately that would be the way to learn about it. Roland's father should have put a tracker under that boy's skin without him knowing. Everything would be so simple if that had been the case. The old man walked back into the room with a plate in his hand and handed it off to Roland. His eyes dropped to the plate as he waved the servant away.


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[ Ꮮocation ] [ Home sweet home. ]
[ Ꮯompany ] [ None. ]

[winteresque visions]

Ａｌｅｘａｎｄｅｒ ♕ Ｖｏｌｋｏｖ

Alexander tossed the butt of his cigarette into a nearby pile of snowy slush, reaching into his pocket to light up another. He shook the pack of Camels, and realized that he was nearly out, with only one left. Damn. He had just bought that pack. He had smoked the whole thing that night? Alexander may have been a smoker, but he never had been a pack-a-day kind of guy. He shook his head. It wasn't surprised. Pascal Shaprio was missing. His charge. He had failed, and that was that. Honestly, Alexander was somewhat surprised that he was still alive. Surely, if the Boss wasn't in America, he would be dead. But Roland was in charge, and for that he supposed he was grateful.

He had been wandering the city all night. He was freezing cold, despite his long overcoat. His hands felt like ice, but at least they had stopped trembling, as they had been for the first hour or so. Alexander had been almost in shock. How could he have allowed such a thing to happen? He was filled with a paralyzing guilt, which had barely allowed him to do anything but walk, smoke, and hate himself. Though he would have preferred to be with Roland, doing what they could to track down his kidnapped brother. As it was, there wasn't very much that Alexander could do. He had no resources on hand, only what he normally carried. He felt helpless, and that was something that he hated. As he stepped out of the first liquor store that he had come across, a fresh pack of Camels in his hand, Alexander's phone rang. It was Roland.

"Yes?" he answered, disguising his nervousness with a brusque manner. He was prepared for anything, but expecting another scolding. "Come back home. Having you wander around the city is a waste of time. I'd rather us try taking some productive steps. Get together some guys and show up here. We'll pay the clubbing district a visit." "Yes, boss. I'm on my way."

A relieved smile on his face, he waved down a taxi, putting away his cigarettes. As he stepped into the yellow car, he began dialing numbers on his phone. "Ivan? It's Alex. Meet me at the Boss's place. We've got some late night planning to do."

By the time the taxi brought him to Roland's place, he had called up about ten men to meet him there. None of them had arrived yet, of course, but they would be there soon. When the boss wanted them there, it was their first priority. Knocking on the door, one of the servants opened it for him. "I'm here to see Roland." he said, though it was obvious. "Where is he?"

Not allowing the servant to take his coat, he walked through the mansion, suddenly nervous again. Opening the door after a brief knock, he stepped into the room. "Roland." he said simply. It wasn't the time for apologies, he had done that already. It was time to get to work. "I've got some of the men on their way here. Where do you want to start in the clubbing district?"

[Hale Monster]

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Sacha wasn't the one to worry, he was a man of action, if there was problem he would solve it simple as that; but he was also smart enough to know when a situation called for some tactful planning. While Roland liked to think of himself as a statue, closed off from such sensitive emotions, Sacha has been with the man long enough to see that he was in no condition to think straight, at least in the first couple hours that followed the news of Pascal's kidnapping. So Sacha did what was necessary, he made sure to rule out the obvious situations incase the information they had received was faulty or overly exaggerated. The right-hand man made calls to the police station to make sure Pascal just didn't get arrested for inappropriate drunken conduct and refused to inform the family. It wouldn't have been the first time after all. The rest of the calls were to some interesting friends of Pascal's that sometimes squirreled the kid away for some 'fun'. When all the usual scenarios came to dead ends Sacha grudgingly accepted the grime situation at hand.

Scrubbing a face then running a hand through his hair, Sacha mentally when through the list of possible suspects which only ended up frustrating him more as the list got longer and longer. A mafia family had plenty of enemies and the Shaprio family wasn't just any mafia family. Blue-green eyes narrowed as he watched the servants whisper and twitch around the mansion like jittery rabbits despite the old hour. Snatching the elbow of a passing maid he ignored her wide-eyed look, " Have the unneeded staff go home, we will only need a skeleton crew tonight." At her nod, he let her go. Roland did not need a gawking peanut gallery as he worried about his absent brother.

Stalking down the hall he made his way towards Roland's room to see what his boss had decided and to see if his best friend was in the right state of mind to be called 'boss'. On his way he spotted Alexander and scowled heavily. The young bodyguard was in deep s**t for losing the younger Shaprio brother, why he was even being allowed to walk on his own two feet was a mystery to Sacha. Entering the room behind Alexander he caught the tail end of the conversation and offered his own input, " I suggest we start at Limbo, it was the last club Pascal was said to have been before he disappeared." When Sacha had been finished with the usual spots he had called the clubs frequented by the younger Shaprio to question the managers on how their V.I.P rooms were used that night. Moving out from behind the young bodyguard he gave the man a dark look before turning his attention towards Roland, watching him with an intent searching look.

[_BardofHaven_]

ℴℵℯ Step
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$ counting Tiles on the floor $
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This wasn't his fault. Nope. Not at all. Well, okay, maybe it was a little bit. But he hadn't planned on it at all. In fact being kidnapped wasn't even on his list of things to accomplish for the day. What was on his list, was having a good night out clubbing with the worry of being clubbed himself. He had already spent most of the day bugging Roland about his duties and what not. Of course he did it out of love, just Roland never seemed to see it like that. Pascal did care about his brother, and once he had pushed all his buttons, he moved on. After the eventful morning of worrying over/bugging Roland, he spent the rest of his daylight hours 'chatting' with the rest of the 'Family'. He talked to everyone who came the the Mansion, striking up conversations, asking how people's lives where. Most of them were considerate enough to talk to their boss's son, while others glared at him and moved on. Pascal found it entertaining at least, knowing that if any of them acted differently, he would've known something was up. What was even more entertaining was getting to Sacha and Alexander, having them grump up the place with their inability to use words and complete sentences.

When night had arrived he let his brother know that he was going out, letting him know that he would be back. Being part of a wanted had it's downsides, so of course if something went wrong Roland would know. Of course after making sure he had a beanie on, aviators, and looked over all sexy, he was out the door. Roland probably would've sent Alexander after him, but Pascal had been feeling a little rebellious and didn't want a quite super stud glaring at guys who managed to get to close or too chatty with Pascal. It totally killed Pascal's flirting potential, though it wasn't like he would actually go somewhere with anyone. Sure he had some friends he went to for some 'fun', but all they ever did was make out. Roland would probably bust the guys knee's personally had they even tried to do something with him. Either way, he drove quickly making his way towards the Clubbing District. They had a few connections with a couple of clubs down there, so knowing it would be safe Pascal drove into the Limbo, parking, before making a walk to a completely different club. He looked around trying to see if he could spot the bodyguards car, but when he didn''t see it he figured Alexander got caught up at a light.

He smiled to himself at the thought of losing his bodyguard. The thrill of being unsupervised for once was a little overwhelming, but in a good way. He had been walking for about 20 minutes before he came to realize he was in an unfamiliar part of the district. He stopped in front of a snazzy looking place, The Walk of Shame. Pascal snorted at the name before entering. He spent a good two hours just hanging out and dancing. He wasn't even in a V.I.P. section, since he didn't know the owner, but he was having a good time nonetheless. He had a few drinks, flirted with a couple of guys, but he didn't give out his number since he changed his phone so often. After about another hour of having fun, he needed to take a leak. He bumped into someone when he left the bathroom. Smiling at the slightly attractive guy and apologizing he moved past him, when wave of intense pain wracked his body from his head, and he hit the floor blacking out.

Pascal awoke later, not opening his eyes but letting out a groan in pain. It wasn't cold and pascal thanked god for small miracles. Though cursed him for the situation he was in. He tried moving his hands up to his head but found that they were tied to the chair he was sitting in. Luckily his hat was still on, but he could feel the blood drying on the back of his scalp which meant his hat was probably ruined. With another pained groan he lifted his head up and opened his eyes. The room he was in was...nice. Which was surprising to say the least. His chair was in the middle of the room, facing away from the door towards the windows with it's curtains drawn. There was a small table in the corner next to the windows and the only light coming from the room seemed to be coming from behind him. Pascal assumed it was a lamp.

"Ya know," he called out, trying to keep himself from sounding in pain and tired. "If ya wanted to me take back to your place, you could've asked. Maybe we could've gotten dinner or something before we moved on to the date rape." The sarcastic tone was probably unwelcome, but Pascal has a hard time caring. He dropped his head again, sighing. He regretted instantly for leaving Alexander behind. His second thought was how furious Roland was going to be at Alexander, when it was more or less Pascal's fault. The thought cause Pascal to worry about what Roland was going through. He bit is lip, worrying about how their father would be FURIOUS and how this little screw up would cause Roland to lose all the progress with the Mafia he had made growing up. Pascal cursed himself for being an idiot, but made a mental note to get out of here as soon as possible.



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Ooc~ Blargeth really bad layout. I'll add more later.
Location~ Who knows? Kidnappers Room.
Feeling/Status~ Pain and worry. Lots of pain and worry
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[c a f e bean]

xx Ｎｉｃｃｏｌｏ ☆ Ｅｍｉｌｉａｎｏ ☆ Ａｇｏｓｔｉｎｏ

✔ Ocello Mansion / Basement wwwww✖Calmare... calm down... just calm down. wwwww♦ Ocello staff / The Russian
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"Take care of it."

That's what had been said. 'Take care of it'. As if it were as simple as that. Yes, take the gun, go downtown, find the guy, and teach him a lesson. If that was all there was to it, then why had Niccolo been so terrified? Why did the weight of the gun feel a thousand times worse than it actually was? Why did the metal feel so scalding hot against his skin? It made no sense to Niccolo, how someone could take that contraption and pull the trigger to end someone's life without even thinking twice about it. Of course, he assumed that a good portion of the motivation behind anyone's missison was 'because the boss said so', but still. Didn't that make it even more absurd? He knew that he would have to do it no matter what he thought about it and what personal morals he had against it, but that didn't mean that he had to like it, or that he wouldn't freak out about it.

Someone was a threat, and they had to go, explained the Boss. Niccolo had done the only thing that he could do. "Alright, mission accepted (begrudgingly). Thank you for your time, Boss, and thank you for the opportunity." But inside he was a shitstorm of turmoil. This was his first kill, and his heart was threatening to break every side of his rib cage. Not only did he have to kill the guy, he had to teach him that lesson. Don't mess with the Ocello family. Torture, beatings, whatever would get the point across. Niccolo had a feeling that this was going to be as painful for him as it would be for the poor sap that he had to pick off. But he had to do this. For the family, and so he would.

Being his first time, someone had to teach him how, lead him in his destructive path, show him how to inflict the most memorable and painful experience. So Niccolo had trotted behind the longer and much more swift legs of an experienced assassin, trailing his every movement and learning what he could. But no amount of mental notes could prepare him for what he had to do. They took the man out to a deserted back alley, they beat him, they sliced and bludgeoned, he was told to do the worst bits himself. Fingers and... blood. He screamed, he begged, he called for help, but nothing could be done. Because the Boss said so.

Niccolo pulled the trigger. He felt the blood spatter. He could still hear the man's voice in his head. Please, no! I'll do anything! Please, stop! Stop! PLEASE! STOP--

And suddenly he was on his back, on his bed, staring up at an all too familiar ceiling. Another nightmare to wake him up in the most inconvenient of times. His eyes closed again and he took a deep breath, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. Nothing could keep him from remembering how the gun's recoil felt against his hand, or how it sounded when the bullet broke skin. He doubted that it would ever leave him, but did it have to come back so violently? .... He wasn't handling this so well.

He made it back to the Ocello mansion, reported his mission a success, and he was congratulated. He went to his room, and then he fainted. Way to go, killer. A real hardass, you are, pal. ********. At least he had enough sense to fall onto his bed, and not someone else's.

He jumped about a mile high at the sound of his phone ringing, and he sat up board straight in the chaotic pile of pillows and blankets, searching around him to figure out where the little device was hidden. He pushed all of the blankets aside and tossed several of his pillows onto the floor before uncovering it, snatching it up and putting it to his ear without even checking who it was first. Lo and behold, (freaking duh) it turned out to be one of the assistants to the Big Kahuna, humbly requesting his presence because the most recent prisoner had been taken captive.

Oh, that's right! The Shaprio son! He had forgotten about all of that in the midst of his dramatic meltdown! Niccolo spoke just a short while longer to his superior, thanking him for the announcement and promising that he would be along to the main floor shortly. Niccolo hung up his phone and pulled himself together, stepping over to his dresser and pulling out an outfit appropriate for the snowy weather: a gray wool sweater on top of a white thermal, jeans, and a pair of sturdy brown boots to keep the frostbite from his toes. He grabbed a black peacoat just in case he would have to go outside, and took the short trip down the stairs so that he could meet the few people that were gathering at the base of the stairs. Most of them were older than him or higher ranked than him, and they ignored his presence most of the time, which was fine by him. If he hadn't taken over his father's place (and all the debts that came with that) he wouldn't even live in the main building, and they would care even less. Oh, if only.

In this mass of veterans, Niccolo was able to find out the nature of his job: taking part of the task of keeping an eye on the Russian while the higher-ups took care of other missions. AKA, ones that fainting first-timers had no business taking part in. The Boss was off doing something Boss-ly, and the others dispersed after filling him in. First shift? No problem! Ugh. Niccolo turned to walk across the foyer, opening a hallway door that eventually led him to the stairs that would take him to the basement. Soundproof, lightproof, escapeproof. The perfect place for a Russian prisoner! But not your average basement. Rather fancy, really. But then again, everything in the Ocello house had a certain amount of elegance to it. He lingered on the stairs for a few moments before heading down, trying to be as quiet as possible, though he wasn't sure why. Looking down into the room, almost relieved to find that the man was facing away from him. Well, there he was. A Russian on Italian grounds. Now what?

A small smile cracked on Niccolo's lips as the mystery man spoke, his tone dry and very sarcastic. He supposed he could appreciate his ability to be optimistic in a situation like this, but it wouldn't help him. Niccolo wasn't one for tormenting, and he didn't really like conversation with strangers unless it was absolutely necessary, so the Russian wouldn't be getting a reply. Niccolo was sure he didn't deserve one anyways. He looked around the room and spotted a comfy-looking chair, taking a moment to sit down and cross one leg over the other, putting his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his palm. This would be interesting.

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[U n d r a w n]

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Roland hung up the phone and tucked it away in his pocket, his attention going back to the gun in his hands. Why'd he hold it there? He was convinced someone was showing up to attack his house. With his father gone, Roland was going to be tested. And not just by his father. Any enemies would jump on the opportunity to take Roland's young age and inexperienced as a chance to strike head on. He knew this. He had been on edge since the moment his father had left. Sleeping twice a day for periods of 4 hours, so to everyone else it seemed he was up days on end. He looked over each room before getting comfortable, he made sure he had multiple escape routes everywhere he went. Roland slowly lifted his breakfast sandwich to his mouth, taking a few bites before he realized his brother probably wasn't going to be fed for days on end. This made him lose his apatite rather quickly and the plate with most his meal in tact was placed off to the side.

Knock, knock.

His gun pointed towards the door. "Enter." He responded. "Roland." His gun was slowly dropped away from Alex's face. Roland's eyes shifted to Sacha who entered in after him. "I suggest we start at Limbo." He stood and glared towards Sacha. Then moved closer to Alex. He hadn't seen Alex's face since before his brother was taken. Since then it had been nothing but phone calls and texts. His arm rose with the gun in it and the end of the gun pressed up against Alex's temple. Roland had to blame someone. Alex was the best logical choice. Take every ounce of horrible feelings he had and put it on Alex's shoulders. That was it.

Roland's face pulled in close to Alex's. "I thought about it." He said quietly, meaning for just him to hear his homicidal thoughts. Roland took a step backwards and his gun flew through the air, cracking Alex in the side of the head with the handle of it. Roland faced Sacha again as he rolled his shoulders backwards. "So Limbo? Are you sure?" He glanced at the floor pulling away from the other two males. Yeah. Limbo made sense. "Sacha, call for my driver. Forget the other men. If we're just going to the clubbing district it's best not to draw attention to ourselves. We don't want anyone to know who we are. Especially if that's where they took my brother. For all we know they could have a trap set up for us." Roland figured trying to sneak around would be a better approach then tearing through the streets with a group of dangerous men. He pointed to the door, meaning for Sacha to leave at that moment and leave him alone with Alex. Roland knew Sacha wouldn't agree with what he was about to say.

His eyes quickly shifted towards Alex. "Why didn't you know where my brother was last night?" Even though Roland knew first hand, in fact, probably better than anyone how stubborn his brother could be he still didn't want to accept the fact that it was all Pascal's fault for walking right into trouble. He felt inside his jacket, putting his gun away in his inner pocket that was specially designed by his personal tailor to hold his handgun. "And now down to what I need you to do." He said leaning against the door. "If we do run into trouble - I want you to stick to Sacha's back like glue. If it's between me or him you protect him." Roland said, still speaking quietly so nobody would hear him. "If they take me - I'll be taken to the same place they have my brother. With me on the inside and Sacha on the outside we'd have him back home with no problem at all." If there was one person he wanted Pascal's life to be in - it was his own hands. Then if there was one person Roland trusted with his own life - it was Sacha. Roland knew he was thinking emotionally instead of logically, but if there was a chance to get closer to his brother he'd take it. Even if it meant getting into danger. Apparently Roland was cocky enough to believe he could rescue himself and Pascal from the clutches of kidnappers.

"Do you understand the priorities?" Then before he even allowed a moment of silence, "Good. Now lets go catch up to Sacha. We have a few clubs to tear apart."


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[ Ꮮocation ] [ Home sweet home. ]
[ Ꮯompany ] [ Sacha, Alex. ]

[winteresque visions]

Ａｌｅｘａｎｄｅｒ ♕ Ｖｏｌｋｏｖ

Alexander felt more than heard a person moving behind him. Instinctively, his right hand twitched, ready to reach for a gun. He forced his instincts down, however, and merely turned his head, not at all surprised to see Sacha. The right hand man glared at him, and he had to actually suppress a flinch. Normally, such a thing wouldn't intimidate him in the least. But Alexander knew that he was in trouble, and for all he knew, Sacha would be pulling the trigger on him at any time.

He had to stop himself from taking a step back when Roland stood, his gun in hand. If he was going to die, he going to do it with a straight back, no begging for his life involved. But he knew that there was fear in his eyes when Roland placed the gun to his temple. It felt almost surreal, believing that, any second now, he would face his death. Beginning to wonder if his life would really flash before his eyes, he barely even noticed as Roland pulled back his arm. He briefly met the boss's eyes before he felt the gun impact against the side of his head.

Alexander stumbled, biting his lip, barely stopping a moan of pain. His hand flew up to the side of his head, coming away wet with blood. It hurt like nothing else, but he knew that he would be smart to be grateful. After all, things could be a lot worse. Straightening, he pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket, pressing it against a cut that probably wasn't nearly as serious as he first thought. Head wounds bled more than they were worth. He realized he tasted blood, and fought that instinct to spit it out. Getting blood on the boss's carpet would probably be a bad idea at the moment. Swallowing it, he watched as Roland gave instructions to Sacha, making sure that he listened carefully. Only the three of them? But he wasn't about to object.

Once Sacha left, and Roland turned toward Alexander, he heard the question that he had been dreading. And the truth was, he had no proper answer. He didn't know how he had lost Pascal. The Shaprio brother had been in the car in front of him... and then he had looked up, and he was gone. Alexander had not panicked right away, assuming someone had just pulled in between the cars. He had slowly started to feel growing apprehension, however, as he traveled closer and closer to Limbo, and didn't see a sign of Pascal.

The man's car had been in the parking lot, but according to the door man, he had never come in. Thinking that perhaps the man was mistaken, he had entered the club and begun looking around, inquiring about Pascal. But to no avail. Leaving the club, he began to search other favorite places of Pascal, the hair on the back of his neck rising, a tight feeling in his stomach. Finally, he had reported the brother missing.

"He got away from me." was the only answer he could give. Alexander couldn't help but feel somewhat relieve when Roland put his gun away. So his life would be prolonged - but for how much longer?

He gave all of his attention to what Roland was saying now. In his opinion, it was a foolish move. But Alexander knew that he was on thin ice at the moment, and to object could be suicidal. He nodded, swallowing.

"Yes sir." was the only thing he had to say, before he followed Roland out of the room.

[Corpius]

░░▌┋ THE OCELLO BOSS
TRY NOT TO MISTAKE WHAT YOU HAVE WITH WHAT YOU HATE
xxxxIT COULD LEAVE, IT COULD LEAVE, COME THE MORNING

xxxxxxxxxx❝ ✘xxxＣａｒｍｉｎｅ xＶ.x Ｏｃｅｌｌｏ ❞
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AND IF THE SUN SHOULD LIFT ME UP
WOULD YOU COME BACK? C'MON!





Carmine was nervous. Not that you could tell, looking at his passive (almost) bored face as he stared at the news paper in his hands. The leather seat under him creaked as he shifted an inch or so to the left, closer to the car window. He didn't have any reason to be; the last twenty-four hours had gone better and smoother than originally planned. But it didn't matter, because the gamble didn't matter on whether he failed to eliminate the Shaprios or not. What he was doing was treason against the family and even if he won this little game, with the Shaprio's figurative head on a plate, there was no guarantee his father wouldn't disown him- or worse, have put a bullet in his head. Carmine had known that from the beginning though; doing what was right for the Ocello family was far more important.

"We're here, Carmine." The driver's voice was gentle, breaking into his thoughts as the blond realized that the car had indeed come to a stop and it was his own house outside the window, not the blur of the passing city. "Will there be any more outings this evening, sir?"

The blond shook his head as he folded his paper and opened the door to get out. "No, I don't think so. Thank you." Two feet on the ground, he turned to face the house and put a few thoughts in order. The Ocello household was a grand old building, and nothing short of a fortress. Well guarded, and under constant surveillance. You'd have to be mad to try an assault here. It practically reeked of old money and power. Even born and raised here, Carmine found that as he'd gotten older the place had become more and more impressive, and he was quite happy to live inside of it. More than a dozen Ocello men lived in it's various rooms, plus some workers to care for the house and grounds, as well as Carmine's brother and parents. And now it was the temporary home to one other, more a pest than a guest, who was hopefully locked in the basement. Pascal Shaprio, a little Russian brat whose family would (hopefully) do anything to get back in one piece.

Twenty-four hours ago, they'd picked him up rather forcefully from the clubbing district. Carmine had purposely kept the abduction quiet. The Shaprios would notice soon enough, give them a little time to panic, then drop them a little clue....climbing the steps to the front doors, the blond checked his watch. It was just about time, actually. Word from a informant in the lower ranks of the Shaprios was that Roland, the wet-behind-the-ears boss who was doing nothing more than trying on daddy's too large shoes, had men out looking for his missing brother, but it wouldn't be too long before they put two and two together and found the club. Carmine's phone was to his ear as the front door shut behind him. The Walk of Shame (lovely name, for an equally suspicious place) owed them more than a little cash, so a favor had been easily exchanged.

"Any visitors courtesy of Roland?" He didn't have to say who he was; if the owner didn't recognize his voice well then shame on him. "No? Well, I imagine you'll hear from them shortly, unless they're far more stupid than I had them pegged for. Just be sure to tell them directly who it is that has their missing person. Goodbye." As fun as it would have been to watch the Russians chase false leads all over Albion City, Carmine didn't have the time or leisure. This was a job to be done neatly and quickly. The preferably outcome was something like this; his demand of cease and desist on Ocello territory obeyed and little Pascal returned alive and well (perhaps a bit knocked around). If it worked out, then perhaps Shaprio operations could be absorbed, resulting in more profit for the Italians. If not, well the Russians would be chased off and that would be that. No more competition. And if things went badly...well, then Pascal would be returned several pieces and if the Shaprio family didn't hit the road, Carmine would have them razed to the ground and Roland given to his brother as a plaything. Domani would love that.

Right now, though he had to wait until Roland Shaprio caught up, which meant he had a bit of time to debrief his new house guest. Stripping off his gloves and pocketing them, he handed his coat to one of the housekeepers who had come to the door to welcome him home. "Is Domani in his room?" He questioned, but the woman only shrugged. Carmine was hardly worried; unlike Pascal, his little brother could take care of himself, and then some. "And Luciano?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry sir, I only came in an hour ago." He smiled at her and told her to tell them he was downstairs, should she run into them. Luciano was the newest addition to the men in the family's personal bodyguards, and one of the youngest being a couple years younger than Carmine himself. Talented, though, and a definitive threat to the family if left alone, which is why his father had insisted on hiring him. Carmine trusted the other Italian about as far as he could throw him however; he wasn't too keen on the idea of having someone protecting him who wasn't there out of love and loyalty to the Ocello family.

Crossing the familiar maze of the Ocello mansion, he made his way to the basement stairs and quietly down them. He didn't have much to say to the youngest Shaprio; perhaps he was more interested in hearing what the Russian had to beg with for his life. Then perhaps he'd let Domani have a little bit of early fun with him, because his brother hated the Russians only slightly less than he did.

Voices (or perhaps it was just a voice) from inside the locked room made the young boss pause outside the door, hand resting lightly on the handle, key in hand as he stopped to listen.

[Hale Monster]

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Sacha furrowed his brows at the glare thrown his way but moved out of Roland's way, watching with disinterest as Alex was beat over the head with the butt of Roland's gun. The punishment was light compared to what he had witnessed in the past when Roland's father handled personal punishments for his lackeys but Sacha wasn't about to call his best friend out. Besides, Alexander's death wouldn't help the matter at hand, he was young, maybe a second chance wouldn't be wasted on the bodyguard. Calculative eyes took in Alexander, he was familiar with Pascal's irritating nature and wouldn't put it past the boy to purposefully ditch his protection detail. Yet, Alexander should have been better equipped, better trained and all around able to outsmart the cocky Pascal.

Sacha turned away from his assessment when Roland addressed him, "Pascal was seen parking his car in their lot, but he never made it inside the club", Sacha answered with his own hard look before nodding his head hesitantly in acceptance of Roland's order. He wasn't sure why Roland was dismissing him but when the man pointed a finger at the door like he was some disobedient dog that had overstayed his welcome Sacha bristled and warning bells went off in his head. Growling his annoyance at the treatment, Roland's right-hand man frowned heavily at the man before he turned on his heel and left. Sacha followed Roland because he chose to, because he respected the man, if he wanted to he could leave the Shaprio family without a backwards glance but he didn't. Normally he wouldn't have put up with such treatment but now wasn't the time to be defiant. So he left without a word, the door closing softly behind him. Roland wasn't thinking with his head and Sacha had a feeling that everything was about to turn sideways.

"Two minutes," Sacha snapped into the phone, the call connecting him to Roland's usual driver, as he stalked down the hall towards his own personal quarters. His room was finely decorated but nothing of personal value was on display. The dark-hared man went straight for a hidden panel inside his dresser and pulled out a large ebony hunting knife. He attached the sheath to his waist and left to wait at the entrance hall for Roland and Alexander. The hunting knife was a personal touch, he still had two glocks in their holsters inside his jacket but he had a feeling that a little more persuasion would be needed tonight and nothing said 'talk' like a steel blade lodged barely a centimeter from the family jewels. The moment Roland and Alexander arrived, the butler opened the door and Sacha followed them outside to the waiting car. He slipped into the front passenger seat as the driver held the door open for Roland.

[_BardofHaven_]

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Pascal sighed as he returned his thoughts back onto his current situation. He was tired from the partying, not quite hungover but not drunk enough to not feel the pain, and his head was throbbing. He had to keep himself from groaning in defeat when he suddenly saw something move on the fringes of his vision. He snapped his head towards the man who was now sitting on a comfy-looking chair. Pascal regretted it almost instantly, his head protested loudly at the sudden movement, causing him to wince slightly before opening his eyes, getting a better look at the man. Of coursehis kidnapper was good looking. Why aren't there any ugly kidnappers out there? Instead he gets gorgeous yet dangerous men. Kind of a turn on. Pascal bit his lower lip, keeping his eye on the man, looking him over. He wanted to ask questions. Ton's of questions.Who where they? Well...Pascal had already assumed they were part of the Ocello family. Why him? Though that one was pretty obvious too, but other things like what they were going to do to him? Where was he? How did they find him? His mind was racing, but instead of portraying a worried look, he gave the stranger a charming smile.

"So is the part where you threaten my life, and I plead to you not to kill me? Unless killing isn't your thing...Maybe torture?" He paused, hoping for an answer there, but when the man continued to stare back at him Pascal continued. "Well I think you'll have more trouble than you think. I mean, who do you think does most of the interrogating in my Family?" he inquired, though it wasn't really a question. It was fact. He had a way with people that didn't involve breaking knee's and cutting off fingers. Sometimes when they were being unreasonably stubborn, he would allow Sacha, Alexander, or even his brother when he was feeling up to it, to come in and do some damage.

The man continued to stare, not put off by Pascal at all. Pascal's smiles dropped into a frown thing, biting the bottom of his lip he stayed silent, turning his head away to look at his feet. He stayed silent for another couple minutes before turning to look at the man again, sighing in frustration. "So you aren't going to do anything? Like, at all? No talking either? Wow, so I guess your all looks and no talk? I mean how can I flirt with my dangerous kidnapper without anything to go off of?" He said sarcastically, grinning at the man. He was trying to bait some sort of answer out of the other. Once again no answer. Just continued staring. Pascal wasn't even sure if the other had blinked or not. Sighing in dismay again, he turned back to studying his feet. Honestly he was a bit fed up. Pascal was a social creature, relying on some sort of reaction from others to get through life on. "Kakaya zanuda" he muttered quietly, his Russian accent audible for once.

Making a frustrated noise he looked down at his feet, before bucking backwards, while turning his chair. Making as much noise as possible, he turned the chair so it was now facing the other man. He glared at the other. "Listen, keeping quite will do you no good. Or me. Rather, I can be less annoying if you are willing to actually talk. I mean, I'm assuming you are with the Ocello family so the idea of talking to a Shaprio isn't a keen one. But, I'm sure it's a better alternative than sitting there quietly, wondering why this 'annoying-child' is talking to. I'm also sure a Svoloch' like you must have something to say about me." He finished, holding eye contact with the other. He was not going to show them he was afraid, because he honestly wasn't. He knew how things like this went down and he was going to make the best of it.Though, he silently prayed that Roland wouldn't do anything stupid. Like give Carmine Ocello anything in return for his safety. That would be stupid, and not only would it put shame on their family name, it would be Pascals fault.



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Ooc~ UM please tell me if something wrong. And why does everyone think Pascal is useless XD
Location~ Kidnappers Room. Tight lipped man.
Feeling/Status~ Frustration. With a killer headache.
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[c a f e bean]

xx Ｎｉｃｃｏｌｏ ☆ Ｅｍｉｌｉａｎｏ ☆ Ａｇｏｓｔｉｎｏ

✔ Ocello Mansion / Basement wwwww✖Stupid. wwwww♦ The Russian
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Well, Niccolo had been right. Things were picking up from his end, and perhaps his time in the basement with their captive would be better than he had hoped. The Russian certainly proved to be charismatic, and an impressive person to study. Yes, Niccolo liked to study people. ‘People-watching’ as some people call it, was one of his many hobbies, and he enjoyed it. Learning about people was just as engaging as learning a language, but a bit more difficult. There were millions of things you could learn just from the shortest twitch of someone’s eye, and endless possibilities from their tone of voice, their mannerisms, and who they hung out with. He had gotten pretty good at it over the years, and he was an excellent judge of character, but when it came to people that were involved in shady things like the mafia you had to be extra careful. He never took anything that he learned at face value anymore. So far, from just the looks of him, he seemed like one of those player types. Cocky. Only time could tell if his first impression was correct.

The Russian turned his head, and much to Niccolo’s amusement, he winced. Ahh, so they had roughed him up pretty good. Niccolo hadn’t seen the blood on the male’s beanie when he first came in, honestly not paying much attention to his appearance, having noticed the plush chair before he would be troubled with all of that. The captive smiled, and this quirked Niccolo’s curiosity. Normally people weren’t smiling at this point in the game. Normally they would be asking for freedom, begging, or trying to negotiate. But after a few moments of wondering how the boy could be so jolly in this situation, he figured that this might not have been the first time that he had dealt with something like this. Perhaps he had been kidnapped before? Or maybe he had been trained in this kind of thing, being one of the heirs to the Shaprio throne and everything? Or maybe he was just naturally a fool, without fear and logic? He probably thought that he was being brave. Right around this thought, the guy started to talk. Just his voice was enough to give away the ‘cocky’ factor that Niccolo had picked up on before. Score one, Italian.

And the points just kept on racking up! He continued to speak, making sarcastic comments and trying to make light of his situation. Yes, Niccolo would have to deal with the flirtatious captive. His fingers curved inwards to rest against his jawline as he watched the male, face expressionless and eyes emotionless. It was better to be completely blank while you watched people; because that was the only way you could truly see their natural characteristics. If one was to show positive or negative reactions, the people that they watch would begin to change in order to fit your preferences and try to get their way. Not happening today~. But Niccolo would admit that this one was pretty entertaining. Speaking Russian, muttering something about how he was boring. Oh, silly man. Niccolo even cracked another smirk at the insult, and he adjusted his legs, switching the leg that was on top and re-crossing them. He would have expected the Shaprio boy to give up on trying to talk to him by now, but surprise! The guy actually moved his freaking chair around. Well, that was unexpected. His brow lifted slightly, and he tucked his hands into his lap, leaning back into the chair and allowing himself to get comfortable, since he would probably be in here for a while. Niccolo glanced back to the Russian, finding that he was already making eye contact, and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath.

“Ty slishkom mnogo boltayesh.”

Oh, yeah. Breaking out the foreign languages. He didn’t go through ten years of his father’s neglect for nothing, bitches.

Well, if this guy wanted a reaction or something, he wasn’t going to get it. But Niccolo didn’t have an issue with dishing out a mild insult. Or twenty. Getting uncomfortable, this kid be damned, he stood from the comfy chair and stared down at him. Not angry, not impatient, just kinda… staring blankly. Like he always did. He took a moment to adjust his sweater and put his hands in his pockets before he travelled the short distance between the chair and the tied up Russian, standing slightly to the side and at an angle. There he stood, just staring. And staring. And he continued to do this for a good minute and a half before he reached out and plucked the bloodied beanie from his head. He turned right back around and went to the chair, moving at his leisurely little turtle pace, sitting down and passing the hat between his hands lazily. Niccolo never really understood the reason these useless things were so popular. The one that he held in his hands was bloody, of course, but also very thin. It didn’t even look like it would be of any use in warming someone’s ears. Perhaps it was purely for fashion, but in his opinion, if you were going to wear something, you should at least make it practical. He folded it neatly so that the bloodied portion wouldn’t be able to touch anything before laying it on the arm rest of the chair and turning his attention back to the Russian.

“Obviously you are not very smart.”

For several reasons. Getting kidnapped and wearing stupid hats were the outstanding ones at the moment.


[[ ooc translation; Russian. 'You talk too much' c: ]]

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[impeccable error]

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Being a bodyguard was easy. Just make sure that no one important gets hurt or killed on your watch and risk your entire life for the leaders of the mafia. So simple even a pineapple could understand it. But Luciano Pesce did not. Only two years with the Ocello Family and he was expected to trust everyone to their very fair follicles and protect the three most—well, two most, now that the Boss was abroad, important individuals in the beloved Family.

Yet there he was, standing in the security room of the Ocello Family manor carefully watching over the screen that showed a small room furnished rather well that held the most recent captive. The Shaprio brother Pascal. Luciano knew very little of the politics that were involved in the mafia world, but whatever the reason for Carmine to insist that the kidnapping of the Shaprio had to be a success the reason had better been worth the trouble. Actually there wasn’t much trouble involved. The operation went smoothly and Luciano had to do very little. But just having to have been in the dance club with the hammering bass and seizure inducing lights was not something the Italian native enjoyed.

The dark eyes that were staring at the screen blinked twice as audio began to slur from the speakers. The mic in theroom wasn’t picking up enough to make the voice distinct and clear, but it was enough to understand what was being said. Luciano narrowed his eyes and wondered if all mafia members, whether they be Italian or Russian were blunt and excessively rude. He silently willed for Pascal to keep his mouth shut. There were quite a number of people who had access to that room and a majority of them knew not how to be nice to prisoners.

The door to the prisoner’s room swung open and in strutted Niccolo. Luciano was curious as to what the other planned to do since he seemed like the silent deadly type, at least, that was what he inferred from the limited encounters he had had with Niccolo. The phone located in Luciano’s coat pocket vibrated. He quickly picked it up without bothering to check who had called. “Hullo.” On the other end was a housekeeper explaining that Carmine was on his way to the basement. “I see. Thank you,” he said after a brief pause. He put the phone away and made his way down to where Carmine would be.

Luciano thought very little of Carmine and the whole Ocello Family, actually. Carmine was, to be simply put, an a**. He walked about as if the entire world circled about him. And the Ocello Family? They dealt with illegal firearms. Luciano was taught that firearms to be treated with respect—to be treated like the damn Mona Lisa! Watching the family hustle the guns around as if they were tinker toys was an insult to his face.

Down in the basement, he saw Carmine who was pressed up against the door. With a few strides he reached the leader of operations. “Niccolo is currently in there, sir,” he stated. And he’s just starting with Shaprio; probably not done with him. But details were petty in this situation, and plus, Luciano didn’t want to come off as a know-it-all or an arrogant d**k.

[U n d r a w n]

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"He got away from me."

Roland stood there thinking about that time he had lost his brother when they were given some money to stop at a mall. They walked in a store together and moments later Roland was standing at the cash register finding his brother was nowhere to be seen. He had this unsettling panic and spent a while racing around until he bumped into Pascal again. It was basically the same feeling but a million times worse this time around. Roland didn't know just how much everyone else cared. Was he the only one who even cared with a fear other than getting beat up, or killed by the boss? Roland was beginning to feel he was the only one who actually cared about his brother.

Alex followed Roland out of the room and the two ran into Sacha again who had his car ready. Roland moved inside and took a seat, feeling through each pocket and making sure he had the usual things he carried around. Some things were just mandatory to have on you at all times of every day. Roland knelt down feeling under the seat. A baseball bat. His car had quite a few things inside at any given time as well. He placed it along his lap and crossed one leg over the next as he glared out the window. There wasn't much to be said. It wasn't really the time for casual conversations.

Once the car pulled up outside of the club Roland glanced around. "Clear?" He asked the others, if they saw anything out of the ordinary or concerning all they'd do was continue driving to avoid trouble. Roland didn't see anything though. So, as long as neither of them did too he stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. With the baseball bat still in hand, Roland began to make his way towards Limbo, he grabbed the handle throwing the door open and moved inside carefully shifting his eyes as he did so. Even with him doing something as simple as entering a club he was still feeling extremely paranoid. It was scary walking head first into a disaster. A disaster that took Pascal from him. "Nothing to be paranoid about." Roland said glancing towards Alex and Sacha. "If there was any trouble in this part of the neighbor hood my dad's acquaintances would've alerted me so." He said it mostly to calm himself down.

"OH s**t. ROLAND NO." A man came rushing out from the back of the bar, which only had two people inside since it wasn't a generally busy time for business. "Don't smash anything! ******** don't smash the windows in! It'll cost me 2 grand!" Roland would be lying if he said he'd never bashed up a bar before.

"I'm not here for anything like that. Although pass me a vodka." He said nodding to the bar. The man moved behind the bar and grabbed a bottle, then held it out for Roland to take. "Pascal. You see him last night?" The man's face went to a very curious glance. He wanted to ask what was going on, but didn't want to disrespect the Boss's son. "No I wasn't working last night. I was out with the wife n' kids." His arm stretched out and pointed across the street. "Though across the street someone was saying something about you. I think someone is expecting you. Ask him what it's about."

"Expecting me as in a trap?" Roland asked raising an eyebrow, glancing back at Sacha. "No... Er... I dunno. Look I seriously didn't ask. I thought you'd go there. Not here." Roland sighed and rested the bat against his shoulder. "Alright seriously what's the bat for?" The man asked feeling very paranoid the boy was going to ruin something in his club. "Just encase you assholes don't feel like cooperating." He said tilting his head to the side. "Hey! I've known your father a damn long time. He trusted me the hell don't you trust me for?!" Roland glared towards the man. He didn't trust anyone at the moment. Anyone could have a part in Pascal's kidnapping. "I'm not my dad." Roland said nodding his head. He turned around facing Alex and Sacha. "I don't think we need anything else here. Lets keep moving." He said, pausing encase the two wanted to add anything while they had the club's owner right there for questioning.

After the three moved outside, back into the snow covered street he rubbed his arm. "What are you thinking about walking in there?" He said nodding to the club where someone was expecting him.


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[ Ꮮocation ] [ The clubbing district. ]
[ Ꮯompany ] [ Sacha, Alex. ]

[I B L O W I]

Domani's hair violently started shaking as it tried to keep up with the motion of his head. Dark purple metallic earbuds bairly shinned through he gaps of hair. Each bud blasting the much needed music that Domani had become accustomed to. Domani was pretty Americanized from the years of contamination. Not so much that he lost the connection with his roots but to the point where he wouldn't last longer than a summer at his cousin's rural farmland back home. As the music flooded through his head all he could think about what how much fun he was going to have with their prisoner. Part of him felt bad though. He knew this wasn't going to get those bloody Russians to leave peacefully. This action would result in war and he was prepared for it but what would his father say. If the Ocello's didn't win with as less loss as possible both his and his brother's head would be on the chopping block. He sighed. The music was supposed to make him stop thinking but sadly his brain was overpowering it.

Domani stopped headbanging as he felt someone enter his room. Without taking a chance he rolled across his bed, gun drawn and aimed at his housekeeper. Domani rolled his eyes and yanked the headphones from his ears, glaring at the woman who just interrupted his time with a look of annoyance written all over his face. “Can I help you?” "Aren't you going to put the gun down sir?" "Depending on the information you're bringing me." Domani said with a smirk. "Carmine just got here and is looking for you." "Alright I'll be down in a second." Domani flicked his index and middle finger towards the door and the housekeeper left. He slowly stood from his bed and slid his gun back into it's holster before taking them both off. He only needed one gun for what was about to happen and he didn't want it visible.

'Finally!' He thought. They picked up the little Russian brat and left him alone in the same house as Domani; but yet he wasn't allowed to talk with him until Carmine came home. It felt like an eturnaty to Domani as he did all he could to pass the time. He didn't understand why he couldn't just ruff the kid up. It wasn't like he would kill him...yet. He shrugged making his way to the door before shutting it. He walked over to his closet and slid the false back out of his way. Once he got view of the hidden door he opened it and walked down the spiraling stairs. If it was one thing he loved about his house it had to be the millions of hidden passageways. There was no real way to trap or ambush Domani when he was home. No matter what room he was in he knew at least five ways to exit it and pop up somewhere else. He quickly made his way to the basement silently making his way down the dark hallway. He stopped when he saw his older brother leaning against the door eavesdropping on whatever might be going on in that room. With a smirk on his face he silent crept towards him stopping once he saw Liaciano come into view. He continued to walk up just barely making out what the man said before he stepped from the shadows. Domani placed his arm on Carmine's shoulder. "Cosi...cosa stiamo ascoltando.?"

Out Of Control: Translate:So...What are we listening too?"

[Corpius]

░░▌┋ THE OCELLO BOSS
TRY NOT TO MISTAKE WHAT YOU HAVE WITH WHAT YOU HATE
xxxxIT COULD LEAVE, IT COULD LEAVE, COME THE MORNING

xxxxxxxxxx❝ ✘xxxＣａｒｍｉｎｅ xＶ.x Ｏｃｅｌｌｏ ❞
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█ ██ ███ ██████████████████████████████
AND IF THE SUN SHOULD LIFT ME UP
WOULD YOU COME BACK? C'MON!





"Listen, keeping quite will do you no good. Or me. Rather, I can be less annoying if you are willing to actually talk. I mean, I'm assuming you are with the Ocello family so the idea of talking to a Shaprio isn't a keen one. But, I'm sure it's a better alternative than sitting there quietly, wondering why this 'annoying-child' is talking to. I'm also sure a Svoloch like you must have something to say about me." Even through the thick door, Pascal's voice was audible, if a bit muffled. All he was really doing was taunting his guard, whomever it was in there, probably in hopes of confirming where he was. Or maybe he just wanted attention. Carmine couldn't tell.

The Ocello man inside responded far more quietly, and in surprisingly in Russian. Carmine didn't speak much Russian, to be honest. Something he'd never found time for, though he probably should have. "Obviously you are not very smart." The guard's next words were back in English, but that was all Carmine heard before he was joined by Luciano. "Niccolo is currently in there, sir." The Ocello boss leaned away from the door to turn his head and examine his bodyguard. Answering a question Carmine hadn't even asked yet- the man was quite good. You didn't meet a man that sharp or that skilled with firearms that often, or ever really. Pity his loyalty couldn't be bought with money; only unwilling bartered with threats, and then that was only fear not loyalty.

"Is that so-" Carmine started to reply, before the faint scuff of a shoe behind him and a arm on his shoulder made him jerk in surprise. "Cosi...cosa stiamo ascoltando?" But it was only his little brother's voice in his ear, the damn little sneak. Domani might as well have been a ghost, for as quietly he could pass through the house and all its century old passages and hiding spots. Even six years older, Carmine didn't know the house as well has he did. Domani was probably the only person who could sneak up on his elder brother, and Carmine would be lying if he said it hadn't resulted in him punching him in surprise on one or two occasions. Brotherly love and all that- they'd gotten into far worse scrapes growing up together, especially when Domani had demanded to learn to spar with him, despite still being half Carmine's size.

"Sono contento che tu sia unito a noi, fratello." Glad you could join us, brother. His smile was tight, an underlying tone of Are you ever going to stop doing that? and a hint of You're lucky I didn't break your nose as he gave him that annoyed look that was reserved specifically for Domani's antics. Shaking his head, he continued on in Italian, addressing both the other men. "I just want to have a word with our guest before his brother figures out where he is. Tell him to not stir up any trouble while he's here. And then you and Niccolo can have some fun with him." Not too much fun, of course, or else Carmine couldn't promise to return the boy (mostly) unharmed.

He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, stepping far enough into the room to allow Luciano and Domani space to come in behind him. He glanced first Niccolo, seated solemnly in the arm chair, the boy's face as unreadable as ever. He was the same age as Domani and was...sort of the family orphan. The loss of the boy's parents, his father in particular, had been one hell of a tragedy, but his son was walking steadily in his footsteps, loyal to the family who'd taken him in. Niccolo done everything asked of him so far, including a few things Carmine had failed to do at his age (not that anyone knew he couldn't hold a gun, let alone kill anyone with it). He was possibly too quiet, almost unnervingly so, but Carmine was fond of him anyway because it meant he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Then his gaze turned to Pascal and gave him a flinty examination, taking in the dried blood matting his hair. He really hadn't ever seen the Shaprio boy face to face like this, or any of the Russians for that matter. His father preferred to ignore them entirely. But he knew the boy was a carefree partier, particularly fond of skipping out on any familial responsibilities to pick up cute boys at the clubs, and was the coddled child of the Shaprio family which made him a prime target for blackmail. If Carmine didn't hate their rival family so much, he might have actually felt sorry for the boy. After all he was hardly responsible for his father and brother's actions. In fact, the original target had been Roland himself- but plans had rapidly changed once Carmine had learned Shaprio senior was on a extended trip to Russia.

A few more steps forward put him directly in front of Pascal (just out of reach in case the boy tried anything funny), arms folded lazily across his chest. "Welcome to Ocello family house, Pascal. I trust your stay has been comfortable?" Lazy sarcasm and a friendly smile. After all, Carmine was quite happy to have him as a guest.