The Trojan Horse

[Levi DAmico]

This thread is back-dated to September 30th 2015

No one spoke. When Levi and his guards, Barzetti and Caro, entered the Italian’s office, Levi took the usual place upon his throne as his guards stood sheepishly in front of the desk. Umber eyes burned a whole into said desk – this fragile thing that would never pass as an effective barrier between them. Levi didn’t even pass a glance at his two men, though of course they knew they were in trouble. Levi could see them without seeing them. It was their human sounds; the anxious patter of two strong hearts, the wheeze of subdued breaths; it was their human scents; fear and anticipation mixed with the heavenly deceptive odour of food; that was what Levi was attuned to. The Italian could be blind and still know they were there in front of him, waiting for judgement. He could shoot them between the eyes with one hand tied behind his back and blindfolded to boot – that’s how obvious they were to him. However, that really didn’t seem personal enough. With the way Levi was feeling, he really would have preferred to choke the life out of one while he ripped the throat out of the other.

By now, Barzetti and Caro had learned that it was best to say nothing when their capo was angry, to not speak until spoken to. Lately, however, it seemed like Levi was always angry. It was getting harder and harder not to show it too. A storm had been building for months and while the bulk of it still lingered somewhere out on the horizon, the Italian was tormented by its ominous shadow, and knowing that it was coming closer with each passing day. Everything pissed him off lately. ******* everything. Lorelai was not helping matters either. As far as the Italian was concerned, it was her job to make things better, not worse. After hard days and nights of work, all Levi ever really wanted to do anymore was come home to the blonde, to snatch her up in his arms and kiss the life out of her. Yet, all they seemed to do anymore was fight. She was being ******* ridiculous. Insensitive. It was driving him mad that he couldn’t just cut her loose and be done with it because he cared. It was stupid how much he cared.

The Italian was feeling paranoid too. It seemed like every time he ******* blinked that girl was up to something and for some reason it was all revolving around this ******* prick she’d sired. Levi didn’t understand the relationship between Lorelai and Robin. What would a grown man need from a grown woman besides sex? And vice versa for that matter. Levi didn’t trust either one of them. It didn’t help that Lorelai basically invited the ****** to move in without even consulting Levi on the matter. Of course it was Lorelai’s apartment and it was her right to invite in whoever she wanted, but, wasn’t that the problem too? This was Lorelai’s personal space, her intimate space that Levi shared with her whenever he could. Not officially, because she’d never actually asked him to move in, but he practically did live there. Besides that, wasn’t he supposed to be important to her? Wasn’t he supposed to matter just a little bit more than this little prick? You can’t just invite some other man to live in your apartment with you when you’re supposed to be involved with another man. That’s just… ridiculous.

But maybe it was just normal. Maybe Levi and Lorelai were, once again, in different universes and trying to find some way to meet in the middle. Lorelai acted like it was no big deal. That it was perfectly normal to invite some other man to live with you and your boyfriend without talking to the boyfriend. She apologised, sure, but Levi couldn’t really accept an apology that wasn’t sincere. Lorelai wasn’t apologising because she thought she’d fucked up and done the wrong thing. No. She apologised because she’d upset Levi to the point where he’d stormed off and threatened to never come back. She apologised because that was the quickest route to solving the problem and making things better again, making things go back to normal where the power was back in her hands. That was a bitter pill to swallow for the proud Italian. This wasn’t going to work. Why was he trying to kid himself? Levi had known it from the start and maybe he was the one being ridiculous, but, how long was he going to let this go on for? How long was he going to continue this ********? How long could he continue to let her impact on his life? Was the reward really worth the detriment?

Five minutes had passed before movement caught the Italian’s attention and lured him out of his tempestuous brooding. Caro – the shorter, uglier, and dumber one of the pair – had shifted on the spot. Umber eyes caught the man in a death stare – a rat snared.

“D’you got a problem there, Caro?” Levi asked. His voice was low, barely even a murmur, but it throbbed with danger.

“No, boss,” the man replied – sharply, but no less gingerly than any man could when his life was at stake.

“Good.”

Levi would make them wait all night if that’s what he wanted from them. Sure, it wasn’t the most rational and strategic plan in the world – to strain your bodyguards to the point where they couldn’t defend themselves, let alone you – but Levi really wasn’t thinking all that rationally at that point. The Italian was exhausted – mentally, physically, emotionally… about any which way you can ever be exhausted. No aspect of his life was providing any kind of respite. Between his work pulling him one way, his professional relationships pulling him another, the Family politics tugging him in their direction, his personal life dragging him down, and the urge to kill and drain every single motherfucking human that he set his eyes on tearing at his willpower, Levi was just about shredded to pieces. Of course it wouldn’t necessarily stop him – nothing stopped the Leviathan – but hell if it wasn’t pretty ******* tempting to take a trip to Sheol just for the peace and ******* quiet. Levi sighed on that thought, not really caring about how that might have impacted on the men standing there, waiting for some kind of order as their capo sat hunched in his chair and sighing into laced fingers. Levi knew that death was no escape for him, and it really would only cause more problems. Besides, there really was no telling what Lorelai would do if he even blinked, let alone disappeared for a day… a week… Chances were pretty stacked in favour of her shacking up with that little prick though, in Levi’s head.

“Leave,” the Italian growled, this inky sound so terrible and threatening that it drenched the air.

“Boss?” Caro murmured.

“Did I stutter?”

“But bo— ”

“What about Valachi, boss?” Barzetti added. “Should we forget about him?”

Leave it to Barzetti to inject some kind of sensibility into a situation. This was kind of what they had come here to discuss in the first place, but Levi had let his temper get the better of him again, let his mind rumble onto all the individual pieces of **** that pissed him off before settling on the biggest piece. Levi sighed and cast his gaze into the corner of the room as his palm came to cradle his chin. He seriously considered the proposition from the guy who, frankly, shouldn’t have opened his mouth to his capo like that. Barzetti was lucky that Levi wasn’t exactly a stickler for the rules, even if those rules were his and supposedly bulletproof… The only reason Barzetti was still in possession of his haemoglobin was because he pointed out the kind of logic that the Vampiro couldn’t deny. Had Shiro been giving his bodyguards pointers? He should wring the shark’s neck…

“Should we—”

“I’ll take care of it personally,” Levi said, shifting those umber orbs onto one man and then the other. “Perdersi.”

The two men nodded and made no attempt to quarrel with Levi on that one before scuttling soundlessly out of the man’s office. The mood in the air had stilled, but that didn’t mean Levi was calm in anyway. The storm had no intention of retreating, but the crash of thunder and lightning had ceased for now. This small sense of clarity, of purpose, kept the Vampiro from slipping too deeply into tense thoughts. Instead, he found himself back to wondering what had become of Gino Valachi in these past couple of weeks and why, specifically, was the old ******** sniffing around Harper Rock with a hell of a lot of back-up. There had been rumours going around, but seeing as how Valachi wasn’t – in any way – the spiritual kind of guy, Levi took the rumours with a pinch of salt despite knowing that hocus pocus had a grain of truth to it. The notion of sending a certain force of hocus pocus to spy on the old ******** had come to the Vampiro’s mind, but he didn’t have the resources for it. He’d only summoned the one Wraith, after all.

As it happened, said Wraith had found itself a corner in Levi’s office. It had called itself Leveret Rey and although Levi hadn’t exactly trusted the creature upon summoning, Levi couldn’t deny the benefits that came with ruling over one. The Wraith had many assets – its invisibility to mortals being the most important and impressive. Even some Vampiri were unable to see the spirit, which while a bonus, was not something to wholly rely on. Levi couldn’t guess who knew what after all. Most humans – that meaning a tiny, tiny proportion excluded – were unaware of the supernatural and having an invisible fly on the wall around them was almost too valuable. Having the Wraith spy for him was like having a sixth sense – making money came a lot easier to say the least. The Wraith was rarely involved in anything but business, although Levi had sent it once or twice to search for Lorelai when she had been missing for a few hours. He was paranoid. Levi had always been paranoid, but it was getting worse. Levi felt anxious all the time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept as a matter of fact. Whether that had to do with his father, with Gino, with the up-coming showdown with Cavallone or the problems in his Vampiri world, Levi wasn’t entirely sure, and he wasn’t sure he could continue to keep each and every ball in the air at the same damn time either.

“It will soon be time to leave,” muttered the Wraith – just loud enough to be audible to the Italian’s sensitive ears.

Levi paused before grunting in approval and getting up from his desk. Ignoring the situation wouldn’t fix it; he had to be proactive about this. If that involved bending over to kiss Cavallone’s boots to secure his freedom in the meantime, then **** it, he had no choice anyway. When did he ever have a choice?

“Did you want me to accompany you, mon Seigneur?”

“I’ll need ears on the estate that I can trust to go unnoticed,” Levi murmured back in the same intimate tone. “Any secrets you can squeeze out will help negotiations. Cavallone will be busting my balls all night and he’ll be lucky to get out of there without his throat cut. I need you to give me an edge and keep my temper in check. You got that, coniglio?”

The Wraith nodded its head, bowed even – or that’s what the Italian took from the shifting humanoid shape cloaked in wispy darkness. Leveret looked like a man made of smoke – maybe that’s really what happened when you died from smoking related health concerns… Maybe. Levi didn’t want to think about it too much. He didn’t want to think about anything, really. While Levi had mentioned to Lorelai that he was home-bound sometime this month, he never mentioned when. As per usual, Levi left the worst jobs to the last possible second. Gino Valachi had told Levi to make arrangements to meet with Cavallone and Foraldo by the end of September… Tonight would be the 30th. To keep his end of the deal, Levi had to move now. Lorelai wouldn’t miss him anyway – even if things didn’t go to plan and he never returned. The flight would take approximately seven hours, giving him enough time to get home, waste the subsequent day, and prepare for an early evening sit-down.

[Levi DAmico]

This thread is back-dated to October 1st 2015

Sleep was elusive throughout the day. Levi had remained still within a sea of Egyptian cotton for as long as he could manage. His eyes were gently closed, giving the illusion of peaceful slumber while his mind worked away at itself. That was how it always was; the Italian’s face was a mask. The world outside his head only knew what he wished it to know. He was an exceptional liar, and had an arsenal of tricks to stop people from digging too deeply into him. Intimidation was easy and never took too much effort to utilise. You found out what people held close to their hearts and you threatened it. Nine times out of ten, the opposition folded. For those few individuals he couldn’t intimidate, however, Levi always had other options. Deflection was a useful and well-used tool; if you didn’t want to answer a question, you changed the subject, maybe even asked a question of your own, but you didn’t revert back. Equivocation was yet another technique he’d developed; ambiguous expressions that easily mislead the stupid while invariably providing a shield of innocence since it wasn’t his fault that they misunderstood him. Another fine tool, which was usually always in play, was his poker face – a layer that sheltered and bolstered the effect of all his insidious skills.

Strong, dark features conveyed stoic strength and calculating ruthlessness, and even when the Italian smiled, it was not the earnest smile of a gentleman, but that of a villain – ferocious, mocking, cunning, and proud. Those unchanging designs remained on Levi’s face at all times, preventing anyone from seeing what truly blazed deep beneath that aloof, icy exterior. Rage and a singular purpose tore at the Italian’s slow-beating heart and pulled at the tenuous, bitter strings of his willpower. His vendetta – coupled with the responsibilities shackled to him by the Patriarca name – left him bereft of all but a burning hatred and a cold, unrelenting sense of duty. Revenge was a loathsome beast and as its master, he was driven down a path where few others dared tread. His was a solitary existence, filled with precious little of consequence, and material wealth. Of course there were pawns to be manipulated and skilfully positioned into place, there were also the few people he tolerated who were of no tactical advantage, but the emotional void where he lived his life and protected his sanity left little room for more than a passing feeling of attachment. For those he let foolishly into his heart, he knew he would have to turn away as well because this was a path he walked alone, keeping all others at a distance.

Levi had lost too much already. His freedom had been taken from him before he’d even learned what freedom was – held hostage by tyrants who thought they knew best, tyrants he had to please because he had no choice. There was always some tax to be paid, some levy, some law Levi had to abide by in order to continue to exist. But what was the point of living like that? Following somebody else’s idea of life was not a life for him. Levi didn’t want to be a pawn. He had too much ambition, intelligence and skill to be nothing more than a prick who took orders. Levi had his own ideas about the value of things and if it were up to him, there would be a hell of a lot less people in the ******* world. Not just Malavita, but beyond that. He had so much more strength, so much potential and understanding than he’d ever had before. Levi could literally tear the world apart and build a newer, better one, but it was all a waste. This Vampirism was a curse more than it was a gift. With this power came greater leashes, tethering him to eternal servitude, because no matter how much he disdained the idea of working with others, he knew that the lone wolf died sooner than the pack wolf.

Levi had to endure CC, he had to endure Prudence and Mordechai and all those other stupid, nameless little fuckers who’d found the privilege of this world before him and thought themselves the rightful heirs to the throne because of it. Levi had found two worlds and the same problem in each – he was powerless, bound and furious. The storm lingering on the horizon that called to him every day, the storm that was growing and penetrating his every thought and action, was so close by now that Levi could make out the shape of it. It was swirling over his head and soaking the room in ink – the walls, the ceiling, the floors and even the air was thick with this invading black electricity. Staring up at it and realising how obvious that presence now was, Levi had to wonder why he hadn’t recognised it before as his own fury. Yet fury was too lenient a word to describe the complex squall of emotions he’d felt besieging him. There was more to it than just the anger and frustration of being on a tight leash; there was the disappointment and utter disgust in himself for letting these unworthy bastards have that kind of power over him; there was the anxiety that came with wondering how long he could keep this charade up without exploding; and there was the bitter realisation of knowing that no matter what he did, he was fated to endure this way of life forever.

You wouldn’t know it from the sour palette of the room – the industrial black-out shutters, blinds and curtains had been drawn – but the sun was only just setting over the buzzing city. The Boston skyline blushed as if the overabundance of hipster paint had leaked into it. In fact, whatever wasn’t burnt yellow by street lights, bars and restaurants, burned peach and violet, contrasting to the glittering of the rivers, which threaded deep Bordeaux waters throughout the city. The Ritz-Carlton Tower, where Levi had kept a permanent residence, was still fairly quiet – inside and out. The staff at the Tower never really bothered Levi and his men because their pockets were being lined healthily enough that no action would ever get passed the enquiry stage. They asked what was going on, they were told to mind their business, dollars were shoved their way and that was the end of that. They might have suspected that the Italian was involved in illegal operations, but since none of that chaos ever found its way to the Tower, the staff – indeed the owner – was quite happy to let Levi and his men do whatever they wanted. The Italian asked for blind eyes and deaf ears and he got exactly that. So, at least someone ******* listened to him.

The thought of what tonight meant had kept Levi awake throughout the day. He no longer suffered from that painful, unexplainable and indisputable narcolepsy, but now that he was free from its grasp, he actually wished he wasn’t. For a long year, the Italian had complained about how the condition had cut him off from doing his work, from keeping contact with the people in his world, but now that he didn’t need to sleep, he was awake all the ******* time. It was like being taken out of the deep freeze only to be put into a fire. And just because he didn’t sleep, didn’t mean he wasn’t tired. Levi didn’t want to have to get out of bed just to be dragged over hot coals; in his worn-out and irritable state, only a miracle could stand between him and doing something stupid. Cavallone would be sure to push his buttons – Levi had an ample number to be pressed – and Levi would refuse to apologise, and since he was feeling bitter about this whole thing, would likely fire off a few actual death threats. It was ridiculous that this matter was even being addressed. The Foraldo family were nobodies in the grand scheme of things, and just because Levi had said something somewhat flammable to a kid of theirs over a year ago, shouldn’t mean that he should drag his *** back to Boston and speak insincere apologies.

Valachi had told Levi to be here because they needed the support of Cavallone and his long-reaching arms to ensure William’s success, but **** if this wasn’t some shady ********. Something was most definitely squeaking and scratching the walls around here because things just didn’t add up. If this apology held so much weight as to guarantee Cavallone’s support in dethroning the don, then why hadn’t they come to Levi within the year since his supposed death threat was made? They clearly weren’t afraid of him. Levi could be a sneaky, dangerous little ********, but they officially had the clout to squash him. It wasn’t like he was a million miles away either, it wasn’t like he was on the other side of the ******* world, if Cavallone wanted to chat with him, he could have done it easily enough, the man had contacts up north already. They say that if it sounds like a rat, walks like a rat and smells like a rat, then it’s probably a rat. Levi could bet his yearly earnings on the fact that Valachi was never straight with him about anything, but the Italian couldn’t deny that he was curious about what was really going on here. The only way to find out was to get his sorry *** out of bed and head up to the Cavallone Estate on Chestnut Hill.

[Levi DAmico]

This thread is back-dated to October 1st 2015

Chestnut Hill – often described as an urban village with a subculture all its own – is one of the wealthiest parts of Boston. Its most notable accolade is the presence of Boston College; a pompous hub of progressive youths seeking to dominate the world through goodwill and terrible art. Despite its name, Chestnut Hill is not actually named after one particular hill but a series of rolling knolls overlooking the Chestnut Hill Reservoir. There is an emphasis on nature here, and a definitive nod of respect to the past in the village. The real estate, while often haughty and obnoxious, blends surprisingly well into the swelling greenery. Grasses, bushes and trees are kempt, but in a way that is not overly repressing; allowing life to flourish in the undergrowth and amongst the tiny canals and ponds that, while being artificial too, lend so terribly well to the surroundings that you probably wouldn’t guess. Most of the Gothic estates have allowed the brickwork and stone facades to weather somewhat, to blend into the picturesque setting of the village. The Cavallone Estate – a Georgian beauty – benefitted superbly from the lady of the manor’s green thumbs, whose respect for the residential flora created a veritable paradise of Mayapples, Sweetferns, Fothergilla, and Marigolds. If Levi wasn’t so distracted by thoughts of wringing people’s necks, he might have considered the place charming. Maybe Lorelai would have appreciated it too, despite its hand-made nature.

When the grousing Italian’s car arrived on the premises, Levi was a little surprised to see the place so stagnant. It was rumoured that Eddie Cavallone, while being a social man, wasn’t that fond of visitors, but given their meeting tonight, Levi expected to see at least a dozen cars lined up like hearses around the lit-up Georgian Manor. It looked as though Cavallone was keeping this matter intimate and Levi supposed that it made sense given the sensitive nature of the conversation they were about to have. Valachi hadn’t given Levi permission to talk deals with Cavallone, but that didn’t mean the Italian wasn’t expecting to chat about the circumstances and arrange some kind of mutual understanding. Even if the dealing was legitimate, that didn’t mean it was going to be as simple as rocking up and saying, “Hey, sorry I sort of threatened your friend’s kid.” Malavita never made things simple. It was almost a running joke amongst its members that you had to jump through rings of burning rope, shave your *** and then your head, kneel on the floor and lick your don’s shoes just to have a smoke break. Rules were important – no matter how ridiculous – and if you didn’t respect your orders, you might as well be dead, dying or killing.

Levi, his four armed guards – two being Caro and Barzetti, the others being local blood – and the invisible Wraith, proceeded into the building where Cavallone’s men were waiting. They were ushered in with a doctrinaire manner, and the irony made the Italian smirk to himself. This small expression of amusement didn’t go unnoticed or unpunished as Levi was quickly greeted by a demand to hand over his weapons and the withdrawal of his body guards. Hell, if they’d known Leveret was there, they might have put a hand out for its eyes and ears too – if it actually had them. Being capo generally meant that Levi didn’t have to get his hands dirty, but everyone knew that Levi always carried two guns with him. The Beretta and the BHP were his father’s old pair, and each one was always stocked with a full clip. Although tonight was supposed to be civil, nobody had actually told Levi that he couldn’t come armed. Besides, these guns were more mementos now than actual weapons and he refused to hand them over.

“With all due respect,” one of Cavallone’s men said – speaking entirely in Italian and setting the evening up. “Boss Cavallone has requested the removal of all arms.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Levi growled back in their native tongue. “The last time these guns were left out of a D’Amico’s hands, they were taken.”

Levi neglected to mention that he was the one who’d taken them. A sympathetic look crossed the soldier’s features for a moment, but he couldn’t deny his boss’ order no matter how sentimental a story Levi could come up with. Seeing the reluctance, Levi shrugged his shoulders, drew each gun and then removed their magazines in succession. He handed the clips to the soldier – an olive branch that exceeded any other ideas the Italian had in mind.

“Happy?”

The soldier looked at his hands, at the clips weighing them down, but more than that, the burden of decision. He considered them for a moment, juggling the expectations of his boss and what harm it could do to let the man in with empty guns. Levi might have had a dangerous reputation, but how dangerous could he be without a weapon? Confident that the Italian had no other ammunition, the soldier accepted the terms of the trade with an upward nod. Meanwhile, his comrade collected the knife from Levi’s belt.

“Boss Cavallone will see you then. Your men will wait here.”

Levi agreed, putting the empty firearms away to follow their lead. This wasn’t the first time he’d been separated from his hired muscle and frankly, he always felt freer without them. Caro and Barzetti had their uses, but a lot of the time they were just obstacles or potential witnesses to **** he couldn’t let them see. Most of all Levi used these two goons as a visualisation of his strength; they were burly looking apes with keen black eyes and polished exteriors, capable of threatening just about anyone. Since Levi was supposed to be proceeding with something akin to humility this evening, he didn’t really need his bodyguards either side of him. They couldn’t stop the Wraith proceeding at a short distance anyway. As such, Levi very freely followed the pair of Cavallone’s soldiers down the long corridor dressed ostentatiously with family portraits and trophies. Their footsteps echoed off the diamond flagstone tiles, refracting onto bleached walls and rising like doves into the bright, unreachable ceiling. The sound of dim voices rose and fell as they approached the room. One guard knocked the door, waited for the right to enter and announced Levi’s presence outside. As soon as it seemed like everyone was satisfied, the Vampiro was ushered into the boardroom with a curt wave of the hand.

Maybe Levi was imagining it, but the air inside the boardroom felt colder and heavier than it had in the rest of the house. Between the chestnut-panelling of the walls that seemed to run away from the door in each direction, the red velvet curtains drawn over the windows, the smoked out chimney place, and the sallow candlelight coming from the chandelier above the large oval drawing table, one could definitely get the impression that the comforts of modern times had been leached from the room. Eddie Cavallone, a thin and tall man in his early fifties, was sat at the head of the table. Dressed in Savile Row's finest grey suit, with his grizzled black hair gelled neatly back over his pale scalp, Cavallone most certainly gave the impression of an English dignitary rather than some common criminal. Next to him was Franco Foraldo, a less distinguished man in every way. An average man by all accounts who fitted the bill of gangster so well that it was as though someone had plucked Barzini right out of The Godfather. With the way the two old men were staring at Levi, impatiently expecting him to take a seat at the end of the table so they could begin the chastising, Levi almost felt like he was facing the staff at Istituto Don Calabria once again.

“You’re late,” Foraldo began – once again in Italian – as he laced his fingers together and let both hands squat on the table like pink toads.

Levi smirked as he casually took a seat. “Sorry. The work just never stops.”

“Are you going to continue being insincere tonight, D’Amico?” Foraldo interjected again.

Levi had to bite his tongue and adopt an impassable expression so as to stop the amusement and scorn showing.

“If this is going to be your attitude, then you have wasted everyone’s time tonight.”

“That is enough, Franco. We have wasted too much time. Let us get on to business.” Cavallone straightened in his chair before continuing. “How was your flight from… wherever it is you have been working lately, D’Amico?”

“Fine, thanks. How’s Boston, the Family?”

“Not as busy as you seem to be, but well nonetheless.”

“I’m surprised it’s so quiet given the time of year.”

Cavallone arched two brows at Levi like he wasn’t quite sure about the context of that seemingly innocuous comment. Levi could have meant literally the time of year, meaning that with the days growing shorter, the pickings might be easier. Plus Christmas was practically on their doorstep and people were always looking for ways to get their hands on cold, hard cash – Mafiosi ******* loved this time of year. On the other hand, Levi could also have been talking about his father. After all, this was why they were here, and frankly the Vampiro had expected much more gusto around the fact that William was going to be out in a short amount of time, ready to knock on doors and count supporters.

“Just seems like the season when old family members come back to town,” he reiterated.

Understanding crossed Cavallone’s features and he smiled lightly, respectfully bowing his head. “Well, it can depend on the visitor. It’s just awful when bad blood dissolves a Family unit, isn’t it.”

“So what would you do about it? This bad blood?”

Levi went very still, like a hunting wolf trying not to spook a rabbit. Unfortunately, Cavallone was no closer to a rabbit than he was. These horsemen didn’t spook too easily, and Cavallone sneered as if Levi had just fallen into a trap.

“There’s only one way I know of to cleanse bad blood, D’Amico.”

[Levi DAmico]

There was a sudden, stony silence. It was no eye of the storm, no sudden pause in the middle of a heated argument; these men had spoken in hushed tones and veiled words, keeping their emotions and their facades indistinct and stoical. They were statues of power with no definable weakness, standing against one another in the cold, open emptiness of a forgotten time in a forgotten world. It was as if a foreshadower of impending doom had passed right over them, as if time had lurched forward unexpectedly and rendered them fossilised. It was not quite like a vacuum, sucking out the life in the room either; it was silent, but the air was thick with speculation and questions and thoughts that wouldn’t dare be broached. It was the feeling that twilight brought; an assumption of magic and fear and the unknown, when you didn’t know if that snapping branch behind you or those approaching footsteps meant danger or nothing at all. Neither did you know if your actions would prevent or provoke such things. These three men were three pieces on a chessboard; an ivory knight and his bishop staring down a charcoal rook.

Umber eyes kept a firm glare on those pewter marbles in the middle of Eddie Cavallone’s features; this was no time to look away and show any kind of chink in the armour. Levi felt the anxiety in the pit of his stomach like a slow burn, but he would not back down. Outnumbered and outgunned, maybe, but Levi was not without his own back-up. The Vampiro would hear it if any men came thundering down that hall to shoot him, he would hear Cavallone and Foraldo reach for their weapons just like how he could hear their hearts beating a steady rhythm in their chests. They were posturing, nothing more. There was no immediate danger, but Levi wanted to throttle the ******* idiots. Instead, he blinked slowly and exhaled an even breath making Cavallone’s face switch from self-satisfied to sour. The Vampiro had quite obviously walked into a trap, but in the eyes of his adversaries, he was either too stupid to notice or too arrogant to care. Either scenario was not welcomed by Cavallone. When he had you in a trap he expected you to fear for your life not stare blandly back at him. The proud are pretty predictable in nature and Levi capitalised on it, being careful not to step too far over the line and yawn.

“Go on,” Levi dared.

Cavallone gave him a look like he was about to spit in his face. “You have to make a decision,” the man spoke in a grim tone. “You must decide whether it is better to cut the neck and let the badness out or…”

Levi cocked a brow. “Or?”

“Or find a way to make amends.”

“I didn’t threaten your son,” Levi stated, umber eyes regarding Foraldo flatly. “He misunderstood.”

It was obvious by the rising colour in Foraldo’s face, by the sudden jerk in his pulse, that Levi’s words hadn’t helped the situation. Foraldo leant forward, his skin glistening subtly from the stress, and he was about to spurt venom over the table when Levi cut him off at the throat.

“Still, it’s my fault he misunderstood and for that I want to apologise.”

“That ain’t going to cut it, D’Amico,” Foraldo fumed, speaking in something that sounded like American English washed in wine. “You’re not gonna just say sorry about a misunderstanding and have it like that.”

Umber eyes narrowed under knitted brows as rage slowly climbed to the forefront of the Vampiro’s brain and, subsequently, leaked into his features. Foraldo could play the wounded mother bear all he wanted, but there was definitely something false in the way he was behaving. Logically, it didn’t add up. If Foraldo was this concerned with Levi’s small insult, why had he waited until now to make his move? Suspicion carried in those eyes as Levi regarded Cavallone next, the quiet and composed hunter who’d set his trap and was waiting for his prey to succumb. Obviously the trap was just in bringing Levi here, the unrequited threat being the bait, but what was the prize these guys were seeking? Did they want Levi’s life or something else? Levi had half a mind just to call them on their ******** so he could dig to the truth of the matter. If they were going to try and kill him then they would be sorely disappointed. If they wanted money, power, his allegiance, any intel, then he expected them to spit it out already. He would have to know what he was bargaining with if he was going to gamble at all.

“Cut the crap, Foraldo,” Levi barked, sitting far enough back in the chair that the wood groaned slightly. “If you’re really that bothered by me apparently threatening your kid, then why wait over a year to do something about it? If you want something, Cavallone, you better ******* spit it out because I ain’t got all day to wait and play games with ya. Time’s money and all that.”

“Ain’t you ever heard of vengeance being best served cold?” Foraldo growled.

“Cold, yeah. Not been tossed in the freezer so long you’ve gotta thaw it out first, you ******* dipshit.”

“You wanna watch who you’re talking to—”

“Watch you? It’s kinda difficult to lose your fat *** in a crowd—”

“I’ll skin you alive you rat bast—”

“You’re gonna need a bigger, sharper ******* knife, pal.”

“Enough,” Cavallone ordered, turning both men silent and setting their eyes on him. “You are both old enough to know better than to bicker like schoolchildren.”

Levi was about to make a comment, being caught in the moment, but bit his tongue. He didn’t understand why Gino had set him up to go see Cavallone and Foraldo considering how much of a hot-head he was. Things were obviously going to head south when either man challenged his pride, so Levi had to kind of wonder if that wasn’t the point of it. Was Gino looking for a way to get the D’Amico name more heavily indebted to the Cavallone? It should have gone in the other direction, the Cavallone should have been offering up their support not making deals for it. Gino was up to something, of course he was, he was Gino. In the sweet silence of consideration, Levi started to notice Foraldo was having a difficult time chilling out too; the scent of bodily excretions – sweat, oil, spit, blood, piss – was hanging in the air and looming over them like a shroud. Levi had to turn his nose away to avoid breathing a lot of it in and was pleased as punch when Cavallone told the ******** to leave.

“Franco, my friend. Would you please give D’Amico and me a moment?”

It was surprising how quickly the man got up and left the room at that point. No, not surprising – suspicious. Nevertheless, Levi sat back in his chair as if he didn’t give a damn, like none of this was making the hairs on his neck stand to attention.

“So what do you wanna talk about?” Levi asked, keeping his eyes and tone sharp.

“Business, of course.”

Levi huffed.

“I have what you want and I’m willing to trade. The only question is, are you?”

“Depends what you’re asking,” Levi growled. “It’s sure as **** obvious that I’m not here to apologise for a threat I didn’t make.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Cavallone mused, lacing his fingers together and placing them in his lap. “You have insulted Foraldo and I this evening and we haven’t forgotten the threat imposed to his son, actually.”

“Mmhmm. So what do you want from me?”

As much as Levi tried to steer the topic on course, Cavallone appeared determined to steer it right back off again. He was like a spider slowly wrapping its prey in a layer of silk, and every time the fly shed one layer, it was quickly covered in the next. Cavallone was going to drag this out until Levi just got fed up and caved or killed them all – not a wise strategy in the grand scheme of things.

“You’re from Verona, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. Cavallone knew William well enough, even knew Gino well enough to determine that piece of obviousness.

“Have you been back since you moved here?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Me either. We evacuated to America in my generation, when my daughter was still a little girl. We had no choice.”

“You’re from Sicily, aren’t you? You could have stayed. There’s plenty of places to hide.”

“Yes and no. My brothers were killed and I was next on the list. Some bad blood had muddied the waters and we had to cross the sea to escape it.”

“You piss someone off?”

“Not directly. My brothers were… unwise in their choice of friends. At least I lived to learn from their mistake. Meaning, I’m very careful about who I make connections with. But as you know, D’Amico…” he said, annunciating the Vampiro’s surname for ironic effect since Levi’s surname basically meant friend in Italian. “You can’t get something for nothing.”

[Levi DAmico]

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose was surprisingly difficult, and the Italian sighed dejectedly. It was pointless asking for Cavallone to just come out with what he wanted, so Levi had to sit still and wait with all the good-natured bluster of a charlatan. Levi did notice, however, out of the corner of his eye, a little wisp of darkness seeping in through the wall behind the seated Cavallone; like thick smoke wafting in from under a door – only there was no door. Eventually the black fumes built into the stocky shape of a man and Levi realised that it was Leveret, reporting for duty. If he’d had the moment to bark at the Wraith, he definitely would have by now. There had already been raised voices and they’d spoken in clear enough English while exchanging venom, so where had Leveret been? The fact that the Wraith was appearing suddenly meant that it had something to say, but given the current situation, Leveret had to hold its thoughts. A breath, barely an ounce lighter than a sigh, left Levi’s nostrils as he sighed once more, but his stern, aloof mannerism persisted.

“You are not the patient sort, are you,” Cavallone muttered, catching the full sharpness of those umber eyes again. “Fine. Let’s talk trade.”

“Finally.”

“If your family need our support, we need assurance that that support will be valued long into the future, D’Amico.”

“What are you proposing?”

“A contract between one family and another.”

Levi frowned watching Cavallone. He understood the situation, that one had to be careful what they said even in their own house – of course he understood it – but all this pussy-footing around the heart of the issue was just pissing him off. The longer it dragged on, the more Levi felt like he might snap his own fingers off in frustration. And what was this about a contract at any rate? The umber-eyed Italian felt stupid asking, but it needed to be made clear. The only contracts Levi had ever dealt with up until this point had been territory and business rights, he had no idea what Eddie Cavallone was actually suggesting. The man brought those laced fingers to his chin, stony eyes cast down on Levi like he was preparing the man’s eternal judgement. Levi already knew he was going to remain in purgatory until the end of time, and he didn’t need that patronising look to tell him either.

“You’re not married, are you,” Cavallone began, his voice an irritating whisper.

“What?” Levi growled defensively, one eye already twitching.

“You’re 30 years old and not married yet. That’s… unusual.”

“Is this the kind of contract you’re proposing?”

“My youngest daughter, Camilla, has just turned 24. A bright woman, tempestuous and genuine like her mother. She’s not one for patience either, but I think you two would suit each other and learn to get along.”

Instinctual rage forced Levi out of his chair when he got his answer – the wood screeching against the floor as it was shoved back roughly. The air in the room, even as cold as it was, seemed to stiffen further with frost and the candles in the chandelier above the table twitched and quivered. Levi loomed over the table in the growing darkness of the room, both eyes glaring like they could turn Cavallone to stone. The other man watched the events unfold with mounting caution and disapproval. Perhaps he had expected Levi to be displeased by the offering, but Levi had expressed disgust and outrage, and this did not sit well with Cavallone. If anyone felt like they should have been insulted in this instance, Cavallone felt that it should be him not the umber-eyed Italian before him. After all, Cavallone had offered his own flesh and blood, his precious daughter, and Levi had cast the offer aside as though he’d been presented with a rotting carcass.

Eddie Cavallone remained seated, but his hands dropped to his sides. Levi was absorbed by the desire to rip this man’s head from his shoulders, but he wasn’t so lost as to dismiss how the atmosphere in the room had changed because of him – he hadn’t neglected to recognise the sound of footsteps coming toward the room either. The wispy darkness that had stationed itself behind the mortal had begun to drift out of the room once more and with this supernatural presence out of sight, Levi remembered the value of normality and of the rules of conduct once again. He allowed the feeling of rage to leave him, and with it no longer casting a shadow on his mind, the room lightened and the air warmed. The Italian sat back down just in time for the doors to be curtly pushed open and for four of Cavallone’s men to stand like billiards between Levi’s back and the door. Cavallone looked to his men then to Levi – pissed as they both might have been, Cavallone was generous enough to give the man a chance to apologise before making a demand of his men.

“Thanks for the offer, but that’s just not gonna work for me,” Levi said in a low, controlled tone.

Cavallone arched a brow, his hands reappearing to form a wall of knitted fingers between them again. “Is that so.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You know something, D’Amico. I’m not quite convinced you understand the meaning of that word.”

Levi smirked, depositing that umber gaze into the corner of the room, but he couldn’t evade the conversation entirely as Cavallone was quick to put on his hunting boots once more.

“Something funny?”

“Just thinking you’re probably right about that.”

Both men glared at each other for a moment before Levi continued.

“Look, let’s not make this personal. We can come to another arr—”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Levi was desperate to roll his eyes, get up off his *** again and just leave this place, instead he tightened his glare for an instant and then relaxed back into that indifferent stare he knew so well.

“It ain’t personal to me. I don’t know your daughter. I ain’t got nothing against her, or you. I’m just… not interested in marrying her. If you want my commitment, we can arrange something, but—”

“Are you in a relationship already, is that it?”

Levi considered the question for a moment. An admittance of the truth here could only go well or really, horribly, terribly wrong. On the one hand, he might be able to explain why he was fending off this proposal like Cavallone was waving a dead baby on a stick at him. The man might understand – even Mafiosi understood love. On the other hand, if Levi told them anything about Lorelai, they might descend on her like a pack of wolves. His love for the gentle Vampira was a bullseye on his back; one that could be struck without warning. Levi had enough to be paranoid about and yet he couldn’t stop himself from falling into another situation that gave him things to become obsessively concerned for. Why was he so ******* useless as to willingly give himself another weakness?!

Levi was distracted from his mulling when Cavallone spoke once more.

“Well, are you?”

“Yeah,” Levi growled.

Cavallone huffed angrily. “And you love this woman?”

“Yes,” Levi continued through gritted teeth.

Umber eyes watched the dignified Italian gentleman absorb this knowledge, savouring it and analysing its potential and value like a Sommelier approaches wine. Those stony eyes dulling like scuffed marbles revealed little, and those colourless features represented what you’d expect from a man toying with the idea of shooting you in the face or letting you leave with your tail between your legs. Then again, maybe Levi was simply too accustomed to his own way of thinking on that one.

“Well,” Cavallone said suddenly, his voice reeking of bitterness and reproach. “It is a shame we can’t agree on this matter.”

“If you need an insurance policy, I can make you one.”

“I don’t think you can.” Amusement and disdain rumbled in Cavallone’s words.

“You shouldn’t underestimate me or my family, Cavallone. So you know what? I’ll let you think it over,” Levi said before rising from his chair. “It’s been a great… chat. Arrivederla.”

Cavallone might not have liked how he’d been brushed off like that – or the overly polite goodbye which was used in irony – but with Levi not being one to care for trivialities like respecting people who were officially above you, he forced his way through the burly men and past the still open door without a word. The men hadn’t moved an inch to stop him – probably astonished that Levi could be that bold and offensive – and looked to their capo for advice. Cavallone’s cold, hard eyes were on Levi’s back, watching the Italian disappear out the corridor from whence he’d come before he passed a glance at his soldiers. Their worried faces did little to impress him, but their hesitancy remarked well on their capo’s tolerance threshold. Eddie Cavallone was probably the highest ranking capo in the Patriarca Crime Family in terms of power, assets and influence. Such was his power, that he was considered by many to be the unofficial underboss to the Patriarca. Cavallone might have disagreed with the pious and dogmatic manner with which Carlos Nicoletti ruled, but Cavallone was honourable, almost Knightly, and protected the sanctity of tradition even as he was making deals behind people’s backs. He’d let Levi leave unscathed tonight and he would consider the proposal of some other form of insurance, but with time growing short, Cavallone’s position of power would start to wobble under his feet and he would be forced to make a decision: support William D’Amico or crush him and his entire family.