Who Doesn't Love a Good Mob Story?
Playing the Game: Alfred Jones: Special Task Force Leader. Ivan Braginski: Russian Mob Boss. Lovino Vargas: Italian Mob Boss. They know all the players; they know all the rules, but what happens when someone new enters their little game? Rules change, that's what. I wanted to do a mob story, and I wanted to write accents. This is the result there are 6 chapters up on fanfiction already, and I have 3 more waiting for the final edit.
Chapter 1: The Heros
Word Count: 1,273
Wednesday, October 15: 9:05AM. Police Headquarters, Temporary Headquarters.
Alfred F. Jones strode into the police office like he owned the place, and as the head of the special mafia division, he kinda did.
He made his way to the meeting room in the back that the Chief had given his team until they could relocate them to somewhere far away from headquarters. Chief didn’t like it when they were stationed in the same building as him, and that was perfectly acceptable to Mr. Jones and his team, as the reason they were back in police headquarters was because their previous operation space had been blown up by the Russians.
Alfred burst into the room and shouted a jovial “Good Morning!” to his team. The four man (pardon, four person) team glanced up at him before immediately returning to whatever they were doing before their boss showed up.
The team consisted of four men (including Mr. Jones) and one woman, all of whom where the best of the best. Ludwig was Alfred’s second, an introverted German man who would often criticize Alfred’s leadership, but would always get the job done in the most efficient way possible. He was the go to guy for the Russian mafia, as he seemed to know the organization inside and out, although, now that Alfred thought about it, he didn’t even know the man’s last name. Actually, there was a lot he didn’t know about Ludwig, but it didn’t really matter.
Francis Bonnefoy was a rather flirtatious, very perverted, French man who hit on the mob members more often then he actually fought them. Alfred didn’t care, as he always eventually got the job done and there was no one outside the Italian mafia who knew more about them, but it did seem to put the rest of the team on edge, and that’s putting it lightly.
Berwald Oxenstierna was a rather scary looking Swedish man who only spoke like three words a day. It was one of Alfred’s favorite pastimes to try and get some sort of reaction by annoying the hell out of him, but he’d only ever gotten a punch in the face for his troubles. He was still pretty new to the force when the Chief put him on his team, but he was extremely level-headed in the toughest situations and probably the best interrogator in the precinct. Alfred had asked why he wanted to join the mafia division once, but all he had gotten out of the man was, “Lookin’ f’r s’me’ne.”
Elizaveta Héderváry was the final member of their little team. She was a bright, headstrong young Hungarian woman who was always the first one on the scene if Alfred wasn’t already there. Before moving over to the mafia division from the homicide division, she had the most arrests out of anyone else in the department and had always been given anything with more than one body. She had an unfortunate habit of assuming that two random people were in love with each other (even though half the time she was right, the other half, well…) and it should be noted that she preferred bashing culprits on the head with a frying pan over firing her weapon.
Alfred walked over to the coffee machine (that he made absolutely sure they had put in when they commandeered the room) to get his first morning cup before turning to glare at the two pictures on the board on the other side of the room, a daily tradition of his.
The picture on the left side of the board, where Ludwig was currently scribbling, was of the head of the Russian mafia, a big, pale man with violet eyes and light blonde hair called Ivan Braginski. Alfred and Ivan actually went to the same school as kids, but their paths had taken two completely different directions, obviously. He was a master of torture and espionage and had single handedly made the Russian mafia the force to be reckoned with that they were today.
The picture on the right side, which mostly had a flow chart and a bunch of X on it right now, was of the head of the Italian mafia, Lovino Vargas, a rather unimpressive looking man with bright green eyes and dark brown hair. He gained control the ‘family business’ after his grandfather, Roma Vargas, died in a shoot out about six months ago. He seems to have inherited his grandfather’s shoot first, ask later approach and unfeeling attitude, but not his drive, as he hasn’t been seen anywhere since being made head, even on hits where his presence was not only specifically requested, but usually required.
Alfred sighed before taking another sip of coffee and scanning the room. “Alright, what do we got today?”
Francis produced a note from somewhere and handed it to Alfred. “Your brother ‘as been kidnapped. Zis was found on his desk.”
“Oh, poor Matt.” Elizaveta commented. “You really should keep a better watch on him, Alfred. This is what, the third time this month?”
“I would if it was necessary, but he can take care of himself.”
“ ’Ow do you figure zat? Ze poor boy iz taken more zan-”
“If this is some random sex joke…” Elizaveta started.
“And if it iz, ma cheri?” His answer was a frying pan to the face.
“Matt’ll be fine. He’s not dead yet.”
“It only takes von shot to kill a man,” Ludwig added. “Dis could be Herr Villiam’s last kidnapping.”
“Don’t be so morbid. He’s tougher than he looks…or acts.” Which was true. Alfred’s brother (really half brother, but no one cared for such details); Matthew Williams was head of the homicide division. He moved here from Montreal three years ago because apparently there aren’t very many murders in Canada and his services were best used elsewhere. He was very shy and usually went unnoticed, even by his own subordinates, but when the different mafias did remember that he existed, they often tried to use him to mess around with Alfred.
“Who is it this time? I hope it’s the Italians…”
“Ja, a lead of some kind to Lofino’s location vould be nice.”
“Actually I just wanted some Italian tonight.” Ludwig took the liberty of smacking his boss on the back of his head.
“I do not zink so, mon ami, unless ze Italians are now using Chinese for code.”
“China what now?” Alfred looked at the note in his hand and saw the strange letters running up and down the page.
“I think it’s Japanese.” Elizaveta said as she snatched the note. “There’s some hiragana mixed in with the kanji.”
“So the Italians are using Japanese for code?” Alfred asked, puzzled. “Why?”
“It could be da Russians,” Ludwig added, “but dat still makes no sense. Vhy send a note in Japanese to somevon you know does not speak da language?”
The five of them stared at the baffling note for about a minute before Berwald said, “Y’k’za,” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yakuza? Here?” Alfred shook his head. “They operate on the West Coast. They wouldn’t come here.”
“Unless zey are planning on expanding…” Francis said, thoughtful for once.
“It vould explain vhy da note is in a language dey know ve cannot understand,” Ludwig added, “so ve know dey are here.”
Elizaveta looked at her boss. “So, what does this mean?”
Alfred looked at the note again before placing it on the table in the center of the room and responding. “It means that a new player has entered, and completely changed the game.”
And we better find them soon…
Chapter 2: The Good, the Bad, and the Awesome
Word Count: 1,393
Wednesday, October 15: 9:10AM. Kremlin Manor, Ivan’s Office.
Ivan Braginski was a man of simple pleasures. He enjoyed sunflowers, vodka, watching Mr. Jones and his team run in circles attempting to capture him, the screams and tears of his fallen foes, spending time with his sisters (both of them at the same time though; if he has one of them by herself, then things get rather painful), spending time with his subordinates (whether they wanted to or not), and he has recently taken an interest in figure skating.
Among the things Ivan didn’t enjoy so much was the snow that seemed to follow him everywhere, Mr. Jones, the Italian mafia stealing his turf, Mr. Jones, the law, traitors in his organization, Mr. Jones, his sister’s constant marriage proposals, new competition popping up out of nowhere to steal his business, and Mr. Jones, but right now the new competition thing was at the top of his list.
“Toris,” Ivan looked up at the young man with an innocent smile on his face, causing him to flinch, “are you sure this is correct?”
“Y-yes. Eduard handed it to me j-just now.”
“I see. You are dismissed. Bring Gilbert to me, yes?”
“R-right away Mr. Braginski.” Toris wasted no time in getting the hell out of there. When you’ve worked for Ivan as long as he had you learn to recognize when he’s in a good mood and when he’s not. This was one of those times when he was not.
Toris Lorinaitis wasn’t exactly sure how or why he got caught up in the Russian mafia, all he knew was that one day he was running a small business with his friend Feliks Łukasiewicz, and the next Feliks ends up murdered and Toris is the prime suspect. Everyone was ready to label him murderer except for Officer Jones, who at the time was still working a desk job. Officer Jones fought very hard for Toris’s sake, but it was all for naught, as he was pronounced guilty and had an execution date set.
That’s when Ivan walked into his life. Ivan offered him his protection from the cold, unfeeling arm of the law in exchange for a life time of service. Fearing death and seeing no other way out, Toris eagerly took the Russian’s offer no questions asked. Later Toris had found out that Feliks was involved with the family, and Ivan was had killed him personally to keep him quiet about something and took Toris in because he felt guilty about letting him take the blame.
His new friends’ tales were rather similar. Eduard Von Bock, a young man from Estonia who’s kind of a genius and is very good with raw data, went to the Braginski’s for a loan to pay off his mother’s medical bills, only to fall behind on the payments. Very behind. Ivan made all of his debts vanish in exchange for lifetime service to the family. Raivis Galante, the youngest subordinate Ivan had, had a dead-beat father who left his dead-beat mother when Raivis was four, and was sold by said mother at the age of ten to the family for drug money. Toris and Eduard have made it their job to look after him, but he’s still rather shy and lonely.
The only other members of Ivan’s family that Toris has had the…pleasure of meeting were Ivan’s sisters. His older sister, Katyusha Braginski, lived in a different house and apparently heads a separate branch of the family in another city. She came back every now and then to ask for her brother’s advice or to get his help with something. Ivan’s usually more pleasant when she’s around, but it never lasts long because Katyusha always brought trouble with her. She was one of the very few people in the world that could actually get what they want from Ivan without sacrificing anything too major, and between the three siblings she’s the less violent, so most of the subordinates went to her if they needed something when they could.
Ivan’s younger sister, Natasha Braginski, was a beautiful young lady who Toris had been in love with ever since he first saw her. Unfortunately for him and all of her other various suitors Natasha only had eyes for her brother, and was prone to random acts of violence. Ivan sent her out to do any dirty work that he either can’t be bothered with or do himself though lately Gilbert’s been getting the more grizzly jobs.
Gilbert Weillschmidt was the last member of their little household. Toris was pretty sure he wasn’t actually part of the family (the fact that he’s German is a dead giveaway) but he never acted like the rest of the subordinates. He didn’t know where Gilbert came from or why he was working for Ivan, he just knows that three years ago Ivan brought him to the house and introduced him as their new friend. There was a lot of kicking and screaming and fighting at first, but eventually Gilbert calmed down a little. It was easy to see why Ivan wanted him; he was an awesome fighter and a ruthless killer. It was said that his kill rates were higher than even Natasha’s and that he was the one who took down Roma Vargas, former head of the Italian family aka their biggest rivals. Or at least they were their biggest rivals.
Toris really should find Gilbert.
He checked the game room and found Eduard but no Gilbert. He checked the kitchen and found a half eaten sandwich, but no Gilbert. He even ventured into Gilbert’s personal room and found several guns, swords, diaries, a beaten up old photograph, and his pet bird, but no Gilbert.
Well, if he’s not in the house, then there’s only one place he’d be…
Sure enough, when Toris went outside to the South Gardens, there was Gilbert, head pressed against the outer wall, back turned towards him.
“Mr. Weillschmidt?” He called, causing the German to jump, turn around, and press his back against the wall like a cornered rat.
“T-toris! Do not startle me like dat!” Gilbert snapped when he found out who was addressing him. “And you can call me Gilbert.”
“Sorry, Mr. Gilbert. Mr. Braginski wants to see you. It’s about-”
“Da Yakuza being here and kidnapping Matt?” He smirked and pushed off the wall to head for the house. “I already know about dat.”
“How?”
“A little bird told me.” He chuckled at some joke that Toris didn’t get at all. When he was about to follow him in, Toris thought he heard the sound of leaves crunching on the other side of the wall. He found a small hole in the wall and used that to peek to the other side to see what was there, but found absolutely nothing.
***
Wednesday, October 15: 9:20AM. Just Outside Kremlin Manor.
Ludwig waited, pressed up against the wall, eyes shut tightly, just listening. Eventually he heard the other man sigh and walk back to the house.
Dat vas close. Too close for comfort. He thought.
He probably shouldn’t have come; he had a Canadian to find after all, but…
-
Wednesday, October 15: 9:10 AM. Kremlin Manor, South Gardens.
“Vest, you made it.”
“Ja, and I told you not to call me dat.”
“Sorry Vest, old habits you know.”
“Vatever, Bruder. How are tings?”
“Oh you know, still part of the Russian mafia and all dat good stuff.”
“…”
“How are tings at da station?”
“Still looking for Lofino.”
“Ja, us too. Tell me ven you find him.”
“You know I vill do no such ting.”
“Tought I vould ask anyvay.”
“Mattew Villiam’s vas taken again.”
“Italians? Cause it vasn’t us.”
“Nein. It is looking like Yakuza.”
“Yakuza? Dey’re on da Vest Coast.”
“Ve know, but it seems like dey are expanding.”
“And dey hafe Mattie? Vell shit.”
“I…know you, you know, don’t hate him, so I vanted you to know. I should get going…”
“Danke. For telling me. If Yakuza are really here, den I should probably-”
“Mr. Weillschmidt?”
-
For what it’s worth, Ludwig did manage to confirm that the Russian’s didn’t have Williams and weren’t in cahoots with the Yakuza, so he could kid himself into thinking that this was another recon visit. But in reality, he was just worried about his brother.
Chapter 3: Of Italians and Coffee Shops
Word Count: 1,267
Wednesday, October 15: 9:20AM. Mesa Ratona Café.
Lovino Vargas did not like fighting or violence or blood. Not what anyone would expect from a mafia boss, but truth be told, Lovino didn’t like the mafia either. In fact, Lovino was already on his way out of that life when Grandpa Roma dragged him back in by dropping dead and naming him as his successor. Lovino wasn’t an idiot; he knew where the money came from and what exactly had to be done to keep it, and he knew his brother, Feliciano Vargas, was an idiot, so he did what was necessary to keep them living the lifestyle that they had become accustomed to.
That didn’t mean he had to like it though.
So whenever he got the chance, like right now, Lovino Vargas, Italian crime boss, would shirk his mafia duties and visit a small café on the corner where the owner knew his name.
“Romano!” The owner, a young Spanish man by the name of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, looked up from the latte he was making to shout, “I’ll be with you in a second, alright?”
Well, sort of knows his name.
Lovino started coming here a little over a year ago when it first opened, back when he was trying to get away from the family business, so when the (definitely not) cute owner had asked him his name, he knew he could tell him anything but the truth.
“R-romano! Romano Italia.” It was the first thing that popped into his head.
“Italia? Like the country?”
“Yeah, I’m Italian. Got a problem with that, jerk?”
“Of course not. It’s a cute name; it suits you.”
Lovino had blushed, said he wasn’t cute, called him a bastard, and demanded another espresso.
And he had been coming back ever since. He had no idea why: the coffee sucked, Antonio was annoying, an idiot, and distinctively not cute or hot or anything like that and he definitely did not like him. He came because of the atmosphere, because it had nothing to do with his family or Ivan’s family or Jones’s ragtag team trying to hunt them both down. And maybe the coffee wasn’t that bad.
“Here you are!” Antonio handed him his espresso and sat down in the seat across from him with a coffee of his own. “I’m glad you came today.”
“You say that every day,” Lovino rolled his eyes.
“Do I? Well, I mean it extra today! My friend’s stopping by and I want you to meet him. I think you’d get along great.”
“I’m surprised and idiot like you has friends.”
“Yup! I have two. Well, you’d be the third, Romano-”
“Bastard we aren’t friends!”
“-but come to think of it,” he paused and took a sip of his coffee, “I haven’t seen one of them in a really long time…”
“Probably just got sick of your face or something.”
“Maybe,” Antonio sighed, not registering the insult at all, “and my other friend is always busy with…something. I forget what he does, he changes careers so often. At least I get to see you almost every day!” He ended with a smile.
“Y-yeah, well,” Lovino takes a sip of his drink to hide his blush, “it’s not like I like seeing you, bastard.” Antonio laughed before changing topics.
One of the (very few) things Lovino liked about Antonio was that he never asked the wrong questions. Whenever they talked it was either about the café, Antonio’s flower shop (which is right next door) Lovino’s brother (who he knows as Veneziano Italia. Feliciano, in his never ending quest to make friends out of everyone, agreed to not let Antonio know his real name), the weather, and, their personal favorite, tomatoes. He’s never asked about what it is Romano and Veneziano do for a living or any other awkward questions about their past that Lovino would have to make up on the spot.
“…so then he gives me a $100 tip!” Antonio was saying. “I assumed it was a mistake, it was only a dozen roses, nothing big, so I give it back to him, but he insists I keep it! Can you believe that Romano?”
“Please tell me you didn’t blow it all on a pinto or something? You’re barley making ends meet as it is…”
“Don’t be silly, you can’t buy a horse for $100,” he blinked before what Lovino said actually hit him. “Are you worrying about me?”
“N-no! I could care less about you!”
“FRATELLO!!” a high pitched shout rang through the air. Both men looked up to see Feliciano standing there, panting heavily as if he had run the whole way here.
“Veneziano, what a pleasant surprise! Would you like me to get you something?” Antonio asked.
“Maybe later, Antonio. Fratello! You need to come quick!” He grabbed his brother’s arm and started pulling him in the direction of the door.
“Stop pulling! It hurts!”
“Fratello, it’s a family emergency! We need to go home now!”
“Family emergency?” Antonio looked at his friend, who had jumped out of his seat and dropped some money on the table to pay for his drink, “What’s wrong?”
“The…cat’s having puppies!”
Lovino had grabbed his jacket and shoved his brother out the door, shouting a quick “Later!” over his shoulder before both took off running down the street.
Antonio sighed before picking up the empty cups and money that Romano had dropped. He had just gotten back behind the counter when the door burst open again.
“Bonjour mon ami! It has been far too long,” Francis shouted as he made his way to Antonio, kissing him on both cheeks before seating himself at the counter.
“Hola Francis!” He placed a cappuccino in front of him. “Glad you could stop by.”
Francis took a sip of his drink.
“Now, where iz zat Romano you keep going on about?”
“You just missed him!”
“Non!”
“Si! He ran out about a minute or two before you walked in!”
“C'est un travestissement! Unless…you are ‘iding ‘im from me, non?”
“He had a family emergency or something like that. Why would I hide him from you?”
“Keeping ‘im all to yourself, maybe? I would not put somezing like zat past you, Monsieur Carriedo. ”
“No worries there, Senor Bonnefoy. He’s…not into me like that.”
“Really?” he smirked slyly and winked, “I zink ‘e cares more zen he lets on…”
“How would you know? You’ve never met him!”
“Je suis un français! I know zese zings!”
Antonio chuckled at his friend’s antics and poured him more coffee.
***
Wednesday, October 15: 9:36AM. Main Street.
Lovino couldn’t believe what his brother was telling him.
“I can’t believe what you’re telling me!” He darted down a back alley to avoid someone who may or may not have been Jones, but the mafia boss wasn’t taking any chances. Feliciano wasn’t far behind.
“Yes yes. It’s true. I saw it with my own eyes!”
“You saw the Yakuza with your own eyes?”
“Well, maybe I only heard about it.” The brothers stopped in the middle of the alley to catch their breath.
“You sure Braginski’s boys haven’t taken him? Hell, are you sure our boys haven’t taken him?”
“P-pretty sure. Anyway, why would our informants lie?”
“You can be so naïve sometimes…” Lovino leaned his head back against the wall. “This doesn’t make sense! Is it too much to ask to just know what I’m dealing with?”
“If it is only that, Vargas-san,” an unfamiliar voice asked from the other end of the alleyway, “then I will be more than happy to assist you.”
Chapter 1: The Heros
Word Count: 1,273
Wednesday, October 15: 9:05AM. Police Headquarters, Temporary Headquarters.
Alfred F. Jones strode into the police office like he owned the place, and as the head of the special mafia division, he kinda did.
He made his way to the meeting room in the back that the Chief had given his team until they could relocate them to somewhere far away from headquarters. Chief didn’t like it when they were stationed in the same building as him, and that was perfectly acceptable to Mr. Jones and his team, as the reason they were back in police headquarters was because their previous operation space had been blown up by the Russians.
Alfred burst into the room and shouted a jovial “Good Morning!” to his team. The four man (pardon, four person) team glanced up at him before immediately returning to whatever they were doing before their boss showed up.
The team consisted of four men (including Mr. Jones) and one woman, all of whom where the best of the best. Ludwig was Alfred’s second, an introverted German man who would often criticize Alfred’s leadership, but would always get the job done in the most efficient way possible. He was the go to guy for the Russian mafia, as he seemed to know the organization inside and out, although, now that Alfred thought about it, he didn’t even know the man’s last name. Actually, there was a lot he didn’t know about Ludwig, but it didn’t really matter.
Francis Bonnefoy was a rather flirtatious, very perverted, French man who hit on the mob members more often then he actually fought them. Alfred didn’t care, as he always eventually got the job done and there was no one outside the Italian mafia who knew more about them, but it did seem to put the rest of the team on edge, and that’s putting it lightly.
Berwald Oxenstierna was a rather scary looking Swedish man who only spoke like three words a day. It was one of Alfred’s favorite pastimes to try and get some sort of reaction by annoying the hell out of him, but he’d only ever gotten a punch in the face for his troubles. He was still pretty new to the force when the Chief put him on his team, but he was extremely level-headed in the toughest situations and probably the best interrogator in the precinct. Alfred had asked why he wanted to join the mafia division once, but all he had gotten out of the man was, “Lookin’ f’r s’me’ne.”
Elizaveta Héderváry was the final member of their little team. She was a bright, headstrong young Hungarian woman who was always the first one on the scene if Alfred wasn’t already there. Before moving over to the mafia division from the homicide division, she had the most arrests out of anyone else in the department and had always been given anything with more than one body. She had an unfortunate habit of assuming that two random people were in love with each other (even though half the time she was right, the other half, well…) and it should be noted that she preferred bashing culprits on the head with a frying pan over firing her weapon.
Alfred walked over to the coffee machine (that he made absolutely sure they had put in when they commandeered the room) to get his first morning cup before turning to glare at the two pictures on the board on the other side of the room, a daily tradition of his.
The picture on the left side of the board, where Ludwig was currently scribbling, was of the head of the Russian mafia, a big, pale man with violet eyes and light blonde hair called Ivan Braginski. Alfred and Ivan actually went to the same school as kids, but their paths had taken two completely different directions, obviously. He was a master of torture and espionage and had single handedly made the Russian mafia the force to be reckoned with that they were today.
The picture on the right side, which mostly had a flow chart and a bunch of X on it right now, was of the head of the Italian mafia, Lovino Vargas, a rather unimpressive looking man with bright green eyes and dark brown hair. He gained control the ‘family business’ after his grandfather, Roma Vargas, died in a shoot out about six months ago. He seems to have inherited his grandfather’s shoot first, ask later approach and unfeeling attitude, but not his drive, as he hasn’t been seen anywhere since being made head, even on hits where his presence was not only specifically requested, but usually required.
Alfred sighed before taking another sip of coffee and scanning the room. “Alright, what do we got today?”
Francis produced a note from somewhere and handed it to Alfred. “Your brother ‘as been kidnapped. Zis was found on his desk.”
“Oh, poor Matt.” Elizaveta commented. “You really should keep a better watch on him, Alfred. This is what, the third time this month?”
“I would if it was necessary, but he can take care of himself.”
“ ’Ow do you figure zat? Ze poor boy iz taken more zan-”
“If this is some random sex joke…” Elizaveta started.
“And if it iz, ma cheri?” His answer was a frying pan to the face.
“Matt’ll be fine. He’s not dead yet.”
“It only takes von shot to kill a man,” Ludwig added. “Dis could be Herr Villiam’s last kidnapping.”
“Don’t be so morbid. He’s tougher than he looks…or acts.” Which was true. Alfred’s brother (really half brother, but no one cared for such details); Matthew Williams was head of the homicide division. He moved here from Montreal three years ago because apparently there aren’t very many murders in Canada and his services were best used elsewhere. He was very shy and usually went unnoticed, even by his own subordinates, but when the different mafias did remember that he existed, they often tried to use him to mess around with Alfred.
“Who is it this time? I hope it’s the Italians…”
“Ja, a lead of some kind to Lofino’s location vould be nice.”
“Actually I just wanted some Italian tonight.” Ludwig took the liberty of smacking his boss on the back of his head.
“I do not zink so, mon ami, unless ze Italians are now using Chinese for code.”
“China what now?” Alfred looked at the note in his hand and saw the strange letters running up and down the page.
“I think it’s Japanese.” Elizaveta said as she snatched the note. “There’s some hiragana mixed in with the kanji.”
“So the Italians are using Japanese for code?” Alfred asked, puzzled. “Why?”
“It could be da Russians,” Ludwig added, “but dat still makes no sense. Vhy send a note in Japanese to somevon you know does not speak da language?”
The five of them stared at the baffling note for about a minute before Berwald said, “Y’k’za,” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yakuza? Here?” Alfred shook his head. “They operate on the West Coast. They wouldn’t come here.”
“Unless zey are planning on expanding…” Francis said, thoughtful for once.
“It vould explain vhy da note is in a language dey know ve cannot understand,” Ludwig added, “so ve know dey are here.”
Elizaveta looked at her boss. “So, what does this mean?”
Alfred looked at the note again before placing it on the table in the center of the room and responding. “It means that a new player has entered, and completely changed the game.”
And we better find them soon…
Chapter 2: The Good, the Bad, and the Awesome
Word Count: 1,393
Wednesday, October 15: 9:10AM. Kremlin Manor, Ivan’s Office.
Ivan Braginski was a man of simple pleasures. He enjoyed sunflowers, vodka, watching Mr. Jones and his team run in circles attempting to capture him, the screams and tears of his fallen foes, spending time with his sisters (both of them at the same time though; if he has one of them by herself, then things get rather painful), spending time with his subordinates (whether they wanted to or not), and he has recently taken an interest in figure skating.
Among the things Ivan didn’t enjoy so much was the snow that seemed to follow him everywhere, Mr. Jones, the Italian mafia stealing his turf, Mr. Jones, the law, traitors in his organization, Mr. Jones, his sister’s constant marriage proposals, new competition popping up out of nowhere to steal his business, and Mr. Jones, but right now the new competition thing was at the top of his list.
“Toris,” Ivan looked up at the young man with an innocent smile on his face, causing him to flinch, “are you sure this is correct?”
“Y-yes. Eduard handed it to me j-just now.”
“I see. You are dismissed. Bring Gilbert to me, yes?”
“R-right away Mr. Braginski.” Toris wasted no time in getting the hell out of there. When you’ve worked for Ivan as long as he had you learn to recognize when he’s in a good mood and when he’s not. This was one of those times when he was not.
Toris Lorinaitis wasn’t exactly sure how or why he got caught up in the Russian mafia, all he knew was that one day he was running a small business with his friend Feliks Łukasiewicz, and the next Feliks ends up murdered and Toris is the prime suspect. Everyone was ready to label him murderer except for Officer Jones, who at the time was still working a desk job. Officer Jones fought very hard for Toris’s sake, but it was all for naught, as he was pronounced guilty and had an execution date set.
That’s when Ivan walked into his life. Ivan offered him his protection from the cold, unfeeling arm of the law in exchange for a life time of service. Fearing death and seeing no other way out, Toris eagerly took the Russian’s offer no questions asked. Later Toris had found out that Feliks was involved with the family, and Ivan was had killed him personally to keep him quiet about something and took Toris in because he felt guilty about letting him take the blame.
His new friends’ tales were rather similar. Eduard Von Bock, a young man from Estonia who’s kind of a genius and is very good with raw data, went to the Braginski’s for a loan to pay off his mother’s medical bills, only to fall behind on the payments. Very behind. Ivan made all of his debts vanish in exchange for lifetime service to the family. Raivis Galante, the youngest subordinate Ivan had, had a dead-beat father who left his dead-beat mother when Raivis was four, and was sold by said mother at the age of ten to the family for drug money. Toris and Eduard have made it their job to look after him, but he’s still rather shy and lonely.
The only other members of Ivan’s family that Toris has had the…pleasure of meeting were Ivan’s sisters. His older sister, Katyusha Braginski, lived in a different house and apparently heads a separate branch of the family in another city. She came back every now and then to ask for her brother’s advice or to get his help with something. Ivan’s usually more pleasant when she’s around, but it never lasts long because Katyusha always brought trouble with her. She was one of the very few people in the world that could actually get what they want from Ivan without sacrificing anything too major, and between the three siblings she’s the less violent, so most of the subordinates went to her if they needed something when they could.
Ivan’s younger sister, Natasha Braginski, was a beautiful young lady who Toris had been in love with ever since he first saw her. Unfortunately for him and all of her other various suitors Natasha only had eyes for her brother, and was prone to random acts of violence. Ivan sent her out to do any dirty work that he either can’t be bothered with or do himself though lately Gilbert’s been getting the more grizzly jobs.
Gilbert Weillschmidt was the last member of their little household. Toris was pretty sure he wasn’t actually part of the family (the fact that he’s German is a dead giveaway) but he never acted like the rest of the subordinates. He didn’t know where Gilbert came from or why he was working for Ivan, he just knows that three years ago Ivan brought him to the house and introduced him as their new friend. There was a lot of kicking and screaming and fighting at first, but eventually Gilbert calmed down a little. It was easy to see why Ivan wanted him; he was an awesome fighter and a ruthless killer. It was said that his kill rates were higher than even Natasha’s and that he was the one who took down Roma Vargas, former head of the Italian family aka their biggest rivals. Or at least they were their biggest rivals.
Toris really should find Gilbert.
He checked the game room and found Eduard but no Gilbert. He checked the kitchen and found a half eaten sandwich, but no Gilbert. He even ventured into Gilbert’s personal room and found several guns, swords, diaries, a beaten up old photograph, and his pet bird, but no Gilbert.
Well, if he’s not in the house, then there’s only one place he’d be…
Sure enough, when Toris went outside to the South Gardens, there was Gilbert, head pressed against the outer wall, back turned towards him.
“Mr. Weillschmidt?” He called, causing the German to jump, turn around, and press his back against the wall like a cornered rat.
“T-toris! Do not startle me like dat!” Gilbert snapped when he found out who was addressing him. “And you can call me Gilbert.”
“Sorry, Mr. Gilbert. Mr. Braginski wants to see you. It’s about-”
“Da Yakuza being here and kidnapping Matt?” He smirked and pushed off the wall to head for the house. “I already know about dat.”
“How?”
“A little bird told me.” He chuckled at some joke that Toris didn’t get at all. When he was about to follow him in, Toris thought he heard the sound of leaves crunching on the other side of the wall. He found a small hole in the wall and used that to peek to the other side to see what was there, but found absolutely nothing.
***
Wednesday, October 15: 9:20AM. Just Outside Kremlin Manor.
Ludwig waited, pressed up against the wall, eyes shut tightly, just listening. Eventually he heard the other man sigh and walk back to the house.
Dat vas close. Too close for comfort. He thought.
He probably shouldn’t have come; he had a Canadian to find after all, but…
-
Wednesday, October 15: 9:10 AM. Kremlin Manor, South Gardens.
“Vest, you made it.”
“Ja, and I told you not to call me dat.”
“Sorry Vest, old habits you know.”
“Vatever, Bruder. How are tings?”
“Oh you know, still part of the Russian mafia and all dat good stuff.”
“…”
“How are tings at da station?”
“Still looking for Lofino.”
“Ja, us too. Tell me ven you find him.”
“You know I vill do no such ting.”
“Tought I vould ask anyvay.”
“Mattew Villiam’s vas taken again.”
“Italians? Cause it vasn’t us.”
“Nein. It is looking like Yakuza.”
“Yakuza? Dey’re on da Vest Coast.”
“Ve know, but it seems like dey are expanding.”
“And dey hafe Mattie? Vell shit.”
“I…know you, you know, don’t hate him, so I vanted you to know. I should get going…”
“Danke. For telling me. If Yakuza are really here, den I should probably-”
“Mr. Weillschmidt?”
-
For what it’s worth, Ludwig did manage to confirm that the Russian’s didn’t have Williams and weren’t in cahoots with the Yakuza, so he could kid himself into thinking that this was another recon visit. But in reality, he was just worried about his brother.
Chapter 3: Of Italians and Coffee Shops
Word Count: 1,267
Wednesday, October 15: 9:20AM. Mesa Ratona Café.
Lovino Vargas did not like fighting or violence or blood. Not what anyone would expect from a mafia boss, but truth be told, Lovino didn’t like the mafia either. In fact, Lovino was already on his way out of that life when Grandpa Roma dragged him back in by dropping dead and naming him as his successor. Lovino wasn’t an idiot; he knew where the money came from and what exactly had to be done to keep it, and he knew his brother, Feliciano Vargas, was an idiot, so he did what was necessary to keep them living the lifestyle that they had become accustomed to.
That didn’t mean he had to like it though.
So whenever he got the chance, like right now, Lovino Vargas, Italian crime boss, would shirk his mafia duties and visit a small café on the corner where the owner knew his name.
“Romano!” The owner, a young Spanish man by the name of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, looked up from the latte he was making to shout, “I’ll be with you in a second, alright?”
Well, sort of knows his name.
Lovino started coming here a little over a year ago when it first opened, back when he was trying to get away from the family business, so when the (definitely not) cute owner had asked him his name, he knew he could tell him anything but the truth.
“R-romano! Romano Italia.” It was the first thing that popped into his head.
“Italia? Like the country?”
“Yeah, I’m Italian. Got a problem with that, jerk?”
“Of course not. It’s a cute name; it suits you.”
Lovino had blushed, said he wasn’t cute, called him a bastard, and demanded another espresso.
And he had been coming back ever since. He had no idea why: the coffee sucked, Antonio was annoying, an idiot, and distinctively not cute or hot or anything like that and he definitely did not like him. He came because of the atmosphere, because it had nothing to do with his family or Ivan’s family or Jones’s ragtag team trying to hunt them both down. And maybe the coffee wasn’t that bad.
“Here you are!” Antonio handed him his espresso and sat down in the seat across from him with a coffee of his own. “I’m glad you came today.”
“You say that every day,” Lovino rolled his eyes.
“Do I? Well, I mean it extra today! My friend’s stopping by and I want you to meet him. I think you’d get along great.”
“I’m surprised and idiot like you has friends.”
“Yup! I have two. Well, you’d be the third, Romano-”
“Bastard we aren’t friends!”
“-but come to think of it,” he paused and took a sip of his coffee, “I haven’t seen one of them in a really long time…”
“Probably just got sick of your face or something.”
“Maybe,” Antonio sighed, not registering the insult at all, “and my other friend is always busy with…something. I forget what he does, he changes careers so often. At least I get to see you almost every day!” He ended with a smile.
“Y-yeah, well,” Lovino takes a sip of his drink to hide his blush, “it’s not like I like seeing you, bastard.” Antonio laughed before changing topics.
One of the (very few) things Lovino liked about Antonio was that he never asked the wrong questions. Whenever they talked it was either about the café, Antonio’s flower shop (which is right next door) Lovino’s brother (who he knows as Veneziano Italia. Feliciano, in his never ending quest to make friends out of everyone, agreed to not let Antonio know his real name), the weather, and, their personal favorite, tomatoes. He’s never asked about what it is Romano and Veneziano do for a living or any other awkward questions about their past that Lovino would have to make up on the spot.
“…so then he gives me a $100 tip!” Antonio was saying. “I assumed it was a mistake, it was only a dozen roses, nothing big, so I give it back to him, but he insists I keep it! Can you believe that Romano?”
“Please tell me you didn’t blow it all on a pinto or something? You’re barley making ends meet as it is…”
“Don’t be silly, you can’t buy a horse for $100,” he blinked before what Lovino said actually hit him. “Are you worrying about me?”
“N-no! I could care less about you!”
“FRATELLO!!” a high pitched shout rang through the air. Both men looked up to see Feliciano standing there, panting heavily as if he had run the whole way here.
“Veneziano, what a pleasant surprise! Would you like me to get you something?” Antonio asked.
“Maybe later, Antonio. Fratello! You need to come quick!” He grabbed his brother’s arm and started pulling him in the direction of the door.
“Stop pulling! It hurts!”
“Fratello, it’s a family emergency! We need to go home now!”
“Family emergency?” Antonio looked at his friend, who had jumped out of his seat and dropped some money on the table to pay for his drink, “What’s wrong?”
“The…cat’s having puppies!”
Lovino had grabbed his jacket and shoved his brother out the door, shouting a quick “Later!” over his shoulder before both took off running down the street.
Antonio sighed before picking up the empty cups and money that Romano had dropped. He had just gotten back behind the counter when the door burst open again.
“Bonjour mon ami! It has been far too long,” Francis shouted as he made his way to Antonio, kissing him on both cheeks before seating himself at the counter.
“Hola Francis!” He placed a cappuccino in front of him. “Glad you could stop by.”
Francis took a sip of his drink.
“Now, where iz zat Romano you keep going on about?”
“You just missed him!”
“Non!”
“Si! He ran out about a minute or two before you walked in!”
“C'est un travestissement! Unless…you are ‘iding ‘im from me, non?”
“He had a family emergency or something like that. Why would I hide him from you?”
“Keeping ‘im all to yourself, maybe? I would not put somezing like zat past you, Monsieur Carriedo. ”
“No worries there, Senor Bonnefoy. He’s…not into me like that.”
“Really?” he smirked slyly and winked, “I zink ‘e cares more zen he lets on…”
“How would you know? You’ve never met him!”
“Je suis un français! I know zese zings!”
Antonio chuckled at his friend’s antics and poured him more coffee.
***
Wednesday, October 15: 9:36AM. Main Street.
Lovino couldn’t believe what his brother was telling him.
“I can’t believe what you’re telling me!” He darted down a back alley to avoid someone who may or may not have been Jones, but the mafia boss wasn’t taking any chances. Feliciano wasn’t far behind.
“Yes yes. It’s true. I saw it with my own eyes!”
“You saw the Yakuza with your own eyes?”
“Well, maybe I only heard about it.” The brothers stopped in the middle of the alley to catch their breath.
“You sure Braginski’s boys haven’t taken him? Hell, are you sure our boys haven’t taken him?”
“P-pretty sure. Anyway, why would our informants lie?”
“You can be so naïve sometimes…” Lovino leaned his head back against the wall. “This doesn’t make sense! Is it too much to ask to just know what I’m dealing with?”
“If it is only that, Vargas-san,” an unfamiliar voice asked from the other end of the alleyway, “then I will be more than happy to assist you.”