"So this is the mighty leader of Team Galactic?" Dust fell off the burlap sack as it was ripped off Cyrus's head, leaving Cyrus in a pathetic coughing fit in front of his captors. The cuffs on his wrists were removed and tossed onto the desk. "Aren't you a bit young to be running a crime organization?"

"Aren't you a bit old?" Cyrus growled as he leaned back into the small chair. "It's Giovanni, right? I assume you have your reasons for this sudden…intrusion."

The Rocket Boss smirked and unfolded his arms, placing his palms behind him on the desk.

"Believe it or not I do…First off I want to apologize for how my men treated you, I did tell them to be gentle."

"Yes because drugging me, throwing a burlap sack over my head and overall kidnapping me must be the new definition for 'gentle'."

Giovanni's smirk turned into a frown. He pushed off from the desk and slowly sauntered around Cyrus's chair, his arms folding around his back.

"Once again I am deeply sorry; my Grunts are like wild dogs. If I let them off the leash for even less than a minute they cause all kinds of chaos." Giovanni laughed at his metaphor but stopped short when he realized that Cyrus had remained silent. "Ahem well, back to the point, I know that there has been some bad blood between our groups but I hope that you and I can put this behind us."

A tremor ran through Cyrus's body as Giovanni placed his rather large hands on his thin shoulders.

Cyrus had a strict rule against people touching him.

It made him uncomfortable; to have someone reach into his personal space and be unsure of whether or not they mean harm. It brought him back to his days as child, back to the memories of the horrible man that he once called 'father'.

So it was almost a natural reaction to stand abruptly and twist one of the offending hands to the point of breakage, when said offending hand's thumb brushed possessively against the back of his neck.

"Do. Not. Touch Me." He snarled, his hold on the hand tightening.

Giovanni frowned, his thick Italian eyebrows forming together to make his stern expression and darken his grey eyes. With little effort he tugged his hand away from Cyrus's grip.

"Very well," Giovanni stepped around Cyrus and went back to his desk, sliding into the large leather chair. "Now I'm not so sure about Team Galactic but I believe we have a common goal. To gain control like the power hungry bastards we are, so, to make this short, why not forget our differences and combine our efforts? Make things simpler?" From within his desk Giovanni withdrew a long sheet of paper with two black pens, placing them on the desk. "Once our goals are accomplished we split the territory fifty/fifty, you can get the first pick if it pleases you."

A moment of silence passed between them as Cyrus eyed the contract set in front of him, perfectly aware of the other man watching him intently. He already had a dislike for the other man and the idea of working with him repulsed Cyrus down to his very core.

"Tempting as it may sound; I'll have to decline it. I have never been good at working with others, especially not low self absorbed bastards such as you."

Giovanni sighed and retracted the contract.

"Very well, there are few of my Grunts outside the door, they will escort you out. Oh and Cyrus...?"

Cyrus already had his hand on the doorknob. He tried to convince himself to leave and pretend he didn't hear the older man, but he figured that Giovanni would follow him out into the hallway anyways.

"Don't believe that this isn't the last time you and I will be meeting."

Cyrus's grip on the knob tightened as he spat out his response to the man with as much venom in the words as his tongue would allow.

"You better hope it is."

As Cyrus was leaving, Giovanni's Persian slid through the door and curled up by her Master's feet.

"He seemed pleasant." She said drily as she rested her head on Giovanni's wingtips.

"There's nothing to worry about Megara, he was just being a brat is all." Giovanni said rather mournfully as he replaced the contract back into its drawer. "He'll come around eventually."

"He looked like he was on the verge of taking your head off…"

"That's what makes him intriguing…"