Fandom: Gossip Girl
Title: Living corpses in the freshness of the air
Ship(s): Chuck/Serena, Blair/Nate
Rating: R
Warning(s): Spoilers for the first season, violence and sexy times
Summary: The non-judging Breakfast Club finds itself tangled in a web of underworld intrigue. Chuck and Serena are kidnapped, Blair and Nate try to save them. But darn these stupid hormones, they complicate everything.
Chapter: 1/10
Word count: 1, 791
AN: Don't take this too seriously, people. This is what happens when the Gossip Girl season finale leaves you wanting more and you watch the first two Godfather movies. In fact, I'm not entirely convinced it isn't crackfic. But anyway, reviews are appreciated. I already have an outline typed up, so I know how the story is going to progress in general, but I'm very open to suggestions.
Chapter I
"Mister Bass." The words were expelled through a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke. "You realize that a man in my position needs to be… careful. Normally I send my consigliere to represent me in business deals, but I come in person today as a sign of respect and good faith."
"I understand, and I am honored, Don Vincenzio." Bart Bass leaned forward, regarding above steepled fingers the heavyset, gray-haired man across the polished mahogany desk. "Nevertheless, my answer remains the same."
Vincenzio Carandini shrugged an elegant Armani-clad shoulder, while the two bodyguards standing behind him shifted uneasily. "You are worried about the legal ramifications. I assure you, the operation is aboveboard."
"Perfectly aboveboard," Frank Esposito piped up from his seat beside the Don. He had the smooth voice and easy confidence of a lawyer, which he was, and one of the best in Manhattan. "We pay you rent once a month, plus a cut on all earnings--"
"It's not the law I'm concerned with, Frank," Bart cut in, addressing the consigliere but keeping his gaze on Don Vincenzio, watching for any reaction on the impassive face whose dark eyes bored into his.
Frank's brow creased. "Is it the profitability, then? Mister Bass, we are certain this casino will prove to be a highly successful venture. Your building is near JFK Airport and right across a hotel. There's no way we can lose."
"The building's location is the problem," said Bart. "It's very convenient, true, but it also happens to be in La Vecchia territory."
A tense silence fell heavily on the office. After what seemed like an eternity to Bart, it was broken by Don Vincenzio's chuckle.
"Well done," he said almost admiringly.
Bart inclined his head at the compliment. "I deeply apologize, Don Vincenzio, but I refuse to be caught in the middle."
Don Vincenzio's lips twisted. "So the great Bartholomew Bass is afraid of a little fighting."
"Of course not." Bart mirrored the parody of a smile. "But it's not my war."
"I am not so sure," Don Vincenzio mused, stroking his chin. "By not renting your building out to the Carandinis, you are siding with the La Vecchias."
A chill shot down Bart's spine. Was the man serious? "I don't see it that way."
"We will talk again," Don Vincenzio announced loudly, standing up. "Perhaps next time you will be more… open-minded."
I doubt it, Bart thought, but he stood up and shook hands with Don Vincenzio and Frank. Flanked by the two bodyguards, they turned and left, and it wasn't until the doors had closed behind them and he was alone that Bart could breathe freely for the first time since the meeting began.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath with an uncharacteristic savage twinge. He'd thought the rivalry between the Five Families had died down. Didn't they already have a committee or something? To be fair to Carandini, though, it was a bad year for drugs, the police were taking harsher measures. Bart couldn't blame the man for wanting to expand his empire, even if it meant stepping on a few toes. And the casino was a very good idea, but Tommasino La Vecchia's wrath would know no bounds.
Bart Bass had gotten to where he was without making deals with Mafia, and he wasn't about to start now.
At first, Chuck Bass was puzzled as to why he woke up in such a bad mood, but as sleep fell away, memory came rushing back.
"Serena," Chuck grumbled as he eased out of bed. Last night he and his stepsister had engaged in one of their biggest fights to date, about Blair Waldorf and what Chuck had done to her.
"How could you, Chuck?" Serena had yelled, eyes bright with fury. "You bailed out on her at the last minute, you didn't answer a single call or reply to any of her messages while she was in Europe, and when she finally came back, you were in bed with another girl! You vile, low, despicable scum--"
"I hardly think you're in any position to talk, Serena," Chuck had retorted. "After all, I'm not the one who had sex with her boyfriend-at-the-time."
"Blair and I are already past that!"
"Still doesn't erase the fact that it happened."
"You're a monster, Chuck," Serena had said contemptuously. "You disgust me. I never want to speak to you again."
Chuck had tried to drawl "I love it when you talk dirty like that" just to infuriate her further, but the words somehow lost their effect when he had to raise his voice because she was already storming away from him. She hadn't even bothered to give him a backward glance.
Effing Serena. Where did she get the nerve to act so self-righteous? She'd practically slept with the entire Upper East Side!
Except you, whispered a voice in the back of his mind.
And that, Chuck admitted to himself, was one of the things that annoyed him most about Serena van der Woodsen. Except for a few drunken kisses and an almost blowjob-- ah, sophomore year-- he hadn't gotten to taste her charms before she came up with this new bad-girl-gone-good-act. Of course, there was also the fact that she was his stepsister, but Chuck wasn't turned off by that. In fact, it added a deliciously forbidden touch to his fantasies.
But that was all they would be-- fantasies-- because Serena was now an uppity little bitch and he'd sooner kill her than kiss her.
His annoyance still hadn't died down by the time he'd finished getting ready for school, and he was suddenly seized by the urge to ruin Serena's day before it even began. And Chuck Bass, as everyone knew, always gave in to his urges.
He sauntered into Serena's room. She wasn't there, but her uniform was laid out neatly on the already made bed. He pressed an ear to the bathroom door; the water wasn't running, so she wasn't in there either.
Probably went to eat breakfast first, Chuck thought, grinning maliciously. She'd be absolutely pissed to find him smoking in her bathroom again. He turned the knob, pushed the door open, and--
Serena was stepping out of the shower. Dripping wet. And naked.
Chuck felt like all the breath had been sucked out of him. Serena's blue-gray eyes were wide and her pink lips were slightly parted in shock. Her long golden hair streamed past her shoulders, a few strands clinging to perfectly formed breasts. Droplets of water clung to her bare, flawless skin, and her legs seemed to go on forever, and she was the most glorious thing Chuck had ever seen. Arousal stirred deep within him, and he took a few entranced steps forward--
And promptly reeled backward grunting in pain when Serena's fist connected with the side of his nose.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he snarled, cupping his hands over the injured body part.
"What's the matter with me?" she shrieked, wrapping a towel around herself, and even in his pain and anger Chuck felt a twinge of regret that her body had now been concealed from view. "You're the one who barged in, pervert!"
Okay, he didn't seem to be bleeding. But there was a sort-of dark blur at the corner of his vision that he hoped would go away soon. "You are so paying for my plastic surgery bill, S."
"Wimp," Serena shot back, shoving him out her room. How someone so thin could be so strong was a mystery to Chuck.
"I have to say," he said, leering at her, "that was a nice sight to behold first thing in the morning."
Serena smiled tightly. "As seductive as those words are, Chuck, they really would work better if you weren't currently holding your broken nose."
He straightened up in alarm. "You broke my nose?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
Her eyes gleaming triumphantly, she slammed the door in his face.
"Stupid Chuck," Serena muttered as she got dressed. She had never understood what Blair had seen in him in the first place. She couldn't believe that, right after he had broken her best friend's heart, he was throwing lascivious remarks at her. Not that he ever stopped doing that in the first place, she corrected herself. The guy was an asshole, plain and simple. I hope I did break his nose.
Although that would be a shame, because it was a rather nice nose…
Serena shook her head in disgust, pushing the traitorous thought away. Chuck wasn't as poster-boy-good-looking as, say, Nate Archibald, but he did ooze sex appeal. If only people's physical appearances could be an accurate reflection of their souls.
She opened the door and stifled a groan. "What are you still doing here?" she demanded testily.
"We are taking the limo, yes?"
Serena rolled her eyes and marched down the hallway, Chuck at her heels. "So where is our little brother?" he asked once they reached the elevator. "Is he attempting to break the Guinness world record you set for most classes cut in one year?"
"Eric is sick. He can't go to school today," Serena snapped. "And he's not our brother, he's my brother, and I won't have you influencing him."
The elevator doors slid open to reveal four somber-looking men in dark suits. Serena fought down a prickle of uneasiness that rose up in her as she and Chuck squeezed in. There was something not right about these men, something dangerous, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"If you and Eric are so close, then why did he tell me first?" Chuck taunted in her ear, referring to Eric's coming out.
Serena blinked. That stung. The problem with Chuck was that he knew exactly which buttons to press. "I can't even fathom how insecure you must be to hold on to a petty victory like that," she retorted.
"I have nothing to be insecure about."
"Really? What about your nose?"
His hand flew up to his nose again, and she laughed.
"I'll get you for that," he promised as the descending elevator came to a stop. The doors opened and they walked into the lobby, still bickering.
Don Vincenzio watched their retreating backs. "Who are they?" he asked suddenly.
"Huh?" Frank was caught off-guard by the question, but quickly recovered, clearing his throat. "Oh-- Bass' kids. Well, actually, his son and his stepdaughter."
"I knew I've seen them from somewhere." Now Don Vincenzio could recall the pictures of the van der Woodsen-Bass nuptials that had wreathed the society pages and magazines for days. A plan began to form.
"Frank, we're getting our casino," Don Vincenzio proclaimed. "One way or another."