Quinn tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk in front of her, her eyes drifting up to the clock every few seconds. It was always disappointing to her to find that the minute hand had barely moved a centimeter since the last time she had looked. The leader of the Fabray gang was on edge, more than usual, if that were even possible. News had recently come in that their rivals, the Pierce families, were planning some sort of bid to weasel their way into the city's ring of politicians. With a Pierce-backed official in charge, there was no way the Fabrays could continue their "business ventures" without any difficulty—be it law, or otherwise. The desire to keep her group strong and on top of this city was so strong in Quinn that she could almost feel its intensity burning a hole through her chest. Never one to half-ass anything, she wouldn't be satisfied if they were anything less than feared among the residents of Lima.
As of right now, no one was more respected than the Fabray gang. People far and wide knew not to get in their way, or the consequences were more dire than Quinn cared to admit. Her job wasn't creating the gruesome scenes found on the front pages of countless newspapers, no, Quinn was the brains of the operation. She ran everything from the inside, and to her, that made her the person to be most feared. Everyone knows that brains get you farther than brawn, especially when you were talking about organized crime. Several times she had even needed to make the call to dispose of one of their own. Nothing was more punishable than disloyalty, she thought, it would never go overlooked. If you were a Fabray, you were a Fabray for life.
Her eyes flashed to the door after hearing it crack open. Her associate, Mercedes Jones, walked through the door. Quinn took a moment to scan over the woman's form, checking her body language to see what sort of news she could be expected. Biting on her bottom lip, Mercedes looked less than excited to say what she had to say. "Out with it," Quinn said, rolling her eyes in frustration and tossing her hands in the air. "It-it isn't looking good," Mercedes said, her arms held in front of her like a frightened little girl. Quinn mentally shrugged it off; she was used to getting that reaction. Intimidation is power, she knew. "N-Noah DeLuca has the news for you, I can't say I know enough to tell you," the woman said, pointing out the door. "Well, send him in then," Quinn told her, her voice showing her clear impatience, before she span around in her chair. A slight smirk crossed her face at the mention of the man. Unbuttoning the top button of her blouse, she heard the telltale sound of him entering the room. "Noah," she said, her voice low and velvety. "I hear you have news."