Hey everyone! I was watching something on the Mafias and reading Sherlock fanfiction, specifically Moriarty and Moran fanfiction. I decided, what if Vladimir and Stefan were in a mafia? So, here is this fic. In Sherlock fandom, Moriarty is the evil boss and Moran is his favorite sniper. Does all the dirty work, ya know? Well, to set a few things, this is a Twilight AU, so no vampires. Characters will be in here, but their coven names will more likely be Mafia names. Other covens like the Egyptians and Irish, I will change. Does the "Egyptain Mafia" sound scary to you?

...

Didn't think so

Anyway, please review! I'm happy with anything as long as it's not: You suck, go die, I'm going to f*** your mother, blah blah blah. Along with that, I don't own Twilight. Obviously.

He deals the cards as a meditation,

And those he plays never suspect,

He doesn't play for the money he wins,

He doesn't play for respect,

(Stefan pov)

He could feel his heart pound in his chest, sweat running down his left cheek. He could see the blond in front of him talking with a dark long haired male. He couldn't seen their faces, but their body expressions remained hostile. Another man, with golden blond hair, sneered at the pale blond. On the left side of the dark haired male, there was another one. He just mainly stood there.

Stefan bit his lip, the click of his gun sounding from his hiding place. He could see the blond's hand move, motioning for him to do something. Stefan frowned. What was Vladimir doing? This wasn't part of the plan! Stefan lifted his head from his gun, looking at blond with narrowed, hard brown eyes. Vladimir did not look at him, but raised his hand a little bit higher.

Stefan returned to gun, the seconds passing by in his head.

10,

9,

8,

7,

6,

5,

4,

3,

2,

1,

A gun went off and Stefan looked up.


(One year earlier)

CRASH!

The sound of glass breaking over Stefan's head felt relaxing, even though pieces of it cut his pale skin. He looked at the remains of the grandfather clock, knowing full well he would now have to find a new clock. That was okay, he hated that clock anyway. He let out a sigh and grabbed a broom from his closet, sweeping up the remains of the clock.

A knock at his door interrupted him. He put the broom down and opened the door, seeing his landlady, Mrs. Whitefield, standing in front of him with a scowl on her face. "Stefan," she said briskly. "What on earth is going on?"

Stefan glanced at the broken clock. "My clock fell over," he lied "Sorry for the trouble."

Mrs. Whitefield stared at him for a while longer. "Your rents over due, Stefan. You have one week to get me the money, or you will have to find different living accomodations."

Stefan nodded as she left, closing the door and sliding down the door frame with his head in his hands. It was just his luck that he had been fired from his previous job. Now what was he supposed to do? How was he going to find a job by the end of the week? He felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket, and he looked down.

Hey bro, you ready to party tonight ;)

He frowned at the message from his friend Alin. Well, they weren't really friends just yet, more like acquantance. He typed his responce rather quickly.

Not tonight, I'm too stressed.

Dude, that's the perfect reason to party! Maybe you'll find a hot chick and get a quick fuck XD

Stefan shook his head at Alin's carefree attitude. Alin, this problem is serious. I need to find a job by the end of the week.

Ohhh it's that serious huh? Hey, maybe I can help.

Stefan seriously doubted how he could help, but he answered back anyway.

Alright, I'll take you up on that offer.

Great, meet me at Starbucks in 30 minutes :D

Stefan put on his shoes and grabbed his wallet, heading out the door and into the early March air. He found Alin at their usual table, drinking coffee of some sort. Stefan paid for his caramel macchiato and hurried over to Alin, picking up a News paper on his way over. Alin looked up at him with bright blue eyes and moved a lock a sandy brown hair. "Hey Stefan," he called out. "Long time no see!"

Stefan nodded. "So what kind of work did you have in mind?"

Alin looked at him, before leaning in and whispering in his ear. "You won't need the newspaper. The kind of job I found isn't one you find in a newspaper."

Stefan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. "And what is this job?"

Alin leaned back, taking a bite out his lemon pound cake. "Well, I know your a mercenary and all-"

"Alin, shut up," Stefan growled. "Why don't you just let the whole world know?"

Yes, Stefan had been fired from his job at the local department store. Hey, the old lady had been asking for it. She even rolled over his foot with her damn walker! Rude! The manager had fired him, which was pretty bad given the circumstances he had now. But Alin was right.

Stefan was a mercenary when hired. Over the past three months though, no one had hunted him down and asked for his services. This bothered him a little, but a break was nice. He wasn't a sadist. He just killed when he needed to. Though, now that he had no job, he kind of needed the money. He wasn't overly fond of the idea of living on the streets.

Alin took a sip of his drink. "Do you want to know the info I found out or not?"

Stefan nodded. "Shoot."

"Well, to start off with, you have heard of the Ioanid mafia?"

Stefan scooted his chair back slightly, as if the mafia were around them. Which, for all he knew, they could be. "Yes, who hasn't heard of them?" He hissed. "They've been on the news."

Alin played with his empty cup. "Well, from what I heard from a friend of mine, they're here in Forks."

Stefan nodded. "I can sort of see why. They're somewhat closer to the border to Canada. A couple hours of driving and then they can do their buisness. Though I wonder why they would want to settle in this small town."

Alin shrugged. "Why would police think they would be in a small town?"

Stefan nodded. "So, what does this have to do with finding me a job?"

Alin stabbed his fork into the styrofoam cup. "From what I heard from my source, they're needing a new hitman. The one they previously had...died or betrayed them, or so I had heard. So I thought, you're a merc, so why not?

Stefan grinded his teeth. "It's not that simple."

"Really? I think it is."

Stefan sighed. "I can't just let the whole world know what I do. If the police caught me, I could get in some serious trouble. I try to maintain a normal life as much as possible."

Alin shrugged again. "I don't see how being a merc and having a normal life is possible. What happens when you meet a hot chick, settle down, and have a couple of kids?"

Stefan stared into his drink. "Love is for children, I don't have time. Plus, it would cause me extra worry."

Alin grinned. "Such a loner," he teased. "You still want to party tonight?"

Stefan shrugged. "If I accept the position, how will I find them?"

"I don't know. I have no idea as to where they might be. I'd have to contact my friend."

Stefan smirked. "As to your earlier question of the party, why not?"


Day later...

"God, I'm never drinking that much alcohal again. I swear to the bible," Stefan groaned as he got out of bed the next morning. "Stupid Alin and his stupid parties."

He headed over to his bathroom, grabbing some tylenol from the medicine cabinet and swallowing them dry. He looked in the fridge to find something to eat, only to find nothing. He found some dried cereal in the cubbard and ate it, checking his phone for messages.

You have 1 new message!

Stefan looked at the message, a frown forming on his face. The message was not from anyone he knew, so now he was a bit anxious...and a little bit interested. He looked down at it, reading it silently.

Come to the Bella Italia at 3. Come alone.

Stefan looked at his cell clock. It was already 2:15. He quickly hopped into the shower and put new clothes on, hiding a small revolver in his thigh. Not his favorite weapon, but it would have to do. The others were too big to carry around in public. At least, without a briefcase anyway. He headed out of his apartment, slightly wondering how he was going to know who this person was.

This problem, however, had already been solved. The minute he stepped inside, a dark skinned lady led him to a table where a short, ashy blond man sat with two burly men standing beside him. He smiled at Stefan, though he was sure the smile wasn't friendly. It was threatening. The man stuck out his hand when the lady walked away with his order.

"Stefan," he said in a smooth voice. "How nice to meet you."

Stefan took the hand carefully. "Same to you," he said cautiously. "And you are?"

The man smiled again. "I'm Vladimir Dimitru, but I'm sure you know who I am now, hm?"

Stefan nodded. "The leader of the Ioanid mafia. I've heard of you."

Vladimir grinned. "Good, then I won't have to explain much. Now, how did you come about the information that we were here in the quiet little town of Forks, hm? Do share."

Stefan moved his right hand down, close to his thigh, prepared to take his gun out if necessary. "My friend heard it from another friend, that you needed a new hitman."

Vladimir cocked an eyebrow. "And how does this relate to you? You're even shorter than I am and I'm 5'4."

Stefan frowned. "I'm 5'2. I need a new job and I heard you had one."

Vladimir nodded. "I do, but I do not know you. How do I know you're not a government agent?"

"You don't," Stefan replied. "And how do I know you're not secretly plotting to kill me?"

Vladimir let out a laugh. "You're funny, Mr...Mr..." he paused. "How rude, I did not ask for your last name."

Stefan took a sip of his coke. "Alexandrescu, Stefan Alexandrescu."

Vladimir's grin grew even wider. "Now that sounds familiar. You don't happen to be that Mercenary I heard about? The one that killed a politican up in Italy? That man was part of another Mafia I know of, so word goes around. Who knew I would be meeting his killer face to face," he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. "And a fellow Romanian as well."

Stefan moved his gun from his pocket, holding it under the table. "It was not personal," he replied stoically. "I did it for the money."

Vladimir waved his hand. "The man meant nothing to me. In fact, you did me a favor. I do not get along well with his group. Bastards they are," he said with a bitter edge. "So this all now leads to you."

Stefan put his finger on the holster. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Vladimir answered. "About the job. Tell me about your skills."

Stefan moved the gun slightly back. "I can do long range and short range, mostly long range and I like to use a sniper or cross bow for that. For close range, a small gun or even a knife works fine too. Skill wise, I can listen and observe my targets very well, getting my job done in usually a day."

Vladimir nodded. "If I paid you, how much would you want?"

Stefan thought for a moment. The rent in his apartment was usually a hundred dollers a month, including laundry, food, and other bills that needed paid. "About 700," he said carefully, thinking of his bills and rent. "800 at the most."

Vladimir nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds reasonable enough."

Stefan looked at the blond. "So do I have the job or not?"

Vladimir stood up, the men behind him doing the same thing and left a check on the table for the waitress. He turned to Stefan with a feral grin. "You'll see," was the only thing he said.


One day later...

Stefan was now becoming a bit anxious. He needed to pay his rent in two days and he had no idea when Vladimir was going to contact him. He hoped it would be before Friday, but he couldn't guarantee that would happen. He looked at his dry cereal. It looked pathetic, just as he was at this moment. He now regretted losing his former job, but it was worth it. That job made him feel stupid and it didn't pay him a lot anyway.

The sound of a doorbell interrupted his attention. He headed over, seeing a burly man in a white shirt and black pants. The man was taller than he was, yet Stefan didn't feel intimidated. The man jutted his chin forward.

"You're the one the boss spoke with yesterday, right?" he demanded.

Stefan nodded. "Yes, it was me."

The man didn't show any emotion. He handed something to Stefan in an envelope and took a step back, not saying goodbye to him. Stefan watched him as he left, feeling a bit irritated. He closed the door and opened the envelope, seeing money inside and he grinned. Along with money, there was a note. He took the note, reading it quickly.

Dear Stefan,

I'm sure with the money you saw in that envelope told you something. Yes, you have the job. I've done my research and you seem capable enough to do what I ask. I will meet you at my work place on Friday. Be late, and we'll have problems.

sincerely,

Vladimir Dimitru

The first thing Stefan did, was grab the amount of money he needed and practically ran out the door.


Well, that's it for chapter one. Please review! The song was That's not the shape of my heart by Sting. A really good group!