A/N: This is loosely based off an rp I was in... WAIT DON'T RUN AWAY YET. Like I said, it's loosely based. I took inspiration from the premise and some of the interactions, but the rp itself actually died pretty early on, before a full plot could be established even. So this is a far cry from copy/pasta. I hope any and all readers find it enjoyable. (And, y'know, if you'd drop a review that'd make me a heppi camper.)
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Summary: Mafia AU, set loosely in a modern day period, in a fabricated city. The characters are members of various mob families all vying for power in a sprawling city. Each family is as mysterious and dangerous as the next, some seeming to have certain characteristics beyond the norm...
Fracture.
It was a beautiful city, and yet so simple a phrase could never give it justice. Words themselves, though you might pile on the flowered terms of description, could hardly be expected to capture more than the smallest modicum. No, the city was something you had to see for yourself... and see people did. They came from all over the world to see, or to stay. To say it was large would be akin to saying that water is wet. It sprawled, practically a living thing, breathing with all it's odd quirks and curves. To walk from one end to the other was to see every climate change you could think of, though the divisions and intensities waxed and waned with the seasons. The place was impossible, defying logic and science, and those who were frustrated with their efforts at dissection simply spouted terms such as 'node' and 'geographical enigma', defeated utterly. Still, the city lived on, and no inhabitant, once ensnared, could ever quite manage to make a life for themselves elsewhere.
Well, none of the average inhabitants, at least. Tourists were free to come and go, the place a fanciful fairyland with danger of only the rumored sort lurking in the shadows of the architecture. Government officials, those associated with the mayor, seemed to appear and vanish as mere clouds across the sky with barely a hint of where they'd gone if anything at all. The mayor himself stood in office surprisingly steadily for all that his honeyed wiles and graces failed to completely cover his many scandals. He had charisma, wit, and damn if he wasn't good at his job despite what his otherwise frivolous behavior might suggest. You would have to be quite quick on your feet to remain so cheerful and empowered while mayor of this city. Often literally.
The city was a gang kingdom. From the chilly streets of the Northern districts to the musky alleys of Chinatown, there were sharp gazes resting behind sharper smiles. A lazy glance transmitted a warning or an invitation. Wafting through the Italian rococo of the Southern side, through the Germanic-dominated central hub of the city, around to the bright West with the clean streets and the dirty police... there was the air of sparked tension, of carefully balanced power that constantly shifted ever so slightly, coiling around its surrounding fellows, looking for a gap, an opening, a weakness... an opportunity. A more delicately woven tangle of web was scarce to be found the world over than was to be seen at every turn in the city.
For the entirety of the city, and indeed properties, suburbs, and extensions for uncounted miles around were under the ownership or at least the power of the various factions, and who knew in what other dark corners of the world lurked connections or territories of those that made their lair in this heart? It was no ordinary situation, and they were no ordinary people, the masters of this place.
And so, though this day was extraordinary, it seemed not to be distinguished from any other of the extraordinary days that dominated the calendar of the city's integral residents.
Mayor Francis Bonnefoy sat in his exceedingly comfortable chair, receiving decent enough head from his cum-dumpster of a secretary, and proving his admirable multi-tasking abilities by skimming through the latest reports on his computer.
Unfortunate, for him, that the resourceful Eduard von Bock had bypassed his securities some time ago through a combination of his own technological aptitude and the clever cover of a professional tech consultant. (Actually, he was a professional tech consultant, among other things, but he had a very specific clientele.) It so happened that it suited Eduard to conclude his work on this date, and so it was that Francis received an incongruous email from a familiar address and clicked it without a thought, understandably his multitasking only stretching so far. The fact that it was clearly labeled as a fresh delivery of porn might also have had something to do with it, considering his tastes. This is how it came to pass that a rather vicious little virus entered his computer system, usurped it, and locked the entire thing down. For a politician, a blue screen of death can ruin just about any blowjob.
His secretary was shoved away with a French curse, and after emitting a disgruntled cry she found herself speedily expelled from the room. Well! She huffed, disappointed and not at all looking forward to actually filing or answering phones.
"And call my tech consultant! He's on speedial four!"
Bonnefoy's best efforts were to no avail, his screen remained quite unresponsive and it was a desolate expression that he wore when a friendly Eduard von Bock stepped into his office.
"What seems to be the problem, sir?" Eduard inquired politely, earning himself desperate gestures to come closer from the blond Frenchman.
"Oh, I was doing research for the next budget." Francis' response was as smooth as silk and cream.
Quite across town and yet in just the same time period, an androgynous Chinese beauty was casually sweeping the street's dust off the doorstep of a well decorated little shop. It was the sort of place where, even if you had been able to read the signs, you wouldn't have learned anything about the true dealings within unless you happened to be a part of them. Exclusive didn't begin to cover it. This was the heart of Chinatown, all bright colours and winding streets and horned rooftops, the roads more dirt than cement, and a constant smell that was made up of an amalgamation of every exotic scent to be found for sale (and everything was for sale) that made any unaccustomed heads spin. Walking through the wrong doorway meant that even the seemingly sourceless whispers that hovered in the deepest parts of the sector wouldn't know what had become of you. And always, the Dragon watched.
The light, tone-deaf humming was so out of place that the air itself seemed to still in surprise as the young Italian all but skipped through the unfamiliar twists of the even more unfamiliar streets. However, as he found himself pausing in front of the shop to stare at it's lovely caretaker, he received only a knowing smile in return.
"Ah... Miss, Miss! Ciao! Could you tell me- what street is this?" He chirped, his footsteps jaunty and rhythmless as he moved closer, hands fluttering as if to take hold of a sleeve or hand but remaining just short of contact.
"I believe," The sweeper replied in clipped and crystalline, but decidedly male, tones, "that you should begin with a proper 'excuse me', and then perhaps an introduction, before leaping to any conclusions." His speech was fast, accented, but with no hint of uncertainty. The boy blinked, movement ceasing so completely for a moment that he might even have stopped breathing to allow for consideration. He was a bit taller than the Chinese, and a bit broader... he was clearly still in his late teens, if not younger, and the shopkeeper could not from appearance be placed at anything more decisive than above twenty and below forty. However, despite being older the Chinese was petite and willowy, his red silk hanfu only adding to the aura of delicacy surrounding him. His fragile loveliness nonetheless gave off the impression as being the deceptive sweet scent of a poisonous flower. The Italian, for all accounts and purposes, seemed to be drawn in quite cluelessly.
"Scusi, sorry! I'm Feli!" He jolted to life again with a carefree smile, tone informal and hands waving aimlessly once more. "I must just be flustered! Also, your clothes are pretty! Do you know the way out of here? I think I'm lost, aaah!" The boy's mood swung so wildly between chipper and disheartened that the Chinese could only stare at him for a moment, eyebrow arched elegantly.
"I see, aru. Well, my name is Yao Wang." Yao smiled, a weapon in the form of an expression. "You look very confused, why not come in for some tea, settle down and perhaps get your bearings?" The Italian brightened, began to nod, then seemed to shrink.
"Ah- I'm not sure... if umm..."
"Noodles as well? You must be hungry from walking." Yao coaxed gently, and Feli was sold, following him into the shop with a gleeful sound. The oddest thing, Yao observed in his mind, was how utterly ungrateful the boy was. He seemed almost to expect to be spoiled and treated with special patience and care. Indeed, his poor manners only grew more evident, as he began pacing the shop in his obviously expensive loafers, with no heed for the matted floors or any sign of intention to take one of the available seats. Yao cared not for the boy's audacity, he had plans of his own, and it would not be long before such impropriety on the Italian's part was regretted. Deeply.
"I'll only be a moment, wait here, aru." And the effeminate man disappeared beyond a sliding door. Feli had barely registered his exit, preoccupied with exploring the displays of various herbs and spices, and of course the little trinkets here and there... He hummed to himself, patted his suit for a moment, and then began pocketing things that smelled nice or shone prettily as casually as if they were bought and paid for. The sound of a pot whistling made him jump, and he quickly darted to one of the seating places on the floor, although he bore not the faintest sign of guilt when Yao entered with the handle of an ornate teapot in one hand and two cups in the other. He set them on the table top and vanished again before Feli could make more than a questioning noise, returning with a decently sized portion of noodles that made the Italian's eyes widen excitedly.
There was not so much as a moment of hesitance or a glance of suspicion before Feli set upon the food. He was lucky. For once Yao had decided to save the drugs for a bit later. In his voracity, however, the boy dropped a few noodles on his jacket. "Aah!" Feli dropped his utensils and pawed at his the garment in distress. "C-cazzo! This was a new suit!" He lamented, much to Yao's bemusement.
"Do not worry, aru," the Chinese man all but purred. "I know very good dry cleaner, just down the street. Here, take off your clothes, I take them to him now and he will be done in an hour." And perhaps he had looked or sounded a bit too eager, because the Italian suddenly gave him a slightly more appraising look, slipping off only his jacket and tossing it over.
"Ah- that is enough, si?" He replied hastily, and Yao looked the boy over with a little smile. Hm, merely slow then, not entirely oblivious.
"Oh, I had thought it got on your shirt as well." Yao waved a hand dismissively as he rose and went to the door. "I'll return in a moment, aru." He trusted that the boy would not do anything stupid in his absence, and if he did... well, then. Feli watched him go in a sullen sort of silence, then immediately took to darting about the room again. It was only fair that he take a few more things- Yao's food was delicious, but it had ruined his suit!
Feli's hand brushed against a book on one of the counters, and as it was nudged aside a golden gleam caught his eye, and deft fingers plucked free a golden pendant on a matching chain. It was wrought beautifully if alarmingly into the shape of an old Chinese dragon, and Feli watched the light from the window play off it for less than a second before it too vanished carelessly into his pocket.
With that last addition, Feli slipped out the door and spun down the street again, singing aloud this time in flawless Italian. He could always buy another jacket.
It was some minutes later that Yao returned, noting immediately that the Italian had left. He glanced around the room with distaste, calmly cleaning up the mess left behind, and his dark eyes were quick to catch the new empty spaces... especially the distinct lack of the pendant. The object's significance must have been unknown to the boy. How foolish.
"So," Yao murmured softly in his own tongue, "he is bold and naive, he walks dangerous streets and behaves offensively, yet he loses neither life nor possession and instead makes off with mine..." That sharp smile was back, it's predatory nature intensified tenfold. "I shall have to enlighten such a child. The Dragon is not one to be played with..."
A beat, and the scene changes once more, this time to the unusually pristine halls of a police station situated on the Western side of the city. The staff moves slowly, but efficiently, with the aura of people who know what they're doing and know equally well that they need not rush to do it. There is no such thing as unregulated crime in this sector.
A young man slips past the glass front doors and moves beyond the front desk without so much as a glance from either of the secretaries or the officer stationed nearby. He wears no uniform, just a pair of slightly weathered jeans and a dark red hoodie, honey-coloured hair falls in waves to his shoulders and frames his thin face. There is something about him that pegs him as forgettable, though one would be hard-pressed to pick out what it was. He enters a room without knocking, simply shifting the file folders in his arms a little, and then he is tugging open a door on the other side that leads to the office of the police chief. No one seems to have noted his passing in any way.
Until now.
Alfred F. Jones, the youngest person ever to be at the head of the city's police force, looks up from the video game graphics flashing on the screen of his computer with an expression on his face that says he does not see the stack of unfinished paperwork by his elbow and he expects whoever has walked in to not see it as well. The sky blue eyes widen for a moment when he sees the young man who has entered, and suddenly the sharp expression has melted into a more sheepish look as he quickly clicks the mouse and the computer screen goes back to an innocuous document on new protocols.
"Oh, hey Mattie, didn't know it was you." Alfred laughs a little and gestures his twin closer with a gloved hand. The young man, Matthew, rolls his eyes and obliges.
"Always nice to be reminded of what a dedicated worker you are, Al." Matt says in soft tones, and Alfred watches him for a moment, but as always he finds it impossible to tell if there are any underlying meanings to his brother's words. Of course, the usual method of telling whether or not Matthew was mocking you was to check if his lips were moving, but no one could ever prove it.
"...Right. So what've you got there?" Alfred asked, maintaining his bright demeanor, though his eyes were focused on the files in Matthew's arms with a sharpness that might have been an attempt at x-ray vision. Matthew dumped the folders on Alfred's desk before answering.
"More paperwork." He smiled slightly, "try not to drown in it." Alfred groaned and let his forehead hit the table.
"But... but it's so boring..." He lamented childishly, and Matthew gave him an unsympathetic pat on the head.
"So make Arthur do it, that's how it usually ends up anyway." Matthew drawled, and turned to head out the door. "I have other business to attend to."
"Which is gonna result in more paperwork." Alfred grumbled. "Why've we got to do it anyway? It's not as if any of it's true." He shoved the files towards the rest of the untouched papers. Matthew paused by the door to shoot Alfred a bemused glance.
"Well you know what they say. If you want dessert, you have to eat your vegetables." The reply was languid, and once again Alfred tried to sift through the wry drawl to see if it was more than a playful comment, to no avail. "You know how it works Alfred, that's how you got where you are. That's how all of us got where we are."
"We make the rules." Alfred stated slowly, bracing an elbow on the desktop and levering his chin up with the palm of his hand. "They pay to break them. And if they don't..."
"No crime without punishment." Matthew quipped. "And no punishment without a crime." The words hovered in the air, a strange and flawed dichotomy. But there were many interpretations, and Matthew could've meant any one... or even all. It was always interesting, the way the Canadian's words were weaved so delicately, so unassuming. Matthew seemed so against confrontation. He was soft, deft, gentle, like the silky paw of a cat with the claws retracted.
"I just don't see why there's so much work involved in making it look like something didn't happen." Alfred was back to whining, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I get it when we're framing someone for something, especially if we're inventing the charges, but if you're gonna pretend something didn't happen shouldn't there be nothing on it at all?" Matthew rolled his eyes again and pulled open the door of the office. Alfred was blunt where his twin was dexterous, but there was so much more beneath the American's juvenile surface. There was a sharpness lurking in the depths of those eyes, there were muscles beneath the leather of that bomber's jacket, and there was a gun holster there as well. Maybe more than one.
"If you want to cover something up, you have to cover it with something." The Canadian responded tactfully. "That's just logic." He began to step out the door, but was stopped by Alfred calling "Matt...?"
"...Yes, Alfred?" Matthew looked over his shoulder, wondering if he should perhaps shut the door again. Alfred was looking thoughtful... and then suddenly he beamed brighter than a searchlight.
"You wanna grab me a burger?" He suggested amiably. Matthew stared for a heartbeat.
"...No, Alfred, I do not want to grab you a burger." He replied flatly, and slammed the door on his way out. Still, no one looked up when he passed. Whether this was because they really didn't notice him, or they simply knew better, was a mystery.
There was a pleasant little shop on a block of neutral territory, the sort that lies just between two sectors, a sort of buffer area in this case. It was a quirky little corner shop, called "Hellas' Oddities", and for all accounts and purposes it was, to the common citizen, no different from any other little pawn shop to be found... to the uncommon citizen, it was so much more.
The darker business carried on at Hellas' Oddities catered to a specific clientele, the sort that didn't keep books (or not legitimate ones, anyway). It was the place you went to for 'specialty' items. Poison, drugs, weapons, and of course, the ever invaluable product of information. Anything and everything was for sale, provided you could pay the right price, and like many stores credit was offered... but it was strongly advisable that it be paid back on time. It wasn't legal action that one would have to fear from a debt to this shop, and however complacent the proprietor seemed at first glance, it was wise not to cross him.
The little bell above the entrance to the store chimed as the door swung open, the heels of smart leather boots clicking faintly on the wooden floorboards as the latest customer stepped in. The countless felines that made the shop their home set up a soft cacophony of mewls and purrs, converging on the newcomer in their curiosity and quest for attention. It wasn't entirely clear where all the cats had come from, or why the shopkeeper kept them here, but they were a fixture, climbing all over everything, the shopkeeper himself included.
The customer ignored the animals, moving with purpose to the back of the shop, where a desk was located. The shop's owner, a fairly young man with tanned skin and soft curls of chestnut brown hair, was almost always found asleep. He was infamous for taking naps at any and all hours of the day, although this wasn't generally considered a vulnerability as it would be in others, for reasons that were only ever hinted at.
"Honestly, you'd think he'd at least lock the door if he were going to take a nap." The customer sighed, part exasperation, part amusement. He reached out disdainfully to give the sleeping man's shoulder a nudge, prompting him to stir with a yawn, vivid sea green eyes sliding open to their usual half-mast and glancing up.
"Oh. It's you." The man murmured in lightly accented tones, and lay his head back down. "Just give me five more minutes Roderich~..." He murmured sleepily, eyes already shut again. Roderich, a man who carried himself with the same elegant professionalism with which he dressed, paused for a moment, an eyebrow arching delicately in irritation.
"Some of us," he began primly, "have other business this day, Heracles. You may resume napping when we're through, if you so wish." Another moment passed as Heracles appeared to force himself to sit up with a deep exhale.
"Fine..." He assented lazily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning once more. He stretched, all liquid muscle, and leaned back in his chair, blinking at Roderich. "So. Business, you say?" He asked, with yet another yawn. "What can I get for you?" Roderich pushed his glasses further up on his nose neatly, ignoring the other man's yawns with impressive fortitude.
"As usual, I am checking for any new information you may have acquired." He responded in precise tones, then appeared to pause for a moment, the self-possessed equivalent of hesitation. "And if you happen to have the ricin I placed an order for last month then I'd like to collect that as well." He added in lower tones, not so much secretive as simply the way a mannered person might speak of something not generally mentioned in polite conversation.
"Oh," Heracles smiled widely now, already pulling open a desk drawer and rummaging about in it, "well, what type of information are you looking for today? And, I can't remember, was it liquid or powder that you ordered?" The Austrian did not return the smile, not that such a thing was unusual.
"I like to be well informed." He stated, looking around the shop for a moment, almost as though searching for something, but then bespectacled violet eyes snapped back to the Grecian shopkeeper. "You know that, and you know I pay well. Tell me of any new deals going on, and if you know of any interactions between the other families, I might have an interest in that as well. And liquid of course, powder is too potentially messy."
"Either is potentially messy," Heracles shrugged, "and I guess I'm in the wrong drawer then..." he closed it and began poking around in one on the other side of the desk. "Aha, found it." He straightened cautiously with a medium sized vial in his hand, extending the object to Roderich. "Careful with it," he added as the Austrian accepted the previously paid for bottle, "don't want that accidentally breaking around yourself, or me for that matter." He smiled again, sitting back lazily.
"I assure you, there will be no accidental breakages," Roderich murmured, tucking the vial safely away in his jacket.
"Right..." Heracles began gently stroking a calico that had leapt into his lap, scratching the little feline behind the ears while it purred like a car engine. "Anyway, I've heard... indications, that the Russian family may be up to something. Not sure what exactly, yet, just rumors of movement... but." He shrugged, "it'll come around to me eventually. It always does. Check back a bit later- with payment, of course." The Greek rubbed thumb and forefinger of his free hand together in a universal gesture of greed.
"Mm." Roderich acknowledged with his customary gravity. "Of course. I'll look forward to hearing about it then." A door creaked open, and a small blond man in a green apron stepped out of a storage room behind the desk area, a small jar of some unidentifiable liquid was clutched in one hand. He was looking at the jar as he moved, inattentive to his surroundings thus far.
"Where does-" He began, and as he spoke he looked up, towards Heracles... but his gaze caught on Roderich and stayed, morphing from a neutral expression into a scowl, and he fell silent. Heracles blinked, reacting slowly as he looked up to his assistant.
"Ah, Vash," Roderich's gaze had transferred to the Swiss, and for the first time during his visit a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "How pleasant to see you." Vash looked to Heracles now, his entire stance screaming a desire either to storm out of the room or lunge at the Austrian, and clearly he desired the Greek to speak and diffuse the situation, but Heracles said nothing, merely raising his eyebrows as he looked between the two.
"Rode...rich..." Vash greeted at last, through clenched teeth, he twitched slightly and his knuckles were white as he gripped the jar in his hands more tightly. There was another short period of silence.
"Hey Vash," Heracles said at last, finally catching up with the cue to speak, "having problems in the back...?" He yawned yet again here, as laidback as ever despite the possible confrontation brewing not more than a few feet away. Vash just nodded, his glare having resettled on Roderich and didn't appear to be leaving again.
"Still with that same bad attitude, I see." Roderich observed almost playfully, "I take it that means you won't be returning home anytime soon?" Vash's lip curled in a snarl and he half-turned to Heracles, although he still didn't tear his glare from Roderich's smiling face.
"I don't know where this goes." He held the jar out slightly for Heracles to see. "And no." He added flatly, in response to Roderich. Heracles leaned in to examine the jar, pushing the cat off his lap, and nodded.
"Right, that goes near the machine gun ammo." He made an odd gesture towards the storeroom. "You know, just by the stairs, right behind the apples. And... next to... the machine gun ammo." He paused, nose wrinkling slightly as he contemplated this statement. "I should really organize my storage room." Vash rolled his eyes a little at this, his gaze at last leaving Roderich, and he turned towards the door again.
"It really is a shame," Roderich called passively, though the small smile on his face had become sharp as a razor, a dark undercurrent weaving through his words, "that Prussian blockhead is no replacement for you." The smile widened ever so slightly. "If I didn't know you'd be coming to your senses eventually, I'd drag you back now." Vash's shoulders jerked, and his head half turned... but he stopped, taking a deep breath, not wanting to lose control in front of Heracles, who had been kind enough to take him in and give him work.
"I'm not coming back. That's final." He clipped out, the violence in his tone palpable, and he stomped back into the storeroom, disappearing into the darkness and slamming the door shut behind him. Roderich made not the slightest effort to stop him this time, but actually chuckled a little when the door slammed.
"He thinks he's so tough... it's almost cute." He turned his smile on the Greek now, clearly in a far better mood than when he'd entered. "A pleasure doing business with you, as always. I'll be taking my leave now, Heracles."
Heracles nodded, still staring at the abused door Vash had vanished through. "I had almost forgotten you two had a history." He drawled, though really he hadn't, it just wasn't something that was usually at the forefront of his mind. He smiled innocently nonetheless, "have a good day Roddy, and be careful with that order of yours." Roderich didn't react to the nickname, apparently his spirits were too high at the moment, he did so enjoy teasing the Swiss.
"Hm." He said simply, "see that you don't forget completely. He's still one of my family, even if he is going through a 'rebellious' phase, and I will be taking him back one day." The statement was followed by a jaunty wave and another smile. "And I'm always careful." And the Austrian made his exit.
To be continued...?
A/N: I honestly don't know if I'm going to write more of this- though if I do it will probably be like the beginning. Just excerpts and interactions. All the characters are in the story, they just haven't appeared in this section, and even if I continue the fic it will take a while before everyone is given a mention or a cameo.
A Few Notes:
On the story thus far-
The city is somewhere in America. It isn't specified where exactly, and it won't be. The city may or may not receive a name at some point.
There are five families: The Italian brothers' family, The Germans family, The Russian family, The Nordics family, The North American Twins' family (The Westerns), and the Asians family. A full list of who is a member of which family would be too long, and it would be revealed over the course of the fic anyway, so I won't bother. The Mediterranean country characters (Greece, Turkey, Egypt) are outside contacts not affiliated with specific families, more on them will be explained in future chapters, if there are any.
The main characters so far:
Francis Bonnefoy (France) - Mayor of the city. Has contacts in most if not all the families, and is affiliated to the family of the North American Twins but not considered a full member (at least not by the reckoning of other families, who would have strong objections to a full member of another family being in a position of political power within the city.)
Eduard von Bock (Estonia) - A (reluctant) member of the Russian family, manages technological espionage and most of the family's blackmail, among other unsavory things.
Yao Wang (China) - Don of the Asians family for an unknown length of time. His territory is Chinatown and his criminal specialty is as a drug lord.
Feliciano Vargas (North Italy) - One of the two Dons of the Italian brothers' family, though it's his brother that does most of the official work, and Feliciano seems to do a lot of getting into trouble. They claim the majority of the city's Southern regions as their territory, and collect money for 'protection' from businesses down there as well as dealing in information, assassination, and... well, they'll take a shot at just about any area of the underworld if it will turn them a profit.
Alfred F. Jones (United States of America) - Officially the Don of the North American twins' family, who claim the Western parts of the city as their own. On the surface level he's head of police in the city, however this generally means that he'll make crimes disappear or pin anything invented or otherwise on anyone for the right price. He's still a hero though- I mean, it's not like he kills anyone (often) and it's gotta be better than letting those damn commies be in charge!
Matthew Williams (Canada) - Seems to have equal (or maybe even higher?) authority to his brother in the North American twins' family, when they remember he's there anyway. Matthew seems to be the ultimate spy (and assassin... though there's no proof, of course), and it's actually a large question of whether he's naturally unnoticeable, or somehow acquired very unnatural powers of literal invisibility.
Roderich Edelstein (Austria) - Don of the Germanic family since the previous Don(Germania)'s death. He and his family specialize in such enterprises as loan-sharking, blackmail, and owning most of the properties on what they claim as their territory, which is a large vaguely circular chunk of the city's center.
Heracles Karpusi (Greece) - A relatively minor dealer of arms, information, and other illegal products. He sets up contacts and connections outside the city, and isn't affiliated with any family, which means he generally deals with all of them. It's a dangerous trade, but he knows what he's doing and as long as everyone follows the rules, nobody gets hurt...
Vash Zwingli (Switzerland) - Former right hand in the Germanic family. He left after an unexplained episode that seems to have left him with a strong distaste for the family, particularly Roderich, who is determined to have him back. Currently he's working with Heracles as the Greek's assistant, so clearly Vash hasn't given up the underworld completely.