Alistine is helping me edit this, since a lot (all) of you mentioned my atrocious spelling and other grammar mistakes in one form or another. Hopefully now it will be even better and I'll be able to get the next chapter up.
As far as pairings go, it's looking like some Austria/Hungary, Spain/Romano, and America/Vietnam for now, but it's entirely possible to bring in more at this point and not completely mess anything up, so we'll see how it goes.
Side-note: Any and all non-English languages I use are mostly from online translations, so if I make an error feel free to point it out and I'll fix it.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, October 15: 9:05AM. Police Headquarters, Temporary Headquarters.
Alfred F. Jones strode into the police office like he owned the place, and as the head of the special mafia division, he kind of did.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the legal boss, so when their base had been blown up by the Russians, he and his team had been forced (allowed) to relocate to a meeting room in the back of the police station. The Chief hadn't been too happy about sharing his building with Alfred and his squad, but until a new mafia division HQ could be built, none of them had much of a choice.
Alfred burst into the room and shouted a jovial "Good morning!" to his team. The four-man (pardon, four-person) team glanced up at him before immediately returning to whatever they were doing before.
The team consisted of three men (including Mr. Jones) and one woman, all of whom where the best of the best. Ludwig was Alfred's second, an introverted German man. He would often criticize Alfred's leadership, but would always get the job done in the most efficient way possible. He was the go-to guy for the Russian mafia, as he seemed to know the organization inside and out…although, now that Alfred thought about it, he didn't even know the man's last name. Actually, there was a lot he didn't know about Ludwig, but it didn't really matter.
Francis Bonnefoy was a rather flirtatious, very perverted, French man who hit on the mob members more often then he actually fought them. Alfred didn't care, as he always eventually got the job done, and there was no one outside the Italian mafia who knew more about them, but it did seem to put the rest of the team on edge.
Berwald Oxenstierna was a rather scary looking Swedish man who rarely spoke more than three words a day. It was one of Alfred's favorite pastimes to try and get some sort of reaction by annoying the hell out of him, but he'd only ever gotten a punch in the face for his troubles. He was still pretty new to the force when the Chief put him on his team, but he was extremely level-headed in the toughest situations and probably the best interrogator in the precinct. Alfred had asked why he wanted to join the mafia division once, but all he had gotten out of the man was, "Looking for someone."
Elizaveta Héderváry was the final member of their little team. She was a bright, headstrong young Hungarian woman who was always the first one on the scene (unless Alfred got there first). Before moving over to the mafia division from the homicide department, she had the most arrests out of anyone else on the payroll; if a case had more than one body, it was automatically hers. She had an unfortunate habit of assuming that two random people were in love with each other (even though half the time she was right, the other half, well…), and it should be noted that she preferred bashing culprits on the head with a frying pan over firing her weapon.
Alfred walked over to the coffee machine (that he made absolutely sure they had put in when they commandeered the room) to get his first morning cup before turning to glare at the two pictures on the chalk board on the other side of the room, a daily tradition of his.
The picture on the left side of the board, where Ludwig was currently scribbling, was of the head of the Russian mafia, a big, pale man with violet eyes and light blonde hair called Ivan Braginski. Alfred and Ivan actually went to the same school as kids, but their paths had taken two completely different directions. He was a master of torture and espionage and had single-handedly made the Russian mafia the force to be reckoned with that they were today.
The picture on the right side, which mostly had a flow chart and a bunch of X's on it right now, was of the head of the Italian mafia, Lovino Vargas, a rather unimpressive-looking man with bright green eyes and dark brown hair. He had gained control the 'family business' six months earlier, after his grandfather, Roma Vargas, died in a shoot-out. He seemed to have inherited his grandfather's "shoot first, ask later" approach and unfeeling attitude, but not his drive; since taking over, he hadn't been seen anywhere, even on hits where his presence was not only specifically requested, but usually required.
Alfred sighed before taking another sip of coffee and scanning the room. "Alright, what do we got today?"
Francis produced a note from somewhere and handed it to Alfred. "Your brother has been kidnapped. This was found on his desk."
"Oh, poor Matt," Elizaveta commented. "You really should keep a better watch on him, Alfred. This is what, the third time this month?"
"I would if it was necessary, but he can take care of himself."
"How do you figure that? The poor boy is taken more than-"
"If this is some random sex joke…" Elizaveta interrupted.
"And if it is, ma cheri?" His answer was a frying pan to the face.
"Matt'll be fine. He's not dead yet."
"It only takes one shot to kill a man," Ludwig added. "This could be Herr Williams' last kidnapping."
"Don't be so morbid. He's tougher than he looks…or acts." Which was true. Alfred's brother (really half brother, but no one cared for such details) Matthew Williams was head of the homicide division. He had moved down from Montreal three years earlier because, apparently, there aren't very many murders in Canada, and he felt his services were best used elsewhere. He was very shy and usually went unnoticed, even by his own subordinates, but when the different mafias did remember that he existed, they often tried to use him to mess around with Alfred.
"Who is it this time? I hope it's the Italians…"
"Ja, a lead of some kind to Lovino's location would be nice."
"Actually, I just wanted some Italian tonight." Ludwig took the liberty of smacking his boss on the back of his head.
"I do not think so, mon ami, unless the Italians are now using Chinese for code."
"China what now?" Alfred looked at the note in his hand and saw the strange letters running up and down the page.
"I think it's Japanese," Elizaveta said as she snatched the note. "There's some hiragana mixed in with the kanji."
"So the Italians are using Japanese for code?" Alfred asked, puzzled. "Why?"
"It could be the Russians," Ludwig added, "but that still makes no sense. Why send a note in Japanese to someone you know does not speak the language?"
The five of them stared at the baffling note for about a minute before Berwald said, "Yakuza," as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yakuza? Here?" Alfred shook his head. "They operate on the West Coast. They wouldn't come here."
"Unless they are planning on expanding…" Francis said, thoughtful for once.
"It would explain why the note is in a language they know we cannot understand," Ludwig added, "so we know they are here."
Elizaveta looked at her boss. "So, what does this mean?"
Alfred looked at the note again before placing it on the table in the center of the room and responding, "It means that a new player has entered, and completely changed the game."
And we better find them soon…