A/N: This chapter continues the flashback, bringing us back up to the present.


Over the next week, I made good on my vow to learn Italian. I spent countless hours at the library, poring over language textbooks, maps of Italy and old newspapers. After I had mastered the written language and a few regional variants, I spent the rest of the week loitering outside of Italian cafes, small businesses and even a few homes where I overheard Italian being spoken. I stopped only twice to hunt, taking care to feed no later than midweek so my eyes could return to their muddy color by the weekend.

By nightfall on Friday I felt confident in my fluency, and spoke the password easily as I entered through the alley door again. I took my place at the same table as before and began to sift through the minds in the room. Ah! There he was. Masseria's thoughts were now open to me, along with several other minds I had been unable to understand the week before. These were mostly the older associates, some older than Masseria himself. I had brought a newspaper to use as a prop tonight, and opened it now. I held it up to block my view; I had no need to use my own eyes to observe those around me. When I wanted to watch someone, I simply used the mind of the person sitting across from them.

Beneath the surface of the casual conversations and laughter, almost everyone in the room was thinking about business tonight; an associate of Masseria's had just been murdered earlier that day and everyone was reevaluating their loyalties. I spent the next several hours enthralled by the minds before me. I had had no idea of the scope of organized crime here in New York. Even with the research I had done beforehand, it was difficult to unravel the roles that each of the major families played locally, and the commerce that was flowing through the Mafia in general. The people in this room had access to hundreds of local businesses, immense amounts of wealth, complex gang structures, countless black market platforms, and even a booming prostitution industry. The smuggling of alcohol was another especially lucrative trade, its success fueled by Prohibition. I easily identified at least thirty men in the room who had murdered someone recently – either with their own hands or through a subordinate. I was also shocked to discover the crimes committed by the women in the room. Some of them were especially active in prostitution and even child kidnapping. I ground my teeth when I discovered this, and struggled against the urge to attack that very moment. I had never killed a woman before, but tonight I was learning that several of these beautiful ladies, their dainty hands adorned with jewelry, were actually cold-hearted criminals. I could feed myself for months just on the villains in this room!

I left that night with a sick feeling in my stomach. I had gotten what I wanted: a full view into the heart of organized crime on the East Side. I was disgusted with what I had found, and vowed to stay away from Masseria and his ilk. I had my own crime to worry about.

But the very next weekend, I found myself sitting in the private dining room again. Although I was disgusted with the humans I had observed before, I had actually been distracted and learned very little about Masseria himself. This time I focused on his thoughts, and those closest to him, and finally learned more about the struggle for power he was involved in. Masseria already had a tenuous hold over all the factions from southern Italy, and his followers considered Maranzano to be a dangerous threat to the ethnic purity of the Mafia in the United States. I confirmed the rumors that the two bosses were indeed contacting each other secretly; beneath the surface of the Castellamarese War, there was a more private battle being waged. The two bosses understood each other, and in between the death threats to each other and their family members, there was a great deal of money and business being made and offered between the two. Each was trying to outbuy the other; the "loser" would retire back to Italy, with a staggering fortune and even more connections than before. It was a dangerous game, since they were also trying to kill each other during these months of negotiation.

But that's exactly what it was: a game. While Masseria naturally feared death, he held himself to be immortal because of the empire he was helping to build in America. He was no fool, and did not expect to die of old age. But until he breathed his last, he and those like him would continue their games, and the people in this room were their pawns. I couldn't imagine how many people weren't represented here tonight; I knew I was only seeing a sample of the elite, connected to only one of the ruling families. I understood now that there were literally thousands of men , women and children wrapped up in this world.

I couldn't fathom why I kept going back to the Venezia every weekend. I would have gone even more often, but for the necessity of hunting and the resulting three days where my eyes were too red to be seen in public. I was beginning to hate the Mafia with a passion, and the more I hated them, the more I wanted to understand them, and the more I kept going back. Sometimes I brought a briefcase full of "paperwork" to keep my hands busy, and other times I brought newspapers. I had acquired a second suit, and even a diamond pin to wear on my tie. I made it a point to switch regularly between these costumes and props. Nobody ever questioned my presence there, and my stony silence deflected any lingering interest from the ladies.

Over the next three months I became intimate with the personal stories of those who frequented the restaurant. Most were connected to Masseria either out of family loyalty or blackmail; either way, few of those I "dined" with ever considered whether they had a choice about their involvement. Many of them were born into this life, and countless others had gotten themselves in so deep it was impossible to imagine a life free of the Mafia's shadow. The family relationships themselves were quite complex, and I was learning that loyalty came in many flavors. How did anyone negotiate this nonsense without reading minds?

Jimmy Malone was one of those born into the luxury of his family's inner circle. He was some sort of nephew of Masseria's, and under his private tutelage. Jimmy was seventeen, and for the most part, lived a normal life: he attended the local high school, had a part time job after school, and had a girlfriend named Elise. But on the weekends, he was here at the Venezia, sitting close to his uncle and imitating his every move. Jimmy was eager to prove himself, and had already been involved in several "operations", the nature of which was unclear to me. Just last week Masseria had promised jimmy a small diamond if he could complete an important assignment: his first kill. Jimmy was nervous about the task ahead of him, but determined to make his uncle proud. He also had secret plans to get the diamond set in a ring the same day he got it; he would propose to Elise as soon as her engagement ring was ready. No doubt Elise considered herself lucky to be courted by such a well-connected young man. He was certainly a handsome catch; he was already quite tall and his dark, romantic features gave away his Sicilian ancestry. The unique way his upper lip turned up in the middle gave him an innocent, boyish smile.

Jimmy's story fascinated me, in a sad sort of way. I could see myself in him, and if I had accepted the Volturi's invitation five years ago, I might have even more in common with Jimmy today. It was disgusting how he worshipped Masseria, but I had to admit that I had seen the same devotion in the two Volturi guards I had met.

That was when it hit me: the reason I had such a morbid fascination with the Mafia was because of the Volturi. Their role in the vampire world was remarkably similar, though of course more powerful, even if the numbers were much smaller. Even though I was a nomad and answered to no one, I still felt the invisible heel of their authority; every vampire did. And if I had accepted Demetri's offer, I would no doubt be sitting at Aro's feet today, eager to please him like everyone on the guard. I imagined that Aro had supernatural resources that helped him ensure the loyalty of each of his pets.

On the same night that Jimmy had been thinking about his diamond, I finally heard the details of the secret meeting I had been hoping to hear about: Masseria and Maranzano were going to meet in person, on March 28th at one o'clock in the morning, in a real abandoned warehouse on Coney Island: neutral territory. Masseria was confident that this meeting would be the turning point, and that Maranzano would either be shipping off to Italy, or dead within the month.

I forgot about Jimmy and his diamond; this was why I was here. I felt a sudden rage at the thought of Masseria, or anybody, winning the coveted "Boss of Bosses" crown. At least with the current situation, there was some sense of a balance of power between the families. The idea of one man running the whole show, reigning sovereign in the lives of people like Jimmy, did not sit well with me. I had never met Aro, but I already hated him for his monopoly in power. I hated him for however he had brainwashed Demetri, for how he had handpicked Jane for her sadism. I hated him for toying with Carlisle for twenty years. No, I did not want New York to have its human Aro. Having a city with two competing tyrants was one thing; having a supreme tyrant was quite another.

I considered the benefits of having both Masseria and Maranzano in the same room together. If neither contender left the meeting alive, perhaps I could do my part to shake their followers' trust and fear in the system. I decided then and there that I would attend the meeting next week, and show these people what mortality truly meant.