"Whaddaya think the boss has in store for us today, fellas?"
A car full of chittering men in formal business wear were on an expedition towards Highbrook's neighborhood, navigating carefully as the paved road curved into the contour of the hillside. The sun was just beginning to set upon the city as the streets slowly cleared for the evening.
"Probably another bag of piss one of us has to change."
There was a chuckle from one, then a sigh from another.
This lone car, stuffed with the smoke of three different cigarettes, arrived at the mansion belonging to disgraced mob boss, Carmine Caruso. Its engine's purr halted abruptly, allowing the headlights to turn off and give way to the growing darkness of nightfall.
"Smarten up for once, you fuckin' boneheads." their consigliere grumbled. "We're not here to change his piss bags. We're here to discuss business."
"What kind of business?" their capo, the youngest of the group - about mid-thirties - chimed in.
"If you had cleaned the shit out'a your ears," their underboss snarled at their younger subordinate, "you would'a heard during the last meeting that Carmine found a solid drug connection. But you didn't know that, 'cause you had shit in your ears!"
"Hey, kiss my ass!" their capo shouted back.
"Shut the hell up, you two!" the consigliere barked the two men into silence. "If I have to wrangle you two wiseguys to the door, I'll make sure there's piss bags for both of ya's to clean!"
Six feet total hit the concrete pathway, car doors shutting out of sync with one another. Three bright embers hit the ground, only to be stomped and crushed out by feet decked with leather loafers. Leftover smoke from their cigarettes didn't get the chance to leak from their vehicle, only for its staleness to be choked upon later by future passengers.
The three individuals appeared to be around the same age, for the exception of their supposed leader, the consigliere whose hair had taken to the age where each strand was visibly silver. There was one constant about the group; their discolored sneers from decades of tobacco and booze intake swept their faces. Taking their arrogant grins to the front door of the manor, the ring leader knocked aggressively to alert their boss towards the sound of their expected arrival.
Little did these scoundrels know, something more vile than themselves lurked within the walls of this overthrown fortress.
"What the hell's takin' so goddamn long?" the underboss complained, glancing down at his watch with impatience. "Maria had better lug her fat ass to the door if she knows what's good for her."
"Probably ate one too many of those tamales or whatever the hell those things are called." his consigliere guffawed, adding onto the other man's classless remarks.
The capo added onto the laughter of his two superiors, but stopped when he glanced up towards the top floor window of the mansion. For just a brief moment, he caught the sight of a tall silhouette standing within the confines of that particular room. There was too big of a glare cast upon the glass for the capo to make out any additional details. He knew one thing was for certain, and it was that his boss could no longer walk, let alone stand. Turning his gaze back to the others, he interrupted their string of comradery.
"Guys!" he started with panic in his voice. "I think I just saw someone through the window up there!" He gestured towards the window, hoping his two superiors would take a moment to look. Their underboss gave him a strange look before taking a peak at the same window. Even through the sharp glare of the reflective pane, the older man wasn't able to detect another living being in the domain.
"Why're you trying to fuck with us, Pat?" the underboss nudged his subordinate. "You know the old man's catheter ain't long enough for him to be walkin' around."
"I ain't lyin' to you!" the capo whined. "I swear to the Virgin Mary, I saw some tall son of a bitch standing in the window up there near Carmine's office!"
"Quit bein' a wiseguy! There ain't nobody up there!" the underboss argued with the younger capo, who looked distressed from these assumptions.
Their consigliere shook his head with discontentment before pounding in the door again. He seemed to knock for a good thirty seconds before he gave up, knuckles desensitized from repetitively striking the mahogany doors.
"Could somebody open this damn door before I blow my brains all over these assholes' suits!?" he called through the doors after tiring himself. He turned and looked back at his accomplices, both of which shrugged in response.
"Maybe the big boss is at another one of his radiation appointments?" his underboss tried to conclude.
"He gets those done on Tuesdays, you jackoff!" Their consigliere raised his fist to the door and began to knock on the doors loudly, rattling the hinges. "IS ANYBODY HOME?!" he shouted through the sound of his knuckles colliding with the mahogany.
Upon the final knock, the latch on the inside of the doors opened. The three men stepped back to observe who or what may have been welcoming them in, but the only sight they were greeted with was a tomb of darkness in place of Carmine's polished foyer. After exchanging uncertain glances, they entered the manor, eyes squinted in an attempt to make out any obscured object they could.
"Boss!? Anyone home!?" the consigliere called out in the empty foyer, "Maria!? If this is some sick joke, you'd better get your tamale-eating ass out here and explain what the fuck is going on!"
"I told you boss, they might not be home!" the underboss guffawed. "I think we should just turn around and leave. We don't wanna piss him off by waking him up if he's asleep."
"If he's asleep, then why would he book a meeting for ten at night?" The capo started. "I'm thinkin' there's something wrong, fellas."
"Will you two shut the fuck up for one minute?" their consigliere dismissed their concerns. "Carmine's gotta be up in his room, and if he's alone, it's ain't gonna look good for Maria." He patted the contour of the pistol tucked into the band of his trousers, concealed beneath the length of his blazer.
The underboss chuckled, despite his growing nervousness. "We could set up a picnic here and just wait for the big boss to crawl down the stairs."
"How would you set up a picnic in the fuckin' dark?" the consigliere turned to face his underboss. "It's fuckin' stupid! Besides, he's bed bound , you fuckin' mook! And just because he can't stand up to beat your ass, doesn't mean you get to talk shit about the guy who pays us. So why don't you show a little respect before I stick a tube in your dick!
His underboss scoffed before crossing his arms. "Okay, so he pays us to do work. So? Why should I show that invalid any respect? It's not like he worked his way into the life like the rest of us have. The fuckin' guy was born with a spoon in his mouth, he got what was comin' to him with failed kidneys!"
"F-Fellas…?" the capo started to tremble between his two arguing superiors, but was completely ignored as the consigliere raised his voice to verbally abuse the insubordinate underboss.
"You keep your fuckin' mouth shut about that," the consigliere snarled, "if you know what's good for you. Carmine's got ears like a bat and he could be hearin' every fuckin' word you're saying. You could get us all killed!"
"Yeah? Let 'im!" the underboss crossed his arms. "I'll garrote him with his own piss tube."
"I-I think we should get the fuck out of here!"
Before the two men could turn around and tell him to shut up again, the capo had already turned towards the open doors to make a run for it. Right before his foot was able to meet the air outside of the manor, the heavy mahogany doors shut inwards, trapping the three bickering men within the pitch black domain. The capo hurriedly gripped the brass handles and began shaking the doors, and immediately felt his blood turn cold when they wouldn't budge.
"What the fuck did you do, Pat!?" the underboss barked at him. "We ain't got no light in here, now!"
"I didn't do anything!" The capo panicked. "I didn't touch the damn doors! I wasn't even close enough to get outside!"
"Well, open them the fuck back up and let's get out of here!" The underboss walked towards the door, only able to follow the sound of the capo's voice to find the brass handles.
"The fucking things are locked!" The capo cried out. "You gotta believe me!"
The underboss rattled the doors before beginning to panic himself. "Oh. You ain't lyin'. We really are locked inside this fuckin' place."
"Are you two done fucking around with the doors already!?" their consigliere shouted. "We need some goddamn light in here! Ray - you know what to do."
The underboss furrowed his brow with confusion. "What do you mean?"
The consigliere facepalmed. "Your ZIPPO, you dense fuck! Get a flame going so we can see what the hell we're doin'!"
"Oh yeah!" the underboss dug into his pocket before getting out his silver zippo and flipping the top open. He struck the flint, allowing a small flame to illuminate the immediate area around him. Their faces were barely visible in the soft light, but it was just enough to see where his comrades were.
"Thank fuck I have this thing on me at all times." the underboss boasted in pride and relief. "If there's anything besides my gun that I don't leave home without, it's this little beauty I got during my days in the service."
"That's nice," the consigliere retorted with heavy sarcasm, "why don't you shove it up your ass later when you get a room to yourself? Maybe light some candles and slick yourself up with massage oil while you-"
"RAY!" the capo interrupted his consigliere to point into the darkness behind the underboss. "BEHIND YOU!"
The underboss jumped when his capo shouted, before spinning around to catch a split-second glimpse of a barely visible face. His voice embarrassingly raised into a high-pitched shriek before he dropped his Zippo, the lid snapping shut upon impact with the floor, capturing the men in total darkness once more. It was then the underboss pulled his gun from its holster to begin blindly shooting into the unknown. Flashes from the barrel briefly lit the room with each pull of his trigger, but in those visible moments, no figure was able to be seen, as though the face had never appeared behind him in the first place.
Before the underboss could run out of ammo, his consigliere grabbed him from behind by his shoulder. "GOD DAMN IT, RAY! SEI SERIO, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"
"Rico, wait!" the capo tried to come between his underboss and consigliere. "There was someone - or - some thing behind him! I saw it!"
"I saw it too, man!" the underboss, near hyperventilation, before putting his gun back in its holster before kneeling down to feel around for his Zippo. "When I find my fuckin' lighter, the fucker in this mansion is going down! Now where is the fuckin' thing…?"
"Who don't you shoot your gun off again so you can see better, idiota ?" the consigliere continued to reprimand him.
"Son of a bitch, where is it…?" the underboss cursed under his breath while his hand slid along the tiled floor for his belongings. Right as he was close to finding the silver object, a mysterious foot kicked it across the room. The underboss could feel a presence once that was done so, along with hearing the metallic lighter sliding across the room. He grit his teeth and looked up.
"Did one of you fuckers kick my lighter?" the underboss cursed.
"Why would we do that ?" the capo trembled. "Ray, you know we're both terrified to shit about this, too! We wouldn't be fucking with you like this, I swear!"
"Well SOMEBODY is fucking with us!" the underboss scrambled back to his feet.
The consigliere felt his blood boil while his subordinates yammered in fright, and stomped his feet before calling out into the empty abyss. "IF YOU CAN HEAR ME - SHOW YOURSELF, YOU PUSSY !"
His final word reverberated throughout the darkened, spacious room. Before any of the men knew it, a row of lanterns ignited along the railings of the staircase leading into the second level of the foyer, finally giving light to their surroundings. Only the sudden presence of light didn't ease the minds of these befuddled mobsters, but rather struck more fear into their psyches. The underboss looked around before hurriedly grabbing his Zippo from the floor, which had been kicked a good ten feet away from him. Instead of shoving the prized possession back into his pocket, he shakily withdrew a pack of cigarettes, biting one out of the bunch before lighting the end of it with the Zippo.
"Are you fuckin' nuts!?" his consigliere snapped at him.
"What?" the underboss retorted, a plume of smoke rising from his lips and into the room's atmosphere. "Listen, if we're gonna die, I want a fuckin' cigarette first!"
"Carmine's on oxygen, dipshit!" his consigliere snatched the cigarette from the other's mouth before throwing it onto the floor and stomping it out. "If you bring that into his room, the whole fucking place will explode! Use your goddamn brain for once!"
"There's already fire on the goddamn railings!" the underboss argued back. "If he was gonna blow up, he would'a two seconds ago!"
The frightened caporegime's eyes travelled up the lit staircase, and noticed something strange at the very top of the landing. Where the center door was typically shut with the lights off, it was instead cracked open very slightly. Behind the door, a glowing red aura could be seen, prompting the capo to start towards the apparition, eyes widened with curiosity instead of horror now.
The other two older men stopped bullying one another to notice their youngest member making his way up the stairs. His foot didn't make it to the second step until his underboss grabbed him by the back of his blazer to yank him off the landing and back onto the floor beside them.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Pat?" his underboss scolded him. "You can't just walk up the boss's stairs like that!"
The capo blinked before pointing up the stairs. "We need to go see what's going on in the boss's room! Somebody is here! See, I told you!"
The underboss followed his gesture and also noticed the crimson ambience emitted from behind the door. "Whoa… that's… that's in Carmine's office." He let go of Pat and gently pushed him off to the side before storming up the staircase himself, eyes fixed on the same view. His capo followed alongside him, staying only three steps behind him while they both, with transfixed eyes, traversed up the ascending path towards their supposed boss's domain.
Their consigliere clenched his fists before storming after them. "You blockheads have some nerve walking up those stairs without me in front!" He proceeded up the landing and shoved past the underboss and caporegime, both of them seemingly not fazed by the abrupt action. The eldest member of the group moved at a brisk speed in comparison to the other two who'd been taking their time. As the mobsters travelled further up, the lanterns behind them went out one by one, allowing a growing darkness to spread behind them once more.
Once all three of them had reached the top of the staircase, their consigliere had begun to sweat bullet-like beads down his wrinkled, flushed face. The underboss was just barely exhausted, but had his hand readied on his pistol for safe measure. Their young caporegime was beginning to have a hard time moving forward, his legs seemingly turning to jelly at the increasing sight of the mysterious atmosphere.
Turning back to face him, his consigliere barked. "Quit being a wuss, or I'll make you go in first!" His underboss pulled the capo forward by his lapel, the latter's trembling made more visible to whomever was behind the door.
With one hand on the outside of the door, their consigliere pushed inward carefully while peaking in. His underboss was right behind him, gun out, finger next to the pistol. His superior looked back and ushered him to put it away before fully opening the door. Strangely enough, the maroon brilliance died to bring visibility to the inside of the room.
"Boss…?" The consigliere started with a puzzled look as his eyes fell upon the illusive figure of an abnormally tall man leaning over the heavy oak desk placed in the center of the room. Upon hearing his visitors, the man stood up completely, his elongated form almost able to reach the ceiling with just the top of his head.
As their consigliere froze in complete bewilderment, the underboss of the group nudged his way past him and into the room, where he stopped in his tracks at the sight of this strange phantasm. He withdrew his gun again and pointed it directly at the individual's back. "HEY! WISEGUY! Turn around and put your hands where I can see 'em!"
"Ray! No!" their capo snapped his head in his direction. "You ain't a cop, whaddaya think you're doin'!?"
"I'm finding out where this punkass is keeping Carmine!" his underboss reacted, his eyes still fixed on the intruder. "And he has three seconds to tell us, or I fill him full of lead! One! Two! Thr-"
The man in front of the desk merely chuckled with a deep tone, angering the underboss even more. His arms trembled with fatigue, but nevertheless he held his confrontational stance.
"What's so fuckin' funny!?" he barked, his face flushed, finger curling over the trigger of his pistol.
" There is no need for such violence. " the ominous man started to speak before reaching towards an object in front of him. As the underboss kept his gun pointed at the man, he turned around with a welcoming smile on his face.
Three pairs of anxious eyes took in the sight of the dark, outlandish stranger. While he presented himself as a high-class gang leader, something about his appearance seemed off. His skin was sickly pale, face carrying more angular features than that of a pudgy, tanned, middle-aged Italian male. His pitch black locks reached down to his chest after parting in the middle from his forehead, a hairstyle that a man of honor would not have in this day and age. Around his blanched lips, a black anchored goatee with a well-maintained point at the very end. Along with his exaggerated height, the pale gentleman's shoulders were dramatically broad, casting a coffin-shaped shadow over the other fearful gangsters. To complete his off-putting assembly of features, he looked down at them with silver eyes, appearing soulless.
"Well, gentlemen?" the stranger in Carmine's place commenced casual conversation. "How can I help you today?"
The underboss gnashed his teeth, stiffening his arms again in preparation to shoot. "Who do you think we are? Your fuckin' customers in a tiny little coffee shop? Quit playing games and tell us where our boss is! I'm getting really FUCKING impatient!"
"Ray." his consigliere stepped forward and placed his hand atop the other's gun, ushering him to withdraw the weapon from view. His underboss was hesitant, but seeing the solemn look on his consigliere's face allowed for the other man to holster his weapon with a frustrated sigh.
Then, he turned his gaze towards the tallest character in the room. "Sorry about my underboss, here. He has a shorter temper than a wild pack of Canadian geese on the hottest Sunday of the year."
A grin was returned to the consigliere from the strange man, and he extended a hand. "I understand. No offense taken."
The consigliere ended his retort with a chuckle right before clearing his throat and continuing his inquiry. "But the question still stands - where is our boss? Carmine Caruso? He's the guy who's desk you're standing up against right now, in his office." His voice gradually decreased in patience, and into a tone of interrogation. "'Cause if you're not willing to tell us, my boys and I here will have to take matters into our own hands, even if it means murdering your ass right here and finding him ourselves."
With a growing smile, the individual placed his hands together, entwining all ten of his fingers in front of his sternum and straightening his back. "Your boss, Carmine Caruso, was picked up by medical personnel this morning at the crack of dawn. He had a spike of declination in his condition, one of which his trusted housekeeper, Maria, had no experience in handling. As we speak, he is currently residing in an end-of-life facility with around-the-clock care. You three truly have nothing to worry about."
The expressions fell on all three men's' faces when he explained the demise of their leader. They exchanged worried glances, before the consigliere sighed and looked back up to the taller individual. "How do we know you didn't murder him in cold blood just to take over his empire?"
The man's smile disappeared. "I don't believe I've given you any reason to believe I'm lying."
"But there's every reason to believe you ain't tellin' the complete truth, either." The consigliere stepped forward in confidence. "So, spill it. Why shouldn't we kill you?"
The man reached into his blazer, hand slipping beneath his silken red lapel to withdraw an envelope. "I have a letter written here by Mr. Caruso himself. I received it just shy of a week ago while I was visiting relatives in Romania. Please, take a look." He handed the letter over graciously to the group's eldest member, who quickly retrieved it.
"Pssht," the underboss scoffed beneath his breath, "Carmine didn't write any letters… this is a bunch of bullshit."
His consigliere ignored his snark before inspecting the envelope. The wax seal containing Carmine's personalized initials had been broken already, allowing him to lift the flap of the envelope to withdraw a piece of tri-folded paper. His eyes read along each line of the paper, forehead furrowed with concentration before the creases softened and his expression became more of astonishment than of suspicion.
After moments of silence passed, the consigliere folded the letter and placed it back within the envelope before clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "That poor figlio di puttana . Well, this all checks out, boys."
"What'd it say?" the underboss asked in unison with his capo, before continuing himself, "C'mon, Rico! Don't hold out on us!"
As the consigliere had a difficult time formulating an answer for his men, their esteemed guest chimed in. "In his own words, Mr. Caruso admitted to his condition being worse than he initially expected at the beginning of his diagnosis. He made sure to list his symptoms, to cement his honesty. And at the very end, he listed yours truly as the beneficiary to his organization."
"I had no idea it had become so grave." The consigliere scratched the back of his head in slight distress, as though his mind was refusing to let him process the news in front of him. "The last I'd seen him, he was in remission…"
"Cancer is a devious thing." The tall man replied, crossing his arms with a slight head shake. "Just when it seemed to let up, it appeared as though he was only in the eye of the storm. It really is a shame to see an influential man such as himself succumb to the ails of the body."
Carmine's three henchmen all looked down at the floor, as to pay silent respects to their boss, before the consigliere piped up again with a defeated chuckle. " Tch - Cancer is a cruel bitch . God rest that beloved bastard's soul."
"I don't understand!" the underboss broke the solemn conversation. " Why would Carmine list this fuckin' guy as the beneficiary?"
"Ray," his consigliere tried to pause him, "don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Ignoring him, the underboss continued. "Rico, you and Carmine have been friends for decades! He and you started the business together when the two of you were in the can! Don't you think it's a little weird that he'd let some bozo from a distant land far away inherit all you two have worked to create!? We don't even know this fucker's name! And he doesn't even look SICILIAN!"
"It's what the boss wanted." His consigliere looked down at the letter concealed within the envelope, before sighing and placing it beneath the flap of his own lapel. "I can't argue with a dead man's wishes."
Before too much silence fell between all four men, the new beneficiary cleared his throat. "Your underboss is right. I've dropped this news onto your laps without giving proper introduction - although you three were adamant on ending my life before I had the chance to, so allow me; my name is Vladislav Drago. It's worth mentioning, that while I may be the new leader of this organization, you three are under no obligation to title me as 'Don Drago.' I am not a man of arbitrary formality. Speaking of which…"
Vladislav turned around to retrieve one of his belongings from the desk drawer. He withdrew what appeared to be a wine bottle, the contents inside a dark enough red to appear black. His long fingers elegantly grasped the object, but what caught the attention of their caporegime were Vladislav's fingernails, which weren't necessarily the longest, but were pointed at the tips with a deadly sharpness. He gulped, looking back towards his two superiors with worry in his eyes.
"I don't often converse with fellow businessmen this way," Vladislav confessed, "as I live a quiet life on my estate, and pride myself in remaining competent in my craft. However, I knew an opportunity arose when I received that letter from Carmine. I knew it would be unwise to not drop my affairs and allow his family legacy to crumble to dust. So, I left my vineyard to the care and attention of my neighbors. Admittedly… It's nice to have a change of scenery. It's a great undertaking, yes, but I hope to view this country as more of a second home rather than a burdensome task."
He retrieved three wine glasses for the gentlemen in the room, and began to pour. "Are any of you interested in trying some of my finest wine?"
"You mean Carmine's finest wine?" the underboss sneered, clearly still not buying into Vladislav's explanation.
"You dope, he just said he owns a vineyard!" his consigliere smacked his bicep with vitriol. "Get the shit out of your ears!"
Vladislav ignored the continued bickering to concentrate on pouring the wine evenly. He twirled each one by the stem before handing them off to the men. They stopped arguing long enough to accept this surprise offering.
"While you three are here," Vladimir began with a new subject, "I suppose we should talk business ."
With a smug grin, the consigliere raised his wine glass to his lips, pausing for a moment to take in its smell of the fermented beverage, before sampling it on his upper lip. Upon seeing the eldest of the group partake, the other two men did the same thing soon after with brief hesitance.
"I like talkin' business." the eldest of the group replied. "Hit me with some business, Vlad. I'm all ears."
With a half-second flash of red in his silver eyes and the briefest view of fangs in his grin, Vladislav gracefully abided by the request.
"Indeed…" he responded, " I will ."