The Continental side of things
By JefLebowski
Today was not the day to laze about in his old baseball jacket, in a small cafe next to a trattoria. This had to be done properly, as it were. "George, we need to visit the tailor." The door of a rather stately car was held open, and Antonio walked over, generic hospital crutch on his side. Antonio loved his Newark Bears jacket. The team's logo with its intimidating, bat wielding, mascot in front of a nightly cityline spoke to him. As menacing as the logo to a baseball team could be, really. But it would be very much unsuited for his purpose; No, he needed to dress up properly. It had been a while, and he had decided that such occasion warranted the best threads indeed.
Wooden interior, warm light and the scent of fresh coffee. "Oh, signore Antonio. Please, do come in... Mazy, we are closing down for the day. Please, allow me." The tailor was bald, old- and from Italy. Not a relative of someone who was related to an Italian in the past. This tailor had earned his stripes in Rome.
"Giovanni. I need… a suit. Coat as well." Antonio had shrugged out of his jacket, and was chuckling at his own joke. Of course he needed a suit, otherwise he'd not be here.
"Formal?" The small man was already moving around him, taking measuring.
"Very. All trimmings, even."
While the suit was shaped, a tense phone call took place. "Marco. I know we haven..."
Antonio looked exasperated; His trousers were being fitted as the faint hints of shouting wafted out of the speaker.
"I know your hand still hurts." He had stabbed it after all. "Look, it is about the one thing we have in commo..."
More rapidfire speaking from the speaker, and he allowed himself to relax somewhat.
"Yes. Their daughter, there has been an inciden..."
He held the phone away from his ear, as shouting devolved into a hacking cough.
"Hold your horses, you hot blooded Sicilian! Danny says he has the means to take care of it."
Giovanni was used to such business meetings, and just held a leatherbound book out for the Don, filled with inked suit details. Antonio selected a cut, and Giovanni was out of his sight again.
"Yes, he says so… but I'd rather take a burden off his shoulders."
A nostalgic gleam in his eyes, he picked a classic charcoal-and-pinstripes fabric.
"Well, not publically. But I think a formal declaration wouldn't be out of place?"
Antonio's eyes widened at a muttered admission, and he waved the tailor away for a moment.
"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. My most sincere well wishes. ...I will have to come by then."
Chuckling at the reply, he took a sip of the coffee offered.
"That is bound to ruffle some feathers, yes."
Manhattan had always been quiet. Despite the gentleman's agreements keeping the peace between the police and the shadows, everyone stepped just a bit more cautiously on the peninsula. Legend's presence had enforced that even further. And in Manhattan, there was a hotel. Black camisole, red carpet, a golden 'C', recently restyled to look less like a tilted Omega, it was classy in a way few things were nowadays. A remnant of ages past, really.
A car pulled up in front of it. Black, expensive, comfortable. Before the attendants could take care of it, two men in very well tailored suits got out, holding the door open. A cane was firmly placed upon the sidewalk. Antonio braced himself one last time and got out. Gone the lazy slouch, the baseball jacket; the friendship bracelets of his various grand- and godchildren hidden behind the cuffs of his crisp shirt. It was time to do things the old fashioned way.
There was a terrace, decked in marble. At a desk, under the vigilant eyes of two dour guards in black coats, sat one of the most influential men in the underworld, if you only counted the part of it mostly free from parahumans. More signs of the inert nature the Continental espoused were the thick newspaper grasped in aging hands, and the manilla folder right next to it. That, and a rotary phone with gold filigree. Winston was not a very modern person.
Gangs and warlords, heroes and villains- they were of no interest to him. True profit was done by the old syndicates. The old ways. Public parahumans, capes, were mostly cut out of that particular loop, with the obvious exceptions of Rogues. The shadows did have nothing but money after all. Over gold rimmed spectacles, Winston watched his guest approaching. Greying features, the slight sway to his gait that came from a limp and cane. Immaculate suit- italian style, of course- and heavy rings on his fingers. What amounted to a full plate armour on the social battlefield.
"Antonio, welcome back to New York." Winston had smile on his face, his voice welcoming. It was not often he met with people the youngsters currently deemed 'the old guard' had called the Old Guard. The Elder Guard, so to speak.
"Winston, I am terribly sorry it has been so long." The old Don lowered himself into his seat. "I even had to pull a favour or two to visit you- you know how territorial we famiglias can be." He carefully leaned his cane- ebony wood, mother of pearl- on to the table. An aide poured some limoncello, imported, into two elaborately carved glasses before retreating. Antonio sat straight backed, sharp eyes scanning the table.
"I see you have prepared for the topic of this meeting." He gestured towards the folder labelled 'Briefing: The Family''. Winston raised an eyebrow.
"It would not do to be uninformed about this… upheaval." He took a sip. "What I do not understand is, why oh why would your famiglia be involved with this, Antonio? You usually do keep out of such… public matters."
Antonio smiled, and opened the Briefing folder with slow, deliberate movements. The known family members… their powers… associates. The DWU. A finger with a thick ring gently thumped on a picture of a lean, balding man.
"Daniel Hebert. His family history is missing, but well… let us say they are Corsican. His da' walked away from the business, but he remembered how to do things properly. And looking at it? Well, Danny remembers too." His smile was very toothy. "And his wife's family? Sicilians."
Winston breathed in. "But he did walk away, didn't he? So he is no concern of yours anymore, is he?" There was a dry, sarcastic chuckle to the last bit.
"Ah, I see you understand. No one gets away completely. We were content with letting him live his own life, but then…" He leafed towards a picture of one Taylor Hebert. Underneath was, amongst other things, a summary of the incident that brought their family back into the mind of the famiglia. "Look at her." There was fondness and pride in his voice, the bitterness on his old face nigh undetectable. "As sturdy and stubborn as only the old families can be. Made from steel that one. We weren't there and she was hurt. I offered Danny an olive branch, and he took it."
Winston sighed. "I am beginning to see the picture, though not how I would be involved in this." Antonio had gone out of his way to schedule this meeting properly. Had called in favours to visit him without diplomatic repercussions. People seldom did that if they had nothing important to discuss, least of all Antonio, who had taken to emails as a primary method of communication with gusto.
Antonio pulled out a heavy envelope. On it were two wax seals; one of them was his own. The other one… Winston had the sudden need to remoisten his mouth as he saw these two seals side by side. "When you said that his wife's family were Sicilians…" Antonio nodded once.
As Winston opened the letter, Antonio straightened out a bit. "Let us do this properly, Winston. Old Marco and I have sat down, for the first time in half a dozen years. We had a chat. Discussed the amount of shit going down in Brockton Bay, and decided to relieve Danny's burden somewhat. Decided that whoever screws with our pronipote or her dad will have two more thing to worry about."
He took a sip. "Our families hereby declare Danny and Taylor Hebert blood. Let it be known to everyone under the purview of the High Table or the Continental that we will pursue anyone who fucks with them for some old testament style retribution. You accept a coin or offer a coin to see them hurt, even indirectly? No one will ever hear from you again."
His mien relaxed for a moment, allowing a vicious smile to show through. "That is, if they are not taken apart by Danny boy's frighteningly effective dockworkers, or the giant lizards that are their declared allies."
Winston was silent for a few moments. "If that is the will of the families…" Picking up his phone, he he ran the rotary 4 times; Three zeroes and a three. "Charon. The Red Book, if you will." The handwritten tome was only the third such thing, with the first two still being bound in vellum and currently in a very secure safe far below them. They had run out of space. It was a book for declarations- alliances, public feuds, protection.
Charon was tall, well dressed and had a knowing smile on his face. He was carrying, nigh reverently, a leather suitcase. Putting it down and opening it, he pulled out a silk sheet first, laying across the table. The interior of the case was well cushioned, and held next to the book a small, shallow bowl and a needle, as well as an ancient fountain pen. "Sir, the book, as requested."
"I trust you have the necessary identification to make both declarations?" Winston raised an eyebrow as Antonio nodded. He grasped into his coat pocket, and pulled out a ring identical in style, if not seal, to the one on his right ring finger.
A finger was stabbed, and red drops coated the bottom of the bowl evenly. Soon, in a red that was quickly fading to rusty brown, two seals sat next to an elegantly loping declaration.
"Whoever hears or reads these lines, reckon this warning.
Daniel Hebert and his daughter Taylor Hebert are hereby declared blood
to both the Mariani and the Lauricella lines of our cause upon these shores.
They who giveth or taketh Coin to bring harm to them,
shall find it visited back upon themselves sevenfold,
their faces and names scoured from the face of this earth.
Thus say Don Antonio Mariani and Don Marco Lauricella, unified in this one purpose."