"I think I'm going to be sick," said Murphy, hand on his brother's arm.
"You're such a fucking ham."
Their father gave them a glare, resembling that which a parent would give to a child. Instantaneously, they gave him a sheepish smile and turned back to getting their items.
"So why exactly are we here, again?" Murphy hoisted his backpack on his back. Their 'equipment' was on the way, as to avoid suspicion; it would be changing its ways of transportation multiple times before it reached New York City.
Papa M turned, his face set in a grim expression; he looked much older than he actually was. He certainly wasn't going to tell them why they had come to the city. They'd have to cope with changes as they came.
"A deal that needs to be settled."
The two brothers nodded and simultaneously lit their cigarettes, the three disappearing into the crowds.
Little did the city know that the Boondock Saints had arrived.
Vincent Delamicci loved nice things; his garage showed that, as well as his house, food, and the women at his beck and call. He'd sell out his mother for more money. It coursed through his blood. He had everything he desired.
Except for one thing. It was something small, really. Insignificant, but clearly missing because he couldn't have it.
And he always got what he wanted.
This 'object' at that current moment, was walking towards him from the other end of the hallway on the third floor. Dark, curly ringlets and fair skin, full lips and big blue eyes, Vanya D'Onfrio, was teasing him without even knowing it. She must have just come from her practice with her defense teacher; her cheeks were rosy.
She passed without noticing him; he was just another person on his way home.
Her car came from around the corner, and it disappeared with her quickly.
Delamicci turned to a suited man to his left, nodding.
"It's still on for tonight."
Murphy tried to keep the look of pleasure off his face. An actual apartment! With carpets and rooms and hot water and everything else he and Connor didn't have when they lived in Boston. He turned to his brother, wagging his eyebrows.
"Oh, stop acting like a fucking baby."
Connor threw a pillow at him.
Papa M sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the phone. The apartment was in a good area for what they would be doing. Lower end, but high enough to prevent that many break-ins. He set it up through an old friend who owed him a favor. He had more of those sorts of friends than he could shake a stick at.
This time he would be using one of these sorts of friends to find out where he'd need to retrieve his 'package', for a lack of a better word. And by package, he meant Vanya D'Onfrio.
Vanya was completely oblivious to whatever had been happening outside, blissfully happy with the news of her finals, pretty good. Not that Alden would truly care, but he treated her well and at least pretended to be interested.
Alden Whittaker lived a few minutes drive from the outskirts of the city, a large home-no, mansion-that Vanya had been calling her home for four years. Before that, she had been the possession of the McKentee mafia family.
She was a pawn, and she knew it. A bargaining tool when it came to Underworld dealings. She would have been made a trophy wife, she supposed, a wife to stand at the side of some person. Vanya had no real clue, really, but she did know she was better off with Whittaker.
At least for the moment.
Connor closed the apartment door and leaned against it, fixing his father with a glare. "Who exactly is so horrible that we have to temporarily move to New York?"
Papa M gave a blank stare. "No one. I promised someone, a long time ago that I'd take care of their baby."
"Why?" Murphy had already started on a cigarette.
Their father closed his eyes. "They saved my ass. Two people who were targeted by two crime families saved my ass."
"And? What happened?"
"They were shot. She was six. Mafia soldiers took her."
"Poor kid. Must be devastated." Murphy sat cross-legged on the floor.
Their father nodded. "Coped in a strange way, though. From what I here, she's a bit on the trigger-happy side…" he gave them a cryptic look. "And she's damn good, too."
"So what exactly are we doing?"
"Gettin' her out of there."
"I'd think that a nine year old with a passion for shooting would be shooed out quick," Connor was checking on the guns he had brought with him and looked over at his father, who smirked.
"She hasn't been. And she isn't nine. Her parents died eleven years ago."
"Hey Alden! I'm home!" Vanya waltzed into the dining room. He stood up and smiled, kissing her on the forehead, holding her a little longer than usual. When he pulled back, he saw her rosy lips in an unintentional pout. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
The old man gave her a laugh. "Now why would you think that, dear child?"
"Because. I know you…soldier or something after you?" she grinned. "You know the boys and I can take care of that."
He sighed, giving her a sad look; he took her hand and sat down. "You know, sometimes I wish I didn't get you so late into your childhood." He squeezed her hand. "I'd never let you be exposed to all of this. This life. This bloody Hell. If I only had a magic wand or something. You wouldn't be a fallen angel."
Vanya gave him a peck on the cheek. "I like who I am, Alden. I wouldn't ever change it." She stood up and started upstairs.
"Vanya, one last thing, dear."
She turned alarmed and gave Alden a questioning look. "Oui?"
"Alles obtiennent votre pistolet et le prennent avec tu." Go get your gun and take it with you.
She nodded. Things like this had happened before. A few times, actually, and she knew the routine. Someone was going to try to brake in.
Vanya gave him a small smile and started up the stairs. He hadn't needed to tell her; she already was going to anyway.
Six men stood in the woods near the driveway to Whittaker's estate, waiting for a man wearing the uniform of one of the butlers. The man nodded and dropped a crumpled paper in their direction before taking out a cigarette and lighting it.
They six men pile into the back of a white man, flattening out the paper. Before them, a detailed map of the estate, as well as who slept in what room. On the second side was a picture of the vents and sewage tunnels. One of the men, his gold tooth flashing as he smiled, chuckled softly. "This is too easy."
"Too fucking easy," laughed the eldest McCannus, sitting back. "Alls we have to do is go through this way," he pointed at an air vent, "and it leads straight into her room.
Murphy raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you get the map? Are you sure we can trust this guy?"
"Yeah. He's a butler in the house. Owes me one."
Murphy nodded, and then turned to load his trusty duel silenced Beretta. He wasn't taking chances. A look over at his brother reassured what he was thinking.
This did sound too easy.
Alden Whittaker stood in his large parlor as guest floated in, each greeting him a hand shake. To his left, Vanya stood stiffly; the dress she was wearing made it hard to breathe, and, after a quick check to make sure she was still 'in', she noticed that it might be hard to move tonight, her breasts seemed to be right under her chin. This was going to make it hard to talk to anyone tonight.
To make matters worse, she had a holster strapped around her thigh, a Glock 26 ready incase of any problems. True, Whittaker treated her like a daughter, but he was aware that she had been trained as a soldier, and it didn't help that she took after both her parents; she had her father's instincts, sharp eye, and tactical mind, and was an almost perfect copy of her mother, a R.O.C. princess who knew she had a body that men would kill for (and did), and her wit and cunning. In short, she was the perfect weapon.
Vanya already noticed Alden's heightened security; his top men were no longer patrolling, but at his side. Extra men had been called for duty. This whole party was risky, but Alden always went on, regardless of what the consequences may mean for him.
Six men, clad in dark green, crept through the woods outside the Whittaker mansion; the only sound was that of their light breathing. The only sound made was the extremely quite click of six guns, each different and each with a silencer. A guard said nothing but watched closely, knowing that security inside was seeing the same thing through the camera in his glasses.
One of the security guards saw them; each scattered so as not to make it too obvious. But he still saw them. He scribbled a note and handed it to a young man near by.
They crept along the side of a delivery truck that was entering; their attire was entirely black, ski masks obscuring their faces. Il Duce led his sons to the side of the house, and scaled the side of a drainpipe to reach a balcony. Below, his sons could here the sound of a party going on. They hoped it would distract the people inside.
Their father popped siding of the side of the house and turned towards them. "Now, I know what happened last time you did this. Play nice boys."
They glared at his back, looking extremely immature.
Dinner came and went, a few people obviously enjoying the wine a bit too much. Their loud voices, however, didn't mask the look of panic that swept over Alden's face when a piece of paper was slipped to him by a very pale patrolman, who was already reaching into his holster.
Alden glanced quickly at Vanya and then back at the man, nodding. He hoisted himself out of his chair and came over to her, four men behind him. She stood and he put an arm around her. "I need you to go upstairs with these men, love."
She nodded, aware now of exactly how much trouble they were in. They started to usher her towards the service elevator, but she turned and ran towards Alden, giving him a kiss on the cheek and embracing him tightly. "I love you, Alden."
He kissed her forehead. "You're like a daughter to me, Vanya…I'll see you."
It hit her suddenly, how serious the situation was. She turned towards Alden as she was guided down the hallway, and then into the elevator.
Alden turned away.
Vanya suddenly felt light-headed, and she could smell each of the men's colognes. She could hear the elevator and them breathing. The dress was too tight and itchy. She was reading the small print on the elevator although she was on the far wall. She had overheard people talking about her father, and that he acted like this before a kill, and she knew it was genetic.
The elevator door opened with a small ding that sounded a hell of a lot louder to her than the other two people in the elevator.
Unfortunately for them, they didn't hear the safety on each of six guns click as quickly as she did, either.
She had herself down and covered before she realized it, and she was about to reach for the holster, but a body got in the way, followed by a second one. Who ever had opened fire was trained. So this was why Alden had sent her upstairs.
Vanya was about to attempt to get the Glock out, but again she was stopped. This time, by a burly, Italian henchmen-cliché sort of guy, who at the time was doing a wonderful job of being burly, as he jerked her to her feet and folding her arms behind her back so that if she tried to get away, she'd break her arm…which wouldn't do any good to shoot.
"Shit", she muttered.
He pushed her out into the hallway and she was now in the midst of five other men, as she guessed. He asked her quietly which room was hers.
"The last room on the left."
She found herself pushed into her room, eyes widening at the sudden realization of what would could happen to her. As she was about to scream, a sharp piercing feeling started on her neck, snapping her head to the side, her stomach dropped.
They had drugged her.
The last thing she saw was the syringe, and then darkness.