This is about as AU (alternate universe) as you can possibly get. There is no Degrassi though who knows, maybe there will be mentions later. Some characters will have mentions and appearances but to what extent I couldn't tell you. But mostly the entire world is fabricated and done so for fun, to add a different element to the relationship because...I can.
Lucy and I are working on All That Glitters. I can't promise results because of our school work load as of late but it's there. Then there's Reunion. It's kind of dead so I can't give a comment on that one. I've had the beginning of a chapter for AGES now and I can't get it to go anywhere so, sorry. Update in the very far away future. Let me just start another fic I'll fall behind on shall we? XD
Um, warnings for language, allusions to sex and drug references, and um, whatever else filters in here. Seriously, fics on hereare clean. If you want something worse...go to my livejournal and friend it.
Marco lifted the flute of champagne and took a languid drink, alert eyes taking in all the inhabitants of the room. Rodolph and his dog looking wife were in the corner. From the looks of it bardering some illegal substance. Amatures. A dinner party was not the place to hold these transactions, but of course, you couldn't teach those that were too pigheaded to learn. Melissa however stood beautiful and regal in the corner, smiling seductively at random men of political power. She, unlike that sleaze Rodolph, knew what she was doing. She was one of the highest in command simply because if you needed information, she could get it for you, unless the person was tragically gay of course.
The Italian smiled and gently placed the glass on the bar, turning around to wink at Melissa. Tonight was just a routine dinner party. Nothing special and nothing where they were looking for anyone or anything in particular. Just for appearances and decoration. The soft piano drifted in between the finely dressed men and woman and the low lighting flashed off of woman's earrings and chokers that probably cost more than his car, which was saying quite a lot. Ah, the life of the rich, the famous, and the backstabbing.
But quella e vita. He certainly wasn't going to complain.
Across the room Melissa was smiling at a tall blonde man that Marco had never seen before. He was dressed like every other man here, in a simple black and white tux, the flower on the right breast a sign of position and rank. Marco's was a bright white blossom, a show of just how high up he was. This man's however was a dull pink carnation. A newbie. Marco smiled. It would seem Melissa was only going off of looks for this one. And, he mused, she had fine taste. He was tall, easily one of the tallest and most built men in the room, with broad shoulders and big hands. His hair brushed his shoulders in a tame tousle of blonde curls that bounced when he laughed loudly. He couldn't see his face though. Biting his lip, his curiosity getting the better of him, Marco turned back to the man behind the bar and asked for two more flutes of champagne.
Drinks in hand Marco moved away from his dark, secluded spot and headed over to the talking couple. Melissa saw him coming over and her dark eyes lit up. "Marco," she greeted happily in her lilting Italian, gracefully taking the proferred drink. "Meet Dylan Michalchuk. He's a paper pusher for the Domani corporation. Only been working there a week and they're considering promoting him."
The Italian man raised a sardonic eyebrow and looked over at the man. Up close and at this new angle he could see his face perfectly. He had prominent, proud facial features, a strong nose, jeweled blue eyes, small mouth, and a strong jawline. The way he held himself as well showed the same proud disposition. Marco looked back at the woman and nodded in understanding. What she had meant by all this was that this Dylan would soon be in high enough ranks to be either an accomplice or an enemy and probably held the abilities to be a strong asset. Taking another quick glance at the man, he certainly hoped he'd be an accomplice.
Smiling as charmingly as he could Marco extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. Marco Del Rossi."
The blonde grinned widely, taking his hand, and shaking his head to get the hair out of his eyes. "I've certainly heard a lot of you tonight. You're about to take over the entire Del Rossi company. That's amazing for someone so young."
Marco looked at Melissa and felt like laughing at the man's easy to talk demeanor. That was a rare things at these social functions. Too much moved around too quickly to be so loose-tongued with these people. He found his honesty rather endearing, just like his sunny smiles. He waved a hand as if to shake off the compliment. "Family business. It really has nothing to do with my abilities I assure you."
"Oh, I dunno. I've heard more. They say you're going to be valedictorian of your college class. That certainly says you have the abilities."
The younger man, after years of practice, only flushed minutely before composing himself once again. "I thank you for the compliments, however I must go. My father is trying to get my attention." He smiled and turned, shaking Dylan's hand once more, turning to kiss Melissa on the cheek quickly before leaving, hearing her speak as he left.
"Don't mind him. He's modest to a fault..."
Marco shook his head as he pushed through the crowds of people, keeping his eyes locked onto his father in the far corner. He finally reached him and stood beside him quietly.
"Marco, we are having the run tomorrow at ten. I trust you will not come back empty handed?" the elderly man said, his voice rusty with age.
"I shall do my best," Marco responded, trying to keep his face impassive. "Have you noticed the trouble Rodolph has been causing in the drawing room?"
His father looked up at him with tired eyes. "What is he doing now?"
"Oh, nothing to warrant immediate attention, but something illegal and hidden poorly at that. You know how he is."
"Regrettably I do. Show him to the door will you? And then you should dance. There are many lovely ladies in this room, and all eying you."
"Pa..." he started, but gave up within a second. "Nevermind. I will get a dance in before the night is done. Now if you'll excuse me."
With a scowl Marco turned on his heel and left his father, silently hating himself for not telling him no. It was always the same. Girls, girls, girls. You'd think there was more to life. Like school, the business, operations. But no, it was always the carnal pleasures with his father. Find a woman. Any woman would do. As long as you had those appearances and fun at night. It was beyond frustrating.
He walked quickly to the front entrance and leaned into one of the bouncers. "Travis, Rodolphus is at it again. Could you lend a hand?" The burly man smiled and winked down at him from his formidable height.
"For you? Anything." Marco smiled as the man left, his bald head shining under the lights. He'd been friends with Travis since he was small. The bouncers had been everywhere but Travis had made it a point to talk to him and always be with him no matter where he went. Not that he'd gone to school like most kids. He'd had private tutors from the second he could talk until he was old enough for college. So the only friend he'd ever really had was this big burly man who sat with him on Saturdays introducing him to rock music, chocolate bars, and alcohol. Suffice to say, he owed most of his sanity to him.
Satisfied that the situation was taken care of Marco leaned against the wall of the drawing room and let his eyes skim over the women for a dance partner. There was Gaetano's daughter. No, he thought with a sigh, she was simpering and bubble headed at best. What about the Mikhailov girl? She had just arrived to the firm from the Czech Republic a couple of weeks ago so she wouldn't know him well enough for conversation to be stunted. Mmm, maybe not. Her father was not looking too kind at the moment. One thing you learn is to never take a girl from a possessive father, whether your intentions were noble or otherwise.
Finally his eyes rested on Melissa and he smiled. He might dance with her at every social function, but he certainly liked it that way. She was certainly a beautiful thing with her long dark hair that reached her mid-back and her cat-like facial features. She was made for seduction that was for sure. His father would allow him to marry her in an instant. If only he was interested. Throwing caution to the wind Marco walked over quickly and after nodding to Dylan he leaned in to whisper into her ear. She pulled away abruptly. "He's going to start talking marriage if you keep dancing with me!"
Marco sighed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. "I know! And I'm sorry. I just don't really want to dance with any of the women here tonight. And you'll always be my favorite," he said with a silly flutter of his eyelashes.
Her eyes closed in annoyance but she did nod. "Fine. One," Melissa said as she focused her gaze on Dylan. "Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll be right back to keep you entertained."
The blonde shook his head happily, curls bouncing about lightly and Marco swallowed hard. "No, it's fine. Champagne will keep me occupied. You go dance with the prodigy child," he said, winking at Marco.
Marco couldn't contain his blush this time and held out his hand to his long time friend with his eyes on the ground. She took it with a laugh and let herself be led to the dance floor. There was a waltz playing and he fell into it easily like second nature, having learned all the great ballroom dances by the time he was six. She leaned in and whispered into his ear as he whirled them around between the other partners. "You like him," she said.
He pulled back and glared. "He's blonde," he said in disgust.
"You're point?"
Marco rolled his eyes. "Look, I know you've been putting in words. Stop. If you haven't noticed we're in the middle of one of the biggest criminal corporations in Canada and America as well as one of the oldest most conservative Italian families. There just isn't room for my kind in this place."
Melissa's dark eyes narrowed pointedly. "Honestly, just let it lie," he pressed.
"Fine," she spat. "Just so you know Dylan's being transferred soon. You might put a good word in for him to your father."
He just glared again and continued through the steps. "I'll see what I can do."
Over the woman's shoulder he could see Dylan watching them dance. He was smiling softly, almost sadly, and when he realized he had been caught staring he jumped, but quickly winked at him again, raising his glass in acknowledgment.
Marco cleared his throat and averted his eyes feeling the blush flaming up. Dio. He was in trouble.
Marco awoke the next morning to an annoying and consistent metallic beeping. Groaning and rolling over lethargically he hit his hand against the snooze button repeatedly. It was only after hitting it five times without success that he finally lifted his head from the pillow to see that it was not in fact his alarm but his cell phone going off. Marco beat a tired fist into his pillow and hauled himself out of bed, stumbling over to the small table by his window and answering the phone.
"Che cosa desiderate?" he bit out, not at all in a happy mood.
"Morning Delstudly."
Marco glared into space. "Schermo, is there a reason you're calling me at two a.m.?"
Frantic shuffling sounds drifted down from the other end of the line as if papers were being sifted through before the voice came back. "We got the information on Halloway. Addresses, credit card information, recent appointments, business partners, brand of underwear, anything your little heart desires. Craig got the photos and we've successfully mapped out his house as well."
The Italian man threw himself down on the sofa by the table and rested his head on the back, shivering slightly at how cold it was in his room and decided he should get this over with quickly so he could crawl back in bed. "Great work you guys. We're still planning on tomorrow at ten I presume?"
"Mmhm."
"Good. Now...if you don't mind...my bed is calling me."
Marco could almost see the grin forming on Schermo's face. "Is the bed empty? Any pretty blonde thing in there?"
Unbiddenly, renegade visuals of Dylan from earlier that evening raced through his mind. Marco shook his head as if to rattle the images out of his brain and scowled. "It is very much empty."
"I could remedy that," the other man's voice rang out in it's usual spastic demeanor.
Gritting his teeth Marco spat out "No, thank you. Thanks for the update and now I'm going to back to bed. Pervert."
"Sleep tight, Sleeping beauty," Schermo chirped before hitting the end button, leaving Marco to listen to the dead tone buzzing in his ear. Asshole.
Schermo also happened to be one of the few friends he had though a far more recent one compared to Travis or Melissa. His real name was Bauhaus Goldstein, and Marco didn't blame him in the least for getting a nickname as quickly as possible. The man had grown up the son of a very well known architect and military leader, both strict and radical. After fifteen years of that he had run away and was soon taken under the wing of the Del Rossi company by Marco himself.
Marco had only been a year older than him at the time in fact and they'd gotten on famously. He had even given his friend the nickname Schermo, which meant screen in Italian, instead of being called "Goldy" everyday. When Schermo later became the head of stealth operations Marco had liked the irony. The man had changed a lot since his first appearance in the thick of the business. His once curly dark hair was now gone completely, replaced with a very close buzz cut. His dark eyes were still small and beady and still a little too mischievous for his own good. He was still twitchy and never stopped moving, suffering from a bad case of ADD that he didn't take medication for. His nails were always colored in permanent marker and thousands upon thousands of scratchy pictures always littered his desk, but Schermo never seemed to notice, only continued talking fifty miles an hour and smoking cigarette after cigarette.
Schermo also, besides being a friend, was also his first sexual encounter as well, though they hadn't done so in ages or talked about it much. After finding they preferred being friends the only times they'd ever done so again had been drunken escapades at best, barely remembered the next morning and laughed at. However it never stopped the idiot friend of his from flirting non-stop anyway.
Throwing the receiver back into the cradle Marco crawled back into bed, hugging a pillow to his chest and blowing a puff of air to move the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. He sighed, staring at the luminous digits of his alarm clock. Thing was he hadn't really had a so-called "sexual encounter" for almost a year now. Pretending to be straight was one thing. And it wasn't even as if that's what he was really interested in, but he knew other people didn't like hiding once they were out. It was an unneeded triviality. So his thoughts on a relationship under his father's watchful gaze were preposterous.
As Marco finally drifted off he thought of how the blonde had winked at him earlier that night.
Dylan sat back heavily in his chair, squeezing the bridge of his nose to fight against the oncoming headache. The desk light burned a little too bright, casting stark shadows on the walls of his room. He hated this part. All the paperwork. All the guesswork. He had crossed over to the shadier parts of business because he had found nothing seemed to keep him interested in real everyday life.
In high school he'd been a star hockey player, football player, soccer player. Anything and everything to keep him moving and guessing what the opponents next move might be. He had to keep on his toes constantly. So after college all the jobs thrust in his direction all seemed so...boring.
So here he was. Here he was...frustrated.
He'd been in what Paige brattily called "the mob" business for a full year now and he had not been let in on an operation at all whatsoever. They handed over grunt work, filling out ledgers and threatening letters. The only reason he was still here is because Domani had assured him...he'd get there. He just had to stick through the evaluation before he was deemed worthy. He had said laughing, it was high school all over again. Be ready to get screwed over.
Dylan had laughed with Domani at that.
Last night had been his first operation. And while it wasn't a very action packed one...Domani assured him it was invaluable.
He was to seduce Marco Del Rossi over to the company.
Why, Dylan wasn't exactly sure. Little snippets of history floated here and there throughout the employees and he caught some things. Like for instance Domani had actually been the second in command for the Del Rossis at one time (Marco's soon to be position ironically enough) and that after a great dispute Domani was forced to break off from the family, but instead of disappear he fought back.
As far as behind-the-scene status, the Domani corporation was mediocre in comparison, mostly because Domani had an aversion to violence of any kind being used to achieve his goals. He preferred blackmail and loopholes to healthy threats. However, when it came to social standing Domani was climbing through the ranks of high society with an alarming amount of speed, easily hovering below the Del Rossis and quite smug about it.
Which was why it had been so amazingly easy to secure a reservation to the dinner party last night. Key to the snake pit secured, the next course of action was then, of course, to make his presence known to the target, working through parents, friends, associates until you seem harmless. Marco had proved to be rather easy on that front.
What Dylan hadn't been counting on however was that he'd actually like him. He didn't mean any disrespect to his rivals but they were hardly less than eyesores. He had always wondered where Domani had gotten his own good looks, regal, elegant, and deadly. The only plausible explanation Dylan could formulate is that the beautiful, exotic woman hanging onto the arms of the older men were to thank.
After seeing Marco though...God.
Suddenly his job seemed both entirely too wonderful and too complicated all at once. The man had been of small stature, easily almost a whole foot shorter than himself, with long arms and legs, slender hands and face. Soft facial features, almost feminine, catty and clever. He had had deep set, dark eyes that he had felt watching him subtly the whole time he spoke to Melissa. The sharpness, the spark in those eyes had made his hair stand on end each and every time the Italian had looked straight at him.
Dylan growled low in his throat, scrubbing a hand through his messed up hair as he stood up and moved to flop onto his bed in frustration, the image of the beautiful man flitting behind his eyes.
According to Domani all he had to do was become friends with the younger man, make him trust him. And then convince him to switch alliances. The number rule of this job is you never asked questions. It was futile and would likely get you demoted or even hurt. But Dylan was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. His curiosity was truly killing him for the first time in ages.
What did Domani want with Marco?
And why was such a precarious position offered to him?
Review or Marco will assassinate you.
