God, it's been too long, people. It's a habit of mine that's impossible to break it seems for everytime I promise to update sooner and I don't. You're invited to throw shoes and what not. Anyway, a little fresh blood on this one will revive it again. For those lucky enough to live in the USA: STFBE is programmed on Animal Planet on Monday Nights (reruns) with possible new episodes when there's enough audience for it. I figured, if they can get the series online again, I might as well contribute my 2 cents and update this sucker. Thank you very much for reading, reviewing and putting up with the unreliable sequence in posting! ILY!

Gansevoort Street/ Little West 12th Street

New York, NY Meatpacking District, 12.30 AM

oOo

"Non dimentichi di chiarmarmi domani, (Don't forget to call me tomorrow)," a man said while he stepped out of the shop. He pulled up the collar of his cashmere woolen Brioni trenchcoat, against the cold wind that gushed down Little West 12th. He walked towards a waiting car when his cellphone rang. He picked it out of his pocket.

"Pronto.."

He listened intently for a few seconds. Then his face wrinkled. "È veramente necessario? Perché non foi lo focciamo a New York, mi salva il viaggio (Is it really necessary? Why don't we do it in New York, it saves me the trip)."

"Sta prendendomi in giro? Quello che Lei vuolo dire; 'lore decidono dove noi incontreremo'? (Are you kidding me? What do you mean; 'they decide where we will meet'?) "

He stopped to open the passenger door. But he didn't immediately get in. "Sì, io terrò la mia gente pronto, appena mi faccia sapere quando e dove è la riunione. Noi saremo là. (Yes, I will keep my people ready, just let me know when and where the meeting is. We'll be there.) " He stepped into the car and motioned the driver to move. He nodded after listening. "Inteso, io farò le sistemazioni necessarie. Sì, ciao (Understood, I'll make the necessary arrangements. Yes, bye)"

Michaele DiZola, the Bonnano's Consigliere, wasn't overly pleased with the call he had just received. He had always worked the streets of New York, and the Five Borroughs, and was not too keen on leaving the city to discuss business. Especially not if it meant the Russian Mafyia was calling the shots. Literally perhaps.

He had worked his way to become a Consigliere of the Bonnano Family, one of the five Families that controlled New York and New Jersey, by being careful and meticulous in planning. Whether it was a scheme in getting money, or dodging RICO charges, it all came down to knowing what you did, and what you could expect. With the meeting Gielmo Bonnano was planning to attend he certainly did not know what to expect. And since not only they would go, but also Vincente Lucchese and a crew from the Genovese-clan, DiZola was a man with a lot on his mind now.

'Guaio? (Trouble?)" the driver, Jimmy Briancuso, asked. He had been DiZola's right hand for what seemed ages. "Più che Lei vuole sapere. Noi incontreremo i russi. Discuta affari, ma bene come sia una trappola. (More than you want to know. We are going to meet the Russians. Discuss business, but it might as well be a trap)."

"Vuole che io mi preoccupi di un'ubicazione? (You want me to arrange a location?)"

DiZola shook his head. "No, noi non possiamo, è la loro chiamata. E non è a New York. (No, we can't, it's their call. And it's not in New York.)"

"Non a New York? Sono matti? Noi abbiamo bisogno di trovare del muscolo per venire con noi. (Not in New York? Are they crazy? We need to get some muscle to come with us)."

DiZola shrugged. "Io sono preoccupato quelli bastardi russi diventeranno matti. Io troverò un grande equipaggio. Se a Vincente piace o non. (I'm worried those Russian bastards will go crazy. I'm going to get a big crew. Whether Vincente likes it or not.)" They cruised further down Gansevoort street, and turned right onto Hudson Street. Near Bethune Street, Jimmy turned left, for Hudson is one-way after the crossing with Bleecker Street, on which he turned left into Charles Street.

"Andiamo a Giancarlo. Lui sa noi avremo chi per prendere assicurarsi che i bastardi russi stanno sedendo anatre quando noi siamo in merda. (Let's go to Giancarlo He knows who we will have to take to make sure the Russian bastards are sitting ducks when we're into shit.)"

They got out near Greenwich Ave, and walked a few yards to a non-descript building. "Giancarlo, è statto troppo lungo, (Giancarlo, it has been too long.)" DiZola said as he walked into a room where four men sat.

"Shit, Lei non infastidisce mai venire, a meno che è per affair, (Shit, you never bother to come, unless it's for business.)" Giancarlo Motta, long time enforcer for the Genovese-Family, welcomed him with a growl. "Cose è questa durata? (What is it this time?)"

"The Russians, they want to have a business negotiation about ending hostilities."

Giancarlo huffed. "Li avviti, noi non li vogliamo qui. (Screw them, we don't want them here.)"

"True, but Il capi (the bosses) want it, so we deal with it."

"Where?"

"Not here."

"Don't they operate from DC?"

'Corretto, they do. And it will be very soon.' Giancarlo squinted his eyes a little. "Come presto? (How soon?)"

"Molto presto, questo fine-settimana. (Very soon, this weekend.)" He took an apple from a plate and took a bite. "Forse più presto. (Perhaps sooner)"

Motta rubbed his hand over his chin. "Keep me filled in, I'll keep un equipaggio ready."

Even if they had seen the car that was parked across the street, they didn't seem to care. But maybe they hadn't noticed it at all. It had been in Gansevoort too. Inside, two men followed every move the men made and noted things. They watched DiZola leave Motta's place and get into his car, with Briancuso. As their 2006 BMW 760i merged into traffic, so did they, keeping distance.