Marcello awoke confused. He was surrounded by darkness and movement and simultaneously unable to move himself. After experiencing a few unpleasant moments and a few potholes, he came to the realization that he was trapped in Michael Westen's trunk and had the pleasure of experiencing sharp turns and sudden stops while crammed helplessly in almost total darkness; the only light afforded him came from the car's tail and brake lights. After what seemed like an eternity, Marcello felt the car slow down and come to a halt. He then felt Westen get out of the car, heard him slam the car door, and turned when he heard the key inserted into the trunk lock. As the trunk opened, Marcello looked up and saw Westen, backed by bright light in contrast to the dark trunk interior.

He would have shielded his eyes from the light if they hadn't been secured behind his back.

"Awake already?" asked Michael, peering down from the bright outside through his sunglasses.

Marcello, still groggy, didn't bother to respond.

"Doesn't matter." said Westen, hooking an arm under one of Marcello's and dragging him out of the trunk. "We've got plenty of time here to talk." He slammed the trunk shut.

Marcello looked around and came to the conclusion that he was in one of Miami's many old, abandoned buildings. Light filtered in through broken windows and holes in the ceiling to land scattered on the dirty, dust-encrusted floor, and standing in the middle of the gritty cement floor just a few feet from the car's trunk was a metallic chair. Westen shoved Marcello into it, took out his gun, and sat down on the back end of his Charger.

Marcello looked around again, noting a few more details of the place, then finally glanced down at his feet and smiled.

"Something, uh... funny?" asked Michael, arms crossed, also glancing down at Marcello's shoes.

"Ah, ah, nothin'." said Marcello, still smiling. "I'm still a lil' groggy from whatever your girlfriend shot me up with, is all."

"Understandable." said Michael, now smiling too. For some reason, Marcello had dropped his accent. Michael figured he would bring it up later. He'd try some other tactics first.

"Your guys were good, Marcello." he said. "Even though I had a nice head start, it took me quite a while to lose that tail."

"Well," said Marcello, shrugging his shoulders, "It seems that they weren't good enough."

Westen laughed. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well..." said Marcello, leaning back a little in an effort to get more comfortable, "things aren't always as they seem, are they?"

"Hm?"

"You, Westen. You seemed like a nice side project for what we had going and not at all like a crazed stalker who wasn't gonna let me go no matter how much damage you had to do in the process. When we dropped you when something more important to my people came up, it didn't seem like you were going to behave like a friggin' lunatic! You should have left us alone, Westen!"

Michael narrowed his eyes and began to speak, but Marcello interrupted him.

"And I know that from the beginning I may have seemed like some foreign lackey brought in to screw you over."

"That is what I assumed."

"Well! You know what assuming does, right?"

Michael was silent.

"Haha, it lands you in a dilapidated and easily surrounded warehouse with a crime boss with a tracking device in his shoe."

Michael stood up, glancing around the warehouse, trying to discern whether he was in real danger or if he had simply caught a nut with delusions of grandeur.

"Relax! Relax, Westen. Y'know, at first when you got in my way at the cafe, I was worried, man, real worried for our operation. And real pissed at you. But things ended up working out in both of our favors. We're gonna take you alive, Westen. Isn't that nice?"

Michael turned to each of the windows and could see vehicles pulling up. Not only had Marcello been telling the truth, but Westen had foolishly let his guard down.

"Don't look now." said Marcello, indicating Michael's midsection with a nod of his head. Michael glanced down and noticed a bright red dot of precision accuracy hovering on his chest.

"Drop the gun." said Marcello.

Michael sighed and dropped the gun.

"In about thirty seconds, Westen, you're gonna be the one in the damn trunk."