"So," Emma starts, leaning on the mahogany dresser behind her. She nonchalantly plays with the wispy cigarette between her fingers, not sparing a glance at the two struggling young men in front of her. Ludwig has gone to put music on the record player at his lover's request. Woody Herman's Let it snow is wafting in the air when he comes back, settling himself behind Toris and Alfred.

"I wouldn't struggle too much if I were you," Emma taunts, taking a drag of her cigarette. "You've both gotten quite the hit on the head." Alfred ignores her, movements even more jerky than before. Toris trembles, face turning into a sickly shade of green.

After Emma had placed her hand on Ludwig's knee, their silent cue to cut the act and go on with their job, the man had got up from his chair and asked for the bathroom, to which Alfred had pointed to the left corridor behind him. Ludwig had taken off his blazer and left it on the sofa before slowly heading to the doorframe and stopping right behind Alfred and Toris. In a flash, he turned around and gripped both their heads, smashing them against each other in one well-placed hit. They both crumpled in their seats.

As Ludwig securely tied the two unconscious men to their chairs with rope, Emma had looked on in mild interest, sipping from her glass of wine all the while.

"Crude, but effective," she had commented.

Now she was calmly gazing at Ludwig, who was keeping an eye on Alfred and Toris, glass left on the coffee table.

"Mr. Jones, are you familiar with the term Omerta?" she turns her head to her two targets, her languid gaze hiding a hint of mischievousness.

Alfred doesn't answer, only grunting with the effort to loosen his bonds keeping him tied to the chair. Next to him, Toris is frozen in fear, the ropes binding him to his chair securely. His harsh breaths give his terror away.

Behind Alfred, Ludwig is swinging a knife in the air in boredom, expertly catching it. He leans forward, murmuring next to the American.

"It's impolite to keep a lady waiting. I believe she asked you a question."

Emma waves her hand dismissively, taking one last smoke of her cigarette before dropping it and smothering it with her foot. "Oh, let him be, darling. He'll talk soon enough. And no knives," she adds, glancing pointedly at the knife in her lover's hand.

Ludwig sighs in regret and puts his weapon away. Emma hums in satisfaction before walking to the two men before her; Alfred has stopped struggling and is now looking up at her in defiance.

"Oh my," she coos mockingly, lifting Alfred's head with her dainty finger, "you've got quite the peepers! Not as pretty as my husband's, however," she winks at said man. Alfred simply snarls, jerking his head back from the woman and once again trying to pry his bound arms of the armrests, to no avail.

"Come now," Emma pouts, crossing her arms, "we don't have all night. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we'll be out of your hair. I asked you if you were familiar with the term Omerta, Mr. Jones."

Alfred, huffing in pointless exertion, glares at her.

"Can't say I have, no."

"But you do know why we're here. Don't you, Mr. Jones," Emma purrs. Behind Alfred and Toris, Ludwig rolls his sleeves up. Toris gulps. Alfred chooses not to reply, his lips sealed in a tight line.

"You see," the woman continues, walking back to the dresser, "Omerta, as my colleagues and I prefer to call it, refers to our code of silence. And a little bird told us that a certain associate of ours," she continues, retrieving the bottle of wine on the dresser and pouring herself another glass, "got in cahoots with the police. Which is specifically against our code of silence."

She swishes her glass around before taking a sip, looking at Alfred in mock disappointment. "Now why would that be, Mr. Jones?"

Toris looks helplessly back and forth between the woman and Alfred, absolutely clueless as to what is going on.

"Um… I-I'm sorry, but what is g-going on?" he stammers, shrinking when he meets Ludwig's cool stare. Emma settles her glass on the dresser and claps her hands, looking positively gleeful.

"Oh my! Mr. Jones, you haven't told your closest friend, as you call him? How regrettable!"

She turns to the fearful man, who's now looking at Alfred in question. Alfred refuses to meet his gaze, much to Toris' confusion, as Emma explains.

"Your dear Alfred here has got himself into quite the pickle for the past few months, Toris. You see, he came to us because his company has been a bit in a slum for a while. One of his friends, he told us, recommended him to Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, experts in the art of subterfuge and fraud. So we made arrangements, a transaction, if you will: we'd deal with some of his competitors, and he'd give us a share of his profits. It was a win-win situation for everyone," she finishes.

"Until he stopped sending us the required amount." Ludwig supplies darkly.

Toris is gaping at Alfred, who still won't meet his eyes and slumps further down into his seat. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find his words, until all that comes out is a wobbly "W-what..?"

"That's right, precious," Emma smiles sweetly. "Your dear Alfred here struck a deal with the Mafia, and thought he could've gone with the wind without us knowing. Well, it could have worked," she considers, tapping her finger against her chin as if in thought. "If only you hadn't rated us out to the police. We've got a few acquaintances in the department who told us about your little sham, thankfully."

It's at this point that Alfred lifts his head, body jerking as he tries to move towards Emma.

"Listen," he starts, slight desperation in his voice, "the deal didn't feel right anymore, alright? At first it was fine, but then I realised I couldn't go on with it. It was fucking illegal! I couldn't not go to the police! And by telling them about our deal, my company will definitely shut down too so it's not just a loss for you!"

Emma smiles sharply, warm gaze suddenly hard. "You will find, Mr. Jones, that by having done so it will be an even greater loss to you than you expect. I'm afraid it isn't you who calls the shots, here. Once you strike a deal with us, it only becomes void once we decide so." With a nod of her head, she quips, "Darling. If you would be so kind."

Nodding, Ludwig rolls his sleeves again for good measure and takes a step to the side, standing behind Toris, who tenses in fear and trepidation.

Quick as lightning, Ludwig leans down and wraps an arm around Toris' neck, squeezing tightly. The young man's hands jerk instinctively in an attempt to grab the offending arm, but they don't budge, strapped by the ropes around them.

Alfred cries out, struggling to get out of his bonds and help Toris. He turns to Emma in anguish, who looks at him with a level gaze.

"You can't do this! Stop!"

"Oh, but you see, Mr. Jones," Emma hums, her voice sweet saccharine, "we can."

Raising her voice over the choking noises, she turns back to retrieve her glass of wine. "This is all bad business for us, Mr. Jones. You understand, as a businessman, I'm sure. You broke the code of silence, and we're only dealing with the consequences."

Ludwig, not even breaking a sweat, lifts his head from his work to look over to Emma. "Don't drink too much. You'll get a headache."

Emma takes a large gulp of her wine in spite. "Oh, hush you. I know my limits."

Alfred tries once again to convince the couple to stop with their ministrations. "Listen, I know with my company out of the loop and everything, I won't be as rich as before and all," he states, "but I'll give you everything I have, just – please! Let Toris go!"

"No dice," Emma quips. "We've got a job to do, and unlike you, Mr. Jones, we intend to carry it out to its fullest." At that, she glances over to Ludwig and Toris, whose twitching limbs have started to gone limp. "But, since you've been very polite, we'll finish up quickly."

At that, Ludwig glances towards Emma and gives a slight nod.

The sickening crunch of a snapped neck drowns out the last few notes of Frank Sinatra's Christmas Dreaming drifting from the recorder.