Alfred is completely silent and unmoving, staring in anguish at the sight before him. Toris' blank and pale face stares back, settled at an odd angle. Ludwig gets up from his work, rolling his shoulders and grabbing his coat, left on the couch while Emma sighs, going for the pack of cigarettes left on the coffee table.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Less messy than a knife," she quips, pulling a cigarette out from her pack and lighting it. Ludwig just rolls his eyes, stopping by the threshold of the room as he waits patiently for his lover.
That brings out Alfred of his stupor.
"Less messy…? Less messy?!" he roars, bucking against his chair in fury, arms trembling against the rope. "You're fucking nuts! You – fucking – killed – Toris," he grunts with each jerk of his arms or legs.
"Now, now," Emma tuts, humming in pleasure at the first drag of her smoke, "no need to flip your wig, Mr. Jones. These are simply the consequences of your actions. Surely you knew ratting us out to the police wouldn't come with some sort of payment?"
Alfred deflates at those words, heaving shuddering breaths. Ludwig waits calmly, looking at the scene with the same cool stare he's kept the entire ordeal.
Emma walks coolly towards the defeated man, lifting his head to meet her knowing gaze. Piercing eyes look back at her, anger and grief swirling up a storm beneath their azure hue.
"It does not matter whether you bribe us with more money, Mr. Jones – once you break Omerta, you break the deal. And breaking the code of silence is punishable by death. You knew all of this when we explained it to you four months ago, when you came to us for our assistance." Her steady gaze never strays from his face. "Or did you suddenly forget about these rules when you no longer wanted to be the Mafia's associate?" she inquires, blowing a ring of smoke into Alfred's face.
He coughs at that and snarls at the woman in front of him, not bothering with an answer. Emma sighs and backs away from his face, playing with her cigarette in between her fingers before finally pointing it menacingly in Alfred's direction. Beneath her shrewd gaze there hides ill intent, red lips curling into a cruel smile.
"Now, here's what going to happen, because you're still not off the hook with us – some of our members will take care of the body later tonight and will untie you; you are to behave when they do so. They have orders not to kill you, but any other measures they deem necessary to restrain you, should you act out, are of no matter to us. Since you are still a reputable man among the business world, we will not touch you; however, you are to rebuild your company, which will no longer be under your jurisdiction, but ours. You are no longer an associate of our family as well; merely a puppet, if you will. If we hear any trouble from you again, believe me when I say we will come back to make what little of a life you have left absolute hell."
Alfred's next words come out garbled. "What more could I lose, you bitch? I lost everything," he croaks. "So what makes you think I'd listen to the likes of you if I've got nothing left?!"
Emma hums in derision. "How romantic," she croons. As wisps of smoke coil in the air around her, she takes another drag of her cigarette.
"Like I've said before, you're a talented man, Mr. Jones, particularly in the world of business. As we've seen these past few months," she says.
"However," she continues, "while you may be valuable to us," she moves forward once again, pressing her lips against Alfred's ear as she murmurs,
"You are nonetheless, still replaceable."
She drags the burnt end of her cigarette against the man's neck, who hisses in pain.
"And you'll find," she whispers, "if we ever deem your days as an asset are over, that for those who are considered expendable, the Mafia has a number of ways to shatter, break and splinter body and soul. After all," she finishes, "we've been in this business far longer than you have, Mr. Jones. I wouldn't spew futile threats if I were you."
"So don't you worry your pretty little face, Mr. Jones," Emma assures, "we always find something for those like you. You will, believe me, listen to us." She lets go of his face, smoothing down her dress and smiling down at the American. "Besides, I wouldn't shed tears too long for, oh; what was his name again?" She looks down at the mangled body next to Alfred, tilting her head in mock inquisitiveness, before snapping her fingers. "Oh, yes! Toris, was it?" Behind them, Ludwig nods imperceptibly, absently checking his watch.
"Twenty past seven, darling," he says. Emma smiles warmly in his direction.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Turning back to Alfred, she claps her hands in finality. "Well, I'm sure you can find yourself another pretty little thing to fawn over. You're a handsome fellow, it won't be difficult to make a pass to the next woman who meets your eyes," she presses. Alfred glares at her wordlessly, eyes still cloudy with unshed tears and anger.
"Now," she continues, "I hope our agreement settles with you. I'm afraid we'll have to leave; we've still got a reservation at the Stork Club waiting for us."
Walking over to her lover, she turns around to the broken man, giving a little wave before she heads back out into the snowy New York streets, Ludwig in tow.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Jones."
Next chapter will be the last one!