Enrico Gnucci was a man of urbane taste and impeccable politeness. He took pride in being a civilized gangster, and avoided killing when extortion and bribery would work. Killing was messy work and all too often, he found, unnecessary with ordinary people. They weren't part of the 'life', so he made a concerted effort to keep them out of it. It just kept his life tidier; Enrico did not do this out of the goodness of his heart. He also did not allow the killing of children. That was for the peace of his soul.
Women, he knew, could be as dangerous as men. Perhaps some women more so. For example, there was a woman named Raven who was legendary for her duplicity, fighting ability and being able to disappear at a moment's notice. In fact, Raven was the person who gave his current acquisition to him.
Rogue.
Despite the trouble Rogue gave, Enrico still got enough information to make her extremely valuable and he was loathe to part with her. Rogue possessed her own danger; not only her abilities, but it was getting hard to contain her.
Fellow gangsters, however, sometimes had to be permanently eliminated. He reasoned their deaths by the sheer fact that they knew what they were getting into by becoming a made man. He felt no guilt about ordering their deaths; it was simply business and something he took no pleasure from.
He grimaced when he noticed a snag in his silk suit. Enrico doubted anyone would notice such a small imperfection, but it would bother him until he could get changed. He always had an eye on the small things because it was the small things that made the big picture. Enrico's father had encouraged this trait because he knew it could only help his son when he became Godfather.
When the priest called, he had been getting into his nondescript car with three of his henchmen. It wasn't a junk car, just an ordinary Toyota Corolla to be used when he was conducting business. Enrico hated drawing attention to himself with flashy cars, clothes and women. He preferred all those items to have substance, and in the case of women, to have a practical nature.
"You know who this is. And I know who you are so this had better be good." Thank God for caller id, Enrico thought. His free hand angrily tapped on his car door's paneling. He loathed the priest for what he did to certain children. This bit of information he had just obtained because if he had known, Enrico never would have done business with him. He had his principles, after all. Encouraging the victimization of children offended his honor.
"The Punisher is here, in the girl's cell. He tried to rescue her, touched her and I locked them both in there." The priest, although rushed, sounded pleased with himself, as if he were expecting Enrico to richly reward him.
Enrico would 'reward' him, alright, as he made the decision that the priest was to put down, the young woman liquidated, and the whole operation shut down and forgotten. He'd gotten his money and then made a tidy profit. There was no reason to keep the girl around, and everything to risk if he did.
He considered making a profit off the Punisher, selling him to someone who would gladly pay a fortune to have the privilege of killing the vigilante. Enrico was not a stupid man, he made his decisions with a cool logic. Above all, however, Enrico was a pragmatist. Frank Castle was not a man to be kept around. He was far too dangerous. Enrico decided it would be best to kill all three of them then dispose of their bodies in a vat of acid. No fuss, no muss.
His right hand man, an old friend by the name of Giovanni Sorrentino, drove the car as Enrico made these decisions. Giovanni understood his boss's need for quiet and kept to himself. Giovanni glanced in the rearview mirror to see that Enrico's face resembled a calm pool of water. A flash of predator came to the surface of those glittery dark brown eyes, sharp as a shark's tooth.
Giovanni remembered an incident back in Italy, when they were youths, not quite men, but just out of boyhood. Both of them grew up in the city of Salerno, a city of sun kissed grace and crystal blue waters. Enrico's beautiful sister, Isabel, had been seeing a boy of a lesser family, and their father had not been pleased.
So Giovanni and Enrico headed out to discourage the young man, as he was not suitable as a potential husband. As Giovanni recalled, Enrico tried to use other methods to dissuade the suitor, but the idiot sneered. Some words were spoken and a gun was used: the young man was not seen again. Isabel never said anything, but from then on, looked at her brother with veiled fear and suspicion.
Due to familial pressure, Isabel settled down with a son of a respectable banker and was continuing to live the life of a financially well cared for wife and mother. By all accounts, the marriage was a good one and they grew to love each other. More importantly, the Gnucci family was happy because they had made a good connection to the banking industry due to her marriage.
Enrico said to one of the other men. "Call Sal. We need to straighten house at the Church. Tell him to bring at least ten men and make sure they are armed to the teeth. Arrange for a cleaning crew to be there in an hour." He imparted the directions and some final instructions to the lackey, then quietly awaited for their impending arrival.
Rogue sighed. "Ah'm really sorry about this." She searched him for anything that she could use to defend herself with and came up with a Ka-Bar knife and two Colt 1911 handguns. Frank, though conscious, was still not ready to put up much of fight. That left their defense up to her.
/Grind them to dust. Grind them until there is nothing left./ Frank's voice echoed in her head.
Frank regarded her with a world weary glance. Rogue seemed like a new soldier on the battlefield, one that hadn't yet been bloodied or drawn blood. The remnants of the Marine captain in him said, "The more you apologize, the less time you have to prepare. Stop fucking around and get on with it."
Rogue glanced at him in surprise. It felt disconcerting to hear him speak both aloud and in her head. "You're right. Ah'm wastin' time moanin' and groanin'. "She pressed one of the 1911's into his hand and grabbed both the Ka-Bar and took up the other gun.. She looked around the small room. "Ah'm gonna have to be careful shootin' this gun in here?"
He nodded. Guns were loud, even with suppressors, and the noise would probably make their ears ring. "I wouldn't advise it but if you have to save our lives, shoot to kill. Don't shoot to maim."
"Better to be deaf than dead." Rogue said as she tried to draw upon her inner fortitude to get this 'thing' done. /The slightest misstep not only means mah death, but Frank's as well. No pressure. No pressure at all./
She remained unsure whether or not, though, that she would be able to pull the trigger on anyone. Rogue thought of her brief time here, with the drugs forced into her, very little food, being hauled out of her small room for an occasional ice cold shower, and also having skin to skin contact against her will. She was made, basically, a slave for these people and she resented it. Anger blossomed in her heart and she gripped the knife in her hand, turning her knuckles white with rage.
/These aren't people. These are animals who just fuck people's lives up for their own god damned profit. They kill innocent people, they feed off of the lifeblood of good people. They don't deserve to live./ The mental voice sounded like a combination of both her and Frank. Both were tinged with the primal fury of pure rage.
Rogue drew upon that well of anger to become stronger, to become ready to deal with what could well be a bloodbath. She stood up, trembling at first, but steadying as she took a deep breath. She went over to the door and leaned against the wall, just out of sight and ready to spring into action when the door was opened.