Alright We get to have an honest exposition of MY Roman backstory. Given my anti Roosterteeth rant in the notes last time, I should be clear. I expect my version to be criticized, whether its criticism of the concept or simply via comparison to what is now becoming canon. Feel free to comment on this, but I am aware that the nature of this may raise some eyebrows as to what this means for my RWBY world. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Forty Two: Knocking Heads

"Enter." A deep, rumbling voice sounds. The room is lined with shelves, stocked full of books ranging from thin as a pamphlet to thick as a brick. The wide room held an oval shape. While a grand dark mahogany desk stood before three triplet windows, the majority of the room held stands showcasing statuette figures. The most prominent that of a gilded glass flower mid blossom, colored crimson in the pedals.

The door opens, A young boy entering the room. The child, Roman, no different from before, save for a black newspaper boy cap and a bandage on his cheek. The boy steps into the room, stiff in his movements. The tall chair behind the desk was turned away.

Little Roman wrings his hands, flapping the jitters out before plastering a grin on his face. "Hello, father! Good things going on?"

The chair turns to reveal the man. His hair was pit black, windswept back, save for a streak of dark crimson hair. Several of his locks shift crimson from black in the different lights, natural and fluorescent. His suit was jet black, its interior red. A red button up shirt under the black jacket brought attention to the white tie. The trim to all his designed closing and cuffs were clean washed white.

The man's dark forest green eyes scrutinize Roman. His figure was immaculate. The picture of health.

And strength.

"Roman." The man begins curt. His lip curls, just a touch of a predatory gaze. "I would wish you a happy birthday, but it would seem you've already collected your desserts."

Despite the happy tone, Roman froze. It takes a moment before he recovers. "Oh, what did you hear?" Why does the man sound happy? He inches towards one of the stands between two shelves, spotting a metal work designed hunk of metal, colored white and black, a single line of crimson under one of the metal slides. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a terrible liar, boy." The voice was soft, yet hit in his gut like lead. "Come."

Roman turns hesitant, seeing his father sending a hollow stare. No emotion behind his almost shaded eyes. Roman gulps, stepping forward. His hands are clammy again. Darn it, he's sweating. Why does he have to sweat?

His father remains neutral. If he was even breathing, Roman wouldn't notice. A weight bears down on him. His vision almost breaks meeting the man's gaze. "Roman. Petty or not, you engaged in an orchestrated theft from a family member." Roman tries and fails to suck in a breath. "Such a thing, now matter how small, will always be a gauntlet thrown."

Roman's head became light. His father slowly stands, the creak of his chair causing the boy to flinch.

"Of that, you have avoided consequences." The words snap Roman's gaze back up to the man. His sucks a breath in finally, his lungs burning in relief. However, his body chills at the next sentence. "Of engaging in a physical fight with another family member, on the other hand..."

The boy allows a flush of anger. "I-I didn't start that!"

The shadowed glare remains. The sunlight piercing in through the window creates an almost... heavenly glow. Yet, it was not warming. If anything, it chilled the room. Frosted the child to his soul as the white obscured any color to only black. Made the grown man's forest eyes appear a devil's black.

A knock on the door sounds, but Roman doesn't register it. "Standby." Roman's father orders, voice booming. He steps around the desk and looms over Roman.

A deaf silence came over the room as Roman chokes out. "F-father-"

"You will address me officially... boy."

Roman couldn't even flinch as he squeaks out. "... S-... Sir Lincoln."

His father doesn't shift in the slightest. "...Boy." The man, Lincoln, responds. He remains chilling until finally explaining. "You stand, in line with the very possibility of carrying a leading position in this family." He pauses. "You don't sully your hands quarreling with those of... lesser branches." Roman gulps, eyes wide. "You are to lead. Any action you make yourself is one that ends a conflict. Permanently! Not leaving a anything behind, unresolved."

Roman looks down, heart clenched firmly, squeezed by the unfeeling hand of fear.

"... This family holds codes and tradition... Something like this, no matter how petty." He bites in emphasis. "will fall to the head to arbitrate."

The man reaches for the top of the desk, retrieving a long object. A shaft jabs down into the floor, echoing a thundering clap in the room. Roman's eyes fall to the shaft. The reflective, metal black of a cane... Velvet Valentine.

The black is ornately decorated up and down with white outlines of flowers. A work of art.

"Do you understand the position you've left me in."

"... Yes, f-..."

"Speak with clarity you sniveling child."

Roman flinches. "Yes... Head Lincoln."

"Then appreciate my charity in defending you in your petty squabble... and get out of my sight."

"Yes, sir..." The door opens, Roman stepping out from the office. On his way out, he sees a white suit, with red trim. A black suit vest and black tie. The body was firm and strong, skin tan. The man had light graying hair, almost fading into a light red. His eyes were green, dark. Roman merely met the gaze for a second. "S-... Excuse me, Sir Damask."

The man smiled politely and nods as Roman leaves the man to enter with his father. The door shuts as Roman marches down the hall of the manor. Eventually, he moves down steps of a foyer. A feminine figure stands at the bottom, double his height. The white long sleeve button up and red ascot letting him know it was his sister.

She quickly turns and wraps him in a hug. "hey... He didn't like hearing bout' you and David, did he?"

Roman sighs in the contact, appreciating the warmth flooding over. Before long he remembers his disposition to touching, pulling away. "No..."

The woman's face obscured, she gives a sad smile. "Yeah... He gets like that."

Roman looks up like she's nuts. "How do YOU put up with it? Jeez!"

She gives a sad chuckle. "I don't. I just do a little better each time." It earns a chuckle from the boy, so she kneels by him. "Hey... You okay?"

Roman huffs. "... No."

The girl gently pulls the boy into a full embrace. Her voice lightly chirps in his ears. "Yeah... Listen. This family, we-... This family is held in deep with rules... tradition. We see something, we take it. We amass what we want but... physical violence is... a whole thing entirely."

She sets him down to sit on the stairs as she places a hand on each shoulder.

"Anyone outside this family,.. we're supposed to step on. We take anything we want, but with each other, we don't get physical. But... it's even worse for us. WE don't harm other family members. Getting physical and showing force is... a sign that things are unstable."

Roman pouts. "But... he attacked me after I made the rule. He messed up the job I set. That's the rule!"

The grimaces. "And you're right, but... the moment things got physical... It's your job to... end it. When I sent him off, I should have made things more clear that you weren't to be touched. That would have ended it."

Roman shakes his head, anger showing. "It was none of your-" He groans. "But... What was I supposed ta-"

A look from her shuts him down. "I'm sure, to him... the moment he threw a punch at a main family member, you were supposed to go much farther than either of you should." Roman scrunches his face at that. She continues fixing a stern look on him. "And I wouldn't want you to have gotten into a fight at all. The point is, the fight happened, and because it's unresolved, it falls on him to arbitrate things with Uncle Damask."

Roman huffs. "Uncle's up there, now." His sister snaps a look up the steps. Out the windows of the foyer, the fields show. Blooming flowers outdoors. A great wind blows audibly against the manor as she glares up. Roman's lip almost quivered. "Sis?" She snaps her look down upon him. "Am I gonna be okay?"

The hesitance to smile was not missed... before she gives a very heated. "Nothing will happen to you... I promise." She pats his shoulder. "I'll go talk to Daddy."

Roman watches as she marches up the steps. That's not good... Lincoln hates the word 'dad'...to call him 'daddy' is to deliberately invite hostility.

Roman marches out from the manor. He turns to the door... the symbol on the white wood showcasing a blooming flower in the foreground, only for the back half of the flower to be crumbling off dead. Wilted...

. . .

The van revs its engine up, powering its speed over 100. The entire time, Roman lazily eyes the road. He's left Oja Terrace an hour ago, cruising along. The man huffs amused at the thought of doing so with a convertible vehicle. Cruising on the freeway, feeling the breeze way. Top down and hair flowing?

A touch cliché, but one for a reason. Plenty of fun. Maybe someday when Roman finally hits a mid life crisis. For now, he's fine with a cigar, a fine drink, and a pile of money. He eyes the next sign he passes. Heading for Deep Hills.

… Seriously? Someone broke themselves in their creativity, there.

Still, this is about the area of note. He prepares to slow as he spots the incline appearing from a split in the trees. Slowly, he makes out the layout of houses. This town appeared to be comprised of a winding road curving around this and the next two hills. Due to the landscape, the houses were built fairly far apart, countering the size of the village somewhat.

Still, beat town like this should have upwards of 500 people if his ability to forge city limit paperwork is at all accurate. Huh... that was a weird mission for Senior. He never DID ask why he wanted to fudge the Vale census for the lower neighborhoods. Wait, he did! He wanted to get them to vote against increased policing in a community election.

It was the time after that that Roman didn't ask. Figured it was the same old shtick. Although, the candidate who won that next election was a frequent flier of Senior's doorstep.

Roman snorts. The world in your pocket. Ripped away within a moment by the Hunters. The heroes of the age. This latest thought materialized with a thick cynical coating. Heroes... Nothing but pompous egotists claiming a sense of moral superiority. The whole lot of them. Gag him if he ever speaks of doing things for the moral good and purity or whatever.

He finds a gravel off shoot to park on. Shifting the van's gear loudly, he hears a stir.

A tired groan from the back seat...

Roman snaps his gaze around, looking to the backseat- "WHAT THE-" His eyes widen, bafflement mixed with unbridled rage. "The hell are you doing here?!"

The groan increased in volume from the floorboard of the back seat. Carmine stirs, sitting up with squinted eyes and grinding out a pained wince. Both hands clutch at his head. "Ow... Roman? Ah!" He cracks in pain again, clutching furiously at his head.

"Silver Streak?! Why are you here? HOW are you here? I left you in the dust with Neo and Barbie!" Roman stares openly baffled. The boy had been just outside his driver side window when he hit the pedal to the freaking metal! What the actual hell?

"Ugh... what?" Carmine groans. Attempting to sit up with a stiff back, his vision blurs, doubling and tripling. "Ah... woo- OOZey..." His gaze finds Roman, unfocused. "You got... ibuprofen? Sunglasses? The lights are like pin needles to me corneas."

Out of pure spite, Roman reaches into the passenger compartment and brings up a flashlight. Aiming it at the confused boy. He turns it on right in Carmine's face, piercing pain through the teen instantly!

"AHHHH! FUCK!" he clenches his hands over her eyes, falling back into the back seat writhing in pain. He screams in irritated pain. "FUCKIN- GOD DAMN- GUH! FUCK!" He barely manages a one eye cracking open at the man, seeing only stars. His eyes are blood shot to hell. "WHAT THE HELL?!"

Completely unapologetic, Roman fixes a serious glare. "Explain. Now." He holds up the flashlight with a wiggle. "You have ten seconds."

The boy's furrowed look scowls back as he struggles to recall. "You... were about to drive off on a solo mission... and I didn't approve- ow!" Roman gives a light rapt tap of the boy's head with the flashlight.

"'Didn't approve'? Don't pretend you could stop me." The man's reply was cold, but his posture was laid back. A touch of enjoying Carmine's pain.

Carmine furiously glares back with one open eye. "I knew I couldn't, ass! But with people like Killa and any other mercenaries that are looking for us, like hell any of us are going solo for nothing!"

It's Roman's turn to flinch back, fury flashing across his face. "Don't even TRY to imply having you here helps my chances of survival, brat! Quite the opposite."

Not rising to the taunt, Carmine merely offers a growl before continuing. "So, since you were about to drive off, I just decided to Recall back into the van before you took off."

Roman opens his mouth to retort, then pauses. "You.. recalled... None of us had been in the van for over an hour..." Scrutinizing the boy's obvious headache, his green eyes widen. "You rewound yourself over an hour?!"

Carmine's head pounds his brain, causing him to fall back into the seat. "Ow... quite! Mute button, please." It was no secret that Carmine decided how far back he could recall, but... the further back, the more aura it cost. The more mass he was recalling, the more aura. But even worse, the further back he goes, the harsher the impact on his brain when recalling himself. A sort of mental whiplash. Still... "I... didn't think of how long I was recalling. Just that I needed to get there."

"For the love of- Are you that stupid? Check your aura." Roman berates the boy.

Carmine whines as he pulls out his scroll. Upon checking, he spots the near empty bar with blinking red on the end. "Uh... Yeah, I'm shot."

"Oh, my wonderful backup. I feel safe with such a reliable ward." Roman sarcastically drawls before flippantly shooting off. "Do you have any other ideas to help? Maybe stick your own gun in your mouth you masochist!"

The boy fires back heated. "Maybe don't willfully screw us over by deciding things on your own! Seriously, why did you think we shouldn't come?" In response, Roman turns around, popping the gear back into drive. "What are you doing?"

"Driving a crippled brat back, then driving back here."

Carmine lurches forward by the front seat, squinted eyes glaring inches away from Roman. "Hell no. You go back, we bring Blair and Neo. You want less company? We're already here! But you're NOT doing this alone!"

"This doesn't involve you, brat!"

"What?" Carmine short circuits before suddenly, his face lights up. A massive grin plasters on. "I finally get to learn about you?! Oh, now you're definitely not getting me out of here."

Roman turns a deathly cold glare at the boy, quelling his sudden excitement. "Boy... you have no business here. Yet, you but in half cocked and already a foot in the grave. Now, are you deaf, or are you really just retarded?" Roman rhetorically rattles condescendingly, making the boy flinch back. "Now, stay out of my business, and go back to the others."

The boy's shaky gaze hesitates before he steels himself. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"... The only reason I'm alive is in part because you, of all people, put yourself into my well being." Carmine starts before retorting full confidence. "So if you have some personal issue in all this, then like hell I'm not returning that favor ten fold."

Roman holds his glare for a moment more... then a burst of laughter from the man. He shakes his head, mocking the boy as his face drops. "Oh, Silver Streak you foolish, stupid brat playing hero. It's laughable. One of these days, you'll realize how worthless that trait is."

Rage fires back as Carmine lurches forward. "What?!"

Roman shuts the van engine off. "Leave it." He huffs. "I'm going to work, and you're dead on your feet. Stay here out of my way."

Fuming, Carmine exits the vehicle, earning a side glare from Roman as he rounds the van. The conman doesn't miss the boy wobbly on his feet. "I'm coming with you. End of story."

"Keep playing hero, and you'll die before reaching legal age." The man grinds out. "Stupid brat. Just be quiet and play things low." He pauses, then fixes the boy with a dull glare. "Never mind. I'm asking the impossible."

Carmine glowers at his partner as they two move to town.

. . .

Carmine sways drowsy as he sits on a bench. He allows his head to droop forward. Sat in front of a general store, he watches the people in the mountainous area. Many wearing skinned and leather clothing. The buildings were wooden, log cabins in large part, most having small dust generators. No walls for Grimm protection, though...

That's a worrying thought. While many of the villagers had pistols and rifles for personal protection, there was no organized force. That would be acceptable if any of them looked capable of handling an Ursa single handed, but he doubted that clearly.

The door of the store opens, Roman marching out and flicking a pill bottle to him. The bottle smacks off the boy's head. "Ow! Ass!"

Roman gives a cold stare back as Carmine grabs the headache medicine. "Get over it. We need to search." The boy scowls as he pops a pill in his mouth like a pez candy. Uneasy, Roman mutters. "Since you're here, this can be a teaching experience, brat. What do you notice about the town?"

Carmine grumbles, but takes the question seriously. Two years plus and they'd managed to play this game a few times. Carmine would make his observations, seeing if he could notice everything Roman already knew.

A touch annoying, but he got better each time.

"This place isn't well defended against Grimm at all." He huffs. "Most of the populace has a gun at least, but mostly side arms. Bunch of game hunters, but no one able to properly defend the place." He takes a second to wonder, spotting some houses in the distance with clear damage, trashed yards. "Some houses look abandoned and trashed, so... I'd guess the town watch used to run out of those."

Roman hums. "Not bad. You got it in one. Our target in this area is muscle. Likely extorting the locals for protection money."

Carmine raises a brow. "So, if they're not simply living in the old watch buildings, then they have someone on town on watch for trouble... the rest being somewhere in the near hills?"

The conman smirks. "Exactly."

The boy looks around. "I... got nothing on where a lookout would be." Here it comes, the condescending pointing out of what he missed.

Roman smirks. "oh, that's easy." There it is. "He'll come to us."

Carmine brightens slightly. "Oh? Vaterra strategy? Gonna torture the guy for days?"

"Not at all!" Roman gives a smarmy grin back. "He's gonna voluntarily take us to his boss. We'll ask him a question or strike a deal, and we will leave to find our would be body poison maker." Roman then shoots a quick glare. "And don't think about taking out our targets here for a vain sense of justice."

The preemptive chastising irks the boy. "Why? They're extorting the people here, aren't they?"

"We have the information that they're here because they TOOK IT from the Blackthorn mob we bombed yesterday. Trust me kid, this town's actual town watch has been gone looong before the current scumbags came in." Roman hotly hits back. "And they'll continue to be gone long after the current scum leaves. The people will have protection from the Grimm regardless, and if they have the sense to leave, they will. It's plain and simple."

"Sounds like a complicated answer." Carmine bites back. "The plain and simple solution is 'criminal go in cop car'." He groans before standing. "But, I guess leaving the town with no one to defend them isn't helping anyone."

"Now, you see why the people don't contract some hunters." Roman retorts, then nods his head to the road. He ignores the boy's huffy glare. "There's a bar down the road."

"How do you figure that?"

"People live here, and people drink to be merry." Roman rattles as he leads the boy off. As they walk, Carmine shields his eyes from the sun overhead, groaning.

. . .

The unlikely duo settle at a booth inside a warm, inviting cabin. People take notice of the two, but keep a substantial distance, leaving the two to their devices. Now sat, Roman huffs. "How dead on your feet are you?"

Carmine peels one eye open and looks at his scroll. Aura bar is at a fifth, but getting to yellow. "I'm... at about twenty percent." He rubs his temple in a groan. "Head still pangs like hell, though."

"Maybe next time someone who knows what they're doing says they'll do something, you let them do it alone?" Roman jabs, still annoyed to have the company. The two order their drinks, a cheap bear for the conman and a soft drink for the teen.

The two settle for the long wait before Carmine starts up."How long you give it before we're approached?"

Roman blows smoke from a cigar and settles a glower. "Fifteen minutes if we appear sociable and feeble. An hour if they gotta get past any standoffish behavior."

A grin shines at the man. "Sweet! Now, tell me what's going on?"

The glare finds the boy as Roman sucks down a chest full of smoke before stiffly spewing it back at the boy's face. Carmine chokes out as the blown smoke. "I'm content to wait it out."

"Ugh! Come on! It's been years, and this is the first thing to put your panties in a twist. Would it kill you to share?" When Roman doesn't immediately respond, the boy continues. "Hell, you know how much about me? To even a small degree, you've influenced everything that's ever happened to me. Is it SO bad to think you could show me even a little of trust?"

"Yes." The man grinds out.

"I'm going to find out at least a little anyway! Just tell me ahead of time so I know how I can help-"

"You can't help, you stupid!" Roman snaps. "Quit thinking you can play hero to everyone when the only reason you're here is because someone had to naively save your ass."

The shot hit, the boy flinching, a flash of hurt across his features. However, damage done or not, he seemed determined, squaring it away soon after. "Then why did you play hero for me then?" He didn't miss the conman's fists clenching on the table edge. "I owe it to everyone to pay back for what was given to me... By my parents taking me in. By Neo finding me and ensuring I made it to Beacon. To you for alerting my dad where I was. By Su-"

His jaw clamps shut about to say the forbidden name. He gulps it down to move on.

"By Blair for being my first friend, and so much more."

Roman snorts. "How noble. You're a good person out of guilt." Yet another blow to the boy flashes across his features. However, this time the man's gaze trails down. "Fine." Carmine snaps his gaze up, wary. "If I'm correct, the person we're looking to get answers from is my cousin."

Carmine flinches at that. A double take. "You... know that just makes more questions, right?"

A performative sigh sounds as Roman rolls his eyes. "My family were once one of, if not THE, most powerful crime family in all the four kingdoms. How's that for a start?"

The boy cycled through multiple reactions. Between instant excitement like a child at story time, dull shock at the thought that Roman came from a place of power, followed by a rattle of laughter at a side thought. "Something else you have in common with Neo, then?"

A smile pulls in amusement, Roman suppressing a chuckle. "Rocky didn't hold a candle to the family." He shakes his head. "But, I suppose it's the same as the relationship of a dire wolf and chihuahua. Rocky ran under Atlas which, impressive, really, doesn't allow much growth. The family was based out of Northern Mistral. Where crime is a given! Yet, it was my ancestors who not only thought, 'We can succeed here'. They went and said, 'We can CONTROL here.'"

A humorless chuckle leaves his lips as his gaze remains low. "Organized crime has its perks. Once instated, the kingdom government rarely care about you. Organization means purpose and structure, you see. Ten thousand people living in areas gripped by a mob will be miserable, but they'll be alive. They will endure this terrible world. Which, mind you, is a far cry better than the rest of the bandit ridden areas."

"Generations gone by, and my blood had a hand in the underworld of all of Remnant." Roman allows a smirk, a fond look flashing for only a moment. "And with history, comes precedent. Standards. Rules to the culture."

"You guys made rules? Like... law?" Carmine interjects.

Roman snorts. "Yes, fun fact for anyone who ever thinks they can rule the world, they typically don't think that 'rule' part through." His smile remained as he continued. "Over time, the rules were cemented as traditions. Penalties in place for some behaviors, coercion and enforcement of others. It was a complex code I've not seen fully replicated anywhere else in the world."

"Like, culture? How was that?"

"Stealing is permissible. Theft is encouraged. Planning and conspiracy are showcases of pride. Doubly so if you manage to do something through manipulation." He lets out a laugh at the horror filled gaze staring back appalled. "But, this was counterbalanced with harsh, vicious punishments left and right." Slowly, the mirth disappeared as he rattles off. "For instance, stealing is permitted, but getting caught? That allowed for something called Arbitration."

He pauses, taking a drink to let the word hang in the air. Removing the bottle, he sighs. "Violence and disputes between family members were nothing to laugh at. But, when they did happen, most parties would immediately seek an end. Whether that's fully intimidating or crippling someone... or a family member up and disappears."

Carmine froze at that. "... The heck... How-... How are you even a family at that point?"

Rather than answer, Roman went past it. "When an issue between family members becomes known, and one party doesn't wish to let it pass, then the matter goes to the Head of the family. Thus, Arbitration begins, in which the Head will devise some manner for the parties to resolve the conflict."

That got a relieved breath out from the boy. "At least things end peacefully then." Roman's stone cold glare at the wood cuts him off further. Seconds tick by before he adds. "... right?"

"Peace was never the goal. Subjugation was." Roman spat at the word 'peace'. He snidely continues. "The point of Arbitration isn't to mediate and stop the conflict. It's to reinforce the pecking order." At the confused look, he chuckles deeply, but nothing good was felt of it.

. . .

Little Roman's eyes widened. He stood once more before his father. The man's shadow loomed over the boy, the mere presence clenching the child's heart. Roman's hands were in front of his chest, palms up. Within them rested a brass instrument with indentations of a grip.

A pair of brass knuckles.

"What?" Little Roman squeaked out.

His father's cold uncaring glance remained. "Damask has informed me that his son wishes the dispute between you two to be resolved openly. It has been decided that your physical dispute will be decided in exactly that manner." He turns his nose up at his son. "As the challenger, I have granted David the choice of tool to be used by both parties." He looks pointedly to the simple weapon in the boy's hand. "That was the tool chosen." Roman's expression remains shocked as the man rattles off casually. "As the defending party, you have been granted the decision of where the settlement will occur.-"

"What is going on?!" Roman's sister shouts as she bursts into the bedroom. The window illustrated a night sky. The teen girl growls. "Two kids fight over a cookie, and you think it's reasonable have them bludgeon each other?! You're insane!"

As if the girl hadn't spoken a word, Lincoln finishes. "You have three days to decide where the settlement will be, Roman. Understand that your position may very well be affected by the outcome."

His sister reaches and jerks the man by the jacket, forcing him to look at her. With one look, she pauses, but stays in his face. "Arbitration on kids under 10 years old?! What sick kind of person are you?"

Seconds pass before Lincoln speaks again. Yet, he still does not even recognize the girl's presence. "Roman, you are second in line in this family."

"HE'S FIVE!"

"A fact that changes what exactly?" Lincoln finally asks, eyes cutting sideways and glaring into the girl. The girl's frozen form was telling as he gently removes her hand. He brushes off his suit jacket. "Remember, Roman." His words directed at the boy despite his glare on his sister. "Three days. Good night." He side steps the teen girl, sparing one last phrase the two children loathed to hear. "You will speak to me in my office later."

Roman watched his father leave, resigning he, a five year old child, to brutal combat with a boy two years his senior.

. . .

"A settlement is reached after the two parties engage in the challenge, or duel. It can be anything from as minor as a bet to as grim as an actual death match. Only one thing is certain. Blood will spill, and whosoever loses the bout will remain lower on the totem pole than the victor for the foreseeable future."

He would usually love putting the look of horror on the boy's face, but he can't quite work feeling well this time.

He continues. "The hierarchy relates to anyone who should ever have the blood of our family or our name upon them." Roman could feel ill just saying it. "The vast majority of members of our family learn very early to work for yourself or those you can exploit. If blood stands in your way, you go for the throat."

"And... the family Head, or Don, decides these things?" The boy hesitates to ask.

Roman snorts. "We didn't use the word 'Don', but yes. Father was brutal."

Carmine double takes. "Your... dad was the Head? You're crime royalty- OW!"

The conman withdraws his hand he'd used to swat the boy over the head! He fixes him with a glare. "Keep your voice down! No, I'm not 'royalty' like some pompous Atlas broad." He huffs. "My father being the Head did put me fairly high up on the chain."

"How high up?" Carmine asks directly.

Roman looks away, hesitating. "... I was second in line in the scenario that father croaked." When Carmine doesn't immediately comment, Roman looks back up.

The brat is bowing dramatically. "My prince."

CRACK!

Roman's cane pulls back from the boy who shrinks in and clutches his head in pain! "You stupid brat." Roman seethes. He keeps a scathing glower on the boy.

Carmine gulps. "So... you're an entire family of psychopaths with zero empathy for anyone in the world."

"Nope." Roman pops his 'p' with the word. "We had one in my lifetime who wasn't like the rest of us." He pauses with the boy's full attention. He groans. "My sister."

Brain... status report?.. Carmine's frozen stare remains on the man. Slowly, the image she spies morphs... He envisions the man's eyes with mascara, hair past the shoulders, and a slightly pushed out chest... Ew... EWWW! "Uh... certainly hope she inherited the good looks."

Roman's confused stare fades as he rolls his eyes. "Unlikely. We were only half siblings." Carmine cocks his head at that, so the conman explains. "Best I was ever told, long before Mama Torchwick found herself eyeing the old man's cold heart, he'd had a child out of wedlock. He was a high ranking member of the family at the time, went out on a business expedition for two years and came back upon ole grand pa-pi croaking. He walks in with a baby girl drug behind in a mock suit case mixed with a stroller."

Carmine purses his lips. "Probably a bad question, er, questions, but how do you know he didn't just kidnap a kid? Also, why wouldn't he just leave them?"

Roman snorts. "They had a blood test done on them. She was his." He rolls his eyes. "And blood is the loyalty of the family. Anyone with our blood or name has standing, by tradition and rule." Roman pauses to drink, savoring the alcohol. "A worthwhile practice, considering how much of a good investment she turned out to be."

"How so?" Carmine senses the hesitation, seeing the man's features tighten at the mentioning of his sibling. "Tell me bout her?"

A pregnant pause remains as Roman chugs the remainder of his drink. Soon as the empty bottle taps on the table, Roman sighs. "Imagine a 4.0 straight laced paragon of virtue so insufferably caring that you almost choke on the sentimentality upon seeing her."

The answer only earned more confusion. Why does he sound so bitter about it? "I'd probably want to be friends with her."

A snort responds. "Of course, you would," The snide response comes. "Bleeding heart for the masses. She did EVERYTHING to make sure those around her were well taken care of. She might as well have been my mom... for the few times she could be home." At Carmine's confusion, he continues. "Father did everything he could to beat that empathy out of her. Sending her to learn the family trade in constant trips since before I was born."

"I think..." He gazes up, picturing in his mind. "I think the longest I'd ever gotten to spend with her was a four month period when I just turned 4. She was mesmerized with my pattern recognition and obsessed with giving me IQ tests."

"What score'd you get?" Carmine adds, curious.

"173." Roman snickers as he taps his temple in a mocking gesture.

Sarcasm drawls from the boy. "Wow, so much wasted on a street gangster." At Roman's curt glare, Carmine straightens his back and mimes zipping his lips. The man raises a brow before huffing.

"Either way..." Roman starts. "She aced every trip she'd been sent on. Her ability to organize and lead was to die for, cutting corners and making things easier for anyone she worked with. However, things always ended up less bloody wherever she went. Several members of the family thought her mere presence was making us weaker... Maybe that's why the old man got harsher and harsher."

At the new pause, the teen could tell he was touching the heart of the matter. "What happened?" At the question, Roman cuts a glare up, the boy recoiling slightly. A silence fell, the boy sensing that he would not be getting answers quite that easily. However, his mind recalls back... Give and take. Offer, and maybe you'll receive as well. "I've told Blair a lot of this, and Neo a little, but do you want to know what happened after you left that outpost?"

Roman raises a brow. "I can assume most of what happened."

"No. I doubt that." Carmine starts. "Anything you can guess would be only the first part. Dad showing up with Su- A Beacon huntress as backup." his stutter change from the name catches Roman's curiosity. "They fought Killa and his two grunts, the big giant asshole and the..."

"Addict?" Roman cuts in. "The raccoon with all the pin spots in his arms." He even smiles at that. He does notice the deep grimace on the boy's face.

"Yeah. Everything was over my head. The cool combos and powers and fighting... But the end was all I have clear. Both of Killa's guys were killed... and Killa himself killed my dad." Roman raises a brow at that. "I think Dad had the shot to kill him, but took it to save me from the... addict." He says Roman's descriptive word for the raccoon faunus.

He continues. "The huntress who came with him, she... helped bury dad after Killa ran away. At some point, things became a blur, and I wake up the next morning in the mayor of Oja Terrace's house." He smirks. "I didn't know where I was and threw Joseph's lamp at him in self defense when he noticed I was awake."

"Ah, so that's why you got all sentimental back there." Roman condescendingly coos.

The boy wasn't bothered. "Yeah. The huntress was gathering everything she needed to get me to Vale... to... Ozpin." The name comes out with a bite. "The trains were out, though. Some Grimm damaged it."

"Behemoth." Roman rattles off. At the glance, Roman huffs. "The roaming monster crashed into the rails the second my train got through. Those large beasts are annoying for travel plans."

"Yeah... they are." Carmine hesitates. "So, we had to travel by foot. A few days of traveling together was all it took for her to somehow pull me out of it. She-" He grimaces. "She was amazing." The pause remains until the boy adds, almost as a reminder to himself. "Her family lives in Patch..."

Roman wasn't sure why, but the moment the bartender came over to deliver another bottle, he reached over. Grabbing Carmine's soft drink, he begins to pour a third of his beer inside. The dripping of the liquid in the container pulls the boy's attention-

"WOAH! What?! What are you doing?!" He flinches ramrod straight and tense. The shock completely overwrites the storm of emotions a mere ten seconds prior.

The conman has a mirthful chuckle at the boy's reaction. He enjoys messing with people too much. So, he sarcastically drawls. "I was just so surprised to find that I'm not the only one needing a drink. Just sharing is all."

Carmine whisper screams, face flustered red. "I can't! I'm not old en-" He cuts himself off at Roman's raised brow. The boy clamps his mouth shut. "Right, I forgot who I was talking to, but no!"

"Drink, or you get nothing more out of my family history."

Frick on a stick with a brick!

Stubbornly, Carmine takes his drink in a firmer grip, raises it, and almost wretches at the stench of alcohol inside. He wanted to throw it at the conman upon seeing the insufferable smirk. Still, Mom didn't raise a quitter. In one fast motion, the boy takes the drink and downs the remainder of the whole beverage. All at once!

In recoil, his hand launches the empty container across the table. "ACK!" He violently coughs, hacking out of his throat before giving a harsh exclamation. "DEAR LORD! IT'S SO AWFUL! WHY IS THIS A THING?!"

And somehow, this boy's pain brings pure joy to the man. Roman cracks a grin and lets loose an honest laugh. At the boy's expense, of course! "If you live to being a real adult, you'll find out why, I'm sure."

"Bleh! What makes you think that?"

Roman fixers him with a dull glance. "As high stress as you keep yourself, you're gonna be a drinker."

The boy lights up, embarrassed. "Oh, screw yourself." He ends with his arms crossed.

A smirk remains on the man. "So, go on about your first lady crush hero sweeping you away in her arms like the lightweight princess you are."

The topic being brought back in such a humored way staves off the impending guilt and anguish, Carmine snorts. "I was not-... ugh." Shaking the thoughts from his head, he refocuses on the story. "Anyway... we'd gone past another outpost rest area. One of the ones where laying low is what protects from Grimm. On the road afterward, we had to actually take the highway. I can't remember what our options were back then, but I went with everything she said."

Roman nods. "Right, I believe many of the rails closer to that area of Vale start winding through the mountains. The main highways are more direct. Quicker." He thinks on it. "Good views, at least."

"Hmph..." Carmine feels the lead in his gut. "Probably would've been the better choice... Although, we didn't have much food. Probably was a contributing factor. Maybe she could have used her semblance to cut corners there? But then she'd be more exhausted if attacked."

The conman's lip curls down at as he talks. "You're avoiding the subject." He cuts through the prattle. "What actually happened, Silver Streak?"

Carmine snaps his mouth shut, grimacing forward. Even looking at the man, his eyes aren't focused in the slightest. "We... were moving through an alley. Everything was murky with a mist, and apparently is a Grimm stomping ground that gets cleared out regularly in timed and coordinated missions to stop the creation of Grimm hordes." He paused as Roman absorbed that information. "It had been cleared by Qrow not too many weeks before this, actually."

Roman raises a brow, recalling Birdbrain's face. He'd been extraordinarily powerful. The exact reason to avoid Huntsman and Huntresses. So, if the kid is bringing this up... Birdbrain must have missed something.

As if the boy read his mind. "However, despite being completely cleared and Grimm free just days prior... a... rare kind... appeared. Special Grimm that have the ability to call other Grimm to them."

That gets a frown. Roman was more than aware that the reason Hunters are often needed to be around was specifically for these terrible rare types. Running into one is essentially a death sentence for entire villages.

"We came across an overturned vehicle that looked days old at the most... No one survived. Least, from what we could tell. Or, she, I mean. I didn't know what the hell I was looking at besides red when I saw it." He pauses another moment. "Then the small fry came. She'd taken them out easily, but the fact that they were there at all put her on edge. She had comforted me about it at the time, but looking back... She knew exactly how bad the situation was."

"Then the big bad came out after sending its grunts." Roman assumes.

Seconds pass before Carmine raises a brow and nods. "Yeah... Yeah." His hands were fidgeting, clenching and uncurling. "A Nelo, I later looked up. By later, I mean two years after when I could stomach the image in the textbook." The attempt at deprecating humor was as flat as his tone. "She began fighting it. It was impossible to tell who was winning. The mist and everything just blurred it out, save for the arcs of lightning... And I..."

Roman let the moment hang, giving the boy time. Much as he might say otherwise, he was invested. If anything, the boy was more haunted by this than what happened to his own parents. Maybe that's due to Roman's own influence? Ew... Roman's influence good?

The boy finally continues. "I felt that I should help... I grabbed my dad's gun. I remembered how to reload it." He flicks his gaze to his thigh while speaking. "And I shot the thing in the back... Didn't accomplish much more than a minor injury." He gulps, feeling his throat dry. "It turned on me, directing its next attack... and she took the hit for me. It hit her gut and broke through her aura."

The conman recoils at this. "Wait... it was days after the fight with Killa, and you just mentioned her conserving her aura with that route. The thing already had her out of juice?"

Carmine gives a mirthless chuckle. "Well... that's something about her. Her power was so amazing, but... she recovered super slow. Much slower than us. She wasn't close to what I saw when she saved me the first time." His sad smile falls. "A power that she activated a second time. It blinded me with this bright silver light... and then the Grimm was gone."

Silver, eh? Roman raises a brow. Interesting. "So, she won the battle... but not the war, I assume."

The sucking breath Carmine took at the implication choked in hiss throat as he looks up with stinging eyes. "... Yeah..." He groans, blinking his eyes clear of the blurry vision. "She managed to escort us out of the valley, out of the mist, but... I didn't think she could wait until we got to town to treat her wound... I was such an-..." His breathing picked up. "Such-..." He pounds is fists on the table as his eyes shut.

"An idiot! All I had to do was stay out of it, and she would have won. All I had to do was let her walk on her own to town, and she may have made it! ALL I HAD TO DO-! UGH!" He's rocking back and forward in the chair, eyes refusing to open as his hands ball white tight. Then, as if all energy had left him, his muscles sagged, body defeated. "... All I had to do was not kill her."

THAT perked Roman's interest. "Brat, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't see you accomplishing that."

His eyes opened, piercing a gaze on the man. For the flash of a second, Roman saw them flash golden... Something that was happening more and more in the last few months. "You weren't fucking there, so don't even dare!"

The conman maintains a calm frown, halfheartedly raising a surrendering hand. "Then... tell me how. If you're going to be on about killing someone, then who better to let you know if it was on you or not?" And that was as honest as he could be, believe it or not.

It must have meant something to Carmine as he trails his eyes down. "I... didn't know the limits of my semblance... At the time, all I had was that I could do something with time. I'd fused objects back together, and I could rewind myself. Only two or three times a day... I thought that I could heal wounds, too." Roman's questioning gaze spurred the boy on. "My dad cut his hand and let me use my semblance on it... it healed... I thought I had rewound him to before he cut himself, but I was so confused when he told me to never use my semblance in that way til I was older."

"Wait..." Roman starts skeptically, sensing where this was going.

However, the train was moving. "So, I offered to heal her... thought I could... Somehow, she bought into how sure I was... We found a spot off the road for her to lay and-"

"Carmine?.. You're a kind person. I hope you never change."

"..." Carmine's mouth hung slightly open, unable to say the next words. Instead, he could only revert to explaining how he learned what he did... "Last year, Blair did the same test as my dad... She cut her palm and asked me to heal it. I did, and it was... fine... but had a scar on it." He knew the tears were coming. Try as he might, he knew he couldn't last long. "A scar doesn't come from rewinding... but fast forwarding."

Roman was stunned. Thoroughly shocked by the utter shit storm this kid blindly walked into.

"... Next morning, I... was woken up... the blood had dried out... and Neo was standing over me." Roman almost had a double take there. "She'd seen the signs of battle, asked her mom to pull over their car under the guise of a bathroom break, and she snuck into the woods for her fun." The boy rattles off. "... Her mom would take me to Vale with them and drop me off at Beacon... the rest you know."

"And you were smitten by the tricolor lass enough to buy her with cash seven years later." Roman TRIED to inject a joke, but let it die as no one would be laughing. "Good hell, kid. No wonder you got such a screwed up head." No biting comment came back, so Roman held eye contact. "You realize her mission was to protect you, and she did, right? Hell, in the right circumstances, or even the more common circumstances, everything you did was textbook super man."

"I killed her." Carmine hit back. "That's it... Nothing will change that." He let his gaze trail off. "She's no longer making this world better... because of me. It wasn't a Grimm who did it. It wasn't a monster like Killa. It was me." His words grew harsher with each sentence. "Every minute I'm alive and she isn't in and of itself is a crime that I will pay for." he held Roman's gaze, dead blue meeting dubious green. "And the only way to do that is to save all the people she no longer can. Nothing else matters."

Red flag. Roman ticks this off in his head. This is what Blair kept doing those team gods damned surveys for for months!

Shit... If Blair can't help the brat, what kind of horrible plate mess does that mean Roman's been served?!

He lets out a whistle, sounding almost impressed. Best to do this the only way he knows how. "Forgive me for saying this, but that doesn't QUITE sound correct." His snarky tone elicits a glare from the boy.

Carmine's mouth opens, but a cough comes out first. He ignores that and goes forward. "Don't even try to say it wasn't my fault. I've had enough of hearing that bullshit."

The man purses his lips, nodding at that. "Okay... okay. In fact, let's take this a different way... so what?" A spark in the boy's eyes lights a smirk on Roman's lips, but the conman holds a preemptive hand up. "Now, maybe this needs a look from, say, a legal sense." He suppresses a snicker. "I know a thing or two there."

Seeing the simmering anger and confusion was delightful, so Roman continues. "Let's say, for argument, that this tragic horror story happened just yesterday, as it oh so clearly seems to be for you. The good folks in blue happen upon the scene of the event, find a weeping horrified child, and take him in. Let's skip all the details between the handcuffs and courtroom. What would they charge you of?"

Carmine looks at him like he's crazy. "M-... murder-"

"EH! Wrong!" Roman cuts in before flippantly flicking a hand up. "You went in with all the intent to help a person. Which mind you, is quiet easy to believe, as you are the weeping, helpless, child found crying and traumatized."

Each and every word simultaneously pulled the boy into his memories... and wrenched him away from them so he could be angry. So, he sat and listened.

"In short, no lawyer would be able to win murder on you, as intent as well as knowledge of were doing are very large pieces of information there. So, try again." He watches the boy work his mouth uselessly a moment. "Now, criminal negligence? Someone might bring THAT charge. However, definitions are key. Seeing as every action you took was based on your misunderstanding of your own ability, your standard jury isn't going to classify the ignorance of a child as deliberate neglect of the situation."

"Now, in Mistral, that might still get you destroyed in a tribunal, but in Vale and Atlas, there's the lovely Good Samaritan laws." He pauses.

Carmine blinks once... twice... Nothing. His stomach churns as he shifts in his seat, but he's more focused on Roman.

Roman's smirk falls. Gods, thank goodness he's too smart to weep for the stupid. "Essentially, lets say someone chokes on food, you give them CPR, and crack a rib in chest compression. Sure, you broke their bone, but you took actions intended to save their life. Thus, they can't sue you for said broken rib. Even further, let's assume they did die while you performed said act. So long as you can prove you were acting in the good faith of assisting, you'd be hard pressed to be found guilty of most charges."

"What's the point of this?" Carmine cuts in, wanting to remove the clutter in the conversation.

The condescending smirk returns. "Tell me. Would your she hero have died left by herself in the woods?" Carmine's mouth opens, but clamps shut. "Follow up, you had an experiment with your father in which you believed fully in what you thought your semblance did, AND have the evident of a scar on his body to prove your case."

The boy's confused face comes back hard.

"Again, assuming your father could be looked at." Roman cuts in. "In other words, the likelihood that a lawyer could bring the correct charges AND convince a full jury, under a fair, squeaky clean court, to convict you of anything is incredibly low. Thus, in my opinion, you can consider yourself legally cleared of blame."

Carmine lets a growl out under his breath, rolling his eyes. "That doesn't mean anything." His eyes sting and he blinks the feeling away. "Guilty people get away with things all the time because they can't be proven."

Roman actually had to be impressed. The boy would argue him on that two years ago. "Yes, but I included all the context there. People will let you go, so why do you still blame yourself? Is it a pity party, or are you just that entrenched in the guilty verdict, you won't be satisfied until the judge rings that gavel with a punishment."

The boy sits in silence a moment, brow scrunched. A pause later, he opens his mouth.

"What's her name?" Roman presses. The teen's body locks up, sucking in a breath. The conman picks up on that, stating clearly. "I see. It's the latter. This woman is your gods damned boogeyman. You think getting punished will make it better?"

Carmine gulps, looking away. He felt weird... what is this? No time... He should answer the question. "She shows up sometimes." His voice rasps out quietly. "I see her." He feels Roman's gaze on him. "I tell myself she isn't there, but doing that just makes it worse."

Roman huffs. "Oh, you have an imaginary friend. Lovely." He mocks. "When's the last time you saw them?"

"Three days ago." Not even a second of thought. "Two weeks ago for the time before that. Last time was when you and Blair were on the phone with those jerks at the plant setting up the buy. Time before that was when we passed the rosary in Mali."

O... kay. Completely separate scenarios elicit a hallucination... Psychology isn't exactly his forte, but... "Yes... you were wound up and easily angered after both of those times. I got you yelling after two jabs rather than the typical five."

The boy sends a glower back. "You keep count-" He huffs. "Of course you do." He gets more frustrated as Roman's grin grows.

"Well, word from the wise, if you think punishing yourself or dedicating your life religiously to the dead will help, it won't." He maintains eye contact. "Take it from someone who has actually killed more people than you see in your head." He keeps the contact, coldly crushing the boy's resolve until he looks away. "She'll hang over your head so long as you can't even say her name, but know this. She won't go away. No matter what you do or say."

A silence fell over them, the boy sullenly glancing off. Roman trains an eye on him, spotting the boy's blinking eyes slower than before. Hmm. Not too much longer. He returns to drinking his beer, content to wait the effect out.

However, a curve ball came when the boy mumbles out. "Smr."

Roman cocks his head at the mumble. "What?"

"Her name..." Carmine blinks slowly. "Her name is Summer. Summer Rose."

The two returned to silence, the boy reflecting on the name. His heart clenches just saying it. Yet, it was not as... hurtful as before. Maybe the first time he's spoken her name this calmly in... Since he met her. Maybe Roman has a point? Maybe... He glances up to Roman, finding the man's features completely neutral, save for eyes wide.

A flash of something within them... then...

"PFTAHAHAHAHAHA" Roman's head whips back, chair leaning back and balancing on its back legs. The man's uproarious laughter boomed through the cabin pub.

Despite the strange feeling inside, Carmine's shock took over, wide alert eyes watching the conman joyfully, TEARFULLY, cackle at the woman's name... At SUMMER'S name. This man is laughing at her. The boy could swear he was seeing red. "What the fuck is so funny?!" He jets up to his feet immediately, standing over the table, over the man doubled over in laughter.

Roman wipes a tear from her eyes. "Of- hehe, Of ALL the moronic heroes of the world... It's just too perfect." He contains himself before kicking into a fit of chuckling, contained laughter.

Carmine flinches, as if he'd been punched. "Moronic- Summer was amazing! The best person I'd ever met in my life! Quit fucking laughing-"

Roman's head snaps a dead cold glare at the boy, the booming laughter cutting instantly. His green eyes piercing through to the kid's soul... a dead nature to them as he firmly, and icily states. "Summer Rose was a harlot whore for heroism, and her dying for a self loathing brat is icing on the cake."

The words, like ice water, chilled the boy, just from how intense the man's speech became. However, the woozy feeling returns, his eyes blinking. Carmine's head starts to spin, his hand instinctively reaching for Heulin Noon. "Don't... you dare... tal..." His vision blurs, legs starting to give out before he catches himself on the table. "W- what?" His last sight is Roman's cold stare before the boy keels over onto the floor.

Roman raises a brow. "That took longer than I expected... just when the conversation got interesting." He spares a glance to the rest of the pub, the people looking wary and... on guard. "Oh, he's not dead. Just slipped a mickey. As you do." He flippantly gestures. Roman stands up, finishing his beer before flicking cash to the pub owner. "Look after him, yeah? He'll be out for a few hours."

The owner of the depressingly small establishment, a middle aged balding gentleman, blinks innocently before muttering.. "Sure..?"

Satisfied, but more irritable than ever, Roman glances over the few patrons. Finally, he ends on a ratty looking thin man in a brown leather getup. The man's brown hair was short and kept. He was begging to look tough without succeeding. A perfect run man...

Roman smirks, directing the tip of Velvet Valentine. "You're who I'm looking for."

Rather than confusion, he saw panic, only confirming his intuition. "W-what? I'm not-" The slightly raised voice sounded offended. However, while many of the patrons looked to have a small sidearm near on their person, he was the only one with a proper elemental dust casing in his gun, ice dust, from the look.

"Cute, but don't waste my time." Roman zeroes in on what he's sure is hired handy man material. "You got until I finish this beer before you escort me to your boss. And before you demand why, just think of your boss and apply the following information." His snarky smirk is replaced with the same cold glare he'd applied to the boy moments prior. "It's family business."

The defensive nature caved immediately, a fearful gaze meeting. "... Right. RIGHT! Sure... Gotcha." The man stands up. "Let's go-"

"Ah! I haven't finished by beer, yet." Roman snarks back, bottoming out the beverage. "There we are..." His tone betrayed his own displeasure. The two men leave, the boy left behind unconscious.

. . .

Atop the mountain ahead, far above the two, was a smooth round tower. Atlas construction, by the looks of it. Roman sees what certainly USED to be white. Now the compound seems like endless tones of gray. The bulk of the area is a wide factory yard lined with warehouses, cat walks as a second level, and rails on the ground originally meant for transfer of raw materials.

Roman got the gist from a single glance. Atlas must have mined dust from the surrounding areas. However, given the age and wear on the walls, they must have abandoned the base. Grimm problems? This close to currently existing towns? No dust to see, so Atlas just ran dry on the resources.

Ah, Roman sees the line of reasoning. The place was already made, it was being cleared. Whoever first took this place must have done so as the white suits were leaving. Take just little enough the military won't come down on you. Take and obtain a full home base out of the way. Free home base.

Sure, perhaps hunters have record of this place, but no one's footing that bill. Brilliant.

At least, so long as no one causes TOO much trouble. Roman could almost smile to appreciate the value of hiding in plain sight. Sunlight can only be a disinfectant for so many things. However, nothing brought a smile to Roman in these circumstances.

Of all the names... That was not one he was ever looking forward to hearing again.

No time to wonder, though. He'd stewed on the stupid brat's 'whoa is me' story long enough since conking him out with the pill he'd snuck into that drink. From the moment he put the beer in Carmine's beverage, the conversation had a time limit. But He has to wonder how angry Silver Streak would have gotten if they were allowed to argue on that?

No. Roman enjoys contentious argument, but he will not abide an argument about that.

He has a more pressing topic for thought. Like he and the lackey he'd sniffed out were approaching a guard check at the compound entrance. Beefy bruisers with likely single digit IQ's. A lot of leather armor, rough looking fighters all over the compound, watching from newly wooden constructed towers attached to the metal and concrete buildings.

It doesn't match for looks, but they have at least SOME measure of craftsmanship. Roman could appreciate that, at least. The most curious thing he spots is a penchant for red interior stitching to their clothes and wearing white under their leather.

They're flying the colors, at least in a roundabout way. Far more browns and greens in some of the ruffians. They're all armed with three weapons each. A machete, ax, or knife for melee. A pistol or revolver sidearm. Finally, either a shotgun, rifle, or in the case of the bruisers, large clubs.

The first of the bruisers glances over Roman's escort at the conman. "What's with Tiny, there?"

"Wants to speak to the boss. 'Family matters' he says." The small lackey clarifies. The two spare a glance at Roman, the conman giving a cocky grin back. Turning away, the lackey mutters. "Got the eyes, but I don't see much else between him and the boss."

"We'll see." The large man, a head taller than Roman, brandishes his club threatening and steps up to Roman. He huffs his breath down.

At this point, Roman is merely bored. Seriously? The size intimidation trick? "I must be in the wrong place. I expected competence. Not doorman to a terrible nightclub tactics." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Talk about amateurs."

"What?!" The man huffs angrily, nostrils flared. He shifts his hold on the club, and Roman reacts instantly.

In a blur, Roman cracks the hammer side of Velvet Valentine's handle into the man's hand. The man yelps and releases the club and stumbles back. Roman kicks him center gut to gain space, then hooks the man's shirt with his cane's hook pick side. He wrenches the off balance man's head down, smashing his face with his knee. Roman snatches the man's sidearm pistol as he falls, aiming it at the second bruiser before he even reacts.

The entire compound of men tense and reach for their weapons before Roman cracks a mocking grin. "Oh, please." With his off hand, he rotates the pistol and begins ejecting the magazine, connecting pins, and dropping the pistol on the ground in three pieces. "If you're that eager to make this difficult, at least have a brain about it."

Rather than respond, the entire compound goes deathly silent for a moment. Then, a door sounds open, pulling Roman's attention to a high wooden constructed balcony on the main white tower. The door is open as a man walks out, ans Roman scowls.

The man was slightly taller than Roman, built slightly heavier in muscle. A lit blunt of what Roman could assume was cannabis stuck from his mouth. The man's black hair is swept to one side, cut shirt, with not quite mutton chop sideburns. Just not thick enough. His skin was the sane tone as the conman's, but had freckles showing.

He wears black boots, dark brown leather pants, a white shirt underneath dark brown leather vest. The interior of the vest is red, the material loose enough to show the interior. His muscles showed from the white t shirt sleeves, tattooed up the sides in a jet black floral pattern with red petals tattooed as well. Two clean white finger-less gloves. His chin is chiseled square, with strong sharp features. But one this is identical to the conman below.

The green eyes.

His hands remain on his hips, where two holsters show with custom weapon guns, silver and black, rest. His hands tense upon meeting Roman's eyes from afar. His mouth parts as a look of confusion comes over him.

Well, no turning back. If he can stare down Killian Gonzola, then this is no excuse to not be himself.

So, Roman cracks a condescending smirk, tilting his head up confidently. "What? No fine hello to your favorite cousin? Auntie would be ashamed of you."

The man's realization was clear, only letting out a shocked outburst. "Ro..? Roman?" The man's voice was deeper than expected. A deep baritone.

Roman's smirk was a complete lie, hiding the annoyed venom beneath as he sweetly responds. "How's it going... Davey Boy." Alright, David... let's see how the family's changed over two decades...

Alright, so cousins and tense conversations. Oh my!

… Yeah, I'm expecting to get judged heavily for Roman's backstory, but we aren't completely finished yet. Hope it's satisfying to those who read. At this point, the payoff may be clear as to Roman's real name.

Join next time in Chapter Forty Three: Who Never Came.