Hello dear readers! I just wanted to say, fear not! This story has not been abandoned. Far from it. I took a fall and broke my finger, so I was in a brace for over a month. Therefore, I was unable to type very well, if at all. I am so sorry that I left you all in such a long drought. Believe me, it was hurting me just as much. But here we are, with a brand new chapter! This will be broken up into two chapters since it was rather long. I felt I owed you guys big time for being so patient. The second half will post Friday. There are some Italian words in this chapter. Translations are provided at the end, if necessary. As always, many thanks to my beta, PhantomSith, for putting up with shenanigans over this crazy month and a half.
Raoul was running late. He was expected at Vertical in less than twenty minutes, but he knew he wouldn't make it in time, even if he pushed his Jaguar's horsepower to the limit. Philippe was destined to be disappointed by yet another of his younger brother's failures. Splashing cold water on his face and running a hand through his mussed hair, Raoul hoped it would be enough to convince his older brother that he could be responsible.
The image in the mirror was somewhat less green around the gills than it had been a few minutes ago when he was heaving his guts over the toilet, but the bloodshot eyes staring back at him couldn't lie.
He never should've let his friends convince him to have a night on the town. Studio 54 wasn't a place one would call a 'light' bit of fun.
Raoul's road to hell had lasted most of the night and included copious amounts of alcohol. The pounding in his head paid testament to that. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, rubbing his temples to try and lessen the pain.
It wasn't working.
Raoul ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion bore down on him like a ten-ton weight. When he cast a passive glance at his palm, he was stunned to see specks of blood on his fingers. Looking at his reflection again, he noticed his nostrils reddened with inflammation.
What the hell! His mind reeled with shock as he wracked his brain to remember just what had happened the night before.
Did he get into a fight? Oh God…please tell me I didn't do something to embarrass myself or the family! Mother will lose her mind
Looking himself over for some kind of clue about what happened, Raoul noticed what appeared to be some kind of white dust on his shirt sleeve. Narrowing his eyes, his head began to pound even harder as whisps of memory were returning/
There was a woman. Well…a few, actually. His friends had invited some…entertainment…into the VIP room. There was dancing, drinking, and…
"Oh shit…" A weary groan crackled from his parched throat as terrible realization sunk in. One of the girls– he wasn't sure which – brought a treat with her…
Cocaine.
He didn't do drugs. His friends knew that. He was so drunk at the time though that he wasn't sure he could've said no if he tried. Raoul had a vague memory of her setting up a line and handing him some kind of card. What happened next was a blur of clothes flying off and blissful sensation.
After that…nothing.
But Raoul couldn't focus on that right now. Philippe was expecting him and if he didn't get moving, he was going to be so late that there would be no point in showing up at all.
Stripping off last night's garments Raoul gave himself a quick sponge bath and spot shave, before throwing on his nicest workout clothes. He packed one of his most expensive suits in a bag for later and splashed himself with a bit of Brute in a vain attempt to hide the lingering scent of his misdeeds.
It took running several lights and other more questionable maneuvers, but Raoul managed to arrive only fifteen minutes late. Which, all things considered, was better than he'd expected. After signing in, he made his way over to the locker rooms with swiftness, not wanting to irritate Philippe any further.
As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Shoving his bag into his locker, Raoul spotted Philippe standing at the other side of the room, ensconced in a corner with business associates on either side of him. They were in deep in conversation, so much so that his brother didn't even register that he'd entered the room.
Story of his life.
He'd just grabbed a towel from the cupboard when the group of amicable voices began devolving into clipped, hushed tones. Raoul's surreptitious gaze slid over to the assembled businessmen as the discussion seemed to make a rapid descent into a heated argument.
Philippe, as usual, was right in the middle of it.
Standing before him was a tall man with slicked-back hair and an athletic build that filled out his cliched jogging suit with an impressive array of lean, toned muscles. He was, by far, the most vocal of the entourage.
The man leaned his head forward, his belligerent tone softening into a low murmur. The confrontational attitude had dissolved into a more conspiratorial approach. "Look, we ain't askin' for much, Phil. We just wanna have a say is all. It's our money. It ain't right that we don't get to make no decisions about where it goes."
Philippe tamped down a groan at Salvatore's nerve. Did they think he was stupid? He knew a blatant attempt at appeasement when he heard it.
"Perhaps you've misunderstood the parameters of our arrangement. You need someone beyond reproach to ensure your family's funds are… clean and untraceable," Philippe droned, his voice laced with the type of forced calmness one would use when explaining something to a child for the millionth time. "I ensure that by filtering those assets through my company's well-respected – and legitimate - investments. Both of us profit. Everybody wins."
Salvatore's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring.
Philippe's brow raised, knowing Sal couldn't let it seem like he was losing momentum in this exchange. It would be a slap in the face. He almost hoped it would result in another outburst, anything to relieve the utter boredom of this inane conversation. Raoul wasn't certain what this particular meeting was about, but his older brother's cool demeanor was unrelenting in the face of his colleagues' increasing ire, which made it more than clear that he was in complete control of this debate. Whatever they were disagreeing over…well…it was obvious this was a case of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.
"Don't give me that cerebrale bullshit!" He spat before a rapid succession of irate Italian spewed forth. "Big shot here thinks he's better than us! With all his fucking power and money!". He bolted forward, chest puffed out and hands flaring in flamboyant gestures. He even went so far as to shake one inches from Philippe's face. "Papa de Chagny you ain't, Phil. And you're never gonna be. You ain't never been able to keep your…partners…in line. Not like he could. You're nothin' without us and all the dirty little secrets we squeeze out 'em so you can keep your hands wrapped around their necks!"
Philippe remained unflappable, unmoved by the tirade, which only served to incense Salvatore even further. His tone darkened as he responded in calm, unflinching French: "Perhaps you'd like to renegotiate our terms, Salvatore? I would, however, choose wisely before making any rash decisions. For decades, your grandfather has trusted us to handle your family's financial transactions, and we have done so without blemish. He has never faulted us in our ability to make the right choices regarding his investments. He only ever tightened the noose on certain…individuals…in absolute necessity. It would be a shame if that partnership were sullied by his grandson's impudent and disrespectful remarks."
Salvatore's face went beet red as if steam would soon pour out of his ears. That was when Raoul noticed him take a small step backward, arm raising as his hand balled into a meaty fist.
Raoul's eyes widened and he dropped the towel, moving toward them to his brother's defense. Before he could make it a few steps in Philippe's direction, however, another man in the circle bolted forward and grabbed the would-be assaulter by the arm, roughly yanking him away.
As the man was hauled off spitting vapid Italian ire, Raoul could hear the gentleman who hustled him off muttering to him in undertones. Although the other man was a few years older, he and Salvatore bore a more than passing resemblance. Judging by their matching embittered expressions, both were beyond aggravated with Philippe…and each other.
The tension in the room began to deflate after the break-up of that little display. By unspoken agreement, the group decided that the meeting was over, and the crowd began filing out in quiet haste until only Philippe, Raoul, and the rescuer remained.
The man walked over to Philippe, pulling his windbreaker taught, and the two held a short conversation just toting the edge of cordial that Raoul was unable to make out. It appeared that he was trying to…placate Philippe, maybe? The tightness of his smile spoke otherwise while his older brother only gave a cold stare that all but blew the guy off without batting an eyelash.
Having no further interest in the man, Philippe moved over to his locker to retrieve his gym bag, tuning out anything else happening around him.
Vibrating with rage, the man turned to walk away until his gaze locked onto Raoul. There was a silent fury simmering in the man's eyes, which left Raoul feeling unnerved. He scrutinized the younger de Chagny for several tense moments, Raoul's eyes narrowing as he forced himself to return the glare with equal animosity. The man's head tilted to the side, his expression blank and emotionless, but Raoul knew he was being sized up.
The slow grin that spread across the man's face as he slipped out of the room made Raoul's skin crawl.
A cold chill slithered down Raoul's spine, causing a visible shiver to slither down to his toes. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to will the nerves away.
"Raoul!" Philippe barked, and Raoul almost jumped out of his skin as he was jarred from the shelter of his mind. "Punctuality aside, I would say it was nice of you to join us, but I suppose I should just be thankful you actually remembered to show up this time."
Raoul stiffened at Philippe's 'poignant words.' Indignant, he found himself clutching a fist. Raoul loved his brother, but after years of being beaten down by Philippe's snide and disparaging remarks, the weight of those words could drive him to his breaking point.
"Philippe," he muttered a well-used lie through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry. I was stuck in traf—"
"Raoul, just…don't." Philippe cut him off with a wave of his hand and a beleaguered sigh, ending any further discussion on the matter. "I'm in no mood to listen to a litany of your usual feeble excuses. Salvatore has irritated me enough this morning as it is. At this point, you're beginning to sound like a broken fucking record."
Having changed into a swimsuit, Philippe pulled on his terrycloth robe and tightened the belt. He grabbed his gym bag and sauntered down the hall past the showers, stopping at the door to the basement. Turning back to give his younger brother one last tired look, he uttered, "I'm going downstairs for a soak. I need to relax. Do whatever you want. I'll see you at home later."
With that, he disappeared through the doorway.
Raoul was seething at this point but unable to find a focus for his anger. As much as he wanted to, He couldn't confront Philippe directly, much as he wanted to, or he'd be laid flat on his ass. His brother would waste no time relaying all of these events to their mother, who would look down her nose at him in continued disdain.
Raoul's heart thumped wildly as his breathing became harsh and erratic. He could feel his chest tightening as the heat of his temper rose within. Spotting a heavy plastic bin by the door, he marched over, reared back with a howl, and kicked it until it fell over, spewing its contents across the floor.
Having heard the clamor, a locker attendant ran in. After surveying the scene, he gaped at Raoul with a slackened jaw. Raoul was leaning over a sink, gripping the edges so tight that he was holding on for dear life. For a few long, tense moments, all that could be heard was the sound of Raoul's ragged breathing as he worked to bring himself back under control.
With sudden haste, and before the attendant could even ask what happened, Raoul's back straightened and he turned around, face passive as he grabbed his towel and marched out the door.
Raoul spent a good hour on the treadmill, running at the highest setting he could stand. Sweat poured down his back, his heart still pounding. He felt his stomach starting to cramp from the exertion, but he ignored it. Going hard kept his mind focused on the here and now, not what had happened earlier. By the time he'd finished his final mile and cooled down, he'd managed to burn off the last of his hangover and move on into a state of complete exhaustion.
That was good, though. It was exactly what he needed.
Back in the locker room, Raoul stripped off his sweat-soaked gym clothes and used a wet rag to wipe himself down. Wrapping a towel around his hips and slipping on a pair of shower shoes, he trudged down the hall to the sauna, desperate to rest his aching muscles in the steam and forget about the world for a while.
Wanting nothing more than to be alone for a bit, Raoul was grateful that the sauna was unoccupied. Taking a seat on one of the benches, Raoul leaned back and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he let the comforting warmth of the steam and the soft hum of the heating coils lull him into slumber.
"Wakey, wakey, kid!" a loud voice boomed from the ether, jarring Raoul out of a deep sleep. His eyes flew open, and a grunt of pain flew from his throat from the sharp slap across his back. The blow was so hard that he lurched forward, his arms flailing outward in an instinctual attempt to keep himself upright.
Unable to maintain his balance on the rather narrow bench, Raoul landed on his knees. Only his agility and arm strength kept him from falling flat on his face. As it was, he had just enough foresight to grab the corner of his towel with one hand after he went down, or the result would have made for an embarrassing situation. The man responsible looked on, his eyes lighting up as he snorted in laughter.
Raoul pulled himself to his feet with awkward, stilted movements, trying hard to keep his lower half covered. Once he'd stood upright, he winced and gasped a pained breath through his teeth at the stinging sensation rippling down his back.
His gaze snapped to the intruder with enough venom to kill, but any furious response died in Raoul's throat as recognition came over him. It was the man who had hustled Salvatore out of the locker room before he and Philippe came to blows.
Sitting down on the bench with care, Raoul let out a weary sigh and ran a hand over his face. He knew he couldn't let the guy have it, as much as he wanted to. That would make Philippe look bad…and it would be bad for business.
"What do you want? And was that necessary?" Raoul grumbled, struggling not to sound like a whiny child.
"Nah. It wasn't," the man shrugged his shoulders in mock apology. Chucking, he added, "But it was funny as hell!"
Raoul didn't find it at all amusing. He was done being everyone's punching bag. He didn't have to take this crap because Philippe was an unrepentant asshole. His brother didn't think he was responsible enough to handle being a part of the business? Fine. He could have it.
He adjusted the tightness of his towel and stood, turning toward the door, but the firm grip on Raoul's arm stopped him before he could leave. "Woah, kid!" The man pulled Raoul back, whispering in a dark and ominous tone, "I didn't say we were done, did I?"
Looking back at him, an audible gulp gurgled from Raoul's throat as he saw the man's Cheshire grin dissolve into a heinous scowl. Raoul gave a quick shake of his head to indicate his compliance, and the man released his hold after a long moment so they could face each other.
"Now that we've gotten all that…unpleasantness out of the way, let me introduce myself," the man offered his hand, all traces of his monstrous disposition having been replaced with a cheerful façade. "Matteo Conti. I know you've already met my cousin Sal. He's…kinda hard to miss," Matteo chortled, but from Raoul's blank look, it seemed he wasn't in on the joke. "Eh…I'm sorry about all that. Sal can be a little…over-enthusiastic sometimes, ya know? Drives me nuts, but what can I say?" Matteo shrugged, the picture of innocence. "He's family."
Raoul returned the handshake out of respect but remained guarded. He had no idea what Conti wanted but had a fair idea of what the man was capable of. He wasn't about to poke a sleeping bear.
"Anyway…here's how it is. We've worked with your brother for a long time. Now, don't get me wrong," Conti was quick to reassure Raoul, his hands out and placating, "Philippe's a good guy. He's always done right by us, but see…he does things old school. For most of the family, that's all well and good, but some of us think…it's time for a change. We'd like to sit down and have a…chat. But not here. Somewhere more…private."
Raoul's eyes narrowed. He might not have that much knowledge of his father's business dealings, but based on the earlier disagreement in the locker room, it wasn't difficult to surmise that these…associates…were looking to make a grab for more power.
Raoul knew Philippe would never budge an inch for these people. It just wasn't in his nature.
So…what, then? They can't get what they want from Philippe, so they work over his easy-to-influence baby brother?
Not bloody likely. Still…if Raoul could make it appear as though he was interested, he might be privy to information he could pass on to Philippe and ensure that his brother wasn't about to be stabbed in the back.
He was assured to get into his brother's good graces that way. And he could prove to Philippe that he wasn't a lost cause.
Crossing his arms, Raoul's voice was even-keeled as he replied, "Well…I suppose. I mean…if it can help Philippe…"
"Great! Because I wasn't asking." A wolfish grin unfurled across Matteo's face as he slapped Raoul on the shoulder so hard his teeth chattered. Raoul was wise enough not to let anything negative show in his reaction as he returned the gesture with a lop-sided smile. "You go and get dressed. Meet me outside in ten minutes. Oh, and uh…the boss…he don't like to be kept waiting…"
With that, Matteo walked away, his shower shoes slapping the tile as he went. Raoul wasted no time showering and changing into the expensive suit he'd packed. Ensuring that he had not a hair out of place, he collected his belongings and made it to the front doors just in time to see a sleek, black Lincoln Town Car roll up to the curb.
Matteo appeared out of nowhere, startling Raoul a bit as he brushed past him to open the passenger door. Waving Raoul over, Matteo gestured towards the backseat. With the windows tinted, it was difficult for Raoul to see who was inside, if anything at all, which was unnerving, to say the least.
Matteo's brows rose, his posture rigid and his head cocking to the side.
Their eyes locked for a few seconds of silent examination, but Raoul refused to flinch. Philippe was always drilling into him how important it was to never let your enemies see you sweat. What kind of de Chagny would he be if he did? He climbed into the vehicle, but before he was even able to get comfortable in his seat, the door slammed shut and the car peeled off.
For a few tense moments, nothing was said as the Town Car proceeded to make a slow circle of the next several blocks. An older, salt-and-pepper-haired gentleman sat before him. He was olive-complected and somewhat rotund, but the well-tailored Italian suit he wore hid most of his excess weight. The two of them were alone except for the driver, but if the man was anything like his family's chauffeur, he was paid either not to listen or not to care.
As the car cruised up the block, the gentleman pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one. He took a long drag, and the smoke expelled from his nostrils in wispy tendrils, making him resemble some mythical dragon.
His penetrating gaze moved over Raoul as if he were examining a prized head of cattle. Raoul's gut churned. Whether it was from the smell of the smoke or his nerves, he wasn't certain, but he had the distinct impression that if he didn't play this right, this little tet-a-tet was going to be like walking over broken glass.
"So…Raoul. We meet at last," the man groused, trying to appear welcoming, but again, Raoul could see the subtle hint of darkness hidden underneath his jovial mask.
"I'm sorry…do we…know each other? I don't –" Raoul tried to ask, his tone as open and innocuous as possible. Philippe had always said there was nothing more important than a first impression.
Before he could finish his thought, though, the gentleman waved him off and replied, "Our families have done business for many years, before you were even born. We may not have met until just now, but I know who you are. The name's Rocco. Rocco Conti." He extended his hand, and this time, Raoul didn't think twice before shaking it. "I know you remember my nephews. They're good boys, although Salvatore…well…sometimes he gets ahead of himself. He means well, though. He just wants what's best for the family. I think you can understand that Raoul. Am I right?"
Conti's continued nonchalance was keeping him on edge, his throat going dry so that he had to clear it before replying, "Of course."
Taking another pull, Conti continued, "You see, there are two things in this world, other than family, that my father has always held as sacred. Loyalty and respect. This never was an issue in the past. Your father was always good to us; kept things equal on both sides. He listened to what we had to say and always considered our interests when he made our investments."
Raoul had a feeling about where this was going. They weren't happy with how his brother did business, and he needed to ensure that they didn't mean him any harm or this conversation was going to take a terrible turn.
Conti leaned back, the hand holding the cigarette rubbing his forehead as though whatever he was about to reveal pained him. "Philippe on the other hand…well…loyalty he's got in spades. Respect…not so much. See, your father understood the value of investing in neighborhoods. They might not be the most profitable like those high-profile, corporate types your brother loves fawning over, but they have staying power."
Conti paused for a moment to stub out his cigarette and went on, "We're talking about a system of community-building that's lasted over a hundred years, Raoul. Mom-and-pop shops that look to us for protection, and in turn, they let us invest in their success. Your father appreciated that, and our need to keep a low profile. But your brother likes to take risks playing cat and mouse with these big, prestigious companies. He enjoys having power and lording it over everyone. It's always his way. His decisions about where our money goes. We do all the work, and he gets all the rewards. That's not an even distribution, Raoul. You get what I'm saying, here?
"Now, my father…he doesn't much care about how all of this flows. As long as our money's protected, he's happy. But I see what the future holds, Raoul. How the landscape has changed. The way we do business now…it's not the same anymore. Used to be, you busted a few kneecaps, collected on some debts, and you could go home feeling confident you'd done a good day's work. These days…well…it's all about the dirty laundry. Collecting pesky little secrets that those rich men in their lofty towers don't want people to know. That takes a lot of time and even more money to make happen. And for what? Your holier-than-thou brother to look down on us like we're no better than the dirt under his shoes? Oh! Unless he needs us, of course."
Raoul was now certain that his assumptions were correct. They were having a hard time dealing with Philippe, so they felt they could work around him by manipulating his innocent, doe-eyed baby brother.
We'll see about that, Raoul thought to himself with a confidence he didn't entirely feel and straightened his tie, replying, "Mister Conti…I'm sure we can work this out. Perhaps if you gave me a prospectus of possible investment opportunities that you'd like Philippe to consider, I can bring it to my father. He might not be an active participant in the business anymore, but I know Philippe has always been considerate of his input, and there would be a much greater chance that my brother would be amenable to –"
"No, Raoul." Conti snarled. As he leaned forward, the temperature in the car felt like it had dropped to arctic levels, and a shadow passed over the older man's eyes. "I don't have the least bit of confidence that Philippe would listen to damn thing your father has to say. He hasn't in years. And I'm tired of having to smile like an idiot while your brother's got his boot in my back."
Sitting back with his palms out, his countenance became calm and friendly once again. The manic shifts in Conti's behavior were giving Raoul whiplash. "Look…we don't ask for much. Just a secure and equal seat at the table. We're hoping that you can provide that for us. We know that you have access to certain…lower-level bank accounts within the firm. Ones that go unnoticed by the pencil pushers who work with the big-ticket clients that your brother loves so much. We want you to…restructure these accounts so that the money we give you will be put into investments of our choosing. If we can grow these, on top of what we already have, it'll be a win-win situation for everyone."
Raoul rubbed his chin and took a deep breath. Could he pull this off? Should he?
Common sense was telling him that this entire scheme had gone well over his head, but at the same time, his conscience nagged with an overwhelming fear for Philippe's well-being. "Mister Conti, I'm not sure just what kind of access you think I have. While it's true Philippe allows me to work on these smaller accounts to gain experience while I'm on holiday from university, my abilities are somewhat limited. Although…I suppose it is possible that I could make a few deposits and add the new investments to these open accounts. But…that would be an egregious abuse of my brother's trust. We might not see eye to eye at the best of times, but I just can't imagine doing something like that behind Philippe's back"
"Trust!" Conti slammed his fist on the door's armrest, causing Raoul to shrink back. Conti shot forward, his eyes wild and spat through gritted teeth, "Don't you dare lecture me about trust, stronzetto!" He uttered his next words devoid of all emotion, "We gave that to your family for decades, without question, and now your brother has abused that trust. You have an obligation to make it right, Raoul. It's what's best for everyone. But…if you're still not sure…I think I might have something for you to…sweeten the pot."
Raoul's brow raised as he wondered just what Conti could possibly throw at him next.
Conti lit another cigarette, filling the backseat with more smoke, which ratcheted Raoul's lingering nausea up another notch. "You see, we figured you might need some…incentive…to help us. Do you remember those little secrets I mentioned earlier? Well…it just so happens that I have recently come across a piece of information that you might just find very interesting. And what a coincidence! The lovely lady at the center of it has become…acquainted…with one of our new investments! Are you on the edge of your seat yet?"
Raoul's ears pricked up, and he leaned forward. A woman? What woman? What was he talking about?
Despite the smoke choking his throat, his reply was firm. "I'm listening."
Conti grinned, knowing he had Raoul hooked. "See, there's this music store on the Lower East Side. It hasn't been there long, but we've been trying to bring them into our pool of investments for over a year now, without any luck. The old bat that runs the place is as stubborn as a mule. Won't give in, no matter what.
"Here's the thing, though. It's not just the business that we want. I mean, yeah, it's a good place for low-key cash flow. Prime location, too. But our main goal, see, is the guy she's got living in the apartment upstairs. Bit of a recluse. Well…truth is, he's my nephew. My sister's boy, you see. They didn't want to have anything to do with the family. Thought they were better than us. It's a terrible thing, to turn your back on your family, isn't it? My sister came back to us eventually because she realized you don't spit on your own blood.
"Erico…we haven't been so lucky with. He makes trouble trying to protect the old lady. Keeps watch over the shop like a hawk. I didn't think there was any way to convince him to back off, but then…" Conti spread his arms wide as though he were describing a miracle from on high, "lo and behold…an angel appeared in the night and caught his eye. She works at the shop, you know. Lovely girl. Beautiful brown eyes. Stunning voice…at least according to what Sal heard."
Brown eyes? Stunning voice? Raoul's mind raced as he tried to piece together the jumbled breadcrumbs that Sal was hoping he'd follow. Something about the girl he was describing sounded familiar, and the picture of her coalescing in his mind made a deep sense of dread form in the pit of Raoul's stomach.
If he was right about who he thought the woman was…
Rocco gave him a pointed look and laid all his cards on the table. "A little birdy told me you might know her. I think her name is…Christine? Yeah. Christine Daae."
The blood began to rush in Raoul's ears, and his world narrowed to a point just above Rocco's shoulder. His heart seized in his chest, and droplets of sweat broke out on his brow as he struggled to breathe.
"Such a sad story about her father passing away so suddenly. Looks like the old lady was helping her out by giving her a job. She seems like a nice girl. And it seems Erico is more than a little bit taken by her. It's just a shame she got herself mixed up with someone who's no good for her. See - and you have no idea how much it hurts me to say this – my nephew…he's not been right in the head. Not for a while now. We thought it might be drugs, but we weren't sure. His behavior's erratic, though. Unpredictable. Now…if she was, say…convinced by a concerned friend to…rethink things? Then, the family could step in and bring him home to his mother so nobody gets hurt."
The was no reading between the lines here. Rocco's implication was clear. This Erico guy was dangerous, and if Raoul didn't get Christine away from him, there could be dire consequences.
"Look at it this way: you'll have your lovely lady back in your arms, and with her gone, he'll be just vulnerable enough for us to persuade him to do the right thing. Everybody will be safe, and I have no doubt the old lady will be falling all over herself agreeing to our terms as a thank-you for saving her from a potential disaster."
Raoul was bowled over by everything he'd just heard. The more logical part of his brain was poking at his gut, yelling at him that this whole thing was nothing but a well-crafted manipulation. His heart, however, was beating out a samba in his chest that sounded to his ears a whole lot like Chris-tine, Chris-tine, Chris-tine.
He thought he'd put her out of his mind when he set out for college over a year ago, but just the mere mention of her name on Conti's lips made Raoul realize that some part of his love for her – and the bitterness he felt - still lingered, buried deep under his skin. She was impossible to wipe from his memory. Not after everything they went through together.
That flame that still burned, even as small and weak as it was, ensured that he would do whatever was necessary to keep her from harm. If it meant crossing the lines of legality, then so be it.
Raoul sat up straight, his posture rigid and his face expressionless as the two of them shook on it. "You have a deal, Mister Conti."
Translations:
Cerebrale: High-Brow
Stronzetto: You little shit!