Chapter I: Negotiations

15 Years Later

"Hah!" The man jolted awake with a gasp when a bucket of cold water was emptied over his head. Heaving and gasping, his gaze darted around frantically, bile rising in his throat when he realized he was bound to a chair. His stomach churned in unease the moment his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit surroundings which consisted of multiple tables standing in the desolate shadows, the chairs stacked on top.

The sound of a chair being lowered behind him had the man's skin crawling with fear, the bullet wound in his thigh bleeding and pulsating with pain. The wooden legs screeched against the marble flooring as the chair was brought to be resting in front of the captive.

He didn't dare look up, his blood rushing through his veins as he shook with suppressed anxiety. The sound of rustling fabric was accompanied by the musky scent of his captor's cologne. The fragrance wafted around him and mingled with the stench of his blood to concoct the pungent flavor of death. He heard the man sit down as his coin grey slack and polished brown dress shoes came into view as he inhaled deeply, holding his breath.

"Theodore." His voice called out to him, the authority having him snap his gaze up at the man before him.

He sat in a white button-up, whose sleeves had been rolled to his elbows. A navy blue tie around his neck with his grey blazer hanging over the back of his chair. The man's legs were crossed at the ankles with one hand leisurely slipped into his slack's pocket with the other holding a gun.

"I can make this right!" Theodore struggled against his bonds. "Just talk to me!"

"Oh, yes, Theodore." The man before him nodded. "We're going to talk alright." He held out his hand and a bottle of clear liquid was placed into his waiting palm.

Taking a sip of the drink, he poured the liquid over the gaping wound, the skin burning as the alcohol came in contact with the open gunshot. Theodore squirming and whimpering as he squeezed his eyes shut from the pain.

"I've come for your banker." He took another sip from the bottle, exhaling deeply. "Who is your banker?"

"I...I can't..."

Just as those words left his mouth, the man before him stood from his chair, pouring the vodka over his bound figure, forcing him to gag against the wretched smell and squirm at the cold sensation against his burning skin.

Theodore gasped for breath as he watched the other man pick up a cigar from the table beside him, placing it into his mouth before striking the match against the box. His breathing coming out in rapid successions as he watched him light the cigar, taking a puff before holding it in his fingers,

"Sir," He whimpered as the match was brought closer to him, tears welling in his eyes and his heart hammering against his chest. Just as the match was about to come in contact with the highly flammable liquid covering him, his captor extinguished it with a flick.

"The banker," He demanded, bringing the burning cigar threateningly close to the man.

"Please..."

"Let me make this easy for you. There are 7 banks in the East that are capable of financing a mission such as Gerard's. I run money through 4 of them and own the other 2. So tell me, which one?" He brought the cigar impossibly closer, one wrong move and the burning ash will have him combust in flames.

"Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" Theodore relented, watching him pull back the cigar. "The money was wired from the Dundas Bank in the Italian Office; we have a man there who had it done. I swear that's all I know!"

"Thank you."

"It's-okay, so we're finished?"

"Yes, we're finished." The other man nodded in assurance, watching Theodore hang his head in relief before gasping for breath when he emptied the remaining bottle over his head. The captive coughed, suddenly finding the lit cigar to be placed into his mouth as he panted at the sight, trying his hardest to stay still while the man watched with fascination.

He had this look in his eyes that made him wonder how many people he had killed. And this grin that made him realize he had probably lost count.

"I hate cigars." He chuckled, raising his gun and pulling the trigger. The sound of the bullet leaving the barrel ricocheting off the walls as blood splatters flew everywhere, staining his suit.

Lowering the gun, he retrieved an inhaler from his pocket and took a hit from it before exhaling. Grabbing a napkin from the table, he wiped away the blood and grabbed his suit jacket, draping it over his shoulder as his retreating footsteps echoed through the interior.

The bright May sunlight blinded him momentarily as he pulled on his sunglasses, making his way towards the open door of the Range Rover. Climbing into the back, the door shut behind.

"Did you get what you wanted?" A voice spoke beside him as the car pulled away from the curb.

"Let Piero know to comb through the activity in the local office of the Dundas Bank. There is a man there who has been wiring the money to Gerard."

"Of course, sir," He nodded.

"What's on today's agenda?"

"You have to meet with Mr. Lombardi to finalize the negotiation deal at 10," Tazio informed, typing away on the screen of his phone as the bloodied man scrunched up his face, opening his mouth to respond before being cut off. "And no, you cannot send a representative again because this is the final stage of the negotiation which you need to sign."

"Fine, and?"

"After that, you have to review the contract with Rolls Royce, who are asking about their planes-"

"-Mafia agenda, Tazio."

"In that case, after the negotiation with Lombardi, you have been invited to lunch at 12 with the Richards. Then you have to go to the construction site of our new warehouse by 2. You will be expecting a call from Mr. Alfonsi around 2:30 who wants to settle a date for a meeting. Speaking of meetings, Mr. Ricci called, canceling the 4'O clock conference-"

"-Why?"

"His son fell down the stairs, sir." Tazio put away his phone. "Then at 5, you have to make with a visit to the Adams Bank in regards to the emptying of your account, which needs your verifying signature, from there on out, Marco will handle the transfer. You will have an opening from 5:30 to 6, so you might want to call your mother. And from 6 to 9 you have those files to attend to. After 9 you wanted to inspect the nightclubs."

"Alright," He nodded. "Before going to Lombardi, I want to shower first."

"You don't want to shower, Salvatore," His second-in-command teased. "You need to shower." The man, Salvatore, chuckling at the remark.

Once he had showered and dressed in a two-piece tan suit with a navy blue tie, he made his way to the location chosen by Mr. Lombardi. Arriving at the little café, he stepped into the limited crowd, the older man reading the day's paper by the window was pointed out by his representative as Mr. Lombardi.

"Mr. Lombardi?" Salvatore's second-in-command, Tazio called out. The older man jumping in fright, causing some of the coffee to spill onto the table as Salvatore watched with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, that's me." He rushed out, standing up in haste. "Are you Mr. Regnante?"

"That would be me." Salvatore walked forward as Tazio bowed his head.

He watched how the older man's eyes widened as he looked him up and down, looking like he had expected someone else. Mr. Lombardi must have been in his early to mid-60 with greying hair, smile lines at the edge of his hazel eyes, and a slightly protruding stomach under his white button-up.

"Pleasure," He stuck out his hand, watching with indifference as Mr. Lombardi stared at him with a gaping mouth and bulging eyes.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" He jumped out of his stupor as the man next to him cleared his throat. Grasping Salvatore's hand, he gave it a firm shake, grinning up at the taller man. "Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Regnante. Please, take a seat.

With that, the three men with Salvatore settled down as he took a seat, Mr. Lombardi sitting before him with a wide smile still sported on his lips.

"Forgive me for my delayed reaction." He chuckled as Salvatore ordered a coffee. "I was just expecting a man of your stature to be..."

"Older?"

"To put it mildly, yes,"

Nodding, Salvatore took a sip of his coffee as Mr. Lombardi continued to watch him from over his mug.

"How old are you, son?"

"28." The guard behind Salvatore piped in with a smile that instantly melted when his Boss regarded him with a cold look over his shoulder. “Forgive me,”

"Oh! Wow!" Mr. Lombardi exclaimed with bright eyes as if though he had just won a lottery.

"Let's finalize the contract, shall we?" The younger man sighed as he was handed the file. "So we negotiated that I will export your products and in return I will get 35% of the total income, correct?" He questioned, taking out his pen from his inside pocket to sign the document.

"Actually..." Mr. Lombardi halted him as Salvatore glanced up from below his lashes. "I would like to suggest something else."

Sighing, he leaned back, taking a sip of the black coffee before gesturing for him to continue.

"Well, Mr. Regnante. I heard you have your hand in a multitude of businesses."

"Yes."

"In that case, is it correct that you supply weaponry, and sometimes in the crates, there are various dealings as well?"

His smile grew when Salvatore stared at him blankly, neither denying nor confirming the allegation put forth. 

"Mr. Regnante, I would like to suggest that you sell my product as well as export it to your clients at your usual rates, and give me 90% of all the earnings."

"And why would I do that, Mr. Lombardi?" Salvatore raised an eyebrow in amusement, folding his hands on the top of the table.

"Because I hadn't realized that you'd be 28!" He laughed to himself as the other man watched him patiently. "And I'm assuming you're single by the lack of a wedding ring and I doubt you're in a relationship given that a man of your standing would not have time for such notions."

Salvatore leaned back, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, not understanding what the old man was trying to insinuate.

"Mr. Lombardi, as you just said yourself, I'm a busy man. So if you wouldn't mind, get to the point." Salvatore glanced down at his Tag Heuer. "Why would I conduct your business transactions alongside mine and get only 10% of the total earnings?"

"Mr. Regnante." He chuckled, leaning forward with glinting eyes and a wide grin. "How do you feel about a political merger?"