Maria was sat in her office with her right hand man, the Russian revolutionary VladimirLenin. The two were sipping at White Russian's as they plotted out the future of Mano di Morte, and of North Side, Chicago. A stack of crew accounts, neatly collated by her left hand man, Johnny_Marcone, sat in one corner of the desk, Maria's small pistol before her, and a sheet of paper that had the family rank structure set out between the two of them. Maria tapped a pencil lightly on the desk as they discussed the promotions for the week to come. They quickly breezed through the decision to give nods to the rank of Capo, Boss even, but once they reached the list of associates waiting to be Made, to be brought into the family forever, they became more considered, they thought more carefully.

To be brought into Mano di Morte was no light or casual thing. Maria and Vlad were so very careful in who they gave the nod to, ask they knew that once somebody had been given the nod and brought into the fold, the contract that had formed worked both ways. Their new brother or sister would pledge their life to the family and to it's cause, and in return, the family would pledge to protect, enrich, defend and help it's newest member. It was a contract bound in blood, which could only be broken in death. The person concerned had to trust the family as much as the family would trust them. A matter for serious consideration indeed. 

Maria ceased her pencil tapping and looked Vlad in the eye.

"I think that Gillian may be ready, Vlad. She works hard for us, earns well for us, fits well into our family. And I don't think HooLZ has brought a bad one in yet. And we need more ladies around here! Cin, @Piget and I are so outnumbered in family meetings!"

Maria pouted every so slightly, though jokingly. Neither herself, Piglet nor Cin could be considered delicate flowers, after all, and both were perfectly capable of moving among the men in the world, as she knew Gillian would be. 

"What about it, Vlad? Is it time?"

Vladimir was sat in Maria’s office, which had now become a nightly occurrence with the great work the members and associates of Mano di Morte were putting in, and yet again she was tapping the lead of her pencil on her table.

‘Maria, how many times do I have to tell you? The more you tap, the crazier you’re getting!’.

Taking a sip of his White Russian to try and erase the dreadful tapping that finally ceased, Vladimir and Maria got down to business in hand. After hearing her thoughts on HoolZ’s encouraging recruitment of some fine mafioso it unexpectedly came down to Gillian and whether or not she was ready to be given her button and become the newest Made Man of Mano di Morte. Maria posed the question to Vladimir and without a second of thought, it was a simple answer

‘Without a single doubt Maria, she is 100% ready. Ever since the first day Gillian stepped of the boat and joined us here, she has not stopped working for the family. She’s ready Maria’

Vlad instantly turned and spoke to four of his most loyal security detail

‘Guys, please take this memo to Gillian and please tell her to make her way to Maria’s office immediately. Pull out all the stops and get her here as soon as you can’.

Handing the memo to one of his detail, he turned to Maria

‘Another White Russian while we wait?'

Vladimir knew what the answer would be and started pouring while his dependable detail brought Gillian back to North Side on a spectacular night in the Windy City 

Maria grinned. She loved preparing for Made ceremonies; the atmosphere in the air pulsed, the excitement was tangible. 

"Aye Vlad, another White Russian would hit the spot just nicely, I'd reckon. I have to say, that last one was shaken up awesome. You're gonna have to open up a Vodka bar one of these days."

As Vlad poured the next round, Maria set about tidying away the paperwork from her desk. Sensitive files were locked in their drawer and her pistol was carefully holstered. She crossed the room to an ornate sideboard that she'd inherited from her mother and dug about in the cupboard, producing four large candles, hoisted on brass stands. She placed a candle on each corner of her now clear desk and lit them with the matches she always carried around in her purse. With the candles flickering on the desk, Maria pulled shut the thick, black velvet curtains on both of the large windows in the room, blocking our the late evening light. She pulled Vlad's chair around the desk, placing it slightly to the right of her own, and sat another chair to the front of the desk. Finally, sitting down, she opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out an intricately patterned silver flick knife and a small icon of the Virgin Mary. 

Satisfied with her handiwork, Maria gratefully accepted her refilled glass from Vlad and took a sip. Everything was ready, waiting for Gillian to arrive. Maria turned to one of her own bodyguards, beckoning him over. 

"Carlo, I wonder if you might be so kind as to round up the family and get them settled at a table in Franco's next door? Tell them that we will very soon be celebrating a new sister, and get the bartender to put a couple of bottles of champagne on ice for us."

Taking another sip from her drink, Maria sat back in her chair as Vlad took his, waiting for the knock on the door.

Gillian had just kicked off her shoes in her modest loft apartment and poured herself a stiff drink when a quiet knock was heard at the door. Checking the peephole, body aside and out of the line of fire by instinct, she sees the night shift doorman, Michael. She smiles and slides several locks aside to open the door to his round, pleasant face. 

"Michael! What brings you here at this hour?" she asks.

"Telegram, Ma'am! Brought it up myself, could be important, eh?" he replies. Well versed in the workings of the city, Michael knows exactly what Gillian and her co-workers do, and, more importantly, who they work for.

"Thank you, my friend. Mother's Day is coming, make sure you do your Mama right," she replies as she grasps his hand and slips him a fifty.  Michael was discreet, and always looked out for her.

"Oh, yes Ma'am!" he answered as he respectfully tipped his hat and retreated down the hallway. Gillian closed the door and looked down at the paper in her hand. Unfolding it, she scanned the first line and then stopped abruptly when she recognised the sender. It was a henchman of Vlad's, and it was quite abrupt.

"HQ. NOW."

Gillian could feel goosebumps break out over her skin. What had she done wrong? Missed a donation? Mugged the wrong schlub? Her mind raced as she tried to recall all she'd done over the past few hours. There was no telling where she could have gone wrong. Grabbing keys and stuffing her feet back into her heels, she looked longingly at her pistol. No. Can't take it. If it's as bad as she thinks, she'll never get a chance to pull it anyway. With a heavy sigh, she leaves the loft and locks the door. Hopefully she'll see it again. It was rather quaint, and the view was breathtaking.

​​​​Tipping an imaginary hat at Michael, she steps outside and takes the short walk towards HQ. It was drizzling outside, but she didn't notice. Minutes later she's there, and staring at a nondescript door. Her fate was just inside.

As she was buzzed in, one last thought entered her mind. HooLZ. She should have called him. 

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HooLZ just learned a shop owner how to swim with concrete boots and entered his appartement in North Side Chicago.
He was about to hit the showers to wash the blood of his face when he heared someone knocking on his door. He grabbed a towel and walked towards his drawer to grab his pistol.

Who is there? He asked standing behind the door.
A warm but scared voice awnsered. Its me Gillian she said.
HooLZ opened the door. What brings you here? he asked. When Gillian explained what happend HooLZ decided to get dressed and escort her towards the HQ. If something was wrong and about to happen with his associate he would like to know why. HooLZ would catch a bullet for her and knows she would never do any harm to this family. But at the same time he was scared for a bit. If she messed up he would also have to leave and that wasnt going to be alive.

Come on, he said. We take my car!

As Gillian and HooLZ walked through the door of her office, looked up, nodding her head in greeting. She knew HooLZ would recognize the scene for what it was; after all, he had been through a similar experience himself to join the family. Gillian's nerves, however, showed through. Keen to put her at ease, Maria smiled, just a little, still maintaining her solemn air. Gesturing airily to the seat before the desk, she spoke softy.

"Take a seat, Gillian. And HooLZ, pull up a chair beside her? I'm sorry we didn't think to invite you to this little meeting originally; I had it in my mind that you were out in Los Angeles on business until Thursday. I'm glad that I was mistaken, however, and that you found your way here. Gillian is, after all, your associate, and your responsibility."

As Gillian took her seat, Maria continued. 

"Gillian, the look on your face tells me that you don't know why we brought you here tonight. I cannot lie that tonight is a solemn occasion, but not for the reasons that you might think."

Maria sat back in her chair, allowing her words to sink in and hoping to help some of Gillian's worries fade. 

"We brought you here tonight because it is now quite some time since you first started working for our family, since HooLZ here took you on as his associate. We have watched you through this time, as we watch all of the young ones who wish to truly join our ranks. You have impressed, Gillian. You have worked diligently for the family, and you have embodied respect, the most important value of Mano di Morte. You have brought in tributes often and generously, you have done everything that we have asked of you, you have lived by our rules. Therefore, Vlad and I have made a decision."

Maria slid the small silver knife and the icon to the centre of the table, where the candle light flickered and illuminated them, bringing them into focus.

"It is time to invite you to make your oath to Mano di Morte. To invite you to pledge your life and your future to the family, and in return, to truly be one of us, to become a sister to us all. You have earned your button, Gillian. If you wish to become Made in our family, make your oath, spill a drop of blood and let it flow into the Saint."

Maria sits back in her chair, her face half hidden in the shadows of the flickering candles, waiting.

Realization takes its time to sink in as Gillian sits there, stunned. Behind her, HooLZ rests a hand on her shoulder and squeezes slightly. The silence is deafening and she must look like an idiot. Worse, she's kept Maria waiting. 

'I...of course, Ma'am. I can think of no higher honor than an invitation into your family...."

She stares at the blade on the table, its honed edge gleaming brightly in the candlelight. Hand shaking, it slips and clatters back onto the table when she tries to grasp it. Terrified of hitting a vein, she looks up at HooLZ standing behind her. He quietly smiles down at her and picks up the knife, expertly piercing her finger. She notices, in passing, dark blood under his fingernails. It is not hers. Returning her attention to Maria's lovely face, she picks up the icon image, smearing her blood across it as she waves it slowly across the candle flame until it flares. She then recites the words she had always hoped to speak.

"As this card burns, may my soul burn in Hell if I betray the oath of Omertà...."

A single tear slides down her face as she allows a small smile. Again she feels the squeeze on her shoulder, and she reaches back to grasp her friend's hand, smearing it with her blood in the process. 

As the card burns, Maria smiles. Bringing somebody new into the family filled her with a deep happiness and contentment that was rare to find in her line of work. As the card burned out, Maria stood and walked around the desk. She kissed Gillian lightly on the cheek.

"Welcome to the family, Gillian. I took the liberty of rounding up all of the members of the crew I could find down in Franco's. I know they'll be waiting to congratulate you and to celebrate your achievement."

Maria quickly lit the lamp on her desk, then blew out the candles. She picked up a small, clean white silk handkerchief from the desk and passed it to Gillian, to help her to stem the flow of blood from her finger. She then opened the door, letting in the light from the hallway. 

"Well then. Shall we go downstairs and join the party?"

Walking through North Side, Paul felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned around, expecting to see someone pointing a gun at him, or an irate shopkeeper he'd extorted during the day. Instead, it was one of the local thugs passing on a message.

"Paul, I've got a message from Don Maria. She's asked me to tell you there's an important event she'd like you to attend. A special occasion within the family. Meet at Franco's in an hour."

Following his final meeting with one of the local drug mules, Paul returned home to freshen up slightly and walked over to Franco's. He arrived slightly early; couldn't be keeping anyone waiting, could he? He ordered a large whiskey, and sat at the bar awaiting the arrival of the rest of the family; a few minutes later they arrived, and Paul walked over to greet them.

"Good to see you all! VladimirLenin's just told me the good news. I believe congratulations are in order for Gillian, the newest member of Mano di Morte! I know Don Maria has had her eye on you for a long time, and in your time as HooLZ's associate you have deeply impressed both her and Vladimir. You truly deserve this honour, and I hope this marks the start of a long and prosperous time within our ranks. Congratulations again!"

Paul returned to the bar and ordered a round of drinks for the party. It would wipe out a chunk of the profit he had made during the day, but he didn't care one jot. Days like this were what made this way of life worthwhile. The bartender brought the drinks over, and Paul proposed a toast.

"To Gillian, and to Mano di Morte!"

Dexter was running late. The last lady on his table necessitated a prolonged and messy cleanup. After stopping by his flat on the north side and changing into a fresh suit, Dexter headed to Franco’s.

Dexter trusted few people in this world,  and as such preferred to work alone where possible. Dexter almost never attended family socials or anything of the such, instead preferring to stalk his next victim or plan for the future of the family. Tonight, though, this night was different. Another member was being brought into the inner circle of trusted members. Tonight, Mano di Morte  bestowed their high honor of brotherhood onto a deserving soul.

“To Gillian, and to Mano di Morte!” Dexter raised his glass to PaulHeyman’s toast. Not only was this celebration of a new family member worthwhile, but the best booze was always that which someone else was paying for.

Following Paul’s toast, Dexter rose and spoke, “Gillian, I have heard nothing but the best from the other Made members of this family about you. I cannot wait to work alongside you.”

Johnny had gotten off the plane in terrible humour. The hand shandy from the air hostess had helped improve his mood a little but he'd not made as much money running product in New York as he had hoped. It had been a wasted trip. He flagged down a cab, giving the driver directions to the Renaissance Blackstone Hotel, where he'd made his residence for the past couple of months. It never paid to stay anywhere for too long in this line of work. 

Arriving at the hotel, he ignored the bellboys and doorman as they greeted him, already looking forward to a nightcap and toying with the idea of getting 'Big' Jim Collosimo to send one of his broads over. As opened the door to the elevator he was pulled out of his happy daydream by the sound of his own name. Stopping in his tracks, he looks around, fixing his eyes on the doorman. Hadn't that fuck got the message already?

"If I'd wanted to talk Frank, I wouldn't have ignored you the first time. What is it?"

Frank took a half step back, caught between standing there and turning away before apologising and handing over two telegrams and heading back to the door. He'd have to apologise to the man later, Johnny thought to himself. "Not his fault my day sucked." He flicked over the cards and read the first.

NEED TO MEET. INTERNAL AFFAIRS GETTING SUSPICIOUS.

- M_D

Marcone scanned over the card again. The fool had actually mentioned IA to the bellboy over the phone, and then given his actual initials. As priceless as it was having a mole on the force, this one had become a liability. They would indeed need to meet, and soon. He pulled a cigar from his case, fished his gold lighter from his pocket and lit the note, letting it burn to the end before lighting his cigar and letting it fall on the marble floor. After making a mental note not to forget his garotte for the meeting he remembered the second note in his hand.

USUAL PLACE. USUAL TIME. BRING BUTTONS

He knew straight away what it meant. 'Buttons' were code for being Made. Someone was being Made this evening. "That's how you leave a message you lousy schmuck" he thought to himself as he made a mental note to show the telegram to the cop before he choked the life out of him. He checked his watch. '00:10'. He'd almost certainly missed the ceremony proper but deciding that most likely everyone would be in Franco's at this point, he turned and headed back out the main entrance and down the street to pick up another cab, giving Frank a generous tip on his way past.

Gillian sat back on her barstool, content and rounding third to drunk. While she enjoyed a top shelf whisky, it went against her nature to overindulge. One can't afford to in this line of work. But tonight was different. The room was filling with some of the most powerful Mafioso in Chicago. She could afford to let her guard down a little bit. As the bartender passed by, she twirled a finger in the air and slid a stack of twenties toward him, indicating another round was in order. After one failed attempt to slide off the barstool, she gathered herself and stood to address her new family. 

"Excuse me, Ladies and Gents. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you all taking the time to be here tonight...."

As the bartender returns with the rounds and begins passing them out, Gillian takes one and raises it.

"I don't have much of a real family. But I can tell you tonight that there isn't anyone in this room that I wouldn't treat as one. To Mano di Morte...long live the family!"

She lifts her glass and tosses back her drink. Setting it back on the bar, she makes her way to the ladies' room. As she passes Paul, she lays a hand on his arm and quietly thanks him for the first round. As she approaches Dexter, she leans towards his ear and whispers, "All you can do is play along at life, and hope that sometimes you get it right..."

At that moment, Maria's Left Hand made his way into the bar.

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The noises emanating from the bar become clearer as Johnny reaches the front door. As he opens it, the cocophany of sound hits him and the voice at the heart of it becomes distinct, recognisable. A smile crosses his lips as he enters the room. "So it's Gillian then. Of course." he thinks to himself as he flashes a broad smile to the slightly tipsy woman addressing the crowd. 

The barman hands him his usual and he raises his glass to her. It had been a long time since he'd used his mother tongue but he cleared his throat and addressed the faces before him.

"Congratulazioni Gillian. Nessuno è più meritevole di te. Lei è stato un ottimo associato per lungo tempo e so di parlare a nome di tutti quando dico che siamo fortunati ad essere in grado di annoverare come uno di noi. Viva la mano della morte."

Downing his single malt, he nods to the barman for another and moves into the crowd, greeting his brothers and sisters. He makes his way over to his newest family member, kissing her on both cheeks.

"I knew from very early on that you would be joining us, you have been an asset to the family from day one. Enjoy this night Gillian, you've worked very hard for it."

Vasquez sits at a table in the bosses  office quite taking in how the family works slipping imported rum from Jamaica.... Thinks to himself,  they run pretty tight ship..... Then takes the last slip in his glass and picks the bottle of rum up walk to the Maria's  desk puts a brown paper bag down 1oo large says evening turns and walks towards the door to go earn some cash.....

Gillian leans in and inadvertently breathes top shelf whisky into Johnny's face in an attempt to be heard above the bar noise. 

"Thank you, John. I know you're a very...busy man. There are probably a dozen places you need to be right now, but you're here to support one of the family. And I appreciate that..." Unable to maintain her balance, she reaches for his shoulder to steady herself as she liberates herself from her heels and kicks them under the bar for safe-keeping. 

"Have you seen...oh, there she is!" 

Gillian unabashedly walks towards her boss Maria in stocking feet. Grabbing two whiskeys from a passing tray, she hands one to her superior. 

"May I never disappoint you..."

Before she finishes, gunfire erupts outside the bar.

Drunk or no, every Mafioso dropped and drew their gun.  

Guns. Gunfire. Gunshots. Loud-ass sounds. As Henderson's mind raced with an unhealthy amount of adrenaline, he began to run out of words in his head for what was making him feel so obliged to drive so fast. The protection of his black Buick blaring 'Puttin' on the Ritz' at max volume seemed like it was all he had in this moment, and he wasn't so scared as he was wanting to know what was going on.

The long car's wheels skid as they slide into the lot of the bar holding the patrons he'd known so well, making an audible sound of agonized, screeching rubber as he turns the car off where it stood; taking up multiple spots, in its frantic, horizontal parking position by the master driver behind the wheel.

Said driver begins to reach into the crease of the seats in his car, ripping out a small, red shell and fumbling with it, almost dropping it back in to be lost and never found again, before slamming it into the second barrel of his break-action, sawed-off shotgun. He nearly breaks the door on his vehicle in his pace to escape its confines and get into the building, managing to avoid the bullets that went nowhere near him, just as he throws the bottom of his boot into the slightly fragile door, shotgun loaded and ready.

"AYE, YA LADS GO--"

He sees the guns being pointed in every direction, including his own. A moment of painfully awkward silence for him ensues.

"...I guess yoo' all got the memo then alread'eh, yah?"

Maria had ditched the shoes not long after arriving in the bar. She loved her heels, but she wasn't one to suffer them for too long when there was drinking to be done. It was a great evening, all in all. Maria loved to see so much of the family together and celebrating; it reminded her what Mano di Morte was all about and gave her heart. It made all the work feel so very worthwhile. She'd flitted around the members of her family, catching up with them about their days in the background, and she had just taken a moment to stand and watch the party in flow when Gillian appeared before her, whiskey in hand. 

Nothing could possibly be ruder, to Maria's mind, than to turn down a drink from her newest Made woman on the very night she had received her button, so she happily took the glass. As Gillian began to speak, however, she heard gunshots firing outside the bar.

Time stood still for Maria; she could have sworn that her heart had stopped beating in her chest. In one smooth movement, she had placed the glass on the nearest table and drawn her weapon. Was this it? Was this the day that all mafiosi knew would come? Was the reaper here for her? Maria knew only one thing for certain. If her time had come, she would die defending her family, the people crowded around the bar. Her eyes scanned the room in quick time, picking out VladimirLenin, Johnny_Marcone, HooLZ, PaulHeyman and Dexter. All five looked to be equally in control of their reaction and that gave Maria heart. She took Gillian by the wrist and quickly guided her across the room, closer to the rest of the family, ready to go to work as a unit. 

As they had made it across the room, Old_Man_Henderson had burst into the building, with all guns instantly twitching towards him. Maria had fought a smile. 

"Guns down, guys, Mr Henderson is ours."

She took two steps towards him, her gun trained on the door behind him, just in case any more unexpected visitors decided to join the party.

"Did you see anything out there? What the hell is going on?"

Before long, the guns are settled; for the most part, anyway, but it's close enough. Henderson lets the barrel of his own weapon fall forward so he can slip the shell out and let it fall onto a close table, before placing the piece as a whole on the same surface. Upon being interrogated by Maria regarding the same thing he'd wished to ask about, he only looks back at his car before giving a delayed answer.

"Well, all I'll I'v' got there, is that someone's prob'ly dead or dyin', and on'na those someone's is me ride."

The black car didn't necessarily look damaged. Maybe Henderson may have hit someone on the way recklessly, or maybe he's just out of gas. Knowing him, it could have been anything to make him unhappy. Someone's probably still alive to tell about when he went Scarface on a friend of his's business building for not giving him back his lawnmower. Or did that actually happen? Who knows; regardless, he was displeased, now walking backwards away from the door to make sure he didn't end up like the sorry bastard who was at the wrong end of the shooting outside.

"You got an'neh ideas? I'm not lookin' forward to turnin' into Swiss cheese tod'eh."

He's forced to stop as he bumps into a barstool, making the wood audibly grind against the floor; that ultimately recognizable, cringe-inducing sound. Henderson takes a seat on what made him stop walking, quietly asking the alarmed bartender ducked under the table from fear of being killed if he's still serving drinks as he simultaneously listens for a response.