Are your affairs in order, Ilaria? I sure hope so. 

Her mother's voice. Always so sensible. Ilaria realized then that she was truly in trouble...her mother never spoke English. Her feet kicked fruitlessly against John's knees; he had her in a chokehold several inches off the ground now, and Ilaria was helpless to do anything but scratch her own throat bloody with her own fingernails while trying to get between it and John's hands.

It wasn't working, of course. She'd never won these battles before, why would this one be any different? She knew he'd be mad for ending the engagenent and taking off, but him killing her never crossed her mind. And now here she was, about to die in the service alley next to the burlesque club she'd been bartending at.

She was a little surprised her mother didn't have something to say about that as well, but it looked like John was going to speak on her behalf.

"I came to forgive you, to bring you home, and I find you working in some sorta whorehouse? The fuck you think you're playing at, girl? What would your parents say?"

Not a lot. You used to use my face as a speedbag, and all that Ma would do is hand me foundation the next day and pat me on the arm. Well not that one time that you dislocated it, but still.

"I gave you everything you coulda wanted, but you had to spit in my face and embarrass me the way you did," he growled, grinding her back into the brick and mortar behind her so hard that her coat tore, and then her skin.

Something happened then; something outside her remaining vision, hearing, and coherent thought, but happen it did, because she was suddenly on the ground, staring sideways at John's shoes. A small smile crept across her face before she gave herself up to the blackness that had been trying so hard to drag her under. 

She'd bled all over John's shoes. He was gonna be so pissed.

John was strolling by himself, which was strange... Then again it was Philly and he'd taken off without telling Jack much, aside from he'd be gone for a few days and to look after the market. It was such a nice night; clear sky, stars shining bright enough to see through the city lights, the sounds of the burlesque show going on in the building nearby flooding the area. One thing stood out though, something that peaked John's interest. A male voice yelling. It was muffled and difficult to understand at all but one thing was clear; they were mad.

"This could be tuh thing to make this night interestin'," John chuckled to himself as he attempted to pinpoint the noise. He skipped off down an alleyway as the voice got louder. "...The fuck you think you're playing at, girl?"

Huh... A girl was the brunt of this onslaught of words? Eh, maybe she deserved it. Regardless, John was curious enough to continue his search. He could use some knuckle busters and just maybe this guy could help. With his hands in the pockets of his long coat, he rounded the corner to the altercation.

The girl from the museum? Was that her? John stopped for a moment, staring. The man held her in a choke hold as she scratched at her own throat... Her life was slowly fading as he continued to berate her. John's rage grabbed at his gut, his lips curling into a sneer that was sharp enough to draw blood itself. "This mot'er fucker 'ere..." he growled out low. He had his gun, but that was too easy... He surveyed the ground until he noticed an empty soda bottle nearby and picked it up. Wasn't long before it was stuffed into his jacket, a -minor- surprise for the new target of his ire.

"'EY BOYO!" John yelled out as he approached hastily. "Jus' wot tuh fuck do ya think you're doin'?"

The man turned and released his grip on the girl. She faded out, oblivious to the next few minutes as her consciousness blacked around her. "Mind your own business, Gollumpus!" he yelled out heatedly as he approached John. He was obviously mad, and probably even more so for being interrupted.

John grumbled, Gollumpus... He was tall, but he was far from clumsy as they come. "Fuck off an' leave tuh broad, ya cack-handed son of a-"

The words trailed off as the men neared, the heavy glass bottle sliding down the arm of John's jacket until his leather clad fingers wrapped around the neck. His body rocked back and he brought the bottle crashing down on the other man. The poor sod raised his arms for the incoming attack, his eyes wide as the bottle crashed onto his wrist. The glass didn't shatter like many would think, no... The thick glass of the bottles of the era were stronger than realized and John raised it again, bringing it down onto the man's face the second time. The strike caught him across the eye socket and a sick crack could be heard as the orbital bone shattered.

The man fell back as he back peddled away, screaming in pain. John continued, straddling the man and bringing the bottle down, smashing his mouth next. A tooth chipped and John raised it a third time, yelling as the bottle plummeted quickly for the other's face.

"DO YA FEEL TOUGH NOW?!" Another swing... "WELL I'M FUCKIN' ASKIN' YA A GO'DAMNED QUESTION, BOY!" The unpleasant thud of glass on face could be heard again... "ARE YA 'FEELIN' EMBARASSED NOW?!" One more time the bottle crashed into the bastards face, then John slammed it hard on the ground. shattering it into many pieces. He let it go and placed both hands around the man's neck and squeezed.

His voice lowered, and he got in the man's face as he struggled for air, sputtering blood up as he did so. "Does it fuckin' feel good to ge' chocked, ya fuck? Ya fairy shit fuck? Chokin' a lass?" John spit on his face. "Aye, I bet it feels great!" As he started to turn a tad blue, John released him and he gasped for air... "Don' worry boyo, I waint let ya die tonight... Na. But you're gonna fuckin' remember tuh name John Shoaltz forever, boy." With one hand he grabbed the bloodied tool's jaw, holding his face steady. With the other he grabbed a shard of glass. "Scream for me lad..." John grinned. He laughed a moment before he pressed the sharp point into the man's face and cut a gash in him from his left ear down to the middle of his cheek. Blood poured from the open wound and John jumped up before kicking the guy he scooted away quickly.

"Youw, youw fowkin' cwazy!" It was only a second before John had his gun extended, aimed at the man.

"Go on, get outta 'ere kid. I think ya learnt your lesson." John grinned. He kept the firearm trained on the bastard until he had slunk out of the alleyway completely. He lowered his gun at that point, but stood and watched for another few minutes before he turned his attention to the girl. He holstered his weapon back in it's place beneath his left arm and stepped over to Ilaria, squatting and placing his hand on her shoulder. "'Ey lass... C'mon now, wake up." He slapped at her face lightly to bring her back.

Tony was in the club, performing his usual routine of roaming around, solving problems, and chatting with VIPS, when he realized he hadn't seen Ilaria in too long. His first thought was Vercetti, the enforcer and debt collector who'd taken a shot at him- at them- the other day. He was practically running by the time he burst through the alley door, where he saw Ilaria on the ground, and a stranger looming over her, lightly slapping her face.

Tony had already had his gun half out when he hit the door- now it was pointed directly at the stranger, and he had nearly already pulled the trigger... except that the man's face, from what he could see, contained no trace of lust or anger. If it had, he'd already be dead. So instead of a gunshot, Tony's voice rang out of in the alley.

"Back off! Ilaria - you okay?"

He moved closer, glancing down at the woman.

Sounds came back in snippets, along with her vision. Someone was slapping at her face...John? If so, he'd gone soft. She could barely feel the tapping on her cheeks. 

As her eyes began to focus, she saw three men leaning down and looking at her with some concern. Pointing weakly at the one in the middle, she spoke in a cracked voice that wasn't much more than a whisper.

"The museum. And Mr. Toretta. I remember."  She managed when Tony suddenly burst into the alley behind them, brandishing a gun. For whatever reason, this seemed highly comical to her and she started to laugh...then stopped at the searing pain in her throat. 

"Fine. Help?" She pleaded, reaching skywards like a small child might do when begging to be lifted. She didn't want to lie on this dirty alleyway cement any longer than she had to. There was all kinds of unimaginable filth, and a lot of blood.

A whole lot, actually.

She remembered bleeding on John's shoes, but that was just a spattering. What she saw on the ground near her was much more than that...and was that a piece of tooth?!

Tony reached down and helped lift Ilaria, where he fucked under her arm to walk and support her. Based on her reaction, this stranger wasn't the one who'd attacked her. She seemed like she was in rough shape, but Tony was hopeful that there was no permanent damage. There was a tooth on the ground- her attackers, hopefully. Tony clicked the safety on his gun and slipped it into his pocket. He'd get to the bottom of this, whether it was Vercetti or someone else.

But God, what a mess. Tonight was supposed to be simple: the next step in his plan to remove trouble from his life. He had been hopeful he could send a letter to New York to arrange a meeting with John_Shoaltz, a name he'd heard of based on his investigations- a man who, according to the vague description he'd received, resembled the man helping him carry Ilaria in the club. They ducked back toward the entrance, and, after Tony barked at a waiter for ice and bandages, headed upstairs to a small office that he never used, where Tony helped lower Ilaria into the comfortable leather chair behind his desk. 

Then he looked at the stranger.

"What's your name, friend? What did you see down there?"

John looked up as the door opened, his hands raising as he stood and stepped back from Ilaria. A gun in his face as thanks... Of course, that's how it always was, no? Regardless, this man looked like a friend to the woman. He smirked to himself as Ilaria came back in to consciousness and reached up for help. As Tony clicked his safety on after sizing up John, and lowered his weapon, John stepped up to help the man lift her to her feet. He took one arm over his shoulder and squatted just a hair so he and Tony were closer to the same height.

Silence. The trip through the club, the reverberating sound of drums and horns, the sleazy walk on the ivory and the bouncing bass line that echoed it? None of that mattered from the deafening silence that was the tension between the two men carrying Ilaria. On one hand, John was still pumping adrenaline and the gun in his face hadn't helped. He was sure that it was the same for the other man busting outside and seeing his friend in such a compromising position with a fairly large man kneeling over her. John's logic played in and he figured he'd just tag along and help where he could. If anything, at least his night was interesting now...

They came into a room that looked fairly vacant. There was a presence, but just barely. Once they had lowered Ilaria into the chair, Tony broke the silence. Certainly it warranted a response. He first offered his hand in kind gesture.

"John. 'Eard a lad yellin'. Thought maybe I fine messen a good scuff, watch as some boys beat on eachot'er, ya know? Fuckin' walk around tuh corner mate, an' 'eres this fucker beatin' on tuh girlie 'ere." He nodded and pointed at Ilaria. "So's I recognize 'er, ey? Seen 'er at tuh museum tuh ot'er day. Thought to messen, 'Now this girl seemed reight by me, wot 'as she gone an' gotten 'erself in to?'" He eyed Ilaria, a worried look on his face.

"I walk up an' yell at tuh bastard chokin' 'er an' 'e tells me to mind me own fuckin' business? Like that's gonna fuckin' 'appen. 'E didn' know I 'ad messen a bot'le up in me sleeve. 'E came ready to fight, an' well, I beat 'is arse wit' me bot'le. Think I might'a broke 'is eye..." He tapped at the bone just beneath his left eye, the orbital bone of the eye socket. "'Eard it crack." He chuckled a bit at that and continued. "Anyway, I 'it 'im a few more times, then broke tuh bot'le an' used a piece to give 'im a nice lit'le scar to remember John Shoaltz for tuh rest of 'is fuckin' life." As he spoke on the scar, he ran his thumb over the left of his face, from the bottom of his earlobe to the middle of his cheek.

"After that, 'e ran away like a lit'le bitch 'e is."

John circled around to the other side of Ilaria and watched her. "She'll be reight. Seen worse than this in France..." He pulled out a pack of smokes and held it up in question, "D'ya mind?"

As the waiter showed up with the ice and bandages, Tony grabbed them, pushed the waiter out, and closed the door. He moved quickly to Ilaria, kneeling down in front of her and holding the ice against whatever looked hurt- her neck, largely. Her back looked hurt too, but it seemed like her coat had taken the brunt of the damage. As Tony gently held the ice against Ilaria's neck, he shot her a wry grin.

"Ice again. We've got to stop meeting like this, darling."

When she was able to hold the ice herself, Tony stood up and faced John_Shoaltz, holding up a pack of cigarettes.

"Go ahead. Antonio Rossi, by the way. Friends call me Tony. Thank you- really, thank you- for stepping in there. Whoever the guy was- and, Ilaria, we're going to talk about that- he got off easy compared to what I would have done to him."

Tough talk from someone who had never killed, but he was generally able to play the part well. 

"Surprised to hear your name, to be honest. I was about two hours away from sending a message to you in New York. I wanted to talk business, actually- but first thing's first."

He looked down at Ilaria.

"What else can I do for you? Anything?"

Ilaria stared up at Tony and tried to gauge whether she liked him enough or not to rake razors blades over her vocal chords. In the end she decided she did. But Mary, Mother, and Joseph, it hurt.

"I'm good," she croaked. She wanted a cigarette so badly, but that was pure lunacy. Gripping the ice to her throat, she tried a few more words. 

"Need privacy?" She asked. She had a healthy idea of what the topic at hand would be. She wasn't opposed to it per se, but being a good little Italian girl, she'd been raised to leave when 'men were talking'. Curiosity, however, kept her glued to her seat until she was told to go. That, and the close call with strangulation. She could probably make it out of the office unattended, but why risk it if she didn't need to? And if, as suspected, this had anything at all to do with Vercetti, even in a roundabout way, wasn't she entitled to hear it? She'd nearly been caught in his crosshairs, after all. It felt rather fitting to at least be in on the solution.

Tony shook his head.

"No. No privacy. I want to keep you where I can see you. And I don't have any secrets from you."

His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, and he smirked.

"Well, not many."

He turned to look at John_Shoaltz.

"I have a business proposition for you. Two, actually. I'd planned on sending you a message, since your reputation as a man familiar with various businesses in New York precedes you. Would you mind hearing me out?"

Tony indicated the other chair on the opposite side of the desk from Ilaria.

John tugged one of the cigarettes from his pack and lit it. "Ta." He nodded in thanks before he moved to a chair in the corner and lowered himself. With a light sigh, John relaxed into the comfortable chair and eyed the two across the room. The man couldn't help but chuckle at Ilaria's assailant getting off easy... That was negligible. Then again, they hadn't seen the damage inflicted. The poor fuck wouldn't eat solid food for weeks, and might never see straight again. That was better than death in John's book. He flicked ash as Tony mentioned mailing to New York for business.

"So me name 'as reached Philly, mm? That's interestin'. Business. I like business but as ya say, firs' things firs'."

He too turned his gaze to Ilaria. "Feel free to ask anythin' lass. If Mr. Rossi 'ere can't get summat, I'm sure I can."

Ilaria had denied anything extra, and Tony returned to business. In continuation of the moment, John turned his attention from Ilaria and to Rossi. He moved to the other chair, closer to the desk. "I'll 'ear ya out. Wot kinna business ya go' rollin' around in your 'ead, lad?"

John continued to puff on his cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke -away- from Ilaria. She didn't need any extra trouble breathing currently.

Tony looked steadily at John_Shoaltz.

"I'm not sure if your name has reached Philly; I'm not exactly well connected. But I reached out to some people in New York and asked for a list of names: people who had achieved a certain amount of material success and who were also able to successfully make an impact in the business district. Your name is one of four possibilities."

He crossed his arms.

"To be honest, I don't want to reach out to anyone in Philly because it's embarrassing. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs after a bad streak of blackjack and poker. 80 thousand, actually."

Tony saw Ilaria flinch, but he kept going- albeit with a bemused grin.

"It was a really.... really bad streak. I've been juggling it for years, staying one step ahead. I can live with it. But now it's starting to threaten other people. People that I care about. So it's time for me to wipe this out and start fresh. I've got very little money in the bank and, while I make a decent salary here, it would still take me years and years of saving to pay that off. There's only one thing I have that comes close to that in value: I own part of the club downstairs."

He looked down at John Shoaltz.

"You may have heard of Angelo Bianchi, maybe not. He was a big time player here in Philly. Old school. Mostly retired now. He's the main owner here- owns the controlling share of something like 75%. When this place opened, he gave me 25%. It was my inheritance... my parents are dead, but it's a long story. Now Mr. Shoaltz, this club downstairs is the most popular place in either Philly or Atlantic City. Anyone who's anyone has been seen here, and it shows no sign of slowing down. 80 thousand is a lot of money, but with the amount of profits this place makes you'll make it back. In the long term, you'll make a killing. But I need the money now. What I'd like to do is have you come back when my best bartender...

He winked at Ilaria.

"... is back to work. See the place for yourself. And if you're interested, I'll sell you my ownership here for enough to pay off my debts. Mr. Bianchi will be pissed, but only at me. Other than that, everyone's happy. I'll pay off my debts and still work as the manager here, because there's no one better than me and I already have relationships with all the VIPs. You get to collect a quarter of the profits while Bianchi runs things and, in addition to your investment paying off, you also get to be a minority owner of the best club on the East Coast. You don't need to answer now, but will you come in for an evening and consider my offer? You're welcome to come with any guest you'd like. If not, we have several that could be provided for you..."

Tony grinned.

John sat back in his seat and rested his limbs along the chair's arms. He rocked the cigarette back and forth in his hand, leaning it one way, then the next, deep in thought at the proposal. He stayed quiet for a long moment. Almost one of those -too- long moments that makes everyone uneasy. Then he cracked a smile and started chuckling to himself. He reached over an ashtray on the desk to flick the long ash that had accumulated in the wait and brought the butt to his lips, tugging one last draw through it before snubbing it out and exhaling overhead. With that, John stood up and dusted his coat.

"Eighty-t'ousand dollars... That's a lo' of dough, lad," he frowned. "'Ell of a lot." John looked to Ilaria, "But if it'll 'elp keep fuckers from comin' after 'er... I don' need to see tuh place. I've 'eard enough." His gaze turned back to Tony. "But I'd like to negotiate tuh terms of your offer."

John placed his hands on the man's desk, leaning over it slightly in a non-imposing way. "I'll give ya tuh money, tonight." He paused and looked at Tony. "If, an' only if, ya sell me fifteen percent only. I'm na gonna take everythin' ya go' from ya in'eritance. Jus' na gonna fuckin' 'appen. 'Owever... Ya gonna work for me on tuh side. Ya job 'ere comes first, an' I want a piece of tuh club. But wot I really need, is men that 'ave initiative an' smarts. Seems ya go' bot', boyo."

John straightened himself and looked AntonioRossi in the eye. "These terms be agreeable?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. Not what he expected. Suspiciously generous, until he reached the last part. Then it made more sense. He'd sell less of the club, but more of himself. And he'd get dragged further into "the business" than he'd hoped. 

But what other choice did he have? The next "warning shot" in his direction might hit him. Or Ilaria.

"Assuming you understand that my loyalties to my bosses here in Philadelphia remain intact, I'd be happy to work for you on the side. But I insist that you stop by the club soon and see what you're getting."

Tony stuck out his hand for John_Shoaltz to shake.

John smiled and took Tony's hand. "Trust me lad. I unnahstand ya loyalties to your friend, your mentor, an' your business partner. I waint expect less. Eventually, maybe I'll own your boss too." John grinned with a chuckle, "Or maybe that'll be yessen, lad. Ya might take it right from unna' 'is nose."

As he shook and released Tony's hand, he leaned back onto the desk. "If any of these fuckers come lookin' for ya after ya debt be set'led, send me word an' I'll 'ave a chat wit'em messen." John's generally inviting look had faded into a darker, serious look that relayed his exact message. If they bothered Tony even once after his debt cleared, it would be the final time they bothered anyone.

"Ya work wit' John Shoaltz now, an' I don' like when me partners an' associates be pressed on. Summat about it jus' makes me mad." His lip curled for just a brief second, almost too quick to catch before he shifted back into his smile and stood straight.