The plane had been circling Midway International for what felt like hours. Even on a chartered first class flight, Jessica’s legs were cramped, and she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. "Gooood evening, Ladies and Gentlemen," the pilot's voice crackled into the cabin, "This is your captain speaking. We apologize for the delays. There's a lot going on in the city right now. And we're doing our very best to keep our valued passengers safe." His voice was tinged with tense apprehension, which only made Jes' skin crawl all the more. "The national weather service has reported a break in the storm cresting over Northside," He continued, un-reassuringly, "So air traffic control has cleared us for landing in about ten minutes. Please stow away any luggage and take your seats. We'll be beginning our descent into Chicago momentarily." 

What came next felt like the longest ten minutes of Jessica's whole life. By the time they finally touched down she was veritably green from turbulence, restlessness, and anxiety. With her mink coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders, collar clutched snugly under her chin, she picked her way down the small staircase leading to the tarmac -- sure that she would never be more grateful to leave anything behind her. That was, until she waded through the biting sleet and snow that blanketed Chicago. Halfway to the entrance of the airport, and her bare knuckles were screaming to go back to the plane. 

The ride into the city was no better. Chicago was positively smothered in winter wind and snow. And the heater in their limousine barely put a dent in the frigid evening air. Snuggling close to Roger, both for warmth and affection, she pulled the silver cigarette case and matching zippo from his breast pocket and casually lit one without asking. The cab slowly filled with swirling smoke as Jessica did her best to keep her mind off the painfully cold temperatures, her bottom lip trembling ever so pitifully as she puffed on her ciggy. 

Her pale green eyes trailed to the streets passing away around them... almost deserted. It was eerie in a way that unsettled her still nervous stomach; an inexplicable fear clutching at the corners of her mind. Even a blizzard this intense didn't normally have the force to clear the streets so completely. Staring out the window at the whitewashed world around them, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more behind the barren streets tonight. 

Turning back to Roger, her worry was clear in the lines on her face, "Darling...?" Her voice wavered, lilting up with a tinge of insecurity that only he would discern, "Are you sure this is the best time to make this move? I have a... an odd feeling." 

The car ride was bumpy as they pulled out of the Chicago Municipal Airport, the warmth of the vehicle was arguably better than the biting cold outside. As Jessica snuggled up next to Roger, he slid his arm around the beautiful red-headed bombshell and hugged her closely. The smoke filled the cabin as he stared out of the window over her head. Trees and houses went by slowly as they crawled into the suburbs. No one was out and about, not even other cars. It was eerie quiet.

It was obvious enough that Roger was apprehensive about returning home. He'd let Jessica in on his old family business, and why he'd left. A mutual parting and falling out of favor with his father, a small time criminal and head of the Coniglio Family. They were mostly mixed up in bootlegging, extortion, and racketeering, but it had remained small enough that they truly didn't matter much.

With the current state of affairs, Roger's father had taken a leap and reached out. It was the old man's belief that NOW, with the many deaths that had come from the hands of a Chicago gangster gone rogue, was the time to expand...

Jessica's commentary snapped him back from the depths of his thoughts and he cracked a smile. "Hey girl. Don't worry 'bout nothin'. It's just a meetin' with mio padre. We'll see how it goes and, if we don't like it, fuck'em. Don't ya worry your pretty little head, Bun bun." His voice seemed confident enough, but Jessica would note the heavy distrust behind his own words.

He wouldn't admit it, but the whole fucking thing felt suspicious to him as well...

The car continued on until it pulled into a small, gated property in Riverside. Armed gunmen stood on either side of the entrance, but most of the associates and wise guys that normally patrolled the area were missing. Roger's lips pursed and he sat up straight, still holding Jessica.

"Somethin' ain't right here..." he spoke out, his breath still visible even in the finally warming vehicle. Of course it started to warm up as they got to their destination. The driver pulled the vehicle into the garage connected to the large house and jumped out, shutting the door to the room. After killing the vehicle, he ran around and opened the door for the two to let them out.

"Your father will be delighted to see you, Signore Coniglio. Signora as well."

Roger snerked and stepped passed. "We'll fuckin' see about that now..." he mumbled under his breath.

Jessica hated this part of town... all the vile and violent mafiosi behind their pretty little fences pretending to live the suburban life as if everything they owned wasn't stained beyond salvation with innocent blood. It made her stomach churn, and all the more so knowing she would finally be meeting the man behind Roger's tortured past. 

As they pulled into the driveway Jessica bristled slightly as Roger sat up, pulling her with him into a rather uncomfortable position. Even as they ducked out of the vehicle, he held her close to his chest as if her could somehow hide her away from the ugly world of his childhood. Jes chuckled sarcastically, but didn't struggle. The fact that the driver only called her 'signora', that he refused to call her by their family name or acknowledge her as Roger's wife, spoke volumes about the way these men felt about him marrying an American woman... despite the lewd glances many of them gave her. "You don't have to shield me," she reassured him, with a gentle pat, "Looks can't kill, hunny bunny." 

They were quietly ushered through the back door into a small vestibule, where they were relieved of their coats before being welcomed into the kitchen. The kitchen was stunningly polished; all gleaming marble and fine tile with vaulted ceilings and open archways. The whole house was perfumed with the mouthwatering smells proceeding from the room. There were pots simmering on the stove, something heavenly in the oven, a pizza baking in an open-faced kiln, and a menagerie of pies and pastries cooling on the counter. 

For a brief moment Jessica was dazzled by the opulence of the place. It had been hours since they last ate, and her stomach rumbled audibly she eyed the extravagant amount of tantalizing food. Roger chuckled, elbowing her softly as Jes checked herself. They were here on business, and in all likelihood not the 'break bread' kind. The driver, who also appeared to be filling-in as the butler, laughed softly and gestured around the kitchen with an arching wave, speaking only to Roger, "As you can see, we've been preparing for your arrival. The elder Signore Coniglio is concluding a meeting presently. He bids you welcome, and encourages you to make yourself at home. La nostra cosa é la tua cosa, quindi la nostra casa é la tua casa.Your father will be down momentarily. The liquor cabinet and humidor are unlocked in the den. And the food will be done momentarily.  Please help yourself to anything that pleases you." With a flourishing bow he left the room, leaving Roger and Jessica to settle in for the long and tense evening ahead. 

Again, Jessica eyed the plethora of food. But stayed tucked tightly to Roger's waist. She wasn't going to trust anything in this house without his input. 

Jessica remained huddled as close to Roger as she could, even though he didn't need the butler/driver to tell him to settle in. It was still -his- house even if he'd been gone and unwanted for more than a decade. He made his way straight to the den for the wine and cigars. If he was about to deal with 'dear old dad' then it was best he was properly sedated. Jessica by his side, he got to the cabinet and opened the door.

"Vino, tesoro mio?" Roger mused as he ran his finger along the old bottles before finding a simple California Vintage from 1889. Plucking it from it's holdings, he grabbed two glasses without waiting on Jessica's answer, and made his way to the large sofa across the room to take a seat. As the pair reached the sofa and Jessica sat, another man walked into the room; a large, smooth faced, younger Italian. Roger froze as he sat, and the other man stopped dead in his tracks. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, probably enough to make Jessica uneasy, before Roger broke the silence, standing.

"Benedetto?" Roger stated curiously as he eyed the man.

"Ruggiero?" the other retorted.

In chorus with one another, more confidently, and much louder, they repeated the two names, walking up and embracing one another.

"Porca miseria, Benedetto! You've gotten big!" The two laughed out loud as they embraced again, a kiss on each cheek from both of them.

"When I last saw ya, fratellino, you were barely a teenager!"

"I remember! You've grown some too!" he gave Roger's stomach a small pat with a laugh. Stepping back, he looked to the red-headed bombshell on the couch. "Bontà mia! Who is this you've brought into our home?" He gestured to the woman sitting on the couch with her legs crossed, simply watching the exchange.

Turning, Roger grinned. "Mio amore, fratellino. Mia sposa." He chuckled a bit, waving Jessica over. "Jessica, Bun Bun, meet your cognato. Your brother-in-law."

Rising from the couch, Jessica sauntered over and took her place by Roger. Still clutching her wine glass, she slipped her arm into Roger's, her ring conspicuously on display, and offered the portly little man the other. "Piacere, Benedetto," she managed with a demure smile that, to Roger, would seem more like a grimmace. Her enunciation was lilting, and unweildy; the emphasis in all the wrong places. And Benedetto's patronizing smile made her insides crawl. 

"The pleasure is all mine, Bellisima," he replied in English, sparing her the unease of any further awkard Italian. Turning back to Roger her continued as if she weren't in the room, "Merda, Fratello. Ma ne vale la pena?" Jessica wasn't sure what he said, but the scowl on Roger's face made her feel suspiciously self-conscious. Shepparding the men along with her, Jes took a seat back on the couch and watched with familiar antipathy and Ben's eyes trailed up her exposed thigh. Men were so predictable. It was tiring, really. 

"So..." she trailed off, struggling to make polite conversation, "Roger... um... hasn't tole me... much.... about his brothers. Surely you have some childhood stories worth telling?" She smiled at Ben, and he grinned goofily back in a way that made her shift in her seat. "Oh I could tell you all kinds a things, Sweet Cheeks," he bellowed slimily.  Sliding clower to Roger she kissed him on the cheek and tried her best not to cringe. "Well, seeing as dear old Dad is predisposed, let's hear it," she shot back with a haughty smirk. And Roger patter her gently, shooting Ben a cocky smirk. 

"Some of the best stories come from the days when there were three of us." Benedetto's face, for the first time, seemed as sincere as it could since they'd entered the room together. "Before tha war, 'ey Ruggiero?"

"Sì, let's not bring that up, per cortesia." Roger shot Benedetto a look full of more daggers than were normally seen coming from his eyes. His arm slipped around Jessica and he offered her a kiss, but he leaned his head back.

Benedetto chuckled, "Very well, older brother. Well then, a story when we were a famiglia. Jacopo and Ruggiero both played the American game, baseball, while they were growing up. Ruggiero here wanted to be a..." Benedetto raised his hands and panned them across the air as he spoke, "... professional baseball star." Benedetto chuckled, "He probably could have too." At this, Roger audibly chuckled a bit. "Yeah. I could have, an' Jacopo coulda gone an' been my manager. You an' Gino could come watch the games."

Benedetto seemed to get agitated at the mention of Gino but held whatever thoughts he'd had in rather well. "Mhmm. I remember going to one of your games and catching a home run ball from you. You claimed you would be tha Great Bambino's rival! You remember that?"

The two chuckled a bit...

"Yeah. Yeah I do. An' whatta ya know? That culo is still playin'!"

More laughter, then Benedetto added, "No cazzi with tha Yankees were worth you or Jacopo then except that culo..."

Roger sat forward and pulled the humidor close, opening it and smelling the wonderful scent of tobacco. "Toscano?" He grabbed one of the cigars and passed the box of Italian premiums to Jessica...

Jes took the box with an air of salivating reverence. Lifting the heavy lid of the humidor, she savoured the heavy aroma of superior tobbacco. She picked one out, and hedonistically slid her nose down the lengthof it, sighing softly in sweet rapture; no doubt making Bene quite uncomfortable. Jes handled the cutter and punch with admirable precision for a woman, making quick work of her choice smoke - a short, fat little thing that fit ever so nicely between her crimson-painted lips. 

Leaning back against Roger, she took a long drag, audibly reveling in the warm sting of the smoke in her mouth as she savoured the flavour before teasingly blowing it in Bene's direction. He chuckled awkwardly, waving the smoke from his face dramatically to camoflauge his flushed expression. "Heh... yeah..." he stammered pitifully, "Ruggiero here was quite the player when he was younger." Ben's hand furiously rubbed the back of his neck as he fought to say something... anything... nice and nonchalant. Slowly, his expression slackened as he realized the implications of his last words, "OF BASEBALL! I mean of baseball. I mean..." The man trailed off miserably as Jessica laughed aloud. 

"No worries, Caro. I know my Roger well enough to understand your meaning perfectly." Her eyes cut daggers his direction as she took another long and luxuriating inhale from her cigar. Her crimson curls dangled against the plush leather of the couch as she let her head fall back, exhaling the smoke to the ceiling with a satisified moan. 

"I'm pleased you're enjoying my home," a harsh and booming voice echoed from the doorway of the den. Jessica heard Benedetto gasp softly, and heard the whisper of his slacks against smoothe leather as he whipped around to face the door. She felt Roger stiffen instincually, his hand - once loose and realxed - gripping her shoulder territorially. The restless snakes coiled in the pit of her stomach writhed and slithered back to life, as she fought the urge to snap up to attention. But then... that was what they wanted, what they expected. And she would NEVER let them know, much less see, that they got to her. No, no, no. 

Slowly, antagonistically, she lifted her head to face the door, a perfect crimson smile painted on her face as she shifted to face the door. Tucking her feet beneath her she leaned into Roger, laying her head poignantly over on his shoulder as she smiled with syrrupy innocence up at the man who just entered the room. "Molto grazie. Your hospitality is most appreciated. Especially in this dreadful weather." 

Slowly Jes unfolded herself and rose to her feet. "You must be Signore Coniglio." Jes stayed planted where she was. She knew better than to approach the Don unbidden, especially on a first meeting. She smiled at him expectantly, but got barely a nod in return. "Molto piacere di conoscerti, Don Gino. It's such a pelasure to finally meet you." Jes' words hung heavily in the air, a purposeful bite woven between the consants as she used the man's given name and emphasized the word pleasure. Gino imply smitked and snaked his way into the room, giving the redhead a wide and obvious birth. Curtly, the elder Coniglio ambled over to the open bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. "I see our tastes haven't matured any," he noted caustically before fetching a cigar for himself, focusing his attention on Roger. 

Taking her seat, Jessica curled up in her typical feline fashion and waited for the fireworks. 

Roger's eyes bounced back and forth between Jessica's introduction and his father's disrespectful nod. He wasn't sure what the night was going to consist of, but he would let that one slide for now... He already knew what Gino thought of an outsider in his family.

"Why would I waste the good bottles if I haven't decided I would stay and help ya, mio padre? Seems like a waste of your money."

Roger smirked, knowing it would prick at the old man's pride to know that Roger hadn't simply JUMPED at the chance to come home. No, he had come to reclaim what should have been his the moment Jacopo had passed.

Gino paused, eyeing Roger, before he lit his cigar. "If it's business alone you've come for, then the three men should make our way to the stud-"

Roger held up his finger, interrupting his father and drawing three sets of eyes to him.

"Jessica has been a part of my life for the last two and a half years. Mio moglie for most of that. She has been la mia unica famiglia.  She -will- be by my side as my consigliere while tua famiglia e mia famiglia do business."

Roger leaned back into the sofa with his legs crossed, Jessica fitting nicely into the pocket of his arm, a leg crossed over his with her thigh showing to both the older Coniglio and the younger. He could see the old man practically seething, but it was Benedetto that broke the silence that had followed.

"You ungrateful son of a-" Benedetto started as he stood, but Gino waved a hand at the boy.

"Sit down. It's been a while since Ruggiero and I've had time to speak, Benedetto. Be a good boy..."

"Scuzi, Papa," Benedetto spat out before plopping back down on the couch.

Roger grinned to himself, but knew it would probably come to a decent sized fight at some point. Gino made his way to the couch and took a seat so that they could all still see one another. Tilting his head, Roger turned his attention to his conniving father and awaited his pitch.

"Ruggiero," Gino started, "I will comply because she seems to have taken good care of you." He offered an at least seemingly genuine compliment to Jessica, but continued on without interruption. "As you know, many of the families in La Cosa Nostra have fallen. Three Godfather's have been gunned down. One boss in Las Vegas was shot and killed by another, who then became afraid and stuck the gun to his own head. Scared, he could not pull the trigger and instead fled the country. I'm sure he sleeps deeply now."

Gino leaned back and puffed on his cigar. "I need you here, where we can make a proper push with our family. The time is right and with lacking leadership within the city structure of Chicago, we can finally become a family to be taken seriously. Do you like this conversation so far?"

Roger, seemingly disinterested at the moment, shrugged. "Honestly, padre. You tell me nothing I don't already know about the city structure. I keep up with the news. Godfather Chairman Varys was taken, along with New York's Godfather Earl, and Philadelphia's Godfather as well... As for Vegas? I am close enough to hear every whisper in that city, or at least I was. Now I am here, again, at your pleading. You spoke of worry. What worry is there? That Benedetto can not handle the push you are going to attempt? That he and his lack of blood will end you along with the rest of the family? Chicago is -NOT- as weak as it may appear. I am not so stupid to believe that anything is as simple as you assume it will be. So what is it that you actually propose, Don Coniglio?"

Roger's tone heated a bit at the sheer audacity his father had, reaching for the stars when he could barely touch the tree tops. The look on both Gino and Benedetto's faces said they didn't like the way he spoke; tensions quickly rose with the two and a half Coniglio men in the same room.

Benedetto shook visibly in anger, the veins along his neck and forehead bulging as his face flushed a deep and unbecoming crimson. “Ruggiero,” he spat from behind clenched teeth, “You should have your woman leave, before our conversation offends her womanly sensibilities.”

Jessica tossed her head back in laughter, her curls and her bosom alike bouncing along with the sound, “Oh, caro,” she spat the pejorative back at him with matching contempt, “There is nothing you can say that I haven’t heard before. I dare say it is your delicate sensibilities at risk in this conversation.”

Gino snerked audibly at her retort. His reaction crudely camouflaged with a poorly faked cough. His uncharacteristic reaction, drew looks of disbelief from all three of his “children” and he replied silently with a matter-of-fact shrug. The resulting hurt that briefly passed over Bene’s features only fueled his outrage. And he turned on Jessica with caustic animosity. “Of course, a woman of your standards would be habituated to vulgar behavior,” he spat with venomous indignation, “Why don’t you open that pretty little mouth again and we’ll see what it’s really good for.”

Suddenly the room was like a ping-pong table of umbrage and indignation. Roger looked downright murderous as he tensed beneath Jessica’s lithe frame. And Gino appeared to be on the verge of a stroke. Jessica, however, remained as frigid as the winter winds howling outside the window.

With a wicked smirk she held Benedetto’s gaze, and did just as he suggested; taking a long and exaggerated puff from her delicious Tuscan cigar. Slowly she exhaled the smoke in his direction, sitting up and leaning over to gesture at him with her cigar holding hand; her two-finger point pristine enough to make even the most practiced Godfather jealous. “Now that,” she jabbed the air in typical mafiosa fashion, “is exactly the kind coarse and disgusting behavior I would expect from a man of low breeding.” She paused and smiled over her shoulder at the eldest Coniglio. “No offense meant to your regal bloodline, Don Coniglio,” she crooned through a cascade of copper curls. Gino nodded sternly as Jessica turned away from him to continue. “This is no way to conduct business.” She smiled at him coolly, “But if you want to speak frankly, then let us speak frankly. Bastarda a bastardo, estranea a estraneo. See, cuz, he may loathe me,” she nodded toward the men’s father, “But I still have some value because I know my place. While you… you parade around barking orders as if you could ever hope to be a real part of la LORO cosa. You are a stain on this family’s name. And your very existence is an insult to Don Gino’s wife… may her soul rest in eternal loving peace. But the worst part is, you have deluded yourself into thinking that you will EVER be anything more than a whore’s bastard who only exists because your sporca buchiach of a mother was too roughly used to take it up the ass the night you were conceived. THAT’S why we are here. And no one else has any delusions about it. Half the family’s in Chicago would laugh in your face if you approached them with out the grace and protection of Don Gino. So sit the hell down, shut the FUCK up, and let’s figure out a way to make this a mutually beneficial arrangement for everyone involved. … OR you can keep flapping your nasty gums like a cazzo culo, and making a fool out of your Don, and I will ask for his permission to come over there and put my cigar out ON YOUR DISRESPECTFUL TONGUE, you insignifi-CUNT little fuck! Capisce?”

Running a hand through her rusty locks, Jessica sighed heavily. Leaning back into the cough she took a long sip of wine to wet her throat and catch her breath before turning to Gino and Roger, “I’m sorry. This is no way to do business. I know. He’s your son. I know. I just can’t stand for people to make such fools of the family on your behalf. It’s no way to do business. I’m sorry.”

For a brief moment Don Gino actually chuckled, but the tension in the room remained so thick you’d have to cut it with a torch. Clearing her throat softly Jessica nodded at the men with a soft smile and a practiced blush, “I apologize. Shall we continue?”

Roger had gone to stand, but as Jessica leaned forward to entertain Benedetto's rage, the murderous look in his eye faded...slightly. He knew just what was about to happen. She would handle the poor boy like last weeks garbage, tossing it out and leaving it for someone else to pick up. The first words flying from her lips had Benedetto reeling back, unbelieving of what he was hearing... And his father was LAUGHING! LAUGHING AT HIM! The man couldn't even formulate a word, and it was oddly Roger's hand gestures to him, waving him down and to sit, that at least gave him something else to focus on.

As Gino stood to address them Benedetto sat, scooting much further away from Jessica than he had been. It was obvious he had little care for her at the moment. Gino however, still chuckling a bit, began to speak...

"Seems you've found yourself quite the bambolina, Ruggiero." The older of the men laughed, but it died quickly as his gaze fell on Jessica, "But it would be wise, Signora, if you did not ire my boy so. He's proven his worth, even with being of mixed blood. It's more than I can say for Ruggiero in the past. Seems he may have learned a lesson or two from his time away..."

"Time away?" Roger interjected, "You mean time banished?" Gino glared at him as he scoffed.

"Call it what you will, Ruggiero, però sia una stronza cui servirebbe la museruola."

Roger's eyebrows rising, and the obvious disbelief across his face for certain let Jessica know it wasn't nice...

"The only stronza here is Benede-" He hadn't even finished his comment before Benedetto was jumping to his feet again, this time moving towards his half-brother with a purpose. Roger, cutting himself off, stood to intercept Benedetto in the oncoming attack...

The meeting had finally devolved into a slug fest as Bene cocked Roger on the chin. The two wrestled a bit before both of them fell through the table in front of the couch. The sound of breaking glass and men grunting was enough to bring two of the strong arms into the room, both packing heavy heat.

Gino yelled at the boys a bit, even whistled to get their attention, but nothing worked. Waving one of his guards over, he tugged their pistol out and discharged it into the couch where no one was sitting...

The sound caused a ripple of distrust to show as Roger whipped out a snub nosed revolver aimed at Gino, Benedetto tugged one out and had it at Roger's chest, both guards aimed at Roger -AND- Benedetto (Technically Roger was still true-blooded family), and Gino lowered his weapon. Roger took a glance back at Jessica as feathers settled. With a bloody nose and busted lip, he grumbled out...

"Benvenuto nella mia famiglia."

The men crawled off each other and put their weapons away at the beckoning of the guards who, once satisfied the tempers were moderately back under control, made their way back to their posts.

The three men continued to stand, but there was a silence in the room for a good while... Who would be the first to break it?

Jes was sitting on the other end of the couch when Gino discharged his firearm. Broken class crunched beneath her feet as she leapt away from the Italian leather with an audible yelp. Her world was drowned in muffled ringing as she glanced frantically between the gaping hole in the sofa, soft stuffing spilling out like flesh, and the silent standoff before her. It was like life became a stillframe; each of the men frozen before the barrel of loaded gun. Jess felt her white-knuckle grip on reality begin to fray at the corners as her pulse squeezed in around the edges of her vision. She was sure Gino would turn his gun on her next; the ringing heartbeat in her ears her only reassurance that he hadn't already. 

She forced air into her burning lungs, compeling the tunnels in her vision to widen and dissipate as she consciously controlled the trembling in her hands. Slowly the world faded back into sense and sensation, light and sound colliding in her cranium. As the compressed ringing in her ears began to fade, Gino lowered his weapon and Jes was just able to hear Roger "welcome" her sarcasitcally to his family. 

"SONO la tua famiglia," she retorted in her best Italian (which isn't saying much), before turning her piercing green gaze onto Gino, "And I may be a bitch, but I know enough to recognize when someone is calling me such. So if you're going to say it, at least have the balls to say it to my face. Because this bitch is the one who will be bearing your grandchildren. Which is more than I can say for tua meticcio prezioso from what I've heard. And I will be the one deciding whether or not you are a part of their lives." 

"Now then," she smiled brightly, straightening the front of her dress and smoothing her curls she picked her way around the splintered coffee table toward the kitchen, "I am going to make my self useful and go get everyone a nice sobering cup of coffee and a canoli. And when I get back perhaps we can conduct business in a more civil way? I would be most appreciative if all of this were behind us... for the time being. After all, the Coniglios are not some low level common criminals. You are better than this. Much better than this. You are the quintessence of an upcomming family in this thing. And you... we... all," she bowed her head deferentially to Don Gino, "should conduct ourselves in a manner more suited to your standing." 

Softly she leaned in and kissed Roger's cheek, patting his shoulder gently. "Darling, you should appologize to your brother and father... on both our behalfs." Pulling a silk handkerchief from her bosom, she dabbed the blood from his face, "We should be ashamed. This is no way to behave as an honoured guest in the Don's personal home." Turning to Benedetto, she offered him the handkercheif if he didn't have his own before turning for the door. 

"It would be my deepest honour to serve you during our meeting, gentlemen. Any special requests?" 

Gino turned to Jessica after her tirade, chuckling. "Sì mia figlia. Un cannolo, per favore." Turning back to his sons, he urged the boys to sit. "It is time we discussed business boys."

As the other two sat, they shook their heads at Jessica, allowing her to be on her way. Turning their attention to Gino, Roger spoke up first.

"So what is it that you exactly want out of me coming here? We both know we don't get along so it had better be a damned good offer to drag me out of my at least -warmer- beach front home." Roger leaned back, crossing his legs and extending his arms across the back of the sofa. He was already annoyed to be here in the first place, and he'd only come because his father had begged him.

"Sì Ruggiero. I wish you to be a part of this family. A soldato for the Conigl-"

"Soldato? You must be out of ya fuckin' mind, old man! No, if I'm going to drop my outfit in Los Angies and come home, ya best believe it's for more than a Soldato's cut. Fa Chrissakes I'm ya only god damned son left alive!"

With that Benedetto was on fire again. "Only son left alive? What tha fuck ya mean, bastardo?"

"The only bastardo in la nostra famiglia is you, cafone," Roger fired back...

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Gino's voice roared out in anger. "THE TWO OF YOU WILL NOT SPEAK AGAIN UNTIL I SAY OTHERWISE!"

Benedetto got small and nodded, "Mi dispiace, padre."

Roger, opposite of his younger half-brother, stood up and looked at Gino, "You beg me to come home, beg me to come help? Then put me in charge of part of your operation. I've been running my own boo-" Gino stood and approached Roger, gripping him by his chin and forcing him to stop speaking.

"Did I not just warn you once, chiacchierone? Shut your fucking mouth and don't speak until spoken to. You will show me respect in my own home."

Roger smacked his father's hand from his face causing Benedetto to rise from his seat. As he wiggled his jaw, he spoke, "Did you forget, vecchio, this is -my- home too? We threw out respect for each other years ago."

The two stared at each other, but Roger wasn't the younger, scared child he'd been when Gino had kicked him out. He was no longer afraid to stand up to his father and his outbursts. "We speak about famiglia this, and famiglia that... But famiglia never meant anything to you except for how far you can climb up a ladder without giving rungs to any one else. Well I'm fuckin' done with it, vecchio..." This time the Italian word was laced with hatred, but before Gino could speak up Roger continued...

"No, if... And that's a big fuckin' IF... I -decide- to stay and help la nostra fimiglia, it's because it's worth it to me. But you will show me the respect deserved of any capo, or better, any Don you would entertain. I've run my own outfit in Los Angeles for the better part of the last five years, after I drug myself out of depression over you and Benedetto, this famiglia, and your BETRAYAL to me..."

He spat on the floor, but still wasn't finished.

"I have raised myself from the bottom, and I'm not afraid to be there again... But I -WILL- be shown respect since you so -NEED- me. Otherwise, Jessica and I will return to -OUR- home where business is good and leave you to FUCK ALL here in Chicago, capisce?"

Gino began laughing, and Benedetto followed suit. Gino shoved Roger backward onto the sofa and gripped his shirt, pulling them face to face.

"Who do you think you are, boy?" the old man growled. "I brought you into this world of ours, and I can sure as fuck take you out of it... Make no mistake that you are insignificant in the big picture. I only assumed you would appreciate the chance to come home and rise with our family. If not, I can take you out like the insect you are. You sniveling, disrespectful, son of a-"

Jessica was heading back into the room just in time to see, and hear, the crack of a swift and well placed fist against Roger's chin. His head rocketed to the side and Benedetto laughed heartily as Gino rared his fist back a second time. What unfolded was not pretty by any means, but Roger knew how to fight too, and he was done allowing his father to do THIS to him for certain.

Gino caught a fist in the side of his head which threw his aim at Roger's face for the second swing. The punch landed in the soft cushion of the sofa and Gino, loosing his balance, was easily rolled aside as Roger slid himself the other direction and out from under the man. Three quick jabs in the older Coniglio's gut made him lean forward. Before Benedetto could even react, Roger's fists connected a fourth time with an uppercut that sent Gino back against the couch.

"Whaddaya think of that, eh- OOOOOOOOOOOO!" Roger was gripped from the back by his shoulders and thrown across the room, stumbling and tripping over the busted table from earlier. He hit the ground hard and Benedetto lept on top of him like the lap dog he'd always been and the two began wrestling again. At first Bene was getting his swings in and Roger took quite a few hits, mostly in the stomach and chest. Then it flipped and Roger had the upper hand, pounding away on Benedetto's face and gut. Once the younger brother was severely whooped, Roger stood and stared at his younger brother before giving him a swift kick in the ribs making him cry out.

"Don't you -ever- lay your fuckin' hands on me again, mio fratellino."

He turned to Jessica...

"I'm sorry Bun bun. I think we've worn out our welcome."

Jessica took her time in the kitchen, capitalizing on the opportunity to scout the grounds through the frosted windows and note the positions of the scattered guards who still occupied the largely vacated property. It was odd, she thought, that so few of them would be on call with family coming from out of state. But, given the quickly devolving attitudes of the Coniglio men, she took it as a blessing. 

At least they were calm for the time being. If she could manage to wrangle her unruly mouth and their recalcitrant rage, they might yet make it out of here without further incident. Keeping one eye on the grounds, Jessica rummaged through the cabinets until she located everything she needed to make coffee. The French press gave her qualms, but soon enough she had a full carafe of fresh coffee. Carafe, creamer, sugar bowl, four mugs, four saucers, four desserts plates with four... no, eight cannolis... did they need pastry forks? She grabbed them, just in case. It was a lot to fit on one tray. And more than that, it was heavy as hell.

Her pumps clicked slowly across the ivory tile as she struggled to balance the crowded tray. "I'm really no good at this mob... wife... bull... shit..." she grumbled to herself, wobbling a bit to avoid sloshing the coffee. She walked back into the den just in time to hear Gino's last words. The fight was on again, and by the sound of it, these men had no intention of letting them leave. It was work for the family or die.

Things spiraled out of control quickly as years of pent anger and resentment boiled over into unchecked violence. In the heat of the moment, no one noticed her entry. And as she heard the echoing footsteps of guards rushing down the foyer's grand staircase, she prayed it could stay that way. Because there was obviously only ONE way out of this room.

Cups and plates scattered across the floor as she tossed the tray to the ground, grunting as she shoved at the sturdy oak doors to the den. As the heavy thud of them slamming echoed into the outer rooms, the sound of rushing footfalls increased. Reaching for the splintered leg of the coffee table, she wedged it behind the doors handles. It would hold, but it was weak; not nearly enough to keep the guards out for long. Turning to the open wine cabinet standing next to the door, she threw all of her weight against it. The heavy wooden cabinet shifted agonizingly slowly as her feet slid helplessly beneath her, gliding griplessly over crushed glass and shattered wood. The grating noise was enough to rouse Gino from his sucker-punch stupor on the couch. And before Jes had time to react, his fist was wrapped tightly in her hair. 

"Oh no you don't!" he shouted, ripping her away from the cabinet and slamming her face into it. With a sickening crack, her world exploded into pulse of blinding color as numbing heat spread across her face. Gino's face swam before her as she struggled to recover from the blow. Her head throbbed, even as he pulled it back once more. Jessica braced for the blow, her hands gripping the corner of the cabinet with white-knuckled desperation. Leaning into the motion, she thrust her head just shy of the sharp wooden edge and used the momentum to slam her head back into Gino's nose. Again, her skull blossomed into an aching display of color and pain, deadened only by the adrenaline coursing through her system. Gino stumbled back, and as he raised his fist again Jessica saw her opening. Lunging forward, she grabbed him by the collar with both hands and heaved with everything she had. 

Stumbling backward, both of them slammed hard into the cabinet which tottered with the impact. Pulling Gino dangerously close, Jes leveraged his weight and cabinet... along of both of them went toppled to the floor with a disorienting crash. Glass shattered, wood splintered, bottles exploded, wine flooded the fine carpets; staining the hardwood floors and men's suits alike. Still, no one stopped. 

Gino spiraled uncontrollably to the center of the room, landing heavily amidst the wreckage of the ruined coffee table. Jessica tumbled over the cabinet, slamming into the opposite wall with a sharp gasp. As Benedetto wailed on Roger, Jessica fought to reclaim the wind that had been knocked out of her, wheezing heavily as she struggled to regain her precarious bearings. 

Roger's snub-nosed pistol lay exposed amidst the glass and debris. Jes lunged for it, her legs giving way beneath her as the blood rushed to her head. Crawling frantically across the glass laden floor on battered and shredded knees, Jes moved for the weapon; desperately fighting to reach to reach salvation. "Roger... RoGER," her voice squeaked into silence as she was hauled backward again and slammed to the ground amidst the rubble of the wine cabinet. Glass shredded the thin material of her dress and bit into her skin like searing needles. She coughed and gasp, as the wind was crushed from her lungs... first by the blow and then as Gino straddled her chest. 

His hands clasped around her throat as he spewed obscenities down at her in vulgar Italian. Her hand helplessly searched for the pistol she knew was mere inches away, but to no avail. The world began to darken at the edges of her vision as thick, stinking saliva rained down on her face in a spray of fat droplets and sticky strings. Jessica thrashed and kicked, clawed and reached as she railed against the impending darkness that pressed in around her. 

Her thrashing grew weak, her fingers numb, as the world slowly faded from view. With the last of her reaching, her frigid fingers brushed against something round and solid. It was lighter than she thought a pistol should be. She couldn't find the trigger. She couldn't find anything in the dim crushing darkness that overtook her. Her head tingled and crackled like pop-rocks as small lights began to flicker behind her eyelids like fireworks. Desperately, Jessica clutched the not-gun as tightly as she could with her weakening grasp and swung with all her might. Much to her surprise, there was no clunk, no hard collision, and she lamented the miss. But Gino screamed and recoiled, his grip loosening as he rocked away from her as he cursed again. 

Air rushed painfully into Jes' lungs as she wretched and wheezed. Reeling from the sudden influx of oxygen as the room swam and faded back into view. Stumbling forward, Jess blinked down at her fist... a cork screw? Looking to Gino with pure confusion, Jes was shocked to see a wide gash below his right eye. Gino growled, and Jes - still woozy - braced for the oncoming assault. switching hands, Jes wrapped the corkscrew in her fist like brass knuckles and swung hard as Gino charged her. Her fist connected unexpectedly with his throat, and he blinked down at her with silent confusion. Jes stared for a moment, horrified, as she tried to pull her hand away. To her disgust she realized that her fingers were pinned between his throat and the corkscrew handle. She could feel his Adam’s apple bob against the back of her knuckles as he choked and swallowed. 

Squealing and gagging, Jess gripped the handle hard and pulled away. The motion happened slower than she imagined it would, the rigid cartilage of his throat making a sickening gurgling snap as each turn of the screw popped loose. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry." Jess chanted, tears running down her face and mingling with the blood that oozed from her brow and sprayed from the gaping wound. Backing away, she stared in horror at the blood covering her hand. With a bubbling groan Gino lurched forward, and instinctually Jessica slammed another blow into his chest... landing this time directly in his carotid inlet. 

The old man fell to his knees, collapsing flat as he reached for the wooden handle now buried in his flesh. And Jes whimpered softly as she backed away, flattening herself against the wall as the pounding ring in her ears finally fell silent. Loud banging and muffled groans from the boys filtered into her consciousness as Roger screamed at his brother and the guards outside screamed through the door. "I'm sorry, Bun-Bun. I think we've outworn our welcome," she heard Roger say... distant and faraway as if calling on the wind from some far off cliffside. Rolling her head to face him, she gave him her best 'no shit' expression. She didn't need to tell him that that was THE understatement of the fucking century. 

"What... what... do we...?" she trailed off breathlessly, swallowing hard as she waved weakly at the door.

Roger looked down to see Gino's blood still flooding the floor. Guards fists slammed on the large, oak doors and their yells reverberated inside his skull. Benedetto continued to rock in pain on the floor, balled up into the fetal position. The whole scene sprawled in front of Roger was dire to say the least, and all he could do was laugh. Not a kind laugh, but one of those laughs that says -WE'RE SCREWED-. A nervous, cynical laugh.

"Ohhh-ho-hooo shit." His eyes panned over the room before he noticed his gun. He picked it up and walked over to Jessica offering his hand. "C'mon dollface. We should probably get tha fuck outta here." He looked over the carnage... "There's a window down the hall and in the study we can open and crawl through..." He grabbed her hand, but when she didn't budge he looked back to her, a quizzical expression across his face.

"What's wrong, Jess?"

Jessica shook her head, her eyes keen despite her vacant expression. "We can't run, Roger. You have to know we can't run," her eyes pleaded with him, "Someone else is gonna be gunning for your father's position. And if we run, the best way to solidify that will be to kill us." She smiled at him softly with that forlorn, resigned kind of melancholy that comes with a hopeless situation. "The only way we'll ever be able to recover... without having to constantly watchour backs... is if we own this." 

She stood, wobbily, with his help and stoped to wrench Gino's pistol from beneath his cooling corpse. Gripping it shakily, she locked eyes with Roger as she cocke it. "You are Gino's only true-born heir. You are the only man that your family will acknowledge as his successor. And everyone in this opperation knows it. If they know what's good for them, they will bend the knee. If not, THEN we can run."

Motioning at Ben with the barel of... her?... gun, she motioned him over, "Get him up. He can go first." She jabbed the barrel at the door. "They'll be less likely to shoot if you're both coming out." 

It seemed as if the wheels in Roger's head slowly began to turn. The realization of the situation they were truly in, the GOOD situation, made him smile. He rushed over to Benedetto's side and took his younger brother's weapon before he could get smart enough to use it. Slipping it in his pocket, he holstered his own weapon and left Ben laying there for the moment.

Moving quickly, he grabbed Gino's still bleeding corpse and drug him over to the wall next to the knocked over cabinet. The incessant banging on the door continued; added threats of shooting as well.

"Whoa whoa, scopatori! We're coming out! Un God damn minuto!"

He hopped back over to Ben and helped the beaten and dazed man to his feet, than the cold steel of a gun against his head brought him to...

"We're going to open the door, Benedetto, and you had best pray they don't shoot first. Because you're dead for certain. I've got to have a chat with mia nuova famiglia."

Benedetto stumbled a bit, but stuttered back at Roger... "Your family? You mean..." He trailed off as he followed the blood trail to where Gino's body was laying. "Holy what tha..." He looked over his shoulder at Roger, whispering. "What the fuck did you do?!"

Roger chuckled, looked at Jessica, winked, and looked back. "Solidified my place, and our family's eventual rise... Now, help me move this in front of dear old dad." 

Benedetto, confused, angry, and lost, helped Roger move the cabinet.

"If ya stand in front of me, and we convince these guards that they still work for MY famiglia, Benedetto, then there will be a place for you at my table. A true soldato, not just a cugine. A -real- member of my family, of La Famiglia Coniglio."

The two men moved forward toward the door. Benedetto's face certainly had a story of turmoil written across it. 

"Hey! Open tha fuckin' do-" the guards yelled as the door opened. Guns flew up as they noticed Roger's gun trained on Benedetto's head, and the blood stains, or were they wine stains, on the floor... They looked about, but Roger spoke up first.

"As it is in this thing of ours, we know there are sometimes casualties when family members disagree... As with all bosses, eventually they are replaced by a younger, more virile stud. Today is that day... Gino Coniglio has passed on, bless his soul, and has joined the famiglia fantastica in the heavens. I am his only surviving, full blooded son. I am the only one the families back home will recognize if they do not wish to send one of my cousins or uncles over... I am your new boss, Don Ruggiero Domenici Coniglio. If you wish to continue your employment with this family and ride with me to a new dawning, then stay and help me clean this mess... If not, I will allow you to leave unharmed. I will not force any man to stay and work for me. As of now, La Famiglia Coniglio is currently in rebuild and there are -NO- soldatos, -NO- Caporegime, and -NO- associates. We will rebuild from those of you who wish to stay. If you'd like a change to be with a young turk? Then by all means, join me in this thing of ours. I will take this family and approach the Outfit, offering ourselves to them. I will join another family, and run this family as an extension of theirs. We -will- finally be protected under the new laws that govern our thing. We will have the back up we never had with my father in place. La Famiglia Coniglio will rise. If you are staying, make your choice now. If you wish to go home, go home with no consequence and take with you something of value that will help you and your families survive this blizzard..."

Roger looked between the handfull of bodyguards and associates that stood before him, then tossed Benedetto to them. "And do something with that. Clean him up."

Jess, Gino's pistol still clutched at her side, stepped up beside Roger. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she stared out at the men now gathered around the door; her chin held high and her gaze haughty and appraising, like a queen analzying her knights. Though an awful queen she seemed. Her hair was tangled and matted, her throat bruised, her body bloodied and roughly used. Several of the men... a little less than half... began to move away, and Jes squeezed Roger's shoulder lightly, speaking up. 

"Take some food home to your families, but leave your guns on the island. If you are fearful of the journey home, we will provide an armed escort for all concerned. Effective tomorrow, will issue a protection order of exactly one week to allow defectors and their families to find new station. Those who wish to stay, know that you will be treated as equals in this thing of ours and your efforts alone will determine your standing in the new famiglia Coniglio. Please drop your weapons in the kitchen for the time being. You may take your rest for the evening. Warm yourselves by the fire, eat your fill. I'd offer you wine, but..." She glanced over her hsoulder at the wrecked den, "I'm afraid we're all out." Some of the men chuckled, others grumbled. "Take the next half-hour to thaw yourselves and make your decision.  We will regroup in solarium in 30 minutes to discuss the family's new direction and what it means for you who stay." 

Most of the men disperesed, migrating toward the kitchen; some laughing and joking, others sombre and serious. One, however, remained rooted to the spot; the white of his knuckles clearly visible from accross the room as he clenched his firearm. His shock of grey-white hair stood out amidst the largely younger men. Trembling with indignation, he glared around as the others all mingled or left. "What do you think you are doing," he screamed, half to the men and half to Roger and Jessica. "You're just going to standby and let this traditore destroy our family?!" 

Several of the other spoke up, but it only fueled his rage. Jes opened her mouth to try and reason with him, but his seething rant cut any protest from her lips. "I will NOT see the Coniglio name besmirched by some American PUTT......" 

A single shot rang out in the kitchen. Jes pressed her eyes closed tightly as the ringing shot echoed against the ivory tile, shaking the window and bouncing off the walls. Guns in closed spaces... she'd never get used to the feeling. The guards all tensed; some ducking behind furniture, others training their guns. But Jes never flinched. The smoke from the muzzle flash rose dramatically before her as she lowered the weapon. "You can stay and you will be given a fair opportuinty. You can leave and you will be given protection and impugnity. But this IS the direction this family is going. And you will either go with it, get out of the way, or be mowed over in the process. Those are your only options. If you cannot the idea of working with or for meticci e Americani, the I suggest you make a plate and find the door. Now." 

For a brief moment Jes scanned every set of eyes in the room. No one spoke. No one objected. So she simply nodded. "Good. Those of you who wish to stay have thirty minutes to collect your thoughts. And those of you who wish to leave should be gone by that time. If you want an escort speak now." She waited for anyone else to speak, to raise a hand, to move. No one did. 

"On with it then. Go, go, go. We have work to do and talks to have. Thirty minutes. Go." 

The small crowd stirred to life again, a buzz with conversaation like a class just dismissed by the hot teacher. With a tired smile, Jes turned to Roger, "I would very much like to change. I'm sure 'dear old dad' wouldn't mind me 'borrowing' some of his slacks until we get this messed cleaned up. Wanna take me to his room?" 

Roger nodded as Jessica spoke up, and he stared as everyone began to make their way toward the kitchen... All except for one man. Roger knew him well from when he was little. He'd been there with their family for a long time. Sal... Of course Sal wouldn't go along with a murderous regime change... As he mouthed off, Roger pulled back the hammer on his revolver. It wasn't his shot that rang out though.

Jessica's hand flew up, and a flash fired from the revolver in her hand put Old Sal on the ground and had everyone's guns turned, trained on them. Slowly everyone lowered their weapons as Jessica lowered her own gun and began to talk again. Soon enough, everyone seemed content to let the young turks give it a go.

Jess and Roger slipped off to Gino's room, -their- room now, and started going through the closet.

"Bun Bun... You shot Sal..." Roger called out as he dug through the hung suits looking for an old one that might be closest to her waist. Jerking a pair from a hanger and grabbing some suspenders and a shirt, he came out and tossed them on the bed. 

"There ya go dollface." He grinned, looking to her as the tattered, red dress she'd had on slid from her shoulders exposing her body to the cold elements in the room. He could visibly see the goosebumps rising on her skin and he stepped up to her, wrapping his arms around her...

The tensions were high, but his hands pressed against her and held her tightly to him; both to warm her and comfort her. She had, in fact, just killed two men. She would need something steady to lean against for the moment. Gripping her face, he kissed her then sat her down on the bed. "It's not warm in here by any means, love... Try those clothes on and I'll go and check on the men... And Benedetto..."

He turned for the door and as he reached it, looked over his shoulder with a huge grin. She was gorgeous as ever, especially sitting there naked and collecting her thoughts. "Hey Girl... I'm lucky to have you." He stood there waiting to make sure she'd be okay.

Jes hissed and bristled and Roger pulled her close. She wanted him close. She needed him close, but her skin was sliced and scraped, her body battered and bruised, her emotions raw. And despite her bone-deep desperation for his touch, it hurt her. It hurt her on so many levels that a piece of her shattered with every look. 

She'd never been a part of his world before. Not like this. She knew, of course, but he'd always protected her. And yet, in a matter of moments, here she was... reigning queen of la famiglia Coniglio... and apparently with an iron fist, no less. "I had to..." she managed to eek out in a barely audible whisper, her face contorting in regret and disgust. "They had to know. They had to know I can... that I will... or they would never respect me," she sniffled, wiping her bloody nose against the back of her hand. "If we're gonna live with a target on our backs, it'll be because of our position, not because of my race or my fucking cunt." 

Roger laughed, but it was cut short as she winced, his grip exaserbating the fresh bruises on her face. His eyes softened apologetically as leaned in and showered her wish kisses as he guided her to the bed. She stiffened. Surely he wasn't in the mood right now...? Her stomach churned with a sickness that twisted her insides and squeezed her heart. She loved him, she was madly IN love with him. She'd killed for him. And yet in the moment, the thought of making love to him right now made her sick... and that made her sick... and terrified. 

She was hopelessly conflicted as shis hands tenderly caressed her battered arms and brushed the hair from her face. She was relieved - despite her love for him - when he stepped away from the bed. She was relieved. And it hurt... so much. Staring straight ahead at the floor, the carpet blurred as tears stung her eyes. But she held on. At the very brink she held on wiht everything she had... just like she'd always done. They had a family to run now -- business to handle, people to care for. And poor Roger would be at the head of it all... just as shellshocked and maladjusted as she was. She couldn't add to his plate by letting him see her shatter. She couldn't. 

Sure, he'd love her the same, he'd care for her and coddle her and protect her like he always had. She was sure of it. But at what cost? No. He needed a strong hand by his side. And right now, she was the onely candidate. She had donw this. SHE had given them no way out. Now strength was her only choice. 

He told her to get dressed, but there was no way she was dragging a shirt over her glass strewn shoulders. She smiled half-heartedly up at him, "I'm gonna rinse off, and tend some of these..." she motioned to, well, basically her whole body unser of what exactly to call her menagerie of injuries, "And then I'll be right down. Unless you need me before then?" She questioned up into his hazel eyes, but he shook his head as he moved to the door. 

The smile on his face as he looked over his shoulder cut her to the core. The admiration in his eyes searing into her tenderized heart like an ember. Even now, even sittting here naked, bruised and battered, covered in blood and wine and spit, he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful, the most pure and precious being he'd ever laid eyes on. And despite the turmoil within her, she was eternally grateful for the saving grace and beauty of his smile. She chuckled lightly... in that pathetic way that women do when there's nothing else to be done... and nodded, sniffling again. "Yeah... I know you are," she reassured him, "I'd kill for you." It was far too soon, and a horrible, pathetic attempt at making light of the situation. But the expression in her eyes made it clear: if she didn't laugh, she was going to weep. 

Roger nodded solemnly, with a look that told her he understood everything without a single word. Gently he closed the door behind him, and a few stinging tears slipped down her cheeks as his footsteps echoed down the hallway. Pushing herself stiffly from the bed, she moved into the large, open bathroom adjacent the master bedroom. The sound of the shower running echoed into the hallway, but for a long while she didn't get in. Standing infront of the full length mirror in the bedroom, she stared into her own empty eyes, noting every scrape and bruise and injury; wiggling and massaging every part of her battered body. For that brief moment she allowed herself to feel everything. All the fear, all the pain, all the loathing and disgust. She let it engulf her as she stared at her self, catalguing every last bit of it... and then shutting it away, swallowing it down into the deepest pits of her stomach to be digested sometime when she could afford it. She stood there until the mirror fogged over from the running hot water, and then... just like that... she was done. She forced herself to be done. 

Turning from the mirror, from everything she felt or thought about herself, she stepped into the searing stream of the shower and scrubbed all her pain... all her feeling away. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, watching as the blood and wine and broken glass washed down the drain, imaging that all of her soiled filthiness went with it. She scrubbed until she felt clean again... as clean as the woman Roger saw when he looked at her. And then she tiptoed into the bedroom... leaving little wet footprints behind her, much like her reflection. With gritted teeth and gritty determination, she donned the Don's old clothes and padded down stairs with wet curls and barefeet.

There was work to be done....