“There is that smiling swine now, Farfalla.”

Fio whispered into Chelsea’s ear. How long had the man been there watching the two of them? Chelsea’s grip let free from Fio’s chest and arm as Fio let go of Chelsea’s hair and began to straighten his suit jacket back out. The fact that he opted to leave his wife at home intrigued Fio. He had brought a man with him in Gladys’ place.

“Mr. and Mrs. Uccello. Great to see you two once more. This is my understudy George Tapper.” The mayor of Seattle, Charles L. Smith, gestured to the young man beside him. Understudy? Fio looked him over. The man had a gun on his hip for one. He also held himself like no politician he had ever encountered. Two hazel darts pierced back over at the mayor. “Looks like quite the understudy. Let’s go. I’d rather not keep the Russian waiting too long. He might get bored and sail off without us. I hear there’s lobster waiting on board. You like lobster, Mr. Smith?”

“I love food Uccello you know that.” Fio stared at him for a moment. Charles Smith was the quite the accomplished quarterback for the University of Washington. Fio wondered for a moment how he felt about being called Uccello- not important enough to put him back down yet. The Italian finally smirked and gestured for them to walk toward the boat down McCormick Terminal, pier 57. Fio wasn't about to be caught with that Tapper behind him. Something didn't sit right there. The mayor obviously wasn't going to be as much a pushover as he let forth over their first dinner. Fio glanced at Chelsea who pointed to the 'understudy's' hip. He nodded. 

Usually, a luxury liner or a cargo ship would be waiting here- not tonight. Taras Fomin waited with фортуна, Fortuna. It was a magnificent sight, the 127-foot luxury yacht. Fomin was the son of a Russian Bratva Captain, Vitaly Fomin. The spoiled young mobster had his uses. When Chelsea and Fio first met him he helped them forge their death certificates in Los Angeles aboard this very ship. That was so long ago it felt like another life.

Today Taras had brought with him more than just his Yacht and the forgery utensils. Fio had a few things to procure for a new land deal he was working through here on the waterfront. Fio was excited to see a Bronzino in person. He had heard of the detail in this particular painting. Pygmalion And Galatea was supposed to be quite the interesting piece. The Uccellos had discussed offering it to the mayor after they schmoozed him over today. It would be a sign of good faith- a reason for them to not have to use the utensils in the future, perhaps?

Chelsea carried her new black Luis Vuitton Noé. It was a replacement for the one Fio and Cocciuto helped destroy so quickly. This time it carried cash and not a mallard and his cake. 

The tall blond Russian gave a toothy grin to the four new passengers as they boarded his ship. 

"Welcome to my floating Eden." He said with his accent shining through on a foggy night in Emerald City- his 'w' unmistakably a 'v.' 

"Comrade, it's nice to be on board once more. I still think fondly to the last time I was on board this beautiful vessel." Fio said stepping in front of the mayor and shaking Taras' hand. They studied each other for a moment. Something felt weird about the handshake to Fio. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the expression on his face was flat. He gave nothing away. Business was business and he would give the fake grin here and there as needed. These two were useful, but Fio wasn't into kissing the mans ass. He overcharged them before because they were in a tight spot. Fio just thought the mayor might need to see how business was handled with or without him on board.

Dinner was pleasant enough. The Uccellos had entertained Smith before, at their home in the Tower. Thanks to Fio's ever-exceptional culinary skills, within a week, Smith had threatened every current resident holding ownership at McCormick Terminal with labor law enforcement so stringent that not a single tenant could meet the demands. Don Uccello swooped in then, purchasing every pier from 57 down through 63 at a cutthroat rate. Some would sit vacant, affording him privacy to do whatever business he liked there, such as this second dinner and show for the mayor.

The Russian was not someone Chelsea was happy to see again. On their last trip aboard, in search of forged death certificates after the fall of Las Vegas, the blonde counterfeiter had gotten a little too handsy while Fio's back was turned. When inspecting her palm just prior to taking a set of fingerprints for a passport, he'd abruptly licked her palm and uttered something in his native language, not unlike something her husband might say to her in Italian. In bed.

Chelsea kept her distance, and her tongue, after that. The distance remained as she made it a point to stay on the polar opposite end of the room from the tall man at all times. Fio instinctively picked up on this, but couldn't pinpoint the cause. Chelsea assumed, that he assumed she was put off by the fact that she was being treated as arm candy, the trophy wife and dumbest blonde in the room, and not the Right Hand that she was.

Once the broiled lobster tails and drawn butter had been dispatched over the topics of Seattle business and the effects on it by the possibility of an upcoming world war, the small group climbed topside once again, where staff had prepared cigars, brandy, and an easel, upon which rested Pygmalion and Galatea. Light from inside the yacht functioned as a spotlight as it fell out of a nearby porthole window. Everyone moved forward to admire it, besides Chelsea. Art was fine, but cigars weren't her forte'. She leaned against the railing instead, and lit a joint. Once the men had sat, she moved towards the painting, alone. Voices and laughter rose behind her, her baritone threading through it all like a fine silk strand. As she turned to deliver an appreciative smile, something caught her eye as the boat rocked gently against the waves of high tide.

A glimmer. Paint surely glimmered, but not to the point where it looked wet. Reaching up. she dabbed a finger in the left-hand upper corner of the piece. Her finger came away with a smudge of brown. Sighing heavily, she turned back towards the group. Fio's eyes landed on hers, as they so often did. Chelsea pretended to tuck a windblown strand of hair behind her ear, holding up her paint-smeared finger for him to see in the process. A slight shake of her head, and he understood. The amicable, boys-club smile slowly slid away into the dark water below, and it was then that the night really began.

Fio puffed at the cigar a few times. A thick white ring blew towards Taras with several small rings chasing after it eventually passing through the first. The man coughed and looked over at Fio. He had been in the middle of the story of how he had acquired the painting at gunpoint. An internal war waged on behind his expression. This man wanted to fuck him over. Invited him onto his boat to sell him a counterfeit? What pissed him off most was the fact that it wasn't even a good price. 

It was settled then. Son of a Bratva Captain or not, this man died tonight. The way his wife had avoided him like the plague had dug into Fio like a rock in his shoe throughout the night. Something was off and maybe this was it. Either way, he would not be disrespected. Not here in his own town. The aged whiskey that had been provided went down slippery and smooth as any Fio had tasted. "You really did outdo yourself with this one, Signore. How much work you have put into acquiring that painting is truly admireable.

"Taras, why don't you show us that beautiful pistol you keep going on about so fondly?" From his caddie corner seat with the Russian, Fio was far too fast for the man when he pulled his gun from inside his suit jacket. The fool, that had tried to play Fio on his own turf, was now missing a few fingers in one quick strike from Fio's stiletto switchback. The gun hit the floor along with an index, middle, and ring finger as Russian profanities filled the cool air on the deck of the Fortuna. 

Fio lept across the bolted down table on the deck following his strike. The top of his head broke Taras' nose in a loud crunch on impact. Blood spewed forth as they hit the floor. Fio's blade was buried into the man's stomach- he had missed his mark in frustration. He pulled the blade free threw forth a left elbow to the already broken nose of the spoiled thief. "You'll be killed!"  Taras screamed up at his assailant with blood shooting out with each syllable as Fio yanked the blade free and flipped it to underhand. It was more of a plead than a promise. It mattered not as the hammer had dropped. There was no chance of this not happening- consequences be damned. 

Taras Fobin bellowed out in fear and anger as his right hand came into contact over his own face. Fio's blade had pinned the man's hand to his own eye. He twisted the blade. "Non avevo idea che stavo insegnando oggi! Non mancare di rispetto a un uomo nel suo stesso territorio." Fio retrieved the blade and began to continue his work on the man. Charles Smith watched with eyes as wide as the man's shoulders. The Don didn't even know he was in trouble. There were two guns about to be pointed at the incensed Italian. One would be from the mayor's understudy the other was from the Russian's sole bodyguard, Ivan. 

It was fortunate that Chelsea was such a beauty. She was able to play the part of a prize so well. Men took one look at her and assumed Fio had chosen her for all of what they saw there. Little did they know the brains behind those distracting emeralds were always moving pieces a few steps ahead. She stood had made it to just behind Ivan, and there wasn't a moment to lose. Ivan's arm moved up to point over towards the four men. 

Chelsea's left arm snaked around Ivan's throat in a what looked like a chokehold as she drew her Browning with her right. Too many bodies on this boat...it was time to lower the count.

A muffled BOOM and Ivan slumped, dropping his gun as his entire body became a dead weight once his spine was severed by the bullet. Chelsea grunted with the effort of holding him up against her as she used him as a meat shield. Pivoting, she aimed at the understudy, who was now recalibrating his shot. Fio only had a knife...Chelsea had a gun, and had already used it. He fired first, the shot missing her head and sinking into Ivan's with a meaty SMACK. Blood, brains, and bone sprayed into her face and eyes, and she dropped her human armor while wiping at her eyes frantically and dropping into a crouch.

There was no time. She was blind.

"Fio! Gettare!" She yelled, praying he heard her through his haze, and then dropping even further down to the deck. Above her, the stars shone brightly. As bright as wet paint reflecting back the light from a nearby porthole window. Turning her head, she could just make out a thatch of white.

No. Blonde. She aimed and fired at the top of Taras' head, and after another deafening boom, the white became a mess of crimson.

Chelsea's voice broke through the rage and Fio turned towards the recent gunfire. The blade flew up in the air in a flip. The light glimmered from the blade as Fio's fingers gripped the tip of it. He reared back with the blade like he held a tomahawk. His eleven-inch stiletto switchback flew through the air in a flash that ended with a thud against the neck of Mr. Tapper. The mayor screamed out in a serious panic at this point. He was the only one not involved. 

Fio's eyes met Charles Smith's for a brief moment in the sprint towards the gasping understudy. The mayor was screaming out "No!," as Fio barreled passed. Another gunshot sent a bullet zipping by Fio's right ear into the wall behind him. "Hai provato a sparare al mio Uccellino!?" He shouted as a right connected to the gasping man's temple. A string of profanities flew out of his mouth as he followed the man down to the ground. The gun fired once more when George's hand hit the deck up towards the sky.

The knife was back in Fio's hand, and his barrage of strikes stopped any further chance of a fight. Mr. Smith buriedalready deceased his head in his hands to hide the sight. Fio didn't stop until far longer than was necessary. When he stopped, he had to catch his breath for a moment. Fio stood up and spat down on the would be killer. His chest rose and fell in giant gulps of air as he slowly gripped back onto his composure. He turned towards the mayor and walked over with a chuckle. His blade pointed at the man; his eyes making sure that his wife was indeed unharmed. Fio's gray suit now had more red to the front of it than anything. 

The mayor leaned back as Fio continued his approach. "Lei è incolume. Vivi un altro giorno." He said with that look of steel. The blade pointed up against the neck of the mayor. "I didn't tell him to do that! He must have just snapped! He flipped! I don't know what happend, I promise Don Uccello! Please you have to believe me!?" A tear formed in the corner of his eye to match the drop of blood that dripped down his neck. The fire in Fio's eyes rolled back slowly as he stared into the trembling mayor's face.

"You should pick a more cooperative understudy. I can help you with that, but you are going to have check with me on who his replacement is next. I don't want someone like that around anymore." His eyes glanced over at the dearly departed on the deck. "This was meant to be dinner and a gift. Sorry you had to witness what happens when things don't go to plan. Smith. Hey Charles. Bastardo!"

Fio stepped back and pulled out his handkerchief. He began to thoroughly clean his blade as he spoke to the mayor. The man was off in another world. Perhaps he wasn't ready to see what the life he had been dipping his toes into truly entailed? 

"Tortora, you are magnificent. Ti amo." He said with a smirk. He was still transfixed on the mayor as he put the blade away. 

"That bullshit painting is a gift. I thought it would look great in your office. I plan to be stopping by there more from now on Mr. Mayor. Don't you agree I should do so? We have so many things to discuss. McCormick Terminal was a great jumping off point.'