Impatiently, Ilaria tapped her fingers on the table, watching as the bus driver took agonizingly slow drags of his cigarette. This time, her frustrated comment was more appropriately under her breath.

"Come on, you're not giving the thing a blow job.  Move on, damnit."

She looked down at the half-full coffee cup. There was no way of knowing what was happening in there.  Del Rossi could handle himself, of that Ilaria was certain.  Still, she didn't like not being able to see what was happening.  Suddenly, another thought hit her.  If Del Rossi was handling the shave, he wouldn't be wearing his gloves.  Her stomach flip-flopped uneasily. She ran back through the conversation in her mind, a few times over.  Ilaria had told him- she knew she'd told him- he shouldn't handle the items without gloves.  

Nervously, she stood and reached into her pocket for some cash, but then stopped and sat back down.  She couldn't get any closer- that would be far too dangerous.  Her get-up worked from a distance, but much closer and it was thin ice. 

Outside, she heard the bus engine crank back up.  Her eyes immediately moved back across the street, and she was starting to think she understood why Joe was still smoking.

Russiv eyed this new barber over suspiciously. He couldn't remember the last time someone else stood in for Hope. But things weren't exactly the norm recently. He needed a shave regardless, as he had a meeting with some out-of-towners and he couldn't afford to not be his usually arrogant and overly confident self. His operation was in shambles and he needed new contacts quick.

With a snort and an aggressive wave of the hand the Russian motioned for Del Rossi to move so he could take a seat. He was a well dressed dick. Three piece suit with a gold key chain attached to a likely expensive piece. Or maybe the guy was just for show. Del Rossi was yet to test his character to know for sure, and simply stepped aside as the man began removing his jacket and moving towards the chair.

One of his small entourage walked over to take the jacket which was nonchalantly passed backwards with a now retrieved pocket watch in the roughly folded pile. His other goon took a seat next to the one flicking through a men's magazine, and the one with the jacket and watch made his way to an empty station on the opposite side of where his boss was now seating himself, right behind where his head would be for a good vantage point.

Del Rossi was handy with a blade under certain circumstances. He knew his way around a car no problem. But when he began placing the towels around Russiv's neck, tucking them into the Russian's collar lightly, he started to have doubts. His thoughts ticked into the territory of what the fuck am I doing. Still, his smile persisted. It was forced, but constant.

With the Russian now in the chair, Del Rossi went to task mixing up the foam in a ceramic bowl that would be applied to this man's face. Although there was a radio switched on that was lightly playing Jazz in the background, if you were one of Adonis' men, things wouldn't at all seem so relaxed right now.

They were playing it cool, but for how long? And with Del Rossi winging this, how far would he be able to get? Would he be able to administer the toxin? His thoughts were racing. He hadn't been this close to the action since saving Adontoro from a new fatal car fire. Barbiturates and whisky were his savior that night, and which were still working their way out of his system. He was itching for the same thing already.

Ilaria finally couldn't stand it anymore.  She left the waitress a large bill that would cover the coffee and a healthy tip, and walked out of the cafe.  The bus stop bench was only a few feet closer than her seat at the window, but closer was better.  Before she sat down, Ilaria casually strolled toward a boy who was selling newspapers on the corner.  She gave the boy a smile and handed him a few coins, then took the neatly folded paper he gave her in return.  She then settled down on the bench and unfolded the paper to scan the front page.  Of course, she had no interest in the news, but it provided enough cover that she could glance off to the side and keep an eye on the barber shop.

The foam was lathered onto Russiv's cheeks and neck. Del Rossi made sure to cover the man's ugly mug as much as possible, making sure to really rub in the contents. As he did, the Russian closed his eyes, which was exactly what he was going for. Satisfied with his efforts, he placed the brush into the ceramic holding and turned towards the barber station.

In front of the swivel styled barber chair was a mirror, and next to both a movable station which contained everything you'd need to give a man a good shave and a clean cut, divided between the two services with various instruments on display on two shelves. On the top were the shaving equipment, on the bottom were those for clipping hair.

Del Rossi eyed the top section as he placed the ceramic bowl down. As he gripped a razor between his fingers, he thought about how easy it would be to simply slice this man open. His men wouldn't be able to stop it. From ear to ear, he could open him right the fuck up. The blade was now raised in the air as the thought of how pleasing it would be persisted, the shine of the sunlight breaking in through the front window from outside, bouncing off the blade.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Ilaria jumped as the voice interrupted her surveillance. The accent was heavily Russian, and male.  Her heart pounded like a herd of elephants as she slowly drew the paper away. Standing beside her, a well-dressed young man in a suit had sat beside her on the bench with a cigarette between his lips.  He couldn't have been more than 24, with a square jaw and close haircut.  

"Can I help you?"

It took Ilaria everything she had to keep her voice from trembling. Did one of the guards recognize her?  Even from across the street?  She glanced at the face of the man, trying to think if she'd seen his face the night before.

"I have no light for my smoke, do you have lighter?"

"Oh, well no, but I have some matches."

Oddly enough, she did have matches in her boot.  That was something her father had done and for some reason, Ilaria picked up on it.  She crossed her right foot over her knee and pulled a small matchbook out of her boot, handing it to the man.  When he reached out for it, the cuff of his sleeve drew back just enough to reveal the edges of what was clearly a magnolia tattoo.  She caught herself just before she gasped.  

"Thank you, Miss.  I see you ride motorcycle.  What is it you do?  Where I come from, not many women do such a thing."

Ilaria thought as quickly as she could.

"Deliveries.  For a dress shop across town.  Mostly just run fabrics here and there."

The young man nodded, not at all hiding the fact that he was admiring her figure as he lit the cigarette.

A little lost in the moment and looking like a mad scientist might whilst giving a syringe a squirt before injecting some new recipe into a victim, one of Adonis' men, who Del Rossi had ordered to meet him over here, coughed aloud. The throat clearing seemed to draw attention from everyone present, even Russiv, who opened one eye and raised his head to see what was happening.

Del Rossi quickly turned, still flashing a large smile, with razor in hand.

"Forgive. I like to enjoy process. Please." He said as he pressed his free hand against Russiv's head, helping it back down. With a quick pump of the lever, the chair was popped right back.

Without further delay, Del Rossi began the somewhat understood process. He knew the razor had to be dragged across the man's skin, which should be taut, and with it a close shave would be had.

'Fuck it.'

With a firm press against Russiv's chin, Del Rossi re-positioned his face to show all of his left side to him. With a deep breath, he moved the blade towards the man's cheek at the very top, just under the eye. With a straight blade, he began drawing it across his skin towards his jawline, in short even strokes, taking away hair and shaving cream in the process.

After working his way across the left side of his face, Del Rossi wiped the blade against a cloth he had hanging out of his pocket and moved around the back of the chair to the other side. With the same confident gesture, he moved the Russian's head to fully show the right side of his face and mirrored what he'd previously done.

As Del Rossi worked, Adonis' men seemed to look more calm, one still flicking through a magazine seemingly relaxed and the other whistling to himself. Russiv's looked more ready for something to happen other than a clean shave, the one seated just inside the door practically on the edge of his seat watching, his hands tightly together with his elbows on his knees. 

The recent botched kidnapping might have something to do with that. Their boss' most trusted assassin was burnt alive and his most treasured deal broker didn't fare any better. It was understandable they were a little more attentive to the situation than usual.

The young Russian had inched closer to Ilaria, casually smoking his cigarette and chatting with her.  Chatting to her, really.  He wasn't the typical stoic, silent type she saw in most Russian enforcers.  Ilaria was desperately trying to keep her face partially shaded by the newspaper. By this point, she'd read the front page six times already. 

"Ilya! Prekrati s romeo yerundoy! Boss pochti sdelan."

A deeper and much louder voice echoed from across the street, and the young man practically flew out of his seat.  He turned and gave Ilaria a brief but polite nod, complete with an somewhat over-done wink.  Ilaria smiled awkwardly and disappeared behind the newspaper again.  Her heart rate was bouncing around like a rubber ball, and all she could do was hope that Del Rossi was having an easier time.

"There." Del Rossi said as he slapped a clean, dry towel onto Russiv's chest.

If it were Hope, he'd have a hot set of towels to lay on the man's face, then would make sure all of the white cream was gone. He'd also be telling him a story or two, and his enthusiasm in general would be rubbing off on the Russian mobster. Right now, he was being rubbed, but coarsely. The Italian native's smile was also sharply gone.

As Russiv finished his attempt of cleaning his face, he then made an effort to sit up in the chair. He expended much more energy than necessary with his trying as the chair was still left tilted back. By the time he was done, Russiv was huffing and almost fuming.

Within this time, Del Rossi had moved himself to the mirror where a case was. He'd left it here earlier. He'd already opened it, and was now turning around and offering it towards the Russian.

"Celebration."

"What?!" Russiv huffed, trying to keep himself seated upright. He still had bits of foam on his face. He swiped at the towels tucked into his collar and tossed them off to the side.

Del Rossi then flicked the lever on the chair that slapped into the back of Russiv, sending him forward and nearly crashing into the mirror. Both of his men were already moving towards their Russian boss to help him, who had stopped his own forward movement with a hand on the ledge under the mirror.

Adonis' men were readying themselves. The one near the front door had his hand tracing down his leg towards a colt which was strapped to his calf. The one in the barber chair behind Del Rossi had his hand reaching for a small pistol in his jacket pocket. Things seemed to have taken a massive turn for the worse. The shave went well. The aftermath, to hell.

In all the crazy, and as he was still pressed against the mirror, Russiv began laughing. It caused everyone to stop. His men paused, an arms length away. Adonis' men slowly let up with their pre-war behavior. And Del Rossi, he just stood there with the case in hand, opened, showing the contents.

She had watched Ilya jog across the street, receiving a head slap from one of the other guards- presumably for fucking around on the job.  Just past them, Ilaria happened to see all those seated in the chairs move to their feet, some with hands in jackets.  

"No, no, no, fuck..."

Ilaria moved to the edge of the bench, the paper dropping to the ground beside her. There was a heavy, lingering moment of tension.  Through a glare in the window, Ilaria could just see Del Rossi standing there with the cigar box open.  She took a deep breath in and held it lightly, then bent down again to gather up the scattered paper.

Once it was in her hand, she looked up again to see a slow stream of Russians leaving the shop.  They weren't yelling or brandishing weapons- all were just casually walking out the door.  Finally, the young Ilya came out and held the door.  Russiv came out and looked to either side of him before giving the kid a firm but somewhat playful punch on the arm.  He then pulled open the front of his coat and pulled out a cigar.  Ilaria's eyes glistened- that was it- unwrapped and having the tip snipped off by another guard as Russiv held it out.  Eagerly, Ilya offered Russiv the little matchbook he'd run off with after chatting with Ilaria.  She couldn't help but grin a little.  He placed the cigar between his lips and began the rather slow process of lighting it.  

Ilaria slowly folded the paper and tossed it in the nearest trash can, then took a turn right into the cafe again.  She needed to watch without being seen.  She saw her waitress coming toward her.

"Oh, just looking for my keys- I must have put them down somewhere."

The waitress nodded and went back about her business.  Ilaria sauntered back to the table that she'd been at, which offered a clear view of Russiv, now taking his first inhale of the cigar.  This must be what it feels like to watch your first kid's piano recital or something.  She was anxious- and there was no going back now for the Russian.

Across the street, one of the guards looked curiously at Russiv as he opened the door to the black sedan.

"Russiv? You looking not so good.  You feeling ok?"

The man didn't answer.  He just sort of stood there, staring past the guard.  His insides felt like they were on fire.  Something wasn't right.  He took another drag of the cigar, thinking maybe it was just stronger than he was used to.  Before he could exhale, though, the cigar dropped from his hand and rolled a few feet away on the sidewalk.  He coughed once, then again.  With a third cough, there was dark, almost black blood spattered on his hands.

One of the guards yelled frantically, and the others whirled around just in time to see Russiv sink to his knees.  His eyes were as large as salad plates as he felt his internal organs virtually liquefying. A nasty choking sound sent blood-tinted foam spilling from his mouth.  A moment after, he fell face first onto the pavement.

Around the corner, a red Ford pickup truck stopped at a traffic light.  That was Ilaria's cue.  The guards were screaming at each other in Russian, none of them knowing at all what was happening.  Ilaria walked through the cafe to the back, slipping out the service door to the alley where she'd parked her bike.  As she sat down in the saddle and started the engine, she sighed with satisfaction, smiling from ear to ear.

----------

Just about 4:30, the door to the loft opened.  Ilaria looked up from the table with a smile, having been laughing over a cup of coffee.  Across the table from her, Del Rossi was seated with a smirk on his face, a half-finished glass of whiskey in hand. 

Ilaria, wearing a simple blue dress and slip-on shoes, put her coffee cup down.

"Mia amore!  You're home!"

She stood and walked to greet him, lifting her hands to his face before she kissed him deeply.  Her eyes shined as she looked into his.

"Come- let me get you a drink.  We have quite a story for you."

The ride home from the airport had been... different. No Del Rossi. Ray had taken his place again. Which usually wasn't an issue, but he was acting a little strange. Even though Del Rossi didn't talk and hardly shared much of himself in general, it was always a comforting ride when he was driving. Joe knew the man well. Character spoke beyond words. Ray's did too, and right now he seemed anxious.

With Joe standing on the sidewalk, jacket folded under his arm, Ray punched it and left in the Yellow taxi. He seemed in a hurry, which caught Joe's attention as he sped away taking a corner at faster than normal speed. Something to look into later, he thought, before turning his sights on the entrance.

Once inside and as he walked through the lobby, Joe noticed another familiar face near the coffee station. As the man turned to leave, the two exchanged eye contact. Joe noticed scuffs on his face and a band aid on his forehead. A forced smile came from both as they passed each other, the milkman quickening his pace as he left through the entrance, Joe smirking as he hit the button on the elevator.

---

"Honey..."

"Mia amore!  You're home!"

"...I'm home."

Joe chuckled as he flicked his jacket off and onto a coat hanger near the door before walked over and placing his hands around Ilaria's waist as she kissed her welcome, and he promptly responded in kind.

"Come- let me get you a drink.  We have quite a story for you."

"Oh?"

With a glance towards the table and where Ilaria was dragging him by the hand, there he was, Louis Del Rossi. He looked different, Joe thought. The whole experience was a little weird, actually. For starters, the guy had a smile on his face. He'd never seen him smile before. But then again, Ilaria had a way of doing that to people, he thought, as they arrived.

On top of that, the last time they spoke on the matter of Joe's relationship with the women he was sharing a drink with, he wasn't exactly thrilled about them. Oh how things were changing.

Joe gave his most trusted employee a pat of the shoulder as he walked by him, towards the kitchen. You'd never hear him use the term friend. Neither of them. But that's what they were if the situation called for it.

As Joe poured himself a glass of Irish whisky he glanced over at the table.

"So, what's this story then."

Ilaria glanced back at Del Rossi, who nodded and pulled a balled up handkerchief from his coat and handed it to her.

"Now, my love, you need to know that this was not planned.  Everything just kind of fell together."

She stepped forward and pressed the rolled up bit of fabric into his hand.  There was something solid in the center of it, something stiff.  As she removed her hand, the fabric shifted a little, opening partways to reveal that the inside of the handkerchief was stained and smeared with blood. 

"The night of the kidnapping...I couldn't sleep.  All I could think about was how close those assassins came to taking me away from you- or you away from me.  I was furious, and I just couldn't stand to let Russiv take another breath."

She continued the story as Joe curiously opened the handkerchief.  Inside was a single, severed ring finger.  The flesh was pale and cold, and the fingernail bed was blue from lack of oxygen.  A gold ring still sat on the fat finger, bearing the emblem of a magnolia.  Ilaria watched Joe's face- her own somewhere between a cautious pause and a proud grin.