It wasn't enough that his blood family had been murdered, now his crime family had been too. In both events he hadn't had the chance to do anything... Oh sure, he was great at his job, until it really mattered... He knew the risks of this life, and he was sure his Family had too. But they had been good to him, without expecting anything in return aside from loyalty, silence, taxes, and hard work. Of course he'd found another family, protection was necessary, but it would take some getting used to. He'd told himself that getting attached to things, places, people especially was never a good idea. This was exactly why, and yet he had somehow failed even himself. He couldn't decide if his loyalty was a fault or a virtue. It was great for gaining trust and forming a bond with the Family, but it only really caused pain when the recipient of said loyalty was removed. He should have been there for his Family, fighting side by side with them, but instead he had been halfway across the country and drinking in a bar... Just like he was right now.

Eli whipped his 5 inch bowie knife out of his belt sheath and stabbed it into the bar of the speakeasy he was in, sending it into the practically rotting wood and setting the nerves around his hand on fire for a few seconds. He merely clenched his jaw and grimaced. A few people looked up to see what the noise was, and the bartender snapped, "Hey! Buddy! That's my property, you do that again, and I'm going to have to ask you to get the fuck outta my bar!"

Eli simply looked up and gave the mousy little man a cold, hard stare and pulled the knife out of the bar. He knew that drinking wasn't helping his growing rage, but he didn't care. While he had the bartender locked in the stare, knife in hand, he spoke without a hint of slurring in his voice, perfectly calmly, "I'll pay, enough for you to fix the bar-top and keep the drinks coming, but if you so much as look at me wrong one more time, I can assure you that the FBN will never find what'll be left of your body... Now get me another fucking drink... before I change my mind and slit your damn throat instead."

He might as well do it anyway, it'd save him time and money, and it'd give him something to kill. Anything to output some heat from the vehement rage roiling under the surface. He should have been there...