When Manuelo told her there was a woman who was one of the last few people standing after a war ravaged her organization, Oriana had expected a battleaxe. One of those leather-skinned women who do the harvest in Tuscany who could be 35 or 55. No, @Catalina_Rey surprised her. Older than Oriana, yes, but it wasn't clear by how much. Oriana had faced death so many times she'd lost count, but she still wasn't about to ask a woman her age- especially not one with this many bodyguards.

She'd been waiting at the airport when Oriana had disembarked, either from handling other business or being that desperate for help. Catalina had money and problems. Oriana was a problem solver who needed a fresh start. Hopefully it would work out; Manuelo, a mutual friend in Madrid, had certainly been insistent that it would be a good partnership. Maybe he'd be right. If not, she'd move on elsewhere.

As they exited the bar, Oriana pulled her sunglasses out of her long, black trenchcoat and slipped them back on her face.

"You mentioned a problem that needed solving, Miss Rey?"

The two women fell into step amongst a small entourage of guards.Through the airport, out the doors, and into a bright New York day. A car pulled up before Catalina ever had to worry about hunting for sunglasses. One of the meat shields stepped over and opened the back door of the Cadillac, and Catalina immediately got into it, scooting far enough over so that Oriana could get in without rounding the back of the car.

"Filet & Vine. Come in from the West, please," she told the driver. Another car slipped in behind theirs as they pulled into the light mid-afternoon traffic. The minutes it took to get to the business district were spent with the women making small talk about Madrid, and things they both missed or abhorred about it.

"Ma'am," intoned the driver as Catalina was telling Oriana about her grandfather's position in the government back home, and how it had guaranteed the family's success in their chosen profession. She looked up as the car slowed.

"Look there, Oriana. That empty lot, right next to my restaurant? It has sat vacant for many, many years. Yet the owner is unwilling to let it go. Says it has historic value. There's no history there. Just ghosts. I would like that parcel for crew members who might like to try their hands at being an enterpriser. The parcel is large, a warehouse once stood there. We could get 2, 3 businesses in there. This cannot happen if the owner refuses to sell," she said, turning on the leather seat to face Oriana more directly. 

"This kind of problem, can you fix it? If I were to do it myself, it would end badly. I have little patience, and since this war, a wide mean streak," she said, looking at Oriana very steadily now.

"I can send you with enough money to cover the property twice over. Understand that I have already tried this, though, and one or two... less pleasant methods."

Oriana felt a strange sense of deja vu as she walked amidst the group of guards. How often had she and her sisters ran in formation, keeping pace with one another? Catalina had as much protection as the government ministers Oriana had seen back home, but it was clear that she needed skilled people to go along with the large amount of muscle she had to order around.

Still, it was nice to talk about Madrid. America was excited, but it always felt like it had just been spit out of a factory. It seemed to lack the flavor and texture of Europe- the soul of its cities, perhaps. Still, one couldn't argue that America was good for business.

As Catalina steered the conversation toward business, Oriana listened attentively.

Vacant empty lot. Unwilling owner. Catalina holding back her mean streak suggested that she wanted this done through negotiation rather than escalating violence. And Catalina had already tried twice? Oriana raised an eyebrow.

"Less pleasant methods... sex or violence? And do you care what happens to the owners?"

It was Catalina's turn to bark out a laugh. 

"You get to the point. I like that. In all seriousness, though, I would never ask someone in my employ to do something that they find personally offensive. Your body is yours to do with as you see fit, Oriana. I'm never going to pay you to use it, nor would I use mine as a weapon. Not like that," she said, and an odd silence fell over the interior of the car. Catalina broke it a moment later.

"The owner is no one to me. A greedy woman who stands in the way of beautification and prosperity. It is rumored she is connected, perhaps a lingering member or kin of the old New York crews that once resided here. She was running her mouth in one of the coffee shop about me, saying that murderous gangs would do better for the city. Someone who throws insults like that... perhaps they should protect themselves better than she has. Something awful could happen to them," Catalina said quietly, her eyes flashing with not hate, but amusement.

"i believe in going with my gut. Perhaps you do, too? I'm very curious to see how you choose to go about things."

"Your body is yours to do with as you see fit, Oriana."

Hearing it spoken out loud was still strange, and a chill ran down her spine as she thought of- no, better not to think of him. For someone who'd served the two most powerful institutions in Italy for her entire life, freedom was still a concept she was getting used to. 

"Well, with see with what my gut says when I speak to her. Where can I find her?"

The driver held a folder up, and Catalina reached for it. Without opening it, she handed it to Oriana.

"Everything I know about this person is in there, along with notes on the attempts I have made. These are copies, please destroy them when you are finished. Also, you will need money. Twice the amount the property is worth, a retainer fee for you, and extra for your expenses," she said, bringing a thick envelope of cash out of her purse and tucking it inside the folder now in Oriana's hands. 

"Can I do anything else for you? Would you like to borrow this car, or do you need some men, some... equipment?" Catalina glanced at the trenchcoat Oriana wore. It left room for the imagination, but there was no heavy artillery in there.

Oriana slipped the folder into her pocket.

"I'll be fine. See you soon."

With a small smile, she stepped out of the car and closed the door behind her. Freedom was a difficult concept? But a mission? She'd been living that life since she was twelve.

The target in question was associated with the life and had some connections, but those connections didn't quite translate into power. During the few hours of surveillance, Oriana had seen a bodyguard come by and check in with her a couple times, but there wasn't much of a threat here. Still, she did her due diligence.

The target's house was in a largely residential neighborhood, but there was a gas station on the corner that gave a view of the front door and a couple side windows. Oriana was used to dealing with diplomats and crime lords... but starting over, she had to start somewhere. Watching the sky slowly get darker, she waited until her target finished dinner. With a sigh, Oriana put the binoculars away and climbed down the service ladder to the ground level.

She shrugged her trenchcoat back on; it wasn't great for sitting on the roof, but it was also the only coat she owned at the moment, so she wasn't about to lose it. Black slacks, a black buttoned down shirt, and black boots completed the outfit. Needed to go shopping soon, but black did work best for stealth- and for hiding blood. Reaching the back yard and waiting in the darkness, she checked her weapons:  Beretta M1923 pistol on one hip, Colt Single Action Army on the other, Beretta 418 on her ankle, a larger knife horizontal in a belt holster at the small of her back, and other knives, usable for either melee or throwing, strapped to both calves and between her shoulder blades.

It was good to be prepared. 

The lock on the back door was a little tougher than expected, and she was out of practice, but within a couple minutes Oriana was inside with the door closed silently behind her. The Beretta M1923 was in one hand and her combat knife was in the other as she moved to the front door and locked it. Then she walked into the living room and sat down in the chair across from her target.

"Who the hell-"

The woman stopped when she saw the gun; she was older, tough and stubborn, but she didn't seem used to having a gun in her face either. Oriana slipped the knife into the holster behind her belt and spoke matter-of-factly, in a steady tone of voice.

"I think the first thing you should know, before you say anything else, is that I have no idea who you are. I think it's Mary? Annie? Don't remember. I've got nothing against you, really, but this is the mission I got, so here I am. I'm supposed to know you; I got the papers with your name on it, but it's slipped my mind."

She shrugged, lying. The woman spoke up as if to supply her name, but Oriana cut her off.

"You misunderstand me. I don't want to know. I don't care. In fact, odds are that I'll probably kill you. It depends on what you do, honestly."

Oriana paused as a cat walked into the room, even more unbothered than Oriana at the sight of the gun. Oriana pointed the gun at the cat and the woman's eyes went wide.

"Your cat actually has a much better chance of getting out of this than you do. You own a vacant lot that a partner of mine is interested in. You're either going to sell it to me, or you're going to die. That's not a threat- just reality."

Oriana, without looking down, removed a three page contract from her pocket and tossed it at the target.

"You've had other people interested in buying this lot, but they're not quite as motivated as I am. I can handle anyone else who's interested. You're going to sell it to me for half of what it's worth. It's the best you're going to do here, and the offer won't stay on the table long. The only reason that you're even getting this offer is because it's slightly more convenient for me to have you sign an actual contract rather than forging one."

"If you sign, you take half the value and you leave the city for good. Start over somewhere new with your cat here. You might curse me every night, but you look like you've got a few years to enjoy those nights, at least."

"If you don't sign, I'm probably going to stab you in the lung. Not enough to kill you immediately- even at your age. Just enough so that you can feel it start to deflate, working harder every minute to stay alive. After that, we'll check if you want to sign the paper again, except that time it'll be for a third of the value. If you say no again, I'm going to knock you down, tie you up, and start slicing the muscles in your legs. Then your hands. At your age, you might get functionality back. But I doubt it. I'll probably give you one more offer at 10% if you're really convincing, but at that point it's probably easier just to kill you. So I'd probably do that instead. Eventually. First, I'd probably cut off your fingers. Feed each one to your cat. If you're still conscious, you could watch."

Oriana shrugged.

"But when you die, this isn't over. Whatever relative or friend you have out there... a kid, a niece or nephew, maybe just a friend... I'm going to wait until they inherit your property, and then I'm going to visit them. Except they're not going to get the chance to sign first. I'll bleed them. And I'll make sure they know that you could have saved them."

"So," said Oriana, standing up and smirking as she tossed a pen into the target's lap, "sign?"

She signed.

***

Catalina had given her an address to meet when the job was done; Oriana was pleased to see that it was a rooftop bar. Light jazz drifted through the air as she climbed the stairs to find Catalina sitting in the corner, looking out at the city lights. Oriana, who'd swiped a bottle of pinot noir from the bar on her way up, placed it on the table between them as she slid into the chair across from Catalina and carefully crossed her legs. 

"Job's done."

She removed the contract from her pocket and handed it over. 

Catalina had been staring out at the city, lost in deep thought. The little boy she'd taken under her wing had left word with one of the restaurant's staff that he'd had to go home, back to the farm.

Part of her had been relieved by this, but the other, more inexplicable part, had wanted to go after him and convince him to stay. What bothered Catalina was not so much the loss of him, but at the realization that she'd been capable of feeling anything remotely associated to motherhood. 

She's sat on the rooftop bar, gazing into space until Oriana suddenly appeared across from her and handed over the signed contract. 

"You... What? How did... Is she..." A waiter stopped at the table, efficiently uncorked the lifted bottle, and poured two glasses before silently retreating.

"Congratulations." It was the only thing she could think to say. Oriana Montini was now her Right Hand Man.