The mood had set in for all of them, this was the last shipment...He felt different, he didn't know that he could feel this different. He looked around the table, it was empty, no one was there for him right now. Shit changed, here he sat with less the members and people of the club that had died once they had gone up to Canada, among those people was Roger 'Jury' Whit. The brother that had been by his side, the lost boy and the one who had achieved all his goals in this club, all to deal with the rat that had tried to kill him. He should have been there, now he had to bury him. It seemed like fate intended to make him suffer once again. 

"Brother, why did you have to do that? You sacrificed yourself for this club and I wonder what you gained by doing it, peace? Vengeance? To be with your own brother who had done the same Mendoza did to my father? I wonder...I cannot guess to think about what you have done for this club...you sacrificed yourself like a fool and I have to sit here....on the month of the last shipment."

Estarossa....no...Michael stood from his seat at the head of the table, two patches in his hand and he noticed the gathered brothers outside. All of the people who meant anything to the club were here, the remaining members of Darko's Russian crew had arrived, delivering a gift on his behalf, stating they had liked working with the New York Native. 

"Kon, Creeper...get in here."

No other words were stated, it was all that needed to be stated, no big plays were on the agenda today and for that everyone was glad. It was to pay the respects to a fallen brother before riding out to the clubhouse for one final goodbye to the brother that had been with them all. A life like this, one where you could see people one day and gone the next, it was not a life many people wanted for their husbands, sons or grandchildren. 

Konnor Marx had not believed what he had heard, he was on the relay for retaliation from the Mendoza Faction. When Mendoza died, every charter supporting him fell through. Losing his support had been different and now everything unravelled for them, without Mendoza The Fool King, his people died with him. Like a failed revolution and now the remaining people who had been brothers were left, Kon and Esta, brothers to the end. 

Joel 'Creeper' Rios stood with his brothers, the brother that had stood by them now, it had been something of an odd call to the table but now he had sat down and he knew what was coming, two patches in his hand and for that second, Joel knew what was coming. It was a promotion for both of them, it was paining Estarossa to do so but it had to be done and so they had to be moved with these unfortunate and yet passing times. 

"From this day forward, Konnor Marx will be known as the Vice-President of The Fallen Angels Motorcycle Club, his word is law if I am dead or incarcerated."

Konnor took the VP Patch in his hand and gripping it tightly as if it was his last connection to the last fallen VP. In a way it was and here they now stood as the last remaining brothers of a long rebellion, their trio had declined and the times had decided to move. No longer would it be three brothers moving forward in this business, the long game, it was going to destroy them all and they all wondered for that brief second, would it come for them?

"Joel Rios will step up and take the position of Sgt. At Arms and maintain the structure between prospects and patched brothers. Do well in your new positions brothers, I wish you the best."

Creeper was the first to leave, taking his new patch without another word as he stormed out of there. He didn't want to be apart of this any more than he had too, he was blaming many people and one of them was himself but also Estarossa. The president didn't blame him no one did, everyone knew that Esta also blamed himself a little as well. 

Konnor stayed back, his eyes on Estarossa for a good while, both of them stood in silence before Estarossa took a bottle from the bar, pouring himself a glass, drinking calmly. Or what passed for calmly right as the glass seemed to be shaking in his hand, he seemed ready to throw it against the wall, only he was barely composing himself right now. 
 

"Is this what we do, for now, brother? We bury him and we go on like he didn't something more? He was more than just a regular brother, losing him, man. It's more than just losing a brother, it's like losing a limb. How can we function without that integral part of our group? This was not the club, we started this, we backed you brother....this is our fault, not just yours."

Nothing Konnor could say was going to make him feel any less like he had just this for his brothers. He had been the reason why Jury was dead if he hadn't come back here if he had just been in Seattle with his father. It could of all been over, his life would have ended, it would have been that simple....only no, his life had not been that simple and all he knew was that anyone following him was cursed. They came to follow and admire him like he was a King, only he was worse, he was Lucifer himself....a plague upon humanity and all its great works.
 

"You think I'm going to sit here and feel sorry myself? You obviously don't know us Pavanno's, Kon. I've already laid the blame at my seat, once I took my seat again, I knew that something was going to happen. Something always happens when a Pavanno is in leadership, whether it be stupidity or trust, we will always find a way to die or fuck everyone else up around us. We are nothing more than a bunch of fools."

Konnor shook his head, slamming his fist down on the table, which did little to even stop Estarossa in his delusions of believing himself a curse, a stain, something to be stamped out and extinct from this world. He did spare his VP a glance, making him think the man was finally listening to reason but he broke crying, in that damned chair, finally letting it all out as Konnor came around, hugging his brother at this moment, they all needed it. They knew it.

"I got you, brother, listen to me! LISTEN TO ME!"

Konnor gripped Estarossa by the neck, his eyes narrowing on his president at that moment, leaning his forehead against his brother's. Such a moment like this, it was clear that both of them needed this. Something that was sacred between both of them, the bond of true brotherhood,

"We're going to bury him, give him the funeral he deserves and then close this deal...and put it to rest. It's what he would have wanted and that's how we have to do it brother, to end this all and move on with the charter. Philadelphia is the shifting point to all charters, once we move, so will they. We move as one right now, as we have the right too..."

A procession of motorcycles and a hearse rode down the street, every single person on the sidewalk, in their stores and even sitting down by their homes watched as the Fallen Angels rode down in silence beside the roar of their motorcycles, there were no women looking to ride with them, no men picking fights and it was silent...as if the pale horsemen, death, had decided to grace their beckoning street.

All of them rode down to the cemetery, protecting the precious cargo that for once wasn't guns or cocaine, it was the body of their former Vice-President, a man who seemed ready to become a president of his own charter. Now he had to grace the halls of the heavenly halls with his so many other brothers, no matter which club or charter or enemy, they all mattered up there now. 

And so as they all arrived, the casket was set in front of them, ready to be lowered. Sitting down in front was Estarossa, Konnor, and Joel. Three of them knew what they now represented, the beginning and end of the old and new times, it was bittersweet that it had to come at the cost of their former brother. 
 

Estarossa decided to step, honouring his brother with a few words that would have done him justice, many others had done the same. Telling some funny stories, it had been something of a day where people needed a few laughs. The brothers that knew him properly did so, the man had died for this club and many of them knew that he wouldn't want them upset like this.

"May Roger Whittery rest in peace, may his soul find safety in the arms of the angel, Samael. May he be remembered for his family beliefs and his never-ending loyalty, amen."

As the prayer ended, Estarossa bowed his head and breathed a sigh as he walked elsewhere. His eyes roaming over the cemetery until he found that of his wife...Francesca Maldonado, a vision of beauty and how he had never paid her attention. He knelt down, kissing her gravestone before finding his brothers by the bikes. They had barely spoken a word to one another the ride up here, even at the cemetery. It had been silence between all of them

"Creeper headed back to the clubhouse. Wants the girls and some of the prospects who came from all over to cook something up, this is what he deserves, you coming?"

Grim and a few of the other brothers had ridden off, their patches shining in the sunlight. It was still not the best right now, Grim had been angry that he hadn't received a new office and was stuck as a regular brother in his eyes. Only Estarossa did that for a reason, Grim wasn't ready for this kind of big decision. Right now, Creeper was keeping his head on straight and he was glad for that. He needed someone to guide him correctly in this life.
 

"I'll be there soon, how's Johnny? He seems to be taking a different approach to me this way, no doubt he wishes to rethink his vote on the guns now that you're all here. We never expected to get hit with the news of Jury like this brother, it's just...wow man. I don't even wanna think about it right now, he's buried and that is what matters."

Konnor nodded, his large frame was casting a shadow over Esta that he was glad for right now. He really needed it with the sun deciding to shine down on them for once, surprisingly enough.

"Good, now, the Russians called or specifically...Viktor called. He's made changes to the plan, Darko continues on his own business out west. Putlova is passing over the gun-running business to someone else, he plans to pass it over to Devlin O'Leary, The Irish Mob will step up and take the place of the Putlova Organization on the Society. The Russians are staying on as advisors to O'Leary during this transition, granting them a 15% share of all profits in the gun-running that the other charters will be doing for them."

Esta nodded, one thing was looking up for them today and he was fucking grateful for that. It wouldn't be long before they could kiss goodbye to the gun-running business and begin to focus on their own adult-entertainment. The thing that the MC needed or at least, the old original charter needed to go legit. To finally get rid of the Outlaw behind them, he was proud of Viktor, he would be sure to send the old man a couple of crates of Vodka. 

"Thank fuck. One step closer and we are done, the shipment. This life, it can't sink its claws into our brother and that is all I want from this. That is all I've ever wanted for any of us involved, right now."

Both of them readied themselves on their bikes, this was the end of their reign and it felt nice. Finally giving up the trade, well it felt nice for one of them. Something that had been clear for many people in the club, the vote had been something that many people didn't want to take part in, they believed the guns had been something promised to them by their once President, now it was being taken away, it almost seemed like poetic justice.