Nearly a month since Fin, Orlaith, and Dominique had arrived in LA and Dom was set to rendezvous with trouble... However, a few hours before? He was meeting with Fin and Orlaith to discuss their new plans since his original had derailed in New York as the city unhinged itself...

Uncle Romano had helped them get out of the city quickly and unnoticed, fleeing with them to make sure they made it safely. And that Dominique wouldn't fuck up coming back home. Driving, he turned to Dom and smiled.

"Lighten up, Kiddo. I know we didn't plan it like this, but 'ey, you're home ain'tcha? At least now we know we can get back here. Take it from me, kid. Tha silver linin' looks good on this one."

"Hmm..." Dominique huffed out as he turned to look out the window. "Silver lining..." He hadn't said much since his return. He'd visited a few old haunts, and had made an arrangement to meet with Carla DiMarco, but they were cut short by a bullet before the two could get more than a few words out. Now, since he and Romano had gotten Fin and Orlaith settled, they could finally move forward. If they could come to an agreement about what forward was...

Uncle Romano continued to drive until they reached their new establishment: A bar that the two had bought and would use as a base of any operations. Still under renovation, it was a perfect place for Fin, Orlaith, and Dom to have their first official meeting there. No one would think anything of it, especially if they did some work on the place while they were there...

They'd beaten Fin, so Dominique stepped out of the vehicle and approached the construction crew working on the remodel.

"Andiamo, let's go, vamos, get outta here... Lazy bums! It's fuckin' nine in tha mornin' an' you're takin' a break? What tha hell am I payin' ya's for, eh? Go on, get brunch or whatever, grab a coffee... Come back when ya ready to work."

He kicked the bench the men sat on as he yelled, some of them taking the hint and jumping off their asses to get moving. Some headed inside while others huffed and headed off to the diner to grab a coffee. Grumbling under his breath, Dominique shot daggers at Nazzareno.

"Still dealing with hands in my workforce hmm? Do they really think they can stall me out enough that I won't get a foothold of my own? Am I really that threatening?" Shaking his head, his lip curling up slightly as he snarled... "I'll fuckin' build it myself if I have to. I don't need that bastard's help." Spitting on the ground, Dominique headed inside as he tossed his jacket over a rail just inside the door.

Sawdust hung in the air and blew around everywhere as the smaller crew worked to replace walls and windows, build the bar, add a small, inside balcony, and add a stage against the far wall. Almost a week and these assholes had barely done anything. At least the lights worked inside already, and one of the offices was finished. That was a start. With a sigh, Dominique rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The bar looked like a good place to start, and it meant he'd be able to watch for Fin and Orlaith. Not that Uncle Romano wasn't sitting outside and waiting for them as well...

All the work she'd put in building a business for herself and Dom had single-handedly wiped it ALL out in one night. Not that it was his fault, per se. New York coming down was out of both their hands. And staying wouldn't have done her a lick of good. All hell broke loose, and he stood by his word. He helped her get out, even though that wasn't part of the agreement. And Fin always had a soft spot for people who stood by their mates. No man left behind, and all that jazz. She didn't have to like the situation to appreciate that he'd done her a solid. He didn't have to do. And she wouldn't forget it.  

LA didn't sit well with Fin. It was too warm, too sunny. But you could smell the salt on the air, even miles away from the coast. And that made her soul smile. At least they weren't land-locked. 

She was still acclimating to the new surroundings. And, despite the men's best efforts, insisted that walking helped her get the lay of the land. So, much to their frustration, she finally waltzed up to the bar several hours late looking like she'd put in a full day's work already. Her hair was damp and slicked back, sleeves and pant cuffs rolled up (revealing what Dom would come to recognize as characteristically mismatched argyle socks), red clay dusted her freckled cheeks and coloured her nail beds... dripping like dry river beds down the sides of her temples where she'd sweat through the grime. Romano huffed a little at her approach, moving to make note of her condition... but the Cheshire grin that stretched across her lips cut him short. "What have you gotten yourself into," he mused quietly as he held the door, Orlaith hot on their heels. Fin, simply grinned wider as she approached the bar, her silence making the old man's skin prickle. She better not be drawing trouble so soon. She'd been scarce the last day or so, and it made him very suspicious. 

"Nipote," Romano called from the door as Fin made her way in, "Your... um... Fin is here." 

Finleigh laughed... and for the first time since he'd met her, Dominique understood what it meant 'when Irish eyes are smiling'. He'd yet to see a real smile on her lips. And it was almost shocking. The swelling and bruising from their first meeting was all but gone. And in the dusty, late morning sun, she seemed like an entirely different person than he'd met in Newburgh Harbour. 

Sliding up to the bar, she allowed herself to take the briefest moment to appreciate his boyish charm. She wondered if he got that from his father. It would make sense given the stories she'd heard the last few days. "Stop working a minute," she coaxed him, "I've been busy. And I have something for you..." 

Pulling a closed fist from her pocket, she rested her knuckles on the rough bar, grinning mischievously as she waited.

Dominique, covered in sawdust and sweat himself, paused from his sanding of the curved counter top and grinned. Wiping away the dust over his brow, he sat his paper aside and moved to where she'd seated herself.

"You look rough, Fin. Been busy I see. You keepin' her outta trouble, Orale?" The smirk that crossed his face as Orlaith gave him a look of death wasn't missed by anyone in the room.

"Oh Fock off..." Orlaith called over Fin's shoulder before taking a seat beside her friend and muttering something off-color in a foreign tongue. The two women chuckled softly then eyed him. "And you know I'm not Finleigh's keeper. If yer so worried, keep an eye on 'er yerself, boyo..." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully, and Dom winked back with a chuckle.

"Let me grab us a drink, ladies..."

Turning, Dom reached into a small cabinet and produced a decanter of gold colored liquid. "This, is some of my father's, father's bourbon. It somehow survived from many years ago and Uncle Romano kept it safe for the day we returned to LA. I've not opened it yet, but now is as good of an occasion as any."

He produced and poured four glasses, calling his Uncle over to drink as well. "Salute, to a new and hopefully prosperous adventure." Dominique raised his glass before tossing the drink back and setting the empty glass on the bar top.

"Now, whatta ya got for me, doll?"

Finleigh's smile widened as she eyed the bourbon. It couldn't be more perfect. "Well I'll be a Janie Mack," she muttered quietly, her gaze glistening as it floated between the glass and Dom's gaze. She looked stunned... and moved.  Her smile softened, weighty with emotion as she slid her hand towards him. "I had hoped ya would nae be cross wit' me. But... seein' as this is how it's playin' out... even if ye are, I can't say I regret it at this point." 

Cupping his hand in her dust-covered fingers, she dropped a tarnished pair of fine cufflinks into his palm... Sicilian gold, adorned with the Trinacria, the center dotted with polished Mediterranean coral. 

Fin was silent as she watched him. Romano grabbing the boy's hand to stare at his palm and then glare up at Fin... confused lips forming soundless words as his gaze flickered betwixt the cufflinks and the party, his grip never loosening. Nodding softly, Fin raised her glass. "Sláinte," she toasted both men and memory as she downed the glass of bourbon... praying this wouldn't end poorly.

Romano and Dominique both stared at the cuff links, neither one saying anything at first. Romano looked at Fin, questions racing through his head as Dom fought back conflicting emotions. On one hand, it was nice to see these again... Gino was the last to wear them. On second, it was bittersweet at best, and infuriating at it's worst. They reminded him of a time when he had a family... When he had a father, before Gino had his mother killed. Before the family business was more important than he was. Before the war that had left his family dead...

He'd never known his father had met Jessica, the red headed bombshell, until many years after their disappearance in the war that decimated Philadelphia's Race Street Organization. Romano had made sure that both Coniglio's never met. Seeing the cuff links sent confusion and worry over Nazzareno's face, but left a chilling smirk on Dominique's.

"Thank you, Finleigh. You do me an honor by bringing me these cuffs. They've been in my family for generations. My father was to wear them before our family was erased from the annals of history. At least, I'd thought we had been..."

He shot a knowing glance at his Uncle before returning to Fin and Orlaith's gazes. "These will help establish my lineage, and give me proper connection to the old world, even if I was born here. I am still full of Sicilian blood, and that means something."

"Thank you," he reiterated as he bowed his head. He and Romano had already hashed out their differences over what his Uncle had done to keep him away from his family, but it was always nice to let the old man sweat a little bit so long as he didn't get overly paranoid and worry for his life.

"Where did you find them?" Dom poured another round, even for dear, old, Uncle Romano.

Fin chuckled uncomfortably and downed the second glass of bourbon with a tell-tale swiftness, "Let's just say I did some diggin', hai?" She didn't meet either man's gaze as she rubbed at the rusty dirt caked on her hands, her words heavy with double-meaning.  Clearing her throat quietly, she snagged Orlaith's untouched glass and swallowed it in one, loud gulp. 

"So... uh... we gonna do work or what?" She rose from the seat she's taken, reaching nervously across the bar for Dom's abandoned piece of sandpaper as she attempted to... less than nonchalantly... shift the conversation. Too many questions. Silently, she set to work... diligently scrubbing away at the rough, rounded edge with laser-like focus.

Chuckling, Dominique allowed Fin to take over the sanding while simultaneously pouring -another- drink for Orlaith since her's had been stolen.

"Yeah," he sighed out. "We'll get some work done, but be thinking on a name, hmm? I'm at a loss here. I'd have called it 'The Dead Rabbit' back in New York... But here, that don't make as much since, and just makes me look... Well... Dumb. Being a Rabbit and from here in the first place. Although, it's not -so- bad if we think about it. I mean. A lot of LA thought the Coniglio's were dead and gone... Maybe 'The Dead Rabbit' works here too? I mean, I'm like a ghost come back to haunt them anyway, right? Why not make a joke of it..."

Dom shrugged and downed his second drink before looking at Romano and smirking.

"Relax, Uncle... We're fine. I'm actually excited to see the cuffs. I'll start wearing them when I'm in a suit. How's that sound?" He slipped the heirlooms in his shirt pocket and raised an eyebrow in question at Nazzareno.

"It would be nice to see them worn again, Dominique." Uncle Romano smiled, relieved that the young, hot-headed Italian was in fact remaining calm.

Having worked with plenty of crews when he was younger, Dominique was no stranger to construction. Hoisting some lumber onto his shoulder, he winked at Fin and turned his back on the group, moving across the room to help the few workers that had stayed. The stage wasn't going to build itself.

"'Ey, get over here an' start framing this thing out!" He pointed out two of the guys from the group. Then, pointing at another two, he yelled again. "You's guys start lifting tha columns and getting them in place... An' I shouldn't have to say it, but I'm gonna... Make sure ya secure tha damn things, capisce?"

The two workers rolled their eyes, but Dom let it slip. It wasn't like he could just take them out back and shoot them... Yet.

Still sanding the counter, Fin didn't let it slip. "OOIII!" the barked across the room in perfect drill-sergeant fashion, "That ain't no way ta look at tha man whats payin' yer dinners tonight. There's plenty o' blokes dyin' in tha streets fer want o' less. Doncha think fer one second I won't hand this job righ' over iffin ye thinks yer too good fer it. So you set those eyes right 'fore I pry 'em outta yer fuckin' heads!"

For a moment both men looked at her with humour and disdain, the other workers pausing to watch the exchange. But as Fin straightened herself, the room went heavy. "I'll sand those bloody smirks righ' off yer fuckin' faces an' give yer ma a closed casket, ye bloody fuckwits!" She yelled at the men, making sandpaper suddenly seem weaponized and threateningly dangerous as she crossed the room. Stretching up to her full minuscule height, Fin glared up at the men who'd disrespected her... Dom. Veritably DARING them to test her as she balled the coarse grit paper tightly around her tiny fist. 

"Say somethin'," she spat with commanding venom, unflinching as one man stooped to her eye level.

"Listen, little gir...." The man's condescension was cut short as Fin's sandpaper laced fist connected solidly with his jaw... leaving a rash of bright pink across his cheek. ALL the men looked shocked as the fit Italian doubled back. His expression equally perplexed. "She hit me..." he said to Dom, his tone ringing with a hollow shock as he struggled to believe it. Grabbing his collar, Fin jerked him back down to her level, pressing her sweaty cheek to the fresh scrape with stinging poignancy as she leaned in to whisper softly, "I'll do a lot more than hitche next time. I promise ye that. Roll yer eyes atcher boss again, an' I swear ta every god there ever was, I'll suck 'em right outta yer sockets an' have 'em fer jam on me toast." 

Leaning back, she held his collar firmly as she licked his face for emphasis... grinning like a madman. The poor guy, unable to free himself from her vice-like grip, simply whimpered in protest as he wriggled helplessly. Chuckling, Fin grabbed his chin with her free hand and forced him to look her in the eyes. "I ain't fuckin' around. I was forged in war, boyo. I know more ways ta kill a man than I know ways ta fuck him. An' believe me when I say: Yer fuckin' funeral... is up to me. They'll only find yer body if I want 'em to. And yer dear ma'll only get to see yer filthy face if I let her." As Fin's tone turned dark, a familiar clipped clarity stole back into her voice, "I will fuck your tiny lit-tle world so hard that your grandchildren's grandchildren have sore asses. And I will be the boogeyman that haunts their worst nightmares. I will make the means of your death so fucking gruesome that they give it a new name in the streets. Cross me, or mine, and I will make your name INFAMOUS and synonymous with PAIN. People will whisper it with revulsion and macabre curiosity. You will be an icon of misery. Your end will rival the saints and martyrs. I will make your suffering legendary. CAPISCE?" 

There was a long, pregnant pause as the men digested her words. But, as the one she held hostage nodded in submissive agreement, everything seemed to fast forward as ALL the men hopped to work. Like a mother overseeing defiant children, Fin waited in the middle of the room, arms folded and scowl on point; sandpaper in one hand and bar towel in the other. "We'll nae be havin' any more o' that numptee shite, hai?" she asked with a threatening edge to her tone. 

"No"

"Nope" 

"Nu-uh"

Several voices chirped through the sound of the construction. Some of the men looking at Dom with an expression that CLEARLY said 'crazy bitch'. 

"I'm sorry. What was that? Didjer dear mothers raise a buncha ruffians?" Fin smirked as her tone pitched up. 

"No," the men answered in unison. 

"NO WHAT?!?" Fin barked, snapping the towel across one of the smartasses backsides. 

"No MA'AM." The chorus came, drawing a chuckle to her lips. 

"That's bet'er," she crooned, patting one of the better workers on the shoulder as she moved back to the bar. "Y'know," she called across to Dom as she set back to work on polishing the countertops, "I still have quite a comfy chunk set back from me days in New York. An' suddenly I'm thinkin' a lil competition migh' be in order..." 

She didn't say anything else but smirked as she met his glance, the sound of the work around them intensifying with the vague inference. 

She might be fucking NUTS... but damn if she wasn't a boon and blessing for work ethic.

... maybe she'd do alright here after all ...

Dominique was almost laughing out loud, barely able to restrain himself from the guffaw that was raging inside.

"A competition, hmm? That could be fun." Dominique made his way back to the bar and poured one last drink as he turned to eye Fin, mother-hen was certainly in the house.

"Think you can keep these jackasses in shape? I'll hire ya on permanent if you'll be the foreman. More shit will get done in a day than's been done in a fuckin' week thanks ta you." Pouring another, he delivered the full glass to Fin and raised his to her.

"So, what should we name 'er?"

Fin smirked at him with a flirtatious cockiness, "Donnae fool yerself, Lad. We both ken yer keepin' me aroun' a while yet." She winked playfully as she took the glass, pursing her lips as she pondered. 

"Well... I can think of a few ideas. Tha Maroon Room? Ink and Paint Club... fer tha sailorboys, ye ken?" She tapped her chin, "Tha Green Door? Tha White Rabbit? Hopper's? Bugsy's? Guido's? Mick 'n' Wop?" Her eyes sparkled a bit and she giggled out loud, "Wait... wait... PATTYCAKES!" The soft chuckled erupted into a full-on belly laugh. Although many of the men seemed either thoroughly perplexed or utterly aghast at her crass humour.

"Pattycakes?" Dom's head tilted sideways as he watched her laugh herself silly. He stole a glance at Orlaith who shrugged, then Romano who was equally no help. Returning his gaze to the cackling Fin, he shook his head.

"Now why would I call my bar and diner Pattycakes? I mean, let us all in on your laugh here, because I'm pretty sure you've stumped us all."

Dom poured yet another drink, assuming he would need it for this explanation, but Romano tapped his pocket watch.

"Fine, fine." Dom set the drink down.

"Don't want you drunk 'fore the meeting"

This time it was Dominique that rolled his eyes as he looked at Fin, then smirked.

"I'm not going to be drunk. I can handle myself just fine, Naz, and you know it. Besides... They're gonna be boozed and coked outta their mind, and you know it. Old hounds ain't even gonna remember this courtesy..."

Returning his attention to Fin, he shook his head as he questioned again, "Fuckin' Pattycakes?"

Fin stopped laughing and blinked at him flatly. "Oh COME. ON. Pattycakes?? PADDY. Cakes?" She paused and waited for it, praying someone... ANYone would get her humour. It was funny, goddamnit. 

Shaking her head softly, she passed Dom her glass. She was Irish. Drunk AFTER 11 and you were doing something wrong.

He poured her another drink and passed it over. He was still mulling it over for a moment until he started chuckling softly. Paddycakes... "That's fuckin' rich, dame!" He held his stomach as he laughed, and eventually started to wheeze while fighting for breath.

"I dunno though. I think we might be able to do better... But that's goin' on tha top of the list for now."

Dominique headed for the office.

"Come on, doll. Let's have a chat. These bastards can get some work done while we sit. Orlaith, Uncle Naz, you's two comin' too?"

Romano nodded and headed toward the office as he followed Dom, Orlaith on their heels. Once the four of them were in the office, Dom shut the door and plopped down in a leather chair behind the desk.

"So, figured out anyway to continue your previous business from here? We can always send Orlaith -back- to New York to oversee everything, but she wouldn't have any help if shit went sideways. We could always move product and personnel through the ports here... I mean, we're on the coast, and LA has a good connection with a lot of the Yakuza clans and Cartels. I'm sure we can work things out with the locals if need be. Or... We can forge our own path."

He looked between the three people in front of him. Someone had to have some ideas of a lucrative future... Otherwise, it was back to extortion and racketeering; not that it would be an issue.

Fin shook her head as she settled into a chair. "Honestly, I ain't got that far yet, Lad." She sighed heavily, sipping the fine bourbon they were quickly burning through. "I think we're all bet'er off hunkerin' here. I donnae like the idea o' anyone bein' disconnected fer tha sake o' business. An' I thought about some o' those other points. An' I wouldnae have a problem navigatin' product through tha ports here once we've established solid connections. But it'd take some work yet. I'd need a vessel and a safe port. At tha least.  As fer moving in immigrants, I ain't against helpin' whoever needs it, but I'm picky about my marks. I ain't gonna put my kneck out fer any and every mobster lookin' fer richer soil. Ultimately, me heart is still fer me people and I ain't quite figured how ta make tha two werk together yet. Ya ken?" 

Fishing a dirt-stained cigarette pack from her breast pocket, she lit one with a heavy sigh. "So at tha moment, I'm open ta whatever ye need while we find our footin'. Ye got any particulars in mind? Er nae?"

Dom thought for a moment then shrugged.

"There's the age old trade of products that we could cut in with... Everyone needs a little hooch, and we've got a bar here. Can always move everything through the back. Make sure only members and those we give the nod can -find- the back..."

Peaking out of the office, he noted that the men were still fast to work in finishing the stage and the upper balcony; the additions were going to be wonderful. Leaning back inside, he shut the door and moved to his seat.

"Dames for tha gents, fellas for tha molls... Food. Door prizes, games, an' party favors... We can pass stuff through here no problem, eh? Just gotta get the clientele flowing. That includes using tha back as a stop shop for moving people if we needs to. They can rest, stock up, trade clothes and get the paperwork done here... yeah?"

Taking the moment to finally sit, he sighed and shook his head. "For tha first time, doll, I ain't got a -fuckin'- clue. Ambition is big, but connection is just as important. Maybe we's start small and just take this neighborhood. Run all tha other riff-raff out and start gettin' some protection in. Hmm?"

Dominique tapped his fingers on the desktop as he closed his eyes, lips pursed, in thought.

Fin absentmindedly fidgetted with her nails as she mused a bit. It was a long, silent pause as the pieces started to filter into place... her lip-biting morphing into a slow nod that gained speed as she gained confidence. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that could work. We'll need a warehouse. On tha docks would be best. An' a boat that's at least bay-worthy... probably a small crew. I'll put word out to me mates back home... see if anyone's in business on this side of the world. Maybe opium and chinks? Or we can hit the medical transports that ship into Patton. That way we're not cuttin' in on any o' tha big player's territories." 

Fin grinned as she nodded, "Hell, iffin it goes dandy enough, we could double back an' invest tha profit into the block. This place needs some GOOD high-end venues for tha fat cats... nice restaurants... somethin' more than cafes an' coffee shops. If we build this little spot up enough, it'll draw in supporters without us havin' ta do much other than mind our business... es." 

She tapped her chin for a moment before continuing, "If ye wanna keep some lads an' lass' fer business, we'll need a place fer the actual keepin'. Hotel... loft appartments... somethin' o' that nature. It's a tall order, but definitely doable... if we do it RIGHT." 

Leaning in Fin sipped her bourbon with a warm smile, "So, first things first, ye need ta decide where we focus first. After the club is finished o'course. An' I would go full 'club', nae jest a bar. Ya ken? AFTER that, we need ta prioritize... systematical like. Yeah?"

Dominique nodded in agreement. "Yes, we do it right. As for full 'club', what exactly are you thinking? Dance and cigars along with hooch? IO can get behind that, but we can't name it 'Paddycakes' if it's gonna be respectable, hmm?"

He chuckled as he tapped on his desk a bit more before pouring another drink against Romano's contest.

"I can get us space for rooms. Hotel, loft apartments, or otherwise. Trust me, I know how to take care of my girls... You've just not gotten tha fair chance yet." He winked playfully before looking down at the desk.

"But chinks an' opiates ain't a bad idea. Get in touch with your people an' see if someone's workin' this side like ya said... I'll handle the warehouse. I gotta make a stop by the docks anyway. I'm expectin' somethin'." Dom smirked and then stood, downing his drink.

"So the 'club'! We'll talk about that first... What should we do with it?" He moved for the door and motioned for Fin, Romano, and Orlaith to join him in the front room.

Fin smiled as she eyed the construction, "Think swanky," she said, "red carpet style." 

"Booths, I think. Two larger for tha corners with round tables. Leather seats... tha real kind. Heavy drapes for tha windows an' curtains for tha stage. Chairs for tha bar. Nae stools. I mean... think about tha kinda place yer seanair... erm... nonno?... would have preferred. Ya ken?" 

Spinning a bit, she surveyed the space, "Small dancefloor. Space out tha seatin'. Make it intimate... exclusive. Classy like. Whaddaya think?"

Dom looked around, closing one eye and envisioning it in his head as he did so. "Yeah, doll. I can see it. Have a nice finish on it... Fuck, I'll even skip on the upper balcony so the room is more open feeling."

As he said that, three of the men who'd just stood one of the beams paused and turned to look at him.

"What?" he barked. "Do what you were originally told until I tell you specifically otherwise!"

Almost jumping when he'd yelled, the men continued straightening the beam and preparing it to be a "permanent" feature of the room.

"I like the idea of big, round booths in the corners... A curtain for the stage, that's a jam up touch Fin. Think you could draw it all up for me with your improvements?"

He stopped spinning and opened both eyes, pausing his gaze in Finleigh. "I think those are great ideas. We can even get marbling for the bar if we wanted."

Fin smirked, "I was gonna suggest marble. I jest didn't want to muss up tha work ye already done on it." She chuckled lightly, "I'd keep the balcony, just size it down. Just wide enough for a single row o' small round tables... and walk space. It'll still keep it open, but give tha upper level a certain air o' exclusivity... more so than tha rest. An' if ye think we needta, we can always lift the center ceiling without endangerin' tha structural integrity... I think. Maybe do some recessed lighting. Ya think?"