The rain hammered steadily against the tall windows of the Grand Calabrese Social Club. It was a respectable sounding name, the sort that suggested polite dinners and quiet conversation. In reality it was a smoke filled room packed with dangerous people arguing loudly over pasta, whiskey, and business that would result in prison for everyone present if anyone outside the room heard about it.

At the head of the long wooden table sat Chairman Matt. He was the Godfather of the family, the ruler of the city’s underworld, a man feared by politicians, police captains, and rival gangs alike. At this particular moment he was also a man on the very edge of a nervous breakdown.

Spread across the table in front of him was a stack of paperwork so large it looked like it might qualify as a small piece of furniture. Matt rubbed his temples slowly and stared at the forms as if they had personally betrayed him.

He let out a long breath. “Let me understand this properly. We run gambling, protection, trucking, bootlegging, construction, and three bakeries. Yet somehow I am still sitting here filling out forms.”

Across the table Rorschach shifted in his chair and gave a careful shrug. “City regulations, boss. They say we gotta file a legitimate business declaration.”

Matt looked at him with the blank disbelief of someone who had just discovered gravity might be optional. “But we are a criminal empire.”

Rorschach nodded patiently. “Yes boss. But apparently we still gotta tick the boxes.”

Matt stood up suddenly and began pacing the room, chairs shifted slightly as several of the men and women around the table instinctively leaned back. 

He stopped and turned toward the group. “You know what I spent my morning doing?” Nobody answered. Years of experience had taught them that volunteering information during moments like this rarely ended well.

Matt continued “I mediated a dispute between two grown adults about whose illegal slot machines were placed too close to the other guy’s illegal slot machines.”

VeronicaMars cleared her throat and adjusted a stack of documents in front of her. “Technically it was eighteen inches.”

Matt slammed both hands down onto the table. Glasses rattled violently and one man quietly crossed himself. “Eighteen inches?” His voice echoed through the room. “I run the most powerful crime family in this entire city and today I have dealt with three complaints about parking outside the club, a physical altercation over sandwich ownership, someone stealing someone else's lucky fedora, and someone has submitted a request to unionize the hitmen.”

From the far end of the table Kristoff slowly raised a hand. “In fairness boss, the hitmen say Bruiser keeps scheduling jobs during lunch.”

A few people nodded cautiously.

Matt stared at Kristoff with the weary expression of a man who had just realized running a criminal empire involved far more human resources issues than actual crime. “Lunch? We are meant to be professional criminals.”

Bruiser, who had been leaning against the wall with the relaxed posture of a man who solved most problems by physically removing them, scratched the back of his neck. “A man needs to eat boss.”

Matt tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling as if hoping divine intervention might strike the building and end his suffering.

“Yesterday,” he said quietly, “someone came to me. The Godfather of this entire organization. To resolve a dispute about who ate the last cannoli.”

The room filled with men and women of the family fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faintest, poorly suppressed chuckle from VeronicaMars. Matt’s head snapped in her direction and he shot her a sharp look that could have curdled milk at twenty paces. Before he could say anything, however, TommyVercetti cautiously raised a hand from further down the table, clearly deciding honesty was the least dangerous option. “To be fair boss,” he said carefully, “it was your cannoli.”

Matt froze.

The silence that followed was so thick that even the rain outside seemed to soften slightly, as if the weather itself wanted to watch what happened next.

His eye twitched once. Then again.

Slowly Matt sat back down and folded his hands neatly on the table. His breathing became calm and steady, the kind of calm that usually appeared just before someone had a very bad day.

Finally he spoke. “Alright.”

Several people in the room visibly relaxed.

Then he calmly placed a revolver on the table and room immediately returned to absolute silence.

“New rule,” Matt said. Nobody moved. “If I have to settle one more pastry related dispute in this organization, I swear on my mother's cooking I am shutting this entire operation down and opening a quiet bookshop somewhere in Vermont.”

Rorschach blinked. “Boss, what is a Vermont?”

Matt stared straight ahead with the hollow expression of a man who had reached the absolute limit of his patience, sighed and rubbed his face.

Bruiser leans back on the wall and looks at Matt, "yes Bruiser, is something on your mind" Matt says.   Not to make light of the situation boss, Bruiser began, I think we all hear you loud and clear.  We need to keep these miniscule problems off your plate, but seriously, is it almost lunch time?  I'm starvin' ova here!

shandie leans over to Kristoff and whispers

"so is this his way of saying im not getting my sandwich back? cause that was a damn good sandwich"

shandie could hear a slight sigh come from Kristoff as she brought this up

"a girls gotta eat y'know"

a slight hiccup rose from shandies abdomen, just barely loud enough to get the attention of those near to her as she spoke

"and im just saying but 18 inches is too much thats almost half as long as a baseball bat, or have i misheard that part of the conversation?" she asks Kristoff

shandie waves over a waitress and asks them a question

"can you go over to that fella and ask where is a great spot to get a decent cheese danish?"

shandie points very subtly over in the direction of Matt

shandie yells over to Bruiser

"hey bucko, you gonna gimme my sandwich back or just stand there holding up that wall all night"

shandie then notices a familiar face in the side of her vision as Karmen appears to be enjoying herself and shandie asks quite loudly

"HEY Karmen DID YOU EVER ORDER THAT COD YOU BEEN RAVING ABOUT?"

Karmen turned her head at the sudden voice, quickly noticing it was Shandie speaking to her.

From across the table, she returned, "Oh yes! Good news there, Shandie. After what felt like ages, I finally got my hands on the very cod I’ve been trying to find!"

She smiled before taking a sip from her Martini, and then continued, "You may congratulate me with cookies at any time. I love cookies. Chocolate chip especially!"

Matt remained perfectly still.

Not the calm stillness from before. No this was different. This was the kind of stillness normally observed right before a building gets condemned, the air itself seemed to tighten around him and the weight of the room pressed inward as if even the walls were bracing for what came next.

His fingers began to drum softly against the table, slow and deliberate, each quiet tap spaced just enough to make it feel intentional rather than nervous. It wasn’t loud but in the silence it carried, a steady rhythm that drew everyone’s attention without him having to say a word.

He finally spoke, his voice low and controlled. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight? In the last sixty seconds we have had a discussion about lunch, a missing sandwich, a measurement debate that somehow involves baseball equipment, a request for a cheese danish, and now cookies are being used as a form of congratulations.”

No one spoke.

From the corner Bruiser shifted slightly and opened his mouth to speak but Matt raised a single finger without even looking at him and the attempt died instantly, Bruiser freezing like a statue that owed money.

Matt’s gaze moved slowly across the table until it settled on Shandie “You are asking about a sandwich?”

Shandie opened her mouth, hesitated, then nodded anyway “It was a really good sandwich.”

Matt nodded slowly as if this were a perfectly reasonable development “Of course it was.”

His eyes drifted to Karmen “And you have successfully acquired cod?”

Karmen, sensing the danger but committed to it, gave a small proud nod “It was very fresh.”

Matt leaned back in his chair which creaked under the shift and somewhere in the building a glass broke for no apparent reason although no one dared acknowledge it.

“And now” Matt continued folding his hands together “we are negotiating cookies.”

Rorschach hoping no one was paying attention quietly slid a piece of paper away from the center of the table, inch by inch, as if sudden movements might be fatal. It disappeared beneath a folder already thick with forms, his expression carefully neutral, like a man trying to reduce the total amount of “paperwork Matt could see” by even one sheet and hoping that might somehow save a life.

“That’s it” Matt said, then stopped himself exhaling through his nose as he reset and forced the frustration back down “No. No, we are not doing this again.”

He pointed at Bruiser “You are going to give her the sandwich.”

Bruiser frowned slightly “I already ate it boss.”

Matt didn’t even blink “Then you are going to replace the sandwich.”

After a brief pause Bruiser nodded “Yes boss, Two sandwiches, Got it.”

Matt gave a small approving nod and turned back to Shandie “You will receive your sandwich. You will not bring it up again. If that sandwich disappears, I will assume it has entered a witness protection program and we will all move on with our lives.”

Shandie nodded quickly “That’s fair.”

Matt turned to Karmen “You will enjoy your cod and you will not leverage it for cookie based tribute systems.”

Karmen raised her glass slightly “Understood, though I do still accept cookies.”

Matt chose to ignore that entirely.

He scanned the table slowly taking in the entire room, a collection of hardened criminals who at this moment, seemed more concerned with baked goods than anything remotely illegal. “And as for the rest of you,” he said steadily, gesturing across them “from this moment forward this organization will no longer be derailed by food related incidents.”

For a moment there was silence.

Then Kristoff raised his hand.

Matt closed his eyes briefly before opening them again “yes, Kristoff?"

Kristoff cleared his throat “Hypothetically speaking boss, where do pastries fall under the new policy?”

Matt looked at him for a long moment really considering the question. Then without breaking eye contact, he reached down and picked up the revolver and gently slid it across the table until it rested in the center. It wasn’t pointed at anyone, it didn’t need to be.

“Pastries” Matt said quietly “are currently under review."

And then as if perfectly timed to test that exact boundary the door creaked open and a nervous young runner stepped inside clutching a small box with both hands. He looked around instantly realizing he had walked into something far above his pay grade but too committed now to turn back.

“Uh delivery for Chairman Matt?” he squeaked.

Every head in the room turned toward him.

Matt didn’t move at first. Then slowly he shifted his gaze to the box.

The runner swallowed and opened it just enough to reveal what was inside.

Cannoli. Fresh ones. Perfectly arranged.

Silence fell over the room like a blanket.

Matt stared at them for a long moment then leaned back in his chair again steepling his fingers as that same dangerous calm returned to his face “Alright” he said softly “Nobody panic.”

No one moved.

Matt gave a small nod as if confirming something to himself “Simple solution, we’re going to handle this like professionals.”

A flicker of relief passed through the room.

Then Matt looked up.

“Whoever takes one first is officially in charge of all paperwork for the next six months.”

The relief vanished instantly.

A long heavy pause followed, thick with calculation, fear and very real temptation.

And then in a single chaotic blur that shattered any illusion of discipline, half the room lunged for the box at the exact same time.

Bruiser was a big burly guy, but he was nimble and fast on his feet.  Before any of the crew even had a chance Bruiser was on those cannoli's and had cream dripping from his chin.  With a mouth full Bruiser looked down at his feet then timidly looked at the Chairman, ummm, well boss if you want to have someone bring by the paperwork to my HQ I'll get on it.  Bruiser looked back down and started to walk towards the door, umm, I'll just take one more for the road, Bruiser said as he reached back in the box and actually took two. 

Shandie had overheard the conversation Matt had just had with the room, but seemed to focus on just a very few points made

"I dont know whos fucking chair just squeaked but my glass just broke holding my drink, so now im down a drink while i wait for this sandwich from Bruiser"

Shandie shifts her gaze to bruiser as she mentions the sandwich, then looks back towards Matt

"so if i heard this right were considering the stance on pastries, are cookies pastries? cause i mean if thats the case then we now have a pastry based currency system we can use to accomodate the cookie tributes also being discussed"

Shandie out streteches her arms to her sides in a shrug like stance

"so that means no the baker could be used to create currency for us? i think we got a side hustle we could definitely use like a sub currency"

Shandie slams her fist down on the table

"someone make it happen!"