Caoilfhionn Du Pont - Somerset

The Morelli Family | Member | Mentions : Those Gathered , Adam

The young man was content to listen to Adam ramble on about the paintings, a small smile playing against his features . The man was rarely relaxed, so this was nice , them spending time together - he clung to his arms and let himself be dragged around the museum, and listened to the chatter of the man . A hum of appreciation at the nuggets of knowledge ; even if he did know some of these facts, his head resting idly on the shoulder of the man. A teasing grin on his face, as Adam absentmindedly rambled on, if anything Caoilfhionn was looking at him with adoration . He missed these times, when things were simpler between the two, and he appreciated the thought that went into this little outing, it was rather enlightening . And that's when the little peace they had was shattered at the mention of them being late to the meeting ; he gave out a little groan of protest - being late wasn't the worse thing, and it's not like anyone would miss them . He was going to pout, but Adam moved too quickly - leaving him stranded , and he gave an indignant huff . He had to chew the inside of his cheek to keep from hissing out in annoyance . Of course their job got in the way of the time the two were sharing . And an annoyed expression crossed his face as he followed Adam out of the museum and onto the busy streets . He rolled his eyes as he watched the man stress out about getting to the meeting and nearly knock a guy over in his haste ; yet, in Adam fashion, he wasn't concerned with what he had done and kept on going. Even cheekily calling out to him to hurry up, which earned a slight frown and growl, the nerve .

They soon arrived at the destination, a restaurant - and he had to wrinkle his nose at the choice of location. Couldn't the boss have done better ? But he dare not utter those words out loud . At the mention of being ready, he gave an single eyebrow arch of his arched brows and examined his painted nails with a slight scoff, offended that such a question needed to be asked of him. He then found himself coming in, and noticed the first guy sitting by himself, and it seemed Adam was just planning to be the death of him. He leaned slightly over to hear what he was saying, and had to stifle a giggle at the fact he called the man "shaggy hair" .

Leaning over and getting slight on his tiptoes he whispered back "Ivan, his name is Ivan, love ," he crooned teasingly, a slight mischievous look on his face, his lips brushing against Adam's ear , " you would do well to remember it considering he's the Underboss of the Venturi family " he then said , chiding softly, his accent coming through slightly . " Though, I can't say I'm impressed by his manner of grooming . " he muttered more or less to himself.

Caoilfhionn, you see, was dress prim and proper . His shirt and pants were startched and ironed to a crisp, with no hint of wrinkles or catlines , his suit jacket and vest , they smelled of the cleaners and quite frankly - money. He wore a simple white undershirt, with golden buttons , and dark grey vest with the matching suit jacket and pants - except the painted were high waisted to hug his waist show it off, and the black chunky heeled vintage Oxfords he wore accented the look. His hair was pulled back into a French braid, with a think black ribbon tied at the bottom of the braid and he switched out his Versace sunglasses to wear a pair of gold rimmed glasses .The diamond studs he wore glittered slightly in the sunlight as he tilted his head to inspect the room. His nails were painted black with a marble effect to them . He had expected a bit more formality for a meeting of this caliber , but he guessed everyone didn't get the memo. He know his mother would sooner die or be fashionably late than go out looking hideous, and it seemed he had gain gained that thought process as well . He let out a simple hum as he followed Adam, and say next to him , and he gave an amused look at the way he glared at the Underboss.

He subtly bumped the man's leg, and gave him a silent exprsssion . It was common for the two to speak without words . He was obviously telling him not to look like he wanted to murder the poor guy, and the eyebrow raised was a simple invitation to get a drink to loosen him up so he wouldn't be so rigid in this meeting . The waiter had approached and he ordered a steak and lobster, with an Old Fashion , and he waited for his food to arrive. He had to silently observe the members of the other group, most appeared just as apprehensive and annoyed as they did about this predicament. Some had ordered drinks or were just plain hanging around, waiting for either side to make a move in staring this meeting.

He would wager this would be an interesting turn of events, he had to force himself not to gawk in horror at the way the Venturi Boss was guzzling down the food - like a wild animal eating its last meal. But he kept his expression neutral and schooled, a facade to those who didn't know him. While he may appear aloof about this meeting, he really did hope for its advancement, because it could mean opportunities. And he had to blink slowly as his boss proceed to insult the Venturi boss and her members, he began massaging his temples and silently reciting mantras in his head and prayed to whatever god was listening that this didn't turn into a fist fight of some sort because that would so ruin the vibes .

This was about to be a headache, wasn't it ?

Lucrezia Venturi | Venturi Boss | Female | 23 | M: Sora (dir.) Ivan and everyone else (ind.)

Lucrezia's focus immediately shifted to the Morelli members, scanning their faces with an unimpressed look in her eyes. They looked squishy, in her glorious opinion, barely looking like they could hurt a fly, let alone wanting to. The squeamish look on their faces at her sight of her eating like a beast was honestly amusing, as they act more like refined dogs in those fancied shows than actual wolves. More brain than muscle, and it seems, too focused on looks. When will they learn that looking good and flashy everywhere they go isn't the way to get people to respect them?

"Look at me. I'm all neat and proper. You should respect me," she says in a mocking tone as she eyes their more groomed appearance with utter distaste. "Like a bunch of soft babies who don't want to get their hands dirty. Can't even handle me chowing down on this steak." She didn't even bother to be quiet about her opinions towards the Morllei family as her tongue lazily traced the bloodied juices of her meal, like a wolf licking the blood off its recently hunted prey.

Sure, she may not be as intelligent as Ivan, her right-hand and older cousin, but she does have a way of handling the dirtier side of becoming a mob boss and businesswoman. Sure, she can show proper table manners, the slightest bit of CEO charisma, however, she's not going to. Not in front of the family she despised with a passion. To her, this wasn't a formal setting, considering they're seated in a mid-ranked restaurant, and two, she doesn't consider this a high-stakes situation to even consider being the well-decorated woman. No whole point anyway; everyone here knows how feral she is.

It would be like trying to pass a damn tiger as a housecat.

The Venturi Family are't respected for their fancy clothes and jewelry. No. They're respected, feared because everyone here knows that they'll handle business without mercy. That their threats are promises; a ticking time bomb already set to start upon her words. However, Sora's snide comment is what made that bomb start, as the hand holding the silverware tightened just briefly, snapping the metal into two in just a singular squeeze. "This son of a bitch," she hissed to herself, but at the same time, she was already eager for the chaos this meeting will bring. Flashing her teeth with an eager glint in her red eyes, as agitation mixed with excitement filled her mind, giving Sora that unblinking stare, as if silently challenging him to say something else.

She set the broken piece still in her hand down on the table, leaning back in her seat, and tilted her head. "Clueless as they look?" Lucrezia repeated slowly, like she was tasting the insult that left those lips of his like it was a rare delicacy. A huff left her, leaning forward slightly, the chair creaking under her weight. "I assure you, my group knows how to think just as skillfully as they do with their teeth. I can't say the same for your little pups," her eyes turning to the Morelli members with a sharp scoff, leaving her, "isn't it exhausting being the human embodiment of 'extra'? All of you dress like you're waiting for the red carpet to materialize under your feet."

She raised a brow, her lips forming into a sharp, mischievous smirk, revealing more of her canine-like teeth. "We're supposed to be subtle with this meeting, but I assume all of you are allergic to it." Lucrezia eyed the fancied jewelry they were wearing, even their lavish suit. Her focus shifted to the other attendees of the restaurant, noticing how casually they dressed compared to the built-in spotlights she had sitting with her and her crew at the table. With a huff, her sights went back to the members sitting with them, straightening her head again as her finger tapped the surface of the table.

Neasa Ní Dhomhnaill | Venturi Member | Indirectly Mentions: The Venturi and Morelli Family

Neasa rested her elbow on the table’s edge, fingers drumming a lazy rhythm against her jaw as still more bodies filled the private room. The seating worked out in almost comical symmetry: Venturi heat down one side, Morelli ice on the other, a single aisle of polished oak and bad blood between.

She had the perfect vantage point - close enough to back her boss if things went sideways, far enough to watch the Morelli family twitch in real time. When the first platter hit the table, Lucrezia pounced, tearing into the still-bleeding steak. Neasa pressed two knuckles to her lips and stifled a laugh - maybe a cringe - that threatened to slip out on a gust of disbelief. Bless you, Lucy, she thought, never change.

Across from the carnage sat Sora - immaculate, impassive, rings glinting every time his fingers adjusted themselves. His opening jab floated over the table like a spark in dry brush. Neasa arched a brow, unimpressed but vaguely entertained; it was always the well-manicured ones who threw the first stone.

A ripple ran down the Morelli line: one sharply dressed subordinate blinked at his boss, then pressed his fingers to his temples like he could already feel the migraine coming on. Not even a bread roll in - well, aside from Lucy and her steak - and already someone’s clutching pearls, Neasa mused, gaze narrowed. But he wasn’t reacting to her family or to Lucy, surprisingly. No, this one - Caoilfhionn, if she recalled correctly - looked genuinely taken aback by his own boss’s blatant lack of decorum. It gave Neasa the faintest flicker of relief; maybe this treaty might actually stand a chance.

Lucrezia’s reply came razor-edged and rich with scorn. The flicker of relief? Gone. Neasa quietly pushed her plate aside, appetite fully extinguished, and folded her hands in her lap. She tracked the volley between houses like a fencing match, cool-eyed and silent, waiting for someone to overextend.

We came for a treaty, not a bloodletting, she thought, eyes flicking to the glint of fractured silverware in her boss’s grip.

Neasa knew Lucy like the back of her hand, feralness and all. She was practically a sister, which meant Neasa also knew that if things snapped, Lucy would be the first to leap. And that silverware? It’d be in someone’s eye before the room even blinked.

Hell, Neasa wagered, Lucy might even eat the eye. The thought alone made her wince.

This proposed peace is paper-thin, and somebody’s about to set a match to it. If anyone was going to speak up and salvage this dinner, it had to be Ivan - or, God help her for even thinking it - Sacha.

> Cynthia Vasiliou | Venturi member <

M: Ivan (ind.), Lucrezia (ind.), Byron (dir.) the families (ind.)

Ivan || Venturi Underboss || M: Everyone

There was the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth, a flicker of something like amusement buried beneath the granite stillness of his face. Mishka was right, though he was a bit worried that Lucrezia wouldn't take the interjection well. That was his main job, it seemed -- be the peacemaker before things boiled over within their own ranks -- and he was fine with it. His eyes cut across the table now, honing in on Sora.

“Mishka is right. As fun as it may be, today, we're not here to draw blood.”

He sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Make no mistake -- wiping the Morelli family off the face of the earth would be easier. Simpler. Of course, I'm biased, so no need to say as much for your own pups.” The statement was flat, factual. Like the morning report of a butcher cataloguing cuts.

“But that’s not why we’re here. This truce, if it’s going to mean anything, has to start with restraint. And that means the insults on both sides need to be put away. Not forgotten. Just... saved for the right audience.”

His mood shifted as the door opened. Ivan caught the movement from the corner of his eye and turned, gaze resting for the briefest moment on Cynthia as she entered. He inclined his head toward her, a small, polite nod of acknowledgment. His pseudo-sister, late and crazy as ever, would have been given a hard time if they'd found themselves in any other situation, but now was not the time. A part of him found itself wishing that the mad scientist had brought some fancy gas that would shut the Morellis up.

Then in came Byron. Ivan did not so much as glance in his direction. There was no need for Ivan to direct anything at the man; he seemed new, or at least not as much of a threat as the unmuzzled dogs in front of him. Besides, Byron's own murmured phrases were only to Sora, and they weren't meant to derail conversation.

“We’ve spilled enough blood on street corners and back alleys to know how that story ends. It’s the same every time: losses tallied, revenge promised, more graves dug, infinite money put into keeping dirty cops in check, only for the latter to turn later. If we’re here to keep that from happening again, then we start now.”

Another pause. Then, with a low chuckle, more gravel than laughter, he added, “If we’re going to play at peace, let’s at least be honest about the rules.”

He sent a glance again at Lucrezia. His words may have filled the room, but hers would direct the tide. And until then, Ivan would wait -- watching, weighing, and, if necessary, reminding everyone exactly which of them kept the wolves from the door.