Shalom, Ciao [Isaac/Imelda]

Samuel was currently sitting on the balcony of a double-story restaurant, a little joint he owned on the side that server kosher food that actually tasted decent. His legs crossed as he watched the city below him, a hand holding a half-burnt out cigarette. He was currently waiting for the Ventatti contact, a woman whom the higher ups in her family decided was fit to deal with him. Much like how his higher up decided he would deal with her. A mutual relationship of dealing with in their criminal underworld, to see what each other would bring to the table.

Frankly, Isaac knew what he had. A motherfucking armory of equipment that if distributed properly would put the outfit to become the premier power in the United fucking States. That was what all the bloodshed and war was about, coming out on top in the chaos so they could bring some stability to the wicked world. He brought the cigarette to his lips inhaling it in, before holding it before a moment. The subtle burn soon leaving his lungs as he exhaled, adjusting his glasses as he checked his watch.

She should be here soon. He was currently wearing a rather comfortable brownish overcoat over his turtleneck. His dual pistols situated in a chest holster hidden behind his coat, he was rarely 'caught lacking' as some said.

"Can I get some Babka? Let's have our guests fill welcomed."

He doubt some sweet cakes would do anything for the meeting, however, he certainly wanted some.

He saw her arrival the moment she pulled up in her rather noticeable car. It spoke to either her wealth, or the imitation of wealth. Both can be equally useful when needing to protect an aura of independence, of power. After all in their business the bottom line was the dollar. The almighty asset that was currency, the thing they bled for and men killed for. But there was something else that came with her chosen method of display: attention.

In their business attention was not good. It was why ultimately war was bad, and it’s ultimately what led to numerous criminals incarcerated to never see the light of day. Like his father. So as as she approached he thought of how he might speak to her, deciding on a neutral approach. He’d gesture to the open seat at the table for her, his head turning looking out the balcony to her. His hand is going to extinguish the half burnt out cigarette in an ashtray.

“Shalom, Ms. Vanetti. New York traffic is a punishment I wish for few. You grow used to it, however.” He’d remark with own accent holding a strong New Yorker accent to it. His bespeckled eyes coming to a waiter who brought out the Babka he asked for it. “Please, take one.” He’d offer towards her before picking one of the cakes up, eating it with a practiced grace before smiling at her question.

His lips pulled up in a smile, relaxed in it’s nature. Controlled. Like that of a businessman, or quite average. It spoke nothing of the Enforcer who made his way up during the Tri-State War.

“I can.” He’d remark as he leaned forward adjusting his jacket, uncrossing his leg indicating she now had his full attention. “The Outfit has seen fit to reach out to your family, as we’ve come into holding of a large surplus of equipment. Remnants from World War IV. Pristine. While we can move much of it in the States, we have grander ambitions. And we think the Vanetti family may be just what we’re looking for, in a partnership overseas.” He’d remark, placing his intentions on the table.

His eyes would go to the car which was parked outside.

“However, we do have concerns. America is up for grabs, and the tentative peace we have is only maintained nominally. We do not wish to place ourselves in the crosshairs of higher powers. Be that the authorities, or certain Corporations which hold much sway on your side of the planet.” At this he’d lean forward slightly, as if to stress his next point.

“Discretion is a good quality. Those who draw attention, who look important and wealthy, draw it. In our business the less eyes on us, the better.”

“The reach you say? Please explain how. It is important we’re aware of how the operation will be run, barring any private details that you wish to conceal.”

He’d remark as he crossed his leg resting a hand on the rail next to him. He was confident she could back up what she was saying, but knowing the details added a level of confirmation that he would be able to safely bring to his superiors. And any other concerns he had where placated for the most part as she spoke about her means of dealing with people. Although he was plain looking, his reputation as an enforcer for his outfit was well known, it was rather jarring to see he was such a bespackled looking man.

“The Reuben. Good choice, a classic. It’s on me so order as much as you wish.” He’d remark as his lips curled into a smile, his head tilting to the side as he appraised her. Her view on money and Italy as a whole was interesting, different from here. “I suppose I will have to trust how the Italians spend their money. Perhaps I shall make a trip, and you can show me how the wealthy party.” It was of course a friendly self-invite, but what self-respecting criminal wouldn’t take the chance to go enjoy a wild time.

With that however he’d uncross his legs as he leaned forward, more interested in speaking about his merchandise. “Exact numbers are rough, but we’re talking more than enough arms to supply a small army for the next twenty-five years in the conservative estimate. Shadow fall cut ties hard, a few bribes got us the location of multiple armories. As for locations, wherever you damn well please. We sell to you, and you alone, and then you outfit whatever gangs, mercenaries, or whoever is willing to buy. Location is wherever the buyer is.”

It was clear he was looking to corner the market with their help, or at least step in where they could. While it wouldn’t make them the most powerful on the block, the capital both of them got would certainly set them up for great things. A hand comes up to adjust his glasses.

“You didn’t ask, but I assure you, any problems that may arise on our side will be dealt with personally by myself.”

That cold edge was familiar to what she spoke with earlier.

"Safety is at best momentary pleasure and at worst an illusion. So don’t fret over my safety. It’s important for a man to know his market.” He’d remark tilting his head to the side while he leaned back in his chair. He had done too much in his short lifespan to not recognize that eventually he would die by the sword. While he was no means suicidal, he was more than capable to take care of himself and his crew.

But with that she asked a far more interesting question, one which caused his head to tilt backwards appraisingly. It was a simple question, but one which definitely was worth answering. He’d reach into his pocket to remove a gold cigarette case, opening it slowly as he removed one and offered one to her. “May I?” He’d inquire and proceed if the lady did not mind.

He’d take a deep inhale of it, holding the harsh smoke for a second before exhaling.

“I grew up in this shit hole, with barely two cents to scrap together. They called this ‘The City of Dreams’, and for those willing to do anything it is.” He’d remark as his eyes closed with a thin smirk coming onto his lips, as if he remembered a funny joke. His soft chuckle turned into a light laugh, exhaling as he opened his eyes. “This crooked city with its festering underbelly, it’s my city. It’s my people. And I want to run it. From the shitty ghettos, to the high rises. And I’ll cut, kill, butcher, slaughter, anyone who gets in the way of that. That’s why I stay, Ms. Vanetti.”

He taps the end of his cigarette, a small bit of ash going into an ashtray.

“I think that answers your question. I have one myself. Why are you in this game? Money? Power?”

“Does a man need a reason to want to be on top?”

He’d remark as he brought the cigarette to his lips taking another drag of it. There was certainly more to his reasoning to want to be on top that just that, but to admit to such things so openly seemed so… personal. Then again she was going to be his business partner and that needed some level of trust, of understanding. Maybe she’d stab him in the back one day, or he would her, but for now they needed intimate understanding of one another.

As he finished the cigarette he extinguished it.

“I was born into it. My father did his time, and is currently serving a stint up north for it. I needed money for my family, then my mother’s treatments. Cancer. One job turned to another, and another, before I was so wrapped up in it- this was all I knew. Being poor, and powerless, is quite the motivation.” He’d remark with a light shrug.

“I never want me and my own to ever want again.” He adjusts his coat lightly placing his hands at the edges of it as he leans forward. A hand coming to rest against the table. For a moment an air of absolute certainty follows him. As if the next words out of his mouth seemed the most important he ever said.

“I will do many great terrible things for your family if this deal works. I swear this, as Yahweh as my witness. Is there anything else?” He’d inquire seemingly happy and affirmed with their dealing.