Deluca

FOUR

Francesco was relieved to not be in the home tonight, finally free from the drama. But it had seemed that he had walked from one shit show to the next. Francesco adjusted the tie he wore, feeling slightly out of place in the nightclub. Once before he may have felt foolish for being so overdressed in a nightclub.

Over time he had become to realize that he would need to be this extra when meeting with Paolo Aicardi. Francesco sat with a frown at the bar when a woman approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

She greeted him softly her hand starting at his shoulder and moved it down to near his waistline. Her cleavage, which had been artificially generous, was pressed onto his arm and she smelt heavy of perfume.

Francesco gave her a tight smile before turning back to his drink. She slid into the stool next to him, called the bartender, and ordered herself a drink.

"You might be overdressed." The woman said, her eyes were blue like ice, and her hair jet black. She was appeasing, but Francesco had been far from interested.

"Here for work," Francesco said shortly.

The woman gave him a flattering smile, "Well, you do know what they say about working hard and playing hard."

Francesco was charmed by the woman walking up to him, and any other day in any other circumstance, he might've used her to let out some of his frustration. But not even that would help, "I'm married – not buying."

The woman ignored his remark on her occupation and continued, "I don't see a ring."

"Rose, not now. Try the other end." There was a stern voice from behind them and the woman, Rose, stood and made her way to the other sad soul.

The same man who dismissed Rose nodded and Francesco stood to follow, relieved to no longer have to sit out at the bar any longer. The club was full even though it had been a weekday.

As they made their way to the back offices, the sounds of the music from the dance floor faded. They walked down a narrow hallway with shut doors. Francesco attempted to drown out the sounds of primal grunts in the rooms until they made it to the back stairwell.

Once they made it upstairs, it was as if he were in a different world. The decorates were Steele. The dark marble floors shined perfectly without a single scuff.

At the end of the hall had been a door with a large diamond-cut plane of gas. His escort stopped short of the door and nodded toward it. Francesco opened it and saw Paolo Aicardi sitting at the desk.

Paolo was an older man, his hair peppered grey. While he was Italian, he had lost most of his features to his mother's English side. Paolo had green and cold eyes hidden behind a thin frame of glasses. He looked up when Francesco came in, backing away from the computer.

The plain disposition that was once on his face was now repla ed with elation.

"Francesco, my boy." Paolo stood with a smile, quickly taking off the glasses, and sitting them on the desk. He pulled Francesco in a brotherly hug before backing away to size him up.

Paolo was an incredibly short man, coming nearly a head and a half beneath Francesco. He beamed with pride, "You look fantastic!"

Paolo was known for his charisma – it was what got him to where he was in his life. Paolo and Francesco had similar starts, aside from the time.

They both had watched their fathers build something from nothing, then take it and maximize it further. They had both worked up fearsome reputations. The only difference was Paolo's love for the show.

Not only did Paolo love power, but he also loved fear even more. Francesco was certain he was the type to play with his prey and make them think they have found a friend before he took enjoyment in stabbing them in the back.