That is what this is about isn't it? Ive lived a long time and never really liked being low man on the totem pole. In life I worked my way up as a simple if skilled Cossack to being one of the Czars body gaurds, I was embraced because of how ruthless I can be and I was made a Nosferatu Lord, because of my sense of honor. Well I suppose that was the reason at any rate.
When I came to New Haven it was unexpected. I had rose in the ranks of the Vory and had set up the heads (or rather broke heads) to control the reigns of power in the last city I was in.
I often passed myself off as a simple hit-man, such came easy for me. But it was the leverage that holding those reigns for the Carthian movement I liked, and so when I came into a city I made long term plans to eventually control the underworld.
And what the fuck would you know? The Opportunity fell right into my lap when someone was so kind as to take out a good bit of the competition. Now, I have to say, most the competition in the underworld where not Vory. Most where Irish Mafia as this city seems to be filled with either Irish immigrants or descendants. Whatever.
Its not like the Vory, small as it was, DIDN"T have people here. And by the third month of being in the city I was already at the top there, if in the shadows.
But with this power vacuum that happened, I could move right in and put my own people there and THAT is EXACTLY what I did.
Now, the Carthian Movement likes to work with the kine. So I am not killing all of those who oppose the take over, that would be unwise. No, what I did do, was use my influence to either buy out, sell out, or strong arm the remaining criminals that had even a fraction of hope to take over.
Unfortunately there was one that had decided to really play hard ball.
That was what I was doing tonight.
I listened in the shadows as my ghouls worked over the middle aged left hand of what was left over of the Irish Mob. They arent really pleased about a Russian coming in and taking over, but whatever.
Gotta hand it to the guy though, he can take a beating and hes not giving up the information that I want either. With black and bruised eyes, one sealed shut he looks to the shadows and spits blood. I have to admire his tenacity. He also feels my presence, I suppose its time to introduce myself.
I rise from my seat and step forward: The shadows pull from me as if a lover did not want me to leave her and I see the mans good eye widen.
You see, I am not what most people expect.
I am, a very good looking man. And really if a girl is into bad boys I tend to get a lot of attention from them, BUT, there are a few things about me that is very off. First and foremost, I am very clearly a monster. Its not that my face looks like its dead, its more..my eyes. They are the eyes of a killer, the eyes of a predator. Eyes that see the flesh and blood, a means to a end. NOT, a man. Or woman.
Soft brown hair falls to my cheek, my features are sharp and I am fairly tall. However it is not that , that unsettles people. It is the way I move, the rolling predatory air that proceeds me. Anyone with half a wit of stranger danger knows I am not a man to be fucked with. Either that I am insane. That is up to whomever interprets my presence I suppose.
I am not even dressed in a suit, I am dressed in a pair of old jeans and gray wife beater. Not because I CANT dress nice, no, its because I intend on getting my hands dirty tonight.
The closer I get the man that is tied tries to lean back and get away while my own men scuttle to the sides to get the hell out of my way.
My booted feet step on his, and I lean forward peering into the good and ruined eye. Then reach out with long fingers and wipe the blood of, I lick it and speak "Are you sure you do not want to come to a agreement, Comrade? I can give you a long life, or a very very short one" My mouth is stained with his blood now, making my visage even more terrifying.
I see it snap in his brain. His will breaks, just like that. To easy, so hard for them but too easy for me.
He nods, he pleads. He annoys me.
With a quick movement I reach out and snap his neck because I see the lie in his eyes, he would defy me the moment he got a chance. The blood could fix it, but I have no desire to have a army of blooded thoughtless underworld workers.
Turning to my boys I smile "Bring me his brother"
And we start again, after this one little issue is dealt with I will have what I want.
Named after the first unfortunate suicide in New Haven, she was a sister in the church who got to close to the abyss. This part of the city is the poorest of the neighborhoods and has a high crime rate. It is North East of the city, a few miles from Murkwood cemetery and the Suicide Cliffs themselves.
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