Post by salvatore on Oct 6, 2021 17:58:42 GMT -6
Fade in.
A loud thud followed by a groan.
Another.
And another.
And another.
The sounds of a chain weaving and clanging against wooden beams.
Inside the basement of Salvatore’s Casino is all cold, unforgiving cement. Blood stains are plentiful on both the floor and the walls. It's quiet. The only sound now heard is an almost rhythmic drop of water emanating from a leaky pipe, onto the cement floor. The sound of dress shoes clicking on the cement floor begin. They get louder and louder until we see Angelo Salvatore into the frame. His facial expression leaves little to the imagination. He is in a foul mood. His elegant Armani suit jacket is littered with blood stains. He is breathing heavy as he looks down…
At his victim. At a man, soaked in blood. Chains cuffed around his wrists and ankles, which extend back to the cement wall behind him. His head is slung over. Angelo grabs ahold of his hair with a gloved hand, lifting the man’s head up. His eyes are in the back of his head. Angelo releases it.
“That's an...interesting training method.”
A voice from the background pops up. Angelo smirks as he turns to face him.
“Franco.” His brother, as well as co-owner of Salvatore’s.
“Strange seeing you down here. I thought you made it clear, long ago, about your feelings for our true business here.”
Angelo’s voice was dipped in condescension. Perhaps there were some underlying unresolved issues between the two brothers.
“Well.” Franco began, as he started towards his brother, grabbing a glass of bourbon that was conveniently placed on a table near the door. As Franco eased closer to his brother, he emptied the glass of bourbon into his mouth, and smiled.
“I did. However, that was before you decided to shine a new light on Salvatore’s.”
Of course, Angelo knew exactly what his brother was speaking of. BPW would undoubtedly bring spotlight to Salvatore’s. None of sat well with Franco. Angelo seemed to dismiss his brother’s concern. He shrugged at his comment and walked over to the nearby table which his bottle of Bourbon stood. He poured himself a glass.
“So, who was he?”
Angelo took a sip of the bourbon.
“Who?”
Franco shook his head. His brother did like to play games.
“This poor sap over here. The one you've nearly beat to death?”
Angelo placed his glass down. He looked over to his brother. He wasn't pleased at the question.
“Like I said. You didn't want any part of what we are really doing here. If you've made that very clear throughout the years, Franco. So, whomever that man is, and the reason he is here?”
He edged even closer.
“Is none of your concern.”
The two brothers engage in an intense staredown. Neither man blinks. Although, it isn't long before Angelo notices a bead of sweat trickle down the right cheek of Franco’s face. Of course, this incites a sarcastic smile from Angelo.
“Nervous, little brother?”
Franco hastfully wipes the sweat from his face. He doesn't back down from his older brother, however.
“You're not going to intimidate me, Angelo. I have as much a right to be here as you do. I will not allow your ego be our downfall.”
After a few intense moments, Angelo grins wide.
“Brother! Of course not! We are in this together! What mine is yours, what yours is mine! We need to think as one, Franco. That’s not to mention, the black Pyramid incident still looms over our casino, but it is coming along nicely.”
Franco looked relieved. He may have said he wasn't the least bit intimidated by Angelo, but they both knew that wasn't the truth.
“Salvatore’s Casino isn't as profitable as it once was. And now, with this costly renovation...I don’t know, Angelo.”
Franco was blunt. He sounded concerned. It was their livelihood. As the Casino went, so did their lives. They both understood this.
“I know, brother. I know. I'm taking care of it.”
This time, Angelo didn’t sound sarcastic this time. Actually, he sounded concerned.A knock on the door followed. Franco narrowed his gaze at his brother.
“Angelo…” His voice trailed off temporarily. His tone lowered.
“Who is at the door?”
Angelo lowered his gaze. It was as if he couldn't admit to his brother who was at the door. A look of betrayal swept over his facial features. He couldn't even look at Franco. Instead, he looked past him, to the door.
“Come in.”
His tone was flat.
As the door creaked open, Franco turned to see who it was. It was at that moment he realized why Angelo behaved in the manner that he did. That didn't mean he liked it, though. He turned to face his brother, once again.
“You bastard.”
Franco was seething. Whomever stood in the doorway, it was clear that Franco hated the sight of them. Angelo peered down, before suddenly meeting his brother's face. His eyes were apologetic.
“I'm sorry, Franco. I didn't have a choice.”
“Heh, that's funny. That's the first time in my life I recall you saying something, and actually sounding sincere.”
Angelo didn't say anything. He felt terrible. He had betrayed his own family, and he knew it. It looked like Franco was going to say something else, a dark hand clasped his right shoulder tightly.
“Franco, I think it's time for you to go.”
Franco didn't say a word at first. He peered over his shoulder. He could plainly see the revolver stuck in the man’s belt. He could take the hint.
“Don't worry. I won't be staying.”
The two men stepped to the side, as Franco stormed off in disgust, slamming the door on his way out. Angelo looked at the pair of large, muscular men before him. He straightened up as he spoke.
“Mark and Stefan Moreaux.”
Again, Angelo’s tone was flat. His ego was gone. These men clearly had something over him.
“I see you have our friend.”
Angelo walks over to the chained up man, with the Moreaux’s following. Angelo takes a chair over, sitting in front of his prisoner as he seems to be waking. A few groans before Angelo delivers a backhanded slap which seems to catch his attention.
“Good morning, sunshine. Now, let's not make this any more difficult, or painful, than it has been.
What are the Aztecs up to?”
He looks Angelo dead in the eye, and then…
“Fuck you.”
Angelo sits back with a grin on his face. He seems amused.
“Very well.”
He turned to the Moreaux brothers, with a look of indignation.
“Do as you may.” He said with a sigh, as he shook his head. “Some people just insist on being difficult.”
All three men nodded as Angelo exited the room, the door slamming behind him, emphatically.
Later that day…
Angelo Salvatore was finally in a quiet place. With so much constantly going on in the Casino(and sometimes under it), it was nice to get away. Even if “away” was merely one storey above it all. His luxurious skybox-inspired office overlooked everything, even if “everything” was nothing much more than construction at this time. Luckily he had blinds over that window most of the time. A large potted plant sat in the right corner of the room, near the door. On the left side was a leather couch. Other than that, it was fairly empty except for his large mahogany desk which sat in the center of the room.
He sifted through some papers that seemed scattered across his desk. One by one he sorted through, making three separate piles. It was at this time that a hard knock on the door was heard. Without bothering to look up, Angelo absentmindedly answered “Come in”.
Mark and Stefan Moreaux. They didn't look to be in a good mood. Angelo looked visibly nervous at their presence.
“Gentlemen.” He motioned for them to sit. They happily obliged.
“How was your little meeting with our Aztec friend?”
Angelo nervously smiled as the Moreaux brothers sat. As he glanced over he could still see blood on their hands. He nervously laughed.
“He didn't know anything.” Stefan remarked. Angelo shifted in his chair anxiously.
“Oh...I-I see.”
The expression on Angelo’s face told the story; no matter how well he fought to conceal it. It didn't matter regardless, as they know the same thing he did.
“Clearly, you had bad intel, Mr. Salvatore.”
Angelo stared at the two brothers nervously.
“Well maybe…”
They cut him off.
“He's dead.”
They let that sink in for a moment. Angelo looked around nervously. Trying his mightiest to come up with an explanation.
“I hope we don't need to remind you of the tremendous importance of what we are trying to accomplish her in Nevada, Mr. Salvatore.”
Angelo shook his head feverishly.
“No, no of course not. I-”
Again, Stefan raised his hand to cut off Angelo.
“Of course we don't. You are finally about to move in on Black Pyramid Wrestling. This is an important venture. BPW should be your focus for the time being.”
Angelo looked confused.
“You know about my contract?”
The Moreaux brothers laughed, and even exchanged glances.
“Who do you think got that contract finalized? Who made the call? You have the Moreaux Family to thank for your newest payday.”
Angelo still had trouble piecing it together. It was noticeable that he was attempting to figure out in the confines of his own mind.
“Why?”
“There are several reasons, actually. Not all of them need your direct knowledge. But know this.”
Stefan leans in closer, across the table.
“Your obedience and your success are tied very loosely together. As a matter of fact, you better be laser focused on Black Pyramid Wrestling. We will not tolerate failure, Mr. Salvatore.”
“So...what? If I lose, you're going to kill me?”
Again, the brothers chuckled to one another.
“No, no. Of course not. We will merely see to it that you wish you were dead. Be prepared, Mr.Salvatore. And next time? You better see to it that your intel isn't false.”
The two brothers stand as they stare down Angelo still. Stefan shakes his hand but Angelo doesn't seem the least bit comfortable with the situation. As Stefan and Mark leave, Angelo is quick to teach over to his office phone.
“Yeah...Franco? Yeah. I know. I know.
We've got a problem.”