Ivan Vissarionovich || Venturi Underboss || M: Open

For the umpteenth time in the last week, Ivan was glaring himself down in the mirror and heavily debating taking a size 8 clipper to the longer top of his hair. It was barely long enough to pull back into the world's smallest man bun, but he wasn't the most attached to the look, and he was getting tired of the constant battle to get it to listen to him every morning. How anyone managed anything longer than this was beyond him. Sighing, he did his best to smooth it back into the little ponytail and then moved on to clothes. They had to meet those godforsaken Morellis at some restaurant; he couldn't look like a mobster, but he didn't want to look like an emo skater either. The balance was... difficult. Fashion had never, ever been his forte; usually, his problems could be solved by dark jeans and a button up short sleeve shirt or by a full suit, but not this time.

Eventually, he emerged in more casual suit pants and a white button up. What did normal people call this? Business casual? Hopefully it would be enough. Now to survive the inevitable food poisoning that he'd acquire simply by looking at Sora's ugly mug. Well, that was unfair to the rival leader. They were all impossible to look at. How this truce was going to work was beyond him; it would've been easier to buy off the entire police force and annihilate each other in broad daylight than to maintain a façade of amicability.

The restaurant was still fairly empty when he arrived, and he went straight to the bar after a brief survey. He wouldn't drink in front of a rival, but the idea was certainly a satisfying one. No, he had to stay alert, so water it was. As he waited for the others to show up, he drummed his fingers against the cold glass in front of him, the one and only sign of his impatience -- or, rather, his being on edge. This was all unnatural.

Adam Steiner | Morelli Member | M: Caoilfhionn, Ivan

The halls were silent except for the hushed murmurs around him. The figure stood in front of a painting that was covered by glass, his eyes tearing up at the stark beauty of it. “It's even more lovely in person.” He whispered, clutching his suit around his heart dramatically as he took a shuddering breath. “Isn't it?” He asked his companion to his right. “I can't believe that the Pinacoteca Vatican allowed it to travel this far. It's the first time that it's left those walls since it was donated.” He paused, looking at the man next to him. “I will not die before seeing Da Vinci's ceiling in the Vatican. I swear by that.” Adam vowed as he turned back to the Transfiguration. “Did you know,” He could hear the eye rolls next to him. He lost his thought for a moment, his head falling down slightly, an anxious look on his face before continuing, “Um, did you know that Raphael died in the middle of painting it? His apprentice, who would later become a pope, finished it. It is considered one of Raphael's most critically acclaimed pieces and yet, it wasn't all his!”

The man stopped talking and rolled up his light grey suit to check the watch on his wrist. “We are late.” He said with a certain amount of coolness in his voice. It was clear that being late didn't stress him out. He pulled his sleeve back down and turned on his heels. The leather of his shoes squeaked against the freshly polished floors as he made way for an exit. A grey-haired man standing at the exit stopped him. “Would you-” Adam interrupted him. “Yes, I'd love a pamphlet.” He picked up the book and shoved it under his arm as he trotted down the granite stairs. He looked back at his companion. “Are you coming?” He smiled at him. It was the kind of smile that lit up your entire face, the smile that would lighten someone else's day.

The smile didn't last long however. As quickly as it came it faded away. He walked down the sidewalk. The wind rushed past his ears as he walked at a quick pace. The typical Americans smiled at him as they passed. In return, they got a scowl of a man that meant business. He was late, and it was weighing on him. How could he be late? He hadn't meant to spend nearly that much time at the Museum. He ran a hand through his hair. It was a motion he only made when he was stressed. He was stopped at the crosswalk with everyone else, looking around. What street was it on again? He rubbed his face with both hands. As he did so, a shoulder rammed into his, causing him to stumble backwards. The Austrian spun around towards the person who'd invaded his space, clearly upset. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to for strangers that were paying attention nearby to see the hurt that played like fire behind his blue eyes.

Adam crossed the street with the swarm of pedestrians. He stopped at the other end, turning around. He didn't smile, nor show much emotion. “Come on Bon-Bon. Hurry it up.” He said. It was supposed to be in a teasing manner, but with him you could never tell. The streets weren’t too busy, after all, people were at work. Those that did run the streets were tourists in their I heart NY t-shirts. It made the man feel out of place in his suit, striding down the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that the man followed him. He was buttoning the front of his suit as they approached. Pausing outside, Adam turned towards Caoilfhionn. “Are you ready?” His accent was thick, but not nearly as the air would be at the table. He was loosening his tie, preparing for the ability to breath going out the window. This meeting was unusual. He followed Cao into the restaurant, looking around, his jaw clenched and a stoic expression on his face. “The shaggy one is the only one here.” He whispered into the man’s ear. “I cannot remember his name.” He pulled out a chair at the table, looking around the empty restaurant. He didn’t say anything, but simply stared coldly at the Venturi Underboss, waiting for everyone else to join them.

Neasa Kirra Ní Dhomhnaill | Venturi Member | Indirectly Mentions: Ivan, Mishka, Caoilfhionn, Adam

The restaurant was dimly lit, all sleek wood and warm golden hues when Neasa arrived. Soft jazz curled through the air like mist, barely audible beneath the quiet murmur of servers and the gentle clinking of glassware. She walked past the staff without a glance, her long charcoal coat swaying with each step. Beneath it, a deep forest green blouse – smooth, collarless, and tucked cleanly into high-waisted black tapered pants. Her black leather ankle boots made no sound as she crossed the floor. Neasa preferred to be practical rather than ornamental.

She spotted Ivan and Mishka near the bar, tension coiled beneath their casual stances, while two men – undoubtedly Morelli affiliates, judging by the scowls aimed their way – sat at an otherwise empty table, their posture rigid, like leashed dogs pretending not to bare their teeth. A subtle tilt of her head. Observing. Measuring. Not judging, yet. Her gaze, steady and unreadable, passed over them like a scalpel, dissecting motive from movement. The delicate vial at her neck shimmered under the golden light, its contents catching a flicker of movement like something alive.

"Interesting choice of venue," she said softly, before moving to an empty chair. She didn’t look at any of them again as she settled in. Her coat slipped off her shoulders in a smooth motion, revealing the stark lines of her silhouette beneath. A server collected it quickly as he set a glass of water beside her chair. Her nose crinkled slightly, as if the gesture were somehow insulting. Yes, this was a neutral zone meant for talk of a truce – but that didn’t mean they were safe. Didn’t mean some stray Morelli hadn’t paid off the servers to poison the food or drinks. As she settled into her chair, her gaze slid to Ivan – water. Then to Mishka – whiskey, iced. From what she could see, two Morelli men weren’t drinking yet. Her fingers flexed once against the tabletop, grounding herself and clearing the noise from her thoughts. No, she reminded herself, both families were vying for peace, however fragile it may be.

Neasa’s posture was surprisingly relaxed as she lounged in the chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, fingers resting lightly on the table’s edge. She didn’t bother speaking, content to let the silence stretch. Truthfully, she welcomed it - knowing full well it wouldn’t last once more people arrived. Especially her family. A small smile threatened, but she kept it at bay. The thought of the families having to play nice was almost comical.

Paulina Molinari || Morelli Underling || M: Morelli Faction (Dir), Venturi Faction (Ind)

The restaurant doors opened subtly to let in the slight frame of the woman, who was busy straightening thin-rimmed glasses that only seemed to accentuate the severity of her dark gaze. So many hours hunched over workbooks in the dark had done a number on her eyes, particularly as of late; the added stress of having to associate with a muddle of untrained whelps running amoc had ruined what little sleep she got. With very attractive dark circles beneath her eyes, she made her way to the table where the members of her faction had seated themselves and slid into a chair beside them with a solid thud.

She leaned back in it and crossed her arms, using her top hand to absentmindedly pick at the sleeve of her blazer. Her smooth face still held a distinct sulky air. Her little experiments had to be halted and time taken out of her day for... this? Under her breath, to no one in particular, she muttered, "This is so stupid."

Her eyes moved to the bar where the Venturi underboss and another woman were sitting, and she released a small huff. Another woman -- Neasa, if she remembered correctly -- was eyeing her water with mild distrust. Not that Lina blamed her; in fact, she had purposefully eaten before coming so as to avoid having to do it there, and she had her own water bottle. Paranoid? Yeah, absolutely, but her caution had kept her alive thus far. Now, she just had to manage to survive this whole "truce" thing.

Focusing her tired attention on the men near her, she asked softly, "What's the official plan here? And how long do we have to tolerate them before we can leave again?"

Lucrezia Venturi | Venturi Boss | Female | 23 | M: Everyone at the table and NPC couple (ind.)

Lucrezia's clawed finger tapped the table in uneven rhythm, with the tip of her nail digging into the wooden surface, leaving a small hole that a keen eye could see. Her veined eye shifted from one face to the next, before glancing down to their bodies, observing how they moved, trying to catch a glimpse of any weaknesses in their demeanor. The way they twitch their fingers, the flow of their sides as they breathe, the subtle spasm of the eye, the quiver of the lips, even their throats whenever they speak or gulp. That's just the outside of what she can see, what they're trying to make her see.

Their beating hearts; how fascinating each individual's organ beats to its unique song. Her mind went blank as her thoughts went still; the way her gaze sharpened with focus as he zeroed in on what lies in everyone's chest. An unblinking gaze as she stared at everyone's chest, her breathing slowed, and she went deathly quiet, like trying not to startle the various prey in front of her. The restaurant's music was elegant, rather soothing to the ears, a polar opposite of what Lucrezia is experiencing, currently. Her finger tapping became erratic, her mind no longer in control of her body as she kept listening.

Finally, she heard it. A wild heartbeat coming from one of them, and immediately her predator senses honed in on that person. The scent of fear rushed into her flaring nostrils, her mouth dropping to try to get a taste of it. Her head tilted in curiosity as her brows furrowed. The dilated pupils locked onto a woman seated at a different table across from the restaurant. "Hmm, what is the little lamb afraid of?" She muttered to herself as she flexed her fingers, imagining her claws in the woman's body as she brought her fangs close to her face.

A shudder of anticipation went down her spine; already eager for the hunt she imagined in her head. Lucrezia was about to get up and walk over to the woman, intimidate her, and bathe in the fear the woman was radiating like an addictive lure. However, the sound of a plate gently clattering against the table snapped her out of her thoughts, with her eyes sharply moving to a hand holding the plate of two rare t-bone steaks still oozing a bit of blood. With a grunt, she settled in her seat as she forced herself out of her fantasy world, however, she did cast a side-eye at the woman.

She was too honed in on her that she didn't notice the woman's lover seated across. "Hmph," the only noise of disappointment she made before turning away, briefly flashing her teeth in a silent snarl of agitation before settling down. The steaks will do for now, but she won't hold back next time. Lucrezia dug into her food as if she hadn't eaten in days, moving the utensils around her plate and stuffing the meat into her mouth as she aggressively chewed before swallowing with a greed beyond human level. Her tongue licked the juices that poured from her mouth, not daring to waste a single drop.

Of course, she sat at the other end of the table, right where she could see the members of Venturis and Morellis. With a measured glance down the length of the table, she silently claimed authority without needing to move her mouth. A clear view of everyone allows her to naturally command their attention. However, there's one person who dares challenge her authority and take the seat opposite of her. Sora. Who is nestled at the other end of the table, gazing directly at her like she were an inferior being, asserting his influence with that stupid expressionless face of his. Always so damn relaxed no matter the situation; it's so annoying when he doesn't even show the slightest hint of emotion when she pesters her.

It only made her want to bother him more to finally see that stone-faced bastard crack.