They’re crisp, scar tissue long by now, but Roman can feel the muscles in his face twist and tug at themselves. Wanting to form facial features his ruined face can no longer make in its ruinous state. Bloodshot eyes don’t blink, they instead very intensely burn holes in ‘Vincenzo Cassano’. He talks very particularly. Trained at the approach, and Roman is so used to dealing with absolute fucking morons.
Lawyer and criminal. Wondered how long he’d last before he pissed in the wrong beer, or shat on the wrong doorstep. Fingers tense underneath their leather sheathes, but Roman maintains himself. Fingers steepled, quietly listening.
“Let me say this, because to be honest I’m not the sort to like tiptoeing the line, and testing boundaries.” Roman presses his palms flatly against the surface of his workspace, pushing himself to his feet. “No specialty, no set area of law. S’good, I can work with that. But what I want is for that to mean you don’t fuck with my business, you don’t join in any litigation against me or my company. Then we won’t have any problems, and I’ll let you run around hugging any tree you feel like, or saving any disenfranchised youth centers I happen to not be the one bulldozing.”
Not that Roman was particularly threatened by the guy. He was one man, one lawyer. But hey, the IRS got Capone on tax fraud. So, Mask really just wanted to make sure the pecking order was clear and not up for any sort of confusion.
Let him. It was unpleasant, but that’s how it worked. Roman was part of the heads that owned Gotham. They all had their turf and, this was messy business. He knew that before he decided to come here, though.
Vincenzo was far from looking to save any underfunded anything knowing they won’t have enough to pay for his fee by far, but he didn’t correct his tasteless joke. So far, the only difficulty he could see in planting a rat is keeping them alive. But he had yet to see that famous temper. Perhaps it was overinflated? Rumors could get dramatic.
“Like I said,” he hummed, leaning back. “I have no interest in crossing paths with you. Far d’una mosca un elefante.” (Don’t make an elephant out of a fly.)
Vincenzo was not so foolhardy that he would ask to leave or leave on his own, but the talk of business was pretty much over. Falcone kept him over for drinks for a few hours, Maroni for dinner, both equally charmed by him. He didn’t bother with any of that ‘charm’ with Roman. It wouldn’t work. Hopefully that meant this was the end of it.