It’s not her father’s office (she doesn’t care if this woman was sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. the FBI, the CIA, or Interpol, no one goes in there) but it is her home. It’s sacred. Private. Lingering with the memory of her mother, father, and brother. Since their deaths, she’s only opened the door to her brother’s room a handful of times. Everything inside remains untouched.
Angela’s brought some of her father’s files along with her own documentation into the dining room she’s converted into her own workspace, centered by a long mahogany table, chairs, and a whiteboard. Above them from the high ceiling hangs a brilliant, ornate chandelier, a looming symbol of the wealth that the Acosta family has acquired for themselves. Now, it’s only for her to appreciate.
“I have… economic influence in much of the city.” It’s a kind way of saying ‘mob boss’ but such language still feels irresponsible in the stranger’s presence, no matter if she’s promised legal immunity in exchange for help. Her trust in the woman is absent, but the tentative partnership could be promising in the way of exacting the vengeance she’s craved to the point of obsession. Her striking blue eyes don’t wander from Natasha Romanoff as she pushes a manila folder toward her from across the table. “Those who seek my influence are loyal. They want me to be informed, especially about our rivals. So what’s inside this folder… I don’t doubt its legitimacy.” With a flick of her wrist, she opens it to reveal developed, nighttime photos of men loading a truck by the docks. One photo is zoomed in on an armed figure. What’s most noticeable is the gun he carries. “The weapons are nothing like I’ve ever seen in technology or design. When your employer called me, I wasn’t even surprised that this caught the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. These people… they have a hierarchy, like within the ranks of my own business. But the one who’d be at my level… they’re elusive. Freakishly elusive.” Angela’s gaze drops to the ash tray in the center of the table as she leans back in her chair, distance adding to the fortitude of her carefully built emotional walls. “My family’s murderers belong to these people, agent. I know more about them than anyone outside of their organization, and yet… nothing. I haven’t even been able to get spies to join their ranks. They’re exclusive, overly equipped, and they take orders from an invisible, powerful person. Whatever you and your people can offer, I’m all ears.”
The Acostas had long since been known as one of the most influential crime families on the eastern seaboard –– but they were never SHIELD’s concern. The government organization was focused on bigger, world-ending threats. The dealings of organized crime barely made a blip on their radar. However, all that changed the night that a majority of the household were slain by unknown assailants. SHIELD had reason to believe that those responsible were far more important than mere drug or arms dealers. Evidence suggested that the hit was connected to those with access to super powered weapons that could obliterate entire countries. It was the Black Widow’s job to figure how what that connection was –– and to sever the ties.
Sitting across from the lone survivor, the Avenger noted the suspicion in Macarena’s eyes. It was mutual, and Natasha took comfort in knowing that they were on the same page. Neither one was playing nice or pretending for the sake of civility ; this was a job and nothing more. Jobs were easier accomplished when emotions weren’t a factor. Green eyes turned to the file presented as she leaned forward in her chair, listening to all the information the brunette provided. ❝ There, ❞ the agent spoke up, pointing to one of the photographs. The man carried a weapon case marked with a peculiar logo. ❝ The Tiwaz symbol. It’s the Norse rune for war, but it’s also the logo used by an arms dealer I’ve dealt with before. ❞
Raising her gaze to the woman across the table, a small smirk was carried in the corners of her lips. ❝ He might be able to tell us who he sold that weapon to. It would be a middle man to this phantom organization, but if we find the middle man, he could lead us to a way in. ❞ Natasha tilted her head, the wheels in her head turning over new plans. It wouldn’t be a long plane ride to get the to the dealer who resided in Chicago. ❝ How do you feel about deep dish pizza ? ❞