Open: @mobscene-starters Where: Little Italy
The streets were crowded, bustling with shoppers, diners, and tourists in the chilly evening air. The sidewalk was lit by the lights of each shop along the road, and the jovial atmosphere spilling from each of the open doors was contagious. Smiles abounded on many of the faces, and many different languages of the patrons blended together in a busy, excited buzz. Lorenzo Mastronardi stood just outside the door of one of the restaurants, having just had a delicious, home-style Italian dinner. Throughout his professional life he'd traveled many places, and frequented different establishments, all Italian in nature. Few were decent, and even less were truly enjoyable. It seemed the cooking secrets of the Old Country were fading, mixing with american styles to make bastardized versions of once good food. Tonight's dinner had been one of the best he'd had, that wasn't concocted on actual Italian soil. As he buttoned his overcoat and his breath rose into the air before him, he acknowledged that, while the food had been good, the restaurant was not suitable for his purposes. It was too small, had no tables that offered privacy for important discussions, and while the owner seemed at least part Italian, they did not appear to be raised in the old ways. The Sovrani could not count on their silence if they were to be overheard. Lorenzo lit a cigarette, his eyes traveling to an empty building across the street. It was large, appearing to have once housed a restaurant of its own, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Perfetto," He breathed under his breath, letting a large cloud of smoke stream from his lips.
