The box is pleasant figured Belizean rosewood, ornately carved by an experts hand. The intricate shapes finely rounded so even to the touch this wooden box was pleasant to behold, etchings and an emboss wrap around the whole underneath of the lid, a portion of it so carefully carved around the twenty-four carat plate that struck out beautifully against the wood, it is complimented by the black-lined in-lay etching that loving said ‘for my new friend Vincenzo’. Upon opening the box a sheet of black-washed leather lays facedown over the contents, the dyed black fur on the outer side facing the opener and when lifted reveals the gifted contents within. Ten long middle fingers, very uncleanly cut or removed from five different former wielders, the blood staining and messily splattered across the suede white interior that had been hidden by the leather covering. Each one is set into slots that appear to have been made for fine cigars.
It was waiting for him in his office set neatly in the middle of his desk. Someone had come in and left with the door locked. It wasent a big enough office to hide in, yet still approached with caution. It was a beautiful box. Gorgeous even. As he rounded the desk, he wondered at what was inside. Who had visited him. Who went through the trouble? It could be a bomb. It wasent unusual among the dark underbelly of the world, but alot of effort for someone like him who'd been here just a little over two months. Hardly long enough to make waves. His clients have been interested in private settlements for the most part, and pressuring these mooks wasent all that hard either. For all their boisterousness, Gothamites weren't all that impressive. At least, compared to true blooded Italians.
So who sent this? And why? And what was inside? He was hesitating. Putting it off. Friend. Surely many thought they were on friendly terms with him but friend? It wasent what it sounded like. This wasent from a friend. This trouble wouldn't have been gone through. What if it's a bomb? Not this again. Well he can't just leave it here. His hands delicately smooth over the box. He presses his ear against it. Smelled it. Shook it even. It gave him absolutely no useful information.
Okay. Fuck it. He flicked it open quickly. And....he was still here. It wasent a bomb. He released a breath he didn't know he had held. Black fur. Beautiful presentation. It was carefully picked up And then imediately thrown back down again. He fell over himself and back into the wall. No way. No fucking way. His stomach was turning. No fucking way. From that single glimpse, he knew what it was and who it was from. He just KNEW.
How? How did he get them all? When the other two didn't suspect a damn thing, here was Roman fucking Sionis with this. This was insane. This was bad. Really bad. He was going to have to hire guards now. Damnit all. His ear into Roman's operations gone. He was made. He should get out of town. Leave. It was only going to get messy from here. Ah....but if he fled now he might as well never come back again.
He shoved his knuckles against his eye. Damn damn damn damn. Americans! Even with how tightly he latched their collars they still found a way to fuck it up. They must have had a very unpleasant death.
Okay. He was hiring his guards from out of town then.
