The night hums with a quiet threat, embodying the spirit of the woman who stands before Damiano. From where he sits before her, Damiano can see the space where a finger ought to fill. In its absence lies the force of Damiano’s power. His underboss is evidence of how effective fear can be; it overpowers even the betrayal of one’s own body. She obeys his command, and Damiano trusts her for it. That trust is precisely what GERTRUDE depends on now, to do for the Montagues what their own boss will not: protect them. She is the mother dragon. She is the Queen who sees past the illusions of power and might. Her gaze is fixed on what must be done to outlast Verona’s tempest.
She lays out the pictures of those who will guide the helm of this new endeavor. Damiano presses a hand to his temple, covers his face with his hands. Initiates come and they go. They are, in a word, dispensable. Verona is littered with the powerless and the downtrodden, who will gladly trade their souls for a weapon and a meal.
Still, Damiano has to admit that GERTRUDE is right: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link — and among the Montagues, weakness will not be tolerated. He will crush it to dust under his own fist, if he must. He gives a single and solemn nod, dismissing his underboss to make the arrangements.
When her back is turned, GERTRUDE smiles with shadowed cunning. She looks up to the moon as she slips into the lightless streets of Verona, and silently thanks L’Inferno who unknowingly moved Damiano to submission.
The Montagues have begun a formal training process for initiates. Upon enlistment, select captains will meet with recruits and teach them the basics: self defense, fundamental knowledge of weapons and disarming opponents. Initiates are required to partake, while all official Montagues have the opportunity to enlist in training at their leisure.
MERCUTIO, MALCOLM, PORTIA, GONERIL and AJAX will oversee the training program.
TRIGGERS: Discussions of past torture/bodily injury, PTSD
SUMMARY: After taking some time to reflect, ROSALINE and ORSINO make a plan to leave Verona. As of MAY 23rd, ROSALINE and ORSINO are permanently in Amsterdam in order to take the city for the Capulets. Rosey will no longer be writing Rafaella in any capacity, but Rogue will continue to write Orion in an extremely limited one (occasional phone calls, emergency visits from characters to Amsterdam should you wish it, etc).
The positions of SPETTRO and ADVISOR are now open. Currently, Cosimo and VOLUMNIA are reviewing candidates for the ADVISOR position. If your character is interested in the SPETTRO position, you are welcome to think about their development, and also to send those thoughts to the main so we can discuss them! Thank you for bearing with us as we figured this out!
The sounds of the city below are a low hum he’s learned to tune out. It’s calm tonight, very few sirens, no drunken raucous to be found as he listens to Rafaella’s quiet breaths, feeling them as her chest rises and falls beneath his head.
He used to hold her like this often. Orion has no issue in the switching of position; it’s the why that trips him up, stealing one of the rare nights of peace until the quiet buzzes like a wasp’s nest in his mind.
She runs her hands through his hair and it feels different. The long nails she used to wear haven’t yet grown back, the foundation slow if they want her hands to eventually be strong and healthy again. She won’t ask, but she feels more than hears her hum as she presses her lips to his temple a moment. He sighs.
“Today was bad.” That’s putting it delicately, but it’s not untrue. Rafaella makes that tiny hum again, but her focus has shifted entirely from her book. It’s set aside on the end-table now, her formerly preoccupied hand finding his so she can link their fingers together. They’re very unlike each other in this one specific way, for all the things they share. When Rafaella tries to hide her hurts from him at first, trying to protect herself or him in some immeasurable way, Orion has no issue sharing his.
He outlines it clearly: there will be no intensive movement of his shoulder for the next twelve months. Were he to do so, he would certainly lose any range of motion, and may end up paralyzed. There are other, more minor hurts that will still take an awful lot of time to heal, but this is the most egregious. This is the injury that debilitates him in the eyes of her Uncle, and Orion has an awful sinking feeling in his chest that he tries to ignore.
(Will it debilitate him in the eyes of Rafaella, too? He’s never worried about this before. He’s never been weak.)
Orion laughs with no bitterness, genuinely amused by how thoroughly Marcelo has decimated him. “They’re really good at their job, hm?” He blinks up at Rafaella, almost coquettish. “I have a type. Competent with a shitty home life.”
Rafaella lets go of his hand and runs a finger down the bridge of his nose before tapping once, lightly. “Don’t forget beautiful.”
“Yes, and works of art. The triad.”
Her mouth twitches at the corners, soft and fond but still reserved compared to several months previous. His Rafaella is quieter, now. He finds he doesn’t mind.
“How long,” he asks calmly, “until Capulet disposes of me?”
The hand in his hair freezes.
“He’s not a man to take kindly to wasted resources,” Orion continues, blithe, even as he reaches for her hand again. He squeezes until Rafaella squeezes back, until he has awareness that she’s listening again. “I’ll certainly be demoted, but I could handle that. It’s the rest that has me on edge.”
Rafaella shifts him off of her so she can look him in the eye. She doesn’t let go of his hand, warm and solid in his. “You are not disposable.” Her eyes are red. He wants to kiss them at the corners.
“Not to you,” he reminds her. “Not to some.” It’s not good enough, not if Capulet is truly headed for war. “I know too much, and there’s no way to ensure my compliance if I’m not being paid for anything. There’s no reason to pay me if I’m not doing anything, and I’m not the right person to be an emissary, even if they weren’t leaning more into fights lately. Two plus two equalling four, the easiest solution would be — “
“No.” This is practically a snarl. Rafaella’s gaze is biting, some of her former venom appearing in the way she bares her teeth with the sound.
He waits. Her mind is so sharp, twisting and unfurling until it blooms with new ideas, potent strategy, or something witty and bold. He wishes he could listen to her think, sometimes. He wants to be in that maze, curve around the edges, hug the walls until he finds her waiting for him at the center.
If he’s realized something, it cannot be long until she realizes it too.
There. He finds it in her eyes, when anger becomes defeat and quickly rallies into determination. “That’s not happening.”
“Of course not.” Orion smiles.
It must be contagious, because her lips curve too, shaking her head. She has far less faith in her ability than he does, but that’s fine. Orion has never been over-burdened with insecurity, but some have said he may be overwhelmed by overconfidence.
If he splits some with Rafaella, it will balance.
“Since it’s not, though,” he points out, “we’re going to have to do something about it, and I don’t have anything in mind.” His head is still fuzzy, sometimes. Things don’t come with perfect clarity. He has been assured that they will, after extensive scans of his brain, but that will come slowly, too. His treasured independence has been cast aside in favor of being coddled and taken care of, and he doesn’t mind half as much as he should, so long as it’s Maeve or Rafaella doing the caring.
She brings their hands up to kiss his knuckles, her gaze very far away.
“I might,” Rafaella admits. Orion never doubted it. “Give me some time.”
When Rafaella Capulet tenders her resignation as Cosimo’s advisor, it does not go the way anyone thinks it will.
That it happens at all is a shock to the bloodstream for almost everyone.
She attends three meetings in the span of a day, one public, one revealed but under the guise of being secretive, and one that is truly kept from the world at large. There are other goodbyes, of course. Other meetings to be had for herself and Orion both, other tender words to share with those who love them and are loved in return, other stolen moments where the pair can be themselves and acknowledge what they’re giving up.
But first, it goes like this:
Near dawn, Rafaella and Juliana Capulet share espresso in Orion’s kitchen. He would call it their kitchen, but she still can’t believe that, can’t hold onto it without fearing she’ll break it. Orion’s house, Orion’s kitchen. She’s an invader he refuses to get rid of.
They talk at length, until the sun is high in the sky and Orion has left for physical therapy. What they speak of, it’s too soon to tell. What they plan for, only the two of them know. In the end, they simply hold each other, holding tight for a very long time, all the while knowing that even when separated, family doesn’t truly end.
Hugs do, though, and finding solace in one another will never quite be the same.
Next, Orion and Rafaella go together to meet two non-descript men in a simple cafe. Nothing is ostentatious, everything quiet, their heads bent low. The Montagues and Capulets alike who pass them by hear Orion and this man conversing in stilted, passable Dutch. When the two men depart, the couple seem extremely satisfied, Rafaella curling around Orion like a cat stretching toward the sun.
The third, of course, is the hardest. Meeting with Cosimo Capulet is never easy. Telling your Uncle you’re leaving him behind is infinitely worse.
Somehow, though, she manages it. She stands strong as she calmly explains their reasoning. Both Orion and Rafaella have been torn apart by this war, bloody and raw, but she doesn’t point that out. They have been nearly broken, slashed into so many times they’re shells of their former selves in so many ways, but these are not reasons that will impress Capulet. And so, with Orion’s hand tight in hers, she lies.
She lies about the up and coming organized crime groups in Amsterdam. She explains the disorganized and chaotic nature of the warring gangs, of how many have fallen victim to hubris and the law. She opens his eyes to a world of her own creation, where Amsterdam has a power vacuum in dire need of filling, and the Capulets desperately need allies if they’re going to win this war without dying out in the process. She spins and spins her web around him with enough half-truths and persuasive words to bring glory to his thoughts, and all the while, Orion’s hand stays in hers.
A role better suited to our current position, she admits, letting the hint of vulnerability in her show for just a moment. Or should I say our current predicament?
It’s easier than she wants it to be. Selfishly, desperately, she wants him to fight for her to stay. Rafaella has been accepted as his family; should he not fight to keep his family together? Yet he considers it with almost cerebral calm, like he’s watching a chess game rather than thinking of the future of his family, and Rafaella’s heart hardens.
When Verona implodes around him, when his throne is viciously stolen, when everything he’s built flourishes while he crumbles himself, Rafaella tells herself she will not be sorry.
The selection of movies offered at the Multisala Rivoli was a tragedy; a city as glittering and growing as theirs deserved a more renowned theatre.
In an effort to relieve her boredom and the deep feelings of uselessness after the Capulet Anniversary and her subsequent injuries, LADY MACBETH set her sights on a new acquisition. The theater could also provide much needed income and a chance to pull the focus away from the smoldering ruins of the Cathedral. There were other rumors and whispers of what was left over from the time of the Witches that speak of what the theater was used for - and the treasure trove hidden within. A takeover was the only way to confirm this, and even if the rumors proved false, under the right management, the Multisala Rivoli could become quite lucrative for the Capulets.
MAY 1, 2019
LADY MACBETH approached VOLUMNIA with her idea, and together, they formed a plan of attack. LADY MACBETH with her honey sweet poisoned words, TYBALT possessing the Capulet name, connections, and that menacing presence proved to be quite a team. They met with the current owners; forgetful Romans who once thought it prudent to have ties to Verona. They eventually proved more than happy to part with the money pit — given the right amount of coaxing and more money than they thought the theater was worth. TYBALT and LADY MACBETH ensured that the owners would turn a blind eye to the manner with which the theater was taken, lest they wish for their next dealing with the Capulets to be far less generous.
MAY 10, 2019
DIANA and KATHERINE purchased two tickets to the 9 pm showing of Roman Holiday, the last screening of the evening. It was much more crowded than they anticipated , and LADY MACBETH feared word of their operation had reached the other side.
At 10:30pm, 30 minutes until the film’s end, KATHERINE excused herself silently and broke into the now empty box office. Here, KATHERINE was joined by a Capulet soldier who specializes in security and the two of them hacked into and took control of the security system.
At 11:10 pm, just as the credits began to roll, a Capulet soldier from CORDELIA’s borgata dressed as an usher announced a potential gas leak and the need to evacuate. Using her well-known social status, DIANA encouraged the civilians to follow, making sure to evacuate everyone. DIANA remained outside, securing the front entrance under the guise of dealing with any curious civilians and maintaining the story while phase two began.
Phase Two consisted of two teams, one led by HIPPOLYTA and her soldiers, tasked with confirming that the theater itself was clear. The second team was led by CORDELIA with several of her borgata members. As the newest Captain, CORDELIA was encouraged to show her willingness to use force, if necessary. LADY MACBETH would be sure to report any hesitation to VOLUMNIA.
What the Capulet teams did not know, however, was that a number of Montague loyalists that managed to stay behind. Perhaps they actually had caught wind of the plan, or maybe they were just weary of DIANA playing the part of a hero and the disappearance of her friend, KATHERINE. They may have simply been movie-lovers determined to see the very end-credits… But the average patron was not armed. DIANA noticed the burning gaze of Montague soldiers and recognised some of them. She sent a quick text to LADY MACBETH, giving her a heads-up for a potential altercation.
The gunfire came first from the balcony, with HIPPOLYTA and her team narrowly avoiding being hit by diving behind the heavy velvet seats, though the assailants continued to draw fire. LADY MACBETH entered last and at the sound of gunfire, radioed KATHERINE to cut the lights and trigger the sprinkler system. With enough chaos to disguise them, CORDELIA and her team, equipped with intimate knowledge of the theater’s layout, accessed the balcony to meet the attackers head-on. In the dim lighting, CORDELIA was grazed by a stray bullet to the thigh, but her team managed to quell the force of the attackers.
Upon the successful clearing of all hostiles from the theater, LADY MACBETH secured the main office and began the tedious work of digging through the records to see what the Witches had left behind. Everyone else was instructed to continue searching the building. It was KATHERINE, ultimately, who found it: an easily overlooked supply closet holding more than just brooms and broken projectors. In it, the treasure found beyond the secret door and dark staircase was grander than even the rumors made it seem.
The next morning a sign appeared on the front door of the Multisala RIvoli that said “CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS, UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT”.
SUMMARY: A Montague drug house, specializing in the synthesization of ambrosia and under the command of MERCUTIO, is burnt to the ground by TYBALT and his team. The Capulets emerge with little useful information, save for the name of the new drug: bacio del mietitore.
MAY 16.
He, alone, is the face of Capulet cruelty. With dark ambition and deep-rooted resentment as the bit and bridle in his mouth to lead him, TYBALT sits in his office. He muses on the family’s losses. He wonders at the whispers he collects from lost souls and hungry mouths in Verona.
Together, it all paints a portrait of blood and flames. It shrieks battle cry upon battle cry until it becomes a song to soothe his — and by extension, the Capulets’ — wounded pride. La Tigre, they call him. La Tigre is finished with lying in wait for the opportune moment to pounce. He will strike, and he will strike now.
In his hands, a mere collection of papers stacked neatly in one file (MIRANDA used a heart paper clip to fasten it together, he notes with a roll of his eyes) becomes a loaded cannon. When pieced together, innocuous intel and harried rumors create an opportunity. TYBALT runs through the file in his hands once more.
Yes, a plan is beginning to take shape. The aftermath of his hand-delivered retribution will cling to the air like smoke, the scent of it imprecating every Montague.
MAY 17
A woman who has learned intimately the price of war, KATHERINE stalks the streets of Verona not like hunter but like prey. She has already lost enough; she cannot stomach another battle of wills and a fight for survival. It is all she can do, after all, to keep trudging forward and hold her head high with her trademark pride.
From roof to roof, she travels across Verona to scope out different areas of MERCUTIO’s territory until she spots it at last: a drug house specializing in synthesizing ambrosia. She sets up camp for the night, and begins taking notes: shift changes, movement of the guards, relationships…
When MERCUTIO shows, she raises an eyebrow and writes in her notepad: Captain visit, 23h. As the list of times grows longer, KATHERINE scratches out the record and scribbles: Captain visits frequently. No pattern.
She narrows her eyes in concentration, heart pounding as she considers its implications. This won’t be as easy as they hoped.
MAY 19, NOON
“It’s simple.” HIPPOLYTA speaks patiently, poised as ever despite the rising flood of irritation at the initiate’s unmasked fear. “Keep MERCUTIO busy tonight. You have all day to find them, and you have all day to form a plan. It doesn’t matter how you do it, so long as they do not leave your sight or communicate with their team.”
Again and again, she repeats her instructions as if she is preaching on a podium before a single lost sheep, a lamb waiting for her deliverance. When at last they hurry away, HIPPOLYTA wonders if she made the correct decision. MERCUTIO is no ordinary captain; they are L’inferno, Verona’s terror in one being. But there is little choice left; each soldier is busy, and her preferred list of initiates are out of pocket.
She heaves a sigh and heads to TYBALT’s office to report progress. The ground they stand on trembles, but they keep moving forward. It is all any of them can do.
MAY 19, 10 PM
A plan set in motion cannot be taken back. The wheel turns, the tides change; and all TYBALT can do is push forward and trust that the team he’s built can rise to his expectations. He will be unrelenting. He will be ferocious. He will be as brilliant and clever and brutal as he was bred to be. It is his talent and his divine, bloodied birthright.
He stands before a house that appears, at first glance, plain and unsuspecting. Modest and in desperate need of exterior renovations, anyone in Verona would walk past it without a second glance. Littered at his feet are the unconscious bodies of the Montague guards. With a cruel snarl turning the corners of his lips, TYBALT makes a motion to KATHERINE. “Get them out of the way. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”
As KATHERINE methodically executes each Montague and drags them to a discrete location, TYBALT and HIPPOLYTA enter the house side-by-side. Together, they meander through its halls with confident strides; but it is TYBALT alone who makes the final decision, with HIPPOLYTA’s serious gaze offering neither approval nor disagreement as he announces it to the team.
“KATHERINE and HIPPOLYTA will gather all the intel they find inside the house. Document everything. It is not your call to decide what’s important and what’s not.” Only after the two seasoned Capulets nod does TYBALT turn to the soldier under his command: MIRANDA. A disappointment in nearly every regard, she is shackled to the lowest standing among them. If she survives — for even this, TYBALT doubts — she will never be more useful than she is now.
“You’ll start the fire when I say so. We don’t know if MERCUTIO or another guard will show up, so be on alert for my command.” He doesn’t need to elaborate further. A heavy cloud of trepidation lingers over them; for what is worse, to fail La Tigre or to battle L’Inferno? To incur the wrath of either is to welcome Death with a kiss on the mouth and open desire for calamity.
“Understood?”
HIPPOLYTA, KATHERINE and MIRANDA nod their heads, mirroring his severity — and then they get to work.
MAY 19, 10:40 PM
“How cute of you to pay me a visit, stronzo.”
From behind the house, MERCUTIO appears. As if a phantom summoned by TYBALT’s voracious appetite, or the Grim Reaper enthralled by the scent of more Capulet souls to collect, they approach with the gait of a predator that thrives best in the dark. When their lips curl with anticipation, a shiver runs down MIRANDA’s spine. A few feet away from her, TYBALT stands unfazed and unmoved; as if he knew how the story would unfold.
They have always called one another like this. Hunter and hunter, prey and prey. In horrible harmony, they move in unison in a dance of death and decay, fury and fear.
“Go find the others,” TYBALT orders MIRANDA.
Her eyes dart towards MERCUTIO, who is standing perfectly still in wait of the opportune time to slice TYBALT’s head off his neck. “Are you sure?”
“I’m always sure,” he hisses, to which MIRANDA darts to the front door as nimble and quick as a mouse. MERCUTIO lets her run past them. She is not their mark. The Capulet name makes her an enemy, but she is not theirs to ruin.
Tonight, they are more than a Montague. They are an abandoned boy blossomed into a vile and vengeful man, the sole survivor of another burning. TYBALT’s life is their burden, and his death is their sole demand from the world. In death and in life, TYBALT is theirs; it would be utterly romantic, if not for the river of spilled blood between them.
MERCUTIO cracks the knuckles of their fist as they walk towards him. “I think I’ll take home your head on a platter, coglione. Or maybe pull each of your fingers from its sockets and feed them to stray dogs.”
TYBALT spits out a curse. Of all nights, tonight is the one time he must hold himself back from wrenching open MERCUTIO’s skull and letting their blood stain the pavement. The mission must go smoothly and well, for the Montagues will not miss the death of their most lethal weapon.
Still, he does not let it show as he welcomes his enemy, his rival, his mirror. “You’re dumber than you look if you think you can touch me.”
Inside, MIRANDA sprints through the house in search of HIPPOLYTA and KATHERINE. When at last she finds them, she reports in between pants, “They’re here. MERCUTIO… They’re fighting TYBALT. Back-up might be coming. Watch out.”
Immediately, HIPPOLYTA takes the reins. Smoothly and efficiently, with the grace of a goddess and the authority of a queen, she looks to KATHERINE and MIRANDA with steels in her eyes. “If MERCUTIO is here, then there are others close behind. The two of you keep searching. As soon as you’re finished, start the fire.”
She marches to the entrance, and does not look back.
MAY 19, 10:50 PM
“We’re ready.” KATHERINE speaks quietly, and it seems to amplify the sternness in her voice. Scurrying through the halls of a drug house and rifling through papers for intel, after all, is not where she thrives. Clipped and curt, she is restless to return to the front lines and fight. It is what she does best; it is what she was born for, the conquest of battle and a weapon sitting pretty in her hands.
“You go first.” MIRANDA uncaps the fuel container in her hands and, once KATHERINE is a safe distance away, begins to pour it along the floor, the furniture, the walls... Little by little, she leaves traces of it behind until the fuel container is empty and the two are safe outside the back door. In the distance, they can hear MERCUTIO and TYBALT taunting and cursing at each other, and HIPPOLYTA grunting as she fights the Montagues who’ve come to join them.
MIRANDA pulls a matchbox from her pocket and lights it. “Here goes nothing,” she says to herself before she tosses it into the house and shuts the back door.
The house erupts into flames. MIRANDA and KATHERINE take a moment to watch the fire flicker up against the windows, as the world grows muted and still. On the other side of the house, HIPPOLYTA does not stop fighting as the fire rages on. MERCUTIO strikes TYBALT across the jaw and steps on his chest to quiet the Capulet, giving themself a second to watch the house burn. Their eyes flicker with uncharacteristic grief, a strange sorrow that does not seem to fit their features. It reminds them of a home burned to the ground, long ago. With TYBALT beneath them and the smell of smoke flooding their nostrils, MERCUTIO swears they can hear the sound of children screaming, fathers shouting and a lone wolf of a child crying.
TYBALT watches MERCUTIO all the while, gaze as sharp as ever and hands gripping their ankle tightly. This is almost better than cracking their bones by hand. He feasts on a different breed of pain, basking in it even with his back to the ground.
It is a brief second of silence, but sacred things have a way of making hours out of mere moments. This pause stretches on and on and on. A house burns in the background. Montagues and Capulets alike behold the ways a single match can spark a wildfire that devours without mercy, without regard for loyalties and vengeance at all.
It burns and burns and burns. Everything in its path shudders and falls.
For a momentary lapse of time, they all forget what they have come here to do. Until a piercing shriek shatters the peace of utter chaos and destruction: “KATHERINE!”
In the next split second, MERCUTIO falls to the ground with HIPPOLYTA’s arms around them in a chokehold. The Montague soldiers scatter without their leader’s might to hide behind. TYBALT does not waste the opportunity, running to MIRANDA, whose hands are pressed to her lips with horror. “What happened?” he demands, grabbing her wrist and yanking it away from her mouth.
“She went in. She said she dropped something in the house.”
TYBALT looks to the open door, searching for KATHERINE’s silhouette. When he does not see any sign of her, the tension in his shoulders loosen. “Leave her be.” Releasing his hold on her wrist abruptly, TYBALT begins to walk away. “She’ll survive if she knows how to.”
For a moment, he is satisfied. He will take MERCUTIO as prisoner to the Capulets. He will take what intel they have and understand the new drug the Montagues are rumored to have planned. He will hand Cosimo a pile of gold and treasure, and reap the weight of the crown as his prize.
For a moment.
“I’m going in.” Before TYBALT can turn to order her to stay put, MIRANDA has already run into the burning house. He runs to where she was just a moment ago and searches, again, for a sign of a soldier under his command. Teeth gritted, fists balled up tightly at his sides, TYBALT lets out a low and feral guttural sound.
If he loses two soldiers, then he’s fucked.
It doesn’t help that HIPPOLYTA comes to his side and reports that MERCUTIO has escaped her hold.
The muscles in TYBALT’s jaw flexes. If KATHERINE and MIRANDA make it out alive, he’s going to burn them up himself.
When the two of them emerge from the smoke and the flames, MIRANDA’s arm holding KATHERINE up, TYBALT heaves a sigh of relief despite his temper.
“Don’t think I’m going to let this slide,” he barks at MIRANDA.
She offers him a tired smile, eyes shining bright despite the ashen smudges on her cheeks. “Can’t wait, capitano.”
GERTRUDE HAS BEEN TASKED BY DAMIANO TO DEPOSE OF THE TWO CAPULETS, AS PUNISHMENT FOR THE MURDER OF HER HUSBAND. / WRITTEN BY EMMA K
A MESSAGE FROM VOLUMNIA: Amici, alleati, soci (friends, allies, associates),
It is with great sadness that we announce the deaths of Cassian Bhatt and Lillian Wen. Cassius and Lavinia, as many of you knew them, were killed in cold blood yesterday evening. They died at the hands of a coward, who executed them before they could fight back. The assailant has yet to be found, though investigations are underway. Both Cassian and Lillian were beloved by their colleagues, and their families have expressed that neither had any enemies who might wish them harm.
At this point, we must remind you all of the Montague threat that continues to build in both number and audacity. These, are enemies to us all. In unity, we can defeat them. In unity, we can avenge the deaths of a capable soldier and a gifted emissary.
Let us show Verona that we are strong not only in our successes, but in our losses too.
Argento in pace, acciaio in Guerra (silver in peace, steel in war).
A MESSAGE FROM GERTRUDE: The loss of Valentina Gallo has been one that has shaken those of us who knew, and worked with, her, a devastating blow that will be difficult to recover from and, certainly, one that could not go unpunished. Cassian Bhatt and Lillian Wen have been disposed of in retribution for the terrible crime enacted against our own valued soldier.
Our Capulet adversaries now know that any action against our own will not go unpunished. We are united, in our losses and our victories, and from that bond we can draw strength. Above all, the Montagues are resilient, and will emerge from the turbulence that shakes Verona stronger than the Capulet opposition who have tried to tear us down.
Usque Ad Finem (until the end).
* At this time, no one outside of DAMIANO and GERTRUDE know who killed CASSIUS and LAVINIA.
APRIL 30, 2019
The metronome of her heels, as they echoed against the wooden flooring, was a death knell, too overdue to mark the death of her late husband, it sounded like her own. Time had counted down tutting a cruel reminder of how the situation was unavoidable, that the secret kept close to her chest would be revealed eventually. Genevieve didn’t think it would be like this, but still determined to do it on her own terms, here she was.
Knuckles wrap against the door before it opens, still polite, in spite of circumstances, watching as Damiano glanced upward toward her. Her realisation that her facade slipped is slow, understanding her expression betrayed her after the Don leans back in his chair to reassess her. There is a question written in his gaze, one that hangs, heavy, in the silence between them, suddenly unsure she wants to answer it.
Henry. The Zhang woman reminds herself of her son, of her reason for doing this, as his face swims in her vision. It is a memory where he is whole and unburdened by the weight of the mafia, now as fragmented as the man that Vivianne Sloane had left on her doorstep; the man that murdered her friend. Henry had always been her priority, though the confession felt like lacerations on her heart, that remained unchanged.
“I killed Howard.” Teeth clench together, resisting the urge to try take back the confession, glancing down toward the white knuckles that held onto the arm of her chair. Inhale, relax her grip, exhale, the mantra repeated in her mind until her body begins to listen, finding the strength to look her boss in the eye again. “I did not put the knife in his back but I might as well have, I wanted you to hear it from me.” Genevieve ducks her head again ignoring the mangled voice in the recesses of her mind that called out the half-truth.
An albatross had settled around her neck following her husband’s murder, a pressing weight against her chest that constricted her, now shook itself back to life as it flew away. Relief manifesting in fleeting tears that dotted themselves along her waterline before she can blink them away, masquerading as sorrow. Falsified sorrow then transitions to sick, twisted, satisfaction as she catches the look that flashes across his features. She has surprised him. Good.
Damiano extends a hand, Genevieve is wary as she takes it, warier still of the assurances that her position is secure - for now, he says - the doubts remain. He pins her hand to the table, she feels it then, RETRIBUTION, a searing hot pain emanating from the juncture between her ring finger and palm. No sound escapes her, no sound can escape her, teeth plunging deep into her lower lip, deep enough to draw blood.
When he permits her her hand retracted, cradled by the other, blood dripping on the floor while the edges of the new wound sting with betrayal, the fingers wrapped around her mutilated appendage blanched white. Leave, the thought a light amid the dulling edges of her vision, leave NOW, but he stops her. “GERTRUDE,” a muscle in her jaw twitched, expression wiped plain in response to the address, she knew the implication behind using her given name; this was not friendship.
“ONE MORE THING…”
MAY 1, 2019
“I want them dead.”
“Of course, I can ask -,” the Don is swift to pull the breaks on her train of thought.
“No, Gertrude, you will do it.”
Her anger was like magma beneath the surface of her skin, climbing the length of her spine until it had taken over her nervous system, feeling the heat of rage spread throughout her body until it was all she felt. This was not her job, the belief that she had surpassed the need to prove herself many years prior thrown back in her face, reluctant to acknowledge she had slipped several rungs down the ladder she worked so hard to climb.
Of course, it was her own fault. Genevieve did not need to tell him about Howard but she did, the Zhang woman had watched the albatross take flight from its perch around her neck and had no urge to beg it to return. Her reasons had been her own, each a stone on the path that lead back to Henry, to protect her son, putting herself on the firing line in his place seemed like the most logical solution.
Night had fallen several hours ago, dark clouds colluded overhead as though the God’s themselves were in compliance with the Montague Don. Verona had seemed uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps the sound of her heart beating in her ears drowned out the other noise, however she wouldn’t complain. Fewer witnesses, fewer people to concern herself with. Resignation apparent in her exhalation, understanding there was no avoiding the task she had been burdened with.
Not particularly enthused, she had still taken the necessary precautions that had been instilled in her, scouting the building days before now making her way to the rear of the house. Gloved hand tests the door - locked - bending down, adjusting the hood on her head, deft hands manually unlock it, sliding it open then closed behind her. Genevieve claimed a nook as her own, pushing against the wall, breath held to ensure that she hadn’t been caught. For now.
The first target enters her periphery.
Genevieve pulls a rope from her inside pocket as she strides forward, steps certain yet dulled against the soft flooring. One swift movement has it sinking into the pliant flesh of her mark’s neck, aggravation huffed through her nostrils as a strangled name emerges from them. Hands scratched at leather gloves, trying not to think of it as the coward’s kill it was, eventually going limp and she lowered the body to the ground. Friend. No, enemy.
The rasped name had summoned her second quarry, retreating back into the wall as it hugged her back, watching them approach and reach for their gun once their gaze settles on the lifeless form of the other. Her movement is noticed before Genevieve can raise her own weapon, the target fast but she strategic, their bullet ripping through her shoulder causing her to cry out. Her own ammunition, however, sunk into the space between their eyes.
Teeth clenched, breathing coming shallow, her hand grasps tight to her shoulder attempting not to spill blood on the floor. The gun is pressed into the hand of the woman lying dead on the floor, in her arsenal since January but not bearing her name, retracing her own steps when that was complete. The signal to summon her team is simple, yet distinct, consisting of no more than the getaway driver and the medic.
The Zhang woman barely makes the few steps to the van, her feet felt heavy and her vision blurred, keeping herself upright exerted far more energy when rapidly losing blood, the medic almost pulling her into the van. Pain medication was ingested soon after it was put in her hand, gritting her teeth against the pain caused by the excavation of the bullet lodged in her shoulder. The hand that had covered the wound now wiped blood across the leather interior as she searched for her phone, pressing the call button as Damiano’s name illuminated the screen.
“I did as you asked Cassian Bhatt and Lillian Wen are dead.”
No time to reflect on what she had done, to be swallowed by regret or to stare down at the chasm where it should have been. The darkness took her first.
BANCA NAZIONALE DEL LAVORO HQ HAS BEEN ROBBED -- WRITTEN BY ALEXEI
In January of 2019, BENEDICK approaches GERTRUDE with a grim look and a solid proposal. With her approval, plans are made, details are hammered out. ANTONY is put in charge of resource management, scrounging the cash for upfront costs as well as gathering blueprints, street plans, and background research on their targets. BENEDICK approaches fellow captains, and then soldiers, swears them to secrecy on pain of death and then spends hours a day for months drilling them for their roles.
13 March, 2019. BNL Banca Nazionale Del Lavoro S.P.A.; Verona, Italy
HAMLET and PERDITA are chosen for security reconnaissance on the bank. HAMLET, with holdings already in the bank, uses the opportunity presented by training his new secretary, PERDITA, in his banking protocols to allow them to assess the security– locations of cameras, the name and protocols of the alarm company, the brand of safe and the type of electronic lock.
BENEDICK uses this information to further streamline the plan made with information acquired by ANTONY earlier on.
28 March, 2019. Banca Nazionale del Lavoro HQ; Roma, Italy.
Early in the day, a security guard’s access card goes missing, nicked by sticky fingers so sly he just assumes he lost it on the train. With the assistance of an American hacker codenamed Seattle, an asset acquired by BENEDICK, RICHARD III is guided into the building and straight to a computer, and walked through the steps necessary to grant Seattle access to the network.
As Seattle is working his magic, RICHARD III is accosted by a curious intern, and after a few minutes of hair-raising conversation, sends her on her way, satisfied with the information he had provided, likely to forget him soon enough. Once they have a sizable portion of information from the banking core, RICHARD III exits the building and tosses the keycard down a storm drain nearby, lest it be found later.
The information gained from this hack is promptly sorted: account information to be sold, and accounts that are to be drained, where the funds eventually end up in Montague coffers– actions to be taken the night of the robbery itself.
6 April, 2019.
Earlier in the week a fake Facebook account was created to advertise a protest taking place across town from the bank. Nearly 500 people were signed up to go, and nearly a thousand showed, seeded with Montague actors. The protest begins around 1500/3:00 in the afternoon, justice seekers and the like chanting their slogans loudly.
Police show up. Police in riot gear show up. The crowd turns angry. Minor verbal altercations occur, both the protesters and police accusing the other side of getting nasty. And then, at 2000/8:00 in the evening, a Montague is tasked with torching a police car, beginning a riot that earnestly burns all night long. Nearly the entirety of the police force is called in to handle it.
BEATRICE and BENEDICK take this opportunity to steal a white van out of the parking lot of the local power company, to be used for camouflage and transportation.
BNL Banca Nazionale Del Lavoro S.P.A. Verona, Italy. 6 April 2019, 2125-2145 h (9:25-9:45pm)
As darkness falls on the city and the police force is adequately distracted, the team makes their way to the bank, all of them masked and clad head to toe in black.
BENEDICK and OPHELIA exit the van first, making their way to the roof, where OPHELIA takes her place as lookout. BENEDICK makes his way into the building from the roof access door, avoiding security cameras and motion detectors alike until he makes it to the security control room, where he proceeds to knock out and tie up the guard. He disables the security measures and makes his way to the rear door, holding it open as the rest of the heist team files in, laden with duffle bags.
MERCUTIO, CELIA, VIOLA, PORTIA, ROSALIND, and one other all trail inside, leaving BEATRICE to watch the streets from the vehicle, still running. MERCUTIO kneels and rewires the electronic lock as the others wait with bated breath. It pops open and the seven of them file inside. Four bags a piece, 22kg each, two trips out to the van. They are all in and out in under ten minutes, 38 million euros richer. VIOLA torches the remaining cash, and the vault is sealed shut once more.
After everyone else exits the building, BENEDICK locks the door behind them and re-enables all security measures, making his exit through the roof access door. OPHELIA follows him back down from the roof to the alley. BEATRICE drives the van full of cash and the team out of the city to an empty lot, where they are awaited by a change of clothes and a variety of vehicles.
The cash is split amongst the new drivers, the van is wiped down for prints and ditched, and the team drives back into the city, back to the library, where the spoils are sorted and counted. A total of over 50 million euros, taken in just one night.
He could do nothing but move forward. For as long as he could remember, that conviction was the guiding hand which had tugged him past every obstacle and toppled him over every hurdle that threw itself in his path. And not once had he ever refrained from following its lead. Not once had he ever questioned it. He simply hung his head, huddled into its shadow, and dragged his empire along as he climbed and climbed and climbed. Even now, he was still moving forward. However, he couldn’t help but look back every now and then and linger on all that he was leaving behind.
Each glance only heightened his awareness of the gaping void that lingered at his back; the crooked hollow that had marred his ranks from the moment his valued sentinel was ripped away from her rightful place at his side. Yet he continued to march them to the rigid, unrelenting beat of progress -- perhaps with more vigor than ever before. Losing Rafaella was a scathing blow; one that not only he was reeling from, but la famiglia as a mournful, enraged whole. However, if they were to simply cower away and lick their wounds, then they would be no better than the hounds on the other side of the ruins. And if there was anything he could do for Rafaella while they bid their time and orchestrated her retrieval, it was keeping their stride as steady as it had ever been. It was leaving the Montagues to choke on the dust that bellowed at their heels until they could no longer see their victories from their losses -- until they ceased to be anything more than just another stepping stone to be trampled over and left behind as the Capulets continued on.
And so, with the vow on his mind and the aspiration in his heart, he studied the files Rafaella had had the forethought to compile for him, and then he made his decisions.
ORSINO is now a SPETTRO (hitman) who reports to VOLUMNIA.
CORDELIA is now a CAPTAIN. Her soldiers are now HELENUS and DESDEMONA.
THE ROMAN ARENA, NIGHTFALL -- WRITTEN BY HAYLEY (DADLEY)
The night has been planned down to each and every moment. GERTRUDE had entrusted that to ANTONY and MALCOLM, with approval from both herself and ROMEO. The prince sits in an undisclosed location nearby, awaiting the outcome they’d planned for, and hoping to avoid the one they’d prepared for.
The formations are set as the quiet footsteps of HAMLET, SEBASTIAN, CELIA, and PORTIA sneak through the still cobblestone streets of this sleepy side of Verona. They separate into pairs, they lead teams of soldiers behind them, prepared for anything, praying for the simplest thing. MALCOLM knows better than to isolate the pieces on the board, having experienced firsthand the consequences of such. ANTONY does not argue, having dealt with him after such consequences befell him.
The acquisition of a former Witches property was not something worth risking everything over, not with the Hotel under their belts and the festival rapidly approaching. But the more ground they held over the Capulets, the easier they could rebuild all which had been brutally ripped from them. ROMEO especially, following the loss of To Tame A Soup months prior, could use a space to sow the seeds of his kingdom come.
Just because it was not something worth risking everything over, with all they prioritized, did not mean there was not risk in approaching this place, softly humming with the energy of the three powerful beings that once ruled it.
The light of street lamps and windows of still-awake denizens do not touch this place, for it is too far outside the city center, and thus the place one is not likely to expect a group of Montagues descending upon. HAMLET and SEBASTIAN are tasked with securing the perimeter and lead some soldiers north. CELIA and PORTIA are assigned to infiltrate and eliminate any threats or traps and lead more soldiers south. ANTONY and MALCOLM, not in any condition to be on the front lines, round out the soldiers in the back, guns drawn and ready to fire at anything that might oppose their determined goal to rule.
It should be quiet. Earlier surveys of the area hadn’t shown threats, but as they approached, they learned they were not the only ones with interest in this building. Dark figures with glinting blades and shanks, shining guns that were too easily handled to have no been used before. They showed no affiliation to Capulet or Montague, making them all the more dangerous – with nothing to fight for, they also had nothing to lose.
SEBASTIAN is the unfortunate one to discover their presence, first. Gunfire forces him to seek refuge behind one of the extravagant cars left behind, where a shootout ensues. One bullet whizzes by his hear -- it is a cacophony of chaos and a hail of lead. He is able to take control of the situation when HAMLET fires from the west, determined to save the pinned soldier from the encroaching wolves and ANTONY clears the threat from a distance. The pair charge on about the perimeter.
PORTIA successfully infiltrated the arena with CELIA and others, despite the commotion heard outside. It is not long before they find themselves facing off against those taking refuge inside the arena, determined to keep it out of partisan hands. PORTIA is an easy focus for them, with the symbol and status her face carries, and she soon found herself cornered by three of them, outnumbered in this fight. CELIA steps in boldly, and together, they fight off those who wish to stop them. Tired and bruised, the arena is finally quiet.
They slowly make their way out to join HAMLET and SEBASTIAN, who sent the last of those hoping to hold ground here running. ANTONY reaches them soon after, on alert to pick off any stragglers. MALCOLM is the final man of war to approach.
The signal is passed on, alerting those aware of the plan of the Montagues’ actions. All of Verona stirs in the midst of the night. ROMEO emerges from safety to join the others and claim this space for the Montagues, a space he may direct the purpose of. GERTRUDE considers this moment a victorious one. From the shadows watches CLAUDIUS, aware of the victory, waiting for the right moment to take advantage of the situation. All present feel success. All present feel hopeful.
