#ft: lev

[eeveenavarro]

There’s no guilt as Eevee walks through the halls of Vasile manor, acting as if she belongs there even if there’s the all consuming anger that still sits underneath her skin whenever she thinks about the fact that these people — these animals — took one of the bravest men she’s ever met in her life and tried to break him. The only saving grace is Lev Vasile, the friendship that they’ve forged making it somewhat easier for the woman to go on about her day with a smile on her face paired with the obnoxious flutter of her eyelashes whenever she wants to drive her innocence across. Of course he’s not guiltless in all that has happened, but Eevee knows he’s not the mastermind either.

That’s why when she’s shoved into the memories of that night, it’s he who she turns to, the only one in the family that she graces with some semblance of authenticity. Eevee makes her way out of the manor, drives all the way to Leslie’s where she knows she can shrug off the gut churning feeling that threatens to choke her. The door is unlocked as promise and so she makes her way inside, planting herself on the couch. “If no one comes over here and hugs me in the next five seconds, I will riot,” she warns the pair. “And you both know how I riot. No holds barred. Old lady down the street will faint. I don’t care. I’ll throw my shoe out the window if I have to.”

closed @levxvasile​ @day-dreamcrs​

[richieoshea]

ft - richie o'shea

The message had been received, and the Vasile brood spent the first few days letting the dust settle. Some mourned. Others struggled with not mourning. No matter the mood, no call would go unanswered.

On this February the 14th, a carefully chosen group would work within the confines of an empty garage. In the center of it all, a pair of low-level O'Shea associates. Insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but this is not about the who, but what.

It is a slow night filled with festive interrogation. While most would wine and dine, this group of Vasile would celebrate the rich history of Chicago, 1929. Seven pounds of flesh from their tributes would be collected, divided evenly between emptied heart-shaped boxes - one for each victim of the infamous Valentine's Day Massacre. On each box, neatly scrawled in the little box next to the word To:, a name extracted from their lucky guests.

Sammy. Richie. Chester. Aurora. Tristan.

Liam. Lorenzo.

There had been one survivor of the 1929 massacre. Despite injuries, the dog had pulled through. It is in Highball's honor that Ingrid Vasile would receive her gift.

A larger box would be delivered to the North Coast Hotel with the rest. Within, a human tongue rests on a bed of truffles, the word TRAITOR crudely carved into it. Taped to the inside of the lid, a bloodied picture of the youngest of the Vasile children with her late father, Dimitri.

Left on the front counter of the hotel by one of their own lesser associates, the Vasile trust their response is delivered - one way, or another.

If the O'Sheas want war... war, they will get.