🪞𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Otis Rovatov sat with his back hunched, twisting and turning his hat impatiently in his hands as he looked up to the Don sitting behind the desk.

The man before Rovatov gripped a small glass of rye, his gaze never faltering from the other mobster in order to assert his authority. An air of challenge radiated off each of the men, daring the other to step out of line or make some sort of biting remark.

Rovatov eyed the thick glass in the Don’s hand, his gaze tracing the condensation that lingered around the outside of the cup. He then slouched further in his seat, spreading his legs obnoxiously to give the Don a full view of the flab of his legs straining against the fine silk of his pants. Rovatov had never been a classy man, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“… that a bootleg?” Rovatov spoke first in a thick New York accent, finally breaking the tense silence with an insulting sneer.

Leone knew the man was trying to offend him, but remained calm and levelheaded. “It’s authentic rye. Had it imported from Canada.”

Rovatov scoffed, doubtful of his claim. “Well, aren’t ya gonna offer me a glass then?”

Leone’s nostrils flared, but he reluctantly reached into one of his desk drawers, pulling out a small glass and an unlabeled bottle of a dark amber liquid. He uncorked the bottle and tipped it over the rim, the glug rising in pitch after each spurt of alcohol spilled from the base of the neck.

Once he was finished, Rovatov snatched the glass with grubby fingers, bringing it to his nose and sniffing it thoughtfully. His mouth quirked as he took a small sip, licking the front of his teeth before smacking his lips together obscenely. “It’s fine, for a rye. Better than the stuff they have at the rat dives.”

“We’re not here to discuss drinks,” Leone stated as he placed the bottle back inside his desk drawer. “I’ve called you here for a reason, Otis.”

Rovatov took another sip of his drink, his thick rings clanking against his glass quietly. “Well, go ahead and spill, then. I ain’t got all day to sit here and twiddle my thumbs.”

Leone forced his shoulders to relax, sighing softly. “I’ve had something on my mind for quite some time now. Something I think could do a lot of good for both of us.”

Rovatov raised an eyebrow. “Whatcha got in mind?”

“Our families have been on the cusp of war with one another for the past decade,” Leone murmured, looking to Rovatov thoughtfully. “We just never can seem to align interests, can we?”

“Maybe if ya didn’t have ya’s head so far up your ass, we wouldn’t have this kinda conflict,” Rovatov huffed boldly, taking another sip of his drink.

Leone huffed back, displeased by the comment, but decided to let it slide. “Your son… the soldier. Has he ever been a part of your business?” He inquired, prompting Rovatov to tense.

“My son?” Rovatov let out a wet cackle, the bark harsh and ugly. “Not before the war, and definitely not after neither. The man shakes like a dog if you set down a glass too hard! He wouldn’t last a day in our world.”

Leone regarded his response, his fingers tracing the rim of his own glass thoughtfully. “I see. How is your son, anyway? He’s been back for a few years now, yes?”

Rovatov’s gaze faltered, clearly hesitant to talk about his son. “I mean… he’s seen better days, but he’s just got a bad case of cowardice if ya ask me. Needs to grow a pair and man up. War ain’t nothin’ compared to what you and me deal with on the daily.”

“I see,” Leone muttered, taking in his words. “I heard about his injuries. Is he still somewhat…” Leone waved his hands a bit, mimicking the shape of a person. “In tact?”

Rovatov coughed obscenely into his free hand, his body shaking with each sputter. “Yeah, yeah, he still functions right… for the most part.”

Leone raised a greying brow, looking to Rovatov expectantly.

Rovatov shifted in his seat, clearly hesitant to mention what was on his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about how weak his son had become. “The war messed with his head a bit. He ain’t quite right in the noodle like he used to be. I’m talkin’ night terrors, violent fits. Lots of fussin’ over nothin’, you know?”

“But his body still functions?” Leone interjected, tilting his head.

Rovatov‘s throat bobbed, but he nodded. “Well, mostly, just some parts of him…” he grimaced. “He got blown up in an artillery bombing. Got to keep his limbs, but the scarring—“

“The details don’t really concern me.” Leone leaned over his desk. “Tell me, can the man take care of himself?”

Rovatov nodded.

“Can he take care of a woman?” Leone questioned.

Rovatov winced. “Eh… maybe?”

Leone nodded in return. “That’s all I need.”

A faint knock at the office door interrupted the conversation suddenly, prompting both men to look to the sound. Leone gripped his glass more firmly, his eyebrows furrowing. His men and the house staff always know never to bother him during a meeting.

“Come in,” Leone called out firmly, his tone laced with annoyance.

A young woman pushed open the door, peeking her head through the crack cautiously before stepping into the office. Leone perked up at the sight of her, straightening his back until his chest puffed out as a sleazy grin crossed his face. His eyes slid over her form-fitting dress, lingering on her hips as he waved his thick fingers at her suggestively. The woman saw Leone’s gesture, her soft eyes widening momentarily before quickly looking away, discomfort disrupting her gentle features.

“D-Daddy, one of the maids isn’t feeling well. She wants to know if she can go home early.” She spoke softly but quickly as she addressed the Don, clearly not wanting to interrupt his business for any longer than necessary.

Leone’s eyes narrowed at the prospect of one of his maids leaving, but he didn’t press the woman on the matter. “Tell her she can go, but I expect her back tomorrow morning.”

The woman nodded before quickly scurrying out of the room, leaving the two men to their meeting.

Rovatov pulled at the knot of his tie, loosening it from the fat rolls of his neck as if he were suddenly feeling warm. “Right uh… back to business. What was it you wanted to talk about again?”

Leone leaned back in his own seat, forcing himself to relax. He got straight to the point. “I want to marry my daughter off, the one who just walked in here. I’m currently looking for suitors.”

Rovatov grinned wolfishly, clearly liking the idea of this. She was a beautiful woman, long hair that fell past her shoulders, a soft round face with gentle doe eyes that looked so attentive, and a sweet little body to match. Rovatov had been spending too much time with ragtime girls; a dainty little dame like that on his arm would be a nice change of pace. “Marry off, you says? Which daughter was that again?”

“My youngest, Charlotte,” Leone responded casually.

Rovatov’s grin dropped in an instant at hearing her name, the rye in his cup threatening to spill as his body jerked forward. “Are you kiddin’ me? That was Charlotte? You’re offerin’ me her?”

“Not you, you idiot, your son,” Leone corrected harshly. He steepled his fingers together, moving to rest his elbows on his desk. “That’s why I was asking about him. He’s been back for a while and still hasn’t settled down. That makes me think he’s struggling to.”

“Well, he ain’t exactly been lookin’,” Rovatov muttered gruffly, scratching his bulging stomach. “But that don’t mean he should get stuck with—“

Leone gave him a sharp look, a silent warning to choose his next words carefully.

Rovatov shifted in his seat, forcing himself to choose his words carefully. “All I’m sayin’ is, she’s a beautiful broad but… I’ve heard some things about your youngest, and none of em’ were good.”

“And what have you heard?” Leone challenged.

“Oh come on, it ain’t no secret!” Rovatov muttered. “She’s been through a debacle of marriages. That ain’t normal.”

“What happened with her ex-husband was no fault of her own,” Leone defended. “My daughter is innocent.”

Rovatov gave him a skeptical look. “She’s had three husbands. Three. All had promising lives before they got wit’ the dame. Two vanish without a trace a few months into the marriage, and one straight up off’s himself?” He eyed Leone suspiciously. “You really gonna tell me that three separate men are gone or dead because of that woman?”

Leone glowered at the other man, but he didn’t seem to have a solid response or answer. It seemed he himself was unsure of what went wrong.

“I’m just tellin’ you how it is. It looks fishy.” Rovatov ran a hand over his cheeks, rubbing at the patchy skin of his face. “Look, my son ain’t exactly the marriageable type, anyway. You’d be better off lookin’ elsewhere.”

“There is nowhere else to look,” Leone responded quietly. He sounded embarrassed at the admission. “This is my last resort. I’ve run out of options. No one else will take her.”

Rovatov stared at him for a moment before his face slowly split into a smirk, grinning like a fool as a low giggle came from his chest. “My God. I never thought I’d see the day that I would be Don Leone’s last hope.”

“Not you, your son,” Leone corrected once again. “I just need your son.”

“Or, you can jus’ fugget about your youngest ever settling down and save everyone the trouble,” Rovatov countered with a sneer.

Leone didn’t like that answer. “You think I’m asking,” Leone muttered lowly, fixing the other man with a glare as he leaned over the desk. “I’m telling you to talk to him. Or else we’re going to have bigger problems.”

Rovatov picked up on the threat, clenching his teeth in response, but shifting ever so slightly in unease. As much as he acted like a big shot, he could still recognize when he was outmatched.

Leone held the other man’s gaze for a moment before he rubbed his temples with his fingers, sinking back down into his seat with a grunt. “Just… talk to him. Tell him I’ve invited him over for tea with my daughter. The two can formally meet, and if all goes well, we can discuss… options.”

Rovatov regarded Leon’s words for a minute, tapping his fingers against his glass. “And what would I be gettin’ out of this?”

Leone thought it over for a moment. “My organization steers clear of those I consider to be ‘family’.” He didn’t elaborate, letting the words speak for themselves.

Rovatov was by no means an intelligent man, but even he knew he was offering peace in exchange for this arrangement. He didn’t exactly like the idea of being in cahoots with someone like Leone, someone he thought should be beneath him, but being on good terms with Leone was better than nothing. Besides, at least then he’d be rid of the mental case that had become his son; Edgar would become the Leone’s problem. He had to hold back a chuckle at the thought.

After some consideration, Rovatov grunted as he slowly stood up from his chair, brushing off his slacks dramatically. “Alright. I’ll talk to him and see what he says. Knowin’ him, he ain’t gonna like this idea.” He paused, looking to Leone. “With how screwy he is, I’m not sure your girl would want him, either.”

“This isn’t about want, this is about duty, something he should be very familiar with,” Leone stated. “I trust he’ll make the right decision… for the good of our families.”

Rovatov rolled his eyes as he set down his unfinished drink firmly on the Don’s desk, some of the liquid splashing out onto the dark wood. He grabbed his hat from the seat and planted it back on his balding head, looking through the rim to get one last look at the other mobster. “When will he need to be here?”

“Next week, four o’clock,” Leone stated, clearly already having had this planned out for who knew how long.

“If I can get him to leave the house, you can expect to see him then,” Rovatov grumbled. “Until then, Frank.”

Leone watched as Rovatov hobbled out of his office, leaving the Don to contemplate their conversation. He looked to the unfinished glass of rye, his eyes falling to the puddle of dark liquid that had now pooled onto his desk. He then stood up himself, straightening the cuffs of his dress shirt before heading towards the door. He didn’t have time to think over this potential arrangement.

He had a wedding to plan.