In front of the building's entrance, I took a deep breath, stared at the door for some few seconds before walking in.
Music could be heard and I'm quite surprised since I was expecting a serious business meeting but… a club party?
Now that's quite difficult for me to understand but one thought just ran to my mind…
…Is someone getting killed?
With the loud music sound, that should be able to cover up a gunshot sound, right?
I didn't mind but made my way to the elevator and before me are two huge bouncers, all dressed up, cozy and menacing to the average person.
"Invitation?"
One of them spoke up as they sighted me.
"Gustavo."
At the mention of my alias, the two looked at each other, looked at me, looked at themselves once more, nodded in harmony before giving way.
I got through and entered and I could already see one of the guards making contacts.
I got to the party floor and the elevator opened wide.
"The Prodigy!! The odd one!! The Italian crucifier!! Greetings to Gus…Ta…Vo!!"
Cheers raised over each other, the party people were really going crazy.
Hands being reached out, my attention being sought, riots being made, I'm really back.
Immediately I was mentioned, a group of bouncers lined up, on my left and right, from my position to the stairs, to safely guide me to the stairs which led to the meeting room.
I took the chance to walk coldly as I could to the stairs…
come on, at times like these, you wouldn't want to appear disgraceful.
I finally went through the stairs and got to the door.
I couldn't hesitate and gave the signal for it to be opened.
Lo and behold, in front of me was a whole different vibe.
Of course, there was a huge ass roundtable, that's why it's obviously called the roundtable.
A social group which was originally created for the children of the most influential syndicate.
Now, it's become an influential syndicate of it's own when the kids quit their sandboxes and toy shovels.
Before me were seated eleven individuals, all masked up, having one or two drinks while obviously waiting onto my arrival.
"A wonderful night fellas, isn't that so?"
I tried to cheer up the room but the mask only made it stuffy.
"Welcome back, Gustavo… the prodigal son.
Please do have a seat, so that the meeting can start."
I heaved a sigh before heading for the last available seat.
The atmosphere was heavy, drinks were slowly sipped, four stripers putting up a show, eyes being thrown on one another.
By my left, dressed in a white gown, pale white, her face was covered but her lips, glazed with bright blood red lipstick… it was charming and looked succulent.
Unfortunately, we are talking about the infamous white witch, the modern day vampire, Snow White.
Her relationship with the world's crime syndicate activities?
A secret, although the organizer; The Mad Prince, who seats exactly opposite to me, on a royal attire with a crown to adorn the head, knows something about us all but not exactly full information.
Obviously, it would be a big shame if a lad knows about a business secret of a huge crime organization.
On my right, a fat piggy bastard, whose knowledge of shame is as empty as the word's concept, nothing.
Currently having his tiny dick sucked, his belly fully exposed, shamelessly putting on a pig mask, showing off his dirty teeth at me as if I am expected to be fond of his action or something.
His alias is basically Piggy, could have been Pig, knowing the brutal and cruel nature of pigs, earning him some respect but sadly enough, he is ranked lowest and seen as a joke to us all.
Being a proper shame to his father who is famously known as The Boar.
On Snow White's left, who seems already drunk, a respectable member, someone I'm more cautious of, Omni.
His face, obviously a fake makeover and synthetic, serving as a mask.
Knowledgeable, mysteriously strong and crazy smart.
We are just lucky enough that he is neutral or to be precise, he just doesn't intervene.
On his left was my only friendly bastard from the table, never seen each other for the past five years but have been in touch, Peacock.
On a flashy attire like a pimp, acts like one, operates like one and talks like one.
Obviously skinny and black, putting on a fandango looking mask and having a blast off with his cigar while giving me the warm smile.
Although he is a good friend, I do consider him a respectable threat, he is among the ones who I have their names registered for the Colt 1911.