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𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓, 𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 peaceful neighborhood for all the twenty-and-two years of Caterina Cardinale's life. There would be an occasional pub brawl or a violent beating as a result of an unpaid debt, courtesy of Cardinale debt collectors, but other than that the most noise was created by flocks of children chasing through the streets.
And yet, for the second time in the same week its streets were plunged into chaos and frenzy as police officers swarmed into their homes pulling the men from their shops and their beds, overturning their pockets and cabinets for any sign of communist agenda.
Caterina had been returning from the company warehouse by the canal where she oversaw the sealing of the shipment bound for London. After months of pursuit she finally found a man willing to buy several expensive paintings she confiscated as a warning from one of the prominent clients she offered her protection to.
It was not her fault the interest rate was so high, she would tell the clients, it was the market. Not her fault they didn't read the tiny lettering in the contract.
Most came to their senses after the first warning - a flat tire of their car or one of her men following them around to keep them on their toes. Some were not so wise, like Lady Montague who was now a Rembrandt and a Turner short.
"Che cazzo..." The cars following her halted as she climbed out of her own, determined to find the answer to the mess at hand.
Several officers still lingered about, looking smug on their horses as the the inhabitants tried to pull together their possessions, some thrown out of the window, fruit and vegetables on the stalls turned over and soiled.
"Oi!" She marched over, pointing a threatening finger at the officer. "Who the fuck ordered this?"
The man in the uniform look at her lazily, as if she was dirt on his shoe that he wanted to get rid of. "Miss Cardinale, stay silent and comply."
"You get the fuck out of my neighbourhood." She spat on the ground in front of him, the officer's lip curling in disgust.
"Italian heathens," he muttered. Waiving a hand at his colleagues, they cleared from the streets, leaving the mayhem behind.
She ran a hand through her hair, a thousand thoughts running through her hair. The old sod somehow found out about the deal.
Her feet carried her down the street. Between a butcher's shop and a chemist rose a three story Victorian house, flowers adorning the windows and a green door between two pillars. Two men stood in front, in a heated argument.
Halting beside them she tossed the car keys to the younger of the two. "Put her in the garage." she called, not acknowledging the look of pure terror the boy had.
