#v:: timebeforetime

[schxbetta]

@rexetignus

These deals were getting easier; easy enough to arouse suspicion but then he was young. Twenty-five and full of confidence. A damn badge could be in place right before him and he’d still be waving those dollar bills as if they were his honour. 

The fact of the matter was that he was proud. Keen to call himself the next man to be made. So, he dabbled in petty crime. Extortion, laundering, fraud and the other dirty laundry of the family but soon enough his skills would be put to better use. He’d become a made man. Making his bones through the killing of another. An enemy. It was only a matter of time. Only a breath away from being commanded by his father. He worried about it. Hell, he was nervous. But really? He sort of looked forward to it. 

The respect. The gusto. A part of him couldn’t wait for the relevance. 

He stands in the cold, his hands gripping at his forearms in an attempt to warm himself. While there were no others about, he’d focus on escaping the cold through light shaking and the odd exhale of air. 

Soon enough, his ritual is interrupted by a woman. His contact. The one with whom he’d be working alongside tonight. Their target? A casino just short of downtown. Real sleazy place; a little more akin to a brothel than a home to gambling. 

He side-eyes her, his exterior suddenly forgetting the cold as he attempts to appear a little tougher before her.    

“Good t’meet you” he wasn’t too pleased about having a female companion...to him, it was as if his family were mocking him “I’m Peter.”

[schxbetta]

@namelessxflowers

He sits opposite her; his eyes squaring her up as he flickers his fingers in order of a drink. Two; two martinis. There's an air of uncertainty to his presence, as if unsure of potential. He'd heard rumours of her exploits but then only few and the loyalty of hitmen (and women) for that matter, could always be bought. Her loyalty to the family would be kaput against the bank notes of another. He knew this and as such, he would tread carefully.

Upon clearing his throat and turning up his lips into a smile; he introduced himself. “Good to meet you...” his voice was rife confidence and strength despite the slender frame of his being. “Name’s Schibetta...” or at least, his son “I heard you’re a lady that can get things done.” He eased his words in softly, accepting the drinks of the bartender between their conversation. 

“That y’pretty connected. Hilde Sternberg, the ‘cyclops’. Do you like that name?” he found himself spinning into a tangent, his hazel eyes settling on her with a smile. Despite his callousness, there was a softness about Peter even he couldn’t deny. It was, after all, something his father had always criticised. 

[schxbetta]

@sadderforit​ | ( continued from here. )

Peddling ass on a side-walk isn’t his idea of a Friday night, but hell, hard times call for desperate measures. His father’s been stressed - Peter can sense that - with the feds up their asses and the Chinese stealing all of their business, work’s becoming an effort. An effort the young Schibetta has to keep under wraps and with his pops out of town and his men lacking in the brains-department, that means standing on a cold sidewalk, Friday night, watching tits bring in the money. Why did he always get the shitty jobs? As if extortion and bribery weren’t seedy enough. 

Pimping is hardly his forte either; what did he know about the price of ass and keeping ‘the clients happy’? Fuck, so long as he got a wad of cash by the end of the night - he’d not be complaining any time soon. But still, something about the corner of the sidewalk and the bum vomiting in the gutter to his left leaves a sour taste in his mouth and a frown across his features. Only when a foreign voice calls to him do his eyes turn from the sight of the sickly tramp. 

A brow is raised; hazel eyes turn to see a figure waving the bud of a cigarette at him. The mafioso shifts his gaze between the woman and the street signs. Other than the bum, the road is lonely. He feels his jacket; a stick of gum, wallet, some keys and...shit, a lighter. He makes for a short jog across the road, withdrawing the zippo from his pocket as he does so. 

Peter reaches her, his eyes casting down at her from his relatively-average height. 

“Here” the zippo flickers a flame as he holds it before her “you workin’ tonight or somethin’?” Is she...is she like them? Selling her ass to the night’s strangers? But she looks classy; different. He can’t keep his eyes off of her. 

It’s strange for him to admit, but the allure of the stranger is weirdly undeniable.

[schxbetta]

@rogueprinceconsort

He can’t believe this. The cheek of it. The goddamn cheek of it! So he’d pissed off his father, upset his mother and rattled some of the boys. So what? So fucking what?! Sometimes a man had to make himself be heard, even if the noise would be deafening to some. 

When Peter had stormed into that store and began to rough up the clerk, he’d done it with his family on the mind. They would know his actions were legitimate and serious. That he cared for the business as much as them! There was a reason behind his chaos. But apparently his father had not understood that reason and now, Peter found himself stood here. Side-by-side with one of Cruella’s henchman and a job he’d much rather not be taking part in. 

Punishment for ‘embarrassing’ the Schibetta family name. Shit, even the way his father had put it annoys him. 

He offers the man beside him a glance; though Peter’s features are hardly friendly. Hell, he looks like a stuck-up child stood in detention. 

“Hey” he offers a hand “name’s Peter.” A sigh leaves him “and you?”