in fair Geona, first verseXBmkkp

[Verse]

Geona, Italy.

The night was blacker here than in the bigger cities. He didn't even mean Rome, though he'd been there often lately. He was brought up in Shanghai and Hong Kong. He missed the air that took years off your life. Missed how it hugged you. Here, the sky was less polluted with light; less polluted over all. Made it feel as though people hadn't lived here long enough. Made him angry. Walking down the streets now, the closeness of the walls were a comfort at least. Suppose he was doing his part to water-down the darkness, though, with his half-smoked cigarillo. In the concrete, he was a cigarette man, through and through, but here on the cobblestone, he tried to look the part.

The tourists kept the nights going. They were his customers too. Germans liked their hookers, and the young crowd with money liked the upper-shelf stuff he sold. Not really hard getting it all in here, with the docks and the marina. Kenzen Haroyama took the smoke out and dabbed the spit-soaked end against a yellow wall as he rounded it. He had a tail of about fifteen men. They poured out of the alley like rats in tactical gear. They parted around him like a soot river. They were out of place in the Geona night, with its candle lights and lanterns and string music, and painted mortar homes. He looked up at the villa that winked back at him with its shutter windows.

He had known the group that gathered inside would be a problem. That's all Kenzen did. He searched this earth for problems. And he made sure the solution was hookers and contraband. Took another lungful of the cigarillo as his men forced their way in. Gunshots added to the merry music as he exhaled like a dragon. The windows blinked with gunfire and there was a full on fight inside. He had a well-pressed suit on, and a kevlar vest over it. His black hair was tied back, though its middle-length almost didn't allow it. Blades of it courted his eyes. He had a short automatic hanging over his chest. He licked the edges of his front teeth to clean them of black residue from the smoke. Screams were coming from the house. Screams of the enemy. Hypocritical, because they also killed for the right to sell on these narrow streets and their lit-up squares. Kenzen stepped inside and tucked the still burning cigarillo behind his ear.

They always made the same mistake, these gangsters. They wanted to rule with violence, but they weren't good at it. Kenzen had brought a desperate war to their door, and they didn't know what to do with that. Well inside, he shot at the figures that weren't his; broke the tile behind them. He braced against the unholy power of his firearm until it had spit all the bullets out, and then he reloaded behind a wall, and did it again. These people weren't important. But the one they protected was. He grinned and it squeezed the last tendril of smoke out of his nostrils. What were these idiots thinking leaving an attractive woman in charge? What was she going to do, fuck them to death?

He winked at one of his men and that man broke a flare that spewed smoke and red light. The flare was tossed out a window. The signal prompted more men from the neighboring houses to fire at the villa, with airplane caliber shells. The snug placement of the Geona buildings was good for that, at least. This wasn't a takeover anymore. This was demolition. And it was a herding. The way he'd pressed this woman and her band of brave loyals, she had no choice other than to make a stand in the courtyard. It had started with a few extra pushers on the street, a few extra girls selling pussy. And it had come to this at last; black barrels aimed at her, and her few living guards on their knees. Unbridled armed conflict. He came out from between the pillars and handed his gun over, and shrugged out of the vest so they'd all see his suit and the red shirt underneath. It was unbuttoned to show them the scar-side, and the tattooed side of his chest.

"Hey, whore." he said to her as he swiped the cigarillo from his ear and put it in the corner of his mouth. Tall man, with high cheekbones. Yakuza. Young like her, but there were shadows under his eyes that spelled out the difference between their lives. She looked healthy. He came right up to her, and that underlined their difference in height real nicely. He wanted to know if she smelled like sunscreen and expensive perfume, because she looked like it. "Your operation is mine now. You're going to tell your bosses in Roma, yeah?" his Japanese accent was thick, but all of them had to rely on English because crime in Geona had become international. "And you're going to be real nice to me, too. Or I won't keep you." There was no real room for her to argue, but he kind of wished she would. Because then his hand would swing quickly and catch her cheek with his palm. He wanted her remaining men to see.

 

[Bmkkp]

Giulia Bianchi was the youngest lieutenant in the Northern Mafia, a rapid rise that was no accident. The head of the family, la padrona, a ruthless woman, had recognized her potential from the start, transforming her into a cold-blooded criminal. The Northern Mafia was the most powerful in Italy, and what better place than Genova, the heart of Liguria, for Giulia to solidify her worth in the Italian underworld ? But the path ahead would not be so simple.

That night, everything seemed routine, a regular meeting to collect the earnings from the local gangs working for the Mafia. Accompanied by her men, about a dozen in total, she made her way to meet Giuseppe, a local gangster, for a meeting she assumed would be no different than the others.

This week, the earnings were thinner than usual, weaker than expected. So, it was true... a foreign competitor had moved in recently. A smile curled at her lips. A manhunt would begin soon, and she'd have this insect’s head on a platter in no time. There was no way she was going to let a parasite encroach on her turf. Giuseppe had no idea what to feel in her presence. The woman before him, dressed in a form-fitting burgundy bodysuit, with the fabric that molded to her body like a second skin, was a monster of beauty, but a monster nonetheless, and her résumé spoke for itself. The sleeveless outfit featured a central zipper extending down to the chest, creating a deep plunging neckline that Giuseppe couldn't ignore. His throat tightening with emotion, and before he could offer a single excuse for this meager tribute, the door burst open.

"Figli di putta-," Giulia cursed, but the violence had already erupted. Her men fell like flies, caught in the fire from a group of enemies who resembled commandos, berserkers unleashed from hell. Their bullets flew, cutting down her men one after the other. She fired back, her pistol in hand, but the reality hit her hard: the attack was too fast, too violent. Who would dare strike at the Mafia like this ? As the Italians were about to fight back, heavy-caliber bullets tore through the walls, wounding and killing without mercy. Dust, debris, anguished screams, and splattered body parts littered the floor. Giulia felt her strength falter as her men fell around her, overwhelmed by the relentless assault. She had no choice but to drop to the ground and crawl toward the rear, away from the hellish chaos. But just as she slithered through the wreckage, a gun was pressed to her forehead. A cold breath of realization washed over her

"Merda..."

A few minutes later, Giulia was brought to her knees in the courtyard. The humiliation burned. She observed the look of the enemy... These men... Since when do Asians have the balls to stand up to us? To Italians? she thought, disbelief mixing with growing rage. She had suspected the arrival of a group trying to take pieces of territory... but she never expected the problem to come to her, literally.

"Povero idiota..." she muttered in Italian, her voice laced with contempt. Her hair was disheveled, her face and clothes splattered with the blood of her fallen men. Her mind raced as she surveyed the scene, the weight of her defeat sinking in.

With a sharp breath, she switched to English, her words cutting through the silence.

"If you think you can get away with this... you have no idea who I am, do you? My clan... they're going to make you pay for this. You and your Asian dogs..." Each word dripped with venom.

 

[Verse]

He had seen it before. Usually, in the wartorn outhouses of the world, where countries sent their sons to die, they were prepared for to be gunned down. Not these men, or the woman leading them. It made it easier. His men weren't as focused as they were trained to be, because this wasn't a dire situation. He looked Guilia in the eye when she took up her sorry excuse for a weapon and returned fire. With the stirred-up dust and the flying debris, she looked rather pretty in her retreat, lit up by the explosions from the chamber, as the hammer ignited and sent the small shells off.

It ended up the same, anyway. With most of her men dead and the rest ziplocked, on their knees like her, with guns nuzzling their skulls. Some of the prisoners groaned from the burning of the barrels, still hot.

Kenzen savored both the last of the cigarillo and the scent of gunpowder and freshly crushed brick. He sucked in air through his teeth when she spoked her mother tongue. Her ferocity looked good on her face. And he particularly liked her on her knees. She was still acting tough. "la padrona, you mean?" he asked calmly. His men chuckled behind their balaclava. "You're good at distributing, I'll give you that." he admitted and then looked around. "But look at this. A woman should be able to keep a house clean, if she wants to go outside the kitchen to work, yeah?" That made his men laugh outright.

Kenzen squatted down to somewhat be at her level. He ledt the black stick in his mouth so his right hand was free to touch her cheek. There was blood gluing stone shrapnel to her cheekbone. He wiped it with his thumb. "Listen, principessa." he said with a dry tone. "The force I have behind me is made to level small countries. I could obliterate your little yacht club. But your infra structure is valuable to me, if you'll play ball." he explained slowly. The hand twitched back and then swung forward, slapping her hard across her face. It should be hard enough to make her fall over, in which case he'd grab her by her hair and pull her back on her knees.

If this happened, he would stick his other hand inside her unzipped cleavage, and fondle the tit in there roughly. His face was close enough to hers she may be burned by the short Tobacco vice is she moved around too much. "I'm the new King of Geona, and I'm coming for Rome, too. You can decide whether you want to be my pet, and obey, or if you want to be spit roasted between a shotgun and a machete." there was nothing in his words that suggested it was a joke, as he crushed her breasts between his rough fingers. "You just gotta prove to me I can trust you. You Italian woman are good at that, aren't you?" It was followed by cheering from his men. It made them excited enough that some of the last of her soldiers receive hard hits from the stock of the rifles.