Washington DC. 1985

On a cold, dark night in winter, with the wind howling and the skies

crying in sleet, two men from the Tenebrae Outfit met the two men from

Shadow Port in the middle of nowhere. Though the two families had been

rivals for over a decade, it was becoming bad for business. Theirs was a

small world and they could not keep biting each other’s heads off when

there were bigger, more lucrative ventures that could benefit them both. It

was time to end the rivalry of a decade and begin a partnership for the

future.

The leader of Shadow Port shivered under his heavy coat, not used to

the freezing temperatures in his city in the west. The leader of the Ten

Outfit laughed. They saw the sun even less than he saw his wife. Jovial

conversation was exchanged. The man with each leader stayed a silent

observant.

And then, the business was discussed. Weapons and alcohol - they

were the face of the operation.  It was time to begin a new venture, a first

with the family. The leader of Tenebrae suggested the idea. It was a new

trade, not common in the world yet, but had a great future and more money

than they had dreamed of. The leader of Shadow agreed. The men vowed to

keep it quiet, keep it a hidden trade, to let everyone think of arms and booze

as their main business.

The Tenebrae leader opened up the trunk of his car. Two young girls,

not more than eight years of age, lay there unconscious, unaware of what awaited them.

The leaders exchanged a small smile and shook hands.

“To the future,” one said.

“To the future”, the other echoed.

And thus, began the Alliance.

Present Day

The knife was digging into her thigh.

She was not supposed to be here.

The thought kept ringing through Morana's head on repeat, her nerves

stretched taut even as she tried to appear aloof. Holding her full champagne

glass aloft, she pretended to sip from it, her eyes constantly scanning the

crowd. While she knew taking a few sips of the bubbly would do wonders

to calm her frazzled nerves, Morana refrained. She needed a clear head

more than liquid courage for tonight. Maybe. Hopefully.

The party was in full swing, hosted in the sprawling lawns of the home

of someone in the Maroni family. Damn Outfit. It was a good thing she had

done as much research as she could in the last few days.

Morana glanced around the well-lit garden from the shadows, seeing

the faces she had seen in the news over the years. A few she had seen in her

own house growing up. She saw the soldiers of the Outfit, milling around

with stoic faces. She saw the women, mostly decorating the arms of the

men they were there with. She saw the enemies.

Ignoring the itch from her wig, Morana just observed. She had taken

great care to look like someone else tonight. The long black gown she wore

hid the knives on her thighs, one of which had somehow twisted and was

trying to dig into her. The bracelet on her hand had been a purchase from

the dark web, with a hidden slot for an aerosol poison that wasn’t available

in the market. And she'd tied her dark hair tightly to her head, donning a

silky wig of strawberry blonde hair, her lips siren red. It wasn't her. But it

was necessary. She'd been planning this night for days. She'd been relying on this plan to work for days. She couldn't screw it up. Not after being so

close.

She looked at the mansion, looming behind the crowd. It was a beast.

There was no other way to describe it. Like an ancient castle buried in the

hills of Scotland, the house – an odd hybrid of modern mansion and

primeval castle - was a beast. A beast with something of hers in its belly.

The cool air fragrant with the night blooms, Morana surreptitiously

shook off the chills trying to lick at her skin.

The sound of a man’s boisterous laughter drew her attention. Eyes

lingering on the built, grey-haired man laughing with other men in the north

corner of the property, Morana studied him. His face was wrinkled with

age, hands clean from where she could see.

Oh, how he had blood on those hands. So, so much blood. Not that

anyone in their world didn't. But he had carved a niche for himself as the

bloodiest of them all, including her father.

Lorenzo 'Bloodhound' Maroni was the boss of the Tenebrae Outfit, his

career longer than four decades, his rap sheet longer than her arm, his cold￾blooded attitude a thing of admiration in their world. Morana had been

around people like him long enough to not let that shake her. Or rather, not

let it show.

Beside Lorenzo stood his older son Dante 'The Wall' Maroni. While

his pretty face could fool some, Morana had done enough research not to

underestimate him. Built like a wall, the man towered over almost

everyone, his physique solid. If rumors were to be believed, he had taken up

a key role in the organization almost a decade ago.

Morana pretended to sip her champagne. Exchanging a polite smile

with a woman who glanced her way, she finally let her eyes wander to the

man who stood silently beside Dante.

Tristan Caine.

He was an anomaly. The only non-blood member to have taken the

oath with blood in the family. The only non-blood member to be that high

up in the Outfit. No one knew exactly where he was placed in the hierarchy,

but people knew he was very high up. Everyone had theories as to why, but

no one really knew for sure.

Morana took him in. He stood tall, just an inch or so shorter than

Dante, in a casual three-piece black suit sans the tie. His dark blonde hair was almost a dark brown, sheared close to his head, his eyes light color from the distance.....!!!