A/N.  Hello my lovelies, and welcome back for the next installment of our illicit rendezvous ;-)

I hope you are all well and ready to face the new week.  Since I last checked we have been joined by readers from .... drum roll please ..... Zimbabwe, Angola, Jordan, Syria, Iran, Azerbaijan, Turkey, Bangladesh, Macedonia, Albania, Montenegro, Slovakia, Bahamas, Panama, Colombia, Venezuela and Argentina.  Welcome to you all.

I hope you enjoy the chapter and don't forget to vote. :-)

Thanks for your support.

M.

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Despite the relaxed and jovial atmosphere the restaurant in the heart of New York exuded, the table of four were anything but. To an outsider, they looked like a group of businessmen having dinner after a hard day at work.

"You should be happy," Frank said as he eyed up his meal which had just been served. The large rib eye steak was making Ambrose's cousin visibly salivate. "It's all gone according to plan," he said as he began to attack the meat with vigour.

Ambrose wasn't so sure. Until they had the remaining two families within their control, anything was possible. The first three were marginally easier to get to. Over the years, he had built up a network of spies within those families. He knew their weaknesses and who the players were.

The Lagliano, Luciano and Profaci's were easy pickings. They didn't know what had hit them. In a matter of seventy-two hours, he had walked into New York City and had taken over sixty percent of its organised crime. No longer would they be able to dictate what he could, and what he could not do, with his organisation. Instead, he would be the one setting terms.

A wicked smile escaped as he recalled the events from the previous evening. After dispatching the Profaci acting boss and his underboss, Ambrose had summoned the remaining lieutenants and captains. As expected, those loyal to their downed colleagues were less that happy with the situation. Their immediate reaction had been to send word to their Don, who was currently serving a life sentence in prison. Ambrose knew he needed to show them who they were up against. Otherwise, he would struggle with the transition.

He gave the group a chance to vent their opinion. The few brave enough to do so hadn't finished their sentence when one of his men had, in the blink of an eye, navigated across the room. A moment later he had broken not only the most vocal of the lieutenant's neck but the person on either side of him.

By the time the third man had spoken out, and the ninth person had fallen to the ground, they were all very much aware that the men who had brought their house down, were anything but normal. Ambrose knew that Carmine Lombardo would hear about his organisations fall in due course. Even in prison he had a deep reach into his business. But by then, it would be too late. Anyone loyal to him would suffer the same fate as the others.

"So you're sure the others will come for us?" Frank asked from beside him.

Ambrose scanned the restaurant, wary of the other customers. Seeing no immediate danger, he focused on his meal. "They have no choice," he shrugged, "they know we'll strike sometime tonight. They'll want to bring the fight to us."

"We'll be ready," was Frank's only response.

"Hey boss," asked Angelo, one of his men who had been successfully turned, "E's being gone a while. What happens if it goes down before he gets back?"

Ambrose stabbed his fork into his steak. Even the reference to the Werewolf set his teeth on edge. "He's out the back fucking one of the waitresses'. I only hope if he kills her he has the decency to hide the body this time," he grumbled.

The mood around the table immediately dulled. They were all wary of the person who had caused the disruption to their lives. He alternated between deadly one moment; to malevolent the next. He was a walking time bomb and they all knew it. While many of them had strayed well over to the dark side many years ago and had not looked back, Elijah made them all look like boy scouts.

Elijah chose that moment to return to the table. Glancing down at his meal that had arrived in his absence he too scanned the restaurant, "I see I didn't miss anything."

Instead of replying, Ambrose ignored the thorn in his side and focused on his meal.

The plates had been cleared and they had managed to get back into a semi-jovial mood when Ambrose stiffened. He watched through the mirrored wall as the Maître d' led a group of men to a table.

Ambrose could hear their erratic heartbeats as they passed by. A slight sheen of sweat covered their brows and the tell-tale sign of a holstered gun let him know the games were about to begin.

He grinned. His new and improved body had all sorts of benefits. Glancing across the table at Elijah, it was obvious that the Werewolf had already detected them.

Elijah nodded towards the back of the restaurant. "You've also got company in the kitchen."

Another group had entered and was being shown to a table near the front door. Ambrose studied them for a moment before nodding to one of his team sitting a few booths away. As expected, their opponents were cutting off all entry and exit points.

"It's begun," he said to those assembled around the table.

Ambrose and his team watched as others slowly trickled into the restaurant and took up various positions. Over the next thirty minutes, he counted twenty-four targets for them. He had to hand it to the two remaining families - they weren't taking any chances and had made sure the numbers were in their favour. Ambrose had to suppress the smirk that was threatening to overcome him.

It's like bringing a plastic knife to a gun fight.

He knew the moment the impending attackers had been given the green light.

Two men at the table closest to them stood and reached into their pockets. Frank and Angelo traversed the distance before their weapons could see the light of day. The distinct sound of bone cracking was music to his ears, followed by the pained screams from the Mangano and Gagliano's henchmen.

It was at that moment pandemonium set in. Their attackers ready to pounce moved from their tables and reached for their guns. One managing to get a couple of shots off before being tackled by one of Ambrose's Werewolves.

Innocent bystanders, panicked began screaming and milling towards the door. Finding them locked, they began trying to climb over each other to prise the entry way open. A small fight broke out among those attempting to flee, self-preservation had kicked in and each person was desperate to leave before the impending river of gun play that was sure to hit them like a tidal wave.

Ambrose and Elijah headed towards the kitchen just in time to meet seven men bursting through the double doors. Each one brandishing a weapon. The kitchen staff were now huddled behind benches. Fearful of being caught in the crossfire.

Ambrose, without warning, grabbed the man closest to him. Pulling him in closer, he took hold of the man's arm which was holding a Glock, finger on the trigger. Swinging him round, Ambrose brought the gun and the man's hand up to face his compatriots. Placing his finger over his hostage's, Ambrose pulled the trigger and fired three times.

Three bodies crumpled to the ground. A bullet hole in each of their foreheads. He then turned his attention to the man whose finger had pulled the trigger on his friends. "Tut, tut," he smiled icily, "look at the mess you just made."

Elijah, ignoring the brandished weapons, reached out and grabbed the arm of the mobster nearest him. Holding on firmly and swinging his body inward, the man's arm was dislocated from its socket. A blood-curdling scream ripped from the man as Elijah let out a mocking smile and wrenched the arm once again. The shocked gasps of horrified onlookers cut through the air as the man's arm was severed from his torso. Blood poured from the empty cavity and shoulder, as the excruciating pain from the severed appendage overcame the mobster and he reeled backward. Losing his balance he crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Further screams and chaos erupted as those, who witnessed the unnatural act, recovered from their initial inertia and numbness, each one hurling their bodies to the ground and finding a safe place to hide.

The two remaining attackers from the kitchen, seeing their comrade's plight, rounded on Elijah. One managed to fire his weapon before being relieved of his gun and ability to use his hand properly ever again. In removing the weapon, Elijah had also broken every bone in the man's hand.

"You fucking shot me," he ground out as he proceeded to break the man's arm in four places. Followed by a well-aimed punch in the man's stomach that immediately caused irrevocable damage to his kidneys.

Seeing the last man making a run for it, Elijah was on him in a heartbeat. "Where the hell are you going?" he taunted as he materialized in front of the escaping mobster, blocking his path.

Sneering, he descended on his victim, reaching for a chef's knife on the bench in the process. The destruction Elijah inflicted on the would-be perpetrator, would haunt the kitchen staff, huddled in their corners, for the remainder of their lives. It wasn't the mangled and unrecognisable body that had affected them. It was the relish and glee of the killer that had terrified and etched the barbaric scene into their memory, as he sliced the man as if he were nothing more than a slab of meat.

By the time the battle was over, nearly two dozen Mangano and Gagliano's foot soldiers lay dead or dying. The restaurant was a war zone. Tables had been turned. Glass broken. Crockery and food were scattered across the floor. Blood oozing into the carpet along with the spilt wines and spirits.

Innocent bystanders, the ones unable to reach the door which had eventually been opened, were huddled behind tables. Too afraid to take a look in case they too suffered the same fate.

Ambrose strode across the destroyed restaurant. He stopped in front of Angelo who was holding up a bloodied and terrified would be assassin by the neck.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

The man's breathing was ragged and laboured. His airway restricted by Angelo's deathly grip.

Seeing no answer was forthcoming, Ambrose struck the man across the face, further impairing the man's breathing.

"If you don't want to end up like them," he said, indicating the bodies, "I suggest that you answer my questions. All of them," he finished menacingly.

"D'Aquilla," the man stuttered, "Benny D'Aquilla."

Ambrose patted Benny's face. "See that was easy wasn't it? Now, Benny," he continued, "who do you work for?"

Indecision flew across Benny's face. Ambrose cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Really, you want to play that game?

"Gagliano," Benny said quietly, no longer struggling against his captors. The fight in him now completely evaporated.

"Benny, I want you to go and tell your boss he has twenty-four hours to pass control of his operations to me, or I will be coming for him, his family, and the rest of you."

Ambrose nodded to Angelo, and Benny was unceremoniously let go. Nearly toppling over with the unexpected action, he remained cowering in front of the group of individuals that terrified him more than anything else ever had.

"Did you understand what I just said?" Ambrose roared after there was no movement from the now broken individual.

Benny nodded profusely.

Ambrose pulled a roll of cash from his pocket and placed it on the nearest table. "That should cover our meal. Let's go."

The remaining occupants of the restaurant were frozen, not daring to move in case the small band of men returned. It wasn't until the police arrived a few minutes later, that they obtained the courage to come out of hiding. Benny took the opportunity to skulk out the back, not wishing to incur the wrath of what he recognised as his new boss.

Once the networks caught wind of the brutal and public deaths of members of two of the city's crime syndicates, they descended on the scene in droves. Information on what had actually transpired was sketchy. However, as the night progressed, the reporters counted nearly two dozen bodies being carted out by the Medical Examiner's office in body bags. The uneasy question on all their minds – Who has the power to take out that many made men in one sitting?

The police were left scratching their heads. This many deaths in a very public place would normally provide an unlimited supply of video evidence and witnesses. However, a crowded restaurant with two dozen bodies resulted in not one customer able to identify who had committed the crime.

Not one of them had the wherewithal to video how the gruesome scene played out. And no one could explain how six men could take out twenty-three known mobsters without weapons. All except the poor soul in the kitchen, who looked as though he had been filleted.

One PP Plaza knew a change was about to be instigated in the annuals of the five families. They were scrambling to find out how they had missed the sway in power and who was now running the show.

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A/N ... so what did you think???

... Ambrose looks like he is running the entire Mob on the east coast... and if he isn't yet, he very soon will .... ** theme to jaws **

Next chapter should be up during the weekend.  

Till then, take care.

M.