Everyone has been to a restaurant at some point in their lives. Due to this fact, you would know what to expect inside, right. Imagine sitting down with your friends or family, the lights either bright or dim depending on the type of restaurant setting. Guests and restaurant staff bustling about with chatter and clanging silverware, creating a multi-layered orchestra of sounds that you can't quite find anywhere else in the world. The smell of food fresh out of kitchen, particularly the delicate spices and sauces the cooks add to give each meal a zing to your taste buds. The overall experience of being in a restaurant is something that never gets old, even if you've gone to the same restaurant on numerous occasions, you always find some little piece of being a part of the experience that you've never experienced.

On one particular night, the moon's cold light was shining down on a very vintage restaurant. Based on the traffic, one could assume that the place was empty. Unfortunately, not.

The interior was mostly empty and dimly lit, with a single light hovering over a round table in a large parlor. At this round table, sat five people anxiously waiting around for something to happen. These five people were all leaders of infamous crime families and gangs throughout New York City. They glared at each other inquisitively, trying to find some kind of clue as to why they have been assembled. Whenever they weren't eyeing each other, they would give a sly eye to the uniformed FBI agents surrounding them. They were the ones that had collected each one of the crime lords, and delivered them to this restaurant.

"I swear, you'll hear from my lawyers about this!" one of the more hot-headed bosses shouted to the agents.

"No kidding" another crime boss said, calmer than the previous one.

"This is all bullshit" a third boss added, "I mean what good do the feds have for bringing us here?"

"Information" an older voice stung through the air abruptly. The other bosses shifted their attention to the man in formal slacks. The color of grey and black grizzled throughout the gentleman's appearance, apart from his lightly tanned skin. He had a small face, but it seemed that its features seemed like they were sharpening the longer you stared. He sat leaning back in his seat with one arm resting on the table. His fingers were clenched in a fidgeting manner, almost as if he were contemplating the entire situation. His eyes were down until he had to readdress his involuntary audience.

"They collected us quietly without making a big scene with the press" he started. "And if this was an arrest, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Instead, we'd be waiting in a holding cell in the downtown precinct."

"How do you know this, old man" the upset boss chimed in.

"I've been around long enough to know how things go" the older boss replied. "They brought us here because they want something."

A female boss a couple seats to his right scoffed, earning the attention of the crowd. "Well, they're not going to get anything from us." The bosses stiffly nodded or glared in an assuring way, paying respect to their game plan.

The older boss didn't necessarily nod, but he did see the courage in their plan. But there was something quite off about the whole situation. At their table, there were six seats planted around the table, yet only five people were present to take a seat. This troubled the old man, as he knew this empty seat was meant for the negotiator or fixer. The aged boss had seen this scenario a thousand times, but the fact that the FBI was involved to deliver them was a causing  few red flags to go up in his mind.

After some time, he and the other bosses' bothers were soon put to rest when a pair of loud footsteps came approaching from behind the kitchen doors. As they opened, a large, tall figure emerged in a white suit. The figures body language was tense, but you could see that it was trying to restrain itself to maintain a business formal persona. The assembled crime lords perked their heads up at the newcomer's presence. "Fisk?" they all quirked in unison. "What the hell is this?!" the upset boss growled, now getting a bit agitated.

Fisk breathed calmly, "It's an opportunity, Mr. Rodriguez."

With his presence known, Fisk steadily moved to join his guests at the table. As he did, the bosses watched him intently with a billion questions racing through their minds. Fisk had been in lock up for just over two years and had only recently been moved into a hotel suite as a holding cell due to what the press and feds would call a "safe house" from "those that wish to harm him." But anybody that knew Wilson Fisk would know that this was untrue. It was a probable cover-up for something larger. The bosses all knew this, but the older boss was thinking a step ahead of the others and knew that something wasn't going to come well for anybody at this table, except Fisk.

Fisk took his seat, rather sluggish, and adjusted his plain white sleeves to fit his comfort. Looking up to his guests with his arms resting on the table, he addressed the issue everyone had been getting worked up about.

"I've brought you here" he started, enunciating his words rather slowly "to offer my protection from investigations and prosecutions by the federal government."

"Bullshit" one of the bosses commented, "this is a sting."

"Hey jury, if you can hear this on tape, I'm completely innocent. I don't even know these people" the female boss spoke into the still air, taking Fisk's obvious lie as a joke. "How much? What's the vid?" she continued, wanting to know what they would have to contribute if Fisk was truthful.

Fisk hesitated for a moment before answering bluntly, "20 percent... of everything." The bosses voiced their disdain for the proposal. "I don't know how you keep that suit white with all the bullshit you pack into it" the agitated boss, Rodriguez, commented.

"I know what this is. We all know what this is." Rodriguez continued ranting. "You want us to confess to something that buys you another month in that hotel suite you conned yourself into." Rodriguez was getting a little hostile in his voice and given the position he and the other bosses were in, he had a bit of a reason to be.

"NO! You can COUNT ME OUT!" he finished firmly, his hands practically pushing him to stand above everyone else. Suddenly, something came flying over the table and struck Rodriguez square in the head. And before anybody could assess what happened, Rodriguez's head and upper body plopped down onto the tabletop and a pool of blood leaked out from the spot he had been struck.

The event was followed by nothing but silence, for the event was so sudden and brutal that no one had anticipated something of this magnitude. The mob bosses stared at Rodriguez's collapsed corpse and the blood that was now staining white table cloth. They looked to the FBI agents surrounding the scene, and they did nothing. Sure, they witnessed the whole scene, but if one crime lord were to look in any one of their directions, the agent would just look the other way. The older boss soon realized what this all meant, that Fisk had the feds in his back pocket. And whether he and the other bosses liked it or not, this was Fisk's way of saying that he was taking over.

Fisk agonized in a sigh, upset that Rodriguez was not willing to play a part of his plans. His smaller crowd looked to him as he did, and noticed a dark figure emerging behind him from a dark corner. He had a dark, navy blue suit similar to the ones the FBI agents were wearing, only with more grey detailing than the usual yellow. He wore mask-like helmet of the same shade of blue that covered half his face. Engraved on the helmet around the forehead area were three circles, each one smaller than the circle it was inside of, almost looking like a bullseye. In the costumed man's hand, was a bulky baton with a large blunt ends that probably did the damage to Rodriguez's head. The figure walked up behind Fisk, stopping just a step behind his left shoulder.

"The tax is now 25 percent" Fisk announced bluntly, not wanting to have to go through another crime boss to get what he wants. Silence followed for a brief moment until the female boss sitting next to him on his right spoke reluctantly. "Gotta hand it to you, Fisk. You know how to put on a show." She turned in her seat to face him as she continued, "Just one question: where do I drop off the cash?"

Fisk danced his fingers onto the table as his guests were now seeing his way, and eventually the two other bosses agreed to his terms. The older boss was a bit hesitant join in, and Fisk seem to notice as well.

"Mr. Manfredi..." Fisk said to the hesitant boss cladding in black and silver, "I understand this might be difficult for you to accept." The old man looked up at Fisk as he called for his attention. "I've recently read up on your family history. A group of Italian immigrants that came to this country with the intent of starting a wine and liquor company. Though it seems that the passing of the Eighteenth Amendment swerved your family's practices down a different path. One that, frankly, has proven to be more prosperous than what had been initially planned."

Finished with his little speech, Fisk signals a cue toward the bar, where an FBI agent is waiting for the command. Quickly, but not hurrying, he reached under the bar for something. The sound of ice chunks shuffling amongst each other whispered from behind as something was pulled out of the cooler. Soon, the agent was walking over to the table with something wrapped in a dining cloth, which bared Fisk's emblem.

The agent stopped before Manfredi with what looked like a glass bottle in his hands. Manfredi looked sternly, but curiously, at what stood before him, and then to Fisk before he explained what this was.

"As a token of my honesty" he said, "I present you, Silvio Manfredi, with one of your family's oldest vintages." Silvio looked back to the bottle, and carefully took it in his hands when the agent offered it to him. As he took it, he tenderly studied the stability and labeling of this crowning jewel of his family's legacy, which coincidentally was labeled "Here's to Legacy" under the very stylistic "Manfredi Spirits" brand trademark.

In this moment, Silvio Manfredi couldn't help but shake the smug look on his face to a humble smile. One full of appreciation for what his family has done to make a life in America for just over a century. And to be holding one of the oldest records of those origins, was enough for him to make a decision in this very do-or-die situation.

"Mmm" Silvio hummed, "I must agree with you, Ms. Carbone. I too am entertained by his persuasive theatrics."

Assuming that Manfredi just agreed to his terms, Fisk stands from his seat and asks for Silvio's hand. Silvio slowly takes it, and the two share a very tight hand shake. One that would have lasted longer from how much question in trust there was between them. "Thank you, Silvermane" Fisk said huskily, using Silvio's codename in the criminal world, to which Silvio smirked.

"If I may..." Fisk added, asking for the bottle in old man's other hand. He handed the bottle over and Fisk soon began to prepare to open the bottle. The agent that had fetched the bottle from the bar, was now bringing around a wine glasses for each of the people seated at the table. With a flex of his powerful thumbs, Fisk was able to pop the cork off the spout of the bottle. The sound of the freshly opened wine fizzled from the inside of the bottle. As it settled, Fisk went around to each crime boss and poured a good portion of the vintage drink. As he did, the crime bosses looked between Fisk and Silvermane, trying to see if they could read anything based on their facial expressions or body language. To them, Manfredi was just as ruthless and resourceful as Fisk, when he wanted to be. And quite frankly, they a bit shocked to see a crime boss like him bend the knee so willingly to the Kingpin.

Eventually, Fisk finished pouring everyone their drinks, even pouring a glass for his costumed marksman for good measure. He raises his glass into the air, signaling what he believes is healthy toast. The other bosses raise their glasses as well, thinking that they really have no say in the matter. Silvio was the last to raise his glass, and with a hard swallow of his most dignified pride, he toasted, "Here's to Legacy!" Fisk and the other bosses echo his toast and they all take their sip.

Hours later, Manfredi has been returned to his private estate by the FBI agents that had picked him up. He takes up a spot on his living room couch and rests there for a good twenty minutes. He doesn't do anything too particularly other than massage the bridge of his nose and ponder what had just happened in the previous hours. Finally, he shuffles him self over to the side of the couch where the side table stands. He reaches for his phone and dials a number. A few rings go by before someone is able to receive his call.

"Fisk is preparing a takeover" he said in a calm, commanding way to the person on the other end of the call, "and I WON'T allow it." He took a sharp breath as he was now able to mold the thoughts he had been holding inside all night into spoken words. "He thinks he can take everything that my family has built. Call everyone in, we're planning for war. All our drug people, weapons dealers, and I also need you to get a list of experts in cybernetics. This fight shouldn't go down with guns and bullets, but with grit and blood!"

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A/N- And so it begins. Welcome back to this crazy world that I have created that you guys have somehow have come to enjoy. I hope you guys will find this story just as fun and exciting as you did for "As Luck Would Have It."

Just starting with a scene from another Marvel property (loosely MCU-based) that kind of fits in with something that will be driving most of the events in this story. So get ready for all the cause and effect scenarios to be in full swing.

Hope you guys enjoyed the beginning of "Three's a Crowd"! Leave a vote if you did, and don't forget to express your thoughts in the comments.

Side-note: With all the craziness that went down with Spider-Man in-between books, I should say that I have gotten over the whole "Spidey out of the MCU" thing and am just looking forward to Spider-Man 3 with Tom Holland and the rest of his supporting cast. It's sad that he won't be able to interact with the other heroes, but I think it will be a breath of fresh air to see a Spider-Man story on his own.

New chapter next week, but don't expect a new chapter every week. I think I'll stick to a chapter every two weeks, but next week will be a treat for you guys. Until next time, BYE!!!