Fame < Infamy (Closed)

Papa strode through the mansion and made his way straight to Azazel's office. He and Zazzy had gone to Durmstrang together way back then, and Papa'd always known he had potential but he'd never seen him as having a whole underlying Mafia connection. Then again, almost none of Papa's true childhood friends had known that about him either, so they were meeting here on equal grounds.

His people within the Mafia had been informing him of the Sicarius's movements for a little over a year now, and Papa knew that this was the most prominant time to start negotiation, while the rest of the mob was at dinner, and his people were safe within their masses. The little thing with Azazel's eldest would be fine too. Iva was at marrying age almost, might as well make a few promises. He could always pretend to change his mind.

He'd called for Azazel to come and meet him only a few minutes before by way of house elf, and was waiting by the door, completely motionless. He was dressed impeccibly, his suit and tie fitted to his sturdy form by hand selected seamstresses who'd been serving the family for years.

It was time to negotiate.

An house elf had disturbed him in thoughts, and his thoughts were important. Apparently a Mr Popov was here to meet him. Would the name ring a bell? Perhaps, but now it did not. And as the house elf had finished speaking Azazel tossed him into the open fire, watching the elf burn to death.

Smirking he called for another house elf to clean up the mess. A third house elf was knocking on the door, shaking with fear. Who could this Popov be and why was it so important. Azazel calmed himself down a few degrees and told the elf to let in the man.

Was it a client perhaps? Game, he thought rubbing his hands together, he hadn't killed for a while. With a superior smirk on his face Azazel sat down in his big black lather chair behind his desk and let the white cat jump up in his lap, petting it as he waited for the client to enter.

Papa walked into the office after the house elf, ordering it away with a wave of his hand. "Azazel." He greeted gruffly. "On the off chance my name has been lost in the throws of time, I am Pieter Popov I. We went to school together. I am here on business." He grinned a malicious grin.

"We have been dealing to each other for quite some time, I figured you may want to know who your top supplier and buyer was." He brushed some ash off of the sleeve of his suit, taking in Azazel's appearance. He didn't look as good as expected, or as frightening. His spies had been either misinformed, or had seen an entirely different person. No matter. He'd punish them until they remembered what exactly they'd seen later.

Papa made no comment about the cat. Awfully stereotypical in his mind. What was this man supposed to be, an actor? Clearly the entire persona was fear-induced delusion and rumor. Papa was almost disappointed. No matter.

He thought, and thought a bit more. Didn't ring a bell. Better just play along. ''Ah yes, Peeta Papov.'' Azazel said with a nod and folded his hands. He could see from the look on the face of the client that he was somewhat amused by his looks. Good, it was exactly how he wanted it. Now he just looked like a regular business man, but if someone tried anything, anything at all, he'd be sent to serve the rest of his living days dead. Somewhere in hell most likely.

''Yes, well yes of course. You are the one selling us all the vegetables i assume?'' Now he recognized. But what on earth and below could he help this old man with? Kill a thief that stole his finest strawberry's? Now this could get entertaining.

''Tell me old man, what do you need help with? And are you sure you have the money to ask for our assistance?''

Papa smirked. "Yes. Strawberries." He said, raising an eyebrow. "Also the weapons your little gang has been using that haven't come from Dear miss Archer, the drugs you have been selling, and the house elves you have been..." He glanced at the fireplace. "...using in your service."

He huffed in amusement. "Do Popov's have money?" He asked. "What rock have your informants crawled under? And I mean the ones that have been turned away, not the ones we've caught and killed." He smirked. "And Popov's Firewhiskey is universally wideknown."

He smiled. "I do not need your services, Sicarius. You need mine." He spread his hands and gestured around. "Almost everything you have here is because of my business. Where do you think your extra funding comes from? You're extra manpower?" He shook his head. "However, I do wish to have a formal agreement. Beneficial to both parties." He shrugged. "You do not have to agree to anything, not yet. Let me put my offers on the table, and you may decide then."

It was time to stop this charade. With a simple gesture of his hand the room turned into a complete different one. Now it was dark and dull, much more appropriating for a mafia meeting. And with the room changing, him himself changed as well. Into his killer self.

''Now lets stop with this charade and get down to business.'' He said in a much more deep voice. ''Let me start by saying that the supplies we have here is from a whole other partner so I wonder where all your supplies goes.'' His voice was intimidating, scarier than before now that he no longer played the part as an casual business men.

''I suggest you spill what you wanted to meet me about before I loose my temper.'' He leaned back in his chair and watched Popov.

''Also I think you do best in speaking with a more respected voice towards me, before things turn nasty. After all, you don't want your little mafia to need to chose a new boss now do you?''

Papa had to bite back a yawn. Finally getting down to business. He enjoyed the charades before they came to the business as much as he enjoyed the business itself. He was not fazed by the man's change in appearance, or the deepening of his voice. He himself could change his voice on a whim, and it only took a few simple spells to change one's appearance.

"No, trust me. We are the second party. I own the second party. I also sold you that nice little strip club you have over in St. Petersburg. Who else would have sold it to you? Popov connections are intricate and wide spread. There are not many who are out of our net, and those who believe they are are right in the middle, an air hole, if you will."

He raised an eyebrow delicately. "You must know, as a Godfather, that respect is something earned. You will not scare me into submission, as you have all the others. Unlike you, I didn't invent and claim the title, I worked for it. I made my way through seventeen brothers to get to where I am today, and you are not the first to doubt me. You are, however, the first to be getting my offer without many visable threats to your life." He grimaced. "Most must be scared into it, but I believe you are different. More sensible, surely, if you do not allow your pride to get in the way."

Papa raised an eyebrow. "I am not afraid of death. Dying would only mean the next would need to step up, and I believe I have trained the next Papa well enough to lead. What about you, Sicarius? Do you think your sons are ready to take on the line yet?"

Papa straightened his tie, as if in a sign of nerves, though really he was just bored. "You would benefit in many ways if you joined us." He smirked. "Or, as you would say, we join you. Whom is joining whom is not really the point. The point is, Popovs have money, power, and influence." He gestured to the minibar in the corner of the room. "I'm sure you've had firewhiskey before, Popovs invented it. I'm sure you've heard of the Trump Taj Mahal and Tropicana over in America? We've built those two casino franchises from the bottom up, and the wizards and witches who gamble there along side clueless muggles give us thousands of dollars hourly, and we all know the exchange rate from dollars to galleons." He gave Azazel a pointed look, as if it were common knowledge, which it should have been, to anyone of their stature.

"Then again, I can walk right through that door, and you'll never hear of me again." He gestured toward the door to demonstate. "However, your stocks will disappear, as will half of your men. You guards will be listening on someone else's orders, and your son, well, I'm not threatening him, but really, that girl? Do you honestly think it was the best plan, letting them give each other that oath?" He shook his head. "I at least have some control over my children..."

He shrugged. "What do you say, old pal?"