George Delaney was sweating bullets as he eyes his new 'friend's weapons. "Get out of here, Rosalie, go home," he said in his best stab at a level voice, but it trembled with fear.<br/><br/>"No..." the old man in a suit said, "stay, Rosalie," with one subtle nod, one of the men with him swept into the restaurant, not toward Rosalie, but instead taking a position between her and the rear exit.<br/><br/>The man turned back to George. "Now then, George..." he slapped the shopkeeper on the shoulder and leaned in, "you can pay us in cash or we'll take it out of you in some other way," he intoned, looking over Delaney's shoulder at Rosalie with lecherous eyes. "I'd say she'd about cover it," he said, pulling back.<br/><br/>The families had held the city hostage in one way or another for more than a century now. First it was gambling, then bootleg booze, then drugs and in recent years, women. And for the past twenty years their lives had been made more and more difficult as the freakshow of a city-state that came out of nowhere as one by one the vices their revenue depended on were legalized and taxed. But in Chicago at least, they owned enough people in the right places to keep the Pacifica-run industry out of their territory, but it was still losing battle and the money they could skim from local businesses was that much more important.<br/><br/>Delaney's rage boiled protectively. He balled his fists in response to the man's thread. Rosalie was, for all intents as purpose,<i>his</i>daughter. "If you touch one hair on her head, I--"<br/><br/>The elder sneered, "you'll what, George? Make me an offer?" He turned and was handed a sleek pistol from the remaining thug. He disengaged the safety and chambered a round. The 'click' of the weapon's slide was deafening as he put it to Delaney's chest, burying the muzzle in the man's sauced-stained apron.<br/><br/>He stroked his chin with his other hand. "Go ahead, make me an offer."<br/><br/>Delaney's knees gave out and he sunk to the floor. the elder pointed the pistol at the shopkeeper's head, pointed down such that there'd not be much left of the man's spine, let alone his head.<br/><br/>"Take.. take everything, the register, the safe-- combi... 3...8...26," he mumbled, "just leave Rosalie..." he trembled, his voice broke as he wept. Then, in one final act of defiance. Paternal instinct, perhaps, he balled his fists and jabbed upwards, hitting the elderly man between the legs. "Run, Rosalie!" he yelled, dropping and rolling himself to the right, away from the gangsters.<br/><br/>The elder staggered back and was caught by his unarmed thug. The bodyguard that was covering Rosalie reacted instinctively toward his boss's plight. He drew his own weapon and fired twice at him. A table splintered, a mirror shattered, but Delaney  kept scurrying away.<br/><br/>The elder regained his composure, leveled his pistol at the prone shopkeeper  and emptied the magazine. Ten bullets spat out as fast as the old man could cycle the trigger, reducing the shopkeeper to a pile of flesh in a sea of crimson.