The atmosphere was tense and sorrowful, family members huddling in small groups here or there. Already sides were being chosen, and it was not even a week after the passing of the Head of the Family. Already people were vying to take the reigns, to take the power and money that comes with these reigns.<br/><br/>It is not that they were unremorseful, not that they do not care. The Family is everything, when one dies everyone pays respect. But Business is business, so they say. Don Frenchetti was an older man, but shrewd in his businesses. Both on the table and under, no one crossed him, but no one got cheated either. His leadership was amongst the most peaceful decades the Family had encountered, not to say that there was not unfortunate incidents along the way. However, all in all the Family was prosperous.<br/><br/>In the Parlor, all pictures were draped with black cloth, all except the one holding the focal point of the room. There, hung a picture of the late Don, and below the picture sits a man that might have been the very same person, twenty years younger.<br/><br/>Ben Frenchitti sat with his fingers templed before him. His black hair slicked back, his face almost haggard with strain, yet not a tear fell from his eyes and not a tremble in his demeanor can be seen. His dark suit was immaculate, complemented by the silk red tie. Dark eyes scan the room, both in mourning but also in a calculating manner.