Ever since the first inklings of the Giovanni’s rise against the Cappadocians, the Machiavelli family had been neck deep in its involvement in the hunting down and eradication of the parent clan. Sinking money, resources, influence into the cause to preserve the famigilia’s place of existence before the Capps got tired of them and wiped them out first.

Edon had led the charge, followed closely by Rafaele. The two brothers had worked tirelessly in their efforts. While Edon was the face, Rafaele had been the shadows. Which in the long run had suited him. If Edon wanted all the praise and esteem from the work let him have it. But they all knew where the gratitude actually lay.

At Rafaele’s feet.

In the early years he had thrown together a rag tag bunch which became the budding of the ORG that existed today. What was only a handful of bodies was now hundreds. Perhaps even thousands spread across all major and minor families. Some even outside the family as well, but that was a closely guarded secret that Rafaele kept close to his vest. Their loyalty and drive towards the cause ran deep. Among those he employed he was judge, jury and executioner.

Some would call him a mad dog, fueled by the unacceptable idea of failure. He had only failed once and that had come with a heavy cost. The attack on the council had them lose not one but both parents that day. Edon had been thrust into the head of the house role while Rafaele threw himself into hunting down those responsible who had escaped and exacting his own brand of revenge. But it never seemed to heal the hole in his undead heart, it only staunched the bleeding. Immense regret and self doubt had followed. But as the years passed it quickly faded.

While their father was a harsh man he was respectable though not well liked in his own right. Their mother did not deserve to go the way she had. Torn apart by wraiths. How he missed her on his better days.

How had he not seen it coming? How had he not gotten a whiff, an inkling. ANY kind of indication of what was to happen that day? Had he failed because he was not at his desk that day toiling away? What could he have done different that might have changed the entire outcome? Instead spending time with his young sons who would now have to grieve the loss of their own grandparents alongside him?

He kept the boys at arms length because of what he did until they were old enough and able to better comprehend what he did for them. For the famiglia. So they would know why he stayed away. A distant, stoic pillar of the family who kept an ever watchful eye over them all. And if the time came that they wished to join him at the ORG he would not turn them away. Though over time Romeo had shown no real great ruthlessness. No, he was better fitted for information gathering. Traveling the world, his nose stuck in his books during his down time. The boy was as Machiavelli as any other. Marius….well what could he say about Marius?

From that day he had swore to put an end to it. But as long as the Cappadocians still walked unfettered the work would never end. And that was also fine by him as well. Being stationary had never suited him. Not working had never suited him. And while there were many distractions in his unlife, even now, his work had always come first. Anything less and he was sure another incident would slip through and end them all. Some might have said it verged on the edge of paranoia but no, he would not go quietly into the dark that way. He was cautious and observant.

The Machiavelli’s high standard of himself translated over to his high standard of those who worked under him. Their failure was unacceptable too. And they were swift to be reminded of such. There was a reason the one wall of his office had been replaced with glass so that he might watch them. Making sure they were staying on task while striking an imposing figure from up high. Spys, informants, information brokers, hackers, he employed them all and more. Everyone had a use. And everyone was useful to Rafaele in some capacity.

Today, however, it had been the Koenig informant that had been the most useful indeed. What he had brought to Rafaele’s desk was startling. To think there was one right under their noses. And being assisted by one of their own no less. But it seemed the boy had no idea what or who he was. Even so, the gaul of them both.

My, my.

When the Koenig had left, Rafaele poured himself a glass of wine and leaned against the mantle of his fireplace. Embers smoldered in its depths, reflected in his dark grey eyes as he stared into them. The marble face of the fireplace depicted a scene in which Giovanni were participating in the slaughter and subjugation of Cappadocians. It was something he had commissioned not long after that fateful day. While Rafaele could be a charming gentleman in his own right, when it came to the Cappadocians he was a monster. As only monsters could hunt other monsters. The eloquence and noble breeding melted away and the darkness that simmered beneath every Machiavelli’s surface came roaring to the forefront. There was a reason he had built a basement beneath the ORG headquarters that few had access to.

Taking a sip of his wine the sound of claws tapping against the stone floor’s surface and a deep growl seemed to come out of nowhere before finally the figure of a large hound came into view. It huffed and whined, Rafaele tilting his head as if he were listening to it. It was speaking to him after all. “It cannot be helped, Red.” He dismissed the wraith with a wave of his hand before moving to the large wooden desk. It was dark stained and glossy. Not a blemish on its surface. There were stacks of papers and folders nearly arranged in a particular order. As he settled into the high backed chair he opened a drawer, pulling out a sheet of paper, an envelopes and a wax seal. Rafaele was still quite old fashioned when it came to communication. If he did not tell you himself you were sure to receive a letter. Uncapping a pen he leaned back in his chair briefly before his posture straightened and he began to furiously scribble away. Minutes passed, maybe an hour he was unsure. But once he put his mind to a task there was no stopping until it was completed. Rafaele signed the letter with a looping and elegant signature before folding the paper and slipping it into an envelope. Melting the wax onto it and pressing the seal into it. The Machiavelli crest carved out in the quickly cooling wax. With Augustus’ awakening he would want to know and better for Rafaele to alert him of the situation himself then let the Disciple believe he was complacent in the actions of one who’s trust was held i. High regard among the family.

Settling the letter onto his desk in front of him he stared at it. Fingers steepling before his face as his gaze never waivered. He felt that cold, icy chill run claws down his spine. What did it all mean? Well, he would find out soon enough. It was time to move forward. No more distractions. Not again.