The Madonna t. shelby [ON HOLD]

The Rose

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"We have a new order from the Ferraro on the Ninth Street for next year, and we're almost done with the Smith's order... The house is grandiose, madam, it really is..." the man says as he is reading the book open in front of him. It's a large book with a red cover and yellow papers covered in black ink. 

The man passed a large hand on the page, careful, almost tender, under the watchful eyes of the young woman sitting on the other side of the table. She is gorgeous, so much so that her presence seems to brighten the room, yet, her eyes are as dark as ebony. Whispers on the streets say that her beauty distracts from the devil hiding in her eyes.

Although the man in front of her is older than she is, he still looks at her with respect and does not stare into her eyes for too long. His name is Bradley Braxton. He is one of the book accountants for the Muratori. He oversees the Ninth Street, and every Monday, he has to report to the Madonna, the head of the Muratori.

The young woman on the other side of the table is the Madonna. Her real name, however, is Rosalia D'Angelo. She inherited the position of the Madonna after the death of her mother while she was in France, serving as a war nurse for the British army.

Today is routine as usual. Rosalia is making her rounds on her territory, stopping at each Muratori's shop, verifying each accounting book, and listing the old and new orders in her own book, a small black one. The Muratori, hence the D'Angelo, owns every Birmingham's Italian district but allows smaller families, like the Sabini and the Changretta. All of them had to report business to the Muratori.

Initially, the Muratori were masons and bricklayers, workers assembled by Amalia D'Angelo - Rosalia's ancestor. Even now, in 1919, their main activity was masonry. They've built all the houses on their territory and others around the city. They are known to be the best, and Rosalia's family has worked hard to keep their reputation.

Yet, today's peace was about to get disturbed.

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"D'Angelo!" A sudden yell resonated through the busy street of Birmingham's Little Italy, where Rosalia was currently listing a new order in her book. She was sitting inside her shop, a rather large place where her family had their office, taking orders.