Nineteenth century London

  He paced the alley in quick strides. The soft drizzle had become a moderate shower and showed conspicuous signs of turning into a down pour. The man cursed under his breath, both his hands clutched at his side, tried in vain effort to shield a brown file from the water. In the dim streetlight he saw the hands of his pocket watch strike 2.

  'Ques Inglesacci, I've been a fool to trust them'

  His predicament was quite the unfortunate one. Stranded in London with not a penny in his pocket, and a stack of papers that could potentially destroy nations and families alike.

  'Buongiorno Signore'

  The man jumped with a shriek as an eerie voice whispered from his blind spot.

  'Whose there? sei italiano?' He demanded.

  'Pardon me sir' a plump man carrying a black umbrella emerged from the shadows. He wore a hat as was the norm for many high class englishmen of the age. His attire strictly formal,comprised of a black suit and tie.

  'Say, are you italian?'

  'Indeed, I am not sir' the man replied

  'Your accent is immaculate'

  'It is the same way as your english

  Signore Valeoni'

  The utterance of his name and perhaps the realisation that the knowledge of his identity in this unknown land could but mean one critical detail about the identity of the utterer, guided his thoughts....which had drifted back to the streets of Italy, back to the present moment in suburban London. Along with the thoughts came the bubbling rage that had been gurgling inside of him until moment's ago.

  'So now you arrive, I was beginning to think this whole thing was a farce, you fraudulent fellows!'

  Valeoni animated his voice as best as he could, hoping that his agitation would be conveyed but all was lost on the plump man, who but curtly replied.

  'Think what you might of me, but not of my master signore. Now if you will follow me, my master awaits you'

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  'Whether or not to follow you isn't exactly up to my discretion is it? say what would you do if i refused'

  '.....'

  Silence is the best or atleast in this case, the least violent answer to some questions

  The man led Valeoni to a black carriage which was drawn by two almost identical black horses. The carriage had a fireplace which alone was enough to have him forget all about his past grievances.

  Having been born in the lower end of the economic hierarchy, Valeoni seldom rode carriages, let alone those with fireplaces and adequate leg room. The plump man took the reins and in the battering rain, they drove further and further away from the city lights until they reached what Valeoni could only describe as a fortress set in stone.

  After twenty minutes of wooden wheels on water logged roads, Valeoni heard the creaking of iron as the carriage came to a momentary halt. He peeked through the window, hills loomed behind the Manor. The entrance was overgrown with exotic climbers. A few sinister plants boasted flowers that glowed against the dark wallpaper of the night. A sight to behold. He wondered why the rich liked such exuberant show.

  'Be it Italia or any other part of the world, somethings are universal' he mused.

  From the entrance to the main building, it took another five minutes. Valeoni started fidgeting with his pocket watch. He felt the anxiety creep within himself. This very night would decide his fate once and for all, maybe even the fate of his descendents. The risk was high, but so were the rewards.

  As the hall grew close, more men dressed like the one that came to fetch him were seen patrolling the grounds, each carrying a portable lantern.

  When he got down from the carriage, the rain had stopped. Four guards silently surrounded him on all four sides, the plump man guided him inside the hall. Valeoni noticed that the men all had rifles at their waist, except these were shorter and nothing like the ones he had seen the italian millitary carry. This arrangement made sure to leave him no room for escape. He felt that they overestimated him, one guard alone would be enough to overpower a man such as himself. He was never athletic to begin with and knew nothing of combat.

  Inside the hall hung lanterns at short intervals, but their light was rather dim and yellow, creating an eerie ambience. Tall walls formed a dome at the roof, from which hung a huge chandelier. Beneath Valeoni's feet was a thick maroon carpet with intricate golden designs. His experience as a voyager told him it was from India. At the end of the hall were two spiral staircases that led to a circular viewing gallery, which was the first floor. Unlike the ground floor, the first floor had several paintings, and as Valeoni noticed, they all depicted scenes of a hooded figure performing vicious deeds. From the angle of the paintings, the observer could not figure out whether the hooded one was a man or a woman, or even a human.

  Then his eyes fell upon figure at the centre of the room. Bright lightening struck with deafening thunder as Valeoni fathomed the man. He was dressed in a long black suit, dark brown hair neatly combed, and stood with his hands behind his back. The figure slowly turned his head to reveal a pair of glinting eyes that fell straight on the file that Valeoni had clutched in his hands.

  'My lord, he has arrived,' said the plump man. Valeoni had forgotten all about the men and his dire predicament due to the splendour of the hall, but now the man's voice dragged him back to his reality, thus putting an end to his bliss.

  After uttering the words, all five of the men bowed in unison and left with their heads down.

  The man at the centre, Valeoni thought, must be the boss.

  'Signore Viscontini' the man spoke slowly. In no particular tone. It was as if he spoke just to see how the words would sound, but for Valeoni, that was enough to send him shivering in his boots.

  'That is the surname of the main branch of the family, I'm afraid a man from the tributary branches, such as myself could not use it'. He realised how foolish he sounded the moment he finished speaking. Here was a man who could have governments dance to his rhythm, he would naturally not bother with minor details about insignificant people like him.

  'Ahh, but you would like to use it, wouldn't you. Yess, I could sense it from the way you spoke.' Valeoni felt that the man's voice resembled a snake's hiss. A snake that was laying low, waiting for the perfect instant to land a fatal bite that would end his life.

  'How about this,' the man continued.'You give me that file that you're carrying, and I take care of your worries for you'

  'That is what I came here for, I come to offer a deal ,if you may be interested.' He chose his wordings carefully, one misplaced word could cost him he knew not what. Standing under the turf of the largest underground organisation of Europe (possibly the whole world), Valeoni felt his presence was tiny and negligible.