Stormy Exchange

Lucien

The Mafia Don looked sternly at his daughter as he repeated his words. He was alone with his daughter in the large study and he had just told her something that had made her see red.

She was not to attend university this semester. It was too dangerous.

The late afternoon sunlight flooded the room, bathing it in warm tones of brown. Outside the large floor to ceiling windows, the trees at the edge of the lawns were adorned in the colours of winter, reds and yellows and browns. The majestic onslaught of winter was near. But the people in the room were oblivious to the beauty of the landscape around the mansion. Like the guards patrolling the grounds, armed and ready for any eventuality, they were hell-bent on what they were doing; a fiery discussion, in this case.

Lucien Delano sat behind his large , polished desk which was as always, uncluttered and tidy. The Boss was notoriously neat to a fault. His silver head was gleaming and as always, when he was working, the dove-grey shir