Chapter Text
Buzz, buzz, buzzzzz. A groan erupted from the sleeping man and followed by the shifting of his body in the bed which broke the morning silence of the New York flat. The man reached for the buzzing phone on his night stand and looking at the bright screen knew, with reluctance, that work was starting early today.
“Peter it’s 5am,” the man complained, picking up the call.
“Neal, my house in 15,” Peter responded curtly. “And wear a suit.”
Before Neal had a chance to retort back anything, the call ended. Slowly Neal arose from his bed and stood in the darkness of his flat hair disheveled, eyes glazed over with fatigue and staring with yearning at the warm embrace of his blanket.
“Okay, let’s go,” Neal muttered to himself making his way over to the dresser to pick out a suit. Neal wavered briefly between classic black and chic blue before deciding to play it safe with black.
---
“El go back to bed, sorry for waking you,” a mature voice sounded from atop a mound of scattered paper.
“It’s ok Peter. Work calls and I know what I was getting into when I married you” El responded sympathetically as she put on a pot of coffee.
“You’re the best,” Peter replied. Before El could respond a knock erupted at the front door.
“It’s open,” Peter responded. “And you’re late.”
“Peter, it's 5am. Cut me some slack,” retorted a clear voice as the man entered the Burke home.
“Quit your complaining Neal,” Peter said without looking up from the sprawled paperwork on the dining room table, eyes glued to the contents of one page.
“What are we looking at,” Neal asked as he approached the table to observe what this case in which he was woken up at this ungodly hour pertained.
“Nice suit,” Elizabeth chipped in, approaching the two men with a freshly brewed pot of coffee and two mugs. “Coffee, boys?”
“Yes please,” Neal answered, taking a seat beside Peter at the dining table and pulling some of the papers toward him for better access. “Peter wants to tell me what I’m doing here in a suit at 5 in the morning?”
“Ok we get it you didn’t get your 8 hours,” Peter bit back sarcastically while handing Neal the page he was previously reading over. “Recognize him?”
The page was a blurred photo of a man in a suit who appeared tall, muscular and well experienced in combat beneath the elegant exterior. While pixelated, the man had dark brown eyes, a sharp jawline, and sleek black hair which was gelled upwards. There was an air of maturity that could be picked up from even a picture of this man and from a pulled up sleeve, the tip of some sort of body art could be made out.
“Looks like danger,” Neal observed.
“And he is. Full name is Don Massimo Torricelli and he is the mafia head of a quite prominent family,” Peter began.
“Doesn’t look like someone a person messes with,” Neal muttered, taking a closer look at the figure in the picture.
“Well then you're gonna love this. His nickname is the ‘Grim Reaper,” Peter continued passing another page to Neal which included a description of the man in conversation.
“Suspected for murder, extortion, corruption of public officials, gambling, infiltration of legitimate businesses, labor racketeering, loan sharking, tax fraud schemes and stock manipulation schemes,” Neal read from the information page before him. “Seems like someone who would be wanted by a lot of services. Why is he our problem?”
“Well, luckily or unluckily for us, we received intel that he landed in New York about 5 hours ago,” Peter explained, “and that he will be attending a gala at noon today with a lot of big names in the crime world.”
“But this all says ‘suspected,’ what is it that we’re trying to get him on?”
“Honestly Neal, I don’t know. I don’t know why this case fell on our laps or why I was given orders for us to infiltrate the gala and get close to him. All I know is that this morning I received a call from D.C. requesting that we assist in an ongoing investigation by doing so.”
“So basically we’re going to a gala at noon to get close to a dangerous man amidst a crowd of dangerous people for a purpose we don’t know,” Neal summarized. “Fantastic.”
“Not us. Nick Halden will be the one attending” Burke corrected, taking a large gulp of coffee. “And Nick Halden will be spending the remainder of this morning memorizing all the information on this table.”
At this, Neal raised his head to look at Peter with disbelief, mouth slightly agape while running his hands to ruffle his hair in frustration.
“Sounds like we will be needing more coffee,” Elizabeth chimed in, grabbing the now empty coffee pot off of the table and stepping into the kitchen to brew another.
---
At noon, Nick Halden, gambler and money launderer - amongst other things - entered the scene of a closed invitation party dressed in a sleek black suit which fit perfectly on his toned body. One hand held a black envelope with the gala’s gold encrusted invitation and the other hand clicked a silver pen before sliding it into his inner jacket pocket. Per usual his anklet had been cut and now tracking and one way audio had been set up via a pen.
Two large bodyguards stood outside of the entrance to pat down the guests and check invitation cards. As Neal approached, one guard reached out his hand for the invitation which Neal gently placed into his hand. With a suspicious eye, the guard looked over the contents of the envelope and gave Neal a once up and down. The guard then proceeded to slip the envelope into a container which included several similar black envelopes before turning back to face Neal.
“ID,” the guard requested.
Neal casually patted his pockets and took out a leather wallet, inspecting its contents before allowing a sigh to escape his lips.
“I left it in the car,” Neal said apologetically.
“No ID, no entry,” the guard responded, turning to face another guest in line to repeat the process.
“No no no, hey, hey,” Neal began, laying on his charm to the guard before him, “listen I need to be at that gala. I’m sure you know who is attending and they are expecting me.” Neal moved to cut off the guest that the guard had begun to inspect and stood before the guard, eyes locked on the guard's face and scanning it for any notes of sympathy he could potentially take advantage of.
“Mr. Halden, as I have said,” the guard said, turning away from Neal, “no ID, no entry.”
“And as I have said,” Neal interjected, once more cutting off the guard from turning away, “I need to enter. The car has already left and I do not have the luxury of wasting an hour to go and get it.” Neal looked intently into the guard’s eyes and clearly enunciated each word with authority.
“Sir, unless I can confirm your identity -” before the guard could say anymore, Neal closed their distance such that there was barely an inch of space between the two men.
“It’s clear that you don’t know me. But trust me, you don’t want to know me,” Neal hissed at the guard, his voice dripping with poison. “It doesn’t take much for me to end you.”
The guard began to visibly tense at the threat as it was common knowledge amongst the staff working that night the genre the profiles the guests for this event fell into. Despite being a head taller than Neal and twice his size, the guard felt a tingle of fear crawl up his spine.
“Don’t worry though,” Neal said, taking a step back and raising his arms to tidy the suit that hung tightly on the guard’s broad shoulders, “I am not one to make threats. I make promises.”
“Ah, Mr. Halden,” the guard said with an awkward chuckle while retreating another step back. “Thank you for attending and apologies for the… delay. Please, enjoy the party.”
“Thank you,” Neal responded with a cheshire smile as he tidied his own suit and entered the gala.