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Lucrezia "Lucy" Omerta - Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters, Outer Vegas

Lucy waited patiently within the small boardroom on the upper floors of the old abandoned Sunset Sarsaparilla Factory in West Outer Vegas. The location had been carefully chosen, and then relayed to The Brotherhood of Steel, under the assumption that it would serve adequately as a neutral ground for them to meet. Out of the way, far from NCR jurisdiction, and completely abandoned ever since the encroachment of The Green had driven any would-be squatters away: it was a suitably dreary location for a clandestine meeting.

Lucy’s men had managed to get the boardroom cleaned up and had even hooked up a power generator to give the place some lights and fresh air blowing through it - but it was still a far cry from where Lucy would have preferred to meet. Her luxurious office within Gomorrah would have done nicely, were it not for the ever-present NCR threat on the Strip which, even if extreme precautions had been taken to ensure security, would have posed an unnecessary risk to both parties. Neither the Family, nor The Brotherhood, could afford tipping off anyone within the NCR of this meeting: least of which the Ambassador.

The Omerta Heir-apparent had with her a few dozen Omerta made-men, a similar number of White Glove Society members, and a small squad of heavily armed Iron Forester mercs all spread out throughout the building for security. Ostensibly they were there to protect her if The Brotherhood turned treacherous for any reason: but the harsh reality was that most likely they’d all be dead if that happened. Only the Iron Forester Mercs had any hope of fighting back on anything approaching an even footing: and they had made it very clear that their ‘hazard pay’ didn’t include fighting power-armored Knights if any of those should show up.

It was a gamble then, but Lucy was betting on the odds of The Brotherhood agents not being the shoot-first type. There would be no point in it, and furthermore, nothing to gain. Both sides had interest in hearing each other out: and that was what she was counting on.

Lucy tapped her fingers on the table in front of her and sipped nervously, and somewhat ironically, on the cold bottle of Nuka Cola in front of her. This was perhaps the most important task her father had entrusted with her to date, and she wasn't about to go and screw it up.

Calm…clear head, She told herself, They’re people…not machines. They can be reasoned with.

“Madam…” A calm, airy voice interrupted her troubled thoughts. Lucy looked up to see a White Glove concierge standing before her, giving a slight bow, “The mercenary Scout has spotted what he believes to be a Brotherhood party approaching the factory.”

Lucy gulped and downed that last of the Nuka Cola, tossing the empty bottle to one of her Omerta thugs. She looked up at the concierge, and if there was any note of fear in his face, it was completely obscured by that damned mask of his. Maybe that was the real reason the Society wore those stupid things after all...

“Then let’s welcome them in…”

Minutes later Lucy could hear the footsteps of the Brotherhood agents approaching the Boardroom. As they entered, escorted by the concierge, she stood up from the table and walked over to offer her hand to whoever looked to be the leader.

“Lucrezia Omerta,” She said politely, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance...I hope you had no trouble on the road.”
The Omerta Family and White Gloves

The Royal Court was in session: the courtiers, sycophants, and more than a few jesters gathered before the King’s throne. They each sat silently, waiting with bated breath for their liege to arrive. They didn’t have to wait long, for soon Old King Cole himself arrived with his Queen in tow.

Fat Dom took his seat at the head of the long table with Marjorie to his right, and his daughter Lucy to his left. White Gloves and Omertas leadership alike filled up the remaining seats. They sat facing across from each other either on Lucy’s or Marjorie’s side of the table, but all looked to Dominic to explain the reason for this strange impromptu meeting held within the depths of the Ultra Luxe’s inner sanctum.

We’ve got a problem,” Dominic began, folding his large hands on the table in front of him, “And we need to do something about it.”

“I’ll say we do, those Chairman ruffians..” Marjorie started to say, before Dominic quickly cut her off.

“Not the Chairmen,” He said, hushing her, “Not this time. We’ve got bigger problems than some two-bit wanna-be goombahs.”

Dominic breathed in deeply, and then exhaled, his gaze shifted between each of the assembled members of the Two Families who’s collective power in Vegas proper was all but unmatched,

“Our problem is the NCR: or rather the Van Graffs to be specific. Though the two might as well be the same at this point. More and more they’re encroaching on our territory and burning through goodwill, and its clear to me now that they have no interest in respecting Vegas’s autonomy: if they ever did. We all know damn well too that old Not-At-Home isn’t going to get off his lazy ass in his Penthouse and do anything about it, nor is his little crony Swank. They’ve both given up and accepted their fates. So that leaves us.”

“What’s your plan Boss, what are we going to do? We gonna fight?” One of his Omerta’s pipped up.

“We can’t fight the NCR military by ourselves. It's madness.” One of the White Gloves added.

“What afraid of getting some blood on those gloves?” A second Omerta scoffed.

“Perhaps we can outspend them…hire more mercenaries. Perhaps forces from Caesar’s Legion..” Yet another White Glove chimed in.

“SHUT IT!” Lucy suddenly shouted, quelling the outbursts from both sides.

The bickering former tribals fell silent, and once more Dominic had their undivided attention,

“First things first, we need to find out where we stand…gather allies. I’ve spoken with the Vault Dwellers to the North and they are agreeable to friendship…and will undoubtedly prove invaluable in the long run. But they aren’t a military - and we need friends who are.”

“What are you suggesting dear?” Marjorie asked, one eyebrow raised.

“We send out two letters inviting communication. One to the Brotherhood of Steel, and another to Colonel Abernathy himself. The Brotherhood are not our direct enemies - and are actively at war with the NCR. We’d be fools not to hear them out if they are willing. As for Abernathy - he was recently snubbed by Van Graff leadership, and perhaps he’s willing to entertain other options for his soldiers.”

“As for the Legion - that’s exactly why we need to sort out the NCR problem now. If the Legion invades again they’ll likely just pull back and let us get wiped out in a tide of Crimson. We all know what the Legion does - what it plans to do with Vegas.”

“Crosses, spikes, and a rapine pillaging or two,” Lucy added with a sardonic chuckle, “And the women get the honor to be Officer’s wives if they’re lucky…”

“Exactly - the Legion aren't friends - and I’m not going to trust them as far as I can throw a Centurion. If the Van Graffs won’t clue us in on what’s going on across the Colorado - all that means is it's bad news for us.”

“Are we agreed?” Dominic asked finally.

Nods, murmurs, and pounding on the table followed.

So it was decided.




Sent through a complex network of Omerta chem dealers, raiders, and finally the Khans. The Brotherhood letter reaches someone in power with this message:

Leaders of the Brotherhood of Steel, Mojave Chapter:

In the interest of a free and independent Vegas, we wish to extend a hand of friendship and discuss the potential for cooperation against our shared foe.

We suggest meeting on neutral ground to discuss terms. Leave a white horse nettle flower on the fountain outside the Ultra Luxe to indicate your agreement.

[A single white glove is enclosed with the letter.]





Meanwhile an NCR officer coming back from leave on the strip heads to Camp Golf with a few hundred extra caps stuffed in his pocket, not won at any Casino, alongside a small white envelope containing a letter.

Colonel,

If you are a smart man, which I believe you are, you’ll likely grasp immediately who this letter is from. We’ve both been betrayed by those who are rotting the NCR from within.

If you’re willing to discuss this more, then put someone you can trust absolutely on leave. Let them have a good time, and give us your reply.

We’ll take it from there.

Somewhere in Outer Vegas

The Chairmen were antsy.

Lucy watched with bated breath from her hidden position on the hillside as the two groups below exchanged niceties. On one side was a heavily armed group of Chairmen goons, wearing their usual tan suits. On the other was the caravan group they were making a deal with. Several large crates full of weapons and body armor were stacked neatly behind the caravaner's brahmin: they were arms dealers looking to make a quick load of caps in Vegas by profiting off the recent conflicts.

Despite their always-present smug self-assurance, it was clear the Chairmen were out of their element. The leader of this little war-party kept fidgeting with his suit jacket and playing with a decorative lighter in his hand, flipping it back and forth like some kind of stress relief toy. The rest of the Chairmen shifted uneasily side-to-side, and kept a white-knuckle grip on their 9mm submachine guns.

It wasn't hard to see why. The boys from The Tops rarely left the strip anymore, and when they did it was almost always because they were forced to. The Omerta-White Gloves alliance was starting to choke them out, business was suffering, and they were woefully outgunned. They had to find some way of turning the tables, and seeking out third party arms dealers was about the only option they had at this point to compete with the Omerta’s substantial armory. Conflict was coming, it was inevitable, and they knew that they couldn’t fight to win as things were now.

Lucy intended to make sure it stayed that way.

A deal seemed to be reached, the Chairmen leader shook the hand of the caravan master and some of the Chairmen moved to pick up the crates. They were laughing, joking with each other and with members of the caravan. They were starting to relax: starting to drop their guards as they came to believe that, now, there was no reason to fear.

The caravan master, still laughing, moved off to the side of the road, yelling something loudly about ‘needing to take a leak’. The rest of his group backed up or subtly slipped themselves behind cover. The Chairmen didn’t seem to notice, they were too busy opening the crates and inspecting all the new shiny toys they’d just purchased.

The caravan master suddenly dove into the ditch. That was the signal. Lucy stood up from her hiding spot, as did the small army of Omerta made-men she had with her.

“This is for my mother you bastards!” She shouted, and immediately began unloading the full clip of her 12mm submachine gun. The rest of the Omertas followed suit, unleashing a hail of lead on the Chairmen below. The poor saps barely had time to register what was happening. Some tried to run, others tried to fire back, but most found themselves turned into well-dressed swiss cheese.

In less than a minute it was over, and once the smoke cleared Lucy casually strode down the hill towards the highway. She gave one of the dead Chairmen a firm kick with her high-heeled boot and then spit on the ground.

“Shit you guys don’t mess around,” The Caravan master said as he slunk up next to Lucy after crawling out of the ditch he’d been taking cover in.

“Double the pay as agreed,” Lucy replied as she turned to him with one hand on her hip, and the other holding up her gun, “But we were never here. These Chairmen were hit by raiders, understand? You mention the word Omerta to anyone, and we’ll make sure you wind up with a few extra holes yourself. Got it?”

“You won’t have anything to worry about from us,” The Caravaner replied as he held up his hands, “We’re out of here…heading back to Cali.”

Lucy nodded in approval, then turned to her men, “Let’s go boys. Take the guns, leave the bodies..”
Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah Mezzanine

"We do indeed. God bless our partnership. We'll provoke Fate as one."

"Excellent," Dominic smile broadened, "Then we'll be in contact further regarding the details of our arrangement. Please - don't hesitate to contact me directly if you need further assistance in your endeavor as well...military or otherwise. As for the rest, let me know who best to contact and I will send some basic details regarding what sorts of systems we may be dealing with. Their discretion would also appreciated in this matter."

"If I may, I seek to marry my girlfriend in short order. I've arranged the proposal, the wedding lists, the catering, et cetera." He presented a minuscule box and flashed a piece of an aged brass fitting. "Everything except the location. Having recently married yourself, you've likely perused several. Amber admires proper traditional styles, so I figured you'd have advice. Is there any candidate you rejected for its quaintness? That sort of venue ought to sate our tastes."

Dominic laughed a hearty chuckle, "Well as you might imagine, my Marjorie was quite thrilled at the prospect of making her wedding the most expensive, luxurious affair possible. So therefore it was held at her very own Ultra Luxe and there never really was a second choice. But...."

He thought for a moment, giving Daniel's query some genuine thought. He didn't want to appear flippant with a response,

"Naturally either the Gomorrah or Ultra Luxe is at your disposal should you desire either venues...free of charge of course. I would not suggest going to The Tops. Swank, the proprietor, and I have a bit of a...disagreement going on currently and he's quite likely to charge your exorbitantly knowing that we are associates now."

An idea came to his mind, and Dominic perked up, "There is Vault 21...right across from the Ultra Luxe here on the strip. Sarah Weintraub is a good friend to the Omerta Family, and she has an exquisite venue. The Vault hosts a pre-war styled ballroom which may be exactly what you are looking for in terms of aesthetic. I'd encourage you to check it out, and please if you do, mention that Dominic sent you."

Years Ago in the Mojave


A host of brahmin-skin yurts encircled a great fire deep within a desert valley. Night had fallen on the Mojave, and strange figures danced around the amber glow of the flame, casting menacing shadows which twisted in the flickering light. Each of the dancers were dressed in various animal costumes and horned headdresses, representing individual spirits or demons equal parts worshiped and feared by the tribe.

One figure stood out above the rest, a great headdress surmounted by the effigy of a snake twisted around it. He held out a gnarled staff and raised his arms high to the sky.

“Great Serpent, hear our pleas! Blessed be your servants here gathered. The Slither Kin! We praise you and beseech you to drive out the enemies of your people.”

A young girl, auburn haired, looked on at the proceedings with fear. Her bright green eyes wide with fright while her arms hugged tightly at a well-worn homemade doll. Someone wrapped a comforting hand around her. The girl looked up and smiled, seeing the reassuring matching green eyes of her mother.

“Be still Little Viper,” She cooed, “It will all be over soon. You must be brave.”

“Old windbag,” A gruff voice added and a fat figure sat down next to her, “Great Serpent this, Great Serpent that. Oooooo...spooky. Ha!” The man grinned and looked down on her with a glowing smile, “But you ain’t scared of that old pruny shaman are you?”

The girl giggled at her father’s joke, “No! But Penelope is!” She continued sadly, holding up her doll.

“Ah well I can help with that!” He said, grabbing the doll and hugging it tightly.

The girl laughed at her father’s antics, but her mother shot him a glaring look.

“You shouldn’t make fun during the ceremony…”

“Beh he does it everytime we go on hunt. He just likes hearing the sound of his voice.”

“Great Serpent, protect your brave warriors!” The shaman screeched, and with a resounding thug he cracked his staff against the ground. The costumed figures around the fire immediately stopped their dancing, and fell down in heaps on the ground as if struck dead by some magic.

The girl looked up at her father, who mouthed a “Finally….” And she couldn’t help but giggle again.

Just as the Shaman had finished his ritual someone stepped into the glow of the circle, another member of their tribe,

“They’re here,” He announced solemnly. The girl looked up at her father, and his expression turned dour. Which immediately set her on edge.

“Little Viper run to your tent and go to bed,” her mother urged, “Do as I say, now…”

Without waiting for explanation, the girl leapt up and ran to their yurt. Rather than hiding under her covers, she peeked out the cloth door, watching intently as her father and several other men of the tribe rose to meet whoever was coming.

She held her breath as their guests stepped out of the shadows, and she had to hold a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. A host of nightmarish warriors entered the campire circle, pale skinned and covered head to toe in cloth stitched with innumerable bones. They wore masks carved from human skulls which covered the top halves of their faces, giving them an inhuman visage. Much to her terror, she saw that some seemed to be dragging sacks which oozed blood like a gaping wound.

To the young girl shivering in fear, they were nothing less than living monsters.

A woman, seemingly their leader, stepped forward. She had on a particularly gruesome skull mask with goat-horns sewn ontop, and wore a bloodied cloak made from human skin draped around her shoulders. She was hauntingly beautiful yet utterly terrifying, the image of a demoness right out of the tribe's mythos.

Her father stepped forward, unafraid of the demon woman’s presence,

“Welcome, would you care to share our fire?”

The demon woman shook her head, but did not reply.

“We’d offer to share a meal, but it looks like you’ve already brought some to go,” Her father said, pointing at the sacks. That elicited a few, nervous, chuckles from his fellow Slither Kin, but then the strange woman hissed back a threat,

“Perhaps, you wish to become our breakfast?”

Slither Kin warriors reached for their weapons, as did the cannibals, but no-one made a move. Her father motioned for them all to be calm.

“Where is your Chieftain?” The woman snarled.

“Out on a hunt,” Her father replied quickly, “But I can speak for our tribe here. We all know what needs to be done…”
“The Boot-Riders are becoming a problem,” Her father continued, “They need to be dealt with. Harshly.”

“You propose an alliance,” The woman hissed, “We don’t ally with prey.”

“Nor do we,” He snapped back, “Watch yourself, those little underground burrows of yours are not so-secret to us, and it wouldn’t take much to smoke you out. We’ve done it before, or have you forgotten the taste of our poison?”

Several of the cannibals snarled, baring sharpened teeth like cornered wolves, but the woman ignored her fellow tribesman's anger. She raised a hand revealing a bladed gauntlet streaked with still-fresh blood, and ran a finger along the crimson ichor before bringing it to her lips and sampling it with a devilish grin.

“Never.....very well Slither Kin, what is it you plan to do?”

Her father returned the expression with a grin of his own,

“Wage war.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy awoke suddenly with a start, her brow was streaked with sweat and she was panting hard. Memories she’d never truly forgotten had come flooding back to her, and she stared up at the ceiling of her Penthouse suite in Gomorrah. Images from her dream morphed into her vision, and for a brief moment, she thought the plastered ceiling was the animal-skin roof of a yurt.

She sat up and got out of bed, walking over to a nearby chest. She flipped open the lid and rummaged around inside. Her hands gripped a small object, and she pulled it out.

It was a doll, well-worn and covered in the dirt of the road and faded from the burning sun. She held it tightly against her.

“Some things never really change,” She whispered to it softly.
Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah Mezzanine

Dominic watched with a sly grin plastered on his face as Daniel “Nines” wrestled with the notion of seizing control. He went back and forth with himself, trying to come up with reasons why it would be impossible, but each point was counterbalanced with a separate reason in favor. Finally, he seemed to quell his mind, and settled on a course of action.

"Sir, I'm not excessively fond of indebtedness. I'd like to earn what favors you bestow. I'll allocate space in my schedule to ensure it. My price is a week's usage of a couple dozen experienced soldiers, and two hundred gallons of freshwater. You'd score a valuable ally in exchange, and your pick of the finer elements of our coffers, even after the square trade of labor."

“Done,” Dominic said with barely a moment’s hesitation. The price for having a worthy ally on his side was paltry, frankly, and he’d gladly pay it several times over if it meant having a man in power within the Vaulters that he could rely on. He was glad that his judgment hadn’t failed him here...Daniel certainly hadn’t disappointed.

"Wait, why do I crave authority now? I didn't desire this prior. I've no grand machinations!" Daniel focused his attention to a nit on a nearby wall. "But it's possible..."

“Because you know that your people need you,” Dominic offered as he sat back in his chair, “Because without a firm hand to quell differences, they’ll fall back on infighting. But you also know how to prevent that, and only you know exactly what’s needed to see them flourish.”

“It's not about craving anything Nines,” Dominic continued as he folded his hands on the table in front of him, “It's simply a matter of duty...but if you can also enjoy the fruits of power, well, then so be it...” he smiled.

“Now as for my price…” He said, thinking carefully, “I don’t require much. You see Nines, I have my own, admittedly selfish, reasons for ensuring your success and also why I was eager to meet with you. For one, I need a firm independent ally outside the influence of the NCR, that is paramount above all else, but I also need some...assistance with another matter.”

He leaned in, “I need someone, or a group of someone's, with some considerable expertise in pre-war technology...RobCo security and network systems, to be precise. As I understand it, RobCo was the primary contractor Vault-Tec used to construct much of their computing network: pip-boys, networked computers, Vault security systems... Naturally, I’d hope your people might have some expertise in that field, and that you might be willing to work with me on my own little project.”

Dominic smiled, “It would be a potentially very lucrative partnership, I assure you, and one that could certainly result in some boons for your people. What do you say? Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand to Daniel.
Don Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah Mezzanine

Dominic took the gracious gift offered by Daniel or “Nines” as he called himself. The potholders were a quaint gift, but none-the-less welcome. The symbolism of the gift was more far important than the practicality of it, and Dominic had certainly gotten stranger gifts from various peoples. He once received a mummified mole rat paw from a friendly Zion tribal shaman who claimed it was “good medicine” and would “bring him luck.”

“Thank you my friend, sincerely,” Dominic said as he handed them to Marjorie.

“Oh aren’t these just darling….” Marjorie crooned as she looked them over, “How very whimsical!”

Dominic then listened intently as Daniel explained his current predicament. Apparently he was having some internal misgivings about how to deal with a couple of heir-apparents within his organization. Two women, both very capable, vying for power. One with the backing of the former leadership, the other with powerful friends: neither willing to give up their ultimate ambition. It was a tale as old as time. Even before they were Omertas, Dominic had seen this scenario time and time again within the old Slitherkin tribe.

He noticed Daniel looking nervously around at the other people seated on the Mezzanine, most were lost in their own reverlies, but he assumed this matter must be a delicate one indeed for his guest and he wasn’t comfortable have an audience: even an inatentive one.

Dominic first turned to Marjorie with a look, and Marjorie nodded in agreement. Business was business, she understood.

“Well I must be off,” She announced suddenly, “ Mortimer is throwing another one of his little soirees later. He’s introducing one of his new dishes….quite the affair you understand. A pleasure to meet you Mr. Floyd. Please stop by the Ultra Luxe anytime you wish, we’d love to have you for dinner.”

With appropriate flourish, Marjorie then left the Mezzanine.

Once she was gone, Dominic raised a hand and snapped a finger. The other guests at the remaining tables immediately stopped their conversations, stood up, carefully pushed their chairs in, and then quietly filed out of the mezzanine without a word. The Omerta thug doorman was the last to leave, and closed the door on his way out.

Now Daniel and Dominic were alone, and the real conversation could begin.

“I have a suggestion for you Nines,” Dominic said after a few moments of silence between the pair, “But I’m afraid you probably aren’t going to like it. That being said, you did come all the way to the King of Sin for advice, so I’m going to assume you’re looking for an answer that one of your fellow compatriots never would think to offer up: or dare to.”

Dominic leaned back in his chair and gave a shrug, “You just explained to me in sufficient detail the strengths and weaknesses of both these women, and what your people might gain from the leadership of each. I may be just an old crook, but it seems to me that the answer to your question is ‘neither’. Neither will ever be happy under the rule of the other, and will no doubt cement distrust and rebellion that could cause fractures within your group. What you need is someone who can take the strengths of both, and blend them appropriately for the betterment of your people. You need a supreme leader at the top, not a pair of bickering sisters unwilling, or unable, to seek compromise.”

“Allow me to lend a sword to your little Gordian Knot…” Dominic gave a devilish grin,

“Have you considered your own claim to power, Nines?”
Don Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah

Daniel swallowed, doffing his hat again. "Advice, for certain discreet matters of state."

Clarice narrowed her eyes at the caravaner. She still didn't like him, not after the chaos he caused in her well-organized lobby, but…it ultimately wasn't up to her. She'd just have to grin and bear it.

"As it happens…" she sighed, "Don Dominic was expecting you to come calling. He said that whenever you showed up, I was to send you up. He's currently on the mezzanine…."




Clarice led Daniel through the main floor debauchery of Gomorrah before climbing a set of stairs and ascending to the mezzanine level. Here she knocked three times on a door, before an Omerta-made man opened it. The well-dressed thug looked cross for a moment as he eyed the pair.

“Mr. Floyd to see the Don,” She offered simply in explanation.

The thug’s face softened and he nodded in understanding, stepping aside and allowing the Daniel in.

Dominic was seated at a card table with another dapper-looking gangster seated across from him. An array of playing cards had been splayed out in front of them in two distinct neat ‘fans’. The pair of them were taking turns swapping cards and purposely laying them into their own respective groupings.

Behind Dominic, an immaculately dressed and of course white-gloved Marjorie looked down at her now-husband's card playing with a mixture of confusion and interest. A gold ring with a diamond the size of a sugar-cube sat squarely on her finger.

“Slow down Domy-dear, I can’t understand what’s happening when you two move so quick,” Marjorie pouted.

“Ah honey let us play the game eh? Don’t worry I’ll teach you all the rules later…” Dominic replied as he took a puff on a big cigar clasped between his fingers.

“He might need some help at the rate he’s losing….” Dominic’s rival player quipped.

“Quiet youse…” Dominic chuckled, “I still got a chance here.”

The Omerta thug that had let Daniel in cleared his throat audibly, drawing attention to himself and the newcomer.

“Apologies Don….Mr. Floyd to see you.”

“Ahhh Mr. Floyd, a pleasure my friend..” Dominic said as he, still seated, offered his hand, “Good to see you in person finally. Mikey why don’t you vamoose and let Mr. Floyd here take your seat. You won anyway…”

Dominic’s card-playing opponent tipped his hat with a grin, “Better luck next time Dom.”

“Ah get outta here you cheat,” Dominic fired back with a chuckle. He then ushered Daniel to sit in the open seat. Behind him Marjorie placed her hands on her husband's shoulders and gently began to rub them,

“Mr. Floyd,” Marjorie said with a glowing look, “Allow me to say that The White Gloves greatly appreciate the food stocks you sent. It was dreadful what happened with the recent flooding….those poor people. I felt so sorry for them…living in a slum to begin with and then having it all washed away….dreadful…simply dreadful. When my Dominic here suggested our families sent aid…I was all too willing to open our larders. It is the duty of the privileged to help the less fortunate, is it not? And the greater the privilege, the greater the responsibility of course.”

“Indeed” Dominic added, giving Daniel a wink and a sly grin that said, Just go along with it bud.

“So Mr. Floyd, or can I call you Daniel?” Dominic continued, leaning in, "What can ol’ Dom do for you?”
This is my stab at the Omerta timeline -

October 19th - Don Dominic calls a sit-down of the Three Families to be held at the Ultra Luxe. Dominic, with the support of Marjorie, accuses Swank of breaking key tenets of The Contract. Swank denies all accusations and abruptly leaves the meeting without further elaboration.

October 25th - The Omerta Family begins a buildup of weapons and illicitly purchased military hardware, increasing their production of small arms across their compounds in Outer Vegas. These weapons are secretly shipped to the Strip. Omerta-affiliated thugs across Vegas are noticeably better armed. Iron Forester Mercs begin actively patrolling Omerta controlled areas of Vegas.

October 30th - Don Dominic Omerta and Marjorie of the White Gloves are married in an overly-elaborate ceremony at the Ultra Luxe. Various underworld figures linked to the Don from across the Southwest attend in a notable gathering of the whos-who of post-war organized crime. The White Gloves and Omerta Families are formerly united by marriage ties. None of the Chairmen attend, nor are they invited.

November 1st - A gunfight erupts between several armed groups in Freeside. The brief but violent skirmish results in 18 dead. Rampant fear and speculation regarding further escalation of the Families’ conflict spreads throughout the city. The Heads of the Three Families all publicly deny any involvement and claim this was an unrelated gang conflict.

November 4th - The Flooding prompts the Omertas to evacuate several of their safehouses in Outer Vegas. In an unexpected move, Dominic publicly announces that the Omertas and White Gloves will be assisting the people of Outer Vegas and Freeside with relief and recovery efforts. Thousands of caps are spent on hiring laborers and opening Omerta-run shelters and soup kitchens to provide aid. The White Gloves agree to open up their considerable food larders to provide adequate stocks to these locations. The Omertas supply a number of makeshift hospitals in the area with medical chems.

November 14th - Legion activity across the Colorado prompts an unusually unified response from the Three Families, who issue summons to the NCR ambassador for clarification on the situation.
Gomorrah, Abraham “Honest Abe" Rockwood

Rockwood sat brooding within his office on the 4th floor of Gomorrah, the smoldering stub of a cigarette still clutched in his fingers. Since returning from Freeside, he’d been contemplating the information Tommy ‘Quickfinger’ had shared before his very sudden untimely passing. The arrogant conman had told quite the story before he’d died. Now the only question was what was going to be done about it.

His door opened, and Rockwood looked up to see Lucy striding in. The Omerta Family Heir apparent was looking as beautiful, and dangerous, as ever,

“You wanted to talk Abe?” She said as her high heel clapped against the floor leading to his desk. She took a seat in one of the nearby chairs, propping her feet up on a footstool, “I hear you had quite the little adventure in Freeside.”

“That I did Lucrezia.”

“And?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Well don’t keep me in suspense, what’s the bad news?”

He sighed, then took another drag on his cigarette stub, “That conman? Tommy? He was working for Swank.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, “Don’t be dramatic Abe.I know you hate the Chairmen with an admirable fucking passion, but this isn’t all that surprising. I’ll admit this is a new low but…”

“That ain’t the bad news,” Rockwood interrupted, shaking his head, “The bad news is it isn’t a one-off. The Chairmen are building a network of thieves, with the sole goal of driving away traffic from Gomorrah and stirring up shit with the NCR troopers to boot. He’s directly, blatantly, violating The Contract.”

“Ah, well that’s different then,” It was Lucy’s turn to sigh, “Tommy told you all this then? How can you be sure he wasn’t just making shit up to save his skin?”

“Let’s just say I corroborated his testimony,” Rockwood smirked, then took one last drag on his cigarette before smashing the tiny remnant into his ashtray, “I had a feeling something was off. A lowlife pickpocket like Tommy wouldn’t have had the balls to try something like this on his own. Someone had to be offering him something else.”

Lucy leaned back in her chair, “My father won’t like it.”

“No he won’t,” Rockwood rubbed at his forehead, “I’m not a psychic, but…I can guess what will happen next. The Don will ask for a sitdown of the Families to resolve this, as he well should to be seen as reasonable, and Swank will flatly deny everything. When negotiations fail, we’ll be left to resolve this on our own, which means taking down this little network of Swank’s cell by cell. Inevitably someone, somewhere, is going to do something stupid, and we’re going to end up fighting Chairmen associates if not Chairmen button-men themselves in the streets.”

“The makings of a war,” Lucy finished his thought.

“Mark my words…It’ll only escalate from here.” Rockwood nodded.

“About time,” Lucy smirked, “The Slitherkin and the Mojave Boot-riders have a score to settle, once and for all. This has been a long time coming.”

“You know your father has banned those names.”

“I prefer them…..it's important to remember where we come from, or do you disagree?”

Rockwood smiled, he had to admire Lucy’s tenacity and admirable fondness for the old ways. Even if he couldn’t publicly do so,

“I don’t disagree,” He said plainly.

Lucy gave a devilish grin, “Good, then when my father puts me in charge of fighting this war, and he will, we’ll be settling this the old way. The tribal way.”
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