Gathered around a lake on the far-outstretched reaches of the plane, the thirteen goofs sat in fellowship around a campfire. Prince, with Valentine to his left and Duke to his right, scratched his chin, contemplating the events of the day.
Directly across from him, Bishop Frank and his two cronies stood side by side, making a mockery of the situation—jabbering left and right.
"Those—those type-pimp Englishmen think they're so that… they so Gotti, do they?" Bishop Frank said, smashing his fists together. "We're going to crush them."
"Yeah," Sebastian said, "and leave no trace."
On the other side, where Gilbert, the old Duke, was sitting, he was gathered with Duke Matthew and the Duke from the Stockholm family, talking back and forth about the outcome of the night.
"Just how much of a fortune do you think we're talking about here?" Stockholm asked Gilbert.
