A/N: Hello, everyone. If there is an "everyone," that is. I just wanted to thank you (if there is a "you" for reading the fic. I do have one request, however…I'm in a workshop group because of my major (Creative Writing) and I've grown accustomed to receiving critique on my pieces. I've learned that regardless of how well you, as the writer, feel the piece is…there's always more that can be done to make it better. Pardon my French, but "shitty first drafts" are a prerequisite of any good piece of writing. I understand that this is –- but I would really appreciate it if, if you read the fic and like it, or read the fic and don't, if you'd leave a review saying what you think worked well or what you think didn't work so well. These are first drafts, mind, so they will be tweaked and whatnot. It would just make the writing process better. I'd like to grow as a writer and I think everyone can understand that. ::smiles:: My beta, surferdude, hasn't looked over this one yet…here's hoping I didn't do too poorly of a job…! Love, Kathryn

In Tony's opinion, a black limousine wasn't necessary to get from LaGuardia Airport to Ristorante Pecorino, but Eileen had been so adamant about "needing" the limo and "not needing" to look suspicious that he'd feared going against her wishes. He sunk into the plush leather seats and pulled his new ID out of his chest pocket. His picture and information were the same, but in the national database, he had been arrested several times for treason and killing the late arms dealer La Grenouille. Tony was unsure whether that would help or hurt him, but as long as he was able to prove his ability to get "jobs" done, he was confident that anything was possible.

Ziva only knew that Tony had cleaned out his desk and that he was taking a new job as a detective with the Metropolitan Police. To her, it looked like Tony had lost his job and was staying around. Truth was, he was going to New York City, right to the center of the whole shebang. He felt bad for misleading her, for lying to her face when all she'd wanted for the past year was honesty, but O'Shea was just as staunch with that rule as she was about the limo—it had to be this way. Eileen had, however, said that if he needed backup at some point, someone on the inside with him, Ziva would be his girl. Tony hadn't acknowledged this, really, but in his head he thought about how she really was his girl and had been for the past five years or so.

McGee, also, was only told that his partner had been let go. Tony hated lying to everyone, but he was terrified of O'Shea and had a sinking feeling that if she had a wicked left swing, so he just went along with it. Abby was the one who nearly had Tony calling off the entire scheme. Her eyes were teary and her pleas of, "No, don't go, Tony" were almost too much for him to handle. He could tell that she would be storming up to Vance's office at some point to ream him for all of the shit that was going down, but unfortunately, Tony's hands were tied. He figured Gibbs could handle Abby on his own. Maybe she'd be the only one in the building other than Gibbs and Vance that would know about the assignment, and Tony knew that such an A-plus secret-keeper would find that type of thing exciting. He just hoped that nothing happened that would put her in the position of letting that secret out.

"We're here, Mr. DiNozzo," the chauffer said, getting out of the limo and circling the car to open Tony's door. "Ristorante Pecorino. Have a good lunch."

Tony stuck a food out the door and drew himself up out of the seat. Standing next to his driver, he said, "Don't go anywhere." With warning eyes, he tried the best "strict" face he could muster, which was apparently successful as the man nodded timidly and shut the car door behind Tony's muscular frame. "What's your name?"

"Douglas Finster, sir." Douglas wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, which Tony found odd since it was mid-November with not an ounce of heat or humidity in the air.

Tony shook his head. "Not anymore. You're Finch, and you're going to be my driver. Is that okay with you, Finch?" He took his wallet out of his pocket and counted out five twenties. To the outside eye, it would look like Tony was tipping Finch, but the outside eye tended to be wrong. Taped to the underside of one of the bills was a note. In that note was a phone number, code, and address along with directions on what to do with the information. "I'll be back out here in a bit, Finch. Be good." And with that, Tony went inside to meet his new boss.

"Ah, Mr. Dih-Noht-zo," a man said in a thick Brooklyn accent. He was in a booth by the window. "You're here. Sit, sit, my friend." Tony obeyed, assuming this man was Roccisano, and took the seat opposite him. He noticed that the man's taste in fashion was comparable to his father's. Roccisano's suit had to be either Gucci or Valentino—Dolce & Gabbana at the very least. Dark charcoal with what looked like a light-blue pin-stripe, a baby-blue dress-shirt, and midnight blue tie. Tony worked his way up to the man's face. Deep-set wrinkles adorned his face and thin, silver frames sat low on his prominent nose. This brought attention to his big, brown eyes. Tony could tell Roccisano had been attractive at one time, maybe not so long ago. "What," he cried, "you aren't gonna speak to me, or what?"

Tony smiled. "This is actually a business venture, Mr. Roccisano." Sipping on the water in the glass that sat before him, Tony opened the menu.

"Don't be a scustumad', huh?" Roccisano murmured. "Call me Ricky, and I'll call you Tony." Tony blinked. He could agree to that. "So, what kinda business venture are we talkin', here, Tony? One for you, or one for me?" Ricky took a long sip of coffee, peering at Tony over the rim.

"For you, of course." Tony closed the menu and leaned forward. "Ricky, you're going to hire me, and I'm going to help you make millions."

Ricky let out a wheeze of laughter. "Me? Hire you? Get outta here."

The NCIS agent smiled, steepling his fingers. "A wise businessman like yourself wouldn't really turn down an offer before he even heard it out, would he?" The mob boss considered this for a moment and then nodded, gesturing for Tony to continue. "I'm sure by now you've had my background checked and therefore know that I used to work for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Yeah, you were a fed."

"Keyword here is 'was', Ricky." Tony dropped his voice. "I didn't like some of the stuff I was witnessing. All the corruption in government, all the requests for bail-outs, all of the lobbyists screwing the little guy over."

There was a flash through Ricky's eyes of something that could have been excitement, interest, or something completely unrelated. "It pissed you off."

"Damn right it did, Ricky. I started nosing around. I knew stuff no one else did, and I knew how to get more information." Tony had thought out this entire story, passed it by O'Shea, and memorized it by heart. He had actually started to believe it, and it was scaring him a bit.

It also worried him that Ricky seemed to agree with everything he had said thus far. "Sell information to get information. That's the way stuff goes nowadays, Tony. It's the only way you can really survive anymore."

Tony was pensive for a moment. "Not in the eyes of the federal government, man. When you find the sweet spot, though, you've gotta take advantage of it. So I did. I sold some of the deepest held secrets available to Rene Benoit."

Ricky sucked in a breath as he said, "La Grenouille?" A smile played on his lips. "You knew La Grenouille?"

"The Frog and I were close. His daughter and I were...closer." Tony would have normally swallowed here, but he was so into his character that he partly forgot he had ever loved her. He even laughed with Ricky and the cronies that surrounded them. "And then, a year later, I killed him on his yacht. He'd double-crossed me. Made promises to me and then broke them. You don't do that, not with me."

The white-haired man's ring glittered under the soft lighting of the restaurant as he took a sip of coffee. "You must have done some time for that, huh?"

Tony chuckled. "You could say that. I paid for that murder with my job. They investigated it—why, I don't know, because the way I see it, I did the damn feds a favor by killing that animal—and they found out I'd sold secrets to 'The Devil,' they said."

"No, I know The Devil. Diablo; he's very much alive," Ricky interjected. "Maybe you'll meet him someday in your line of business. He always likes gossip."

"I don't know about that, Ricky, but what I'm positive of is that in this world, the government is out to get everyone." Tony knew the next lines would be the clincher. Hopefully, Roccisano hadn't been a fan of Wiseguy, because if he had, Tony's cover would be blown because of a misused quote. "It's all about taxes, Ricky, taxes. They take money for stupid things like war and leave the rest of us to die."

Ricky nodded, his eyes burning under his brown irises. "Tony, meet me at this address at seven tonight. We'll discuss this 'business venture,' as you called it, in more depth. For now, let's eat lunch."

Tony collapsed on the bed of his hotel room, exhausted from three hours' worth of schmoozing. He was accustomed to the game of Kiss Ass, but today had been something different. A mixture of Kiss Ass, Brownnose, and Worship the Ground 'The Rocket' Walks On, multiplied by several thousand. That's kind of like Infinity, right? He rolled over on his stomach and checked his new cell phone for voice-mails and missed phone calls, hoping his new boss hadn't contacted him yet.

There was a familiar number under 'Missed 'Calls', but Tony couldn't figure out to whom it belonged. Hoping for the best, he called the phone number and was pleasantly surprised when Ziva answered. The first thing out of his mouth was what he had been instructed to say: "Baby!"

"Uh…Tony?" Confusion on her voice was palpable. "What is with the pet name?"

"Baby, I missed you." Tony had checked the room earlier for bugs or wires and had come up empty handed, but without McGumshoe there to use his hi-tech gadgets, there was no way Tony could check for sure. For now, he had to play it safe. "Check your top drawer, babe, see what I left you." Sirens outside his window blared. For being in such an expensive hotel as the Jumeirah Essex, it seemed impossible to escape the crime that plagued the City's streets.

Focusing on the sounds on the other end of the phone line, Tony heard a drawer open and Ziva sigh before saying, "Why?"

"Because I love you."

"Was that code for something, or do you really love me?"

It broke Tony's heart to say, "I really love you, Sweetheart." In fact, he did love her, but saying it undercover was different from saying it to her face. It wasn't right. They spoke for almost an hour before his phone beeped. Tony checked the screen and saw Ricky was on call-waiting. "Baby, I've gotta go. You should go do something nice for yourself…and think of me. Check the other side of that letter you're holding."

"You made me an appointment at a spa?" Tony made a noise of affirmation. "Well, thank you, Tony."

"No problem, babe. Love-you-bye," Tony said quickly, and hung up in order to answer Ricky's phone call. "Hey, Ricky."

Ricky laughed. "Look at this guy, doin' his research." His accent seemed almost thicker on the phone. "You still gonna meet us at seven?"

The younger man thought for a moment. How would he tell O'Shea and Fornell about this without tipping off Ricky? "Yeah," he finally said, "Yeah, I'll be there. Sorry, I was just putting the address into my phone's GPS."

"Change of plans, Tony." Ricky raised his voice slightly. "Don't come to us. We'll come to you. Take a spin around town, talk this whole thing out." He seemed like he had accepted the idea of hiring Tony on, probably because the mob boss had done some research of his own after lunch. "How's that sound, Tony?"

"It sounds—" Click. Tony couldn't even get out his agreement before he was hung up on. He could see that this arrangement would clearly take some getting used to.

"Slide on in here, Tony. How's the hotel treating you?" When Tony got into the car, he noticed that Ricky had changed his suit to a white one that reminded Tony a lot of Rene Benoit's fashion selections. In his hand, the mob boss held a snifter of some sort of alcohol. Tony didn't know if it was brandy or not. It could have been cognac, but he wasn't about to ask that question.

Instead, he answered Ricky's. "The room is great. It has a fantastic view."

"Great, that's just great," the older man murmured, a smile tugging the corners of his lips upward. "I have some good news and some bad news."

Tony played along. "Alright…" he said, leaning back into the warmed leather seat. He tried to look as relaxed as possible. "Bad news first, or…?

"No, no, Tony. That's not how I play this game of life," Ricky said with a bark of laughter. "Good news always comes first, and then the bad news. Keeps a man humble." Quirking an eyebrow upward, he said, "Keeps his expectations from getting too high, too."

Tony began to worry if he had been made. He wasn't sure what to expect. "Alright, then, the good news first. Glad we settled that!" He shot Ricky a grin that he hoped wouldn't come off as anxious.

"The good news is that we're gonna let you work for us, Tony." Ricky took a sip and pondered his words. "You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. You sound like someone who we could really use around here." Tony waited for it. "The bad news is that I'm not one to automatically trust somebody, so if you're not the God-fearing kind already, you'd better start praying that I take to you, capisce?"

The NCIS agent's heart was beating so hard he wondered if anyone else in the vehicle could hear it. Despite his internal terror, Tony was able to keep his exterior demeanor calm and collected. "Yeah, Ricky, of course. You'd be a fool to trust just any goombah off the street."

"I think this is the beginning of a good thing, Tony," Ricky said. He smiled for a beat and then a stonier expression replaced the grin. "Don't fuck it up."

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Wiseguy', 'NCIS', or any of the characters you recognize. Ricky Roccisano is of my own creation. I am not taking part in any mob activity. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is complete fiction.