Chapter Text
Sunlight shone in through the tall windows of St. Finbar’s, colored blue and orange and red as it was filtered through the stained glass window. Anthony knelt between his sister and his brother on the velvet-covered riser with his hands clasped in front of him in the perfect image of a devout Roman Catholic. A snicker caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder at Molly, but her head was bowed, eyes closed. He watched her suspiciously – it was faint, but there was a mischievous smile on her lips.
“The peace of the Lord be with you always,” Father Franco said from the pulpit.
“And with your spirit,” Anthony intoned with the rest of his family, and the congregation. There it was again, another cackle. What was Molly laughing at?!
He climbed to his feet with everyone else at Father Franco’s command. “Let us offer each other the sign of peace.”
Anthony turned to Molly, and she stuck her hand out for the usual sign of peace handshake. He grasped it, frowning as he found her palm abnormally wet. He looked down, finding his sister’s spit dripping from between their palms. She spit on her hand.
“Ew!” Anthony exclaimed, even as a laugh bubbled out of him. He rubbed his hand on his trousers, shoving his sister, making her burst into giggles too.
“Anthony! Molly!”
Anthony glanced over at their mother, glaring daggers at them from the second pew. He knew that look. That was the wait ‘til we get home look.
The twins murmured quiet apologies and Anthony dropped back to his knees with the rest of the congregation, murmuring under his elbow. “Stop gettin’ me in trouble.”
“You stop,” Molly whispered back. “Not my fault you’re losin’ the prank war.”
“I -” Pain burst in the back of his skull as Nico slapped him upside the head, hard. Molly was spared from a slap, but not from the wrathful gaze of their older brother. She ducked her head and looked ashamed, though a smile still played on her lips.
“Show some fuckin’ respect,” Nico hissed between his teeth. “Morons.”
Anthony sullenly rubbed the goose egg on his head, pointedly not looking at his sister for the rest of the service. He knew if he did they’d just start laughing again, and then he’d really be in for it. He was lucky his father had to stay home to deal with business today. If his lucky streak continued, his mother would be too pre-occupied with Sunday dinner later to remember to tell Enrico about their church transgressions.
The service ended with the usual benedictions, and Anthony wandered out of the chapel with everyone else. They still had a few hours before their extended family would gather for their weekly dinner. He was about to ask Molly if she wanted to go with him to the corner store when they were intercepted by their mother.
“Acting like that in church,” she snapped. “I ought to slap both of you! You’re twenty, not two!”
“Sorry, Ma.” Anthony muttered, bowing his head.
“Yeah, sorry,” Molly agreed. “It won’t happen again.”
Their mother held her finger up with a sour expression on her face, then seemed to think better of what she was going to say. “Tony, your father wants you to go with Nico today.”
“What?” Anthony glanced back towards where Nico was leaning against the steps of the church, smoking a cigarette. “But - I mean - Molly and I were gonna-“
“Molly’s needed at home,” his mother said. “Don’t argue. She’ll be there when you get back.”
“Fine,” Anthony frowned, splitting from his sister. He glanced over his shoulder at her as she went with their mother - Molly stuck her tongue out him before turning around the corner and disappearing.
Anthony sighed and wandered over to Nico. “Sorry. Pops stuck you with me.”
“Lucky us,” Nico grumbled. “C’mon, we’re late already.”
-
The sun of the morning disappeared into a dull afternoon. Gray clouds gathered over the city and misted drizzle onto its buildings and inhabitants. Anthony rested his head on the glass of the car window and watched two drops race each other, leaving wet tracks as they went.
“Fuckin’ hate rain,” Nico said from the driver’s seat. “Everyone drives like idiots.”
To Nico, everyone was an idiot or a moron. Anthony never really understood the contempt his brother had for the rest of the general public, but he felt like it had to do with his brother’s role in their family. When Nico was made, his job became collections. Anyone that owed the family money, if they didn’t pay up, they’d be sure to get a visit from Nico. There was probably only so many ‘my ma died I don’t have the money’ sob stories a guy could take before he started hating everyone.
Anthony pushed off his shoulder and sat more upright. Watching the city go by was making him car sick. “So, what’s so important with Dad he had to miss church today?”
“New supply deal,” Nico grunted. “Movin’ product from overseas is gettin’ too expensive. Too risky. Dad’s been workin’ with some guys to get it direct from South of the border. Gonna be workin’ real close with ‘em for while.”
“Italian?”
Nico shook his head. “Nah. Mostly Mexicans. Some Puerto Ricans too I think.”
“Huh.” That was unusual. Mafia families like Anthony’s didn’t usually do business with other groups unless they were part of the Irish or Jewish mobs they already partnered with. “Must be a hell of a deal then.”
They pulled up to a nondescript brownstone and Nico threw the car into park. He sat there, staring at the rain, not moving. Anthony raised an eyebrow.
“Well? Ain’t we gonna go in?”
Nico leaned back in his seat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “My neck is fuckin’ killin’ me.”
“What? Who the fuck cares about your neck? You got a collection here, don’t ya?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nico was still staring distastefully at the weather. “It’s warm in here though. You go in. I’ll wait here.”
Anthony folded his arms. “Do your own work. Asshole.”
“Come on,” Nico wheedled. “I’ll let you take the Colt.”
“Goddammit,” Anthony muttered, flipping open the glove box and pulling out the M1911. He checked to make sure it was loaded before shoving it in the waist of his trousers. “You owe me.”
Nico flipped him off as Anthony slid out of the car, sliding his hat on his head to protect him from the rain.
The inside of the brownstone smelled wet and mildewy as Anthony jogged up the steps to the third floor. His shoes squeaked on dirty linoleum. Whoever was the super of this place, they were doing a shit job on upkeep.
“Hey!” He pounded on the door of Number 3. “Travis! Open the door!”
Silence for a moment, then the sound of someone scuffling and scrambling around outside, and the unmistakable sound of a window being opened. Fucker was going for the fire escape.
“Don’t think about it!” Anthony kicked the door open, aiming Nico’s Colt at the scrawny man who currently had one leg out the windowsill.
Travis smiled sheepishly and held up both hands. “Oh - T-tony, I was expecting –”
“I know who you were expecting.” Anthony lowered the gun, swinging it casually from his hand. “Goin’ somewhere?”
“No - I mean - well, yes, I was actually on my way to see your dad.”
“Through the window?”
“I swear!” Travis said, “I know I owe him money, I was on my way, really!”
“Uh huh.” Anthony moved through the apartment, casually looking around. “You’re three weeks late on the payment, y’know.”
“Right, right, I know,” Travis looked sheepish. “It’s just – look, my ma, she was sick, and, you know, the hospital bills-”
Anthony gestured at a record player sitting on a pile of books. “This is a nice record player.” He swung the gun around on his finger, thinking. “This model just came out last week, didn’t it?” He turned, glaring at the shrinking man in the corner. “Awfully funny looking hospital bill.”
Before Travis could finish stuttering out his excuse, Anthony was across the room. He grabbed Travis in a headlock, shoving him down, placing the gun to his head. Travis struggled against his grip, but Anthony had the advantage of height.
“Please,” Travis begged, “Please, god, don’t!”
“The thing is,” Anthony said, “When my dad lends people money, it’s usually for a reason. And whatever that reason is, he expects it to be repaid in a reasonable manner of time. I can tell ya now, a new record player ain’t a sufficient reason to be three weeks late.” He cocked the gun.
“Wait!” Travis gabbled, panicked, “Wait - tomorrow! I’ll have it tomorrow! I promise! I swear!”
“Hm.” Anthony paused. “Tomorrow. My dad’ll be home tomorrow. You better bring it straight there, or else you know what’ll happen. What time are you comin’?”
“Noon?” Travis tried. Anthony rolled his eyes, shoving the gun harder into Travis’ head.
“What, are you sleepin’ in or somethin’? You’ll be there at eight.”
“Eight. Okay, eight. I promise, Tony, I’ll bring it tomorrow at eight. All of it.”
Anthony finally lowered the gun. He dropped Travis onto the ground, standing and straightening out his jacket. “I’m gonna tell my dad you’ll be there at eight. If you make me look like a fool… I could really use some target practice.”
He turned on his heel and left, leaving Travis snivelling on the floor behind him.
–
By the the time Anthony and Nico returned home, there was a gauntlet of nonnas and aunties crowding in the kitchen working together on Sunday dinner while their uncles and cousins smoked cigars and played cards in the living room.
Anthony could barely get through the kitchen to hang his jacket up without several old ladies grabbing at his biceps, telling him he was too skinny, how tall he’d gotten, how there was a lovely girl in their building they’d love to introduce him to. He always marveled that they didn’t just blow up the house each Sunday with the sheer amount of hairspray in the kitchen in close range to their gas stove.
“Tony!” One of his uncles - or was it one of his cousins? He couldn’t remember - shouted from the living room. “Grab us another drink, would ya?”
“What, do I look like a waitress?” Anthony rolled his eyes, making a move toward the pantry door anyway, “Freakin’ jadrools, the lot of ya.”
He’d barely pulled the string to turn the light on when Nico shoved him further into the pantry, shutting the door behind them.
“Hey!” Anthony complained, “The fuck are you doing?!”
“Why’d you tell Travis he could have until tomorrow?” Nico asked. “You should’ve not left ‘til he gave ya the money!”
Anthony turned to the shelves, looking for the whiskey his family most likely wanted. “Really? You’re mad ‘cause of how I did your own job for ya? Do it yourself next time.”
Nico scoffed. “That’s what I get for trusting you with a simple job. What do you know, anyway?”
“More than you, apparently.” Anthony spotted what he was looking for, a bottle of Johnnie Walker shoved way in the back. He grabbed it, holding it to his chest. “What, you want me to tell Pops for ya that he’s not gettin’ the money ‘til tomorrow? You scared or somethin’?”
“Whatever,” Nico grumbled. “No. I ain’t scared. But I got a reputation. Ain’t like you’re gonna be made. Doesn’t matter for you.”
Anthony’s grip tightened on the whiskey, and he turned slowly back to face his brother, their faces just barely lit by the sickly glow of the bare pantry bulb swinging above them. “What?”
Nico at least had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Just - nevermind -”
“No,” Anthony said, moving to block the door. “What did you say.”
Nico sighed. “I said you ain’t gonna be made, okay? Dad warned everybody not to think about sponsorin’ ya, ‘cause he’d never permit it. He doesn’t think you’re cut out.”
“I’ll show him cut out,” Anthony growled. He shoved the door open, slamming the whiskey down on the card table, ignoring the protests from his family as he upset their hands and empty glasses. Not cut out for it. They were lucky he didn’t flip the table right there. Nico chased after him.
“Tony, wait! Don’t!”
“Fuck off!” Anthony seethed, marching down the hallway to his father’s study.
He worked hard. He kept his mouth shut. He intimidated and ran messages and delivered money and did everything his dad asked of him and he wasn’t cut out for it? Not cut out to be made? Yet Nico, who couldn’t be bothered to do his own damn job, he was cut out for it?!
The door to Enrico’s study flew open just as Anthony was about to knock, and Molly burst out, sobbing hysterically.
“Molly?” Anthony reached a hand out, only to be knocked aside.
“Leave me alone!” Molly shouted, disappearing into her room and slamming the door.
Anthony looked questioningly toward Nico, who only shrugged. Anthony hesitated on the threshold. Then, carefully, he reached out and pulled the study door shut. His father could wait.
He turned down the hall to his sister’s room and tapped on the door.
“Molly?”
“I said go away!”
Anthony frowned, pushing the door open. Molly was curled on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, still crying. He crossed to her, sitting on the bed. His frustration about his own problems within the family dissipated somewhat as he reached out to place a hand on her arm, worried.
“….What happened?”
“I’m getting married,” Molly sobbed into her pillow.
Anthony blinked. “You had a boyfriend?”
“No, stupid!” Molly screeched, throwing one of her stuffed animals at him. Anthony dodged it, picking it up from the floor and holding it on his lap before placing it behind him.
“Then what…?”
“Dad’s stupid deal,” Molly sniffled, sitting up and wiping her eyes. “The one he’s been workin’ on all month. Apparently part of it was to join the families with marriage. I’m supposed to marry this guy Valentino that dad’s been workin’ with.” She flopped back down and buried her face back in the pillow. “Guess he showed that guy a picture of me and he liked it. Fuckin’ nice of him to ask me about it first! He says I ain’t got no choice.”
Anthony just stared at her, stunned. “What - I mean - I - I’ll talk to him, if ya want. Or I’ll get Nico to. Ya don’t have to go through with that, Molly. Of course ya got a choice.”
“I don’t,” Molly stayed face down on the pillow, her voice muffled. “Deal’s done. If I don’t go through with it, it’s like Dad’s breakin’ the deal. They’d come after us. I could be puttin’ the family in danger.” She looked up at her brother, her eyes large and watery. “I don’t wanna put anyone in danger, Tony.”
Anthony’s fists clenched in his lap. He hated seeing his sister so devastated and potentially blamed for something their Dad did, not her.
“Hey…” he started, pausing as he tried to think of something useful to say. “It… it’ll be okay,” he finished lamely. He was trying to think of something else when Nico appeared in the doorway, looking down at the twins.
“What do you want?” Anthony scowled.
“Dad wants to see ya.”
—
Enrico liked to keep his wood-paneled study dark. The only light came from two ancient Tiffany’s lamps in each corner, giving barely enough light to show the dust motes in the air. Shadows were cast everywhere, like long limbs reaching into every corner. They always reminded Anthony of spider legs. He stood silently in front of his father’s desk, hands folded in front of him. He’d learned from painful experience that he was never to speak first.
“So,” Enrico finally started, reaching for his own decanter of whiskey and pouring himself a glass. He didn’t bother offering Anthony any. “Travis. Nico says you let him go.”
Anthony clenched his teeth. Fucking Nico. “I didn’t let him go. He’s bringin’ the money tomorrow.”
“How d’ya know? He could be splittin’ town by now.”
“I just -” Anthony looked down at the floor. He hated how intimidated he was by his father. “I don’t think he is.”
“But do you know?”
“No,” Anthony muttered. “But - it wasn’t even my job! Nico –”
“Is a soldier,” Enrico interrupted, taking a sip of his drink. “He’s made. You aren’t. If your brother says do somethin’ for him, ya do it.” He got up, crossing over to a yellowed map of New York he had pinned up on his wall to peruse it as he talked.
“Nico told me he spilled the beans. I’m sorry you had to find out that way, but it’s true. That doesn’t mean you don’t have use within the family.”
Use. Anthony had use. Not worth. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Enrico flicked a piece of dust off his map before turning back to face his son.
“Molly’s engaged. This deal we’ve been workin’ on, her marriage is gonna seal it good and tight, and we won’t have to worry about any of that European shit anymore. Straight from the source, down in Mexico. It’ll save us tons. This guy Valentino from the Jiminez family was interested, and -” he trailed off, narrowing his eyes. “Well, you don’t need to know every fuckin’ little detail, do you? Anyway, tomorrow he’s comin’ to take Molly out. Get to know her before they tie the knot in a couple weeks. I want you to go too. As her chaperone.”
“Pop… are you sure about this?” Anthony asked. “It’s just so sudden for Molly. Couldn’t ya give ‘em at least like six months t’see if they even like each other? What if he’s some creep?”
“Oh, Tony…” Enrico set his drink down on his desk and crossed to Anthony, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know you care about your sister.” Before Anthony knew what was happening, Enrico hauled back and backhanded him, hard, across the face, catching him just below the eye with his heavy rings.
Pain exploded up the side of Anthony’s head and he staggered back, nearly falling but catching himself on a leather armchair. He clutched at his eye, staring up at his father through his fingers.
Enrico calmly picked his drink back up, taking a sip before standing over Anthony, looming, looking down at him as if he were something unpleasant he’d stepped in. “But you don’t ever question me. Understand?”
Anthony nodded.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
“You understand, what.”
Anthony forced the words out between clenched teeth. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” Enrico turned away. “Now get out of my sight. And don’t be late tomorrow.”
Anthony stormed out of his father’s office, ignoring his mother’s calls to come to the table and eat. Fucking asshole. Fucking goddamn fucking –
He stopped short at Molly’s doorway. Her bedroom was empty. “Molly?”
Panic rose in his chest. Where was she? She wouldn’t run without telling him, right? He wouldn’t blame her if she ran. He’d keep her safe. But what if their father had already gotten to her somehow? What if what if what if.
She wasn’t at the dinner table, already packed with family members reaching for tureens of meat, pasta, sauce, fighting over wine bottles and whiskey. Younger cousins cried to be fussed over by older ones. An aunt spotted him in the doorway, pale, a bruise blooming on his cheek. She said something, but Anthony didn’t hear what she said. His ears were ringing too loudly.
His hand closed over the door handle and he was out on the sidewalk before he knew what he was doing. Anthony paused for a moment. Then he ran.
–
The King Movie Palace was a shining beacon in the dark. Bright yellow and red lights lit up the facade looming over the marquee with its black letters announcing the film playing that week. Ornate gold leaf and plush red carpet greeted Anthony as he pushed his way into the lobby. He ignored the usher asking for a ticket, brushing by him and entering the darkened theater.
This had been his and Molly’s favorite movie house ever since he could remember being old enough to even go to movies. It felt like a shining castle, and they would pretend they were royalty here to be seen by the masses, giggling together and throwing popcorn at the screen when they saw something they didn’t like. Anthony sighed. It was a long time since they’d both been so joyous and carefree. He missed it.
The theater was mostly empty, the early show not being super popular with the community on Sundays. Luckily, even in the darkened theater, this made Molly easy to spot.
Anthony slid into the seat next to her. “Hey.”
Molly didn’t look at him. “Hi. What did Dad want?”
“Oh, well…” Anthony hesitated. Molly finally took her eyes off the screen – even in the weak light of the projector she could see the bruise on her brother’s face.
“What happened?!”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Anthony said, pushing his sister’s fussing hands away. “Look, that guy you’re supposed to marry, he’s comin’ tomorrow. For a date.”
“Yeah, I know.” Molly let out a mirthless chuckle. “Guess I better get my best frock ready.”
“I’m comin’ too. Dad wants me to chaperone ya.”
Molly nodded. “Guess that won’t make it so horrible then.”
They fell silent and turned back to the movie. He thought it was some Hitchcock thing, but he wasn’t sure – he’d been too wound up to read the marquee outside. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed into the seat, his mind going over and over the situation. He wasn’t being made. Molly was being forced to marry some stranger. And he was pretty sure his whole family hated him, Molly being the exception. Now she was going to be taken from him too. If it wasn’t for her, he might as well just jump off the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge.
He glanced at Molly, who was determinedly staring at the screen. Her face was a direct mirror of his, minus the bruise and with longer hair. An idea itched in his brain. If Molly was on board, he was sure they could make it work. She wouldn’t have to marry someone against her will. And Anthony could finally escape.
Turning to his sister, he blurted the words. “What if we swapped places?”
“Oh, ha ha,” Molly spat bitterly, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Don’t tease me, Tony.”
“Molly.” Anthony grabbed his sister’s shoulder. “I’m not kidding.”
Molly looked at the hand on her shoulder, then finally up to meet her twin’s serious gaze. “I - what? You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
Molly stared at him, her eyes boring into his, as if trying to search out any insincerity. She found none. “...You would do that?”
“For you, Molly, anythin’.” Anthony reached out to pull his sister into an embrace. She relaxed against him, and he rested his chin on her hair. “Plus,” he added, “I think I’d look real good in a wedding dress.”
Molly snorted and punched his shoulder. “Don’t say weird shit like that. Well. I - I guess it’s worth a shot.” She pulled away from him, settling back into her seat. “Now shut up, I wanna see the end of the movie.”