I'm so very sickened. Oh, I am so sickened now.
As far as I am aware, there are no gangs by the names I have described in here in the city of Los Angeles, past or present. Way, is, of course the surname of the lead singer of My Chemical Romance and I simply chose the name Romano.
I myself have never been in a blood gang, and probably never will be, but my mother's family hails from the notorious Hell's Kitchen in NYC and I got some imspiration from visiting there recently. If gangs like these exist, I'm sure they are more imaginative than me when it comes to names.
I made one gang Italian-American because the majority of gangs in the US and one gang English just to shake things up a bit. As well as that, I think some of the guys in MCR have like some Italian descent or something. I apologize to any Italian-Americans who may read this, and if I absolutely destroy your language or if I offend you in any way. If I do, you are free to come to my doorstop and throw a dead cat in my face. Or...yeah.
Many thanks to my pals Sophia and Gearoid, both of whom hail from Italy, Genoa and Palermo repectively.Any inaccuracies or mistakes in here are made by me and me only.
Lornaigh Ni Ionnrachtaigh
"Mafia" is the common term to describe a secret crime organization created in Sicily that came to America as part of the massive wave of immigration from Europe in the latter part of the 19th century and early 20th century. The Mafia is also known as La Cosa Nostra, which translates into "Our Thing" - underlying the extremely secretive qualities of the organization."
Los Angeles, California
First of the Gang to Die
Frank sat at the bedroom dresser.
"Do we really have to go out tonight, James?" inquired Frank as he watched the taller man straighten his tie and rub his freshly-shaven chin."We could just stay in."
"Can't, baby," answered Romano, "promised Tony we'd go."
Frank pouted. Of course. Tony. Stupid fucking prick.
"I don't care about Tony," Frank muttered softly. "It's like he's your boyfriend too."
"Don't say that, baby," James chided absent mindedly, thinking deeply about his waistcoat. There was a stain on the grey, but the red did make him look fatter. He'd go for the red. Maybe fat guys look menacing. Way certainly proved that point well. "You know that's not true. Maybe I just want to show off my fiance."
"It's because you're planning to 'take someone out'," Frank said, bending his index and middle fingers in mid-air. "Take out one of the guys in the other gang?"
James rolled his eyes. He hated it when Frank started up this shit. The boy could be such a pain the ass sometimes. James got the feeling he was often too soft on Frank with his punishments.
"It's not a gang, Frank,it's like a..." what's the word? "It's a...company."
"A company who kills people."
James sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Yes Frank, a company who kills people. A gang, a cult, a party assembled of criminals who partake in unlawful activities." He swiftly grabbed his fiance by the collar and pressed his nose to his. "Call it what you like, it's fucking happening and it's been happening for twelve years, so get goddamn used to it."
Frank stared into the dull grey eyes that bore into his.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking down."I'm sorry,James."
James sighed again. He let go of Frank roughly but cupped the boy's cheek in his hand.
"I love you, Frank. You know that, right?"
"You don't need to shout at me," he whispered quietly. James tried to calm himself down. "You don't need to. Sometimes it scares me that we're engaged. That I'm engaged to a murderer."
"I only kill people who deserve it."
"But the other-"
"The other gang are complete scum," purred James, caressing Frank's cheek. "And I gotta wipe them off the city's streets."
"Will they be here tonight?"
James' jaw clenched. Why was Frank so goddamned interested in those cunts?
"Maybe." Why do you care? "But it's just a fucking horse rally. In public. Those fucking Way's would be pretty fucking stupid if they tried to make a move there."
Frank nodded slowly. "You're not going to start shooting at each other,are you?"
James' grip tightened on Frank's shoulder.
"I won't if they won't."
"Over here boss, these are our seats."
"Thank you, Leo," smiled James,turning to his fiance next to him."Aren't these great seats, Frank?"
"Very good," Frank replied meekly, chewing his lip. They were, of course, what they had every week.James Romano and his ga-company always got the best. "Which is your horse?"
"Son of a Gun," Romano declared proudly, pointing a leather-gloved hand toward a sleek black colt at the fifth poll. "Favorite to win. Got a grand on him."
"Very good choice, sir," piped up Tony in the background.
"No one likes an ass-kisser, Tony, "James stated sternly. Frank had to stifle a giggle.
"Must say, Frank, that suit flatters you so well. Makes you look real thin. Grey is very much your colour."
Frank blushed a deep pink, pulling down his trilby hat.
"Thank y-" Suddenly, he noticed the entire posse stiffen and stare.James in particular was growling a deep choking sound from his throat.
"James?" He shook his arm hurriedly. "James, what's wrong?"
James stood up abruptly, drawing himself to his full height of six foot four and puffing his chest out. Frank noticed with frozen horror that nine of the total nine henchmen surrounding them had their weapons under their coats.
This is bad, Frank thought, this is very bad.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" James spat. Literally, spat onto the ground. "Get the fuck out of here."
Frank did not recognize the man walking towards the group. Obviously, by James' reaction, he wasn't welcome here; but it took Frank a few moments to realize he was one of the infamous cunts and fuckers James was constantly talking about.
This man must be the other gang. Or part of it, at least. The Way's, if he wasn't mistaken. The boy did not know a great deal about them, as James tended to take the secretive approach and remain mum about his gang. When Frank would enquire politely, James would snap at him not to nose in his business.
Frank knew the other gang was Italian, and that they wore black. That was it. He and James had been dating for six years and that was all he knew.
Frank, while feeling that he was betraying his own lover, did have to admit the man walking towards him was exceptionally good-looking; he was tall, with shoulder-length black hair and a lop-sided smirk filled in with blunt, miniature white teeth. He, like the roundabout ten men behind him, was wearing a dark black suit with red tie. And there was a scarlet rose on his lapel. That meant one thing.
He was the Don. Frank was not entirely sure what that was, but he knew it was important the way James talked about him. A leader or boss of sorts. Once Frank has asked James if he
was a Don. Romano had glared and sworn extensively at him.
"Good evening to you too, James," the man greeted, briefly lifting a bejeweled hand. Gold rings and bracelets clicked on his hand, and shone in the dusk. "Lovely to see you again."
It was now that Frank saw the man was leaning on a walking stick, which confused him; he couldn't be older than thirty, if even.
"Get the fuck out of here," James repeated."You are not fucking welcome here, you piece of shit."
Frank braced himself for a brawl. But the man-or Piece of Shit, according to James-chuckled.
"Oh, Mister Romano,you have us mistaken, "he laughed,extending his arms to the men behind him, who stayed as solemn as the Romano's. "We're here to watch the race." He grinned. "And, of course, to congratulate you."
Tony stood up, unable to shield his growing frustration.
"Congratulate him on what, Don Way?"
The man shrugged. "On his engagement, of course." His eyes flickered to James and Frank. "I presume this to be true. My brother informed me that you were betrothed a little over two years ago. But unfortunately I was unable to pass on my regards."
James neither confirmed nor denied their engagement.
"I'll take that as a yes, then," the man said cheerfully. "Would you mind if I sit with you ,James?" He looked at Frank again."And your fiance, of course."
James growled, but a jerk of the head states that yes,you may sit with us.
"Raggio, Michael ,venga con me," instructed the man whom Frank presumed to be Way, "sedersi accanto a me."
"E dove che sia?" James barked.
"Accanto a te, naturalmente."
Way made his way through the aisle of the stadia, shuffling along Tony and Leo.
"Frank," James whispered urgently, grasping Frank's hand, "don't let him intimidate you. Stay silent. If he fucking does one fucking thing that you don't like, you tell me and I'll set him fucking straight."
The man finally arrived, flanked by a skinny guy and a guy with big hair. Way's face broke into a fresh smile.
"James," he muttered, extending his hand,only to draw it back quickly, "always a pleasure..." His vibrant green eyes swept over to Frank, and he smiled almost warmly for a bloodthirsty gangster. "I don't believe we've met." He looked to James. "James, would you please introduce us?"
James rose to his feet slowly, breathing deeply. He took his lover's hand wih obvious effort and guided him upward.
"This is my fiance...Frank," he grunted. "Frank, this is-"
"Don Way," the man smiled, once again offering his hand,which Frank accepted with his own, which was shaking unbearably. "Gerard Way. How lovely to meet you, Frank." He looked to the guys behind him,one of which is holding the stick. "These charismatic young men are Michael and Raymond. My brother, and a great friend."
Frank nodded, smiling nervously. His voice was a small squeak and his knees were clicking together. "Nice to meet you."
"Quite." He turned to James. "Ben fatto, Giacomo." James' vein on his hand stood out once he heard the mention of his Italian name. "Lui e bellissimo."
"Vaffanculo," growled James with malice in his eyes, tugging Frank closer to him,"sedersi accanto a me."
"Frank, would it be alright if I sit with you?"
Frank's mind clicked suddenly when Way's hand brushed lightly against his own. If the circumstances had been different, or more normal, the gesture would have gone unnoticed. But in this particular situation, exactly seventeen guns were drawn once it occurred; nine Romano's, seven Way's and one other; James'.
"You take your fucking hand off my fiancee right this fucking minute," James choked in a tight voice,"or I'll blast your fucking head off right fucking now."
Maybe it was the fact that ten guns were aimed at his head; maybe it was the fact that the Romano's outnumbered his family by two; or maybe he truly was sorry; but Way retracted his hand immediately from Frank's and found it's way back to his side.
"Alright," ordered the kid with the brown hair, "you've made your point, put down the guns."
They did so.
The tannoy overhead began to sound. The race was about to begin. Women below them were chatting excitedly, utterly ignorant to the fact that a Mexican stand off had just been evaded above them.
"Ritrattare," James coughed out,and sat down. The henchmen began to chat among themselves respective to their blood.
"Now listen," James muttered in Way's ear, drawing him close, "do yourself a favor and don't do anything to him. I value his life a lot more than I value mine, and helluva lot more then I value yours, and I'd rather kill everyone in this place than him. So don't try and make your life hard for yourself."
"Of course." Way nodded. "He's not in this shit, is he?"
"No," Romano answered, "he disapproves of it. And no one-fucking no one,do you understand me-disrespects him, or harms him in any fucking way, or touches him-because then I will make sure that person does not live to see the day." He let go of Way's suit jacket. "Is that understood not just by you, but by everyone else?"
"Of course," repeated the paler. "I don't respect you, Romano, in any shape or form...but I do respect your love for him..." His glimmering eyes flickered to Frank, who was now making conversation with Toro. "He is a beautiful boy."
"Very beautiful," at this, he pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and drew it slowly across Way's hand,who was more experienced than to feel pain, "and he's mine."
"So, Frank, how old are you?" Gerard inquired, lighting a cigar and minding not to catch it on his recent injury.
"Twenty two," Frank answered,seeing James frown in the corner of his eyes, which he decided to overlook. "Am I allowed to ask how old you are?"
He threw his head back and laughed.
"Allowed! Of course you're allowed! Why,does James not allow you to ask questions?" The gangster noticed with slight alarm that Frank ceased smiling at the joke. "Never mind-I'm twenty eight.
"Twenty eight?" Frank looked confused. "But-"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"
"No, no, it's important you know. This was actually courtesy of your husband-to-be over there."
Frank stared over at James incredulously, who simply shrugged and averted his eyes back to the race.
"I'm so sorry. That's awful," he mumbled.
Gerard,upon seeing the concern on the boy's face, felt angry. What was James doing with this wonderful example of a human being?
"Don't apologize for his mistakes," Gerard said quickly but quietly, "it's not your fault."
"Does it hurt?" Frank asked,biting on his lip.
"Dunno. Can't feel it."
Gerard raised the hem of his trousers to show a long, curved arch of wood stretching from the knee down.
"Oh My God," Frank petitioned, "he cut your leg off?"
"Nearly. He just shot me up so bad it had to be removed."
"I really am sorry," he said, "he never told me."
"He doesn't want to frighten you. He really cares about you."
"FRANK!" James looked angry and drunk simultaneously. "We're goin'."
Gerard opened his mouth to protest, but Frank was moving.
"It was really nice meeting you, and I hope we see each other again," Frank said with a smile.
"Frank, hurry the fuck up!"
"I'm sorry, I have to go. Bye!"
Michael turned to his brother.