Paradise comes at a price that I am not prepared to pay.
Note to Bitch Bot: I am currently apart from three other people on the planet, those being Kath, Jen and Lornaigh herself, have read the ending. It is FUCKING AWESOMESAUCE and is certainly not a dream.
More history in the next chapter; for now, enjoy.
Little lay out of the next chapters:
-chapter after this: explanations
-chapter after that: cuteness
-chapter after that: getting into the heavy shit for quite a while
Title from Muse
First of the Gang to Die
“Gerard!” Frank hissed through his mouthful of pins. “Fucking hold still!”
“This is fucking stupid,” the older huffed. “I shouldn’t even be made go to this thing.”
“It’s just dinner,” the boy replied, shrugging, fixing his collar as he perched on the stool, still not as tall as Gerard. “And it won’t take too long.”
“He’s a bastard! Besides the obvious, he’s just infuriatingly fucking angering, a piece of shit that should be in the ground right now.” Iero pushed his shoulders down. “Sorry, sorry; it’s just that I hate being around him.”
“He’s never mean to me, I can’t really say.”
“He’s a cunt to you, you’re just too polite to say anything bad about him,” Way stated glumly, as if he had read his husband’s mind. “I’m going to have to drink my body weight to get through this shit tonight.”
“You don’t drink around him, remember, Gee?” He regarded the other like a proud mother. “You look so nice, Gerard.”
“I don’t recall saying you could move!”
“I need to get a drink, I’m so nervous about this fuckery-“
“Gerard, you move one muscle and I will stick this pin up your ass, got it? Stand still and I’ll get you it.”
The gangster pouted and crossed his arms.
“Not whiskey, it’ll get on your shirt.” He thought for a moment. “How about vodka?”
“Not vodka in front of him, he’ll beat me up,” Gerard said, then sighing and shrugging. “As if he doesn’t on a regular basis.”
“Doesn’t he like vodka?”
“Vodka is Russian.” He held his breath as his jacket as tightened and pulled around his midriff. “My father is a fascist.”
“A fascist,” Gerard repeated, and then copped on, mentally slapping himself. “Someone who doesn’t like communism, like democracy. Idiots,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“Com-yoo-nizum?” He sounded out, stepping down from the chair and looking up at his husband, so utterly glad they were married. “What’s that?”
“A political system in which a government demands more rights, wealth and power is handed to the working man. Working class pride, you ever heard of that? Basically the State is in charge of everything. Rich people don’t tend to like it.”
“So you don’t like it?” He plucked rings up from the dresser-the nicest ones, the most extravagant and glorious ones, returned to him and slid them up his fingers, red and gold and black shining on his pallid skin. “You’re rich.”
“I don’t live in Italy or Germany, where communism is rife. After the Great War the rest of the world is making the Germans pay for their debt to society, humiliating them. In the US communism isn’t an issue. In Russia it is, and I doubt my father would see the equality side in it.” He wriggled his fingers when Frank was done. “I look tolerable?”
“You look so good,” the boy responded happily, proud of his work over the last hour, pinning him into place and doing up his tie, his makeup, his cufflinks, his cologne-it had been actual fun, making him look so incredibly divine. “I wish you just hadn’t cut your hair is all.”
He was wistful of that day when Gerard had come home and his raven hair had been dyed and chopped-his locks were darker black, as opposed to the natural shade, and it wasn’t down to his shoulders, cut above his ear and at the nape of his neck. His lover obviously thought he looked amazing, but did wish for the longer hair to make a comeback.
“Please honey, I was rivalling women with that haircut,” he scoffed, but pulled him in all the same. “Your own has gone back to brown, have you noticed?”
“You don’t like it?” He asked quietly, for indeed he had made note-he didn’t want to dye his hair again, and just let the blond mix with the black into a comfortable, soft chocolate that he had possessed before the change.
“I love it, bunny rabbit,” he breathed into his ear, hugging him from his stance, lifting him from the ground. “It’s gorgeous, I really mean that. I was saying it’s gone back to your natural colour.”
Frank nodded and stood back, admiring him from head to toe, absorbing him completely. He looked delicious. He glanced briefly at the gold watch that currently hung off of his husband’s wrist, and saw that it was just after six in the evening, a little over an hour to go for him to get dressed and ready. But he had something to ask first.
“Gerard?” He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress barely sagging as his light frame eased pressure onto the wood. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure,” the other replied, inspecting himself in the mirror, straightening his cuffs. “Is your chest alright, sweetheart?”
“It’s fine,” he answered truthfully, as he rarely thought about his illness recently. “It’s about something else.”
“Go ahead, babe.” He sat opposite him at the dresser, drinking some gin. “I’m listening.”
“Well...you know the way you go to work every day, and I stay home?” The other nodded, and the boy stumbled quickly over his words. “I don’t mind at all, I was just wondering if it would...if it’s okay if I...”
He cleared his throat and started again.
“You know...the way...I can do...stuff?”
Gerard laughed and finished the drink, de-strapping his prosthetic from his leg and throwing it to the floor.
“You can do a lot of things, honey, you’re twenty four, not three.”
“I mean to do with medicine,” he cleared up, gesturing as if he popping a pill box. “I dropped out of school when I was sixteen, so I never got to go to med school.”
“Would you like to go there?” He looked a little shocked; impressed even. “Of course, sugar, that would be-“
“No, I don’t want to go to college,” he cut in quickly, afraid he’d got the wrong end of the stick. Going to college would mean being away from his husband for a long period of time-he wasn’t sure he could do that. Plus, he doubted Gerard would allow him to go unsupervised. “It’s just that a few years ago I did this exam to write medical journals. You know, about new methods and stuff?” The gangster nodded. “And I passed when I did it.”He flushed a little. “I got an A.”
Gerard beamed-with happiness and with pride.
“Well done,” he said softly, kissing his hand and lacing their fingers. “You’re so smart, bunny rabbit.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “But James didn’t want me to-“
Way muttered something under his breath, probably in Italian. Frank remembered what cazzo had meant.
“-and so I didn’t get to, even though I got people from Harvard and Yale asking for me to write for them.” He smiled again, laughing a little. “Even from Oxford and King’s College, and they’re in England!”
The other’s eyes grew wide and he smiled like a cat.
“Areyou shitting me?” He breathed, kneeling in front of him, resting his hands on his waist as the younger grinned and nodded. “Jesus Christ, Frank, you never went to med school?”
“No, I was no good in school and my grades were lousy,” he shrugged. “So no one would accept me. But when I moved in with James, the guy who lived there before us was a doctor and left all of his journals and books and equipment. So when James wasn’t there, which was a lot, I practised and read stuff and learned all the Latin words.” He wriggled his left ring finger. “When we got married I was glad it was in Latin.” He paused for a minute. “Can you wait for a second?”
He slipped from his grasp and ran to their wardrobe, digging into the back of the closet, nearly falling into it in the effort. He had brought them when he and Gerard began their life together, not quite knowing why-he just couldn’t really let them go, to be perfectly honest. He had stuffed them in at the back, near the spiders and cobwebs.
“See?” He handed the papers to Gerard, who was on the bed now, and leafed through them, all dated in the summer of nineteen thirty one, addressed to F A Iero, congratulating him on ‘the most outstanding result seen in a tenure’-to be written by someone not even of legal age, as he was going on twenty one that year. There were twenty six acceptances in all, from the US and Europe, Asia and even two from Australia. It was astounding.
“This is amazing, sweetie,” he muttered, staring at the envelopes before him, typed by writer and on fresh, cream parchment. Each one begged and grovelled for the boy to sign to their register and write in their name. “This is so absolutely mind-blowing, honey, there’s enough letters here to fit each of year of your life.” He looked into his hazel orbs. “Do you want to write now, is that it?”
“It wouldn’t be a big deal, I swear,” he gabbled quickly, taking his interest as begrudgery. “I’d be at home all the time, I’d just be reading and writing and whatever, I wouldn’t be annoying or something, Gee, I promise. I just-“ his voice was a little sadder this time; hurt. “I really wanna do this, Gerard. You’re the best at killing and you’re the Don, everyone knows you’re the best in the gang; it’s what you’re good at. And it’s not as cool or as badass as what you do, but I like science and stuff.” The pink crept to his ears. “And I would really, really like it if you let me do this.”
Gerard shrugged and took his hand, squeezing it a little.
“There’s no question, love, of course you can. Why would I disallow you to do the thing you so want?”
“Really?!” He squeaked, jumping onto his husband and getting him in a vice-grip so tight it hurt his trachea. “Oh, thank you, Gee, thank you so much, I love you so much!”
“It’s no problem, baby,” the older retorted, kissing him on the cheek. “I had no idea you’re so talented at it, that’s fantastic, fucking Harvard shit, Jesus, sweetheart.” They broke the embrace and Gerard stood up to straighten his tie. “Which one are you going to pick?”
“I think it’ll be Harvard,” he said happily. “That’s meant to be the best. And if we move to Europe like you said, I can just mail it over.” He was beaming widely and hugged the taller man again, careful not to crease his suit. “This is so awesome! You’re the best husband ever, Gerard, thank you so much.”
“I’m not,” he said softly in his ear. “James is just the worst fiancé.”
Iero nodded into him and whinged for him to bend down so they could kiss, missing the long strands of black that normally floated down to him and instead knotting his fingers in his short hair.
“Shit!” He groaned into Gerard’s mouth. “I’m fucking up your makeup, I spent so much time on your foundation, dammit!”
A rapping was heard downstairs. Gerard cursed; Frank shrieked.
“Fuck, they’re here.”
“Fuck, I have to change, fuck fuck fuck, and have a bath and do my hair and oh shit-“
“Frankie,” he murmured, “relax. I’ll meet you down there when you’re ready, okay? Try not to have a heart attack while I’m gone.”
Frank took one last look in the mirror and bit his lip. He was already an hour late; it would have to do.
He was in trousers and a shirt, black on black, making a good, homely impression. He had combed back his hair, a refreshing deep brown that was warm and ticklish, still wet from his bath, and dusted his face in pale make up, eyes darkened and accentuated. He made his way down to the main hall and heard the chatter inside, too joint and low to decide on a specific language. He crept in behind a door, displaying the huge foyer; a large twenty seater packed, apart from two seats up at the top, the largest and most luxurious chairs. Food of all assortments, as well as wine and drink, lined up in perfect assigned positions. Lights were dimmed and twisted, tall candles stuck out from holders every foot or so. It looked amazing, packed with sixteen men and some women-Kat and Christa were sitting next to their husbands, he noted. He saw Gerard’s father sitting near the top, the reason why this whole shindig was taking place, and walked calmly over to him, trying to appear smooth for once.
When he reached Donald he saw that he was holding hands with a very young girl, perhaps even younger than Frank himself. She was a bleached blond, sticking out like a sore thumb, a brightly coloured, almost Skittle-like thing in the middle of ebony, tragic beauty.
He had been told by Gerard how it was acceptable to kiss someone’s cheek as greeting, although the American had found the idea so utterly strange, kissing a complete stranger. The older Way was as good as; he hardly saw him as a father-in-law.
“Good evening, Mister Way,” he said, smiling, hoping he didn’t have something in his teeth, that his makeup was okay, that he didn’t look like a tool-“so nice to see you again.”
“Good evening, Frank,” the man replied, seeming to have forgotten their little tiff when Luciana had visited. “I presume you have not met my fiancée, Victoria?”
“Lovely to meet you,” he said again, flashing his teeth in his irresistible, cute little beam. “I’m Frankie, Gerard’s husband.”
The girl shook his hand vigorously and giggled.
“God, how sweet is he, Donnie? Isn’t he just precious? He’s shorter than me!”
Frank struggled not to slap the bitch and sat down opposite his father-in-law and his soon-to-be mother-in-law, who, by the way, was younger than him.
“May I ask what that is on your lip?” The old man asked a little suspiciously as wine was poured into his glass.
“Oh,” Iero said a little subconsciously-he knew how old-fashioned Gerard’s family was, and he had forgotten to tone down the prep-punk in his appearance. “I...uh...I have my lip pierced, Mister Way.”
“Pierced?” It seemed disgusting to him, shameful-his son had married a tramp, some goth of some sort. “Why in the Lord’s name would you do that to yourself?”
Frank was speechless, drowned by horror. He wondered where the fuck Gerard was.
“I just...I don’t know, Mister Way, I just did.” He was too tense to shrug.
“You did not seek your husband’s permission before doing so?”
“Well...” shitshitshit-“No, I guess not.” His voice was little more than a squeak now; he had to ask himself what gave parents the idea could be as rude and direct as they want. “But he doesn’t mind it. He likes it, Mister Way.”
“I’m surprised my son didn’t rip it out, it looks so horribly common, he must have lied to you,” he sniffed, nearly recoiling from the boy across from him. Even his bimbo looked a little uncomfortable. “Have you no respect? How do you think that makes him feel, you walking around like you’re available?”
“But Mister Way, I swear, I have a lot of respect for my marriage, I only belong to Gerard-“
“Gerard?” The old man murmured, taken aback. “Does he know you call him that?”
“Of course, it’s his name, Mister Way-“
“You are not equal to him, do you understand that? He may love you but you are certainly not his equivalent.”
Iero felt he was going to cry. He was hurt and tired and downtrodden within five minutes of meeting the man.
“Are you not aware of the etiquette involved when you are married to someone of such an expert rank? My ex-wife never called me by my first name in her lifetime, she addressed me by sir, as you should. She had common blood and so was forbidden to call me my Christian name. She wasn’t allowed look me directly in the eye, speak only when spoken to.” He looked away from Frank, a cigar in his fingers, and gazed into mid-air, thinking pensively. “He ought to enforce some rules in the house. Obviously you have been an extreme disappointment to him.”
Extreme disappointment. Those words cut the boy like a dagger, splitting his skin, goading into him. Donald stood up to greet a friend down the table, taking his girl by the hand. Frank faced into his lap and feltt his eyes prick at him like they had so many times before, and he quickly removed his lip piercing. He was common, a tramp, poor, unequal. Gerard was exceptional.
The whole gathering stood as he entered the room, and the gangster’s husband also got to his feet as the tap of the cane came closer until Gerard reached the table and signalled for them to sit. Before he did he kissed Frank gently, lightly, pressing his hand into the small of his back-he went for some metal to tug on and frowned when it wasn’t there. Nonetheless, they both sat down and were served wine.
“Pet?” He asked quietly, tipping the boy’s chin up to face him. “Why won’t you look at me, darling? Are you annoyed with me?”
Frank shook his head and held out his palm, in it the small pin and ball, shiny and slightly bloody from the haste in which it had been evicted.
“I didn’t know it looked common,” he whispered, Gerard straining to hear over the chatter within the hall. “I’m not being showy, Gerard, I promise, I’m so happy I’m married to you.”
“And you never told me about calling you sir or being unequal,” he sniffed, feeling horrid and dejected. “I know you’re better than me, Gee, I’ll do whatever you want me to.” He snuffled and looked him in the eye, and the darker pair was full of tears. “I never wanted to disappoint you, Gerard.”
The boss pulled him sharply into his arms, grip so tight Frank couldn’t really breathe. Way hissed into his ear:
“He put those ridiculous thoughts into your head, didn’t he?”
“Well, I mean-“
“Yes or no, Frank.”
“Sir?” He peered at him carefully. “You don’t call me sir, sweetheart, don’t ever call me that.” He was released back into his seat. “And you’re not better than me, Frank, don’t believe anything that idiot says. You’re too good for me, sugar, don’t take notice of him, he’s stupid.” He kissed his cheek. “Let’s just get through this, okay?”
“But he’s so mean,” his rabbit whimpered back. “I just said hello and he started all this stuff about how I looked common and how you must be so ashamed of me, how we’re not equal.” He shuddered and caught his breath. “He made me feel like shit.”
Hearing what his blood relative had said to his lover angered Gerard to such an extent he couldn’t even hold the glass in fear of breaking it. He locked up their fingers and gazed under the boy’s fringe.
“My poor darling, I apologize for him, he hurt your feelings. He’s a cruel, vile man, I know that, baby, I know. It’s just one night, okay? Just an hour or two of dinner and then I have to talk to him for a little while and then it’ll just be us, yeah? We can do whatever you want, honey, I promise, it’s just that we’re discussing something pretty big this evening and it’s rather important. Can you just do that for me? I’ll do all the talking, babe, don’t worry.”
“Okay,” Frank nodded, and was kissed again. “They’re coming, Gee. I didn’t know he was engaged.”
The gangster’s brow furrowed.
“Neither did I.” He inspected the girl approaching the two empty seats. “That blond bitch? You have to be kidding me.”
He usually stood to greet people, being the respectful person he was, but considering the man currently making his way to Gerard he refrained. In fact, he slouched in his seat and rested his chin in his hand, the other grasping Frank’s under the table.
“Gerard,” he greeted, extending his hand. The twenty nine year old spat into it, and the owner frowned. “Don’t be a child, Gerard.”
“Who’s being a child? I’m not being a child, I’m just in my house being made serve dinner to the uroxide who is my father and his asinine of a partner who invited himself to dinner.” He shrugged. “I think being childish is excusable in my case.”
Donald clacked his tongue and pulled out his chair. The woman smiled toothily.
“Honey, meet my ungrateful bastard of a son, Gerard.” He simpered at his offspring. “We’re getting married soon, Gerard.”
“Ungrateful bastard of a son, riiiiight here,” he replied, gingerly shaking her hand.
“I don’t think you heard me,” the old man said through gritted teeth. “We’re getting married soon.”
“Fabulous,” he muttered under his breath, still not satisfying his father. “This is what, fifth in three years?”
Way senior growled. Victoria was just smiling, sipping at her wine.
“I wish your mother could see you now, Gerard Arthur Way. So disgraceful, you utterly dirty the surname you so luckily posses, you shit. If she was here now-“
“Well, she’s not here, is she? Wanna know why? She’s dead.” The last syllable was flat. “She’s dead because you killed her and if she was here now she’d be opening a can of kickass on you, rather than focusing on my minor imperfections.” He clicked his fingers in the air. “I’ll have the steak, Luigi, so rare that it bleeds out on the plate.” He turned to his husband, who was secretly pleased with Gerard’s immaturity. “What about you, babe?”
“Can I get vegetarian lasagne?” He thought quickly. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course it is, sugar pop, you get whatever you want.” He looked at his father. “I suppose if you wish to remain undead or whatever you are then you may eat.”
“I’ll have the salad,” the girl said chirpily, and Gerard stared at her, mouth open, however uncouth it seemed. Salad sucks.
“Anything Italian will do for me,” Donald Way murmured snottily. “Make sure my portion is smaller than my son’s-I don’t want to end up like him, so disgustingly overweight.”
The waiter nodded and skipped off.
“’End up like him’?” Gerard questioned, incredulous. “What am I, fucking Jupiter?”
“No matter,” his father returned, then looking to Frank, who shrunk in his seat. “I was unaware of your vegetarianism. Why don’t you eat meat?”
The question was more forceful than interested; as in he was severely unimpressed with Frank’s dietary choices.
“I don’t like it is all. Animals don’t deserve what gets done to them, and they can’t protect themselves. I don’t mind when other people eat meat, I just don’t like it myself.”
“You would not survive in the Homeland then,” Donald laughed. “Meat is sold by the pound there.”
“The Homeland? What’s that?”
The older closed his eyes and sat back into his chair.
“Italia,” he breathed. “Paradise.”
Gerard snorted. His father glared at him and thumped him on the back of the head.
“Don’t you dare be disrespectful to the country you serve, Gerard, I did not raise you to be like that.”
“You didn’t raise me at all, you beat me and pushed me into joining the Italian Mafia at fifteen years of age, I hardly call that raising.”
“Are you talking back to me, boy-“
“Hell yes I’m talking back to you, I correct you when you’re wrong-“
“I love shopping!”
Gerard, Donald and Frank Way all looked to the girl, who had blurted out the stupidity. They then slowly turned back to each other, ignoring the last comment. Luckily, food had been processed rather quickly and was served to the entire troupe. Frank’s mouth watered when he saw his; it looked incredible. He saw why his husband got so excited over food.
Plates were placed before them, and hardly a second had passed before silence was over the table as people gorged on the gourmet delicacies in front of them. The four particulars were looking rather comfortable and content before something rather interesting was brought up, courtesy by Gerard’s father.
“So. When will I will expecting grand-children from the both of you?”
Gerard spluttered on the chardonnay he had been drinking and Frank choked on a piece of pasta. Donald smiled widely at the awkwardness and looked at them expectantly.
“Well? Surely there are plans taking place, your brother had children at twenty two, Gerard.”
“My brother was not head of the gang, nor was he as occupied as I am, nor was he fucking homosexual, and therefore unable to reproduce,” Gerard answered quickly. “You surely are not-“
“I take it you have consummated the marriage, son-“
Gerard glowered. He didn’t like talking about his private life in such a public place.
“Of course we have, don’t be an idiot. I'm twenty nine, not some sixteen year old-”
“Perhaps I should ask your husband what he believes on the matter-“
“I’m warning you, shut up right now-“
“Or maybe he wouldn’t know, would he? Only does what you tell him to, what you say goes, right, Gerard? It’s not like-“
“I am not you,” Gerard seethed. “I don’t beat the person I married.”
Donald coughed a little uncomfortably and put down his fork.
“Hush, Gerard, please, that is not suitable for the table-“
“And neither is my personal life,” he cut in eloquently and effortlessly. “So perhaps we should change the subject.”
“Alright then,” the older huffed, the becoming enlightened. “Were you aware that your husband has a piercing in his lower lip?”
His son rolled his eyes.
“Oh, really? Are you serious? Jesus, I never knew, it’s not like I look at him or kiss him, God, good disguise there, Frankie.”
The youngest man smiled into his plate and heard some concealed laughter from the other side, coming from the mouth of the oldest man’s fiancée.
“And you approve of that?” He scoffed. “He lets down the entire family with it. He looks like a prostitute, a street walker.”
Iero whimpered a little from the collateral damage his feelings were suffering. He felt so dejected that he was basically being judged right in front of him.
“This family? As in the fucking Way family? The Mafia?” He was incredulous. “My husband lets down the Mafia by getting a bit of metal in his mouth? Fuck me, the boy should be crucified for doing what he wants to without my expressed permission, or not calling me sir or saluting me or something.” He rolled his eyes again and one of his jewelled hands slipped down to his lover’s knee. “You’re not to upset him ever again, got it? Cut this dignified inequality crap and accept I’m not a shit husband like you were and are bound to be. And don’t you ever fucking call him something like that ever again.” He turned to Frank and lowered his voice. “I’m so sorry, sugar pop, do you want to be excused for a minute?”
His rabbit nodded and rubbed his eyes, and Gerard tugged his hand to pull him close. Donald strained to hear.
“Love you,” he murmured, kissing his cheek. “I love you so much, darling.”
“I love you too,” he squeaked. “I’d do anything for you, Gerard, I’d never be with someone else ever, I want you so bad and I respect everything you do and everything about you, I’m not a slut, I swear.” He looked directly into the lighter pair of eyes and his were filling with crystal, boiling tears. "I'd never try to make your family look bad."
“Oh pet,” he purred, knitting their hands together, rubbing his finger around the gold band. “I love you, and you know what I think about those things, you know how you’re just my world and I honour you beyond anything else. You don’t have to act submissive to me, bunny rabbit, don’t listen to him. You’re perfect.” He kissed his nose. “So utterly perfect. Do you want to go for a minute, babe?”
He nodded again and stood up to leave, several members looking over as the boy pushed the chamber doors open. Gerard watched him exit and then swiftly turned to his father.
“I fucking hate you,” he snarled at him, and the older looked genuinely repentant. “I wish you were fucking dead.”
“Hey now,” the blond piped up, nibbling at the lettuce, “don’t you talk you talk to my husband-to-be like that!”
“Oh shut up!” Gerard groaned. “You’re younger than me and everyone knows you’re marrying him for his goddamn money, just another wife for him to manipulate and abuse like everyone else before you, you don’t mean shit to him-“
“Gee, stop,” came a small voice and a hand was placed on his arm. “You’re just as bad as him now.”
Way turned to face his other half, re-powdered, piercing intact, and smiling shyly up at him, hopeful he’d calm down and see sense. Gerard inhaled deeply and relaxed his shoulders.
“I apologize for what I just said to you,” he said in a flat tone. “That was incredibly rude and hurtful of me and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I’m sure you and he will have a...wonderful marriage together.”
“I like puppies!” was all the girl had to say on the matter. The younger Way shook his head in disbelief was kissed by Frank.
“Sweetie pie, leave us for a few moments, please,” Donald instructed his fiancée, patting her hand in a condescending manner. Frank assumed this would be the really important issue Way had mentioned earlier in the evening. It was now nearing ten o’ clock, and truth be told, he was getting a little tired. He had gotten up early this morning to go for the walk the gang usually exercised daily. “We have some matters to discuss.”
The platinum blonde nodded her head and jumped from her seat to go prey on some innocent victim, namely Christa, who looked like she was going to cry when the future Missus Way planted herself next to Missus Toro. Gerard nodded at the four men nearest his father, his husband and himself and they also moved further down the table, so that the three Way’s were able to discuss the topic in privacy.
“Alberto Betelli is dead.”
The teenager, Frank copped. The teenager that survived.
Gerard heaved a huge sigh of relief and his husband giggled and nuzzled into his shoulder.
“Thank God. How?”
“Suicide,” Donald said, lighting up his cigarette. “I tried to make it as convincing as I could.”
“You killed him?” Frank asked, and was the only one surprised. “You killed him for Gerard?”
“I didn’t do it for him,” he said quickly, his smoke making Iero’s lungs tighten. “I did it for my family and my brothers, I did it so that the tradition that my own father started would be continued and honoured.” He cleared his throat and his son nodded. “I...I cannot help that you’re good at this, Gerard. I don’t know why we are in the state we’re in.” He sounded a little upset. “It does ache that you have never called me your father or that you hate me in such a way.”
“You know why,” he said quietly. “I don’t call you that because I don’t regard you as my parent. As far as I’m concerned you and she were getting lonely one night and then someone got a bit too frisky and then I happened. And now is not the time to whine over petty arguments in our relationship.”
Donald looked down into the wood of the table.
“Blood is thicker than water, Gerard.”
“My blood is as thick and as red as the River Styx,” he spat. “That doesn’t change the fact that I despise you.”
“You’re a much better Capa than I ever was,” he whispered, “you do know what would happen to most fanook’s would be shot for-“
“Don’t you say that word in front of me!” he snapped, jamming his steak knife into his father’s fist on the table. “Don’t you ever say that to me, you fucking-“
“Calm down, Gerard, you’re frightening your husband-“
“No!” He was furious. “No, I will not fucking calm down, and will not fucking calm down until you apologize for saying that!”
“Alright, I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “Get over it-“
“Just don’t say that, you fucking imbecile.” Frank made a note to ask what word he got so pissed off at, and what it meant. “I’m a fucking amazing goombah, and I always will be. Whether I am married to a man or a woman.”
“What do those words mean?” The boy cut in quietly, and the other two men turned to face him. Donald looked a little pink. Gerard was rampant.
“Ask him,” the younger killer sneered.
Frank looked to his father-in-law.
“A fanook is a derogatory word for a homosexual,” the old man sighed, a little ashamed. Frank shuffled a little uncomfortably. “And goombah is just Gerard being an idiot.”
“Oh fuck off, you know what that means.”
“It is horrible to Italians, the master race, and indeed insulting yourself-“
“A mean word for someone in the Mafia,” Way muttered. “And fuck off about that master race shit. You know that’s not true.”
“My son, the bleeding heart liberal-everyone’s equal, he marries his own sex, no race is better than another-next you’ll be saying God doesn’t exist!”
“Maybe He doesn’t,” he said softly. “He’s the only one you’d ever submit to.”
“Il Duce is doing the best thing possible for the Homeland-“
“He’s brainwashing people, can’t you see?” The plates were being taken away and some women were standing up. “He’s a sexist, a racist, anti-democracy, pro-war-“
“So what if he is pro-war, that can only help Italia, and when you move back there-“
“Capa?” Chris asked tentatively from behind Gerard. “I’m very sorry, sir, but may we be excused? Perhaps you would like some privacy.”
“Yes, fine, whatever,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Take Frank with you.” He turned to his lover. “I’ll see you in a little while, okay, babe?”
“Gee?” He tugged his collar and his face read of unsure terror. “We’re moving to Italy?”
“No, pet, don’t worry-“
“You’ll have to, Gerard, don’t you see? The ORVA-“
“Shut up,” he hissed again. Then, to Frank. “Darling, there is no problem, I promise, don’t you worry, okay?”
“When will you be back?” He asked, and still was fearful. “Will you be long?”
“About an hour, sugar pop, and then I’ll be up to you,” he swore, and kissed him softly. “Everything’s gonna be perfectly fine, sweetheart.”
Gerard was wrong. On November ninth, nineteen thirty four, a middle-aged, Austrian man delivered a speech in Feldherrnhalle in Munich, Germany. He was then sworn into the Bundestag, the German Parliament, like the House of Commons, Stormont or the US Congress, and declared Head of State of the Master Race of Germany.
That man’s name was Adolf Hitler.