The call to arms was never true, time to imbibe, here's to you; I'll tell you stories bruised and blue.
Follow The Cops Back Home
"Si. Quasi non ci. Sulla strada. Si. Addio."
Frank looked to his husband as the pair of them sat in the automobile, crawling slowly towards the House of Romano. The boy had been quiet and subdued the whole journey, smiling weakly at the Don whenever a question would be put to him. He sat, at five o' clock in the morning, on a frosty February morn, in Gerard's intimidating dark, buller-proof Buick. They had been driving for about forty minutes now, and Gerard had been talking on the phone for the last ten, in hurried, but certain Italian.
Frank knew what they were going to do. Way had spent the last few weeks planning the entire thing, every detail, every single gun and bullet had been sorted. Gerard had stayed up late each evening, discussing tactics, weapons, positions, transportation. He had chosen only the best fighters for the mission, who had been quizzed both physically and mentally. Gerard had wrestled all of them personally; of course he had won each match, but their effort had been credited.
And now they were coming closer. Ever so closer. Frank had been worrying ever since Gerard had woken him up at four in the morning, he had been scared. This was always the way when Gerard would go to raids, that the boy would be terrified for his husband's wellbeing. Sure, he was Don of the Famiglia now, but this was the biggest storming the Way family had ever planned.
And it was all for him.
"Bunny?" Gerard's quiet, low voice interrupted the boy's fearful thoughts. He looked to the Don, in the black pin-stripe, the trilby hat pulled down. Black Ray Ban's covered his eyes; leather gloves for his hands. Frank thought he was the image of perfection. He never wanted his husband to ever change his ways; jeans and t-shirts could never compete with suits. "You alright, sweetheart?"
"Mmm," Frank replied quietly, nodding and rubbing at sleepy eyes. "Just..." he yawned widely, jaw cracking a little. "Just tired. Mmm...sleepy." He smiled ruefully. "When we get back to the house can we snuggle?"
"Course we can," the criminal answered him, beckoning the boy to be closer. Frank undid his seat belt and slid across the back seat to rest against his husband's chest. Gerard lifted his legs up over his, fingers stroking soft skin under his knee. The rabbit tucked his head into his neck, soft brown tufts tickling Gerard's jaw. The leader pressed a button nearby and a screen went up between the driver and the couple. "It'll be fast, babe. It'll be real fast and then we can go home and everything will be okay."
Frank nodded, playing with Gerard's fingers. It was hard to be convinced going to a Mafia raid to the rival family would be really fast and painless. Frank was sure the minute he caught sight of the head Romano mansion-he and James had lived in their seperate apartment; James wanted privacy from his men, unlike Gerard, who demanded protection for his husband-he'd burst into tears.
"What if it won't be okay?" He whispered. "What if you get hurt and then...what if they kill you, Gerard?" Frank forced out, getting choked up. Gerard rested a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly. "And I know you're Don...but I'd die if you got killed, Gee."
"Frankie," the gangster said quietly, contently. "I'm gonna kill em all while they sleep. And Marcus will die slowly, I promise you, darling. So there's nothing to worry about, okay? You'll be with Chris in the car and then when I come out again I'll be with you." He tipped his head against Frank's, black hair mixing with the brown. "Bunny rabbit, my precious baby. So lovely."
Iero nodded, tugging at his sleeves to cover his horrible bruises, passing his fingers over the cuts. Gerard pulled his hand away, instead clasping it in his own mangled hold.
"No, inomorato, don't agitate them, don't make it worse." He noticed red tinging the boy's cheeks. "Tesoro, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be sharp, please don't get upset."
"Not upset," the boy said a little sheepishly, smiling. "I just...I like it when you speak Italian." He cleared his throat and avoided Gerard's gaze. "It...it sounds really nice. It reminds me of..."
"When we do naughty things, sweetie?" Gerard purred, lips curled at the sides, and Frank nodded. The boy smiled a little, and then picked at the rose on his husband's lapel. Frank thought about it. He didn't know whether to be ashamed or provacative; he had put them on last night in a flourish of quick impulse. He thought they actually looked...nice.
"Gee, can I show you something?" He murmured softly, slipping his hand into Way's, tipping his head to the side. "Mmm...just...something only you're allowed to see." He bit his lip and sucked behind the criminal's ear; he was so scared of being so sexual, but he tried his best to familarise the situation. Sure, maybe a Buick on the way to the House of Romano at some ungodly hour isn't the best choice, but..."Just for you, Gee." He smiled. "A present."
"What...what is it?" The Don rasped quickly. Frank couldn't help but feel satisfied that he could make Gerard Way weak for him. He pressed his nose into the gangster's neck and inhaled that gorgeous scent of chocolate and coffee and cigarettes. Iero slipped his hand underneath his shirt and trailed his fingers across his lover's neck. "Can I...can I have it now? Can I see, baby?" The Don asked quietly, privately; this was something just for him. The boy giggled and popped the button of his trousers and gestured for Gerard to do the rest of the work. Cautiously, Way pushed his dress pants down his legs, for Frank to smile widely.
Gerard's seeing eye nearly popped out of his skull when he saw what adorned the boy's legs. He was wearing black, filmy suspenders, originally for women, but they looked so fucking good on Frank that Way realized how much he loved this boy. His husband was also wearing silky drawers that were tight and floucy; everytime Frank moved slightly they fluffed up. The Don loved the feminimity of it all, how much effort his husband had put in.
"Don de la Via," he purred, stretching one slender, stocking-clad leg across his husband's lap. He took one of Gerard's hand and placed it on the clip of the garter belt. "Fammi vedere chi e il padrone."
Show me who's boss.
"Any of you know when Don de la Via is due to arrive?" Don Toro whispered to the rest of the troupe, his breath exiting his mouth in puffs of smoke. It was pitch black and freezing; not to mention later than they anticipated, as the raid had been scheduled for half five; it was now nearing six, and the sun would soon rise. "His vehicle left around the same time as everyone else's, so I don't see what the problem is..."
The black Buick pulled up to the House of Romano, parking inconspiciously near some bushes at the front of the manor. It halted slowly to the driveway, the rubber wheels rolling along the dirt path. The house was not nearly as profolific or as grand as the Way manor, and the garden was dishevelled. A rusted, lopsided 'R'-the same shape and italic as the one engraved into Frank's arm-bore relevance on the gate. The house was a shade of murky grey, and two Ford's were parked in the yard. Twelve members of the Way syndicate watched with cat-like vision as the house remained stationary.
The door of the car opened slowly, oh-so-slowly, and Gerard Way skipped down from the step in an agile, yet masucline manner. The thing that struck the men was that the Don of the Family was wiping his mouth, tugging at the bottom of a wrinkled, crinkled shirt. His hair was messy and his lips were bright red, with bite-marks all along his neck, running his jaw. He struggled not to smile as he helped Frank descend from the car. The younger man wore a dull pink glow and his waistcoat was open. Iero was grinning to himself.
"Don de la Via," Ray put forward, sounding a bit gruff. "You're late, sir. We've been here for nearly an hour. Your vehicle left the house the same time ours did. Would you care to explain why our raid will have to be cut short by an amount of nearly thirty minutes?"
Gerard laughed and ran a hand through his hair. Frank bit his lip, and wavered near the women of the troupe.
"You questioning me, Toro?" He said in a deadly murmur. "You questioning the Don of the Famiglia?"
All members inhaled quickly. Christa was frowning a little, shaking her head, one little hand resting on her protruding stomach. Frank could see Way's working eye in the dark, surveying his inferior for an answer.
"You think you're better than me, that it? Barely a month on the job and suddenly you got all the answers? You wanna lead your men?" Gerard gestured to all the footsoldiers around him. His tone was sharp and professional; he fucking knew what he was doing. "Wanna act like an asshole to your gang, fine. Come like a cocky prick to other syndicates, that's your decision. But hell, you treat your fucking superiors with respect, you got that?" He spit on the ground and Ray squeaked a little. "Remember your stance here, kid. Remember who gave you that ring on your bony-ass finger."
Toro's eyes were brimming with tears. He nodded shakily.
"Yes, of course," he said quietly, bowing his head to the taller man. "I-I'm so sorry, Don de la Via."
"And your wife's got bruises all over her arms," Gerard said slowly, rolling the words in his mouth like sweets. "I don't like my men hurting their loved ones, Raymond. Now, I'm gonna forget about it for now but you seem to forget your wife is in this as well. Anything that happens to her, I know about it. Since the departure of Missus Bryar and her husband Christa will be Donna di Brigata after her pregnancy-if she chooses to accept my bequest." Christa nodded quickly, tears streaming her cheeks. Frank put his arm around her and she tucked her face into the boy's chest. "You can be tough as shit with muscles to spare but the minute you hit your wife you become less of a man."
"Stress," Ray whispered, and Christa was snuffling softly.
"I'm motherfucking Don de la Via," Gerard continued in a deadly whisper. "I organize every raid, I contact every fucker, I pay all of you cunts out of my own pocket, not to mention generally being sought after by every police man in the States." He glared at all of them and gestured to Frank. "You ever seen me put my hands on him? You ever see him crying because I've beat him? Respect, Don Toro." He let his eyes flutter down to Ray again. "Learn to embrace it."
There was a short silence, and Gerard pulled on his gloves, taking his holster from Frank.
"I trust everyone is armed and ready from when we last discussed this intervention. I want six on each floor, that's eighteen in total. Anyone, be they a child or man or cat, you shoot, understand that? Have no mercy and do not give into their deceptive pleads for mercy." Frank met Gerard's eye, who was gazing at him lovingly. Christa was still in a one-armed embrace with the boy; there was nothing sexual about the gesture, Iero simply saw a friend of his was upset and needed tending. "Then I want Soprano and Ramone to infiltrate and take all their women hostage, Missus White will deal with them. Adrienne, you go for the children as we discussed. And I tell you lastly one more time; Marcus is mine. Leave him for me, and only me. Understood?"
"Si, signore," each member whispered.
"Right," Gerard said, glancing at his watch. "Eighteen squadristi go. I will be joining you in just a moment." Everyone bar Frank, Gerard and Christa left the scene, hoisting guns above sholders as leather shoes carefully padded across the estate. Every window was dark and covered. "Now, Missus Toro, since you are unable to fight, I trust you will be safe with my husband. He is armed with a holster and we all know his talent with pocket knives." A flicker of a smile. "Rest assured that your husband will escape fine and well. And about your bruises," he murmured ever-so-quietly, "if it happens again, you come to me first. No waiting around and being too nice; he does not harm you when you are Donna di Brigata, and indeed his wife. You are a member of the House of Way and shall be treated as such."
"Yes," she replied in a croak. "Thank you so much, Don de la Via." She reached for his hand and kissed his ring. "Good luck, sir. We will prevail. Casa di Via."
"We will," he answered, and Frank watched as two men forced the door open. Gerard turned to Frank and smiled. "And make sure you take care of her, okay, bunny? Start carving up a dude if he comes near either one a ya." He pulled the boy to his chest and they shared a kiss. "Love you, okay? Car's bulletproof and it's got a ton of ammunition in it if you need it. Worse comes ta worse driver knows when to return to the house."
"No," Frank said audibly. "I'd go in there myself before I left you."
Christa squeaked. Both men looked at her.
"I-I mean-it's so-" she sighed and giggled. "You two are just so cute together."
"Thanks," Way replied, and she smiled. "See ya in a little bit, baby." Frank pressed himself close to Gerard. "And remember that I love you."
"I love you too, Gee," Frank said in his ear.
Tha gangster released the twenty four year old and gave the pair a final wave. He walked off, hips rolling, and cocked a machine gun in his grip. He strode over to the house and disappeared from view.
Frank turned to Christa, smiling weakly, one hand pressed to her chest. Long chocolate hair was pulled in a tight bun and she was dressed in a long silk gown that fluttered over her stomach. She was even shorter than Frank, at an impressive five foot. The boy was oddly touched when she slipped her hand in his and they began to walk together.
This isn't meant to be like they're cheating or anything, they are just friends
"I know this sounds loserish," Frank said, looking up at the stars. "But I've never held hands with a girl before."
Christa laughed a little.
"Seriously. Feels weird." He could feel her wedding ring, her dainty little hold, her bracelet. "You feel so light compared to a guy. It's also weird that you're shorter than me." He smiled again. "No one's ever shorter than me."
"So...you never had a girlfriend? No experimenting?"
"Nope. I've had friends who are girls, but..." he shrugged. The sky was so beautiful tonight; or this morning. It was so pitch dark that Frank kept reminding himself not to fall asleep. "Just guys. But I'm telling you right now that I'm hardly manly or anything."
"I kinda guessed that already, Frankie." She paused. "Can I call you that? Frankie?"
"Of course," he said. "I find it so weird when people ever call me by sir or something. Or Mister Way."
"Well, Mister Way," she said, and he giggled. "I know you're hardly the brawny type. I mean, Tiffany's, Chanel, Dior...you have a wardrobe a girl would die for. And you are the only man I've ever known who doesn't stink to high freaking heavens after something. Man-stank, I swear..."
"Sweat is gross," he confirmed, and they laughed in unison. "He likes me being effeminate, though. He always says I look cute and stuff."
"That's the reason you two were late, wasn't it?" Christa said slyly, a grin on her lips. "Getting up to something you shouldn't have been."
"We didn't actually do it-"
"You know what, Chris-"
"I don't know anything," she said, shrugging.
"Ugh, fine...we weren't...having sex." She shrieked with laughter and swung their hands together. "I just...I just dressed up for him a little and we kissed and stuff. No homo sex involved."
"Pretty hard to convince me of that when he was tugging on his shirt, Frankie. And pulling at his belt."
"What can I say? The man's weak for me." He giggled once more. "I'm probably the only one he's ever blushed in front of."
"I can't believe you've seen him naked. "
"If not every night since the..." he coughed a little. "I get to see him in his boxers then." He sighed and bit his lip, eyes fluttering. "He's got such a nice body."
"Really? I'd imagined that."
"Mmm, so good. You know his middle name is Arthur?"
She howled and spluttered as she doubled over with laughter. Frank nodded.
"I know, right? Don't tell him I said it though. He'd flip his shit."
"You mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"You might think I'm a sick fuck."
"I'm not Gerard, I'm not gonna shove my Don-ness in your face."
"Yeah, well...I asked one of my girlfriends before, but she's only done it once, and I figured..." she stopped and looked at him. "Does it hurt?"
"What? My lip piercing? Kinda-"
"No, Frankie, no." She laughed nervously and flippef her hand. "Never mind."
"Ohhhh," it dawned on the boy. "You mean...gay sex."
"Ass, yeah, I get that," Frank answered, and she giggled again. "Mmm...well, I've been doing it since I was seventeen...it hurts for a little while. And you should only do with someone ya trust."
"What about when you're top?"
Frank flushed pink. "I've never been top, I can't say." He laughed. "Go ask Gerard."
The boy realized he had just made a sexual reference to the Don. He slapped himself on the forehead as Christa howled with laughter.
"Well-I-I haven't!" He spluttered. "Really now, Chris, what did you expect? The stronger person does it."
"How do you dress up for him? Little nurses' outfit, Frankie?"
"You are such a pervert. Like him."
She screamed with pleasure.
"Oh my Gawd! What's he like? What does he taste like?"
"'What does he taste like?' Ew, you fucking sicko!"
"NOT LIKE THAT! I MEANT HIS MOUTH, YOU FREAK!"
"Oh," he whispered, Christa clutching herself for support. "Coffee and cigarettes...and chocolate. His neck smells really good. And I didn't go overvoard for him. I just put on suspenders."
"Oooh, you little pansy! He like em?"
"I dunno. He couldn't really talk while he was ripping them off with his teeth."
"You shave your legs?"
"I don't see how that is any of your business."
"You did, didn't you?"
"I like to look nice for my husband," he said snootily. "That is all."
"Well, it's nice that he found you, Frankie," she said quietly as they turned around, looking at the house. Yells, screams and gun-shots rang true now. Frank found a lump in his throat. "He loves you to bits, I can just see it. I mean, not every man buys a Tiffany's Classic diamond ring for his lover..."
"Mmm, and a Ferrari."
"A Ferrari?! Mother of God..." She sighed and smiled faintly. She giggled. "I know this sounds weird, but you and Don de la Via should come around to our house once all this fuss is done with. I make a paella that'd give you a food orgasm for a week."
"I'd like that," Frank said softly, cherishing the hold he had with his husband's server. He really liked Christa; not in a sexual way, but that he liked being around her. "But I don't know if we're even gonna be here that much longer. I think Gee wants to go to Italy." He sucked his lip as he said it; he didn't feel the need to explain the meaning of the letter. "He doesn't like America that much, I think. And all the attacks on me and Luciana..." her chocolate hair brushed against his shoulder. He set himself straight again. "But I wanna come to your house first. I've never been to yours. What's it like?"
Christa smiled, a little pink in the eerie moonlight. "It's nice, I suppose. Ray and I are-or, were-very interested in furniture and drapes. I have the nicest linen curtains you've ever seen-gorgeous black silk. It's not nearly as big as yours and his, of course," she said quickly. "I think your house is more like a mansion, like the one kings and queens lived in when I was a little girl," she said. Frank regarded her; she couldn't be much older than him. "Your bedroom is huge. It's as big as our entire first floor."
"Gerard's really rich, I guess," Frank lisped. He thought of the endless amount of presents and general treats bestowed upon him all the time...Gerard had never refused Frank anything in the history of their union. He closed his eyes and thought of his husband. Tears came. Anxiety released itself. The Don's warm smirk and firm demeanor made the boy's stomach flutter. "Oh. I want him, Christa." He flicked his hazel eyes up to the Romano house. The flames dancing along the second floor made him sick with unease. Shouts, screams of agony and ricochets flung within the range. He heard that voice in the distance; Gerard shouting orders in distance. Frank stared at the burning house in an awed gaze; a body fell from the second floor and fell to the ground with a loud thunk. Frank only realized who it had been when Christa ripped her hand from his and let out an almighty holler.
"RAY!" She screeched, and fell to the ground, sobbing. Frank looked to the manor and knew what he had to do.
"Vendetta," he muttered, pulling the revolver from his belt, and stalked to the Romano mansion.
The tone in which James Romano was adressed was soft and cautious. He was regularly spoken to in a jaunty, macho, jack-the-lad fashion that men often desire women to call them in, but today there was something new, something strange in Missus Romano's voice. Olivia Romano, (nee Costelloe; the fourth wife of the gangster) a frail little sad thing of nineteen, was facing the murderer as they lay in bed together, nose to nose. They had wed in the religious superstore of the US-Las Vegas, Nevada. After 'joking' about the proposed rape of Luciana Way, Louise had left Marcus with three of their children. (Romano, now going on thirty four, had eight children at the time, all under the age of fifteen. Upon the date of his early death, from what is now known as AIDS, aged just thirty five, his eldest daughter would be preganant with her first child.) So Marcus, pushed onto the divorcee fence for the third time, married a protitute in Sin City, fourteen years his junior. Olivia was now two months preganant with his child. The baby had been conceived the night the gold band had been placed on the girl's finger.
"Mark," she whispered again, desperate and somewhat breathless. "Mark, baby, please wake up. Please. I'm scared, Mark."
One lid slowly cracked open as Marcus Romano awoke. His grey eyes were clouded with sleep and haze-he had gone to bed drunk after partying the night away with hus buddies at the ironically titled gentleman's club. He had no clue what fucking time it was-he knew he'd gotten home at around one, which was actually quite impressive for Romano, who usually partied into the wee hours of the morning. He'd only came home early because he knew Olivia'd flip her shit if he was late and all.
"Liv," he managed to grunt, rubbing his eyes, opening them wide; fuck, his hangover was killing him. Like a dull, blunt pounding at the back of his head. His wife, blond and busty, to be informal, was batting her lids at him. Unlike most days, when the baby blue's were lustful and sleezy, today they were enormous and full of fear. He blinked a little and cleared his throat. "Ugh...what...what time is it, Liv?"
"I think it's..." she ran false nails through her hair, sighing just a little. She was stressed out-those fucking noises outside were freaking the fuck outta her. She turned over and grabbed the nearby clock. Bollocks. "Just after six. Mark, I've been hearing...noises. Really creepy ones, outside. Scratching at the windows and rolling around outside."
Marcus stared incredulously at the girl and raised his eyebrows. No wonder he prefered brunettes.
"Babe, ain't no wolves round here," he mumbled, his eyes sliding shut again. In his dream, he was having a nice little time with a cute redhead he met in Reno a few years ago. Rumor was the Way's had killed her shortly afterwards.Ah well;nothing's fair in love and war. "Just...probably having bad dreams. The house is old, you know, scratching and stuff..."
"This wasn't the house," she insisted, sitting up and pulling the duvet up around her. Marcus groaned as his wife turned on the bedside lamp. "I'm sure, Mark. It's coming from oustide." She shivered and and tugged at his shoulder. "Babe, it's really freaking me the fuck out." She pushed out her lip and begged with her eyes. "Go have a look?"
Marcus sighed and sat up, rubbing at his eyes.
Things had been a little too quiet for his liking recently. Since Warner had raped the Way boy, no retalliation or revenge had been ordered, no acts of vendetta committed. Members of the Romano gang would pass by the black mansion every few days and the windows would be shut, the gate creaking and swaying in the wind. No sounds or bustling would be heard from the manor, no men would be peering suspiciously from glass panes. Usually that bastard would be the first to strike back in some sick way-but it had been over a month now and nothing had happened. Perhaps the boy was dead. Then Way would kill himself and Marcus's life would be peachy king.
Well, apart from the girl next to him halucinating about scratching and shit.
"Ugh, babe," he sighed, getting out of bed and the cold automatically hitting his skin with a swoosh. He shivered violently and cussed as he walked towards the door, grabbing a grey dressing gown. He slipped on a pair of shoes and ran a hand through his hair. He now gained what Olivia had been talking about; he was hearing some bizarre noises outside. Like a hollow, slow rolling. It would stop every so often; it was so strange, so soft and so quiet. He narrowed his eyes and strained his ear to fully absorb the noise.
"Shut up!" Marcus hissed to his wife, then knocking on the door. Since being in an Anglo-American gang, the Romano's did not have consigliere's; they just had councellers, apointed personal men to the leader. Marcus was not a Don-he was just The Boss. Referred to as Mister Romano or Sir. Mark to his friends. He called the name of his councillor. "Simon? Is that you?"
Romano, with a sudden flush of courage-despite being the leader of his own family syndicate, the man was a yellow coward at heart-flung open the door and glared at the sight before him; nothing but a bare wooden floor. What looked like a wooden marble was rolling aimlessly, pointlessly around on the floor. Marcus coocked his head, glaring at it. This was the boisterous monster responsible for the bitch waking up? That 'scared the fuck outta' her? Jesus Christ, he was gonna beat the shit out of her when he got back there.
"Fucking hell, Peter!" Romano swore his son's name. The leader would have to whup the hide offa the kid not to leave his toys around the house. The thirty-three year old bent over, cussing. "I told you not to fucking leave your shit around the house...fucking kill you one of these bloody days..."
Then Romano's petitions stopped when he caught sight of the marble when he plucked up the 'marble'. Painted intricately and wonderfully on the side of the wooden circle, was a thick black circle. It was deep and dark and seemed to smell like the nauseating, thick scent of fresh paint. Surrounding the black was a green, unmoving strip. It was the same colour as a flourescent green light.
It was an eye.
Romano only knew of one man with that colour of iris. A chill ran down his spine but he shook it away pompously. He held the painted eye between his thumb and forefinger and walked back into the bedroom, where he was greeted with the most terrible sight.
Olivia Romano, not even twenty years old, was strung up by her neck with a red tie, her pretty little neck snapped in half by the garment. Blond hair had been entangled and matted in blood. Her eyes been ripped out and poked into the palm of her hands, so that she 'saw' grotesquely from her fingers. Her kneecaps had been blasted apart and left to shrapnel. It was then that Romano saw the words smeared in her blood across the wall; ti sto guardando.
Marcus froze and stared in horror at the eye. His Italian wasn't good but he knew enough to get a rough translation.
I'm watching you.
Gerard Way sat in the living room of the Romano house, puffing on his Cuban, a gun in his clutch. His eyes were closed as he listened to the screams and shouts of his men.
It was roundabout six o' clock now; they had been in the home for ten minutes. The Don was humming quietly as he relaxed. He had instructed his men that he would not be fighting until the moment came. No one actually knew what the moment was, and when it come, or what the turn-out would be-just that Gerard was sitting in the room, smoke-rings encircling his head. He opened his eyes lazily as he heard Romano yell out in anguish and fear.
"FUCKING WAY'S!" He screeched, and then Gerard heard the sound of shoes scuttling, light and quick. He laughed a self-satisfied chuckle and drew his gun, standing up and stretching out. "I'LL FUCKING KILL EACH AND EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!" Gerard walked, unafraid and confident, to the stairs amongst the scenes of violence. Men were beating each other, scratching and scrawling, cussing and spitting. Bullets and punches were thrown into the air, and bones were snapping. He was not being targeted. Everyone was aware of the rule surrounding the Don of the Famiglia.
Then Gerard saw something that intrigued him.
His husband, his boy, his little bunny rabbit, his gorgeous Frankie, was drenched in blood. He was standing over the body of a Romano henchman-Simon Gonnagall, the counciller of the family-shoulders pumping up and down, a revolver clapped in his small hands. His chocolate hair and his snowy white skin, the signs of his treasured innocence, were blotched and covered in scarlet. Way moved swiftly to the scene and saw Frank stepping away, cradling something in his hands. The Don walked up to his husband and flung a knife into the body of the bleeding, disfigured man, whose face was unrecognizable. The boy had seemingly beat him to a pulp.
"Frankie," Gerard said quietly into his ear, pushing him a little so that they were now crouching under the stairs together. Gerard pulled something over the gap so that they would not be seen. Way pulled the boy to him and searched him. "What are you doing in here? I thought I told you to stay outside with Christa, baby, I want you to be safe. I want to be with you right now but I have to deal with Marcus first, darling, and-"
"Ray's dead, Gee," he sniffed, and the Don was gobsmacked momentarily. "I was walking with Chris and then Ray was pushed out of a window. I came to help and I've killed six guys already, Gee, see?" He held up a horrendous knife, brain and bristle clinging to the blade. "I killed the man over there and then I saw that they had rabbits in that room over there because they use them for hunting and I couldn't leave them, Gee." He opened his hands and showed it to his husband; the boss saw he was holding a tiny white being, a rabbit, in his palms. It's eyes were like hazelnuts, precisely like that of the boy holding him. Scars and cuts covered the animal, which cowered and squeaked. Frank lisped breathily: "These are ours, Gerard. When they raided our house they took the momma bunny, and then they brought them here and beat her. The bunnies had babies, Gee, see?" He looked into his husband's odd eyes. "Baby rabbits."
The mixture of innocent and evil, bitter and sweet, good and bad, made the gangster's heart melt. Looking at the boy, coated in blood and slick with sores, cradling a kit rabbit, his huge orbs sweeping over the criminal. Gerard leaned down, planted a soft kiss on Frank's forehead, and nodded. He had come in and killed six men so he could rescue some rabbits. To prevent animals from being hurt further. Way took a moment from killing to understand Iero's empathetic state of mind.
"Take them back to our car, inomorato," the Don said quietly, and a blood-curdling screech was heard outside. "Please wait here for me for ten minutes while I take care of Marcus and then I can help you take them out."
"They have to come now, Gee," he breathed, looking fearful. "Please, Gerard, let me do it now."
The Don paused. Then:
"Giulian!" He yelled suddenly, and a brown-haired man in his twenties appeared outside the stairs. The boss looked him in the eye. "I want you to assist my husband on the second floor transporting rabbits back to my Buick. Your job is to make sure a fucking hair on his head is not harmed, you understand?" The henchman nodded eagarly. "Hurry up and send him back to me when you're done. If one drop of his blood spills your ass is on the line."
"Yes, Don de la Via," Giulian responded, and offered a hand to Frank. Gerard glowered.
"You do not touch his hand, he's married and his marriage should be repected. You can protect him and respect his marriage at the same time. Baby, when you're done with em I want you to come back and ask for Ray-er, Louis, darling, get Louis. And if you can you can just stab a few more fucks on the way." Their lips pressed together. Both parties tasted blood. "I love you, Frankie."
Marcus Romano was strung up by his ankles and publicly ridiculed by Gerard Way. The blood was starting to rush to his head as he dangled, mouth open, panting. Gerard smirked devilishly as he sharpened the machete, chuckling lightly.
"You're a fucking cunt, you know that?" Way murmured quietly. "Fucking cunts."
"Thought you-were meant-polite," Romano gasped, breaking. He could feel blood streaming down his neck from his chest. His chest felt compressed and uncomfortable as he inhaled shakily. Every single rib in his cage had been snapped. "So-fuckin-dignified-"
"Mmm," Gerard replied. "Not when you fuck around with my husband, cunt. Not when you degrade and abuse him to such a level that I can't cuddle him without him getting scared." He laughed again. "Because of you, Romano, my darling is afraid of anything and everything. And now...." he cocked the trigger. "Now you must die. Any last words?"
"Yeah," he panted, nearly passing out from the sight of the blade that close to his neck. "You're a cunt."
The Don grimaced and shrugged. "It's been said. After I've killed you, I'm leaving. I've killed your kids, your fuckin whores, your hunting dogs...and when I've killed you my family will prevail. We are the kings of this city, Romano. You filthy homophobic prick. I'm gonna go home and I'm gonna make love to my husband." The Protestant man grimaced. "Yanno, filthy, dirty, sinful, digusting sexual intercourse between two men." He sighed contentedly. "And I'm gonna like it, Romano. This was never gonna work. Fucking around with Gerard Way's family, his niece, his husband....I don't think so." He flashed a grin. "You should know I ain't some pansy-ass hand-flipping homosexual who likes shopping and tight clothes. Now you must die."
Romano paused. Nothing was happening.
"Well?" He snapped. "Are you gonna fucking do it or aren't you?"
Gerard wore another sweet, innocent smile, showing off his teeth. Then he called softly;
"Bunny rabbit? Will you come to me for a moment?"
Frank Iero-Way stepped from the shadows with the same knife he had used to kill James. Gerard leaned down and meshed his lips to the soft ones of his baby. The boy smiled genuinely and walked up to Marcus.His smile was so soft and unassuming.
"Hai," he lisped, giggling a little. He searched the dead eyes of the thirty three year old. "You're gonna die, Marcus."
Gerard stepped behind his husband, wrapping his arms around his waist. He let his lips trail along the boy's scalp and let the heavy knife fall into Frank's small hands. The rabbit closed his eyes, contemplating, letting the Don nibble at his neck. Then he turned around, his back to Marcus, in Gerard's arms, both of their hands clutching the dagger, Gerard's mangled one lying atop Frank's.
"On three," Gerard breathed in his ear.
The knife moved and cracked Marcus Romano on the skull. Blood poured from his head and dripped the floor.
The boy smiled and laughed sunnily. He spoke one of the few Italian words he knew.
"Vendetta," he said, and giggled again.