Somehow, I managed to fool my computer that I was recording it when really I uploaded it from My Computer (because you hear Lornaigh talking about how she's recording it from her phone and stuff) so props to me and my IT skills. I used Vocaroo, the one ShadowSouls used, because I'm weird like that, I dunno.
Also, quick sidenote: the same awesome author I just mentioned, ShadowSouls, is gonna do some recording of a chapter from FOTGTD, which I think is majorly wicked. If anyone else wants to do something similar, they are more than welcome.
Lornaigh's phone briefly died in the middle of the reading, so there are two voice recordings: (as I said, the video will be uploaded at a later stage)
Video 1: http://vocaroo.com/?media=vTOlLh3hszS1NJQ4A
Video 2: http://vocaroo.com/?media=v52PmGy9y3B8uWBZr
To make things easier, I have the thing she read out right here, from the chapter First of the Gang to Die from the story of the same name.
Leave reviews if it suits; if you hate her accent and/or her *coughsuzyrevengecough* please just press the back button.
"Well..." she settles into her chair. "Your family, the Way family have been involved in Italian-American family-fare since approximately eighteen eighty. Your great-great-great-granduncle was shot by another man and his brother found it suitable to declare war on the killer's family. He was a poor farmer from Palermo, but he had dreams of being rich and respected by his men.
"He was. He became Don of the Way family and remained so for thirty years. He had four sons and two daughters. In the Famiglia, it is customary to pass on your leadership when your eldest son turns twenty-five. So, your great-great-great grandfather became Don of the Family." She points a finger behind her. "Donald Way. He was ruthless. He was a brute who extended his violence beyond business and abused his wife and his two sons. He was a disgusting, horrible man." She sniffs, nose quivering, and pulls herself together. "He was Don for seventeen years." She laughs now; sunny and childlike. "And then...then there was Gerard."
"Gerard Way was only Don for eight years, because his father died young. He was a wonderful, beautiful, loving man who truly showed me what it was like to be a loving person who was willing to give up all for his family. When my mother and father died when I was six years old he housed me until I was sixteen." She blinks as tears stream down her pallid cheeks; tears of joy. "I never loved anyone as much as I loved my uncle. Not my husband, not even my daughter. He meant the world to me."She nods at a corner of the room. "I have never seen a marriage as healthy as his was."
"Did he and his wife not have children?" I ask quietly; I thought it was like a thing to have loads of kids running around the place when you're Italian, cuz of Catholicism and stuff, ya know?
"I said he was married." She smiles slyly. "I did not say he had a wife."
"I-I'm sorry," I stutter, blushing. "I don't understand."
She smiles wider. "There are two genders, Bandito."
I flush bright pink when I realize suddenly why my great-great-granduncle didn't have any sprogs. Holy crap, I didn't even know people were allowed be gay back then. She laughs a little at my reaction and then nods.
"This must be strange to you, finding out your family is in the Mafia," she soothes, and then she ceases the laughing. "Why? Do you not agree with homosexuality?"
"No! No!" I say, and start giggling again. Oh God, how do I say this to the woman? She seems pretty cool though. Wicked eighty three year old. "I..um, I'll have to tell my girlfriend all of this," I mumble, and she catches the hint, and her grin lengthens.
"So alike," she murmurs. "May I ask her name?"
"Jenna," I reply quickly, blushing furiously. "I came out last year, and she's just been my best friend forever, and we...I love her a lot, Luciana." She nods. "I have friends who are guys but I don't...like like them."
"That was the same age as him," she breathes, and the only sound is the clock ticking and the slight clink as she lets her jewellery click together. "The minute I saw you I thought of him. You have his eyes." She smiles faintly, and tears up again. "He had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, and you have them. You're tall, and your hair, and you have a strange little humor complex." She cocks her head. "And two per cent milk. He once throttled someone over buying that."
"Please," I urge, "tell me more."
"He was twenty two when he became Don, when he married an Italian boy upon which he never spoke about ever again. They were married for five years and then the boy cheated on him." I gasp and put a hand to my mouth; I feel like someone has betrayed someone close to me. "I was only told this by his second husband, Franco." She tears up again, and coughs a little. "My, I loved that man. He was a mother, a father, a best friend and a teacher whenever I needed him."
"Tell me about him," I ask quietly. "Please, please, go on."
"He and my uncle married in the spring of nineteen thirty four. There was a five year age difference-that was normal back then, y'know-but I honestly never saw two people more in love than them. My uncle was a brutal man when it came to torture, and could make a man tremble in his boots just by looking at him. But he had a strict mantra when it came to his family that a man becomes less of a man once he harms his own blood. Respect." She nods curtly. "That is what La Cosa Nostra is entirely based on."
"Is that him?" I ask, pointing to the picture of the hot guy above her. She nods. "He's...he's really...um...good-looking."
"He is," she chuckles, and flicks her hair. "Would you like to see them?" She reaches behind her and hands me a black photoframe containing a minimilistic picture of two men clad in suits. "I believe that was taken when they moved to Italy in nineteen thirty five."
I look at the both of them. It's different from what I see when I log in on Facebook now-no gaudy lip-locking or duck faces or something...One man, who my great-grandma says is the Don, is scowling at the camera, one eyebrow raised in 'you wanna fuck with me?' fashion. God, he's fucking delicious; the fabric around his arms are skin-tight constricting his muscles. These arms are secured around someone else's waist.
The other guy is really hot too, but in a completely different way. Innocent and youthful, wearing a little smile as he looks at the camera-man politely. Chocolate brown hair swept across his eyes and warm, liquidy eyes that make me feel all weak and shit. On his finger is a fucking huge rock, fucking Tiffany's shit, unbelievable. The way that Gerard is pressed right up to him, and looks so proud and devoted makes me tear up just a bit. It makes me hope I find love like that too.
"How-how old did you say he was?" I ask, looking at the date; July 17th, 1935.
"Don de la Via was thirty, and Frank was going on twenty five," she answers, and then sighs a little. "They moved to Rome in nineteen thirty five because of prolonged attacks by the other gang on Franco. He was ill already and had a very bad dose of tuberculosis. He was raped twice by my uncle's enemies." I choke a little as I look at the beautiful boy...what crual fuck would rape that? "As was I."
My head snaps up, my eyes full of hot, pricking tears.
"Oh My God," I wail, water dribbling down my cheeks. "Oh My God, I'm so sorry-"
"Honey, honey," she soothes, hand on my knee. "Please don't cry, sugar plum, this is meant to be happy. I just want to tell you a little more, and then I must discuss something very important. Anyway, I lived with my uncle and Franco until I was sixteen, when Franco became seriously ill. He couldn't walk, or talk, or even breathe properly; blood was clotting and killing him slowly." She breathes deeply. "One day, I came home from school to find my uncle at our kitchen table, and he told me he had booked a flight for me back to the States. I knew the day had come. Franco died that evening, I was right there, sitting next to me. Gerard kissed his hand slid his eyes shut. He told me to get his holster belt from the kitchen and bring it to him."
"I went to the kitchen and presented the holster to him. He had been a mess for the last few days, but now he was calm and soft. Perhaps it was a relief-I don't quite know. He turned to me and hugged and kissed me, told me he loved me. Then he said to wait outside and to call the morticians while he 'did it'. I called the funeral home and told them to come as soon as they could."
She closes her eyes. "I was outside their bedroom for ten minutes or so, wondering if I should go in. I had already killed my fair share of men by the age and yet I found it hard to think of walking in to see my uncle and his husband dead." A shaky breath. I pass her a tissue, and she nods graciously. "But I did. Franco looked so calm and peaceful, like he was sleeping. Gerard always called him his coniglio-his bunny rabbit. The Don had slit his throat with the kinfe and then wrapped his arms around his husband in their final embrace," she whipers, crying more now. "He could not stand to be alive while the other wasn't.They died the day before the war was over."
I inhale shakily and dab at my eyes. The way she describe it in was so beautiful, so heartfelt. I don't cry a lot; I'm no pansy. But here I was, me and this cool old lady, crying our eyes out at the Mafia boss dying with his lover.
"That is so-" I inhale again, and make a noise like a dying walrus. "That is so sweet."
She nods and snuffles into a tissue. Then, after perfecting her make-up, she looks up at me. Stern. Serious. Hopeful.
"Have you ever heard of the Romano family?" She murmurs quietly.
"Yeah," I shrug a little uncomfortably. "This creep called Daniel in my Spanish class picks on me-" I cop on. Oh my God, there's Mafia blood in my fifth-period Spanish class. Sweet Jesus. "You mean they're-oh my God-they can't be-"
"Our rival family, yes. Complete scum and filth." She composes herself. "I became Donna when I was twenty five, and retired in nineteen seventy eight, as you can see. My own daughter, Amina, was my only child and died at the age of nineteen. Linzia has refused on every occasion to accept leadership. The Famiglia de la Via has been inactive for over thirty years, Bandito. Not dead, but sleeping." Her chcolate eyes meet mine. "You are the only living blood-relation to the Way family who could be available. You are young enough, much younger than the normal age of acceptance, but you are intelligent and sensible and able."
"You're...you're asking me to be Donna?"
She looks like she wants to say something, but then stops. She lets her hands fall in her lap and nods.
"Yes, Bandit. To resurrect the tradition of which your family has served for one hundred and thirty one years."
She hands me a big, chunky black ring, neither extremely masculine or overly feminine. A large onyx with engravings in the middle. I slip it onto my finger and see that it fits snugly, warm and comfortable. It sends a little shock through my spine and suddenly I feel empowered. Strong. Better, improved, upgraded. Not just Bandit Way but Donna Way.I will lead my family to the dominance and the glory they once upheld over Los Angeles. I will do it for myself, for my mother, for my relations, for my friends, and for my enemies.
For my family.