Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First of the Gang to Die
I Write Sins Not Tragedies
8 reviewsIt's much better to face these kind of things with a sense of poise and rationality.
5Exciting
Two very important notes:
1.I hope you are all aware that I do not write this story.My older sister Lornaigh/unitedsuck007 did.Unfortunately she passed away in May,and I'm just putting it up for her.
2.Excluding this chapter,there are twenty four chapters left in this story.i.e. there are sixty seven chapters.
-Jane
There is violence, a little of Frank being submissive, and then some of Frank being badass, more violence and some insanity in this chapter.
Never say I don’t deliver.
Title is from Panic! At The Disco. I don’t love them but I really really like this song.
L.N.I.
For the record, if you’re wondering, no, this is not the end of the story. Hell no. There’s a lot more chapters after this. And I will warn you like ten chapters beforehand or something.
Warning to people who are squimish; whole lotta gore here. Just sayin.
First of the Gang to Die
Quarantatre
I Write Sins Not Tragedies
“The grave?”
“Fake. Different body.”
“And the body in the coffin?”
“Fake. The whole gang knew it, didn’t you boys?” A large grunting passed for the affirmative. “You really shoulda known, Way. Some bullet in my brain ain’t gonna stop me.”
Gerard nodded. “You’re right, James. How foolish of me.”
The younger gangster stared at the man in front of him. He was covered in blood, and brain, and bristle, after having allegedly beaten “the living shit outta your men, Way”, as well as the small black hole that resided in his right temple, the little token Gerard had left him all those months ago. His grey suit, complete with waistcoat and corsage, was ragged and torn, and his lip was open and bleeding. James Stephen Romano had been “on the run” for several months-dealing, murdering, helping himself to a few prostitutes along the way-but now he was back. The bullet in his head hadn’t lodged in his brain, only in his head. How he had survived all this time was an utter mysterious nightmare to Gerard, who was sure he’d be dead within the hour. He wouldn’t be able to combat the current thirty men in his house belonging to the Romano family, nor James himself, who was pacing around with a Beretta in his hand.
But he wasn’t worried about himself; he was worried about Frank. How this would play out with his ex-fiancée Gerard had no fucking clue.
James had strapped the other to a chair in his living room. He had a vindictive, murderous look in his eye-this was his comeback. His revenge.
“I heard what you have done to my fiancée,” James said softly, then shooting Way in the left leg. “I must see him.”
“He doesn’t want to see you,” Gerard panted, blood pouring from him like a million holes had been drilled into him. “He doesn’t want to see this, James. This is between you and me. I don’t-“
“Shut up,” Romano ordered, and shot him in the shoulder, much to the delight of his men. “Call him for me.”
“Why don’t you call him yourself?” Gerard suggested slyly, but it was hard to be coy when he was blacking out. He forced himself to stay awake; he didn’t need to be asleep when James was trying to torture the boy.
“J-James?”
All heads turned toward the source of the noise-the short boy who was clad in such casual clothes. James gaped as he stared at the person coming toward him, who was fat and cocky with stupid hair. Goddammit, for six fucking years he’d trained him into the best kid possible, submissive and skinny and reasonably good looking. Now he’d have to start all over again.
He turned to him and saw the boy flinch away. He was even starting to cry.
“Frankie?” He looked him up and down, and outstretched his arms. “Baby, what has he done to you?”
“He hasn’t done anything to me,” he replied quietly, and the older was shocked by his comeback. You never, ever, ever talk back to James Romano. Not even if he loves you. “He’s good to me.I love him.”
“What?” James tried to laugh but couldn’t make the sound. “You’re saying...you love this...this blood traitor?”
Frank nodded.
“But we’re...we’re engaged.” His tone was icy and sharp now; that was the danger sign. “Engaged to be married.”
Iero wriggled his fingers subconsciously and Romano saw the gleam of gold on his ring. He glared incredulously at it.
“What the fuck is that?!” He stepped closer to him, and the boy began shake. James pinned him to the wall with sharp claw-like nails. Gerard began to growl. “What the fuck is that on your fucking finger, Frank? That a fucking wedding band?”
Frank whimpered and tried not to meet the furious stare. Romano slapped him across the face and cocked his gun to his temple, pressing his nose right up to the others.
“Please,” he pleaded meekly, “please don’t kill me, James.”
“Get the fuck off of him,” Way snarled. “You’re hurting him.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with him, you prick-“
Frank gasped and cried out in pain as James quickly slashed a line down his arm, hot tears stinging his eyed, clutching his forearm desperately.
“You feel that?” James hissed in his ear. “You fucking feel that?” He bashed the boy’s head against the wall and let him slump to the ground. “You fucking bastard!” He was getting quite emotional-tears were threatening the back of his eyeballs, telling him to calm down before the hail of water began. “I fucking loved you!”
That statement seemed to carry Frank Anthony Iero over the edge. Until that moment, at precisely one oh three in the morning of Monday, July sixteenth, nineteen thirty four, he had been snivelling on the floor, cradling his injury, whimpering quietly. But when James spat out that utter, completely false lie of an accusation...something inside the boy snapped. His innocent, fluffy-like cuteness was crushed down by a much darker, sinister part of his mind. He clenched his jaw and glowered.
“What did you just say to me?”
He stood up, even though his arm hurt like goddamn hell, and faced his now enemy, former lover. Or abuser, whichever suits.
James looked a little confused. He raised an eyebrow and let his arm, carrying his pistol, fall to his side.
“Erm...I said...I fucking loved you, you bastard?”
Eyes rested on the smaller of the two, who was now so wrapped up in rage that he could barely see straight. After absolutely everything this bastard had put him through, he still had the goddamned nerve to even suggest he had ever cared for Frank in a meaningful, loving manner. It made his blood boil and his head hurt.
Iero marched over to his husband, currently strapped in against his will, and grabbed him by the hair, crashing his mouth down upon Gerard’s as hard and as passionately as he possibly could, sticking his tongue down his throat suddenly and without warning, pulling him up by the collar. Way was enjoying it, of course, but was a little taken aback, pleasantly surprised by the outburst of affection.
Frank dropped him back on the chair and turned to James, who was now fuming and bubbling with indignant anger, his gun shaking in his grip. A bright blue vein on his forehead was making its presence known. Iero wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then spat on the ground.
“Do not. Fucking. Lie. To me.” He glared up at Romano with empty, terrifying eyes. “You did nothing but hurt me and put me through pain for six. Fucking. Years.” The only sound in the room was the steady dripping of his blood on the floor. “And now you’re going to pay.”
“Oh yeah?” He tried to joke but it seemed no one found it funny. “How the fuck are you gonna make me?”
“Easy.” He hauched a loogie and shot it out again, hoping to appear as gross and unapproachable as possible. “I’ll challenge you to a standoff.”
Mutterings and gasps rippled through the Romano pack, as well as some of the prisoners from the Way family. James looked utterly puzzled beyond all belief, like he had woken up after a wild night of partying in someone else’s house, wearing nothing but a tiny sombrero.
“SILENCE!” He screamed, and the desire was carried out to effect. “Frank, you gotta be in a goddamned gang to-“
“I’m in one.” He lifted up his shirt to show his midriff, where he had first been stabbed since being indicted. The small intertwined V and W were inked upon him, the tattoo bringing back harsh memories of the night he was raped by the friends of the man standing in front of him. James snarled and shot Gerard twice in the stomach, the older groaning loudly and tilting his head back in agony. Despite his terrifying demeanour, Frank let out a small squeak of sadness and reluctance to carry on. He just wanted to kill the motherfucker and go help Way.
But he knew that this needed to happen first. He would have to be the one to kill James Romano.
“You can’t do this,” Romano spluttered, now slightly worried. The colour had drained from his face and his cocky facade was well and truly gone. “I’m the Dominus, I-“
“And so is he,” Frank replied smartly, jerking his head in Gerard’s direction. “I can ask him for permission to fight you. And then,” he said softly, narrowing his eyes wearing a small smirk-could it be? A smirk? James had never even seen the boy smile-“then I’m going to kill you, James.”
The thirty year old clutched his gun tightly and growled.
“I will not go easy on you,” he said, voice thick and choked, “I will be as fucking brutal to you as I would anyone.”
That did scare Iero a little. James could be terrifying at the best of times. Maybe he should apologize?
“Fine,” he snapped instead, “I should be goddamned used to it!”
He turned on his heel and tried to be as smooth as he could when he approached Gerard slowly, copying the actions many had done before him. Whenever people challenged others to duels, they usually sought the permission of their leader first, but on the rare occasion that someone lowly in the ranks sought to fight another Don, it was serious shit. It would be up to Gerard whether he thought the boy could handle it.
Frank knelt before him on one knee, resting his hands, cupped on top of each other, on the gangster’s knees. He looked up at him and tried to make his voice sound as husky and loud as possible when he recited his words.
“Il mio Coro,” he addressed, calling his husband by the name for the first time-it felt weird, being submissive and weak in the eyes of Way, him being such a better fighter, “I wish to seek your permission to fight James Stephen Romano in a standoff that shall end at the death of myself or himself and will not conclude until then.” He bowed his head, hoping he had gotten the words right-Christa had taught them to him briefly beforehand. “It is in your honour I respectfully ask.”
Then Frank picked up one of Way’s fists and pressed his lips lightly against the knuckles, smiling when he felt Gerard’s fingers slip into his grip, so that he was now holding his hand.
But now Gerard was caught in a catch 22-he could allow Frank to fight Romano and be killed, most definitely, or he could refuse and let Romano kill everyone instead. He couldn’t live without Iero, he really couldn’t, and didn’t want to see him get hurt, even if he was just bruised, but deep down he knew the boy really wanted to do this. He could see the hunger, the vendetta, the want in his eyes.
He closed his own eyes and swallowed. Then he opened them again.
“If I do grant you permission,” he said, “you must be under the regulations that under no circumstances will I be able to assist or aid you during the standoff.” He had said these words hundreds of times before, but they had never hurt him so much. Never to such a point where he was nearly in tears. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” he replied softly, letting his lip stud trail along the knuckle bone. “I do.”
“Then you must slit your hand open and let your blood mix with mine,” Gerard said in a sullen, solemn tone of decorum and dread, drawing a pocket knife from his shirt. He flicked it open and looked sadly into his lover’s eyes, begging him not to fight. “Would you like to do it or will I?”
Frank gulped and hesitated.
“You do it,” he decided. The next thing he said was a worried whimper, quiet and barely heard by the rest of the men in the room. “Please be gentle, Gerard,” he whispered into his lap.
Frank was terrified Way might be too by-the-book to even listen to him. His nerves were assured when he heard him whisper back:
“I will.”
He took the knife and held it parallel to the other’s hand, then pressing it lightly to the skin and drawing it across his palm, beads of blood appearing at either end, filling up between the middle and making Frank’s eyes sting again. Gerard did the same to his own hand and then clasped the smaller one tightly, making the younger squeak with slight pain and discomfort. Way brought his husband’s hand up to his lips and caressed it lightly with kisses, Iero breathing out a sigh of content. No one else had gotten that before.
Then his hand was released back to him, and his mind began to whir. What if he lost? He’d most certainly die, and he didn’t want to die, not now, he couldn’t die now.
“I’m not gonna die,” he muttered to himself, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it in the corner, “I’m not gonna die. I’m gonna kill this motherfucker.”
“No guns,” James instructed sternly, nearly shattering Frank, “fight with your fists.”
Iero tried not to grin. He had the most beautiful plan.
“Alright then.” He cocked his head to the side. “Ain’t you gonna come at me then, Romano?” A crazed spark had lit up in his eyes. “Or can’t you beat up your ex-fiancée? Like you did so many times before.”
James growled and charged at him, wrestling with him pulverising him into the ground, punching, slapping, shoving, kicking, spitting, swearing. Frank simply took it, waiting for his perfect opportunity.
“You fucking cunt,” James laughed, gone slightly psychotic, continuing to pound into him, “You’re gonna fucking die. And after I’m done with you I’m gonna kill your precious fucking Gerard and grind him into mulch, and he’s gonna wish he was never born. And then-“ the crowd gasped as he held up his lighter to Frank’s clothes, the flames tickling and burning his chest, making him writhe and jump, but he was still waiting, just waiting for the perfect moment to deliver his killer blow, but he could hear Gerard screaming in the background, and it was killing him, the screeches of baby no I love you so much no James get the fuck off and fucking stop no sweetheart I CAN’T LOSE YOU PLEASE JUST STOP BABY, JUST STOP, PLEASE-
“And then you’re gonna be some dead slut in the ground, some dead rotting corpse that everyone knows James Romano was too good for, and I’ll be with the best hookers in town, you-“he began to laugh hysterically, his mouth huge and wide, open like a shark.
Frank smirked and grabbed at his belt. Perfect timing, Jamie boy.
“Oh yeah?” He said, flicking the knife he had taken off Gerard earlier and sticking it straight down James’ throat, “EAT METAL, BITCH!”
There was a sickening wet little squelch as the blade penetrated his oesophagus and as the boy dug deeper, turning the knife in so that it ripped through his trachea and sticking out of his neck, and Iero continued todrag it down his chest, blood pouring from him like water from a jug, in his mouth, down his chest, all over his pulmonary cavity.
James tried to shout but couldn’t-the boy’s medical knowledge had out done him this time, and he was unable to speak or make any noise at all, just barely able to gurgle in the mass of blood his mouth was emitting. His throat had basically just been ripped up while he was sitting right there.
But Frank wasn’t done yet. Oh no.
The boy located the knife rattling around in his rib cage, and saw the organ he had been wondering whether James had had all these years-the heart. It was still beating, yes, weakly, but still beating, and Frank saw that as bad. He took the dagger and plunged it straight into James’ ticker, the fist muscle spasming instantly, before shuddering and then stopping definitely.
The boy could only stare at what he had just done. He was rather proud of himself.
He let the body fall the floor as he was being applauded, not just applauded but being whooped and celebrated by members of the Way clan, even some of the Romano’s looked kinda impressed. For extra effect he picked up a pistol and pumped six bullets into the dead man’s skull, one even wedging itself inside his ear drum. Then Frank threw the weapon on the ground and smiled wearily as more men were cheering for him, chanting, making him feel so awesomely awesome.
Then he was grabbed by Gerard and dragged into the tightest hug he had ever experienced. He now knew what it was like to be in a vice.
“Oh sweet mother of God, baby,” was whispered in his ear, “oh Jesus Christ fucking God Frankie I thought you were gonna die, he was beating you up so badly and I just got so freaking-“
“Yeah, but I killed him!” He said happily, loudly enough so that other members heard him and laughed. “I just killed James!”
“Oh sweetheart you were so great,” Gerard panted, kissing his rabbit everywhere-his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his ears, so grateful that he was alive. “Well, you were actually brutally disgusting but you were so good. So ruthless, so gross, oh my God I loved it, sugar that was just amazing.”
“Are you proud of me?” He asked happily, returning the kisses.
“Oh, so proud,” Gerard returned, “you just fucking ripped out James Romano’s throat and then stabbed him in the goddamn heart, Frank.” He squeezed him tightly around the waist. “I don’t think a lot of men could do that.”
“Really?” He was squeaking with happiness-it was grisly, yes, but he couldn’t help it; he was hopelessly happy, and he was so ecstatic that James was dead, and he had killed him, and he had told him to eat metal, bitch-it was all so surreal.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Way peered at his injuries, even though his own were much worse-Frank had a few bruises and some cuts, but Gerard had been shot eight times. Guns, it seemed, were small prey to him. “You look exhausted, bunny rabbit.” He nibbled at his ear and finally released him from the cobra-like grip. “Do you want me to get someone to take a look at that black eye?”He frowned."And he burned you,sugar,that must be killing you."
“No no, it’s fine,” Frank replied breathlessly, grinning madly, despite being coated in blood and stinking of the stench, “Ray and Bob are gonna be okay, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, sugar, course, they just got knocked out, don’t worry bout them. They’ll have a helluva lot to hear about when they fucking come to.”
Frank nodded and grinned, so much so that his jaw was hurting. He had just killed James Romano all by himself; it felt like he had killed part of his former self. The weak, meek little shit that had been his fiancée’s punching bag and rape kit for so long was dead. He had just been ripped up and stabbed along with James.
Yes. That Frank was gone forever.
Say goodbye to him. Say hello and quake before the newly second most feared gangster in the whole of Los Angeles.
1.I hope you are all aware that I do not write this story.My older sister Lornaigh/unitedsuck007 did.Unfortunately she passed away in May,and I'm just putting it up for her.
2.Excluding this chapter,there are twenty four chapters left in this story.i.e. there are sixty seven chapters.
-Jane
There is violence, a little of Frank being submissive, and then some of Frank being badass, more violence and some insanity in this chapter.
Never say I don’t deliver.
Title is from Panic! At The Disco. I don’t love them but I really really like this song.
L.N.I.
For the record, if you’re wondering, no, this is not the end of the story. Hell no. There’s a lot more chapters after this. And I will warn you like ten chapters beforehand or something.
Warning to people who are squimish; whole lotta gore here. Just sayin.
First of the Gang to Die
Quarantatre
I Write Sins Not Tragedies
“The grave?”
“Fake. Different body.”
“And the body in the coffin?”
“Fake. The whole gang knew it, didn’t you boys?” A large grunting passed for the affirmative. “You really shoulda known, Way. Some bullet in my brain ain’t gonna stop me.”
Gerard nodded. “You’re right, James. How foolish of me.”
The younger gangster stared at the man in front of him. He was covered in blood, and brain, and bristle, after having allegedly beaten “the living shit outta your men, Way”, as well as the small black hole that resided in his right temple, the little token Gerard had left him all those months ago. His grey suit, complete with waistcoat and corsage, was ragged and torn, and his lip was open and bleeding. James Stephen Romano had been “on the run” for several months-dealing, murdering, helping himself to a few prostitutes along the way-but now he was back. The bullet in his head hadn’t lodged in his brain, only in his head. How he had survived all this time was an utter mysterious nightmare to Gerard, who was sure he’d be dead within the hour. He wouldn’t be able to combat the current thirty men in his house belonging to the Romano family, nor James himself, who was pacing around with a Beretta in his hand.
But he wasn’t worried about himself; he was worried about Frank. How this would play out with his ex-fiancée Gerard had no fucking clue.
James had strapped the other to a chair in his living room. He had a vindictive, murderous look in his eye-this was his comeback. His revenge.
“I heard what you have done to my fiancée,” James said softly, then shooting Way in the left leg. “I must see him.”
“He doesn’t want to see you,” Gerard panted, blood pouring from him like a million holes had been drilled into him. “He doesn’t want to see this, James. This is between you and me. I don’t-“
“Shut up,” Romano ordered, and shot him in the shoulder, much to the delight of his men. “Call him for me.”
“Why don’t you call him yourself?” Gerard suggested slyly, but it was hard to be coy when he was blacking out. He forced himself to stay awake; he didn’t need to be asleep when James was trying to torture the boy.
“J-James?”
All heads turned toward the source of the noise-the short boy who was clad in such casual clothes. James gaped as he stared at the person coming toward him, who was fat and cocky with stupid hair. Goddammit, for six fucking years he’d trained him into the best kid possible, submissive and skinny and reasonably good looking. Now he’d have to start all over again.
He turned to him and saw the boy flinch away. He was even starting to cry.
“Frankie?” He looked him up and down, and outstretched his arms. “Baby, what has he done to you?”
“He hasn’t done anything to me,” he replied quietly, and the older was shocked by his comeback. You never, ever, ever talk back to James Romano. Not even if he loves you. “He’s good to me.I love him.”
“What?” James tried to laugh but couldn’t make the sound. “You’re saying...you love this...this blood traitor?”
Frank nodded.
“But we’re...we’re engaged.” His tone was icy and sharp now; that was the danger sign. “Engaged to be married.”
Iero wriggled his fingers subconsciously and Romano saw the gleam of gold on his ring. He glared incredulously at it.
“What the fuck is that?!” He stepped closer to him, and the boy began shake. James pinned him to the wall with sharp claw-like nails. Gerard began to growl. “What the fuck is that on your fucking finger, Frank? That a fucking wedding band?”
Frank whimpered and tried not to meet the furious stare. Romano slapped him across the face and cocked his gun to his temple, pressing his nose right up to the others.
“Please,” he pleaded meekly, “please don’t kill me, James.”
“Get the fuck off of him,” Way snarled. “You’re hurting him.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with him, you prick-“
Frank gasped and cried out in pain as James quickly slashed a line down his arm, hot tears stinging his eyed, clutching his forearm desperately.
“You feel that?” James hissed in his ear. “You fucking feel that?” He bashed the boy’s head against the wall and let him slump to the ground. “You fucking bastard!” He was getting quite emotional-tears were threatening the back of his eyeballs, telling him to calm down before the hail of water began. “I fucking loved you!”
That statement seemed to carry Frank Anthony Iero over the edge. Until that moment, at precisely one oh three in the morning of Monday, July sixteenth, nineteen thirty four, he had been snivelling on the floor, cradling his injury, whimpering quietly. But when James spat out that utter, completely false lie of an accusation...something inside the boy snapped. His innocent, fluffy-like cuteness was crushed down by a much darker, sinister part of his mind. He clenched his jaw and glowered.
“What did you just say to me?”
He stood up, even though his arm hurt like goddamn hell, and faced his now enemy, former lover. Or abuser, whichever suits.
James looked a little confused. He raised an eyebrow and let his arm, carrying his pistol, fall to his side.
“Erm...I said...I fucking loved you, you bastard?”
Eyes rested on the smaller of the two, who was now so wrapped up in rage that he could barely see straight. After absolutely everything this bastard had put him through, he still had the goddamned nerve to even suggest he had ever cared for Frank in a meaningful, loving manner. It made his blood boil and his head hurt.
Iero marched over to his husband, currently strapped in against his will, and grabbed him by the hair, crashing his mouth down upon Gerard’s as hard and as passionately as he possibly could, sticking his tongue down his throat suddenly and without warning, pulling him up by the collar. Way was enjoying it, of course, but was a little taken aback, pleasantly surprised by the outburst of affection.
Frank dropped him back on the chair and turned to James, who was now fuming and bubbling with indignant anger, his gun shaking in his grip. A bright blue vein on his forehead was making its presence known. Iero wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then spat on the ground.
“Do not. Fucking. Lie. To me.” He glared up at Romano with empty, terrifying eyes. “You did nothing but hurt me and put me through pain for six. Fucking. Years.” The only sound in the room was the steady dripping of his blood on the floor. “And now you’re going to pay.”
“Oh yeah?” He tried to joke but it seemed no one found it funny. “How the fuck are you gonna make me?”
“Easy.” He hauched a loogie and shot it out again, hoping to appear as gross and unapproachable as possible. “I’ll challenge you to a standoff.”
Mutterings and gasps rippled through the Romano pack, as well as some of the prisoners from the Way family. James looked utterly puzzled beyond all belief, like he had woken up after a wild night of partying in someone else’s house, wearing nothing but a tiny sombrero.
“SILENCE!” He screamed, and the desire was carried out to effect. “Frank, you gotta be in a goddamned gang to-“
“I’m in one.” He lifted up his shirt to show his midriff, where he had first been stabbed since being indicted. The small intertwined V and W were inked upon him, the tattoo bringing back harsh memories of the night he was raped by the friends of the man standing in front of him. James snarled and shot Gerard twice in the stomach, the older groaning loudly and tilting his head back in agony. Despite his terrifying demeanour, Frank let out a small squeak of sadness and reluctance to carry on. He just wanted to kill the motherfucker and go help Way.
But he knew that this needed to happen first. He would have to be the one to kill James Romano.
“You can’t do this,” Romano spluttered, now slightly worried. The colour had drained from his face and his cocky facade was well and truly gone. “I’m the Dominus, I-“
“And so is he,” Frank replied smartly, jerking his head in Gerard’s direction. “I can ask him for permission to fight you. And then,” he said softly, narrowing his eyes wearing a small smirk-could it be? A smirk? James had never even seen the boy smile-“then I’m going to kill you, James.”
The thirty year old clutched his gun tightly and growled.
“I will not go easy on you,” he said, voice thick and choked, “I will be as fucking brutal to you as I would anyone.”
That did scare Iero a little. James could be terrifying at the best of times. Maybe he should apologize?
“Fine,” he snapped instead, “I should be goddamned used to it!”
He turned on his heel and tried to be as smooth as he could when he approached Gerard slowly, copying the actions many had done before him. Whenever people challenged others to duels, they usually sought the permission of their leader first, but on the rare occasion that someone lowly in the ranks sought to fight another Don, it was serious shit. It would be up to Gerard whether he thought the boy could handle it.
Frank knelt before him on one knee, resting his hands, cupped on top of each other, on the gangster’s knees. He looked up at him and tried to make his voice sound as husky and loud as possible when he recited his words.
“Il mio Coro,” he addressed, calling his husband by the name for the first time-it felt weird, being submissive and weak in the eyes of Way, him being such a better fighter, “I wish to seek your permission to fight James Stephen Romano in a standoff that shall end at the death of myself or himself and will not conclude until then.” He bowed his head, hoping he had gotten the words right-Christa had taught them to him briefly beforehand. “It is in your honour I respectfully ask.”
Then Frank picked up one of Way’s fists and pressed his lips lightly against the knuckles, smiling when he felt Gerard’s fingers slip into his grip, so that he was now holding his hand.
But now Gerard was caught in a catch 22-he could allow Frank to fight Romano and be killed, most definitely, or he could refuse and let Romano kill everyone instead. He couldn’t live without Iero, he really couldn’t, and didn’t want to see him get hurt, even if he was just bruised, but deep down he knew the boy really wanted to do this. He could see the hunger, the vendetta, the want in his eyes.
He closed his own eyes and swallowed. Then he opened them again.
“If I do grant you permission,” he said, “you must be under the regulations that under no circumstances will I be able to assist or aid you during the standoff.” He had said these words hundreds of times before, but they had never hurt him so much. Never to such a point where he was nearly in tears. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” he replied softly, letting his lip stud trail along the knuckle bone. “I do.”
“Then you must slit your hand open and let your blood mix with mine,” Gerard said in a sullen, solemn tone of decorum and dread, drawing a pocket knife from his shirt. He flicked it open and looked sadly into his lover’s eyes, begging him not to fight. “Would you like to do it or will I?”
Frank gulped and hesitated.
“You do it,” he decided. The next thing he said was a worried whimper, quiet and barely heard by the rest of the men in the room. “Please be gentle, Gerard,” he whispered into his lap.
Frank was terrified Way might be too by-the-book to even listen to him. His nerves were assured when he heard him whisper back:
“I will.”
He took the knife and held it parallel to the other’s hand, then pressing it lightly to the skin and drawing it across his palm, beads of blood appearing at either end, filling up between the middle and making Frank’s eyes sting again. Gerard did the same to his own hand and then clasped the smaller one tightly, making the younger squeak with slight pain and discomfort. Way brought his husband’s hand up to his lips and caressed it lightly with kisses, Iero breathing out a sigh of content. No one else had gotten that before.
Then his hand was released back to him, and his mind began to whir. What if he lost? He’d most certainly die, and he didn’t want to die, not now, he couldn’t die now.
“I’m not gonna die,” he muttered to himself, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it in the corner, “I’m not gonna die. I’m gonna kill this motherfucker.”
“No guns,” James instructed sternly, nearly shattering Frank, “fight with your fists.”
Iero tried not to grin. He had the most beautiful plan.
“Alright then.” He cocked his head to the side. “Ain’t you gonna come at me then, Romano?” A crazed spark had lit up in his eyes. “Or can’t you beat up your ex-fiancée? Like you did so many times before.”
James growled and charged at him, wrestling with him pulverising him into the ground, punching, slapping, shoving, kicking, spitting, swearing. Frank simply took it, waiting for his perfect opportunity.
“You fucking cunt,” James laughed, gone slightly psychotic, continuing to pound into him, “You’re gonna fucking die. And after I’m done with you I’m gonna kill your precious fucking Gerard and grind him into mulch, and he’s gonna wish he was never born. And then-“ the crowd gasped as he held up his lighter to Frank’s clothes, the flames tickling and burning his chest, making him writhe and jump, but he was still waiting, just waiting for the perfect moment to deliver his killer blow, but he could hear Gerard screaming in the background, and it was killing him, the screeches of baby no I love you so much no James get the fuck off and fucking stop no sweetheart I CAN’T LOSE YOU PLEASE JUST STOP BABY, JUST STOP, PLEASE-
“And then you’re gonna be some dead slut in the ground, some dead rotting corpse that everyone knows James Romano was too good for, and I’ll be with the best hookers in town, you-“he began to laugh hysterically, his mouth huge and wide, open like a shark.
Frank smirked and grabbed at his belt. Perfect timing, Jamie boy.
“Oh yeah?” He said, flicking the knife he had taken off Gerard earlier and sticking it straight down James’ throat, “EAT METAL, BITCH!”
There was a sickening wet little squelch as the blade penetrated his oesophagus and as the boy dug deeper, turning the knife in so that it ripped through his trachea and sticking out of his neck, and Iero continued todrag it down his chest, blood pouring from him like water from a jug, in his mouth, down his chest, all over his pulmonary cavity.
James tried to shout but couldn’t-the boy’s medical knowledge had out done him this time, and he was unable to speak or make any noise at all, just barely able to gurgle in the mass of blood his mouth was emitting. His throat had basically just been ripped up while he was sitting right there.
But Frank wasn’t done yet. Oh no.
The boy located the knife rattling around in his rib cage, and saw the organ he had been wondering whether James had had all these years-the heart. It was still beating, yes, weakly, but still beating, and Frank saw that as bad. He took the dagger and plunged it straight into James’ ticker, the fist muscle spasming instantly, before shuddering and then stopping definitely.
The boy could only stare at what he had just done. He was rather proud of himself.
He let the body fall the floor as he was being applauded, not just applauded but being whooped and celebrated by members of the Way clan, even some of the Romano’s looked kinda impressed. For extra effect he picked up a pistol and pumped six bullets into the dead man’s skull, one even wedging itself inside his ear drum. Then Frank threw the weapon on the ground and smiled wearily as more men were cheering for him, chanting, making him feel so awesomely awesome.
Then he was grabbed by Gerard and dragged into the tightest hug he had ever experienced. He now knew what it was like to be in a vice.
“Oh sweet mother of God, baby,” was whispered in his ear, “oh Jesus Christ fucking God Frankie I thought you were gonna die, he was beating you up so badly and I just got so freaking-“
“Yeah, but I killed him!” He said happily, loudly enough so that other members heard him and laughed. “I just killed James!”
“Oh sweetheart you were so great,” Gerard panted, kissing his rabbit everywhere-his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his ears, so grateful that he was alive. “Well, you were actually brutally disgusting but you were so good. So ruthless, so gross, oh my God I loved it, sugar that was just amazing.”
“Are you proud of me?” He asked happily, returning the kisses.
“Oh, so proud,” Gerard returned, “you just fucking ripped out James Romano’s throat and then stabbed him in the goddamn heart, Frank.” He squeezed him tightly around the waist. “I don’t think a lot of men could do that.”
“Really?” He was squeaking with happiness-it was grisly, yes, but he couldn’t help it; he was hopelessly happy, and he was so ecstatic that James was dead, and he had killed him, and he had told him to eat metal, bitch-it was all so surreal.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Way peered at his injuries, even though his own were much worse-Frank had a few bruises and some cuts, but Gerard had been shot eight times. Guns, it seemed, were small prey to him. “You look exhausted, bunny rabbit.” He nibbled at his ear and finally released him from the cobra-like grip. “Do you want me to get someone to take a look at that black eye?”He frowned."And he burned you,sugar,that must be killing you."
“No no, it’s fine,” Frank replied breathlessly, grinning madly, despite being coated in blood and stinking of the stench, “Ray and Bob are gonna be okay, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, sugar, course, they just got knocked out, don’t worry bout them. They’ll have a helluva lot to hear about when they fucking come to.”
Frank nodded and grinned, so much so that his jaw was hurting. He had just killed James Romano all by himself; it felt like he had killed part of his former self. The weak, meek little shit that had been his fiancée’s punching bag and rape kit for so long was dead. He had just been ripped up and stabbed along with James.
Yes. That Frank was gone forever.
Say goodbye to him. Say hello and quake before the newly second most feared gangster in the whole of Los Angeles.
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