âNo less important.â There were times in their lives when a problem became much bigger than they were, when its shadow grew to swallow them whole. A solid stone of torment as unmovable as a mountain requiring much more effort to tend than any of them had in bulk. Regardless of whether or not life afforded them a moment to address such issues was the truly irrelevant fact. It was necessary to begin to chip away at the stone of their worries lest grow cold, eventually growing to encompass everything that they knew rather than a small agonized portion of their existence.Â
The most effective efforts to alleviating those pains wasnât always apparent. Sometimes it was enough for someone to stand by and listen as a soul began to shed the burdenâs it carried. Michael did his best to lend an ear to the man if he should feel compelled to shuck off bits and pieces of that heavy stone compacting his essence.
It didnât take any particular skill to know that it would be a difficult concept for one like John Marcone to embrace. Because it meant somewhat exposing the vulnerable secrets he guarded so closely on the inside. But without delving into that tangled knot in his heart, he could never hope to unwind the whole. It would remain, ever growing, becoming more complicated with the passing years.
He struggled. A blind man could see it, but Michael didnât extend any further prompt than the one that seemed to have already brought him to a precipice. Michael had the patience of a saint - or on the other end of the spectrum, the patience of a father of quite a brood! He didnât rely on the prodding of silence either. He went about his business as though it were another day in their lives, the presence of the crimelord just fit in that normal pattern.
âPlease, help yourself. Eat something.â Life had the tendency to grab them by the scruff of the neck, shoving them forward without warning into one danger after another. Just like it was important to allow the time to chip away the stone of torment on the inside, so too was it imperative to stand still and breath. That meant sitting to enjoy a homemade meal set on the table.Â
When John began to open up, Michael listened, though he wasnât staring at him so boldly any longer. It was to divert his full attention to hearing the words, but also to hear all the things he didnât say.
âItâs a fine line we walk, between duty and family.â Michael understood that more than most, presented with the dangers of not knowing if he would be able to crest the next challenge to come home, whether his family would be left to wonder if he died alone or if he was hurt and in need of aid. There was a lot of fear of the unknown. They had faith that everything would work out the way it needed to, but in the end, they didnât truly get to make that call.
âI would like to say Iâve found the perfect mixture of methods to protect those I care about, but even I must face the reality that we canât guard our loved ones from all the uncertainty in the world that they may confront on their own journeys. I can see you do everything in your power to defend those important to you. This business with your sister is not a failure on your part.â Children went out and interacted with the world, as they should. They opened paths to travel in whatever way they chose to do so, and that was their right. The only thing the rest of them could do was pass along the wisdom that they knew and to provide aid when necessary. Sometimes, it wasnât enough.
âThis doubt you struggle with, have you not considered that it may be indicative of a need for change?â It wasnât a judgement against the lifestyle he led. Rather, a suggestion that the worry he projected unto his family was just subtly scrapping the surface of the real issue.
Crime had always existed. It had been baked into the fabric of humanity from the time people learned to walk upright, and the first caveman had battered another and stolen his game. It had thrived in hedonistic Pompeii, until the volcano had buried it. Chicago had made a name for itself the home of the bootlegger during Prohibition. And it had underpinned protests and revolution in the 70s.
But just because something would always be there, didnât mean it couldnât be better.
Marcone had had a civilizing effect on the crime in Chicago. Dealers no longer cut their products with drywall powder or Epsom salts, or worse, and it stayed out of the hands of children. There were rules about dealing in Marconeâs city, and those that didnât play by them were swiftly removed from their manor.
Prostitutes chose to work for him instead of their pimps, because the civic minded mafioso offered a safe working environment, and covered their medical when things went wrong. They whispered stories of dangerous clients simply vanishing, because Gentleman John took care of his own. Â
Clients that raised a hand to one of Johnâs girls tended to find themselves facing off against Hendricks. Usually, there were no further problems.
Marcone donated heavily to hospitals and rehab facilities and museums. He sponsored scholarships-- through third parties, naturally-- for disadvantaged youths. Â
Little by little, the narrative of his own childhood had begun to change. People began working for Marcone because he was the best option-- not because he was the least worst. Or the only option. Â
And if he set high standards, and expected loyalty from his employees? Well, most of them were happy to give it.
âWhat sort?â John asked with a subtle cant of his head, wary and curious in equal measure.  âChange is necessary, yes. But at the moment, things are mostly stable in the city. Barring this unfortunate issue.â His tone practically underlined the word, giving Julian the label.
He wasnât a person. He was a problem. And John had no patience for letting those continue.
âThere are a lot of people depending on me to make the right decision-- not only my family, by the rest of my people as well.â And the city as a whole. It wasnât said with a boast, he wasnât bragging about his power. Mostly, John sounded tired. Resigned to a situation that was sliding further out of his control with every new incursion of the supernatural.
âAt the end of the day, Iâm a businessman. Itâs what I know, and where my skills lie. But Iâm also wholly mortal, and human. And thatâs been a frequent strike against me when dealing with magical beings. I know there are ways to overcome it--â Johnâs pale green gaze cast skyward for an instant, like a silent prayer for whoever was watching over them.
âVampirism being the most obvious. And also, equally obvious, a route Iâm not interested in taking. I suppose, at itâs most basic, is how do I protect my people, and my city, without losing my soul in the process?â
It was already battered, bruised, patched together and scorched. But it was his damn soul, and he wasnât going to give that up.
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