Fics, Art, & Headcanons

The conglomeration of my love of fictional bastards(+ the occasional good bois xP). I have too many character interests to be contained to a single niche, so expect fics, headcanons, and art from all over. Lol. °˖✧Please enjoy!✧˖° 30 | ✧ She/Her ✧ | ESP/ENG | Minors DNI 🔞 Ko-Fi Patreon,

[silver-wolf-scribbles]

I binged all chapters of your fic, I can’t wait to see what happens next. Also congratulations on your pregnancy!!!

Oh, I'm so happy that you've been enjoying the story so far!! Thank you so much for the support and the good wishes!

[silver-wolf-scribbles]

♦ Ko-Fi ♦ ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ WARNING: This series will include sexual content, violence, occasional blood and gore, time period language as the story takes place in 1951, Franco Barbi is his own warning. ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ < Previous 𓆩❤︎𓆪 Next > ???

     “Read ‘em and weep, fuckers!” Franco boasted, throwing Olivia’s number on the poker table. The pack of portly, middle-aged Italians that surrounded the table were hardly impressed, especially with Franco aggressively knocking their chips over. Franco acted as if he dropped a million dollars on the table, but when the made men looked down to the little yellow notepad, they looked back up to him with perturbed expressions.

     “Franco, what the fuck are you doin’?” One asked with a receding hairline, “I had a straight flush here.”

     “Well why don’t ya flush this, Manny! I got a girlfriend now, and she’s a lot more smokin’ than the broad you got back at home!”

     “Yeah, you and every finook here, so fuckin’ what?” Manny asked, folding his hairy arms. The rest of the table chuckled hoarsely from years of Cuban cigars and whiskey.

     “Regardless,” Said another at the table, one with a thin white mustache, “We already know, Frankie. Ya told everyone and their mother already, at least twice!”

     “I’ve heard what you fuckers have been sayin’ behind my back. And I want there to be no question as to the game that Franco Barbi got!”

     “Game?” Manny scoffed, elbowing the man with the thin mustache, “Get a load at this guy, Tommy. Let me tell you what real game is, Frankie. Throwing around money to impress people ain’t game. It’s like a fat guy winning an eating competition, it’s hardly impressive, right?”

     “You know somethin’ about that, right, Manny?” Tommy heckled, slapping his friend’s belly to the roars of the rest of the table.

     “Get the hell off me, asshole!” Manny hissed, smacking the hand away, “Anyway, back in my day, I didn’t have to throw money around to get myself a little arm candy. Granted, I was still a small fry at the time, and I couldn’t just throw it around like I can today. My point is, I stole my ol’ lady, who used to be quite the looker, mind you, from a banker. And all I needed for that was a five dollar bill and a trip to the drive-thru theater. You pull somethin’ like that and I’ll tip my hat to you, no questions asked.”

     Franco swiped Olivia’s note from the table and placed it back into his pocket, sneering the entire time, “There’s no pleasin’ any of you, is there? I could walk on water and you all would say it’s cause I can’t swim. Well, you can all kiss my ass! I ain’t gotta prove a damn thing, and you can tip a fuckin’ cow for all I care! I’ll be too busy gettin’ pampered to even think of you all, especially you, Manny, fuck you!” He stormed out of the room. As he threw the door open and stomped out, the door peeled itself from the wall, leaving a fresh circular hole from where the knob landed.

     “Aww, come on, Frankie! We were just jokin’!” Manny called back with a chuckle. Turning back to the others, he shook his head and muttered, “Jesus Christ, that guy, huh?”

     “You think he finally got himself a girl though?” Tommy asked, reshuffling the cards.

     “I think he’s full of it, no girl wants to get it goin’ with a nancy like that.” Manny waved away the notion.

     Another portly mobster spoke up, “Nah, Gianni’s already sayin’ this girl is for real, a real Sweetheart from what it sounds like. I betcha she feels sorry for him.”

     Yet another shouted flatly, “Why would she feel sorry for that shithead? Makes more sense that she’s tryin’ to suck the money out of him than anythin’.”

     “She don’t know what she’s gettin’ into, then.” Tommy shook his head, passing everyone another hand of cards.

     Manny licked his fingers to pick up his, “If she’s got any kind of sense in her, she’ll get the picture in a couple days and get out of town. Maybe with a fat briefcase under her arm too.”

------------------------

     Off-white paint slathered from the roller to Olivia’s freshly bared walls. She still couldn’t believe how easy it was to convince the landlord to give her permission to touch up her apartment. She thought that she would have to argue to peel off that brittle wallpaper and strip the remaining faded paint, but as soon as she offered to do it herself, his demeanor shifted entirely. 

     “Well, if that’s the case!” The landlord smiled, exposing his gold front tooth, “Gotta keep the price of rent down for everyone else, right?”

     While it was obvious the landlord was playing Olivia for a sucker, she didn’t care. The peeling paper was gone and the walls looked fresh and brought some much needed light into the room. The beadboard paneling, once a yellowing white, was now a warm sage green. What once seemed more like the hollowed out carapace masquerading as an apartment, now felt new and inviting… if a bit empty still.

     A sigh of satisfaction released from Olivia’s lips as she gave her living room a look around, and then another. The late afternoon sun blanketed everything in a peachy orange, most of all, the drying walls. Satisfied with the new life brought in, she wiped her brow confidently, unaware she smeared paint on it and felt it was time now to clean up.  

     “I’d like to see him say something about my home now!” She nodded proudly, gathering all the painting supplies into the trash. 

     It had been almost a week since Olivia had gone out on her date with Franco Barbi, and many times throughout the day, she would look back to that fateful evening. The thrill, the good food, the fun they had, all swirled around in her thoughts. Sure, his looks were… a bit different, and he was pretty… forward with what he thought about her, but she liked how Franco was able to open up to her, and she in turn, could open up to him. That their worlds could be so different and yet they could still understand each other. 

     This both excited and terrified her. On one hand, she was elated to know that there was someone who could comprehend even a fraction of what she had been through. On the other hand, despite Franco being on his best behavior, the rumors Louie professed to her were proven true at that bar, even under the extreme circumstances. And she wondered just how far  they both would be willing to go to continue that same level of understanding. 

     Her hands were covered in dried paint as she hurried to the kitchen sink to clean them off. Warm water and suds washed over the chalky texture of her hands when suddenly the phone rang. In a panic, she wiped her soapy hand on her shirt, smearing white paint all over it. She clicked her tongue in disgust but hurried over to the blaring phone. 

     “I’m coming! Hold your horses!” She barked back, snatching the phone with one dry hand, “Hello? Who is this?”

     “Hellooo, my sweet succulent girlfriend!~” A raspy voice answered on the other line.

     “G-girlfriend…?” Olivia whispered to herself.

     “Oh? Can it be that you’ve forgotten about ol’ Franco already?” He asked with crocodile tears.

     “Ah! It’s you! I was just thinking about you!” Olivia gasped, placing the phone between her neck and shoulder.

     “Were you now?” He asked slyly, “Did ya miss me?”

     Olivia felt her ears start to ring from the blood rushing into them. She hesitated, taken off guard by his bravado, but ultimately sputtering out, “Err, I suppose so. I was more so thinking about the comments you made about my poor home!”

     “... Really?” 

     “Yes! I just painted it today, so that you won’t be talking in such a way about it anymore!” 

     “Did you get a fridge too?”

     “No.”

     “How ‘bout some couches?”

     “... No.” She paused, “Hey, wait a minute! It’s barely been a week, cut me some slack, I’m just a waitress!”

     “Oh, you’re right, darlin’. A hard workin’ girl like yourself ought to be treated like a princess once in a while!” He breathed into the phone, “Why don’t you get yourself dolled up and we can go out again tonight?”

     “Really?” 

     “Any chance to see you, Baby.”

     Her heart pounded in her throat as she attempted to swallow it, “Sure! I’ll get cleaned up right now. Where are we going?”

     “Oh, uh, well, it’s a surprise!”

     “Ooo, okay. Well, I still need to know what I’m going to wear!”

     Franco hummed, “Somethin’ comfortable, then. How’s about I pick you up in an hour, maybe?” 

     Olivia looked over the mess she made of herself, “Make it an hour and a half, if you don’t mind.”

     “I’ll see you then!~” Franco sang, “Ta-taaa!”

     Placing the phone carefully on the receiver, Olivia’s mouth slid to one side, “A surprise, huh?”

     She had butterflies from the mystery Franco had placed on her. With a man like him, anything was possible. Regardless, she had just enough time to prepare comfortably before her guest arrived. 

     The mirror bluntly showed her how much work needed to be done, so she hopped into the shower, scrubbed every speck of paint off, and hurried to get dressed. A plaid baby-blue romper with decorative cherries stood out in her closet. A favorite of Olivia’s from back home, she was waiting for a good day to wear it. The clothes fitted well, and look nice with a white belt and her ivory Mary Jane shoes. Giving herself a once over in the mirror, she was ecstatic with how she looked, but realized an hour had already passed, so she hurried to finish getting her makeup and hair done. 

     Red peeked out from the new lipstick she bought. Carefully, she applied it to her lips, not wanting to over do it, but just trying to enhance their color. A light powdering was all she needed for her face, and to wrap up everything, she tied her hair into a high ponytail. With everything done, she waited for him to arrive. Excitement pried a ceaseless smile on her cheeks that caused them to ache. All the while a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach, begging for release. 

     At the same time, fear still clung at the far end of these feelings, like a predator not so subtly sitting at the edge of a forest clearing. Even so, the pestering thoughts did nothing to help her, and when she heard knocking at her door, she pushed them down and made her way over.

     Knock, knock-knock knock, knock… knock, knock!

     Quickly, she adjusted her bang and dusted her attire before opening the door.

     Franco leaned against the frame in a black overcoat and slacks, his shirt was a royal purple and his tie was a baby blue. He sauntered into the room with a toothy smile and a hand held behind his back. 

     “Hey there, good cookin’, what’s… lookin’? Ah fuck it. How’s it goin’, Ollie Baby?” Franco asked, revealing a bundle of brightly colored flowers. Roses bled a deep red surrounding the pink carnations with sprinkles of baby’s breath. They glistened softly with fresh water droplets beading on their delicate petals and their colors were so vibrant, it was like looking at a three-dimensional painting. 

     “They’re so beautiful!” Olivia whispered out loud. She took the bundle into her hands and looked into it as if it was a newborn child. Without taking her eyes off of them, she walked back into the kitchen, looking for a container of any kind to put them in. 

     Franco closed the door behind himself and leaned on the counter with his legs crossed. The evening had crept in throughout the city, and yet, despite the growing shade, the waitress’s home seemed brighter.

     “Hey, it sure looks fresh in here. I can still smell all the paint dryin’!” Franco motioned as he gave the space a look around.

     “Yeah, sorry, I just finished when you called, so I didn’t have time to air everything out.” Olivia explained, “It isn’t much, but it’s a good start!”

     “I ain’t mad at’cha. It’s better than those crunchy papers curlin’ up like overcooked bacon on your walls!” Franco chuckled to himself.

     Olivia scrambled through her barren cabinets before finally settling for an empty paint can. As she rinsed it, milky water poured out of it, narrowly missing her outfit, but flicking dots of white on her arms and all over the counter. Feeling the red build up in her face from the mess she was making in front of her date, she quickly grabbed a sponge and began sopping up the murky liquid. 

     “So, what’s the occasion?” She asked, filling up the can with more water. 

     “You know me, just tryin’ to be a gentleman, is all.” Franco shrugged slyly. 

     “Oh? And what about that ‘girlfriend’ comment you made when you called?”

     “Well, what do you think?” Franco asked, feeling his own pulse skip a beat. He eyed the young woman from behind, watching how her clothes gave way to her supple curves. Her legs were long in those shorts and he wished he could feel how soft they were as they choked him to death, not to mention those Mary Janes, all pristine and white, painfully crushing his skull, amongst other things.

     “I’m flattered,” Olivia paused, placing the bouquet of flowers into the paint can, “but wouldn’t you want to know me a little bit more first? I know I’d like to know more about you.”

     “Like what?” 

     “Like… where are you going to take me tonight?” She smiled teasingly, holding her hands behind her back in a sway.

     Franco wagged his finger and clicked his tongue, “Sorry, Toots, you’ll have to find out when we get there!”

     He lowered his head, and with one arm he pointed towards the door, with the other, he offered to Olivia, “But let’s not keep you waitin’, shall we?” 

     She had started to get used to the feeling of looping her arm around his. Menthol cut into Olivia’s nose, a scent she was quite familiar with, however, a complexity crept in underneath. Far from an expert on cologne, she couldn’t make out what exactly her date smelled like, maybe aged leather and citrus? Either way, it contrasted the strange looking man and his mannerisms by giving him an air of a fresh day on the beach, or at least what she assumed one would be.

     Franco started with a skip, then led Olivia out the door, unaware of her blowing a kiss to her family’s photo on their way out. Leaving her apartment, now that it had been freshened up, seemed like stepping into a different building. The same wilted wall paper that had desperately clung in her home, adorned the hallways like dead leaves on a dying tree. The gangster was all too eager to remove himself and her from it entirely, picking up the pace just for that reason. 

     Outside, a soft breeze accompanied the early evening. The same wine-purple Pontiac awaited them at the curb, yet Franco guided Olivia to the front passenger seat, rather than the rear. No chauffeur sat at the wheel until Franco threw himself behind it. 

     “Where’s your driver?” Olivia asked, wringing out her seatbelt.

     “You’re lookin’ at ‘im!” He bared his teeth, wildly cranking the ignition, “Besides, the guy’s gotta have a day off every so often, right?”

     The waitress couldn’t even form an answer, as Franco slammed his foot on the gas, causing the car to peel off into the night. Everything on the road turned to a blur and Olivia couldn’t understand how Franco could even see anything in front of him. Frantically, she yanked at her seat belt and clicked it just as Franco drove over a curb to avoid a stop light. 

     “Franco!” Olivia stammered from the sudden pushes and pulls of the ride, “What are you doing?!”

     “What?” He asked, taking long glances at her before returning his eyes back to the road, “I’m just tryin’ to beat traffic, is all. Have you seen the pile ups that happen here? I’ve heard it’s even worse in New York! Can you believe that?”

     They sped past a police vehicle, causing Olivia’s heart to drop like a stone. She pressed her face against the window to see if it would follow, but Franco made a screeching right turn. 

     “There was a cop car back there, slow down!” Olivia protested. 

     “Don’t worry about it!” Franco pshawed, aggressively cranking the gear shift, “I told ‘em that I’d be out and about today, and so long as I don’t get anyone killed, we’ll be fine!”

     “We’re gonna be killed!” She gasped, clinging to any surface she could wrap her fingers around.

     Franco sneered playfully, “What? No way! I taught myself how to drive, I know what I’m doin’!”

     Through her anxious panting, Olivia thought, ‘Lord, if I die tonight, and I go flying through this windshield, at least let me land head first!’ 

     Eventually the wild ride came to a lull and they entered a small unassuming parking lot.

     A dim sign lit up the building beyond the lot, reading: THREE STRIKES, with an angry turkey holding a bowling ball. The building itself wasn’t anything grandiose, with thin cracks laid across its surface like cobwebs. The landscape seemed a bit unremarkable to Olivia’s surprise, given the tastes that the mobster had prided himself in. But this was not unwelcomed by Olivia, a casual night out would be fun after spending the whole day painting. 

     The inside of the building was not as rugged as the out. The floors were polished and the lights were a clear white, with the occasional red or blue bulb thrown in the mix. The walls were painted a lavender purple, and the carpet was pristine. On top of it all, a surprising number of people sat amongst the lanes and seats at the food court. 

     “Ah! So this is your big surprise, huh?” Olivia asked in amusement.

     “What do ya think, Doll? Sound like a good time?” 

     She chuckled nervously, “Actually, if you can believe it, I’ve never bowled before. Do you mind showing me the ropes with all those moves you were bragging about?”

     He dusted his shoulders and adjusted his coat with a sigh, “Well, I wouldn’t want to intimidate you with what I can do, but what the Hell! Let’s have some fun!”

     Scooping her up by the waist, Franco hurried them to a lane assistant, who eagerly awaited them at the cash register. The young man had freckles on his rosy cheeks, and enough product in his hair to fuse every strand into a smooth, side combed shape.

     “Welcome to Three Strikes! What can I do for you folks today?” He asked with a squeaky tone. 

     “Give me a game for me and my lady friend here, it’s her first time, and I wanna pop her cherry.”

     Despite the coolness in the air, Olivia began to sweat from embarrassment. She slapped Franco on his thigh and the lane assistant’s pristine smile dropped ever so slightly. 

     “... Alrighty then!” He noted, clacking away at the register, “One game! Would you like to rent some shoes? Or do you have your own?”

     The pair looked over to the rack full of clownishly colored bowling shoes. They were bi-colored, half grandma lipstick red, half toy truck blue. More fitting for a carnival fun house than a romantic bowling date.

     “Always freshly disinfected and deodorized!” The assistant added.

     “Got some ones that actually match my fit? I’m not from the fuckin’ circus, ya know.” Franco grumbled. 

     “Sorry, sir. They’re built to protect our lanes and are quite comfortable! The owner chose the color, if you must know.”

     Franco snapped his lips with a snarl as he pulled out his wallet, “Ya got wide 10’s?”

     “I’ll take 5 and a half, please!” Olivia chirped from behind.

     A short while later, with a hard shove, Franco threw his shoes into his assigned locker and slammed the door shut. 

     “Please be careful with that, sir. That is to keep everyone’s items safe, not just—”

     “YEAH! THANKS!” Franco answered back to the hovering lane assistant.

     The disgruntled gangster whipped off his coat and rolled it over his arm revealing the royal purple shirt he wore underneath. He hated how much the bright primary shoes clashed with the mysterious air he was trying to portray. 

     “You ready, champ?” Olivia asked in a sing-song voice. Franco twisted around to find his date already waiting for him. The cherry embroidered romper oddly matched well with the shoes; blue to red, and red to blue. A crooked smile crept over Franco’s mouth at a snail’s pace, much to her curiosity. 

     “What is it?” She blushed. 

     “Those are some really fuckin’ ugly shoes.” He chuckled, “But you look like the cutest clown in the circus.”

     Blood continued to wash over her face down to her collarbone, “That bad, huh?”

     “Yeah, but not on you.” He replied, reddening in return.

     “Heh, well,” Olivia swayed gently, “You look pretty good too. Red and blue make purple, you know. So you match, in a way, right?”

     Franco looked down to his crayon colored shoes compared to the silky purple of his shirt. At least she tried to make him feel better. 

     “Yeah, you’re right. Come on, let’s bowl!” He snarled happily. 

     Taking the lead, Franco walked lazily over to the ball rack. The balls were a variety of miss matched colors, from black, green and red, to a couple of browns and oranges. None particularly stood out to him, settling for a deep green one with a barely legible “15” on it. The density of the ball stubbornly pulled Franco downwards, but it felt good in between his fingers. 

     “Oh! What about this one?” Olivia asked.

     But the bowling alley notably quieted from a sudden clap! Franco gasped as he spun around, and found Olivia leaning over a large, rose pink bowling ball on the floor. She was colored like a beet, frantically shoving her small fingers into the cavernous holes to lift the ball, before they slipped out, forcing her to try again.

     The intercom blared the lane assistant’s grating voice, “Be careful, Miss. Any damages to the bowling lanes are the strict responsibility to—”

     “Will you SHADDUP! It’s her first time!” Franco barked as he slid over to Olivia’s side, “You alright there?”

     “Yeah. A little embarrassed.” Olivia admitted, “I didn’t realize how heavy they would actually be. Those old guys on TV make it look so easy.”

     She positioned the finger holes back up to try again, but when she did, Franco noticed the bold “18” carved underneath them. 

     “What the? Why’d ya get such a heavy ball?!” Franco inquired. 

     “I thought they were all the same weight, just sized different.”

     “Even by that thing’s size?”

     “I… was more distracted by the cute color, if I may be so honest.”

     “It’s got a big eighteen written on it, as in eighteen pounds.” Franco noted flatly.

     “What?! Only eighteen pounds?! There’s no way that’s right! I’ve lifted bags of chicken feed heavier than that!” Olivia blurted out.

     Franco wiggled his fingers arrogantly, “Yeah, but did you do it with only these?”

     He forced his fingers into the holes of the bowling ball, and with a shaky exhale, he lifted it. Although it wasn’t as easy as he wanted it to look, a side glance to Olivia’s astonishment was all the gratification he needed. As he heaved the ball back onto the rack, Olivia was left with no other choice but to settle for a much lighter, navy blue one. 

     Slow music played over the intercom  under the hard clatter of balls hitting pins. Olivia was fascinated by everything she laid her eyes on, from the older players sliding into a strike, to how the hidden machinery reset the pins and returned the ball. Once they reached their own lane, Franco stepped into position.

     “Why don’t you just sit back, and watch how a pro does it first.” Franco squinted with all the fake bravado he could muster. The ball felt awkward in his hands, unused to the sudden shift of the heavy weight. He thought bowling would come back to him like riding a bicycle, but he only realized too late that he was a terrible bicyclist too. Still, he positioned himself in a way that vaguely resembled the more experienced players, and heaved the ball with all his might. His wrist twisted awkwardly at the last second and hurled it down the lane towards the gutter. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped to the floor, his heart into his stomach. Just like that gutter ball, she would see him for the fraud he was and it would all be over. 

     And yet, the ball began to twist. It turned  around and around and around, until miraculously, it spun out of the way of the gutter into the pins for an explosive strike.

     “What a hit!” Olivia exclaimed, covering her mouth.

     Franco’s awareness returned with a lick of his lips. His eyes squelched together in contemplation, and his posture relaxed until he practically slouched. Returning to the lane’s seats, he fell backwards into them causing the whole bench to shake. 

     Throwing his hands behind his head confidently, Franco asked, “And that’s how you do it. Think you got the gist of it?”

     “Hm.” Olivia took her ball up to the approach area and peered down the lane. While she had doubts of Franco’s awkward method, he did end up hitting a strike. So, she tried mirroring him, and ended her pitch straight into the gutter.

     The gangster was appalled. He knew she mimicked him, but did he really look that bad? Was his strike really that lucky? Franco threw himself from his seat and met her at the ball returning machine. 

     “That’s alright, my first swing was like that too. But I can see back there what you needed to improve on.” He patted her on the shoulder while nodding sympathetically, “Would ya like me to show you how it's done?”

     Though she still believed there was a sprinkle of chance on his turn, the shame from dropping the pink bowling ball, to now where she got the gutter, allowed her to reluctantly relent. 

     “Yes, actually.” She smiled awkwardly.

     Franco reciprocated her awkward smile,  returning her to the approach with her ball in hand. Quickly he skimmed over the other lanes, looking for what seemed right, anything to keep up his charade just a bit more. 

     “So it goes a little like this…”

     His hand wrapped around her waist from behind, gently guiding her through each step. It was easier to tell her what to do than to actually do it himself, but leading her arms to practice her throw in sync, like a pair of dancers, made both of their hearts thrum. His cologne generously tickled her nose, and her perfume sweetly called from the top of her head to him. Soft red light blanketed them in a rose hue as yet another slow dance song echoed from the overhead speakers. They continued their practice, a step and a swing, until Olivia released the ball from her fingers. 

     It rolled steadily down the lane, uncaring in its speed, nor how much spin it had to one side or the other. Initially, in the center, it had leaned slightly right by the time it reached the pins, knocking nine down.

     Olivia gasped before bursting into quieted screams of excitement. Without thinking, she spun around and hugged Franco tightly, with her chest firmly pressed against his. He fought with all his might to not seize them in a hard squeeze. Rather, he reached around and patted her back while facing away. 

     “There ya go, see? Easy as that!” 

     “Yeah! That was way easier! You really are some kind of pro, huh?” 

     Franco let out a half chuckle as he gripped his ball from the machine, “I don’t know about that.” 

     Retroactively, he tried to follow the advice he gave Olivia, replicating the motions for a smooth bowl, one just as lackadaisical as hers. It glided smoothly into the pins for a calm, satisfying strike. 

     “But maybe you’re onto somethin’.” He continued under his breath. 

     Olivia traded places with Franco and readied herself for her turn. Meanwhile, the gangster slid over to the scoreboard that sat next to the ball return. The excitement of his strikes and smelling up Olivia had him completely forget about the scores. Wiping away the old tallies with his sleeve, he picked up a chalk nub and scratched on their points. 

     Crashing pins drew him from the board. Olivia happily hopped back and pointed down the lane with two pins remaining at opposite ends. 

     “How about that?!” Olivia chirped while clapping her hands.

     “Not bad! But you still gotta knock down those last two.”  Franco pointed with the chalk nub.

     A squint of determination pressed Olivia’s brow, “Alright then, I will get a strike, either now, or sometime tonight!”

     Franco waited for her to step up to the approach before muttering, “That’s technically a spare, but you got it, Babe.”

     She gripped the ball tightly between her fingers. Calculating how to knock the ball from one pin to the other, she practically threw the ball down the lane with enough speed to kill a man. 

     She missed both entirely. 

     Franco’s lips dropped and his brows rose sharply. As Olivia stomped back in shame, he quietly wrote her score. Licking his lips, he tried to change her mood.

     “Hey, that was a tough one! But I’m sure next time you’ll—”

     “Oh stuff a sock in it!” She barked while crossing her arms.

     The game continued on at a steady pace. Olivia kept up with her date as best as she could, but she never quite got the strike she hoped for. The ball would always tap the last pin she needed, but the damned thing would never fall over. Franco tried to go easy on her, throwing the occasional gutter ball. However, the little firecracker wouldn’t have any of it. 

     “No, no, no! There’s no point in playing if you’re just going to go easy on me!” She protested. 

     Olivia continued on about the spirit of the game and how she can only improve by watching a professional play… or something. Franco didn’t quite understand, since he was only making it up as he went along, but the girl’s competitive spirit was charming, especially when she kept jumping around in excitement or frustration. So, he would shrug and roll his ball down for another strike or spare, with Olivia leering over his shoulder, pondering what the mobster’s secret was. 

     The turns passed and the pair would sit in quiet comfort as the muffled overhead music played. It was relaxing, but while Franco wasn’t thinking about anything at all, Olivia was watching him closely. She looked over how he sat comfortably with his legs crossed and taking up as much room as possible, how he swayed his head to the tunes as the pins reset, and kept a snarky smile on the edge of his lips the entire time. Eventually he felt the looks and glanced back.

     “Yeah? What is it?” He asked with mild surprise, like waking up from a small snooze.

     Olivia jumped from his sudden attention, but scraped together an innocuous question, “Oh! I was just wondering how your work week went.”

     “It was fine, had a big shipment of tea fall into the harbor. Started to turn the water brown and scented and everything! Asked the crane operator if he was from Boston or somethin’ but, uh, he didn’t get it. His ass got fired afterwards, though.”

     “Oh, that’s a shame.” Olivia chortled.

     She stared down at her clownish colored shoes and lightly tapped them together. His life seems a bit mundane for a gangster, she thought. With the condition she found him in when they first met, it wouldn’t be a shock if damned near every night had the same potential danger. Just what near death did he avoid, even last night, to come bowling today?

     Olivia looked up from her shoes and asked, “What about your other work?”

     Franco’s eternal smirk evaporated, yet his body remained relaxed. It took him a moment, swishing his tongue over his teeth in thought, before resuming his smile and stating calmly, “Sorry, Toots. You ain’t gonna like the answer I give you, so let’s just drop it before the air gets sour.”

     While finding his answer fair, after all, it wasn’t as if Olivia openly approved of his profession, but the yearning for the truth crawled in her stomach like starvation. She opened her mouth to press him further. As she inhaled—

     “FRANCO BARBI! IS THAT YOU?!” A voice bellowed from behind.

     The pair spun around to see a portly man with a baby face approach their lane. Franco hopped to his feet and shot his hand out, “Hey pally, do I know you from somewhere before?”

     The baby faced man tapped his shiny forehead out of minor embarrassment, “Oh, that’s right, you probably don’t even remember me! Name’s Vito, Vito Montenegro. Your father dragged you to my birthday a few years ago.”

     Franco’s shoulders loosened as Vito gripped his hand into a shake, “That’s right! That’s the birthday with all the circus decorations, yeah?”

     “That’s the spice! My old man wanted to rub elbows with yours, so he invited the both of you over. Now look atcha, big boss’o da harbor now, eh?” Vito asked, throwing a few fake jabs to Franco’s stomach. 

     Franco brushed away the punches. “Not while my old man still breathes. And at this point, I wonder if he’ll outlive me. But what about you? You and your pops doin’ alright? Did he get in my dad’s good graces?”

     “Hell if I know! I’ve only dipped my toes in the business, and since my brother died, I’ve been tryna keep my nose clean. So I don’t keep track of all that.” Vito explained.

     “I’m sorry about your brother. I hope he's in a better place.” Franco nodded solemnly. 

     “Any place is better than here, right?” Vito shrugged, his belly reacting to his smallest movements, “But I saw you all the way on the other side here, and there was no mistakenin’ you. So I thought I’d drop by, until I noticed that you had, ahem, company.”

     Olivia shot up from the plastic seat with a meek, “Hello!” 

     “A pleasure.” Vito smiled with rosy shiny cheeks. He swiveled back to Franco with a fat thumb pointing at Olivia, “Ain’t no surprise that a top dog, like yourself, can score a looker like her!”

     Franco’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets, “You think so?!”

     “No doubt about it! I wish I was so lucky!” 

     Franco was shocked at everything this man said. It was always some bullshit from everybody about how easy Franco’s life was, how everything just seemed to fall into his lap. He didn’t even realize how nice it was for someone to give him a genuine compliment.

     Ozzy didn’t count, he thought to himself. 

     “So,” Vito began, holding an open palm to Olivia, “How is Il Bambino treatin’ you?”

     Franco’s heart stopped completely. Time tripped over itself to a near sluggish stop. 

     Innocently, Olivia tilted her head as she simply asked, “Bambino?”

     Vito’s voice deepened, his lips slapped together as they proceeded to call Franco the one thing he hated most in this world, “Yeah, BAM… BIN… OOOH.”

     The mobster blinked, and when he opened his eyes he found his hands curled tightly around the large man’s collar. The way that he pulled the shirt tightened around Vito’s neck, turning the man a bright red.

     The veins on Franco’s head pulsed as he whispered sharply into Vito’s ear, “If you ever say that word again, I’m going to fuckin’ kill you. You got that?”

     All Vito could do was nod. When Franco released him, he stumbled back holding the indentation that his collar made around his neck. The air grew still and solemn. Franco felt everyone’s eyes on him, their stares prying into him like boring weevils. 

     Vito grimaced a smile through the pain, “Didn’t mean to get on your goat there. Sorry for intrudin’.” 

     With an uneasy gait, Vito backed away and returned to his lane. Shame, or maybe annoyance, poured over Franco with all the subtlety of burning oil. His fists clenched as he too returned to the seats with Olivia, dramatically throwing himself into them. 

     “You’re up next.” He grumbled.

     “Seriously, Franco?” 

     “What?!” 

     “What was that?!” Olivia snapped, gesturing down to Vito’s lane.

     “It ain’t nothin’!” Franco barked back, “I was just… you know what I gotta do to maintain some respect around here? Any chance you give, and these fuckers try to tear you down. Every time.”

     “What are you talking about? What did he even do?” Olivia protested.

     “Do you know what Il Bambino even means?” Franco asked softly.

     “Mmm, like Babe Ruth, right?” Olivia pondered.

     Franco choked on her guess, but sighed, “Yes. Like the baseball player.”

     “Well, what’s wrong with that? Sounds like a nice nickname to me.”

     “It means, The Baby.”

     Olivia waited for him to continue, but there was an undeniable miasma that he lathered himself in to prevent himself from speaking any further. 

     She held her breath, and when he still gave no further response, she eased out a quiet, “... aaaand?”

     “What the hell are you talkin’ about? Do you know how fuckin’ stupid that makes me feel? How insignificant that makes a man?” Franco hissed.

     “N-no. If I may be honest.” Olivia bit her lip.

     Franco clicked his tongue, weaving his hands through the air, “You know, like… it’s demeaning and all that shit!”

     “I suppose? But, I’m sure there’s been things that you’ve said that have been far more ‘demeaning,’ don’t you think?”

     “It’s not the same! It’s that… I ain’t no shrink’s funny farm case! I ain’t gonna be analyzed for some Freudian bullshit, alright?!” He demanded, pointing to her with both his index and his pinky.

     Olivia pressed her lips together in a vain attempt to suppress her anger, “I’m not trying to do, whatever that is, but if you feel like that’s what I am doing to you then I don’t want to put you through that anymore!”

     The waitress quickly grabbed her purse and stood up from the plastic chair. But before she could leave, Franco lunged forward and seized her hand. He squeezed her tightly, though not enough to hurt her, but certainly enough to make her gasp. Upon seeing what he had done, he released her. Yet, sensing his chances with her slipping, he began to pant frantically.

     “Alright! Alright! You win, just don’t make me tear up, okay?” Franco begged, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, “Look, I’ve been called that my whole life, and I hate it! All the time, mother fuckers are callin’ me that behind my back. Ever since I was a kid, they would call me that. And it’s all cause of my fuckin’ dad.”

     “Your dad calls you that?” Olivia asked, shaking her head in an attempt to grasp the situation.

     “My dad told me when my mother died, that I was inconsolable. He said he tried everythin’, but that I was always actin’ fussy and cryin’ like a baby. So, that’s what he started to call me. 

     “‘Franco! You’re cryin’ again? You gotta be more like this guy’s son. Lost his twin brother and not a single tear at the funeral!’

     “‘Franco! Can’t you see I’m talkin’ to someone here? A grown man don’t got time to play games.

     “‘Franco! What’re ya scared for? He owes me money, and this is what men do to get it back. You got to be the man, Franco, not Il Bambino.’

     “And now every wise guy in this fuckin’ city will do the same if they can get away with it. But I won’t let them.” Franco narrowed his eyes, “Dad can get away with that shit. But ain’t no one else.”

     Franco stared a hole into the ground with his arms crossed. Olivia watched on from beside, processing everything he said. 

     “I think I get it now…” Olivia admitted in a low voice. She rubbed her thumbs together gently, inhaling hesitantly before speaking again, “I didn’t have a nickname like that. But, I do know what it feels like to be put down.”

     Franco glanced over to his date, “I remember you sayin’ your dad was a bit of a prick.”

     Olivia chuckled without even a smirk, “I’d argue my mom was worse. My dad was to the point, at least. He didn’t mince anything really. 

     “‘Had an ass that learned quicker, but at least ya learned.’

     “But my mom, I still don’t get her. She would say things I thought were nice but then… I remember this one time where me and her went out for groceries and this boy on his bike came up to us to tell me how pretty he thought I was. I thanked him and he rode off with a wave. But then she went and said the strangest thing;

     “‘That’s so sweet of someone to like a girl of your shape!’

     “At first, I agreed, until I thought about it some more, and then I didn’t want to think about it at all.”

     Olivia’s thoughts drew her back into the seat next to Franco. They mirrored each other, hunched over with their elbows pinned to their knees. The weight of their pasts oppressed them with overwhelming dejection. Yet, when they were together, it seemed to be more bearable. 

     “Do you think he knew?” Olivia finally asked.

     “Who?”

     “Vito. Do you think he knew how you felt about that name? He seemed pretty shocked when you attacked him.” 

     “Of course he does! Every wise guy, dealer, and hooker knows about Il Bambino! Why the Hell wouldn’t he?” Franco asked with an exaggerated shrug.

     “Well, I mean, he did mention that he didn’t even keep up with his own father’s business. I don’t know, I think that there’s a misunderstanding, is all.” Olivia suggested.

     “What are you doin’, steppin’ up to bat for this guy? You’re actin’ like he’s your brother or somethin’!”

     “I just…” Olivia inhaled sharply, “I just was scared when you acted that way, and I didn’t want you to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

     She looked down to the polished wooden floor and saw Franco staring back in its reflection, though it seemed he didn’t notice her. Doubt seeped over his usual confident features. He swallowed a massive gulp as he looked around in the reflection for an answer. His eyes hovered around before finally seeing Olivia in the floor as well. They stared at each other through the wooden reflective lens, but Franco was first to turn away. 

     The gangster’s face curled inward, clenching his jaw tightly. Through his gnashing teeth, he muttered, “I’ll… talk to ‘im.” 

     Relief splashed over Olivia’s back, “Oh, Franco! I’m so—”

     “BUT when I’m ready!” He interjected, “Gotta work myself up to it, ya know?”

     She hesitantly nodded in agreement as he got up from the seat and grabbed his ball, “Let’s finish this game first.”

     Franco got into the approach and rolled his ball down the lane. It seemed no different than any other bowl he had attempted, until the ball reached about halfway. At that point it turned sharply and crashed into the gutter, barely tipping over a single pin on its way down. The pair sat in absolute shock, but Franco shook it off and reached for his ball at the return. 

     This time, he carefully looked over his steps, replicating everything he could remember from his previous pitches. He let the ball go, it flung down the middle of the lane, and somehow the same result occurred. It veered off its course and knocked down another two pins before falling in the gutter again. His first non-strike or spare. 

     “Damn.” he whispered.

     On Olivia’s turn, it went on as usual, not knocking them all down, but most. 

     Franco could hardly get two pins hit in his turn. 

     “Shit!” He spat.

     With Olivia knocking nine pins down on the next turn, and closing in quick, Franco threw the ball down the lane in a panic, causing it to bounce straight into the gutter.

     “FUUUUUUCK!!!” his voice echoed through the facility.

     “Please mind your language, lane number 6.” The intercom blurted out statically.

     Franco wondered how funny it would be to chuck his ball at the head of the lane assistant, but held against it. He waved away the pesky voice and joined Olivia at the score board for a final count.

     “166 to 97, you win!” Olivia exclaimed in earnest.

     While that was true, that was hardly his problem. He looked at his last three turns and how poorly he had performed right at the last second. Anger bubbled up from inside him and he took his date in his hand and marched across the bowling alley to Vito’s lane.

     Vito sat with a couple of other heavy set bowlers, but when Franco approached the color drained from his face.

     “Hey, Vito. You got a second?” Franco asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

     Vito shared glances with his friends, but in the end, like a sacrificial lamb, he sat up and joined Franco and Olivia. 

     “Listen, Franco, I really am sorry about earlier, I only—” Vito stammered.

     “I got somethin’ to tell you, but I need you to tell me somethin’ first.” Franco poked Vito in the belly. 

     “Sure, anything!” Vito nodded watching Franco’s finger sink into his shirt.

     “Where did ya hear them call me Il Bambino? Do you know what that name means to me?” Franco squinted his eyes.

     Vito raised his hands defensively, “I thought everybody called you that! Like maybe you were a fan of Babe Ruth, or somethin’.”

     Franco glanced at Olivia in disbelief. He grinded his teeth together and thought. 

     Perhaps unwilling to bear the silence, Vito blurted out, “You know, my cousin had a pretty wacky nickname, Loose Lips Larry McCoy, they called him. He wasn’t a snitch or anything, his lips were just big.”

     “That’s your cousin?” Franco leaned forward in surprise. 

     “Yeah! You know cousin Larry?”

     “Yeah, I guess so! I thought he was called that cause he killed that one rat that kept tippin’ off the police, almost got my dad arrested.”

     “Oh that’s right! That did almost happen. One thing’s for sure, Larry never broke a promise. He said he was gonna get that bastard and he sure did.”

     “He sure did.” Franco grimaced, running a thumb across his throat to Olivia, “So, where is he now? Haven’t heard about him in a while.”

     “Got life. Though he swears in his letters that he’ll be out any day. But, uh, I doubt it.”

     Another awkward silence fell over the group and it wasn’t until Olivia elbowed Franco in the ribs that he started again, “Well, I guess all that’s to say, I thought everybody knew why I was called Il Bambino. And I was just wonderin’ if you’d wanna call it square with that.”

     “Sure, why not? Hey, why do they call you that anyways?”

     “That’s not the fuckin’ point, Vito!”

     “Oh.”

     “Look… just—” Franco stuttered, his face beginning to glow red.

     “What he’s trying to say is,” Olivia jumped in, “that he appreciates clearing the air with you.”

     Vito breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, no problem at all. I’m just glad that there’s no trouble. Say, care to join me and my boys for a game? It’ll be on me!”

     Franco shook his head pityingly, “Sorry, Vito. I wouldn’t wanna beat your ass in front of everybody.” 

     “Really?” Vito rubbed his chin in curiosity, “What’s your average score? Cause I can bowl 190 on a slow day.”

     “O-oh, well, I…” Franco’s eyes bugged out as he quickly shot glances to Olivia, who watched with anticipation for his response, “Uh... just as I suspected! I bowled three-fiddy tonight, and I was off my game.”

     “Huh. You played better than a perfect game?” Vito arched his brows knowingly.

     Franco shrugged arrogantly, “What can I say? I didn’t wanna embarrass ya!” 

     Vito guffawed as he shook his head, “The offer will always be there. Me and my boys are here several times a week. Bring your lady along too, she’s such a sweetheart.”

     “We’ll see. Catch ya around, pal.” Franco grinned, holding out his hand.

     Vito’s round face stretched happily as he scooped up Franco’s hand in his and shook it thoroughly. Waving another goodbye, they split off and headed their separate ways. After collecting their shoes, Franco and Olivia left the building and walked to his car. 

     “Plan on ever joining Vito and his friends sometime?” Olivia asked while putting on her seatbelt. 

     “Fuck no! Did you hear that asshole’s score? I ain’t gettin’ beat like that in public.” Franco huffed as he ripped his seatbelt across his chest.

     The gangster plunged his key into the ignition with the force of a cruel backstab, twisted it, and sped off into the streets. Olivia clenched her seat tightly from the concussive turns and lurching acceleration. Yet, after a few blocks, the death trap she was strapped to eased off its bite, even if just barely. It wasn’t difficult to read Franco, at least as far as Olivia knew him.

     “You okay?” She asked, attempting to ignore her growing vertigo.

     “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

     “Wanna get some food?” 

     His face lit up excitedly, “You know what, I would! Hold on, I know just the place!”

     At an empty intersection, Franco twisted the wheel aggressively, sending the vehicle into a squealing, drifting, U-turn. The force bumped Olivia’s head against the window as the car corrected itself before swerving harshly into a nearby plaza. 

     They pulled into a place called, DIRTY JOHN’S. The backlit sign that watched over the establishment was faded from the sun, and the words on it were only barely legible. A few cars sat in front and the inside was sterile in color. 

     “Here?” Olivia asked, peering inside, watching the cook smoke as he wiped down the counter. 

     “Why? Don’t like it?” Franco inquired, a bit of droop in his lip. 

     “No, no, it’s not that.” She explained, “It’s just, I didn’t suspect this place to be something you’d be into.”

     Franco kicked his door open before leaning back in with a nod, “This place is different, just come and see.”

     The young woman followed him, trying to see what could possibly make this place so ‘different.’ A bell rang dryly as Franco held the door open for his date. Despite grime compacting into the corners of the establishment, it smelled sanitated from the heavy use of industrial detergents. The cook stood behind a steel counter, much like how Louie did at the Break ‘n Steak, although this man seemed much more sullen in the face. He was much more lanky too, like worn, loose fitting leather over a crooked armature. 

     “What can I getcha?” The cook coughed hoarsely, eyeballing the stains in a glass cup.

     “Johnny, is that any way to treat your favorite customer?” Franco tsked as he heavily laid his hands on the cold, roughened steel. 

     The cook looked up from the glass with squinted eyes, and when he smiled his face folded up like a bloodhound. “Frankie Barbini! Came around one more time ‘fore I slipped into a coffin?” 

     “Get outta here!” Franco exclaimed, “You old wrinkled asshole, you know how busy I’ve been! ‘S not like I can just come here at the drop of a hat, I’m a grown man now! I got responsibilities!” 

     “So you turn nineteen, and all of a sudden you’re too important for ol’ Johnny? Even after all the times I gave ya extra cheese and chili for free?”

     “Now, hold on a second! You know it ain’t like that…” Franco’s voice hiccupped from surprise. 

     The cook’s brow was furrowed and his stance was squared. The end of his cigarette glowed a hot red from between his jowls. Although he wasn’t built with a lot of muscle, Franco could very easily establish the thick wires that ran underneath the old man’s skin. While Franco stood over the elderly cook, the old codger’s presence felt familiar and made the gangster feel small. Franco stuttered to start like a faulty engine, much to Olivia’s surprise. Perhaps it was a surprise to the cook too, as his bullish expression dropped at Franco’s meek appearance. 

     The cook coughed a half chortle and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, “Aw, Frankie. Still the little guy after all these years, huh?”

     “Fuck you, John. You just know how to push my buttons, is all.” Franco cleared his throat while turning away from Olivia to wipe his eyes. 

     “You’re alright, kid.” John leaned onto the counter with the grin of a hairless dog, “So, have you seen Adolfo recently?”

     “... No. Same with you, he’s on the other side of town and—”

     “It’s alright, Frankie, I get it.” John said, smacking the top of the counter, “Well! I’ll quit hoggin’ up your time with your girl. What can I get you?”

     “Give me the double chili cheese burger and how ‘bout a chocolate shake?” Franco asked before turning to Olivia and lightly pinching her elbow, “What do you want, Toots?”

     All of these relationships, that she only had half of the context to, made her head spin. But hearing herself be called allowed her to focus and scan the yellowed overhead menu.

     “Can I have a grilled cheese with a side of chili and a strawberry shake, please?” Olivia asked. 

     John took his cigarette, put it out with his tongue, then flicked it into the trash bin, “Take a seat, kiddies. I’ll be out soon.”

     The pair sat in a booth near a window to watch the cars pass by. The neon orange streetlamps burned bright circles of light into the sidewalk below them. A couple of stars broke through the dark night sky, with a crescent moon herding them along like a shepherd.

     “Do you know everybody in the city?” Olivia jested.

     “Nah, the world’s just a bit small sometimes.” Franco replied, watching a cherry colored Chevy roll by.

     “Who’s Adolfo? A friend of yours?” She asked, shooting over a quick glance.

     “Yeah, in a way. He was my babysitter for a while. In fact, he was the guy who taught me how to bowl!”

     “Really?”

     “Sure! My dad hired him since the women nannies and I kept on havin’, uh, disagreements. Anyway, after a game or two he would bring me here for a bite, since he was good pals with John.” Franco recalled, “Come to think of it, those days weren’t too bad at all.”

     “What happened to him? Did he retire?”

     “Yeah, I guess he did.” Franco nodded, noticing John finishing up the order, “You know, like I mentioned earlier, I haven’t said, ‘Hi,’ in a minute. Would ya wanna drop by with me for a sec after we eat?”

     “Of course! I’d love to meet the man who taught you how to bowl like a pro.” She smiled coyly.

     “Well,” Franco relented with a click of his tongue, “If I gotta be honest, it has been a long time since I’d last bowled. He’d take me with a bunch of old farts where they’d shoot the shit and occasionally play the game. I didn’t know it at the time, but they would ask me ‘Oh, Franco, my gout’s actin’ up, would you bowl for me?’ Just to keep me busy while they handled business. Even if I gutter balled, they’d just laugh and tell me to try again. Just how long ago was that?...”

     The leathery cook approached their table with flat feet slapping against the tile. In each hand was a steaming tray of food with a frosted beverage, each. A scrunched look of satisfaction held a newly lit cigarette on John’s face as he set the meals before his guests.

     “Here ya go Frankie, just how you like it.” He sighed, a cloud of smoke billowing from his mouth like a chimney, “I hope you like it too, Miss.”

     The steam from the food alone could’ve burned their eyebrows off, it was a wonder how John’s fingers could survive pulling the plates off the tray and not be fazed. But once the clouds of heat cleared, Olivia was greeted by a smothered, crispy grilled cheese and a heaping bowl of chili. The intense aroma of meat and seasoning tantalized Olivia’s nose and roused her stomach.

     “Thank you so much! This looks delicious!” Olivia gushed with excitement.

     Franco’s burger was already large itself, but it was practically drifting in a plate of chili like a piglet in mud and enough cheese to make a dairy farmer sweat. A small island of fries laid off to the side and were seasoned heavily.

     “Yeah, thanks ya old dirty bastard!” Franco licked his chops, “You’re the best!”

     John watched over them as they took their first bites, as if studying their reaction. Olivia took a triangle of her grilled cheese, that stretched out as far as her arm, and dipped it into the viscous chili. She blew it gently and took a bite with a satisfying crunch. Zesty cheese flooded her mouth with the meaty stew, flushing her cheeks pink with glee. Franco tore at his burger like a starving dog. He licked his fingers in between greasy bites, threw in a few fries, slurped up a couple of drinks, before diving in again.

     Their hums of satisfaction were music to John’s ears. As the two noisily ate their food, the cook nodded in approval and slipped back to the counter again. Franco and Olivia didn’t talk much during their meals. The gentle noise from a small radio in the front was enough to fill the air as they enjoyed every bite. And not long after they started, their plates were picked clean, their glasses were sucked dry, and their stomachs were packed tightly.

     “Uuugh,” Franco groaned uncomfortably as he rubbed his belly, “I keep tellin’ myself not to get the double, but it’s too damn good.”

     “You could say that again.” Olivia grimaced, “I should’ve just gotten some soda or water, that shake was way too thick.”

     Franco nodded weakly, holding his breath to scoot out of the booth he could no longer fit in. 

     “You know what, though?” Olivia asked, mirroring her date.

     “Hm?”

     “If you want to, we can come back anytime you’d like. I can see why you and your babysitter came here so often.”

     Franco’s brows perked up, “You’d want to come back, with me?”

     “I’d love to.” She smiled softly before wrenching herself up from the booth, “Oof, though maybe after a couple of weeks.”

     “I’m with you on that, Toots.” Franco sneered, holding his back to support his swollen front. 

     They hobbled to the register where John waited for them. He arrogantly sucked in air through his cigarette and smiled with yellowing teeth, “Was it good, kiddos?”

     The couple groaned in unison, much to his delight. He passed Franco the receipt, but the gangster didn’t even read it. Instead, Franco pulled out a couple of bills and slid them John’s way. The cook’s eyes widened before he shook his head and slid them back.

     “I can’t take this, it’s way too much.” 

     Franco pushed the bills again with his index and pinkie, “Come on, Johnny. Think of it like… I’m pickin’ up Adolfo’s tab.”

     John’s thin lips wrinkled tightly, “You know I never needed his tab paid.”

     “I know, but we’re gonna stop by and see him real quick, I thought I’d do somethin’ nice for him.”

     The nostrils on John’s nose flared in thought, before he grabbed the money and shoved it into the register, “Yeah, well tell him I said hi too.”

     They said their goodbyes and left the dingy diner. John sat at the counter again, still trying to remove a spot from the same drinking glass. Franco and Olivia sluggishly made their way to the car. Whether it was from the fullness of his stomach or something else, Franco turned the key gently and eased back into the streets.

     The purr of the engine lulled Olivia into the seat in comfort. She was relieved that she wouldn’t experience another rollercoaster ride in her current condition. Franco’s soft look as he drove alluded to their temporary bout of safety as well. 

     They listened to the car’s humming for a while, the landscape morphing into different lights, buildings, names, and people. It was all a blur until the land split into a long bridge over a wide river. The waters underneath flowed in gentle currents that hissed quietly to them as the car came to a stop. Franco pulled over to the side, at the mouth of the bridge and got out. 

     “Is everything alright?” Olivia asked, “Why are we stopping here?”

     Franco circled around to her side and opened the door. He held out his hand for her and said, “This is it, come on.”

     A crisp breeze blew through Olivia’s hair and gave her goosebumps. Ducks flew overhead in the direction of the wind, and frogs chirped at the river’s edge. The city had receded into the distance yet its shine still reflected in the river’s water.

     Stepping onto the creaking bridge, Olivia clarified, “Here?”

     He closed the car door behind her, and softly but firmly clasped her waist with his arm. Wordlessly, he shepherded her down the bridge until they came across a bundle of wilted flowers. They were tied to a beam of the bridge and were so dried, so brittle, that with each passing breeze another set of petals broke off. It was a wonder that the bouquet wasn’t entirely bare.

     “No one’s fuckin’ bringin’ you flowers anymore, ay?” Franco sneered, raising his heel high into the air and crushing the remains of the bouquet. The stems and leaves disintegrated to ash with each twist of his heel until only the string holding them to the beam remained, having fallen limply to the floor.

     “Franco! What’re you…” Olivia gasped. She held out a hand to stop him, only to freeze when he muttered, ‘it’s bullshit.’ under his breath.

     “But, I guess I left you behind too, didn’t I?” Franco continued, his shoulders slumped, “I just got so busy. The family was makin’ moves, I got shot and met this hot tamale over here.”

     He thumbed over his shoulder to Olivia with a crooked smile. As no answer called back to him, the remnants of his smile dissipated, much like the flowers he stepped on. Olivia could only stand idly by as this drama with Franco unfolded. She called out to him, but her voice was missing.

     “Yeah,” The mobster agreed to an imperceptible half of a conversation, “I know you would’ve still made time for me. I was just tryin’ not to… you know, fuck up too much.”

     And then he stood in silence, as if listening to the critique of a ghost. Although Olivia wasn’t able to hear what Franco could, his tightening fists told her all she needed to know.

     She reached out, wrapping her slender fingers in his. Her touch sobered him. He jerked away to sniff loudly before turning back confidently, “Ahh, ahem, sorry about that.”

     “Don’t be.” She smiled warmly, her thumb rubbing against his palm.

     Franco cranked his neck back to where the flowers originally sat, “What did I tell ya? Pretty hot, huh?”

     He pulled Olivia closer and pressed a finger into her breast, remarking, “This is the pretty bird that saved me! Her name is Olivia. She’s also the one who’s been keepin’ me distracted for all this time. Now you can understand what the hold up was, right?”

     Olivia quietly held her cheek in her hand, feeling the warmth grow within it. Though no one was even present, she could sense the fluttering in her chest that would begin when Franco announced her to whomever he was conversing with. Even then, in that moment, he wanted to introduce her to a man who was no longer with them, and yet was so excited to, as if he still was.

     “So, yeah,” Franco rubbed his scalp, “I think things are lookin’ up. If you’re worried about me, well, stay worried. Cause I ain’t changin’ for nothin’.”

     Seemingly satisfied, Franco squeezed Olivia’s hand in quick succession while sucking in between his teeth, “Just wanted to catch up with ya, see what you were up to… Oh. Well, you know what I mean.”

     He waited for a goodbye that never came. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he motioned back to his car with a head tilt. Olivia nodded, and they both retraced their steps within each other’s hands. 

     The car doors slammed shut as they sat down and got comfortable. Air sat still and lukewarm as opposed to the fresh cold breeze that whistled outside. Olivia watched over the mobster, wondering what was going on in his head. He just leaned against the window, hand to his forehead, thinking. 

     Sensing her curious gaze, he broke his thought and started the car, “Okay, lets get you home.”

     Olivia had so many questions, she had assumed they were visiting an old friend, only to come to a lonely bridge with a bundle of dead flowers. Who was Adolfo? What was he like?... How did he pass? It seemed like the more Olivia got to know Franco, the more questions arose. Even if she didn’t want to know the gritty details, the mystery surrounding him drew her like a moth to a flame. She just had to know him, the real him. 

     Yet, as they quietly drove through the streets, no chaos, no eccentricities, she held her tongue. There was always another time to ask questions, she thought. Instead, she allowed him his peace and listened to the humming of the engine all the way home.

     The bricks of Olivia’s building seemed to organize themselves in patterns that purposefully gave Franco sneers of disgust. He looked upon her humble home with the same disdain as stumbling across a naked drunkard. However, despite his apparent and unsubtle disapproval, it was to her relief. She had grown accustomed to his bombastic flare, and without it, he seemed listless and distant. 

     “Alright! My favorite part!” Franco licked his lips and rubbed his hands together, as the car rolled to a stop in front. 

     “And what’s that?—Oh my God!” Olivia shrieked. Franco tore off his seat belt and wrenched himself from his side over into Olivia’s, wagging his tongue the entire time. 

     His tongue reached out and flicked about trying to taste her neck and face, but she pressed back against him, her nails digging into his shirt.

     “Come on, Mommy. I know you were feelin’ real bad for me back there, so why don’t we drop the games and get to makin’ me feel better?” Franco growled through a horrid smile. 

     Though she pushed with all her strength, he slowly fell upon her like a viscous tar, eager to absorb her within himself. She could feel her own breath as he pressed further and further onto her. Her arms trembled under the crushing weight and tears welled up with her developing sweat. 

     “Franco… you’re hurting me…” She managed to squeeze out, “I can’t breathe…!”

     His mass halted from crushing her. Even if Olivia was still held in place, a ray of respite graced her heart.

     “What’s the matter with you?” Franco asked with mild annoyance. One would’ve thought that Olivia had looked at him the wrong way from his tone. When she opened her eyes, his arched eyebrow peering down on her reflected the same sentiment. 

     Alas, she couldn’t even find the words to speak underneath him. The pressure placed upon her forced her lungs to partially collapse. Every time she tried to speak, nothing would come out except a dry cough. 

     Wrinkles dug heavily into his brow and each passing second made them deeper and more pronounced. He threw himself off of her and back into the driver seat, slamming on the pedals in frustration. His fists soon followed and he flung them at his steering wheel. 

     As his knuckles bashed against the steel circle, Olivia pulled herself up to catch her breath. Just when she got her wits about her, Franco returned his attention back to her. His face was red, making his blue eyes appear ghostly, and his nose exhaled so heavily that wetness gathered around it.

     “What the fuck was that all about?!” He barked with his palms held open to her, “What kind of game are you tryin’ to pull here?!”

     Despite the haziness that lingered in her head, Franco’s accusation drove it away like a cold splash of water, “Me?! What in God’s name do you even mean by that?!”

     “Yeah, you! Who else would it be?! You goin’ around bringin’ a guy up in his feelin’s, sayin’ you’ll be my girlfriend and all that, then you act like a fish on me?!”

     Olivia gasped sharply, “I NEVER SAID THAT, YOU DID!”

     “That… that may be true,” Franco choked, “But you never said, ‘no’ either! So which is it?!”

     “I didn’t answer because I don’t know yet! I’ve never had a boyfriend, I never went out on a date until I met you, I’m still a—” Olivia froze with her hand over her mouth, though what she almost said was true, it was a truth she wasn’t ready to admit. Yet, Franco’s bulging eyes signified what he already knew.

     “You… you’re a—”

     “Don’t say it!” Olivia shrieked, throwing her hands over Franco’s mouth. 

     He nodded in agreement, and despite his shifty eyes, Olivia released him and fell back into her seat.

     “It’s not a game to me, I would never do that to anyone. Would you?” Olivia asked, but before Franco could consider whether or not it was even possible for him, she continued, “I didn’t say yes because we just met, but I didn’t say no because I would like to know you more. If you’re willing to wait, that is.”

     “E-even now?” Franco asked, failing to hide his eagerness for forgiveness.

     Olivia wrapped her arms around herself and looked away, “I was really scared, you know?”

     The mobster sensed dread prickle up his back. His feet pattered on the floor and his mouth grew dry like cotton. Sensing her slipping away, Franco lurched forward and grabbed her hands. Even then, she could feel the desperation in his grip, almost as if she had him on his heels instead. 

     “Come on, Babe. L-lets not get too bent outta shape here. I was just gettin’ ahead of myself, is all. I promise I’ll be good from now on! Just give me one more chance!”

     Olivia bit her lip in hesitant contemplation, “You promise?”

     “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He remarked, drawing an x over his heart.

     “I’m serious, Franco.” She pouted with damp eyes.

     “Alright, alright!” He relented, “But you really weren’t kiddin’, were you?”

     “Hm?”

     “About all that. You really aren’t just another pretty face, are you?” Franco asked, leaning back in his seat, “I do know how to pick ‘em.”

     Olivia smiled through, even if humor wasn’t what she was feeling entirely. On one hand, his charm and wit continued to wrap around her like a fishing net. On the other, the volatility he had laid onto others, had now made collateral out of her.

     “Thank you for the evening.” She said with a light nod. She reached out and took his hand into hers, with one clasping his fingers, the other rubbing the top of his hand. Just as Olivia pushed open the door and shimmied herself out of her seat, Franco grabbed her by the arm. 

     When Olivia swiveled her head to him, Franco let go with just as much surprise as she, but after a moment, he cleared his throat, “Listen, uh, I hope you ain’t too wigged out about me callin’ you my girlfriend and all that.”

     “I wouldn’t throw in the towel just yet, if I were you.” She replied barely louder than a whisper. 

     Olivia hurried out of the car, though Franco was sure she was smiling as she made it up the front door to her apartment complex. She gave one final wave before disappearing inside, leaving Franco scratching his head in amusement.

     Rather than driving off, Franco shifted his vehicle into park and pulled his seat all the way back. He stared a hole into the ceiling of his car, pondering over what Olivia said to him. Franco’s stomach still twisted in embarrassment from how the night ended. However, to know that he was her first in so many aspects, and potentially more, made him hot with ecstasy. The thought of her blushing naked body, resisting his killer instinct, but ultimately succumbing to her desires brought sweat to his brow and saliva to his tongue. 

     ‘How’s that for game, Manny? You fat fucker.’

     There was still one problem, however.

     “She’s not ready yet…” Franco thought aloud, his little hamster wheel spinning in overdrive, “but she is not saying ‘no.’ Hmmm.”

     There were drug deals that required less thought than in that current moment. So why did Olivia make his mind spin so much?

     “Not my girlfriend… and… doesn’t wanna fuck…” He continued, twisting his pinkie inside his ear, “... but I want to…”

     Franco’s brain began to pulse from trying to rectify Olivia’s approval and satisfying his carnal appetite. Suddenly, it all became clear. A smug look of triumph crossed his crooked lips as he reached for the ignition, “I guess she can take all the time she needs, until then, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I took care of myself. Especially since we ain’t together yet, right?”

     Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took so long to write. It was difficult trying to get it just right before posting it. But I hope you guys enjoyed this longer chapter because it was made with a lot of love.

     One of the big reasons why it took so long is because, as it turns out, I'm pregnant! I'm having a boy, and he should be coming around my birthday in June. So that makes sense as to why I was getting sick all the time earlier in the year. XP Everything else was just trying to figure it out, making sure that the reading is as entertaining as possible, getting supplies for the baby, throwing a baby shower, figuring out insurance and doctor's appointments, and so on. Thank you for being so patient with me, please let me know what you guys think of today's chapter! X3

     BTW it has come to my attention that my asks were closed this whole time. Sorry about that, it should be fixed now! If you have anything to ask or share please let me know!

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Some sneak peaks for the next chapter of In the Wolf's Maw. The art for the chapter finished, but the story still needs some work. I just need to get the climax done and then go over it again to see if it needs any changes or touching up.

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WIP for the next chapter of In the Wolf's Maw. Franco was so much fun to ink! xP

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♦ Ko-Fi ♦ ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ WARNING: This series will include sexual content, violence, occasional blood and gore, time period language as the story takes place in 1951, Franco Barbi is his own warning. ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ < Previous 𓆩❤︎𓆪 Next >

     Papers stacked high on Oswald Saggio’s desk. Nicotine infused smoke wallowed between them like a fog through an empty street. He knew he had to take it easy on the cancer sticks, but with so much work to be done, he needed the fix. Serving as a switchboard operator for the mob was simple enough: pick up a phone, ask some questions, call a different adjacent business, keep the language clean. Even though the police were in the bag, it never hurt to stay careful. But all that was easy enough. His greater ambition was to work his way up the ladder, not to just simply stay in a cushy, glorified call-center job. 

     His desk was overflowing with ledgers, receipts, and envelopes of money, all barely contained by the five landlines that took up each edge and then some. Rounding the numbers wasn’t too hard either and broke up the monotony of waiting between calls. He had probably seen more money pass through his desk than a bank teller, and though he had known hunger, a single bill never went missing. Oswald’s greater appetite was accomplishment and a job well done.

     But then one of his phones rang. 

     His teeth bit down tightly on his half burnt cigarette, “Now, who could that be?”

     It wasn’t terribly uncommon for him to get calls in the middle of the night, sometimes his boys needed a pickup or a cleanup crew. Occasionally, however, it was because one of theirs was shot, or worse. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and licked his lips. Pushing up his glasses, he picked up the phone. 

     “Oswald, what do you need?” He asked flatly.

     “I’m gonna need you to wax up those stringy lips of yours so you can suck my hairy balls!”

     “Franco?” Ozzy answered, his eyes squinting in disbelief.

     “Thaaat’s right, baby! And guess what? I got a girlfriend!”

     “... Is that so? Are you sure? Does she know that?” Ozzy asked, chewing his lip with interest.

     “Hey! The fuck are you tryin’ to say, Four Eyes?! What, you think I can’t get bitches or somethin’?”

     “Franco, I would never say that about you,” Ozzy stated calmly, “but I’m not the one who said I had a girlfriend—” 

     “Oooh, fuck, here we go!” Franco hissed into the receiver.

     “... after stuffing some poor bank teller into the trunk because she was obligated to be nice to me.”

     “Alright! It was one time! Keep your panties on!” Franco argued, “This one is different, I promise. You remember that big tittied cutie? The one at the diner?”

     “You mean the one you were shot at?” Ozzy asked, returning to his pile of papers.

     “Aw for Christ’s sake… yes! I took her on a date tonight, and she loved it! She even wanted a second date!”

     “Is that right?” Ozzy raised his brows, “And you didn’t have to coerce her? No threats? Nothing at all, huh?”

     “You know, I ought to be rather cross with you. But then it occurred to me that you’re just jealous, you and that nut sack Gianni.” Franco said in an almost uninterested tone. 

     “Oh. You told him too?” Ozzy asked, skimming through a document about a cargo mix up between some fish and furnishings.

     “Oh, you know I did. Anythin’ to make his day just a bit shittier. Smug little asshole probably thinks I was bullshittin’, but look who’s laughin’ now!”

     “Well,” Ozzy sniffed, driving the cigarette butt into his ashtray, “I’ll admit, I had my doubts. But if that’s what happened, I’m sure your father would be happy to hear that.”

     “Oh, yeah… Dad…” Franco hesitated.

     “What’s the matter?” 

     “I, uh, hadn’t really planned on tellin’ him yet.” Franco said sheepishly. 

     “Why is that? I would’ve thought that he’d be the one you’d want to impress the most?”

     “I do, Oz! It’s just… I just wanna stay out of his way for now, ya know?”

     Ozzy paused for a moment. He always wondered why the Don’s son would have these quiet moments with him. He did nothing to gain his trust, outside of loyalties to the mafia itself, and his father. And yet, for one reason or another, Franco came back again and again, as if the operator was his only true friend. And although Franco was a lot more trouble than he was worth…

     “Sure, sure. No need to get sheepish on me. Whenever you’re ready to, right?” Ozzy replied quietly.

     … Franco rubbed off on him.

     “Thanks, pal. Anyway, you keep up that good attitude and maybe you can get your dick wet too!” Franco concluded, “Catch ya later asshole, I’m gonna go get drunk and spank my monkey around. Really show that asshole who’s boss!”

     “ALRIGHT. Goodnight, Franco.” Ozzy bellowed. Franco’s laughter was the last thing he heard, before Ozzy slammed the phone back on the receiver. 

     But he was more trouble than he was worth.

     Silence returned to his office once again, with the gentle ticking of the wall clock being the only note of clarity. He blew out air through his nose and peeled off his glasses to rub his temples. He shook his head one more time before looking down to his documents.

     RRRRING!!!

     The operator snatched the phone off the receiver, shouting into it, “What?! What is it?!”

     “Tough night, huh, Oz?” A smooth voice answered on the other line.

     “Oh.” Oz retorted, leaning back in his chair, “Excuse me, Gianni. It has been busy. Is everything alright?”

     “Sure. Just grabbin’ a bite with a couple of the soldatos. We’re here at the pizzeria down the way.”

     “Language, please.”

     “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, got a surprise call. Can you guess who?”

     “The tooth fairy?” Ozzy chuckled.

     “No, her worst nightmare, Franco Barbi.”

     “Did he?” Ozzy asked, pulling out another cigarette.

     “He did. Interrupted a game of poker just to tell me some girl went on a pity date with him. I said he was full of it and he called me a British cigarette, or whatever the hell that means. But after he hung up, I got a call from Moe’s by the bus barn, askin’ if Franco called me. Apparently, he's going around spinnin’ everybody this story. Seems like everyone thinks he’s makin’ her up.”

     “Oh dear.” Ozzy replied mutely, “And what do you think?”

     “Nah, I was there when he asked the chick. Juicy little lambchop, that one is. But I doubt it went as well as he thought.”

     Oswald already grew tired from all the gossip that night, “What a shame. Anyway, I got a lot of work to do and—”

     “Well don’t just blow me off, Oz. What do you think about all that? Did he call you too?”

     “I think that we have more important things than worrying about our future boss’s dating life.” He answered more sternly than he intended, but his patience had worn thin.

     “Aww, come on. You’re no fun.” Gianni chortled, “When you get off, come over and join us for some poker. Maybe after a couple of drinks you’ll loosen up, huh? Haha!”

     “I will consider it. Thank you. Goodnight, Gianni.” 

     “That’s a no, then!” Gianni shouted with audible boos in the background. 

     Without further care, Oz hung up the phone. He did not enter the family for droll rumors or any such dribble that may have fancied children and nags. Smoothing back his hair, he attempted to return to his place in the documents. However, his focus was lost, bringing him back to Franco’s new obsession, the diner waitress. If what he said was true, and she really did agree to a second date, Ozzy postulated, was she out to gain something from him, or was she really that naive? 

------------------------

     “You did WHAT?!” Louie howled into the phone. Olivia could hear a batch of pots shower to the floor. 

     “Well, I just thought—”

     “Did you? Cause it sounds like you didn’t think at all!” Louie grunted, stooping down to pick up all the dishes. 

     “You don’t understand, Louie.” Olivia insisted, sitting on her kitchen counter, “I just thought that after everything that happened, that maybe a second date was in order.”

     “You are the sweetest fool I have ever met. And that’s sayin’ something. None of my girls can even drink yet!”

     Olivia crossed her legs assertively and scrunched her face, as if her boss were there to see her tantrum. Even if he could, judging by the sounds of dishwashing, it would’ve been ignored all the same. 

     “Listen, Liv.” Louie called, as he loudly banged the dishes together in hot water, “You’re a real sweet girl, you really remind me of my sisters. That’s why I’m telling you, Franco and his like are bad news. I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you with your heart broken, or worse! If he keeps bothering you, let me know, and I’ll help ya get outta there, somehow.”

     Olivia stroked at her hair, shifting her lips to the side, “I’m not completely helpless, you know. I did make it all the way here by myself, got an apartment and everything.”

     “That’s not fair, Liv. You care about the ones you love, regardless of what they want, right? You have siblings back at home, don’t ya?”

     The waitress bit her lip, quietly admitting, “Now look who’s playing unfair.”

     “Err, sorry about that. Look, all I’m saying is, be careful. I worry about ya, kid.”

     “I know. Thank you, Lou.” She cleared her throat.

     He could feel the weight in the air that he caused and it hung there like a pair of musty socks. He clicked his tongue while drying off his hands when he had an idea.

     “I’m sure you’re just plum tired from all that ‘fun’ or whatever you wanna call it. Why don’t you take tomorrow off?”

     “Are you sure? I can still get a couple hours of sleep and I’ll be good to—”

     “Go on. Get a good rest, but I’ll be needing you to double time it the day after. Ya hear?”

      She felt her bones ache from the rush of the night, the parts she didn’t care to describe to Louie. And sleeping in on her brand new mattress did sound really nice, once she had the chance to wash up and change her clothes. Perhaps one day to herself would do a bit of good.

     “Weeell, if you insist.” Olivia nodded, sliding off her counter, “See you the day after, then?”

     “Sure thing, kid. Call me if anything else comes up.”

     “Will do. Goodnight, Louie.”

     “Night.”

     She gently hung up the phone and stretched her arms to the heavens, feeling all the fibers in her muscles tug with a slight pain. The excitement had drained from her body, leaving it rickety and on the verge of collapse. She stumbled into her tiny shower and cranked the hot water up. Steam bellowed from the faucet, drenching every tile with sweat. But the burning beads that stung her skin left behind a pleasant relief, once she had finished and dried off. Her pajamas felt plush and as she tumbled onto her bed, the warmth of her blankets wrapped around her like a loving hug. 

     She could feel the sleep overtake her, like falling into a black abyss. But as she let the abyss take her, she wondered just what that strange mobster would be up to at that moment.

     Phew!! Finally got this mini-chapter done! It took me a lot longer than I had intended, I might've gone overboard for this chapter's illustration, especially for such short one, but I am happy with the end result so it's ok. X)

     The next chapter will be a longer one, so stay tuned!

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The initial doodle vs the final concept sketch. xP I know that the next chapter is a really short mini-chapter, but I still wanted to try and draw something fun with the composition.

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I mentioned over on AO3 that the next chapter of "In the Wolf's Maw" will be a very short mini-chapter that takes place immediately after Ch. 2. But, here's a some WIP's I'm toying around with, showing Ozzy and Louie. I'm still not 100% sure how to feel about where Louie's arm is positioned. I might make his hand to lay more behind his neck, we'll see. xP

[silver-wolf-scribbles]

♦ Ko-Fi ♦ ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ WARNING: This series will include sexual content, violence, occasional blood and gore, time period language as the story takes place in 1951, Franco Barbi is his own warning. ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ < Previous 𓆩❤︎𓆪 Next >

     The lone cardinal returned to the windowsill, as it had for weeks. Twigs it had gathered, in that time, slowly developed into a somewhat passable nest. Sweet calls whistled from it, in search of another just as passionate.  

     Olivia arose from the cardinal’s song as if entranced by its melodious charms. Toes padded the surface of the cold wooden floor until they could comfortably rest upon it. The warm morning air made it fairly easy for the young lady to throw off the blankets and get out of her new bed. 

     Though the cobwebs hadn’t worked their way out of her body, sleeping on the floor had really tightened her hip up, the plush mattress cradled her through the night with comfort and deep sleep.

     Her bedroom was only wide enough to fit the mattress in it snuggly, she still banged her elbow squeezing into her bathroom, the wallpaper was still curled up at the ends of her walls, and she still briskly walked past the gaping hole where her refrigerator should be. She spun a spam and egg powder concoction again, but as she looked back, she felt herself finally settling in. She could finally begin to call this place home.

     She quickly changed into her uniform and hurried out the door after blowing a kiss to her family photo.

Olivia pushed the diner’s door open, setting off the familiar jingling bell. Oldies that had been around since she was a kid echoed throughout the near empty diner. Louie sat at the counter, lazily flipping through a newspaper, doubtlessly disinterested in everything on the page except for the mildly amusing political cartoons. 

     “Hey Louie! Slow day?” Olivia asked as she rounded the counter.

     “Yeah, only three other people came in this morning. The third one being the fella in the back, nursing his coffee after he had French toast an hour ago. Nothing too crazy.”

     “Well that’s good! I’m glad things were easy for you today. Oh! I finally got a new bed in the other day!” Olivia beamed proudly, “It’s like sleeping on a dream. I’ll never sleep on the floor again!~☆”

     Her boss looked up from his newspaper, “You’ve been sleeping on the ground?”

     “Heh, well… y-yeah! The apartment didn’t have any sort of thing when I bought it. I just got around to have something comfortable to sleep on, that’s all! It wasn’t that bad.” 

     Louie motioned her closer with two big sausage fingers. She nervously approached him and he swatted her with a rolled up paper.

     “Hey!” Olivia squirmed away holding the top of her head.

     “You know I would’ve helped you.” Louie scolded, shaking the paper at her.

     “I knooow! I just, I don’t know.” She shrugged, “I just wanted to figure it out myself, I guess.”

     The side of Louie’s mouth drooped as he shook his head, “Hm. I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want. But, whenever you need it, I’ll be there.”

     Olivia smiled, throwing a small punch into his gut, “Thank you, Louie. I will, you’re the best, as always.”

     His scolding expression lightened into a brotherly smirk. When just then, the door’s bell jingled behind them.

     Louie’s usual sing song tone bellowed, “Welcome to the Break ‘n Steak Dine—”

     It was as if even the jukebox had frozen from Louie’s shock. Olivia swung her neck around, and there they stood.

     Back from the dead, in a brand new suit, stood Franco Barbi with that same shitty grin, “Two, please.”

     Bright Eyes stood alongside the Don’s son, a cigarette wrung between his teeth, wisping its last few vapors before reaching its base.

     Louie rushed around the counter, his fists clenched and his chest expanded. Perhaps he acted too brashly, after all, who knows what those mobsters had hiding in their suits. His heart pounded, but he held his posture with flexed muscles and a cold stare.

     “Is there some kinda problem?” Louie asked shakily.

     Franco dug into his ear with his pinkie, looking over to his plus one, “Problems? We don’t got a problem, do we, Gianni?”

     Gianni shook his head with shrugged shoulders, “We’re just two hungry customers looking for some friendly service.”

     “Hardly a crime at all, if ya ask me.” Franco crossed his arms with a look of disappointment.  

     The dull sound of Louie’s grinding teeth permeated past his cheeks. Finding little choice in his options, he turned back to Olivia and led her with a nod, “You mind taking care of our guests, kiddo?” 

     The young waitress smiled earnestly, grabbing two menus, “Sure, Lou. No problem at all. Come on boys.”

     Olivia led the way, oblivious to the two gawking at her gentle curves from behind. They licked their chops like a pair of stray dogs and Olivia, the lamb none the wiser. Bringing them to a booth, she gently bowed, leading with an open palm to their seats. Amused by her mannerisms and politeness, Gianni bowed as if addressing royalty, and Franco curtsied, taking his seat. 

     They snickered amongst themselves as Olivia set their table with utensils and napkins, before placing the menus down. 

     “It’s good to see you in better health, Mr. Barbi.” Olivia noted with sincerity. 

     Franco waved her off, “Mr. Barbi is my dad’s name, just call me Franco. But I am better, and it’s all thanks to you, toots.”

     “Not at all, Mr.—uh, Franco. I just did what I thought was the right thing.” Olivia shook her head.

     Franco leaned over the table, thumbing in the waitress’s direction, “What’d I tell ya? Ain’t she an angel?”

     “She can pluck the strings to my harp, anytime.” Gianni smiled sharply. And though it seemed as if he was attempting to be warm, Olivia felt a bitter chill run down her back.

     “Uh, is there anything I can get you boys to drink while you look over everything?” Olivia asked, attempting to ignore the flush washing over her cheeks.

      “Coffee, no cream, please.” Gianni instructed. 

     “I’ll take a Cola, and be sure to bring some sugar on the side, thanks.” Franco rubbed his hands in delight.

     “Sure thing. I’ll be right back!” She nodded, briskly making her way to the drink machine. 

     Splashes of sweet caramel colored syrup drizzled over the bottom of a cold glass. Olivia gripped the handle of the soda dispenser, yanked it, and brought about the refreshing liquid with a satisfying hiss. 

     “So what did he say?” Louie asked from the kitchen side of the pass.

     Olivia tucked her head into a deep shrug, as she poured hot coffee into a mug, “They’re looking over the menu, so I guess everything is okay?” 

     The man clawed at his scalp nervously, “Then go ahead and do your best, but don’t do so good that they’ll want to come back!”

     Her brow curled in confusion as she whispered, “Louie, how am I supposed to… you know what, never mind. Just get those grills ready and let me handle this!”

     The drinks were stacked on a serving tray, and Olivia left in a huff. But her bright smile returned the moment she came into the gangsters’ view. 

     “Here you are boys! Have you thought about what you wanted?” 

     “I do believe we have.” Franco smiled to Gianni. 

     “I’ll have the steak and eggs. Rare and over-easy.” The bright eyed mobster said, nodding back to Franco.

     “You know what I want? I want the short stack with eggs and bacon. But you know what else I want? The whole reason why I came back here in the first place?” Franco asked, engrossed into the anticipation he was building.

     “Y-yes?” Olivia stuttered, glancing back to Louie who was eavesdropping from the kitchen.

     Franco pulled closer to her, he inhaled deeply then softly uttered, “I want you.”

     Olivia’s green eyes flared brightly against her tomato colored face, accidentally crumpling her server pad in the process, “E-excuse me?”

     Even Gianni’s near constant smile buckled from the shock, Louie burst out from the kitchen and began his march to the table, and the lone patron nosily watched while sipping his coffee. Yet the world seemed to slow its turn when Franco raised up a single finger.

     “I want you… to know how grateful I am, I can’t say it enough!” He enthused, raising both hands to the sky.

     The world turned again, everybody collectively sighing from the endeavor. As Louie trudged back to the kitchen, Olivia attempted to knead the wrinkles out of her notepad.

     “It’s like I said, I only did—”

     “So it occurred to me that just simply coming down and throwin’ a few bucks at you is hardly the etiquette of a gentleman, such as myself.” Franco declared with his eyes closed, almost imagining his own triumphant posture. Gianni groaned quietly as he continued, “I would love to take you out for dinner tonight. And I assure you, I will not be taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

     His bold proclamation had not shaken Olivia as severely as his stunt from before, but regardless she was still lost for words all the same. Softly she nodded in agreement, even if still puzzled by his offer, swallowing the dryness in her throat, “I’d love to. But I must admit, I don’t have anything to wear that’s nice.”

     “Ya tellin’ me you don’t got Sunday’s best?”

     “I do, but—”

     “Then ya got what’cha need, sugar. Meet me back here at 7 o’clock sharp, capiche?”

     Olivia shook her head, “I’m sorry, but my shift ends an hour later. I won’t be able to—” 

     Slam! 

     Franco slapped his hand on the table with enough force to make the drinks jump. When he pulled back, a wad of money was left behind. 

     He smiled curtly, “Tell the gorilla in the back to finish your shift and this will pay twice the difference. Didn’t I just say that I won’t be takin’ a ‘no?’” 

     Olivia nodded with a stiffened lip, gingerly taking the money and backing away from the table.

     “Oh and can you make those eggs scrambled?” Franco called to her, but she was already in the kitchen.

     “What happened?!” Louie barked nervously.

     “Uuuh…” Olivia muttered, holding up the wad of money. Louie’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

     His hands wrapped around his skull in desperation, “No, no, nooo! Why’d you do that, Liv?!”

     “He said he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer! What was I supposed to do?!” Olivia hollered back, “I’ll just go take it back and apologize!”

     “Nooo!! You can’t take it back now! What did you even agree to?!”

     “He just wanted to thank me for helping him, by taking me to dinner. This was supposed to pay off for the rest of my shift. He wants you to let me go early.”

     “Kid, do you even know what that means?”

     “... That he’s really thankful?” Olivia hoped.

     “Oh my God.” Louie rubbed his hands across his eyes. Thinking for a moment, he looked over Olivia, her innocent look of worry, her kind heart worn on her sleeve. He always did have a soft spot for those who needed help. 

     He snatched the wad of money from her hand and hurried back to the mobster’s table.

     “Oh wow! The food came quick!” Franco presumed. When Louie threw the cash onto the table, the mobster’s eyes drooped with annoyance.

     “You think you can just go around and take advantage of people?” Louie insisted, jabbing at the money with his finger, “If you can just throw enough money at something, you’ll get your way? Well, you got another thing comin’, buddy.”

     Franco looked to his henchmen with confusion, “Gianni, who are we takin’ advantage of?”

     Gianni threw up his hands, “I thought we were here to eat.”

     “Exactly my thoughts! Listen, Beluga Bill, what kinda street urchin do you take me for? Did ya really think I was askin’ you to pimp out your daughter like that?”

     “I’m not as stupid as you think I am. And even if she isn’t my daughter, I wouldn’t let some soldato get his sticky fingers all over her.” Louie snarled through his poor Italian impression.

     Gianni lept from the booth, “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, cazzone.”

     Before the three men could escalate into violence, Olivia slipped between them all with her hands raised, a lion tamer between a bear and two wolves.

     “Everyone please!” She said in a hushing tone, “Louie, I said I would go. I’m sorry for leaving my shift early, do you think you got it for the rest of the night?”

     “Olivia, that’s not the problem!” Louie started again. But once he saw the determined green flare in her eyes, he relented, “... Yeah, I got it.”

     Her expression softened as if thanking him for his understanding. Then, she turned to Franco, “I’ll be here right on time. Sound fair?”

     He slyly glanced at Louie then back to Olivia, “Of course! I just think that good people should get rewarded once in a while. Someone’s gotta look out for us, right Gianni?”

     “I’m sure Madonna appreciated a free meal every once in a while.” Gianni noted, returning to his seat with a smile, as if he wasn’t ready to fight to the death mere moments ago.

     “Then it’s settled.” Franco stood, forcing Gianni to follow with mild annoyance, “Don’t worry, Papa Bear, I’ll be sure to keep Baby Bear here safe and sound.” 

     The two gangsters sauntered towards the exit. As Franco passed by the young waitress, he whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, “Olivia, huh? The perfect name for a morsel like you.”

     The man with the strange head held his stare with Olivia, until he reached the diner’s entrance. She stared back, a deer in the headlights. But the moment that Franco turned away, Olivia felt a poking on her stomach. Gianni passed her a folded napkin and with a snakish grin, he winked at her. 

     Unfolding the neatly creased napkin, written in proper, but sharp cursive, it read: When your date goes bad, call me up. I’ll show you a real good time.

     She scowled, unaware of how red her face was again, but it only seemed to make Gianni more giddy as he mirrored his boss out of the establishment.

     Olivia and Louie sat in silence, still processing, still reeling from their two patrons. 

     “What was on the note?” Louie asked, his heart still pounding.

     Olivia looked to the note again before crumbling it up, “Oh, nothing. The friend just wanted to wish me luck.”

     “Him and me both, kid.” Louie said somberly. 

     Just as they turned back to the kitchen, the doorbell dinged. Standing at the entrance was Gianni with a bit of embarrassment. 

     “Hey, uh, my boss was really hankering for those pancakes. You mind if we get that and my steak to go?”

------------------------

     It was odd for Olivia to see herself as dolled up as she was. There was hardly a need to, back at home, with no boys allowed and all. But after a quick run to the drugstore, she was able to pick up all the necessities for cheap. Nude-Pink Lipstick, mascara, an eyelash curler, a tiny makeup palette, blush, and a roll of ribbon for her hair. The warm light from her bathroom mirror was very courteous to her features. Even in her quick purchases, she glowed with a lively spirit, and what’s more, the young woman just felt pretty. 

     As she adjusted a white ribbon around her half ponytail, Olivia thought about what Louie told her before sending her home. It wasn’t long after Franco and Gianni left. The smell from the food that they had cooked for the gangsters hadn’t even dissipated when Louie motioned her over to talk.

     “He’s got the second worst temper in the city, you know. Beaten only by his old man, Salvatore.” Louie explained, wiping his hand on his apron.

     “I’m sure. But what are my options then?”

     Louie tapped at his own skull, “Hmm, the only advice I can give would be to try to ruin it. If he ain’t interested, then he’d have to leave you alone, right? Well, just be a bit borin’ and you’ll be sent home, I reckon.”

     The ribbon tightened over her hair, “Boring, huh?”

     She looked over herself. The bright yellow sun dress complemented the pale white ribbon in her hair and her spotless, ivory-colored Mary Jane Shoes. But even if she looked good for her usual self, it was incredibly obvious to her that she would not fit in with the surrounding city life that New Orleans had to offer. 

     What could she even bring to a conversation, as a girl from Kansas who had never left home? Her whole life amounted to caring for her siblings, farm life chores, and school. A mafioso who had been on several lifetimes worth of adventures would probably not be all too impressed by her small-town stories. In fact, Olivia would not have to try very hard to come across as boring at all.

     Regardless of her own mild self-loathing, Olivia looked to the mirror one more time with determination, promising herself to be the courteous, country girl she was raised to be… even if a bit purposefully bland.

------------------------

     Cool air wrapped around Olivia’s bare legs as she waited in front of the Break ‘n Steak Diner. She looked back inside and saw Louie watching from the counter. She gave him a nervous finger wave, but all he could do was clench his teeth and pop his knuckles as the clock struck seven.

     The streets were oddly quiet. Despite it being the perfect time for the night life of New Orleans to spread its wings, there was an eerie absence of both cars and people. It was as if Olivia were back home. At certain times of the day, everyone would be where they needed to and leave everywhere they weren’t barren. And only a lonely whistle from the wind and the occasional caw of crows would remain. Since moving to the city, Olivia became used to there always being some sort of noise. This had been the first time since then that her heartbeat was louder than her surroundings. 

     She scanned both ends of the blacktop, looking for any sign of movement. At the very end of the south side, a brand new, wine-purple, Pontiac Chieftain rolled into view. Olivia’s salivary glands poured fluid into her mouth as her stomach writhed like a ball of snakes. 

     The car pulled up to Olivia’s side, with the deep purr of a predatory cat. Its gleaming black windows reflected her concern, even as the ones in the back were rolled down. Hiding behind the pristine glass was none other than Franco himself, almost ecstatic at Olivia’s dismay.

     “Hiya, sweetness. Are you ready for a night on the town?” He asked, practically snarling with his sneering grin.

     “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She answered, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat. 

     The gangster scampered out of the rear driver side, panting with sticky breaths. He skimmed over her, noting her long flowing hair, almost a warm, velvet-brown color. His groping eyes trailed down to her smooth legs. Despite her height, Franco wagered she couldn’t have been an inch above five feet, her legs looked a mile long with gentle curves along the way. 

     He let out a shriveled moan.

     “Uhm, Franco?” Olivia inquired.

     Barbi’s eyes squelched one at a time as he returned from his trance, “Pardon me, I just get lost in the presence of such a sweet little tart such as yourself.” He bowed as he held open the door for her, “Please, after you.”

     Olivia shuffled into the dim interior, glancing one more time out to the diner. Louie’s face was pressed against the glass, anguish painted all across it as he watched them disappear into the night.

     The car’s interior was coated in leather, stained the same purple as the car’s exterior. It was freshly installed and the air was heavy with its earthy, musky smell. 

     The two of them sat in silence for a while, only the hum of the engine filled in the empty space. 

     “So,” Olivia began, “where might we be going tonight?”

     “Let me ask you, where are you from?” Franco inquired abruptly, “‘Cause you don’t seem like you’re from around here.”

     “Is it that obvious?” She asked, covering her lips with her fingertips. 

     “As obvious as the bible study getup you got on.” He chuckled.

     “Oh, uh, I’m sorry about that. I was hoping not to look too plain, but it was the best I had.” Olivia retorted feeling the warmth grow in her cheeks.

     Franco snorted, “Don’t say sorry, what’s the matter with you? What are you even doin’ here?”

     She felt her body freeze. The question itself was innocuous, but felt so intrusive at the same time. Her hands curled around the edge of her dress as she squeaked out, “I’d prefer not to answer that, if you don’t mind.”

     Franco’s charming persona dropped for just a moment, considering, calculating, then ease returned to him, “Tch, who’da thought that quiet country girls would have secrets they’d like to keep too? Sure, dollface. Your business is yours, after all.”

     Olivia’s lips perked up at their ends, though she was sure that it was too dim for Franco to tell. Despite his creeping hands and eyes, it seemed there were concepts even a gangster didn’t need to dig into. In fact, it made Olivia feel a bit mysterious, even if she found her own story a bit underwhelming. That, for a moment, despite her unassuming appearance, she could make a criminal like him wonder.

     Franco reached up to the car’s ceiling and with the touch of a button, splashed the interior with a warm yellow light. Getting a better look, Olivia noticed how vibrant his attire was. He wore a three piece, pinstripe suit that bled plum purple. The only thing that wasn’t, was his undershirt that was a hot scarlet red, in which Olivia couldn’t help but imagine him as a sort of exotic pheasant from his fashion choice. His wing tipped shoes were a polished black and white, and his black leather gloves were just as crisp.

     Olivia squinted as Franco reached between them and opened up a compartment hidden under the middle seat. Cold poured out in a soft haze and Franco reached into it elbow deep, retrieving a bottle of champagne and two glasses. 

     His leather gloves squeaked as they firmly gripped the nozzle of the bottle. The blood vessels in his forehead pulsed from the effort he used to twist the neck of the bubbly, until the cork slid off with a gentle pop.  

     He carefully poured the rich golden liquid into the two slender glasses and passed one to Olivia with his pinky. 

     “Here’s to an angel’s reward. The first of many thanks for ensuring my reign of terror never ends, at least until I say.” Franco proposed, placing a hand delicately over his heart.

     Olivia didn’t know what to say, she already went on about her good deeds more than once. Perhaps he really was as thankful as he was putting on. All she could manage was a polite, if tight, smile as she clinked her glass with his.

     Wetting her lips, Olivia spun the champagne in her glass, remarking, “I’ve never tried this before.”

     “Oh? First time on the good stuff, huh?” Franco glanced over to her, “Have you ever drank before?”

     “Sure. One time before, but…” Olivia pulled the drink in and smelled it, “But, this smells a lot better.”

     “Yeah, I remember sneakin’ into my old man’s liquor cabinet too. It’s always got way more bite than you’d think.” Franco closed his eyes, reminiscing a pleasant memory.

     “I guess ‘bite’ would be a way to describe it.” Olivia scrunched her face, muttering, “The beer I drank with my cousin tasted how I’d imagine pee would.”

     Champagne sprayed from Franco’s nostrils while he dry heaved from her eloquent commentary. Liquid ejected from his lungs, but Olivia could’ve sworn she heard him wheeze something akin to, “What the fuck?”

     As he tried to catch his breath, Olivia gently patted his back asking with concern, “Oh, goodness! Are you okay?”

     Franco panted for a moment, cleared his throat, then shook his head, “You really are somethin’, aren’t you?”

     He pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket, carefully wiping his mouth of dribble, then raised his glass again, “This tastes a lot better than piss, I’ll promise you that.”

     The gangster held his glass to her and she cheered it again, perhaps a redo was needed. She pressed the frosted glass to her lips and the freezing champagne slid past. The carbonation tickled her tongue, followed by a sweet, citrusy flavor. Smacking her lips, she smiled, going in for another sip. 

     “Not too bad, huh?” Franco asked smugly, already almost done with his glass. 

     “Mmm, it’s a lot better than the last time, that’s for sure!” Olivia chuckled, downing the rest of the drink. Its creamy, yet refreshing finish only served to spark interest in Olivia’s taste buds, “Do you mind if I have some more?”

     Franco’s eyes tightened in curiosity, “Oh, you’d like that, huh? Well, why not one more glass?” 

     She beamed, hardly containing her excitement as she was poured another glass full. Just as easily as the first, she eagerly swallowed the entire beverage. All the while Franco looked on in amazement, his mouth curving into a sharp o-shape. 

     “Ooo boy, I know some fellas who would love to hang with you.” He muttered more to himself than Olivia. 

     The young woman felt the rosiness build up in her cheeks, “Wow, that stuff is good! Can I have one more?”

     Franco grimaced, despite the fluttering in his own heart, “I like your style, kid. But, uh, why don’t we grab us somethin’ to eat first? Wouldn’t want you to miss out on dinner.”

     “Oh, that’s right! You never did tell me where we were going.” Olivia nodded.

     “Only the best spot in town! I figured a little dollop, such as yourself, could enjoy the taste of the high life. Being a waitress and all.” Franco stated as he put the cork back on the champagne.

     Olivia bit her lips gently, unsure if her date merely lacked manners, or was pretending he was unaware of them. She reluctantly decided on the former, replying, “A-ah, you didn’t have to do all that for some waitress like me. I would’ve been fine going anywhere with you, really!”

     “Get outta here! This is stuff I eat on the regular. But for a humble little angel?” Franco began, the car slowing to a stop. The gangster opened the door, holding out a hand for his guest, “Why not treat ‘em to somethin’ nice?”

     Olivia’s heels softly clicked from the car to the concrete. It was as if the short ride had transported her from the mildly bustling metropolitan area, to the heart of Las Vegas. Neon signs plastered every surface with saturated color, leaving few hints as to where one hue ended and where another tint began. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the blaring music from a nearby band. Their beat bounced up and down as sweat collected on their brows, savoring every note they played. 

     The street was full of Clark Gables, Vincent Prices, Ingrid Bergmans, and Dorothy Lamours. All dressed blacker than a funeral, smoking harder than chimneys, and looming over each other with the same intense stares the actors would before a kiss or a kill in the movies.

     Their confidence and vampiric charm strung her along into a trance. Even as she followed Franco’s lead, all she could do was intently watch as these people laughed and danced amongst the colored lights like living paintings. But as the music went on, it seemed they began to notice the young country girl too. 

     Offhanded glances were immediately taken back by the occasional passerby. Olivia flicked her eyes down to her sunny dress, then to Franco’s saturated suit. The pair seemed more like a bowl of fresh fruit as opposed to the wake of beautiful vultures they were in the midst of. 

     However, despite these curious observers, Franco held the most ferocious smile as he squeezed Olivia’s hand in his. All she could do was follow his lead. In a rushing flash, all the colors washed away, the bumping music ceased, and a mellow ambiance took its place. 

     Her jade eyes adjusted to the serenity, realizing she was looking up at a mountainous crystal chandelier, faint glints of iridescence danced across the vast expanse of gemstones coordinated in a spiraling form. Her ears, once they stopped ringing, were lulled by the caressing tune of a piano and chatter. Of the gentle conversations, one statement was clear: 

     “Ah, yes. Welcome back, Mr. Barbi. We have your table ready.”

     “Thanks, Jeeves. No hard feelings on our disagreement last time, right?”

     “I just got my stitches removed, if you must know.” 

     “I noticed! See, I told you I knew a doctor that would fix you right up!”

     “Indeed.” 

     The scenic expanse formed into a restaurant unlike any Olivia had seen before. Tables uniformly blanketed in a cream colored cloth and were each individually candle lit. They all surrounded a piano that was played with the gentlest fingers, creating music that was just audible enough to be heard underneath the gossip and laughter.

     Then there was Franco, who had his back turned to her while talking to the host. Despite this, she already could tell how happy he was. When the host grabbed some menus, he turned around and quickly gave Olivia a thumbs up, then followed, with her in tow to their table. Their host guided them towards the back, underneath a statue who held her body close, yet had towels sculpted into her form that preserved her own dignity. 

     At least now Olivia knew where all the beautiful people were heading. It seemed that her date had gotten them a front row table amongst the sea of sepia colored calm. And the only ones with any sort of saturation were the banana colored country girl and the red plumed mafioso. The pianist shot an inquiring glance to them as he flicked the ivory keys, much like everyone else, so far. Yet Franco seemed not in the least bit concerned, excitedly leaping into his seat with a hard thud. 

     “Oh, boy! I’m starved, I could probably eat a horse! You don’t got one of those on the menu, do ya, Jeeves?” Franco cackled as he ribbed the host.

     “Hilarious, sir.” The host replied dryly, “Your waiter will be here soon. Enjoy.” 

     ‘Jeeves’ eagerly hurried away, leaving the pair in the gentle candle light. 

     “Wait ‘til you try the rolls they got here, fresh from the oven!” Franco rubbed his hands together while licking his lips. 

     “I’m sure they are,” Olivia interjected, unraveling her napkin, “but are you really going to run past what happened between you and that poor host?”

     “Poor host?! Listen, sweetheart, if you were there, you wouldn’t be so sympathetic to that smart-ass.” Franco tsked.

     “Well, what happened, then?”

     Franco sharply adjusted his tie, glowering while at it, “If you’re dyin’ to know. When you go to a burger joint, sometimes they chop the burger you ordered in half, right?” 

     The girl nodded slowly, their waiter setting a plate of rolls and butter between them.

      “But sometimes they don’t. Get one of those, by the way. I’m gonna hog all of ‘em down in a second. Get the buttah, too, yeah. Anyway, sometimes they don’t, but they’ll give you some knife to do it yourself. I say, if the cook doesn’t do it for you, you ain’t gotta do it yourself, the knife is just an option. Kinda like those assholes that give you a spoon to help spin your spaghetti in, ya know?” Franco explained with his mouth full.

     Olivia still was buttering her bread by the time her date got to his third roll. 

     “I go and take a bite of a burger here, delicious just so you know, but Jeeves is eyeballin’ me ‘cause I didn’t cut the damn thing. Gives a real shitty look, and I ask ‘em if he had a problem! He thinks he’s funny and tries to call me a yokel in his fancy vernacular. Well, I’d rather not scare you with the details, but we got into an… altercation between two gentlemen.” He admitted, avoiding eye contact, cheek stuffed with bread. “I win, of course, but this is my, uh, old man’s favorite place. If I get the Barbi name banned from here, not being called a Barbi would be the least of my worries. Anyway, I don’t want trouble, neither does Jeeves or his boss. So I recommend him my ‘vet’ and paid for it. No hard feelings!”

     Olivia must’ve not realized her expression, because, although Franco seemed proud of his tale, when he looked to her to see if it went over well, his smile dropped to the floor. 

     “Oh. Um, a bit too much, huh? Sorry about that, dollface.” He looked away with his teeth clenched. 

     The mobster’s story had thoroughly rattled the young girl. She knew what he was and the sort of life that his like lived. Even the movies, as romantic as they made gangsters at times, never shied away from the choices that they made. Hell, Olivia saw first hand when she met Franco at the diner for the first time. So why was she so unnerved now? Why did she even say yes to this date in the first place?

     Seeing her growing concern, Franco quickly changed the subject, “But enough about me and my borin’ adventures! What about you? Where ya from, sweetheart?”

     The fine sonata that the pianist played ended, rousing an applause from patrons. Olivia joined in, carefully considering her answer. Franco, however, gave a standing ovation, almost as if in a hyperbolic reflection to her. After whooping a few times, only to be shooshed by the audience, he returned to his seat. 

     Their waiter slinked to their tableside as the crowd began to settle for the next performance, “Is the young couple ready to order?”

     Franco replied, leaning back in his chair, “Sure am, but what about you?” He motioned to Olivia.

     She shook her head, “Sorry, I was too invested in everything, I guess I’ll just take the pork chops with artichoke.”

     “Artichoke? What’re you, a grandpa?” Franco sneered.

     Olivia stammered, shocked by the bold question, “I-it’s just my go to! I’ve never been to a place like this before, I don’t know what to get!”

     Options raced through Franco’s mind, “How crazy do you wanna get?”

     “Well, I wouldn’t mind a little crazy.” Olivia nervously shrugged. 

     He shifted his lips to the side, “What do you think about prawn?”

     “Shrimp? Oh, yeah, I love it!” 

     Franco tilted his head towards the waiter, “Get her the Shrimp Étouffée. And I’ll take my usual.” 

     The waiter nodded as he continued to scribble down notes on his pad, “Excellent choice, sir. Would you like some champagne to go with your meal?”

     An inquiring glance from Franco was shot to Olivia, and all she could muster was to meekly ask as she stroked her hair, “... Would it be the same kind as before?”

     Franco grinned slyly, “We’d love some. You know the kind I like.”

     As the waiter bowed out, Franco tossed an arm over the back of his chair and leaned back, “So, what’s the deal with the pork chops and artichokes? You don’t look like a truck driver or a retiree.”

     Blood crept into Olivia’s cheeks right on cue, “Thank goodness I don’t look like either to you. It was my dad’s favorite. Back at home, I would make that same dish at least three times a week. I guess it just stuck.”

     Bundles of flowing hair spiraled around her nervous fingers. Her stare trailed off to the other tables, but all she saw was a distant reminiscing. She didn’t even notice she was staring blankly at their neighbors until Franco squeaked in his chair.

     Clearing her throat, she continued, “Pork chops and artichoke got a little old anyway. I’m excited for what you got me! What is et-etou—”

     “Étouffée? Nothin’ too crazy, but I think it’s a good step into the hospi-tally-tea of New Orleans. After all, a girl with your shape don’t look like she’d run on salads.”

     ‘Is… is he calling me fat?’ Olivia asked herself. 

     Her date, on the other hand, made circular motions on his chest while flicking his eyebrows up and down, “Eh? Eh? You know what I’m sayin’?”

     Olivia instinctively covered her own breasts, feeling the redness seep down from her face to her neck and shoulders. Perhaps out of nervousness, or maybe his joke was a little funny, her lips curled into a smile and she coughed out a small chuckle.

     He joined in her laughter before throwing himself forward from his leaning position, “You know what? I like you, toots. You know how to actually take a joke. It feels like everyone is so far up their own ass, they can’t even relax anymore.”

     Thoughts ran through her mind about the poor host and what Franco thought of his humor, but then Olivia noticed his posture. His smile wasn’t snarled, his brows weren’t furrowed and even his carriage felt relaxed. There was a soft sincerity in the way he spoke, and for her, it was enough to put her at ease. 

     “Kansas.” She said softly.

     “Hm?”

     “You’ve been wondering where I’m from. I’m from Kansas.”

     The mobster straightened up, expressionless, yet conveying an air of surprise all the same. His eyes shifted from side to side in an attempt to find something witty.

     “Oh, you are far away from home, aren’tcha, Dorothy?”

     “Dorothy?!” Olivia gasped, “W-well, what would that make you? Toto?!”

     The face of the mobster curled in the same way that mischievous dogs do, “I could be if you rub my tummy and call me a good boy.”

     Without even thinking Olivia blurted out, “I’d spank you for being such a naughty dog!”

     While her finger wagging initially gave her a sense of bravado, once the moment passed, she felt her heart sink. Finding her wits about her, she saw the waiter standing beside them with the champagne, along with a few of their neighbors, all giving looks that Olivia dared not describe. 

     “Ooo, you’re brave. I would never say somethin’ like that in front of people so boldly.” Franco admitted in a lowered voice.

     The waiter, Olivia, and everyone around them sat in a noxious cloud of silence. Olivia hoped something, anything, would pull the attention away from her. That or she hoped to drop dead as a way to avoid the embarrassment. 

     It was the waiter who made the first move, drumming his fingers against the champagne bottle, “... I-I’ll leave this here for the young couple when they’re ready.”

     It seemed with his leave the surrounding tables also lost interest, the quiet clinking of cutlery and glass softly resuming. Although the attention had been pulled away from her, the ordeal had left Olivia exhausted. All she could do was cradle her face in her hands and feel the warmth dissipate from it.

     The ratty teeth that jutted from Franco’s mouth gripped tightly to his bottom lip, “You are not the quiet southern belle I mistook you for! You know, usually I don’t go on dates. Women around here are just in it for the money. But I must say, I am havin’ a lotta fun! Do you just go around jazzin’ every guy you meet, or are you tryin’ to make me feel special?”

     She refused to lift her head from her hands, replying muffly, “I’m glad you’re having fun, Mr. Barbi—”

     “Oh God,” Franco rolled his blue eyes, “Drop the manners, please. I get that a little town gal like you has to give honorifics and all that shit, but it fuckin’ bores me to tears. Relax for Christ’s sake!” 

     Through her slender fingers, Olivia caught a peak of the man picking his teeth with a fork, no doubt to entertain himself. She was stunned by how quickly his mood could turn on a dime. While Louie’s ghost barked at her to keep it up, the back of her mind wasn’t so sure.

     She escaped from her own palms and asked, “With all due respect, how can you ask that of me? I am very grateful for you taking me to dinner, but I hardly know you, and from what I do know, I wouldn’t have much of a choice, would I?” 

     He clicked his tongue as his brow drooped, “Aw come on! This isn’t a brunch to discuss business over, it’s to have a bit of fun, huh? Look, just pretend we’re good friends! Have a good laugh, a couple o’ drinks—Hey! Maybe we can go dancin’ later. Know how to rumba? I sure don’t!”

     A smile graced the young woman’s lips, “Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?”

     “Myself?” Franco repeated in shock, “Well, I don’t know. Everyone’s always in my fuckin’ business, I guess they never asked me before. What would you want to know?”

     She pursed her lips together, “Hmm, how about an easy one! I’ve heard about your father, but what about your mother?”

     Franco’s eyes remained fixed on his fork, but with a solemn expression. He hesitated for only a moment, but it was enough for Olivia to notice. 

     “I don’t know, I never knew her. She died when I was still a kid.”

     Olivia covered her mouth, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!”

     He shook his head dismissively, “Nah, it’s fine. I like to think she was the sweetest woman to ever live. Can’t even remember what her face looked like, only that she smelled like rose water and that I was her little Francino. The old man never told me what happened to her, guess it was too painful for him too.”

     She hadn’t intended for the gangster to spill such heartache onto their dinner table. Pain developed in her finger from how hard Olivia was biting into it. But Franco showed no sign of damming his stream of consciousness.

     He inhaled, “Pops married a few times after. Never stuck around long. The hussy type, ya know? He’s a bit older, but he likes ‘em young and with an attitude. Until he doesn’t. Then it’s off to the next one. I like to think sometimes they get away, but my pops isn’t a guy you can pull a fast one on.”

     “My dad was the same way.” Olivia whispered unknowingly, the eyes of Franco sharpened with suspicion, and she herself thought that she had already revealed too much. But, as his gaze continued to pry, she relented, “Uh, not that he killed anyone, he wasn’t a criminal. But he ran our farm like it was a speakeasy, or something like that. The Dust Bowl had really sunk my parents farm just before I was born, but even after the rains came, it seemed like they were always preparing for the next one. I’ve heard they weren’t always that way, but once the drought came they were never the same.”

     “What do ya mean by that?” Franco asked, leaning in closer.

     “It was like working in a factory, more than anything. Every day, I had to go out, count the chickens, their eggs, measure exactly how much feed they had, and serve it accordingly, their vitamins, supplements, all that. And I had to be exactly right. Every time. If I didn’t… they’d let me have it.”

     “But, how would he know?”

     “He would check before I woke up and then see if my numbers matched his. He wasn’t wrong often, but I swear it was more than once. But it didn’t matter to him, anyway.”

     Franco folded his arms across his chest, “He does sound like an asshole, but ain’t he just tryin’ to make sure you were a good little farmer?”

     Her eyes flicked to the side with a slow, hesitant nod, “Sure, I thought that too, once.”

     A knot formed at the base of her throat. Olivia hadn’t been able to open up about this to anyone. Even her cousins back in Kansas never quite knew how her situation at home was, despite them having an idea. The peculiar kinship she felt between herself and the odd criminal across from her brought about excitement in her, the excitement of someone who could understand. Air expanded her chest, ready to further spew out all the thoughts and memories she had held for so long. 

     Then the smell came. Butter, grilled shrimp, heavy spices, celery, and a spritz of citrus wafted into her nose. The waiter came bearing their food, two massive plates on a serving tray broader than his shoulders. One plate came down, steam billowing into Franco’s face like strips of silk.

     “Cajun Shrimp Carbonara for the gentleman. And for the young lady, Shrimp Étouffée.”

     What was presented to Olivia was a platter of rice smothered in a fragrant red sauce and fat pink shrimp sprinkled with parsley. Its blend of smokey spices, plus the zest of the lemon, made her salivate like a faucet. But more than that, it gave her a chance to collect her thoughts. She wasn’t trying to compare childhoods with Franco, nor was she trying to claim hers was worse.

     “I suppose what I’m trying to say is,” She explained, staring at her dense plate, “I understand, even if we aren’t one-to-one.”

     A soft smile pressed against Franco’s cheeks as he popped open the champagne. He poured each of them a glass and with somber content, he said, “I’ll cheers to that, dollface.”

     Feeling the atmosphere lighten up from the simple tapping of their glasses, they took a quick sip of the sweet champagne and dug into their meal. 

     Franco shoveled pasta into his mouth, blending the entire experience into one seamless loop of flavor, chewing and swallowing. His date looked upon him curiously as he continuously slurped down his meal. Only when he realized he was being watched did he stop and glance back, still with pasta hanging from his mouth. 

     “Is it good?” Olivia chuckled hesitantly. 

     The remaining noodles slithered into his mouth with a slow popping slurp. Wiping the sauce onto his sleeve, he straightened himself in his chair, “Delicious, the best! That’s why I like comin’ over here. You’ll be eatin’ like an animal too when you get a bit o’ that! Go on, tell me whatcha think.”

     He pointed to her plate with those cold blue eyes, as if he would taste it when Olivia took her first bite. She gathered a little bit of everything on her spoon, some rice, some vegetables, some sauce, and of course, a shrimp on top. It was a big bite, so the small woman opened her mouth wide, ignoring Franco who was shuffling in his chair ecstatically. The heat tickled the roof of her mouth as her lips encapsulated the spoon. She tasted the rice first while her teeth tore against the shrimp. But, the sauce poured over everything in a smokey, savory, spicy taste. It sure beats the hell out of spam and powdered eggs, that’s for sure! 

     Olivia let out a soft hum, feeling the heat distribute across her face and down her throat. 

     “What did I tell ya? Ya love it, right?” Franco asked, slapping the table. 

     “It is really good.” Olivia nodded hoarsely, her throat singed from the spice, “We didn’t have anything like this back home, if it isn’t pork, it’s chicken, or eggs.” 

     “Not used to the high life, huh? Well, let me tell you, Franco Barbi lives like this everyday. The food and drinks never stop comin’, until I pop!”

     Olivia sighed as she took another bite, “That sounds like such a dream. I just wish the costs weren’t so high.” 

     The tone in her voice made it clear to Franco she didn’t mean the money. He spun the carbonara in his fork and said quietly, “It ain’t that bad. You get used to it. You see how much of a monster everyone is, and you feel yourself a bit of a hero. Get to take cute girls on dates who may be a bit short on cash and might like a little savin’, right?”

     The spoon in Olivia’s hand pointed firmly across the table, “As I recall, you were the one needing to be saved.”

     Franco shrugged, “Who’s keepin’ track? All I’m sayin’ is, from where I’m standin’, it’s been well worth it. Havin’ dinner at a place like this, with someone like you is proof enough for me.”

     “But…” Olivia noted, shyly placing a hand on her cheek, feeling her heart through her fingers, “I’m flattered, but you hardly know me at all, Franco.” 

     She was a curious little bird, Franco thought. There was no sign of pushback from his appearance, no look of disgust from his mannerisms, if a bit shocked, but no real rejection from his advances either. The dame treated him like a real person. Hell, she treated him more than that! For once he really did feel like King Kong and the beating in his chest was not from his fists. Her lively responses to his every word made his bravado feel genuine and that maybe, just maybe, pursuing her would be worth it.

     He let out a short laugh, “Sorry, you’re right. I don’t usually get so sappy, I don’t know what happened. Just forget about all that, the food tastes better that way.”

     The notes of the piano were sweet and lithe. They danced in the back of the two’s ears as they talked about the mundane. She told him about her duties as a waitress, and he gave a highly polished description on how he collects security deposits, and his father’s business of shipping and transporting cargo. 

     Although she could infer that much of the business was covered for other less legal services, Olivia was fascinated by Franco’s thorough knowledge of its inner workings and mechanisms. If she hadn’t known, she would’ve taken the mobster for a businessman’s eccentric son from how mundane he made it out to be. 

     Though she wasn’t always able to follow along with his business vernacular, hearing him explain the necessity for cargo transportation and what international waters have to do with the price of produce from Mexico, was a nice cherry on top of the dinner experience. Before she knew it, she was scraping the bottom of her plate of the last spoonfuls of food as he finished a story about a mix up between orders of carps and carpets.

     “… Next thing I know, the smell comes through just as I open up the crate. Well Hell, I thought maybe one of these bozos left a stiff in there, when… Jeezus!” Franco barked suddenly.

     “W-what?! What happened?!” Olivia choked from a half drink of water.

     “Sheesh, you could really pack it down, huh?” he asked with a cheek full of noodles.

     She glanced down at her empty plate, “All I’ve eaten for the last couple days have been spam and powdered eggs! Can’t a girl enjoy her meal?!” She sputtered in embarrassment.

     “Sure,” Franco admitted, “But I thought that you would at least take some home from the size of that plate. Hell, I could fit you on it if I tried!”

     “Hey, first of all… I don’t have a fridge. Yet. So I can’t take it home. But even if I did, I was just a bit peckish, is all!” she harrumphed with crossed arms.

     “Do you always eat like a lumberjack?” He teased while swirling his champagne.

     “... When the food is good.” 

     The mobster lowered his head in an exaggerated bow, “Then it’s been a pleasure to bring you here.”

     Franco raised his hand and started snapping his fingers for the waiter as he asked, “Any dessert? They got a chocolate cake here with fudge as thick and sticky as peanut butter!”

     Olivia let out a heavy breath, rubbing her stomach, “No thank you. I don’t think I can handle anything else, I might end up a puddle on the floor.” 

     “Let’s blow this joint then! What do you want to do now?” He asked, passing the waiter a fistful of bills.

     “Well,” Olivia began, wiping her plush lip, “You mentioned the rumba earlier. Why don’t we go dance?”

     Franco’s smile dropped like a bag of bricks, “Oh. Well, I was just sayin’ things. When I cut the rug, it’s a bit crooked, if you catch my drift. So I don’t really dance.” 

     “No? It’s not too hard! I can show you, if you’d like?” Olivia clasped her hands together.

     His eyes closed tightly, nostrils widened, baring his teeth and gums as if in the presence of something rancid. He clicked his tongue and exhaled sharply several times, finally relenting, “Alright, fine. But if it blows, we’re outta there! Capiche?”

     Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, “What’re we waiting for, then? Let’s get going!”

     Before Franco knew it, Olivia had already rushed them out to the street. It seemed since they had first entered the restaurant, the streets had become heavy with foot traffic. The sidewalks couldn’t even be seen from the amount of people that cram themselves into them. All Franco could see in front of him was Olivia, weaving in and out of the woodlands that were made from the passersby. Even though he had no clue where they were going, it seemed like she did.

     Throughout the various sensations, from the talking, the honking of horns, and even the music, Olivia was looking for something good. A tune, a beat, something she could really cut loose and dance to. But then, she heard it. 

     A descending bouncing beat from a cello and piano seized her by the ears. A screaming trumpet and clarinet followed, enchanting Olivia’s feet to follow in the direction of the symphony. She weaved her way through the sea of people, almost taking on the formlessness of water, while Franco, having no such agility, barreled through anyone in his way. After a few spilled drinks and potentially trampling over a small woman, Franco could finally make out their destination. 

     It was a hole in the wall called ‘The Tall Glass.’ The orange-yellow neon sign boldly proclaimed its title, along with a picture of a fizzing pint. An enticing display, but Franco couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation in the air, like he wasn’t supposed to be there. 

     Feeling her hand squeeze his so tightly was enough to remove himself from his instincts, however, and she pulled him along until they were both showered in the warm hues of Edison bulbs. The walls were covered in splintered wood, but had license plates from several states nailed to them. The joint had a large dance floor with a small bar in the back. In the front, a sweaty band blew, banged, and plucked their instruments with wide ivory smiles, keeping the crowd lively. 

     Olivia dragged the two of them to the center of the dance floor. Feeling the wood panels under her feet rattle to the beat, she started dancing. Falling into a trance, she closed her eyes and swayed her hips. Her arms shifted in gentle circular motions, and her feet seemed to have a mind their own as they slid in delicate figure eights.

     It was like she was a belly dancer trained by snakes, Franco thought. Having no such rhythm in his pocket, he started shifting his shoulders in an uncertain sway. He hardly matched the energy of the eccentric dance floor and felt himself standing out more than he usually did. Prickles ran down his spine. It was just as he predicted, he felt like a jackass. He could match the beat just fine, but he felt so stiff, like his body was caught in awkward motions, as basic as they were. 

     As if sensing his floundering, Olivia popped open her eyes. Even in the saturated vermillion, she could clearly see his icy blue eyes, as he could, her vibrant green. She took Franco’s hand and began pushing and pulling him like the coupling rod on a locomotive. 

     Soon they returned to the rhythm of the music. The gangster didn’t know what it was, but something about the waitress really loosened him up. He felt the rust and cobwebs wash away from his joints, and with his newfound freedom, he flailed about in chaotic glee. His arms whipped about in all directions, his feet stopped and kicked with the force of a mule and his head thrashed in every direction without a care of ‘personal space.’ 

     Franco felt the glances from the other dancers, but then he looked over to his dance partner. Inspired by his energy, she threw out her limbs in deeper exaggeration, all the while maintaining her poise and gracefulness. Encouraged by her, he too leaned harder into his dance, causing the both of them to entirely overshadow their peers on the floor. 

     Their brows began to gather with sweat, their muscles burned from exertion, and their hearts pounded out of their chests. The band pushed their instruments to their limit in a grand shrieking finale. The cymbals crashed their last rimshot and both were left panting but exhilarated. 

     Applause roused for the band, and after a quick bow, the drummer picked up a beat once again. 

     “Wow!” Franco gasped, “You sure as hell got some moves there, don’t cha!”  

     “Oh, I just took a few dance classes, is all. But, look at you! I thought you said you didn’t know how to dance!” Olivia teased.

     “Getouttahere!” Franco snickered, turning away in boyish embarrassment, “It was fun. Would ya… wanna dance some more?”

     The rest of the band joined in with the drummer, starting slow then raising up in tempo, almost luring the dancers back to the floor. And Olivia was no different.

     “You know what?” Olivia thought aloud, her hips already bouncing to the beat, “I’d love to!”

     Engrossed in their own music, the band rounded back to another bumping performance. The earth rattled in tempo with stomping feet, the building was saturated with perspiration, and the light from the hot swinging bulbs casted curious shadows and forms across the dance floor. 

     As Franco pulled off the cabbage patch, he felt as though he was being watched. It was Olivia, though she did not seem like herself in that moment. Her eyes were locked on with his and they drew in close enough together to feel each other’s breathe. Although he wasn’t sure what to make of it, he wasn’t going to complain about her being next to him, even with his two left feet. She beckoned him closer and closer with the way she danced, somehow able to glide over him despite his untrained moves. She was simply enjoying herself, but he was enthralled, thankful that the orange light masked the blush that painted his face. By the song’s end, Olivia changed her pattern again, leaving Franco relieved from her tantalizing pressure.

     A song or two past, or maybe four, by the time the odd couple had grown slow with exhaustion. Their legs trudged out of the miry floor and towards the back where the bar was. The barkeep was a large fellow with squinted eyes, no doubt from the brightness of the setting. 

     “What could I get you two?” He grumbled, wiping off the counter for them. 

     “Do you have anything sweet?” Olivia asked, smacking her parched lips. 

     “How ‘bout some Rum Punch, little lady? I think that’ll wet your whistle.”

     Olivia nodded eagerly while Franco leaned onto the glistening counter, “I’ll take a Sidecar.”

     “Uh, I beg your pardon?”

     “Yeah, you know, cognac, orange liquor, a big ass block of ice?”

     The barkeep shook his head, “Sorry, Top Dollar. We don’t sell skunk water, but we don’t got crystal glass either.”

     “Well Hell, what can I get? How about an Old Fashion?” Franco’s lips tightened.

     “Reckon it’s not as bourgeois as you want it, but we got our version.”

     Franco rolled his eyes with a rough phlegmy sigh, “Fine. I guess I’ll try it.” 

     “Ya know, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want.” The barkeep suggested through a tight murmur.

     “Yeah! Don’t remind me!” Franco barked back, reaching into his pocket, “Here, take this if it keeps your trap shut and makes us our drinks!”

     His fist pulled out wrinkled bills and coins and he slapped them on the counter. A sum that the barkeep was above, were it not for the nagging of the bar’s owner in his subconscious. He scraped the money off begrudgingly and began his craft.

     “And you better not spit in it either! I can tell!” Franco demanded, thumbing at the barkeep to Olivia.

     “Maybe I’ll let you pick where to go next time.” Olivia suggested patting her date on the shoulder.

     “Eh? No! No. This is a pretty good place. A bit, eh…” Franco turned back to the dance floor, full of dock workers, fishermen, warehouse hands, their smell and uniforms gave it away; their dates and dance partners were factory girls, market clerks, and waitresses who just clocked off.

     “... A bit… humble?” Franco thought aloud as he scratched his scalp.

     Olivia took note of his attempt at good manners, seeing some teasing was in order, “Ah, this must not be what you’re into. Where might a prince of your stature go for a good time?”

     What he thought would be an easy question gave him an oppressive pause. Removing his late night rendezvous with sex workers and occasional drug and alcohol binges, he was still left with mortifying violence and masturbation as his favorite pastimes. Hardly anything to brag about to his innocent date. He gambled in a variety of ways, but was a horrible sore loser, as proof of his banning from the local casinos and race tracks. Gianni was paid to kiss Franco’s ass and really couldn’t give a shit about his boss. As far as Franco was concerned, the feeling was mutual. And Ozzy? Franco liked Ozzy, particularly because the man could always be counted on to clean up any mess Franco threw at him. But he was so wishy-washy, always had an excuse for not wanting to hang out.

     The more Franco thought about it, the more it occurred to him how shallow his life was. He carefully thought over the more “normal” activities he enjoyed, but nothing came to mind that wouldn’t be downright offensive. Driving? Sure, but he drove like a bat outta Hell. Pool? Maybe, but he usually played to pass the time, and while drunk. What about…

     “Bowling!” He blurted out.

     “B-bowling?” Olivia repeated, having almost forgotten her original question. 

     “Yeah… bowling. Ya know, greasy food, fun music, the-the… shoes! Great times, and I’m a real bad bowler with a capital B.” Franco bragged with snobbishly pursed lips.

     “You’re not very good?” She asked with confusion.

     “What? No! Bad as in good, yeah?” 

     The barkeep returned with their drinks, sliding Olivia a cup with a pinkish orange liquid, and Franco, a cup with cloudy ice chips and a murky, discolored consistency. Disgust washed over Franco’s face as he lifted the glass, noticing a fat piece of pulpy orange sitting in it like a soggy pickle in brine. 

     The eyes on the barkeeper almost rolled out of his head, trudging over to assist a, hopefully, less bothersome customer.

     The pair cheered their glasses and Olivia took, what she thought to be, a small drink. The sanitizing burn spiraled down her mouth and into her stomach, leaving a fruity taste behind. She coughed sharply, gripping the cup tight. 

     “Oh wow!” She squeaked between her coughs, “That’s a lot stronger than I thought.”

     “Is it good though?”

     “I think so. But if I were to make it, I would water it down a bit more, I’ll admit.” Olivia suggested, reaching her lips to the rim for an even smaller sip, “What about yours?”

     Franco licked his lips and took a mouthful of the muddy drink. His cheeks bloated with air, ready to heave out everything he consumed that night. But looking to Olivia and the concern she wore, forced Franco to suck everything back in and painfully swallow. 

     “Tastes like window cleaner, my favorite.” He rasped sarcastically. Despite his front, even he couldn’t be bought in from the sour contortions of his face and the constant sucking of air between his teeth. 

     Before he could take another reluctant drink, Olivia reached out and gently pulled the glass away from his lips, “You don’t have to prove anything, now! Here, why don’t you have a drink of mine? I think you’ll like it a lot better.”

     The gangster hesitated, glancing back and forth between Olivia and her drink. But the temptation was simply too much, sliding her cup over to his side of the bar. A quick sip returned Franco’s smile, but as he continued to indulge himself, the miscolored liquid called to Olivia.

     “… Mind if I try yours?” She asked, her wide eyes curiously and intensely focused on the unassuming cup.

     “... No.” 

     “Why not? Just a sip!” 

     “Trust me, dollface. That has to be the most disgustin’ thing I’ve had the displeasure of tastin’.”

     “Really?” 

     “Well… top fifteen.”

     Olivia had the eyes of an innocent, fresh born pup, unaware of where her curiosity would lead her. Who was he to deny her then?

     Franco shrugged with a coy smile, “If you insist.”

     The inquisitive girl brought it up to her nose, hoping for just a passing waft. However, it yanked at her like a bull’s nose ring, a combination of must, artificial sweet, and the alcoholic strength to burn her brows off. She recoiled like a vampire to garlic, horrified for what reason Franco felt the need to suffer through his gulp.

     “Go on, just a sip!” Franco teased, unaware he had already gone half way through Olivia’s drink.

     Her lips touched the cursed water and, as if it had a mind of its own, it slipped past and into her mouth against her will. The taste was burning with an insultingly sweet aftertaste that was bitter at the same time. She wretched with a cough, the singular drop crawling in her throat like a spider. An icy cold dripped on her fingertips, turning to find Franco returning her cup to her, mostly empty.

     She quickly downed the rest of her drink, noting how much more watery it had become. Regardless, it did the job of washing away the abominable taste that lacquered her tongue. The ice cubes fell between her teeth and she crushed them, further soothing herself from whatever that was.

     “I told ya.” Franco snickered.

     Olivia opened her mouth to let him know how she felt about the remainder of her drink, but before she could, she felt the sudden impact of someone sitting on the other side of her. 

     “Evenin’, cher.” A smokey voice whispered from behind.

     The young woman twisted her neck around, with Franco peeking over her shoulder.

     He was a man of slim frame, but his musculature was clearly defined, with a thin, tight jawline. His light brown hair and eyes stood out greatly against his deep swarthy complexion. 

     “Um, hello. Can I help you?” Olivia inquired, a small pit already fizzling in her stomach.

     “No need to be shy, love.” The stranger purred, “I was just jonesin’ with my boys over yonder when I laid my eyes on a most beautiful magnolia.”

     “Oh. Well, thank you, but as you can see…” 

     Olivia continued to prattle on about something or other, but Franco was not paying attention. Instead, he was sharply honed in on the man’s possé. Much to his disgust, it suddenly occurred to him why he always avoided this bar in particular, and it wasn’t for the shitty alcohol. 

     Sitting on the other side of the bar, much to their surprise as much as Franco’s, were a troop of off-duty policemen, all of which the gangster recognized. When they saw that he was aware of them, they turned away in a feigned conversation.

     Cazzo.

     The sweet girl was still attempting to let the fool down politely, when Franco slammed his hands onto the counter, much to the surprise of them and a few other bar goers around them. 

     “Hey, flatfoot,” Franco barked in a poor attempt at controlling himself, “seems to me that your buddies haven’t told ya who the sheriff is around here.”

     “You?” The new officer sneered.

     “Does a gator shit in the pool?” Franco asked smugly.

     “Erm…” 

     “So I’m just gonna give you one more chance to head back to your sausage party and fuck off.”

     As Franco said this, he rose from his seat and stabbed into the officer’s chest with his finger. The officer looked down at Franco’s finger then back up to him. With a cruel smile, he said, “Ain’t it natural for a good man to save a helpless woman? After all, just cause you wear a zoot suit, goomba, it don’t make you a real man.”

     “S’that so, porco?” Barbi hissed through his clenched teeth.

     Seeing the rising tension between the two, Olivia reached for Franco’s shoulder, while the remaining officers came to the rookie’s side. 

     “Evenin’ Mr. Barbi.” One of the other three nervously interjected, “Pardon our newest officer, he’s a bit drunk and wasn’t aware of your, uh, prestige.” 

     “So you just let him go without tellin’ him who the fuck I am? Who my dad is? Were you tryin’ to make an asshole outta him and me?” 

     A tug on Franco’s coat cut his focus as he faced Olivia’s endearing gaze.

     “Let’s get out of here. Please?” She asked with a gentle smile.

     What a pain, Franco thought to himself. He had every right to turn around and force the fucker’s face right into the edge of the counter. But something about that damn girl made the mobster soft. Something about her small hands pulling him away from trouble, the way she so sweetly asked, those stupid green puppy dog eyes.

     He sighed, “Alright. Let’s go.”

     Franco wrapped his arm around her shoulder, turning his back on the officers. And above all, he felt pretty good about it.

     “Au revoir, cher!” The rookie called to them, “When you’re ready for me, I’ll be there to steal you away in the night!” 

     It was as if Franco vanished from Olivia’s side. All she heard before she could even turn around, was the scream Franco let out as he leaped onto the rookie.

     “Fuckin’ slug suckin’, crapaud!” He roared as his fingers twisted around his rival’s thin neck. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

     The other officers leaped into action, each grabbing a part of Franco in hopes of subduing him. Although the group pleaded Franco to cease, he refused until fully held back with an officer on each arm and one holding his head in a lock, but not choking him. 

     Wiping away the red that collected from his lip, the rookie chuckled, “No surprise that you’d go and bum rush a man with his guard down.”

     A fist flew right into Franco’s face with an audible smack.

     “I can play that too, beau.” The rookie shrugged, taking another cheap shot to his defenseless enemy. 

     “Montagne! What the hell are you doing?!” Asked the officer holding Franco’s head.

     Through clenched teeth and a garbled voice, Franco sputtered, “Let go of me, asshole!”

     “Don’t tell me y’all just let someone like him walk around and do what he wants!” The rookie, Montagne, leered with confusion, “This what y’all passin’ for law ‘round here? Letting some Yankee peacock strut around like he ain’t filth?”

     “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I’ll get real filthy with you in a second.” Franco choked out from between the officer’s arms.

     “Dammit, Montagne! That’s for the chief to figure out! But do you even know who this guy is?! He ain’t no two-bit chump, you damn fool! He’s the Don’s son!” The officer explained, struggling to hold Franco in his grasp. 

     While the men were bickering about their unfortunate position, the only thing Olivia cared about was Franco’s safety. As the drunken rookie wound up for another punch, her instincts took over completely. She grabbed the nearest bottle and heaved it over her head.

     An ear splitting shatter silenced the entire bar, from the band, the rowdy crowd, to even the squabbling officers as Montagne now laid face down on the floor, in a bed of broken glass and alcohol. The policemen stood in shock, allowing Franco his chance to wriggle out from their grasp.

     The gangster held up his fists, though still dazed, ready for another scuffle. But Olivia grabbed him by the cuff and led him out of the bar in a clumsy sprint. Outside, the colors were flushed with blue and violet from staring in the bar’s Edison bulbs for so long. It was hard to see, with all the nighttime shades blending together, but through the shifting shapes of the crowd, Olivia began to make out the silhouette of Franco’s car. 

     She rushed the both of them into the back seats before blurting out to the driver, “Get us out of here!”

     Squealing tires rushed them out of the scene. The neon signs and street lamps blended their hues together into a kaleidoscopic stream that painted the odd couple’s faces as well as the interior of the car. Despite this sea of colors, however, it could not wash away the bruises and blood present on Franco’s face. Vivid reds and deep purples remained on his bleeding nose and bruised cheek, regardless of the spectrum brushed upon it. 

     “Oh man, they really banged you up.” Olivia gasped. “Here let me take a look at you.”

     Suddenly Olivia remembered Franco’s hidden ice box. Flipping the seat up, she reached in, grabbed a few cubes, wrapped them in a cloth napkin, and pressed them gently on his face.

     He hissed in pain before settling down, “If you think I look bad now, wait ‘til you see that frog sonovabitch when I have him boiled alive. Hey! Driver! Take me to a phone booth! I’m gonna see what the chief is gonna do when I tell him what happened.”

     The waitress’s lip tightened as she dabbed up the blood dripping from his nose. Was the rookie acting like a fool? Certainly. Were his friends in the wrong for not informing him on what he was getting into? Definitely. But did that really constitute the death penalty when the worst injuries that occurred were morning headaches and bruised egos? 

     She shook her head at the thought. She didn’t want to know blood was spilt on her account, or anyone else’s for that matter. But what could she do when Franco’s fists shook with determination and had a point to prove?

     Suddenly she thought back to the bar, when Franco stood up to confront the rookie and his crew, and then, she knew what she had to do.

     “You know,” She said softly, “I think you shook up those officers well enough, don’t you think?” 

     “Ohhh, no.” Franco laughed without a smile, “They don’t even know what’s comin’.”

     He leaned into her hand’s caress despite his brooding air. As she continued to rub the ice gently into his face, he unknowingly matched it, flowing with the motion in the way a dog reacts to the loving pet of his master.

     “You don’t really have to kill them, do you?” She continued pleasantly with her heart pounding in her throat. 

     “You give these fuckers an inch and they’ll always take a mile. Unless, of course, you set an example. Then, they’ll never step on your generosity again.” Franco remarked, pressing against the pleasant feeling pain.

     “Let’s just forget about them, huh? They’ll know better next time!” Olivia nodded, attempting to be more direct.

     Franco pulled away suddenly with a look of shock, “What’re ya sayin’? What, you want me to just take that like a fuckin’ chump, or somethin’? Want me to just let all that shit go? Well, I ain’t! I ain’t no one’s bitch! And they’re gonna fuckin’ know that!”

     A small hand reached out and clasped his, surprising him. He turned to Olivia who was staring at him with those damn eyes again.

     “I… I just don’t want anyone to get hurt anymore.” She said softly and shakily. 

     How did she do it? The watery eyes, the pouting lip, it was like she was grabbing Franco by the manhood and cranking it like a slot machine. She had him yelling uncle just beneath the surface. All it took for her to be happy was a simple yes, and that smile he had enjoyed all night would return. 

     Slowly they felt the car come to a stop with an audible squeal from the breaks. The outside was quiet, lit only by streetlamps, and the sounds of crickets filled the air.

     “Here you are, Mr. Barbi. The payphone’s right outside.” The chauffeur announced from the front seat. 

     The booth sat under a lonely spotlight, moths dancing around it in an awkward ballet. When Franco pried his eyes back to Olivia, and she still held onto his hand, he relented. 

     “Fiiiiiiiine. I still gotta call the chief, but I suppose tellin’ him to go easy on the rookie this time wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He rolled his eyes, and yet when he turned away the edges of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly.

     Stumbling out of the car, Franco told his plus one to wait inside before shutting the door. Olivia slid to his side of the car, winding his window down and peered out to listen in, not so subtly. Meanwhile, Franco shuffled into the doorless booth.

     It stank of urine, and the inside was covered in scratched graffiti. Slipping a coin in, the mobster quickly dialed in and waited. Distant cop sirens broke the silence, but were too far to give Franco pause. 

     Soon the other side answered, and without waiting for a reply, Franco said, “Get the Chief on the horn. You know who it is.”

     As he waited he looked back to the car and saw Olivia nervously poking her head out to watch him. He winked and pointed a finger gun at her, and she shyly slid back into the dark. 

     “Chief Chantage. What is it, Franco?”

     “Ay Chanty! How’s it goin’ tonight?” Franco began, rubbing the back of his head, “So listen, you know I’d hate to call you on a night like this, but it has come to my attention that you got a new rookie in the force, yeah? Goes by Montaint, I think?” Franco recalled twisting the phone wire around his finger.

     “Oh God. What did he do?” The chief sighed breathily. 

     “Well, unfortunately, it seems that he was uninformed, uneducated, unaware of our mutual understandin’. Thinks he’s a bigshot and wanted trouble when I’m tryin’ to entertain a new lady friend of mine. How’d you feel if some asshole came and started flirtin’ with your ol’ lady? In front of you, at that!”

     A deathly silence hissed over the phone and Franco knew he had the chief where he wanted him.

“... I understand, but Montagne… he’s just a youngin’. I’ll take care of him, Mr. Barbi, just so we don’t have to go to, uh, unnecessary measures?”

     Franco licked his lips devilishly, seeing an opportunity to have a bit of fun. He looked to Olivia again and gave her a finger wave, sighing loudly, “I don’t know! That little asshole really put a dent in my evenin’ when he punched me in the fuckin’ face. Even had his friends hold me down as he did it!”

     The chief stammered, “My boys?! I don’t believe this! They should’ve known better! Where are they, Mr. Barbi? I’ll drive over there and take care of it personally!”

     “No,” Franco shook his head while holding a thumbs up to a sweating Olivia, “no, I don’t think that’ll do. My ol’ man pays you well to look the other way so long as we ain’t too obvious, right? Was able to pay off that new pool you got installed, yeah? Now your boys go and beat on an innocent man who helps fund your little projects, and you expect me to go easy on ‘em?”

     “... I’ll do anything for ‘em.” The chief relented.

     “Anythin’, you say?” Franco rubbed his chin with delight.

     “Just say the word.” 

     Olivia mouthed ‘please’ with her hands clasped together. Franco merely waved her away.

     “Well, today’s your lucky day. You see, the little peach I picked up is a bit of a pacifist. She’s been gnawin’ my ear off about keepin’ your boys from sleepin’ with the fishes. And, well, she’s got me feelin’ a little soft.” Franco explained, speaking loud enough for Olivia to hear, “So here’s what we’ll do; you know that waterin’ hole, The Tall Glass? That’s where we had our little incident. Could you be a pal, and head over to straighten things out for me? Apologies, my tab, all that. ‘Suppose we could call it square after that, yeah?”

     Hearing the relief escape both the chief and Olivia, brought about almost as much joy as a three day drug binge. 

     Almost.

     “Of course! I’ll send somebody over to clean up the mess, right now.”

     “Wonderful! I’m glad we could come to an understandin’!” Franco chuckled heartedly before lowering his voice to a whisper, “But if you wanna do me an extra favor, give each of ‘em a kick in the balls for me. OKAY, BYE!~”

     He hung up the phone and marched back to the car with all the exaggeration of a drum major. As Olivia slid back to her side, Franco threw the door open and jumped in, causing the whole car to shake.

     “There! That takes care of that! What’cha wanna do now?” He said excitedly, despite the bloody booger coagulating on his nose. 

     Olivia simply smiled and closed her eyes, “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

     “Oh.” Franco uttered, “Yeah, sure. I guess those chumps really did throw a wrench in everythin’, huh?”

     Olivia’s courteous expression did not hide her exhaustion. Franco, on the other hand, didn’t want the night to end. The curious little waitress played along well with him, even when the going got tough, and now she would be gone like a sweet dream. How cruel could it get, he thought to himself.

     With a disappointed sigh, Franco waved her into the direction of the driver. Olivia leaned over to the driver’s side and cleared her throat, “Excuse me, do you mind taking me home?”

     “Sure, where’s it at?”

------------------------

     The familiar brick and mortar building, with its rusty red exterior sat in contrast to its duller cream and grey neighbors. As the car came to a stop, Franco squinted his eyes and scrunched his nose to get a better view of the whole structure. A few of the windows were broken out and a couple others had drying laundry hanging from them. One neighbor was shouting gossip to another neighbor three stories below, with a third butting in and telling them both to shut up.

     “You live here?” He asked with astonishment.

     “On the fifth floor.” Olivia chuckled, unbuckling her seat belt. 

     Scrambling out of the car, Franco held the door open for the young lady and helped her out.

     “You mind if I walk you up to your apartment?” He asked, if a bit meekly. 

     “How could I say no to a gentleman?” Olivia asked with her eyes creased gently. She offered her arm to him and he hooked his with hers, steadily taking the steps up to the rough double doors.

     The main hall was bathed in a sanitized white light. Everything, from the swelling, to the blotchy purple, to all the red cuts were laid bare on Franco’s face. Olivia’s mouth twisted with guilt, and yet Franco maintained a look of boyish innocence. The happiness that radiated from his eyes made it seem like he was completely unaware of his wounds. And in reality, he was. 

     Yet despite his tail wagging, the gangster found this feeling at odds with Olivia’s home. Wall paper peeled from their mounts, carpet was stained or even cut from the floor in garish chunks. Even as they made it to the elevator, the ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign plastered on the front of it garnered a side eye from Franco and an embarrassed flush out of Olivia.

     “S-sorry. It’s been out since I got here.” Olivia cleared her throat while hiding her face, “My neighbor says the owner is a bit of a cheapskate and absolutely refuses to fix it. I guess we’ll be taking the stairs then, heh.” 

     While it wasn’t the shittiest apartment he had ever seen, Franco was perplexed that such a cute girl could find herself in such an abode. Sure, she played the innocent part well enough, and maybe she really was, but could she not find some kind of sugar daddy to pull her outta this dump? Some sucker who could take pity on her? 

     “You ever been a sugar baby before?” Franco abruptly asked.

     “Hm. I don’t think so. I’ve raised a couple of babies, and they were pretty sweet, though! Why do you ask?” She answered with fluttering lashes.

     “O-oh. Never mind.” Franco muttered out the side of himself as they began their trek up the spiraling staircase. 

     The journey was short and quiet. More of the same dilapidry that covered the lobby was present here. What may have once been a proud establishment had been slowly chipped away, by Franco’s estimate, and this was what remained. As they finished each floor, he peeked down the adjacent hallway, ever curious to what the owner allowed to occur within the property.

     By the time they reached the fifth floor, however, Franco felt his legs shake from the effort. He snarled, “I swear to God, I’ll pay for the fuckin’ elevator myself if it means I don’t have to take the stairs anymore.”

     “Oh, you get used to it.” Olivia nudged him, “It’s good exercise!”

     “Look, all I’m sayin’ is, if I wanted some fuckin’ exercise, I’d be gettin’ it from stompin’ a mud hole into the ass of the landlord here and not walkin’ the distance of a mountain just to get to my front door.” Franco complained, stopping short of Olivia’s apartment.

     “Well, thank you for climbing the mountain with me, then.” Olivia said softly, grabbing her keys from her purse. The door opened to her quiet apartment, and as she turned to wish Franco a good night, she paused. 

     His bruises still pulsed angrily, the cuts were oozing an amber-like liquid around their barking scabs, but most of all, his eyes pleaded to her for just a bit more time. All the trouble he caused, and yet, how charming he could be through it all.

     The woman tilted her head with sympathy and shrugged, “Why don’t you come inside so I can patch you up?” 

     A glaze of sugar warmed Franco’s spirit and he hopped inside enthusiastically without another word. With the flip of a switch, warmth lit up the humble home. But just like the lobby, he couldn’t help but twist his expression into one of perturbedness.

     “O-ooh, it’s so… uh,” Franco contemplated as he panned across the barren apartment. 

     “Don’t. Please.” Olivia puffed in a rush to the bathroom, “You’ve already said quite enough.”

     The gangster stepped into the hollow space where a fridge used to be, “No where to put your milk, huh?”

     “I’m working on it!” Olivia loudly echoed from her bathroom.

     She banged against the door on the way out, her arms full of ointments, a bottle of alcohol, and bandages. The young woman shuffled into the kitchen, laying her supplies onto the counter next to her guest. Taking a few of the cotton swabs, she dipped them in the alcohol and motioned for Franco to come closer.

     “Ya know, you don’t have to stay in this dump.” Franco remarked leaning onto the counter, “I got a real nice mansion on the other side of town with my dad, and I promise I’ll have the place cleaned up by the time you—” 

     His skin seared from the burning alcohol, cutting him off with a yelp of pain.

     “I appreciate the offer, Franco. But no thank you.” Olivia answered, switching to an oily salve to cover the cleaned wounds, “I know it’s easy to judge my home. I know I would be a bit shocked, myself. But, I just got here, and I intend to liven up the place as quickly as I can.”

     Franco turned away from her to peer back into her living room. The kitchen light was not bright enough to illuminate the entire apartment, leaving the living room in a dim, lukewarm glow. Things that ought to fill such a space, furniture, a radio, a television, hell, some moving boxes even, were all absent from it entirely. It was like looking off into an empty desert at night from a campfire. 

     “Where are all your movin’ boxes, then? Storage?” he asked, “I’d have expected at least an old sofa, or somethin’.” 

     Placing a bandage over the gash on the bridge of Franco’s nose, she grinned, but her heart twisted, “Nope. After I left the farm, I moved in with just a backpack and a dream. But that’s okay, that just means I can get all the nice stuff without feeling guilty about throwing away someone’s old junk.”

     As if sensing her pain, Franco suddenly blurted out, “Yeah, what’s up with that shit anyway? It’s like, ‘Oh thanks, Uncle Ron! I really needed that stitched up fuckin’ sofa with the spring stabbin’ my ass every time I sit down. What’s that? You’re just lettin’ me borrow it cause you feel some type of way about it? It reminds you of your ex? Oh boy! I can't wait to sit down and smell all the memories!’”

     Franco shoved a finger down his throat and made childish gagging noises. It was so out of left field, the thought from Olivia’s mind vanished and she burst into laughter. It was the hardest she had laughed in a minute and the widest she’d smiled that night. To the gangster, it seemed like viewing a beautiful painting for the first time. He couldn’t even remember the last time he made a girl laugh to tears, or even enjoy his jokes.

     She continued to clean him of his wounds as he tried to keep up her good spirits. It burned every time she wiped a swab over his scab, and ached after a slab of ointment was placed. But Franco could see her up close when she took care of him. Every detail in her face, from her beauty marks, to those lips that Franco wanted to bite down on, were all close enough to smell and he loved it. 

     “Hey, are you doing okay?” Olivia asked quietly, “You’re not hurting too much?”

     “I’m alright, sweetheart. Now that you’re takin’ care of me.” Franco answered half flirtatiously, while resisting the urge to kick his feet.

     She paused to hold in a laugh, then continued on her work with a smile. 

     Oh yeah, that’s the stuff. If only Franco had his pacifier and a bottle of Wolf’s Milk. That would be paradise. Aw well, wouldn’t want to scare her off too soon. 

     “I must say, I wasn’t expecting a first date to be so… hectic.” Olivia admitted. 

     Franco drooped into the counter, “Oh… is that right.”

     There it was. He knew it was too good to be true, but that’s all he needed to hear. He already lost her at some point, and like the wicked creature she is, patiently waited for the day to end before letting him down. Typical woman. Even their barest bone attempt at civility was marred in vicious cruelty. And like an innocent child tearing the wings from a bug, she was unaware of the suffering she caused.

     “So what you’re sayin’ is…” Franco inhaled, expecting the worst.

     “I think another date is in order, if you don’t mind, that is.” She smiled sweetly.

     “Are you fuckin’ serious?!” Franco gasped.

     Olivia jumped from his excitement, nearly dropping her swabs in the process, “O-oh. I’m sorry, was I asking too much of you? I just thought—”

     “What’re ya kiddin’ me? I’d fuckin’ love to!” He exclaimed, hopping off of the counter, “You’re for reals, right? You ain’t tryin’a pull a fast one, are ya?”

     “No! Why would I joke about something like that?!” Olivia asked in confusion. 

     “Uuuh, have ya met the people in this city?” Franco answered rhetorically. Feeling himself lose track of the point he shook his head, “Look, I’m sorry for what happened tonight. But next time’ll be somethin’ less, uh, messy.”

     Olivia gathered her supplies, seeing as Franco didn’t need anymore aid. Returning to the restroom she answered back, “I’m not saying I didn’t have fun! But I’m sure a gentleman, like yourself, can stay out of trouble for at least one night.”

     The gangster clicked his heels by himself and pumped his fists quietly. Returning back to a more casual stance, he purred, “Me? Sure. No problem, easy peasy! Do you got any place you’d like to go?”

     “Hmm…” She pondered, slipping the supplies back into the medicine cabinet, “Why don’t you choose? You know all the spots to be, where’s a nice place to stay out of trouble?”

     “Oh, yeah! I got a couple of places in mind.” He lied.

     “Great! Where’s it gonna be?”

     “Uhh, that’s the surprise! You’ll see when we get there.” He further lied, maintaining an innocent look as Olivia returned.

     “Alright! When would you like to go?” She asked rejoining Franco next to the kitchen counter.

     “Ooo, my schedule’s a little hectic.” Franco admitted. He rubbed his face, careful not to touch the bandages. “Mind if I call you to see?”

     “That’s fair, mine is too. Here, I’ll write it down for you.” 

     As the young waitress wrote her number down, Franco thought about all the disgusting, putrid things he wanted to whisper to her over the phone. He imagined ringing her up in the middle of the night and when she answered he would breathe heavily and sloppily into the receiver, all the while peering into her window from the building next door. 

     Then she handed the note, “I’m usually busy at work, if I’m not here. So, don’t think I’m trying to avoid you, okay? Just keep trying.”

     Suddenly, all his dark fantasies evaporated away and like a single ray of sunshine, her gentle smile shined through. Franco felt his ears turn hot as he placed her number into his breast pocket. The things he wished he could do to that girl and her succulent body were egregious. Yet, despite this very obvious fact, the radiating warmth from her spirit made her glow gently, and perhaps a hug would be the most satisfying action he could take, even more than violent sex. 

     However,

     An attempt never hurt anyone right?

     “Before I go,” the gangster cooed, sliding his fingers around Olivia’s waist, “mind if I get a little…”

     He closed his eyes and puckered his lips, sucking air though in squeaky smacks. He drew closer expecting Olivia’s soft mouth to touch his. Yet a palm pushed against his face, stretching it awkwardly. Saliva collecting in his cheek squelched out from the pressure, forcing Franco’s eyes open.

     “Whu?” He muttered, reforming his face to its natural shape. He looked to the waitress who was burning a bright red and her eyes a blinding emerald green.

     “W-what are you doing?” She stammered, slipping through his fingers.

     “Oh, well I thought that, maybe…” He trailed off, straightening his posture.

     “You would really do that with someone you just met?” She whispered with a nervous smile.

     “Oooh, I was just… tryin’ my luck, I guess?” Franco turned away shamefully.

     The front door beckoned him to run away from his choices and without a second thought he heeded its call.

     “Well, anyway! I don’t wanna make myself into a bigger jackass, here,” Franco scrambled out the door, “So I’ll still call you, okay?!”

     “Y-yup!” She chirped, crossing her hands over her chest.

     “Great! Smell ya later, then!” He yelped before finally slamming the door behind him.

     The mobster rushed down the hallway, his shoes clomping the floor with every step. As he reached the beginning of the stairwell, he paused. Blood still pumped rhythmically against his eardrum as his brain cells sparked together for a brief moment of clarity. 

     “Smell ya later?” He hissed to himself out loud, “Fuuuuuck.”

     Alone on that stairway, he banged his head on the rails.

     Back in the kitchen, Olivia fanned herself from the ordeal. Upon catching her breath, she tiptoed over to her front door and locked it carefully. The cold wood sent a chill up her back as she leaned against it. The light, despite its comforting glow, did nothing to temper the lukewarm air that permeated around her. It seemed that she never noticed just how empty and quiet her home was until then. 

     Franco was just as strange as they came, she thought to herself as she slid back down to her heels. Yet Olivia could not deny the fun she had that night, even after things got a little hairy near the end. His quick temper and jump towards violence confirmed the rumors Louie had told her. However, what was strangest of all was, despite his macho exterior, how quick he was to let his guard down. And perhaps, Oliva pondered, that was the face he wanted someone to see. 

     She reached up to her counter to help herself stand, her fingers bumping against the phone. Ah, that’s right. She still needed to call Louie.

     Placing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she began dialing his number.

     Well, there's that! I hope you guys enjoyed this longer chapter. Just so you know, the next one will be a mini-chapter, so stay tuned! ^^

[silver-wolf-scribbles]

♦ Ko-Fi ♦ ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ WARNING: This series will include sexual content, violence, occasional blood and gore, time period language as the story takes place in 1951, Franco Barbi is his own warning. ✧✦_________________________________✦✧ 𓆩❤︎𓆪 Next >

     A lone cardinal perched upon a bricked windowsill, pumping its dollop shaped body for a morning song. It sang in short pulses, chirping in a steady rhythm.

     A lovely song, Olivia admitted, but perhaps not one she wanted to hear five minutes before her own alarm rang off. The young woman stretched out her arms, accidentally banging them on both sides of her apartment room. The shock of it jolted her awake and she remembered that she finally was able to afford a space of her own, even if a bit cramped. 

     She crawled out of bed, or at least, what a few blankets on the floor could be considered one, and rolled out her neck. Her heart-shaped throw pillow hardly did any favors for her posture during the night before. Still, it beat sleeping on a bench at the park, or in the back of someone’s pickup. 

     The wallpaper curled at its edges like a dead insect in all corners of her apartment, and she desperately ignored it as she shimmied from her bedroom into her bathroom. The door would bang against the bathroom sink so she would step into the shower first, close the door behind her, then use the amenities from there.

     “Lord, thank you for this place to call my own.” Olivia quietly prayed to herself while washing her face, “Thank you for a place to sleep, the hot water, the—”

     Klunk.

     “—the sink and toilet that are too close together.” She hissed, rubbing the Charlie horse out of her elbow, “But most importantly, thank you for allowing me to be free.”

     It had been two days since she had moved into her first apartment, about three weeks since she got her first job, and about a month since she ran… moved away from home. While she wasn’t living in the Ritz, she finally had something to call her own, a canvas that she could paint whatever she wanted. 

     Freshened from the restroom, the young woman brushed her long, mahogany brown hair, dressed in her waitress uniform, just to be ready, and headed for her kitchen. It resembled the ribcage of a great beast, picked apart with only an odd organ amongst the bones and sinews. In this case, only an oven, some cabinets, and a sink made the entirety of the room. She hurried past the cavernous hole where a fridge ought to be, and pulled her trusty frying pan from the sink. Lighting the only working burner on the oven, she greased her pan and checked her cabinets for any food. 

     Olivia’s face twisted into disappointment, “Toast, powdered eggs, and spam it is, then.” 

     The apartment became hot with the smell of preservatives and grease. She wiped the sweat from her brow as the egg slurry coagulated into something edible and the mystery meat grew brown at the edges. With no plate to call her own, Olivia pulled out a fork and just dug in straight from the pan. 

     Heavy savory smells radiated from the food and the dense flavor matched it. Certainly not the worst thing Olivia ever ate, but she found herself sipping water from her sink to offset the generous amounts of salt within her meal. As she scraped off the last morsels from her pan, she skimmed over the bare apartment while wondering what she could do next for it.

     An actual bed would be nice, she thought with a nod, then again, having fresh food in a fridge would be nice too. Though she wondered how she’ll get any of those things up to her fifth story room. Or would the delivery men take care of it? How much extra would they charge if that were the case? She had some spare change to play with after rent was due, but was it really worth…

     Olivia shook her head, tossing her pan into the sink. 

     “There’ll always be another paycheck.” She whispered with a sigh.

     By the time she finished her chores and got ready, it was already time to leave for work. Just before she headed out, she stopped. Her green eyes travelled up to the picture frame hung on the wall beside the door. The glass surface felt cold to her touch, but she could still feel the warm faces of everyone in the picture.

     She could still smell the crisp autumn air. The hay bales they sat on were there purely for decoration and not for comfort. The sweet sticky taste of late season watermelon clung to everyone’s lips as they grinned widely for the camera. Mom and Dad sat on top of the bale stack, still as proud as always. Yet they never could smile as if they were truly happy. Her siblings on the other hand, didn’t have a care in the world, and their toothy grins made no mistake of it. Then there was Olivia, who sat in the center of the family, and though she also smiled brightly, perhaps her parents were more honest with themselves than she was in that moment. 

     She kissed her fingertips and then touched the frame, “I’ll write you guys again soon, I promise.”

     With that, she hurried out the door, her picture eagerly awaiting for her return. 

     Her one inch heels clacked against the many stairs down to the lobby. The skirt of her baby blue and white uniform bounced at her mid-thigh as she tied her hair into a messy bun. It was always easier coming down than it was going back up at the end of the day. Especially since the elevator was out. 

     One of Olivia’s neighbors, an old woman, had ranted to her that it had been out of order for what felt like a couple years now. So Olivia didn’t hold out hope for its repair anytime soon. But, at least her legs were starting to adjust to all the exercise. 

     Perhaps the best part of her living situation was that her apartment wasn’t far from work. Olivia could enjoy the sun’s gentle caress on her neck, the birds’ playful harmony, and even stop to say hello to friend and stranger, and still arrive on time to work. And just like everyday since she started, the crimson letters sitting above the place passionately guided her to the entrance.

     Break ‘n Steak Diner

     The chrome covered interior shimmered from both the sun and the blazing red that covered the seats and counter tables. Crispy hashbrowns filled the air and casual conversation intermixed with easy listening. 

     “Yeah, there’s a dish of mac and cheese in the oven on low.” Said the burly chef behind the counter. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he flipped a massive blackened pan full of eggs and vegetables. “Just pick up the rest of the girls and enjoy dinner, I’ll be working late again.”

     Olivia waved to the cook and he wiggled his thick fingers back at her with an apish grin. 

     “I know, I’m sorry. But you’re the big girl of the house and I need you to watch over them… We’ll talk about it next time I see you. Remember, no boys over!... Hello?” He scrunched his nose at the deadline, maybe she hung up on accident.

     “Who was that, Louie?” Olivia asked, gathering her notepad and pens from her apron. 

     “My oldest.” The lumbering man smiled slyly, “Wanted to go to the movies with her friends, but I got no one to take care of the rest of ‘em rugrats. I just don’t get it, kid. I would kill to spend more time with ‘em all!”

     Olivia leaned against the counter shaking her head, “Come on, Lou. Your sister’s only fourteen, right? Hey, maybe I could watch them sometime!” 

     Louie scratched the back of his scalp, pouring the food onto several plates, “I don’t know, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take your time like that, especially if you’re still lookin’ for a place.”

     Plates clinked together from Olivia stacking them on a massive serving tray, a wide smile perked her lips, "Actually, I got the spot!”

     “Oh, thank God.” 

     “So, don’t worry! Besides, it’s the least I can do since you got me this job.”

     Louie sighed deeply, “You’re something else, kid. Let me know when you’re free this week, and we’ll figure it out.” He placed a slab of rare steak on her tray and gingerly patted her shoulder. “But for now, can ya take these to table five?”

     Olivia scrunched her face into a wink, “No problem, boss!”

     Balancing the load on the palm of her hand, Olivia made her way over to the small table with a bright friendly smile. The two older couples smiled back in amazement. 

     “My, my, young lady! How are ya able to carry all that?” One of the women chirped excitedly. 

     “I’ll say! That steak alone is half of her size!” Her husband chuckled. 

     “You’re all so sweet!” Olivia exclaimed, “Please just enjoy yourselves. If there’s anything else you need, don’t be afraid to—” 

     Low bellows rang out in muffled succession followed by a harsh squealing. Olivia tried to turn to see what was the matter, but before she could, the squealing died in an even bigger crash. 

     “Oh my word! What's happening out there?!” One of the wives asked in a quivering voice. 

     Despite the multipaneled window that embellished the front of the diner, nothing seemed out of place from the street.

     “Maybe there was an accident down the way?” Another customer chimed in.

     A few other theories swirled in between the patrons from a transformer blow out, to a mad bomber. The true source of the commotion came at the very edge of the window with a sickening crimson splat.

     A bloodied hand rested on the glass wiping cautiously with every step its owner took. Its pace matched that of a tired heartbeat. The diner’s door opened with the dinging of a bell.

     A man in a pinstriped suit and a massive head hobbled in the door, holding his side that was progressively staining his white coat red. In his other hand he held an embellished shotgun with a barrel sawed off shorter than any Olivia had ever seen.

     “Is that… Franco Barbi?” Louie whispered, rounding the other side of the counter.

     Haggard breaths seeped through the man’s, Franco’s, bloodied teeth. His icy blue eyes shot left and right, as if searching or planning. He stepped towards Olivia and table number five. Whether his legs gave out, or he tripped on his own blood, his body collapsed onto the table, shattering glass and throwing food everywhere. Before he could hit the ground, Olivia wrapped her arms around his waist and the back of his head, easing him to the floor. 

     The sudden commotion scattered the customers like a herd of skittish deer. They funneled out of the diner and Louie hurried to lock the door behind them, flipping the open sign to closed. 

     “We need to get him to a hospital.” Olivia remarked, pressing a towel against Franco’s side. 

     “Yeah, I’ll call the police.” Louie hurried to the counter phone.

     “No!” Franco coughed dryly, “No! No hospitals and no police!” He reached into his coat pocket and shakily pulled out a card and placed it in between Olivia’s thin fingers, “Call him, and tell him I need a vet.”

     The card simply read “Oswald” with a number scrawled upon it, one of its corners was wet and stained red. Olivia passed it to Louie who hesitated, but ultimately began dialing the number. 

     The young waitress gathered ice from the floor, wrapped it in a napkin and placed it on his forehead, “It’s okay, just try to relax. Your friends will be here soon.”

     Despite the man’s exaggerated and expanded features, his head, his buck teeth, and his slightly off centered eyes, the way he looked up to Olivia with his expression relaxed, if a bit sullen, reminded her of a toddler desperate for affection. She stroked his scalp tenderly, in the way she would any of her other siblings, and his breathing began to ease.

     “You’re just like an angel, aren’t cha?” Franco whispered, voice soft with awe. 

     Olivia smiled, soothingly shushing while whispering back words of encouragement. 

     She could’ve sworn tears began welling up in his eyes, “Mama? Mama, is that you?”

     Olivia gasped lightly, it seemed that the end was near. But at least she could be there for this man in his last moments.

     …

     And then she found him grabbing her breast. 

     Her face and ears scorched a bright scarlet as she forced his hand back onto his own chest. ‘He’s just delirious. He’s dying. He doesn’t know any better.’ Olivia thought with gritted teeth.

     But those thoughts were chucked right out the door when her green eyes met his intense blue gaze and his gnarled grin.

     Meanwhile, Louie listened to the tone and squeezed his pinky in between the indentions of the rotary phone. He looked over to Olivia and that man. The mess of shattered plates and food covered the floor, perhaps it was for the best he got the double shift after all.

     The phone only rang once and then answered with clear calculation, “Oswald speaking.”

     Louie rubbed his cheeks, roughened with stubble. His heart pounded as he considered hanging up and calling the cops.

     “Oswald. Speaking.” The voice repeated more sharply.

     Louie sucked in air through his nose, “Hey, uh, I got your boy here, Franco Barbi. He says he’s… lookin’ for a vet?”

     The line remained silent for a moment before quickly answering, “Damn. Alright, how’s his dog looking?”

     Olivia’s body was hunched over Franco’s, blocking Louie’s view.

     “Err, it looks like the dog got shot. There was a big ol’ commotion and everything.” 

     The sounds of pen on paper scribbled in the background noise, “Where is he?”

     Louie’s lip tightened, “Listen, I don’t want any trouble here. If I tell ya, can you promise there won’t be any?”

     “... Has the pound come yet?”

     “No, not yet.” Louie squinted, peering out the window, “But they could be coming soon.”

     “Alright, how about this? When the pound arrives, you didn’t see anything. You were taking a nap, anything to throw them off, we’ll call it square from then.”

     Louie nodded, “Deal. We’re at the Break ‘n Steak Diner on—”

     “Got it, why don’t you stuff the good boy in the back and we’ll pick him up from there.”

     “Uh, sure. Just knock on the back door when you’re… Hello?” Louie sneered as he hung up the phone, “Gotta get that line fixed.”

     The burly chef lumbered back over to his coworker and the dying man. Olivia struggled to keep the man’s hands to himself since Louie went to make the call. Her cheeks still burned with embarrassment as Franco’s shaky hand reached out again.

     “Mommy… I’m comin’ to the pearly gates!” He said with his eyes closed and his lips puckered.

     Having had enough, Olivia’s porcelain hand gripped around the dirty blonde curl resting upon his forehead and yanked it.

     His eyes bulged open, “OW! What the fuck, lady?!”

     Olivia’s eyes squinted, “I suppose those gates weren’t as close as you thought they were.”

     Franco rubbed his scalp and painfully smirked when Louie stepped in. 

     “Alright, his vet is on his way. Step aside, kiddo. I’ll carry him to the back. You just hold the door open for me.”

     Franco perked up, “No way! Ain’t no Gordo the Gorilla is gonna come man handle me like that!”

     Louie leaned in with a snarling grin, “I wonder how your vet takes your temperature back at his clinic.”

     “Hey, fuck you, buddy! A thermometer feels like a breeze compared to when I shove Lupara—” Franco grunted, too weak to lift his weapon. 

     Using his foot, Louie pushed the gun to the side, then lifted Franco upon his shoulder. The pressure on Franco’s stomach and side forced out a breathy groan. 

     “Uuugh! You fat bastard!” Franco panted, “That’s not how you treat someone like me! Do you even know who my dad is?!” 

     Blood collected in his head as Franco hung over Louie’s shoulder, turning it bright red. Olivia grabbed Franco’s gun and hurriedly followed behind into the kitchen. As Louie set the half living man on the food prep counter, Olivia hurried to the utility closet and grabbed the first aid kit. By the time she had come back, Louie had unbuttoned Franco’s shirt, but the strange man held his arms tightly to his body. 

     “Get your filthy paws off me, you molester!” Franco jeered, curling away from Louie.

     Olivia tapped her boss on the shoulder before he could take advantage of the wounded man, “It’s okay, Lou. Thanks for carrying him here, why don’t you wait for his company and I’ll patch him up?”

     Louie’s nostrils flared as he leaned over to see Franco laying on the prep table, peeking over his shoulder, “I dunno, kid. You sure you’ll be alright? That’s the son of a local Don, I just wouldn’t want you to get mixed up in something you can’t get out of.”

     The pinstripe suit, the ornamented gun, the no police or hospitals policy, Olivia already figured the man to be a gangster, but the son of a Don? The very thought made her stomach spin, but all she could do was simply gulp it down. Her instinct to help someone in need was much stronger.

     “Don’t worry. Just go look out for them, I’ll be fine here.” Without giving him a chance to respond, Olivia brushed past Louie to begin her work on Franco. 

     Her friend watched carefully, heavy concern resting on his brow. But, she made her choice, leaving him no choice, so he walked away. The backdoor squeaked as he stepped out. 

     Soft breaths hissed out of the gangster, steadied but still with an ounce of pain, “Well, well well, a saint gracin’ me with her presence. Think you can schmooze up to ol’ Franco Barbi and get in my good graces, eh?”

     Water splashed over the sink as Olivia washed her hands. Her heart pounded through her throat, but she maintained a calm, wordless mask. 

     She approached the table with the kit as he continued, “I already know your game, toots. You bleedin’ heart broads are all the same. Think you can just be a lil’ nice and daddy’ll get you whatever you want without puttin’ your back into it.”

     Olivia propped him up into a semi-seated position to peel his coat off. Franco’s body had more heft than she anticipated, but despite her struggle, she managed the clothing off his wide shoulders and exposed his navy blue undershirt.

     “Well, I got news for you, sweetheart! It’s gonna take a lot more! I’ll leave ya on the floor screamin’ uncle before you get a single favor out of me!” He snarled as she finished unbuttoning his shirt. 

     Fresh alcohol poured over the ball of gauze Olivia had prepared. She carefully took off the towel that was placed over his wound earlier, seeing as the bleeding had slowed just a bit.

     She sighed, “Mr. Barbi, not all of us need to have gained something for a good deed. I just don’t want to see you die, isn’t that enough?”

     Franco sat silent for just a moment with an expression of contemptuous contemplation. Once the moment passed, however, he turned away with a dismissive smile, “Teh, you’re pretty good, sugar tits. As if anyone would—”

     His mouth was shoved full of fabric from his coat’s sleeve.

     Olivia huffed assertively, “Gracious! You’re fussier than my little brother!” Her brows were furrowed as she leaned in just a little closer, laying him back down, “You might wanna keep that in, ‘cause this’ll sting a little bit.”

     The cold alcohol felt soothing against Franco’s crusted, bloody skin. The waitress carefully cleaned around the wound, making sure to never press too hard. He felt relaxed and rested his head against the table, looking up to the pale, green-tinged fluorescent lights.

     “Alright, you ready?” Olivia asked, out of Franco’s view. The mobster nodded. 

     She placed the moist bundle of gauze against his wound. In an instant, the refreshing cold activated his nerves, transmuting the cold sensation into pure, relentless pain. He screamed into the sleeve, wriggling in agony, but keeping his hands to himself, leaving Olivia unharmed. 

     Carefully, gently, she finished cleaning Franco’s wound and wrapped him up in gauze. By that point, sweat had collected and dripped from his forehead, down to his chin. He panted wheezingly, placing his forearm over his eyes. The wound angrily pulsed blood throughout his whole body, acting as if it were a second heart. It still ached, enough to cause tremors in his side, but at least it was clean.

     The clacking sound of heels approaching him caught his attention, he hadn’t even noticed she had walked away again. All he could focus on was managing his mind away from the searing agony. But then, he felt her presence looming over him. He peeked from under his arm just as she reached out and moved it away from his face. Smooth fingers ran through his hair, tenderly pushing his curl away from his brows. 

     A wet rag dabbed across his face, washing away the sweat, leaving his skin cool and refreshed. The pounding in his body was reaching the vessels in his skull, but as she glided the towel over his face, they were able to simmer down and relax. 

     The pale green light shimmered around her like a halo, bringing attention to all her features. Her emerald eyes, her soft shape, her beauty marks. Hell, Franco wondered where else she had beauty marks. He wondered just what could be hiding behind that diner uniform. And yet, when the mobster looked up to her, her face, her eyes. They stared back without pity, without disgust, without apathetic dismissal. It was like she actually did care. Franco hoped it was just too good to be true. 

     Louie’s calloused fingers dug into his own temples, attempting to flush away the screaming he heard just moments before. His stomach writhed at the thought of a police car turning the corner at the end of the alley. When a ‘veterinary’ van rolled around the bend instead, he did not feel relief, but something much worse. He silently prayed for his sisters, for Olivia, and admittedly for himself as the pristine white vehicle inched up to his side.

     The tinted windows rolled down, the driver, an innocuous old man with a ruddy complexion and a thick mustache. His passenger, however, was a young man in glasses and greased black hair. The skin on his face was nearly flawless, and when he smiled there weren’t any indentations around his mouth. 

     “Good afternoon. Is this where the dog was found?”

     “He’s, uh, he’s in the back.” Louie grumbled with his shoulders slouched. 

     The young man’s smile somehow grew even wider. He knocked on the cargo hold of the truck, then stepped out. Another man rolled open the side door of the van, hopping out, fixing the cuffs on his sleeves. 

     This man was also young, but his features were far more angular, and his eyes nearly glowed in the shade with a grayish-green shine. They drooped half-lidded, and yet, they never blinked, following Louie’s position constantly, like a hungry mantis. 

     “He’s not dead, is he?” The sharp-eyed one asked. 

     “Sorry, he’s hanging in there strong.” Louie puffed himself up, “Can’t put a dog like that down, I suppose.”

     The youthful man pressed his glasses up, “That’s not for a lack of trying. Come on, Gianni.” 

     The two men, dressed in all black, politely circled around Louie. He watched them carefully, but they seemed disinterested in him entirely now that their compatriot was found. Making their way to the backdoor, the bespectacled man carefully knocked, and then entered. 

     Olivia backed away from the prep table, allowing room for everyone in the kitchen. Though they were all of average size, their presence made her feel quite small. The man with glasses lightly bowed to her with a hand over his heart. The other smiled coldly and blessed her with a wink, before they both turned to Franco.

     “Ozzy… you made it!” Franco exclaimed excitedly before scowling, “Oh. Brought Bright-Eyes along too, huh? You shouldn’t have. Really.”

     “Alright, Franco—” Ozzy uttered.

     “I would say you’re looking well, but you really look like a pale piece of shit.” Gianni smirked, enjoying that he towered over Franco in that moment.

     “That’s real funny, Gianni. Especially at ball grabbin’ distance.” Franco snarled as he attempted to lunge out of the table, but the pain in his side stunned him, forcing a yelp out of his throat as he clenched himself.

     Olivia, seeing only a person in need, stepped forth for a second before deciding against it, staying put.

     Ozzy stood between them both, “That’s enough, fellas. Let’s get Franco into the van and see what the vet can do for him.”

     He hooked his arms under Franco’s and Gianni handled the legs. Despite how much Olivia had struggled maneuvering Franco earlier, the men were able to lift him with ease. They raised him from the table and quickly started for the door.

     He looked over to Olivia one last time, her look of worry enchanting a smile upon him. 

     “Don’t worry, toots.” He groaned, bearing his teeth with pained glee, “This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me. Not by a long shot.”

     They dragged him out, his limbs dangling from their sides. But before the trio could leave entirely, Gianni glanced to Olivia one more time and gave her another wink with those ghostly eyes. 

     She followed them outside, with Franco tilting his head to return her gaze, until they crawled into the back of the van and slammed the side door shut. The driver tipped his hat to Louie and Olivia, then drove away with a cloud of smog trailing behind.

     Louie swiped his hands together, “Thank God that’s over. If we ever have to deal with them again, it’ll be too soon, right kid?”

     Olivia heard him, yet she couldn’t respond. Her thoughts pulled her away from the present into her own personal island of introspection. Just who was Franco Barbi? And was he one to really keep his word? 

     The thought of him holding true to his claim should’ve brought worry. It should’ve sent her mind spiraling into the countless possibilities of the potential danger she had unknowingly stepped into, of having a mobster, the son of a Don, no less, on her radar. Maybe he didn’t take too kindly to her sass and assertiveness and would like to return the favor, so to speak. She really should’ve felt something, anything.

     But, her heart and mind were void of any particularly strong feelings of fear or trepidation.

     Call it the mind of an ignorant, stupid, sheltered girl, or perhaps even a foolish lack of self preservation. But, she just didn’t really know what to feel at that moment. Maybe the reality hadn’t exactly settled into her mind just yet, only for it to come crashing down once she was all alone in her dark, empty, dingy apartment.

     Whatever the reason may be, all she could really feel was the relief of seeing him with enough spirit to fight back. That he could still be alright. And the hope that whatever back alley doctors the mafia hired, would bring him back to better health. 

     “Hey, Liv, you alright?”

     She gasped, returning to reality. Her head swiveled to Louie, who watched her with concern.

     “I said, are you alright?” He repeated himself, “If you need to take the rest of the day off, I won’t judge ya.”

     Olivia shook her head, “No, no. I’m okay, let’s go try to clean up the mess in front.”

     Louie held his stare, unconvinced.

     Holding up her small hands, she assured him, “Really! I’m okay! I’m just glad we got out of that scot-free, right?”

     “... Right.” Louie conceded, even if hesitantly so. 

     As they gathered the broken plates and swept up the wasted food, Louie would catch Olivia glancing to the window where Franco’s bloody handprint first appeared, even long after it was washed off the glass.

------------------------

     The van rolled along the various roads of the city at a steady, unassuming pace. The driver tipped his hat to the squad of police investigating a crashed jaguar riddled with bullet holes. A blue tarp was laid over a body just out the driver side door.

     “Damn, they got Marty good.” Gianni muttered, peeking out the side window of the cargo hold, “Just what the hell happened out there?”

     Franco stared into the shadows of the van’s hold, “Buncha street urchins. You can just tell by the way they were dressed, the envy in their eye when we stopped at the red light.”

     “You must be lucky then, for a fine dame like that to keep ya alive and well.” Gianni exclaimed, a ribbon of light casting a sharp contrast on his face, “She could be my nurse any day, especially with a shape like that.”

     ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Franco thought to himself. He looked to his hands, still feeling the form of that young woman’s breast on it. The way they sat over her chest as she treated him, her beautifully soft skin, the glint in her jade eyes, what Franco would do to be that close again. A lick of his lips brought about a sudden revelation, just what was stopping him from doing that?

     Listen, I'm sorry, I'm trying to be consistent with posting, but I keep having strokes of bad luck. I had construction and renovations being done to my room which set me back a little initially. Only to then get sick twice in a row, and I’m still feeling the effects of it. :(

     That’s where I’ve been, but I’ve been working hard on this one. Please tell me what you think, I’d love to hear everything you guys have to say. And if you really liked it, consider buying me a Coffee to help support my work! Can’t wait to hear from you guys and Happy New Year! ^^

[silverwolf866]

"Aaalms for the poor? "

Sheriff Coyle:

[silver-wolf-scribbles]

Just a WIP of my newest idea. I had the crazy idea of an AU where Franco wasn't captured and put into Sinyala. Instead, he went back to Miami after Cuba and takes over a previous Don's turf. In the midst of it all he bumps into a mysterious woman who turns out to be a vampire. Yeah, I know it sounds a little out there, BUT, stay with me. I'm trying to cook! xD

[wordfather]

*makes a smart character* *realizes im the one who has to make them smart*

[ad-wills]

[ad-wills]

[silver-wolf-scribbles]

A sneak peak into what I'm writing at the moment. My boyfriend and I watched the show Twelve Forever for the first time, and even though we had mixed feelings about the show's writing and execution, we still had fun and things we enjoyed about it. And one of the things I loved the most was the Butt Witch, so, of course, here we are! XD I'm eighteen pages in and I more or less got the setup and introductions wrapped up, so I'm not entirely sure how long the story will be. But, I hope you guys enjoy the little preview and stay tuned for any more updates. ^^

[cowboys-of-tombstone]

Tombstone (1993): Masterlist

My blog is dedicated to both Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo, so I will only write for those two characters. My writing is also solely geared towards “x female” readers. To clarify, I technically do take requests, the reason why I say that I’m “not necessarily” taking requests in the blog header is, because I don’t want to commit myself to them. 

BUT, that being said, I am always open to you guys offering me suggestions/ideas for anything regarding Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo. So please, don’t be afraid to send me requests and asks. Because I love to hear thoughts and questions from you all. And if I find your ideas interesting or fun then I’ll be happy to give it a shot! Just be sure to keep it SFW (though some romantic suggestiveness is ok).  ^^

Last Updated: 11/17/23

Total Number of Work: 14

♠️ 🂡 Curly Bill 🂡 ♠️

Headcanons

✭ Curly Bill Courting Headcanons

✭ Curly Bill Dating Headcanons

✭ Curly Bill Proposal/Wedding Headcanons

One-shots/Stories

N/A

My OC

✭ Curly Bill x OC Suzette McCreed: Ch.1, Ch. 2 (More to come, will include sexual content in future chapters.)

🐉 Johnny Ringo 🐉

Headcanons

✭ Johnny Ringo Courting Headcanons

✭ Johnny Ringo Dating Headcanons

✭ Johnny Ringo Proposal/Wedding Headcanons

One-shots/Stories

✭ Johnny Ringo x Holliday!Reader: Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3

Dual Posts

Headcanons

✭ Curly Bill & Johnny Ringo: Dealing With Romantic Rivalry

✭ Curly Bill & Johnny Ringo: Love Language

✭ Curly Bill & Johnny Ringo: Dealing With S/O’s Near Death Experience

Hey! Just so you guys know, I have a Ko-Fi available. If you guys enjoy my work, please don’t hesitate in supporting my stuff by buying me a Coffee.🤠