Title: back roads
Character/Pairing: Angelo, Corteo
A/N: I really loved this series, especially Angelo's/Corteo's and Angelo's/Nero's relationships. Brothers, reluctant friendships, loss. And the ending, ahhh, that ambiguous ending—who lived, who died, who knows. =D
Summary: He plays a small game of what if. He just needs one. A small miracle.
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Sunrise
His brother was a naïve ditz. A naïve, clumsy ditz. Of that much, Angelo was allowed to say. Somehow, Luce never made it past the stage of childish wonder. Everything surprised him, everything amazed him.
This innocence was an absolutely useless trait in the mafia. It was little wonder his father was marrying off the air head—if Luce couldn't wield a gun, at the very least he could improve business connections.
"Relax a little," Corteo said, clapping Angelo on the back suddenly. He looked on to where Luce was standing, laughing next to his bride. "It's his wedding, he can be a little foolish today."
Angelo stared at his friend for a moment.
"It's easy to guess what you're thinking," Corteo added, grinning. "You're not that hard to read."
He wasn't sure if the guy who always lost to him in poker should be saying that. Shaking his head, he looked at his brother. "He's foolish all the time," Angelo grumbled, refusing to cede the point. "It'll hurt him some day."
"Let him have his fun," Corteo responded, shrugging. "He'll grow out of it soon enough and you'll miss it." His expression darkened slightly and he took a sip from his glass. "You can't stay in this business without changing."
Like you did? He almost asked.
They weren't children anymore. They hadn't been since his first kill, a blonde teenager one wintery day. A name, Nero, refused to be forgotten. Angelo's hands pulled the trigger every night, his target's bright eyes blending in with the dozen others he had shot.
"No, I suppose not," Angelo admitted, his fingers touching his gun.
Corteo smiled tiredly. It was not a word he had associated with his friend before but now it was the only one that fit. His eyes were dark circles, sunken in; his face worn to an apathetic frown. Studying at university couldn't explain it all away. No, this was definitely due to their association, the toll of being friends with the mafia. Of being brothers with the next Lagusa head.
Angelo didn't have to look in a mirror to know his own expression was equally grave. Perhaps it was better Luce hadn't changed yet.
Corteo took a larger sip this time, almost gulping down the prohibited alcohol. Setting down his glass, he looped an arm around Angelo's shoulders. "Come on, smile a little. You won't catch any ladies this way."
Angelo frowned. "My mother's been talking to you."
A sheepish grin and Corteo looked away in response.
-x-
Noon
There was an easy way into the Vanetti family. It was here, ready to be used. Just sitting on the table across the room.
Angelo sat up on the bed. It was dark outside, too early for even the sun to rise. On the floor, he could make out Corteo's prone form, the soft rise and fall of his chest. It figured that even now, years later, he'd sacrifice his bed for his friend.
It figured even more that the only reason Angelo was here was to use his friend. In the pale starlight, he could see the bottles of moonshine, the small beakers that started the whole process. The thick textbooks that sat under the entire operation, raising the heights of various tubes to direct the changing liquids.
Getting up, he walked closer to the table.
In this era, in this prohibited time, alcohol was the shortcut to everything. Money, fame, power—all of it on a small table in a two-room apartment. Corteo didn't think big enough, as usual, content to simply sell small bottles here and there. He would never be able to raise enough money for university this way.
It was easy to rationalize. The only way his friend could make enough money was by gaining the attention of at least one of the crime families. At least if Angelo brought him in, he'd have power. Control. A friend to guide him.
Surely that was better than falling prey to a power-hungry mobster, who didn't care what it took to get the product. His hand stretched out, brushing the glass bottle.
A soft snore startled him from his revere. His friend, his brother turned in his makeshift bed.
Angelo withdrew his hand and grabbed his coat instead. A final look into the room, into this other life, and he left.
He'd just have to do it on his own. He'd lost enough family as it was.
-x-
Sunset
It was hard. Despite having faked his death for seven years, faking Avilio for the past few months, this was the hardest acting Angelo had to do.
At least with the other times he had nothing to lose. Just his life and he had already lost that one snowy night.
Now he had another brother he could lose, another family he had to protect. His hand couldn't stretch out to grab Luce in time but he'd save Corteo.
He was being watched, he was certain. The sly smirks, the barbed words, they were all just waiting for him to trip up. Corteo had been his friend and loyalties ran deep in this dark world. The Vanetti family just wasn't sure where Avilio's loyalties lay—with his traitorous friend or with the family that took him in.
And if Barbero's actions were any indication, they were leaning to the former rather than the latter. No matter, he could make it through this. After all those years, this was nothing. He just had to resist the urge to write a letter, to book a boat.
As far as Angelo was concerned, that small town Corteo was hiding in didn't exist.
Besides, he didn't have to wait too long. There were only three men left. Three men and nowhere to hide.
He'd be done soon enough.
-x-
Midnight
Angelo was never caught. Or Corteo never came back. Better yet, they escaped this slowly shrinking room. Out the window or maybe they just busted through the door, guns blazing. There were a dozen possibilities and one of them had to be viable.
At least one. Just one. He didn't need more than that, just a small miracle.
"It's fine."
Corteo looked up at him, tired. "It's fine."
Angelo's hand was still stretching out, still trying to grab Luce back into the closet.
He had failed him then and he was failing Corteo now.
"Why? Why did you come back?"
Corteo smiled, his hand raising up. "Because we're…" brothers.
If only Angelo had—if only he hadn't—if, if, if. It all rested on a possibility that didn't happen. That would never happen.
The time for what-ifs was over.
He pulled the trigger.