A/N: I know, I know. I'm a terribly person for posting this when I've got so much other stuff that needs attention. But I can't help it! I just love this story so much lol Besides, this fandom is so small...it needs some lovin' lol. So, here goes. Hope you like it! BTW- THE REST OF THE STORY IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE PROLOGUE, I SWEAR. Please believe me lol

Prologue: Promises, Promises

I'm a-wishin' and a hopin' that these doors weren't locked
Oh, I love that dirty water, Boston you're my home

- 'Dirty Water' by the Standells

Frank Costello was the most amazing uncle anyone could ask for. He was funny as hell and always bringing me unbelievable gifts when he dropped by. He loved to get drunk with my parents and brought plenty of alcohol with him whenever we had him over for dinner. He was also a great person to talk to when I was in a bind and had always been very candid with me about how the world worked. He paid for my dance classes and was also funding most of my college expenses. Oh yeah, and he was the ringleader of the Boston mob scene. That part was alright too.

"So, I've been in college for what, two years now?"

"Well, I'm glad they've taught you to keep track of time. That puts me at complete ease about the thousands of dollars I'm pouring into your education."

I just grinned. He was always like this and I wasn't just used to it. I loved it.

"Well, being out in the real world's made me think a lot…about the 'M' word…"

Uncle Frank glanced over his menu at me and over the silver rim of his reading glasses for just a moment before turning his gaze on the Grilled section. We were at Applebee's getting some dinner after a whole afternoon of watching Red Sox spring training.

"I've been telling your parents to send you to military school for years." he responded shortly, casually.

I gave him a wry smirk, "Oh, ha ha. Very funny. I meant marriage."

Again with the glancing over the menu. I could tell he was the slightest bit worried about the sudden presence of this topic on my tongue. But my uncle was terribly good at hiding his emotions, so I didn't even see fear in his eyes. Barely detected it in his gruff voice.

"What about marriage?"

"I've been thinking about the kind of man I'd like to marry. I've been thinking he'd be a lot like you, actually."

This time the menu was folded neatly and set down, as were the reading glasses. Uncle Frank folded his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward a little, forcing a tiny smile.

"If you so much as bring someone like me home for dinner, I'll slit his throat before desert. Now would you really want to upset your mother like that? You know how proud she is of her baking."

"How are ya'll doin' tonight? My name's Marissa and I'll be your waitress this evenin', can I start ya'll off with somethin' to drink?" The perkiness of our waitress cut through my Uncle's playful (but altogether quite believable) threats. Her curly, red hair framed a cute, heart shaped face. A lack of hips betrayed she was southern way before her accent did, but she seemed nice.

"Hi Marissa." I offered her a quick smile before requesting a water, no lemon.

She turned to my uncle but he was still perusing the drinks on the back. He wasn't a big fan of restaurant chains like Applebee's (or Chili's or Olive Garden). They were "below his standards". Plus most of them were heavily Mexican/Italian influenced and ethnic diversity was really not his thing.

Finally sighing and neatly folding his menu in front of him, my uncle threw me a disgruntled frown reading 'I can't find anything as usual and it's your fault because you're the one who wanted to come here.' before smiling up at the waitress and requesting two tall glasses of Guinness beer.

When she left I smirked across the table at my favorite family member. "You know, secretly I think you love coming here. You relish the days when I beg you to take me just so you have an excuse to come."

"You have me pegged so well." He returned my smirk before changing the subject back to it's previous, heavier matter. "But, about what you were saying earlier"-

"About marriage."

"Did I raise you to interrupt a man when he's speaking?"

Holding back a laugh I merely shook my head no and let him continue.

"Thank you. Now, I don't want to dwell on this. There are far more amusing, far less detrimental things to be discussed besides your very distant marriage. However, I think it's only fair to warn you what not to bring home."

Letting this sink in and deciding he had a point because my mother was awfully fond of her baking, I nodded as a signal for him to continue.

"No one from the North End. No one from New York or Jersey. In fact, let's just exclude anyone Italian. And I'll kill you if you bring home a cop. Unless he hates his job. In which case, bring him over for dinner and make sure he has plenty to drink. Which brings me to the next rule, he better be able to handle his alcohol."

I nodded, reaching for my water as Marissa set down our drinks.

"I'll be right back to take ya'll's orders, okay?"

"Thanks." my uncle shot her a sweet smile before turning back to me.

"Sounds easy enough. Anything else?" I replied once she'd left and I'd wetted down my pallet.

He thought for just a moment before,

"Nobody related to our waitress. Which excludes just about every son-of-bitch born below the Mason-Dixon line."

I took another sip of water before giving him a stern look, "You know my best friend is from Texas, right?"

"Last time I checked you weren't a lesbian. Now listen up, this one is the most important."

I nodded and set my water aside, giving him my full attention.

"Never, ever, get involved with one of my guys. Biggest fucking mistake you'll ever make sweetheart."

Keeping eye contact with him I nodded again, this time with some firmness. I'd known that rule for a while but I'd only ever heard it from my parents. To hear it from my uncle, the man who held the reins on "his guys" made it much more real. Made me want to stay away from them that much more. And anyway, I'd do anything for my uncle. Even if he told me not to marry the love of my life, I'd trust him that there was a reason. That he was only looking out for me.

"Promise me you won't get involved with one of those sorry bastards."

Reaching across the table I squeezed his hand in assurance, "I promise."

"Beautiful. So, how about those Red Sox?"