Rated M

Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.
Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM
and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy
for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.
Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.

Wednesday, March 14, 1956
11:58 PM

I tap the crime scene photo. "Did you guys ever find out who killed Sally?"

Glasses shakes his head. "No one saw anything."

"New Year's Eve on Rush Street? Come on, what're you kiddin' me?"

"A bunch of drunks ain't exactly the best group of witnesses. From what we can tell, the assailant pulled up, fired, and fled the scene."

I push the pictures of Sally back across the table. "It's a damn shame."

"So you're saying you think he was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time then?"

I'm not saying shit. "Had to be. Sally was one of the good ones."

January 1955

My aunt's sobs echo through the viewing room. Clutching her heart, she clings to my uncle, who's standing stoically beside her in front of Sal's casket. My mother and Bella pull her away from the coffin, whispering words of support.

The family is on high alert and has been ever since we all got the early morning phone call that Sally got clipped. Several of the old timers huddle in the back of the room speaking quietly. Probably speculating on who did what and why, while the younger fellas eagerly await the action that's sure to come.

"Edward," Uncle C calls and jerks his head towards the back. "Grab Emmett and Paulie, have them meet me downstairs in the embalming room."

Nodding, I motion for the other two to follow me. This'll be the second time my uncle and I have spoken amongst the dead.

The heavy stench of death and formaldehyde hit me as soon as I open the door. There my uncle waits with his hands shoved in his pockets, leaning against a counter.

"Christ," Paulie complains, placing his finger beneath his nose and eyeing the portly naked woman laid out on the mortician's table.

"So?" Uncle C crosses his arms over his chest. "What do we know?"

Unable to help himself, Paulie slaps the flabby tit of the deceased before facing my uncle. "I talked to my connection over in the ninth district. He said no one saw anything, but the spray of bullets was too wide for Sally to be the only intended target."

"No shit," Emmett mutters. "If Sally didn't push my old man outta the way, we'd be wakin' him tonight. Tell us somethin' we don't know."

Paulie reaches in his pocket and flips a bullet casing at Em.

Catching it, Em pinches it between his thumb and forefinger. "What's this?"

"That's a round from a Makorov."

My uncle's brow rises. "Russians?"

Paulie nods. "Yep."

Fuck.

A knock sounds from the door and Aro steps inside, though no one acknowledges him.

"I thought we handled that situation a few months ago." Em tosses the bullet to me.

"I thought we did too." Paulie rubs the back of his neck. "They're like fuckin' roaches."

"Chopper," Uncle C points to Aro, "I want you to go find our friend Nikolai on Maxwell Street and see what he knows." He sniffs and waves a finger at the rest of us. "Until we know anything, we stay alert and keep a low profile, understand?"

We all agree with a nod.

"Em, you tell your capos to stay outta the streets. Have them tell the crews to be fuckin' cautious. Other than that, it's business as usual. Any questions?"

We're all silent for a beat until Aro speaks up.

"Where was Philly?"

My uncle half-shrugs. "He came earlier tonight to pay his respects."

"I mean the night that Sally got clipped."

Uncle C widens his arms. "I already told you, he can't be seen with us too much with his trial comin' up."

I glance at Aro who looks like he's got more to say. My uncle may not be interested in hearing it, but I am.

"Like I said," Uncle C continues, "we keep a low profile." Just as I turn to head back, I hear my uncle's fingers snap. "Edward, wait."

I stay back, watching the others file out of the room.

Pulling a gun from his waistband, he offers it to me. "Keep this on you at all times, kid."

I inspect the piece, feeling its weight in the palm of my hand and watching as the light gleams off the metal. "Should I be anticipatin' a problem?"

"Your last name is Cullen, kid. Your guard should always be up."

"True."

"Now listen, I need you to stay on my election interests. You and that dolly you got on your arm, you hear me?"

I nod.

"Now's the time to start usin' that leverage. Understand?"

"I'll take care of it."

Leverage in the hands of a capable man will almost always put him in a position of power. Conversely, leverage in the hands of women like my mother and Bitsy can make them damn near unstoppable.

I'm ninety-nine percent sure that my ma made Monsignor Caius piss himself when she stormed into his office at the diocese, demanding to see the ledgers of how much the Cullen family has given to the church over the years. Being told 'no' never sits right with my mother. And being told the church won't bump another wedding for her son's - fucking forget about it. Needless to say, once the Monsignor reviewed our generous contributions, my fiancée got the wedding day of her choice and my mother got a letter of apology from the Cardinal for the misunderstanding. I imagine she's probably disappointed she didn't get one from the Pope himself, though.

My mother likes to shoot from the hip, but Bits' style is fairly low-key. It's a little more refined and a lot more subtle, but highly effective nonetheless.

I think the first time I noticed is when we were standing on the dance floor of the grand ballroom at the Hilton. I remember watching my girl's eyes travel up from the floor-to-ceiling windows to the ornate gold and crystal chandeliers while the pushy lady with the clipboard fielded all her mother's questions.

"I like this one," Bitsy murmurs, toeing the marble beneath her feet.

Giving her hand a squeeze to let her know I heard her, I lean down. "This the one you want, Bits?"

She grins and looks at her father. "It is."

Judge Swan sniffs and runs his fingers down his mustache as he reads the pricing sheet. I can tell by his expression that he has a 'fuck no' on the tip of his tongue, but then he looks up.

"Daddy." His name comes out soft and unassuming, but weighted with expectation. With a slow blink and a tilt of her head, she repeats her words. "I like this one."

Sighing, her old man takes out his checkbook and she kisses his cheek.

I swear I've never heard a shakedown sound so sweet.

Three weeks later, I'm in my office with my feet propped up and reading the Sun Times when I hear two quick raps on my door. My new battleaxe secretary, whose name I can never remember, pops her head in. "There's a Ms. Swan here to see you."

I sit up and shove the newspaper in a drawer. "Send her in."

Bella appears moments later, smiling and shrugging off her coat. "Is this a good time?"

"Of course." I stand. "Always have time for you, Bits."

Closing the door behind her, she tosses her coat and her pocketbook on the chair and points out my window. "What a view!"

The dress she's wearing hugs every curve and I have to agree. "Sure is."

Her lips twist when she catches my drift. "Such a kidder."

"What'cha doin' in my neck of the woods?"

"Lunch with my parents."

Plopping down on my lap, she gives me a smooch and runs her fingers through my hair. "I missed you."

I whirl the chair around so we're facing the city. "Missed you too."

Her fingers trail down my neck to my tie. "Rose called me last night."

"Oh yeah? What'd she say?"

"Well," she starts as her hand slips down over my stomach, "do you remember that house a few blocks from hers that I said I liked?"

No. Not at all. Not even a little bit, because all I can focus on is her fingertip moving lower and lower until she's circling it around the head of my cock and I can't help but blurt, "Yeah."

"The ranch on Franklin, not the Craftsman on Ashland."

Still no clue, but she's sucking my earlobe and rubbing me softly over my pants. "Uh huh." My eyes close when she goes for my zipper. "Yeah."

"All brick."

Fuck, I'm hard. "Yeah."

She places my hand on her tit and squeezes. "Three bedrooms."

"Ah, Christ," I groan when she reaches into my boxers.

"Two bathrooms," she whispers before dropping a few open mouth kisses down my neck.

I feel her nipple harden against my palm. "Mmm."

Wrapping her fingers around me, she gets a good grip and jerks it slow. "A big kitchen for me."

"Yessss."

Her voice is breathy. "An office for you."

I go for the buttons on her shirt and admire her cleavage. "Nice."

"There's a garage."

I wanna see 'em in broad daylight.

"And a tool shed in the back."

I pull down the cups and fuck they're spectacular.

"Fenced-in yard."

"Mmm," I moan around a mouthful. "Yeah."

"It'll be perfect."

They are perfect.

"Edward." Her voice goes baby soft and she picks up speed, stroking my length hard and fast.

Tipping my head back, I squeeze my eyes shut and roll her nipples beneath my thumbs. "Bits."

"I want it," she coos against my neck.

"Yeah."

Moving faster, she begs, "Mmm, please."

"Yeah."

"I want it."

Blood rushes to my ears and all I can hear is the soft clap of her hand on my cock and her murmuring sweet nothings in my ear.

"Tell me I can have it."

"Yessssss," I hiss, grabbing my handkerchief from my pocket and placing it over my cock, but she doesn't stop and neither does her mouth.

"Please." Her tongue traces my jaw. "I want it."

Burying my head into the crook of her neck, I nip at the soft skin and grunt out a long and satisfied yes.

She fucking giggles. "Really?"

I look up. "Huh?"

"We can get it?" She presses her palm to my cheek, and I swear I see a sparkle in her eyes. "The house on Franklin?"

It takes me a second to come out of my stupor. This girl's got me outta breath, seein' stars and sitting here with a hankie full of spunk and now she's asking me for a what? "The house on Franklin?"

Nodding, she gums those smudged red lips and blinks real slow. "Uh huh." She presses her hands together like she praying and rests them right between her tits. "Please."

Like I could tell her no. "I'll make an appointment to see it."

She beams and pecks me on the lips. "Thank you."

Straightening her clothing, she kisses me again and heads over to the couch to grab her compact out of her pocketbook while I pull myself together. "Bits?"

Wiping off her lipstick, she doesn't look up from her mirror. "Hmm?"

"I think this kind of visit should be a weekly thing."

"Do you, now?" She winks and reapplies the stain, smacking her lips when she's done.

"I do." I toss the handkerchief in my wastebasket. "It'll be the highlight of my work week."

Grabbing her coat, she saunters back to my desk and wipes the lipstick from around my mouth. "I'd like that."

"Perhaps," I kiss her and cop a quick feel, "it should be an after-hours visit?"

"Sure," she places her fingertip beneath my chin and plants a loud smooch on me. "Once I'm your wife, of course."

Fuck. "Of course."

Two months, a down payment on a house, several hand jobs and a near blow-job later, I'm almost convinced that my girl is serious about this no-fucking-before-the-wedding thing. Foolishly, I'd hoped that we'd make love on the floor of our new home after I shook the realtor's hand. Nope. Or maybe she'd want to lei me when I flashed the plane tickets and brochures from the travel agent for our honeymoon in Hawaii. Also a no. So imagine my surprise when one Sunday after church, she strips down on her way back to my bedroom.

"Oh God," she moans from beneath me with her arms pinned and her legs spread. Gripping my hands tight, she squeezes those thighs around mine and lets me take her the way I want to.

I grunt against her neck and thrust hard, relishing the fact that her pussy is just as tight as I remember. Slick and hot and so fucking good.

"Ugh, Edward." She locks her ankles around my waist. "Don't forget."

The headboard squeaks with each slap of skin and I like the sound of it so much that I fuck her faster until my movements are choppy and shallow and rough.

"Wanna wear white," she pants.

Closing my eyes, I nod. "I won't knock you up, Bits." I slam inside again, making her yelp. "Promise."

Several minutes later, I'm lighting a cig while Bella comes back in from the bathroom. Squinting, I inhale deeply and watch her crawl back onto the rumpled bed. My eyes roam up over her every curve to those pouty, swollen lips until I meet her bedroom eyes.

"Hi," she whispers, straddling my waist.

Exhaling out the side of my mouth, I run my hand over the top of her thigh. "Hi?"

She wraps her arms around her chest and turns away shy.

"Look at me, Bitsy." Those pretty brown eyes dart to mine. "What happened to waiting for the wedding?"

Shrugging one shoulder, she lets her hands drop. "Maybe I just wanted to."

I laugh. "I've been wanting to."

"I know." She smirks. "But something Father Francis said at Pre-Cana got me thinking."

I take a long drag and hold it. "Remind me to put some extra cash in the offering next week."

She pokes my stomach. "Be serious."

I raise my palm. "I am, hand to God."

"Anyway, today when he was talking about honesty and expectations."

My fingers creep up her stomach as I blow out the smoke. "Uh huh."

"I think it's a good idea for us to have this discussion."

"About what?"

"Honest expectations for our marriage."

"And what does that have to do with you breakin' your little vow of chastity?"

"Well," she tilts her head and presses her tits together, "I've found that you're a little more … open this way."

"Am I?"

"Mm hmm." She nods. "And I figured it's something that we should discuss."

"Expectations?"

"Yes."

"All right, then." I reach over and snuff out my smoke. "I'll go first." My hands go back to her thighs. "I expect to wake up with you each mornin' with a smile on your face and preferably naked from the night before."

She laughs.

"I like my coffee black, my eggs –"

"Over easy."

"Yep, and my bacon crispy." My fingertips travel higher. "I like to read my paper and drink my coffee in silence before I shower. Shirts, light starch. Clothes laid out." I wave a finger. "You don't have to polish my shoes though. I prefer to do that myself."

"Okay."

"Evening paper on my desk at night when I get home with three fingers of Glen in a glass."

"Dinner by six?"

I nod. "And you naked again by seven."

"What about babies?"

"I wouldn't mind a few kids. You?"

"Definitely. A manageable number, though."

"Wanna keep your figure?"

"I want to keep my sanity."

I snort. "What else do ya' expect?"

"I expect," her hands slide up my stomach, "unwavering loyalty."

"Of course."

"And for you to be faithful." She looks me in the eye. "No matter what."

"No matter what, Bits."

"I mean it, Edward. I can't ..."

"Can't what?"

"I can't be like my mother. I won't."

"What do you mean?"

"Always turning a blind eye to my father and his little floozy." Looking down at her hands, she smoothes them over my ribs. "I'll never settle for that life."

Fearful of incriminating myself for knowing about her dad, I keep quiet and let her get this off her chest.

"On one hand, I get why she stays. She's the one who made him what he is today."

"How so?"

"Don't you know?" She smiles. "My mother's the one who was born with the silver spoon in her mouth long before she had the stick up her ass."

I don't mean to, but I laugh.

"Their marriage was practically arranged. His brains and reputation. Her good name and connections. He was driven, but she had vision and ambition enough for the both of them." She shrugs. "And for that alone, she'll never leave him. I suppose it makes sense."

"It'll never happen, Bits." Her gaze moves to mine. "I'll be good to you, no matter what."

She mouths a thank you.

"What else?"

With a lick of her lips, she squares her shoulders and sits up. "Honesty."

"Always."

"About everything." Shifting her heat over my cock, I almost miss how dangerous the word everything comes out. Even when she says it sugary sweet.

"Of course."

Rocking her hips, she leans forward and whispers, "I want to know what you are."

Expressionless, I keep my eyes on hers. "I don't know what you mean."

Smirking, she traces a small circle over my heart. "Sure you do."

"I'm your fiancé."

"You're a Cullen."

"And?"

Lightly scratching down my stomach, she hums. "You're name is synonymous with a certain … organization."

"The railroad?"

"The Outfit."

I roll my eyes. "Bitsy, please."

"I'm going to be your wife." She shifts over me again. "And I promise you, Edward, you'll have my love and every ounce of my loyalty."

"I already do."

"And you'll have my silence."

"Bella."

"I want to be able to protect you. You just have to let me in."

"This is—"

"This is what I need. This is my expectation."

We both go quiet for several moments, our stares never wavering.

"What if we do it a different way?"

My brow rises.

"What if I ask a question and you can answer if you want to, but if you don't, I'll take your silence as an indication that I'm right?"

"This seems unnecessary."

"It's necessary to me."

"What if you don't like what you hear?" Or don't hear.

"I'll love you anyway."

"How can you be so sure you will?"

"How can you be so sure I won't?"

Blowing out a breath, I relent. "Fine. Go ahead. Ask."

"Are you?"

"Am I what, Bits? Be specific."

"Are you a member the Outfit?"

The lie is on the tip of my tongue, but I say nothing.

"What do you do?"

I don't answer.

"Specific. Right, um. Are you paid to kill people?"

I shake my head.

"Have you killed anyone?"

I want to deny it, but I can't.

Her eyes widen. "Who? How many?"

The words rush out of my mouth. "No one who didn't deserve it."

Her brows furrow and she purses her lips, staring at her fingers for several moments before looking up. "Okay."

The corner of my lip quirks up and I admit, I'm somewhat amused at how well she's taking it. "Okay?"

She nods.

"Lemme ask you a question. What do you think I do?"

"I'm not exactly sure."

"Take your best guess."

Pulling her bottom lip with her teeth, she ponders this for a minute. "Well, I don't think you're some henchman or anything."

I laugh and shake my head. "Not at all."

"But I don't think you're chairman of the board either." She turns my hand over and presses her palm to mine. "You command respect wherever you go though, that's for sure. Especially among the aldermen and city officials."

That's fear, sweetheart.

"Your uncle and Emmett too." Her eyes narrow. "They seem to hold your opinion in high regard and seek your favor."

I shrug.

"An advisor, maybe?"

My silence confirms her suspicions and a grin spreads wide across her face.

"I knew it."

"How?"

"I noticed it one of the first times I saw you interacting with your uncle and his … friends. You were friendly, but aloof. Always observing. Always aware." She touches her ear. "Always listening for what's being said around you." Leaning down, she presses a kiss to my chest. "And even what's not being said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmm hmm."

"So now that you know." I tip her chin up to face me. "Spousal privilege will make it so you don't have to testify against me, but even so, there's a phrase I want you to commit to memory."

"Okay."

"Repeat after me. I plead the fifth."

April 23, 1955

Three days after a certain fat Irishman clocks in for his first day of work as the mayor of Chicago, I stand at the altar of The Shrine of Our Lady of Pompeii and watch as the not-so-honorable Judge Swan walks my beautiful bride down the aisle. Covered in white lace, she beams when he lifts her veil and hesitantly places her hand in mine.

She's a fucking vision, and Christ, do I love this woman. While the priest breaks the host and the choir sings, I bow my head and thank the Lord for overlooking some of the terrible shit I've done in my life and choosing her for me. There before God and our families, Isabella Swan becomes Mrs. Edward Cullen and I become the luckiest bastard in the city of Chicago.

Afterwards, we celebrate. Drinks, dinner, dancing - the works for my new bride. Hours later, I carry her over the threshold of our hotel suite. She loses the lace and comes to bed in a sheer little number that makes my jaw drop and my dick hard.

I lay her down and reaffirm my promise to love her forever. In return, she shows me that she still intends to make good on her promise that my pleasure will be her purpose.

And it'll be my pleasure to hold her to it.

A/N: Busy week, pals. School is back in session which has Care and I running around like crazy people. We didn't get to WIP this week, so tell us what we should be reading!

Also, riddle us this - Care and I were talking about secondary characters from fics that we love and maybe it became a conversation of which secondary characters we'd bang, but that's neither here nor there. So sound off - who's your fave secondary character from a fanfic? Which fic and why? Full disclosure - I will be shocked and appalled if Aro from the Storm Series is not on several people's list - that man ... hubba, hubba.

Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!