Chapter Thirty-Five: Planning The Engagement Party

Falcone and Sylvia were in the kitchen. The table at which they sat was meant for nearly ten people, counting the chairs—for now, the two remained at the very end. Falcone was seated at the head of the table while Sylvia sat on his right, fitting as the former Don addressed her as a righthand woman even as they chatted casually about the venue at which the party would be held, the customary theme, the catering businesses, and whether aforementioned venue would be able to accommodate the large number of guests.

Between them were a number of binders, pamphlets, hard copies of books as well as paper, and an array of business-like spreadsheets; the latter was full of prices for caterers and venue lots.

"What about a park?" Falcone offered as a brainstorm starter.

"A park is ideal, but you know the weather in Gotham…"

"Unpredictable."

"Quite."

"So, the park is out," said Falcone humorously.

"Not unless you want to plan an alternative location if a monsoon presents itself," Sylvia offered pointedly, glancing up.

"The park is out of the question."

"Reasonable enough," Sylvia returned, taking the brochures of parks out of the middle of the table; she casually threw them over her shoulder, a gesture that Falcone found amusing evidently as he let out a quiet laugh.

"What about a bar?" she asked curiously.

"My son is not having a party at a pub."

"Well, nothing as lucrative as that. A fancier one."

"You're not selling me, Lark."

"'Monet', 'The Quarter', and 'Le Done' are nice places," Sylvia offered, smiling gently. "They don't allow smoking, and the bartenders are sweet."

"I'll look into them, but let's discuss other options prior to making the decision."

"Fine, then. As you prefer."

As with the park brochures, she threw any pamphlets associated with the pub atmosphere over her shoulder, a few were swept off the table with the side of her hand, for save the three options that were 'fancier'.

"I'd consider hosting the event in my own home," Falcone volunteered smoothly. "It would take the cost out of the equation."

"And welcome thieves and ninja assassins to finish picking you off," Sylvia reminded.

"Not if I can filter the guests."

"Gatecrashers find a way in, sir. No matter how well your security is trained."

"You speak from personal experience?"

Sylvia smirked: "I've been on both sides."

"You used to gatecrash?"

"I still do when it suits me."

"That's not very nice, Lark." Falcone said, smiling a little.

"Oh, the Don has a sense of humor," Sylvia said with a snicker.

"It's just not professional."

"Never claimed to be, sir."

"I doubt your husband has been able to make peace with that."

"Well, marriage is full of compromise." Sylvia sighed, shrugging her right shoulder.

"Isn't it though."

They shared a small laugh.

At that point, one of Falcone's bodyguards approached the table with a tray, holding two drinks, both of which were sea breezes. Falcone humbly thanked the guard, who grinned broadly; the former don rested the drinks on a coaster, placing one in particular in front of Sylvia.

"Do you want a straw, Miss?" asked the guard.

"No, thanks. I'll drink it out of the glass." She said sweetly.

"As you like." The guard left shortly after.

Falcone leaned forward, grabbing a binder from the middle of the table, and opened it to see the many ideas that Sylvia had been considering for in-house decorations. A number of colors were thrown together; some were more thought out; others were clearly brainstormed.

"Red and green decorations?" Falcone chortled. "This isn't Christmas time, Lark."

"Just a suggestion. What about silver and gold?"

"No. Mario doesn't care much for the combination."

"That's odd, considering he was raised by you."

Falcone looked at her curiously. Sylvia took a drink and it was only when she realized what she'd said that she smiled at him apologetically.

"You don't have a filter, do you?" Falcone said knowingly.

"No disrespect, sir, but I don't change my speaking habits for anyone. Not even you." Sylvia said politely.

"You speak to everyone this way?"

"I don't discriminate."

"I like that," Falcone said, nodding with a smile. "I like the way you think. That says a lot about a person, you know, when you treat everyone the same regardless of where they've come from or what they do…who they are."

"I figured you would be agreeable to that." Sylvia said with another shrug.

"And why would you assume that?"

She said lightly, "You wouldn't have agreed to work with me if you weren't okay with it."

"On a contrary," Falcone said respectfully. "I'd have asked for your services even if I wasn't. Business is business; if two people who are in business together agree on more than just the completion of a task, it's good business."

"And if two people don't agree?"

"Well, at that point, it's just a job."

Sylvia looked at him for a moment. She put her drink down and said seriously, "Sir, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How come you stopped being a Don?"

"'Stopped'? What makes you think I ever stopped?"

Sylvia cocked her head to the side: "Didn't you?"

"I stopped working in Gotham, but, even to this day, I am still a Don. You don't stop being a leader when the job is finished, Sylvia. You continue to be a leader, no matter where you are."

Sylvia smiled knowingly, "That's a good point, sir. But you haven't answered my question."

Falcone said softly, "I know."

"You don't want to tell me, then? Is that it?"

"Partly so."

"Why not?"

Falcone said politely, "You are a nice person, Sylvia Cobblepot. I said this already that you are warm and caring. However, you are still married to one of the most ambitious and carnivorous rivals I've ever encountered. If our business relationship somehow turned ugly, I can't depend on the fact that you wouldn't tell Penguin what we've discussed during your stay here."

He touched her wrist gently.

"And you can't promise me that you'd keep my secret." Falcone said knowingly. "I know how loyal you are to him, Lark. I know you'd do anything to keep him on top, to keep him power. If it meant betraying my secret or staying loyal to your husband, we both know which would come first."

Sylvia smiled guiltily.

"I'm not saying that's a bad thing," Falcone said lightly, smiling. "In fact, I wouldn't hope for anything different."

After a moment, he looked at the decoration's binder once more, saying, "I think Mario and Lee would favor red. Maybe even red and gold. What do you think?"

"What you want is the reason I'm here." Sylvia offered, smiling—thanking the heavens above that the serious moment finally had passed and they could move onto proper business.

"What about the catering business?"

"No seafood."

"Is that a preference?"

"A strong recommendation," Sylvia explained. "People don't know they're allergic to shell fish until the opportunity comes a-knocking. Then you have an ambulance to deal with, and a disaster in your wake."

"The possibility of a dead guest, you mean?"

"Well, I was talking more about a ruined party, but, sure, a dead person would definitely mean a disaster."

Falcone chuckled, "You have a dark sense of humor."

"Duly noted." Sylvia said, winking at him. She scribbled in a separate binder where the suggestions that made it to the party were written down. Without looking at Falcone, she asked, "What kind of food does Mario like?'

"He'll eat anything."

Sylvia smirked, "I guess doctors are included?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind."

Falcone shook his head at Sylvia's dirty humor, then he asked, "I would prefer that hors d'oeuvres be served."

"Might want to go with your cooks on that one. A busboy or a cook who isn't under your employ might have a vendetta against one of your guests," Sylvia explained. "Or, more likely, against you."

"And if I had my people watching them?"

"Then it could easily turn out to be an inside job."

Falcone leaned back in his chair, an arm rested on the back as he said candidly, "I fear you may foster a healthy sense of paranoia, my dear."

"When it comes to Gotham, it's necessary."

"I had no idea that while Cobblepot was working under Fish that he had been watching me the entire time." Falcone said amusedly. "I must have taught him that…Inadvertently, of course."

"It has served him well, sir."

"And he taught you to keep a little paranoia in stock then?"

"No. My paranoia came from my father and brother." Sylvia said, grinning widely. "Sorry—you can't take credit for that."

Falcone looked at her, at first a little startled, then he said warmly, "You have a playful side. I never noticed."

"Well, in your defense, this is the first time we've conversed, barring lethal circumstances."

"You have a fair point."

"I still recommend you have your own cooks prepare the dishes for the engagement party. Pay them more than what you would normally." Sylvia suggested, gesturing to the room itself, adding, "If they see an incentive for doing well, they'll do you a favor and speak up when someone tries paying them half of what you gave them…They'll be reporting the little shits before the event presents itself."

"Is that what you would do in my situation?"

"Without a doubt, sir."

"Very well. In-house preparations, it is. My staff will have you to thank for their pay raises." Falcone said endearingly. He drank from his glass after he warmly chuckled about that. "So, we've discussed decorations, catering…"

"You haven't picked a venue, yet."

"That'll come in time."

"What about a guest list? Invitations?"

"I've already sent out the invitations," Falcone said dismissively. "Alex prepared them himself."

Sylvia scoffed, "I'm surprised you leave such a daunting task up to him."

At her spiteful tone, Falcone's lips quirked into a crooked smile as he said smoothly, "Your condescension and need to belittle him is understandable, Mrs. Cobblepot, but not warranted. If you need reassuring of his skill, here."

He stood up briefly, walking into the living room. In his small absence, Sylvia grumbled to herself but she was silent when Falcone returned, holding an envelope in his hand. He placed it gently in front of her; still, Sylvia looked at it unhappily.

"Take a look, Lark."

She opened the envelope, and glanced at the invitation. It was beautifully written out that the person who may receive the invitation was cordially invited; the letters were hand-written in calligraphy by a fountain pen. White letters on slick royal blue background.

"He did a good job, did he not?" Falcone asked.

"He sure did." Sylvia admitted, staring at it. She held it up, asking, "Did he do all of them?"

"Personally, yes."

"Amazing." She muttered—more bewildered by her ex's hidden talent for penmanship as she was of Falcone's admissible pride.

"Lark."

"Yes?"

"If it's not too bold of me to ask—"

"Is your question about Alex?" Sylvia interrupted him, putting the invitation on the table, face down. "Because if it is, I have no wish to talk about him…"

"Well, unfortunately, it is about my staff."

"Shit…Okay, what's your question?"

"Are you at all interested in killing him?"

Sylvia stared at him; eyes wide: "What?"

"Do you want him dead?" Falcone asked.

"No, I understood your question the first time. I'm just…surprised…"

"Well?"

"I mean…No, I don't want him 'dead' per se…" Sylvia said uncomfortably. "I'd just prefer it that he not be alive."

"So…You do want him dead."

"Well, it's not even that," Sylvia said with a nervous laugh. "I just don't want him around me."

"Because of how your relationship ended?"

"Partly."

"But you have no wish to kill him?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

Falcone said firmly, "Because if there is any desire in your heart to kill him, I need to know. I'd rather there would be no hostility in my home while you remain here. If it be your intention to kill him, I would like to be aware of it."

Sylvia smiled uncomfortably: "No, sir. I don't plan on killing him."

"That includes 'maiming'."

"I don't plan on it."

Falcone nodded: "Fair enough. Now—onto entertainment. As you know, I'm paying for your services primarily in this department."

"Right. With a favor."

"Of course. I know you can sing—how you received your title primarily centers around your talent for song. Sing for me now."

Sylvia blinked: "Now?"

"Yes."

"You want me to sing now?"

"Yes. I'd like you to sing for me now."

"W-what do you want me to sing?" Sylvia asked.

"Whatever it is you're comfortable with. What do you prefer to sing?"

"Well," Sylvia uttered nervously. "I have different avenues, you know? I can go from arias and operas or I can freestyle rap to my heart's content. It's whatever type of company that I'm entertaining that would determine what I sing."

"Is that so?"

"Basically, yeah. So…you know…That said…W-what do you want to hear?"

Falcone smiled gently. Not at her, really, but probably at a memory. He said lightly, "Do you know Gianni Schicchi's 'O Mio Babbino Caro'?"

Sylvia clicked her tongue, nodding: "I do."

"I'd like you to sing that for me."

She asked curiously, "Does that hold any certain value to you, sir? That song?"

"It's a song I hold quite dear to my heart. My mother had it on the record player frequently; it's one of the things I remember fondly." Falcone offered voluntarily.

"Do you want me to sing it now?"

"Yes."

"Without music?"

"Do you need it?"

"Well, no, not really."

"Then have at it," Falcone said lightly, gesturing to her. "If you are to perform at my son's engagement party, I'd like reassurance in knowing that if the music dies, you'll still carry on with little effort."

Sylvia laughed nervously, saying, "Okay…Odd request, but nothing I've not been asked to do beforehand. Sure…Let me…" She cleared her throat a couple of times. "Here goes nothing."

And she sang it.

Beautifully.

Just as she had sung any other song before.

Just as she did, Falcone closed his eyes, remembering fond childhood memories.

As he did, Sylvia was aware that from the living room walked Sofia Falcone, who heard the aria just as surely as she was remembering the days when she was younger, when she and her father had been slow-dancing to the song, remembering their own fond memories before the criminal lifestyle took over his life.

Sofia stood at the doorway between the living room and kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest as she relaxed against the door frame, listening.

Sylvia's voice shook, more out of nerves than anything. She still hit the pitches just as she always did, becoming more aware that there was no music to accompany but still performing reasonably well.

From the patio, Alex slowly sauntered into the kitchen, watching Sylvia. He frowned, more out of his own petty disappointment for not having known Sylvia possessed such God-given talent; it was at that moment, when he heard her voice, that his hard eyes softened, and he slowly smiled.

As Sylvia's voice trailed off and the song ended, she smiled when Falcone opened his eyes.

"Enchanting." Falcone uttered breathlessly, wiping his cheek quickly. "Your name was well-deserved, Lark."

"Aw, shucks." Sylvia said, waving at him.

"That was really beautiful," Sofia agreed.

"Wasn't it though," Alex said lightly, nodding his head even while his hands had been stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans; he sounded almost proud.

Falcone gently patted Sylvia's hand on the table, saying, "You'll be the best entertainment a father could find for his son's engagement party, Mrs. Cobblepot. I know you won't let me down. That said, I think we should take a break."

"Will do, sir." Sylvia returned, saluting him playfully.

Falcone chortled as he walked over to his daughter, putting a warm arm around her shoulders so they could compile the guest list further and ramp up the security. Sylvia stood, brushing a few strands of her ginger hair behind her ears; she straightened the pamphlets and binders with little rhyme or reason—it was just something to do at this point while Falcone tended to other business.

"You sing good."

Sylvia looked up at Alex, who stood across the table; his hands rested on the back of the chair that his boss had only seconds ago occupied.

"I'm so glad you think so," Sylvia uttered sarcastically.

He cleared his throat, shedding the distance between them as he stepped around the table, standing beside her. Sylvia instinctively dropped the pamphlets and other items on the table and took a few steps back away from him.

"I'm sorry, you know."

"About what?" Sylvia questioned coldly.

"You know what."

"You have plenty to be sorry about." She said, pointing to him. "You'd have to specify what you're apologizing for."

"I'm not afraid to, if that's what you're implying."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you proved yourself to be a coward. Running away from what we had—that was maybe the fiftieth time."

"I'm not a coward."

"Aren't you?"

"No. I'm not."

"You literally ran whenever you had a chance to prove how much you loved me," Sylvia told him coolly. "Honesty takes courage, you know. Being open with another human being takes courage. Instead, you lied to me about all of it—you chose cowardice over courage. Instead of running to love, you ran from it."

Alex said reproachfully, "I didn't lie about anything."

"You're lying about that now? Seriously?"

"I didn't—"

"You could've told me that you were ransacking people's cars, or stealing from gas stations. You could've told me you had some kid or two out and about and that you were afraid to be a dad—I would've called you a shit father, but you'd have been honest with me. That's all I really wanted."

Alex smiled guiltily, saying, "I wanted to tell you about all that stuff, you know. You meant a lot more to me than I cared to say. I mean, really, you were the first real girlfriend I ever had—well, the only one that ever called me on my shit."

"That's because you made it too easy—you were screwing up every time you turned a corner." Sylvia said, gesturing to the door.

Alex stepped a little closer to her. Sylvia looked at him carefully; her eyes ever so slightly narrowed at him, watching him.

"I didn't know you could sing." He said softly.

"Well…I can."

"Obviously."

"Yeah."

Alex was quiet for a second, then: "So…you're married to Penguin, huh. What's that like?"

"It keeps me on my toes." Sylvia returned coolly.

"What does your brother think about it?"

"He's tolerating it."

"Penguin's murdered a couple of people."

"So, they say," Sylvia said lightly.

"Bit of a twisted fucker, ain't he?"

"So you say."

"And you're okay with it? Everything he's done?"

"I might have to be since I'm married to him."

"Do you love him?"

"If I didn't love him, I wouldn't have married him."

"Does he love you?"

"I'm about two seconds from putting my foot up your ass."

"I just wanna make sure he's treating my girl right."

Sylvia glared at him: "You're a fucking prick, you know that, right?"

Alex chuckled, "Call me what you want, Sylvie, but you know you'll always be my girl."

"If that was the case, I'd have married you, instead."

"So, what's the answer?"

"To what?"

"Does he treat you right?"

Sylvia crossed her arms defensively, saying, "I don't feel like talking to you about him."

"Think he'd get jealous if he knew about us?"

"He does know about us."

"And he let you come out here anyway?"

Sylvia frowned and poked Alex hard in the chest, saying, "He didn't 'let' me do anything. I do what I want, and I go where I want—something you and every other fucking asshole can't figure out, apparently."

Alex shrugged off her defensive retort, asking, "Is he better than me?"

"Mm-hmm!"

"Just emotionally, right?"

"I've been with Oswald in every way possible," Sylvia said heatedly, "And he is better than you on every level you could possibly think of."

She started walking away.

"Guess that's who you were talking to on the phone, huh? Is that why I heard your bitch-moaning last night?"

Sylvia turned on her heel, looking at him incredulously.

Alex returned her gaze with a smug one; he slowly approached her, uttering, "You didn't know it, but I was in the room directly across from yours. I didn't know it was you making all those sounds, I guess I should've known."

"How could you have known?" Sylvia questioned icily. "You've never heard them."

"Ouch." Alex drawled, quirking an eyebrow. "You really know how to kick a man when he's down."

"For someone who has small penis syndrome, you have an undeserving amount of big dick energy."

"Maybe that's something you like, seeing as how that's what you're attracted to. I've seen that little Oswald character on TV. Doesn't seem like much to me."

"That's like any other idiot that has ever crossed his path," Sylvia breathed. "People underestimate him—Maroni did, and he's dead. Your boss did, and all of his businesses belong to him."

"Does he fuck like me?"

"Is that really the only thing on your little brain?"

"It's the only thing I've been able to think about since last night," chuckled Alex, smirking. "If you gave us another go—"

"Not in this lifetime."

He lifted a finger to her face, the tip smoothed itself along her jaw line. Sylvia flinched away in disgust.

"I know I talk big," Alex uttered sincerely. "Honestly, it's just great seeing you again."

"Can't warm me up with your sex talk so you're going soft on me?" Sylvia asked knowingly. "That worked in the past, but it won't work now."

"Sylvia?"

Alex lowered his hand from Sylvia's face and the two glanced towards the doorway where Sofia Falcone stood. She gestured kindly for Sylvia to come with her. Notably, the latter frowned and hissed at the bodyguard before quickly striding out of the room. Sofia smiled as she met with Sylvia in the living room.

"What is it?" Sylvia asked, concerned.

"Nothing," Sofia returned kindly. "You looked as though you were being cornered and I thought I'd help you out."

"Oh, well, you were definitely right about that. Thank you."

"No problem." Sofia said happily, smiling. "I'm about to go to the barn; Artemis is getting restless."

"Who?"

"Artemis." Sofia explained. "He's my horse."

"You have a horse?" Sylvia asked incredulously.

"Well, it's Daddy's horse. He doesn't know it but Artemis has favorites."

"I'm guessing that you're one of them."

"I'd like to think so." Sofia returned proudly. "He's a handful, but all he needs is a little discipline."

"Something I'm sure you're able to provide."

"More than. Would you like to come?"

"Oh, no thanks." Sylvia said, shaking her head. "I'm not a 'horse person'."

"Have you ever ridden one?"

"Once, when I was five."

"Bad experience, I suppose?"

"I fell off and I was nearly trampled." Sylvia confirmed.

"That sounds terrifying!"

"It was traumatic." Sylvia giggled. "That said, no thank you. But I appreciate the offer."

"Well, if you change your mind…"

"I'll be sure to hesitate to ask."

Sofia grinned at her wit then she left to get dressed for such a task. As she did, Sylvia looked after her, pondering the relationship between them. She shook her head though with the decision that becoming a friend to someone like Sofia Falcone would not be in her best interest. She had enough problems as it was.