Right on time, Val rings the doorbell. Dallas stops slicing the onions that Carmine asked him too, hurrying to go get the door. The kitchen is full of food, the radio going and Dallas has been hardly able to control himself from sneaking food into his mouth where he can. Carmine's not that attentive, all in all, and when he can, Dallas shoves little bits of food into his pockets, for later.
"Hands!" Carmine calls out, and Dallas backpedals long enough to wipe his hands on the towel Carmine has, then he's out and to the door.
He opens it, and standing there on the front step is his aunt Valerie in all her glory, as it were: her dark hair loose, wearing earrings and bracelets, scenting nicely in the breeze. There's only a quick glimpse of her, because she's pulling him into a hug that Dallas always knows is coming but he never exactly is prepared for. At the very least, as she pulls him flush to her, she's warm, her scent is nice, and when he tilts into her, he doesn't feel scared of her. It doesn't mean he feels exactly happy either; but it's something, that he hugs her back, allows her to card her hands — with so many rings, so many bracelets — through his hair.
"You're getting taller," she pulls back with a smile, her face so warm and friendly that mirrors Carmine in a way. Sometimes it's hard for Dallas to understand that they're both Texas' siblings, that he could share the same parents as them with a smile like that, with this sort of warmth that Dallas doesn't know how he's earned. "But not wider; when's the last time you had a good meal?"
"This morning," Dallas says. It's the truth, and Valerie steps inside of the house, shutting the door behind her. "Carmine made it."
"Of course he did," Valerie's voice softens in that way that Dallas doesn't know how to be comfortable with, and he follows her into the kitchen. She's dressed mostly in white, her heels clicking on the floor as she says something to Carmine in Sicilian that he can't exactly follow.
Carmine replies, and Valerie rolls her eyes, but takes off her fancy high heeled shoes that make her appear taller than what she actually is. She sets the shoes down by the door, saying, "Ace was looking for you yesterday. I'll tell his mother that you're here."
"Don't have to," Dallas rebuffs immediately, going to the cabinet where the dishes are without Carmine needing to say anything. He grasps the plates and cups, moving carefully to the table to set them at the places for them all. "Seeing Ace tomorrow."
Valerie exchanges a look with Carmine, and then moves to the pot where Carmine is stirring the food. "I take it you aren't going to school with him?" Her tone isn't really scolding so much as it's resigned, and Dallas puts the glasses where they need to go on the table. When he shakes his head, she gives a huff. "You should at least finish up to high school, you're a ten year old boy who needs an education."
Dallas doesn't have any smart answer the way Ace has whenever it's come up; he doesn't know how to articulate to her that being told where to go and when by anyone except perhaps Carmien wasn't in him; that all those kids sitting there day after day, trapped in those rooms was utter nonsense; that he knew plenty of gangsters who were dumber than him get along fine without.
As he doesn't have the words, he just puts the forks and knives and butter on the table. Valerie helps get the warm bread on the table, going on, "I don't want you to end up like some of those other boys like those Corozzo twins."
"Corozzo?" Carmine wipes his hands on the towel he has, casting his eye to Dallas. "Go on, wash up and come sit." Dallas moves around him, ears pricked as Carmine continues. "What's happening with them?"
Valerie scoffs as Dallas suds up his hands. "I heard that they're falling in with Marco Maceo. They're doing more and more to try and impress our brother, smuggling things across the border and trying to brag in the streets." She pours her own wine as Dallas dries his hands, thinking to himself as she continues. "Of course since we all can't prove they're doing it, they get to walk around running their mouths."
The annoyance and disgust in Valerie's tone belongs solely to her; Dallas listens with his heart beating faster than he wants as he takes a seat. Where Valerie had no proof except their bragging, Dallas had known about this before: how they would smuggle cigarettes and booze out.
Not to say that Big Frank and Saul were out of the cards; it was just that sometimes things didn't go well. Those two could be great or they could be bad, and Dallas pockets the information for it. If what those three were doing was that lucrative too...
He takes a bite of the bread that Carmine put out as he hums, his good eye on Val. "That's more dangerous than what anyone else is doing. If they've really got the guts to do that, good on them. But if they get caught," Carmine shakes his head. "Might not be able to go anywhere except straight to prison."
Valerie runs her hand through her long, dark, thick hair. It still curls midway, and she looks at Dallas as she says something he doesn't understand, but knows is about him. Carmine shakes his head, continuing in English, "Let's not talk about that. I don't want any business at the dinner table, that's the rule."
"Only because you don't want to talk about the way he doesn't like to talk about it," Valerie insists, yet respects Carmine's rule as she sticks her fork into the sausage before her.
Dallas wants to know what she said. He wants to know what's passing between them yet he can't. Instead, he's left to eat with them, letting them command the subjects to calmer waters, Valerie complaining about her husband, Carmine entertaining them with a case he'd heard, and by the end of the night, Dallas feels about gorged on food.
He needed it. There was no telling when he'd get a meal from Carmine again, this reach, this calming. There's no telling when he'd be desperate enough to come to Carmine again, so he savors every bite, every moment. He even allows Carmine to help usher him to the bedroom, letting Carmine shut the door behind him.
There's a temptation to stay awake, to listen to Carmine and Valerie talk about more adult things, to hear them talk about the things they didn't want to speak of around him. He can hear a snatch or two of his name, yet the rest of his head is buzzing with the morning. In the morning, he'll go out and find Ace and they'll get this thing going. They'll get their own racket with all that loot, and maybe they'll climb higher, get noticed.
If not by Texas than someone else.
The last sentence he hears as he falls asleep is in English. It's half muffled, yet Dallas knows it's Carmine's voice, colored with worry.
That worry is still in his mind when Dallas wakes up the next morning. He knows that Carmine isn't awake yet, that the city is hardly awake. He knows that Carmine might come looking for him — or that he won't, given that money for Dallas is left on the dresser, beneath a glass of water and a fresh apple.
He pockets the apple, drinks the water, and shoves the money into his shoe. The window is easy to wedge open, and Dallas climbs out to go find Ace as fast as his legs can carry him.
There's no turning around, no looking back. There's only leaving, looking for Ace down the winding streets. He doesn't hurt the way he had when he had first come to Carmine's, and when he peers down alleys, tries to scent Ace, it's strange. It's as if his senses are stronger than before, sharper.
Enough to catch Ace's scent almost two blocks away: he's fine, not that agitated and when Dallas sees him at the other end of the alleyway with some kids, he perks up immediately. Ace spots him, and a relieved grin spreads on his face as they rush up to meet each other. "Fuck — I was looking for you! Where the hell did you go?"
"Uncle's," is Dallas' short answer, and before Ace can push for more he says, "You see Big Frank?"
"Yeah," that's about when Ace's shoulders slumped. "I tried to talk to him and Saul and they don't believe me, at all." There's a bitter edge to his voice. "They wouldn't even come up and see what I had, just called me a fucking liar." His scowl gets bigger. "Can you fucking believe that? Even Frank didn't believe me!"
The grin that Dallas gives to him is sharp, and a little savage. Even he knows that. "Got someone else."
"You?" Ace lift's his eyebrows. "Who do you know?"
"Corrozzo twins," Dallas says, confident. "Working with Marco Maceo." The fact that Ace makes is entirely worth it for how much he lights up at the prospect, at the fact that who he'd said was high up enough. Bigger than Frank or Saul. "Heard they smuggle over the border."
Ace looks like he could burst with anticipation. "I know where they are. C'mon, keep up." He breaks into a run and Dallas chases after him in the streets. What does he care that it's midday and Ace should be in school? What does he care about the people around him who get annoyed at two little hoods?
They don't know anything about this, about any of this. They don't know what's at stake here, and they don't understand what they need to do to climb to the top.
And, sadly, neither of them understand just what this is going to do. Neither of them understand the consequences of what they're about to face. They only are racing to the billiards where the twins are known to hang out, eager to take what was meant to them, eager to be more than the little kids they were.