This here is the first in a series of possible stories that have been plaguing my mind recently. So, instead of letting them go and do their own thing in the recesses of my head, I decided to write this down just in case it makes me want to continue.
"Every night before going to bed, my mother would tell me to pray to thank God for the day he gave me and ask for more such days. At the time, I had been a simple high school kid going through the motions of an extremely monotonous life. School, sport, work, and homework made up pretty much my daily routine for just about as long as I could remember. And because my mom worked double and triple shifts to make sure there was always food, if not light, in our little apartment, I never truly understood why it was she wanted to have more of the same every day. I used to hate it when she'd tell me that. I hated that she'd put our fates in the hands of some godly being that obviously couldn't give two shits about a hard-working woman and her son. And this hatred, this anger that festered in me ended up twisting itself as resentment towards her," a choked sob passed his trembling lips, "Now I understand. I understand that in the world we live in, not everyday is a given. I understand that being alive is a gift and I only wish I had understood that before. I'll miss you mom and I will always love you."
He looked up at the half dozen people assembled in front of him all dressed in what could be described as their darkest, if not their best, clothes for the event and with a slight smile undercut by the tears streaming down his face.
"Thank you guys for coming today. I know she'd really appreciate every single one of you being here for us," he looked up at the clear skies and shining sun, "I know she's looking down on us now and will forever be with us." With these final words, he stepped away from the podium and let the chaplain finish the service before the small coffin was lowered into the ground.
Even as the hole was finally covered, he couldn't help but stare at the place where his mother had finally been laid to rest. A rough hand landing heavily on his shoulder took him out of his stupor. Looking to where the arm led to and he was welcomed with the sight of a slightly rotund man in his early forties sporting an out of date fedora and a completely disheveled look better fit on a drunk than the detective he was.
"Detective Bullock," he spoke, "what brings the GCPD's finest to poor little old me?" He couldn't keep the bite out of his voice, but seeing the little flinch from the detective, he found that he rather liked it.
"Bryce, -"
"Oh my, you know my name," the young man interrupted the detective, "Great fucking job, did you detect that detective? How many doughnuts were eaten on your way to close the case of the murdered victim's son's name?"
"Look son, I know, -"
"You don't know shit Harv, and I'm not your son so please spare me the fake sympathies alright," he sighed, "now, tell me why you're here and go back to whatever watering hole you just crawled out of."
The detective looked down at himself and with a touch of shame in his voice he let out a well-practiced message, "Due to the lack of manpower and of evidence pointing towards anything other than gang related as well as the recent break out of Arkham, the case was deemed low priority, but the GCPD wants to assure you that any and all resources that can be spared will be devoted to solving this case when time permits."
Silence. Then a slow clap coming from the young man answered the almost robotic speech.
"Wow," Bryce said in faux admiration, "Gotham's finest never disappoint. Thank you for your message, so here's mine: get the fuck out of my sight and never come back in it." He finished with a growl.
Seeing that there was nothing else he could do here and the message delivered to yet another grieving family member, the detective tipped his hat before leaving to find the strongest drink to challenge his liver.
Letting out a sigh and a hand going through his short cropped hair, the young man gave a look back to where his mother had been entered and with a sad smile he decided to go home. Walking down the path, he looked around at other grieving families and where before he could only feel pity he now felt a sense of kinship with the grievers. Looking further ahead, he spied the richer part of the cemetery opulent and unnecessary mausoleums the rich and powerful who couldn't afford, or wouldn't pay for, a private cemetery decided to spend their money to house the bones and ashes of their family members and some pets. Had life gone differently, it was where his mother would have been laid to rest with her grandfather and other long dead ancestors instead of the unmarked tombstone she received.
"Oi, Negrito," a voice called out to Bryce from the gate of the cemetery. Looking where the voice came from, Bryce saw three people standing there. Two men in their early to mid-twenties, one girl younger than him 13 or 14 if he had to guess. The man who had spoken looked to be the eldest of them dressed in a sharply made Italian cut red suit that looked completely out of place. His hand waved high above his gelled and slick back black hair, a testament to his Italian roots. The man let out a slight yelp as the second one, his brother by the look of it, shoved him with his elbow. Unlike his older brother, this man dressed in darker tones. Black Italian suit and dark sunglasses hanging from the breast pocket framed the man's broad shoulders befitting a former marine. He wore his hair short, probably out of habit more than anything. The last of them was the young lady who obviously came straight from school as she still wore the uniform of the famous Gotham academy, a plaid knee length skirt, a white shirt underneath a blue sweater and a tie to complete the ensemble. He noticed that she had absconded of the blazer that usually came with the uniform. Her shoulder length light brown hair were brushed to perfection as her green eyes, which matched his own, stared at him with gut wrenching pity and sadness.
"What do you want Vinny?" Bryce asked of the elder of the three.
"The Family wanted to pay their respect" he responded in a slightly more serious tone than usual.
"The Family?" Bryce made a point to look around exaggeratedly, "What the old man couldn't come say goodbye to his stain himself? The boss didn't want to acknowledge his dark nephew?"
The second man spoke up in a deep voice "Bryce, you know it's not how this works."
"Yeah Lou, I know," Bryce sniped, "I know that when she was alive 'The Family' never gave a damn about her but when she gets murdered here they are crawling out of the woodworks sending envoys to do what they never could." He made to move past them before Vinny put his hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"This is becoming annoying," Bryce muttered to himself looking at the appendage
"Bryce, we came here to fix the mistakes of the past," Vinny stated with a slight pleading edge to his baritone voice, "we know that what nonno did was wrong and yes we're here on behalf of The Family to tell you that you have a place with us should you want it, but we're also here because our cousin has lost someone very dear and important to him and we want to be there in his hour of need"
Bryce looked his cousin in the eye and only saw sincerity from him and with a sigh he reluctantly nodded.
"Look guys," he started, "I appreciate you all being here and all, but why would I want to join The Family? What about all the traditions and all that mess? I mean they kicked her out because of me, remember?"
"Yeah, we remember," responded Lou.
"But traditions change little cousin," continued Vinny, "With uncle Mario approaching retirement and all the old geezers on the brink of death or gone form the game, it allows us to change the culture and make The Family about family, all of our family no matter the complexion," he looked at the younger man with hope in his eyes.
Smirking, Bryce shrugged Vinny's hand off his shoulder, and turned around to walk away before turning and giving them parting words, "I'll let you know what I decide, but in the meantime if you want to contact me, Kitty's got my number." With that done he threw up a peace sign and left the cemetery leaving behind two grown men staring incredulously at the girl accompanying them who pointedly ignored them in favor of staring at her phone.
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Finally getting back to his apartment in a run-down building, Bryce entered and turned the lights on before heading to his living room, only to be stunned by the vision in front of him. Three tall black women, towering over his 5"10' at 6"2', with not a spec of hair on their heads dressed in ceremonial red armor and carrying what looked like silver spears turning towards him at once. The one leading them, marked by a golden necklace, approached him until she stood about 5 feet from away and started to speak, "We have been sent here by your father. He would like to meet you."
The only eloquent response Bryce could give at the moment was a startled, "what the fuck," before promptly blacking out
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Hello friends, I had this pop up in my brain today and decided to write it down because why not am I right? In this story, I had the idea of pretty much have this kid, Bryce, be the grandson of Carmine Falcone. However, he isn't part of The Family because his father was black and therefore doesn't have full Italian heritage which does not please the traditionalists. As such both him and his mother have been disavowed and pushed out of the family. The ending there is a possible path to go, but I'm not too sure. Originally, I wanted him to go out and do his own thing whether that was becoming a hero or starting his own "family" and carve a piece of the pie, but then I thought to myself why not Wakanda. But after writing this, I am not too sure anymore. Anyway, if you have Ideas feel free to let me know.