The Corrozzo twins aren't that hard to find, all in all. Even without the scents that are so strong to Dallas now that he can't ignore them, he finds them mostly because they're loud, commanding their own little corner in a way that Dallas admires.

The twins are near identical: dark eyed, dark haired, lanky and always a little bit energetic in a way that matches Ace at times. The only reason Dallas can tell the difference between them is that Nick has a scar on his lip from when a guy bashed him in the face with a ring on his hand. It's the only true difference between him and Joey, and Dallas keeps that in mind as he and Ace approach.

They're both talking to an older guy, with a riveted expression on his face. Ace sticks out his arm to keep Dallas at bay, watching as they talk. Dallas knows better than to push; there's a reason Ace is keeping him from approaching, and he's not sure why, but Ace is trustworthy. The older man shakes his head, walks off — his scent is vaguely familiar, and Dallas looks at him as they finally cross the street to talk to the Corrozzo twins.

"Joey!" Ace jogs a little to get to where they are, ratcheting up that grin he always gets when he wants something out of someone. "Nicky! You got a moment?"

Joey rolls his eyes, despite the fact that he doesn't move from where he is. He's shuffling money in his fingers, sitting on a crate while Nicky glances around, half nervous. They're not that slick, not to Dallas: not with the way they have money out, not with the way that they're out in the open. It's honestly a cool thing to see, these kids only a few years older than them, able to command their own little streetcorner.

Dallas can't help but admire them as Nicky shrugs, "Sure, kid. About what, getting some fucking toys?"

"No, no, we ain't here about that," Ace grins back at Nicky in a way that seems more like a scowl than anything. "We wanna talk about something important. Not outside. With Marco." His voice cracks on the last word, and Dallas feels himself on edge a little, aware of how small they are, of how much they're kids and yet aren't. Not now.

Nicky scoffs again, but Ace doesn't budge and Dallas lifts his chin up, not backing down either. "It's for Texas."

It's not necessarily a lie. It's the truth, in a way. This is, truly, for Texas. For his benefit. It makes Nicky and Joey both stiffen up a little bit more, regard them more carefully than before, the way Dallas wants, needs. "What does he want?"

"Can't talk out in the open," Ace takes the reins again, as Dallas regards them both, stiffening up, defiant. "You got somewhere quieter? We ain't just looking for you though — where's Marco?"

"He'll be down in a minute," Nicky says, waving them over. "C'mon, we can talk in the basement." He waves them over to the drugstore his parent's own. Or, at least say they own; Dallas is pretty sure that Texas actually owns it, and they pay him to not burn it down for the insurance money. There are adults around — some mob, some not — and they don't pay attention as they filter down to the basement that's got various covered boxes, some of the actual things to sell to legitimate customers and others that Dallas suspects aren't for the hard working Mister and Missus.

"What does Texas want?" Nicky repeats, settling down on one of the crates.

"We found some loot," Ace says, confident. "Belongs to the Genovesi." He pauses, and like clockwork, Nicky and Joey both stare at that. The Genovesi weren't that sloppy usually and everyone was aware of their dislike towards Texas and his family. "We found a whole lot of it. Enough that we could live like kings if we sold it under everyone's nose."

Joey shakes his head. "You're a pup, you're lying. Why would he put you in charge of that, how could you even find it?"

"We ain't lying," Dallas snaps at him, tired of this already. "We got proof." He points to Ace, who nods. "Just a little piece of the pie."

Joey and Nicky share nervous glances. There's a sound of a foot on the step and they both look up to see Marco there: he's a bigger kid than them all, at damn near six feet already, and he squints at them. "I wanna see it. I don't do no bullshit but let's say you're telling the truth. What are we supposed to do, just steal it and sell it for you? We all need a cut even if it's going to Texas and you know his rate is high."

"And we need a higher cut if the Genovesi are gonna be on our asses," Joey adds, voice cracking a little.

Dallas can feel his palm sweat. They're at a disadvantage here, if only for a moment as he tries to think quickly. "Can't tell you the cut til you get it to him." It's more words than what he normally has, trying to get the same cadence as Ace, trying to get that same level of confidence in him. "You ain't got the guts to get it, cause you ain't made, it's fine."

It's not fine. It's all the bait he's got, prodding their egoes, of the fact that they all know being made is a big deal. That they're just teenagers, hanging on the edge — while other gangsters are associates, or made by now. Joey and Nicky both look hungry and angry at the same time with that reminder.

And, it dawns on Dallas, that they think he will be made, easily. That he's going to be a shoe in. They don't know the truth about how he's treated, they don't know that he's not some spoiled mafioso's kid, they don't know what little power he really has.

Something about that is... it makes his stomach turn. It makes him upset.

The rest of him grasps his fingers around the illusion. He has to make it real. He has to make all of this real for that to work, he has to be what they think he is in this moment. Dallas tries to think of his father's expressions, tries to imitate the hard look on his face, glaring them down.

Subtly, he realizes their scents are changing as they look at each other, nervous and unsure, to something more... obedient.

"Okay," Nicky speaks up. "We'll see your proof."


It isn't that long to get to the apartment. Ace flanks Dallas on his right side, the twins and Marco following a few feet behind. It was Ace's idea to be a bit spread out, to not arouse suspicion. It doesn't take too long to get inside, to file in a line. Dallas waits for Ace, leg hopping nervously as he goes.

His leg bounces with the new thoughts in his head. That he has to imitate his father, Texas where he can. That they expect him to be like that, this man who he hates, but has power.

Dallas breathes in, breathes out, and when Marco comes inside, he moves with Ace to the closet. They both crouch down, open it, and pull out the crate. It's heavy, and when they get it on the bed, it groans from the weight.

Yet like before? It's electric. Dallas doesn't want to stop touching it for a moment, prying open the crate for Nicky, Joey, and Marco's excited eyes. They lean over it, eyes peering greedily down. It seems like their faces transform in that moment from skeptical teens who had to see to simply needing, awed teens. A jolt of pride seeps through his spine at the looks on their faces as they reach in, sifting around.

He looks at Ace, grinning. It was a good call to get various things in there instead of just one. It gave the full scope of things, and Dallas finds himself speaking first again, "That's just a little bit of what was in there. There's more, a whole lot more."

"You could probably sell a crate a day for a year and you wouldn't run out," Ace boasts. It's exaggerated, yet the other boys don't seem to hear or don't seem to care that it's unrealistic. They just seem to glance around themselves, having a conversation with their facial expressions.

Then Marco looks up, expression hungrier than before. "We gotta get in there. Tonight."

"Tonight?" Ace echoes, incredulously. "Why tonight?"

"There's no way all that loot is just gonna sit there, we need to move as soon as possible," Marco demands it, eyes darting around to everyone in the room. "And listen — I heard something earlier today about the Genovesi." The boys glance around, and Marco barrels on. "Bruno Genovesi, he's getting out of prison, tonight. They're gonna be partying all fucking night—"

"Who's Bruno?" Ace speaks up, confused. "What's that got to do with shit?"

Marco rolls his eyes. "He's the second in command with them. He's been in the pen for five years now, and since he'll be back, they're gonna be partying. Even if someone came around to your little loot, they wouldn't. Not tonight. They're gonna be busy, and if Texas gets this tonight, he can have a leg up on them." Marco turns his blue eyes to Dallas, trying to appeal to him, trying to gain his favor. "Make up for him getting out early."

Dallas considers it for a moment, both the way that Marco had a point and Marco clearly trying to score favor with him. It makes something in him all the more happy to do this, to keep his grip on it. "Good idea," he says, and it's not hard to miss that Marco grins wide at him or that Nicky and Joey seem to deflate a little. "Just how are we gonna pull it off?"

"Corrozzo's dad, he's got a delivery tonight, don't he?" Marco says, turning to the twins. It's magnetic, actually, what happens: the way the twins catch onto his words, and the mirrored grins on their faces that seem even sharper than Marco's own.

"He does," Nicky looks at Dallas now, seeking approval. "He always has them stay overnight, and we could get the trucks, drive it out there tonight. Load it up, put it in our place —"

"No," Dallas interjects, not trusting those grins. "We put the loot in Sonny's old place. It ain't been tended to in awhile." He knows they understand it, an old apartment on the other side of the town. Harder to get to, and without suspicion. "Keep it there, and Ace has a key." He jerks his thumb to Ace beside him. "Make sure we all keep it there, safe."

He doesn't want to say, cause I don't trust you.

If they pick up on that, they don't say it. Just nod, and Dallas glances at the clock. "What times does the truck come in?"

"Ten-fifteen," Marco supplies.

"We'll meet you, and show you the way. Ten-thirty," Dallas knows he's bullshitting like an adult, like Ace, but it's working as all of them pull back. "Tonight. You got it?"

He's ten years old. He shouldn't be commanding teenagers bigger than him, who've already presented as alphas and a beta. He shouldn't be elated at the way they all nod — even Ace — to him, at the way they're doing what he says.

Except it's right. It feels more and more like something meant for him.

Maybe, when all this is done, Texas will see that, too.


"It goes badly, don't it?" Ponyboy yawns beside Dallas. The fire's burning down low now, and Ponyboy's voice is thick with sleepiness. He nuzzles his slightly cold nose against Dallas' neck, his arm around his chest. They're comfortable in the nest, the stars glimmering above. "Always goes bad around here."

"Yeah," Dallas sighs out, his hand running through Ponyboy's hair. The fire pops, and he feels sleep tugging at his eyelids too. There's so much more ahead that he wants to get out, needs to get out. There's so much more to go, so much more to say, yet even he needs sleep with his mate. He hums when Ponyboy nuzzles against the mating mark, the feeling sending a wave of soft pleasure through him.

He reaches over, pulls the covers up to cover him and Ponyboy. There's a slurred sentence out of Ponyboy of, "'Love you."

He buries his nose in Ponyboy's hair, and in no time, they're both asleep.