Title: Never Enough

Summary: A take on Romeo & Juliet. In 1921 New York, the Manhattan Mob and the Brooklyn Boys ruled the city. After a brief war, there was peace but it was never enough to create trust. All it took was one night – and one gunshot – to shatter that illusion.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original Newsies characters mentioned in this piece; I do, however, stake claim to Jess Kelly, Frankie Kelly, Reagan Malloy, Johnny Conlon and a whole mess of other characters that will most likely pop up throughout this work.

Author's Note: Only about two weeks or so this time. Not too bad. However, as a bonus, this is definitely the longest chapter in this story. There is a lot going on – I am actually in the last part of this story. The way I figure it, there are only four or five more chapters after this. I hope you enjoy them as they last. Woot!

---

Part XX

"Hey, Ma. I'm home," Reagan called as she entered her mother's apartment, with Frankie following behind her. She tried, quickly, to settle her chin length blonde hair, before her mother met her in the front of the apartment. She had no doubts that her mother was up, waiting for her to return from her date with Mickey.

She was right.

"Reagan, honey. Is that you?" Sophie Malloy called as she entered into the small room. Despite the lateness of the evening, she was still wearing her afternoon dress as she wiped her hands on a dishrag. She had been doing the washing in the tub when the girls arrived.

"Of course, Ma," she said as she hurried over to her mother and wrapped her up in a hug. Seeing her mother made Reagan realize just how much had happened since she left her apartment that morning; for a good part of the night, she had been certain that she would never see her again.

Sophie laughed as she returned Reagan's squeeze. It was only when Reagan finally let go of her that she noticed Frankie standing just inside the room. "I see you've brought a friend back with you. Excuse me, though, she does not look like Mickey."

A blush came to Reagan's pale cheeks at once. How could she explain to her mother that this was not Mickey, that Mickey was dead, and that this was the daughter of the man that killed him? And that she was now expected to provide this girl with a dress for a quickie wedding as well as to attend this wedding as a witness?

She did not have to. Frankie, conscious of the nerves Reagan was currently feeling, stepped up for her. "Good evening, Mrs. Malloy," she greeted, glad that she remembered the surname that Reagan gave her when they first met. "My name is Frannie and I'm a friend of Mickey's," she said. It was not really a lie – she knew the Finn brothers and her father still liked to refer to her as Frannie at times. "I met up with Reagan and Mickey as their date, er, died down," she continued, trying not to wince at her choice of words, "and I offered to accompany her home since Mickey… couldn't."

Sophie smiled, not having any reason not to. She had no idea as to what had occurred only a few hours before. "Well, that's lovely. It's nice to meet you, Frannie. Reagan, dear? Are you almost ready for bed?" she asked.

Reagan, however, knew her mother. Sophie did not mean exactly what she said – what she meant was 'are you ready to tell your friend to go, so you can tell me about your evening?', instead. She nodded politely, eager to stay on her mother's good side. "Almost, Ma. Frank—Frannie asked me if she could come to my room for a bit. Is that alright?"

"Of course, dear. I'm going finish washing up the dishes and then head to my room. Come in there and let me know when you're ready for bed."

Reagan leaned in and awarded her mother with a kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Ma. We won't be long," she said, feeling a twinge of guilt for lying to her mother. She did not intend to turn Frankie out; she was going with her as soon as Whistler arrived back at the apartment.

She waited until her mother headed back to the kitchen before leading Frankie to her bedroom on the opposite of the apartment. Once they made it to the room, Reagan found the string to her lamp and pulled, shedding light across the small area.

Frankie followed her inside and made herself comfortable on Reagan's bed. "Your mother seems nice."

"Yes," Reagan answered absently as she walked over to her closet. She slid the door open and began to rifle through the various dresses inside. Now, what in here would make a nice wedding dress?

"She approved of you going out with a Brooklyn Boy?" Frankie tossed back, quite nonchalantly, as she studied her fingernails.

That caught Reagan's attention. She turned around – there was a sad expression on her face. She really had not had the time to properly mourn Mickey's passing just yet. "She's the one who implored me to accept his invitation. Said it would be best for me if I met a young man destined for wealth. Illegal or not, the Brooklyn Boys got money."

That hit home with Frankie. All of her life, living with her father, she had heard about the importance of a dollar. She nodded. "I got ya."

Reagan heard the somberness in Frankie's voice and almost regretted the rash way in which she had answered Frankie's question. But, then she remembered what they were in her apartment – in her room – to do, and knew that she did not have much time to feel bad for her or herself. She turned her head back into the small closet and continued searching until she found something that might suit Frankie. She unhooked it gently from the hanger and held it out to Frankie.

Frankie accepted the dress wordlessly. It was a white dress, crisp and new, as if Reagan had never worn it. It was low-cut, as well as low-waisted, though the dress only went so far as the wearer's knees. It was embroidered with fine rows of white glass beads giving much of the dress the appearance of sparkling. In a word, it was gorgeous. "Wow."

Reagan looked at the dress and shrugged, though there was bit of a proud smile crossing her thin lips. "My mom made it for me by hand."

"And you don't mind if I wear this?" Frankie asked as she ran one of her hands over the material.

"No. It's not really my style. A bit flashy but, to be honest, I think it would look lovely on you, Frankie. Would you like to try it on?"

Frankie nodded. Reagan could tell that she was excited; despite the money that the Kelly's had, she was not sure if Frankie had ever worn anything that was made specifically for her. She directed Frankie towards the small washroom across from her bedroom and, once Frankie had gone to change into the dress, she took her place on the bed.

It did not take too long for Frankie to exchange her dress for this one. While both of them had been white, there was definitely a difference in the girl's appearance. The new dress revealed much more than the previous one in ways of cleavage and leg; it was much more mature than Frankie's other dress.

"You look beautiful, Frankie. Just like a bride."

It was Frankie's turn to blush. "Thank you, Reagan," she said, uncharacteristically shy. It was as if she was a different person in the new dress. She walked over to the bed and leaned in to give Reagan a chaste kiss on her cheek, just like the blonde girl had given to her mother. "I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't for you."

Reagan was so flattered by Frankie's praise that she did not even note that, if the two girls had never met (as a result of Mickey's murder), then neither one of them would be in such a harrowing situation.

--

There was a moment of silence following Matt's admission. The only sound was the sharp intake of breath that came from Rae.

Frankie Kelly. Johnny is dating Jack and Jess's daughter. When did that happen?

Spot's face went from tan to red in a matter of seconds. Rae knew from personal past experience that that was not a good sign. She was right. When Spot finally found the words he wanted to say, they came out like an explosion.

"How long has my boy been seeing Jack's daughter? How long has this been kept from me?"

Matt paled and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Boss, it's not like that. Joh—"

Spot did not give him the opportunity to finish his pointless excuse. "Finn, shut it," he ordered, running his hand through his short hair in a manner that quite resembled Johnny's actions; both Conlon's found solace in rubbing their heads when presented with something far out of their control. Rae had noticed that some time ago, just how similar Spot and Johnny were, but knew that this was not the time to bring it up. "I have been betrayed. Spot Conlon does not do well when he is betrayed. What do you propose I do? What should be the penalty of keeping such information from me?"

Rae did not like the threatening tone that Spot had adopted. She understood where it came from but he seemed to have forgotten that Matt's younger brother had just been killed. She felt that Spot should have more compassion in this situation. "Spot, I—"

"You too, Rae. Just shut it."

Her grey eyes widened. This was one time that she was not going to heed his words. Sometimes he forgot their past history and thought that he could treat her the way that he treated all of his lackeys. Normally, Rae let him get away with it so as not to draw attention to their relationship, but Matt knew all about them. She did not feel the need to kowtow down to him. "Liam Conlon, please remember who you are speaking to," she almost whispered. "I am not one of your Boys to control."

Rae's response was enough to quell much of Spot's anger – or, at least, turn it towards her instead of Matt. But, he knew better than to argue with her. The last time they had gotten into a rather alarming quarrel, Rae had threatened to pack up the children and refuse to marry him. Ever since then, Spot kept his anger in check around her and treated her with much more respect than he showed towards his Boys.

He wanted to say something to Rae, wanted to retort that this was his son that had betrayed him but he did not. She was glaring at him so fiercely that he conceded. He had already lost one son, to his mind, in the past few minutes. He could not lose the rest of his family.

Spot sighed. "Fine. Forget it. That's not important. What is important is finding Johnny and having that boy explain to me just what has gone on behind my back. Do you agree, Rae?"

She knew that was the best she would get from him so she nodded. "Yes. What do you suggest?"

Spot held his hands out. "I don't know, Rae." He turned back to face Matt. "But I think I know someone that might."

Matt Finn gulped.

--

It took Whistler a few moments of gathering up his nerve before he actually climbed out of his car and walked (tip-toed, really; he was still nervous) over to the front door. It had been his intent to slip the note under the door; whether it was just Matt inside the office or Boss Conlon had already arrived for his evening meeting with his son, he figured that, sooner or later, Spot would find the note.

He did not expect to hear the Boss hollering at Matt when he got there – but that was exactly what he heard as he drew closer to the closed office door.

"How long has my boy been seeing Jack's daughter? How long has this been kept from me?"

"Boss, it's not like that. Joh—"

"Finn, shut it. I have been betrayed. Spot Conlon does not do well when he is betrayed. What do you propose I do? What should be the penalty of keeping such information from me?"

Whisler gulped, not even listening to Matt's answer. His mind was preoccupied with one though: He knows. Shit. What do I do now?

He was not about to leave the note – not with Spot yelling like that. In all of his time, working under Boss Conlon, he had never heard the man sound so intimidating as he had in that moment. What would happen to him if he made an attempt to drop the note off at the office only to be caught by the Boss?

No thank you.

Without even placing the note down, Whistler began to back away from the front door of the office. He took slow, deliberate steps at first, so that Spot would not hear him walk away but, as soon as he was a few feet away, he hurried back to his car. He just wanted to get out of Brooklyn as quickly as possible – it was not smart to stick around now that Spot had learned about Frankie and Johnny.

Besides, what good would that note do now? Spot knew about the secret relationship between his only son and his enemy's only daughter. The only thing that the note would accomplish would be upsetting the Boss even more – and adding Whistler's name to Spot's hit list.

There was only one problem. He had promised Johnny that he would deliver the note.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

It was then, just as Whistler was about to climb into the car an drive back to get Frankie and Reagan from Reagan's apartment, that he spied Boss Conlon's car. Everyone knew which car was his – it was the most expensive model around – and not one of the Boys would even go near it; they knew how important it was to Spot and did not want to chance catching his ire if something happened to it.

However, it was between going near the car and actually walking up to Spot himself to deliver the accursed note.

Whistler chose the car.

As soon as he had opened the car and slipped the note onto the passenger seat, Whistler hurried over to his car and slipped inside. The car was on and he was speeding back towards Reagan's apartment before realization at his brash actions settled in over him.

Whistler Connolly was the first Brooklyn Boy to touch Boss Conlon's car and (so far) survive.

Nice.

--

"Hey there, missy. Where do you think you're going?" The young doorman, at his post just inside the lavish building, reached out and grabbed Match's upper arm as she tried to pass right by him and make her way inside. He had express instructions by his employer to bar entry to anyone that he did not recognize as belonging to this building. And this girl, with her faded and patched clothing, definitely did not belong.

Match stopped, as she was expected to, but wrenched her arm out of his hold. She did not appreciate being handled in such a way. "I have to visit the Kelly's. Something about their daughter…" Wait. What's Frankie's prissy name? Oh, that's right. "Francis. I got a message." In her left hand she was holding tight to a note. She lifted the paper up and waved it in his face as if that was her ticket into the lift.

A sarcastic retort was lingering on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it. The Kelly's were their wealthiest clients – everyone knew where they got their money but, as Mrs. Kelly was a generous woman and Mr. Kelly was an intimidating man, they never said a word – and regularly had interesting characters coming to visit them. If this girl was telling the truth and he did not let her in, that would be the end of his job.

"Well," he began, lifting the hand that he had used to stall the girl up to his head. He scratched, trying not to look like he was debating his course of action. "The Kelly's only just arrived a few minutes ago. You want I should ring them and tell them you are here?" There, that would save him from having to explain why he let (or did not let) an unsupervised girl up to the top floor.

Match shook her head. "That ain't necessary. I know where they live."

"If I'm going to let you go on up on your own, then I'm going to need some information first," he said. "The tenant's privacy is very important, as I'm sure you know, and it is my job that no one gets passed me that don't belong. Here, follow me, if you would, miss." His voice adopted a friendlier tone, a pleasanter tone, as if he was trying to make up for the brash way he handled her.

She sighed but followed the young man as he left his post at the door in favor of approaching a desk that occupied the middle of the lobby. There was a large book that rested upon the desktop, beside a fancy dial phone. As he lifted it up and, bracing it in his left hand, brought a fountain pen to the page, Match had to squash a bit of envy. She knew that Frankie had money – how else could she afford to pay Match in order to facilitate Frankie and Johnny's secret meetings? – but it was a simple sight, such as the gilded book and the fancy phone, that made her realize just how different they were.

"I need a name and an address, please," he explained, his pen poised to document the girl's information. This way, at least, if something happened or the Kelly's were not expecting this girl, he had proof as to her identity. The idea that she would lie to him did not eve occur.

Match may have been tough and loyal and nosy and, yes, a tad bit greedy… but she was honest. And, when the doorman requested her name and address, she gave it to him without even thinking twice. Unfortunately.

Once the information had been documented, the doorman had no other excuse with which to keep Match in the lobby. He instructed her towards the lift before placing the heavy book back on the desk and going back to his post.

She was surprised to see another young man, dressed in the same knickers suit as the man at the door, waiting within the lift. "Which floor, miss?"

What did Frankie say her address was? The top floor of this place? I think that's it… "Um… the top floor. The Kelly apartment."

He nodded and began to operate the machinery. She could see that he looked a bit interested that she had asked for the top floor but he did not say anything until the elevator arrived at her destination. "Your floor," he acknowledged as he opened the door.

"Thanks," she said as she exited onto the floor. However, before he could close the door and begin his descent back to the first floor, Match turned back to face him. "I'm only going to be a second. Can you wait for me?"

The elevator operator nodded and pressed a button. The doors remained open as he resumed his position in the corner of the small room.

Match hurried across the hallway. It was a very short walk from the elevator to the front door of the apartment and she did not want to dawdle. The last thing she needed was to get caught delivering Frankie's note to her parents.

Even if the doorman did not tell her that the Kelly's had arrived at the apartment before she did, Match would have known by the electric light that seeped out from underneath the door. She sighed and, bending down, she slipped the note underneath the door, while praying that Mr. or Mrs. Kelly were not standing beside the door at that moment.

Once the last corner of the white note was swallowed up by the door, Match turned and all but jogged back to the elevator. She stepped inside the room and smiled at the young man. "All right. I'm ready to go back down now."

--

Jack turned the light on in the guest bedroom and glanced around. She was not in that room either. Furious that it was the last room he had needed to check and that there was no sign or Frankie or that blonde girl in the apartment, Jack slammed his open palm against the door.

His wife popped up behind him. While Jack had basically ran from one room to the next, in search of his daughter, Jess just followed behind him, waiting for him to realize that she was not there. She was as alarmed as Jack but did not show it by beating up on their doors. "Jack, what are we going to do?"

He spun around and gripped her by her shoulders; it was not a rough hold but one done out of panic. Frankie was the most important thing in his life – if something were to happen to her, he would never be able to forgive himself.

"We've got to find her, Jess."

Jess agreed with him but that did not mean that she had any inkling to where Frankie was. She had quite a few friends – the sons and daughters of various Mob members – but this was the first time that she was out without telling her parents where she had gone. It was not like Frankie to do that and both of her parents knew that.

Neither one of them wanted to say what they were thinking: Brooklyn. If Frankie was missing, and left no answer to where she was, there could only be one response. Especially after what happened that night…

Jack lowered his hands from Jess's shoulders until they were wrapped around her wrists. He sidled passed her, exiting the guest room, before pulling her behind him.

"Where are we going?"

He looked over his shoulder. "We're going to the office. Then we're going to call up some of my boys and we're going to find our daughter."