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: I really meant to update this a lot faster than I ended up doing and I'm sorry for that. I think it's because I have this planned out entirely until the end (it will be 26 chapters in its entirety… just so you know) and, once that's done, it kind of takes the fun out of it. Anyways, I have finally gotten my inspiration back on this story – this chapter and the next are kind of similar chapters (but I decided to split them in two for the sake of length) and, after they are done, the end is there. So, be excited. I should be updating fairly soon with the second half of this bit (where you'll see what's going on in Brooklyn).

PS. It's late and I didn't go over for typos yet. I wanted to put this out tonight so, if there are any, I'll get them when I wake up. Woot.

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Part XXI

Johnny Conlon had never been one for churches. It might have been because his father, born a Roman Catholic though he never practiced during his youth, got all involved with religion after marrying Johnny's mother; ever since he was little, Johnny had had to go to the biggest church in Brooklyn once a week, in an attempt to save his soul. Or, at least, that's what his father told him – about a year ago, he found out that the reason his father was so intent on returning to that same Church weekly was because he had some kind of shady deal going on with Father Fitzpatrick. Johnny had not gone back to the church since.

But, as he left Old Saint Patrick's Cathedral, down on Mulberry Street, he could not help but grin. He had not been certain, when he knocked on the elaborate door, that there would be someone inside that was willing to listen to his story. It had been a pleasant surprise that, at the first church he tried, a priest answered the door personally. After a quick explanation as to the seriousness of the situation – and how handsome of a tithe he would be willing to award the church should he comply with his wishes – Father Murphy had agreed to perform the ceremony that very night… granted that the wedded couple obey the law and obtain a marriage license as soon as they could get to City Hall.

At that moment, Johnny would have agreed to anything in order to receive the priest's aid; he was extremely pleased to see that all the priest required was for them to make it legal in the state's eyes, as well as the church, by getting a license. So, with a rather large grin, he had promised the Father that he would do that the next morning. After shaking the rather young priest's hand, he told him that he would return with his bride-to-be in less than an hour. There would be at least two witnesses, he added, before the man could ask, and there was no need for a long ceremony. All the pair wanted was to be recognized as man and wife by God; only then were they sure that they would no longer be seen as mere children by their parents.

It was a little more than twenty blocks back to the apartment that Match O'Rourke called home and, as he made his way back, Johnny started to whistle. The more he thought about it, the better he felt about this plan. He knew that he always intended to make Frankie his bride – he just never expected that it would happen when they were so young. Or when their parents were still preoccupied up in their silly rivalry.

There was a break in his whistling as Johnny's thoughts turned to his father. He could already hear the man's rough voice echoing in his head; he knew his father would not take the news well at all. He could only imagine how Frankie's father would react – or overreact, as the case was. In a way, he was glad that he and Frankie had taken the easy way out by telling their parents the truth in a simple note. He did not think that he would ever have the nerve to face his father and tell him straight to his face.

Nevertheless, Johnny stuck his hands in his pockets and resumed his whistling. The pair of them would deal with their parents when the time came; until then, they would enjoy their wedding night. After all, it only ever happened once.

The walk back to the rundown, derelict building did not take as long as he thought, even though he had tried to take his time. He had a bit of the pre-wedding jitters and, despite his assumed leisurely pace, he was back at the building within the hour. There was no sign of Whistler's car out front and he wondered if, perhaps, he had parked it a few alleys over (in case).

Johnny did not bother taking one of the oil lamps with him as he made his way up the flights of stairs that led to Match's floor. He kept his hand against the wall, counting steps, until he found the level that he was on. He emerged into the hallway and used the same method to find Match's door. She had left the apartment unlocked; when his hands found the knob, he turned it and let himself in.

A quick glance around the dark room told him that no one had returned to the apartment just yet. He nodded to himself and drew a slip of paper out of his pocket. Father Murphy had obliged him by writing down the church's address – 263 Mulberry Street – in case the others were not familiar with Old Saint Patrick's Cathedral. He did not know for sure where he should leave the scrap; if he set it down somewhere that was overlooked, Frankie might never make it to the church in time.

That's when the perfect solution dawned on Johnny. He had told the others to return to the apartment for further instructions but had neglected to tell them where they would be. But, being sure that they would meet back here, if he left the address outside of the apartment, tacked to the front door, there would be no way that they could miss it.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets, nimble fingers taking a quick inventory of its stores. Having been trained from a very early age to get around the law, Johnny had learned that certain items were indispensable. Money, of course, a blade, definitely, and the thin piece of metal his fingers had just found, deep in his pocket: a bobby pin, courtesy of his (almost) sister, Edwina.

A trickster's grin twisting his handsome face, Johnny went back into the hallway. He placed the piece of paper from Father Murphy up against the wooden door and, with a quick jab, stuck the bobby pin through it. When he was sure that the pin would hold, he dropped his hand and took a step back.

"There," he muttered under his breath, "if they miss that, then they're blind."

He wiped his hands against his pants and nodded once. He spared the note one last glance and started his way back to the stairwell. It was up to him to go back to the church and wait for the other four to arrive. He had to be there, at the front of the great building, just in case Father Murphy decided to head out to attend to other business. Now that his impromptu plan was in motion, Johnny was not going to let anything get in the way.

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Jack still had his hands firmly around Jessa's wrists as he pulled his wife through the apartment. Once they made it back to the foyer, he let go and gestured for her to grab her purse. He, himself, gave one last feverish glance around the room before huffing and patting his pockets for a much needed cigarette. However, just as he was checking the inside of his suit jacket, something caught his eye. "Jess, what's that?"

Her hand was already reaching out to turn off the lights when he called out to her. "What's what?" she asked, fingers resting lightly on the switch.

"That." He jerked his head at the door, his deep brown eyes staring at the floor.

Jess followed his gaze and saw, just next to her heeled shoe, a folded piece of white paper. Curious, she bent over and picked it up. There was an address written on the front of the paper, written in a hand that she recognized immediately. "It's to us, Jack. It's from Frankie," she said, mildly surprised. The surprise did not last, though, and as soon as it wore off, she unfolded the note and began to read it.

"What's it say? Does it tell you where she is?" Jack asked, every inch the protective father. He stalked over to his wife's side and tried to read the note over her shoulder. But, before he could read any further than the opening, Jess folded it back up and placed her hand over her mouth.

He could see that she was breathing heavily, as if she had just read something that upset her greatly. As it took quite a lot to rattle his wife, Jack began to feel even more nervous. "Jess, where's Frankie?"

She turned her head around so that she was meeting his eyes. She had gone pale and, he could see, her hands were trembling. "Honey," she began, her voice shaking nearly as noticeably as her hands, "Frankie… Frankie's getting married."

At first, Jack thought that she was joking – but he knew that there was no way that his wife could feign such an act, even if she was joking. However, that did not mean that he believed what she said. After all, how could his baby girl be getting married if she did not even have a beau? "Yeah, right, Jess. My precious? Getting married?" He let out a weak chuckle. "Okay, I'll bite. Who's our daughter marrying?"

Jess flinched and Jack knew at once that, whatever it was that that note said, he did not want to hear it. His wife never acted as if she was in fear of him, despite all the things she knew he did in his business; for her to draw away from him like that, the news must be worse than he could ever imagine.

"Well…" she said, drawing out the long word, her voice almost hollow. "According to this note, Frankie is marrying a boy called Johnny…"

Not one of his boys was called Johnny – was she worried because Frankie had announced she was eloping with someone they never met? "Jess, we don't know any Johnny." He tried to speak with as calm a voice as he could but, regardless, she still seemed rattled.

"Actually, Jack, we do." It was her turn to humor him with a small laugh, a laugh that she obviously did not mean. "Johnny Conlon." When her husband did not seem to react at all, she clarified. "Spot Conlon's boy."

"I know who Johnny Conlon is now," he snapped, automatically bringing his hand to his head. He ruffled his hair in an effort to calm himself down. He knew it would do no good to get angry, especially at Jessa. Getting angry would not stop his daughter from making the single biggest mistake of her life – only a brain could stop that.

He thought about it for a second, grateful for the silence that she awarded him. He snapped his fingers. "I got it," he announced before opening the front door. He ushered Jess into the hallway and shut the door behind him. "Whoever dropped off this note had to get by the front desk, right? If we ask the boy at the door, he should be able to tell us who it was – if it was Frankie or that blonde girl of yours or someone else, even. Maybe we'll get a lead on a direction or a time or something."

Jess chose to gloss over the minor jab at Reagan's involvement in this whole thing. Instead, she nodded. "I think that sounds right."

Jack nodded and headed towards the lift. He rang for it once before starting to tap his foot impatiently. As soon as the doors opened before him, he strode inward and glared at the young man in the corner. Jess, feeling a bit light-headed at the pace with which things were going, slowly entered behind him.

"Evening again, sir. Ma'am," the boy said as he manipulated the controls and began the lift's descent back to the first floor. Jack nodded absently and Jess just grinned – the operator got the hint and said nothing else.

The lift's doors were barely open and Jack was already crossing the threshold. With a stride in his step that had been absent in recent years, Jack marched over to the young man who stood at the front door to the plush building. "Have you admitted anyone tonight that asked to be shown to the Penthouse?" he asked, almost barking out the question.

The doorman looked a bit flustered but, under the weight of Jack's stare, nodded. "Yes sir, Mister Kelly. She said she was a friend of your daughter's," he replied, in a voice closer to a whisper than anything else. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"What did she look like?"

His eyes widened but he shook his head. "I didn't really pay much mind to her, sir. But," he added quickly, when Jack exhaled sharply and leaned in closer to him, "I did get her name and address. As a precaution."

"Show it to me. Now."

As quickly as he could, the boy hurried over to the desk in the center of the lobby. He picked up the great ledger that rested atop it and flipped it open to the most recent pages. He offered Jack the book without another word. He was all but quailing behind his desk but, once Jack's eyes were going over the ledger's contents, Jess spared him a kind smile. The young man looked relieved but did not move at all.

Jack read the name over twice, not recognizing it. He was only then beginning to understand how little he knew about his own daughter – and it was making him even angrier than he was before. However, the address that the visitor had placed underneath her name was quite familiar to him. Jack even allowed himself a little smirk.

"Jess," he said, shoving the open book back at the doorman without even a second look, "you'll never guess where we're going."

She did not like the tone of voice he had just adopted. It sounded too… calm… for a Mob boss who had just learned his only daughter was planning to wed the son of his business rival. Still, she humored him. "Where, Jack?"

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the young man holding the ledger. "We're going to see Match O'Rourke."

The name did not mean anything to her, either, but she was not about to ask any further questions with Jack in this mood. Instead, she waited for him to start storming towards the front door again before following after him.

It was only after the Kelly's had left the apartment building that the poor doorman finally let out the breath he was holding.