There is a myth of a gentleman gangster. This is the idea perpetuated by films that the mafia leaves the families of their members alone, at least until the third act when the antagonist goes too far and can no longer be redeemed. Some people thought Wilson Fisk had crossed that line when he killed Don Rigaletto's wife along with the old man, but in truth the line was never there to begin with. The family members of those in this life aren't collateral damage but primary targets. After all, to kill a man because he owes you a debt means giving up on the money. Kill one of his children and you can find the account settled very swiftly. Fisk didn't invent these methods. He did perfect them. Discovered that the threat was enough when done in a properly dramatic fashion. Much cleaner for everyone involved.
A man with no connections was immune to attack. That was why Wilson told everyone that his mother was dead. After all, he had no connections that anyone could leverage against him. No wife, no girlfriend, no mistress, or boyfriend, or family at all.
It was easy enough to make Marlene Fisk disappear. She was never noticed much even when she was young. No church attendance or PTA meetings or friends who she talked with on the stoop. Her only hobby was the movies, sitting alone in a dark theater living the lives of the people on the screen. She'd read novels and watch Ryan's Hope every weekday afternoon. Her husbands were always the ones who people knew, and she was just the poor nameless wife.
The hardest part had been not seeing her. While Wilson was in Asia building up his business he couldn't simply fly back to New York for no reason. He had been the one to volunteer to travel to the city when a job would come up, but that began to look suspicious and he had to wait to be asked. He had arranged for monthly payments for her to allow her all the movies she wanted to see. Later on he made sure she had cable, and all the movie channels, and as many books as she wanted. What he couldn't give her was an in-person visit. Not until he was further up in the organization. Not until people had forgotten that Wilson Fisk had ever had a mother.
By the time he could finally see her for any significant time, Wilson's Fisk mother had seemed to forget him. Her apartment was a mess of candy bar wrappers and the television set was stuck on The Weather Channel because she couldn't remember how to change the station. A good diet and some medications seemed to help bring her back enough that she understood that the soft spoken man who towered over her was little Willy, but she would be in decline again soon. No amount of medical treatment could cure what was wrong. They couldn't even place a name to it. Alzheimer's was certainly a possibility, but dementia looked similar in people who had suffered head injuries in the past. And Wilson could only reach for his cufflinks, toying with them nervously, when the doctor explained how Bill Fisk was still haunting them.
Since being back in the city, Wilson became dedicated to seeing his mother weekly. Wesley would actually pick her up from the facility, an extra layer of protection to keep their connection hidden, and then drive her to the Sunday brunch at the Rolling Hills Country Club where Wilson would be waiting. They used to take her to the movies, an old theater that showed a classic double feature on the weekends, but she didn't like being out that long anymore. "I need to get back to my house," she'd say, "they can't get anything right without me there to supervise."
Today would be different thought. Today, he was bringing someone for his mother to meet. It was the first time Wilson had ever introduced a romantic partner to Mother, the first time he'd really had anyone to introduce. Logically he understood that it should be nerve wracking, but there was no fear. Marlene would love Vanessa, because how could anyone not fall under her spell, and then would talk about old movies for the rest of the meal.
Vanessa, on the other hand, was not so calm. She was in the bathroom putting her eyelashes through some type of torture device and then sighing when it apparently didn't work correctly.
"You look lovely," Wilson said, talking to her reflection in the large vanity mirror, "but won't you be cold?" She was wearing a strapless sundress that flounced outwards at the hips. It was different from her typical structured style, but he hadn't asked her about the change. What she felt like wearing was little consequence to him, as long as she was happy.
"It was supposed to warm up today. I suppose I could wear the jacket from last night, but it will ruin the silhouette."
"This wouldn't be a problem if you just moved your stuff here," he suggested, trying to make his voice sound playful. But it still sounded too much like he was pressuring her into something, and so he quickly added, "Or we can just swing by your apartment. It's no problem."
She turned around to kiss his cheek. "We'll be inside the restaurant and the car. I'm sure I won't freeze in the walk between the two."
Vanessa looked at herself one last time with a critical eye. "I've never met a mother before," she said, as she smoothed the skirt of the dress. "Do I look the part?"
"What part is that?"
She shrugged, "I'm not sure. The picture of the supportive partner. Feminine, flirty, appropriately doting and meek."
"Meek? Not exactly a word I'd ever use to describe you, thankfully."
"You really are different from most men, Wilson. Thankfully."
Vanessa hadn't been lying about never having met a mother before. Even her own mother was unknown, and she'd never had any interest in meeting the families of her lovers. When she was younger it was rebellion after so many years of being told that her only redeeming quality was the man she would one day marry. When she'd escaped her father's home she wanted to prove that she was more than that. She became the antithesis of the woman they had tried to mold her into. Brash and outspoken. Fearless and opinionated. She fucked who she wanted and reveled in the stares she would get as her reputation spread.
Age didn't bring any regrets, but it did make her realize that blind rebellion was still allowing her father to control her actions in some way. So, she learned to love her solitude. She would walk around Paris at midnight looking at couples in love and feeling only joy for the possibilities of the world. Vanessa still was fearless and opinionated, but it was now more refined.
And yet, some things never changed. The voice in her head that she could mostly ignore still sounded like her father, and still said that what men wanted most was a mother to their child and a trophy to their friends.
"She looks like Audrey Hepburn."
Marlene couldn't stop cooing over Vanessa, having already compared her to Myrna Loy, Vivian Leigh, and Elizabeth Taylor. Brunch was going well, at least once they had convinced Wesley to stay. Marlene complimented everything from the eggs, to the waiter, and the other people in the room. "Everyone is just so lovely. It's like I'm in Grand Hotel. It's so nice."
She turned to her son, smiling. "And don't James and his girlfriend make a good couple."
Wilson played with his napkin in his hands nervously. "Mother, Vanessa is my girlfriend."
If this news made an impact she didn't show it, instead eating another bit of pancake and praising it as the best she's ever had.
Vanessa let her leg stretch under the table, rubbing Wilson's leg slightly. "It's okay," she mouthed while smiling at him. It was so strange watching him around his mother, acting so much like a little boy, fidgeting and slouching. Wilson hated being around people, but she was beginning to suspect that was because he was so highly empathic to what was expected from him. She'd seen for himself how he could change on a dime from charming lover to fearless leader to cold boss. He was a mirror, reflecting back whoever was in front of him. No wonder crowds made him nervous, he must feel like a chameleon on tartan trying to figure out what color to match.
"Marlene," Vanessa said, changing the topic, "Have you seen your son in the newspapers? He had become quite the celebrity."
The small old woman frowned, pushing her fork around the plate. "No. Willy can't be in the papers. Need to make sure that people don't find out. They wouldn't understand. People can be so cruel."
"Mother," Wilson whispered.
"Need to send him away. Willy has to get out of the city. Someplace where he can't hurt anyone else."
Wesley straightened up in his seat, trying to get Vanessa's attention. "Marlene gets this way. Starts talking about things from movies and…"
"She knows," Wilson said, as Marlene continued to talk to herself.
"It's not his fault. Not really. But it is still a sin. Thou shall not kill."
Wilson had his eyes closed, his fingers toying with his cufflinks. Not his father's anymore, Vanessa had banished those permanently, but the old tic came back in moments of stress.
Vanessa felt her vision blur as a feeling of rage fell over her. She didn't worry about anyone hurting Wilson when he would disappear in the middle of the night. She didn't fret when he would come home with blood on his hands. He was a powerful man who could clearly take care of himself.
But his heart…that was not so well protected. And seeing it threatened made her furious, even as some rational part tried to remind her that the old woman had no idea what she was doing.
"I've never cared for the 10 Commandments," Vanessa said, her voice perfectly rising. "Coveting things, well why not if nobody gets hurt? A good bit of coveting can be inspiring now and then. Honor your parents? That one I really never understood. They are the ones who should honor their children. They created them which makes them responsible for protecting them."
The older woman looked directly at her with something that Vanessa thought was respect. "You know who James' girlfriend looks like- Ava Gardner."
Yelling at an old woman, one who didn't know what she was saying, was truly not any great way to make an impression. The room suddenly felt too small, and Vanessa stood up without a word. Outside was a large patio filled with men puffing on cigars and looking out onto the rolling green vistas. It was terrible standing there with the smell of smoke and the eyes of old men looking her over as gooseflesh pimpled along her bare skin. It was still better than sitting at the table where she'd just embarrassed herself in front of Wilson and the people most important to him.
It was suddenly much warmer, and Vanessa found herself wrapped in a large grey suit jacket. "I told you that you'd freeze"
Vanessa leaned her head back, letting if rest on Wilson's unyielding chest. They didn't talk for minutes. Not until she couldn't take it any longer and asked the question that was tightening around her chest. "Do you hate me?"
"Why would I hate you?"
"Oh, there's so many reasons. For screaming at your mother. For yelling at a sick old lady. For snapping at your sick old mother. For generally behaving like some type of monster."
"You're not a monster," he said, softly into her right ear. His breath was so warm that she wanted to shed the jacket. "She's not one either, you know. She did what she thought was best."
Vanessa had no idea what Wilson looked like as a boy. If she tried to imagine him in her head it was fuzzy and indistinct. She could imagine the scene around him though. She could envision the little boy spending nights in a row carting bags of meat and bone to the river. "A mother disposes of bodies herself. She takes the life of whoever is hurting her child. That's what a mother does."
"Could you do that?" he asked.
"I don't know." Vanessa shrugged out of the jacket and handed it back to him. He was watching her carefully, as if she was a gun trained at his chest that could kill him at any moment. "But that's why I don't have children."
The next question never came. Instead they walked back inside and finished brunch. Vanessa even made Wesley blush when she kissed him on the cheek after Marlene mentioned how adorable they were. They didn't mention what Vanessa had said, or the conversation on the patio. Or anything else until they were back in the city.
"Can you walk me up?" she asked when they reached her apartment. While the penthouse was all glass and minimalism, her apartment was an eclectic collection pieces that she loved. They shouldn't go together, but they did. On the walls were pieces- mostly modern but a few sketches in different styles. A few that he could tell were sketches of Vanessa, and he suddenly wished that he had any type of artistic skill at all.
"I need some help. That suitcase, in the loft area, can you reach it for me?"
He pulled it down with ease and sat it on her bed. "Anything else?"
She nodded, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a handful of undergarments, "I think I can get most of the clothes from the dresser. But pick out a few of the dresses from the closet. Three or four days should be enough. I can have the rest over to our apartment by then."
That was the first night Wilson Fisk slept through the night since he was a child.
