Title: Chapter One

Summary: Three brothers; torn apart by good intentions; reunite to bring a final end to the insanity. And to reunite a broken family.

Disclaimer: General Hospital belongs to ABC and affiliates. I am merely borrowing.

Author's Notes: Onto chapter one. This begins after some years have passed since the prologue. A few things from canon GH will be altered to fit the story. Be prepared for a few surprise changes to a couple of characters. And, of course, thanks to Selene Antilles for her awesome beta-ing! :)

--

"Are you listening to me?"

Jason looked up innocently from where he'd been spinning his cell phone in the palm of his hand, as he'd waited with barely restrained impatience for her phone call, "Yeah Sonny, I heard. The Zaccharas are evil, must be exterminated." Yada yada yada. Sonny had been on the exact same song-and-dance for the past six months. Jason had to wonder if the elder man had a hidden affinity for show tunes.

"You've been distracted," Sonny pointed out, "What's goin' on with you?"

Jason studied Sonny's face; searching for a glimpse of the best friend, the brother he'd found in the man years before. But seated behind the ornate desk, in the expensive designer (with Sonny it always was) suit, that man was no longer present. Instead, a convoluted, removed version of the friend, the brother he remembered, remained in his place. Jason could remember the last time Sonny had spoken to him as an equal, but it was long past.

"Well?" Sonny demanded impatiently. Whereas the Sonny of old would have stood, rounded the desk, and catching the younger blonde's eye, called his attention with a soft spoken Jase; the shell of his former friend declared irritably, "I need you focused here Jason. If the Zaccharas try to make a move on my territory, God help that idiot kid."

Jason sighed. Right, kid. Johnny Zacchara was a kid in way over his head. A boy thrust into a man's game of life and death that he didn't even want to play. The kid was stuck, by commitments and threats and demands and enemies made by his clinically insane father. Johnny Zacchara was trapped and Jason sympathized. He'd seen the kid in action. And while he too would have to agree that when John first arrived on the scene it appeared that the young man had a death wish, it now had evened out, and at the Black and White Ball, Johnny had done well. In that dark, dangerous, and deadly night on Spoon Island, Jason saw the real strength and fortitude behind the rumors of insanity and façade of bravado. And he respected the kid. Sonny had decided before he'd ever laid eyes on the kid that he was trouble that should be extinguished before he became a problem. Sonny didn't have the chance to see what Jason had (he'd been too busy the night Jason had lost his adored little sister; fawning over Kate Howard) and refused to listen when Jason tried to explain his own position. It had gotten to the point where Sonny would rant on, and Jason would ignore, only peripherally paying any attention. Then, Sonny would head off to be Kate Howard's whipping boy, and Jason would take care of everything. The business, that Sonny continually deemed his own, Sonny's ex-wife, Sonny's paternally neglected children. God-fucking-forbid he wasn't intently, at all times, focused on something Sonny. God-fucking-forbid he carved out a couple of spare milliseconds for his own family; for Elizabeth and their boys. And for Spinelli; he had to count the bumbling, verbally baffling, tech-savvy kid he'd shared an apartment with for the past two years.

"Sonny," Jason kept his voice and expression blank, free of the frustration and disappointment he actually felt. Spinelli didn't call him Stone Cold for nothing. "Johnny isn't a threat. The kid wants peace as bad as we do."

Anger twisted Sonny's face and his short frame shot out of his desk chair, slamming his fist on the desk top, "Maybe I don't want peace! I want you to take care of Junior. Now!"

Jason bit back his own retort. No, the man across from him was no longer the friend and mentor Jason had admired and respected. All that was left was a sniveling facsimile that the original wouldn't have recognized. "War would be a stupid move Sonny. You know that. Besides, Johnny-he hasn't done anything to provoke us or to warrant any kind of attack."

"Don't tell me what I know!" Sonny yelled, furious at Jason's presumptuousness, "I'm the boss here! You work for me!"

Wondering just how it was that Sonny could have remained alive all of these years if Jason hadn't been around to clean up after him, he clenched his jaw. "We're partners, Sonny. You better not forget that."

While Sonny pondered the meaning of Jason's last rebelliously uttered phrase, Jason's cell phone finally buzzed in his hand. Offering no dismissal or acknowledgement to Sonny, he stood and left the office, slamming the door with finality behind him.

--

He'd quickly exited the coffee shop the office was housed in, ducking behind an oddly placed, decorative tree and tried not to drop his phone as he fumbled to open it and bring it to his ear, "Hey."

"Hey you." Warmth radiated from her voice, and coaxed a smile from his stony countenance. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, no," Jason quickly assured her. Truthfully, he'd been waiting on pins and needles for this call. "Nothing important."

"Good." Silly grins were present on both ends of the line. "Can you meet me?"

"Our place, twenty minutes," was his quick reply. God, he loved her. She was the only one who could make him this nervous and giddy. Hell, she was the only woman who could make him giddy at all.

"Hurry." Her voice dropped a few octaves to a seductive tone that had something quite masculine rumbling within him. "I'm already here. Waiting for you. All by myself."

Gripping the phone, he swore, "I'll be there. Soon."

"I love you," She declared happily, fearlessly.

"I love you too," He replied resolutely. God, he loved her.

--

"Johnny, are you paying any attention, at all, to what I'm saying to you?"

Good lord. For the past few hours, he'd been trapped in his father's office, a room he'd always been forbidden to enter when his father had occupied a place in their home—his father's home, his prison. Now that his father was locked up in a hospital for the criminally insane, keeping everyone safe from his madness, Johnny had free reign of the Zacchara mausoleum, and this room had been one of the last rooms he'd ventured to enter.

But now, now Johnny was in the formerly forbidden office, listening to his father's long-time attorney, Trevor Lansing, drone on and on about the family business. Holdings, ventures, territories, enemies, codes, protocols, commitments. His head was swimming with business jargon and thinly veiled references to the less-than-legal portions (hell, that part entailed most of the amassed so-called Zacchara empire) of his father's business. According to Trevor, Anthony Zacchara's business acumen had been unsurpassed in his father's tenure as head of the family. As this statement passed the attorney's lips, Johnny didn't bother to try to suppress or hide the resulting chortle. His father had been a force to be reckoned with, for sure. Until he'd gone stark raving mad. Then, the once powerful, ruthless, and controlling Anthony Zacchara was easily contained behind the four walls of this very office.

"Yeah, yeah Trevor, I'm listening." The only thing keeping Johnny's face from flattening against the desk top was his hand propped under his chin, keeping his head upright, even as he dozed through Trevor's lectures. If he had the choice, he'd rather smack his head up against a wall multiple times than listen to Trevor's monotone voice for a moment longer.

"You had better be," The graying attorney muttered, "Because you are the next in line to run the Zacchara business. You have to know these things Johnny, to survive in this business. You have to know how to play or you'll end up squashed under everybody else's feet."

"I know," Johnny exclaimed angrily, "I've been listening to you blather on for days Trevor. I think you've managed to drive it into my thick skull by now." Truth be told, he would rather be doing anything—driving his car too fast around the cliff roads he'd found in Port Charles, winding and squealing the tires around the sharp corners. Or getting a colonoscopy without anesthesia. Though it hadn't gotten so bad that he'd rather be visiting his father. He wanted to avoid that as much as possible. He'd spent the first twenty years of his life being controlled by his father's whims and ravings; he wouldn't spend the next twenty the same way.

"Listen John." Trevor gracefully folded himself into a nearby chair, facing Johnny with a critical eye. "I realize that it was never your dream to take over your father's business. But if let to its own devices, the situation could very well implode into something very treacherous. And we can't let that happen."

"We?" Johnny arched a brow, regarding the attorney with the same critical eye. "Who said anything about we?"

"Of course I'll be there every step of the way," Trevor assured, gesturing with flat hands, palms down, "To guide and advise you through the rough road ahead. Just remember John, we're in this together.

"A little hasty, aren't you, Trevs?" A feminine voice asked bluntly from the doorway. Both men looked to find a tall brunette, a long black trench coat covering her from neck to knees. The only touch of color she wore were the blood red stilettos on her feet.

Johnny gaped, blinking rapidly. It couldn't be who he thought it was. Could it?

Trevor stifled an exasperated sound. He'd called her back, but he had a feeling he would soon regret that move.

The woman in the door smiled confidently. "It's me John." She strode across the room towards him, holding out a hand to him as she arrived at his chair. "I'm home, baby brother. I'm home."

--

She groaned as her head banged lightly against the wall and he sealed his lips to hers once again. They kissed hungrily, as if it had been years since the last time they'd had the chance. Loosening her lips from his just enough to talk, she murmured, "I thought you'd never get here."

"The ride was too damn long," He replied gruffly, grazing his hand over her leg, from where her ankles linked at the small of his back to her thigh, and onward, before curving around her behind to keep her close, "All I could think about was getting back here, to you."

"Oh, baby," She looped her arms around his neck tightly, pulling his face to hers for another voracious kiss. She traced his lips with her tongue, "I missed you. "

It was his turn to groan as she squirmed deliciously against his front to gain a better vantage point for her assault on his mouth. She nibbled at his bottom lip; knowing that watching her do the same to her own nearly drove him crazy.

"God woman," He growled, "You're going to be the death of me."

She pulled her face back from his and smiled a deviously sultry smile. "So long as I'm the only one." Her hand drifted down from stroking his scruffy jaw line to his exposed, defined chest. Her fingers tangled with the chain that hung around his neck, ornamented by a simple gold band.

"You're the only one 'Lizabeth." Resting his forehead against hers, he guaranteed, "You are definitely the only one. I love you."

"Me too," She moaned in his ear as his lips descended onto her shoulder, placing slow, damp kisses along her collarbone, "Me too baby."

--

The day had passed well he decided as he sprawled comfortably on the sofa, sipping his third bottle of nectar of the Gods, at Casa de Stone Cold. Stone Cold himself was not at home at present, but that was not a new occurrence. There was always something urgent that demanded Stone Cold's attention; whether it be Mr. Corinthos Sir, the Valkeryie, some altercation with Nefarious Night Crawlers, a run-in with the Long Arms of Justice… and, oh, the list went on. Though Spinelli didn't begrudge Stone Cold a second the man spent on his own life, all right maybe a second, there were moments where Spinelli missed his best friend. After careful consideration, Spinelli had decided that his mentor would have to be cloned, so that one could work, one could be at Valkeryie's, and Mr. Corinthos' beck and call, one could be available to the Quatermaines, another could do what Spinelli knew Stone Cold was dying to do—spend time with the Maternal One, and the wee ones. And still another could be with Spinelli, to direct and guide him as he tried to navigate the un-cyber world. Because he, the Jackal, was failing miserably on his own at such an endeavor.

Spinelli sighed heavily, watching the television screen as the credits rolled to the movie he'd been perusing. It hadn't really held his attention. It was a film he'd chosen because of its fashionista-istic leanings. The Devil Wears Prada was not a cinematic delight that Spinelli would have normally indulged in; he was more of a man movie type; full of action, adventure, explosions, that kind of thing. But he was sure that Maximista had been firmly encamped in his mind when he chose which silver screen entertainment he would partake in this evening.

Maximista. The Formerly Bad Blonde One had firmly encamped herself in the Jackal's heart as well as his mind. She captured his attention, his heart, his very soul, by her blonde grace. They had connected in searching for the evildoer responsible for taking the lives of Fair Georgie and Noble Emily, but it had grown into much more than that. She had called him her best friend. Her best friend. And while the Jackal was immensely pleased with that salutation, he wished for something more from Maximista. He wished for a-a-a-an emotional connection with her, and eventually, though sooner rather than later, the Jackal wished, for a physical connection. But he had no idea as to how to accomplish such a venture. He did not have the skills that some men possessed, that allowed them to freely and adeptly converse with the opposite sex. To make a connection with a woman, and have that connection subsequently evolve into something deeper, something more than friends.

This was why Spinelli needed Stone Cold around.

"Spinelli!" A rapid knock on the apartment door had Spinelli leaping from his position on the couch to answer, "Spinelli open this door! Spinelli!"

Throwing the door open without a second thought, Spinelli smiled broadly as Maximista strode into Case de Stone Cold on couture heels, and opened her arms and scolded, "Where have you been Spinelli? I've been calling you and calling you! I left you like, five messages. Don't you check your phone?"

"Maximista!" Spinelli exclaimed, clumsily digging into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone, finding that it had been turned off. Hastily, he depressed the button to turn the power on, and soon, sure enough, the screen blinked with six missed messages. "The Jackal offers his humblest apologies Maximista. He—I must have turned it off while I was perusing a fantastic piece of cinematic marvel."

"Cinematic marvel?" Maxie wondered, flipping her perfectly styled blonde hair off of her forehead, "Ooh, what movie did you get?"

A light bulb went off in Spinelli's head. "Uh, one that perhaps the Maximista would be so inclined to examine with the Jackal? He—uh—I realize that I chose the film as you were in my thoughts."

"Aww, Spinelli," She grinned, patting his cheek tenderly, and then passed by him to the coffee table in front of the couch. Excitedly, she exclaimed, "Oooo, Devil Wears Prada! This one's my favorite! How did you know?"

Spinelli shrugged bashfully, a goofy grin that was permanently present when the Jackal—he—was in Maxie's bodacious presence.