"The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected."

— Robert Frost

April 21st, 2018

There was something beautiful about New York at dusk, something enchanting. Fog settled low on the pier; city lights reflected in the sparkling water. The New York skyline lit up the horizon, creating a perfect background for two men engaged in a heated discussion.

The shorter of the two took a long drag of his cigar and checked his watch, pursing his lips in mild annoyance. His once young-looking face was covered in frown lines due to the stress of his job.

The taller of the two men languidly rocked back on his heels. The beach was nice in the mornings before the sun rose. Not too hot, not too cold. The perfect weather for a high-neck sweater under his suit jacket. He, too, checked his watch before fixing his eyes on the shimmering waves.

A figure jogged toward the pair. The light, reflecting off the metal in place of his right arm, alerted the two of his presence long before his steps could.

"Mr. Barnes!"

"Is it done?" the older Barnes inquired, taking another long drag and impatiently tapping his foot.

"Yes, sir. No one will find him."

"And his family?" the younger Barnes asked, grabbing the revolver from his father's outstretched hand and tucking it away in the waistband of his trousers.

"Money was transferred into their accounts a few hours ago. They won't be saying a word," the man promised gruffly.

"How can we be sure?" the younger Barnes challenged. "She could go to the cops any second."

The man shook his head. "The woman was scared. She's planning to grab her kids and leave the country."

Barnes nodded in relief. "So she's running. Smart girl. If only her son of a bitch husband was as smart as her, this whole shit show could've been avoided."

"Bucky!" his father half-heartedly chastised.

"What? He was a pain in my ass." And he had been. There was something suspicious about him from the start. Always asking questions, worrying about things that didn't concern him. Bucky's only regret was that he didn't teach the bastard a lesson himself once he found out he was a narc.

"He was a pain in my ass too," George Barnes agreed. "Good riddance. But he's not our problem anymore. Let the dead stay dead." After a long drag, he let the smoke fall from his fingers and onto the wet sand, extinguishing it with his foot. Already he felt at ease now that the situation had concluded.

"Any news on the shipment tomorrow?" George asked.

"It's proceeding as planned," the man informed.

"It needs to be done quickly and quietly. I don't want the wrong people poking around."

"Of course."

George Barnes merely nodded, satisfied, for the time being, with the cessation of things. "I need to speak with my son."

The man turned, preparing to leave. His prosthetic made a slight whirring noise as it shifted to accommodate his hurried stance.

"Razor?" George called out. "Good job."

Razor let a small smile slip past his hardened façade and bowed his head in thanks. Praise from a Barnes was exceedingly rare, and from the boss, nonetheless? Razor must have done something right.

"James," George continued after Razor had gone.

Bucky blinked once, like an owl, and stood rigid in front of his father. It wasn't often that he was graced with the use of his first name, and it was usually followed by tense conversation. He let scenarios bounce around in his head.

George Barnes was meticulous when it came to certain things, unforgiving where the business was involved. Bucky had taken on a much larger role in the past few years, slowly doing more and more of his father's work. It was a huge risk because if something wasn't done to George's liking, Bucky would take the blame. However, it seemed that the father and son had more in common than their startlingly blue eyes. They went about problems using the same methods, and it never left George displeased.

Although, if Bucky offered more thought to it, there were still multiple things that could have easily annoyed the older Barnes. If the recent tribulations regarding the Burgundys were to be taken into consideration, George would not be satisfied until that entire series of unfortunate events was dealt with.

"Is this about Raymond Gregory?" Raymond was one of Bucky's men, someone he trusted unquestionably. "He was appointed police commissioner without any complications."

Bucky was prepared to defend himself if his father had any issues with how he handled the NYPD. He was old enough now, and experienced enough in the business to have a clear sense of how to trapeze through difficult situations. Yes, he would defend himself. After all, it was going to be him standing in his father's shoes one day.

George shook his head. "There's a funeral tomorrow," he started slowly.

"Yes… I know." Good news travelled fast, but bad news travelled faster.

"And we need to attend. The entire family." George tried to gauge his son's reaction.

Bucky slowly blinked twice and huffed out a small laugh as if to say really? "You can not be serious."

George did not waver in his resolve. "I am."

"You want us to go to the funeral after—" and though there was no one around to hear them, Bucky lowered his voice considerably, almost whispering now, and leaned in close to his father. "After everything that's happened, you want to risk that bastard knowing what we did?"

George took a moment to think. "It's necessary."

Bucky scoffed. "Necessary enough to risk a war? Because that's what It'll come to once Danial finds out where the loyalties of his men really lie. He won't take kindly to being made a fool."

"Not like it did any good!" George snapped. "He doesn't do anything worthwhile."

"People are already talking," Bucky reminded him.

"Let them," George retorted. "We only need to worry about what Danial thinks. The rest will work out by itself."

"Are you sure about this?" Bucky questioned.

"Positive."

The certainty in his father's voice prompted Bucky to relax his shoulders. "Alright," he conceded.

Bucky was just about done with the conversation. Though the sun had yet to rise, the city was beginning to wake. The distant sound of traffic, and fishermen starting their day, reached Bucky's ears.

"I have a favour to ask of you, son." George looked as if he had suddenly aged ten years. The frown lines on his face became more prominent, and the bags under his eyes darkened significantly.

"Anything," said Bucky. And he did mean anything. Despite how often the two clashed heads due to their similar temperaments, there was nothing Bucky wouldn't do for his father.

George said nothing, he merely reached under his suit jacket to pull out a thin folder. Bucky grabbed the folder and quickly skimmed through the pages. His brows puckered in confusion when he saw a picture of a woman who looked to be a few years younger than him.

"What's this?" Bucky questioned his father.

"Read the name," George told him.

He did. The girl in question was pretty, gorgeous even, especially when she smiled. She was walking down the sidewalk of a busy street in one picture, eating pizza in another. Various shots of her engaged in all sorts of different activities. Bucky froze. "Burgundy. She can't be—"

"She is," George nodded in confirmation. "She's Danial's youngest."

Bucky shook his head and skimmed through the girl's information once more. "Impossible. Danial never had a daughter."

"He did," George said plainly.

Exasperated, Bucky ran a hand over his face. "I don't remember a girl. I only remember his son."

"Jack," George nodded. "He died years ago."

"Why am I just hearing about her?" Bucky asked suspiciously.

George turned away from his son and toward the expansive ocean. He took a deep breath. "I can only imagine…" he began slowly, "the death of Danial's son led him to become overprotective of his last remaining offspring. I thought the girl died with her brother."

"Except," Bucky raised the manilla folder he was holding as evidence, "she didn't." George clicked his tongue in response. "What is this about, father?"

"You're older now, responsible and mature. I was around your age when I married your mother and took over my father's business."

Bucky listened intently, hoping the conversation was going where he hoped it was.

"Perhaps, it's time you do the same," George stressed.

Bucky had to tamp down the excitement that burst through him. All he ever hoped was to one day be in charge of his family's empire, and now it was close enough to touch… but not quite. "Marriage or the business," he asked, simultaneously dreading and anticipating the answer.

"Both," was his father's simple reply.

It seemed to click all at once, what his father was asking of him. Oh.

Oh. Bucky did not expect this. "You want me to marry her?" he asked incredulously. "You must be crazy, old man."

George's laugh carried through the wind. "You have to be a little crazy. Don't you think? If you're in a position like mine."

"I'm not joking," Bucky said humourlessly.

"Neither am I," George snapped. "This is the opportunity we've been waiting for, and she—" George pointed at the folder in Bucky's hand— "is how we achieve it."

Bucky saw the weight of the situation sitting heavily on his father's shoulders. George was still young, but mob life had a way of distorting time. Boys grew up faster, and men retired earlier. Bucky was barely a teen before he was pulling the weight of a grown man.

"Dad…"

"We'll get control over all of his properties. All his men, all his assets. Manhattan, Staten Island—Hoboken. We'll become the biggest power on the East Coast. All you have to do is marry his daughter."

Bucky let his head fall to his chest and rubbed his eyes. "Why me?" It wasn't that Bucky was perverse against marriage. He just thought he had more time… and more of a choice.

"You're the only one I trust. Son," George grabbed the back of Bucky's neck, pulling him closer, "you will control it all. This is it."

Bucky looked at the picture of the girl in question. It was all he ever wanted. To help grow his family's empire. And having a beautiful girl by his side wouldn't hurt. He whispered her name, let a smirk form on his face. Briefly let himself imagine her beneath him, limbs entangled with each other's and titillating sighs filling the air. No, having her by his side would not hurt at all.

"You said he's protective of her. Yet he agreed?" Bucky clarified.

George smirked. "He's the one who suggested it. Just like I suspected."

Bucky looked at the file again, saying nothing.

"The wedding will be quick. Within a month. Danial doesn't want to drag it out any longer, and neither do I." George spoke as if Bucky had already agreed. But if he knew his son at all, and he did, then that was true.

Bucky had made up his mind the second he saw little Burgundy's picture. "I did say I would do anything, didn't I?"