"I hope you can truly grasp the feeling of being alone, it's only then that I will find it in my heart to forgive you."
In the darkness of the old tenement building, the glowing end of a cigarette cast an eerie light. Closing six red eyes, he drew in the burning tobacco and nicotine, allowing the smoke to settle in his lungs before exhaling wisps of ash into the air. His two main eyes opened, and he studied the dingy ceiling above. Sitting up, he rolled off his metal-framed twin bed and extinguished the cigarette filter in an ashtray on the bedside table. A mere smoke wouldn't suffice; he craved something more. A drink was in order.
Making his way to the desk, he opened the bottom drawer and retrieved a squarish bottle and a tumbler glass. Gently removing the stopper, he poured a small amount of amber liquor into the glass and took a swig. The alcohol burned down his throat, while subtle notes of almonds danced over his tongue.
"I hope you can truly grasp the feeling of being alone, it's only then that I will find it in my heart to forgive you."
Why, at this moment, were his sister's final words haunting him? Those had been the last words Molly ever said to him, just a few days after her twin brother's funeral. Following that, she packed her bags, got into a cab, and disappeared without any further contact or communication. Like Anthony, she was gone, erased from the family's life, and considered legally deceased.
He tried to convince himself that he wasn't the true villain in this story; after all, Anthony had made the choice to turn to drugs as a means of coping with his problems. If he tragically overdosed, it wasn't his fault, right? Or was it? Taking another sip of whiskey, he delved into the logs submitted by the Caporegime associated with their family, comparing them to his own reports of family activities.
Festo's crew seemed to have everything under control and running smoothly.
Acacio's crew had a couple of unreported jobs, and this called for a serious meeting. Henroin, the boss, was known for being unforgiving when it came to mistakes. He didn't believe in the three-strikes rule. If someone messed up, depending on the gravity of the error, he might give them only one chance and make it clear that it was their last. A second mistake would not be tolerated. The other Mafiosi dreaded these meetings, and for good reason. Usually, Henroin took care of the executions, but occasionally he would personally handle matters to set a chilling example of what happens when he was angry.
Niss finished the last drop of whiskey in his glass, then poured himself another shot. He ran his hand through the shock of dark hair that hung in front of his face, lost in thought about Jose's crew. Jose Croche had been his cousin, belonging to the same age group, the son of one of his uncles on his mother's side. Anthony had been assigned to Jose as a soldier, but something about that assignment never sat well with him. Jose was spoiled, entitled, and always eager to cause trouble. He took every opportunity to pick on or belittle Anthony, even back when they were young, like that time when Anthony was returning home from high school one day.
1926
Lorenzo "Enzo" Ragno walked briskly down the bustling streets. His footsteps echoed against the cobblestone sidewalk as he made his way towards the familiar brownstone he shared with his father and younger brother. The air was thick with the sounds of horse-drawn carriages and the chatter of neighbors going about their daily business.
The day ahead held its usual routine for Enzo—a mix of studies, family obligations, and the unspoken responsibilities tied to their way of life. He knew what was expected of him as the older brother, especially after their mother's passing in 1919. It had fallen upon him to help guide his brother Anthony into the roles that were deemed appropriate for young men in their world.
The house felt quieter now, a hushed emptiness that had settled in since Molly had been sent upstate to live with an aunt a few years back. It was a decision made with a mix of tradition and practicality. Their father and grandmother believed it was best for Molly to learn the ways of womanhood from others of her kind. With their Nonna adhering to more old-fashioned approaches, the decision made logical sense, even if it had left a void in the household.
Molly's absence had also meant that Anthony had lost his constant companion. The twins had shared an inseparable bond since birth, a connection that was both remarkable and at times concerning. Their closeness, while endearing, had led them to engage in behaviors that society might deem unconventional. Anthony's interests often aligned with those of his sister, and he didn't conform to the natural pursuits of boys his age.
Enzo couldn't help but reflect on the way Anthony's eyes would light up at the sight of Molly's dresses and hats. It was a quirk that had raised eyebrows within the family, particularly their father. Pops's traditional views clashed with Anthony's inclinations, often resulting in harsh discipline. Enzo had witnessed his father's frustration manifest in the form of a slap across Anthony's face, or even physical beatings as a misguided attempt to steer the younger boy towards the expected path of masculinity.
As Enzo neared home, his thoughts shifted to Anthony. He knew his younger brother should be finishing his classes for the day and heading back home as well. The absence of Molly had hit Anthony hard, especially considering she was attending an all-girls school upstate. Though she returned for visits, every departure seemed to carve a fresh wound into Anthony's heart.
Enzo's responsibility as an older brother and thus a protector weighed heavily on him. He mirrored his father's stern approach, believing that molding Anthony into a tough and resilient young man was their family's way. Yet, doubts lingered in the corners of Enzo's mind. He questioned whether his guidance was truly helping Anthony find his place or if he was inadvertently causing more harm.
Suppressing his uncertainties, Enzo reaffirmed his commitment to their father's expectations. The path ahead was clear—both he and Anthony were to embrace the family's ties to the mob lifestyle. There was no room for soft-heartedness in their world. Enzo saw himself as the guardian of his brother's journey into this realm, understanding that their father depended on them to fulfill their roles as men in the family.
As Anthony neared the age where he could be considered for recruitment into the family's activities, uncertainty loomed over his potential role. Despite his skill with firearms and his ability to hold his ground in a fight, even Pops could see that Anthony didn't quite fit the mold of a traditional Mafioso. His father's disappointment was palpable, and he didn't hold back from vocalizing his doubts, often making derogatory comments about Anthony's capabilities, even in front of the whole family.
However, Pops was adamant about not sending Anthony upstate like Molly. The rationale behind this decision was rooted in maintaining the family's image and strength. Any perceived weakness within the family could lead to disownment, an existence severed from the family's protection and support. There was still a glimmer of hope that Anthony might surpass expectations, but at present, his prospects didn't extend much beyond a mere soldier, if that.
Continuing on his way, Enzo's attention was drawn to a distressing scene up ahead. A trio of boys, led by Jose Croche-A cousin on Enzo and Anthony's mothers side-, was subjecting someone to cruel bullying. Enzo recognized the victim's voice—it was Anthony's. He hesitated, torn between instinct to protect his brother and the ingrained teachings of their father. Pops believed that adversity would toughen Anthony, preparing him for the demanding life of the Mafia.
Enzo watched as the bullying escalated, with taunts and jeers turning physically violent. Jose's words were laced with derogatory slurs, aimed at demeaning Anthony's identity. Anthony's response was unexpected. He lashed out, fighting back against his tormentors with a ferocity that surprised them all. A punch to the groin and a kick to the solar plexus left some of the bullies incapacitated, revealing the boy they had targeted. Anthony's appearance was smeared with a disgusting substance, his humiliation evident.
Enzo recognized the brown stains on Anthony's clothing, the repulsive smell reaching his nose from afar. It was clear that Anthony had been smeared with dog droppings, a degrading act of bullying. Despite the circumstances, Anthony's defiance and determination to fight back were commendable.
As the dust settled and the bullies scattered, Anthony's eyes met Enzo's briefly, a mix of anger and hurt in his gaze. Enzo understood the weight of the moment—Anthony had faced humiliation, and his older brother had witnessed it. Anthony continued walking toward home, shoulders slumped in a mix of defeat and resentment. Enzo held back, this was a pivotal moment for Anthony's growth. Codling and consoling had never been an action Enzo had taken, Tony needed to fight his own battles.. It was a test of his resilience and understanding of the family's values. Intervening or comforting would only undermine Anthony's opportunity to stand up for himself.
He chose to let Anthony handle it, to give him the space to navigate this moment of hardship. As Anthony trudged forward, Enzo remained rooted in his spot. Though he couldn't shake off the heavy feeling in his chest.
Enzo's mind churned with conflict, his thoughts a whirlwind of loyalty and doubt. The weight of his decision not to talk to Anthony gnawed at him, twisting his insides as he watched his brother bear the aftermath of the incident's brutal aftermath. The corners of his eyes were etched with shadows, reflecting the turmoil within him.
The evening sun cast a warm glow through the windows, illuminating the worn furniture and faded carpets of their Brooklyn home. Pops, a stern figure with a lined face that held stories of its own, had returned from his day's labor, his demeanor darkened by the pungent smell that lingered in the air. The scent of dog feces seemed to have woven itself into every crevice of the house, a stark reminder of Anthony's ordeal that Enzo's grandmother had valiantly battled against. Yet, the stain of the incident remained, a stain deeper than the odorous one on their floor.
Enzo's gaze settled on his brother, whose eyes were distant, haunted by the events that had transpired. Anthony's spirit had been wounded more deeply than anyone could see; the torment he had endured left scars that time wouldn't easily erase. Enzo's heart clenched with a mixture of empathy and guilt as he witnessed his brother's suffering, questioning the wisdom of his own silence.
But the injustice didn't stop at their home's threshold. The school's disciplinary meeting loomed over them, a gathering where truth was overshadowed by cunning deception. Jose and his cohorts had woven a web of lies, casting Anthony as the aggressor in a twisted tale of humiliation. The truth had been muddied, manipulated into a grotesque caricature where Anthony was painted as the orchestrator of his own degradation.
Frustration burned in Enzo's chest, his fists clenching involuntarily. He knew the falsehoods that were being spun, knew the real story that had led to Anthony's humiliation. Yet, as the school officials sat in judgment, their ears seemed deaf to anything but the fabrications that had been crafted against his brother.
Injustice gnawed at his gut as he thought of Pops, a man entrenched in his own pride, stubbornly refusing to entertain Anthony's version of events. Enzo's own voice had been stifled by their father's glare, an unspoken command to silence himself in the face of authority. It was a sight he had witnessed before, a scene of dominance and control that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
As the heavy silence settled over the house, Enzo lit a cigarette, the ember casting a soft, flickering light in the dim foyer outside his fathers study. He closed his ears to the sound of Anthony's cries, the sound of the belt's buckle against flesh reverberating like a twisted lullaby of pain. The air was thick with the growls of their father's anger, a symphony of curses that resonated in the confined space of the study.
In that moment, Enzo's inner conflict reached a crescendo. The boundaries of silence, drawn by fear and tradition, blurred in the face of the injustice that had unfolded. And as the cigarette's smoke curled upward, Enzo knew that a reckoning was inevitable, a choice that would shape not only his relationship with Anthony, but the course of their lives in a city that was both unforgiving and hopeful.
The shrill blue murder scream coming from his HellPhone abruptly snapped him out of his reverie. Hastily grabbing the phone, he promptly answered, well aware that the person on the other end had little patience for delays.
"Sono Qui (I'm here)," He responded.
"Enzo," Henroin's voice snarled on the other end. "Tell me yah got details about dat shootin' at Diego's place?"
"Boss, I ain't got much to work with here," Arackniss responded. "Them other guys from Diego's cartel only said some guy, claiming' to be one of Valentino's workers, waltzed in to close a drug deal. They figured it was just one of Val's sluts tryin' to play bigshot and handle the business herself. So, the Cartel thought they'd teach Valentino a lesson. They figured they'd snatch the dough, have their fun with this whore, and send whatever was left back to the Porn Studio. But here's the kicker, Boss. That so-called 'hooker' was ready for 'em."
"Yeah, that's what I can't stand," Henroin grumbled. "Whoever pulled this off ain't no chump, ya hear me? They had the inside scoop on our operations, knew the ins and outs, the whole shebang. This ain't no coincidence. I ain't about to let some two-bit mobster wannabe waltz in here and wreck our business. I worked too damn hard to make this family the reputation it has. Ain't no way, I'm gonna let some lowlife ruin everything. So, we gotta tighten the screws, find that rat, and send 'em swimmin' with the fishes."
"If they was part of the Cosa Nostra," Arackniss pointed out, "They've probably been taken care of. This might be some soldier who thought he had something to prove and took on a task meant for a captain. Cause this guy was in there alone, even a Caporegime would have the sense to bring some boys along for backup. This guy was smart enough to waste 'em, but the big mistake is only Diego was erased. Due to the angle of blow that erased Diego, it came from above. So he had to have been erased by someone else, either as a cover up or to send a message."
"No," Henroin growled, his tone tinged with paranoia. "This fucker... whoever they are, is no mere jack-off soldier who's wet behind the ears. This fucker, whoever the hell they are, they had a plan. They knew how to play the game, and they wanted to get under our skin, mess with our heads, and cause some real trouble. Maybe he didn't erase Diego, but he wanted to mess with us. We gotta find this son of a bitch and give 'em a one-way ticket to Double-Hell. Show them, and whoever this piece of shit was really working for, that they picked the wrong spider's nest to fuck with."
"It's been a solid two months since all that went down," Arackniss responded, pulling a cigarette out of a cigarette case. He flicked his lighter a few times, trying to get it to light. Mentally noting to get some lighter fluid soon since it was taking longer to spark. "It's been quiet on that front. If this whore meant serious business, we'd expect some more commotion by now. I'm keepin' Capo and the boys on high alert, just in case this mystery character decides to make another move."
"See that you do," Henroin said. "Hey, while I gotcha on the horn... ya happen to hear any word from Tony"
"Tony?" Arackniss asked.
"Yeah," Henroin responded with a bite of hatred in his voice. "Ya no-good, lousy excuse of a brother... word on the street is he's been runnin' around with Princess Morningstar."
"He's also hittin' da streets wit Valentino," Arackniss grumbled. "Ya heard the buzz, right? The Princess is pushin' some joint, sayin' it's gonna fix up them sinners. Angel Dust, the Porn Star, he's in on it too. But here's the kicker, not many of the fellas know that Angel Dust is really Anthony playin' 'round!"
"Ya better keep it hush-hush," Henroin growled. "I ain't lettin' our family's rep get tainted by that tramp. I lost two precious Capos all 'cause of him back in the day. If Molly hadn't busted in just in time, I would've served that queer-assed, puffball what was comin' to him."
"How could ya do that, Fratello?," Molly's voice filled Arackniss's mind. "I asked ya what the heck was goin' on, and ya fed me some line 'bout nothin' to fret over. How could ya lie to me like that?! I trusted ya, thought everything was fine. And now I stumble upon this... you're tellin' me it's nothin' to lose sleep over?! Pops would've fuckin' killed him if I didn't step in!"
"If Anthony is in on this whole act the Princess got goin'," Arackniss remarked, puffin' on his tobacco stick as the lighter finally caught flame. "He's likely just lookin' to ride her coattails? He's a real user, always exploitin' folks for his gain. And yeah, I got a line to him too. If ya want me to grill him for info, I'm game. But lemme tell ya, last time I tried, Valentino butted in and messed things up."
"Ah..." Henroin seemed to consider. "So, I gotta have a sit-down with the Moth Overlord. Got a few matters to discuss with our association anyways."
"Inteso (Understood)" Arackniss responded as he ended the call. Putting his phone down, he closed his eyes and took another drag on his cigarette, lost in his thoughts. Opening his eyes again, he tapped the ash into a tray and turned his gaze to the ceiling. Memories of his own brother's despair echoed in his mind. It had been over seventy years since the Christmas season Anthony had overdosed. The memory constantly haunted Arackniss throughout the two years that passed before he met his own end.
The holiday season of 1947 was a Christmas he would never forget. He had been going to pick up Molly at the train station when she arrived to join the family for the holiday. Anthony was normally eager to see his younger twin and would be adamant about being there to greet her when she arrived. But that one year, it was different... and things would never be the same again.
"Anthony," Enzo knocked firmly on the door to his younger brother's room, the wood panels echoing with each thud. The room was dimly lit, the afternoon sun struggling to filter through the heavy curtains that hung over the window. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and an unspoken tension that seemed to permeate the very walls of their Brooklyn apartment.
"Molly's train will be rollin' in ta town in about forty-five minutes. I'm headin' to the station, you comin'?" Enzo's voice carried a mix of impatience and concern. Silence was his initial answer, an unusual response from Anthony. The twins had always been inseparable, Anthony would often become like an excited puppy at the mention of seeing Molly, especially when it came to her return to the city.
"Anthony..." Enzo's tone grew more pressing, a touch of worry lacing his words. Still, no response came from within the room, just an unsettling quietness that set Enzo's nerves on edge. He contemplated trying the doorknob, his fingers hovering over the brass fixture for a moment. He wrestled with the decision, his mind mulling over the potential outcome. More often than not, Anthony was ensnared in the clutches of a drug-induced haze, a habit he'd fallen into since Luca Celani's brutal end at the hands of Murder Inc.
Luca's death had cast a long and dark shadow over Anthony. Enzo, too, grappled with the weight of the loss, but his emotions were more entangled with the intricacies of the situation. Luca had been more than a trusted Caporegime within their tight-knit family; he had been a confidant, a mentor, and a figure of both fear and fascination. Yet, there was an aspect of Luca's life that Enzo had always found discomforting—a relationship that defied the norms of their world, where such forbidden liaisons were met with violence.
Luca had been discreet about his true self, masterfully concealing any inklings of any potential attraction to men beneath a veneer of toughness and bravado. But to those who knew where to look, there were subtle hints that his feelings for Anthony extended beyond the realm of business related companionship. It was a revelation that sent shockwaves through Enzo, leaving him to grapple with his own understanding of loyalty, family, and societal expectations.
As the elder brother, Enzo's concern wasn't solely rooted in the forbidden nature of Luca's feelings for Anthony. He knew the dangers that lurked in their world, the unspoken rules and the harsh consequences that came with revealing any hint of homosexuality. Yet, Anthony was no fool. He understood the precariousness of their reality, the precarious balance between the truths of their hearts and the demands of their allegiance.
In an attempt to guard the safety of his younger brother, Enzo had suggested Luca's attentions turn toward Molly, Anthony's twin sister. A union with her would not only elevate Luca's status within the family as he would be taking the hand of a Mafia Princess. It would also make their family stronger as there were aspects to Luca's character that were useful and essential to the Ragno Famiglia. It wasn't lost on Enzo that Molly bore an uncanny resemblance to Anthony, almost as if she were the feminine echo of her twin.
Anthony, for his part, had welcomed the notion of Luca as a potential match for his sister. He had expressed his belief that Luca would treat Molly with the same care and tenderness that he himself would. It was a fragile alliance, an unspoken agreement between two men navigating the treacherous waters of their existence, seeking a modicum of happiness and acceptance within the confines of their world—a world that watched and judged, sometimes with fatal consequences.
Luca had found himself at a crossroads of his emotions, torn between his unwavering love for Anthony and the societal expectations that dictated his choices. With Enzo trying to steer Luca towards a safer path by encouraging a relationship with Molly, the community buzzed with rumors and whispers, unknowing of the truth that lay beneath the surface.
The small, dimly lit coffee shop served as their public refuge, a place where they could steal moments away from prying eyes. Luca's fingers would brush against Anthony's in the secrecy of their booth, a touch that spoke volumes in the silent language only they understood. They would exchange glances laden with unspoken promises, bearing the weight of a love that dared not show its face in the light of day.
But love has its price, especially in a world like theirs. The Mafia's intricate web of alliances and rivalries meant that their forbidden romance was a dangerous secret, a spark that could ignite a firestorm of violence. Enzo, though disapproving, saw the danger clearly. He reluctantly agreed to be an in-family secret keeper, understanding the gravity of the situation. He knew that if their love was exposed, the consequences could be dire, not just for Luca and Anthony, but for the entire family.
As fate would have it, tragedy struck one fateful day. The discovery of Luca's lifeless body sent shockwaves through their family, which was already teetering on the edge of chaos. The photograph, innocuous to the untrained eye, bore witness to a love that had been hidden, but it's cruel defacement laid bare the truth. The words scrawled in blood-red ink were a brutal reminder that their secret had been unveiled, with devastating consequences.
Inside the family home, his brother's room stood silent, its atmosphere heavy with a sense of foreboding. Enzo's heart raced as a sudden noise echoed within the walls, propelling him to the door. He swung it open, expecting confrontation, but found an emptiness that defied logic. Enzo's confusion deepened; he had spent the entire day there, attending to family matters. Anthony had been there as well, and he would have noticed if his brother had left. So where was he?
The room told its own story. An open bag of white powder lay on the table, an unsettling sight that struck Enzo as odd. Anthony's coping mechanism was well-known, but this recklessness was out of character. Then, a noise, a guttural sound, pulled Enzo's attention downward towards the other side of the bed, revealing Anthony in agony. Convulsions wracked his body, and Enzo's panic surged.
With urgency, Enzo called upon his instincts. The bag of white powder, a possible answer to this puzzle, drove home the fear of overdose. He couldn't wait for help; he had to act. Rushing to the hallway the phone, his fingers frantically spun the dial, connecting him to the paramedics to let them know help was required.
Grand Central Station buzzed with the energy of holiday travelers, the clatter of luggage wheels echoing against the polished floors. Amidst the bustling crowd, Molly's heart leaped with anticipation as she scanned the faces for her twin brother, Anthony. They shared a bond that transcended distance and time, a connection that had alerted her to his troubles even before she laid eyes on him. However, her hopes were dashed when she saw Lorenzo, her older brother, standing alone. His usually stern face now held a weight that sent a shiver down her spine.
Molly's steps quickened as she approached Enzo, her sense of foreboding growing stronger. Lorenzo's sole-presence here meant something was gravely wrong with Anthony, her soul's mirror. As if reading her thoughts, Lorenzo's somber expression confirmed her fears.
"Grab your bags," Enzo's voice was steady but firm, leading her towards the station's exit. With each step, the world around her seemed to fade into background noise, her focus fixed on her brother's words. "Tony's in the hospital."
Her heart clenched at the news, and Molly's mind raced to make sense of the situation. As Enzo guided her through the busy station, she noticed his gaze flicker to her belly, a silent acknowledgment of her pregnancy. She felt a mix of emotions – worry for Anthony, frustration at his choices, and concern for her unborn child, a life that now depended on her well-being.
The urgency in Molly's voice was palpable as she asked, "What happened?" Her heels clicked against the marble floor, her steps mirroring Enzo's purposeful stride. The hubbub of the station became a distant murmur as she hurried to keep up, her heart pounding.
The black Chevy coup awaited them, its trunk open to receive her luggage. Enzo's efficiency contrasted with the turmoil inside her. She settled into the front seat, her thoughts consumed by Anthony's well-being.
"Fratello Maggiore," Molly's voice trembled, the Italian endearment a testament to their closeness. "Please...tell me what the fuck happened to Tony?"
Enzo exhaled heavily, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as if searching for the right words. "He might've gone and overdosed." Molly's gasp mirrored the shock she felt, the gravity of the situation hitting her like a wave.
"The docs, they're doin' their thing," Enzo's voice carried a note of reassurance. "They got him in their hands, just know they're doin' everything they can, but I can't give ya all the nitty-gritty just yet."
Molly's plea to see her twin was met with understanding. Enzo skillfully started the car, and they merged into the flow of traffic, the world outside a stark contrast to their inner turmoil.
The festive decorations that adorned the stores seemed almost mocking, the jolliness of the season in stark contrast to their heavy hearts. Bing Crosby's voice crooned in the background, the lyrics of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" a poignant reminder of the longing they felt for a sense of normalcy. As people bustled around, carrying their holiday gifts, Molly and Enzo were cocooned in their own bubble of worry.
"Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams"
As they made their way to the hospital, time seemed to stretch, every second an eternity. The vibrant city around them contrasted sharply with their inner turmoil, a stark reminder of how life could change in an instant. The hospital loomed ahead, a beacon of hope amidst their uncertainty.
Brooklyn's streets, once familiar and bustling, now carried an air of melancholy. Their journey was a race against time, a fervent prayer that they would find Anthony in stable hands. The echoes of Bing Crosby's voice lingered, a poignant reminder that amidst the chaos, they were still longing for the warmth of home and the comfort of family.
The hospital waiting room held an air of tension, the minutes stretching into an eternity as Enzo navigated his way through the labyrinth of phone calls, each one a thread woven into the intricate fabric of their family's secrets. As he placed the receiver back onto the hook, a heavy sigh escaped him. The weight of his responsibilities, both as a brother and a member of the Mafia family, bore down on his shoulders.
He caught a glimpse of Molly, her figure hunched in a chair, fingers moving over the beads of her rosary with practiced ease. Her devotion was evident in the quiet murmurs of prayers that escaped her lips. A nurse's disapproving glance was met with a silent warning from Lorenzo, who had taken his place by her side. The unspoken message was clear: she would not be disturbed.
Enzo settled beside his only sister, a silent presence of solidarity. Their shared worry for Anthony united them in a way that transcended their complex family dynamics. And just as the weight of uncertainty became almost unbearable, a doctor entered the room, pulling their attention like a lifeline.
His words were direct, his eyes scanning the medical chart as he addressed them. "You two are here about the overdose patient that was brought in?"
Molly's response was swift, her voice trembling with a mix of urgency and fear. "Yes, how's my Fratello doing? Is he alright?"
The air was thick with anticipation and uncertainty. The doctor's expression held a heavy burden, as he knew the words he was about to utter would shatter the fragile hopes of those waiting. He cleared his throat, his voice a mixture of compassion and resignation.
"Can ya two come with me?" The doctor's request hung in the air, his sigh a reflection of the weight he carried. He understood the gravity of the moment, the difficult news he was tasked to deliver. If only there was a way to soften the blow, a way to offer a glimmer of hope. But fate had dealt a cruel hand, choosing the most inopportune time to unravel a heart-wrenching truth.
Molly's gaze locked onto the doctor's face, her features drained of color as realization dawned upon her. The knot in her stomach tightened, a sinking feeling settling in. Beside her, Enzo remained a pillar of composure, his arm extending to gently guide his sister forward. With a silent nod, they followed the doctor down the corridor, footsteps echoing against the faded linoleum floor.
Enzo's voice, steady and resolute, broke the silence. "Don't sugarcoat things for my sistah's sake. Anthony's her twin."
The doctor met Enzo's gaze, recognizing the desire for transparency. "Then I must inform ya both that I have good news," he began, his voice carrying a mixture of sympathy and regret. "But...there is also bad news I'm afraid. Ya brother's condition was touch and go when he came in. We managed to stabilize him, but he's in a coma now. I can't say for sure if he'll wake up."
Molly's defenses rose, a hint of impatience seeping into her words. "Anthony's got more strength than meets the eye."
The doctor's response was gentle but tempered by reality. "I ain't doubting that, ma'am. But considerin' how serious the overdose was, if he does wake up, there might be permanent damage messin' with his cognitive or motor abilities."
Enzo's eyes closed briefly, his heart heavy with the weight of their predicament. He knew all too well that their old man would seize upon this opportunity to cast Anthony aside, labeling him as lost beyond repair.
"And if he don't come to?" Enzo's voice held a hint of apprehension. The question hung in the air, laden with fears he had already begun to grapple with.
The doctor's words, somber and sincere, cut through the tension. "We can only keep him for so many days. After that, he's gotta go to a state-run place where they'll take care of him and make him comfortable. Our staff will do their best to give him good care."
Molly's voice wavered as she spoke, laced with worry and a hint of desperation. "Can we see him?"
The doctor's gaze softened, his demeanor showing a glimmer of understanding. "I can only give ya a few minutes. He's real weak after what happened. The first two days are the toughest for folks in his state. We do have visitin' hours from 9 to 3, Monday through Saturday, and Sunday from 12 to 2."
Molly's impatience was palpable, her plea tinged with urgency. "That's fine by me. Please, just lemme see my brother, alright?"
"He is in a private room down this hall and to the left," the doctor informed them, his finger indicating the direction.
"Go on, Sorellina," Enzo stated, his voice carrying a mix of authority and concern. "I'll be joinin' ya shortly." Molly, a young woman with worry etched into her features, nodded silently. She rose from her seat and quietly exited the room, gently shutting the door behind her.
Once the door was closed, Enzo's attention shifted back to the doctor. "Alright, now that the skirts gone, level with me. Ya don't think there's much chance for Anthony to make it through, do ya?"
"I try not to give folks false hopes 'bout my patients," the doctor sighed, fatigue evident in his voice, as he extracted a cigarette from a crumpled pack and ignited it with a match. He extended the pack toward Enzo, who accepted the offer and leaned in for the flame. With a careful puff, both men had their cigarettes lit. "But I gotta be honest, the overdose was real bad. There's a chance he might wake up, but it's slim, ya know? What kinda drugs was your brother into?"
Enzo took a drag from his cigarette, the ember briefly illuminating his furrowed brow. "Where the hell do I even begin with that crap," he muttered with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I've seen him dabble in coke, sometimes messin' with opium, morphine too... It was his way of copin' with stuff, ya know what I'm sayin'?"
"I see," the doctor responded, his tone a blend of professional detachment and sympathy. He discreetly jotted down Enzo's words, scribbling notes that would later contribute to Anthony's medical record. Although the handwriting was upside down to Enzo, he could make out certain words like 'Possible sufferer of the mental disorder of homosexuality' scrawled in the margins.
With a heavy sigh, the doctor continued, "Alright, you can go see him, but ya got just five more minutes."
Enzo nodded, his throat tight with emotions he dared not show. He said nothing more to the doctor, his thoughts churning as he began his walk down the sterile hallway. Each step seemed to echo the weight of the decisions that lay ahead. His mind was a whirlwind of possibilities – if Anthony didn't wake up, he could be sent to an inadequate state-run nursing home, or worse, a mental institution. And if, by some chance, Anthony did awaken, Enzo knew their father's old-fashioned views might lead to a fate that was just as grim.
As he reached the door and turned the knob, Enzo steeled himself for what he was about to face. The room beyond held his unconscious brother, a fragile figure tangled in a web of tubes and wires. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the smoke of Enzo's cigarette. The scene before him encapsulated the uncertainty of their lives where choices were limited and the future was as hazy as the room's pale lighting.
Anthony lay motionless on the narrow hospital bed, his once-vibrant complexion now an eerie shade of pallor against the stark white sheets that cocooned him. The faint hum of medical equipment provided a haunting soundtrack to the scene, punctuated by the soft hiss of the ventilator working diligently to keep life flowing into his motionless form.
Molly, her heart heavy with worry and devotion, sat by Anthony's side. Her eyes, tired but lovingly, fixated on her twin brother's face. She held his limp hand against her belly, her touch a silent promise of hope and connection.
Speaking in hushed tones, Molly whispered to Anthony in Italian, her voice a mix of tenderness and sorrow. Her words carried the weight of her emotions, conveying both the news of impending motherhood and the depth of her concern for her beloved brother. She shared her dreams of a future where their family would grow, intertwining their lives even more profoundly.
Enzo, standing a few feet away, struggled to process his emotions. His eyes flickered between his unconscious brother and his grief-stricken sister. The lines etched on his face spoke of a complex turmoil within him. A surge of anger coiled in his chest, fueled by the injustice of Anthony's choices. He felt a potent mix of betrayal and disappointment, struggling to reconcile the image of the brother he cherished with the one who had caused so much pain.
Enzo's anger was accompanied by a pang of empathy. He understood the pressure and prejudices that had pushed Anthony to the edge. But even understanding couldn't dull the sharp edges of the hurt he felt for Molly, who sat there pouring her heart out to a brother who couldn't respond.
As the seconds ticked by, the room held a heavy silence, broken only by the rhythm of the machines that sustained Anthony's fragile existence.
Enzo's entrance into the room crackled with tension, his words sharp and bitter like the bite of a cold wind slicing through the streets of Brooklyn. The dim light cast shadows on his furrowed brow and clenched jaw, his dark eyes ablaze with a mixture of anger and frustration that had festered for far too long. He stepped closer to Anthony's bed, his voice carrying a weight of accusation as he unleashed his pent-up emotions.
"You've gone and done it, ain't ya?" Enzo's voice rumbled with a growl that echoed the turmoil within him. He stared down at his unconscious brother as though demanding answers that might never come. The room, with its muted colors and sterile atmosphere, seemed to magnify the intensity of the confrontation.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, Enzo's frustration spilled forth with a torrential force. He had held onto this resentment, this ache of betrayal, and now he let it flow unrestrained. "You've succeeded in tearin' this family apart, and for what? Are you fucken' happy now?" Each word was like a hammer blow, driven by his frustration and the helplessness he felt in the face of Anthony's choices.
Enzo's voice cracked with emotion as he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think you're some big shot, huh? Well, let me tell ya, you're nothin' but a low-down rat." The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, charged with the anger that Enzo had bottled up for far too long.
In the midst of this storm, Molly's voice pierced through the tempest. Her own pain and distress were evident in her cry, a plea for the ceaseless battle to halt. "Enzo," she nearly shouted, her voice carrying the weight of both her anguish and her plea for a truce. She couldn't bear to see the remnants of their family unravel in the face of Anthony's fragile state.
Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met Enzo's with an intensity that seemed to convey all the shared memories, joys, and struggles they had experienced as siblings. She implored him to see reason, to recognize the inappropriateness of their current confrontation.
"Enough...this ain't the time or place for this," Molly's voice held a plea, a prayer for her words to penetrate the armor of Enzo's anger. She extended a hand toward him, a subtle gesture that spoke of her longing for unity, for their family to find strength in their shared love, even in the face of their fractured reality.
Enzo's gaze shifted from the inert figure of Anthony to Molly, his chest still heaving with the aftermath of his outburst. Her words were a stark reminder of the present moment, of the need to put aside their grievances in this crucial juncture.
He met her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers for understanding. His anger still smoldered, but it was tempered by the raw emotion in Molly's voice. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, and his fists unclenched. He nodded, a silent agreement that conveyed his reluctant acceptance of Molly's plea.
In that moment, the room felt suspended in time, the echoes of Enzo's earlier words lingering like a fading echo. The ventilator's soft hiss and the dim light from the ceiling seemed to bear witness to the complexity of their shared experience.
"Sorry to butt in," a nurse's voice broke the tension, bringing a momentary pause to the emotional exchange. She approached with a bag of belongings, a tangible reminder that life carried on beyond their emotional turmoil. The nurse's presence was a bittersweet interruption, signaling the end of the visiting hours.
Molly's eyes shifted from her twin brother to the nurse, a mixture of gratitude and understanding in her gaze. "Thank ya," her voice carried a thread of weariness, but also a touch of relief as she accepted the bag that held a piece of Anthony's everyday life.
As the nurse left, a veil of quiet settled over the room, allowing Molly a moment of intimacy with her comatose brother. With a tenderness that contrasted the earlier discord, Molly leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Anthony's forehead. Her touch was a gentle reassurance, a silent promise that she would return.
"Tony, they're tellin' me I gotta go," Molly's voice was hushed, her words meant for Anthony's ears alone. She smoothed a strand of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering in the slightest caress. "I'll be back first thing in the mornin', alright?" Her words held a whisper of hope, a plea for the dawn to bring a new day, a fresh start for their family.
With a deliberate and heartfelt gesture, Molly reached for her rosary, a symbol of faith that had been a constant in their lives. Carefully, she looped the cord around her twin brother's wrist, the connection a reminder of their unbreakable bond. And then, with the utmost care, she placed the ivory crucifix into Anthony's palm, folding his fingers around it as if offering a piece of her heart.
The room seemed to hold its breath, the emotion-laden air heavy with a sense of intimacy that transcended words. Molly's gaze lingered on Anthony's features, etching the sight of him into her memory. With a final touch to his hand, she straightened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
The days dragged on, each one a slow march through the haze of worry and tension that had enveloped Molly's life. The hospital became a second home, its sterile halls and beeping machines a constant reminder of the uncertainty that loomed over Anthony's condition. Molly's devotion was unwavering, her routine revolving around the precious moments she could spend by her twin brother's side.
Visiting hours became both a sanctuary and a battleground. Molly would sit by Anthony's bedside, her hand in his, speaking to him softly as if willing him to wake up. The room's dim light bore witness to her silent pleas, her unspoken hopes for his recovery.
When she was at home, Molly's phone conversations with her husband were filled with a mix of desperation and determination. They brainstormed ways they could support Anthony if he were to wake from his coma, discussing rehabilitation centers, therapies, and the uphill battle that lay ahead. The weight of their deliberations was palpable in every whispered word.
But amidst this heavy atmosphere, Molly's relationship with her family strained even further. The fractured dynamics had become a minefield, their interactions marred by unresolved resentment and hurt. Her father's harshness and her brother's apparent negligence had torn open old wounds, making the pain of Anthony's situation even more acute.
Molly's refusal to engage with her father spoke volumes of her disillusionment. The very person who should have offered comfort had instead fueled the flames of discord. And while Enzo had stood by her side in the past, even his support was now tinged with tension, their interactions more like walking on eggshells than sharing a sibling bond.
In the quiet of her thoughts, Molly couldn't help but assign some blame to her father and brother for Anthony's predicament. Their history of mistreatment and disregard had left lasting scars, pushing Anthony to find solace in destructive paths. She felt they had a share in the responsibility, even if they hadn't directly handed him the drugs.
Days turned into weeks, and Molly's focus on Anthony's well-being was unwavering. The complexity of her emotions weighed heavily on her heart as she struggled to reconcile her love for her family with the reality of their role in Anthony's downward spiral.
Her interactions with Salvatore and Soriano, Enzo's children, held a bittersweet quality. While she was cordial, there was an underlying sadness in the fact that Anthony hadn't been a part of their lives. She believed that family connections were essential, even in the face of difficulties, and it hurt that her nephews hadn't had the chance to meet their uncle during better times.
Corrina's stance on shielding her children from the turmoil of Anthony's situation was understandable, but it also felt like another layer of isolation for Molly. The chasm between family members seemed to widen, and despite her yearning for unity, she felt a growing sense of isolation.
As the weeks stretched on, Molly clung to hope but couldn't ignore the looming specter of reality. Anthony's condition remained unchanged, and the strain on the family became more pronounced with each passing day. The hospital room, once a symbol of their shared history, now felt like a reflection of their fractured bonds.
The early hours of Christmas Eve painted the Brooklyn household with a sense of stillness, the promise of the holiday hanging in the air like a delicate whisper. Enzo's senses were heightened as he roused from sleep, his ears attuned to the soft cadence of Molly's footsteps echoing through the hallway. He sensed her unrest, the uneven rhythm of her pacing a clear indication of her inner turmoil.
Careful not to disturb his sons, Enzo slipped into his robe and quietly left the room, drawn by the magnetism of his sister's distress. In the dim light, he caught the fleeting glance of his wife Corrina, awake and watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The silent exchange between them carried the weight of shared understanding as Enzo descended the stairs, Corrina following closely behind.
In the living room, the scene was one of restless energy. Molly's movement, usually full of purpose, was now a circular dance of anxiety. Her golden-brown eyes, usually warm and inviting, now bore the telltale signs of a sleepless night, her distress etched into the lines on her face. Enzo approached her with a gentleness that spoke of years of shared experiences, his hand finding its place on her shoulder as he sought to offer some form of comfort.
"Somethin's happened to Anthony," Molly's voice trembled, her words a raw admission of her fears. Enzo's touch was grounding as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading for understanding. The bond Anthony and Molly shared as twins, a connection that ran deeper than words, was now a conduit for her unease.
Corrina's presence joined them, her attempt at reassurance framed in words that sought to soothe the rising tide of anxiety. "I'm sure he's alright," she offered, her voice carrying a note of optimism. Her eyes met Enzo's, a shared hope that Molly's intuition was simply a manifestation of worry rather than a premonition of something dire.
But Molly's conviction remained unshaken. Her voice grew more resolute as she spoke, a reflection of the certainty that coursed through her. "No," she insisted, her gaze unwavering as it shifted from Enzo to Corrina. "Anthony's my twin, and we've always had this way of knowin' what each of us are goin' through. I can't shake this feelin' that somethin's really wrong." Her words held a desperation, a plea for them to understand the depth of her connection with her brother.
"It's like the part of him that's a part of me is just... gone, and I can't even put it into words." Molly's voice trembled, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her robe as she struggled to articulate the inexplicable sense of loss that gripped her heart.
In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Molly's intuition casting a shadow over the holiday atmosphere. The dim light of the Christmas tree cast gentle hues across their faces, highlighting the complex web of emotions that bound them together. Enzo's hand on Molly's shoulder was a steady presence, a silent vow of solidarity in the face of the unknown.
Corrina's dismissal of the situation was marked by a clear disdain, her words cutting through the room like a sharp blade. Her eyes held a mixture of superiority and contempt, a reflection of the longstanding antipathy she harbored for her siblings-in-law. The tense air in the room was only exacerbated by her callousness.
Molly, accustomed to Corrina's attitude, felt a pang of hurt deep within her chest. The weight of worry for her twin brother was already heavy, and Corrina's lack of empathy only added to the burden. While Anthony's relationship with Corrina had always been strained, Molly couldn't help but resent the lack of compassion she showed, especially during a time of such uncertainty.
Enzo, caught in the middle as always, attempted to mediate the situation with a request for hot chocolate. His tone, though gentle, carried a subtle undercurrent of dismissal aimed at Corrina. Her reluctance was palpable as she agreed and left the room, her departure a temporary relief from the tension that had settled between them.
Alone in the room, Molly's eyes met Enzo's, a mixture of sadness and understanding passing between them. Their family dynamics were complicated, and Corrina's attitude was just another layer to the intricate web of relationships that defined their lives.
As they waited for the hot chocolate, a heavy silence hung in the air, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The ringing of the phone interrupted the stillness, the abrupt sound breaking the spell that had settled over the room. Enzo's steps were purposeful as he answered the call, his expression tense with anticipation.
Enzo's heart seemed to skip a beat as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. The weight of the words that followed fell like a heavy hammer, striking a blow that resonated through his entire being. His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as he absorbed the devastating news.
"This is Lorenzo Ragno," Enzo's voice was steady, a mask of control that barely concealed the turmoil churning within him. The room around him seemed to blur, his focus solely on the voice at the other end of the line.
As the receptionist inquired about his relationship with Anthony, Enzo's response was a declaration of kinship, a bond that had once been unbreakable. He couldn't fathom what the call was about, but his instincts told him that it was serious.
The receptionist's words hung in the air like a shroud of sorrow, a heavy veil that enveloped Enzo in its darkness. His breath caught in his throat, the news hitting him like a wave crashing onto the shore. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the moment crushing.
"I'm deeply sorry to inform you," the voice continued, a note of genuine regret underlying the words. "Your brother, Anthony Ragno, passed away. His time of death was declared around 3:35 this morning."
"Anthony," Arackniss whispered his younger brother's name. He had contemplated texting his brother's number but decided against it. Anthony had already deceived him once, making him believe he could change for the better, only to discover that he was still selling himself on the street and using drugs despite his promises to get clean. Arackniss had reached his breaking point with the lies and broken promises. He didn't want to be dragged into whatever mess Anthony had fallen into any longer. He needed to prioritize his own well-being and distance himself from the destructive path his brother had chosen.
"Guardami, Anthony... ricorda... (Look at me, Anthony...remember...)"
"Fra...Fratello?"
"Sì, fratellino... riposati... mi prenderò, cura di te (Yes, little brother...rest yourself, I'll take care of you).
It seemed suspicious that Anthony had started working for Valentino around the same time they gained an association with the Overlord and acquired a significant plot of territory in the city. Arackniss couldn't help but notice that whenever he dropped by his brother's apartment, Anthony would often be absent for days or even weeks on end. And when he did return, he would have no satisfactory explanation, further fueling Arackniss's suspicions that his brother was out entertaining clients while on a drug binge. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and Arackniss couldn't deny that Anthony's involvement with Valentino and his erratic behavior pointed to a dangerous and self-destructive path.
Then, before the recent events, Arackniss received a call from Anthony's landlord, inquiring about their arrangement concerning the apartment. Anthony had vanished, leaving without a trace. He had simply packed up and moved away, and nobody knew where he had gone. Cherri Bomb, a girl Anthony had been friends with, came by and asked about him, but the landlord didn't bother to find out where he had gone or if he intended to return. Since the apartment was now empty, and there was no one to pay for it, the landlord wanted to know if their agreement with Arackniss was still in effect. Without hesitation, Arackniss informed the landlord that the deal was off, allowing him to do as he pleased with the vacant space.
Something was definitely going on, and Arackniss had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't like what he'd uncover. Determined to get to the bottom of it, he resolved to find out the truth one way or another.