"Have you been here all night, Hun?" Vaggie inquired, her tone a mix of relief and concern, upon finding Charlie on the deck of the clinic. The relief was evident in her voice, but underlying it was a trace of worry. It was only natural for the female moth demon to feel this way, considering Charlie had been absent for hours without any communication. The sole confirmation of her girlfriend's whereabouts came from a call by Dr. Abaddon, notifying Vaggie that Charlie was at the clinic. There hadn't been a call from Charlie herself, indicating her location or outlining her plans, leaving Vaggie in a state of uncertainty.
"Sorry to worry you, Vaggie," Charlie replied, her tone carrying a hint of distraction. "I was checking up on Angel and it felt like I couldn't just walk away from him. While I've been here, I've also been reflecting on the hotel."
"Such as," Vaggie inquired, her concern evident as she joined the blonde girl on the deck.
"When I was talking to Angel earlier," Charlie began to explain, her thoughts focused on the matter. "He didn't exactly shoot down the whole redemption project idea. It's just that he brought up a point about my approach. He thinks I might be moving too fast. I'm really enthusiastic about getting this project off the ground and showing that redemption can work, but he pointed out that I need more than just eagerness. I need a solid plan to demonstrate how it's all going to come together."
"He's not wrong," Vaggie admitted, her tone acknowledging the validity of Angel's perspective. "That's why I was suggesting we should locate a test subject. It's crucial to have some tangible proof that redemption can lead to Heaven. And, well, that line of thinking brought us to Angel."
"That's the heart of it, Vaggie," Charlie confessed, frustration lacing her voice. "I'm starting to doubt if I even know what I'm doing. I used to believe that Heaven was a place where souls like Cherri, Angel, and even you could find peace. But now I'm questioning if that's just wishful thinking, if it's all just a hopeful fantasy. I mean, if Heaven sends Exterminators every year to carry out mass slaughter without giving souls a chance to prove they can change for the better, what does that say about Heaven? Maybe... maybe I've made a huge mistake, and maybe no one truly believes in the possibility of redemption."
"So, are you..." Vaggie's voice held a mix of concern and disbelief, "...are you giving up on this?"
"I don't think I have much of a choice," Charlie admitted, her voice catching slightly as she brushed away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. "I don't have anyone from Heaven to reach out to, no one to ask about alternatives to the Cleanse or to help me understand why sinners are subjected to it. Remember what I said during that broadcast a few months ago? I can't just idly stand by and watch as the people I want to help are slaughtered, exposed to such brutality. But... considering everything that's unfolded recently, I'm beginning to question whether I truly cared for my people as deeply as I thought."
"Come with me, let me show you something," Vaggie encouraged gently. Charlie followed her partner, her curiosity piqued, as they made their way to Angel's room at the clinic. Inside, the Spider was still in a deep slumber, showing no signs of waking up. Cherri sat vigilantly by his bedside, her presence unwavering. One of her hands held onto one of Angel's, while the other hand gently traced the contours of his face. As if attuned to a caring presence nearby, Angel unconsciously leaned his head closer to the palm of Cherri's hand, as if silently affirming his awareness of her presence.
"What am I supposed to see?" Charlie inquired, her confusion evident. She understood the strong bond between the two demons, their sibling-like relationship was familiar to her.
"Look at those two," Vaggie pointed out.
"Yeah," Charlie responded, still not fully grasping the implication. "They're friends, and they've known each other for years."
"Do you realize how many demons are that close?" Vaggie inquired gently, her words carrying a deeper meaning.
"Um..." Charlie began as she thought through the possibilities. "There's you and me, and there's my mom and dad..."
"I wasn't referring to romantic relationships," Vaggie clarified. "I meant, how many demons have had partnerships that endured for as long as theirs has?"
"Well..." Charlie began to respond. "As far as I know, no one. I've heard of some Overlords and members of the Ars Goetia having close alliances, but those are mostly based on business and politics."
"Exactly," Vaggie elaborated. "Among the sinners, friendships do exist, but more often than not, they're fleeting, built on immediate needs and not much else. Betrayals and partnerships are driven by utility and self-interest, with little regard for the bigger picture. For example, the Vee's might project unity as a family, but each of them is willing to abandon another if their own survival is at stake." Vaggie's gaze returned to the room where Angel was starting to show signs of stirring.
The one-eyed moth girls voice soft yet meaningful. "And even though Angel can be... well, Angel, Cherri has stuck by him through thick and thin. She sees something in him worth caring for, worth believing in."
"Those two have something incredibly rare," Vaggie continued. "Remember what Cherri told us about how they first met? Angel chose to let Cherri hide with him. No one compelled him to make that decision. In most cases, someone else might have abandoned her without a second thought. They hold real importance to each other, recognizing that whatever affects one has an impact on the other. Think about how much Cherri was hurt when Angel distanced himself from her after... after Val's incident, after he returned to the hotel. It's beginning to come together for you, right?" Charlie nodded, her understanding deepening as she started to grasp Vaggie's point. The two demons didn't sustain their companionship based on utility or gains. Their bond wasn't rooted in manipulation. They had grown to depend on each other for their individuality, supporting one another without the need to conform or extract benefits. They recognized each other's unique needs and offered assistance to share the load without taking complete responsibility for it. While both were strong individually, their strength was magnified when united.
"And it's not just them." Vaggie reassured. "You've seen how the others at the hotel have formed connections, found solace, and even a chance at change. Maybe you're right, maybe Heaven isn't what you thought it was. But that doesn't mean redemption is a lost cause. You've already started making a difference right here, Charlie."
Angel's eyes had fluttered open, and a soft smile graced his lips as he reached out to Cherri, pulling her into a tender, brotherly embrace. Cherri melted into his arms, her tense demeanor visibly easing as she felt the warmth of his presence, knowing that her best friend was returning to his familiar self. The connection between them was palpable, a bond forged through shared experiences and mutual understanding.
Charlie couldn't help but be deeply affected by the scene unfolding before her. She watched as the two friends held each other, the weight of their shared history evident in the way they clung to one another. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, moved by the authenticity of their connection and the strength it offered them in the face of adversity.
As the emotions welled up within her, Charlie exchanged a knowing glance with Vaggie. Their shared understanding of the significance of this moment passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the power of genuine relationships. With a shared smile, they quietly departed from the room, giving Angel and Cherri the space they needed to relish their long-awaited reunion.
Dr. Abaddon found himself intrigued by the remarkable speed of Angel's recovery since the night Charlie had chosen to visit him. It was undeniably faster than he had initially anticipated, yet a subtle inkling suggested that he wasn't completely taken aback by the outcome. Despite his curiosity, the doctor decided to exercise caution and requested that Angel remain under observation at the clinic for a few more days.
Cherri, Charlie, and Vaggie had been carefully instructed on how to administer the benzodiazepine injections. Angel's health had improved significantly, which allowed for a more measured dosage than before. Dr. Abaddon was reasonably confident that seizures were not likely to pose a threat at this stage, though he acknowledged the ongoing challenges of managing anxiety and restlessness.
The new injections no longer induced the intense drowsiness they once did, granting Angel the freedom to move around the clinic grounds. Cherri had brought along his cigarettes and a change of clothes during a recent visit, alleviating any concern about wearing the worn-out gray top and flannel trousers he had been confined to for the past few days. Taking a much-needed shower and changing into fresh clothes felt like a small taste of Heaven for Angel, who had been in an on-and-off state of slumber since his arrival at the clinic.
"I'll be relieved when you quit smoking these," Vaggie commented, her tone carrying a hint of playful exasperation as she scrutinized the pack when Angel emerged from the shower. "It's not the smoking itself that bothers me, but these cigarettes have an aroma that's reminiscent of something that passed away a month ago."
"Ya know, I gotta say, I couldn't agree more, toots." Angel concurred, a wry smile touching his lips. "It's a brand that's only for the studio, and Val's real strict about everybody at the joint using 'em. I reckon I can say goodbye to those now that I won't be stepping into that joint no more."
"I've got breakfast for everyone," Tetra chimed in, entering the scene with a plate piled high with delectable French toast. "Help yourselves to as much as you want."
"Appreciate it, Tetra," Charlie replied warmly, starting to portion out and distribute servings of the egg-battered toast to the others around her.
"Fat Nuggets is going to be over the moon to see you," Cherri remarked with a playful grin as she adorned her French toast with butter and jam. "He's been cozied up on your bed at the cabin ever since you were brought to the clinic."
"How did you end up having a pig as a pet, anyway?" Vaggie inquired, genuine curiosity in her tone.
"I've always had a fuckin' soft spot for critters." Angel responded with a nonchalant shrug, savoring the flavors of his French toast. "When I stumbled upon him, there was just this kind of connection I felt with the little fella."
"What kind of bond?" Charlie inquired, her curiosity piqued. Angel set down his fork, his gaze turning contemplative as he stared out of the window, seemingly deep in thought, as if weighing how much to share and how to express it.
"I suppose you could say neither of us was exactly wanted," Angel responded after a pause. He resumed picking at his food, pushing the pieces around in the syrup more than actually eating. Charlie felt the urge to ask more, but she sensed the subject was sensitive and chose not to press further. The discomfort in the atmosphere was palpable, and it seemed best to let Angel share at his own pace.
Cherri set her plate aside and quietly rose from her seat, making her way to Angel's side. She stood there for a moment, waiting until she had his attention. When Angel finally looked up at her, no words were exchanged. Cherri merely placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her gesture a silent show of support. Angel's eyes reflected a fleeting pain, as if on the verge of tears, before he averted his gaze. He crossed one arm over his chest, clutching the opposite arm in a way that exposed his vulnerability. The room fell into silence as everyone returned to their meal, the unease lingering like a heavy cloud.
In that moment, unspoken emotions hung in the air, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and the unspoken pain that often accompanies them. Despite the discomfort, there was an unspoken understanding between them, a recognition of the fragile yet resilient bonds that connected them as a chosen family.
Angel took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he absorbed the sights around him. Cherri had expressed a desire to linger, but he had gently insisted on some solitary moments. Dr. Abaddon had communicated to Charlie that upon their return to Pentagram City, Angel would be granted permission to stay at the compound for ongoing medical care. However, due to the exclusivity of the main cabin and its surroundings reserved for the Royal family, he'd be lodging in one of the cabins at the security barracks. Angel had no qualms about this arrangement, especially considering that Cherri would be staying by his side.
The breeze rustled through the trees, carrying a sense of calm and tranquility that was rare in their chaotic world. The contrasting allure of this serene environment, far removed from the urban sprawl of the city, tugged at Angel's senses. In the midst of the quiet tranquility that permeated the surroundings, he found a respite from the bustling and chaotic life of places like New York or Pentagram. Charlie's thoughtful consideration of the circumstances at hand didn't go unnoticed. She was grappling with a complicated situation, navigating her newfound authority and the resistance that came with it.
The shadow of Valentino's looming presence cast a pall over the peacefulness, reminding Angel that severing ties with his former employer wouldn't be an easy feat. While the order to terminate Angel's employment had been given, Valentino wasn't about to relinquish his prized performer without a fight. He would seize any opportunity to challenge Charlie's authority or reclaim Angel for his own purposes. The storm of opposition was gathering momentum, and Valentino was at the forefront, ready to manipulate any circumstance in his favor.
Demonstrations against the hotel's redemption initiatives were already sparking, with protesters demanding that Charlie halt what they perceived as misguided attempts at redemption. Accusations of brainwashing, abduction, and false imprisonment were being flung around. The media, represented by outlets like Channel 666 News and the Pentagram Post, salivated for any response Charlie could have; ready to pounce on any statement she made once she returned to the city. Alastor's ominous presence might fend them off temporarily, but considering the influence of Overlords like Vox, they would inevitably return with more persistence. The stage was set for a clash of ideologies, each with its own set of adherents and detractors.
Back in the city, the prospect of being confined to the hotel cast a shadow over both Angel and Cherri. The necessity for their safety was not lost on them, but the notion of being restricted within the hotel's walls wasn't exactly met with enthusiasm. Their understanding of the precautions didn't erase the feeling of being placed under lockdown.
Even if they were allowed a limited freedom, such as venturing out to the local "Starsluts Coffee" for a Pistachio Latte, it would come with the requirement of a chaperone for security reasons. This role would typically fall to someone like Alastor, an idea that neither Angel nor Cherri found appealing. The notion of being escorted around by the enigmatic Overlord didn't sit well with them, particularly Cherri, who had expressed a firm aversion to the idea. She had made it crystal clear that she would sooner demolish Alastor's radio tower than allow him to serve as their guide.
The Morningstar mountain compound, despite its perceived impregnability, wasn't an impervious fortress as Charlie might have believed. While its security measures rivaled the fortified sanctuaries of world leaders, it wasn't without vulnerabilities. The compound was equipped with state-of-the-art security systems and maintained a vigilant presence of guards patrolling to deter any potential intruders or trespassers. However, Vox's influence extended even into the realm of security technology, as his business ventures included many of the systems used in Hell. Moreover, Vox's belief that anyone could be swayed by the right incentive added an element of uncertainty.
A single disgruntled member of the security force could potentially grant access to someone like Vox or Valentino. The belief that even the most fortified defenses could be compromised for the right price hung in the air, a testament to the corruption that ran deep in Hell's society.
Despite Vox's ability, with some assistance from Velvette, to locate the general whereabouts of the compound, its distance from Pentagram City worked in its favor. The overnight journey to reach the compound meant that the Vee's would have to go to considerable lengths to breach its defenses, at least when it came to using conventional means like a car. However, Vox's access to helicopters and private jets could circumvent this challenge, allowing for swift and unexpected arrivals. These resources could be manipulated for various purposes, including the transportation of cargo—or even the capture of individuals.
In a world where power and influence were fluid and unpredictable, the Morningstar compound's security, while formidable, was not an absolute guarantee against external threats.
"Ah, Angel," Dr. Abaddon's voice cut through Angel's contemplations as he stepped out onto the deck for a smoke. "I imagine you're anticipating your reunion with your companions tomorrow."
"Yeah," Angel replied with a wry grin. "I sure didn't expect my first week in this place to be all about feeling like a complete wreck."
"I'm glad I could offer assistance," Dr. Abaddon responded, lighting his cigarette. "As the personal doctor for the Morningstar family, my role is primarily dedicated to their needs and those of their occasional guests. You're the first and only sinner I've had the privilege of treating. I must confess, when I learned I'd be caring for you of all people, you certainly didn't match my expectations."
"You was maybe thinkin' of a real saucy nympho, down for whatevers got a pulsin'; rockhard dick."Angel quipped, a sardonic smirk on his lips. "That's more like my act on the boards, ya know? It's the sorta image the whole damn underworld wants me to keep up. Gets real weary when ya ponder on it – playin' a part just to match someone else's reckonin'. You never rightly discover your true self 'cause your old man's all, 'Do this or you're outta the crew,' and your boss is throwin' around, 'Get cozy with that fella or you'll pray you had.'"
"I can only imagine what that must be like," Abaddon commented sympathetically. "Playing a character for so long that you can't even tell where the act ends and reality begins."
"It ain't all that awful, though." Angel sighed, a tinge of complexity infusing his tone. "At times, the front can be like a cozy armor, ya know?" He mused, his gaze drifting to the distant horizon. "Especially when it comes to the sunnier parts of the act. It's a means to steer clear of the stuff you'd rather not face head-on."He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he mulled over his thoughts.
"In a joint like Hell," Angel continued, his words measured, "it's all about the strong makin' it through, and sometimes survivin' means bendin' to what they demand from ya. Whether it's your clientele, your boss, or even your own kin. Ya slip on that mask, you play the game to hold your spot, to snag onto any bit of power you can snag. But it's a cinch to lose track of who you really are under all that actin'."
He cast a sidelong glance at Abaddon, as if gauging his reaction to his candid admission. "Perhaps that's why bein' here, even if just for a short spell, feels like a break. It's like... an opportunity to strip away the layers and check if there's any trace of the genuine you beneath it all."
"Do you have family here in Hell?" Abaddon inquired, raising an eye-ridge at the Spider demon. While it wasn't unheard of for family members to end up in Hell, it was a rarity for them to find one another and coexist as they had before death. The timing of a person's demise and their moral character played pivotal roles. Most demons had either assimilated into Hell's communities or been erased by the time other family members arrived.
The judgment of the two realms assigned spouses to Hell while a significant other potentially enjoyed the pleasures of Heaven. Siblings were torn apart, friendships shattered, lovers separated, and families destroyed. Even if they did manage to reunite, a prevailing 'each to their own' mentality persisted. Friendships were viewed as convenient alliances, and siblings might abandon each other for self-preservation. Lovers could turn on one another once they were no longer deemed necessary.
"Yeah, most of them are in Hell," Angel admitted with a sigh. "Every move I've made in this world was 'cause I gotta put some space between me and the rest of the famiglia. But no matter how hard I try, I can never shake 'em completely. Hookin' up with Valentino, well, it ain't exactly a world apart from the one I've been battlin' to ditch. It's like the same ol' dance, just different mugs. I'm stuck doin' jobs that turn my stomach, takin' orders from guys I'd trade all six of my arms to never see again."
"Such as," Abaddon inquired calmly?
"Pops, for sure," Angel sighed, his tone heavy with frustration. "He's a no-good son of a bitch, and I wouldn't shed a tear if he just vanished from the face of the earth. Then there's a number of my uncles – loyal to the bone, they were. Didn't matter what kinda dirty work they was up to; it was all just part of the job, in their twisted minds. And the rest of the bunch? Well, they weren't exactly choirboys, but I reckon they didn't quite get the full picture when they got themselves tangled up in this mess. By the time they saw the real deal, they were already in up to their necks, no way out. Even here in this mess they call Hell, I figure they felt like they had no say in the matter, like it was a one-way street. You know, the whole 'you're in for life' racket. And Hell, it's just another kind of life sentence... stuck in it till it's lights out."
"Are there any members of your family," Abaddon asked, his curiosity unwavering, "ones that you would save if you felt you could?"
Angel didn't reply immediately. Instead, he took a slow drag on his cigarette, as if contemplating a question he'd rather not answer.
"If you don't have anyone you feel is worth saving..." Abaddon began, gently acknowledging the possibility.
"I'd say my brother," Angel responded, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Though that's a big 'if', ya know? My brutha, he ain't never been the kind of fella whose ever really a brotherly type...not since we was kids at least. Ain't no way he's makin' it onto any list of folks likely to turn their lives 'round. Sure, he's had his moments where he ain't been all bad, but bein' a stand-up guy? Nah, ain't his strong suit. Moody, tough to deal with, quick to get riled up... and who knows what kinda fuckin' trouble brews when ya get on his bad side. Still, he's my older brutha. You might figure I can't stand him, but truth is, I don't hate him. I just can't stomach the person Pops made him into."
"I can empathize with that perspective," Abaddon replied.
"How 'bout you, huh?" Angel inquired, his curiosity piqued. "I've bumped into all sorts of characters from different Hellborn breeds in various rings, and I've had my share of run-ins with a whole bunch of Goetial Demons. But with you, it's clear as day that you ain't your garden variety Hellborn. Still, there's somethin' 'bout ya that stands out, somethin' that gives me vibes like what makes Charlie different too."
"You have quite the keen observation," Abaddon remarked with an intrigued smile. "Even Charlotte herself hasn't discerned that I am not a demon. Truth be told, I have an affiliation with what you might call the 'other place'. However, this world—everything you lay eyes upon—has been under my dominion since my inception. This realm was crafted for me to oversee. So, I suppose you could categorize me not so much as a demon, but rather as a Hellborn Angel."
*1928*
From across the room, a pair of sage-green eyes remained fixated on the young man. Limited knowledge existed about the boy, known as Anthony, beyond his status as Enzo's younger brother. Typically, the junior Ragno avoided accompanying his brother or any other inducted members of the family during their outings. This stood to reason, given his age falling short of the Ragno Crime Family's inclusion criteria. Roughly appearing to be around fifteen years old, his youthful countenance betrayed his exclusion. His golden-brown hair, cropped at a moderate length, artfully framed his cherubic visage. The vestiges of childhood lingered in his facial structure, highlighted by two sets of blotchy freckles adorning his olive-toned complexion. Yet, it was the young man's eyes that held the observer's fascination above all else—a deep hue of light, goldish brown evoking the imagery of caramel or butterscotch.
At "The Pinnacle Club," the entire roster of made individuals within the Ragno Crime Family reveled in their evening. An exception existed in the form of Anthony, who appeared distinctly ill at ease within his current surroundings. His discomfort was palpable, stemming from both his unfamiliarity with the setting and his lack of understanding for the purpose of their gathering. Ordinarily, he would have chosen to remain within the confines of home while the rest of the men embarked on their outings. However, the occasion differed this time due to Don Henrico's organization of a meeting involving the heads of various other families, primarily revolving around disputes over territory. Given Anthony's standing as an outsider within his family, he comprehended the prudence of maintaining distance from the intricacies of his father and elder brother's involvements. Enzo, in his capacity, had been instructed to include him in this venture. The rationale lay in Anthony's susceptibility to unintentionally overhear sensitive information if left at home—a potential risk that could arise from his presence within the household.
As the observer contemplated approaching the younger man, Anthony made a sudden move, rising from his seat and heading toward the exit. This motion did not escape Enzo's notice; he promptly set aside his drink and trailed after his brother. The observer, too, decided to follow the pair, maintaining a discreet distance. Rain had been falling heavily not long after their arrival at the club, a fact that remained true at this moment. Anthony positioned himself beneath the shelter of the club's awning, his gaze fixed on the downpour outside, almost as if the rain was yet another element conspiring to exacerbate his sense of misery.
"Anthony," Enzo's voice carried an authoritative tone. "Where do ya think you're scrammin' off to, huh? That meetin' over at the house is gonna drag on a bit longer. So why don'tcha beat it back inside, and in about an hour, I'll get on the horn and check if it's over."
"I ain't at ease in joints like this," Anthony replied, his voice carrying a note of discomfort.
"You're just actin' all uptight," Enzo countered, attempting to alleviate his brother's discomfort. Listen up, kid. Growin' into a man ain't about playin' it safe all the time. It's about steppin' out of your comfort zone, takin' chances, and divin' into what life's got to offer. Now, lemme tell ya – the fellas got a little bet goin' on whether you'll step up and actually become a man tonight. Yeah, it might rattle your nerves at first, but once you've fucked your first brawd, you won't be able to get enough of it."
Anthony cast a wary glance toward the individual stationed by the doorway, his expression an attempt to gauge whether the man might be eavesdropping on their conversation. The golden-haired youth then maneuvered closer to the edge of the awning, signaling his brother to join him. The sound of the rain muffled the words exchanged between them. However, the sequence of emotions that swept across Enzo's countenance—initial shock, ensuing anger, and culminating in disgust—spoke volumes. The dark-haired man vented his dissatisfaction by delivering a punch to his younger sibling's face, his frustration made manifest.
"You can hoof it home in the rain, as far as I'm concerned," Enzo's voice rumbled with frustration as he pivoted and stormed back into the club, his vexation palpable. "Perhaps it'll knock some sense into that thick skull of yours." Anthony refrained from watching his brother's departure. Instead, he remained in place, his back turned to his older sibling. His hand instinctively went to the spot where Enzo's blow had landed, then it gradually descended to his side, his posture reflecting a sense of defeat.
Casting a glance towards the downpour, the young man's gaze turned toward the club's entrance. With a decisive motion, he walked towards the door, stepping out into the pouring rain. He reached into the container positioned by the door, retrieving an umbrella. The rain fell steadily, adding to the somber atmosphere of the night. The ownership of the umbrella was of little concern to him; it was merely a tool to shield himself from the downpour. His arrival had been via a taxi, making this seemingly insignificant act akin to a necessary offering to the weather gods.
Maintaining a discrete distance behind Anthony, he ventured out into the rainy expanse. The turmoil that brewed between Anthony and Enzo was not his to meddle in. However, an unexplainable intuition nudged him to keep a loose track of Anthony's trajectory. The aimless path Anthony treaded seemed to lack a clear purpose or direction. The hour was late, and the options for a sheltered haven for a teenager in this vicinity were sparse, often accompanied by unwanted entanglements.
Observing Anthony, he noted the boy's drenched and disheveled appearance as he paused at a street corner, evaluating his surroundings. A delicate hand swiped across his youthful countenance, perhaps a futile attempt to wipe away the rain that adhered to his golden-brown hair. Or maybe it served as a subtle ruse to remove something else entirely.
"We're getting ourselves quite a drenching, aren't we?" he remarked casually, stepping forward to position the umbrella above the youth's head. The sudden sound of his voice caused the young lad to startle, his reflexes betraying his surprise. Yet, a sense of recognition soon replaced his initial apprehension, as he realized the identity of the speaker. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease as he processed the situation.
"Yeah..." The young man said hesitantly. "You're Celani, right?"
"Luca Celani, yes," he replied. "And youse must be Anthony, Enzo's kid brother." Anthony's eyes hooded, and he glanced away, his distress evident.
"Yeah," Anthony said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "For what little that is worth."
"I couldn't help but notice that you and your brother had a bit of a falling out," Luca commented, his tone empathetic.
"I uh..." Anthony's body tensed at the statement, confirming the chestnut-haired man's suspicions. "You didn't hear what was said, did you?" he asked, his voice laden with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.
"Nah," Luca stated firmly as he guided the younger man away from the curb, seeking shelter under the awning of a soda fountain. The shop had already closed for the night; besides, even if it had been open, he doubted it would be the ideal place for this conversation. "After seein' Enzo blow his top over what ya spilled, I ain't no greenhorn, ya know. So, lemme take a crack at it – you sweatin' 'bout your own flesh and blood turnin' into a stool pigeon on ya?"
"Nah," Anthony replied, though his unease remained palpable. "I figure, Pops has been getting a hunch about things for a while now. He's always been yammering on 'bout how I ain't cut from the same cloth as the rest, and how I'm tainting the family name. But Enzo, he might be a real pain, but he ain't the type to spill the beans. Besides, he don't even need to spill no secrets 'cause just him showing up at home without me says it all, you catch my drift? And when it comes to spilling shit, I sure hope you ain't cooking up no schemes in that direction. I ain't tangled up in whatever Pops and Enzo got brewing, and I sure as hell ain't aiming to be. But I do know this much, if word gets out 'bout having someone like me in the family... well, you can imagine the kind of storm that's gonna brew, right?"
"Your doings ain't no skin off my nose." Luca responded. "If you were in on the racket, well that's a whole different ballgame. Can't just sweep that under the rug. But if we're talkin' about keepin' this under wraps... I ain't entirely in the market for fraternizin' with the dames, if you get my drift. So I get why you'd want to keep this on the down-low. Oh, by the way, you headed anywhere special?"
"Home, I suppose," Anthony sighed. "The meeting's probably wrapped up by now. I figure I can whip up some convincing story to serve Pops if he's still kickin' around."
"Ain't Don Henrico's joint clear across the town?" Luca pointed out, a concerned furrow on his brow. "You'd be grabbin' a case of pneumonia if you dare hoof it all that way in this weather."
"Perhaps that's one less headache for Pops." Anthony remarked, his steps picking up as he began to walk away once more. "At the very least, he won't need to fret about me tonight."
"Wait a tick," Luca suggested. "I'll rustle up a cab for ya. Got a spare room over at my joint. You can bunk there for the night, and come sunup, we'll sort this whole thing out. I'll even get on the horn with Andreioli; let him know where you are so he can inform yah Pops."
"I, uh," Anthony responded, his unease palpable.
"Believe me," Luca insisted reassuringly. "Ain't no trouble."
The taxi ride to Luca's apartment was a quiet one, with minimal conversation. Anthony shivered from the cold, his sopping wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to his body.
"You reckon I oughta be takin' him to a hospital?" the driver inquired. "He seems a bit too fresh-faced to be wanderin' 'round on his lonesome at this hour. Ain't too thrilled 'bout my fares catchin' a cold in my cab."
"He's alright," Luca stated, wrapping an arm around Anthony's shoulders in an effort to share his body heat and alleviate the cold that had settled into the boy's bones.
"Here's the spot," the taxi driver announced, pulling up in front of an art deco-style apartment building.
"Thanks," Luca replied. "How much do I gotta toss your way?"
"Comes to about fifteen cents," the cabbie replied.
"Here's a dollar," Luca said, extracting a dollar bill from his wallet. "You hang onto the extra and have yourself a swell night." Exiting the cab, he led Anthony into the building, the younger man close at his heels.
"Oh, Mr. Celani," greeted the dark-skinned front desk attendant, looking up as the two men entered the building.
"Evenin', Hurshel," Celani responded with a nod. "I require a guest register for this fine young gent."
"Here's the sign-in sheet," Hurshel replied, placing a clipboard on the desk. Luca promptly passed it to Anthony to add his signature to the visitor's log. "Not that it's any concern of mine, but given he seems underage... do his folks know he's here?"
"Not as of now," Luca explained. "His big brother's coincidentally a coworker of mine, and I'll shoot a message to his folks once we're upstairs. Just wanna make sure he's settled somewhere warm and cozy for starters."
"Got it," Hershal acknowledged. "You two have a good night."
"Let's go," Luca said, leading Anthony toward the elevator. "Mamma's gonna take care of ya."
The elevator emitted a soft ding as they reached their chosen floor. Luca guided the dripping young man down the corridor, coming to a halt at a specific door which he promptly unlocked.
"Luca, sei a casa?(Luca, are you home,)" called a woman's voice in Italian from the kitchen.
"Sì, mamma, (Yes, Mamma)" Luca responded in Italian. "Sono a casa... Ho un ospite con me. (I'm home... I have a guest with me.)" A woman, appearing to be in her mid-forties, emerged from the kitchen. Like her son, she had chestnut brown hair, though hers was adorned with streaks of gray. Dressed entirely in black, it was clear she was a widow. Her gaze immediately fell upon the rain-drenched boy.
"Oh, povero bambino, devi congelare,(Oh, you poor child, you must be freezing,)" the older woman exclaimed in Italian, rushing forward to cup Anthony's face in her hands and fuss over him like a mother hen. "Il bagno è proprio in fondo al corridoio a destra, fai una doccia calda per riscaldarti. Luca, procuragli qualcosa da indossare. Mi assicurerò che le tue cose siano lavate e asciutte domani. (The bathroom is right down the hall to the right, take a hot shower to warm up. Luca, get something for him to wear. I'll make sure your things are washed and dry by tomorrow.)"
"Si, Mamma, (Yes, Mamma,)" Luca agreed as he walked off toward his room. Meanwhile, his mother gently ushered a somewhat flustered Anthony towards the bathroom.
Inside his room, Luca rummaged through his dresser drawers, finding a set of pajamas that seemed like they might fit Anthony's more slender build. He had noticed how uncomfortable Anthony had appeared when Mrs. Celani fussed over him. Given that Don Henrico was a widower due to his wife's passing from the Spanish Flu, it was likely that this was Anthony's first encounter with an Italian mother in nearly a decade. It made sense that he would feel uneasy with the attention. Exiting his room, Luca paused by the bathroom door.
"Anthony," Luca called gently. "I've got some dry duds for ya. They'll be sittin' right outside when you're set." The boy didn't offer a response, but Luca had a hunch that he understood.
Moving to the phone he placed a call with the Andreioli household to let them know that he had seen Anthony attempting to walk home in the pouring rain. So he had brought him to his apartment for the night and would return him home in the morning.
"Normalmente non inviti gli amici del lavoro, (Normally, you don't invite friends from work over,)" Mrs. Celani remarked in Italian while browning slices of Italian sausage in an iron skillet on the stove. A pot of minestrone soup was simmering on a back burner.
"Anthony è il figlio minore del mio datore di lavoro, (Anthony is the younger son of my employer,)" Luca explained in his mother's native language. "Stasera, mentre ero al club, ho visto suo fratello litigare con lui, subito prima che gli venisse detto di tornare a casa sotto la pioggia. Non mi sentivo a mio agio a lasciare che Anthony attraversasse la città da solo, quindi ho pensato che questo sarebbe stato il posto più sicuro dove portarlo per ora. (While I was at the club tonight, I witnessed his brother having an argument with him, right before he was instructed to head home in the rain. I didn't feel comfortable letting Anthony cross the city on his own, so I thought this would be the safest place to bring him for now.)"
"Quando menzioni il tuo datore di lavoro, ti riferisci all'uomo che ci ha fornito questo appartamento? (When you mention your employer, are you referring to the man who provided us with this apartment?)" Mama Celani inquired.
"Si, Mamma,(Yes, Mamma,)" Luca explained, though a tinge of bitterness laced his voice. He inhaled as if he wanted to share more, but he suppressed his words. Don Henrico had orchestrated this as a favor for both him and his mother. Luca's end of the bargain involved becoming a member of the Ragno crime family. It was the type of situation his father had cautioned him about before his passing – how these 'friends' might extend kindness and favors, but those gestures came with a steep price. If you couldn't repay the debt they called in, the consequences were severe. The Ragno family had assured him and his mother of this apartment, every detail arranged meticulously. Yet, the cost he had paid was a commitment to a life in the clutches of organized crime. As much as he yearned to confide in his mother about the nature of his employers, about the unsavory tasks they expected him to perform, he had sworn an oath of silence regarding this life and his participation in it. A life he desperately wished to break free from at the earliest opportunity.
There was an additional aspect he grappled with – his bisexuality. This was something his mother remained oblivious to, and she would undoubtedly have disapproved of any hint of attraction or potential interest he might harbor toward other men. It was a concealed truth that he carried as a source of private shame, especially considering he would bring home women who often turned out to be fleeting encounters at best. Mama Celani consistently found reasons to criticize them: they were too promiscuous, too American, lacked intellectual depth, or had physical attributes unfit for childbearing. And in truth, Luca had never found himself genuinely intrigued or contented by any of these women either.
But then there was Anthony; something about the younger man felt distinct.
When his father had been alive, he had once described the sensation of finding the right person as akin to being struck by lightning – an unexpected jolt that altered everything. That's precisely how Luca felt about Anthony; there was something about the young man that stirred emotions within him that he had never experienced before. He knew, in that profound moment, that his world would never be the same again.
*end flashback*
Six sage-green eyes blinked open as Lucas Strike sat up in bed. It had been years since he had dreamt about Anthony, or at least the younger man he had once known and loved so deeply. Perhaps the trigger was the recent news of Angel Dust's involvement in the Princess's Hotel project, coupled with the announcement of his supposed retirement from the adult entertainment industry. While he held reservations about the hotel and its ambitions, he wasn't convinced that the Princess was peddling deceitful promises. Yet, the notion of Angel Dust retiring raised more skepticism.
Valentino wasn't the kind of demon who would easily release his valuable asset. Witnessing the protestors rallying at the Hotel, demanding Angel's return to the studio, it was evident that the Moth Overlord was orchestrating a grand performance. He was using this situation to undermine the hotel's reputation and obliterate any chance of the Princess achieving her vision of demon redemption. Rumor had it that the Princess had departed the city, taking Angel Dust along. This brought back memories of a bygone era when Lucas had offered Angel refuge at the Celani Vineyards.
As he contemplated the unfolding events, Lucas could only hope that when the Princess returned to address this chaotic situation, Anthony wouldn't be accompanying her.