Charlie felt herself grow pale as she delved deeper into the stories, grasping the harsh truth with greater clarity. Angel and his brother hadn't been raised like ordinary children; instead, they were groomed as living weapons. The ongoing rivalry, the unrelenting abuse, the blatant favoritism, and the deliberate neglect they endured were all calculated tactics aimed at pitting them against each other, discouraging reliance on one another. Angel, Arackniss, and Molly had been conditioned to dread their father's wrath if they dared to disobey. Even the grim reality that Angel had been trained to wield a weapon of war from such a tender age was a testament not to his father's nurturing, but rather to the cruel command of a tyrant marshaling his forces.
As Angel recounted his harrowing story, it became painfully evident that he had been unfairly branded as the "defective one" solely due to factors beyond his control. The revelation that Angel and his siblings had been mercilessly ensnared in their father's perverted and violent schemes filled Charlie with an overwhelming mixture of horror and profound sadness.
Angel fixed a concerned gaze upon Charlie, intuitively picking up on her uneasiness. "Would you like to take a break?" he inquired gently, his voice laced with empathy.
Aware that the narratives he was sharing were far from easy to digest, Angel recognized the enduring pain that these memories held for him. He could only imagine the weight of these revelations on Charlie, empathizing with the difficulty she must be facing in confronting the horrors he and his siblings had endured.
"I don't wanna make you uneasy," Angel went on, his eyes staying kind and understanding. "If you gotta take a breather or if this gets to be too heavy, just give me a holler. I get it, my history's molded me in ways that ain't always easy to face."
"No," Charlie responded with determination. "I want to hear your story. It's just incredibly difficult to wrap my head around the fact that all of this actually happened. The thought of being groomed for combat as a child, of being compelled to conform to a world that refuses to accept you for who you are, it's just so...wrong."
Charlie paused the recording, sensing that Angel needed a moment to gather himself before they could continue. Glancing at her phone, she realized that an hour had slipped by since they began their conversation. Her phone screen also displayed a flurry of text messages from Vaggie, who, in her usual protective manner, was understandably concerned about Charlie's whereabouts. While Charlie appreciated Vaggie's unwavering concern, she couldn't help but acknowledge that it sometimes bordered on overbearing. Nevertheless, she knew she was safe within the walls of the compound. The security measures in place were unparalleled, with vigilant guards patrolling the grounds around the clock, ensuring the safety of Hell's royal family.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie turned to Angel with a reassuring gaze. "Are you ready to continue?" she asked, her voice filled with gentleness and understanding. "We can take a break if you need to. Just remember, I'm here for you, and I want to hear your story, no matter how challenging it may be."
Angel gave a nonchalant shrug. "You might notice some resemblances in there, like that fella you were snappin' a pic with at the prom," he quipped.
"Seviathan…" Charlie questioned, astonishment coloring her tone. "How did you... How did you know?"
"I got a nose for sniffin' out shady characters," Angel responded, his face deadpan. "And there was somethin' about the way you two were posin' in that picture that didn't sit right with me. It looked like you had to plaster on a smile for looks, but deep down, you were feelin' pretty darn low."
Charlie wrapped her arms around herself, a sense of vulnerability washing over her. She had already shared her past with Cherri, and she wasn't particularly keen on delving into it again with someone new. However, there was an undeniable connection she felt with Angel, as if he could grasp her inner turmoil in a way that few others could. He had also been forced to conceal his true self to endure, and that shared experience seemed to bridge a unique understanding between them.
In a surprising moment, Angel gently placed the cardigan he had been wearing around Charlie's shoulders. It was a small gesture, but it provided a profound sense of comfort that she had been yearning for. Without uttering a single word, it felt as though Angel was conveying that he didn't require the intricate details of her history with Seviathan—he already comprehended the essence of it.
For a few moments, they shared a comforting silence, the only sound being the gentle rustle of fabric as Charlie settled the cardigan around her shoulders. Her nostrals taking in the soft scent of fresh berries along with masculine hints of basil and sage. Angel's smell wasn't entising like the peppery aroma of vaggie's skin. But there was something peaceful and comforting from the fregrence that was solely the Spider's. Eventually, Angel broke the silence as he returned to the rock he had been sitting on.
"Vag's is likely sweatin' bullets, wonderin' where you're at," Angel remarked casually. Charlie couldn't help but catch that he'd purposefully said "you" instead of "we," kind of hintin' that Vaggie's fretting might be more fixated on Charlie's location than his own.
Charlie couldn't help but notice that Vaggie still harbored a level of distrust towards Angel, despite the fact that her initial aversion to him had softened somewhat in light of recent events. The female moth demon remained fiercely protective of Charlie and had a tendency to exercise an abundance of caution when it came to anyone she perceived as a potential threat. Charlie decided to ease her girlfriend and lover's worries by opening the messaging app on her Hellphone to reassure her and provide an update on her whereabouts.
Vaggie: Charlie…PLEASE ANSWER!
Charlie: I'm alright, Vaggie. Charlie's response was met with the familiar ellipsis, indicating that Vaggie was typing a reply.
Vaggie: WHERE ARE YOU?!
Charlie: I'm with Angel.
Vaggie: Is that supposed to make me feel better?!
Charlie: Why do you think I'm in trouble?
Vaggie: I'm just concerned about why you couldn't let me know where you were going.
Charlie: I don't know how to explain what's happening right now. But Angel needed me to listen to him. He's agreed to have our conversation recorded so you and Cherri can hear what was said when we return. Trust me, I know what I'm doing.
Vaggie: How long is this going to take?
Charlie: I don't know, maybe another hour… possibly two. I'll be here with him as long as it takes.
Vaggie: Charlie…I don't feel comfortable about this.
Charlie: Come on, Vaggie. I'll be back when everything is over. Please, trust me on this.
Vaggie left one last ellipsis, suggesting she might have had more to say but ultimately chose not to respond further. Charlie set her phone aside and refocused her attention on Angel. He had his work phone and was scrolling through the messages from Valentino. He didn't appear particularly disturbed by the threats or taunts from the Overlord. It was as if being in a place where he didn't need to live in constant fear of the Moth's control had numbed him to these repeated threats, or perhaps he had heard them so often that they no longer held much weight.
"I'm guessin'," Angel started cautiously as Charlie hit the record button again, "you had it in your mind to reach out to my Fratello when you get back to the city."
Charlie regarded Angel with surprise, pondering how he had discerned her thoughts. "Yes," she replied slowly, "I had been considering it, but now... I'm not so sure if that's a wise course of action."
Angel's tone carried a tinge of bitterness as he delved into the subject of his older brother. "He ain't no angel himself," Angel remarked, his words laced with a cutting and unrelenting edge. "But I wouldn't go slappin' the 'villain' label on him." He took a brief pause, as if carefully considering his words. "Fratello and I, when we was alive and growin' up, we never did see eye to eye, and things haven't exactly turned sweeter since I parted ways with the family. So, when our paths do cross, you can bet it won't be a cozy family reunion."
"Can we find him?" Charlie asked, "Just in case we need to reach out."
"Going after the mob ain't the brightest move," Angel cautioned. "You start nosin' around by yourself, you're practically inviting a bullet before they'll even consider talkin' to ya. Especially Fratello and his crew, they ain't too friendly with uninvited guests. If you're lookin' to get in touch with the Mafia, you gotta know someone with the right connections to a family that can smooth things over. But even if they're willing to arrange a meeting, Fratello won't talk to you directly. He'll send one of his guys to check things out and see if a sit-down is in the cards. Still, don't expect any RSVPs for afternoon tea."
"So," Charlie summarized, "it's likely best if I avoid trying to reach out to him."
Angel lounged against the rough ledge where he perched, his expression taking on a contemplative air, as though he were carefully choosing his words. "Charlie," he started, "when you and Vaggie head on back to the city, it might be a smart move to contact someone who's got a real handle on the underbelly of things. The Vee's could pose a real issue for the hotel, and it's crucial to have a game plan ready for that situation."
Angel paused, the weight of his words lingering in the silence. "However," he continued, "Fratello shouldn't be your first choice. There are other paths worth considering before you even contemplate heading down that route."
"For instance," Angel began, "there's this crooner over at Club Incognito who could be quite an asset. He goes by the name Luke Strike now, but in his living days, he answered to Luca Celani. He used to be tied to the Ragno Family, not by blood but by association. They kicked him to the curb, though, when he decided to cut ties with the mafia life upon his arrival in Hell. I'd glimpsed him around before I joined the family, but our paths didn't cross much back then. In those days, my focus was more on catching up with Molly whenever she swung by. Pops had plans for Luca, wanted him to become part of the family by becoming Molly's fella."
"He was..." Charlie asked? Her mind was trying to wrap around what Angel had just informed her.
"Women didn't have much of a say in Mob families," Angel remarked with a disdainful curl of his lip. "In Italy, things were different; women could be involved in the business and hold important roles, but in the Italian-American families, crime was seen as strictly a man's domain."
He took a moment, shaking his head. "Women had a specific role in the family," he went on, "and that was to act as peacemakers and to be the public face of the family, keeping up a respectable image for the crime outfit. But for a Mafia Princess, one of their main duties was to create alliances with other families through marriage."
Angel adjusted his position on the rocky perch, his eyes locked onto the radiant sphere of Heaven hanging in the sky. "In those days," he said, his voice carrying a deeper bitterness, "there was this pressure for women to tie the knot before hitting 30. Marrying was all about social standing and producing offspring. By wedding some eligible fella and popping out kids, a Mafia Princess could ensure a future for her family. If they didn't wed, they were labeled as old spinsters and just extra baggage."
He let out a derisive snort. "Being the daughter of a Mafia boss sure narrowed down her choices, so she had to go hunting for a husband who could either bring something to the family or solidify an alliance with a son from another clan. On the flip side, she could hitch up with a member of our own family who had the chops to strengthen our outfit. That's why Pops was prepping Luca to be absorbed into the family through matrimony."
Angel shook his head once again, his face twisted with an added layer of revulsion. "It was a messed-up world we lived in," he said, his voice heavy with contempt. "But that's how it rolled."
Charlie winced upon hearing echoes of the Seviathan's oily, self-absorbed voice saying, "Your only duty is to maintain a cheerful demeanor for your adoring subjects and attend to our children. You needn't concern yourself with any of the intricate political matters; I'll handle everything."
"So your sister would have been married off," Charlie remarked.
"That's the long and short of it," Angel sighed. "One of the rare things Fratello and I could see eye to eye on was that we weren't too keen on the notion of Molls being auctioned off to the highest bidder. So having Luca take her would've been just peachy, given that his family hailed from Calabria, and he had the traits Pops hoped to inject into our family. However, things didn't pan out that way for Luca. Instead, he went and fell for someone else within the family. In fact, he fell for yours truly."
"He was gay?" Charlie inquired.
"Not exactly," Angel admitted. "Luca was actually bisexual. I'd spotted him a couple of times when Fratello went out with other guys from the family. I didn't really engage with him much, given I wasn't part of that scene, and I didn't want Pops jumping to conclusions."
He drew in a deep breath before continuing. "Around a week after I turned fifteen, Pops informed Fratello and me that he had a meeting scheduled with folks from other families. He told us that anyone ranked as a street captain or lower should keep themselves occupied for the evening. This basically meant that the folks in those meetings were the big shots in each family: the Bosses, the Underbosses, and the Consiglieri. Normally, Fratello would go out with other fellas and have a good time at a joint called 'The Pinnacle Club.' It's like one of those burlesque joints or men's clubs where guys go to drink, and gals entertain 'em. And if you slipped a little extra cash their way, they'd treat you to a more private kind of entertainment."
"The things Valentino would have you do," Charlie said, understanding the implication behind Angel's words.
"You know, when Pops had those meetings," Angel continued. "He wanted me to be as invisible as a ghost. I had to stay cooped up in my room and not utter a sound. Even using the bathroom was off-limits because he didn't want the other Mafia bigwigs thinking I was snooping around. But one night, it was pouring cats and dogs outside – one of those torrential downpours that drench you to the bone in a heartbeat – and Pops sent me out with Fratello to 'The Pinnacle Club.' He figured maybe it'd man me up or somethin', make me more interested in girls. But after an hour, I couldn't stand it no more and split. It's ironic, I guess, given what I've been up to since I landed in Hell, but that place wasn't where I wanted to be. Fratello caught me heading out, and that's when I came clean to him about being gay. He just told me to march home in the rain, didn't give a damn what happened to me. Maybe he already knew or had a hunch, but my confession just confirmed it for him, just like it did for Pops."
"Wasn't that place pretty far from your home?" Charlie inquired.
"Yeah, it was clear across town," Angel affirmed. "A mile in New York is about twenty blocks give or take, so it was at least a four-mile hike back home. Fortunately, Luca spotted me making my escape and followed me. He mentioned he'd seen us arguing, and while he didn't catch the words, he had a pretty good idea what it was all about. He also hinted that he was bisexual too, so he got why I felt uncomfortable in a place where girls were entertaining guys. He offered to let me crash at his place for the night since he had a spare room in his apartment. His ma was one of those ladies who'd take in her kids' friends and treat 'em like kin."
"That must have been..." Charlie began, struggling to find the right words. She had never experienced the loss of a parent, as both her mother and father were immortal.
"It was a really painful and awkward time," Angel acknowledged. "Yeah, it was tough. It had been about ten years since my own ma passed away, and just being there reminded me of everything I'd lost or never had. Even Luca was the kind of person I wished my older brother could've been. When I settled into the guest room for the night, Luca checked if I was comfy or needed anything. That's not something Fratello ever did, even when we shared a room. The next morning, I found my clothes clean and dry, and Luca's ma had whipped up a Frittata and insisted I sit down and eat with 'em so I wouldn't go home starving. Luca then gave me a lift back."
"Things weren't good when you returned home..." Charlie picked up. "Were they?"
"Nope, they sure weren't," Angel concurred with a sigh.
*Flash Back*
The narrow streets were lined with brownstone houses, their stoops worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Anthony's heart pounded as he approached his family's home, a modest two-story structure nestled among its neighbors. The late morning sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone path leading to the front door.
As he reached for the doorknob, his fingers trembled. He couldn't shake the unease that had settled deep within him. Anthony pushed the door open slowly, trying to minimize any creaks that might give him away. The air inside was heavy with the scent of old wood and faded memories. The faint murmur of the bustling city outside was drowned out by the weight of his own thoughts.
He moved cautiously through the dimly lit hallway, the worn wooden floorboards groaning softly beneath his footsteps. Family photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments frozen in time—smiles, laughter, and a sense of togetherness that had long since faded.
His father, Henrico Ragno, was always disappearing on those so-called "business trips." But Anthony knew the truth—they were just excuses to indulge in affairs with various ladies. Even before his mother had departed from the mortal coil, he had seen the evidence of infidelity in the relationship, the lipstick-stained handkerchiefs. The way his mother would looked pained when her husband was away.
But what concerned him more was the recent effect Don Ragno was having on, Sabina. Molly, Anthony's sister, had moved upstate years ago to stop her from being a girly influence on the teen boys life. Sabina had since become a shell of the vibrant woman she once was. Her eyes held a haunted look, and she moved about this house and her home next door were a prison.
Anthony's mind drifted back to Molly's visits during holidays. She had sensed the tension in the air, the unspoken truths that hung heavily around the family. Sabina's demeanor had been especially troubling whenever their father's name came up. She would retreat into herself, staring into the distance, seemingly oblivious to the world around her.
Umberto, on the other hand, remained oblivious or unwilling to confront the truth. He either didn't know how to address the pain that was being caused or was too afraid to face it head-on.
"Anthony," He heard his fathers voice growl from the study. "Yah home?"
Anthony's heart sank as he heard his father's gruff voice from the study. He knew that if Henrico Ragno was home, trouble was brewing. The golden-brown-haired boy took a deep breath, trying to muster his courage.
"Yeah, Pops," Anthony stammered, his voice shaky. "I just got back."
He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the study, closing the sliding doors behind him. His father sat behind a massive oak desk, the room dimly lit by a single desk lamp that cast long shadows across the walls. Don Ragno's piercing gaze fixed on Anthony, making him feel like he was under a microscope.
Henrico's voice was heavy with authority as he delved right into the matter. "Your brother tells me you two had a disagreement last night and you left the club early. Care to explain?"
Anthony's palms began to sweat, and he swallowed hard. "I didn't like the club," he admitted, his words hesitant. "I'm not ready for that kind of scene yet, so I told Enzo that I was going to one of the vaudeville performances in the area, and I would rejoin him later. Fratello didn't like the idea and just told me to go walk home in the rain for all he cared."
Don Ragno raised a skeptical eyebrow, clearly not buying Anthony's explanation.
"That's your story, huh?" Henrico asked, his tone laced with disbelief.
Anthony's heart raced, and he took a deep breath. "Yes," he replied firmly, though fear still clung to his voice.
But his father wasn't one to be easily deceived. Henrico's patience wore thin, and his anger flared.
"Cut the crap, Tony," Henrico growled, his face contorted with anger. "The reason you wanted to leave is 'cause you're a fuckin' queer. Your brother didn't say it, but we all know you swing that way. Damn it, with the way you are, you should've been born a girl. At least Molly has her uses. Now… care to tell me where you were last night?"
The words hung heavily in the air, and Anthony's heart sank even further. He felt trapped, torn between his true self and the expectations of his father and the world around him.
The tension in the study was unbearable as Anthony struggled to explain his whereabouts to his father. He couldn't lie, but he also couldn't reveal the truth about Luca without risking the other mans life. He knew that his family's strict code of conduct, rooted in old-world traditions, would never tolerate anything other than strict heterosexuality.
"Celani," Anthony finally confessed, his voice trembling. "He saw me walkin' in the rain last night and had me stay at the apartment he shares with his mother. I was able to change into some dry clothes, Mamma Celani put a bowl of minestrone soup in front of me, and then I spent the rest of the night in the guest room."
Henrico listened intently, his suspicion still lingering. "That's all that happened?" he questioned, his eyes locked onto Anthony.
Anthony nodded rapidly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Yes, Pops. I didn't come on to him or anything. I just stayed in the guest room all night."
Henrico's brows furrowed as he probed further. "Did he come on to you?" he asked, his tone shifting.
"No, Pops," Anthony replied quickly. "If he did, I'd tell you. Besides, his mother was there... even if he was inclined, you think he'd risk us being caught?"
Henrico begrudgingly accepted the explanation but remained skeptical. He lit a cigar and exhaled a cloud of smoke, his patience wearing thin. "Perhaps you're right," he muttered. "But, I don't buy your story."
Anthony's frustration grew. "I've told you everything, Pops," he protested. "What more do you want from me?"
Henrico's anger flared as he slammed his hand on the desk. "WHAT I WANT," he roared, "IS FOR YOU TO GROW A FUCKIN' PAIR! You've been a disappointment, Tony, time and time again. I've tried everything to set you straight, but you're still a liability to this family. It's time for the professionals to deal with yah."
The doors to the study swung open, revealing two men dressed as orderlies from a mental hospital. Anthony's eyes widened with dread as they advanced towards him.
"No," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "Pops, please don't do this. I haven't done anything."
Henrico's face hardened. "Maybe not," he said coldly. "But I can't trust that you won't. Unless they succeed at fixin' you, you're as good as dead to me."
The orderlies grabbed Anthony and forcibly pulled him towards the waiting van parked outside. His cries and protests fell on deaf ears as the van doors were locked shut, sealing his fate.
"Mamma," Anthony whispered, his voice choked with tears as he recited the names of his family members. "Sabina, Fratello, Molly... Molly, mi dispiace (I'm sorry)."
As the van pulled away, the streets of Brooklyn seemed to hold their breath, bearing witness to the heartbreaking separation of a family torn apart by tradition and intolerance.
*End Flashback*
Charlie sat in silence, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of the news she had just received. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, yet she refrained from brushing it aside. Instead, she clutched the cardigan Angel had gifted her, enveloping herself in its comforting warmth.
"Could he actually believe in conversion therapy?" Charlie inquired, her voice tinged with disbelief and concern.
"Hey, Pops," Angel began, his voice laced with a mix of astonishment and resignation. His words held a profound sense of truth as he continued, "He never really bought into it. Mental hospitals back in my day were like a twisted joke. They pretended to be helpers, but deep down, they were just warehouses for folks who didn't quite fit society's mold. They became dumping grounds for those the world wanted to sweep under the rug, and it was a one-way ticket to a living nightmare. Going in with your sanity meant coming out as anything but. Those so-called 'treatments' were nothing less than a form of torture, a sick charade pretending to be something helpful."
Charlie lapsed into contemplative silence, absorbing Angel's narrative and contemplating the parallels between his experiences and her aspirations for the Happy Hotel. Her initial vision had been to create a refuge for those Heaven deemed unworthy—a place where they could seek redemption and find happiness. But Angel's words unearthed uncomfortable doubts within her. She recalled Cherri's impassioned revelation that the term "Happy Hotel" was originally a derogatory label for mental hospitals. This revelation stirred a profound ethical dilemma within Charlie, forcing her to reconsider the true nature of her work and the unintended consequences it might carry.
Angel had never explicitly disclosed the negative connotations surrounding the name, except for a somewhat cryptic remark when he first arrived. Charlie had perceived it as a cheerful and inviting name, but now she grappled with the possibility that it might be inappropriate given the hotel's mission. While psychiatric hospitals had employed unethical methods, their underlying purpose was to provide healing or assistance to individuals struggling with mental illnesses or addictions, even though the outcomes were often tragic. Husk's words reverberated in her thoughts, amplifying her uncertainty.
If Angel was using anything before he died, I doubt it was the same stuff he named himself after. Regardless, it's not the kind of drug people turn to for fun. It's the kind of stuff they use when they want to block something out.
As Charlie pondered Angel's words, she couldn't shake the thought that this event might have played a role in his struggle with drug addiction. She understood that addiction was a multifaceted issue, acknowledging the significant influence of trauma and mistreatment in the equation. These were questions that demanded her attention as she continued to oversee operations at the Happy Hotel.
Charlie came to the realization that she needed to tread carefully and contemplate the potential ramifications of her decisions, recognizing their potential impact on the individuals she aimed to assist. Her sincere desire to make a positive impact was vital, but she understood that it wasn't sufficient on its own. It was incumbent upon her to reevaluate the hotel's mission and explore ways to ensure it genuinely served the needs of those seeking refuge, rather than merely acting from a sense of altruism.
"You wanna keep goin' with this, Charlie?" Angel inquired, noticing Charlie's discomfort with their talk.
Charlie asked, her voice carrying a cautious and hesitant tone, "How long were you in the psychiatric hospital?" Her curiosity and concern were unmistakable despite her apprehension.
Angel Dust answered, "It was 'bout a year," his voice laced with the weight of painful memories. "A whole lotta it was messed up, and most of it's kinda fuzzy. What sticks in my head, though, is the kinda stuff I wish I could wipe clean. If this ain't sittin' right with ya, no need to push yourself." His empathy and concern for the Hellborn girl were plain to see.
"No, please," Charlie insisted. "Discussing traumatic experiences with someone can be a helpful way to cope with them. It allows for better understanding and acceptance of the experience, making you feel less isolated. Moreover, sharing can diminish the impact of the trauma and assist you in coming to terms with what transpired."
"Alright," Angel sighed, leaning against rock he had taken as a seat. "But if you end up with bad dreams from this, just remember, you're the one who wanted me to share. Anyway, back when I was taken to the hospital, the first thing they did was make me talk to a shrink about my life, especially my childhood and stuff. The shrink started spewing some psychological ideas about why I might've felt different. According to them, I was 'confused in that way' because I grew up surrounded by women like Mamma, Molly, and Sabina. They believed being around 'feminine' stuff had an effect on my preference. To 'fix' me, they suggested intense treatments, like trying to connect attraction to the same gender with bad experiences. They made me look at pictures of male models or nudes while giving me electric shocks, or they made me sick or added nasty smells in the room while showing me nude male pictures or films."
"That is..." Charlie was at a loss for words, unable to adequately convey the horror and disgust they felt upon hearing such an account.
"It was fucked up shit," Angel explained, the frustration evident in his voice. "These nutjobs would screw with my head by shocking it with electricity. And just to add to the pile of horse shit, they'd shoot me up with insulin to knock me out cold. When I'd finally come to, I was like a zombie, stumbling around not knowing what the hell was going on. They had to tie me down 'cause I was shakin' like crazy. And after I'd wake up, sometimes my shoulders were all screwed up or I had some kinda broken bone. And here's the kicker—the head shrink would waltz in with these smutty pics of naked dames, asking if I was gettin' all hot and bothered by them."
"I doubt a heterosexual individual would find arousal in nude photos of anything after experiencing all of that," Charlie acknowledged.
"Geez, that whole thing was an absolute nightmare," Angel recounted, his voice burdened by haunting memories. "The screams of agony echoin' down the corridor shattered any semblance of peace. When I wasn't endurin' the torture, I was confined to this cramped cell with a miserable excuse for a bed and a bowl they'd swap twice a day cause that was the toilet. Every week, a real bastard of an orderly would drag me to the showers. He'd always taunt me 'bout my sexual orientation and Italian heritage. Think he was a big man by hurlin' derogatory slurs, trying to provoke a fight. I was always too drained from the relentless medication and the twisted therapy they subjected me to. I wasn't his sole target; eventually, he antagonized the wrong person, and something happened to him. He was swiftly replaced like it was nothin'. And no, the new guy wasn't any better...same shit, different face. After enduring this for several months, my sister and brother managed to track me down and got me outta that hellhole. Turns out Pops had been feeding them lies, claiming I was in some upscale 'private institution' and doing well for myself. Fratello only figured out the truth cause he happened to see something regarding a psychiatic facility in the mail. It took me a considerable amount of time to shake off the trauma that was screwin' with me. But as I gradually regained some semblance of normalcy, the gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been held captive for nearly an entire year; my sixteenth birthday had passed without a clue. And if that wasn't enough, Sabina was gone. Andreioli was aware of what was happen' to his wife, but he couldn't confront Pops, for challenging the boss meant inviting death."
Charlie gasped, "He couldn't intervene or speak up about what your father was doing to your aunt."
"Oh, sweetheart, you can't fathom how twisted the rules in the Mafia can be," Angel Dust drawled. "I know, it's mind-boggling, but yeah, the mob actually has a set of rules. It's hard to imagine for sure, right? But they've got guidelines like 'Be loyal to the organization,' 'Be a team player,' and there was even a rule about not messing with the female family members of guys who are part of the family. Pops didn't seem to think those applied to him. He had his goons to back him up if anyone dared to challenge him. So, if he wanted something—like helping himself to someone's wife, sister, or even daughter—there was no way to object. Wouldn't shock me if there's a half-sibling or two running around. Sabina... she couldn't defend herself against Pops. Her husband was the consigliere of the family, so while he had an inner circle role, he couldn't really stand up to Pops' authority. Sabina was an easy target for that sick bastard. She must have been so miserable and desperate that she felt like she had no other choice but to end her own life."
Charlie attentively absorbed Angel's words, her countenance reflecting compassion. "I'm truly sorry to hear that, Angel. What you've been through is a harrowing ordeal. Nobody should ever have to endure such circumstances, and I empathize deeply with what you've faced. Holding those who misuse their authority accountable is crucial, regardless of their position or status."
"Yeah, talkin' to the same old crowd," Angel quipped. "When I got back with the family, Pops wasn't about to let me loaf around. Going back to school wasn't an option since I missed a year. Pops had his doubts about book smarts, anyhow. One day, he summons me to his office and lays it out plain: I either throw in with the family and swear my allegiance, or I might as well be a ghost as far as the family's concerned."
"But..." Charlie said, her concern evident. "That doesn't sound like a choice at all. It's being forced into a corner. Couldn't you have tried to persuade your father to allow you to return to school or maybe work towards getting a GED?"
"You know, makin' a return to school ain't in the cards for me," Angel Dust sighed, hunched over. All four arms clutched his stomach, like he was wardin' off a chill. "Missed my shot at high school 'cause I was stuck in the 'Loony Bin'. Back then, GEDs weren't even a thing. Nah, those only showed up after I was on the path to where my life ended."
Angel paused for a beat, lost in thought. "Colleges existed in the 20s and 30s, but they weren't a cakewalk to get into. Unless your folks were loaded, higher education was a long shot. A lot of folks just transitioned straight into work after high school, often in their family's business or somethin' along those lines. I even pitched to Pops that I could serve the family in different ways, y'know, bein' an actor, musician, or singer 'cause I had some chops on the piano. But he just chuckled and nixed the idea. No chance he'd let any son of his strut around on a stage," Angel recounted. He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's no walk in the park bein' part of a family like mine. It's either you swear your loyalty to 'em and toil away for 'em 'til the day you're six feet under, however that day may come. Or you opt to have nothin' to do with the family, and then you're on your own, with nothin' but the clothes on your back. Sure, snaggin' a job wasn't too tricky. Labor gigs would take just about anyone who could suck in air. But I'll tell ya, the pay was peanuts. And when you're out there solo, you're like a bullseye for folks from other families. They'd spot you, see you as an easy mark, and try to exploit ya, or somethin' even worse. But hey, life's a series of tough calls. All I can say is, I gotta calculate the risks and rewards and figure out what'll set me up best in the long haul. Well, as you might have pieced together, I wound up takin' the path into the family. And let me spill the beans, it ain't all picnics and sunshine. I had to tuck myself away, if you catch my drift. Can't exactly parade my true colors when the family's image is on the line. So, I keep it on the down-low and play a part that ain't really me. It's no walk in the park, but sometimes, you gotta lay it all on the line for the greater good."
"I guess," Charlie sighed, feeling a weight in her heart. "But honestly, I can't fathom what it must be like to be coerced into hiding who you are or who you choose to love. It's profoundly unjust that anyone should have to exist in such a way, feeling like they can't express their true selves just to satisfy others or societal norms. I strongly believe that everyone should have the freedom to love whomever they choose and embrace their true identity without fear of persecution or discrimination. It truly breaks my heart to think that anyone is denied that fundamental right."
"That's somethin' you eventually grow accustomed to," Angel Dust drawled, his New York accent tinged with weariness. He fetched his cigarette pack from his back pocket, took one out, and stashed the pack away. Charlie conjured a small flame in her hand and offered it as a light for the spider. Angel gratefully ignited his cigarette with the proffered flame before taking a drag to calm his nerves. "But you know what? Even in Hell, it's a tad more liberating than where I started. Yet, there are still guys throwin' snide remarks about me and who I am. I can handle being labeled a certain way, but even today, being hit with derogatory slurs gets under my skin. And it's not just me. A lot of others have faced the same suffocation I have. All my life, whether on Earth or in the afterlife, I've never truly felt like myself. It's always been about playing a role for someone else and donning a mask to conceal who I really am from the world."
"Charlie asked if Luca faced any repercussions for assisting you or realize that you were missing."
"He confirmed a few details about that night at his place," Angel explained, tapping his cigarette to shed some ash. "It played out exactly as I'd recounted to Pops—Luca found me walking home in the rain and offered for me to stay at the apartment he shared with his mom. I occupied the guest room. At that time, I wasn't part of the family in that sense, so if Luca noticed my absence, he couldn't have known what transpired. He was under the family's thumb, bought and paid for. Even if he were aware of my hospitalization and wanted to assist, his hands were tied. Pops had the final say. And if Luca had dared to defy the family, he would essentially be revealing his bisexuality and exposing that the argument about me leaving the club was because of my homosexuality, not simply because I was a minor. The family would label him a liar, and going against the Don would have seriously endangered him, possibly costing him his life with a bullet to the head."
Charlie inquired, "Could you clarify what you mean by saying he was 'bought and paid for'?"
"Ah, that," Angel Dust drawled, dragging on his cigarette. "Remember when I was talkin' about folks not joinin' the Mafia to become saints? The Mafia's got its rep for illegal stuff, no denyin' that. But they also had their own kind of good they did, in their own twisted way. Some of those families threw their weight behind good causes, helped out folks strugglin' in the community. And hey, they looked out for their own, hooking 'em up with jobs and support. Now, I ain't tryna justify the violence and crime, 'cause that's a dead-end road. But truth is, sometimes, the good deeds and the bad ones were like strange bedfellows. Mafia could do ya a solid, but you gotta know, that favor ain't free. If you can't pay the piper, they'll come down on ya like a ton of bricks. And 'no' ain't an option. When they got their sights set on somethin', they'll move mountains to get it."
Angel exhaled a plume of smoke before adding, "In Luca's case, his family had a winery. Prohibition was hittin' 'em hard, and they were strugglin' to keep afloat. So, Pops and Fratello paid a visit to the Celani winery, seein' if they could offer a hand. Luca's old man, he owned the joint, and though he had respect for the families, he politely turned down their offer to help market his goods. He was clutchin' onto his heritage, and no amount of Mafia assistance was gonna change that."
"But Fratello noticed somethin' in Luca, somethin' that could benefit the family. While he was lookin' for somethin' they could agree upon or maybe use as leverage, he saw Luca handle a rodent in the vineyard with the precision of a hitman. That caught his eye," Angel recounted, exhaling more smoke. "When Pops got wind of it, he proposed a different deal: they'd set the Celani family up in a sweet city apartment, and Luca could work for the family. But the old man, he stood firm, sayin' no. Seeing that there was no progress, Pops told him to mull over the offer and let him know if things changed. And that's when the tide started to turn."
"The winery went up in flames, sabotage plain as day. Then the Feds swooped in, actin' on a tip about illicit spirits. Now, Luca's pops, he was a clever one. He had these olive trees goin', churnin' out olive oil since wine was no longer an option. He even used those wine grapes for balsamic vinegar. Ma Celani had a little veggie garden, a barterin' lifeline, not just for the family but for tradin' goods too. They kept some wine in the house, mainly for cookin', but with Prohibition, it didn't matter what you used it for—drinkin' or makin' sauce. You got slapped with a fine if caught," Angel narrated solemnly, releasing a cloud of smoke.
"Luca's pa got hit with a fine he couldn't cough up, landed him in the slammer for a year. He passed not long after, and Luca always believed it was a broken heart that took him in the end."
Angel drew deeply from his cigarette and let out a plume of smoke. "The Mafia, they can offer a hand and seem dependable in certain ways, but there's always a bill to settle. Sometimes, that bill's just too damn steep. So, with Luca's old man gone and the vineyard destroyed, the Ragno Family seized the moment, pitchin' an offer Luca couldn't turn down—a city apartment, rent and all covered. But, of course, there's always a hook. He had to step into the family circle, prove his mettle," he concluded, the smoke curling around him, punctuating the story.
"Luca had smarts; he knew he couldn't let go of his family's winery, and Pops was on board with that plan. He saw it as a potential family investment. So, they secured the winery, locked it down tight, and Luca and his momma made the move to the city to kick off his new role. And boy, did he shine. Luca proved his worth, showed he was an asset to the family, catchin' the eye of many, Pops included," Angel recounted, the smoke swirling around him. "While I was off enduring my own personal hell in a psychiatric ward, Luca climbed the ranks, risin' to the esteemed position of Caporigime—a big deal in the family's hierarchy."
"Being a street captain means you're sworn to absolute loyalty and trust to the family. It's the only path to earn the privilege of founding your own crew. Yet, even with that authority, you're bound by the rules and codes of the original family you hailed from. That's just how the game is played," Angel emphasized, punctuating his words with a measured puff of his cigarette.
"When Luca got wind that I was ready to dive into the family, he had plans for me to be part of his crew when he made his move. See, when you're green in the Mafia, you start as an associate. It's like a probation, a test to see if you fit the bill. They stick a Caporegime on you, your mentor, your 'padrone,' who spells out the expectations," Angel explained, the ember of his cigarette glowing as he spoke.
"As an associate, you're on call 24/7. They want to know exactly where you are, just a phone call away if they need you. Punctuality is non-negotiable. So, if your grandma's on her deathbed and the family beckons, you kiss her goodbye and you serve the family. It might seem harsh, but in this life, family's everything, and loyalty is the gold standard," he added, underlining the unwavering code of the Mafia.
"Pops had me working under someone not exactly in the family, more like an associate with his own sick game—running a prostitution ring. This character went by Mario Valvano, and he had ties to a bunch of other families, some of the big players included. Valvano was this real creepy dude, and even the girls working for him were spooked by his presence. The absolute worst? The guy smelled like a walking garlic clove drenched in the foulest cologne. Seeing him was bad enough, but that stench? Unbearable," Angel recalled, a look of distaste etched on his face at the memory.
"I could feel that somethin' was off about the guy, but I had my hands tied. Refusin' a gig in the mob could mean real trouble. So, with a heavy heart, I did what I had to with Valvano—looked after the girls, handled the money they made. Those girls had seen others under Valvano, but I tried to be different. Checked in on 'em, made sure they were okay. I knew they weren't in this life by choice," Angel shared, his expression a mix of sadness and frustration.
"Too many of 'em dealt with violence and a lack of opportunity for education or better options. Some were forced into this life, others had it forced upon 'em by circumstance. Imagine bein' pushed to choose between feedin' your kids and sufferin' degradation," he lamented, emphasizing the grim realities faced by those caught in such dire situations.
"Most guys who got tangled up with Valvano didn't last. Either they found a way to be of use to a crime family and moved on, or they stirred up trouble and got themselves a bullet," Angel explained, his voice tinged with the harsh reality of the underworld. "There were cases where Valvano had to deal with an overzealous assistant, crossing lines with the girls. Those situations, they ended with someone being shown the exit, permanently, if you get my meaning." The shadows of the criminal world were evident in his words, painting a somber picture of the life they lived.
"About three months into this ordeal, Valvano summoned me to his office. That's when he pulled a vile move. He said he knew I was gay and threatened to expose it to the other families. To buy his silence, he demanded that I let him use me however he pleased," Angel recounted, his expression twisted in a mix of anger and disgust. The memory was a bitter reminder of the coercion and abuse that tainted that chapter of his life.
Charlie's voice trembled with a mixture of horror and disgust as Angel's implications sank in. Her mind raced, trying to comprehend the depths of Valvano's depravity. "You mean he wanted to...?" She couldn't even bring herself to finish the sentence, the unspeakable act hanging heavy in the air. Angel's silence spoke volumes, confirming her worst suspicions.
A wave of anger surged through the blond princess's heart, her typically compassionate and caring nature overshadowed by a burning fury. How could someone stoop so low? How could they exploit and violate others in such a despicable manner?
I recalled my brother's wisdom on staying alive," Angel's voice quivered as he revisited that chilling moment. "When it's life or death, all you got is yourself, the guy starin' you down, and fate's choice of weapon." His words bore the weight of a memory etched deep into his soul, a brutal reality he'd grappled with.
"Amidst the mayhem and desperation, my survival instincts surged, and I grabbed a letter opener within my grasp. I didn't mean to end a life, but as tensions spiked, I found myself forced into action against Valvano," Angel admitted, his voice laden with the gravity of that crucial instant. "The consequences of my actions hit me like a ton of bricks, the heavy realization that I had become the agent of someone's last moments, forever altering the course of their existence." His words carried the remorseful burden and the unavoidable fallout of what he had done.
The jolt of snuffing out another guy's life hit me hard, like a punch to the gut. I was rattled to the bone. I felt dazed and couldn't believe what I'd done. My gut told me to get in touch with Andreioli, a solid family man I could count on. The rest of the events became this fuzzy movie reel, memories blurring together as Andreioli, Fratello, and Luca showed up out of the blue. The whole world seemed to fade away into a misty background.
When I finally came to, I was splayed out on a bed in Luca's old family home. The enormity of my actions hit me hard, like a building collapsing on top of me, the gravity of it all engulfing my mind. I fully understood the weight of the severe aftermath that awaited me, the looming threat of payback ready to descend upon me at any moment.
"But it..." Charlie interjected, her voice filled with concern. "You were defending yourself from a sexual assault. That had to have been obvious, right?" Her words carried a mix of frustration and disbelief. The idea that Angel's actions might be seen as anything other than self-defense seemed incomprehensible to her.
She struggled to grasp how the situation could be misconstrued, how anyone could fail to recognize the necessity of Angel's actions. The thought of Valvano's vile intentions and the danger he posed to Angel made her blood boil. It was clear to her that Angel had acted out of desperation, fighting for his own safety in the face of a horrific violation.
"Wouldn't have changed a damn thing," Angel's voice growled, heavy with bitterness. "In those times, nobody cared about this. Bury it, act like it never went down. Victims were just left to suffer, blamed for their own torment, or brushed off as being the one who coersed the action. Even if, by some cursed miracle, someone got nailed for it, it was nothing but a damn joke of a punishment. Just a slap on the wrist. Sickening, really."
His words bore the burden of countless grievances, a testament to the flawed system they had lived through. "Let me tell you, it wasn't just women who bore the suffering. Men had their own unique kind of hell. We were supposed to be the damn dominators, untouchable and impervious to any harm. So if a woman dared to raise a hand against a man, it got warped into some sick fantasy, as if it were some twisted privilege. Or the man was teased as being too much of a push over to handle a broad. Disgusting."
A fiery rage burned in Angel's voice, fueled by the injustices he had borne witness to. "Now, picture this: two men caught up in a situation like that. The world couldn't handle it. They'd scoff, sneer, and slap that damn anti-gay label on it. 'Men don't assault other men,' they'd spew with their smug expressions, as if it were an impossibility. And if you happened to be queer, well, brace yourself, because they'd use that as an excuse to rationalize the damn horror inflicted upon you. The 'you asked for it' mockery, it was a whole damn hurricane of shit."
The anger in Angel's voice blended with a touch of sorrow, the weight of the truth settling heavily on his shoulders. "So, even if it was crystal clear that Valvano had wicked intentions, and even if I was just defending myself, it wouldn't have mattered one bit. The other families would've seen it as murder, and steps would've been taken to resolve the matter. No one would've been content until there was a bullet hole in my head. Because the fact that I felt I had to take a life, a man connected to other families, and my own family no less... Well, that would've ignited a powder keg. Retaliation, vengeance, an all-out war among the families."
His voice trailed off, a somber silence taking over the anger. "It's the harsh reality we were stuck in. A world where justice was a twisted game, where power and family loyalties outweighed truth and humanity. The aftermath would've been devastating, ripping through lives like a ferocious storm. That's the grim truth of it all."