Later on that afternoon in the back office of the Bada Bing! strip bar, Tony leaned back in his chair with phone in hand, eyes focused on the screen as he dialed the number for the Hudson Military Institute. While Tony wasn't the type to coddle his son, Carmella's constant worrying had finally worn him down. She hadn't stopped talking about Egan Cosmo's beating and A.J.'s bruised knuckles since they got the news. He'd dismissed it at first, chalking it up to Carmella being overly protective, but now he was curious himself.
Still, he didn't think A.J. had it in him to beat anyone like that. The kid was soft. Always had been. However, Carmella's worry had planted a seed, and now Tony felt compelled to set things straight. The phone rang twice before a military instructor answered.
"Hudson Military Institute, how can I help you?"
"Yeah, I need to speak to Cadet Anthony Soprano," Tony stated, trying to keep his tone casual.
After a few minutes of waiting, A.J.'s familiar voice came through the receiver. "Dad?"
Tony leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table.
"How's it goin', A.J.?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"It's fine, I guess. Same old stuff, y'know?" Tony could hear the frustration in his son's voice. He wasn't surprised. A.J. had never taken well to structure or discipline, but this wasn't a social call. Tony got straight to the point.
"Your mother's been worried about you. She noticed something when we dropped you off at the school."
"Yeah? What?" A.J. asked, his tone guarded.
"Your knuckles, A.J.," Tony said, keeping his voice even but direct. "They looked a little busted up. Your mother thinks you might've done something you ain't telling us. So, I gotta ask, what happened?"
There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, Tony thought maybe the call had dropped. Then A.J. spoke, sounding defensive.
"I…uh…I punched the wall. In my room. The night before you guys took me to the academy. I was just pissed off, y'know? Everything was going wrong. I didn't really think about it; I just punched the wall a few times."
Tony frowned, processing the explanation. It wasn't exactly what he expected, but it sounded plausible to him. A.J. had been angry, for sure. It wasn't much of a stretch to think he'd taken it out on an inanimate object.
"Why didn't you say somethin' about it earlier?" Tony asked.
"I don't know," A.J. mumbled. "I just…didn't think it mattered."
Tony nodded to himself, letting the words settle. He wasn't about to press A.J. further. It wasn't the most responsible way to handle anger, but it made more sense than the alternative. A.J. had never been the type to get into serious fights, let alone beat someone up so badly they ended up in the hospital.
"All right, kid. I'll tell your mother. And listen, try not to punch anything else, okay? It ain't gonna solve nothin'."
"Yeah, I know. I won't," A.J. replied, sounding relieved that the conversation was over. Tony hung up, a sense of closure settling over him. A.J. had given him an explanation, one that didn't point to anything sinister. He felt satisfied, even if it wasn't a perfect answer.
By the time Tony got home, he found Carmella in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes from breakfast this morning. The soft clink of silverware against plates filled the room, but when she saw Tony enter, she dried her hands and turned to face him.
"Did you talk to A.J.?" Carmella asked. She seemed a little too calm, as though she was preparing herself for whatever answer Tony had to give.
"Yeah, I talked to him," Tony said, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and leaning against the counter. "Asked him about his knuckles." Carmella raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. "He said he punched a wall. In his bedroom. Night before we took him to the school. He was pissed off, y'know, about the whole thing."
Carmella crossed her arms, her face tightening in concern.
"That's it? He punched a wall?"
"Yeah," Tony replied, taking a bite of the apple. "Makes sense, don't it? Kid's angry, doesn't know how to deal with it. He's not exactly known for thinkin' things through."
"You really believe that?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Tony shrugged, his casual demeanor unshaken. "What, you think he took down Egan in the park? I'm tellin' ya, A.J's not that kind of kid. He couldn't even handle a fight back in the day, let alone beat a kid bloody and bruised in a park. He's not a thug."
Carmella sighed, rubbing her temples.
"I just can't shake this feeling, Tony. I know something's wrong. I just…I can't explain it."
Tony finished the apple, tossing the core into the trash.
"Well, maybe it's time to start trustin' the kid a little. He's got enough to deal with at that school without us addin' more to his plate."
Even as Tony spoke, Carmella remained unconvinced. She knew her son, knew that something deeper was going on beneath the surface. But Tony had made up his mind, and without any real evidence, there was little she could do to push the matter further.
Carmella then glanced over at A.J's old seat at the dining table, wondering if the boy she had sent off to military school was still the same A.J. she had known, or had something uglier taken root in him, something she wasn't ready to face?
Her heart ached with the thought that her son might be hiding something from her. But for now, all she could do was wait.
XXXXXX
A.J. was slowly adjusting to life in his new environment, but it wasn't easy. The rigid schedules, the barking instructors, the lack of any real freedom. It was like being stuck in a prison, and every day felt longer than the last.
For the first couple of weeks, A.J. kept his head down, going through the motions with a simmering resentment just beneath the surface. He avoided making friends, didn't bother with the small talk, and kept mostly to himself. He was alone in a way he hadn't been before, surrounded by kids who either bought into the whole military discipline routine or were as lost as he was.
There was one place that A.J. found some solace; the weight room.
The first time he wandered into the gym, it had been by accident. He was trying to avoid the rowdy cadets in the common room, so he'd taken a detour, hoping to find some quiet. The clang of metal weights drew him in. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the others. Some of them were older, built like tanks, lifting the kind of weights A.J. couldn't imagine picking up. Nonetheless, he was intrigued.
Over the next few days, A.J. started coming to the gym regularly, keeping mostly to the machines at first. He wasn't that strong, that much he already knew. But something about the repetition, the focus it required, helped him clear his head. He could take all the frustration and anger he felt. The resentment about being stuck at this place, the shame of what he'd done to Egan and channel it into the weights.
Each day, he pushed himself harder. He worked on the treadmill, on the bench press, and with the free weights, even if he could only manage lighter ones for now. Slowly, the fat that clung to his body from months of laziness began to melt away. A.J already had lost a lot of weight over the last year, ever since his dad's comment; 'I'm supposed to get a vasectomy when this is my male heir? Look at him.'
That was different, though. A.J basically starved himself to lose the weight. This time around, his arms and shoulders felt tighter, the muscles starting to show definition. Each workout felt like an exorcism, an outlet to get away from the misery of being stuck here.
He didn't talk to anyone about it. He didn't need to. The weights were his only companion in this place, and that was enough. In the solitude of the gym, A.J. found a kind of peace, even if it was temporary.
The rest of the day was a different story. Outside the gym, he was still the A.J. who didn't belong, who hated every minute of this military discipline. He kept to himself during meals, ignored the taunts from older cadets, and did the bare minimum to stay out of trouble. The letters his parents sent him felt like they were from another life, one that had little to do with the person he was becoming.
He wasn't sure if this was progress, if getting stronger meant anything more than filling the empty hours. But as the weeks dragged on, A.J. noticed the change in the mirror. The kid who had gotten expelled, the kid who had beat his friend into the hospital, he wasn't gone, but maybe he was changing.
Maybe.
XXXXXXX
Weeks had turned into several months since A.J. had found a semblance of routine at HMI, and today was no different.
A.J. had claimed his usual spot near the back corner of the weight room, headphones in, his focus entirely on the bench press. The familiar sound of metal clanging filled the air, a rhythm that soothed him, but even through his music, he could hear voices entering the room.
Two boys had just walked in, their presence immediately unsettling the calm.
One of them, Dominic Bianchi, had a reputation around the academy. A swaggering, cocky kid from an influential family who thought the world owed him something. A.J. hadn't interacted with him much, but he knew the type; entitled, loud, and always looking to stir up trouble. Dominic was laughing, talking loudly with his friend. At first, A.J. ignored it, focusing on his reps, but then something in their conversation caught his attention.
"Yeah, that Soprano kid, what a joke," Dominic scoffed. "You know about his old man? What's he got, some fake mafia business or something? Thinks he's all tough, but the kid's a little punk. No wonder they shipped him off here."
A.J. froze, the barbell hovering above his chest. He felt his heart rate spike, anger bubbling up like a slow boil. He glanced over at Dominic, who hadn't noticed him yet, still absorbed in running his mouth.
"Shut your mouth," A.J. warned as he sat up from the bench, the tension in the air immediately palpable. Dominic stopped talking, his eyes finding A.J. across the room. For a second, he looked surprised, but then his expression shifted, a smug smirk playing across his face.
"Or what?" Dominic taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You gonna run crying to daddy? Oh wait, you can't. He's too busy playing pretend gangster."
A.J. could feel his pulse in his throat, the blood rushing to his head. He clenched his fists, his body tensing.
"I'm warning you. Keep my dad's name out of your mouth."
The other boy dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You think you scare me, Soprano?"
He then started walking closer towards him. A.J. felt the room close in around him. His vision narrowed, and all he could hear was Dominic's voice taunting him. Every muscle in his body screamed for action, but he held himself in check.
Barely.
Then, out of nowhere, Dominic grabbed a nearby weight plate, his face twisted into a sneer.
"Here, how about this, tough guy?"
Before A.J. could react, Dominic hurled the weight plate right at him. It slammed into A.J.'s chest with a heavy thud, sending him backward off his feet. The force of the impact sent him sprawling onto the floor, the wind completely knocked out of him. Pain shot through his ribs as he gasped for breath, clutching his chest. Dominic and his friend laughed, the sound distant and distorted in A.J.'s ears as he lay on the ground, struggling to pull air into his lungs.
For a moment, Dominic seemed to forget about A.J entirely, turning away to continue his conversation with his friend, completely unconcerned with what he had just done.
As A.J. lay there, the rage that had been simmering inside him exploded. It felt different this time, something more dangerous. It wasn't just anger at Dominic; it was anger at everything. At the academy, at his parents, at himself for not being able to escape the mess his life had become.
The pain in his chest began to dull, replaced by a burning fury. Slowly, he pushed himself up, each breath coming in shallow, jagged bursts. His vision tunneled on Dominic, who still had his back turned, laughing, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.
Without thinking, A.J. charged forward.
Before Dominic had a chance to react, A.J. was on him, grabbing him by the shoulders with all the force he could muster. Dominic's laughter turned into a shout of surprise as A.J. shoved him with every ounce of strength he had. The momentum sent Dominic stumbling backward, his body colliding with the nearby window. The old glass shattered on impact, and with a final shove, A.J. sent Dominic crashing out of the second-story window.
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then came the sickening sound of Dominic's body hitting the ground below, followed by a sharp, agonized scream. His friend, wide-eyed and frozen in shock, rushed to the shattered window, looking down at Dominic's crumpled form on the lawn below.
A.J. stood there, breathing heavily, his hands trembling as the reality of what he had just done crashed down on him. The weight of the moment hit him harder than the plate that had knocked him over. He could still hear Dominic's scream echoing in his ears, even though it had gone quiet now.
Within minutes, the weight room was filled with commotion. A group of cadets and instructors rushed in, shouting questions at each other. Some of them ran to the window to see what had happened, others sprinted downstairs to get to Dominic. His friend was already babbling incoherently, his face pale with shock.
A.J. didn't move. He just stood there, staring blankly at the broken window, his mind racing but unable to focus. The adrenaline in his system was fading, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling. His chest ached where the weight plate had hit him, but it was nothing compared to the dread building in his stomach.
Instructors began to swarm the area, barking orders and trying to take control of the situation. One of them grabbed A.J. by the arm, pulling him back from the window.
"What the hell happened here?" the instructor demanded, his voice sharp and filled with alarm.
A.J. didn't answer. He couldn't find the words. Everything had happened so fast, and now it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. From outside, he could hear the distant wail of sirens approaching. A.J. glanced down at his hands, his fingers still trembling, waiting for the inevitable storm to crash down on him, one thought kept replaying in his mind.
There was no coming back from this.
