Omerta, Or Something Like It
Omerta, Or Something Like It
"Fat" Tony D'Amico was feeling every one of his years as he pulled his car into his humble home's driveway. The trek out to that damn Kamp had had it's ups and downs, but in the end Michael was safe, and that mattered more than anything else. He looked back to smile at the boy in question who was looking a bit shaky after his ordeal, but was much better than he had been.
"I just need to put a couple things in my office," Tony assured his boy, giving him a reassuring smile (or what passed for one from the intimidating mobster), "Then the day is yours; whatever you want, we'll do it." He gave Michael's shoulder a squeeze before they left the car and made their way into the safety of their home.
As they stepped inside Tony instinctively swept the area and froze, years of criminal activities making him not a fan of surprises. Such as, just as an example, a pair of Italian leather shoes that didn't belong to him or his son lying to the side of the entryway. Someone had been in his home.
Someone, Tony thought with rising rage, had been in his home! And judging by the light coming from his parlor, they were still there!
He was just able to keep his composure enough to avoid spooking his boy, instead turning to smile at his beloved son. "If you go put your bag in your room, I'll get some focaccia for us both while you figure out what we can do today." Thankfully Michael was all too eager to do so, leaving his father alone with his simmering rage.
Placing a hand on his holstered gun, Tony crept towards the parlor with surprisingly light feet. Once he was at the doorway he quickly drew it and pointed the pistol at the intruder…Only to let out an aggrieved sigh at just who he saw.
"Boss!" Francis 'Frankie The Squealer' Segreti exclaimed, grinning up from his seat as though having a gun pointed at him by said boss was just another day. Which, given his history, was not impossible. "Glad to have you back in the game!"
Holstering his weapon with a frown, Tony ran a hand down his face. "Frankie," he gritted out with a truly irritated tone, "What are you doing here?" Ordinarily he wouldn't have been quite so short with one of his crew, but Frankie was not his first choice for who of them he would have wanted to see here. In truth, he hadn't even considered looking for the infamously loose-lipped man, putting his efforts towards people who did not reveal important familia information to everyone and their mother.
"What do you mean?" Frankie asked, with a grin still on his face, "I heard you were putting the crew back together and I came running. Just like the old days!"
Tony wanted to punch the grin off of his face. "And just why should I not escort you outside by way of the window?"
Frankie gestured to a nearby end table, where an opaque jar was resting. "I brought giardiniera."
Fuck, Tony thought to himself, Frankie always had the best giardiniera. Even his own mother had once called it "passable", which was high praise coming from any Italian matriarch, let alone one as strict as Mama D'Amico. "That buys you three minutes of my time. Better make them count."
Nodding to the larger, more violent, mafioso, Frankie began his elevator pitch. "I've heard through the grapevine that you're looking to rebuild the old empire, get the territory back to what it used to be before the dome. I figure you'll definitely get it done, you've never lacked the will to see things through after all, but having a couple extra hands around won't hurt."
"And you think your hands are the ones I need?" Tony began, walking over to the room's largest chair and sinking into it, "Just what makes you think I need you around when I can get Legs, or Johnny, or even Louie to take care of things?"
"I knew you'd say that," Frankie said, raising a finger and wagging it in the air, "But I have something that none of them have."
Tony couldn't help it, he laughed. It was a short, barking thing, but fully genuine as his torso shook. "Okay, I'll give you this Frankie, it's been a while since I've laughed like that. So tell me, just what is it that you have that all my most loyal men don't?"
Frankie looked Tony right in the eyes, a bit of humor in them. "I am directly in front of you and willing to help out." He said, voice plain as he let that sink in. Abruptly Tony's good humor faded away, his gaze like iron as he gave the chatterbox a look that had pinned many lesser criminals in place without so much as a word. To his credit, Frankie didn't let his obvious discomfort keep him from continuing. "You've been looking for any trace of the guys recently, but word on the street is you haven't had much luck. And sure, you know how to play the game, and you know I'd bet on you in damn near any fight I can think of…But in the end, we're all just men. Eventually you'll run into something you can't beat on your lonesome. You'll need someone to watch your back eventually, might as well be me."
Tony couldn't help but think of what had happened at the Kamp. Much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn't have been able to get Michael out of there had he been on his own, let alone any of the other kids. Begrudgingly, he had to acknowledge the point. "And what," Tony grit out, "Would you want in return?"
The look Frankie gave his old boss was equal parts amused and unimpressed. "You know what I want. What I've always wanted. My father was a made man, the same as his father, and his, for generations-"
"We've had this conversation before Francis," Tony cut him off, not unkindly, "And you know why I can't do that. To be a made man you need to be trusted to take our secrets to the grave if need be. That's what Omerta means. Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you, Frankie the Squealer, are able to keep to the most important oath of silence that we have?"
Frankie was already nodding his head. "I've been working on it basically since the dome went up," he insisted, "Watch, ask me anything, anything at all, and I'll keep my trap shut!"
Rolling his eyes, Tony obliged. "Okay, just where have you been hiding out since the dome fell?" Not exactly the most important question, but it might give him some idea of where the rest of the crew was hiding out, if only by process of elimination. None of them would have been willing to stay too close to the infamous chatterbox after all, not if they wanted to remain hidden for long.
For a moment it looked like Frankie was about to just blurt out the answer, same as always, but he suddenly breathed out through his nose and closed his eyes. "Oh you know," he began, hands gripping the arms of his seat tight, "Around." Tony narrowed his eyes as he looked at Frankie, searching him for any sign of weakness. The mafia associate fidgeted a bit, but he didn't say anything else.
Well damn, Tony thought to himself. That really shouldn't have been so impressive, but this was Frankie he was dealing with…He sighed. Maybe it was just sentimentality talking, but for all he'd been a squealer he hadn't ever disliked having Frankie around. "I am willing to bring you back on board if!" Here he cut off Frankie, who had no doubt been about to give his most profuse thanks, "You can get me something good. Something that will help further the growth of our familia. It doesn't have to be bringing back one of the old crew, though I certainly wouldn't be upset if you did, but it does have to be something that proves you're willing to go above and beyond. If you do that, and if you show me that you've finally learned how to keep your lips zipped…I will make you a man of honor."
The relief on Frankie's face was palpable. "Thank you!" He whispered, kneeling before the Boss and kissing his ring, something that Tony allowed once before yanking his hand away. "You won't regret it, I swear to you on the honor of every made man in the Segreti family!"
"Good to hear. Now get out before Michael sees you," Tony growled out, "He and I are going to have a nice, quiet, day together, no Mafia business whatsoever." Frankie left with only a little more blubbering, and once he was gone the mafioso picked up the jar he'd left behind. Well if nothing else, he mused to himself, the giardiniera would go well with the focaccia he'd told Michael about…
After his last few personal rolls it's clear that Fat Tony needs some help to get back in the swing of things. Is Frankie the Squealer exactly who he needs to do so? Probably not, but he's going to be helping anyway!
