Archive of Our Own

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To: [email protected]

<cc> The Commission

From: [email protected]

Subject: Rosemarie “Kitty” Conti-O’Neill Passing


Dear Commission,

With deep regret we, Francesco and Aristide, the grandsons and sole remaining heirs of Rosemarie, are sending this letter to inform you of her passing. Kitty quietly fought aggressive stage four breast cancer these past years and her health had been in a steady decline for months.

With the news of our matriarch and head of the family passing, we ask to be allowed our thirty days of mourning as we call our men back home to pay their final respects. Upon the end of the mourning period, Francesco will ascend as the head of the Conti-O’Neill Family publicly.

Arrangements are being made for the funeral services. When the arrangements are satisfactory, we will provide this information to The Commission in order that any of its members may pay their final respects, as is proper and fitting to honor the Head of a family in good standing. 

With Respect,
Francesco and Aristide Conti-O’Neill

To: [email protected]

<cc> The Commission

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Rosemarie “Kitty” Conti-O’Neill Passing


Dear Member Families,

Please note that in light of the passing of Rosemarie Conti-O’Neill, the July 1st 2024 council meeting for Quarter Three has been canceled. In accordance with tradition, all Family heads are requested to return home in order to pay their family’s respects in Los Angeles on July 12th 2024 at Sacred Heart Catholic Church.

Regards,
Antonella Zuccola

Secretary to the Director of Internal Affairs

July 12th 2024



When your father has been the head of a Mafia family since before you were even born, black dresses are never something you have in short supply. 

At the nimble age of twenty-two, Lexi muses that she’s likely been to more funerals than she has been to weddings, and it feels like someone in her father’s organization is always getting fucking married. Typically she would pick one of the numerous flattering black dresses that hang in the back corner of her closet, but this funeral is different from the ones held for the average capo or soldier. Kitty Conti-O’Neill wasn’t a wife, she was the Boss, and as the head of her own family, the Howards owe her all the due respect her title gives her. 

No, she thinks. This occasion calls for designer.

Too bad it’s going to look like an insult to Kitty’s memory when they show up without her father.

Not that anyone can fucking find him in order to get him to this funeral in the first place. Which is a problem in and of itself that needs to be dealt with.

“Lex, good pick on the dress,” her mother says, poking her head into her bathroom. “Very classy. Kitty would have adored it.”

Lexi looks in the mirror and takes in the black Saint Laurent dress that hugs her hips and ends just above the knee. The square neckline makes the string of pearls she wears stand out on her collar bones, but they match the tear drop pearls that adorn her ears nicely. Of course she has a blazer to cover her shoulders during the Catholic service, but the dress itself would be appropriate for the occasion regardless.

It’s not often she opts for designer clothes, but in the name of keeping up appearances, all three Howard Women decided some retail therapy was needed.

They haven’t heard from her father, the head of the Howard Crime Family, since he left the morning of June 28th, taking a meandering trip that would have culminated in his attendance at the quarterly Commission - the same meeting that ultimately had been canceled due to the death of one of their own. It wasn’t completely unlike her father to disappear for a day or two - Lexi’s old enough to know now that her mother sends him off to wring himself out every so often if his drug use pushes past casual - but it’s been two weeks, and now even her mother looks worried.

His consigliere, Old Tony, who’s supposed to be Gus’ number one advisor and the number three man in the business, and his underboss, Young Tony, would have their soldiers out looking for his whereabouts but there’s a blanket ban on business in California until Kitty is put to rest. The Howard men being out and about would be taken as a sign of disrespect and honestly, they have no legitimate explanation on hand to give to anyone asking questions as to why they would be breaking such a ban.

How long can a crime family function without its head?

How long until The Commission steps in and removes them from their place in the hierarchy due to no longer having a legitimate boss? 

It’s not even like the Howards hold a lot of power - in the world of organized crime they are still considered New Money despite how hard her father tries to make it seem otherwise. Gus - an absolute fool if you ask Lexi - has never named his successor. Privately Lexi suspects that her father was planning to marry her and her sister off sometime within the next year, leaving his empire to his oldest grandson because despite the progress women have made in this faction of society. Gus still considered himself Old School; the idea that either of his daughters would have the wherewithal to do his job successfully was a laughing matter to him. On the other hand, Lexi thinks she has a firm handle on keeping things running in his absence over the last two weeks - even if her position is a closely guarded secret from anyone outside the immediate inner circle.

Logically, an advantageous marriage would solve about eighty-seven percent of Lexi’s troubles. The hindrance here is while she’s met most of the single sons and grandsons in the immediate region multiple times— and while that's a fish pond Cassie has never had a problem dipping her toe in, Lexi’s own daddy issues don’t have her chasing men twice her age.

Still, it’s an idea she tucks away for later.

Suze raps on the door as Lexi reapplies her signature red lip. “The car’s here, honey. We need to make our way soon, and without your father there we’re bound to be asked questions.”

Lexi sighs as her mother walks away again. If they can make it through today without spilling the beans, they will secure themselves another almost three months to figure their shit out.

It’s not that Fezco was unprepared for the possibility that he would be burying his grandmother, in fact when the doctor diagnosed her last year she initially didn’t want treatment. (It's already stage four, Snowflake. Why put off the inevitable?) He was only able to persuade her to give them some extra time by insisting that she wasn’t done training him to take over the family business just yet, and he still needed her here for a while longer. 

It had worked, despite the fact that Kitty had been grooming Fezco to take over as Boss since his fourteenth birthday and he’d been calling the shots behind the scenes since his twenty-first. Fezco liked to think Kitty wanted as much extra time as she could get with him and his brother as they had wanted with her.

It didn’t change the surreal as fuck feeling he has as he stands in front of his full length mirror adjusting his collar for maybe the thirteenth time since he got dressed for the event.

Ain’t twenty-four hella young to be losing yo’ grandma?

Younger still even to take over as the head of a crime family.

But he’s always been a young gun, becoming a made man at the age of sixteen. Fezco sliced his trigger finger and poured his blood on his grandma’s worn prayer card depicting the Holy Mother then stood and took his omertà while the card burned in his open, still bleeding hand.

He got his first tattoo the following day - As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive and I will have to get out dead. - in black script over his heart. Kitty was unimpressed, but by the time he spent his first year as one of her soldiers and ink had started crawling up and down his arms and across his hands, she’d sighed in defeat and slowly started integrating him within the top brass of the family. 

Sure fingers close the top button across his throat, coming across the tattoo that’s equal triad of warning, promise, and reminder. Devil Doesn’t Sleep rests comfortably under the starched white cotton as he laces his tie around his neck, knotting the perfect Full Windsor just the way Kitty taught him despite the sting across his knuckles.

Not a single person in the organization is in a position to question why the new boss got nearly black out drunk and had his tattoo artist come to the house at quarter after one in the morning to ink GODS WILL across his knuckles the night before they buried his grandmother. No one in their right fuckin’ mind at least.

A knock on his bedroom door interrupts his train of thought, and his - more like his grandma’s - consigliere Fredo pushes the door open at his okay.

“The suit looks perfect, Francesco,” the near ancient man says, making eye contact through the mirror. “Kitty would be right proud of how you’ve stepped up in her passing.”

Fez holds back the snort he wants to let out, but barely. “Ain’t like I had a choice, Fredo.”

The old man steps across the threshold, frail hands folded in front of him. “And yet you do it with dignity.”

Fredo has been around as long as Fezco can remember - first as a capo but eventually his grandma brought him up to her number three. That was, until she started properly training her grandson to take over for her someday. Fredo might have been Kitty’s advisor in the technical sense of the word, but everyone in the organization knew she had put more stock in her eldest grandson’s opinion over the last few years than her own fuckin’ consigliere, a fact which had caused more tension than Kitty realized in her final days.

The mafia is a for life thing, but Fezco ain’t interested in keepin’ the man in his position of influence any longer than necessary. There’s no real retirement in this world, but Fredo’s ‘bout to find himself out of a job. 

Fez is about to have a hard enough time keepin’ hold of alla this without his right hand man poisoning the well.

“Have you had a chance to consider what we talked about yesterday night?” Fredo asks, as if they got all the time in the world to be chit chatting instead of havin’ a fuckin’ caravan en route to take ‘em to a funeral.

Fezco meets the man's tired brown eyes in the mirror. “Nah. We in mournin’ right now, Ion care what Boss is offerin’ up they daughter on a silver platter. They owe me the respect they give each other, an’ that includes privacy over the state of my love life.”

Gettin’ black out drunk the night before he buried his grandmother wasn’t solely due to the fact that he was… well, burying his grandmother. Fredo, for some fuckin’ reason, thought it was a hella good time to let Fezco know several families had reached out to discus potential arranged marriage opportunities. And he gets it, aight? He’s a twenty-four year old bachelor who just became the head of one of the biggest criminal conglomerates in all of California, every father with a daughter of age is gon’ be tryna hitch their wagon to the Conti-O’Neill’s star right now, ‘specially if they a lesser Boss.

It don’t mean Fez is in the place to even consider a marriage, arranged or not.

“Some of them–”

Fezco cuts off the man with a hard look. “Nah Fredo. We ain’t doin’ this shit today. Imma let you know when I’m ready to take a wife. Not the other way around.”

Fredo nods his head, eyes downcast with a simmering shame. “Yes sir.”

His phone buzzes on his dresser, surely from one of his men letting him know the calvary is here at the fuckin’ rescue. He plucks the device off the cool wood and pockets it without lookin’, headin’ out of his room without a word to the old man and meetin’ his younger bro - Ashtray, his intended Underboss once the dust settles - in the hallway.

A matchin’ set of ink flashes across his brothers knuckles, this one reading GODS WAY as the twenty-one year old adjusts his sleeves.

“You ready?” Ash asks, not sounding ready at all.

No, Fezco thinks bitterly, not in the fuckin’ slightest.

The weird thing about being a crime family is that while most of her fathers associates are deeply religious - Roman Catholic at that - the Howard women are not. In fact, they’re not even Catholic. Or Christian. Suze grew up a practicing Jew and while Lexi can’t say she subscribes to any of it herself, technically speaking she’s Jewish too. Even did the whole Bat Mitzvah ceremony at twelve, though that was more for the entertainment value of watching her father’s men utter confusion as to what the Bosses youngest daughter was saying when she read from the Torah in Hebrew as if they didn’t sit through Latin Mass regularly.

The gifts were nice, at least.

“I hate this. I wish Dad were here,” Cassie whispers at her from their pew near the back of the church.

The Howards were not important enough to garner front row seats, which was fine by Lexi because it didn’t matter how many Catholic burial services she’s attended over the years, she still hasn’t a fucking clue when to stand up and sit down.

Lexi raises her chin defiantly as she hears the goomahs in the back row whisper about them, as if they aren’t all fucking some other womans husband. The fact that they even have the audacity to show up is appalling.

“It’s just bad shellfish Cass, I think he’s gonna pull through a simple stomach flu,” Lexi lies loud enough to turn some heads.

Good.

Suze plays her part well too. “I told him not to trust those mussels. I don't know what he was thinking.”

Lexi bites back her smile as she ducks her chin into her neck. Hopefully her mother can keep up the act through the dinner afterwards when she’s a couple glasses of Chardonnay deep. 

A hush settles over the crowd as the pomp and circumstance starts, a priest in flowing robes leading similarly dressed men down the aisle as they chant. Young boys follow in a row like ducklings after their mother, swinging golden censers with billowing incense trailing behind them. The whole church rises as the back doors open and pallbearers march through with grim looks of determination on their faces. 

One of them is the new Boss, but Lexi hasn’t seen Francesco since she was fourteen and still had braces on her teeth. Like many good Mafia daughters, she spent her high school years away from the family at boarding school and once Kitty had named her eldest grandson as heir apparent the then seventeen year old retreated from public life within the exclusive world they inhabited, and had only made the occasional appearance when his grandma needed him to. 

Like a fucking show pony. 

Lexi suppresses a shudder at the thought. She might have grown up in this world too, but that doesn’t mean she agrees with every tradition the families still participate in. Even the Conti-O’Neill’s, with their matriarch and proud mixed genealogy, tend to fall victim to the temptation of tradition when it comes to males standing in their society. 

“Which one is he?” Lexi whispers at her mom as the coffin passes by. 

Suze points discreetly at the man in the front with a buzzed head and red beard. He easily holds the weight of his grandmother's coffin on his shoulder with the other men carrying her in, his head held high as they make their march to the front of the church. Lexi can barely make out the tattoos on his fingers from here, but she’s fairly certain the hand she can see says GODS in black ink. 

She can’t help but wonder what the other says. 

Lexi finally gets a good look once the pallbearers place the casket on the flower laden stand and step back. Francesco and his brother - some ridiculous Italian name that starts with an A that Lexi cannot recall for the life of her right now - accept the handshakes from the rest of the men and the priests before turning to face the crowd in order to find their seats in the front row. Even from this far back Lexi notes how strikingly blue the man's eyes are, so different from the dark brown that dominate the men she’s grown up around. His expression is grim but who wouldn’t be at this type of occasion? Still, he’s handsome, that much is obvious.

And if the lack of a perfectly poised woman sitting front and center indicates anything it's that at the very least the newest Boss in California is unmarried.

If she believed in God, she’d probably be worried about going to hell for even contemplating the thought while at a funeral but she doesn’t, so she isn’t. If Lexi’s learned one thing growing up in this world, it’s that advantageous men are always going to strike while the iron is hot. As long as Francesco doesn’t have a secret girlfriend he’s hiding away somewhere, any man worth his salt (or not) in this world is working out marriage proposals as they speak. Fuck, he’s probably already had a couple thrown at him in the time since his grandmother passed and now.

Some foolish part of her had thought that maybe she’d be able to escape the plight of many of the girls that had surrounded her growing up and get to marry someone she loved instead of being thrust into an unwanted arrangement. And while she might not want to have to marry yet, if she could somehow arrange her own marriage to a powerful man and be able to keep her family afloat while figuring out what exactly has happened to her father, it’s a sacrifice she’d be willing to make.

Lexi knows Kitty’s reputation. It’s not a stretch to believe her grandson is cut from the same cloth she was. In fact, this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both of them.

Once the two men finally take their seats, the priest takes his place at the lectern, and Lexi settles in for the service to start. She has to elbow her sister in the ribcage when the priest starts speaking in Latin and Cassie lets out a deep sigh, but the Howard women settle in like the rest of the church around them, waiting intently for all the speeches about Rosemarie Conti-O’Neill that they are about to hear.

July 23rd 2024

The Conti-O’Neill’s had various sources of revenue streams over the years - Marie loved to run a fuckin’ racket - but outta all of ‘em, the pizza place is prolly Fezco’s favorite. Even now it’s the one place that feels untouched by anything La Costra Nosa, even if it’s crawlin’ with all sorta mafiaoso from a variety of families across the greater Los Angeles Area. Marie’s Famous Italian is the last legitimate business standing in the laundry list of money making schemes his grandma had dipped her fingers in over the years, prolly ‘cause she was only the namesake and never the proprietor. It had started out as a side hustle, sumn to keep the woman from goin’ outta her mind with grief after Fezco and Ash’s mom had passed away unexpectedly. It had never been a priority, but it was sumn she had been fuckin’ proud of anyway.

It still carries his grandmother's name and prolly part of her heart, but Fezco don’t know the last time he went into the place as just a customer and not as the grandson, Kitty’s heir apparent. Like his grandmother before him, now it’s his turn to find solace in the pizza joint in order to escape the unrelenting grief that threatens to suffocate him.

“Aye!” Johnny shouts as Fezco pushes his way through the front door on a Tuesday at noon. “Francesco, so good to see you!”

Johnny has ran the pizza place for as long as Fez can fuckin’ remember. He ain’t a made man, fuck he ain’t even an associate of any sort, just some old timer Italian who likes good food and turns a blind eye to whatever the fuck shady shit happens in his booths. Obviously he knows what's up, he’d been a good friend to Kitty and was aware of where his financial backers money came from, but he ain’t got nothin’ to do with any of the family shit.

Johnny is good people, least is how his grandma always put it when asked why she didn’t have one of her men running the place, and there ain’t a whole lotta kindness in this world for people as good as him.

“Wassup, Johnny,” he replies, greeting the man with a shake of the hand that gets turned into a hug. Most folks would be wary of treating the new boss with such familiarity, but Johnny ain’t most folks. He’s known Fezco since he was a kid, for fucks sake. “Needed to get outta that house, thought I’d come over to grab a slice.”

The old man wears a sad smile. “The funeral was beautiful, Marie would have loved the splendor of it all.”

“Probably pissed as fuck that she missed out on attending,” Fez jokes, snorting a sad sorta laugh. “Glad you an’ the family was able to come. You was important to her. This place was too.”

“I was a lucky man to have her as my business partner for all those years. Marta and I would have never been able to fund the overhead for this place without her,” Johnny says as he gestures around the large dining room. “You want the regular? What about your guy there?”

Fez nods his approval for his order before flashing a look over at where Carlos has planted himself near the front door. The man shakes his head no once before Fezco gives him a silent glare, the guy sighing with annoyance before leaving his post and telling Johnny what he wants to eat.

“C’mon man, you ain’t gotta do alla this shit. It’s Marie’s, no one in here is gon’ try no shit with me, ‘specially ‘cause we in mourning still,” Fez tells the gun toting body guard as he tries to go back to his spot against the front door. “No one but a dumbass motherfucker wants that heat from Internal Affairs.”

“Don’t tell that brother of yours I left my post,” Carlos grumbles as he follows Fezco to a back booth in the dimly lit dining room. “The kid isn’t even your underboss yet and he’s worrying himself with your every move.”

“Ashtray been worryin’ himself with my moves since before he took his oath, don’t mind him.”

Fez gets it, his brother's concern with his safety and general anxiety over his well-being. If Fez has experienced some tragedy, Ash has had it worse. The brothers share a mom, Marie’s only daughter Erin, but have different dads which honestly woulda been a fuckin’ lucky break for the kid ‘cept his dad was some street-level soldier who took a bullet between the eyes before Ash was even born. Add that to the fact he barely had eight years when their mom died, and just lost the only sorta parental figure he’s ever known, the kid’s obsessive need to keep tabs on his older brother has only increased in the last few weeks. Not that Fez blames him, even if he has to remind Ash that he’s the boss now and has more security than he knows what to do with half the time. Kid’s been losing people his whole goddamn life.

Now Fezco’s own pops, unfortunately, is just a fuckin’ asshole wannabe pimp who likes to put his hands on women. He prolly woulda done the same to Fez as a kid if he wasn’t scared fuckin’ shitless at his mafia-boss-ex-mother-in-law. Ain’t nothin’ for Ashtray to be jealous over there, sumn the kid noted multiple times over the course of their life to be honest.

As it was, Paulie was explicitly not invited to Marie’s funeral. The man might be a horrible-as-fuck person, but he at least ain’t stupid enough to show up without being asked - ‘sides, Paulie knows Fezco is just lookin’ for a reason to put him down, an’ bein’ in a church ain’t gon’ be any kind of deterrent.

“You’re going to promote him soon, right?” Carlos asks quietly from across the table. “I know Frankie would never be your first choice as underboss.”

He sure as fuck wouldn’t. Frankie is in his late forties, baldin’ and has poor reaction speed when it comes to pullin’ a fuckin’ gun these days. Fez had thought for a moment there a few years back when his grandma’s last underboss had been taken out inna shoot out by some Jacobs’ thug that maybe Kitty woulda pulled him outta the shadows and give him a proper place in her business by makin’ him underboss then. It made sense, he was already the fuckin’ heir and she had been trainin’ him to take over since before he was a made man, but Kitty confused the fuck outta everyone when she gave the job to Francis MacMillan instead, keepin’ Fez in her pocket for another day.

It wasn’t like he needed to be underboss in order to take over as patriarch when his time came, being a number two just means it’s yo’ job to see that the boss's orders are handled the way the boss wants them to be handled. It’s just that Fezco had hoped to have a more Family Facing role before he had to take over. At the very least, it woulda saved him from the endless migraine he’s had since integrating himself in his new position, made him seem approachable by the made men he now rules over.

“If you can figure outta way to get ridda the man, I’m all ears,” Fez replies in a low voice after telling the waitress who drops off their food thank you. “Lemme know if you got any thoughts ‘bout Fredo too.”

“I’m sure Ash has some ideas.”

Fez sighs heavily at the man across from him. The young hispanic man barks a laugh, causing all eyes in the joint to shift to them. He and Carlos go back, but even then he knows the familiarity his head of security shows him is as Ash calls it “hot fuckin’ gossip.” Jesus Christ, it’s the American Mafia but it sure as fuck feels like a goddamn middle school sometimes.

“Can’t just take ‘em out without ‘cause man. Internal Affairs gon’ be all over my ass if I let Ash handle things the way he wants,” he says, picking up his slice and folding it in half before taking a big bite. Chewing thoroughly, Fez swallows before he finishes. “But I ain’t trust them two as far as I can fuckin’ throw ‘em.”

“So we just need to find a good enough reason?”

Fez sighs, lookin’ around the joint before leaning into his head of security. “There’s gotta be sumn. Just needa find it.”

July 28th 2024

One month since Gus Howard got up and went missing, and Lexi is no closer to figuring out where her father had gone off to.

They had been hoping, her mother praying even, that someone would have announced his capture and come to them with a ransom. Or even just give them proof of life (or death) while this blanket ban on business is still in effect while the Conti-O’Neill Family finished their period of mourning. Lexi can’t even properly have men out looking for her father right now - not that she thinks she would do that to begin with. The made men and soldiers in her fathers employ have no idea that their Boss is missing in action, and it’s best they keep it that way for the time being.

Just one grunt being pissed off enough about some shit or another is all it takes for this whole thing to blow up in their faces. A single call made to Internal Affairs will take the whole operation down, split up the Family by making members defect to other, more prominent organizations, and everything the Howards have built from the ground up will disappear overnight.

Gus Howard might not be in the running for Father of The Year, but he’s still Lexi’s dad and she’ll do just about anything to keep things together long enough for him to come back.

Even arrange her own marriage.

“What do you know about Francesco Conti-O’Neill?” she asks Old Tony as they continue to pour over stacks of unorganized papers that litter her father’s office. They’ve been trying to make sense of the unkempt disaster that is this room, see if they can find any clues.

It would be helpful if they knew what they were looking for, at least.

The ancient man gives Lexi a gummy smile. “Why? You interested in me putting in an offer?”

She wrinkles her nose at that. There’s nothing more that Lexi hates than the idea of being sold off to some man at a price. Even if an arranged marriage is starting to feel like it’s the best bet to buy them more time, it certainly wasn’t her first choice.

Or her third, or fourth even. Perhaps a distant fifth.

“I just want to know what he’s like,” Lexi deflects, scanning some useless missive dated over a year ago. It has no signature and the contents seem to be in some type of code that for the life of her she cannot figure out. It goes into her keep pile for further pondering. “I know he was pulled from public life after Kitty declared him her heir, working for her mostly behind the scenes. But that’s like, all I know. Do you think he’d be a good Boss, is he someone worth trying to get into business with?”

Francesco had been here once, as far as Lexi knows, shortly after he became a made man, shadowing his grandmother to a meeting with her father. She had been home on a break from boarding school freshman year, doing homework at the marble countertop of her mother’s kitchen island, when the then sixteen-year-old came wandering into the kitchen looking for a glass of water. Her father only kept liquor in his office, and it wasn’t everyday another Boss brought their teenage grandson over to observe business. Suze had graciously helped the man-boy out as Lexi peered at him over the edge of her history book, cheeks flushing over the handsome figure he’d cut even back then.

“He’ll be a good Boss,” Old Tony says with confidence. “I don’t know Francesco personally, or not since a long time ago. But he has a reputation about him. Quick to anger. Violent but not without measure. Precise. Whip smart. Not to be fucked with.”

“Worth us reaching out to?”

Old Tony shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure how he’ll operate business once they come out of mourning, truth be told. His consigliere… Fredo Rossi. Well. We consigliere’s don’t like to talk bad about one another, as you know, we’s just here to help guide the Boss in their decision makin’ for the Family. But when Kitty announced Fredo as her consigliere a decade or so ago? Some of us thought it was an, eh… interesting choice.”

“How so?”

“Fredo Rossi has always been a climber, Alexandria. Maybe even at the cost of the lives around him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little ambition,” Lexi says, because that can’t be understated in the American Mafia: you won’t get anywhere without a little ambition. 

The look that Old Tony gives her is dark, and immediately Lexi knows she’s opened a can of worms she didn’t intend on. “You know I take my role in your father’s business very seriously, child. My calling in this life is to serve, and as such I have no greater ambition than to be useful to your father, and his father before him. I’ve committed my life to advising the Howard Family. That’s the path I chose as a young man in this lifestyle we’ve found ourselves in. I fear Fredo Rossi is not cut from the same cloth as I am. What you called ambition would probably be better said as ruthlessness. Power for power's sake is a very tempting thing.”

Lexi chews on her bottom lip as she thinks about what Old Tony has to say. Of course involving herself with any other family is a danger, and getting herself married without her fathers explicit permission is a huge fucking risk. But in the end, if it’s advantageous to their organization, Gus is bound to forgive that right?

“Any word of his love life, by chance?” she asks, unable to meet the eyes of the man who has been like a grandfather to her growing up. 

“I’m going to assume you meant Francesco, and not his slimy consigliere,” Tony replies with a wry look. 

“Right,” Lexi says, coloring. “You said he’s quick tempered… is that something to worry about for a potential match?”

Things have not always been the best between her parents, but Lexi knows her father has never raised a hand to her mother. Screamed at her? Absolutely. But Suze gives it back tenfold every single time they get like that. Not that she thinks her father would be all that worried about marrying his daughters off to men that beat their wives, but as long as she seems to have a say in it, she’s going to do her best to find a match who wouldn’t touch her like that.

“So you do want me to make an offer,” Old Tony says with a chuckle. “I fear I am not the one to ask bout that, Alexandria. But you can always try askin’ Ruby. That girl is trouble, but she always knows everything about everyone.”

“No offer yet Tony, please,” Lexi replies, slightly embarrassed by it. “Actually. Uh. No offer at all. Um. If I’m going to do this, with Francesco, I think I need to do it myself. In person.”

Old Tony nods in understanding. “Speak with Ruby. Once you make your mind up, I’ll help arrange the meeting if needed. In the meantime, let's hope your good-for-nothing father shows back up.”

“Didn’t you just give me a whole speech about wanting to be nothing but useful to my father?”

“I said I’m here to serve the Howard Family, did I not?” Old Tony replies as he picks up a new pile of papers. “As of right now, you’re the head of the family, Alexandria. Bot’ my son and myself are here to help you in whatever capacity you need. You have our loyalty.”

Pleased with the consigliere’s reassurance, Lexi gets back to work looking for any information that might tell them where her father ran off to. The sooner they get through the pile in front of them, the sooner she can make a phone call to Rue and see what she knows about Southern California’s newest crime boss.

August 1st 2024



There’s technically twelve more days of mourning, but Fez was starting to feel restless less than a week out from the funeral. He’s managed to keep himself busy with unofficial official business, like hiring people to help him and Ashtray prepare his grandmother’s house for sale while searching for a new one with his realtor. They could always keep the home they spent the last decade in, of course, Kitty had actually insisted on the point when making her last will and testament a few months back, but the brothers decided they needed a fresh start after such a loss. They would keep Kitty’s presence with them in other ways that didn’t include the fuckin’ oil-on-canvas family portrait monstrosity that hung over her fireplace.

Ash telling him he was looking for his own place was a surprise though.

“Why?” he asks incredulously as the brothers tape up another box of things going to Catholic Charities donations. “Imma buy a house wit’ room for you.”

Ash shrugs lightly, moving on to the next pile of shit to pack up. “Ion know man. I just. I’m fuckin’ twenty, aight? Maybe I just don’t wanna live at home anymore.”

Fez frowns. “I never moved out.”

“Yeah,” Ash replies with a roll of his eyes. “Butchu was Kitty’s partner, she was grooming you to take over for her since before the day you took your omerta. She needed you close.”

“What if I need you close?”

His little brother snorts. “Man. You tell me where yo’ house is when you pick it out an’ I’ll getta place five minutes away. Ten tops. You don’t need yo’ little brother living with you anymore, ‘specially if you gonna get yo’self a wife.”

Fezco scoffs at the thought. Fredo hadn’t brought it up since the morning of the funeral but he knows more offers have poured in over the last month. He’s going to have to deal with it sooner or later.

“How long you think The Commish gon’ lemme stay a bachelor ‘fore they send Antonella out to speak on behalf of Internal Affairs?” he asks with a scratch to the back of his neck.

The American Mafia has undergone some major overhauls in the last two decades or so. First being the fact that they are no longer exclusive to Italian Americans in a sense that anyone who proves their worth can become a made man in an effort to keep the Cosa Nostra from dying out.  Multiple new families have emerged in the wake of that change. ‘Course the families that can’t trace their lineage all the way back to Italy seem to be more stuck in the old ways than the families who have been around for a minute, but ones like Fezco’s have embraced the changes.

When his great granddad passed around the time Fezco was born, his grandma stepped right into her father’s position despite the fact she’d married an Irishman and was a fuckin’ woman. Kitty made sure he knew it wasn’t easy for her at the start, her father’s men didn’t want to follow a woman— but seeing as none of Kitty’s brothers made it out of their twenties and she’d been working behind the scenes for decades by then,  she was more qualified than anyone in the organization to take over. ‘Side, she was the only one still bearing the last name Conti.

The tide turned and she earned their respect. That was when she changed the name to Conti-O’Neill, Fez and Ash’s mom Erin following suit and changing the last names of her sons to honor her mom. It ended up being one of the last things she did before she died.

“Could marry Antonella,” Ash smirks. “She’s fine as hell and would make a good lil’ Italian housewife.”

She would, Fez knows that for sure. Her father is a Boss in the Northeast and things on the East Coast aren’t as lax as they are out here in California. Without a doubt Antonella Zuccola would be the perfect, stereotypical mobster wife. It’s just that Fezco isn’t so sure that’s what he wants.

“Her daddy ain’t gonna go for that, bruh,” Fezco responds, resting his elbows on top of the box he's packing up. “Ain’t no way he’s gonna let his daughter come out to the West Coast where he can’t keep eyes on her or her man's every move. Don’t matter who the man is either.”

“You a Boss now though. ‘Sdifferent.”

Fezco shakes his head. “Nah, bruh. Even if it was, which it ain’t, Ion know if I wanna marry some daughter of a major Boss, you feel me? S’like…” he pauses, the tip of his tongue pressing against his cheek. “S’like… whoever I end up eventually marrying s’gonna be from a family Imma want to get into business with, right? An’ I wanna keep the upper hand in that arrangement. Marrying the daughter of Narciso Zuccola ain’t gon’ give me the upper hand.”

Ashtray makes a face but nods his head in understanding. “Antonella is still a smokeshow bruh. I’d hit that if I had the chance.”

Fezco thinks about the leggy blonde his brother talks about, a small grin appearing on his face unwillingly. Ash is right, Antonella is hot as fuck, and a few years back Fezco did the exact thing his brother speaks of while on a business trip for his grandma. It was good sex, maybe even the best sex he’s ever had, but the two of them had nothin’ in common ‘sides the obvious and makin’ conversation was painful, so that’s another reason why he’d never want to marry the woman. Whoever his wife is gonna be has to be able to hold a goddam conversation with him.

The look he has on his face must be enough of a clue for Ash to figure out exactly why he’s gone silent, ‘cause his brother bunches up a piece of newspaper they’ve been wrapping their grandma’s dishes in and tosses it at his head.

“Fuckin’ disgusting.”

August 14th 2024



In the past few weeks, Lexi has done her research.

Francesco Conti-O’Neill is, by all regards, a genuinely nice guy when you’re not on the other side of his business dealings. Respectful, loyal and honest to a fault from what she’s heard, the man’s allegiance to his grandmother never wavered in the time he worked as her partner while she was fighting cancer. He showed the woman his deference by allowing her to be the last word on all major decisions, as in the time he’s taken over as the new Boss he’s led his men through their mourning period in peace. 

She’s also been told he’s got a quick temper and shrewd mind for business deals. Kitty was in the drug trade, occasionally dipping her toes into the world of arms sales and gambling, but the main source of criminal activity her family partook in was selling and distributing drugs. 

It only kinda bothers her that she got this information from her best friend and former drug addict Rue Bennett. 

“He never sold to me,” her former boarding school roommate told her on the phone. “Kitty wouldn’t let him, said it was bad for business to sell to the kid of a capo for a different family, no matter how minor they were.” 

“The Howard’s aren’t that minor,” Lexi grumbled despite knowing that Rue was right. Their stock had grown over the last few years, but they weren’t on the same level as the Conti-O’Neill family. 

Rue still provided a glowing review for the man despite that. Apparently they had become buddies over the summer that the girls were fourteen, while Lexi attended theater camp. Rue lost contact with him when he took his oath a few months later. They’d reconnected a couple of years ago, but the sicker his grandma got the more business Francesco took on and now the last time Rue had even seen him was at the funeral. And that was only in passing. 

But her best friend swore up and down that this newly made Mafia Boss wasn’t the type to beat on their wife and wasn’t like a fucking man child who didn’t know how to do things like his own laundry. Traits that were real admirable to Lexi as she considered her options in who to make a marriage arrangement offer to. 

It's why she had Old Tony reach out to his consigliere on the final day of mourning to set up a meeting. You wouldn’t believe her surprise when she was informed that Francesco would meet with her just two days later. 

“Are you going to at least tell me where you’re going?” her sister asks as she defines Lexi’s curls with her curling wand. “You don’t have like, information on Dad yet do you?”

God, she wishes. 

“Nothing so far,” she responds, noting the way her sister’s face falls. “Which is a good thing. If he was dead, we’d know. So he had to have gone into hiding for a good reason.” 

That’s just something Lexi can’t figure out yet. She’s poured through all the fathers ledgers, spoken to different high ranking men in her father’s criminal conglomerate, even scoured his secure email inbox and there’s nothing there to indicate that Gus Howard was in any type of trouble that would warrant going missing for a month. So the fact that no one has been able to catch a whiff of his whereabouts was baffling in the least.

Her sister gives her a critical eye. “Are you going to do business today?” 

The only people who know Lexi has become the defacto head of her family are her mother, sister, Old Tony and Young Tony. She’s not entirely sure what the underboss has said to the capos and soldiers in order to keep them from questioning where her father is, but Young Tony swore he had it handled and so far the man has proven himself trustworthy.

“Maybe? Hopefully. I think I’ve come up with a way to buy us some time in regards to The Commission poking their nose into our business.”

Cassie releases her final curl and sets Lexi’s head with an ungodly amount of working hairspray to keep the curls bouncy but not crispy. 

“God forbid Antonella has to make a trip out here,” her sister snarks as she steps back to let Lexi up from her vanity. 

Frankly, Lexi wouldn’t mind a visit from Antonella. The girl had been a few years above her at boarding school, and Lexi had a serious crush during her time there. A two years back the Howard women had made a trip out to New York City to see some shows and the Christmas tree at Rockerfeller Center (as her mom always says, if the Christians can steal Christmas from the pagans, the Jews can too) and they had run into the blonde at the Rockettes show. The subsequent hookup Lexi had with the woman had maybe been the best sex she’s experienced, but Antonella was no conversationalist. 

Still, Lexi wouldn’t mind another round or two in her own bed instead of in a hotel room. 

“Ugh no,” she responds to her sister, primping in the mirror one last time. The tweed Chanel number has been in her closet for a while, a gift from her parents (mostly her mother) when she graduated college in May. “We do not need Internal Affairs poking their nose around.” 

Cassie gives her a critical eye. “Then what exactly are you doing today?” 

Lexi tugs the jacket tighter to her shoulders, like the material is some sort of armor that’ll keep her safe when she walks into a powerful mobsters home office in an attempt to get him to marry her. “Meeting with Francesco Conti-O’Neill.” 

“Gus Howard?” he asks Fredo incredulously, looking over the top of the financial statements he’s spent his morning reading. “Two days outta mourning and you have that motherfucker coming in for a meeting?” 

The old man settles into the worn leather chair across from him, his weathered hands folded neatly on his lap. “The Howard’s are a minor family, but still respectable. That said, as your consigliere, I’m here to advise you, and as you adjust to your new role as Boss in this organization, it might be best that one of your first acts leading this family is strengthening our bonds with the other families.” 

Now Fezco may not necessarily like the guy, but that’s solid advice. In fact, it was sumn he and his grandma talked about on her deathbed. Kitty’s vision for the future of their family was grandiose, the Conti-O’Neill’s already were one of, if not the most, powerful families in California - but she dreamed of more. The preeminent family of the West Coast is what she had in mind before the cancer diagnosis, and now it’s Fezco’s duty to fulfill his grandmother's vision. 

And if that means taking meetings with upstart heads like Gus fuckin’ Howard, then that’s what it means. 

“Aight, what time I gotta do this shit?” 

Fredo stands, shifting his suit jacket sleeve up to check his watch. “Noon. Just in time for you to make yourself presentable sir.” 

A white shirt and gray sweatpants may be an acceptable option when you’re in the midst of a move and setting up your office, but it’s definitely not the first impression he wants to give to anyone as the head of his family. He rubs at his eyes as he sets the papers down, eventually hefting himself up from his chair and looking around his office. It's only what he would consider a step above a disaster, so he looks at his consigliere and asks with a wave of his hand to have someone come up and make it presentable for a meeting. 

“Right away, sir,” Fredo responds as he stops at the door. “Anything else before I go?” 

“Have Sergio send up the bar cart.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

Twelve days ago Fezco was still living in his grandmother's home and now he owns a five bedroom, six bath mansion in some fancy-ass gated community in the hills. It was a quick turn around, his realtor showing him the house on the third of the month and his offer being accepted on the fifth, but it didn’t hurt that he was willing to pay for the multimillion dollar home in cash. It also greased the wheels of closing, cutting the usual wait time nearly in half and securing them early occupancy to boot. Maybe money couldn’t buy everything, he muses, but it damn sure got close. 

His office is conveniently located across the hall from the master bedroom, so he slips out the door and pads across the wooden floors to get properly dressed for the occasion at hand. Most of his extensive wardrobe is still waiting to be unpacked, but Fez had made the effort to start getting most of his dress clothes out of their garment bags and hung up over the last few days. He wishes he had time for a quick shower, but if Howard was prompt at showing up to meetings, Fezco had less than twenty minutes to get ready.

Showering no longer on the table, he opts for freshening up with a good old fashion reapplying of deodorant and grabbing one of his nicer colognes after putting on a pair of black dress slacks and his under shirt. The decision is easily made to opt for more casual since the meeting was in his own home, rolling the sleeves up on his dark red button down but slipping his black tie over his neck. His knuckles have healed nicely in the last month, so he slips some of his nicer rings on his fingers, including the one Kitty had made for both him and Ash a couple of years back with the Conti family crest on it. He slides the diamond tie clip into place when he hears a knock on his bedroom door.

“Wassup?” he calls outta the walk in as he brushes invisible lint off his pants before slipping his leather gun holster over his shoulders. Just cause it’s a casual business meeting in his own house with his own security here don’t mean he’s walking into this shit without being strapped.

Carlos, Fezco’s recently promoted head of security, side steps into his open bedroom door. “Your twelve o’clock is here sir. Already waiting in the office.”

“Thanks, Carlos,” Fez replies as sits on the end of his bed in order to slip a pair of shiny dress shoes on. They’re the same red bottoms he wore last month to Kitty’s funeral, brand new on that day and far too nice to collect dust in his closet. “Tell Howard I’ll be right in.”

Carlos gives him a little nod before stepping back out of the room. Fez takes a moment to walk over and check his appearance in his full-length mirror before reaching up to the lock box on the shelf in order to arm himself. The Beretta 92F was gifted to him shortly after he took his vows, something his grandmother had been keeping under lock and key for him from his mother since her passing. Ash received an identical gift under the same circumstances a couple years after Fez did. It’s not Fezco’s daily choice in weapon, the thing being vintage and imported from Italy, but today feels like the right time to bring it out.

With the confidence of a man who's been doing this far longer than he has, Fezco exits his bedroom and crosses the hall to his office, pushing the ajar door open as Carlos stands guard just outside. He doesn’t miss the man's amused look as he enters the room, but he doesn’t have time to think much about it before he’s greeting his guest and closing the door behind him.

“Welcome to my home Howard. What can I do fo’ ya?” Fez says, rubbing his hands together in order to shake out the nerves that are running through his system.

Much to his surprise when the leather chair across from his desk pushes back it’s not the towering, lean figure of Gus Howard that emerges from the shadowy corner. Instead it’s a young brunette who appears to be his age or near to it, with legs that go on for days under a black and white tweed mini set that can’t be anything other than Chanel (his grandma taught him well). She smiles, a disarming gesture curving her red-painted mouth.

“More like, what can we do for each other,” the mystery woman states as she walks across the hardwood floor.

Fezco blinks before asking, “And who the fuck are you?”

Lexi’s taken aback by Francesco’s apparent lack of information in regards to just exactly who he’s having this meeting with.

“I clearly stated I was Alexandria Howard, the daughter of Augustus in my email to your consigliere,” she states for the fourth time in five minutes as Francesco pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not my fault your guy never passed on that information.”

The Boss heaves a sigh. “Nah, nah. I believe you. Ion understand how this fuckin’ happened though.”

Lexi snorts, rolling her eyes a little. “So you keep saying.”

Francesco gives her a disgruntled look before stalking over to his bar cart and pulling out two glasses before pausing briefly and asking her almost sheepishly if she’s of age.

“You run an organized crime syndicate and you’re concerned about me being of the legal drinking age?”

“Ion wanna be presumptuous,” the man offers by way of explanation as he pours two glasses of scotch neat. “Some of my guys are sober too, just tryna be respectful.”

Lexi accepts the glass with a quiet thank you before Francesco directs her back into the chair she’d been waiting for him in. The man settles across from her, making quick work of his drink in a way that gives her a chance to really check him out. She’d thought him handsome a month ago when she only had the chance to see him from a distance, but now that he’s right in front of her she can amend that assessment to ‘devastatingly gorgeous.’

She can’t quite make out the tattoo that peeks out from under his collar, but if all goes according to plan, she’ll have a chance to learn all of the ink that covers him in due time.

“So,” Francesco begins, clearing his throat as he sets his empty glass down on desk. “Why yo’ pops sending over his daughter to discuss business instead of showing up himself or sending his underboss?”

Getting straight to the point then.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Lexi replies smoothly, sipping from her own drink. God, she hates scotch.

She’s never seen someone's eyebrows raise so quickly. “‘Scuse me?”

“My father doesn’t know I’m here,” Lexi repeats herself. “This was all my idea, he has nothing to do with it.”

“What was yo’ idea?”

“Francesco— can I call you Francesco?” The man nods dumbly at Lexi's question. “Tell me, how many marriage arrangements have been proposed to you since the passing of your family's matriarch? At least a dozen by my assumptions, right?”

“Double,” he quickly counters. “That I know of at least. Been in mourning until two days ago, so I ain’t been doing business.”

“Right. And how many of those arrangements come from fathers who are looking to sell their daughters off like cattle with zero concern for what they would like?”

Francesco snorts as he leans back in his chair. “All of ‘em. Most likely, anyway.”

“And are any of them coming from anyone who’s partnership would actually be beneficial to you and your organization? Because if I know anything about the Conti-O’Neill family, it’s that you have the drug trade in California on lock. You don’t need lesser families in the same game as you offering a daughter for a deal.”

“Is that what yo’ here for? Offering a daughter for a deal?”

Lexi sits up a little straighter in her chair. “My father deals mostly in arms and money laundering. Two things that would be beneficial to your operation.”

The young Mafia Boss rubs a hand against his chin, deep in thought. “Then why ain’t he the one here talking to me about this proposition, Alexandria? I admire yo’ tenacity, but I only make deals with other Bosses. Not they oldest daughters.”

“Youngest daughter,” she corrects primly. “And he’s not here because he’s currently indisposed.”

“I ain’t do business with youngest daughters either. Indisposed fathers or not.”

Lexi feels herself frown. “Francesco. I understand that this feels anything but traditional, but your whole existence in this world is untraditional. As well as mine. You might be able to trace your lineage back to Italy, but the last boss of your family was a woman who happily boasted her husband's Irish last name before hyphenating it officially with the Commision. You’re a twenty-four year old bachelor who just became the head of a highly respected organization within our shared world. How long do you think you can maintain that before they force a bride, and certainly not one of your choosing, on you?”

“Whatchu mean by your existence being untraditional?”

“Is that all you took away from what I just said?”

Francesco’s been leaning back in his chair a majority of this conversation, but adjusts his chair in order to lean his elbows on the cherry dark wood and plant his chin on his hands. “Nah Alexandria, I got it all. Nothin’ I haven’t contemplated myself these past few weeks. Just found that part interestin’ as fuck.”

Her cheeks have definitely gone pink during the interaction and Lexi stumbles over her words as she tries to think of a lie on her feet. “Just that we’re not Italian. Thirty years ago my father wouldn’t be in the position he’s in now. Untraditional.”

Francesco hums and nods his head. “You right about that shit. But that’s a weak-ass lie to try an’ pass off on a fuckin’ mafia boss. So try it again, Alexandria.”

It was dumb to think she could talk him into marrying her without explaining that her father is currently missing-in-action. Lexi pushes her long brown curls over her shoulders before setting her shoulders straight and looking the man across from her straight in the eye.

“My father has been missing since right before the July Commission meeting. He left the family home in late June, alone, with the intent on driving himself to wherever the planned intended location was. His consigliere and underboss were going to meet up with him on the day of, but then you and your brother emailed Internal Affairs to let them know about your grandmother's passing and the whole thing got called off. No one has seen or heard from him since.”

“No other families askin’ for money or nothin’?”

Lexi shakes her head lightly. “Nothing. Gus Howard has effectively disappeared off the face of the planet as far as my mother, sister, and I are concerned.”

“Then who’s makin’ decisions for yo’ family?” he asks, eyebrow quirked in question.

“I am.”

This meeting may not be exactly what he was expectin’ when he walked into his office, but it’s hella more interesting than whatever he would have been talkin’ to Gus Howard about, that’s for fuckin’ sure.

“What did Internal Affairs say about that?” he asks after Alexandria tells him she’s stepped into her fathers role in the wake of his absence.

Alexandria shrugs, sipping her drink some more. “We haven’t reported.”

Bold choice.

And fuckin’ stupid.

Fezco lets out a low whistle. “They gon’ read you the riot act when they find out. Maybe even take away yo’ pops status.”

Alexandria bristles. “Which is why they aren’t finding out. This isn’t the first time my father has just, gone off somewhere. Just the longest.”

“And how you keepin’ ‘em from finding out? Just praying he shows up before he needs to report for the October meeting?”

The brunette rolls her eyes again, it’s maddening and a touch disrespectful to be so flippant with a Boss. He wonders what her relationship with her father is like if she’s gon’ throw this much attitude to a stranger. “Of course. But in the meantime, there’s ways to throw them off our scent. It’s the whole reason I arranged this meeting, Francesco.”

In the back of his mind he’s been flipping through a rolodex of faces since she mentioned she’s the younger Howard daughter. Vaguely he recalls a blonde with green eyes and a great rack, but he can’t for the life of him remember her sister's name.

“If yo’ here to broker an arrangement between me an’ yo’ sister –”

“Cassandra. And I’m not here for her,” Alexandria interrupts. “I would never expect her to go through an arranged marriage against her wishes.”

Interesting.

“Is it against yo’ wishes though?”

Alexandria purses her lips into a tight line. “An arranged marriage isn’t exactly what I dreamed of as a little girl, if that’s what you're asking.”

“Then why come all the way here to make this offer? Ion know what typa man you think I am, but I ain’t the type to marry someone who don’t wanna get married.”

Honestly, he don’t know if he wants to get married yet either. Which seems like a pretty fuckin’ important part of this equation. Add the fact that he’s only just met this fuckin’ chick today, making her a near stranger and that her father ran off on her family which is for sure going to cause some shit to go do in the near future to the list of why it’s all a bad idea.

But if he had to pick someone to marry tomorrow, he supposes there would be worse choices than Alexandria Howard. Even with her prim little outfit on right now, she’s a stunner. And at least she had the balls to approach him herself, unlike all the fathers who have been communicating with Fredo.

“Can I be honest here Francesco?”

Fezco nods lightly, waving a hand in front of himself to indicate that she’s free to speak as she pleases.

“I don’t know you from fucking Adam, alright? I’m resigned to this not being a marriage for love, something I gave up on being a possibility a long time ago as my father gained more power. But this could be mutually beneficial to both our families. And if I’m wrong in my belief that under all of your rough exterior you're a decent man who would treat their wife well regardless of the situation, you’re not half the man Rue said you were.”

The mention of Rue snaps him to attention. Of course this chick knows Rue fuckin’ Bennett. They’d been thick as thieves nearly a decade ago, right before he took his first steps into becoming an official part of his grandmother's family, and recently got in contact not that long ago. Granted, Rue seemed to know fuckin’ everyone, or at least that’s what it felt like to Fezco. 

“Rue Bennett told you to marry me?” he asks skeptically. 

Alexandria pulls a face at the question. “Of course not. We ran into each other at the reception following your grandmother's funeral and you became a topic of interest between us. She’s just about the only person I know who knows you personally.”

He can’t help but feel a little smug knowing this woman was interested enough in him that she went asking about him to their mutual acquaintances.  

“So you askin’ around about me?” he flirts, hoping to charm the woman on the other side of the desk. 

Alexandria looks at him flatly. “Only so far as to find out if you’re the type to beat your wife. It's not uncommon knowledge that you have a short fuse and flair for violence.” 

Startled, Fezco sits up straighter in his chair frowning. “I ain’t ever laid a hand on a woman if that’s what yo’ wondering.” 

“I know. I wouldn’t have come to strike this deal with you if I had heard otherwise.” 

He sighs in relief. “Whatchu think Imma get from this arrangement exactly? It saves yo’ families ass for a while longer still, but Ion see how this benefits me and mine. I got arms and money laundering connections if that’s yo’ whole angle. S’far as I can see, you need me more than I need you.” 

“That consigliere of yours? He was your grandma’s man right?” 

Fezco grunts his response. 

“And he set this whole meeting up without giving you the right information. Other bosses have killed for less, yet he must feel comfortable enough to fuck up on the little things without recompense. I would wager that your underboss treats you the same way at this point.”

He sets a glare upon the woman, annoyed at how easily she’s calculated the resistance to his authority among his top brass. 

“Issa work in progress.” 

“And you’re gonna have to figure out how to relieve them of duty without ruffling too many feathers and pissing off Internal Affairs. The Commission is going to want a status report in October you know. Unless…”. 

Fezco groans, knowing he’s been out maneuvered by the second daughter of a lesser Boss. 

Motherfucker.

“Unless I’m on my honeymoon and don’t have a meeting to attend. I see you Miss Howard. Well played.” 

Alexandria smiles brightly and it’s almost enough to make him smile back. “As you can see, you need me as much as I need you. And a marriage will be a great distraction from higher ups poking their noses in our business while we figure our shit out.” 

He sits back in the chair and sighs. He fuckin hates to admit how much it makes sense. It burns him up, actually, to be backed into such a neat little trap by this red-lipped chick who’d just waltzed into his office. 

He finds he kind of likes the feel of it. Kinda makes him want to poke at her, just see how she bites back. 

He supposes he ought to be more afraid of that feeling, but instead he crosses his arms over his chest and nods, almost dismissively. “Aight, Miss Howard.” 

She tilts her head, brown hair sliding across her shoulders. “Alright what?”

“Say we do this. And what then, after we ‘figure our shit out?’ What then? You gonna divorce my ass?”

Her answering shrug is also dismissive. “Possibly. Maybe we’ll find that we work well together. I resigned myself to a loveless marriage ages ago, Francesco.”

“Fezco,” he corrects quietly. 

“Pardon?” 

“If yo’ gonna be my lil wifey, you should prolly call me Fezco. It’s what my blood families called me since I was a kid.” 

His future wife looks rather pleased at that. “Alright then, Fezco.” 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and the clock on his desk says it’s already after one in the afternoon. This meeting was supposed to be wrapped up within an hour. This is most likely Ashtray wanting to talk shop, so he stands quickly to check the device and frowns a little when it’s a different capo instead of his brother. 

“Do you need to take that?” Alexandria asks, eyes flicking to the phone in his hand as Fezco sends it to voicemail. 

“I’ll call right back,” he replies, tucking the phone away. “Would be hella rude of me to not walk my wife out to her car.” 

The woman stands up with a put upon expression. God help him, but she’s pretty cute when she’s annoyed at him. Being married is gonna be fuckin’ interesting for sure. 

“I’m perfectly capable of getting to my car by myself, Fezco.” 

Fez holds out his hands wide before walking out from behind his desk and following the woman to the door. “Didn’t say you weren’t, Alexandria.” 

“Lexi. To paraphrase you, if you’re going to be my husband, you should call me Lexi.” 

Lexi.

Yeah, he fucks with that. 

“Aight Lexi,” Fez says, holding his hand out for a shake. Lexi takes it with no amount of trepidation, just pure determination in her eyes. “Was a pleasure doin’ business with you.” 

The woman gives him a firm shake. “Likewise.” 

There’s people all over the place setting the house up as he walks Lexi through the halls and he makes the mental note to not get too comfortable with the way things look if this woman beside him is gonna be moving in sooner than later as well. A gesture she seems to appreciate when he points out all the space that’s sitting empty. 

Fez waves off security to open the front door himself, offering an arm to Lexi as they descend the stairs and walk over to her parked car. 

“Quick question,” he says as she’s unlocking her front door. “How exactly are we gonna pull off a wedding by the end of September?” 

Lexi looks almost excited at the prospect despite the fact she seems more resigned than anything to getting married. “Oh don’t you worry about that. I’ve been training for this my whole life.”