Lucy watched as Frank snatched the photo of Katy from the dead hand of Billy Durden.  She hadn’t moved.  She hadn’t struck him or shot him – though both thoughts had gone through her mind.  She knew Frank would have let her kill him, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him.  She never wanted to touch him again, whereas Frank seemed to have the opposite problem.

Frank stood up and then pulled a kerchief from inside his jacket to clean the blood from his mouth and nose.  The nose had stopped bleeding… and by the way it was bent, Lucy feared it was broken for sure.  He pulled out his gun and approached her.  He moved in such a way to indicate he could tell she wasn’t really looking at him, but that her eyes had returned to the corpse on the floor.  “Lulu?”  He whispered. 

She blinked and swallowed.

He took her hand with his free hand, bloody from punches.  She looked down at his hand wrapping around hers, the warm blood cooling on their skin – racing in and out of their interlaced fingers.  He squeezed.  In that instant, she understood, that this was what their marriage – their relationship was all about. 

When they met as adults, she’d been attracted to him – without a doubt, but he had been Nikki’s husband, so she put it aside.  When they sailed to Sicily together he continued to be the thing she was denied – both because of his marriage to her best friend, but also because of her loss of Husky who she had dearly cared for.  She wanted this thing – this knowledge that someone was there with her, loving her.

And then, when he became hers – she’d scarcely realized the transition because while they had never acted upon that passion that had been between them, it had always been there.  It was there in the little glances, the innocent touches, and the violence they poured down upon their mutual enemies.  In so many ways, their relationship had always been a sexual one so perhaps this was the reason for their frequent fights after they finally married and settled down into a home and life together.

What did they know of such things?  Frank wanted the life his father had told him was a man’s job to secure… a nice home, a pretty wife, and children in the yard.  She thought she’d wanted that too – the illusion her mother had tried to forge away from her father’s IRA ties and her husband’s Sicilian Mafia.  When she’d lost them, she’d given up on such lies, but Frank had made her believe again.  Frank, in his own way, was the sort of magic that her mother had been. 

But any child can tell you – magic isn’t real. 

Blood.  Now that’s real.

Lucy squeezed his hand back.  She looked up to his face and saw him – perhaps for the first time and as impossible as it was to imagine; she loved him more than she had ever loved him before.  Bruises and blood – all the lies stripped away- a gun in his hand and her in his other.  The thick and sticky blood holding them tight to one another.  Blood.  Nature’s glue.  It held bodies together and made them work and it created families where there was none before.

Frank pulled her close and kissed her.  Gentle at first, but then with intensity.  Lucy trembled as she’d trembled in his bed that first time in the guest house on his family’s farm in Sicily.  Not from cold or fear, but with a fullness of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.  She’d waited her whole life for this truth – naked and honest. 

As the kiss ended and Frank pulled away from her, he let his hand come to rest on her still flat stomach.  “You okay?”  He meant her – and their baby.

Lucy looked down to the place where he touched.  She smiled.  Blood – his – was growing within her.  This was as real as a thing could ever be.  “Are you joking?”  she whispered.  “This is one of the best days of my life.”

Frank pulled her head to his lips and kissed her right between the eyes.

“I love you, Kid.”

“I love you too…”  She smirked.  “Stud.”

He touched the tip of her nose as he had that rainy day in Naples.  She could almost smell the long grass.  “Later.”  He promised.  “Come on.” 

They’d gotten three steps before they heard gun fire and a single word held out in a scream, “BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDDDDDDDDDDSSSSSSSSSS!”  Someone on the team had been seen!

Frank and Lucy broke into a run, but they didn’t get far before they came upon Wrench who was now pinned down behind a large pallet, shooting at a group of men – who were also about to be joined by reenforcement.  Wrench smiled upon seeing Lucy and her husband.  The noise of gunfire was deafening inside the tin shell that was the warehouse, but it was NOTHING compared to what could be heard outside.

The explosion, which she could only assume was Finnigan & The Kid’s grand distraction, could be felt though the floor.  Lucy’s ears rung, she blinked to shake away the disorientation, and only briefly wondered what exactly they’d blown up and where they’d gotten the explosives from! 

The reenforcements ran to the front of the building where the sound of the explosion came from.  Frank, Lucy and Wrench made quick work of the men who remained behind.

Lucy nodded with her head and Wrench followed the instruction to advance through the warehouse together.   Down a long aisle of boxes, they could see the doors into what they supposed was the hallway of housing.  “There!”  Lucy called out running harder as she could make out the outline of Old Man Whitehill coming out from his room half-dressed with gun in hand, even at this distance. 

She lifted her gun and tried to get a bead on him while she moved – hard to do.  She shot.  Glass shattered, and the old man looked back to see what caused the glass between them to shatter.  They locked eyes and he raised his gun.  Wrench and Frank also attempted moving shots, with no success as the Old Man used his doorway for cover.

Lucy, out in front, came out into the open space between the aisles and the glass doors first and so it was her pleasure to be struck hard by a two-by-four being swung by Robert Paulson.  Lucy lost all sense for a moment as Frank and Wrench watched her small frame being lifted into the air like a fly ball struck.  All air rushed out of her chest and she felt ribs strain and crack as her body came up and crossed what seemed an ocean of distance before finally falling to the floor hard and skidding.  Her gun skidded away from her and under the shelves.  The contents of her pockets flying in all directions.  Lucy lay in a fetal position holding her chest gasping like a fish on the shore.

Robert raised the two-by-four above his head and roared in victory – seeing the Right Hand Woman of Chicago laying prone.  This, of course, made him vulnerable to Wrench and Frank who came right behind her and turned their guns on the fat man.

Through the haze of tears and pain from lack of air, Lucy could see Whitehill and now at his side… Tyler Durden.  Tyler smiled as her eyes and his met.  First the cocky blonde put his cross hairs on her, but then he shook his head no, smirking.  He then made a very purposeful turn of his muzzle and looked at Frank.  Lucy found air at the right moment and her first word was a hoarse scream for the guys to get down – an order her husband followed, one Wrench could not hear.

A spray exited Wrench’s backside.  The world moved as if through water as the realization of the bullet tearing through him washed over Wrench’s face.  The tear of pain that filled her eyes were now rolling down her cheeks as she watched blood cover fringe fluttering as Wrench fell hard to the cement floor and did not move.

Past him she could see the expression on her face mirrored, for a moment, by Capazzo and Charlie who had run up just in time to see Tyler’s shot.  Wordless horror hung between them all until the silence was shattered by Frank’s gun.  As if this reminded Charlie and Capazzo that they too hand guns, they joined Frank in turning their weapons on Whitehill and Durden, who were now joined by Botticelli goons.

Lucy crawled out of the line of fire, to the left of the door, hiding behind a pallet she could see a sight that made her heart leap with joy.  Wrench moved.  He didn’t just move, he moved a lot, enough she could see that the bullet hadn’t tore through his chest but his shoulder!  Horrible to be sure but survivable. 

She wanted to call out to him, but he couldn’t hear.  The man was alone under a hail of gunfire he could not hear, sliding himself to safety he could only hope to find, leaving a thick crimson blood smear behind him. 

“LET’S GO!”  She could hear men screaming down the hallway she could not see into from her place of safety.  She supposed they were fleeing out the front.  As the gunfire slowed, she ran to help Wrench into safety – which would also have the benefit of allowing her to look down the hallway.  Frank met her there and thank God, he did, she supposed her rib really was broken.  She never could have helped Wrench to stay low and keep moving.

Looking down the hallway she could see that, indeed, the Botticelli were helping Tyler fall back to the front doors – Whitehill was helping to create cover fire for them.  The Old Man walked backwards, still trading shots with Capazzo and Charlie.  She nearly cheered when one of her friends managed to hit Whitehill as he entered the hallway fully. 

“GODFATHER!”  Old Man Whitehill called out to Durden for help. 

Tyler, who was nearly at the door, got his goons to stop and for a moment Lucy thought that the strangely dressed blonde was going to do just that.  Maybe this asshole had some understanding of what it meant to care for those who pledged themselves to you. 

Tyler smirked, and lifted his gun.

Lucy screamed, “NO!” and grabbed her chest in pain.

He pulled the trigger and even before it was clear that her parent’s killer had drawn his last breath, the Botticelli’s were pulling Tyler out the door and into a car.

Lucy fell to her knees beside Wrench.  She could hear Frank, Capazzo and Charlie giving chase, but what did it matter?  Wrench was shot and Whitehill had died by someone other than the hands of her father’s only child.

Lucy reached into her pocket to pull out her Father’s St. Christopher cufflink, both bot pray over Wrench but also to say how sorry she was to her father’s restless spirit who might never know peace.  “Where?”  She said as she realized it wasn’t with her anymore.

“Rest easy.”  She signed to Wrench.  “Stay here.”

Lucy was frantic, searching the floor, gathering up all her items one at a time.  One by one she found everything – except the tiny cufflink. 

“Lucia!”  Frank was the first back into the room.

“I can’t find it.”  She said, each word spoken felt like a knife stuck into her.

“What… what can’t you find?”

“Cops are coming we gotta make tracks Frank!”  Charlie said as she and Capazzo entered the warehouse.  Charlie going straight for Wrench to see the extent of his wounds.

“We have to go, Lucia.  There’s no time.”  Frank insisted.

“My father’s cufflink.”  She said tearfully.  “Please Frank!”  She knew he’d understand.  Vengeance had been stolen from her she couldn’t leave this last bit of him behind too. 

Capazzo rushed up, to help Frank get Lucy to her feet.  As both men took an arm, Lucy felt like a small child again, trying desperately to cling to her father as someone pulled him away from her.

“I WON’T LEAVE – NOT WITHOUT IT!”  Lucy forced the words out of herself.

“What is she talking about?”  Capazzo asked.

*Thud, Thud*

Lucy, Frank and Capazzo looked to Wrench, who had tapped something hard against a wood crate.

“I think he has what she’s looking for.”  Charlie explained.

The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance as Wrench gave a weak smile and turned his hand over to reveal the face of St. Christopher holding a child on his shoulder and one wrapped around his leg.  Wrench had dinged it up with his banging and perhaps it was scratched more from his skid across the cement floor, but it was unmistakably her father’s heirloom.

Lucy sobbed as she pulled away from the men ‘helping’ her and ran to Wrench.  “Thank you.  Thank you.”  She said holding the item close to her heart and then she kissed it before kissing Wrench on the cheek too.  He had given to her something far more valuable than all the diamonds in the world.

Frank helped MasqCharlie picking up Wrench and they began the walk to the back door which would far less likely to be swarmed by coppers at any moment.  Lucy, ached but she could walk now.  Standing she spoke softly, which was far easier than in her full volume. 

“Capazzo?”  She said walking towards him. 

The Chicago Don, so known for his hair, was staring down at Old Man Whitehill.  She supposed that he wished he could have killed the man for her.  At least if it had been Capazzo it would have been a friend and so felt more like revenge.  Tyler had taken from her the joy of knowing that she’d killed him.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, to be sure, but this could have gone a lot worse than it had. 

She put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Your father gave you that cufflink?”  He said, not looking away from the corpse.

“Yea.”  She said sadly.  “Capazzo, I know you did everything you could to help me.”  She tried to help him not feel guilty.

“Where’d he get it?”

“What?”

“Where’d your father get the cufflink?”  It was then she noticed his hands were clenched tight, knuckles white.  It wasn’t guilt her friend was feeling – but rage.

“He…” Why did he feel this way?  What changed?  “His father.  He got it from his Father who brought them to America from Sicily.  It’s a Fazzone family heirloom.”

Capazzo closed his eyes.  She could see him flex his arm muscles as he squeezed his fists tighter.  The sirens were getting closer, but she didn’t dare tell him the obvious now.  Something was happening here, something she couldn’t understand.

When he opened his eyes, he turned from Whitehill and looked into her eyes as if he was seeing her for the first time.  For a moment she thought he was looking at her the way a man falling in love did – a whole other problem for sure – but the intensity of how he seemed to be memorizing her every feature faded as fast as it came.  As if he’d somehow found what he was looking for and was ready to walk away from this place – as if nothing had happened at all.

He nodded and began to pull away from her, to leave.  She squeezed his arm where she’d touched him.  “What just happened here?  Talk to me.”  She insisted.  She expected him to tell her the cops were coming, that there was no time to talk.  It’s what she would have done to avoid a topic that he very clearly didn’t know how to or want to talk about.

Capazzo reached up into his jacket’s sleeve and then took hold of the blood-stained hand she was grabbing him with, and placed into it something Lucy had not seen since she was a child. 

Lucy looked at the worn face of St. Christopher upon the identical match to the antique cufflink she now held in her other hand.  Gooseflesh raised all over her body as she looked up to his face.  It was a face she knew well, a face she’d seen smiling at her so often since she’d first set foot into the Headquarters of Broadway Mafia – but one she’d not picked apart the way he had hers just a moment ago.

Perhaps, she thought, she might have blamed his hair and all the gooey product he put in it – or his behavior that was nothing like the man she once knew… or maybe it was the denial that her father had been anything, but a man caught up in this thing she now found herself leading.  That he might not have been the utterly loyal and devoted husband and father she’d always dreamed he was…

Every fight, every time he walked out the door and was gone for hours and sometimes days at a time, came rushing back to the front of Lucy’s mind.  Daddy had work.  Daddy would be home when it was done.  Never once did she question the stories her mother told to make a mobster’s life seem like a normal nine to five; but the time of fairytales had long passed her by and she knew the lies told to make a child not worry for her father quite well… she told them to Katy often.  They sounded just like her mother’s …

His chin, the cheek bones, the tint of his skin and shape of his ears… how had she not seen it before?  She had so many questions.  What could she say?  Where should she start?  She now shared his absolute inability to find the right words – even if her heart was bursting with a million thoughts.

Capazzo closed Lucy’s fingers around the cuff link and squeezed her hand.  The blood covering them causing their hands to stick together.

Lucy looked down to their hands joined and give a weak smile.

Maybe they didn’t have to say anything at all.  Maybe that was why she’d felt this need all these long years – not a need for vengeance, but a gentle urging of her father’s ghost to go back to the beginning and find what he’d hidden away; this thing a lesser called upon Saint watched over for him:  his children.

Any child can tell you – magic isn’t real. 

Blood.  Now that’s real.