The day's escapades surely had to come to an end soon... Right? First there was the whirlwind meeting on the beach that had left Roger and Jessica soaked from head to toe. Then there was the altercation at the tailor's market that cornered a small discount on new, -dry- clothes and a possible new business relationship. Following that? Gelato at Giancarlo's homely shop where Roger learned more about Jessica than she'd wanted him to know over some of the best Gelato that reminded him of 'home' in Sicily. That, of course, was all minor compared to what followed.

The unrehearsed, spur of the moment, off the brim of the hat idea that left Jessica's parents dead? That -had- to be the last of the "madness" this day could offer... At least that's what Roger seemed to think as the two sped along the highway toward his home. Jessica was laying on his arm and he couldn't help but steal a glance at the saucy red-head he'd already grown so fond of... A smile, a genuine smile swept across his features, and for the first time that day the playboy gangster blushed. His cheeks turned a shade of red almost matching her hair. She seemed to have found -some- form of peace in all the turmoil of the day. Maybe it was him, maybe it was the knowing that she'd never get that lobotomy, maybe it was something entirely different that he'd not even learned yet. Either way, she seemed to have soothed herself into a harmonious disposition.

Returning his gaze to the road, Roger decided to talk to her about his home...

"So I told ya it's a nice place, eh? But did I go in to detail?" He chuckled as he took a second glance at her. Jessica perked and shook her head, readjusting herself to look at him and listen.

"Well, its got a modern look, aight? So stick with me here. Terracotta roofin', like ya see in Italy, or Spain." He shrugged with a chuckle, putting his eyes back on the road. "It's got more of a Spanish villa look than Italian, but then, we took it from a Spanish dope lord so whattaya expect, hmm?"

"Three stories countin' tha wine cella, a pool in tha back yard, white stucco walls. I think ya gonna love it. No neighbas for about a block on eitha side, too. So it's nice an' private."

He elbowed her playfully, "Good fa sunbathin' nude!" He smirked, but honestly wouldn't mind a naked Jessica sunbathing. He'd gotten a decent sneak peak with the wet clothes from earlier.

Little did Roger know her placid demeanour was nothing more than a well-rehearsed denial... a coping skill gleaned from her years of "therapy". Emotionally, she was a wreck... all raw nerves and regret. But in her head, she was re-reading Lewis Caroll for the umpteenth time; the irony and fantastical landscapes distancing her from the crushing weight of reality that threatened to swallow her up like a bottomless rabbit hole. Suddenly, she realized that the soothing patter she'd been admiring in her daydreams was actually Roger's voice, rumbling against her cheek as she rested against his chest. Sitting up to listen, Jessica returned his blush, glancing down at her delicately pale arms with a goofy grin. Nude sunbathing? She'd be like a disco ball... not that they existed yet. "Well, better have plenty of Glacier Cream,"  she joked lightly. Though, as her gaze trailed wantonly down his front, she thought that perhaps she wouldn't mind it so much if he were to come along. 

"What are the bathrooms like?"  she asked with an innocent tilt of her head. It was an odd question, but if he considered her history... perhaps not so much? "Is there a garden? CAN there be a garden? How about one of those fancy outside showers?" Her eyes glittered a little bit, some of the life stealing back into her for a split second as she realized... probably for the first time... the possibility of a REAL future unfolding before her. She could... quite literally if everything he said was true... have anything she wanted. EVERYTHING she wanted. A home... a car... even a family if she set her heart on it. Everything that always felt impossible suddenly wasn't. Everything that had been so tragic about her life evaporated in a flash of lightning and a puff of smoke. 

The cab of the car seemed to spin a little as the sheer magnitude of that realization descended on her. It was freeing... and also positively TERRIFYING in ways she'd never imagined. Breathing slowly, she pressed her eyes shut tightly; squeezing out the carousel that danced around her. She had so many dreams. But they'd always been just that... sad little fantasies of a life she was denied. Now? Now each and every one of them was at her literal fingertips. And she would have to decide which to live and how and when. Suddenly the idea of something as simple as picking an outfit every morning seemed MONUMENTALLY HUGE in an overwhelming kind way. 

Her breaths came faster, short and shallow, as the minutiae of everyday life crashed down on her one by one... like weights on an unbalanced scale. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to open her eyes meeting a very confused expression from Roger. "Tell me more about the house," she urged him; her own expression begging him not to pry for details just yet as she adjusted to the fevered panic coiling in her chest. "Do you have more than one?"  Again her head cocked to one side with the sudden realization that that was entirely possible for him. No... no, not JUST possible. Plausible. So many things were suddenly entirely plausible. This was going to be a bigger adjustment than she'd thought.

Roger couldn't help but smile. He could tell things were becoming a realization for her, and it was almost comical if it weren't for the fact that it was so overwhelmingly nauseating. He leaned his head over and pressed it to hers for a moment before sitting straight again.

"Fine then, red. I'll tell ya more about tha house...es..." He chuckled... That should at least answer -one- of her burning questions. Of course there were more than one. There -had- to be more than one. Some were shells, some were safe houses, and a few were legitimate homes, but there were definitely more.

"So tha one we're going to, it's tha main house. It's kind of like our headquarters for the family. It's protected, and aside from a small army or an unexpected attack, ain't nothin' gettin' through tha perimeter." He nodded. "That is tha only one with a pool, though. It's got about ten bedrooms. One for my pops, one for me, and one for my half-brother Benedetto. Bastardo may only be half Italian, but he's still just as much a Coniglio as I am." He smiled to her, "The rest of the rooms are double bunked, four beds to a room. Some even with extra cots... Soldatos and guards rest there."

"However, the best rooms have to be the study, and the kitchen. You'll absolutely love both I'm sure. Our staff only cooks on open flame, or in the brick oven. The study is huge with probably over a thousand books in it, if you care to read."

He slowed the vehicle and took a right onto a street as they neared the center of town, some of the scenery looking quite familiar as they passed by the tailor from earlier.

"There's another house out in Santa Monica, but I can't really tell you about that one aside from it exists. Then there are a few apartments downtown..." He pointed out as they drove by a building. "We own the whole bui..." he trailed off as he slowed down noticing smoke coming from one of the windows. However, as he saw an elderly lady fanning frantically and tossing out a flaming pot, he started to laugh.

"I suppose we will be getting a call about that soon enough." He sighed. "Anyway, we own the whole building. That one, and..." he drove a bit further and pointed to another on the other side of the road, "...that one."

"Don't ever let someone tell you that realty isn't a good investment. Construction companies too..." He grinned, "Though I like the clubs myself..."

As they continued to drive he persisted in boring her with more about the houses until he came to a stop before a grand, towering building. "This, howeva, is some of the best money in L.A. Unfortunately, it ain't owned by us..." He chuckled and shrugged before pushing the pedal down, the car slowly gaining speed as they headed to the outskirts of town. 

"Anyway... There are a lot of houses. One day I will take ya to see all of them in the area." He grinned at her before turning back to the road. As they drove, the taller buildings gave way to the mountains and trees, a few smaller, expensive looking homes, and a large pillar of black smoke in the direction they traveled.

Roger tensed a little as he noticed the smoke, and Jessica would feel the car lurch forward as he pushed down further on the pedal. "Fuck..." was all he whispered before he seemed to zone in on the traffic around them, the car weaving between and around other vehicles.

As the two cleared the traffic and had open road, Roger sucked through his teeth...

"FUCK! I think that's our place!" The car barreled forward toward the climbing smoke, the concussive blast of an explosion making it's way to them and rumbling the vehicle more than it already did on it's own as they raced down the country road.

After the initial shock of the reverberating explosion, Jessica melted into a pool of uncontrollable laughter. ...the crazy kind... that pops out inappropriately when everything has gone so inconceivably awry that the only thing you CAN do is laugh. She couldn't help it. After the day she'd had, there was nothing left for her to do BUT laugh. But as the car slid past the white stucco walls, now stained with soot and ash, her laughter died to a strangled, shuttering sigh. Gunfire rattled and pinged somewhere in the distance. The terracotta-coloured perimeter walls were pitted with bullet holes and divets. Large chunks of it strewn and crumbled, revealing the carnage and destruction within through gaping holes. 

The little blue house they'd left behind in the suburbs looked like paradise in comparison; her parents' deaths seeming like child's play in contrast to the decimation that rolled out before them. And in a way, she supposed it was. This was the closest thing to a warzone Jessica had ever seen; in full living colour right before her eyes. A baptism by fire... quite literally... in the midst of the worst parts of this life she'd chosen. 

As Jessica looked at Roger, she saw the pain and indecision tear across his face. Those were his men. His family... some in the literal sense. Everything in him screamed to join the fray, defend their honour or die trying, go out in a hail of bullets and a blaze of glory if that was how it was to be. But as his gaze shifted to the pale green eyes that watched him with keen perception, and the glistening copper curls that seemed to dance in the firelight as it blazed around his home, something in him settled. His hands gripped the wheel more tightly as he set his jaw, turning his eyes away from the house as he continued to drive. As he DECIDED to continue driving, and not stop. He couldn't stop... not with her here. This wasn't her family. It wasn't her fight. She had no business here. And yet he'd driven her right into the heart of their home without a second thought for duty or tradition. 

She saw the weight of his choice play across his face; saw the resoluteness and the regret. And in a split second, made a choice of her own. Taking a deep breath, she stilled herself for the hell that was to come. And as she did, Roger watched a shift in her. Right before his eyes, the fragile, tired, delicate flower he'd rescued melted away. No... not even melted. Just... evaporated. Instantly ceased to exist; replaced by something else... a different beast entirely. Like water, she was fluid and soft one second and then suddenly painfully frozen and jagged, as an all-accepting kind of vigilance settled over her; fully aware and present and yet entirely detached. 

"Okay," she said softly with a slow nod, "Okay." It was such a simple, calm statement. A gentle agreement with herself to go through this experience with him. Not seeking of a solution, nor avoiding action... simply accepting what was and embracing the inevitable. Things were LITERALLY exploding. They could die today... they MIGHT die today. And it would still be a fitting ending to this whirlwind misfit of a fairytale they'd tripped into this morning. 

Tenderly, she layed her hand on his arm. "Turn the car around, Dom," she urged him softly. "It's okay. Really. Do what you need to do,"  she brushed his cheek gently with the back of her hand, "Whatever it is, I'll be with you. Okay?"

It wasn't a decision lightly made. In fact, it almost wasn't made... Instinct told him to stop, and he had to fight that first urge to drive the car through the gate and put Jessica in harms way. It wasn't her fight, after all. At least not yet. He'd never be able to forgive himself if she was injured, or worse, died.

Her decision, on the other hand, -was- hers to make... And as she told him to turn the car around, she saw the pain, discomfort, and restlessness that played across his face all at once. His brows knitted, and his lips pulled tight, almost white with restricted blood flow. His eyes narrowed, and even his temple seemed to bulge slightly as he fought within himself.

Finally, he swallowed everything down and his stomach nearly visibly knotted as Jessica could see the bile that had swollen inside pass down his throat.

"Ya know it's a deathwish, right doll?" He didn't look at her as his face hardened. She was quite literally watching the transition from fun-loving, enjoy life and grab it by the balls Roger into the feared Soldato known around the city as Mr. Rabbit. She nodded, remaining quiet inside her own self.

"Aight then... Fuck it. Ya only live once anyways, right?"

With that, Roger jerked the wheel hard, pumping the gas and brake as the car spun and slid... With the back wheels still squealing loudly, Roger was already tugging his gun out and pulling the hammer back. He wasn't planning on waiting to be able to shoot. He was going to be ready right off the cuff.

"There's a gun in tha dash. Take it, ya gonna need it. Anotha one jus' like mine. Ya already fired it, ya know what it'll do. Same fuckin' deal. Ya see someone ya don' know, shoot'em first, I'll deal wit' it layta, capisce?"

He finally looked at her and she nodded again...

"Good, now brace yaself."

The car lurched wide as the tires began to squeal again, the vehicle making a speeding, wide turn and crashing through the metal gating around the house. One car was pulling away as Roger and Jessica rammed their way into the compound, and Roger fired off two shots into the windshield of the encroaching car before slamming into the side of the vehicle. Both cars spun uncontrollably, but as they stopped, a dizzy Roger stepped out of the vehicle and held his slightly swaying gun toward the others.

"You okay?" he called to Jessica as he turned, and a groan let him know she was at least alive... Good enough for the moment.

Roger steadied himself then approached the other vehicle slowly. As one of the gangsters fell out of the back, they were met with the business end of a .38 delivering it's package through their skull. Taking a look inside, he could see that the driver had taken at least one of the two bullets in the chest, and the driver's side rear passenger had been slightly crushed and knocked unconscious by the impact, blood pooling in his own lap from an open gash in the side of his head where he'd collided with the metal framing of the vehicle that had pinned and possibly removed his leg.

Still breathing though, so Roger unloaded his last bullet into the man's head. He didn't need to wake to that pain, and Roger could at least give him peaceful and swift, merciful death in that moment. Though, with no use for the guns in their hands any longer, Roger stockpiled himself with a colt 1911, another .38 police edition pistol, and of course a famed Thompson Gun.

Making his way quickly back to his own vehicle, he checked in on Jessica again.

"Heya doll, hangin' in there?" He sat the second .38 on the driver's seat next to her. "In case of emergency, ya got a second gun 'ere. Ya gonna be okay? We can still get outta here, doll... But once I go inside, there ain' no way a knowin' when or how I'll come out..." He looked her over, waiting for her answer as more gunfire sounded off in the house. Someone was still fighting.

Seatbelts! He could have at least waited for her to put on her seat belt. As it was, she barely managed to remain perched on the leather seat without losing a foot as first the gate and then the other car crumpled the front of the beautiful Alpha Romeo. She took her time gaining her bearings as Roger fired off rounds into the other vehicle. She was new blood enough without the added bonus jumping out still stunned. No, it was far better to take the extra two minutes... dangerous as they might be... than to run out half cocked and half blind. She knew, at least, that much. 

With a heavy sigh, she glanced around at the destruction. "Oh I'm gonna miss this car," she groaned softly, altering Roger to the fact that she was, at least, still alive. It felt like hours, but she knew it took mere seconds before his head popped back into the vehicle. She actually laughed as he slid the second gun over. Checking the chamber, she shook her head.  "If you think for one fucking second I'm staying in this car like some delicate fucking Orchid while you go galavanting off to get yourself fucking killed, you're god damned daft." It was probably the crassest statement he'd heard from her all day. And the flurry of curses actually made him laugh... right up until she pushed past him and out of the car. 

Pushing his head down, she levelled the .38 over his shoulder and released two rounds into an oncoming man racing toward them with a .380 acp already drawn. A single shot pinged off the doorframe as the man quickly collapsed under fire. It wasn't a head shot... but at least she could hit a target... part of the time. Sliding around and over him, broken glass crunched beneath her feet as she hopped out of the car. Crouching between the smashed and crumpled vehicles, she unceremoniously ripped a tattered piece of blue taffeta from her ruined dress. With one piece, she fashioned a makeshift holster for one of the guns. She could shoot... but not well enough to do it one-handed. She'd need somewhere to stow the spare for now. With the other piece, she tied her loose copper curls back into a messy ponytail with a determined, 'hrmph'. 

Breathing as deeply as she could, she stilled herself for a few breaths before the sound of running footsteps tickled her ears again. Clutching the .38 revolver in both hands, she raised herself over the devastated hood of the car and took aim. But the young man running at her hit the ground before she was able to squeeze off a single round. "Dooon't!"  he called, his voice lilting up in an almost sing-song fashion as he ducked for the ground. "Shit! Fuck!" the shuffling of feet against gravel met their ears as the guy tried to backpedal to cover from the flat of his back, but Jess never wavered."Don't fucking shoot. Ruggiero! Call off your bitch. SHIT!" 

The briefest twitch of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she cast a wicked glance over her shoulder to her new partner. She actually didn't mind that statement at all. "Kick me that mother fucker's pistola and I'll think about it, voi sorca!" 

Roger almost smiled as she spat the colloquial insult with all the venom and fire of a true, blooded Italiana. Where the hell had she picked THAT up? With a snerk, she lowered her... well technically his weapon ever so slightly... resting it vigilantly against the mangled metal of the hood; leaving room for a quick shot if necessary. She was still on guard, even as the small automatic slid under the car to her feet. With a staisfied smile, she handed Roger back the spare .38, replacing it with the much more agreeable automatic. It was smaller and much more manageable. It felt good in her hand as she clutched with an impish grin. "Oh yes," she cooed, "Mama likey. This will work nicely." 

Turning her attention back to the matter at hand, she cast Roger a 'should I shoot him?' kind of glance with a perk of her brow, inclining her head toward the house to indicate that she was ready to charge if he was. "There are worse ways to die," she smiled at him... really smiled, despite everything around them. "If I'm going out, at least it'll be the best day of my life and my own fucking choice. Yeah?" 

As she smiled at him, suddenly Roger understood. Whether she knew it or not, she got it. The whole reason for choosing this kind of life, the reason they all did what they did... she got it. And for a split second, nothing in the world made him happier than the crazy glint shining out from her electrified green eyes. She really got it. 

She was smiling, and somehow, that made him smile... Though smiles in this situation were often signs that people were mentally unstable. Then again, Roger had just killed three men... On purpose. And Jessica had, technically, done the same all day. Dad, mom, now the man that had approached from behind Roger. And now with her newly acquired semi-automatic, hammerless .380 acp? Jessica simply seemed like a prepared comare... no, a Donna in her own right. She got it, and she understood, even if she didn't. The point of it all, was literally, to grab life by the horns and make it what you wanted it to be. Living to the fullest, and most importantly, with NO REGRETS.

He gave her a hug, and kissed her forehead. "No, doll... Don't shoot'em. That's actually one of our men." He chuckled and pressed his forehead to hers. "I think I might be in love." He laughed loudly. "OF ALL FUCKIN' DAYS, RIGHT?!"

As he pulled away, he stared into her eyes. "Stay on me, and make sure to watch your back... And mine..." He grabbed her cheeks and planted a big kiss on her lips. "Just in case we don' walk outta this, Jessica, I wanted ya ta know that feelin' from me." A wink, and then Roger vaulted over her, and the hood of the car, his feet running over the dented metal as he practically slid and landed crouched on the other side. Scooting closer to their soldato, he pat the man on the back.

"What's it like in there? How many came? Is anyone st-" A few gunshots fired off again.

"Well, either someone is still alive, or that's the fire blowing out ammunition. Il mio padre?" The man shrugged...

"Benedetto?" Again he shrugged...

"AH FUCK FRANKIE! WHAT THA FUCK'S GOIN' ON IN THERE?!"

"I DON'T KNOW BOSS! They came outta nowhere! They was in tha house before we even knew anythin' was up! I don't think they got ya pops! I really don't know about Benedetto! I think I mighta heard some of tha other guys say they got'em! I'm sorry boss, I'm sorry... They're gonna be lookin' for ya if they get ya dad! Your next in line!"

"Ya think I don't know that, Frankie?" He pat the man's head. "Fuck." He took a deep breath and stood up. "C'mon doll... If you're goin' with me, I'm goin' n-"

He paused and looked down as Frankie grabbed his pants. "Boss... Run, go ta Philly! There's friends there, and it's far enough away ta make these cazzos not worry about ya!"

Roger kicked his foot out, ripping it from Frankie's grasp. "I ain't runnin' without knowin', Uncle Frankie... Ya know it ain't how I do things..." Frankie sighed and patted Roger's foot.

"I know Ruggiero, your a good kid. Good kid..." Frankie sighed and pushed himself up, "And you!" He pointed at Jessica... "You're crazy! I like ya. His chances are good with ya." He patted Roger on the back. "You should run, boy. But I won't tell ya how to live your life... I'm out though. Goodbye Ruggiero."

Roger sighed and nodded to Frankie. "I undastand."

As Frankie made his way down the sidewalk, Roger watched him... As soon as the man crossed himself, Roger raised his gun and squeezed the trigger... The automatic fire of the Thompson tore threw 'Uncle Frankie' and left him a blood-riddled mess on the driveway.

"Riposare in pace, zio..."

He looked back to Jessica and nodded. "With me, if we make it through this, we'll make our way to Philly..."

Roger bound off to the door and made his way through the opening, gunshots already going off before Jessica could even get to the door behind him. Fucker was fast and light on his feet. However, the curses flowing through the room let her know it was Mr. Rabbit himself who was on the offensive and taking most of the shots. The reports sounded as if he was literally ripping the room in half as his voice echoed out...

By the time she was inside, three men would lay dead in the living area, but she could still hear gunshots going upstairs as Roger looked that direction.

"Padre..." he whispered lightly, almost breathless. He began to take steps to the stairs, but found himself skittering backward and around a wall as a bullet landed near his head. "FUCK!" he exclaimed as he looked back at Jessica who'd entered behind him...

Surprisingly, Jess had her gun levelled at the man's head when Roger turned. She was just too slow on the draw; waiting for his cue. This time, she didn't even blink as that familiar pink mist rained down on the pavement around them. "Shoulda let me shoot him,"  she chuckled under her breath. Shaking her head, she had to do a double take as Roger cleared the front steps in two wide strides. Running in pumps was difficult enough... more so over the broken glass, twisted metal, and concrete rubble that littered the ground making her steps wobbly and unsure. It actually took mental effort to cross the courtyard as quickly as she could. And she was still late on the uptake. 

She was so rushed by the time she made it into the foyer, that she barely noticed the three men bleeding out on the slick Milani tile. Roger's head snapped toward the stairs, and she was moving that direction almost before she even processed the fact that she was running TOWARD the gunfire. Her height was her only saving grace as the bullet - aimed for Roger - slammed into the stucco walls above her head. She heard him shout, and heard his voice stretch away behind her... distance making his shouts more muffled. But between her heels, the tile, and sheer forward momentum, there was no chance... no possibility... of changing direction at this point. Her black pumps screeched against the polished floors as she slid, low to the ground, and slammed in a crouch against the staircase wall. 

She was actually laughing as she looked back to Roger. "THAT. WAS. AWESOME," she cheered, her fist pump turning to a defensive shot as their opponent seized the moment to press his advantage. It didn't last long; Jess' whooping distraction and suppressive fire making him an easy target for Roger's .38. Jess actually flinched a little as his body crumpled, tumbled, and slid down the staircase accompanied by a symphony of gut-churning fleshy sounds. Tiptoeing over the slumped corpse, she picked her way quickly upstairs, only to be welcomed by more bloodshed and gore as she crested into the long hallway above. 

Bodies littered the ground, some still choking on shuttering breaths and gurgling. Gulping down the resulting nausea, Jess crossed herself whispering a silent prayer for all the fallen before weaving between and over the bodies toward the orchestra of curses and gunfire further down the hall. A small pile up seemed to be happening just outside one of the rooms to the right. It was curious... and something about it made Jess slow as she approached. This wasn't right. Something about this wasn't natural. 

She couldn't have been more right. 

Roger was hot on her heels... but not quite hot enough. Two more men rounded the corner from the kitchen, catching him mid-step and pinning him down at the bottom of the stairs. She was on her own. 

Jess squealed as a well-aimed bullet grazed her collar. "That's right! I'll eat your fucking filthy heart out, you traitorous Mick cunt!" The wall behind her shook as two solid slugs slammed into the drywall on the other side. Jess shrank a little, making herself amazingly small as three more shots erupted from the other side of the room. Suddenly the situation came into crashing crystal clarity. THAT must be Don Coniglio... and THOSE must be the bad guys... and SHE was stuck in the middle; huddled to the floor like a terrified child.

Breathing deeply, she pressed her eyes closed for just a moment, forcing herself to think realistically through the pounding panic that was rising in her ears. She was relatively safe from the Don's misdirected rage... for the moment. But she was a sitting duck from the other side of the hall. Squeezing off a few rounds, she forced the men to move away from the door in a flurry of heavy Spanish curses. 

Well, that made sense. 

"Don Coniglio!" Jess called over her shoulder into the room, "Sono con te... sono con il Conigli!"  Her Italian was broken and poorly enunciated... but she prayed it would be clear enough to him and mud to the others as a pair of dark Spanish eyes peered around the far door. Her gun clicked uselessly after two shots. She wasn't sure if she'd hit... ANYTHING really, but at least they weren't firing back... yet. Sliding the revolver out of its makeshift holster, she strapped the empty .380 to her thigh with a heavy, resigned sigh. 

She was just in time to land a single solid shot in the chest of one of the Spaniards. Pressing her head against the wall she gave a soft relieved sigh... one down. 

"Why the FUCK would I believe you," the Don half-screamed and half-groaned from behind her. "Your shit-mouthed Italian proves nothing!" The man sputtered a choking cough as he screamed at her, and the strangling weight of the sound fell heavily on Jessica as she huddled as close as he would allow... he was injured. "Don Coniglio," she called again, "Sono con Ruggiero." She said the words softly. "Please, let me help you. ...So you can say goodbye?" 

The words were soft, but the echoed down the hall as if she had screamed them. All the fire int he house went silent for a split second before the kitchen erupted into a cacophony of gunfire and Italian curses. Almost on cue, the hallway followed suit. To her surprise, the hallway darkened as a hulking Italian man loomed in the doorway. He was hunched and clearly in pain, but even in this shrivelled state, he was a fearsome sight to behold. From his position, leaned heavily against the doorframe, he motioned her forward as he emptied his clip into the other room. 

Jess heard a man yelp and groan as she scampered over the pile of bodies that fortified the study they were now barricaded in. "Down!" the man boomed, forcing her head toward the floor as he drug her across the room. They landed with a heavy thud behind a sturdy, hardwood desk. Good cover, Jess noted... learning as she went. Leaning back against the desk, she rolled her shoulder a bit, hissing as the sting of it began to settle through the adrenaline. 

As the Don leaned back next to her, he closed his eyes. She could see the blood darkening his fine Italian suit. "You're really with Roger?" the man asked, his eyes pleading with her... seeking any amount of solace she could offer in the midst of this hellscape. Jess smiled at him forlornly and nodded. "He was right behind me," she reassured the man, "I'm sure he'll be here any minute." Moving to kneel in front of him, she opened his jacket and sighed heavily. It was bad. She knew it. He knew it. All that was left to do was bide their time and get Roger the HELL OUT. 

"He'll be here any minute," she repeated, less confidently, in a sad attempt to convince herself as she coaxed the man to lie flat. "Pressure," she asked tentatively and the man nodded silently. Jess sighed shakily before pressing her hands over the gaping hole that was torn through his shirt and flesh alike. Blood bubbled up around her fingers, and tears began to steal down Jess' cheeks as the possibility of them NOT making it really began to sink in. 

"Shh... shh... Bellissima. Don't cry for me. My life was good," he smiled up into her green eyes with a calm acceptance.  "This was inevitable." She tried to smile back, but the effort was weak and transparent. "You can't go before he gets here. You can't go," she insisted, pressing a little harder... to no avail. The old man smiled, recognizing her efforts and her intentions in a singular moment. 

"To think," he said softly, "My firstborn finally finds a good one... and I meet her on the day I am to die." The man laughed and coughed violently. Jess chuckling sadly and whimpering all in one pathetic noise. "We just met today," she admitted through her sad smile, the absurdity of the whole day allowing them a brief moment of laughter. 

"And yet here you are," he said, a certain knowingness in his sad eyes. 

"ROGER!" Jess shrieked down the hall. "Shh... it's alright," the man comforted her. "He will understand. In time you will, too. It was a good day to die," he said as Jess frantically tried to staunch the bleeding. Light, brisk footsteps echoed down the hallway. Jess knew those steps... even after such a short time. "One across the hall! I'm here with your dad!" Roger's steps quickened even further as he recognized the frantic pressure in her voice. 

His father's breaths became forced and shallow, a certain rattle beginning to shake his chest beneath her hands as shots rang out across the hall. "I'm here. I'm here," Jess repeated, rocking a little as the realization of inevitability settled over her, "I'm here." With a sad acknowledgement, the man lifted a bloodied hand and rested it heavily atop her head; his thumb creating a smear of blood across her forehead, "And here you will stay," he said softly, "take care of him, Mia..." 

Roger rounded the corner just in time to see his hand slide heavily from her bloodstained head. "Jessica," the woman sobbed quietly, "My name's Jessica." Her previous calm composure began to fray as she shook his shoulders lightly, looking at Roger with a pained and pleading, tearful expression. "I want him to know my name," was all she could say as Roger crossed the study breathlessly, closing the space between them faster than she'd imagined was possible. 

She moved away, making room for him as she braced for an explosion of intense emotion. Maybe grief, maybe regret... but definitely rage. And enough of it for her, at least, to need the extra space. Sliding away, she pressed herself back against the cool wood of the desk. "I tried," she whimpered softly, "I tried, Dom..."

Roger knelt beside his breathless father, and the world around Jessica seemed to stand still for what felt like hours as he remained quiet. He held Gino's hand and sat... The only time he moved was when a man spun around the door to open fire. Before he'd even passed beyond the frame of the door, Roger had raised the Thompson and squeezed off a load of rounds through the wall and continuing along until they ripped into flesh from the already falling soldato.

Roger immediately returned to his father, and finally spoke...

"I know, Jessica. He did too. I know he was happy to meet you... Much like I am." He looked her over and smiled, though she would see everything beneath the mask was practically hollow. A few more shots rang out behind him, and everything finally seemed to click...

His face shifted from it's emotionless state into a twisted, remorse-fueled rage as he stood and cried out, causing the house to go silent. He grabbed the chair that would have been behind Don Coniglio's desk and chucked it through the hallway door and into another Spaniard as he tried to steal a peek.

"YA FUCKIN' SPICKS! YOU'RE DEAD! YOU'RE FUCKIN' DEAD!!!" he yelled out and rounded the corner, letting loose a hail of rounds from the Thompson as he mowed men down, pulsing the gun fire so he didn't loose control of the weapon. He was like a one man wrecking crew, without fear, and without remorse... The Spaniards fell by the multiples, until the men in the room were all dead... The house was still burning around them, but that didn't matter to Roger.

"YOU!" she would hear him yell from the other room...

"WHO THA FUCK ARE YA!? YOU THOSE BASTARDO'S FROM MEXICO?!" A single gun shot fired off...

"FUCK YOU, STRONZO!"

Roger knelt down by a man that was begging in his language.

"Por favor, señor, tengo familia en Mexico!"

Roger perked a brow, and shook his head.

"Y mi familia aquí?"

He stood as the man's eyes widened with the realization that there would be no quarter... Roger's foot raised as the Hispanic male screamed, multiple thuds following as the screaming turned into gurgles and then silence; each thud accentuated with yelling.

"WHAT!" 

*thud*

"MAKES!"

*thud*

"YOU!"

*thud*

"THINK!"

*thud*

"I!" - "CARE!" - "ABOUT!" - "YOUR!" - "FAMILY!"

Every time his foot came crashing down the man's face was squishier and bloodier than the last until he finished, leaving the man unrecognizable after being bludgeoned to death with Roger's own heel. All of his family was gone now... All but Jessica who was still back with his father.

Carrying himself back to the study he made his way to Jessica's side, sweat and blood dripping from him. His loafer was already staining a deep, ruddy red as he sighed. "Are ya gonna be okay? Sure this is tha life ya wanna live? I see my father accepted ya." He smiled as he rubbed his thumb over the blood on her forehead.

"I wish he could have gotten to know you, but I think I know what this is and... It was bound to happen. I'm sorry it happened on the day of our meetin', Doll. Regardless, we gotta go. We'll take my pop's car and get us outta here. I'll carry him an' we can give 'im a proper burial, tha way he told me he wanted..."

Roger stayed beside her until he was sure she was okay, and then he scooped his father up over his shoulder and began to carry the large man... Gino wasn't light, so Ruggiero struggled a slight bit before finding his footing. He motioned to his holster under his arm...

"Take this one, I'll keep Tommy here, an' let's go!"

Luckily, the house was cleared out as the two struggled to get Gino down the stairs and to the garage where, to Jessica's surprise, there was an even -nicer- vehicle... WITH A BACK SEAT!

Once loaded up, the three...two...three? Roger, Jessica, and dear old Padre Morte tore out of the garage and away from the burning building...

"Zio Frankie said Philly, so, that's where we'll go after we take my pops where he always wanted to rest, capisce? And, do we need to get that checked out?" He motioned to Jessica's collar...

Jess nodded slowly to Roger. "I'm here for you. And here I'll stay,"  she reassured him, echoing Don Gino's final words. She took the pistol from his holster with a firm nod and covered him as they manoeuvred down the stairs.  The house was almost unnervingly still as they made their way to the garage. The only noises were the rubble beneath their feet and the small fires now crackling around the broken windows. Molotov cocktails, Jess noted to herself. The oppressive heaviness of the house made it seem like an eternity from the stairs to the garage. And Jessica thought that for the first time in her life she truly understood the meaning of the words 'deathly silent'. 

The car was beautiful. Any other time she would have surely fainted at the mere thought of climbing inside so filthy. As things were, she simply slid in as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And, she thought, at this point it kind of was... or at least it would be eventually. Roger said Philly, and Jess simply nodded. He probably could have said Kathmandu and she wouldn't have batted an eye. Anywhere was better than her little blue house... anywhere but here. And even this was better than the hospital. 

She was deep in thought when he asked about her shoulder. In the fray of things, she'd very nearly forgotten it was there. "Eventually," was all she could manage at the moment, giving a slight shrug followed shortly by a pained gasp. It was superficial and tangential, looking more like a gash or laceration than an outright bullet wound. But it was deep for a graze wound, tearing through the flesh across the top of her shoulder. Tenderly dabbing at the area around the gash, Jessica couldn't help but chuckle at the ever-increasing absurdity of her day. "He shot me," she said with an air of humorous realization. Her left hand lightly cupping her grazed shoulder, she pressed the other to the russet stain smeared across her forehead. Her tone bordered on disbelief as she erupted into a belly laugh, "He fucking shot me!" 

Clearing her throat, she pursed her lips together, attempting to give Roger as much respect as she could. "Sorry," she murmured, giving him a timid side-eye. "No disrespect. I just... this," she gestured to the wound just below her neck, "and then THIS," she motioned to her forehead. "It's just... if it weren't so absolutely tragic, it would be hilarious. Which.... basically sums up my entire life in a nutshell. So... My turn. Are you sure you're gonna be okay? Are you sure THIS," she gestured to all of herself, "is the life YOU want to live?" She was getting good at quoting their own statements back to Coniglio men.

"Because I'm happy to go with you to Philly. Hell, you could choose the end of the Earth at this point and I'd still stay by your side." She smiled, knowing it sounded insane... but wasn't she a little? "Besides, I have to take care of you. I can't very well ignore a dying man's last wish." She said it with a smile and a light air, but the heavy glistening in her eyes told him she was QUITE serious. "So, you take care of me. And I'll take care of you. And together we'll take care of everything else. Sound like a plan?" 

She met his gaze for the first time in a long time, and there was a certain saving grace in the way that she looked at him. She was a wreck. Ash and soot smeared across her knees, down her arms, trailing like dried riverbeds down her cheeks from her tears. Blood stained her hair and skin as well as her ruined blue dress; the taffeta torn and singed beyond repair. She was undoubtedly in pain, physically and emotionally... probably terrified... deeply shellshocked. And yet, when she looked at him, it was like the whole universe held its breath... as if the sun and the moon lived in his eyes and the stars were too shy to shine. It was the way his mother used to look at his father. And for a brief moment, that realization stole his breath away.

It was terrifying. 

What had he ever done to deserve a look like that? From a woman he'd only just met and only ever drug into violence and danger. How could he ever possibly become a man who was worthy of that kind of affection and admiration? Him, the brutal, bachelor, playboy soldato with a reputation for miles. She was his responsibility now. And the full weight of that realization hit him now like two tons of concrete shoes straight the heart. How would he ever give her the life she deserved? How would he keep her safe? How would he ever be able to NOT let her down? This innocent, trusting, devoted, fragile little thing who played so strong for him... who literally walked into fire for him... who held his dying father and eased him into eternal peace with batting an eyelash while the world literally burned down around her. WHAT had he gotten her into? What had he gotten himself into? What was he going to do? What were THEY going to do?

Jessica saw the fear and the doubt and the trepidation play across his features. And she took his hand with a gentle, compassionate, knowing nod. "Hey," she crooned softly, "You don't have to figure it all out right now. Just the first, next step." For a minute she cringed. Had she really devolved to quoting therapy? Shit. Things had to be bad. "So, if you wanna keep me around for the next two minutes... then keep driving. And the next two minutes after that, keep driving. And just keep driving until we get where we're going or you want me to get out. Yeah?" 

Her smile was tender as she patted him gently, "No commitment. Just this moment. I want you with me for this moment. Yeah?" She tilted her head to one side, swivelling a bit so that she could slooooowly lift her arm with a soft grunt to caress his cheek. "I'll never ask you for anything more than that." The words were so gentle, he thought they might break as they washed over him. But they hit him so hard that it stole his breath for the second time in as many minutes. 

"Right now," she said, petting him gently in a purposeful attempt to keep him here, "Let's just focus on..." she trailed off, suddenly realizing that she didn't know his father's name. She whimpered and sighed a little, shrinking under the weight of it. "Wh... what was his name, Dom?" 

She looked at him with that look again... a little sad and forlorn this time. "I never got to ask his name." Her head hung a little, resting against his shoulder as she grew silent and sombre. "I'm so sorry." 

There he was in this moment, with this girl he barely knew, thrusting her life into chaos unimaginable by most in the mundane world, and -SHE- was comforting -HIM-. Her hand met with his face, her touch soft as silk even though he instinctively jerked away at the first brush. She paused, but slowly approached again and he met her in that place. He didn't cry, he didn't much bat an eye, but his breaths were slow and measured. The world he'd known, the only life he'd ever lived, had come crashing down around him and now all he had was his father's car, his father's name, and Jessica McKenzie, who's union was blessed by Roger's father himself in his dying moments... Even if Roger -wanted- to get rid of her, he couldn't. She was, for all intents and purposes, his family now; a part of the Coniglio family... Whether she knew it or not...

"I'll be fine... I just... It's gonna take some time, Doll, but I'll be fine. Ya ain' goin' nowheres unless -you- want to. There's still time for you ta leave, but I don't think ya want out, so here we's stay."

He nodded. He hopped she understood it since he felt he wasn't making heads or tails of things in the moment as they Rolls Royce Phantom Jonkheer practically flew down the highway. Feeling as if he was going to choke, Roger rolled the window down, his arm working up and down rapidly with the crank until he could feel the wind on his face and the air filling his lungs. He'd killed plenty, and tortured enough that it wasn't any of that weighing on him... Aside from Uncle Frankie... He had been family, but he turned his back at the last minute. Roger knew that Frankie understood he accepted death, and he knew it's why Frankie said his peace with God as he walked away. They both had known, the Frankie was going to die in that moment, before his name was stained. Roger owed him that much, and as far as he was concerned, his Uncle had died defending the family...

No, what weighed on Roger, was the responsibility. It didn't matter what Jessica said... He was responsible for bringing her into that mess. The only thing he could tell himself, was that at least the fiery phoenix that was Jessica McKenzie, had walked through the fire and flames to help him carry on his father's legacy. She had made her own choices, and he could revel in the fact that he had at least presented her with the option to -make- her own choices. He smiled slightly as the warm air blasted him, and his lungs inflated again before he sighed... Her last question knocked the breath right out of him again and he looked at her.

She would be able to see the air that slowly worked its way down his throat as he gulped.

"Hi-... His name?" He almost turned white, but he smiled awkwardly through it...

"Gi-Gino... Gino Ruggie...." He swallowed again... "Gino Ruggiero Coniglio... Son of Giovanni Domenici Coniglio..."

Roger nodded, his eyes -finally- watering slightly as he stole a glance into the backseat before looking at her and nodding a second time. He was the last Coniglio, unless Benedetto had made it out somewhere. He'd not seen his half-brother in there. Maybe there was still a chance that Benedetto was in hiding, or had been sent away... Maybe he would reach out? Maybe he'd not even returned home yet for the day? Or, maybe he was dead... Roger choked a bit at that thought before steeling himself away and shaking his head.

"He wanted to be buried by the Holywoodland sign. Said he could watch over L.A. from that perch forever..."

Roger chuckled a bit, the day was absolutely absurd and ridiculous. It couldn't get any worse, could it? As he thought that, as if immediately trying to remind him to not jinx them, a police cruiser cruised by. Roger coughed, then laughed.

"I don't think I've eva been so frightened ta see a coppa..." He snickered, trying to make light of the moment. "My ass pulled tight!"

He looked at Jessica, a goofy smile on his face, some of the color having worked its way back into his flesh. "An' I can't believe he fuckin' -shot- you!"

Putting his eyes back on the road, Roger tugged out his pack of cigarettes and handed it to Jessica. "Zippos in my left pocket there, jus' reach in an' grab it. Get yaself one, and me one too... Unless ya don't want one. But fuckin' A, I do."

He lifted his butt so her hand could dip into his pocket easier...

"OH! Hey now! Watch those fingas doll!" He chuckled and winked before sitting back down and parting his lips as he awaited his smoke...

Jess did watch her fingers. Quite purposely, in fact, using the opportunity for ANY comic relief they could find. Shooting him a playfully little goofy grin she lifted the zippo from his pocket with ease. Taking a moment to enjoy the first deep inhale, she lifted the lit cigarette to his lips. "There you are, darling," she cooed, kissing his cheek lightly before lighting her own. She watched him a while in silence. His face brighter, but his eyes still glistened as they crested the hill just behind the famous landmark sign. 

As the car rolled to a stop, Jess climbed out. She was at his side before he even had time to fully exit the vehicle; like some odd mix of sad lost puppy and protective mother hen. Slipping her hand into his, they walked the hill in silence for a few moments before picking a spot that seemed just perfect. Roger refused to let her help dig. Something about family honour that she didn't fully understand. BUT, she did understand the need to be alone and to do this one last thing for his father on his own. So, while Roger busied himself carving a grave out of the hillside, Jessica returned to the car. 

She wasn't the kind to simply sit and do nothing. It wasn't in her nature. And she truly wanted to make this as nice as possible for Roger. So while he dug through the red dirt behind them, she dug through the trunk of the car. There was no water, unfortunately. But she was able to find a flask of whiskey and a small shop towel. It would have to do. Climbing into the back seat with Gino, she began carefully wiping away the blood and grime that caked his hands and face. She huddled herself to the floorboard, stretching him out along the back seat so that rigour didn't make the burial more difficult. Carefully, she ran her fingers through his thick, white-grey hair... smiling as she wondered if Roger's would also turn that colour one day and hoping they lived long enough to find out. Smoothing down his locks, she tenderly closed his eyes and moved on to straightening his clothes. She tucked his shirt back in, buttoned his jacket, and straightened his cufflinks. With a tilt of her head, she eyeballed the Congilio signet on his left hand before slipping it quietly off his finger. Roger, she thought, would appreciate that later. 

When Roger made it back to the car, his father looked downright peaceful... as if he was sleeping in the back seat with a redheaded angel keeping vigil at his side. Jess smiled sweetly at him as she slid herself out of the back seat. "Whiskey was the best I could find. I hope you don't mind. I thought this way would be better." 

Roger looked like he was about to choke. But he simply nodded and moved back to business. The whole affair was done within a few minutes after that. And within no time, Jess and Roger stood overlooking the valley below them in sombre silence. Clearing his throat, Roger reached for her hand, tugging her back toward the car as the sun set over the hill. Lingering for just a moment longer, Jess took one last long look at the only place she'd ever called home. Holding his fingers tightly entwined in hers, she looked at Roger. "Dom... promise me... if I live long enough to have sons... that you'll bring them here one day and tell them about us... and this crazy day. Promise me... that you'll tell them stories about your family." She turned to face him, taking both of his hands, "Even if their not yours, okay. I want you to tell them about Gino and Benedetto and Giovanni. I want their names and their stories to live on. I want them to know the men that gave their mother a chance to TRULY live. Okay. Promise me." 

Squeezing both his hands, she looked at him in that heartwrenching way again as the sun dipped low behind the hill, setting fully on their first day together. 

As the sun set over the hillside, Roger stood there with Jessica. Her words had meant more to him than she even knew...

"Te lo prometto dirò loro, tesoro mio."

Roger leaned in and kissed her on her lips, his parting hers as the sun vanished over the horizon, the dark side of the hill where they now stood illuminated by the Hollywoodland sign that kicked on in a series of three... First HOLLY, then WOOD, and lastly LAND. If the day hadn't been so fucked up, it might even be slightly romantic... Hell, maybe it was a little romantic.

"But, I think after this, if there are kids I want them to be mine..." He offered Jessica a smile... "I'm fairly certain that I have fallen, madly, in love with ya, Jessica McKenzie... And I can't figure out for the -life- of me how it happened in such short time when I've -never- felt this strongly about anyone. I feel like... Hey, ya heard of Bonnie an' Clyde, right? Those crazy bastards storming the country? Well, fuck, doll... You're tha Bonnie ta my Clyde."

He grinned again, and kissed her... He legitimately could not explain why he felt how he did, but he knew that without a doubt, she was the one for him... There would be no other crazy whirlwind of a woman for Ruggiero Domenici Coniglio... He could only hope she felt the same way...

Jess giggled as she pulled away from him, "Well, I guess if we're going crazy we might as well go all the way." With a shy smile, she reached into her bra, chewing her bottom lip as she watched his eyes watch her hands.  "Don't be mad. I thought you might want it eventually. I just didn't think it would be this soon." 

As the stars began to peek down from the heavens, twinkling like her shining Irish eyes, she tenderly took his left hand; keeping her eyes on his face as she gently slid his father's signet onto his finger. She was worried it might be too big. But, by some insane twist of fate... which they seemed to have A LOT of together... what was little more than a pinky ring for Gino fit Roger's ring finger perfectly. 

"I know this is normally the other way around. But, honestly, ain't nothing about us been normal from day o... well, today." She giggled sheepishly as she watched the shift in his expression. "If you feel so strongly about it... what's say we just go bonkers right off the bat and make this bindi on my forehead official?"

She fidgetted a little as she waited for him to make a decision. "Shit, if nothing else, it'll make one HELL of a story. Even better than Bonnie and Clyde." 

"Fuck it! Everything else has been crazy as fuck....AND WORKED. Why wouldn't this?" He chuckled, looking at his father's ring, inhaling slowly for a minute before finally smiling and kissing Jessica...

"Yes. Sì, il mio amore. Let's make it official... Of course, you'll have to wait for me to stea- er- purchase a ring." He smirked, winking, knowing she'd know he was joking... He would purchase it, because anything worth giving to someone, was worth paying for. Either with green, or with red...

Who knew what would unfold for the two... If this was their first day together, what the fuck would the REST of their lives be like?