Waiting. It was the worst. That empty feeling. But that longing at the same time. Anticipation was something that could both kill a mood, or make it. Yet it filled the space nicely, if you simply sat back and let it in.

Joe had just checked his pocket watch. Five minuets past the hour. He tucked it away again. He didn't usually carry one. Never really had a need for it. But tonight, he wanted things to be on point. Like a well oiled, successful truck heist, with a fat payload to turn a bank account flush. He hadn't made this much effort since, forever. Not on someone other than himself. His closet was full of suits. Some hardly worn. And he'd spend more time in front of the mirror than most kicking about in Hollywood. Tonight had to be perfect. His pride depended on it.

Del Rossi caught a glimpse of his employer in the rear view. He was doing what he usually did. Drive. And yet he couldn't help but have concern for the guy who practically made sure he still roamed the streets. Joe wasn't usually like this. And he'd known him ever since he stepped foot in Philly and began his ascent. Del Rossi just hoped his boss' emotions weren't getting the better of him. He'd done well to get to where he was.

Right hand to Billy Bowden. It wasn't something you just fell into. You had to earn a position like that. Blood. Sweat. Tears. You could even say he'd lived an entire lifetime already. And it all happened methodically. Logically. With a definite lack of what leaped out of the chest when someone walked into a room, that you just couldn't ignore. Hot Shots was that place. Ilaria Santoro, that distraction.

So when Del Rossi pulled up to the clinic and parked the vehicle, he raised his hand and adjusted the mirror to get a better view of his passenger. It showed Joe Adonis tapping his fingers on his thighs, dressed to the nines. A thin fitting tuxedo tailcoat. Black bowtie. Red handkerchief folded expertly, looking like something out of an origami book. Cary Grant was a master at what he did. His style was classic. Simple. Yet elegant enough to have you feel like a star. Like a God even. Like Adonis.

As the time ticked over, Joe checked his pocket watch again. The gold chain was attached to the second lower button on his jacket. He flicked it open, took a quick look, then flicked it closed and slid it into his outer left jacket pocket. It was an expensive piece. Probably the most he'd paid for anything that was currently a part of his attire, or otherwise. Even more than the suit that was made to order on short notice. The white gold shimmered in whatever light it was under. And the style on the clock face was that of transparency. You could see all the moving parts as the seconds ticked on by. As if you were the architect to time itself.

'Where is she', Joe wondered. He was hoping she'd gotten the gift. The new dress. He had Ray drop it off with a simple note that Ray had to scribble out himself, as Joe wasn't exactly book educated within the sanctuary of four walls. The wide open, ruthless streets taught him everything he knew. Knife fight by fist fight. It just neglected to mention reading and writing were skills necessary to arranging impromptu get togethers. Ray's hand writing was smooth. It flowed neatly across the page like the Delaware...

Ilaria,

Dinner. Tonight. Pick you up at six.

Joe

On top of hoping Ray didn't fuck up the correspondence, Joe was also anxious to see if she could actually make it. He didn't check with her prior. It wasn't his way. He didn't have the time to. His new role demanded the most of him. Practically had drips in him, letting his life and soul right into Purgatory Gym. Worse case, he'd hit up Queen of Hearts for some gambling and drinking.

Joe took a deep, controlled breath in. 'Maybe she's still busy with work'. He was eyeing the Pier's entrance. Some locals were coming and going. Some more well-known in the life, were simply coming. It was that time of night. When certain groups of like mindedness congregated. Race Street Operation was one of those groups. Race Street Pier, one of those congenial hot spots.

With fingers still tapping away, Joe waited in anticipation. Until, he caught a glimpse of her as she brushed through a small group. They were gathered near the mouth of Race Street Pier. His nervous tick stopped. There she was, making his heart race a little quicker, and catching the eye and attention of not just Adonis.

Ilaria didn't notice the eyes that followed her on the sidewalk as she locked the clinic door behind her and turned to face the street. It was two minutes after six, and she was irritated at herself for being late. Irritated, yes, but excited. The package had arrived at the clinic late that morning, and Ilaria opened it in her office expecting it to be the new uniforms she ordered. The young receptionist, Anita, had gasped with astonishment when Ilaria lifted the gown from the box. The smile that spread across her face was telling, and Anita giggled. 

Now, the gown draped on Ilaria's frame as if it were made for her. The black gown was sleeveless, with a halter top neckline. It fit perfectly about the waist, accentuating her feminine curves. The hem floated beautifully just above the ground as she walked toward the car. 

In another rare splurge, Ilaria had visited a beauty shop and gotten her hair styled. Her black hair was pulled back in an elegant twist and held in place with a silver comb. In her hand was a black evening bag with black beading and a silver snap, and her wrist was adorned with the ruby bracelet that she now treasured so. 

Her eyes met Joe's, and she grinned, then gave him a little spin on her toes so he could see the dress fully.

"You have wonderful taste, my prince of surprises."

"It's all Grant. He really knows his stuff." Joe replied as he stepped out of the waiting taxi. He was being partly honest. He saw the dress on the mannequin and just knew she'd be to die for in it. Grant was a class all of his own, though. That part was true.

Joe relaxed back against the open doorway, placing his hands onto the warmish metal either side. It had been a sunny day to this point, the vehicle still keeping some of its rays. He tapped his fingers on the roof. No longer nervous ticks, though. Now, the rhythm matching the passing thoughts. Some about the dinner to come. Some, about the dinner just gone. Some, even a little racy for the man of Race Street himself.

"You look... like trouble on legs." He said with an assured nod.

"Me? Have you seen yourself in that suit?"

She reached up and ran her fingers along the breast of the tuxedo jacket with a sultry grin on her red lips. She leaned over and kissed his cheek and whispered.

"Thank you for the dress. I adore it. I thought it would make me feel pretty, but it turns out that is what you do."

She slipped her hand in his and he helped her into the car. When he was seated beside her, she gave him a bright eyed smile. 

"You've had me terribly curious all day. Where are we going?" 

"I thought it would make me feel pretty, but it turns out that is what you do."

"Oh, but you do that all yourself!" Joe said as they slid into the vehicle.

Without any instruction, Del Rossi re-positioned the rear view mirror and got the car moving. It wasn't the most glamorous of rides. Nor the most expensive. It was in the garage getting repaired and cleaned every other week. Some bullet holes here. Some blood stains there. And that was just what happened to the exterior. But, that was why it was what it was. When you roamed the beast coast with a reputation like his, untoward happenings just followed.

"Where are we going? Somewhere you'll like, I'm sure."

They were headed to an eatery, that much was certain. Dante's, if he were to let the surprise slip. It was neighboring the Gym where he spent a decent portion of his time when not at Hot Shots or gallivanting up and down the east coast. Nothing better than a session in the ring to wipe away the stress of the day, as you later wiped away the blood of the other guy's unlucky splatters.

As they pulled up to a red light, Joe couldn't help but notice Del Rossi was looking in the mirror more than normal. And although he could've figured it was because of the company in the car, Adonis knew something else was up. He was too professional to be eyeing Joe's date for the night. The car slowly pulled away again as the light turned green and continued down the road at a steady pace.

"How was your day?"

Joe wanted to keep the conversation flowing as he tried to figure out what was up with his driver. He didn't want to make it obvious to Ilaria, so he turned to face her a little. He picked up her hand and rubbed his fingers over the bracelet. It was a nice set of gemstones. The best in that color and that he could buy. And given the line of business he was in, you really couldn't find better quality stones. He'd taken a liking to them himself. Maybe it was the color. He glanced up at her lips, noticing it matched the lipstick she wore.

Ilaria's smile was immovable as he touched her hand. 

"It was really wonderful, actually. Today was my second indigent clinic day, and the turn out was very encouraging. You know, Italians are very skeptical of medical professionals, especially the older, superstitious ones. But after last week, I guess word spread that I am a true Italian and can be trusted, so many more came for help. Mrs. DiSanto brought her husband in for a hangnail, and Mrs. Perelli came back for a check up on her baby. She's due any day."

Ilaria briefly caught Joe's eyes wandering toward the driver a few times, as if they were silently communicating. She thought little of it, and kept telling him about the day at the clinic.

​​​​​

"Oh?"

Joe's attention wavered a little, yet he kept his eyes on Ilaria. He could see Del Rossi out the corner of his vision. With his free hand he took the necklace she was wearing between his fingers.

"So what's the story here."

He'd actually been interested in the necklace the first time he noticed it around her neck. And knew there had to be a story there. There always was, even if they didn't cut too deep. Everyone had a little something to share. His father taught him that when they worked the markets. It was a solid piece of advice and he saw him use it as he handed out fruit and vegetables to his regular customers. They'd came back time and time again because they felt like they were experiencing something more than a simple transaction. They were being heard.

Joe let the pendant lay loose in his hand as he let go of her wrist and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. And just as he focused more on Ilaria, the vehicle they were in began picking up speed.

She opened her mouth to reply, but then the car lurched as it picked up speed. Ilaria braced herself with one hand on the seat and glanced at the driver, then back at Joe. The driver looked awfully focused for just driving to a restaurant.

"Is everything alright?" 

The turn to the restaurant had been passed. Two blocks back. And now there was a car pushing the speed limit much like they were, and riding closer and closer to the rear bumper of the Yellow cab. By now, it was obvious. Del Rossi saw it immediately. When you were sometimes the one doing the tailing, you knew the signs.

Always there. Always, fuckin' there. Like a bad rash. It was painfully obvious the more attention you paid to it. And the dark green Ford Model A was that such itch. The front bumper of the once stalking at a distance car tapped the back of theirs, which caused it to jolt forward in response, like a cue ball lightly cutting an object ball in billiards.

"See." Joe said, now with his hands dug into the back of the front seat and the door panel.

"I told you."

As the cars volleyed for distance and up close and personal contact, Joe knew what had to be done. So too did their driver. And just as their eyes met in the rear view mirror, he gave the sign. A simple nod. As the car skidded to a halt, it also turned. And as it did, Joe pulled out a handgun from a slot under the seat and slapped it into Ilaria's hands.

"Trouble on legs." He said with a genuinely comfortable grin.

With those last words, Joe spun in the seat and pulled out a colt revolver from inside his jacket. He popped open the door and aimed the weapon toward the other car, which had parked a little ways back. He began popping off shots. No time to waste. No time to ask questions. This was the life they were in. You didn't cop a tail because someone wanted to ask you for directions. Joe knew it. Now, there was now only one way out of here. Down a dead end street.

The gun landing in her hand kicked her instincts into high gear. Shortly after Joe fired off his first shots, two bullets shattered the back window of the cab. Ilaria ducked fast. 

"Well shit..."

She crawled over and opened her door, sliding her feet out and remaining ducked behind the door for cover. She aimed the weapon around the door and squeezed off a shot at the other vehicle. The gun had a strong recoil, but nothing she couldn't handle. She took two more shots at the windshield of the other car. Then, an idea struck her. 

She repositioned herself and fired again, this time planting a bullet directly into to the radiator of the Ford. It gave a loud bang and then a hiss as steam poured out. Ilaria kept her eye on the driver. The distraction worked, and both Ilaria and Joe fired as the driver moved out of the way to try and see through the cloud. 

Bullets plugged the driver's chest, the rapid lodging causing his body to jerk before he dropped to his knees. He coughed up some blood and with eyes wide open hit the road face first.

By this time there were many cars parked at varying degrees of distance from where both cars were. People were scattering, trying to get out of the street before things turned even uglier. Stray bullets weren't unheard of. A common hazard of living in such times. Joe looked about at the procession of people and cars trying to get away from the gun fight, as he also tried keeping a bit of cover.

It looked like what movies portrayed their gangster lifestyle to be. One big action flick. With bits of drama sprinkled in to keep some kind of story line, stitching the scenes together. Joe watched as a women dragged her child away. And as a couple held one another, scurrying for safety behind a building.

In that moment, he came to a kind of realization. Was this all his life would amount to? Just one storied headline after another? One well worn mugshot after another, in a newspaper with a blurb running his name into the ground? Or secretly paid to help prop it up? Was this it? Was this all this life was about? Trying to stay alive, and at the same time making sure you had enough skill to stay dangerous?

A bullet smashed through the back window of the taxi. Then one into the door he was covering near. And then another into the window of that door. Glass went flying. Joe ducked his head, trying to cover it from the debris. After a moment, he could hear footsteps nearing. He turned towards Ilaria, trying to gauge how she was handling things. He'd let himself get distracted and upon returning to the moment his thoughts were solely on her.

Shattered glass rained around them, accompanied by the thunder of gunshots, one after another after another. Ilaria tried to keep her focus on aiming and firing at whomever was orchestrating this symphony of madness.

Sitting up, she  looked again through the open doors of the cab toward Joe. This time, he was looking straight at her. There was something that struck her- like a bolt of lightning- seeing him through the haze of gun smoke, and the way his blue eyes focused on her. That lightning bolt...the feeling was undeniable. She was utterly taken by him, and not even a hail of bullets could stop that feeling. 

Heavy footsteps could be heard nearing what was left of the cab. Her heart pounder, and she gripped the gun in her hand and made the sign of the cross, whispering a prayer not for herself.

​​​​​​

Joe looked at Ilaria for what felt like an eternity. Everything seemed to slow right down. His sense of sound deafened. He could see the fear in her eyes. The blur of light around her, like a soft hue, as her hands went from north to south, then east to west. He was stuck. He knew the time was near. Everyone had to go at some point. It was written. Like the night in the woods with Jack, when he spoke true. Blood in. Blood out. His out now felt certain.

He noticed her lips begin to move, and made out she was calling out his name. If it were any other time, he'd likely just walk out into the fray and take the brunt of the Chicago typewriter. He hoped he would. Dreamed about it. It was the soldier's way. Live by the gun. Die by the gun. But not right now. Not as he looked at her. It wasn't the peace he imagined before the fall. Not when he'd finally reach Olympus and another God would strike him down. It was terror.

More shots were fired. The sound of a tommy gun rang out, filling the area once more with gun toting mayhem. It was somewhat quiet for a moment. In Joe's world, it had been that way for an eon. And then finally, it was over.

Joe turned to see Del Rossi peddling forward, squeezing the trigger and spraying bullets. He emptied a full clip into the wannabe gangster, who's body was still copping the bitter end of it, now laying down on the road a few paces from Adonis' side of the taxi as his driver kept his finger firmly on the trigger, even after the magazine had spun itself clear.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. It is amazing how quickly one can become accustomed to the sound of gunfire. When a few moments passed and she was fairly certain the shooting was over, Ilaria scurried through the cab to where Joe was crouched. Chunks of glass stung her bare hands, but she didn't care. She just wanted him.

"Are you alright? Did you get hit?" 

She didn't wait for an answer, but wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Glancing up, she saw their driver, Del Rossi, and gave him a grateful nod before pulling away from Joe slightly. Sitting back on her knees, she didn't see any blood on his clothes, or outward signs of injury.

Joe looked up at his dinner date with a wry grin, and just as Del Rossi nodded back, glancing at the two momentarily before heading over towards the Ford to check on the status of the other driver they'd shot earlier. Adonis already knew his own fate and without having to check. He felt good. Alive. And so damn good he pulled Ilaria back in close and embraced her with a passionate kiss.

After their strong feelings of gratitude mellowed, Adonis broke away. He rested his forehead against hers and gently cupped the back and sides of her neck with his hands.

"I think we might be a little late to that reservation."

​​​​​​In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard screaming toward them. Ilaria didn't flinch, or take her hazel green eyes away from his deep blues. 

"Oh, anything can be salvaged with the right kind of tip. But for now, our brand of trouble is going to get worse if we don't disappear pretty quickly, no?" 

She slipped out of her heels and picked them up so she could move more quickly. Joe grabbed her hand, and with a sly smile, they took off for the cover of the nearest alley way. As they ran, Ilaria couldn't help but laugh like a little girl running away with a stolen cookie. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the rush from his kiss--maybe both; but despite the danger and the sometimes grim reality of this new life, it was exhilarating.