#vince antonacci x you

[the-hinky-panda]

Bella Mafia: Part I

Title: Bella Mafia

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Vince Antonacci x Reader

Summary: You loved your father with all your heart, right up to the night he passed away while taking a bath. You don't believe your older brother's account of events and you certainly don't want to see him run your family into the ground. But a woman has never sat the head of a mafia table before but in order to save the Invernezzi family name, you're going to have change that.

There’s a reason why women never sat in a place of authority in a mafia family. 

The men didn’t allow it. 

You learned that history lesson very early on when you were eight years old, sitting in your father’s expensive leather chair behind a dark wood desk in his home office. It was a place you and your older brother were forbidden to enter at any time. He listened. You didn’t. 

“Lizzy Invernizzi,” he sang in his rough voice, a touch of admonition in the tone. 

You knew from the use of your nickname that you were far from being in trouble. “Look, Daddy!” You sat up straight at the desk and shuffled papers. “I’m practicing being you.” 

“Are you now? And what are you practicing doing exactly?” 

You gave him the most serious look. “Business.” 

“Business, huh.” He chuckled at that. “And how would you do business?” 

You pointed at an imaginary person seated across from you. “You’re fired, motherfucker!” 

“Shhh!” Pete reached over and grabbed your smaller hand, giving it a shake. “Don’t say that! And for the love of God, don’t let your mother hear you say that.” 

“You’re fired?” 

“No, motherfucker.” 

You gave him a shit-eating grin at getting him to say the word and he laughed, sitting down in one of the chairs across from you. “Sounds like you’ve been listening at the door when you’re not supposed to, young lady.” 

You picked up his fountain pen and turned it over in your hands. “Sometimes. But I want to do what you do and you won’t teach me. Chickie says it’s because I’m not good enough. But if you teach me, I’ll know and I’ll be good enough. I promise, Dad.” 

He gave you such a sad look, not quite disappointment but close enough for your young mind to interpret it that way. “I’m sure you would be good enough, sweetheart.” 

“So why won’t you teach me?” 

He sighed. “Because you’re not a boy, Lizzy. Queens can’t be Kings.” 

You put the pen back in its place on his desk. “Bullshit.” 

“Elizabeth,” he pointed at you. “You stop listening at the door.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He stood up, leaned over the desk and kissed the crown of your head. “But you are right. It is bullshit.” 

You stand in front of his desk as an adult woman now. The paramedics are there, putting the most important person in your life into a body bag to take him from his home. A heart attack in the tub.  You call bullshit but can’t do anything now about it. Chickie was the one who called the paramedics to report the death. Chickie was here to greet them, to sign a waiver that would absolve the coroner from doing an autopsy.

Fucking Chickie. 

You should have been the one taking care of him, not Chickie. This wouldn’t have happened on your watch. You would have made sure he had the proper medication, that he was eating right, going to follow up doctor appointments. Instead, you were too busy running around trying to keep the businesses afloat while Chickie played nursemaid to your ailing father. You had to make a choice of nursing your father or his legacy. You hoped you had made the right choice. And now  Chickie is in charge of the Invernizzi family.

“May God have mercy on our souls,” you mutter and cross yourself. 

The fountain pen is still sitting on the desk, the cap off on the other side of the blotter. You go over and snap the cap on it. Chickie always forgets to put the cap back on it. Their father has used this pen since he became the head of the family and Chickie’s going to ruin it before the body has even left the house. You pocket the pen in your suit jacket. The family can not fall to ruin. Chickie either will step up or get moved out of the way. 

“I’m going to show you, Daddy,” you say to the empty leather chair behind the desk. “I’ll show you that a queen can be more powerful than a king.”  

[the-hinky-panda]

Bella Mafia: Part II

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You wanted to be a concert pianist. You wanted to go on tour and play in garden conservatories and music halls. You wanted to spend your time sleeping in, practicing with a cup of coffee and dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Then you change to an evening gown and sip martinis while playing to a sold out crowd. You didn’t care about the money or the fame. 

You just wanted to prove to the world that you, your family, could produce something positive. That you could leave a legacy that meant something good. You wanted to leave a meaningful impact, one that brought beauty instead of bruises. 

But the Invernizzis, they were synonymous with pain, force, and iron fists. Chickie likes to remind you that he had to give up a dream too. That Pete cleared out his college fund and invested it on a fucking race horse. Two lengths out of the gate at Belmont Park and it snapped his leg. The horse was gone and so was his dream of a college degree.

 You bite your tongue and keep the memory of watching the family piano being sold off when you were fourteen. You had been in the middle of practicing for the Christmas concert at St. Mary’s when the movers came to collect it. You thought, prayed, that you would get a better one for Christmas. You didn’t. You spent the entire afternoon locked in your room, sobbing when your father had come upstairs to console you. 

“Music’s a waste of time. Unless you got superhuman talent, you’ll never make it. Find something else to do. Something where you can make some real money.” 

You had hated him in that moment and a part of you still does. Even sitting in the church, shoulder to shoulder with your brother, you grapple with loving and hating someone in the same moment. You did eventually let go of the music and went into real estate. You bought fixer uppers and used the family’s construction workers to flip the houses. You had a good eye, picked houses that had strong bones in decent locations. You caught the attention of Jerry Izzo, one of your father’s close associates, and the two of you bought a couple apartment buildings and revamped them. 

“She’s got a good head for business, Pete. Good with the tenants too.” 

And your father would look at you, a smile with a touch of sadness to it. “Yeah, she does. Shame she wasn’t born a boy.” 

“Yeah,” Jerry said, “But you got Chickie.” 

“Yeah. I got Chickie.” 

There’s a slight shuffle of movement behind you and you see Vince sliding into the pew a few rows back. He’s by himself, his wife and two kids seated on the other side of the church. You turn to Chickie and nudge him. 

“Why is Vince not sitting with Linda and the kids?” 

“The fuck should I know?” 

“Yeah, where was my mind that you would care enough about your best friend to know what’s going on with him?” 

“Our father is dead, Liz. Fucking focus.” 

So you turn your attention back to the front of the church, staring at the coffin where your fathers body lay, and you can still feel his disappointment in Chickie’s lack of leadership skills and your lack of male dna. You resolve then and there to use whatever money is left to you from the estate to buy a baby grand piano with the same lacquered finish as your father’s coffin. 

***

Goodie comes up to you at the gathering back at the house. The mass is done, the coffin is in the ground, now it is the family gathering. All you want is the people out of your father’s home so you can figure out what to do next, do damage control for whatever Chickie had done with the estate. But you have to be personable, serve food and drinks, and accept people’s condolences. It’s actually a relief when Goodie embraces you just long enough to deliver a message. 

“Call Dwight when you get a chance and are alone.” 

You take it for what it is: a lifeline. The ties were cut between the family and Dwight, but not between you and Dwight. You make sure the food has been replenished and everyone had their drinks topped off before retreating upstairs to your old bedroom. You still haven’t had a chance to cross paths with Vince to find out what’s going on with him and Linda, but that may need to wait for another day. 

Your room is like a time capsule. There’s still music boxes and figurines from Beauty and the Beast, all collecting dust now. Posters of Broadway shows plaster the light pink walls. You actually pick up the pink rotary phone on your desk and smile when you hear the dial tone. The hours you spent with that phone against your ear, it was another lifetime. Despite the rotary phone still being in use, Dwight won’t answer a call from the landline number so you pull out your cell phone to place the call. Even though you called on your cell phone, you don’t expect him to pick up so when he does, you stammer over your words. 

“Uncle Dwight, hey. How, uh, how are you?” 

“I should be asking you that.” 

“You know this family about as well as anyone. You can guess how I’m doing.” 

“Damage control already?” 

“Not yet but in a few hours. I have to get these people out of my house first. Then sober Chickie up so we can have a conversation he’ll fucking remember.” You sigh, taking a beat to breathe. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You were the only one who stayed in touch with me. You know that?” 

“Sounds about right.” Tina was about eight years younger than you so you would help her write her own letter and then include a more detailed letter of your own. Neither one of your mothers wanted you spending your time doing that so it became a long held secret between the two of you. You don’t blame your mothers for trying to shield you both from the reality of the situation, murder charges and the prison environment. Those are things mothers try to shield their little girls from but in both your minds, he was still a beloved family member that needed cheering up. So to make it happen, you saved up some of your babysitting money to pay for the stationary, envelopes, and stamps. It’s nice to hear that it must have meant something to him. 

“Joann, my sister, she said you came to Joe’s funeral.” 

“I did. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome so I sat in the back. I didn’t think anyone saw me.” 

“She saw you. Tina too. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” You’re quiet for a moment. “I wish you were here, Uncle Dwight.” 

“Yeah, well, things aren’t too great between me and the family. Showing up to the funeral-“ 

“No, not the funeral. New York. I wish you were in New York. We’re going to crash and burn, I can feel it. Chickie’s a fucking idiot and there’s not going to be anything left of this family. Nothing worthwhile at least. I don’t know. Maybe it’s better that way.” 

“Listen to me, there’s family and then there’s the family. The family is none of your business. Let it fall to fucking pieces. That’s the nature of this beast, trust me. Another family will swoop in and take it from Chickie and it won’t be pretty. You worry about yourself and your business. I don’t want you caught in the middle of whatever shitshow is going to go down.” 

“Okay.” 

“I mean it. Stay away from whatever fucked up shit your brother is going to do now.” 

“I will, Uncle Dwight.” 

“Good. And if anything happens, you need anything, you call me.” 

You make your promises to reach out if anything happens before ending the call. You can’t shake the idea that your lane was the family name, saving it, restoring it from the tarnish Chickie was allowing to cover it. The fountain pen is still in your jacket pocket, heavy with the weight of your promise to restore the respect of the Invernizzi name. You’re slipping your phone back into your pants pocket when there’s a knock at the door. Before you can reach it, Vince opens it and when he sees you standing there, slips inside. 

“Chickie’s looking for you.” 

“Fuck Chickie.” 

He tries to give you a disappointed look but a small smile appears at the corner of his mouth. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

You shake your head, a half hearted warning. “Don’t. I’m too messed up right now to add you back into the mix.” 

“That’s why I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last week. But you had that realtor convention and then your father…”

“What are you getting at, Vince?” 

“Linda and I, we’re done. Officially.” 

If you’re being honest with yourself, you would have to  admit that you’ve been in love with Vince Antonicci for the last twelve years. Eight of those years you’ve barely seen each other, let alone spoken to each other, because Pete had made Vince a deal he couldn’t refuse. Marry Linda D’Angelo, form an alliance with the Bronx, and get on the fast track to become Chickie’s underboss. To refuse would put the entire Antonicci family on the outs with the Invernizzis. No one knew about your four year love affair with your brother’s best friend. And when he married Linda, no one ever knew how much it broke your heart to act like he didn’t exist. 

“What do you mean officially?” 

“Divorce was finalized last week.” 

He’s free. That’s how you interpret the statement. He’s finally free. He married Linda, had children, satisfied the agreement, and got the hell out. But you have to be sure. “Documents-” 

“Signed.” He opens his arms towards you, his hands resting tentatively on your elbows. “Everything’s done, Liz. The divorce. Your father’s gone, he can’t object to us now.” 

“Chickie?” 

He scoffs. “As you so eloquently put it, fuck Chickie.” 

You rest your palms flat against his chest and it’s the full breath you’ve taken in eight years. When you feel his hands on your face, something breaks in your chest. When he kisses you, it’s like the eight years never even happened. The familiarity of being close again, of feeling him against you, his lips against yours, it all comes back as natural as breathing. When he steps back, you realize that for the first time that day, you’re crying.