Flaw (AU,M/L,mature) Epilogue [COMPLETE]

[hoLLyBEHRy]

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Much thanks to babylisou for the banner. She did an amazing job.

Title: Flaw (formerly known as Flawed Invincibility)
Author: hoLLy BEHRy
Rating: MATURE
Category: AU- no aliens/ CC- All couples, but mostly Max and Liz (Dreamer insured…kinda Gotta read to find out what happens.)
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I claim to own nothing. I’m borrowing from the great minds of Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, and the people behind the amazing show that is Roswell.
Summary:

Max is a successful restaurateur with a new club on the way, but really, he’s the biggest mafia gangster. Things change when he falls in love with an astounding young woman who one day walked into his club. Unbeknownst to him, the woman is the daughter of Max's arch enemy.

Business is more than just “good” at LA restaurant, Ronin. Business is phenomenal, and Max Evans made it that way. He turned the family restaurant into a successful five-star hotspot for the rich and famous.

Max Evans, 26. He may be young, but he’s experienced a lifetime of backbreaking events. He’s handsome, charming, outgoing yet laidback, respectful, intelligent, and wise. Max is the perfect man. His personality shines and he’s the eternal optimistic.

But is it all a front? Because Max Evans does more than run Ronin. Behind the scenes, Max rolls with the big timers. He’s involved with organized crime, but he’s not some mob boss’s lackey or errand boy. Max Evans is a mob boss. He is thee mob boss; the most revered and infamous gangster on the west coast. Powers in his grasp. Think Sonny Corinthos’s (of General Hospital) status and power, Daredevil mobster Kingpin’s anonymity, and Jason Morgan’s (from General Hospital) conscience and heart.

James “Jimmy Valentine” Valenti is a mob boss forced to turn good. To save himself from a lifetime of living in a cinderblock prison cell, Valenti agreed to work for the FBI. So he banded his gang back together and acts as an FBI liaison into organized crime.

A widower, Valenti was a single parent to his five prodigious children for several years, but now they’re grown up, and they don’t know that Pops is back in the Mafia.

I got my inspiration from General Hospital and Guiding Light. Think of character Sonny Corinthos, Jason Morgan, and Danny Santos. As you may tell already, this story has a Romeo+Juliet feel to it.

Don’t “whack” me if I don’t completely know my Mob/Mafia facts or whatever. The idea of organized crime intrigued me, and I was thinking of writing an AU without aliens. I’m just going on what I’ve learned from movies like The Godfather and Goodfellas. This story definitely has a lighter view of the Mob/Mafia.

Feedback is always wanted and appreciated, good or bad.


<center>Flaw</center>

“No,” Michael argued. “There is no way we’re doing it.”

“Why not?” Thomas wondered with a grin.

In turn, Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. “For one thing, you’re not eight anymore,” he said to his teenage friend. “And it just won’t work. It’s something we did when we were your age. It’s not going to work.”

Thomas shrugged. “Well, I’m going to go,” he had already decided. “You can choose to pick up my pieces if you want.” He walked proudly with his chin pointed to the ceiling and set a path leading to the booth where two beautiful women sat. “Hi,” he smiled when he arrived.

Both of the girls turned to the young man. The blonde looked at him sceptically while the brunette smiled warmly. They waited patiently for Thomas to speak once more.

“I saw you ladies come in,” he said. “And I was just wondering if I could buy you some drinks?”

The blonde’s eyebrow rose and her friend continued to smile, this time she smiled because she was holding in her laugh. She laughed inwardly at the adorableness of boy who was obviously a teenager.

“Maybe when you’re legal,” the blonde asserted.

“Are you sure?” Thomas innocently wondered. “My father owns this club. I’m sure I can get—” Suddenly, he jumped as a pair of hands was placed on his shoulders.

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Michael said into Thomas’s ear, making sure he was loud enough for the ladies to hear.

“What wouldn’t work?” the blonde wondered.

In his mind, Michael laughed to himself, but showed no outward sign of it. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Look, I have to apologize about Thomas. He’s supposedly into older women. He’s only 16 and he’s a little—”

“He’s sweet,” the brunette interrupted.

Hook, line, and sinker, Thomas and Michael thought. Cue in the fisherman reeling in the catch.

“Hey!”

Four heads turned to one person who approached the table. It may have been dark, but the woman with the brown hair and lightly tanned skin was immediately attracted to what features she could barely see. The stranger’s amber eyes glowed, his strong chin was the home to a faint five o’clock shadow, his crew cut, dark brown hair was styled to her liking (nice and neat), and when the stranger smiled, it caused the woman’s heart to jump happily and skip a beat.

“How many times have I told you your two-man flirting act doesn’t work anymore?” the stranger said. “It’s harassment.”

Hearing his soothing voice eased the woman’s heart and if it was possible, the woman thought her heart was smiling. On the outside, she didn’t smile as gleefully as she would have, like her heart was, because she didn’t want to seem too smitten by the man, although she was. Now the brunette understood “love at first sight”.

“I’m sorry,” the man said to the two ladies. “I’m sorry they’ve been bothering you. I’ll just—”

Both the women shook their heads. “It’s ok,” the brunette had spoken.

The mysterious stranger brought his eyes down to the beautiful petite woman. Inside, he grinned happily and fought to keep his cool.

“Yeah,” the blonde had agreed while the stranger continued to gaze at her companion. “These two were entertaining more than anything else,” said the blonde.

The tall, dark, handsome stranger laughed. “Still…” he began. “I have to apologize. They’re with me, I sadly admit. Look, I own this club. Please, let me give you a round of drinks on the house.”

“Ok,” the blonde nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Meanwhile, her friend sat puzzled. She looked to the stranger with the magnetic smile and then to the teenager just a few inches shorter than him. The teenager had said that his father had owned the club. Yet, apparently the owner was standing in front of her. A twenty-something man with a teenage son. There was a strong resemblance between the two. The brunette continued to stare off to the side questioning herself, but then a hand shot out in front of her.

“I’m Max,” the stranger smiled. “Max Evans, in case that’s what you were wondering.”

The brunette snapped out of her daze and looked up at Max. Max Evans. It was such a wonderful name, it seemed so fitting. Suddenly, she began to wonder what his middle name was. Was it his father’s name? Was his “son” named after him if it really was his son? All the brunette wanted to do was to get to know more about this “Max Evans”. She smiled to herself.

“What about you? Do you have a name?” Max asked her. “Or am I going to have to bribe you with few more rounds of drinks on the house?”

The nameless brunette smiled in embarrassment and finally took the man’s hand that he extended to her. She was taken aback and surprised by the touch of his skin. It was literally like making a connection. It was a spark, not like an electrical spark that shocked her but a spark that set off fireworks in her mind. Her heart raced and her breathing quickened. She looked up to see Max react the same way. He blinked a few times, waking him from his gaze.

“Um, where were we?” he wondered, and then it quickly came to him. “Oh…your name? If you don’t mind…” he said with a grin.

She smiled back. “Liz,” she replied. “I’m Liz Parker."


What do you guys think? I'd like to know. Should I continue?

[hoLLyBEHRy]

Reposting these. Thank you for all the feedback. I really appreciate it! It means a lot.

-hoLLy

Accompanying music, "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional.


<center>BOOK ONE- The Valentis

Chapter 1- James “Jimmy Valentine” Valenti: “Our (Flawed) Father”


“That is the thankless position of the father in the family—the provider for all, and the enemy of all.”
–J. August Strindberg</center>

James “Jimmy Valentine” Valenti was invincible. He had it all; everything you could want. Power. Respect. Money. Love. That’s all you need to feel obsolete, and he had all of those. Well, Valenti thought he did anyway. He thought he was invincible.

Everyday, Valenti gets up early to go to work, usually around 5:30. Cuore doesn’t even open until ten, but he likes to head in early and sit in his office. He’s always liked the silence and serenity of privacy. So, he just sits behind the desk, staring out the window, observing early morning Beverly Hills. Valenti’s office sits above his restaurant and for a good two and half hours before Giovanni, the restaurant’s manager, arrives, he reclines in his chair and thinks about his life as it once was before. At eight, Giovanni comes into work, gives Valenti a report of the prior night’s business and returns back downstairs to the restaurant where he welcomes the rest of the employees into work.

No more than two minutes after Giovanni leaves his office can Valenti hear the bustling preparation down below. Chefs start chopping, dishwashers are already dropping plates, waiters and waitresses argue after colliding into each other, and Giovanni’s always trying to get everyone in order before the customers arrive, most of which are lawyers, doctors, real estate agents, CEOs, and quite often, celebrities. Meanwhile, Valenti’s hiding away in his office, still watching Beverly Hills, wondering how others live and remembering how he once lived.

Organized crime. It’s a simple, easy business. Valenti worked his way to the top and banded his very own gang at the age of 26. They were successful and infamous. They were feared yet admired. Money came quick, and all Valenti had to do was oversee it all. Giovanni looked out for his best interests and looked into detail while Valenti just made the deciding factors. It was power.

With the money Valenti had from dealing arms and doing jobs, he opened up his own restaurant, Cuore. That became successful too. Young Valenti felt like King Midas when business shot threw the roof. Everything he touched was turning into gold. Cuore became a day job, a decent, acceptable day job. It brought in “clean” money, which he used to support his family.

His family. They gave him his love, and I would start at the beginning with his parents…but he didn’t know them. They didn’t know him. They dropped little Jimmy off at St. Michael’s Orphanage when he was days old, abandoning the poor soul.

Being abandoned hurt and it was the birth to Jimmy’s mentality of “Let no one in” and “Show no emotion”. He tried to keep up a stonewall, but he wanted love. Jimmy wanted happiness and love. And so Jimmy found love. Jimmy found love in Amy DeLuca Parker.

The two went to the same Catholic school, but her parents were filthy rich, and Jimmy just didn’t know his parents period. Instead of parents, he had nuns and priests. She had a uniform for each day of the week, and Jimmy had two. She had butlers, maids, and cooks, and at the orphanage, the orphans were the ones that cleaned.

Now I’m not saying that Sister Maria Elizabeth and Father Alexander were slave drivers or anything like that. They were the opposite of that. The two were Jimmy’s surrogate parents, people who he looked up to and admired greatly. They loved all those orphans and they, the orphans, in turn, loved them. Jimmy just wished he had more boyish childhood memories. Instead, he remembers a lot of scrubbing of floors, washing of dishes, and weeding of the yard.

Despite their different upbringings and lifestyles, Amy and Jimmy knew that they were one in the same, that they were meant for each other. Sure, the young loves met when they were eight, but somehow they just knew.

They were each other’s best friends. In her life of luxury, Amy had everything, but no one. In Jimmy’s life of compassion, gratitude, and loyalty, he had nothing, but everyone. Amy loved him for what he offered although it wasn’t much.

Her parents forbid them from seeing each other because, apparently, young Jimmy’s love for Amy wasn’t enough. They saw each other despite of them and their constant protests. They didn’t care about them or anybody else.

When the two were 18, Father Alexander married them, and for the first few years of their marriage, James knew that he deprived Amy of a life she deserved. Her parents didn’t help them much. They provided the newlyweds with a great apartment, but that was about it. All ties between Amy and her parents were cut when she married James. He had never wanted that to happen, but Amy insisted that she didn’t care what happened between her and her parents. She only wanted James, and he definitely wasn’t going to argue.

Money was hard to find, and so they struggled, especially when Alex was born. The moment James held his little boy in his arms, he knew he was going to love him no matter what, and he knew that he was going to strive like hell to give his family the life they deserved.

So, while Amy took care of young Alex, Valenti hung around the warehouse docks, driving a forklift and moving goods. Soon enough, what he assumed was the “right” crowd came around, and Valenti found his second family.

Amy had some reservations about his new job with his new family, but it was money, and it was money that was giving her what she wanted, what she deserved.

Soon, they were no longer living in a meager apartment. The growing Valenti family definitely moved up when James, Amy, and their son relocated to the Capulet hotel, where the patriarch purchased the penthouse.

When young Alex turned the tender age of four, the Valentis welcomed a daughter, Elizabeth, or Liz as she would be come to known. That same year, James opened up Cuore. It didn’t mean that his job as a gangster ended, it was actually the door into leadership.

A year later, Amy bore twins, Kyle and Maria, and James bore his own gang. Money was pouring in, and money led to respect, which eventually led to power. Originally dealing with arms, Valenti called his “neighborhood crew” Il Forza. In Italian, it meant “The Force”, and they were definitely a force to be reckoned with.

For a long while, Valenti and Il Forza were thought to be invincible, committing crimes that made the front page and breaking new briefs. Yet, no one could stop them, no one could ever convict them. Some people were good at their jobs, but Valenti, he was great at being a mobster. He was born to be a crime lord and he was the best there was.

While organized crime is pretty simple, it’s busy work. I guess you can call Valenti a workaholic. He woke up early, like he does now, and sat in his office, looking over the restaurant’s books and making sure all his “assets” were covered. It’s a nurturing business that a lot of the times requires plenty of attention. Being a gangster is a 24/7 job, there was a lot of overtime and so with all the overtime put in, Valenti’s family was neglected.

He loved his kids and his wife more than anything in the world, more than the power, the respect, and the money. He just never showed it all that much and that might have just been the problem.

Nearly eight years after the birth of the twins, Amy had added a daughter to the family. All her children were nothing short of intelligent, beautiful, and wise.

Amy one day looked at the life she lived, at the life she created, and smiled. She had a husband who loved her, she had children who she loved dearly, and she had everything she could want.

While her faith and love in her husband and family was strong, Amy, herself, wasn’t strong enough. In 1997, Alex, then 22; Liz, 18; Kyle and Maria, 17; and Natalie 10 said goodbye to their mother. Of course it was the worst disaster ever imaginable for the young children, but in ways, they were happy that their mother was free, free from the life of crime and danger. She lost her battle with cancer, but many people believe she died of neglect.

The loss of his wife devastated Valenti. After nearly 25 years of marriage, Valenti lost the woman who was his first and only love. “Behind every great man, there’s a great woman.” Amy was the greatest woman ever imaginable.

Valenti’s life had changed dramatically. Valenti lost his kids, he lost his hope, and eventually he lost his life. He didn’t literally lose his life, but in a way, he did.

He had let Amy past his stonewall the day he told her he loved her. He let someone in and he showed emotion because he really was compassionate and he loved and he felt and that was the true Valenti, despite what he wanted others to think.

But just because he had let someone in, it didn’t mean he tore down his stonewall, though. The compassion, love, and feelings that he had went to his family that was built within the stonewall, but like I said before, he never did a great job of showing it.

Then his wife died, and that’s what broke his stonewall. Valenti became vulnerable. He and his crew were falling through with jobs and the restaurant began to struggle. Yet, Valenti didn’t care, he didn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered to him.

Eventually, his empire fell, his stonewall became scattered rocks on the ground, because Valenti, himself, broke. He was sent to prison because he “cheated on his income tax a little”. Audrey Hepburn said that in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and that’s exactly what it was with Valenti. He was thrown into prison for writing in a few wrongs numbers. That’s what was told to the press, anyway.

The FBI and the government knew that Valenti did more than just con the Internal Revenue Service, which is why they locked him up from the maximum sentence. It’s a miracle that Valenti’s fresh out of prison now, and he has his son to thank, and he has to thank the rest of his family too. He abandoned them long before he was sent to prison, but he still has their love.

James “Jimmy Valentine” Valenti was never invincible. He was nothing more than a flawed man.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

Accompanying music, "This Is Your Life" by Switchfoot.


<center>Chapter 2- Alexander Charles Whitman: The Prodigal Son


“There must always be a struggle between a father and son, while one aims at power and the other at independence.”
–Samuel Johnson</center>

“This meeting to discuss the exact terms of release for former prisoner James ‘Jimmy Valentine’ Valenti and his cooperation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation will re-convene tomorrow. Is that understood?”

Alex nodded his head as he continued looking down the table at the man in the black suit. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

With an air of superiority, the man adjusted his glasses and went back to reading the forms in front of him. “It is understood that being the lawyer of said prisoner and the district attorney, you will abide by the agreements so graciously set by the state and the FBI. Am I correct, Mr. Whitman?”

Again Alex bobbed his head. “Yes, sir,” he repeated.

“Where is Mr. Valenti at the moment?”

Alex shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “He’s probably at the restaurant or at home.”

“Probably?” the FBI representative laughed.

“I assure you, Agent Wilkins, my client is either at Cuore or his mansion. If he’s at Cuore, he will not talk to anyone.”

The agent glared at Alex for a moment and then nodded. “You better hope so, Mr. Whitman or your client’s back in prison.”

“I understand.” Alex replied.

“Good.” Wilkins brought his papers together and started preparing to leave. “Do we agree that today’s meeting between the FBI, James Valenti and the state were well represented?”

Alex looked to his left, at the woman seated beside him and waited for her reply. The woman had instantly nodded, so Alex did too.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow, then,” Agent Wilkins said. “Mr. Whitman, Mrs. Greene have a good day.”

The agent gathered all his things and left the chamber through the back door. As he left, Alex quickly got out of his chair first and helped his colleague out of hers.

“You’re such a damn gentleman, Whitman,” Mrs. Greene smiled. “Your father’s like that too.”

Alex shook his head, emphasizing each turn. “I’m nothing like my father.”

Alexander Charles Whitman was born Alexander Charles Valenti to James and Amy Valenti in 1975. If Alex could remember his toddler years, I’m sure he would say they were rough. Mom and Dad would scour around for empty soda cans to turn into the recycling plant for 5 cents a can to save up for diapers, but Alex was a tiny tot and was sitting in a baby walker. He didn’t remember a thing.

Alex and Charlotte Greene walked down the large corridors of City Hall. Today was supposed to be his day off and assistant DA Charlotte Greene was supposed to take care of everything, but being that this certain case involved him, Alex dressed out of his casual clothes and put on a suit and tie. He grabbed the knot of the neck tie and tugged downward.

While Alex may not remember the can rummaging days, he could remember the penthouse days. His earliest memory was on Christmas when he was in his room, standing in front of a mirror with his father behind him, holding up a suit. Alex was only four and there was this very expensive Italian suit made special for a four-year-old child being held in front of him.

That was the day Alex knew his family was different. For a very young child, Alex was smart. He was going to a Christmas party wearing a suit that was tailor-made for him, a boy who was starting pre-school in the fall and who was intrigued by the way paste tasted. His mother was going to the party wearing a brand new pearl necklace with matching earrings and bracelet. His father wore nearly the same suit as he did and the three of them arrived to the party in a vintage Rolls Royce. The kind you’d see Humphrey Bogart sitting in the backseat, in old black and white
films with a driver and chauffeur’s hat, Alex had that and the chauffeur too.

Charlotte rolled her eyes as they continued walking. “Why the hell do you despise the guy so much?” she wondered. “He’s your father and all.”

Again, Alex shook his head. “No, he’s my father and that’s all.”

Taking the hint, Charlotte dropped the subject while all Alex could think about was his father. James Valenti was a crime lord, sent to prison. Alex was given the task to put him there and was now bargaining for his release. He found himself in a peculiar role, enemy lawyer, and son.

Alex had feelings and emotions. He had a heart and a soul. He had morals. So he couldn’t understand how he was the son of a man who committed felonies for a living and got away with it. He couldn’t understand why his father spent more time doing those things than coming to his concerts, Liz’s science fairs, Kyle’s baseball games, Maria’s performances or Natalie’s dance recitals. Instead, it was Alex who went to Liz’s science fairs to watch her win blue ribbons. Alex was the one cheering his brother on when Kyle came up to bat. It was he who was part of the audience giving Maria a standing ovation and presenting her with a bouquet of roses. Alex was
the one to go to Natalie’s dance recitals and watch as his little sister executed the perfect pirouette. As far as Alex was concerned, he, his brother and sisters and mother were a secondary family to Il Forza.

“You can go back to your day off now Whitman.” Charlotte smiled.

Alex hadn’t realized that his colleague had walked him to the door. Instead of standing on marble flooring of the City Hall, Alex was standing on the pavement of the steps. Instead of air conditioning of the federal building, Alex was feeling the LA breeze.

“It’s a good day, Greene,” he said “why don’t you take the day off?”

Charlotte looked at her superior skeptically. “This is your day off, Alex.”

But he just shook his head and looked at the clear blue sky. “No, you go ahead,” Alex replied. “It’s a beautiful day, you should take your husband and daughter out, have a picnic in the park or something.”

“You’re serious?” Charlotte laughed.

The corners of Alex’s mouth stretched out while he nodded. “Yes, I am. Now go!”

Charlotte nearly tossed her briefcase in the air in jubilation and started running down the steps. Alex chuckled to himself as he watched the assistant DA of Los Angeles run down to one end of the street when her car was at the other end.

It was a nice day and it was his day off. Alex didn’t need to be cooped up in his office, but he had nothing better to do. He was a 29-year-old bachelor and it was the middle of the day. What was he going to do? His brother and sisters were working or at school and he didn’t want to spend time with his father who was at home or the restaurant. Alex might as well get his work done.

He turned back around and started walking towards his office. It took Alex maybe five minutes to walk deep into City Hall and then he came to the door of his office. He looked at the window of the door and let his hands run over the imprinting of his name. It said, “District Attorney Alex Whitman”.

Hate is too strong of a word. So Alex wouldn’t say he hates his father, he would just say that he strongly disapproved of him but Valenti wouldn’t say the same for his son. In Alex’s opinion, they had irreconcilable differences and to Valenti his eldest son was just going through a phase—that lasts his whole life. It sounded like a divorce and in ways, it kind of was.

Pops would leave for work in the morning, saying he was going to spend most of the day at the restaurant and Alex would head to school. In the afternoon, he would come home, have his snack made special by the cook and ate it while he watched tv. Once in a while, a breaking news alert would interrupt Alex’s cartoons, and it’d be a report of a successful bank robbery or some grand theft auto and Alex knew just whom would be behind it.

He felt responsible for what his father was doing to society, to the law. Valenti was making a mockery of it by getting away with every wrong thing he did and so Alex decided that he was going to make up for his father’s crimes or more like evening things out.

Alex left for Boston days after his mother died, promising to his younger brother and sisters that he would be back soon to watch over them. At 24, he graduated from Harvard Law at the top of his class. He did nothing but work hard to make sure he was the best at what he was about to do, become.

The day Alex became a lawyer was the day he dropped his surname and became Alex Whitman. He legally changed his name, borrowing Whitman from great poet Walt Whitman. In ways, the two men were alike. Walt was a poet whose father never understood or bothered to understand his son’s work, while Alex was a morally built man whose father never bothered to understand his son’s morals. Walt’s father was too busy providing for the family, which consisted of nine children and that’s actually not a bad thing. Alex’s father, however, claimed to be struggling to provide for his five kids, but really, there was no need to struggle.

Alex Valenti would have never have become Los Angeles district attorney, but Alex Whitman would and did. He left the Valenti life behind. No more Rolls Royce or food prepared by the cook, but Alex would always come back for his brother and sisters no matter what.

He accomplished mastery and became the Los Angeles DA at 27, the youngest prosecutor in the state and one of the best. He took on and won cases that dealt with the biggest fugitives in the country, cold-blooded murders, con-artists and even a few gangsters. The FBI had been right on Jimmy Valentine’s heels for a long time. They finally busted him when the mobster supposedly cheated on his federal income tax. That was enough to send him to prison since they never could before. They jumped at the opportunity to lock Valenti up and reduce crime and they knew just who to go to send him behind bars.

The case was dropped right into Alex’s lap and there was enough on Valenti to keep him behind bars for a long time and that’s exactly what his son made sure happened. Valenti was tried and convicted and sentenced to many, many years in prison. You’re probably wondering what Valenti had to say about his son sending him to prison. Alex was his first born son and no matter what his last name was, Alex was always a Valenti and Papa Valenti would always love his first born. He would read about Alex in the paper, about how his son sent a convict back to prison for good or how he did a family justice by putting a murderer on death row. Valenti was proud Alex. He wasn’t happy about his son’s choice of profession, he wasn’t happy at all but he was proud of his son. They were going to be enemies when it came to the law, but they were still father and son and that’s all that mattered.

So Valenti was locked up and the key was hidden away, but his other children worried about their father. For the four of them, it was their father sent into prison, while for Alex, it was just another criminal. Liz, Kyle, Maria and Natalie begged for Alex to find some way to get their father out. In a matter of days Alex went from the prosecutor who locked Valenti up to the lawyer who was trying to get Valenti out.

It took months to strike up some sort of plan, a plan that involved the government and the FBI who had arrested Valenti in the first place. It took months of convincing them to go along with the ordeal but Alex gave the government and the FBI his word as a lawyer and district attorney, not as Valenti’s son.

So it was done. Nearly a month ago, the patriarch of the Valenti family was back walking around his mansion and going to Cuore to work. It was thanks to his son. Thanks to the son who wasted away his name.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

Hey everyone. Thanks so much for all the FB and interest once again. I can't thank you all enough. I finally got Chapter 3 done and it just got back from my beta. Thanks, Emz80m, and to Jenn, even though you weren't able to beta this chapter, thanks for the work done so far. Thanks to you both! You guys are absolutely wonderful! Anyway, on to Chapter 3...

Thank you always,
hoLLy

Accompanying music, "Only Begotten Son" by Ja Rule.


<center>Chapter 3- James Kyle Valenti II: Junior


“Your son at five is your master, at ten your slave, at fifteen your double, and after that, your friend or your foe, depending on his bringing up.”
–Unknown</center>

They called him Kyle, but he carried his father’s name. He was a spitting image of his father at his age and everyone could see the senior Valenti in Junior. Everyone would predict how Kyle would turn out. Everyone said that he’d be just like Valenti because Kyle and his father were too much alike. The resemblance was uncanny and so was everything else, and everyone was right: Kyle was going to follow in his father’s footsteps.

He loved the life of being a mob boss’s kid, and I think he was the only one out of the five Valenti children who enjoyed it. They were sent to the best schools in LA and were driven to the prestigious academies in limos or Bentleys, and no one found it odd that four kids were emerging from a limo with their little cartoon lunchboxes in hand. People would talk, especially when the Valentis went into high school, but as far as those people were concerned, James Valenti owned a very successful restaurant and spoiled his kids rotten.

Eventually, each turned 16 and found that they no longer needed to be driven to school. Alex went for a 1987 Porsche 911, Liz was next to turn 16 and chose to get a vintage 1965 Ford Mustang. Maria got a Jaguar, Kyle splurged and snagged a Maserati Spider, and the most recent Valenti child to receive the car of his or her choice was Natalie. She chose to drive a BMW.

Now aside from loving the life of being a child of a mob boss, Kyle loved the life of a mob boss. He loved how his father wore a different business suit everyday. He loved how every morning Nico or Andre—fairly large, well-built men—would arrive at the house ready to escort Valenti to the restaurant. Kyle loved it all.

Unlike his brother, Kyle spent nearly every day of his adolescent years at the family restaurant. He’d try his hand at working as a busboy and then he’d take orders and serve the food. Doing so, he met writers, artists, authors, directors, and actors. While that was fun and everything, Kyle wanted to explore, and so for a month, he tried his hand in the kitchen, washing dishes, chopping carrots, and even creating a few sauces. Yet, actually working in the restaurant wasn’t what Kyle exactly wanted.

He longed to have Uncle Giovanni’s job as manager of the restaurant and as his father’s right-hand-man. Kyle was so attracted to the idea of leading a band of men and committing crimes and making millions of dollars and living a life portrayed on Goodfellas, The Godfather movies, and on soap operas. It was a dream of Kyle’s to be part of Il Forza and one day be the leader of it, but his father wouldn’t allow it because he was waiting and hoping that Alex would be the one to join Il Forza, not Kyle. Valenti wanted his first born to take over the restaurant and “the family”, but Valenti might as well wait for pigs to fly because Kyle damn well knew that his big brother didn’t want anything to do with Il Forza.

Kyle wasn’t even allowed to be his father’s lackey. He wasn’t allowed to run errands or relay messages. Other kids his age were doing it instead and getting the respect from his father, the respect from his father that was supposed to go to him.

He just had to shrug it off though, because if he showed jealousy, Kyle could go ahead and wave goodbye to any piece of respect he had from his father. “Envy is a sign of weakness, son,” Valenti would say. “Show no emotion!”

Now, Kyle would laugh to himself every time he heard that in his mind. He’d laugh in disgust because his father was too damn good at showing no emotion. He sure as hell never showed emotion towards his kids, with the exception of Alex, the Prodigal Son.

Valenti insisted that one day Alex was going to give up being a lawyer and take over both family businesses, but everyone knew that Junior was a better heir and that Alex would never give up being a lawyer. Kyle was interested in Il Forza and Alex simply wasn’t. I mean, Kyle even majored in business/managerial economics to show that he would make a better business man. Still, Valenti was too stubborn to see it.

So Kyle had to settle with listening in on weekly meetings and spying on other gang members. The only real reason he worked in the restaurant was to spend time near the life of organized crime. He learned everything there was to know about the business by just listening and observing. He found out who his father’s enemies were and who their enemies were. He knew every gang member of rival “families” and he knew their actual families. He knew more about those men than their own mothers knew about them. Kyle knew where his father’s enemies lived and he knew how they lived.

With all that information, Kyle was a hidden, golden treasure, and still, Valenti denied his son. He never got to sit in his father’s office as a member of Il Forza, not even when Valenti was sent to prison.

Kyle looked up to his father, respected him greatly, and tried like hell to win his love. So the day Valenti was sent to prison, Kyle was a mixed bowl of emotions. He was devastated that his father was going to be locked up, but he was also somewhat excited because Kyle believed that he would finally become part of Il Forza, and not only part of it, but head of it. Kyle was wrong.

Even inside the big house, Valenti was still pulling the strings. Alex still wanted nothing to do with his father’s crew and wouldn’t know the first thing about running it, so Valenti put Giovanni in charge, even when Giovanni, himself, knew that he was no leader. Giovanni knew who should have been sitting at the head of the table, and that was Kyle, but Giovanni remained at the helm while Kyle took over the other business and ran the restaurant since managing the restaurant and the crew was too much for Giovanni to handle.

After a month of managing only the restaurant, Kyle knew that the reason why he wasn’t at the head of Il Forza was because he hadn’t thoroughly convinced his father that he was worthy of the position. So it was he who suggested that his big brother find a way to get their father out. Kyle went to his sisters and made them realize that there was no way their father could survive much longer behind bars. So with his three sisters on his side, Kyle was able to convince big brother Alex that Valenti didn’t belong in prison. They begged and they pleaded and eventually Alex’s belief in family morals consumed him, and he concocted a plan to get their father out.

A year passed and Valenti was finally released on terms that he would return to the head of Il Forza and cooperate as a mole into organized crime. He was eternally grateful to Alex, the son who got him out of prison, but he should have been thanking Kyle, the son who carried his name and the curse of being his youngest son.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

I finally have the new chapter. Sorry it's taken me so long. I hope you guys continue to read. Thank you for the FB so far. I hope to see more of it. Thank you.

-hoLLy

Accompanying music, "Mother's Prayer" by Mest.


<center>Chapter 4- Maria Adriana DeLuca: Mediator


“Feelings of worth can flourish only in an atmosphere where individual differences are appreciated, mistakes are tolerated, communication is open, and rules are flexible—the kind of atmosphere that is found in a nurturing family.”
–Virginia Satir</center>

She played the role of mediator and middle man. As much as she hated her position in the family, it was necessary for Maria to be those things because it was the only way to keep the yelling at family dinners down to a minimum and it was the only civilized way to communicate with each other because after the shouting and fighting, no one could stand to talk to each other.

The family dinners had stopped for a while when Amy died. Alex left for Boston, Liz concentrated solely on medical school, Kyle was doing God knows what, and Natalie threw herself into school and extra-curricular. Where was their father in all of this? Valenti stuffed himself in his office and withdrew himself completely. He lived in that damn office for days. He’d come home some days, just to change clothes, but never shower.

Maria was never very close to her father. None of the Valenti children were. Maybe it was because every one of them knew that their father had a favorite. Alex didn’t want the title and the others gave up trying to get in their father’s line of sight, except for Kyle. Maria just sat back with her sisters and watched Kyle compete for their father’s love, which was dropped into Alex’s lap on a silver platter.

It didn’t matter to Maria because she only cared about her mother. No one had known that Amy Valenti had cancer but somehow Maria knew that her mother was hiding something. As a result, Maria grew close to her mother. They’d have their moments of arguing and bickering, but the two of them were free-spirits, one in the same.

Back when Amy was alive, everyone made it to family dinners. If one Valenti child didn’t make the dinner, it’d be hell to pay. So, no Valenti child ever missed a family dinner because no one wanted to face the wrath of an angry Amy Valenti. It was the only time the family could sit down and be together, which was the Valenti family needed to be, together.

The Valenti children tried their best to live a relatively normal childhood. The only thing that had set them apart from normal teenagers was their school, their home, money, their father’s occupation, and Sunday dinners. Ok, so maybe they didn’t have as normal of a childhood as they thought, but compared to the other rich kids, the Valentis were considered to be like normal teenagers. The Sunday dinners at the Valenti household, however, was what really reminded the children that they were still rich kids living in Beverly Hills.

Every night, seven seats at the dining room table of the Valenti manor were filled and dinner would carry on just like other family dinners, but on Sundays, at 6:30 sharp, lit candles were the center piece of the table, surrounded by fresh flowers. The linens were just laid out onto the table after having arrived back from the cleaners. The best china, silverware, and crystal were set out on the table ten minutes before dinner started and seconds after being washed and dried.

A strict dress code wasn’t enforced by the matriarchal Valenti on every day dinners, just on Sundays when she required that her sons dressed in collared shirts and clean, ironed slacks while her daughters wore skirts or dresses. Valenti would wear a suit and Amy would wear a gown.

Valenti would sit at the head of the table and his wife on the other end. To Valenti’s right, the seating arrangement would go as follows: Alex seated to his father’s right, then Liz in between Alex and Natalie, who was to their mother’s left. On the other side of the table, Kyle sat on his father’s left and Maria sat next to Kyle on their mother’s right.

It was an order of succession, or favoritism, if you want to call it that. Alex was seated highest at the table as far as sons went and Liz was seated highest in terms as daughters. Those Valenti favored the most were the ones who were the coldest to him. Valenti wasn’t Maria’s favorite parent, but she loved her father and showed him respect, unlike her older siblings. It was Alex and Liz whom Maria acted as a middle man for.

At dinner, usually for the first ten minutes, all that would be heard was the clanging of forks and spoons against the plates, but then Maria would be the one to bring something up, creating a discussion that would most likely lead to Alex and Valenti yelling and slamming fists on the table. So then, Alex would grab his plate and take the empty seat in between Kyle and Maria, only staying at the dinner table because of their mother, and then the dinner went back to just clanging of forks shoveling food onto spoons.

Dinner ended on bad terms and it was up to Maria to mend the relationship between her father and big brother because it was important to her mother. Somehow, Maria managed to get Alex to tolerate their father in time for him to sit back in his original seat when it came to dinner the next night. Fighting would occur, plates would jump after fists slammed on the table, and Alex would change seats.

As for Liz, she was just distant. Throughout dinner, the only time any of the kids had interaction with their father, Liz would keep to herself, focusing on her food. Dessert would be serve and she’d race right through it and would ask to be excused, and as soon as she left the table, Amy would ask Maria to talk to her sister. Once everyone was done, Valenti would go to his office in the house, Amy would retreat to the library or to the salon, and the kids would meet in the loft of their side of the house. There, Maria headed straight to Liz and the other kids whipped out a movie and played it on the screen. The middle sister would talk to the eldest sister and they’d talk about what was going on and then Maria would break it down to Liz. “Mom and Dad think you don’t love them.” “They want to know what’s going with you.” That sort of thing.

So I guess you could say that the Valenti family dinners were never successful in their motives much to Amy’s dismay and Maria’s effort. No one really enjoyed the dinners, they despised going to them, and there was nothing ever productive about it. The Valenti family didn’t have to worry about them after the matriarch passed.

Everyone thought she had the flu; she led her family to believe that that was all. She passed quickly, but in a sense, she didn’t. Amy Valenti had suffered and Maria felt that. Maria was intuitive and observant. She somehow just knew that her mother was ailing, but she didn’t know what to do, and so Amy Valenti passed.

I can’t say for sure which child took the death of their mother the hardest. Every single one of them took it in their own way and they coped in their own way. So I guess they all took it pretty bad.

What I do know for sure is that Maria missed her mother the most. She spent days sitting in the library where her mother read a different book each week. Sometimes she’d sit in the salon and just spin around in the salon chair. None of Amy’s manicurists or hair stylists came by the house anymore. They weren’t needed, and neither was the library or the salon, but the Valenti’s were going to definitely leave those rooms in the house.

Sure, leaving Mom’s special rooms in the house honored her, but what else? There had to be something more to honor the matriarch who tried her best to keep the family together and at peace. The family dinners had stopped. They all started to live without their mother, but her presence would remain alive, through Maria. She changed her name to DeLuca, her mother’s maiden name before she married Valenti. It was Maria’s way of honoring her mother, keeping her spirit alive somehow. She would have taken her mother’s name of Parker, but Liz went ahead and took it first when she was undeserving, but that’s another story, and Maria loved her sister no matter what.

While Maria chose to cope by staying home and taking her mother’s name, Alex had his bags packed hours before the funeral and left the next day for Boston without word to anyone, except Liz. She was the only one who knew how to get in touch with him. Valenti was still a father, and he worried about his son. So he did what any father would do, he made Maria get the contact information for Liz, who had moved out of the Valenti mansion into an apartment of her own. Liz was reluctant to give the up the phone number and the address, but she loved her sister who begged and pleaded for the information. With number in hand, Valenti dialed and handed the phone to Maria because she played the role of mediator and middle man. It was her job to keep her broken family together.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

Hey everyone. Thanks for feedback. I appreciate everything you all have to say. I'm going to try to get this story moving along pretty quickly, so just watch out for updates.

Also I really enjoy the quotes that you put at the beginning of each chapter. Where do you find such great lines?

I search quote search engines. I just find something in each character, search for quotes on that "something" and choose which quote fits best. I tend to get bored a lot, and searching for quotes is a good thing to do.

Accompanying music, "Father Figure" by George Michael.


<center>Chapter 5- Natalie Nicole Valenti: Beautiful Consequence


“Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.”
–Alfred A. Montapert</center>

“Miss Natalie…”

The maid walked into the large room with the pastel pink walls and to the large window, grabbing hold of the white, flowing curtains and spreading them apart. The bright Beverley Hills sun burst into the room, exploding from over the palm trees surrounding the large pond-shaped pool that even had a little island in the center of it.

When the kids were younger, they spent nearly every day in the pool, splashing around and doing cannonballs. One summer, Alex and Kyle had built a hut on the tiny island, refusing to let their sisters in. It was their private little clubhouse where they’d play Commando or Shipwrecked. That was when the two brothers got along, when their father’s love wasn’t important to Kyle, but that was a long time ago, when the kids were much younger.

“Miss Natalie,” the maid said again. She walked across the room to the large king-sized four poster bed and leaned inwards to get closer to the sleeping girl in the center. With a little nudge this time, she spoke again. “Miss Natalie.”

Finally the girl stirred, throwing her arms up in the air, stretching both her upper and lower limbs. “Giolla, for the millionth time, drop the “Miss”!” she shouted into her covers.

The middle aged woman was more than just a maid to the Valentis. She was the maid that was part of the family. Giolla had been with the family from the beginning of the empire. Having helped raise all five kids, she had streaks of white hair running through her brown mane. They were good kids, for the most part, so she didn’t have too many white hairs. Giolla grabbed hold of the comforter and gave it one quick tug. “It’s time to get up, Miss Natalie,” she said, ignoring the teen’s orders.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter to eight,” Giolla replied, continuing to work to get the young lady up from her slumber.

Natalie sighed heavily and finally managed to crawl out of bed with her eyes were still half closed. Grabbing a towel and some clothes as she walked, Giolla pushed Natalie forward and into the young woman’s bathroom.

“Tell me again,” Natalie said, “why it is I am getting up so early on a summer Monday morning.”

As the water continued to fill the tub she had just drawn for Natalie, Giolla sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “We go through this every morning, ma’am. Your father wants you at the restaurant at 10AM sharp.”

“I never wanted to work there,” Natalie mumbled under her breath, but Giolla could still hear the whine.

“I know,” the maid replied. “I know.”

Valenti was released from prison, and he was a different man. Being locked in isolation made the mob boss realize what was important to him, and that was family, his real family. It was his own personal goal to get closer to his children that he had pushed away.

His first act once he was out of prison was to get the family back together. When Amy had died and Alex had left college, Liz moved out. Then Valenti was sent to prison and Maria couldn’t stand to be in the mansion anymore. She was the next to leave, bringing her little sister out with her. Kyle was left alone to live in the mansion, and he didn’t mind. All his life he had wanted to be a king, now he lived like one.

Meanwhile, Maria and Natalie invited themselves into Liz’s loft, where for a while, they lived happily ever after. Natalie lived like a normal teen. No more limo rides to school, no more servants waking her up, and she was happy, even if her father was in prison, but then Valenti was released and Natalie was back to living in the mansion with the rest of her siblings and her father. Well, the man she knew as her father.

Giolla left the bathroom, locking the door behind her as Natalie stood in front of the mirror. She gave herself a good look, tucking strands of her dark brown hair behind her ear and turning her head from one side to the other. Natalie was different. Kyle and Maria looked more like their father than anything else. Alex, Liz, and Natalie looked like their mother more than anything else. However, you could see a little of Amy in Kyle and Maria and a little of Valenti in Alex and Liz, but you couldn’t see any Valenti in Natalie. She resembled her brothers and sisters and mother somewhat, but you could tell right off the bat that she was different. Her eyes were a little narrower than that of her brothers and sisters and her hair was a naturally darker brown than Alex’s, Liz’s, and Amy’s, because Natalie was a consequence of a man who neglected his wife.

Her whole life, Natalie was raised a Valenti. She was born in Beverly Hills and raised in the Valenti mansion. She called Alex and Kyle her brothers. Liz and Maria were her sisters. Amy was her mother, and Valenti was her adoptive father. He took her in and called her his own, and he loved her, kind of like he loved his own. I say “kind of” only because Valenti loved his children differently, so it’s hard to say.

Natalie climbed into the tub and let herself soak. She’d sit for about twenty to twenty-five minutes, clean herself up and get dressed. Giolla always had Natalie’s waitressing uniform out on her bed waiting for her when she got out of the tub; black slacks, a short black apron, a white dress shirt, and a black neck tie. It was plain, yet, sophisticated, the emphasis of Cuore.

“Hurry up and eat your breakfast and Nico will drive you to the restaurant,” Giolla said as Natalie reached the kitchen.

A plate of English muffins and poached eggs were waiting on the counter. Natalie plopped onto the stool and slapped the eggs onto the muffins and took a huge bite.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she groaned.

Giolla nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” she replied, “you don’t need a babysitter, you need a bodyguard, and that’s exactly what Nico is.”

Natalie rolled her eyes and miserably took another bite of her breakfast. Ever since Valenti was released from prison everyone connected to him has had to watch their backs more often. That could have been another reason why Valenti wanted his children to move back home, to keep an eye on each of them.

Even though Natalie was 17 and able to drive herself to school, her BMW was collecting dust in the garage. It was back to riding in a limo or a Lincoln Town Car, but this time, it wasn’t just Sebastian, the driver, taking her from point A to point B, it was Sebastian and Nico, one Valenti’s most trusted bodyguards, though, Natalie saw him as her babysitter. For the past month, the length of time Natalie had been working at the restaurant, she would walk into Cuore, head straight upstairs to say hello to her father, clock in, and then start working. Ten minutes, on the dot, after arriving at the restaurant Nico would walk in and take the table in the corner. It had the perfect view of the whole restaurant. Nico would be able to see what was going on and what would go on if something were to happen, and he’d be able to get to Natalie to protect her, if something were to happen.

“Are you ready, Miss Natalie?”

Natalie glared out of the corners of her eyes at the man who appeared in the doorwar. “Shut up, Nico,” she sighed. “I’m tired of all this 'Miss Natalie' shi—”

“Natalie!” Giolla scolded.

The young woman just rolled her eyes as she pulled her hair into a pony tail. Nico chuckled, watching Natalie walk past him, leading the way to the garage. He was a great guy behind the stone cold façade. He was the father’s employee who all the daughters had a crush on at one time or another. A man in his early 30s with calming eyes, a strong chin, broad shoulders, and dirty blond hair, Nico had worked for Valenti since he was 15. First, he was the foot messenger, running letters to business associates, ensuring their delivery. He worked his way up and became one of Valenti’s most trusted employees.

The tall bodyguard and young Valenti walked into the garage where Sebastian was waiting, leaning against the black luxury vehicle reading the latest issue of Playboy, for the articles, of course. Both Natalie and Nico stopped a few feet from the car, both holding their chuckles as they watched the young driver tilt his head to the side to get a different angle, of the article, of course.

Nico purposely cleared his throat and Sebastian nearly jumped through the ceiling, tossing his “for adults only” magazine behind him.

“Morning, Bastian,” Natalie grinned.

Nico reached to open the door while Sebastian tried to gather himself. “M-Morning,” the driver stuttered. “Morning, Miss—”

Natalie shot an evil glare Sebastian’s way.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Nico warned with a smile.

On the drive to the restaurant, Natalie stared out the tinted windows with Nico sitting in front of her in the passenger seat and Sebastian at the wheel. She looked up at the palm trees that divided the left and right lanes of the road and then at the guard station at the front gate. It was the same guard every morning, a fairly built guy who went to Natalie’s high school the year before. It’d be twenty minute drive to the center of Beverly Hills, but Natalie always insisted on going through drive-thru at the nearest Starbucks to pick up a tall caramel macchiato because she never favored the coffee at Cuore. It’d always put them a minute or two behind schedule and Natalie would walk in late, but that’s what she wanted. She never wanted to work at Cuore. She had accepted that she wasn’t going to get close to her father. Now she had the chance to, and Natalie just didn’t seem to care that the option was there.

Even with coffee in hand, Natalie continued to slouch in the backseat, dreading another day of serving her father’s customers. She should be happy, right? She was working with her father, spending time with him. None of her brothers and sisters had the opportunity to do so when they were her age. I mean, she’d start work pretty much as soon as she’d get to the restaurant, but when lunch came, Natalie was up in her father’s office having lunch with him. She’d go back to work after her 90-minute lunch (everyone else only got an hour) and waitress for another three hours, getting off at four. Nico would finish his plate of whatever pasta he ordered and get Sebastian to bring the car out front while Natalie punched out for the day, and instead of sitting alone in the backseat on the drive home like on the drive to the restaurant, Natalie had her father there with her.

Nico pulled the door open and nodded his head towards the restaurant, which would open in less than half an hour. “Come on,” he sighed. He held out his hand for the teenager still slouching in the backseat.

Natalie grabbed his hand and pulled herself out. She strolled right across the white cement sidewalk, through the outdoor eating area, and into the restaurant. One good flick of the wrist and tablecloths were being laid out on the table by waiters and busboys, butter was melting in pans in the kitchen, and some of Dad’s “business partners” were coming through the kitchen and heading upstairs. Natalie followed those men who knew that she was close behind them, but pretended she wasn’t there until they were in the office where they welcomed her warmly.

“Good morning, Miss Natalie!” they’d say, and Natalie would roll her eyes yet again, but she’d still smile that crooked little smile of hers and walk through the path they created, parting to make space for her. And there Valenti was, sitting at his desk, smiling and waiting for the arrival of his youngest child. As Natalie walked towards him, Valenti stood up, made his way around his desk and met his daughter halfway.

“Morning, Nat,” he said cheerfully.

Natalie kissed her father on the cheek before wrapping her arms around him. “Morning, Dad,” she replied.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

And finally a new update.

Accompanying music, "Setting of the Sun" by Ben Jelen.


<center>Chapter 6- Elizabeth Nancy Parker: Juliet


“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
–Romeo Montague from The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare</center>

“GSW through the abdomen,” the paramedic informed the doctor.

The woman dressed in the white lab coat rushed alongside the gurney as it was pushed through the trauma room and placed her left hand over the wound.

“Alright, Parker,” the EMT smiled. “He’s all yours.”

Liz gave a little smirk and started to stabilize the gun shot victim. In a matter of minutes, the gurney would be wheeled back out of the trauma room heading for surgery or to the recovery room. When a stretcher left Liz’s trauma room, it would almost always never be on it’s way to the morgue. Liz’s patients left her care in as good of health as she could give them. Of course, she lost patients, but not as many as the patients she saved. Liz had a magic touch. That was no mystery, but Liz Parker, herself was.

“Dr. Liz Parker”. It was such a straight-laced title. For the other doctors, it was fine, but for Liz, she felt that she didn’t need the title. She was down-to-earth and made sure that you called her either “Liz” or “Parker”, neither was to be used with “Dr.” But honestly, if the title of “Dr.” was to applied to anyone, it was going to be Liz. They were synonymous with each other. Being a doctor defined who she was.

“Liz Parker,” someone might say.

“Oh, right, that doctor,” another would reply.

And “that doctor” was who she was known as. Liz Parker was one of the greatest people you’d ever meet. She was intelligent, wise, kind, sweet, nice, respectful, and etc. Liz Parker was everything you would want in a wife if you were a man and everything you would want in a best friend if you were a female, or male. She was the person you wanted in your life. Shame no one did. That was because no one really knew who Dr. Liz Parker was. She wouldn’t let anyone in. No one knew that Liz Parker was actually Liz Valenti. No one knew she was the daughter of a mob king, a princess of organized crime by birth.

Elizabeth Valenti disappeared at the age of 18, only to lawfully become Liz Parker. The day she changed her name was the day that she cut off all ties with her father. She never wanted to be a Valenti, but she was, and she couldn’t deal with it. She had felt the same way her older brother, Alex, did. Liz was nothing like her father. She didn’t like what he did and what her family name became. How can you be a doctor with a name like Valenti? It wasn’t possible. So what would have been Dr. Valenti was changed before anyone could find out that Liz Parker was Liz Valenti.

She didn’t hate her father. Hating him would be the last thing Liz would ever want to do, especially because what he’d been through. Liz loved her father. She acknowledged that he had given her and her siblings everything they could ever want. But she did blame him for taking away one of the most important thing in a daughter’s life. Liz blamed her father for her mother’s death. He didn’t kill her with his own hands. He would never do that. Liz knew her mother was the love of his life. However, Liz knew that her father and his “occupation” killed her mother’s spirit. She didn’t change her name in spite, she changed her name because the anger she felt towards Valenti, the mob boss, just overpowered her love for Valenti, her father. The man worked incessantly, and yes, Liz did too, but if she had a significant other, she wouldn’t neglect him like Valenti did Liz’s mother. It was that neglect that Liz believed killed her mother. If only Valenti didn’t overlook this amazing woman he had waiting at home for him, then she’d be alive today. Liz would have her mother back and she’d be able to tell her how much she loved her after many missed opportunities.

Maria knew that Liz didn’t deserve to take their mother’s name. Liz had spent her whole life resenting their parents, closing them off, because Liz was angry with their father for making their family name something to hide and she was angry with her mother for allowing herself to be held back. Liz could have been angry with her mother for having an affair, which resulted in the birth of Natalie, but Liz loved her baby sister and she empathized with her mother. Amy was ignored and wasn’t loved the way she should have been. Liz too, would have looked for love elsewhere if she was in the same position her mother was in. So Liz forgave her mother for the affair, but she didn’t forgive her mother for continuing to just sit back at home being Jimmy Valentine’s wife. Early on, Liz had noticed that certain lack of happiness in her mother’s life, and Liz knew exactly why her mother didn’t receive that happiness. Liz knew the Romeo and Juliet-esque story of her parents, but things change and Amy became Valenti’s trophy wife, someone that was just…there. Liz couldn’t accept that as her mother’s role, but it wasn’t her decision. So Liz just kept her mouth shut when she was around both parents, for nearly 18 years. She kept them at a distance, not allowing them into her life, not allowing anyone into her life.

At 25, she continues to be one of the youngest physicians to grace the halls of Cedars-Sinai medical center, achieving that status by not allowing anything to get in her way of what she wanted. I’m sure Liz thinks that love would be a great thing to have, but right now, it’s not her priority, it hasn’t been and I don’t think it will be for a long time. It just didn’t seem to matter to her at the moment. She was satisfied with giving love to her brothers and sisters and to her patients.

When Liz was younger, in her teens, and in fact, when all the Valenti kids were teens, Valenti thought he had found a way to make his kids happy. Maybe it was to make up for not being home or maybe it was to show that he still cared about his children, but Valenti made sure that his kids had that one picture-perfect date. His business partners always had kids around the ages of his, so it just donned upon him to set them up. If his kids were going to date, then it should be with someone he knew. It was a great way to keep an eye on the Valenti offspring and make sure they were looked after. Valenti would pay for the date and make sure that his child had a good time. You might as well call it an escort service. Every kid went through it, just because they wanted to get their father off their backs. One date, it was what was agreed.

Alex was stuck with some girl who spoke awfully highly of herself, and you’d figure that Alex would remember her name, but she just didn’t have that impact on him. Kyle and Maria opted for a double date with a brother and sister, which ended up as family feud type of dinner, and lucky Natalie was still waiting for her turn. Odds are that her “picture-perfect first date” will be doomed as well, but you never know, Nat’s date could end up like Liz’s.

His name was Sean Paris and he was the only person to ever love Liz and receive her love in return. He wasn’t Valenti’s first choice to date the oldest Valenti daughter, but Sean was the only boy around Liz’s age. 17 was how old a Valenti child had to be in order to date and Sean was 17. All the other sons of Il Forza members were either too old or too young. Sean would have to do. Now, Sean wasn’t just a son of an Il Forza member, he was a member also, which is why Sean wasn’t the first choice. Valenti tried to set his children up with clean kids of fellow businessmen and to make matters worse; Sean wasn’t the greatest member of Il Forza. He caused trouble and couldn’t follow orders, but he became one of Valenti’s lackeys willingly, at 13 and he had been in Il Forza too long to get out.

Liz saw it as an asset. Her mindset was that she would get through the date and use Sean to get back at her father by pretending to fall for the boy. Turned out, she managed to do that and really fall in love, a one-two punch against her father because Valenti only wanted the dates to be something to remember, never did he want his children to fall in love so soon.

Sean was a smooth talker, but he wasn’t one of those guys that just said what he said because it’s what the girl wanted to hear. Sean was genuine and real and he knew how to make Liz happy. He helped her forget her problems and made her feel important, something her father never did. Everything Liz wanted was in Sean and the two fell in love. She tried to convince him to get out of the business because of the danger involved and the time apart. Well, all of that and because Liz hated what he did and what her father groomed him to be, but like I said, Sean had been in too long to get out. So he stayed with the business and it was something Liz had to deal with.

And the relationship got serious. When Liz first moved out of the Valenti mansion, she moved right in with Sean. The reason Liz ended up with her own loft was because Valenti didn’t want his daughter living with one of his gangsters. He didn’t approve and he would never approve. So he tried his hand at making it hard for Liz and Sean to be together. Valenti got Liz her own loft and sent Sean on errands and jobs that would send him out of city, out of state, and sometimes, out of the country. He was gone for days, risking his life doing God knows what and only God knew what happened that one certain day.

Maybe that was Valenti’s motive all along. Maybe he didn’t just want Liz and Sean to not see each other; maybe Valenti wanted Sean out of the picture. For a man who was barely home and barely had time for his kids, Valenti showed an awful lot of interest in his eldest daughter’s relationship. Liz never understood why, but it was because Valenti didn’t want his daughter to end up like her mother, his wife. Soon enough, Sean was going to become like Valenti. The mob business consumes oneself, just like it consumed Valenti. So he was trying to make sure his daughter didn’t end up like his wife, a neglected and deprived human being. There was an arms deal in Japan that needed dealing with. Valenti sent Sean right into a trap. The Triad of Tokyo had it in for Valenti. The minute Sean stepped off the jet it blew up. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

With the death of her mother and the love of her life, Liz threw herself into med school and then into being a doctor. Nothing and no one else mattered.

You couldn’t describe Liz as a modern day Juliet when Shakespeare’s own Juliet was all for love, and I’m not saying Liz is against it, but she just wouldn’t fall head over heels. She’s become more cautious and guarded, but things change, love happens.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

A/N: From now on, the story will simply be called Flaw. I'll change the title when I post Chapter 8 and when I do, make sure to check out the new banner which is currently being made by the wonderful babylisou. Thanks for the FB. Also, at Flawed_Invincibility music accompanies each chapter. Check it out and leave me FB here if you don't have a Xanga account.

Accompanying music, "Falling Down" by Ben Jelen.


<center>BOOK II- The Evanses

Chapter 7- Isabel Amanda Evans: Counselor


“For there is no friend like a sister, in calm or stormy weather, to cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters own, to strengthen whilst one stands.”
–Christina G. Rossetti</center>

“Christopher Marlowe’s case has nothing to do with my brother,” Isabel argued. She followed on the heels of the assistant D.A. who busily walked around the police station, letting Isabel’s words just pass over her head.

“Well, Mr. Evans, your brother, is Mr. Marlowe’s employer. Am I correct?” Mrs. Greene wondered.

Isabel nodded. “Yes, Marlowe is a waiter at my brother’s restaurant. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“According to the undercover officer, from whom Marlowe purchased illegal narcotics from, he and Marlowe were in your brother’s establishment when the transaction occurred. Your brother must have something to do with it.”

“You have no proof,” Isabel scoffed.

Mrs. Greene bobbed her head. “Well, that is true, but we’re conducting an investigation.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. Dealing with this was a waste of her time. “Well, until the investigation is complete, which will prove that my brother had nothing to do with this, you will drop the charges against him. Otherwise, I will bring a case against the state.”

She was good with her words and intimidated others like hell. Without even waiting for a response, Isabel whipped around and started marching out of the police station, walking proud and satisfied.

“Mr. Marlowe still needs representation.”

Isabel could hear the smugness in the assistant district attorney’s voice, and so Isabel rolled her eyes in frustration and stopped to reply, but didn’t turn around. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll take the case.”

Now no longer able to take strides with pride and satisfaction, Isabel merely walked out of the station annoyed and frustrated. Isabel Evans was a corporate lawyer, not a defense attorney. Yet, she found herself at the police station trying to get her brother’s lackeys and “business partners” out of jail. She’d find herself in the courtroom, not arguing about contracts or clauses, but arguing that so-and-so was not committing the charges against so-and-so. Isabel had no choice but to defend her brother’s employees. She had to protect her brother and all of his assets. So maybe Isabel was working for a corporation, Max looked at it that way.

Isabel would do anything to protect her brother because, although she was older, Max protected and took care of Isabel first. The only reason Isabel was able to become the great lawyer she was because of Max. Her little brother paid for Yale Law School. He took care of her and their family.

So on top of being a shark for big and little corporations, Isabel took on the cases of her brother and his business associates, for free. There was no point of paying her; it was all in the family. They weren’t even criminals. I mean, yeah, they broke the law and were committing illegal acts, but there was more to it than that. Isabel had known the motives of her brother’s organization and didn’t agree with the process to achieve the motives, but she wasn’t going to stop her brother. So she helped him and defended him.

Isabel spent most her life defending her family. She lived with people believing the worst about them. I mean, her baby brother, Thomas, was sent off to military school when he was ten and her younger brother, Max, was always getting accused of being the infamous Basil Deo, the king of crime lords of Los Angeles and the world. The name loosely translates to “Kingly God-like”, but no one could prove that Max was the kingly and God-like mobster. And Isabel made sure that everyone knew that. It was inevitable that Isabel would become a defense attorney even if she studied a different type of law.

“Where have you been?”

Isabel tossed her keys into the bowl on the end table by the front door of her apartment. On the couch waiting for her was her boyfriend, watching TV with an empty TV dinner tray on the coffee table. Isabel joined him by taking a seat and eventually lying out across his lap. Jesse smiled and kissed her temple.

“Rough day?” he wondered.

As Isabel’s eyelids slowly began to fall, she nodded. “Yeah, I just came from the office,” she lied. “I don’t want to talk right now, I’m exhausted.”
Jesse nodded compliantly and let Isabel doze off in his lap. He started to run his hand through her hair, combing her hair with his hand, which he knew she loved. She loved him and Jesse Ramirez loved her.

He went to Harvard Law and she went to Yale. Their schools were rivals, but they were in love. Isabel was skeptical about the whirlwind romance, because never before had she felt so strongly about someone and acted on those feelings. She met him ona field trip. Isabel and a class spent the weekend in Boston and they went to the park one day and had a picnic. There Jesse was there with his wide smile and charm and Isabel fell in love.

The feelings were mutual between them, but neither ever acted on them while they were near each other. Sure, Jesse would spend the two hours traveling from Boston to New Haven nearly every weekend and quite a few times during the week, but just to say hi to a friend, because that’s all they were back then. They told each other about the feelings they had for one another, but Isabel was the one who held back. What she had told Jesse was that he wouldn’t fit into her life, and never knew why and would never know.

Law school ended with both of them at the head of their classes. Jesse was offered a high-paying job back in New York and Isabel had intended to return California. Isabel tried to leave without him knowing because saying goodbye to him would be too hard. Jesse found out anyway and was waiting for her at the airport.

“It’s not goodbye,” he had said.

They were yards apart because Isabel had frozen still the moment she saw him. She started to cry, but she couldn’t wipe her cheeks because her bags were still in her hands. So Jesse walked over and wiped her cheeks for her, and kissed her lips.

“Don’t,” Isabel continued to cry.

Jesse gave a little chuckle and kissed her again. “I’m going with you,” he smiled.

But Isabel shook her head. “No, Jesse…you can’t.”

“I love you,” the man pleaded, still holding onto her face with his hands. “I want to be with you. I’m not leaving here without you.”

“You have to,” Isabel had continued to cry.

They stood in the middle of the airport terminal. The passers-by no longer passed by, but stopped for a moment to watch the spectacle.

“What the hell are you hiding, Isabel?” Jesse wondered.

The tall woman lowered her head because she could see the pain she had just caused, and she didn’t want to see it. “I can’t drag you into my life.”

Jesse’s took his hands from the side of Isabel’s face and slowly backed away and that was the end. The passers-by went back to their business; the world was no longer frozen around them. Jesse left the airport in a cab and Isabel left in a plane.

Every day, for years, Isabel thought about Jesse and the normal life that she would be able to have, but the woman couldn’t leave her brothers. They needed her, and she couldn’t ask Jesse to come with her like he, and she, wanted because she’d be depriving Jesse of a normal life he deserved.

Jesse abandoned that normal life unknowingly when he moved to Los Angeles to be with Isabel years after that day in the airport. He thought about her just as much as she thought about him. Jesse had told Isabel that he didn’t care who her family was or how crazy her life would get; he would be there for her. He made the move and he came there for her. So Isabel continued to hide who her brother was from him because Jesse lived by the law. He was a federal prosecutor for Pete’s sakes. He gave up his job in New York for her. He gave up that life. Isabel couldn’t tell him to go home because her brother really was Basil Deo. Jesse would lock her brother up and despise Isabel for holding that vital information back.

“Your brother still opening up the club next Friday?” Jesse wondered.

With her eyes closed and the sense of falling into a deep sleep, Isabel managed to nod.

To Jesse, and to the rest of the world, Max Evans owned the restaurant, Ronin, and was opening his newest business venture, a club called Joplin. No one was ever going to know the truth about Isabel and her family. Isabel was going to protect her brother’s secret by all means, and defend him.

Dialogue borrowed from "Graduation".

[hoLLyBEHRy]

The new and wonderful banner made by babylisou.

<center></center>

And the next chapter.

Accompanying music, "I Disappear" by Metallica.


<center>Chapter 8- Michael Stone Guerin: Second-In-Command


“Lack of loyalty is one of the major causes of failure in every walk of life.”
–Napoleon Hill</center>

“So what am I doin’ again?”

The man with the slicked back, light brown hair rolled his eyes as he and the teenager behind him continued to peer around the corner of a building, both of them squinting to see through the pouring rain.

“I hate it when he’s right,” Michael sighed to himself. His business partner always said that they should never hire kids. 1) Kids were going to get themselves killed and 2) kids needed to be babysat. Michael turned and leaned his back against the building, grabbing the collar of the apprentice, forcing the young kid to do the same. “You’re going into that phone booth on the other corner,” Michael began to explain. “When the phone rings in a minute, you’re going to pick it up. Don’t say anything, just hit a button to let the person on the other know that someone picked up. After that, you’re going to record what the person’s saying. You got the recorder?”

The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tape recorder. Michael quickly slapped the boy’s hand down back to his pocket because soon the rain began to soak the electronic device. The boy gave a goofy smile and again all Michael could do was roll his eyes. He gave the boy a playful shove out into the street and the boy sped off towards the phone booth on the corner. Michael watched intently, waiting for the phone to ring with the rain pounding down on his leather jacket. Seconds after the young man entered the phone booth, Michael was relieved to hear the shrill and loud ring of the phone. The young boy in the booth took the phone off the hook, but then that was all Michael could see. Though water soaked Michael, sweat started to form along his hairline as the simple job took longer than expected, but soon, the young boy returned, running back to the building Michael used as refuge.

“Got it,” the boy grinned, handing Michael the tape recorder.

Michael gave a little smirk and went ahead and rewound the tape and then played it.

“1am,” the voice on the recorder said. “1am, Wednesday, November 3rd. It’s ten—”

Michael stopped the tape and slid the recorder into the interior pocket of his leather jacket and started walking down the alley. The young boy started to quickly follow on his heels.

“What’s on the rest of the tape?” the boy wondered.

Michael continued marching down the brightly lit alley without even looking at the teenager who was trying to keep up with his long strides. “That’s none of your business,” Michael replied. “You can go back to the restaurant now.”

“Oh, come on, Michael,” the teenager began to beg. “How am I going to be a part of the organization if you keep me in the dark?”

The six foot two man stopped abruptly and turned to the boy. “Eli, look,” he ordered. “Your job is to receive the messages, that’s all. If you do more than that, then we’re putting you in danger.”

“It’s not like that matters,” Eli replied. “I’ve got no family to care about me if I die.”

The kid was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. There was another reason why Max never wanted to hire kids, it was because they were innocent and pure. Even though the kids Michael hired behind Max's back were kids from orphanages or troubled runaways, they still had a future that didn’t need to consist of what Michael’s life consisted of.

He still had nightmares of the accident. The car came crashing off a cliff and dove right into the desert floor. Michael was six. It was any normal night. He and his parents were moving yet again because they were searching for safety that was unattainable. Michael was sitting in the backseat with all of their belongings surrounding him and remembered his parents looking back at him and then at each other, smiling, happily. It was late and Michael had started dozing off. He had barely fallen into a deep sleep when their car was struck from behind. His mother started screaming and his father was struggling to keep the car on the road and on the small cliff. Michael couldn’t see who was behind them, the headlights from the car that stuck them were too bright, but he knew that the bump was no accident. Another shove from behind and Michael grew into a panic.

“Put on your seatbelt, Michael!” his mother had urged. Tears were streaming down her face already and Michael couldn’t understand why, but he did as he was told and buckled up. He could see the world around him zoom by. His father tried to outrun whomever was attacking them, but it was no use. There was one final shove and the car took a sharp turn. It hit the wood fence and started pummeling for the desert floor that eventually wasn’t below them.

Michael had his eyes closed through the fall that lasted mere seconds. Miraculously, he had survived and by blood he saw on the windshield and the blood pouring onto the sand, Michael knew that he was the only one. In fear, Michael climbed out of the wreck and ran. Roaming the desert for hours, alone and traumatized, the small boy was eventually found.

For years, Michael lived in an orphanage. He went to school just like other kids and there, he met a kid by the name of Max Evans and Max's sister Isabel. Somehow, he was just drawn to them. They were, in a way, orphans just like him. Maybe that’s why, but he felt that there was a deeper connection.

The three of them started the school as new students. Isabel was in fifth grade while Michael and Max were learning with the rest of the third graders. The first one Michael met out of the siblings was Isabel. It was lunch and Michael was having problems with the lunch supervisor. The man wouldn’t accept Michael’s food stamps. He had called the young boy a “welfare punk”. Michael was about to lose it, he had a short temper. Something stopped him from kicking the guy’s balls up his throat, though. He had felt someone watching him and sure enough, when he turned around, Isabel was right there at a lunch table, staring at him. He would describe Isabel’s stare as a heat lamp put up right against the back of his neck. For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Soon enough, Michael walked over to Isabel and took a seat. The young girl slid her lunch tray towards Michael.

“You can have my lunch,” she smiled.

Thus began the start of a wonderful friendship based on looking out for each other with Max doing most of the looking. And the young Evans boy especially had to look out for Michael, because young Guerin was rebellious. Because while Max and Isabel were orphans too, they had a life before becoming parentless. They had luxury and family, but Michael didn’t. The brother and sister knew better, and their friend didn’t. They had gotten close as friends could get. They were almost family. In so many ways the three of them were the same, in many other ways they were different. To Michael, the differences were just too much and Michael knew that Max and Isabel weren’t his family.

His parents taken away from him and his home non-existent, Michael learned to fend for himself and himself alone, and he had to if he was going to leave the orphanage, which he did.

Michael ran to find home, wherever it was, and he ran to find his family, whomever they were. Around the age of eight or nine, Michael left the orphanage to live on his own. He’d still go to school but soon, school was no longer important to him when his quest to survive and search for his family was more important than learning algebraic equations and British literature.

There was nothing Isabel or Max could do or say to convince Michael to stay with them. Michael was and is stubborn, so he left, refusing help from his friends. But how the hell was a kid going to survive in Los Angeles by himself? Well, for one, you steal from the rich and keep to yourself, and that’s exactly what Michael did. It earned him the nickname “Stone”, because he put up a stonewall. Even when he was friends with Isabel and Max, he had the stonewall up, and Max and Iz knew that, but they still loved them like their brother. Anyway, on the street, Michael mastered the art of pick-pocketing and lived in an abandoned warehouse. Eventually, he had met others just like him. Those he met were no one to get close to, but people to get caught with if Michael was ever to get caught, which did happen pretty often. They lived off the what they could grab, whether it was during the day and from strangers’ pockets or at night from inside people’s homes.

It’s no way to live a life. Michael realized that. He also realized that his family were those who would give up what they had for him and to him.

The rain was pouring down hard and Michael was roaming around the streets of Beverly Hills. He knew his way around because he had spent a long time in the neighborhood. He was always at Max and Isabel’s mansion. Now, true, I had said that the brother and sister were somewhat orphans. Their parents didn’t die, but both their parents were taken away from them. They had what their father left them though, and that was luxury. So Michael was often in the Beverly Hills area.

Michael roamed the streets with nothing more than his leather jacket and jeans on. People of the neighborhood pried their curtains apart and watched as the boy walked up a private street to the large house on the hill. By the time Michael reached the top, the rent-a-cops of the neighborhood were surrounded him with their red and blue lights on.

“Freez!” on guard ordered.

Michael held up his hands and turned to the guards. He knew the drill and once he showed that there was nothing in his hands, he decided he’d help the officers out and put his hands behind his back, after turning back around so that it’d be easier for the guards. And the security guards had approached with handcuffs out and their flashlights on Michael. Something happened though.

As Michael held his head down and started walking to the patrol car, he could feel warmth reach the back of his neck, like a heat lamp right up against it. Michael gave a little grin and turned around as he heard her cry.

“Michael!” Isabel called to him.

He didn’t need to squint, but to prevent the rain from getting into his eyes, Michael did anyway, and then he braced himself for a tackle from Isabel. She bolted towards him, wrapping her arms around him. She was about six feet tall and took Michael down to the asphalt.

“You’re here!”

Laughing, Michael had nodded and watched as Max coolly walked towards him and the security guards who were baffled by the display in front of them.

“It’s ok, Clint,” Max said to one of the guards. He looked down at Michael on the floor and grinned. “He’s our brother.”

With his and Isabel’s help, they helped Michael off the wet road. The officer took the cuffs off Michael’s wrist and the two patrol cars left. The three of them—Max, Isabel, and Michael—stood out in the rain. The rain slapped against his jacket, but it was going to be ok. Michael found home and he found his family.

“I’ve got no family, Michael,” Eli sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

Michael stared at the young boy and then shook his head after a moment. “We’re your family,” he smiled.

[hoLLyBEHRy]

Accompanying music, "Home" by 12 Stones.


<center>Chapter 9- William Thomas Evans: Baby Brother


“Brothers don’t necessarily have to say anything to each other. They can sit in a room and be together and just be completely comfortable with each other.”
–Leonardo DiCaprio</center>

Everything he owned fit into a seabag. All the clothes he had and all his personal belongings fit into those long, military-issued, green canvas bags. With that bag on his shoulder and his wool coat on to protect him from the cold, the young man continued walking down the length of the road, looking over his shoulder hoping to see a car, but all he saw was empty road. Thomas went back to looking straight ahead and walked along the side of the road in the moist mud. The trees with the orange and brown leaves rustled a bit when the wind passed through. Thomas pulled the opening of his coat closer together and crossed his arms. When a car would eventually decide to grace Thomas with its presence, the teenager would raise his arm and stick out his thumb in hopes that the car or truck or van would stop and give the teenager a ride for at least a few miles.

For half an hour, all Thomas heard was the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds flying in their flocks, heading down south for the winter. Then came the rumbling of an engine, Thomas quickly turned around to see a truck coming around the bend. The boy lifted his arm, got some blood circulating in his hand by giving it a good shake, and then stuck his thumb out. He rocked on his heels, hoping and praying that maybe this driver will stop, and the driver did.

Thomas looked up at the window of the large semi-truck and grinned warmly at the driver. “Can I catch a lift?”

The woman behind the wheel gave a small smile and gave a quick little tilt of the head. “Hop on in.”

Thomas gratefully nodded and ran around to the other side of the truck’s cab and climbed in as he took off his cover, or hat. “Thanks,” he panted, rubbing his upper arms. “It’s cold as hell out there.”

The blonde woman dressed in a jean jacket with a faux fur collar nodded and started driving down the road. “Where you heading to?”

“Beverly Hills,” Thomas replied.

The truck driver bobbed her head up and down in understanding and glanced over at her new passenger. “You’re a little too late for Halloween, kid.”

Thomas turned to the driver questionably while the driver just looked Thomas up and down. The teenage boy took a glance at what the driver was referring to and all Thomas saw was his military uniform. He leaned forward and studied his neatly polished, black dress shoes, his ironed blue slacks with a single red stripe down the sides, and his heavenly white belt with a globe and anchor, the Marine Corps emblem, on the gold belt buckle. The belt itself didn’t go around his slacks, but around his black jacket with the red trim. The uniform was what the Marines referred to as “Dress Blues”, the formal attire of a United States Marine. The dress jacket was enough to keep him warm the unusual Southern California winter air was freezing and had reached Thomas’s bones. Placing his white hat next to him, Thomas closed the opening of his wool overcoat again and grinned.

“I go to MacArthur Academy,” he replied.

“Military school,” the driver realized. “Well, that’s in Seattle. What the hell are you doing here in California?”

That was a tough question to answer. Thomas turned away and stared out the window.

“You wanted to see me, General Rogers?” Thomas stood up straight and firm, not staring dead ahead and not directly at the man behind the large wooden desk.

“At ease,” the retired Marine ordered. “Take a seat.”

Thomas nodded and quickly sat in the chair in front of the desk. He placed his cover on his lap and sat with impeccable posture.

“This past weekend,” General Rogers began to address, “there was an illegal party out in Washington Field where underage drinking and drug use was involved. Now some students, who shall remain nameless, have confessed that alcohol and drugs were supplied by none other than you, Cadet Evans. What do you have to say?”

Thomas closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Nothing he would say would make the situation better.

“Alright,” the older man sighed. “Evans, after some consideration, by myself and your professors, we have come to a conclusion: MacArthur Academy has zero tolerance for alcohol and drug use, and you have been expelled.”

Inside, Thomas was blowing a gasket and had it not been for the discipline the institute where he had spent years of his life taught him, Thomas would be throwing books and causing an unnecessary scene. Instead, the young man calmly nodded.

“I understand,” he replied.

Thomas shook the hand of the respectable man who sat in front of him and then left the office. Walking down the halls of the large institution and glancing at the portraits of great leaders, Thomas wondered if he belonged at MacArthur Academy anyway.

“Lead from wherever you are.”

It was MacArthur Academy’s motto, and Thomas Evans was no follower, but he also wasn’t a leader. He was forced to attend the military school, but over the years, he grew to love the restrictions and also loved the independence only Thomas found at MacArthur Academy. Thomas thrived off independence, but aside from that and the discipline that MacArthur Academy taught, Thomas learned nothing else.

He had remembered the day his brother and sister told him he was going to Seattle for military school. Thomas was ten and Max and Isabel summoned him to the library of the mansion. Big brother was standing at the fireplace, leaning on the mantle, staring at the crackling fire. It was early winter, just like it was now, and the heater was on, but Max liked when a fire was burning. Isabel was sitting on the couch with her knees nervously bouncing as she waited for her little brother to arrive, and when he did, she had quickly jumped to her feet, prompting Max to look over his shoulder.

“Will,” Max grinned. “Take a seat.”

Thomas’s big brother was the only person who referred to him as Will, short for, of course, William, his first name. Everyone called him Thomas because he liked it better than William or Will and he had asked that everyone refer to him by his middle name. When he tried to tell Max to call him “Thomas” and not “Will”, Max refused and continued to refer to his little brother with the latter.

“What’s going on?” Thomas wondered as he walked into the library.

The library was definitely the last room the young boy would ever want to spend time in. According to him, Thomas “sucked” at school. He hated reading, he hated writing, he hated anything that required thinking. Maybe that was why the brother and sister were sending their younger sibling away to military school.

Education was important. Max made sure that that was imbedded into everyone’s mind. Max made sure that Isabel kept up with her studies and sent her to one of the best law schools in the nation, and he did. So far, Max had failed with Thomas who was barely passing the fifth grade at the time. Max still had time to fix little brother, and heck, why not show the kid discipline and all that other stuff too?

In addition to the education, there were so many other reasons why Max had to send Thomas to military school. He had to keep his little brother away from the business and someone had to make sure that Thomas was going to grow up right. Max was no role model. As much as he wanted to be, he just wasn’t the guy to be looked up to.

“Will, you have to understand,” Max pleaded.

But Thomas refused to believe what his brother had proposed—No, not proposed, ordered.

Isabel nodded in agreement, but was hesitant about doing so. “Tommy, it’ll be best for you,” she said with tears in her eyes.

Thomas stormed out of the house that night to be brought back home by the police at two in the morning. Seems that Thomas was taking his anger out on some windows of the Mayor’s house. Military school was definitely needed.

“Lead from wherever you are.”

Max was a leader and a damn great one at that, yet he didn’t want his brother to become like him. So why send him to school that would teach him leadership? Because Max did want his little brother to become somewhat like him. He just didn’t want to learn from Max himself.

“Kid!”

Thomas’s eyelids shot open and found himself in a cab of a large semi-truck.

“This is as far as I can take you,” the truck driver laughed.

By the sound of her accent, Thomas would guess the woman came from somewhere in the south. With a thankful smirk on his face, Thomas looked out the window and nodded. “Thanks,” he replied.

The woman nodded. “Not a problem. Hope I took you far enough.”

Thomas looked out the window once again. “This is perfect.”

He pulled the latch to open the door and tossed his bag down onto the street. One leap and Thomas was on the street himself. He looked up at the clear sky and the bright sun and decided that the overcoat was no longer needed. Placing it on his arm, he picked up his bag, and thanked the driver once again.

“Wait a sec,” the woman ordered.

Thomas pulled the door back open and looked up. “I don’t have any money.”

“No,” the driver chuckled. “You forgot this.” She tossed Thomas’s white cover with black brim like a Frisbee.

He caught it with ease and placed it on his head. “Thanks.”

Again, the driver nodded in reply to Thomas’s gratefulness. “You know, you’re a little shabby for a military student.”

Thomas knew she was referring to his hair and how it wasn’t cut and shaved neatly. He didn’t answer the woman but just smirked and started back on his way.

“You never did answer my question.”

Thomas was never going to leave the driver’s side. “Ma’am?” he wondered.

“What are you doing in California?”

He sighed heavily and looked at a large house on a hill. “I’m going home.”

The truck driver smiled and finally drove off. Thomas continued to stare at the mansion that stood alone on the hill. A large stone wall surrounded the handsome property and in front of Thomas was a large black iron gate, which he walked up to.

At the intercom, he pressed a red button and listened to the sound of the surveillance camera above him zoom towards him.

“Name?” It was a woman’s voice that came over the intercom.

Thomas cleared his throat and smiled into the camera. While holding down a button, he spoke. “William Thomas Evans,” he answered.

He released the button and waited for a reply.

“Tommy-boy?!?!” the woman shrieked. “Is that you?”

“Hi, Louise,” the teenager waved into the camera. “You mind letting me in?”

The gate unlocked and started retracting into the wall.

“You wait right there, Tommy-boy,” Louise ordered. “I don’t want you to wear out that snazzy uniform! Nicholai’s coming down with the cart.”

Thomas grinned and walked to the opening of the gate and leaned against the center pillar that divided the entrance gate and the exit gate. In about a minute or so, a golf cart came whirring down the road with a muscular man, early-thirties, in the driver seat. Actually, he kind of took up the whole seat. The man jumped out of the cart and rushed over to Thomas.

“Tommy-boy!” he laughed, grabbing the teenager into a bear hug.

“Hey, Nic,” Thomas managed to squeak out. “Seems like you’ve gotten stronger.”

Nicholai put the boy down and smiled. “No, you just got weaker,” he smiled. He studied the now wrinkled uniform and quickly started patting Thomas down. “Aw, geez, sorry, Tommy-boy.”

“It’s ok,” Thomas chuckled. “It’s fine.”

But the tall man continued beating the wrinkles out of the uniform.

“Ok, stop!” the teenager laughed. “Can we get up to the house?”

“Sure thing…boss,” Nic smiled.

Rolling his eyes, Thomas grabbed his bag from Nic’s hands, saving the driver the trouble of carrying his luggage.

“Damn, you’ve sure grown up,” Nic smiled. “I remember driving you to elementary school.”

Thomas bobbed his head and glanced at the landscape of his brother’s property. “Get any new cars since I’ve been gone?”

“Plenty,” Nic gushed. “Your brother bought himself a new Porsche turbo. He got Isabel a hot new Jaguar. He added some new town cars, a couple of limos, and a few bikes.”

The teenager gave a little smirk. He remembered spending a lot of time in the garage. His brother’s collection rounded out somewhere near twenty. With the new cars Nic cooed about, the auto collection could be well in the forties.

“He’s also got some car under a sheet in the garage,” Nic continued. “I haven’t seen it.”

Thomas’s frown vanished to be replaced with a grin. “He got me a car? Does he know I’m back?”

Nic shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s yours, but your brother and sister don’t know your back, maybe Louise just told them now, but none of us knew you were coming.”

“Neither did I,” Thomas laughed.

“What are you doing back?”

The golf cart drove around the right side of the large water fountain display in the front yard, bringing them just yards away from the large front door.

“It was time to come home,” Thomas sighed.

Nic bobbed his head in understanding. “Well, I let you get to Max, Isabel, and Michael.”

Patting the top of the golf cart, Thomas smirked. “Thanks, Nic.”

The boy started heading up the steps when Nic gave the golf cart’s horn a little honk. “Hey,” he said. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Thomas gave a little wave and continued walking up the few steps. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys. When he came to the door, Thomas set down his seabag and stuck a gold key into the lock of the door. He stared at the key in the lock for a moment, ready for the reactions, the repercussions, of his return.

Thomas unlocked the door, grabbed his seabag to place it on the hall floor instead of the front porch floor, and took his cover of his head. He glanced around the great hall and realized nothing had changed. The wooden floor was still polished to perfection, the large chandelier hanging above head was shining bright, and the grand staircase was still grand.

Thomas could hear the fire popping in the background and followed the sound. He still remembered this house, his home. When he came to white sliding doors, Thomas took a deep breath before sliding them open, and when he finally would, Max would be standing at the fireplace, leaning on the mantle, staring at the crackling fire.