Chapter Text
Anthony scowled as his back hit the mat of the boxing ring for the third time. His brother smirked above him.
“I told ya ta block.”
“Shut up.”
Anthony struggled to his feet, ripping off one of his boxing mitts so he could more easily take the hand Niss was holding out.
“Ya get too distracted, that’s your problem,” Niss nodded, sliding his own boxing gloves off and reaching for a pack of cigarettes.
“And I ask again, who asked you?” Anthony muttered.
Niss didn’t seem to hear him, continuing to talk. “That’s probably what got ya ta fuck up on the Vitelli job. Always daydreamin’. Ah - shit, sorry, Tony. Didn’t mean to bring that up again.”
“Yeah, sure ya didn’t,” Anthony sighed. The Vitelli job. His big break in his family and of course he’d gone and whiffed it. He was supposed to have been lookout, but Vitelli got through a side door he hadn’t known about. Last anyone in the Family had heard, guy was in witness protection somewhere in Utah.
Even now, a year later, Anthony still wore the shame of it. He hadn’t been trusted with another job since.
“Ey!”
Both Anthony and Niss’ heads turned to the door as it banged open. One of their father’s lackeys stood there, scowling at them. He pointed. “Boss wants to see ya.”
“Right, I’m comin’.” Niss started to step down from the ring, but the lackey shook his head. “Not you.” He pointed at Anthony. “Him.”
“Huh?” Anthony looked over his shoulder as if he half expected some other guy to be in the room with them that he just hadn’t noticed. Why in God’s name would their father want to speak to him? Blinking in confusion he hopped down from the ring and took a towel from the side, hastily wiping the sweat from his face and reaching for his shirt.
He wanted to shower, even a short bout with Niss was enough to have him sweating like a sinner in church, but equally he knew that keeping his father waiting when he’d called specifically for him was not a wise decision. Buttoning up his shirt he tied his tie as neatly as he could without a mirror and shrugged on his coat.
What could he have done wrong now?
That’s what it had to be. Henry Ragni wouldn’t be calling for his least favourite son- least favourite child- unless he’d gone and fucked up again. Problem was, Anthony couldn’t think of anything. As the goon drove him back to the house Anthony was worrying himself in circles trying to think of anything he’d done recently that could possibly be of note to his father. Nothing came to mind, Hell, he hadn’t even snuck out to go dancing at the jazz clubs all month now!
Swallowing down a bellyful of butterflies he stepped out of the car when they pulled up outside the grand Ragni mansion and straightened his tie for the millionth time.
Whatever it was, he could do this.
o0o
Henry didn’t look up from the note he was drafting at his desk when Anthony shuffled into his office. He merely waved a hand, indicating his son should close the door. Anthony did so, leaning against it and holding his breath.
Finally Henry finished whatever he was writing and thrust the piece of paper out to him. Now even more confused, Anthony stepped forward and took the paper. All that was written on it was numbers and a street name.
“What’s this?”
“What’s it look like?” Henry grunted, leaning back in his chair. “It’s an address. We’ve decided to invest in a little operation downtown.”
“Operation?”
“This isn’t an echo chamber, Tony, and I didn’t tell ya to talk. Just listen.” Anthony looked at his feet and nodded, trying not to squirm around too much as Henry continued. “We gotta lotta money supposed to be comin’ in the next couple months from a lot of our jobs the past year. We can’t dump it all in the bank at once. Draws too much suspicion from the feds. So we’re gonna invest it.”
Henry got up from his seat, picking up a folder from his desk and opening it, slapping the paperwork with the back of his hand. “Got a sweet deal on a little place. Won’t require too much upkeep. All you gotta do is keep an eye on it and make sure it looks operational.”
“A job?” Anthony felt his hopes rising. “You’re givin’ me a job? Really?”
“The fuck did I just say, Jesus,” Henry shook his head. He shoved the folder into Anthony’s chest. “Remember, the important thing is that it looks like it’s workin’, but that’s about it. I don’t give a shit about customers or anythin’. As long as we’re in the red at the end of the year, we can file for bankruptcy, shut ‘er down, and keep all that extra investment cash without gettin’ anyone suspicious. Got it?”
“Got it, Pop,” Anthony nodded, looking down at the folder in his hands. “So, what kind of operation is it, anyway?”
o0o
A restaurant.
Whatever Anthony had been thinking Henry was going to ask him it certainly hadn’t been this.
He coughed as he wiped his hand across a thick layer of dust coating the bar top and looked around the empty, dilapidated space in dismay. It was a dump. Worse than a dump. It looked like no one had been in here since the war. Every surface was some shade of gray or brown, thick with dirt and neglect. Tentatively he reached out to flick on the light switch and flinched as the bulb sparked dangerously in its socket.
Great. He’d been entrusted with a death trap.
With a sigh he went to the front window, pulling the sleeve of his coat down so he could use it to wipe some of the grime away. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass, watching the city go by outside. So much for being trusted with a new job. This was essentially a place for his dad to just get him out of the way. Dump him and forget about him. Fucking typical.
Anthony slipped his coat off and tossed it haphazardly over a stool that was miraculously still standing at the bar, pushing his sleeves up. If he was going to be expected to be here every day, he was not going to do it inhaling lungfuls of dust. Just being in this place was probably going to give him typhoid or something anyway.
The little bell above the door tinkled as Niss pushed it open – both he and Anthony watched as the bell then promptly cracked and fell off, hitting the floor with a small clunk . Anthony stared at it for a moment before raising his eyes to his brother.
Niss let out a low whistle, looking around. “What a dump.”
“ Mi fa cagare ,” Anthony muttered. “What’re you doin’ here?”
“Pops mentioned he was puttin’ you in charge of this so I thought I’d come check it out,” Niss answered, wiping a finger along the dusty bartop and making a face at the grime that came off. “Ey, it’s a job, right? This’ll keep you busy for a while.”
“You mean ‘outta the way’,” Anthony sighed. “This place looks like it’ll give ya tetanus if ya look at it funny. Ain’t like any customers are gonna come in.”
“They ain’t supposed to come in,” Niss reminded him. “If you’re lucky you’ll just get a coupla lost tourists, otherwise ya can hang out here, read the paper, listen to the radio. Put up with it for a year an’ I bet Dad’ll start takin’ the steps to present you to get you made.”
Anthony paused at that. “...Really?”
“No promises,” Niss said quickly. “But I wouldn’t be surprised, yeah.”
“Huh.” Anthony looked around. “I guess maybe if I can clean it up a bit it won’t be so bad…”
“I gotta coupla hours,” Niss said, shrugging off his coat and tossing it to join Anthony’s. “Guess I can help out a bit. Don’t want Molly accusin’ me of lettin’ ya choke to death on dust.”
Anthony nodded, feeling a bit better as he went to rummage around behind the bar to see if there had been any cleaning supplies left. He paused as something occurred to him.
“Hey, Niss?”
“Yeah?”
“Who’s gonna do the cooking?”
o0o
Anthony had always kind of liked shopping with Molly. His twin was vibrant and fun to be around and always let him help pick fabrics for any of the new dresses her father insisted on having made for her. Henry was determined she was going to ‘catch a man’ and whilst she had little interest in fashion, Anthony had an eye for choosing the best colours to bring out her complexion. Sadly, this shopping trip was not of the fashion variety.
“I swear, Tonio, if you pick up anything in a can Nonna is gonna to rise up from her grave and smite ya down herself,” Molly threatened as she saw Anthony reaching for a can of chopped tomatoes. “Ya gotta use fresh!”
“But it costs more!” Anthony pointed out, putting down the 10 cent can of tomatoes and scowling as Molly placed her basket into his arms and started to pile fresh produce into it. “Pops a’int gonna want me wastin’ all his cash on this shit.”
“I don’t care, Tonio,” Molly said firmly. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you serve bad food, it’s insultin’. Shit, I’d help ya out myself if I didn’t have to work so much.” With a determined spring in her step she led him towards another aisle and started picking up various jars of spices, adding them to the steadily growing pile in the basket along with a carton of eggs and some flour. “Hmm… what else…”
“The job’s going well then?” Anthony asked curiously, rearranging his load so that he didn’t drop it now it was getting heavier. They should have gotten a cart, he thought moodily. Molly seemed intent on buying the whole grocery store.
“Yeah, it’s swell,” Molly shrugged. “The editor says he might give me some real articles to write if I play my cards right rather than this shit agony aunt gig.” She took the basket from his hands and placed it on the counter, handing over some cash to the cashier as they rang it up. “Ten Lucky Strike, please,” she added, gesturing to the packs of cigarettes behind the counter.
“Molly! When did ya start smokin’?” Anthony scolded, snatching the pack from her as the cashier handed it over. “Dad’ll go spare if he catches ya.”
“Oh lighten up,” Molly laughed, thanking the cashier and taking her cigarettes back from Anthony. She stopped him from taking them back from her by pushing the grocery bag into his open arms. With a wink she took a match from her purse and lit up. “My roommate smokes and she says it’s good for you, it keeps your lungs warm. Doctors say so.”
“Well don’t let Niss or Pops find out,” Anthony muttered sullenly. He hadn’t met this new roommate that Molly had been talking about so much. She was some Australian broad that Molly had met at college and Anthony wasn’t sure she was the best influence. Molly sure was getting some wild ideas since moving in with her.
“I won’t,” Molly laughed, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Here we are.” They walked into the restaurant together and Anthony led her back to the kitchen area. It still looked like a run down dump, but he and Niss had done a passable job at cleaning it up so that it no longer looked like a health violation.
“I haven’t got a clue what to do with all this,” Anthony pointed out.
“You’re not gonna actually get any customers just yet,” Molly reassured him. “Just chop those tomatoes then bring them home tonight with some of the eggs and flour and I’ll make pasta for us all. If you get real bored I’ve left a recipe book for you- maybe try and learn a few things whilst it’s quiet?”
Anthony half-heartedly dumped the bag of groceries on the counter, his eyes moving over them as if they would magically make themselves into a meal.
“I suppose.”
“It’ll be fine.” Molly stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on his forehead, “I’ve gotta go. I have a deadline tomorrow. Good luck!”
Anthony walked her to the door and watched through the window as his sister disappeared into the New York crowds.
He picked up the recipe book and flicked through it for a minute before tossing it to the side. Nobody was gonna come in anyway, what was the point?
He left the restaurant for a few minutes to purchase a newspaper and a cheap paperback, returning to the back of the kitchen and planning to settle down and read until he could feasibly call it closing time.
He’d have to get a radio in here. Maybe he could listen to ball games or something. That wouldn’t be too bad.
“Excuse me, are you open?”
Anthony looked up in shock at the sound of a voice coming from the dining area. They hadn’t replaced the bell above the door so he hadn’t heard the new arrival come in at all. Closing the book he put it back down on the worktop and brushed off his hands on his pants, checking his reflection in the shiny metal of the splash back over the huge oven before making his way out.
A man stood there alone, sleekly dressed in a pinstripe suit with a matching fedora and grand coat. They didn’t get many Asian folk in these parts and Anthony felt a small rush of panic that he was going to have to deal with a tourist who didn’t speak the language until the man spoke again with an absolutely crystal clear upper New York accent.
“Only, I’ve been standing here for five minutes and there isn’t even a hostess to take my coat.”
“Sorry, uh, just opened,” Anthony said sheepishly, rushing over to take the man’s hat and coat and hanging them up to dry on the coat stand he and Niss had found when they’d been cleaning. It was dripping wet and Anthony caught a glance of a fierce rain storm blowing up outside, a small jagged streak of lightning flashing through the sky and backlighting the doorway where the man stood. “Come on, take a seat!” He plastered on his best host smile and guided the visitor to the nearest table. “What can I get ya?”
The man blinked in confusion, his lip curling into a small smirk. “A menu, perhaps?” he pointed out.
“Sorry?”
“A menu. Lista delle vivande? Speisekarte?” The man said slowly, as if he was speaking to someone of particularly low intelligence.
“Oh!” Anthony paled in realisation. “Menu… right… uh, well, you see we don’t really gots anything like that yet so…” He clicked his fingers as an idea came to mind. “Why don’t I just surprise ya? Cook ya something real swell just like my Nonna used to make. How does that sound?”
The man just stared at him, his eyebrows raised.
“That’s the spirit!” With a nervous laugh Anthony ran his fingers through his hair. “Can I get ya a glass of wine while you wait, Sir?”
“Please do.”
Anthony returned to the kitchen, dancing on the spot for a moment in a panic before remembering he was supposed to be getting wine.
He sloshed some red into a glass and deposited it on the customer’s table, scurrying away before the man could say anything else.
“Right. Food, food, c’mon Tony, it’s not like you’ve never eaten fuckin’ food before…” He spied the recipe book he’d tossed aside earlier, flipping it open. He definitely didn't have time to make fresh pasta, he knew from watching Molly that could take hours.
“Chicken piccata, that shouldn’t be too hard,” Anthony nodded to himself as his eyes roved over the recipe.
The book called for the chicken breasts to be butterflied - he had no idea what that meant, so he grabbed two chicken breasts from the haul he and Molly had come back with, tossing them in a pan and shoving it into the oven, clicking the dial to turn the oven on.
He returned his gaze to the book, frowning when he realized he was supposed to dredge the breasts in flour first. Oh well. It probably didn’t matter, he figured. One of those preference things. Like salt.
While he waited for the chicken to cook, he started chopping up onions and tomatoes. How the heck did Molly always get her pieces to be uniform? Anthony’s looked like they’d been shredded by some kind of angry cat.
He also realized he’d forgotten to set any kind of timer for the chicken. After about twenty minutes he opened the door and peeked in — the breasts looked brown enough to be cooked, he decided.
He quickly arranged them as nicely as he could on the plate, adding the onions and tomatoes. It didn’t look exactly like the picture, but he didn’t want the customer waiting any longer. The faster he ate, the faster he would leave.
“Well, here ya go, Sir. Buon appetito!” Anthony put the plate down with a smile and stood there as the gentleman stared down at it.
“What’s this?”
“Family recipe,” Anthony said confidently. “Let me know if you need anything or another drink.” Before the man could say anything else, Anthony scooted back to the kitchen and closed the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief. Ok, so that wasn’t so terrible. Sure, the kitchen was a mess and he was going to have to do some serious cleaning after the man had left but he’d done it. He’d cooked a meal all by himself and it didn’t look half bad even if he did say so himself. Maybe he could handle this whole restaurant gig. It was just a case of following the steps in the book, that was all. Feeling a small swell of pride in his chest he went over to the sink and started to run the hot water, humming to himself as he loaded the sink up with the pots and utensils, scrubbing them to a shine and keeping an ear out for his customer. Maybe he should talk to Pops about hiring a waitress of something, or someone to tend the bar at least.
As the man ate, Anthony kept stealing glances through the window in the door, trying to gauge the man’s reaction. His face was as impassive as glass, cold and emotionless as he ate and he couldn’t tell a thing from it. Soon enough he saw the man reaching into his suit jacket pocket for a pen and start to scribble something down in a tiny pocket book before slipping out a cheque book as well.
That was his cue.
“Was everything to your satisfaction, Sir?” He asked politely, eagle eyes spying the folded up cheque neatly sat next to the man’s half eaten plate.
“Yeah, there’s your bill,” the man told him, rising up to standing and moving past him to retrieve his coat and hat. “I even left a tip in there for you. Have a nice night.”
“Thank you very much, Sir,” Anthony grinned as he left. Excellent! He knew he could do this. He realized that he hadn’t actually set a price for the meal but the man had seemed pretty decent. Reaching out to unfold the cheque the smile died on his face instantly.
A scrawling signature looped over the name Vincent Oxley and in the place where the money total was meant to go were the words “ Learn to fucking cook.”
“...
Fuck.”