Chapter Text
Sarah Marino stands shorter than everyone she knows, even with the little wooden blocks she’s added to the inside of her shoes.
She stares at her reflection in the mirror and sometimes it just doesn’t feel right. Sometimes, she avoids it altogether. She never dresses in front of it.
She’s angry sometimes. And her mother said she doesn’t wear it well— but Sarah wonders where she thinks she got it front? Anger like this can only be inherited. Can only be learned from thrown plates, stabbed hands, a throat so raw from yelling, you develop a cough the following day, from cleaning blood from the sink, the floor, out of shirts, from knowing violence before love and thinking you’d somehow get to be loved this time. From knowing that you won’t be.
Sarah knows a lot of things a young girl shouldn’t.
Sarah knows how to clean a gun. How to take one apart and put it back together again. Sarah knows how to shoot, and has impeccable aim, in her opinion.
Sarah knows her father has killed people. Knows what people look like when they’ve died. When the light’s left their eyes. She knows how heavy they get. How long you can leave ‘em in the car before they start to smell. How you have to tie ‘em to something heavy before putting them into the water, because they’ll end up floating to the top otherwise.
Sarah knows her father’s been in jail, then out again, then back in. She knows everyone in the bar has, even some of the boys her age.
And that’s another thing Sarah knows— she’s not quite into the boys her age. Into boys much at all, really. Not like Sam is, anyway.
Sarah is 18 now. Most of the women around her are getting married already. And God knows she’s heard her Mother and the other neighborhood women mention it enough times now, how she should be getting married too.. But to Sarah, she couldn’t imagine being married. Not when she’s got so much more life to live. And besides, if anyone else saw the innards of how her parent’s marriage fared, they would understand why she wasn’t in such a rush to try her hand at it.
Sarah is 18 years old. She is wearing a pair of trousers, a white shirt she took from Sam, and her hair is cut short, tucked behind her ears.
The shirt is too big in every way, so she has it tucked into her waistband, the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to her elbows. The pants are long as well, though Sarah’s been able to tailor them for the most part, so they just cover the faint heel of her shoes.
She shrugs on the overcoat her father insists she wear. He insists she wear it, that it’s too cold for his little girl out, but Sarah knows it’s so no one clocks the fact that she’s a woman in pants. That sort of thing draws unnecessary attention. Sarah has never been scared of a bit of attention, but in this line of work, she understands her father’s reservations.
For that reason also, Sarah’s father doesn’t let her carry a gun, despite her probably being the best shot they have; but that doesn’t stop Sarah from keeping a knife in her waistband at all times.
Sarah walks to Salieri’s Bar alone, every day. She’s never been scared to walk alone. She’s never been scared of any of the calls from the men on the streets. She’s never been scared of being followed. She’s never been scared of much of anything.
When she pushes open the front door of the bar, she greets her father, Luigi, like she always does, and slips off her overcoat.
Her uncle Vincenzo, who is nothing more than a family friend, is sitting at the bar with Sam by his side, and another man, she’s never seen before on the other side of Sam.
Sarah walks by them, leans over to kiss Vincenzo’s cheek before rounding behind the bar and slipping into the kitchen.
“There’s my girl. Come out here when you’re done, Sarah. Got someone I’d like you to meet.” Vinny calls out to her. Sarah hears him but doesn’t respond, she doesn’t much like meeting the new people. Some of them die pretty quickly around here. And of course Sarah isn’t scared of death, but she’s already pretty sick of funerals.
After putting her coat up in the kitchen, draping it over the back of a chair, she begins to set out numerous pans, pots, knives, and cutting boards. She doesn’t know what she’s gonna make today, but if there’s a new guy, she’s sure it’s going to have to be hearty, because everyone will be in for dinner. She’s already regretting wearing white.
It takes her a few minutes to prepare these things, but she knows her uncle is still waiting on her, and she must see him before she truly starts working here, or else he and whoever he wants her to meet, are just going to come tromping through her kitchen— which is the last thing she wants to happen.
Sarah walks back out to the bar, pours her a cup of coffee, and then stands by her father.
“is that my shirt?” Sam asks the moment his eyes settle on her. “I gave that to ya t’ get a stain out, not t’ keep.” His tone is flat, his expression even more unamused.
“Yeah, well I ain’t your damn laundry maid, Sam Trapani.” Sarah counters, taking a sip of her coffee and then shifting her weight to look away from Sam and to the face of the unknown man sitting next to him.
Vinny laughs and claps his hand over Sam’s shoulder, but Sam just rolls his eyes.
“Who’s this then?” Sarah asks, her eyes sweeping over the figure at Sam’s right. The man is about Sam’s height, but much broader, much more muscular and toned. His hands are scuffed and battered, and to anyone with eyes, it’d be very obvious that he knows how to fight, and enjoys it quite a bit as well.
He’s wearing a suit jacket that looks new, and from the look of it alone, Sarah knows Sam had a hand in picking it out for him.
Sam enjoys being the one to get rookies their first suit jacket. Something he learned from his time training under Frank, she’s sure. But knowing Sam, instead of doing it out of the kindness of his heart, he’s doing it for a sense of self-importance and to stroke his already inflated ego.
“Paulie. Paulie Lombardo.” The man answers her, and he extends his hand, like he expects Sarah to shake it. Sarah doesn’t get offers for handshakes often. She never gets seen as an equal to anyone in here— especially not to the new men, who often write her off as the kitchen help.
Sarah must wear her surprise a bit more obviously then she intends to, because Paulie begins to retract his hand. Sarah quickly reaches out and shakes his hand before he can fully pull it away.
“Sarah. Sarah Marino.” she answers, and her eyes linger on Paulie a bit longer, and his eyes linger on her as well, and a few seconds pass before their hands part ways altogether.
“That’s Luigi’s daughter. My pride and joy as well.” Vinny answers, an obvious smile on his lips. “As mentioned, this here’s Paulie. Found him on the street boostin’ cars myself no less! Punk thought he could boost my car an’ get away with it. Almost put a bullet in the poor bastard before I figured we could use someone with that big of balls around here.”
“Yeah, you sure weren’t gonna find that with Sammy here, Uncle.” Sarah retorts, which makes Vinny and Paulie laugh.
Paulie leans over and slaps Sam’s shoulder as he laughs, and Vinny nearly falls out his chair. Sam’s cheeks are bright red as he’s pushing Paulie’s hand off him and brushing off Vincenzo as well.
“Sarah,” Luigi chastises her, though it’s clear he’s trying to hide a smile.
“Sorry, pops.” Sarah gives him a sly smile, and in the 18 years he’s had her, Luigi’s never been able to fully chastise her, not when she smiles like this, not when she’s all the best parts of the woman his wife used to be.
Sam stands from his spot at the bar, his eyes still boring holes into Sarah. “Let’s go, Paulie. Let me show you how things work around here if you want to survive the first week.”
“With Sam as your guide, good luck doing that.” Sarah mutters behind the lip of her cup, then masks it with taking a drink. She almost misses the way Sam makes a show of rolling his eyes at her before he’s turning around and beginning to walk out the door.
Paulie gives Sarah one last look over and smiles at her, just briefly, before he’s following Sam out the door.
Sarah grabs a towel from behind the bar and begins to wipe at the counter where the two of them were just sitting, taking their discarded cups as well.
“You cookin’ dinner today, Sarah?” Vincenzo asks her, taking a drink of his coffee, “Your father and I have business to attend to with the Don. Will be out late.”
“Vincenzo.” Luigi hisses under his breath, through his gritted teeth. He isn’t a dumb man. He knows Sarah knows what they do here, what he’s done here, who he is, but there’s always going to be that fatherly side of him that wants to shield her from that. That wants to be seen as a hero to his little girl.
Though when he cuts his eyes over to Sarah, he wonders just where his little girl went— and when she was replaced by this woman, who was so sure of herself, that she could slip right into this man’s world, and not crack under the pressure.
“Yeah, yeah,” Vinny waves off Luigi, like he always does, and looks back to Sarah, awaiting her answer.
“Yeah,” Sarah begins, “I’m makin’ dinner tonight. Enough for everyone.” Sarah turns to her father, her hands full of her coffee, as well as Sam and Paulie’s empty cups. “Come back safe, alright?” She asks, her voice soft.
There’s not a lot Sarah is scared of, but her father leaving one day, and not returning the next, is always going to be at the top of her list.
“For you, always, baby.” Luigi answers, kissing the top of her head, then stepping out of the way so she can make her way back into the kitchen.
Sarah drops the dirty dishes in the sink and washes her hands. Once dry, she rolls her sleeves up again, ties on an apron, and rolls her shoulders.
Today will be a long day. She wouldn’t have it any other way.