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Things had not been going so smoothly for the Falcone Crime Family recently.
Al was sick of caped crusaders. Like, really sick of them. Who did they think they were, running around disrupting his family business like that? So what if he had shipped a few drugs into Gotham, and yeah, maybe he had ordered hits on a few people. But did that really warrant the havoc going on around him right now?
His head bodyguard, Antonio, locked the doors behind them as they ran, panting, into the office. Outside, his henchmen shouted and screamed. Damn bats and their meddling.
“Boss, you think we shoulda just ran for it?” Antonio panted.
Alberto recollected himself, dusting the soot from his pants. His expensive, exquisite pants. He had just gotten them from the dry cleaners earlier that morning. Now they were soiled. Damn. Bats. “Alberto Falcone don’t run from nothing!”
“We uh, we just ran from Nightwing though, didn’t we?”
“No!” And really, he wasn’t even lying.
It was the Red Hood and the new Robin that terrified him. As a born and bred son of Gotham, Alberto knew the Batman and his trusted allies like the back of his hand. His old man had told him tales of a vigilante dressed in black when he was a boy, tucked into bed alongside his brother and sister. Mario had shrank in fear, always a coward. Sofia had just laughed, asking the pops if he planned to put a bullet in between the Bat’s eyes.
Well, Alberto had tried putting a bullet in between Hood’s eyes. And then Hood had tried to do the same to him.
God, what a psycho. Like, really, who the hell recruited that guy? Alberto was used to Nightwing and his stupid sticks, or even the older Robin and his staff. But now here came Red Hood, blasting his way through shit with guns. Guns! On a Bat! Weren’t they against killing or something?
And he hadn’t even gotten started about the little Robin. The kid had cut through all of his money with a goddamn katana. What kind of mentor was Batman anyway, giving children swords? The little prick was probably going to end up cutting himself. Even Carmine Falcone, in all his gang related wisdom, had waited until his kids were teenagers before he started teaching them a thing or two about weapons. Christ, what was the world coming to? He hoped there was no Gotham Father of the Year Award, because Batman sure wasn’t getting his nomination. Raising little bastards to brandish katanas and guns.
It wasn’t fair. Alberto had worked so hard on this operation. Sofia had lent him the men and resources to make it happen. He had planned the routes, hired the help, and even examined the gun shipment coming into the harbour himself. He had basically run the whole thing. And now, instead of getting a warm welcome (and maybe the honour of helping lead the Falcone family to further greatness), all he had was three bats busting his guys asses.
“Boss, it’s getting real quiet out there, maybe we oughta try and get back to the house, yeah? I reckon Miss Sofia-”
“No! No, Sofia, she stays outta this!” Alberto snapped back. His heart began to race. Oh Mary mother of Jesus, if this got back to Sofia… his sister was ruthless. And crazy. Very, very crazy. Maybe she’d get along with this sword-swinging punk and his trigger happy buddy.
Knock Knock.
Alberto froze. Antonio was right, it had gone very quiet outside. Too quiet.
“Maybe the boys took em out, huh boss?” Antonio began to grin. “See, that’s why ya don’t mess with the Falcones!”
Antonio laughed. Someone outside laughed with him. Things had finally turned around for Alberto, he could proudly say that he had been the one to finally take down the Bat-
“Delivery for Mr Falcone,” a familiar, deadpan voice echoed through the thick wood of the office door. “I have some snivelling henchmen I need you to sign for.”
Oh no. The Red Hood. Alberto’s heart dropped.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I think your boys might need some medical assistance,” A much cheerier man chimed in. Goddamn Nightwing, always so happy. Well, Alberto wasn’t happy. Not at all.
Sofia was going to kill him.
“Yeah, I think I caused a couple pelvis fractures back there, not gonna lie. Hope health insurance is part of the Falcone Crime Family’s work benefits,” Red Hood drawled. Alberto squeaked in fear. He didn’t want a pelvis fracture. He liked his pelvic intact, thank you very much.
“Hood!” Nightwing’s voice chided his comrade. He could hear them shuffling behind the door. Another, higher voice let out a heavy sigh as the other two began to quarrel.
“What? They’ll be fine, it’s not like I killed them.”
“A couple of blows to the head would’ve sufficed, Hood. We don’t need to break every bone they have!”
“Oh, so a fractured- not broken, fractured- pelvis is terrible, but we’re okay with concussions? People die from concussions every day, dickhead!”
This was the worst day ever. What the hell was going on? Were they seriously going to bicker like children, right now? As Alberto and his bodyguard waited anxiously for the door to be broken down. This was torture, it had to be. This was some sort of suspense trick, designed to get them to let their guard down. Well, it wouldn’t work. Alberto was much, much smarter than that. He was a Falcone. Falcones never lost.
But the bickering continued.
“Uh, Boss?” Antonio mumbled.
Alberto’s head snapped in his direction. “Yes?”
“Should I call for backup?”
He… he had a phone? This whole time?
“Yes, yes you should be calling for backup! You should have called for backup five minutes ago!”
The bickering stopped.
“Ah crap, I heard ‘backup’,”
“Yeah, Hood, I have ears, right, we’ll just pick this lock-”
“Just boot the door down, Wing!”
“How about I boot-”
CRASH!
Alberto screamed.
“Tchh , you scream like a little girl.”
It was the little Robin. His fellow allies were behind him, staring at the shards of the wooden door in shock. Well, Alberto thought they were staring. The white lens of Nightwing’s mask and the Hood’s red helmet made sure he couldn’t actually see what they were looking at. They might be looking at him for all he knew.
God, what if they were looking at him. He averted his gaze.
Antonio leapt to his feet, roaring like a caged animal. He barely made it a step before a bat-shaped object flew at him, striking him upside the head. He crumpled into a pile and lay there motionless.
All Alberto could do was whimper. At least it wasn’t the katana.
“Well well, Alberto Falcone,” Robin’s face was solemn and stern. He approached Alberto slowly. “You stand before Gotham’s Face of Justice, what do you say in regards to your crimes? Speak now, insolent criminal!”
Alberto was speechless. Was this really happening? Was this child speaking to him like this?
Snickering brought him back to reality. Behind Robin, the other two had begun to giggle. Like, actually giggle. Here was Alberto, shaking in fear of being beheaded by this terrifying child, and the other bats were laughing.
Robin frowned. His eyebrows creased together as he whirled on his two comrades, fists balled. “Why are you laughing? I’m attempting to gain a confession from this ne'er do well, and you are both making a mockery of the interrogation!”
They laughed harder. Alberto wanted to cry. He couldn’t even be captured by Robin properly.
“Ne’er do well,” Nightwing gasped out. There was the beginning of tears leaking out from under his mask as he clutched at his sides, wheezing.
“Christ kid, where did you get that from? Please don’t say Ra’s,” Red Hood seemed to actually be choking on his words.
The little Robin stomped his foot. Literally, stomped his foot on the ground. He seemed even tinier than before. “Stop laughing this instant! I’m apprehending this criminal, and you can both either help me or go home, get a hold of yourselves at once.”
But both Red Hood and Nightwing continued to laugh. On the floor, Antonio began to groan, stirring early from his bat-thing induced nap.
“Boss,” he slurred, his eyes squinted at the trio of menaces before him. “Da ‘family jewels’... safe under… taped.”
Alberto tried deciphering his bodyguard’s words through his jumbled speech. So much for being a useful protector. He’d have to fire Antonio after this. Once he had begged Sofia to keep him out of prison that is.
And then it clicked. The family jewels! Or rather, his father’s prize gun, taped beneath the table just inches from him. He could scoot back and grab it, maybe take out the Bats before they could cuff him.
Oh god. He was seriously considering shooting a kid right now. He could see the damn puppy fat on the bat-brat's face. Alberto had really thought about whacking a kid. He couldn’t kill a kid, even if the little asshole was waving a katana about.
“What are you staring at, plebian?” the little Robin sneered. His fellow Bats had begun surveying the office.
Alberto laughed nervously. “What are you, like eight?”
The other two Bats froze. And then, as if on cue, began to laugh uproariously again.
Big mistake. Robin’s face went beet red beneath his mask. Alberto shuffled back. It wasn’t even to grab the goddamn gun; the kid looked like he might swing the katana down on Alberto’s face. He liked his face. In one piece, preferably.
“Eight?!” Robin spluttered. His hands squeezed tighter around the katana’s handle. Alberto felt the fear run through him again. He was gonna get cleaved in two by a middle-schooler. “I-, I am not a child! I am a protector of the night, a soldier of vengeance! When I’m through with you, you’ll know the meaning of the word justice!”
“Christ kid, ease up on the monologuing,” Red Hood used his gloved hand to push the katana downwards so that it pointed directly at Alberto’s legs. He really liked his legs too. They were good legs. Especially attached to the rest of him.
This was his chance. He could try and take out Hood, and maybe earn a place of fame amongst Gotham’s many criminals. Alberto Falcone: the man who took down a Bat. His old man would be proud. Sofia, probably not so much. She was a bitch to please.
With a strangled victory yell, Alberto reached up, ripping the gun from the tape. He swung it around, finger poised on the trigger-
BAM! His hand seared with pain. The gun skittered across the floor, landing by the broken doors. He screamed, clutching his wrist in his other hand.
Nightwing retrieved his stupid stick from beside Alberto, tutting the entire way. “Really? Really ? Screaming as you grab the gun? Man, that’s just… it’s just dumb.”
Alberto felt the tears welling up in his eyes. Nightwing was right. He was dumb. Sofia was going to kill him. He’d be stuck watching the fish-packing operations at the docks for the rest of his life. He hated himself so much.
“Are- are you crying?” Hood asked.
Alberto shook his head furiously. A single tear ran down his cheek.
Nightwing turned to the side, his fingers on an earpiece. “Police are on their way up, we can probably just wrap up here and let them deal with everything else,” He stole a glance at Alberto, sprawled on the floor and close to bawling like a baby. “Not quite sure what their procedure for crying mob bosses is.”
And as they left, Alberto felt his face begin to dampen. A sniffle escaped his nose.
Antonio whispered, “Boss, you need a tissue?”
God. It really was the worst day of his life.