Chapter Text
As Jonny Ciciccio… No. That wasn’t his name anymore, hadn’t been for two or more God-damn decades. As Jonny Costello stood in the front garden of his house, waiting for his wife or his son’s best friend, Jonnie to come through the door ready to kill him, he realized just how much his going outside to get a chair had bought him crucial prep time. Grateful that he had stayed out in the front garden – despite the rain starting to fall – after hearing the conversation between his son; Jimmy, his wife, and Jonnie, who had knocked at the back door as he went out to grab a chair. However, he was made even more sure of his decision a mere moment later as his wife joined him in the front yard, her intent to kill him evident on her gorgeous face. As she stepped out in front of him no more than ten paces away, Johnny surveyed his front yard. He was almost immediately grateful that he did as he saw the muzzle of a gun pointed at the back of Bella’s head.
His thoughts raced. There was a gun pointed at the back of Belladonna’s head: his wife’s head. His. Wife’s. Head. As much as he and his wife had drifted apart, no matter how great his secret resentment had grown, no matter how much of that resentment had turned into a façade of hatred; she was still his wife and he still loved her, despite everything. He remembers now, more clearly, as a flood of old memories were brought back to the forefront of his mind; the bus load of bodies he’s put six feet under, in the name of keeping her safe, in the name of their love, in her name.
Yes, the man once called Johnny Ciciccio remembers it well, the sheer number of “family” members and “family” friends he’s buried in order to protect his beloved Belladonna. Distantly he was aware of the fact that words have come out of his mouth addressing the woman he pledged his life to, killed for, and raised a child with, “You never did know what you were doin’, did ya? ” his brain still focused on the gun trained on her, an old and familiar rush of rage coursed through him; no one hurts the ones he loves. No one. Without thinking he tacked on “My love” to his previous statement a reminder of all they were and all they are, claiming her, all of her in a simple statement while simultaneously leaving her as free as a bird.
He was only completely pulled out of his thoughts when Bella’s voice rang out across the garden, “Don’t call me that, you haven’t called me that in years.” There was anger there Johnny could hear it but there was sadness, no, sorrow there too, the whine of a criminal left behind and thrown under the bus by their crew. Johnny not only saw but felt the gun pointed at his wife shift to attempt to get into a better position in which to kill her, and he could not stand it. It was unacceptable, and after all what’s another person on the bus of people who died trying to hurt what was his.
The ghost of a small sad smile passed across his features, but his voice was hardened by his disdain for the threat behind her, “Well, then I guess you aren’t the woman I married, are ya?” He watched as she held the gun tighter, and he could practically feel the unseen shooter preparing to fire on his beloved wife. ‘But you’re still the woman I love,’ he almost said but his attention was diverted by the gun and unseen person behind it threatening the woman he loves. Instead, he said, his eyes flickering to Belladonna as he slowly shifted his aim to where he was almost certain the assailant’s head would most likely be and prepared to speak directing it at the coward planning on hurting his beloved Bella; while making it seem like his attention and focus was still on his wife.
“You’re just some goddamn…,” he paused right before firing his police issued pistol, eyes flickering to his wife one last time, she looked confused, as if questioning his survival instincts by shifting his aim to fire where the bullet would just barely miss her, but she nodded minutely. Knowing she most likely wouldn’t fire if he did, he finish, “…Fool who thought that you could try to hurt my wife and live.” Johnny said quickly, punctuating his statement as he fired the gun, with the kind of steadiness one only gets from doing something enough they can do it as easily as breathing. A second shot fires half a second later; the bullet goes wide as its owner receives a bullet to the face, lodging itself in Johnny’s shoulder. Considering the only sound that came afterward was a dull thud he was pretty sure the would-be assassin was dead but still went to check, crossing the yard towards his stunned wife, even if the bastard wasn’t dead Johnny would make short work of them. He knew his wife was trying to kill him and her shock would wear off soon but first things first he needed to ensure the threat to her safety was gone in an extremely permanent manner.