Work Text:
Bella could recall being little, maybe four years old, and asking Mama a question...
“How did you meet Papi?”
The question came from Auntie Charlie having read Bella “The Story of Hell”, about how Charlie's parents had met and become the rulers of Hell. Auntie Charlie had described both of her parents as rebellious dreamers.
When Bella had asked that question, Mama had gotten a strange look on his face, one that seemed scared, sad, and tired all at once.
“Scusa, Mama,” Bella had said in a tiny voice, worried she had upset Mama.
“Va bene, Bellina,” Mama had said. Switching back to English, Mama said, “I met Papi when I was all alone. I thought Papi loved me and would take care of me...but he didn't.”
“It was bad of him to lie,” Bella had said, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” Mama had replied, nodding. “Sometimes I wished I'd never gone off with Papi, but if I hadn't, I would never have had you.”
Mama had kissed Bella and added, “Just remember: if Papi or anyone else tries to make you think you're all alone without him, don't listen. You're not alone. Will you remember that?”
“Yes, Mama,” Bella had said. And just to make it official, Bella said in Italian, their very own special language, “Prometto.”
Many years later, Bella would recall that conversation. Valentino, the man she used to call Papi, stood before her, looking quite dishevelled and pathetic, and yet dared to say she needed him.
“Your bitch of a mami and his stupid gato are gone,” Valentino snarled. He pointed in the sky, at Heaven. “They went up there without you. I'm all the family you have left.”
Bella glanced back at the brightly lit hotel.
“No, Val, you're not. My family's in there.”
Valentino laughed mirthlessly.
“You think you're better than me just because Lucifer took you in as his charity case? Well, now that you're twenty-one, the royal protection's gone, so-”
“I'm twenty,” Bella interrupted calmly. “If you were a real dad, you'd know my age.”
Valentino looked ready to make a rebuttal, probably a profane, bilingual rebuttal. But then Bella opened her wings, releasing a gentle silver glow that still made Valentino back up.
Bella flew up above him.
“I've had enough of you, Val. Just fuck off.”
And so Bella flew away. Valentino screamed insults at her, but he could not follow, not with his own wings ruined. The bullet wound from where Mama shot him, the night he first brought the infant Bella to her real home, had never healed.
Bella landed on the hotel roof. She reached one of her hands up in the direction of Heaven, as though she could touch it.
“I hope you saw that, Mama!” Bella called up to him. “You too, Uncle Husk and Auntie Cherri!”
They all saw it, and so did Aunt Molly. Angel was glad his heavenly form still had four arms, so he could hold the hands of Molly, Cherri, and Husk all at once.
“That's our girl,” Husk said softly.