𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

5

the very next day, eddie drove to his parents' house in bellrose, queens, to seek advice from his father.

he was completely clueless. he could not remember the last time he had been this stressed about something within the business — he had no idea what to do in a situation as severe as this. the families (excluding the costellos, of course) had all been surprised and outraged at the sudden attack at the wedding. not everyone was going to like the fact that chantelle and johnny were married, there was no denying that, but surely an alliance between two families — the lavignes and the romanos — who had been beefing and killing each other for decades upon decades, was a good thing? eddie and tony thought they had been doing a good deed in allowing their children to get married to one another — it would bring peace and unity, would it not? they had clearly thought wrong in other people's eyes.

eddie was ready and riled up for revenge. marc had taken advantage of the friendship that they had had and used it against him in the worst way possible. surely the man couldn't ambush his daughter's wedding party, shoot and murder some of the guests, and then expect to get away with it? the whole situation was an utter disgrace.

he parked his silver ferrari in the driveway. henry and camille lavigne lived in a bungalow, a one story cape cod cottage with symmetrical windows, a small attic, a big front yard, and a trimmed, well-kept garden. they had lived in it since 1959, two years after timothy had passed away and shortly after eddie had gone off to vietnam — their mansion had been far too big and quiet after their boys' departures. the cottage was a pleasant little house, and even just by looking at it, eddie always felt comforted: but today, his head was too swarmed and his worries too large to feel anything of the sort.

he knocked on the front door. soon enough, his mother answered.

"hello, ed," she said, smiling.

"hey, ma."

camille turned around. "henry! your son is here!"

camille and eddie walked through the house and into the living room. it was there where henry was sat in his armchair, watching an old rerun of 'citizen kane' on the boxy television. he had a cup of coffee on the wooden side table next to him. upon his son's entrance, he looked up.

"ah, eddie. come in, sit," henry said happily, gesturing to the couch beside him at the window.

eddie let out a long sigh as he sat down, rubbing his hands over his thighs. "hi, pop."

camille stood in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her. henry clicked his fingers at her. "camille, get the boy some coffee, would you?"

she dipped her head in obedience before disappearing into the kitchen. "bien sûr." of course.

eddie didn't like the way his father spoke to his mother — for a long, long time, he had never liked it. in his youth, he had never seen his father hit her; he had never really done anything physical for that matter — apart from that one time on christmas eve in 1947 when he pushed her down the stairs for apparently 'talking back' — it was the way in which he treated her. it wasn't endearing, and it certainly wasn't gentle. even as a little boy he had never liked it and tried to put a stop to it many times, but never had any luck. he thought that his father treated his mother like a maid: his own personal, poor, helpless maid. and the worst thing about it was that camille herself didn't even realise that it was wrong. she thought that that was what women were supposed to do — serve their husbands' every whim, raise their children, and do as they were told. when she had been alive, eddie had never treated marissa like that. it was a terrible, terrible example to set.

"so, what're you here for?" henry said, turning the volume on the tv down.

eddie leaned back in his seat. "i need some help."