Criminal Case One-Shots

Marconi

C/W: References to sexual assault/r*pe and murder. If you don't like fire or dementia... Uh, be careful.

Many would say Antonio had an unfortunate early childhood. His papa was rude, a drunkard, and lashed out at the smallest things. His mama protected him the best he could, but bruises on her body showed that she couldn't protect herself as well.

"Mama, why does Papa hurt us? We're family!"

"You're right, mio figlio. If I had my way, we wouldn't be a family. I wish I had never married the man. The only good thing that came from it was you, Antonio."

"I love you, Mama."

"I love you, too. I just hope you don't end up like him when you're fully grown..."

"It's ok, Mama! I'll never hurt a woman! I promise."

– – – – –

Papa always took the money, so he and his mama had to be sneaky to get what they wanted. People could hardly tell when their things had been stolen, but how many people would accuse a frail-looking woman and her young son when there was a tough drunken man in their way?

They killed Giuseppe Caruso when Antonio Caruso was only 6 years old. He was accused of robbery, but was attacked by thugs before the police could investigate. Antonio never trusted the cops. They never listened when his mama begged for help. His mama's parents–his nonno and nonna–lived far away. They wouldn't be of much help, being old and frail. And soon, they passed away. Their funeral was much more upsetting to him than his papa's.

It was just him and his mama. He had nothing but love in his heart for her. But she felt uncomfortable staying in the town where no one helped. Where he used to hit her with no remorse. She saved enough money from sneaking into rich people's homes to buy a way into America. The "land of dreams", she called it. They could remake themselves there.

So they did.

"Antonio, can you think of anything?"

"Um... Antonio Marco!"

"Marco? Why that?"

"Nonno was called Marco. You said so!"

"Hm, you're right. But I don't think I want to fully copy his name. Here, let's have a bit of a difference. How about 'Marconi'?"

"Antonio Marconi? I guess it'll do, mama! Now can I go back to learning English? I don't want to be stupid!"

"Alright, alright... Marconi. I like that."

– – – – –

America had been great for Antonio Marconi and his ma. Though they had moved a few times over the years. Right now, they were staying in Las Vegas, though his mother was thinking of moving further away someday. But that was for the future. Right now, his ma was secretly a cat burglar. She'd gotten a lot stronger since Italy if she could climb up buildings.

He was better at stealing things, too. He could even beat his bullies up, and he was getting tall for his age. But he promised his mother that he'd never hurt a woman. Another rule was to only hurt the bad guys, the people who deserved it. He'd earned himself a little gang, with them being named "The Little Mafia" by the adults, who poked fun at the children. He was called "Tony" by his friends. Tony Marconi had quite the ring to it. Maybe one day Tony Marconi wouldn't be looked down on.

Unfortunately, today he was. He had just finished watching a concert with his ma. It was alright, but now there were three police officers talking to her. They were odd, especially the woman with turquoise and gold makeup. The tallest officer, the one with a white streak in their hair, they looked at him like they saw a ghost. Their hair was short, so they couldn't tell if it was a policeman or a policewoman. Either way, he didn't trust the tall one.