𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

e p i l o g u e

"the past likes to feed me lies. it whispers in my ear and tells me everything was better back then & how much i should miss it — but why? when i know that i was filled with the same exact void just as i am now. and yet, the past has a way with words, so i long for it ever more."

—

over the course of the following year, the FBI finally and forever sealed their investigation into the lavigne crime family. such things do not happen so easily — but with giovanni's meticulous insight, they achieved a lot more than they had initially bargained for.

with the lavigne businesses bust on account of multiple incidents of money laundering, tax evasion and embezzlement, by 1998 the syndicate had slowly but surely dissolved into oblivion. the men in the lower ranks had stopped working altogether as they were only getting paid in pennies: even some of the captains had reluctantly parted ways, getting themselves crummy jobs committing blue-collar crimes for the other, lesser lords of the new york underworld. losing all hope, arnie sauvage stepped down as don, and with nobody coming forward to take his place, it became clear that the empire henry and edward had built had fallen.

as foretold by agent jack rye, edward lavigne had been released from prison in the fall of 1999 due to a questionable combination of unsubstantial evidence and (somewhat) good behaviour. upon finding his once glorious creation in complete and utter disarray — irrevocable, beyond repair — he did his very best to amend the mistakes that arnie had made in trying to keep it all afloat (those of the schemes that were legal, anyway) but it resulted to naught. one year later, he filed for bankruptcy after the royale, his once prestigious and most prized possession, was the last of the businesses to finally close. nothing was left.

the following summer, on a humid tuesday evening as the crickets chirped outside, he committed suicide. he hung himself from the ceiling fan in his bedroom.

it was mike who had found him the next morning, emerging into the room with a panic in his throat. running over and grasping his legs, he had tried to lift eddie up in hopes that there was a chance he was still alive, but it was no use. he had been dead for hours.

a sob echoed around the room. "come on, you bastard!" he had cried, arms wrapped tight around eddie's stiff, cold legs. "oh, you bastard! come on eddie— come on! don't do this to me!" he had screamed, tears streaming down his face like a child.

on his bed he had left a note, the ink still fresh on the page — smudged, blue and melancholy.

'mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré! les aubes sont navrantes.'

anguished, mike had waited a few days to break the news to chantelle. he eventually called her and invited her out to a walk in rockleigh woods, just north of the city on the other side of the river.

"it's actually been a few weeks since i've seen him," she had said, her hands in the pockets of her levi's jeans. "i've been so busy with work and the kids..."

mike took a deep breath. "i'm afraid it's impossible for you to do that."

it had sounded harsh coming out of his mouth in such a way. she had looked at him with a frown.

"what do you mean? why?"

he sighed. "i wasn't sure how or when to bring this up, but... your father passed away last week, chantelle."