Corrupt.

Chapter Two

It was around five P.M when Frank had finally got to his small apartment. It was a cheap place, and Frank could afford so much larger. Although he chose not to, saving his money for business and things he valued much more than a big house with too much room for only two people. He shared his apartment with Brendon, a young 21 year old with no where left to turn. He had been homeless before joining the mafia, knowing that they would help him find food, shelter, and a family. Brendon knew how to fight, and he saw things on his days on the streets. He knew who the mafia were, he just had to become associated with them. He was quite new to the mafia, only joining about a year ago but Frank had already grown quite fond of him. Brendon wasn't the face you would think of when you thought 'mafia' or 'gang'. Besides his dark eyes and cold stare he seemed to have whenever out on business, Brendon was actually a sweetheart. Always smiling and giggling and being hyper active. Something Frank thought he's grow tired of but never did.

Frank had thought of having sex with Brendon, doing what he'd usually do with any guy he found attractive, but Brendon was too sweet, and already had an eye out for a member in the mafia. Ryan Ross.

Frank didn't like Ryan, but he was Dallon's best friend, and Frank adored Dallon. So he kept him around, mainly making him run drug deals, or beatings, never murders. Ryan hated that, and Frank never thought of him as able to do something so rough.

The sun was slowly setting outside Frank's bed room window, the sky turning from a baby blue to a mixture of pinks and oranges. He smiled at the sight and undressed to his boxers getting under the covers and preparing to watch a movie or two on his phone.

He had no business to deal with, which was unlikely. Frank almost always had business. Even if it was for a mere five minutes he would have to meet up with someone in the mafia and discuss something. It was exhausting, but he knew what would happen when he tried for the lead. He knew all the challenges he would face. His brother told him.

Frank's heart ached at the thought of his brother, he missed him so much. Even more than his parents. His parents were never cut out to be parents, although his brother was everything to him, a father, a best friend, the one person he could trust with his life.

Frank missed that, but now, he couldn't even put that type of trust into his best friend.

About half way through 'Saving Private Ryan', the movie Frank was watching, his cell phone began to ring. He groaned, and looked at the caller ID that read 'Wentz' Frank answered, hoping it wasn't something he would need to leave his bed for.

"The fuck is it Pete?" Frank said through clenched teeth, annoyed that he couldn't get a night of peace.

"Someone snitched," Pete said quietly.

"Fuck! Fuck, who? Is someone in jail?" Frank sat up and ran a hand through his hair, if any of his men were in jail he'd put a bullet in whoever couldn't keep their mouth shuts head.

"Trohley," Pete answered, a sad tone in his voice, Pete was quite fond of Joe Trohley, although the man had only done one murder, and focused mainly on the drug cartel. He wouldn't get much time if he wasn't caught.

Pete reassured Frank that Joe wouldn't give out their names nor where they were. He was trustworthy, and he valued his life.

"Who spoke?" Frank asked.

"No one knows, we think it was someone from church," Frank nodded at Pete's words, thinking carefully, trying to remember seeing anyone he recognized, or if any of his members with him even uttered the word mafia.

His mind flew to Gerard Way, he couldn't have known, and surely if he did he wouldn't be stupid enough to not know he would get killed for speaking.

"Next sunday there is a dinner being held, make friends, and make sure you tell me of anyone you know by the last name Way," Frank hung up the phone and rubbed his temples. The name Way was familiar to him, it couldn't have been anyone in his mafia could it? Frank knew mostly everyone's name who worked for him. Way, Way was such a bland last name. It didn't stick out to Frank. He made a mental note to check for anyone who goes by that last name next meeting the mafia held.

Frank's anger was interrupted by a light knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in," Frank said tiredly. Brendon stepped in and smiled at Frank sitting down next to him on the black duvet. The bed creaked as he did so, it needed a replacement.

"I'm assuming you heard?" Brendon sighed, obviously talking about what Pete had told Frank only minutes ago. Did Brendon hear first? Surely Brendon would have told him right away, considering they fucking live together, and who in their right mind would call Brendon first? Out of everyone there, Brendon? If it wasn't Frank it was usually Pete, occasionally Bob.

"When did you hear?" Frank asked s bit of anger laced in his voice. Brendon swallowed hard, Frank honestly terrified him. That was normal, though, Frank terrified everyone. He could kill you with a grin of his face, and you had to let him, because if you didn't someone else would come to do worse.

"I got a call from Dallon like right before I came in here, he said Pete was on the phone with you," Brendon knew what Frank was thinking, and he reassured him. He knew that he didn't want his whole dominance thing to be threatened or underestimated. I mean, when you were the leader of the mafia you got everything you wanted, guns, girls, money. Frank didn't have his mind on those things, though.

Frank had his mind on the pretty church boy Gerard.