Why Does the Caged Bird Sing? (Corsair and Xana)

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“Lake Michigan?” Why just a few nights back, when I met up with the Raven and kissed him. “No, I can’t say I have. But I’d like to if that’s what your offerin’.” Because she didn’t want the night to end yet. Because she didn’t want to go back to her life with her rat bastard of a husband. Because she was still hot from watching Zorita, and thoughts of how she and William could address that arousal made her even hotter.

Mercedes was grateful he didn’t head anywhere near the docks she had been to when she last came here. They parked near a beach, abandoned now by curfew and common sense.

It had been a hot summer’s day, and then a warm summer’s evening, so Mercedes hadn’t bothered a coat. Now though, late into the night as it was, with chill coming off of the lake, she shivered in her sleeveless dress. She hadn’t remembered it being so cool last time she was here, but she was also wearing several layers, near a couple burning cars, and ran for her life. Still, no shame in snuggling up against William, even as she got nearly aggressive with it, slipping one hand into his coat for warmth. But perhaps, that was his plan? A touch juvenile, reminiscent of teenaged shenanigans, but Mercedes wasn’t complaining.

“It is just lovely,” she sighed, relaxing against him. “I’m glad you brought me here. I really enjoyed spending this evening with you. Too bad we probably won’t get another chance like this...” That thought soured things a bit, putting a damper on an otherwise wonderful time. Knowing she didn’t want to end things there, and still feeling keyed up from the show they’d seen together, she turned towards William.

“Well, might as well make the most of the night, right? If there’s only this and nothing more?” Before she could lose her nerves she pressed her lips against him, sliding her hand behind his head to pulled him closer.
 
This felt so stupid. Sitting on an isolated park bench in the dark, staring out at the water, William had no idea what to do next. He was still turned on, both by the performance and by the simple presence of Mercedes, but his earlier bravado was beginning to wear off. He was a goddamn idiot! He should take her home, now, before he worked up the nerve to try something. Before he found out if she was willing to try something. But she was snuggled under his arm, her body soft against his as her bare arm slipped under his coat, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

“It is just lovely,” she sighed, relaxing against him.

"It is," he agreed, looking down at her as she said it. His nerves were alight with anxiety, as desire warred with common decency.

“I’m glad you brought me here," she added, and was it his imagination or did her arm tighten a little around him? "I really enjoyed spending this evening with you. Too bad we probably won’t get another chance like this...”

"No," he murmured, "we probably won't." Which was probably a good idea. But, he wanted it again. Wanted to bring her here again. Wanted... His froze as she looked up at him, the moon dancing in her large, dark eyes.

“Well, might as well make the most of the night, right?" she murmured, half to herself. "If there’s only this and nothing more?”

Her hand slid up his chest and around the back of his head, pulling him down towards her. He moved willingly, his own arms sliding over her bare shoulders and her silk clad back, pulling her close. The first touch of her lips was gentle. He met them hesitantly, afraid of breaking the spell as he tasted the warmth of her breath. Heart pounding his chest he pressed a little harder, his hands gripping the fabric of her dress as his lips parted hers. The feel of her soft body molding to his encouraged him. He stroked her lips with his tongue, sighing as they parted for him then groaning as he gently filled her mouth. Her nails dug into his neck and shoulder, and then she was pushing into him, her own tongue sliding over his as they enjoyed one another.

When the kiss ended, his chest was heaving like he'd run a race. "I want you," he murmured, stroking her face and kissing her again. Now he was pushing her back into the park bench, struggling to be gentle as he was fired with a hunger that only she could satisfy. "God, I want you."
 
The wood beneath Mercedes back was cool, but William was so hot she hardly noticed. He pushed her back and she pulled him over her. Just as hungry in her kisses, just as needy in her embrace. She tried to move, to shift into a more comfortable position, but her dress caught on the wood and tugged. The sound made her freeze, and stiffen.

Was this what she’d become? A woman who would cheat on her husband on a park bench with a man she met barely a week ago? Was she everything Vinnie accused her of being, the night he violated her? Did that night create the whore in her, or merely awaken it? Whore. Whore. She heard the word in the shriek of weakening cloth, Vinnie screaming it with every thrust. With a shuddered gasp, she pushed William away, just a little.

“Jesus, I’m…I’m sorry, I…” The words wouldn’t come, caught behind heaving breaths. The wood beneath her became the table in the dining room, and every inch of her skin revolted against the pressure. “I just…I can’t…I…” Standing, she put space between herself and William, hugging herself. Nails dug into her arms, nearly drawing blood. Wanting to draw blood, wanting some physical sensation to draw her from the memory and back into the present. She wasn’t with Vinnie, and William wouldn’t hurt her like that, but it didn’t matter. Her entire being recoiled at the thought of being touched.

Finally, she regained enough composure to speak. “It’s not you. Please believe me, it’s not you. I want you so bad it’s just…what that bastard did…fuck, what he did to me...dammit, I still feel it.”The fantasy she dreamt of last time she was here, with the Raven, came back with a vengeance. It was so much harder this time, not to beg William. Free me from Vinnie. Rescue me, and I am yours.

“I’m really sorry,” She said again, trying to scrub the tears from her eyes, “I’m not ready. Not
 
Mercedes suddenly seemed to panic, shifting from enjoying and reciprocating the kiss to struggling in his arms and pushing him away in a matter of moments. “Jesus, I’m…I’m sorry, I…” The words tumbled from her as she shook, hugging herself as she rose. “I just…I can’t…I…” It reminded him of things he'd seen in France, of men pushed beyond their limits who suddenly broke. Brave men, who could be brave no longer.

What had Enforcer Morello done to her? How badly had he beaten her, and how often? There was terror in her eyes, terror at being touched.

“It’s not you," she finally managed, after a few minutes. "Please believe me, it’s not you. I want you so bad it’s just…what that bastard did…fuck, what he did to me...dammit, I still feel it.”

"He..." William could barely bring himself to say it. "He didn't just, just beat you? Did he?"

“I’m really sorry,” she said, and he could see the answer in her eyes. “I’m not ready."

Something hardened in him, and it took an effort to keep his voice normal. "Don't... don't be sorry," he said, rising. "You didn't do anything..." He took a step towards her, wanting to hold and comfort her. She flinched at his approach, clearly lost in the memory of what it was exactly Morello had done to her, and he made himself stop. "I..." What to say? "I'm... sorry." It was a weak thing to say. But what else could he say?

Then he remembered Mary, and the way she'd suffered. "Do... do you need somewhere... safe?" he asked. "Somewhere to stay? There's... there's plenty of room, at my mansion." He smiled sadly, offering his hand. "It's not contingent on anything. Not on... on being ready, or ever being ready, or anything at all. If... if you want to hide, want to escape him, I'll help."
 
It was on the tip of Mercedes’ tongue to say yes. A quick and easy escape from Vinnie. But quick and easy wouldn’t serve for long. Best case, she’d trade one cage for another. Not that she thought William would become possessive, but for her own safety. She wouldn’t be able to leave without fearing for her life, always looking over her shoulder for men loyal to Vinnie. And it wasn’t just her safety on the line either.

“I can’t. Not on the turn of a dime. If Vinnie thought I left him, he’d find me. Tear Chicago apart to find me. And if he couldn’t, he’d take it out on my mother. She ain’t right in the head, and he pays a woman to keep an eye on her.” She rubbed the puffiness out of her eyes. With a exhale, she continued, “Besides, I am in a real position to bring him down. I’ve stood by silent for so long. I have to do something.”

Finally she managed a weak smile. She wasn’t really feeling it, but she did appreciate his offer. Maybe someday. “At least, if it does ever get too dangerous, I know I can escape. Lay low for a short time. That means a lot to me, so thanks for that.” Now that her heart was no longer pounding in terror, and the chill of the night had returned. And as much as the thought of letting William warm her up appealed, she figured it would result in the same reaction. Rubbing her arms to keep warm, she nodded towards his car.

“Perhaps I should go home now. Enjoy the solitude, before that bastard gets out of the hospital.” Her laugh was mirthless, wondering if she could have given herself to William if the Raven hadn’t missed his shot. Hard to know, either way. “Thanks again, for distracting me for a time. Sorry I messed it all up.”
 
William slid off his coat and draped it around Mercy's shoulders. "You've nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all. I..." He fell silent, uncertain what he was going to say. He knew what he wanted to say - that he wasn't afraid of Enforcer Morello, that he didn't care if that thug sent his gunsels out to turn Chicago upside down, that he would risk it all for her. But, she was right. Letting her go back would be hard, but it positioned her to bring the son of a bitch down once and for all. So he forced a grin. "I'm just sorry that masked lunatic missed. Then..."

He let the sentence drop. "Come on." Offering her his arm, he nodded at the car in imitation of her gesture. "I probably should get you home. Or, maybe to your club. You can call a cab from there, and it'd look far less suspicious."


In the end, he'd dropped her off at the Gilded Cage. It had probably been for the best, since she'd kissed him goodnight - or maybe he'd kissed her goodnight - and the heat of that kiss had left him trembling with desire, left him wanting to peel her out of her dress and have her right there in the car. From the way she'd molded against him and the way she'd pulled him into the kiss, he was certain she felt the same. But the tension in her shoulders was as clear as the passion, and he'd contented himself with collecting his coat as he opened the door for her, and then watching until she was back in the club.

Then he drove around the block and parked across the street, watching from the dark, silent car until another car arrived. Until she emerged and climbed in, and drove away. Her perfume lingered in his coat as he slowly drove away, reminding him of the feel of her body against his. Of the taste of her lips. "Damnit," he growled. "God damn it."


"Well," Marilyn said, looking up as he entered the dining room. "Someone was out late. Did you have a good time?"

Ignoring her jibe, William pulled out a seat and poured himself a cup of coffee. He'd hardly slept, and what sleep he'd gotten had been interrupted with erotically charged dreams of the dance he'd seen last night. Of Mercy replacing Zorita in the dance, peeling his clothes and hers away by turns, until the tempo of the dance changed and he was moving with her, her slim, soft body pressed against his. He'd awoken to discover, to his irritation, that he'd climaxed in his sleep. "Not bad," he muttered, drinking the coffee black. "You must have been up pretty late yourself, though. I thought you were tired?"

She sipped her own coffee, looking utterly unabashed. "Yeah, well, I couldn't sleep. So I went out. Looked up a few old friends and painted the town red. I got back just a little after you did, I assume. I saw you heading up the stairs, looking utterly distracted. So tell me," she leaned forward. "What happened?"

"Nothing," William grunted. "We went to a show, and I took her home."

"You were gone an awful long time, just for that," Marilyn teased. "Nothing else happened?"

"Nothing," he repeated, polishing off his coffee and deciding to change the subject. "You coming in to the paper today? Now that we have to admit that this 'Raven' character is real, I suppose we should have a staff meeting about how to approach it."

"Emmett may have jumped the gun on you, there," Marilyn replied, shoving a folded newspaper across the table. "Check the headline out." The headline was hard to miss. It was printed in the largest font the paper had, screaming "RAVEN BURNS SPEAKEASY." Smaller font added, "Masked Hero Defies Corrupt Mayor, Burns Bootleg Booze".

"God damn it," William groaned, turning the paper over.

"Really?" Marilyn buttered a slice of toast. "I'd have thought you, of all people, would agree."

"Yeah," he groaned, feeling a migraine coming on. "But has Emmett ever heard of libel laws?"
 
The goodnight kiss lingered on Mercedes lips long after William had dropped her off at her club. Long after she entered the quiet house alone and lied herself to sleep. Through her dreams, dreams that went further than they did. Dreams of him inside her, holding her close as they made love, hungering for each other’s touch. His breath was still warm on her lips as she woke the next morning. She knew it was better he hadn’t pushed things last night, but she would have loved to wake up in his arms. And she looked forward to seeing him again, racking her mind for some excuse to call him up…

That brought her back to Vinnie, realizing she’d have to spend some time with Vinnie, so she could get something to bring back to William. That was a miserable thought, but she still had a role to play.

The morning paper lifted her mood a touch. “Looks like I missed you last night,” she murmured, tracing the Raven’s name with her fingertip. She still had to thank him. for nearly making her a widow and freeing her from the monster. “Next time, my masked avenger. Next time.”

After a cup of black coffee and a small breakfast, Mercedes made her way to the hospital. She’d spend a few hours playing the dutiful wife before making the excuse of needing to see her mother. Not that it was entirely an excuse; Mercedes did spend Sunday evenings with her. Still, she wasn’t going to spend the entire evening with her, and hopefully she could sneak off to meet William again. Or Marilyn. Or maybe the Raven would find her…

“I want this joker before me yesterday!” Vinnie raged, his voice carrying through the hospital halls. “How could you fools miss him?”


“He’s got some fucking brass balls hitting another of our warehouses so soon after hitting you,” one of Vinnie’s men explained. Mercedes was pretty sure it was Silvio DePaolo, one of Vinnie’s right-hand men.

“If he had real balls, he’d drop the fucking mask,” Vinnie charged. “I want everyone out there looking for him.”

“See, here’s the thing about that,” Silvio countered. He was the only one who could get away with talking to Vinnie like that. He was one of the few Vinnie really trusted to be honest, “We ain’t going find him if we go looking. We need to get him to come to us.”

“How do you go about that now?” Vinnie asked, intrigue evident in his tone.

“He always knows where to show and when. Someone has to be spilling the beans to him. Dumb mook probably doesn’t even realize it, since he ain’t blabbing to a masked man. So, we put out the word that we want him to hear. A place we want him to hit, because we will be waiting for him there.”

“Not bad,” Vinnie acknowledged, “what about the bird that’s been signing for him?” Mercedes’ throat caught at that description. Did he know about her? No, he couldn’t. He was just talking in general. Right?

Silvio laughed. “Don’t worry boss. Once we got him, he will talk. I’ll make sure of it. Then we can take care of the leak too.”

Shit! She had to warn the Raven. But how? She didn’t even know who he was. Though, she’d too know where he’d end up. Perhaps she could get there first, alert him to the trap awaiting him. It's dangerous, but it was just as dangerous for her if he got caught. She didn’t think he’d give away her secret, but pain could be a great motivator. She had to get to him first. She just had to.

“Afternoon, Mercedes.” Silvio’s voice pulled Mercedes from her thoughts. Clearing her throat, she nodded at the greeting.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, putting on the act of clueless wife. She was just a broad, who didn’t know nothin’ about nothin’.

“He’s alright,” Silvio noted, “Probably better now that you’re here.”

Mercedes laughed, covering her nerves. At least if he still was pissed, he wouldn’t be in much position to take it out on her. “Well, I hope you are right.”
 
Vinnie smiles - leered, actually, eyes lingering on her cleavage - as he saw Mercedes enter the hospital room. “Mercy, baby! Damn, you make me wish my leg was healed up already. Gimme a kiss, doll!” His hands roamed her hips as she complied, his tongue tasting of bootleg whiskey and stale cigarettes. “Damn, girl,” he laughed, then scowled at his men. “What? You goombahs never seen a man kiss his wife before?” He waved his hand at them. “Gowan, get outta here.”

“You sure, boss?” one of his soldiers asked, hesitating. He winced as Silvio smacked him upside the head. “What?”

“What?” Silvio mocked. “What? You think maybe Mrs. Morello’s the Raven?” Everyone laughed at his discomfort, and Silvio smacked him again. “You heard the boss: wait outside. Give the some privacy.”

“Jesus,” Vinnie chuckled as the door closed. “Buncha old wet hens, the lot of ‘em.” Shifting a little, he winced as the movement pulled at his stitches. “Aw, baby, don’t look like that. It ain’t as bad as it seems. I’d be outta here already, except th’ doctor wants to make sure it don’t get infected. Kinda a pussy, you ask me - I didn’t need none o’ that shit startin’ out. Probably just lookin’ get a payday, you ask me.” Grumbling, he lit a match and puffed a cigar to life. “Still, makes a nice little vacation. Which reminds me...”

He let smoke stream from his nostrils as he regarded her. “Once I’m healed up, seems I outta do somethin’ nice fer ya. Silvio’s been telling me ‘bout how you stepped up an’ been running the club while I’ve been down. Always knew you were more’n just a pretty face and a gorgeous bod. What say we catch a plane to Havana? Sun, drinks and dancing, lotsa time staying up late and sleeping in. Be just like another honeymoon, it will.”
 
Mercedes tried to think of William as Vinnie kissed her, tried to remember how badly she had wanted him last night, and let some of that passion inform her performance now. It wasn’t working though, as she remembered freaking out and pushing William away. Even more she wanted to do the same now, and even more she couldn’t. William might have been respectful and understanding of her reticence, but Vinnie never would be. So she swallowed her discomfort, forcing a big, flirty smile to her lips.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me none. You just get healed up now, and then we can celebrate your recovery,” she offered, pulling a cigarette out of his box and holding it out for him to light. She really could have gone for a drink, to wash this taste form her mouth, but the cig would do for now. Fixating on it while he spoke of whisking her away to Havana. Was his offer on the level? A second honeymoon in honor of how hard she was working? Or was it a cover to end her, a woman missing in a foreign land? With a laugh that only sounded easy, she rubbed his shoulder, “Sounds just lovely Vinnie. Imma hold you to that now.”

Suddenly she was on a deadline. This had to be done before Vinnie recovered, before he could make good on this promise. Even if he meant the offer purely out of affection, it didn’t matter. No way could she keep up the act over a vacation. With no breaks from Vinnie, no breathing room to drop the mask. No sanctuary nearby if things got tense. “So, have the doctors said when they lettin’ ya come home?” She asked, stubbing out her cig.

Vinnie shook his head, “Might be a couple days yet. Think you can hold up, or is our bed getting a little cold?”

Giggling pushed back against the bile in her throat. “If the doctors insist, then I suppose I’ll live. Still got my dreams to keep me warm.” That last line was true, if only because Vinnie wasn’t in her dreams. Except for the one where he walked in on her and The Raven and the masked vigilante shot him between the eyes. The memory of that one brought a pleased smile to Mercedes’ face.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Vinnie husked, voice thick. “Maybe I’ll bend you over the dining table again. Give you something else to dream about.” Mercedes froze at that suggestion, swallowing hard, clamping down on the surge of emotions. Vinnie laughed, a sound that was comforting, “That excite you, Mercy? Can’t speak, thinking about how good I gave it to you? That’s cause you’re mine, doll, and don’t you forget it.”

“Jeez, Vinnie, gonna make me hafta go to confession again,” she managed, not looking him in the eye. At least he took it for embarrassment.

“It ain’t a sin when it’s your husband, baby.” Vinnie laughed again, “Unless you want something you can confess...”

She pushed herself up then, her lungs growing heavy with each breath. “I gotta go, visit my mama. It is Sunday, afterall.” Still she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t come face to face with what he did or what he suggested.

“Right, right. Tell ya mama hello from me. Jus’ don’t tell her I’m in the hospital. Don’t need another thing making her screwy in the head now.”
 
“Still got it,” Vinnie smirked, watching Mercy leave as Silvio walked in.

“Got what?” His lieutenant asked, glancing at the door as he pulled it closed.

Vinnie smirked. “Mercy. She’s begging for it, I can tell. Probably dripping down her thighs, wanting me.” He took a drag off his cigar. “Way she moved, she could hardly keep her eyes off me.”

Silvio shifted awkwardly, not at all interested. “Yeah, Great. But like I was saying, we...”

“Oh, yeah. Your trap.” Vinnie shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. “Bring the others in, and...”

“Nuh-uh.” Silvio shook his head emphatically. “You and me, boss. We’re the only ones I know we can trust right now.”

“Have it your way,” Vinnie shrugged. “Tell me what you got in mind.”


Marilyn hopped out of the cab and handed a couple of dollars to the driver. “Keep the change,” she said with an airy wave. As the car drove off, she stared at the neon marquee sign of the Golden Cage. The sign was dark, the electrical lines still getting fixed up after last week’s dramatic shootout, and the sign in the door said “Closed for repairs”.

Friends of hers, when they’d found out she’d been at the club the evening the Raven attacked, had been jealous. She shook her head, remembering the questions she’d been peppered with and the disappointment when she’d said she had left before that. She hadn’t told them why, though. Hadn’t told them how or why the mere sight of Vincent Malone made her gut churn with hate and panic. Hadn’t been able to tell them how much she wished the Raven hadn’t missed.

“Easy, girl,” she breathed to herself, smoothing her jacket and skirt with gloved hands. “He’s not here. He can’t be here. If anyone’s here, it’s Mercedes.”

Her heart pounded in her throat as she tried the door and found it unlocked /“- the ladders and scaffolding inside explaining why. No need for nerves, she told herself. I’ve visited before. Hell, we’ve even gone out shopping together. Just a friend stopping by, right. Probably isn’t even here.. But the nerves didn’t fade. Which was damn foolish, because she knew it wasn’t likely anything would happen.

“Anyone here?” She called into the dim ballroom.

Of course nothing would happen. Mercy was married, after all. And she had a thing for Will. Nothing would happen.

“Hello?”

Nothing at all.
 
Despite what she told Vinnie, Mercedes headed to the Gilded Cage first. Find out how the work was coming along. So She sat in the back office, looking over the books and various receipts, having a drink. A second drink, still cleansing her palate of Vinnie and the memories. Mercedes sighed, and drained her glass. Perhaps a third drink would help.

Stepping out of the office, she heard someone calling. Not one of the workers she had hired, but a familiar, feminine voice. “Marilyn?”

She seemed to freeze at that, eyes wide in alarm. It passed after a moment, as she seemed to recognize Mercy, and both woman laughed.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I was in the back office, going over the books. Can I get you a drink?


“Please,” Marilyn asked, placing an hand on Mercy’s arm. It was soft under the gloves, and it made Mercy remember the performance form the night before. Watching Zorita move with seductive grace, and wondering how a soft a woman’s touch could be.

Jesus, maybe she really was some sort of homosexual pervert. Thinking things like that. Mercy flashed a wordless smile to cover her embarrassed and moved behind the bar to pour them both a drink. “I was playing the role of a good wife and visiting Vinnie in the hospital.”

“Is he just clinging to life?” Marilyn asked into her glass before downing.

“No, he is unfortunately recovering,” Mercy complained, refilling Marilyn glass as soon as she put it down, “But perhaps there is still time for him to develop a nasty infection. After all, who am I to question God’s will?”

Marilyn snickered and Mercy sipped at her drink, already finding that good company was a better distraction than drinking. A realization that inspired an idea, “I do have to had head out soon, and visit my mama, but…maybe you could join me? She don’t speak English and isn’t all there in the head anymore, but she still cooks a homemade meal for me every Sunday. And, truthfully, I could use a buffer.”



Mercy pulled up to a modest house in the southside of Chicago. Fading white paint with blue accents. She oughta get someone out here this week, while she was remodeling the club anyways.

“My brothers and Papa all died within a year of each other. My brothers got drafted to fight in the great war. Fransisco, my oldest brother, died first, in the trenches. Then Papa got sick a few months later, and he went quickly. Spanish flu they said, nasty stuff. Valentino was sent back to attend his funeral, but his plane got shot down. I guess it hit too hard and too fast for Mama to deal with it so she didn’t. Still thinks my brothers are going to come home from war any day now.” She explained to Marilyn, getting everything out in the open. Buying herself more time before she had to go in there. Sigh. No point in putting it off any further.


A woman in her fifties, with curly brown hair peaked from the kitchen. Her thick figure was covered in an apron over demure brown dress. “Chi è quello?”

“La mia amica Marilyn,” Mercy explained, motioning the other woman over. Turning to Marilyn, she gestured towards the older woman, “My mother, Damiana Capella.”

The older woman looked Marilyn over.“È carina,” she acknowledged with a nod and a smile, “sposata?”

Mercedes sighed, “Non questo di nuovo Mamma.”

“Che cosa? Non mi darai nipoti.” Damiana pouted, shrugging. Hanging her apron up on knob, she lead the women through the kitchen into the dining room. “Spero tu abbia fame.”

Before them was large spread, enough to feed eight people, easily. Pappardelle Bolognese, freshly baked bread, a large bowl of tossed salad. The food looked and smelled delicious, but Mercedes only sighed.

“Tuo padre e tuo fratello sono in ritardo, quindi possiamo iniziare a mangiare senza di loro.” Damiana excuseed, motioning for the women to sit.

“Help yourself. There is more than enough to go around,”Mercedes suggested with a sheepish smile, and served herself a bowl of salad.

“Non sono riuscito a trovare del buon vino al mercato.” Damiana excused, pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

Mercedes rubbed her forehead, “Non puoi comprare vino, mamma. È illegale.”
 
Marilyn sat at the table, dishing herself up a plate of pasta and salad and listening in polite incomprehension to the rapid Italian that was flying back and forth. She’d studied Latin and French in school and, until this moment, had thought she’d be able to puzzle out the meaning of Spanish or Italian as a result - they were, after all, all Romance languages. But this was putting the lie to that quickly, which was a pity. Mercy’s mother seemed like a sweet old lady that needed someone to talk to. So she lost herself in letting the rich, liquid syllables drift over her. That was easy to do, because Mercy’s voice was rich and smoky and made Italian live right up to the claim to being a “romance” language.

Mercedes rubbed her forehead, “Non puoi comprare vino, mamma. È illegale.”

Marilyn perked up at that, recognizing most of the words. “Only for sale or distribution,” she laughed. “Not for personal use. That’s where we got the wine we had with dinner - we just pick up the occasional wine brick and let the juice do it’s thing.” She cut off a hunk of bread and buttered it, working carefully to keep her gloves clean. “Stupid law anyway.”

“Che cosa ha detto?” Mrs. Capella asked, frowning as she tried to follow Marilyn’s comments.

“It takes a little while, of course. But the result isn’t bad - certainly better than Will’s one try at making homemade gin.” She shuddered dramatically at the memory. “I didn’t think you could make gin taste that bad.”

“Ah, vedo!” Damiana laughed, latching on to the few words she recognized. “Lei non vede nulla di sbagliato con un po' di vino sia!” She smiled as Marilyn ate. “Mangiare! Mangiare! Una bella ragazza come te non dovrebbe essere così magro, Marilyn. Agli uomini piace una donna con le curve!”

Unsure about what was just said, Marilyn smiled and took the gestures at her plate to be encouragement to eat. Fortunately she was every bit the cook Mercedes had said she would be, so it wasn’t hard. “This is wonderful,” she said.

Damiana beamed, understanding the intent if not the words. “Sembra carina, Mercede,” she said, giving her daughter a conspiratorial glance. “Si deve introdurre il suo Valentino - sono sicuro che lei vorrebbe.
 
It was nice to have Marilyn there, if only because it meant her mother was talking about something other than the dead. Not that it lasted long, as her mother tried setting Marilyn up with her late brother. Reminding her mother about his passing would only end with reprimands about saying such horrible things, and denials that such a thing were even possible. Nowadays, Mercy just tried to avoid the topic.

“Non è interessata, mamma.” Mercy said simply, shoveling a heaping of pasta into her mouth.

“Perchè no?” Damiana asked, setting down her silverware. She held up a finger to Marilyn now, as she stood, “Torno subito.” And then she left the room.

“Sorry,” Mercedes laughed, trying to disperse the tension of the evening. “She says you are very pretty, and is trying to adopt you into becoming her daughter-in-law.” The thought wasn’t so terrible, and had things been different, Mecry would have liked to call Marilyn sister. But now her mother’s pestering just brought back the pain of losing her family all over again.

Damiana returned, carrying an album in her hand. She sat beside Marilyn and opened it, pointing to a picture within, “Quello è il mio figlio minore, Valentino. Handsome, yes?” She beamed, running fingers over the edge of the picture. “Sembra proprio come suo padre a quell'età.”

"Mamma, basta. Ho detto che non è interessata.”

"Perché non lasci che lei lo decida? Dovrebbe essere qui presto... "Damiana glanced over at the grandfather clock, and the glance became a stare after a few moments. As she stared, realization threatened to creep in, settling upon her features as her mouth closed. Turning back towards Marilyn, she smiled, and patted her hand. "Suppongo che non verrà da oggi. Riprova la settimana prossima, sono sicuro che piacerà a te. "

Conversation was sparse after that. Mercy mentioned that she was remodeling the club, without mentioning why she was remodeling, and Damiana playfully admonished her for not having any babies yet. She laughed it off, despite how sick the idea made her. If she were carrying Vinnie’s child, she’d probably cut it out of her with her own hands. But she didn’t talk about Vinnie, or the Raven, turning conversation back towards Marilyn, and how she worked with her brother at the newspaper.

Much to Mercy’s surprise, her mother approved of that, mentioning that it was good if a woman could support herself without a man. But Marilyn was so pretty, surely she’d find a husband before long, and she was still plenty young enough to have some babies. Before her mother could go back to trying to convince Marilyn she really wanted to meet Valentino, Mercy announced she had to leave, to get Marilyn home before it got too late.

“Hey, thanks for coming with me,” Mercy said, as they walked back to the car after sunset. “I know it was awkward, with most of it in Italian, but I really appreciate it. Wanna come back to my place and have a couple more drinks? It’d just be the two of us.”
 
"A husband?" Marilyn laughed as Mercy translated. "I... tell her I'm flattered, really. But I'm just not ready, not yet. I haven't found the right couple of..." She clapped her hands over her mouth. "I mean," she repeated, enunciating carefully, "I haven't found the right person, not yet. And I'd hate to rush into it, you know?"

Damiana laughed as Mercy translated it back, and Marilyn wondered how much of it was an accurate and faithful translation. And just how much of it was faithful. Not that she'd have told the truth, not really. Marriage just... well, she had nothing against men, not really. She'd had a lot of fun with men, from time to time. But... marriage? No. Besides, she thought as she watched Mercy smile at her mother, the kind of long-term relationship she wanted probably wouldn't ever be legal. But then Damiana brought up the name of Valentino again, and Mercy started making excuses. Soon, she was following Mercy back out to the car.

“Hey, thanks for coming with me,” Mercy said, as they walked back to the car after sunset. “I know it was awkward, with most of it in Italian, but I really appreciate it."

"No, no, not at all," Marilyn protested. "I enjoyed it, really. My parents both died... oh, eight years ago now. And Will and I don't really have any other close family, not really. It was nice, feeling like part of a family again." I'd like to do it again, she didn't say. Marrying into your family seems nice.

"Wanna come back to my place and have a couple more drinks?" Mercy continued, breaking into her thoughts. "It’d just be the two of us.”

"Yeah!" Marilyn agreed, hoping she didn't sound too eager. "That sounds nice. A few drinks and a little girl talk, nothing serious." She grinned, looking a little shy as she opened the door. "Gotta warn you, though. Get me burning blue, and I've been known to dance on the tables." Her head bobbed down as she ducked into the door, then pulled it closed behind her. "You got strong tables, right?"
 
Mercy chose to focus on the image of Marilyn dancing without a care, instead of her question about strong tables. “It’d be nice to have someone to dance with.” Memories of Zorita returned, filled in with Marilyn’s svelte physique. She’d look striking in a well-tailored suit…

“Truthfully, I am sort of jealous of you and Will, and how close you two are. Makes me miss my brothers,” Mercy mentioned, trying to drive the vision of Marilyn stripping herself out of a form-fitting suit from her head. Trying to focus on the roads, dark under the moonlight. “Maybe we invite him to join us next Sunday? Clearly, my mama always makes too much food anyways. Or do we just keep this between us girls?”

They made it to her place, an Italian villa-inspired house, surrounded by well-manicured shrubbery. Every detail designed to speak to Vinnie’s wealth, and therefore power. It was dark tonight, an encouraging promise that her husband wasn’t here.

“Should I give you the tour, or should we head right for the parlor?” Mercy teased, taking Marilyn’s arm within her own. Moving through the house, Mercy was cognizant that there was little of her own touch here. It was very much Vinnie’s home. She just lived here.

The parlor was decorated in the same nouveau riche style as the rest of the house, displaying an ostentation glitz that proclaimed the owner had more money than taste. But there was plenty of seating, between the couch, the loveseat, the chaise, and half dozen chairs. Despite being freshly cleaned (the maid must have come this morning) it reeked of cigars. It was where Vinnie meet with his boys, after all.

Mercy pulled out a couple glasses and unlocked the liquor cabinet, “What will you have? You favor Manhattans, don’t you?”
 
"Why don't we just keep it between us girls for now?" Marilyn suggested, heart hammering at the idea of making this a regular thing. "Just an intimate little girls night. We can always invite him along again some other time, if it make sense."

The drive to Mercy's house was pleasant, silver moonlight glittering on damp roads and buildings and then on grass and leaves as they headed out into the suburbs. The place wasn't as large as the Stone estate, but it fairly screamed that the owner was wealthy. Ostentatious. That was the word for it. Marilyn smirked a little in the darkness as they pulled up. She'd never say it out loud, but Mercy's influence was clear. A man like Enforcer Morello would probably have gilded it and covered it with neon, left to his own devices.

“Should I give you the tour, or should we head right for the parlor?” Mercy teased, taking her arm.

"Whatever you want," Marilyn beamed. "I'm all yours."

The decor was strongly masculine, demonstrating that Mercy's influence was limited to curbing the worst of the garish excesses of the owner. Art deco warred with antique furniture, and cubist modernism battled with replicas of old masters on the walls. Each piece was elegant and beautiful, but they were thrown together with an eye towards bludgeoning the visitor with the wealth of the owner. All of it, to Marilyn's eyes, lacked the elegant charm of her own home. And it smelled subtly of old, cheap cigars. Mercy pulled out a couple glasses and unlocked the liquor cabinet, “What will you have? You favor Manhattans, don’t you?”

"Sure, I can drink a Manhattan," Marilyn said with a smile, digging out a slim silver cigarette case. "Right now, though, I've got a taste for a French 75. Or a Hanky Panky, if you've got some Fernet Branca." She found herself struggling not to stare at Mercy's curvy rear as she examined the liquor cabinet. "It's always a delightful way to end a lovely evening." She flipped open the case and offered it. "Smoke?"
 
"It's always a delightful way to end a lovely evening."

I bet it is, Mercy thought, biting her lips so the words wouldn’t escape. Clearing her throat, she managed to respond to Marilyn’s question.

“I’ll take a cig. They’re hell on my throat, but I was never going to be a soprano anyways. Besides, the deep, earthy purr seems to be popular nowadays.” Digging deep into the cabinet, she managed an unopened bottle of Fernet Branca.

“Shit, I think this is from before prohibition.” Mercedes laughed, opening the bottle and mixing in the gin and vermouth, before pouring them into glasses. Handing Marilyn a drink and taking a lit cigarette, she joined Marilyn on the couch.

“To...to family,” Mercedes decided, tapping her glass against Marilyn’s. “May they always love us as much as they drive us crazy.” Mercedes laughed into her glass before taking a deep drink. She wasn’t sure she got the drink right, but it burned off the bitterness of the evening and made her feel pleasantly lightheaded.

“So, what did happen with you and William, last night?” Marilyn teased.

“Nothing!” Mercedes insisted, far too firmly. Blushing as she thought back on it, “He was a perfect gentleman.”

“Perfect?” Marilyn prodded. Mercedes blushed deeper, biting her lip now.

“Well, maybe not perfect…” The feel of his tongue beseeching entrance into her mouth, dancing along her lips and against her own came back to her mind now. As well as his patient understanding and valiant offer of sanctuary. “But a gentleman nonetheless.”

Marilyn smiled, but there was pain hiding behind it. She could tell because she’d been wearing that expression for nearly a week now. But why would Marilyn wear it? Tossing back her drink, Mercedes pulled Marilyn to her feet.

“Come on, you promised me dancing,” Mercedes goaded. “Should I turn on the radio, or do I have to serenade you?”
 
'Yeah," Marilyn murmured, downing the last of her drink. "That's my brother. A gentleman." Damn it, why couldn't he be more of a louse? Then she wouldn't have to feel so guilty, making a play for the woman he clearly wanted. The woman that probably wouldn't be interested anyway, but that didn't change facts.

Mercy's hand grabbed hers, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, you promised me dancing,” Mercedes goaded. “Should I turn on the radio, or do I have to serenade you?”

"I promised you dancing," she laughed, not letting go of Mercy's hand, "only if you got me drunk. And this..." she shook her empty glass, "was just a start. You'll need to do more, if you want me getting wild." Slowly pulling her hand free, enjoying the feel of Mercy's fingers through the silk of her gloves, she plucked her glass from the endtable and moved to examine the liquor cabinet. "But you better put the radio on, because I'm not planning on dancing alone."

Heart hammering in her chest, she selected bottles and began pouring them into the two glasses before stirring them and adding lemon. Satisfied, she turned and leaned back against the cabinet, displaying herself just a little as she held up two glasses filled with a reddish mix. "Between the sheets," she said with a wink, holding one glass out. "Rum, cognac and triple sec. Just the thing to take the edge off."
 
“Take the edge off, hmm? Mercedes giggled, taking the glass to the head and finishing half in a gulp. Emboldened by the burn, she spun Marilyn around. “Is that all you are trying to take off?” Blush flushed her cheeks, partially unable to believe she said something so risqué to Marilyn, and partially unable to care all that much. God, Marilyn was such fun to be around, and so pretty, and her perfume smelled divine and…

“Here, let me find us some music to dance to,” Mercedes said, distracting herself from such thoughts. Such alluring thoughts. Some up-tempo song without vocals poured form the speakers, crackling with warmth. Mercedes let it play for a few bars, swaying hips to the rhythm, before throwing back the rest of the drink. “You best catch up Marilyn, because I am winning.”

Buoyed by the music and the alcohol and the absence of her asshole husband, Mercedes took Marilyn’s hands. This close, she just stared up at Marilyn, catching the dancing of lights in the dark pools of her eyes. “How is it that you are single? You’re so pretty.” Unable or unwilling to look away, Mercedes just laughed the tension off, “Though, I suppose if I were single, I might take my time to enjoy my freedom. Not rush into something serious with the first person who comes along…”
 
Marilyn watched, nearly hypnotized, as Mercy began swaying experimentally to the rhythm. But then, at her laughing challenge, she knocked back her own drink. "Oh, a challenge?" She poured herself another glass, neat bourbon this time, and slammed it back as well. "I play to win, don't you know?"

The music played on, and Mercy took her hand. The feeling was electric, and her eyes were large and gorgeous this close up. “How is it that you are single?" she asked. "You’re so pretty.”

"Just lucky, I guess," Marilyn joked, trying to laugh off the sudden warmth that pooled in her stomach.

Mercedes laughed as well, “Though, I suppose if I were single, I might take my time to enjoy my freedom. Not rush into something serious with the first person who comes along…”

"Shouldn't ever rush into things," Marilyn replied. "Who knows what might happen if you do?" The song ended and a new one started up, one with a slower tempo. Swallowing, Marilyn pulled Mercedes close, one hand resting on the small of her lovely back as she began moving them to the music. "I hope you don't mind if I lead," she added, enjoying the feel of Mercy pressed against her. Her heart hammered as she stared down into the other woman's eyes. "You can always blame it on the booze."
 
FF Smut Scene: Mercy and Marilyn
  • Index
    • “And what shall I blame on the alcohol?” Mercy whispered. Her arms went up over Marilyn’s shoulders, and there was no more space separating their bodies. There was still a tiny voice in her head, reminding her this was sin, but Marilyn’s breaths, deep and rhythmic, drowned it out.
    “That I crave the taste of sin upon my lips?”
    There was no hesitation now, as Mercedes closed the distance between them. Still, times seemed to stand still, stretching out before her to capture the moment. Soft bodies molded together, silk sliding over velvet. Two fingers brushed strands of dark hair behind Marilyn’s ear, and lingered, slipping down her long, slender neck and back behind her head. She locked onto Marilyn’s eyes, looking for that last moment warning, flinch. Some sign to stop, to pull back, to laugh this off like a joke. Instead, Marilyn’s eyes closed and her lips parted, inviting Mercedes.

    The sharp burn of bourbon tingled on Mercedes’ tongue, and thrill tingled on her nerves. The kiss was light, and nervous, exploring and probing and testing each woman’s limits and resolve. It was wrong, Mercedes knew, and she didn’t care. An abomination before God. The same God who took her family and left her with a bastard of a husband. The same God that demanded her subservience to him. Fuck God, she decided, hungry for Marilyn’s taste, and fuck Vinnie too.

    “I want to have you in the bed I share with Vinnie. I want it saturated in your scent.”
     
  • Index
    • Marilyn shivered at the invitation, a thrill of excitement crawling down her spine and drenching her underwear. She felt light-headed as she leaned in, aware of the taste of bourbon on Mercedes' lips and the shy, light feel of her tongue caressing and gently exploring her mouth. Her hands slid down Mercy's curves, drawing her close even as the kiss broke. “I want to have you in the bed I share with Vinnie. I want it saturated in your scent.”

    "Are you sure?" Marilyn husked, her voice thick. Her hands bunched in the fabric of Mercy's dress, pulling their hips tighter together. It was her turn to lean in, to sample Mercy's lips as she closed her eyes and drank in the other woman's flavor. She seemed to stiffen for a moment when her tongue sought entrance to her mouth, then Mercy moaned lightly and parted her lips and sucked greedily at her tongue. "God, I want you," she gasped, desperately filling her silk-gloved hands with Mercy's lush body. "In your bed, on the couch, I don't care." Silk slid over Mercy's cheeks as she cupped her face, kissing her again with an aching hunger.

    "Where?" she husked, caressing Mercy's throat. Tracing the soft valley between her breasts. "Show me." She kissed Mercy again, cupping her breasts, teasing her erect nipples with silk-covered fingers. "I want to be drenched in you. I want you to smell me when you sleep." Another hungry kiss. "Take me there, and let me take you there."
     
    Damn, Marilyn’s hands felt so good, soft, and yet hungry. Touching her the way she would want to be touched, discovering and caressing, paying special attention to sensitive areas. She led Marilyn to the bedroom, excitement overcoming her nerves, until that moment where the stood over the bed and Mercy had no idea how to proceed.

    “I’ve…never done this before. Not with another woman. Hell, not with anyone but Vinnie. How…” The question was swallowed up in a kiss, a kiss Mercedes couldn’t begin to resist. Curious hands explored Marilyn now, down slender shoulders and slim arms to her perky breasts. High and firm, Mercedes was equal parts aroused and jealous. Marilyn had the perfect flapper body, tall and lithe, while she herself was thick with curves.

    Instinct took over, Mercedes working Marilyn out of her coat and top, leaving a trail of clothes along the edge of the bed. Hands skimmed over skin, savoring how lovely she felt and looked, down to her silk slip and girdle. “Show me,” Mercedes moaned, kissing Marilyn’ ears and neck. “Show me what to do.”
     
    God, the feel of Mercy's hands exploring her increasingly bare body was divine. "You're doing just fine," she husked, gloved fingers working at the tiny buttons of Mercy's blouse. "You do it just like that. Just... touch me. Touch me, wherever you want." She explored the generous curves of the other woman's body, the silk of her gloves rasping gently over Mercy's silk slip. She bunched the fabric up, drawing it over her hips and pulling it higher, slowly slipping it over her shoulders and head and tossing it to the floor. "You... you're gorgeous," she whispered, gently kissing Mercy's throat.

    Slowly, in stages, she laid them both back on the mattress. Her lips found Mercy's, lingering over her taste and exploring her mouth with her tongue. One silk-gloved hand slid beneath her back, cupping her head. The other slowly stroked her bare breasts, lightly circling her nipples. Shifting a little, she twined her legs with Mercy's, hand slowly drifting down to her hip as her kisses became hungrier. "Did you ever touch yourself?" she asked, trailing a line of kisses down the soft skin of her throat. Her thigh ran over the damp fabric of her panties, pressing against the soft mound beneath. Her own hips rocked against Mercy's thigh, leaving the skin wet with her own arousal.

    Marilyn's lips slowly explored Mercy's breast as she pressed herself into the singer's body. "How did you touch yourself?" she whispered, brushing her lips over an erect nipple. "What did you dream of, while you touched yourself? Tell me." Now her slick tongue circled the peaked flesh. "Tell me, so I know how to pleasure you."
     
    Lying with Marilyn was so different than lying with Vinnie had been. Marilyn showed interest in her pleasure, asking her what she wanted. Vinnie just took what he wanted, and would have been inside her already. Sometimes it felt good, when he took his time and went slow, but often it was just something to endure.

    Not with Marilyn. No, she savored these moments, with their light touches and soft, smooth skin. And her lips –God, her lips– teasing an erect nipple lit a fire within Mercedes, a nearly unbearable. Running her fingers through the smooth silk of Marilyn’s short hair, Mercy moaned, offering more of her body to Marilyn’s divine mouth.

    “I…I don’t know,” Mercy sighed, spreading herself wider as Marilyn’s leg ground into her soaking panties. “What you are doing feels so good. Maybe…touch me…touch me between my thighs… while you…kiss my breasts.” Mercy whimpered, her own fingers hungrier, more insistent. Demanding, as they stroked down Marilyn’s back, nails leaving white lines in her fair skin. Trailing around the front of Marilyn’s body, she caressed the other woman’s breasts. She cupped a firm handful, slightly awkward in this position, Marilyn lingered lower down Mercedes’ body. “I want to feel you…inside me.”
     
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