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

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That moment of completion, with William buried completely within her, was breathtaking. Mercedes wanted to answer his questions, respond to his demands, his pleas, to give him even more of herself. To give him everything. But her words came out like gasps and moans and hungering kisses.

So she let her hands speak her for, desperate fingers digging into his back. She let her legs speak for her, spread wide for him, thighs gripping him as he filled her. She let her hips speak for her, Writhing and meeting his, taking everything he gave and offerings herself in return.

Finally, looking up into the gorgeous blue eyes, brimming with concern and desire, she found her voice. “Will. Will… Will…” His name was all she could say, all that mattered in this moment, all that needed to be said. “Will… Will…” Arms tightened around his back, pulling him even closer until her breasts rubbed his bare chest with every thrust into her. She ground against him, chasing the electric pleasure that grazed her throbbing clit each time he drove into her. “Will…Will!” His name became eager, high pitched and rapid, echoing the moist joining of their bodies.

Then, as rapture peaked, she could speak no more, only gasp, and fill his mouth with the taste of her bliss. Each stroke was a new apex of delight, defiant of her rippling walls and fluid grasp on his cock. And when she could take no more, she melted into the mattress beneath him, still clenching rhythmically, in time with his deep strokes. Heaving breaths became gasps, and then finally, words.

“Fill me…Will…Please…fill me…”
 
Her hands, her body answered him, assuring and demanding him. He began moving, his lips hot on her skin as he stoked deep into her. He tried to go slow, wanting to drag it out, but his desire and the urgent demands of her hands and legs as she clung to him and moved with him made him speed up with each thrust. “Will...” she moaned, pressing herself against him. “Will...” Her legs tightened around his hips, letting her meet his thrusts. “Will...”. Her hands slid over and gripped his back, her wedding ring scraping gently against his skin.

“Mercy...” he gasped in response, lips caressing her throat as she threw her head back. She tightened around him, calling him s name again in a high, breathy gasp. One of his arms slid beneath her back, gripping her shoulder. The other cupped her rear, and the leverage let him thrust deeper, harder. And then her fingers were in his hair, drawing his lips to hers. Her body echoed the cries of delight he drank from her, pulsing in orgasm around him as the bed creaked to his movements.

“Mercy...” he gasped. “God... Mercy... I...”

“She cut him off with a hungry kiss. “Fill me... Will... please... fill me...”

The muscles of his arms and shoulders and back stood out as he pulled her into his thrust. His back arched as he drove himself into her pulsing depths, and he called a sound that might have been her name as his pleasure took over. He fell against her, devouring her lips and jaw and throat as he pulsed inside her, his seed coating her walls.

“God,” he breathed, still pulsing gently in her as he kissed her. “I... God.”
 
Mercedes giggled softly, nuzzling herself against Willam and his warmth. The warmth of his body against her, the warmth he poured into her, the warmth in each gentle kiss. She didn’t want to leave this moment, this safety and satisfaction. “Thank you,” she whispered, taking his lips in another kiss, drawing out this moment between them, “I… I really needed that. Needed you…”

Worries about Vinnie could wait until morning. She wouldn’t let them in, while William held her close. Worries about Marilyn and The Raven and anyone else could wait, too.

But the morning arrived too quickly, and now she had to figure things out. If she were going to go back to Vinnie, and keep up this charade any longer, she needed a story he might believe. A story that might keep her safe from his wrath. Her best bet seemed to lie at her mother’s house.

Facing Marilyn in the morning was awkward, but not quite as bad Mercedes worried.

“Did you sleep okay?” Marilyn asked, passing her a cup of coffee. Her smile was mostly warm, with a hint of tightness in her features. But there no mistaking that she knew what happened.

“Yeah…yeah I did,” Mercedes admitted, sipping at her coffee.

Marilyn’s eyes went a little dark, for just a moment, before she nodded. “What are you going to do, now?” It was a heavy question; a question Mercedes wasn’t sure she was up for answering right yet. She liked Marilyn and she liked William, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to choose. “About Vinnie, I mean.”

Okay, that was easier to answer. A little, at least. “Head over to my mama’s house, and pretend I spent the night there, because I wasn’t feelin’ right. I think she’ll cover for me.”

Marilyn nodded, “Okay, I’ll drop you off once we get dressed.”

~*~

The car ride to her mother’s house wasn’t so tense, but it gave them a chance to talk about…well, what happened between them, and now, between her and Will. Mercedes brought it up first.

“Are you mad, about me and Will?”

Marilyn didn’t look at her, choosing to focus on the road instead. “I don’t know. I’m happy for him, it’s been so long since… Florence…” Her voice broke, and both women were quiet for a time. “It’s not like we’re, well, exclusive or anything. You are married still, after all.”

Mercedes sighed, and looked out the window, admittedly not looking forward to seeing Vinnie this morning. “I do like you. And him. And…” she closed her mouth before she could admit anything about the Raven, but he weighed heavily on her mind.

“You said before you wouldn’t rush into anything, if you were single, and I am not expecting from you. So, we’ll just play it loose, okay?”

“So you’re okay with this?” Mercedes asked, biting her lip.

Marilyn laughed, not entirely convincingly. “So long as I don’t have to hear the details.”

The car pulled up to her mother’s house, and already an unfamiliar vehicle was parked in front. Shit. Had Vinnie sent some of his boys here, to look for her? Should she run, flee back to the safety of the Stone’s home? Maybe, but not without her mother. Vinnie wasn’t above torturing women, if it got him what he wanted.

“Can you stick around? For a minute?" she asked Marilyn. Marilyn nodded, and stayed in the car. If something happened to her, at least someone would know.

“Mama?” Mercedes called, knocking on the door. No response, so she knocked again, harder and more desperate. “Mama?!”

The door opened that time, Damiana was all smiles. Good, no sign anyone had hurt her. "Mercedes! Non indovinerai mai chi è arrivato alla fine." You’ll never guess who finally showed up.

She did want to scare her mother, but she gently took her hand, "Parliamone in macchina, mamma, ma adesso dobbiamo andare." Let’s talk about it in the car, Mama, but we have to go now.

“Perche? Why?” Damiana refused to move. “Mercy, finalmente tuo fratello è tornato a casa, io non vado da nessuna parte." Your brother finally came home, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Non abbiamo tempo per questo, Mama!” We don’t have time for this, Mercy snapped, pulling harder. “I miei fratelli sono morti e non torneranno mai più a casa! Dobbiamo andarcene adesso, prima che arrivi qualcun altro!" My brothers are dead, and they are never coming home! We need to leave now, before anyone else shows up!


“What’s with the hurry?” a hauntingly familiar voice called from the hallway. A man appeared behind her mother, just as she remembered him, and for a second, Mercedes was sure she’d gone mad as well. “Are you okay, Mercy?”

“Valentino?”
 
Marlyn sat, staring at the low stairs that led up to the townhouse. Was she all right with it? She’d certainly encouraged Will to pursue Mercedes. He needed someone in his last de, needed something more than wirk. It had been years, after all. He deserved to stop mourning, and move in.

But... so did she. And he was falling for the raven-haired singer. Falling hard. And the worst of it was, she’d never had the slightest hint that Mercy might reciprocate. Not until that night. Their night.

“Fuck,” she mumbled bleakly, digging a cigarette out of a holder. “I shouldn’t have to compete with my own damn brother.” And with the Raven.

Movement caught her eye as she snapped on her lighter. There was someone in the house with her. Not her mother. A man. The unlit cigarette dropped from her lips as she grabbed her purse. It was unfashionably large, but how else did you conceal a .45?

She vaulted from the car, reaching into gripping the cool weight of the automatic as she raced towards the stairs. Was it one of Enforcer Malone’s boys? She’d blow his goddamn brains out if he was. They could run for New York, wire Will on the way. Surely Nalone couldn’t reach them in London, or Paris? But no matter what, he wasn’t going to hurt them again. Either of them.

The door wasn’t locked, so she elbowed it open. Still concealing the pistol in her purse, she whipped around and found Mercy in the sitting room, embracing the stranger and weeping.

“Marilyn!” Mercy’s mother called, delighted. “Incontra il mio ragazzo! Il mio Valentino è tornato a casa!”
 
“Marilyn?” Valentino asked, taking note of her as she entered the living room.

Damina nudged him, "È quello di cui ti ho parlato. È carina, non è lei?" That’s the one I told you about. She’s pretty, isn’t she?

"Molto carina" Very pretty. Valentino agreed in a whisper, nodding approvingly. With a hand held out before him, he introduced himself. “Valentino Capella.”

“My brother, who is apparently not dead,” Mercedes went on to explain, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Not that he’s given me a good explanation for his lengthy disappearance, and letting me and…” She glanced at her mother, before turning back to Marilyn, “before let me think he was dead.”

Valentino laughed, and rubbed the back of his neck, “Wasn’t intentional, honest. Just a side effect of getting shot outta the sky over enemy territory.”

“And the war’s been over for almost eight years,” Mercedes pointed out.

“Yeah, but considering the head injury I woke up with, I had no idea who I was. Since I was speaking Italian, they sent me back there, after the armistice. But they couldn’t figure out who I was either, so I was bounced around from place to place until my mind could come back. Then… well, that’s why I’m here, now.” He turned back to Mercedes now, and placed a heavy hand on her should. “And I’m sorry it took so long for me to make it back.”

Now Mercy felt guilty. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you so much.” The tears came again, a decade of mourning and acceptance disrupted in a single morning.

“I’ve missed so much,” Valentino agreed, pulling her into another hug.

“Fammi fare un po 'di colazione,"Let me make some breakfast, Damiana insisted, patting Valentino on the back as she passed, "Farai colazione con noi, vero, Marilyn? "You’ll eat some breakfast with us, won’t you, Marilyn?
 
“Valentino Capella,” said the man who was clearly not threatening Mercy or her mother.

He stepped forward, offering a hand. Carefully releasing her automatic, she withdrew her hand and shook it. “Marilyn Stone,” she answered, trying not to stare. Valentino was a good-looking man. Really good-looking. Like a sexy masculine Mercy, which was giving her ideas that made it awkward to also have Mercy in the same room.

“My brother, who is apparently not dead,” Mercedes added, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Not that he’s given me a good explanation for his lengthy disappearance, and letting me and…” She glanced at her mother, before turning back to Marilyn, “before let me think he was dead.”

Well, that explained the resemblance. The conversation drifted around her as she looked at him, because he was really nice to look at. Granted, Mercy’s revelation wrecked her half-formed ideas of trying to get both of them into bed, but she’d survive. Mercy’s tearfull smile as she embraced her long-lost brother was more than worth that little fantasy. It reminded her of her own homecoming, after the surgeries to fix her ruined hands, after...

Stop that! she ordered herself, feeling her hands start to shake again. “You know,” she said, “I don’t think your mother ever gave up hope.”

“My mother’s a saint,” he agreed.

“Fammi fare un po 'di colazione," Damiana insisted, patting Valentino on the back as she passed, "Farai colazione con noi, vero, Marilyn?”

“Uhm...”. She hesitated.

“She’s inviting you to breakfast, Miss Stone,” Valentino laughed.

“Oh! Well... gratzi?” Was that the word?

“Grazi, actually. But close enough.” He hooked Mercy’s arm with his right, and Marilyn’s arm with his left. “Allow me to escort you to the dining room!” he declared grandlly.

-*-

“How did you two meet?” Valentino asked.

Marilyn do need her biscotti in her coffee - something she’d been hesitant to do until literally everyone else at the table had done it, and took a bite before answering. “I’m a reporter, with the Daily News.”

“The one that keeps getting in Capone’s business?” he asked, impressed.

“Yeah, I’ve even written some of those stories. But I did a write-up of the Gilded Cage for the entertainment section, and scored an interview with Mercy.” There was a lot about that night she chose to leave unsaid,

“Huh.” He glaned at his sister. “She must be something special. I don’t see Vinnie letting you pal around with reporters, otherwise.”
 
“Well, it was advertising for the club, so it was good for business,” Mercedes explained, not ready to tell her brother about her vendetta against the man she married in his absence. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about her marriage except in passing, but it was clear from the grimace on his face, Valentino remember who Vinnie was, and hadn’t approved. Her brothers had been protective of her growing up, and being suddenly without them had been jarring. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising she ended up with Vinnie.

“We’re actually reopening tomorrow night, and I’d love it if you came out. Maybe I can even get you on stage with me.”

He laughed at that, “I never had the pipes you did, but… well, I suppose I owe you, don’t I?” Turning his attention towards Marilyn, “Ms. Stone, would you accompany to the Gilded Cage tomorrow night?”

Mercedes hid her jealousy in a deep drink of her coffee. She had no right to be jealous, she knew. Just last night she’d slept with Marilyn’s brother, after what she’d shared with Marilyn. They’d agreed on the car ride here, she didn’t owe Marilyn loyalty. And, in turn, Marilyn didn’t owe it to her, neither. But, dammit, she shouldn’t have to compete with her own damn brother.

The door pounded, Mercy damn near thought she might jump out of her skin. There was no mistaking that it was probably her husband, and he was clearly pissed. “I’ll get it,” Mercedes offered, running through her story in her head one last time.

Vinnie glanced at her with cool eyes, cool eyes that promised hell, “Come on Mercy, You’ve embarrassed me enough already…” His free hand cuffed her arm, reminding her of that night. Despite knowing it would only be worse for her to resist, she couldn't force her legs to walk, and stumbled forward a few steps as Vinnie yanked her along.

“What’s the hurry, Vinnie?” Valentino boomed out from behind her. Vinnie looked once, and then did a double take as he registered just who stood behind her.

“Valentino? What hole did ya crawl out of?” Vinnie asked, laughing with false bravado. Gone was the vise grip in her arm, replaced with an offered handshake towards her brother, “I thought you got yourself killed in the war.”

“Big misunderstanding,” he answered, meeting Vinnie’s hand with a firm shake. Valentino stood taller than Vinnie, and taller still while Vinnie leaned on his crutch. He’d been tall and skinny when he left for the army, but now, standing opposite her husband, Mercedes realized Valentino had bulked up, considerably.

“Helluva misunderstanding,” Vinnie agreed. He then wrapped an arm around her shoulder, shifting from the angry husband who’d come to collect his wife into a loving provider. “Mercy tell ya how I took good care of her and your mama whiles you were gone? Built her a club to sing in and everythin’.”

“Yeah, I understand she makes you a lotta money,” Valentino answered. Vinnie laughed again, and Mercedes could hear the discomfort in his voice. The tension hung in the air, Valentino’s unspoken disapproval evidence in his tight lips and furrowed brow. Vinnie broke the silence by clearing his throat.

“Well, Valentino, if you need some work, you let me know. We’re family, after all.”

“Right, family.” He held Vinnie gave for three long heartbeats, before turning towards her with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mercy. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

As she left with Vinnie, Mercy didn’t know whether to feel safer now that her brother was back, or more fearful for him.
 
Mercy jumped in, helping explain how they’d met and then deflecting the conversation towards Valentino’s voice. And it seemed she had a stronger opinion about his voice than he did. “I never had the pipes you did,” e protested, “but… well, I suppose I owe you, don’t I?”

Suddenly, Marilyn realized he was staring at her. “Ms. Stone, would you accompany to the Gilded Cage tomorrow night?”

“Uhm...” she hesitated, caught off guard. I don’t want you. I want Mercy! “Uh, sure.” But was a way to pin back at Mercy, maybemake her a little jealous after she’d fucked Will. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Besides, it wouldn’t all be to make her jealous. Valentine looked like he’d be a tasty dish.

Someone hammered on the door before anyone could say anything. Marilyn felt her heart leap into her throat at the sound, and she could see the fear in Mercy’s eyes. Vincent Morello. Him, or one of his goons. Haunted eyes followed Mercy as she rose, and Marilyn bent to pick up her purse as she stepped into the hall. If that bastard touches her, she swore to herself. I’ll kill him. I’ll figure clung kill him.

“Excuse me,” Valentino said, laying his napkin on the table and standing up. “I’m going to go and say hello to my brother in law.”

“Sure,” Marilyn agreed, startled by the ice in his voice. He sounds like Will. He sounds like.., She shook the thought off, unwilling to complete it as he stepped into the hall. For a moment the mask he wore had slipped, revealing something hard and cold and dead. The same expression she saw in Will, on rare occasions. The same expression she saw when she looked in the mirror.

He was Mercy’s brother. But he wasn’t the man Mercy remembered.

-*-

“You could have told me Valentino finally came home.”

Vinnie sagged back into the seat, gesturing for their driver to leave. The car puttered as it pulled out into traffic.

“I’d have understood you leaving, baby. Really. He’s family.” Sighing heavily, he dug a cigar out of his coat. “And you stick with family. But we’re family too, and you made me look bad.” He shook his head. “That son of a bitch Capone talked all kinds of shit about you, said you’d take off with another man. Made me crazy jealous. You know me,” he grinned. “I’d die before I let you go.”

He dug into his coat pocket again. “But it was your brother, and that was important. I get that. Just... we’re in this together, till death do us part.” Steel glinted in the sun as he drew a small knife, and he watched her as he cut off the end of his cigar. “Next time, babe? Just tell me.”
 
The threat in her husband’s words wasn’t lost on Mercedes. Half his speech at any given time was veiled threats and intimidations.

“It’s not like that, Vinnie,” she insisted, working to keep herself cool and collected. “After we… well, ya know, I really wasn’t doin’ good. So I took a cab to my mama’s, to sleep it off. Then Valentino showed up this morning, and I got caught up catchin’ up. Honest.”

Vinnie lit his cigar, before finally smiling as he brought it to his lips. Finally, Mercedes allowed herself to relax, just a little, releasing the pit she carried in her gut. He believed her. He didn’t know about William or Marilyn or the Raven or the secrets she carried. She was safe.

For now.

~*~​

Mercedes sat in her dressing room, unaccountably nervous. It was barely a week since the Raven showed up and shot up the place, a week full of illicit affairs and secret identities, and hired assassins and long-lost relatives. Her mind was a whirlwind that even the booze couldn’t calm.

Vinnie was out there. Valentino too, with Marilyn. Would William be here? They hadn’t spoken since their night together, but it warmed her thoughts. Would it be different, to see him tonight? Would it be different to see him while Vinnie was near?

The Raven would be here too, wouldn’t he? He promised that much, after fucking her on the back office desk. Try and figure out who I am. She had to figure out a way to warn him about L’Ombra, and figure out a way to counter the mayor’s hired gun.

Dammit. Everything had been easier when she just sang. Now every moment was a performance, with more layers than she cared to admit.

“Missus Morello? You ready to go on, or should I have the band play without ya?”

“Nah, I’ll be right there,” Mercedes said, downing her gin and juice. The spotlight on her didn’t get much brighter than this.

The club was packed, an impressive feat on a Thursday night. Even with the stage light bright on her eyes, she could pick out Vinnie, up on the mezzanine. Marilyn sat at a table near the stage, between Valentino and William. Somehow the sight of her brother sitting with her illicit lovers made Mercedes uneasy, but it was also an excuse to talk to William after the show was over. As jealous as it made her to imagine Valentino with Marilyn, he could make it easier for her to pass info along to the Stones, as far as covers went.

All that was left was her third illicit lover, but with just a chin to go by, Mercedes couldn’t pick him out of the crowd.

Her set went smoothly, nerves evaporating with the enthusiastic applause and cheers. As the show came to an end “For this last song, I want to invite someone very important to me up on stage, my brother Valentino.”

Loose cheers rang out from crowd, and Valentino stood from his table to join her on stage. After conferring with the band, Mercedes took a seat at the piano, letting Valentino take center stage. She started playing a mellow rhythm, setting the tone for her brother to sing.

“And now, the end is near
So I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
And state my case, of which I’m certain…”
 
“Hey, before you go,” Emmett called, scurrying to keep up with William’s strides, “I need to...”

“Can it wait?” William asked. “I’ve got plans tonight, and...”

“Plans? You?” Emmett peered at him, displaying a comic level of shock. “Get out of here. You have plans?”

“Yes. I do occasionally have a life.” The words were grumpy, but the tone was playful.

“All right, spill it. What are you doing?” Emmett watched his employer hit the button for the elevator. “Come on.”

“I’m going to the Gilded Cage.” Will checked his watch.

“Oh. Ohhh...”. Emmett gave him a conspiratorial nudge. “That Mercedes dame, hey?”

“It’s not..!”

“You be careful there, William,” Emmett continued. “Stepping out with Enforcer Morello’s wife is...”

“I am not ‘stepping out’!” Will snapped. “I’m meeting Marilyn there, with a friend of hers. That’s all.” He shook his head, then stepped into the elevator. “Honestly, Emmett. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

-*-

It had been a long week for William Stone. He’d woken up to find Mercy gone, and even though he’d understood why it had still ached. He’d hoped to wake up next to her, and now his dreams were haunted by the taste and feel of her skin and his days were defined by her absence.

He’d thrown himself into his work because of that absence. That, and the tension at home. Conversations with Marilyn were ever so slightly stilted, and she acted as if she resented him or something he’d done. He still wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed she’d forgiven him - she’d been her usual self when she’d invited him to the Gilded Cage, and to meet her new friend Valentino.

-*-

“William Stone,” he said, shaking the dark-haired man’s hand.

“Valentino Capella,” came the reply, accompanied by a firm grip. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stone. Marilyn’s told me a lot bout you.”

“Please, call me Will,” he said, taking a seat. “And try not to believe anything she said. Little sisters lie. A lot.”

Marilyn laughed. “I told him you were a decent man and a hard worker.”

“See?” Will laughed. “Like I said. Little sisters lie. A lot.” Valentino chuckled. “But she hasn’t told me about you. How did you meet?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Valentino said. “She’s friends with my sister.”

“Mercedes,” Marilyn added.

“Yes,” Valentino agreed. “We met last week, when she stopped by at our mother’s house with Mercy.”

Conversation paused as a waiter arrived to take food and drink orders, then resumed. Will wasn’t surprised to learn that Valentino had fought in the Great War, because so many men had. But the story about getting sent home to the wrong country sounded like something out of a cheap novel or matinee serial.”

“Yeah it does, doesn’t it?” Valentino laughed. “Maybe I should write s book and get rich.”

“Not much money in books,” Marilyn corrected. “You want to write a screen play, break into the movies.”

“Write it for the pulps,” Will suggested. “Get it serialized so they pay you for months, and then write the screenplay.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” Valentino agreed lightly. “But it looks like the show’s starting.”

It was, and Mercy was as gorgeous as ever. Will watched and listened, enraptured by her voice and figure and the memories of both in his bed. He entirely lost track of time, until she announced the last song by calling her brother up. Valentino mounted the stage with clear signs of nervousness, but that faded quickly as the music started and he began singing.

“Wow,” Will murmured. “He’s good. Maybe he should do this instead of write?” He glanced sideways, smiling at Marilyn’s dreamy expression as she watched the song turn into a duet. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Hm?” Marilyn looked sharply at him. “What? I mean, yeah. Sure.”

Reaching over, he rested his hand on her gloved hand. Her scars couldn’t really be felt through the silk, but he could still sense then. “I know it’s been hard, Mary,” he murmured. “But if you want... I mean, well, you don’t have to be a part of, of all this.”

“Yes, I do.” Marilyn’s voice was flat.

“I can handle it, Mary. If you want to go have a normal life...”

She shook her head, and unconsciously flexed her fingers. “No. Not until that bastard goes down.” Pulling her hand away, she joined in the applause as the duet ended. “But maybe, just maybe, I can have both.”
 
Conversation returned to the lounge, and Mercedes followed her brother back to the table he shared with Marilyn and William. She couldn’t stay long, not with Vinnie so near, but she could spare a moment, and a polite greeting.

“Mr. Stone,” Mercedes acknowledged, extending a handshake. It was a stark contrast to the way she called his name, his first name, as he worked inside her just days before. Had the scratches she left on his back healed yet? Did her scent linger in his sheets? “I see you’ve met my brother.”

It was more performance, of course. For her brother, who had no idea she was cheating on her husband or why. For her husband, who was nearby, who always had eyes present. For Marilyn, who was rightfully upset, about everything that transpired between them. The mutual tension grew between her and Marilyn, with their brothers standing beside them.

“I see talent runs in your family,” Marilyn remarked, still making eyes at Valentino. God, is she doing that on purpose, to make me jealous? Or was it genuine attraction? She… she deserved that. Still, despite how much she liked William or the Raven, sleeping with them wasn’t the same as sleeping with Marilyn, wasn’t the same as sharing her body with someone who understood what she went through.

“Maybe he’ll take over for me a few nights a week, let me take a break!” Mercy joked, nudging Valentino playfully.

“We’ll see,” Valentino said, noncommittedly shrugging. He smirked at Marilyn, and it stung like a stab in the back.

Casting her glance across the crowd, she hoped to get some sign that the Raven was here. Instead, she caught her husband’s eyes, and she knew she’d better cut this greeting short. “I’m glad ya’ both made out, t’night, and I hope to see more of you.” She’d met William’s eyes on that last part, not intending anything by it, but not minding the implications. “Now, if ya don mind.”

She joined Vinnie at the bar, but he looked past her. “Of all the broads in Chicago,” Vinnie snickered, still glaring at William and Marilyn, “your brother has to pick that one?”

Rage boiled up in Mercy, remembering Marilyn’s pained admittance. It took a deep drink of her gin not to explode at him, but Mercy had to remind herself of everything at stake. Soon, soon he would suffer for what he’s done, but right now, she needed to pretend.

“Oh Vinnie, it ain’t so bad. I bet he could put in a good for ya, and maybe even keep your name out the paper.”

Vinnie laughed, and threw back the rest of his drink, “Oh, that’s my little canary, always lookin’ on the bright side.” Vinnie grabbed her, grubby hands squeezing her ass, and still looking

Vinnie!” She squealed, trying to play the embarrassed wife, and not shove him away from her. “Stoppit. Someone might see ya.”

“I hope so,” Vinnie said, not moving his hand. From the mirrors in at the bar, she could see William glancing in their direction, and suddenly understood Vinnie’s aggressive display. “I fuckin’ hope so.”
 
“Well,” William said carefully, tearing his eyes away from the way Vincent Morello was feeling up Mercedes. “It’s been a lovely evening...” The expression on Valentino’s face made him fall silent - dark fury, matched by a whitening of his knuckles, as he watched his sister.

“That man’s a fucking pig,” Valentino hissed. “Worse, she’s afraid of him. What kind of man makes his wife afraid of him?”

“A man nicknamed ‘Enforcer’?” Will suggested.

“Naw, that ain’t it.” Valentino relaxed with an effort. “I’ve known a few men in various organizations, and mosta them doted were n their wives. Treated them like queens, even if they was stepping out.” A snort of laughter. “Especially if they was stepping out. But Vinnie’s a real shit. Always had been. Me and my brothers kicked his ass a few times for the way he talked to Mercy, back in the day. Maybe I should go remind him of that.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Will remarked, wishing he could join in.

“Probably not,” Marilyn agreed. “Things happen to people who piss him off.”

“‘Cept that Raven character,” Valentino laughed. “Think I’d like to meet that guy. Get a good look at him.”

Will crushed out his cigarette, then tossed a few twenties onto the bill. “Good luck with that,” he said. “Nobody’s caught him, even with North Side and Capone’s mob putting a bounty on him.”

“And the mayor,” Marilyn added, scowling as she watched Mercy flirt with her husband.

“Oh, yes. And Hizzoner.” Will shook his head, then shook it again as Valentino reached for his wallet. “I’ve got it.”

Valentino started to protest, then stopped. “Well, who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky?”

“Maybe you will at that,” Marilyn smiled, then grabbed his hand. “But why don’t you take me somewhere else?” She glanced at Vincent. “This place ain’t no fun no more.”

“All right, all right,” Valentino laughed. “Sure. Nice to meet you,” he added, looking at Will as he rose. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again?”

“Yeah,” Will said, shaking his hand. “I’d like that.”
 
Vinnie’s handsy behavior wasn’t entirely an act, Mercy discovered on the ride home, unsuccessfully trying to fend him off in the backseat. “Vinnie, please, I’m still all sweaty from the stage lights.”

“Yeah, and I wanna get all sweaty with ya, right now. It’s barely been a week, but I almost forgot how good you look up there, singing your heart out for me. And how knowing how much every man in there wishes you were in his bed turns me on.” His weight pinned her into the seat, heavy with remembered trauma. Hands grabbed at her, squeezing her breasts and gripping her hips.

Despite the way she tried to fill her mind with the pleasant memories of William or the Raven or Marilyn, all she could summon was the terrified helplessness that that night. Pain and shame and vulnerability, intended to remind her of her place, and of her “duty” to him. Thankfully, they made it home before he could get her out of her dress, and since he was still limping, she could outmaneuver him in the halls.

“Why don’t I fix you a drink and a pill, and you can relax while I freshen up?” She sold the doting wife act with a kiss, a kiss he took advantage of to shove his tongue down her throat. But she was alone in the kitchen, crushing up codeine into his gin and serving him up a second without him knowing any better. She barely fended off the second kiss, just shy of shoving him away as she pulled away. Safe in the sanctuary of bathroom, she ran the water and let herself rage promising herself it wouldn’t be much longer now. It couldn’t be much longer. She’d never make it.

Luxuriating under the hot water, Mercedes felt much better by the time she got out, and even better when she found Vinnie passed out in their bed. Another night, and another near miss. She couldn’t put him off forever, but every night she could avoid his touch was a mercy, and she’d take whatever mercies she could, now.

Mercy, however, wasn’t on her mind as she donned her costume, worry turning towards the Raven, and hoping she could figure out a way to warn him about L’Ombra before the assassin could strike. Even better, though, would be to strike him before he could strike against them. And she had the advantage of knowing he was after her. She could use this to her advantage, couldn’t she? What would The Raven do?

~*~​

Valentino had taken Marilyn to another speakeasy to pass a couple hours, drinking and dancing and flirting and eventually kissing. Damn, if Mercy could see them now, she’d know just how bad it felt to wake up that morning, and realize Mercy spent the night with Will.

But Mercy wasn’t around. She went home with her husband, that rat bastard. What was she enduring, to get them the stories that would take the man down? Guilt and empathy cooled her desire, pushing Valentino back, just a little.

“Everythin’, everthin’ okay?” he asked, voice thick. He felt good, and tasted good and smelt good, and before this moment, when memories haunted her, she’d hoped to bring back home. But now… her fingers tensed, and she shook her head.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, just… Why don’t we call it here, yeah? It’s getting late”

There was a moment of disappointment in his soulful brown eyes, a moment that challenged her, before he nodded, and brushed her hair back behind her ear, “Alright, but I’d like to see ya again.”

Marilyn bit her lips and smiled, assuring him with a soft kiss, “I’d really like that.”

~*~​

Mercy set up at an abandoned warehouse, trying to figure out how exactly to set up a trap to capture L’Ombra. That part wasn’t exactly clear to her yet, but from what she figured out form watching the Raven, she wanted to use shadows and hiding places to her advantage, as well as distractions and chaos. So she hid weapons and flash bangs around, formulating a half dozen ways she could get the slip on L’Ombra.

Once she felt confident, and tried to figure out a way to get his attention, And the best way to do that seemed to be to target another of her husband’s liquor warehouses.
 
Cold, hard eyes watched the black figure enter the seemingly abandoned warehouse. Not that it really was, mind. But the illusion made good camouflage for smuggling bootleg liquor. Even in Chicago, the Outfit had to pretend to follow the law, Was that the Raven? The watcher wasn’t certain - the intelligence he’d received said that individual had white stripes for eyes, suggesting a stylized beak. This one hadn’t, and he was driving a car instead of the motorcycle the Raven was said to drive.

He wasn’t sure. But the Raven was said to have an ally, now. The equally mysterious masked figure that had been nicknamed “Nightengale” for reasons he didn’t fully understand. So he was watching either the Raven, or the less experienced Nightengale. Surely there weren’t more masked vigilantes in Chicago? But he’d found one if his targets, and that one - whichever one he was - would make good bait for the other.

Smiling beneath his half-face skull mask, L’Ombra slid down a water pipe and crossed the street, letting his dove grey clothes blend into the night. He ducked down an alley that ran alongside the abandoned warehouse, then jumped and grabbed an adjoining fire escape. Clambering up and over, he he pulled himself into the roof and then sprang to the adjoining warehouse.

His boots clattered softly on tin sheets as he made his way to the stairs and down onto the warehouse. It was dark, of course. And whichever vigilante was in here was keeping hidden. Not bad. He’d have to flush him out. So he dug into a pouch on his belt and drew out a small handful of ordinary glass marbles. Taking shelter in the stairwell, he tossed them out into empty space. A moment later, the clattering crash of glass bouncing on wood and concrete filled the silence.
 
Noise drew Nightengale’s attention; someone was here. Who, she couldn’t tell, not with the shadows bathing the mostly empty warehouse, but she’d heard where it came from. Could it be The Raven? Or L’Ombra? Fingers gripped around her revolver, she crept towards the direction of the sound.

Squatting down, she discovered the source of the sound. A small glass marble. Which meant whoever was here had lured her out on purpose. And she’d fallen for it.

Silver flashed in the corner of her eye, and she bolted behind cover as gunfire erupted and bullets whizzed overhead. Staying low to the ground, she made for the exit hoping an encounter out in the open might give her an advantage. But L’Ombra was there, as if waiting for her, and he threw a right cross before she could react. His fist connected to her jaw and her guns flew from her fingers.

Vinnie had hit her like that a couple times, but never on the face. He preferred to keep her looking pretty. The impact sent her spinning away, until she found her balance against the wall. But L’Ombra didn’t stop, sending his fist into her gut and folding her over his arm as the air burst from her lungs.

Gloved hands gripped her mask and tugged, tight fabric clinging to her face. Without thinking she slammed her knee into his groin. His sharp grunt of agony filled the silence, and she scrambled to escape the confines of his grasp.

If she were going to escape this alive, she’d have to play to her strengths, and the truth was, hand to hand combat wasn’t one of them. Not against a man with a foot of height and a almost a hundred pounds weight on her. But a gun could be a great equalizer, and hers was but a few feet away. She dove for it, and spun, seeking her assailant in the shadows. But still, she couldn’t find him.
 
L’Ombra made a gagging sound, staggering back and trying not to clutch his aching balls. Fuck. He’d gotten so caught up in curiousity about the vigilante’s identity that he’d let the bastard get in a good hit. Any advantage he’d had from surprise was lost now, along with his opportunity to quickly kill the masked man and draw the other one out. And so, eyes watering, he fell back into the shadows and drew his guns.

“Hey there,” he called, pitching his voice into the eerie whisper-like sound he favored. “May as well come out. I’ll find you anyway, and I never miss.” As he spoke he slid carefully along the crates, keeping out of sight. He didn’t really expect a response, mind. But this sort of thing rattled his targets. “I’ll make it quick, though. A bullet in the brain.”

Holstering a pistol, he tossed another marble. It flattered and skittered as it bounced along the concrete floor. No response. “Not bad,” he called. “Learning from your mistakes. Won’t help, though.” He made a show of cocking his pistol, letting the mechanical sound echo. “I’ll still find you, Nightengale.” A guess, that. The mask hadn’t fit the description of the Raven, though. “I’ll still find you.”
 
It’d been easy, too easy, up until this point. Striking men unaware from the shadows, burning down the empire that Vinnie had built up. Now, Nightingale knew, she’d gotten in above her head, tangled up with foes she could not reckon with. L’Ombra was every bit the professional the rumors claimed him to be. As skilled as the Raven, surely. She was an amateur, and she’d get herself killed. At least a bullet to the brain was a quicker death than anything Vinnie would do to her, if he knew the truth of her transgressions.

Knuckles whitening over the grip of her gun, she steeled herself. Her death might be quick, but her mother, and even Valentino now, would suffer. They couldn’t become victims of her vengeance. So she listened, ignoring the substance of his taunts in favor of pinpointing his location. On the other side of the warehouse, not close. The marble he used to lure her back out confirmed her belief, catching moonlight as it bounced along the ground. She knew where he was, but could she get close enough to shoot him, without getting shot herself?

Shadows moved through the warehouse. She took aim, unloading her revolver, but hitting only the shadows, and the one who cast them. Cursing under her breath, she hit the barrel out of the gun and pushed more bullets into the chambers. But her gloves made her clumsy, and L’Ombra tackled her down.

Wooden boxes clattered to the floor and glass shattered within them. The scent of booze permeated the air and burned her nostrils. One hand wrapped around her neck, the other knocking her gun from her hands. Fuck, this was it. There was no way to fight him off, and he knew it.

“You’re a woman?” His mask didn’t cover his eyes, and she could see the curiosity in them. But the questions he asked had nothing to do with that. “Who is the Raven? Where is he?”

She couldn’t answer those question, but she wouldn’t have anyways. “Like I would waste my last moments betraying him.”

His grip tightened over her throat. “I could turn you over to the gangs. And I’m gonna guess you already know what they are capable of, given your animosity.”

Maybe she could make him mad, mad enough to make a mistake. “What, not man enough to do it yourself?”

“I’m only in this for the money. And I ain’t being paid to torture a woman.”

“Do your morals extend past your wallet?”

“Times like these, ain’t no one can afford fucking morals. Now, who is the fucking Raven, and where can I find him?”
 
“Times like these,” L’Ombra snorted, “ain’t no one can afford fucking morals.” His thumb pulled back on the hammer if his automatic, and he pressed the barrel between the Nightengale’s eyes. “Now, who is the fucking Raven, and where can I find him?”

Smoke erupted behind them, a great plume of grey and black rising and spreading across the open skylight. “Nevermore,” croaked a harsh voice from within the cloud.

L’Ombra didn’t jump in surprise, barely. And he was too disciplined to accidentally pull the trigger. Instead, drawing a deep breath and keeping a grip on Nightengale’s throat, he half turned. “Very theatrical,” he said dryly. “Have you considered a career in motion picture?”

“Says the man calling himself ‘the Shadow’,” croaked the smoke-obscured silhouette in the center of the warehouse. “Or are you, in truth, Orson Wells?”

“No,” L’Ombra admitted. “Just a man who never misses.” His automatic roared three times, bullets ripping through the silhouette.

The Raven dropped into him from the catwalk above, booted feet landing on his shoulders. L’Ombra’s pistol went spinning as he crashed to the floor, but then the Raven went down as well as the grey-clad assassin grabbed his booted foot and twisted. They rolled for a moment, fists and feet working, then sprang clear of one another. “Body armor,” L’Ombra grunted, shaking his hand slightly.

The Raven said nothing. His only response was to raise his own blued automatic and thumb back the hammer. “You have the advantage,” L’Ombra remarked. “But not the victory,” he added cheerily.

Twisting and rolling, L’Ombra dove aside as the Raven fired. He hit the ground and cane up on one knee, throwing knife flashing as it left his and. An instant later there was a blinding flash and a deafening roar. The Taven staggered and blinked wildly, but the grey-clad assassin was nowhere to be seen as his vision cleared.

“Until next time!” L’Ombra’s distant voice called.
 
Nightingale scrambled for her revolver while the Raven distracted L’Ombra. Shaking fingers pushed bullets into place. Nearby, the Raven wrestled L’Ombra down, but men struggling for the upper hand and coming off even. This was their chance to eliminate the assassin, if only she could get a good shot, a shot that wouldn’t risk hitting The Raven. But L’Ombra was just as skilled at misdirection, and escaped in the chaos.

She’d survived but she found it difficult to take comfort in that. Since she’d become the Nightingale, she’d been strong. Or, at least she felt strong, finally striking back at the husband who lorded his strength over her. But that strength was lie. She couldn’t protect herself from Vinnie, and she couldn’t protect herself from L’Ombra.

“Dammit,” she snarled, snapping the barrel of her revolver back into place. Holstering her pistol, she pushed herself up. She wasn’t dead, but not for anything she’d done. “Goddammit!” Glass and wood crashed into the ground after she pushed over another box.

It took several deep breaths to regain control of herself. She turned towards the Raven, grateful and perhaps a touch guilty that he was still there. She needed him, and wanted to believe that he needed her too. “What are we going to do about him?”
 
The Raven crouched to recover his automatic as the Nightengale swore and pushed over a crate of bootleg. “Your voice,” he croaked, holstering the weapon. “Keep it disguised. It’s too... distinctive.”

The Nightengale took several deep breaths, clearly struggling for calm. He could sympathize. She was new to this, after all. And this LOmbra has been something entirely unexpected. “What are we going to do about him?” she demanded.

The Raven glanced at the skylight. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I never expected the mob to find some sort of costumed killer to hunt me.” A shrug. “Assassins, sure. But not this. L’Ombra’s in a different league than any of the local talent.”

His attention turned back to the Nightengale, expression unreadable behind the white-striped black leather mask. “You’re all right? Good.” Slowly, he surveyed the room. “We should go somewhere else, make plans. Because I’m sure we’ll see him again.” The mask regarded her again as he turned. “Meet me at All Saints Episcopal. We’ll talk in the bell tower.”

There was a click and a clatter, and smoke erupted around the Raven’s feet. When it cleared, the vigilante was gone.
 
Nightengale made for the rendezvous in the early hours of morning, navigating mostly empty streets while her near death replayed in her mind. Helplessness burned within her and became rage. She would get her revenge on Vinnie, and this masked bastard wasn’t going to stop her. But that determination did little to calm her as she scaled the church steps.

Only a sliver of the moon illuminated the bell tower, and it took her several moments to adjust to the darkness. Before she had, however, noise from behind draw her attention and she spun with her revolver in hand. But it was just the Raven, emerging form the shadows. Once her heart stopped pounding, she put the gun away.

“Jesus, you scared me.” There was no hesitation as she threw herself in his arms, seeking the comfort of his strength wrapped around her. “You are gonna to hafta teach me how to do that. But first, you need to teach me to protect myself. From L’Ombra, and …from Vinnie.”

She clung tighter then, focusing on this moment, memorizing the sensations. His warmth, his scent, the rhythm of his breathing. Wishing, perhaps naively, that she could call upon this moment the next time she couldn’t say no to Vinnie. “I put on the mask so I wouldn’t feel weak anymore, but the mask alone won’t make me strong. I need to be strong, because I am done being scared.”
 
The Raven’s arms wrapped around her, and the vigilante silently wishedthe body armor was gone. Wished the heavy plates didn’t block the feel of her body. “The mask doesn’t make you strong,” rasped the false voice. “It just hides who you are. But, sometimes, that makes you strong.” A pause. “Because, when you wear it, you can be anyone.”

Slowly, the Raven released her and stepped out of the pool of moonlight on the belfry floor. “To start with, though, you have to be aware of your surroundings - of where light and shadow falls. People look at light by reflex, and it ruins their night vision. Focus on the shadows, whenever you can.”

The Raven moved softly, not precisely invisible in the shadows, and rested a gloved hand on the Nightengale’s shoulder. “You’ll need to exercise, as well. More than you think. Disguise it as dance, when you can, or as moving objects around the house. No need to make your husband,” the rasping voice growled out the word, “curious. And you’ll need an excuse to learn to shoot.”

White eye-stripes appraised her. “I can teach you how to fight, though. After all, I doubt the woman beneath the mask will have opportunities to learn to box.”
 
Mercedes tried following him, listening for his footsteps when she could no longer see him, so his hand on her shoulder didn’t catch her off guard. And his recommendation to build her strength was met with silent nodding. All of that was doable.

“I can teach you how to fight, though. After all, I doubt the woman beneath the mask will have opportunities to learn to box.”

“I ‘preciate that,” she said, turning her head to follow him as he moved behind her. He drew closer to help her with her stance, his heat a welcome distraction from her earlier feelings of helplessness, but he was serious about teaching her to fight, and she was serious about learning.

They’d spent some time on boxing. Mostly learning how to block and dodge, watching an opponent’s moves and bobbing and weaving out of the way. Until she built up her strength and muscles, avoiding hits was her bet. After an hour or so, she couldn’t take the sticky heat any longer, and pulled the baclava off her head.

“Still not used to this,” she said with a laugh, and scrubbed sweat drenched strands of hair off her brow. The mask hid his eyes, so there was no way to know if he were staring at her, or merely looking in her direction, and suddenly she wished there were some alcohol available. Wished they could go back to that night, when they drank and fucked and she felt a little safe and a little whole in his arms.

“Thanks, again,” she called, not ready for this to end, not ready to go back home to Vinnie. Inching closer, she breathed in his scent, inviting his masculine musk to intoxicate her. To give her the nerve to take this a step further. “I really owe you, tonight. And you really oughta let me repay you…”

She brushed up against him then, soft curves meeting the unyielding resistance of his body armor. But there were ways around that, as she took the time to feel it up, or down, and discover where it ended. “Tell me stop,” she murmured, looking up at him through her lashes. Brave fingers tugged at his pants, working them open with the hopes he wouldn’t turn her away, “Tell me you don’t want me…”
 
Smut Scene: Raven and Nightingale
  • Index
    • The Raven’s gloved hands caught her wrists, pulling them up and away. “I could tell you,” the vigilante growled, “but it would be a lie.”

    Gloves hands pushed the Nightengale’s hands up over her head, moving her back until back and arms met chill stone. One hand remained there, holding her in place, while the other trailed down her arm and up her turtleneck-covered throat. “Absolutely a lie,” the Raven added in a harsh croak of a whisper, as leather-clad fingers teased her mask upwards. “I want you.”

    The vigilante’s body was a hard, armor-clad weight pinning her to the wall, and the hot taste of soft lips and a heated tongue exploring her mouth. A smooth jaw, all that was exposed of the vigilante’s face, brushed her chin as teeth nipped at her throat. “I want you,” the Raven repeated, free hand working at her belt and zipper.

    Leather caressed bare skin as the Raven pushed her pants open, and leather traced her arm and torso as the vigilante slowly knelt before her. “I want to taste you,” the harsh voice whispered, breath hot on her skin as leather-sheathed hands pulled her pants down over her hips and lifted one leg to hook over an armored shoulder.

    The Raven drew a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Do you taste as good as you smell?” Leaning In, the vigilante inhaled again. Then, slowly, a supple tongue explored her lips. “Better.” Lips found her clit in an intimate kiss, and then the tongue caressed her flesh again. “But you have to tell me if it feels good, Nightengale. I want you to enjoy this.”
     
  • Index
    • She hadn’t expected him to turn the tables on her, but Nightingale found she didn’t mind. Didn’t mind the way he explored her, teasing her with the taste of his lips and the heat of his body. Didn’t even mind the way he held her wrists down. He was a stranger, a stranger who hated her husband and could hurt her, but he wouldn’t. Somehow, she knew he would never hurt her.

    Just because he wouldn’t hurt her, didn’t mean he wouldn’t torment her, however. His slow journey down her body agonized her, stomach coiling tight until she ached in time with her throbbing clit. Anticipation burned in her, dripping down her thighs as he pulled her pants away. “Oh God, Raven… “

    A deep, shuddered gasp answered his question, her heels digging into his back. It was too much –he was too much– and she writhed under the overwhelming pleasure. She chased her pleasure, and receded from it, as it grew beyond her control. But Raven didn’t stop, only altered his pattern, between sucking her clit to licking her cunt. Between delving deep inside her, and tracing the blooming lips of her sex.

    “So… So…” She tried desperately to form words, to offer some reward in return for his skilled tongue and delightful demonstration, but his skill stole her thoughts. Instead, breathy rasps filled the small room, echoing off the stones. She was mad for him, soaking wet and drenching him in her desire, and she couldn’t begin to hide it.

    “Raven!” she cried, wound tight around her own rapture and his strong tongue, thighs gripping his head and shoulders with all the strength she could muster. But her strength failed her, and pulsing waves of ecstasy rippled through her body. Only his strength held her upright as her legs turned to jelly and her velvet slit trembled against his mouth.
     
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