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bedlamsbardI'm not sure if I should be happy for the continuity fairies or want to bash them over the head. However, chronological order - at the moment - for my CSI: NY stuff goes as follows:
Snafu
New York Minute
Black Monday
Omerta
Habeus Corpus
Bloody Sunday
Dangerous Heroes
"Blue Blood" will be slotted in there somewhere, once I get, you know, a plot. It may or may not be attached to "Dangerous Heroes," which I know is a new title. It's the projected Danny-centric story that deals with Mob politics and the release of Luciano "Lucky" Constantine from prison. If "Blue Blood" and "Dangerous Heroes" are arced into a trilogy, then there should be one more. Trust me, if it had a title, it would be mentioned. There is no title. What does this mean in the grand scheme of things? Not much, really. Just that "Black Monday" - the Mac/Stella in Chicago story - takes place before "Omerta" and thus will probably be written at the same time as.
Also, Omerta, where things Do Not Go Well.
Anything Mac had been thinking before Constantine spoke condensed down to a single word, a soundless plea that stirred his throat and made him want to turn back time, so that Val Constantine had never walked in, Joseph Sforza had never been arrested, Darin Pagliuca had never been murdered. No you didn’t say it didn’t say anything no secrets no secrets among police among brothers what?
Danny?
Danny’s face was drawn white with horror, knuckles clenching around the handle of his kit like he meant to break it clean in half. He closed his eyes briefly, as if in supplication, then opened them again to stare straight at Constantine and Mac. “Mac,” he said, coming toward them with his free hand held up. “I can explain –” He stopped, looking at Val, and his gaze dropped down to study his shoes. “What are you doing here, Val?”
Constantine was frowning. “Joey was arrested,” he said. “For murder.”
“I didn’t work the case,” Danny said immediately. “I didn’t – Christ, Mac –” He looked frantically at him. “Mac, ya’ gotta know I didn’t – didn’t mean to – I didn’t fuck with the case, okay? I swear I didn’t. I didn’t even know what case you were working, otherwise – Jesus, Mac, I didn’t –”
Constantine’s frown deepened. He looked at Mac with something like dislike on his handsome features, brown eyes narrowing in consideration.
Danny’s gaze flicked to Constantine, then to d’Alessandro beside him, and back to Mac. “Mac,” he whispered, “I didn’t do anythin’, okay? You gotta know I didn’t interfere or nothin’ when you worked Mob cases. Like with Tanglewood, I didn’t –”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Mac said, uncomfortably aware of how his voice had the finality of a tolling bell. “In private.”
Danny’s face fell and he bit his lip fiercely, then turned away. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Later. Okay. I got it.”
“Danny,” d’Alessandro said suddenly, starting forward.
Danny half-turned toward him, caught with his glasses half off and clutched in his free hand. “Yeah, Carmine?”
“I ran into the Wren earlier. He was making some inquiries about you.” Very deliberately, he added, “They wanna get some work done, Danny. The hawks. And your partner, too. Carte blanche.”
He flinched as if he’d been struck, and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Jesus. Nice’a you to tell me now.”
“Yeah, absolutely peachy of me, isn’t it?”
Constantine shot d’Alessandro a sharp glare. “Carmine,” he snapped.
“Yeah, boss.”
Danny backed away, eyes on Constantine and something like dark fear stirring in his irises. “The fucking hawks,” he muttered under his breath. “Carte fucking blanche. Flack. Jesus.”
Aiden caught at his arm, bending her lips to his ear. He listened, then nodded shortly, eyes still – away somewhere. Still holding him by the elbow, she led him off toward the labs.
Mac drew his lips together sharply and looked back at Constantine. “Mind telling me what your relationship with my detective is?” he asked.
“Danny’s my nephew,” Constantine said. “His mother was my older sister, Angela. She died. Danny lived with me for a few years when he was fourteen.” His eyes were on Danny’s retreating back, then he switched his gaze to Mac. “The rest of his blood is all blue, though, if that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“I don’t care what color his blood is,” Mac snapped, a little more sharply than he meant. Stella, by his side, shot him a quick look, but when he looked over at her she was studying the three made men fiercely. “I care about his skill as a CSI and as a detective of the New York Police Department.”
“And that’s what he is,” Constantine replied. “That’s all he is. If it makes you feel any better, the last thing he said to me before today was, ‘fuck off.’”
Giovinazzo rolled his eyes and stared at the glass walls of Mac’s office as if they contained the secrets of the universe.
“Something you wanted to add, pal?” Stella demanded, glaring at him.
He held out his hands concilitatingly. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Like hell you weren’t thinking something.”
“Stella!” Mac said sharply.
“What?” She turned her glare on him. “Danny, Mac. Danny.”
“Hey, he’s not a made guy or anything,” d’Alessandro shrugged. “Of course, if he was, that would actually make things easier, because then the damned hawks would have to get sanction from the commission to put a hit out on him.” He paused, aware that Mac and Stella were both staring at him in something like horror. “I mean…”
“Carmine, go outside,” Constantine said shortly.
“Yeah, boss.” He turned to leave, looking suitably abashed.
Stella leaned forward and grabbed his sleeve. “Wait,” she said. “What do you mean, put a hit out on him?”
D’Alessandro glanced at her, then over at Val. “Detective,” he said, “if you don’t know what a hit is –”
“I know what a hit is,” Stella snapped. “Are you saying there’s an order to assassinate Danny out on the streets?”
D’Alessandro held up his hands, and Mac caught the sudden glare of light on metal out of the bottom of his sleeve. “Detective Bonasera, I’ve said all I can say. Omerta.”
“What?”
He tugged free of her grip and strolled toward the door, didn’t look back.
Stella stared after him, then turned to Mac. “Danny?” she said faintly.
Val crossed his arms. “I want to see Joey,” he said.
Mac turned a fierce glare on him. “No.”
“Then I’ll wait here until I do,” Val said, and started looking around for a place to sit.
Giovinazzo looked worried. “You do remember you’re supposed to meet with the Agugliaros in an hour, right?”
Constantine glanced at the big clock on the wall. “Call Carmine, tell him to go instead of me. Make sure Blackie knows, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want a repeat of what happened with the Pick last week; that was a goddamned disaster and I’m still trying to run a business here, even with a war going on.”
“It sounds like you’re a busy man, Mr. Constantine,” Mac said.
“Actually? Yeah.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “When I’m not running around trying to get my consiglieres acquitted of murder charges – which they didn’t do – or sending them to pick up some guy my dad met in prison, there’s a hell of a lot of work to do. There’s a reason they call it organized crime, you know.”
“Admitting to something, Constantine?” Stella asked.
“Nothing you don’t already know, Detective.”
“Give me one good reason to arrest you,” she said, staring at him. “One. Reason. And I’ll slap the cuffs on you so fast your head spins.”
“Stella,” Mac said tiredly.
“What the hell did Danny do?”
“Existed,” Constantine snapped. “Among other things.”
Giovinazzo cupper his hand over his cell phone. “Val, Mordecai just called, wanted to tell you he took –”
“Later, Mike.”
“Later,” Giovinazzo said into the phone. “Carmine begs apologies, by the way. Said something about sending five hours in the car with a recently released ex-con and running into the Wren.”
“The Wren,” Constantine muttered, then glanced up as one of the doors swung open. “Sterling!”
“Val, what the hell –” Sterling Townsend demanded. His eyes flicked to Mac and Stella. “Detectives Taylor and Bonasera, I assume?”
“Mr. Townsend,” Mac said, staring at him with dismay. One of the – if not the – best lawyers in New York, who he’d thought couldn’t even be remotely connected to the Mob – what was he doing here? Doubt flickered deep in the back of his mind about Sforza’s guilt, then he pushed it away. The evidence didn’t lie. Only people did, and lawyers, he knew, were liars. He’d learned that from his father, long before Hamilton Taylor became Judge Taylor.
“I want to see my client,” Townsend snapped.
Mac looked at Stella, and she shrugged. Her face was clear and easy to read: there wasn’t any reason they couldn’t let him see Sforza.
Constantine smiled tightly. “Sterling, I –”
“Val, there’s nothing you can do here,” he said, stressing the here. “Go to your meetings, your business, try not to do anything that can get you arrested.” He arched his eyebrows slightly at Stella. “I have a feeling the good detectives would like nothing more than an excuse to cuff you beside your man.”
“Damn straight,” Stella muttered softly, so that Mac had to strain to hear. He wanted to say there was no way Constantine could have heard that, but the Mafia don’s eyes narrowed slightly, too long after Townsend had stopped to be in response to the lawyer’s words.
“Michael’s staying here,” he said. To the soldier, “Call me if anything comes up.”
“Sure, boss,” Giovinazzo said, frowning a little in concentration. “What about –”
“Carmine will be with me,” Val said, and turned sharply on his heel.
Mac rubbed a hand over his eyes, glanced at Townsend. “Stella, why don’t you make sure Mr. Giovinazzo has a comfortable place to wait,” he said. “Mr. Townsend, please come with me.”
Stella pressed her lips together sharply, but didn’t protest.
*
“Who the hell was that, Danny?” Aiden demanded as soon as they were out of Mac’s earshot.
Danny stared down at his feet, his breath coming in ragged pants. Not my family, he wanted to say, but that would be a lie. A goddamned lie, just like the rest of his fucking life. Christ. “…my uncle,” he muttered.
“I got that part.”
“Val Constantine,” Danny added after a moment. He stared fixedly ahead at one of the labs – the ballistics lab, and Christ, the bullet from the Empire State Building had to be in Dove’s body or at the primary scene, since they hadn’t found it in the elevator, and he’d have to check in with Hawkes later and find out, wouldn’t he? When Aiden still looked puzzled, he clarified, “Val’s boss of the Constantine Family, with the Italian Mafia in New York.”
“Oh, holy Jesus,” Aiden said. She follow his gaze, looked over at him with a small, precise frown on her face. “Explains Tanglewood, then.”
“Yeah.” Christ, don’t think about Tanglewood, don’t think about Sonny and Vinnie and Curly or the blood on Flack or the screams that ripped through their apartment some nights – “Constantine’s not one of the families, though.” It seemed important to say that. It was – but did she care? Did anyone in the Lab – in the precinct – Christ, on the force – really give a fuck? But Val would be insulted if you let her think Constantine was one of the Families, a small, rational voice in the back of his brain said. He concentrated on his grip on his kit. Loosen, damnit, and his fingers slipped free so that it dangled loosely from his hands. “Let’s check this stuff out, huh?”
Aiden followed him into the lab, gnawing on her lower lip. “What’d that guy mean when he said that stuff to you? Hawks, and some work, and carte blanche.”
“Hawks is Mafia slang for the Patriso Family,” Danny said, laying out little evidence bags all over the lab bench. “From the first Patriso boss, Benny the Hawk. A lotta Patriso guys got bird names. The Lark.” Oh, shit. The fucking Lark, and the mystery saviors in the black Jag he’d heard about later. Nobody wanted to tell him who they’d been. Quietly, he added, “Remember Vincent Patriso, ‘bout five months ago? The vic?”
“Yeah,” Aiden said, looking surprised. “But what’s that gotta do –”
“Vinnie was Fat Freddy Patriso’s grandson, Blue Eyes Patriso’s son. Fat Freddy’s the Patriso boss.”
“You know a lot about this stuff,” Aiden said neutrally, slipping on a pair of latex gloves and double-gloving, just in case.
Danny let out a bitter laugh that was harsh even to his own ears. Jesus, Messer, what the fuck’s your problem? “I spent four years of my life with Tanglewood, and I lived with Val for all of them. You pick things up.”
She started sorting through the bags, squinting at Danny’s scribbled block letters and her own cramped scrawl. “What about the other stuff? Who was that guy, anyway?”
“Carmine d’Alessandro. One of Val’s consiglieres – counselors, I guess. Bodyguard, too. Best friend. Best man, when Val got married.” He picked up one of the print cards, surprisingly clean black lines and loops and whorls, entered it into the computer. His voice was surprisingly calm as he said, “Work’s Mafia slang for a murder. The Wren’s – I think the Wren’s a Patriso guy. Name’d be right. Carte blanche means that his capos can do whatever the fuck they want, dead or alive-wise.”
“Patriso’s –”
“One’a the Five Families. Rocchegiani, Pagliuca, Patriso, Lancione, and Dellacroce. Not Constantine.”
Aiden’s brow knit. “You tryin’ to tell me there’s a Mafia family got a hit out on you?”
“That’s what Val told me four months ago,” Danny said, eyes on the computer screen.
Snafu
New York Minute
Black Monday
Omerta
Habeus Corpus
Bloody Sunday
Dangerous Heroes
"Blue Blood" will be slotted in there somewhere, once I get, you know, a plot. It may or may not be attached to "Dangerous Heroes," which I know is a new title. It's the projected Danny-centric story that deals with Mob politics and the release of Luciano "Lucky" Constantine from prison. If "Blue Blood" and "Dangerous Heroes" are arced into a trilogy, then there should be one more. Trust me, if it had a title, it would be mentioned. There is no title. What does this mean in the grand scheme of things? Not much, really. Just that "Black Monday" - the Mac/Stella in Chicago story - takes place before "Omerta" and thus will probably be written at the same time as.
Also, Omerta, where things Do Not Go Well.
Anything Mac had been thinking before Constantine spoke condensed down to a single word, a soundless plea that stirred his throat and made him want to turn back time, so that Val Constantine had never walked in, Joseph Sforza had never been arrested, Darin Pagliuca had never been murdered. No you didn’t say it didn’t say anything no secrets no secrets among police among brothers what?
Danny?
Danny’s face was drawn white with horror, knuckles clenching around the handle of his kit like he meant to break it clean in half. He closed his eyes briefly, as if in supplication, then opened them again to stare straight at Constantine and Mac. “Mac,” he said, coming toward them with his free hand held up. “I can explain –” He stopped, looking at Val, and his gaze dropped down to study his shoes. “What are you doing here, Val?”
Constantine was frowning. “Joey was arrested,” he said. “For murder.”
“I didn’t work the case,” Danny said immediately. “I didn’t – Christ, Mac –” He looked frantically at him. “Mac, ya’ gotta know I didn’t – didn’t mean to – I didn’t fuck with the case, okay? I swear I didn’t. I didn’t even know what case you were working, otherwise – Jesus, Mac, I didn’t –”
Constantine’s frown deepened. He looked at Mac with something like dislike on his handsome features, brown eyes narrowing in consideration.
Danny’s gaze flicked to Constantine, then to d’Alessandro beside him, and back to Mac. “Mac,” he whispered, “I didn’t do anythin’, okay? You gotta know I didn’t interfere or nothin’ when you worked Mob cases. Like with Tanglewood, I didn’t –”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Mac said, uncomfortably aware of how his voice had the finality of a tolling bell. “In private.”
Danny’s face fell and he bit his lip fiercely, then turned away. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Later. Okay. I got it.”
“Danny,” d’Alessandro said suddenly, starting forward.
Danny half-turned toward him, caught with his glasses half off and clutched in his free hand. “Yeah, Carmine?”
“I ran into the Wren earlier. He was making some inquiries about you.” Very deliberately, he added, “They wanna get some work done, Danny. The hawks. And your partner, too. Carte blanche.”
He flinched as if he’d been struck, and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Jesus. Nice’a you to tell me now.”
“Yeah, absolutely peachy of me, isn’t it?”
Constantine shot d’Alessandro a sharp glare. “Carmine,” he snapped.
“Yeah, boss.”
Danny backed away, eyes on Constantine and something like dark fear stirring in his irises. “The fucking hawks,” he muttered under his breath. “Carte fucking blanche. Flack. Jesus.”
Aiden caught at his arm, bending her lips to his ear. He listened, then nodded shortly, eyes still – away somewhere. Still holding him by the elbow, she led him off toward the labs.
Mac drew his lips together sharply and looked back at Constantine. “Mind telling me what your relationship with my detective is?” he asked.
“Danny’s my nephew,” Constantine said. “His mother was my older sister, Angela. She died. Danny lived with me for a few years when he was fourteen.” His eyes were on Danny’s retreating back, then he switched his gaze to Mac. “The rest of his blood is all blue, though, if that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“I don’t care what color his blood is,” Mac snapped, a little more sharply than he meant. Stella, by his side, shot him a quick look, but when he looked over at her she was studying the three made men fiercely. “I care about his skill as a CSI and as a detective of the New York Police Department.”
“And that’s what he is,” Constantine replied. “That’s all he is. If it makes you feel any better, the last thing he said to me before today was, ‘fuck off.’”
Giovinazzo rolled his eyes and stared at the glass walls of Mac’s office as if they contained the secrets of the universe.
“Something you wanted to add, pal?” Stella demanded, glaring at him.
He held out his hands concilitatingly. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Like hell you weren’t thinking something.”
“Stella!” Mac said sharply.
“What?” She turned her glare on him. “Danny, Mac. Danny.”
“Hey, he’s not a made guy or anything,” d’Alessandro shrugged. “Of course, if he was, that would actually make things easier, because then the damned hawks would have to get sanction from the commission to put a hit out on him.” He paused, aware that Mac and Stella were both staring at him in something like horror. “I mean…”
“Carmine, go outside,” Constantine said shortly.
“Yeah, boss.” He turned to leave, looking suitably abashed.
Stella leaned forward and grabbed his sleeve. “Wait,” she said. “What do you mean, put a hit out on him?”
D’Alessandro glanced at her, then over at Val. “Detective,” he said, “if you don’t know what a hit is –”
“I know what a hit is,” Stella snapped. “Are you saying there’s an order to assassinate Danny out on the streets?”
D’Alessandro held up his hands, and Mac caught the sudden glare of light on metal out of the bottom of his sleeve. “Detective Bonasera, I’ve said all I can say. Omerta.”
“What?”
He tugged free of her grip and strolled toward the door, didn’t look back.
Stella stared after him, then turned to Mac. “Danny?” she said faintly.
Val crossed his arms. “I want to see Joey,” he said.
Mac turned a fierce glare on him. “No.”
“Then I’ll wait here until I do,” Val said, and started looking around for a place to sit.
Giovinazzo looked worried. “You do remember you’re supposed to meet with the Agugliaros in an hour, right?”
Constantine glanced at the big clock on the wall. “Call Carmine, tell him to go instead of me. Make sure Blackie knows, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want a repeat of what happened with the Pick last week; that was a goddamned disaster and I’m still trying to run a business here, even with a war going on.”
“It sounds like you’re a busy man, Mr. Constantine,” Mac said.
“Actually? Yeah.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “When I’m not running around trying to get my consiglieres acquitted of murder charges – which they didn’t do – or sending them to pick up some guy my dad met in prison, there’s a hell of a lot of work to do. There’s a reason they call it organized crime, you know.”
“Admitting to something, Constantine?” Stella asked.
“Nothing you don’t already know, Detective.”
“Give me one good reason to arrest you,” she said, staring at him. “One. Reason. And I’ll slap the cuffs on you so fast your head spins.”
“Stella,” Mac said tiredly.
“What the hell did Danny do?”
“Existed,” Constantine snapped. “Among other things.”
Giovinazzo cupper his hand over his cell phone. “Val, Mordecai just called, wanted to tell you he took –”
“Later, Mike.”
“Later,” Giovinazzo said into the phone. “Carmine begs apologies, by the way. Said something about sending five hours in the car with a recently released ex-con and running into the Wren.”
“The Wren,” Constantine muttered, then glanced up as one of the doors swung open. “Sterling!”
“Val, what the hell –” Sterling Townsend demanded. His eyes flicked to Mac and Stella. “Detectives Taylor and Bonasera, I assume?”
“Mr. Townsend,” Mac said, staring at him with dismay. One of the – if not the – best lawyers in New York, who he’d thought couldn’t even be remotely connected to the Mob – what was he doing here? Doubt flickered deep in the back of his mind about Sforza’s guilt, then he pushed it away. The evidence didn’t lie. Only people did, and lawyers, he knew, were liars. He’d learned that from his father, long before Hamilton Taylor became Judge Taylor.
“I want to see my client,” Townsend snapped.
Mac looked at Stella, and she shrugged. Her face was clear and easy to read: there wasn’t any reason they couldn’t let him see Sforza.
Constantine smiled tightly. “Sterling, I –”
“Val, there’s nothing you can do here,” he said, stressing the here. “Go to your meetings, your business, try not to do anything that can get you arrested.” He arched his eyebrows slightly at Stella. “I have a feeling the good detectives would like nothing more than an excuse to cuff you beside your man.”
“Damn straight,” Stella muttered softly, so that Mac had to strain to hear. He wanted to say there was no way Constantine could have heard that, but the Mafia don’s eyes narrowed slightly, too long after Townsend had stopped to be in response to the lawyer’s words.
“Michael’s staying here,” he said. To the soldier, “Call me if anything comes up.”
“Sure, boss,” Giovinazzo said, frowning a little in concentration. “What about –”
“Carmine will be with me,” Val said, and turned sharply on his heel.
Mac rubbed a hand over his eyes, glanced at Townsend. “Stella, why don’t you make sure Mr. Giovinazzo has a comfortable place to wait,” he said. “Mr. Townsend, please come with me.”
Stella pressed her lips together sharply, but didn’t protest.
*
“Who the hell was that, Danny?” Aiden demanded as soon as they were out of Mac’s earshot.
Danny stared down at his feet, his breath coming in ragged pants. Not my family, he wanted to say, but that would be a lie. A goddamned lie, just like the rest of his fucking life. Christ. “…my uncle,” he muttered.
“I got that part.”
“Val Constantine,” Danny added after a moment. He stared fixedly ahead at one of the labs – the ballistics lab, and Christ, the bullet from the Empire State Building had to be in Dove’s body or at the primary scene, since they hadn’t found it in the elevator, and he’d have to check in with Hawkes later and find out, wouldn’t he? When Aiden still looked puzzled, he clarified, “Val’s boss of the Constantine Family, with the Italian Mafia in New York.”
“Oh, holy Jesus,” Aiden said. She follow his gaze, looked over at him with a small, precise frown on her face. “Explains Tanglewood, then.”
“Yeah.” Christ, don’t think about Tanglewood, don’t think about Sonny and Vinnie and Curly or the blood on Flack or the screams that ripped through their apartment some nights – “Constantine’s not one of the families, though.” It seemed important to say that. It was – but did she care? Did anyone in the Lab – in the precinct – Christ, on the force – really give a fuck? But Val would be insulted if you let her think Constantine was one of the Families, a small, rational voice in the back of his brain said. He concentrated on his grip on his kit. Loosen, damnit, and his fingers slipped free so that it dangled loosely from his hands. “Let’s check this stuff out, huh?”
Aiden followed him into the lab, gnawing on her lower lip. “What’d that guy mean when he said that stuff to you? Hawks, and some work, and carte blanche.”
“Hawks is Mafia slang for the Patriso Family,” Danny said, laying out little evidence bags all over the lab bench. “From the first Patriso boss, Benny the Hawk. A lotta Patriso guys got bird names. The Lark.” Oh, shit. The fucking Lark, and the mystery saviors in the black Jag he’d heard about later. Nobody wanted to tell him who they’d been. Quietly, he added, “Remember Vincent Patriso, ‘bout five months ago? The vic?”
“Yeah,” Aiden said, looking surprised. “But what’s that gotta do –”
“Vinnie was Fat Freddy Patriso’s grandson, Blue Eyes Patriso’s son. Fat Freddy’s the Patriso boss.”
“You know a lot about this stuff,” Aiden said neutrally, slipping on a pair of latex gloves and double-gloving, just in case.
Danny let out a bitter laugh that was harsh even to his own ears. Jesus, Messer, what the fuck’s your problem? “I spent four years of my life with Tanglewood, and I lived with Val for all of them. You pick things up.”
She started sorting through the bags, squinting at Danny’s scribbled block letters and her own cramped scrawl. “What about the other stuff? Who was that guy, anyway?”
“Carmine d’Alessandro. One of Val’s consiglieres – counselors, I guess. Bodyguard, too. Best friend. Best man, when Val got married.” He picked up one of the print cards, surprisingly clean black lines and loops and whorls, entered it into the computer. His voice was surprisingly calm as he said, “Work’s Mafia slang for a murder. The Wren’s – I think the Wren’s a Patriso guy. Name’d be right. Carte blanche means that his capos can do whatever the fuck they want, dead or alive-wise.”
“Patriso’s –”
“One’a the Five Families. Rocchegiani, Pagliuca, Patriso, Lancione, and Dellacroce. Not Constantine.”
Aiden’s brow knit. “You tryin’ to tell me there’s a Mafia family got a hit out on you?”
“That’s what Val told me four months ago,” Danny said, eyes on the computer screen.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 01:10 am (UTC)Oh my. Danny's in trouble, isn't he? Poor guy. I like Protective/OMG what is going on!Stella. She's worried about Danny and so is Mac (though, you know, he can't show it very well). I also love the scene with Danny explaining all this to Aiden.
Also, fic over in my journal! I'm proud! I actually wrote something.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 01:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 01:51 am (UTC)*happily* Lots of trouble. Absolute bucketloads. Which is one of the resons why I was nervous about writing this story so soon after NYM, but hey, I missed the characters.
I like Protective/OMG what is going on!Stella. She's worried about Danny and so is Mac (though, you know, he can't show it very well). I also love the scene with Danny explaining all this to Aiden.
The Mafia is really quite confusing, and it's killing Danny to have to explain it, because, well, politics. Are confusing. Especially Mob politics, because they can't just kill each other because of the Mafia Commission. I mean, they can just kill each other, but there's...it's confusing. Still trying to figure it out.
Stella and Mac are worried about Danny, because it's one thing to learn your employee used to be in a violent street gang, it's another to learn he's connected by blood to the most powerful crime syndicate in the country. And grew up with it. Oh, and that one faction of it really, really wants him (and Flack) dead.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 01:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 02:04 am (UTC)Exactly. The difference is that the Constantine Family - or the upper ranks of it, at least - know why Patriso's out for Danny's blood, but CSU doesn't have a clue. They didn't even know - okay, may have guessed because of the whole kidnapping thing - that there was a hit out on him. Val just plain doesn't trust the cops to keep Danny safe, because they haven't done such a good job of it in the past. He may be one of theirs, but he was Constantine before he was ever a cop. Carmine doesn't have the reservations Val does, which is why he warns Danny. In Mafia slang, of course, which no one else can understand.
Didn't we have a discussion before about how Val Constantine and Flack Sr. mirror each other, each with their own kind of pride and their own kind of honor?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 04:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 12:56 am (UTC)*happily* Oh, most definitely. Especially if we notice who the vic from Mac and Stella's case is, then realize that Mac and Stella are still dealing with repercussions from Chicago, as well as the Danny problems, which are going to be Bad. May or may not be an Aiden subplot too, depending on if I can get it to be Not The Same as the Joey plot. Oh. Wait. Looks like I can. AND Nick Bonasera.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 03:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-17 11:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-18 01:36 am (UTC)