Timeline: June 25, 1951, 7 AM
Alphonse Capone, now 63 years old, lay in his lavish bedroom, the morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the remnants of the night before. Beside him, Lysha, a striking 31-year-old woman with tousled hair and a soft smile, rested her head on his chest, her skin warm against his.
As she looked up at him, concern etched on her features, she broke the comfortable silence. "What's wrong, dear?" Her voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within him.
Alphonse sighed, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. "Nothing, it's just..." His mind wandered back to the previous day—the vigilantes who dared to challenge his authority, the chaos of the smoking bomb that had disrupted everything. Anger flared within him, a fire that had been ignited by the audacity of those who thought they could defy him.
He could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the pent-up stress threatening to spill over. Looking down at Lysha, he saw not just a lover but an escape, a momentary reprieve from the world outside. The anger pulsed through him, demanding release, and in that instant, he felt a primal urge to devour her, to drown out the frustration that clawed at his insides.
With a sudden intensity, he captured her face in his hands, his gaze burning with a mixture of desire and frustration. "Come here." he growled, pulling her closer. The softness of her body against his ignited a familiar heat, and he found solace in the warmth of their connection, even as the shadows of his thoughts loomed large.
Lysha responded instinctively, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned into him, surrendering to his embrace. In that moment, Alphonse let go of the anger, channeling it into a passionate fervor, forgetting the troubles that awaited him outside these four walls.
The world outside may have been filled with chaos, but within the sanctuary of his bedroom, Alphonse Capone was the king of his own domain, if only for a fleeting moment.
.............
Meanwhile, in a modest apartment filled with tension, Mark Fletcher, Loe Halloway, Mindy Williams, and Gustav Van Doren sat together, their faces marked by concern. Mindy, visibly shaken after fleeing from Alphonse Capone and his men, paced the room while Gustav comforted his wife, Vivian Van Doren, who sat on the edge of the couch, her expression a mix of fear and confusion.
Loe, with his piercing gaze fixed on Vivian, broke the silence. "Now tell me, why were you captured by Alphonse Capone? Are you connected to the Chicago Outfit somehow?" His voice was firm, demanding answers.
Mark glanced at Loe, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. "Loe, let her have a minute, okay? She's been through a lot." He placed a hand on Mindy's shoulder, grounding her in the moment.
Gustav wrapped his arms around Vivian, offering her a safe haven. "It's okay, Viv. We're here for you." he murmured, his voice soothing.
Loe sighed, the tension in the air palpable. "Alright, alright." he relented, folding his arms in defeat.
Mindy observed the interaction closely, her mind racing. She was acutely aware of Loe's unease, especially after their encounter with Alphonse. She knew Loe had a history that intertwined with the Capone family, and the mere mention of Alphonse's son, Albert, had ignited something volatile. The fact that Alphonse was still furious about Albert's death only deepened the gravity of their situation.
Vivian's eyes darted between them, confusion and fear etched on her face. "I… I don't know how to explain," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alphonse… he's not just a mobster. He's ruthless, and I didn't mean to become involved but...."
Loe leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Involved how? Did you know about their operations? Did you have something they wanted?"
Gustav tightened his grip on Vivian, his protective instincts flaring. "She's scared, Loe. Let her breathe."
Mark, sensing the rising tension in the room, took a step forward, his tone steady and reassuring. "We can figure this out together. We just need to know what we're dealing with." His words hung in the air, a lifeline in the storm of emotions swirling around them.
Vivian took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes glistening with tears. "It was a long time ago... Actually, Alphonse was my... adopted father." Her voice cracked slightly, revealing the weight of the memories she carried.
Mark blinked in disbelief, trying to process her revelation. "What? Adopted father?" His mind raced with questions, but he kept his focus on her.
Loe leaned in closer, his curiosity shifting to urgency. "Tell us everything," he urged, his voice firm but gentle, eager to understand the connection between Vivian and the notorious gangster.
Vivian nodded, her expression darkening as painful memories surfaced. "At first, I tried to ignore what he did—how he killed... how he tortured and raped people. I thought if I didn't think about it, it would go away. But one day..." Her voice broke, and tears streamed down her face, the gravity of her past crashing over her like a tidal wave.
Gustav, always her rock, immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she trembled. "It's okay, it's okay." he murmured softly, trying to soothe her pain with his warmth and presence.
Taking a shaky breath, Vivian struggled to regain her composure. "They were experimenting on something... and it... was... my..." The words caught in her throat, sobs overtaking her as she buried her face in Gustav's shoulder.
Mindy, ever perceptive, leaned closer, her voice soft and encouraging. "You can tell us, Vivian. We're here for you." She felt the weight of the moment, knowing this was a pivotal point for them all.
Vivian looked up, her tear-streaked face reflecting a mix of fear and sorrow. "It was my mother—my original mother, the one I thought had abandoned me." The revelation hung heavily in the air, a shockwave reverberating through the group.
Loe stood up abruptly, anger boiling within him. "What? That bastard!!!" He couldn't contain his fury at the thought of Alphonse's cruelty, his fists clenched tightly as he paced the small room.
Mark, quick to diffuse the situation, stepped in. "Loe, calm down. This isn't you." His voice was firm, grounding them in the reality of the moment.
Mindy watched Loe closely, concern etched on her face. She loved him silently, her heart aching for him as she sensed his tumultuous emotions through her telepathy. His anger, fierce and raw, was a whirlwind she wished she could calm.
Gustav held Vivian tighter, his eyes filled with determination. "It's okay, it's okay." he repeated, trying to reassure her as her sobs began to quiet.
Vivian looked up at Gustav, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry I turned you into a freak." Regret laced her words, and she searched his eyes for understanding.
Gustav looked taken aback, his brow furrowing. "So you knew that I could transform into ant size?" He felt a mix of confusion and hurt, realizing the implications of her actions.
Vivian nodded, her expression filled with sorrow. "I was the one who gave you that ability. I stole something from Alphonse's lab—something dangerous. During my escape, they sent a huge ant after me. I managed to get away, but when you talked about summer vacation, I thought it would be a chance to escape from... Alphonse."
She paused, her voice trembling as the memories flooded back. "I didn't realize they had followed me. When you were asleep, I panicked and threw the potion at you, thinking it would be my only choice to protect you." The guilt was palpable, and she felt the weight of her choices crashing down.
The room fell silent, each person absorbing the magnitude of her confession. Mark exchanged glances with Loe and Mindy, their expressions a mix of shock and understanding.
............
Victor Creed, known to many as Sabretooth, lounged at the bar in a dimly lit Chicago establishment, the morning sun filtering through dusty windows. He savored the warmth of the tequila as it slid down his throat, the sharp bite awakening his senses. "This really hits the spot." he muttered, relishing the burn.
He glanced over at the bar owner, an older man named Gregor, whose weathered face told tales of countless years in the business. "You've got some of the best drinks here, huh?" Victor said, raising his glass in a mock toast.
Gregor chuckled, wiping a glass with a rag. "Yep, and the best bar in all of Chicago." he replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
Victor smirked, leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "Pretty arrogant, huh?" He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing playfully.
Gregor shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. "I'm not being arrogant, just stating the truth. You won't find a better pour anywhere else." He poured himself a shot, joining Victor in a toast.
Victor took a sip, nodding in appreciation. "Fair enough. Just don't let it get to your head. People around here tend to have a way of... vanishing." He leaned back, a hint of menace in his voice, though his expression remained light.
Gregor chuckled again, undeterred. "I've been in this business long enough to know how to keep the right people close and the wrong ones far away." He glanced around the bar, the faded posters and low lighting creating an atmosphere that felt both inviting and dangerous.
Victor liked that about Gregor; he wasn't easily intimidated. "You've got guts, old man. I respect that." he said, raising his glass once more.
"Just another day in Chicago." Gregor replied with a grin, returning to his work. As he wiped down the bar, Victor couldn't help but appreciate the camaraderie of the moment, even if it was fleeting.
Victor took another swig of tequila, the sharp taste mixing with a familiar bitterness in his gut. As the liquid warmed him from the inside, his mind drifted back to an old grudge, one that festered like an open wound.
"Jimmy," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the glass. "Our fight back then isn't over yet." Memories of their brutal clash replayed in his mind—the raw fury, the feral instincts, and the moment that had almost killed him. James Howlett, the one who had killed his brother, had left an indelible mark on Victor's life.
He could still feel the surge of rage that had consumed him that day, the betrayal that had twisted in his heart like a knife. "I will find you again," he vowed silently, a predatory grin creeping across his lips. The thrill of the hunt coursed through him, igniting his primal instincts. "And when I do, it'll be your turn to pay."
The bar around him faded into the background as he focused on that singular thought—his relentless pursuit of vengeance. Chicago was a sprawling labyrinth, but Victor had always thrived in chaos. He leaned back, feeling a rush of anticipation. The city held secrets, and he would uncover every one of them to track down James.
As he polished off another drink, a flicker of movement caught his eye—a group of patrons entering, their laughter mingling with the low hum of the bar. But Victor's thoughts remained consumed by the impending confrontation, a dark cloud overshadowing the fleeting moment of camaraderie with Gregor.
The door swung open, the bell jingling, and a gust of wind swept through the bar. Victor turned his gaze toward the entrance, curiosity piqued. In a city like Chicago, anything could happen—especially when Sabretooth was around.
"Just wait, Jimmy," he whispered, a feral gleam in his eyes. "I'm coming for you."
To be continue