Chapter Text
It wasn't rare for Husk to enter Salvatore’s private upstairs office alone. At least, not anymore. He had been working for Salvatore’s Family for over a decade at that point; there were plenty of jobs Salvatore wanted completed quietly by someone who could work independently, and there were numerous times The Don would check-in to get intel on anyone who might be going against him. Being asked to come alone was not the strange part – the strange part was the head of La Famiglia greeting him with a smile.
It wasn’t as if the man was completely dead inside. Salvatore smiled. He had several different ones worn throughout the years; the wide grin he had when his wife gave him pups, the sly smile he had when he got to torture someone personally, the wistful smile when remembering his own ma’. Husk tried to read the smile on Salvatore’s face. This one was unique. This one was unnerving.
He moved to stand at his normal spot – two large steps back from The Don’s desk, standing as tall and straight as he could – but Salvatore shook his head and pointed towards the seating area.
"Take a seat. We're celebratin'.”
The seating area was exactly what you'd expect from a man who'd spent forty years deciding people's fates: two oxblood leather armchairs facing a matching couch, all of them worn soft as sin. The leather had gone dark with age and use, creased in a thousand places where bodies had sat and sweated and tried not to show fear. A heavy mahogany coffee table sat between them, home to a wooden box, and a crystal ashtray that caught the warm amber light from the desk lamp.
Husk chose the armchair closest to the door.
Because he knew Sal always picked the couch center.
The leather groaned under his weight, deep and slow, swallowing him just slightly. It was the kind of seat that made you sink in and stay put. Whether that was intentional or just decades of use, he'd never been sure. With Salvatore, it could be both. It was where Sal brought people when he wanted them comfortable enough to let their guard down, but aware that they're in his space, on his furniture, playing by his rules.
Salvatore grabbed two short glasses off the bar.
“Bourbon?” Usually Husk would request, ‘Whatever dark liquor works the fastest,’ but considering the current energy in the room…
“Music to my ears.” The two of them clinked glasses before taking their first drink. Sal reached for the wooden box on the table and flipped it open. "What's the occasion, Boss? You haven't offered me a cigar since your oldest got his first kill.”
There was a rough slice, followed by the flicker of an old expensive lighter, and a deep breath in.
"It's funny you mention one of my kids right now.” Smoke pillowed out between the words. Husk raised one eyebrow and a corner of his lips.
“Are you about to tell me Rosalina's givin’ you another pup?” Husk repeated the process with his own cigar; snap, sizzle, smoke. Salvatore leaned back and laughed – a real, hearty laugh.
"I might still have it in me, but raisin' the twins? Exhaustin'. I think Rosa would kill me if I got her pregnant again.” There was a rule, one that crossed generations and territory borders alike ever since the mafia first began; a smart Boss will run and hide if he pisses off his mate. “But you? You haven't even gotten started. Tell me you've been hidin' a pretty moll somewhere.”
Husk shook his head with a smile and took a long drink. “Nah, Boss. I ain't seein' anyone. Ain't even on the hunt. Lenny keeps sayin' I'm mated to this job.”
“And that! That right there is why we're celebratin’!” Salvatore tapped his cigar on the crystal ashtray and took another long drag. “Husker. How many years you worked for the family?” The man in question hummed, glancing up at the ceiling. He hadn't exactly been keeping count.
“Over a decade… twelve – maybe thirteen years?”
“This year it'll be fifteen years. We're just a few months away from your fifteenth anniversary.” Husk let out a genuine sigh of surprise, still looking up at the old ceiling.
“Time flies, don't it, Boss?”
"Fifteen years." Sal let it sit. "And you never done me wrong. You always worked hard and did right by the pack. You show more respect than most of my nieces and nephews – you could beat any of 'em in a fight or a shootout. Hell, Husker, you even–" there was a pause, Sal took a longer drink and let the burn slide. "–You even managed to tame Anthony a bit. A lot more bullets get shot when he works with anyone else... You remember how that kid got started?”
Husk reached around for those old dusty memories and then chuckled.
“He wouldn't stop beggin’ to join. You finally said he could be a runner with his older brother until his heats started just to shut him up.” His laughter got louder. “And then heat suppressants started goin’ missing.” Sal cut in.
“Legal ones! Little brat was breakin’ into legal dispensaries and private homes.”
“You raised them too smart for him to steal from our supply, Boss.” Another sip. “He got us a few good guard jobs with that little stunt though. Only reason he got caught is cause he tried to hit up a pharmacy a second time and didn't know you'd just assigned a guy to the joint a few hours prior. You always said an Omega's gotta prove themselves if they wanna work. I remember the shock on the guys' faces when they learned Anthony'd been givin' us and the pigs the runaround for months. Now look at him. Sure, he's violent sometimes, but anyone who knows the family knows they're already dead if you send him. That alone is a pretty powerful tool for ya.”
There was a long pause and Husk saw it; Salvatore’s swap from a familiar smile and back to that sly one he had at the start. Salvatore stood up, taking both glasses back for a refill. Husk took another drag and left the ashes in the crystal.
“You're a good man, Husker,” he said while pouring their second drinks, “You're good to the family. You never hurt kids; you never hurt defenseless Omegas; you only hurt animals if they bite you first. You have lines you won't cross. You have the old morals that made us great.” Salvatore sauntered back over, handing Husk a full glass before sitting down and going on. “I want to promote you. I need someone to take over the main casinos and you're the best one for the job.”
Husk stared. Dumbstruck. Anyone in the inner circle knew the previous casino high manager was terminally retired after committing an unforgivable offense. The job opening was not the surprise; it was the offer. A position that powerful – overseeing multiple locations handling that much cash – that was reserved for blood family. Husk was as high on the hierarchy as he was ever supposed to reach. Sal took a long drag to let him process the words, but it wasn't enough. Determining that the man sitting across from him was incapable of speech, Salvatore continued.
"I want you to join the family. Officially. Blood and bond."
"...Wha– what're you sayin', Boss?"
"You earned a place in this family. I'm givin' you my son, Husker." He leaned forward, just slightly.
“Angel?!” That was a mistake; nobody would call Anthony by that name in front of The Don; that wasn’t the name he picked for his son. Husk wasn't one to mess up like that. And yet, Sal ignored the transgression. They were celebrating and the news was shocking – he allowed for some grace.
"He's been cheating his body for years. Starving it. We're takin' him off suppressants – gonna break the addiction for you first. Save you the trouble. I'll hand him over once he's clean of the stuff; once he's ripe.”
Husk could have sworn the bourbon was far weaker a second ago. Why did he suddenly feel light headed? He reached for an answer, something traditional and fucked up that Salvatore would agree with.
“You – your family – you raise purebreds, Boss. As far as…as far as matin’ goes, your son's forehead is worth about as much as my car.”
Salvatore's smile didn't drop, but it sharpened. He pointed the end of his cigar at Husk, a gesture that was half scolding, half fond.
"Don't you ever let me hear you talk about my son like that again." His voice was soft, but the warning was clear. "His worth? You think I measure my son in dollar signs? No. I measure him in safety, in who I'd trust to keep him alive; who I trust to keep his pups alive." He tapped ash. "I picked you because you're one of the only Alphas in this city I'd trust alone with my daughter, let alone my most volatile son."
Husk stared at the amber liquid in his glass, watching the light bend through it. Salvatore's words landed somewhere deep in his chest, warm and heavy as the bourbon. He wasn't used to being seen like that. Wasn't used to being valued.
“I guess… I always assumed–” He had hoped that The Don's pups would fall in love with someone and mate on their own terms, but he had always known that was a coke fantasy. “ –If you arranged somethin', it'd be political.” Sal nodded his head with a hum.
“Molly'd be good for that. Well-behaved, beautiful, high fertility rating. My oldest is already promised, so the political matches fall to her." A pause. "Don't get me wrong – that woman ain't one to be messed with. She'll kill any Alpha who deserved it. But she understands her duty and she's fairly well behaved. I have some options I'm considerin’ for her.”
His expression shifted as he took another deep breath. "But Anthony?” Sal laughed. “You think I haven't had offers? Every Don east of the Mississippi has sniffed around since he presented. He's my son, but I'm not an idiot. Boys just as pretty as his sister. But he's got too much of me in him. He’s got fire in that soul. It needs a hearth, Husker. It needs somewhere safe to burn. Needs someone who can…channel it. Could you imagine tryin' to tie him down to another family? He'd start a turf war. Shoot the Alpha himself, just to make a point.”
A bullet would have been a divine blessing. Angel would do far worse than a quick kill if some stranger tried to mount and bite him.
“And you think he won't kill me?”
“He won't.”
“Not to question you, Boss, but why wouldn't he kill me?”
“Because on some level, he already trusts you. You've worked together for years. Never once treated him like he's prey. For an Omega like him? That's everything.” Husk raised an eyebrow and Sal caved to offer the far more honest answer. "And because I will make sure Anthony understands that his options are to be a political brood Omega for another family or to stay here with you and still have a chance to work." Sal took a slow drag of his cigar. "And I expect you two to give me grandchildren. I'll give you a year. Maybe two. After that, I expect to hear cryin’ kits when I visit. Don't disappoint me, Husker. This family needs pups with your steadiness and his fire.” The end of Husk's cigar got put out in the ashtray; unfinished.
Anthony. Angel. The name caught in his chest like a bullet he couldn't dig out. Fifteen years of watching him become someone – someone violent and brilliant and desperate. And now Sal was handing him over like he was a reward for good behavior. Husk's throat worked.
He could say no. He could say no and be dead by morning, and Angel would end up mated to some stranger in another city, another family, another cage, and no other options.
Or he could say yes. He could say yes and spend the rest of his life hurting Angel, forcing himself on him and bringing kits into the world who were never wanted to begin with.
Salvatore raised his drink. The two glasses clinked as they toasted to the new arrangement. It was like signing an invisible contract with a demon; Husk would dig his teeth into Angel's skin within the year.
The chair creaked as Sal got up and walked around until he was standing at Husk's side. His hand was warm on Husk's shoulder, heavy as a brand.
“You're my son now. Cent'anni.”
The rest of his meeting with Salvatore was a breakdown of what would transpire over the next several months. It had gone from a party to a strategy meeting.
"He's been on suppressants too long. I’m not convinced he’s ever let his body have one. When he stops, it'll take time for his body to remember what it's supposed to do. That stuff is poison – every drug is, Husker." Sal took a slow drag of his second cigar, watching Husk through the smoke. "I’m putin’ him up in the safehouse on Willard and Mae with a couple of guards. He’s gotta work through the side effects of quittin’ and I don’t need my girls to tryin’ to step in. First heat'll be weak. Confusing. Second one'll hurt worse. He might call for you. He might not even know he's doing it."
He leaned forward, and the warmth drained out of his voice.
"You will not go to him. Got that? Not yet. You will not see that boy until I give you permission. He needs to feel it build. Needs to understand what he's been missing – what his body's been owed. Needs to understand his body's been keeping score. Every heat he blocked? That's interest, Husker. And interest always gets collected. I'm just making sure the debt gets paid to the right one. By the third one, he'll be desperate. And then – if he's learned his lesson – I'll let you in."
Sal sat back, the smile creeping back in.
"That's when you break him in. He'll heal around you, Husker. That's how you get a claim to really stick."
He had every week planned out and all Husk could do was say, “Yes Boss.”
Husk couldn't get out of that room fast enough. He usually held a perfect poker face, but standing at the end of one hallway, guards on either side of him, he knew he looked panicked. They could see it. Husk knew they could see it. He probably looked like a dead man walking.
It left him wondering. “Just how long has Sal been planning this?”
“And just how many times has Salvatore broken an Omega down like this? He knew exactly how each heat would go – how to force an indescribably powerful bond.”
About halfway down the hall, Angel appeared, climbing up the stairs headed for his father's office. Usually they would walk past each other without a word – they would share a friendly chat when Salvatore wasn't so close – but this time, Husk caught the hem on one sleeve during the one second their shoulders were next to one another. Both froze. Angel facing his father's office; Husk towards the exit.
What was he supposed to say? He kept his voice steady and low. Professionalism was a requirement.
“Angel. I know you could do better. You deserve better.”
And then he let him go and headed for the stairs. But something pulled at his mind. He stopped and once he heard the office door closed, Husk turned around. One guard crossed his arms.
“Gotta problem, Husker?”
“Nope. I'm checkin’ on somethin’.” The guy looked rightfully confused.
“You know you can't go back in. Boss is havin’ closed meetings.”
“I don't need to go in for this one, boys.” Husk pulled out his phone to watch the clock. The guards glanced at one another, but they knew better than to question a man ranking higher than them. One of them shrugged.
Three minutes passed before the muffled yelling started. Husk nodded his head; that was about as long as he thought it would take before Angel put up a fight. Even from down the hall and their words blurred, Husk could tell how quickly the two of them had gone from English to Italian. There was a shatter as something was thrown – something glass. The crash was enough chaos for the guards to jump into action, rushing inside to protect the head of the family.
Husk scratched the back of his head. It was going about as well as he thought it would. Turning back around, Husk headed down the stairs. He didn't pray. Never had. But walking away from that closed door, he almost wished he knew how.
Maybe Angel would become a black widow. There were worse ways for Husk to die.