Sup. I'm back with another chapter of this thing.

Okay, first of all, I'll admit, I suck at writing songs. I've tried multiple times, mostly because I want to write a musical. Who knows? Maybe I'll get the hang of it and write a NATM musical. I have an idea too.

Anyways, so I can't write songs, keep that in mind.

Also, in the case of Adolphe. I swear, all I did when naming him was look at French names, and say, hey, that looks like something everyone knows how to pronounce.

It wasn't until after I posted the chapter that, well, I remembered why most people would know how to pronounce it. Whoops.

Also, I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but swearing will be prominent in this story. Kinda can't not have it with these characters. Sorry.

Anyways on with the chapter.

(I totally didn't take that scene from Boardwalk Empire. AND I APOLOGIZE FOR THE SONG!)

Al muttered to himself as he sat at the dining room table. Scribbling down on a piece of paper, as he attempted to figure out what he was going to do. He knew he couldn't keep living this way, it wasn't good for Sonny but he didn't exactly know his choices. He couldn't exactly just give Sonny to his mother, since the boy needs his father. Mostly because that would mean moving back to New York, which wasn't exactly a good idea thanks to that stinky Irish fuck he met in that pub a while ago. Yet what was he going to do? Live in the same down, and the same house that reminded him of Mae all the time?

He also couldn't join Vincent, mostly because A) The dude was a cop and B) To Hell he was going to pretend he wasn't Italian.

Tapping his fingers against the wood of the table, Al let out a heavy sigh. Biting his lip, Al was about to try write something else down when the phone let it's shrill voices interrupt the quiet of the dining room.

"Lovely." Al muttered, pushing away from the table and standing. He stretched lazily and went to the phone and picked it up.

"Hello?" He asked, upon answering.

"Hello Alphonse." Johnny's voice said from the other end.

"Johnny."

"Listen, we're going to be needed you to come earlier than we discussed yesterday." Johnny told him. In the background, Al could pick out shouts and yells. Probably a gambling game.

"Why?" Al asked.

"Well," Al could sense that the bastard was grinning proudly on the other end. "I managed to come across that famous French general, Napoleon. Invited him to our little party."

"What? Really?" Al asked.

"Yup. We're having a Frenchie at our party tomorrow, so I'm going to need my right-hand guy there. Think you can be there?"

"Depends. How early are we talking about?"

"How about you come right after dropping your boy at school?" Johnny asked. "Would that be good for ya?"

"Yeah, sure." Al leaned against the wall, cursing Johnny. He was going to use that time between to get some rest.

"Great! Now, just to remind you, I want no bloodshed at this party. So no matter what happens, either it be someone spitting at you, looking at you the wrong way, or calling you 'Scarface'" Al scowled at the mention of his hated nickname. "You are NOT to do anything. You will just smile and shake it off. Understand?"

"Whatever you say Johnny."

"We do not need any bad publicity during this time." Johnny stressed. "So please, for the love of God, don't try anything. You will be at your best at this party. You will smile, greet Napoleon, and mingle. Maybe dance with a few dolls. But there will be no maiming, killing, cursing, or any of that shit. Understand?"

"Yes! I've got it Johnny." Al rolled his eyes.

"Should I go over it one more time?"

"Johnny you-"Al felt a tugging on his pants and looked down to see Sonny staring at him. "Hold up." Al set the phone down and kneeled down to be eye-to-eye to Sonny.

"What is it?"

Sonny frowned, fidgeting a bit before looking up at his father. I can't sleep. I… I was wondering if you would do the same thing you did a while ago. When people were being mean to me at school. Sonny looked at him hopefully.

"Sure," Al smiled. "Just let me finish this call to your godfather, and I'll be right there. Okay?"

Sonny nodded and ran off. Leaving Al to pick up the phone.

"Something popped up Johnny. I gotta go, see you tomorrow."

"Wait, I-"

"Bye!" Al hung up. "Jeez, you mess up a few times and suddenly no one can trust you." Al rolled his eyes, but smiled at the same time. "Now to tend to my child."

After a quick stop to his bedroom, Al entered Sonny's room. Smiling when he saw the seven year old light up at the sight of him.

Walking over, Al sat down on Sonny's bed, letting the child wrap his arms around him. Resting his tiny child hands on Al's neck.

Once Al was sure Sonny was situated comfortably, and his mandola was in a good position, Al started.

"I wish I could tell you

That things will be right

That the future

Will be wonderful and bright

I wish I could promise you

That nothing will ever hurt you

But I can't

Because there are things I can't promise

And things I will miss

Things I can't fix with only a kiss

I wish I could tell you

That I'll always be there

But that's not the way

Things tend to go

One day I'll be gone

And only the memory

Of my heart will go on

But that's how things happen

And no one can change it

It might seem quite cruel

But I suppose it's the rule

Because there are things I can't promise

And things I will miss

Things I can't fix with only a kiss

I wish I could tell you

That I'll always be there

But that's not the way

Things tend to go

I only hope you'll hang on

And I only hope you'll dream on

And that the world will never change you

From the sweet little boy

I see right before me

Because there are things I can't promise

And things I will miss

Things I can't fix with only a kiss

I wish I could tell you

That I'll always be there

But that's not the way

That things tend to go"

With one last strum of the mandola Al finished the son, and looking over noticed that Sonny had fallen asleep during the number. Smiling gently, Al set his mandola down and gently unwrapped the boy's hands from his neck. The gangster stood and laid his son down, tucking his small body into the bed.

Once he was sure the boy was fine, he picked up his instrument and left the room.

If that wasn't incredibly sappy, he didn't know what was.

"I'm getting there!" Al shouted into the phone, as he rooted through the fridge attempting to find something to feed Sonny, which wasn't exactly easy with the damn phone cord. "Ya know I need to send Sonny to school beforehand!"

"Well ya better hurry." Johnny said. "We need all of our best men here."

"I know!" Al growled, grabbing a container and looking at it. Was pasta a suitable breakfast food for a seven year old?

"We really need to make a good impression of that French dude! Which won't be possible if the second-in-command isn't there!"

"Yes, I get it. Napoleon Bonaparte is really fucking important. Blah, blah, blah." Al slammed the refrigerator door before he headed over to the stove. He brought out a pot and filled it with water before setting it on the stove to boil.

"Of course, that's why I invited him! Plus I thought it would be nice, since he's new in town. Though there's also the perk of no one trying to murder with him around."

"Mmm." Al hummed, pulling out a pan. He set that on the stove and turned the burner on, before dumping the leftover pasta sauce in it. "Smart."

"Yep."

Al smirked, imagining Torrio beaming with pride, as he pulled out the pasta noodles.

"Dammit." Al scowled, as he looked in the box. He was going to have to go shopping after the party. At least there was enough for the morning. He needed to stop making so much pasta.

"What?" Johnny asked.

"Nothing, almost out of pasta noodles." Al said, placing the box on the counter.

"Pasta… are you making pasta for breakfast?" Johnny laughed.

"No! … Yes." Al sighed. "What else am I supposed to make?"

"Eggs, bacon, toast." Johnny listed. "The list goes on, but I do know pasta is not on it."

"Fuck off." Al growled. "You know I don't know how to do this." He sighed. "Mae was so much better."

"Yes, I get that. Listen Al, I've known you for a long time. Since you were a kid! You, Mae, the kid, you guys are like family to me. It's hard, but you do know that there are people here for you. To help you. If you want, you can send Sonny to live with the wife and me, just for a while. Just so you can sort yourself out."

Al sighed. "I don't know, Torrio."

"It'd be just for a while. I think it'd be good for the boy. Just think it over Al. I'll see you later." Torrio hung up, and Al put the phone down.

Sighing, Al continued on making the pasta, and luckily Sonny decided to show up the moment he finished.

The boy took one look at the meal his father made, and started to laugh.

"Knock it off." Al told him, though he was grinning a bit too.

The gangster made his son a plate of pasta, and set it down in front of him. He then turned away to get to work cleaning up his mess.

"Da?"

Al froze for a second, before turning around to face Sonny. He barely ever talked.

"Yes?"

Sonny glanced down at the ground, before glancing back up.

I forgot to give you this. He gave Al a piece of paper. I know it's not something you'd be interested in, but it's just a day when the parents come in and see what we do.

Al smiled, and glanced at the date. It was quite a while from then, around three months. Turning it over in his mind, Al set the paper aside and bent down to face him.

"I'll be there if you want."

Sonny's eyes glistened as a smile spread across his face. Really?

"The only way I'd miss it is if I get turned into a frog." Al promised, making the most ridiculous promise he could come up with, getting a little giggle that filled the gangster with joy.

"C'mon, let's get you to school."