Chunk reached Franklin Avenue at a half hour to midnight. The sidewalks were lined with streetlamps that cast murky pools onto the pavement. A dog barked in the distance, and someone's baby cried.

He walked a half a block down the middle of the street, ready to duck behind a parked car or into an alley if he saw headlights, but he didn't. At the end of the block, he turned onto a gravel path that led to a narrow street flanked on either side by a wood stockade fence that ran along people's backyards. Gates were set here and there, and a few detached garages faced the street. Trashcans stood like sentinels, and a black sedan was parked in the grass between the fence and the road. Chunk crouched down and studied it for a long time, his heart knocking. Someone could be inside, waiting.

Moving low and quick, he went to the car and flattened himself against its side. He took a deep breath and popped up, peering inside.

It was empty.

He looked along the rest of the alley. He didn't see any other cars.

Allowing himself the luxury of walking upright, he hurried down the length, pausing at the last gate before the fence ended and the alley filtered out onto Torrance Street. He peered through the slats, and saw the back of the Loud house. The door to the kitchen was glass, and through it he could just see the suggestion of light, which meant there was activity (or at least someone awake) in the living room.

He swallowed hard, eased the gate open, and slipped it, closing and latching it behind him. He hurried over to the patio and ducked to one side of the door, waiting for someone to call out or for it to fly open, but neither of those things happened. His heart was crashing and he was out of breath. He took the gun from his waistband and leaned over just enough to see through the window. The kitchen was dark, but the living room was flooded with soft lamplight. He saw two blonde heads and a brown head on the couch, facing away. The rest of the couch was obscured. When he saw Jimmy Vario appear, looking down and speaking to one of the girl's, Chunk's heart seized. Once upon a time, he was good friends with Jimmy. As good as you can be with a guy who'll throw you under the bus in the twinkling of an eye...i.e., everyone in the mob. Jimmy knew Chunk's father way back and took it upon himself to show Chunk the ropes. When Chunk did what he did, Jimmy probably took it as a personal betrayal. Who else did they send?

Chunk got his answer when he saw Tony Terror's ugly mug. Chunk was in Tony's crew back in the day, both of them working under Vinnie Gezippi, a captain who did business out of a club in Queens. Tony was a tough bastard. Chunk was not happy to see him.

Great. They had the Louds hostage.

I'm going to die tonight, Chunk thought with absolute certainty.

What other choice did he have? He couldn't leave them.

Kicking himself in the ass, Chunk left the patio and went around the side of the house, stopping and backing up when he saw the glow of a cigarette cherry. He peeked around the corner, and the smell of marijuana wafted over him.

"Five girls in there fuckin' age and can't do shit with 'em," someone muttered. A dark form leaned against the house. "Just gonna waste him. Why can't I do one of them?"

Chunk's eyes narrowed, and his mind started formulating a rudimentary plan. Leaning back, he cupped his hands to his mouth and made a hooting noise.

"The fuck was that?"

He waited for the guy to come, the gun in his hand, the barrel pointed toward the sky and the bottom of the handle poised to strike. He shook with nerves. It had been a long time since he roughed someone up...not counting the occasional drunk when he was bouncing. This was no drunk, though, this was a wiseguy, and even if he was high on pot, he was ten times more dangerous than anyone you found on the street.

The sound of feet rustling through tall grass drew closer and closer. Chunk's grip tightened on the gun. When the guy appeared, he brought it down in a deadly arch. The guy barely had a chance to register what was happening before the handle crashed into his skull, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Chunk dropped to one knee and brought he gun up again just in case the prick needed an extra hit.

He didn't.

Blood gushed from his scalp, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Panting, Chunk lowered the gun and rolled the guy over, taking his wallet from his back pocket. He found the guy's drivers' license. The name on it was Tommy DeNunzio, which struck Chunk as oddly familiar. His age was listed as twenty-five, which would have made him thirteen when Chunk left the mob. No way in hell...

Then it struck him.

DeNunzio was Tony Terror's sister's last name. Billy DeNunzio was her husband. This was little Tommy, Tony's nephew. Chunk remembered him hanging around all the time, playing the Pac-Man game Vinnie kept in the club just for him, since no one else played it. He was a cute kid.

I have Tony's nephew, Chunk thought with a smile.

Maybe he wouldn't die after all...

"There's always that one fuckin' hero," Tony said, a handful of Lynn Loud's hair in his hand. Her face was crinkled in pain, tears flowing from her eyes. He yanked her up until their noses were touching. "You really thought you were gonna take us on?"

What happened was this: Jimmy was talking about the pastrami at Nino's back in Queens, and Tony turned to look at him, ready to rip his dumb goombah head off: The roast beef was much better than the pastrami. The moment his eyes were off her, Lynn Loud threw herself at him, driving her shoulder into his stomach and knocking him back. Because he wasn't a weak little fuck like Lynn's father, it took more than a thirteen-year-old girl to put him down: He punched her in the ear as hard as he could, and she toppled over. The boy and the short haired girl went to get up, but Jimmy came forward with his gun drawn. "You move, you're dead."

Lynn lie on the floor in a heap. While Tony recovered, Jimmy yanked her up and pushed her back onto the couch. Her head swayed drunkenly on her neck, her eyes rolling back in her head. The little girl in the pink dress and the one in the overalls were hugging each other and crying; the one with the glasses was as white as milk, her arms wrapped around herself. Frankie stood by the door, watching them, his stomach rolling. This was too fucking much.

Presently, Tony shoved Lynn back down and shook his head. "I oughta kill one of you for that. Just to...show Miss Superhero here that your actions have consequences." He scanned the Louds. "You know what? I think I will." He loomed over Lincoln, a smile on his face. "And it's gonna be you."

Lincoln's heart came to a sputtering stomach.

"No!" mom wailed.

"Please, don't kill Lincoln!" the little girl in the pink cried.

Lori wept into her hands.

"Too fuckin' late for that," Tony said, "thank your sister."

He raised his hands, but the back door opening stopped him. Tony looked up, his teeth bared. "I thought I told you to walk around and..." he trailed off when Chunk came into the room, his arm wrapped around Tommy's neck. The latter's face was bloody. Chunk held a gun to Tommy's head.

"Let 'em go," Chunk said. The British accent he'd perfected during his time in the Witness Protection Program was gone, replaced by his normal accent. It was much like Tony's. "Or I'm gonna blast his fuckin' head off."

Luna turned. "Chunk?"

"Well hole-ee shit," Tony said, "if it isn't Joey Asaro...oops, I mean Philip Grant." He raised the gun. "The fuckin' rat himself."

Chunk let out a deep breath. In 2005, when he was twenty-nine, he was pinched on the Jersey turnpike with 1 million dollars' worth of cocaine in his trunk. He'd been working with the Laraza Family (namely Bobby Laraza) for fifteen years at that point, and was well-known to the authorities. They made him a deal: Snitch and walk free, or keep quiet and spend the next fifty years in prison. Chunk chose to talk. His testimony put Bobby Laraza in prison for life; Chunk read in the papers someone stabbed him to death three years in.

"Let them go," Chunk repeated. "You want me? You can have me, and your fuckin' nephew too...if you let these people walk outta here."

Tony chuckled. "I can't do that, Joey. See, they...they know too much."

"They won't talk."

Tony laughed. "Yes they will. If a hardass like you can bitch out and sing, so will a bunch of soft suburban assholes like them." He cocked the gun. "You backed me into a corner. It'll kill my sister, but better than Mr. Laraza killing me."

"Uncle Tony!" Tommy cried. "What are you...?"

Tony pulled the trigger. Tommy cried out as three hollow tip cop killers entered his stomach and exited his back. Chunk yelled as they entered his stomach. Luna screamed.

Tony started toward the fallen men, but another shot rang out, this one hitting him in the back of the head; he went stiff and pitched forward.

Luna turned just as the man by the door turned his gun on Jimmy and fired four more times: The big man twitched and spun as the bullets crashed into him, dancing a dying jig with wide eyes. He knocked into an end table and crashed to the floor, bringing it with him: Pictures and knick-knacks broke against his broad back.

"Chunk!" Luna screamed and threw herself at him. His face was white and blood trickled from his mouth.

"Call an ambulance!" dad cried as chaos consumed the Louds. Lincoln, Lori, Leni, Luan, and Lana all gathered around Chunk.

"Hold on!" Lincoln said. "Don't die!"

"Stay awake!" Luan begged when his eyes began to flutter closed.

He couched, blinked, and looked up at Luna, who was silently crying. "I...I'm not really British," he said and laughed.

"Just...relax," Luna said, taking his hand in hers. "Y-You're gonna be okay."

"Yeah," Chunk said, "I'll be fine." He took a deep breath, and it rattled in his throat as darkness stole over him.

He was right. He did die that night.

Mario Laraza fell asleep in his chair that night while waiting to hear back from Tony. He didn't wake until the next morning when someone pounded on the front door. His heart raced and his stomach clenched. There's only one type of person who pounds on your door like that at 7am.

Sure enough, a team of FBI agents in blue windbreakers were waiting on his porch. By noon, he was sitting in a cell out on Riker's Island, his hands balled in his lap and his world in ruins around him. Frankie Carlone always struck him as a weak link, now he was out in Michigan singing his heart out, and the feds were all ears.

But Joey Asaro was dead, and Bobby's death was avenged.

It was worth it, he decided.

Chunk was buried on a rainy Thursday afternoon. The only people there were the Louds and a couple of Chunk's coworkers from The Fuze Box.

After the service, as everyone else made their way back to the van, black umbrellas open over their heads, Luna dropped a single red rose onto his coffin, following it with a sole tear.

Family is not always blood, she reflected as she followed her parents and siblings to the van, it can also be other things. People come into our lives and become family, and now and forever more, Chunk was a part of her family.