Kept Boy to Made Man - 23. Cosa Nostra

Travis White followed his wife Jennifer and youngest son Jasper onto the jetway. They had made it to Denver in time to catch the last direct flight to Chicago of the day. The tickets hadn’t been cheap, but the family had been waiting and praying for thirteen months for any information about Oliver’s whereabouts. Travis was afraid he would wake up and realize the phone call from Illinois had been a dream. Expensive plane tickets and overpriced parking were a small price to pay for the chance to see his eldest son again.

“Am I really gonna see Oli, mommy?” Jasper had broken down in sobs when his parents had told him why they were helping him pack most of his clothes into a suitcase. “Why aren’t we bringing the presents?”

Travis marveled at his youngest son as the line of passengers slowly moved towards the waiting Boeing 737. Jennifer had insisted they purchase presents for Oliver’s twelfth birthday, telling Jasper his brother could open them when he finally made it home. Seven months later, the young boy had refused to celebrate his seventh birthday without Oliver. Opening presents had become an important part of the long-anticipated reunion between Jasper and the older brother he loved.

“Yes, Jasper. We’ll land in Chicago in a couple hours. We’ll rent a car and drive to an office where we’ll all get to see Oliver.” Travis answered for his wife who was lost in her anxious thoughts. “As for the presents, we couldn’t fit them in our suitcases, bud. We needed to bring a lot of stuff since we have no idea how long we will be staying in Chicago.”

“Was that man on the phone a real policeman?” the boy asked.

“Sort of. He was an FBI agent. That’s like a policeman, but they can work anywhere in the country and usually work on really important things like finding Oliver.” Jasper, who was both anxious and excited, continued to talk and ask questions as they boarded the plane.

The boy had been too young to understand why his brother hadn’t come home with their dad over a year before, but he now understood that Oliver had been taken away by a very bad person. His parents didn’t often talk about Oli in front of their youngest, but like most kids, he heard and understood far more than the adults in his life believed.

“I’m coming, Oli,” the boy whispered out the small window as the plane lifted off the tarmac and into the sky.

. . .

“Hello father.” Melissa had last spoken with her father three years ago when she had attended her mother’s funeral as an uninvited guest.

“Melissa. This is a surprise.” Peter Motts knew he had hurt his eldest daughter deeply, but it was only after his wife’s death that he began to regret his extreme reaction to his younger daughter’s claim that Melissa was a lesbian. “Are you well?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Melissa said. “I am not sure why I even called. I know you no longer see me as a daughter, but my friends and I could really use your help.”

“Name it. If it’s in my power, I will do whatever you need.” Peter had been too much of a coward to tell his daughter he had been wrong, and he jumped at the chance to be a part of her life in whatever way she would allow. “And Mel, you will always be my daughter.”

“Ah, are you okay dad?” Melissa had been extremely nervous to call the man, and the conversation wasn’t going at all how she had expected it would.

“I’m sorry, Mel-Bell. I have been a stubborn and stupid fool.” Melissa hadn’t been called Mel-Bell in a long time; the childhood nickname caught her completely off guard, and her father’s heartfelt apology brought her to tears.

“I’m still a lesbian, dad.” Melissa wasn’t sure what changed, but she needed to know her father wouldn’t disown her again when she was finally able to pursue an intimate relationship with Samantha James.

“And I should never have cared. Your mother told me Rebecca and I were being stupid. Your mother was always smarter than me.” Peter could hear his wife berating him for having such an important conversation over the phone. “Can we meet for coffee or something?”

“I can’t dad. My friends need me this afternoon, plus I’m the guardian for eight-year-old twin boys who don’t enjoy sitting still.” Melissa held her breath as she waited for her father to tell her how inappropriate it was for her to be caring for children.

“You have kids?” He heard Melissa sniffle and remembered too late how his youngest daughter had declared Melissa unfit to be around Mary and later Joshua. “That’s fantastic, Mel. Your mother and I always thought you would be a fantastic mother.”

Melissa began to cry as she tried to understand her father’s unexpected acceptance. As she had so recently with the twins, Melissa Motts decided to take a chance with her already wounded heart.

“Can you be in Kenwood at two? The boys and I are meeting my boss and some friends at an old property to talk about how to turn it into a home and school for abused boys. You could meet Samuel and Simon. Plus, there are a lot of boys who could really use your help.” Melissa didn’t know what to expect, but if her father’s change of heart was genuine, she desperately wanted him in her life and the lives of the boys she hoped would be hers forever.

. . .

Juan stepped out of Daniel’s office and headed towards the nearest elevator bank. He hadn’t met the most recently rescued boys until that morning. His role the previous evening had kept him in the parking garage of Roger’s building before transporting prisoners and spending the evening with Micah and his mother. He found it encouraging to see ten more checkmarks on the war room board.

Oliver White’s face had not been in Charles Miller’s photos. He was the fourth boy found requiring the use of a Polaroid camera. Juan wasn’t the only one wondering how many other unknown boys were being exploited by The Deck. It seemed likely that the number of missing kids was much larger than they knew.

It was difficult listening to the boys answer questions about their pasts. Most had families, but only some remembered safe and stable homes. Many of the boys had been taken off the streets, each just another missing, homeless youth no one would have ever bothered looking for.

He made his way, first out of the building and then to his car. Daniel and he had just spoken to Roger about the old school. It had been Daniel’s idea to talk to Qian for ideas as a survivor of sex trafficking himself.

Juan spent the almost twenty-minute drive in weekend traffic thinking about what else he could do to help. He was almost to Lincoln Park when he had an idea that made him smile.

“Oorah,” he said to nobody as he drove the final few blocks to the large brownstone home his mother lived in and worked at; he only hoped the logistics officer and base commander were both in a good mood.

. . .

“Hi mom,” John Renkin heard Rosa’s son say from the front door.

He was seated in the dining room with Qian, Micah and his children. The commitment he had made earlier in the week to spend more time with his kids was fresh in his mind, as was his frustration with Rebecca. She wouldn’t be joining her husband and their children for lunch or for family time in the afternoon. Apparently, she had previous social commitments that simply could not be ignored.

“Good morning, Mr. Renkin,” Juan said as his mother pushed him towards an empty chair.

“Juan, please call me John.” He felt his heartrate increase as he acknowledged the handsome, dark-haired young man that shared his name.

“Micah, it is good to see you, my friend!” John noticed the wonder and compassion in the man’s expression as he addressed the boy who seemed to follow his daughter around like a lost puppy.

Micah smiled nervously, but didn’t reply. Two of the three men who had found him in Carl Jenkin’s basement were now present. The boy was becoming increasingly comfortable as he spent more time engaging with the safe but unfamiliar world in which he now lived.

Rosa placed the final plates and bowls in the middle of the large table before sitting in the chair next to her son and across from the boy Juan had entrusted into her care. The mid-day meal of make-your-own tacos was a hit with the kids. John hadn’t enjoyed a meal more in a long time. He wondered if Rosa had purposefully chosen something that would force interaction while simultaneously providing plenty of distractions. The various ages and backgrounds seemed irrelevant as people stood, reached, passed, assembled, and ate the messy hands-on fare.

“Ms. Ramos, this is both fun and delicious.” John shared genuine gratitude and praise for the woman he had grown to respect immensely since truly noticing her as an individual days before.

The woman shyly acknowledged him with a nod. He was suddenly ashamed by the distance their positions in the household created between them, largely by his and Rebecca’s design. He was saved from further awkwardness by Mary, who took advantage of the silence to tell the group about the adventures she and Micah had enjoyed throughout the morning. It wasn’t long before the three youngest were enduring Rosa’s efficient use of a wet cloth prior to being released to play once more.

John watched in sad amusement as his housekeeper comically rebuffed her son’s attempts to help her clear the table. He doubted he would ever have such a close and loving relationship with his kids.

“You’re back early. Did Daniel give you the afternoon off?” Qian was careful not to share too much about the ongoing investigation, but Juan had filled him in that morning when he arrived to take the young detective’s place as Micah’s protector.

“Not exactly,” Juan replied before glancing at the civilian at the table with them.

John noticed the look and pushed his chair back in preparation to leave.

“You don’t need to go, Mr. Renkin.” Juan saw the man’s raised eyebrow. “John, I mean. This is your house, and you are a part of this mess through your generosity.”

Juan and Qian briefly shared the high-level facts of the ongoing investigation without going into detail. John, who had already been overwhelmed by the impact of the obvious trauma Micah had suffered, sat back in his chair as he allowed the scope of the investigation to sink in.

“So, back to the reason I returned early. Daniel thought you might have some insight that would help Roger and Thomas with their plans.” Juan watched Qian retreat into his mind as he considered how to help so many boys who had experienced many of the same things he had as a child.

“I’m trying to imagine one hundred boys like Micah.” John’s voice was far away, but his eyes were locked onto the man in front of him that stirred feelings and memories he had tried unsuccessfully to leave in the past.

“We have only found thirteen boys so far, but we know there are others out there.” Juan couldn’t help but notice the masked hunger in the older man’s expression when their eyes met, but unlike with Daniel, Juan felt nothing beyond a slowly growing respect for his mother’s employer.

“The boys need to be kept busy.” Qian’s words startled both men out of their separate thoughts. “Their memories and emotions will be overwhelming and crippling for a long time, so having other things to focus on will be important. Roger will need to keep their minds and hands busy with more than the investigation and thoughts of their abuse.”

“From what Roger has said, Thomas plans to enlist the boys help in cleaning and fixing an old building that will become a home and school for any of the boys who don’t have anywhere else to go.” Juan was reminded of the call he still wanted to make to Fort Sheridan.

“I’d like to meet him.” Qian had heard a lot about the teenager who seemed to come up in every conversation related to his uncle or the case.

“So would I,” John said unexpectedly.

In many ways, John was trapped in his own teenage years, having repressed the person he was in an attempt to become the person he believed he was supposed to be. He felt both intrigued and jealous hearing about Thomas, who’s life had been laid bare before the world. The teenager was choosing to embrace who he was even as he tried to help others impacted by the crimes of his uncle.

“A bunch of people are meeting in Kenwood at two. If Micah is up for a trip, we could all go see what Roger and Thomas are up to,” Juan suggested.

“I doubt Micah will go anywhere without Mary, and I don’t see Mrs. Renkin allowing her daughter to visit an empty building full of abused boys and strange adults.” Qian was not impressed with Rebecca, and his thoughts escaped his lips before he remembered that the woman’s husband was sitting five feet away.

“Rebecca isn’t here to object,” John said in response to the guilty look he saw on Qian’s face.

. . .

“They flew out of Midway early this morning, heading back to Vegas,” the man told his boss.

Dominic De Luca looked at the grainy black and white print in front of him. Jason Rizzo was dead, but Dom wished the man was still alive so he could be made to answer for making an agreement with an outside organization without permission. The old man looked at the well-dressed man who had invaded his city and murdered one of his men.

“What did they say in Vegas?” he asked.

“Santino’s inquiries netted a couple names. Those two are apparently known for providing things most others won’t.” The enforcer started working for Dom long before the man had accepted the mantle of the Boss of Bosses; Their resources had increased a hundred-fold when the other families swore allegiance to Dominic De Luca. “You are looking at Joel Mark and his boss Quintin Klein. Rumor has it, the underling answers to the name Deuce, and we already know Quintin considers himself the Jack of Spades.”

Giovanni placed two playing cards next the recently exposed print.

“I want everything we can find about their operation. I don’t like having ties to people we don’t know. Especially when their activities are likely to bring heat down on the Family.” Dom couldn’t help but think about his great-grandsons; he didn’t say it directly, but he also didn’t like having ties to any organization built on the blood of children. “Be quick, but discreet, Gio.”

Dom doubted the last instruction was necessary. Giovanni was always discreet. Contrary to some of his predecessors, Dominic De Luca had not risen to the top of the Italian syndicate through wanton violence or compulsive power grabs. He picked up the playing cards. Writing on each detailed what Gio had learned so far.

“Of course, sir.” Giovanni debated internally before speaking again. “Are you certain you don’t want me to accompany you when you meet with the lawyer?”

Again, the old man thought about his great-grandsons and the future he wanted for them but couldn’t provide. The youngest twin’s question had been eating at him for days: "Where will we go if you die or go to prison, Bisnonno?"

“I’m certain, my friend. I need to speak privately with Mr. Cicero. I am hopeful an agreement can be reached, assuming he is the man I believe him to be.”

. . .

Roger handed the check back to Thomas. The teenager took it with a frown.

“That money is yours, Thomas. You can do whatever you want with it, but the school building is not for sale.” Roger winked at Brendon before elaborating. “I plan to donate all four buildings in Kenwood to the foundation as soon as it is legal. Eddie’s money will be setup as an endowment, which means it will sit in an account accruing interest to provide ongoing funds for the foundation.

“So, the school isn’t mine to sell, and if you want to support its renovation financially, you will need to write a new check to the foundation.” A smile had been growing on Thomas’ face as Roger explained his intent for his unwanted inheritance.

“Can I put money in the well-endowed thing too?” Thomas smiled at his joke before shrinking back into a wounded teen. “I don’t deserve all the money people have been giving me.”

Roger reached out his hand to Thomas as he often did when the teen felt sad or scared.

“There is a big difference between the money you have been given and Eddie’s, Thomas. Sam’s readers are telling you that you do deserve their support. You shouldn’t feel guilty or unworthy of that money. It was given to you out of love and compassion.” Roger squeezed the thin but strong hand he now held. “I don’t know why Eddie decided to name me the beneficiary of his estate. I am guessing it is about control or possibly guilt. I am certain Eddie was not capable of real love, and his money was earned through the pain and suffering of boys like Micah and Oliver. I refuse to use the things he left for anything other than trying to right his wrongs.”

“I feel guilty, Roger. I’ve never had people who care about me.” Thomas looked up at Brendon and Sandra as tears flowed once more. “Except you two, I mean.”

Brendon wrapped his long arms around his best friend, the boy he had known long before they admitted their intimate attraction to one another.

“I was there, Tommy. I know most of what you’ve been through. I’m sorry for teasing you about being rich. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve to feel secure. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” Brendon leaned in and kissed Thomas’ cheek before nibbling on his earlobe to break through the emotional tension.

“Jerk.” Thomas said quietly. “I love you all.”

He understood what Roger was trying to tell him. It would take time, but he vowed to look at the money he had been given as the support and security it was intended to be. Appreciating and hoarding were different things, however. Thomas silently vowed to share what he had been given, just as Roger had selflessly modeled with his own wealth before Eddie’s money confused them both.

“I’ll hang on to the check for now,” Thomas said through a small smirk. “But as soon as I find a reason, I’m going to give it back to you.”

. . .

There were several utility trucks in the parking lot when they pulled once more into the long-unused lot. Roger checked the mirror and saw the large black car was still matching him turn for turn.

“Daniel said he would figure out how to get the electric and water restored as quickly as possible. It looks like he figured out who to talk to. Why don’t you three go see if they need access to the building.” Thomas looked at Roger carefully as he accepted the building's keys from the man once they were all free of the small sports car. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The four of them watched as the large car that had been following them from the office pulled up beside Roger's BMW.

“Go on.” Roger motioned towards the front of the old building. “Everything is fine. We never would have seen them coming if they meant trouble.”

Reluctantly, Thomas, Brendon, and Sandra moved away as Roger approached the heavily tinted back door of the pristine Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. The window began to lower. Giggling from inside the car caught Roger completely off guard. Seconds later, two identical young faces framed by jet black hair were looking at him from the large vehicle’s back seat. The front doors opened, causing Roger to step back.

“Forgive my great-grandsons, Mr. Cicero. I am happy to see them finally behaving like boys.” The comment didn’t make sense to the attorney who was now looking at Dominic De Luca over the roof of the man’s car.

“Mr. De Luca.” Roger inclined his head, now knowing exactly who had been following him.

“It seems Santino was correct in assuming Edward Vitale would leave his estate to you. He has always been jealous that Mr. Vitale found this property before he did. Welcome to the family, officially, Mr. Cicero.” Roger’s confusion grew, but his emotions were hidden behind his practiced mask. “May we talk inside? I’d offer the car, but as you can see, my young wards take up a disproportionate amount of space.”

. . .

“I assure you I had no idea one of Santino’s soldiers had reopened Eddie’s books. That man, Jason Rizzo, is now dead. He was killed by the outside organization he was working with, but I assume you already knew that.” Roger never had a reason to speak with Dominic De Luca beyond a few short and casual conversations, and he wasn’t sure how to interpret many of the small, suggestive comments the powerful man made.

They sat on the bleacher bench Dom’s bodyguard and the teens were able to extend. A shriek pulled their eyes out onto the gym floor where Thomas and Brendon each had a young, giggling boy wrapped in their arms. Brendon had discovered a small, foam ball under the bleachers, but it lay forgotten once more as the made-up game of dodge-tag dissolved into a tickle war. Dom’s driver and Sandra stood on different sides of the gym, glancing suspiciously at each other occasionally while watching both the playing boys and the talking men.

“The organization calls themselves The Deck,” Roger said. “All we know about them is that Charles Miller is one of fifty-four official members and at least ninety exploited boys have passed through his home in the last several years.”

Roger didn’t mask the venom he felt for Charles Miller or the mafioso who bankrolled the man’s operation. Dominic De Luca didn’t miss the thinly veiled accusation.

“I never approved of the business Eddie brought with him from New York. If it hadn’t been for the young lawyer working for him, I likely would have asked him to move on.” Dom looked at the man half his age. “I don’t completely understand what you were to him, but I can see that it was not completely consensual. Your anger towards Charles Miller and Jason Rizzo pleases me.”

Roger wasn’t sure what to say to the mafia boss sitting beside him. While he wasn’t afraid of the older man, Roger knew what he was capable of. His warmth and honestly were unexpected. The attorney decided to follow the advice he often gave clients before they took the stand and said nothing in response to the man’s confusing declaration.

“Edward Vitale was a Made Man, a recognized member of the Family. You are his heir. You are also a full-blooded Sicilian. That makes you family, Roger, whether you like it or not.” Dom looked to the young boys who were also family; boys he would never allow to follow in his footsteps as their father and grandfather had done. “There’s usually a vow of silence required, but attorney client privilege is good enough for me.”

“I’m retiring from the courtroom, Mr. De Luca. Thomas and the boys are where I want to spend my time.” Roger wasn’t sure how the mob boss would respond, but he knew he no longer wanted to defend members of the man’s organization, even if the man considered him a Made Man.

Dom paused, choosing his words carefully. After talking to the man and watching the teen he considered his son interact with the twins, Dom was certain he had judged the man correctly.

“There was a time I wouldn’t have let you walk away, but life has taught me that some people are simply too good to live the life I have lived.” Dom’s eyes never left the boys in the middle of the old, neglected gymnasium.

Roger followed the man’s gaze. Roger was very good at reading people, but even if he hadn’t been, it was clear that the old man loved his great-grandsons dearly.

“Perhaps we can help each other as family is meant to. I’ll make you a deal, Roger.” The man pulled two playing cards from his jacket and passed them to Roger. “I’m certain your friends will hunt them all down eventually, but not as fast as I can. As you are all too aware, time is not on your side.”

The attorney immediately understood what was being offered when he read the names and information written on the cards.

“And in return?” he asked carefully.

“I want you to take the boys.” The old man wiped away several tears. “I’m an eighty-two-year-old mobster, Roger. The son I raised is dead. The grandson I raised is sitting on death row. I won’t apologize for the life I’ve lived, but I want a better one for those boys.”

Roger silently considered the old man’s shocking request. Eight days before, kids were the farthest thing from Roger’s thoughts, but he had a seventeen-year-old that sometimes called him dad and a man who wasn’t likely to accept a ‘no,’ asking him to accept responsibility for nine-year-old twin boys.

“That’s a lot to consider,” Roger finally replied. “I’ll need to talk to Thomas.”

Dom laughed as he watched the mentioned teenager squeal as five little fingers dug into his ribs. Both men were fairly confident that Thomas would agree.

“Edward Vitale made you family, and I know you will give the boys a good, honest life.” There were no more tears, but Roger could hear the lingering emotion in the man’s voice. “Of course, I expect to see them often, Mr. Cicero.”

“You can’t just give kids away, Mr. De Luca. I’m not sure there are many judges who would entertain your proposal.” Roger was surprised by the old man’s genuine laugh.

“Say yes, and I will get any signatures you want on any documents you give me.” The man’s words reminded Roger who he was talking to.

“Any documents?” Roger asked, thinking beyond his immediate family.

“I haven’t always prioritized family, but that has changed as I’ve grown old. I am committed to helping my family in any way I can. As I’ve said, we’re family, Mr. Cicero.”

Roger shifted, feeling the weight of Eddie’s leather-bound book in his jacket pocket. He thought about the cards in his hand and Dominic De Luca’s words. Slowly he pulled out the book as he debated where it might do the most good. He had intended to give it to Daniel Janick, with the hope that someone in the Bureau would be able to decipher the code. Sighing, he held the small book out to the old man. The boys were his priority.

“I want to undo as much as I can. I don’t care about anything beyond the boys.” Dom took the book, opening it to a random page as Roger had done earlier.

“You honor my trust in you by giving this to me. These transactions are old. It is unlikely anything here will help.” The man sighed as well. “I will return your trust by asking Santino to help look for possible leads. Edward Vitale is much more his mess than yours, anyway.”

The man pulled a plain white card from a silver case. Ten numbers were printed on the front.

“I’m not used to asking, Mr. Cicero, but I beg you to consider my request.” The man stood before calling out to his great-grandsons. “It is time to be leaving, boys. Say goodbye to your brother and his boyfriend.”

Roger shook his head as Dominic De Luca looked at him once more. A sad but resolute smile stretched the old man’s weathered and wrinkled skin.