Marvel: Impregnation System

Chapter 136: Chapter 131: Cementing & Solidifying

Later that night,

"WHAT HAVE WE DONE!" Stefano threw a paper on top of a table that surrounded the other mob bosses.

"SLICK AIN'T JUST A MUTANT OR A MAN OF GOD, HE'S THE F*CKING BLACK KNIGHT!" Stefano exclaimed, grabbing his head in disbelief as every mob boss in the room clenched their trembling hands, the weight of the revelation hitting them like a tidal wave.

All except Joe, who leaned back with a knowing smile, seemingly unfazed by the chaos unraveling around him.

It wasn't that Joe wasn't surprised, no, the revelation had completely caught him off guard.

But while the others shuffled uneasily, their shock palpable, Joe simply stared at the ceiling in amazement, letting the moment wash over him with an almost serene curiosity.

"What we've done is heresy. In fact, we're the ones who went against God." Vinny's head collapsed into his hands, the weight of the realization crushing him.

He knew now, they couldn't push Ricky out of New York, nor could they stop him from coming back.

"Listen, I say we cut our losses and broker peace with Lucky-"

"HA!" Carlo burst out laughing at the sheer irony, shaking his head at the thought.

"The one right below Ricky, who probably wants to kill us all the most, has to be Lucky." Carlo sneered, adjusting his tie and slumping down in his seat.

"Lucky will never accept, he is gonna drive us all out-" Carlo didn't hold back, telling it how it was but it only made the bosses panic more.

"THEN WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO, STEW HERE WHILE HE GEARS UP TO KILL US ALL?" Tommy's voice cracked with desperation as he yelled at Carlo, his fists clenched.

He opened his mouth to retort, but the words faltered, catching in his throat and for once, even Carlo was at a loss.

"Everyone needs to calm down-" Joe's voice cut through the chaos, steady and measured, as his calculating gaze swept across the room.

He saw it, the perfect opportunity to take control, to wrap everything in his hands and shape it to his liking.

Fear, after all, was the most malleable force.

It could mold nations, forge civilizations, and right now, Joe was poised to reshape this meeting into something that suited him.

But even fear, for all its flexibility, could become overwhelming.

When it stacked too high, too fast, it didn't just bend, it crushed all those beneath it.

And in this room, the weight of it was suffocating, pressing down on everyone as tension rose higher and higher before another layer pressed onto them.

BAM

"NITTI'S DEAD!"

The door burst open, and one of Stefano's underlings stumbled in, his face pale and drenched in sweat as his voice cracked with urgency, and the words hung in the air.

The room froze as every boss went rigid, their expressions draining of color as though the very life had been sucked out of them.

Fear rippled through the air, tightening its grip on each one of them.

As the weight of uncertainty piled onto their subconscious, it began to stew, seeping into the corners of their minds and forcing each man to confront the stark reality before them.

One by one, they gulped down the bitter truth, their faces betraying the storm of thoughts swirling within.

For some, the strain was manageable, a heavy burden but not an insurmountable one.

Yet for others, the pressure crept relentlessly, gnawing at their resolve and sometimes, all it took was one crack, a single fracture in their composure, for the entire formation to give out.

"T-That's it, I'm going back to my territory and fortifying it!" Stefano blurted, his anxious manner bursting forth as he rushed out of the room.

The scene triggered a domino effect as one by one, the bosses and underbosses, men who were once feared and commanded respect, began to follow suit, their anxiety palpable as they hurried to secure their territories from the inevitable.

Yet amidst the chaos and retreat, two remained, unmoved by the storm that had swept through the room.

"So Profaci, I guess it is just us now so I was thinking-"

"It's over, Joe." Profaci slowly stood up, buttoning the end of his suit as Joe immediately launched to his feet.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Joe's voice was grave, his eyes unsightly while staring daggers at Profaci.

"Look around. Look at what just happened, the mob bosses, men feared in every corner of this city, scrambling like cowards, afraid their own asses might hit them on the way out the door." Profaci's voice dripped with disdain as he rubbed his pinky ring, the motion deliberate, his eyes briefly flicking toward the door as he let his hand drop and fixed his gaze on Joe, his expression sharp and calculating.

"And all because of what Slick did to Nitti." Profaci raised his gaze, knowing that their hands were both stained from that attempted matter.

"You don't know that Slick-"

"It's over, Joe. I know he knows." Profaci shook his head, his tone heavy with finality.

He watched Joe, who was still struggling, writhing like a fish out of water, holding on to hope until the bitter end.

"Ha~" Joe laughed out, holding his face as the calm exterior layer he wore started to crumble.

"IT AIN'T OVER PROFACI, IT'S JUST GETTING STARTED!" Joe roared behind the retreating Profaci who simply smiled.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN WALK AWAY WITH THIS, AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE, AFTER WHAT WE'VE DONE!" Joe screamed, his voice thick with anger and desperation but Profaci didn't flinch as he kept walking toward the door, his steps measured and calm. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"PROFACI, DON'T TURN YOUR BACK TO ME, TO THE COMMISSION WE-" Joe tried to guilt him, trying everything at this point but Profaci simply closed the door behind him.

Getting into the car waiting for him, he gazed out the window, his thoughts almost unreadable, lost in the depths of his mind, until he finally arrived home.

Sitting in his chair, overlooking the fireplace, a slow, satisfied smile curled at the corners of his lips as he watched the embers dance in the hearth.

The warmth of the fire reflected in his eyes, the flickering flames mirroring the quiet satisfaction he felt deep inside.

Meanwhile in D.C,

Night slowly crept in, enveloping the room in its quiet embrace and yet, instead of feeling Ricky's arms wrapped securely around Raven, sharing his warmth through the long hours, she stirred awake to the chilling emptiness around her.

"Ricky?" Raven's voice was soft and groggy as she blinked herself awake, rubbing her eyes to clear the haze of sleep.

Her gaze settled on him, seated at the end of the bed, shoulders hunched in deep contemplation.

"Ricky~" Raven's voice carried a soft, teasing lilt as she wrapped her arms around his back as her lips brushed against his ear in a gentle kiss before she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling that warmth pressed against her naked and supple body.

"Huh? Oh, my bad, I was just thinking," Ricky said, snapping out of his contemplation as his eyes met Raven's as she offered him a soft smile, her hand gently caressing his chin.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Raven asked tentatively, her voice laced with care, not wanting to push him into confronting something he wasn't ready to share.

Sigh

"It's just-"

SIGH

Ricky ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed straight ahead as the weight of his thoughts was evident, though he remained silent.

Raven, sensing his turmoil, simply hugged him a little tighter, offering her quiet support without pressing for more.

"There's this guy-no, he's not a guy but someone I considered family." Ricky muttered, his voice low and strained as his eyes dropped to the floorboards beneath his feet, his thoughts seemingly heavier than the words he spoke.

"But he crossed a line, my line." Ricky said, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken pain.

"One you just can't come back from, not in my eyes." Ricky sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that seemed to echo from his soul, knowing the inevitable truth: he would have to kill a man he once deeply respected.

"What are you going to do?" Raven asked softly, her eyes fixed on him since she'd never seen Ricky this disheartened before, and it caught her off guard as much as it pained her.

"Something I really don't want to do, but something that I think is necessary." Ricky admitted, closing his eyes as he leaned back.

Raven chuckled softly, moving just in time to catch him, wrapping her arms around him as he fell into her embrace.

"I know that feeling all too well," Raven murmured, her gaze drifting off into the distance.

The room grew silent as they sat in the warmth of each other's embrace, both lost in their own thoughts and after a moment, she looked back down at Ricky, her expression soft but knowing.

"Ricky, do you love me-"

"Yeah." Ricky nonchalantly said, still looking off into the distance.

"At least think about it," Raven laughed out, her chuckle tinged with disbelief. Ricky smiled, feeling the warmth of her hands on him.

"I have, and I just do." Ricky replied, his words filled with so much and yet, he said it so easily.

"This kind of thing isn't something I can just magically control." Ricky looked up, his gaze meeting hers, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

Despite everything he could and couldn't change, one thing was undeniable, he had fallen for her.

And that, he realized, was the one thing he didn't want to control, which made him feel a tad conflicted.

Recently, he had been a little too controlling with Raven, trying to manage every aspect of their relationship, but now, with this feeling creeping in, he was questioning himself.

There was something about her, something that made him so enamored with her, that he couldn't stop wanting her by his side.

But in doing so, he realized he might have been suffocating her, and that thought left him uneasy.

He didn't want to lose what they had, but he also didn't want to be the kind of man who controlled the very thing he loved.

It was a new experience for him, walking the fine line between his feelings and sometimes, you couldn't plan these things, no matter how hard you tried, you had to let them unfold on their own.

"Well, aren't you going to ask if I love you?" Raven teased, rubbing his cheek with a warm smile that stretched across her face without her even realizing it.

"Nah, I already know." Ricky flashed a sly smile, looking up at the naked blue goddess as she gently massaged his head.

"Oh, so you don't need me to tell you?" Raven scoffed, a playful chuckle escaping her as she tried to maintain a pretend angry face while Ricky slowly stood up and turned to her.

"Oh no, it's all I ever want to hear." Ricky crawled closer, his eyes locked on hers as she gently pushed his smiling face away.

"But then why should I say it?" Raven whispered, playing along as her lips brushed against his.

"I already know you love me," Ricky said, his voice soft but teasing, their breaths dancing in

"It's just when you admit it, it drives me crazy." Ricky kissed her collarbone, and Raven turned her head, but he gently pulled her back, his eyes full of desire.

"Tell me you love me. Ricky whispered in her ear, his hand slipping down her supple body as she bit her lip at his descending touch.

"I-"

"Raven."

"I love you~"

30 minutes later,

Lying in Ricky's embrace, Raven smiled as his heartbeat softly pulsed in her ear as she relished the warmth of his arms around her, his hands gently caressing her orange hair, each touch sending a wave of comfort through her.

"So, are we going to talk about how you simply revealed to everyone that you are the Black Knight?" Raven hummed out, moving her chin and placing it on his chest as he laughed.

"I know, right? How f*cking funny were the faces they made?" Ricky laughed, still amused as he replayed the scene in his mind, watching the confusion on their faces as they scrambled, completely unable to comprehend what he'd just said.

Sigh

"Pretty funny, if I'm being honest." Raven sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips as she traced her finger lazily on his chest, unable to suppress the amusement creeping up on her.

"But I thought you were going to keep it a secret, continue to be the knight in shining armor," Raven teased, her eyes gleaming as she watched Ricky burst into laughter as he shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Well, if it's a secret, then how am I supposed to brag that I'm the Black Knight?" Ricky said, his tone light and playful.

"And the funny thing is, it's not even my juiciest secret," Ricky murmured, leaning in to peck her on the lips as he pulled back slowly, letting the weight of his words hang in the air between them.

"I guess we have our secrets," Raven said, her voice soft but full of meaning as Ricky couldn't help himself, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned in closer.

"Wait until I unravel all of yours," Ricky cheesily proclaimed, unable to help himself.

They both laughed for a while, the sound filling the room with warmth, until a quiet and subtle silence settled between them.

Ricky, lost in the moment, absentmindedly drew light circles on Raven's shoulder, his fingers tracing gentle patterns.

Then, as if pulled from the calm, Raven's expression shifted as a thought bubbled up in her mind, something she couldn't ignore and she glanced at Ricky, her voice soft but laced with curiosity.

"Hey, tiger, if you win, what are you going to do with all that money?" Raven suddenly asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Ricky laughed, his hand gently twirling a strand of her blue hair as he looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You know, I had some thoughts." Ricky replied, his voice dropping slightly, his eyes gleaming with something deeper.

"I think I'm going to start a foundation just for mutants and their rights." Ricky's words immediately made Raven's expression shift instantly, her curiosity piqued.

This was a topic Ricky had spent a long time pondering after numerous consultations with Chester and Alexander, seeking their opinions, he finally reached a conclusion: he wanted to establish a foundation for mutants.

If Ricky did win, in all honesty, part of him wanted to pocket the money and splurge on a boatload of things, but he knew he had to think long-term.

On the surface, the foundation would give him legitimacy, a sort of platform to rally mutants around his cause.

It could earn him a level of respect in public circles, strengthening the image he was carefully crafting for himself in the very courtrooms, cultivating that symbol status.

But most of all, it was a front, as that carefully cultivated image would simply be a vehicle to draw mutants to him.

The cruelest thing about this plan was that he saw mutants, his own kind, as mere raw material for his family, the Luciano family, the very organization he wanted to reshape into something even greater than it already was.

He wanted to cultivate loyalty, to plant seeds of his ideals in the most talented, and indoctrinate the most promising few of the mutants drawn to him.

At first he might not get the luxury of picking and choosing, but the main part of it was the development.

Just like the Italians who had grown up with that unshakable sense of belonging to the mob, Ricky wanted that same culture, that same deep-rooted family bond, but he envisioned it with mutants as well.

Ricky wanted for mutants to slowly ingrain themselves in that culture, in that loyalty, and all the respect that came with being part of the Luciano family.

Ricky understood how loyalty within the mafia has been used as a means of control, power, and stability.

It's not just about mutual respect or camaraderie; it's about creating a binding force that ensures everyone in the family is indebted to one another.

By making mutants feel like they truly belong within the Luciano family, he's ensuring that they're more than just pawns in the family's power play.

Ricky ensuring that they're devoted; loyal assets, loyalty that's not just about respect, but about the sense of purpose and belonging that comes with being part of a powerful, close-knit organization like the Luciano family.

Ricky wanted them to feel like they truly belonged and only belonged to him, like they weren't just outcasts with their abilities unless outside of his area of influence, but integral members that were valued for who they were and what they could contribute.

To Ricky, from all of Lucky's teachings, family wasn't just a word; it was a concept steeped in history, tradition, and a sense of duty that tied everyone together.

It was that connection, that unspoken bond of loyalty, that had allowed the mob to thrive for generations.

He wanted mutants to experience that, he wanted it to be his mark on the Luciano family, and it will all start with that foundation.

"All the money I get from this trial will be donated to build my mutant foundation, just can't seem to come up with a name." Ricky rubbed his chin, clearly struggling, naming things was never his strong suit.

Raven sat up slightly, leaning in to hear him better, her fingers brushing against his as she processed his words with an almost baffled expression.

"R-Ricky, that's millions-"

"Whatever, I already have plenty of money anyway. This will go toward something good instead of just buying bigger houses and fancier cars." Ricky lied through a toothy smile, softening his tone as he looked at Raven, who was speechless.

"I think you were right about mutants." Ricky continued, pulling Raven closer, his hands wrapping around her as she lay, stunned, against his chest.

"I think it's time I started stepping up. And this is how I want to do it." Ricky knew this would not only advance his goals but also earn him some extra points with Raven, which was exactly why he said it.

"Ricky, I don't know what to say, that's amazing." Raven smiled, kissing his chest and nuzzling up to him, her heart swelling with pride for him.

"It's also why I wanted to ask you but, since you might have a lot of connections within the mutant community, if you would do me a favor?" Ricky asked, starting a playful banter with Raven.

"Could you introduce me to someone who might want to lead the foundation?" Ricky suddenly asked as Raven froze in place.

In all honesty, and from the tone of his voice, it should've been painfully obvious that Ricky wanted Raven to lead his foundation.

It was almost too clear to miss.

But for some reason, whether it was because she genuinely wanted to help Ricky to the best of her abilities, or because she thought so little of herself, she didn't catch on.

In her mind, despite her vast connections and long lifespan that gave her a deep understanding of mutant culture, she still believed there were others better suited for the role, even though, in reality, she was perfect for it.

"I-What?" Raven was immediately taken off guard, her head sitting up and looking at Ricky who nodded.

"I'm new to the community and I don't really have the connections, so I was wondering if you could help me out?" Ricky stood up as well, essentially offering her the position, but the misunderstanding made Raven duck her head, unsure of how to respond.

"Why, isn't this what you wanted?" Ricky asked, taking her hand as she looked to the side and laughed awkwardly.

"No, I-I'll do just that." Raven replied, her heart tinged with a little pain as she thought so lowly of herself that she completely missed that he was giving it to her, on a silver platter.

But Raven's own inferiority complex seemed to get in the way as it always did, making her feel worthless and undeserving to even think she had the qualities to achieve it.

"In fact, I'll do it right now." Raven laughed nervously again, standing up and walking to the side, with Ricky following closely behind.

"Raven are you upset-" Ricky, thinking he did something wrong, asked only for Raven to wipe her eyes.

"No, but I can tell how important this is to you and I want to do my best to help." Rave forced a smile, walking over to the door and shutting it in Ricky's face before he could even reply.

Bam

"Wait the f*ck just happened?" Ricky, who was literally holding a naked Raven in his arms for like five seconds, looked down at his hands squeezing literally nothing.

"Woman, man." Ricky plopped onto the bed with a haggard sigh, because sometimes women were the most beautiful creatures, and other times, the most confusing.

Ring

Ring

Suddenly, the phone nearby started to ring, and Ricky reached over, letting the call come through without answering right away.

"Hello, is this Ricky, Ricky Luciano?" A familiar tone spoke through the phone as Ricky rubbed his head, trying to remember who it was.

"Yeah, what do you want?" Ricky, clearly in a sour mood, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's Frances, the women whose car you-"

"Oh sh*t, Frances, yeah, I remember now." Ricky's head jerked up, his smile curling as he spoke into the phone as everyone else faded into the background.

"I wanted to call and say that it isn't any trouble and-"

"Nonsense, I put your car in that state and I want to do right by you-"

"N-No, it's really fine and-"

"Then if you won't let me fix it, at least let me take you out to dinner, and then you can never see me again." Ricky didn't want this fish to slip off the hook, so he reeled it in slowly.

"....." Frances was silent on the other line, biting her nail before closing her eyes, weighing her options.

"Alright, thank you."

"Great, send over your information and I'll come pick you up," Ricky said as Frances gave him her address before hanging up the phone.

"Just tell him off, Frances. He's the one who put Tommy in this mess." Frances took a deep breath while telling herself, looking to the side at a picture of not only herself but Dewey as well.

Later that night,

Car lights shone on the skinny house as Ricky got out, walking up with a bunch of groceries in hand, a smile spreading across his face while looking towards not the house, but the mission from before.

[Mission Received: Frances Hutt Dewey]

Difficulty: Medium

Character Sheet: C+

Frances, the wife of Thomas Dewey, has long been the epitome of a devoted and loyal partner. As a stay-at-home wife, she has faithfully supported her husband's career and ambitions, standing by him through every challenge. Yet, the past few years have taken their toll on her. Dewey, consumed by his work and relentless in his pursuit to reclaim the success he once had, has distanced himself from Frances emotionally. Their home, once filled with shared conversations and mutual support, has become a place of isolation for her. In reality, Frances has been left to bear the weight of her loneliness in silence. She's given up her own desires, her own needs, for the sake of Dewey's ambitions. And as his work continues to pull him further away, Frances finds herself yearning for the attention, companionship, and love that has long been absent from her life.

Objective: Help Frances regain her lost wants and fulfill her unmet needs

Reward: 50,000 IP

Main Mission:

Impregnante Once:

Rewards: 100 Gacha or Frances Skill's

Impregnate Twice:

Rewards: ?????????

Additional Missions:

Have Frances Open herself up to you(Incomplete)

Reward: Rare Item Coupon

Impregnate Frances In Dewey's Home(Incomplete)

Reward: Epic Skill Coupon

Impregnate Frances In Dewey's office(Incomplete)

Reward: Epic Item Coupon

Bonus Missions:

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Knock

Knock

The door opened, revealing Frances, who was about to walk out, only to freeze as she saw Ricky take a step inside.

"Slight change of plans," Ricky said, his words making Frances pale.

"Literally no restaurant will serve me while the trial is going on, so I'll just cook you dinner," Ricky shamelessly said as though it wasn't entirely false, he did want an excuse to be alone and close to her, but it wasn't false since no restaurant would dare serve him.

Upon walking in, France's gaze shifted to the numerous pictures of herself and Dewey together as she followed him inside, the door slowly closing shut behind them.

"R-Ricky, w-wait-"

"I know it's a little forward, but I do feel really bad for hitting you, and I make a killer sauce on spaghetti and meatballs, so let me at least do this for you," Ricky said smoothly. His words made Frances try to retort, but as she attempted to feel uncomfortable, she instead found herself at peace, walking beside him.

Ricky's mere presence made her loosen up her rigid form, almost like it was supposed to be this way.

"Nice kitchen," Ricky complimented, setting the groceries down as he glanced at Frances, who was nervously standing in place, unsure of what to do next.

Sigh

"Listen, I know the media is bashing me with a hammer right now, but I'm really not a crazy guy who just goes around doing weird sh*t," Ricky laughed lightly, playing dumb. He knew Frances had probably already seen the papers and knew exactly who he was, but he didn't want her to know that he knew she was Dewey's wife.

Ricky relished in the allure of being the last one to find out, wanting it to feel as if she were in the wrong for something he'd known from the start.

Wanting her to feel obligated, as if she owed him a moment of her time, so he could worm his way under her skin, into her thoughts, and then finally unload a bucket of his cum inside her.

"If you're really scared of me, I'll leave, but I truly want to show how sorry I am for inconveniencing you like that and make up for the damage." Ricky said genuinely, showing his sincerity and lacing his words without a proper meaning while placing his hand on his heart.

Frances bit down on her lip, wanting to say no, but her mother had always told her that you had to let people offer their apologies so that you could give them your forgiveness.

At heart Frances was a good woman, a good wife, a good hostess, and it was a shame that it would be the reason she would fall into his clutches.

"A-Alright, but only dinner." Frances said, walking over to the counter as Ricky laughed, his eyes turning into crescent moons as a grin spread across his face.

"Only dinner." Ricky nodded to her, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he slowly began taking out the ingredients, all while she watched closely, before reaching for a bottle of red wine.

"Want a glass?" Ricky asked, already pouring one for himself. Frances smiled and nodded, still feeling incredibly awkward.

"So, what does a fine girl like yourself do for a living?" Ricky asked, brushing aside the awkwardness as he handed her a glass of red wine before taking a sip of his own.

"I-I am a stay-at-home wife," Frances replied, nodding at Ricky cordially as she took a light sip of her wine. Ricky began chopping vegetables, not missing a beat.

"How about that, so, who's the lucky man?" Ricky pressed, his tone teasing as Frances immediately let out an awkward laugh, caught off guard.

"He's a lawyer, but he's away on business," Frances explained, letting out a nervous laugh as she sheepishly took another sip of her wine while not specifically telling him who he was.

"Is he any good? Maybe I could use his help," Ricky laughed heartily, his tone joking as he poured the tomato sauce into the pot.

"Hahahahaha, maybe." Frances replied, her nervousness seeping into her laughter as she ducked her head, glancing down while Ricky tapped the tomato sauce can against the pot.

"Listen, Frances, if I'm making you uncomfortable, I can leave and do something else to make it up to you." Ricky paused, his actions coming to a halt as he turned to face her, his expression softening.

Looking at Frances, he just loved to see that tinge of guilt flashing on her face as if she was the bad guy in this scenario, trying to turn away his gestures to make things right as that guilt made Frances, who was silently sipping from her glass, her eyes avoiding his.

Frances opened her mouth to respond but quickly shut it, her head lowering in discomfort.

The moment felt unbearably awkward, but it wasn't that she hated Ricky, no, not exactly.

But being near him made her uneasy, especially after everything Dewey had said about him.

She wasn't in the dark about who Ricky was since Dewey never stopped warning her, constantly painting him as a looming threat, dangerous and unpredictable.

It was then that, if anyone really knew of Dewey's deterioration, it was Frances, since she had witnessed her husband's painful transformation, as he slowly shed the skin of the man she had once fallen in love with into that obsessive man.

While Ricky had scarcely thought of Dewey during his three-year absence, Dewey, on the other hand, couldn't get Ricky out of his mind as he seemed like a permanent resident.

Night after night, Dewey obsessed over how to exact his revenge, fixating on reclaiming the credibility he lost at the border while Frances stood by the side, watching it all.

So when Ricky, the man her husband loathed and the reason he was in prison, torn from her life stood before her, Frances couldn't shake her nerves.

The thought of Ricky discovering who she was, or worse, already knowing she was Dewey's wife, tightened a knot of anxiety in her chest.

This entire interaction unsettled her to the core as their first meeting left such a sour taste that any attempt to display an emotion beyond fear felt impossible.

"Frances," Ricky said thoughtfully, his tone soft as he leaned forward, locking eyes with her.

"Just tell me what's wrong-"

"Thomas Dewey is my husband!" Frances shouted, squeezing her eyes shut as she braced herself for the outburst she was certain would follow as the silence that greeted her, however, was almost worse.

She expected Ricky to shout, maybe even hit her since she'd heard stories of his violent tendencies but instead, as her eyes fluttered open, she saw the oddest expression on his face.

"Well, this is awkward," Ricky said with a sheepish laugh, leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck.

"To think I'm in the house of the man who tried to lock me up. This has to be even weirder for you too." Ricky tone was unsettlingly casual, as if he hadn't orchestrated every moment leading up to this.

Ricky wore an understanding expression, pretending he wasn't the one who had set all of this into motion.

But years ago, Ricky had told Dewey he would strip him of everything before finally killing him and that wasn't an empty threat.

Ricky had taken everything from Dewey, hell, he even took his identity, and all that he had left was one thing, Frances.

Frances was the cherry on top, the very thing that would solidify his revenge against Dewey and utterly crush him.

"I-I'm sorry, I know you came here to make things right-"

"No, I get it. This must be why you didn't want anything from me," Ricky interrupted gently, raising a hand in understanding.

Ricky tried to offer a sympathetic smile as Frances nervously rubbed her shoulder, forcing a silence that was thickening by the second, only broken by the soft bubbling of the tomato sauce in the pot.

Ricky let the awkwardness linger, intentionally dragging out the tension before he would strike.

"Listen, Frances." Ricky began, his voice silken and so soothing that it made her face his green, charming eyes.

"For what it's worth, I have nothing against you." Ricky gestured toward her as he slowly walked to the side.

"But I can tell my presence here might not be welcome, so I'll just take my leave." Ricky backed away, his steady eye contact and the tone of his words disarmed Frances, leaving her unexpectedly at ease.

Which is why she suddenly blurted out that one word that cemented this evening.

"W-Wait."

Frances thought she'd feel relieved at his departure, but instead, guilt crept in.

Ricky didn't seem to fit this terrifying image that Dewey had always painted as he didn't come across as the threat she had been warned about, and she couldn't help but question her assumptions.

"I didn't mean to act this way." Frances stammered, her voice softer while gazing down at the floor.

"It's just, with everything going on, I thought you'd be angry, or worse-"

"I'm not that monster they depict me as in the papers," Ricky said with a laugh, spreading his arms before pointing to himself.

"I'm just a regular guy who can protect himself from a speeding bullet," Ricky described himself, then tilted his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, I guess I'm not a regular guy since I can stop a bullet, so maybe... semi-regular guy?" Ricky asked, a playful grin on his face as Frances couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Semi-regular guy, so, a mutant?" Frances repeated, never having heard the term before as she added her own twist with a playful joke, only to flinch at her haphazard approach.

Cough

"I-I didn't mean-"

"Ha!" Ricky cut her off with an exaggerated laugh, intentionally lightening the mood, making sure the awkward tension didn't settle between them.

Frances couldn't help but join in, that rigidness loosening up from her shoulders as the atmosphere shifted to something more playful.

"So, can I still make you dinner?" Ricky asked, taking a step toward the kitchen, gesturing to the meal already laid out as Frances hesitated for a moment, looking at him, her thoughts racing.

'Why not, I mean, what's the worst that could happen?'

"I mean, it's already made-.....it'd be a shame to waste it." Frances said, forcing a small but nervous smile as she sipped her wine.

"Perfect." Ricky grinned, his eyes turning into crescent moons while turning back toward the stove.

"Spaghetti and meatballs it is."

Ricky moved easily around the kitchen, his motions smooth and practiced, as if he'd done this a hundred times before.

The rich aroma of simmering tomato sauce filled the room, blending with the faint scent of garlic as the meatballs sizzled.

Frances watched him, still unsure, but the wine helped loosen her nerves and maybe this wasn't as bad as she'd imagined.

"So tell me about yourself, who is the famous Frances." Ricky side-eyed her, preparing the meal as she refilled the glass at how weird the situation was for her.

"Well I'm a stay at home-"

"No, like, who are you?" Ricky raised an eyebrow and turned around to see Frances showing a confused expression.

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean Mr. Luciano-"

"Mr. Luciano is my father, just call me Ricky." Ricky waved her away, wanting to be as informal as possible.

"I still don't understand the question, Ricky." Frances gestured to Ricky who rubbed his forehead while trying to find the words.

"It's not like, what you do, exactly, but more about what you 'want' to do, or like, what you 'enjoy', I guess?" Ricky stumbled over his words, clearly struggling to express himself as he wasn't sure how to ask the question that was on his mind.

In truth, Ricky wanted to know more about who Frances was beyond being a stay-at-home wife to bring her out of her shell, to get her talking.

"Oh, well, that's-I-" Frances started to respond, but Ricky's question made her pause as she understood what he was asking, yet the words just wouldn't come.

"I-" Frances let out a small laugh, feeling strangely flustered and embarrassed by her inability to answer.

Slowly, her eyes drifted down to her glass of wine as the deep red liquid reflected her face, and she noticed the bewildered smile creeping onto her lips.

The only thing that came to mind was 'a stay-at-home wife' and it was because of that answer that it was so unsettling to realize that her entire identity had been reduced to that, leaving her with no easy response to Ricky's seemingly simple question.

"Do you have any hobbies, things you like?" Ricky refused to let this opportunity go, seeing how vulnerable she was at this moment and continued to press.

"Of course, I do many things," Frances blurted out, quickly downing the rest of her wine.

Then, Frances tried to recall the things she once enjoyed, but the truth began to settle in as she realized most of what filled her days now were simple tasks.

Dewey had always been busy with work, and over the past five years, she'd done everything she could to distract herself from the growing sense of neglect.

Cleaning, cooking, attending neighborhood meetings, it all kept her occupied, but none of it truly made her happy.

It was just a way to pass the time, a way to fill the void, but nothing she could honestly say she loved doing.

It made her eyes lower, the weight of the realization pressing onto her chest as the silence lingered between them.

In this time of silence, Ricky's eyes suddenly bolstered as he used the favorability meter to check Frances.

Favorability: 49 (Feel comfortable around you but not to the point of giving in)

'I guess I should close the distance, sow the seeds of hostility, and then get into her pants,' Ricky thought, refilling their glasses while she was caught up in her existential crisis.

"Alright, let's get down to the bones of it, what makes you happy, Frances?" Ricky tapped the table, the sound jarring Frances, pulling her attention toward him as she caught the look of his smile.

The sauce needed to simmer, and at that time, Ricky was going to use his skills to their fullest. He walked over and took a seat on the stool next to her.

Immediately, Frances felt a strange comfort when Ricky sat next to her in such an unnerving way, as if that anxious feeling dissipated the moment he entered a certain radius.

Ricky knew that his mere presence would gradually make her feel more comfortable.

Once she was sufficiently at ease, even his scent would draw illicit sparks and now, he just needed to wait for the right moment.

"I liked-like, I like to paint." Frances almost said it in the past tense, referring as if she didn't anymore but those memories of her painting when she was younger filled her with a sense of warmth and happiness she had almost forgotten.

"You do?" Ricky asked, leaning in and resting his head on his hand.

"Do you do portraits or free range?" Ricky added, knowing a little about painting and Frances chuckled at his attempt to sound knowledgeable.

"I've only ever painted bowls of fruit, it's stupid," Frances murmured, looking down at her work, convinced she wasn't good enough as Ricky shook his head, a soft smile on his lips as he disagreed silently.

"Well, now I have to see." Ricky stood up, catching Frances off guard as she followed him to her feet.

"Are these it?" Ricky asked, walking over to the side and pointing at a painting as Frances let out a small laugh, clearly a little embarrassed.

"N-No, Dewey never liked them, and I decided to put them in the attic-Ricky!" Frances stammered, speaking about herself in a demeaning way.

But before she could finish, Ricky started walking upstairs, and she called out after him, a mix of surprise and hesitation in her voice.

'Jackpot.'

"Where are you going!" Frances embarrassingly chased after Ricky who started laughing while climbing her stairs.

"To see the paintings you're trying to hide from the world!" Ricky laughed excitedly, and Frances hurriedly chased after him.

As she reached the top of the stairs, Ricky pulled down the attic ladder, the creaky sound of it echoing as it slowly descended.

"Ricky!" Frances exclaimed, her face flushing a deep red as she reached out to grab him, desperate to pull him back.

But he slipped through her fingers, disappearing into the attic before she could stop him.

In that moment, panic washed over her as the thought of him seeing those paintings filled her with dread.

They weren't just canvases to her; they represented her passion, her escape from the mundane routine of her life.

The vibrant colors, the swirling forms, they brought her joy that she rarely felt elsewhere.

But that joy was fragile, easily shattered by the fear of judgment and whenever someone spoke down about her art or dismissed it as trivial, it cut deep, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Each brushstroke was a piece of her heart laid bare, and the thought of Ricky mocking or belittling them made her stomach churn.

Peeking her head up into the attic slowly, the weight of her emotions bore down on her as Frances felt a swell of despair rising in her chest, threatening to spill over.

Hurriedly climbing the stairs, Frances' scared eyes widened as she saw Ricky already holding her paintings, though he was frozen in place.

The silence between them was palpable, heavy with tension, as she couldn't even muster the strength to fully step into the attic.

"Did you really paint this?" Ricky asked, pretending to be slightly breathless as Frances anxiously looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"I-well-you see, it was a first draft and-"

"They're beautiful, almost breathtaking," Ricky spoke, his voice sincere as he traced his fingers along the canvas, emphasizing the motion with Frances' head jerking up, her eyes wide with surprise.

"What?"

"I mean, the detail and the shading are amazing. Would you mind if I bought this off of you?" Ricky looked up with a smile, reaching into his coat all while Frances stood there, speechless.

"I only have about a thousand on me, but I can get more." Ricky gestured the cash towards her, his gaze seemingly captivated by the painting and slowly, a smile spread across Frances' face.

Frances couldn't believe it herself, but she couldn't hide the smile even if she wanted to as she shook her head, a mix of disbelief and joy crossing her face.

"N-No, you can just have it-"

"Nonsense, here." Ricky didn't let her finish, walking up to her and placing the money in her hands before she could protest.

"Ricky, this is way too much for a novice like me-"

"Frances, it honestly feels like I'm ripping you off." Ricky flattered her, placing his hand over his heart as he spoke with exaggerated sincerity as Frances stood on the ladder, still unsure how to react to the moment.

"Please take it, I literally won't let you just give it to me." Ricky patted her hand gently, his smile unwavering as Frances simply stared at the money, unsure of what to do.

Drip

A tear dropped onto the wad of money, and in that moment, Frances realized she had started crying.

Ricky set the painting down carefully, his attention shifting to her as the silent tension between them thickened.

"Frances?" Ricky asked, his voice soft, as he watched the tears consume her.

What started as a single droplet quickly turned into a full storm of emotion, her sobs growing louder.

Sniff

"Hic*

Tears streamed down Frances's cheeks as Ricky pulled her off the ladder, drawing her close as she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

It wasn't just the paintings, it was about everything.

Frances had fought so hard to be strong, to maintain a solid front ever since Dewey was convicted.

She felt she had to be a good wife, never complaining, even as the weight of her emotions became unbearable.

But it was because of this that years of pent-up feelings erupted within her at that moment, finally breaking free under the pressure of something good, something genuine, happening for a change in her somewhat unordinary life.

The past months had been hell for her.

At first it wasn't all too bad, everyone looked at Ricky instead of her with an intense scrutiny, holding him responsible for what was happening.

But after his loss, along with the accusations of murder that followed, it felt as if the knives that had been aimed at Ricky were now pointed at her.

Fear enveloped her; she couldn't even leave her house without feeling nauseous most of the time.

The first time she had ventured out, she had collided with Ricky, and that encounter had sent her spiraling back into a state of terror.

But now, here was Ricky, the very person her husband was determined to persecute and all that hate, was the only one showing genuine care for something she loved.

That simple act broke her further.

She cried even harder, the realization crashing over her that the only person willing to offer her comfort was someone she had only met a few days ago.

The loneliness she had tried to ignore was now an open wound, and it hurt more than she had ever expected.

"It's okay, it's okay~" Ricky held her close, seeing her at her lowest point as she sniffled on his shoulder.

"I-I'm sorry." Frances looked up, her eyes filled with tears as she gazed into his green eyes, which seemed to charm her to her very core.

"Don't be sorry." Ricky smiled warmly, taking her into his embrace and resting his hand on her cheek.

Now, in his embrace, she felt safer than ever as her senses were overwhelmed by his scent, slowly stirring a passion that bloomed in the depths of their eyes.

It was wrong; she was married, and she was supposed to love her husband until death did them part but despite that, she couldn't help but slowly close her eyes as Ricky began to lean in.

Their lips touched, and Frances knew how wrong it was to be held not just by another man, but by the one responsible for her husband's downfall.

But Frances didn't want to be alone; she couldn't bear the thought of leaving the comfort that surrounded her.

Every facet of Ricky pulled her deeper into the moment, making it harder to resist, until Ricky's hands gently glided along her body and whispered four words that forever sealed her fate under his touch.

'Wet to the touch.'