Chapter Sixty-Nine

Sly barely stifled a giggle as he loitered outside of the bathroom, waiting impatiently for Frankie to discover his prank. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of Frankie's reaction. He'd discovered that his older brother was a lot of fun to tease, always giving a grand performance by shouting, yelling or cursing to cover up a sudden jolt of fear or surprise.

Frankie bent in toward the mirror to get a good look at his face. His fingers moved over the wound on his temple, noting that it didn't seem to be scarring. Lucky for him, none of Frank's blows had seriously broken his skin or bones on his face over the years. Frank was fonder of backhanding him or punching him on the jaw. Frankie grimaced and looked at his teeth. Three of them were crooked on the bottom because they had come loose after Frank's poundings. They had never properly settled back into place. Maxie seemed to like his face, so maybe it was good that his permanent injuries weren't immediately noticeable - except for the leg of course. Frankie breathed in deeply and felt the catch in his lungs that he usually did upon inhaling. It was never going to go away - too much of his lung was missing.

Frankie sighed as washed his face and brushed his teeth. No way could this bathroom be compared to the one he'd had in his private suite. He recalled when he'd sung Bon Jovi songs, sliding across the marble floor with his socked feet. Chuckling, he began humming a Bon Jovi song under his breath as he reached for his brush to give his hair one more grooming before he retired for the evening. He was a bit vain about his hair, even he knew that. Every hair had to be in place, and the haircut needed to be expert as image was vitally important to him. He idly wondered where in the world he could receive a good haircut in this backwater town. Stefan always looked good. Maybe he'd ask him. The cut they'd given him at the hospital was finally growing out. He wasn't sure if he liked the spiky look on top or not. The last thing he wanted to do was look like Jason Morgan. He shuddered and laughed under his breath.

Frankie caught movement in the corner of his eye, and his mouth hung open as his eyes grew larger. "Ahhhhhh!!!!" he shouted harshly as he instinctively dropped his brush into the toilet. He stood panting while looking down into the toilet bowl. His brush had been teaming with a handful of maggots squirming through the bristles. Now they were drowning in the toilet water and floating soggily to the surface. Frankie coughed and gagged as he held a hand to his chest. His stomach assaulted him with a violent feeling, but his eyebrows rose knowingly when he heard the peals of laughter outside of the bathroom door - Sly's laughter. Sly! Dat no good brat! Frankie hesitated and then let a slow grin crease his face into a malevolent expression of revenge. Haha. Just wait. Just wait.

~*~*~*~

Frankie reclined on his bed with his hands behind his head and a satisfied look of anticipation on his face. He patiently waited while Sly finished in the bathroom. Any second it would occur and revenge would be his. He heard Sly open the door to his room and close it. Soon, soon...

Sly walked around his room and opened and shut drawers as he prepared for bed. He selected an outfit for school the next day and draped it over his desk chair. He pulled the large concert teeshirt over his head and walked over to his bed. He wasn't really looking at the bed while he folded down the bedspread. He was thinking of listening to some music to help him relax before he went to sleep. He padded over to his CD player and turned the radio knob until he found an oldies station that he liked. Satisfied with the music and volume, he returned to his bed and sat down on its edge. Sighing, he lay down on his side and let his blond hair spill over the surface of his pillow. Frowning, he rose from his pillow and turned to look at it as something felt cold and weird about it - sort of squishy. His mouth involuntarily opened wide with a short scream that sounded like a high pitched screech. Two slimy nightcrawlers had been placed lengthwise along the surface of his pillow, and they were still squirming in protest. Their extreme length only added to Sly's horror with their proximity to his face. He frowned when he heard the loud guffaw on the other side of the wall. Frankie! Frankie pounded on the wall just to let Sly know he was having a good time.

With a determined look on his face, Sly picked up the nightcrawlers with a sock protecting his hand and marched out of his bedroom. He stood in front of Frankie's room and knocked hard on his door. "Yes?" Frankie's impudent and falsely innocent voice rang out.

"Open the door," Sly ordered.

Frankie couldn't wait to see the expression on Sly's face, so he stupidly flung the door wide open. Sly threw the nightcrawlers at Frankie, and one caught in the boy's hair while the other coiled around his neck. Sly stuck his tongue out at his brother while Frankie looked enraged and afraid at the same time. Anger won out, and Frankie hopped out into the hall and threw the nightcrawlers toward Sly's swiftly retreating back. "Oh man," Sly said as he felt the soft squishiness hit his shoulders. Sighing, he picked up the stunned nightcrawlers and walked toward the garage to place them back into their rightful home in the bait box.

Frankie shook his head as he returned to his bedroom. Dis is more fun dan blackmailing Nikolas.

~*~*~*~

Next day...

Frankie looked behind him at Alexis' car, which had pulled away from the parking lot. Sly steadily pushed his wheelchair toward the high school door, and he suddenly felt trapped, like he didn't want to go, like he wanted to run back to Alexis' car and jump back in - if he could run that is. He'd only been to the high school for ten days before he'd returned to Atlantic City for spring break, and he hadn't gotten used to the rhythms and mysteries of public school.

Frankie was only taking geometry, astronomy and English until the end of the school year. He'd finish his studies in history and French on his own, at home on his computer. Luckily, Luke had consented to allow him to have lunch at the school so he could hang out with his friends - Maxie in particular. The Spencer family had worked out an elaborate plan where Alexis would drop the boys off at school, and Luke would pick Frankie up and transport him to his appointments in the afternoon. Frankie thought it was a waste of time. Why didn't he just hire a bodyguard? Frankie had his eye on several men who were still working in the newly reformed Smith organization, and he knew that at least one of them would jump at the opportunity for a cushy job of protecting him and driving him places. He'd definitely suggest that after dinner tonight. He might as well make his millions work for him.

Frankie took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as Sly pushed him through the doors into the school. What were people saying about him? Surely, his rep was secure since he'd been suspended. People respected guys who were dangerous - didn't they? Frankie flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles as a mask of superiority and indifference invaded his features. He had no intention of allowing anyone to notice that he was in a wheelchair. He wasn't weak, and no way would it be acceptable to think so. He was still on top, or at least that's what he tried to convince himself as his stomach clenched and his eyes widened at the crowds of teenagers roaming the halls, teens that shot him glances of pity or amusement.

Sly noticed the unwanted attention that they were receiving and so he chattered away, hoping to take their minds off of it. "I am so glad that Dad pulled me out of that horrible gym class. All we did was run a bunch of laps and try not to get beaten up by the bullies. That teacher is just collecting a paycheck."

"And flirtin' on da job," Frankie inserted.

Sly chuckled. "Yeah, that, too." He sighed deeply. "I hope my grades don't fall because of this suspension. I'm a freshman now. These grades will count forever."

"And ever and ever," Frankie answered with a wave of his hand in attempt to tease his brother out of his fears.

Sly shrugged. "Okay. So I'm making a big deal out of nothing."

"We did our homework. Dey have to give us da grades we earned."

"You're right." Sly paused. "You seem awfully nervous, though. What's wrong?"

Frankie adjusted his leg in his wheelchair and pulled irritably on the neck of his sweater with a shaking hand. "Nothin'," he gritted out. He cleared his throat. "Um, you've been real good to me, pushing me around and stuff. Thanks."

Sly stopped in front of Frankie's first class. "It's no big deal," he said softly. "I have permission to take you to your next class. Do you need help?"

Frankie's face set, and he shook his head no. "I gotta practice getting around by myself. If I don't get dis leg in shape soon, I'll buy a motorized wheelchair. But I'm okay for now. Thanks." He looked straight ahead, refusing to meet Sly's gaze. He'd already steeled himself for getting through a day he had no control over.

~*~*~*~

Luke and Johnny met Stefan in his office for a box lunch and the opportunity to discuss the safety of Frankie and the people around him. Luke had already been in Stefan's office before, but this was the first time for Johnny who cautiously looked around him, trying to get a read on the man. He felt amused when he noticed that Stefan had almost identical decorating tastes as Frankie. Those two do have a lot in common. Frankie seems drawn to him.

Stefan sat down at his small conference table and handed the box lunches to Luke and Johnny. Luke picked his up and looked at it curiously as he opened the lid. Chicken salad on croissants? Isn't this chick food? His eyes met Stefan's.

"Place the blame on my secretary," Stefan said with a twitch of amusement turning up the corners of his mouth. "She tends to order what she prefers."

Luke waved away the apology. "Food's food," he said gruffly as he reached for the potato chips and uncapped the bottled water.

"Gentlemen, what have we discovered since we last met?" Stefan asked in his customarily gracious manner of jumpstarting a meeting.

"Word on the streets is that Frank Smith Junior is no longer considered a threat or a presence in the underground economy," Johnny said matter of factly. The mafia is currently active in Port Charles, but that's a concern for Sonny Corinthos, not us."

Stefan nodded. "You're certain that no mob players are responsible for the harassment of Frankie?"

Johnny shifted in his seat with a serious look on his face. "I did my homework. All of my contacts came through and insisted that Frankie is in no danger."

"That's a relief," Luke said with a sigh. "At least he's safe in that case." Luke took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a minute as his mind churned. "Alexis is still checking on the various government agencies, but she knows without a doubt that the FBI isn't responsible for Frankie's tail. She spoke with them extensively and learned that Frankie's file has been closed. He's no longer considered a public threat after the death of Frank Smith and the disbursement of his illegal businesses. They have bigger fish to fry now."

A shrewdness invaded Stefan's eyes as he considered Luke and Johnny's words. "We are left without possible suspects; however, we do know for certain that someone means to harm the boy. I placed several undercover guards with Frankie and his brother. They did notice a black car trailing Alexis' car this morning when she dropped the boys off at school. The car did not follow Alexis but remained parked at a distance, almost as if they were watching the boys enter the school. Two guards are substituting for teachers, and they're tailing the boys between classes. No one has invaded the school yet."

A shiver of fear went up Luke's spine as he reflected on the stakes of this dangerous game. "Who could want to harm Frankie? Is it kidnappers? The kid recently came into a fortune, and wills are public documents."

Johnny brightened up. "I bet that's it."

Stefan frowned. "I believe they have had opportunity for a quick snatch and run. Why are they hesitating? This is unusual. Cassadines are accustomed to deterring kidnapping threats and attempts, and I have never heard of a case like this. Men dressed all in black? Mysterious black cars?"

"Sounds like the X-files," Luke snorted. "Maybe they're aliens."

"Why would an immigrant want to kidnap a child?" Stefan asked innocently.

Luke and Johnny exchanged grins at Stefan's pop cultural naivet�.

"We meant aliens as in little green men from outer space," Luke replied. "It was a joke."

"I see," Stefan said seriously. He took a discrete bite from his sandwich and fingered the white napkin placed across his expensively trousered lap. "We'll keep the guards on the children, and perhaps the criminals will reveal their hand. There is not much else we can do."

Luke chuckled. "I'd call in the police for help, but they'd love to find a reason to throw Frankie into jail. Protective custody I believe they'd call it."

Stefan nodded in agreement. "I find that results are produced much quicker and with more satisfaction if local officials are not consulted."

~*~*~*~

Frankie tried to be as nonchalant and cool as possible while he was sitting in his wheelchair to the side of the room, just separate enough from the other students to make him feel conspicuous. He was in geometry class, and the entire class remembered his ill treatment of the teacher in the hallway. Frankie noticed that the teacher never once looked in his direction, and he didn't blame him. His father Frank had been a real prick when he was mad, and Frankie often couldn't control the side of him that had imitated the abusive man. He ran a hand over his face, but nothing took away his persistent anxiety. He adjusted himself numerous times in his chair, but his discomfort was emotional, not physical. Guilt hung around his neck like an accusing albatross. It was getting to be a real drag these days, and Frankie was almost nostalgic for his life at the mansion and its lack of moral virtue. Being nice and respectful sure was a lot of hard work. It was easier to give the order to kill someone rather than negotiate with them. Everyone knew that. Or maybe they didn't.

Frankie warily looked over at his fellow students and felt isolated in his upbringing. None of them had ever killed a person - it was obvious in their relaxed demeanors and easygoing natures. Frankie's killings had left him permanently marked with eyes that looked very, very old and filled with perpetual sadness. Was it a mistake to try to fit in? Several students had slapped Frankie's hand as he'd wheeled in his chair, and he'd been tickled that they liked him. They were the rowdy students who lived for a little drama amidst the boring geometry proofs. However, the smart or sensitive students seemed to shy away from him, shocked by his behavior weeks earlier and by stories that persistently floated throughout the school - stories of his violent mob past and his willingness to eliminate anyone who was unfortunate enough to get in his way. Some people wondered how in the world he could be related to Sly, who had a reputation for being a smart yet humble and peaceful, or to Nikolas, who was a much admired jock and very popular. Nikolas hadn't returned to school for many days, and that was a source for speculation as well.

Several girls looked longingly at Frankie and shot him a shy smile or tried to catch his eye. Frankie had smiled back and quickly glanced away, embarrassed by the female attention. The girls whispered to each other and speculated on what it might be like to go on a date with this extremely cute and obviously rich guy. He was related to Nikolas Cassadine after all, and that made him an exciting potential catch. Of course, there was that incident with Maxie Jones, the videotape of her making out with Frankie, but although she was cute, she wasn't popular and certainly not a match for the wiles and game playing of the popular girls. How could she be popular anyway with two dads in different branches of law enforcement? Everyone had at least one skeleton dangling in his or her closet - a broken curfew, a skipped study hall, a party given or attended without a parent's permission, or a quick toke or sip of an illegal substance. When Maxie Jones walked by, conversations stopped completely or switched to the weather. The question of the hour was why would a mob guy date the girl who everyone else avoided?

~*~*~*~

Frankie pretended like he was looking for something in his geometry book while he was really waiting for the rest of the students to clear out of class. It didn't take long as most students were looking forward to anything else other than geometry. When he was sure he was alone with the teacher, he carefully wheeled himself up to his desk. He cleared his throat nervously and said, "Mr. Miller," with a note of hesitation. Mr. Miller turned around to look into Frankie's bright blue eyes.

"Are you going to threaten me from that wheelchair?" Mr. Miller asked angrily as he slapped his palm on his desk. "I thought you made your point quite clear several weeks ago. Is this a reminder?"

Frankie's face colored with embarrassment. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he replied carefully. Frankie wasn't used to apologizing to anyone, and he still felt awkward doing it, like it went against the natural grain of the universe. "Things are different now," he explained. "I didn't know I was supposed ta be respectful. My aunt said I had to respect teachers, and I'm tryin' to do it." Frankie turned his face away from the teacher and took on a blank, tense expression.

"So you were just blowing steam with all that talk," the teacher stated with an even, controlled voice. "I should have turned you in, only your performance was quite convincing."

"Wasn't no performance," Frankie said as his hard, dead eyes met the teacher's. He shifted in his chair and figuratively placed his mob boss mask on his face. "I was as deadly as you wanna imagine." He sniffed and looked at his fingernails in his characteristic display of boredom when his authority was questioned. He backed up his wheelchair and turned his head toward the teacher. "Frank Smith was my father." Frankie noticed that Mr. Miller took in a sharp breath of surprise and panic. Everyone had heard about the recent mob uprising and killings. "Guess how I got like dis," he stated with a hand gesturing toward his injured body. When Mr. Miller didn't answer, Frankie said, "I don't intend to be his son no more. You won't get trouble from me." With that comment, Frankie confidently wheeled out the doorway while the teacher stared after him in wonder.

~*~*~*~

Sonny Corinthos yanked open the metal door to one of his numerous warehouses lining the docks of Port Charles. He'd made numerous phone calls that morning to check on the progress of important shipments, but not one man had returned his call. Sonny had a mind to teach them a lesson and show up in person to rake them over the coals. How dare they ignore his requests? This had never happened before, and now was not the time to start. Respect and obedience were the number one requirements to stay alive in Sonny Corinthos' organization. Too bad Jason wasn't around anymore. His blank expression and abundant musculature were usually all that was necessary to bring one or two stray employees sharply into line. Everyone knew that visit number two from Jason meant a near fatal beating, and that Jason was mindless enough to enjoy it.

Sonny walked up to the warehouse manager's desk and glared at him without making a sound. The beefy, corpulent manager raised his sweaty face to glance at Sonny, but he resumed going over the paperwork for the day's receipts. When he continued to ignore Sonny, Corinthos' blood boiled with anger. He slapped the papers from the manager's hands and hissed, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

The manager's red face didn't betray a twitch of fear or concern. His thick index finger pointed toward his desktop nameplate. "Last time I checked, I was still Fred Hopkins." He resumed his activities as he picked up the papers and shuffled them with a sigh.

Sonny blinked in surprise, his hands held on his hips and his brows knit together. "What is this?"

"I'd say it's a takeover," Fred replied casually. His eyes rose to meet Sonny's. "You don't pay enough, Mr. Corinthos. Someone else has given me a raise." He rose from his desk and held the door for Sonny as he gestured for his former boss to leave the room. "Ciao," he said mockingly.

Sonny's skin prickled with the implications of that one simple word. He stormed out of the office in search of answers and one employee who might still be on his payroll.

~*~*~*~

"I can do it myself," Frankie said with frustration. He turned to look at the girl who wheeled him toward the school cafeteria. Tiffany Sells was a very determined girl, petite and as blonde as the hair dye box would allow. She was used to getting whatever she wanted, and she'd decided that she wanted Frankie. He didn't have a chance as she'd ambushed him immediately after their English class and took over the navigation of his wheelchair. Frankie had instinctively reached for his waistband, but finding that he didn't have the usual gun there, was forced to question the girl about her behavior. When he'd asked her what she was doing, she just chattered away, not allowing him to get a word in edgewise. After a minute, he'd tuned her out and resigned himself to the fact that she'd show him to the cafeteria. It was too bad Sly wasn't around to save him, but Frankie brightened as he immediately saw his brother when Tiffany wheeled him into the large, noisy room.

Frankie made a desperate face with bulging eyes, a deep frown and a hand cutting at his throat. He gestured with his head toward Tiffany the Annoying, and Sly immediately caught on. He bounded up to Frankie and effectively pushed Tiffany out of the way with a smile and a nudge. "Thanks for helping with the chair," he said. "I'll push him now since Frankie is sitting with me and our girlfriends. Have a great lunch. Bye!"

Tiffany's face turned red as she watched Sly abscond with Frankie. She turned in a huff and sought out the girls she usually sat with. Frankie was cool, but his brother was a jerk, she thought to herself. Besides, wasn't he a freshman? He sure didn't dress like he had money, either. Not like Frankie and Nikolas Cassadine.

"Thanks, Sly," Frankie breathed out in relief. His face screwed up in a distasteful expression. "She was on me like glue, dat weirdo girl."

Sly wheeled Frankie up to the table and patted him on the shoulder. "You're a lady killer, bro." Sly gestured around the room. "There must have been twenty girls looking at you when you came in. Must be those Spencer good looks."

"Or Webber," Frankie chuckled. "I look like Mama, too. Dat's her maiden name." Frankie was unaware that Webber was the name of Laura's deceased stepfather. Filling in her son about the drama in her own past hadn't seemed a priority yet with the focus still on Frankie's recovery and integration into his new family. "Where's Maxie?" he asked curiously as he craned his neck around to see if she were nearby.

"She's in the line with Emily, buying food," Sly said. "I waited here at the table so you'd know where we were. What do you want to eat? I'll go stand in line now that you're here."

Frankie looked appreciatively at his younger brother. Sly always seemed to say and do nice things that made him feel better. It was nice to have someone looking out for him in small ways. "I like hamburgers," he said, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and waved it at Sly. "Here, dis is enough for both of us."

"Thanks," Sly said, accepting the bill without comment. "Back in a sec." Taking Frankie's money occasionally didn't bother Sly as he figured they'd all share what they had with each other since they were family now. If he were rich, he'd buy Frankie's food for him, so it was okay when Frankie offered.

Frankie looked down at his hands folded on the table and spaced out while he waited for the girls to return. He startled and blinked his eyes into focus when he heard a loud, "Yo!" and felt a slap on his back. A large, tough looking kid stood in front of him with a grin on his face. "Loved that videotape," he said with amusement. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "If you're looking to start an operation in this school, let me know. I'd like to get in on the action." He stood back and looked at Frankie with his hands on his hips, displaying his advanced musculature as if saying he was applying for the job of mob enforcer.

Frankie's face settled into his familiar mob boss expression, and he looked the guy up and down as if he were evaluating him but unsure of his suitability. "I'll let ya know," he sniffed. His eyes hardened into a malevolent look, and he cracked his knuckles with a loud pop. "Or maybe you won't see it coming," he hinted darkly as he waved his fingers, displaying the large gold ring with the initials FS emblazoned on it. He stared down the young punk, who quickly decided he had other business to attend to. "Okay," the punk said uncertainly as he looked around for someone else to talk to. He turned and sauntered away, glad to be out of the presence of someone who suddenly seemed quite dangerous and lethal - a little too professional for his taste.

Frankie shook his head and snickered. Da Smith organization would eat him alive, he thought.

"Frankie!" Maxie and Emily's voices joined together in exclamation as they lay their full lunch trays on the table.

Frankie's eyes twinkled at the sight of his girlfriend and Emily. "Hi!" he answered brightly.

"How's the first day back at school?" Emily asked him.

Frankie shrugged. "I dunno. Weird. I wasn't used to goin' yet when dis happened," he said as he pointed down at his leg. "It's hard to get around in da wheelchair. Sly helped me dis morning, and den some weird girl insisted on pushing me here."

Maxie's eyebrows shot up. She was entirely aware of how gorgeous Frankie was, even if he didn’t seem to realize it. The girls at PCHS could be very catty and pushy, and she had no intention of surrendering over her boyfriend without a fight. "Who was it?" she inquired casually.

"She said her name was Tiffany Sells," Frankie replied.

Emily shot Maxie a look, and they both seemed to say the same thing without talking. The word started with a "b" and ended in a "tch."

Maxie decided to let it go and offered Frankie a French fry while he was waiting for his lunch. "I can't eat all of these," she explained.

Frankie opened his mouth and then closed it to tease her.

"You want me to feed you one?" she laughed.

"Sure," Frankie replied with a grin. He'd do anything to get physically closer to his girl in public.

Maxie scooted her chair next to him, dipped a fry in ketchup and fed it to the boy who now was only a few inches away. Frankie munched contentedly as his eyes sparkled. He quickly leaned in and stole a kiss. "Thank you," he said politely.

"You two," Emily sputtered, shaking her head. "You're so bad."

"Nah, I'm good; I'm real good," Frankie teased her.

Emily shook her head and blushed. Frankie always embarrassed her. She was only fourteen, but she was old enough to pick up his constant double entendres. It was funny at first, but it seemed like he did it too often. It was like he was on hormonal overdrive at all times. Sly could be feisty, but at least they settled down to talk or do homework or take a walk. He wasn't preparing to jump her all the time; he was her friend as well as her boyfriend, and that felt comfortable. Emily glanced at Maxie, who seemed to melt with pleasure beside her boyfriend. How does she handle him? Or maybe she doesn't, Emily wondered as she remembered how upset Maxie was after those two had been in the woods. She'd better watch it. He seems experienced - correct that, totally experienced. Emily's mind returned to Sly and his expert kissing technique. Maybe Frankie's giving lessons.

~*~*~*~

Sonny felt a sense of dread when he exited the elevator and walked toward his penthouse door. Where were the guards? It's funny how you didn't notice them until they disappeared. No one was in sight, and Sonny couldn't remember one time that had ever occurred. His brown eyes sharpened as his senses went on high alert, and he drew out a pistol that was his constant companion, nestled in a discrete shoulder holster hidden under his expensive suit jacket.

Sonny reached for the doorknob to his penthouse door, and he hesitated when the door quickly opened without the resistance of a lock. What the hell? He raised his gun as his eyes narrowed. Sonny rushed into his penthouse, prepared to shoot at anything that moved or breathed, but he didn't count on two huge men grabbing him as soon as he entered his residence. One arm swiftly took him around the neck, while another hand applied sufficient pressure to relieve him of his gun, which fell to the floor with a final sounding thud. Sonny's heart raced as he wished futilely for the tenth time that day that Jason hadn't disappeared. He might be dense, but at least he was a good fighter.

A thin line of sweat broke out on Sonny's upper lip as he met the eyes of the expensively dressed man seated in his favorite chair. The man appeared perfectly at ease as he pulled on his cigar and then knocked an ash onto Sonny's otherwise pristine carpet. His intelligent, brown eyes met Sonny's in a silent challenge. "Gentlemen," his rich bass voice intoned. "Mr. Corinthos has finally returned. Let him go but keep your eye on him. I'm sure Mr. Corinthos might be having a violent thought or two. Is that correct?" The man raised a thick, black eyebrow, and his lips twitched in amusement. He crossed his leg and took in another mouthful of cigar smoke. As he slowly let out the smoke in a long trail, he introduced himself. "John Giovanni," he said in a leaden voice. "You can call me Mr. Giovanni." He flicked another ash onto the carpet with a casual motion. "I believe you have something I want, Mr. Corinthos."

Sonny shot the bodyguards a murderous look as he moved his shoulder around to work the wrenched muscles back in place. His dead eyes met Mr. Giovanni's. "What do you want?" Sonny's head made a characteristic small jerk that indicated his nerves were on edge and anger was flaming within.

Mr. Giovanni continued on in a bored tone of voice that implied he'd had a thousand years of experience stealing businesses from lesser businessmen. "Your men are mine," he said flatly. "All you gotta do now is disappear." He paused and held Sonny's gaze for emphasis. "The manner of your disappearance is up to you. We'll take matters into our own hands if you can't decide." The man nodded toward his bodyguards who drew their guns on Sonny. One man held a pistol under Sonny's chin while the other jabbed his into Sonny's ribs.

"You can't do this," Sonny gritted out. "Where's your honor?"

Mr. Giovanni's laugher rang out rich and true. "Honor is for the family." He waved his cigar at Sonny. "You're not related."

"I bought Smith's businesses!" Sonny shouted out. His face turned red as he jerked away from the bodyguards.

Mr. Giovanni nodded. "Smith Junior was good," he said with respect. "He left the door wide open for us." His hand made a twisting and turning motion. "Move this way, pay that one off." His eyes glinted with malice. "It was so easy. The kid was a genius. Lucky for him he's outta the business; otherwise, he'd be a threat to us - an opponent worthy of elimination."

"You already tried to kill him right outside my penthouse!" Sonny hissed.

Mr. Giovanni shrugged. "It happens," he explained simply.

Sonny realized he was out of his element and essentially doomed. Smith Junior had set him up. The kid had to have known this would happen. How he'd like to snuff that kid off the face of the earth for doing this to him. But that thought would wait - now it was time for compromise and backtracking. "How about leaving me with my original businesses," he offered. "That's fair."

The stately man shook his head. "No. You didn’t learn your lesson. If I allow you to operate now, you'll inevitably grow a big head again and try to take us on. No, Port Charles belongs to us. You are insignificant. Consider yourself out of business."

Sonny shook his head harshly in disagreement as his curls flew and tumbled dangerously. "You can't do this!"

"It is done," the man said as he rose from Sonny's chair. He walked over to Sonny and gave him a sympathetic punch on the arm. He brought his face close enough to Sonny's so that Sonny could smell the cigar on the man's breath. "You're out," he said in a low, sure voice. "Be glad you're alive." The man strolled slowly to the penthouse door as if he had all the time in the world and zero fear in his bones. With one snap of his fingers, his bodyguards dutifully followed him out.

Sonny stood in the middle of his living room, wiping the sweat from his lip as his thoughts raced and his heart pounded. He frowned when he heard a muffled thumping noise coming from the coat closet. Opening the door, he discovered Francis and Benny, tied up on the floor, gagged, squirming and banging their heads to make noise. Sonny looked down at them in disgust and slammed the door on them, ignoring their surprised grunts. He nervously ran his fingers through his well-oiled curly hair and looked down at his expensive suit, wondering how much he could get if he sold it at the secondhand consignment store. His collection of designer suits surely would bring in at least several thousand, wouldn't they? Sonny was well aware that he had only five thousand dollars cash left to his name after Smith Junior had cleaned him out. "I'm fucked," he said out loud in a disbelieving voice. "A fifteen year old kid did me in."

~*~*~*~

Luke and Alexis remained at the table after dinner, which had been a success since Alexis had wisely picked up takeout on her way home from the office. Frankie had been very quiet since returning from rehabilitation, and he'd chosen to go to his room as soon as dinner was finished. Sly had gone to the library to study with Emily, and now the couple was alone and looking forward to discussing their family situation.

"How was your meeting with Stefan and Johnny?" Alexis asked as she handed Luke a cup of coffee. She sat next to him and dunked a tea bag into her cup of hot water.

"We all struck out," Luke explained. "We still don't know who is trying to kidnap or harm Frankie. Stefan indicated these men didn't act like typical kidnappers, and Johnny insisted they didn't fit the mob profile."

"I know they aren't legitimate government flunkies," Alexis stated. "However, something about them seems familiar. They are very cautious and systematized, as if they have more information at their disposal than we realize. I wonder if we should check for bugs in the house?"

"Are we talking about the CIA?" Luke questioned. "When you start talking about spy stuff, it makes me wonder."

"Nothing above board. It's not the CIA proper. I suggest we hire several private detectives to check this out. If whoever means Frankie harm has plants, then we must too if we want to fight them."

Luke rubbed his head with a forlorn motion of his hand. "This is way too complicated for my simple mind." He straightened up with a shine in his eyes. "But I'd volunteer to go undercover. I'm a frustrated actor, you know."

Alexis shook her head. "The boys need you to be their father. Let's allow someone else to do this."

"What is it about you Cassadines and intrigue. It's like you were made for it."

"We live with it," Alexis said wryly. "When Helena was alive, if you didn't have your spies and moles, you'd never be able to keep one step ahead of her. She was very dangerous." Alexis' eyes filled with tears as she fiddled with the handle on her teacup. She sighed sadly and blinked them away.

Luke reached a gentle hand over hers and held it. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know it was hard on you. But we're together now, and nothing's going to break us apart. We have each other. And you have Stefan, too. He might be weird, but he seems like a good brother."

Alexis nodded. "He is - a good brother, that is. He kept me sane while that horrible woman was alive."

"He seems to be good for Frankie, too," Luke agreed. "I'm grateful for that. The boy needs as many positive influences in his life as possible. I can't be everything to him."

Alexis squeezed Luke's hand. "But you are the center of his universe. You know that, don't you?"

Luke cleared his throat as it tightened with emotion. "I know," he said softly. "And he is in the center of mine."

Luke and Alexis both jerked in their seats at the sound of a heavy thud in Frankie's room. Alexis pushed Luke from the chair. "Go see what he's doing. Maybe he fell."

Luke marched to Frankie's room, knocked on the door, and then opened it. He opened his mouth in surprise and quickly knelt by his son, who was lying on the floor in front of his wheelchair, writhing around and holding two firm hands over his leg. Frankie's leg jerked rhythmically with enough force to send it back and forth with rigid movements. Frankie didn't make any sound, but his facial muscles were tautly stretched with the effects of the severe pain. "I'll get Alexis and have her give you a muscle relaxant," Luke said firmly.

Frankie shook his head rigidly. "No," he gritted out with wide eyes imploring his father not to do that.

"You're hurting," Luke insisted. "The shot will make those muscles quit clenching."

"No," Frankie said with a teary voice.

Luke frowned as he tried to figure out his son. "You don't want to stop the pain? I don't understand."

Frankie closed his eyes and held his hands tighter over his leg. "I want it to stop," he whined.

"But you don't want the shot?"

Frankie took in a gulping breath and continued to cry, but he didn't answer his father.

Luke instinctively placed his hands on his son's leg and rubbed it. "Is this helping?" he asked.

Frankie started to nod, but cried out when the leg started jerking harder.

Luke jumped to his feet and said, "I'm coming back with Alexis. Hang on for a second. It'll be all right. We'll make it okay."

Alexis was already standing in the hallway with the medical supplies since she'd guessed the situation upon hearing Frankie cry out. "I think you'd better give this to him," she said.

"What? You know how to do it. I've never given an injection in my life."

"I think he's afraid to have me do it," Alexis replied. When Luke gave her a look, she said firmly, "Call it instinct. I think that's what it is. Wasn't he afraid of those nurses in the hospital?" she whispered.

Luke nodded. "Maybe you're right. But I need help. Stay outside the door and give me directions, okay?"

Luke returned to Frankie and knelt beside him. "I'm going to give you the injection, and Alexis is outside. She'll give me directions. Is that okay with you?"

Frankie nodded and sighed with relief. He wasn't sure himself why he was so upset about the injection, but he'd relaxed immediately when Luke said he'd administer it.

"Swab his skin first with the alcohol," Alexis instructed from a few feet away. "You're giving it to him in his hip about three inches below his hipbone."

"Okay," Luke said as he located the injection site.

"Push the needle in firmly and swiftly, draw back the plunger to check if any blood is in it. If not, push the medication in slowly."

Luke followed her instructions and covered the injection site again with the alcohol swab. "I did it," he said with a mixture of pride and disbelief. After a minute, the leg ceased its harsh jerks, and Frankie's hands slipped away from their position on his leg.

Luke continued to talk to Frankie to calm him down. "The physical therapist said this might happen a couple of times after you do your exercises. The muscles and nerves are healing, and the exercises bring on the spasms. It's a good sign, but it's hard on you at the same time."

Frankie didn't move as the drug was causing him to be sleepy and sluggish. "I wanna die," he said honestly.

"What?"

"I don't wanna wake up no more," Frankie repeated in a slurred voice. "I'm tired."

Luke pulled his son up and hugged him closely. "I know. I know you're tired," he said as he refused to let his son go. "I love you. Hold on to that. A lot of people love you." Luke's eyes filled with tears of fear and sadness, and he wondered when they would get through this and emerge on the other side happy, whole and secure. He clung to his son as if he were afraid to let him go, as if his physical touch and proximity were the only things keeping his son with them.

Next chapter...