DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or the places from Grand Theft Auto, nor do I claim to; RockStar owns it all. I do, however, make claim to my OCs - however many may pop up in this random story of mine. I am in no way making any profit from doing this.

A/N: A couple of years ago, I started my first Tommy Vercetti story called "Expectations of Love" and I've recently read the reviews on it (thanks to those who read it), and I'm sad to say that my computer took a crap on me when a fuse went out in the house, and I didn't even think to backup the second half of the story - that I'd written several chapters to already - before my husband fixed my computer. However, all hope is not lost, because perhaps one day, I shall jump back into the story once more, if not to at least complete the cliffhanger. With that being said, I do sincerely hope that the audience that reads this will enjoy it as well.

Second A/N: Since I'm apparently not doing chapters on this story, it looks like I'll be uploading short blimps of what I already have.

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Angela makes the hardest decision of her life, between life and love. Seven years had passed by so fast. But upon the return of missing love, will things still be as they were?

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Atlantic City, New Jersey - June 2005

She remembered it all too clearly in her mind. The touch of his hand, the plead in his voice. The rain that was heavily falling that morning.

"Baby, please! Listen to me!"

"Tommy - "

"Don't do this to me! To us!"

"Tommy, I - I can't."

"We can make this right! Just give me a chance to prove it!"

She had seen a drop trickle down his cheek, and knew then that it wasn't the water that fell from above. Everyone who had even a remote relationship with him knew that he never cried. Ever.

"Please! Stay with me!"

But still, she stepped aboard the train, twisting her hand from his fingers. It was the one thing she never wanted to do. Never wanted to give him up. Never wanted to leave. They both knew it was too dangerous for her to stay though. She almost had wished it not to be true, but she already loved the gift bestowed upon her.

A soft clinking brought her back to her present, to a soft, warm-faced little boy looking up at her.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, mommy?" his warm brown eyes inquired.

"Nothing, sweetie," she said with a small smile. "You got your plate?" The little boy nodded, and handed her the round dish. She spooned him some of the macaroni and cheese she pulled out of the oven before the thoughts of her past washed over her. The little boy took the liberty of filling out the rest of his plate with the other foods that sat on the counter.

"Angela, you okay?" asked a bright voice. The woman was pouring two glasses of juice, one for her and one for the little boy that happily bobbed next to her, plate in hand. "You want a glass?"

Angela shook her head, giving a slight smile.

"Not even going to eat, huh?"

"A little. Not feeling too hungry right now."

Her friend gave a small sound of agreement. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

Angela's face turned pale. "How did - "

"I've known you for twenty years. Don't think you can pass anything by me."

"Who ya thinkin' about, mommy?" the boy asked again, this time with a smile on his face, making his cheeks go round.

"Baby, go take your plate to the table. We'll be right over," shooed Angela. Once the boy started to walk his way to the table, Angela gave her friend a sharp look.

"What? He's going to know sooner or later."

"Know what, Kit?" he inquired to his mother's friend.

"Well," she started as she placed her plate on the table, also sitting. "One day, you're going to know about the moon. And the stars. And you're going to travel to them."

"Really?" he asked, eyes growing bright.

"One day," she said smiling.

"Is that true, mommy?" he looked over to his mom for reassurance.

"If Kit says so, you know it is." She jabbed her fork into the small salad on the side of her plate.

"Wow! I'm gonna go to the moon!"

"Yes, but right now, you need to go to your plate," Angela said to him, pointing her fork towards his food. "Eat."

The little boy happily obliged, taking a big bite of his garlic bread.

After dinner was finished, Kit was passing wet dishes to Angela to dry and put away.

"So, you're just going to pretend all his life?"

"No," Angela sighed with a tsk of her tongue. "Just not now. He's just - " She looked over at the little boy who currently watched a cartoon. "Just so young."

"And too smart," Kit added. "You know he's going to ask eventually. You know he's going to want to know he's the heir of it."

"Heir? Hah!" Angela bit out. "Barely. If you can even call that a business."

"It's lucrative, and I have no idea why you'd even give that up to come back here," Kit said, passing the last dish to Angela.

"It's safe. And calm. And I didn't know where else to run." The dish clanked against the one beneath it as she put it away in the cupboard.

"Safe? Well, in a way, so was Tommy."

"Yes, but not in the way I needed him to be." She sighed, tossing the dish towel over the edge of the sink. "I needed more than just a promise that people would be scared of my name."

"Girl, if that's all a man offered me, I'd take it and run." She managed to get a small laugh from Angela as she spun around, heading to the table. "You know every man that I've ever gone for just wasn't up to par." She wiped the table top with the dish rag she wrang out. "In anything."

Angela studied her friend, as she leaned against the counter. Her plump figure moving about, wiping off the chairs now. As long as she had known Kit, she was amazed at the amount of energy she possessed. Kit always managed to keep herself busy. And it was one of the reasons she had called her in the middle of the night.

"Kit? Are you there? Please, pick up. I need you."

"Hello," a voice answered, groggy from sleep.

"Oh thank God, Kit. I know this is short notice, but I need you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked, more aware of her friend's tone.

"As soon as possible, I need a train ride booked to you. I have to get out of here."

"Angela, did he do something to you?"

"No," she said quietly. "I did it to myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll explain it to you when I get there. I can't do it anymore."

"O-Okay. First thing in the morning, I'll make it. I promise."

"Thank you. I owe you."

"Never, girl," the soft voice whispered.

"Angela, you need to stop that spacing out shit."

"I'm sorry," she laughed, shaking her head. "Sometimes I can't believe the shit I've done to you."

"Oh, believe it, honey, 'cause it's true." They both laughed as they joined the little boy watching the television.

""""""

Vercetti Estate - Prawn Island, Vice City, Florida

His eyes bolted open, the bright Florida sun stabbing him awake. "Fuck," he groaned as he twisted over in his massive bed. Her pillow. That was all that met his vision. He smoothed his fingers over the edge of the pillow case. With a reluctance, he took his hand away from it, laying flat on his back and sighed heavily. A hefty knock on the double doors that lead into his bedroom startled him.

"Mr. V, Rosenburg's here to see you."

"Thanks, Dee," he called out to his main body guard as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. He grabbed up his burgundy robe from the bathroom door, and slid it on, haphazardly tying it closed. He made his way down to the kitchen, where his absent-minded friend sat at the table talking on his phone.

Geez, the schmutz, Tommy thought as he poured himself a hot cup of fresh coffee. He was one sip away from finishing his first cup, when Ken stood, still not noticing Tommy standing against the island counter, and shimmied his way to the French doors that lead out into the back yard.

Once his friend snapped his phone shut, Tommy just about slammed his coffee cup down onto the marble top, his voice barking.

"Are you just going to stand in my kitchen all day, yammering on your phone, or did you want to talk to me?"

"Oh, shit! Tommy! I didn't even see you there!"

"Start talking," he said, dismissing his apology.

"Well, you'll be very happy to know what I've found for you today!"

Tommy didn't say anything as he turned to pour himself another cup, waiting for Ken to produce a piece of folded up paper that he fumbled with in the pocket of his blazer. Not even caring to offer his friend a cup, he turned again to face him.

"Look it here," Ken said, flattening out the paper on the countertop. "I have located her. For you. Some details are still missing, but what I've gathered so far is - " He paused, sliding on his glasses and clearing his throat. "She's gone back up to Jersey, and she's living with someone."

"Living with someone?" Tommy's furious outburst made Ken snap his head up. "With my son? She runs away from me, taking my son away from me, for nearly ten years, and this is what I get back from her?"

"Now, hold on, Tommy. That's not to say it's a female or male."

"We were together for five years! I gave her everything! And she throws it away." His voice lowered a bit. "To throw me away."

"She did not throw you away, Tommy. Trust me. When have I ever been wrong?"

Tommy shot him a deadly look.

"I mean, when it's important! Tommy, listen to me. She's still waiting for you."

"Bullshit." He moved over to the refridgerator, snatching up some cream cheese. He reached for the bagels right next to the refridgerator. With an aggravated breath, he pulled out a kitchen chair, plopping down on it. Ken quickly followed suit. "I just never thought she'd ever leave me." He jammed a butterknife into the tub of cream cheese, smearing it on one half of his bagel, and taking a generous bite.

"She didn't," Ken said, studying the notes on her he'd jotted down. "You just have to go get her again."

"For what? Her to deny me my son?"

"She won't."

"And how the fuck do you know?"

"Because," Ken started out, "I am going to find out more." He stood, slipping the folded-again piece of paper back into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Tommy only stopped him from leaving to say one quick thing.

"Lose the jacket. This isn't the eighties."

""""""

Atlantic City, New Jersey

A loud ring woke her up out of her slumber the next morning. It was shortly silenced, and the smell of browning sausage wafted into the air. She stirred under the sheets, before finally committing herself to get up. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she emerged into the kitchen, still clad in her pajamas.

"Morning, sunshine," Kit grinned as she flipped the on-the-stove waffle iron over.

"You are sneaky." She stepped up to the stove, inhaling all the aromas. Sausage patties, cheese eggs, and Angela's favorite - waffles. Kit always did know how to coax her out of bed. "Who was on the phone?" she asked, looking over at the den. Her little boy, sitting on the floor, with a plate of half-eaten food on the ottoman.

"I don't even know. When I answered, they didn't say anything. Wrong number, I'm guessing."

"Hmm," Angela thought. Then she glanced back over to her son. "Video games so early?"

"It's summer time now. I figured why not, as long as we don't make it a habit."

"Thanks for breakfast," she said as she trotted her large plate of food over to the couch her son sat just in front of.

Finishing her food, she sighed contently, standing, stretching, and then went to place her plate in the sink. She disappeared for a bit, coming back out into the kitchen showered and dressed.

"You goin' to work this early?" Kit asked, turning her attention away from the game she was now playing. She heard a side-splitting laugh as her the car she steered crashed into a pole, hitting several pedestrians.

"Got a double. But, I'm off for a three-day weekend." She straighted out the shirt under her scrubs as she spoke to her son. "Come give mama a kiss."

The little boy was all too giddy to bop over to her, receving her smooches. "Can we go swimming tomorrow like you said?"

"Sure thing, sweetie," she said gently touching the tip of his nose with her finger. So much like his father. "Be good, and don't play that God-awful game all day." She looked at the television screen, Kit smiling back at her, at the popular game. Giving one more hug, she found her way out the door.