Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by HollettLA.

This story is for Cara! HUGE thank you to CaraNo! Cara made the amazing banner, too!

NOTE: This story takes place in 1958. Personally, I think it fits the time period very well. Also, please keep that in mind. Society was different, these were different times. They were more difficult and then simpler in many ways. Edward is not a saint. In fact, most characters will do things in this story that you won't agree with. It's labeled romance/angst for a reason. That being said, this story is complete/written. There are 21 chapters, and a HEA.

I hope to update once, maybe twice a day.

Here's GangsterWard, PrickWard, and a few other "Wards" LOL. Please Enjoy!

Bold Gestures by SexyLexiCullen
Summary: "Young women can act silly, but men... Men make bold gestures." I opened the trunk for Bella. The man inside ended up on the pavement. Bella's eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. E/B. Angst/Romance. GangsterWard. 1958.

Bold Gestures

Chapter One.

May 1958

When Carlisle finished his joke, gabbing about some fine piece of tail from the neighborhood, I laughed. I always laugh at his jokes, no matter how annoying they get. He's older than me, and I never know which dame he's talking about—he's twenty years my senior at fifty-five.

Having been brought up to respect my elders…he has my respect.

As an old-timer.

As my friend.

As my business associate and my cellmate.

We've been bunking together for the past ten years. Obviously, those cornball jokes get old. But I decided a long time ago that I wouldn't let that shit bother me anymore.

Carlisle thinks he's funny, and I'll let him believe that.

He's not very business-savvy.

We were both pinched back in '48.

J. Edgar Hoover fools the American people into thinking he's after Nazis, Communist espionage.

But all he did was fuck me…send his boys to my neighborhood. I was a kid back then, trying to make my money, trying to support my family, and that motherfucker nabs me for tax evasion…amongst a few other things.

No matter, I've done my time.

Carlisle and I will be out of here soon enough.

I'll be getting out in two days, and then his release is set for some time within the next few weeks.

"You're a pisser—a real pissa'." I patted Carlisle's back.

"LIGHTS OUT!" the hack shouted over the loudspeaker.

Sighing, I hopped up onto the top bunk while Carlisle gets the light.

"You shoulda been there…Her knockers…Madonn', Edward." He guffawed.

"I bet." Although I try not to think about broads at all. It's easy to ignore when you have other shit on your mind. "Goodnight."

"Oh, did I ever tell you about that time…?" He went on and on.

And if it wasn't for the bigger picture, what I have in mind, I'd whack that old geezer myself.

Just so he'd shut the fuck up!

"Her sister was just two years younger, but…" he whistled and continued.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the other animals, trying to ignore Carlisle.

The only things I have on my mind are my family, my upcoming release, and vengeance.

Someone dropped a dime on my crew. Somebody knows something, and I know who'd done it. On my quest for information, I plan to take over for my uncle, Angelo Medici—who's also my captain. Don't get me wrong. Uncle Ang has done right by me and my family. Rosalie still lives in the house I bought her eleven years ago. My kids are fed, and they're doing well.

My uncle is currently awaiting trial since they did another sweep.

But I have a bigger vision in mind.

We have the five families in various parts of New York. There's us—the Medicis, who occupy Little Italy, Bensonhurst, and Gravesend in Brooklyn—the Salsanos who run shit from Sheepshead Bay to Brownsville, Brooklyn. There's the Orsinis over in the Bronx, the Lucianos in Queens, and then there's the Picaras.

Carlo Picara—Good Luck Charlie since he's never been fortunate while placing bets—used to be a good friend of mine. We got married at around the same time. His wife was pregnant before mine, but who's keeping score?

Oh, yes.

I am.

I've been keeping score.

We both grew up in Gravesend. We both bought houses in Gravesend. Our wives used to be good friends, and I believe they still are, but we'd gone our separate ways—business-wise.

Maybe he's got bad luck, but he was smart.

Instead of joining a crew—a family—he got together with some guys. They do some heist shit. None are made men except for Carlo, as he was supposed to join his wife's family—the Salsanos.

Anyway, they run East New York, Bushwick, Cypress Hills, and they have an alliance with the Lucianos in Queens.

Carlo and his crew get to run shit in and out of Idlewild Airport for a small fee.

Carlo's got fat pockets, which is great.

But in two days, I'll be released with only my dick in my hand…

There was no way I'll let another captain take over Little Italy or any Medici territories. We'll stand our ground, and I'll be the driving force behind that. We won't split up and join other crews.

I'm Edward Medici.

In the future, I also plan to have access to the airport—whether I have to ice some of the Lucianos, or even Carlo.

It's irrelevant.

But it'll have to wait.

Once Carlisle is released, I'm going to make sure he steps up to the plate.

He won't only be a captain. He won't only be boss of our crew, but I saw him as capo di tutti capi—the boss of all bosses. I'd be his second-in-command.

I'd handle most business while he reaped the benefits.

Hoover and his buddies can clock him, while I rob their mothers.

Doesn't fucking matter.

This five families bullshit.

We keep the peace, for what? What's the fuckin' point? There should only be one organization.

Back in the old country, that's the way it was done.

There was one boss, and he would oversee each crew—each territory.

He'd be the king.

And I planned to be the next king of New York.

Last month, Rosalie sent me a new suit, a new hat, and a pair of shoes. Apparently, styles have changed. Instead of the long jackets I used to wear, the one I'm currently wearing is shorter. The white shirt I have on doesn't seem any different from my old ones. Except, this one is larger.

Besides listening to Carlisle ramble, like some old washerwoman, all I did was pump iron in the gym, exercise…and, maybe, I became a better criminal.

The black fedora felt foreign, and I angled it lower to avoid the sun, trying to break it in.

My shoes were wing-tipped, very stylish.

Alas, when I walked out of the prison, my clothing felt like another jail—encasing me, restricting.

After all, I've been wearing rags in comparison for the past decade.

The bus ride back to New York City was long. I'd been able to sleep for a few hours, but my mind constantly wandered, as did my eyes.

Cars were obviously different.

Broads…Forget about it.

Is it me, or are they wearing more clothes?

That didn't make any sense.

My jackets got shorter and dresses got longer.

People also seem to be a lot more casual—wearing Levis and Converse on their feet. And those were men my own age. Years ago, every man wore a suit when he left his house. Granted, if all I'd planned for the day was to sit at my uncle's store, I might have worn slacks and a nice shirt.

New York, 1958 . . . and I felt as though I was an immigrant, seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time when my eyes landed on the Empire State Building.

In ten minutes, I'd make the last trek—back to my old life, my home—and I was nervous.

My wife hasn't seen me in over five years, not since the first and last time she visited me. Our ten-year-old, Marie, doesn't even know me. The rabbit died just before I was locked up.

Francesca—my Franny, who we named after Rosalie's mother—had just turned seventeen a few months ago.

She's also the reason Rosalie and I got married in the first place.

But I missed her terribly.

The last time I saw her…she was a baby, a kid, and now she's a woman. In Roe's letter, she'd said Franny invited a boy over for dinner. I wasn't happy about it, but I also wasn't there. There's wasn't shit I could do about it.

Though, there's plenty I can do about it now.

That was a month ago.

Hopefully, Franny let the poor kid go.

And, hopefully, my family will welcome me home with open arms.

When I left the subway—the Stillwell Avenue Station—I noticed that not much had changed. Nunzio's eatery on the corner was still there, as were the bakery, the shoemaker, and the drugstore.

My eyes scanned everyone and everything, trying to place their faces in my memory.

But then I thought better, pulling my fedora lower.

I didn't want to be seen by anybody just yet—not anyone I used to know.

Arriving on my street, I stopped in my tracks.

There was a young girl sitting on our stoop. She was playing with a friend, holding a doll, and I knew right away…that was Marie, my daughter. Her pale blond hair and blue eyes resembled Rosalie's.

Marie looked like her mother—something that made me smile even wider.

Nervous now, my stride stayed the same.

"Marie! Get in the house and help your sister!" Roe hollered from somewhere.

My baby girl giggled, waving to her friend and running into the house.

The screen slammed after her, and I wondered why the door wasn't locked. It's springtime, warm, but I worried for their safety.

In many ways, I tried to detach myself as I let myself into the house.

It's my home, and I wasn't going to knock, but I didn't know how well I'd be received.

Immediately, I noticed that the living room furniture was the same, and so was the carpet. It was worn a little more, but there was a brand new transistor radio perched between the sofa and my old chair.

"Ma…? Who's—"

I whipped around, coming face-to-face with Franny. She was beautiful, much taller now, and very thin. My eldest daughter looked much younger than seventeen. Her reddish brown hair was pulled up and away from her neck, held together by a pink ribbon that matched her long poodle skirt. She still wore saddle shoes, which was something she used to wear as a kid.

"Hello…" I took off my hat, slightly bowing my head.

Franny wrung her hands together. She seemed nervous as she stared behind and around me. "Papa?" she whispered.

I winked, reaching out to palm her cheek. "Look at you…"

Franny giggled, looking down to her shoes.

And there were many things I wanted to ask her.

I wanted to know everything about her life.

I wanted her to introduce me to Marie.


When I heard Rosalie, I turned toward the kitchen.

"Ed-Edward?" She seemed surprised, but she knew I'd be home today. "I…I…" Roe clutched a rag to her chest before she reached to touch her hair. "I'm a mess. I didn't expect you home—"

I took two large steps to place my lips to hers.

She smiled against my mouth, melting into my arms, and I groaned—hugging her tightly, noticing that she'd filled out a lot more. Roe had wider hips…a wider…body.

Just elated by the concept alone—holding a woman, my wife—I gazed down to her face to take a good gander. There were traces of the young girl I'd married, but she honestly felt like a stranger. She looked much, much older. Roe had aged, and she hadn't aged gracefully.

Nevertheless, I'd caught an erection.

It'd been…a long, long time since I had any snatch.

Rosalie was three months with child when I'd gone away.

While I remember some nameless dame from my going-away party flogging the log, it still felt…

Suddenly, I felt like a caged animal, feral and primal, but I reined that in.

"Franny…" Roe peeked her head behind me while I sniffed her hair. It smelled like her perfume, and her clothes had a hint of a garlic scent.

Right then, I didn't know what I wanted more—home cooking or a woman.

"Can you keep an eye on supper?" Roe smiled wide. "I'm going to get Papa settled in."

Franny nodded, keeping her head down as she walked around us.

"Husband…" Rosalie whispered, staring at me now. "I prayed for you every day…I prayed for this day, for you to come home."

I grinned again, but I truly didn't give a fuck about what she said. "Upstairs," I said.

Roe swallowed loudly, licking her red lips as she touched her hair again. "Wouldn't you…rather wait for tonight?" She kept her tone rushed.

Seeing our daughter slowly mixing something on the stove while she tried to pretend not to listen…

I didn't answer Rosalie—my wife—with words.

I pointed to the stairs that led to our bedroom.

"Oh, Ma!" Franny shouted, making Rose stop on the steps. "Bella's supposed to come over…for dinner. Then we're going to listen to Amos 'n' Andy…" She trailed off, her eyes on me now.

Looking to the wife, she was eyeballin' me, too.

And all I could think about was pussy, food…

Roe smiled. "Don't you remember, Edward? Isabella's Carlo and Renee's little girl. She just came back from school a few months ago—some really nice, Catholic place in New Jersey."

Frustrated, I wondered why they'd care to tell me that.

"School…" Franny snickered.

"Hey!" Roe chastised.

Our daughter was apologetic, and that's when I realized…

They were waiting for me to make a decision.

Now, of all fuckin' times…

"I don't mind," I told our daughter.

"Cool, Daddy-o!" She smiled.

I chuckled, noticing someone behind her now—someone setting plates onto the table. "Marie," I said her name to test it on my lips.

Her bright blue eyes widened, settling on me.

"Marie…" Rosalie started descending the stairs.

I put a hand up, indicating that all was well—to get her ass on that fucking bed—and she trailed up the rest of the steps. "Hello…" I crouched low to be eye level with Marie.

She looked to her sister for direction.

"It's all right," Franny whispered.

Marie smiled at me, this huge toothy grin. "You're my papa." She widened her arms to wrap them around my neck.

I hugged her tight, feeling so much fuckin' better. Then I stood up, needing to hold Franny, too. My eldest daughter didn't complain either. She embraced her old man and giggled.

Minutes later, I practically ran up the stairs, taking off my jacket—pushing my suspenders down as I walked to our bedroom.

Ironically, everything in the room was the same. It even had the same scent, which was odd, but I didn't care about all of that.

Rosalie was in our bed, holding the sheet tight around her body while she stared at the ceiling. Her bare shoulders told me she was nude underneath, and before I did anything else, I lifted the covers to see her—to see...other changes.

My wife refused to meet my gaze. "There's a good chance—we might conceive today."

I nodded as I shimmied out of my slacks. That meant I had to pull out before I came, but that's okay.


"Do you want another child?" I searched her eyes, wondering what lay behind them.

"If that's what you want, Edward," she said, smiling. "I'd—"

I stopped her words with my mouth, not caring if I knocked her up or not.

It was irrelevant.

My knees parted her thighs, and I pushed forward—holding back a groan when I felt her warmth.

Ecstatic because I came in a woman and not my hand, I panted while I stared up to the ceiling.

There were cracks. It needed to be painted.

"I missed you." Rose scooted closer, lifting my arm to spoon.

My stomach growled. "Supper almost ready?" I needed a smoke, too, and definitely a glass of wine.

"Oh…yes." She nodded, leaning back.

I sighed, sitting up and fixing my pants.

Losing my load did something. My mind was clear, and I felt at home, at ease.

Instead of getting dressed again, I grabbed my cigarettes from my jacket, quick to light a match.

"You smoke?" I offered the pack to Roe, exhaling.

She declined, twisting her brassiere to cover her breasts.

Placing the pack in my pants pocket, my hand got caught in one of my suspenders that lay against my hips.

It made me chuckle.

"What's so funny?" She stepped into her slip, grabbing for her dress.

"Nothin'…" I continued to smoke my cigarette.

"You're still so handsome." Her hands roamed up my chest. "You look exactly the same . . . Get my zipper."

I grinned, doing as she asked.

"I missed you so much, Edward. So much."

"Yeah, me too." I gazed out the window. Not much was happening on the street. Cars would whizz by. I'd hear kids occasionally shouting.

"I'll be downstairs…?"

I nodded, not bothering to turn toward her. "I'm hungry."

The door closed and I heard my wife walking down the stairs.

It was then that I took a few minutes for myself.

After grabbing the ashtray, I lay in the center of our bed, and I lit another cigarette with the butt I'd been smoking.

It was early. At just barely five p.m., I knew I had to make it down to the south end of Stillwell Avenue—to my uncle's shop. Whoever ran it now knew I was to be coming through, taking shit over.

And the sooner I start making those moves, the better.

When I entered the kitchen, I sat at the head of the table, watching as my daughters and their mother placed plates down. There was a simple bowl of macaroni drenched in tomato sauce, and then a large ham steak on a platter. It looked good, but it was meager.

None of them looked to be starving, which was something I'd be in my uncle's debt for.

However, I expected something more grandiose my first night home.

Roe didn't expect me, and that's hogwash. In my last letter, I told her the exact day of my release.

"Vino?" Roe asked.

With a slight nod, I watched as she filled my glass halfway.

"Thank you." I gave her hand a squeeze.

Her eyes trailed down my chest to my slacks. "We should go to bed early," she whispered and looked over her shoulder.

"I gotta go out after dinner," I said, taking a sip of the red wine. It tasted divine. While I helped myself to some more, I also lit another cigarette. "Open a window," I instructed my wife, thinking it stuffy in the warm kitchen.

Hearing the screen door slam, I turned toward the front.

Franny was smiling wide, and someone trailed after her.

Knowing it was her friend, I polished off my second glass of wine—hoping they'd all sit down already. "Get your sister," I told Franny, not seeing Marie in sight.

"Yes, Papa."

I grinned at that, turning toward my eldest.

But I was met with a pair of brown eyes, not green eyes.

My eyes raked down her form. She was gorgeous, a cute baby doll, wearing plaid chinos that only came down mid-calf, and a form-fitting top. Her hair wasn't pulled away from her face, but it landed on her shoulders—ringlets of curls.

And I felt underdressed, scoping my suspender in my periphery.

But who the fuck was this broad? She couldn't be Franny's friend, Carlo's daughter. She must have been eighteen at best, and yet she had robust, round hips, an hourglass shape, and a very pretty face.


Tearing my eyes away, I looked up to my wife. That was like getting splashed with cold water.

"Eat." She placed my full dish down in front of me.

Not hungry anymore, I turned back to the woman standing in the kitchen doorway—tilting my head as if that'd grant me a better look.

Maybe I was trying to see her rear?

Her ankles were bare, along with her feet, which were encased in a pair of flats.

When I saw Marie and Franny approaching her from behind, I puffed from my smoke. "Let's eat." I gestured to the table.

Marie smiled, taking a seat across from me at the other end of the table.

I winked, sitting back while the rest joined us.

My wife was at my left while Franny was to my right—the other female sitting closer to Marie.

"Would you like to say grace?" Roe asked.

"Oh, Papa, this is Bella." Franny grinned at me.

Glancing at Bella, she had her eyes on her plate, a rosy hue tinting her cheeks; meanwhile, her words were for me. "Thank you for having me."

But I hadn't had her yet…

Thank you for reading.

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