The bar Josh's family owned was quite busy most nights of the week, as it sat in the center of the busiest spot in a sleepless city. Tonight, however, it felt as if all of Chicago had packed themselves into the mossy brick walls of House of Gold.

Everyone knew why; it was the first time that the leaders of both the Romanian Mafia and Sicilian Mob were together in one place without a shootout occurring. Nearly every customer they were hosting was either part of the mob or there to see how it all went down.

Uptown folks Josh had never seen before filled every booth and table in the small renovated speakeasy he worked at. Criminals from both sides of the city stood near the stage, drinks in hand and guns on their waist. Regulars like Patrick, Pete, and Debby sat at the bar.

Lucky enough, he was bartending that night, because if he had been waiting tables like his poor sister Ashley, whose mousy brown ponytail he could see bouncing back and forth down the floor, he would've disowned himself then and there. As much as Josh hated serving criminals, he had to if he wanted to survive.

Swing music floated through the alcohol scented air as the regular band kicked the moment happy hour began. Two mob bosses of both sides of the street sat in the center table, all other tables directed away from them.

It was 1940, and the threat of the war waging across the Atlantic hung heavy in the chill February air. The folks of Chicago were scared, and scared they should be. Even with the United States keeping to themselves after the Great War, most people were waiting for the bomb to drop and the draft to start. It wasn't a matter of if, but of when.

Josh was pouring whiskey for a low level mobster a couple hours into his shift when the swing band a flash of sparking red caught his eye. He looked up to see a rich looking lady and fella joining the band on the stage.

Hushed whispers overtook the silence left in the wake of the swing music. Everyone kept glancing from the couple on the stage to the two mob bosses.

The singer was a slender blonde broad in a skin tight sequined dress. It matched the bold cherry color of her lipstick and illuminated to brilliant crystalline blue of her eyes. She wore makeup but not enough to hide her natural beauty. Strings of pearls hung around her pale neck. Her heels made her just as tall as her accompaniment.

If the woman alone was magnetizing, then he was heaven sent. This man oozed confidence, and a single glance over the crowd made people cower in terror. He had a sleek matted suit that matched the color of the singer's. A white rose was pinned to his jacket. His hair, dark like his hungry shark eyes, had been slicked back.

They both looked oddly familiar, though Josh couldn't place it. Perhaps they'd performed at House of Gold before.

As if he felt him staring, the man looked up at Josh, who felt a cold rush of fear wash over him. That was when he finally recognized them. Josh was staring at none other than Tyler Joseph, the oldest son of the Romanian Mafia's leader. The woman was Jennifer Black, the last of the Black Family.

As if a Second World War wasn't petrifying enough, the mobsters had infected what Josh once knew as his home into a city infested with guns, hard liquor, and even harder men. And they were standing in his speakeasy, radiating intimidation and looking around dully as if they owned the place.

The Romanian Mafia, headed by the Joseph family, owned the half of Chicago House Of Gold resided in. Every resident paid fees to the Mafia for protection. Josh could barely feed himself. Every dollar he earned waiting tables went to keep himself from getting killed by rogue gangsters and rent. The only upside to the iron grip the Joseph's had was that they fended off the Sicilian Mob, who, after splitting off from Al Capone's group years ago, developed a taste for blood on the streets.

That was Jennifer's family- the Black. Notorious, hotheaded killers. They killed people out fun instead of fear, protected or not. The Romanians retaliated against them, and when they strike, they do it where it hurts.

After a gruesome shootout in Vices Park, appropriately named, all but one of the Black Family was dead. Jennifer- anyone who called her Jenna would be publicly executed- supposedly fell in love with a Joseph and was now under their protection. The chaos slowed somewhat after the Urie's came into power, but the temporary treaty didn't stop gangsters from the smaller branches of their high class criminal organizations from killing.

So, yeah, Josh hated the mafia with a passion. Even more so now seeing how frustratingly attractive both parties happened to be.

He watched inconspicuously while stacking clean shot cups as Tyler sat down at the piano. Jennifer took the microphone in one hand, the other cueing the band to start.

Josh had to admit, she could sing. She wasn't perfect by all means, but comparing her to the types of young and starving Motown singers they normally had was no contest at all. But try as he might to focus on the woman who radiated pure sexual energy, Josh's eyes always seemed to land on Tyler.

From the bar, Josh had the best view of the stage, which meant he saw every inch of Tyler in extra detail. The muted yellow lights reflected off of the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead.

There was something about the two that kept Josh glancing over every other song,

"I saw you staring at me and my gal," Tyler said as he sat down at the bar, an odd mix of Chicago and European in his accent. "Do we have a problem?"

"Naw, sir," Josh responded flatly, trying to sound unimpressed by his intimidation tactic despite how his hands shook on the lager nozzle.

A knowing, menacing smile crossed Tyler's face. He knew Josh was scared of him. Practically everyone was. But Josh was determined not to show him an ounce of fear. Men like Tyler were wolves- if you hesitate, even by a hair, they'll tear you apart like fresh meat.

Josh pushed his shoulders back and stared at Tyler from eye level. "What wouldja like to drink?"

"Gimme a shot of whiskey."

"Make dat two," very, very Chicagoan voice piped up. Jenna plopped down in the seat next to Tyler, her lipstick smeared and mixed with what looked like a cotton candy pink lipstick. "Dis bar is sometin' cute, dontcha think?"

"I do, miss, seein' as how my mama's th' one who owns it," Josh said as he grabbed two clean glasses from underneath the bar.

"Ya Laura's kid?" Tyler asked.

"Yes, Sir, I am."

Tyler made a sour face. "Stop with that 'Sir' and 'miss' shit. We're not bloody royalty."

Josh snorted and poured the whiskey into the two glasses, sliding one in front of each. "Considering th' way folks around here treat yous and your gal pal, ya might as well be," he stated bitterly, setting napkins down beside their drinks.

"Sounds like yous gotta axe to grind with da Romanians," Jenna taunted.

"I don't, miss. They're the only reason we haven't been shot up by th' Sicilians. I just don't enjoy seein' gangsters waltzing around like they own the world under their feet."

"Don't we, though?" Tyler mused, picking up the glass and swirling the alcohol inside. "Own the world under our feet."

"Ya don't, ya own th' people."

He put one arm across the bar, leaning over so his face sat dangerously close to Josh's. Knowing he was just trying to scare him, Josh didn't move a muscle, only setting down the whiskey bottle to plant both hands on the sleek surface counter.

It was no secret to Chicago that Josh Dun, the eldest of the Dun children, was a queer, but since the bar was under the Joseph's protection, no one would dare touch him. That didn't mean Tyler was the same as him, but Josh's intuition hadn't failed him yet. Josh couldn't tell what it was- maybe it was the  green carnation sticking out of his jacket pocket- but something about him screamed homosexual.

Tyler pulled back from his personal bubble with a wolffish grin. "I quite like this one. Not too many fairies as stubborn as me."

Well, he be damned.

"Ya reckon we keep him, Jen?"

"I reckon we should, Ty," Jenna cooed, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "I don't mind sharing."

She traced Josh's jaw with her finger, poked the tip of his nose, and swished away with her drink, leaving him alone with Tyler, who smiled the way only a psychopath would.

"I'll be seeing you soon, mister Dun," he said, dragging out his last name.

"I hope not, sir." Josh blinked once, ignoring the hammering in his chest as he watched Tyler pluck a pen from the can beside the counter and scribble his number upside down on the damp napkin. He couldn't tell if his heart was beating so hard out of flattery or fear. "Th' drinks're on me."

Tyler's eyes widened just a fraction before his smile returned, although it was a tad softer than murderous. "No, they're not." He fished out a twenty and set it beside the napkin.

"Have a good night," Josh called as Tyler left to join Jenna on the cramped dance floor.

Ashley landed in a bar stool, looking worse for wear. Before she even said a word, she followed Josh's spiteful expression following Tyler and Jenna. "Who's gotchu starin' so hard? You got th' hot's for th' missus or somethin'?"

"Not just her." He leaned forward and subtly slipped the napkin into his apron pocket and the twenty into the cash register. "No, that fella's something else too."

—

Josh sent Abigail home so she could finish her homework and ended up closing shop around two am, when the streets were vacant except for stray mutts and alley cat robbers preying on people going home late. The mob bosses stayed until last call, so Josh was more than overly cautious when he had his back to the street. Every noise made him perk, especially the unmistakable noise of two pairs of footsteps, and the swish of a lighter igniting.

He ignored it at first but while locking the front doors, he couldn't ignore the looming presence standing behind him. He glanced sparsely over his shoulder and saw Tyler and Jenna across the road under a lamp, lit cigarettes in both of their hands.

Tyler waved with the cigarette-clad hand, and Jenna wolf-whistled.

"It's not safe to be walkin' home alone at this time of night, darlin'!" She yelled, giggling madly.

"Does that include you two?" Josh shouted back, slipping the keys in the front pocket of his apron.

"Give us some credit, sugar plum. We're not all bad."

Tyler raised the cigarette to his lips and sent out a plume of smoke into the dark, lamp lit sky when he exhaled. A knowing grin spreading across his face when Josh bit his lip.

He wasn't sure if it were smarter to refuse or to accept. On one hand, if he said no, who knows what could happen to him, even with the protection of the Romanian's. He was guarded, but to the Sicilians, queers were free game.

On the other hand, this could be a ruse to rob him of what little he had, or to take advantage of him. Both scenarios scared him, but not enough for his common sense to take hold.

"Join me if you want," Josh said after a moment of contemplation. "It's the same to me."

"Lucky us."

The two crossed the street and joined Josh. Jenna immediately threw herself on him, one arm wrapped around his.

"Don't worry, hun, we don't bite," she giggled.

Tyler put his hand on Josh's shoulder, winking. "Not unless you want us to, of course."