Chapter Text
Queens, New York
1942
Winter in Queens always smelled like smoke.
Smoke from factory chimneys. Smoke from street vendors roasting chestnuts on the corner. Smoke curling out of apartment windows where families crowded together around cheap dinners and war broadcasts.
Vincent Moretti knew every inch of these streets.
The cracked sidewalks on 39th Avenue.
The old Italian barber who fell asleep in his chair between customers.
The grocery store owner who pretended not to notice whenever Vincent stole apples as a kid.
Queens raised him rough. Raised him loud. Raised him fast.
By nineteen, Vincent had already learned how to throw a punch, patch a leaking radiator, and survive on almost nothing. What he still hadn’t learned was what exactly he was supposed to do with his life.
Most mornings started the same.
Wake up.
Work.
Try not to think too hard about the future.
The orphanage kicked him out two years ago after he turned seventeen. Since then he’d been renting a tiny room above a tailor shop owned by an old Sicilian couple who argued like they breathed.
It wasn’t much, but it was his.
That counted for something.
Vincent stood outside Sal’s Diner now, shoulders tucked into his coat against the December cold. Snow slushed beneath passing cars while music spilled from somewhere down the block.
Frank Sinatra.
Everybody loved Sinatra these days.
Inside the diner, soldiers filled half the booths.
Some were barely older than Vincent.
Fresh uniforms. Fresh haircuts. Fresh confidence.
The kind that hadn’t seen war yet.
Vincent watched them through the fogged-up window for a moment too long.
“You gonna stand out there lookin’ pathetic all day?”
Vincent turned immediately at the familiar voice.
Maria DeLuca leaned against the diner entrance holding two paper coffee cups. Dark curls framed her face despite the wind trying to destroy them. She wore her nurse training uniform beneath a long coat, exhaustion written all over her expression.
Still pretty, though.
Vincent would rather die than admit that aloud.
“You bought me coffee?” he asked.
“No,” Maria said, handing him one anyway. “I bought myself two coffees.”
“You’re a saint.”
“You smell homeless.”
“That’s because I practically am.”
Maria snorted softly and started walking down the sidewalk beside him.
They moved easily together. They always had.
Vincent had known Maria since they were kids stealing peaches off neighborhood carts in summer. Back then she was all scraped knees and sharp teeth, constantly following after her older brother Dominic and Vincent while they got into trouble.
Now she was twenty and somehow scarier than both of them combined.
“You work tonight?” Vincent asked.
“Hospital’s short staffed again.”
“Thought you were still training.”
“I am training. Which means they dump all the worst jobs on me.”
Vincent smirked. “So basically slavery.”
“Exactly.”
For a little while, they walked in comfortable silence.
Streetcars rattled nearby. Snow drifted lazily through yellow streetlight glow.
Then Maria asked quietly, “You hear from Dom?”
Vincent looked down at his coffee cup.
“Letter came yesterday.”
Maria immediately stopped walking. “And?”
“He’s okay.”
That tension in her shoulders loosened instantly.
Vincent noticed it every time.
Dominic DeLuca had always been Maria’s favorite person in the world. Ever since their parents died, it had just been the two of them against everything else.
Then the war came and took him too.
Maria held out her hand impatiently. “Where’s the letter?”
“At my apartment.”
“You didn’t bring it?”
“I didn’t know I was getting interrogated.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You love me.”
Maria rolled her eyes so hard he laughed.
But then her expression softened slightly.
“When’s the last time you slept?” she asked.
Vincent shrugged.
Truthfully? He didn’t know anymore.
Between factory shifts and late-night construction jobs, his body constantly ached. The war had changed everything in the city. Every able-bodied man was either enlisting or preparing to.
And Vincent-
Vincent felt stuck.
Like everybody else had found their purpose except him.
“You thinking about it again?” Maria asked quietly.
He glanced at her. “Thinking about what?”
“The army.”
Vincent looked away immediately.
That answered her question.
Maria sighed through her nose. “Vin…”
“What?”
“You don’t gotta prove something to everybody.”
“It’s not about proving anything.”
“Then what is it about?”
Vincent opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Because he didn’t actually know how to explain it.
How do you explain the guilt of staying behind while boys your age died overseas?
How do you explain hearing victory speeches on the radio while feeling completely useless?
How do you explain wanting your life to mean something so badly it physically hurts sometimes?
Finally, he muttered, “I just don’t wanna stay here forever.”
Maria studied him carefully.
“You think war fixes that?”
“No.”
“Then why go?”
Vincent kicked at a pile of dirty snow. “Because Dom did.”
The words hung between them.
Maria’s face changed instantly.
Not angry.
Not exactly.
Just tired.
“Dominic enlisted because he thought it was the right thing,” she said softly. “Not because he wanted adventure.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
Ahead of them, a newspaper boy shouted headlines into the street.
“ALLIED SHIPS SUNK IN ATLANTIC!”
“NAZIS PUSH EASTWARD!”
People gathered around immediately.
Everybody wanted updates now. Everybody wanted to know how close the world was to falling apart.
Maria looked toward the crowd, arms tightening around herself.
Quietly, she said, “I hate those headlines.”
Vincent followed her gaze.
“Yeah.”
“They make it sound exciting.”
A long pause.
“But it’s just people dying.”
Snow continued falling around them.
For once, Vincent had nothing sarcastic to say.
——————
Later that night, Vincent sat alone in his apartment rereading Dominic’s letter for the fifth time.
The paper was already worn soft at the edges.
Queens feels like another lifetime.
You’d laugh at the food here.
Maria still bossing everybody around?
Then lower down:
You’d make a hell of a soldier, Vin.
Vincent stared at that line longest.
Outside his window, New York buzzed endlessly. Cars. Music. Arguments. Life continuing like normal.
An ocean away, men were killing each other in frozen forests and ruined cities.
He folded the letter carefully.
Then he reached beneath his bed and pulled out the enlistment papers he’d hidden there three weeks ago.
Unsigned.
Still waiting.
Vincent stared at them for a very long time while the city roared outside his window like something alive.