Post by Gerard Angelo on Jan 29, 2023 11:24:52 GMT -5
Gerard stood in front of a mirror, fixing his tie. He stared at his reflection. It had been a long time since Gerry had stared into this mirror years ago as a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old getting ready to enter the wild wrestling business. His brown beard and hair started to speckle with grey and the lines in his face had deepened. A face that had gone from young punk looking to make a name to a main event guy to one of Hollywood's leading men.
He remembered that day vividly. It had been a warm summer day, the windows of the house open to let in a warm breeze that carried notes of the lilies in his mother’s garden. Gerry was in his room, packing to leave for the Starsmore Academy. The first step to the rest of his life. He lifted the heavy bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned around. His mother was leaning against the doorframe of his room, a smile on her face and one hand behind her back.
“You aren’t gonna leave without giving me a hug, right?” She had asked him, crossing the room and putting her arms around him. He remembered the scent of her perfume.
“I was just bringing my bag downstairs,” he had said, peeking over her shoulder, “What’s that?”
“Just a little going away present,” his mother smiled as she pulled away and presented him with a small box. He took it and unwrapped it, opening it to reveal a pair of sunglasses.
“I know you wrestlers need to look cool for when you go to the ring, so I wanted to help.”
“I love them,” he said, pulling his mom in for another embrace.
“Hey, Gerry.”
Gerard was pulled from his memories by the voice of his brother. He looked in the mirror, his brother standing in the doorframe much as she did those years ago.
“Everyone is here.”
Gerard smiled and nodded.
“I’ll be down in a moment,” he said, going back to fixing his tie. Sean nodded and left Gerard there, a smirk forming across his lips. Justice would finally be served.
Five. That’s how many months I sat on the throne as a benevolent Ceaser, ruling over my empire. That’s also how many big shows I main evented in that amount of time. Sunday makes it six in a row. I dunno what else screams Top Guy like that does. Unfortunately, this time I don’t get to walk in defending my World title. You saw what happened to me at the season premiere. I had my throne taken by snakes. Sunday I take it back. Gold Rush is appropriate because this whole place needs me to get the strap back ASAP.
Kidsgrove. I can’t get rid of you. You’re like a fucking cold sore, popping out at the worst times. How many days until your contract is up? I have a bottle of champagne I saved to celebrate the day AW finally kicks your whiney ass to the curb. I see you managed to weasel one last shot at the big belt before you fade into obscurity. I wanna know how Zooey puts up with your fucking sourpuss every single day. Is she that much of a ditz or have you just gaslit that girl into thinking you're a good guy deep down and she can change you?
Deadass though, you don’t belong in this match. You know it and I know it. You’re only here so Pasternak feels like he has some semblance of control over “his” show. You’ve done nothing of note since your forty-eight-minute US title reign that gave birth to the atrocity that is present-day Jill Park. Oh wait, didn’t you have a World title match against me last year? The one that you couldn't bring yourself to treat like a meaningful match because you hate me that much. You remember, right? Because I remember putting you down decisively that night.
Sam, petty little gargoyle. I bet you would blow the chance to get the belt away from the box-blonde brat and her sugar daddy just to make sure I don’t win the title. I heard you bellyaching about me being on your team last week. I just want you to know, the feeling is mutual. I can’t stand you. I think you’re an entitled, baby-backed, bitch. No matter how you spin it, Sam, you expect everything you want to be served to you on the silver platters you remember from your youth. The minute you face a tiny bit of adversity you crumple back into that child actor that would throw a tantrum if a green M&M touched a brown one. They call this a rivalry but this ain’t Lakers versus Celtics. This is the Lakers versus the Kings. I outclass you in every way possible. I’m a better actor than you. I’m a better wrestler than you. I’m a better champion than you. When push came to shove, you lost to me. Sam, get ready for a new life of playing a pompous English dork boyfriend in every rom-com for the next three years after I send you off with one last loss. Actually, just be yourself in the movies.
Gerard sat back in his chair, sipping from his glass of red wine. He looked around the dining table as fruity wine washed over his tongue. To his left at the head of the table was his father who was leaning to his right to speak with his wife Katia, who had a hand resting on the baby bump stretching out the front of her black dress. Gerry grimaced at that, turning to look at Sean sitting next to him. Gerry’s friend and agent Deon sat to his brother's left, stuffing hors d'oeuvres into his mouth. Across from them sat his Uncle Robert, sipping a glass of wine.
Gerry had planned a whole dinner party for tonight. He had hired a three Michelin-star chef to cook this evening and had invited his family. Baiting the trap. Charles, his father’s loyal butler, milled around the guests, refilling cups and removing empty dishes. They had appetizers, soup, and salad. Gerry smirked, hiding it with a sip of the sweet wine. The vermin had taken the bait and soon the trap would close around them.
The chef brought out a slab of prime rib, four whole chickens, and a salmon dish. Each looked as beautiful as they smelled. She explained each dish with a story, elaborating on how it was created. He didn’t pay much attention. His mind was busy planning and fantasizing about grand revenge. The chef soon left and Gerry stood up, tapping a spoon against his wine glass for attention. Everyone quieted down and stared up at him.
“Everyone, I want to thank you for coming this evening on such short notice. I know how hard it is to get everyone together and I also know my father is happy everyone is drinking on someone else’s dime for once.”
This drew a laugh from everyone. Gerry smiled, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of a carving knife, picking it up as he continued.
“I hope you are all enjoying this fine food and drink. Please eat your fill. Just know you are all sharing a table with a murderer.”
He let the last word hang in the air as he looked at everyone who started looking around and shifting uncomfortably. His father realized what he was saying and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
“Gerard you’re doing this again? I thought we were past-”
His words were cut off by Gerard whirling the knife around to point at his father.
“No. You don’t get to talk right now. I have proof this time.”
“Gerry, what are you talking about?” His brother asked, looking up confused.
“You need to calm down, man,” Deon added. Gerry raised his hand to silence them, his gaze still burning a hole into his father.
“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about, Sean,” he sneered as he stared down at his father who was warily looking from Gerry to the knife, ”You know how they said mom died of a ‘heart attack’? Well, she was murdered by people hired by our dear father?”
Gerard spat the last two words out with as much venom as he could muster. Sean looked at their father and shook his head in disbelief.
“No. That can’t be true,” Sean said softly, staring down at his plate. Gerry jammed his free hand into his jacket and pulled out a stack of fold paper. He handed them over to Deon.
“Read those for me, Deon. Tell everyone what they say,” he said as his agent took the papers, unfolding them, darting his eyes across the pages. Tony tried to move back a bit from the knife that was uncomfortably close to his face.
“Son. Just calm down and let’s talk civilized,” Tony said, fear in his eyes staring at the intense look of his eldest child. Katia’s hand had a death grip on her husband's arm.
“Yes, Gerard. Just put the knife down,” she said in her accent. Gerry slammed the end of the knife’s handle on the table, making the plates jump.
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” he snarled, bringing the knife back around, “I’ve had enough of you to last a goddamned lifetime.”
This made Tony look quizzical for a moment as he wondered what his wife did but he just put himself between her and the point of the knife. Katia had a worried look on her face, whether it was of the knife or her secret being revealed was uncertain. Deon had finished going over the papers.
“Everything here says that Evelynn was indeed murdered by professional assassins,” his eyes dart around until they rested on the patriarch of the Angelo family, “paid for by accounts in your name.”
This elicited some gasps as Gerard snatched the papers from Deon and tossed them defiantly at his father. Tony, to his credit, looked absolutely shocked.
“I finally have you. It’s all right here,” Gerard said, the hand holding the knife starting to shake even as he tried to hold it still, “Mom never got justice so I’m going to give it to her.”
“I know nothing about this,” Tony said. He had grabbed the papers and was reading them over, a dumbfounded expression across his face. Gerry would’ve lunged right there if he didn’t feel Sean’s hand grip his other wrist.
“I didn’t sanction any of this.”
“Stop lying!” Gerry exclaimed, bringing the knife down and running through one of the whole chickens. He turned to his father shaking with rage. Tony continued to stare at the papers.
“This is an account I don’t use anymore. I gave it to,” Tony looks up and stares at his butler who was standing off in a corner of the dining room, “Charles to use.”
Everyone turned and stared at the butler. Charles chewed his lip.
“Charles?”
“No use lying about it anymore,” Charles spat, “I had it done. That ungrateful bitch was going to take everything from you.”
Gerry had seen red at this point and had moved across the room towards Charles. As he went to lunge for Charles, with surprising speed, the butler reached into his jacket, and pulled out a handgun, leveling it at Gerry who freezes.
“I hired them to kill her. She was so ungrateful for Master Anthony, who put her in a life of luxury,” the butler hissed, shaking hand holding the gun, “I wasn't going to let her leave Master Anthony and take everything he worked so hard for because she was inadequate for him.”
Gerry clenched his fist as Charles spoke, looking for an opening to get the gun away from him.
“Charles, you dickhead,” Tony growled out, “I’ll kill you for this!”
“I did this for you, Master,” Charles pleaded, “They never appreciated you. Not like me! I just-”
Charles is cut off as Robert clobbers him across the back of the head with a candlestick. The butler stumbles and drops the gun. Gerard goes to lunge again for Charles but Sean is the first one on him, leaping across the dining table to rain down heavy blows. Gerry joins his brother, the two taking out years of built-up frustration on the butler. It continues until Deon and Robert pulled them off the now bloody and bruised Charles. Gerry struggled against Deon’s arms, managing to get free and attack Charles again. It took Sean, Deon, and Robert to restrain him. Gerard only saw red.
“I called the police,” he faintly heard Katia yell.
Spencer, you self-important dickhead. Everything always has to be about you, doesn’t it? Mister Action Wrestling gets to make everything about him, right? That dumb little nickname John Thomas gave you because you humor that fucking greaseball. Because you wax poetically on a daily basis about the brand's superiority. Championing the company so much that you’ve likely burned any other bridge that’s possible. All to have it yanked out from under you right? I was screwed out of my title but all that was being talked about was “poor Spencer.” “Poor Spencer, he put his faith in Torture and he got screwed.” Well if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.
You should’ve known better than to put your faith in that walking caricature of Tony Montana. From personal experience, billionaires fucking suck. It was just a matter of time until Tortellini showed his true colors. Trusting him was like putting your head in a crocodile’s mouth and expecting it not to bite down. You acted like you walked in on CJ clapping Adilene’s cheeks. Be careful by the way, I heard he does that to people he knows. I would cackle if I wasn’t so affected by this.
The thing is, Spenny, as much as you try and spin it, this whole entire situation was never about you. It was about me. Torture never wanted me to be the World champion. He doesn’t want me as the face of his company. He tried for months to get the strap off of me. I couldn't even finish my coronation before he sent Lissie Hope after me. Then right after that, he sent Kidsgrove. He let Bozo run rampant and attack me without the slightest objection. He sicced Hot Shot and his goon of a buddy next. Then it was Dion’s turn. I survived them all.
Then all that stood in my way was you, Spenny. We were finally on the collision course but your old WCF buddy didn’t think you had the dawg in you to get the job done so he threw Dion into our little match. But the cocaine cowboy saw how much of a survivor I was so he employed the nuclear option to remove me from power. You were just a casualty of war. I know that fucking eats you up inside. You parade yourself around here as the standard-bearer, the guy this whole place is built around and the biggest moment in Action Wrestling history happens and Spencer Adams was just a side story. I know the truth is hard to swallow so please get a glass of water.
You really get on my last fucking nerve because you talk out of both sides of your mouth. One minute your boasting about how great AW is and in the next breath you wanna talk about my lack of signature victories? You trying to say the main event is lacking in talent Spencer or are you just trying to make yourself seem more important? Because we all know that when it comes to big moments, you always come up just a bit short. When was the last time you held a title, a singles title? You're great at tag teams when you have someone to help shoulder the load. But on your own? Was the last one when you pretended you were hardcore just to get vanquished by the same guy you sold your snake oil to?
You try and spin it so I’m one with something to prove since I’ve been here for a cup of coffee but you’ve been here since the doors opened and by my count, we have the same number of World Championships. You fucked around and started believing your own hype, homie. You can do all that posturing for whoever indulges you but you’re getting fucking lapped by the new guy, Mister AW. Despicable.
I had my signature win when I won that title. I took it from Dandy while guys like Downfall, Black, and Shaw fell. As champion, I collected the scalps of whoever was in front of me while dorks like you shouted “you ain’t played no one” like a jaded college football fan. At Gold Rush, I’m adding Spencer Adams’ to my collection. I’m coming back for my belt and I won’t be stopped by someone so fucking smug they Dutch oven themselves under the covers because they enjoy their own brand so much.
The police came quickly. They had taken a statement from everyone and with Anthony Angelo being fairly influential, they simply took a bloodied and battered Charles into custody. As the cruiser pulled away, Gerard approached his father. He took a deep breath before muttering the words he never thought he’d utter.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
Tony said nothing, he just embraced his son, tears welling. Gerry froze for a moment before returning the hug.
Jill, you lazy-eyed fuck. The coward who sits on my throne. You’re not a coward because you went All-In during that match. No, I would’ve done that too. You’re a coward because you didn’t have the guts to do it standing on your own two feet. You needed the biggest ace in the hole ever and you got it by letting Torture into your hole.
Jill, I won’t ask what you see in Torture, that much is obvious. I want to know what he sees in you. I don’t buy all this biggest star bullshit he’s been trying to feed everyone. I think he likes you because you’re flat enough for him to rail lines off any part of your body. But I digress.
Whatever Tort is feeding you, just know it’s bullshit. Know what you were to him? A way to get that title off of me. It’s all about control. He wants a champion that he controls. I wouldn’t be in his pocket because I don’t need him. I made myself a star. I didn’t need Action Wrestling to do that. I’m a Living Legend. You do though. You need this place to make you. You need him to make you. Struggling reality show, failing to live up to your hype in your first year. The forgotten member of a tag team. The thing is, I don’t believe this pairing is recent. Nope. This has definitely been going on since last summer. Park randomly added to GLORY? Added to All-In for no good reason. Then gets placed in a match with the chance to be a double champ that was screamed from high heaven that it was the biggest main event in Clash’s history. Then go for months barely defending those said titles? It sounds like someone’s been on their knees longer than just from the end of December.
Are you doing all of this just to get the Jill Park brand relevant? Do you actually care about this sport or is this just so you can get famous enough for George Clooney to wanna fuck you so he puts you in Ocean’s Seventeen? I think you just want that belt because it’s shiny with gems in it and you think it’s owed to you like the spoilt Super Sweet Sixteen reject like you are. You whined and complained until Daddy Tort gave it to you to shut you up just like your father bought you that BMW you crashed in high school. Just like that car, you’re attempting to wrap the company around the proverbial telephone call on your drunken joyride as champion. Eventually, Torture is gonna get bored of you, or you're going to fail him and he’ll just replace you. That’s the life of a corporate champion. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it. I’m gonna do you a solid at Gold Rush though. I’m gonna take back my World Championship and I’m gonna let you learn the hard way that letting someone else make you comes at a price.
You hold the big belt now though. I’m sure that you think that validates you as the favorite here but that’s where you’re wrong. The thing is, all of these accolades you’ve earned, you won them being propped up by someone else. Hell, you need someone else at all times to make you relevant.
You were nothing until you named your anklelock after FPV. Clout chasing from the beginning. You started to fade at the end of 2021 so you latched onto Regan. Then you needed more so you started sucking face with that bald chimp, Jake Paul. Now you need sugar daddy Tort to hand-feed you everything else.
I, on the other hand, am self-made. Look at my AW career so far, everything I’ve done, from the good to the bad, I’ve done by myself. I won world champion of the year for a reason. I proved myself as dominant of a competitor that there is in a place filled with top-tier talents and I rose to the top quicker than anyone. Quicker than you. Look what it took to finally pry the World title out of my death grip. It took Dionysus, Spender Adams, Alexander Pasternak, a screw job by the co-president, and a surprise All-In.
The most hilarious part? I wasn’t even pinned. Torture even gave me his dumb little finisher and you chose to pin Dion. And I know why. It’s because even in that moment, the biggest moment of your career, that little voice in the back of your head was whispering doubts to you. What if he kicks out? What if he again defies the odds? You’re scared of me. That’s why you didn’t try your luck with your little briefcase until you had the odds stack ridiculously in your favor. And even then you shied away. I told you for months to bring your best shot when you come for me. I didn’t know your best shot would be pissing down your leg in fear even though I was incapacitated.
If you think you're winning this match let me slap you across the face with this reality check. I’m coming to get my revenge on you, Jill. You took something that doesn’t belong to you. I’m the uncrowned champion that was never pinned to lose my title. You’re the person that benefitted from me getting fucked over. I’m going to make you wish you were back of the set of Shoot to Jill, arguing with other mediocre white women, getting fake mad about birthday party invites. I am going to unleash the fury of a thousand dying suns on you. Sunday, I show that it's still the Era of Angelo.
I want you to enjoy your last night as the champion. Take my pretty title, and shine it up real nice. Make sure the leather is looking good too. Take it out for dinner, you can call it your Last Supper. Because, at Gold Rush, I’m gonna crucify you.
This isn’t a game. This is my life. My life is the World Championship. It’s the water that quenches my thirst, it;s the air that fills my lungs. I don’t care how many people are put in my way. Three, six, nine, I’m gonna be fine and I’m walking out once again your World’s Heavyweight Champion. I read the script.
It’s just another Hollywood Ending.
Charles complains loudly in the back about his lack of medical care as the cruiser travels down the winding road. The two officers ignore him, complaints falling on deaf ears. They head down the road a little more until they pull the cruiser off road. They come to a stop and the two officers get out. They open up the back, Charles thanking the lord they were going to help him finally. One of the officers drew his gun, Charles' eyes going wide as the barrel flashed twice.
He remembered that day vividly. It had been a warm summer day, the windows of the house open to let in a warm breeze that carried notes of the lilies in his mother’s garden. Gerry was in his room, packing to leave for the Starsmore Academy. The first step to the rest of his life. He lifted the heavy bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he turned around. His mother was leaning against the doorframe of his room, a smile on her face and one hand behind her back.
“You aren’t gonna leave without giving me a hug, right?” She had asked him, crossing the room and putting her arms around him. He remembered the scent of her perfume.
“I was just bringing my bag downstairs,” he had said, peeking over her shoulder, “What’s that?”
“Just a little going away present,” his mother smiled as she pulled away and presented him with a small box. He took it and unwrapped it, opening it to reveal a pair of sunglasses.
“I know you wrestlers need to look cool for when you go to the ring, so I wanted to help.”
“I love them,” he said, pulling his mom in for another embrace.
“Hey, Gerry.”
Gerard was pulled from his memories by the voice of his brother. He looked in the mirror, his brother standing in the doorframe much as she did those years ago.
“Everyone is here.”
Gerard smiled and nodded.
“I’ll be down in a moment,” he said, going back to fixing his tie. Sean nodded and left Gerard there, a smirk forming across his lips. Justice would finally be served.
Five. That’s how many months I sat on the throne as a benevolent Ceaser, ruling over my empire. That’s also how many big shows I main evented in that amount of time. Sunday makes it six in a row. I dunno what else screams Top Guy like that does. Unfortunately, this time I don’t get to walk in defending my World title. You saw what happened to me at the season premiere. I had my throne taken by snakes. Sunday I take it back. Gold Rush is appropriate because this whole place needs me to get the strap back ASAP.
Kidsgrove. I can’t get rid of you. You’re like a fucking cold sore, popping out at the worst times. How many days until your contract is up? I have a bottle of champagne I saved to celebrate the day AW finally kicks your whiney ass to the curb. I see you managed to weasel one last shot at the big belt before you fade into obscurity. I wanna know how Zooey puts up with your fucking sourpuss every single day. Is she that much of a ditz or have you just gaslit that girl into thinking you're a good guy deep down and she can change you?
Deadass though, you don’t belong in this match. You know it and I know it. You’re only here so Pasternak feels like he has some semblance of control over “his” show. You’ve done nothing of note since your forty-eight-minute US title reign that gave birth to the atrocity that is present-day Jill Park. Oh wait, didn’t you have a World title match against me last year? The one that you couldn't bring yourself to treat like a meaningful match because you hate me that much. You remember, right? Because I remember putting you down decisively that night.
Sam, petty little gargoyle. I bet you would blow the chance to get the belt away from the box-blonde brat and her sugar daddy just to make sure I don’t win the title. I heard you bellyaching about me being on your team last week. I just want you to know, the feeling is mutual. I can’t stand you. I think you’re an entitled, baby-backed, bitch. No matter how you spin it, Sam, you expect everything you want to be served to you on the silver platters you remember from your youth. The minute you face a tiny bit of adversity you crumple back into that child actor that would throw a tantrum if a green M&M touched a brown one. They call this a rivalry but this ain’t Lakers versus Celtics. This is the Lakers versus the Kings. I outclass you in every way possible. I’m a better actor than you. I’m a better wrestler than you. I’m a better champion than you. When push came to shove, you lost to me. Sam, get ready for a new life of playing a pompous English dork boyfriend in every rom-com for the next three years after I send you off with one last loss. Actually, just be yourself in the movies.
Gerard sat back in his chair, sipping from his glass of red wine. He looked around the dining table as fruity wine washed over his tongue. To his left at the head of the table was his father who was leaning to his right to speak with his wife Katia, who had a hand resting on the baby bump stretching out the front of her black dress. Gerry grimaced at that, turning to look at Sean sitting next to him. Gerry’s friend and agent Deon sat to his brother's left, stuffing hors d'oeuvres into his mouth. Across from them sat his Uncle Robert, sipping a glass of wine.
Gerry had planned a whole dinner party for tonight. He had hired a three Michelin-star chef to cook this evening and had invited his family. Baiting the trap. Charles, his father’s loyal butler, milled around the guests, refilling cups and removing empty dishes. They had appetizers, soup, and salad. Gerry smirked, hiding it with a sip of the sweet wine. The vermin had taken the bait and soon the trap would close around them.
The chef brought out a slab of prime rib, four whole chickens, and a salmon dish. Each looked as beautiful as they smelled. She explained each dish with a story, elaborating on how it was created. He didn’t pay much attention. His mind was busy planning and fantasizing about grand revenge. The chef soon left and Gerry stood up, tapping a spoon against his wine glass for attention. Everyone quieted down and stared up at him.
“Everyone, I want to thank you for coming this evening on such short notice. I know how hard it is to get everyone together and I also know my father is happy everyone is drinking on someone else’s dime for once.”
This drew a laugh from everyone. Gerry smiled, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of a carving knife, picking it up as he continued.
“I hope you are all enjoying this fine food and drink. Please eat your fill. Just know you are all sharing a table with a murderer.”
He let the last word hang in the air as he looked at everyone who started looking around and shifting uncomfortably. His father realized what he was saying and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
“Gerard you’re doing this again? I thought we were past-”
His words were cut off by Gerard whirling the knife around to point at his father.
“No. You don’t get to talk right now. I have proof this time.”
“Gerry, what are you talking about?” His brother asked, looking up confused.
“You need to calm down, man,” Deon added. Gerry raised his hand to silence them, his gaze still burning a hole into his father.
“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about, Sean,” he sneered as he stared down at his father who was warily looking from Gerry to the knife, ”You know how they said mom died of a ‘heart attack’? Well, she was murdered by people hired by our dear father?”
Gerard spat the last two words out with as much venom as he could muster. Sean looked at their father and shook his head in disbelief.
“No. That can’t be true,” Sean said softly, staring down at his plate. Gerry jammed his free hand into his jacket and pulled out a stack of fold paper. He handed them over to Deon.
“Read those for me, Deon. Tell everyone what they say,” he said as his agent took the papers, unfolding them, darting his eyes across the pages. Tony tried to move back a bit from the knife that was uncomfortably close to his face.
“Son. Just calm down and let’s talk civilized,” Tony said, fear in his eyes staring at the intense look of his eldest child. Katia’s hand had a death grip on her husband's arm.
“Yes, Gerard. Just put the knife down,” she said in her accent. Gerry slammed the end of the knife’s handle on the table, making the plates jump.
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” he snarled, bringing the knife back around, “I’ve had enough of you to last a goddamned lifetime.”
This made Tony look quizzical for a moment as he wondered what his wife did but he just put himself between her and the point of the knife. Katia had a worried look on her face, whether it was of the knife or her secret being revealed was uncertain. Deon had finished going over the papers.
“Everything here says that Evelynn was indeed murdered by professional assassins,” his eyes dart around until they rested on the patriarch of the Angelo family, “paid for by accounts in your name.”
This elicited some gasps as Gerard snatched the papers from Deon and tossed them defiantly at his father. Tony, to his credit, looked absolutely shocked.
“I finally have you. It’s all right here,” Gerard said, the hand holding the knife starting to shake even as he tried to hold it still, “Mom never got justice so I’m going to give it to her.”
“I know nothing about this,” Tony said. He had grabbed the papers and was reading them over, a dumbfounded expression across his face. Gerry would’ve lunged right there if he didn’t feel Sean’s hand grip his other wrist.
“I didn’t sanction any of this.”
“Stop lying!” Gerry exclaimed, bringing the knife down and running through one of the whole chickens. He turned to his father shaking with rage. Tony continued to stare at the papers.
“This is an account I don’t use anymore. I gave it to,” Tony looks up and stares at his butler who was standing off in a corner of the dining room, “Charles to use.”
Everyone turned and stared at the butler. Charles chewed his lip.
“Charles?”
“No use lying about it anymore,” Charles spat, “I had it done. That ungrateful bitch was going to take everything from you.”
Gerry had seen red at this point and had moved across the room towards Charles. As he went to lunge for Charles, with surprising speed, the butler reached into his jacket, and pulled out a handgun, leveling it at Gerry who freezes.
“I hired them to kill her. She was so ungrateful for Master Anthony, who put her in a life of luxury,” the butler hissed, shaking hand holding the gun, “I wasn't going to let her leave Master Anthony and take everything he worked so hard for because she was inadequate for him.”
Gerry clenched his fist as Charles spoke, looking for an opening to get the gun away from him.
“Charles, you dickhead,” Tony growled out, “I’ll kill you for this!”
“I did this for you, Master,” Charles pleaded, “They never appreciated you. Not like me! I just-”
Charles is cut off as Robert clobbers him across the back of the head with a candlestick. The butler stumbles and drops the gun. Gerard goes to lunge again for Charles but Sean is the first one on him, leaping across the dining table to rain down heavy blows. Gerry joins his brother, the two taking out years of built-up frustration on the butler. It continues until Deon and Robert pulled them off the now bloody and bruised Charles. Gerry struggled against Deon’s arms, managing to get free and attack Charles again. It took Sean, Deon, and Robert to restrain him. Gerard only saw red.
“I called the police,” he faintly heard Katia yell.
Spencer, you self-important dickhead. Everything always has to be about you, doesn’t it? Mister Action Wrestling gets to make everything about him, right? That dumb little nickname John Thomas gave you because you humor that fucking greaseball. Because you wax poetically on a daily basis about the brand's superiority. Championing the company so much that you’ve likely burned any other bridge that’s possible. All to have it yanked out from under you right? I was screwed out of my title but all that was being talked about was “poor Spencer.” “Poor Spencer, he put his faith in Torture and he got screwed.” Well if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.
You should’ve known better than to put your faith in that walking caricature of Tony Montana. From personal experience, billionaires fucking suck. It was just a matter of time until Tortellini showed his true colors. Trusting him was like putting your head in a crocodile’s mouth and expecting it not to bite down. You acted like you walked in on CJ clapping Adilene’s cheeks. Be careful by the way, I heard he does that to people he knows. I would cackle if I wasn’t so affected by this.
The thing is, Spenny, as much as you try and spin it, this whole entire situation was never about you. It was about me. Torture never wanted me to be the World champion. He doesn’t want me as the face of his company. He tried for months to get the strap off of me. I couldn't even finish my coronation before he sent Lissie Hope after me. Then right after that, he sent Kidsgrove. He let Bozo run rampant and attack me without the slightest objection. He sicced Hot Shot and his goon of a buddy next. Then it was Dion’s turn. I survived them all.
Then all that stood in my way was you, Spenny. We were finally on the collision course but your old WCF buddy didn’t think you had the dawg in you to get the job done so he threw Dion into our little match. But the cocaine cowboy saw how much of a survivor I was so he employed the nuclear option to remove me from power. You were just a casualty of war. I know that fucking eats you up inside. You parade yourself around here as the standard-bearer, the guy this whole place is built around and the biggest moment in Action Wrestling history happens and Spencer Adams was just a side story. I know the truth is hard to swallow so please get a glass of water.
You really get on my last fucking nerve because you talk out of both sides of your mouth. One minute your boasting about how great AW is and in the next breath you wanna talk about my lack of signature victories? You trying to say the main event is lacking in talent Spencer or are you just trying to make yourself seem more important? Because we all know that when it comes to big moments, you always come up just a bit short. When was the last time you held a title, a singles title? You're great at tag teams when you have someone to help shoulder the load. But on your own? Was the last one when you pretended you were hardcore just to get vanquished by the same guy you sold your snake oil to?
You try and spin it so I’m one with something to prove since I’ve been here for a cup of coffee but you’ve been here since the doors opened and by my count, we have the same number of World Championships. You fucked around and started believing your own hype, homie. You can do all that posturing for whoever indulges you but you’re getting fucking lapped by the new guy, Mister AW. Despicable.
I had my signature win when I won that title. I took it from Dandy while guys like Downfall, Black, and Shaw fell. As champion, I collected the scalps of whoever was in front of me while dorks like you shouted “you ain’t played no one” like a jaded college football fan. At Gold Rush, I’m adding Spencer Adams’ to my collection. I’m coming back for my belt and I won’t be stopped by someone so fucking smug they Dutch oven themselves under the covers because they enjoy their own brand so much.
The police came quickly. They had taken a statement from everyone and with Anthony Angelo being fairly influential, they simply took a bloodied and battered Charles into custody. As the cruiser pulled away, Gerard approached his father. He took a deep breath before muttering the words he never thought he’d utter.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
Tony said nothing, he just embraced his son, tears welling. Gerry froze for a moment before returning the hug.
Jill, you lazy-eyed fuck. The coward who sits on my throne. You’re not a coward because you went All-In during that match. No, I would’ve done that too. You’re a coward because you didn’t have the guts to do it standing on your own two feet. You needed the biggest ace in the hole ever and you got it by letting Torture into your hole.
Jill, I won’t ask what you see in Torture, that much is obvious. I want to know what he sees in you. I don’t buy all this biggest star bullshit he’s been trying to feed everyone. I think he likes you because you’re flat enough for him to rail lines off any part of your body. But I digress.
Whatever Tort is feeding you, just know it’s bullshit. Know what you were to him? A way to get that title off of me. It’s all about control. He wants a champion that he controls. I wouldn’t be in his pocket because I don’t need him. I made myself a star. I didn’t need Action Wrestling to do that. I’m a Living Legend. You do though. You need this place to make you. You need him to make you. Struggling reality show, failing to live up to your hype in your first year. The forgotten member of a tag team. The thing is, I don’t believe this pairing is recent. Nope. This has definitely been going on since last summer. Park randomly added to GLORY? Added to All-In for no good reason. Then gets placed in a match with the chance to be a double champ that was screamed from high heaven that it was the biggest main event in Clash’s history. Then go for months barely defending those said titles? It sounds like someone’s been on their knees longer than just from the end of December.
Are you doing all of this just to get the Jill Park brand relevant? Do you actually care about this sport or is this just so you can get famous enough for George Clooney to wanna fuck you so he puts you in Ocean’s Seventeen? I think you just want that belt because it’s shiny with gems in it and you think it’s owed to you like the spoilt Super Sweet Sixteen reject like you are. You whined and complained until Daddy Tort gave it to you to shut you up just like your father bought you that BMW you crashed in high school. Just like that car, you’re attempting to wrap the company around the proverbial telephone call on your drunken joyride as champion. Eventually, Torture is gonna get bored of you, or you're going to fail him and he’ll just replace you. That’s the life of a corporate champion. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it. I’m gonna do you a solid at Gold Rush though. I’m gonna take back my World Championship and I’m gonna let you learn the hard way that letting someone else make you comes at a price.
You hold the big belt now though. I’m sure that you think that validates you as the favorite here but that’s where you’re wrong. The thing is, all of these accolades you’ve earned, you won them being propped up by someone else. Hell, you need someone else at all times to make you relevant.
You were nothing until you named your anklelock after FPV. Clout chasing from the beginning. You started to fade at the end of 2021 so you latched onto Regan. Then you needed more so you started sucking face with that bald chimp, Jake Paul. Now you need sugar daddy Tort to hand-feed you everything else.
I, on the other hand, am self-made. Look at my AW career so far, everything I’ve done, from the good to the bad, I’ve done by myself. I won world champion of the year for a reason. I proved myself as dominant of a competitor that there is in a place filled with top-tier talents and I rose to the top quicker than anyone. Quicker than you. Look what it took to finally pry the World title out of my death grip. It took Dionysus, Spender Adams, Alexander Pasternak, a screw job by the co-president, and a surprise All-In.
The most hilarious part? I wasn’t even pinned. Torture even gave me his dumb little finisher and you chose to pin Dion. And I know why. It’s because even in that moment, the biggest moment of your career, that little voice in the back of your head was whispering doubts to you. What if he kicks out? What if he again defies the odds? You’re scared of me. That’s why you didn’t try your luck with your little briefcase until you had the odds stack ridiculously in your favor. And even then you shied away. I told you for months to bring your best shot when you come for me. I didn’t know your best shot would be pissing down your leg in fear even though I was incapacitated.
If you think you're winning this match let me slap you across the face with this reality check. I’m coming to get my revenge on you, Jill. You took something that doesn’t belong to you. I’m the uncrowned champion that was never pinned to lose my title. You’re the person that benefitted from me getting fucked over. I’m going to make you wish you were back of the set of Shoot to Jill, arguing with other mediocre white women, getting fake mad about birthday party invites. I am going to unleash the fury of a thousand dying suns on you. Sunday, I show that it's still the Era of Angelo.
I want you to enjoy your last night as the champion. Take my pretty title, and shine it up real nice. Make sure the leather is looking good too. Take it out for dinner, you can call it your Last Supper. Because, at Gold Rush, I’m gonna crucify you.
This isn’t a game. This is my life. My life is the World Championship. It’s the water that quenches my thirst, it;s the air that fills my lungs. I don’t care how many people are put in my way. Three, six, nine, I’m gonna be fine and I’m walking out once again your World’s Heavyweight Champion. I read the script.
It’s just another Hollywood Ending.
Charles complains loudly in the back about his lack of medical care as the cruiser travels down the winding road. The two officers ignore him, complaints falling on deaf ears. They head down the road a little more until they pull the cruiser off road. They come to a stop and the two officers get out. They open up the back, Charles thanking the lord they were going to help him finally. One of the officers drew his gun, Charles' eyes going wide as the barrel flashed twice.