Outside, the sirens were getting louder, but for one last night, the walls held.
The air in North Caldwell was thick with the humidity of late June and the stench of betrayal. Tony Soprano sat on his patio, the glowing tip of his Cohiba the only light in the encroaching gloom. He wasn't thinking about the orange juice with "some pulp" or the ducks that had long since flown south. He was thinking about his mother and his uncle. I_soprano_5x13
Livia’s eyes fluttered, a tiny, wicked glint appearing behind the fogged plastic. She didn't deny it. She just looked at him with that look—the one that said the world was a giant bowl of nothing and he was the biggest nothing of all. Outside, the sirens were getting louder, but for
Inside the house, the silence was brittle. Carmela was upstairs, her rosary beads clicking like a countdown. She knew the storm was coming; she could smell the gunpowder on Tony’s skin even when he hadn't fired a shot. Tony stood up, his heavy footsteps echoing off the flagstone. He had a stop to make before the world exploded. He wasn't thinking about the orange juice with
The following story is a reimagining of "I Dream of Jeannie Cusamano," the Season 1 finale of The Sopranos .
He leaned in close, his shadow swallowing her bed. He didn't yell. He didn't shake her. He just whispered into the plastic of her oxygen mask. I know, Ma. I know it was you.