Omertá
Foreward, by Lucia Ann Iero
Before I knew everything, it was the spring of 1958 and my husband’s boss had just died, and we were just married. The wedding and the funeral were five days apart, the honeymoon the following week, in Venice – it made me anxious, because Frankie said the guy was fading, and that he had to be there for the funeral. I thought I wasn’t going to get my week in Venice.
It was the cancer that got him, in the lungs, only fifty-seven. The funeral was lavish – he was a very well-respected man, was Donnie Way. That’s what Frank called him, Donnie, but Frank had respect for him. I suppose it’s like curing fear by laughing, except Frank wouldn’t laugh, he’d just call the guy Donnie – but then, Frank had known him since he was a little kid and used to play with his sons. I suppose his death at that time was a test – not of our relationship, but of Frankie’s loyalty, which upset me, but I knew his job was important. I still didn’t like going back to the church so soon and wearing black instead of white.
The day before we went to Venice, we had a housewarming party, and for this I wore red. This was the first time I met the man who would become Frankie’s boss, Gerard Way. The mood was kind of somber – it was a break in the business of electing who would take over from Way senior, and I guess there were arguments. Frankie wasn’t high up enough to be involved, but before the guests arrived he told me his colleagues might be snapping at each other, but to keep them happy and smile and get them lots to drink and they’d be fine, but they weren’t snapping – they were sitting around quietly, talking all hushed like, smoking until I had to open the windows because the lounge had turned into the stage of some hokey Broadway musical during a sad song, and I was having to try real hard not to cough. Anyway, I made the best of the whole thing, and from a hostess’s point of view it was pretty successful and the meal went down a treat – but it’s important because the whole time I was completely aware of where Gerard Way was and what he was doing, who he was talking to, what he was drinking, how he was sat. This wasn’t out of choice or obsession – he was a real attractive guy, but I don’t get all googly-eyed over these things – I seemed to have no choice whatsoever on the matter. It was like I was bound to his charisma, sitting there in the corner like a smoke machine – he fascinated me in a sort of panicked, absent-minded way as I made sure everyone was happy and busied myself in the kitchen. I suppose I acknowledged that what he was was not just charismatic, but dangerous, but I didn’t know just how so.
I swear I would have thrown him out of my house right there and then and not even have paused to let him finish his drink, son of the Mafia or no, if I’d have known what I know now; what this book is about – how that man was dangerous, more dangerous than anyone could have known, but most of all how he was in love with my husband for as long as either of them can remember. I would have shot him and screwed the price put on my head. I didn’t, though, and now I know everything, or as much as I ever will. This is about the downfall of Gerard ‘Baby’ Way, and how, not only as the wife of Frank Iero, but also as someone who values life, morality and the safety of society, I should have shot him on sight.
It was the cancer that got him, in the lungs, only fifty-seven. The funeral was lavish – he was a very well-respected man, was Donnie Way. That’s what Frank called him, Donnie, but Frank had respect for him. I suppose it’s like curing fear by laughing, except Frank wouldn’t laugh, he’d just call the guy Donnie – but then, Frank had known him since he was a little kid and used to play with his sons. I suppose his death at that time was a test – not of our relationship, but of Frankie’s loyalty, which upset me, but I knew his job was important. I still didn’t like going back to the church so soon and wearing black instead of white.
The day before we went to Venice, we had a housewarming party, and for this I wore red. This was the first time I met the man who would become Frankie’s boss, Gerard Way. The mood was kind of somber – it was a break in the business of electing who would take over from Way senior, and I guess there were arguments. Frankie wasn’t high up enough to be involved, but before the guests arrived he told me his colleagues might be snapping at each other, but to keep them happy and smile and get them lots to drink and they’d be fine, but they weren’t snapping – they were sitting around quietly, talking all hushed like, smoking until I had to open the windows because the lounge had turned into the stage of some hokey Broadway musical during a sad song, and I was having to try real hard not to cough. Anyway, I made the best of the whole thing, and from a hostess’s point of view it was pretty successful and the meal went down a treat – but it’s important because the whole time I was completely aware of where Gerard Way was and what he was doing, who he was talking to, what he was drinking, how he was sat. This wasn’t out of choice or obsession – he was a real attractive guy, but I don’t get all googly-eyed over these things – I seemed to have no choice whatsoever on the matter. It was like I was bound to his charisma, sitting there in the corner like a smoke machine – he fascinated me in a sort of panicked, absent-minded way as I made sure everyone was happy and busied myself in the kitchen. I suppose I acknowledged that what he was was not just charismatic, but dangerous, but I didn’t know just how so.
I swear I would have thrown him out of my house right there and then and not even have paused to let him finish his drink, son of the Mafia or no, if I’d have known what I know now; what this book is about – how that man was dangerous, more dangerous than anyone could have known, but most of all how he was in love with my husband for as long as either of them can remember. I would have shot him and screwed the price put on my head. I didn’t, though, and now I know everything, or as much as I ever will. This is about the downfall of Gerard ‘Baby’ Way, and how, not only as the wife of Frank Iero, but also as someone who values life, morality and the safety of society, I should have shot him on sight.