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lettersfromjuliet · 2 years

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i am ash from your fire | riff lorton

summary: catalina torres, anita palacio’s cousin, arrives in new york city for bernardo’s funeral. meeting riff lorton is, admittedly, the worst part of it.

warnings: canon/time period typical racism, cursing, mentions of death & violence (stabbing)

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a/n: hi y’all! this is the result of falling headfirst into a mike faist rabbit hole lmao. this is first installment of my enemies with benefits to fwbs to lovers riff series, and i’m beyond pumped to get into the characters and the storyline. everything is basically the same as west side story (2021) except riff survives, so this story takes place after the events of the film. i hope you love catalina as much as i do, as well as her and riff’s story, and i’m super excited for this! enjoy!

They buried Tony and Bernardo on the same day. The cemeteries were side by side, close enough to hear the faint strainings of each service.

Anita never stopped crying.

In all her days, Catalina Torres had never seen her cousin so distraught. Her last memory of Anita had been her smiling face, waving a handkerchief as she rode off with Bernardo and Maria, beaming with the light of a thousand suns. The tears that marked her face now fell viciously, carving her pain in clear tracks down her face. This Anita had American scars, and Catalina did not know quite what to make of them yet.

“Maria should be here,” Anita hiccuped, black handkerchief quivering between them.

“I know,” Catalina whispered back, squeezing her hands as hard as she could, “I know.”

Catalina had not imagined her first day in America to be one of such sorrow. Still, she was not naive enough to believe she would have left it in Puerto Rico. Sorrow follows you, stacking stones along your back until you either cast them off and kick to the surface or drown under their weight. One look at Anita told Catalina she was drowning. As she always would, Catalina threw her a life vest.

She took Anita’s face into her hands gently and murmured, “Esc��chame bien — Maria volverás soon, okay? She wouldn’t miss her brother's funeral.”

And she didn’t. Maria’s arrival wasn’t heralded by any pomp or circumstance, simply a black veil covering her face and her stumbling headfirst into Anita’s arms. They held each other and cried as Catalina looked on, wondering how all of this could have happened so quickly. The last time she had seen Bernardo, he was holding onto Anita, staring at her like she was the so-called land of dreams they were soon to discover together. Catalina remembered promising Anita and Maria that he would take them to America with him as soon as he figured out a way. Anita went to bat for Catalina, convincing him that she, as her cousin (and truthfully, more of a sister), should come as well. Though it took some time, he eventually agreed. The three of them were to go over first, and when they were settled and prepared, send for Catalina. They set a date – and when her feet touched American soil for the first time, she wondered why Bernardo and Maria were not there to greet her. She thought of Chino, who would have stood in, but she was overjoyed to see Anita nonetheless, even if she was alone. She’d held the woman tighter than she ever had in her entire life, assuming the sobs wracking her body were like hers, a result of this joyous reunion. It wasn’t until they had gone to Anita’s apartment that Catalina learned of Bernardo’s fate and Maria’s sudden disappearance.

Three weeks had passed since Catalina’s arrival, and in them, she had become a full fledged member of the Sharks. With Chino in jail and the Jets leaderless as well, the only thing keeping the two gangs from an all out war was the promise of similar fates to their leaders, or to join their comrades on both sides locked away in a dingy space behind cold iron bars. New York City was ripe for the taking, yet no one had come to claim it. It was as though they were all tiptoeing around a powder keg, waiting for someone to light a match before they scrambled to steer clear of the blast.

“I have to — I have to go see him,” Maria blubbered, looking past Anita to the gates of the other cemetery some yards over. Anita said nothing, stone faced. Naturally, Catalina spoke up.

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

She took Maria’s hand and offered her half a smile, accompanied by a light squeeze. She’d always thought of Maria as a younger sister, the determined little girl chasing after her and Anita. They would find her running up under their feet, and the three of them became inseparable, spending their time daydreaming of what their lives would be once they left the island. The woman standing before her now wasn’t one Catalina entirely recognized. She had never seen her grief hardened shoulders, the dulled glint in her eyes, as though she were a ghost surrounded by the living.

“You two, take Camilo with you,” Anita said, too overwhelmed with emotion to fight the simple request. Maria’s mouth opened to protest until Catalina murmured, “Trust me,” to her under her breath. To Anita, she nodded, allowing Camilo to walk them away from Bernardo’s grave when he appeared. The path was muddy, but her mind was far from how difficult it would be to clean the pile of shoes that would undoubtedly appear in the apartment later. Instead, she focused on Maria, in her simple black lace trimmed dress, hiccuping every other second. She’d heard the story of the rumble recounted from Anita, who was told by Chino. Bernardo had fought valiantly, his quick feet and rapid movements aided by his boxing career. He stabbed the leader of the Jets, Riff Lorton, and the young man had collapsed to the ground. Tony, Maria’s beloved, was overcome by a murderous rage. He killed Bernardo, the sister of the woman he loved, in cold blood. Then he’d run off like the coward he had been, disappearing into the night until he had been about to reunite with Maria and Chino shot him. What Anita had told her, what Chino did not know, was the lie she had told in her own anger and rage, as well as what the Jets had done to her. When Catalina first heard the tale recounted, she had almost been sick. But the more she thought of it, that sickness turned to devastation. And from that devastation rose rage that burned with all the heat of her homes, new and old, combined.

The group’s pause at the gates of the other cemetery forced Catalina from her head. It was nearly identical to the one they had just come from, only there was no carved inscription in Spanish underneath the angel. Chino had done it on his first day here, when one of the Sharks had fallen at the hands of a Jet. In her time in America, she’d begun to understand the dynamics of the two groups. Catalina had gotten a job with Anita, mending other women’s clothes. Maria’s position at the bridal shop and a position at Doc’s had both opened up, but Catalina felt comfort in the familiarity of the routine. She had mended her own clothes and others back in Puerto Rico, and it was rather easy to return to tailoring in this slightly altered context. She had worked on the dress she wore now, a long sleeved knee length black number with red lace hidden underneath the layers of black fabric. She was a Shark now, and this small act of rebellion and remembrance was the least she could do to honor Bernardo’s memory.

Catalina took a quick look past the gates and exhaled in relief upon seeing a general lack of presence around what she assumed was Tony’s grave. Both ceremonies had long ended, leaving only a smattering of mourners in each space. Maria’s body trembled as she stepped forward. Camilo laid a hand on her arm and her eyes flashed, her lips set into a tight twist.

“Camilo,” Catalina said quietly, stepping in between the two, “I forgot my handkerchief. It’s with Anita — can you please go get it? Maria’s is ruined.”

As if cued, Maria held out her soaked square of fabric. Camilo stared at them both for five seconds before he swallowed, nodding twice before darting off.

“Thank you,” Maria whispered, and Catalina nodded, albeit a bit stiffly. It went unsaid (though not misunderstood) that she’d offered her assistance for Maria’s sake and not out of any semblance of respect for Bernardo’s killer. The girl wasted no time, practically sprinting over to the grave. Catalina followed leisurely behind, acting as a lookout. Rather than standing close to Maria, she settled in the shadow of a mausoleum a yard or so away. She had no sympathy for the dead man in the dirt, but her respect for the dead dictated she not observe Maria’s mourning.

The stream of curses from flooding her mouth cared not for her morals.

“That gringo hijo de puta.”

Catalina spat into the dirt, taking out the cigarette she had stashed in her dress and lighting it with Bernardo’s lighter and a prayer for her minor blasphemy.

“Death is too good for him. And to have your sister weep at the sight of his body in the ground – ojala se lo coman los gusanos. And I know – I know – Maria loved him – loves him – pero… a mi no, y a mi nunca. He doesn’t deserve her love, or anyone’s. He’s nothing but a cold blooded murderous bastardo – jodele! Dios, Nardo, if you were here to see this— ”

“Take that back.”

The unfamiliarity of the voice is what paused her. Not the fact that it slurred half the syllables spoken and was dark as the dirt underneath her shoes, weighed down by an emotion far more powerful than grief alone. She noted the fact that it was strange and foreign to her, American, and that was what made it potentially dangerous. She had turned away from Maria’s direction to give her privacy, but she found that the voice’s demand came from that direction, so Catalina pivoted slowly, taking a drag from the cigarette. She blew it out, and when the smoke cleared, found herself looking into eyes colored the brightest blue she had ever seen. They were extremely bloodshot, which, curiously enough, only heightened their coloration. It was as though all the sorrow in the world had swirled into those eyes, every tear, choked sob, murmured gasp. In them she saw a pain she was all too familiar with – the loss of a brother. A skinny frame came into view as her eyes flicked over the new figure, accompanied by light brown hair sticking up in all directions which was slightly offset by their pale skin.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but take it back.”

His voice was low, a bit more controlled but still teetering on the edge of calamity. The wrong breath could have knocked him over, she thought. What refused to brush past her was the strength of his New York accent. He spoke with a certainty she’d found clung to native New Yorkers like blood to white fabric; that no matter who or what came their way, they would claw over anyone and anything to get to the top. Or perhaps that was merely the Jets she’d encountered thus far.

Catalina raised her eyebrows up ever so slightly, inhaling another drag and exhaling it calmly.

“What, are you going to make me? You can barely stand there without falling on your ass.”

The man took a step forward, swaying a little bit. She spotted a paper bag with a bottle neck peeking out of one hand, his own cigarette in the other.

“Tony was better than all of us. Better than me, better than you, better than that walking death certificate crying over his grave right now— ”

“Her name is Maria,” Catalina hissed fiercely, her eyes flashing in warning. No matter her thoughts on Tony, Maria was family. There would be no slander of her or another Shark’s name in her presence. Ever. “And your precious Tony killed Bernardo, so Chino killed him. A life for a life.”

“Bullshit,” he spat, “He didn’t have to die. He should be here right now. Not her.” He took a swig from the bag, a cold gleam entering his eyes. “That broad’s the one that got him killed. His death is on her hands. What the hell is she even doin’ here?”

The words burst from Catalina’s lips before she could stop them. Not that she particularly wanted to. After holding back for so long, she was overdue for an explosion.

“He got himself killed! All Maria did was love him. His fate is his own.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, glaring at her with daggers of fury, a spark away from a rampage, but the floodgates had opened. The water rushed forth, unforgiving.

“Bernardo should be here right now,” Catalina growled, fisting part of her skirt in her hand and stepping up to the man, “And he isn’t. Maria deserves to be here. That gringo does not deserve her tears, or any defense. He deserves to be in the ground.”

They were only three feet from each other, each sixty seconds away from going nuclear. Red had started to bleed into Catalina’s vision, painting the man before her in the scarlet tones of her temper. How dare he speak upon Maria, or Bernardo, or any of them. What could he have possibly known?

“Riff!” a new voice yelled, and another person ran up, short dark black hair and a rock in their step. From behind her, Camilo reappeared at her side silently.

“We got a problem here?” the Jet asked with an icy snear, “What are you PRs doing on our turf anyway?”

“It could be our turf any day now, gringo,” Camilo returned, equally chilled.

Both of them set their hands at their sides, each casting a look to Riff and Catalina.

Maria, still weeping at the foot of Tony’s grave, looked up.

“A friend came to pay her respects,” Catalina said, forcing an evenness into her tone as the red receded. “Now we’re leaving.”

She took Camilo’s arm and subtly tugged him with her, walking past Riff and his Jet.

“Don’t come back,” Riff called, and Catalina’s head whipped over her shoulder at him.

“Vete a la mierda,” she hissed, “And take your pathetic excuse for a gang with you.”

She missed the murmured retaliation in maintaining the confidence in her steps.

“Maria, vamo cariña,” Catalina murmured, gently lifting her friend from the dirt and holding her upright. They returned to the apartment and Anita and Catalina climbed in with Maria, enveloping her between them. The young girl fell asleep first, then her cousin, leaving Catalina alone with her mind and the moonlight shining down through the fire escape. She replayed the events of the day, concentrating until the words, “Cool it, Anybodys, I got a plan,” appeared. In the moment, she hadn’t thought much of him, or his name. But with nothing else to consider, a ferocious scowl painted her face as the pieces clicked together. Riff Lorton, the leader of the Jets, was alive, and already scheming their next movements.

Catalina’s eyes drifted downwards to the two women slumbering beside her. They both looked so young in their sleep, unburdened by the trials and tribulations they had gone through to get here, by the losses they’d endured, the triumphs that had slipped through their fingers. And in that moment, Catalina made a vow. She would not rest until her family was safe, until the Jets were properly dealt with and the Sharks were up on top. She would do whatever it took to secure them all, make the American dreams they’d long been chasing a reality. And no one, especially not a mess of a man somehow recalled to life, would stand in her way.

Catalina fell asleep calmly. In the morning, she could plot and plan. But tonight, she would be with the two people that meant the most to her in the world and pretend that everything would be all right.

—

The next morning, Maria was gone. All that remained of her presence was a note and the promise of living in her heart forever, and maybe the occasional visit or two if she believed she could handle it. New York City was no longer her home, and she could not bear to remain without Tony. Catalina saw the look in her cousin’s eyes change, witnessed the exact moment when the old Anita died. She rose from the kitchen table differently, as though the strings that had been pulling her through her life for the last few weeks had been cut and she was now fully in control of her body.

“Chino is in jail,” Anita said slowly, “Maria left. Bernardo is –” Her hands shook for two seconds before she flexed her fingers and regained control. She continued with an unwavering voice. “Bernardo is dead. The Jets are biding their time, waiting for the opportunity to move. They’ve taken everything from us. They cannot have this, too.”

The steel in her tone drew a spark of pride into Catalina’s eyes.

Anita pushed her shoulders back, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes and exhaling.

“The Sharks need a leader. And because Bernardo and Chino aren’t here, that falls to me. I think I can make them listen, I think I can do this, but not alone. I need you. I need you, Cati.”

She was silent for a moment, letting the weight of Anita’s words truly settle into the space between them. And when she was ready, she spoke.

“I just have one question,” Catalina said, the barest hint of a smirk beginning to cross her face, “When do we start?”

#riff lorton #riff wss #riff west side story #riff #wss riff #riff x oc #riff x afrolatinx!oc #i am ash from your fire #iaafyf #west side story (2021)#wss 2021 #mike faist #AH IT’S FINALLY HERE!#excited excited excited #lmk what y’all think omg #tagging this non canon riff just to be safe since this is technically post ‘come to jesus’ moment so #non canon riff

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