When John met Nathan at their usual bar, after coming back from his meeting in Missouri with the Mexicans a full week late, he had lost his precious bike, sported a nasty burn on his left shoulder and sounded so utterly love-struck that Nathan briefly considered the possibility of love potions.
Yeah, because apparently witches were real. At least in Missouri.
"... then she raised her hand and shouted something, and the sheriff's car..."
"The same sheriff who you claim was possessed by a demon?!"
"...exploded as if it had been nuked," John finished without even registering Nathan's worried irony. "It was the most fucking awesome thing I've ever seen in my fucking life."
Mary mother of Christ, were there stars into John's eyes?
So Nathan learned that his best mate's thing was farm-girls with large dark grey eyes ("like a tornado in the sky"), a sharp tongue and the habit to start uncontrollable fires ("I kissed her just after we beat the demon, she let me but then she yelled I was a pervert and kind of set me on fire. She is hot like hell when she is angry".)
Seriously, a girl set his favorite leather jacket on fire, and the guy was smitten?
Johnny was so fucked up.
"Hang on, John, please. There is something very wrong here. She is a foster kid, with an old guardian who probably brain-washed her with magic, possessions or whatever religious voodoo he believes in. She is vulnerable, alone, you can't go ahead and...and..."
John came back to Earth long enough to look deeply offended.
"Of course I won't try to fuck her like she is a nobody - she is eighteen. Who do you think I am?"
Nathan sighted, relieved, then immediatly felt bad to have thought so ill of his friend.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have..."
"I'm going to marry her."
"...suppos... You WHAT?"
Nathan should have stayed with the IRA. Of course they were crazy like monkeys on crack, but it was a sensible, no-magical, we-just-hate-people-who-aren't-catholic-enouh-particularly-if-they're-English craziness.
On the other hand, Italian-American mobsters effortlessly reached an unparalleled level of romantic no-fucking-sense I-want-to-marry-a-fucking-teenage-witch-I-meet-a-week-ago craziness.
"Shit, John, try to make a little sense! You've known her since less than six days! She is eighteen!"
"I already checked. Totally legal in Missouri."
"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE! She is a juvenile offender who burns cars!"
"So were we", John judiciously pointed.
"SHE THINKS SHE IS A FUCKING WITCH!" Nathan might have (manly) yelled, but this level of madness clearly requiered it.
"She is. I know enough, Nathan. She is beautiful, and fierce, and made of magic, and she's going to be my wife. I will bring her back to Chicago..."
And there was a possessive, awed tone in John's voice, like a promise, as if this was the most perfect thing he could have imagined - the girl he wanted (the woman he loved) in the city that was already his even if nobody knew it yet.
"...and she, you and me, we will crush the Vargassi."
Even while quietly moaning with despair, Nathan couldn't help but immediatly check around them for spies and sneaks, even throught he knew they were alone. Tony was already nervous about John - they didn't need to give him more reasons to suspect them.
"You're a raving lunatic and I can't believe I'm your friend."
"I know, Nathan - That's why I need your help tomorrow. We have to do something important."
"Never come close to Missouri ever again?" Nathan suggested with pathetic hope.
"Don't be ridiculous", John patronized him. "To buy a suitable ring. I think she likes silver, that's a start. Then I'm going to propose. Or maybe I have to ask her master for her hand first. By the way, since we're talking about traditions, do you think I need a dowry too, or is a ring enough?"