Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s fucking killing me, Melone! I’ve worn this shirt three times this week because there isn’t a laundromat near my motel. Plus, I’m having to pay for a storage unit for all my shit that didn’t get ruined. It’s like nobody is renting places out anymore,” You groan, putting your forehead on the dashboard of your friend’s car. “If any house of mine ever floods again, I’m ending it all.”

“It’ll be fine,” Melone draws out the last word as they put the car in gear, “I might even have the perfect solution for you, tesoro. Two of my roommates are moving out, they’re getting married. Which means I have an extra room. And I’m sure the guys wouldn’t mind someone like you moving in.” Your ears perk up immediately at the mention of a room for rent, even if it is with roommates. You choose to ignore whatever they mean by ‘someone like you’.

“How many other people would be living there?” You ask.

“Seven-,” You side-eye the fuck out of Melone, and they hold up their hands in protest. “But it’s an eight bedroom house and it’s only two people per bathroom. €200 a month including utilities.” You pause. That’s not terrible. And given the size of the house, privacy shouldn’t be too much of an issue.

You turn to look at them. “I’m assuming we’d still carpool to work?”

“Obviously.”

“And your roommates aren’t creepy?”

“I’m the worst you’ll have to deal with, darling,” They smirk at you. Given your options, there’s only one thing you can say to that.

“When can I move in?”

Chapter Text

You raise a hand up to knock on the door. You’ve been here a few times, but you’ve never run into Mel’s roommates before, nor did you expect to be moving in with said people. You knock three times before hearing a low voice call out from inside.

“Coming.”

You rock back and forth on the balls of your feet as you wait. The beige exterior of the house matches nicely with the slightly darker toned door, and you wonder why it’s taking Melone so long to answer. After a few minutes, the door swings open. Only, Melone isn’t the one behind it.

The man in front of you has shoulders nearly as broad as the door frame, and a stare that could melt flesh clean off the bone. Are his fucking eyes tattooed? Who the hell does that? Why would you want that? Why is it kind of hot?

“...Hi,” You say, “I’m Melone’s friend.” You’re not exactly nervous, per say, you already paid your rent for this month so he can’t turn you away, but this is still awkward as hell.

“I know who you are.” He deadpans. He’s staring you down as he says it. You start to wonder if this guy ever fucking blinks. 

“... Can I come inside?” You peer up at him, quirking an eyebrow. Mel had said that his roommates knew the situation, but you doubted that until the man turned and walked away into the corridor. Not the warmest welcome, but you suppose you can work with it. You trot along behind him, locking your car before you go and twirling the keys around your finger. Looking around, you can see that the entryway has an ungodly amount of shoes piled up near the welcome mat, and you add yours to the pile so you don’t track any dirt inside. 

“I’m Risotto.” He looks over his shoulder as he addresses you. “I assume you have some boxes to bring in, I’ll help you with those after I show you which room is yours.” You nod and he faces forward again. He leads you up the stairs and to the fourth door on the left. “Everything upstairs is just bedrooms and bathrooms. You’ll be sharing a bathroom with Ghiaccio.”

“Alright.”

“This is your room. They’re all about the same size but this one has a big closet. Melone will probably try and keep some of their stuff in it.”

“Yeah, they already asked.” You think you hear Risotto snort, but you can’t tell.

“I’ll take you downstairs so you can meet the rest of the guys.” He gestures for you to follow him again as he turns around, and leads you back downstairs to the living room. It’s fairly spacious, with a large sectional couch and two chairs facing a TV on the front wall. Five men were seated on the couch, three of them engaged in a heated argument, one sitting on his phone, and the last trying desperately to get them to quiet down.

“You can not put fish in the fucking microwave! That’s why the house smells like ass now.” Says one with blonde hair neatly tied up in several buns on the back of his head. He’s well dressed, with a slightly smaller than average frame and long eyelashes. He’s pretty, you think, but you shake the thought out of your mind as a man with a blue tinted buzzcut pipes up.

“How the hell else am I supposed to heat up salmon, Pros? I’m not the one being ridiculous here.” He chuckles. He sounds a little too smug for your liking, and you have the vague urge to take him down a peg. That can be a project for later.

“USE THE FUCKING TOASTER OVEN! I SPENT €100 ON THAT THING AND YOU MICROWAVE YOUR GODDAMN SALMON?! I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU!” Your eyebrows immediately go up at the aggression of the small man with the blue curls. He’s… a lot, and you’re not quite sure how to react.

Luckily, you don’t have to, because Risotto clears his throat and the room immediately goes quiet. 

“Hello, Ris,” The blonde man says, and gestures to you, “Is this the new roommate?” Risotto nods and you raise your hand in greeting. “I’m Prosciutto, and the idiot microwaving seafood is Formaggio.”

“I can introduce myself, asshole. I’m Formaggio, the sexy one.” He smirks at you. Gross.

“Sure you are,” You say. He doesn’t even react, so you just move on. You introduce yourself and find out that the loud one is Ghiaccio, the distressed one is Pesci, and the one on his phone is Illuso. So far, Pesci and Prosciutto seem like the only normal people in the house, and you have half a mind to be pissed at Melone for not warning you.

“Pop a squat, we’re watching Master Chef.” Says Formaggio. You pick a seat on the other end of the couch, next to Prosciutto. He gives you a tense smile before turning back to the show. Risotto takes a seat in one of the chairs to the side of the room.

Ghiaccio has been huffing since you walked in on the argument earlier, and you can’t tell if he’s angry with you or with the previous situation. It’s horribly awkward, and clearly Prosciutto is feeling it too, because he leans in and whispers to you.

“So do you have anything you need to bring inside? I didn’t see you or Risotto carrying any boxes on your way in.” Thank the Lord. You needed to get out of here before the tension drove you crazy, and it seems like Prosciutto is your saving grace.

“Yeah, not a lot, but I have some clothes and books.”

“Not, like, a mattress? Or furniture?” He looks at you quizzically.

“Old apartment flooded and I didn’t have a bedframe, so my mattress and all my old furniture are trashed. Melone said he’d go with me to Ikea tomorrow so that I have a nightstand and stuff, and the new mattress is getting delivered tonight.”

“That’s slightly less concerning.” He pats his thigh before getting up, “Come on, let’s grab your shit.”

Chapter Text

It’s been about a week since you moved in, and you’ve finally unpacked everything. Luckily, all your furniture got delivered so you aren’t living like a heathen without a bedframe. At least, not anymore. 

Laying on Melone’s bed, you scroll through your phone. No new texts. Gotta close that Ao3 tab. Emails are all checked. Not much left to do unless you want to cyber stalk someone over Melone’s shoulder. Your friend lies adjacent to you, sprawled out, pictures off your other coworker’s Instagram displayed on the screen in their hand.

“Mel.” You poke them with your foot. They groan and bury their face in their arms, setting their phone aside. “Mel. Melone. I’m bored,” You say. You nudge them with your foot once more before you decide to sit up. They turn their head slightly so that they can see you before responding. You notice the bit of platinum peeking through at their scalp, right where their signature lilac starts. It’s hard to imagine Melone with fully blonde hair.
“Clearly I don’t have much to do either. Squalo and Tiziano are a thing now, though. Didn’t see that one coming.” Clearly they’re being facetious, but you’ll take what you can get in terms of shit to talk. Squalo is kind of a dick anyways.

“Tiziano is the pretty one, right? With the white hair?”

“Yup.” They pop the ‘p’ sound.

“Speaking of hair-” They immediately groan with fake annoyance.

“I know that my roots are showing, tesoro, so unless you’re offering to dye them, I wouldn’t recommend bringing it up.” You roll your eyes at their threat, knowing full well that it’s an empty one. Every month, you sit and listen to them complain about how their shoulders hurt after touching up their hair, how you should really help them out sometime, it’ll be so fun. You haven’t taken them up on the offer just yet, but now that you’re living together…

“Y’know what? I’m feeling nice. Get up, let’s dye that hair.” They look at you quizzically, but decide to go with it before you change your mind. They grab the color and materials out of their dresser before closing the door behind you.

“Your bathroom or mine?” They see your confused look before adding: “You have the detachable shower head. It’ll be easier. But, I know Ghiaccio got mad at you for even leaving your toothpaste out so I don’t know if mine would be less- how should I put this… emotionally traumatizing to use.” You snort at their phrasing. Ghiaccio hadn’t caused you too much trouble in your week at the house, but there had been sort of an incident a few days ago. Apparently, the way you squeeze your toothpaste out leaves the bottle looking less aesthetically pleasing than the man would prefer, and by God did he make that well known. 

“We can use my bathroom, Ghiaccio dyes his hair in there too so the tub is already stained. If he gives a shit it’s his problem at that point.” You shrug. You’d rather not put up with his yelling but this genuinely seems like a non-issue. Melone just gives you a grin and starts setting up the bathroom. You grab some gloves so that your hands aren’t tinted purple for the next month before squeezing some of the dye into the bowl. “Can I complain while I do your hair?” You ask. Melone snorts

“Bitch, obviously. I’ve been waiting for something to talk about.” They kneel down in front of the bathtub with the showerhead in hand. “I’ve been so bored today.”

They rinse their hair and shampoo it in order to get it ready for the dye. When they’re finished, they towel off their head and neck, and sit on the toilet with their back facing you. “I’m ready when you are.”

You fumble around with the brush and the bowl for a few more seconds before moving over to them. Picking up some dye on the brush, you plop a bit of it onto the roots of their hair. 

“So I didn’t put Vaseline on your hairline but since it’s not your whole head it should be fine. Just make sure you rinse your hair facing the ceiling,” You say.

“Mmhmm.” They stretch their arms out in front of themself and relax against the edge of the tub. You keep putting dye on their roots, re-parting the hair to get to new sections when necessary. 

“Okay, back to the drama. Apparently, Cioccolata and his weird little boyfriend have been trying to get Tiziano to be their third. How fucking insane is that? And I’ve heard they do some freaky shit - Not Tiziano, he’s a normal dude, but Cioccolata is genuinely fucking crazy.” Melone perked up and turned slightly to face you.

“Oh. My. God! I’ve been waiting so long for someone else to bring this up. They came to me and asked, like, six months ago, and it was so awkward. They kept trying to entice me with these weird double entendres, and they weren’t even good ones. At least I’m creative with it,” They snort. You pause your dyeing.

“And you didn’t tell me?! How could you?” You put a hand over your heart in false betrayal. “I thought I knew you.” They chuckle and flip some of their hair back over their shoulder.

“This was before you’d started working with Cioccolata! He was still out in Rome at the time, and I only saw him because of that special assignment I took. It didn’t seem super important.” 

“That’s so important, Mel. It was either sexual harassment or just a weird encounter and either way I wanna hear about it.” You smack their shoulder lightly.

“It was just funny, it wasn’t a problem or anything.” They look at you smugly and rest their cheek in their palm. You just roll your eyes and grab their chin, cupping their face lightly. You just mean to turn them back around so that you can finish the other side of their head and rinse out the dye, but when they look at you like that, you can’t help but stare back. Your thumb rubs over their jawbone and you feel their eyes drifting lower on your face. But, of course, you have to say something.

“This is the most action I’m gonna get living in this house,” You laugh. “It’s probably pretty hard having someone over with seven roommates, how do you do it?” Melone seems to snap out of whatever they had been thinking.

“It’s not the easiest thing. Luckily there’s someone specific I’ve been trying to have over, but that’s a separate issue.” You look at them.

“Who is it? I never thought someone would catch your eye.”

“It’s not important.” They wink at you and turn back around so that you can finish dyeing the last of their hair. You don’t want to press too hard, so you suppose that you’ll let it go for now.

When you finish with their roots and let the dye cure, they bend back over the tub and hand you the shower head. You switch on the warm water and start massaging the color off their scalp. You run your hands through their locks and try to make sure that none of the dye gets in their eyes as you do.

“That feels so nice, tesoro.” They lean into your touch and groan softly. “It’s like a massage chair for my face.” You laugh at their antics and continue your ministrations. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Their words don’t set in for a few seconds, but when they do, you feel your face heat up. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just trying to butter me up so I don’t fuck up your hair.” You try to just brush off their comment, but it stuck more than you’d like to admit. “Let’s get you dried off so we can see how it turned out.”

You help them up from their sitting position and hand them a ratty old towel. They twirl it around their head and rub at their scalp to get all the water out before turning to the mirror. They spend a few seconds ogling themself before turning back to you.

“Oh, di molto! It looks like it was dyed all at once. Not a color block in sight.” You clasp your hands together and grab a brush and hair ties. 

“I’m glad, because there’s no way in hell I’m taking another hour to redo it. Let’s get it out of your face so you don’t end up as purple as Ghiaccio when I put the toilet paper roll facing the wrong way.” You snicker. They do a little jump up against your back as you leave the room and you giggle together as you walk back to their room. “Sit down, Mel, I can’t do your hair unless you’re sitting down.”

They crawl up onto their bed and strike a little pose for you. They wiggle their eyebrows at you. “Like what you see?”

They roll over so that you can reach their head and let you start on the braids. You weave your fingers into the front part of their hair and start to move their hair out of their face. They keep their head still for you so that you don’t mess up, and they hold onto the extra strands to keep them out of your way. The braids end up a little looser than you wanted, but you didn’t want to accidentally pull their hair. As you’re finishing the second braid, almost all the strands finally incorporated in, you hear a knock at the door. 

“It’s open!” Melone shouts. They don’t really want to get up and risk ruining their hair, nor do they want to leave the comfort of being draped over your lap, somewhat reminiscent of a human blanket. 

A hulking presence enters the room and you don’t register it as Risotto until he’s standing at the foot of Melone’s bed. “What’s up, Ris?” They bat their eyelashes jokingly as they ask. You tug on the finished braid just hard enough to shut them up. They pout at you, saying you’re “So mean.” Risotto just chuckles quietly before speaking. 

“Dinner’s ready. Pasta puttanesca, and Formaggio made garlic bread.” 

Your eyes widen, for multiple reasons. Obviously garlic bread has caught your attention, but you also thought that Formaggio had been completely banned from the kitchen after yesterday’s microwave fire. You look at Risotto. 

“He put tinfoil in the fucking microwave, who let him back in the kitchen?” You ask incredulously. 

“If I have to take over his dinner rotation then I’m getting help.” He deadpans. You blink at him.

“Fair enough.” He stares you down for a second before exhaling and turning on his heel. He closes the door behind him when he leaves. 

“What was that all about?” Melone questions. They tilt their head slightly toward you with concern. “He never calls people down for dinner, he usually just sends a group text.” That takes you by surprise. That doesn’t sound like Risotto to you.

“He’s come to get me for dinner every night since I moved in. What are you talking about?” Their face drops slightly at your words but they recover quickly enough that you doubt what you saw. 

“Is that so? Maybe he’s taken a liking to you.” They twirl a strand of your hair around their finger and lean in. You can’t tell if they’re joking or not, but you don’t mind having them so close. Their skin is warm against yours. When they remove themself from being draped over your thighs, you feel so cold in the absence of their touch. You try not to think about that.

“Let's go eat. I’m starving. Your hair took forever.” You grab their shoulder for support as you stand up. “C’mon.”

Chapter Text

Friday night. You should be out doing something fun, maybe hitting the club, but here you are, in the kitchen of a house that you share with a whopping seven other people. You give a little chuckle at the thought of yourself up in the club, though. Maybe you’d go if Mel and the guys were going, but you can’t really think of a reason to go alone. Cooking is pretty much the most entertaining thing you could be doing tonight.

It’s only your second night cooking in the rotation that the house has set up, so you’re going pretty simple. Nobody will be bothered by that after the series of Formaggio-related disasters, anyway. He is now banned not only from cooking, but also from trying to use the coffee maker. It ended up on the lawn Wednesday morning and Ghiaccio looked so angry with Formaggio that you didn’t even bother asking what had happened. If he yells at you one more time you’ll either kill him or yourself, and you don’t think the Boss would appreciate losing any more competent employees. Maybe you could kill Illuso instead. He got on your nerves like crazy on your last mission. A monotone voice startles you from your thoughts.

“Why do you have the casserole dish out?” Risotto stands in the entrance to the kitchen, blocking it off like a wall, with his arms crossed over his chest. You’re a bit embarrassed to tell him that you were just planning on reheating some mac and cheese and slapping some breadcrumbs on top. At least, you were, until you look in the fridge and see the empty space where the mac and cheese was supposed to be.

“I was gonna do something with Tuesday’s leftovers, but it looks like that’s a lost cause.” You mutter. You close the fridge and turn towards Risotto. When you see him you nearly spit out your drink. He’s standing there completely shirtless in the silliest pajama pants you have ever seen in your life. You try to recover from the shock, but he definitely notices that he threw you off guard. “I didn’t take you for a Doki Doki Literature Club fan.” You say, trying to moderate your facial expressions. Sayori’s face is plastered all over the pink fabric of your roommates pants, and his double take when he glances down at them makes it seem like he wasn’t expecting this interaction either. 

“Yeah. Played through it a few years ago.” He shrugs. Plopping down a bag of carrots, you retrieve all the supplies you’ll need to make a bolognese sauce.

“Mind chopping these?” You gesture to the vegetables to your left and begin making the base for the sauce. You don’t really think about how little space you left for him, given that he’s twice as wide as you are and taller to boot. So, when you see him just standing there, you kind of assume he’s being lazy. Until he comes up behind you. A large pair of arms wraps around your midsection and you jump a bit.

“Just need to move you over here.” He picks you up from the waist and plops you down a foot or two to the side. His hands linger slightly and brush against your bare skin before he pulls back. You stare at him for a moment.

He simply sends a glance in your direction before going back to cutting the vegetables. Cheeky fucking bastard. Can’t let him get away with that, now can you? 

He puts the knife down for a second and you see your chance. You put your hands on his abdomen in retaliation and push his lower back up against the counter, palms over his hip bones, chest to chest.

“What the fuck was that move, Ris?” You say in a hushed tone. His gaze lowers to the thumbs brushing over his sides before meeting your eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him looking bashful before. It’s almost funny seeing such a feared hitman looking at you like this, like a flustered schoolgirl. Toying with him is more entertaining than you’d like to admit. You take a second to enjoy the view before you continue.

“That was bold,” You say. “Next time you try something like that, make sure you can back it up.” You release his waist and instead pick up the knife that had been forgotten on the countertop behind the two of you. You hand it to him. “Finish prepping the vegetables, would you? Thanks.” Risotto just gawks as you turn away.

You have no fucking clue how you pulled something that smooth. Did you get possessed by a sexy ghost? Are you a sexy ghost? These are all good questions, but sauce requires your full attention, so you decide to ruminate on this interaction for the next several nights instead of sleeping and start making the sauce now.

The evening seems to speed by as the two of you cook, even with your other team members coming in to complain about how long it’s taking. Melone has apparently starved to death in the hour it’s taken to get everything ready. 

You pull out as many plates as you can in one go and get ready to set the table when Risotto stops you. Shit, you think, maybe he’s pissed at you over what happened earlier. At least, that’s what you think until you feel his calloused palm cup your face. He wipes something off near your temple before releasing you.

“You had a little something on your face. Probably splashed on you.” He licks his thumb clean.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. Why was that hot? It shouldn’t have been, and you shouldn’t be attracted to your roommate, and-

You lose track of your train of thought when you realize that you’ve been inadvertently holding some very intense eye contact with the man. You can’t let him think he’s winning, that would be like admitting defeat in the first quarter. You need a comeback.

“Guess you were able to back it up.” You say. 

Okay, that works. Now you just have to do something that will make things even again. You think your brain might be fried. Don’t try to bite him, you think. Why is that your first instinct?

You spend so long thinking that he eventually has to look away. Guess indecision was the right decision. He goes back to making the final preparations for dinner, and you set the table. You feel like you should do something more, but once everyone comes in to eat, it feels a bit too late.

You pull him aside while the two of you are getting the finished dish from the kitchen to serve. Grabbing his bicep lightly, you get his attention and tell him.

“If you want something from me, you just need to ask.” You say, before dropping your hold on him and grabbing the pasta. You wait for a response, but the only indication that he heard you is a smug smile on his face as he retreats from the kitchen.

Fucking hell.

Time for dinner, you suppose. Now you just need to find a time to freak out over this with Melone.

Chapter Text

“Oh fuck my life.” You mutter under your breath. That table was not there last time you wanted a midnight snack… probably. 

This is some bullshit. It is three in the morning, you should be sleeping so hard you drool through your pillowcase, but here you are. Toe stubbed, eyes puffy, ice cream half melted. A true tragedy.

You stretch out across the couch and put the bowl in your lap, but you don’t get very long to yourself.

“Hello?” A voice calls softly from down the hall. You jumped a bit at the sudden sound, but you beckoned the source of the noise over to you nonetheless. Prosciutto pops out from the doorway, damp trails carving their way down his cheeks. The second surprise of the night, you suppose.

You blink at him, too groggy to register the image of the man in front of you. He’s disheveled, his hair undone from its usual updo and his t-shirt wrinkled, rubbing at his eyes in a futile attempt to stave off the heavy feeling in his head. 

“You doing alright there?” You vaguely gesture to his person, not sure how to ask in a way that won’t offend him. He’s closed off at best, you’ve learned, angry and defensive at worst. Best not to risk it.

He’s roused from his stupor when you speak, opening his mouth to respond, but only releasing a choked sound from deep within his chest.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” You aren’t very good at soothing people, even ones you’ve come to  know fairly well. “You can just come sit with me. It’s not my business to pry.”

Prosciutto grimaces, but doesn’t hesitate to join you on the couch, tucking his knees to his chest. The glow of the TV is the only thing illuminating the room, making his tears glaringly obvious in the dim light. Shit.

The two of you sit in silence, Real Housewives of Venice being the only thing to keep this from being the single most awkward experience you’ve had in this house. Prosciutto keeps his eyes locked onto the screen. You can’t seem to do the same. 

You take in his form, curled in on itself. You’ve never seen him anything less than confident, borderline arrogant. It’s a total one-eighty from his usual demeanor. You almost find yourself pitying him. As the episode’s credits roll, he finally meets your gaze.

“What’re you looking at?”

Well, someone’s been caught. Guess you were staring longer than you’d thought.

“...Sorry,” You respond, “It’s just kind of weird to see you like this. Not in a bad way of course! Just diff–”

“You don’t need to fill the silence. Get to the point.” Thank God he cut you off. You were definitely gonna end up making things worse. You can’t help but hesitate before speaking again.

“What’s wrong?” 

“That’s what you wanted to ask? Are you serious?” His brows knit together and his lip curled slightly.

“Excuse me for being a concerned friend. I just wanted to know why you were crying.” 

“Oh.” What the hell was he expecting you to say? Go die?

“So do you wanna tell me or do you want to sit here in silence for another half hour.” Prosciutto shoots you a look, but doesn’t protest further. 

“Things have been,” he moves his hand, trying and failing to find the right word, “They’ve been kind of rough lately. This job isn’t exactly relaxing, and this last mission went horribly. I don’t think I’ve ever had so many bullets directed my way before.” He buries his face in his hands for a minute before looking at you again. “That’s not even the part that’s getting to me, honestly. I’m just in so much pain right now. Everything seems so much worse when your insides are getting sloshed around.”

Wait, what?

“It feels like something is clawing its way out of me. And I can’t ask Pesci for help, that’s just embarrassing. He’s never had to deal with this sort of thing. He’s not the same.”

“Is it, like, a period thing?” You ask quietly. He’s a guy, but who knows? Maybe he has a uterus. It’s not your business to judge.

He looks at you with what appears to be disdain, but he eventually nods. 

“I’m cramping like I got shocked with a taser.”

That explains a lot. Mainly the fact that there were already tampons in this house before you moved in, which generally isn’t the case in a house full of men, but you digress. 

“Sorry, man. I think I can help you out though.” You say hopefully. Prosciutto raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t protest. 

You make your way across the room to the kitchen and grab the kettle. While you fill it up, he eyes you warily, unsure of what you intend to do. 

Once the kettle is set on the burner, you rummage through the cabinets for some raspberry tea. The bags are towards the back, so you do your best to extract two of them and a mug for each of you. You turn back to Pros.

“You have a hot water bottle, right?” You look at him over your shoulder as you add some honey to the mugs. 

“Yeah, it’s in the cabinet over there. The blue one.”

You open the door to the cabinet he pointed at and notice the bottle immediately. The kettle begins to squeal and you snatch up the vessel so that you can pour the water into it. You then put some water into the mugs, drenching the teabags and dissolving the honey. Screwing the hot water bottle shut, you put it under your arm and grab the tea for the both of you.

“Okay, this tea is supposed to help with cramps. Do you want to lay down while you drink it so you can go to sleep? It’s pretty late.” 

Prosciutto looks surprised about the level of concern you’re exhibiting. He takes a mug from you gingerly before standing up and making his way to the hallway.

You’re confused about what he’s doing until he pipes up.

“Are you coming?”

Oh. Oh my. He wants you to come to his room.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.” You trail behind him until he stops at his door and swings it open. His room is neat, with a coordinated color scheme of muted browns and oranges. The only thing out of place is his bed, the sheets mussed and the pillows strewn about. He pauses and just looks at it, but before you can stop yourself, you set your mug on the nightstand, place the hot water bottle down, fluff up a pillow and open the blankets for him to crawl into. You’re a bit embarrassed about it, but you pat the bed and he seems to get the message.

He gets comfortable and arranges the pillow where he wants it before taking the blankets from you and pulling them up to his chin. You pass him the hot water bottle and he places it against his abdomen. You grab your mug and start to leave, but Pros tugs on the hem of your shirt.

“You should stay and watch Real Housewives with me. I want to know if Giulianna and Lorenzo actually end up crashing the funeral.” He rests his head in the crook of his arm as he looks up at you.

“Y’know, I didn’t really think you were paying attention.”

“It was either that or focus on the stabbing pain in my stomach.”

“...Fair enough. I’ll grab my computer.”

You go to your room and grab your laptop as fast as you can before walking around to the other side of the bed and hop in beside him. You sign into your account and pull up episode five. “This is the one we were on, right?”

“Yeah, the one after the big dinner party.” He turns over and scoots closer to you so that he can see the screen. You feel the warmth of his body seeping into your skin through the sheets as he does, the water bottle pressed between your side and his chest. You can feel your face heating up, but you push it down. You don’t want to make it weird.

Before you know it, you’re through the episode and your eyes are feeling heavier and heavier. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you yawn.

“Pros, I should go to bed. I don’t wanna accidentally fall asleep on you.” He lifts his head from the pillow, and once the cold air touches your neck you realize just how close the two of you were. He has a bleary look in his eyes, but he slowly processes what you’re saying.

“You should stay. I’m too comfortable to get up.” He settles back into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin. You want to protest, tell him he needs to sleep, but the longer you lie with him the more you feel your resolve crumbling before you.

“I guess one more episode wouldn’t hurt.” You relent. You press play and sit in near silence until you hear Prosciutto yawn and he raises his head to look at you once more.

“I’m really glad you moved in. You’re better than I was expecting for someone who’s friends with Melone.” He says. You can’t see much of his face with it buried against you, but you can hear him just fine.

“You’re better than I was expecting based on how Mel described you.” You snort. He groans into your shoulder and throws an arm across you in protest. You don’t know if it’s just the four a.m. delirium or something else making your chest tighten, but you’re too tired to care. You choose to just enjoy the feeling of your friend curled into you, and the comfort of the water bottle shielding you from the cold night air. Consequences are tomorrow’s problem.

And as you doze off to the sound of someone getting bitch slapped, you can’t really find it in yourself to give a fuck.

Chapter Text

You’re woken up by violent shaking and the feeling of Prosciutto’s forehead knocking into your chin.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You cry out. Lilac hair whips you in the face before you’re able to sit up properly and you yank at the source, getting a pained yelp from Melone and a chuckle from Prosciutto. 

“Wake the fuck up! I got something you’re definitely gonna be interested in.” They basically shove the screen of their burner phone into your face, too close for you to even read properly. 

“Mel move this thing- Stop that! Move it back.” You push them back so you can sit up and grab the device for yourself. You rub your eyes and take a look. 

You’re faced with an email that, to anyone outside of the Familia, would look like a scam; But you know better. That iOS 7 notification on Melone’s (identifiably not Apple) cell phone is the Boss’s signature. Sure, you’ve gotten a couple viruses from actual scammers, but in general these links are how the boss sends his plans. And based on the ominous loading screen that pops up after you click the link, it’s definitely something important. 

You click rapidly to try and get it to load faster, which is absolutely useless, but also greatly entertaining when you accidentally open Melone’s arsenal of pornography. 

“I didn’t think an anus could stretch that wide.” Prosciutto deadpans. 

“Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.” You retort. The woman on the screen lets out an exaggerated moan as the other person increases the speed of their movements. You stifle a laugh. 

“I think that guy is plenty hard.”

That comment makes you slap Prosciutto’s chest. He grabs your wrist on its way back to your side, draping it over his midsection. Your hand finds its way under the fabric of his raised shit to trace the scars on his chest gently, drawing shapes with your thumb. Melone clears their throat, porn still playing loudly in the background. 

“Can we move on now?” They ask, one eyebrow raised at the current state you and Prosciutto find yourselves in, something Mel seemingly just noticed. You respond quickly to cover your tracks. 

“I don’t think anyone in the video came yet, maybe the Boss wants us to finish it.” You grin. Melone has very little shame, but even they must be mortified to have their spank bank put on display. 

They give you a flat look before closing the website and returning to the tab opened by the email. It had loaded while the man in the porno was dropping his load and the message was displayed in harsh red letters.

“Who uses a font that big?” You question, “And why is it in Papyrus?” For that comment, you receive glares from both Melone and Prosciutto, who are apparently a united front now. 

“The real question is why you recognize the font-“

“The real question is why neither of you are shutting the fuck up and reading this! I didn’t wake you up at 6 a.m. just for fun!” Mel’s lips press together in annoyance, forming a thin line. You quiet yourself before reading the text on the screen.

DROP OFF MISSION. ARRIVE IN SICILY BY 21:00 HOURS. VOLATILE PACKAGE. 

BRIEFING FILE ATTACHED. 

You blink for a second. The briefing file name is addressed directly to you. 

You aren’t even a formal member of La Squadra yet. Your jobs were mostly solo assassinations, so how did the boss know you were with them now? Risotto definitely hadn’t reported it. That man is anything but a narc. Though, it doesn’t do anyone any harm, so you suppose it doesn’t matter how he found out. 

“Now do you see why I’m so weirded out? The files are never specifically addressed. This is gonna be bad.” Mel says. “And we’re an executioner team, why are we doing a drop-off mission? And what does he mean by volatile package?” 

You pat their cheek in a way that, if it were towards anyone else, would seem kind of bitchy. You’ve been doing it to each other since seeing some dickhead at a restaurant do it to her date. 

“I have the same information you have, babes. I haven’t read the briefing yet. Can I take the phone so I can prep everything?” You take the phone from them after they nod and you slip out from the tangle of blankets surrounding you and Prosciutto. He mildly protests before letting you go. 

Once you’re up and going, you place Melone’s phone down on the night stand and grab your own. You need to shoot a text to the rest of the group. 

LA SQUADRA DE ESECUZIONI

Newbie: 

           get ur asses in the kitchen 

           we gotta discuss some shit

Formaggio: 

          don’t tel me wat to do bitc

Ghiaccio:

          When do we need to be down there by. 

          Formaggio are you drunk. 

Formaggio:

           ehy r u so formal when u gext 

Illuso:

           please for the love of god turn your autocorrect back on

Formaggio:

           fxuck you bitch

Illuso:

           you got two words out of three. good job

Newbie:

           go to the kitchen in ten or get ur ass whooped now stfu

You toss your phone onto the bed and grab Mel’s. Their passcode is muscle memory at this point, and you quickly reach the briefing file addressed to you. 

The file opens into a scanned document containing only a phone number. You grab your phone and dial it as fast as you can, like it will stop working if you take too long. Knowing the boss, it probably will. 

You exit the room in favor of making this call in private, especially given the nature of the situation. The phone only rings twice before the other line is picked up. 

“Hello!” A surprisingly jaunty voice responds. There’s no way this is the boss. It’s familiar, however. Your suspicions are confirmed when the voice continues: “It's Doppio, the boss’s assistant. I assume this is ******?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Been a long time since we’ve talked. What are the details of this mission?” You don’t mean to sound as curt as you do, but you’re quite curious. You’ve communicated with Doppio before, he’s generally the one who assigns your hits, but this sort of mission is a first for you. 

“A little birdie told the boss that there’s a traitor in your midst. Before we can get the mission started we need you to take care of him. You’ll get the information on your target in Sicily. The address will be sent to Melone’s burner. Good luck!”

Before you even have the time to respond, Doppio hangs up the phone, leaving you as bewildered as you’d been when you first began the conversation. That call cleared up very little. This briefing will be very…. Brief. 

You make your way downstairs, trying to collect your thoughts. How do you even present this to the team? You have almost no information. Whenever a member of the Familia has to be taken out, it generally is left to you, not an entire team. You’ve never had to work with a group before. 

When you reach the kitchen, everyone is huddled around the island. Formaggio is half collapsed on the granite clasping a beer to his chest, explaining his lack of proper grammar a few minutes prior. Pesci begins shaking him when he sees you enter, trying to force his attention towards your briefing.

”Well? What did you find out?” Melone leans forward in their seat as though it will make you answer any faster.

”Honestly, babe? I didn’t find out shit. Doppio and I talked for less than a minute.”

Risotto’s face drops when he hears this.

”You spoke directly with Doppio?” He asks. Ris is a serious man in general, but his tone surprised you. He sounded almost hurt.

”Yeah, it wasn’t anything weird though. He’s been the one providing my missions for years. Most of my stuff is just personal missions for the Boss. Nothing cool.” You try to downplay what your job has been to avoid hurting Ris. You definitely didn’t phrase it as well as you needed to but it seems to appease him at least somewhat. Nobody in the house, at least, other than Melone, knows the extent of your connections with the Familia, and you plan on keeping things that way.

You continue: “All I really was able to find out was that we need to go to Sicily. The address should have been sent to Mel by now.” 

Mel gives you a thumbs up to show that they received the message.

”If Melone pulls up the directions then I’ll start packing up the Honda. Prosciutto?”

”Already grabbing the guns, sir.”

”Ghiaccio?”

”Don’t look at me, I’m taking my car. You guys are animals.” He gets up and brushes off his pants. “Send me the address, Mel.”

Mel gives a little salute as Ghiaccio walks off and Risotto sighs. He can never have a cohesive team.

”Everyone just grab your things and get in the car. We shouldn’t be gone more than a few days.”

You pack your weapons into a duffel bag as quickly as you can before shoving everything into the overstuffed trunk of the team’s Honda Odyssey. Everyone except Ghiaccio, who already left, is in their seat, and as the newest team member, you get the honor of the middle seat.

You climb over Pesci, apologizing as you try to avoid kneeing him in the groin. You settle between him and Prosciutto, with Risotto driving, Mel in the passenger seat, and Illuso and Formaggio stuck in the back row. The pistol tucked into your waistband pokes you whenever you shift, and you have to extract it in order to get comfortable. Prosciutto silently takes it from you, holding it out for when you’re ready to put it back. You nod in thanks.

”You brought that tiny ass gun?” Formaggio only wants a rise out of you, and despite your best efforts, it works quite well. You slept three hours last night before being shaken back to consciousness and it did not bode well for your mood.

”I’ll shove the rest of them up your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up.” You bite. Definitely an over-aggressive response, but the snort you get from Prosciutto makes it worthwhile. You can see Formaggio in the rear view mirror, throwing his hands up in surrender. Other than Melone’s quiet directions, the car remains silent for about an hour and a half before any more incidents occur.

”Hey, Ris?” Pesci’s quiet voice calls out from next to you. Risotto responds with a grunt. “Could we stop for a bathroom soon?”

”Yeah.”

You pull into a gas station, refill the gas tank and take a leak, and leave. All’s well until an hour later.

”Ris…?”

You fight the urge to facepalm.

”Illuso, pass him the bottle.” You grimace at Risotto’s words. Peeing in the car together is a kind of intimacy you could do without.

”I’m not peeing in a bottle! That’s so gross.” Pesci’s lips turn up at the thought. There are a couple huffs in response, but Ris pulls the car over again.

”If you need to piss again do it out the fucking window.” Formaggio says. Everyone gives him a look of disgust, disappointed but not surprised.

”Do not get piss on my car.” Risotto glares. 

”I’ll do whatever I want.”

Risotto smacks him upside the head and everyone piles back into the car. Formaggio is even more of an idiot when he’s tipsy. This time you make it two and a half hours before Pesci needs to pee again. How much water does this guy fucking drink? His bathroom stops alone have added at least an extra thirty minutes to what was already a nine hour drive. On his fifth piss break you can’t take it anymore.

”Ris, take over the map. Mel, get in the back. I’m taking a shift driving.” You wave your hand to make them move.

The seat is so far back that your feet can’t even reach the pedals with your legs fully extended. You move the seat up and adjust the height so that you don’t crash and kill everyone in the car. A few minutes into the drive, the numbness in your legs fades and you feel much less cramped. It’s perfect.

At least until you hear a crinkling behind you.

A sense of danger begins to rise within you. Your fight or flight response has been activated. 

Risotto cautiously looks behind you. A look of pure horror crosses his face and it takes everything in you not to swerve.

Formaggio has a bag of beef jerky, and he just ripped it open. You aren’t able to open the windows fast enough to avoid the smell. It fills your nostrils and you immediately know something isn’t right. The sound of Prosciutto gagging forces you to act, pulling the car over and slamming it in park. You rip Prosciutto out of the car just before his dry heaving turns to vomiting, saving everyone from acrid smell that would have haunted the car for the rest of this drive. Formaggio is happily munching away until Illuso points out the very obvious, very fuzzy mold covering the bottom half of the jerky strip. Formaggio joins Prosciutto’s vomiting in the dirt. You’re able to do nothing but rub Pros’s back as he heaves and share a look of commiseration with Risotto. 

Working with a team is tiring; Worst of all?

You still have two hours left.

Chapter Text

“FUCKIN’ HELL, GHIACCIO, JUST KILL HIM ALREADY!” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs to try and be heard over all the gunfire being directed towards you. “WHY THE FUCK HAVEN’T YOU TAKEN THE SHOT?”

Ghiaccio sneers and pulls the trigger. The bullet only misses its target by a hair, but that provides the perfect opening for Zucchero to shoot again. 

His target wasn’t you however, allowing you fire three shots, hitting your mark with two. Zucchero goes down with a thud and you rush over to confirm your kill.

You place your fingers on his pulse point and feel nothing.

“He’s dead. You good?” You throw a glance over your shoulder at Ghiaccio, who’s just scowling at the ground.

“I’m fine!” He snaps. He doesn’t sound fine but your ass is sore from squatting for so long and you just want to go back to the safe house. You heave Zucchero’s body over your shoulder with a grunt and start making your way back to the car. His limp arms smack the backs of your calves with every step. Ghiaccio’s going to be pissed at the bloodstains, but the tarp in the backseat can only do so much. 

You sling the body into the back of the car and hop into the passenger seat to wait for Ghiaccio to start driving. Bloodstains cover the front on his clothes as well as the majority of the alley behind you. Police will have a hell of a time with this one.

Ghiaccio slams the gas pedal and you nearly hit the dashboard. He drives like he’s having muscle spasms and you hold onto whatever is around you for dear life. He’s usually a better driver than this and you’re fearing for your life over the small bridge back to the safe house.

“Can you- Jesus Christ- Can you fucking slow down? What is wrong with you?” You swear you got airtime after that last speed bump and you smack Ghiaccio’s chest as hard as you can. He winces but continues ignoring you.

Once he parks, he rushes straight inside, leaving you to deal with the corpse in the backseat. What a gentleman. 

You rush through protocol and shove Zucchero in the garage freezer for Risotto. He’ll dispose of it properly once he gets home, and you desperately want to take a shower. You’re up to your hairline in blood spray and your hands are sticky with gunpowder. You use your forearms to open up the doors on your way to the bathroom and bust in without knocking. To your chagrin, Ghiaccio is seated on the edge of the bathtub failing to stop the bleeding of a cut on his temple. You notice the stains on his shirt expanding as he tenses his abdomen.

You sigh in annoyance but know what you need to do.

“Get on the toilet.” You say.

“What? I’m not shitting-”

“Not like that, dumbass, sit on the lid.”

He does as you say after a moment's hesitation, scowling up at you. You give your hands a quick rinse. The soap smells like pumpkin.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He jeers as you swing a leg over him in order to straddle his lap. Originally it had been for better access to the wound on his forehead, but given how pissed you are at him, it doesn’t hurt that this seems to bother him somewhat. 

You settle yourself over him before grabbing something to disinfect the wound off the counter. You gently try to wipe the cut, but he jerks his head back quickly. 

“Just sit still!” You hiss, gripping his chin with one hand and using the other to dab his temple with an alcohol pad. He grits his teeth, but complies. 

“What are you putting on there; acid?!” His fingertips dig into the meat of your thigh, his nails leaving little crescent moons in their wake. He isn’t entirely opposed to your manhandling - but he’d far prefer it in a less painful context. 

After a few moments of tense silence, you speak again. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were injured?” Your tone still indicates annoyance, but also a hint of worry.

“Because it’s not your fucking business. And this isn’t an injury, it’s a scratch.” He jeers. You grab a few butterfly bandages to hold the cut closed and look at him for a moment.

“This is a scratch. This,” You point to the bloody hole in his shirt, "is a bullet hole.” You get off of Ghiaccio’s lap and cross your arms. “Take your shirt off and hold this pan below the hole. I need to flush your wound.”

As he does this, you grab all the supplies out of the medicine cabinet. Gauze, tweezers, antiseptic ointment, and a wrap to hold everything in place.

You line your materials up on the edge of the bathtub in the order you’ll need them. You grab the tweezers and Ghiaccio’s eyes widen, but he stays silent. You hold the skin around the wound taught before starting your scavenging. You dig into his flesh, feeling around for the bullet in his abdomen. You finally feel it and grab it out as quickly as possible.

“Fucking hell, stop fingering it and patch me up already!” He bites. You glare down at him before taking your water bottle and pouring it into the wound until it comes out blood free. Once you can actually see into the wound, you manage to remove the projectile successfully. Putting the bullet on the edge of the tub, you grab gauze to pack the wound.

As you continue patching him up, his grip on your thighs loosens and the sting of his nails begins to fade. He’s calm aside from the initial pain of the gauze entering the bullet hole. You tape down the last of the wrappings before getting off his lap and gently help him stand up so that you can wrap bandages around his midsection. 

You clip the end of the wrap into place and hustle into the bedroom to root through Ghiaccio’s bag. This safehouse only had two bedrooms, so you had to rely on context clues to figure out whose bag was whose. You dig through it and find a t-shirt for him to wear. It's pure white and probably somebody else’s, but it’ll do the trick for now. 

As you make your way back to Ghiaccio, a giant pack of condoms in Formaggio’s bag catches your eye. It’s sitting in the most conspicuous way possible and you roll your eyes. There is no way that guy gets any ass. Nobody could put up with him long enough to get in bed with him. But a groan comes from the other room and you’re reminded of your mission. Investigating Formaggio will have to wait. 

Passing the shirt to Ghiaccio for him to slip on, you clean up any leftover blood in the bathroom. Some gets under your nails as you scrub, but you can deal with that later. Everything can wait. This mission was weirdly stressful, and you can’t quite pinpoint why. You’re a high ranking member of the familia, you’ve been in it since you were fourteen, this shouldn’t phase you. But something about Ghiaccio getting shot just makes you uneasy.

 Everything is nice and clean again, but you feel like you need to be doing something. You grab one of the gallon jugs of water Risotto keeps in the pantry for Ghiaccio since you didn’t administer an IV. He’s got to be dehydrated after how much blood he lost, no matter how good of shape he seems to be in right now.

He’s laying down on one of the cots in the bedroom by the time you get back with a cup. 

“Drink this. As much as you can without puking.” You shove the cup towards him as soon as he sits up, and hold onto the jug to refill the cup as necessary. 

For once, he listens to you without protest and drinks. He makes it through three cups before stopping you and lying back down.

“Do you need anything else?” You start towards the door, but stop as you hear a response.

“...Some ice would be nice.”

And so you go to grab ice.

You place it gingerly on his abdomen and sit at the foot of the bed as he adjusts himself. It’s disconcerting seeing him like this. So subdued. He doesn’t even look peaceful, just a bit sad. 

“Thank you,” He turns so he can see you properly, “For patching me up.” He speaks so quietly you nearly miss it, but his words give you a warm feeling in your chest. The last month or so with Ghiaccio has been a bit rocky, filled with petty disagreements and yelling over your shared bathroom. So this softness of sorts is appreciated.

“Yeah. No problem.” You say, patting his leg through the blankets. “Did you take any pain meds?”

“Yeah… I think they’re kicking in.” Ah. That’s why he’s being so nice.

“Just sleep for a bit. It’ll be good for you.” He nods vaguely and curls in on himself. He seems to be okay, and you really want to take a shower, but a nagging feeling in your gut tells you to stay. Even once his breathing evens out, you stay for another few minutes. Just in case. 

Not that you’d ever worry about him.

Chapter Text

You smack Illuso’s hand away from the bowl of Chex Mix in your lap.

“Chex Mix is for WINNERS. And you haven’t found an exact location for Sale yet.” You scoff. “Ghiaccio got Zucchero’s address less than an hour after we got the names from the Boss.”

Illuso rolls his eyes at your comments and continues typing. 

“Ghiaccio also got shot the first day of the mission, so…” He trails off. He’s right, but you just scrunch up your nose. You drive for another ten or so minutes before he perks up. “Take this right!”

Thinking back, this may be the first time you’ve been alone with Illuso. When he isn’t barely tolerating the others, he’s holed up in his room or out of the house. He definitely isn’t the most social roommate. But once you finish off Sale, the two rats will be gone and you can start the drop off mission. Maybe then you and Illuso will have something to talk about and the Boss will stop being so cryptic. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely make the turn, but manage to pull through without flipping the car. Illuso points to a restaurant on your left. “These texts that Melone found say that he’ll be in there at three o’clock to make a trade off with some guy. If we can intercept him then we could probably kidnap him in the bathroom or something.” You give him a look, but pull into a parking lot adjacent to the restaurant nonetheless.

“Can you not see how we’re dressed? That place has gotta be at least fifty bucks a plate, we’ll stick out like a sore thumb in there.” You argue. He just smiles in that stupid, smug way of his and points to the trunk.

“You think this is my first time undercover? I came prepared.” He laughs, “Unlike some people.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You grit your teeth and get out of the car, walking around it and popping open the trunk. You’re greeted by the sight of a duffle bag, packed to the brim with loose articles of clothing. As you search through the bag, Illuso comes up next to you. “I’m not exactly seeing anything helpful here.” You snark. Giant t-shirt, maid dress, second maid dress, three piece suit… nothing that could help you blend in. 

“Then you’re clearly not looking hard enough.” He reaches into the bag and fishes around for a few moments before pulling out a decently fancy outfit. Exactly the dress code of the restaurant. Guess he’s useful, at least occasionally. And you could be losing your edge. “Aren’t you supposed to be one of the Boss’s killers? You seem awfully underprepared.” His little chuckle as he makes the comment makes your blood fucking boil, almost enough to distract you from the words themselves.

“I never said I was one of the Boss’s killers. For all you know I could be a brand new recruit.” You narrow your eyes.

“Risotto wouldn’t treat fresh meat with that much respect. You’ve got to be at least the same rank as him. Maybe higher.” So he isn’t the idiot you took him for. Time to deflect.

“You might need to rethink your definition of respect. I’m no closer to the Boss than you are.” You snap.You snatch an outfit out of the bag that vaguely resembles something in your size and check the time. Quarter to three. Illuso is asking too many questions, and you need to get into position quickly. You don’t know why Illuso bothers you so much, all you know is that he does. He’s beautiful, he’s mean, and he’s good at his job. There aren’t any weaknesses to exploit, and even if there were, you’re not so sure you’d want to. He gives you an odd feeling.

You rush into the restaurant, straight to the bathrooms. You throw the clothes you’d been wearing into the trash can by the door before making your way back to the front of the restaurant. Illuso has somehow changed already and beat you there. He moves from his position against the wall to meet you in front of the host’s booth, and sweet talks the waitress into getting you a table by the windows. The perfect scouting location. 

You wait for nearly an hour before anyone matching Sale’s description enters. It’s four o’clock when a ginger man slips through the doors of the establishment. You kick Illuso under the table.

“I think that’s our guy.” You whisper. You see Illuso looking him up and down.

“That might be the worst haircut I’ve seen in Passione.” He says. For the first time that day, you almost laugh. You can’t believe Illuso was the cause. 

“Whatever. Just follow him, he’s heading to the bathrooms. I’ll go first, you go after a minute or two.” You get out of your seat as nonchalantly as you can before going towards the bathrooms. Had he gone to the one on the right? No, it was the left, wasn’t it? Fuck it, you’re going with the right. You open the door slowly, and…

Got him. 

He’s hunched over the sink, but whips his head in your direction when you enter. You nod at him in greeting, and he seems to take it well.

“Are you Orzo?” He asks. You hesitate for a second before responding.

“Yeah. You got the cash?” You respond. Super smooth. Definitely hasn’t been a while since you had to go undercover instead of just doing a stealth killing… totally. Apparently your acting skills are up to par, though, since he pulls a wad of cash from his back pocket and waves it in your direction.

“Obviously. You got the goods?”

Oh fuck. You don’t know what he was here to buy. You fish around in your pockets.

“Hold on just a sec, sorry.” You say as you hunt for anything that could vaguely resemble what he’s here to buy. You pull out a little baggie of white powder. Is this anthrax or Mel’s setting powder? It kind of smells like baby wipes so it’s probably setting powder. Either way, ingesting it is a bad idea, but you hold it out to him. He gives you a confused look but snatches it out of your hand. When in doubt, assume the person wants cocaine (or something that looks like it). You grab the money and thumb through it. A hundred and twenty euros. Not bad. 

You’re so busy getting in character for this drug deal that you jump when Illuso comes in. When he sees what’s happening, he bolts over to Sale. He slams him back into the wall, wrapping his arm around his neck and maneuvering himself behind the man in his grasp.

Sale thrashes in Illuso’s grip, hitting his head against the sink in the process and knocking a chunk of porcelain to the floor. You jump to grab Sale’s legs and get the rope out of your bag to start tying him up when you hear the door creak. You look behind you and realize what a compromising pose you’re in. Illuso is directly behind Sale, holding him up, while you kneel between his legs. The person in the doorway just slowly backs out, thinking they had stumbled upon the world’s least discreet threesome.

You don’t have time to deal with that. Threesomes aren’t illegal, kidnapping is. So you need to get out of here as fast as possible. You tighten the knots around his legs before moving onto his wrists and gagging him with one of his sweatbands. 

“OH FUCK!” You yelp.

“What, what happened?” Illuso does his best to peer down at you over Sale’s shoulder. Blood is dripping down your arm and your hand is pressed harshly to your target’s mouth. 

“The fucker bit me!” You drop the sweatband and grab his shirt with your free hand. “Disloyal and he fights like a bitch? Pick a struggle!”

You jam your knee into his groin until the only thing holding him up is Illuso’s grip. Then, you land a punch to his temple. He kicks out, hitting your shins in a way that will definitely leave them bruised tomorrow. You lose your grip on his face as he does so, and Illuso’s chokehold is now the only barrier between success and total mission failure. If Sale manages to scream, you risk running into his actual associate, or worse, a civilian. You cannot allow collateral damage.

Your bite mark throbs and the gun in your waistband calls to you, but you need this target alive, at least for now. He has information the Boss wants desperately.

“Turn him around, I need to move his hands behind his back.” You sigh. 

Illuso throws him to the ground, but Sale manages to grab the porcelain shard off the floor on his way down. He uses it to slash at your already pained legs, forcing you to the ground with him. You maneuver your forearm over the back of his neck before he can make a proper stab in your direction. The sputtering coming from him creates a level of satisfaction within you that you haven’t experienced since your last big mission; A hit for the Boss, something personal. Doppio had called you to send the target’s information on someone the Boss had been in contact with before coming to power in Passione. A fisherman in Sardinia. He’d arranged your travel, your weapons, even made a reservation for you at a nice restaurant after you took the guy out. Being the Boss’s elite assassin had its perks. But here, on this bathroom floor, with your hand dripping blood and your legs weak beneath you, you feel the same burning desire in your chest. The desire to finish the job properly. To prove your worth as a member of La Unita, perhaps La Squadra now.

You swap out your forearm for your knee and untie the man's hands from under his stomach. You move the flailing limbs behind his back and retie the knot, tighter than before.You grab the bloody sweatband off the floor and shove it in his mouth, careful of his teeth, before securing it with some more rope.

Illuso reaches a hand out to help you up. You hesitate, but take it after a few seconds as you realize your legs are not strong enough to raise you on their own. You brush yourself off and look at Illuso.

“Can you grab him?” You ask. The pain is starting to cloud your mind, and you know you wouldn’t be able to carry him far. Illuso sends a mild glare towards you before slinging Sale over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Go bribe the kitchen staff so we can take him out the back. The car isn’t too far.” He responds. “Unless you want to keep fucking up.” You roll your eyes but listen to him. Grabbing the euros you dropped, you go to the kitchen and hand them out in exchange for safe passage to the car. You go back to the bathroom to signal Illuso before running out with him. 

You pop open the trunk, move the duffle bag full of costumes into the back seat, and let him shove Sale inside before slamming it closed.

“Thanks for carrying him.” You extend the phrase as a peace offering, something to ease the tension between you and your teammate.

“Whatever. Get in the car.” 

Olive branch rejected.

You hop in the passenger side and grab gauze out of the glovebox. You start wrapping your bite wound, but with the jostling of the car, you end up doing more harm than good. Your newly scabbed hand reopens, and blood begins oozing between your fingers once more. Illuso scoffs at the sight.

“How are you in Passione? You can’t even bandage yourself.”

“Fuck you, man, it’s because the road is so bumpy. Maybe if you drove better I wouldn’t be bleeding again.” You bite back. Illuso’s voice only grows in volume as he responds.

“I wouldn’t have to drive so fast if you had just tied him up the first time! There’s no way you outrank me with the bullshit you pulled in there. I can’t believe the one taking our missions is some incompetent fuck.” He snaps. You freeze.

“I-” You turn to look at him. “I never said I outrank you. I never told you any of that.” 

He wrinkles his nose.

“You’re clearly not a civilian, and Melone only really has one friend. They talk about you all the time. Maybe if any of the others actually listened they’d realize what you really are.” Illuso hasn’t taken his eyes off the road, but you can almost feel his facial expression as he speaks. He knows too much. You’re in too deep to come clean to the rest of the squad, only him and Melone can know. 

Melone had told you what dire straits the execution squad was in, in terms of cash. What you hadn’t realized until you’d moved in was that you were the reason. Why would the Boss pay a whole team when he could pay one person to get it done all the same?

“I’ve been trying to fix it, Illuso.” Your words are barely audible. “I never asked for you guys to get fucked over. I did my job.”

The man next to you lets out a heaving sigh as he pulls into the driveway. You hadn’t even noticed you were back at the safe house. 

“I know you didn’t mean to do it, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Boss chose you over the team. And I kind of fucking hate you for that. I hate it even more that you aren’t even a bad enough person for me to fully despise you.”

You stare directly ahead. You know he’s right. The hitman team had always carried out the Boss’s kills. However, after the work you did for Polpo and some of the other capo, you suppose the Boss couldn’t resist the allure of a single assassin. You had never really thought about the people left behind.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. But Illuso is already getting out of the car. You hear the trunk pop.

Your heart starts pumping in double time. What if he tells everybody? How would the rest of the team respond? You didn’t know, you never wanted anything but the best for your familia, but would they see it that way? Pesci would, Formaggio would, but Prosciutto? Worse, Risotto?

You can’t let this get out. You can’t. You wouldn’t lose your job, or any big money, but you would lose the first human relationships you’d really had since you started working directly for the Boss. That can’t happen. You cannot go back to the way things were with La Unita. You were so alone.

Before you can stop yourself, you’ve bolted behind the car and backed Illuso up against the open trunk. You come to your senses before threatening him, but you know you need to do something.

“I don’t want to hear a word about what you know. This can’t get to the other guys.” You cautioned. “Now that I’m here, you guys have a steady cash flow. You might not like me, but there’s no way that you can’t see that my presence is in your best interest.” You push a finger to his chest. He looks at you in a way that almost looks pained. Like he wishes things were different. The look is fleeting though, and his sneer returns as he speaks.

“If I really didn’t like you I would’ve let the guy cut you up some more. And yeah, I know what’s fucking good for me. You’re lucky you’re pretty because you’re also pretty fucking stupid.” He jeers. He elbows past you before stopping for a moment. He shakes his head and takes a breath. “Your secret is safe, by the way. I know it wasn’t your fault. I just need to hate you for a while.”

That might be the most level-headed you’ve seen Illuso since getting in the car. You go to respond and tell him that’s okay, you can live with that as long as he knows you never meant for it to happen, but Illuso walks off, into the house. That leaves you with the guy you tied up. 

You can’t do this right now. Your hand is bleeding, your legs are weak, and bite marks should be disinfected as soon as possible. Risotto will probably want to be the one to finish the guy off anyway. You don’t see the Odyssey in the driveway so you shoot him a text to let him know Sale is in the trunk before you slam it shut once more.

Fuck this shit. You’re getting cleaned up and going to bed. Maybe you’ll leave some food outside Illuso’s door.

Nothing went right today.