Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been almost three months, and he still hates this place. And this whole fucking thing.

Lovino plops into the hard seat with a sigh, throwing a tired glance around the spacious conference room, all glass walls, straight lines, sharp edges. A corporate room just as soulless and impersonal like any other.

‘Idk if you'd believe it or not, but today was my first day in court.’

He bites his lip at the screen, scowling.

It's in this very room that about three weeks ago he first laid eyes on Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, that tax lawyer with the wolfish grin he hasn't been able to take out of his mind. Fucking stupid! It's not like he has any time for distractions.

But he can't help it. Even if, well, everything is bad here, so this Antonio guy must be the same. Yep, bad business that one. Looks the part, too.

‘Anyway, it was only the opening statements session, but I was horribly nervous. My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry and I felt like everyone was staring at me... I guess I did okay though. At least I was happy with it, but then at recess Nonno yelled at me in front of basically everyone in the hallway including another two junior associates and said I was an embarrassment and it's unacceptable, since I had all weekend to prepare. Yeah, all fucking weekend! It was one of the worst-‘

"Bernard finally left," Romulus Vargas says, oddly good-humored, closing the double doors after him, and the phone quickly disappears inside Lovino's pocket. He straightens his back, schools his face into a stony expression, brings his hands in front of him on the table in a neutral clasp.

"He's been awfully vague about what the problem is, he doesn't seem ready to talk just yet." Nonno comes and sits right in the chair next to him, much too close for comfort for once.

"Hey, don't give me that face now," he says softly. "Look, I know I was hard on you today, but people can't think I'm playing favorites and besides, you need to toughen up. I know you think your other job was better, because you only reviewed corporate contracts cooped up in a cozy little office the whole time, but you were wasting yourself away and I need you here."

Lovino would very much rather waste away back home, amidst people he's happy being around, than face all this shit for someone else's ambition. He also wishes he had a fucking choice.

"I'm not asking you to play favorites."

Romulus nods, still with a curl of lips."Good. There's someone I want you to meet tonight - that private agent of ours I told you about."

Only, there's only the two of them in the room, that guy he barely got a glimpse of until now is still nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah? But I thought he was special and you were being all secretive about him?"

"Nonsense, his contract is with the firm, after all. But it's important to build rapport with people, whatever work they're doing for you. So I want you to take over this relationship from now on. It’s going to be useful for you, anyway."

Romulus takes out a business card from the inside of his suit jacket and places it pointedly on the table. It's a dark blue with some geometric designs, and bears the name of a night club.

"But the firm's contract is with this Sadiq Adnan guy, isn't it?"

"Indeed, but Valentin is our assigned contact, he does the work for us."

Lovino is far from clarified as to what that work is, because he's heard 'agent' and 'investigator' and 'odd jobs' flying around, often between some implied inverted commas.

"Anyway," Nonno goes on, "You're both young men, it makes sense for the two of you to be closer and besides, I may have-... Well. The truth is that I had him looked up - family, background, etc. - not because I don't trust Adnan but because I like to know what kind of people get close to me, and I realized that I actually knew the kid's grandmother, back in the day, heh. I was sorry to learn that she passed some years ago."

Lovino blinks, trying to process what he's just heard. Just what the fucking hell-

"....Nonno, you didn't tell him that, did you?"

"Well, I did. It just means we're... familiar, I guess?"

Okay, what the actual fuck

"No, it doesn't! It's offensive, and inappropriate and what-"

"Oh, you young people these days are all a bunch of prudes! 'You can't say this, you can't do that', everything is offensive and inappropriate to you." Romulus sighs, shaking his head. "That's why I'm saying, it's best if you liaise with him from now on."

Lovino could really do without this extra task, on top of an already very long day and just as he's leaving the office it starts to rain. Still, he waves for a taxi, better get this done as he was told.

‘You know, I always thought Nonno was this smart, brilliant, powerful guy who always knew what to say and what to do, but I guess sometimes... I don't know, I mean he just told me that he basically told this thug he’s got working for him that he fucked his dead grandmother back in the day, out of the blue and like for no reason, and now he wants me to go to some nightclub tonight to fix it. Just how fucking stupid is that?!’

He swipes absently with his thumb, sending the text message to the drafts folder to pile up with the at least dozen others. Yeah, arguably this is an unhealthy coping mechanism, writing his thoughts to a stranger in his head, but he's been very lonely as of late, and even as he pays the driver, gets out of the car, smoothes the stiff black suit and walks under the tastefully neon-lit gateway he still stubbornly tells himself that he doesn't belong here. Not in this place, not with these people, not working absurdly long hours or walking on eggshells more often than not.

The club is mostly empty because it's a weekday and fairly early still, the few patrons huddled together in pairs around small, recluse tables. There's no one at the bar save for a waiter busying himself in the corner and a massive man in a crisp white shirt casually unbuttoned at the neck, and who is already eyeing him questioningly.

Sadiq Adnan, the owner of whatever the fuck this 'agency' is.

"Mr. Vargas," the man greets, giving him a slow once-over. "Is there anything the matter? I didn't get any call from your office."

Lovino can't help noticing how the other looms, how his muscles bulge under the fine fabric, how everything silently spells out danger despite his carefully groomed appearance and his throat grows dry.

"No, no, there isn't. I was just looking for... uh, Valentin?"

"It's his night off, is there anything wrong?"

"No, I just-... just wanted to have a little chat, but if he's not here I will-"

But no such luck, obviously.

"He's upstairs, I'll call him to come down. Why don't you have a drink?"

Lovino doesn't want a drink, but the owner has already gone to the waiter, phone in hand, so he perches awkwardly onto one of the bar stools, running a hand through his damp hair. When he's given the glass he didn't ask for, he simply takes it and chugs down a mouthful without thinking, the alcohol burning down his throat and going to his head much faster that it should.

Sometime later a guy in a red track suit joins him, and Lovino is a little surprised, since he hasn't taken a good look at him before.

In the office, everyone is dressed formally and his long hair must have been hidden into one of those low knots too. Now it's only held back into a half-bun while the thick of it, light-colored and wavy, is spilling onto his shoulders down to the collarbone. His face is pale, clean-shaven and rather dainty, shadowed by overgrown bangs. If anything, he doesn’t fit either picture.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Vargas?" he inquires, the neutral softness of his voice adeptly concealing the likely displeasure at being bothered in his free time.

Terrible timing, really, but he’s here now, so he might as well get to it.

“Oh, yeah. And it’s ‘Lovino’, my grandfather is the ‘Mr. Vargas’, you know. Anyway, I just wanted to have a chat and get acquainted, if that’s alright. Can I buy you a drink?” he says, like socializing and exchanging pleasantries with a complete stranger he has no interest in is not a total pain in the ass.

The other shrugs, a little uncertain. “Yeah, sure, an orange juice? I don’t do alcohol.”

Lovino suspects a professional lie there, but then it’s understandable. Maybe he shouldn’t have drank either, the booze just went to his head but didn’t help him loosen up one bit. At any rate, this Valentin guy is not the easy-to-read type, plus the other shit... Damn it.

"So, uh, I’m fairly new here and I was wondering, how's working for Mr. Adnan? What's he like?" he asks, in lieu of any other suitable intro. "I admit I don't know much about him."

Valentin throws a quick glance over to where his boss is standing and musters a small, fleeting smile. "Oh, he's like... well, he's like the Ottoman Empire reloaded, that's what. In his mind he's still using the devşirme system, I think," he shrugs. “Might have even mentioned it a couple of times.”

"The dev-... ?"

"Devşirme, the system used to recruit janissaries. He's still taking Christian boys from Eastern Europe for his soldiers," he explains and laughs lightly, even if the concept itself is far from funny. “Well, legally hiring this time at least.”

Lovino nods slowly and momentarily chooses to glide over the fact that the well-reputed Beilschmidt, Vargas & Associates law firm employs these potentially dangerous people for whatever purpose.

 "Oh... that sounds only a little ominous, I guess? Anyway, Nonno says we should build rapport, so I'm gonna do my best."

"Who?"

"Grandpa. It's 'nonno' in Italian. Look," Lovino clears his throat. "He's told me about that one fantastic conversation the two of you had and I just-..."

"It's alright," says Valentin, but his tone implies it's anything but. Simply that he's used to being treated badly and Nonno is just another asshole from a long line he's dealt with.  And who can fucking blame him.

"No, it's not. I told him as much, it's offensive and-... I guess I'm still trying to figure out why, like, was there any context...?"

"You mean like if I did something to cause it?"

"No, no. No! It's just. It's a very weird thing to say? He just dropped it like that? Because he wouldn't tell me, and he said I'm a prude for thinking it was inappropriate."

The other shrugs. "I think, uh, he made a comment about why I dye my hair and said he thinks I must have dark hair actually. And then he said my grandmother had dark hair too."

Great.

"You know, the truth is I can't help feeling like this is a test and he did it on purpose somehow. To test me but also punish me? I mean like he did this blunder and it's on me to fix it."

Maybe being open about it will work? This guy is used to being given bullshit, if for once someone is honest with him...

"Why would he punish you?" The other’s tone is the same but there's a curious tilt to his head now, like his interest has been piqued, at least.

"Because I didn't want to work with him. And I still don't and he knows it. He actually made me do it." He knows how this sounds. Stupid, that’s how. Like he’s a no-backbone, small-time idiot.

“How’d he make you do it?”

Lovino fights back a grimace, like there’s a bad taste on his tongue he can’t get rid of. “My little brother did something very stupid and this was Nonno’s price to take care of it.“ He pauses, looking up from his glass to meet the other’s large dark eyes. “I had to do it,” he says, tight-lipped. At least, it’s the whole truth. For what it’s worth. Fuck it.

Still, it seems to work because something unexpectedly softens on Valentin's face and his shoulders relax a little. "Little brothers are important," he says, looking away. "I have one too. He doesn't live with me, but-"

There's a glimpse of pain, right there in the clipped tone of his voice, if lasting only a split-second.

"Anyway, I wanted to say I'm really sorry for what Nonno did and if there's anything I can do to make it up to you..."Lovino blabbers before he can help himself and then feels like slapping himself. Way to fucking ruin the moment…

"Do you have a plan?"

He blinks, wondering if he's misheard. Not the words in themselves, but that vibe. It's not impersonal anymore. Maybe it's flirty. Maybe it's a warning. It's very... enticing though. Like it promises a drop of oblivion.

He shakes his head and shrugs, a little helpless.

"Well, consider the matter closed, Lovino. I don't believe it anyway, I mean if Mr. Vargas still remembers grandma after all this time it's likely because she didn't give in to him, don't you think?" Valentin grins widely all the sudden, playful but sharp. "Thanks for talking to me, I'll see you in the office."

He stands and leaves, and Lovino becomes aware of the warmth of the guy's hand on his knee only when it's gone.

A long moment passes, before he gives up trying to make sense of what just happened. Right, it wasn’t one weird conversation at all. He figures he should pay for the drinks, and just when he's replacing the wallet in his back pocket, his phone vibrates.

"Oye, I know you must have been sending me all those messages by mistake, but I hope you're OK?"

Lovino stares numbly at the screen, mouth open.

What? Who-

A cold sweat breaks onto his forehead and a chill runs down his spine as he quickly checks the draft section of the texts app and... yeah. It's empty.

Seems like he actually sent them all. To fucking Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

He thinks he's going to be sick.  

Chapter Text

It's been more than half an hour and the man keeps talking, having yet to stop beating around the bush. He may be Nonno's friend, but that doesn't give him the right to waste their time like this. Not when there's a substantial pile of paperwork on Lovino's desk still waiting to be gone through by the end of the day and when he’s not even sure this counts as billable hours.

The taste of cigarette smoke lingers bitter in his mouth.

He hasn't had one since the first year in college, but today he suddenly felt the need. He's barely slept, still haunted by the epic fuck-up with Carriedo three nights before. Back then, he hurriedly thumbed an awkward apology with a couple of typos too, to which the other didn't reply again, so he’s pretty sure that if there was ever any sort of chance now it's gone before he even got to try.

Lovino doesn't think he would have really tried, but still.

"Look, I'm afraid that our income tax returns have been tampered with, and someone pocketed the cash difference," the client finally says in a hushed tone, leaning forward over the table. "I really don't know what to do! Embezzlement is bad enough already, if that’s indeed what it is, but to possibly get the IRS on my back...  I need your help. I need a liaison with a tax expert I can trust and… Romulus, I need to know it’s someone you can rein in if push comes to shove."

“Louis, any external expert we hire would be bound by the same rules of confidentiality as everyone else, they can’t whistleblow  on you to the authorities, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well, no, I know, but people… talk. Things might get out. We’re a big company, reputation means a lot.”

If that piece of dialogue right there doesn’t sound ominous, he doesn’t know what does, but Nonno doesn’t seem alarmed. Hell, he doesn’t even look surprised, and that’s an extra red flag.

Lovino can suddenly imagine similar conversations taking place before between the two men in the same atmosphere of familiarity and wishes even more that he wasn’t in the room just now. 

“Lovino, I want you to get Carriedo on the phone, make an appointment with him right away,” Romulus says, half-dismissive, and Lovino stands up and leaves the meeting room before he can even get to wrap his mind around it.

He takes a deep breath - it's stupid to worry about it, right?

Across the hallway, he spots that kid Valentin in a side office and yeah, he looks substantially different from that night - like someone who belongs in the place. Hair slicked back and tied, crisp white shirt, a fitting black suit jacket. The illusion is really good. Fake it till you make it.

Okay. Fuck this.

He dials the number and takes a few deep breaths while it rings at the other end of the line.

"Hello, Mr. Carriedo? I'm calling you on behalf of Romulus Vargas, we'd like to schedule an appointment with you at your earliest convenience," he says quickly as soon as the man picks up, before any more doubts can creep in.

"Sure. Say… Next Thursday at 10 AM?"

Next Thursday is more than a week from now.

"How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you're brushing me off, to be honest," Lovino replies flatly, biting his lip. "We would really appreciate-"

"Then you have to do better that this, si?”

Lovino mouths an expletive and sticks his middle finger at the phone before clearing his throat. "Actually, we're looking at a potentially sensitive issue, and also... it's big. However, nothing I can discuss over the phone and in the absence of a signed NDA, I’m afraid."

"...it's big," Carriedo mirrors after a moment, his tone soft and pensive. "But it's usually Mr. Vargas calling me himself, what is going on?"

Oh, who knows, maybe he's fucked your grandma too and now it’s up to me to create rapport

"He's still in that meeting. Like I said, it's a sensitive issue and my guess is that the client is panicking. Okay, I'll say it - it's a tax fraud he's hinting at. Is that good enough to pique your interest?"

"The day after tomorrow, 2 PM," says the other, and hangs up.

That went well, he thinks. But then again, he's only just met the man once and however strong and enduring the impression, he may just be making shit up in his head to fill in the missing information. He basically doesn't know anything about Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

"Hey. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," Valentin says, but he's not looking up from his laptop and there's even a mild irritation in his tone this time. Maybe they did start on the wrong foot after all, but at the end of the day it's not his fucking problem, is it?

Create rapport, my ass

"Is everything alright?" Lovino still asks, crossing his arms in the doorway, because he’s determined to stand his ground.

"Yeah, just... some of your colleagues don't seem to grasp what my scope of work is here." The other finally looks up at him, expression uncertain. "One of them asked me to hook him up with a new dealer since his old one is out of town indefinitely. You know, since it's obvious I'm a delinquent and all."

How the hell is it obvious? And is the kid a delinquent?! At least it doesn’t have anything to do with him, or with Nonno’s crap. He takes a deep breath, whatever; best to get used to the open ugliness of the business.

"...a new dealer?"

"Surely you know all top performers in the corporate world snort cocaine, don't you?"

Lovino shakes his head. He may have heard something to that regard, but then again his previous workplace was much 'cleaner' on all levels. "No, I didn't know, but I'm not a top performer, am I," he says, with an eye roll. As I am constantly reminded… "Anyway, I just wanted a piece of information on one of our collaborators, if you have it."

"Oh, okay. Who?"

"The tax guy - Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. By the way, I've done a blunder with him too, just so you know, since we’re speaking so frankly and all."

Valentin laughs, his expression lightening in earnest this time. “Sorry, okay, I know it’s not funny. Sorry,” he repeats, but the corners of his mouth still twitch. “Is it… bad?”

“Nah, just, I accidentally sent him a few texts I’d written for a friend. Nothing problematic, just angry rants about my thriving work life, only it was about a dozen of them and I don’t know if I didn’t send them all in one go. I may have flooded his inbox with crap out of the blue. And I did promptly apologize for it, but I’ve been walking on my toes a lot lately, speaking of the corporate world.”

It definitely doesn’t sound so bad now that he says it out loud, in broad daylight. Maybe it’s just Nonno stressing him out constantly that’s got him plagued with stupid childish fears.

“Well, I’d say if someone in this line of work gets a message addressed to someone else, they’ll only be pissed if it doesn’t contain any sensitive or illicit info they could use,” Valentin tells him. “So the guy might actually be disappointed. But uh… I don’t recall being ever asked to look into him, so I guess you can take that as a good sign.”

“Okay, thanks. Oh, and if anyone calls you a delinquent again and gives you tasks ‘outside the scope of your work’, for the record you can tell them to go fuck themselves. You work for the firm and the firm is the partners, so that’s that.”

“Yes, counsellor.”

There’s that playful smile again on Valentin’s lips as he says it and the same smile lingers on Lovino’s as he walks away, feeling oddly refreshed.

Eventually, he does get some info on Carriedo, apparently from the same ‘top performing’ senior paralegal who requested a new dealer, the man describing him as having a deceptively sunny demeanour while being in fact absolutely ruthless, especially in court.

“A conquistador,” Lovino snorts afterwards. Yeah, for sure, he thinks as he finally tackles the pile of folders threatening to collapse over the edge of his desk.

Okay, so admittedly Lovino thought he could keep his shit together, but two days later, when Antonio Fernandez Carriedo arrives for the meeting, he's again faced with that smile and it all goes downhill.

There's a warmth to it, a radiance beyond what might be described as slightly predatory, an air of pure strength that makes him feel small and powerless in return, and the stupid mix of competition and admiration he's feeling towards this largely unknown man throws him off completely.

He struggles to keep his composure, even a bit on the uptight side, but there isn't much need; Romulus is in the tax expert's face the moment he walks in, nearly pulling him into a bear hug, then promptly monopolizes the conversation in a way which leaves Lovino no opening to contribute.

Antonio listens to the purposely lengthy tale of Mr. Louis Bernard's potentially fraudulent mishap with a benign expression that's still hard to decipher. Is he really the type of person who Nonno can 'rein in', as the client put it?

He does ask some questions throughout though, his gaze flickering towards Lovino every now and then but never lingering. But no wonder, Lovino is hardly part of the conversation, he's there mostly to take notes and keep up to date with things, and for yet some more of Romulus Vargas's "watch me and learn to be like me" ongoing strategy.

The last thing being the most tiresome of all. Nonno constantly expressing discontent, often without words, and the pressure of moulding Lovino into someone he never was and doesn't think he can or wants to become.

He also has a pretty shit way to do it too, shadowing and micromanaging and breathing down his neck at every step instead of actual empowerment and autonomy. Lovino may have worked his ass off to pass the bar exams and now he's treated worse than a paralegal, even if it's not like he started yesterday.

Especially now, in this very moment, he can't help but feel a growing resentment towards the whole situation. To hold it against his brother would be the logical thing to do maybe, since it's Feliciano's fancy private art school which doesn't take in students with a criminal record that he's sacrificed for, but-....

Better not go down that avenue. Maybe not just yet.

And this thing with Carriedo just compounds the shittiness of it all. Even if he had that sort of confidence, and even if the tax lawyer wasn't so far out of his league, what chance would he have to ask him out, to do anything really before Nonno found out and made a 'conflict of interest' drama out of it and whatnot?

"Wow, a two million tax fraud? That sounds pretty exciting," Valentin says, hunching over the counter on the opposite side of the bar.

"Yeah. Carriedo said that too. There's a good fee for him if he sorts it out."

Lovino is far from feeling the same enthusiasm, although he should. That meeting, albeit ordinary and uneventful, felt like a failure to him, and the client - Louis Bernard - is shady to say the least.

"There's a good fee for your firm too if you sort it out, isn't it?"

He nods, fingers closing absently around the glass of whisky. The liquor glimmers a dark brown under the dim lights, with the promise of flavor and distraction, but he's barely touched it until now.

"Look, there's something I wanna ask and I'll just be straight about it," he says, watching the other intently. He doesn't know how it looks, that he came back here so soon, plus it's where Adnan can see him and report back to Nonno, but the office was not an option. And maybe it’s just the rough day he had, but he’s made up his mind about this one thing.

"Yeah?"

There's something noncommittal in Valentin's tone, suggesting that he might or he might not get an answer. Not a true one, anyway.

Lovino leans forward on his elbows, closer, even if there's no one seemingly within earshot. "You said Mr. Adnan hires boys. What about girls? Does he have any girls?"

The other blinks, and gives him an unreadable look. "I don't know, but we're not-"

"Do you know a gorgeous blonde girl with a strong German accent named Monika?"

Although Monika is probably not her real name.

Valentin looks genuinely baffled, with a light scowl even, and eventually shrugs. “Uh, nope, it doesn’t ring any bells. But how did you meet this person and why would you think she has anything to do with Mr. Adnan?”

It’s not like Lovino trusts this guy, and this surely goes beyond building rapport and even if it were, they’re nowhere near that close yet, but he needs to tell someone. And tonight may be as bad a moment as any to drop something so fucked up.

“Anyway, do you… like her or something?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never met her, but my little brother did. She got him arrested, so I couldn’t say that I like her.”

"Whoa-... He got arrested?! Wait, that's the stupid thing you said he did?"

Lovino nods with a sigh, and takes a long swig of the whisky. "Yeah... it's an interesting story actually. See, my little brother had been a very well-behaved kid until then, he never made any trouble. But then, one day, this amazingly beautiful girl showed up at his school at the end of his classes. She was on a cool motorbike and asked for directions, then the next day she came back to thank him with a cup of coffee. Long story short, they really hit it off. I mean, he's seventeen, he believes in magical things just.... happening in people's lives."

"And you don't believe?"

The other's soft tone makes his mouth twitch and stick out his bottom lip.

"Not really, and for good reason. Anyway, they saw each other a lot for about three weeks and then, one day, they went to the mall. And there they tried - or rather she tried and pulled my brother into it - to rob a Swarovski store. And just then, after he was picked up, Nonno - who hadn't really been around in our lives until then because he's a busy man and shit - swooped in and saved the day. Imagine, he knew just the ropes to pull to make everything go away. What do you think?"

For a moment, Valentin doesn't say anything, his expression uncertain, but amusement flickers in his gaze, like he's barely containing it.

"Uh... aside from thinking that robbing a Swarovski store is cringe? Don't ask me why I think that, it just is. Anyway... so, you think your grandfather arranged the whole thing - through us - just to get you to work with him?"

He shrugs. “Four months ago I would have said no, but now I’m not so sure.” And either Valentin caught on really fast or he’s onto something here. “Look, I just want to know the truth. I’m not gonna confront him, I already know what he’s going to say – that he did it for my own good, and my brother needs to become less gullible.”

“But Lovino, that’s just-... “ the other shakes his head. “It’s the kind of thing one does to a… competitor maybe? Like at worst, I don’t know. Not to their own family. And it’s just ... so dramatic!”

“You’ve been working for Nonno for two years, you didn’t realize until now how dramatic he is?”

"He's a tad eccentric, but I didn't really give it much thought."

Lovino buries his face in his hands. Maybe he shouldn't have said all that; not just because the kid might not keep his mouth shut, but now that he's said it, it rings even more suspicious to his own ears. Because in the end nothing bad happened, and the store owner even withdrew his complaint. Why would he do that? Did Nonno really pay or otherwise appease him or it was a ruse to begin with?

"Look, I mean it when I say that I have no knowledge of this," Valentin says, "But I'll give it to you that this story has some odd coincidences. You don't know what happened to the girl afterwards? Was she released as well? Did your brother-...?"

"She's gone." Lovino finally fumbles with the pack of cigarettes tucked into his back pocket and plucks one out. "Her number turned out to be a burner sim or was deactivated, whatever. At that time, all I could think of was that it's a good thing he can't contact her again, and that's what crooks do anyway, don't they? They use you and then they disappear. Only, how did she really use my brother? It looks more like she meant to set him up."

Valentin takes his time to dig under the counter and produce a box of matches. He lights one up for Lovino’s cigarette, the small flame shining coppery-gold into his luscious hair. The gesture looks smooth and practiced, there's a vague sensuality indicating he’s used to entertaining and Lovino remembers his reaction from earlier, when asked about Adnan’s boys and girls.

Maybe that’s one thing he shouldn’t have inquired? But he doesn’t even have a picture of the mysterious Monika and he didn’t want to ask Feli.

If Nonno indeed pulled such a stunt, it’s best no one else in the family knows about it.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you with this one,” the other says, watching Lovino through the smoke lingering in the air between them. “But maybe time and future experiences might help you figure it out. ”

Chapter Text

Lovino closes his eyes, cigarette nearly forgotten between his fingers. He stretches lazily into the plush of the armchair, comfortable, and decides to imagine Valentin standing in front of him. Relaxed but straight-backed in those misleading, bland office clothes that don’t do justice to his colors,  his impish face, that cute smile, that fucking gorgeous hair. Lips curled but silent, eyes harboring that promise-filled uncertainty he’s finding so damn intriguing.

In his mind, Valentin sinks smoothly to his knees, gaze still meeting his, now with an intensity bound to make him blush. He feels the blood rushing into his face like a bout of fever when the man shuffles even closer, long, black-nailed fingers resting on the top of his knees. He feels them warm, and hopes for more of that warmth.

"You know you want this," says Valentin, his voice all honey but also reassuringly no-nonsense.

"Yeah? What do I want?"

The other's eyes never falter, his lips finally stretch into the expected grin. "You want me, between your legs."

"Your... mouth?"

Because right now he really wouldn’t mind. Not at all.

"I think… something else. Deep inside of you."

Lovino blinks, a knot in his throat. He isn't sure if this qualifies as dirty talk or not, but it's something he's definitely into.

"I don't think we should be all business about it, even if-... " he manages at last. "I mean I'd like it if you kissed me first. For fuck's sake."

Normally, he imagines that the kid would laugh at that, but now he doesn't. Wait, he's not a kid. Lovino doesn't know how old Valentin actually is, he just looks younger but his demeanor suggests an age similar to his and at least some seasoning in the ways of life.

"Anything you want, Lovi."

His voice is soft, like a caress, and speaks of genuine affection despite the no-strings-attached vibe of the whole thing, the kind he's not really used to and it makes his face flush.

"Well I want to-..."

He doesn't get to say it.

Valentin leans in, long bangs shadowing his face, and his mouth ghosts over Lovino's-…

 …before he wakes with a start.

He's not in the armchair but in his bed, his office clothes still on, minus the jacket and tie. The once-crisp shirt is sweaty and badly creased, sleeves half-rolled up. A mess of papers litters the bunched covers next to him, having partially spilled onto the bedside rug. He sits up and hunches forward, palms clasped over his face, and stays like that for one long moment as the sudden, brutal grasp of reality dispels his arousal painfully and almost lightning-fast.

He’s just lonely, tired and bitter, and it's wearing him down.

One of the first things Lovino picks up on when arriving at the office is that lights are on in the farthest side meeting room, the one that's barely ever used, and upon closer inspection he discovers Carriedo sitting at the oval table with a laptop, surrounded by several labeled file boxes.

His feet carry him in the direction of the room before he can think about it and he raps his knuckles onto the matte glass of the open door.

"Hi, " Antonio says, barely looking up from the screen. His long, elegant fingers type something away, not breaking rhythm. Today he’s wearing a dark blue suit, in utter contrast to the dull greys Lovino has seen him every time before, and it brings out his tanned skin and dark hair all the more. The sight makes him swallow hard, again in admiration and envy; because the sting is there, even if this man makes his blood warm and he can’t help but stare a little.

"I thought you'd gone over to LCW headquarters? Why did they send all this stuff here?" he inquires, clearing his throat.

Going back to the business at hand, it is a little odd and he feels bad for the tax lawyer, cooped up in this cramped, windowless room with what looks like many hours ahead of him. He could probably use something better than the small, sad little paper-cup coffee by the side of his laptop too.

If Carriedo thinks the same, he doesn’t let it show in any way.

"Ah, they didn't want me to. They said I would be drawing attention and possibly tipping off the bad guys about the investigation."

Lovino blinks. ".... and having all these files taken out of the archive out of the blue won't tip them off?"

The other sighs, leaning back in his chair, head tilted as he watches Lovino pensively. "I don't know, it's not my job. I'm just here to look at the tax returns they submitted and the basis of info. Everything else is up to the forensics."

Right.

Turns out he didn't really think it through but also that he's missing something of the overall picture. Someone should  be doing the money tracking, ascertain actual fraudulent intent and investigate potential suspects. But no such thing was mentioned, and Mr. Bernard was clearly way more preoccupied with the IRS than the fraud itself.

"Is there anything the matter?"

"Um... no. Just that they... never mentioned anyone else being involved and didn't request we find them anyone else either." Or maybe he shouldn't have said that. "As far as I know." After all, he may have been kept in the dark about some things.

"I guess it's okay to be a little nervous about it, I’m not awfully chill myself if I’m completely honest with you," Carriedo says, "Fraud is a very serious issue and you can never be too careful when prodding around something like this. As long as you don’t know who the culprit is, there’s a great risk of tipping them off, just like they say. Although-…"

“What?”

“This Mr. Bernard. He’s from the top management, right? From what I’ve gathered, hes not been very transparent so far, with Mr. Vargas I mean. I find it a little odd, considering.”

Funny he should say that, Lovino thinks. Also, that he’d so easily throw in such a potential supposition Lovino has thought about himself but would have never dared voice out loud. In the end, Mr. Bernard did utter the word ‘fraud’ and even threw around an estimate before having someone check the numbers. How could he have known in the first place? He had sounded a little too confident for a mere hunch.

“But he’s also a shareholder.”

“Minority shareholder,” Carriedo replies, biting his lip. “He gets dividends, but before that the company’s got to be making enough profits and also the majority shareholder has to decide and approve dividend distribution. Thus, the amount he gets is uncertain and he has no control over it whatsoever. And on top of all that, taxable. If you think about it, none of that applies to stolen money.”

Lovino snorts. “Yeah, I guess. But people don’t normally whistleblow on their own fraud, do they?”

“Well, if you at some point realize that it’s gonna come to light anyway, it’s best to take action and make sure you don’t get suspected, usually by directing said suspicion onto other people.”

It makes sense. But still, he’s not sure if it’s not his own bias against Louis Bernard at play here, and if that in turn is not an unfortunate projection simply because Nonno seems so close to the man and it kinda looks like they’re both cut from the same cloth. 

“It sounds really clever. Risky too, I guess, but clever.”

“Yeah it does, but ask any forensic guy and they’ll tell you it’s all been done before. Anyway, I’ll just stick to the actual numbers. It’s safer that way,” Carriedo says with a curt nod, before getting back to work.

And he’s got a point, keeping himself as out of it as he can. Maybe it was actually him who requested the files to be brought on ‘neutral’ ground? But then why would he lie about it when he seemed to be so straightforward about the rest?

Lovino goes to his desk once more feeling like the ‘big boys’ are playing a big game he doesn’t understand, and that the gap between him and the tax lawyer is only growing wider and deeper. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s lacking, maybe just a flair for things, because everything Carriedo said he too already knew, but he just feels painfully unprepared, like a novice.

He’d be lying if he were to say it doesn’t frustrate him to no end.

A little after the lunchtime he’s skipped yet again because he was and still is too busy, he makes his way out onto the kitchenette balcony to at least get some fresh air and clear his head for a couple of minutes after he’s filed statements, wrote summaries of recorded depositions and motions to be submitted for hours in that stupid, artificially-lit enclosure he calls office.

Outside there’s a chilly breeze, but the world is lively and colorful and noisy, even if it’s just one of those high-end streets filled with cars and most of the people on sidewalks are corporate soldiers hurrying back to their offices after the break or off running various business errands. Just watching is a welcome change, slightly relaxing even, if only he had the time.

Lovino sticks his back to the wall with a sigh and before he knows it takes out the cigarette pack and fishes one out with his teeth; he takes a hurried drag before it’s even lit properly, curses and fumbles with the lighter, then curses some more.

“Oh, hey. Taking some air?”

“Yeah, I’m-… yeah.” Lovino scrambles to make room for Carriedo in the small space and plucks the cigarette clumsily from his mouth. “How’s it going?”

The man shrugs, stretching his arms a little. “Not so well, still a lot to go through…”

Lovino takes a longer drag and expels the smoke slowly. The bitterness filling his mouth and nose does little to calm his nerves now that Carriedo – no, Antonio – is standing so close to him. Although he has some difficulty making it sound in his head, that name, attached to that man. Anto…

No, Lovino steals a peek at his profile and thinks he couldn’t be called that, not him.

“Anyway, I-“

“Lovino?! What are you doing there?!”

He’s momentarily half-hidden by the wall, but Nonno’s voice is enough to strike panic and he doesn’t know what to do, completely lost for a moment until Carriedo smoothly takes the cigarette from his hand and puts it between his own lips before Nonno comes into view, half-inquisitive and half-angry already. But he didn’t see anything and upon spotting the tax lawyer his mood improves brusquely and he says something Lovino is too mortified to hear.

His humiliation is absolute, and it cripples him into inaction.

What’s more, he’s again left out of the conversation, in a manner he again feels deliberate. It’s not Carriedo who leaves him out though, for the man looks at him from time to time while he smokes what’s left of his cigarette with a vague smile lingering onto his lips, and he doesn’t know what to make of this silent, playful complicity.

Other than that very likely the guy is amused by the whole thing – Lovino getting trolled by his grandfather at every corner and treated like a stupid little kid – because, not to forget, he’s read all those rant texts and probably knows more about Lovino’s private struggles than anyone else around.

“Lovino, we need to talk,” Nonno says eventually, snapping him out of it. “In my office, please.”

He has no choice but to follow sheepishly and mildly worried, all thoughts of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo momentarily forgotten. Nonno seems impatient, or maybe even anxious about it, so as usual it’s a bad sign.

“I just received some news from Louis,” Romulus Vargas informs him in a low, confidential voice, stepping behind his desk and proceeding to hurriedly unlock one of the drawers. He fishes out a thin file and slides it forward across the shiny mahogany top. “Their chief accountant, Jean Pierre, has gone missing two days ago. This is all the info they currently have on him.”

“…two days ago,” Lovino repeats, wondering why they’re only hearing about it now. Or maybe-

“I want you to ask Valentin to find him, as quick as possible. Also, this would be like a private inquiry we’re doing for this particular client, word of it must not get out within the firm, do you understand?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Lovino just snatches the file and walks away, knowing better than to ask any questions he won’t get an answer to. Surely other lawyer firms hire private investigators to find people and stuff too, but something must be different in the way Beilschmidt, Vargas & Associates do things.

As he walks towards Valentin’s small office, he can’t help throwing a glance around to check if anyone’s looking, even though this whole secrecy hardly makes sense. People are quite aware that Valentin is working here, and considering the rumors flying around and someone even asking the kid for a dealer contact, clearly it’s common knowledge that the firm is employing some unorthodox practices here and there for business purposes.  

“Huh. I guess Mr. Vargas is really avoiding me these days,” Valentin observes, taking the file and leafing through the few pages with something that looks like feigned disinterest.

“I don’t know,” Lovino shrugs. “Like I said, he’s instructed me to take over this relationship.”

And just like that, images of that dream within a dream rush in to plague him anew, but it’s only too brief. If Carriedo is way out of his league, Valentin can only be a fantasy  for entirely different reasons.

The other looks up at him. “…uh, I just work for him, we don’t have a relationship.” His tone is clipped, very likely concealing annoyance at the mere suggestion. Which is understandable.

“Joke’s on you, because Nonno has a relationship with everybody. You know, he thinks it’s important to cultivate closeness and all…”

“I can assure you he hasn’t been cultivating any closeness with me,” Valentin says pointedly, this time with a scowl.

But Lovino only grins, amused. Poor boy, getting so defensive. “Anyway, forget it,” he states. “He’s already enamored with someone else now, so you missed your chance. He’s all over that Carriedo guy, you’d think he wants to either marry or adopt him or some shit. But then again, the dude is a conquistador.”

“Ah, shit,” Valentin observes flatly, but then he bursts into laughter, all moody caution quickly dispelled. “Is that what he said?”

“No, the druggie paralegal said that, full of unbridled admiration, but it stuck with me.” 

The kid may have had more than his share of bullshit with Nonno and other stuck-up lawyers, but at least Lovino is funny. He can tell Valentin finds him entertaining on some fundamental level he doesn’t really want to delve into, but it’s cute that he can make him laugh so easily.

He would sleep with me, Lovino thinks – comfortingly and confidently - and has to look away, hoping it doesn’t show on his face.

“So, what happens when you find him? This guy, the accountant,” he inquires clearing his throat and deciding to focus on the matter at hand instead.

Valentin bites his lip, lowering the file onto the desk. “Well, first of all, if I find him, because if he’s left the country… We could only at best find out where he’s gone to, and that’s that. But assuming he hasn’t and he’s not some Jason Bourne, I guess he won’t be hard to track down. We’ll just report back to you when we have a location, and of course keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t leave. Or if he leaves, we’ll be sure to follow him.” He pauses and sighs. “Anyway, obviously the police could do all that far more effectively, I think, but my guess is that they won’t get the police involved just yet because if this guy really is the one who took the money, it will be easier to maybe reach an amiable settlement or whatever to try and get the money back. If the police gets involved they’ll want to prosecute him and he might be less cooperative. I think.”

“Amiable settlement, huh,” says Lovino. “I thought we’re gonna kidnap and torture him.” He adds that half-jokingly, but unsure if it’s really a joke.

“Maybe the company will? We don’t render that kind of service,” Valentin replies in the same tone, one that he hardly knows what to make of.

Maybe he doesn’t even want to know.

Chapter Text

Two days pass, uneventful for the most part.

Lovino decidedly focuses on the rest of his tasks which are anyway plenty and avoids Nonno, the tax lawyer and anything related to the LCW potential fraud case, since his help is not momentarily required anyway. Also, it's clear that Carriedo already has some suspicions too and that his grandfather is hiding stuff, probably thinking that he is too inexperienced to deal with them effectively (whatever the fuck that could mean, in the old man's books). 

Too bad Nonno has no intention to give him a break. 

"Any news on Jean Pierre? Romulus inquires, poking his head through the door around noon on the third day, almost startling him out of his thoughts. 

"Uh... no, not yet."

"You haven't heard from Valentin? What the hell is that kid doing?!"

And thus again, with just two phrases, he manages to push all of Lovino's buttons at the same time with fantastic efficacy. 

"It's just been, what, two days? How-..." he huffs, trying to keep his irritation in check without much success. "I think he would have called if he had any news, what do you want me to do?"

To which Romulus is prompt to offer his disappointment in the form of a deep sigh. "To put pressure, that's what. Don't you understand that until he's located-... Nevermind, I'll take care of this myself."

Lovino all but rolls his eyes. Typical. He would very much like to know what the plan actually is, if any, what's going to happen once the man is found - with the money or not – but for now he keeps his mouth shut and just hopes to be at least left alone. 

"Listen, your mother said you can cook," Nonno says next, with a raised eyebrow, like it’s something of tremendous difficulty, "Can you?"

What the hell is this domestic talk now, I wonder

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, I can make some things-"

Romulus smiles, all benevolent now. "Good. I will need you to make a casual, light dinner for three on Friday. I thought I'd ask Antonio over to my place and we can all have a nice evening together. You don’t have to worry about the shopping, the concierge will take care of it, I just need you to come over a little earlier and cook. I’ll give you a couple of hours off, yeah?"

Is he fucking serious, Lovino thinks, trapped between exasperation and genuine awe. And anger – doesn’t he have enough work to deal with already?! He surely didn’t see this one coming and somehow it’s certain that he will never stop being taken by surprise by the crap Nonno can come up with at the drop of a hat, just like he’s sure there won't be any shortage of it either in the near future.

"…and you can't go to a restaurant or order-"

"Lovino, I want to show the man some of our warm Italian hospitality, with a homemade dinner. And it's a chance for you to distinguish yourself, don't you think?"

The younger blinks. “To distinguish myself? As what, a manservant?!”

“To distinguish yourself as a talented young man.”

Right.

“LCW had a qualified audit opinion for the last three years, because of some potentially material tax issues,” says Romulus next, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he leans against the door, shoulders hunching slightly. “I didn’t include that in the file, but the annual reports are public, and Antonio looked them up online. He asked me about it and I said it was a regrettable oversight on our behalf, but I just-… It wasn’t meant to keep him in the dark; I simply didn’t want him to be biased against our client. I wanted him to draw a conclusion based solely on his own work, on whatever can be found from analyzing the tax returns and accounting records, because that’s what the IRS would do.”

So that’s why. At that, Lovino can’t help feeling some small, petty satisfaction at the idea that if Nonno believes the tax lawyer will be so easily swayed by some fatherly charm and a nice dinner that he’d overlook this not-so-subtle blunder he probably doesn’t think so highly of him after all.

“Nonno, look, I know Mr. Bernard is your friend and it’s a delicate issue so he doesn’t feel like being very transparent, but we’re his lawyers, yeah? Us and Carriedo. I’m guessing we’re here to fix whatever the hell happened, but to do that we need to know what that is. I mean, we are all bound by the confidentiality clause!”

“Technically, yes, but in practice people spill the beans, especially if they think they were being used. Shit has ways of getting out and sooner or later the authorities or the police or worse, the damned press get hold of information they were never supposed to. And by the end of this, let’s be honest – we don’t know what he might uncover after all. He’s a smart guy and hopefully that accountant wasn’t so smart, but what if he was and managed to divert evidence so that it points at someone else? Maybe even at Louis himself, since he’s the one who caught wind of what was going on! And then what? It will look like our firm was trying to sweep the mess under the rug while keeping Antonio out of the loop.”

Lovino slumps over the desk, massaging his forehead. The thought that Carriedo might suspect them of foul play (and be right about it, too!) gives him a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach; he doesn’t know if it’s disappointment or shame or anguish of some sort, but it feels unfixable.

“Anyway, do try to impress him on Friday.”

After that, the rest of the day is utterly compromised; his productivity spurt goes down the drain as Lovino is plagued by nervous thoughts about the dinner and drops everything else to look up recipes online for inspiration while trying not to drive himself up the wall.

Before, when he had more time on his hands, he did imagine what it would be like to cook for a nice date with a special someone and it sounded like an enjoyable thing; now, it’s not a date – Antonio Fernandez Carriedo is a man of unreadable nature who both thrills and makes him feel small and the whole thing is Nonno’s subtle attempt to manipulate said man, such that it feels twisted in the worst way.

It’s not something casual and relaxing, it’s yet another performance he must deliver and show himself up to the task.

In the end, he decides to go home early and rehearse beforehand, even though the salt cod fillet he’s settled onto is nothing awfully complicated. He goes shopping for the first time in several months, doing his best to distract himself from the looming implications, writes down the list of ingredients to leave with the concierge for Friday, opens a bottle of wine as he cooks all alone in the pristine kitchen.

Hours fly.

As predicted, the recipe is not a big deal and the result is probably the best dinner he’s had in months, but Lovino can’t get himself to enjoy it. The more he broods, the more it all feels like a bad joke. No matter how he looks at it, asking Carriedo-… no, Antonio over for dinner at Nonno’s place and for Nonno’s obscure purposes is the ultimate trolling. Whatever budding hope he may have harbored, whatever butterflies in his stomach when the man’s full, sensual lips closed around his cigarette now lay crushed under a fucking conflict of interest.

And of course, now that it really cannot, must not be, Lovino realizes, with all the harrowing violence of such realizations, that he really wants Antonio, beyond doubt, both despite and because of the way this utterly unattainable man makes him feel. Just what he fucking needed on top of all the crap, an impossible crush.

Eventually, he gets himself to move from the table, to clean up and take out the trash, even if he wants nothing more than to drop on the bed and pass out. When he comes back up the stairs, there are suddenly voices on the landing - Nonno's and a woman's, youthful yet deep and with a thick, unmistakable German accent. 

Lovino freezes on the steps, all thoughts of Carriedo suddenly a million miles away.

And Valentin did warn him, for fuck’s sake!

"I bumped into her at the elevator, in your building, and when I heard her speak-... I made the connection. She must be that German blonde who set up your little brother."

"Our office building?"

"No, where you live."

"You saw her coming out of Nonno's apartment, didn't you."

"Look, she really doesn't have anything to do with Mr. Adnan. When I met her, she was very well dressed, classy. Like an escort, you know, the kind you can take to fancy places and pass for a real date. Expensive. Mr. Adnan doesn't have girls like that."

How the hell did he not think he too might run into her one day?!

In theory he could just ignore her since she's a complete stranger, he could just pretend; but his poker face might slip, or he might stare or otherwise betray that he does know who she is (and what she did).  And then, even if he doesn't want to confront Nonno about his despicable scheme, the talk will happen and no doubt Nonno will find a way to rationalize it, and he will make a fuss, and by the end of it Lovino will be the villain because he doesn't appreciate what's been done for his own good. 

Fuck.

The door was closed and now the clicking of heels draws near and he has nowhere to go. He can't run away down the stairs like a stupid kid, and he wants to go to bed already. So up he goes, schooling his face into as neutral an expression as he can muster.

She is indeed a beauty, fresh and youthful even in the formal outfit – a long wool coat over a somber, navy-blue knee-length pencil dress, black stilettos, hair swept back in a bun at the base of her neck; looking like she’s playing indeed another role this time, that of the mature and sophisticated woman a well-off senior lawyer would date. A professional in her own right.

Lovino really doesn’t want to hold it against her.

Sure, setting people up and getting them arrested is not the job of the average sex worker, it’s something decidedly hurtful, but what if she didn’t only do it for the money? What if she was pressured?

“Hello,” she says, with the beginning of a smile and a gleam of curiosity in her bright blue eyes (because he managed to stare after all), “You must be Lovino.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” he inquires stiffly, the tension returning to his shoulders. What the fuck?! Don’t talk to me!

“I’m Monika,” the blonde smiles fully now. “Romulus told me a lot about you. And you resemble-…”

But then her smile turns awkward as Lovino remains quiet, expectant, and there must be something on his face that doesn’t bode well, because she’s taken aback upon realizing the mistake and it takes a long moment to regroup.

“I mean, Romulus has a picture of you and your brother. You look like the picture.”

It’s a lie, Nonno doesn’t keep any pictures at his place. And that right there is the ultimate evidence it’s her, if the name wasn’t enough.

And all he can do is nod curtly, his mouth feeling like it’s glued. “Uh… well I hope he didn’t say anything bad about me.” Normally, he would be mortified at the thought of appearing shy and weird, but right now he gives zero fucks as to what this woman thinks of him.

“He says that you’re working a lot,” Monika offers, her voice lower now, and she takes two small steps forward, drawing near. Her perfume drifts into his personal space - something floral and subtle, purposely understated. "Would you like my phone number?"

Whatever uncertainty he may have felt before, the words, despite their softness, feel like an absolute slap in the face; like a mockery neither he nor Feli deserve. And yet, it's still not her fault, for her this is just a job she's looking to make the most out of.

So Lovino makes an effort to keep himself in check, to let his shoulders loose, to hide his growing discomfort. 

"It's inappropriate, don't you think?" he manages, tight-lipped. 

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but it quickly dissolves into more smiles as she throws a meaningful glance towards Romulus's door. "Oh, dear, you can't mean-" she murmurs, and it's the last drop.

"I mean, there are no pictures in my grandfather's apartment, he's not sentimental like that - you recognized me because you know my brother and yes, we do resemble each other a great deal," Lovino states, voice blunt and low, just with a tilt of head. 

For a split second, her face becomes very transparent; there's genuine fright, maybe some guilt, but again, it doesn't last. She's a pro after all. Gaze lowered, she shakes her head slowly, in a dramatic miming of empathy or whatever.

"Lovino, it wasn't like that-..." she whispers. "Nothing happened, we didn't-... Your brother is just a kid!"

"Nothing happened?! He didn’t really do anything, yet he was roughed up by the police and he was dragged away in cuffs! He was scared! And now he has a suspended criminal record Nonno has been successfully weaponizing ever since! I know it wasn't your idea so I don't hold it against you, but at least have the minimum human decency and stay away from me!"

With that, Lovino pushes past her and marches to his own apartment, slamming the door shut. 

Lovino sits numbly at his desk, head in his hands, looking away from the laptop screen and the inbox filled with unread emails yet to be tackled. He came in very early hoping to get some work done and to get his shit together after hardly sleeping the night before – and so far hasn’t managed much of either.

He's done it now. Not only did he reveal to Monika that he knows the truth behind Feliciano's mishap, but he also told her what he thinks of it, so she must have been offended. 

She'll tell Nonno for sure if she hasn't already - it's too important a fact to keep him in the dark about and then things will be ugly. Or maybe not, maybe Nonno will just pretend nothing happened. The truth is, he still doesn't really know Nonno that well aside from the fact that Romulus is cunning and resourceful. And very demanding. And critical. And-...  Yeah, Nonno won't have any qualms about confronting him, of all people. 

That being said, he's not eager to meet him this morning and see which way the wind blows. And then there's the dinner, tomorrow night. Maybe Carriedo will decline or it will be postponed. 

And then, Romulus shows up brusquely and upon laying eyes on him Lovino's only thought is that maybe he won't make a fuss in the office about their family matters. Hopefully.

"Antonio confirmed for tomorrow," he says cheerfully, but his good mood could very well be deceiving. "Did you think about what you're going to make?"

Lovino nods absently, kind of dazed by the lack of sleep and still trying to figure out whether the other knows about Monika or not. 

"Well?"

"Uh... salt cod fillet with tomatoes, olives and capers. I left the shopping list with the concierge, he'll take care of it. And the wine, he can choose something to go with it."

"Baccalà, good choice," Nonno approves. "You sure you can pull it off?"

"Yeah."

"What about dessert?"

It didn't even cross his mind, he's not much into sweets anyway. He should have thought about it, but does Nonno assume he’s a pastry chef too?! What the hell. "You said it's a light, casual dinner-"

"Yeah, a light dinner - one course and dessert. My dear boy, have you no idea how to properly entertain?" Romulus sighs, but still good-humoredly, like his mood can't be spoiled this time. "It's fine, I will pick a fresh tart on my way home tomorrow night, I know a good place. How about lemon? It’s not too sweet, goes well with the white wine and I’m sure Antonio will like it."

"Sure."

Okay, so the dinner is unavoidable now. But about the other thing, what if he made a move first? After all, if he's quiet he will look guilty, even if exactly none of this crap is his fault.

"Uh, Nonno," he musters his courage just as the other is about to leave, swallowing through the dryness in his mouth. "The girl who'd been visiting you approached me last night, when I went to take out the trash." Fuck, he hates how weak and uncertain his voice sounds, about to crack, but it's best to keep the relay as benign as possible. "She said you told her a lot about me and stuff... She was very forward and made me uncomfortable, to be honest. And I really don't need-..."

He trails off just as something shifts on Romulus's face, like he's suddenly more alert, but he doesn't scowl as per usual. Instead, he sighs again. 

"Lovino, she just lied to break the ice - I didn't tell her anything about you, why would I? Of course you don't need women like her at your age! And she's ridiculously expensive, I hope you refused her."

He doesn’t wait for the answer, just walks away as a clear signal the topic is closed, at least for now, leaving Lovino to wonder if he’s indeed managed to fend off the issue or made it worse.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone! Time for yet another chapter of this tremendous thing. Enjoy :)

~

By the time Friday rolls around, Lovino is tense like a bow.

He is nervous about Nonno being all cryptic all the sudden and barely saying a word, about Valentin not giving them any news about the missing accountant, and, on top of everything else, the stupid dinner. Then, the work day slips by with more phone calls, emails and a heap of documentation to prepare and review, such that by the end of it a stubborn, dull headache is stuck behind his forehead. 

As discussed, he leaves early, just in time for a light rain to remind him he should have taken an umbrella.

He takes the spare key from the concierge and goes up to Nonno's, feeling slightly anxious as he unlocks the door and steps inside.  Lovino snorts, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of the damps coat and suit jacket as he advances into the space which clearly spells luxury and secrets in every corner: with the softness of velvet drapes, oriental carpets and low sofas, polished mahogany, glass and ivory of small details, tasteful antiques here and there, on a shelf, on a coffee table, in a crafty niche of the wall next to the faux fireplace. A space for women like the blonde Monika to lounge casually next to a plushy throw blanket, draped across an inviting array of cushions in the middle of the artful, studied mess that is Romulus Vargas's apartment. A place meant to entertain and impress under the guise of homeliness. 

At least, he will have a little peace and quiet before the thing so that he can hopefully pull himself together. He trusts himself not to mess up the cooking – that at least is something he enjoys. Well, he would enjoy it even more if he wasn’t under this stupid pressure.

The kitchen, just like his own, is finely furnished but thoroughly unused, all surfaces gleaming spotless under the bright, warm-lighted lamps. A random search through the drawers and cabinets for the necessary utensils reveals a neatly pressed (and probably also unused) frilly apron with a colorful pattern of sunflowers and tomatoes - probably some woman’s uninspired ‘homely’ gift, because Nonno doesn’t cook; still, it’s better than to get oil or tomato sauce onto his office shirt or trousers, so Lovino unfolds it with one shake and ties it on.

“Okay,” he mutters, giving a quick massage to his forehead and temples. “Let’s fucking do this…”

Three bottles of white wine are cooling in the fridge, the drops of condensation all-tempting, and he could get a glass while cooking, it would certainly help with the nerves. But no, better not get too relaxed before time. Lovino is here to impress the guest with his cooking and hosting skills, not fall asleep before the evening is over.   

He takes out the ingredients and lines them up onto the tabletop, goes over the mental list again to make sure nothing’s missing.

It’s gonna be alright, he thinks, chopping the onion and garlic cloves with practiced moves, Nonno will surely monopolize the conversation with old stories and anecdotes, maybe even one or two involving his good friend Bernard, and Carriedo will be distracted. There will be wine. There will be jokes. Lovino is only there for the cooking, and for decoration – to show the guest that Nonno is a family man, a good man, and everything around him is cozy and safe.

He chooses one of the skillets from the display above the stove, heats some olive oil and dumps the onion and garlic inside, the familiar scent instantly soothing; he doesn’t rush, stirring slowly and thoroughly until they’re nicely browned, then takes them off the heat to add the tomatoes and olives; then water to cover and simmer, then the capers, oregano and some red pepper flakes for even more flavor. 

He’s just finished placing the seasoned cod on top of everything when the doorbell rings, startling.

Lovino throws a panicked glance around, but there’s no wall clock in sight; he took off his watch somewhere and left his phone inside the pocket of his coat, but it must be still early, no? Could it be that the concierge forgot something? And Nonno didn’t even bother to let him know when he plans to leave or pick up that dessert of doom ‘Antonio will surely like’.

He nearly blows a raspberry at that, running a hand through his hair as he pulls the skillet to the side and goes to find his phone first. Yeah, it’s more than half an hour left before… did he misunderstand by any chance?

"I'm coming, I’m coming," he grumbles, scurrying over to switch on the lights into the hallway. As useful as the concierge might be, the man is nosy and has this perpetually suspicious air that-

It's not the concierge. 

And he should have fucking known, because the concierge has his own set of keys aside from the spares, and should have at least-... But now it's too late.

In the doorframe stands none other than Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, looking devastatingly handsome in a black, elegant trench coat and his dark curls slightly damp from the evening drizzle, a bottle of wine in hand.

“Oh, am I early? Romulus said-… I think I got it wrong,” the tax lawyer offers with an apologetic smile, checking his watch quickly.

Meanwhile Lovino stands in the middle of the hallway a little dumbstruck, his hair ruffled, nose a little runny from the onions, looking at best like a shady cook from a bad mob movie, one of those who make spaghetti and meatballs for button men. 

"Oh no, it doesn’t matter, don’t worry! Come in, come in!" he motions towards the interior, sniffing and wiping his hands awkwardly at his sides. “You’re just going to get spoilers, I’m not done yet.”

Antonio laughs lightly at that, shrugging out of his coat, while Lovino tugs the stupid apron loose and throws it away out of sight on his way back to the kitchen.

“It’s my fault,” he says quickly, grabbing the skillet and putting the lid on as he returns it to the stove. “I forgot all about the dessert and Nonno has to go pick something up, that’s why he’s gonna be late.” He busies himself with adjusting the heat and then turning to the tabletop to clean up, careful to look anywhere but at the guest. He checks his phone in passing, but there are no messages, nothing.

"Are you nervous?" Carriedo asks, his tone casual, and with the corner of his eye Lovino spies him leaning against the counter, withing observing distance. His suit jacket is gone too and there's a glimpse of crisp, blinding white against tanned skin. And then he's reminded of the cigarette scene, and he nearly flinches. Why the fuck is he so transparent, Jesus!?

Oh, for fuck's sake!

"Hah, of course I'm nervous." He looks up and straight at the man, wooden spoon in hand. No point playing cool, then, is it? ‘Authenticity is everything’, he’s read somewhere. "If I mess this up, I'll never hear the end of it, since I was instructed to impress you," Lovino adds with a small, deliberately awkward smile, shaking his head. 

"Oh, no! Actually, I'm kind of nervous myself," the tax lawyer confesses. "I mean, as far as I'm aware of, the Romulus Vargas never invited anyone to dinner at his place, so it's quite a thing. I don't really know what to expect."

If he's indeed nervous, he sure as hell doesn't look like it one bit. In fact, he looks very much in his element here as back in the office, a man who speaks but hardly lets anything be seen in his expression or gestures, perpetually unfazed and in control, always knowing what to say and do.

Expect a conflict of interest and a violent migraine from all his talking

"Oh, I think he really likes you. He's been all 'Antonio this', 'Antonio that' these past days."

There is a moment of silence during which he focuses on turning the fish on the other side and within his line of vision Carriedo shifts a little closer. 

"You know, they say love-bombing is a red flag."

All the forgotten tension returns into Lovino's body with a vengeance, making his shoulders stiff. Could it be that Carriedo came early on purpose, did he know that Lovino would be here alone and he wants to make him talk about the case, is this a fucking strategy on his part? Does Lovino look vulnerable to him, an easy prey?! Maybe he even figured out that Lovino likes him, which would be absolutely mortifying!

And so, with the rush of overthinking he drops the fish and sauce splashes onto the front of his shirt. 

"OH, FUCK!"

"You should have kept the apron on," the guest observes, probably amused.

Or having his theories confirmed. Or fuck knows!

Lovino aches to snap back, but his mouth feels stuffy and all words seem to have suddenly fled his mind. In the end he can only roll his eyes and sigh, preoccupied with maneuvering the fish in the skillet so that it gets nicely and evenly done, spooning it with more sauce.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this is all my fault,” Carriedo says, and moves to pick up a kitchen cloth and take it to the sink. “I came much too early and then I distracted you. Perdón.”

Before he is even aware, the man is suddenly in his face carefully dabbing at the stain with a bit of dish soap. He appears very serious and focused on his task and only now does Lovino notice how green his eyes are, and it unsettles him to no end. And speaking of awful timing, he wouldn’t be surprised if Nonno came in just now and of course chastise him in front of the guest.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he grumbles, looking elsewhere because he couldn’t meet Antonio’s gaze this close up, not without completely short-circuiting.

“There,” Antonio says softly, “It’s come off, now it just needs to dry.”

Too soft, too close, his cologne invading Lovino’s nostrils and making him almost light-headed. Fucking hell, he needs to diffuse this now. But just as he’s thinking of how, the man’s thumb is brushing his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth.

“There was some on you face too. All gone now.”

Lovino licks his lips and forces his mouth into a broad smile, because he can feel his face burning, so he needs to play this off and fast.

“Um, Antonio… actually I feel a little bad about this,” he mutters awkwardly, pinching his nose and making a superhuman effort to meet the other’s gaze. “Nonno mostly kept me out of the loop, because I told him what I really think of his friend, but he’s told me about the audit opinions he didn’t include in the file but you found anyway.”

At that Carriedo blinks, genuine surprise and something else etched over his features; it only lasts a moment before his armor is back on behind that light and charming smile.

“I think you weren’t supposed to tell me that,” he says, with a tilt of head.

Lovino nods, stepping away to reach for one of the cupboards. Yeah, well, at least the tension is partly gone, or at least he feels relieved at having been honest. “Okay, then we’ll pretend you didn’t hear it. So," he asks, "What exactly do you know about Nonno that makes you so nervous? Is he really such a VIP?"

"You're asking me?" Carriedo raises an eyebrow, a little puzzled.

"Actually, yeah. Five months is not enough to fully figure it out and before that... well. It's like this: my grandparents divorced ages ago and he's hardly been in the picture all these years, being a busy man and all. He remarried at some point, got divorced again, whatever. I know this sounds weird, but I don't really know him that well," Lovino shrugs. "In fact, we're not a nice, warm Italian family at all. Big surprise."

Yeah, he wasn’t supposed to say that either, but the other doesn’t seem to be. Surprised, that is - most lawyers must have fucked-up personal lives after all.

"Wait, you mean to say that you didn't go to law school to follow in his footsteps?"

Oh, shit, that sounds like something he’s been told. What the fuck, another one who’s heard a lot about me…

"Not really. Also, I'd been working for two years in a comfort-zone kind of corporate legal department with zero plans of ever going to court before this. I don't exactly fit the definition of a nepo baby, but it doesn't matter since it looks like that anyway." 

He fishes out three simple, flat plates and sets them on the tabletop with a sigh. They look very plain but must be ridiculously expensive, like all the shit Nonno owns.

"What about you? What's your family like?"

For a moment, Antonio presses his lips tight, almost as if he's balking at the question, and averts his gaze. Maybe it's a sore spot and he shouldn't have asked? Tough shit.

"Uh, well," the tax lawyer begins eventually. "I have no living grandparents. My father left us many years ago and we haven't really heard from him since, so it's just my mother and my twin brother."

Lovino stares. No fucking way another man just as gorgeous exists in this world. How fucking unfair is that?! Pfff. 

"Wow, you have a twin!" he says instead, turning back to check on the fish. It’s nearly done.

"Yeah." Antonio smiles a little this time, fondly. "Joao is a clinical psychologist, he's very appreciated."

"That’s really impressive, your mother must be very proud of the two of you."

Carriedo nods, his smile fading a little. “Anyway, let me help you-”

But then there’s the sound of a key in the lock and then Nonno all but barges in, a large bag in hand and calling for Lovino to come and help him and grumbling about bad organization.

“Antonio is here,” Lovino warns him before he can find something to criticize out loud and tries to take the bag from his hand. “But it’s okay, the fish is almost done-”

“You look like a mess! Go change now!” Romulus hisses, holding the bag out of his reach.

“But I need to get the fish off the stove or it’ll-”

“Lovino! Go change now and comb your hair too, it looks like a bird’s nest! Honestly, how could you mess yourself up like this?!”

By the time he returns all dolled up, Nonno has effectively taken charge of the situation. The bag from earlier is neatly folded on the counter, the tarte or whatever safe in the fridge, the fish carefully plated and taken into the living room, silver cutlery lays artfully displayed onto a pristine tablecloth and three glasses have been filled with the fancy wine Carriedo brought.

Lovino sits down and takes a large gulp from his glass – the wine has a fine bouquet and a surprising, refreshing crisp – but at this point he’s just grateful for the alcohol.

“Is it from that newly opened store downtown?” Romulus wants to know, after having taken an appreciative sip. “I’ve heard they even have a sommelier?”

“Yes, they do,” Antonio confirms, nodding slowly. “He knows all about wine regions, styles, and how to match them with different dishes, he can make wine lists if you need… He’s all for ensuring a positive wine experience.” He pauses, and shifts his gaze to Lovino. “But, uh… I don’t know that much about wine and I didn’t do my homework either, so it wasn’t a positive experience at all. In fact, I haven’t been humiliated like this since the first grade, it was really-… I’m not going back there ever again,” he adds in a deadpan tone that’s just insanely funny.  

Nonno laughs loudly, but goes on to mansplain something about how important such high-end places are from a cultural point of view, the true humor of the situation lost on him. And Lovino can’t help but smile wider, because it almost feels like a private joke meant for him especially.

“But this is amazing,” the tax lawyer says warmly, motioning towards his plate. “It was worth facing all the adversity.”

“Oh, it’s a traditional recipe but it’s very easy to make, right Lovi?”

Predictably, Nonno has zero actual compliments about the food; instead he rants about how important home life is and how they like to do this often, painfully unaware of his gremlin grandson having confessed something rather opposite earlier. Carriedo finds himself at the receiving end of more uncomfortable questions about his family, particularly about his mother.

When he answers though, it’s again strikingly honest. Vulnerable even.

“My mother is a very devout Catholic and to her, being a lawyer is sinful and a clinical psychologist is not a real doctor, so… But she doesn’t mind the money, you know.”    

And technically this should even the ground somewhat but it doesn’t, quite on the contrary. Even in a messed-up and unsupportive family Antonio has flourished, groomed himself into a man full of confidence and savvy, able to smoothly navigate most circumstances with ease. Granted, Lovino is a good few years younger, but he can tell their ‘fabric’ is very different. He knows he’s already changed a lot in these five months, has grown sharper and quicker on his feet; eventually, he’ll stop getting flustered and thrown off by shit, but he suspects there’ll be very little of that curated charm and smoothness in him, instead he’ll be ruthless like a blade, aggressive and confrontational to a fault. All teeth and claws.

But for now, he remains a clumsy junior associate with some perspectives and no real power, trapped in shit he doesn’t fully understand. He can only sit there, pick at his food without real appetite and drink more wine than he should, harshly chastising himself for wanting even crumbs of attention.

The dinner goes on to drag ridiculously long, filled with polite and pointless conversation while Nonno deftly avoids the elephant in the room. There isn’t the slightest mention of LCW, or of Louis Bernard himself, his mood relaxed and leisurely as if one of their firm’s most important clients is not sitting on a powder keg. Carriedo doesn’t mention anything either, mirroring the atmosphere, but whether he’s relieved or alerted by this, it’s impossible to say.

Eventually, it’s over and Nonno instructs Lovino to accompany the guest downstairs.

“Well, I hope you had a good time tonight,” he tells Antonio at the door, hands stuffed in his pockets. Maybe this phrasing is not ideal, but-

“I did, and I love your cooking,” Antonio says, now smiling brighter than he’s done all evening. “And I enjoyed talking to you.”

“Yeah, me too. And believe it or not, I am aware that I’m entertaining,” Lovino offers, a little flatly.

Carriedo sighs, and his expression grows a little more serious. “I would like to see you in private. If you’d like it too, of course,” he says, with bewildering openness.

He must have drunk way too much wine. This is not happening. Unless it’s some business manner of speech he’s crassly misunderstanding-

“I would like it but you know there’s a conflict of interest here so we can’t talk-”

“Then we won’t talk,” Antonio shrugs lightly, a playful gleam in his green eyes. “Yes?”

Lovino tries really hard not to stare like an idiot, mouth open. Is this guy for real, even?! “Yeah,” he mumbles, a little incredulously. It feels even more unreal when the tax lawyer leans in and places a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Very well, then,” Antonio says, that blinding smile back now. “¡Buenas noches!”

And then he’s gone, swallowed by the dark street beyond the glass entrance.

Chapter Text

Lovino takes a deep breath, throwing a quick glance around the all-mirror elevator walls. His laptop and a couple of files are still waiting for him back at home, but work is a million miles away now. The spot lights in the ceiling are too warm, too bright. It feels overwhelming. 

"I think we should do talk about this a little bit," Antonio says neutrally. He stands in the corner near the door, arms crossed, as if he's deliberately keeping distance. "About what it is, and what it isn't, at least, don’t you think?"

Right. Fair. 

"Yeah, you're right. I am well aware of what this isn't, but whatever it is I will have to ask that it remain exclusively between the two of us."

"Of course."

Lovino bites his lip, glancing down at his freshly polished shoes, hands stuffed deep inside his pockets. Isn't this way too business-like for...? 

No, this is safe

"We should also discuss, uh... expectations," he offers tentatively.

He looks at the tax lawyer, but the other doesn't move and his expression doesn't change, the same light, affable smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. He takes another deep breath and tells himself that he doesn't care what Carriedo will think about him. It's just a matter of boundaries. Still, he can't help but swallow a knot in his throat. 

"I'm not all that experienced and I don't do any eccentric stuff."

"Oh..." Antonio finally utters, with a hint of intrigue and then, for a long moment, silence stretches between them, loaded. "That's quite alright, and I wouldn't want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, of course."

'Why are you so nice to me?' Lovino feels like asking, it dances on the tip of his tongue even, but then it occurs to him that this is just common sense, just basic courtesy. Did he really become so accustomed to being trampled and hurt? The thought is jarring so he smiles through it instead, and makes an effort not to flinch when the elevator stops and the gilded doors open with a soft ping. 

Antonio quietly leads the way down the hall like a perfect gentleman, swipes the sleek access card and holds the room door open for him with utmost grace. And he doesn't lay a hand on Lovino until the door is closed behind them, the space fully private at last. Then, only then, in the soft semi-obscurity of the muted lights he draws near, shifts into Lovino's space and leans over to kiss him on the mouth.

Finally, Lovino thinks, like he's been waiting for this forever. 

He should be nervous maybe, but instead he's instantly lightheaded, in the mood, like they just click from the very first moment, without a trace of the awkwardness he feared; the scent of Antonio fills his nostrils, the warmth of his hands gently cupping his face is overpowering. His tongue tastes surprisingly like candy, something sugary sweet with barely a hint of spice. 

Why on fucking Earth is this man so perfect, he can't help wondering even now, even as his own hands travel up from Antonio's chest to his shoulders to pull him even closer. Why the fuck does this feel so right? Why is it that he already can’t get enough of even this small a thing?!

Only, it's not right. He's making a mistake. 

He's very much making a mistake even as his fingers tug the tax lawyer's tie loose and let it slip soundlessly onto the thick, plush carpet, as they peel the suit jacket off his broad shoulders and move to the buttons of his crisp white shirt, eager for the skin underneath. 

Both their dress clothes are a hassle, they feel too much like a lie so he's relieved when they're finally on the floor and he finds himself gently pushed onto the soft covers, Antonio's lips hotly pressed against his.  

"Well," the tax lawyer inquires tentatively when he pulls away, his smile still much-too-soft in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. "Any preferences?"

Lovino props himself up on his elbows, head tilted, and lets his gaze wander onto the glorious expanse of tanned skin and worked muscles, all the way down to the man's half-hard cock. It's an absolute treat to behold, but he decides that he doesn't want this polite poise, he wants the man with the predatory grin he knows is hiding under all this softness. He wants the beast. The conquistador.

"I'm not made of glass," he says, leaning back a bit, eyes half-lidded. "I would like you to-..." Fuck. Why can’t he put it into words now? It shouldn’t be so hard, he’s done it before, just… just not with Antonio.

The other kneels on the bed and draws near to almost hover over him, expectant, that playful gleam in his eyes. “Yes?” he asks quietly, intent on studying Lovino’s face.

“Antonio Fernandez Carriedo,” he finally manages to get it out, flatly but deliberately curling his tongue around the last syllable. “I would like you to fuck me like you own me.”

The tax lawyer blinks and his green eyes widen for a bit, surprised, and then his lips stretch into a broad, delighted grin. Wolfish. “Hmm… I would like that too.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Antonio leans down as if to kiss him, but instead his mouth slips lower, down the side of Lovino's throat, to his collarbone, and there he sinks his teeth in. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to leave a mark. Low enough to be inconspicuous under everyday clothes, but a mark nevertheless, his mark on Lovino's body. Secret.

"You will wait," he tells Lovino, softly but still matter-of-fact, scooting lower in a slow motion. "And I will not touch you any more than I have to."

That It sounds somewhere between a promise and a threat, but Lovino is relieved. Like it wasn't bad enough already, he almost feared that Antonio was going to make love to him and not just because that sort of fluff was never his thing.

"Is that alright?"

"Yeah." 

His lover seems determined to take things unbearably slow; not gentle per say, but still notably restrained. Lovino half-expected a little roughness, on all fours and thighs spread shamelessly, ripe for the taking as it were, but the hand clamped on the back of his neck holding his upper body down hardly applies any real pressure; it's more grounding than anything else as warm lubed fingers work his inner muscles loose with unhurried care. 

Then, just before taking him, Antonio leans over and bites again, a little deeper, into the back of his shoulder.

After that, it feels too good to stay quiet anymore. There's a raw quality to those full, deep thrusts, to the sinuous move of Antonio's warmth onto his back, the weight reassuring, again much too fitting. Lovino aches for more friction, it's just not hard enough, he needs a little more, but when he tries it the other captures his hand and pushes it away, interlacing their fingers together. 

"You will come for me untouched," Antonio whispers into his ear, breath hot on his skin.

He opens his eyes to soft sunlight filtering through the parting of heavy plush drapes and is about to drift back into sleep when the reality finally registers and Lovino all but jerks awake. It's morning! 

He must have fallen asleep right after-... How embarrassing. For a moment he's too mortified to move, then becomes aware of an arm snugly draped around his waist under the blanket. Behind him someone shifts, pressing his back flat against a warm body and a nose nuzzles the back of his neck. 

"Lovi.... what's the matter?"

Antonio's sleep-softened voice is just too sweet, but now he can only flinch. 

"It's, uh... looks like I fell asleep last night and- I didn’t mean to intrude..."

Damn it, he should stop babbling and get out of the bed instead of lingering into this romantic illusion, no matter how comfortable it feels. Besides, he still needs to go home, take a shower, put on fresh clothes and face yet another hectic day at work.

"Mmm, what a terrible intrusion letting me hold you like this. Letting me have you a little longer," the tax lawyer says, making no attempt to release him.

“You’re saying it like it’s some big deal.”

“Maybe it is, I had a lot of fun,” Antonio says casually. “Speaking of, I thought you said you were inexperienced, but I for one didn’t really get that feeling."

At that, Lovino can’t help a snort. "I lied, I'm just boring. The truth is ugly."

"Always," the tax lawyer agrees with a light laugh. “But you’re not boring to me,” he adds and finally shifts, only to roll on top of Lovino and capture his mouth with his own. His fingers roam Lovino’s skin, but with none of last night’s hunger; if anything, it’s just a soft, gentle caress, speaking of affection more than anything else.

"…I should really go home now," Lovino sighs eventually. For what it’s worth, he could spend the whole day here in bed with this man and regret nothing.

"I should too but I don't want to,” Antonio grins. “I want to go down on you."

"What, now?"

"Yeah. Right now."

Getting back home, throwing off yesterday’s clothes and climbing in the shower, it’s all a daze Lovino doesn’t want to wake up from. He doesn’t want to kick himself back into gear after relaxing in what feels like an eternity, he doesn’t want to lose the afterglow of having had his body thoroughly used, or the taste of Antonio’s lips on his own, or the feeling of his amazing mouth between his legs. He’s not ashamed or regretting anything they’ve done, he’s just happy. Which is probably a bad sign.

So he sadly shakes out of it and eventually makes it to the office. Nonno is nowhere to be found, instead he discovers that Valentin is back, looking rather worse for wear.

The usual stress returns into Lovino’s body with a vengeance as he heads in the direction of the small corner office, ignoring the pointed stares of two interns who seem to have an eye on the scene and nothing better to do. Technically he could turn and tell them off, but now there are more important things to worry about that office gossip.

“Lovino,” says Valentin in acknowledgement, his face lighting up a bit, and there’s a familiar folder under his clasped hands. He doesn’t want to cut to the chase right away, or ask why the fuck the kid didn’t call all this time, if anything Nonno must have thrown a tantrum about it already. Instead, he walks in and slowly closes the glass door behind him, schooling his face into a more friendly expression.

“Hey! Are you alright?”

The other nods, lips pressed a little, and then says simply “We found him.”

"You did?"

Suddenly, he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to ask what happens next, but he does it anyway. No point trying to avoid the unavoidable, this is his job after all. 

"Well, it turns out he's terminated his lease on his apartment and moved to a rundown motel in the outskirts. Paid in cash for a month of stay."

"That doesn't sound like much of a disappearance." Lovino lets out a sigh. "What about his family? Oh, and how old is he?" Might as well admit he didn't look at the file at all before passing it to the kid, the whole thing feels like a load of stones in his gut. He needs a cigarette, badly.

"Mid-thirties, divorced but not recently, no kids. His family lives in a little town out west, his ex-wife remarried and moved abroad. He used to live alone and hardly got out other than to go to work. Rented space, quite modest too. A very low-key kind of person if you ask me."

Does that fit the typical fraudster profile, if there is one? A little bit. Or maybe not. Maybe it just looks that way. 

"Do we know where the money might be?" Lovino asks at last, crossing his arms. 

Valentin only shrugs. "Well, we don't have access to his accounts or anything, that costs serious money and we don't have that kind of budget, but it doesn't look like he's bought anything expensive beyond his means, he drives a shabby car... Sure, maybe he's smart and knew not to draw attention, plus if the sums were siphoned over a long period of time maybe he's-... I mean not to sound negative but he could have just gambled them away online, didn’t even need to leave the house for that. I read a statistic and many fraud perpetrators use the stolen funds to feed gambling addictions. Which is so stupid if you ask me, casinos are a business - they might let you win every now and then but they'll always make sure that overall you lose way more than you win."

"Except there's nothing reasonable about addictions, it's the adrenaline rush or whatever. Plus, it's not like we have access to a lot of money to burn through so it’s kinda hard to make that sort of assumption."

Valentin snorts, nodding and leaning back in the seat. "Yeah. Or... this Jean Pierre guy was just a pawn and the money was actually stolen by your client and he's getting scapegoated. I mean, gotta keep an open mind." He shifts a little in place, then bites his bottom lip pensively. “I mean, what’s your client’s real objective here.”

Well, that’s a good question, and if someone who only had marginal contact with the issue is asking it, then it must be somewhat transparent. Bernard had walked in all worried about the IRS and the company’s public reputation, and he’d dropped an estimate of the amount as to point out the amplitude of the mess LCW was in if it got out in the press, but he wasn’t surprised about it and he didn’t really say anything about getting the money back. Maybe he already knows the money’s gone and beyond recovery. But then again, two million in cash isn’t that big of a deal for a company that size, but the reputational damage and potential trouble with the tax authorities clearly is. Maybe he doesn’t really understand - because Nonno kept him in the dark on purpose - and now he’s overthinking it.

Speak of the devil…

“Lovino! Where have you been?! I was looking for you all morning!”

Romulus barges in with no ceremony and obviously displeased by something impossible to guess. And where exactly has he been looking?

“You didn’t call-”

“Do I have to call you? I expect you to be here when I need you to be! Do you understand, young man?!” he all but shouts. He can’t… know anything about the night before, can he?

Lovino wants to snap (he wasn’t even that late and technically there’s no fixed schedule) but feels guilty all the sudden, like he could turn into glass and have Nonno read right through him if he does, so he keeps his mouth shut and just nods. He fights back a flinch when Romulus grabs his arm and drags him down the hallway hurriedly.

“Come now, we must meet Gerhardt. He wants to talk to you in person, I don’t know what’s gotten into him, I only consulted him as a colleague and all the sudden he wants to make decisions-… Anyway, he thinks that accountant will be intimidated by me if I go talk to him, so you should do it. When have I ever intimidated anyone?!”

Right. Never.

Beyond the large windows of Gerhardt Beilschmidt’s office the sky stretches grey, darkened with heavy clouds, matching the icy atmosphere where the firm’s main partner, straight-backed and stern-faced, sits behind a large desk, typing something away on the keyboard of his computer.

“Gerhardt,” Romulus starts, crossing the room in two large strides and pulling out one of the guest chairs. “This is a serious matter! Lovino, why are you standing there? Come here!”

Being able to keep a blank expression in the face of Nonno’s effusion is quite an impressive feat, Lovino thinks, gingerly perching on the seat while Beilschmidt turns slightly and takes off his glasses. He can’t help noting yet again how different this man and his grandfather seem to be, like fire and ice, but it must be a surface thing, a matter of personal style. Considering they’ve been working together for almost thirty years, they can’t be that different. That is to say, Beilschmidt is no saint either.

“…I will prepare a statement for him to sign if he’s ready to admit his guilt and settle amiably without too much fuss, of course after I discuss it with Louis in detail. As for the money, it’s unlikely any of it will be recovered, this has been going on for quite a while and-…” Romulus is saying, waving with his hands. “Anyway, the point is Lovino is too young and inexperienced to handle such a delicate issue.”

Lovino blinks, this is going way too fast! When did Nonno even decide all this?!

"Wait, you want him to sign a confession? But how do you know-"

"See, Gerhardt? That's why Lovino can't go talk to him," Romulus cuts him off. "He doesn't understand what is in our client's best interest." When he does turn to his grandson, his expression has mellowed somewhat but not in a good way. "Lovino, we're lawyers, not prosecutors, we're not here to establish guilt, we're here to take charge of the situation and solve the problem. Our client needs to be able to demonstrate to the IRS, and to the public if God-forbid this ever gets out there, that they have addressed the issue. That they carried out an investigation and the culprit has been handed over to the police. That's why the sooner the accountant signs the statement and turns himself in, the better. I mean if he's willing to cooperate, he might even be offered a deal and get a reduced sentence."

Bullshit. An investigation is exactly what our client doesn't want. 

But arguing with Nonno at this point is useless, so he just nods. Even Valentin figured it out faster, because he understands how Nonno thinks. Looks like Lovino is the only fool around here who still entertains any illusions as to what his grandfather is about, despite everything. 

"Romulus, I think Lovino will do just fine," Gerhardt says flatly. "He needs to learn, and this is a good opportunity."

Chapter Text

Fucking finally, Nonno has some other appointment and leaves the office, because Lovino doesn't know how much more he would have been able to listen to his aggressive lecturing before having a complete meltdown.

Romulus is thoroughly unhappy with the main partner's decision, but for some reason cannot openly cross the man; instead he takes out his frustration on his grandson, who is clearly unsuitable for the task. In his opinion, Lovino has no way with words, has no power of persuasion, he's not imposing enough. Besides, he's just a junior associate! How can he even tell Louis that someone so low-level will be handling something so crucial?! And yet, he will have to tell him, for the sake of their longstanding relationship.

As soon as he's gone, Lovino makes a beeline for the kitchenette balcony and lights one up. He knows he vowed not to make it a habit, but the times of pulling that off might be coming to a close. So he takes a long drag, letting the smoke fill his mouth and airways, closing his eyes and willing his thoughts away. He doesn't want to think of the man whose fate is as good as sealed; even if he's guilty - and some guilt he must have, otherwise he would have gone to the police instead of trying to vanish - it's still way too callous to deal with him like this.

It's just wrong.

Fuck this job. And fuck these people who don't have any qualms about anything. 

"Looking for trouble again?" Carriedo teases, slipping out next to him, coffee mug in hand. Other than for that playful, butter-smooth tone of his voice, he’s terribly somber in a sharp black suit and tie to match, his curls tamed just the right amount.

"Nonno just left the office, he won't be back for a while," Lovino replies on impulse and then immediately after wants to slap himself. Hard.

Just what the fuck is he doing?! Isn't he an adult?! Why is this topic- Fuck. Suddenly, he desperately wants to explain to Antonio why he's here, working with Nonno even he hates it and they don't get along, he wants to make clear that he’s not a coward who can't get a job on his own and needs to hide behind Nonno’s pants or something and why he’s putting up with all of his crap. He doesn’t want to look like a useless schmuck. But then again, explaining why is out of the question, and Antonio probably doesn’t care in the first place. He’d just look even more like a fool overexplaining something no one asked.

"What's wrong?"

Lovino sighs, shifting his weight, and takes another quick drag. "Nothing, really, just a bit of office mayhem before lunchtime. Took a break to think of you for a change."

And just like that, he’s blurted out something he’d never say in normal circumstances. To anyone.

Antonio just tilts his head, maybe a little curious, but altogether relaxed. “To think of me… Hmm, that might not be appropriate for work,” he says in a low voice, straightening his back but otherwise not pulling away. Definitely interested.

“It’s nothing remotely wholesome, I assure you.”

The tax lawyer takes a sip of his coffee, hiding a quick smile behind the steaming mug. “Are you going to give me a clue?”

Lovino turns to face him fully and shakes his head. “Like you said, it’s really inappropriate.”

He lets out a soft sigh and stifles a yawn, not wanting to unwind too much and accidentally fall asleep again, he doesn't want to miss anything.

"You're so tense, relax a little. There…"

There he is, making more of that same mistake, basking into the same sugary lie, but Antonio's thumbs diligently digging into the muscles of his back, working loose all the tension, feel much too good. He doesn't want to think anymore. 

"Mmmm... you're doing such a good job," Lovino hums, lips stretched into a lazy smile. 

The tax lawyer's hands slip lower down his back, unhurried and meticulous in applying pressure in all the right spots. And then his lips follow suit, starting at the back of Lovino’s neck, and trace each bump of his spine ever-so-slowly on their way downwards; warm fingertips wander over his shoulders and his sides, reverently feeling the shape of his ribs, the exposed skin, all the way down to his hip bones. He half-expects more surprise biting in the middle of all this softness, but none comes; nothing but butterfly-light touches he's not really used to, causing a pleasant tingle under his skin. 

"Can you do something for me tonight?" Antonio whispers, his warm weight pressing close and his lips nearly teasing the shell of Lovino's ear. "When I'm done, I want you to turn around. I want to look at you this time."

Lovino bites his lip, wondering if it’s some kind of challenge. He hopes it is.

"You want missionary?"

A low, choked groan comes in reply. "..ugh, don't call it that."

He laughs and wiggles around, because Carriedo being flustered must be quite the rare, improbable sight and as such he must commit it to memory. Too bad it doesn't last more than a split second before a cheeky grin takes its place.

"How should I call it then?" he asks with a grin of his own.

There’s that gleam again in Antonio’s eyes, something both tender and feral in equal measure and it drives him mad with want, enough to lose himself into that bright green.

“Just me wanting more of you. All of you. Quiero verlo todo.”

The fresh, scented sheets are pleasantly cool against his bare skin and he feels too comfortable wrapping his arms around Antonio's neck and pulling him down for a kiss. His lips are so soft, his tongue still carries the taste of that cigarette they shared earlier, at the stop of a bus they weren’t going to take. And Antonio doesn’t even smoke.

They definitely kiss too much, Lovino thinks, more like lovers who are yet too thrilled of having discovered one another and riding that high than two people out here just for a quick hot fuck at the end of another grinding work day. But he wills himself to simply enjoy it as it is and not read into what it could mean, even if he’d like to.

"Can you be good for me?" Antonio asks, in that voice soft but powerful and full of promise, lacing their fingers together and slowly lifting Lovino's arms above his head on the pillows. Those six words are enough to make Lovino twitch, but this time he's not embarrassed at his own impatience. And he’s not afraid to ask for what he wants either.

"Only if you’ll make me feel you inside of me for the rest of the week.”

The next morning, Lovino caches himself smiling in the mirror as he’s running a hand through his hair one more time on his way out. Which he never does. So he takes a deep breath, dampens the curve of his mouth and shakes his head before going out of the apartment, which is inspired since just then Romulus comes out on the landing too, briefcase in hand and looking like he has his own private dark cloud above his head.

"Come on, I'll take you," he says fleetingly, and Lovino wonders if this is the end of his good mood for the day. Is Nonno really going to pester him with the Jean Pierre issue again, when he didn’t even draft the deposition yet?

"So," Romulus begins, once settled behind the wheel of his sleek black Lexus. There's a sudden shift in vibe, like he's more relaxed or at least trying to be. "You've come back really late last night. And the other night you were out. Are you seeing someone?" 

Lovino almost winces at that, and genuinely can't believe it. The fucking concierge! And this is absolutely ridiculous, he doesn't owe Nonno any explanation about his personal life and yet there's a sliver of ice lodged in his stomach, all the more since he suspects it's not just some innocent question. Does Nonno…know? No, he can’t know, or he wouldn’t beat around the bush like this; it would be a full-out shit storm and he wouldn’t hold back at all.

He takes a breath and clears his throat awkwardly, hardly stealing a glance in Romulus’s direction. "No, I-... I just needed to unwind a little."

Nonno nods slowly, for no particular reason, eyes on the road. "But you'd tell me if you were seeing someone seriously, wouldn't you? I'd like to meet them," he says, and sounds oddly sincere. And maybe it's not such a weird request, after all. But well, it's not like Lovino is seeing anyone seriously. Yet. 

Then again, he thinks with some relief that his fling with Antonio is just that, a fling, and not a relationship he’d have to reconcile with his other realities. He doesn’t even want to think what that would entail.

"Nonno, I promise that when I’m planning to settle down or something I'll tell you. I'll even let you draft my prenup, okay?" 

"Prenup?!" Romulus balks, eyes widening. "You don't want to marry for love?!"

Lovino opens his mouth to reply, but Nonno just laughs and reaches over to caress the side of his face. “Just kidding, of course you need a good, solid prenup.”

Well, he would know after bombing three marriages.

"Lovi, you know I love you," he says softly, and his smile is fading. It’s as if there’s an invisible ‘but’ out there, suspended between the words, or maybe he’s just grown too cautious, but it just… lands wrong. It doesn’t feel good.

A moment passes and Lovino just sits there, lips pressed tight, staring blankly at the windshield, genuinely taken by surprise and feeling terrible even if he’s not the one to blame here, for fuck’s sake!

“So, uh, you’ve started on the statement we want Jean Pierre to sign?” he asks eventually, not because he wants this subject opened yet again, but because he needs to do something to distract Nonno from the fact that he didn’t say ‘I love you’ back.

And yet, wouldn’t it have been weird if he had? Nonno is all but a stranger. He left when Lovino’s mother was very little and didn’t look back, not for many, many years. He didn’t care about their struggles. Is he supposed to pretend all of that never happened?! Way to make things awkward first thing in the morning…

“Oh, about that… I did. I did… It’s just, we’re really moving against the clock here and I wish Gerhardt would understand that Bernard is a very important client and we absolutely cannot disappoint him. That accountant has to sign the statement if we want to get the best outcome in the circumstances.”

"Well, I'm gonna-"

"He wants to talk to you, Friday night. Louis, I mean. He wants you to pay him a visit and I think it's a good thing that he wants to meet you in person. You have a chance to build rapport and earn his trust."

Lovino doesn't want to go to talk with Louis Bernard, not after he's been kept in the dark until now, and Nonno doesn't look happy about it either, but it must have been Gerhardt's idea. He kinda has mixed feelings about it - he thinks he should appreciate the main partner's willingness to help him push forward, but he doesn't think antagonizing Nonno is a good move. But either way, right now he’s just relieved that Nonno is back to talking about business and that from earlier was glided over smoothly. 

"…okay, yeah. I'll go."

Bernard's downtown residence is an elegant, renovated vintage building with gilded decorations, and definitely not the kind of place Lovino expected to be summoned instead of the man’s LCW office; it's even more unexpected to stumble over a private party unfolding on the very night at the house.

A butler in red livery leads Lovino through a large crowd of people dressed as for a costume soiree, some visibly inebriated, swaying to loud music and flooding the corridors and halls, to an old-style office with tall double doors and all around mahogany wainscoting. It looks dark and somber compared to the rest of the house and the heavy drapes and Persian rugs seem to muffle the noise to a low, distant buzz. And there Louis Bernard greets him from behind a large desk where the only lit lamp in the room spreads a dim, ambery glow. 

"Lovino," he says, a thin smile stretching his lips behind a cigar and letting out some smoke. "We’ve only met briefly before and I must say, I am curious about you. I've known Romulus for many years and I wonder if you're like him at all."

"Mr. Bernard, it's true that I am still learning, but my grandfather is the best mentor anyone could ask for. I hope I will live up to your expectations."

To that, the man nods, pleased, taking the cigar out of his mouth and leaning forward, smiling some more. Just like Lovino guessed, he's the type easily impressed by platitudes and it was good that he prepared a little beforehand, he couldn’t be spontaneous with this crap. Also, being compared to Nonno one way or the other has been a constant these past months, even if it never fails to irk him.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to tell me before the meeting with the accountant?" he asks, just as politely, taking a seat into the guest armchair. “We’re preparing a statement for him to sign and admit that he was the perpetrator.” The expensive leather creaks pleasantly, but this entire luxurious ambiance is burdensome. Lovino can't help thinking that Nonno must feel in his element here. 

"You know, I never thought Jean Pierre would do such a thing. He must have... fallen into some kind of unfortunate predicament, as young people often do these days,” Bernard says, with a shake of head. “And it’s not just about the money lost, it's very sad. He was quite a promising young man and I am truly, very sorry, but I cannot let him drag the whole company down with him. Because no matter how big and solid a company may be, a scandal of this sort can always turn way more devastating than you can imagine..."

He trails off when the butler comes in with a tray and lays it on the desk without a word. On it there are two garish red plastic cups, like the ones used for college parties. 

"Anyway, have a drink with me," Bernard tells Lovino, reaching for one of the cups. "These little get-togethers make me feel young again."

"Thank you, but I'd rather-"

"Come on, it's just some rum and coke," Bernard insists, "Don't tell me you can't hold your liquor, Romulus would always join me for a drink or two when we talk business."

Lovino takes one of the cups, the plastic sticky under his fingers, and hopes he won’t have to put up with this crap on a regular basis. What would Antonio do in his place? How would he use his charm to fend off this old creep who wants to feel like a kid again or whatever the hell? Maybe he wouldn't be here at all. 

Bernard takes a greedy gulp of his cup so Lovino does too, albeit half-heartedly. The drink is too sweet and the taste is somewhat off, not that he's a rum connoisseur or anything. 

"I love these cocktails, I have someone special making them," the host says appreciatively. He then proceeds to look at his glass pensively and oddly enough doesn't seem to have anything more to add on Jean Pierre or the negotiation. Instead, after a long weird moment of silence, he simply smiles. Is he drunk already? Why did he really want to meet Lovino? Is he expecting to be entertained? If so, shouldn’t he be at the party he already has going?

"Anyway, we don't have the tax expert's report just yet, so we don't know the full extent of the embezzlement, but getting the statement signed will... uh..."

The drink must be stronger than he thought. Not just rum and coke, maybe-

"Will what?" Bernard asks with a curious tilt of head this time. Expectant.

"Uh... will..."

But Lovino can't get his thoughts together and it's way too hot all the sudden. Before he knows it, he takes another mouthful of drink and he can't-... The room seems to grow smaller, the dark walls oppressive and constricting, it's hard to breathe, as if he's strayed into a nightmare.

He tugs at his tie to loosen it, but his heart is in his throat, beating way too fast, too hard. 

"Are you alright? Lovino?" 

The words reach him dull and distant, and he's sweating, his whole body trembling horribly. His chest is way too tight and now it hurts. It hurts, and he's too scared to think. Too scared to do anything.

"Please..." he says, or thinks he does, his whole grip on reality is slipping away. The cup is gone and then he leans forward, falling from the seat. He feels the carpet, rough under his palms.

"...Lovino?"

Suddenly, Bernard is there, trying to haul him up, calling for help. 

He keeps struggling for air and slips in and out of something like slumber, but darker, murkier, there's a distant jumble of voices out of which he can't make out any words. He can't ask for help, his mouth feels like stuffed with cotton. He doesn’t want to fall asleep, to go under, it's too dark and this torment lasts for an eternity before he can breathe again. Only then sleep comes, and he can’t fight it anymore.