Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, did you hear who got arrested?”

Pangi had wrapped his arm around his shoulders, voice low in his ear. Lukey smiled and looked around. He knew that Pangi was somewhat of an expert on stealth, but he liked to at least pretend at discretion, lest the boss call him a day old cannulu again.

“I mean,” he murmured, leaning a bit into Pangi’s warmth, “I heard of someone getting arrested. I don’t know if it’s the same one you heard”.

Pangi snorted and stole his glass of wine, bringing it to his mouth, head shaking a little like he just couldn’t believe him. Lukey watched his Adam apple bob, his lips wet with wine being sucked lightly into his mouth, eyes crinkling like they always did when he smiled.

Damn.

Pangi walked, drawing him out to the terrace.

The sea was too dark to see, just a void coming to nip at the reef below. The terrace itself, though, was painted gold by the torches, the sweet smell of orange blossoms drifting on the wind, tangy and heady.

Instead of bringing him to the wicker sofas, Pangi kept walking, all the way to the banisters. He put the glass down on the white stone, hand slipping lower to the small of Lukey’s back. The latter sighed and breathed in the salty, floreal air. It reminded him of that weird wine he had drunk in a little town a couple hours from here. Crazy people those, too attached to the old ways. No matter, he would find a use for them too.

“So”, Semuzzu started again, “are we going to help him out or what?” His tone was casual, but Lukey knew him too well. “I feel like leaving him to deal with his own shit, I can’t lie. But I’m not going to argue with you on stupid stuff like this,”.

Well, thank fuck for that.

Lukey reclaimed his glass, letting the wine slide smoothly down his throat. It was empty too soon. Pity, he was really liking this one. Now that he was with Sem, he was going to forget all about getting himself a refill.

He cleared his throat.

“Nah, fuck that guy. His son is more useful anyway. I’m going to have him run a few errands for me while he’s in prison, make him believe that when he gets out he’s going to rise in the ranks. Instead we’ll get lu carusu properly established and we’ll have him keep his dad on a leash”.

Pangi seemed to gleam, his hand briefly tightening on the fabric of Luca’s jacket. Then he let go, fixed his tie and straightened up. Preening like he had had the idea himself.

“See? This is why I go to you with this stuff. If you keep sweet talking to me like this, I might kiss you on the lips.”

Lukey snorted, bumping his shoulder with Pangi’s. He raised his hand to fix his hair, tousled by the sea breeze.

“Sorry, I can’t: you know that your mother gets jealous when I go around kissing boys”.

Sem bumped him with double the strength.

“Well, I wouldn’t hear about it, since your mother invited me over tonight”.

They giggled like two teenagers, the sound entwining at times in one voice, unwise and unguarded.

This close, Luca could feel the shape of Pangi’s knife in his pocket, ever present. Sem was looking out into the darkness, turned three quarters, elbow resting on the banister. The shadows made him look older, sharpening his features. It suited him and Luca knew that the light did too. It’s just that it hurt less like this—when Lukey could pretend Sem wasn’t a carusu himself.

“You’ve got no elegance,” Lukey scoffed. “I told you a thousand times that you aren’t supposed to keep anything in your pockets, I can’t believe you brought the damn knife” he complained, his turn now to shake his head.

The flat, unimpressed stare he received in answer almost made him snicker. Pangi took the blade out to play with it, fast tricks that had no purpose but to show one’s familiarity with the instrument.

It was an antique, all the materials so clearly illegal they were a flex on their own. It looked so pristine an idiot would believe it had never been used. In the joint where blade met hilt, Lukey could see the specks of blood that Pangi hadn’t managed to scrub off.

“Luca, the only reason I didn’t bring the gun is in respect of zzi’ Filuppu lu Corvu”. He flicked the knife shut. “I can’t believe you left your boys behind and came alone. That’s insane”.

They had had this conversation a hundred, maybe a thousand times, meaningless bickering that just meant that he cared. There was a time when Luca had believed Sem was being practical: Lukey held all the records—documents, money paths, blackmail files; take him down, it would take a while to the Tassi del Miele to recover. That’s why he’d been hidden most of his life. 

Someone talked. They hadn’t shut him up fast enough.

Old history; but Pangi had protected him against the hit men sent by the Foddi and, forced into proximity, necessity had turned into something else. Sem cared and Luca—Luca had fallen helplessly in love.

His voice softened, words bleeding out in a warm trickle.

“You’re here. I need no one else.”

Silence fell, the smell of flowers cloying, all of a sudden.

Pangi lowered his gaze, fingers fidgeting with the signet ring on his pinky. A small line appeared in between his brows.

Right.

Lukey turned towards the entrance, the light spilled over him, washing his expression clean. The sounds of the party came to him in muffled tunes: the clinking of glasses and chatter. They had said it was the Crow’s daughter playing that evening. 

“Anyway” he said, voice perfectly light, “we should go back inside before someone decides to take Angelo too seriously and gets offended”.

Pangi snickered.

“Damn, you’ve come a long way. Now you’re even trying to micromanage the boss”.

Lukey couldn’t help the laugh bubbling out of him and bended slightly forward under the onslaught of chuckles. When he righted himself, he had to fix his hair again. It was just the millionth time that evening.

“Well, when one works for the Bad Boy himself, one gotta try”.

“Try what? Not to have him start a knife fight?”

“Look, you’re not there the morning after lu Foddi doesn't accept a duel and Angelo is surrounded by like…ten bottles of limonata du zzi’ Micheli”.

And they were laughing again.

They stepped out of the shadow and into the light. The crowd received them like waves crashing on the shore. Within seconds, the tide had pulled them apart. Everyone wanted something— to catch up, to catch him in a lie, to catch him off guard. Friendship. A slip. A weakness. Lukey felt Pangi detach from his side like the pop of a doll’s arm and cloaked himself in the mask of Luca lu Scinziatu.

They were swept in opposite directions, but Luca seemed to pay it no mind, too occupied with a whisper in his ear, a handshake, hands clasping his shoulder and pulling his arm to get his attention and smiles shining like fake pearls.

Pili gave him a drink. He pretended to sip while they slipped their hand in his pocket. A note that would not be worth the uncomfortable contact.

He caught sight of Sem at the edge of the room, knee bent as he offered his respects to the boss. Angelo’s hand briefly clapped his cheek. A nod passed between them.

Then Pangi moved, slithering through the crowd like a shadow.

And he was gone.

Out the door, no time for a last drink together, some quiet in a deserted boudoir. 

He stood still for a moment. His glass was sweating. The liquid inside was suspiciously purple. 

“Look who it is! Lu Scinziatu!”

Lukey smiled, sidestepped Pili, grateful for the save.

“Cumpari Amanda!” he greeted back, sincerely happy to see Aimsey at the event. He hadn’t been sure he would come, not with the recent shift in power and all. “Or should I call you boss Amanda now? Congratulations!”

Contrary to popular belief, only a handful actually knew who the bosses of the mafia clans were. And, stupidly, they would never expect such a concentration of them at a singular event, if not only for the security danger it posed, then for the enmity they portrayed on the surface. But all the mafia clans were family, united under tradition, rites and religion— magic, even.

Amanda made a show of being coy, tucking a lock of hair back into place.

“Oh, stop it! You’re going to make me blush”.

Lukey fell into step with him, the two searching for a table to serve themselves some wine— he had to dispose of his glass.

“How are things in the family, all good?” he asked, tone deliberately superficial, while he inspected the label of a bottle. Amanda knew that he was sincere.

He saw his weight shift and the newly appointed boss looked at the crowd, eyes falling to lu Bad Boy— Angelo lu ’ncidenti.

“Yeah, all good. One last thing to do, and then we’ll see”.

Lukey uncorked the bottle in a swift movement and filled two glasses with the dark liquid. It was a bit more pungent than what he’d had before, the body thicker. He gave his cumpari one and took a sip. The taste weighted on his tongue, lingering. It was good, but nothing he would buy for himself. Pangi wouldn’t have liked it.

He studied the swirl of liquid, tongue pressed to his cheek.

“We’ll see what? If I can ask Your Signoria”.

Aimsey smiled, but his eyes raised to meet Lukey’s in lighthearted warning. Since they were using titles, he asked himself if Luca was asking as a friend or as a Counselor. It took a second to see his soft expression and realise it was the first.

Amanda sighed.

“We’ll see how long I can keep my ass on the chair” he spoke, gesturing with his hands. “Let me tell you this, pal: your boss is truly something. Never ever ever make a deal with him”.

While Lukey laughed, Amanda emptied his glass then stuck it out to Lukey to ask for a refill. He obliged.

“Someone thought they could outsmart the devil himself!” he couldn’t help but comment, tone somewhat bewildered.

He hadn’t pegged Aimsey as careless, but apparently he’d need to recalibrate, because here was the boss of the blue clan, groaning into their drink for a truly asinine mistake.

“Has he told you?” he asked, somewhat plaintive.

“No, I overheard him hint at it with Mancialacqua. She was not impressed”.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He had had a bit of a bet with himself that la draguna and Amanda had an understanding, some respect, some admiration, a bit of a crush.

“Oh, god. That’s so embarrassing!” the boss whined, trying to drown their flush into the wine.

Lukey snickered, savoring his in small sips. It was much too intense to go at it like Aimsey was, no offence to Aimsey.

He patted his shoulder in quiet solidarity.

“There, there. It could be worse” he tried to comfort him. “You know that Angelo likes you: he’ll cut you some slack.”

That didn’t seem to have the effect he was hoping for, because Amanda seemed even more disheartened. 

“I know, that’s why I feel so bad! He already is!”

Well, that was just stupid.

Luca felt his smile freeze. He erased it as smoothly as he could. He shouldn’t project his amorality onto others. That wasn’t good, nor kind, especially when it came to a friend.

“Well— would you rather he didn’t?” he asked rhetorically, just because he was talking to Aimsey and he could do so. “Look, you can just make it up to him another time. I’m sure he will appreciate that”.

That did the trick.

The young boss brightened up, hand coming to squeeze Luca’s wrist briefly in thanks. 

“You’re right. I’ll do that. Thank’s Lukey”.

He smiled kindly, a bit of the affection he had come to grow for Sem’s best friend stirring in his chest.

“What are friends for?” He took the glass from Amanda’s hand and filled it up. “Now go mingle, you have to show your face”.

He pretended to pout, but listened to his words, walking back seamlessly into the crowd.

When he couldn’t find his head anymore, Lukey looked around to see if he could carve for himself a little reprieve.

The room was warmer now. The heat that came from people mingling.

The young ones, li picciriddi, had been sent away and now the adults were free to smoke and speak crassly, a cloud of fog condensing on the ceiling, around the golden chandeliers. Someone had opened the windows to let a breeze in, humidity sticking to the skin despite the season.

Someone was setting up a game of cards, the deck split in two piles—one for divination and one for the game. Angelo gestured to him to come and join. Luca couldn’t help the small grimace. He liked cards well enough, but not when half the deck was whispering omens. This was going to be exhausting. Still, he obeyed.

At the table were most bosses and a few Second in Commands. He took his place at the right of Bad Boy, since Sem wasn’t there. It still felt strange to be in the room and at the table. In the past, he’d have gotten only a secondhand retelling, one that fixated on the divinations more than the game. Now that he was here, he knew that the future was being made with the latter.

So he played and charmed and paid attention, his boss’ sharp eyes looking for a slip to derail the situation into chaos.

Food was brought to the table by friends and spouses and a game became two, became four, became the addition of another table, little glasses of pills placed on the fine tablecloth like wedding favors.

After, he was making his way to the kitchen, having heard that someone was making coffee. If he was to survive the night, he needed that.

The ceiling was painted, exquisite scenes that had no meaning to him. Bad Boy had tried to have him study all the esotericism, but no matter how many rites he partecipated in, it wouldn't stick.

He was trying to find the right door, when Pili made eye contact from the other side of the hallway, tapped on his pocket with a smile. Lukey didn’t need to read lips to know what he was saying: ‘Read it’.

And what a good moment— nobody was watching.

He sighed.

Nothing good ever came from following Pili’s suggestions. But ignoring them? Somehow, that ended worse.

Lukey took the note out and opened it, looking down at the beautiful handwriting. It said: ‘Find your gay boy’.

He looked up at Felice, waving the note with his brows raised in question.

Pilici just snickered and disappeared in another room behind Zam.

Maybe the worst part wasn’t knowing exactly who the note meant. Maybe it was the fact that he was already halfway down the stairs, walking the tiled path without hesitation.

Had Pangi taken the car? Was he supposed to go to his house? But hadn’t the boss sent him to do something?

“Stop looking around like a lost picciriddu and come here, you hamster”.

The voice cut clear through the night and Lukey relaxed despite himself, his shoes ticking as he hurried towards it.

Sem was resting against the wall of the villa, hidden in the shadow, his jacked rumpled in his hand. As he came closer he noticed more details, little things that had gone out of place: his tangled hair, the wet edges of his pants, the grass stains on his shirt— “Why the long face, surcitiddu, are you not happy to see me?”— his pale complexion, the chemical smell wafting off of him, the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the tiredness weighing on his face.

It had been what, a couple hours?

“Stop calling me a hamster—you’re the one who looks like a drowned rat. What happened?” he asked.

Pangi tugged him closer from his lapels, letting his own jacket fall to the ground.

“Someone lit the distribution point in Munticatani on fire. I’m high as fuck”. That explained absolutely nothing. 

Luca’s brain overloaded while he tried to comb through the implications, heart racing at the sheer scope of this mess.

So, someone had found the place— Sem let his hands slide on the fabric of Lukey’s jacket, down his chest— but Angelo must have had an inkling to what was happening, so he had sent Pangi— he then took hold of his waist, trying to bring him closer— who inhaled whatever drugs were in the air and then what, came back to the villa? 

He raised a hand to cup Sem’s face, trying to judge if he was too unwell—if this called for rest or a doctor. He had time that night to find out who had slipped up and dole out orders and punishments, but right now Pangi was the priority, both from a practical point of view and an emotional one.

“Were you alone? Can you walk?”

Sem’s head fell forward, forehead resting on Luca’s chest.

Lukey tried to check his heartbeat, make sure it wasn’t too fucked up. The tips of his fingers found his wrist and he pressed, feeling for the rhythm. It seemed fine, maybe just a little slower than usual.

“No, I had a head of ten with me and his men. I left him in charge of cleaning up and told someone to bring me to you” he explained with unexpected clarity, only forgetting to answer the second question.

That was good. Probably. Hopefully.

Still, that explained it. Some of Pangi’s men used to be Pili’s too, once upon a clusterfuck.

“Can you walk? Did you breathe in much? How do you feel?” His tone was gentle, sweetly lilting on the last word of each question. He stroked his hair, scratching with his nails in repetitive motions.

Pangi snickered and raised his head, looking at Lukey with pupils blown wide.

“I’m fine,” Pangi murmured. “Just wanted to tell you myself before going home.”

For someone who was fine, he was being incredibly clingy, melting into him like his spine had dissolved.

“And how are you going home?”

“You’ll take me”.

Lukey hummed, trying not to snort at the de facto answer.

“Do you also want a goodnight kiss?” he joked, trying to jolt him upright and coax him off.

Pangi just looked at him, his eyes a thin ring of blue around never ending darkness. Maybe Luca had fallen too much into familiarity. He should’ve picked his words better. Because now he could feel Sem’s breath ghost his lips and he didn’t know if he had the strength to pull away first. Then Sem blinked.

“You’re going to leave”, Pangi said quietly. He thumped his head against the wall, a dull thud that made Lukey wince. “To deal with all this stuff. After you get me home”.

It took a second for the words to land.

Lukey nodded.  “Yes, I guess I will”.

Pangi’s face tightened, something dark swirling in his eyes.

He shoved him away. “Get off me then”.  He stumbled once, then caught himself. “Bring me home”. He walked towards the parking lot, hands gesticulating wildly into the night. “—Then round up every single piece of shit that made this shit show possible and blow their fucking heads off”. 

Lukey gave a crooked laugh and caught up, keeping four steps of cautious distance between them.

“Yuck. Can’t I leave the gore to you? I already have to run intelligence”.

Pangi turned to look at him, smile stretching his cheeks, looking just as lovely as Aimsey always said he was; and gave him the middle finger.

“Surcitiddu”.

“I’m not a hamster!” He closed the distance, let Pangi wrap his arm around his shouders. “Seriously, fuck you.”

Sem hummed, tightening his lips to repress his smile.

A beat. “You’re still going to bring me home, right?”

Lukey sighed. Opened the car.

“Get your ass inside”.

Chapter Text

Luca closed the door behind him, his mind still conjuring the image of Sem, resting on the sofa in the living room, light filtering through the half closed shutters, a half smile on his lips while he peered at him behind the cup of water Luca had placed in his hands. He had been tempted to get him out of those clothes and into something more comfortable, but it felt like tempting fate. Pangi needed the armour and he did too. It was the vice of the Tassi del Miele that he had left lying casually on the baroque cushions—his eyes daring anyone to see weakness and get a bite for the trouble. Not Sem.

He descended the stairs at a brisk pace, already pressing on the keys to unlock the car. When he got inside, he started the call and threw the phone on the passenger seat. He started the engine as it rang, hand settling on the gearshift. He reversed, shifted into first, and pulled onto the lane just as the call connected.

“Luca? Is everything alright? It’s late”.

Newt’s voice was groggy, pasted with sleep. He looked at his wrist: it was three in the morning. He was taking too long—Angelo was going to be pissed ”.

“Munticatani is compromised, I need Pac on the scene with around ten honorable men. Tell him to have them wear safety masks: there’s fumes and I don’t know what else. I want you to check on our other distribution points, the warehouses, everything. Only contact me if anything is amiss, but I still want a report tomorrow.”

He went over the speed limit as soon as he was out of the city, hoping some dumb animal wouldn’t jump in front of him out of nowhere.

“Ok, uhm…sorry, I need you to repeat that— but slower” came the sheepish voice of his childhood friend.

Luca tried to relax, untangle the urgency in his chest that made him want to snap at poor Newt. He didn’t deserve that. He breathed in, breathed out, and switched gears to the fifth.

“Just check on our warehouses, it doesn't matter what they are for. Let me know if something is wrong. I’ll handle the rest”. He tried to speak clearly and slowly, keeping his tone in check for any condescension.

“Okay, I’ll do my best. Are you ok? Do you need me…after?”

And that’s why he never wanted to be unkind to Newt.

He had all but forgotten about his fear of fire, too busy planning the next move. Newt did. Of course he did, with all the nights they had spent holding hands so tightly it hurt. Once he had thought that only truly evil people could set fire to an entire town. Newt would probably still agree with the sentiment, but he hadn’t been his Luca for a long time now.

“It’s ok. I’m sure Pangi’s men have already doused the flames. He wouldn’t have come to me before doing that”. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, the happiness that came with knowing how capable the other was, how lucky he felt to have him as a partner and friend.

They were cumpari , a bond tighter than any rite could forge.

“He’s with you?” His voice sounded stifled. “That’s…good. I’m thankful he’s there to take care of you. He does a good job of it, right?”

He didn’t feel like correcting him.

He knew what was going on, he wasn’t blind— for a long time it had been them against the world, they were basically joined at the hips. Then Newt had taken the more legal path, working in forensics of all things. Luca hadn’t.

Saying that Newt was compromised was an understatement. The knowledge it was his fault had made Luca distance himself without even noticing. It had the opposite effect: Newt had decided to bend the knee, to swear the oath; just to be able to stay together.

Bad Boy had found it so funny he had put him under his command. Or maybe it was pity.

Then along came Pangi. Even him would’ve felt replaced.

“Yeah. He does a great job. You don’t have to worry.” And maybe he was talking a little bit too fast, what of it? Sue him. “I have to go now. Stay safe—” his voice softened, hands tightening on the steering wheel— “you know I care about you”.

He could feel the smile on the other side of the call.

“You too. Your friends need you.” Luca’s guilt threatened to swallow him whole. He knew what was coming next. “I need you”.

Lu Scinziatu ended the call abruptly.He could blame the bad reception, the rush, or a dozen other excuses. He just couldn’t bear it when Newt took that voice, the one that screamed how far he was willing to go for him and reminded him of the wreck he had already made of his life just because of the faith he had in him, in his Luca.

He didn’t have time for this.

He started the next call without giving himself time to breath.

Pac, the madman that he was, answered immediately.

“If you keep calling me this late, I will start to think you are just using me, you know?” the heavily accented voice came through.

He couldn’t help the snicker that left him.

“Sorry, Pac. You know me— I like to keep things casual. You free tonight? I might have something hot for you”.

He heard the other move things around, metal knocking and paper crinkling.

“I am now. Hit me”.

He kept things brief and on the point, the both of them falling into professionalism with ease. Pac had a solid head on his shoulders, despite the chaos he liked to get himself into. That was just the price of genius: the boredom.

Then he called Owen and relaxed in the seat. It was always nice to speak with like-minded people and his old mentor didn’t always join the fray, but wouldn’t refuse him a favour of two, so long as he could make it entertaining.

“I always tell you that this drugs stuff isn’t safe. We have the disposal business already”.

He didn’t even mind the nagging, when it came with such clear-cut logic.

Still, he snorted.

“Which one— the bodies or the trash?”

He waited for it.

“Both. It’s a joint department. I told you to keep it like that. And I know you’re smart, so I know you didn’t do something as stupid as splitting it or…, god forbid, outsourcing”.

He laughed at the outrage in his voice, shifting the gears to enter a side road.

“I would never sully your work like that”, he swore.

“You better”. There was a heavy pause before Owen’s tone shifted. It didn’t turn fond, because Luca doubted he still had that in him, but still…it felt kinder. “Do mind what I said about the drugs. It's a messy business".

He sighed.

He agreed, obviously. The numbers spoke for themselves and it was tiring, the constant tug of war with foreigners and other clans for mere pennies.

It was good money only until you counted your losses.

“Bad Boy likes his kelp, you know that. Nothing I can do about it”.

The noise that came from Owen's throat was a thing of mystery.

“He only likes it because lu Foddi likes it. Someone should reason with him”.

Luca laughed, hands easy on the wheel.

“I’m sorry, did you just imply that Angelo is capable of reason?”

“Oh, shut up”.

He could see the warehouse now, the smoke still raising lazily in the air. He couldn’t tell if the cars parked were of his people or Pangi’s, lingering.

“I have to go, I’m at the site. Thank you again for the help”.

“Oh, don’t mention it. You know what day it is!”

He smiled, realising that it was in fact the morning of the day after.

“Oh, you’re right— it’s Monday! I heard about that. It was before my time, though”.

“Not for long. You’ll see, I’m still very good at it”.

“I’d never doubt it”.

“Oh, you’re adorable. Alright, call you later— bye ”.

The phone rang the end of the call and Luca parked smoothly.

When he got off the car, Pac run to him, mask in hand.

“Here—mask! Quick!”

He obeyed, slipping the mask on in a practiced motion. As he did, his eyes swept the scene, nerves taut with worry.

From the state of the scorched walls alone, it was a miracle if anything inside had survived. And even if it had, there was no telling what kind of chemical transformation the heat had wrought. They sold drugs, not poison.

Even with the mask on, the stench was heavy. He could feel his eyes sting, but didn’t allow himself to show it. 

He moved closer, Pac on his heels.

“The structure’s safe,” Pac said. “Place was under surveillance. We spotted the fire fast. I questioned the men, they reported the main issue was getting water here in time”.

Sprinklers came to mind, but he discarded the idea instantly: cops had busted other locations just by tracing where the water went. ...But Sem— the state he was in…Water would have pushed the fumes, the residues to the ground, he wouldn’t have breathed anything. It was still a shitty idea, but nobody would ever know that except him. If things went wrong, he’d bribe their way out of truble. He could pay from his pockets, no problem.

“How many idiots did we have to send home?” He held out a hand for a pen. Someone passed him both pen and paper. He didn’t protest.

If he’d had a better memory, he’d have avoided leaving a paper trail. But here they were.

Pac snickered and held the door open, showing him inside.

“Aside from Pangi?” he asked, seemingly unbothered by the smoke curling around him as he sidestepped the boxes, shoes splashing on the wet concrete. “Actually, no one. I would have them out of here, but their orders are to stay and protect you ”.

The knowing look his colleague was sending him, half teasing, half sad, wasn’t new.

If people kept their noses out of it, maybe Sam wouldn’t feel the need to be so— whatever. Didn’t matter. They meant well.

“Tell them I’m in charge and I want them home ” he said evenly. No need for bite unless they pushed back. “Got the ledger?”

Pac shook his head. “I’ll get it.” He disappeared, leaving Luca alone in the muggy aisle.

With nothing else to do, he took stock of the damage and tried to pinpoint the origin of the fire. It could’ve been an accident, but Angelo had known beforehand. That meant it wasn’t random. This had been a hit.

He probably didn’t even need to do all this: the boss would know every detail as usual. It’s just that he liked hearing things from another voice, just to have confirmation. Sensible, but tiring.

Pac returned with the ledger. Together they went through the slow, tedious process of checking that nothing was missing, no matter how damaged.

Luca kept scanning, mind working. The fire had had multiple points of origin. He could still spot the gravel-doused fire sources. Whoever handled it, presumably Sem, had had to find and take care of each one, screaming orders to coordinate his man, fire and toxic smoke surrounding him. Sem was used to such things and had come out mostly unscathed, but the clear malice in the way the hit had been done, aimed at making it difficult to clean up, not at damaging the goods or stealing, must have made him furious.

Luca had the easy job.

As they were wrapping up, the last trucks rolling out with their cargo of scorched junk, Luca’s phone buzzed. He expected Newt, or the boss, or maybe Owen. It was Pangi.

“Sem? Are you okay?”

Silence. 

Had he pressed something with his face? He checked.

 “Why did you send away my men?” Pangi’s voice cut through, sharp and annoyed. “Do you even have a gun on you? Does your head of ten? Who even is there?”

Okay, they were having this conversation. Great.

He signaled his man that everything was fine, then walked briskly out of sight, off the asphalt and into a desire path, weeds brushing against his pants.

“I can hear you walking, Luca. If you are isolating yourself, I swear to god—”

“You want me to bicker with you in front of the men? Really?” He scoffed, taking his mask off, now that it wasn’t needed. “Why are you being paranoid? Do you—are you still high?”

The smoke still clung faintly, but by now the cloth reeked worse than the polluted air ever could.

“Look at your watch, you surci, ” came the tired answer.

“What, not even surcitiddu now? I’m just a surci ? Harsh.” He looked down at his wrist. It was six in the morning. As he looked around, he noticed for the first time the sun shining on him and his eyes felt awful.

He puffed his cheeks, annoyed.

“Well, thank you for restarting my awareness of the world. I feel like shit now”.

He heard a muffled snicker.

What was Sem doing? Was he still at home? Had he showered, gone to bed? He imagined his face half smushed by the pillows, hair sticking up. Idiot .

“You know what? You’re welcome, because I need you to lock in and take this seriously”. 

He nodded instinctively, even though Sem couldn’t see.

“Owen called me,” he said, an edge of anger creeping into his voice. “Told me to talk to Rosa, see if she knew something.” 

He surely wasn’t upset with Rosa: they were friends, even went to prison together, there was no way. And Sem and Owen had had some moments of tension in the past. Knives might have been involved, twice or thrice.

“What did she say?” He fidgeted with his pen, rolling it between his knuckles.

Sem took a breath in. “She said it was her! And she asked me—get this—why I cleaned it up!”

Luca had to reboot his brain, certain that he had heard wrong.

Rosa wasn’t always easy to follow, as it was common with people that had been involved with honorable business for too long, but either Sem was a shit story teller, or she had finally lost it.

“What do you mean it was Rosa? No—actually, what do you mean, why you cleaned it up? Who did she think was going to do it?”

“I don’t know!” Luca could feel him throwing his hands up. “Bad Boy lu ‘Ncidenti, apparently.”

Luca blinked.

He breathed out, covering his sore eyes. A headache was coming in fast— made him fear for the day ahead. Was this why Rosa wasn’t at the party? Wait—the party? Amanda! She must have known something!

“Did you speak with Amanda?”

“Aimsey? I didn’t, because I’m not finished, there’s more.”

Luca was going to kill people himself. 

“ More? ” he whined.

A hiss. “ Yes .”

Maybe he had been underestimating how much the other was pissed. It might be wise to round it up.

“Okay, I’m listening”.

“She said it was an attack towards Angelo, not me. But that makes no sense: I’m the vice— if you attack his things you’re attacking me. Hello?!” He discreetly lowered the volume of the call. “So I told her that. She said she wished I hadn’t cleaned it up, because now she had to do it again. And I—okay, I admit I might have gone overboard, but she was driving me a little insane—I said that if she did that, I was going to kill her.” 

Luca couldn’t breathe, the air caught in his throat, the world spinning.

“Then she told me, ‘Well, Aimsey helped me, are you going to kill him too?’ And I said yes.”

He wanted to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” he said faintly. “Did you just burn bridges with two different clans? At the same time?”

“They started it!”

Luca rubbed his face hard, regretting the job, the call— even waking up today.

Why did Sem have to sound so lovely with danger in his voice? It made him want to stand with him, follow him. And that might be lethal. Their clan was always itching for bloodshed, antsy for conflict to arise. Bad Boy would be ecstatic at the prospect, especially if Pangi was the one asking.

“It’s just a warehouse, Sem. You love Rosa, you love Amanda. Do you want to go to war for this?”

He still had the time to de-escalate. The first step would be to get Owen back into retirement: if Rosa was involved, he’d just mess with her just to see the facade slip. Next would be the boss and— god, he couldn’t believe he was even considering this after talking with Amanda—but maybe cutting a deal was safer. 

Still, the pieces weren’t slotting together. Aimsey felt guilty towards Bad Boy, he had a debt to repay and the boss was even being nice about it. Why would he take part in this if it was targeted towards Angelo?

“You’re not listening to me! You have the survival instinct of a hamster, I swear. ”

Luca didn’t startle for the words, just a reshuffling of their usual banter, but for the intensity that carried them.

He hunched his shoulders, sweetening his voice. “I’m listening, okay? Promise.”

He heard Sem take a breath and imagined him straightening up, fixing his hair, going through the ritual of calming himself.

“I don’t think this was against Bad Boy, I think she is trying to drag you out, create situations where we might slip up. She still thinks you’re feeding information to the cops”.

Luca could still taste the adrenaline in his mouth from when she had fired in his direction, could still see the shine of her knife, feel the pain of the concussion her compare had delivered to him before Angelo had dragged him out, speeding away like he thought Luca was going to bleed out in the passenger seat.— ”They tried to kill you. Right in front of me.”

He swallowed.

“That can’t be right. I helped you and Amanda when you were sick.” He tried to sound sure of himself, but the words turned brittle. “She trusts me. Now.”

He swallowed around the emotion. “The piece doesn’t fit.”

It was like Sem hadn’t heard a word.

“Get your ass back here. We’re going to discuss security” he commanded, steps falling heavy on the other side of the call. 

“They’ll see that I don’t let people fuck with me. I told them—I told them! I said leave Luca alone, or we’re going to have problems!”

He closed his eyes, like that could shield him from the fear and anger that was flowing off Pangi in waves. 

He heard his voice crack. “This—they betrayed me”.

He couldn’t think.

If he could just think, sit at his desk with a piece of paper, he was sure he could solve this. He just needed to calm Sem down first.

“I’m coming, okay? Don’t talk with anybody until I arrive”.

“Put the vest on. I swear to God, Luca—it’s in the car for a reason.”

He hung up.

Chapter Text

 As he sped back to Pangi, music blasting to keep him alert, he was tempted to call Owen and convince him to step back out of the picture.He just couldn’t—if things didn’t sort themselves out, he’d need the man. The guy had taken down enough bosses to have a reputation and people still didn’t see it coming.

He felt disgusting: the sweat and smoke permeating the fibers of his clothes, mixing with the unpleasantness of wearing a suit. He liked suits; he just didn’t like still wearing one that had survived a party.

Notification after notification showed up on his screen: his people reporting back, others asking to talk, the regular stuff he had to sort out when he woke up every morning. The sound grated on him, but he had to keep his attention on the road. He had a headache, he was tired, his eyes felt like shit: he didn’t want to crash and die, thank you.

And, truly, nobody would hear a peep from him until he had spoken to Sem and gotten out of those clothes.

The sun shined directly in his eyes, peeking under the sun visor. The vegetation around glowed neon green. He felt around for the glove box and opened it, searching for his sunglasses. Pangi kept stealing them, but he closed his hand on a last survivor and slapped it on his face.

He sighed in relief and fixed his hair, relaxing a bit in the seat.

His phone started pinging again.

Luca sang along to the music, turning the volume up. As he screamed the lyrics, he tapped the rhythm on the wheel, head bobbing.

“I won’t fall in love with falling,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I will try to avoid those eyes. Cause I’m—” he overtook a tractor, letting the car purr under him. The bulletproof vest was suffocating— “not sure I want to give you tools that can destroy my heart.”

He slowed down as he entered the city, not wanting to run over some poor woman out for groceries. Farmers had annoyed him enough, with their protests about the water and the drought and the pollution and the trash, that if he turned one into roadkill he wouldn’t even mind that much.

From there it took fifteen minutes to reach the house and two more to park his car in the usual spot.

Nobody would have expected Sem’s house to look so middle class. The exterior was simple and clean, with a nice garden filled with edible plants and a couple of trees for shade. Peeks of traditional pottery could be seen here and there: a lone tile, a pot, an amphora; the green, blue, yellow and red of the glazed floral and geometric motifs were a soft introduction to the personality of their owner. 

He walked up the steps and moved to ring the bell, but the door was opened, and Pangi’s hand dragged him inside.

He was back in his jeans and t-shirt. It was one of the soft ones that Lukey liked because the greyish blue made his eyes pop and made him seem incredibly squishable. Other than that, he looked terrible.

“Yikes. Does your face have dark circles or do your dark circles have your face?” he muttered, taking his chin with his hands to angle his face towards the light. “I’m changing my question. Did your circles find additional rings on sale and now they’re dressing up?”

Pangi slapped his hand away.

“First of all, you reek,” he sneered. “Second of all, get those sunglasses off before you start throwing shade, you surci .”

He looked mighty smug when he stole the glasses (Luca knew he would never see them again) and revealed purple bruises as dark as his own.

The action was so gentle, it made the smirk on his face look almost stupid.

“I’m starting to miss being called surcitiddu . At least that was somewhat sweet,” he complained.

Sem sighed deeply, defeated look on his face. He was playing up disappointment, but the mask was so close to his real emotions that it went askew. Luca felt his heart throb.

“I’ll get a shower. Then we can talk. Is that okay?” he asked softly, looking somewhere on the side to give Sem time to fix his expression.

Pangi giggled. “A shower? With me?”

Luca groaned, rubbing at his face with both hands.

“Fuck off. Sincerely. You’re a freak.”

His laugh was worth it.

He tried to follow him with his gaze as he went behind him to push him towards the guest room, still snickering.

“You literally just came to my house and decided to take a shower. How am I the freak? Hello?!”

He gladly rose to the bait and let him push him around until they were in the room.

“I have my own shampoo in the shower. It’s not like this is anything new!” he exclaimed. He walked to the wardrobe in the guest room and opened it. The inside looked like a barcode. “I basically live here.”

“You say you have your own stuff in my house and somehow I am the freak. This makes no sense.”

Luca took a clean shirt, a flannel, jeans and underwear and put them on the bed. Then he started taking off the vest and let it plop on the ground. His tie and shoes were next. 

“You were the one to tell me to just leave them here. And you want to know what I found in my laundry yesterday? Your stuff!”

“Okay, but that’s because I slept there.”

“Prime example of freaky behaviour, your honor.”

He walked to the bathroom, Pangi at his heels.

“It’s only freaky because you never sleep here. You have your own room and everything!”

Luca closed the door on his face.

“That’s a guest room,” he spoke, knowing full well the other wouldn’t leave from behind the door.

He was thankful for the distraction Sem was providing until he sorted himself out and was operational again.

“It’s your room, surcitiddu . It has your clothes and your books. Are you stupid?”

Luca stopped, pants halfway down his legs, to just stare ahead.

Oh.

That was his room.

He frowned and finished undressing.

“Do you want a room in my house?”

He heard a soft thud.

Pangi was hitting his head again.

“I already have one,” he grumbled. “Whatever, man. You’re a lost cause. I give up.”

And he just left . 

Luca heard his steps fade towards the kitchen and set the shower up with the options that he liked. None of that misty nonsense Sem insisted on using.

He eyed suspiciously the bar of sulfur-soap that the other used daily and reached for his own body wash.

Once scrubbed clean, he opened the drawer to grab a towel and dry off. It didn’t take long to brush his teeth and finish his usual routine, the pains in his body mellowing out.

When he opened the door, the smell of coffee reached him, inviting.

He entered the kitchen in time to hear it bubble in the moka. Sem turned the fire off and Luca went to retrieve the little coffee cups, smiling at the mismatched colorful chaos.

He set the table and Sem poured the coffee. He looked in the pantry and took out a couple of sweet snacks and rusks. As he put them on the table, he noticed that Sem had already placed the marmalade and the honey. They sat down.

He stirred a coffeespoon of honey into his cup, the other took it black. A fruit from the basket for him and the horrible packaged brioches for Pangi. Rusks and marmalade for both, prepared in deft movements by the house owner.

They ate in silence, then poured themselves another cup.

After they finished, they didn’t bother cleaning up, knowing that housekeeping would be arriving soon, and instead moved to the office.

It was a space designed to put people at ease, more similar to a therapist's office, than that of the Tassi del Miele vice. They sat down at the desk and Luca automatically picked up the potted plant on it to set it on the ground to make space.

Sure he had left a notebook in one of the drawers, he searched through them. Pangi took Luca’s phone when it shined with notifications and lazily sorted through them. 

“Dude, why are so many people asking you dumb shit?”

It was the question he asked himself every day forever.

He emerged victorious with his notebook, flipping through it in search of a clean page.

“I don’t know. Comes with the job. Don’t people ask you dumb stuff too?”

Sem snorted. “The only people who can contact me are the Counselors and a couple of Heads of Ten. They’re competent.”

Luca smiled. “Aw, thank you.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t including you.”

He sulked.

“Harsh.”

“Shut up,” he waved dismissively. Still scrolling. “Your ex boyfriend says the other places are secure. I don’t know what he thinks he knows about security, but sure . Owen sent an emoji—”

“Is it smiling?”

“—yes. Is this code? Are we in fourth grade?”

“Send him a hand. Like…the one that is like ‘stop’.”

“Nope. Do that yourself.” Well, Luca would have obliged, but someone was keeping his phone hostage. “Then you have fifty or so messages from Angelo. It's mostly stickers, but I think there might be serious stuff thrown in there. And then there’s Aimsey.” Pangi put on a mocking voice, shrill and petulant: “Can we talk? I think we really need to talk. Tell me when you’re free. Did something happen to Sem? I know that Pangi is angry, but he isn’t listening to our side at all. Can you tell Pangi to answer the phone?”

“Yikes.”

“Fuck him, honestly.”

Well, Luca was referring to the fifty messages from the boss. The idea of reading them was enough to send a shiver up his spine. But sure, Amanda too.

He fidgeted with his pen and threw his head back, letting it loll beyond the headrest.

“Anything else?”

Sem hummed, his nails clicking on the screen. He always forgot to trim them until they curved like claws. Maybe it was done on purpose. He had seen them painted with bright colors, mostly the doing of one of the girls. There was no point in asking: for all his talk of honesty, he was a liar.

He had to remind himself that it was for good reason.

“An email from Owen with the names of those that were surveilling. I have that too. I told him to have fun, since it’s monday. That’s fine, right?”

“No, yeah. Absolutely. Old men need enrichment.”

 They snickered.

“Old men need their decapitations.”

Luca tried to blink away the dryness from his eyes, unsuccessfully.

“Okay, okay. What else?”

Some more clicking.

“Management stuff, mostly confirmations of carried orders. Damn, you already set up a new distribution point? You rerouted everything in a night. Do you have this stuff planned in advance or…?”

“More or less.”

“I doubt anyone would even notice we had an incident,” he observed, rubbing the skin under his lips. “I agree with moving our other locations little by little, but what’s this nonsense about sprinklers?”

He had forgotten how smart paranoia made the man.

“If you let me do it, I’ll go around with a 24/h armed escort.”

Sem spread his legs, resting his back fully on the chair. He rubbed his chin, pondering, eyes trained on him.

“Okay…If I get to choose the escort, sure!” He made a noncommittal shrug. “But why.”

Luca blinked slowly, a cat-like smile on his lips.

“If you don’t make me answer,” he said, his voice bordering on whiny, “and it goes wrong, you have plausible deniability.”

The other raised an eyebrow and shifted; elbow now propped on the backrest. He wasn’t liking it.

If he had been any less observant or any less protective, Luca would have been able to get away with so much more stuff—he would also be dead.

How could Rosa think he was a spy, with Sem’s eyes on him like this, was a mystery.

“Plausible deniability,” he mouthed. “You’re so fucking—Luca, Bad Boy doesn’t give a fuck about ‘plausible deniability’! Nobody gives a fuck! Just tell me, you surci.”

He shrugged.

Well, he tried.

“I’ll pay the cops if they find something,” he said in his smallest, most pitiful voice. “I just don’t want you to be in another fire.”

Sem hit the desk with his palm and raised his hands, appalled.

“I can handle fire!”

Luca’s tone slipped from him, voice rising. “I know you can!”

The other startled, eyes wide. He could see the moment he figured it out in his eyes.

Great, just fucking great!

He beat him to talking, sparing himself anything that was going to come out from his mouth. “Just let me do this. I’ll handle it.”

“Fine.”

“Thanks.”

He got his phone back from Sem, who almost threw it at him, and started replying to his messages. It didn’t take long, now that everything was sorted out. Something in him settled at how easy it was. He could do this.

He didn’t reply to Amanda or the boss — not yet. He’d wait until things had calmed down.

Brows furrowed, he read Angelo’s messages.

Sem had his own business to manage, so he silently took out his computer, opening pages and pages of ghost sites and satellite maps, camera feeds at the corners of his screen.

In Luca’s hands, wedged between the gif of a raccoon and a photo of a camel, was the text: ‘no saying bye <3 again <3’— several pictures of a dog and then ‘you’re looking like a soggy cannulu right now’ — a selfie, two youtube links he wasn’t going to open— vacation arc? — several pictures of lu Foddi and

reroute without clearing

movement patterns across sector 6

secrets? 🥺 not accusing! just lovingly paranoid!

do you guys need more crayons to color outside the lines?

love that you’re ghosting me. how’s newt

He breathed in. Breathed out.

He forgot all about his waiting plan, fear mucking the gears of his logic.

Bad Boy wasn’t a fan of useless people, those that didn’t pull their weight. He was willing to help you out, but only so long as you showed some willingness to be better. Luca tried, but there was always too much going on and the blanket was too short: pull it one way or the other, something was going to be left bare.

Hey, Angelo! Your Signoria.

Sorry, Pangi needed me to cover for him 

because he wasn’t feeling well.

Don’t worry! He’s okay now! 

I took good care of him and the business ⟢

Without clearing? Baaaad. You approved it ages ago!

As countermeasure! Remembeeeer?

I’m going to be so useful

I swear! I’m locked in!

He heard a snort next to his ear and turned, finding Sem peering over his shoulder. Their eyes locked, a shared breath.

Luca turned back.

He cleared his throat.

“Fuck you.”

Sem perched his chin on him, one hand on the backrest of his chair. Warmth radiating off of him. The bastard knew he was cute.

“I didn’t even say anything.” He stood up and spun the chair, blocking it with his hands on the armrests. “So? You're in for killing everyone?”

“No.”

“With me?”

He was batting his eyelashes, like the absolute freak he was.

“Stop buying time and call your best friend.”

He hummed, keeping unnaturally still.

The story went like this: Sem enters the Military Academy at fifteen, is a soldier by eighteen, a mercenary by nineteen; tries to join lu Regnu di ‘i Foddi , but ends up with Bad Boy instead. He doesn’t pace, doesn’t stagger, doesn’t hesitate.

Luca had thought he could fend for himself and Newt, right up until the moment he almost died. After that there was Pangi. And he realised he couldn’t protect himself for shit.

Blue eyes looked down on him with all the intensity that one who had tasted blood could carry. Then he kissed his head— too risky, too intimate— and disengaged; leaving Luca to swallow down his fluttering heart.

“Aimsey! What’s up!”

Suddenly, he’d stepped away. Sem was leaning on the desk, standing, his eyes looking out the window.

A hum, two hums.

“What do you mean you didn’t know?”

His shoulders tensed, hands twitching.

There was a beat. Silence pooled at their feet.

“Of course I was going to be there! You’re making no sense! Since when—”

Luca fidgeted with his pen.

He could almost hear Amanda’s voice, frantic and pleading. From Sem’s face, he knew he wasn’t saying anything good.

“Escalate?” It was a low rumble. Darkness fell across his face, sharp enough to carve out bone. “I think you’re lying. You know why? Because there was no way you thought Angelo was going to be there. Rosa wanted things to happen exactly as they did.”

The twitching stilled. Muscles relaxed. The stance he took before drawing a weapon.

“Bad info? Both of you?! Aimsey, do you think I’m stupid?”

He glanced at Luca, an involuntary motion, jaw set.

“I don’t think it’s complicated.” Sem looked small, even with his squared shoulders. “I think it’s very simple. I just need you to admit it.”

Those two steps stretched forever.

The first shout came. “Of course I’m angry! I didn’t get hurt badly, but it’s not the point! It’s not the point!”

Amanda’s scream came through, sharp and hurting. “Then what the fuck is the point!”

“It was a trap for Luca! Just say it was a shitty trap, so we can move on and I can blast your territories to nothing .”

Luca winced.

He didn’t know if he should interfere, but he didn’t like the look of this.

He rolled his chair closer and clutched the hem of Pangi’s shirt.

Sem looked down at him, expression unreadable except for the fury beneath it.

“Give me the phone.”

He shook his head.

“Trust me.”

With a sigh, Pangi relented.

He put the call in hands-free mode.

“—But it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. We all got caught off guard. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Luca breathed in.

“Amanda, sorry. Are you ok if I get involved?”

A beat. “Luca?” A sigh. “Yeah, sure. What do you want?”

He wasn’t screaming anymore.

Luca smiled at Sem, who looked at him strangely.

“Can you explain to me what you guys thought was going to happen?”

Amanda seemed to take a second to organise his thoughts. He heard movement, then nothing.

“We thought some carusu was going to clean it up, then Angelo was going to read about it and be frustrated, but find it funny. It— it was like…retribution, for the immigrants stuff: a prank for a prank.”

Oh, gods, they were idiots.

His pen spun so fast it nearly slipped from his fingers.

“But why make it so hard to clean up?”

Amanda made a choking sound. “Ehm— we just got a little too into it.”

Luca looked at Pangi.

It was going to be hard, explaining the sheer stupidity of this to someone who was always so calculated in his violence.

“And why did you think it wasn’t going to be Pangi in there?”

He sounded confused. “Dude, you two were at the party. Nobody leaves before the boss: rules, right?”

He rubbed his face.

“Right.” When he looked up again, some of the anger had seeped away from Sem. “Any idea how Bad Boy found out about it in advance?”

Amanda shook his head, a strange mechanical rustle.

“No. It could be anything, really. You know he has his ghosties.”

Luca didn’t voice the question that came tumbling in his mind—

Had Angelo orchestrated the whole situation?

—He didn’t need to.

Chapter Text

Sem entered the bar and did a quiet sweep of the room, his eyes shifting from the two policemen, posted at the table closest to the entrance, to the safety exit all the way to the back. The barman nodded in his direction and greeted him, familiar— “Evening”; he broke his stillness and offered one of his charming smiles, wishing him a good evening as well.

His steps were light and easy as he walked towards the usual boot, peering to catch a look of Tubbo’s face before the other saw him as well.

“Sit your ass down, Sem Pangoli.” His voice cut cleanly through the murmur of the bar, sharp and unimpressed. 

Damn.

He bent down to discreetly kiss the other’s ring, a blush at having been caught so easily. He sat across from him, then, unsure if he should make himself comfortable or not. He guessed he had no choice but to let the other set the tone of the conversation. 

Turiddu lu Bommarulu — Tubbo, for friends and reckless idiots, had an arm resting on the plush backrest of the seat, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled and necktie loosened. In front of him was his favourite drink: spinamara, brandy and tonic; half empty.

Drinking didn’t mellow him out, he already knew that. Still.

He raised a hand to the barman and told him in a couple of gestures that they would need a refill in a few and to also bring his usual. He got a tumb up in return.

“So. The ghosties have been spilling tea like mad, these days. You know anything about that, king?”

Pangi looked uncertain at the policemen, eye movement hidden by his sunglasses. They were military police, probably there to guard Tubbo since the conviction of a ‘notorious mafia man’. Turiddu had given him seven years, in perfect agreement with Luca. They seemed relaxed: probably ghosties themselves or part of Tubbo’s snail army— they were slow as fuck to react, but nearly unkillable, hence the name. Pangi had known that, or he wouldn’t have kissed the ring. Oh, well, maybe he would have. What were they gonna do? Tell someone? Nobody would take the gamble, not when even the revered victims of the mafia, the heroes that had fought against them…had often been part of the family themselves.

Turiddu was a prime example. Honored judge. Praised for his bravery in dealing with the most dangerous of cases. Heir of the Tassi del Miele .

Sem hummed. “Depends on what they’ve been saying, you know? I don’t have intelligence as good as yours, I can’t lie.”

The warm lights that surrounded them— fairy lights, fake candelabra, modern little objects— sparkled in Tubbo’s eyes as he sneered.

“You’re so fucking funny,” he deadpanned. “You like to play games? Because I’m sure I’ve been playing longer.”

Ok, apparently he had no fucking chill today. Good to know!

“I mean,” he trudged off. “I’m glad that you find me funny, Your Signoria. I appreciate you saying that.” He rested his hands on the table, well visible to the other. “I find you very funny too. I like hanging out with you.”

Turiddu seemed to relax and took a sip of his drink, still looking at Sem like he was a piece of technology he didn’t quite know how to use. It wasn’t wrong. Pangi was Angelo’s man through and through; he hadn’t been in the family because of his parents, hadn’t grown up with Tubbo and Aimsey and all the others. He was loyal. Would be loyal to him too. It’s just that the heir didn’t know how to use him like Bad did; couldn’t quite manage that same equilibrium of respect, understanding and manipulation. Sem was fine with being played with, so long as it was done honestly. And Turi strung him along, could get some big reactions out of him and was his friend without a doubt; it just wasn’t how he was meant to be wielded.

“Just wanted to remind you that blue business is my business. If you make a mess with them and you don’t even tell me, what’s the point?”

And here was the problem with him.

What happened between Aimsey and him wasn’t Tubbo's business just because he had almost been in their place, guiding the clan. If things were being handled, things were being handled. Aimsey was his best friend, this went beyond honorable stuff. It was personal, it was his own. He didn’t have to run it by Turi of all people.

It always felt like he went stomping in his house, demanding whatever he wanted, taking at will. No respect.

Sem bowed his head, teeth digging in his cheek.

When he raised his eyes, the other must have caught a glimpse of them, because he recoiled.

“I’m trying to figure out how to say this, because—with all due respect,” he started, hands twitching, but still firmly on the table. He wasn’t being defiant. He was just— it was self defense. If he didn’t strike now, it could get really dangerous. “Ugh!”

He shut up, seeing that the barman was approaching with their drinks.

Tubbo looked over his shoulder and sighed. He finished his drink in a large gulp, not nearly as pretty as Luca was when he did the same.

Their order was swiftly placed in front of them and the pause gave Sem some time to organise his thoughts.

It’s true that he hadn’t played for long, but all games were the same: the military wasn’t that different from what he was doing now; the family he had grown up in wasn't that different from the military.

Turi slid down his seat a bit, squinting at him in a way that was somewhat intimidating, if you weren’t used to dealing with people like him on the daily.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Sem obeyed, taking a sip of his white rum and ginger beer. It lacked a bit of pepper, but it had enough honey to make it decent.

He looked as Tubbo took out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it in fast, measured movements. After the first drag, smoke curling around him like a snake, he waved him on with the hand holding it.

“I didn’t mess things up with blue. I had a fight with Aimsey because he messed up things with me . It was private. I don’t have to tell you shit,” he said tightly.

Turi blew the smoke in his face.

He tried hard not to twitch, holding his breath until the air was clear again.

“People don’t exist in a vacuum, king. That’s not how it fucking works,” he refuted, all the calm of a man used to debating on the worth of others. “Just because Amanda is your best friend it doesn’t fucking mean that they arent a boss and you a vice. You have people behind you, watching your back, protecting your reputation. If we don’t back you up, what kind of shitty impression are we going to give? It’s the same for them. What, are you trying to shame us? In front of the family? That’s crazy.” He took a moment to look in his glass, gaze distant. Pangi didn’t want to know what he was remembering. His voice had become lower, cracking in places. “Being one of us is not a mask that you can put on and off when it’s convenient. You’re an honorable man and that’s it. There’s no double identity, no spy shit. You’re a member of the family even when you’re taking a piss, or the toilet is going to chomp it off. You want to be a eunuch, Sem? You seem like a solid 15cm kind of guy, so surely not.”

Sem knew that.

If he had not known, his life would have looked incredibly different. He would have taken more risks, had fun, done a lot more dumb shit. He’d have— But he knew, okay? This was wet water. Also, it wasn’t the point.

“So now you’re treating me like a carusu . Fine,” he scoffed. He finished his glass and felt the alcohol settle in his gut, unpleasant. They had trained him to drink slow and steady, to look like he was savouring what had been poured in his glass. Only now he noticed it had changed the way his body handled alcohol. “I wasn’t going to shame the family, because I had it handled in like— a couple hours, tops. It was private and it stayed private.”

Tubbo groaned.

“No, you aren’t getting it. You think you are, but you really aren’t.”

He finished his own glass and called for another round.

The place wasn’t going to fill out that night, not with the military police at the entrance. Safe enough to loosen up.

Sem blinked, the disbelief palpable even through the shades.

When they had a full glass each again, Turi finished his cigarette and ground it out.

“I’m going to break it down for you, okay? There’s two problems here. The first one is a problem of principle— it’s that there was never a moment where this was private, because it wasn’t your shit that was burned up, it was ours; then even if you guys are besties or whatever, it’s still a vice telling a boss and another vice that he’s gonna go after them: how fast you solved it doesn’t change shit,” he explained, somewhat calm. He wet his lips, probably trying to keep the same composure, but as his next words followed, it slipped from him. “The second problem is that you’re still playing games with me and you’re shit at it. If you think I don’t know Luca was at your house, fixing your fucking mess, after I maneuvered him into the business, then you’re delulu. No offence, king. Love you.”

Sem looked down at the ring he kissed minutes ago.

It wasn’t the same he had on his pinky and not just because of the difference in status. The same one as Aimsey wore, passed down from Tubbo’s mother. He was going to succeed her, not Angelo. Things hadn’t gone right and now he was being a child about it. Pangi refused to believe it was anything else.

“I handled it.”

Turiddu looked at him, up and down, a slow, torturous gaze. Then he took a sip of his drink, let it rest on his tongue before swallowing.

“No, you hid it. Until I heard it from three people, none of them you.”

There was no heat in his words. He was just stating facts, laws.

 At that, Sem smiled, a lazy thing meant to show teeth.

“And was any of them the boss? Bet lu ‘Ncidenti didn’t speak a word of this to you, right?” He found that he really liked his drink this time. It was perfect. He took a satisfying sip, the rum hitting just right. “I mean— I don’t think you’re as informed as you think, I can’t lie; because I work for Bad Boy, not for you, and I know that he doesn’t tell you everything.”

Tubbo snorted. “And he tells you ?”

Pangi giggled, spine softening. Charming again. Lovely again, like Amanda always said.

“No, but he’s good at predicting me and placing me where he wants me. If you were like him, you wouldn’t need me to report— it would have been all part of your plan.”

Sem trusted Angelo as a boss precisely because of that and didn’t trust him one bit as a person for the same reason. It was a complicated relationship, but one that worked. 

He wasn’t one for power struggles, he was one for loyalty. Tubbo had to realise that and stop poking at him for obedience.

“Maybe I don’t need to act like Bad, maybe you need to stop expecting that from me. I don’t want to manipulate you into doing stuff. You’re my friend, I want to plot with you. But to do that, I need you to respect me and report before you act. I know blue best, I’m not just making noise.”

The air around them felt lighter, now; an ease that used to always be there when they were together. Things had changed, but maybe not too much.

“Ok, but I need you to trust me too. It’s hard to know the line, but some things are better dealt with as private. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

“Duh! What are we saying?”

“You are looking a bit like a day-old cannulu right now…”

“What am I, fucking Lukey ? Hello?!”

“Well, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Fucking Lukey”.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The door opened softly.

Pangi looked up, tension bleeding into his flesh, ready. Not that he underestimated Tubbo’s man, but he wasn’t the type to rely on others for safety.

As soon as he caught a glimpse of dirty blond hair, he uncoiled, lips curling in a smile all on their own.

Turi took a look at his face and didn’t even need to turn to know.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of course he shows up,” he muttered, looking accusingly at Sem like he had somehow summoned Luca there.

He never regretted his plots, because his schemes always fell in place with grace and brutal effectiveness. This one he regretted. It had seemed fun to have lu Scinziatu around, needle Rosa into violence so that his choice would be obvious, get him involved in the business in the first place. It had been a beautiful play. Until Sem had charmed him into being insufferable.

Pangi watched Luca look around, making his way to their boot with all the calm of someone who was meeting old friends. His clothes were more casual than usual— a white shirt over a pair of black pants, the material so light it fell like water.

He bent the knee in front of Turi, easy smile on his face. The Tassi heir gave him his hand with a scoff and Pangi looked maybe too intently at the press of Luca’s lips on the ring, at his clear eyes, the relaxed posture.

Tubbo took his hand back and pushed his shoulder, destabilizing him and almost making him fall. He didn’t, though, and giggled. 

Then he stood up to bow slightly in front of Pangi, movements slow and eyes trained on his face. They never did this, not if they were alone, not in a setting like this one. This had to be a play. Luca was reinforcing the hierarchy. Why? To help Sem?

It took him a second to blink and give his hand, the action practiced after years of doing the same thing, kneeling man after kneeling man. He changed his mind, rubbed the ring against his pants to clean it; offered it again. Luca smirked, satisfaction clear in his eyes, a possessive glint.

He kissed the ring, eyes trained on him.

“Evening, amore,” he purred, sickly sweet. As he rose, he spoke to his ear. “Missed me?” 

He sat down next to him, shoulders touching.

Turi fake gagged and took a generous sip from his drink.

“Are you here to bring your own fun or did you put a chip in Pangi to sniff out whenever he’s bleeding?”

Luca snorted and stole Sem’s drink, curling his nose before he even took a sip, already well acquainted with its taste.

Why he insisted on doing this, then, completely evaded him. 

“He bleeds?” he gasped, a snicker just behind his lips. “Didn’t know he could do that. Isn’t it like— an anomaly for people without a heart? Dude, you should get it checked out!”

Pangi muttered a “Shut up” under his breath.

Tubbo chuckled at his expense, head resting on the seat. He took out another cigarette and the lighter, pushing them in Sem’s direction across the table.

“Get my boy set up,” he ordered.

Pangi looked blankly at him, struggling to quiet down his own head.

He tried to come up with the least awkward way of doing that as he reached for the familiar objects. Not entirely unusual—just odd enough to carry Tubbo’s signature.

In the end, he put it in his own mouth, between his teeth, opened the lighter, took a drag until it looked like it wouldn’t flicker out. Offered the cigarette to Luca, careful not to look at his face as he did.

It disappeared from his hand, so he gave the lighter back, an attempt at a lopsided smile.

A puff of smoke expanded next to him. Turi looked absolutely disgusted. If he had to guess, the Counselor was some shade of crimson.

“Luca Osigli,” he pressed. “what the fuck do you want?”

They were close enough he could feel the shifting he did as he took out his pen. He had always liked Luca’s pen. It was elegant, but it wasn’t thick and heavy like the ones people kept on their desks just for show. It was thin and smooth, like a pianist's finger—or a weapon.

“You wound me,” he crooned. “I’m just here to see my friends.” He passed the cigarette back to Sem, probably to be able to fidget more easily. Pangi just put it back in his mouth without batting an eye.

“Mostly,”—Luca’s voice had taken that deep, slow quality that usually meant he was doing his version of checking a cartridge—“to make sure nobody else sets my boy on fire, this week.”

Tubbo laughed, a fat roll of vowels that petered in a breathless giggle.

“He’s not your boy,” he reminded. “ You are his boy. And he’s mine. Like a nice little fucked up polycule.”

Sem blinked. He had never heard that word in his life. The cigarette dangled on his lips as he spoke. “A what? What does that mean?”

Luca snickered and patted his hand on the table, pressing their shoulders together.

“Shush,” he teased, flashing his most obnoxious smile. “The adults are talking.”

Pangi took a drag, lips thin around the filter, face scrunching. “This is fucked up. Hello?! Explain it to me!” he demanded, glasses slipping down his nose so he could look at them from over the rim.

Turi was snickering again, Luca giggling alongside him. They were so incredibly mean. The next time he had to extricate them from a shooting, he was going to pay them back so hard.

When they stopped making fun of him, silence fell. A resting beat filled with the ambience noise.

Tubbo knocked on the table, pondering.

“Sem is fine. What else?”

Pangi raised an eyebrow, turning for the first time to look at Lukey. For a moment, he had truly believed that lu Scinziatu was only there to support him. Of course not.

He put his arm around his shoulders, the perfect picture of nonchalant.

Luca looked towards the entrance, smiling vaguely.

“Okay,” he conceded. He lowered his voice, barely audible among the chatter. Pangi could almost hear his pen spin. “I wanted to tell you that you have... nna muffa. ”

They all tensed, but Luca felt relaxed under his arm, so he forced himself to loosen.

“Who?” Tubbo spoke, voice level. He was pissed.

Luca shrugged. “Maybe you should offer a drink to your guards. Seems only polite.”

“How long?”

“Four hours. You can manage?”

Turi scoffed and took the vial that Luca had passed him under the table. Then stood.

“If this is going to be clean, sure.”

“Of course, your Signoria. It’s all well set up.”

He rolled his eyes and they watched as he approached the bar counter, vial artfully hidden.

Pangi squeezed Luca’s shoulder, relaxing as the other all but melted at the touch. He was so proud.

“You did really good,” he praised in his ear.

“Took a page out of your book.”

He puffed his chest and preened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You did good too.”

And Sem wanted .

“Let’s get you a drink.”

Chapter Text

Humans were creatures of habit. As long as no one challenged a belief, they rarely questioned it. That often gave Luca great openings—and since those openings could vanish in a blink, he had to bite fast. That made him vulnerable to traps, of course, but he had his safeguards.

One such belief was that the casino, previously owned by Turi’s deceased mother, was still as safe as when she was managing it. That had been true until a few years ago, when the last of her people died. Now… well—Lukey hadn’t exactly bugged the place wall-to-wall, but a few favorite tables? Definitely.

It was all in good taste.

The sound wasn’t the best, but Luca couldn’t crawl any closer without raising questions, so he was stuck at the bar. The presence of Nonna Chiparo next to him was a perfect defence against anybody who might want to talk to him— it was a well spread rule not to speak business in front of her, since she was all for drinking tea and resting these days; it was also the duty of the youngsters to keep her company wherever she went and give her full attention.Arthritis had slowed her signing, making her quieter than before—and quieter still, these days. Luca had a soft spot for her, so it saddened him a lot to see.

As it stood, she was a perfect cover and, judging by the glint in her eyes as she sipped her shrimp cocktail— an abomination of brandy, mayonnaise and lemon straight from the ‘80— she knew.

It seemed she had a soft spot for him too, because she had spoken very little and given him some pats, content to enjoy some quiet. Uhm…maybe they had overdone it with the mission of entertaining her any time she entered a room.

He hummed and scanned the crowd, pretending to be in deep thought.

The casino was a hot spot for those that had money to burn. It was classy, even if the style had become a little outdated. More than for gambling, it was a place to chat and mingle, the low lights and velvety atmosphere doing much for its sinful vibe without anything untoward actually happening. 

In his ear, zzi Filippu lu Corvu was chuckling quietly, sound distorted by the rustling of the tablecloth.

“Tubbo, mate, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but this is fucking ridiculous,” he cautioned. 

Luca furrowed his brows and Nonna Chiparo patted his knee, reminding him to school his expression. He thanked her with a smile.

Sneegsnag— Simone Simonte, nicknamed lu Patri Firraru , grumbled: “I don’t give a fuck, but Pangi’s an annoying pest, and his little pet reeks of muffa . I still think we should kill them and be done with it.”

A glass sliding on wood, the clicking of ice. Nonna Chiparo looked at him pointedly, her hands scolding him in precise, strong motions. She pushed his drink even closer to him and he shrunk, embarrassed at his inability to hide his emotions today. Or maybe she was just that good.

Nevertheless, he obediently downed his Perrier Grog— acacia honey, rum infused cinnamon and Perrier water. It did absolutely nothing, but he appreciated the thought.

“Luca Osigli isn’t a muffa ,” Turi cut the nonsense. “I would fucking know if he was, wouldn’t I?”

Eutalio lu Crastu — Etoiles, bubbled further away from the mic, barely audible: “Tubbo, my goat! You speak so well, you are so right, you know? But you’re letting them bench you, pissing on your flowers and stealing your right. That’s too lame, it’s too embarrassing." He cackled. “You should go and shoot them in the balls.”

“Noting that he didn’t deny that Pangi is fucking annoying,” Sneeg retorted, putting something down on the table with a thud.

Even among the noise, Turi’s sigh rang loud and clear.

“It’s not Sem who’s annoying. It’s Bad Boy. Angelo basically adopted him and wants him as heir. We know that.”

“Well, you’re not going to hear me say that they’re not all a pain in the butt,” the elder of li Foddi did his version of conceding.

Luca was probably biased (concussion and everything), but he hated the guy.

A new voice entered the group, bubbly and excited: “Hello, hello, hello! sorry I’m late.” The bug caught movement, the woman plopping on a chair after having kissed everybody’s cheeks. “Are we bad talking my cumpari Bebù?”

“Baghera!” Philza exclaimed. “Thank fuck! I was so outnumbered here, I was starting to go insane.”

Etoiles gasped. “Baghera, cori miu , I would never!” —someone poured a drink— “We were just saying that he’s not being correct. We gave him a good heir and he is still keeping that carusu as vice. It’s not good.”

Crux of the matter was that a vice usually wasn’t as involved as Pangi was, because they were essentially the heir of a boss: to be protected above everything. After the families had lost a lot of their children in a past conflict, Angelo included, the boss of the Tassi del Miele had taken Sem under his wing, helped him rise to the position of vice. Alarmed, the elders had looked for an alternative.

Turi lu Bummarulu was vice to l’Orchi blu by birthright. His mother had been the boss, creating all the current allegiances overseas. But his father had been blood to Angelo. It had seemed logical to them to move Tubbo among the Tassi and have Aimsey rise as boss of the Orchi.

But Turi had been trained for a whole other system and, if it wasn’t for his position as judge and his personal guards, he would not have survived this long. Even with Pangi sincerely not giving a fuck.

To survive he had to take as much power as possible from Sem, which they couldn’t allow: if either him or Luca slowed down in their rise to power, they would lose respect— it meant death.

Baghera clicked her tongue in disapproval. “It doesn’t matter, no? Our Tubbo is going to become boss,” she argued. “Angelo just likes to keep his children close and protected, you know? We can let the little guy be vice, yes? As a favour for Bebù?”

“Well, the problem is—” Philza cut in, “—that the men are getting too attached to the lad. There is very little loyalty to Turi and there’s this Counselor that was supposed to help him, instead Angelo did something, and now him and Sem work together like a— it’s just so funny.”

Lu zzi Filippu broke into giggles, Tubbo grumbling in the background in frustration. “Don’t fucking remind me, old man.”

While the elders had decisional power over succession and ritual matters, they had otherwise no involvement. To them, it was entertainment at best. But the fallout from their decisions? World-ending.

It took all control out of Luca’s hands and left him feeling miserable.

Nonna Chiparo must have been a mind reader, because she had gotten him another drink. Honestly? No wonder she had made it to her 80’.

Luca’s earpiece buzzed. Etoiles had said something, but it was spoken too softly to be picked up. 

Then Turi’s voice came through— “I’m not going to kill my friends. But I’m going to fix this.”

Sneeg snorted. “You better.”

Pangi had done this far too many times. It wasn’t hard—just a matter of coordination, and grief made people shit at that. Still, he made sure the weight of the casket fell on his shoulders, sparing the young boy on his right. Their steps didn’t echo in the church— too many people, too much cloth. The carusu hadn’t cried once—promising. Bottling things up was dangerous, but there was a time and place for everything.

Funerals weren’t for crying— well, the widow and her daughter sobbed as they followed the coffin, they had been weeping for four days, probably. The first day, when the body was washed, allowed no tears until evening. Then came the two days of vigil, when mourners came and went from the house, bringing food and kindness. In this phase there was a lot of quiet sobbing, then an hour or so of wailing after the sun set, then silence.

Funerals were the quietest.

Sem had sat near the front, just behind the family. At his first funeral, they’d tried to seat him beside the widow— something about being the support for the family of his fallen man. After the third time he’d sat pointedly farther back, they stopped insisting. It wasn’t spite. He had simply looked into her eyes and realized: she hated him. She was probably right.

This boy didn’t. He had been taught well and knew how it went, knew that hate only brought trouble.

They finally stepped outside the church. The sun felt like a surprise, reflected on the smooth wood and trickling down his fingers.

It was no sweat to put the coffin inside the car: they had prepared a ramp for the ruined steps. It wouldn’t do to have an incident.

Freed from the weight, he could finally look around.

No one was behaving erratically; the perimeter was secure. He had this funeral on lock.

The family went to stand in a line in front of the church and people filed up to shake their hands one by one. It was a lot of murmured well wishes and condolences, some misty eyes. This was usually when the men broke down and let go of a tear or two, but as Sem shook the son’s hand, he met a firm gaze, betrayed only by a touch of pallor. His sister was no different: she smiled at him— a small, gracious thing— her hand delicate at a first glance, but with a callus on the knuckle of the middle finger.

When he was done, he found somewhere on the side to wait it out and send a few texts. He was mostly checking in, but he also found a message from Luca, who had apparently bought three pairs of sunglasses, claiming they kept disappearing. He sent really? wonder why and lowered the pair resting on his own head.

It took half an hour, but then they were finished and Pangi had to step back into his role, so he put the phone back in his pocket, an incoming message from the surcitiddu blinking on the screen.

He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, then let him go to support his mother upright. It was a long walk to the cemetery and the woman would not have been able to sneakily get more food then what was ‘forced’ on her, not with people constantly guarding her house. He was thankful that he didn’t have to scream.

The car started to move, slow and steady, and people walked behind in order. 

It was the daughter that started it— a long wail, perfect in pitch. The lead had to be careful, because while the chorus could take turns in resting their voice, she could not. They walked to the rhythm of the cries, the chants following when they neared the cemetery.

A road before, the women lowered their voice, unifying it in an indistinct lamentation. 

The son puffed out his chest and shouted: “what am i going to do without you now.” 

Sem fixed his glasses and joined the others: “you left your son that respects you.”

The widow beat her chest with a closed fist, shaking her head. It was the job of her daughter to keep her upright, their black veils mixing in an indistinct curtain.

The carusu went on and, line by line, Sem answered with the chorus.

“how can my mother live without her breath.”

“you left your wife that loves you.”

“how can my sister sleep without her safety.”

“you left your daughter that respects you.”

“how can your blood fill the space you left.”

“you left your family that raised you.”

“how can your friends laugh with a voice less.”

“you left those that would bleed with you.”

The car stopped and Pangi stepped forward to take the coffin back on his shoulders. The boy now had a slight tremble to his fingers, so his uncle had him switch places, putting him in the back where the weight would be less.

Not everyone would be able or welcome to enter the cemetery, so they left the crowd behind and walked the silent city with gravity.

The women dried their cheeks with the rapid stroke of a handkerchief and walked silently.

The priest was already there at the niche and Sem tuned him out as the people from the funeral home helped with placing the casket inside.

This was always the most awkward part: he never knew what to say or when to leave and there was no fixed script. So he just nodded at everyone, made sure there would be cars ready to bring them home, and walked back to his own, parked by his man close-by.

Pangi’s horse galloped, weaving easily through the wild terrain—rocks, bushes, soft loam and loose gravel. His favourite, its mane a reddish-brown that easily caught the eye, bigger than other mares and trained for hunting. 

The wind moved gently against his face; the bright hues of wild grass and flowers greeting his eyes. Distantly, Aimsey and Ros laughed, the sound echoing off the sierra like scattered coins.

Satisfied, he steered the reins to circle back, scanning the landscape in search of the girls. 

He couldn’t see them, so he just kept trotting, taking his time.

He suspected a flower crown would be waiting when he arrived. Daisies, cornflowers and poppies spilled across the hills, as far as he could see, and he hoped his favourite would make the cut.

Technically they were there to forage and ride, but the foraging part rarely came first. Also technically, he’d gone ahead to scout and plan their itinerary. He guessed if he did so now it wouldn’t be a lie.

The nettle, with its big pale flowers, was always the easiest to spot. Near a cluster of rocks there was wild spinach, looking just about perfect to cook with tomato sauce and garlic in a pan.

Alliaria was blooming as well, looking cute, and, now that he thought about it, a good substitute for garlic in the spinach. Luca would probably want some for his weird medicinal concoctions. He could grab a handful…he supposed.

He almost whooped when he spied chicory under the shade of a stand of trees. He didn’t know why, but it always tasted sweeter than the one growing along the roads and he never got to eat it.

Now, for the arugula, where did it tend to spawn again?

He slowed down, looking intently at the weeds surrounding him. He was trying to picture where he’d seen it before, forcing his mind to conjure up an image. 

Next to the river, maybe?

He steered the horse to go have a look and, sure enough, in the most sandy parts of the bank, there it was, almost obscured by the reeds.

Didn’t lemon balm grow this time of year too? Oh, fuck, Luca would surely want that— and the poppies. The big-ass ones. Were those around?

His horse slowly turned in place, its rider perched on it like a meerkat.

“Sem!” Rosa called. 

Amanda echoed her, their voices getting closer.

“Aimsey! Ros! I’m here!” he shouted back, searching for them.

Not two minutes later they appeared from behind the hill, completely covered in flowers. It stole a snort from him, amused at their antics.

His fun at their expense was short-lived though, no sooner had their horses reached his than they began piling garlands around his neck and on his head.

“Stop it,” he mock-complained. “Guys—guys, I can’t breathe… c’mon!”

The two giggled, seemingly emboldened by his protests.

“But you look so pretty,” Amanda teased. 

“Yes, you’re beautiful.”

Sem managed to wrestle one of his garlands back around Aimsey’s neck, their horses annoyed at their erratic movements and close to throwing them off.

“What are we saying?!” he bickered.

It was a mess of crumbling flower crowns and dirty hands.

Soon Pangi and Aimsey were mock-fighting on the grass while Ros hollered and cheered. She was so playing favourite. 

It was close to happiness.

Chapter Text

Tommaso Intruglio — called Masì lu Curnutu , would have been on the list of people Sem liked, if the investigator had shown any interest in being— not even liked, just tolerated. They would have gotten along swimmingly.

Instead, he seemed firmly set on making him go out of his mind.

The room was humid, stuffy and smelled of old paper and cheap wood, even though it was mostly empty: a document cabinet behind him, a desk bolted to the floor, two chairs, a bin, a clock, stupid shit on the walls with the symbol of the military police on it.

The cop slurped his coffee in the most aggravating way, smiling behind the cup. Sem hadn’t been offered one. Sem hadn’t been granted his right to call a lawyer or been told what he was here for. Sem’s gun had been taken away.

Was this an attempt on his life? Lock him in a room with the most annoying man alive and wait until he snapped and killed everyone in the room himself included?

They hadn’t beaten him, hadn’t even touched him — aside from a lackluster search, which turned up his gun but not the knife.

Were they analyzing the weapon to look for a match? Well, good luck with that!

Pangi snorted, made a show of looking at his nails, picking at the dust under them.

Tommaso put the plastic cup down.

“Bit girly, innit?” he ribbed.

They were longer than other men in his profession preferred, yes; with a coating of matte orange meant to reinforce them, sharp.

It had been a long time since he had had to claw at someone’s face and skewer some guy’s eyes in a fight that he would otherwise lose. In his mercenary days, they’d been even longer, but far more fragile, and much less pretty. Back then, he liked alcohol more than pretty things. Bad Boy, the first time; the girls, the second time, had changed that.

He curled his nose at the question, because it was in bad taste and he wasn’t a man to poke fun at, least of all call girly.

“Is this what we’re here for? To talk about manicures and braid each other's hair?” he sneered, clicking his nails on the desk in a steady rhythm.

Tommaso shrugged and picked the cup up to finish his coffee. 

Sem followed him with his eyes as he stood to throw it in the bin, dragging his feet.

“I want a lawyer,” he stressed again.

Masì sat back down with a huff and stretched lazily.

“And I want better coffee. The machine here sucks; you were right in not wanting any, big man.”

He was buying time, trying to fray his control before the real interrogation started. But Sem had won this game too many times to fall for it. Still, he could pretend to expedite the process.

He narrowed his eyes, lips curling to show a bit of teeth. 

“I wasn’t offered any.”

A fly landed on the desk, almost invisible against the dark knots of the wood.

Like the sun peeking from a moving cloud, Tommaso smiled, an angelic painting of light and golden hair. 

Pangi itched with the need to punch him.

“How rude of me, man. Real sorry,” he quipped in answer. 

“You don’t look sorry,” Sem noted and stopped his clicking to gesture at the other’s glowing countenance.

“Mister Pangoli, I swear on my honor as a cop that I would never lie to you.” He put his hand on his chest solemnly, only betrayed by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “I am deeply sorry, from the bottom of my heart.”

The vice wanted to throw something at him.

He breathed in and out, spinning the ring on his pinkie with his thumb.

Had he been any other vice, this would have never happened.

They’d arrested him in broad daylight at the market, parading him to a police car that crawled through the streets with sirens blaring. A ridiculous, humiliating show. 

They had taken his gun, brought him to this room, made him wait for hours and still they insisted on abusing his patience.

“You will escort me home and show me the respect I’m owed,” he snapped.

He hadn’t been cuffed, had followed the policemen with the ease of someone who was among friends, rage bubbling like lava just under his skin.

At that Masì chuckled, almost vibrating in his seat.

Pangi felt his black shirt almost shrink on him. The plastic chair was too soft to properly rest his back and the white light buzzed unpleasantly on his head.

The investigator propped his elbow on the desk, chin in hand, grinning like a picciriddu on Christmas.

“I don’t know if you noticed, mate, but I only bend the knee to one woman: the greatest woman of all— our mother nation,” he theatrically chided.

He pointed with his head at the framed parchment on the right wall, words written in neat cursive unintelligible from that distance.

Sem laughed freely, the memory of the oath sworn in his youth filling his mouth with venom. He could feel it dripping down his teeth, like the saliva of a snarling dog.

Of that, Masì would know nothing. He had enlisted in the police force, backed by honorable and lawful men alike. His training had been something to ridicule in comparison to what Sem had faced in the academy and the special forces. What a clown.

“I wonder,” Sem mused, “does bruising your knees for a judge count as bending the knee to the law?”

This too was Tommaso sucking Turi’s dick, evidently. His colleagues would have stopped him, or he wouldn’t have even thought of such a ridiculous move, had they not all received instructions from the heir.

As proof, Masì flushed red, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

“There’s no proof, bitch,” he sassed.

Pangi felt a smile tug at his lips. Instead he rubbed his chin, thoughtful.

He hummed. “I thought we agreed proof didn’t count for shit, since I’m here without a single charge.” His tone was mocking, sing-song.

He would have appreciated this conversation much more if it had happened in his office, sitting on his plush armchair. This place reeked.

Tommaso snorted, seeming to take no offence.

He had not gone into this without knowing how dangerous it was, how irregular. But they were both aware that he was protected and the vice couldn’t do much more than issue a complaint and watch it be put in the bottom of the pile, then lost, then forgotten.

“One might pop up, when we get the results from that gun,” Masì offered easily.

Sem sighed. “How long?”

The other showed his palms with a seraphic smile.

“Who knows?” he chirped. 

The chair cracked as he stood and left the room—“I better go get some more caffeine in me!” —practically skipping to the door.

Left alone, Pangi decided that there was no reason not to hit his head against the desk.

Luca breathed through clenched teeth, pressing a hand to his side where a stray bullet had grazed him. A horrible taste coated his tongue, making the back of his mouth tingle. He wanted to throw up.

Just around the corner, his pursuer shifted slowly, crouching as he moved to get a better angle for a shot. Idiot.

He swallowed bile, calculating in his head the distance the man had to cross to be in range. He wouldn’t get a second chance.

Lu Scinziatu wrapped his fingers around a lever and pulled. 

He covered his ears just in time— the explosion echoed in the high vaulted room, scalding air blowing next to him, before hitting the wall and turning in his direction.

Something rolled on the ground, a scream.

He didn’t wait for the smoke to clear and reveal the man’s fate; instead he gathered his strength and pulled away from the wall, walking deeper inside the building.

There were several panic rooms and escape routes. He was supposed to get to the closest one of either, but he knew that Pangi didn’t remember all of them, so…This was so fucking stupid. He was going to get himself killed, all because he wanted Sem to find him immediately.

“Honestly? Fuck me,” he wheezed. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He walked past a secret exit, happy that his wound had stopped bleeding some thanks to the careful movements and the compression. It wouldn’t do to reach safety only to have the other find him passed out— that wouldn’t be reassuring at all.

Steps, the clinking of guns.

He refrained from cursing and turned back, deciding to hide momentarily in the secret passage. 

Careful not to leave a bloody trace, he crawled behind the painting and closed the entrance; then he stilled. Just in the nick of time. Two men entered the hallway, moving carefully, scanning. He held his breath.

They moved, passed through.

Sem would have checked behind the painting.

He always checked.

These guys were so stupid.

He felt a giggle press in his throat.

Gods, so fucking stupid.

He waited a few more seconds just to be safe, then walked inside the passage until he got to the east side of the Lab— Locu a buscari (The place where you get beaten up). 

When Luca’s identity and location had been revealed, he had lost his base of operations: a bloody, traumatizing affair. Sem had helped set him up with a new one, full of hiding places where he could wait safe and sound for rescue. It had lasted almost a year, before it had become unusable.

Luca was in Sem’s house— the first time he had ever stepped foot in the place— a day after the whole ordeal. 

They both only felt safe if the Counselor was in the other’s sight, no further away than a shout. 

Luca was in Sem’s home, pacing in his living room with an empty mug in his hand, swinging it dangerously. He kept talking and talking and talking, like a dam breaking open— he didn’t want a new base, a new place to be trapped in while his would-be assassins tore through every nook and cranny, and he sat there, scared out of his mind.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He just couldn’t. It didn’t matter how many guards he had. And he didn’t want guards, it wasn’t safe to have people peeking at his documents while he worked. And he was always found when he hid away. They would always find him and drag him by his hair, his hoodie, his broken wrist, out and in the halls.

Pangi was curled on his couch, nesting between the pillows, his own cold mug still cradled in his fingers, untouched. And he had said:

“Why not make it a place where they are trapped in with you.”

Luca moved the wooden panel and exited the passage, stepping back in the main hallway.

A few meters to the right he would find the control room, be able to relax in his chair and make sure the Lab stayed true to its name.

The coast seemed clear, but he had to be fast.

He willed his steps to be light, speed walking in the open space with crossed fingers. 

Just three meters.

Two meters now.

The adrenaline was coursing through him, making his legs wobbly.

He hated it. He loved it.
That rush of being hunted, of being faster than his unworthy pursuers.

But it would feel so much better when he delivered some payback.

—steps.

Behind him.

He ran.

The door could be locked from the inside, nobody would be able to enter.

He just had to make it before they caught him.

His fingers touched the panel that would open the hidden door, he typed the code as fast as he could. The door clicked.

Then hands grabbed him, threw him around.

He landed on the floor of the room, his only escape closing with a mechanical whir.

He looked up at his assailant.

The men, clad in black, took his mask off.

“It’s me, it’s okay,” he whispered.

Luca blinked. His breath itched.

It was Sem.

It was Sem.

They were in the control room.

He was safe.

Luca’s nose tickled and itched, some unnamable emotion flooding his system until his brain rewired into coherence.

His cumpari was extending his hands, waiting for permission to check his injuries. He could have kissed him right then and there.

Instead he nodded, lips tight, and rose to his feet. He ignored the other’s gaze, covering every inch of his body with fretful attention, and sat gingerly on the plush chair.

“I’m fine. Only a graze. It stopped bleeding a while ago,” he bragged. 

Sem didn’t seem to recognize it as the accomplishment it was, because if a glare could turn into a three pages long reprimand, his would.

“Your head,” he stressed, articulating every syllable distinctly, “is bleeding.”

Luca raised his hand to his forehead, then the back, trying to feel for a wound. With an exasperated sound, Pangi took hold of his wrists.

“Let me look, surcitiddu . You’re going to make it dirty,” he scolded.

The only answer he got was a pout, but he was unimpeded as he took hold of his jaw, turning his head this way or the other.

Luca held his breath.

From this close, he could almost count his lashes, feel his breath ghost his skin as he got closer. His eyes were darker, turned away from the light, almost black, like the sea on the precipice of night.

He smelled of metal and gunpowder, and something sweet and chemical that made his throat tingle, probably a gas bomb.

He was sure that if he kissed his dry lips, Sem would kiss back with all the intensity of a starved man.

That’s why he just held his breath. And he waited.

He ignored the slight flush on Pangi’s cheeks when he stepped back.

“So,” he asked, “what’s the verdict?”

The vice straightened up and turned to the monitors, clicking the commands to turn them on.

“The blood isn’t yours. You’re fine,” he grumbled.

Luca giggled.

“Does it make you upset that you won’t have to play nurse?” he asked, flabbergasted at that reaction.

Pangi clicked his tongue. “Maybe I think you deserve a little maiming.”

He narrowed his gaze at the shithead that had thrown him inside a room instead of just…literally anything else.

“I was fucking shot! What more do you want?” he spat, pushing with his feet to roll in front of the screens and start playing with his toys.

Pangi rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, forcefully lifting it to take a look at the wound in his side, eyebrow raised in challenge. “This isn’t even bleeding and it has almost no floral pattern. It isn’t pretty at all, I'm not gonna lie.”

Luca, his arm still prisoner in Pangi’s grip, felt horribly exposed and flustered.

“Do you classify my wounds by how pretty they are? Excuse me, mister, what the hell?!” he stammered, a blush rapidly climbing up his neck.

He was let go in an instant, Pangi grumbling something under his breath.

Luca pressed a button to fill the upper floors with oxygen and turned on the sparks. Three seconds. Then he emptied the floor of any air, extinguishing the fire.

“Care to explain?” he insisted.

A few other grumbles and “Whatever man, let’s just get this over with.”

They reached for the same button.

Sem checked his phone as soon as he stepped out of the station, fingers already moving before the door had fully shut behind him. He knew that Turi must have pulled something, made him waste time so he could seize power for himself with ease.

The moment he saw the screen, his gut twisted.

Seven missed calls from Luca.

His heart vaulted into his throat.

Then came the flood: a cascade of alarms, urgent security alerts, overlapping push notifications from the Lab’s internal system. Dozens of blurry, frantic snapshots flashed across the screen—camera feeds capturing men in black forcing their way inside, assault rifles slung over shoulders, formation tight and professional. They fanned out, covering every corridor, every blind spot like they knew them . No insignias, but they might as well have carried a snail flag.

Sem's pulse pounded in his ears. He could barely feel his hands.

He yanked up the surveillance app, flipping through live feeds with the practiced speed of someone who had done this before.

He was breathing too fast, wasn’t breathing at all, scrolling in apnea, jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

“Come on. Come on, surcitiddu . Where are you?” he muttered, his thumb skating over touchscreen glass slick with sweat.

Shouting. Flashes. Smoke curling up the walls. A streak of blood near the west stairwell.

Then…

He found him.

Luca, in grainy black-and-white, crouched in a hallway thick with smoke. One side of his hoodie torn. Blood on his pant leg. He looked directly into the camera, right at him, like he knew Sem would be watching.

He raised one finger to his lips.

Shush, the adult is taking care of it.

And then, with maddening calm, he winked.

The stream cut out.

Static. Then black.

Sem stood motionless on the sidewalk, staring at the screen, jaw slack, heart pounding hard enough to bruise his ribs. 

For a split second, he couldn’t tell if he wanted to throttle Luca or kiss him.

Maybe both.

His fingers twitched. He was already moving before the thought fully formed, slipping his phone back into his pocket, feet pounding toward the car. His blood was all adrenaline now, sharp and sparkling like lapilli.

If they so much as touched a hair on that idiot's head…
He’d burn them all.