Hi people!! This is my first ever story and so comments on improving it really helps!! Sorry about the OCC-ness of Yamamoto and mis-spelling and wrong grammar is unintentional!! Please give comments!! Thanks for taking the time to read this too!!
I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Oh! Just a Mafia day's Work
Fan slowly turning above… There wasn't many customer at this time of the day… Long legs crossed, arms relaxed at the side. On the table a warming cup of ice tea sat. Low rays of sunlight filtered in through the window. Just a thin stream of line though, warm golden in color, falls onto one of the long fingered hand. He didn't notice the heat though, as he continued staring into the certain spot out of the window. Eyes lingered near the sundial that stood so lonely in the corner.
Yamamoto Takeshi, his handsome face, warm brown eyes a clam collected expression and a little smile hung on his lips. He would have attracted a crowd of ladies just by smiling at them if not for the scar on his chin that acts as a warning to all those who tries to get near to him. He's not just a pretty face foreigner who wanted to get a Caucasian Italian lady. In all that was to say, his mere presence, in formal black suit, crisp white dress shirt, black pants topped along with a pair of shiny leather shoes and a black tie. He is a man who emits confidence and fear that would make you just wants to obey him and gives him whatever he wants. He's posture although relaxed, his eyes never leaves his target for a moment. Concentration never falters.
His target has decided to move.
His target, a man with a huge pot belly in a white suit that didn't really covers his belly, stood up after sitting in the sweltering heat for the past half an hour, cursed and spit into the fountain behind him. Soon unable to stand the heat he moves towards the shadowed corner.
Near the sundial.
Arms and clutching the suitcase as closely to his chest a possible. Eyes searching frantically all over the place, as if someone might decide to pop out right next to him and snatch it away from him.
Those eyes, look just like a rat.. Small and beady. Mused Yamamoto.
And somehow hunter and prey's eyes met. In just that millisecond. All thoughts and feelings were gone. What's left is only the predatory sense of kill being transmitted from Yamamoto to his target and his target of primal fear coursing through his whole body. If Yamamoto has seen the fear in the man, he made no signs of it. Calm. Cool and collected was Yamamoto Takeshi. Not missing a beat, he stood up and strolled for the door. Knowing that he was seen theres no more point in playing this watching game anymore. Walking out of the bar into the hot evening. Smiling, he asked. ' Had a nice day?' Before the Italian man could respond, Yamamoto was so closed to him that he could smell the faint tinge of cologne Yamamoto was wearing and then the light reflecting off a shiny piece of metal and a swishing sound that would have sound just like that wind had he thought that he had imagined it that it was just part of the fountain.
When he felt it.
The cold metal somewhere oddly nears his lungs. His eyes widen seconds later after realization hit him. Then he embraces Yamamoto like old friends never seen for ages from the back. Had a tourist who happen to pass by. A dull thud hit the pavement seconds later. Not from the metal case that that the man was clutching but the pool of blood and the two half of a body that hit the pavement.
Nobody missed the Italian man's presence. Nor did they hear the thud of his body hitting the cold floor. They continued on with their lives as per normal not knowing that there's a body just lying there in that little corner. Had they missed Yamamoto's presence no one said a word. Blood gushing out from the convulsing body. Entrails spilling out in sort of an artistic way that would have made it to the Louvre have it not been too bloody and the materials used was not preserved.
His expression still as emotionless, the faint smile still on his lips, except that they held no laughter in them. But as a mask to show to the world. His eyes the warm chocolate brown was as cold as the cutting autumn wind. In all, he Yamamoto Takeshi displays no emotions that he had just sliced a man into two. His black Armani suit not a speck of the man blood on it.
The perfect mafia.
Reborn would be proud of him. Hibari would smirk at the artistic work he had just made.
The sky a color of blue-purple and the moon peeking out as the stars enhance the pale beauty of the sky. Smoothly, not disturbing his art work, Yamamoto retrieves the suitcase and strolled off into the darkness.
Oh, the work of a mafia in a day.