AN: Hello my darling readers, I'm back! I've realised that writing is a very good way of studying, so I'm going to be posting ficlets I've written as a way of learning stuff here. The theme we're currently working with in English class is 'Crime and Punishment', so the theme for this fic is 'Assassination', which means more mafia AUs, yay! (Also I found out that I missed Izo's birthday yesterday (and Marco's last week!) so this is a late birthday fic for him).

Izo carefully picked the lock on the window, turning the handle smoothly and silently. Why the known boss of the biggest gang in town slept above ground without any alarm systems bewildered him, but he'd done his research, and he knew it to be true. Maybe that shouldn't be his main focus, but it was.

Sensibly he should probably be wondering why he was about to assassinate said crime lord, but he already knew that. While he didn't struggle by any means ,the money offered for Whitebeard's head was too good to pass up, and Izo was the best in the business.

He stepped down onto the wooden floor, not making a sound with his soft shoes, created for this very purpose. The room was finely furnished, but not overly so. It had elegantly carved wooden paneling on the walls and expensive looking furniture, but there were no excessive amounts of art or bric-a-brac that might show off the inhabitor's obvious wealth. It was tasteful.

He toed over to the king sized bed that took up quite a bit of space, Whitebeard was a big man after all, or so the rumours said. A look confirmed that the rumours were true, he was the biggest man Izo had ever seen, as close to a giant as you could get in real life. But it didn't matter, it wasn't like he'd make it through the night anyways.

When he reached the bedside he pulled out his favourite gun, which had been the best choice for the occasion. With no telling how big the man actually was it was impossible for Izo to bring the exact right amount of poison to down him, and while a knife would be quieter its lethality wasn't as guaranteed as that of his flintlock pistol. With this he could be sure that his target was dead and still be out of there before anyone could come to investigate.

He disengaged the safety, aiming carefully at the old man's head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Izo stilled at the voice, not moving an inch, neither to look over his shoulder at the speaker nor to withdraw his gun. He hadn't even heard anyone enter. Whoever it was they were good, but he'd come this far, too far to give up or back away. But he'd been caught trying to assassinate the notorious leader of the biggest gang in the city. He was as good as dead, not that he'd show any of his realisations or emotions to the one who surely would be his killer.

"Why not?" he asked, if he was going to die he might as well do it with some pride.

"Well for one, Pops doesn't like being woken up unless it's an emergency, and the rest of the family doesn't like it when Pops is threatened," the stranger came closer, his voice nearing until he stepped around Izo, putting a tray down on the nightstand. Izo frowned, he wasn't even armed? He was confident enough to turn his back to an obvious assassin. Because the man was, he stood by the piece of furniture, mixing something that he'd brought along on the tray that Izo couldn't make out in the dark.

"Then why are you in here?" Izo asked, soundlessly shifting his arm to point the gun at the stranger's back instead. If he insisted on making himself an easy target, then so be it. It might wake the old man, but Izo was quick, quick enough to get them both before either had registered what had happened. Now was the moment, Izo started to press the trigger, carefully as to make as little noise as possible.

"I'm just making sure everything is in order for when he does wake up," the stranger, who Izo now could see had very red hair, said. Then the man turned around, facing him for the first time. Izo bit back a curse, he'd missed his moment.

The redhead didn't even seem phased by the gun now pointed between his eyes, ready to blast his brains out. He just smiled at Izo, showing off pearly white teeth and letting his eyes - one of which looked almost like it was being embraced by a crescent shaped scar - crinkle at the corners. Izo hesitated, and then inwardly cursed himself for doing so. Hesitation got assassins killed, and he never usually hesitated. He was known in the business for never faltering or failing. But this simple man had made him hesitate for the first time.

"I'm Thatch," the man said, offering a hand, "Can you put away your gun so we can talk?"

Izo furrowed his brow, too confused to bother keeping his face as carefully blank as usual.

"Don't you realise that I'm here to kill you boss?" he asked incredulously.

"Well yeah," the man - Thatch - said matter-of-factly, "But you can't kill Pops, so it's alright."

Izo's frown deepened, but he put the safety back on his gun and tucked it away into his clothes, hesitantly taking the hand that was still being offered to him.

"My name is Izo," he didn't know what compelled him to do it, or why on earth he was telling this man his real name, but there he was, revealing something he hadn't told anyone in years.

Thatch grinned, "Nice to meet you, Izo," he said, shaking his hand vigorously. His grip was strong and steady, but not tight and bruising as you'd expect from someone in the mafia.

"Likewise," Izo found himself returning the smile, bemused, but not entirely displeased.