The Sell-Out

A/N: Hey! So this is the Mafia AU I've wanted to write since the beginning of time. I don't know if I'll continue it. I've written it on a whim, because I need some Mafia!Spamano in my life.

Lars Jansen – Netherlands.

Romeo Vargas - Seborga.

I'm sorry for any inaccuracies. This whole thing basically exists because I supplement my healthy love for crime shows with generous dollops of Godfather fangirling.

This is set in a fictional place. Also, I've used 2P North Italy (Luciano) and 2P South Italy (Flavio) as separate characters in this fic. But they're minor characters, for the most part.

"You the new transfer?" Arthur Kirkland didn't turn when he heard the footsteps – he spoke out of habit, his voice plain and bored. Stirring his tea in the break room, the man in the fading brown suit just squinted through a mild headache, one he got on and off from his sleepless nights spent working in yellow lighting.

"Uh, yeah. I'm Detective Alfred Jones? Are you Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur finally turned, holding his teacup at his chin. The kid before him was so typical. He had the same rookie hope in his blue eyes. His brown suit, however, didn't look as good on him as the colour did on Arthur. "Arthur Kirkland, Organised Crime. Tea?"

Alfred wrinkled his nose slightly. "Coffee for me." He went up to the counter to make a fresh pot. "So we're partners, huh? Cool, cool."

"How much experience do you have in Organised Crime? The chief said you were pretty good."

Alfred shrugged. "Not much, really. I started out in Narcotics but then switched my division five years ago. It's more…hah, dramatic?" his lips quirked upwards in a grin, as though he'd thought of an inside joke he wasn't about to share. "But I hear you're a legend."

Kirkland sipped his tea. "An aspiring legend."

"Ah."

There was a short silence, and Arthur idly listened to the whirring of ceiling fans and the sizzle of boiling water in the break room. Outside, other detectives and officers pored over files and computers. Arthur dug into his pocket to look for one of his headache pills. He couldn't find any.

"So, what's the sit here?"

Arthur blinked and looked at Alfred, who was staring back with him in all seriousness. "What the bloody hell is a sit?"

"Situation?" Alfred replied as though this should have been obvious.

"For pity's sake, don't use those abominable abbreviations!"

Alfred wrinkled his nose again. "And what, sound like you?"

Oh hell. Arthur could already guess how it was going to be to work with this chap. And from the slow widening of Alfred's eyes, Detective Jones had caught on too.

The Sicily Mansion was the heavily fortified headquarters of the Vargas family business. Don Romulus Vargas sat at the head of the table, with his three grandsons – Lovino, Feliciano and fourteen-year-old Romeo, sitting on his right. On the left were the cousins – the twins Luciano and Flavio, and Don Vargas's close family friends and business associates: Francis Bonnefoy and the German brothers: Ludwig 'Badblood' Beilschidmt and the albino, Gilbert. Next to Gilbert was his wife, Elizabeta, the only woman.

All of them had their heads bowed as Don Vargas said Grace.

Until the old man suddenly gasped, his eyes wide and his head back. "Mio dio, I'm having a heart attack." And then he fell off his chair.

"What I have – the only thing I have – is information. Profiles. Mostly rumours. But, well, it's better than nothing." Arthur dumped a box full of files on his desk, opposite which Alfred sat with his third cup of coffee. "As you know, the city's taken by two major groups – "

"I know. The Italians and the Russians. Vargas and Braginsky." He waved his hand in the air as though to speed Arthur along.

"They're competitors. Drugs, arms, money laundering. The Italians huge property in the industrial areas. Romulus is established, everyone knows him, respects him. That's a big thing with them – respect."

"I've watched the Godfather movies, dude. I know."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Vargas is more powerful than Braginsky, since the Russians are newer. There's been some bad blood between them, but I'll get to that in a bit. Let's start with Don Romulus Vargas, okay?"

"'Kay."

Arthur dropped a file before Alfred, full of paper clippings and celebrity images. "I bet he's got dirty politicians. He's never been convicted of anything?"

"Oh, all the top brass are in his pockets." Arthur made a face. "Politicians, judges…even our last police chief."

"I heard about that."

"Well, this new one scares them." Last week, Chief Lars Jansen had taken the post with a fearsome vow to destroy organised crime in the city – a declaration backed by his reputation and cold, serious demeanor.

"Romulus's family – his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law, mainly – were killed in a car bomb seven years ago, planted there by Yao Wang and Kiku Honda. This started a mob war between the Italians and the Asians."

"The Wang family, right?" Alfred confirmed. "They were wiped out in the war?"

"The very same." Arthur took a sip of his tea, now cold, and placed it back on the coaster with a grimace. "It's around the time of the war that you start hearing things about the grandson, Lovino."

He handed Alfred another file, with the face of a young Lovino Vargas with a bruised cheek and a gold-eyed glare from hell. "That picture was taken when he was seventeen. He was arrested and sentenced to juvie for Assault and Battery – the kid has a temper on him – but his grandpa cleared his name. Now Lovino," Arthur tapped the file, "is our main problem. He's twenty-four now, next in line for the crime empire, hell of a crack-shot. You do not want this kid to be pointing a gun at you. He's very protective of his younger brother, Feliciano 'Feli' Vargas. I want to see if we can use this to get him."

"You don't have a picture of this 'Feli'?"

"He's not a combatant. Never been arrested, has no record. But I've heard he's the consigliere. The Don's advisor. He's quite young, but apparently he has a very sound mind. Then you have Francis Bonnefoy…" Arthur's tone hardened. "That French sonofabitch. I almost had him this one time, but he got away. Shot me in the arm, too."

Alfred winced.

"Bonnefoy is…" Arthur's hand waved around, as though trying to physically search for the right word in the stale office air. "I'll be frank: Bonnefoy is a professional torturer. But his weakness is women. He likes to charm them, and he'll take anyone. So maybe we can use that against him."

"What about the German brothers?" Alfred piped up. "There's some shit there, I know for a fact."

Arthur's smile turned a little dark. "Them. Well. They used to work for the Russians. Ivan Braginsky and Gilbert Beilschmidt actually grew up together, best friends."

"Wow. What happened?"

"I'm not sure. But Gilbert suddenly defected, and Ludwig followed. They've been with the Vargas family for oh, seven years now?"

"So they defected during the war?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's not so surprising."

Arthur took out another file from the box and held onto this one for a moment longer before passing it over to Alfred. "There's also…him."

Alfred opened the file, to a single sheet with a single name on it. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo? Who the hell is that? There's nothing here."

"I'm not even sure if he's real," Arthur admitted slowly. "There are just whispers of his name now and then. He's almost like an urban legend."

Alfred leaned in, excited. "Yeah? And what does legend say?"

"Legend says he's Vargas's secret weapon. This man was supposedly seventeen or eighteen when he won the war for the Italians. He's a hitman. The only man, it seems, who makes Don Vargas nervous."

Alfred took a loud, appreciative sip of his coffee.

That was when Arthur's phone started to scream.

"Feli, calm down, it's okay…" Ludwig said awkwardly, patting his crying friend's shoulder. Lovino rolled his eyes, crossing and uncrossing his legs. These stupid fucking hospital chairs were so uncomfortable! Luciano and Flavio (Lovino couldn't stand his cousins, even though they had their uses) were sitting on opposite sides of Romeo. Luciano had his eyes closed. Flavio was trying to keep Romeo from crying.

Francis was speaking with a nurse – either trying to coax information out of her, or trying to get into her pants. Or both. Probably both. Gilbert, at least, was pacing up and down the length of the waiting room, nervous.

"Oh God," Feli wept as he blew into another tissue. "I kept telling Grandpa to take better care of his health, but he never did." He stood on trembling legs. "I need to go to a church."

Lovino glanced towards Ludwig. "Go with him. And then take him home."

"Yes," Ludwig replied stiffly, standing up to accompany him. Elizabeta, who'd just exited the restroom, followed Ludwig as well.

Francis approached Lovino. "Bad news. That beautiful nurse was rather…vague about his condition. But I gather that he's still touch-and-go."

Lovino only swallowed. "Get me a coffee, would you?" He glanced towards Gilbert. "Beilschmidt!"

The albino walked up to Lovino and sat in an empty chair next to him. "What?"

"Take the kids home."

The kids being his cousins, and Romeo. "Then stay there. Make sure the press doesn't find out shit."

"Yeah. Fine." Gilbert went to the water dispenser at the corner of the room, filled a small paper cup and emptied it on Luciano's head. Luciano woke up with a curse, and only Gilbert's red-eyed glare stopped him from reaching for the knife hidden in his coat. "Get up, bitches, we're going home. Flavio, Romeo, now!"

Francis had already left for the coffee, and now, Lovino was alone.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number.

"Do you know what time it is?" snapped the voice at the end of the line.

"Vash." Lovino made his name sound like silk. "That thing I asked you to do the other day."

"…Yes?"

"Is it done?"

"Yes. I only need the signatures of the named parties. Yours and Feliciano's."

"Good." Lovino stared at the pale blue wall of the waiting room. "I think it's time."

"Oh? Has something happened?"

"Maybe. Just keep it all ready."

"All right, Lovino."

"Thanks."

"Lovino?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Lovino smiled to himself. "Yeah. I'm sure. Goodnight."

Francis returned with two coffees. And they sat beside each other, wordless, waiting.

"Hello?" Arthur pressed his phone to his ear, and Alfred saw his green eyes go wider and wider. "That's bloody huge! I - are you sure? No, I understand. Yes. Okay. Bye." He put his phone down with trembling fingers. To Alfred, he said, "so that was one of my men. He's been watching the Sicily Mansion - where the Vargas stay? - for a while now. Guess what? They had to rush the old fucker to a hospital. Heart attack or something."

"You're not serious!" Alfred jumped to his feet, excitement shooting in his blood, making his fingers cold. "If the Don dies, then we need to get Lovino! And Lovino looks a bit like an ass. He already has a record, right? This is so fucking good. What's our next move, boss?"

Arthur sighed, pressing his forefingers to his lips in thought. "Tomorrow. First, let's wait for the old guy to die."

It was half past two when the nurse walked up to Francis and Lovino - both dozing lightly - and poked Francis in the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

They both awoke in the same moment, their eyes panicked for a second, before remembering their surroundings. The nurse smiled down at them.

"Y-yes?" Francis mumbled rubbing his face. "What is it, my dear?"

She giggled at him before cheerfully adding, "I just spoke to the doctor. Mr. Vargas is going to be perfectly fine."

Lovino's eyes closed in what looked like relief.

And he thought, oh, for fuck's sake.

"Francis, call the others." Lovino got to his feet, pretended to blink some tears away before saying, "I need a moment."

Hiding in a far corner, Lovino sent a single message.

Put the plans on hold.

Despite the hour, Vash replied. Lovino, you're really fucking erratic.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review! And again – I'm sorry if I don't continue this. I don't actually have the time for one more project (I've taken on too many. Plus, there's college.) But I'll try. Thanks! See ya!