Prologue: November 10th
"Home," I declare to the seemingly lifeless house I'm standing in.
After a quick glance around the kitchen, through to the living room and out the giant window on the other side of the house, my heels click loudly as I wander to the metal kitchen sink nearby. Crouching to a cabinet below the sink, I grab a glass bowl, the bleach, and matches. The bowl clinks on the granite counter and the bleach is poured in. Then I take my driving gloves off. The black, grimy gloves concealing my bloody hands are dropped into the bowl of bleach. My lip twitches, causing the first smile since an hour ago. "Eww, the blood is coagulating."
I stop and squish my fingers around for a few moments.
Blood always makes my fingers feel funky.
With an elbow I nudge the water on and rinse my hands. I cannot help but recall seeing Reborn as I walked out of the classroom. My eyes gaze upon the lifeless living room in front of me as I dip my hands in the bleach. He must have seen what happened. The question is whether he will tell anyone. I wash them again.
I pause, water still running. "What if Hibari finds out I killed someone on campus?"
I chuckle and start round two of my hand cleansing .
The bleach stings. My small fingers burn, but I set the dirty hands in the bowl once more. My light brown hands are burning a lighter shade, even becoming slightly pink, and a small ring on my pointer finger is shining anew. Another rinse and the scent of the bleach officially becomes overwhelming. I open a window nearby. At the same time I see a black car pull up from the gravel road to my house. A black Mercedes 300SLk, a nice car, a sexy car—a very fucking suspicious car.
A match scratched aflame, quickly sets the bowl afire.
Moving to an angle that I can't be seen in the house, I gaze upon the sedan parking on the circle drive in front. Patient, I watch two men exit their vehicle and I immediately step farther from the window's view. My eyes snap to the still lit bowl. "What the fuck are the Ninth Vongola's Guardians doing here?"
I peak upon two faces. Softly shutting sedan slammers, one is old and one is young. One is I know to be Visconti and the other I know as Ganauche III. My hands grip onto the cold countertop. Brows furrowed, I start going into a slight mental frenzy. So dead. I am so fucking dead. What they hell did I do to catch their attention? I should've tried to not accept that job… I knew that shit was a bad idea. Vongola is big, Vongola is bad. God damn that boss of mine, and those fucking kids too!
I stop and throw my hands up. "How did they even find my house? I'm not even in the fucking phone book!"
The fiery bowl beside me snuffs, so I quickly throw the thing in the recycling trash can close by since that is all I can do for now. The doorbell rings. Its song echoes over and over from the high ceilings. I pinch the bridge of my nose and I sigh, "Late J.C. I'm sure you know where I'm going when I die, but I think I should tell you that I've always kind of believed in you… even if that water to wine shit is a little unbelievable."
I grab the .45 hidden in the pantry and head to the door. "Who is it?"
A deep voice sounds back. "We are Guardians of the Ninth requesting permission to speak to Margaret Fernandez and Dee."
Shit."May I ask the reason behind your request?"
A new voice, a somewhat gruff one, now speaks, "We would like to discuss that inside."
Reminded of why I like old people, I smirk. "I'll let you in. But I'm holding onto my .45 because I'm sure you are here to kill me."
"So be it."
I open the door with the .45 for both to see. I notice they're wearing nice suits. Visconti, the older one in front of me, is wearing an Armani I saw in a magazine recently. He walks in first, checking his oil slicked hair with a calm hand gesture. We lock eyes and nod good afternoon nods. The other I've read as Ganauche III, eyes the gun, then me with his deep blue eyes while I just admire those good looks: scruffy face, nice teeth, sharp eyes, and great shoulders. I let my wide smile stay as I declare in Italian, "The gun isn't leaving. Make your choice."
The good looking guy eyes me again. "Would you like me to leave?"
I note his almost overly serious voice. Turn off. I chuckle in amusement. "It's okay if you don't, but only 'cause I've decided that I like the old guy."
The extremely tall guy walks with his perfect posture in my house. Nice butt, yet I want to laugh at the fact that he pretty much towers over me. I really hate that my natural reaction to everything is laughter. Then realizing that both men tower me in height, body mass, infamy, and probably charm—I really do laugh.
I feel their eyes questioning me.
I chuckle more. "Death comes to my door; I welcome it in and realize that it's better than me."
Ganauche's looks at me like I am weird and Visconti smirks.
I then ask, "Well, are you guys hungry? I was just about to make some tacos… But we can just stick to coffee—if you guys wanna stay professional. I understand."
The aged man responds, "Thank you for the offer, but we should probably stay professional."
Dammit. I was really gunning to eat right now. "Then I hope you guys don't mind instant."
I was pretty sure that food was not going to fly for them, but I felt like asking all the more. I also can't show them I'm scared. That would be their win and my utter defeat in what ever reason they have shown their selves here today. But it is my fear keeping me cautious; I can live through this. I will live through this. My eyes dart between the Mafiosi; I refuse to die.
My noisy heels and audible voice echo inside the wall-less expanse as I lead the guardians to my kitchen and sit them at the large breakfast bar. With the two men sitting in my kitchen, I do the only thing I can do: set the gun aside and play hostess. I make them coffee, ask them how they want it, and make sure it tastes right. The two sit and enjoy the instant concoctions with similar reactions. Unreadable. Good thing neither of them requested sugar. I definitely would've called that one a pansy. Even I (a lady) drink my coffee without sugar.
Actually, I wouldn't say shit… but I would be thinking it.
After making a cup for myself and taking the first drink, I set it down and take a deep breath. Calm, poised, and speaking in Italian for them, I ask in a deliberately brief fashion, "Excuse my uncouth tongue, but why the fuck are you two here?"
Both stop. Ganauche stops mid-sip. Visconti stops mid-cup rise. The oldest man in the room gently places his cup on the black countertop. I glance at the cup that says I (heart) pop quizzes and feel the desire to laugh again.
"Why do you think we are here?"
Though there is a part of me that really wants to just duke it out with this grandpa, seeing who can keep up the question tactic until they get pissed, I just decide to muster up all the seriousness my soul possesses.
"To be honest, my head is brimming with reasons. One is that my boss and yours don't get along very well. Another is that I am impersonating as a teacher—in your boss candidate's class—for reasons related to work. And I could go on and on about all the more reasons, but I'm feeling more inclined to compliment your boss on his choice of Guardians to come over and most likely kill me."
Ganauche sets his yellow Charlie Brown cup down as he questions, "Compliment?"
I get comfortable, slipping off my heels and losing four inches. Both of their heads tilt downward to my drop, and the sight is another amusing thing that the day has brought. Still not as amusing as Tsunayoshi's expression was when he read that note I left on his test:
Just give up and drop out kid, you'll never make it…
On the other side of the paper I wrote that I was kidding.
I make an exaggerated snort and blink before responding, "Oh yeah, your boss is good. It just so happens that I love old people. I also love eye candy."
Neither says shit. So I go on.
"So let's just get to the point. Why are you here?"
The two men look at each other, and Ganauche covers his mouth right as he clears his throat lightly. "The Ninth would like for us to escort you and Margaret Fernandez to him. He requests your audience."
I'm glad I'm not wearing those heels anymore, or holding that hot coffee for that matter. My dumb ass would've messed up somewhere. Being free of both constraints, I coolly lean on the cold counter and respond only with, "Uh-huh…"
We three partake in a moment of silence. It's a good one where everyone is down to be silent, so the eerie drip of my leaking faucet is fully exemplified. I love it. I wish Ashton Kutcher would come out and say I'm being Punk'd. But the terrible actor never shows, and I'm still left feeling like this is a joke. After all, they did not even answer my question.
"You realize me meeting your boss will for sure get me killed if I am discovered."
They only stare.
"And you realize Margaret Fernandez has nothing to do with anything related to The Mafia, Assassins, and all those dangerous things?"
They still stare.
I look up to the textured white ceiling and shake my head. Then I look at Visconti and answer with, "Sorry Visconti, sir, but you're Boss' request is too much of a risk for the life I'm trying to lead."
I refuse to be rude to old people, but I'm pretty sure the other guy is kind of around my age. So I feel no qualms in deliberately ignoring him. Of course, both men only stare at me with serious expressions. After glancing into Ganauche's very blue orbs, I lock eyes with the old man for a few moments and realize that I pretty much have no choice.
I sigh. "Please excuse me, as I have a phone call I need to make."
As one hand slips into the pocket of my black pencil skirt, the other rakes through the locks of my short, dark brown hair. Four sly taps on the glass encased phone, and my cousin is dialed. I stare at the screen, gazing upon a picture she told me to delete. I remember her whining about how much she hated it; to hell with her teenage standards.
The phone stops the ringing tone, and I hear her voice. "Alana?"
Despite my natural desire to chide her for saying my super legitimate name, I just answer her in English, "Who else would it be?"
She sticks to Japanese. "I don't know, Santa Clause?"
I just raise a brow to her unneeded sarcasm and get to the point. "You're friends came over."
"I don't have any friends."
I let loose a small to chuckle and notice the two men in my kitchen are paying close attention. Though I'm unaware of the languages they speak, I'm glad that I leave the volume on my phone low. I'd be an idiot to think both are lost by my English.
Before I can say any more, she speaks again in her still Americanized Japan-speak. "I'm with Yamamoto-san right now. I'll get home A.S.A.P."
Wait. She's with him? When did they become friends? My unfixed stare, slides. "Cool. Toodle loo."
I gingerly place the phone aside as my eyes slide to the men in front of me. "Do excuse that please."
Ganauche and Visconti wave off my phone call and politely wait for me to tell them the news, as if they both are not fluent to English. Their cordial lies are ones I will allow since they are just following protocol. I relay what I know and ask them to be patient. The two agree, and I serve them up a second cup. I then look at my small green watch and notice they have only been here but forty minutes. Time flies when you're having fun, as my grandma used to say. I dwell on the thought until my black phone vibrates on the cold granite. The caller ID says her real name, so I swiftly grab it and answer. Mia holds no patience. "Alana," she asks again, this time her tone seeming a little edgy.
"Yes, Mimi." I say unconsciously, but instantly regret the rookie mistake. I do not let my self-aggravation show to the suit-wearing Mafiosi in front of me.
"Are people really over?"
"There are," I claim confidently. My eyes hone in on the guests as I continue. "One is a strapping lad in a suit, and the other is an older but also strapping fellow in a suit. They work for the Ninth Vongola Boss and are here to escort us to him. I hope your hair is already brushed."
I really hope her hair brushed.
"It's not."
Thanks for reading.
word count: 2,292 (chapters will be longer)
[I also do not own any KHR characters]
If you like this story, you should read And there I live among the Clams by Ausumist
same story, Mia's POV
.Captain.
