Prologue

Ellis Island, New York, 1919.

"Papers." The beefy man in a poorly fitted blue uniform demanded, holding out a ham-sized hand imperiously. "You deaf, boy? You speak any English?" He glared at the slight Italian before him. Behind him stretched a line nearly a mile long, literally thousands of people clustered together, waiting to be processed by the American government. The smell of cold, nervous sweat filled the air as they pressed together for warmth in the damp winter of 1919. Babies wailed, men cursed, women cried in their native tongues. It was a scene out of Revelations. The faces all blended together, a moving mass of shapeless gray clothing and dirty faces.

"Don't-a have any," the boy muttered, straining to remember what little English his grandfather had taught him. "Just got on the ship—"

"You got a name, Dago? Speak up, I can't hear you with all that muttering."

The boy looked up then, a defiant look in his golden eyes. For a boy, he was almost pretty. Long, dark lashes framed those golden brown eyes, set in a softly rounded face. A hank of auburn hair flopped down into his eyes from under his cap, as filthy as the rest of him. He looked like an angel that had been dropped into the pits of hell. "My name," he spat out, in heavily accented English, "is Lovino Vargas, you bastard." He couldn't have been more than fourteen. It made one flinch to hear such harsh words coming out of such a young boy.

The officer looked down at him and barked out a laugh. "Italian. Mighta figured. We've had a lot of you guidos come through here lately. Maybe you can get a job in construction…bit small, though, but that's all you're really good for. A few years…" He studied him carefully. "Don't become a problem." He placed a meaty hand on Lovino's shoulder and shoved him ahead of the queue, towards the exit. "Welcome to America, kid!"

Ch. 1

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here." William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Lovino Vargas was not accustomed to waiting. He wasn't some lower level thug to be put on hold, nor was he the sniveling child he had been when he first came to this country five years ago. He was a grown man now, and a criminal, and he would be taken seriously, dammit! He sat in one of the back rooms of the Noir et Blanc hotels in Chicago, seated at a finely polished ebony-paneled table, waiting for his business partner to show up. He drummed his slender fingers on the tabletop, his amber-colored eyes flickering about the interior of the small room.

It was just a bit too opulent to be tasteful; the heavy odor of cigar smoke clung to the wood-paneled walls; the rather gaudy Tiffany lamp that hung above the table was just a bit too big for the room, casting emerald and ruby and sapphire rays of light everywhere. The room was completely windowless, hidden away from the prowling eyes of the Chicago police behind the cheerful, well-kept exterior of the building. During the day, it served as a refreshing stop for travelers and a place for ladies to have iced drinks in the lobby as they watched the wealthy do their shopping in the trendy boutiques along the boulevard. At night, it transformed into a lively, decadent outlet for Chicago's underworld, beautiful prostitutes and wealthy gangsters, land speculators from out West and Yanks in from the seaboard on holiday, everyone dancing together and drinking until the room spun and the lights all blurred together, a nightmarish scene out of a dark Wonderland.

This was his world now.

Now, however, the small room where he waited was empty except for one of Francis Bonnefoy's men, a tall, heavyset Eurasian man who never said more than a few sentences every hour. Lovino glanced to his right, where the tall man stood at attention, his eyes on the door. "You can tell your master that I'm not in the mood for his little games today. He can come out now," Lovino remarked sharply, his patience beginning to wane. Francis liked to keep people waiting. It kept his already enormous head inflated; he liked to call all the shots.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vargas, but he is not here yet," the man replied respectfully. "He will be here when he is ready."

Lovino sighed, and reached inside the breast pocket of his pinstripe suit for a cigarette. He struck a match and lit it swiftly, deliberately depositing the used match next to the ashtray, scorching the fine surface of the table. He smirked and exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, wondering how much longer Francis would be.

He heard the door behind him open and the clacking of boots against the hardwood floor, and then the surprisingly heavy weight of hands on his shoulders. "Vandalizing my furniture again, are we, Lovino?" Francis Bonnefoy purred in his ear.

Lovino swatted him away, scowling. "You smell like cheap perfume again," Lovino quipped. "It's a bit early for whoring, don't you think?"

Francis smirked and ruffled his hair. He didn't look at all like a mafia don. For one, he wasn't Italian. He was painfully French, although he spoke English fluently. He had shoulder-length, wheat-colored hair, a long, aquiline nose, and calculating blue eyes. He was incredibly handsome, yes, but something about him exuded danger, even though he didn't exactly cut an imposing figure. He preferred to give orders and plan heists, however, and didn't concern himself with the dirty work. He was loyal only to his family and friends, and as cunning as a snake. Lovino knew that he could trust him, but sometimes, being around the Frenchman made his skin crawl. He was just so…sleazy.

"It is never too early for amor," Francis returned evenly, looking not at all fazed by Lovino's insults. "You'll understand when you're older." He winked infuriatingly. He knew that Lovino hated being reminded of his youth.

Lovino's face flushed angrily. "I'm nineteen, you fucker," he snapped, folding his eyes and placing his heeled boots on the table, glaring up at his mentor defiantly. "I'm not a child."

"But not yet a man, my innocent little Lovino," Francis teased, patting him on the cheek. "You know, all that smoking will ruin your beautiful skin. I would kill to have that golden color all year round." He sighed wistfully.

"That's all mumbo jumbo, they can't prove anything," Lovino retorted, sinking lower into his chair as he continued to puff on his cigarette. No way would he ever give up smoking. It was about as likely as Francis giving up loose women. "And you outta know. You're the bastard that got me into it."

Lovino really did have beautiful skin. He was an incredibly attractive young man, although in a much different way than Francis. Francis had the golden good looks of a young Greek god. Lovino was the opposite. He had dark brown hair that tended to turn auburn in the sunlight, although it was usually covered by a black hat of some sort. He had dark, arching eyebrows that usually conveyed whatever level of sarcasm his mouth failed to speak, and a proud Roman nose. His long-lashed amber eyes were easily his best feature, though. Although he had gotten quite good at concealing his emotions in his personal life and during business negotiations, his eyes always gave him away, and so he frequently avoided eye contact. He had the lean frame of a boy not yet fully grown, and often hid his rather narrow shoulders beneath handsome black dinner jackets. He was never seen without a generous supply of cigarettes, and usually a scowl to go with it. Always impeccably dressed, Lovino Vargas had at only nineteen years old, quite possibly the sharpest tongue in all of Chicago, a quick temper, and one of the most formidable gangs to boot. He ran a successful liquor smuggling operation throughout the entire city, and made it known that he ran a clean business. No whores, no killings, no drugs other than alcohol. He claimed that alcohol was one of the few things that made life bearable, and he intended to give that good to the good people of America, his adopted people, at a price, of course.

"Well, I do make it a point to corrupt you," Francis said, shrugging.

"Hmph. Hey, bastard. What happened to my rum shipment, hmm? I don't pay you for nothing, you know," he drawled.

Francis' eyes flashed dangerously, but he continued to smile. He sank into the seat opposite of Lovino and folded his hands, regarding Lovino with raised eyebrows. "You forget yourself, mon ami," he said coolly. "I don't take orders from upstart Italian bastards." Lovino's hands clenched at that, but Francis continued, "Let's not quarrel, darling. Your shipment is still coming in, so you can put your feathers down. I was supposed to get a new shipment from Spain, but as you know, the New York police have tightened up on imports, and it's almost impossible to get anything through. It will be here, but it will be late. And I don't want to hear any complaints," he added in a sing song voice, wagging his finger at Lovino, who glowered.

"Alright," he grumbled, still looking a bit put out. Francis never was one to take his shit. The others, he could push around, but Francis had known him too long. He had picked him up off the streets of New York at barely fifteen, about to get thrown into jail, seen his potential, and taken him under his wing. Ever since, the two young men had been inseparable. Lovino had gotten fairly cocky—and with good reason—and Francis loved nothing more than to knock him down a peg or two.

"Enough business chatter," Francis said gaily, leaning back into his chair and sighing. "It's been a long day, non? I will see that you get your shipment. For now…Edgar! Would you get something for me and my friend to drink, please?"

"Certainly, sir," his bodyguard replied obediently, and went over to the cabinet on the back wall to fetch a bottle of wine.

"These prudish Americans and their qualms about alcohol," Francis said conversationally, taking out a cigarette of his own. The smoke briefly obscured his fair features, concealing the Frenchman in a noxious grey cloud so that only his keen blue eyes shone through. "But I suppose we should be grateful, oui? We criminals must get on somehow." He winked conspiratorially.

Lovino snorted doubtfully, taking another puff on his cigarette as Edgar set down two glasses of wine before them. He had to admit, Francis had good taste in wine. Neither of them were much for hard liquor, and both thoroughly disdained the American wines of California with typical Old World superiority.

"So how are you, my friend?" Francis inquired, smiling. "Going to church like a good boy? Kissing girls and staying out late? Oh, and how is your little brother? I haven't heard you speak about him in awhile."

Lovino stiffened slightly at the mention of his carefree younger brother, Feliciano. His family was his soft spot. Francis was one of the only people with whom he was able to talk about them. Most of his gang assumed that his family was dead or out of the picture, and he was just fine with that. He wanted to keep them out of the picture as much as possible. He didn't know the whereabouts of his deadbeat father, and his mother had died of complications during Feliciano's birth, but he loved his grandfather and brother dearly. They were still in Rome, trying to save up money to join Lovino. Lovino, of course, had been working his entire life in order for them to be able to join him in America. Now, he had the money, but he was afraid for them, afraid of what might happen if they came here. He wasn't in one of the more dangerous gangs, and he had a pretty good reputation, but he had seen what happened if dons weren't careful. Wives gutted like animals, children tossed off bridges, siblings shot in the middle of restaurants. No, perhaps it was better for his family to remain nameless and impoverished on some farm in the Italian countryside, for now, at least.

"They're doing well," he replied at last, his eyes softening a little. "Feliciano got kicked out of the children's choir. I guess his voice finally cracked." He chuckled a little.

"They grow up so fast," Francis said sentimentally, taking a swig of wine. "Give my regards to your grandfather, won't you?"

"Si, si," Lovino said dismissively, downing the rest of his wine. "Got anything to eat around here?"

"Your manners really are atrocious," Francis said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Do you Italians ever stop eating?"

"Yes, when we have to eat French food," Lovino retorted.

Francis laughed good naturedly. "Well, you'll have to go elsewhere, I'm afraid. I have things to do. Adult things," he added, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis.

Lovino felt his eye twitch a little in irritation. Why was he friends with this bastard again?

The door opened suddenly, and Edgar jumped forward, pulling out his gun.

"It's just me," a woman's voice said airily. "Francis, tell him to put that away."

"Carmen, what did I tell you about knocking?" Francis asked with a world-weary sigh, not looking towards the door. He suddenly looked very tired. He massaged his temples and said to Edgar, "It's fine. You know Carmen."

"Sorry, ma'am," the big man apologized immediately, reddening slightly.

Lovino turned towards the door, frowning. His eyes went wide when he saw the woman who walked through the door.

She was rather short, and wore a crimson chiffon dress that clung to her body all the way down to her calves. She wore a diamond necklace with matching earrings, partially hidden by the thick waves of mahogany hair that curled gracefully to her golden shoulders, which peeked out from the elegant dress. Her green eyes sparkled in the smoky light, flickering to Francis and Edgar and then finally settling on Lovino. Her full lips turned up in a smile as she said, brightly, "Oh, this is little Lovino? I've heard so much about you!"

"Carmen," Francis began, a warning note in his voice, but she ignored him.

She walked over to him quickly, considering how tall her heels were, and smiled down at him. He didn't like to be looked down upon, so he stood up, and was pleased to note that he was a good deal taller than her. She was quite pretty, and he wondered if she was Francis' escort for the night. They seemed to be on familiar terms, anyway. Her remark about "little" Lovino had thoroughly nettled him, but he hid it behind his usual charming mask. "Hello," he said coolly, taking her hand and kissing it swiftly. "I don't believe we've met before. I'm sure I would remember a fine woman such as yourself."

"Oh, you turned him into a dandy, Francis," this Carmen woman said disapprovingly, grinning. "But he's cute, so I suppose it works." Her accent was Spanish, Castilian, if he was not mistaken, but her English was excellent. She could not have been more than a year or two older than he was, if that. "Hello," she replied, turning those emerald eyes twinkling up at him. "I'm Carmen Fernandez. I'm an associate of Frannie's here." She turned to her side and playfully tugged on a strand of Francis' long hair.

"Stop flirting with my protégé," Francis said snidely, shooting her a look. "And you're late, by the way."

Carmen turned away from Lovino, and he found himself struggling for the snappy remarks that usually came to him so easily. "If you want a different driver, it shouldn't be too hard to find one," she said brightly.

Francis sighed and stood up. "That's not what I meant. It would just be nice if you were on time for once. Lovino, this is my colleague, Carmen."

"Yes, so she said," Lovino said slowly, his eyes flickering between the two of them, trying to gauge their relationship. The easy, comfortable way they talked suggested family or close friends, but Francis was such a flirt, it was hard to tell, and this Carmen woman seemed like she was too. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, bella." He gave her his best smile. Sure, Lovino knew he could be a sarcastic prick, but he was pretty damn good at flirting, too.

Carmen grinned, her eyes flashing back to him. At this angle, he could see quite a bit of her chest, and he wondered if she knew that. "You really are adorable," she said, beaming. "I like this one, Francis. You should keep him."

Lovino's cheeks flooded with irritated color. She seemed immune to his charm. She wasn't even taking him seriously! He stepped closer to her and frowned down at her and said lightly, "I don't know if adorable is the right term for men in my line of work."

"Men?" She asked in her lilting alto voice, those curved eyebrows rising in mild surprise. "But you can't be more than eighteen."

"I'm nineteen," he said quickly, feeling his entire face burn. Damn, he was losing face, and fast!

Francis snickered quietly. "Alright, that's enough," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to his side. "Come on. We have to be at the party at seven o'clock sharp."

"Yes, yes," she agreed dismissively, pushing him away. "Well, it was very nice to meet you too, Lovino," she said, smiling up at the embarrassed Italian boy. "I hope I see you soon." She stretched up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care."

He watched, frozen, as Francis led her away, shooting him a look over her slender shoulders that he couldn't quite read.

He numbly allowed Edgar to escort him to the lobby of the hotel after they left in a cloud of mixed perfume and cologne, wondering why his head would not stop spinning. His cheek still felt warm from where she had kissed him. It wasn't that kissing was anything new to him; everyone kissed each other on the cheek when they met each other or said good bye; even the dons did it. It was simply something that carried over from Europe. So why did he feel so unnerved? He put it down to the fact that an attractive woman had teased him, in front of his mentor no less, more than her simple gesture of affection. That was it, surely.

He said good day to Edgar more curtly than usual and put on his black hat before leaving the opulent hotel and stepping out into the cool Chicago night, disappearing into the dim twilight in a swirl of nicotine and smoke.

I'm not sure what prompted me to start yet another Hetalia fic. But I love this era, the prohibition era in the 1920's and 30's in America, and when Hima released that art of Romano dressed as a gangster...how could I resist? The world needs more mafia AU's. Oh, and Carmen Fernandez is female Spain. I know, Antonio's last name is Carriedo, but I thought Carmen Carriedo sounded awkward. So I used his middle name/first surname.