Summary: The young Vongola Decimo was a different kind of Don. But if there was one way in which he was exactly like his predecessors, it was that he definitely knew how to leave a lasting impression. Drabble. Prompt from the lovely Bleach-ed-Na-tsu.
It had been the talk of the mafia world for months now.
In the corner of every mafia-owned bar or hotel, every Family HQ, mafiosi young and old exchanged whispered rumours.
Rumours that the young Vongola Decimo was training a group of young new assassins.
Said to be on the same level as the Varia, but far more elusive.
Whereas the Varia could be compared to an unstoppable force of nature, like a cyclone seen coming from miles away, this new group were ghosts - so completely unseen, their victims didn't even notice they'd been killed until they found themselves crumpling to the floor, their lifeblood draining from their bodies.
The thought was as intriguing as it was terrifying, and it was still the talk of the town when the Vongola's annual Sky Ball rolled around.
The Vongola ballroom was as grand as ever, and its occupants were even more so, dressed to the nines in outfits befitting royalty.
It was obvious right from the getgo, however, that this year, the Ball would be different from the ones previous.
The young Vongola Decimo had started the night by asking Don Chiavarone about how the Pulito Famiglia was doing, to which the blond had replied, slightly confused, that they were the same as ever, last he'd checked.
News of this little exchange had spread like wildfire through the ballroom as everyone wondered if the Vongola Don were foreshadowing anything.
There was a reason Sawada Tsunayoshi was called the Tainted Saint of the mafia, and he made no effort to hide his extreme distaste for the Pulito, who, despite their name, were one of the most despicable Famiglias in Italy, even by mafia standards. They took part in activities that most other Families wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole - one of these activities being child sex slavery.
After that short exchange however, the evening passed peacefully as Dons and subordinates alike took advantage of their time, strengthening failing relationships and forging new ones.
Just as the guests were beginning to dismiss Vongola Decimo's strange behavior from earlier in the evening however, the peacefulness was shattered into a million little pieces as right-hand men started whispering into their Dons' and Donnas' ears.
Within the space of minutes, several startled exclamations of "WHAT!" could be heard throughout the ballroom, as wives and children looked on in concern.
One by one, Dons would turn to cast terrified glances upon Vongola Decimo, who continued chatting amicably with Don Shimon, a beatific smile on his face.
"They're gone," the Dons would whisper to those in their presence in hushed voices. "The Pulito. They're just...gone."
Their companions would look on in utter confusion.
"What do you mean, 'gone'?" one would ask.
And the Don would frantically hush them, before replying, "I mean that in the two hours we've been here at this Ball, one of the biggest and strongest Families in Italy has been completely and utterly decimated."
And upon hearing that, the women would clutch their shawls closer, turning to cast fearful gazes upon the sweet young Vongola Decimo.
Rookies and veterans alike would feel the icy grip of fear tighten around their hearts.
In less than ten minutes, the Ball had gone from loud and boisterous to quiet and tense. The attendants continued to hold conversations, but only an idiot could miss the almost tangible tension in the air.
And yet, Decimo seemed to still be completely, blissfully ignorant.
And then, just as the attendants were beginning to convince themselves that maybe it had just been a coincidence (surely the baby-faced Tainted Saint couldn't be responsible), the doors to the ballroom swung open, and the guests turned as one to look at the new arrivals.
Immediately, hands reached for weapons that weren't there, and subordinates rushed to their Boss' sides as a young man stepped into the ballroom, completely and utterly drenched in fresh blood.
None of which seemed to belong to him.
Blue eyes shone out of a face set into a hard mask of disinterest, but any other features were difficult to make out. His hair, which was in pigtails, could just as easily be brown as it could be a bright flourescent pink, under all that blood.
Following in after the young man were maybe thirty more youths, all similarly dyed red, all wearing clothes that ranged anywhere from chef's aprons, to maids and butlers outfits, to the bodyguard uniforms of the Pulito.
Everyone watched as one of the youths broke away from the group to sling an arm around their leader's shoulder and look around the room with a positively feral smile on his face.
And then, just as the last of the blood-soaked youths entered the room, young Vongola Decimo's voice rang out from the crowd.
"Nagisa Shiota! What on EARTH do you think you're doing, young man?"
All heads in the room immediately whipped to look at the petite boss, who was shouldering through the crowd to stand in front of the leader of the youths, his arms crossed, a pout gracing his features.
"Just look at you!" he huffed in exasperation. "Absolutely filthy. Just what are you going to do with all that blood you and the rest of your squad tracked into my ballroom?"
The leader of the youths, the one named Nagisa, ducked his head in embarrassment, but didn't say anything.
Huffing once more in exasperation, Tsunayoshi stepped forward and lifted Nagisa's face, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.
"Never mind that," he said, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "You all did wonderfully. Certainly you finished a lot faster than I thought you would."
"Of course we did, Boss!" bragged the young man with his arm still around Nagisa's shoulder. His smile had changed into something just a little softer than what it had been before. "We wanted to make you proud!"
"Well, you sure did that, Karma," assured Tsunayoshi, smiling up at the taller young man. "Anyways, we'll talk about this later, yes? Just get on out of my ballroom before you make any more of a mess. I want you all to clean up completely before you even THINK of stepping back in here, you hear me?"
A united call of, "Yes Boss!" arose from the group as they swapped out their previously grim expressions for more relaxed smiles, joking with each other as they left, but not before each of them exchanged a few words with Decimo, who had to reject quite a few hugs on the grounds that the the blood would stain his suit.
And before long, the last of the young assassins (for that is most certainly what they had been) had stepped out of the ballroom, the only trace of them left behind being the bloody footprints stamped into the floor.
Vongola Decimo stared at the footprints a moment before calling for someone to clean them up, then turning back to his previous conversation.
Slowly, the conversation in the rest of the room picked back up, but for the rest of the evening, especially after the young assassins returned, the mood was tense and all words were chosen carefully.
News of the stunning debut of Vongola Decimo's new assassination squad, later known simply as 3E, spread like wildfire through the mafia.
And throughout all the commotion, young Sawada Tsunayoshi continued to smile innocently, a smile that sent chills up the spines of anyone who saw it.
It was on that day that Vongola Decimo forcefully reminded everyone that he was, after all, a mafioso.
There was a reason he was called the Tainted Saint.
SkyGem: The end! Thanks so much for reading, y'all! Please do leave a review, and if you enjoyed this fic, you should totally check out some of Bleach-ed-Na-tsu's KHRxAnKyou crossovers! They're amazing! Almost as amazing as she is ;)