the way we fall (apart)

by esquitor

"You're going to school because your only friends right now are the yankee, the butler, and apparently a maid named Alessa." Reborn's adventures and Xanxus' upbringing. History of an alternate Sicily where Vongola eventually rules more or less every part of it and accidentally-on-purpose reveals the existence of flames to the public. T for language. Isn't It Beautiful?-verse.

DISCLAIMER: i haven't written one of these in a while but i don't own khr or any of the characters except maybe the OCs and this particular au

WARNINGS: xanxus-flavoured cussing. slight, slight mention of homophobia and use of a slur in italian. cussing in italian/sicilian, or as best as I can manage given the internet as my resource. casual nonexplicit mentions of murder. low-key mafia violence. History with a capital h.

A/N: this piece is part of the Isn't It Beautiful? universe. cross-posted from AO3, some minor formatting differences.

Vongola and some other canon families are SICILIAN cosa nostra here, so 'cosa nostra' is being used mainly instead of 'mafia', and refers primarily to the 'mafia' in sicily. vongola and some other families do have bases and interests on mainland italy as well. vongola is everywhere. no one knows they're there.

vongola pretty much owns sicily and the cosa nostra. most sicilian famigghia (sicilian equivalent of famiglia) are either their offshoots and allies or were permitted to shoot up alongside them, so long as their business does not intrude on vongola's.

The au for this fic is very KHR mafia + real world mafia, so there's quite a bit of cosa nostra politics being mentioned. and references to stuff going on in italy. no prior knowledge required, hopefully? background history reference timeline is at the very end after the footnotes. my sources are wikipedia and various internet places.

i'm on a crusade to update any and all italian words with sicilian forms that i can manage. thus far-
fratello / fratellino - frati / fratuzzu
primo – primu
secondo - seccunu
Nonu - nonu
all the profanity hahahaha there's so much profanity, please be warned.

---

SUMMARY

Timoteo Tries. He Really Does.

from the account of one infamous hitman, who has been known to be almost religiously associated with the vongola, comes the history of the sicilian cosa nostra. only briefly, though, because reborn does not give a shit beyond the fact that it happened and it's done. (except maybe when it involves mussolini.) he's got an unfindable island to find, a kid to raise- i mean torture- i mean tutor, and that kid's name is not sawada tsunayoshi. it's xanxus, of no particular last name except maybe di vongola, and shouldn't timoteo be raising his own adopted kids? what the hell, timmy.

(in which vongola practically owns the island of sicily and the criminal organization prevalent in it, as well as parts of the boot and heel of italy, but somehow no one realizes this? not yet. they will. everyone will know. and won't that be fun for the new heir?)

---

"My family is fine," says Sawada Iemitsu. Insists Sawada Iemitsu. "My family is fine, there's no reason to check up on them."

Strange words to hear, from someone who loves his family so much. Who calls them as often as he can, despite telling his son he's practically dead.

As if to prove his own words, Sawada Iemitsu takes a trip back to Japan, to his 'Island', after a bit of news rippled through the Underworld. The agnelli di Dio returned from Japan with news of a failed mission. An Eastern swordsman-turned-international-assassin purported to have gone missing 16 years ago had been sighted once again. No one believed it, of course. [1]

The photo evidence was small and grainy, possibly even doctored. It was soaked in mist and haze. Reborn would not even go near it.

Sawada Iemitsu plucked it up and dismissed it without a second thought.

And then, the agnelli di Dio report that the ex-assassin was now dead. There was collateral damage no one would miss.

And then Sawada Iemitsu started getting more cagey about his family.

And then he would say he hadn't heard from his dear sweet Nana in so long, even though he'd called her just weeks ago.

Sawada Iemitsu is clearly shaken by something. Sending him back to his homeland for a while is only natural.

When he returns, Reborn is willing to admit that the man looks better. Calmer. More assured, more confident.

"Everything's fine," Iemitsu says.

He pointedly avoids the subject of a possibly dead ex-assassin.

His island is so fucking weird, but Reborn already knew that.

. . .

The island that Sawada Iemitsu hails from is something of a myth among the Cosa Nostra. Back when Vongola was still growing, before it became Cosa Nostra, Giotto had entertained the idea of retiring to Japan when his time came. Asari Ugetsu had been one of the few foreigners in their vigilante group. Alaude was French, but France was near.

Japan was a whole ways away.

(Well. Daemon was probably English. Knuckle purportedly had a Welsh accent, though it's hard to tell from an account over a century old. 'Lampo' wasn't even Lampo's real name, and nobody knew anything about G, except maybe Giotto.)

In any case. Japan was about as far away from Italy as one could get. Without being in the middle of the ocean. Or in the Arctic, or Antarctic.

(Or Australia. But Reborn tries not to think about Australia if he can help it.)

Asari Ugetsu, the man whose surname apparently also meant 'clam' (which was probably where they got Vongola from), loved to regale the group with tales of how different it all was here. The customs, the names, the language.

What didn't seem to change, however, was Ugetsu's apparent willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect his Famigghia. Whatever was necessary.

'Tis quite normal back home, to do thusly, was an account of what he had said. I am an Islander. And Islanders are rather feisty when it comes to protecting their own.

It sounded like a place that Vongola Primu would love.

After Ricardo took his throne as Seccunu, the Cosa Nostra began to call that land in Japan the Madreperla, after the mother-of-pearl nacre found lining the shells of shellfish. Like oysters and abalone.

And after the 'pearl' that was the founder of the Vongola, soon to be strongest Family in Italy, if not the world.

The Madreperla is a myth. Those who are destined for it do not return. Asari Ugetsu did not. Knuckle did not. Alaude did not, when he eventually ventured there.

(There are rumors that even Vongola's traitor, Daemon Spade, went there, for reasons unknown. No one ever saw him again after that. Not his body, anyway.)

It is a myth, and yet there is an entire section of the Vongola's public library dedicated to its history, its search, and any theories as to where it could be located. Because this island, this Madreperla, would also theoretically house the graves of Primu's generation. The bones of the dead are always valuable. As well as whatever they left behind, of course.

Reborn has been contracting for the Vongola for decades. He's been contracting for Timoteo for decades, anyway, since even before he was cursed to infancy. He is so old. He's getting so old.

(He is probably not that old.)

He has been through these archives dozens of times over, memorizing every detail, every piece of information, in English, in Italian, and in the original Japanese language.

The Vongola Famigghia is paying handsomely to anyone who can find the island where their founder is buried.

And then this kid— Reborn remembers it clearly, the day the CEDEF came through the library looking up an obscure text. The day that CEDEF's apprentice, some kid by the name of Clary waltzed through, picked up a random book from the Madreperla archives for idle reading, and said,

"Hey, this looks familiar."

This kid, this 19-year-old brat, leafs through more books while everyone in the library (luckily they're all either CEDEF, Timoteo's inner circle, or Reborn) watches with bated breath.

"Yeah, I know this place. That's weird, why does Vongola have a whole library full of..."

And he had the nerve to stop. He had the nerve to say "Please pretend you didn't hear me say anything, oh God, he's going to kill me."

'Clary' has always been a terrible liar. Also apparently his name is Iemitsu. His parents must have been awful.

. . .

But he proved himself loyal, so Timoteo did not press him for too many details. They are the Cosa Nostra, after all.

Reborn, however, was not so forgiving.

---

. . .

---

"Look, signore, I-"

"It's just Reborn, you Okinawan fool."

"I'm not Okinawan!"

Tanned skin, light hair. Weird dialect. Sounds like a textbook Okinawan to Reborn. [2]

"I'm not even from anywhere near Okinawa. I'm-"

"Yes?"

Iemitsu shuts his mouth again and pointedly looks away. He is a very bad liar.

"..I'm from the Hokuriku region."

"What prefecture?"

"Nniii... Ishikawa?"

"Niigata? Ishikawa? Which is it? How do you not know what prefecture you're from?"

"How do you even know that much about Japan?!"

Reborn waves his minuscule arm to the whole of the Madreperla archives, in particular the section about Japan. In Japanese.

Iemitsu gives a grunt.

"It's an island. In Japan."

"There are over 400 inhabited island belonging to Japan, Sawada."

"And I'm from one of them."

It's a game they play sometimes. Reborn corners Iemitsu and drags him to the archives. Throws down a few atlases, some reference books, and demands to know where. It usually goes on until they forget whatever they had been talking about in the first place.

Iemitsu always ends it with something along the lines of you're not getting that money.

Like Reborn cares about the money. He's lived some 40-odd years. He contracts with Vongola, the biggest and strongest Family in the Cosa Nostra. Timoteo pays generously.

The Madreperla is every mafioso's dream. For some, to see the land that had enamored itself to Vongola Primu before he'd ever visited it. For others, to find what secrets the Vongola Primu might have left behind.

For Reborn, it is the memory of Luce, carving trovami[3] into the lining of an oyster shell while they dine by the Mainland coast, just weeks before they were cursed. It is the memory of asking why she did that.

It is the memory of her answer. That the mother-of-pearl is the answer, and it must be found, though she has no idea why.

(And then she proceeds to start a game of 'three shells and a pea' with all the empty oyster shells, and for all that Reborn is the World's Greatest Hitman, he can never win against her in a game of thimblerig. [4])

He wants to know what this answer is.

And Sawada Iemitsu has the answer and won't share.

. . .

Sawada Iemitsu kneels before the altar of Vongola's adjoining church, hands clasped in prayer. It's a rare show of solemnity.

"I thought you were Buddhist," Reborn chirps from nearby. "Or Shinto, or something."

"We have Christians in Japan too. Not as many on the island, though."

"Surprising. Considering Vongola Primu made the island his resting place, wouldn't there be more Catholics?"

"He-" Iemitsu's breath hitches. "-married into a Japanese family. He married into the Japanese custom. He was adopted. I.. don't suppose that makes any sense to you, signore?"

"I know what adoption entails."

"It's more than that though." The man- boy, still, he's barely 20, still a boy compared to Reborn -stands and sits on the frontmost pew. Reborn joins him. "Family history is important to us, to the Japanese. Adoption is.. it's more than joining a family, or taking on a name. By taking on the name, you take on everything else that comes with it. But you throw away everything else you had before."

Reborn is quiet. The air is warm and the walls still echo with morning Mass.

"This Primo, Giotto, when he married into the Sawada line, he stopped being.. Giotto. He stopped being Vongola Primo. He's just Sawada Ieyasu now. Whoever he was before, whatever family he had before, by Japanese custom he's considered to be severed from it all."

Iemitsu looks over. He didn't shave this morning, left two tufts of whiskers above the corners of his mouth.

"But because he's a Sawada, he's an islander. An Islander. He's one of our own, and we protect our own, even if they're dead."

"You said you hated the island. That's why you're here."

"I-" A crack in his voice. "I never said that. I love the island. The island is my home, I'd give my life for those people."

The words sound so methodical, so rehearsed, that Reborn almost thinks to check for Mist suggestion. But Iemitsu's eyes are clear. Clear.

Clear as a Sky on a Sunny day.

"..I hate the people who run it."

What a waste, Reborn thinks. He wouldn't be so bad as a boss.

It's too bad Iemitsu already has a Family. And he doesn't mean CEDEF.

"So, what were you praying for?"

"For guidance," the man says offhandedly. Maybe it's true. Maybe he just appreciates the change in subject. "..For an answer."

"Answer to what?"

"Whether I'm doing the right thing."

Reborn turns his eyes to the mosaic on the wall above the altar. Candles have been left to burn, leaving the sweet scent of beeswax and flickering light to throw the image of a shepherd and his lambs into relief. It's been well-kept since it was erected. Churches generally are.

"This is Vongola, Okinawan idiot." Reborn ignores the man's protesting noise. "As long as you do it for the Famigghia, you're good."

"I'm not Okinawan!"

"Could've fooled me."

He leaves the boy to his muttering and hops down from the pew. Enough playing. He's gotta see if Timoteo has any jobs to get him out of Italy for a while, away from this puzzlebox with no key.

Reborn is halfway to the door when he stops and turns around. Sprints back and executes a perfect Arcobaleno-powered dropkick to the back of Iemitsu's head.

"Ow! What the hell, signore—"

"When you say he married into the Sawada line..."

"Um.. Yes? My Sawada line. There's only one Sawada line on the island. Ieyasu's my ancestor?" Iemitsu rubs the back of his head, looking confused. And then- "Oh, fuck, forget I said that."

Reborn kicks him again and drags him over to Timoteo office by the collar of his shirt.

. . .

Timoteo looks like he doesn't know what to do with his favorite favorite hitman looking so smug. Also, the boy who is the new prospective successor for CEDEF sitting in front of him, forehead all lit up bright like Vongola's backyard on a summer night. A good one. The good one doesn't involve explosives.

The flame fizzles out after a bit- apparently Iemitsu can't keep it up for very long, which is all well and good. Except, now that Reborn actually knows what his flame feels like, he knows. Iemitsu's still oozing it out of practically very pore of his body.

"..Is something wrong, frati?"

"You can't feel it, Nonu?" Maybe it's a matter of not having the same Sky flames that Reborn feels it more than Timoteo does. "The boy is leaking flames."

"I'm not leaky." Iemitsu looks horrified at the very suggestion. Maybe he really isn't Okinawan. Maybe Osakan. "What do you mean I'm leaking flames? I'm perfectly fine."

"You-" Reborn pauses for a moment to think of a proper term that doesn't sound ridiculously flowery or praise-worthy. He makes a vague gesture with his hand instead. "..Glow."

Timoteo strokes his chin and gives Iemitsu another once-over. "..You're right, he does. Odd that I hadn't noticed before."

"What, my Aura?" Iemitsu shrugs his shoulders, lifting his arms like he's checking for body odor. "I've had that since I was 4."

Reborn looks at Timoteo with a well-masked expression of long-suffering.

"Where did you say you picked this kid up again, Nonu?"

"Zi Yar [5] says she found him scouting ruins in Northern Italy. She never could find out what he was doing."

"I was looking for stuff relating to Giotto- eh, Ieyasu. He had blond hair, right? I just followed the hair north until I saw blondes. You know I thought I blended in pretty well, I was pretty surprised when Zi Yar started interrogating me."

"Probably because you smell," Reborn snorts. "And you're an idiot. Giotto was Sicilian."

Iemitsu jerks. "I.. what? First you say I'm leaky, now I smell?"

Reborn catches Timoteo's eyes, but the elder shakes his head with a blank look. He turns back to Iemitsu.

"You smell clean, Osakan idiot. ("I'm not Osakan either!") You don't smell like Italy."

"I stayed in the South for a month before going North, there's no way I don't smell like Italy."

"He thinks stewing in an Italian gutter makes him smell like Italy," says Reborn in a muted grumble that makes Timoteo chuckle.

"You'll have to forgive him, Iemitsu. Reborn is a Sun user, as is Zi Yar. The Activation factor-"

"-Lets them activate their senses beyond normal limits," Iemitsu nods understandingly. "..so Zi Yar and signore can both tell the difference with something like that."

"Why do you call him signore, Iemitsu?"

"Well... he's, he's really old?"

Reborn delivers another flying dropkick to his head.

. . .

"I've never known you to turn down this many assignments, frati."

Reborn gives a bobbing nod from his position on the edge of Timoteo's desk. He's leafing through a pile of hit requests and suggestions, jobs that Reborn would normally have taken, if only for the sake of getting out of the mansion and doing something he's been doing for years.

"Observing the Sawada child is not a contract I've offered you."

"I'm aware of that, fratuzzu." Reborn drops the pile onto the desk, dusting off too small hands. "We're past the point of requiring compensation, aren't we? Then again, if I'm not compensated, I have no obligation to share my findings with you."

"Are you working for favors now, Reborn?"

"I could be."

"What shall we wager, then?"

"I find out as much as I can about the Madreperla from Sawada Iemitsu, and present to you any pertinent information that crops up, in particular regarding to the resting place of Vongola Primu."

Timoteo hums. Anything related to Primu is a good way to get his attention.

"And in return?"

"You try to stay alive for another decade until I can get this Arcobaleno thing sorted out."

"Another decade, frati? I'm old enough as it is."

"Probably the oldest capo to ever grace the history of Vongola, if not the whole of the Cosa Nostra." Reborn smirks. "But no other capo made a blood oath with the World's Greatest Hitman."

"You certainly haven't changed the slightest bit through the years."

"I wasn't around for the fallout with Mussolini. I was born this way."

"You do know I don't actually remember anything about his execution."

"You were 10 years old, fratuzzu." [6]

"I was 3. I'm sure you were 10 , though, frati."

"I wasn't born until the Po valley flooded 6 years later, and you know that."

"So I've been your fratuzzu all these years for nothing?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You've survived several of those assassination attempts because you're my fratuzzu."

Reborn doesn't have to see Timoteo's face to hear the humor, the fondness. The softness. Kindness.

Too kind, but not kind enough.

Cesare Mori's anti-mafia campaign had no mercy for the Cosa Nostra, not even one as clean as Vongola. Settimu had done well to keep them afloat during those few years, all things considered. So many had been taken. So many gone missing.

It's over now, though. The carabinieri [7] were disbanded and deported by the Germans. Mussolini is dead, as is the Iron Prefect.

(Pity. Reborn wanted to show the Fascist regime just how little they were.)

Ottavu and Timoteo had their hands full enough with the power vacuum that had come from so many Families and bosses fleeing the island. Fleeing the country. Fleeing the continent. At least some of them, like the Nuevo, still knew to keep in touch. Still knew who was best and strongest.

Vongola.

Reborn gets to his feet and pads over to where his old friend sits, hunched over paperwork. Gives him a pat on the arm with a hand too small for his age. "Another decade. Then we'll get one of your kids to take over. Tour Rome and Naples properly when I turn 60, see how bad Italy has gotten over the years."

"You'll finally tell me your real name."

Reborn laughs, and it sounds like childish giggling. "Don't count on it, fratuzzu."

. . .

The Island has a name. Of course it does.

It's named after an oyster. Or oysters in general.

Reborn knows this because Iemitsu brings a tub of thawing shellfish into the kitchen and starts up the fryer while he shucks and coats the things in bread crumbs.

"What are you doing," Reborn demands to know, because this is not what CEDEF apprentices are supposed to be doing. Does Zi Yar even know he's here? What's he even doing here? Outside Advisors belong outside. Not inside. Frying oysters.

"Kaki fry!" The grin on Iemitsu's face is dumb and makes Reborn want to smack it off. "A gift from, eh, my esteemed ruler. To yours."

"Your esteemed ruler."

"From our Guardian. And the Mayor of Kakishima."

"Kakishima."

"Yeah. That's the island I'm from."

"Is it, now."

There are no islands registered in Japan's database named Kakishima. Reborn is pretty sure of that.

"Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"Because I wasn't allowed to."

"And now you are?"

"A little."

Reborn figures that Iemitsu is circumventing the whole 'being a shitty liar' by being as succinct in his replies as possible. It's fine. Reborn is old. He has the patience of a saint.

(Reborn is not that old. Or that patient.)

Iemitsu throws a shell at him. Reborn catches it with a napkin.

"What's this for?"

"An answer, I guess?"

Frowning, Reborn turns the shell over. there doesn't seem to be anything special about it. Just your average sized Pacific oyster, Crassostrea gigas. The nacre on the inside of the shell is unremarkable, more white than glimmering, except-

except

Reborn extends his senses with a sharp intake of breath.

Except for that slight, slight sheen of purple, dancing over the inside surface. A duplicate? Copied?

"Are you trying to feed us propagated oysters, you Osakan idiot?"

"You know, I think I preferred Okinawan idiot. At least Okinawa's made of islands."

"The entirety of Japan is an island."

"Yeah, yeah. You want to eat any or not?"

Reborn lets the sound of breaded oysters being dunked into boiling oil fill the silence for a while. He's still reeling from this. This.

This is his answer?

"Where did you get these oysters from?"

"I told you, from home. That's what we do." Iemitsu is definitely familiar with the process of frying oysters. "We cultivate-"

"Propagate."

"-grow," the man growls, insistent. "We grow oysters. We raise them, we harvest them, we export them. Japan even puts aside part of the budget for our research funding."

"Your Oyster Island specializes in researching the cultivation of oysters? And it's supported by the Japanese government?"

"Well, we can't exactly study the effects of flames on actual humans, can we?"

Silence. Sizzle.

Iemitsu groans.

"Forget I said that."

Reborn does not. This Kakishima just gets more and more interesting.

..The oysters taste just fine, disappointingly enough.

. . .

"They're experimenting with flames on that island, Nonu."

"Mm."

"On oysters. They're propagating oysters and exporting them."

"Yes, frati, I heard you the first time."

Reborn makes a sound of frustration, pacing the floor of Timoteo's office in tiny little circles.

"It's.. probably like what they're doing down in Trapani, with the vineyards, but there's no way that island can have that sort of technology. There's no way they should even be aware of the Dying Will Flames."

"There is," Timoteo says, like he's telling Reborn where the tomatoes are in the pantry. Not that Timoteo knows where the tomatoes are. The Vongola pantry is like a damn maze. "There is, if Vongola Primu did indeed go to that island and live out the remainder of his life."

That makes him stop. Makes him look up at Timoteo, at the portrait of the Vongola Primu hanging on the wall behind the desk.

"You think he told them?"

Timoteo sets his reading spectacles down, folding his hands over them. Age is more becoming of a man than it is a woman, but his friend has never looked frailer. Settimu had retired by this time, hadn't he? Retired and kicked the bucket.

Ottavu made it to 57.

Timoteo is just pushing 54. 10 more years would be a miracle.

"Sawada Iemitsu says he has had his Aura since he was 4 years old. His island, apparently, researches flames by using them in the cultivation of oysters. I will hope, Reborn, that Vongola Primu was the catalyst for these people and their interest in the Dying Will Flames. At the very least, then, they would share in his values."

"Is that what your famed Intuition is telling you?"

"It's what my hope is telling me, frati. And I hope that it is true."

. . .

Timoteo says he sometimes dreams of a boy with flaxen hair, just like Giotto's. Flaxen hair and eyes of molten gold and amber. Burning, like the sky at sunrise and sunset, as day turns to night and night turns to day.

CEDEF has just finished investigating a leak. Zi Yar is holding down the fort this time and sends Clary, Iemitsu, to report in.

He hasn't visited a barber since arriving in Italy a year and half ago, and the golden glow of Timoteo's lamps cast an eerie light on the fluff of hair that has been growing out by the week. It's.. puffing up.

His eyes are too dark, too brown, but Timoteo stares nonetheless.

Iemitsu scratches the back of his neck and yawns, sleeplessness evident on his face and in the rumpled state of his suit. He looks up and blinks at the portrait of Giotto in Timoteo's office.

"...Hey, that's-"

Reborn kicks him in the head.

"Get a haircut and wash up, you uncouth yankee thug." [8]

This brat-

. . .

Iemitsu starts his day off with a cigarette and a cup of coffee.

Reborn knows this because, more than once, he walks into Vongola's mess hall to find the boy already seated at a far table, nursing a mug and an open pack. The kid's 21, almost. His fingertips aren't yellow yet, and nicotine doesn't hang around him like a cloak of death. Not like it does some of the Cosa Nostra. Teeth still white.

It looks civilized and sophisticated, but Reborn wants his fratuzzu to live longer than his predecessors did. They have a pipe every now and then after meals, and that's been their vice for years.

Timoteo takes his with espresso and aged grappa. [9] Reborn takes his espresso straight and as strong as his fortified infantile body can handle. He can't smoke as often anymore, so the espresso will have to work overtime.

Iemitsu looks like he's on his third cup, if the near empty pot next to him is anything to go by.

"CEDEF shouldn't be in the Vongola mansion this often, yankee thug. It defeats the purpose of outside advisory."

Reborn sips his espresso, listening to Iemitsu groan into the table where he's hunched over. The cup is drained but so is the boy. He should try a few cups of espresso instead.

"CEDEF has shit coffee."

Well. Okay. Reborn can sympathize with that. CEDEF doesn't have him, after all. Reborn is so picky about his coffee.

"Fine. Finish up and go, you're frightening the children."

"Children?" Iemitsu's head comes up and blinks blearily over the rest of the eerily empty mess hall. "..There's no one here."

"That's because they took one look at your doom and gloom aura and beat it out the door. You're aware that CEDEF is only supposed to show its face during times of crisis?"

"You're saying we're not in a state of constant crisis?"

Reborn lifts his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"The whole," Iemitsu gives a vague wave of his hand, "mani pulite thing going on in the Mainland. Myrrhis won't stop talking about it."

"That," Reborn says with a sip of his cup, "has nothing to do with us."

"It doesn't?"

"This is Sicily. We have the Cosa Nostra. What happens in Mainland politics is none of our business, so long as it doesn't interfere with us."

"...Vongola has no part in the Tangentopoli?" [10]

"Do you not understand what omertà means, yankee?"

Iemitsu says, with an absolute deadpan voice, "Of course not, I'm a yankee."

Reborn steals his coffee. It tastes like water and Iemitsu makes the sound of a dying man deprived of caffeine.

"Omertà means solidarity before authority. Means we do not consort with authorities. Means, we do not speak to authorities, and we do not cooperate with the authorities. Means there is no point in bribing politicians because we do not need them to do our work for us." He drains the last of the mug and prepares to bounce bullets off walls for the next three hours and visit the lavatory at least a dozen times. "If you want to become a politician, that's another matter. Do it in Sicily. But a yankee like you could never be a politician. Don't bother with the mani pulite. It's not our problem. Don't make it our problem."

"How would I ever make something like that our problem?"

"Make another pot of coffee."

"..Why?"

"So I can dump it on your yankee head."

Iemitsu abruptly stands and speedwalks out of the mess hall with his cigarettes, an expression of utter no thank you on his face.

With a sloshing belly full of cheap coffee water, Reborn all but waddles out of the mess hall himself. He has three hours before he has to pick up his new assignment to work on while he interrogates Sawada Iemitsu. It boring after a while when all he does is repeat the same things to no end.

Sometimes he wonders how a kid like that managed to get himself roped into the Cosa Nostra to begin with.

Ah, right. Vongola ancestor.

. . .

Reborn looks down at the photo from his pocket. It's another kid, his newest assignment. Younger than Iemitsu by at least 7 years, if Vongola's medical department is doing its job with the tests. There's no way to know for sure, of course, since the boy doesn't know himself how old he is. 10 years old, about, when they got him.

He said he remembered nights when the Cosa Nostra went against each other. Lots of men dying in their cars, in the streets. Government dogs, Corleonesi hitmen. Street rats crawling up to take what they could from their pockets and trunk before the police arrived.

Xanxus said he started joining in as soon as he learned to stop jumping whenever a gun went off. Apparently didn't take too long.

"Dunno how much o' that was me or mum, though," Xanxus admits, shrugging. His hair is ratty and greasy and falling apart and he has the eyes of one clinging to life. He doesn't seem to care. "She's not well in the head. S'fine though. She'll be fine, right?"

She will be. Timoteo has her sent to one of Vongola's affiliated medical facilities. She'll be treated and taken care of. Xanxus can even visit if he wants.

"Yeah. I'll visit. Stick m'self in a suit and see her when I'm cleaned up. Bet she'll be so proud."

There's a grim sort of happiness on the kid's face. A face that doesn't twitch at the sight of an infant in a suit and fedora.

"It ain't true though, is it? I known the guy said he was my... my dad. Dead in a ditch somewhere. One of the rats said we has the same eyes. You ain't my old man, are you?"

Reborn watches them from the front seat through the rearview mirror. The mother is asleep. Her arm is wound around the boy's waist, pressing him against her, as though to protect him from the man she claims is his father. She's wearing a pocket of feathers in her hair that looks out of place with the rest of their clothing.

They smell like the homeless, the poverty-stricken, poorly masked by Reborn's and Timoteo's cologne.

It smells like his childhood. Smells like Sicily. Like Italy.

"You are Sicilian, child," Timoteo says, laying a hand on his shoulder. The scarf must be warm around the boy's neck. It's made of cashmere, after all. "You are Family."

Family for 3 years now. Still can't hold a fork and knife properly.

Doesn't matter. As long he isn't throwing them at people.

"Ciaossu," Reborn announces, and fires a Chaos shot at the butter knife flying towards his head. It crumples into a molten mess at his feet. "Buongiorno, Xanxus. I'll be your new tutor starting today. Lesson number 1: cutlery remains in your hands, on your table, or in your food, not flying through the air."

"So it's fine if I stab you with it?" Comes the puberty-stricken growl at the other end of the dining table. His hair is doing better. Says he'll get something from his mum for it when he comes of age, so he wants it to look nice.

"Only if you can actually hit me."

"Tch. What's that thing on your head?"

"A chameleon."

"You didn't have it last time."

"Leon doesn't like you. Touch him and you're dead."

. . .

Leon likes Xanxus.

Or rather, Leon likes to hide in the patch of feathers now attached to Xanxus's hair. A gift from his madre.

Reborn does not like this. It makes Leon impossible to find, and Xanxus is too willing to play along with the chameleon's hide-and-seek antics.

. . .

"He's like, 80 years old."

"You're not fucking serious. He looks.. 2."

"I am fucking serious. He keeps ranting about Mussolini's dumb Fascist ideas."

Leon changes into a slipper and Reborn smacks them both on the back of the head. It's a slipper. It doesn't hurt much, but they bend forward and rub at the sting anyway.

"I happen to be a fine upstanding Italian nationalist, gentlemen. Gentleman and yankee." He gives a pointed look at Iemitsu, who chokes. Xanxus lifts his eyebrows. "I do not, however, condone the Fascist totalitarianism regime trying to dictate what happens in my Sicily."

"But we're mafia?"

"So?" Xanxus and Reborn say at the same time. Now it's Reborn's turn to lift his thin baby eyebrows at the other kid, who seems to have latched on pretty easily to the family business, despite having nothing to do with it. "Listen up, trash, we're Cosa Nostra. We're Sicilian. Sicilians are family. We take fucking care of each other. We don't need that foreign trash, whatsit-"

"Germania." Good. The boy's paying attention in his lessons.

"-Yeah, Germany, we don't need them and the fucking Nazista telling us what to do with our own people."

Iemitsu blinks. "That's the most words I've ever heard you speak, Xanxus. To me, no less."

"I'm fucking Jewish, okay? I have opinions. Shut your mouth before I find a menorah to shove in it."

Iemitsu covers his mouth. Xanxus shoves half a cut of steak into his own and chews vigorously with the most murderous glare Reborn has ever seen on a quasi-14 year old.

"Did you know he was Jewish?" Iemitsu hisses out the side of his mouth in Reborn's direction. It's an awful attempt at a stage whisper.

"Don't be rude," Reborn says instead, and smacks him with the slipper again, this time on the arm. He did not know, and it doesn't matter. "And for your information, I'm only 46. I wasn't alive for Mussolini."

Iemitsu drops his hand to say, "Then why are you so pissy about him-"

"Don't be fucking rude, half-blood yankee," Xanxus snarls through a mouthful of meat, brandishing his fork like he's going to stab Iemitsu in the eyes. "What are you doing in the mansion anyway, you're CEDEF. Get back to the Mainland."

"Yeah, yankee," Reborn quips before Iemitsu can even sputter indignantly. "Get back to the Mainland."

Iemitsu sputters indignantly.

. . .

Iemitsu returns to Mainland Italy.

Iemitsu leaves Mainland Italy. He leaves Italy altogether, actually.

Reborn hears about his flight to Japan and curses. A wasted chance to learn more about the Madreperla.

Iemitsu returns with a beaming smile and a photo that CEDEF has seen enough of and has decided to shove the kid at Vongola for a while. Apparently he decides that interrupting Xanxus' lessons is a good idea. Xanxus is surprisingly okay with this.

"I got a girlfriend! Look at her, isn't she sweet? Oh, my dear darling Nana, she's so lovely."

Xanxus squints at the photo. "She looks like a mouse."

"She's my little mouse. Stay away from her."

"Why would I want to go anywhere near her."

"Are you saying she's repulsive? You wretch!"

"I'm saying I'm not interested. Christ, stop acting like she's Madonna or something."

"She's the Madonna of my life. Whatever that means."

"Is she even legal?"

"She's turning 18! Next year."

"..And you are..."

"22."

Xanxus stares at Iemitsu for an eerily long time. Even Reborn is impressed. No one manages to keep eye-contact with Iemitsu for very long. He looks too dumb, with his dumb tufty mustache and scraggly beard.

Oh yeah, and Xanxus always looks terrifying too. Iemitsu's pretty good to not look away from that.

"...Tch," he says, and goes back to trying to decipher a textbook. "Don't knock her up and leave her before she's 20, yankee scum."

"I would never."

. . .

Reborn is never around when Timoteo's blood-sons drop by to visit Xanxus. Their little baby brother. Their most precious, most valuable, most delightful baby brother.

He stays once, once, to enjoy the rare sight of Xanxus turning red and being fawned over and babied and gifted with clothes worth more than all the money he'd ever stolen in his life. Like he's 4 instead of 14.

Then he has to book it because Enrico is here now and is greeting Xanxus with kisses on his cheek and the boy is freaking out and throwing a red-faced fit and Reborn can't keep from cackling. He's pretty Xanxus' anger it isn't actually all anger.

Well. A little private family time trumps tutoring lessons any day. Family is important, after all.

. . .

"I," Xanxus starts in a snarl, "am not going to some fucking- high school. What the hell? School?"

"You're going to school, Xanxus. Nonu's orders. It's just for three years."

"Tch. You're kicking me out too? Figures. Just like the rest of them."

Reborn squints and hops from the windowsill to the table, balancing on top of a pile of books. "Xanxus-"

"You know why you got landed with me? Because those other fucking tutors wouldn't deal with low born street rats-"

Reborn smacks him with a slipper. "Don't interrupt me."

It's not the first time Reborn has struck Xanxus, not least of all with something as silly-looking as a slipper. Even if it is just Leon. But he never fails to look startled about it.

"I don't bother with low born street rats. That's why I'm tutoring you."

Xanxus' face does something Reborn has never seen before.

"You are Family, Xanxus. You are Vongola. Vongola stands together, above all." The slipper turns back into Leon and Reborn lets the chameleon crawl up into Xanxus' feathers again. "Your tutors might disparage your upbringing and origins, but if they're worth even half their weight in salt, they'll stand with you when the time comes."

Ah. There's an expression he knows. Upset. Anger. Confusion.

"Don't forget, you have to do the same for them too."

And there's that slight tinge of disgust and revulsion.

"That's what it means to be Family, Xanxus. They have your back, but you have to have theirs as well. It's give and take."

The scowl deepens, but the furrows in Xanxus' brow are no longer there. "..So what am I going to school for?"

"You're going to school because your only friends right now are the yankee, the butler, and apparently a maid named Alessa. I'm sure you don't want to die with that paltry entourage at your funeral."

Xanxus visibly shudders. "That's gross, I'm not friends with any of those people."

"Alessa brings you a mug of warm milk every night. With turmeric."

"Tch. It's a luxury none of you will understand."

"I do understand." Reborn levels a stare at the boy from his perch, daring him to say otherwise. He's turning 50 in a few years and still has milk every night. He understands. "So go to school. Find some other kids who understand. Make connections. Make friends. You'll need them later in life."

Xanxus grunts. Reborn takes this as a 'sì, signore'.

"..Will they teach about flames there?"

"Don't know. Probably not."

"Then, when do I get to learn how to use mine?"

"Ask your father. That's something that fratuzzu of mine has to decide for you."

"Tch." Again Xanxus goes quiet. Goes back to his.. books. The boy is certainly learning quickly, for having missed at least 4 years of educational development. He knows a hell of a lot of curse words, though. "Why do you call him fratuzzu, anyway? I thought he was the older one."

"I joined the Underworld when I was 14. He didn't inherit Vongola until 3 years later."

"That's what you're basing it off of? Wasn't he fucking born into the Underworld?"

"That's not how Initiation works. Get back to work or you won't get dinner."

"Slave driver."

. . .

Reborn gets a bit of a break while Xanxus is at school. He observes, sometimes, as is this duty as a tutor. Other times he takes small jobs from Timoteo to pass the time. A hit there, a hit here. Interrogate Iemitsu again next week.

Academies like this one like to imitate the real Underworld. They peddle snacks and booze and knives instead of drugs and guns. Form cliques and gangs instead of Families. Make friends instead of alliances. (Although some do both.)

The teachers are Cosa Nostra, but a pseudo-omertà is observed. Don't involve the authorities, the teachers, except as a last resort. It wouldn't do the teach children not to rely on adults they should be able to trust.

Xanxus comes home one day with a split lip and a black eye and blood on his clothes. A peacock follows him.

No, a person. A boy. With vivid green streaks in his hair. And what looks like peacock feathers. He's got bruises too and seems to be nursing an injury in his side as well as his nose.

Timoteo is always busy, and Reborn just so happens to not be.

"Took you this long to get into a fight, Xanxus? I'm almost disappointed."

"Tch. I've been beating up trash left and right since I got in there," Xanxus growls, marching past Reborn where he's perched on the courtyard statue. "Just a bit more violent this time."

"He fought for my honor," the other boy says nasally, laughing. "It was so manly."

"Like fuck I did, I threw him down because he was a fucking stronzo. Tch!"

Xanxus kicks the front door open with a bang and stomps in, shouting at them to hurry up and follow, scowling and snarling all the way. Reborn has never seen him that upset before.

He follows, too. He wants to know what's going on.

"Your nose is broken, isn't it?"

"It's healing, bamminu Thank you for worrying! But I'll be fine. I heal pretty quickly."

A Sun user. Clearly the boy doesn't think Reborn knows anything, or he wouldn't be admitting something like that and using the flames right in front of him. Or he realizes that he's stepped onto the Vongola Compound and is safe here.

Xanxus leads them to a guest bathroom and drags towels out of the cabinets to dump on the boy, Lussuria. Reborn perches on the sink, watching Xanxus fumble with the first aid kit. Why isn't he calling for a maid or taking them to the infirmary?

"What happened, Xanxus?"

"Fucking trash doesn't know how to mind his own business. Rude 'n nosy 'n just, fuck, I shoulda beat him in some more. Tear him a new lung next time, the fucking goatherd."

"Goatherding is an honorable profession."

Xanxus curses again.

Reborn doesn't think he'll be getting anything coherent out of that particular mouth for a while, so he turns to the boy instead. Lussuria.

Lussuria smiles.

"He called me pretty."

"I said his feathers were nice."

"He said they matched my hair~"

"I said they looked like they'd been dipped in acid and I wanted to know where he got them from."

Why would you want feathers dipped in acid, Reborn doesn't ask.

"Then that fucking-" and then Xanxus says some words that make even Reborn's eyebrows shoot up. Good thing Timoteo isn't here to hear this. Lussuria sighs dreamily. "-asswipe of a cazzu [18] jumps in and I swear Lussuria if you do not stay still I will fucking break your nose myself."

Lussuria is trying not to laugh while Xanxus dabs at the few cuts on his face with a cotton soaked in antiseptic. Tries to. Hisses whenever the other boy leans away.

"Di Lenti's youngest, what was his name-"

"Fredo."

"Ah, yes. Fredo di Lenti. He comes up to us while Xan is admiring my adornments, and he says- oh, what was it. What's this?" Lussuria growls out in a tone too deep and gravelly and full of a hate that Reborn knows far too well. "A couple of aricchiuni sharing fashion tips? Get lost, this ain't a whorehouse for girls. I was so mad. I was so upset!" [11]

"Luss tried to claw his eyes out."

Reborn has never heard Xanxus sound so proud, either. Lussuria's fingertips are stained dark red, but Reborn had honestly figured it was nail polish.

"And you, Xanxus? What did you do?"

Xanxus snorts. Then makes a face, leans over the sink, and presses down on one nostril to expel a clot of blood from the other.

"Street rat standard's what I did. Break his leg and make sure he can't breathe right for a few weeks. Fucking scum weren't so bad."

Reborn nods and makes a sound of approval. "Your accent is showing, street rat."

"Like I give a shit, old man."

"Any reason why you haven't called for Ciro yet? He's good with broken noses."

Xanxus lets out a grunt. "I'll take care of my own. And Luss heals."

The beginnings of a flock, Reborn can see. He's growing well.

It's too bad he'll never inherit the rings, though. Pity, that.

"..Where's the nearest eye doctor, Reborn?"

"An optometrist? What for?"

"Luss is nearsighted. Broke his fucking glasses when they socked his nose."

"We'll get Ciro on it. What's his prescription?"

"4-point— wait, Reborn? That Reborn?" Lussuria startles and scrambles backwards. "What's he doing here? Where am I, Xan, where did you take me?!"

"Relax, fucking cassowary[12]." Reborn barely stifles the strangled laughter in his childish throat. Xanxus clucks his tongue impatiently. "I told you we were going to my place."

"Your place is a mansion? With the World's Greatest Hitman?"

"We're in the Vongola Compound. Stay still!"

"Pleasure to meet you, Lussuria. I'm Xanxus' home tutor."

. . .

Xanxus collects more people. Friends. Allies. Children with Cosa Nostra for parents.

He's rough around the edges, flashes his flames whenever necessary (which is apparently always, according to him), and dominates the academy through sheer force of will and being associated with the Vongola. It works well enough.

"We're the best and strongest," he says to his rag tag group, in an echoing imitation of Reborn's own lectures. "We're the fucking pride and glory of Sicily."

He has 3 out of 6. Two from his little academy regime, one that apparently found him at an allied house party of all places. The kid's a damn murderhouse and keeps attracting all these murderhouselings.

Lussuria, the Mortician's... boy. Or girl. Depending on the day. Mostly boy. He's got a wallet whose contents belongs in Sicily and a fashion sense that belongs on a runway in Milan.

Leviathan from somewhere down in Syracuse where they play with petrochemicals and power plants. He hit puberty early and already towers over the rest of the group. Seems that Xanxus has made him less anxious about that fact.

Superbi Squalo, which, the less said about him the better, to be honest, and not because of the obvious reasons. Xanxus and his damn street rat luck.

Reborn has to wonder how Enrico is coming along. If the brothers have noticed that Xanxus seems to be collecting his set far quicker than they are, and they've had years. But Massimo has his own family to worry about, and Federico is still trying to court everything with two legs and a bit of attractiveness.

Well. It's fine. Timoteo will still be good for a few years yet. Enrico better get his set by the time Reborn is ready for his tour of the countryside.

Speaking of which—

. . .

—Iemitsu gets married. To that girlfriend of his. Little Nana whose last name is apparently Leveque, and if that isn't French, Reborn will turn in his certification for fluency in the language. A Frenchwoman, in Japan? On an island that they still don't know the location of?

He spawns a brat, too. Names him something in Japanese, at least.

(Tokugawa Shogunate, though? What the fuck, Iemitsu. What the fuck, Sawadas.)

. . .

"Does he never stop talking about them," Xanxus hisses, stalking into the rear garden to get away from Iemitsu's babbling and cooing over a single photo of his family, once again booted here from the Mainland until he settles down from his latest visit. "Fucking swear they'll get offed one day if he keeps this up."

Reborn laughs. Like, actually laughs. Because oh, right, Xanxus doesn't know yet.

"That's if they can find his family."

"It's Japan. Not much bigger than Italy if you ask the right people."

"Sawada Iemitsu hails from an island he calls Kakishima. It does not show up on any published map or on satellite photos. Vongola has been trying to find it for a little over a century now. The whole of the Cosa Nostra have been trying to find it."

"..What."

"Haven't you heard of the Madreperla, Xanxus?"

Xanxus has not. Reborn introduces him to the infuriating topic that is the Mother of Pearl, Primu's missing legacy, and the twice-damned Cloud propagated oysters that Iemitsu claims are certifiably organic. Because Dying Will Flames are so very organic.

. . .

"I'm not so sure I want him anywhere near the Vongola, frati."

Xanxus is almost 19 now. Graduated from his academy with passing enough marks and leaving the social hierarchy in shambles with a power vacuum and no discernible successor for his regime. Probably did it on purpose, too. Good kid. But it's a bad habit.

They're having combat training now in Vongola's garden. Timoteo reluctantly agreed to assign them some trainers, if only so they wouldn't hurt themselves trying to accomplish it on their own. They plan to join the Varia once their youngest is out of school.

Superbi shows an aptitude for strategy, as does Lussuria. They're fighting over the second-in-command position in battles of both wit and body.

They're vicious about it, too. Superbi doesn't go down easily, and the Mortician's boy is just like his mother. An unwavering passion for all things cold, stiff, and corpse-like. And in Lussuria's case, an uncanny desire and talent in getting thing into that state of being cold, stiff, and corpse-like.

"I don't think you'll be able to keep him out of it. You could appeal to Tyr. Tell him not to accept them."

"I could." Timoteo sighs, looking more and more worn. Reborn still hasn't made any progress in the matter of the Madreperla, or his so-called Answer. "I wanted him to live a normal life. Free of his rage. He would never be able to inherit, to begin with."

"Are you sure of that? In all the history of the Vongola, no one outside the family has tried to claim the title?"

"We are the Vongola, frati. It's been done this way for so long.. Even Ricardo was related to Giotto, was he not?"

"Some distant cousin, last I heard."

Timoteo chuckles. "Well, there's a precedent for it. We could try."

"The problem is how distant is too distant? By scientific logic we're all related, one way or another. If you believe in such things, anyway."

"I'm a Christian man, Reborn. I believe we are all from Adam and Eve, which is essentially the same thing."

The boy is a man now, or nearly so. Reborn only feels that much older.

"You're turning 60 this year, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am, frati."

"We're running out of time." His smile drops. It was never up to begin with. "Both of us."

Outside, the sound of Xanxus' barked orders ring loudly. He seems to have replaced most of his profanities with scum or trash. It's a little unsettling.

We are the best and strongest, Reborn remembers. We, the Vongola. We, the Cosa Nostra. We are the pride and glory of Sicily.

Primu, trying to protect all of this island with his fledgling group.

"Oh, I don't know.. I think I could go on for another 10 years if I had to."

"You don't have to. You can step down now if you need to. If you want to."

"None of them have their full set of Guardians yet. Enrico is almost there.. He's been so busy taking over my position in the Cupola[13] and meeting with our allies. I could retire now and nothing would change much. But we're not exactly the standard Cosa Nostra family, either. Enrico needs his Guardians."

"And Massimo is more or less settled," Reborn adds in agreement. "He didn't go far with his collecting. Just enough to gain a few close friends. His Rain is getting married next year, did you know? Maribel."

"Yes, yes. I wonder if we will be invited."

"We are the Vongola, fratuzzu," Reborn says with a smirk. "It'd be foolish not to invite us."

Timoteo laughs. Because, Italian weddings. Because Spanish-Italian weddings.

"I will have a word with Zi Yar. To settle the matter of the inheritance."

. . .

Zi Yar is dead.

Sawada Iemitsu meets them instead.

. . .

It's surprising how quickly the tables can turn. How easily things fall apart.

. . .

Sawada Iemitsu looks tired.

"It was after I came back from Japan. Zi Yar said the Camorra were getting hit hard. The Alfieri were going nuts for years- I know avenging your people is a thing we do, but it started in the 50s and it's been dragging out for so long. The Alfieri head himself went pentito [14] about 10 years back."

"I was there for that," Reborn scoffs. Heathens. "'O 'ntufato. Evidently not angry enough." [15]

"We went up to Campania to scout it out. The Camorra has never been a problem for us, but we wanted to make sure our Basilicatan interests weren't at risk with the list of politicians he ratted out. I swear that Fiat plant is getting to be more trouble than it's worth."

"I never much liked Fiats," Timoteo mutters. Reborn swats at his arm. Heathen. "But we need the gulf, so we need Basilicata."

"It's not in any trouble. Alfieri gave up Antonio Gava and maybe a dozen others, but no one we've been dealing with. But-"

Iemitsu pulls on his cigarette, shaky. It's not like him. It's only been 8 years.

8 years is a long time, though, but it can't be long enough to be attached to his superiors. Not Zi Yar, who practically personifies the ideal of professional relationships.

Personified.

"The Camorra went after Alfieri's kids. They're grown now- didn't even know he had kids. It.. it was a car bomb. Wrong place, wrong time. We let our guard down."

There's bandages peeking above the collar of his shirt. First or second degree burns, no doubt. Shrapnel. He's limping.

Probably never seen anyone fall to a car bomb, then.

"I'm glad my kid doesn't have to see me like this."

He has the CEDEF badge pinned to the lapel of his suit. There won't be a funeral, because Zi Yar has no family in Italy. Few of the CEDEF do, actually.

(Funny how that works out.)

Something's wrong, though. Something Reborn can't quite put his finger on.

"Nonu... You know I have a son. Have you seen him?" It's entirely the wrong time and place for this, but Iemitsu slides the photo over. It's more recent than his previous one where Tsunayoshi had been an infant. Tsunayoshi looks- "He's 2 now."

He looks like a miniature version of Giotto. With a darker tuft of hair, a darker pair of eyes, a lighter shade of skin. Genetics are so weird.

If Reborn looks a little closer, he can see... something. Something else. Something in those eyes.

"Our Guardian wants him for something. Something to do with flames, something to do with- I can't say, right now, I can't-"

He stops talking rather suddenly, and with a shuddering breath.

Reborn hops over and tips his fedora back to more easily look into the eyes on Iemitsu's scrunched face. The telltale haze and glaze is missing from the surface, but something stirs underneath. Deep inside. Maybe that's what he's seeing in the child's eyes.

"Mist conditioning... I figured as much. Whoever did this is an expert."

He snaps his fingers a few times, sends a wave of Sun flames to Activate some already present mental defenses. It works, and Iemitsu shakes the haze away. Too susceptible. That's a bad thing for one of Vongola's to be.

Unless his Island is stewing in it. In which case, still bad.

Goddammit, Kakishima.

"Nonu, there- there are archives on the island. Primo's works and writings." Timoteo leans forward, interest piqued. "They're- they were, they were sealed away. Guardian doesn't know about them. I've read some of them, there's.. there's supposed to be a way to seal the Dying Will Flames."

Reborn is the one who startles.

"What-"

"I can get you the archives. Guardian doesn't know they exist, and I won't be suspected of having or taking them. Just ordinary documents in my ordinary briefcase. Please, Nonu... Please keep my son out of this world. Out of the Cosa Nostra, out of anything to do with Flames."

"You want to seal your son's flames?" Reborn again. Go figure.

"He doesn't have them yet! He won't have them for years yet, I didn't show mine until I was 4. My father got his when he was 6, I think grandma got hers at 8-"

"Your grandmother?"

"Yes, okay?My grandmother. What about it?"

What about patrilineal lines? Why is Japan so weird? Why is Kakishima so weird?

..Well. Vongola did have Ottavu. And not through a lack of other candidates, either.

"The point is there's still a few years before Tsuna should exhibit any flames. They won't even test him for it until he's 6-" What. "-so if.. if possible, Nonu.."

Timoteo has been quiet until now. Reborn doesn't blame him for it.

"..You are assuming I know how to use the Zero Point Breakthrough, Iemitsu."

Iemitsu's face is grave. "The fact that you know its name is proof enough."

"It was never meant to be used to seal only the flames. You are aware of that, yes?"

"Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. I don't know as much about the Flames as I'd like to admit."

"And you think that I do?"

"You have age. Experience. Scientists. If you don't know, you can find out."

Memories of an oyster shell flit through Reborn's mind. Turned over, glazed with the essence of Cloud. Another one had Sun, and another, Lightning. Some had more than one. Others had all three.

What kind of island must it be to do something like this, that its own citizen would not go to it for help?

He thinks of the vineyards in Trapani, the wineries, the fortified brews. Aged in solid oak caskets, untouched for years. Flames used to speed up fermentation, to alter flavor, to get rid of impurities. Wine, bottled and shipped mostly within Italy, effects monitored through careful network hacking and medical database monitoring.

(Timoteo's wife has cancer. He wants to cure it, and Italians just love wine.)

Ah. That kind of island.

Surely Timoteo can understand that kind of desperation.

But will he help?

"...What sort of plan did you have in mind, Iemitsu?"

Reborn sighs and settles down. All this babysitting and meeting-mongering. He'll lose his edge as the World's Greatest Hitman at this rate.

. . .

Iemitsu returns to the Mainland. Timoteo decides to attend the next upcoming Commissione.

The other capi aren't amused to see the Vongola Nonu finally attending a meeting rather than sending his heir in.

Reborn isn't allowed in, though. Never has been, to his chagrin. Capi and right hands only. Coyote better do a damn good job making sure Timoteo doesn't get hurt in there.

Well. It's all good. Reborn doesn't want to get that deep into Cosa Nostra politics anyway. He's a hitman, and he's happy to remain as such.

"They still talking about the Provenzano thing in there?"

"Mm."

Still babysitting though.

"Fucking indecisive shits." Xanxus scoffs and kicks the back of another chair. He slouches lower in his own, hangs digging into his pockets in a position that cannot be comfortable. Masterful flexibility, that one. "Just knock him dead and get it over with."

"Xanxus, the Cupola is leaning heavily towards Provenzano's proposal," Enrico sighs. He's been sidelined to the waiting rooms now that the actual boss is attending his own meetings. "We can't just kill him."

"The fuck we can't! First they blow up Italy like fucking idiots, and now they want peaceful negotiation and working with the authorities- that's not fucking omertà! The Corleonesi crossed the line fucking years ago and you know it. I say we fuck 'im up and tell them and the government asses to back the fuck down again. Loudly. Who gives a fuck what the Cupola thinks, we own the Cosa Nostra."

Enrico gives Reborn a long-suffering sigh and look. "Reborn, what have you been teaching him?"

Reborn shrugs. "Only things he needs to know."

"That's not stuff he needs to know! That's Cosa Nostra. Xanxus doesn't need to know about the family business."

"Why not?" Xanxus snarls. "Why don't I gotta know about it? Just because you're the heir doesn't mean you're always gonna be around. Something happens to you or Massimo or Federico, I gotta be ready. My Guardian set's even as complete as yours is."

Enrico raises his head, silent and gaping. Reborn clucks his tongue. Someone tattled. Letting Xanxus know what was going on in the shadows of Sicily was one thing; but he was not supposed to know about Guardians or anything related to the other side of the Cosa Nostra at all.

"How do you.. no, first of all, being the heir has nothing to do with it. Second, Xanxus, you're not in line for inheritance, you don't have to worry about anything like that. You know father said-"

"What did he say? What did he fucking say?" Xanxus' hand slams onto the tabletop as he sits up, fury glowing in his eyes the way it did in his hands when they first picked him up. "What did he say, huh? Like I'd know what he fucking says ever! D'you know when's the last time I spoke with him? Do you?"

"I.."

"7 years ago! When he tells me this bamminu-" Xanxus jabs a finger in Reborn's direction. It takes willpower not to shoot it off on reflex. "-is going to tutor me. Can you fucking believe that? And now you wanna say he says something about me? What's he say, then?"

Enrico says nothing. Wide-eyed and shocked, no doubt. Reborn should've known better than to leave the issue between Xanxus and Timoteo alone.

"He doesn't want you getting involved in the family business, Xanxus," Reborn says for him. "It's already been settled with CEDEF. You're not in line for inheritance. You never will be, since you're not blood related, anyway."

"Who the fuck says I gotta be blood related to inherit?"

"Tradition says."

"Yeah? Well fuck tradition." Xanxus bounds to his feet decisively, striding towards the door. He's got a scowl on his face and teeth bared like a wild animal, and he kicks it open just as roughly. "Fuck tradition, fuck dad."

Enrico makes a sound. It's kind of a miffed, dying animal sound.

"Fuck the Corleonesi! E DIRE A PROVENZANO A VATTELA A PIJÀ 'N DER CULO, [16]" Xanxus all but screams down the hall where the meeting is being held. "LET THE FUCKING SBIRRO DIE WITH MAGGOTS IN HIS BLOOD." [17]

Reborn isn't sure how they managed to make it into the Varia with all this lack of discretion.

Ah, right. Tyr. Poor pitiful Tyr, losing to a child. Superbi was barely 17.

"That," Enrico finally wheezes, long after the door slams shut, a hand on his chest as though to still his beating heart. "That was... wasn't it?"

Reborn hums. He's so giddy. "He hasn't left Sicily even once, as far as I know."

Enrico screeches in horror.

"Which pile of cazzi has been teaching my little brother Romanesco profanities?!" [18]

. . .

Levi.

It's Levi. It's always Levi.

"Boss wanted to expand his vocabulary," is probably all they'll be receiving as an answer from Leviathan, who suffers Enrico's interrogation with a stiff upper lip. "I have contacts in Rome and Northern Italy."

"How do you have contacts in Northern Italy?" Enrico sputters. "Nobody has contacts in Northern Italy. There's nothing in Northern Italy!"

"I also have some along the Italia-Slovenija border-"

"You will not teach my little brother Sloveno vulgarities, do you hear me!"

Levi just stares back. All 187 centimeters[19] of him.

Impressive.

"He's almost 21, Enrico," Reborn says humorously nearby. He's only here for the entertainment, honestly. Timoteo's gone to work again, and the hit assignments are boring as hell. There's probably one for Provenzano in there somewhere that he's sure Xanxus would love to get his hands on. "You can't keep protecting him from the cruel reality of the world forever."

"Watch me."

. . .

Reborn's contract only stipulates being a home tutor for as long as Xanxus requires education.

Technically, that contract expires the moment Xanxus graduates from school and no longer has anything in the way of compulsory education. As if the Cosa Nostra actually cared about compulsory education.

Now, if Timoteo had specified that Reborn would be raising Xanxus to be his heir, then maybe Reborn would be where Xanxus is right now. Maybe Reborn would know where Xanxus is right now, what he's planning, what he's doing.

He doesn't know.

That's the whole point of a coup d'etat.

. . .

Reborn watches through the camera network. Security is trying to stop them, but the Varia's officers aren't Varia for nothing. They've even filled up a few more spaces of the Guardian set since Reborn saw them last. 2 years ago. All they need is a Cloud and some of the right blood in Xanxus and they'd be all set to go.

Funny how things work out.

They leave behind a trail of unconscious and pistol-whipped victims. No one dies, though some look terrified to death. Xanxus' orders, probably. If you watch their back, they'll watch yours.

Vongola stands united as one. Except when they don't.

The underground vaults is where Xanxus and Timoteo stand off. The boy has since gotten his hands on flame resistant pistols and empty flame-absorbing bullet casings. It's a dangerous combination that's been racking up repair costs in the mansion's halls, but at least the medical bills will be staying low. He hasn't shot anyone, yet.

Reborn's going to kill the fool who taught him how to use flames. Or didn't teach him, rather.

"Sicilian my ass, Famigghia my ass!" Reborn hears Xanxus snarl through the staticky security footage. "You never wanted me here! All you want is a rare little flame, a fucking pet to show off-"

Reborn puts the headset down and turns away.

Family time must always be private. His fratuzzu should be able to handle it.

. . .

Timoteo does not handle it. He does not handle it at all.

"Watch me," Enrico had said. He'd meant it, too, probably. He meant it.

Now he sits with his head in his hands, hunched over. His Guardians have been trying to call him for hours. Have been trying to get into the compound for days. Massimo and Federico are here too. Timoteo tells them the same thing he'll tell the Varia, later. Superbi, anyway. The shark will take it to the rest at his own discretion.

"Xanxus led a coup d'etat on the main house. He's in solitary confinement for now."

Solitary confinement my ass.

"What about the Varia?" Federico asks tiredly. "Why aren't they locked up too? I bet they put him up to it. Especially that Squalo bastard, that son of a sbirro-"

Reborn walks away from the door. Walks far, far away, until even his Sun-activated senses can't hear them. Family time is private. Family is important.

He comes back later once the clamor dies down. Federico is in tears and Massimo looks close to it. Xanxus wouldn't do this. He wouldn't, he wouldn't and you know it, padre.

Enrico herds them out.

Reborn goes in and is left the silence of infinite noise, the kind that comes right before sleep, when the walls sing and scream and he imagines he can hear the words of Jesus to his disciples.

It's stifling.

"...7 years, he said," says Reborn, fiddling with Leon's tail. The chameleon is looking for feathers. Maybe he'll let it go with Lussuria for a while. "9 years now since you last spoke to him."

"He's exaggerating."

"Is he?" Was he? "7 years ago he asked me if he would be learning how to use his Flames at the school you sent him to. 7 years ago, I told him to ask his father."

Reborn looks up.

"That's you, Nonu. What did you tell him?"

"He... he never asked me. As he said, we haven't spoken in.. 9 years, now."

"You're his father, Timoteo. You adopted him, or did you forget that? You called him family and then never game him the time of day?"

"He had you, frati."

"I'm not his father." Reborn needs to commission R&D for something to change his voice. He can't get properly angry like this, as an Italian man should. "I'm a 54 year old man trapped in an eternally 2 year old body. I am nobody's father."

"I know." Timoteo's head drops into his hands, but Reborn isn't finished.

"You took him in, do you understand? Do you know what that means to a kid on the streets, to a rat that no one else looked at? Someone who only has his mother, to have someone he can call papà, do you understand, Timoteo? You gave him something. You gave him family. You gave him something more to come home to."

Francs[20] jingling in his pockets. Too young to accept his own contracts so he works through a handler. The handler takes everything. Says a brat doesn't need that much money.

(Kill him one day.)

Bring it back home to mamma. To an ailing papà. Then just an ailing mamma. Then no one.

"Don't treat him like he's nothing."

Lie.

'My padre was military. I can use a gun. Send me some trash to clean up.'

Lie. Lie through his teeth. Make it through the day.

His first kill was warm, it was blood on his hands. It put him on the radar of Vongola's youngest.

Something to come home to.

"He was my son," Timoteo says finally, hushed, into his hands. "He was my son and I should have raised him better."

"But you didn't. You didn't raise him at all. You let him bask in his new life and enjoy it and love it but you didn't raise him. The butler raised him. Alessa the maid raised him. Enrico and Massimo and Federico raised him, but they can't be here all the time. Everyone who worshiped his strength and everyone who hated his low born upbringing raised him. And you left him to them."

"He was strong. You saw him, Reborn, he grew up so strong."

"I was there, fratuzzu. I saw him. He was 13."

"You were-"

"I had my mother. I had my father, short lived as they both were. I had a gun in my hand and a pile of contracts I took off my dead handler. I had you, even if you picked Nie Brow's kid in the end. That was all I needed."

Vulnerable. That's what he understands. That's why he understands. The luxury of having someone to prepare warm milk and spice it with turmeric when he can't sleep.

Reborn stuffs too small hands into too small pockets.

"I want to see him."

Timoteo looks up, distraught but steely. "You can't."

His lip curls. It looks a little silly on a child's face, probably, but Reborn doesn't care. "Fuck off, 'Teo. You practically signed the birth certificate over when you put him in my care. The contract is still valid, because no student of mine should be stupid enough to pull off a coup. He's still mine and I want to see him."

The tension in the air rises. They stare at each other for a while, too long. Reborn may have known him for over 40 years but Timoteo is a Sky and a damn strong one. Had to be, to rope him in from the sidelines. Sometimes Reborn forgets. Timoteo's gotten soft.

Soft and cruel.

Timoteo sighs and gets to his feet, finally relenting. Of course he does. Reborn is the World's Greatest Hitman. "..I'd been wondering who he was learning to be so vulgar from."

Reborn snorts and hops down from the table to follow.

"Wasn't me. I don't teach my kids Romanesco bullshit."

. . .

He looks so peaceful in there.

Can't be, though. It's gotta hurt. The Zero Point Breakthrough can't possibly be such a painless process.

"Is he safe in there?"

"From what in the archives Iemitsu brought back, he should be. If I've done it properly."

"You don't even know?"

"I've never had to use it on a living being before."

And you decided your son would be the first test subject.

Reborn takes out his customized pistol and fires a Chaos shot at a corner of the ice. It goes through, but there's no bullet hole left behind. In fact, he thinks the ice-like substance actually expands just a little bit, right where he'd shot it.

A regular bullet just melts against the surface and falls down, squashed flat.

"I guess he's safe. Short of a battering ram thrown by Lussuria. Or Levi." Protective bastards. How did Xanxus ever get loyalty that good and warped? Must be the rage. Something to muse on later. Dual flame properties and their effects on the human psyche. "Fine. Lock him up again."

"No tearful words of farewell? No more vulgar insults for your dear old friend?"

"Don't be stupid, 'Teo, I still think this is the worst thing you've ever done. I ought to strangle that yankee idiot for even bringing up the Zero Point Breakthrough in the first place. If you did this thing right- and I stress if, this is really all on you, you know that, right?"

"I'm aware, frati. I only need what's in front of me right now to remind me."

"If he's in perfect stasis in there, then he'll be fine. I'm going to take that hit assignment for Provenzano that I know you have sitting on your desk somewhere and he's going to be fine."

"There's no need for that," Timoteo says in a heavy hum.

He makes a gesture with his hand. Ganauche's flames crackle as he lifts the board up to hide Xanxus' frozen form and seals it in place. Boxes him up like a china doll. All the Guardians know about it, but only Ganauche is needed to open or close the box. Wouldn't be safe to have them all here, anyway, lest they accidentally melt the ice.

Ganauche works quickly. Grimly.

"Why not?"

"Oh, I had plans to take Provenzano's proposal and throw it back in his face once I return from Japan."

"Japan?" Reborn falls into step behind Timoteo, trotting to keep up. It's his normal pace anyway. Sun-activated. "Iemitsu?"

"He says it's time." Timoteo chuckles wryly, and Reborn somehow knows it's because of the one they're leaving behind in the cold darkness of the vaults. "Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

Yeah. Funny how it all works out.

"Tsunayoshi will not be pulled into this world. At least, not yet. Not right now. Enrico and Massimo are enough... Federico, if he can get away from his latest lover long enough. I'm sure he will, if I ask it of him. But we can't have the Cosa Nostra split before the Inheritance. They and the world seem to think Totò Riina was the capo di tutti capi." Timoteo shakes his head disbelievingly. "We can't have that misunderstanding go international, now that the world is watching. We can't be seen supporting the Corleonesi."

"Enrico thought you would."

"I had thought I would, too. Perhaps Xanxus has opened my eyes. Perhaps I have gone.. soft."

"You should have just told him that in the first place."

Instead of doing that.

"Yes," says his old friend, and his eyes are sad and soft. The heavy vault door shuts behind them. "I should have talked to him in the first place."

. . .

"Don Cavallone brought by an interesting assignment for you the other day, frati."

"I'm dying to hear it."

"His precious heir is attending the academy. He's heard about your work with Xanxus."

"My work. That's a riot."

Timoteo chuckles over the phone. "Don Cavallone is of the opinion that Xanxus turned out quite well, in the end. He was certainly impressed by the apparent knowledge he displayed, though I have to say I don't know what he was talking about."

"Of course not. You weren't there at that allied house party, you let Enrico go instead."

"The one where Xanxus found the little shark?"

"The one and only. From what I hear he had a hell of a time explaining in precise detail why Messina was, in his words, a shithole whose only usefulness is in being the easiest way to get to the fucking Mainland."

"And you're the one who taught him that?"

"I sent him to Messina for a few months, if that's what you mean."

"I may have been mistaken in entrusting him to you for so long, frati."

"Ah, fratuzzu, have you no faith in me? He did turn out alright. Half of Vongola was willing to follow Xanxus and back his inheritance."

"Yes. And the other half would follow myself or Enrico. And now, I must find a way to reunite the two, who think they are so different from each other. We are not so different after all."

"Took you long enough to realize it." Reborn checks his tie in the mirror. Impeccable, of course. But it's a special occasion. The Varia are in the next room over, throwing a ruckus as they get tailored up. "..It'll take Xanxus a while to realize it too."

"He'll have time. Just like I did. We are the Cosa Nostra, after all."

"That we are."

The Cosa Nostra does not forgive, and it does not forget. Except in death. Fear and terror is in their bones, and they wield them like sticks with carrots attached. Carrots called safety for our people, safety for that which is ours. Carrots called Sicily.

"Anything else, fratuzzu? I have to take the children to Siracusa."

"The children? Why Siracusa?"

"There's a rabbi trying to open a synagogue. Varia wants to take mum there. And to let her know her kid won't be able to come by for a while. I'm chaperoning. Also, mum is delightful."

"Ah. Sounds like a handful."

"It's the Varia. They did take out half of the mansion's security in the coup."

"That they did." If anything, Timoteo sounds fond of the rascals, as troublesome and loyal to Xanxus as they are. Not that the last one is a bad thing at all. "No, nothing else. I have a plane to catch to Japan, and a war to wage when I return."

"I'll be keeping Cavallone's brat out of trouble by then. He's too young for war, I suppose."

"Never too young. Never young enough."

"We'll see. Let me know if you need me to end your war for you. You know my number."

"Of course."

"And let me know when Xanxus is off of house arrest."

"Of course."

. . .

Reborn does not hear a peep about Xanxus until 8 years later.

. . .

Dino's old man is on his last legs. Dino himself has a healthy, if ill-conditioned, fear of Reborn and his slippers.

The Third Cosa Nostra War waged by the Vongola Famigghia and allies against the Corleonesi carved a bloody path through half of Sicily. Far more directly and merciful; being one of the few Sicilian Families to stock flame weapons and flame users, brutal and efficient killings were easily the norm in those few years. Not to mention Vongola had been keeping a very low profile for the past century. There's something to be said for surprise factor.

But let it never be said that the Vongola didn't know mercy. They also accepted anyone who surrendered, anyone who 'understood' what it meant to be Sicilian, to be Italian. To be Cosa Nostra.

(To be Vongola.)

Now, Sicily belongs to the Vongola. Sicily has always belonged to the Vongola.

(Somewhere in the world, Sawada Tsunayoshi has died, probably, and Iemitsu says his family is fine.)

And their first exchange in 8 years goes as thus:

"'Teo couldn't make it."

Xanxus doesn't even have the strength to cuss at him. Just sends the wall a withering look and makes strangling motions in the bedsheets with scarred hands. He's covered in scars now.

Reborn sympathizes. His own hands are too small to strangle anyone properly without a tool, though.

"And you could?"

"I'm a hitman. I have no responsibilities."

That doesn't even make sense, says Xanxus' face. Xanxus himself says nothing.

"The Corleonesi are done for." Reborn smirks smugly from the end of the bed when Xanxus looks over, wide-eyed and, for a moment, not as twitchy. "So is Provenzano. I hunted him down myself. Found him in a condo near the Sloveno border with a new name. Or rather, our contacts in Northern Italy found him. I took care of him after."

"..What contacts in Northern Italy. Nobody has contacts in Northern Italy. There's nothing in Northern Italy."

"Leviathan does." Curses spill and Reborn catches that fucking brat just as it occurs to him that- "So rest up. We've driven out most of the Corleonesi but there's still work to be done. You've got a bunch of kids waiting for you in the Varia. Though I guess they're older than you now."

Xanxus looks at his hands, thinner than Reborn ever remembers them being. No, that's not right- they're as thin as they were when he was picked up off the street, 12 years ago. 20, now. 20 years ago.

"I still feel.. what, 22?"

"You'll get used to it," Reborn shrugs. He knows the feeling. It had taken him a while to do the same. "But you still can't call me dad."

"Why the fuck would I even want to."

. . .

Time does, surely, fly. It waits for no one. Not even the Cosa Nostra.

..Well.

Maybe it does, for Vongola.

---

[1] from (we think) we're invincible, completely unbreakable;, written before this piece but is actually its sequel. agnelli di dio translates to 'lambs of god'. they were retrieval specialists who were sent to snatch up one yamamoto tsuyoshi, were caught in the act, and mislead to believe they had killed him and some other kids in the crossfire.
[2] reborn is just throwing stereotypes around and hoping something sticks. he is, of course, wrong. and rude. wrong and rude. old and wrong and rude.
[3] trovami: (italian) 'find me'
[4] three shells and a pea / thimblerig: both are names for that game/magic trick where you put a small item under a cup? and swap the cups around and then try to guess where the item is. also considered gambling.
[5] zi yar: (burmese) cumin
[6] frati: (sicilian) brother, as opposed to italian fratello. fratuzzu (corsican / sicilian?) as opposed to fratellino, for little brother.
[7] carabinieri: national military police of italy. some were part of cesare mori's campaign to purge sicily of the mafia.
[8] yankee: or to be more specific, yankii. a stereotype of delinquents in japan. in this case, reborn is focusing on iemitsu's blond hair (not bleached, but still unnatural for a japanese) and the fact that it's super unkempt, he's basically a mafia thug, and could you imagine iemitsu with a blond pompadour. I'm sure reborn probably does.
[9] grappa: an alcoholic beverage made from pomace leftover from the winemaking process. often served as an after-dinner drink.
[10] mani pulite: in the early 1990s, a nationwide judicial investigation was done into political corruption in italy. it was named mani pulite, or 'clean hands'. the corrupt system that was uncovered was termed tangentopoli, more or less translating to Bribesville.
[11] aricchiuni: (sicilian) gay, faggot. and because I forgot, stronzo: (italian / corsican) asshole,bamminu: (sicilian) little boy, baby.
[12] cassowaries are brutal. and also probably the reason why reborn Does Not Talk About Australia.
[13] the Sicilian Mafia Commissione, or Cupola. it is a body of leading cosa nostra members who meet to decide Important Matters and settle disputes within the sicilian mafia. like that group meeting in the godfather. they don't usually meet all that often, but they do in this universe.
[14] pentito: (italian) 'one who repents'. a term for those of the cosa nostra who willingly testify in court of law against the cosa nostra, in exchange for the italian version of a witness protection program.
[15] O 'ntufato: (italian) 'the angry one'
[16] [e dire a provenzano a] Vattela a pijà 'n der culo: (italian) lit. '[and say to Provenzano] go do it in the ass'. essentially, 'tell Provenzano to fuck off'. grammar may be a bit off. wiki says this particular wording of the profanity is what they say in rome instead of 'vaffanculo'
[17] sbirro: (italian) more or less 'cop', but with contempt and dislike.
[18] cazzu: (sicilian) pl. cazzi. dicks. or rather, the vulgar term for 'penis'. so, still dicks.
[19] a little over 6ft.
[20] the italian currency is still lira at this point (it's euros now) but! there are parts of sicily whose dialect refers to the coins as francs /wink nudge

---

timeline and history summary with scarlet, beautiful!verse style:
/ timoteo is born in 1942. his mother, daniela, was 35 when she had him. he becomes vongola Nonu in 1968 at the age of 26. daniela was 56 at the time and dies the year after.
/ vongola Settimu, fabio, turns vongola over to his daughter in 1932, making her 20 at the time and putting her birth at 1912.
/ fabio himself was 46 when he retired. he dies at the age of 55, in 1936.
/ reborn is actually 9 years younger than timoteo and born in 1951. he becomes a hitman officially in 1965 at the age of 14. his father dies 2 years later and his mother the year after that.
/ benito mussolini comes into power in 1922 and remains in power until 1942. he is executed in 1945. they threw rocks at his corpse.
/ in 1925, mussolini assigns cesare mori as the iron prefect of palermo. mori begins eradicating the 'sicilian mafia' through very mafia-like means. the goal was to prove to sicilians that the new fascist government trumped the mafia and could protect them better than the mafia could. the campaign ends in 1929 when mori is recalled to rome. by then, some 11,000 arrests had been attributed to mori's anti-mafia campaign. the fascist party announces that the mafia is dead. they are so wrong.
/ in 1943, allied troops invade sicily and tear down fascist remnants. mayors are deposed and new, anti-fascist ones are put in their place. some of them just happen to be mafia bosses (cough vongolas cough) presenting themselves as fascist dissidents. clans are reformed.
/ iemitsu was born in 1976. he leaves kakishima at some point and finds his way into italy and cedef at 19, in 1995. reborn meets him a little less than a year later.
/ regarding the mani pulite / clean hands investigation: starting in 1992, it was discovered that a ton of politicians and industry leaders were taking bribes. half of the italian parliament was under suspicion at one point, and hundreds of city and town councils were dissolved because of it. sicily has no part in this, because vongola basically owns sicily. cedef is based on the mainland somewhere though so they keep tabs on everything.
/ xanxus was theoretically born in 1983. he references the following event:
/ starting in around 1977 until the early 1980s, the corleone family and allies (the corleonesi) started assassinating state figures in sicily. (the cosa nostra have always been more willing to off state figures compared to the US mafia, but only as a last resort.) between 1981-1983, the majority of the Second Mafia War occurs between the corleonesi + allies against the rest of the sicilian mafia and a lot of mafiosi are killed. basically, about 1986/1987, the first few mafiosi agree to stand trial and testify against the rest of the mafia and blow its 'public' cover. the Other Side that deals with flames remains hidden.
/ this resulted in several sicilian antimafia prosecutors to start orchestrating more efforts to combat the cosa nostra. in 1992 two prominent ones are killed by bombings. this results in the italian state trying to crack down harder on the sicilian mafia. in 1993, the corleonesi, run by salvatore toto riina, retaliate that by terrorist bombing and attacking several art galleries and churches on mainland italy.
/ riina is arrested in 1993; his formal successor is bernardo provenzano. there are rumors that he gave riina's position to the police himself. provenzano proposes a new, less violent strategy to dealing with the mafia crackdown, instead of the bombings. in a sense, 'patience, compartmentalisation, coexistence with state institutions, and systematic infiltration of public finance'. this splits the sicilian mafia into two sides, for and against this 'reformation'.
/ timmy decides in 2005 that enough is enough and decimates the corleonesi side. vongola officially and more or less publicly takes over the sicilian mafia. (that, or, y'know, he let the corleonesi take the fall for getting rid of the cosa nostra's most formidable public enemy.)
/ tsuna gets his flames unsealed in 2010. xanxus is released in 2013.
/ the Camorra is a mafia-like crime syndicate originating and concentrated around the campania region of italy, near naples. clans/families act independently of each other and thus fight a lot more. the alfieri clan exists (or existed) in real life in naples and some surrounding areas; the leader went stood trial and made devastating revelations against some camorran clans and politicians. in 2002, his sons are killed by the camorra for their father's association with the authorities. zi yar and iemitsu were caught up in the attack after he returns from japan.

I'm... pretty sure that's everything but if anyone has any more questions? queries? or anything that I missed. pls drop a comment or pm or tumblr me I'm vongolastic at tumblr.