Hello everyone! No doubt you're wondering what the hell am I doing this time – good question! I have finally decided to do a SpaMano multichapter fic based on a plot I'd come up with a while ago but was too lazy to write, so here it is. Time to explore this pairing some more.

Note: If you think organized crime is cool, go watch La Piovra. Up to season 4 at least.

Lyrics – Buleria, David Bisbal

Anri - Belgium

He takes a long sip of the already cold coffee, throwing a sad, disheartened glance at the tall shelves filled with stacked folders. The mess is absolutely incredible, it's much worse than he imagined. Stupid, he should have expected this, fishy stuff must be buried, although it doesn't look like someone went through the trouble to skillfully hide anything in particular, just turned everything upside down and… yeah. They probably just threw the documentation in the shredder and deleted the files from the computer.

With a sigh, Antonio unplugs the headphones from his laptop, letting his favorite song play lowkey in the solitude of his small, cramped office. It's not even an office per say, Gioletti had a miniscule desk placed for him in the archive. There is only one office for accounting, previously occupied by the mysterious Mr. Karpussi, but that too is small and there was no room for another person in there.

"Ganas, de vivir aqui a tu lado
A tu cuerpo encadenado
Hechizado de passion…"

He loosens his tie, swaying his hips to the rhythm in front of the tiny table fan. Damn Roman summer. Mindlessly mouthing the lyrics out loud, the brunet plucks a random file from the shelf, opening it. Great, landline invoices from 2015. Absolutely useless too, but at least these aren't missing.

"…Ay nada, sin tu amor yo no soy nada
Soy un barco a la deriva
Que naufraga de dolor…"

They're not perforated either, just piled in, so the papers slip from the plastic covers, scattering all over the floor.

"Eres un barco a la deriva de todos modos," a voice grumbles lowly behind him and Antonio turns around abruptly, making an even bigger mess. His new boss stands in the doorway, with a disapproving scowl, hands stuffed in his pockets. His pearly grey tie is a bit loose too, the sleeves of the pale blue dress shirt rolled up slightly tanned forearms, while the belted black slacks mark his slim waist. Still, they could both do without such formal wear every single day, especially in this heat.

"What?"

He didn't know the guy could speak Spanish.

"Nothing." Lovino's gaze drifts towards the shelves, with an eye roll. "What did you find so far?"

"Uh, the documents for 2014, the whole year. Suppliers, customers, bank statements, inventory, payroll records, tax returns, everything. I put them over there."

"For all three companies?"

"Yeah."

The Italian pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, pushing his black-rimmed reading glasses up in his hair. "If we get a fiscal review, we'll need to show them the last five years. We've got four more years to dig up and put in order."

Antonio shakes his head. "It's a bigger mess than I thought, at least in the papers. How are the files looking?"

"More or less complete, but the accounting software was changed somewhere in 2016. Everything before that is in Excel only, some basic reports, the trial balances and the annual financial statements, but the database was not imported in the new system. We can't see a general ledger before that, just numbers, no breakdowns. For the most part we can't reconstitute the actual transactions."

Well, big surprise there. That must have been a convenient change, unless it wasn't a change at all, only made to look like it to dispose of the data. The question is – does Lovino Vargas know about this? If yes, how much? And if he knew of this beforehand, would he have insisted on hiring an assistant, someone who can find out stuff?

The young Vargas insisted to get help, but it was Gioletti – the general manager of the group - who did the recruiting. More likely, he had Antonio checked out and that mattered more than his rather thin resume. A young man – well, he's twenty-seven, so not too young - with only some distant family left, coming to work in another country for the sake of experience, he could see why this was so attractive that he got the job after only one interview. He can be easily disposed of if need be and its unlikely anyone will ask any questions if he were to just disappear one day. It should be a troubling thought, if Antonio didn't choose to put it aside every single moment and focus on his work instead.

"Fucking Greek," Lovino mutters with an involuntary pout, walking back into his office.

Two months before

There's no breeze, the blue sky dotted with soft clouds mirrored by the almost still water of the Tiber nearby. It's a beautiful day, but he can't enjoy it. The simple espresso he ordered is much too strong, bitter against his tongue despite the ton of sugar he dumped in it. But he needs it, he woke up early after a night of tossing and turning. It's normal to be nervous, after all it's his first big assignment with the international agency. And if you flub it, it's probably gonna be your last too, Gilbert had pointed, his usual biting humor absent that time. Antonio had thanked him for the vote of confidence with a carefree smile and secretly cringing.

His contact is running late. Could it be that things have gone downhill already? It's not possible, is it? They haven't done anything yet, or at least he hasn't. The other guy though…

'Listen, mon ami, I know we have to rely on Inspector Sadik Adnan's men, but the business he investigates is really dirty, really ugly, and so he operates with guys who can blend in. I heard he's not exactly making orthodox choices when it comes to his undercover officers, so let's not trust them too much, oui?'

Except this time Adnan found the perfect guy, or so they say. Antonio nearly flinches, pulling off his shades when someone finally sits down at his table, across from him.

"You're Tony, yeah?" the newcomer asks, in English laced with a soft accent he can't identify, most likely East-European.

"Yeah. You're the Turk's boy?"

It sounds like uninspired phrasing to say the least, but he didn't get any names, Adnan only informed them that 'my boy will meet you in Rome'. What an idiot. The guy looks the part though – early twenties, skinny ripped jeans topped with a loose red designer shirt, long hair dyed with stylish blonde and copper highlights swept back in a low ponytail, a gold chain around his neck and several gold rings on his fingers.

"What do you have for me?" he asks when the other nods curtly. Better get down to it and stick to the necessary information only. He won't tell Adnan's man anything the other doesn't need to know, or ask in turn. That's what he was instructed to do – because fuck cross-borders police cooperation.

The younger man pulls out a black glossy folder and pushes it across the table casually before picking up the one-page menu and examining the drinks offer. "I was told you're the numbers expert," the blond says. "That you're gonna try to take an inside job in the Roman side of Vargas's business. The 'clean' one. Your treat?"

A waitress comes over and Antonio hurries to tilt the folder he'd just opened towards his body, so that the girl can't see its contents. The boy orders a strong dark beer, smilingly widely.

"What? They don't have vodka," he shrugs.

"It's only ten in the morning, maybe you should go easier on the spirits…" the Spaniard mumbles, eyes returning on the papers as soon as they're alone again. "Anyway, is there such a thing as 'clean' in this case?"

"Well, normally it should be. Many organizations keep some clean business on the side, you know, for the owners to justify their income, where they cash dividends from, they file tax returns and so on. It all looks legit and it is too. And not just that, they wanna do something good for the kids too, you know, leave them something… risk-free. Not everyone is willing to get into this sort of shit and many who have started at the bottom want to keep their heirs out of their dirty business."

Antonio nods slowly – he doesn't need to be told basic stuff of this kind, especially since he very much doubts it applies to Vincenzo "Rome" Vargas, a man discreetly investigated by the Interpol in half of Europe.

"And of course, there are others who use their legit-looking businesses to launder ill-gotten money," he says in turn, leafing through the pages and pulling out a sheet with a candid photo attached to it.

Lovino Vargas, twenty-four, no criminal record he reads before curiously studying the photo. In it, a dark-haired young man dressed in a nondescript, simple black suit is smoking, leaning against what looks like the back door of a church. He can't pick up any particular vibe from the man's face, which is rather unusual, because he can get a feel of most people at the first glance. For example, he's willing to bet all his current money plus next month's paycheck that Adnan's boy is a reformed thug.

"This is Vincenzo's older grandson? The one who got the accounting job two weeks ago?" the brunet asks. The Italian is some eye candy, he's cute even, that much he can tell, but it doesn't mean anything.

"Yeah, that's him. Lovino."

Antonio leaves the paper out on the table as he goes on to skim through the rest of the folder. "But there's two of them, right? What about the other one?"

"Feliciano. He's only seventeen, goes to some fancy art school. We're positive that he at least isn't involved in anything."

"It's a bit of an odd story though, wouldn't you say?"

The other shrugs. "I don't know. After Vincenzo's wife passed away, his daughter turned her back on him because she didn't want to have anything to do with his shit. She went and married outside the 'family' and later on kept the boys away from him. Now I may be wrong, but if the old man really thinks the way I think he does, then they're all traitors for him. Lovino is clean, or at least was until he got this job and Vincenzo fucked him."

This doesn't really add up. Family is important to these people, blood is important. Besides, who would Vincenzo leave his empire to, if not his two grandsons? Or maybe he has more children than they know of? No, the two boys' mother is his only legitimate child anyway, and that's got to matter.

"You really think Vincenzo fucked him? His own grandson?"

"We just know the local clothing retail companies are anything but clean – that's why you're here. At the top of the group is a guy named Francesco Gioletti, one of Vargas's oldest 'associates', a man of serious reputation but never convicted for lack of evidence – and he pulls all the strings. Lovino only works in accounting, but that's bad enough. The old man must have told him that this side of the business is okay, got him on board, but then even if he finds out stuff afterwards, he'll be too scared to try to get out or talk to someone. That's how this shit works, no?"

Antonio bites his lip, tossing the file on the table and taking another sip of his coffee. It's awfully bitter. Right now, he has some serious doubts about this whole situation and feels rather inclined to question Adnan's absolute confidence in his own man. Just like he's inclined to doubt Lovino Vargas's innocence.

"Listen, Adnan told us what the deal is, so I'm tad confused. Vincenzo is your grandfather too… and Lovino and Feliciano are your cousins. So why should we trust you? Why would I trust you when you tell me Lovino is clean?"

The blond's smile fades, replaced by something he can't quite put his finger on. It's some barely held back irritation at least. Still, eventually he shrugs, leaning back in his chair.

"Dude, I'm not asking you to trust me with anything, I'm only telling you what I think. Besides, it's your job to find out who's doing what exactly. Also, there's no proof he's really my grandfather, he just thinks he is because my grandmother had a fling with him like a hundred years ago. My father refused the DNA test precisely because we don't want to have anything to do with him. I say Lovino is okay but if he's guilty, fuck him."

"So, how was work today?"

Lovino is leaning forward on his elbows, fork hovering uncertain above his plate, spun around between lazy fingers. Anri is really good at this, even now she's being a keen observer, meticulously doing her job. It's hard to see someone so dedicated in this day and age. So, does she know that he figured her out? Across the small kitchen table, hazel meets bright green.

I know you work for Nonno

He could say that, out loud, but he won't. What would be the point? Besides, he's quite comfortable in this situation, as fake as it is. He was neither that stupid, nor that desperate to think that this gorgeous girl just happened to show up in his life very shortly after he accepted Nonno's offer and took the job.

He musters a small, tired smile. "Work sucked balls, that Greek guy who worked before me left a fucking epic mess. How was your day?"

"Good, actually. I got the sponsor." Anri takes a hurried sip of her white wine glass before continuing. "I didn't think it'd go so smoothly but well, they want me to update the blog twice a day at least. I'll need to find a lot more content to put up!"

"Wow, that's great, cara! You can do that, yeah?"

The brunet busies himself with his own glass, glad for the change of subject. His girlfriend talks a lot more than he does anyway and thank God for that. She also happens to be one of those lucky people who get to do something they're passionate about for a living, at least in theory. So, anything to keep her from asking questions for now, he's not in the mood for that.

"Yep. Actually, I wanna take some pics with one of your old shirts. That brown one with tiny blue stripes."

Not this shit though.

"No."

"Yes!"

Anri is not only beautiful, she's charming, popular, the type of girl Lovino would have never naturally ended up dating, let alone moved in together with. Introverts like him just don't get that lucky. He thinks he loves her, sort of.

"No. That shirt is hideous! I got it for Christmas two years ago and I maybe wore it three times, when I didn't have any other clean shirts left. And twice," the Italian states, holding up two fingers demonstratively, "I threw it away. Twice. And it keeps coming back!"

Anri laughs, shaking her head. Soon, they'll have their three months anniversary. It's by far Lovino's longest relationship to date, but he wonders how long it will last. They very quickly fell into a comfortable but rather odd sort of routine which – he suspects, in his vast inexperience – doesn't happen with other couples. But in this context, it makes sense. She mostly works from home, takes care of the house, takes care of him. And that way, she gets to keep a careful eye on everything.

"Lovi, I love you."

He grins widely. "I love you too, cara. Stop taking things out of the trash."

Eres un barco a la deriva de todos modos = You're a boat adrift anyway