Sunshine and Subterfuge
Arc I - Bluebirds Fly
05. Tutor
The same year that Timoteo discovers that 'Renato' is a mask— or at the very least, that his roommate is a girl and far more interesting then she seems to be at first glance— marks the first time Renato is coerced into becoming a tutor.
The situation is thus.
Renato is beginning the latter half of her secondary education at the academy, her scuola secondaria di secondo grado— the equivalent of high school. She has successfully instilled at least a modicum of fearful respect in everyone she's come into contact with, both students and staff. This required deceit, calculated applications of brute force, and a rather frightening amount of blackmail.
Unsurprisingly, she is the top student in her year, and understandably smug about it. That accomplishment required only dedication to her studies. And if her studies occasionally required activities like sabotage, arson, and ferreting out her classmates darkest secrets and revealing them to the entire student body— well, this is Mafia School, isn't it?
Her exceptional academic ability, coupled with the fact absolutely no-one can discover any reliable information on 'him', means that Renato Sinclair has become something of a school idol, having attracted a very enthusiastic fan base. But while Renato has fans, acquaintances, and future business contacts, she keeps almost everyone at arm's length. The only human friend she has is Timoteo.
Is it any surprise that, for years, those in the know about Flames suspected she was a Cloud? There had even been betting pools as to her Flame nature. Renato quietly infiltrated one or two of the most potentially lucrative and would eventually make a small fortune— enough to fund the refurbishment of her first home.
Regardless, there is a surprising new downside to being in the top ten of the class that year. The majority of the 'academically inclined' upperclassmen have been forcibly volunteered to participate in their principal's new pet project: a Big Brother, Big Sister program, to help incoming students adjust to the school environment.
A few days into the new semester, they're corralled into the largest gymnasium on the property. The cavernous room is awash with the noise of gossiping students. Milling about are two distinct groups, separated by an invisible line: upperclassmen fourteen to nineteen years of age stay to the left of the podium and first year, eleven year old academy students, stand on the right. The two groups don't intermingle; they eye each other with curiosity and vague apprehension, respectively, as the principal approaches the podium and begins to speak.
Listening with only half an ear, Renato lingers at the back of the crowd, watching the scene with a sense of vague bemusement. Her fellow students leave a very respectful distance between themselves and her. Timoteo, who usually acts as a buffer between Renato and their classmates— the former's easygoing nature apparently makes Renato seem more approachable— has not been forced to volunteer. Renato strongly suspects politics are involved with that decision. Timoteo's grades are more than good enough nowadays.
Hm. I may have overdone it in that last 'friendly spar' with that senior student... Lips twitching upwards, her black eyes gleam as she recalls the details of that situation. A nearby classmate shudders upon noticing the malicious expression and backs away, slowly. "N-nevermind, Sinclair. I'll just— ask you about that homework assignment later."
Renato shrugs in response, thoughts focused elsewhere, or perhaps it is more accurate to say elsewhen.
The little fools should not have attempted to abscond with Leon.
True, I am a difficult person to find information on... But trying to abduct my partner to trade for scraps of info? Unforgivable, even if it was for a class assignment.
They really should know better by now.
Oi, Ren. You should probably pay attention; they'll call your name soon. The chameleon in question— now found more often on Renato's shoulder or in her hair than in his terrarium— interrupts. Her train of thought stutters to a halt when she hears a call from the podium, where the principal has been replaced by a disgruntled looking staff member.
"Renato Sinclair, your charge will be Luce Giglio."
A slight hush falls over the gymnasium, as the upperclassmen lean forward slightly, searching for the poor soul that will be enduring Sinclair's presence for an extended period of time. Renato prowls through the crowd of her classmates and towards the podium, keeping a close eye on the nervous eleven year olds on the opposite side of the room. One breaks away from the pack, a dark-haired, blue-eyed waif, adorably puppy-like in demeanor.
Interesting... There aren't many girls at the academy. Most women in their society are privately tutored and then quietly married off when of age. Briefly, Renato wonders if the administration has finally realized her actual gender.
Hm. Probably not.
She waves the idle thought away and turns to face her, hopefully temporary, new shadow. After executing a graceful bow, Renato tilts her head just so to the side, and intones. "Chaos— I am Renato Sinclair. A pleasure to meet you, Miss."
"Aa..." Luce's cheeks flush a light pink at the sudden attention, or perhaps due to Renato's roguish smile, but she regains her footing quickly. "Ciao! I'm Luce Giglio. Please call me Luce, okay?" A bright smile.
A flicker of invisible Flame.
A Sky.
A young, Flame-active Sky.
Well, well. Now this is starting to look like a proper conspiracy. What do you think, Ren? Are they trying to attach you to any Sky they can find?Selling you to the highest bidder?
Disregarding her partner's paranoid words, Renato offers an arm to Luce, "Alright, Miss Luce. I believe I owe you a tour of the campus, and perhaps a bit of the surrounding area... Shall we?"
Interestingly enough, Luce knows almost immediately that Renato is a girl. She is, however, intelligent enough not to comment on it until they're better acquainted.
Renato soon learns that it is practically impossible to hide a secret of that magnitude from a clairvoyant Sky, or even from a Sky with strong intuition— not for long. Such people are anathema to individuals that hoard information... Luckily, that Sky nature also makes her remarkably likeable. Luce quickly becomes less of an adorable burden, and more of a friend. Nevertheless, Renato, worried about an unintentional harmonization, maintains exquisitely careful control of her Flames around her young tagalong.
Despite that, barely a week after their first meeting, when Luce requests help with the intimidating amount of homework her teachers have piled on her shoulders, Renato has no second thoughts about agreeing. Not even when their tutoring sessions change from review to Renato teaching her material that her classes won't cover for weeks.
06. Quirks
During her time at the academy, Renato develops several very noticeable quirks. She later maintains that Luce is entirely at fault for at least two, if not wholly responsible for all of them. After all, has anyone studied the psychological repercussions of chronic exposure to a teenage Sky searching for their elements?
The first quirk that develops is Renato's obsession with the perfect cup of coffee. Not that the future 'Greatest Hitman' in question hadn't developed a dependence on caffeine prior to meeting Luce... But the younger girl somehow knows all of the best cafés in town and insists they try the various delights available in each and every one during her many tutoring sessions. Supposedly, it's a treat for Renato, in exchange for the older girl's help.
The tutor in question retaliates by pushing Luce through the entirety of the first year of coursework required at the academy in the span of one semester. Luce is a fantastic student, though her self-esteem occasionally wavers. When motivated, she can rival even Renato's sheer drive to succeed. The nature of Renato's Flames— Activation— certainly help her push the younger girl to excel. Those that would someday encounter Reborn's style of teaching would be surprised; there are remarkably few explosions.
As the pair grows close, coffee and pastries becomes something of a shared passion for the two of them.
It's the end of exam week.
Fall semester is finally over, Renato muses, uncertain what to feel. Glad to be going home, to see Mamma? Unhappy regarding the awkwardness that will ensue when she spends time in her father's presence? They had grown even further apart after she left for the academy.
How on earth did Mamma manage to convince Papa that Mafia School was a good idea? Or... does he not know anything at all? Is she just an actress to him? A pretty thing to dote on when the mood strikes him, to be set aside when his interest is otherwise engaged?
She knows the relationship between her parents has been strained since she revealed her more unusual abilities. That is likely part of the reason her father had said nothing about her mother's choice of private schools. Though the fact the academy is referred to as 'Mafia School' is limited to very select circles.
Still, the silence demanded by omertà... Those that have immediate family in the Mafia, even if those family members linger on the edges of that society, can be informed. After all, civilian family members make the easiest targets.
The awkwardness at home became worse when she had decided to maintain the illusion of Renato even while on vacation. Her mother laughed. Her father took one look at his daughter and walked away, locking the door to the library behind him.
Hm. Let's think of something more pleasant. What sort of gift I should buy Luce for Christmas? Some adorable knick-knacks for her dorm room? A makeup kit designed for creating quick disguises?
So many options...
Timoteo, she's already decided, will be receiving some kind of personal sidearm— most likely a pistol, personally modified by one Renato Sinclair. That little pet project will give her a legitimate excuse to lock herself in her room for at least part of winter vacation.
I am little tempted to play to the American stereotype and acquire a Tommy gun for him. But... too easy. And too bulky, besides. He needs something easy to hide.
Renato is perched on a metal chair— calling to mind the image of a dark, sleek bird of prey— an interesting contrast to the whimsical style of the furniture, which is typical of French cafés the world over. Looming possessively over a freshly-brewed cup of espresso, she sips slowly, savoring the flavor.
"Luce is running late," she comments idly. "...Should I try one of those dark chocolate croissants she mentioned?" Nobody is there to comment about her habit of speaking to her partner out loud. The café is sparsely populated, just Renato and a trio of older girls— locals, maybe sixteen or seventeen?— giggling in a booth over on the other side of the room.
Leon, lounging on her shoulder, raises his head in curiosity. Do I get to try a piece?
"I'll buy some chocolate-coated crickets the next time I visit Chocolate Delights; those should be more to your taste," she replies. Renato had been considering taking a trip to the candy store within the next few days— to restock her supply of dark chocolate and coffee flavored treats before leaving for home for the Christmas holiday. Doing so sooner rather than later would be no hassle.
...Deal.
"Spoiled." Reaching up, she gently strokes a finger down the green chameleon's back.
You know you love me.
"Hm." Renato hides her smile behind her cup, taking another languid sip of coffee. Her thoughts on the matter are interrupted by a cheery exclamation. "Hi Ren!" Luce chirps, loudly, in Renato's ear, hoping to surprise her mentor. She's been attempting to sneak up on her for the past month or so, and has been entirely unsuccessful... as far as she can tell.
A lesser man would flinch, would be surprised. Renato gloats internally. Just a little. Or should I say, a lesser woman? On the outside, she remains relaxed, unmoved by Luce's attempt to startle her. "Excellent try, Lulu." She praises, because of course she noticed when Luce arrived at the café, despite her apparent fascination with her favorite beverage.
"Oh, drat!" Luce sighs melodramatically as she takes a seat across from Renato, the shopping bag she'd been carrying is dropped beside her chair with a quiet thump. "Foiled again!" Lower lip jutting out in a pout, Luce directs the full strength of her blue eyes at Renato, "How did you knowww?"
Nice puppyish expression, Lulu.
"I'm awesome like that." The older girl answers without answering. "So..." She drawls, "To what do I owe the honor of your company, Lulu? Classes are over for now, after all."
Luce ignores her tutor's question; turnabout is fair play. "You know what you need, Renato? You need a hat. Your look practically demands a hat."
A noncommittal hum. "You think so?" Another sip of espresso. She eyes her younger friend over the rim of her cup, expression skeptical.
"Definitely! A lady-killer like you needs a hat."
"Hmmm. Mafia seduction? A useful skill, that's true..." To contrast her pensive, relatively serious tone, Renato wags her eyebrows theatrically.
She gets the desired reaction— light, bell-like laughter. "Ren!" Luce giggles helplessly. "You're impossible."
"Moi? Impossible? Not at all. Just confident." Renato's lips briefly quirk upward, eyes glittering with amusement as she explains. "Ladies are attracted to confidence. And to gentlemen that can make them laugh."
"And to debonair gentleman... that wear hats!" Luce retorts, bending down to retrieve something from her shopping bag. She brandishes her treasure, a box wrapped in bright orange paper, grinning cheekily. "That's why I got you a present! Well, that and I needed to get you a thanks-for-being-a-brilliant -mentor present, and maybe a thanks-for-helping-me-pass-my-exams present, and definitely a Christmas present..." Her cheeks tinting a light pink, she plops the parcel on the table between them— carefully. To avoid spilling either of their drinks.
She pushes the gift towards her friend and urges, "Open it, open it!"
Unhurried despite Luce's words, Renato sets her espresso aside, and retrieves her gift, flipping the wrapped box over a few times in her hands. Slipping fingers under the strip of tape that's holding the wrapping secure, she slowly unwraps her present. Luce is practically vibrating in her seat, eyes sparkling with excitement.
The box is opened to reveal a black fedora, accented with a burnt orange ribbon. Is this... Flame resistant? Running a finger over the fabric, channeling just a hint of Flame confirms her suspicions. But Flame-resistant fabric is rare, and thus costly. You're a strange one, Lulu. She slips the hat on, flashing a playful grin. "Hm. I suppose it will have to do."
"It suits you!" The younger girl exclaims, clasping hands together in front of her chest. "It's perfect; I'm so glad!"
A pause, and then Renato speaks in a more serious tone, letting the grin ease into a more honest smile, "Thank you, Luce. I will treasure it."
The Sky smiles serenely in response, "I know. And you really did need a hat."
The second quirk Luce nurtures is Renato's habit of flirting outrageously. She handles this less overtly than the coffee addiction, carefully encouraging the habit with her own actions, and by pointing out others'— how malleable their classmates are when infatuated, how easily led astray with just a few words or a pretty face.
In part, this is designed to protect her friend, to strengthen her mask—who would think the dashing young man that flirts so shamelessly with every lovely lady he meets is actually a woman?
Many years from now, Renato could be one of her staunchest allies. She has seen it, though the exact details remain shrouded from her eyes. Luce Giglio wants to protect her mentor and friend. The future Donna of the Giglio Nero wants to build strong ties with someone that will undoubtedly be influential in a few short years.
So Renato adds a new aspect to her mask. And while she feels no particular attraction to either gender, she understands what other people appreciate, and puts that knowledge to use. Besides, Renato delights in making others dance to her tune; flirting is just one more means to do so. There is never any malicious intent, not on her part, and she never takes the game so far as to genuinely hurt her partners' feelings.
Besides, with her assumed gender, there are certain expectations— so she plays it up.
It really is Luce's fault that Renato Sinclair will one day be known as a Casanova.
07. Ottava
There is only one other person that recognizes almost immediately that 'Renato Sinclair' is a construct of Renata's imagination— Daniela di Vongola.
The fact is obvious to the older Mafioso. So much so, that immediately after she sets eyes on her son's school friend and roommate, she smirks, commenting, "How long did it take for Timoteo to figure it out?"
She wants to scowl— a secret known to so many people is hardly a secret at all— but Renato smiles beatifically instead, newly gifted fedora tilted forward slightly to cast her dark eyes in shadow. "...Three years, Donna Vongola." Your heir is not nearly as perceptive as you, Ottava Vongola. What of the infamous Vongola Intuition?
Timoteo blushes fiercely and stutters in denial of this fact, claiming he's known all along.
Oh, really? Renato thinks, her smile becoming something more appropriate for a Cheshire cat. "And he's remarkably easy to embarrass."
"I've no doubt you take advantage of that at every opportunity." Daniela laughs as Timoteo flushes an even darker red.
"I do indeed. Teo needs someone to keep his head from inflating too much." Considering how much everyone dotes on him due to his position. Renato bows deeply, flashing what, on someone older, would definitely be construed as a flirtatious grin. "Renato Sinclair. A pleasure to finally have the opportunity to meet you, Signora."
Coal black eyes meet the laughing blue ones of the leader of the Vongola, and Renato recognizes something familiar in the infamous, formidable woman.
"Oho? I like you, little sunshine. Your friendship will be good for my son."
Internally, Renato admits she's more than a little star struck by the Donna. Or should that be Sky struck? She doesn't even frown at the embarrassing nickname.
So this is what it's like— a powerful Sky attraction.
It's futile.
The Donna Vongola does not lack guardians, has never lacked guardians, not since she was in her early teens. Renato is uninterested in being second best to anyone; nor is she interested in being formally tied to a Family.
And yet... and yet.
Decades later, the hitman that had once been known as Renato Sinclair hears that Daniela di Vongola, beloved matriarch of the Vongola Family, has died in her sleep.
Situated in a private corner of her favorite café—at least, her favorite in this particular city— Reborn sips an exquisitely prepared hazelnut-flavored coffee, and remembers a most formidable woman.
Such a fierce and brilliant Sky.
Briefly, she wonders what her life would have been like, had Daniela been her roommate instead of Teo. Timoteo is a good friend, an acceptable employer, and a strong Sky... but he did not inherit his mother's unnatural charisma. And he does not even come close to rivaling the purity of her Flames. In the years that have passed since their first meeting, Reborn has not met another like her. That is why she remains unattached to any Sky.
A soundless sigh.
And then, the moment has passed.
08. Lost
Something is wrong.
Renato has felt off for days— uneasy. Furious, she'd hunted for the source of the feeling. Her inability to pinpoint the cause drove her to argue with Timoteo, and the boy had returned home for the weekend, leaving Renato alone.
Peace and quiet... and still the feeling persists!
"Leon." Renato addresses the chameleon lounging in the new, spacious terrarium placed on her work desk, an unexpected gift from the Ottava Vongola. "I'm going out. Stay out of trouble." Seething internally, she flees the comfort of her room, intending to find a sparring partner to vent her frustrations on.
She returns three hours later, somewhat calmer after having vented her frustrations on a handful of unfortunate volunteers. She finds the cause of her disquiet on her desk: a letter, addressed to Renato, in her mother's delicate script. Leon lounges beside the envelope, having abandoned the cozy aquarium that is his home to guard his partner's mail.
They delivered it a few minutes after you left, Ren.
"Thank you, Leon." She comments distractedly, the envelope already in her hands. A feeling of dread churns in her gut as she slices the envelope open with a thin blade— a letter opener disguised in the stem of an ornamental metal rose, a birthday present from her mother.
This is it.
Minutes pass, the silence of the room disturbed only by Renato's steady breathing and the shuffle of paper as she reads.
And then rereads.
And then rereads again.
She stares at the innocuous envelope, discarded on her desk, face eerily blank of emotion. Then she turns her attention back to the letter in her hand. The letter explaining her mother's failing health had been the reason she'd not been invited home for Easter holidays. The letter that stated it would only arrive after the woman that wrote it is already gone from this world.
Don't mourn my death too deeply, dearest child. I have known my end was coming for a long, long time, and I am so very happy to be free of this sickbed. How strange that I pass due to my own weakness, and not from a bullet or a blade!
Renato flips again through the pages, staring at the end of the letter, at her mother's last words to her.
My sweet sun, you are the greatest gift I have ever received.
I love you.
Keep dreaming! Keep fighting! Keep reaching for the sky!
Arrivederci,
Mamma
She laughs bitterly, tears sliding down her cheeks. Keep reaching— Mamma... Please. Let this be a nightmare, a lie, a— for the sky.
She laughs until the laughter turns to pained gasps, barely muffled by her sleeve. Until her eyes hurt from crying, and the tears dry on her cheeks.
Keep reaching for the sky.
...Even though you were a Mist. Mamma, if anyone could have been my Sky, it was you. Please!
Keep reaching—
Don't leave me alone!
Arrivederci.
She receives a notice regarding the funeral the next day, but Renato cannot attend. The funeral was two days ago.
It rains.
At her very core, fifteen year old Renato burns— a cold fire, all sorrow and helpless fury. Is it the last remnants of the child that had been named Renata burning away? She has been Renato for years now, after all. Is she the mask, or is there still a girl hiding underneath?
Renato returns to the two-story house that had been her home only one last time, for a brief summer vacation.
The house feels empty.
She drifts from room to room, listless— watching, listening, analyzing. Her mother's things—jewelry, costumes, precious mementos, family albums— have all been meticulously packed and moved into the attic. Mamma has willed everything to Renato.
And her father?
A different woman every night. False laughter and wine. An abandoned library. It almost feels like the man is celebrating his wife's death instead of mourning. After two weeks of this of this, Renato applies for a summer program at the academy. She quietly arranges for her mother's things to be moved into storage off-site, under her name.
Upon retrieving her belongings, Renato disappears from her father's house, and from his life. There is no goodbye, but— no matter what, I won't be coming back.
Her father dies of alcohol poisoning several years after Renato Sinclair finishes school. She doesn't attend the funeral. And although she ensures the gravestones are well-kept, and visits both her parent's graves on an arbitrary date once a year... flowers are delivered only to her mother's grave.
09. Challenges
At fifteen, aspiring Mafioso at the academy are introduced to potential careers. Even those that are heir to mafia families go through the internships— everything from bodyguard duty, to gathering blackmail, to freelancing as a hitman. The tasks are more challenging than those they have been given in class, testing all of the more esoteric skills that have been drilled into them over the years.
Renato is sixteen when she finds her calling.
The contract asks for an 'up close and personal' delivery of well-deserved justice to one Adriano Russo, a young twenty-something with green eyes and disheveled sandy blond hair. Much as she loves firearms, Renato would prefer doing something more discreet than a shot to the head. Ah well. As they say: beggar can't be choosers.
It takes half a week to confirm the target's location— a small town in Sardinia, Italy. She packs a backpack with the essentials, including a variety of casual clothes, toiletries, and enough cash to last several weeks, and purchases a train ticket. Considering her age, it's easiest to pose as a student; she could be taking a short hiatus from school, or merely playing hooky.
Arriving in the early evening, she locates a decent hostel, notes it on her map, and proceeds to investigate the area. According to the records, the town is relatively small, housing perhaps ten thousand people, and known for its tightly-packed, brightly colored homes. One in ten thousand is still a needle in a haystack. Though while tourists pass through, but it's not a particularly popular destination. Well, Renato muses, at least this place has a certain charm. The cobblestone streets are narrow, and she can spot plenty of discreet nooks and crannies. All things considered, it's a relatively cozy place to retire, but not a great one to disappear in. My target is not very bright, is he?
Over the next few days, she gathers information on Adriano Russo's movements, bargaining with the local homeless and native insect life equally— money for the former, and overripe apples for the latter. Upon learning that Russo is a local and fond of bar-hopping until early in the morning, she builds her plan accordingly.
Dressed in dark slacks, a burnt orange shirt, and worn leather jacket, Renato easily blends in to a group of teenagers and twenty-somethings. She's exploring the town's limited nightlife with a few tourists staying at the same hostel as her. As the night progresses, she steers her new acquaintances towards one of Russo's favorite bars.
Inside, Renato spends her time playfully flirting with a lovely brunette from Munich named Greta, and then an even lovelier barmaid named Eva, only occasionally sipping her beer to maintain appearances. Despite looking relaxed, perhaps even a little tipsy, she keeps a careful eye on the door. Adriano Russo walks enters the bar around eleven forty-five, all smiles and laughter. As the hours pass, Renato moves to a quiet corner, and lurks there with her half-finished beer, watching the man get more and more inebriated as night continues. It's a long wait.
When her target, looking more than a little green around the gills— in other words, nauseated— stumbles out the back door an hour before closing time, Renato waits a few moments before striding out the front. She slips away from the brightly-lit street and into the alleyway behind the bar.
Russo stands, arms outstretched, braced against the wall as he retches. Vomit pools on the ground beside a particularly fetid-smelling dumpster. She wrinkles her nose in distaste, and approaches silently, gun already in hand. Her target has the bad luck to turn around suddenly and notice the weapon pointed at his head.
Murky green eyes widen with terror and Russo blanches, stuttering and slurring his words, "Sheeet! W-wait!" He fumbles through his pockets, hands shaking. "Jusht, jusht, take my wallet— take whatever!"
"Hm. It's not about that." There is just a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth as Renato replies, weapon steady.
"Wha?" The man looks almost comically confused.
Idiota. She scoffs internally, Going to the police with information about a rival in another famiglia? It's a wonder the Vindice didn't take you for breaking omertà. Then again... perhaps they prefer that the less egregious offences are handled internally.
Outwardly, she remains unperturbed. "Arrivederci, Signore. Regards from the Grigio." she purrs, expression calm despite the staccato beat of her heart.
"You're—?!"
Bang, Bang!— A wisp of grey and the aroma of gunsmoke, the metallic taste of blood in the air, the combination momentarily distracting her from the smell of fermenting trash and vomit.
Two perfect shots; one to the head, one to the heart.
Thump. The body slumps gracelessly to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut. Sightless eyes directed upwards, her target's face slackens in death.
It's not her first kill— she's dealt with the implications of ending another human's life already, nightmares included— but it is her first contract hit. The first time she's had the opportunity to stalk and eliminate her prey. The academy gave her little more than a name and photograph. Her sources found the reason for the hit and located the target, her mind designed the plan, and her hands carried out the deed...
Adrenaline sings in her veins as she secures the pistol back in its holster, beneath her jacket. Pleasure curls in her belly, the satisfaction of a job well done, of a challenge overcome. Turning, she casually ambles away; she's far from the scene of the crime when the commotion starts, when the body is finally found. Renato takes a circuitous route back to the hostel she'd been residing in the past few days, to change and settle her bill before heading back to the academy.
And once she is safely home in her dorm, she considers the experience. What a thrill. I wonder... would it feel like this every time? The fedora angled to shade the upper half of her face makes her Cheshire smile stand out all the more. An almost unnaturally wide smile— there is always another snitch and the world has no shortage of scum. I would never run out of challenges. And perhaps the next target will be sober enough to try to escape, or fight back.
Yes. I think I know now.
Renata was a child, playing with different masks, searching for purpose.
...Arrivederci, Renata— you are to be reborn.
I am forever Renato Sinclair, aspiring hitman, and no one else. I choose the roles I play, and I decide my own path.
10. Attached
In her early twenties, Renato Sinclair cuts a striking figure.
Tall and deceptively slender, with lean muscles hidden beneath clothes tailored with meticulous care, the hitman is never seen without 'his' iconic suit and fedora. More precisely, Renato is never recognized without said attire, which suits her just fine. The shoulders of her jackets and several of her dress shirts are discreetly padded to provide the illusion of a broader, more masculine frame without the use of Mist. The tailor responsible is one Renato has known since her teens, a woman lauded both for her skill with a needle and thread and her discretion. While Renato could modify her own clothes, she prefers to maintain only her costumes— her more recognizable attire is left to the care of said tailor. Especially considering her suits are made from Flame-resistant fabric, and thus exquisitely expensive. In other words, prohibitively expensive for just about everyone.
Luckily, deception and death remains a highly lucrative business.
The illusion of the infamous hitman is complete. And when Renato wants her privacy, when she wants to be someone utterly harmless and invisible, she uses Sun Flames to grow out her hair, and dons the mask that is Renée. Just for a little while. Renata is, unfortunately, far too distinctive a name.
At twenty-five, Renato is free.
Free to chase the title of World's Greatest— she is not the sort that can stand being second best to anyone. One of the benefits of being a freelancer is the fact that Renato has no obligation to accept a contract. And although she has only been in the business a few short years, she is one of the best, which means she has the most interesting and challenging jobs available to choose from. That is why she laughed in Timoteo's face when he mentioned the Varia is interested in recruiting her, and wouldn't formalizing her association with the Vongola, even if it is in a very loose sense, be good?
No, Renato much prefers her freedom.
And then, at twenty-five, she meets her second official student for the first time.
It's a simple mission, a request from the Giglio Nero— a little information gathering. Renato accepts, because Luce asks personally, and because she herself is curious about that new famiglia, the Crisantemo. According to the rumor mill, they are trying to build an alliance with the Estraneo. The latter are notorious for their rather loose morals, and their out-of-the-box thinking when developing useful technology. The ingenuity of the Estraneo is rivaled by a select few: a handful of contractors that work almost exclusively for the Vongola, and perhaps one or two among the Bovino.
She scouts a handful of locations personally, finding several warehouses owned by the Mafioso in question, and sends a group of completely innocuous spies for a closer look. Beetles and moths, insects she'd nurtured in the backyard of one of her more favored safe houses, bred to be loyal and with greater intelligence than average for their species. And when they report back about a small human in a cage, Renato's curiosity gets the best of her.
Two days' worth of observation of that particular warehouse reveals that it would be easiest to infiltrate at night. Their security is relatively shoddy after sunset; there are only four guards present after ten at night, and they spend most of their time playing poker. Amateurs, Renato sneers as she slips in through the back door, having picked the lock.
It doesn't take her long to find the so-called 'small human' that her allies mentioned; she checks the first four rooms she encounters—relatively benign office space— rifling through the paperwork present, before finding a room filled with empty metal cages. They are sized for large dogs, and thus are large enough to hold, at best, a crouching teenager. She gets a sinking feeling; the 'small human' is most likely a very young child.
The stench in the room is unpleasant— fear, piss, and misery— but the cages in her immediate view are all empty. Still, there is rapid, harsh breathing, interrupted only by an occasional racking cough, coming from somewhere to the left. Renato heads in that direction.
She finds a small, shivering form, covered with dirt. A child, curled into a fetal position at the back of a metal cage. The only item in the cage is a cotton sheet, being used as a makeshift blanket. A child treated like a dog. Yes, the underworld the mafia inhabits is filled with depravity and death, but— there are few completely vile, amoral individuals. Frowning, Renato crouches beside the cage, and looks closer. The child coughs again, shoulders shaking with the intensity, and she can sense a flicker of power.
A child with active Flames.
She can't determine exactly what Flame type without closer scrutiny, though she instinctively knows he isn't a Sky. An active Sky pulls at unattached elements... and one so young? The likelihood of what looks like a preschooler having guardians is laughable. Even a very weak Sky would subconsciously try to attract her attention.
Renato suppresses a sigh. I'm just a meddler at heart, I suppose. Slipping a lock pick into her hand, she gets to work. Exploiting such a young Flame-active is not something I can overlook. Especially considering this famiglia is probably unaware of Flames. The child does not notice her, until the lock opens with a loud click, and she pulls it off the door.
Doe-like brown eyes blink fearfully in her direction as she opens the door. "Chaos, little one. I am Renato." She reaches into the cage, half-expecting to be bitten for her trouble. The child stares at the intruder in shock, before suspicion clouds brown eyes. But he or she takes the offered hand after a few tense seconds, whispering a hesitant hello.
Renato hums her approval, helping the little one out of the cage. "Think you can walk? Or do you need me to carry you?"
"Walk." The soft voice proclaims.
"Stay quiet, or they will find us." The teary expression that she receives in response is a little disconcerting. Shit, Ren. Be more careful with your words, unless you want the brat wailing in fear.
They sneak back out of the warehouse without any problem. Once outside, Renato convinces the child to ride piggyback, and hightails it out of the area. A few blocks away, when the threat of discovery is decreased, she appropriates a car. She drives like a demon, and discreetly interrogates her new acquaintance at the same time. They stop only to acquire food— a few sandwiches and bottled water, for the boy— and to switch vehicles. It's well past midnight when they finally arrive at one of her more secluded safe houses, one placed in neutral territory. Later still, after a hastily prepared snack and a bath, she finally manages to convince the child to go to sleep.
Looking down at the newly-orphaned boy occupying the sole bed in the house, Renato wonders— what the hell am I doing? I can't afford to get attached. I don't even like kids! ...Alright, that's a bald-faced lie, and I know it. But even if he is an adorable ball of fluff, human children aren't pets. And why is she even considering keeping the boy?
No. Raising the child herself would be an impossible task. My job takes me away from home for weeks to months at a time; he's far too young to take care of himself. A soft sigh. Renato reaches up and gently tugs at the curl of hair masquerading as a sideburn. I would make a shitty guardian anyway. She affirms with a slight nod. Well, I suppose there's no harm in him staying the night. I'll check him over for injuries one more time tomorrow morning, and then look for an appropriate guardian.
Renato strides out of the small bedroom, leaving the door ajar, just in case. Heading to the kitchen, she retrieves a bottle from the refrigerator, removing the metal cap and discarding it.
What a mess.
Leaning against the kitchen countertop, she takes a slow sip of the chilled beer, body still while her thought race. On that note, something will have to be done about the Crisantemo. Her expression hardens as she mulls over the options. She could involve herself directly, but that would increase the likelihood of her little 'rescue operation' becoming public knowledge. That, in turn, would increase the chances of the child being recaptured, if not by the Crisantemo, then by another group. Flame-active Family members are highly sought after, and children are malleable, easy to manipulate. Additionally, if the reasons behind the rescue— Renato's weakness to children— becomes known...
Handling this with my own two hands is something I cannot afford. If my position in the underworld was more secure, perhaps— but it is useless to speculate.
She smiles as an idea comes to her, eyes glimmering with malice. Yes, something a touch more discreet than a rain of bullets from one Renato Sinclair would be more appropriate. Reaching for the phone set on the kitchen counter, she dials a memorized number.
It rings once, twice, three times before a click sounds, and she hears a familiar voice, slurred by sleep.
"God. Ren, do you realize what time it is?"
"Hm." Funny—you immediately assume I'm the one calling. Then again; this is a private line. "That favor you owe me. For the dress incident." She's accrued over half a dozen personal favors, both small and large, from Timoteo. It is unsurprising; they have been friends for over a decade, even if they have drifted apart since he took over as Don Vongola a few years prior. This will be a relatively minor favor in the grand scheme of things.
"Time, Renato. Time." Timoteo grumbles into the phone, obviously exasperated, "It's the middle of the fucking night. I have to be up in—" A pause as he fumbles for the clock, "Three hours."
"Teo," she intones with a harsh scowl. As if I would call at this time of night if it wasn't important.
"Right, right. Never mind. Although the next time you want to discuss business, can you call during normal hours? Please?"
"All hours are business hours, Timoteo." Especially in our line of work. Given the melodramatic groan coming from the receiver, no doubt her friend can hear the amusement in her voice. She ignores it. "And this is a personal favor, not strictly business... Anyway— it might be worthwhile to send someone to look into the Crisantemo Famiglia. They're pushing into Chiavaroneterritory, and they deal with human trafficking... I assume things will take care of themselves naturally from there."
A long pause. "Dare I ask what they did to piss you off?"
"Hm? I merely wished to express my disapproval of their methods to someone that I know would feel similarly. I don't have the time to handle things personally, in this particular case." I might tell you later. Especially if the little one will join a Family, whether now or in the future. I'd rather he be the ward of someone trustworthy.
A sigh. "No, it's probably better if I don't know. Thanks for the intel; I'll take care of it in the morning. Ciao, Renato."
The boy, who chooses to rename himself Shamal, proves to be a rather sickly child. This is less due to his actual constitution, and more because of his wild imagination, likely fed by his experiences at the hands of the Crisantemo. Shamal is a hypochondriac with uncontrolled Mist flames— he creates diseases through imagination and Mist. A terrifying application of the Flame aspect of Construction. Still, as long as Shamal is inclined to believe that his rescuer can cure any and all of his ailments with her Sun Flames, Renato does not mind overmuch.
The precocious child quickly flourishes under her care.
Shamal is gifted with intelligence and pure, if poorly controlled, Mist Flames. And survival provides enough of a motivation to excel. One of her public personas, one that is not openly connected with the Mafia, quietly adopts her new student shortly after retrieving him— such talent cannot be trusted to a famiglia. Not one the size of the Vongola. And even the Giglio Nero contains elements that would exploit him; any mafia family would.
I'm not attached. Renato grumbles internally at Leon's playful teasing. Let alone 'an overprotective mama bear'! This is simply the most logical course of action.
11. Messenger
At twenty-seven, Renato Sinclair is acknowledged as the World's Greatest Hitman.
The term assassin would technically be more accurate, since she disavows membership in any famiglia.
Regardless, she is well-known and respected among the Mafioso, particularly those in Europe. Publicly, she maintains loose ties with the Vongola and Giglio Nero, and accepts missions from any famiglia that has access to Mafia Land— that is, mafia families that abstain from human trafficking, the drug trade and such. Accordingly, the hitman also maintains a modicum of ethics, for example: while she would kill anyone, even a child, in self-defense, she categorically refuses all contract hits on children, and prefers to avoid contracts on civilians in general. However, this knowledge is limited to a list of missing, presumed dead, Mafioso that attempted to trick her into crossing those boundaries, as well as to her inner circle of friends.
As always, Renato Sinclair has rivals, allies, fans, and acquaintances aplenty. Her friends number four: Timoteo, Luce, her current chameleon, named Leon as usual, and her precocious seven year old ward, Shamal.
"An aggravating day." Renato grumbles under her breath. She feigns being entirely unflappable, but today has tested even her patience.
At least the death was taken as a tragic accident, as requested?
"Hm." Renato hums her agreement, fiddling with the house keys in her pocket as she climbs the stairs to the fifth floor of the apartment building. "Luck." Considering I had to orchestrate a plausible accident on the fly... well, the results were a perhaps more comical than tragic.
Leon shuffles around his favorite perch— the fedora Renato always dons when not incognito— and peers over the edge of the brim. Home?
"More or less." Apartment 504 in this particular building is the current official residence of Renato Sinclair. The rooms have been heavily modified to accommodate her needs— a fact no one can complain about, as Renato has ownership of the building. Acquired under a pseudonym, of course. Her ward and student resides in an understated cottage, about a half hour's drive away, and Renato usually splits her time between the two homes.
The keys jingle softly as she unlocks the unassuming door— a slab of dark wood, thicker than average due to the sheet of metal hidden inside. The walls are similarly treated, and the soundproofing adds an extra layer of security as well. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she rebuilt this particular suite of rooms from the floor up, rather than modified.
Stepping inside the apartment, she pauses. Something is off. Someone was here... Hair prickling on the back of her neck; she's being watched. No, someone is here. Renato feigns ignorance, shrugging off her suit jacket and folding it over her arm, making her holstered gun more easily accessible, but also limiting the use of her left arm, if only momentarily. She strides into her bedroom, where she carefully hangs up said jacket, and calmly rolls up her sleeves.
She returns to the living room, eyes sharp, her expression the blankness of forced calm. "You may as well come out."
A deep, if quiet, chuckle. "My, my, my... What exceptional instincts. I see your reputation is well earned, Renato Sinclair." The odd man suddenly seated on her sofa is tall, taller than her, and dressed in an odd costume— she is instantly certain that nothing, not even the blonde hair and pale skin, is actually part of his natural appearance. It is likely even his voice is modified.
How could he—? What is he?! I can't sense his presence worth a damn, despite the fact that I can see him. None of those thoughts are broadcast on her face. Renato eyes the stranger with a vague feeling of trepidation, maintaining her relaxed stance. "Naturally. But you do know that it is rude to turn up in a person's home, uninvited?"
Leon blinks, edging away from the rim of Renato's fedora. Ren... Be careful. I can't sense his presence. He might not even be here physically... What a dangerous human.
"I have a proposition for you."
Renato releases a noncommittal hum in response, arching a brow.
"Yes. I am gathering a team of the strongest, most talented individuals in the world... The I prescelti sette, you could say. I want you to join."
"Whatever for?"
"A handful of exceptionally challenging missions. It's just a little... teamwork experiment. Don't worry; you will be paid handsomely for your time. The first meeting is set in a month."
Interesting. Renato does not voice her thought, but her other eyebrow rises to joins its mate.
Another disquieting laugh from the intruder. "Think about it, that's all I ask... You can always quit after the first meeting; no repercussions." The man flashes a smile, and an invisible shudder works its way up Renato's spine. Her instincts scream that there is something very, very wrong with that smile, with that man, with this situation.
"Well, I suppose I ought to head out. The details are on the table, there." A large Manilla envelope appears on the coffee table as he gestures. And then the man's shadow writhes, as if it is alive, and envelops the strange man. He is gone. As if he was never there.
"Cazzo! ...I'm probably going to have to move."
Even if he was never there in the first place? Though I suppose he had to be here to leave that envelope.
An impossibly powerful Mist?
Renato has proven surprisingly immune to illusions so far, even illusions created by Mists acclaimed for their power. She knows her own mind intimately, a necessity when she spends so much time pretending to be other people. She knows herself, her limitations, and her perception of the world, which hinders a Mist's ability to twist her reality. Or so she theorizes.
Renato paces the living room like an irate jungle cat, eyes scanning her surroundings. How did a stranger even enter? How did he stay hidden? Unless... that person is on such a high level, so far above in skill me that— a guttural snarl— frustrated, she pivots, facing the coffee table beside her couch.
The best sort of trap is one you expect. In a month, I can find out what this... I prescelti sette malarkey is all about. And then I can cut and run if need be.
She glares at the innocent-looking envelope on her table, proof that the whole episode isn't a poorly-crafted daydream by her tired mind. She thinks. She reasons. She plots.
I am strong. But strength comes in many forms: in body, in mind, in will...
I am definitely strong. But one of the strongest in the world?
Hmm... Mafia Land recently ranked me as the most skilled freelance hitman— and wouldn't that just hurt all those closed-minded little men if they knew I was a woman, she thinks, a perfectly wicked smile flitting across her face.
It seems her mind is already made up.
"Strongest seven, huh? Strongest seven what, I wonder..."
I'll just have to find out.
I'm baaack! Thanks for your encouraging words, reviewers. I am, unfortunately, ridiculously busy with real life, so updates will be sporadic... Hope you enjoy nevertheless!
This chapter became (much) longer than I originally planned. Here, we hopped, skipped, and jumped through what I would say are several pivotal points in Reborn's pre-Arcobaleno life and got a better feel for what sort of person she is becoming. It also explores her relationship with Luce, and to a (much) lesser extent Timoteo and Shamal. Arc II, which (if the muses cooperate) should deal with the Arcobaleno and the birth of Reborn, begins in the next chapter.
Finally, I don't have a beta— so please feel free to point out any errors, typos, etc., so I can fix them. (Because I sure as hell won't catch a mistake by editing this while I'm half-asleep at two in the morning!)
One last note: chrysanthemum (crisantemo) are flowers that are given during sad events in Italy, particularly funerals. Considering 'Carcassa' literally means carcass, I thought I'd follow along with the theme.
