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Disclaimer: I don't own APH

Romano was shocked, confused, and a tad exuberant about what the man in the room he'd just left had told him, who was his and his brother's boss.

Oddly enough, his corrupted president had just ordered him to personally confirm everyone's orders that they will be vacationing in Sicily while at the world meeting; a very strange and stupid decision. Why?

Sicily was always shrouded in bloodshed since the world's oldest Mafia was centered there, and two of the largest families were exchanging bullets over a little cross in territory problem at the moment, so he actually had been planning to go to Sicily to straighten everything out, since he is still a don.

His government made him start a famiglia when the mafia was first starting out for several reasons. To protect him from getting kidnapped by one of the families when he visited and to keep an eye on the others. His famiglia, The Roma Famiglia, was actually the biggest and strongest, so all the others left him alone. He went dark during the mafia wars. Really dark. He hasn't since, and he usually never touches his power reserves.

It took all Italy and Dark Italy to keep him in their country while he was dark, resulting in quite severe injuries to the Northern half's body. Just thinking about that time made the older half nation cringe. He had done some bad stuff at that time.

'But why would my asshole of a boss want everyone to go to a place he knows is like hell right now?' the Italian the thought. No matter how much he pondered this on his way to the world meeting, he couldn't come up with a logical answer.

When the car had reached the parking lot, his thoughts were interrupted by his phone's ringtone, playing L'italiano*. He quickly answered, silencing the song. Only his brother, the tomato bastard, and his top dogs knew that particular phone's number. As such, he answered in Italian.

"Che cazzo vuoi? Non mi piace quando mi interruppe i miei pensieri." "Capo Ci dispiace, ma le famiglie stanno diventando ancora più riscaldata. Possiamo fermarli entrambi venerdì prossimo, tre giorni da oggi, o aspettare che siano loro di uccidersi a vicenda." The calm voice of his right hand man, Savino, informed him (go to the bottom).

The don cursed, weighing his options. If he resolved everything 3 days from now, that would be the night right before the other countries would be coming, since they would be taking the 9:45 a.m. ferry Saturday morning to Messina. He was worried there might be some 'arguing' before they calmed down, which might lead to some collateral damage when everyone got to Sicily. If he waited for them to kill each other, on the other hand, that could take anytime from tonight to next decade.

He sighed, knowing that the first was better. Romano didn't want to make a public appearance to the mafia, and he hasn't since the mafia wars. Even so, he was determined to make their visit to his country a success, no matter what.

Having told the Mafioso his decision, he hung up and nodded to himself for self encouragement, finding himself at the door of the conference room. He awkwardly smiled to himself and entered. The sound difference in the room was disheveling, having forgotten they had decided to sound proof the room to protect everyone else in the building.

The older Italy twin sighed, as the only available seat was next to Norway and Switzerland, meaning to his right were the Nordics and to his left was the gun nut banker. He took his seat and rested his cheek on his fist, completely bored with America's same speech and wine and eyebrow bastard's fighting.

The Italian looked to his fellow countries seated beside him for some relief. Even though Switzerland was right next to Italy, that was the Northern half. Romano, as he was the Sothern part, didn't interact with him that much, unless his family had business with the neutral country's banks and arms.

The blonde just sat straight and at the ready with his arms crossed, listening intently. Liechtenstein happily sat next her big brother, smiling and chatting with Hungry who also sat next to her.

Norway, who he almost never talked to since he was all the way up in Scandinavia, was trying his hardest to ignore Denmark's booming voice that was heartily laughing with Finland and Sweden as they teased Iceland. His eyes were tightly closed, brows furrowed and lips in a straight line. His head rested on his arms on the table, facing the Italian.

Seeing no other better thing to do, Romano decided to start a conversation with Norway. "Do you like tomatoes?" asked the don. Norway opened his eyes and quirked an eyebrow at the tomato lover. He couldn't find a logical reason the Older Italian was sitting next to him trying to start a conversation. Deciding it was better than nothing, he hesitantly answered, "I don't hate them, since I don't try them very often."

Romano nodded in response. If the blonde had said no, he would've had to start shouting swears, too. "You should try to eat more of them, a tomato a day keeps the doctor away," "No it doesn't," "They're so juicy and delicious it's not hard to love them," the Mafioso exclaimed, completely ignoring Norway's correction. The Scandinavian sighed at the man to his right.

"Okay… but what's your opinion on magic?"

Norway, in return of answering one of Romano's questions, asked one of his own. He always wondered what the Italy brothers thought of his favorite hobby. They were the center of the Christian religion, and had shown much hate toward the occult over the centuries. The blonde wanted to hear their perspective of these events.

Romano quirked an eyebrow, then grinned. "That old fucking geezer, the Vatican, has been spouting crap and doing shit to guys who practiced the stuff for centuries, even though we ourselves were at fault for freaking killing the Lords's son."

Norway found Romano's ranting surprisingly entertaining and informative. "Really? What do you mean?" asked the Northern country. "What I mean is the very fucking bastardo Pontius Pilate is a freaking Latin name, unless the whole world has become blind idiotas, which is the Native language of the Romans. I'm pretty sure the Romans did a whole bunch of other shit to Jerusalem and the Jews, too, 'cause we had to read the bible a thousand times because of that geezer. I think I'm pretty familiar with the thing." Norway nodded to show he was still listening.

"What is your view of the whole witch hunting fiasco?" Norway asked. That period of history in particular had been a real pain in his ass to avoid getting caught practicing witchcraft. The older Italian sneered at the question.

"First of all, that was major time over kill on the fucking Beer and Potato bastard's part. They went way too far, and through most of it, they were just fucking bastardos with heads filled with paranoia and fear, trying to protect themselves from any scary-ass curses and ghosts; not so much to withhold the LORD's name. Maybe this is just coming from the fact I lived around Belgium for a fucking long time during my childhood, but they were shits that should be burning in hell right now and for the rest of eternity."

Their conversation went like this for a while, with Norway asking the occasional question and Romano basically ranting about how Rome, the Vatican City, and the Germany brothers, plus a few other guys that surprised the Viking, had taken the whole bible wrong for a few centuries each, even debating if any of them had actually read the whole thing cover to cover. Norway intently listened and took notes on the inside details Romano knew since he was an always overlooking presence on the whole Christian religion.

Finally, after ranting with vulgar language that Norway hadn't even thought of before, with a few very emotional snippets wavering into Italian and Latin, the meeting was 5 minutes within closing. As such, England thought it was about time to consult with South Italy why they had all been ordered to go Sicily.

"Older Italy," called the Brit, looking to the younger's side, irked to see Japan. "Where the bloody hell are you? Stand up!" "What the fuck do you want so badly that you have to fucking scream at me, eyebrow bastard?" shouted Romano, slamming his fist to the table with a pissed expression etched on his face.

"Explain why we all were invited to your house!" shouted England. "What?" Romano asked instantaneously. All eyes were on him, England letting out an exasperated sigh. "Our orders! To go to Sicily on Saturday!" England tried to explain.

After a bit of thinking back and checking his call history, he remembered. "Right, that. Yeah, you guys are all invited to spend a week going from Messina, Catania, Syracuse, and Palermo," He informed them, indicating that they had all heard correctly.

Italy was somewhat concerned, though. He had heard the Mafia were at it again and things were getting bad. On the other hand, Romano rarely ever has this kind of opportunity to make friends. At the very least, Italy decided to tell everyone to be armed. "Everybody, you should probably-" Italy was cut off by his brother's hand. The tomato lover dragged his younger brother over to the side, confusing the rest of the countries.

"Idiota! If you tell freaking countries to be armed, they'll bring armies that they have to maintain and all that merda*, and they won't be able to relax. This is the first time just about all of the other countries will be to Sicily, I want to make sure they want to visit again." Romano explained in a hushed voice. He looked to his brother, sighing since he was trembling with excitement. His younger brother nodded, happy his older brother was trying to make friends for once, and just told everyone to have a great time in his brother's country.

Romano gave a cheeky grin, excited that he can show his stuff to everyone. But now he had to deal with the Mafia, and they were always slippery sons of bitches and pains in the ass.

I hope you enjoyed it! Review please.

9CatLives