A/N: ENTER ANTONIO.
Also, catholicorprotestant requested everyone's ages, and I suddenly realised they perhaps weren't as clear to you guys in the story as I'd hoped they were (sorry!). Anyway, here are the ages:
Lovino – 24
Antonio – 25
Feliciano – 22
Romeo – 14
Gilbert – 26
Francis – 25
Ludwig – 23
Flavio and Luciano – 18
Don Romulus Vargas – 76
Ivan – 30
Arthur – 35
Alfred - 29
The Story of Ivan Braginsky, Businessman.
You don't want to know the story of Ivan Braginsky, businessman.
~ Fin ~
Ivan Braginsky sat at the dining table, dazed and cold. A half-empty bottle of vodka sat in front of him. His sister Katyusha was sobbing loudly on the couch. The clock on the wall went tick-tock-tick-tock, cloaked under the hum of people moving in and out of his mansion.
"I just…don't understand it," he said to nobody at all.
Eduard von Bock poured him a shot.
"Sir, we have the CCTV footage," Tino announced gently as he and Berwald came through the door. "Shall we watch it?"
Ivan blinked after the footage came to an end.
"I really don't understand it," he went on, this time sounding genuinely confused. "What did we ever do to the Vargas family? Why did they hurt me this way?" He stood, his hands behind his back as he paced around the living room.
"Sir…" Raivis Galante, the small, nervous one asked, "what would you like us to do?"
"We will have our vengeance," Ivan replied simply. "But on whom?" He suddenly stopped, blinking a tear away. "They must weep like I weep."
"If I may suggest," Berwald began, soft, emotionless. His voice sounded like ice from brittle northern winds. "Natalya's murderers were the twins, Flavio and Luciano. The Vargas family themselves do not like the twins. It's possible that they want to punish the twins harshly themselves. So why don't we take the youngest one instead?"
"No!" Tino snapped. "Family needn't get involved in business matters." He bit his lip; he'd spoken without thinking. Glancing towards his boss, he said, "…Right, sir?"
"But they have involved family. What did Natalya ever do to them?" Ivan put his lips to the vodka bottle and took a large swig. When he lowered it, his eyes were shining and his lips formed some kind of cruel smile. "I think that's fair. Innocent blood for innocent blood. Find out everything you need to know about Romeo Vargas."
"Liz?" Gilbert called softly as he entered his apartment. His wife was fast asleep. It was half past three in the morning. Their apartment was small, with only two bedrooms. One was theirs, and the other had been converted into the baby's room. After three miscarriages, however, it was now just a study.
Liz was curled up under the bedsheets, a soft smile on her face. Gilbert just watched her for a moment, before kneeling and pressing his lips to her temple. "Liz, we need to talk."
"Mmh. Tomorrow," she mumbled.
"Now. Come on." He shook her shoulder gently. "Come on."
Ten minutes later, she'd brushed her teeth and washed her face, and sat opposite her husband at the dining table, a cup of green tea in her hand. "This better be good. You better be pregnant or asking for a divorce or something."
He started to laugh. "Sorry, I'm not pregnant."
She giggled too. They laughed because it was easier than crying when anyone brought up pregnancy. So they joked about it. They joked about it viciously.
"Or divorcing you."
"Good. Because that would be a dumb thing to do."
"I know. But something has happened, and I just want you to be on guard."
Elizabeta sighed, taking a sip of her tea. Every time Gilbert said that, she'd become quiet and exasperated. Gilbert worried about her, about her safety. But nobody attacked wives and children. It just wasn't done. Family was out of bounds.
"Flavio and Luciano killed Natalya."
She was not expecting that.
"Ivan's sister?"
"Half-sister. Different father. But basically, yes."
"Why?"
"Because they're stupid. And they were drunk. Yes, Natalya is a part of the business, but the whole thing was uncalled for, and frankly, personal." Gilbert then told her about Romeo. She covered her mouth with her hand. He knew she saw the Vargas boys in a rather maternal way, even though she was the same age as Lovino. ("They need a tough woman to tell them to shut up now and then.")
"I'm worried about us." Gilbert stared down the neck of his beer bottle. "Since it's Ivan. I was trying to talk to Ludwig too, but he wouldn't listen."
Elizabeta pressed his palm. "You shouldn't have to suffer for Ludwig."
"He's my kid brother. And you're my wife. I'm supposed to protect both of you."
Elizabeta just sighed. "I know where the gun is. And the emergency cash. I know where the hideout is. Our safe word is 'Budapest'."
"Good girl." He came up to her and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry me, okay?"
"Have a little faith, Gilbert. I can take care of myself."
"Lovino, why am I in the basement?"
Lovino handed his grandfather some pills and some green vegetable juice. "Good morning, Nonno. How are you feeling?"
His grandfather's stare – so much like Lovino's – glinted in the basement's pathetic yellow lights. The doctors had recommended he stay in the hospital, but Don Vargas didn't trust them. So instead, the hospital had to come to Sicily Mansion. The Don was hooked to machines which beeped on and off, and the servants dashed about, attending to his every need.
"Lovino."
The grandson sighed. This was another sleepless night. It was starting to show on his young features. "Something happened." And Lovino told him. The grandfather only stared, expressionless.
"I'm sorry, grandpa. I should have kept a better eye on them."
His grandfather shook his head. "You can't babysit those two every minute of the day. You know they were going to mess up like this."
"But it's all under control," Lovino quickly said. "You don't have to stress. That's part of why you had that heart attack. Just relax, I'm going to handle it. We have contacts in the papers so the story is out of at least a couple of rags. Today we're going to reach out to the Russians and settle things – "
"Are you insane? You are not going to make the first move to settle things down. It's weak." His grandfather's hands tightened over his duvet, and he suddenly winced from a pain in his chest.
"Grandpa, you need to relax." Lovino put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy. Breathe. Are you all right?"
"Don't baby me, Lovino." But he seemed to calm down after that. "And don't contact Braginsky first. He'll think we're trying to avert something."
"But we are trying to avert something!"
"No, we're not afraid of any retaliation."
You stubborn bastard.
"Lovino, that is an order."
"Fine." Lovino stood. "Fine, as you say." You're still the boss, after all. "I'll just fortify the house and our businesses, then."
"Good boy." The Don finally smiled. "You're turning out to be a fine leader."
Lovino sighed. "Thank you."
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you." Lovino pressed a gun to Flavio's head. Francis held Luciano at gunpoint. Both twins were on their knees, shaking with hunger with broken collarbones.
"We're family," Flavio replied.
Lovino lowered his gun. "House arrest. No. Confine them to their rooms. Three bathroom breaks a day. If I see them outside at any other time, I will shoot them."
Francis only nodded. "Of course, Lovino."
Nothing happened for a week, and then fireworks poured out of Romeo's mouth as he started talking back.
"I'm sick and tired of staying in here all fucking day! I'm missing out on school, and I don't care what you want, I'm going!"
"Do you want to die?" Lovino screamed back. "The only reason Braginsky hasn't had you killed yet is because you've been home, with bodyguards!"
"I want to actually do something productive with my life, and if I stay here any longer, I'm going to lose my straight As!"
"Guys!" Feli snapped. "Can we just calm down and finish dinner?"
They ignored him. Romeo got up from the table and Lovino did too, towering over his youngest brother with golden eyes forcing his superiority. "Losing your grades is better than losing your life." His voice was calm now. "You know how these things work, Romeo. A life for a life."
"And why would they want to take mine?" Romeo snarled. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"You're the most vulnerable."
"I'm not in the business."
"This isn't business!" Lovino shouted suddenly. "Don't you get it, you fucking idiot? This is personal! Natalya's death wasn't a business move, it was bloodlust and opportunity!"
Romeo just glared, vaguely resembling their father on a bad day. "I am going to school tomorrow. You can just go fuck yourself." And with that, he stormed to his room and slammed the door shut.
Lovino violently brought his fist into the table. Feli's wine glass almost fell over.
Feliciano just spun his spaghetti around his fork. "He's a teenager. You've got to handle him a little better. They're prone to emotional outbursts."
"Shut the hell up."
"Don't you turn on me, Lovi, because you know very well that I can shout back." Feli's position in the family was that exactly: the mediator, the advisor, the one who always spoke sense. It didn't do well to compromise his position. It upset the balance. "If he wants to go, he's going to go, and you can't stop him. We'll send bodyguards with him. Don't you worry one bit. They wouldn't attack him in school. Even Ivan knows his boundaries."
Lovino sat down and ran a hand through his hair. "Ivan knows his boundaries, yes. But does Emil Bondevik?"
Five Fun Facts About Ivan Braginsky's Russian Mafia
Ivan Braginsky is the 'Pakhan', the boss, the 'Godfather', shall we say.
Berwald Oxenstierna is his Sovietnik, his advisor. He is more experienced in this role than Feliciano is as consigliere. Berwald helped spread Ivan's power after the war seven years ago, and Ivan trusts him completely.
Tino Väinämöinen and Matthias Køhler share the role of Kassir – the bookmaker. While Tino handles the books, Matthias collects money from the brigadiers and bribes government officials.
Toris Laurinaitis, Ravais Galante and Eduard von Bock, although appearing nervous and skittish, are Ivan's three most trusted brigadiers or captains, each with men working under them.
And then we have Emil Bondevik. He is what they call 'torpedo'. Working under Toris, Emil is a contract killer.
~ Fin ~
"If it isn't Ludwig Beilschmidt," Emil whispered to himself from inside his car as he slid one of Natalya's custom-made knives with the ebony hilts into his coat. Kill him how Natalya would have wanted, Pakhan Braginsky had said. Maybe he should kill Ludwig too. But he didn't want to cause problems without Ivan's permission. Maybe next time, then.
He'd been watching Sicily Mansion for a week. It was impenetrable, and anyway, trying to enter it would have been foolish. Romeo was just a child, and children went to school. At the back of his mind, he almost wondered if Ivan would appreciate murdering the boy in school, where young kids would find him. These bosses kept up their pretence of civility. It was important to them. Even Don Vargas, the same man who poisoned his four-year-old granddaughter, would have some reservations about this.
But Emil had a job to do, so why waste an opportunity?
Everybody clearly knew who little Romeo was, because when they saw him walk inside with surly, cardboard Ludwig following after him, they made way. Emil could almost imagine them whisper, he's the Vargas boy. That's his bodyguard.
Emil waited for a minute or two, before getting out of the car and entering the school building.
In the quiet bathroom where Romeo was washing his hands, Ludwig hovered next to him, checking his watch. "When does your school end, again?"
"Now," Emil replied with a rare smile.
Ludwig didn't have a chance to whip out his gun before Emil flung Natalya's knife into his chest. These knives were meant for shots like this, after all. They were throwing knives. Ludwig went down, Romeo screamed, and Emil took out another one of Natalya's blades.
"Hello, Romeo Vargas," he said simply.
There was blood everywhere.
The funeral was a quiet family affair. Ludwig could barely stand, but he forced himself, and shed tears of guilt. Gilbert was red-eyed too. Feliciano wept. The twins wept. Elizabeta wept. Don Vargas wept. Only Lovino remained dry-faced. He was cold. Cold from inside and out, cold into his bones, into his cells, into his atoms.
Flowers came. Condolences came. Don Vargas got off the bed and resumed control of affairs.
Lovino hated him.
This was his fault.
He could have fixed everything if his grandfather just gave him the chance. Lovino couldn't kill his grandpa. It would shatter Feli, especially after this. And besides, he loved the man. But it couldn't go on like this.
Enough. Enough. Enough.
Lovino: Vash, I want everything ready.
Vash: Are you sure you want to do this now?
Vash: After...Romeo's death?
Lovino: I. Want. Everything. Ready.
Lovino was in his room, desperate to cry. But tears wouldn't help, and Lovino hated an excess of emotion. So he made the call.
Far Away from Where Our Main Character Sits In His Room, Wracked With Grief and On a Mission
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo sat with a flickering yellow lightbulb and a dilapidated room. The only object of class here was his bottle of wine. It was several decades old, which is how wine should be.
Then his phone rang.
Antonio didn't register it for a second, because it never usually rang. He couldn't recognize the number.
"Hello? Is this Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?"
The voice on the other end was unsteady. Afraid? No. Emotional. But underneath that was something tenacious, a sort of solidity that most people could not muster. Like bedrock.
"My name is Lovino Vargas. Grandson of Don Romulus Vargas."
Ah. What a strange surprise.
"Rumours say you're the only man who makes my grandfather nervous."
This kid really shouldn't believe everything he heard…
"I would like to employ your services. I can't reveal anything else over the phone. If you agree, meet me at The Rusted Handle – it's a bar near the dockyard. I'll be there at 10.30 day after tomorrow, wearing a green tie. Speak to no-one about this phone call."
Antonio clicked the end button, dropped the phone on the floor and sighed. There was no more wine in his glass.
"Lovino, where are you going?"
Lovino gasped at his grandfather's voice. It was dark in the living room, except for a dim yellow decorative light on the wall. His grandfather sat on a sofa chair with a large glass of whiskey, because Don Vargas didn't deal with grief – he let the alcohol eat away at it until there was nothing left but a hangover and bad breath. Lovino turned, forced a weak smile (he felt empty inside), and said, "Sorry, I didn't see you there. I…I'm going out."
"Ludwig," Don Vargas called. His voice was soft and exhausted, but from the kitchen, Ludwig emerged. He was still recovering from the knife to his chest, and Don Vargas didn't blame him for Romeo's death, but Lovino still couldn't look at him for very long. Ludwig wasn't his usual self either. Feli had found him with a stash of hard drugs he otherwise never touched. Still, Ludwig wasn't high now, because he sounded just like himself when he said, "yes?"
Don Vargas gestured vaguely to Lovino. "Go with him. It's very tense out there. I'm not going to lose another grandson."
Ludwig stiffened.
Lovino swallowed. "No. I'm just…I'm going to church. I," his voice cracked. This was a disgusting lie. "I had some things I wanted to say. To. Romeo." Both of them looked at him. Lovino lowered his head, balled his fists and took deep breaths. "I'd like my privacy."
With some difficulty, Don Vargas stood and approached his sotto capo. He put his hands on Lovino's cheeks, kissed his forehead softly and said, "don't be long."
"I won't." Lovino turned, heart rate soaring, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
The Don waited a beat or two. "Ludwig, follow him."
The German only nodded.
"Make sure he's safe."
"How do you still trust me with their lives?" Ludwig only asked, lowering his head in shame.
Don Vargas patted his shoulder. "People die. It's the nature of the business. It wasn't your fault."
Minutes after Lovino's black BMW left Sicily Mansion, Ludwig's car followed.
Lovino didn't go to church. Ludwig was surprised at first, but he probably shouldn't have been. Few people went to church at 10.00 PM, and Lovino wouldn't have been one of them anyway. Feli, perhaps. Even the Don. But not Lovino. He followed the car instead to a little bar across the street from the entrance to the docks, and for a moment, Ludwig wasn't sure if he should get out and follow him.
He waited in the car instead.
The Rusted Handle was seedy by even Lovino's standards, and Lovino had visited his grandfather's many strip clubs when he was fifteen. The lighting was dim, the music tasteless, the glasses greasy and the beer disgusting. He sat in a booth in the corner, a green tie on his neck, as he bided his time by counting the amount of rats he saw skirting across the floor. (Six). He didn't make eye contact with anybody. Most of these people were drunks and prostitutes, and Lovino was dressed too well. He didn't want to attract any more attention than his shiny cufflinks were already getting.
Someone entered the bar. Lovino could barely see them in the smoke and poor lighting, but the man was wearing a crumpled untucked black shirt and a haversack around one shoulder. He made his way over, and Lovino only focused on his face. Chiseled, tanned, with bright green eyes that at once made Lovino's heart flutter and made him squirm with nerves. Those eyes distressed him. Lovino didn't want to look at them.
And yet, Antonio slid into the seat opposite Lovino.
"Carriedo?" Lovino whispered, heartbeat in his ears.
"Si." Antonio leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You're not…what I was expecting." For some reason, Lovino had pictured a goliath with fat biceps and twenty tattoos.
"Oh?" Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Well, your tie isn't green."
"Wha – of course it is!" Lovino grabbed at it and held it out.
"That's teal," Antonio said simply, in a very matter-of-fact way.
"It's not te – it doesn't matter," Lovino snapped, his ears reddening.
"I must say, Lovino, you're much more attractive than I'd hoped." Antonio leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
Lovino didn't even know what to say. So he thoughtlessly blurted, "are you gay or something?"
Antonio smirked. "Do you have a problem with that?"
This man, Lovino had to remind himself, was a stone cold killer. "No."
"Because you're gay too, right?"
Lovino kept these things so secret, not even Feliciano knew about them. In fact he thought about it so little (and indeed, more interesting things were always going on at home), that the question actually caught Lovino off guard. He almost denied it, but when he opened his mouth, "how the fuck did you guess that?" toppled out.
"Your eyes." Antonio smirked, enjoying his little game. "Your pupils dilated when they saw me. That usually means attraction. So even if this meeting is complete bullshit – as I suspect it is – we can go to my motel and fuck. How about that?"
"You're – " Lovino seldom found himself at such a loss for words. Romeo. He forced himself to think of his brother, and instantly, his mood got worse. "Stop wasting my time. I don't have too much of it."
"No." Antonio sat up straighter, his gaze hardening. "Stop wasting mine. The only reason I'm here is because your last name is Vargas. The Don gave me my big break, and everything I am today is because of him. It is out of respect for him that I bothered to show up. I don't think you're even supposed to have my number, Lovino. You're really fucking lucky I didn't call the Don up myself to rat you out." Antonio paused, sizing up Lovino's stunned expression. "Same old story everywhere you go. Underbosses wanting to overthrow their superiors. You're such a fucking cliché."
Nobody had ever dared to speak to Lovino like that. Mass murderer or not, he wasn't going to stand for it. Antonio may have been the most dangerous human being in the country, but Lovino was no less himself, and he had a gun with him, just in case.
"You're full of shit, aren't you?"
"And yet, I'm not the one who called this meeting."
Lovino could play these verbal games all night if he wanted to, but he couldn't be bothered. So instead, he leaned in and declared, "cards on the table, I need your help."
"Wow, that's surprising news." Antonio suddenly rolled his eyes, and added, "nobody ever calls to hang out. It's always 'Antonio, I need your help', 'Antonio, kill this sonofabitch for me,' 'Antonio, please don't shoot me.' Never 'Antonio, want to go grab some lunch? Want to go watch a movie? Want to take a road trip?' This job is really fucking predictable."
"Wha…" Lovino sat back, blinking. "Did you just –"
"Listen." Antonio sighed, bored and exasperated. "I'm retired. Find another psychopath to do your dirty work."
"What the fuck do you mean retired, Carriedo?" Lovino cried, before glancing around and lowering his voice.
"First of all, my name is Antonio. Call me Antonio. Secondly, Lovino, I'm not going to work for you. Find someone else."
Lovino had not come all this way, lied to his grandfather, swallowed his grief (years and years of it), for this. "How much do you want?"
"I don't need money."
Lovino laughed. "Everyone has a price. What's yours?"
"Solitude."
"Classy. But let's be real, Antonio. There's something you want. Something material. Tell me what it is and you'll have it."
Antonio was quiet for a moment. Then, "you wouldn't be able to afford me."
From his coat pocket, Lovino slapped a paper package on the table. "Here's a fifty grand deposit, taken from my very deep pockets."
Antonio took the packet, opened it, stared into its depths for a moment and then put it in his bag. "An estate in Spain, immunity from the government and ten million dollars wired to a Swiss bank account."
A tall order.
"I'll give you five million."
"Eight."
"Five."
"Seven."
"Antonio, five."
Antonio stared. "Six, and that's my final offer."
Lovino extended a hand to shake. "Let's talk."
Lovino rubbed his hands together, revising, for one last time, the speech he had prepared. "I'm going to liquidate my grandfather's assets. All of them."
Antonio raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"I'm going to sell his land, his businesses, his entire organization, to the Russians. They're the only buyers who'd be able to afford it all. I'm taking my family out of the business, whether they like it or not."
Antonio reached out and took a sip of Lovino's untouched beer. "Interesting. And how, pray, are you going to do that?"
This was when Lovino smirked. "That's the thing. I can. Because technically, my brother Feliciano and I legally own almost the whole thing. He bought the industrial land in our names to keep his name out of the courts if the police started poking about. Everything else – the drugs and the arms, come from suppliers, right? Everything's done in cash and there are no documents. The deals we've decided with our suppliers will be sold to the Russians. The deals. Then you have the lesser avenues – internet gambling and internet sex trafficking. I technically own the former, so I sell the websites, and for the for latter, once more, sell the deals that we have with our pimps. That brings us to the strip clubs and casinos. Those were in my father's name. When he died, Feli and I inherited them. My grandfather is the boss of it, he runs it all, he gets the biggest cut, but technically, Antonio, Feli and I own the assets."
Antonio hummed. "What about your money-laundering and protection racketeering?"
"We don't launder money anymore. We shut that down a few years ago because we were making losses – the Russians have the monopoly there now. And protection racketeering is a piece of cake. Our protectees would pay the Russians instead."
"I see." Antonio took another sip of Lovino's beer. "But I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"
Lovino sat back against his seat. "My initial plan was to do it the right way. To wait until I took over the family. To wait till my grandfather died. But now…"
"Your brother, hmm?" Antonio kept drinking the beer. "It's been all over the news. The brutal murder of a fourteen-year-old in a school bathroom. Dark stuff."
Lovino swallowed and glanced away.
"Another war seems imminent," Antonio said simply.
"And it can be avoided if my plan succeeds."
"That's true."
"The net worth of the whole thing is easily over a billion dollars."
"Impressive." Antonio raised his glass almost to praise Lovino. "Certain countries don't have GDPs that high."
Lovino snorted, although he didn't sound very happy. "Yeah." Hesitating slightly, he added, "it's been on my mind for years and years. Since my parents and grandmother were murdered. Last month, I actually figured out a way to do it and started speaking to Vash Zwingli about it."
Antonio made a face. "That sorry little man."
"He's useful."
"Si."
"This fucking business and its violence. I've killed people too, I have no qualms about it. But it's fucking pointless, especially when family gets involved." Lovino had to fight to keep his voice steady. "What did anyone achieve by murdering my meat-pie-making grandmother or my cat-loving mother? What did anyone achieve by killing my brother? He was only fourteen, and he had plans. Things he wanted to do. He died for nothing, and it could have been avoided if my grandfather had let me handle things my way. I would have spoken to Braginsky. At least I could have softened him a little. I'm really fucking pissed off at all the senselessness of it.
"You know, my father didn't want this for us. He wanted us to do something useful for society. He talked about Feli opening an Italian restaurant and me being an artist and I don't know what the fuck else. If he saw us now, extorting people and shooting them in the chest, he'd be heartbroken."
"Sentimental," Antonio merely said. He finished the beer and signalled for another one. "I still don't understand what you need me for."
"I'm not sure yet either." Lovino's golden eyes were soft now, molten and cautious. "But I'm going against one of the most dangerous, influential people in the country, and I need someone solid on my side. Because I'm going to lose everything. Perhaps even my life."
"So you need a trump card."
"Yes. Will you do it?"
Antonio was silent for a whole minute. "I respect your grandfather a lot. I could still rat you out. But I need that estate in Spain with the immunity and the money, so fine, I'm on your side."
Lovino almost smiled. Then Antonio added, "you'd best figure something out for yourself, too."
"What do you mean?"
Antonio shrugged. "Just saying. You're going against a very powerful establishment. You're going to need a place to escape to when it's all over."
"If I survive it."
"If you survive it."
The second beer arrived.
They shook hands.
"Come to my motel?"
Lovino finished the beer in five large gulps and slammed some money down on the table. "Let's go."
A/N: Dark!Spain is a thing of beauty. But he isn't Insane!Dark!Spain, he's just a little bit bloodthirsty. Thanks for reading! Please review :D