Acrylic Painted Smiles

Chapter Four

Isabella poked her head around the corner to find Romano sitting by the vegetable garden. Romano was inspecting the numerous budding flowers and green stalks. He caught a glimpse of the little Spanish girl and smiled. "Buongiorno!" he said, beaming. The girl, too fascinated by the Italian's charismatic air, could only blush and dash back towards the main house.

"She likes you," commented Francis. He had been pulling out weeds since the early hours of morning. The gardener was currently in town buying ingredients. As it turned out, the gardener was also the house cook. That didn't leave Nathan with a whole lot of work to do, but the tall blonde did little to complain.

"Sweet girl," mutter Romano with a shrug of the shoulder.

"She's almost as sweet as you."

Romano frowned at the Frenchman's comment, but ended up saying nothing. It was too beautiful today to be upset. They had a grand view of the Pyrenees from where they were. "Tell me about him," he said after a moment.

"About whom, mon cher?"

"Tell me about that Spanish bastard. Despite all the talking that he does, he never talks about himself."

"Ah," nodded Francis. "There's not much to tell, really."

"What about his family?"

Francis flashed a sad grin. "Most people who end up in this profession don't really have family. Why else would he join?"

"Do you know what happened?"

"Not really. He doesn't talk about his childhood very often…"

Romano breathed. The air was fresh and crisp. It was nothing like the summer days in Italy where the sun was always shining and the salty sea showered the beaches with salty sand and shells. It was chilly in this part of Spain.

"Would it satisfy your curiosity to know that we were lovers?" asked the Frenchman with a raised eyebrow. Romano blinked.

"W-what?"

"We were lovers, he and I. We were young and wild. We'd spend summers in an absolute haze and wonder."

Romano was speechless, wondering if it was as joke. His heart seemed to sink to the pit of his stomach, though he knew not why.

"I'm only kidding, Lovino," laughed the Frenchman.

"That's not fucking funny!" frowned the bitter Italian.

"I thought it was. You should have seen your face."

"Bastard."

"You looked awfully jealous."

"Shut up, asshole. I was not."

"You were, don't deny it. You should see how red your face is."

"Fuck you!" exclaimed Romano.

"Oh, don't be like that. I'm only teasing you," chuckled Francis. He sat down on edge of the garden box next to Romano, who had crossed his arms across his chest. The Frenchman reached into his back pocket of his pants and pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He held it out to Romano. "You want one?"

"No, thank you."

"Funny. I thought all Italians smoked," shrugged Francis as he drew a slim cig, placed it to his lips, and lit it fluently before putting the lighter and box back where he had got it from. The fumes wafted into the air, but were carried off quickly by the breeze.

"My grandfather doesn't approve," said Romano. The smell was sickly sweet. He did his best not to breathe in much.

Francis scoffed.

"What?" demanded the Italian.

"I would have figured that the heir of the almighty Vargas would be a little more independent."

"Whatever. I don't like smoking."

"You're father smoked, if I recall correctly."

"You knew him?"

"Everybody did. He was a good guy. Great business partner, too. What happened to him in the end was a shame, though…"

Romano nodded sadly. It was just short of his tenth birthday. There was supposed to be a huge dinner party to celebrate, but crime families rarely ever not get their parties crashed by some vengeful asshole who wants control over the region. Romano hadn't been there when it happened, and a part of him was sort of glad. He could remember Feliciano crying for days, his eyes all red and puffy. Fate was cruel that way, he supposed.

"We got the bastard a week later, so I guess I'm sort of over it."

"That's twisted, mon cher."

"How do you mean?"

"Couldn't you have found peace of mind without seeking revenge?"

Romano blinked. "It's a part of the job. It's the way we live. It's an eye for an eye."

Francis shrugged as he exhaled, smoke escaping from his lips in a flowing stream. He hummed, thinking.

"What?" snapped Romano.

"Big words for such a small boy."

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano frowned and stood. Francis grasped onto his wrist and tugged him back down to his spot.

"Relax," chuckled the Frenchman. "You Italians. You need to learn how to breath."

"Whatever," muttered the Italian with a pout.

"Do you want some advice?"

"Not really."

"Well, tough. I'm going to give you some. Antonio doesn't know his own limits. That's why he's so successful in this job, okay? But he's a sensitive ass. He doesn't know when to quit. Sometimes I wonder if he's just smiling because he has to. You should have seen him when he was a kid. He had a certain… je ne sais quoi. He had life. Do you understand?"

"Not really," admitted Romano.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is… Don't let him get distracted. By anything. Otherwise he'll lose focus. When he loses focus, that might end up with you dying, d'accord? The situation in Italy is already unstable as it is."

Francis took a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers. Romano watched, reflecting upon the words that he had just heard. Distractions… What distractions? Antonio seemed aloof to begin with, so where was this all coming from?

"Whatever," sighed Romano as he stood up.

"Lovino~!" called Antonio from the kitchen's backdoor. The tall Spaniard bodyguard walked over with a happy bounce in his step to where the Italian and Frenchman were.

"Speak of the devil…" commented Francis softly.

"What do you want, bastard?" snapped Romano when Antonio arrived before him.

"Your brother's on the phone," informed Antonio. "Such a cute boy. Feliciano… The name practically rolls off your tongue, no?"

"Shut up, creep. That's my brother you're talking about," huffed Romano as he brushed past him towards the kitchen. The phone was on hold, sitting on the counter top.

Antonio watched Romano walk indoors. He was paying attention even when everybody thought he wasn't. Once Romano was inside, he turned his attention back to Francis.

"I heard him shouting earlier…" sighed Antonio as he sat down where Romano had once been.

"He's got quite a mouth on him."

"It's a part of his charm," the Spaniard shrugged with a chuckle. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing much. I just wanted to see what he was made of."

"That's not your job."

"I can have a little fun while ol' Rome isn't watching, can't I?"

Antonio laced his fingers together and placed his hands on his lap. In thought, he ran his tongue along his lower lip quickly. "He's not ready," he said in a quiet, low voice.

"What gave him away?" the Frenchman rolled his eyes.

"If only his father were alive to take over…"

"Yes, it would be much simpler. We're running out of time, too."

"What have you heard?"

"We lost our contacts in England," informed Francis with a cold look in his eyes. "And our operations in the States are dwindling as well. Four of our informants are already dead, and three others are trying to escape into Canada."

"Do you think they'll make it?"

"Once you run," said Francis between a drag, "you'll always run. That's the way this game is played. All they're doing is buying time for Rome back in Italy."

Antonio nodded sadly. He knew this all too well.

"You said his brother called?" asked Francis as he stepped on the cigarette bud, putting it out. The fumes were already disappearing on the wind's breath.

"Yes."

"How's Ludwig? I haven't seen that little fleur since he was twelve."

"He seems to be alright. There wasn't much of a conversation."

"And Gilbert? Any news from the Eastern Front?"

Antonio shook his head sadly. His old friend and elder brother of the other Vargas bodyguard had been sent to set up contacts and escape routes into Russia if it ever came to such an instance. That was over a year ago. The area he had been sent to was rather remote, but there would have been some sort of communication. A letter, a short text, an e-mail… Something. But no. In fact, knowing Gilbert, his location would have been national news. He would have found some sway to make his presence known. Silence wasn't exactly his forte. Gilbert was off the radar, though. Maybe that was his intent. Maybe that was a part of his mission.

"I see," frowned Francis.

"Things don't seem to be looking up in Sicily, do they?" pondered Antonio in a hushed whisper.

"No. This might be the end of the Vargas reign."

"It's not over until they get to Lovino or Feliciano, and I'm not going to let it happen either way," muttered the Spaniard.

Francis shrugged. "You should take him far away. Out of Europe. I doubt there's anywhere you can hide, but at least you can try. New names, new lives, the whole shebang."

"I don't think he'd like that. He's too proud."

"I'm well aware."

"But if you could take him, mon cher… Would you?"

"No," said Antonio quickly. "I'm not really the decision maker. You know that. Whatever Rome tells me to do, I do. I just follow him around."

Francis placed a hand on Antonio's shoulder, looking him square in the eye. "This is not the life you deserve, mon cher." He leaned in close, their noses practically touching. "You shouldn't need to follow this child around."

"Francis," said Antonio. There was an edge to his voice. A warning. "You know why I got involved. Don't change my mind."

"Lost love is something everybody must deal with. I know they killed your family, but getting revenge through this boy isn't the way to go. You might get everybody killed without it being your intent."

Antonio stood up. "You read me like a book, don't you?"

"I pay attention to the fine print, is all."

"We have a common enemy, Francis. What's so wrong about using the Vargas' connections to get to them? Their family is trying to kill off Lovino's. Their family killed mine. I think everybody wins when there are two hunting parties going after one."

"What of Lovino, Tonio?"

Antonio frowned. Why was Francis bringing the Vargas heir into this? "What about him?"

"Don't you think he'll be hurt to know you're just using him?"

"I'm not using him. I'm doing my job like I've been hired to."

"And what about when it's all said and done. What will happen when you get what you want? That's the only reason you're here with the boy. You may be doing your job, but it is not your intention to stay."

"He doesn't want me around, anyway..."

"That's not a very worthy answer."

"Oh, hush," snapped Antonio. "I'll figure it out when I get there."

"As easygoing as always, I see," chuckled Francis.

Romano strummed his fingers on the kitchen counter's surface. Feliciano was rambling on and on about his new life in Germany. Everything was extraordinary, apparently.

"Ve~" said Feliciano. Romano could tell his brother was wearing that same large smile on his face that he always had on. "And Ludwig is teaching me German, too. It's such a weird language. I can't make sense of it. Oh! And then we went to this huge library in downtown Berlin and then we found this little gift shop owned by this little old man. He gave me one of the trinkets for free because he thought I was a child."

"You are a child," said Romano quickly, butting into the conversation. The elder brother felt out of breath just listening to the Italian on the other end of the line. "What do you want, Feli? Our phone calls can't be long."

"Oh~" giggled Feliciano over the receiver. "I got a message from Grandpapa."

"Well?"

"He wants us to visit him at Vatican City."

Romano frowned. "What? Why? Is it safe?"

"I guess so!" laughed his younger brother. "Grandpapa said so, so I have no reason to say why not…"

"Very well," nodded Romano. "We'll get there as soon as we can. Are we meeting at–"

"Belizza," interrupted Feliciano so quickly it didn't sound like a word.

"Why not our regular place?"

"I don't know. Go ask Grandpapa. He chose it. Okay. I have to go now. Bye, fratello!"

"Yeah, yeah. Bye."

He hung up the phone.

(~)(~)(~)

Ludwig groaned. His head was pounding violently, his knuckles were bloodied and bruised, and every limb of his body was numb to the point of disbelief. His large blue eyes looked up at his frightened Italian charge, and then at the gun barrel pointed to Feliciano's temple. The Vargas heir hadn't moved an inch the entire phone call.

"Corisca," hissed Ludwig.

The shady individual next to his young charge didn't spare the injured bodyguard a glance. He simply took the cellphone that he had placed by the Italian's ear and put it back in his pocket. He was slender, this assailant, with cold green eyes. Eyes of greed.

"Well done, Mr. Vargas," he grinned devilishly. "A little over the top and fast, but generally well done."

"Please, signore, don't hurt Ludwig anymore. Please," shivered Feliciano. His eyes were watering. He wished to God his brother was here. Romano always knew what to do. And if he didn't, he could always find the courage to pretend he was the better man in the room.

"Begging doesn't suit the Vargas family," David Corisca clicked his tongue.

"Please," said Feliciano again. His face felt red. It was probably from all the punches he had received a few hours earlier. He didn't complain, though. What they had done to Ludwig seemed to have been far worse. The German, however, did little to show is pain. "Please, don't hurt my brother."

"And why should I listen to you, little boy?" asked the rivaling Family's head gunman. Feliciano didn't know how to respond. He was ashamed that he had to be, it was true, but it was all he could do at this point. The metal handcuffs that had him connected to the chair he was upon was cutting into his wrists. The uncomfortable burn made his squirm in his seat.

"You Vargas," sighed Corisca. "You think you can push as around and expect us to listen? God. You have some nerve."

"Leave him alone," snapped Ludwig from his spot on the floor. They had broken a few ribs, which were no doubt threatening to punch holes into his lungs. His voice was too quiet to hear clearly.

"What was that? You may need to speak up."

"Leave him alone," the bodyguard said again.

Corisca walked over calmly, his heals clicking against the cement basement floor. He kneeled down, his knee against Ludwig's head. The German grunted under the weight, but he said nothing. All he had to offer was a fiery glare and a snarl of derision.

"Don't worry. I'll leave him be until his brother arrives. Then I can put you out of your misery."

"Signore," whined Feliciano in a small voice. He didn't like this. Not one bit. "Please…"

"You worked well, Mr. Vargas. Didn't you say yourself you wanted to see your brother again? You're little trap will do just that, my dear Italian. And then you can see your brother and grandfather for the rest of eternity in Hell."

And with maniacal laughter and a final kick to the German's chest, the brute was gone.

"Ludwig," called Feliciano gently. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The German bodyguard didn't respond.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading! Please remember to review! I always love getting reviews! :3