A/N: Things are about to start happening. Yay :D

Antonio's motel was the sort with paper walls and angry couples shouting at each other from behind them. There were more rats. The guy at the reception was definitely high. There was a soda dispenser with an Out of Order sticker on it.

His room was, if anything, worse. A lumpy bed, a stale, vaguely cabbage-y smell in the air, and with the blinds drawn, Lovino felt mildly suffocated. "Home sweet home," Antonio said, ignoring the irony of the statement.

"I thought you had enough money to live wherever you wanted."

"Ah," Antonio said slowly. "I, uh, I did."

Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"Then I blew it all up in Vegas."

"All of it?"

"I was there for a month."

Lovino slapped his forehead.

Ludwig couldn't understand what was happening. First the bar, now a motel? Was Lovino on a date? (With a man?) Not that Ludwig had any interest in his personal life. The Don wouldn't agree, and Ludwig could keep a secret, but when he ventured to think about it a bit more, this didn't seem even vaguely romantic.

There was something…well, off, about this whole thing. The secrecy of it. He understood that reputations had to be protected, yes, but…he just had a feeling. It was past midnight now. If the Don was awake, he'd be getting anxious.

Ludwig sighed, lighting a cigarette to fight off sleep. His still-raw wound hurt, but not as badly as his betrayal did. They'd trusted him. And he let them down. He let down his boss and Romeo, he'd let down everybody.

He just stared at Lovino's BMW up ahead, wondering about him and the man with him, wondering if Lovino might ever forgive Ludwig for his failure.

Pushing off the covers, Lovino jumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes and shoes. He was angry. He was exhausted, filthy and furious with himself. It hadn't even been a week since Romeo's death and he was already in a strange motel room with the after-sex panic that he detested. He threw on his blazer and stupid teal tie, snatched his phone, gun and wallet from the table, opened the door and –

He heard a familiar click from behind him, and Lovino's heart just sank. He raised his arms above his head and turned. Slowly. Antonio had a Glock 22 pointed at him, his green eyes as cold as poison. "Careful, Lovino," he whispered. It was a sight – Antonio in only his boxer shorts. It would have been funny if Lovino wasn't so terrified.

"What the hell is your problem?" he tried to make it sound menacing, but the words that fell out were hesitant and confused.

"Gun on the floor," Antonio ordered.

He had a passing thought of shooting Antonio with it, but as his hand clamped around the weapon, Lovino lost his courage. One wrong move, and Antonio would blow his brain apart. So he dropped his gun on the floor and kicked it towards Antonio.

"Close the door."

Lovino did.

Antonio never lowered his gun. "I get very suspicious of sudden escapes. Don't you?"

"You're paranoid. I need to get home."

"Didn't you have fun?" Antonio asked, his voice in mock innocence.

"I did, I did, but I need to get home, idiot!" Lovino couldn't handle this right now. His emotions were all over the place. He needed to lock himself up in a quiet room and force his tears away. He wasn't mentally present enough to deal with this guy.

"What did you want from me? Information? To figure out where I stay? Who are you working for?"

"For fuck's sake!" Lovino snapped. His only warning was the burn in his throat and eyes before the tears poured out and he had to cover his face in shame.

"What…" he heard Antonio slowly whisper. Lovino forced his head up and tried to wipe his eyes, but all that achieved was showing his wet, sobbing face to one of the coldest people alive. Antonio looked utterly lost for a moment, lowering the gun. "You're crying," he said out loud, as though this was something alien to him. "That's new," he admitted, before placing his gun on the table and taking hesitant steps towards Lovino.

"Fuck off, okay?" Lovino mumbled, although it sounded so pathetic he almost wished he'd not said anything at all.

Antonio caught him by the shoulders and guided him to the bed, where Lovino sat and cried, cried, cried. Antonio was awkwardly rubbing his back.

"I was supposed to look after him," Lovino blurted out. He'd already made a total ass of himself to Antonio anyway. He had nothing else left to lose. "I told him to stay at home, but he didn't listen. It was my responsibility."

Antonio sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Fuck. This was not how I pictured my first meeting with you." He coughed through his tears.

For a moment, they were quiet. Only Lovino's tears and the passing chugs of trains in the distance interrupted them. Antonio sighed again. "I know it's going to hurt a lot. My older brother shot himself when he was sixteen."

Swallowing, Lovino whispered, "really?"

Antonio just nodded, his eyes distant. "He was really angry about a lot of things. I never really tried to understand him. I guess that's on me."

"You're not at all how I pictured." Lovino wiped his eyes on his sleeves.

The man beside him chuckled. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Lovino just nodded. "I'll text you."

A dark figure exited the motel, and Ludwig lowered his cigarette so it wouldn't be visible from the windscreen of his car. He watched Lovino enter his BMW, close the door behind him and drive off.

Ludwig followed him home.

When Lovino got back, the house was quiet. He went to his room and didn't bother changing before he collapsed onto his bed and slept like he hadn't slept since his grandfather had that heart attack.

10.23 AM

"Emil Bondevik," Ivan greeted with his customary smile. It always unnerved his subordinates. He usually smiled like that when he ordered death sentences. In his home office, Ivan sipped his tea as his favourite contract killer took a seat. Emil was stiff and nervous. "You're a hard man to find, aren't you?"

Emil kept his eyes lowered. It was just smart. Ivan hated feeling challenged. It made him furious. And eye-contact could sometimes be the one thing that sent him over the edge. "I'm sorry, sir. But I had to keep a low profile. That last kill turned into a media frenzy."

A wooden screech as Ivan opened a drawer in his desk. Without looking, he pulled out a plastic wrapped wad of banknotes and tossed it towards Emil. Ivan then stood and walked towards him. "Good work," was all he said, patting Emil's shoulder.

And out of nowhere, the barrel of a revolver forced its way up Emil's chin, forcing his head back. The shorter man let out a panicked gasp.

Ivan had his finger on the trigger, and he didn't bother looking at his victim. "Next time," he whispered, "don't attack a school." And with that, the revolver slid back into the depths of Ivan's coat, and Pakhan Braginsky walked off.

Lovino awoke to frenzy. For a second, he was confused – why was he wearing a suit? And then the surreality of the night before came rushing back, and the first thought he had was, Oh, God. Antonio. The Rusted Handle. Sex. Did he CRY?

"Oh God," Lovino moaned, pushing himself up. He had to blink through a dizzy spell and had to hold the wall to prevent falling over. He was so disoriented. "Coffee," he whispered, rather pleaded with the heavens above. Shedding his suit for something less suspicious – a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, he staggered to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face.

When he emerged seven minutes later, he was distinctly aware of a Happening happening. Feli was on the phone, Gilbert and Ludwig were barking orders, Francis was nowhere, Flavio and Luciano were sitting at the dining table with machine guns and at the center of it all, Don Vargas was leaning back on the sofa chair with a cigar (because heart scares be damned, right?)

When Lovino came down the stairs, his grandfather motioned him to come closer. "A new development."

"Oh?" Lovino was not coherent enough for this.

"I sent Gilbert's men to fire at some of Braginsky's drug peddlers. They're reporting in now."

"Oh," was all Lovino said. His grandfather blinked at him, expectant. So Lovino added, "great." His eyes wandered to the kitchen. "Coffee." And he ambled off.

As he put the water to boil, Lovino took out his phone and sent:

Lovino: Meeting you at 11.45.

Vash: Fine. I'll be home.

And another:

Lovino: Need you here by 11.00 AM. We'll be going to Zwingli's residence.

Antonio: we're using MY car

Lovino: …Why?

Antonio: becauz yours is a bitch-car

Lovino rolled his eyes and locked his phone.

"Wassup, Artie! I got burgers!"

Alfred walked into the cabin with a paper bag of McDonalds and dumped it on Arthur's desk, somewhere between the paperwork and the tea cups.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Do not call me 'Artie'."

"Why not?" Alfred laughed. "It suits you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Arthur hadn't heard it ring – it must have been on vibrate or something, because Alfred rolled his eyes at the screen, swiped to answer, and pressed it to his ear. "Mattie, I'm busy saving the world, what do you want?"

Arthur leaned back, rubbing his hands in amusement. Well, well, well, what was this?

"What do you mean I forgot my glasses, I'm wearing them right – oh crap, these are yours. I didn't even realise."

Alfred was silent for a moment, and then he suddenly frowned. "Hey! You're the idiot! Whatever, I actually have work to do, so you come over because I'm not moving my ass." Pause. "My ass is not fat, fuck you." And then he cut the call.

"What in the world was that?" Arthur asked, swallowing a laugh.

"Ugh, my lame brother. He's coming here in a bit. I walked off with his glasses."

"You have a brother?"

"A twin."

Arthur's eyes widened. "That's interesting."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred kept his phone on the desk. "I'm expecting a call from Bonnefoy. I think he's starting to trust me."

Ludwig was a watcher. This was above all. Unlike his brother, Ludwig was quiet and reticent, and more than anything, observant. He was standing outside with a cigarette, watching the butterflies flit between the begonias when a black van pulled up at the heavily guarded gate. Black vans were always suspicious things. Out of sheer habit, Ludwig dropped his cigarette and reached for the inside of his blazer. The guards at the gate, too, had their guns raised as one of them went to check who the intruder was.

He walked up to the van himself, the guards let him through, and Ludwig peered into the window of the driver's seat, where a handsome man in an untucked dark green shirt sat with one hand on the steering wheel, his expression bored. His eyes – vivid, sharp – stared at Ludwig for a moment, before his face split in a grin. "Don't I know you?" He snapped his fingers to jog his memory. "What did Gilbert call you? Ah! Little Luddy!"

Ludwig went scarlet, took his gun out and aimed it squarely at the man's face. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man snickered. "Why don't you go inside and tell Don Vargas that Antonio says hello. He'll understand."

"Sir, there's a man outside in a black van, calls himself Antonio."

And Ludwig observed the atmosphere in the room change in a split second. Lovino's head shot up, blinking. His back stiffened. The Don widened his eyes, standing up slowly. And Gilbert lowered his phone, giving Ludwig this stupid surprised stare.

"Antonio?" Don Vargas asked quietly. "My Antonio?"

"Uh…" Ludwig began.

"Well, don't just stand there! Let him in! He's a special guest, always welcome here!"

Feliciano, Flavio and Luciano glanced at each other, clearly as confused as Ludwig was.

Toris approached Ivan and whispered in his boss's ear.

Ivan smiled. Now he would take revenge on the Vargas family for killing some of his best drug peddlers.

"Shall I give the order, sir?" Toris asked in a low voice.

"They're all at the warehouse, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do it."

"Hey, Mr. Bonnefoy, dude!" Alfred as Thomas chirped. "Want some candy?" He offered an open packet of M&Ms to Francis, who wrinkled his nose and shook his head. It was a slightly overcast day, and in the breeze, Alfred was feeling a little chilly. They were at Vash Zwingli's warehouses again, and they were all alone.

From a shoulder bag, Francis handed up a newspaper-wrapped stack of notes. "Good work the other day. I want to get you properly integrated in our system." This was what Alfred had been waiting for, but for some reason, he couldn't concentrate. He didn't know why he was feeling so…watched.

Well, okay, technically, he knew Arthur was around somewhere with binoculars, but that wasn't quite it. Alfred was starting to feel a little nervous. He could swear he'd noticed a shadow flitting between the warehouses.

"– don't you come by the house tomorrow at noon, and we can –"

Alfred raised a hand up to silence Francis. "I feel weird."

"Excuse me?" Francis blinked at him, followed his gaze and turned his head around. "Do you see something?"

Alfred saw the gunman at the very last second, and years of police training meant his first instinct was to shield the other person. So he shoved Francis out of the way, whipped out his gun (today he hadn't been searched), and fired a round into the distance.

They were in a gunfight. Five Russians versus Alfred and Francis, both with their weapons drawn out. Was Arthur seeing this? Could he do something? Alfred didn't have the time to think about it.

"Come on!" he yelled, throwing open the doors of the nearest vehicle ('Thomas Young's' pick-up truck) and hopping inside, Francis close behind.

"Drive!" Francis ordered as he kept shooting.

Gunfights were so…loud. Alfred loved them. They were chaotic and uncontrolled and there was always the threat of death, but never did he feel more alive.

All he could hear as he hit the ignition was the roar of his truck, the BAMBAMBAMBAM of five gunmen aiming at Francis and cries of pain as Francis shot back. "DRIVE, DRIVE!" Francis yelled. A bullet grazed his arm.

The truck burned rubber as it drove off.

The black van entered the Vargas premises, and to Ludwig's utter astonishment, the Don himself stepped out of the house to greet this Antonio. They embraced. They embraced. Lovino just stared, mildly slack-jawed.

"My deepest condolences about your grandson," Antonio said mournfully, kissing the Don's ring. "It is what prompted me to come back to you and aid you in ending the Russian menace once and for all."

"You're a good boy, son. I worried about your well-being."

"And I yours. Your heart – well, I knew you'd be all right." Antonio smiled, soft and submissive and full of adoration, and Ludwig wanted to vomit. In the five seconds he'd seen of this man, he could already tell that Antonio was full of silken language and utter bullshit.

"Come here, asshole," Gilbert demanded, pulling Antonio in a swift hug and clapping him on the back. "Long time, huh? Did you run out of cash or something and need some more?"

Antonio laughed. "You're still the same, I see. Where's Francis? He didn't die, did he?"

Gilbert snorted. "Hah, I wish. He'll be back soon."

Who the hell was this man that his brother knew but Ludwig didn't.

"Antonio, Antonio," the Don said, "meet my grandsons, Feliciano and Lovino, consigliere and sotto capo."

Antonio grinned at Feli, shaking his hand. Feliciano smiled back, although it was a lot more reserved than his usual beams. "It's nice to meet you, Antonio."

"And you, consigliere." Antonio then glanced at Lovino, Lovino glanced at him, and then the usually undaunted sotto capo turned scarlet and looked away.

"Lovino," Antonio said in simple greeting. "Nice track pants."

Ludwig watched Lovino's hands ball up. Maybe he would punch Antonio. Ludwig hoped he would.

But he didn't, and the moment passed.

"Uh, dude, that looks bad." Now that they were safely away from the gunmen, Alfred took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Francis, who had taken off his blazer. Blood was seeping through his white shirt, and his skin was an unhealthy white.

"It's just been grazed," Francis replied through gritted teeth. "Find a drug store and buy some supplies. I can fix this."

Alfred just nodded. He still had adrenaline in his veins, and he could feel his phone vibrate in his breast pocket. Arthur was probably calling and texting to make sure he was all right. Alfred had an opportunity now. Thank you, Russian gunmen.

"Those Russians really hate you, huh?"

Francis made a face. "It's just business. These skirmishes are nothing. The bosses are going to declare open war any day now."

"Business, huh?' Alfred mused. "Say, I've always wondered, do you guys, like, rat each other out to the cops?"

"Don't ask foolish questions. Of course not. There's a code of honour."

"Oh. Right, sorry. Yeah, that should have been obvious." Alfred hummed. "But can't the cops catch you anyway? They know you guys are dirty."

Francis smiled through his wound. "Oui, Thomas, but where is the proof?"

Widening his eyes theatrically, he replied, "so you're saying there's no proof? Like, an entire business organization that runs without any proof? Wow!"

The man with the bleeding arm started to laugh. "You're such a rookie. Of course we maintain accounts. But there's only one copy of them, and I'm in charge of keeping it safe."

Alfred had to suppress the urge to smile. So, Francis was the one in charge of The Book's safety, huh. Well, well.

"By the way," Francis added, rather kindly, "I was very impressed with you there. You saved my life. Merci."

"Hey, man, don't mention it. You're good to me, man. I needed a chance to prove myself. The money you gave me is going to pay for my mom's medication, so I should be thanking you." Alfred pulled up beside a supermarket. "Here we go. I'll go get you some bandages and stuff. Sit tight."

Arthur: SHIT SHIT SHIT ARE YOU OKAY
Arthur: ALFRED I'VE LOST SIGHT OF YOU
Arthur: ALFRED WE DON'T HAVE ANY TEAMS STATIONED YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN
Arthur: ALFRED

Alfred: DUDE CALM DOWN
Alfred: I'm fine Francis is hurt so I'm getting some bandages and shit for him.
Alfred: Listen. Francis keeps The Book safe. It's his responsibility.

Arthur: Oh, good, you're alive.
Arthur: Really? Francis? He protects their book of accounts?

Alfred: Uh-huh.

Arthur: Okay. Don't blow your cover, but meet me at the station asap.
Arthur: I have to make some calls.

Alfred: Who are you calling?

Arthur: A friend of mine :)

Alfred: Dude don't use smiley-faces. They look weird on you.

Arthur got back to the station so emotionally wound up that the first thing he needed was tea. (Well, he always needed tea.) At least his young partner was all right. He was sick and tired of losing good officers to this job. Being the older and more senior detective, it was his responsibility to make sure Alfred was okay. Arthur himself could not go undercover, so he had to put Alfred in danger. The Vargas family knew him as Arthur Kirkland, cop.

He made his tea and stepped out of the break room to find Alfred standing in the middle of the station floor, looking utterly lost. He glanced around, pressing his lips together as he stared hopelessly at one of the officers, almost as though debating to ask him something.

"Alfred!" Arthur called, and the younger blonde glanced up with confusion and relief written all over his face.

"Are you –" Alfred began, but Arthur gestured towards his office.

"Let's talk in here." And when Arthur shut the door behind them, he went on, "you gave me a scare today, but that was some intelligent work. I didn't expect you back so soon, though."

"I think you –" Alfred began, but Arthur ploughed on.

"Now I've spoken to an old friend of mine, Emma. She's a pretty senior cop, worked in Vice and Organised Crime, and –"

Alfred turned beetroot. "Hey, listen! I'm not –"

"She has lots of experience working undercover, and she has agreed to help get The Book –"

"I'm not Alfred!" he suddenly shouted, and Arthur finally stopped and blinked.

"Excuse me?"

The man shook his head. "This happens all the time. People mistaking me for Alfred, I mean. I'm not Alfred. I'm his brother, Matthew."

Arthur just stared. "You're joking."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'm here to return these glasses?" He took them off his nose and placed them on the desk. "We walked off with the wrong pair of glasses today. He has mine. I mean, it's fine, we've got the same lens numbers, but his frames are heavier and I don't like them. But clearly my brother isn't here now, so just, you know, tell him I dropped by."

Just as Matthew was about to turn and leave, Arthur cried out, "wait! You're really not Alfred?"

"Nope."

"You look exactly like him."

"Actually, my hair is longer and wavier and my eyes are a different shade of blue." Matthew gave Arthur a pitying sigh. "Never mind. You clearly don't get it."

"Wow," Arthur whispered.

"Yeah. Okay." Matthew rolled his eyes again. "Well, I need to get back to work now, so…see you, I guess." And with that, he was gone.

"Lovino," Antonio hissed, pulling him into a corner.

"You idiot, this is my home!"

"Yeah." Antonio didn't touch him or anything. He just took a gun out of his haversack and pressed it into Lovino's hand. "You left this in my room last night."

Lovino gasped softly. He was wearing a suit now, waiting for the best moment to slip outside. "That's where it went." He put the gun in his blazer. "Thanks."

Antonio grinned. "No problem."

Ludwig had seen it all.

And it didn't…sit right with him.

Had Antonio been the man from last night? Did Lovino invite him here? Why were they being so…

Secretive.

Ludwig did what he thought was best. When Lovino left his phone on the table and exited the room, Ludwig unlocked it. He knew everybody's passwords. (He was observant, after all.) He installed a tracking app on the device. Why? He didn't know. On some level, this was bordering on betrayal. But Ludwig just had a bad feeling.

How to Sneak Out of a Crime Lord's Mansion

A Standard Guide by Lovino Vargas

Step One: Keep Everything Ready

"Nice room," Antonio almost leered as he leaned against the door with his arms crossed. Lovino, crouched by his bed, ignored him. He was looking for a briefcase, the sort that carried cash. He usually kept one with him, under his bed. Now, however, it was empty. He'd have to make a withdrawal later. He had some cash in his cupboard, of course. A hundred thousand, easily. One could never have too many notes around the house.

"Too bad we can't fuck in it, right?" Lovino retorted without looking up. "My grandfather is old-fashioned."

Antonio chuckled. "I make a habit of not fucking people in their family homes while their family is around. And yours is a large Italian brood, so someone's always at home."

"It's not as large as it used to be," Lovino replied, somewhat bitterly.

"Ah, yes, thanks to your homicidal cousins."

Lovino stiffened. "Don't be so flippant about it."

"They're your cousins from your mother's side, right?" Antonio went on. "Because I know your father's brother had a little daughter."

"Rosella," Lovino said softly. He pulled out the briefcase and opened it, wiping off the dust with a dirty cloth. "I barely remember her. I must have been three when grandpa killed her."

He heard Antonio click his tongue. "How can you love a child-killer?"

"I don't know," Lovino only said. He stared at Antonio. "Are you soft about these things?"

"Children?" Antonio asked. "I kill for money, and nobody has ever paid me to murder a child." Antonio paused. "Besides, I probably wouldn't do it."

"Really? Why not?"

Antonio just stared. "I used to have a daughter once."

Lovino sat back on the floor. "Seriously?"

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a strange, hollow laugh. "I was eighteen. Her mother died at birth. And Isabel didn't survive very long after."

"Isabel," Lovino repeated, feeling the name slip off his tongue. He lowered his eyes. "Why are you telling me these things?"

Antonio shrugged. "I guess I like comparing my scars with yours?"

Lovino nodded, but mostly to himself. He then put the briefcase on his bed, took out the cash from his cupboard (Antonio let out a low, appreciative whistle at the sight of the money) and put it inside. "Take this," he ordered, shutting the case. "Put it in your car. Discreetly. And wait for me."

Step Two: Create a Diversion

Entering Flavio's room, Lovino unlocked his cupboard with a couple of hairpins (oh, the things you could learn online), and took out his cousin's favourite Armani jacket. He'd already stolen one of Luciano's knives, and so he made casual rips all over its fine cloth.

He shut the cupboard, locked it, left the room and dropped the jacket at the threshold of Luciano's bedroom door. Lovino put the knife back where he found it, before heading downstairs, where Ludwig, Feliciano, Gilbert and the cousins were discussing attack strategies (Don Vargas was made to rest because of chest pains).

Casually, Lovino said, "Flavio, I found your jacket on the floor." He motioned to the stairs. "All ripped up."

Both his cousins had identical broken collarbones and neck braces. They were more subdued than usual, but at Lovino's declaration, Flavio looked up and frowned. "What? Which jacket? All ripped up?"

"The Armani one that you like."

His eyes were the size of dinner plates. "What the fuck do you mean all ripped up?"

Lovino raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know. I found it in Luciano's room, so ask him."

It took Gilbert and Ludwig's combined strength to break up the ensuing fight. They didn't notice Lovino slip out.

Step Three: Don't Get Distracted

Not five minutes walking from Sicily Mansion was a dilapidated apartment building with poor residents. If you stood by the wrought-iron gates, you could look clearly at some of the building's windows. And Antonio had been watching.

He'd seen an odd twinkle in one of them. Then a curtain moved. Weird. So weird.

Lovino approached. "Ready to leave?"

Antonio stared straight at the window, and Lovino followed his gaze. "Yeah," Antonio replied. "Just give me five minutes."

Lovino looked between the window and Antonio. "Why?"

"Bathroom break," he replied before leaving the premises.

"We have a bathroom inside," Lovino muttered, his eyes following his partner as he disappeared from view. "Of course he's not taking a goddamn piss." Lovino rushed out, past the guards, just in time to see Antonio enter the building.

Something in Lovino made him stop, and two minutes later, he heard the distinct sounds of a gun going off. What the fuck, was all Lovino could think, before the curtains in one of those apartments turned from pale blue to bright red, and Antonio stepped out of the building with bloodstains on his hands. "Okay. Now we can leave."

Lovino had killed people. He'd grown up around killers. But never before had he seen a more casual attitude to murder. "Who did you just kill?"

"A couple of cops."

"Cops!" Lovino shrieked, his voice high by two octaves. "You idiot, you don't just kill cops!"

Antonio tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Because they fucking investigate it, and Sicily Mansion is right there, and obviously they'll know it's us, and you can't get away with killing police officers!" Lovino had to put a hand on his chest. No fucking wonder his grandfather had a heart attack. Doing this for forty years, who wouldn't?

Draping a friendly arm around Lovino, Antonio cheerfully said, "Mi amor, there is a reason spying is dangerous. You spy on the mafia, you get what's coming to you. I'm sure those nice police officers will understand."

Shoving Antonio's arm off him, Lovino shouted, "I'm not your amor, asshole!"

He just laughed. "What would you Italians prefer, then? Amore?"

"Shut up! We've got to deal with this!"

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore~" Antonio sang. "When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore~"

Lovino rubbed his face. "Stop singing Dean Martin songs."

"Scusa me, but you see, back in old Napoli, that's amorreeee~"

"STOP SINGING –"

"Hush!" Antonio snapped. "And let's go see Vash Zwingli."

They entered the premises, got into Antonio's black van and started to drive. Lovino peered into the back of the van. "What's all that cargo covered with a bedsheet?"

"Supplies," Antonio replied easily. They drove onto the main road. "And we're out."

Success!

~ Fin ~

"I think we're a bit late," Lovino admitted, searching his pockets. "Shit, I think I forgot my phone at home. What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"Zwingli hates latecomers."

"You have money, don't you? That's all he cares about."

"True."

They pulled up at the gate of a villa, where CCTV cameras and armed guards zeroed in on them. Antonio sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Have I told you how much I hate guards?"

"Why, because they make your job more difficult?"

"Be real, Lovino. Because they're minor annoyances the world could do without."

"They're people who work for a living."

"Tax-free," Antonio replied tonelessly. "Because we're all bad guys here." He lowered the window. "Hola." Gesturing to Lovino, he added, "Lovino Vargas. We have an appointment. We're late but we come in peace. And with the green stuff. So let us in."

The guards looked carefully between the two of them, before making a phone call. Antonio groaned. There was some rapid speaking in a language neither of them could understand. Then the gates finally opened.

The villa was surrounded by a neatly manicured garden, where a little girl in a wheelchair was being pushed around by a nanny. "That's Lili," Lovino explained. Antonio glanced her way.

"What's wrong with her?"

"A freak case of polio."

"Are you serious?"

Lovino nodded.

Inside the house, they were led past the rosewood furniture and stolen art to Vash's private office, which, anyway, had more rosewood furniture and stolen art. Vash looked at Antonio, narrowed his eyes and muttered, "Who the hell are you?"

"He works for me," Lovino replied eloquently.

"Si," Antonio added. "I give him blowjobs on command."

Vash raised an eyebrow. There was a loud thud as Lovino slammed the briefcase on the desk. "Why don't you wait outside, Antonio?"

He waggled his eyebrows teasingly and smirked and smirked. Lovino was already blushing, and god, why did Antonio have to be such a fucking moron. The man laughed in an almost teenage way as he turned and walked swiftly out, shutting the door behind him. Vash raised his eyebrow even further.

Pressing the bridge of his nose, Lovino closed his eyes and shook his head. "Please don't ask."

Vash raised his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't going to."

They sat down, and Lovino put the briefcase aside for later. Vash noticed this, but chose not to bring it up. "Okay, now these are the title papers." Vash opened a file and turned it towards Lovino. "All the land assets, internet gambling, strip clubs and casinos. Now I don't know about the rest of your deals because those are paperless, but these have yours and Feliciano's names as the registered owners." Vash took the file back, removed some papers and gave them to Lovino. "These are yours. You sign these. Feliciano will have to sign the other half. And here," Vash tapped another spot, "is where the buyer will have to sign."

Taking an ink pen from the pen stand, Lovino quickly signed through the documents. "And I'll get Feli to sign the rest…somehow."

"He doesn't know what you're doing, does he?"

Lovino swallowed and didn't look up.

"If you die, I still need to be paid."

"Oh shut up." He handed the papers back to Vash, who slid them back into the file. Lovino picked up the briefcase and opened it. "A hundred grand, just as we agreed on."

Vash picked up a bundle of notes at random and flipped through them. He pulled one out and held it to the light.

"Would I ever give you fake money?" Lovino muttered.

"It's nothing personal, Lovino. Just business." Satisfied, he put the bundle back in the briefcase and closed it.

"There's something else."

Vash glanced up. "Oh?"

Lovino crossed and uncrossed his legs. "I have a challenge for you."

Putting the briefcase on the floor next to him, Vash rested his chin on his hands. His eyes glittered. "How interesting. A challenge, you say?"

Leaning back in his chair, Lovino went on, "I want you to get me a villa in Spain. Secluded. Out of the way, you know? A nice neighbourhood somewhere. I'm also going to need you to buy me lifetime government immunity. And I'll also need a functioning Swiss account."

The look on Vash's face was priceless. His eyebrows went practically into his hair as he chewed his bottom lip in thought. His gaze wandered to the side. "That's strangely elaborate for your tastes."

"It isn't for me. It's for Antonio."

"Putting him up in a nice house now, are we?"

"It's his payment, Zwingli."

"For the blowjobs?"

Lovino's smile was small and tense. "You don't know what he does."

Vash snorted. "Give me some credit, Vargas. I know his type." He leaned in. "Let me guess. He's a hitman, isn't he?"

Lovino said nothing. But he didn't actively deny it.

The blonde's lips quirked upwards. "I can get it done. But it's going to be expensive. Very expensive. Shall I buy one ticket to Spain or two?"

"Two," Lovino replied simply. "I'm going to need to escape as well."

Vash just nodded. "That's what I thought. It'll cost you ten million."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"That's my best rate. I'm making a loss here. You'll clean me out of house and home! See, you need a mansion and lifetime immunity for two people? With your sorts of records?"

"Ten is too much."

"Then good luck finding someone else who can do this for you."

This is why everyone hated Vash. But nobody would deny that in an industry of shady businessmen, he was the shadiest, and also the best. "Fine," Lovino snapped. "I'll wire it to your account tonight."

Vash extended a hand to shake. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."

They walked out together, and from a corridor window, they paused to look down at the garden, where Antonio was entertaining Lili by juggling four tomatoes. "Really, which movie set in hell did you find this clown?" The tomatoes fell, one of them comically hitting Antonio on the head. They heard Lili clap.

Lovino snorted. "You don't want to know."

A/N: Just to recap –

Alfred found out that Francis protects the only existing copy of the Vargas family's accounts, which is also the only damning evidence that exists against them.

Antonio has killed two police officers spying on Sicily Mansion, and left their bodies to be found.

Arthur mistook Matthew for Alfred.

Ludwig has installed a tracking app on Lovino's phone because he knows something shady is going on, he just doesn't know what.

Lovino has possession of the title deeds of most of the Vargas's industrial land and certain businesses which, although run by Don Vargas, have Lovino and Feliciano's names, as this would ensure that in case of a police investigation, his grandsons would take the fall and not the Don himself. But since this means Lovi and Feli are the legal owners of these businesses, they also have the legal right to sell them. Now that Vash has organised all the paperwork, all Lovino needs now is Feli's signature and the signature of the buyer (Ivan) to make the sale complete.

Sorry, I felt that was necessary since this chapter is, admittedly, a little complicated.

Thanks for reading! Please review!