Thanks once again to LD-2015, and to You Light the Sky and dark-dreams-of-love! You guys keep me motivated.


Kovilka only knows about her father through anecdotal evidence.

She doesn't remember anything about him, nor does she remember his face, and she's never seen a photo of him. She's pretty sure her mother disposed of them all, but she isn't sure why. She used to think their marriage must have been on the rocks because of what a taboo subject her father was, but now and then, her mother would mention him in conversation completely by accident-walking down by the lake, Kovilka had seen a bittern walk by on its stick-like legs and said it looked funny, and her mother had told her, "That's exactly what your father always said about them," and then her eyes would fill with tears. Without even a name to go on, she would have been certain her mother had made him up if not for the pain on her face whenever she was reminded of him.

Ever since he talk with Reborn, more and more things make Kovilka think about her family again, particularly her father and the emptiness left in his wake, something Kovilka had simply taken for granted at the time. She had only ever known what it was like to have one overbearing, unreasonable parent; she didn't want to imagine having two.

Not that she could claim any gold stars herself, with an ongoing history of teenaged rebellion that had extended far beyond her teenage years. To say she and her mother didn't see eye to eye would have been a horrible understatement.

Having become quite familiar with Italy's incredible underground information trade before, it's crossed Kovilka's mind to take advantage of it and try to learn a little bit about her father, but she's afraid of what she might find. The more she thinks about it, the more she wonders about what happened to him, and the more she worries. It shouldn't be suspicious that he died young-they lived in a pretty rural area far enough from any hospitals that all immediate care for accidents and illnesses needed to be done at home-but it still strikes her as strange, partly because of how little she knows. If someone killed him, that makes a big difference. It puts her in a position she doesn't want to be in and gives her a responsibility she isn't sure she can carry out.

For that reason, she thinks she's better off not knowing.

She starts putting the pictures back in their folder again as she hears little footsteps approach from behind. "Who's that?" Ciro asks, peering around her arm, "Is that you when you were my age?"

Sara, who had been sitting on the couch and behaving herself, joins him a moment later, trying to stand on her tiptoes to look over the desk. "Can't see!"

It's faded and grainy like all the rest and shows the same lake that's in several others. Kovilka and a younger girl are standing in water that reaches their ankles, holding their long skirts up in bunches and trying to splash each other with wide grins.

Kovilka hands the picture to Ciro, who holds it very carefully by the edges as if to prove she can trust him with it. "That's me on the right," she tells him, pointing to the girl with long hair tied in a messy, lopsided bun. Sara tugs on Ciro's arm until he holds it so she can see. "And on the left is my little sister."

"Sis has a little sister?" Sara asks, sounding almost excited by the news.

Ciro is staring at her with a frown like he's offended that there's something he didn't know about her. "What's her name?"

"It's Anka."

"Sis hasn't been back home in a long time, right?" Ciro asks, "Do you miss her?"

"Almost ten years now, and yes, I do," Kovilka says, holding out a hand to get the photo back and take a minute to look at it herself. Anka is two years younger. When they were growing up, they'd been inseparable. Kovilka had been a bit like Ciro then, inquisitive and adventurous, and Anka had always been one step behind her. They'd hold hands so they wouldn't lose each other in the woods. If her sister got sick, Kovilka would pretend to be sick, too, so she could stay home with her. When they couldn't sleep, they'd light a candle and make flickering shadow puppets on the walls.

Kovilka hasn't thought about it in a long time. She pretends to cover a cough as she wipes at her eyes. "Are you guys hungry?" she asks when she has all of the pictures back in the folder safely tucked away from prying eyes. "Did you want me to make you something?"

She's met with two enthusiastic nods and gets up to go to the kitchen, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when she hears two sets of footsteps following her over the stone floor. "What's Anka like?" Ciro asks. Kovilka opens her refrigerator and looks for the lettuce, cheese and ham the children had brought with them for sandwiches. Mr. and Mrs. Merlo always insisted that they bring their own food so Kovilka didn't have to use any of her own, and while she usually didn't mind, she hadn't fought them on it this time; her car was still in the shop. As it turns out, Reborn had done a little more than slash her tires, something she tried not to hold against him because it was a job, and she knows he has a reputation to uphold. On the other hand, she's walked all the way back from town twice now, and found it nearly impossible to get out of the bed the next morning, so unless she wants to pay for a taxi, she thinks she can wait until it's a dire emergency to get more groceries.

With the ingredients gathered on the counter, Kovilka begins assembling sandwiches, trying to work around Sara who's standing in front of her trying to see over the counter. "Well, she's pretty typical for a little sister," Kovilka says, "She's small and cute and she followed me everywhere." Truthfully, she wonders what she looks like now. Anka was just a bit older than Ciro when Kovilka left home. She'd be all grown up now. "Actually, Ciro, you and Sara remind me a lot of the two of us."

"Where did you live?"

Kovilka shakes her head and puts the sandwiches on a plate, carrying them back to the living room with the kids on her heels like dogs waiting to be fed. She takes a seat on the couch and they jump on either side of her as they eat. "I already told you that's a secret," Kovilka says.

Ciro frowns, wiping a crumb from the side of his face. "But why is it a secret?" he asks, "I don't care where you're from. Even if it's a bad place."

Kovilka raises a brow. "A bad place?"

"Mamma says you won't tell us where you're from because it's somewhere where bad things are happening, and you're scared we won't like you. But we would anyway, I promise."

She can't help but smile; of course he already asked his mother about this. She has to admit, the whole family seems pretty keen. Under normal circumstances, it's probably most likely that she wouldn't give the name of her homeland because of internal disputes or difficult foreign relations. She wonders if they've already guessed from her name.

"It's not a bad place," Kovilka reassures him, "It's just not something I like to talk about very much. Someday, when I'm ready, I'll tell you."

Ciro is pacified only for a moment. "When will you be ready?"

"Every time you ask, it'll take longer," she warns.

The next thing she knows, they're talking about how their parents promised to buy them a gaming console if they're good at the end of the year. Kovilka agrees to put in a good word for them if they can continue to behave.


Several days and several jobs later, Reborn and family and all other unpleasant topics are almost completely absent from Kovilka's mind. She's set enough aside that she no longer dreads eventually going to get her car and finding out how much the repairs cost, and she even takes a taxi into town to do some shopping, though she sets a limit to how much she should really be spending, a limit that is slightly disregarded when she spots a CD of Schubert in the bargain bin, and again later as she's leaving the store and is called to try a sample by a woman standing outside of a new patisserie across the street.

The next thing she knows, she's in the shop looking over the little cakes and fruit-covered pastries in the display case trying to figure out which ones Ciro and Sara would like best, and spending the money doesn't really bother her because she's had such a good week. After everything she's been through recently, she feels like she deserves to spend a little and relax.

There are only two people working, one with dark hair carefully putting the icing on a small, circular cake in a spiral, the other a redhead standing patiently by the register waiting for Kovilka to make a decision.

"I've never been in her before," she admits, "It's always really busy in here, so I've never gotten a chance to try anything."

"Take your time," the woman at the register says, not unkindly but not necessarily very warmly either. Kovilka thinks she must be tired; she can't imagine having to handle the hoards of people she's seen come through with a two person team. She doesn't look impatient necessarily, but she's staring at Kovilka intently and it's starting to unnerve her, so she tries to hurry.

"Sorry," she says, "I'm actually not shopping for me. I try to bring back something for my neighbor's kids on my way from work."

The woman's expression shifts, but it's still unreadable. "That's alright," she says, "Are you sure you don't want to try something, though? We don't get a lot of quiet days."

"Okay, you talked me into it," Kovilka says almost immediately, needing no convincing to get herself a pastry. "Could I get two of these little cakes? And I'll take the cannoli for me."

The woman rings her up, pushing a strand of long hair behind her ear as money trade hands, and reaches down into the display case.

"Did you want to eat here or take all three to go?"

Kovilka checks her watch. "I'll eat mine here."

The woman nods and has the tiramisu boxed and the cannoli on a little tray. Kovilka thanks her and goes to sit down, setting her bag of CDs on the table. She picks up the cannoli in a white napkin and glances out at the street through the store window. She pauses when she notices the woman who had been at the register coming back to it from the window, a sign indicating they're closed now hanging there. She goes back to the counter and whispers something to the woman who had been starting on the icing for another cake, causing her to nod and disappear into the back, and then it's just her and the redhead. For some reason, it bothers Kovilka. If she were anyone else, she would probably brush it off as just being paranoid, but in her line of work, listening to gut instincts can be life-saving.

She lifts the cannoli to her face but doesn't take a bite, instead just sniffing it, and almost recoils. There's something strong beneath the sugary smell, something almost rancid. What she thought might be just excess oil is eating holes through the napkin. She glances back at the woman at the register, who's leaning against the counter with obvious boredom. "Excuse me," Kovilka says, getting the woman's attention, "I was just wondering if I could get another napkin."

The woman nods and turns to grab some, and Kovilka stands from the table and hurls the cannoli with as much force as she can at her.

The woman ducks out of the way in the nick of time, and the pastry hits the back wall with an audible splatter. Kovilka's eyes widen when the wall begins to melt around it, and her eyes fly to the woman as she reappears over the counter holding a tray full of foods that seem to be letting off purplish fumes. She tears off her apron with one hand and glares across the restaurant, and Kovilka's heart jumps into overdrive. Tall with long, red hair, a smoldering yet disinterested gaze, and poisoned, acidic food as a weapon of choice.

Poison Scorpion Bianchi is trying to kill her.

She dives under the table just as something dripping tar-like jelly soars over her head, listening to it hiss and spit on the floor behind her. "What's this about?" Kovilka yells, "Did someone take out a hit on me?"

Something lands on the table above her and she hurriedly scurries out of her hiding place as it begins to melt through. "No, this isn't business," Bianchi says with a shake of her head, "This is personal."

The next thing that comes flying in Kovilka's direction doesn't really look like food so much as it does like toxic sludge, and she holds her hands over her head as she runs for cover, wincing at the burning sensation she gets from a few stray drops that rain on her. She barricades herself into the far corner with the nearest chairs and tables and glances through the spaces in her makeshift shield at Bianchi, who's coming out from behind the counter to get a little closer. Despite how loudly her heart is pounding in her chest, Kovilka waits. "Personal?" she asks, hoping for clarification. She's not sure who she pissed off to deserve this.

"We know someone in common," she hears Bianchi say, closer now, and she peers around the edge of her barricade, locating her purse in the middle of the mess that used to be the patisserie. "You shot him in the leg a little more than a week ago. He's been pretty quiet since then."

The color drains from Kovilka's face. There's no question who she's talking about.

"Before that, he talked about you often," Bianchi goes on, her tone dangerously calm, "I won't pretend I wasn't a little envious. Reborn and I used to be romantically involved, but things have changed over the years. In all matters but the bedroom, he's an awful lover."

"I don't need to know that," Kovilka says uneasily.

Bianchi either doesn't hear the statement or ignores it. "We're still close, though, and I can't just turn the other way when somebody does something like that to him. Especially since he seems to like you so much."

"Whoa, hold on, you can't blame me for that." Kovilka thinks she should probably be making a run for her things and the door, but Bianchi hasn't thrown more of her concoctions at her yet, and they seem to be conversing at least somewhat respectfully for now. "He told me to shoot him. Actually, he made me do it."

"Why?" Bianchi asks, sounding confused.

Kovilka lets out a growl in frustration. "I don't know! You tell me!"

There's a brief silence. "Probably," Bianchi begins, "For the same reason he had me find you."

"Excuse me?"

"It wasn't a coincidence that you came in here," she says, "Reborn told me you shopped in this area frequently, and he asked me to act like I was going to kill you. I saw you walk by, and I had my coworker call you over."

"Act like you were going to kill me?" Kovilka repeats, "If I'd eaten that cannoli, I would be pretty dead right now."

"I might've gotten a little carried away," Bianchi says, and Kovilka thinks she can hear a smile through her words.

Cautiously, she peeks over the edge of the tables and chairs in a pile in front of her and finds Bianchi still holding the tray but her free hand is on her hip. Her face is still hard to read, but she looks a little warmer than before.

"And why would he ask you to do that?" Kovilka asks.

Bianchi glances back at the purse lying forgotten across the floor. "You have a gun, don't you?" she asks, "Why didn't you take it out as soon as you knew what was going on?"

Kovilka frowns tightly.

"It's true." Bianchi's voice is soft and pitying. "You really are afraid to kill people."

"So he talks about me, too?" Too angry to be properly afraid anymore, Kovilka pushes the tables apart and steps out from her barricade, stomping over to collect her things. "Forget it, I don't care why. Next time you see him, tell him to fucking leave me alone. I've had it with his bullshit." She picks up the paper bag with the tiramisu, stares hard at it, and decides she doesn't trust it, leaving it on the floor.

"Kovilka," Bianchi calls, stopping her at the door, "You should know by now that Reborn isn't going to give up. He's interested in you."

"I have no interest in getting between...whatever it is you guys have going on."

"I told you, we don't really have anything," Bianchi says with a twinge of sadness, "Not anymore. I still want you to be careful, and I'm not just telling you this for my sake. You'll probably end up in his bed eventually, and it's in your best interest not to invest too many feelings into it."

Kovilka hesitates against her better judgement, turning to face Bianchi in the ruined patisserie, a little embarrassed to be talking about such a thing. "I'm really not interested," she says firmly, "So I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Reborn doesn't pursue people who aren't interested."

Kovilka shifts uneasily. "Why are you giving me advice?"

Bianchi smiles for the first time, just a little, and it's slightly bitter. "Because you remind me of myself," she says, "And I don't want you to get hurt like I did."


Somehow, Kovilka ends up leaving the patisserie with Bianchi's number saved to her phone.

She's still not entirely sure how, but she supposes she technically made an acquaintance today. She hesitates to say 'friend' because Bianchi isn't exactly warm towards her, but she does seem to be at least concerned for her emotional well being concerning Reborn. She finds herself wondering what kind of history the two of them have and what Bianchi must have felt that led her to reaching out to Kovilka despite her lingering feelings.

It's good to know, really, because it'll keep Kovilka from getting distracted and doing something she'll regret later. Reborn is so good at getting to her, at making her flustered and anxious and yet a little happy about it all at the same time, and she just needs to remind herself of what Bianchi told her so she doesn't get carried away. By now, she shouldn't really want to be involved with him.

And yet, for some reason, she has a dream that night where Reborn takes her home and their hands wander each other's bodies, a dream that she wakes up from covered in sweat and panting and way too hot.


Sorry about the lack of Reborn in this chapter, but he will be making an appearance next time.