Sorry it's late! I'm going to be at a convention next weekend, so the next update will be late, too. After that, we should be back on track. As always, thank you to everyone who left reviews!
The next job Kovilka takes sends her in Donna Marcelli's general direction once again, this time to intercept a package before it reaches her place of residence, and Kovilka is wary every step of the way, fully expecting Reborn to jump out of a tree or something equally ridiculous because it really wouldn't surprise her at this point. But he never does; she gets the parcel back to her client, gets paid, and lingers in town out of a strange feeling that she can't quite put a name to. She'd gotten so used to him showing up that it throws her off completely when he doesn't.
She spends a little time at a bar downtown after the sun sets, nursing the same drink for more than an hour and going through her phone so she can at least pretend she's waiting for someone, and she must look pretty pathetic because the bartender keeps shooting her pitying looks.
She isn't disappointed. She can't possibly be disappointed. Reborn has been the most obnoxious thing to happen to her in years, so why would she be disappointed that he didn't show up?
A feeling she can identify is loneliness, though that isn't sudden; she's been spending more time than usual on her own lately. Running a job smoothly without any banter traded with a smart-mouthed hitman just reminded her, that's all. She scrolls through her contacts, a long list of acquaintances whose faces she doesn't remember that she might've met on her way Italy, people who don't know her any better than she knows them. Bianchi's number sticks out to her as the only person she feels she can talk to normally-honestly-but she isn't sure they're at the stage where it's even appropriate for the two of them to socialize. Against her better judgement, she makes a call.
It rings almost four times, and she's sure it's going to go to voicemail when she hears, "Yes?"
"Um," Kovilka says articulately, because she wasn't actually expecting an answer, "Hi."
There's a long pause. She thinks the other woman might hang up. "Kovilka?" Bianchi's voice comes through with a hint of suspicion. "Why did you call?"
Kovilka drums her fingernails of her free hand against the bar counter. "Well," she says to stall for time as she tries to think of a reason that doesn't sound as pathetic as she feels, "I was wondering, I guess, if you wanted to get a drink together?"
She's asking Poison Scorpion Bianchi if she wants to hang out. She isn't sure how she gets herself into these situations anymore.
"Sure," she hears and it doesn't register for a minute until Kovilka is asked where to meet up.
Not an hour later, the tall, redhead assassin comes through the bar door in a pair of skinny jeans and a half-zipped jacket that's falling off one shoulder. Kovilka makes a mental note to ask where she shops for clothes. "Hey," she says in greeting, and Kovilka returns it with a nod. Bianchi takes the open seat next to her and orders something the color of blood with a slice of lime on the side. She takes a long sip, eyeing Kovilka, and as she puts the glass down, she says, "What's wrong?"
"What?" Kovilka tries to to laugh it off. "Nothing. I just figured, you know…."
"You don't seem the type to call up someone like me for a chat," Bianchi says, "So I'm assuming you've got no one else to talk to."
"Someone like you?"
"Regarding your," she looks up as though searching for the right word overhead, "Hm. Your difficulties with your profession, I suppose. I wouldn't think you'd want to talk to someone in my line of work"
Kovilka shrugs. "It's not like I'm claiming some moral high ground," she says, "But you're right, there aren't a whole lot of people I can talk to. Not openly, anyway." She glances at Bianchi a little uneasily and takes a gulp from her own glass. "Ignore me if this is an offensive question, but I was just wondering...how do you do it?"
Bianchi's eyes seem to glint in the low lighting. "I'm not sure what you mean."
You know damn well what I mean, Kovilka thinks but elaborates all the same. "How do you do what you do for a living and not just shut down? It doesn't keep you up at night?"
Rather than anger, a look of understanding crosses Bianchi's features. She almost smiles. "I'm not sure you'd understand if I told you," she says, "Something tells me we grew up very differently."
Kovilka shrugs.
"My father is a Don," she says nonchalantly, and Kovilka almost chokes on her drink, "He was busy, but he loved me very much, and he did the best he could to show it. I don't want you to get the wrong idea; I'm not desensitized to violence or anything. I just understand the politics of the Cosa Nostra, and I know that sometimes, there are things that just need to be done."
"Don't tell me too much," Kovilka cuts in, "I'm not sure I'm up to return the favor."
Bianchi tilts her head. "When was the last time you told someone about yourself, and it wasn't a lie?"
Kovilka can't hold her gaze. "Don't ask me that."
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," the woman says with a shrug, "But it might make you feel better."
They both drink in silence for a minute longer before Kovilka drinks down the remaining half of her glass and flags down the bartender. "I need a lot more alcohol before I get into this," she mumbles, and Bianchi hides her laughter behind her hand.
There's something about Bianchi-her eerie calmness, confidence, and sincerity-that makes Kovilka feel like she won't regret telling her anything days from now, a feeling she hasn't gotten from anyone in a long time. When she's tipsy enough to overcome her nerves but not so drunk that she slurs her already heavily-accented Italian, she tells a tale of a little village that isn't on any maps and of a family that fell apart, all of the things she left behind. And when she's done, she cries. It's another thing she hasn't let herself do much lately, and Bianchi handles it with the grace of an aloof elder sister, not coming for hug but maintaining a closeness and resting a hand on her shoulder.
"Do you need another drink?" she asks.
Kovilka shakes her head. "No." She wipes her eyes. "You're not going to pass any of that along to Reborn, are you?"
"God, no," Bianchi sighs, "I hope you don't think we're discussing you behind your back or anything. He's just concerned."
"He has the funniest ways of showing it."
She really does smile this time. "You aren't dead. That's a pretty good sign."
Kovilka leans over the bar, holding her head in her hands and sniffling. "Did he do this to you, too, at one point? Every time I look up, it's him or the goddamned Marcelli, usually both at the same time, making life difficult."
"Actually, he didn't. I'm incredibly picky when it comes to clients, so we've never found ourselves on opposite sides of a job." She pauses. "The Marcelli?"
"I've had more jobs than I care to count that have to do with Donna Marcelli," Kovilka says, "Usually to steal something, usually ending with her being one step ahead and making me look like a moorn. And every time I have to deal with her, I have to deal with Reborn, too. I don't know what the deal is, and he won't tell me."
"That's interesting," Bianchi says absently, "Donna Marcelli doesn't exactly have a lot of enemies, or so I've heard. She's actually part of the Vongola Alliance."
Kovilka pales. She hadn't realized who she was messing with. If Donna Marcelli had ever seriously wanted her out of the way, she's pretty sure she would've brought the full force of the Vongola down on her head. Now she's even more confused. "There's something I'm missing here." She stares down at her second empty glass. "I need to hire someone."
"Hire someone?" Bianchi echoes uneasily, "What, you mean like an informant?"
"Well, yeah. I need to find out more about Donna Marcelli, obviously."
"Hm." Bianchi runs her fingertips across the edge of her glass thoughtfully. "There's probably a better way."
"Better?"
"The omertà," Bianchi says gently, "Hasn't Reborn told you?"
Kovilka rolls her eyes and flashbacks to being held at gunpoint. "Yeah, he's told me. What, am I not allowed to hire informants?"
"You've done a job for CEDEF before. Don Vongola considers most who help him one of his own."
"That doesn't mean I am," Kovilka argues.
Bianchi rubs at her temples, apparently trying to soothe a headache. "You are stubborn," she mutters, and Kovilka wonders if Reborn told her that, too, "If you really aren't going to listen to me, then at least let give you some advice. I know a guy, technically an informant, but if you ask him only for information that has been made public about the Marcelli at some point, then you shouldn't get in too much trouble if anyone finds out."
"I don't understand how this is violating omertà."
"And it doesn't seem you really care that it does," Bianchi points out, taking a pen out of her purse and scribbling on her napkin before tearing off a small square and handing it to Kovilka. "Please do what I advised you to do."
Kovilka almost say something smart back, but she glances at Bianchi and finds her looking at her a bit like someone looks at a child about to do something stupid like shooting themselves in the foot. She bites her tongue and nods. "Okay. Fine."
"Thank you."
"You need another drink?" Bianchi asks.
"No. I probably shouldn't be completely smashed when I make this call or I'll probably forget what you told me."
"Here's another piece of advice," Bianchi says, slinging an arm around her shoulder, "Don't do business if you're anything more than tipsy."
A week later, Kovilka finds herself in the same bar, this time comfortably alone in the corner, flipping through a report the length of a short novel. True to her word, Bianchi hooked her up with an informant who managed to skirt what was permitted among mafia circles while still staying in the good graces of many Dons. He was a little slimy and charged more than she initially wanted to pay, but she begrudgingly accepted, and he had done as promised. But when she got the information back from him, she had the task of parsing through what was important and what wasn't.
When she heard footsteps across the groaning bar floor towards her table, she foolishly assumes it to be Bianchi happening by. "Hey," she says without looking up, "Sorry, I didn't even think to call. How's it going?"
"Fine, despite being shot in the leg," she hears in a voice that most certainly does not belong to Bianchi, and looks up. Reborn looms over the table, the shadow cast by his fedora hiding his eyes in the dim bar lighting. Not that she needs to see them; he's smirking as usual. "I would've appreciated a call, at the very least."
"You know that only happened because you told me to," Kovilka says, posture rigid and eyes fixed on the hitman for any sudden movements. By now, she's pretty sure that if Reborn announces his presence, she doesn't have to be afraid, because if he wants to kill her, he won't make himself known. It still doesn't help her relax. "So I hope you didn't come for an apology."
"I know better than to expect something like that from you," he says and pulls out the chair across from her, sitting down and swiping half the documents off the table to read. Kovilka tries to reach across for them but he only turns in his chair, hands just out of reach. "Curious about Donna Marcelli?"
"Give that back."
He glances to the side at her and puts the papers back down, removing his fedora a second later and setting it on the table. Kovilka is almost angry at herself for finding him attractive despite everything. "I don't know who you went to for this," he says, "But the information isn't very reliable."
She ignores him and gathers the papers back up in a neat pile.
"Viviana Marcelli," Reborn says, leaning against the table on one elbow and staring directly at her. Kovilka feels uncomfortable holding eye contact but is reluctant to look away. "Fifty-eight years old without a biological heir. Child of the previous Don Marcelli, though the famiglia was originally meant to go to her elder brother, Vinicio, until his mysterious disappearance. Has led the Marcelli into a time of economic stability and joined the Vongola Alliance, at times working closely with Don Vongola himself to push out competitors." He smiles. "Is that in your report?"
Kovilka frowns tightly. "What, are you an expert on Donna Marcelli or something?"
"No. But most of that is common knowledge to those in the right circles." Reborn picks up a paper at random and she doesn't try to stop him this time, silently watching his eyes skim the page. "Now that I look at it, this is less inaccurate and more blatant lying," he says, "Your informant must have taken one look at you and thought they could get away with screwing you over. I hope you didn't pay too much for this."
Afraid of saying something that might make the situation escalate, Kovilka chooses not to say anything at all.
Reborn's smile widens a bit and he sets the paper down. "You know, there's a much easier way to learn about someone that doesn't involve almost breaking omertà," he says, "If you work for the right people long enough, eventually you'll hear something relevant. I'd say most of the Vongola Alliance is well aware of Donna Marcelli's history."
"And there it is," Kovilka says, "The real reason you're here. A recruitment pitch."
Kovilka thinks she must hold the world record for making Reborn angry, because the humor disappears from his face in an instant. "You can't be this stupid, Kovilka," he says, "You have to know that you'd have more options if you worked with a family. If you marketed yourself as a specialist rather than a hired gun, you could work the same jobs you do now and get paid better for it."
"I can't do that."
"You can, you just don't want to."
"Didn't you say last time you thought it would be a waste of time for everyone involved?" she asks.
"I was hoping it would make you angry enough that you'd want to prove me wrong."
Kovilka takes a deep breath, counts to five, and lets it out, trying to calm herself. "You're dealing with me like I'm a child."
"You are a child," Reborn says, "Not only because of your behavior, but also your lack of experience. You need a mentor and you need to make the right connections or you're going to get yourself killed, and I can't do that for you."
"I really don't-!"
"I can't be your mentor because it would complicate other relationships that might arise."
Kovilka turns away as she feels heat rising to her face. "I didn't ask you why you couldn't."
"I knew you wouldn't, so I thought I'd just tell you." Reborn reaches across the table, and she knows what he's going to do, knows she needs to move away, but she doesn't, and a moment later, he's holding onto her hand and rubbing circles into the top with his thumb. He leans in over the table, and she feels her heart beating faster. "If you really can't stand me," he says quietly, "You need to come out and say it, and we can keep things strictly business."
Kovilka dares to hold his gaze despite how heavily she's blushing. "Bianchi told me you don't go after people who aren't interested," she says.
He chuckles and shakes his head. "You were talking about me behind my back?"
"You did it to me plenty," she snaps.
"So what are you saying?" Reborn asks, "That you're interested, and I should already know that?"
She looks away for a second, bites her lips, and looks at him again. "Yes," she says, quietly enough that she can hardly hear herself over the bar chatter.
From the smile on his face, he hears her just fine.
Kovilka pulls her hand away and gathers the apparently useless information on Donna Marcelli, getting ready to leave. "I'll think about what you said," she tells him, "Regarding a mentor."
"Let me give you my number, then." She looks at him warily but eventually hands him her phone, letting him add himself as a contact before he gives it back. She stands from the table and is relieved to see he doesn't move to follow. "We'll be in touch," he simply says, and she nods, hurrying to leave.
He didn't say anything about it, but she saw the way he was grinning like the cat that got the canary. She thinks she probably shouldn't have said anything. If Reborn was difficult to deal with before, he's only going to be worse now that she's admitted that she likes him.
