Ciao everybody! How are you all?

Holy flying pasta this chapter is WAY TOO LONG! I am so sorry! D8 I hate long chapters, but I couldn't do it any other way, I hope this doesn't bother you! ;_;

Hey, in the previous chapter some people thought that the man with the scarf and the pipe that was mentioned beating up Francis (and ruining his fabulous hair) was Russia... But NEIN, it was Netherlands! (The pipe was a simple smoking pipe, not the infamous Russian faucet pipe... And the sister Francis flirted with was Belgium, lol) sorry for the confusion...!

Argh, this chapter is wayyyy to intense as well. But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway :3

Please sit back, und ENJOY.

The next day he was awfully calm and nervous at the same time, it was actually kind of creepy. He didn't know how to explain it, he just… His muscles were tense, he caught his fingers twitching one or two times as well as his shoulders, but inside, he felt calm. Just like the string of a violin, stretched out to the extreme, immobile but ready to tremble and produce its music.

It was the calm before the storm.

He had breakfast at a café, and then walked back to the hotel as fast as he could. He had thought he had seen a familiar face, but maybe he was just being paranoid.

Antonio rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. This was going to be a long day. He rehearsed the eventual escape plans he had organized with Ludwig so many times he lost count of them. Sadly enough, he hadn't thought of bringing a book, unlike the German, so he had to find another way to spend the time.

He received a call from Ludwig somewhere around noon: Delisi was available for cooperation, which meant he had another ally and another possible escape route.

"I will be patrolling a large perimeter of the villa with Arthur and his men, who need to keep an eye on general things. But I will be around the agreed place to eventually help you, okay?" The German said. "Oh, also, me and Kirkland left something for you at the reception counter, just ask the lady. It will be useful, trust me."

The Spaniard thanked him, and then hung up. He wondered what Ludwig might have left him. Five minutes later he was down at the reception, the lady turning to look for the 'something'. This 'something' then revealed itself to be a small brown paper bag, smaller than Antonio's palm. The Spaniard returned to his room, and consumed by curiosity, opened the tiny package.

He upturned the bag and something small fell in his hand. A green pill.

Antonio blinked. What in the heavens?!

Inside the package there was a folded paper note, and he quickly read it.

"Carriedo, this might be helpful for you to at the party. If Beilschmidt's intuition is correct, there will be a precise moment during the party in which you'll have to drop your mask. These kind of pills guarantee that you can avoid that fateful moment. Don't ask me what's in them, but if you ingest one precisely ten minutes before the general mask drop, it will make you sick enough to make you run to the nearest bathroom, giving you a valid excuse of not being there. Be careful, and good luck."

Antonio's wide eyes darted from Kirkland's note to the pill rolling innocently in his palm. He smiled. His chances of surviving this Sunday were steadily increasing by the hour! He ate the note - who knew who might find it in the garbage, and after all, he didn't have any lighter and it tasted good - and put the pill in his wallet, being sure to get out any ID that might incriminate him.

He then lazily looked around his room. What else could he do to pass the time? He glanced at Francis's birthday present hanging on the chair.

He carefully removed all the photographs from the table as well as the map and the random sheets of paper. He sat down on the chair, grabbed the MAB PA-15 and proceeded to take it apart. He cleaned every single piece as slowly and carefully as he could. Yet, after barely more than an hour, he had already finished, the gun was whole again and gleaming in the lamp light - he still had the room without the window.

He sighed, glancing at his watch. Barely past one.

"Damnaciòn."

He ordered a pizza to be delivered, he honestly didn't dare to set foot outside the hotel anymore. What if he knew somebody out there? What if they knew him?

He slapped his cheeks, squashing them until he looked like some kind of bizarre fish, glaring at the hot pizza on the table.

He was the boss. He would survive this evening, that was certain. But he had to be sure to even survive until that. He didn't need some random foreign Boss recognizing him and blowing the whole operation.

The general nervousness caused him to have more appetite, and in barely five minutes the pizza was gone already.

He glanced at his watch again, and groaned, closing his eyes. Half past two.

"Come on, Toni. Just another seven hours and thirty minutes to go. You can do it." He groaned again.

Boredom would probably kill him before anyone at that party got a chance.

…Villa Dante…

"Wow, look at all this stuff! This party is going to be great!" one figure said, spinning on his feet while looking around the big hall.

"Shut up, dimwit. And be careful! You don't need a cane anymore but you still shouldn't walk so carelessly. And by the way, you definitely aren't going to flirt with girls tonight." A second figure grumbled, seated at a table.

"…Whaaaat? Oh wait, is it your turn again?" The first asked.

The other sighed, placing his fingertips to his temple. "No, moron. But business is coming, I would never let you do it."

"…Business? Ve… who's coming, then?"

"Well, for example, Yao, Braginski, Khøler…."

"W-what!?"

"Exactly. Anyway, as always, we'll trade henchmen."

"You think I can't handle it, don't you?" The first figure pouted.

"It's not that I think it, you can't handle it, moron. You just trust people too easily, you'd be tricked in no time by those bastards. You've been tricked before, I'll do it."

"Oh… okay…" the first figure paused. "Hey… do you think… do you think he'll be out there? With the Captain?"

The second growled. "Of course he will. What would you expect? He's a detective. Lying sneaky bastards, the lot of them."

The first figure let his head hang. "But…"

The other interrupted him. "Stop right there. He was just paid to do what he did, he lied from the very start. Don't even try to think he was honest with you, this is what happens when you trust people too easily! He was the first one, but he won't be the last to try such low tricks. Be happy I discovered him before he could cause any more harm."

"…I guess…" the first murmured.

The second seemed to think he had been to harsh. "Hey, don't make that face. I hate to see you moping around like this. This party is for you, idiot, for your recovery! So stop sulking. I know you love parties." He stood up.

"Yes, I do," The first admitted, a smile slowly returning to his features. "And you got even fireworks this time! It will be so beautiful!"

"That's more like it. Now, here are the masks. These are for our men." The second smirked, and pointed towards the many boxes scattered around them. One was already open, revealing its contents: it was full of white masks. "Pick one so-"

"…So I can blend in with them. Don't worry, I know everything already!" The first chirped, picking a mask from the box. "Aww, look, he's smiling." He said, turning the mask in his fingers. He then brought it up, so that from his point of view it would seem like the other figure was wearing it. "…You should smile more, fratello."

The other didn't reply, and simply turned his head away. "Stop being fucking ridiculous. I need to get going, I have to call the men and set things up, keep an eye on things…"

"No, let me do that! You rest, you'll have a busy evening. When will the first guests arrive?" The first figure hurried over to the other.

"Around eight…"
The first figure smiled, steering the other towards a door. "So plenty of time to rest, it's barely two o'clock. Sleep, okay? Don't worry, I'll handle it! I love parties, but it is even more fun to set them up!" he chirped.

The second figure remained silent, standing in front of a door, fingertips hovering over the doorknob. Then, he sighed, grabbing the handle and opening the door. "Okay. But don't screw up, got it dumbass?"

"I won't!" The first said, walking back towards the centre of the hall with a small bounce in his steps.
The second figure shook his head smiling a little, entered the hallway and closed the door behind him. He walked down the corridor, went up many flights of stairs, passed through other corridors, until after many passages he finally arrived at his room.

He closed his eyes while plopping down on his soft bed. He let out a deep sigh. Yes, his brother trusted people too easily. He bared his teeth, scowling. He had trusted Ludwig fucking Beilschmidt, of all people! A detective, and one of the best, for fuck's sake! And of course, since his brother's mind was too simple and naive, he couldn't understand that what the potato-munching bastard had done had been simply required from his job.

He kicked off his shoes, and laid himself down completely dressed. He frowned, staring at the ceiling.

That was why he didn't trust this Antonio guy. Not completely, at least. Yet he seemed stupid enough to go and consider a mafia Boss his amigo. It could have all been a coincidence…

A humourless chuckle escaped his lips. Yeah, right.

Yet, somewhere in his chest, a jab of guilt struck him. He gritted his teeth and cursed that part of himself that needed someone else in his life besides his brother. Because deep inside, he hoped with all his might that Antonio wasn't one of them.

He closed his eyes, tiredness washing over him, as he slowly drifted towards dreamland.

…It would all be revealed tonight.

Antonio fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt when the cab neared the heavy iron gates. A man as big as a bear stood before it, feet apart, hands behind his back. The cab stopped a meter or so from him, the man took a list from inside his jacket and neared the vehicle. Antonio opened the window.

"Name?" The gorilla grunted, bowing down to his level.

"Antonio Chavez Saucedo…" Antonio answered, feeling his insides as if he had just eaten barbed wire.

The man scanned the list, and then nodded curtly, taking out a pen and ticking the name. He straightened up again and called somebody on the other side of the gate. "He's on the list, open up!"

The iron gate creaked heavily when it was opened, and the cab quickly sped through. His eyes widened. On the map it had been evident that Villa Dante was big, but…

…This was ridiculously huge.

An enormous park surrounded the building, with many old-looking trees. The household itself had the form of a hoof: a main thick building, flanked by two 'smaller' wings, which enclosed a gigantic porch between them. A swimming pool looking bigger than the ones used at the Olympic games was positioned near the porch, white lights illuminating the water from the bottom and bathing the building's walls in strange moving light patterns. Elegant white columns supported the first story of the villa, the white arches between them decorated with coloured lights. Music could be heard coming from inside, the walls only barely managing to muffle the sound. There was an ice sculpture three metres tall and shaped like a polar bear not too far away from the pool. A magician was doing fire tricks, breathing fire and changing the colours of the flames by snapping his fingers. Masked people in colourful clothes were continuously walking in and out of the large wooden doors, many with full glasses in their hands, talking and laughing. Scattered in the section of the park around the pool were many flaming torches, and little coloured lights hung on every tree branch of that area, so many other people were also just taking a stroll there.

Antonio's mouth formed a mute 'Oh,' as he took all these particulars in. And new hope blossomed in his chest. There was so much chaos, it would actually be more difficult to be noticed! He smiled.

The car came to a halt, and a man in a dark suit opened up the vehicle's door for him. Antonio stepped out of the car, smiled and was about to thank the man when he nearly had a heart attack.
He was wearing a smiling white mask that completely covered his face.
It wasn't an ugly mask, actually it was very well-made, realistic and not especially scary, but Antonio hadn't been expecting that.

"Signore, la prego di seguirmi." He said in Italian, his voice a little muffled by the mask.

Antonio nodded and followed the masked man. He was led to a pretty normal-looking door, and he noticed he wasn't the only one. A couple had just exited a limousine and was being led to the door as well, the woman giggling softly.

He entered before the couple, though, and he found himself in a small room, with a man and a woman, both wearing the same white mask.

"Please empty your pockets, mister." The man politely said, gesturing for the table to Antonio's left. The masked woman told the couple the same, at the right hand of the room.

The only thing Antonio had in his pockets was his wallet. After having put that on the table, he was thoroughly searched by the man, and obviously he didn't find anything. The wallet was searched as well, but they couldn't find anything there as well: the pill was safely hidden under Antonio's tongue, the Spaniard being very careful not to accidentally swallow it.

"Sorry for the inconvenience… beyond that door you can change yourself." The man pointed with a thumb at the door behind him.

Antonio took his wallet again and opened the door, and yet again his jaw dropped.

It was probably every woman's dream. An enormous brightly lit room, filled with dresses upon dresses, masks, feather boas, tiaras, crowns, random accessories all separated by colour and size. Of course men had not been forgotten: jackets, suits, masks, hats, capes, ties, shirts… There was everything for both sexes, but the most astounding feature was the number of the masks: hundreds of them, in every size, every colour, every form and variety. Antonio couldn't believe his eyes. It could have looked like a horrible cheap yard sale, if it weren't for the fact that everything looked so neat and expensive. It actually almost seemed as if he had walked into a first-class, five-stars dress shop. He could hear some women squeal in excitement between the colourful clothes, and a man emitting a low whistle while examining a wonderful dark blue suit.

"Mister Saucedo? A gift form mister Vargas." Another White Mask tapped his shoulder, offering him a beautiful dark grey - almost black - suit, together with a white shirt, a deep green tie and black shiny shoes.

The Spaniard's eyes widened even more, if that was even possible. "F-for me…?" He asked, stunned. He felt as if he had gone back in time, way back, when he was little and couldn't even afford to buy an apple for himself…

The White Mask nodded, and stretched out his arms to hand him the clothes over, a movement that brought the Spaniard back to the present. Antonio was almost afraid to touch them, they simply looked so incredibly expensive, like everything else in that room. He barely registered that the tie was made of real silk, before the White Mask offered him another object. A dark grey mask that perfectly matched with the suit, shaped so it would cover his eyebrows, eyes, cheekbones and nose. The holes for the eyes were rimmed with black, and small black decorative lines swirled on the edges of the mask. A single, small, deep green line that matched the tie decorated the lower left half of the mask.

Still too astonished to speak, Antonio followed the White Mask's directions towards the changing rooms and changed. He then studied himself in the mirror, mask in his left hand.

He looked like a noble.

Antonio barely recognized himself, he was so used to seeing himself wearing quite worn-out and kind of old clothes, because he never picked up the habit of shopping for new ones, even after he could afford them. He unbelievingly turned left and right, as if to check that the man in the mirror was really him.

Finally, he glanced at the mask between his fingers. He placed onto his face, bowed his head and tied the black silk lint behind it. When he glanced at his reflection again, a stranger was looking back at him.

Antonio smiled, and so did the stranger in the mirror.

He would actually dare even Francis to recognize him like this, now.

Another White Mask led him to the door that went to the party. Antonio knew that because he could hear the muffled music and the people chatting on the other side.

"Le auguriamo una buona serata." The White Mask said, opening the door for him.

Immediately, Antonio was immersed in a dazzling whirlpool of colours. He found himself in a gigantic circular hall with a high ceiling which ended in a dome. Everything bas bathed in a blue light, but many torches and lamps contributed by adding other colours: pink, green, orange… And even the balloons that hung scattered here and there and against the walls had lights in them.

In the middle of the room there was a large stage on which a band was playing highly rhythmic songs, and the singer had a weird moustache… he guessed this was the man Kirkland had talked about, his name was Mercury, if he remembered right. Well, he had to admit, he had a great voice.

Around the stage there was plenty of space, where people were dancing, laughing or simply strolling around with bounces in their steps. Almost all of them had champagne glasses in their hands, all were masked, all were having a good time.

Around the empty space for the dancers, there were many small tables with chairs, all with a strange lamp on them. Antonio got closer to inspect them, and saw that they were those things that looked like rockets, with some kind of coloured fluid blobbing lazily up and down. Against the walls were long tables filled with food: bowls of punch and fruit, small meat treats, cheese, pies, sandwiches, arancini, cannoli, plates with fruit sculptures, wine, beer, champagne, cocktails…

He was amazed. Never in his life had he seen such a thing. And he also realized that all the people around him had to be famous people.

He saw a tall black man not too far away, with a white and orange mask covering only the right half of his face. One glance at his shoulders and arms told Antonio that he probably was a boxer. Another man with tiny round glasses over his lilac mask, smoking a pipe, told him he most probably was a writer, or a poet… A girl with long blonde hair in a red dress, wearing a feathered red mask, walked past him laughing; she probably was an actress, or a singer.

He started walking around to get a good look at the place. From that hall he could reach the garden outside, where the pool was. Even here there were many tables with those rocket-like lights, and people enjoyed themselves around the pool.

Suddenly, two men shoved a third into the pool, and everyone burst out laughing when he resurfaced and pulled the two culprits down as well.

Antonio, despite himself and the situation, suddenly felt at ease. He wasn't in danger, who would ever spot him in this chaos, this hurricane of colours? He quickly brought a hand to his mouth and took out the pill, stuffing it in a broken seam of his wallet, which disappeared in his pocket. He smiled, looking around.

However, he was sitting at a table enjoying a glass of offered champagne, when he noticed something strange. A company of four men dressed in grey suits were walking to go inside the hall. They all had a coloured mask, probably to blend in, but it didn't look as if they were enjoying themselves too much. Well, he could see two smiling, but he didn't see the carefree movements and abandon that everyone seemed to have there.

And then, he noticed something that made his heart skip a beat. One of the grey-clad men, half of his features covered by a dark blue mask, decorated with a small crimson ribbon, had turned towards his direction. However, probably only to look at the impressive bear ice sculpture behind the Spaniard. The man made a motion with his hands which mimicked an explosion, probably imagining the icy sculpture bursting into many, tiny little pieces. The man grinned to himself, satisfied of the mental image, and turned away again, following the other men dressed in grey.

Antonio's eyes widened. It couldn't be… He stood up brusquely, almost pushing over the chair, determined to follow the man.

He had to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The last time he had seen him had been years ago, maybe he was just wrong, and he just couldn't be here… Then again, it was almost impossible to mistake him for another, even with that mask.

He quickly headed towards the men in grey, who were almost at the entrance of the hall already. He swiftly walked between the dancing people, determined to catch up with them, until his road was crossed by a – he almost didn't believe his eyes – a conga line. It was a long line of dancers, and painfully slow as well. With many excuses he passed between two conga'ers, breaking said conga and earning a few irritated shouts like 'Hey!' or 'What the hell?!'. When he looked at the entrance of the hall again, the men were already inside.

Oh damn it…! Antonio craned his neck, trying to pass through the partying people. Why did all them have to be in his way now, of all times?!

Nothing, when he finally got into the hall, they were nowhere to be seen between the crowd of dancers. He hunched his shoulders, discouraged.

…Had it been a dream? …He couldn't be here, right? Was it a ghost, or had he imagined it all by himself?

A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to look who it was.

A man with a dark suit stood by him, with a blood-red shirt and a black tie. On his face he wore a dark red mask lined with black swirls and decorations.

Antonio barely managed to swallow. Because he recognised him.

Italy Vargas smirked a wolf-like smile at him. "Why fucking hello there, bastard. You're late!"

Antonio recomposed himself quickly, smiling broadly. "¡Hola, amigo! Couldn't find you, sorry! You look better!" He said, noticing the Italian didn't have the cane anymore.

"Well, a bit better. At least I don't need the fucking stick anymore." Italy shrugged.

"Good!" Antonio continued smiling, moving a hand to point at their surroundings. "And I must say, this is a wonderful party!" he added honestly.

"Heh, what did you expect? A hippy playing a guitar and a cheap bottle of wine? Please." The Boss snorted.

The Spaniard laughed at the image, contrasting so hard with the party he was standing in the middle of at the moment. "Oh, of course not! But… I haven't been to many parties, I honestly didn't know what to expect…!"

"Moron. By the way, do you like the suit? Not that I really care, of course." Vargas quickly added, as if convincing himself.

Antonio smiled softly, the feeling of danger kind of fading onto the background. "Yes, it is a wonderful suit… it must have cost a fortune!" He said, delicately grabbing the green tie with his fingers and looking at it.

Italy shrugged, unimpressed, and then pointed towards outside. "Whatever. Want to go outside? I need some fresh air."

The Spaniard nodded, and in no time they were walking not too far away from the pool, following a small beaten path through the park, lit by torches. There were less people here - which still meant crowded, by the way. Yet Antonio could see still some White Masks not too far away, keeping an eye on them… He swallowed dryly.

"Hey bastard, I was wondering, what kind of job do you do?" Vargas suddenly asked, absentmindedly and 'innocently' looking away.

"Eh, I work for a telecommunications company, nothing too exciting, I'm afraid…" Antonio used his usual alibi. He let out an awkward chuckle. "…But it allows me to travel a lot! Hahaha, but I'm on vacation now, don't worry, I won't ask you to install a TV or a telephone…!" He laughed.

"Tch, figures."

"What?" Antonio snapped his head sideways to look at the Italian.

"Someone like you couldn't be doing some job that required brains. You simply don't have them." Vargas snorted, kind of looking amused. And was Antonio imagining things or did he sound… relieved?

"Hey! You're being mean!" Antonio exclaimed playfully.

Italy simply shook his head. "Exactly my point. Dumbass."

The Spaniard pouted, folding his arms. "What about you, then? If you're so smart." He teased.

The Mafioso made a vague gesture with one hand, looking bored. "Nothing much, really. I'm simply rich, thanks to my grandfather's inheritance."

Antonio almost wanted to laugh at the cleverly constructed lie. But he managed to only reply: "Oh. Okay..." Then he remembered something. "Hey, you look much better than the last time I saw you. I guess 'Dimwit' is doing alright?" he asked innocently.

Italy took a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Honestly, I do not know. He stopped moping around at least, but he still hopes that it was all a big misunderstanding." He paused, looking at him, eyes wide. "He wants to talk to him again! He trusts the fucking lying son of a-" he stopped himself, scowling. "…But I'm not allowing that. 'Fritz' would just lie again, and Dimwit would believe him. Fuck." He grumbled, kicking a stone.

Antonio looked in another direction, but internally his mind was blown. The other twin wanted to talk to Ludwig again, even if his cover was blown?! Even better, he trusted him!? That definitely was good, albeit strange, news. "Well, maybe 'Fritz' had good intentions?" He tried to suggest innocently.

"Hell, no, he didn't. Trust me, I know." Italy growled, sounding final.

"Hey, I was just wondering!" Antonio tried to defend himself. "Just trying to help!"

Vargas shook his head shrugging, and kept silent, manifesting that the argument was over.

The awkward silence lasted as they walked back into the direction of the pool. Antonio was about to speak up again, when a White Mask quickly approached them.

"Signor Vargas…!" The White Mask said, some urgency in his voice.

"…Cazzo c'è adesso? Spero non sia un altro imbecille caduto dalle scale: avevo detto chiaro e tondo che non volevo essere disturbato!" Vargas snapped at the man, annoyed.

The White Mask shook his head, eyed Antonio warily and neared the Boss to whisper in his ear. The Spaniard barely caught the words he spoke: "…Braginski è già qui, e la sta cercando."

Antonio noticed Italy pale visibly, as he muttered a curse. "…Merda. Digli che sto arrivando."

The White Mask quickly nodded and headed back to the Villa as fast as he could.

The Spaniard felt his blood run cold when he heard that name. Fear clutched his heart with an icy hand that may very well have belonged to General Winter himself.

Braginski.

Oh, I am so dead, the Spaniard thought, feeling light-headed. Of all the mafia Bosses that could be here, it had to be the terrifying Siberian Demon. One of the few that he was certain they knew him. Just his luck.

"Hey bastard, I have to go. A… a friend of mine wishes to see me, and I can't let him down." Vargas turned to look at him again, some colour still missing from his face - at least the part that wasn't covered by the mask.

Antonio nodded, forcing a smile on his lips. "Of course, don't worry! I'll just go around and enjoy the party. Have fun with your friend!"

Italy started walking away, heading for the entrance, when he seemed to change his mind and turn to look at him. "Be sure to be in the porch before midnight, besides the ice bear. I'll definitely be done with this friend by then. Got it?"

Antonio only widened his smile, albeit still feeling cold fear inside his chest. "Sure, I'll be there!" he waved.

The Italian nodded, seemingly satisfied, before turning away and entering the building.

Antonio put a hand in his pocket, fingers curling themselves around the wallet. He glanced at his watch: it was only a quarter to eleven. He took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself not to freak out. He neared a waiter and helped himself with another glass of champagne.

He also took a decision, while sitting down by a table outside. He wouldn't snoop around, not yet. It wasn't the night, there were too many people and he would risk too much. He could better be a good, nice guest and earn the Mafioso's trust. Possibly not attracting attention of other Bosses.

While looking at the magician performing fire tricks again, he did his best not to let the glass in his right hand tremble.

Italy entered the room kept private exactly for this kind of 'occasions'. It was a medium-sized room, well lit by a yellow light, and a small table was positioned in the centre of it with two chairs.

One of his men was standing motionlessly as a statue by the wall not too far away. He was wearing the trademark dark suit, a white and red handkerchief was tucked in his chest pocket, a black plain mask covering only his eyes. Mirroring him on the other side of the room stood another man, clad in a grey suit with a purple handkerchief in his chest pocket, wearing a yellow mask. But his interest was all for the man currently sitting on one of the two chairs by the table.

A big, broad man clad in a dark purple suit with small lilac stripes was waiting for him. Despite the obvious heat of the Sicilian night, he was wearing a long light-beige scarf, draped around his neck and shoulders. As if he were ready to walk into a snowy December night. Under the scarf you could catch a glimpse of a lilac tie with a small decoration jewel, shaped like a little sunflower. He wore beige gloves to match the scarf, and the mask he had on his face matched as well. It was a large mask, hiding almost completely the man's features except for the mouth and part of his cheeks: It was shaped like an owl, with purple and gold swirls as decorations. The owl's beak successfully hid the man's rather big nose, an actually impressive achievement.

Upon his arrival, the man stood up, and smiled. It wasn't a reassuring smile. At all. It sent a shiver down the Italian's spine. It looked innocent and sweet, it belonged onto a child's face, not on the features of this two-metres-tall bear of a man who was rumoured to enjoy beating traitors to death with an iron faucet pipe.

As if you were any better. You have blood on your hands too, you fucking hypocrite, he thought bitterly.

"Привет, Italy." The other Boss greeted him smiling, holding out a gloved hand.

Italy bared his teeth scowling. "Braginski." He took the hand and shook, his eyes never leaving the Russian's masked face.

"Aw, in a sour mood again? I seem to be unlucky… Oh well." Braginski shrugged, and sat down again.

Italy sat down as well and crossed his arms. The Russian chuckled. "I must say, comrade, you've outdone yourself yet again. I've never been to such an enjoyable capitalist party as this… I particularly liked the ice sculpture, wonderful craftsmanship."

Italy scowled. "Listen Ivan, if you are going to start bitching about capitalism and communism again, I swear I am leaving this room. And I know you like my parties, you commie." He added, daring.

Ivan laughed deeply, leaning back in the chair. "Ah, always so grumpy, never in the mood of a joke, are you? No fun at all. Oh well, then I'd like to talk about business." He leaned forwards, propping his elbows on the table's surface and intertwining his gloved fingers in front of his face.

"I guess you're in an awful need of men, if you have to leave your comfortable palace in the USSR, aren't you?" Italy sneered, but Ivan's smile didn't falter. "Well, fuck, just tell me what you need." Italy smiled sweetly himself.

Ivan cocked his head to one side, action which made him look even more like an over-sized owl. "I guess I am in need of men, дa… I'm also here for an offer myself, but first, like you said, I need a good… how do you call it? A good shot. Someone good with guns. And I know your men are particularly good. Some of the best."

"Ha! You can say that again." Italy leaned back in the chair again, looking pensive. "Hmm… How many, exactly?"

"Two will suffice. I am already planning to talk to Yao as well, later…"

"Fair enough." Vargas turned his head to look at his man. "Give me Lorenzo and Francesco's file." He held out a hand, and the man immediately materialized, as if out of nowhere, two files. Italy put them on the table, turning do they would face the Russian.

"Here, look. Lorenzo is one of my best shooters, he's worth a lot." Italy pointed at the small picture of a handsome looking young man with curly hair. "Francesco is very good as well, way above average, but one level below Lorenzo." He pointed at the second picture, showing another young man with short hair and dazzling blue eyes. "However, they work as a team, and they are pretty damn good at it and so almost inseparable. That's what you were looking for?"

Ivan nodded, looking satisfied enough as he quickly read the two files. "Ah, yes. They will do just perfectly. And no family, neither of them, no surnames… Excellent, they'll be ready to go to Mother Russia immediately, I suppose?"

Italy shrugged. "Whatever you order them, they'll do it. No questions, none. They're very skilled, a perfect team. They can shoot at a rabbit through the eyes so they don't ruin the fur. Imagine shooting in a man's kneecap or eye: piece of cake for them, and especially stealthy if you give them a silencer. Is that good?"

"идеальный."

"Speak in a language I can understand, Braginski." Vargas snarled at the Russian. Italy's hand quickly went to his pocket, and he extracted a toothpick, which soon was between his clenched teeth. He had to concentrate heavily simply not to let his hands tremble. This man in front of him scared him - and not only him, he was feared by most in the Soviet Union - and even if they were 'comrades' and colleagues, he still unsettled him.

Ivan smiled a toothless smile. "I said 'perfect', do not worry." He took the files and gave them to his man, who made them disappear in a black leather bag.

"Now, I'd like you to hear my offer." Ivan said, with a small purr in his voice.

"Spill it. I don't have the whole fucking night, you know." Vargas muttered, glancing at his watch.

Braginski sighed. "Ah, always so impatient. You should take things slow, enjoy the moments while they last! Anyway, back on topic, I know that you usually like to purchase bodyguards from me, am I right?" Vargas curtly nodded in response. "…Well, tonight I have something different. I know it is not your style, but… I have an explosives expert for you." The Russian continued, his lips curling up once more.
Italy suddenly stood straight again, shaking his head left and right frantically. "Oh no, nonono. No explosions, Ivan, no way. We talked about this. No fucking way." He repeated.

Braginski's smile widened, and he used his most childish voice. "Oh, but this one is different, trust me! His precision is stunning, it is almost incredible. You could hold an egg in your hand…" Ivan mimicked the gesture, "…and he would be able to blow it to tiny little pieces, leaving you completely intact, fingers included. Well, you'd get a bit dirty, but that is not the point." Ivan chuckled, as if actually imagining the scene, and looked at the Italian expectantly. "Are you interested now?"

Italy remained silent for quite a while, thinking. "…You are absolutely sure of his accuracy? You know I don't want any fucking sloppiness with this kind of stuff. …I don't want the damn cops going after me because he accidentally blew up a whole bridge instead of a single car."

Italy could see Ivan's eyes twinkle behind his mask. "Oh, don't worry! He won't blow up any bridge unless you tell him so. He's the best I've ever seen, he could blow up the driver of a car and leave the other passengers unscathed. He is very skilled, trust me." He repeated.

Vargas seemed to ponder the offer, bringing a hand up to his chin. "If he's so damn good, why the fuck don't you want to keep him?" He asked suspiciously.

Ivan grinned again. "Well, that's simple. He doesn't like me, he has to work for me because of a debt. I took him out of prison, you see. Oh, and he also hates me for something else, but you'll see that for yourself if you want to read the file. And I am personally convinced that he'd rather follow your lead, knowing your…" he paused. "…peculiar modus operandi."

Italy remained silent for a good whole minute, thinking. Then, he seemed to take a decision. "Well, fuck me. I think he'll be useful, show me the goddamn file."

"You won't regret it, I assure you." Ivan continued smiling. He turned and exchanged a few words with his man in Russian, and then he had the yellow files in his hands. He put it on the table and turned so Italy could read. However, he put one gloved finger on the name of the man. "Now, do not worry when you read his name. He's not the famous one, the one we all know. Just a relative, if I understood right." He removed the finger.

Vargas's eyes widened as he looked at the name. "What the…?" Then, he burst out laughing, stunned. "Hahahahaha! You've got to be kidding me!"

"I assure you it is not a joke." Ivan said, looking amused.

"Oh, the irony! What a goddamn sick trick of fate! Hahaha!"

"It seems you are pleased, hm?" Ivan purred, relieved by the other Boss's reaction.

"You bet! Fuck yes, I'll take him!" Italy said, an evil smirk on his features, eyes twinkling. "He's very well worth both Lorenzo and Francesco, even if he's not as good as you claim he is."

Braginski almost seemed offended. "He is, you have my word. And I am a man that honours his word."

"Aren't we all?" Italy took a deep breath, feeling a tingle of excitement in his bones despite himself. "I need a fucking drink to celebrate and close this deal. You'll have Vodka, like usual, right?"

The Russian nodded, and Italy turned to his man to order something for himself as well. In a matter of moments, a big glass of Vodka and one of Rum were on the table.

Vargas glanced at the file again, before giving it to his man. "You think he's able to set off fireworks, too?"

"He can do anything, if you just tease him in the right way." Ivan chuckled, his fingers curling around his glass.

Italy cocked an eyebrow. "You mean, the 'I bet you can't set off fireworks' kind of tease?"

"Exactly."

"Ha. Well, I'll send him do the fireworks immediately, then. I hired an expert, but I bet that the two of them will be able to work good together and have a hell of a time blowing up that shitload of stuff I bought." Vargas grabbed his glass as well.

The Russian brought up the glass, bowing his head a little. "Another wonderful trade, Italy. Let's toast to us. And I'll toast to my new men, Lorenzo and Francesco!"

Italy, smiling, brought up his glass as well, amber liquid swirling in it. "To us, then. And to my new man as well, to Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt!"

The glasses tinkled.

Not too far away, Ludwig was leaning against a car, with Delisi by his side. They were on the spot agreed with Antonio, if things happened to go wrong.

"Cigarette?" The Lieutenant offered him one.

Ludwig shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't smoke."

Delisi shrugged and lit his cigarette, cupping his hands for the flame.

Suddenly, the night sky lit up, when a crimson firework exploded. Ludwig's gaze immediately looked in the direction of the Villa, where the firework show was starting.

He watched the start of the colourful show together with the Lieutenant. Green, gold, white, blue orange, purple and red sparks… bangs, whistles, fizzles and explosions echoed through the night.

He smiled nostalgically, as he remembered the fireworks he and his brother - especially his brother - loved to blow up. He shook his head. That was a long, long time ago.

The fireworks continued to brighten up the night.

Ludwig glanced at his watch, almost a quarter to midnight. He hoped Antonio was still okay.

HOLY CRAP.

Just... holy crap. I think I wanted to add something in this Author Note, but I think I forgot. Like most of the times, anyway.

See you next chapter! ;)

...

Damnaciòn : (spanish) Damn it.

Fratello : (italian) Brother.

Signore, la prego di seguirmi : (italian) Mister, please follow me.

Le auguriamo una buona serata : (italian) We wish you a pleasant evening.

Cannoli : Cannoli are Sicilian pastry desserts. Its name means 'little tube'. In fact, cannoli consist in tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet creamy filling containing 'ricotta'(Italian whey sheep cheese). They range in size from "cannulicchi", no bigger than a finger, to the fist-sized proportions typically found south of Palermo.

Cazzo c'è adesso? Spero non sia un altro imbecille caduto dalle scale: avevo detto chiaro e tondo che non volevo essere disturbato! : (italian) What the fuck, now? I hope it wasn't another imbecile who fell down the stairs: I told you sound and clear I didn't want to be disturbed!

Braginski è già qui, e la sta cercando : (italian) Braginski is already here, and he's looking for you.

Merda. Digli che sto arrivando : (italian) Shit. Tell him I'm coming.

Привет : (russian) Hello.

идеальный : (russian) Perfect.