18 SETTEMBRE 2000, 10:49 CEST
MILANO, ITALIA
"How's it going with translating the rest of that message?" Bucciarati asked.
Abbacchio shrugged. "Long. I mean, we get the gist of it: I've got a price on my head. But we need to know the truth."
"I agree."
It almost seemed as though there were eyes on his back as they were walking down the street at that moment, but Bucciarati chalked that up to the sheer amount of craziness that had been going on as of late. The squad had decided to spend their day exploring the city, though not without some nudging and some ground rules.
Abbacchio and Fugo had gotten up early that morning to work on translating the Hungarian Stand user's note, only stopping after Bucciarati had intervened just before breakfast and told them to take a break.
"No," Fugo had said, going back to his notes.
"We need to know what's going on, Bucciarati," Abbacchio had added.
Bucciarati had held up his tube of red lipstick, giving the goth a challenging look. "Do you really want to play this game again?"
Abbacchio had turned as white as a sheet. Fugo had looked confused, but Bucciarati's threat was clear: Take a break or else I'm zipping this lipstick in your throat again.
The goth had left the room pretty quickly after that.
Fugo had also left that area in haste, citing his discomfort at being left alone in any kind of library. Even if it was in their own (temporary) abode.
The adults decided to take their own route, whereas the teenagers went off by themselves (on the condition that none of them would blow anything up while they were out). Currently, they were walking past the public library, the morning breeze blowing in the sunny, 11ºC weather.
Abbacchio paused abruptly, stiffening. Bucciarati looked at him, concerned. "What? What is it?"
The goth's eyes narrowed. "Don't you get the feeling that we're being followed?"
Now that you mention it… "Yeah." He frowned. "Do you seriously think that they would come after us in broad daylight? Milan's a highly populated area."
"Since when has that stopped people?" Abbacchio retorted.
Bucciarati bit his lip. "Point," he said after a moment. "We'll need to thi-"
"It can't be. Bruno?!"
Bucciarati's eyes widened as he turned to the speaker. A woman in her late forties stared back at him, eyes wide as saucers. She looked hauntingly familiar.
Holy shit. "Mum?!"
"What?" Abbacchio asked, bewildered.
Bucciarati ignored him, staring at the woman in shock. Yes, it had been a while, but the woman in front of him currently clad in dark blue medical scrubs was indeed his estranged mother. She approached the two gangsters, looking fondly at her son. "My, how much you've grown," she commented. She turned to Abbacchio, extending a hand. "Francesca."
"Leone," Abbacchio said, shaking her hand.
Bucciarati felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Leone, this...is my mother."
Abbacchio gave the woman a courteous nod. "Buongiorno."
"Buongiorno," Bucciarati's mother acknowledged.
"So, what is it that you do now?" Bucciarati asked.
Francesca smiled. "I went back to school, and now I'm working as a second-shift pediatric nurse here in the city."
"Do you like it?"
"Yeah," she said sincerely. "I've got some time before I have to go to work. Want me to show you around?"
Bucciarati nodded. "That would be great, yes."
The three headed for the metro station. Francesca went off to buy their tickets (Bucciarati had offered to pay for them, but his mum had refused, insisting that this was her treat), leaving the two gangsters to talk in private on the concourse.
"You didn't tell me you had family here in Milan," Abbacchio said in a hushed tone.
"I didn't know," Bucciarati admitted. "I mean, I know my stepdad is from this city, from what she'd said about him, but I never actually met the guy. All I know is that Mamma had moved somewhere up north. That's it."
Abbacchio sighed. "Your mum isn't gonna be too happy when she finds out what's been going on while we've been here."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not telling her."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I haven't had much of a relationship with my mum since I was a kid," Bucciarati retorted. "Besides, she doesn't need to know about this."
"I don't need to know about what?"
Bucciarati froze. He turned, seeing that his mother had come back from the ticket machine. He glanced at Abbacchio for a brief second before returning his gaze back to his mum. "Uhhh...stuff. Stuff...that's been...going on...between us," he said hastily, gesturing to himself and the goth.
Abbacchio facepalmed. "Way to go, Bruno."
Bucciarati's face flushed with embarrassment as he realised how this could be taken out of context. "I...I didn't mean it like that, Leone!"
Francesca smiled, shaking her head in amusement as she handed the two their tickets. "I get it. Whatever you two decide to do in your...private time is none of my business."
Bucciarati's face went even redder. "Mother!"
Francesca ruffled his hair for a few seconds before dropping her hand. "Come on, you two. The metro will be here in a few minutes."
Bucciarati smoothed his hair down, following the others through the concourse. The silence between Bucciarati and Abbacchio was a bit...awkward, only broken when Francesca decided to make small talk while the three were waiting at their platform.
"Did you hear about the power outage this morning?" Francesca asked.
Power outage? "No, I didn't," Bucciarati admitted. "Did a storm come through in the middle of the night or something?"
"No," his mother responded. Her brow furrowed. "It's...weird. They covered it on the local news this morning; apparently the power went out on Via Alessandro Scarlatti around one-twenty, one-thirty-ish. It's still out; people don't know how or why that is, but it's only at that one street. Apparently there's nothing wrong with the equipment; it's as though the power just decided not to work for some reason."
"Huh," Abbacchio mused, frowning. "That is weird."
Bucciarati and Abbacchio exchanged wary glances. That particular street was already suspicious in its own way.
I don't remember the incident that took place at that street the other day, since I got poisoned, but whatever went down this morning...I don't like it. There's just this bad feeling.
Did more assassins come looking for Abbacchio?
Is he in any danger right now?
Are we in danger?
He glanced at his mother, relaxing slightly.
No.
There's nothing to worry about at the moment. Just spend some quality time with Leone and your mum, Bruno.
"So, what brings you two to Milan?" Francesca asked, breaking the gangster out of his anxious stream of thought.
"Work vacation," Bucciarati responded. Which wasn't entirely wrong; it was work but it also kind of counted as a vacation since Polpo had given the squad full autonomy on this particular mission.
Not...like his mother needed to know that.
"Nice," Francesca said approvingly. "So what is it that you do now?"
Think of something, Bruno.
"Freelance stuff," the squad leader responded, hoping that it sounded convincing enough.
"Same here," Abbacchio added.
The metro pulled in, saving them from further conversation. The three boarded their train, Bucciarati and Abbacchio taking a couple of open seats across from one another while Francesca sat two seats down from her son.
"Doors closing," the intercom announced.
The doors closed, and the train sped off.
Bucciarati took out his mobile, sending a text to Abbacchio.
[Me]: Stand?
The goth raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as he returned his gaze to his mobile.
[Leone Abbacchio]: È probabile.
[Leone Abbacchio]: …
[Leone Abbacchio]: Sai che siamo seduti uno di fronte all'altro e in presenza di tua madre, giusto?
Bucciarati gave him a sheepish look before sending another text.
[Me]: Non volevo discutere di questo genere di cose davanti a lei. Farà domande.
Abbacchio gave him an exasperated look.
[Leone Abbacchio]: Spegni il tuo telefono, Bruno.
[Me]: :(
The two mafiosi held each other's stares for a moment, daring the other to blink. In the end, it was Bucciarati who lost. And, to be fair, Abbacchio did have a point. He was probably being rude. Although, when he looked over at Francesca, he saw that she was also on her phone. A glimpse at her screen told Bucciarati that she was playing the bricks game.
I guess that's one way to pass the time.
He sent another text to Abbacchio.
[Me]: Ok. Hai vinto.
[Leone Abbacchio]: :)
They met each other's gaze. Bucciarati smiled, losing himself in Abbacchio's sunset eyes, the white noise of the train moving, his-
"Handsome, isn't he?"
Bucciarati jumped, startled, seeing his mother giving him a knowing look. The squad leader's face turned red. "Whaaa?! Oh. Uhh...yeah. Yeah, he's great. He's great. He's definitely great. Totally great. He's…"
Francesca raised an eyebrow, a smile on her face.
Bucciarati sighed. "Okay. He's handsome. Your point?"
Francesca lowered her voice. "I can tell you have the hots for him."
Bucciarati's face turned even redder. "No, I don't!"
Francesca gave him a dubious look.
Oh God. "Okay," Bucciarati acquiesced, voice quiet. "Yeah. I do."
Francesca smiled, and the squad leader could tell it was genuine. "Go get him."
Bucciarati relaxed a bit, but still felt self-conscious. "Y...you're cool with it?"
"Yes, I'm cool with it."
Bucciarati smiled. "Grazie, Mamma." He leaned back into the seat, giving her a curious look. "So...where exactly are we headed, anyway? You never said."
"Well, I did say I wanted to show you and Leone around, didn't I?" she responded. "So, we're going on a bit of a tour of the city. I'd let us go inside the museums, but we don't have that kind of time, I'm afraid. So, I figured I'd show you an outdoor view of some of what Milan also has in store for the world to see."
"That's valid," Abbacchio responded, joining the conversation.
"Next stop: Quadrilatero d'Oro," the voice on the PA announced a couple of minutes later.
Francesca placed her mobile in her purse, stretching. "That's our stop."
Their train arrived several seconds later, and the three exited the station shortly thereafter. After walking around for an hour and-a-half, they decided to stop at the mall to get lunch.
"I'm going to pop off for a second and do some quick shopping," she told them. "I'll meet you in the food court."
"Sounds good, Mamma," Bucciarati responded.
The three went their separate ways. After a minute or so, Bucciarati paused, looking at Abbacchio with an apologetic expression after making absolutely certain they were alone. "Sorry about what went on earlier. I didn't mean to make things awkward."
"No, no, you're good," Abbacchio responded, sighing. "Honestly, we're not that serious. Not yet, anyway."
"Yet we're supposed to make everyone think we are," Bucciarati said resignedly. He folded his arms. "You know, when Mista fed us the whole 'go undercover' spiel, I didn't expect it to turn into this. I mean, you have it lucky. Me, well, I don't mind the crossdressing, the androgyny, but what's really bothering me is the sociological implications regarding gender roles that're subconsciously being forced on me whenever I'm undercover. I don't think Mista took that into consideration, but, to be fair, I didn't, either. I expected to be crossdressing just for that one instance. But, now…" He sighed. "Now, we're supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend in the eyes of society, or, husband and wife in our dominatrix socialite neighbour's case, but how 'bout between ourselves, huh? You were right; this whole undercover relationship dynamic is all just a façade. Other than being squadmates and being close and experiencing whatever feelings we have for each other, I hardly even know what's real with us anymore!" He turned away, self-conscious and ashamed to meet Abbacchio's gaze as angry tears started welling up in his eyes. "Sorry. I'm so sorry."
This is stupid.
It's just a fucking mission.
I'm being an insecure idiot.
Fuck my life.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Bucciarati turned back around, seeing Abbacchio looking at him with an expression that the squad leader could not name. It wasn't angry, or upset, just...what?
Caring?
"Let me get one thing straight with you, Bruno," Abbacchio told him, voice serious. "Fuck society. Fuck gender roles. The system's fucked us over for years; how the hell do you think we ended up where we are in the first place? You are Bruno fucking Bucciarati. You're somewhat of a saviour and a mother to the rest of us in this squad."
Bucciarati shook his head. "No, I'm not."
"Bullshit." Abbacchio started counting digits on his left hand. "Fugo looks up to you. So does Mista. Narancia fucking idolises you. And me, I, uh…" He faltered, sighing. A blush appeared on his cheeks. "I don't know if I feel comfortable saying this in public."
"It's okay. You don't have to if you don't want to," Bucciarati said, understanding what it was Abbacchio was probably thinking. "Gravity, remember?"
Abbacchio nodded. "Yep. Gravity."
The callback to an earlier conversation about their feelings served as a reminder, a code. So much could be said within an expression, within a word.
Within gravity.
The squad leader cleared his throat. "Yeah. Great talk," he said, trying to ignore the flush he could feel on his cheeks. "Food court?"
"Yeah," Abbacchio responded. "Food sounds good."
They walked over to the food court, ordering a couple of pizzas. No mention of the conversation was made while they were in line, but Bucciarati felt somewhat anxious.
What if I fucked things up?
I really hope Abbacchio didn't take things the wrong way.
But, in all seriousness, this is starting to stress me out.
We don't have any other choice but to continue, though. Not until we find out who caused Carbone to turn traitor and eliminate them. That's the only way we can safely return to Naples.
I just hope we live long enough to meet that objective.
"Bruno?"
Bucciarati blinked, snapping out of his anxious thought nebula. He found Abbacchio's gaze on him, expression concerned. "You doing alright?"
"Yeah," the squad leader responded.
"Really?"
Bucciarati exhaled. "No."
Their pizzas finished baking, and the gangsters retrieved the boxes before walking away from the shoppe.
"Look," Abbacchio said quietly. "I'm not mad at you, okay?"
"I understand," Bucciarati responded. "But…" Fuck, how do I word this without screwing it up further? "I just want things to work out okay between us."
Abbacchio nodded. "I do, too." He paused, giving the squad leader a thoughtful look. "How about we go about this on our own terms? Don't give a shit about what society thinks we're supposed to be. Just...be ourselves. Which is weird, coming from me of all people, but-"
"I get it. We're soldati," Bucciarati told him. "'Se fai qualcosa per dovere, ti esaurirà. Ma se fai qualcosa per amore, ti motiverà.' Maybe this is what Polpo meant, when he wanted me to reflect on that sentiment?"
Abbacchio shrugged. "Maybe. Who knows."
They resumed their walk. Francesca was sitting at a table on the far end of the food court, and she waved the two gangsters over upon seeing them. She had a panini in front of her, and a bag containing whatever shopping purchase she had made sat on the floor beside her chair. Bucciarati and Abbacchio joined her, the three making small talk over lunch.
After a while, the time eventually came for Francesca to head to work. Bucciarati offered to have him and Abbacchio walk her to the metro, which she'd accepted. They arrived at the station shortly thereafter, waiting with her on the platform as the train took its time getting there.
"Bruno."
Bucciarati glanced over at his mother. She handed him a small parcel. "I know it's not much, but your birthday's in just over a week, so I wanted to get something for you."
Bucciarati smiled. So that's what you were doing earlier. "It's the thought that counts. Grazie mille, Mamma."
"Train arriving."
Francesca embraced him in a hug. "Take care."
Bucciarati nodded, burying his face in her shoulder. "I will. Love you, Mum."
She held him tighter. "Love you too."
Francesca let go, also hugging Abbacchio. "It was nice meeting you, Leone."
Bucciarati watched as Abbacchio returned the embrace. "You as well," he responded, letting go a couple of seconds later. "Your son is a wonderful person."
Francesca smiled. "I'm glad he has you to look out for him."
Abbacchio's returning smile was probably more on the self-conscious side, but Bucciarati felt a sort of happy feeling in his heart.
The train came to a complete halt. Francesca boarded the transport, waving to the two as she prepared to go on her way to work. Bucciarati waved back, a gentle smile on his face. A brief glance Abbacchio's way told him that the goth was also waving.
Arrivederci, Mamma.
The doors closed, signalling the train's departure. The transport moved, and Bucciarati's mother vanished into the distance.
