I have sunk to a new low.
This is fanfiction for AnAppleOfDiscord's Kith and Kin Series. I adore this series and the lack of updates has forced my hand. I don't own any of the character interpretations and if this gets back to Apple I just wanna apologize for butchering your children. Anyway! If you like their series and wanna talk about it PM me...I am desperate. I have a couple more ideas for this oneshot series but it might be a bit infrequent. This is also cross-posted on ao3!
Please R&R!
Lovino had woken up feeling almost chipper for once.
It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. Romano was the sour Italy and Feliciano was the sweet, dumb one that pissed everyone off but was charismatic enough that it never really mattered how many meetings he ruined or suits he splattered pasta on. It seemed like it was impossible for anyone to stay mad at North Italy, even when he could be such a lui è un coglione. South Italy scowled at the memory of his brother's most recent fuck up; a disaster of a dinner where Feli had almost brought a chef to tears when he tore into her for serving bad tortellini. Poor thing was forced to stand at the head of the table and apologize to both of them, which had nearly made Romano hunch his shoulders in embarrassment before remembering that serving bad pasta had been a death sentence back in the twenties and he had had more than one chef taken out back for it. Besides, he grabbed a bite while Feliciano was ranting and it really was that terrible. Eventually his brother's feathers were smoothed over by the head chef remaking the platter and taking it off the check. Almost immediately afterwards, Felicaino offered to show the original chef how to make real Italian pasta. After all, "What's more authentic Italy himself teaching you?" And just like that, everyone fell right back in love with him.
Ugh, it almost made him sick sometimes. His brother was such a lucky bastard, his innocent demeanor and good looks got him out of almost every sticky situation he found himself in. Romano had always been the one that needed to work to get people to like him. He never got random gift cards or edible arrangements sent to his office 'just because'. No, it was always ass kissing and constant professionalism for Romano. At least he always knew when people were bullshitting him.
Well, there goes his good mood.
Lovino forced himself out of bed and wandered towards the kitchen. He really needed an espresso before he even thought about the rest of the day. Luckily, Italy was off at a World Meeting this week and wouldn't be around to bother him with his pining over that damn Potato Fucker he was always hanging off of. Romano felt a throb irritation run through him at the thought of those two scemi. They were just so—no, Lovino took a deep breath, he was not going to get all worked up over that love story again.
Today would be peaceful.
A crinkled bag echoed through the halls, and Romano felt the beginnings of a headache between his eyes. He grumbled to himself and stomped into his living room to find his couch occupied by a very familiar head of brown curls. Great, just the nuisance he was hoping to deal with today, "Ehi! What the hell are you doing here, Tomato Bastard!?" He yelled as he came up behind the couch.
Spain turned towards him with that same dumbass smile on his face he always had, the bastard didn't even look startled, "Oh, Romano! I was wondering when you would wake up. It's pretty late for you. Are you finally starting to understand that sleeping in is nice?" He absentmindedly dunked his Maria crackers in his coffee while he said this. Lovino felt an old rage flicker to life within him; Spain still acted like he owned the place and Southern Italy hadn't been under his thumb for nearly two centuries now.
He took a calming breath, Spain was just an idiot and didn't mean anything by how he acted, "Yeah, I've seen salvation." He ignored the small cheer the Spaniard let out, but didn't manage to dodge the over enthusiastic hug aimed at him. He struggled against it for a second before admitting defeat and resigning himself to being hunched over the back of the couch for the rest of the conversation, "Anyway, what are you doing here? Don't you have a World Meeting to go to?" Uffa, for a washed up empire Spain really had a strong grip.
"Huh? Oh! The meeting, sí, I am scheduled to speak tomorrow. I am actually on my way but first I wanted to see mi penquño tomate!" Spain emphasized this by rubbing their cheeks together while chattering on in Spainish his undying adoration. Romano grunted as he finally managed to push the man away, scowling at the whine Spain let out. Antonio could get so clingy sometimes, it was amazing he was ever able to leave his former wards alone when he was out exploring or meeting with his monarchs.
Lovino made his way to the kitchen, covered in crumbs but at least there was a steaming cup of espresso waiting for him. In the living room, Spain turned up the volume of the televisore. Montalbano was playing, a rerun by the sounds of the lover's spat Salvo and Livia were in, and Romano rolled his eyes at the almost immediate way Antonio was pulled into it. He scoffed, Spain had the attention span of a fly. Lovino sometimes wondered where the former empire got all the free time to keep up with his own telanova's, let alone Romano's, when he was juggling all the paperwork that came with being a nation as well as keeping up with all of his former colonies' birthdays, holidays, and general neediness.
Romano rolled his eyes as he made his way to the couch, at least Spain was putting in an effort, for a long time Antonio was so caught up in winning that he didn't seem to notice the children he was taking care of being trampled under his foot. Yeah, Lovino had never envied any of Spain's New World kids. That bastard was mean, filled with envy and lust for power; he was terrible and Lovino always made sure to remind him of that as a kid. Of course, Romano had the luxury of being less of a colony and more of a territory, treated as a built-in maid and cutesy entertainment for Spain and his men, rather than the complete property of the Spanish Empire that Messico and Porto Rico and all the others were. Sure, Lovino cooked and cleaned and farmed for Antonio but Spain had never had the absolute control over him that he did the others.
Romano shook his head, he didn't like to think of those days, when Spain was always in conquistador mode. No matter how much South Italy liked to complain about clingy, flighty Spain, he'd take this version of the man over the drunkard that wandered the world in search of gold and glory any day. He settled down on the couch next to Spain, scrolling through Facebook, sprawled out and taking up way too much room. Romano shoved his feet off the cushions with a curse before he moved to grab the remote. He'd already seen this episode.
Spain's hand shot out like a bullet, catching him by the wrist, and making Romano's stomach swoop in terror before his body caught up to his mind and remembered that he was a sovereign nation and Spain didn't have any power over him, "'Mano, I'm watching that!" He yelled as the commercial flickered back to the Montalbano rerun.
Lovino wrenched his hand away from Spain, "Uffa, no you're not! I've already seen this and I want to watch something else!" He hissed, Spain would not intimidate him in his own house! He wrenched the remote from Antonio's fingers, glaring as hard as he could before clicking through the channels, looking for anything other than soap opera reruns. He eventually stopped on a showing of 3 Straniere de Roma, just to piss Spain off, of course! Romano didn't watch any of that romcom bullshit in his free time! And he definitely didn't see this film in theaters three times!
"Oh, you love this movie!" Spain crooned, his arm swinging over Romano's shoulders, pulling him close and spilling more crumbs over his couch. "I remember when this one came out! You told everybody to go see it!" He let out a booming laugh, and Lovino felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, "Ah, you are such a romantic! It's why we get along, you and I." Spain jostled their shoulders together, before pulling Lovino into another too long hug.
Romano tensed and he felt his temper finally hit a boiling point, "SHUT UP, YOU ASSHOLE!" He yelled, shoving the man away, jostling his own expresso and spilling droplets on the floor, "I AM NOT A ROMANTIC, AND I DON'T LIKE THIS STUPID MOVIE!" He moved to grab the remote, which had fallen between the cushions, and change it back to Montalbano, but Spain got there first.
Antonio held the remote above his head and leaned back, away from Lovino's frantic scrabbling at his chest and face, "No, Romano! Lo siento!" He pleaded, "I got you mixed up with Feli! He's the romantic, not you, and I want to watch this movie!" He pouted, trying for those puppy-dog eyes that work on anyone but Lovino, "Please Romano, this is my favorite part." He said with a whine.
South Italy sat back with a huff, ignoring the sigh of relief Spain let out, "Uffa, this can't be your favorite part, dumbass, the title screen just faded in." He spit out. Lovino let his head fall back, Spain could be so desperate to get his way sometimes; he was lucky Romano took pity on him. They sat in comfortable silence, while the girls schemed to get their love interests to believe they were Danish and spend money on them. He sighed, the reveal was always the best part, but the lie was fun to see play out; he glanced over at Spain to see him periodically checking his phone but otherwise paying attention. Good! This was a gorgeous film and he should respect it!
Just as the girls were found out, Spain's ringer went off, loud and annoying as the man himself. Antonio squinted at the caller ID for a moment, truly an old man in an eternal body, before smiling wide and answering, "Italy! Buneos dias! How are you, my friend?" He shouted, drowning out the movie. Romano sighed, Spaniards were always so loud! And their conversations lasted hours, Lovino could kiss the resolution goodbye. Eh, he had it on film and DVD. He reached over and muted the television, before turning to the man next to him, who was wincing at the new heights Veneziano's voice was reaching.
So, another typical Italian freak out. Fun. Lovino scooted closer to Spain, aiming to make out some semblance of the desperate mash of Italian and Latin streaming through the speaker. Antonio held the phone out to Lovino, before continuing, "Ah, Italy, I can't make out what you're saying; my Latin is a little rusty." Spain said. Lovino rolled his eyes, he knew damn well Spain could speak perfect Latin, he just hated using it.
Romano resigned himself to playing translator, like always. Today felt different though, Feliciano was screaming his head off, not an unusual occurrence, but this time it had a different type of hysteria than Romano was used to. Typically, Veneziano had tears in his voice and a certain whiny pitch that seemed to call to every single one of his past suitors or conquerors, this time though, Feli seemed to be falling over his words, stuttering and cutting himself off in effort to both explain whatever clusterfuck was happening in England and get the point across as fast as possible. He was screeching about ghosts and how Spain needed to come to his rescue '—right this instant! I can't believe what I'm seeing, BEATA VERGINE MARIA! HE'S ACTUALLY HERE! AND HE'S REALLY, REALLY SCARY!"
Spain let out a fond huff of laughter before cutting off Italy's blubbering, "Okay, Italy take a deep breath and tell Big Brother Spain what's wrong and he will come rescue you." This had the opposite effect on his brother, Feliciano rapidly devolved into frantic Hail Marys, before stuttering one word.
"T-Texas!"
Lovino sucked in a breath; Texas was only ever mentioned on All Saint's Day or when Antonio was especially drunk. Saying that word, mentioning the son Spain had lost, was just about the only way to wipe that absentminded smile off of his face. It was also the only way to get Spain to cut a conversation short, but the shattered look on his face wasn't worth the extra hour of free time South Italy had gotten from it.
Romano was all of nine years old when the Italian Wars ended and he was booted off to live with Spain. Teary-eyed and shaking with rage, he resolved to be the most unruly and horrible housemate anyone had ever seen. It served Spain right for being such a stupid bastard conquerer! Romano didn't need to be looked after and he definitely wasn't weak enough become a colony like those dumb babies in the New World. Hot tears fell down his face as he entered the sprawling mansion, Lovino could feel the servants' stares and the pitying looks the maids were giving him. Ugh, he hated being a kid! If he was big and strong like his grandpa this wouldn't be happening and Feliciano wouldn't be such a whiny crybaby.
Romano scowled at the memory of his brother, he got to live with Grandpa Rome all by himself for 'bonding time' while Lovino was stuck all alone in the Pantheon. Everyone always liked Feliciano more, even Rome…it just wasn't fair! Romano could be charming and cool too! People just never gave him the time of day, and when they did it was only because Veneziano was out or they wanted to be on Rome's good side. He furiously scrubbed at his eyes, stupid Spain wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him cry, "Hey!" He called to the closest servant, "Where is that bastard Spain, anyway?" Romano cursed inwardly at the way his voice wobbled, but at least it was better than the outright sobbing he had been doing on the carriage ride over.
One of the maids rushed over to him, her outstretched hand an obvious invitation to grab onto, but Lovino would be damned before he was introduced to Spain hiding behind the skirts of a woman he'd just met. The snide comments other nations, and even some humans, had made about Rome's mighty bloodline failing echoed in his head at the thought of being led by the hand like a scared child to his conqueror's clutches. So Romano crossed his arms and forced his head high, like his grandpa had taught him when he was small, before Feliciano had taken all his love and attention away.
The maid eventually pulled her hand back and began walking out of the courtyard, up the stairs and towards what sounded like…a baby's cry? Lovino furrowed his brow, since when did Spain allow his help's children inside the casa solariega? Before he could open his mouth to ask the maid she held out her hand to silence him, a spark of anger rose in him at being treated like he was some dumb kid and not the grandchild of the Roman Empire himself!
The woman kneeled down in front of him, "I know you have questions, Señorito, but please do not wake up the little one with your yelling. Amo is so terribly difficult to get to sleep and Señor Spain can never keep away when he cries." She smiled softly at him before knocking gently on the oak doors where Romano could hear someone quietly shushing the crying infant, "Señor? Señorito Southern Italy has arrived and wishes to greet you." The maid spoke softly and, when Spain turned and nodded at her, she bowed and quickly left the room, leaving Romano alone with the empire.
Well, alone with Spain and the red faced infant cradled against his chest.
"So you've finally arrived, Romano! I trust your journey was good?" Spain said in a soft voice while bouncing up and down to soothe the child to sleep, "The servants will have your things taken to your room, but first I'd like to go over a few things with you." He gently laid the baby down in the cradle near the corner of the room before fully turning to Lovino.
Southern Italy's first thought of Spain was that his eyes were the color of poison. They were dark and filled with a hunger Romano had never encountered, and it scared him. He felt his face harden in response to this new found fear and stood as tall as he could, "My journey was fine. It would have been nice to be greeted at the door but I guess you're too busy fawning over someone's baby to do that, huh?" He snarked, even as his heart began to stutter like a rabbit's in front of a Bloodhound.
Spain's poisonous eyes widened at the insult before laughing, "There is that sense of humor I've heard so much about!" Spain crouched down to his eye level, maybe to seem more approachable, but he still loomed over Lovino, "I should have come out to greet you, but my little Toño is so fussy this time of day. He always wants his Papi to hold him and I just can't say no!" Lovino blinked, 'Papi?', he didn't know Spain had a kid tucked away here, no wonder there were so many armed men around the perimeter. Spain chuckled a little before setting his hand on Romano's shoulder, it was heavy and Lovino felt the weight of it sink into his chest, "So! Welcome to the Spanish Empire, Romano! You can call me Boss."
Romano blinked away that particular memory. Lord above, he hasn't thought of that kid in decades. It was a tragedy that he had faded from existence after being annexed by America. Spain had just about lost his mind to the grief of it all, and wasn't ever quite the same afterwards. Antonio was already a touchy-feely kind of guy, but after Tejas' passing Romano was surprised he let any of his children out of his sight. He clung onto his remaining colonies and even rekindled the bonds he'd had with his newly independent kids. Not that it was easy to say 'no' to Antonio during that time, he had the look of a broken man, and his eternal rivals, England and France, knew to soften their blows and dull their tongues when Antonio was around. Even Romano, who was nearly an adult at the time had let Spain dote on him in a way he hadn't since that manic period during the 1690s.
Lovino shuddered, Spain had been unbearable those few decades after The Incident. Where he went from Boss Spain, who Romano was used to and comfortable with, to Papi, who went on and on about his children's accomplishments and did everything he could to prove his undying love and dedication to their happiness and continued comfort. Especially Tejas, the one colony Spain never mentioned unless prompted, who had suddenly become the center of Antonio's world.
South Italy leaned closer to the phone in Antonio's hand, noting the way it was beginning to creek under the pressure of Spain's white knuckled grip. The former empire was barely breathing, caught up in a grief that was so old it felt new every time Romano witnessed it, "Ehi! Feli! Don't say that word around Spain, you know how he gets!" He yelled. Seriously, Veniziano knew better than to slip up like that!
The line crackled to life again, "BUT I'M NOT ROMANO!" Feliciano screeched, "He's here! Filling for America! H-He even introduced himself and everything!" Romano chanced a glance at Antonio's face, hoping to gauge his reaction, but he was still staring unseeing at the wall, "He came in and I thought I was seeing things but then, when he started talking and I realized he must be the ghost of the Republic of Texas! AND HE'S OUT FOR REVENGE!" Lovino felt the intense urge to smack his brother rise once again, "You know he's a lot taller than I thought he would be. But he's mean and he only JUST let me take a pasta break—"
Lovino snatched Spain's wrist and pulled the phone closer to his face, "DUMBASS! He's not a ghost, those don't exist! And even if he was, why would he want revenge against you!?" He yelled. Ugh, Romano was losing brain cells just listening to his brother. Who was now going on about being the closest nation, geographically and culturally, to the Spanish Empire. This, of course, meant that Texas would focus his undying wrath on Feliciano until Spain showed up tomorrow.
He opened his mouth to yell some more, maybe to tell
the idiot to put Germany on the phone, or, if he could muster the courage, Texas' 'ghost', but Antonio cut him off with a quiet gasp, "Feliciano. Do not play games like this with me. My Tejas is," Spain's mouth wobbled, "gone."
"SO HE IS A GHOST, A POLTERGEIST, A FANTASMA! PLEASE YOU HAVE TO SA—"
Italy made a choking sound, and heavy footsteps could be heard approaching him, before that damn Potato Bastard started yelling at him for being late and disrespecting the temporary US representative. Feliciano started whining and a brief scuffle over the phone could be heard before the German's voice crackled to life, "Spain, please ignore whatever unvernünftig things he was saying. You know how he is." Italy was still carrying on in the background, but at least he had seemed to calm down a little.
Lovino felt his eye twitch, "HEY! Are you calling my brother stupid!?" His blood pressure rose, " ONLY I CAN CALL MY BROTHER DUMB, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" Romano wanted to wring his Aryan neck. What did Feliciano see in this loser!? "I'll kill you! I swear it'll be like Rome himself has risen again! You-you, YOU CABBAGE, YOU—"
"Is it true?"
Lovino's heart stuttered. He'd almost forgotten Spain was in the room, never mind the fact that he was using him as a human phone booth. Germany sighed quietly over the line, "If you are asking about the apparent resurrection of the State of Texas, then yes. He is set to give the rest of his speech when we reconvene." Lovino blinked, Texas was getting more than the usual eight minutes allotted? Just how shocked was everybody over there? Romano guessed it wasn't every day a supposed dead nation arose, and, by the sound of it, didn't seem all too worried about the fallout of playing dead for over a hundred years.
There was muffled arguing over the phone again, and a loud voice with a stereotypically twang broke through the background noise, "Oye! Axis Powers! You said fifteen minutes, and I got a whole slideshow to go through!" Lovino's eyes widened, that was the most American southern accent he'd ever heard. It had to be him, Spain's failed colony. Some more yelling occurred before the line cut out, but they had already heard what they needed to.
Romano slowly turned to look at Spain, who was starting to hyperventilate, "Antonio…?" He whispered, ready to bolt at the first sight of Spain's famous temper. He was ignored though, and the cellphone clattered to the ground, indents the size of the former empire's fingers dug into the sides. "Spain?" He leaned closer to the man's face, pale and drawn, "Are you alright?" Romano put his hand on Spain's shoulder, maybe to offer comfort or to simply force the man out of his head, either way his heart jumped to his throat when Antonio jerked away from him.
Broad shoulders shuddered, before green eyes found him, and Lovino was shocked to see tears pooling there. "Romano…" the man croaked, his voice hoarse and fighting around an emotion Lovino had never seen before, "You heard him, right?" Spain's voice cracked, "Mi hijo, my Toño, he is alive?" Antonio's hands gripped Lovino's with that same strength he always had, even after the collapse of his empire, and Romano could do nothing but nod slowly, barely aware of the water filling his ears.
Or the water now spilling down Antonio's face.
"ROMANO! I missed you! Where are you, mi tomate?" Lovino flinched at the loud voice bouncing off the corridor halls. Wonderful, that bastard Spain was back, now Romano had to deal with his condescending remarks and violent temper. And his drinking, which made both worse, somehow. Lovino turned to see Spain waltz in, a crate of fresh tomatoes in his arms, and a desperate look in his eyes, "I brought you a gift! See!" He hoisted the crate higher, showing off the way they shined bright red in the sunlight.
Romano scoffed and let the broom he was holding clatter to the ground, "What did you screw up this time, sei un rompicoglioni?" Lovino crossed his arms as Spain began to whine about how much time he spent picking out the perfect tomatoes for his favorite employee. Then Spain did something weird, well weirder than his usual acts of idiocy, he cut himself off, set down the crate, and walked over to Romano. Now Lovino had grown a little, aged a year or so, since the last time Spain had made his rounds to the colonies, but he still only came up to the empire's chest. That didn't stop him from glaring up at the man with all the hatred he could muster, "Well? What do you want me to clean up, you bastard?" He spit out.
Antonio sighed, "I don't want you to clean up anything, 'Mano. You're not very good at it in the first place, besides, Boss has turned over a new leaf!" He smiled wide, his poison eyes twinkled with hope that Romano would take the olive branch. Lovino wasn't stupid though, and knew Spain better than most thought, and the last two hundred years of being treated like a sad little pet that followed Antonio home was not easy to forget.
A cruel smile spread across his face, "Uffa, yeah right! You may think I'm a tonto," he spit the Spanish word like acid, the same way Antonio would when he was drunk and angry at Romano for interrupting his alone time, "but I know you, Spain! You're gonna pretend to be nice for a while, but eventually you'll go straight back to your drinking and smoking!" Spain's face began to crumple and Lovino felt a sick sense of happiness at finally being the one to wound his pride, "You always do, so via a cacare with your shitty attempt at fixing whatever mistake you made!" He screamed before shoving Spain away from him and stalking away.
He was almost to the stairs when he heard Antonio take a stuttering breath. Romano glanced back at his conqueror, expecting to see that rage Spain was so well known for, but he was shocked when he saw tears forming in his eyes. Spain never cried, never even came close! Even when Spain had come home from a fight with the Byzantine Empire, battered and bloody with one his hands half grown back and a concussion the size of the coliseum, he hadn't let tears fall. Had barely uttered a whimper as his bones snapped back into existence, and his people began mourning the loss of good men. Lovino took a step towards Antonio before he could stop himself, his mouth falling open as a single tear slid down Spain's cheek, "Romano…" He croaked, and Lovino immediately looked away, whether to spare himself or Spain the mortification he didn't know. What he did know was that this was uncharted territory, and that scared him, an angry Spain he could deal with, but a crying Spain? The nation could do anything, even kill Romano for witnessing the vulnerable man beneath the empire. Antonio sucked in a shuddering breath, "I—I'm—Lo Siento, Lovino. I am not, I'm not a good Boss…"
Romano almost fell over in shock. Spain, the Spanish Empire, conquistador of the Southern Americas, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, had just apologized. To Romano, a satellite state, his eternal entertainment and burden! "What?" Lovino whispered.
"I am sorry, Romano." Spain said, "I did something terrible, I've done many terrible things, and the Lord sent down his divine punishment to teach me the error of my ways." More tears spilled down his face and Lovino wondered if this was what priests felt like during confessions, "My son paid the price for my arrogance and now I know what it is like to be trampled under the force of something greater than myself." Antonio's head shot up, grabbing Romano's hands, startling Lovino who had not been aware of himself moving towards the kneeling man, "I want to be better, I want to be a real Papi, can you ever forgive me, Romano?"
Romano stared hard into Spain's face, wondering for the first time if the poison in his eyes was killing him from the inside out like it was killing his New World kids, killed, if Lovino had understood Spain's hysterical confession correctly. He thought back to all the times Spain had taunted him, or lamented the fact that Lovino was the Italy he'd gotten, rather than Feliciano, thought of all the ways he'd been made to feel small when Spain was around. But, despite everything, Lovino also remembered how Antonio had gone to war for him, multiple times and with multiple different nations, how he kept Romano clothed and even let him sleep in his bed when he was small and afraid of the looming mansion around him. Against his better judgment, Lovino nodded and was immediately pulled into a tight hug. Spain shuddered around him, and Romano felt his shoulder become wet with salty tears. Spain furiously whispered his thanks, to Lovino or the Almighty, he wasn't sure, before South Italy pushed the sobbing empire away by the shoulders, and held him there, "On one condition!" He said, making sure Spain was looking him in the eye and really listening to him, not just hearing, "I am not calling you Papi."
Spain's eyes widened before he snorted welty, "No, I am not your Papi." He smiled softly, "But…we can be amigos."
Back then, Spain had been crying bitter tears of sorrow and regret, now though, the biggest smile Lovino had ever seen was spread across his face. Antonio started belly-laughing, it was loud and almost frantic, and his hands were shaking with the, no doubt, extreme adrenaline burst he was experiencing. Romano almost felt bad for the kid; he had a storm coming that was for sure. Spain shot up, dragging Lovino with him, before the former empire spun them around, lifting Romano off of his feet and knocking over the coffee table. "ROMANO! MY BOY! MI HIJO, HE'S ALIVE!" He pulled Lovino in for enthusiastic cheek kisses before dropping him, and letting out a shout of pure joy.
Romano stumbled and almost fell flat on his back, he moved to curse the man for his carelessness but Antonio suddenly dropped to his knees, praising the Lord for his mercy, for giving Antonio yet another chance to raise his son. The man was rapidly devolving into sobs of joy, and hysterically quoting scriptures, Psalm 127 in particular. Romano decided he had seen enough of Spain's vulnerable side for one day and moved to the balcony, hoping to give the praying man some privacy and himself some breathing room.
'Jesus…', Romano thought, sagging against the railing. The coastal breeze ruffled his hair, and Lovino tried to gather himself. Spain's kid was alive, it was just hitting him now how insane this all was. It was as if Grandpa Rome came back to life and suddenly started attending World Conferences like it was no big deal. This was a huge deal! A sick feeling began to swirl around in South Italy's gut, had Texas really faked his own demise? Did he hate his family so much to cause them that kind of anguish or was it some type of political kidnapping on America's end? Was it a little bit of both? Either way, Junior over there better have a good explanation for all his time spent away from the Spanish Empire.
And soon, if the Skype call Spain was setting up was anything to go by.
