Okay, looks like at the very least, the first few chapters WILL be this short. Sorry!
Romano treaded across the tile floor to the kitchen table, carrying the usual lunch of whatever sort of pasta-like food he had around, at the usual lunch hour, arriving at the usual sight: His younger brother, sans food, elbows on the table and fingers interlaced, forehead resting on the backs of his hands.
It was boring. No, it had passed "boring" after the first 17 seconds of Italy's moping. It had sailed past boring two years ago. Since then, it'd hit the landmarks of depressing, annoying, obnoxious, teeth-grating, mind-grating, and on to a plane where there were no words, only heavy sighs of frustration and very, very pissed-off glares.
They'd been home from the war for about a week, and were quickly making up for all of the missed siestas and pasta. Romano didn't think it was a good idea for Italy to be home alone in his state, so they stayed at the older's house in Sicily. One of the things Romano did while ignoring his brother was get in touch with his old Mafia buddies. They'd been perfectly happy to hear from their most powerful ally, and that fact gave Romano an idea. It would be a risky one, but Romano would try anything twice if it meant the slightest chance of Italy off of his depression-binge.
"Fratellino. Get off your lethargic ass and put on some nice clothes."
"Why?" His voice had been several pitches below key ever since the fight, and Romano, who at first was disturbed by it, now recognized it as if it were his normal voice.
"We're going out to meet some friends today." At the very least, Italy was compliant. Pretty much everything Romano told him to do, he did with little question. It was a lot easier to take care of him that way. After Romano finished his lunch and Italy put on a dress shirt, dark gray jeans, and grabbed a black blazer to bring just in case, the two left in Romano's Maserati.
Italy looked ambivalently out at the speed-blended Sicilian streets, not focusing on anything, but mind blank. It'd been like that for as long as he could think back: Emptiness. His focus was empty, his thoughts did not exist, and his heart was void of emotion. It hadn't seen any in years.
"Veneziano!" an annoyed voice cut through the air next to him. Italy jumped away from and looked at the source, his brother.
"We're here. You deaf as well as dumb?"
"Sorry." No more words were exchanged between the two as the Maserati was left in the clay and gravel area designated for parking, and they approached an old factory, the masonry of which had seen better days.
Italy couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, mostly, because he was sure they werebeing watched. Approaching a Mafia hideout without having one's every move tracked was about as likely as waltzing into a prison without being questioned.
The side door on which they were coming up opened before they were halfway from the car.
"Lovino!" A cheery voice came from a rather large character whose appearance would not include the word "cheery".
"Azzo!" The two exchanged a quick, friendly hug.
"How'd the war treat you, fratello?"
"For a war, I guess I can't complain. I pretty much just sat back and let Germany do the work."
"I heard about those Germans."
"Damn potato bastards… Don't even mention them in front of my fratellino."
"'Eyyy, so this is little Feliciano, ah? I thought he looked a lot like you! Nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise." Italy forced a smile, and accepted a rough arm around the shoulder from the larger, rugged man.
"Man, your brother had me thinking you were as free-spirited and incompetent as he is! Lovi, quit bullshitting me."
"Ah!? Man, whatever. Don't let him fool you. Normally he'd be running around, hugging some of his damn cats, screaming 'PASTA!' all over the yard."
"Ah, I gotcha." Azzo placed a heavy hand on Italy's shoulder. "War did a number on you, huh, Feli?"
"Actually, that's why I brought him here. I was hoping we could get his mind off the war. He had a falling out with Germany. They were pretty close, and he hasn't been the same since. He's been moping for two years now; think you have something even he could handle?"
"Mmm, well," Azzo paused for a moment, rubbing the stubble on his jaw line thoughtfully. "I do have a couple of easy jobs that I've been reluctant to send the newbies into, but since you two are more resilient… As long as you keep an eye on him, I think I can get you a steady stream of jobs."
"Grazie, fratello. Have anything for us now?"
"I do. Something real easy to start you off. The Bachini family's pay day is today. We've tried to be nice, but we can't afford to let them keep putting it off. Looks bad."
"Awww, Azzo, you're demoting me to a loan shark? Come on, man!"
"Hey. You haven't seen any action for a good long time. I need to make sure you're still sharp, and see what your fratellino is made of. You get us the cash, quick and easy. I'll get you a better job."
"Sounds fair. Come on, Veni, let's get this bastard his cashola."
