A/N: Part Four. I've decided that I really enjoy writing Gilbert; if I could do a oneshot about him one day, I totally would.

Please Review?

Seta Moneta

-4-

A week later and Ludwig found himself sitting at the same table he had been at on that first day. He ran a hand tiredly across his face.

He was failing.

It was hard to admit it, but he knew it was true. It was impossible; there was nothing wrong with the way Feliciano and Lovino spent money, but for some reason they just kept losing. It frustrated Ludwig to no end.

Kiku wasn't much better off. He thrived on efficiency and despaired over failure, and the looming prospect of the latter was taking its toll on him. Whenever he could get away from pouring over the bills of the restaurant, he would escape to art museums or other sites. Feliciano would try to accompany him sometimes—and try to drag Ludwig along too—but the fact of the matter was that they were both simply too busy.

Everyone was tired. Whatever free time Feliciano and Romano could find—in the few hours when their restaurant was closed—they spent sleeping. Ludwig had tried to leave the restaurant by five every afternoon at first, but he soon found himself returning to the hotel later and later. Usually the people he worked for weren't in such a dire situation, and had time to go over the forms with him. In this case, Ludwig had to try to fill out whatever he could and then pester an obliging Feliciano or cranky Romano for a signature towards the later hours of the day.

It was difficult to run a business… Ludwig had seen enough bankruptcies and failures to understand that. But the Vargas brothers—or their grandfather, at least, who had opened the restaurant—seemed to know a thing or two. They had an ideal location, adequate-at-worst service, and excellent food. But something was drastically wrong, and if Ludwig didn't figure out what, he would have only bad news to break to Feliciano.

The thought of how sad Feliciano would be over losing his restaurant drove him to try everything. He did not want to cause the Italian pain—and frankly, he wasn't too convinced that Romano didn't have connections to the mafia—and so he put more hours in, called Kiku for advice more often than either of them would have liked, and even sent an e-mail to Vash.

Vash was a banker from Switzerland who knew a lot about money and how it should be dealt with. He had been childhood friends with Roderich—Ludwig's college roommate and later real-life roommate (until he got married, of course, and that was a story Ludwig didn't want to go into; he was supposed to be on break from Gilbert's whining)—and when he had visited over a spring break and flaunted his knowledge, Ludwig had immediately wanted in. It made him feel powerful; to be so in control of other people's spending. He was always responsible, of course, and he would never take advantage—it's just that he liked the feeling of knowing what was going on.

This was probably why the mystery here was bugging him so much. He would give anything—even sell his soul to the devil, if he hadn't already done that at some point in his life—just to have some sliver of a clue as to what was happening.

His prayers (or deal making) were answered soon enough, as it were. It was late one night—so late that Feliciano had already sent Maria and Alfonso home and was waving goodbye to the last few stragglers, a very drunk group of couples. Ludwig felt his stomach rumble, alerting him that he hadn't had anything to eat in the past few hours save a few crackers at noon. He sighed and closed the book on accounting he had not read since college—for this was how desperate he had become—and headed for the kitchens.

He was about to enter the kitchens when he heard a voice—Romano's—coming from inside. He was speaking loudly, but not in his usual, angry voice. This one held a small tremble—fear? nervousness?—and because there were no other voices, Ludwig assumed he was on the phone.

"I trust Maria, it's just… I don't know how else to explain it," Romano sighed. "He's been here so long; Grandpa hired him. I don't want to be wrong. Yes." There was a long pause. "No, I understand. No, no, don't come over here. I'm fine; Feliciano and the potato guy are here. Yes, Ludwig." Another long sigh, this one with a tinge of annoyance. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, seeing as you can never leave me alone… Thanks, Antonio."

Romano made a sound like he had slammed the phone against its holder. Then there was a clacking noise—and the door was flung open. Ludwig jumped back and almost fell as Romano slammed into his chest.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" Romano demanded loudly. Ludwig saw Feliciano heading over to their aid from the corner of his eye.

"Er, I was just going to get something to eat…"

"Oh, are you hungry?" Feliciano asked, latching on to his arm. Ludwig nudged him off gently.

"I'm fine, really, I should be going anyway…"

"That's right, you should!" Romano said, heading back into the kitchen and scrubbing angrily at his face. The doors clacked shut behind him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Feliciano asked again, leading him over to an empty table. It hadn't been cleared yet and there were a few wine glasses and bread baskets scattered randomly over the tablecloth.

"Ja, but what about you?"

"Ve, me?" Feliciano looked himself over. "I'm fine, why?"

"Nein, nein," Ludwig shook himself. When he was stressed he occasionally switched back to German—it was so much simpler to express his frustrations in his native language. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Feliciano paused and then laughed nervously. "No, of course not! I want to save the restaurant, why would I…"

He trailed off and began to shake his head slowly. "There… there is something. Last month, there was a break-in… nothing too serious as far as property damage, and thankfully no one was here to get hurt. But a lot of money was taken. The police caught the guy and we got it all back but… Romano and I knew something was wrong."

"What?"

"Ve, we just don't know. It just feels weird, and every now and then we'll misplace a small amount—ten dollars here, five there, nothing over thirty—and we won't find it again. We're not usually so careless…"

Ludwig reached over hesitantly and patted Feliciano on the forearm in what he hoped would be a reassuring gesture.

"Something is definitely wrong here, and once we figure it out, a lot of questions will be answered." Ludwig hesitated. "I heard your brother mention Maria over the phone…"

Feliciano looked at Ludwig. "We think that maybe there's someone on the inside. Maria and Alfonso are both so great, we can't go accusing them. But… It's the only way it begins to make sense."

Ludwig agreed with him. Maria had seemed so nice, but Alfonso on the other hand… Ludwig did not have the bias that Feliciano and Romano had for the grandfather's friend, and Alfonso had seemed suspicious from the moment he met him. He was even crankier than Romano on a bad day, and even the latter reserved some kindness for customers and his brother.

Ludwig had the sinking suspicion this was more sinister than he had ever believed, but at least now he had some handle on things. Ludwig removed his hand from Feliciano's arm.

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll figure this out."

Feliciano sighed but smiled at him, and Ludwig smiled back despite the buzz of anxiety crawling under his skin.

He was going to have to call in more help. Help that he didn't exactly feel like speaking to right now.

But Gilbert had seen his fair share of action (he sure bragged about it a lot) and if anyone could spot a rat from a mile away, it was him.

When Ludwig returned to the hotel room, he pulled out his phone and dialed Gilbert's number.

"Yo, baby brother," was the first thing Gilbert said. At least he was sober; he had read the caller ID, and when he was drunk he couldn't read anything.

"Where are you?" Ludwig asked.

"Home." Ludwig could tell he was lying. Most likely, he was harassing Roderich at the music store he worked at; Ludwig could hear someone tuning a piano in the background.

"Leave Roderich alone," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mein Gott, if Elizabeta is there…"

"Nah, she's… somewhere else. It's just me and Beethoven over here."

Ludwig heard Roderich mumble something that was most likely a blow to Gilbert's relationship status (or lack thereof), though he prayed it wasn't. He started to talk before Gilbert could retaliate; if there was one thing Ludwig undoubtedly knew, it was the Roderich was a pacifist… until it came to his brother.

"Listen, I'm in Italy—"

"I know that."

He probably hadn't. Ludwig continued, "You know, Antonio called in the favor…"

"Yeah, yeah, go on."

"Well, it turns out that there may be someone stealing money from the restaurant, and I need your… expertise."

"You need my help."

"Nein, I need advice."

Ludwig quickly filled him in on the situation. Halfway through, the sound of the piano became much more defined and Ludwig realized Gilbert had put the call on speaker. This was confirmed when Roderich spoke up first.

"I don't like the sound of that cook. It's always the one you least expect."

"But wouldn't that be that lady, in this case? No one expects the ladies…"

"So you think Maria is behind it?" Ludwig asked his brother.

"Nah, I think this Alfredo guy is kinda sleazy. Has he done or said anything weird?"

"I'll keep an eye out." A thought suddenly occurred to Ludwig, and he sighed. "Where's Francis, I thought he was supposed to be keeping you out of trouble."

"He went back to France yesterday, and then he's skipping down to visit Arthur. I think Alfred's there too." Gilbert informed Ludwig. He sounded pleased that he had so much independence now.

"Fine. Leave Roderich alone, and don't go within two miles of Elizabeta or she'll probably call the police—again—and I don't want to waste money on bail, and you ruined my good suit two weeks ago when you put it in the oven for some ungodly reason—"

"He did what?" Roderich asked in the background, and there was a sound of piano keys being slammed down roughly. "Stay away from that keyboard, you miscreant…"

"I'll be good, bro, you have fun in Italy," Gilbert said, sounding surprisingly calm despite Roderich's increasingly frantic shouts of protest as the piano keys produced more strained notes. Ludwig moved to disconnect the call when Gilbert said something that made him pause.

"Hey, bro, you're coming back, right?"

"Of course," Ludwig said.

"It's just… you sound happy. It sounds like Italy's being good to you. I like it."

Gilbert was the one who hung up first, leaving Ludwig alone in the hotel room, mulling the truth of that statement over in his head.