AN: These chapters are getting longer, so updates will change to once a week unless I'm on a roll.
To a recent reviewer, hopefully this chapter answers your question. Also, most Italian bakeries sell more than just plain bread, and Maso feeds Tsuna an assortment. He's smart enough to spend more now than to risk having to take Tsuna to the doctor's again.
Regardless, please enjoy the new chapter!
Disclaimer: Only the characters I created are mine (i.e. Maso, Gaivno, and Marco). The rest are from Reborn!.
The Golden Canary
I had two pigeons bright and gay,
They flew from me the other day.
What was the reason they did go?
I cannot tell, for I do not know.
Chapter 6: Two Pigeons
Time always seemed to slow even more than usual during Italian winters, and this year's was no exception. But changes still occurred, no matter how slowly.
Maso brushed the light dusting of snow off his shoulders as Leo knocked on the music teacher's door. The kid had grown tall enough to be able to reach the large door knocker (if he tiptoed) – the typical lionhead holding a ring of steel in its mouth – but he never used it.
Huh. Probably doesn't even know what it's for.
The door swung open, they all said their customary greetings, and Maso took his usual spot on the sofa after Signorina Gokudera pressed a mug of hot coffee into his cold hands.
He wasn't surprised anymore, ever since the temperature dropped and she'd insisted on giving both Maso and Leo a hot drink to "warm them up". And it didn't escape his notice that she'd slip her student cups of hot chocolate, lemon tea, lemon with honey…little treats here and there. She'd offered flimsy excuses at first, then dropped the whole charade entirely because she knew he knew what she was trying to do.
He knew she was spoiling Leo a little, but he still turned a blind eye because her coffee was damn good – black, scalding hot, with a touch of sugar and just the way he liked it. That, and because Leo was improving faster than he'd expected, ever since Gokudera entered the picture.
He'd always assumed the kid was slow, and even though he'd sworn off having children, he couldn't help but be fascinated by the kid's development. Naturally, his musical talent was being honed in the right way, like a diamond being cut and smoothed and polished to shine its brightest. Although Maso could only hear muted sounds through the music room door, he could still tell the difference. The other day, he'd even taken out his phone to record a short audio clip of Leo singing Fa La Ninna, Fa La Nanna, a song he hadn't heard ever since his mother died.
It made him oddly nostalgic – an emotion he thought he'd never feel since joining the mafia.
Apart from singing, the kid had also picked up many more Italian phrases, and even a few English ones. That seemed to be a complete accident on his part: on account of his accumulating work pile, he'd been forced to send Piedro out with Leo a few times, despite the oaf's initial blunder. Afterwards, he'd gotten a report from a slightly sheepish Piedro that sometimes, if the lesson ran overtime (on account of the very bored idiot who would lose track of time by nodding off on the couch), Signorina Gokudera would give Leo a few extra language lessons, turning grammatical rules and difficult words into song mnemonics.
Maso could attest to that, as the kid would often mutter short melodies under his breath during his Italian lessons. Apparently, that was how the kid learned so fast. It seemed the scheming lady was determined, and Maso couldn't really complain as she was making his job much easier, all for the cheap rate of thirty-five Euros per lesson. Of course, he had to be careful that she didn't teach any unwanted information, but for the moment, all was well in Maso's world, at least in terms of his charge.
Other aspects, though…
He sighed, deciding to get comfortable with his cup of hot coffee and couch, and try not to think about the impending sense of doom he felt each time he received an official summons from his superior.
Ever since he'd helped the cow-child Lambo, Tsuna's life had become a little crazy. The kid had somehow tracked him down and made it his…life's mission? To, ah, 'play' with him as much as possible. Most of the time with the teenagers or Oni-san right there as well.
The first time Tsuna saw him after the beating the teens gave them was when he was heading out to his music lesson with Oni-san two weeks later. Lambo had almost given him a heart attack when he literally swooped down from above, yelling his customary introduction and tagging the demand to «Play with me stupid blondie!»
He'd looked over to his keeper fearfully, but to his surprise, Oni-san just rolled his eyes and told him to ignore the stupid cow.
He tried, his short legs following Oni-san along the familiar route to Signorina's place, but every time he glanced back Lambo would be right there, trying but failing to be sneaky about following them.
It didn't help that he couldn't stop blabbering about how «great» he was or what his favourite candies were or how he was going to rule the world.
Oni-san's vein of patience finally snapped, and when he swirled around, Tsuna flinched away, covering his head with his arms.
«Find a way to get rid of him. Pronto. I'll give you five minutes.»
And to his great surprise, Oni-san simply turned and went into the nearest coffee shop, no doubt to get a cup of his favourite drink.
Lambo immediately latched onto Tsuna then, shouting «Play with me! Play with me!» with all the excitement of a three-year-old.
Tsuna had been torn, not really wanting to be mean and rejecting the lonely kid outright, but also not wanting to get in trouble with Oni-san, who was giving him a chance at not being punished.
He remembered what Signorina had said to him – to try and find the best solution where no one would get hurt.
His brain was blanking out for the first few seconds, but then the warm feeling he'd sometimes get when he was in trouble came to him at that moment.
«Lambo, I know you want to play together, but if I do, my…my Fratello over there will get very angry and scary. And when he's angry, he'll start hitting others. But,» Tsuna quickly added before Lambo's wobbling eyes would start leaking, «if you still want to play, go to that big house over there.» He pointed back to the mansion where they'd come from, which was still visible among all the smaller houses.
Lambo nodded eagerly, and instantly started dragging Tsuna back towards the mansion so they could play right now.
«Not now, Lambo! I can only play with you on Sunday mornings!»
«But Lambo wants to play now!»
He sighed, and picked up the kid so he could look him in the eyes.
«Lambo. You must listen to me. My Fratello isn't a nice person, and you don't want him to hit you, right?» He saw Lambo scrunch his nose in thought for a few seconds, then nodded. «If you can promise to stay away, then I promise I will play with you, every Sunday morning outside the big house. Can you promise?»
Lambo sniffed, tilting his head as if seriously considering his options, then stuck out a pinky finger.
«Promise?»
Tsuna smiled a rare smile, and hooked his own pinky around Lambo's tiny one.
«Promise.»
Then, without warning, Lambo bounded away, cackling evilly. He would have sweatdropped, but Oni-san returned at that moment, coffee in hand.
«Is that cow gone?»
«Y-yes, Oni-san.»
«Good. Let's get going; we don't want to be late for your lesson.»
They'd continued heading to Signorina's place, and since then Tsuna noticed quite a few changes in his daily life.
Firstly, and most obviously, were his Sunday mornings. Before, he would do extra stamina training, as he didn't have any normal scheduled lessons on Sundays. It was the only day he was allowed to run outside, although he had to be accompanied by either the teens or Piedro. The teens complained at first, but once Rossi turned it into a game of "Who can 'tag' the runt the most number of times in two hours", they almost always accompanied him on his Sunday 'training'. And 'tagging' was translated to 'punching'.
It used to be the absolute worst time of the week, despite being able to be outside his stuffy prison. But that changed with the addition of Lambo.
True to his word, the kid would come every single Sunday morning, no matter the season or weather. And to Tsuna's amusement and horror, he took to their so-called 'game' like a fish to water.
«Gyahahaha! Fear me, the great hitman Lambo!»
«Ugh…why can't you just go away?!»
«I, the great Lambo, will kill you today stupid Paulo!»
«Get the hell away from me you cow! Rossi, Enzo, get that net ready! We're gonna settle this once and for all!»
But to Tsuna's surprise, he discovered that while he and Lambo had the disadvantages of being younger and smaller, they would more often than not be able to give the teens the slip whenever they worked together.
Correction – whenever Lambo was willing to work with him.
Lambo was a complete wild card; sometimes he'd follow Tsuna's frantic instructions to run or hide, while other times he'd do something none of them could predict, like pulling out a grenade or missile launcher out of his hair while muttering «To. Le. Ra. Re.»(1)
They all made sure to 'play' further away from the mansion after being severely punished by Oni-san for making holes in the outer walls.
Regardless, it was…interesting to work with Lambo during their tag games from hell. He was forced to think fast and move faster, not only for his own sake but also to save Lambo from being caught.
He didn't know exactly when, but he'd begun to think that Sunday mornings weren't so bad after all, especially on stormy days.
On stormy days, the teens were not quite so relentless in their pursuit, and often called the chase off in favour of huddling under the canopy of a nearby café and having a smoke.
Tsuna and Lambo had found a safe spot up a large tree, mostly sheltered from the rain but still in sight of the older boys, who were still under duty to watch Tsuna even when they took a break.
During these times, Lambo almost always made Tsuna sing for him, or if not, he'd babble about his famiglia or his past week until he fell asleep to the song and the lull of falling rain.
It was a mutual form of comfort, and Tsuna went from cowering at every clap of thunder and lightning to holding a tight arm around the younger child while he sang.
Lambo didn't seem to be afraid of thunderstorms at all, although Tsuna chalked it up to Lambo's frequent use of firearms and explosives. And that seemed to make him feel braver, too. Just a little.
It was during a particularly rough thunderstorm when a wet and sleepy Lambo asked (demanded) Tsuna for his name, and without thinking, Tsuna gave him his real name.
«'Suna'? What's that? Sounds funny.»
He'd quickly backpedalled and covered his mistake with a «Sono Leo. Leo,» hoping that "Tsuna" would sound enough like "Sono".
But Lambo simply yawned and dismissed it with a nod.
«Lambo will call you Fratello. Or stupid blondie.»
There was no arguing with a child like Lambo, so Tsuna sighed with both relief and resignation, and they'd sat in companionable silence until the kid elbowed him and told him to sing another song.
He was more careful with what he said after that, but thankfully Lambo was more interested in himself than Tsuna, and Tsuna was grateful that he didn't have to tell more lies. He was already living a lie, which was difficult enough to get used to. But for now, both Signorina and Lambo made it bearable – the former giving him the comfort of order and routine, and the latter bringing sparks of unpredictability and chaos.
- 6 days ago, somewhere in southeastern Italy -
It was dark. But then again, it was always dark in their cells, even when he wasn't faking unconsciousness because he'd just been shot with a Possession Bullet.
Even so, it's never quiet.
As if on cue, he heard the occasional moaning of a fellow prisoner in pain, and the constant sniffing of another. Probably a girl.
She wouldn't last. But then again, most of them won't, if things continued this way.
The nine-year-old boy waited for a moment before shifting his head so his eyepatch slipped off, then tapped into the power that was spilling out of his gunshot wound, and connected it to the darkness shifting beneath his right eye.
He let them mingle and build into an aching pressure, then twitched his fingers to control the expansion of what he calls his "aura". He felt his consciousness leave his body as it flooded his tiny prison, then slipped through the gaps between the metal bars with practiced ease.
Okay. First step complete. Now to see if I can finally achieve the Sixth Realm.
It would be the perfect revenge, if he managed to use the same power that was bled into him to destroy his so-called 'famiglia'. He'd suffered through countless days of surgery, both with and without anesthesia, suffered through blood-curdling pain and intensifying burns, put up with needles and scalpels and people taking pieces of him while shoving alien pieces back until even he didn't know what he was anymore, and he knows he's not the only one to go through this.
«It's for the sake of science,» they said. «You're our stepping-stones so we can regain our famiglia's fallen glory. It is an honour even if you die.»
Their attempts at brainwashing were almost cute since they didn't even try lie about it, but to him, that made everything more boring. More predictable.
Oh well. Predictable is better for me.
Like how he knew how every day at 12am and pm sharp, the guards would change. Like their feeding schedule, or which scientist or tormenter took what kind of break at what time. Like where the important keys were kept, or which person had the codes to which doors.
And in turn, he'd traded their cruel truths for crafted lies.
They thought he could only access one out of the Six Paths of Reincarnation, but in actual fact, he was close to completion. All he had to do was pretend to be close to a breakthrough every time they shot him with a Possession Bullet, then "fail", and after being punished he would lie immobile on the ground for a while before practicing for real.
He'd gone through hell too many times to be caught now, and this game of cat-and-mouse was the only thing that thrilled him anymore.
And there's always the right time for everything.
He projected himself down the narrow hallway, past the crying children and phased through the door, looking down the outer hallways for someone he could practice his skills on.
Hm. The guards are changing shifts, so there should be a few leftovers hanging out in the break room. And…there. Found a toy to play with.
A large guard was waving his coworkers away, saying he had to take a dump. And while the bathroom wasn't the most pleasant place to be, at least this meant no prying eyes.
He waited until the man locked the bathroom stall behind him, then phased through and immediately threw up an illusion of something he was very familiar with: complete darkness. He'd found early on that it was easier to use the First Realm's power of illusions if he could construct it in his own mind, and so darkness it was.
The guard, thinking that the lights had blown out, simply cursed and fumbled through his vest for a torch. But when he clicked it on, what he 'saw' would give him nightmares for weeks to come.
«What the f–AAHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOO! C-C-C-COCKROACHES!»
The boy flooded his vision with mountains of the filthy bugs crawling out of the toilet bowl, and the guard practically peed himself with fear. And in that split instant of vulnerability, he tried to overtake the man's consciousness with his own.
He felt the man's aura shift a bit, but despite going haywire, it was wedged firmly in place no matter how much he tried to possess him.
«NICOOO! FRANCOOO! HELP MEEEEEEE!»
The man had even pulled out his gun and was shooting randomly in a wild panic, and the boy would have laughed if he wasn't so frustrated at failing yet again.
Why can't I possess him? What am I missing?
Two other guards decided to burst in the bathroom right at that moment, so the boy quickly withdrew his illusions and left them to deal with the aftermath of a half-crazed guard who was still shooting in terror.
He barely made it back to his own body when the door to the prison room opened with a loud clang, and one of the head researchers walked in with a clipboard in hand and several assistants in tow.
«Next, we'll be experimenting on numbers 153, 155, 156, 159, and 169. Everyone else can be fed.»
There were a few whimpers as the corresponding children were dragged out of their cells, but he remained quiet when he too was dragged out despite the fact that they'd experimented on him a mere hour ago.
One particularly daring (or stupid) kid even started yelling profanities and saying the researchers can go screw themselves, which earned him a searing zap with the usual cattle prod.
Fufufu. That kid…what's his name again? Ken? He could be pretty useful as a distraction when I make my escape.
There weren't many kids his age who were still around anymore, so he made it a point to connect their name to their number. Those who were still alive would definitely be useful, since they would be even more desperate than he was.
He was dragged along by the rough hands of an assistant, and he snuck a quick look around.
Ken, Olivia, Tony, Chikusa, and me. Maybe they're testing different combinations of senses? Or maybe they're deciding to focus on the older kids, and shoot us all with Possession Bullets.
The tricky part was not to die when being shot (which was an already bizarre concept: to be shot by a bullet, and somehow get stronger from it instead of dying on the spot), and he wondered if any of them would be left behind this time.
Oh well. Not like I care, as long as I make it out.
He was close; very close, like having an almost complete jigsaw puzzle and knowing what the final outcome would look like. There were still a few pieces missing though, and he couldn't do anything until he'd found them or made them himself.
For now, Mukuro decided to bide his time and wait. After all, he'd been waiting ever since hell had been born inside him.
«Salve, Signore Marchesi.»
His superior nodded at the greeting Maso gave him, then gave the blond boy next to him a pointed stare. Maso quickly nudged Leo with a foot and startled him out of his frozen state.
«S-s-salve, S-Signore Marchesi.»
It came out as a squeak, and Maso winced before schooling his features.
«Salve. Have a seat.»
He did, pulling the kid so he would stand next to him while Signore looked him over with a critical eye.
He tried not to fidget. He'd been preparing for this meeting for the past few weeks, and he was pretty confident that it would go smoothly as long as Leo didn't mess up.
That was the thought that made him most anxious.
«You may begin your progress report, Maso.»
«Si Signore.» He straightened subconsciously, steeling his nerves.
Here goes nothing.
«While I wouldn't say the prisoner is completely fluent in Italian, I'm pleased to say he has a firmer grasp of syntax and grammatical rules, and his vocabulary has expanded significantly. In addition, he's also picked up some English. This is in part due to the music teacher you recommended, who teaches him both Italian and English lullabies, but of course I continued to focus on his Italian studies. He has improved to the point where I don't even have to use Japanese anymore. As for his singing, he has learned many new songs, and has improved on his vocal range and depth. I have a written report on his progress from Signorina Gokudera herself.»
He passed the report to his boss, knowing that she wrote a glowing review on Leo's development. But the man merely skimmed through it with a bored look before tossing it into the bin.
«Seems to me that Signorina Gokudera has done more than you have.»
Maso fought to keep the scowl off his face, and when he saw his superior's faint smirk, he sighed.
Sadistic freak.
«You shouldn't think ugly thoughts, Maso, unless you're sure you can hide them. You may be smarter than many others, but you would never best me at poker.» His boss stared long enough to make him squirm, then moved on. «Anyway. Regardless of how eloquently you or the lady describes the prisoner's accomplishments, I think a live demonstration will be the best proof in this situation. Don't you agree?»
«…Excuse me, sir?»
His mouth went dry at the unexpected request.
Crap. I hadn't prepared for this.
«De Luca. The Don grows tired, and so do I. In more ways than one.» He shot Maso a stern look. «Your time is running out. Or did you think I was the magnanimous sort?» Maso shook his head emphatically. «I thought not. Therefore, I require proof that this…investment is still worthwhile. A fair request, is it not?»
«Y-yes. Of course, Signore Marchesi.»
«Well said.» When Maso had no response to his sarcasm, he turned to the prisoner instead. «Now, boy. Let me hear you sing.»
The blond hadn't even twitched since Maso sat down, and he looked like a statue.
A petrified statue.
Thinking he didn't understand, which should be impossible if Maso's report was true, Gavino stood up and gave Leo a clear command.
«Sing.»
Maso snapped out of his own horror-induced trance and shook Leo on the shoulder, hissing «Sing, you idiot!»
But whatever the boy was hearing and seeing seemed to go right over his head.
He's still traumatised by the last time he met Signore Marchesi, Maso realised with growing panic. Crap. Is there anything...what should I do?
A few agonising moments of silence crawled past, and his boss shook his head in disappointment. Then he reached into his shoulder holster and drew out his gun.
«What a shame. What a damn shame,» he whispered softly.
He took off the safety, aimed the barrel at the boy, and cocked the hammer.
«WAIT!»
Maso lurched forward reflexively, and winced at the expression on Gavino's face.
«Uh…um…» Scrambling around, he suddenly remembered the recording on his phone. «I have proof that he sings better than before! Well, that is if Signore doesn't mind listening to a recorded version.»
He held his breath.
Gavino seemed to debate with himself for a second before putting the safety back on his gun, although he didn't put it away just yet.
«…Go on.»
Maso breathed a sigh of relief and swiftly took out his phone, pulling up the most recent audio clip and pressing play.
There was a constant hum of static in the background, and the audio was muffled as he was recording through the door, but otherwise, he could hear the unmistakable tinkling of a piano in the background.
«…Not bad Leo-kun, but let's try again. This time, don't forget to add the dynamics, and remember to count yourself in.»
He could just make out Signorina Gokudera's soft and melodic voice, before she played the intro of the song.
And then Leo's voice joined in.
Fa la ninna, fa la nanna,
(Go to sleep, go to sleepy,)
Nella braccia della mamma.
(In the arms of your mother.)
Fa la ninna bel bambin,
(Go to sleep lovely child,)
Fa la nanna, bambin bel,
(Go to sleepy, child so lovely,)
Fa la ninna, fa la nanna,
(Go to sleep, go to sleepy,)
Nella braccia della mamma.
(In the arms of your mother.)(2)
Even with all the static, Leo's soft and soothing voice could be clearly heard, lulling gently like waves washing on a white beach.
It was obvious how much he'd improved, especially with the variation in tone and volume. To Maso, the boy's voice also sounded more complete: it was fuller and had more depth and thought behind the one short song.
When the recording ended, he chanced a glance at his superior, who'd furrowed his eyebrows in concentration.
After what felt like an eternity, Gavino's face cleared, and he holstered his gun.
«Not bad.» He still shot Maso a stern look. «Make no mistake; I'm only letting this pass because I'm assuming the real thing is better than this audio clip. I expect a live version next time. Do I make myself clear?»
He nodded, relieved beyond words.
«On another note, I will increase your budget, on one account – you will increase his workload so he will improve faster. This includes lengthening his lesson time with Signorina Gokudera, as she seems to have much more effective teaching methods than you do.»
Maso brightened at the prospect of more funding, although it was dampened by the fact that he'd somehow have to keep tabs on the kid without wasting away his entire morning. But he complied with a quick «Si Signore.»
«Very well. You are dismissed.»
«Grazie, Signore Marchesi. Arrivederla.»
He bowed, then pushed down on Leo's head to do the same before grabbing his shoulder and turning to leave.
He was halfway out the door when his boss called out again.
«Oh, and Maso?»
«Si Signore?»
«Make sure you get rid of his stage fright by the next progress check. Such weakness won't do us any good now, would it?»
«No Signore.»
He bowed again and finally left the room, feeling like he was the one who dodged a bullet.
Damn kid'd better be grateful.
- 1 week later, in the Bar di Crepusculo -
The door opened with a tinkle, and the bartender looked up from cleaning the counter.
«I'm sorry Signore, but this place has been booked out by someone. I can recommend…»
He cut himself off when he really looked, and saw…nobody? He shook his head, wondering if he was hearing things.
Must've gotten too little sleep last night.
He turned back to clean, only to be badly startled when a black shape appeared out of nowhere and greeted him with a «Ciaossu.»
«What the–»
His hand darted for the gun hidden behind the counter, but the cocking of a pistol warned him against it.
«Now now, Marco. I don't think that's how you should greet a customer.»
Said customer was standing on the barstool, and even though he was barely more than a foot high, Marco immediately dropped his hands in surrender and lowered his head in respect.
«B-b-buona sera, Signore Reborn.»
He whispered the greeting like a prayer, and cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He hoped the hitman couldn't see it.
«Hm. Good to see you haven't forgotten who I am.»
The living legend tucked away his gun after a moment of inspection, and then sat down. A chameleon crawled down from its perch on his signature fedora and onto Reborn's shoulder, sticking a pink tongue out as if laughing at the bartender's plight.
«I'd like the usual. And make it strong.»
«Ah, uh, b-but…»
Reborn shot him a look that brooked no argument, so he swallowed his words and busied his hands with making a cup of espresso.
How did he like it again? Oh, right – the classic black doubleshot.
He turned to his coffee grinder to start a fresh batch of ground coffee, switching the beans for what he knew were the Mafioso's favourite type.
«So, Marco,» the childlike voice began with all the pretence of starting a friendly conversation, «what news do you have?»
«N-n-n-news?»
He cursed himself for letting his fear show, but it was proving difficult not to. After all, the World's Greatest Hitman was talking to him, and from the stories and his own experience, he knew any kind of conversation could only end one out of two ways. And it all depended on the hitman's whims.
Reborn shot him a withering look, and he cringed.
«Right. News. I...I've heard the Vongola famiglia is about two-thirds done with repairs, which was faster than expected. Most likely due to the Vongola Consigliere's(3) hard work.»
He steadied his hands to pack the freshly ground coffee into the doubleshot filter, locked it in place in his prized espresso machine, then placed a cup under the spout and turned the machine on.
«The Serpente famiglia has recently renovated and expanded their headquarters; a testament to their growth, although they're nowhere near close to being as large as the Vongola, or even the Chiavarone famiglia. The Scorpione famiglia have finally settled their dispute with the Pesca famiglia, and are planning another one of their private balls at the end of the month to celebrate.»
He paused when the machine stopped whirring, and he placed the cup on a saucer before setting it in front of the hitman.
He was struck with the sense of déjà vu, remembering the first time he was tested. He'd been a young man shaking in his shoes, praying that the hitman wouldn't kill him on the spot. Now, several years after that memorable encounter, he had a lot more confidence in his barista skills – perhaps even more so than his bartending skills. In retrospect, it was probably the biggest reason why so many Mafiosos started frequenting his little bar during all hours of the night, and over the years, he'd picked up tidbits and rumours of the underworld here and there. It was dangerously thrilling, and he'd had more than his fair share of bar fights and close calls. Even so, he'd gotten used to this new world faster than he thought. Nothing fazed him anymore (apart from surprise visits from the World's Greatest Hitman), and his income was a lot higher than most bartenders get.
But despite his confidence, he still held his breath as the not-child inhaled the aroma, and sipped the scalding hot espresso without changing his expression.
«Hm. Better than before.» It was ridiculous how the barest of compliments could make Marco feel so relieved and proud at the same time, but then again, it came from Reborn. «Continue.»
«Right. Of course. Well, the Nuevo famiglia is slowly making a name for themselves; you can hardly tell they're from America anymore if it weren't for the way they dressed. I've always preferred the classic black suit and tie.»
He chanced a grin, and was rewarded with an agreeing nod. But he sobered up to deliver the next piece of news: «As for the Estraneo famiglia, despite fierce opposition on all sides, they are still experimenting with their Possession Bullet. And the rumours saying that they've been experimenting on their own kids have been confirmed – over the past few weeks, the police found several bodies of children that have washed up along different parts of the coastline, mutilated beyond recognition.» He frowned, but kept talking. «The Estraneo are good at erasing evidence, so the police and public haven't caught on yet. But after doing a little digging around of my own, I personally believe it's more than a coincidence.»
As usual, Reborn's black eyes gave nothing away, but from the sudden spike of killer intent, Marco could tell it didn't sit well with him either. Even though he knew it wasn't directed at him, he still fought the urge to run away screaming.
He changed the subject instead.
«That aside, you probably know this already, but the Chiavarone's Don is on his deathbed, though he seems to be hanging on for the sake of his famiglia and his son. Speaking of which…» He gave Reborn a sidelong glance, and decided to throw caution into the wind. «Um, pardon my curiosity Signore Reborn, and feel free not to answer, but…are the rumours true? That you'll be in Italia for a while in order to train Chiavarone Nono's son?»
Said hitman was silent for a while, draining his espresso before pushing the cup and saucer forward to indicate that he wanted more.
«He's a complete greenhorn. The way he is now, even his dying father could beat him in a one-on-one fight.»
Reborn was brutally honest, and Marco cringed for the future Chiavarone Decimo's sake despite never having met the kid.
«I'm going to drag out every ounce of potential he has, though. Or else I won't be the World's Greatest Hitman.»
And then he smiled, and the bartender quickly turned to make another cup of espresso before his frayed nerves exploded into tiny pieces.
He brewed in silence until he set down Reborn's second cup of espresso, then heard a sharp knock on the front door. He looked up, and through the window he could spot the telltale pinstripe fedora atop the world's greatest afro.
«Please excuse me, Signore Reborn.»
The hitman didn't respond, so Marco took the opportunity to go over and open the door for the Don of the Bovino famiglia.
«Buona sera, Signore Bovino.»
The large man acknowledged him with a grunt and a tip of his hat, then passed it along with his coat to Marco so he could hang both on the coat rack.
«Salve, Marco. I trust everything is in order?»
«Si, Signore. Although I hope you won't mind the other customer at the counter. He won't disturb your meeting; I'm sure.»
The man stopped at that, levelling the bartender with a hard glare.
«Marco. I thought we had an understanding.»
«Well, certainly, but…uh...»
His eyes darted back and forth from Reborn's shadowed figure to the Don's darkening expression, unsure of what to say. But the Bovino Nono misinterpreted his hesitance for incompetence, so he stormed over to have a few 'words' with the unwanted customer himself.
«Wait!»
Marco reached out to try to stop him and his shuffling bodyguards, but the Bovino famiglia's stubbornness was just as famous as their ability to manufacture weapons.
«You there. If you don't leave right now, I'm afraid my men will have to remove you forcefully.»
One of the Don's bodyguards cracked his knuckles threateningly, but the black head refused to move. He snorted in derision and began to draw out his pistol, but then he caught the orange ribbon on the fedora. And the curled sideburns. And the green chameleon that was dozing on the child's shoulder.
Bovino Nono backpedalled fast enough to give Marco whiplash, and his eyes widened comically.
«R-R-R-R-Reborn?! The hell is the World's Greatest Hitman doing here?!» The man practically yelled, and Marco winced at the volume.
«As I was saying, Signore Bovino: he won't disturb your meeting. You and your men can follow me to the back door, where I've prepared a more private room in case anything like this happened.»
He quickly and smoothly guided a stunned Don out the door and round the back, while the rest of his small group followed along. They'd heard many stories of the hitman's legendary strength and skills, and started sweating bullets even though the Don hadn't touched the hitman.
The bartender ushered them into the spare room, then pulled out a key and pressed it into the Don's sweaty palm.
«Please, lock the door behind you. If you need anything, pick up the phone and press the 'call' button on the side, and I will assist you in any way I can.»
The larger man looked at the key and breathed out a shaky breath, knowing how close he'd come to writing his own death sentence.
«Thank you, Marco.»
Said man bowed politely, then excused himself to rush back to his more finicky customer.
Please please PLEASE let Reborn be in a good mood from all that coffee!
He opened the door with an apology on his lips, only to see a second toddler perched on the seat next to Reborn's. A toddler in a cow-print onesie.
…What? Who's that? Reborn's acquaintance?
The child was chattering about hitmen and world domination, so it was safe to say he was also part of the mafia. But then he accidentally tipped out of his chair somehow and face-planted on the floor.
«Gyupaa!»
The tears pooling in the kid's eyes told Marco this cow was really just a child, and when he drew closer he could now see the kid was a splitting likeness of the Don he'd left in the back room, only much smaller and younger.
Ah. This must be Bovino Nono's child. What was his name again? Rambo? Rampo?
«I, the great Lambo, fell down! My favourite foods are candy and grapes! My dream is to be the Don of the Bovino famiglia and the world's greatest hitman!»
He sweatdropped, then whipped his head around with fearful eyes, wondering if Reborn would kill the baby on the spot. To his relief, he spotted a small bubble blowing in and out of the hitman's nose, even though his eyes were wide open.
Oh thank god.
The hitman must've fallen asleep at some point, and probably missed out on Bovino Nono's earlier mistake as well.
He crept over to the kid as quickly and quietly as he could, picking him up and setting him behind the counter.
«Wah! Who are you? Lambo didn't give you permission to touch him!» The child squirmed in his grasp, and he raised an eyebrow at the kid's lack of self-preservation. He quickly shook his head and put a finger to his lips, pointing to the sleeping hitman, but being a child, Lambo couldn't understand and started squirming even harder. «Leggo!»
The toddler's struggling was getting harder to control, so he cast his eyes around to see what he could use to subdue the child. They lit up when he saw the bowl of forgotten grapes he'd intended to eat earlier, and he quickly showed it to Lambo, being careful to keep the bowl just out of the boy's reach.
«Lambo, I have grapes here. Do you want some?»
The boy forgot about struggling and nodded excitedly.
«Okay. But I'll only give them to you if you sit down quietly, and don't move from your spot. Will you promise me?»
Lambo grinned and nodded again, and Marco made him sit on the barstool before handing over the bowl.
At that moment, the small red light on the phone started blinking, and he ducked under the bar's counter so he could pick up the receiver.
«Pronto. Yes, Signore Bovino. I will have cups of coffee for everyone as soon as possible. Would you like any sugar or milk? Alright; I'll put them on the side.»
He took out the leftover coffee grinds, measuring the amount he needed with a practiced eye and placing them in the coffeemaker.
«Excuse me? Oh, Lambo? Don't worry; he's at the counter with me. Should I bring him over?»
He glanced over at the two, resisting a chuckle when he saw that Lambo had started his one-sided conversation again while Reborn continued to doze, evidenced by the sleep bubble and blank eyes.
«What? Oh, no need to worry Signore – the hitman is currently...busy with something else. When you want me to bring Lambo to the back room, just let me know. I can help keep an eye on him while he's here. ...You're very welcome.»
He hung up, and went to work. When the coffee and milk were done, he placed everything he needed on a tray, but before heading to the back room he gave the duo one last glance.
Well, Reborn's still sleeping, and Lambo still has a lot of grapes left. They should be fine. I hope.
And with that, he left through the connecting side door, intent on pleasing his most unusual, violent, yet well-paying customers.
(1): «Tollerare» is Italian for "Tolerate".
(2): Fa La Ninna, Fa La Nanna is a famous Italian lullaby. Lyrics and translation taken from Mama Lisa's World.
(3): One of Iemitsu's titles.
AN: You've probably noticed by now, but I'm the type of writer who writes in fragments before putting them together. Sometimes, I end up writing several parts that don't occur until much later on, which means the current chapter often takes longer than usual unless I'm really excited about the particular chapter or scene. But this style of writing is perfect for a story like this where there are many characters doing their own thing.
For the last part of this chapter, I was tempted to write in Reborn or Lambo's POV, but in the end I thought an outsider would be better. He'll probably come back later in the story, but only as a very minor character.
Thank you for all your support and reviews! Stay tuned for more!