A/N: I would like to thank my reviewers FluffyCakes, LeriaCossato, VampireNaomi, SoDesuKa, ElBetso, and anonymous (your review is awesome! Sorry about the mood whiplashes, though), and also everyone who has faved this story! Your support means a lot to me!
And special thanks to SoDesuKa, who is a wonderful person on top of being a wonderful artist and kindly drew illustrations for this fic. Tack så mycket! You can see the illustrations in the links below (don't forget to remove the spaces):
sodesuka. deviantart. com / art / The-Awkward-Wedding-147033863
sodesuka. deviantart. com / art / Weel-of-Fortune-Revenge-153291119
– CHAPTER 11 –
Caged
When Lovino opened his eyes, he was a little confused at first. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to be, but he had the feeling it wasn't here, wherever "here" was. He also had the vague impression that something terrible had just happened. Memories from his and his brother's birthday party slowly came back, and he remembered having left it because some crazy bitch had thrown wine at him.
Come to think of it, the overwhelming smell of wine was mercifully gone. Lovino closed his eyes and just breathed for a few minutes, basking in the wonders of wine-free air. Then, even though he felt a little sore, he sat up, squinting in the dark to look down at his clothes. They were clean... and they were his sleeping clothes, which he was sure he had not worn for the party.
He looked to his left and was startled when he saw he wasn't alone in the room – which, he then realised, was his own bedroom. He was only marginally relieved to see it was Bella, sitting by his bed and apparently fast asleep, with her face buried in her arms on the bed. Questions ran through his head. What the hell was she doing in his room? How long had she been there, watching him sleep? Was she the one who changed his clothes?
Mortified by the idea, Lovino quickly grabbed his blanket and brought them up to his chin, as if that would help him preserve his dignity at all, and rolled on his side so that his back was to Bella. Then he got off the bed, careful not to wake up Bella, and tiptoed to Feliciano's room, next door. He couldn't get dressed in the dark, especially not with a woman in the room, so he would have to borrow his brother's clothes for now. Thankfully, Feliciano's room was empty, so Lovino took his time to find some nice clothes and put them on. As he did so, he kept wondering what had happened the previous night. He knew it wasn't anything good, so he was almost afraid of remembering. Maybe that was why he couldn't remember.
Still a little disoriented and anxious, Lovino left his brother's room and wandered around the house, feeling lost and wondering what time it was. Feliciano hadn't been in his room, so it should certainly be past ten in the morning. Maybe he was in his "study", which was actually a room that Feliciano used for his artistic endeavours.
As soon as he stepped into said study, Lovino's eyes were graced with the sight of Francis Bonnefoy, naked except for a few roses just barely covering his privates.
Lovino's scream could be heard throughout the house.
If this were a nightmare, he would have surely woken up at this point. However, he did not wake up; the sinful sight was still there, before his burning eyes. He turned his back on it and clawed at his eyes, but the image was now imprinted on his mind.
"Lovino! You're up!" he heard his brother's voice. So many people had always said that it was like an angel's voice, but to Lovino, especially after seeing what he had just seen, the annoying voice grated on his nerves, taunting him. Lovino turned in the direction the voice came from and glared at Feliciano, careful not to let Bonnefoy get into his field of vision.
"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.
"Ah, I can see you're feeling better," said Feliciano in his usual, light-hearted away. "Francis wanted me to paint him. He often buys paintings of himself from me."
"In the nude?"
"Why not?" came Bonnefoy's smooth, laid-back voice. Lovino bristled, but pointedly did not look his way. "The human body is a work of art in and of itself, as any artist should know, right, Mr. Vargas?"
"Fuck you, you narcissistic bastard!" Lovino snapped at what he perceived to be a jab at his lack of artistic skills. His eyes were still staring determinedly at Feliciano, who went on as if he hadn't been interrupted:
"And then Francis suggested that Gilbert join him, and Antonio didn't want to be left out, so he joined them, too."
"Antonio?" That startled him enough that he ended up looking back at Bonnefoy. He had been so shocked by the sight of that creep that he hadn't even noticed both Antonio and Gilbert on each side of Bonnefoy, completely naked and a little too close to each other – in fact, Bonnefoy had one arm draped around Antonio's shoulder.
Lovino almost screamed again, but he was beyond that point now. He just stared in shell-shocked horror and began to twitch. Antonio grinned at him and waved, but went back to his original position when Feliciano scolded him and reminded him he was supposed to sit still. That got Lovino out of his hellish trance and he looked away again in disgust. He really had seen more of his best friend and those two freaks than he had ever wanted to.
"You're sick bastards. All of you," he snarled.
At this point, he finally noticed that Ludwig was also in the room, standing in a corner and staring at the blank wall on the other side of the room as if his life depended on it, his jaw clenched tightly. It was obvious he was as displeased with this debauchery as Lovino; in all likelihood, he had been invited to join in.
What a disgustingly patient, lenient man. If any of them dared to invite Lovino to join in, he would have to kill someone. Probably all of them.
Feliciano finished a few strokes and then put his paintbrush down to give Lovino his full attention. He was still smiling, but he looked a little bit worried.
"You look upset, Lovino. Are you sure you're well? Maybe you shouldn't have got up just yet."
"I'd be feeling a lot better if I hadn't seen that—that outrage!" Lovino yelled, pointing in the general direction of the naked trio.
Feliciano's smile widened a little. "If you're sure... I'm glad you're feeling better. You gave me quite a scare last night. I found you passed out in the dining room, and I was so worried! I was really afraid you had hit your head or something."
Lovino's scowl softened into a look of confusion. He had passed out in the dining room? Why—
And then all the memories from the previous night flooded his mind, hitting Lovino like a bucket of cold water. He remembered being kidnapped right after leaving the party to clean himself up, and being dragged to the dining room, where Il Sadico and his thugs had been waiting for him, and being told of the debt, the Russos' vendetta, and accepting to work for the Gianturcos...
Lovino staggered from the impact of all those awful memories and felt his blood run cold. Next thing he knew, both Feliciano and Antonio were standing before him, wearing twin expressions of alarm and worry.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Feliciano asked again. "You're really pale and—and you're shaking!"
Lovino opened his mouth to say that no, he wasn't all right. He was physically fine, but he was in trouble and terrified. He wanted to tell his brother and his friend, at least, what was going on. Feliciano might lend him money or offer him comfort, and Antonio might protect him.
He said nothing and closed his mouth hesitantly. No, he had to be realistic. Telling them wouldn't do him any good. Feliciano would just worry and bawl his eyes out, and even Antonio couldn't protect him from those people. They were too many and they had guns; Antonio was no match for them. If anything, Lovino would only be endangering him. Besides, even if telling them would do any good, he couldn't say it in front of all these strangers.
Moreover, they would start asking questions. If they found out about his deal with Il Sadico, what would they think of him? They would be so disappointed, probably disgusted. They were such nice goody-two-shoes; they would surely disapprove of his decision to hire assassins to kill someone and then to get hired by those same assassins to pay his debt because he had unchained a war between two powerful families. Ludwig was already suspicious. He couldn't take any risks.
Even though he was surrounded by people, some of whom actually cared about him, Lovino suddenly felt very alone. He just didn't know how he could deal with all this on his own, but at the same time, he couldn't ask for help. He couldn't even let any of them know he had a problem to deal with in the first place.
Lovino felt his eyes sting. God, what could he do to make this right? Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his miserable life working for Il Sadico – and thus shortening his lifespan considerably – he needed to make money to pay his debt, to get it over with more quickly. Pickpocketing was a good start, but not nearly enough. Discreetly borrowing some of his brother's inherited fortune might help. But in order to have a substantial amount of money, he would have to work.
The mere thought made him shudder inwardly. He hated any kind of work, and he wasn't good for anything. He had no idea what kind of work he could do, let alone one that would pay him well enough.
Before Lovino could give his predicament any further thought, he found himself being violently shaken by his brother and having his name screamed in his ear.
"What? What the fuck do you want? Stop shaking me, damn you!" he yelled at Feliciano.
"I-I'm sorry, but you suddenly grew so quiet, and you had this far away look in your eyes, and you weren't responding," Feliciano whimpered.
"I was just thinking! Maybe you should try doing the same for once."
Lovino's gaze fell on the three men who had been posing for Feliciano's painting and was very relieved to see that they were all fully dressed again – although Antonio looked like he had got dressed in the dark. They had probably realised that Feliciano wasn't going to focus on his painting any time soon, and Antonio must have thrown so many worried looks at the twins that he had been unable to focus on getting dressed properly.
Lovino's attention wasn't really on Antonio, though. His eyes were locked on Bonnefoy, who was leering at Feliciano for some unfathomable reason. Yet again, memories from the previous night resurfaced. Bonnefoy had claimed to run the opera house in this city and had offered him the leading role. Come to think of it, Lovino had been praised for his singing several times. He had never considered his singing terrific, but he thought he was reasonably good at it and it was something that he actually enjoyed doing. And even if his singing was nothing special, the man who ran the opera house seemed to think he was good enough, and that was what mattered.
It was a possibility. Singing to make money and pay his debt more quickly. It would be difficult, he knew, but it should be worth it in the end. The hardest part would actually be to swallow his pride and accept Bonnefoy's proposal after his adamant refusal the previous night.
Shaking fists clenched at his sides, Lovino stiffly walked over to Bonnefoy, who took a few seconds to redirect his disgusting leering from one twin to the other. It took him a few frustrated attempts until he could form coherent words. He felt like he was choking. Pride was indeed very hard to swallow.
"Mr. Bonnefoy... Er, are you—I mean, is it—is your proposal—you know, from yesterday—the opera thing, er—is it—is it still up?" he mumbled, glaring at his shoes so that he wouldn't have to see that sly leer or that smug smirk any longer.
"I take it you have changed your mind, Mr. Vargas?"
Lovino had half-expected to be rejected or mocked, so Bonnefoy's reply was quite a surprise. However, his tone carried a hint of triumph that Lovino really despised – as if there had been some kind of game between them and Bonnefoy had come out victorious, with the defeated and humiliated Lovino as his prize.
He fought to keep his temperament in check, though. He needed that money, and if Bonnefoy wanted to make this a game, Lovino wasn't going to lose so easily. He drew up to his full height – unimpressive as it was – and stuck his nose in the air, hopefully succeeding in looking the very picture of noble pride.
"Don't get the wrong idea," he said. "I have merely decided to take pity on you, after you begged me so much to fulfil the leading role for your opera."
"I see," said Bonnefoy, with that lazy smile that Lovino had learnt to hate. Much to his disappointment, Bonnefoy wasn't flustered or annoyed at all; rather, his response dripped with condescension. "Thank you so much, Mr. Vargas. Believe me, you have just made me the happiest man on Earth."
Lovino drew back slightly, repulsed. Everything that came out of that man's mouth always sounded so wrong, somehow.
"So, when do I start?" he asked, reluctantly.
"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Vargas."
"As soon as possible, then."
"Eager, are we? I like that," Bonnefoy purred, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "Your brother told me you were a little unwell last night. You seem to be doing better now, thank God, but you should probably rest a little more. We can begin the preparations tomorrow, if you like; just come to the opera house, any time of the day – or night, really, I don't mind at all if you come in the middle of the—"
"I'll be there in the morning," Lovino interrupted him with clipped tones, mentally making a note never to get anywhere near the opera house after nightfall. God only knew what went on in that place when it was dark, considering Bonnefoy's shady personality. Lovino still had some integrity and virtue left to maintain, thank you very much. And maybe if he showed up early in the morning, Bonnefoy would be too tired from his nightly activities to be this smooth and annoying – a hangover, if nothing else, would be a godsend.
"I'm really glad you changed your mind and decided to take up his offer," said Antonio, with a hearty pat on his back. "I'm sure this is going to be great for you!"
Lovino fought not to snap and contradict him. Antonio was just being his usual, optimistic self. As far as he knew, Lovino had actually decided that being an opera singer was a fabulous idea. He had no idea how hard this was for Lovino. He didn't mean to be an obnoxious idiot.
"I'll go back to my room," Lovino lied. Bella was probably still there, and lying in bed all day wouldn't do him any good. Instead, he would look for his gun (stolen from Ludwig) and check how many bullets he had left.
Antonio looked a little worried again, but smiled and nodded. "Oh, okay, that's probably a good idea. Do you want me to walk you there or—"
"I'm not a fucking invalid!" Lovino snapped and took his leave, intending to head straight to the room where he kept the gun and the bullets he had stolen. As soon as he stepped out of Feliciano's study, he felt relieved to be away from all those people.
His relief was short-lived, however. A minute later, he heard heavy, precise steps approaching him from behind and then a deep voice called out, "Mr. Vargas. May I have a word with you, please?" The words were polite, but the tone was very ominous. Lovino turned around to face Ludwig, annoyed that this detestable man had followed him and maybe also a little intimidated. Ludwig was looking scarier than usual, and that never boded well.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I thought you said you were going to your room?" said Ludwig coldly. "Yet you are heading in the opposite direction."
"Where I decide to go is none of your fucking business," said Lovino, but when it earned him a very suspicious stare, he decided maybe he shouldn't sound so evasive and defensive. "I-I took the wrong turn, okay?" he said, feeling his face redden. "This house is too big; I still get a little lost sometimes. There, happy now?"
"Really?" If anything, Ludwig looked even more suspicious. "Well, be it as it may, that is not what I wanted to talk about. I would just like to ask you a simple question. What were you doing in the dining room last night?"
The blood that had been heating up his face suddenly drained from it, but he fought to keep up his annoyed attitude.
"Wh-what is it to you?" he asked, hoping he sounded peeved enough.
"It is a simple question, Mr. Vargas. Surely you have nothing to hide?"
Lovino was at a loss of words. If he tried to evade the question again, it would only arouse even more suspicion, and he was feeling trapped under Ludwig's cold scrutiny.
"Ludwig, what are you doing?" came Feliciano's whiny voice, and possibly for the first time ever, Lovino was glad to hear it. "Why are you bothering my brother? He needs his rest!"
"I was just asking him a simple, harmless question, my lord," said Ludwig, his eyes never leaving Lovino's. "I was wondering what he was doing in the dining room last night."
"Are you still going on about that?" Feliciano sighed. "Why is it bothering you so much? What's the problem?"
"I just think it is very... odd," said Ludwig, narrowing his eyes. "Your brother left the party to clean himself up and get a change of clothes after Lady Magherini threw wine at him. So, why was he in the dining room, in the dark? There was no reason for him to be there. It isn't even close to his bedroom. Even if this is a big house and he is not yet completely familiar with it, surely he would realise how very far from his room he was?"
Oblivious to Lovino's squirming, Feliciano just gave Ludwig a very confused look and laughed uncertainly. "I don't really get what you're getting at. I mean, you make it sound like Lovino was doing something really naughty!" He giggled to accentuate how silly he thought this idea was. Ludwig, on the other hand, didn't miss the way that Lovino's shifted uncomfortably at his brother's words.
"You haven't answered my question yet, Mr. Vargas. I didn't think an answer would be that difficult. Unless, of course, you really were doing something that you want to hide from us."
"Shut the fuck up!" Lovino finally burst out. "You have no right to demand any explanations from me! You're just a servant!"
"I am Feliciano Vargas' servant. He is the lord of this house," said Ludwig unperturbedly. "You are nothing. You do not own this house and have no authority over me. I respect you as my master's brother and nothing else. You do not have the same status as him. You are not Lord Vargas."
Lovino was shaking with anger and humiliation. He would have yelled and tried to strangle the life out of this bastard, but he still had enough sense to know that the odds were against him. Ludwig was strong, much stronger than him, and could easily break Lovino in a half before Feliciano even had time to order him to stop, and then he could justify himself by claiming he had done it in self-defence. And that, of course, only added to his humiliation. Not only had he been told off by his brother's servant, he was too cowardly and weak to do anything about it.
"That's enough, Ludwig!" said Feliciano, sounding unusually austere (for him, at least) as he brought his brother into a comforting embrace. "You're being silly, and cruel! You know my brother is sick! He must have got disoriented after the left the party last night; that's why he wound up in the dining room. And—and he's embarrassed about it; that's why he doesn't want to explain it! That's all there is to it! And if you keep upsetting him, he could get sick again, so please just stop it and leave him alone!"
Sometimes, Lovino really loved his brother. He resented being treated like a fragile doll and having his condition brought up, but in this case, it was worth it. Not only had Feliciano provided a perfectly plausible excuse for him, he had also told his precious friend off in favour of Lovino for once. And Ludwig's flustered, chastised expression was just priceless. Lovino would have loved to see it immortalized in a painting; it would never fail to cheer him up even in his gloomiest moments. He just couldn't help but smile in spiteful triumph.
In hindsight, that had probably been unwise. Ludwig had been in the middle of profuse apologies when he caught Lovino's smirk and that suspicious glare was back on his face, now ten times stronger and with a hint of something like hatred. He dared not say anything so soon after being scolded by his master, but he could definitely be a problem.
Feliciano was bad at picking his friends, but Lovino had to admit that he, himself, was bad at picking his enemies.
oOo
Even armed with a gun that he kept concealed beneath his coat on his back, with several bullets in his pocket, as well as a knife in his sleeve and another in his boot, Lovino still felt as vulnerable as a baby rabbit in an open field. And as he made his way to the opera house in the early morning, it was like the aforementioned baby rabbit was hopping right into the fox's den. He had to keep reassuring himself that he wasn't that helpless; he was armed, and if all else failed, he was still fast on his feet and could outrun anyone if he really put his mind into it.
However, as soon as he saw Antonio, loitering around the gate of the Vargas estate with a blissfully oblivious expression – in other words, the same as usual – he felt a little better. Antonio, his friend, his brother, his caretaker since childhood, the one who had always fought to protect him, who would always try to cheer him up and show him the bright side of things. As annoying and dense as he might be sometimes, Antonio made him feel safe. His familiar presence alone was quite comforting; it brought to Lovino a sense of normalcy, of stability, an unspoken promise that everything would be all right. Even after their fight in Pontebianco, this hadn't changed. The misunderstanding had been cleared up later on and they were again the best of friends, even if Lovino didn't show it in conventional ways.
If Antonio were with him, Lovino wouldn't feel so intimidated. Not many people realised this, or would even believe it if they were told, but Lovino had always been a little shy around strangers. It took him a very long time to get used to someone and open up in his own way. He disliked being left alone with people he didn't trust, so he felt more at ease when there was someone familiar with him whenever he had to confront strangers. Things tended to go badly when he was left alone with them; he would become prickly and even more likely to get into a fight – which he would lose.
"Antonio, you bastard," he called out as a way of greeting. Antonio blinked owlishly at him and then grinned.
"Oh, hi, Lovino! How are you today?"
"Can't complain. Are you ready to go? I want to get this over with."
"I'm ready, but... are you going somewhere?"
Lovino stared at him for a moment. "You can't even remember? We're going to the opera house, dumbass! I told that creepy son of a bitch I'd be there early this morning. You were there!"
"Oh... Oh!" Realisation dawned dramatically on Antonio's face. "Of course I remember!" He smiled and nodded, but showed no intention to move from where he stood.
"Well?" Lovino prompted a moment later, already tired of waiting for Antonio's brain to catch up. "What are you waiting for?"
Antonio looked lost. "I'm waiting for Bella. Why?"
"Bella? She didn't tell me she wanted to come along!"
"What are you talking about?"
Now Lovino was also getting confused, not to mention frustrated. Coherent conversations shouldn't be this hard to achieve.
"I had no idea she wanted to come with us to the opera house. She didn't tell me anything," he explained and was immensely proud of how calm and patient he managed to sound.
Antonio still frowned in incomprehension, but then seemed to finally understand.
"Oh, I get it now! You think I'm coming with you to the opera house!"
Lovino sucked in the air to reply, but it stuck in his throat when Antonio's words caught up to him.
"W-wait, you mean you're not coming with me to the opera house?" he asked, struck by how absurd that sounded. Surely he had misunderstood. However, Antonio did not deny it, but looked sheepish and apologetic.
"If you wanted me to come with you, you should have told me earlier," he said. "I'd love to come with you, but... well, you see, I've already promised Bella we'd go out together today. She wanted me to show her the city, since she didn't really get the chance to visit it the last time 'cause we were too busy looking for you."
Suddenly, Lovino felt very foolish, and he couldn't help but feel a sting of hurt as well. He had simply assumed that Antonio would come with him to the opera house, since he was always at Lovino's side, had been since they had met at the orphanage, and he had been so excited about the idea of Lovino singing opera. It was so natural that Antonio would tag along everywhere he went even when his presence was not desired that it hadn't occurred to Lovino to even mention it. Antonio should have known that Lovino wouldn't want to go on his own to meet a man he obviously despised.
Yet, Antonio hadn't even considered coming with him. He had completely forgotten about him to go out with Bella. And speaking of whom... Why would Bella ask Antonio to show her the city? Why hadn't she asked Lovino? He was the one she was interested in and wanted to spend time with, wasn't he? Why would she seek out Antonio's company, then?
"I-I'm sorry!" said Antonio, noticing how upset Lovino had got. "Look, i-if you want, we can both come with you to the opera house first. I'm sure Bella won't mind!"
"I-it's not like I want you to come with me!" Lovino snapped, without really thinking. "I just thought you'd want to come with me, since you were so excited about it! I'm not a little kid who needs you to hold my hand everywhere I go, dammit! Go, have fun with your date. I don't give a damn what you do."
Antonio tried to protest, but didn't even follow Lovino when he quickly took his leave, which only angered him even more. What kind of friend would just let someone go when they were obviously upset? Back in the day, Antonio would chase after Lovino insistently until he found out what was bothering his friend, all the while wearing that deeply worried expression. What had changed?
Lovino was so mad that he even forgot to be afraid on his way to the opera house. In fact, he almost wished he had been attacked by someone – at least then he would have a convenient outlet for his anger.
"Gooood morning, my dear Mr. Vargas," came that purring, devilish voice as soon as he reached the opera house. To Lovino's deep disappointment, Bonnefoy didn't look hungover at all. The man was dressed impeccably as always and seemed to be in a better mood than should be possible this early in the morning. Lovino felt cheated, as if his plan had backfired on him somehow.
"What's so good about it?" he grumbled.
"Aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Bonnefoy smirked. "Looks like someone missed breakfast this morning. Well, in that case, I'll just give you a brief introduction for now. We can discuss the details when you're feeling a little perkier. Agreed?"
"Yeah, whatever."
To his credit, Bonnefoy was very well-behaved as he showed him the place. Although his voice still had that lascivious quality to it, his tone was strictly business-like, his explanations matter-of-fact and free of suggestive turns of phrases, and even his leering was kept to a minimum.
"We have rehearsals every day, although not always the same acts and rarely with many singers at the same time. Since you'll have the leading role, along with our soprano, you'll have to rehearse quite often, sometimes alone, sometimes with a couple of others, but don't worry about it now. Before you can start rehearsing the actual opera, we'll give you a few lessons. Singing opera is a little different from what you did at your party; there are certain techniques that you need to learn, practise, and master – though I don't doubt you will have no trouble at all with that."
"I hope you're right," Lovino commented, feeling a little sceptical himself; he had never been what one would call a fast learner.
Then, perhaps because of the strong smell of perfume that seemed to be impregnating the air of the opera house, his nose happened to tickle and he turned his head to the side to sneeze. When he faced Bonnefoy again, he was taken aback; judging by the man's expression, one might have thought that Lovino had just coughed up blood.
"What is that? What is wrong with you?" Bonnefoy asked, suddenly very agitated.
"What?" Lovino tensed, wondering what he had done now. He hadn't even been trying to be offensive for once.
"Just now, you sneezed!" said Bonnefoy, narrowing his eyes. "You're not getting sick, are you?"
"Er, no? I don't think so," said Lovino, still wondering what the big deal was.
"Mr. Vargas," Bonnefoy's voice and expression were grim, all traces of good humour and flippancy completely gone. "You need to be very careful with your voice from now on. Remember, your entire career depends on it. Even a slight cold could be catastrophic! Just try to imagine it; you're singing in front of hundreds of people who paid dearly for the spectacle, and then your voice cracks! It would be a disaster!"
Lovino suddenly got a sinking feeling. He wasn't worried about colds or anything of the sort, though. Sure, that would be bad, but a much worse scenario had just occurred to him. What if he had an attack of the falling sickness in the middle of the show? Now that would be utterly and irreparably catastrophic. If he had a cold, he could just ask for the show to be postponed, or maybe find a substitute, and wait until he was better to sing in public again. No problem there, as far as he could see it. But the falling sickness was unpredictable and came on too fast. At most, he had a few hours of forewarning; usually, only a few minutes, or even seconds. If it happened in the middle of the show, there would be no escape, and if he thought having an attack in front of his closest friends was embarrassing enough, having one on stage, in front of hundreds of people, would be just—it was too horrible to even contemplate.
"I see you understand now the importance of taking care of your voice," said Bonnefoy, misunderstanding the meaning behind Lovino's worried expression. "No need to get into panic, of course. I mean, if you take care of yourself, you won't get sick, and everything will be all right. Right?"
Did Bonnefoy even know about his condition? He hadn't mentioned it at all, so probably not. Even the day after the party, Bonnefoy had said that, according to Feliciano, Lovino had been "a little unwell last night," suggesting that his brother had had the sense to be vague about it and made it seem as though Lovino had just had a bit too much to drink or something harmless like that. But maybe Bonnefoy should know about it beforehand, rather than get a nasty surprise at the worst possible moment?
No, forget about it. If Bonnefoy found out, he would give up on this whole idea and kick Lovino out for sure. Lovino needed that money, and this was the only way to get it. He would just have to keep his mouth shut and hope for the best.
"Right, right," Lovino replied at length. "Don't worry, my voice is just fine."
"Excellent, Mr. Vargas!" And like magic, that lazy smile was back on Bonnefoy's face. "I know I can count on you. Now, I'll show you to your private dressing room."
oOo
"Well, Mr. Vargas, how do you like it?"
Lovino surveyed the dressing room from the door, then stepped inside and continued to look around with an expression of indifference bordering on boredom. Inwardly, though, he was surprised by how fancy this room looked, although, considering it was part of a place run by Francis Bonnefoy, he should have expected it to be as flashy and ostentatious as the man himself. There was a very large table with an also large mirror and a cushioned chair, a couch and an footstool, a divan, and what was left of the walls was covered by wardrobes and clothes hangers. It made Lovino wonder if this was really his private dressing room, because it certainly looked like it was made for the entire cast. Also, it reeked of perfume, just like the rest of the opera house. It was really beginning to give him a headache. Sadly, the dressing room had no windows.
Offering no answer to Bonnefoy's question, Lovino sauntered over to the chair and took a seat, heaving a heavy sigh. He couldn't even bring himself to form an opinion about his dressing room; his mind was rather concerned with more important matters. However, once again Bonnefoy misread his mood.
"Oh, that's right, you must be hungry. You really shouldn't skip breakfast, Mr. Vargas, no matter how eager to see me you may be."
Lovino sputtered. "I didn't—"
"I'll order you breakfast, so you just wait here. This room is yours now, so I want you to feel at home."
In reality, Lovino hadn't skipped breakfast, and in any case, he felt so nervous that he didn't think he could eat anything. However, if it meant Bonnefoy was going to leave him alone for a while, Lovino decided he might as well let him go and fetch him breakfast.
As soon as Bonnefoy left, closing the door behind him, Lovino let his head drop on the table with a bang in a gesture of tired frustration. He regretted it immediately, because it sort of hurt and it certainly didn't help his headache. He wished he could just... disappear somewhere, away from Gianturco and Russo, away from his perfect brother and that suspicious foreign bastard, away from the traitorous Antonio and Bella, away from the creepy Bonnefoy. Even if just for a short while, he wanted to forget about all his problems and rest.
But of course, that was impossible now. He had barely got any sleep last night. He wondered if he would ever get a proper night of sleep from now on, without wondering if it would be his last, if he would be shot or stabbed as soon as he closed his eyes. Mr. Gianturco had promised to protect him, but Lovino trusted him as much as he trusted Count Russo. Even if Lovino could trust him to keep his word, he didn't think Il Sadico could possibly protect him all the time. If Count Russo was anything like his daughter, he wouldn't rest until Lovino was dead. He would kill anyone who got in the way. It was only a matter of time till he reached his goal.
No, Il Sadico couldn't really protect him, even if he tried. He could delay Russo, buy Lovino some time, but ultimately, Lovino was in God's hands. Yet, why should God help him? A sinner like him, an adulterer, a near murderer... Granted, he had gone through penance, but was it really enough? Could he really expect or even hope for a miracle still?
He was abruptly roused from his musings when a hand grabbed his shoulder, accompanied by a creepy, raspy voice. Oh, God, they're here! Lovino thought frantically as he screamed and almost fell off his chair, fumbling for his gun. His hand was shaking so much that was it was a wonder he managed to pull the gun out and point it in the general direction of the man who had just sneaked up on him.
Even face to face with the man, it took Lovino several seconds to realise that the person standing before him looked familiar. It was that foreign bastard's brother, whom he had met at his birthday party.
"Easy, easy," said the man, his hands up in surrender as he looked at Lovino and the gun pointed at him with wide, anxious eyes. "It's me, Gilbert! Remember? Ludwig's brother? We met at your party only two days ago! I don't mean you any harm, so can you please lower that gun now? Thanks. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Me? You're the one who—who materialized out of thin air and sneaked up on me, you demon!" Lovino retorted, putting the gun away. "How the fuck did you get in here without making any noise? And what are you doing here?"
"I-I just wanted to give you a little scare, y'know. All in good fun," said Gilbert, frowning sullenly. "I didn't think you'd react that badly. You sure are jumpy." He took a seat at the chair that Lovino had previously been occupying and rested his feet on the table, not caring that he was getting dirt all over its pristine surface.
"That's it?" Lovino snarled, still breathing heavily from the fright. "Just—go to hell! Get the fuck out, you goddamn white freak!" Not only because he didn't want to be anywhere near Gilbert, but also because his legs felt quite unsteady and he really wanted to sit back down on that chair – he didn't think he could make it to the couch or the divan without stumbling in a very undignified way.
However, Gilbert completely ignored him. Now that he was recovered from the shock and no longer had a gun pointed at his person, he had the gall to give Lovino a lopsided, haughty smirk.
"Actually, I came here for another, more important reason," he said.
Lovino huffed. "Pray tell, what remotely important reason could you have to bother me?" And seeing as Gilbert didn't seem at all inclined to move from his chair, Lovino risked the trip to the divan. He didn't stumble, but that still didn't help his mood at all. He flopped down on the divan and scowled, as if he resented the fact he had to settle with a less comfortable seat – in reality, the divan was much more comfortable than the chair, but that was beside the point.
Gilbert smirked at him, as if amused, but the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes, which only observed Lovino curiously, warily. It was the look of someone who was trying to solve some kind of riddle. However, that look only remained on his face for a moment, until Gilbert leant back on the chair and laced his hands behind his neck, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Mr. Gianturco hired me to be your bodyguard," he said bluntly, and the casual tone he used hit Lovino almost as hard as his words.
"What? Y-you work for Il Sadico?" Lovino managed to choke out as he sat up stiffly on the divan.
Gilbert didn't seem fazed by Lovino's shocked reaction, though. He merely shrugged and said, "Meh, I owe him money. This is my way of paying him back."
Lovino made a noise of disgust. "It figures. I knew you weren't trustworthy. I should have guessed that a suspicious freak like you would be in cahoots with that bastard."
Gilbert only raised an eyebrow at him.
"That's rich coming from you," he retorted. "I don't know the details, but aren't you on the same boat?" That smirk was back on his lips, his eyes glinting mischievously, mocking him without words. He clucked his tongue three times. "Just what have you got yourself into, kid? Does little Feli know that his brother has been doing shady business with the most powerful, most dangerous man in town? What would he say if he knew, I wonder?"
Lovino felt his face heat up and clenched his fists, but still managed to keep his temper in check. How dare this freak taunt him – even implicitly threaten him – like that?
"Does your brother know?" he hissed, full of spite. "Does Ludwig know that his brother works for that powerful, dangerous man?"
"Hey!" For the first time, Gilbert wiped that disgusting smirk off his face and frowned, quickly getting up and pointing a threatening finger at Lovino. "You leave Ludwig out of this!"
"Then you won't bring up Feliciano again," said Lovino, also getting up to face Gilbert, even though he inwardly felt intimidated by the significant difference in height between them.
Fortunately, Gilbert didn't seem to be in the mood to fight. He relaxed again, although his smile still didn't return.
"Fair enough," he conceded and held out his right hand, supposedly for a handshake. And much to Lovino's deep annoyance, that smug smirk was back on his face. "C'mon, let's not fight. We're going to spend a lot of time together from now on, so we gotta get along, don't you think?"
Lovino grimaced at the mere suggestion of spending any amount of time with Gilbert. Rather than shake his proffered hand, he spat on it and snapped, "I won't accept you as my bodyguard! I'll talk to Mr. Gianturco and demand that he find someone else for the job!"
Gilbert took one second to grimace at his hand before he was smirking again. Since Lovino had wisely moved away from him, he reached out for the divan, but then apparently decided that it looked too rich and nice to ruin and just wiped his hand on his own clothes.
"Oh, I really wouldn't do that if I were you," he said.
"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" Lovino crossed his arms tightly, almost as if hugging himself defensively. "Mr. Gianturco said he doesn't want to k-kill me, because I owe him. He promised to protect me. He wouldn't hurt me."
Gilbert sighed heavily, though he still looked thoroughly amused. "You know, I like you. You're feisty," he said. "And I like your brother, who also likes you. He'd be really sad if something happened to you, and I hate to see his sad face, so I'd rather try to avoid that from happening if I can help it. That's why I'm going to explain this to you in the simplest way possible instead of letting you go and get yourself maimed. You don't question that man's decisions. Ever. Yeah, he won't kill you, but he can still do other... unpleasant things to you. Things that would make you wish you were dead. That's how it is, and you're really naïve if you thought otherwise even for a moment."
Lovino's fingers gripped his sleeves a little more tightly, his eyes staring at the floor as if trying to burn a hole into it. Of course he had known, when it came down to it, that he had no choice in this matter. His eyes stung as once again he felt cheated. He had been promised protection from the Russos, had been given this hateful freak instead, and couldn't even say a word of complaint.
"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," said Gilbert. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "I mean, if you get killed, I won't be paid." He then laughed again, that strange, raspy cackle that made him sound mental.
"If that's your idea of a joke..." Lovino muttered.
"I was just trying to lighten up the mood. Doesn't mean it isn't true, though."
"You know what? Fuck you. I think I'll be better off on my own. I don't need you or Mr. Gianturco," said Lovino, turning his back on him as his mind was already working out a escape plan.
Suddenly, a pale hand latched onto Lovino's shoulder, making him jump, and that grating voice whispered in his ear, "Not so fast. Since my generosity knows no limits, I'll tell you a little secret. You see, I'm not only supposed to be your bodyguard. Mr. Gianturco also hired me to keep an eye on you, to make sure you won't do anything stupid, like... oh, you know... try to escape on your own without paying your debt first." Rough, calloused fingers took a hold of Lovino's chin and turned it so that they were facing each other, only a few inches apart. "I'm going to be watching you like a hawk from now on." His red eyes, combined with those words and that predatory grin, looked even more devilish from this close up. Lovino tried to suppress a shudder and failed.
"Here's your break—Oh, my!" Francis Bonnefoy's voice made both men jump. "I'm so sorry for the, ah, interruption," he said, with a suggestive smile. "By all means, don't mind me and go on with your business, my dear gentlemen."
Lovino and Gilbert stared at him, then looked back at each other, and parted quickly, one disgusted and disturbed and the other grimly amused.
"Very funny, Francis," said Gilbert.
Bonnefoy cleared his throat and beckoned at one servant who had been standing behind him, holding a tray full of food. "Well, if you are absolutely certain you do not wish to continue with whatever it is that you were doing, here is something to improve Mr. Vargas' mood a little."
The food that the servant had brought him was more like lunch than breakfast, and it looked quite delicious. However, after his exchange with Gilbert, Lovino felt too sick to even think about food. At any rate, he could barely stand being subjected to either of these men's company, so being alone with both at the same time was a living nightmare.
"I'm going home," he managed to announce in a tremulous voice, quickly walking past them and out of the door. He ignored Bonnefoy's protests that he hadn't even tried the food, but he couldn't ignore Gilbert's steps and cackling trailing after him like a haunting ghost.
oOo
Caterina Russo was at a loss.
Most people who were remotely familiar with her father or sister wouldn't believe it, but a long time ago, her family had been happy and normal. Unfortunately, her mother had passed away when Caterina was still a child. Her father had been saddened by the loss, naturally. Even though their marriage had been arranged, the count had loved his wife very much, and the feeling had been mutual. They had been such a happy, lucky couple. However, he had eventually got over his wife's death – or so Caterina had assumed. He had taken comfort in the company of his two daughters and grown even more attached to them. He had been a wonderful, affectionate, attentive father to both Caterina and Natalia.
Caterina had never been frightened of him. She knew that other people found him a little disconcerting sometimes, but he wasn't a bad man. A little peculiar, maybe, quirky, but not bad. She heard whispers about how he had a cold, dangerous gaze, but when Caterina looked into his eyes, she only saw a veil of sadness and loneliness. The count had never had many friends. Not what he considered real friends, anyway. It seemed that all people who were brave enough to try getting close to him were only after his wealth, his power, or his daughters. Trying to make real friends only led to one disappointment after another. No wonder her father had eventually become so avoidant and isolated. He had only had his daughters for company.
Unfortunately, one of the daughters had become too clingy. Frighteningly so. If people thought Count Russo was disconcerting, Natalia was ten times worse. Even her father was unsettled by how obsessed she seemed to be with him. He loved her, but that obsession of hers just wasn't healthy. He had decided that she must have been in need of a family of her own. And after a long time searching for a good suitor, he had finally found one – Lovino Vargas.
Caterina had actually felt sorry for the man at the time, and perhaps a little worried as well. She hadn't wanted to think this way about her little sister, but she had had this nagging suspicion that Natalia might actually try to murder him, or at the very least hurt him. Of course, she had also felt bad for Natalia, who had been so miserable about getting married and having to leave her beloved father behind. But she, too, had believed that it would be for Natalia's own good and that it would help her eventually get over her strange obsession.
As expected, tragedy had struck. However, the victim turned out to be Natalia herself. Caterina wasn't sure what exactly had happened; she could only speculate. Had Natalia attacked Lovino Vargas as Caterina had feared from the beginning, forcing him to strike back in self-defence? Had Lovino Vargas planned this all along, winning Count Russo's favour so he could marry Natalia and obtain her inheritance? Had it all been a tragic misunderstanding? Was Lovino even involved, or had he been picked as a scapegoat? Was he the victim, along with Natalia, targeted by the Gianturco family?
So many questions and no answers in the horizon. That was quite beside the point, however. Caterina mourned her sister's death, but she was more concerned about the living at the moment. To be more specific, about her father. He hadn't taken Natalia's death well at all. Perhaps losing his youngest daughter had been the last straw. When he had lost his wife, his expression had been sad; he would weep sometimes, wistfully look at the many paintings of his late wife, visit her grave and lay flowers on it. Now, however, he was doing none of that. It was rather the opposite.
It was uncanny, really. He kept smiling. He just sat on his favourite armchair in the sitting room or in his own bedroom all day, staring unseeingly at the blank wall, holding a bottle of liquor, and smiling an empty smile, his eyes devoid of life. He only moved to bring the bottle to his lips and swallow a mouthful of the vile beverage he had always been so fond of. He only spoke to order someone to fetch him another bottle – by the end of the day, the floor around his feet would be littered with empty bottles – and he seldom responded when anyone talked to him.
Caterina was really worried about her father. She had no idea what she could do to help him. She had been mostly leaving him alone until now, with only half-hearted attempts to coax him to come out of his stupor, because she had believed he would get over it on his own soon. She realised now that his situation was more serious than she had been willing to admit. She had to try to reach out for him, even though she feared it would prove fruitless.
Perhaps she should have tried to do so earlier. Just how far gone was he? What if it was too late?
"F-Father," she called out in a shaky, feeble voice. There was no response from him, though that might have been because she needed to speak up. She paused and tried to swallow the knot that had formed in her throat. She needed to be strong for once. She needed to do this. Her father needed her; she was the only one who could do this. "Father, please, look at me," she pleaded, standing before him.
His eyes continued to stare straight ahead, as if Caterina hadn't blocked his view from the wall at all. She touched one side of his face, surprised by how cold it felt against her fingers. She repeated her request, and her heart leapt when he actually raised his gaze to meet hers. He was actually looking at her, his eyes showing a glint of recognition and love, even if they were dulled by depression. They were bloodshot, but it looked like he was still, by some miracle, mostly sober.
"Caterina..." he whispered, his voice raspy and as feeble as hers. His smile stretched just a fraction. "You're still here."
"O-of course I'm still here, Father," she replied, giving him a tentative smile of her own. "I could never leave you when you're in this state."
"Everyone else has left," he said, a little more loudly now – just barely loud enough for Caterina to realise that it sounded oddly monotone. "They all leave, sooner or later. Always. Except you. You are a good girl, Caterina. You always were. A good, good girl."
Caterina wasn't sure how to respond. She had finally got him to talk, but she wasn't sure if this was an improvement. There was something... off about him and his words. It was like looking at the reflection of a painting in a mirror; it felt all wrong, all backwards.
"Father..." she said, but nothing else came out. Words just failed her.
"Natalia was a good girl, too," continued her father. "A little eccentric and clingy, but I remember what a sweet child she had been. She promised she would never leave me. I..." His voice seemed to catch in his throat, and his smile wavered slightly. "I loved her. Even though I tried to avoid her and forced her to move away... I never meant for this to happen to her. Never! You believe me, don't you, Caterina? You don't blame me, do you? Is it my fault? Do you think she blames me?" His smile was there, now strangely wide, frozen, as were his eyes. Caterina felt her blood run cold.
"N-no, no, it's n-not your fault, Father," she quickly reassured him. "You c-couldn't have known that was g-going to happen to her. It's not your fault. I'm sure Natalia doesn't blame you, either."
"Sometimes she comes to see me at night," he said in that dull voice, his eyes still wide. "She says it's my fault. She says I should have never forced her to leave me. She says that is why she left me for good, just like her mother. She says her mother also blames me and thinks that I'm a horrible father."
"Y-you're not!" Caterina protested. She touched the other side of his face with her other hand. Both hands were shaking violently, and she could feel her eyes burn, but she forced herself to remain strong, for her father's sake. "None of that is true, and you're a wonderful father! Th-that's—you're just having nightmares; it's all in your head! Mother and Natalia are resting in peace, and I'm sure they wouldn't blame you for what happened."
"And yet they left me," he whispered, covering her left hand with his own – Caterina almost flinched at how cold it felt against her skin. "Like everyone else. But you won't leave, will you, Caterina? You're such a good, good girl. You're not like the others. You will never leave me. Never, ever, ever..."
Too fast for someone who had drunk at least three bottles of hard liquor and was probably delirious, his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her into an awkward embrace. Caterina almost lost her balance, but managed to right herself and hug him back, not letting even a whimper escape her lips when the embrace became too tight and possessive, his nails digging a little into her back. Her father continued to whisper the same words over and over again, apparently lost in his own nightmare.
"You will never leave me. Promise me. Promise me, promise me. Never leave me. You will stay with me forever. Never leave me alone. You are a good girl, so I know you will do it. Promise me. Promise me. Caterina, promise me."
Caterina's arms also tightened around her father's quivering frame. "I promise, Father," she managed to say, her eyes blurry with tears that she could no longer hold back. She felt them trail down her face, chilling in the air before they dropped on her father's shoulder and face. "I promise I will never leave you."