-Lovino-

So after he made his little speech to both of them, pointedly (no pun intended) using the knife (what was it? A stiletto? Why did he have one of those, those were Feliciano's choice) to emphasize how much he was Not Joking, he sheathed the knife, and proceeded into the kitchen to make lunch for their new tag-team.

Only because the Spanish bastard was busy, damn it!

And he didn't know if the other two could cook!

And he wanted to rub how superior Italian food was to their home countries'!

So as he measured ingredients, chopped vegetables, and boiled the sauce, he contemplated on the whole situation, and how he'd been dealing with it. Sure, some might say he was taking things much better than expected. But he had screamed, shouted, and had a general panic attack when his Nonno had finally explained what all the shady-looking assholes were doing in his house. And, against popular belief, he only had a limited about of shits to give about things.

He furrowed his brows. He was going to have to tell the asshole at some point.

It was ridiculous that he didn't want to say. Antonio had sat down and told him all the gritty details about how he was raised (he had wanted to vomit afterwards), and it wasn't much different than his, save for the bloodshed and murder and more bloodshed that went into Antonio's. Lovino's was more…shady than that. Unseen. Unheard. He was a member of the familia, just not the way they all assumed. So he couldn't quite muster up the will to scream at Antonio, or his past. Sue him.

He winced.

But the technicalities of what he did…he could imagine the confused look, morphing into an understanding poker face, and then into an enraged face. Or worse.

A look of hurt, of disappointment, or of utmost betrayal; the face of those who'd been lied to or deceived by someone who they trusted explicitly.

'Serves you right, you back-stabbing piece of-'

He winced again. Antonio did not seem like the one who'd take being betrayed very well.

He just stirred the sauce some more, silently wondering if he was going to have to die with this, if it was going to cling to him unflinchingly until he was lowered into the ground. Nonno always told him that power came with a price, and that skills of deception meant strong enough shoulders to carry the weight of all the secrets he kept. Sure, Feliciano had his own share, but Lovino had many. It was his…job…to have them. So he just cooked on, trying his best to ignore the twist in his gut; it coming easy with practice. But there was a second one, as well, that wouldn't go away.

He wasa little (a fucking lot) concerned about this Bella chick.

Sure, he had threatened her with bodily harm. But that was more instinctual than anything. Even his dumbass brother would turn a knife (A fucking stiletto, that pussy) on you at some point; it was how they were trained. He just had a far longer fuse than Lovino did. And she wasn't…mean, per say, or nasty, or even sassy, which would have made it easier to cuss her out. But she instead had the look of a young woman with a broken heart, who was trying desperately not to show it. He had punched the older potato bastard once in the face, when he was drunk, when he had called him 'sensitive, wow, are you sure you're not straight, Toni? Because this guy is way into fashion and cleanliness and feelings and shit', but he was more in tune with what people were feeling than most males his age.

He chalked it up to amazing Italian genetics and growing up around Feliciano.

Antonio kept asking her what was wrong, like the damn idiot he was, but she always put on a fake ass smile and said nothing. So he just grinned that damn grin, if a little forced, that dropped immediately when the English bastard called for him to 'get his lazy Spanish arse back in here, I swear, it's like you're a hyper-active preschooler', to which Antonio strung together a string of Spanish words that he couldn't quite catch, but from the facial expression and tone, they were not pretty.

He then spat back what he had said in English, 'just so you can understand what I'm saying, Eyebrows~ , it's not like you're bilingual or anything, right?'

'I don't need to be. English is the lingua franca*, and what you're speaking right now.'

'Si, but you're in Spain, are you not? Asking for my help? How long did it take for you and your choppy accent to find someone who could give you directions?'

'That's not important-'

'A long damn time, is what it sounds like-'

As the two continued to bicker instead of getting anything done, he face-palmed. He looked between them, to the young woman, back to them, and to her again. Cursing himself for having such a loud-ass conscience, especially towards the suddenly-ex-betrothed Belgian woman looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here. He turned down the heat, and shuffled over to her, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Hey…are you alright?"

She blinked up at him, and smiled sadly.

"I am…fine. A little sad, but it's not like I didn't expect this anyway. But I am surprised that you came to talk to me; you don't seem to like me very much."

Yeah. He called her a bitch at knife-point. Thought that was obvious.

"It's not that I don't like you. I don't know you. What I don't like is that all of a sudden there's this girl standing on my doorstep claiming to be my deceptive-ass lover's betrothed."

"I'm sorry for putting you on edge with my last-ditch efforts at self-denial."

"It's…fine, I guess."

She laughed a little.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, it was a pretty loose agreement, just a shot at a truce between our families; an attempt to bring us under the umbrella of protection the Carriedo's offered. And Antonio never really accepted it anyway. But on my end…he was tall, strong, rich, and from a family thrice as powerful as mine. It was a dream come true. And he was so sweet when I could get him to talk honestly. Really, what was a girl to do?"

Lovino sighed. He understood how charming the dipshit could be. Usually unconsciously.

"So I embraced it with open arms. Despite his clear disinterest…I still hoped that maybe it would go somewhere. But that wasn't fair, Lovino. It wasn't fair that I be so incredibly happy while Antonio wouldn't. But I didn't care, as long as I got him in the end. Does that make me a horrible person?"

"N-no. It makes you a girl who wanted her crush to like her, albeit on a larger scale. But seriously, you two's childhoods were fucked to holy hell. Anyway, you just wanted him to love you back. I can't get upset about that, no matter how hard I'm trying. Fuck."

She giggled.

"Aw~ how cute! Elizabeta would just adore you!"

A shudder ran down his spine, and he didn't know why.

"I have to send her some photos of you! She's always looking for cute ukes to put into her collection~"

"The fuck is that? And why do you need pictures of me? Hey, I didn't say yes! What are you-hey, stop-the fuck are you doing-I said stop-LEAVE MY CLOTHES ALONE, DAMNIT!"

-A/N-

*Lingua Franca: the main language spoken internationally when conducting business and such; it's why so many people, even in other countries, speak English.