AN: Hey everyone! I'm kind of proud of my uploading speed for this story! Thankfully, I have a lot of plans for this story and I'm hoping it goes super far. :D

Thanks to those who reviewed! I love you muchly!

Enjoy!

Sea Ports Are Bad Places To Do Business

Arthur Kirkland smiled as his lover wrapped his arms around him while he worked.

"Love you, Artie."

"Love you too, brat." He looked up and smiled into the face of one noisy American. Staring into his deep blue eyes, they shared a small peck on the lips before he continued to view the papers on his desk (although according to Alfred, he wasn't allowed to touch them or pick up a pen). He had just barely assigned Chips to shut down the ports Antonio had discussed with him, and Halibut was in charge of the crew this time around, making sure that none of the boats tried to escape. Before Alfred had barged in, claiming that today was the day they had their first official date.

Arthur had pointed out that it was 12:30am and their date started later that day at 12:30pm, but Alfred just grinned and said that he wanted his first official date present early. The Boss of Britannia squawked indignantly, asking, "Whoever heard of a "first official date present?"

"I want you to stop working so late and come home as a present!"

"What? But I have to read these papers and…"

"It's already today—"

"But I need to—"

"Fine, Artie. But you aren't allowed to even touch them or pick up a pen."

"How the hell am I supposed to read more than one page if I can't touch them?"

"Here," and he then moved the pages so they were side-by-side, allowing him full access to the papers.

Arthur scowled slightly in annoyance but when he glanced at Alfred's satisfied expression, he held back his biting remarks.

He sighed, "Alright, git."

Which lead them to now, with Alfred's arms wrapped around him, staring down at the papers in confusion.

"I never understood Mafia stuff."

"Of course you don't, everything is in code."

"Oh, well everything in the White House was code as well. Back when I was in the CIA of course. I can't tell you about it though, it's top secret stuff."

Arthur looked up and saw Alfred grinning down at him.

"I'm sure," and he patted the American's cheek, "come here love, I'll show you how to read the Britannia code."

With the American reading over his shoulder, their first official date began.

Antonio narrowed his eyes into the nightfall that shadowed the port at 12:23am, Ciro standing behind him nervously. Previously, one of Britannia's men, Halibut, had contacted him and revealed that the Guaio family had two more ports they were going to use to ship the children. He then offered Britannia's services, "Boss' orders." Antonio had thanked him and the Spagna and Britannia Familia had split the ports amongst themselves.

"Boss… why did you decide to come again?"

He flashed a dangerously cheerful grin at his right hand man, "Even Bosses want to be in the action sometime, Ciro." He patted his shoulder, "Either way, these pigs have to be taught a lesson, si?"

"Si, Boss."

The other men and women in their dispatch group were positioned in specific places, eyes trained on the ship they suspected was one of the vessels for the Guaio trafficking network.

Antonio spotted a single man walking on the wooden, salt stained, planks that made up the port. He was rolling a large barrel with him, and Ciro hitched a breath, barely stopping a gasp from escaping.

The children's traveling conditions were worse than they thought.

The Spagna Boss tapped his earpiece, contacting his henchmen.

"Snipers, keep an eye out for them. Spagna, don't begin operations yet, wait until more flock in."

"Yes, Boss." All of them chorused. Antonio adjusted his headpiece to a different frequency.

"Concetta?"

"Si?" A high-pitched woman's voice answered.

"When the Guaio come, I want you to match their profiles and see if you can link them to any other transports. We're going to try and find the rest of the children."

"Si—"

"Boss, they're coming."

Indeed, a group of men all carrying or rolling around large barrels started walking into the port. They began to carry them into the cargo docks of the ship.

"Where is Boss Adriano?" A blond man in a beige jacket biting on the tip of a lit cigarette asked another man carrying one of the barrels.

"He said that he had other business to carry out, Sir."

"Strange, he never misses the imports."

The man with the barrel shrugged, "He is a busy man, you of all people should know that. Since you're going to take his place someday."

Antonio broke into a grin: the heir was here.

The blond man exhaled some smoke and laughed, "You mean soon. I just wish that brunette chit would stop her assaults. She's such a persistent women."

"Haha, aren't all women like that? Either way, she is a fiery one, I wouldn't mind having her in bed." The man with the barrel laughed raucously but stopped at the blond's pointed glance.

"Not if you want to have children."

"Sir, sorry to interrupt you, but we're all set and just waiting for Celio here."

"Oh."

"Well Celio," the blond man gestured to his companion, "you better start rolling your barrels."

Antonio tapped his headpiece, "you heard that, start the operation guys."

"Si."

His men were quick, instantly appearing from their positions and training guns on the Guaio henchmen. Some tried to make a quick escape, but the Spagna's specialized hit team made quick work of them and rounded them back to the central group of Guaio men.

The Guaio henchmen and their heir were quickly surrounded in a sea of black suits.

The blond man stood in the center, his face stricken in shock.

"I don't understand," the man in the center started, "why are the Spagna here?"

The Spagna Boss then came out of his position, the lights from above giving ominous shadows to his face.

"The question should be," Antonio pierced the man with his green eyes, "'why are the Guaio here?'"

The man they came to know as Celio began to shout, "Haha, I know the Spagna. They don't shoot until it's necessary! Boss will come to get us easily!"

There was nervous laughing within the crowd but the sound of a crunch turned heads. Celio started screaming as one of his fingers was broken.

"That's fine," As Antonio began to pace around the blond man, ignoring the cries of the heir's assistant, "let Adriano come."

"I am fully prepared to make him pay for what he has done." He put a hand on the man's chin and forced him to look up, "starting with the heir to your familia." He gave a cheerful smile, and after the blond man began to start shaking, he laughed and pulled out his gun aiming it at the man's head.

"Tango, Samba, Mambo, Seguidilla, " he addressed some of his own familia, "please start opening the barrels."

"The rest of Spagna, please escort the Guaio to Prison 41."

As the noise of cracking wood resounded throughout the area and the Guaio were being shackled, the Spaniard turned his attention back to the heir.

"Now you," He grabbed the other man's tie, "are coming with me so we can have a lovely chat." The blond nodded furiously, still terrified of the gun pressed to his temple.

"Oh, but first, before I forget," Antonio grinned happily at the man who stared back in fear and then knocked the blond out with the butt of his gun.

"Matachin," he called for the man in charge of Spagna prisoners, "take him to the Headquarters' lower levels into cell 27."

The black-haired man he addressed gave a salute, "Boss," and then shouted orders for the man to be carried into the back of the van, tied up, and gagged.

"Boss," Tango, a fair-haired women and the Familia's head doctor, called him over, "You need to see this." Her tone sounded distressed.

A frown etched on Antonio's face as he walked over to one of the cracked open barrels.

Near the barrel was indeed a child. He was covered in grime and blood. His jet-black hair was curled and tangled into a sticky knot, and his arm was so thin that the bones were jutting out. A scar in the shape of Guaio's coat of arms (two guns crossed over each other) was half bleeding on his torso, oozing pus and the skin around it was turning purple, obviously infected.

The child sat on the ground with his knees drawn up, a blanket covering him, and he rocked back and forth, eyes slightly open.

Antonio felt lead drop in his stomach and bile rise to his throat; he tried to reach out his hand to offer some kind of comfort but Tango grasped it before he could touch the boy. The child did nothing to respond but continued to rock in a slow rhythm.

"I think it's best not to touch him at the moment," Tango whispered, trying not to startle the boy too much from his trance, "when Samba opened the barrel and tried to pull the dear boy out, he started a fit and tried to scramble away from him. When I touched him however, I got no reaction. He obviously needs to be conditioned out of this reaction." Tango grasped his shoulder and moved his rocking body closer to hers so that she could examine him more.

"I'll let you know about the conditions of these children."

"Alright," Antonio nodded, swallowing hard at the sight of the several children being pulled out of barrels having similar reactions or having none at all.

"Boss."

"Ciro," his right hand ran over to him, panting, as he had been running around in both operations.

"We've loaded the Guaio into our vans, and they're on the way to Prison 41."

"Good," Antonio stated, not in the mood to smile after the sight of the children.

He began the walk to his limo, a heavy atmosphere weighed down upon him.

Where would they keep these children? They obviously needed a place to rehabilitate, but sending them to the police would bring trouble to his Familia and the Government would begin to snoop into these dealings.

He couldn't allow that.

The Spaniard carded a hand through his brunet hair, making the curls spike out in certain placed.

As he arrived at the limo, Ciro (who had apparently followed behind him) opened the door for him. He ducked his head and sat inside, still pondering.

They would need a place that had extremely good security and a full medical staff capable of treating these children.

He barely noticed Ciro sitting next to him on the other side and ordering the driver to begin the long drive back to Headquarters.

As the street lights shone in the streets and into the car, flashing by in bursts, Antonio stared at his feet.

A hand touched his shoulder, giving it a small shake, and Antonio looked up, realizing that he spaced out for a couple minutes.

Ciro looked at him concerned, blood and grime covering him from pulling out children from the barrels.

"Boss, are you alright?"

Antonio sighed and didn't try to conjure up his usual smile.

"I got a call from Francis, he said that the rest of the ports were successfully infiltrated and the ships were intercepted and destroyed." Ciro began, pulling out a bottle of strong liquor and pouring it one of the wine glasses, handing it to his boss. "One of the ports was wrecked though, someone shot an oil drum and part of the port exploded. They got the children out in time."

"Good."

The Spagna Boss nodded, listening intently as he sipped the liquor and felt the strong burn running down his throat.

"Francis also said that he wants to discuss with you about what to do with the children."

"Alright," Antonio nodded wearily, "did he mention about where we put the children now?"

"He said that he could take them to his orphanage for now, but as you know, they are already very packed and are running out of rations and rooms."

"What about their treatment?"

"Francis is still uncertain, but he did mention an idea that he wanted to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

"He says to meet in his orchards this afternoon."

The brunet smiled slightly to that. Francis was part of the Spagna Familia, however he was more of an outside councilor since he ran a full time orphanage and a couple restaurants. He was also one of his best friends, and often helped him with infiltrations when a stronger authority figure than his higher-ranking henchmen was needed. Indeed, he had asked Francis to help him with some of the ports that Britannia and Spagna hadn't covered; because although their families were powerful and expansive in number, they couldn't dispatch the entire family in one operation.

Everyone in Spagna and Britannia knew him as the "Seeker of Love," although Antonio personally was never a witness to this. All he got were odd hugs.

"Boss, we're here." Ciro interrupted once more.

"Thanks." Antonio snapped out of his thoughts, climbing out of the limo, feeling the heavy tension on his shoulders lighten a little bit as he thought of the idea Francis mentioned. Perhaps he could help these children into a better future; one better than his.

He knocked on the door.

"Ah, Lovino, come in little bambino."

"I'm not a bambino anymore, Gramps," he muttered under his breath as he walked into the grandiose room.

Gold lined the bedroom with twists of red and cream. His grandfather was rested under the sheets, still as muscular as ever, but his skin was a sickly pale, not the warm tan he had five years ago.

He gestured with a hairy hand for his grandson to come over.

Lovino sat on the cushioned seat that was placed next to his bed.

"You are still a little one to me, bambino." He pet his head and proceeded to create a bird's nest out of his hair and then chuckled at Lovino's blushing face. "If you still blush like a tomato, you're definitely still a bambino."

"Shut up."

"Ah, ah. Language Lovino. Your brother never says words like that." Lovino scowled at the mention of his brother; another thing that his brother was better at. Gramps smiled at him and then laughed heartily, as if he wasn't on his deathbed waiting for cancer to claim him.

"I see that you're a little jealous of your little brother."

"What? Who told you dammit—?"

"No one told me, and language." He interrupted, waving away the elder brother's complaints, "your face is open like a book."

Lovino turned bright red once more. Stupid blood in his stupid cheeks—

"But that is what I like about you, Lovino."

What?

"Your brother is naïve, innocent, and pure: something that he should keep in his life. He is very honest, quite talented, rather smart despite his appearances, and a good grandson." The heir swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to see through the blur of tears in his eyes—he blamed it obviously on the dust.

"He is not you Lovino. You are not him."

"Well, fuck yeah. If I were like that idiota, we'd both be stuck in a ditch twelve years ago." He defended unnecessarily, but had the urge to point it out anyways. Without his smarts, they would have not survived the aftermath of the murder of both their parents. Of course, he never told Feliciano that their parents were murdered, he would suffer from anguish and lose that pure innocence he has.

"Haha, bambino, it seems that the answer you are searching for has already been unknowingly discovered by yourself."

"Huh?"

"You wanted to ask me why I chose you to be my heir, right?"

"Huh?" he repeated again, shocked at Gramps' accurate assumption.

"I'll take that as a yes," his grandfather chuckled at his grandson's face, "well you see Lovino…" He raised himself up into a sitting position, drawing an exclamation from Lovino.

"You have something that Feliciano will never have." Lovino leaned closer, hearing his grandfather's words intently.

"You have a special strength—"

"I'm not strong at all, dammit!"

"Not that kind, bambino. Don't be so literal."

After he watched Lovino's face transform a deep red, he continued, "You have the street smarts, a sharp brain, good leadership, an open, honest face, but most of all: you take care of your family like none I have ever encountered."

The heir sat, his face surprised and frozen in between a smile and confusion.

"Hahaha, Lovino. Do you remember when we first met?"

"You scared off ten years on my lifespan when you started laughing, chigi! Of course I fucking remember!" He puffed out a cheek.

"I was impressed," his grandfather smiled, "at first by how good you were at using your sauvé Vargas charm (of course, it comes from me) and then how far you were willing to go for Feliciano. Through these five years you have proved yourself again and again to care for your own famiglia and Roma itself."

Silence permeated the room as Gramps gave him time to think.

"You… explained why you wanted to have me be your heir," Lovino started, unsure, his voice timid, "but why haven't you taught me anything of how to be a boss?" He ran a hand through his auburn hair, "how the hell am I supposed to run the fucking Roma Famiglia if you won't teach me anything!" He glared at Gramps, who just continued to smile at him. "Dammit, you even taught Feliciano crap and the only thing that I've learned from you on how to be a Boss is that making allies is good, striking down enemies is also good, and how to do a bunch of paperwork." He got up, pacing, "and I already knew how to do that before (besides the paperwork), chigi." With a frustrated sigh, he glanced at Gramps and saw that the man was slowly falling asleep, something he had been doing often lately.

"Don't fall asleep yet, old man. I'm trying to ask you a question dammit! What am I supposed to do? I'll be introduced as your heir next week, and I don't even know if there are any mannerisms I have to learn or crazy shit I have to know or some kind of secret handshake—?"

"Bambino," The Boss interrupted, motioning for his grandson to come closer, "you don't need to learn," he smiled warmly, his brown eyes closed in happiness. He put a strong, but dangerously pale hand on his grandson's auburn head. "Just love your Famiglia."

Lovino's face twisted into confusion, "What? how—"

"Now let your Gramps get some sleep, I'm getting older and older by the second."

"But—"

"Shoo, little Lovino."

"What…whatever…" The heir stated, and then he became red-faced as he pulled some of his hair behind his ear and gave Gramps a kiss on each cheek.

"and?" Gramps raised an eyebrow.

"T-ti amo…" Lovino whispered before rushing out of the room, not hearing his grandfather's last words.

"Ti amo, Lovino, Feliciano. Addio…"

That night, Gramps fell into a coma.

The house was quaint and average sized framed with cherry colored wood. The windowpanes closed to prevent the rain from entering the house. It was late in the afternoon.

Feliciano cuddled onto the cushioned chair of Ludwig's kitchen, clutching a steaming cup of Italian espresso in his hands, and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he continued to sniff, trying to hold back tears but failing.

He watched his built, blond friend cook place some peeled potatoes into the boiling pot of water and then walk to the fridge, searching for some of his homemade wurst.

Gramps had fallen into a coma, and in fact, it was Feliciano that had found him that way.

This afternoon, he had wanted to ask Gramps a question, and after entering, he tried to wake his grandfather up, since he was instructed to be awake around this time. No matter what Feliciano did, Gramps wouldn't wake. It was then that he noticed Gramps' skin was a sickly pale, like his life was slowly slipping away, and it was then that Feliciano had burst out of the room, screaming for someone to help.

Several Mafiosi ran into the room and after rushing Gramps to their private hospital, they found that he had slipped into a deep coma.

Feliciano tried to distract himself from his thoughts when he felt his chest start to weigh down in depression, and turned his attention back to his friend's back while the German cooked.

He watched the muscles ripple across the man's back, his black sleeveless shirt clinging to his muscles like a second skin. Feliciano made an accidental, small, appreciative "Ve" that made the German turn around in inquiry.

Feliciano took a sip of his coffee, trying to cover the blush that rose to his cheeks.

"What is it?" Ludwig asked, his ice blue eyes looking over his strangely red friend.

"Do you have a cold?" He turned down the burner on the stove and put his ladle down, walking over to his best friend. He placed a hand on his burning face, "you seem to be okay."

"Ve~" was Feliciano's answer, as Ludwig continued to examine his face. He noted the tear tracks that ran down his cheeks were still wet, and his nose was red from constant sniffing and tissue using. He looked further south, eyes resting on the italian's pouting lips. His heart suddenly jumped and a sudden blush tried to make itself present in Ludwig's cheeks, but he looked up quickly, urging it down in slight confusion. His eyes landed to Feliciano's amber irises and he quickly looked away, feeling his heart stop and his blood rush. What was that? Was he sick or something? He resisted the urge to feel his own forehead and looked down, not seeing the small smile on the italian's lips.

"Are you… alright?"

Feliciano's smile faded and he sighed, "He's passing on and I couldn't even say good bye." He buried his head in his knees, putting down the still steaming cup of espresso on Ludwig's granite counters.

"He," he hitched a breath and tried to continue, "he helped us so much. He gave us such nice lives, and he was knew the right things to say when I was sad or to make me laugh. He was such a wise person, and had a really kind heart." His voice broke with a sob, and he lifted a hand to wipe at his tears. Ludwig sat next to him, unsure of what to do. The German lifted a hand and rubbed soothing circles in his back.

"And, and when I told Lovino about what happened, he ran out of the house and looked really angry." He looked up at Ludwig, his eyes still red and his mouth curled in a frown. "Do you think that Lovi hates Gramps?"

Ludwig frowned, he didn't know much about the older Vargas brother, "I'm not sure. Does it seem like he does?"

"He often rants about him and always says that Gramps doesn't care about him at all." Feliciano whispered, leaning closer to his friend, "That's not true though. Whenever I talk to Gramps and even when he's teaching me lessons, Gramps is always talking about how I should spend time with him and is teaching me how to help him when he becomes Boss." He bit his lip and looked at Ludwig with a serious expression, "Don't tell anyone that I told you that, okay? I made a promise to Gramps not to tell anyone and especially not Lovi. Gramps said that 'Lovi had to figure out what he is supposed to do on his own.'"

Ludwig listened carefully; noticing that the Italian had slowly began switching topics to his brother. He would go along with the change, but he knew that he and Feliciano would have to talk more about his grandfather sooner or later.

"Your brother, from the few times I've met him, has often insulted me one way or another. But you know, he seems to have a good heart. He's taken care of you for all your life, right?"

Feliciano nodded, his mouth set into a more pondering expression, "Ve, he has a really nice heart, but he doesn't like showing it to other people. He thinks it makes him vulnerable." He scooted closer to his friend, taking in his warmth and appreciating the German's willingness to change topics. "You know, I don't remember my parents too well. My Mamma and Papá were always out, doing their jobs. Now that I think about it, they might have been in the Mafia." He cocked his head in interest, "maybe. I'm not sure what happened to them though, they just left and never came back one day." He lowered his amber eyes to the ground and then he perked up, remembering something.

He smiled as he turned to Ludwig though, making the blond look away quickly, "I do remember that my mom sang a special song to us when she was home to tuck us in bed though," Feliciano smiled sweetly as he recalled, "After my parents were gone, Lovi always sang that song for me every night instead when he tucked me in."

"He stopped after we met Gramps though, I guess he just thought that we were too old then or maybe that we wouldn't need that song anymore, since Gramps was here to take care of us…"

He pushed the blanket away from him and Ludwig moved to help him untangle himself but sat frozen as Feliciano embraced him in a hug. Awkward with the situation and with a slight blush on his face, he wrapped his arms around the Italian and they were silent for a few long minutes. The rain pattered softly on the windows.

When Feliciano fell asleep, Ludwig took care to carry him to the guest room where he usually stayed. Although for some reason whenever he woke up the next morning, his friend had somehow wormed his way into his sheets. He just took it as a special quirk the Italian had.

As he came back into his kitchen and turned off the burner, pouring the potatoes into the strainer and spraying them with cold water, he started to think back to Feliciano and his past.

Ludwig and his brother were both born in West and East Germany respectively and lived there until he was eleven. He himself had never known his parents, since they had died when he was two, leaving his older brother, Gilbert, to take care of them both at the age of seven. He and his brother had learned the harsh realities of life quickly, since Gilbert wasn't old enough for any jobs, he had learned to steal food and beg for it from wealthy families or dig through trash to find things to sell.

It was when Ludwig was eleven that they were found by their uncle while in living in a rented motel room. Then, their lives had started to look up.

Their uncle, a strict and graceful man with long blond hair, although gone now, had an acquaintance in the Mafia who had turned out to be the Boss of the Roma. The Familie took them in as unofficial members of Roma, and although he didn't know the Boss personally, Gilbert had met him a couple times as his brother trained to become an accomplished hit man.

Five years ago, he met the youngest grandchild of the Boss, Feliciano at a welcoming party for new Roma Familie Mafiosi. They had become great friends.

The stern German pulled the strainer full of potatoes out of the sink and eyed the wurst he had pulled out earlier. Wurst was one of his favorite foods but… he glanced at the stairs that led to the guestroom, Feliciano wasn't as fond of them as he was. Aiming to make his friend as comfortable as possible, he scavenged through the pantry to find a package of penne he forgot he had bought. Cutting the package and placing the pasta in boiling water, he began to make pasta for his melancholic friend.

AN:

Notes: Familie is "Family" in German

Ti Amo is "I Love You" in Italian

Addio is "Farewell."

I'm sure you can guess what the others mean.

In other news, I hope you all guessed correctly as to what the members of the Spagna Familia are named after? Please review, review, review! Thanks for reading and I'll see you next update!

Next Chapter: Antonio and Francis chat it up about the children and an interesting idea comes along. Lovino throws some shovels.

Love you all!

-Petaldancer