Hey everyone! I know that it's been a long while, but I've been adjusting to college life and I'm getting kind of homesick...

Either way, this chapter is all about memories. Since Lovi needs to figure out some stuff later on and I'm sure this will interest you in some way shape or form...

Enjoy!

Hiding

Lovino sat in one of the Roma greenhouses, smudges of dirt on his face and on his casual tan shorts. The rain outside pattered on the roof, making his mood sink deeper and deeper into depression, but he tried to ignore it as he worked on his tomato plants, moving a plant that was growing too big for its pot into the nutrient filled plot of soil he had raked up. He dug a gloved hand into the dirt, making a hole for the roots of the tomato to sit in. He worked in silence, filing the hole back up with the rich soil and giving the pile a firm pat, making sure that the tomato plant was still okay next to its companions.

As his hands worked, his mind began to wonder to the subject of his grandfather.

Gramps… Oh god how did I not notice he was about to go into a coma? His vision began to blur but rubbed his eyes with one of his cleaner arms and kept working.

How could he not have noticed the signs? Gramps was weaker that day, laughed less, his skin was paler, and Lovino was sure that right after he left, his Gramps said something. It might have been important, and he was stupid enough to not even listen to his last words and—

He threw a shovel at one of the wooden planks that were propped up against the glass wall and it struck a deep gash in the wood. A sob tore out of his throat and he threw his gloves to the ground, not caring at all about his appearance, shot a glare at one of the bushes he knew Fusilli was hiding in and ran out of Headquarters, Fusilli stopping others from running out of their positions and after him.

Francis gave his Spanish friend a warm hug, feeling to see if he had gotten any buffer since the last time they had met, in his friend's obliviousness.

"Antonio, bienvenue, please come take a seat," he gestured to one of the tables he had placed in his orchard for these kinds of occasions. The orchard suited as a place for personal or private meetings that were often Mafia related. Orchids lined the beams above them and vines grew along slim white columns, white flowers of all kinds lay in their beds and various butterflies fluttered about, not able to escape the orchard because of the glass walls that shut out the elements. Speaking of which, the rain was beginning to lighten up and Francis smiled, walking into the small kitchen attached to the orchards to fetch his pastries for Antonio to try.

As he came back to his friend who was sitting with a small frown on his face, he sighed and placed the plate of pastries on the glass table.

"Beignets filled with fresh strawberries, powdered sugar and fresh whipped cream for garnish."

He pushed the plate in front of his friend and pulled out the chilled wine that lay in the bucket by their feet. Opening the bottle and letting the fizz die down, he poured the drink into their cold wine glasses and then sat down, watching his friend take unusually small bites.

"So about the children, Mon ami, where are they now?"

"They're staying in the spare rooms around headquarters, but there isn't anything we can do about their mental state."

"I suggest you bring them to the Lilian, that orphanage has a better supply of medical supplies and food, but it won't hold them for long."

Antonio nodded, chewing on the beignet with some thought.

"You mentioned a plan in your call with Ciro?"

"Oui, I have an idea of where you could place the children without too much hassle and they would be treated well." Francis smiled, tucking a piece of long blond hair behind his ear.

"I'm not sure if you'll agree to this though."

"Francis, mi amigo, when has your advice ever gone wrong?" the Spaniard smiled, placing a warm strawberry in his mouth.

"True," the Frenchman returned the smile, sipping on his delicate wine. He put the glass down and looked straight into the Spaniard's forest green eyes.

"I have heard rumors," Antonio cocked his head with interest, "that the Roma Famille is building a nursery for their mafiosi's children. A safe haven for them to play and for their parents to work, so to speak."

Antonio's face drew a blank at the mention of the Roma, the Spagna and Roma Familia were distant with each other, and after a long scuffle, they decided to maintain neutrality. This was, however, before he was born. Currently, the Spagna and Roma Familia were wary and often had no relations in business. But he knew their ruthlessness when it came to those outside their Familia, there was no way they would agree to any kind of business the Spagna would propose.

Slowly, his thoughts turned to a fiery Italian with burning hazel eyes and a dirty mouth. His face floated into his thoughts and he spaced out, mesmerized by his intensity. Those honest expressions while he cursed him out ever so cutely. Like a tomato…

"Antonio? Mon ami?"

"Mn?" The Spagna Boss turned to his companion, unaware if Francis had said anything in the last few seconds.

"You have a distant look in your eyes," Francis commented, staring at him with sudden scrutiny and then comprehension, leaning forward with a sly smile playing his face, "Ah, you have found a sweet little fish, non?"

Antonio blinked. "Fish? I haven't gone fishing in years."

The Frenchman resisted the urge to slap him, "Never mind, Antonio."

"Oh, okay. I don't know why you suddenly started talking about fish though. But anyways, I doubt that the Roma would be too accepting of those outside their Familia. Especially not from us."

"Oui, I understand the fragility between your alliance with them, however, this would provide a bridge to better relations. Besides, the Roma seem to have a soft spot for children recently."

"A soft spot for children? Since when? And what would be the point of connecting to ruthless Mafia like Roma?" Antonio furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

Francis smiled, and placed another beignet on his friend's plate, distracting the Spaniard from asking more probing questions, "They may be ruthless, but you can't deny they would be powerful allies. They take care of their own."

The Spaniard took another bite out of his beignet, lost in consideration.

"I'll think about it, Francis." He said, sipping on his starting to warm wine.

"Good, good. Would you like some more whipped cream, mon ami?"

"Si, gracis mi amigo."

They ate in silence, the sound of forks clinking on the plates creating a comfortable atmosphere. The rain outside had stopped.

Antonio's gaze drifted over the orchids lying delicately throughout the orchard. After a slight cough, he turned back to his friend.

"When will you send the children over?"

"Tonight."

Lovino stood in front of the safe house he had used just a few days ago as a lie to one tomato-bastard. The idiot hadn't crossed his mind in days now; he was too busy to ponder about something stupid anyways. He turned his head towards the sky. The rain had stopped now, the water dripping from the roof of the cozy house he often stayed at when his fratello wasn't home; most likely at that buff German's house. He rubbed his eyes with a part of his arm that was still clean and unlocking the door, he entered.

The house itself was quite simple, with warm and comfortable furniture and a refrigerator he kept well stocked. He turned the light on, and took off his boots, grabbed some spare clothes from the drawers of the bedroom, and went into the bathroom to take a shower and clear his mind.

As he turned the hot water on and stepped into the steamed glass stall, he began to think, the water relaxing his tense muscles, droplets tracing the ridges of his back.

Gramps was going on.

He felt his breath hitch as he started to cry once more. This time he let the sobs break free, filling the bathroom with torn cries.

There were so many things left unsaid, and he hadn't had a chance to even say that he loved him one more time, and he still needed to show Gramps that he would be a good Boss and a good heir and—and…he just knew that he wouldn't be able to see his grandfather's eyes open again.

His slender frame shook with his cries, and he hugged himself tight, standing under the hot water.

He still remembered the moment his grandfather had met him the second time, protecting him from a group of thugs.

It was a few days after he had first met Gramps, then thinking that he had met a very, very insane man.

He just came back from his early morning "work", to wake up his fratello, when he saw that his apartment door stood ajar, the hinges barely holding on.

Lovino rushed straight in, startled at the little furniture they had, had been upturned or broken. The walls had marks and dents from what looked like a crowbar. All the cabinets, the pantry, even the barely running refrigerator had been robbed clean.

Mio Dio.

The Italian stood, eyes wide as he took in the sight of their abode, he glanced toward a packet of pasta, broken on the ground. Feliciano. Lovino swirled around, his heart pounding loudly as he headed towards his brother's bedroom.

He ran through the small apartment, screaming his brother's name, not caring if the culprits might still be in their home.

As he swerved around a corner that led to his brother's bedroom, the soles of his torn sneakers left marks on the floor. Just as he was about to yell his fratello's name once more, the smell of cigarette smoke that he had long washed off his own belongings caught him off guard and he dropped to the ground on reflex, a crowbar barely missing his head.

A fit, muscular thug stood above him, tapping the metal on his shoulder in a teasing way. His head was shaven clean, and standing next to him was a man wearing a stiff leather jacket, sunglasses perched in his obviously dyed hair.

He glanced past the both men's feet to glance into the bedroom, his brother was hiding under the bed and staring straight at him, eyes wide in fear, tears trailing down his face.

"Hey, is this the one?" Lovino quickly averted his eyes, paying attention to the bald man above him.

"I think so, I'm not sure. Where is the other one?"

Lovino mentally smacked himself for leaving his body vulnerable and scrambled up, backing away from the bald man with the crowbar. Swerving his auburn head behind him, he saw the leering store keeper from a few days ago. The same store he had stolen the rigatoni from for his fratello.

"Shit."

"You and your brother are in it deep," the storekeeper chuckled, his leer coming back full force. "No one steals from my shop, kid."

He prowled towards Lovino's scared but defiant form, his eyes mentally stripping him, his leer turned perverted and his mouth curled into a grin.

"I'm sure I could sell you to some rich client for a lot of money."

"Fuck off!" Lovino spat and recoiled in disgust as the man tried to caress his cheek.

"You're feisty, I like that. People pay high if they're not broken you know." The older Vargas bared his teeth, his eyes glancing around for any kind of weapon he could use. At least they had stopped the search for his brother. The storekeeper was inching closer almost drooling, and the other two men watched with amusement.

"Maybe I should keep you to myself? I have plenty of toys—"

Lovino's fist met his face with the hardest punch he could muster. A crack resonated through the small apartment, signaling that the storekeeper howling in pain had broken his nose.

The two thugs advanced quickly and Lovino picked up the piece of glass lying next to his foot, the glass cutting through his hand, but he could hardly care.

Baldy, as he had dubbed him, swung the crowbar towards his stomach and he backed away, tripping over the torn couch, his head hitting the back of the couch with a thump.

The metal swung down towards his head and he rolled to the side, shards ripping through his shirt. Lovino quickly plunged the glass into the man's leg, causing Baldy to scream and the other man to curse, pulling out a gun. The Vargas brother scrambled up and ran, skidding through the torn apartment and ducking down, swerving left and right to avoid the gunshots that blasted the remaining furniture around him.

"Stop moving so fast!"

"Shut up, anf helm me wit this nose!"

Lovino ran out of the apartment, jumping down several steps at a time to get some kind of leeway.

As he ran out of the apartment, he screamed for help, strangers on the street glanced at him and backed away, afraid to get into any trouble. The blood in his hand was starting to drip down on the cracked pavement and he saw the two thugs point at him through the window of his apartment, yelling to get him.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

Lovino weaved between the strangers, pushing past staring crowds of people. Almost tripping over a kid, he made his way to the tight crevices of the older building in their neighborhood.

His head pounded with adrenaline and when he spotted a shadow covered area, he bolted towards it, feet striking the pavement.

As he found a tight spot, he stopped there to catch his breath, the tops of the buildings obscuring the light and casting darkness where he was squeezed.

Suddenly he could hear more shouting, this time from different people.

"Where the hell is he?"

"Did you say he had hazel eyes or blue eyes?"

"They said he went in there!"

"He's this way!"

"Quick!"

Footsteps mixed erratically as the voices went in different directions, and then started to pound closer to his hiding spot. Lovino held his breath, hoping they wouldn't find him.

"Just follow the blood!"

His face paled, glancing down at his bleeding hand. Fuck. He was fucked. Maybe even literally. He clenched his fist, trying to make the blood stop, his breath rushed out and then became becoming more desperate. No, dammit. Now was not the time to hyperventilate.

"I think he's in here!" A voice was dangerously close to his position and he tried to hold his breath again, panic rising to his throat, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He didn't want to die. Fuck he still had Feliciano and—

"Bambino, come here."

He turned his head and saw a hairy, big hand. He recognized it from a few days ago. The muscular, rich man.

"Don't just stand there, I'm here to help you." The voice was rough, but Lovino had a feeling he could trust this man. He grasped the man's hand and was suddenly pulled out of his hiding spot and into the chest of the older gentleman.

"Follow me, bambino."

He rushed forward blindly, trusting the man to guide him through the darkness. The occasional cracks of sunshine revealed the man's expensive suit, his darker auburn hair with prominent curls, and a shining ruby ring that sat on his left hand.

The man pulled him forward and into the blinding light, causing him to squint his eyes.

"There he is!" His heart skipped a beat as he spotted the sunglasses-dyed-hair-bastard from before. Several thugs following after him, and the storekeeper trailed behind, a cloth to his broken nose.

"Hey you!" he pointed to the muscular gentleman, "Get the fuck out of the way." He aimed his gun at the man.

The man only gave him a shit-eating grin.

He hugged Lovino in a tight squeeze, putting an arm around his shoulders and close to his built chest. He smelled like lemon trees.

"I think you're messing with the wrong Famiglia, il mio amico."

The sunglasses-bastard only smirked, "Do you know who we are? We're the Sparrows! The strongest gang in this neighborhood," He then gestured for the man to get out of the way, "now fuck off old man!"

The smile decreased slightly, and suddenly the curly haired man's stare darkened.

"Farro."

A woman wearing a deep red overcoat and long brown hair stepped into view, black rimmed glasses perched on her elegant nose, covering deep blue eyes.

"Si, Boss."

The storekeeper's face paled as he got a good view over the blood covered cloth of the man they were threatening.

He stepped up to the sunglasses-bastard and slapped him on the back of the head, causing his sunglasses to fall to his face.

"You idiota! Merda! Don't you know who that is?"

"I—"

"Boss!" Several men and women stepped out from the shadows, wearing black suits, and carrying guns. They outnumbered them 31 to 14.

Lovino looked up to the dangerously grinning man pressing him to his chest, the awe overcoming the pain from the small cuts he had sustained from his roll in the glass of his apartment.

Who the hell was he?

"Do you know who we are?" The man holding him asked mockingly.

He pulled Lovino closer, the smell of lemons enhanced by his proximity.

"We are the Roma Famiglia. The strongest mafia in all of Italy."

His grin turned up and the men and women in suits raised their guns, all pointed towards The Sparrows.

"And you just injured my grandsons."

Lovino stood in the shower, a small smile on his face. Gramps was cool, despite his cryptic actions most of the time. However, the small smile quickly slipped off his face as he was reminded that his grandfather was…going on.

He stood silent in the shower for a little while longer, lost in thought, and too tired to move; The water slowly becoming cold, pouring on his shivering back. His hair only damp after drying out once more, he snapped out of his daze and washed the soap out of his hair in the cold water. He stepped out of the shower, pulling a towel off the rack, he dried himself and didn't care to wrap the towel around his waist. Dropping it to the floor, he put on his clothes, and with a weary sigh, went downstairs.

It was late. The stars had shown brightly outside, the clouds had cleared. His eyes felt like they were going to drop any second, and his mind began to wander about, trying to avoid the topic of his grandfather, preferring not to think at all.

Opening the dresser drawer, he glanced at the pack of cigarettes lying innocently at the bottom.

He had forgotten about those, but the memory of when he bought those cigarettes hastily, desperate for some kind of comfort when he couldn't handle the burden anymore… he had decided not to then, figuring that his burdens weren't worth the trouble. Lovino stared hard at the pack, debating with himself. He had been clean for over five years.

His expression turned dazed, and he reached down to pick up the cigarettes—

His cell vibrated on the hard wood of the dresser's counter.

He glanced at his phone, noticing that he had gotten several messages. Half curious, he picked it up and read they were from Feliciano.

Feliciano…

As he read the messages, they all asked where he was, if he was coming home.

That Feliciano was at home waiting for him. That he needed him there.

Lovino felt his heart constrict and he tried to swallow a lump that just turned into slight tears.

His fratello needed him home.

He shut the drawer with a slam, picked a jacket off the rack, shut the lights, locked the door, and then ran into the cool night air. To his idiota fratello; To his home.

Antonio sat on the park bench in his favorite tomato t-shirt and a pair of jeans, watching the shadows. The air was still moist from the previous storm, he sat uncaringly on his damp seat and began to think.

Despite what many people thought, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was a thinker. He pondered much, and often he spent the time away from the mafia going over his past, turning over the memories like an old photo album. That, however, led him to the particular moment he had come across a fiery Italian. An escape from his duties, undercover of course, led to one of his favorite restaurants, which led to the irate man he had met.

Antonio frowned at that thought, wishing that the shorter man was still safe, and hopefully oblivious to the workings around him.

While in thought, he never noticed an auburn haired shadow sprinting behind him, smelling of lemons and cursing pavement.

Yeah... sorry for such a short chapter, but like I said before. I have a lot of things on my mind and a lot of life stuff to take care of. Some advice for those still in highschool and living with their families: don't take your family for granted. Sometimes, they're the only thing you've really got. :)

In other news, I'm not sure when I'll update again, so I'm going to call a hiatus! Of course, I intend on continuing this, but not until I get settled down and everything.

Peace!

-Petaldancer