It was early in the morning and the sun shone through the tall window of Michele Vento's study.

There were only two rooms like that in this house, which the twins liked to call a mansion, and they had never seen the one upstairs.

You couldn't say they hadn't tried various times though. It was always locked, the tall window shuttered tightly.

And if they found a way to go around this, Michele had showed up every single time, it was almost creepy. They still could remember it clearly.

That one time with the ladder …

"You said you'd be in town until midnight!"

"You said you would keep out of mischief! Get off that ladder immediately, you two!"

Or when they had tried it from inside…

"Marco, Lorenzo, you can practise your lock picking skills with any door but this."

"It d-didn't work anyways, big brother …"

But when Marco whispered "Il padrino is acting suspicious lately" into his brother's ear and got a "He surely is" from Lorenzo in the same quiet tone as response they meant it different. Michele didn't fit into the norm – but so did what he was doing lately. Didn't fit into his norm.

Truth to be spoken, you could have said the first one about the twins as well.

Not only did they share their tanned skin, their short, dark brown curls and amber eyes, but also their behaviour, the way they moved and talked; Even Michele still struggled to keep them apart.

But they weren't acting as suspicious as him right now.

"Should we ask?" Marco whispered again.

"Or should we not?" his brother murmured.

"Stop the mumbling you two" Michele started speaking without any warning and without turning towards them, causing the twins to cringe. "Tell me what you want."

"Sure! We just wondered, because-" Marco started.

"- you were acting strange lately. We mean, since yesterday" Lorenzo continued.

Michele stopped adjusting his tie in front of the mirror and looked at them, one eyebrow raised.

The twins took a deep breath.

Though they knew him for almost 8 years now, they sometimes still couldn't figure him out.

Was he annoyed?

Was he curious?

They guessed curious.

"Since yesterday?" he asked in a tone as if he was not getting the idea.

"To be exactly, since yesterday afternoon" Lorenzo added. Do you really don't know, Michele?

"Since yesterday afternoon after we met the … Irish" Marco corrected. Or are you playing games here?

"I see, I see … and in which way I'm acting strange?" Michele asked in the same tone again and the twins had to sigh almost silently.

"Well, you're … talking a lot about Signore O'Connel …" Marco said and looked away, scratching his head.

"Well, he is a client, why shouldn't I talk about him?" Michele asked and grabbed his blazer, putting it on.

"It's just … you're talking about him in … a non-business-level manner" Lorenzo mentioned and looked away, scratching his head.

Michele looked at them and smirked shortly: "Oh, you mean that. Is that so surprising? I talk like that about a lot of people who come to me on business-level."

"Well" they said in sync. "Yes."

"And that I am flirting with them isn't so new either."

"Yeah but if they reject you, you're fine and leave them alone. I mean, if they meet you on business-level" Marco said a bit resentful.

"But in that case you don't let go of the idea to seduce this redhead. And we just don't get it!" Lorenzo stated.

"Especially when he rejected you rudely like that!" both stressed.

Michele looked upwards and sighed before he turned to them with a patient smile: "Marco, Lorenzo, hold up right there. First – he didn't reject me rudely. He was rude but didn't reject me once and for all. Second – that's the point in it. Well, that and his cute face."

They looked at each other while Michele muttered something with "eyebrows" to himself, having the same thoughts: Il padrino got to be kidding us. He got to be goddamn kidding us.

Marco: "See, Michele, we would get this if he'd be a beautiful young woman, you know, sicilian and hot temper!"

"He is hot tempered, trust me" Michele said. "He's actually a bit more than hot tempered."

Lorenzo: "Or a handsome guy! Someone who's more like us two!"

"Pretty vain, aren't you?" Michele joked and they snickered. "Do I have to repeat that he's handsome? In his own flawed, cute Irish way of course. Why shouldn't I want to at least give it a serious try?"

"Why should you?!" Marco said, taking his talking-gestures to a new level and earned an exhausted sigh by their older brother.

"It's not worth it, seriously" Lorenzo added and Michele almost groaned.

"Could you please tell me at least why it isn't worth it, Signori?" he asked.

"This is some business affair, not someone you see at the bar in the evening! We know that you like to flirt and we know you're pretty persistent if you found somebody willing to do this playful back and forth. But with the redhead, you want to make him" Lorenzo explained.

"What makes this O'Connel so special in every single way, Michele? You're so … so damn …" Marco looked for a word, but his boss did this for him:

"Fixed on him?" it came from Michele, voice and eyes so cold that the twins had to share a surprised look from the corner of their eyes. "Obsessed? Or what are you trying to frame me for?"

"Nothing!" they shouted. "Michele, we are just – "

"Shht."

He looked back at the mirror:

"Yeah. I might be acting strange with this one. He's here for business, he comes to me like all these poor sinners seeking for help, but first of all, he is so much higher ranked than all those others and second … yeah, secondly I am not making him. This is a back and forth already, a really currish one, yes. But it's so much fun!" He grinned absentminded: "You know what he does? He interests me."

"What is so interesting about him?" Marco asked, completely helpless. "Those monstrosities he probably calls eyebrows?"

"He's just some leprechaun with a bad temper!" Lorenzo said exasperatedly.

"Wrong, signori. This guy has something like … I really don't know it. But there's something more, there's some fire in those green eyes. And I'm planning to burn myself while playing with it before I put it out."

He adjusted his blazer one last time before smiling at them: "Just trust me, will you?"

After a break of silence he added: "That was a serious question. Will you just trust me with this one?"

He smiled at them and they shared a look of uncertainness before replying: "Alright Michele – Do as you think of it as necessary."

"I knew you'd understand" he said. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm away."

Marco: "Never!"

Lorenzo: "How could we!"

He simply smiled once more, added a "I mean it" and was out of the room.

"We're 20!" Lorenzo called after him.

"Not 2!" Marco backed his brother.

The only answer was laughter.

"Il padrino must be gone completely nuts!" Marco moaned a little later and let himself fall onto the couch.

"Sí! And I hope this redhead is worth it, whatever will happen…" his brother murmured, hopping on the desk.

Harry woke up when the sun shone through the window of the room right on his bed. After opening his eyes and turning towards the sun, he sneezed and blinked several times.

"The fuck is that big yellow thing in the sky!" he shouted huskily and stretched, getting up and walking over to the window. It was a tall one, white curtains letting the light through but blocking a clear view on the world outside.

Yesterday he hadn't been curious what he could see from here, too busy talking with the others, trying to come up with a plan and most importantly, trying to forget about the unfortunate meeting with Michele.

But when he pulled the curtains aside – very rough admittedly – to glare at the sun, he almost felt himself warming towards the Sicilian just for picking this hotel. He wondered when it was the last time he had seen water so blue and glistening like the one in the harbour right in front of his eyes. Yachts were seesawing on the water, palm trees gently rocking back and forth due to the wind.

"Now that's what I call priceless …" he said to himself, almost sticking his face to the pane to get a better look at the other coasts of the bay, mentally adding It might really is, I can guess what this must have cost.

The light orange colour of most of the houses shone bright and he didn't know where to stare first. The lack of darkly coloured buildings made the entire city seem like sunshine. Down here it was a huge part of the life and he couldn't mind the blinding sunlight anymore.

His mobile phone rang from somewhere beside the bed, interrupting his admiration for Palermo's harbour and philosophising about weather and culture.

"I'm there in a second, goddammit" he cursed and walked back, grabbing it, barely paying attention to the caller ID.

"Hello?" he answered with a pissed voice.

"Good morning, Mister Grumpy and I-don't-bother-to-tell-other-people-that-I'm-still-alive" the voice on the other side of the call answered, female and sarcastic in tone.

"Soph!" Harry said surprised.

"Yes, I! Your little sister who is actually worried about you idiot!" Sophie O'Connel gave back upset. "Come on! Just one little call after you arrived down there would have been enough!"

"Oh god Soph, I somehow completely forgot that you could be worried!" he laughed.

"But I am, you tosser! How can I be not worried?!" she spat angrily.

"I could burn down our house because of a cooking accident, grill myself that I'm fit for the hospital and all you would ask would be 'Are you still eating this?'"

"First of, we both know that what you cook isn't edible in first place, second the scenario works vice versa as well and third – this would be something different!"

"I am just traveling, the only thing that could happen here in Italy is that somebody steals my wallet. Seriously, don't worry Sophie, if there's no shit to worry about."

"Are you kidding me? … Seriously, brother, are you frickin' trying to kid me?! You aren't just traveling, you are doing your damn job and this damn job is what killed dad."

Now it grew silent for a few seconds on each sides of the phone.

"Soph, please. Not that topic again. You worry way too much" Harry sighed quietly.

"No, I don't!" Sophie snapped at him, her voice yet steady. "I don't worry too much! I cannot worry too much, git!"

It annoyed the living daylights out of the Irish that his sister was right or even if she was not, he could say nothing against her words, nothing to make her anxiety go away. He couldn't help at all.

"Sophie, I swear, I am promising you that I will return home alive. In one piece and not toxicated."

She snickered at his easy-going tone, but still sounded worried and tired when she replied:

"Scout's honour?"

"Scout's honour. Cross my heart and hope to die."

None of them said a word for a few seconds before Sophie asked, now way more her carefree self:

"Are the other guys okay, too?"

"Well, Charlie's a bloody annoying idiot and Paddy's an old man done with both of us, so yes."

"Other people would say 'things as usual'."

"Am I other people Soph."

"No, you are Frecky."

"Oh goddammit, now you can worry for Charlie. This bloody nickname…"

"It's a nice one. It suits you."

"It's not a nice one and we both have the same amount of freckles, but you are called 'sheep' and I am Frecky. You're a perfect animal and I'm the freckled arsehole!"

"You are a freckled arsehole!"

"That's true but beside the point!"

"Then stop complaining!" She laughed. "When will you be back?"

"Soon. After I either have a deal with a certain guy or have beaten him up like I do with others in a bar fight. And believe me, the second one is definitely going to happen first."

She replied again with laughter: "Nice to know. But please don't get into trouble because of that."

Harry smiled: "When did I ever get in trouble at work?"

"Oh, I don't know, but I bet a lot; I actually bet you tumble from one mess in another."

"Shut it you clumsy freckled sheep, you have the right to be worried when you stop falling down the school staircase."

"That was one time, I didn't even break anything but I do remember when your freckled arse was in the hospital because SOMEBODY had to put a friend's skateboard to the test at the freaking docks!"

"The only one allowed to complain about this is David that I broke his skateboard, you and Charlie shut-"

Somebody knocked at his door.

"I'll call you this evening, okay Soph? I will call you each evening that I'm here, deal?" he tried to end the call, eyes on the door.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay, then … hear you later. Try not to drown in any harbours in the meantime."

"Don't fall down any stairs in the meantime, brat."

"Tosser" was Soph's last word before she hung up and Harry called "Who's there?" to the door.

"Sorry I interrupted your phone call with Soph, Frecky" Charlie answered him. "But Vento called and he wants to meet with us at 10 in the building to – I want to quote his exact words – 'Finish where we left of yesterday.'"

Harry had heard the grin in the voice and the chuckling from outside didn't made it any better.

"So I'd advise you to put on some clothes, grab some breakfast and then help us get our shit together, Boss."

"Get our shit together and teach this Sicilian wanker a lesson" Harry muttered while looking for his pants.

It could have been a nice day since it didn't rain like it usually did in London. Arthur Kirkland however, had too much problems to enjoy it.

Besides, grey skies and rain tapping against the window of his office would have fit his mood way better.

"Why couldn't you little pathetic leprechaun just stay there in your hole and die slowly?" the Englishman snarled, trying to read the Guardian for the third time this morning but once again without success. He just couldn't concentrate since there was maybe a problem.

This goddamned maybe was what upset the blond. If the rumours that O'Connel sought for help for his business down there in Sicily were true, he most certainly had to deal with a problem, namely Irish becoming one.

Arthur already had this bloody powerful scot here on the isles, not to forget the rather shady Welshman, so he didn't need another serious troublemaker so close to him.

The only thing he needed even less was not knowing what was going on. Even without actively doing something, O'Connel was going on his nerves, making the Irish annoying on a level that it was impressive.

He heard the door open, followed by a "Sir?"

Arthur turned towards Robert Bailey, who just entered the room, his boss having a frown on his face: "Did you just enter my office without knocking, Mister Bailey?"

"The rumours are just got proven right and I think that this information is rather important so I didn't want to waste time, Sir."

Now Arthur cocked one of his thick eyebrows, still unimpressed: "It's still not very gentlemanly to just enter my office without knocking."

Robert sighed: "Since we found out that from all the Sicilian clans he begs Vento I didn't really bother with being a gentleman this time."

He paused shortly: "It's not going to happen again though, Sir." Not that it sounded genuine. Not that Arthur cared about the manners of his right hand man now.

He had hardly suppressed a hiss when he heard the name Vento, before taking a deep breath: "Thanks for the information Mister Bailey. You may leave now and tell Rashid I want to see him."

"The Irish are in Sicily right now, Sir. Should we take chances?"

"We'll see. But if we can get rid of both of them at once, who am I to say no to the opportunity."

After he had left the room, Arthur started to read the newspaper for the fourth time by now, except this time with full concentration.

The situation just got as bad as anticipated, but at least he knew now what to do. That was enough for an Englishman to finally read his bloody newspaper in peace.

"You're the third one to interrupt me minding my own business and I swear Bailey, If you don't have a good reason you will be the first one I take my anger out on" Tahir Rashid had threatened the taller blond when somebody tapped his shoulder with a "Oi!" while he had been occupied with this morning's issue of The Independent lying on the table of their conference room.

"I'm sorry that your majesty actually has to work but the boss wants to see you" Robert had responded with an amused grin, for the Pakistani-Brit an invitation to make him this morning's punching bag. Instead he got up and adjusted his suit jacket:

"What's today's case?"

"Just told him about the O'Connel/Vento thing, we're most likely going to Sicily."

Tahir frowned and looked at him: "So it's true? The Irish was really stupid enough to take Vento's obvious bait?"

"Birds of a feather flock together, both desperate bastards that are clutching at any straw" the other said and sat down on the table, earning a look of disapproval from his colleague. "Or do you have any other explanation?"

One you wouldn't like to hear he thought, one I actually would like to not have thought of either.

"Make sure to knock!" Robert called when Tahir was almost out of the room, returning a "What kind of rude barbarian are you to not knock?! And get your arse off the table!"

"Get your head out of your arse, Rashid!"

Arthur finished his newspaper and got up, turning to the window.

The forecast had been right – the week of rain was over again. Soon, the heat would return and everyone who had been complaining about no real summer would soon regret it.

British summers were invented by the devil himself – it was as if the sun tried to provide the heat it refused to give over the rest of the year all at once.

Today was just a sunny day and yet he was already glad to escape before it returned because nothing, not even Sicily's weather or its pesky mafiosi, could be as deadly as this hell at home.

He let his eyes wander around more but there was not much happening in the street.

A few people, most of them in suit or another kind of business hurried down the sidewalk into one of the many other old brick buildings in the street, not paying much attention to what or who was around them. He rarely saw something else, his view as monotone as the life of the rest here. Every day the same routine, every day the same talk in all the other offices in this street. Long ago, this street had been part of an industrial quarter, far away from the rich part of London, from the bourgeois and the monarchy.

Yet Arthur could hardly believe that all those tycoons and their employees were any different from all the labourers who had hurried down this street over 150 years ago, both just working themselves to death in the brick red houses and believing they were important.

Well, the labourers had been important indeed.

He still stood in front of the window when somebody knocked.

"Come in."

The Pakistani-Brit said nothing, simply opened and closed the door.

"Have you heard it already?"

"We're going to Sicily to kill two birds with one stone, Sir?"

He smiled and looked out of the window again: "You're dead-on, Rashid."