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“Finish everything swiftly, and without hesitation. Do not disappoint the capo. That’s all.” Bruno Bucciarati, stern and unbreakable, gave his team one last firm look before turning to leave their hideout at the restaurant. In his absence, the room stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Something was wrong. Guido Mista, just as concerned as the rest, finally rose from his chair and gave chase. Catching up, he found Bruno in the alley beside the restaurant.
“Bucciarati!” Mista grabbed Bruno’s hand. “Is everything okay?”
“Mista, what are you doing?” Bruno’s face was stoned, though barely hiding the exhaustion through the cracks in his mask.
“I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself lately. Listen, you know I’m always here for you if you’re getting too worked up again. I promised-” Mista paused when the other yanked his hand free of his gentle grasp.
“Mista, that’s enough.” His words were sharp with annoyance.
“I”, Mista paused trying to understand his boss’s unusual hostility. This wasn’t normal, he’s never talked to him like this. “If there’s anything I can do, tell me. I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Then finish your orders.” The young boss waved the gunslinger away and took off. As he walked away, Mista noticed how dirty the other’s clothes were.
…
The body landed in the recently emptied dumpster with a metallic thud. Mista began replacing the full trash bags on top to "spare public eyes", but really to avoid cops that hadn't given up on the system yet. It was a pain in the ass he didn't feel like dealing with after his rough morning. Finished with the last thug that messed with paid protected businesses, Mista dusted himself off and headed back to the restaurant. Back at base, the energy was the usual chaos. Abbacchio turned away from the (rather entertaining) bickering between Narancia and Fugo over homework, and focused on the man sitting next to him.
"Mista." The gunslinger jolted. "You've been on the same page for the past 30 minutes. Got another concussion?"
"Ah, no. Not this time." He shook his head.
"Then you're quiet. What's going on?"
“I, er, Bucciarati. Something’s been different, and I don’t know how to help him. It’s been eatin’ me up.” He finally gave up on his book and tossed it on the table, alerting the other two to the conversation about their leader. “You guys noticed too, right?”
The three exchanged glances, all with visible concern. They did.
“Any idea what’s happening?” Mista asked, growing more and more concerned now that he knew he wasn't alone. Narancia and Abbacchio both shook their heads, and silence returned to the room.
Fugo’s eyes widened and he bit down hard on his lip. The 3 other men picked up on this early sign aggression: Narancia slowly and silently backing up, Abbacchio entirely too confident that his long legs would be quick enough to bail if Purple Haze appeared, and Mista figuring out the logistics of jumping into Abbacchio’s arms if shit hit the fan. The plague user finally lashed out to grab the knife off his plate and plunged it into the table, sparing the three idiots on standby. When his vice grip on the handle loosened and the color in his knuckles returned, he let out a frustrated sigh.
“I forgot.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose in both remembrance and frustration. “It was when I first joined Bucciarati, and he was letting me stay at his apartment. Everything was so turbulent and unstable back then, we were just making a name for ourselves and he was still trying to win Polpo’s favor-”
“Come on, you’re rambling. Spit it out.” whined an impatient Narancia. His whining stopped as Fugo tightened his grip on the knife again. “Take your time.”
Another sigh. “It’s almost the anniversary of his father’s death. I found out when he stopped by the grave late at night when he thought I was asleep in the passenger seat. He looked out of it, so I followed him quietly to make sure he stayed safe. Stupid of him to drop his guard that late at night. I asked him about it later at home, but he didn’t go into details.”
“Dude, with a brain like yours, how the hell did you forget that?!” Mista bitched, furrowing his brows, and quieted real quickly as a knife buzzed just over his head. “Kidding kidding kidding. Hey, Fugo, have I ever told you how amazing and forgiving you are and how everyone makes mistakes and please don’t kill me.”
Abbacchio carefully stifled his laugh to keep Fugo’s other utensils away from him, and cleared his throat. “I bet it had to do with the mob. He’s been extra violent lately with rival gangsters. Set one guy on fire. Kinda impressive.”
“I’ve caught him staring at himself in the reflection of store windows.” Mista started after ensuring his hat survived the knife. “He looked disgusted. I thought he saw something inside the stores at first, but it’s been happening more often. And now his clothes…”
“Yeah, he looks terrible!” Narancia piped up. “Has anyone seen him eat anything recently? I’m getting worried.” The group exchanged glances, silently realizing how poorly the man had been coping with the death.
Mista plopped into his chair, and leaned back with a sigh. “We’ve gotta do something. This isn’t his usual stress, and it’s gonna get him sick or worse.” Silent agreement filled the air between the men. Worse was always a possibility when you weren’t at your sharpest in their line of work. He’d hoped his usual efforts to ease his boss’s stress would’ve helped some, but lately Bruno had been avoiding any alone time with the gunslinger. If he was a dumber man, he’d think the young boss was tired of him. However, grief is a bitch. Especially the complicated grief that comes with being in the mob.
“We all have our pasts, and we all have our ways of dealing with them. However, I think he needs someone to just give him a hand as he goes through this. Just like when…” Abbacchio trailed off his sentence to drown the ending in his glass of wine. The rest of the group knew the feeling. Buccarati helped the others when grief became too big of a task that other necessities were left behind. Narancia on the anniversary of his mother’s death, Fugo during the annual graduations of his old university, and Abbacchio on the day of his partner’s death.
Mista silently cringed at the thought of the day that left him entirely alone. The feeling didn’t last long, however, as he slapped his hands to the top of his lap. “Well, then I think I know what to do. Up to helping out?” Mista asked as a determined smile grew on his face.
…
Knowing his boss was stuck at an early morning meeting with Polpo, Mista used his spare key to enter Bucciarati’s small home. He fumbled with the paper bags filling his arms for a while before electing to try to close and lock the door with his ass. To his surprise (and pride) it worked. He turned towards the living room, noting the dirty clothes littering the staircase on the opposite side. He didn’t have to get very far before the smell of the neglected dishes in the kitchen sink smacked him in the face. The rest of the space wasn’t any better. The floor was sticky with an unknown spill, the counters were cluttered with empty bottles, and the trash can… Mista tried to think back to the last time he’d been in the home, realizing that it had gotten this bad in just 3 weeks. In the time Mista knew him, Bruno was a moderately tidy guy. He never lost paperwork and laundry would always be done, but he’d opt to eat at restaurants to avoid washing dishes. This, however, was not his norm. Mista set the bags down on one of the few empty corners of the small dining table, and grabbed the roll of trash bags he somehow knew he would be needing. The Sex Pistols manifested around him, whining about the scent.
“Mistttaaaaa” cried out Cinque “what happened? Is Bruno sick?”
“Ah, er, not quite. But, we are gonna help him out a bit. I’m gonna hang a couple trash bags against the chairs. Knock as much trash as you can in them.” Mista instructed as he opened the bags.
“Including the dishes?” Uno questioned, making a face at the mess in the basin.
God, I wish. “No, I’ll handle those. Thank god I keep gloves for particularly stubborn goons.” Mista sighed as he casually dodged a flying bottle, put his fresh groceries in the fridge (which would also need work), and got to working on the dishes. Once the sink was empty, he started wiping surfaces the Pistols had cleared and fully emptying his bags on the now clean counters. He walked over to every window he could find, and opened them to welcome in much needed fresh air. The morning light added life to the dreary space, but also highlighted how badly the floors needed to be cleaned. Fridge first, Mista thought as he walked back to the unit with another empty bag in hand. A couple items had gone long past their life, but the bigger concern was how empty the fridge was. If Mista hadn’t already bought pretty much everything he needed for his planned dishes, he definitely wouldn’t have found anything in here. Even for the mess in the sink, the number of dishes had been low for 3 weeks worth of abandonment. He hasn’t been eating. Forgetting that his relatively new stands are essentially a hive mind of himself, Mista jumped a bit when greeted to Sei inches away from his face continuing the conversation in his head out loud.
“I’m worried for Bruno, Mista.” the stand let out in a shaky voice. Sei was usually calmer than his step down, but the small colony stands had grown just as attached to their boss as Mista had.
Mista eyed the almost completely empty fridge before turning back to Sei. "That's fair, but we're gonna help him."
"Is it enough?" Tre shouted out after punting a crumpled napkin into the trash bag.
"Ah, well." Mista leaned his head to one side and furrowed his brows in thought. "He's mourning, not well, but it's obviously not your usual 90 year old Nana passing away kind of mourning." He silenced, moving his gaze towards the floor while rising off his knees from his spot in front of the fridge. "Um, stands? Stands like you guys have always been a part of their user, but just never were physically… there, right?"
"Um, yeah, kinda?" Uno answered.
"So, do you guys remember back 4 years ago?” The room silenced, save for Cinque’s quiet sobs. They remember. “Well, I think Bruno’s going through a lot. A lot more than I can fully understand. He’s got that bad habit of letting his stress get out of hand. We’ve all got our ways of dealing with these things, but I don’t want him to be abandoned because of it either. I respect his privacy enough not to pry about his past, but I think giving him a clean place to hide out in and some good food won’t hurt. I mean, I’ve already tidied up here before during my ‘sleepovers’, but hopefully he won’t mind the sudden 180 change. So”, Mista picked up his head with a wide grin, “let’s finish cleaning up so I can get cookin’.”
The Sex Pistols cheered with determination. Uno, Dos, and Tre returned to trash duty, while Cinque, Sei, and Sette were tasked with trying to find a mop and inspect the rest of the house for a mess. Mista noticed a radio sitting on the counter top, and eagerly flipped the power switch on for some music to work to. No response. He bet the radio died when the sink smell hit it. Maybe he could find batteries somewhere. He grabbed some baking soda from a cabinet and chopped up one of the lemons he purchased to squeeze the juice from. Down the sink went the powder and juice, and he left to work on the rest of the house while the mixture battled whatever food stuffs stunk up the pipes so badly. Mista got to work gathering the dirty laundry scattered across the living room and stairs before running into the mess in the bedroom. The bed was a mess, the sheets needed a wash badly, and a variety of clothes, towels, and shoes were scattered across the floor. Worse was it looked like Bruno decided a pillow had personally wronged him, and an absolute murder scene of feathers coated the room. Sette flew into the room and whistled at the sight.
“Any chance you could help me collect all the feathers?” Mista asked, scratching the back of his neck.
“I can pick up exactly one feather at a time, and it’s too light for me to be able to kick it into a trash bag. Sorry, Mista.”
“That’s okay, Sette. Any updates on the rest of the place?” Mista asked as he put down the laundry on the bed to start collecting feathers.
“The other two are still looking for the mop. This was my first time seeing the office during the day, and, man, is it a mess.”
“Oh damn, I think you’re right.” Mista chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do about that, but messing with the papers too much might make a bigger job for the bossman than if I just leave them be. Thanks, Sette.” The stand flew off out of the room, and Mista finished throwing out all the feathers. Dirty laundry in hand, he moved to the bathroom to start sorting and adding to the washing machine. After starting the machine, he turned to the rest of the bathroom and walked over to the storage locker in the corner. Opening it revealed a happy Cinque, the mop, and other much needed cleaning agents.
“Mistaaaaa! I found the mop!” Chirped the tiny stand.
“I can see that. Thanks, Cinque.” The stand perched on his shoulder as he grabbed the mop and the bucket. He also grabbed a bottled cleaner and some rags, revealing a pack of batteries. “Oh hell yeah, I’ll finish in here and get that radio going.” Bathroom cleaned and laundry running, he moved to the bedroom, and then to finally finish the floors in the kitchen/living room. The place wasn’t perfect, but it was night and day different than before. And, god bless, the sink didn’t stink anymore. He fished the batteries out of his pocket and popped them in the radio. Switching alive, the radio filled the room with a local jazz station Bruno was known to love. Soft rock was more Mista’s speed, but he’d kinda missed all the parts of his boss that had been absent these past weeks. The urge to sit down for a minute was strong, but he had a lot left to finish before the boss finished his meeting with Polpo. He walked over to the fridge and pulled out the porcini mushrooms he knew Bruno loved, lemons, fresh basil and parsley, and shallots. “Oh wait”, Mista reached into the only paper bag left full and pulled out the “sexy” apron Bruno bought him as a joke. White frilly sleeves and skirt, but black writing on the chest with an arrow pointing up to “The Man” and an arrow pointing down to “The Legend”. “How do I look?” He asked, turning to the Pistols with a smirk on his face.
“Like a bottom.” Tre flatly stated causing the other stands to start laughing uncontrollably.
“Thanks, Tre, I can always count on you to be honest. Bitch disease is fatal, get well soon.” He reached across the counter to grab the tomatoes and garlic, and got busy chopping, dicing, and crushing all the components. He had just finished putting the marinating tomatoes together in a large bowl before the alarm for the washing machine went off. “I’ll start on the beurre blanc after I get those sheets up to dry. Um, did any of you guys find where he has his lines up? I didn’t see them through the balcony doors.”
“Mista, it’s so cool, he has roof access! There’s a whole bunch of clotheslines up and some plants. Come up, and bring some water for them. They looked pretty dry.” Sei beamed with excitement as he went on about his discovery.
“Can do.” He marched up the stairs, stuffed the wet linens in the basket, and grabbed his bucket filled with water to follow his stands. He walked back in the bedroom, and opened the balcony door. There was a small table, and 2 folded chairs against the wall. To his right was an old spiral staircase. A short climb revealed a small flat access surrounded by the rest of the roof on a higher elevation and slanted. Bruno somehow managed to hang 3 lines up in the small space and jammed 5 large popped plants in the already cramped space. Aloe vera, that one he could make out. The other 4… not so much. Thinking on it a bit more, Mista figured out that excess lines must have been left over from when Bruno took in Fugo and probably Narancia for a short period. He had empty nest syndrome already at only 20, huh? As much as the thought made him giggle, his boss’s newfound loneliness might explain why his stress kept getting so out of hand. Mista got to work quickly hanging the white bedsheets, white towels, and white clothes. Laundry goes way faster when pretty much everything is the same color. With everything up, he grabbed his water bucket and gave the plants a much needed drink. The sky was, thankfully, clear despite it being the rainy season. No worries about the laundry getting wet. He grabbed the bucket and basket, and descended back down the stairs and to the kitchen.
Mista pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. 1100. God, how long had he been cleaning? God, how long was Bruno still stuck with Polpo? He clasped his hands in a silent prayer to Saint Monica, hoping that patience would bless his poor overworked boss. He reached over to the radio and switched to a local oldies rock station. Hotel California played as Mista added shallots, butter, white wine, red wine vinegar, cream, and soy sauce to a sauce pot and let it reduce. In a frying pan, he added even more butter and sautéed the mushrooms, adding seasoning where needed. The fresh scallops Narancia scrambled to get from the local fish market went straight into the oven for roasting along with the baguette slices. The Sex Pistols chowed down on some much earned slices of salami while Mista sung along to Under Pressure, and continued to sautee the buttered mushrooms. He had finished plating his freshly roasted scallops, mushrooms, and beurre blanc, and placed it on the table along with some plates and the nice bottle of chardonnay Abbacchio gave him to pair with the shellfish. He was singing and swaying his hips to Big Love while spooning tomatoes on toasted baguette slices when a hand came down and slapped his ass with a loud *smack*. He yelped and scrambled around to find his boss staring at him with a very confused expression.
“I-” Mista turned to the Sex Pistols who had been lounging on the counter after gorging themselves with fancy salami. “Why didn’t you guys say someone was sneaking up behind me?!”
“He wanted us to be quiet.” Cried Cinque.
“And what’s he gonna do? Stab you?” Chimed in Dos.
“Yeah, and he’s already done that to you upstairs.” Tre added, causing Mista to turn beet red and the colony stands to devolve into laughter.
“I thought I walked into the wrong house.” Bruno interrupted, trying to hide the smirk on his face. “Music was playing, it smelt nice, and was not at all what I left behind this morning.” He let out a long sigh, looking like a tire letting out air, and placed his hand on the back of his neck. “I kinda wish you had asked me before coming over. I would’ve cleaned up some. And maybe had you come a bit later. I’ve been kinda swamped, but I guess you’ve figured that much out.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I should’ve checked with you. I’m lucky you didn’t zipper me into the oven, considering that goon you left crispy yesterday.”
Bruno let out a bit of a nervous laugh, still taking in the extent of the work Mista had done during his meeting. “Well, it’s not like we’re strangers, and you aren’t the only one with a spare key in the group. I just- You did a lot here, and I feel kinda bad.”
“Don’t be. Listen, Bruno, I was getting worried about you. I started noticing little things that were adding up to something being a bigger problem than the usual mob stuff. I bounced it off with the guys just to check if I was imagining things, and everyone was getting worried. Hope you don’t mind us talkin’ ‘bout you?” Mista asked with a nervous smile.
“Well, I think every job has people talking about their boss. I’m under no illusion that you guys don’t yap about me, but you really don’t need to worry about me.” Bruno walked next to Mista so he could lean against the kitchen counter. He looked exhausted, and was struggling to hide it within his own home.
“Here.” Mista reached behind himself to one of the finished bruschetta and handed it over. “I had been wanting to make this for you for a long while now, so it’s nothing that I wasn’t going to do eventually.”
“Bruschetta?” He asked, biting into the slice and letting out a surprised hum.
Mista fought back his growing pride. “Yeah, I owe you some from back when I joined you. It’s not like it’s a bad dish to begin with, but I’ve been kinda craving it more often. Glad you like it.” Mista grinned as he watched Bruno scarf down the first piece and eagerly grab another. “Fugo told us about your dad. Well, just that he thought the anniversary was coming up. Nothing really beyond that.”
“Ah.” Bruno finally said when his mouth was empty enough to speak, smile falling from his face and into something sadder. “Yes, it is.”
“Listen, I ain’t gonna ask you about it. It’s clear enough that it’s a tough time for you, and no one’s judging you for that. We would never, especially since each one of us ain’t much better. Like, if I disappear on April 4th, don’t bother looking for me until the 5th, got it?”
“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind. Listen, I don’t want you guys worrying about me. Focus on yourselves. Anniversaries come every year, and I always make it through.”
“Well, just because you’ve gotten through this before, doesn’t mean I can’t offer to take some of the burden a bit. If you got a cold, I'd offer to make you soup. This time I just made scallops and porcini mushrooms instead."
"You made me what?" Bruno's eyes widened as he looked past Mista to the table with hungry eyes. "I appreciate the meal, like, really appreciate it. I appreciate the cleaning too, but it’s a bit extreme. Don't you think so, Mary Poppins?"
"I prefer Mista Clean, thank you very much. In my defense, I wasn't fully expecting the mess when I walked in. I couldn't cook in a decimated kitchen, then I couldn't ignore the clothes on the stairs, and it just kinda went from there. I think I have a problem." Mista reached up and pulled his hat down slightly in an attempt to cover his face. “God, you’ve seen my place.”
“Yep, spotless. Would’ve never thought you were the tidy type.”
“Well, I’ve been on my own for a while now. Someone’s gotta do it.”
“How long?” Bruno lifted himself from the counter to lock eye contact with Mista. The closeness was surprising, but not intimidating. Like he was searching for something.
“How long what?”
“How long have you been on your own?”
“Ah. 4 years now. God, it’s always 4.” He cleared his throat. “Um, don’t worry about it. I think just about everyone in this town is used to being left behind sooner than later. You?”
Bruno’s stoned gaze broke for a minute as his focus shifted to something far away. “3 years as of today. He’d been unwell for a while.”
“But still. I’m sorry.” Bruno’s eyes met Mista’s again. “I’m here for you. I won’t force myself on you, er, baring whatever came over me today, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to shoulder everything alone either. I got you something to eat, and I want to drop off more if you’d let me. Um.” He motioned at the small table filled with food. “I know today’s a tough day. I can leave you to eat in privacy if you need the alone time.”
Bruno leaned forward towards Mista’s face, leaving just inches between them. “Stay.” He grabbed his hand quickly and marched him over to the table. “I’m starving, let’s eat. If this is anywhere as good as the bruschetta, I think I’ll be meeting my father soon. Uh, that was a very serious conversation I just had with someone wearing… *that*.” Bruno laughed looking at the frilly apron he’d bought him.
“Oh shit, forgot I was wearing this. Well, how do I look?” He smiled and winked.
“It’s the worst thing ever and suits you so well. Keep it on.” He quickly sat down and started digging into the, thankfully still, hot dish. Mista reached over to fill their glasses before finally joining the starved man.
“Well,” Mista rested his head in his hand and cracked a large cocky grin, “how is it?” He let out a hearty chuckle when he got a happy ‘mmph’. His boss was known to be the stern and terrifying top underling to the equally terrifying Capo Polpo. Only good people got to see the other side of the coin. A gentle and caring man that defended his community above all else. The edge of the coin, however small and thin, was the fun part that only his team got to see when he was trying to relax at home. A goofy Bucciarati that made dirty jokes, hated doing dishes, and loved teasing others. A funny accent not found in the city would poke through his usually careful words, and Mista always liked being able to get him excited enough about something to hear it again. His calm and focused demeanor taking a backseat to being a ‘normal’ guy in his 20s. Given how much time the two had been spent together, both on and off the job, he’d gotten pretty attached to this side of his boss. Smiling to himself, Mista finally grabbed his fork and dug in. Still got it.
Over the course of the meal, Mista told the early morning story of Narancia returning from the fish market with a beautiful bag of scallops and his outfit completely drenched. He’d apparently been in such a rush that he got caught in the crossfire of a fisherman trying to throw out his melted fishy ice. Fugo ended up picking him up and throwing him back out into the street until he showered. Eventually after laughter and more stories, including Bruno leaking a few hilarious ones from when Fugo and him lived together, Mista started to notice his boss nodding off. The gunslinger helped him to the couch to lie down while he did dishes, the young boss too tired to protest.
When Bruno opened his eyes again, the room had only a few dim lights on and streaks of moonlight invaded the small living room. There had been a blanket placed on him at one point, and his shoes were gone. The radio volume had been significantly lowered, and Magic Man was playing softly through the still room. He sat up to find the kitchen clean and empty with the rest of the house lights off as well. Did Mista leave? He rose off the sofa, deciding to worry about the blanket in the morning, and began walking to the stairs when the door slowly opened. Mista walked in, arms full of brown bags with a small white one in his mouth, and closed the door behind him with his ass. Wait, did he just lock it too? Both men locked eyes and Mista grinned widely, handle of the bag still between his lips.
“Hey hair. Hell.” Somehow understanding any of that, Bruno took the bag from the gunslinger’s mouth, along with a couple of the paper bags. “Thank you. So, hey there. How long’ve you been awake?” Mista asked as they both walked back to the kitchen.
“Just woke up. Didn’t realize you left.”
“Well, you were completely knocked out, so I thought I’d get some stuff for tomorrow. Plus…” Mista reached into the white bag to reveal 2 small pastry boxes. “Fugo got us some cake from his favorite bakery. Apparently, he swears by their strawberry shortcake. I’ll put all this away first, but would you care to join me on the balcony? I saw you had a table and chairs up there.” Mista winked as he pulled 2 plates out of the cabinet.
The night air was chillier than Mista had been expecting given how sunny and warm the day had been. The tea he made to pair with the cake kept them warm until their plates were empty. The cake was incredibly delicious, and he made a mental note to thank Fugo tomorrow when they met at the restaurant. Berry boy has great taste. With the night air chilling both men to their bones, Bruno began to gather the plates and cups to head inside.
“Ah, hold on. I gotta grab the laundry from the roof or you’re gonna be stuck on the sofa again all night.” He began walking towards the spiral staircase when the other man put the dishes back down and followed him.
“Here, I’ll give you a hand. Least I can do since you did the hard part.” He grabbed the radio from the table on his way up behind Mista, enjoying the bootyful view in the meantime. On the dark roof, the sheets fluttered in the wind visible only from the moonlight and lights of the city around them.
“God, chillier up here. Well, let’s grab everything and get inside ASAP.” Mista started to walk forward toward a large bedsheet when a hand grabbed his wrist.
“Hold on.” Bruno said as he walked forward and released a blanket from the clothes line, throwing it over his shoulder. He led Mista, hand in hand, to one of the walls leading up to the slanted raised roof and dragged him suddenly into a zipper he manifested with his stand.
Mista’s back hit the tiles as he realized he was staring up at the stars. Bruno sat upright next to him, lifting his hand to help Mista up to sitting as the radio began playing Close to You. Blanket over both their shoulders, both men looked through the gaps between apartments that the height of the roof afforded them. Naples was still bright and bustling with life despite the late hour. However, there was something different from the city Mista grew up with.
“The sirens.” He gazed out into the sea of streetlamps and taxis.
“Hm?” Bruno humed, growing dozy under the increasing warmth and comfort of the blanket and body heat of his other.
“There haven’t been as many emergency sirens recently. Especially compared to just a few months ago.”
“Well, we don’t really let EMS come for the type of people we deal with.” Bruno answered with a quiet chuckle, trailing off as it became heavy with thoughts best left forgotten. The pain was clear on his face, and Mista noticed watching through the corner of his eyes.
“That’s what I mean. Those sirens are never for us. They never have been. The cops are paid off, and medics can’t fix a body that won’t be found.” He turned away from the theater of the city, fixing his focus to the clouding sapphires of his boss’s eyes. “Do you get it?”
Silence. Bruno understood the question. He knew the answer, as well. Where Mista was going with this was the part that stumped him.
Mista leaned closer. “Citizens. Sirens are the normal people. The one’s worth saving. Not some thugs in the mob. If the sirens are quiet, then there just aren’t as many people needing them. It’s not all of Naples, either. This little piece of city has been quiet. Not perfect, but much calmer than I ever remember. Our turf.” He let out a long breath, gaze returning to the city briefly before pulling back to the magnetic attraction between onyx and sapphire. “It hasn’t been like this in a very long time.”
“Mista…”
His voice was soft, words almost lost in the wind that attempted to chill the fire consuming the two. “You’ve done so much good that it actually made a place where sirens don’t reach. A peaceful place in this crazy town.” Mista reached up and cupped Bruno’s cheek, rubbing small circles behind his ear gently. “You care about the people of your community, you care about us, but you forget to care about yourself. We care about you. I care about you. When you get overwhelmed, I’ll be there to help. We all will be, just like today. And tomorrow. And every single day that you need us. Without question. Without hesitation.”
“Without hesitation?” Bruno placed his hand over the one against his cheek.
“Of course.” Mista’s eyes were filled with devotion.
“You hesitate all the time for me.” A smirk grew across his face.
“Well, leather pants are *very* hard to get off fast if you’ve been sweating. Cut me a little slack here, Bruno. Fashion is suffering when you need to frame an ass like art.”
“Well then, don’t let me down this time.” Bruno slid his hand up Mista’s arm and slowly pulled him forward, sliding off his hat in the process. “Raise the blanket up.”
“Gladly.” Mista complied, pulling the blanket over their heads.
The wind picked up, the linens on the clotheslines danced, and the few remaining tourists scrambled out of bars to find the warmth of their hotels and hostels. However, both men couldn’t be touched by the chill under the blanket hiding their kiss from the city.
Just like me, they long to be, close to you.
…
“That’s everything off the lines.” Mista walked over to Bruno with his half of the linens in hand. “Ready to goooo-” Mista screamed as a zipper opened, dropping them down into the bedroom below. Both men landed on the mattress of the bed, but Mista bounced off and landed on the ground with a solid *thud*.
“Oh god, Mista, are you okay? You flopped like a fish.”
“Cool, go fuck yourself.” Mista slowly peeled himself off the floor with a grown. “Feel like warning me before dropping us through the roof?”
Bruno got up from the bed to gather the laundry Mista had dropped during his fall. “Hm, nope.”
“God, you are such a masochist.” Mista grumbled as he got to work making the bed while Bruno put away the other laundry.
“Yep, and a tired one at that.” Bruno plopped down face first on the made bed already down to his boxers.
“You should pull back the sheets. You’ll get cold.”
“Mmph” Bruno let out a frustrated grouch before zipping the sheets underneath him and zipping them back over him.
“Sure, that’s one way to do it.” Mista sighed but couldn’t help but to smile. He reached over the bed to straighten out the sheets messily zipped over Bruno. “Good night.” He began to pull away when a hand grabbed his arm.
“Stay.” The other man asked with quiet exhaustion, and pulled him forward into the bed beside him. “No boots in bed.”
“Well, you didn’t really give me much of a chance to take them off.” Mista leaned over to start removing his clothes until he was down to his boxers. “But...” He crawled under the covers to join the other. “I promised I would be here for you.” He softly kissed the hand that grabbed him. “Without hesitation.”
…
The café bustled with energy as the lunch rush consumed it. The two mobsters sat outside on the patio, away from the chaos inside. Guido Mista sliced up his entree and shared it discreetly with his stands. Bruno Bucciarati quietly finished an espresso, only his second today. The morning’s missions had been tame and almost completely uneventful, likely due to the rumours of Polpo’s right hand man being unusually aggressive in the past week. Seeing the important patrons to his café, the owner excitedly approached the two men.
“Bucciarati, my favorite man!” He exclaimed with glee, ecstatically shaking Bruno’s hand as he rose from his chair. “How are you doing today, my dear friend?”
Bruno smiled at the man’s excitement. “Quite well today. How’s business? No trouble, I presume?”
“Nope, none at all. Busy with tourists as the weather starts warming up, but no funny business. Things have been so nice lately.” He let out a hearty laugh. “Now, Bucciarati, you dog. I saw you on the roof last night with some babe in an apron. Good for you! You deserve a nice piece of ass.” The owner slapped Bruno on the back before bouncing away laughing.
Mista flushed. “I forgot about the apron.”
“I didn’t.” Bruno straightened out his suit from the owner’s excited manhandling. “Are you embarrassed?”
“Nah, I dress how I want. Plus, he said I have a nice ass.” He smirked.
“My nice ass.” Bruno corrected.
“Yeah, make sure you claim that on the taxes we aren’t paying while you’re at it.” Mista huffed out a laugh as he got up. He jokingly slapped his own ass, getting a good laugh out of the other.
Bruno threw some bills down on the table as both gangsters left. Lunch was nice, but there was a body in the freezer at the restaurant that needed disposing and they didn’t want the staff tripping over him. The morning had been almost completely quiet. Almost.