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It’s a beautiful day in Italy, and He is a terrible goose.
As a child, you never gave the idea of having a soulmate much thought. It was there. That’s about it. As you grew older, you watched all of your friends and family find theirs and settle down, living their own happily ever afters. All of the typical ways people find their soulmate never came to you. No red string of fate ever attached itself to your wrist, no words ever appeared on your arms. The older you got, the less hope you had. Sometimes people were born without soulmates. Sometimes people’s soulmates die, and they’re left without one.
You’re not sure which one is better.
You fell into the underground of Passione after a family debt. The protection fees were becoming too much for your family to handle. The gangs never protected anything. It was their way of trying to pry you from your home without outright killing you. When you stood up for yourself—what a mistake that was—things went wrong. It was your life or a life of service. Do it or die. You became one of the cogs in Passione’s well-oiled machine, the gears that turn and run Italy’s underground. Your life became replaceable.
You figured a soulmate wouldn’t want someone like you. Maybe it was better if you didn’t have one. Who would want a low-rate mafioso like you, anyway?
Risotto settled into the thought of not having a soulmate rather well. At a young age he was deemed the black sheep of his family, partly for his frightening appearance, partly for how hard he found it to fit in. He left to live with his nonna and cousin as a teenager, soon falling into the gangs after the death of his cousin. If someone was going to be born without a soulmate, it was him. His occupation didn’t allow soulmates. Having a significant other would only serve as something else to use to hurt him. It’s bittersweet, in a strange sort of way. As a child, he would run himself in circles trying to find his soulmate. But a partner would do more harm than good.
People like him don’t get happy endings. That’s a fate he’s accepted for himself.
Risotto first spotted you from across the restaurant, your eyes locking for only a moment. You bumped into him, spilling a bit of wine on your shirt. Your eyes went wide as you muttered a slew of apologies. He brushed the entire event off. Truly, you didn’t stand out in the crowd. From the very beginning, you had the wide-eyed, frightened look of someone new to this, standing among a group of people with the same traumatized look on their faces. Really, he didn’t give you much thought. He hated ceremonies like these. He hated having to wear a suit. He hated how open this place was. He would be noticed here, something that his job requires avoiding at all costs. Despite his discomfort, he’s tolerated it this long. His team pays little attention as he walks outside, making an offhand comment about it being stuffy. The important parts are over anyway, he won’t miss anything.
The crowd is getting to you.
Rarely do you find yourself in a place so packed. Ceremonies like this are not held often. It makes you anxious seeing just how widespread Passione is. This isn’t even everyone. Many of the higher-ups—the capos and even the boss—didn’t bother coming.
You head outside for a smoke. Your hands shake as you pull out a pack of matches. The cool evening air is a nice change from the stuffy restaurant. You watch as the sun sets over the ocean. A few sparse clouds float overhead, but the sky is mostly clear, painted shades of orange and pink.
To your left, you hear a menacing sounding honk.
A goose stands to your side, its beady black eyes filled with malice. As unnerving as it is, you stay still. All it’s doing is standing there, why bother it? It’ll leave eventually. It’s not like you’re messing with its babies.
You absentmindedly shoo it away, going back to your cigarette.
Menacingly, it steps forward. Despite this, you stand your ground. It’s a bird, what’s the worst it’ll do?
It takes a bite of the hem of your slacks, tugging of your pant leg. When you don’t immediately respond, it chomps on your ankle. The bite draws blood, causing you to recoil, and step back. The cry you let out is pitiful. After a second, you regain your composure, now filled with unbridled rage.
“Piss off ya feathered fuck!” You say. You’d feel bad swinging at it, but it’s clearly out for blood. It’s awfully bold for something that doesn’t even reach your knees.
Risotto emerges from the restaurant to find you being attacked by a goose.
He simply watches the event unfold from the safety of the patio. You flee in his direction, collapsing on the stones at his feet. Warm blood trickles down your leg, staining your sock and shoe. He’s merely watching, up until he puts some distance between the two of you and your avian attacker charges. Risotto isn’t scared, more than he’s caught off guard. Animals tend to be afraid of him. Maybe they could tell what he did for a living.
The evil goose gives one last hiss before stepping back, nodding its small head. The second either of you tries to step away, it's charging, hissing as if it’s out for more blood.
You glace from it, to Risotto, then back to it.
When you stand, he towers nearly a foot over your head. Black eyes glare down at you. You want to shrink and hide under his gaze. He feels familiar. His very presence is comforting in a bizarre sort of way.
You’ve heard of this—one of the rarest ways to find a soulmate. There’s no real explanation behind it. There’s no reason behind the others, but they tend to make more sense than this. When it’s time for someone to find their soulmate, a goose appears. The difficulty comes from trying not to be mauled by said goose. The goose is immortal, and cannot be killed or deterred until two soulmates find each other. That’s it that’s the au.
“You’re my… soulmate?” You say. It comes out as more of a question.
Him? Seriously?
“I guess so.”
His voice is quiet. It’s very deep and would be intimidating had the circumstances been different. He helps you to your feet, holding your hands in his. He offers his arm out to you. You take it, leaning against him. He’s rather warm. You brush some of the dirt off. He takes a moment, giving you a once over for any more injuries. You appear fine, despite your damaged pride.
It makes him wonder what group you’ll be assigned to. Probably Bucciarati’s. You seem far too meek for his team or the guard. In a way, the thought is comforting. A smaller group would be less dangerous than his.
“I’m Risotto.” He says, even quieter.
Despite the comical circumstances, his heart races. He has a soulmate. A million questions are going through his head. 90% of them are asking “is that seriously a goose?”
“Y/N.” You dust yourself off a bit. He commits the sound of your name to memory. “Wait why the fuck are you named after rice?!”
“Don’t worry about it.” He says. The corners of his mouth tug into a smile. You simply shrug.
“I think I need a band-aid.” You say.
Slowly the goose waddles off, setting out for its next victims.