Chapter Text
- 初流乃は夢見勝ちな王子さま！
There was a very distinct thing that Alberto Capellini knew of the world. One, that many human beings can and will be scum, and two, he might as well clean up the streets if he's shooting his shots. That was the case he had when one Haruno Shiobana (Giovanna?) come across him.
Any crime where he could do without children around was a given for Alberto, but in the cases such where their parents are absolute scum (he'll know it, he'll always know it without a doubt), it's killing two birds with one stone. It doesn't quite come across him that maybe children need someone to rely on and he really should've seen this coming..
Martzu Giovanna was a man who was low, lower than most of the people Alberto has judged, for such a short list of crime. Well, other than breaking Alberto's rules on drugs. That alone made the man lower than the dead. So of course, the mafioso made it so Martzu was lower than the dead..
The Iron Maiden was a heavy device, shaped like those old tall tales of them. It was big enough to fit two adults, but small enough to only reach Alberto's shoulders. Every time he dropped it upon the ground, a dull thud rang out from its sheer weight. It was not a struggle to get Martzu into the device, however..
He shut the doors with both his hands, the device beginning to do its work. The head at the top spun around a good few times, stopping to print out a receipt. It was short, about the size of one you'd get at a convenience store. Its contents were simple:
Martzu Giovanna (34)
DOB: 03/08/1957
*************************
- selling drugs to women and children (27)
- alcohol abuse (3,510)
- beating Haruno Shiobana (257)
- verbally abusing Haruno Shiobana (409)
- neglecting Haruno Shiobana (567)
That was that. Martzu was kaput by the time Alberto got to the third bullet point. The Iron Maiden laughed as several spikes were pulled outside in, a scream muffled by metal. It was about a third of the man's blood, definitely more, that was taken. The death was slow, most definitely painful; Iron maidens were good at that sort of thing..
So there he was, setting a couple feet from that wretched device he was somehow blessed with, waiting for the thing to be done with getting the blood he needed. Then, the one person he should've realized was home sat right next to him, amidst the screaming pain of that person's stepfather..
Haruno Shiobana was five when he met Alberto Capellini, turning six in a few months. Now, Alberto had this thing he did that soon became habit when working in the mafia: Everything you do, someone will remember. If someone remembered his actions, it stood to reason he should too. Whether it be good or bad, the actions done unto him and others would be cemented into these receipts, mental or physical. He supposed his habit of grudges and disposal got him in trouble with Passione. What with them peddling drugs conflicting with his own values and that his method of death for those he judged was literally unmissable, it was a matter of time before he got shot at. So when this five year old saved his life , Alberto could not stand by and forget it like that..
Speaking of methods of death, by now, Matzu was pretty thoroughly dead, though no blood bore out of his corpse, least of all the wounds of near perfect holes stabbed into his body. That was what Alberto could see however, as he only opened the doors a crack so that the literal child near him wouldn't see..
There is a moment of silence before Alberto Capellini breathes a single word..
"Fuck…"
- I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain…
Paolo Bucciarati was one you could say was trying his best. A divorce that was at the very least amicable softened that struggle. For three years, Paolo tried his damndest to give all he could for Bruno, despite his own loneliness. Despite that shock, that time of labor soon became habit and the two fell into a reasonable rhythm of things.
Once breakfast was over with all things essential packed and ready to go, Paolo trusted Bruno enough for him to walk to school whilst he himself went to work fishing. Near noon, he'd come back and sell what he could while Bruno stayed and did his school work. They'd do dinner and head to bed. That was that for three years.
Until… something he wished to never happen happened. And now he wished it happened to him instead.
One thing he knew of his own family was their unending will. Whether it be to do what is right, finish what must be done, or continue forth in hopes of the future. He remembered those things fondly whenever he watched Bruno struggle with homework, insisting he could do it alone, his child's face brightening when he finally got through to it. That face, however, was soon grit in shock with tears and Paolo suddenly felt his own will drain from his senses.
No. No no, fuck no.
It was just a simple look from what he saw. Paolo doesn't even know what Bruno saw. Like a reticle losing focus on its target, Paolo's eyes became blurry, a whirlwind of panic gripped his body. Just before, his eyes were glancing at the faint profile of his son, who himself was glancing down the crook of an alley. It was a poor catch that day so Paolo came back early. There was a curse, maybe a bit of shuffling of metal. And then…
BANG!
Paolo dropped everything and ran. Fucking ran and ran with the body of his bleeding child staining his sleeves.
It did not matter that his muscles were on fire.
It did not matter that gunshots rang past his ears, just missing his flesh.
It did not matter that his own energy depleted faster than fish out of water.
It did not fucking matter.
Bruno Bucciarati was just shot, and hell if his father wasn't gonna get him away.
- Baby, let me follow you down
To Mela Ghirga, if you were a dick to her, she was gonna leave, no questions asked. This applied to boyfriends, besties, teachers, parents, and even her spouse.
She had no idea why Salamoia (or by her metrics, Moikoi) thought she was the world to him, but hey, he was the first guy who wasn't a jerkass to her so win-win. All the other men though she was to crude for their taste but Mela chalked that up to being picky. I mean, she was still an awesome gardener and damn good at housework at that, so why should her personality be an issue with them? She was always a bit of a tomboy; they should've known what they signed up for.
Whatever the case, being as boyish as she was, that didn't die down when she had Narancia, or Ancia as she called him. In any case, some would say she got even more crass. Child safe crass at least. The kind that you would mess around and roll in the mud crass.
Really, Moikoi was nothing like her. He was neat, she was messy. He was strict, she was lax. He was hands off, she was hands on. He was work, she was play. Really, even when Ancia hit a devastating fever while she was out, it seemed like he did… nothing. He even said that her dear baby boy "looked fine" despite the fact that Mela could cook an egg with that fever.
Goddammit. Salamoia was a dick. Not to her but her beautiful baby boy. Took her a decade to figure that out but FUCK , she really got a whole ass tenth of her life wasted on him.
No matter. Salamoia can eat shit and die, I guess.
So, after Ancia's fever subsided, no thanks to SOMEONE, she shoved a large backpack in his direction with the orders to pack his clothes and toys, since eight year olds need fun too. She would take care of the important stuff after all. Ancia followed up on her instructions, mainly because of how Mela phrased it. She described it as an adventure and that was enough reason for him to agree.
Mela was just gonna have to have her parenting venture be alone. All she'd have to do is divorce Salamoia an-
Wait.., shit. She kinda estranged herself from her parents and Salamoia technically owned the house. Fuuuuuuck okay. And she didn't have a job. Right. Shit. Fuck. Back up, take a page out of a family's notebook and just run the fuck away!
…
To be fair, it sounded like a good idea at the time.
- All in my brain
Cassata Fugo was not one for material things. Sure, her son and his wife were, but not Cassata herself. Maybe it had to do with nearly losing everything and not wanting to have anything to lose when she was younger. Maybe it was just how her own parents were, struggling to make ends meet and not having the time for such things. Maybe she could become invincible, with nothing left to lose in that sense.
Tiramisu Fugo married a wealthy woman and they had the most adorable yet worryingly smart son. It didn't really matter to Cassata that he was smart, though it pained her to see the pressure Tiramisu and his wife put on the boy. In the small visits she could make to this family, Pannacotta would always be pulled for more studying, more learning, more intellect. She was surprised that her son put so much worth into Pannacotta's brains but she was eight and she thought eight year olds should have more fun than whatever he was having.
Pannacotta relented, relented as much as an eight year old could. That he did like studying and learning. But you can't spend all your time studying. You need to have more hobbies, and it was apparent that all this energy dedicated to his intellect was taking a toll.
Besides getting difficult material, Pannacotta was isolated from kids his own age, an unsurprising thing when you're ahead of the curve. All his classmates in double digit ages with much more and such different lives from his own that of course Pannacotta couldn't do anything else at school. What was he supposed to do? What was Cassata supposed to do?
Well, Cassata Fugo was one to shoot her shots when she had the chance. Even at great costs. This was not like how she had done away with her husband when she was younger, the bitchy bastard. No, Cassata wasn't going to stoop that low like she had all the years before. Her plan was simple: kidnap Pannacotta.
It was easy to do somehow.
It was spring break by the time she formed this plan, nearing April.
<Have a nice trip with Nonna.>
Pannacotta had himself a well earned holiday for all his hard work; it would be so easy to ask for him to stay over at her place. And so she did. And it was hilarious to see the look on Tiramasu's face, as she boarded a train with her grandson in tow, knowing that her dear son would never see him again.
- Nevermind the bollocks
Rovino Mista was the definition of "someone please God help me I AM IN MISERY bury me deep lest I wallow away." He was a bit flighty and panicky and prone to impulsive decisions out of fear. Even as the fourth son of his father (who himself was a fourth son of a fourth son), he could not handle stress well in the slightest .
So of course, he worked in retail. As in one of, if not, the most stressful and draining job he could ever hold. It could be worse. He could be working at a restaurant. But grocery could be pretty stressful.
On top of that, the stress of three miscarriages, four kids, a divorce, an arson, getting fired, and the other half of said divorce getting institutionalized were not exactly dressing on his salad. He couldn't take care of all the kids (really, four was a lot), so the younger ones stayed with his brothers while Rovino sorted everything out.
Well, Guido stayed. While charming, an eight year old wasn't going to be much help. But Guido relented. If worse comes to worse, one of Rovino's brothers can handle him. There wasn't any way that he could trust the kids to the Felicianos. In-laws (well, not anymore) were a mess.
He could do this mostly on his own, yeah. Sure, his pay was garbage compared to some other jobs but he could manage. He really wished his old employer didn't fire him on account of the whole ex-wife arson thing but…
Oh, who was he kidding? HE WANTED TO PRAY TO GOD FOR SOME MERCY, DAMN YOU GUILIA.
He had to move house too since he couldn't pay for it and ended up in some crumbling house in some nowhere villiage…
Rovino curled himself on the only table that managed to fit in this dilapidated place, his face very much into the wood. He still had laundry to do on Wednesday, and a couple cups of cold coffee lay in a group, smelling odd. It was sundown and he blinked slowly. He needed to clean up at some point because it was gonna drive him nuts in the morning. Years ago when he and Giulia first had kids, it was difficult for him to manage all the messes that got left behind. Ironic how it seemed.
A box of grape juice spun into view accompanied by a round face, filled with brightness.
"Hi," Guido simply chirped, and pushed the juice box closer.
"Hi," was Rovino's response, taking the juice box and smiling.
Rovino Mista was the epitome of a mess, at least to him. To Guido, that was a different story.
- So they carry on, doing what they can
Cecil Abbacchio hated his job. He was always doing paper work on account of his poor aim and general dislike for most of his colleagues (minus Ennui, but he was new). Plus his parents were the ones who pressured him into it because, yeah, totally pressure your only son into a career riddled with moral dilemmas and corruption, that'll be great for him. Not. Being a cop fucking sucked for him.
So he was going to put his two weeks in.
Which was literally the day right when his little sister and her husband suddenly went into rehab.
Well, that's not too horrible? He can send some money ov-
" Cecil , I'm so sorry to put you on the spot but… this is Leone , your nephew."
… fuck .
Right, his sister had a kid and Cecil was literally the only person who had the means to watch over him so the squirt didn't keel over and die.
Leone wasn't… you wouldn't call him awkward, maybe a bit aloof. Cecil didn't visit too often before so it was reasonable to see why he was so off with him. Cecil should've also watched his mouth because it seemed like anything he's said to the kid would just be burned into the little brat's mind. Leone learned 8 new curse words in a week and repeated them ad nauseum to the man.
Now, as you can see, Cecil's situation was not ideal but not the worst it could've been. In a job he hates with a kid he kinda sorta doesn't know (who also was dealing with a broken wrist, go figure) and with the skills of dealing with kids at an all time low for him, Cecil would've rather gotten his chest punched out or shot with a BB gun.
Which is why he was shooting a BB gun at soda cans near the ocean waters because DAMMIT he's fucking stressed. He kept missing the cans, hearing the pellet smack into the waters. He would give anything to get some more stress relief but he can't just spiral down like his sister did with alcohol. He moved to this dinghy fishing village to get away from the stress, not exacerbate it!
Fuck, Leone's still in the car and it was sunset, Cecil needed rest or he was gonna lose his damn mind. He shoved the gun into his holster and headed back towards the car. Half the people at the station didn't trust him with real bullets, so BBs were all that he could shoot.
He snagged a glance at his sister's kid, Leone's bag packed up with homework done (kid remembers fucking everything, christ ), and started the car without another word.
- We'll Let You Know
Donatella Una was one you could describe as a bit impulsive. Really, she was only 20 when she had Trish? Not exactly sharp when it comes to thinking long term. Neither was Solido in that case either. He just disappeared one day and was never heard from since.
Now, she's had her fair share of single parenting. Her own father was for quite a while and still was when she left home. It was an… awkward affair, as she hadn't really been doted on as much as her mother. They both missed her, sure, never minding that she walked out on both of them, but the distance between the two was tense. Not in a bad sense, just in the sense that her father didn't know what to do. She didn't hate him for all he did to take care of her, just resigned to his attitude. Donatella seemed to be like her father in many ways it seemed, though shifted are the couple of details.
She only had one love, and that was Solido Naso. It didn't matter that she knew him for barely a year (or was it a month, it went by so fast) that was the person she wanted to be forever with. Following his disappearance, somehow that love grew , but so did disappointment and hate . These feelings would be pushed down, good and bad, in lieu of Trish, who was a far more important person to think about. She was turning six this year in June, and it suddenly dawned on the woman that she needed to enroll her little girl into school.
Had it really been 5 years, she thought.
It was easy for Donatella to count years as in imagining a person's age. If seven years went by, that would be the equivalent to seeing a seven year old. The world had allowed enough time for that child to reach seven. Trish was five, so it had been five years. Five years without Solido, the one man that managed to capture her heart, gone away and stole like jewels. What a startling thought. One single man managed to stay in Donatella's mind all those years. And yet she can't help but pity him.
Solido Naso, who was he?
Where did he go?
Donatella would be with her daughter, but Donatella would be far longing for Solido to be with them.
Just like her father, longing for her mother.