Chapter Text
Gangsters didn’t like their territories being disputed, thus Buccellati only had faint ideas about where his most recent recruit could be. He remembered, before giving up, hearing the name of a certain bar one night, a good place, unfortunately located right outside the limits of their zone.
The waiter at the entrance of the bar received him with a beaming smile, offering to save his cloak, but it was late and Bruno couldn’t figure if other members of Passione were observing his trail from the darkness, so he declined. It was odd to be welcomed so openly, though it could point that the ones in charge of the zone weren’t doing a remarkable job.
He loosened the scarf when the heat inside the building got to him, then saw a hand raised and merrily waving in front of him. A salute, requesting his approach.
“Goodnight, boss” Guido Mista held a half-empty glass of liquor and his skin blushed even under the dim lights of the place.
“Mista” Buccellati took the seat to his left, “Ghirga said you left him alone to finish the round. You could at least leave a word about where you were going” Guido’s expression said he found something fun in his words. “What is it?”
“You are not here to drag me back?”
Buccellati denied with his head and raised a hand for the bartender’s attention.
“You’re an adult, so you can do whatever pleases you” Bruno decided it was safe to take off his cloak and asked for a shot of rum before resuming their conversation. “But, as my underling, you must remember that I am directly responsible for your actions.”
“Huh?”
“Narancia also said that you reunited with a group of strangers” when Guido attempted to look away, Bruno held his chin and forced him to stay put as he spoke, “although, for what I see, you’re alone.”
Mista then rubbed his hair, lightly pulling off his cap and drank a bit more before replying.
“Ah, those guys… Yes… They are, about, back there” he lazily pointed to a door which, if Buccellati guessed correctly, led to the dumpster passageway. “A lucky bunch, you know? As Narancia didn’t follow me.”
“What do you mean?” the bartender passed in front of Bruno to leave his drink and only took a few steps away to clean a jug. Mista put an elbow on the bar and held his chin with his fist as he looked at Bruno; contrary to his previous attitude, there were no traces of joy or awkwardness caused by alcohol on his face.
“They were insulting you, all the way until we got here" it took the older man a moment to understand.
“Ah” it made sense to say that they were lucky, since Narancia held his leader in very high esteem and every time he heard someone speak ill of him, he instantly went into rampage. It usually happened with civilians upset by one thing or another over which Bruno had no real control, so Narancia knew he had to restrain himself, but, with other mafiosos the story was different. “Should I talk to Polpo about this?” he questioned, frowning, not because he was bothered by the position that Mista was suggesting he had taken (it was almost flattering that he was fighting on his behalf), but because of the territory, since if Bruno was there, inside that bar, and was being well received, that could only mean...
“Don't bother, they'll do it” he emptied his glass of liquor. “We agreed on everything before we faced each other, and I have witnesses” he added, looking at the bartender, who smiled in their direction, without the slightest hint of fear on his features.
“They really did a terrible job around here, didn't they?” Buccellati couldn’t contain that doubt.
“The worst” the employee responded sadly, looking away to the other end of the room where a boy, who could barely be considered an adult, was cleaning the remains of food on a table; he had bandages on one arm and a noticeable bruise on his face but, despite everything, he looked happy and in no mood to complain. The gangsters watched him too, then they saw each other.
“Congratulations, Mista. You've earned yourself a raise” the older man said, smiling.
“Really?”
“Of course. Now you have triple the work, considering you will be the main manager of this area after all.” Buccellati downed his rum in one gulp before getting up. “Go for a walk before you return. I don't want trash getting in the way of my territory, okay?”
Guido no longer looked as cheerful as he did a few seconds ago, but he knew that he had to be consequent with his actions. Buccellati dressed up once more, hiding the white suit from sight almost completely.
“If I find it, should I go to the river or the fields? Or maybe throw it to the crows?” Bruno put one hand on his waist and another under his chin, thinking, or pretending that he did.
“Surprise me” he concluded before turning around and leaving via the same way he came, without waiting for a response.
Guido did not take his eyes off of his capo until the light from the streets stopped showing his silhouette; probably his boss had turned around at some intersection.
Then, he sighed.
“Did he really come just for that? He didn't even stay five minutes” he complained aloud.
“Would you like another drink, mister?” the bartender offered. Mista shook his head.
“No thanks, you heard him, we have work to do” as he had gone out on rounds in the afternoon, and the temperature was still warm, he was simply wearing his usual top, which would leave his stomach freezing from the cold once he went out. But there should be no problem if he hurried to finish.
“Of course, mister, have a good eve.”
“Uh, sure” it felt strange for someone to refer to him with respect without Buccellati being around, and even so, the one others used to respect was the leader of his group. He couldn't say that the feeling of gratitude toward his persona displeased him, but it wasn't something he wanted to get used to. Not yet, at least. “You know, chief?” he stood up and followed Bruno's trail. “That boss of mine is gonna become Don someday. And I wanna be there by his side when that happens” before opening the door, he turned around and waved his hand with a smile.
Once outside, he was surprised not to feel the chill of the nighttime, until he remembered having a good amount of drinks within him.
He seriously had to hurry.