Chapter Text
Ah, if only the bank had been willing to help with his inhibitions. Then maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be that involved with his family “business”.
“You’re making more money now if you opened that stupid spaghetti business!”
“Everyone knows how to make spaghetti, what difference will you make?”
“If you really want to make some use, go continue the family work.”
Words constantly being thrown, sneered, and retorted at him. With his father being the leader and him being his only son, he had always been forced to be someone he didn’t want to be. He had three other sisters, why couldn’t his father choose them? As much as Rory loved his father, he hated the traditionalist ways of his parents. Ah, such is the story of life.
At the current moment, he was sitting at a table, with cards closely held at hand. He was quite fond of card games, but he didn’t feel particularly interested that night. It’s one thing choosing yourself to play a nice game of blackjack; when your parents are forcing you for the sake of ‘socialization’, it changed his mentality about it. The dealer kept staring at his hands, watching to make sure he wouldn’t stuff cards in his sleeves. At this point, he had already played several rounds that night. He didn’t know how much money there was in the pot, but Lord Almighty, it was more than he could count. He kept his cool by taking sips of his liquor. The gaze of his parents watching the game was burning in his soul. The stakes in the pot were high enough, the tension was even higher. This night was a night for various gangs and mafiosos to meet up for ‘business and connection making’. The other participants in the game all eyed each other suspiciously. Rory had an inkling that the night was going to go awry. After an eternity of thinking, the familiar noise of card shuffling was heard. Everyone was looking at their own hands as the dealer revealed their hand: a queen of clubs and three of clubs. Rory looked back at his own hand: ace of spades and queen of hearts. He took a shaky breath, resulting in gazes from the other players.
An ace could be an equivalent of a one or eleven, plus that queen with its value of ten, this meant he had a Blackjack! An automatic win in this game. As the dealer motioned for everyone to reveal their cards, Rory proudly revealed he had a Blackjack. A few grumbles erupted but nonetheless he received the pot. He glanced at his parents, and his father raised a glass of wine in his direction in appreciation.
The night went on, after each round, it seemed that the pot was getting higher and higher. The tension continually worsened. Rory felt himself relax ever so slightly, but the weight of the revolver in his holster reminded him what could happen. A man stood up from the table and tipped his hat, signifying that he was leaving the table for the night. But a few cards slipped out from his sleeve. Yup. Unsurprisingly common. The other players reached for their weapons. A shoot-out was imminent at this point. Rory himself went for his holster, more for self defense, rather than to kill that man. Bullets rang and blood flew. Normal night. Rory’s father hurried to put Rory’s winnings in a bag to run away. As he stepped back from his chair, he held out his revolver to defend himself and his family. People choose to either get into the fun or run away, his family chose the latter. But Rory stayed behind so no one would follow his family. A scream. But not any other scream, from his youngest sister. He quickly dragged her behind a counter and examined her. She was shot in the leg. Her tears had ruined her make-up and blood had stained all over her clothes. Rory removed his tie and tied it tightly above the wound as a make-shift tourniquet. He formed a diamond shape with his hands and pressed tightly against the wound to prevent blood loss.
“Rory!” She sobbed, “please, just go with the rest of the family!”
He shook his head, not making eye-contact, trying to ignore the hell that was happening on the other side of the counter.
How long was it going to continue? How long had he been applying pressure? His hands were cramping and slipping from the blood. She seemed to be on the line of life and death. He moved his knee forward and used that instead to apply pressure. He went to grab his phone, thought with the little strength his sister had left she muttered,
“Non osare ,” she had a serious glare.
His family always told him to never dare to call an ambulance, no matter how gory it got. But he couldn’t just let his little sister die. When he continued to call, it seemed to give his sister enough anger to keep pushing forward. He didn’t know how he had managed to spit his words out about the situation.
Usually, when he heard the sounds of the sirens, in any other situation, first reaction would be to flee. But this time, it felt almost comforting. Strange. It seemed like magic that everyone dispersed. The building was left with the sounds of his ragged breathing and his sister’s gasps. Then heavy steps, by the sounds and distancing of them, it sounded like the paramedic was confused.
“Over here!” Rory waved a hand.
The paramedic, who had seen the hand just barely above the bar counter, ran over to that direction. Rory stepped aside and let the paramedic do… their job? Rory watched the paramedic: he was very tall, unruly hair, and was wearing an extremely pink uniform. His hand movements were swift and the paramedic seemed very well trained in this manner. Without a hitch, the paramedic carried her over to the stretcher and put her in the back of the ambulance. Their eyes locked for only a second, before Rory hopped into the back of the ambulance to accompany his sister. The drive to the hospital felt faster than a car chase.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Ciara” Rory was gripping her hand.
To his disbelief, she returned the strength of the grip.
Almost as if saying, ‘ I’m not going anywhere. ’
It wasn’t until then, Rory could breath a little.
Rory was sitting next to his sister in the hospital room. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a hospital, for any reason. The sterile lights, the cold temperature, and the humming of machinery seemed so foreign to him. Ciara was asleep and was recovering from the bullet-removal procedure. He was not surprised that neither of their parents had checked up on them.
“You win some, you lose some. That’s just how this mafia thing goes.”
He remembered those last words from his cousin.
He heard a knock come from the door, followed by someone shuffling inside. The doctor held a clipboard in her hand.
“Ah, good evening,” she greeted Rory, “or good morning, since it’s already two in the morning.”
Rory didn’t look up.
She cleared her throat, “any who, your sister sustained quite the injury; she’ll live, though. We are going to transfer her out of the ER to a different area for recovery.”
He only nodded.
“I will say, you aren’t allowed to stay here until visiting hours.”
He looked up from his brooding with a silent frown. The doctor recognized him.
A Calebresi. A mafioso? In this hospital?
The doctor felt as if she was going to faint, “understandable, have a great stay.”
Once she left, Rory gave a sigh of relief. Playing the ‘tough guy’ was fun with its advantages, but actually needing to be one was a different story. He turned his gaze over to his sister once more before falling asleep.
He was awoken by someone shaking slightly at his shoulder. When Rory opened his eyes, he instinctively pushed the individual backwards, due to the shock and tiredness. Though, the person didn’t budge. Was this a nightmare? He tried to push back once more, but the figure grabbed his wrists. The hand felt large and coarse, was this one of his father’s goons?
“Your sister was moved,” the voice felt so meek compared to the size of the figure, “do you want to move, too?”
Rory had to process the question first. The voice was gruff yet meek and the figure was strong yet respectful. He could conclude that this guy was not related at all with his family or mafia. The voice had no Italian accent and the vocabulary seemed simple.
“Who are you?” Rory tried to put a face to the figure, but the room was too dark.
“I am Sam.”
Rory honestly expected the figure to say, ‘Sam I am’.
Sam continued, “Do you want to go with your sister?”
“Yeah, please.”
Once they stepped out of the room, Rory finally recognized him from yesterday. Sam was walking quite quickly and Rory followed behind. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the room where his sister was currently residing.
“Buon giorno, Ciara!” Rory rushed to her side and kissed both her cheeks, “come ti senti?”
She seemed to still be drowsy, most likely from the painkillers. She gave a weak smile to respond.
“You were so tired that you didn’t wake up when I was moved! You’ve always been such a dormiglione.”
Rory rolled his eyes playfully, “and you’re always such a furbacchiona. You always have something to say, no matter how out-of-it you are.”
He sat on the chair that was besides her bed and removed his suit jacket. His white dress shirt was still bloodied from yesterday. But that was the least of his concerns. After the short conversation, she fell asleep once more, but she had a smile on her face.
Rory flipped open his phone to receive an incoming call from his mother.
“Ciao madre,” Rory spoke with a tone as if he wasn’t sitting in the hospital with his injured sister.
“Come sta Ciara?” She went right to the point.
He remained silent for a moment, “She’s recovering.”
Silence from both ends.
“Your sister will be coming by noon, she will be picked up by Giulia.”
Rory nodded, even with the phone at hand, “si, madre.”
“Mio caro figlio," she sighed, “you know your father is mad at you, right?”
“I know I should not have-”
“I understand you only wanted the best for your sister,” she added, “I am doing my best to advocate for you.”
“I am aware,” Rory concluded, “rimani al sicuro.”
Once it was noon, Ciara was picked up. She was led by a doctor to an expensive looking car. Rory remained behind, standing by the exit. He wouldn’t go home, yet. He sat down at the picnic benches by the hospital, resting his chin on his hand. He wondered what he was going to do now. He certainly wasn’t going to go home yet. He didn’t want to say he was anxious.
But he was anxious.
“Excuse me,” the same gruff voice was heard.
Rory turned around tiredly, “yes?”
“Rory... Mr. Calebresi,” Sam had his hands clasped together, “I got this back from yesterday. I cleaned it.”
Rory saw that he had his tie from yesterday. He remembered how he had used it as an emergency tourniquet that night. He accepted it and examined it carefully to make sure Sam hadn’t bugged it with a tracker. While he was occupied doing that, Sam noticed all the red on his shirt.
“Your shirt is dirty.”
Rory huffed, “oh? Are you going to get it cleaned for me or what?”
Sam tilted his head like a curious dog, but he took that question like a quest, “okay.”
“ Scusami?” Rory raised an eyebrow. “Sei serio? ”
He was now standing there, in the hospital parking lot, without his dress shirt. But at least he had his suit jacket. He walked home, with questions in his mind. He could not believe how that Sam fellow obliged without any other questions. Not even the men working directly under his father would obey like that. It was quite impressive. Though confusing. He purposefully did not tell Sam how to return his shirt. Because… why would he do that without asking for anything in return? Plus, Rory had a bunch of other shirts like that or he could even choose to buy a new one if he wanted.
Sam drove home with Rory’s dress shirt in his backpack. In his mind, he liked to set his duties as ‘quests’. Using the word ‘chore’ made it such a bore. It was always nice hearing Popeye bark his greeting whenever he entered the driveway. As he stepped out of the car, he crouched down and petted his dog. As well as greeting the ducks in the nearby pond. He didn’t say much, since he wanted to get this quest done as quickly as possible. Sam crawled into Raccoon’s shop and walked all the way to the back to meet up with the fashionista goose.
“Bonne soirée!” she greeted him excitedly while she waddled over, “as you know, each of my services cost a hundred coins.”
“Hi.” Sam answered, not with the same energy due to tiredness, “I need help.”
He took out the bloodied shirt to her, which resulted in her being a bit confused.
“Mon Dieu!” She leaned closer to inspect the color, “it looks like you attacked a… wealthy man!”
He was a bit confused by her comment. The fashionista goose went on to explain that the material of the dress shirt seemed to be of very high quality.
She took the shirt out of his hands, “well, I’ll have this clean by morning. Thank you for the coins, Sam.”
Both Racoon and the fashionista goose were confused on how Sam managed to get his hands on that shirt. Especially, in the conditions it was in. Sam fell asleep comfortably with Popeye beside him that night, happy knowing he was close to completing another quest.
The next morning, he was greeted with Racoon and the fashionista goose at his door.
“Good morning,” he yawned while crouching down to speak to them properly.
She placed the dress shirt carefully in his backpack, “bonjour, Sam. Here is the shirt from yesterday. Cleaned, ironed, and folded to perfection!”
“Thank you.”
Racoon then spoke up, “quick question, how did you get your hands on it? Goose here says it's quite expensive… and Italian.”
Sam smiled softly once he remembered why he was doing all of this, “helping someone.”
Racoon and fashionista goose only nodded, they both were aware how willing he was to help others. Though, in Sam’s head, he wondered how he was going to return the shirt.
“Must go return this now.”
Fashionista goose cut in sharply, “oh, mon cheri! Not with such casual clothing. Go get dressed in something more formal!”
Sam did as told and hurried into his suit. He was confused as to why she was very demanding when it came to clothing sense, but Racoon explained that he had to make a good impression when meeting up with a person for the first few times.
Since he also worked as a police officer some days, he could most likely find where Rory’s home is located. When he arrived at the station and sat down on the computer to run some info, he found some strange information. Apparently the Calebresi household was a strong one. Most of the information about them was blocked, due to him not being a detective yet. After a bit more scrolling, he found where their ‘base’ was located. It was by the port, so it was quite the drive from the station. He did not want to go scaring anyone, so he continued to drive in his own car to the Calebresi estate. Whew, such a hassle to return a dress shirt! He had to drive through a shortcut in the forest to get there, due to the base being hidden. Well, not too hidden for Sam because he knew the forest like the back of his hand. While driving through, he was stopped by two men in sharp suits.
“Scendere dall’auto.” The man said as sharp as his suit, “get out of the vehicle now.”
Sam did as told, and the two men were taken aback by his height. Not only that, they were taken away that he was wearing a suit tailored to his body. These men were tall, but Sam was taller. They continued to remain professional.
“What are you doing here?” The man asked, but with a slight quiver in his tone.
Sam’s gruff voice intimidated them a little more, “Signor Calebresi.”
The men immediately assumed that he was going to meet the big boss. So they shuffled aside and let Sam drive through.
When finally parking, Sam stepped out and fixed his suit and tie quickly. He held the straps of his backpack, even as he wore it. He didn’t even get the chance to knock before someone answered the door.
“Buongiorno, sono qui per vedere il Signor Calebresi?"
Sam had no clue what the doorman said, he only understood the last part, “yes.”
He followed the doorman and he noticed how people turned to look at him. Maybe it was just the height? The doorman proceeded, with struggle, to remove Sam's backpack. He was surprised that the backpack was very light. The doorman then continued to remove Sam's suit jacket, touching him by the hips. The doorman finished the search and hung Sam's items on a rack. Since Sam didn't ask any questions, the doorman assumed Sam was used to receiving searches for weapons.
“Attendere qui,” the doorman pointed at a chair, “wait here.”
Sam awaited patiently for who he assumed was going to be Rory. He had to admit, he was quite surprised by the formalities.
After not too long, a short man entered the room. He had two men behind him, similar to the ones who first greeted Sam. The short man had a thick cigar between his teeth, leaving a trail of smoke wherever he went.
“I heard you were here for the interview.” The man’s voice was extremely hoarse.
Oh? An interview to return a shirt? That’s new. With that in mind, Sam extended his hand. Signor Calebresi seemed rather content and shook it, quite vigorously. The shorter man took note of Sam’s height and strength, just from the shake of the hand.
“Name?”
“Sam.”
“Family?”
Sam didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t… have one. Signor Calebresi grinned at his silence, not with a malicious mind. Sam being without a ‘family’ means that he doesn’t have any ties, he would be able to be completely dedicated to the Calebresis’.
“So, the reason why I opened up this position is because my son got himself in quite the problem. I need someone to protect him,” the man coughed a few times, “you know how long this job will be?”
Sam nodded. He thought that he was asking how long it would take him to return Rory's shirt.
“Do you know how to use an arm?”
Sam was a bit confused by the question. He has two arms and he thinks he used them quite well. So, he nodded once more.
“One last question,” the man leaned in and almost whispered, “do you believe you can protect my son with all your dedication and strength?”
Sam thought about it, he is a police officer and a paramedic. Of course he could protect a singular person. Then, he nodded.
Signor Calebresi smiled as he opened a glass bottle and filled up two tiny cups.
“Perfetto,” he handed one of the cups to Sam, “benevento in famiglia.”
They both clicked glasses and the short man downed the drink in one go. Sam took little sips of the drink until completed, even still the liquid burned his throat. The man watched closely as he sipped the cup (that looked even smaller in Sam’s hand), he assumed Sam was drinking slowly just in case he tasted poison. Now that the interview was out of the way, Sam wanted to complete his quest.
“Where is Rory?”
Signor Calebresi grinned, “ah, you want to get right to work? Follow me, then.”
There was lots of walking that day, but he didn’t mind. They found Rory outside in the garden, he seemed to be deep in thought. Signor Calebresi proceeded to say words in Italian that Sam did not pay much attention to. He stood right in front of Rory and waved shyly, before taking the dress shirt out of his backpack. Rory, once more, was taken aback by someone suddenly appearing in front of him. Before any words were exchanged, Sam handed the dress shirt to Rory.
“Sam…?” he traced the material of the shirt, it felt softer than he remembered, “how did you find me?”
Sam didn’t answer, only a smile on his face.
Rory’s father was a bit confused by this interaction. It seemed that they had a form of acquaintance. He couldn’t assume anything. He coughed once more and then spoke,
“Sam, before you actually get to work, Rory here isn’t allowed to leave the estate. Just make sure he doesn’t scurry off or get kidnapped.”
Before Sam could even answer, Signor Calebresi left. Rory was confused and straightened his suit (just a force of habit).
“Tell me,” Rory stood oddly close to Sam, “why are you here?”
Sam pointed to the shirt Rory was holding, resulting in Rory groaning in annoyance.
“You’re always so quiet, aren’t you?” Rory stepped closer, he wasn’t directly face-to-face with him due to height. He then understood what his father said to Sam. “my father spoke to you with respect… did you… did you come in to be my bodyguard?”
Since Sam did not answer, Rory grit his teeth. But he noticed how Sam still was in good spirits, he took note that was level-headed and not easily provoked. Which, he had to admit, was a nice change of pace for being in the mafia. Everyone was so rash and ready to throw-hands. Now that he was so close, he analyzed Sam’s clothes: his suit was fitted to his height and Sam knew how to tie a tie. This meant that Sam has been in formal situations before. He wanted to yell at Sam for getting involved in the mafia, but he had a feeling Sam didn’t even know what the inner workings of a gang was. Rory knows Sam is a paramedic, so he is certified to treat anyone in an emergency. Sam has most likely seen horrible wounds, just like the one at the night of the shoot-out. Rory turned around and began to walk away. He walked fifteen-strides until he realized Sam was not following.
He whistled like a hunter calling back his scent hound, “aren’t you my bodyguard, mio cucciolo?”
Sam perked up his head and happily followed behind.