Work Text:
The water was still warm when Prosciutto climbed into the tub—draping his clothes over a wooden stool, lit cigarette in hand. He settled in and stretched out his legs, careful not to bump the bobbing head at the end of the tub. He sighed and put the cigarette to his lips. The woman’s dark hair spiraled out around her head as he imagined her eyes were probably still open, staring absently at his feet. He leaned his head back against the ledge of the tub and exhaled smoke into the room. He felt the tension leaving his body. He may never show it but he always got worked up during a kill. It was exhilarating in a cathartic way. He could take out all of his grievances on a target. Instead of facing things in his life head-on, he bottled them up until he could unleash them during moments like these.
He considered the prostitute now slumped at the edge of the clawfoot tub. She’d divulged information about a drug deal to a cop in order to exonerate herself. Snitch on her client or be busted for soliciting. She’d made her choice and so had her client. He’d been booked, but he still put out the hit on her. Prosciutto didn’t really care about all the details, he just needed the money. The method was left up to him, the only stipulation was that it didn’t come back to the client.
Easy enough.
He liked clean, easy hits. She had been more than eager for his patronage. Being attractive had its perks. It lulled people into a false sense of security. If it worked for Ted Bundy, it could work for him. He was surprised that as charming as Sorbet could be, he didn’t use that more to his benefit. He reserved that for Gelato only and was cold to the rest of the world. Prosciutto, on the other hand, would take any opportunity given to him, and he was sure to abuse every privilege his face could afford him.
She went with him without question, taking his money and leading him back to the nearest hotel. He didn’t know if she was stupid or just didn’t care. Probably needed the money just as badly as he did. He figured she might put him through a bit more vetting though. Snitching gets you killed, and ratting out someone a part of Italy’s notorious crime syndicate definitely has its consequences.
The adrenaline was beginning to fade now. She was pretty enough and she didn’t have any track marks on her arms. He wondered if she’d been doing this long. What had led her to this life? Few women did it for pleasure, most worked out of desperation, though he had met some that did enjoy the work. He, himself, had also fallen into Passione in a similar manner.
His family was deeply involved in the crime world so it was only natural and expected for him to follow along the same path. Prosciutto didn’t mind. He’d come to expect this would be his career. He’d watched his father over the years get his hands dirty. He taught him about honor and the importance of finishing a job no matter how difficult or unsavory the work may be.
The day his father doused a man in gasoline and then lit his cigarette on the resulting flames that erupted from the man. That was the first time he’d smelled charred flesh.
He never forgot that. The smell never left him.
His phone vibrated in the breast pocket of his jacket causing it to rattle against the wooden stool. He leaned over and pulled it out to see a text from Sorbet: What are you doing rn? Are you busy?
Prosciutto leaned forward and pushed the woman’s face out of the water, her hollow eyes open just as he expected. Her head lulled against the side of the tub as he took a picture and sent it: Working.
Sorbet replied, Looks fun. Jealous. We’ll talk later when you get back to base.
Gelato says have fun.
Prosciutto typed back, I always do. He slipped the phone back into his breast pocket, lit up another cigarette and leaned his head back against the white porcelain, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. He would have to set up the scene in a bit to look like a suicide. No one would question what happened. He didn’t know why he got in the tub, he just suddenly had the urge and felt tired. It looked comfortable. He wasn’t sure if he should slit her wrists or just make it look like a drowning. He decided he didn’t want to mar her unscarred arms.
It wasn’t much, but he felt it showed her some semblance of respect in her death. She was clothed; he decided he would leave her in her clothes. It exemplified the desperation of the act. Maybe he’d light some candles around the bathroom to make it look like it had been meticulously planned. That would be a lovely way to be found. A death made beautiful by candlelight. It was the only decent thing he could really do for this woman. She certainly didn’t deserve this, but that wasn’t for him to question.
Candles it is. He liked to make his kills classy. He got out of the bath and dried off, pulling his suit back on. He turned out the light, and lit every candle in the bathroom and watched as the shadows danced against the walls, the light illuminating the lifeless eyes. In this lighting, she looked as lovely as she had in life. It would be a nice way to find her. Best he could do for her. He finished his cigarette and left the bathroom.