Chapter Text

Title: Springs and switches

Chapter One: The School Day

It was like any other day at school. Clover was in her freshman classes as usual, though something was off. There had been these muscled men in suits looking like they ate fist for breakfast looking around in her school. They didn't look friendly. Not one bit.

So, Clover was wary the entire day up to the last hour before lunch. Her fifth hour class was history with Mrs. Jennings. Almost no one liked Mrs. Jennings because she was old, grumpy, and stuck in her ways. The odd thing was; there were three men in her class. One was larger than the rest, donning a fedora, a long coated three-piece suit, and a small white rabbit sat on his broad shoulder.

He had a cold, almost dangerous air to him. His fedora was tipped down and shadowed his eyes to make him unreadable. It gave him a bad vibe. Clover thought this looked like something straight out of a mafia movie and it freaked her out a bit that the usually cold, stern Mrs. Jennings was nervous and sweating around these men. She keeps the markings on her arms at bay, making sure she doesn't stand out among her peers.

The lunch bell finally rings and Clover packs her things to leave... Mrs. Jennings stops her and tells her she has lunch detention. Great. 

Clover sat back down at her desk, bored and without lunch. She pulled out her home laptop and studied for her college level robotics test because there was nothing else she needed to do.

As everyone filed out, she glanced up from her laptop occasionally to check if anyone was in here or watching, and yes, the largest man with the fedora and rabbit was staring her down like she owed him money. It sent a cold shiver down Clover's spine.

She continued her work as usual, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched by someone, though it was insanely difficult to ignore being stared at by a large, menacing looking, grown ass man... until she was called by him. His voice was deep and intimidating, like a baseball bat being dragged over thick velvet carpet.

“You.”
She freezes. Her heart catches in her throat, but she forces herself to remain stoic. Clover looks up from her laptop warily.

“Stand.”

This guy is a man of few words. Direct, cold, efficient. Clover slowly rises, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She’s scared. Terrified, almost.

“C’mere. I won't hurt ya."

She doesn't trust his words. He looks too... violent? Either way, she steps up to the front of the empty classroom. She feels like she wants the floor to open up on her and swallow her whole.

“...you asked for me?” she says with a hint of fear in her tone. He notices. 

He smirks, taking amusement from the fear he knows is coming from her, even through her stoic facade.

“The name’s Don. Don Sonnellino.”

He extends a hand, expecting a return to the formal greeting.

“And you might be..?”

He asks with barely masked curiosity.

“Clover.”

She shakes Don's hand with a firm grip. His smirk only sharpens. Like a switchblade, fresh out of the box.

“You’re coming with me.”
Clover doesn't have time to even process what he said before she’s being dragged out of the classroom. She gets a brief view of her things being packed up by the other two men in the room, her belongings being taken care of with respect. She’s too shocked to even scream so she just lets herself be dragged along by Don, who is smirking like he’d just won something.

Clover is dragged out of the school with haste by her wrist, not even having time to protest. They stop in front of a black, 1977 Rolls-Royce camargue. The car looks brand new with tinted windows. It's already running. They must have a driver. There is another car behind it, the same kind. 

Don’s associates walk out of the school building carrying Clover's backpack and her things inside. Don says something in Italian along the lines of: “mettere le lei cose nel bagagliaio” in a commanding tone.

“WHAT?!”

Clover yells, stunned, scared, anxious. She has no idea what's going on, and she’s too panicked to translate what Don has said. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Don’s smirk fades. “Get in the car, bambino.” he all but commands again.

“That doesn't answer my question.” Clover crosses her arms defiantly even though she’s scared out of her mind.

“Dont test me. Get in the car.” Don says sternly. “I’ll explain everything when we get moving.”

Clover huffs, but slides into the luxurious back seat of the car as Don opens the door. He gets in after her, closing the door behind them. Don’s jaw is clenched tight, mildly irritated by her defiant behaviour.

The interior of the car is - again - something out of a mafia movie. The seats are luxurious leather, while the door panels hold some fancy glasses and expensive liquor. There are some ambient lights built into the doors that illuminate the top of the glasses in a cool, white light. The vehicle begins to move.

Clover can't help but notice Don. He seems tense. Like he doesn't know what to say to Clover. Whether to offer up a drink, to strike a conversation, to threaten her, to intimidate her, he doesn't know. Clearly Don isn't good with kids.

“So...“ Clover starts. “Why exactly did you kidnap me?” she asks directly. She doesn't sugar coat anything, that's for sure.

Don rests his chin on his fist like he’s thinking. He makes the large car space look small with his large, imposing form. The rabbit on his shoulder hops down and sniffs Clover curiously.

“I-...” he pauses, still unsure how to word this.

“‘I’ what?”

“Your parents lost a bet to me. They didn't have the money to pay me, so they sold you off. I got some information from you, and I do have a few questions.”
“...My parents did what now???” Clover asks disbelievingly, though there was no sign of a lie on Don’s face. “You’ve got to be joking...“

Don smirks. He thinks this is funny. “Nope. You’re mine, kid.”

Clover feels her face get hot. No. She can't cry. Not now. She can't afford to look weak. Don's smirk falters for a brief moment before coming back slightly softer. “Well, the only rules I have for you involve not getting into trouble, not rotting your brain, and not running your mouth to anybody about my little ‘family business’. Also, just don't look like a hobo and shower. Otherwise, I don't care what the hell you do.” he says with slight humor in his voice.

Clover bristles at that. Her thoughts race from things along the lines of ‘seriously?!’ to ‘whywhywhywhywhywhywhy-’ and she cant focus on a single thing. “Thats it? Really?”

“What? You thought it was gonna be some perverse shit? Get your mind outta the gutter.”

“JESUS! NO! I just thought it would be more strict than that?”

“Do you want it to be more strict? ‘Cause I sure as hell can make that happen.”

“N-no! No, it's fine...” 

As the conversation goes on, Don begins to ask Clover questions. Things like ‘what are your talents’ and ‘what style of clothing do you prefer’. Pretty chill things in total... until he asks this; “have you ever had alcohol?”

She gives him a quizzical look before asking “Are you seriously asking me that? Me, a fourteen-year-old, if I've had alcohol before?”

Don returns her look with a devious smirk. “Yeah. I am.” he states matter-of-factly. 

Clover then asks something that he expected her to.

“Are you offering me a drink or something?”

His smirk sharpens. “Maybe.” 

She looks at Don skeptically. “You’re serious? You’re going to let a fourteen-year-old drink?”

“Kid, I could care less.”

“Uhm.. I dunno...“ 

Don pours her a drink anyways. He grabs a glass and pours about two fingers worth of a good liquor into it, then hands it to Clover.

She swirls the amber liquid in the glass then takes a small whiff. The strong scent of alcohol burns her nose, but she takes a wary sip anyway. The warm liquid burns down Clover's throat and settles warmly in the pit of her stomach. She wants to cough, but holds it in. 

The weird thing is, she likes that warm feeling. A lot. Clover takes another sip of her drink, noticing that Don has poured his own. Probably to ease the tension in the car. He sips from his glass, then continues to ask questions.

“So, Clover. Do you have any skills? Useful ones?” he asks with an eased tone.

“uhm... I’m pretty good at coding and building robots. I’m actually working on something pretty big right now. I’m even making some new tech for him.” Clover states with a confident air.

“Oh. robots. Better not be building anything weird on my turf though.” Don responds with slight disappointment.

Clover returns the disappointment with a bold scoff. “You think I’m just that freaky, huh?”

Don smiles dangerously. “Trust me, kid. I’ve probably done worse.”

Clover’s smirk fades into something of conspiratorial  concern. “...What-?”

Don just smirks devilishly without giving explanation. This freaks Clover out a little bit. His unreadable face says something, but she doesn't know if that's what he actually means. Clover has no idea.

The car finally rolls to a stop in a parking space of a smooth stone driveway in front of a warm, modernised house next to the ocean. Damn, New York is weird... At one moment, you’re in a forest of huge buildings and sky scrapers. In the next, you’re on a clean estate next to the ocean.

Don nods. A single to exit the car.

“Welcome to your new home, bambina.”