A Pinch of Sugar | ( unita speciale x Fem!Reader)

18- Ballroom Ghosts

oh my god i forgot i had this fic again and now we're at 27k reads THANK YOU GUYS ILY FR <33

make sure you check the previous chapter really fast because I made one small change that may leave you confused (last sentence) WE DONT SETTLE FOR OK DRESSES FR

Also as a treat, i will be briefly taking requests for this fic should you have any. Make sure you elaborate on your idea fully so I can write it to the best of my ability :DD

(also, semi-long chapter bc it's been forever since an upload. 3k words <33)

(not editing bc im half asleep, sorry for any mistakes and whatnot)

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The occasion was sad, and yet it had been a celebration of death. It is a funeral, just as much as it is a grand madness of dancers and orchestra, whose music vibrated down the hall and bled into the street with every opening of those grandiose doors.

You cling to your chosen corner of the room and sip on the drink Secco had brought earlier. It was sour, though also, a tinge sweet, some bitter concoction that somehow had you coming back for more, drink after drink. You couldn't tell whether to like it or not.

'Ten minutes until we need you outside.' A voice in your ear chimed, and your eyes flick to a large circle of chairs far off in the distant reaches of the room. 

Tiziano sits there, legs crossed, and raises his glass to you with a bow of his head. You shift your hand in a lazy reciprocation, and he seems to laugh, before he smiles and looks away. 

"Understood." You mumble back into the receiver, holding your glass to your lips so it doesn't appear that you're talking-- though you may have already drawn enough suspicion just standing by yourself.

Perhaps it's what attracted the looming shadow swallowing you up, an eager guest, offensively good looking. 

"How's it going, dollface?"

"Fine." You say back, and elect to swallow another sip of liquid torture than answer further.

Cioccolata laughed, and took a swing from his own glass. He was not someone you much had the energy to acknowledge, though with the way he presented himself tonight, perhaps there was space to indulge.

His green locks had been pulled back from his face and slicked into a neat cluster, he didn't reek of rot and blood didn't cling to his clothes. However, that was bound to change at some point tonight no doubt.

"Don't you look pretty in that dress of yours? Was that one I picked out?"

"It was one you payed for."

"Oh," He sighed whimsically, "I have such good taste."

You let out a short scoff and turned away, looking to the target across the room. There was a small grunt from beside you, and a head lowered to hover beside your face.

Ignorance is bliss. You pretend its not there, and finish the odd spell Secco had given you before dumping the glass onto a passing waiters tray. Pink Floyd hides in your shadow with your rifle in its hand, and it eagerly thumbs the trigger as it waits for the signal to turn the ball into a funeral as planned.

"I don't appreciate you ignoring me." Cioccolata snaps into your ear. "I have been very, very nice to you, but I can change that."

"Well, you've made me rather uncomfortable during a few interactions, so I think I'm well within my rights to be distant."