Wild Horses

Arrivederci

Bucciarati and Lira came back from the pharmacy and saw Abbacchio's car in the driveway.

"Oh good. Abbacchio can debrief me on how the rest of the night went," he said in his business tone.

"I thought you weren't going to work today?" Lira teased him. The wadded up packaging of the used plan b was sitting in her lap. She shoved it into her bag before they went inside.

"You're right," Bucciarati sighed. "But work came to me."

Once inside, they immediately saw Mista laying in the middle of the floor and making groaning noises. He was still in his rumpled outfit from the night before.

"MISTA!" Bucciarati and Lira yelled in unison as they ran towards the fallen gunman. As they knelt beside him, a strong smell of alcohol radiated off of him, and they realized he wasn't hurt. He was just shitfaced drunk.

"Someone had a little too much fun last night, Bucciarati," Abbacchio said from the kitchen. Bucciarati and Lira glanced at each other as their faces started to burn with blush. Abbacchio brought a glass of water over and saw the look on their faces. "Oh god, I'm talking about Mista. I don't give a fuck what you two got into." He rolled his eyes before splashing some water on Mista's face. "But, you know, congratulations," he said with a snicker as he patted Bucciarati's shoulder. He winked at Lira as well.

"Come on, Abbacchio, it's not like we're getting married!" Lira scoffed as she felt her face getting hotter.

"Not yet, anyway," Bucciarati said with a smirk. He eyed Lira to see her reaction. She huffed as the corners of her mouth turned up.

"Mista, get up. You need to shower and go to sleep. You're stinking up the place," Abbacchio said firmly.

"Abbacchio, what happened last night?" Bucciarati asked in his smooth capo voice.

"Some of the girls wanted protection after what happened," Mista slurred. "They asked me to take care of them!" he chuckled. "I took care of them alllll night." Mista groaned and rolled over. "They really like to party," he mumbled and burped. "Oh god," he said as a wave of nausea came over him. He stood up shakily and stumbled to the bathroom. Lira, Bucciarati, and Abbacchio heard vomiting noises.

"Sounds like he made it to the toilet," Abbacchio said gruffly. "The girls did ask us to stay with them after we took them back to the club. Fugo and Narancia took care of Stromboli. His accomplices are in Passione's custody, although I can't say what will happen to them now."

"Good," Bucciarati said and sighed. "Make sure Mista gets into bed," he commanded Abbacchio.

Abbacchio would have rolled his eyes if he weren't facing Bucciarati. "Of course, Bucciarati."

~*~

With Passione's connections, Lira could have easily opened her new shop somewhere on the main streets where wealthy locals and tourists alike shopped for the best fashions. But it didn't feel right. Lira wanted to stick to her roots and stay in her old neighborhood. She also felt it was important to do as much as she could by herself, without the influence of the mob.

Still, Lira didn't want to reject Passione's help outright and offend any of the higher-ups, so she accepted a little help and settled on opening her business in the first floor of the warehouse. It was perfect. Fugo, Narancia, and Mista moved permanently into the hideout above the shop, so they would always be close by. They even walked through her shop sometimes to get to their apartment.

Abbacchio came in with Fugo sometimes after missions, but Lira didn't know where he lived. She figured he moved back into his old place for some peace and quiet. She would have asked him, but he always seemed to be in a sour mood recently. Whenever he came in with Fugo, the two of them always looked solemn and hardened. She knew their assignments were tough, and they never stopped to chat about their work. She once overheard Fugo yelling about their assignments coming directly from Polpo. Bucciarati wasn't entirely shocked when she told him, but he did he seem a little curious. He advised her that it sounded like something she should pretend she never heard.