You Don't Mess With the Italian Mafia (Spamano)

Even Mobsters Cry, Sometimes

Antonio had been in the care of the eldest Vargas brother for almost a week before he was allowed to stand and move about his room. There was a small window above the bed and a rather comfortable mattress on the frame. Antonio normally sat on the bed, staring at the door. Lovino rarely visited, but when he did, it was never an enjoyable experience for the brunette Spaniard.

      "This time would be different," the same thought went through his mind as the familiar click of his door lock echoed through the dark room.

     The nervous Spaniard got to his feet as Lovino walked into the small dark room that homed his emotional punching bag. Lovino scanned the room, and his deep copper eyes rested on the green ones of Antonio. Lovi flicked his wrist, commanding his bodyguard out of the room. The door slammed shut behind Lovino and the two were cast into dark silence. The click of Lovino's heels on the cement floor was the only sound that echoed in the room. He came to rest on the mattress beside Antonio, who had reclaimed his seat.

"H-Hey. Bastardo?  Remember what I had said your job was?" The Sicilian stuttered, surprising Antonio.

"Si Lovino. You said I am to 'be your play-thing, your toy. I am to tend to your every need and be here when you need to hit something." Antonio recited by memory, as he had replayed that moment many times over.

Lovino sighed, "W-Which means you are th-there when I need to talk to someone, as that is one of my needs." As the last words left his mouth, Antonio grabbed Lovino by the shoulders, hugging him close. The two simply sat there, in each other's embrace for an immeasurable amount of time, Lovino hiding his face in the crook for Antonio's neck, silent tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.