The Monsters in us all ( Dark!/Yandere! Hetalia x Reader )

Dark Romano x Reader ~Wine~

A/N: Since I found writing a story about mafia romano to cliche I decided to do something else. with this story i want to give you guys a bit of insight in Fascist Italy.  

The clock strikes 12 o'clock midday and the chimes echo through the mansion of Lovino Vargas. The many hallways are deserted and quiet, the only sounds in the near lifeless house are the ticking of the clocks and the muffled shouting coming from the meeting room.

You are standing in front of the oak door, listening what you master is yelling about and trying to hear what the other men are stuttering in response.

"If the British are camping in the middle of the desert the just bomb them for heaven sake!... You say that we have almost no information. Then send a spy or capture one of those bastard enemy soldiers and all our problems disappear into thin air. ....... I don't care what my brother says, his orders are invalid. .... Oh, come on. And I thought that you'd all realize that such a plan is complete lunacy. They'll just laugh themselves silly. ...... Don't you dare be sassy with me, I know what I'm talking about."

After that the commotion dies down, the only thing to be heard is the rustling of paper. The door is flung open and you quickly jump aside as the generals flood out. Heads held high, uniforms covered in medals of their 'achievements', they strut around like peacocks and try to regain their composure while not letting the others see that the outburst of the young master had made them get cold feet.

And pacing out after them comes Lovino Vargas, ever a light spring in his step as if he were dancing and his uniform bare, only decorated with a few precious medals which the wearer deemed most important.

He glares at the men that are marching and shoving each other to the front door and says with evident distaste in his voice:

"Petty show-offs."

Sighing, he turns around and heads down the hallway to the garden, passing paintings of various paintings, including that of the Dolce, Benito Mussolini, the very person that the Italian general has pledged uttermost loyalty to.

The man whom he obeys like an obedient dog because he is the person, as the young Vargas says, he owes everything he is too.

The public is all too familiar with the story of how the humble Vargas brothers joined the army at the tender age of 15 to pull their family out of debt and fight for their fatherland in World War II. Of how they returned how after the war, both unscathed and above the rank of a regular soldier, to find their loved ones dead, either perished in the war zone or killed by the result of unrest and short rations, and their childhood home in ruins. How the fiercer of two had been one of the first to join the Fascist revolution, quickly climbing up the hierarchy with his charisma and wit, closely followed by his more laid back brother. That his passion for the ongoing war and quick thinking had led to early victories in Africa.

You know that the story was touched up to serve its purpose as propaganda. But you have to admit that there may be some credit to the tale because they are quite young for two top-notch generals.

Nonetheless, you know Lovino from a different perspective, as an emotional man with a love for art and good. Who would stick strictly to Italian food and his siesta, work late into the night and envy the Germans for their efficiency and wealth amongst other reasons? At times he could curse like a sailor he never let anyone close to him. When asked about why he is so reserved he'd shake it off and explain that the loss of his family had affected him deeply and he couldn't bear to go through the pain of heartbreak again. As his servant, however, you know that he can be polite and calm and amongst all, nice.

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As you rearrange a flower banquette in a vase you watch out of the corner of your eye as the young master paces the room with a glass of wine in his hand. Slowly he passes the various paintings before stopping at the canvas of a famous Italian artist, trailing his finger over the beautifully carved vines and flowers that decorated the frame. Inwardly, you panic, thoughts race around your head in abandon as you give your best to maintain a calm façade.