CHARACTER(S): North Italy (aka Feliciano), Russia (aka Ivan) and random mafia traitor #4 (Paolo)

WORD COUNT: 2073

DISCLAIMER: Hetalia isn't mine, they belong to Hidekaz Himaruya

RATING: T for violence

Might be part of a series of drabbles about Italy and the Mafia.

Italy-centric I guess you would call it? It's mostly his thought, actions and what he sees so I'll classify it as that. I'm going to do this same scene but with Russia being focused on instead.

Not beta-ed, so sorry for any grammatical mistakes. EDITED: for some grammar, structure and a bit new content added I used a translator for the Russian, the Italian was kinda obvious and I know they use a different term for Big Brother but enough people have told me Fratellone works well enough.

The smaller nation moved to the wall, humming an eerie lullaby he'd recently picked up. He didn't know the words, only the melody, but it was fine. Dark and lulling and a deeper voice was singing the words for him as sun kissed hands busied themselves with their current task. Small digits brushed over a pipe, a sawed off shot gun, a few choice pistols, a wooden bat, a crowbar... Humming in thought he tapped the metal of the crowbar, then glided his fingers along a small hand gun, next the smooth wood of the bat lovingly stroking it before he picked it up. A fine choice for the fun he wanted to have. A cry of pain followed the thick sound of bare skin being hit too hard by a gloved palm and he giggled. The noise was echoed and amplified by a hearty chuckle and another slap that had the tied up traitor crying. Traitor, rat, snitch, doomed. All were the same once you sworn yourself into la famiglia but betrayed it.

It was so... nice to have someone that got him. The real him, not the bubbly idiota he pretended to be. There were few in the world who would ever be able to understand the sadistic little bastard that lurked beneath the surface. It was the whole reason Grandpapa Rome had taken him from Romano after all. There were fights going on and if the small nation had been allowed in them, who knew what could have happened? So small yet so insane. He would have either become like his Grandfather and taken many countries over by sheer force, or gotten destroyed utterly by his many enemies. So, he was coddled and taught and protected by the great empire until he was returned home to Northern Italy. Rome had seen that primal urge to hurt for pleasure and sought to lock it away. His efforts had been successful... for a while.

Soon after the reformed Italian was home he was attacked and taken over, his lands someone else's now. He'd cried but did as he'd been told in order to not get hurt again for scars and wounds littered his small body. Grandpapa's death had been a crack that the young 'maid' had sought to fix, always busying himself and trying not to think of how nice it would be to just slice Austria's fingers off with a rusty kitchen knife and sweep them away in the trash. That racket... how dare the man call that dribble music! The break couldn't be fixed well enough at first, there was too much pressure and work, times the thoughts scared him into messing up and getting yelled at which only made the voices louder.

He'd gotten good at it too, hiding the crazed desires and eventually re-trained himself without knowing it was his true nature that was trying to break through. Being in love certainly helped. While it lasted that was. After Holy Roman's death something in him snapped completely. All that control went goodbye and even if he hid it well into his 'teen' years there were always small incidents in Austria's home. A nail on the piano bench, a splinter in his food, prickly plant spurs in his covers and shoes. Sometimes guests would find worms in their tea or ants in the couch, glue in their hats among other childish pranks. Feliciano never anything bad to Hungary though because she was nice, even if she did stupidly dress him up as a girl.

He was still fingering the bat and waiting in the shadows, idly checking his suit for blood drops. He would hate to have to explain to Germania or his fratellone why there were dark spots on his clothes. It had happened once and Ludwig had fretted in his own way for whatever small scrape had made his cowardly ally bleed, all the while demanding who had hurt him. Sneaking out at this time was difficult too. Romano would always storm around, demanding where he had been, always getting angrier at the lies he got because he checked up on them and they were rarely true. He was almost cure that Romano and Ludwig were putting differences aside as they worried about him.

A loud cry of pain brought him out of his reminiscing and a sadistic smile crossed his face as he saw his new... friend he supposed he would call him, with a cigar cutter in his hand, starring at the detached pointer finger on the floor with a similar smile. Blood was dripping to the stained concrete, a few flecks were on the pale man's face and clothes but he couldn't have looked more pleased with what the blade had done. The man tied to the chair was screaming in pain around the gag, not able to pass out and not able to get free. Feliciano couldn't remember if it was an Italian man or Russian or some other nation's human that had crossed two powerful mafias with one bad decision. It didn't matter though, this was the fourth man they'd interrogated so far from the small group caught trading secrets. Why couldn't people be smart and know they couldn't get away if they snitched on the mafia? The Dons would always find out after all.

There was a silver lining within this though. It seemed one of Feliciano's rival gangs, stupid petty humans all power hungry, was coercing with a minor Russian mob to take over his and Russia's main groups. Idiots. Didn't they know countries had eyes everywhere? Then again how could they know their country was the head of the most notorious mafias within themselves? They didn't even know that there were countries walking amongst them probably. Then again without these traitorous moves, and the rats informing to everyone and their mother, they would have never found another with a common interest - then again everyone already knew Ivan was a crazy bastard. Italy would have to make sure he would keep his creepy lips shut on this shared hobby, it wouldn't do good for his image if the other nations knew his pass times. It was better they think he was still weak anyways, an advantage for him in the future.

"See, I told you it was fun~" Feliciano giggled eerily as he stepped from the shadows, twirling the baseball bat in his hands. "We should tie it up so he doesn't pass out." He moved slowly, freshly shined black shoes, that probably cost over several hundred dollars and made of genuine leather, tapping the floor lightly as he moved so he was standing in front of the chair, careful to avoid the puddles of drying blood from the previous men and this one. " 'cause then he wouldn't be fun to play with anymore~" The bat hit his hand with a dull smacking noise over and over as he watched the large man pull something from his pockets. The stray curled bobbed as the Italian mobster shifted to try and see what was pulled out, free hand reaching to push the fedora out of his vision.

"Cauterizing is easier, da?" Ivan didn't even wait for an answer. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air as the lighter was struck and gagged screams resounded like a symphony. Had the man not been gagged there was no doubt the screams would have been ear shattering.

"Ivan you make such bella musica~" Feliciano giggled happily, bat in the crook of his arms as he clapped. The lighter was flicked off and slipped back into the Russian's coat as he stood. The scent of burnt flesh and burnt blood still lingered in the air, tainting the stuffy warehouse air until it was you couldn't breath or taste anything but it. Ivan took a deep breath as if to savor it. Sadistic smiles mirrored the other's as they watched the panting man who was now slumped forward with only the tight rope binds keeping him up. Ivan moved off to the side as Feliciano raised his bat, using the handle to tilt the tortured man's head up. "If you'd just tell us who else you told secrets to then we would stopped hurting you~" A point-blank lie. The evil twist of lips and teeth had melted into something sugary sweet that promised no pain, a typical Italian smile, but his eyes were still sharp and dark, lusting for another's pain.

The man shook his head. No. It was a bad move. Stupidly brave was what he was, and he would pay dearly for his bravery. Reminded Feliciano of Alfred, the stupidly brave part, when la Cosa Nostra first showed up in New York and Chicago and all those other big cities in America. But stupidly brave people never fared better than the cowards. This would end, with his life seeping to join those already spent on the floor and then in the harbor.

"No? Well then I just get to show Ivan that I can make pretty music too~" He stepped back and started humming the more upbeat tune of a famous French pop song, flipping the bat with ease so the handle was in his grasp, fingers curling tight. "Here~ we~ go~~~!" The bat was pulled back and swung forward with such speed and force that the nation's friend's and allies would have been astonished. Weak little Italia heaving a bat hard enough for a crack bones was laughable outside of this room. The bat had hit its mark and the shin broke messily, bones poking from now bloody pants, leg bent in half. The cracks from the break were drowned by the cries of pain that seemed loud even with the gag. Splendido~

Ivan had moved forward again with his favorite pipe pulled from under his coat. Feliciano stepped back just as the other did before, leaning both hands on the splintered and bloodied wood, watching intently so the Russian would get to do one of his favorite things in the world - breaking people. One mighty swing connected the faucet to the gut and blood poured from the human's mouth. Something must have ruptured. Another swing that cracked at least 4 ribs, maybe punctured a lung with how he wheezed through bloody saliva. The cold and stained faucet forced the man's head up roughly, letting them see that the traitors eye's were hazed with pain and tears. There was no coherency left, pain had shot everything down. "He is of no more use. We should do away with him, da?" The tall man didn't even have to look at the other to see the happy nod and evil gleam as Feliciano rocked back onto his heels.

"You can do the honors this time."

"Спасибо, товарищ." Ivan moved back into the shadows Feliciano had occupied not too long ago, leaving the traitor to worry about his fate. Well, worry with what conscious he had left behind the pain wracking his body into a shivering mess. The Italian had tossed the bat to the side and sauntered over, roughly grabbing the man's chin with bare hands and pulling out the gag in a tender motion that was the opposite of everything before and everything currently happening to the rat in front of him. "Pa-o-lo~ You have any last words?" he cooed, lips brushing the battered man's as his fingers tightened to bruising on his chin. Cuts laced his face, bare chest and arms. A few of his fingers were missing, his foot nailed to the ground and now his shin broken into a bloody mess along with whatever internal damage the sink pipe had caused. He tried to speak, bloody and cracked lips moving against the nation's that were still so close, but there was the cock of a shotgun and Feliciano giggled. "Too late Pa-o-lo~" He giggled, pressing his lips against the dying man's in a final kiss. Then he danced away to stand next to Ivan, eyes glimmering as the sawed off shotgun was aimed at the man's head.

A happy and bubbly voice with devil eyes. "Ciao~" A hungry tongue licking lips bloody from a dead man's kiss.

Rough laughter like sharp nails grating on glass. "Пока." Thick fingers on the trigger and violet eyes taking aim.

*~*~*~*~*BANG*~*~*~*~*

"Ivan? Do you always make such a big mess!"

FIN

KEY

La Famiglia = Family

Idiota = Idiot (Italian)

Germania = Germany (Italian)

Fratellone - Big Brother (Italian)

Bella Musica = Beautiful Music (Italian)

La Cosa Nostra = What they call the Italian mafia in America

Italia = Italy (Italian)

Splendido = Gorgeous (Italian)

Спасибо, товарищ = Thank you Comrade (Russian)

Ciao and Пока = Bye (Italian and Russian)

Review and critique? I rarely ever post my writing so I hope the few times I do I can get some pointers x

Thanks for reading~*~*~*~*~*