Behind the Veil

Part 14

Well, it looked like Kirkland had actually managed to finish the job. Took the bastard long enough.

Lovino frowned as he watched the scene flicker across his television screen. The ambulances, the coroner's van, the police officers taping the area off while curious onlookers gathered around... One less liability in this deadly little game.

He'd just left his shower and was now standing, barefoot and bare-chested, in his living room, watching as the consequences of his orders flashed across the TV screen. He rubbed his damp hair with a towel as he watched them load the body into the coroner's van.

Funny how normal this all seemed to him now. He'd just ordereda man's death and he honestly felt nothing. No remorse or pity... Nothing but relief that he had one less thing to worry about.

He needed to sleep, but he doubted that he'd be able to. There were too many things that he needed to think about... That girl cop, Braginski, Ricci, the Spanish idiot...

Damn it, there were just too many unknown variables right now. And if he fucked anything up, he was as good as dead.

He groaned and then threw his towel toward the television, grunting irritably when he managed to completely miss. How much longer could he keep this up? He was absolutely exhausted, both mentally and physically. And he knew that it was only a matter of time before he screwed up... And then he'd end up just like his grandfather.

Not that it would really matter that much, since he was already dead to the rest of the world.

It'd been two years now. Two years spent living as a dead man. Hiding in this lousy little apartment complex under an assumed name alongside the rest of the city scum.

Of course he could live somewhere else. He had the money for it, after all. But it was easier to keep yourself anonymous around here. And that was what he most needed right now. Complete anonymity. It was the only way to keep himself—and by extension Feliciano—safe.

And he suddenly froze at a sudden rap on the front door. Entire body tensing as he waited, fingers inching toward the gun resting on the table beside him. The gun that never left his side.

Another rap, three second pause and then two in rapid succession. A two second pause this time and then three in succession.

Francis.

Lovino allowed his hand to fall away from the gun as he sighed. Stupid bastard should know better than to bother him at this hour of the night.

Although to be honest, he'd expected the visit. After all, he'd ordered the hit on Rickety-bastard without the Frenchie's input. Not that he needed Francis's input. This was his gang, whether he really wanted it or not.

He didn't bother going to open the door for him. Bastard knew he was home, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Instead, he wandered over to his frayed and holey armchair and plopped down, moving so his back was resting against one armrest with his legs thrown over the other.

There was a moment of blessed silence before the door was pushed open and Francis's figure was outlined by the light streaming in from the hallway.

"Lovi?" He hesitated for a moment and then took a step inside. And immediately tripped over a pair of boots that Lovino had left in front of the doorway to dry.

Lovino smirked at the deluge of French curses that proceeded to burst from his half-brother's lips. And then the irritated, "Why the hell do you always have to keep your room so dark? You're trying to kill me."

"That's the plan." Francis's head jerked in his direction at his words and he proceeded to take a hesitant step forward. And this time was greeted by an angry yowl as he placed his foot down right on the cat's tail.

And yes, that was what he called the bad-tempered, hissy little brown and white creature. Just 'the cat'. He'd found it outside the complex one day, starving and filthy. And he'd, well, taken it in for some stupid reason. Cleaned it up—and he'd gotten incredibly scratched up in the process—fed it, let it stay in his apartment... Now it just kind of hung around like it fucking owned the place.

"Don't step on the cat, idiot."

"Well maybe if you actually used your lamps..." There were a few more steps forward and then an exclamation of triumph before the room was flooded with light.

Which hurt damn it. The bastard hadn't even given him any warning.

"There we go! Much better! And I am sorry Monsieur Chat for stepping on your tail."

The cat just glared at him and then turned and ran away with a flick of its tail. Probably to go and gorge itself like usual.

"What do you want, Francis?" Not that he really needed to ask, since he had a pretty good idea of what Francis wanted. Namely to know why Rickety-bastard was dead.

Of course, the bastard wasn't going to just come out and say it. No, he was going to wander around the room instead, looking over the flea market furniture and random little knick-knacks that he'd bought in a futile attempt to make the place more liveable.

And then he paused, staring at the wall... Or, to be more specific, at the painting that took up almost the entirety of the space above the stupid television that still going on about the murder. The noise was starting to drive Lovino crazy.

"He still misses you," Francis murmured the words just loudly enough for Lovino to hear. "You can tell; it's everywhere in his artwork."

"He'll get over it."

Except he knew he wouldn't. Because Feli was sensitive like that; it was part of what made him such a great painter. He was overly in-tune with both his and others' emotions, even those emotions that did nothing but hurt him.

Francis chose to ignore his remark. The idiot just continued to stand there, staring at the painting... The painting that Lovino had Alcide buy for him a few tears ago, at an art show the school had put on to benefit the art program. Each student had prepared a variety of pieces to auction off. Lovino, through Alcide, had managed to snatch up all of his brother's work. For at least a hundred a piece, because he deserved it.

That one was simultaneously his most treasured and most hated piece. Because this was the pain that he'd caused his brothers. The reds and oranges and flame-like wraiths that haunted the foreground like a nightmare. This image portrayed the pain that he'd caused Feliciano when he faked his death.

"What do you want?" he asked again, wanting Francis away from that painting.

And he finally turned, his expression slightly annoyed. But he forced a smile as he walked across the room and took a seat on Lovino's couch, wincing a little as one of the springs dug into his back. "You ordered Arthur to kill Rick Andrews today, oui?"

"Yeah." He slouched in his seat, watching as the cat walked back into the room and began clawing at the back of Francis's seat. He felt like he was about to be scolded. Which was stupid, because he was the gang's leader. He was the one who was most at risk.

Francis didn't yell, though. He just sighed, instead, and allowed his head to fall against the back of his chair. "Was that the most intelligent thing to do, frère?"

Lovino scowled. Both at the remark and the nickname. "He was talking to a cop. You think I should have killed the cop too?"

"Non. But I think we should have talked about this before you did anything. This might anger some of the other members..."

Like they weren't already angry with him. Like they weren't already planning to overthrow and kill him.

Fuck, he was so tired of this shit...

And he was a little surprised when Francis suddenly stood, sending him a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring as he walked to the armchair and then knelt down in front of him.

"What are you doing, bastard?" he questioned suspiciously, lifting his legs away from the personal space invader.

Francis just sighed and then rose onto his knees, reaching up and then pinching Lovino's right arm. Which earned him a startled yelp and then a semi-enraged slap on the arm, which he just shrugged off. And then, like it was perfectly normal, "You need to take better care of yourself, mon cher frère. You're just skin and bones. And you look exhausted."

"Shut up." The last thing Lovi needed was the stupid Frenchie telling him things that he already knew. "And we're half-brothers. Which means that I won't feel bad at all if I have to put a bullet through your skull someday. Just remember that."

He didn't even seem perturbed by the threat. He just smiled and then reached up and tousled Lovino's hair like he was some little kid or something. "Half-brother, whole brother... Either way, I need to make sure that mon cher frère is taking care of himself."

"I don't need anyone taking care of me." And he knew that he'd sounded like a child when he said that. A petulant child.

"Of course." And now Francis was just humouring him. But, before Lovino could protest more, his voice shifted. Into something more commanding and serious. Serious enough that Lovi straightened in his seat and shut up. "Rick Andrews' death will be investigated by our dear police chief, oui? The case, however, will, unfortunately, never be closed. Tragic, but it happens, right?"

"Yeah." His gaze flickered over to the television. They were interviewing someone who Lovino assumed was the bar's owner, a fat man who kept wringing his hands nervously. Idiot. This would probably be good for business. Visit the bar where a man was stabbed to death, the case never solved.

"The weapons went out to Braginski fine?"

"Yeah, except..." He'd almost forgotten all about what had happened earlier this evening in the excitement caused by planning for Ricky's murder and everything. "Nobody showed up at the warehouse to unload. Nobody 'cept Gilbert, Arthur, and Alcide."

And Francis's eyebrows rose slightly at that. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." Why would he say so if it weren't true? "So I moved everything to a different warehouse." And he felt a little proud of that fact. See? He didn't need the Frenchie for everything.

Not that Francis even bothered congratulating him on his good thinking or anything. He just continued kneeling there, apparently lost deep in thought.

Which Lovino interrupted after a few moments. "I'm pretty sure it was Ricci. We all know that he hates me and wants me out of the picture."

"Oui." Francis nodded in agreement, "That seems to be the most likely explanation."

"So why don't we finally do something to get rid of him?" Except he knew, even as he said it, that things didn't work like that. He didn't have enough men on his side to take on Ricci. Hell, the only people he could be even semi-confident in were Arthur, Gilbert, Francis, and Alcide.

It was only a matter of time before they killed him. And after they killed him, they'd go after Feliciano.

Fuck, he was so tired.

"Don't worry." And he glanced up—when had he even looked down?—to meet Francis's determined eyes. "I promise. I promise, Lovi, that I'll take care of everything."

Lovi. Francis was the only one who called him that anymore—and only in these private moments. To the members of the gang, he was Romano. The grandson of Roma. Destined to follow him in death.

He just needed to keep things stable until Feliciano graduated. Once he graduated, he'd probably move to Italy or somewhere in Europe, become a famous artist. Then it wouldn't matter what happened to him. Lovino was already dead, after all. It wouldn't matter what much if Romano followed.

Except, apparently, to Francis.

Which Lovino was not comfortable with. Which was probably why he now stood up and walked over to where the cat was still destroying his couch, picked the animal up and ignored its attempts to claw away from him. And then turned, motioning toward the door with his now-full arms. "You just make sure that idiot roommate of yours doesn't poke his nose where it doesn't belong. That's all you need to worry about."

That was all he wanted Francis to worry about.

That was all he wanted to worry about.

He was just so tired.

A/N: I feel bad for Lovino. I can't even imagine the pressure he's got to be under.

I don't really have anything else to say. Just poor Lovino. And most other characters in this story. So much stressfulness.

Oh, and the cat is kitty!Romano in case you were wondering. Lovi likes to pretend he didn't have a choice in taking it in and everything, but he really took it in because he was lonely in his little apartment and needed a pet. He just got a grumpy one that takes after its master very muchly.