Luigi rocked back and forth in the chair, cradling his bruises and bandages and muttering the foulest and fiercest of curse under his breath. Every time his brother's unconscious form twitched Luigi would flinch, or rise in panic when one of the masses of machines connected to Pavi made a strange noise. He couldn't take his hollow eyes off the layers upon layers of crisp bandages all over the younger boy's face.

A young SurGEN walked carefully in, met with the sight of the bandaged and scorched boys and their solemn, already-dressed father. He'd already given to the collection for Frank's funeral; he had to watch what he said to the dreaded Largo family.

"Speak, boy." Rotti growled, without taking his eyes off his bed-ridden son. The SurGEN hurried past Luigi, who mumbled something along the lines of 'shithead better fix my brother'

The SurGEN gulped.

"What is it man?" Rotti growled,

"G-Good news… sir!" The SurGEN squeaked, he could hear the Luigi had stopped mumbling, "Your son has done no damage to his health, he will live easily."

He let himself smile, good news meant he lived.

"And his face?" Rotti asked, with warm eyes on the unconscious figure. There was a long, tense second as the doctor bid a sad goodbye to his head.

"I-i-it couldn't b-b-be-be sa-a-a-aved…" He clattered, "It w-a-a-as a-almos-s-st as if he-e wanted it on his face." He heard Luigi let out a small, involuntary wail, "I'm sorry."

"Go." Rotti rumbled, with a brief wave towards the door,

"Mr Largo?"

"Go!" He half-yelled, the power and wealth that his life oozed from its very pores had poured back into the old man's words, "Leave me with my sons!"

The SurGEN squeaked and mumbled a hasty 'yessir' as he scuttled out of the door and fled, crying, down the corridor.

Pavi's finger twitched.

"Madre!" He mumbled, his voice grew urgent, "Papà!" His father's eyes shot open and the man smiled, "Luigi!"

Luigi cringed at his younger brother's desperate, pleading tone.

"It's alright, Paviche." Rotti shushed in his deep velvet voice, he took one of his son's delicate hands in his, "Your brother and I are here, you're safe now."

Pavi's ears pricked up at the sound of Luigi mumbling.

"What-a happened?" He whispered, recalling his mother's unearthly plead – how could anything so surreal seem so faded now?

"You had an accident." Rotti gave his hand a small squeeze, "Your pretty face has been burnt badly, my son."

Pavi brought his other hand to the bandages. His face! His gorgeous face! The girls swooned for his perfect eyebrows and sharp cheekbones! His face was gone! He started to sob beneath the bandages.

"Oh, now don't cry Paviche." It genuinely pained Rotti to see his son in such despair, behind him Luigi hugged his injuries and concentrated on where his other shoe might be. "The doctors will fix you. You'll have any face you want."

Pavi took a deep, rattling breath; "Really?"

"Of course! Now, how about a good strong nose? And a good cleft chin? Any woman would want that!"

"Papà, please. I-a don't want-a any of-a that…"

"Then what do you want?" Rotti asked with mild confusion,

Pavi opened his palms and tilted his head, as if he could see through to his hands,

"You would-a buy-a any face?" he quizzed,

"Whichever you want."

Pavi took another deep breath, remembering how soft his mother's skin was, how flawless her features, and how right it felt to have her face on his.

"I want a… woman's face, Papà." He said firmly.

And the older Largos were, for the first time in their lives, truly speechless.