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There was rarely a live band in a mafia-related party. They were thought to be boorish, distracting. Unnecessary witnesses that they had to pay generously to shut their mouths. Killing them afterwards would be bothersome. Even the Italian police would know something was amiss if a group of musicians died every time a mafia party was organized, corrupt and incompetent as they were.
That was why Gokudera would play, whenever the Vongola held a party. He was capable. Not a liability, like that one daughter of Venisso family who played the violin in an annual mafia ball, once. Venisso had never said he had a daughter. She had been lovely, and the day after the ball she was trussed up in a ditch somewhere, dead. Killed by his father’s enemy, the poor girl.
That was also why Tsuna was alone when an assassin approached him—Gokudera, who usually always hovered by his shoulder, was playing today. The assassin—a man, the Decimo just knew—was disguised as a woman. He was pretty enough, Tsuna concluded in passing. He took the drink the assassin offered but didn’t take a sip.
“And what can I do for my lady?” asked Tsuna. He set aside his probably poisoned glass of cocktail and took the assassin’s hand to kiss the air above it. Black glove, to hide callouses on his fingers, Tsuna imagined. Also to make the illusion that they weren’t a set of manly hands, all big boned and short, squared nails.
“A conversation,” the assassin replied.
“That would be my pleasure,” Tsuna said, whilst all he wanted to say really was, can we really stop pretending and can you just kill me now, I don’t like exchanging pleasantries, because it reminds me of my tutor’s spartan training—he shot me every time I get the order of flattering words mixed up, you see. I still look over my shoulder whenever my idiocy slips through, because it’s hard to imagine he doesn’t hide in a corner somewhere to correct me whenever I make a mistake.
The assassin leaned forward and laced his fingers under his chin. His blue hair fell around his eyes. He played the role of a coy mistress very well.
Tsuna’s eyes scanned the room in one glance. None of his guardians moved from their spot. They hadn’t thought something was amiss from the person sitting beside Tsuna.
Well. Tsuna supposed it would be hard if one didn’t have hyper intuition. But it was all just logic: the assassin didn’t have an ounce of killing intent on him, and that ought to set alarms when everybody had one, even the nicest of the bunch, because this was, after all, a mafia party. His guardians probably thought this assassin was a harmless nobody, especially when he was dressed as a woman. Tsuna would probably do too if he didn’t have his hyper intuition.
“I would appreciate it if you won’t try to do your clapping trick, miss, I’m afraid that wouldn’t work on me.”
To the assassin’s credit, his mask didn’t drop at all even though Tsuna had unraveled his cover. His smile remained pleasant to the eyes, red lips soft and inviting.
“I have thought so, too, that’s why I poisoned your drink instead,” said the assassin casually.
Tsuna laughed at the brutal honesty. “Not your usual style, though,” he pointed out.
“Mm. I’m more of a hands-on person, myself. I planned on gutting you when I got you alone, you know, if the drink didn’t work.”
“If only,” Tsuna sighed. “My guardians wouldn’t let me out of their sights in this kind of event. If you ever succeeded in cornering me alone tonight chance was there was already a gun pointed at your head from somewhere, safety off. Makes getting laid entirely impossible.”
“Trigger happy much?” the assassin asked.
Tsuna shrugged. “I died once. They never quite trusted me with myself after that.”
“What are the chances of me getting out of here alive if I put my knife in you right now?”
“Slim,” answered Tsuna apologetically. “Close to none. Hibari is here tonight.”
“Well. I probably should return the money, since I couldn’t finish the job.”
“You probably should,” Tsuna agreed. “Who is it? Siderno?”
“No,” the assassin answered. He was a very good liar, but Tsuna was adept in reading lies.
“Well. On the second thought, you can keep the money. Or we can split it in half. The Siderno family wouldn’t even exist to see next week.”
The assassin made an exasperated sound from his throat. His grin was quick after that, however. “God, it’s true isn’t it? Nothing goes past the Vongola Decimo. I thought I should try my luck, that’s why I took the job, really.”
“No, no, I’m just your usual guy,” Tsuna denied, cringing. “You should see me when I was in middle school. My average grade was seventeen.”
“You should see me too when I was in middle school. My hair was in pigtails.”
“No way! Really?”
“Yep. Mother wanted a girl. Got a boy instead.”
Well. It also didn’t help that the assassin was very pretty. His mother probably felt justified in doing so.
Tsuna, however, didn’t point this out, seeing as he was also being told that he was pretty in daily basis. He was a guy, he wasn’t pretty, dammit, Haru.
“Wow. That’s rough. I’m sorry to hear that.”
The assassin waved Tsuna’s apology away. “It’s all in the past. Now tell me how you recognize me even in this outfit.”
“Reborn spoke… fondly of you?” confessed Tsuna. “He might or might not have given me your profile and threaten me to memorize it. It was practically Reborn-speak that he put you on his high regards. Really, I wouldn’t recognize you at all if you didn’t do your thing.”
“That Reborn?” asked the assassin. It was the only time he looked out of his skin he wore. He looked excited. “I’m very flattered. Did he really? And what is my thing, pray tell?”
“Yes, fedora hat and chaos greeting and all,” Tsuna laughed. To the other question, he answered, “Sorry, company’s secret. Can’t tell you.”
“Aw, fine. Anyway, is Reborn here?” the assassin asked, looking around in hope.
Tsuna grinned. People usually talked about Reborn like he was a god of death, not like a teen idol. It was refreshing. “No.”
“Shucks. Should I stick around? Can I meet him?”
“No, he’s not exactly with Vongola,” answered Tsuna, shaking his head. “He drops by from time to time, but you can’t count on it. You probably have higher chance of meeting him when you’re out doing your job.”
“I don’t even visit my mother. How did you get the Reborn to visit you?”
“I was his student for a while,” Tsuna admitted. “He wasn’t... a nice teacher or anything. He’s really mean and stuff. Violent teaching methods. Every day was a life or death situation with him. But he was a good teacher for me. He changed my life.”
“I also had a teacher once. He was yellow. Changed my life too.”
What’s yellow got to do with anything, Tsuna wanted to ask, but the assassin spoke of him in past tense. Tsuna knew not to probe. “For our teacher,” he said instead, raising his poisoned cocktail.
“For our teacher,” echoed the assassin, clinking his glass with Tsuna’s. He downed his drink afterwards. Tsuna didn’t, though he stared morosely at his.
“Sorry about that,” the assassin pointed at Tsuna’s drink after he was finished with his. “Should I get you another one?”
“No, thank you, you’d probably poison it again.”
The assassin smirked. “Too true.”
“This is why I have trust issues, God,” Tsuna moaned at his fate. He couldn’t even date. The last girl he ever tried to court had tried to push him off the bridge. It was a very high bridge.
“Sorry,” The assassin didn’t sound sorry at all. “By the way, I heard the Kingsman caught you.”
“They tried to recruit me, that was all. Wasn’t even a gentleman, me.”
“You wore nice suits,” the assassin pointed out.
“Well, yes, but I’m in the mafia. Not exactly a gentleman’s job.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So I was down in London for business. Two of my suits were ruined just the week before—don’t even ask, please—so I thought I could hop into a suit tailor. I swear I picked the shop on random. Like, I looked at the suits outside, thought it looked good, googled the shop for the reviews and found it was rated 5 stars. So I entered the shop. Imagine my surprise when the fitting room, err…”
A glint appeared in the assassin’s eyes. “Yes? You were saying?”
“Err. Kingsman’s secret. Sorry. Um.”
The assassin chortled. “You know what, you’re practically an angel amongst the mafias. That’s probably why they tried to recruit you.”
“I tried,” Tsuna huffed. “It’s hard to be the good guy when people tried to kill you left and right, you know.”
“Now, now. Don’t get vindictive. I’m just a guy trying to make a living.”
Tsuna crunched his nose. “There’s seriously something wrong with you. Anyway, so they got me alone. They asked me to join them. I refused. Then they let me go.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Tsuna nodded. “Said that it was such a shame that I was born in a mafia family and stuff. I said, me too.”
“Your guardians must be livid.”
“Hayato thought I was molested by the tailor inside of the fitting room, so he did barge in. He went ballistic when he found out I wasn’t inside.”
“What happened then?”
“Um. A mess. My guardians tried to shoot at the tailor when we… um, appeared. The rest of the Kingsman appeared and… it all went to hell. I managed to straighten up the facts later on. The Kingsman even apologized for the confusion. Truly a bunch of gentlemen, they are.”
“Did you get your suit in the end?”
“No,” Tsuna said regretfully. “Hayato wouldn’t even let the tailor get closer than three meters, let alone taking my measurements.”
“What did Reborn have to say about that?”
“Well, he-“
A hand touched Tsuna’s elbow. The Vongola Decimo looked the other way and found Gokudera standing on his side.
“Juudaime,” he greeted. His eyes didn’t once leave the assassin’s figure. Tsuna could feel more than see that the rest of his guardians were creeping closer.
“Hayato,” said Tsuna, injecting a warning to his voice. “Please, be civilized to my guest. Let me introduce you to this young lady-“
“He’s no young lady,” Gokudera hissed. “His name is Nagisa Shiota. He’s an assassin, Juudaime.”
“Hayato-“
“I don’t go by that name anymore,” Nagisa cut in. He didn’t look too worried, considering his situation. “Call me Sensei instead. It’s okay, Tsuna, I’ll leave. It’s been real nice talking to you.”
Nagisa took a stand. Hayato tensed at the sudden movement. The storm guardian shifted, so that he blocked Tsuna with his body.
“Wait,” said Tsuna.
As quiet as a prowling tiger, Yamamoto sidled to Tsuna’s unprotected side. He was smiling and his body was completely relaxed, but Tsuna knew best why Yamamoto was called a natural assassin. Chrome and Mukuro had slipped out from the shadows in the balcony and now were watching down at them. They didn’t need close distance to attack. Chrome’s trident was ramrod straight, its three points glinting.
Ryohei sat three chairs down the bar. He flagged the bartender for a beer. Lambo sat beside him a second later. Not far from them, Hibari was leaning on a wall, watching the scene with an open interest. He was probably itching for a fight.
“You guys seriously need to chill,” Tsuna muttered, but no one was listening to him.
“If I see you anywhere near Juudaime again,” Hayato started, “Or anywhere near the Vongola territory-“
Nagisa raised both of his hands. “I got it. I’ll leave, really.” He turned around, but he stopped to look back and said, “Bye, Tsuna.”
Then he was swallowed by the crowd.
Tsuna was contemplating why his heels didn’t make any sound before Gokudera grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him.
“Juudaime! What were you thinking! He was dangerous! You should’ve called me or the baseball idiot once you spotted him but no, you have to chat him up and-“