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In the world of Italian cuisine, there is the saying “ l’appetito vien mangiando .” Borrowed from its original French, this phrase translates into the idea that “the appetite comes while you are eating.”
A plate shatters against the wall, just missing the back of Squalo’s head. Gravy drips down to the floor.
“I said I wasn’t hungry, spazzatura.”
Squalo slams his sword into the doorway. The wood splinters.
“Voi,” he growls, turning to Xanxus. “Then why am I here?!”
A steak knife flies centimeters from his face. It stabs the wall with a twang .
The swordsman unclenches his jaw and wields a toothy smirk.
“Off-target today, Boss?”
“I’ve been hitting my marks,” Xanxus says with a huff of pride. He uncrosses his outstretched legs and uses a fork to pick the dirt from beneath his fingernails.
Closing an eye, he looks to Squalo and holds up the fork by its prongs. “Or do you think my aim needs adjusting?”
Squalo pries his blade out of the wall, leaving yet another gash in the innocent doorway.
“Fucking bastard, why did you call me to bring your… That’s what servants are for,” he yells, pointing the sword towards Xanxus. “Get one of them to do it, I have shit to—“
The fork hits just below his sternum before clattering to the ground.
The structure of the Italian dining experience has developed over centuries of eating. Nowadays, the full-course meal is reserved for more formal occasions. The purpose of a feast is not merely for sustenance, but also a time to spend together with loved ones.
“I was just thinking,” Xanxus begins, rising from his chair, “that lately, everyone’s been spending time with the strategy captain…”
He approaches Squalo with a steady stride.
“…and I was wondering when he might pay me a visit.”
The shrill sound of metal scraping beneath Xanxus’s boot stops him cold. They glance down.
Xanxus lifts his foot; the fork is bent under his heel.
They lock eyes. “Pick it up,” Xanxus says with a playful grin.
Squalo’s incredulous expression twists into a scowl. “What the fuck, Xanxus. I’m busy.“
He grabs the top of Squalo’s head and pushes down, the silver hair soft in his calloused grip. Squalo falls on his knees and grunts. Xanxus leans in, his whiskey breath hot against the other’s face.
“Let them wait for once,” he says with a lower register. “Your boss needs you.”
Without further ado, here is your guide to the traditional structure of an Italian full-course meal.
Xanxus presses a brief kiss against his lips, and Squalo’s face flushes.
“Tch… Whatever, I guess I—“
And then he pulls.
Squalo groans, and Xanxus takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into the swordsman’s open mouth. They exchange a wet kiss, and Xanxus starts kneading Squalo’s bottom lip between his teeth.
“Alright!” he says, shoving Xanxus away to catch his breath. “Dio Christo, fuck. Give me a minute.” Squalo removes the sword from his prosthetic hand and stands.
Xanxus wipes his mouth and approaches the door, clicking the lock into place while Squalo sets his blade carefully on the console table. The mangled fork rests beside it.
The Varia boss walks over and wraps his arms around Squalo’s waist, resting his chin on the swordsman’s shoulder. He draws a deep breath and lets out a hum.
“The fuck are you doing?” Squalo asks, leaning back into the warm embrace.
“Mm… Smells good.”
“You’re so weird.”
Xanxus slides a hand up Squalo’s shirt and licks his cheek. “Tastes good, too.”
“Ha… I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“L’appetito vien mangiando,” he whispers, sending a shiver down Squalo’s spine.
“Shut u—ah!”
Xanxus hoists his strategy captain up and carries him across the room, throwing him onto the bed.
Dinner opens with the aperitivo, the appetizer. Small dishes of snacks such as olives and nuts are served with wine or sparkling beverages such as spumante or prosecco.
Squalo sits up only to be dragged back down as Xanxus paws at the laces of his boots. He mutters to himself while yanking them off of Squalo’s feet before pouncing on top of him.
“Voi! Get off…mph…!”
Hungry hands work at his belt, his legs awkwardly parted by Xanxus’s knee. Squalo moans into the other’s mouth when a hot tongue licks over his teeth.
Xanxus breaks away and all but tears their shirts off before pinning Squalo’s wrists above him. His lips graze over the taut muscle of the swordsman’s neck. He bites down.
“Hey! Xan…xus…”
Licking the wound with wet heat, Xanxus pulls back to watch a bruise bloom over smooth, fair skin.
“Delicious,” he says in a low whisper.
Squalo writhes beneath him as he leaves more marks: the juncture where his throat meets his chin, the spot just below his ear, the dip of his collarbone—
Xanxus groans when the other’s hips grind up. He shivers at the friction, and his lips curl into a grin. “What’s this?”
The instant his hands release the other’s wrists, Squalo reaches out and pulls Xanxus on top of him with an oof.
He tangles his fingers in rich, black hair and presses a kiss to Xanxus’s cheek in their embrace.
“Idiot… All you have to do is ask, you know.”
Xanxus cranes his head back, raising a hand to brush a few strands of long hair out of Squalo’s face.
“I mean,” Squalo continues, “if you wanted to see me that badly, you could’ve just asked.”
Bringing some silver hair to his lips, Xanxus murmurs “I did, didn’t I?”
A deep blush spreads across the bridge of Squalo’s nose and up to his ears. Xanxus always has his own ways of getting his point across.
Squalo grits his teeth. “Cazzo, whatever. You’re such a… Agh !”
Xanxus’s knee rubs against him. He stifles a moan.
“Shut up,” Xanxus says, “I want to savor my meal.”
The antipasto is considered the starter dish, featuring cold charcuterie staples such as prosciutto or bresaola with a variety of breads and cheeses to help hold you over until the next course.
Squalo starts to protest, but the heat of arousal spreads beneath his skin when Xanxus nibbles on his ear. His body’s instinctual response has heightened his senses for combat, mistaking their foreplay for the excitement of battle. After all, the brain cannot identify an opponent like the body can.
He hisses as the other drags his pants down, exposing his half-hard erection to the tepid air.
Xanxus continues where he left off, slowly licking and sucking across Squalo’s chest. His own cock aches at the breathy sighs Squalo lets out when his tongue circles over each nipple.
“Well, capitano,” he says, spitting in his hand. “I’m waiting for a report.”
Squalo rolls his eyes. Another stifled groan manages to escape him when Xanxus grabs his cock.
“You don’t have to hold down your voice, you know.” He jerks his wrist.
“Ti ammarazzo,” Squalo forces through grit teeth.
“It’s not like the officers haven’t heard you before.”
“Annoying,” the swordsman mutters, reaching for the other’s belt. With one hand already occupied, Xanxus can’t intercept.
Instead he retaliates, yanking a fistful of hair and earning a strangled moan. “Che cazzo fai? ”
“The fuck do you think I’m doing, you piece of shit!”
Of all things, Xanxus smiles. “There it is,” he says.
“There what is?”
“The voice that makes my fucking ears bleed.”
The swordsman glares with Varia-quality killing intent. “Why can’t you… I don’t want to come by mysel—“
Xanxus squeezes Squalo’s cock. “You won’t,” he says flatly.
“But—“
“I said , you won’t ,” Xanxus growls. “What’s got you in such a rush, huh? That damn Vongola monello need you to sharpen his blade or something?”
“What?” Squalo snaps. “I’ve been doing my fucking job. This place would fall apart without me. Not like you’d know anything about that.”
He releases Squalo’s cock and brings his scarred hand around the swordsman’s neck. “Don’t you dare say that to me when this is the first time in months that I get you in my bed.”
Squalo groans through the tightening grip. So that’s what this is about.
The new job title takes up more of his time than he’d like. It’s not like he was drowning in vacation days before; even training on his off time technically counts as “work.”
He’s spent more time traveling this year than usual. Just last month he flew to the Japan branch at Takeshi’s request, again. It seems even a top-class mafia hitman isn’t exempt from the mundane responsibilities of a son, but more than that, the Vongola Rain guardian had asked him for help. Squalo wasn’t about to refuse a mission for the Family.
Something wet falls on his face, snapping Squalo from his wandering thoughts back to the hand on his throat.
“Xan…xus,” he forces out, “You… You’re drooling on me, Xanxus.”
Sure enough, a thin trail of saliva drips from Xanxus’s scowl and runs down Squalo’s cheek.
Xanxus leans down and licks it off. He brings both hands to Squalo’s face, letting him catch his breath.
“Ha… Gross…” Squalo heaves while kisses fall across his cheeks, his temples, his chin, and finally, his lips.
“Merde… Sei il mio tutto,” Xanxus mutters, burying his face in the crook of Squalo’s neck. When he says it like that, it sounds less romantic and more possessive — just how Squalo likes it.
“Huh? Cosa hai detto? ”
“Nothing,” he grumbles, pushing himself off of the swordsman. Xanxus shifts his weight on the bed and reaches for the ashtray on the bedside table.
He brings a lighter to the half-smoked cigarette between his lips before swapping it for a joint. “You can get back to work or whatever,” he says after taking a drag.
Squalo props himself up and extends his right hand, palm open. When Xanxus hands him the joint, he grabs it with his left and takes a hit, leaving his other hand outstretched.
Xanxus looks at the hand, then to Squalo before he takes it, lacing their fingers together. He leans in for a sloppy kiss.
“Stop sulking,” Squalo says between breaths, placing the joint back in Xanxus’s mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Xanxus takes a few more pulls before returning the joint to the ashtray. He smooths Squalo’s hair back and blows the smoke in his face before tackling him back down on the bed.
“Where were we?” Xanxus asks, pressing their bodies closer.
The swordsman lets out a soft moan at the contact. “Dinner,” he heaves.
Xanxus spreads Squalo’s knees and moves down, slowly sucking and biting along the smooth inner thigh.
“Xa-Xanxus,” Squalo gasps, “You don’t have to—“
Then he takes Squalo’s cock in his mouth.
Primo piatto , the “first plate,” is the first course of hot food. Generally these dishes do not contain meat, but feature pasta combinations with richer ingredients such as truffles or seafood.
Xanxus holds Squalo’s hips down as he lazily follows the shaft with the flat of his tongue.
Squalo shudders and grips Xanxus’s hair. “Caz…zo…”
“Feel good?” he mouths around Squalo’s length, bobbing his head to take him deeper.
“You’ve got…shit manners,” Squalo grunts. “Didn’t anyone tell you…ah…not to talk…with your mouth full?”
Xanxus chuckles, releasing Squalo’s cock with a flick of his tongue. He wipes the saliva from his chin.
“You’re holding out pretty well, capitano,” he says, leaning over for the lube in the top drawer of the nightstand. “Are you waiting for something?”
Before Squalo can answer, Xanxus turns him over and pins him to the soft mattress.
Squalo’s breath hitches as a slick finger slowly enters him. It’s so…
“Tight,” Xanxus says. “Has it really been that long since I—“
“Shut up,” comes the impatient response, quickly followed by a series of gasps when Xanxus moves his finger inside him.
He adds another, and the pain fades faster this time as Xanxus continues to work him open. Squalo doesn’t even notice the third finger until they’re gone, leaving him frustrated and empty. All that’s left is rising pressure in the hazy heat.
“Squalo.”
“Dio Christo, what do you want now?” the swordsman mutters, glancing over his shoulder.
“I want to fuck you,” Xanxus says with a piercing gaze cuts that through him with a chill, “until all you feel is me.”
Squalo scoffs. “Gonna make me beg for it?”
He gasps when something hot and hard rubs against him.
“I won’t have to,” Xanxus answers with a shrug.
“You sure are confident.”
“You talk a lot.”
“Weren’t you just complaining abou—ngh, fuck…”
The main course, or secondo piatto, features different meat and seafood options depending on the region. It’s considered the most important dish of the meal.
Squalo buries his face in the pillow, biting down hard as Xanxus pushes into him with an agonizing pace. A calloused hand gathers his hair to the side before trailing back down to grip his waist.
Xanxus presses open-mouthed kisses along the swordsman’s shoulders and back, every so often taking the time to suck a pretty bruise. “Your ass feels so good,” he murmurs breathlessly against Squalo’s skin, groping for emphasis.
The muffled response means nothing to him. Xanxus slaps Squalo’s flank, and the swordsman yelps.
“Speak up.”
Squalo turns his head to the side. “You’re taking…hah…so long…”
Xanxus can’t help the sly grin creeping at his lips. “What you’re taking is pretty long, too.”
The captain groans, though Xanxus isn’t certain it’s from pleasure.
“Ti odio, idiot.”
Xanxus slams the rest of his cock in and Squalo buries his face in the pillow to stifle a moan.
“Is that how you like it?”
After another incomprehensible reply, the Varia boss grabs at the base of Squalo’s scalp and pulls his hair, forcing his neck to crane back.
The swordsman props himself up on his forearms. “Hah…fuck…”
“I asked you a question, spazzatura.”
“Sì,” Squalo forces through grit teeth.
Xanxus pulls out about halfway before he pounds into him again. Another beautiful sound spills from Squalo’s open mouth.
“Are you gonna…make me talk…the whole damn time?” Squalo asks between breaths.
The hand in his hair trails down his back and under his torso. Xanxus pinches Squalo’s nipple on the next thrust, and the swordsman gives up on holding back his voice.
“Relax, capitano,” Xanxus lilts, twisting gently. “This is strictly business.”
The main course is accompanied by a contorno or insalata as side dishes. Most contorni consist of raw or cooked vegetables, served on a separate plate to keep the integrity of the different flavors of the meal.
The air is filled with the smell of smoke and the sounds of sex. Sweaty bodies crash against each other with the fervor of a hammering heartbeat just below the surface of their skin.
Xanxus picks up the pace and chases his own pleasure, grunting with each thrust as Squalo’s hips push back and meet his erratic rhythm to take him deeper.
A strangled moan escapes the captain’s mouth and shifts to a higher register. He shudders, dropping his forehead to the mattress. The knuckles of his right hand go white as he grips the wrinkled sheets.
“Did you just fucking whine?”
“Zitto!”
Xanxus pulls out slowly, almost completely before slamming into him hard at that same angle.
“Ah! Cazzo, Xanxus!”
He fucks Squalo harder and deeper, a low moan drumming in his chest with each thrust.
“Xan…xus,” the swordsman grunts, “I’m close–“
A rough hand grabs at his waist as Xanxus pulls out. He takes Squalo by the shoulder and flips him over.
“H-hey! What the fuck?”
The Varia boss grabs a pillow and props up Squalo’s hips. “I want to see your face when you come.”
This next course features regional cheeses and seasonal fruits of the area. The formaggi and frutti are brought out near the end of the meal as a palate-cleanser with lighter flavors that aren’t too heavy or too sweet.
“Fuck off, I hate this posi–“
Squalo’s complaint is cut off when Xanxus slides back in and wraps his fingers around the Rain guardian’s slick cock. He leans down, licking and biting at Squalo’s neck as his hand keeps pace with each thrust of his hips.
Blunt nails dig into his delts. Xanxus hisses as they drag down his arm, no doubt leaving a trail of raised red lines along the already scarred skin.
“File those fucking claws of yours, puttano.”
“I’m going to sharpen them and scratch your eyes out,” Squalo forces with a clenched jaw. His eyes are shut so hard that wrinkle lines have formed around his face.
Xanxus moves faster, and the captain’s scowl softens as pride breaks down into pleasure. He cants his head to the side.
“Squalo.”
He wants to glare, he really does, but all he can manage is a half-lidded gaze as a strong hand grabs his chin and turns his face forward. Xanxus’s grip slides down to his throat with just enough pressure to focus on the rising tension in his body. The Rain guardian digs his nails deeper and drags them along the boss’s back, holding on for dear life.
“Come for me.”
His whole body tenses and arches off the bed, and with one more jerk of his wrist, Squalo is undone in Xanxus’s hand. From the ringing in his ears, he can’t imagine the kind of sound he made — if the other officers heard, they wouldn’t dare say anything.
Xanxus is still pounding into him as he comes down from the high of orgasm and gathers himself. “Fucking tight again,” he mumbles against the swordsman’s ear.
“Whose fault…is that?” Squalo manages between breaths.
“You,” Xanxus groans, “Sei sempre tu. ”
He crushes their mouths together, still caught in Squalo’s unyielding grasp when he bottoms out one more time. A shudder courses through his body and he lets out a tremendous growl, coming deep within the captain.
Next follows dolce, or dessert. Many regions and cities have their own local specialties, including the sweet flavors of tiramisu, cannoli, zeppole, or panna cotta. Others may prefer the cold, tart taste of a gelato or sorbetto as a lighter alternative.
They heave against each other with steadying breaths. After a few moments, Squalo stirs beneath him. “You’re so…fucking…heavy.”
Xanxus pushes up slightly, refocusing his eyes on the body below him as he pulls out. The rough pad of his thumb traces over Squalo’s abdomen.
“Quite the mess you’ve made, capitano,” he says, smearing it over his skin. He brings his thumb to Squalo’s mouth.
“I’ll bite your fucking finger off.”
His eyes gleam with mischief as he licks the swordsman’s come along his own wrist and hand.
Squalo doesn’t anticipate the attack on his mouth. When Xanxus draws back, the captain wipes his lips and spits at him. “Mi disgusti, you know that?”
“Whatever,” he responds, shifting his weight as he leans over to the ashtray again for another joint. Xanxus grabs the pillow from under Squalo and props it against the headboard, resting back. “Cover yourself, you’re indecent,” he mumbles, igniting the lighter.
The Rain guardian winces as he sits upright. “Not gonna clean me up?”
“Nope.” Xanxus pulls the wrinkled sheets and comforter up to their waists and hands off the joint. “If we shower, I’ll fuck that ass of yours again.”
Squalo ignores the rising heat in his face and smokes. “Insaziabile,” he grumbles, sinking back down on the bed after tossing the roach to the floor.
Xanxus lays down and turns on his side. He reaches to trace the captain’s jaw. “Delicatezzo,” he replies.
“I can’t stand you,” Squalo says in a tired breath.
“I bet you can’t even stand.”
The ache in his body flares instinctively, but it subsides just as soon. He stares blankly at Xanxus for a moment before pushing forward in an uncoordinated kiss.
Xanxus grabs his ass and drags him closer. “Don’t go running off now, spazzatura.”
“Are you kidding?” Squalo says, “I feel gross.”
“I thought you were exhausted.”
“I can be many things.”
A low hum vibrates in Xanxus’s throat. He squeezes Squalo in a tight embrace.
“You’re mine first.”
Squalo nestles closer and yawns. “Yeah, whatever.”
Xanxus kisses his forehead, mindlessly tangling his fingers in long, silver hair. “Ho buon gusto.”
Caffè is commonly served following dessert. After what feels like an endless meal, something bitter and strong is just what you need to help you wake up.
They doze off for a few hours. Squalo doesn’t stir until a violent BANG echoes within the chamber, waking him with a jolt. The captain curses under his breath when he realizes that his sword is across the room, but the fiery smell of the smoking gun lets him know that he’s well defended.
“What the fuck is going on?” he says, his voice raspy from sleep.
Xanxus is sat upright, the barrel pointed at the door, or rather what’s left of it. The handle is blown clean off, with parts of the metal melted where it lays on the floor. He sets the gun on the nightstand.
“Is that necessary?” Squalo asks, irritated. “I was sleeping.”
“I’m hungry.”
Squalo’s face twists into a scowl. “I literally brought you dinner.”
“That wasn’t for me,” Xanxus says. He gets out of bed and disappears into the en suite.
Squalo’s eyes follow a shift of movement from across the chamber. He instinctively shivers in awareness of her presence.
Laying by the windows in a mess of torn blankets and curtains is Besta, stretching a large paw as she lounges. The orange glow from her mane washes the room in a warm, hazy light. It’s still dark outside.
The mattress dips under Xanxus’s weight as he climbs back into bed.
“Dove eri? ” the swordsman grumbles.
“Bathroom.”
“Washed your hands?”
Xanxus smacks Squalo’s cheek. It feels cool and damp against his skin.
He inhales deeply. “Is that my soap?”
“You talk to me like I’m some filthy heathen, then you complain about me washing my hands. Make up your mind, capitano.”
“I’m kidding,” Squalo says with a yawn, “but seriously, use your own soap.”
Xanxus props himself up on one arm, reaching out with his other hand to brush his knuckles against Squalo’s face. “Do you know why you’re my strongest officer?”
“Because I’m the greatest swordsman to ever live?”
He smirks. His hand swats across Squalo’s face with a thwack.
The Rain guardian blinks at the impact with an incredulous glare.
Xanxus’s calloused thumb smoothes over his cheek. “It’s because you don’t even flinch.”
Squalo scoffs, but leans into the gesture. “And here I thought it was for my years of dedicated service and devotion. Or my great ass.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Better than being full of you.”
Xanxus rolls over and holds down the swordsman’s wrists. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll do it again.”
Squalo writhes beneath him. “You’re an animal.”
“You love it,” he says.
The Rain guardian hooks his leg around the other’s knee and twists, making Xanxus fall beside him.
“I’m going to sleep,” Squalo says. “Touch me, and you’ll die.” He pulls his leg back and turns to face the other side, dragging the sheets with him.
Xanxus props himself up and leans down. His lips graze over Squalo’s cheekbone, still stinging with warmth as he presses a kiss to his face. “Starting now.”
The Italian dining experience concludes with the digestivo, also called the ammazzacaffè, or “coffee-killer.” This strong alcoholic drink is served to help you digest after a long meal with liqueurs such as amaro, grappa, or limoncello.
Xanxus wakes to the sound of a hair dryer coming from the bathroom. When he reaches for the other side of the bed, he finds that the captain isn’t there.
The sky is washed in blue hour, too early for the light of dawn. Besta’s flames are dim, burning in rhythm with every snoring breath. She’s since moved from her nest of ripped fabric and torn cushions to the antique sofa where she rests her head on one of its upholstered arms.
When Squalo returns, he’s almost fully dressed. His shirt is buttoned halfway up his torso, and his tie hangs in a single length around his neck.
“Leaving so soon?” Xanxus says, yawning as he sits up against the headboard. He smirks, noticing Squalo’s uneven gait as he approaches the bed. “Not very gentlemanly of you.”
“You’re one to talk,” says the Rain guardian, hands working at the next button of his shirt. “Some of us have fucking jobs to do.”
The Varia boss shifts to the edge of the mattress. He reaches for Squalo’s wrists and pulls them away, urging him closer before brushing the long, damp hair over the other’s shoulder. “Let me see.”
Squalo rolls his eyes, but undoes the button to expose his chest.
The swordsman’s neck is a masterpiece of marks amidst the scars from years of a body in battle. Xanxus undoes another button, then the next, until he can see every bruise and bite trailing over the taut muscles of Squalo’s torso before they disappear below his belt line.
Squalo rests his hands on the other’s shoulders. “Che cos’è?”
“Just admiring my work,” Xanxus says, his scarred hands working to refasten the buttons. He glances up at Squalo with a dumb grin.
The captain sighs, carding his right hand through inky, dark hair in an attempt to tame the boss’s wild bedhead. Squalo sits beside him with a wince as he finishes the last buttons.
“Rough night?” Xanxus asks, focusing his attention to the cuffs of Squalo’s sleeves. He maneuvers carefully around the gloved prosthetic of the other’s left hand.
“Idiota. I can dress myself, you know.”
“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to Squalo’s wrist. “I just wanted to touch you again.”
Squalo scowls and turns away, but Xanxus catches him by the ends of his tie.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m not done yet.”
Xanxus portions out either side and crosses one length over the other, glancing up every so often to catch Squalo avert his gaze. He slides the knot up and secures it at the shirt’s collar. The moment he pulls the tail through the keeper loop, he yanks Squalo forward.
Their mouths collide in a sloppy kiss. Squalo wraps his arms around him, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. He bites down on Xanxus’s chapped bottom lip.
“Ow, fuck. Quel maledetto,” Xanxus says, wiping his mouth before settling on a smirk. “Delicious. Got a bite to it.”
“Your breath is horrible.”
Besta lets out a low growl, drawing their attention from across the room. She remains focused on the entrance.
Through the hole in the door stands a low-ranking officer carrying a large silver platter in both hands. The utensils clatter against the metal as he trembles.
Squalo gets up and swats away Xanxus’s grabbing hands. He gestures the poor grunt in while securing his blade to the wrist of his prosthetic hand. “Voi, Boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
The officer mutters an apology and maneuvers his way through the opening in the door. He manages to keep the tray balanced and enters with unsteady footing.
The captain lifts the cloche and inspects the plate. “Not bad.”
Xanxus stretches out his arms. “Will I see you again for dinner tonight?”
Squalo snorts. “Only if it’s your treat.”
He smiles slyly. “It’s always my treat.”
“Gross. I’m taking this.” The Rain guardian snatches the steaming cappuccino from the tray. “You deserve the hangover,” Squalo says, shoulder-checking the grunt as he leaves.
Thank you for dining with us, we hope you enjoyed your meal. Come again soon, and remember: l’appetito vien mangiando. Ciao!