Pokémon K_S Villian-tine's prompt, "a book/reading" Now Grammarly'ed

[K_S]

A book
paper trail part 2
Chapter 5​

An hour later, and Giovanni threw his phone onto the table. Done.

Both Carosso brothers had been obstinate. Refusing to breathe one word of ill will.

Not of the madam. They would swear thier ex-sister out until next Sunday, status of honored dead be damned. Orn, understandable more than Orm, considering he'd had to bury a daughter at the madwoman's whims...

But the mystery boy, Antonio, they would say nothing to no one about anything.

Not even blood of the first degree.

Which, in Giovanni's circles, was unheard of.

It started innocently enough. He'd let Grace lead; she buttered the old mobsters up with warmth and cheer. Not so subtly dropping the good news after the obligatory back and forth and asking after the old fraud's grandchildren and whatnot. Between yawns, on Gio's part, and Grace getting unexpected exercise in kicking Gio's shins because "manners, Gio, Arceus were you raised in a barn!" Grace spent a long time lapping up the older man's narratives of grades and school outings of thier grandbabies like it meant something...

In the back and forth of their pedestrian, kiddie sharing hour, Grace let her news drop.

The Sakaki's were trying for a child, the elder Carosso's were going to be grand zios, grande zios...

Gio had gently taken the reins of the conversation for a bit. The term was prozio. And, yes, Giovanni would be teaching the kid Italian. Grace was not allowed to contaminate little whoever came from thier frolicking with her barbaric Kan-talian* mix match.

Spoiler: * explaination

(An: kan-talian a mix match of kantoese and italian common in kanto reared mob families, and works a bit like tex-mex in spanish speaking curcuits in the US. Technically the same language... but radically different and considered a bit low class/slop shod/uncouth outside of its stomping grounds.)

It was only the lack of pillows in his home office that was keeping him from being beaned.

Never mind, Orn said the (perfectly reasonable) "Grazie a Dio per quello."(oh thanks god)

Regardless, it was good news that'd triggered an effusion of cheers and whoops.

Rolling his eyes, infinitely glad he'd never sprung for a visual phone, Gio let the Carosso's noise make the landline's earpiece hop and rattle along the table top like a spastic Pikachu.

Honestly, they'd been trying for several months.

Not that Giovanni had plans to let them ever know that (he'd had no plans to tell them unless he was assured a child was guaranteed. This emotional play was wholly Grace's idea). Only Daisy knew for sure, and had been warned to keep her from indulging in surprise visits and getting a further education than either Sakaki wanted her to gather.

Once the men had settled into something a bit saner, Orn started asking about showers. Clearly, the man had run a few, bucking some sort of trend? And was offering to do the same for the couple.

Giovanni met Grace's eyes. Mouthing a mute "what the hell?" This led to Grace shrugging at him in confusion. She assured the duo they'd be the first to know once things were ironclad. Shower? They wouldn't even consider anyone else.

Her writings had devolved into a list of names, flicking over them, Giovanni crossed off Claudia and Pat's names with extreme prejudice. And found himself looking at three new names he didn't recognize.

Grace, of course, ignored him when he tapped the page, his expression curious. She went so far as to turn his spiny chair so she could carry on the call without looking at him.

Of all the- he checked his anger, barely.

Seething, he grabbed the top of the chair and turned her about. Silver eyes fluttered up at him, a mute dearling motion that rose Gio's hackles and had him baring his teeth in a gesture only an idiot would take as a smile.

Grace, hardly that, winced. Giovanni underlined the trio of John and Jane Does. He flicked a firm glare down at Grace, who was merrily chatting at the oblivious Orm, twiddling her scarlet hair.

Which was one of Grace's oldest and most charming, nervous tells.

A sharp rap on the table and glare warned her he wasn't about to let this drop. Even if he took a moment to scrunch up the paper and throw it away. They were to research new acquaintances together to sniff out journalist plants and scammers... and this mystery trio should not be here, on this paper, being considered for something so sensitive. They should be marinating in Giovanni's less-than-legal databases, their lives being dissected, thier alliances carefully mapped, and thier backgrounds under sharp scrutiny.

Sitting metaphorically between a rock and a hard place. Or perhaps a cheese grater and a volcano waiting to go off... Grace tried to ignore her irritated husband and overenthusiastic lawyer. Still, she was starting to sound a bit frazled, and while Giovanni could have left her to stew, he should of...

He found his mercy when he realized she was trying, and failing, to slow down the sheer barrage of crass oversharing and bedroom suggestions to help fertility along...

Giovanni took over at that point. This was the "trying" stage, not the "have a spawn by x amount of days" stage. To put it less delicately, Grace would not appreciate if he suddenly changed his bedroom technique to try to force a boy into the world before Christmas.

"So you wanna boy? A bambino, to charm the ladies and raise hell?" Orm drolled.

"Personally, I'm hoping for a girl." Grace had countered, making both made men mock, moan, and grumble at the adventures she'd miss out, going for a "delicate bambina."

"Delic- Gio, are you hearing this crap? What part of my childhood was delicate?"

"I think you might have found it when you threw that yowling meowth at Ms. Wannabe, second grade, wasn't it?"

Orn's smoky laughter rang out, while Orm graoned.

"I'm gunna be too old to be bodyguarding Capo."

"Don't Capo me during family time," Giovanni warned, voice absently sliding into tones he'd take during Jobs. Grace's quiver was his warning he was going too far, so he swallowed the edge to his tone
"And we might be able to swing your presence without anyone protesting... during show and tell," Grace nodded, telling him he'd gotten that right. "We can pass you off as a relic from the last era."

WIth utmost dignity, and minimal viciousness, Orm rumbled a flat, "con tutto il dovuto rispetto, signore, vaffanculo" (pretty profane so the translations under a spoiler tag)

Spoiler: translation

with all due respect, sir, fuck you

Giovanni snorted and kept Grace from inanely chiming in by putting his foot over hers. A firm, non-verbal, don't. Else she'd loudly announce that she got the last word out of that, and could someone walk her through the rest...

He'd barely put any pressure, so her kicking with such force seemed overkill. That and the glare she tipped up at him. Face tight, canting him a murderous look, Grace assured all retired and semi-retired made men that "Lack of adventure isn't going to be an issue."

"Fuck man, don't retire until the kid's at least twenty-one... maybe bone up on adolescent law and order crap..." Orm noted.

Perhaps the older Carosso twin was recalling some of the Hell a younger Giovanni had kicked up. Regardless of what he was thinking about, it was driving the man to drink. At least he announced his need for booze loud enough to be heard over the line. His offer to Orn to get him something was declined with a thoughtful hum and possible head shake from the uptick of interference on the line.

Steps sounded, a door creaked open then closed. After a mental count of fifteen, Orn cleared his throat.

"So if there's anything... ah, sensitive.. You wanted to talk about. The (looknup in italian) Bigmouth's gone."

"I'd hardly want to talk technique with a man older than my grandfather." Grace snarked.

"Don't knock my technique until you've come undone under me, sweetheart." The ex-mobster leered. "They don't sing the praises of experience in both our cultures as love ballad bait, without very good reason." Then, with a laugh, as if he could see Grace turning scarlet, Orn merrily ignored Giovanni's soft growl of warning and carried on. "Shop talk singoria."

Grace, despite being warned that this would come up from time to time, froze, like a deerling in the headlights.

Settling a calloused hand on her shoulder, a squeeze and nudge got her up. Giovanni took her place in the chair, folding into his work seat with slow, careful stages. He swept the phone up from its place on the table. Settling it over his ear, sinister hand snapping up the paper and pen Grace had purloined, he waited.

"I think "pre-existence" is a bit too young to be introducing anyone to any type of shop talk." Giovanni ruled, his tone hardening in a warning. "But we do have a few sensitive concerns of another kind."

"If I can answer, I will."

Grace's hand slid over his own, a soundless squeeze told him that she was here, for this. As long as he'd let her. He twined thier fingers, grateful, even as he set his shoulders, braced for pain.

"I-We're looking for genetic information. Heritable illnesses that run through the bloodline. You know the Madam told me nothing."

Orn grunted, a near slurred "figures the bitch wouldn't". Gio wondered if Orm had slipped in, dropped off some of "the good stuff" and slipped off again.

Honestly, it was even odds that both mobsters were in the room despite Orm's show of stepping out.

Gio eased into the tall back chair, pen twirling under his fingers with a careless flick. "And I know better than to ask Nona anything. We want to know what sicknesses and inclinations run through the Sakaki line, so we know what to keep watch for."

A breath, a hiss of a cigar being puffed, and smoke seething out. "As far back as our official record goes." Orn was feeling each syllable with the utmost care. As if groping towards an opening statement of a case he'd never wanted to represent. "The Sakaki line has been clean of any defects."

"The Sakaki bloodline runs back over three hundred years." Grace challenged. "You're telling me there's been no deformities, genetic blips, everyone's been perfectly healthy going back to your great great grandfathers?"

Silence, another breath, another draw. Then, quietly.

"You callin' me a liar?"

"I'm saying you're too good of a man to lie to us," Grace assured thier lawyer. "And that you're trying to gentle things, by omitting information."

Silence, then a rasped, "Where the hell did you find this woman, Gianni?"


"Sheer stupid luck and only Dios mercy she thought I was worth sticking around for."

And if he stole a kiss post praise, well, it was another perk of not having a videophone.

"I fuzzily remember your pediatrician's name if you think that'll help... but the Madam wasn't real keen on you being seen."

He'd had a history of too many broken noses and bruises not to be put on some sort of watch list. Only knowing Grace and her work had taught him that. The lady of the hour tipped him a hopeful look, and Gio shook his head. He had his records if need be. And he was the only Sakaki on file at Saints.

They mainly consisted of holey immunization charts. There were a few hospital visits Kantonside and Off Mainland when Sal had been unable to stitch him up. Or that fun incident when he'd woken screaming and hadn't stopped until being drugged in preparation for an operation.

That had been one hell of a way to learn what an appendix was.

"Considering how tightly interconnected the Corosso, Ruggeri, Gallo, and Ferro lines are?"

"All healthy as rapidash."

The answer came quick and clear...and clearly rehearsed.

"So we need to consult off mainland veterinarians then?" Grace mused, letting her expression show her disbelief, though damn careful not to let it seep into her tone. "Noted."

Orn did not raise, or rather sink, to the bait. Only decades of training kept Giovanni's expression calm. Because Orn always had a one-liner, some smart sass, or something ranchy on his mind. And the old man never missed an opportunity to share that thought.

"I remember Bella being... a bit excitable... back in the day."

Orn, gallant to the end, rose to defend his kid's honor.

The words Gio wrote on the paper were more damning. Hyperfixated. Distractable. Scattered. Manic.

Grace's scribbled "adhd?" Was just another bit of medical archana. Seeing his confusion, she tore off a fresh sheet and wrote something long with bullet points. Then, columns were sketched out.

"She was a girl who ran a gelato shop," Orn's excuse was that same, clipped, rehearsed tone. Gio skimmed over the list and started responding yes or no to a series of questions. Perhaps sensing his listeners' distraction, the old mobster cleared his throat. "Gianni."

Habit stilled his hand, he stiffened, remembering the damn Rod, and his back smarted.

All from the old man's tone.

"Bella didn't have anything... catchy. Her mama, purest stock on the market, if you take my meaning. Bella was a bit high-strung." The old man confessed with a fond note, clearly recalling some family drama with amusement. "But she grew out of it. Doc said it was the side effect of all that sugar. She took some calming teas, kept out of the sweets, and was right as rain. Just cut back on the sweets as they grow up. You'll be fine."

Grace, done reading his notes, had underlined that bizarre four-letter word twice.

"Fabio was..."

"A dumbass." Orn cut in firmly. "Not permitted to breed. Wouldn't be shocked if Nona had him neutered."

Ignoring Grace's moue of disgust, Gio braced himself.

"And Antonio?"

Silence... broken by a croaked wheeze. "An- who... what... I don't know anyone by that name."

The overreaction screamed otherwise.

"Antonio Sakaki." Grace chimed in. Her fingers were picking at Gio's calluses until he gently increased pressure to make the nervous tick stop.

"I don-"

"The Madam left a series of books." He'd gone back, found the others. "She has fucking picture books of relations dead, or discomforted, with the fucking nativity set."

He wondered if it'd been a sick joke to pad the crystal baby Jesus with old mobster pictures.

"Fuck." Gone was that stilted tone. Something like despair crept in. " I am not drunk enough for this shit show... "

Only the semi-happy pictures had been of dead relatives. Sal, and a few others were shown in scenes of agony. There'd even been a shot of a much younger Orm standing between Orn and the photographer. Both men stiff in terror, Orn prone and bleeding.

Realizing he probably shouldn't of said that, Orn tried to pivot.

"Picture books, the Madam?" Orn squeaked. Failing so badly at wiggling out of this mess that Grace felt a bit bad by the sheer second-hand exposure.


This didn't stop her from describing the brother's picture in detail. Orn, with a groan and string of oaths to saints, gave up. There came a thump; she wondered if the old man had legitimately head desked and made a mental note to check his pupil's reactions to light during next Sunday's dinner.

"Alright... alright!" The surrender was barked, a means to shut her up with force and volume rather than anything sane. "I won't pull the "you're a confused civ who knows nothing" card. Saints woman, let me have some dignity."

The concession, while surly, had come infinitely faster than either Sakaki had expected. Mutely Gio tipped his head, a permission for her to slather the old mobster with kindness, and gentle prying where she could. His ham fisted touch would not be welcome, and would be counterintuitive.


"What in Arceus' name was she doing?"

"Blackmail. The classic, you and your family aren't safe anywhere card. Didn't even see the photographer, was busy glaring down five bully boys who decided the bitch who killed my girl was slighted from me being upset about said death."

And while Grace smoothed ruffled feathers and trotted out condolences, Giovanni flipped the picture over. It was dated two days after the Bella Carosso had been put to ground.

The body hadn't even had a chance to cool.

"Got drunk post wake, said something to insult the Madam in the wrong room... news traveled and... Well, shit like this happens."

"Happened." Grace assured. "She's dead."

"Wasn't too long ago I'd have to watch my mail like a damn mightyenna... she'd send cases, see, and the ones she wanted me to do pro bono, or scuttle... She'd send a little picture of my brother, cross hairs etched in... so I knew what would happen if I said no."

Drawing a deep, wet breath, voice rattling with old pain made new, Orn Sakaki Carosso waited. When neither Sakaki spoke, he did, voice a ruin.

"Antonio, he and his, were one of those things she wrote in her will, little girl. Anyone dug into things... and there were causes and clauses that'd kick in. Contracts and hits would swing in like an executioner's blade for everyone involved. So... you ask after Antonio? I tell you plainly... I'm not getting another picture in the mail. Not cross hairs, but one where the sniper made the shot. Capishe?"


Silence, then, wordlessly, Giovanni used Grace's touch to wheel her close. One peck, while she trembled against him, heart hammering, eyes fearful, he weighed her fear to the situation, and made a decision. "I have this. Trust me when I say, I'll handle this. But, for now... Trust me. Please."

Steeling herself, she nodded, pushed them apart before he could even ask. She managed a decent facsimile of her sassy self. Tipping the silent phone a pointed look, she whispered, "Keep me posted?"

"I'll hunt you up the second I'm done," Giovanni promised, breathing the words onto her hair, offering the assurance like a benediction. "Until then..."

"I'll leave you to work." Offer accepted, thought said wrong. She gave her trust in full, and she left him to it.

Alone, or almost, Giovanni picked up the abandoned phone.

"Consigliere Orm."

Giovanni could hear the grit teeth, imagine the stiffening posture, the clenched fists.

"I told you, I'm not talking."

"Other's like him? Antonio?" The younger Rocket growled, threat turning his voice into a near purr.

The resounding silence screamed like damnation, and the older Rocket could not hold to it. Would not. But what Orn offered was worse than worthless. Evasions, and half-known facets of murder plans decades old were dated and damned for being so. Then, in the middle of things, Orm came, taking the phone from his brother, and ended the call mid-grilling. Crossing the line, his smarter brother would not with vindictive speed and a crack that sounded like property damage and ended in a lost call.

Swearing, an hour wasted and then some. Giovanni threw his phone down. Seething, frustrated, and no wiser than when he'd started.

Damn it all.