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.

 

[K_S]

A book
paper trail part 3
Chapter 6​

Neither Sakaki was surprised to hear that Orn and Orm had been targeted mere days later.

They were less than thrilled to be dragged into the mess personally.

Grace had had a bad feeling from the moment Giovanni had explained the ex-Mobster's concerns about a hit, and Giovanni from grim experience.

Not known by the lay (or most members of Rocket), there were psychic mon threaded through the mob. Part to snitch to those in power, part to flush out traitors. Those select few were reared with a special type of apathy, exposed to the brainwaves that eroded thier moral compass, pampered just enough to be tractable, and coddled enough to be unambitious.

And never allowed to develop pre-cog. Least they stumble on enough ambition to manipulate thier keepers to stave off thier final day. There'd been cases of aged Xatu, who'd whispered tales into sbario minds. They'd turned in the Rockets who'd been assigned with thier disposal. It's why, in retaliation, they'd been nearly scoured off the face of the regions. Precognition held little value in the face of bloody-minded, generations-deep-seated hatred, inflamed by vendetta.

Let it not be said that revenge always had to be served cold. Not when a good forest fire and razing of ancestral nesting grounds would do the job as well.

Funny then, how the madam had set aside a Xatu for her revenge. The bird had been locked into a living rictus, freed by the trip of synapses going off just so. The command, over a decade old, had brought fresh life to the nearly paralyzed animal.


Motive was insultingly easy to parse out of it. The bird had been strung along with the promise of de-evolution. It'd be regressed to a simpler form, no longer living in permanent paralysis as the future overwhelmed it. A stone meant to suppress its evolution, permanently, was its follow-up prize if it killed Orn first, and somehow teleported proof to Orm.

The last... felt like an accident. Of a Madam too stupid to tell Orn from Orm.

Regardless, the coop had been stopped dead in its tracks when the stupid bird had teleported between a furious, visiting Sakaki and the Lawyer. Both men were going at it in high dudgeon, Giovanni closing his gym and calling out sick to his legit business to handle this bit of Business... Orn having sent everyeon home early.

During the less-than-civil screaming match some turn of phrase, perhaps mere repetition, had done the trick. Heralding its arrival with Future Sight, the bird swirled into existence via a teleport and psywave. Its grandiose entrance blasted out windows and the lights, while doom and gloom swirled about it, only to fly away like a malcontent swarm beyond both mobsters' sight. Orn scrambled back, reaching under his desk and coming up with a gun. Giovannni summoned Rhydon to smash the floating fragments down and shield the two of them from whatever the next 'wave would kick up.

"Don't shoot." Giovanni snarled. Because psychics and projectiles were a dangerous double-edged sword. Counter, barrier, light screen, mirror coat, all could cause a lethal ricochet. "Let the 'mon sort this out. 'Don, rock smash!"

Orn, using his desk, threw himself across the room to avoid being smashed by a filing cabinet. All further acts of telekenesis (a confusion attack hopped up on desperation) stopped when Rhydon grabbed the paper-stuffed, metal box and slammed it full force at the green bird. Barely able to deflect the attack, litigation flying around them all like misplaced snowfall, the bird almost got trampled.

(only a swirl of light, a teleport, saved its feathered ass)

The bird, from first to last, was showing off how rusty it was.

Literally.

Its neck "creaked" as it turned, like the gears of an unaligned clock. And it turned at a pace of a slow minute hand. You could hear the bones scrape every other minute, heralding either the bird coming or going. It tried to keep a bead on Orn and line up another psywave, but the animate rock rino was proving to be problematic.

The shadows around Orn's feet flared, warning of some sort of disaster yet to come reacing it's peak, and perhaps, satisfied this would be the end of its job, the bird jerked its head halfway between Giovanni and the old mobster.

I know you...

Its thoughts were anxiety-bitter, acid gentle, and as soft as newborn down.

Small, snivelling thing, with a small mind, and smaller obsessions...

Save it was rotted down, slick with curdled embroic fluid, sharpened with the edges of long-shattered shells.

breeding and breaking... breaking and breeding... I break the bitch you've bred, break the egg in its shell, how sweet will your breaking be after?

With a sick crack, the head was fully facing him. The world swirled cerulean and black, the eerie illumination tucking under the smallest edged things about the room, as if testing the heft and strength.

How will I be rewarded?
Teeth grit, Giovanni could have broken the damn thing in a number of ways. With lies, the truth, a show of power. He decided the petty way was how he was going to go, at least at first.

"Rhydon Protect."

And when future sight descended, swirling out of shadows, skewing fate to maim and rend, it was washed out in a nova of gold light. For a moment, neither 'mon, nor man, could see.

But Giovanni didn't need his sight. Not for this.

One step, debris, hard, long, wooden was at his feet. He snapped it up, ignoring the bite of fractured frame and splinters in his palm. Steps two through five were taken at a run, a rattly creak assuring him he was going the right way. Memory did the rest. It told him he was near the door. His last bit of sight before the flash enfused psywave was that the damned thing had propped itself at the door to better loom and aim.

It's all he needed to know.

There was a whistling crack, a psywave drove the small and edged at him. The barrage of pseudo-arrows that ached and burned but came too soft and too slow.

It was far too late..

The attack wasn't enough to stop his overhand swing. He nearly pulped the thing's head in one stroke. Tossing down the wood, he snatched the feathered neck in one hand and hooked his fingers over the bird's chest crest with the other. His fingers found purchase among the lines of vertebral bones and ribs. If it tried to teleport, it would be doing so with bits of it missing.

Hauling the dying thing close, blood and worse sloshing over his fingers, Giovanni's eyes fluttered as he ripped a bond into being between their psyches. Its petty ambitions were less mad and more desperate. All this was for a spritz of de-evolution potion, a defunct poison touted about as a game-changer in the Madam's heyday.

The mad assurance that the code to the safe of the last working dose was etched into Consigliere Orns' skin, squirled away in the symbology of his tattoos, nearly made Giovanni smirk... The frustrated mental thrashing as it fought against his presence in its mind made the young man's lips curl into something beyond a smirk.

He smiled, toothy and wide, luxuriating in the pain. Its frustration was like a drug, taking the edge off of his injuries. And the realization...

That it was dying...

Spawned such terror, such ecstasy (it was better than drink, better than drugs) the mobster laughed. Facts were dimming, as its synapses were snuffed out in mortality's wake... but that last glimpse was more than enough.

"It worked alone." Shoving the carrion down, ignoring the tacky feather bits under his nails, Giovanni tipped a look at the old mobster, who was using Rhydon as a crutch. After all that rough and tumble, it was understandable that the old man needed some support. "But have someone check your car, it planted something there. Could be a bomb, could be another future sight."

"You're sure?" Orn rasped.

"It was." Giovanni shrugged, kicking a bit of paper aside, just to make the older man wince. Years of organization were ruined. It'd take months to set this right. But that wasn't Giovanni's problem. "It's as close to a promise as I can give you."

Silence, while the younger stared at the older, and both caught thier breath. Fingers starting to itch, Giovanni pulled his pocket handkerchief out and dabbed at the mess on his hands. He considered telling Orn that the thing had been attempting a decapitation. To preserve the symbols in all thier riddle solving glory.

Tossing the ruined fabric to the ground, Giovanni decided, not now.

Possibly not ever.

"Fuck my life, even dead she finds a way to trash my shit..." Orn growled, shaking his head at the sight of his trashed office. "You got any made men I could borrow for a spell to at least box this up and...."

-and Orn's phone rang, some silly bit of string work. It was a ditty from a classic song from back in the day. Thick brows crinkling into a furry line, face twisting into a furrow of concern, Orn dug out his phone. Small mercies, the device hadn't been destroyed in the scuffle.

"Orm, I'm a bit busy now and... Grace... why the fuck are you using my brother's... You're where? What-" He sopped, forced himself to listen, and nodded. Fat lot of good that did him when Giovanni was hovering in his space, expression waflfing between murderous and wanting answers. "We're on our way. Stay there, and don't let Orm tell you to do anything else. Man's got the direction sense of a broken compass."

Releasing the call, Orn stooped to dig out some water bottles from the ruins of the desk. He tossed one to his fellow made man. Ignoring fury and impatience, Orn nodded towards the offering that Gio had caught. "Clean, then get us a flyer. It wasn't the only one. But between teleport and Orm's team having a prechance for explosion, they're shaken but fine." Seeing Gio ready to up and go, Orn snorted. "But she won't be fine, or stay fine, if she sees you all bloody...Learn from my mistakes, and clean up before we get out of here, kid. Viridian forest isn't kind during the day, and we don't wanna leave them out there tonight."

 

[Tango]

Villian-tines,
prompt number 26
A book, part 2​

I'm back for the next review!

Not much happening with the chapter title here, but I appreciate it being split into parts as that makes things easier to review.

Spoiler: Line by line

He'd had to go to the basement. Part to ensure the generator for the fridge and emergency line was working properly, part to root through a few boxes in the back. There were, to his surprise, some old Sakaki keepsakes among the deeds and dated deals. Nothing incriminating, mainly a few odd and end things that he felt like someone had just dumped half a desk into his packing while his back was turned.

He found the black-bound book halfway in.

Ooh I like how you separated this line out for emphasis. This is surely the book the fic is named for!

A quick flip proved it to be part photo album, part scrapbook. Nothing dangerous caught his attention as he skimmed. The back was a glued-together mess, but besides that oddity, nothing stood out. He tucked it under his arm and rooted out an odd decoration to take its place.

Because the book had been holding down someone else's tax reports. A quick skim found them to be Zio Sal's. What the man was doing, owning a bakery when he couldn't boil water, was not Giovanni's business. What was, was that the base of the papers was starting to rise. Alarmingly. Like an accordion compressing in reverse.

Funny what kinda of old stuff that ends up in people's homes. Seems realistic.

Making a mental note to have a burn day, before the bakery papers roused to sentience, Giovanni headed out.

Sentient papers would form into a new Ghost type Pokemon for sure. A Pokemon like that would want you to read as much paperwork as possible and would likely take to mail fraud.

Persian, the brat, had been napping down below. Making her regal presence known among the dust bunnies and topmost boxes. Smoothing the hair she'd swatted when he dared to get too close to her lofty perch, Giovanni left her to it.

I think Persian is the only mon who can get away with stuff like that with Gio!

The unrepentant cat wasn't one to tolerate being ignored.

Aren't they all, though?

She hopped down from her perch of old Sakaki odd and ends with the grace of a drunken donphan.

Ok I love this description here! Such a pushy kitty!

All thumping and thudding despite her species' supposed grace and elegance. Her last jump caused a box to topple.

She's doing it on purpose!

Its fall was marked with a glassy "tink a link" of something breaking. Mobster and feline froze. Waiting.

When Grace didn't holler about the ruckus, Giovanni glared down at Persian. Clearly, the decade-old soundproofing had held, saving thier asses. But did she find something like repentance?

Nope.

Confident that all accidental noise was finished, Persian flicked her ears up. The fuzzy brat looked up at him, eyes half lidded, licking a paw. Channeling that patented cat panache that screamed: "nothing to see here".

Persian is the cattiest cat who ever catted!

Rolling his eyes, he left her to it.

Yep. He knows he isn't going to get mad and, more importantly, so does she!

Seeing her audience of one, was on thier way out, she followed meowing at his heels, mewing about everything but an apology.

Of course. Did he really expect anything different?

And because of that, he ignored her nudge, the mute request for a good petting.

My goodness she is such a spoiled thing. The fact that she tried means it sometimes works!

Used to being ignored when she was being a little demon, Persian murred under her breath about head scratches and treats from Grace.

In typical pet fashion. If she doesn't get what she wants from one human, she will just go find another for it.

A snarl from the sky kicked up while Gio was locking the basement door behind him. Persian, as cats did popcorned. That fun feat of going from standing to flying straight up in a perfect vertical jump that ended in her landing with her claws drawn. Each leg thumped and clicked heavily on impact.

Ok this is most definitely the Persian chapter. I can't imagine anything in this chapter potentially being more amusing!

Ears pinned back in alarm, Persian glared at him. From the hiss and spitting, she clearly blamed him for Mother Nature's shenanigans.

🤣 ok ok. My favorite mon for Gio is now Persian.

Or perhaps for not warning her.

She thinks she is a mon princess and Gio just needs to understand that.

Well, she'd been a demon, and no one ever could accuse a Sakaki of being nice.

Indeed.

Persian yowled like a Legend was breaking in through the window. Barrelling up the stairs like a fuzzy klaxon. Tail poofed and raised like a broken flag to declare her surrender to the world.

This exit made me laugh pretty hard! 🤣

Come back anytime Persian. Your ridiculousness is peak.

Snorting, Gio picked a slower path to the bedroom. All Persian had to do was apologize. He'd open the basement, and she could go back down to being oblivious. But no. Off she went to get snuggles from Grace.

Stupid cat.

Stupid cat that he can't help but keep and love!

Grace pulled her attention from the quivering Persian that was trying to meld into her side when he strolled in. A ghost of her old curiosity lit her eyes as she tipped her head at him.

"I found it."

"Is that the Necronomicon?"

Yes.

...no.

He'd read Lovecraft and got that reference, thank you very much. As a reward for his labors, he might have taken the softest blanket from the bed-nest and bundled in. Glaring at the woman and cat from his nook of warmth, like an angry kakunna.

How grumpy.

"If I say sorry, will you share?"

There had been a spill between him coming and going. Sheets were stripped and pushed out of the way. She'd made do with what hadn't been soaked, but from her shiver, it wasn't enough.

So much for avoiding laundry.

If she is cold, that means she will want to snuggle!

He considered Grace and Persian; both were employing their infernal puppy eyes. He glared at them and crunched up among the folds.

They both know juuust how to push his buttons!

Grace's hands found the edge of his sanctuary and started tugging and prodding at the seams.

"If you let me in, you'll be warmer." Lies. If she left him alone, he would stop getting cold air coming in. "And you can share and care your vampire book-"

He rolled his eyes, unfolded the edge, and acquired a Grace lamprey as a result.

Seeing her get her way even though Gio knows better is delightful. Eye-rolling concessions.

Persian could damm well take her cat pillow at the foot of the bed, and like it.

Ooo! That's another good point! This way he gets to steal Grace from Persian in retaliation for her earlier antics!

📝Curse word is misspelled, though.

To be... completely fair... the "vampire book" seemed to have been started back when cameras weren't a thing. It was done backwards. Starting in near pre-history, it became more modern as it went. Pages had been added in, though how, Giovanni had no clue.

The artist hired for the first few generations of Sakaki's had taken the idea of somber and monochrome to whole new levels. And the Sakakis within seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with dark colors.

"Seriously," Grace drawled, "why does everyone look like a vampire?"

Nice way of describing how things changed over the years. It also seems pretty fitting for a mafia photo-album.

Pointedly not looking too closely at the teeth of a distant uncle, Giovanni hummed. "There must be some Sakaki genetic inclination towards wearing black."

"That level of bad taste better be a recessive trait."

If Grace were raised as a Sakaki... well, Giovanni might have feared for his manhood.

What? But if she WERE raised as a Sakaki, wouldn't that mean she would PREFER black in the first place?

As it was, her insinuations warmed him better than the best scotch and a blazing fireplace. Toes curling in pleasure, his answering smirk was tender.

Well alright then. Gio's toes have now entered the chat.

Before she could decide if she wanted to take him up on that unspoken offer, Persian decided to flaunt her nesting instincts. Indulging a slinky sort of kneed with a Thief twist. The result was one stolen pillow and sheet, and the feline twisted into a snug cat croissant at the foot of the bed.p

📝Extra 'p' at the end.

One way or another, Persian will have her comfort.

More than familiar with the cat's "it's raining, and I don't care" facade, Giovanni ignored the show. He had Grace in his arms, something to read, and mercifully, the thunder was on the decline.

Yep! Gio knows he won!

A few pages later, he had to wonder if he hadn't screwed his eventual children with some prophecy. There wasn't a lick of anything other than an accent in white or red. It looked like he was seeing a procession of great-aunt and uncle funerals. If it hadn't been for the text scribbled around each shot, he wouldn't have guessed the shots were the acknowledgment of births or family gatherings.

"Did you notice, no one's smiling?"

Hm. That was an interesting contrast between Grace's "books" and this one. But it was an easy one to explain.

"Sakaki gatherings are somber events." Gio mimed Nona's inflection since such shrillness was beyond him. "Men are meant to be sober, loyal, and strict."

"Ung." Grace stilled her relentless burrowing into his side. "You hear this bull, uterus? You need to damn well reject these genes he's talking about. Girdle those eggs. Or no more fun times. Ever. I swear it."

She is LITERALLY talking to her uterus! Graces Uterus has entered the chat!

He laughed. She took advantage of that to steal a pillow back. He had no one to blame but himself for indulging, and she had no one else to blame herself when he retaliated. He was more than capable of adjusting her position, ignoring her protests, and making her serve in place for what she stole.

That conniving scheming woman! Pillow THIEF!

...No wonder Gio loves her.

As the text became more modern, he started to recognize people beyond obscure, historically inaccurate one-liners. In the areas where he recognized the handwriting, the purpose of documentation had changed.

Pictures, some candid, some formal, stood beside a folded paper. It hadn't taken much to work off the decades-old tape and find that when teased open, the "papers" were not harmless notes or purloined love letters. They were death certificates.

In a few cases, the papers were several pages long.

Some lunitic had, via a mad melding of origami and determination, managed to slip in a full medical examiner's uncensored report.

At least five times.

WELL! Alright then!

I'm guessing this is where the terrible secret of this book is?

After a few pages of this, Grace stopped him from going forward. Her pretty features were twisted into an expression of quiet horror as she asked. "Gio, we aren't reading your mom's "hit" book, are we?"

He... couldn't believe the Madam would be that stupid... Still considering her viciousness. This could be something mild, her notating everyone's deaths so she could savor the ones she hated without drawing attention to her sport...

A sort of feel-good indulgence for the depraved...

"I'm not sure." He confessed. Mind whirling between excuses, evasions, and mild plans to throw someone under the bus. Perhaps suggest her burn this book. An idle motion, a turned page, and things were taken out of his hands.

He turned a page and lost his train of thought.

I love how all they can do is guess at the true purpose of the book so far. Builds suspense and intrigue!

Sal's picture blew a hole in Grace's hypothesis. It was a candid hospital shot where Sal had been recuperating from having two broken arms and a broken leg. He was awake in the shot, his cast-bound leg raised insanely high on its sling. There wasn't a medical person in sight. No one, just a shadow on the wall from the photographer and a close-up of an old mobster's debasement. Except Sal wasn't old in this shot. The injured Made Man was possibly younger than Giovanni was now. The wounds were fresh, and there was blood under the bandages. His eyes were wide, and all intelligence in them was gone.

"He can't have been seeing visitors. Not with his eyes like that. He's drugged to the gills."

"Probably best we don't know anything else," Giovanni warned.

All thoughts of burning fled his head. He turned another page and found further evidence against this being a feel-good anything. This book was made to torment him.

Interesting that he would come to that conclusion. Considering it's him thinking it and he would know the Sakaki's best, I'd say he is likely correct!

But even at this point, the readers can't be 100% sure, so the mystery is maintained as the suspense intensifies... Just what WOULD torment Gio? The narrative invites the readers to find out.

And he daren't burn it because the next shot was a pair of agonizingly familiar little girls. Arm in arm, dressed in their Sunday best and trying to look sober. Their sparkling black eyes told tales. The littlest was nine, the other fifteen.

It took him a long moment to recognize Gemma and her little sister Saphrina on the page. The eldest was long gone, the youngest a fresher loss. Dead at twenty-one, at least if the gossip was right.

It felt positively alien to realize that he was older than his big niece Gemma, that he'd outlived her and her spitfire of a younger sister. He was older than they both were...had been... now. Presently.

Old albums are crazy like that. I'm guessing he was somewhat close to them. I'm also guessing their death certificates will be included...

Shaking off the question of tense, he flipped through a few pages to see if Saphrina's kids were deeper in. But the book was too out of date to tell that tale. The last few pages were blocks of bound papers, a near pouch of documentation in... binary? The code was too thick for him to understand. So he ignored it, flicking back to familiar pastures.

Grace took the hand not holding the book and twined their fingers. They leaned against each other, looking at the picture of those two girls for a very long time. She knew of Gemma, the young woman was one of the few famiglia members that had a picture in Giovanni's home, on his personal work desk, no less.

Very close to her it seems.

"You know, if you want to know, you could just call."

Grace was a smart thing, having sussed the reason for his flipping ahead, though he hadn't said a word. But her solution was more than it seemed. More than an insultingly easy phone call.

Saphrina had overt ties to the Mob. Grace's encouragement to reach out was an offer to mutely tolerate the social fallout of that contact. And, in theory, it might even work. But there were more than just Kanto law enforcement to consider.

With a sigh, Giovanni shook his head, moved to turn a page. "I went legit. Barring Executives and the Madam, the rest of the famiglia won't have a thing to do with me... and being around them would be..." He could imagine the shrill screams of P.R. Worse, any smirching of his name was an invitation for the police to all but move in.

Between the scuffles Grace had kicked up during her wild social justice crusade years and Giovanni's... well, everything... the police and the Sakakis were not a good combination. To put it very mildly.

Yeah, that makes sense for why it wouldn't be a good option for him. But in that case, why not just use a payphone or a disposable phone and call about it with a fake identity or something?

He huffed, and she released his off hand to pin his hand. It stoped him from worrying the page down,

📝'stopped'. 'wearing'?

doing damage to the image within.

"You know, when I was younger, it didn't bother me." He breathed the confession, startled at the fact that it hurt. "But now, sometimes, it does."

She took the book and turned back to the girls who had been told not to smile. He wished they had dared to defy that order. Seeing them happy would have been nice.

Things are getting real for Gio now.

"Tell me about them?"

"Gemma and Saphrina Sakaki Corosso were sisters in arms. Hell-bent on breaking the mind of every sbirro they could."

What is a sbirro? 🤔

Until Gemma couldn't, a bullet in the head ended her career stupid young. Saphrina had carried on the proud Sakaki cause of being a royal pain in the authorities' ass. Skirting that fine line between brave and stupid until an encounter with police brutality had left her unable to walk.

Kanto sounds like it has such a lovely upstanding police force!

Oh, she'd recovered, but after?

She'd been too scared to carry on after that.

"So if I'd seen them during my civil unrest days?"

Grace had attended protests and rallies against everything she could. Hell, she'd even had a record in corporate circles.

That'd been a fun find.

Once, when giving her a tour of one of his legit businesses, his head of civilian security had barged in like a Tauros with its tails on fire. Giovanni had gone from placid tour guide to grim Made Man in moments. Expecting to hear that they were under attack by some upstart anti-Rocket insurrection. The commotion had much tamer roots, thank God.

It was just the man having a fit. The head of security had seen Grace on the cameras, and he remembered the fiery red head with her silver colored eyes. The story had come out around a slew of widely inappropriate, angry posturing. The guard had claimed that Grace had assaulted him during a protest against Viridian Co.

Grace's defense had been lackluster at best. She'd accidentally dropped the sign. It'd been heavy.

Well that's a bit awkward! 😅

Surprised at that spot of rather passive aggressiveness, Giovanni had given his fiancée a long, long look. She hadn't elaborated. Or amended her words to become an actual apology.

Knowing Grace... each facet of her behaviour was damning.

📝behavior

"I have everything under control," he'd soothed the irate guard. "And I'll personally oversee her conduct. You have nothing to worry about."

Part curiosity, part to shut the man up, Giovanni did some independent research. It had resolved to be one of those fun social upheavals during his early days as an entrepreneur. He'd nominally owned the company, inherited it in the upheaval of his mother's death, and promptly forgot about it during his league training days.

It'd been Madam Sakaki's pride and joy.

Ah, so forgetting about it was a fitting action to take towards that monster.

Suffice to say, its practices were overtly evil and wasteful. Enough so the locals, mainly stereotypical conflict-avoidant Kantoese, had raised hell.

Sounds like Bricks and Minifigs.

Grace and fifty other young adults had waged a mudslinging war with the intellectual property the company produced. During that time, they'd unearthed a string of noisome scandals and shifted thier

📝their

attention to a rather noisome CEO. Going over the man's files, Giovanni found himself agreeing with the picketters. The CEO should have been shot rather than allowed to have power over anyone.

Likely realizing thier waste would put them at the top of his to-do list when he gained power, they'd, impossible as it seemed, jumped off the slippery slope faster.

Evil loves to double down.

And the attendant incident report, when things had hit boiling point, was one of those grey things. Yes, there'd technically been an assault. One of the kids, an offspring of a protester, had chucked mudballs at the guards. Yes, the security teams should have been rotated in shifts to prevent them from lashing out due to unresolved stress...

But in Giovanni's defense, he had been barely grasping the scope of his influence outside of the Mob. He'd literally just inherited the business five days before the blowup. He had had no clue things were this dire, and back then wouldn't have known how to handle it anyway...

The result was a mini-riot that ended with his current security head developing one hell of a grudge. Understandable considering he'd had to take a mandatory leave of absence due to a concussion. Grace hadn't dropped a sign; she'd used it to break out of the scuffle because someone had armed the unarmed guards with illegal guns.

But considering the man had brought a literal gun to a debate...

And Grace was literally taking a tour at his side, arm threaded through his, wearing a ring that loudly proclaimed his intentions...

Such ancient history shouldn't have fucking mattered.

Ooo! Gios is TICKED at this guy! 😬

I think this security guard just stepped on a landmine... 😅

His smirk might have been considered a bit evil. They had a scale for grin-to-evil ratio. Something about a tooth count, and the shadowing of the room... But Grace was distracted, thus was not in a position to judge. It'd been an utmost pleasure to fire the brash bastard. And it had been amusing in more than one way to see a younger Grace in all her heated, rebellious glory. He let both the benign and not-so-benign amusement color his tone.

"If there was a chance to throw something, anything, at a copper, Gemma would have had your back."

"How was her aim?"

He made a so-so motion with a hand.

Seems like Gemma and Grace would have gotten along not entirely unlike her dynamic with Gio.

"She once tossed her pokeball with a seviper, fumbled, and hit herself in the head with it. The ball released the snake on her back."

The snake had gone full constrict mode the second he was out of his pokeball... It'd taken three adult Sakaki's to pry Gemma out of her beast's loops.

That's, uh... a bit of a problem! 😂

"You know, she got me into training?"

"You mean you weren't born riding a rabid rhyhorn?"

What kind of a stupid question is that, Grace? Of COURSE he was!

Giovanni laughed. "The madam wasn't that deprived."

Not quite, but it was a very near thing.

Makes one wonder how it really played out!

Closing thoughts:
The plot advances centered around the book. We continue to get more time to see how Grace and Gio spend alone time together and the shape of their relationship.

Persian is RIDICULOUS! And also purrfect. I might need to see more Persian in future chapters. She's a riot and the fact that Gio can understand her just makes it all the funnier! 🤣

The way you've written it holds reader attention. Great use of humor in it as well! I look forward to the next chapter.

 

[Tango]

Villian-tines,
prompt number 26
A book, part 3​

So, I'm back again because the length of this chapter is so short I've determined it should count as part of the previous chapter review. So this one can be considered a freebie! (Besides, my conscience is telling me that should be the case on this one at this time regardless...)

No real chapter title here. I guess it will fall one me to try to come up with one!

By the way, I think the previous chapter should be "Cats & Cobwebs". Because Persian is extremely prevalent and cobwebs is like the storage place he finds the book and its of very old things kind of like cobwebs and it brings back memories which are somewhat hazy and old making the mind a little like cobwebs. So there you have it!

Spoiler: Line by Line Reaction

The pearly gates were not meant for him. He had no doubts about his final destination in the hereafter. So like any good thief, he stole what bits of paradise he could.

So Gio is religious and believes he isn't getting into heaven. But rather than change, he just continues on. Well, he has to mesh with his canon self, so at least for a good while, he will not be in a place to change any of that. But villains are never required to change anyway, so this can mostly just be taken as information about his character. He isn't going to try to be good for the sake of being good. He has wants and he will pursue them regardless of moral barriers except those he himself finds distasteful to cross.

Comfortable, cocooned in warmth, Grace nestled against his side; there was little more he could ask for.

If only he could keep things that way. But for all his power, holding onto happiness won't be an option for him. But at least in the here and now he does and the both of them make a good couple that are enjoyable to read about.

Persian lay at thier

📝their

feet, purring in her sleep. A tame pseudo thunder that drowned out the last gasps of the dwindling storm.

Cat purrs are some of the most soothing sounds in nature. 🥰

It was his turn. They'd passed the time trading tales. A benign back and forth that had him breaking down a distant scam one childhood ago.

Gemma, himself, and an infant Saph' were pulling the "child is crying, help us" card. Well, he and Gemma were. Saph was unfortunately encouraged to scream as the older kids had alternated between subtly pinching her and rocking the baby with artfully panicked faces to sell the scam.

Unfortunatly Saph' was loud. So the panic hadn't been all an act.

They nearly went deaf to get a shot at the wares of a rather upscale cioccolateria. And the torture had been compounded by the old woman who ran the place. She'd been a cold-hearted thing that had no empathy for a howling baby and panicky pre-adolescents.

I suppose if one is going to scam and steal, one may as well pick targets and it sounds like she checked the boxes they were looking for! 😅

"Deaf, really?" Grace hummed, twiddling pages in her fingers as he talked.


"I had tenitis for two days after." Giovanni griped. "And it had seemed worth it at the time."


"Mhm, and what'd you learn from all that?"


"Don't rob old mobster shops, they make all thier

📝their

displays out of bulletproof glass." At Grace's prompt to "think harder," he added. "Also, crutches can't break open bulletproof glass, no matter how hard you swing."

Oh! I remember reading this at some point!

Grace let out a low snort, quipped a line about how she would have paid to see him pulling a Tiny Tim. There'd been some payback delivered via pillow. But after, they settled into thier

📝their

places, a bit breathless and short a pillow.

The pillow fights between them are a great way to show closeness.

Persian, the lazy girl, slept through it all.

Really? Not even a little bit bothered? 😶‍🌫️

"Now, where was I?"


"Explaining why Seph' understandably subliminally hates you?"


The flick of pages under her fingers added an interesting undertone to her sarcasm.


"One, she does not." Did not, would have been truer to reality. But for now, he ignored the proper tense. "She was perfectly fine after I slipped her some caramel. Second, we are jumping too far ahead."


"Not my fault..."


Grace was too old to sing-song. But then Giovanni was too old to instigate a pillow fight. As long as she wouldn't tell, he wouldn't.

Sing-song? I guess what I'm getting out of this is that they keep their pillow fights a secret. Makes sense. Hard to fear a mob boss known for his prowess in pillow fights!

The soft hiss zip of her fingers teasing the edges of the book helped Gio gather his thoughts. No, he hadn't been dressed as Tiny Tim, thank you very much. But making papier-mache look like a plaster cast had taken hours. While he went on to explain how Gemma had pulled that off, it was to the background music of rustling and purrs.

I'm so confused how it was pulled off!

While many would have viewed the fact that Grace was aimlessly turning pages as he talked as her being distracted, he knew better. It wasn't indifference. Grace was always toying with something. The habit had taken some getting used to, but now served as a sort of barometer for her temper and interest.

WELL! That is QUITE the telling statement!

But hey, Silver didn't just materialize out of thin air!

The sound stilled a bit as her fingers got caught in the back block of coded text. Between sewn-in pouches, overstuffed with folded papers, brick might have been a better term. Still, her warning that he'd better not teach any of their kids that trick had a firm, tapped, staccato beat accompanying it.


Grinning like a loon. Because the idea of "Kids' was intoxicating beyond belief, he promised he wouldn't. It was an easy thing to offer. The scam was too reliant on too many variables. It required three bodies minimum, one of which was an infant. Unless Grace was willing to have that many kids in succession, it was an unfeasible ploy to pull off.

I love how the only reason he seems to not go for it is because he doesn't find it feasible!

"I swear you're going to have to go through an ethics class before we even have one, Mr. Variables..."


The book was leveled at him like an accusatory finger. Before Giovanni could suggest she wield something else, anything else besides his family historia, gravity took matters out of thier

📝their

hands.

The book is going to fall apart, isn't it. When it does, the hideous truth will come to light, won't it?

The staples, pins, and sewing, decades old and poorly executed, came apart mid-scolding gesture.


The result was the book dumped half a novella between the two.


Persian woke with an irritated "Murr" and rolled off the bed to leave the two stupid humans to thier nestmaking.

📝their

Nestmaking! Persian really does have the best lines that aren't lines...

"Ah crap..." Grace winced at the disaster of mangled, encrypted papers. A quick flick through the book showed the photos were undisturbed.


"Merda indeed." Giovanni sighed, taking the book back and tucking it under his arm. "Well, I'm sure you, in your moral superiority, won't mind handling clean up?"

Ooo, Gio went right for the weak point!

Grace groaned, but nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."


"Grace," A firm tone bellied the soft peck on her lips. It was the kindest way to stop a spiral he's learned. "Sort it, burn it, I don't care. Just get it off the bed before I get back, alright?"


Gathering the laundry from earlier spills and feathers from other activities, he left her to it.

Feathers?! They were have a pillow WAR, not a fight!

The last glance he had of her on leaving was her sheepishly sifting through the mess, her embarrassment slowly being felled by a familiar expression of frustration. Unrepentant bibliophile, he understood. Not being able to tell page one from another could be frustrating, but being born and raised in the Mob, he knew a deeper truth.


Sometimes it was best not to know.

A single line italic. Perfect use of emphasis here. Tells the readers things ARE going to take a turn for the horrible.

Letting the Madam's little secret die with her... It was both a feasible and appealing option. If the mess was there when he got back, he'd do the job himself.


"Burning is an option, Grace, the fire is right there." He reminded gently, then he was closing the door on his way out.

Huh. This COULD be the end of the fic, but then there wouldn't be a plot! So while cleaning it, THAT is when she will stumble upon the terrible secret!

Closing Thoughts:
Ok chapter title could be: 'Now Look What You've Done' Could be used for pillow fights, disturbing Persian's sleep, AND causing the book to fall apart!

A very short chapter, but did set up nicely for what I assume will be the reveal in the next chapter. Bonus points for including Persian again!