Holy Crap. It's been like...9 months since I last updated. D-don't kill me~

This chappie was hella hard to write. Dunno why. Although enjoy it after the suuuuuuuuuuper long wait! :)

By the way, this chapter title translates to: "Two Questionable Meetings"

2

Dos reuniones cuestionables

"Francis Bonnefoy is a traitor."

The room burst into an explosion of noise, almost deafening as the members of the Armada exclaimed their disbelief at the Turk's statement.

"Bonnefoy a traitor?"

"Impossible! He was so dedicated to la Armada—"

"—what the fuck are you saying, Sadik? Francis would never—"

"Silencio(1)!" Antonio thundered, his tan arms clenching his seat's armrests as if his life depended on it. A fake smile curved his pink lips into a look of hidden fury—a twisted, sickening thing to look at compared to the Spaniard's normal carefree grin—his green eyes an icy fire. "Sadik," stated he, "You know very well that such an...accusation like that against one of our finest members is quite...daring to say the least. As well as if you are wrong, dire consequences shall befall you, regardless of your usefulness to the Armada."

Sadik Adnan, a handsome young man in his middle twenties with rich dark hair cropped short and sultry olive-brown eyes. His own complexion a shade or two lighter than Antonio's very own healthy tan and a slight stubble graced his chin, giving him a look of rugged handsomeness. A plain white mask was fitted across his face, obstructing a view of his fine features which he flaunted of every so often. "Oh, I'm quite aware, Patron.(2)"

"Are you now?" Antonio's blazing eyes narrowed tightly, obviously not happy that a mere underling had dare even suspect Francis, his very own childhood friend and right-hand man, as the one who had betrayed the Armada to the European Interpol.

The man seated next to the Turk shifted. Sleepy, stunning green-blue eyes the exact color and shade of the Aegean Sea on a sunny day snapped to attention. Mouth grim and hand clenched tightly around his odd cross shaped weapon, Heracles Karpusi instinctively shifted to a defence stand—shuffling his chair closer to Sadik. It was very well known of Heracles and Sadik's rivalry, the two even went as so far as to maim each other dangerously with their choice of weapon (if not for Mona stopping the many fights with a shot from her gun). However, Heracles and Sadik were odd in the fact that they didn't allow anyone but each other to main, hurt, or threaten them. To Heracles it was always only Sadik, and for Sadik, Heracles was the only one (However, if you asked either of them straight out, both would vehemently deny it).

"Velet,(3)" Sadik murmured softly, sultry eyes fixed on the Spaniard, fingers tracing the rim of his mask.

"Gérontas,(4)" The Greek grunted, annoyance flashing through his face.

"Boss! Please, this is madness! Everyone here knows that Francis would never ever betray us to Interpol!" Blurted out Mona quickly, her words getting muddled terribly by her French accent due to her haste.

"You're just saying that cause you're related to him."

"Je dis que c'est parce que c'est vrai!(5)" Mona Bonnefoy screeched, her hands reaching down to grasp her weapon—a gun, cocked and ready, pointing threateningly at Sadik's forehead. In response, the Greek man raised his own weapon, it's tip right at the crook of the French woman's white neck.

"And what if I have proof?"

"Proof? Proof?" Spat the aristocratic French woman. "What proof would you have, Adnan?"

A smirk appeared on the Turk's face, quick, fierce, and fast. "Here." And with a flourish, he brought out a photograph from within the caverns of his dark olive coat. The photo seemed innocent enough: a picture of two men, one with long silky blond hair and ocean-dark eyes with a slight stubble gracing his chin shaking hands with a shorter man with scruffy dandelion-blond hair, bright forest-green eyes, and impossibly thick eyebrows.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat at the sight. "Wha—"

Lars rose one eyebrow, "Is that Arthur Kirkland? The Arthur Kirkland? Head of Interpol?"

"Of course it is. Who else has as bushy eyebrows as he does?" Retorted Lieve.

"Patron, do you believe me now?"

The Spaniard gulped, trying to fight down the bile of anguish and disgust roaring in his soul. How? Why? Francis was his mejor amigo(6), why would he...? "...I believe you, Sadik." He muttered lowly, words pulled out of his mouth in an agonizing slow manner. "Francisco is a traitor."

"B-b-but!" Mona cried a loud, jumping to her feet. "It doesn't make sense! Why would br—"

"We never knew half of the things he did," Lieve said brusquely. "He was so aloof, so tactless. Without a doubt—now that you think about it—Francis would commit such a crime as this."

The French woman snarled in anger and pointed one long, manicured finger at the Belgian. "Y-you dirty, little whore! Brother practically thought of you as one of his sisters—as, as family and here you are, not backing him up?"

"Don't speak to my zuster(7) like that!" Lars thundered angrily, clutching the Belgian woman's shoulder tightly for support as Lieve had grown rather pale and looked faint.

"Oh, like you're any better! Lusting after your own damn—"

"ENOUGH!" Antonio thundered, and unwillingly, the members of la Armada fell into silence. "T-this issue," he swallowed thickly, trying to force the tears back. "Is done. Franc—no, Bonnefoy is a traitor. And if we ever see his face, we'll kill him, rip him apart, show him no mercy for abandoning us." For abandoning me. After everything. "End. Of. The. Fucking. Discussion. Si?"

It was Heracles who broke the uneasy silence.

"I have news as well," The Greek murmured sleepily.

"Oh? What is it?" Antonio said shakily—praying, hoping it wasn't as bad as the Franc—Bonnefoy fiasco.

"The Dragons of the East and the Soviet Union are having an alliance."

"They're WHAT?"

"Yeah. Apparently the Dragons' leader, Yao Wang," At this, Heracles pointed towards a picture of a rather feminine man with long hair tied back, "And the S.U.'s leader, Ivan Braginski," This time, the picture was of a giant man, with platinum hair and big childish purple eyes. A cruel smile adorned the face as well as a big-ass nose. "Are eloping. So, alliance."

"WHAT?"

"Just be glad that the Mafia's quiet," Sadik snapped irritably.

"But that's also what's unsettling," Lieve pointed out. "They've been quiet. Too quiet. And this alliance. If the Dragons and the S.U. A-are now allies, what will happen? Plus, no doubt Francis—I mean, Bonnefoy," She correct hastily at the cold look Antonio shot her. "Is telling the Eyebrow Freak all our plans."

"Patron...what are we going to do?"

"Boss? Any ideas? Recruit new members, stock up on weapons, fortitude the ranks?" Lars asked, taking a deep swig from his pipe.

For once, Antonio was a loss. Hearing that his best friend betrayed him to their sworn enemy, two dangerous and potential enemy gangs striking an alliance with each other, the Mafia's eerie silence—and Lovi. Oh, how all of this would affect Lovi who was so clueless and didn't know anything of what he was in or rather, who he was.

But that's your fault isn't it? The demonic voice inside the Spaniard's mind taunted. It's aaaaaaaaaaaaall your fault. You should just tell him...don't tell me, you're afraid of what he would do to you? That he'd hate you? Ohhh. But, it's okay isn't it? I mean, everybody does end up leaving you, so why do you even bother—

And with a strangled sob, the tears that were held back was unleashed, and Antonio wept.

Later, when the three of them returned back home, Antonio didn't comment on the broken mirror, or the badly-bandaged Italian who was asleep among the fallen glass shards. He simply bent over and picked the boy up, cradling him to his broad chest, and watched as his tears stained Lovino's shirt.

"Te protejo. Te protejo. Te prometo, mi amor.(8)" He chanted, feverishly, like a prayer.

"Bloody Frog," Arthur Kirkland cursed as he glared daggers at the fashionably dressed Frenchman before him—who was making himself rather comfortable on the Brit's sofa. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Ah, mon cher(9)," Francis cooed, totally ignoring the Englishman's question. "I'm here for one purpose, and only one purpose. You wanted me to tell you about the Armada, did you not?"

"Well, yes—"

"So, I, decided to come and tell you all about my extravagant adventures~!"

"It's fucking four in the morning and I just came down here to get a glass of milk and here you are, sitting on my fucking couch. Thanks, frog. Now I have to burn it. And it was a bleeding good couch too."

"Ah, Arthur, always full of charm, non(10)?" Francis winked merrily, but his handsome face grew grave and clouded. "Non. I must tell you now. By now, Antoine and everyone else will realize that I have betrayed the Armada."

"...what did make you decide to betray the Armada and come crawling to Interpol, frog?" Arthur asked, as he placed a kettle on the stove, relinquishing in the fact that in a few minutes, he would have a nice steaming cup of Earl Grey.

At this, Francis Bonnefoy smiled wryly, fingering the cross underneath his blue button-up shirt. "An angel. An angel came and saved me."

(1) Silence

(2) Boss

(3) Brat

(4) Old Man

(5) I'm saying it because it's not true

(6) Best friend

(7) Sister

(8) I will protect you, I will protect you. I promise, my love.

(9) My dear

(10) No

One of the best mafia fic's ever?

God. THE PRESSURE IS ON, IT'S ON ALRIGHT.

I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Seriously.