#flicker tour milan

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Fifteen.

Huge thanks to my usual lovelies for your continued reads and beautiful words on this. I apologise for not reblogging my thanks or getting back to comments, I'm all over the place at present with my need to be taking strong painkillers so thus losing track! You are appreciated hugely by your author, though :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,290

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Miss, you are not gaining entrance. I am asking you to move away from the doors, miss. I will call the police. Men with cameras, please do not obstruct the frontage, I am asking everyone to move back. Now.”  

Sergio Manzo, the manager of the Milan Suite Hotel certainly had a much politer manner when dealing with nuisances than the wall of security guards who exited the first taxis in the convoy arriving, standing in a line either side of the frontage, the people they were employed to look after moving from the second and third cars at speed. Flashbulbs flickered brightly, questions fired at two individuals in particular, and one woman being blocked from getting anywhere near them shouting her nonsense. 

“Adrien! Adrien, I’m here! Please, look at me! I have a room at a hotel ten minutes away, just like we arranged!”  

His hand tightened around his wife’s, making sure she got into the hotel and out of the madness first, hearing Shane, their chief of security bellowing.  

“Do not touch me. Get back, now!” he directed at Serena, him and Greg pushing back as she tried to shove her way past them. “Jess, Jen, come on! Run in, quick!”  

With the last two plus Sunni within the foyer, the manager closed the doors, the hotel’s own security moving to guard the front, photographers still taking pictures through the glass doors and windows, and Serena still screaming for attention.  

“If she continues, we will call the police and have her removed,” Sergio spoke, shaking hands with Sunni, with whom he’d been liaising with regarding the situation of them being followed through Europe by the woman still making a scene outside. Luckily, every hotel had been sympathetic to the ongoing problem, but Sunni knew it was likely the last thing any of them needed. It was the last thing he needed; his job made exponentially more difficult in organising every move they made. 

“Appreciated, Sergio. Thank you very much for your co-operation, and I apologise for bringing this to your establishment. There isn’t much we can do, though. Travelling from country to country, it’s complex in how we handle the situation.” he explained, the manager nodding. He sped through the check in process, everyone being shown to their rooms, Serena remaining outside with her continued wailing.  

It had been a complex procedure of strategy to outwit her so far over the course of the tour, sometimes managing, often not to thwart her. Departures in vehicles with blacked out windows from the rear of hotels, restaurants and other public places were often facilitated, managing to lose her by the time she had scrambled into a taxi, or at times when she’d had a hire car, gotten herself behind the wheel.  

Jade and Adrien had attended a film festival in Rome a few days prior, luckily to no Serena related issues while walking the red carpet together, although Shane and Greg had been in attendance, just like they were wherever they went by themselves. It was stifling, but entirely necessary. After all, the nature of crazy could not be predicted, and risking their safety was something nobody was prepared to gamble on.  

At least things had turned around in the press for them as far as the whole situation went, the consensus now erring to the side of truth, that the girl in question was nothing more than a deranged fan, her stalking of the couple taking up column inches now rather than anybody putting credence in her claims to be having an affair with Adrien. In a situation that was far from their control, it was a small saving grace.  

“It sounds fucked up, but I almost wish she would actually try something, you know. So she can be arrested and slung into a cell,” Jade spoke, looking out of the hotel window, glad it backed onto the rear of the property. Feeling him move behind her, she grasped the arm that wrapped around her chest, stroking it, laying a kiss. “It’s pissing me right off, now. This is one of the best tours we’ve ever done, and it has to be spent looking over our shoulders, ageing poor Sunni by about ten years with all the extra logistics he’s having configure, too, and impacting everyone.” 

Adrien was in full agreement. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about going home early, you know, to see if she follows me, give you guys a break from it. I’m not about to chance that though, not with her fixation being on you, too. Plus, that’d mean missing seeing you get to play with the dancing horses, and I’m not about to do that.” 

With it of course being very well known that Jade was a keen equestrian, the Spanish Riding School in Vienna had invited her and Adrien for a private tour of the facility, once she had fulfilled her touring obligations throughout Europe. They’d even said she could ride with them during morning exercise, an honour that had sent her into the realms of squeaking disbelief when their management had called to inform her of the invite.  

“I can’t wait, I really can’t. And I’m glad you haven’t gone anywhere, darling. I’d worry too much; in case she did follow you. I thought he might’ve been being overzealous to begin with, but Sunni’s right. We have no idea what she could be capable of. At least if it continues when we get home, we can deal with it efficiently,” she sighed. Obtaining a restraining order while travelling through multiple countries was sadly not possible. 

It was wearing on her, but he was proud that she remained level-headed and pragmatic in the face of the harassment. Not once had she reverted to former bad habits when dealing with stress. “Yeah, she’ll be slapped with a restraining order. I hope that perhaps since we live so remotely, it’ll make it more difficult for her to pursue us.” 

“Maybe, yeah,” she interjected with, fingers tickling his inner forearm. 

“You not being on tour will help, too. She won’t be able to follow us quite so easily, not knowing which cities we’ll be in and when. I guess it helps that we won’t be home for long either until we leave on vacation. Is it naive of me to hope that she might get bored?” 

“Maybe a touch,” she confessed, leaning her head back to look at him, nuzzling his chest. “You’re right though, about her not knowing our itineraries. She won’t have a clue.” Turning in his arms, she draped hers around his neck, staring up at from beneath her long lashes. “I’m done with talking about the nutter, though. In fact, I’m done saying anything, unless it’s sexual.”  

He chuckled, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “Anything specific?” 

“Hmm, maybe a few things,” she hummed, reaching to press a kiss against his neck. “Like how I I’m going to ride you slow into that big bed after I’ve let you fuck my mouth.”  

Oh, the blaze that burned through his blood. “Mmm, yeah. I could definitely go in for some of that. Eventually. See, I have plans of my own first, Mrs. B.” 

She licked her lip, nails raking softly down his chest. “Oh, you do, hmm?”  

“Yeah.” His fingers trawled up her neck, pushing against the plush of her pout. “Suck 'em," he instructed, watching as the first and third digits vanished between her lips, her eyes not leaving his for a second. “Now turn around.” 

Once facing away from him, he walked her over to the corner of the room where a full-length mirror was stationed, positioning her before it. His lips rained hot over her neck, hand plunging beneath the waistband of her long, clingy black skirt. “You’re gonna watch how pretty you look when you come.” 

Giving him the total control of her as ever worked like an accelerant upon her arousal, his long fingers wasting no time for tease as they slid between her folds, rubbing long strokes over her clit. Moving her near waist length curtain of pale blonde hair, he continued those neck kisses, his other hand vanishing within her strapless top to stroke her breasts through the thin lace of her bra, that base to tip of his fingers stroking pressing a little firmer, adding a slight rotation.  

“Fuck,” she gasped, her head thudding back against his shoulder, turning to lay molten kisses at the side of his throat. “Fuck, right there.”  

It pattered down her spine like holy rain, her dew quickly drenching his fingers, Jade feeling his heartbeat amping up against her back. She had never known a man before him who thrived so much on being a giver of pleasure, leaning back against him to feel his cock hardening against her lower back. “I bet you can’t wait for me to sink down on that beautiful, big cock, can you baby?”  

He hummed a chuckle, teeth sharp at her neck. “Can’t wait to fuck that pretty mouth with it before you do.” With the continued skimming of his fingers over her hard little bud, he had her panting wantonly as she felt herself set to fall apart, like an ancient tower about to topple, little pin pricks of bliss warming over her veins as the coil within her tugged sharply.  

The syrupy bliss of it rolled over her bones as his fingers quickened, her cries filling the air like a sonnet as she felt it burst, her legs a little weak, his arm slipping to her waist to hold her tight as her release shone bright over her, removing his drenched fingers and pushing them into her mouth again. This time, he hooked them behind her teeth, thumb pressing beneath her jaw, gently towing her over to the bed and pushing her down to sit on the edge.  

“So fucking sexy,” she purred as he pulled off his t shirt, her hands moving to unfasten his jeans, “and he’s all mine.” Her tongue licked at the line of dark hair descending his navel, their joint undressing having him naked swiftly, Jade letting her tongue skim a lick over his hipbone while curling her hand around his cock.  

Bringing her lips to the tip, she kissed the slit a few times, a tang of precum glistening her cupid’s bow, the taste of him bursting over her tongue as she took him into her mouth. The need spiralled within her, wanting him with every fibre of her being, her hands curling around his back to drag her nails up and down. It sent sparks through him, his hands raking through her hair, letting her control it for that moment.  

It sliced sharp through the pit of his stomach, the blade of pleasure evoked by her mouth moving back and forth, a grunt of approval echoing his throat when she paused to spit on the thick of his cock, watching it glisten as it trickled down the shaft. “Dirty girl.” 

“Just the way you love me.” she chirped, once again swallowing him hole. It barely took any time at all for her to have him out of his mind, the way she looked up at him while having him buried deep in her throat, the continued drag of her nails, the way she moaned as she sucked him, god.  

It was a crime of thought that anyone, even for a second, would ever put credence in him straying from her.  

She was his golden-haired, blue-eyed goddess, his hands tightening their pull in those sunlit blonde tresses, his hips beginning to sway against her mouth. His heart crashed like a storm within his chest, sparks of heat rolling through him, his limbs feeling light and tingly the faster she moved her mouth against each plunging push between her lips. Just playing with her had amped him up beyond reason, Adrien feeling the blissful waves of release beginning to yank upon his nerves already, her nails like sensual daggers as they clawed at his back.  

The rubbing of the ridge of his cock against the back of her mouth made him weak with the force of the heat charging through his blood, the need to fuck her consuming him, like a demon vying for release. Pulling back, her pushed her further onto the bed, parting her thighs wide and filling her with one swift thrust, their mouths locking in hot, messy kisses full of desire.  

“I thought you were going to let me be in charge?” she panted, propping herself up on an elbow, the other arm draping around his neck. 

“So did I. The way you just sucked my dick gave me other ideas, though, and they all involve holding you down while I pound you into this bed.” His hand grasped her neck, flattening her to the mattress, the press firm but the hold gentle, hips beginning to pound against her as he watched the blue fire of her irises start to burn. The savage onslaught was tempered a little as he slowed, giving her all-in, all-out thrusts, moving his thumb to push it between her lips, watching her hum each moan around it as she sucked, her eyes inked with arousal.  

He forced all of the breath from her lungs with every hard shunt back inside of her, the outward drag of his cock slow, making her walls pulse and glimmer, little moonbeams glowing through the dark of her desire. Pulling his thumb away, his mouth met hers, kissing the plump of her lips, biting the lower, letting it slide out from between his lips as he rutted her deep, so deep he drew all manner of wails from her. 

She felt him hitting her every target within, building pace steadily, until they rutted together in frenzy, groans filling the air as they lost control, her nails dragging his chest as she began to flutter around the deep punch of his cock. The flint strikes burned bright, and she chased every spark, sucking his tongue, her nails imbedding and tearing down, Adrien releasing her neck to press both her hands above her head, driving into her like a piston as her waves crashed like a storm against his shore.  

It pulled him under with her, bright white bursting behind his eyelids, his muscles all softening as he fell to the stars of her arms, mouth peppering kisses against her neck.  

“You’ve... bloody... ruined me,” she panted, hands stroking his clammy back. He went to say something, comically crossing his eyes and shaking his head, making an ‘uh-uh’ noise. “Did I get my mans all pussy drunk, huh?” 

“Mmhmm.” She loved it when she rendered him beyond words, Jade laughing gently. He had just enough comprehension to set an alarm on his phone for an hour, falling into a little sex coma as Jade referred to them as, while she got up and had a quick shower before dressing, heading down to the bar.  

“Skippy! I need a smoke, come with,” Jen announced as soon as she saw her appear, the women turning and heading out to the front of the hotel, the drummer poking her head around the door. “Is it safe, man?” 

The security guy nodded. “She is somewhere further up the street, so for now, yes.” Moving to the side of the doors, they lit up, Jen raising her eyebrows at how awkwardly her friend moved.  

“Lemme guess, you’ve had your man on ya?”  

Her grin broadened. “Oh yeah.” They shared giggles full of mirth, Jade continuing. “Now, don’t get me wrong. My husband is perhaps the most talented lover I have ever known, but the bloody hips!” she exclaimed quietly, Jen nodding as she motioned to her own inner thighs.  

“Right? Jesus in a tutu, those slender guys always murder your fucking inner thighs with the hip bones! And we ain’t got much meat on us anyway, for god’s sake! This is why I like a chunkier dude, gives a little padding, man!” she chuckled.  

“I’m so bruised,” she snickered, “walking like Woody from Toy Story. Poor little cooch is all busted up an’ all.”  

Jen snorted, throwing her head back, the security guy sending her even further when he overheard and tried hard not to laugh. “I am familiar with the Toy Story,” he grinned, shaking his head. “You ladies are very funny.” He then looked down the street and groaned, seeing a sight that the police had already come to deal with, the girl who had been obstructing the hotel frontage.  

“Oh, joy,” Jen moaned, nodding in her direction. “We gotta incoming Serena. God, this bitch is unreal. And her parents, man! They gotta have heard something about this, and she’s just out here in the wind, throwing her crazy all over the damned place!”  

“Adrien said earlier that it’ll be so much easier to manage once we’re home. If she continues, we can just have her served with a restraining order,” she replied, closing her eyes tightly with a sharp exhale when she heard shouting begin. 

“Jade! I want to talk to you! I want you to know that you won’t come in the way of my happiness with Adrien. He’s divorcing you as soon as he gets back to the US!” 

Every instinct within her said to ignore it, but this girl, she was pushing her too far. “Did he? Prove it.”  

“I can’t! I’m not allowed near the front of the hotel!” she shouted.  

“Then Jen and I will come to you, and you can show me all these messages he’s supposed to have sent you, or you can show me the call list on your phone. I know his number from memory, so I’ll be able to see for myself then, won’t I?” 

“You aren’t coming anywhere near me! I don’t have to prove anything to you!” 

“Well,” she scoffed, “I think you do, if you’re trying to convince me that my husband is cheating on me, or else what’s your end game here?”  

“Easy, Skip,” Jen whispered at her side, resting a protective hand to her waist. Jade hadn’t actually raised her voice once, but she could see her back and arms visibly beginning to stiffen.  

“My end game is getting the man I love, and you out of the picture! He was with me while you were on stage in Berlin, you know!” 

The only place Adrien was at the Berlin show was backstage, earplugs in, with a cold, damp towel over his face as he tried to stave off a migraine. “You need help, Serena. Please go home and see somebody about this, because deep down, you know it isn’t true. Look at how much money you’re burning through, and for what? I don’t believe you, you have no proof of your claims, and my husband only knows you exist because of your continued harassment of us. It’s sad. Please, just leave. I don’t even hate you; you know. I just feel really sorry for you, petal.” 

“Oh, you think you’re so fucking special, don’t you? He doesn’t love you!” 

Jade took a last drag on her cigarette, stubbing it out and placing it into the receptacle on the wall, Jen following suit. “Yes, he does. And I think that’s what pisses you off the most. Go and find somebody who will love you back, Serena, because my husband isn’t it.”  

“You have much grace, Mrs. Brody.” the security guard nodded as she walked back inside, wrapping her arm around Jen, her friend reciprocating as Serena continued her yelling from the other side of the street. Oh, how she couldn’t wait for that particular annoying background noise to quieten. 

[hunrising]

You didn’t go to flicker tour?

no 😔 I had tickets for the Milan and Bologna shows cause I wanted to go with my friend and then never made it cause they fell right in the middle of my exams

[shavns]

shawn couldn’t help but grin at adria's teasing. the warmth in the room mirrored the warmth in his chest as he leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling both excited and at ease in her presence. “oh, i’m ready,” he replied, his voice playful but sincere, “but i have to say, it’s a lot of pressure to live up to.” he watched her move around the kitchen, each motion graceful and purposeful, almost hypnotic. the way she blended flavors felt like a well-rehearsed dance, and he admired her for it. this was a different side of her—one that felt genuine and stripped of the public persona he was used to seeing. “what are you making?” he asked, stepping closer, his curiosity piqued. “it better not be anything too healthy; i’ve been eating like a rabbit because soon i'll go on tour.” he smirked, trying to lighten the moment but genuinely eager to see what she had in store. as the rich aroma of the meal filled the air, he couldn’t help but let his eyes drift back to her. the flickering light from the fireplace cast a soft glow across her face, highlighting her features in a way that made him feel like time had slowed down, just for them. “i should probably warn you, though,” he added with a playful glint in his eye, “if your cooking lives up to the hype, i might just move in here and become your live in taste tester.” there was an intimacy in the air—something beyond words, something unspoken that made the moment feel more significant than a simple dinner. the vulnerability of it, the way she allowed him into her space, her world, made his pulse quicken. he stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her body. “but let’s be real, adria. if you can cook this well, what else are you hiding?” his voice dropped a little lower, teasing but curious, his gaze locked on hers. “is there a secret talent i should know about? fire breathing? juggling?” a part of him was joking, but another part—one that had been lingering ever since milan—wanted to understand her in a deeper way. there was something about her that drew him in, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight it anymore.

When Adria impulsively sent that text to Shawn, half-jokingly asking what it would take for him to fly out to Montreal, she hadn’t actually expected him to take her up on it—let alone show up just days later. Adria knew his schedule was always packed, bouncing from one commitment to the next, so the fact that he made time to see her... it meant more than she could put into words. After Milan, she still wasn’t sure what exactly they were doing or where this was headed, but for once, she didn’t feel the need to overanalyze. Adria was known for getting stuck in her own head, dissecting every look, every word, but this time? It felt different. She was simply enjoying the moment, embracing the uncertainty, letting things unfold naturally—both simple and complicated all at once. “I seriously didn’t think you’d come,” Adria admitted with a soft chuckle, handing Shawn a glass of wine as she made her way back to the kitchen. She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder, the playful spark in her eyes unmistakable. The Airbnb had been a smart choice; it had a warmth that no hotel room could offer. The soft, flickering glow from the electric fireplace bathed the room in an intimate light, making everything feel cozy, private. It was the kind of setting that invited closeness, and she relished the freedom it gave her—to cook, to relax, to just be without interruptions. “Food shouldn’t take too long,” she called out with a smile, adjusting the heat on the stove. The aroma of the meal filled the air, and a sense of pride bubbled up inside her. This was her chance to show him a different side of herself, one that wasn’t about red carpets or glamorous events. Adria wiped her hands on a dish towel and sauntered over to where Shawn stood, her playful smile deepening as she closed the distance between them. Standing in front of him, she looked up through her lashes, “Are you ready to have your mind blown?” she asked, arching an eyebrow before adding, in a mock-serious tone, “By my cooking, of course.” She bit her lip playfully, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “After this, you’ll probably never want to eat anything else again. Just saying.” / @shavns

[nhupdates]

Flicker World Tour Milan 

[undertheniall]

Bounce Bounce!

[putalittleloveonme]

Flicker World Tour Milan 🇮🇹

[actualhumansunshine]

MILAN | NYC

[niallersdirtylaundry]

Drag Me Down - Milan

[niamstuffs]

Icons Niall Horan ~ Flicker World Tour Milan

Like/reblog if you save or credits on twitter @Iouiedetails

[sonouncasinochecammina]

i need something

depressione post-concerto

[alivebymiracle]

Just one of the best nights of my life. 07.05.2018 Niall Horan

[onedirectiondailyupdates]

Niall backstage in Milan, Italy. || 08 May 2018

[nhupdates]

Flicker World Tour Milan

[tenthgrove]

L’Inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 2: Dove La Mia Passione Mi Porta (Prosciutto)

Word count: ~3300

Warnings: parental illness, parental death, parental rejection, implied transphobia, drinking

Don Crepuscolo flicks idly through the corner of a book as he sits in his study. His mind filters out the occasional clatter of footsteps on the upper floor of his Neapolitan mansion- the maid, most likely, as well as the visiting capos he permitted a tour of the bedrooms, to get them out of his face for a while until the meeting scheduled later in the afternoon.

The middle-aged don jolts at the sight of the young man in his doorway, having approached the office quiet as a snake with no disturbance to the man’s wavering focus. Crepuscolo collects himself, joyed with recognition of the figure come to see him.

“Maiale! Daughter!” Crepuscolo greets. He opens his arms and beckons the young man to embrace him. Hands folded, he approaches quietly, and seats himself a distance opposite the desk.

“Hello, father,” Prosciutto speaks apathetically.

“Maiale, my dear, hello! I believe this is the first chance you’ve given me to congratulate you on the excellent results you’ve achieved on your examinations. Truly, I knew in my heart you’d do me proud,” the don praises. Prosciutto glances out the window.

“Yes, a pity your mouth did not agree with you until now,” he utters.

“No matter, no matter! What truly pleases me with your visit is that, well, you’ve simply been away on your- little celebrations so much this last month I’ve barely had any chance to see you! I really must know, what are your arrangements for your future now the necessary grades have been secured?”

Prosciutto takes a deep breath. He pushes a little dirt from under his nails and, after a few more moments, speaks. “As you know, it has always been my intention to go onto university.”

“Yes, yes, you had your eye on a place in Milan, last I checked.”

“No, Florence,” Prosciutto refutes him. “But anyway, I simply intend to go where my passion takes me.” Crepuscolo leans forward. He smiles.

“Practical and so assured, yet with a distinct streak for adaptability and the eclectic. Some things never change, do they Maiale?”

“No father, perhaps not.”

“Clearly. Now be a good girl and answer the question I asked you,” the don demands, gritting his teeth. Staring blankly, Prosciutto uncrosses his legs.

“Well father, the first thing I’m going to do is disown you,” he announces. Crepuscolo stutters in shock. “Disown?! But Maiale! How would you even do such a ludicrous thing?!”

“The normal way,” Prosciutto responds calmly. “I’ve been able to track down a lawyer. The same one who handled Mother’s will, incidentally, and begin the process of removing you as my next of kin and transferring it over to Signora Loreta. I have relinquished you of all obligations to me, and mine to you.”

“Have I taught you nothing, girl?” Crepuscolo snaps. “I am your father. I allowed you to live in this wonderful house, and paid for your tutoring and clothes, and let you live in luxury while half the children in this city wallow in the streets. You will never be free of obligation to me!”

“And as you were doing all that, you also threw your one year old son out into those streets the children wallow in!” Prosciutto retorts, his voice finally beginning to raise. “It is only right you should receive the same level of regard from your children, Don Crepuscolo.”

“But I always treated you well, Maiale!” the father insists. Prosciutto clenches his fists, and scowls.

“You left me alone at my dying mother’s bedside, while you were off in The Caribbean, with a girl half your age! If that doesn’t free me of any and all moral obligation to you, THEN WHAT DOES?!” he shouts. Don Crepuscolo goes quiet, then grips his desk in anger. Prosciutto gives his father a curt nod, and stands up, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. He turns his back on his father.

“You will have no penny of my wealth!” the don yells. Prosciutto turns around. The corner of his mouth flickers into a brief smirk.

“Nor would I ever ask for it. Mother’s lawyer and I had other discussions, regarding the specific terms of her inheritance. As he advised me, the criteria laid out for taking charge of her fortune myself could be fulfilled as simply as presenting my graduation certificate to the relevant parties. Since the clauses regarding my personal, direct inheritance were filed under a separate executer to the rest of her testament, you father, have no role in their fulfilment. My request to the bank is being processed as we speak,” Prosciutto explains. “So, I will make my position very clear. You are a sinking ship, and I do not need, nor intend, to be around when the engine blows. Goodbye, Don Crepuscolo!”

Prosciutto makes his way to the door. As he reaches for the latch, Don Crepuscolo smashes down on his desk.

“MAIALE!”

“Do NOT call me that!” Prosciutto screams. His body goes still, eyes wide. He gathers himself and storms out, grabbing the last of his bags outside the door and sprinting for the mansion’s back exit.

::::::::::::

Prosciutto steps off of the bus and strolls along the concrete pavement, towards the little white cottage at the end of the road. Setting his suitcase down on the porch, he knocks quietly on the door. He receives no response.

“Loreta!” he calls. “Signora? It’s only me! May I come in please?” An eager patter of footsteps approaches him. The door swings open.

“Prosciutto!” The woman greets eagerly. She is younger than she perhaps ought to be, not even a decade older than Prosciutto and with an appearance of perhaps less than that. Her thick, green hair is tied out the way at the back of her head, and Prosciutto notes the impracticality of her pink and brown jumper in the summer sun. “Oh Prosciutto,” she coos, bringing her hands to her mouth in joy. “Your voice, it’s wonderful!”

“Is it?” Prosciutto remarks, startled. “I didn’t think it had changed much yet. Father certainly didn’t notice, not that that’s a bad thing.”

“The don never did pay much attention, did he? Well, it certainly sounds like progress to me, so you should be proud of yourself, Prosci. Now, come in, come in!” she urges him, taking my the wrist and leading him to the house’s small kitchen. “So, tell me what you and your father talked about. I know you were very anxious about seeing him. Did you... take the big step?”

At that moment a young boy bounds in from the hallway, flinging himself at Prosciutto with open arms. “Fra!” the child shouts excitedly. Prosciutto picks him up and holds him.

“Hello Pesci, how are you doing, eh?” Prosciutto greets him. The young boy babbles something incoherently and bites his knuckles. Loreta gives a little laugh and takes her son from his brother’s arms.

“Pesci’s doing great, thank you. He’s settling into the new daycare and making a couple friends,” she announces, putting him down on the ground.

“Wonderful,” Prosciutto remarks with a smile. He leans down to address the child. “Now Pesci, why don’t you go play in your room for a minute. Let your mother and I discuss some business. If you’re good, I’ll take you to the park afterwards,” he promises. Pesci nods and hobbles back to his bedroom. Prosciutto sighs and stands up, turning back to face Loreta.

“Yes, I told my father I don’t want a relationship with him any more,” Prosciutto affirms. “He took it... poorly, but I believe he understands that I can’t be stopped. I shouldn’t be seeing much of him any more.”

“Congratulations. That was very brave of you, Prosciutto, and very good. Hopefully this will make things much easier for you from now on,” Loreta praises him.

“Yes, it very much will. I don’t have to worry about him finding my pills any more, and I’m looking into getting my first surgery before the end of the year.”

“That will be excellent for you! Changing the subject, you’ll have to remind me, my memory’s completely gone! What is it you’re planning on studying?” Loreta enquires.

“Politics, with a little literature on the side,” he answers.

“Politics? Do you plan to work with theory or practice?”

“Theory, god, never practice. If I tried that, father really might send an assassin out for me. I’m hoping to go into journalism, or something of the sort, though eventually I want to veer back into academia. I think it would suit me.”

“Definitely!” Loreta enthuses. “You could do anything you put your mind to Prosci!”

“I can only try. Now, your attention please,” Prosciutto says, whipping out a slip of paper from his pocket and places it down on the table. “I’ve done some maths. With the amount I’m getting from the inheritance, I can up what I’m giving you to 1 million lire a month, all the way up until Pesci turns 19. This is excluding a little extra to help with university costs, as well as some flexibility for you to take more in an emergency, say, if you ever lose your job. What do you think?”

“Prosciutto... I could never take from your mother’s money, it just wouldn’t be right,” Loreta refutes him.

“You were young, Loreta, you didn’t understand what you were doing. Believe me when I say that if my mother were here, she’d forgive you. Besides, father didn’t throw you out as his mistress, he threw you out as his wife. You deserve this money, Loreta, and I’m going to give it to you,” Prosciutto insists.

“It isn’t right,” Loreta repeats sadly. “Horrible thing, what happened to that woman. To just waste away for years on end while your husband prances around with some... girl. I should never benefit from that suffering. If I ever get sick like that, Prosciutto, just pull the plug. Pull the plug.”

Prosciutto sighs.

“If not for you, then take it for Pesci. Regardless of how she felt about you, I know my mother would never approve of any child living in poverty, especially not one I call my brother. Take it for him, please,” he begs her.

“Alright...” Loreta concedes. “I suppose I do really need it. Thank you, Prosciutto, it means a lot to me.”

“It’s what you deserve. Now, you’ve got your money, and I’ve got my freedom, and it’s all thanks to my mother’s will,” Prosciutto begins, pouring out two glasses of brandy from the cabinet. He sits down at the table. “To Signora Crepuscolo, for both our salvations.”

Loreta smiles and raises her glass, before drinking. Pesci returns from the hallway, and she quickly hides the glass and bottle behind her torso.

“What’s the matter darling, are you having fun?” she asks.

“I wanna play with Fra!” the boy insists.

“I suppose we’re done here anyway,” Prosciutto concedes. “Shall we?”

“I’ll just get Pesci’s coat,” Loreta agrees. She hurries off into the hall.

::::::::::::

A mere street away from the young family, a group of youths gather in the abandoned office. The youngest of the boys, a slender young man of 17, with raven hair and a hateful eye looks around the group critically as he shuffles on his feet.

“I’m in the right place aren’t I?” he asks. “Cause right now I feel like I’m either here to play tag or get stabbed, and neither of those is what I was called in for.”

“Depends,” one of the other boys says. “Are you Sorbet?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Who’s asking?”

“Name’s Matteo, I’m in charge here. I’m the one your pay’s been coming from,” the group’s leader explains. Sorbet looks him up and down and sees a sad, dishonest looking man only a few years older than him. It’s clear this boy isn’t actually where the buck stops rolling in this sad little street gang of theirs, but the fact Sorbet hasn’t been attacked yet tells him the boy’s story is at least close enough to the truth to trust what he’s about to say. He decides to hear him out. “I’ve heard a lot about you. ‘Said you’re good with your fists and better with a gun. Is that true?”

“That’s correct,” Sorbet says with a smirk.

“What is it you do right now? Errands?” Matteo asks.

“Mostly. Though lately I just do whatever’s needed. I guard meet-ups, deal with troublemakers-”

“Yes, that’s what we’re here to talk about,” Matteo interrupts. “Word is, you’re good at it. How would you feel about... maybe doing a little more than beating them up for a change?”

“You want me to kill someone? Done. The pay better be good though,” Sorbet agrees unconcerned.

“Oh, it will be. But what if I wanted you to kill multiple people? What if, you became the guy I call when I want someone killed?” Matteo proposes.

“I’m up for it, but I’d want to know why. Why’s a group like us suddenly need a massive hit list?”

“Opportunity,” Matteo answers. “It’s not that we’ve got a hit list, just that we might be able to afford one at some point in the future. “With Crepuscolo and his lot on his way out, it’s only a matter of time until we can come out of the shadows.”

“Ambitious. What makes you think we’ve got the manpower to usurp them?”

“Maybe we don’t, but we’re hoping whoever does will let us do what we want a little more. You know?”

“Passione, I imagine,” Sorbet surmises. The others nod in agreement.

::::::::::::

It is January of 1989 and Prosciutto is freshly 24. His diploma hangs over the wall of his lounge, above his typewriter and an array of open books. He pours a glass and relaxes, sitting back against the comfortable expanse of his settee. He takes a sip of red wine and flicks through his calender. Loreta will be visiting tomorrow with Pesci, and Prosciutto is looking forward to it very much. Supposedly, Pesci learned to ride his bike the other day, and he’s eager for the two to go out together.

Prosciutto feels he deserves a bit of a celebration. His last article, by all early measurements, performed very well, and there’s talk of promoting him among the newspaper agency. If all goes to plan, he might not need to rely on his mother’s inheritance for much longer. Perhaps, he might even be able to buy Loreta a new house. Pesci could use the space now he’s bigger.

Someone knocks at the door frantically. Prosciutto gets up cautiously, conscious of how incredibly late it is for someone to be looking for him. The knock rings out again, louder this time, and Prosciutto reaches for the door of the living room.

There’s a mighty crash, and several footsteps rush into the front room. Prosciutto rushes for the drawer to get his gun, always a good thing to have when you’re the estranged son of a crime boss. He aims it readily as the living room door is bashed open.

Four men, armed to the teeth, spill into the sitting room. They aim their weapons at Prosciutto, held back seemingly only by the warning hand of their leader. The man looks down at the photograph in his hand, and back up at Prosciutto.

“I take it you don’t go by Maiale any more.”

“No, but thanks for checking. Why the hell are you in my house?” Prosciutto demands.

“You are the eldest child of the late Don Crepuscolo, yes?” the man asks. Prosciutto lowers his gun.

“Why do you say late?”

“Your father was executed by order of our boss, yesterday evening. Depending on the course of this conversation, you may or may not be joining him,” the man explains. “Now kindly drop the gun.”

Prosciutto complies.

“We’re from Passione, if you didn’t know,” adds one of his companions. “They said you were a journalist, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard about the war that went on,” he notes.

“I... try to avoid covering stories related to the syndicates,” Prosciutto explains. His heart is hammering at a million miles an hour. This feels surreal, dream-like, but deep down Prosciutto knows it’s very, very real.

“Long story short,” the leader continues. “If you want to survive, it will be in Passione’s debt. Gotta make sure the boss can keep an eye on you after all. Now come on, you and I are going to get into the car. Sorbet, Gelato, go upstairs and take anything of value.”

“What? You’re taking my stuff?” Prosciutto protests. The leader shrugs.

“You got it all from your parents, didn’t you? We own all your parents assets now. That makes it ours.”

As Prosciutto stares dumbstruck, two young men with interlinked arms head up the stairs. His stairs, his house. He stand’s defenceless as the groups leader grabs him by the wrist.

“And by the way, Crepuscolo, we know about your brother. Just in case you were planning on making a run for it at any point.”

Prosciutto Crepuscolo is compliant as he is dragged from his home. Driven away in the backseat of his captor’s car, he watches helplessly as his house is burnt to the ground.

::::::::::::

“My father’s house didn’t last long either,” Prosciutto adds. His audience, consisting of one attentive Risotto Nero, and the passed out body of Gelato over the back of the sofa, remain quiet. “They knocked it down the other year. I’m sure you would have seen the construction work.”

“Yes, I think I recall that,” Risotto answers.

“Now here I am, second-in-command to the brand new assassination squad. Truly I’m honoured,” Prosciutto tuts. He downs another shot of alcohol, and Risotto apprehensively takes the cue to do the same.

“You don’t have any resentment to Sorbet and Gelato for the house?” Risotto asks.

“I can’t really, they didn’t benefit from it. Besides, at the end of the day, this has worked out for me. I don’t think I would have really made it as a journalist,” Prosciutto maintains.

“I wouldn’t agree!”

“Yeah, well you can keep it to yourself. I gotta cope somehow. Honestly though, the one part of this I do regret is my brother. I wish I could have spent more time with him, growing up, but I didn’t want to mix him up in... this.”

“He’s the reason you rejected the role of captain, isn’t he?” Risotto realises.

“Yes,” Prosciutto admits after a pause. “If I were in your role I don’t think I’d be able to make time for him at all.”

“I understand. It’s very noble of you, Prosciutto. To look after him like that.” Risotto judges. Prosciutto tuts.

“Whatever.”

The doorbell rings and Risotto tries to stand up.

“No, no, I’ll get it,” Prosciutto insists. He puts down his glass and heads downstairs to the door. The boy behind it trembles heavily as he looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Pesci?”

“Hi, Fra,” the boy says weakly.

“Pesci what in god’s name are you doing here? I told you not to come to this house for any reason!” Prosciutto admonishes him.

“I’m sorry! I know what you said but- Mum’s still in the hospital and... I really didn’t want to be alone again tonight.”

Prosciutto leans down. His eyes widen with worry.

“Alright, if that’s the case then you can come in,” he permits. Pesci steps forward and falls into his arms. He starts to sob.

“She’s really sick, Fra.”

“I know Pesci, I know. I’m here.”

[putalittleloveonme]

Niall when he thought all the technical issues were finally fixed but they eventually got worst after this in Milan - 7/05

[actualhumansunshine]

slow hands, milan | 07.05