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tenthgrove · 4 years ago

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L'inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 3: Due Cuori (Sorbet & Gelato Part 1)

Word Count: ~3800

Warnings: parental abandonment, homelessness, mildly-suggestive behaviour

The young boy sobs into the bag he’s carrying as he flees down the dark, damp street. The quick-paced footsteps of his pursuer sound loudly as they smack against the wet concrete. The boy prays for some rain to cover the sounds of his panting and running, but he knows such luck will not be afforded to him.

He is out of his depth in this part of Naples. Not yet 14, he’s one of many such young fools who thought it would be easy to snatch a little money from one of the smaller street gangs that roam this part of the town, making the crucial mistake of thinking ‘smaller’ was synonymous with less relentless. The boy has barely a moment to comprehend the dead end ahead of him before he is knocked sharply around the back of his head and sent reeling to the floor.

“Where the hell is my money, you shit?!” the angered man interrogates him sharply. He rears a clenched fist ready to strike him again, and the boy cowers against the wall.

“It’s there! Right there!” he shrieks desperately, pointing at the back dropped at his side. The man spits. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun. “I swear Signor! The money’s there!” the boy pleads, his voice hitching in mortal terror. The man scoffs venomously.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Two shots ring out, but they aren’t aimed at the boy. The man’s blood splashes over him as he chokes on it, falling to the ground without a word. The boy counts two wounds on the man’s back.

The figure at the end of the alleyway lowers his gun and begins to approach. He is somewhere on the boundary between boyhood and manhood, perhaps about 18, at a first guess. He is darkly dressed, with hair to match, and he returns his weapon to his pocket with a detached smoothness that suggests great experience with the murderous act. He leans over the boy and picks up his bag, smiling in satisfaction at the wad of cash crudely jammed inside. He zips the bag up and hauls it over his shoulder.

“Grazie,” he thanks him, turning away and beginning his journey back down the alleyway.

He does not walk far before he reaches his destination- a small house in a densely packed row just a street away. He knocks calmly, and the door soon opens.

“Ah, Sorbet,” the responder answers. “I thought I’d heard gunfire.”

“’Evening Gabriele,” he greets him, sorting off some of the money in his hands. “20,000 lire says I can stay the night.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gabriele agrees with a small chuckle. “Come right in, friend.”

Sorbet removes his jacket and seats himself down on the sofa, shuffling the bag protectively behind his legs. He takes off his own bag as well and pilfers through to find the chewing gum he’s been saving for this evening.

“May I ask how you still haven’t found a place of your own? Surely you must be rolling in it from all that blood money you’ve got lately. Hell,” he remarks, eyeing the money poking out from behind Sorbet’s lap. “You could probably sort yourself out for a couple months on that alone.”

“You can certainly ask,” Sorbet answers apathetically.

“Well?”

Sorbet looks at him contemplatively before deciding he’s in the mood for compliance tonight. He leans back.

“To put it simply I’ve just been out of it too long. ‘Don’t have my birth certificate, ‘don’t have any documents of that sort. I left home at 14 and frankly I’d be shocked if I wasn’t legally dead by now. Well, assuming my mum was ever lucid enough to do the paperwork, that is.”

“You could rent a flat from the gang. They’d hardly say no to you,” Gabriele suggests.

“Not really a fan of that sort of obligation, Gabe,” Sorbet refutes him. “Besides, the quote on quote ‘buildings’ the gang owns get busted by the cops all the time. I hardly wanna deal with that at 1 in the morning.”

“True,” Gabriele snorts. A knock sounds at the door. “Who the fuck at this time of night?” he gripes.

“No idea, but have fun with them,” Sorbet says, getting to his feet. “I’m off to help myself to your shower,” he announces, departing up the stairs. Gabriele answers the door.

“H-Hello,” the newcomer greets. It’s another teenager, with messy blond hair and a sky of freckles. He shivers into his thin jacket, hand red-raw from clutching his heavy bag. “Are you Gabriele?” he asks.

“Who’s asking?” Gabriele says with scrutiny.

“My name is Gelato, sir. You don’t know me, but I know a friend of yours from Florence, well, small village outside of Florence, I’m sure you know which one I mean. I heard from him you wanted to get someone to do errands for you and well, I was wondering if I could do that for you,” the boy offers. There’s a wild look in his desperate green eyes, and Gabriele knows this won’t end quickly for him.

“Kid, that was weeks ago! What the hell took you so long?” he asks.

“It’s not my fault I had to walk here!” Gelato protests. “Look, I got kicked out by my parents, I’m only 17 and if you don’t help me I’ll have nowhere to go!” he pleads.

“That’s rough and all, but the job’s closed. Go find a shelter or something.”

“PLEASE!” Gelato begs. He’s trembling, but there’s a touch of anger in his eyes as he glares at him that makes Gabriele mildly scared to turn him down.

“Look, I have neither the need nor the money for another errand boy right now. But, now I think of it I do know a guy who needs someone to manage a bar for him. Make no mistake, it’s nothing more than a meet-up spot for the gang so don’t expect anything fancy, but I think it has a flat upstairs. Maybe you can ask to move into the place as your pay.”

“A bar? That’s perfect!” Gelato enthuses. “Thank you thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m happy for you. Now If I go give the guy a call will you please piss off?” Gabriele entreats him.

“Anything you say sir! Thank you!” Gelato agrees. Gabriele heads for his phone with a sigh.

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

An hour later, Gelato finds himself in the staff-only section of what was once a fully functioning bar.

“Look kid, it’s not hard stuff,” his guide tells him. “Just keep ‘em drunk enough they can’t kill each other and ring me up if you hear any talk the boss ought to here,” he explains.

“Yes sir, I will,” Gelato answers dutifully. The man opens a rickety door leading to a thin, steep staircase. Gelato follows him up.

“And, this is the flat you were so eager about,” the man announces, looking over the dark, dust-filled space of the bare-bones apartment. There’s a frightful stain on the sofa, and one of the kitchen cabinet doors is hanging on one hinge. “Consider yourself lucky I’m letting you have it when I could be giving it to someone who pays. Don’t expect a penny more from me, this is your full payment,” he continues.

“But how will I eat?” Gelato protests.

“I guess you better hope they tip you good,” the man answers apathetically. “Look, if you do a good job and don’t piss me off, maybe I can spare a few thousand lire a night later on, but until then, you’re getting no more help from me,” he maintains. “Maybe you should learn to pickpocket. ‘Useful skill to have around here.”

Gelato growls inwardly. Of course he knows how to pickpocket! Well- how to pickpocket 13 year olds outside a school gate. Grown men might be a different matter, but he’ll figure it out. Getting caught can’t be much worse than what happened when his parents found out.

“Alright. Thanks,” Gelato forces himself to say. The man gives a satisfied nod and exits.

“Make sure you know where everything is before you open at 9,” he says.

Gelato seeks out the bedroom and lies down, not caring how musty the frayed sheets smell. He grabs the pillow and hugs it close to him like a stuffed toy. It occurs to him that he’s scared.

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

It takes him a month to accept his parents aren’t taking him back, two to stop fucking up every day of his life and three to feel some sense of normalcy in his new life at the bar. That’s not to say he’s happy, by any means, simply that he holds onto his current existence with a vice-grip, for fear that things could only get worse if he shook the boat too much.

He sleeps until noon, usually, leaves the house as soon as he’s awake enough to do so and just walks. Anywhere. Sometimes he tries to pickpocket but ever since that beating he earned from a poorly chosen victim, he saves it for his most desperate days. After lunch, if he has any, he sometimes goes to the library. He was never much of a scholar and rarely reads, but he finds the place more pleasant to dissociate in than his apartment.

Should he feel like treating himself, he occasionally visits the arcade when he has the change to spare. After it became clear letting him waste away was not in the landlord’s best interests if he wanted his bar to stay running, he began to help a little with food costs but nowhere near enough for such frivolous outings to be frequently affordable.

Around 3pm, Gelato goes home and sleeps until his hunger forces him to get up and eat. He likes to make a start early on setting up the bar, and cleaning it from the messes of its previous nights patrons, so he tries to begin by 7. It opens at 9 and closes at 2, after which Gelato will shower, and spend a short stretch of time watching the old, boxy TV he pulled out of the attic in bed, before sleeping.

As he exits the cellar, he receives a few apathetic glances from some of the patrons but ultimately nothing much. His eyes are on the far corner of the bar where, to perhaps less of his concern than it should be, two men are engaged in a heated argument. It’s a sight he’s well used to now, but he keeps a keen watch on the men, since the landlord insisted he de-escalate anything that looks like it may prove fatal.

“I don’t care what your excuses are! We had a deal and you’re going to fucking pay me!” The first man shouts. He is one of the younger ones, probably little older than Gelato but with an air of authority more akin to some of the older individuals in the mob. He has heard whispers about this man- his name is Sorbet and he is an enforcer. The mobsters are cautious about the word ‘assassin’, it makes them sound like a more ambitious group than they truly are, one that could be deemed a threat by the larger syndicates that truly control this city. Yet, Gelato reads between the lines when they talk about the things Sorbet has done. As Gelato approaches Sorbet’s eyes flick towards him momentarily. Gelato shies away from the eye contact and feels an odd feeling inside him. Seeing Sorbet always makes him feel odd. He doesn’t dare speak to him directly.

“Whatever. It ain’t on me if you misread what we were talking about. You did me a favour, nothing more,” the second man retorts. He’s another regular, as familiar to Gelato, if not more, than Sorbet is, even if he doesn’t know him by name. He is a cruel man, impatient and aggressive whenever he visits. Gelato always tremors a little when he comes through the door.

Still, he scares him less than Sorbet.

Gelato forces a smile as he approaches the second man.

“Pardon me, could I get you any more-” he inhales sharply as the half-full bottle of wine is chucked over him.

“Yes, one more of these,” the man orders coldly. Gelato wipes his eyes.

“Right away,” he nods, turning back towards the cellar and fighting every fibre of his being telling him not to let this slide.

Gelato descends into the cellar, shaking from the cold of his wet clothes and anger. As he pulls a new bottle off the shelf he wonders briefly if he ought to piss in it, but decides the best result that could come of that is having it thrown over him again. He pats down his shirt and takes the bottle back up to the bar.

He knows what has happened before the door is even open. The sound of shouting is familiar to him, and if the past few minutes is anything to go by, it’s Sorbet and that petulant man’s feud which has turned violent. Opening the door proves his theory, as a small crowd has formed around Sorbet and his opponent as they engage in a relentless match of fists.

Gelato debates to himself. He could put down the bottle and run, he could try and calm the men down and risk one or both of them turning their anger on him, or he could use this opportunity to finally get back at that bastard’s disrespect. Gelato’s never been much of a thinking sort. His mind doesn’t take long to settle on the third option. He rears the bottle above his head and charges.

There’s a collective gasp of shock as Gelato suddenly crashes into the man, smashing the bottle over the back of his skull with full strength. It shatters, and the man falls to the floor with a groan. Gelato looks up at Sorbet, briefly fearing his interference may have provoked anger but, Sorbet only smiles.

Gelato rushes to his feet just in time to join his new ally in kicking the man, again and again until he starts to spit blood. Gelato picks up the remains of the bottle’s base and pours out the remaining liquid onto his enemy’s face in one, final insult. The crowd cheers. Evidently this man was not so popular with the gang after all.

Gelato sits down, whoozy from exhaustion and adrenaline. He finds himself laughing. He cannot recall the last time he’s done that. Sorbet leans down and pulls a stack of cash from the unconscious man’s pocket.

“Lying bastard,” he scoffs. “He did have the money. Probably a lot more than I asked for, but I can hardly complain about that.” Sorbet turns to Gelato with a look of deliberation. He pulls out one of the 50,000 lire bills and hands it to him with a smile.

“For your trouble,” he declares. He withdraws his hand with a slow deliberateness, their fingertips touching for just the briefest of seconds. The odd feeling Gelato has felt since laying eyes on Sorbet returns with a vengeance, and yet, Gelato can feel nothing but awe as it begins to eat his heart.

Oh dear. Gelato might have a crush.

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

It is three days later to the hour, that Gelato finds himself hauled into the cellar and pinned against the wall, mouth agape in shock as Sorbet digs his fingers into his neck. It occurs to Gelato he might have gone about this the wrong way.

“Alright, spit it out,” Sorbet demands. “What the hell was that up there?”

“Pardon?” Gelato pleads fearfully.

“Did you think I would let you get away with mocking me like that?” Sorbet asks through gritted teeth. Gelato’s mind turns to the myriad of weapons no doubt hidden in Sorbet’s clothes. That thought shouldn’t endear him as much as it does.

“Mocking?”

“Oh? Is there another explanation for why you would behave like that around me? Humiliate me in front of half my gang? Well?!” Sorbet entreats him. His grip around his neck tightens

“Flirting! It was flirting!” Gelato confesses desperately. Sorbet’s grip lessens.

“What?”

“Look. I think I like guys, you like guys or at least everyone says you do. And- I think I might like you a lot so- I wanted your attention. I wanted to talk to you again,” Gelato admits sheepishly. His cheeks start to burn, and it isn’t from the lack of oxygen any more.

Sorbet looks like something in his brain must have just blown a fuse. Perhaps Gelato should take this opportunity to run, since this half-assed attempt at seduction is clearly a resounding failure.

But then Sorbet starts to laugh. It’s a low, quiet laugh but nonetheless genuine as he fixes his eyes warmly on the floor.

“Oh you dear thing. That isnot how this works,” he says. Gelato breathes out in relief, as well as a little disappointment.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. This was stupid I should- probably just go back to my work,” he apologises. His body goes still as Sorbet touches a hand to his cheek.

“Though if you ever want my attention again,” he leans in and presses his lips lightly against Gelato’s. “You should just ask.”

Sorbet lets out a little hum of amusement at the sight of Gelato’s shock. He caresses his face once more, touching his finger to a little curl of hair as he does so, before finally freeing Gelato from his hold.

“See you later,” he promises, before leaving him alone in the cellar. Above him, Gelato hears Sorbet walk out in the direction of the front door. Gelato collects himself, and calmly wanders over to the sink, waiting patiently for it to fill with water.

He sticks his head in and screams.

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

Sorbet visits the bar twice weekly, no different from before. But he starts visiting Gelato more often. Barely a week from their first kiss, they are in bed together, Gelato clinging onto his new love tightly as he reads. This touch is alien to him and in spite of his joy, he cannot help but quiver as Sorbet pets his hair. He wonders how he ever lived his life without knowing joy this strong.

Their second week is easier. They both start to become accustomed to this newfound love and no longer think of each other as strangers. Gelato knows Sorbet’s full name now, he knows which street he grew up on and the names and ages of each of his siblings. Sorbet knows what Gelato’s parents did for a living. He knows the name of the boy he had his first real fight with, and the therapist who tried and failed to relieve him of the ‘learning disabilities’ that made his parents despise him so deeply. Sorbet tries to at least drop in on most days, but when he can’t, he calls Gelato to tell him where he’s staying for the night. Gelato thinks of him as he falls asleep, hugging his pillow close.

By week three, the pair have found a new normal together. Sorbet sleeps over more often than not, and the bar patrons now know full well not to cause Gelato trouble when Sorbet is in the building. Sorbet has made every aspect of Gelato’s life more enjoyable, and he can see in Sorbet’s eyes that the feeling goes both ways. Gelato knows why Sorbet left home four years ago, and Sorbet knows how Gelato really wants to get revenge of his parents for abandoning him. On precisely day 19 of their affair, Gelato asked Sorbet if he planned to keep doing this with him forever. Sorbet did not hesitate in saying yes.

It’s a few days later that Sorbet comes to the bar with an especially warm smile on his usually cold face. Gelato thought little of putting down his current orders to rush over and greet him at the door.

“Sorbet, you’re here early!” Gelato enthuses. Sorbet pecks his cheek.

“I thought we might spend a night to ourselves. I think you need it, Caro.”

“But Sorbet, the bar doesn’t close for three more hours yet!” Gelato reminds him.

“Not if I can help it.”

Sorbet raises his gun and fires it twice at the ceiling. The patrons look up in fear. “Alright, everyone out. Bar’s closed,” he announces. The patrons sheepishly get to their feet and file out.

“But, the landlord!” Gelato protests.

“Fuck the landlord. If he has a problem with this, he goes through me,” Sorbet maintains. Gelato’s breath escapes him with a laugh and he follows him upstairs.

“Really, tell me,” Gelato insists light-heartedly. “What’s brought this on?” He turns around and his face falls to see that Sorbet is looking saddened.

“I- saw my siblings today,” he announces.

“Are they… okay?” Gelato asks worriedly.

“Oh, they’re fine. I saw them down at the cafe, they didn’t notice me. Taking a look at the other ones, I’m assuming the older ones are getting better at taking care of them. It makes sense, given the ages they’re getting to. The issue is… there was another baby, this time, who wasn’t there before,” Sorbet reveals. “Probably just a month or so old, from the looks of her.”

“Sorbet…”

“My sister,” Sorbet says, bringing his head into his hands. “And I don’t even know her name!”

“Sorbet,” Gelato says, taking his head in his own hands. “It isn’t your fault the way your mother is. Looking after them isn’t your responsibility.”

“It was,” Sorbet reminds him. “Then I left.”

“Look, I’m sure they’re fine,” Gelato reiterates. “Believe me when I say there are many worse things older siblings can do than just not look after you. Now,” he begins. “How about that night we were going to have together,” he smiles.

“Right,” Sorbet recalls, pecking him on the nose. “It’s you I came to see.”

Sorbet leans forward and kisses him deeply. Gelato, so recently a stranger to the sensation, leans in further to the kiss, pawing teasingly at Sorbet’s chest to urge him on. Sorbet groans to the kiss, hooking a hand around Gelato’s collar. Downstairs, something crashes loudly.

Sorbet pulls back. He sees Gelato’s eyes widen in fear as a parade of footsteps stumble into the building. Sorbet presses a kiss to his cheek reassuringly.

“Stay calm,” he urges him. “Not a sound.”

Sorbet stands up and, watching his feet on the old floorboards, moves over to the window to peer outside.

“Shit!” he exclaims, ducking away out of view.

“What is it?” Gelato whispers.

“The police. Two cars.”

“Are they here for us?” Gelato asks, voice hitching in fear. Sorbet shakes his head quickly.

“Unlikely. They most likely thought the place was empty. If we are quick, we can still leave without them seeing us,” he promises. Gelato shrinks back.

“I’m scared,” he admits. Sorbet takes his hand in his.

“Just stay with me okay? I’ll protect you.”

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #Sorbet and Gelato #sorbet jojo #gelato jojo #l'inizio

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dondake · 6 years ago

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[mistagio] roman holiday

rating: t summary: Mista doesn’t target tourists, but he’ll make exceptions. AO3 Link

It wasn’t that Guido Mista was homeless, except - ever since he was evicted for not paying three months worth of rent (“I’ll have it next week...or the week after that, promise on my grandmother’s grave.”), he had been flitting from couch to couch to keep a roof over his head. And it wasn’t that he was penniless and couldn’t afford even a bare bones efficiency, as his stars shone over him and let him move from part time job to part time job as he pleased, but it was a hassle to negotiate lease terms and bicker with new landlords. After Bruno politely kicked him out after two weeks and Fugo forbade him from taking advantage of Narancia’s generosity for more than two whole months, Mista had taken to honing his charisma to charm his way into the beds of those who would take him. But now the girl he had been staying with, a trusting assistant baker, had hesitantly asked him when he thought the plumbing at his place would eventually be fixed and he knew his days on her borrowed patience was coming to an end.

Taking some money from her counter, he told her he would go check on his apartment and come back with pastries and espresso and trotted down the alleyway behind the building with no intention of returning. The sun was beginning to peek through the tops of the trees sparsely littering the street; the weather was going to be nice for the next few days, which was fortunate if he struck out and had to resort to sleeping in the park for the night. Of course, that was not preferable, so he did go to the closest shop and buy buttery cornetti and three cups of hot coffee.

Narancia was outside his store when Mista came up, keeping his gait casual. While Narancia was not one to notice the mood, he did not need the boy tipping Fugo off about his intentions before he had properly launched into his petition. “Oh, it’s you, Mista.” Setting up his sign, promising accurate models and other handcrafted figures if one would just step inside, Narancia straightened up and grinned. “I was wondering if you’d gone ahead and got married! That’s got to be the longest time you’ve overstayed your welcome like that!”

“Good morning to you too,” Mista said, choosing to ignore the backhanded commentary. “Have you eaten yet? I thought about you when I was getting breakfast; there’s some for the sour thistle too, before he chases me out for not being an accommodating guest.”

“Well, I’m not going to say no to food! Come on in.”

What he needed, Mista thought, was a reliable source of income. Narancia had been every bit of a blue collar, bullet-nosed kid raised on the streets like he was, but now he was the proprietor of a humble little toy shop on one of the main streets of Naples. While it was no fancy boutique, the wooden shelves were neatly painted, polished, and sturdy, holding the metal miniatures of airplanes and trains that were imported from Spain. The shades were drawn closest to the stuffed animals on the west wall, and the middle of the floor plan held the delicate tables where the carved wooden pieces Narancia whittled and tinkered with were displayed. Narancia was good with his hands, good with a blade, but he would have been any ordinary craftsman were it not for the scowling man who glowered at Mista as he approached the back counter.

“What do you want, Mista,” Fugo said. Heir to a wealthy import company, he had since wrested his share of the family fortune to co-own Arrowsmith with Narancia as the shop’s bookkeeper and sales liaison. “No, you cannot stay the night with Narancia. Have you cycled through your little black book of friends already?”

“Oh, what’s it to you,” Mista scoffed, putting the coffees down on the counter and pulling his hands away in time to avoid Narancia’s grabbing for his share. “You’re not Narancia’s roommate and you aren’t sleeping with him, so I’m not displacing you or anything.” Only Narancia was oblivious enough to think Fugo had no ulterior motives for providing the capital for his shop and staying behind after closing to teach him how to accurately calculate his profits for the day. The comment made Fugo’s mouth twist, a mortified shade of pink coloring his ears.

“You got kicked out? Do you need a place to stay?” Narancia said, between bites of pastry.

“Maybe. I’ll get back to you. You’ll lend me your couch for a night or two, won’t you? Can’t you help your pal, who’s down on his luck?”

Narancia opened his mouth to say yes, but Fugo spoke up first and louder. “Just find your own place already, Mista. Aren’t you tired of moving from place to place? I can’t imagine what this is doing to your sleep cycle. You do know that people’s brains don’t fully settle when they’re in new surroundings for the first time, right? You’re not feeling well rested because your body is in a state of alert since you keep changing bedrooms.”

“You could have cured cancer if you weren’t playing with toys,” Mista said, waving a hand to dismiss him. “How about it, Narancia? Only if I can’t find someone to room with. You know I stay out; you won’t even know I’m there.”

Narancia opened his mouth again, before closing it and glancing at Fugo. For a horrified moment, Mista thought he had lost his closest ally to the clumsy advances of someone younger than both of them, who insisted that his clothes weren’t raggedy, they were worn and lived in. But Narancia shifted the weight in his feet anxiously and said, “Well...maybe, okay. Only for a few days. Fugo got us a contract with the tourism board so I’ve got to make some miniatures of the Duomo di Napoli that they’ll sell in their offices. You know a ton of people go through them, so it could really put...put Arrowsmith on the map.” This was Fugo’s script, for sure. “But...and don’t take this the wrong way, but when you’re around, I won’t get them all done in time. I mean, I like hanging out with you, but you really go all out sometimes and that’s fun, but…”

“I get it, I get it.” Mista shrugged. Perhaps he had taken the wrong gamble and should have visited Bruno first with the breakfast money; now he would need to needle the bureaucrat empty-handed. “That’s great, though. Can you imagine the things you make sitting in the houses of someone from across the ocean?”

“Yeah! And I won’t need to make Fugo translate for me to sell them.” Fugo, with his knowledge of several major languages, was invaluable for a little local shop that attracted tourists with artisanal tastes; Narancia was a favorite with the kids in the neighborhood, but he let Fugo do the talking for the rest of their clientele.

Mista raised his brows. “Then you’d better look for another job, since Narancia won’t need you anymore soon.”

Fugo was finished with his espresso or else he would have probably thrown it in Mista’s face. “Just get out, you freeloader.”

Bruno would most likely be busy at this point in the morning and would not be particularly generous while he was at his office; Trish was probably sleeping and her wrath at being deprived of her beauty sleep would make Bruno even less inclined to do him any favors. The shipping company he was with would not be receiving any deliveries until later in the week, so he was waiting on his heels for his next paycheck. His best bet was to linger in the marketplace and do any odd jobs and run errands for pittance to get a bed in one of the back alley hostels. If he was lucky, he’d find his next victim - he was good at scoping out someone who was good natured and trusting of his sob stories, even if they weren’t always convincing.

The marketplace was becoming busy, with older women making the rounds to snatch the freshest produce before the latecomers arrived. Hanging back, Mista took stock of the girls running the stands; he had fooled around with Maria’s sister, so she would be wary around him; Felicia was friends with two girls whom he had parted with on bad terms, so she was also a no go. He doubted Anna would want to pick up her brother’s sloppy seconds, and he was not eager to reintroduce himself into Antonio’s household anyway. There were a few fresh faces that Mista did not recognize; they were most likely tourists by the way they were looking around with careless awe. Their pockets would be picked before the sun set. Mista did not usually try to pick up tourists; they became too cautious when he suggested they return to their hotel and he had to admit he did not really look the part of a good, upstanding Italian citizen.

While most of the tourists were traveling in tight packs, there was one person wandering by himself. Holding a piece of paper, the blonde stranger walked down each aisle with careful precision, examining each table’s wares. He was dressed too well to be an American and his features were decidedly European, though Mista would not be surprised if he was biracial with his less severe cheekbones and a lighter skin tone than the Italians in the region. In fact, Mista had been about to write the man off as a native until the man came closer and Mista saw through the paper what looked to be an address and a crudely drawn map. Naples was big, but not big enough to confuse someone who had lived in the area for years. “Hey,” he called, leaning back against the fountain to expose his neck and appear open and unthreatening. The man turned to him, startled but not jumpy; this was a tourist who had been to Italy before or had a good enough head on his shoulders not to be fooled by more basic swindlers. “Are you looking for something? Do you need any help?”

The man stared at him for a long, silent moment. “I’m looking for a particular dried goods store. I was told that they sometimes sell here, but I can’t seem to find them. I’ve just recently arrived, so I’m still figuring out my directions.”

“Oh? Let me see; I can probably point you in the right direction.” Speed Wagon was an old establishment, well known despite not being on a very public street. “It’s pretty close, maybe a ten minute walk. Just go up until you get to the seamstress, then bear left and go diagonally across the square and pass the newspaper stand and the butcher. But not the butcher with the hog’s head plaque; you need to go further to the one with the wreath of grain. It should be down the cobblestone side street.” He was being purposefully vague with his directions, practiced in casually using his hands to talk. He would not offer to take him there; it had to be a request, so he knew he was not wasting his time with someone as vigilant as Bruno.

The man took back the paper with the address and terrible map and stared at it for another long moment. “I suppose you won’t help me out any more without a price. I’m a sitting duck, with how I’ve told you that I’m new to the area. But I’m Italian, just like you are; I can navigate my motherland even with that convoluted explanation.” He began to walk away, only pausing when Mista began to laugh.

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you out. For free, and you can hold that on my good name.” The stubborn ones were fun; the prideful ones made his conquest even better. This tourist could appeal to his nationalistic side all he wanted, but he was still new to Italy and Mista had no loyalty to someone who had chosen to call somewhere else home.

“Then you should share your good name,” the man prompted. Mista laughed again; everyone here knew of him, and he had done most everyone a favor once or twice. His enemies would be the enemies of any tourist, prepared or not, so he had no fear of revealing himself.

“Guido Mista. Call me Mista; that’s what everyone else does.” The man did not volunteer his name, but Mista looked at the piece of the paper with the address that had an elaborate letterhead. “I’m going to assume that GG are your initials; care to return the favor?” A nice letterhead - and the man was wearing nice leather shoes and a nice pressed shirt. Tourists with money were hard to crack, but the payoff was always worth it.

“Giorno. Giorno Giovanna.”

“Alright. Matches your hair.” The sun was just as bright a gold as Giorno’s head, a neat plait as perfect as a meticulously shaped challah. It was appropriate, Mista thought; he appreciated a good looking man when he saw one. It was natural that those who were blessed with classically beautiful features attracted people to themselves. Bruno was polished and put together and Trish had good proportions; she might have had inherited roots in government with a politician father, but Mista always thought they would have had their names in the papers by look alone. To contrast, Abbacchio was a peace officer who operated alone because he was just too gloomy.

“So how long have you been in Naples?” Tourist marks got nervous if you were too quiet. And frankly, Giorno’s guardedness and understated privilege suggested that Mista might get the jump on if he wasn’t careful himself.

“Only a few days. My...father has a few affairs he wants me to take care of at his house.”

“Your family house is in the area? How can you say you’re new? Where are you coming from?”

If Giorno was put off by his questioning, he did not show it. “I’ve spent some time in Florence and Rome, but I’ve returned from Japan after visiting my mother. It is unfortunately time I cannot get back.”

“Tell me about it! My mother will never get off my case when I go home; she’s always asking what I’ve done with my life. Nothing, apparently, since I’m still alive, huh?”

That made Giorno chuckle, though level and restrained. Still, the sound had a funny way of sticking in Mista’s ear. A passing thought wondered what Giorno’s genuine laugh would sound like. He felt Giorno’s eyes case over his head at the hog’s head sign over the first butcher and then at the grain wreath over the second butcher’s door. What a little fool - only a novice thief would lie about everything from the start. They arrived at Speed Wagon, tucked away in a back street with only a flickering light illuminating the spoked wheel crest. “Thank you,” Giorno said. “For helping me find this place.”

“No problem. Actually, now that I’m here, I guess I’ll grab some jerky for a snack. May as well, since I’m never over here.” Again, Giorno’s apprehension of Mista sticking around didn’t show on his face, and he held the door open for Mista. Wandering into a back corner, he kept his ears alert as Giorno approached the counter.

“Pick-up? Under what name?”

Giorno paused. “Dio,” he murmured. Mista heard the crumple of the paper in his hands and looked between the shelves at Giorno pushing it into his pocket.

“Ah...our least favorite regular. Will he be visiting the house soon?”

“I guess so. His business is none of mine.”

There seemed to be some unspoken understanding between Giorno and the shopkeep. Mista had never heard of the Giovanna name, nor of a Dio, but he was not one to rub shoulders with the elite. He’d keep the names in mind to ask Bruno, who had his hand to the pulse of the city. “I only ask because...his order was three cases of red wine. Now, I’m not doubting your strength but this is a tall order for a single person and I know your father is...particular of who fetches his things and enters his house.”

“Wine? I thought this was a dried goods shop.”

“We are. But you must understand we also have connections and will carry what we’re asked of.” The man brought out each case of bottles and set them on the counter with a significant weight behind the sound of them settling on the wood. “You could carry them individually but I suspect it will take time for each…”

“I’ll help,” Mista volunteered, stepping out from where he had been watching. Giorno did not seem surprised at his suggestion. Mista thought that Giorno had been aware of his whereabouts the entire time they had been in Speed Wagon. “I’m currently working out at the docks; two cases should be no problem.”

The shopkeeper turned to Giorno. “A family friend?”

“That would be generous.” Giorno studied the wine. “I suppose I have no choice but to rely on you again, Mista.”

Upon leaving Speed Wagon, Giorno did not return to the main road, where most of the cars were parked. Hitching the crates of wine under his arm, Mista hoped whatever penthouse suite Giorno was returning to was far enough away that he could really flex and show off his muscle definition to sweeten the deal. But Giorno merely continued walking, a crate of wine in his hands, and walked right out of the center of the city. Mista was no slouch, he worked out in his spare time, but he did not usually carry heavy items for significant distances. Just as he contemplated asking Giorno for a break, they emerged from the road to a grand villa on the outskirts of Naples, right where the buildings began to move further and further from each other. “Welcome to my father’s house,” Giorno said, gazing up at the gate in front of them. He turned back to Mista, quietly and expectedly.

“You aren’t going to invite me in, give me a drink or nothing?”

Giorno sighed, but he allowed Mista to follow him into the main house. Mista had gone to a nice house like this once, when he was temping for a catering firm, but the constant flow of guests had kept him from really taking in the extravagance. The pillars bordering the little courtyard inside, where a red clay fountain bubbled in the center surrounded by lush shrubbery, had to be made from stone straight from the source, smoothed by hand. The floor was marble tile, with barely a scratch. Giorno’s shoes were real leather, but Mista’s sandals were almost dirt cheap and boldly striding across enough stone worth a month’s paycheck. They bypassed the kitchen and Giorno led him to a small, cool wine cellar at the foot of a flight of wooden stairs. The three crates of wine seemed insignificant against the already impressive collection displayed around them. Giorno set his crate on the ground and Mista stacked his on top, casually rubbing his biceps with as little expression as he could muster. He would be sore tomorrow, for sure.

“Thank you again,” Giorno said.

“Sure thing.” Mista stared up at the dirt ceiling, his voice sinking into the soil and brick around them. “Do you wanna fuck?”

“Here?”

“Uh, no, unless you want to. I’m sure there’s got to be a bed or something in this huge house.”

Giorno blinked his beautiful blue eyes at him. The adrenaline was really coursing through his blood if he was being this reckless, calling Giorno beautiful despite knowing the man for less than half a day. Mista knew his way around many a beautiful Italian, but there was something different in the way Giorno carried himself - ethereal, yet the gold around the edges could be pure and soft or gold plated pewter. Mista wouldn’t know, but he did want to take the risk and sink his teeth in. “I thought you said you wanted to come in for a drink,” Giorno said, finally. He cradled his arms in front of his chest, defensively, but it wasn’t a no.

“We can get a drink and then we can fuck. What, do you have an order you like to do these things in?”

Giorno poured two tall glasses of water, as they had been lifting wine in the sun, but they were left mostly full on the table next to the window. Mista doubted the bedroom Giorno brought them to was his own, personal one, but with the different rooms they had passed, Giorno could sleep in a different bed for each night of the week and it wouldn’t matter. Tourists scrambled to explore Naples on a budget, but lucky boys like Giorno only had to to book a flight and fall right into his father’s house for a quick holiday. It made Mista feel less guilty fucking Giorno right into what felt like expensive sheets, paid for by a faceless older man. Giorno’s skin was hot in his hands, a flash of fire, like the setting sun. He hadn’t timed it right, Mista though, wiping his brow with his wrist, buried halfway into the boy beneath him. If had bided his time and waited until the sun was completely below the horizon, he could spin a tale that it was just worth it to stay the night.

“You’re distracted,” Giorno said, reaching back and pulling Mista close by the hip. “Finish what you started.”

Afterwards, they returned to the city for dinner. Giorno was leaning against the wall, the buttons on his shirt done low so Mista could see dark red hickeys where neck met shoulder, staring out the window of the pizzeria when Bruno walked up to the table.

“I heard from Fugo that you would be looking for me, but it looks like you won’t be needing my help.” Bruno was not one to judge openly, but Mista knew he had seen them from a distance and had studied Mista, hunched forward in his chair over his plate, and Giorno, practically sprawled along the booth. “Who is your acquaintance?”

“Bucciarati, this is Giorno. Giorno, here’s the man who practically runs all of Naples. Effectively.”

“A pleasure,” Giorno said, taking the hand Bruno extended to him. “Bruno Bucciarati. I’ve heard of you. If you’re here, then you must also be with--”

“We should order pick-up next time,” Trish said, sliding up to Bruno’s side and wrapping an arm around his arm. “Ugh. They’ve got a new girl taking orders and she’s seen me perform before. I could not get in a word edgewise. She’ll get her mother, or her father, so be careful and don’t engage. We’ll be here until midnight if we let her chatty family catch us.” Trish let her complaint trial off, recognizing Mista, who had returned to eating. “Oh, hello Mista. Haven’t seen you in a while. Who’s your catch now?”

“Trish,” Mista said, giving her a look. Bruno clasped a hand over hers on his arm and squeezed - subtly, but Mista saw Giorno follow the movement with his eyes. “Giorno. Giorno, Trish.” He hated introducing the people he was sleeping with to the gang. Without labels, it became awkward and troublesome to describe. Not that there was a label for someone he had only slept with once, but he was regretting not going somewhere with a lower likelihood of running into someone he would know.

“A little...no, a lot out of your strike zone, Mista. Oh, I’m kidding!” Trish threw her hands up. “Can’t a girl make a joke! It’s nice to meet you, Giorno. Don’t mind me, but I hope you’re keeping Mista in check. He’s really not for everyone.”

“He’s not,” Giorno agreed.

“I haven’t seen you around,” Bruno said. “Are you new to Naples?”

“My flight landed two days ago. I’m just getting over the jetlag.”

“I see. I welcome you to the city. As Mista so generally put it, I do work in administration so it’s my duty to make sure your time here is enjoyable.”

“There’s so much more to see than Mista’s random assortment of haunts,” Trish said, laughing when Mista began waving her off. “I’m not performing until Thursday, so hopefully you’ll be free then and can come watch. Bruno always reserves a table, and I’m sure he’d love the company.”

“You’ll love his company until Trish is done performing, then you’re a third wheel,” Mista groused. “Hey, Bucciarati. I actually think I will come over. When will you be home?”

Giorno turned to him. “How long are you planning to be out? I’m a little tired as it is, so I don’t know if I can stay out too late.”

Closing his mouth before it was obvious he had let his jaw drop, Mista put down his piece of pizza. “You...want me to come back to your place with you?”

Trish leaned into Bruno’s shoulder. “I think we should leave them now,” she whispered, loud enough for Mista to overhear. Bruno offered a polite farewell before excusing the both of them. They sat a fair distance away, and for Trish’s credit, did not look back or watch them.

“I just,” said Mista, “didn’t think you’d...I mean - I had a good time, but you’ve only got so much time before you’ve got to go-” He was shooting himself in the foot; he wanted a place to sleep, and now he was talking too much. There had been others who had been enamored early, whom Mista had taken full advantage of, but it was the unlikely combination of Giorno’s means and options he was bound to have - and Trish was right, boys like Mista could be found on any block in any neighborhood.

“Go? Where am I going?”

“You’re on holiday, aren’t you? Staying at your father’s house?”

Giorno studied him. “I’m not on holiday. I’ve just moved here. My father’s gifted me his house, so yes, I’ve got some of his affairs to take care of, but I own that property. It’s big to be alone in, and while I must admit you wouldn’t have been my first choice…” He folded his hands, and Mista felt rooted in place, caught in Giorno’s snare. “Unless, you mean to say that you only slept with me because you were expecting never to see me again.” He wore a frown, but there was no real heat in it. Giorno could find someone else and forget him with a blink of an eye.

Mista felt able to breathe again, exhaling with a shaky laugh. “It would have been easier,” he admitted. He followed Giorno back to the villa, back to the same room, and they fucked again, lazily because Giorno was tired. What a brilliant stroke of luck, Mista thought. He had a roof over his head for the night. But more than that - he was known to be a bit laser focused when catching someone in his sniper scope, unrelenting until he’d gotten what he wanted. It had been a while since he’d been caught in the crosshairs of someone else’s aim, and the gaze Giorno had on him wasn’t besotted but one of conquest. Giorno had full intention of making him kneel, pledging his loyalties to a golden haired golden boy - and while Mista had no intention of bending to another’s will, the thought of submitting to Giorno made him shiver.

“I hope you won’t mind,” Giorno yawned, swadling himself with pillows as Mista laid next to him, staring at a curious star-shaped birthmark on his nape, “but I’ve offered board to one of my closest advisors while I’m here. Polnareff knows to be discreet, but I’d rather keep my private life private.”

“Is that all you think of me as?” Mista asked, grinning cheekily. “An on-call booty call, kept man that you can summon at any time, left to wander on my own when you don’t want me?”

Giorno ran his fingers through his hair, curly from the braid. “Is that such a bad life?” He rolled over, coming up so close that he pushed Mista onto his back and splayed his fingers out on his chest. “Tell you what - I know this estate’s been the place of many attempted break-ins while my father wasn’t around. You can be the hired muscle to keep my enemies away from me. In exchange, I won’t expect you to be at peak performance whenever I want you.” Giorno leaned in, and Mista remembered they hadn’t kissed - and in spite of himself, his breath caught in his throat. It was the kiss of death, and he was signing away his life to be in Giorno’s services. It wasn’t exactly what he had in mind for a carefree life, but as he kissed back, he thought it was excusable for now.

#mistagio #giomis #giorno giovanna #guido mista #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #canadino fic #ao3 link recommended since this is a long one

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ackermaninsurance01-blog · 5 years ago

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What Type of Property Can Be Insured With Home Insurance in Naples,Florida

Anyone who has bought a property in Naples Florida has shopped for one homeowner’s insurance in Naples FL– some might call it a necessary evil; others peace of mind in times of crisis. And while most people are persuaded by banks to purchase homeowners’ insurance in Naples Fl few people understand exactly what Naples insurance company to trust, who’s the most reliable Naples insurance agency what their policy does, when to make policy changes, where to shop for it, why it is priced the way it is or – most importantly – how they can take control of the process. It doesn't matter whether you live in a one-bedroom flat or a five-bedroom detached house, your home is no doubt your castle. So it's important to make sure that you have the right protection in place in case something should go wrong. What if there was a fire or the roof was damaged in a storm? Would you be able to pay for the repairs? And where would you live if your house was uninhabitable? Your home also contains some of your most valuable possessions. Could you afford to replace your flat-screen TV or your jewelry collection if you were the target of burglars? There are five policies that are the most frequently offered to homeowners so they can ensure their property in the state of Florida: 1.Owner-occupied: There are three types of policies that cover owner-occupied, single-family homes: a)Basic Form or HO-1HO-1 is not frequently sold nowadays, because its coverage is too narrow. b)Broad Form or HO-2HO-2 or Broad Form policy also covers living expenses in cases where the insured property is unsuitable for living. Some of the perils usually covered are windstorm, lightning, hail, and fire or explosion. In this type of policy, if a peril is not explicitly included, then it is excluded from coverage. c)Special Form of HO-3 HO-3 policy – also known as Homeowners 3 or Special Form – covers any direct damage to the house and other structures on the property caused by any perils that are not explicitly excluded in the policy; this policy is the most commonly bought because it has the minimum coverage required by lenders. In the case of loss of personal property, the coverage only protects against losses due to the dangers listed on the insurance policy. 2.Condominium Unit-Owner or HO-6: This policy primarily provides coverage for personal property and liability of the insured, as well as some coverage for the structure. This type of policy typically covers listed perils, but additional coverage can be purchased. It also provides Loss Assessment Coverage, which means it pays your share of expenses on common property loss. 3.Renters, HO-4, or Contents Broad Form: It is a variant of the HO-2, aimed towards those who rent rooms, apartments, or houses. It covers the insured's personal property that is within and outside the structure. Also, it includes liability insurance for damaged property and for injuries to the other people in the property. It can also include limited coverage for property alterations made by the renter. 4.Modified Coverage Form or HO-8: This type of policy, offered by many insurers in Florida, was designed for older homes, which typically have higher replacement costs than their market value. HO-2 provides functional replacement, which implies reconstruction with less costly materials that perform the same function. This type of policy offers less coverage than the HO-2. It may include theft coverage, but it is limited to $1,000 per event. 5.Dwelling Form:This type of policy is used to cover risks that might not be covered by the homeowner’s insurance policy. In the case of mobile homes, many insurance companies have discontinued policies for these types of homes, but a dwelling form can be issued to cover it. If you are looking for homeowners insurance in Naples Florida, give us a call at Ackerman Insurance Services. One of our representatives will be happy to answer any questions you may have. You can also follow us on your favorite social media. Leading carriers with great claims service. Unlike most insurance agencies, we provide you with lower rates without sacrificing coverage. Our goal is to ensure the satisfaction of our customers with comprehensive insurance options that efficiently meet their coverage needs. Ackerman Insurance Services, for all your insurance needs. Summary: Ackerman Insurance Services offers homeowners and condo insurance to the residents of Naples, Palm Beach Gardens and the rest of Southwest Florida. It is our privilege to offer insurance coverage that will give your home the protection it needs and the peace of mind that you deserve. We understand that your home and everything in it is of the utmost value to you.

#homeowners insurance naples fl #home insurance naples fl #naples insurance company #naples insurance agency

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alfredrserrano · 6 years ago

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National Cheat Sheet: Fed warns of rising commercial real estate prices, Airbnb adds Amazon exec ahead of IPO … & more

Clockwise from top left: Federal Reserve issues warning about the effects of rising commercial real estate prices, firm plans $1B worth of co-living inventory as arrangement’s popularity grows, entrepreneur who claims he was a Compass co-founder seeks $200M in suit and Airbnb taps a former Amazon executive to be its new CFO.

Fed, highlighting asset bubble dangers, red flags rising commercial real estate prices A report released Wednesday by the Federal Reserve warns that soaring commercial real estate prices across the country could harm financial markets, according to the Wall Street Journal. The warning came from the Fed’s first-ever financial stability report, which cited “elevated asset prices, historically high debt owed by U.S. businesses and rising issuances of risky debt” as factors posing the biggest problems for the country’s financial system. The report also pointed to asset bubbles, and not inflation, as the impetus for the past two recessions. Fed Chairman Jerome Powell spoke about the subject Wednesday at The Economic Club of New York. [TRD]

Firm plans $1B worth of co-living inventory as arrangement’s popularity grows Property Markets Group is going all in on co-living. The New York-based firm is planning to roll out $1 billion worth of co-living inventory and is partnering with Raven Capital Management to commit $300 million in equity to a “multifamily housing division” known as X Social Communities. PMG, which was one of the first developers to board the co-living train, currently offers co-living units in Chicago and Miami. The company is planning to put co-living apartments on the market in Fort Lauderdale and Miami, among other locales. “Our product provides incredible value to our customers,” PMG principal Noah Gottlieb said. [TRD]

Entrepreneur suing Compass revealed to be seeking $200M A tech entrepreneur who claims Compass used his ideas to found the company without crediting or compensating him is seeking a stake in the business now worth roughly $200 million. Avi Dorfman sued the SoftBank-backed brokerage and its CEO Robert Reffkin four years ago, but his specific monetary claim was not initially disclosed and subsequently redacted in court filings. During a recent court hearing in New York, it was revealed that Dorfman believes he was entitled to a 15 percent stake in Compass at the time of its founding. After multiple funding rounds by the company, which was recently valued at $4.4 billion, Dorfman’s potential stake would be diluted to about 4 percent. “We believe Mr. Dorfman has a very strong claim as one of the founders of Compass,” his attorney, Susman Godfrey partner Arun Subramanian, told TRD. Compass claims Dorfman turned down a job he was offered at the company to work at a hedge fund instead. [TRD]

Airbnb taps Amazon exec to be its new CFO A former Amazon executive will take the lead on Airbnb’s finances starting in January, Bloomberg reported. The home-sharing startup has hired Dave Stephenson, who was vice president and chief financial officer of Amazon’s worldwide consumer organization, to be its new CFO as it ramps up for an initial public offering. Stephenson oversaw global website sales at Amazon, and is filling a position that has been vacant since Laurence Tosi left Airbnb in February over reported differences with the company’s CEO. Airbnb, which has a private valuation of $31 billion, is reportedly preparing to launch an IPO by 2020. [TRD]

MAJOR MARKET HIGHLIGHTS

HUD’s New York head to move into a NYCHA building amid utility outages Lynne Patton, who oversees the Department of Housing and Urban Development for the New York region, said she plans to move into a New York City Housing Authority building to protest and shed light on the lack of heat and hot water at NYCHA buildings throughout the city, PIX11 first reported. In a tweet, Patton, who was appointed by President Donald Trump in 2017, wrote that “[basic human conditions are non-negotiable.” In February, the Trump administration proposed a multibillion-dollar budget cut that would slash financial support for a fund that benefits NYCHA and other public housing authorities. [TRD]

Chicago home prices rise, but still fall short nationally Home prices in Chicago are on the rise, but they still aren’t as high as they are nationwide on average, Crain’s reported. Prices rose 3 percent in September after rising for six straight months, but the national average was 5.5 percent, according to data from S&P CoreLogic Case-Shiller. “Home prices plus data on house sales and construction confirm the slowdown in housing,” David Blitzer, managing director and chairman of the index committee at S&P Dow Jones Indices, said in a statement provided to Crain’s. Nevertheless, the Windy City still ranks as the second-most affordable large city in the country to buy a home. [TRD]

Mansion in Florida sets sales record, only to be demolished and replaced A mansion in Naples that set the record for the priciest home sale in Southwest Florida no longer exists. The 24-year-old mansion on Gordon Drive was demolished by its buyer, 2500 Gordon Land Trust, which plans to build a new home at the site. The six-bedroom mansion was built in 1994 and was originally listed for $60.9 million, but ended up selling for $48.8 million in June. Architect John Cooney will design the new home at the site and Newbury North Associates will build it, according to the Naples Daily News. [TRD]

Deadly Woolsey Fire leaves LA and Ventura counties with $5B in damage Los Angeles and Ventura counties are still recovering from California’s catastrophic Woolsey Fire and face up to $5 billion in real estate damages as a result of the blaze, according to an estimate by property data firm CoreLogic. That figure could include anywhere from $3.5 billion to $4.5 billion in residential property damage, as well as up to $500 million in commercial property damage, the OC Register reported. The Woolsey Fire, one of several blazes to tear across the Golden State in November, killed three people and left three firefighters injured before it was contained on Nov. 21. It also destroyed more than 1,600 structures and burned nearly 97,000 acres of land. [TRD]

Seattle’s housing market sees a decline as Amazon looks to the East Coast With all eyes on Amazon’s East Coast plans, growth in the e-commerce giant’s hometown of Seattle has been waning, the Wall Street Journal reported. Bidding wars on properties in the city declined as Amazon spent the past six months searching for a locale for its so-called HQ2, and median growth is the slowest it has been in Seattle since January 2013, according to the outlet. Landlords, meanwhile, have been offering perks like Amazon gift cards and free rent in an attempt to entice tenants and buyers. “If you’ve got that much going on and you’re really trying to get New york and Virginia up and running, you have a tendency to ignore Seattle,” RealPage chief economist Greg Willett told the newspaper. [TRD]

Google drops $1B for office complex near its Mountain View headquarters Alphabet, Google’s parent company, has snapped up a business park in California for $1 billion, Bloomberg reported. Alphabet recently bought Shoreline Technology Park, which is not far from its “Googleplex” Mountain View headquarters. Google also recently bought office space in Sunnyvale and is hoping to build a new development in San Jose, though its plans have been stymied by legal issues. Earlier this year, Google bought the Chelsea Market building in Manhattan for $2.4 billion. The internet search giant’s latest purchase comes not long after Amazon’s HQ2 announcement, as well as the latter’s announced plans to open a regional hub in Nashville. [TRD]

from The Real Deal Miami https://therealdeal.com/2018/11/30/national-cheat-sheet-fed-warns-of-rising-commercial-real-estate-prices-airbnb-adds-amazon-exec-ahead-of-ipo-more/#new_tab via IFTTT

#The Real Deal Miami

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ackermaninsurance01-blog · 5 years ago

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What Type of Property Can Be Insured With Home Insurance in Naples, Florida

#homeowners insurance naples fl #home insurance naples fl #naples insurance company #naples insurance agency

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ackermaninsurance01-blog · 5 years ago

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What Type of Property Can Be Insured With Home Insurance in Naples, Florida

#homeowners insurance naples fl #naples insurance agency #home insurance naples fl #naples insurance company

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alfredrserrano · 6 years ago

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National Cheat Sheet: Fed warns of rising commercial real estate prices, Airbnb adds Amazon exec ahead of IPO … & more

MAJOR MARKET HIGHLIGHTS

from The Real Deal Miami https://therealdeal.com/2018/11/30/national-cheat-sheet-fed-warns-of-rising-commercial-real-estate-prices-airbnb-adds-amazon-exec-ahead-of-ipo-more/#new_tab via IFTTT

#The Real Deal Miami

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alfredrserrano · 6 years ago

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National Cheat Sheet: Fed warns of rising commercial real estate prices, Airbnb adds Amazon exec ahead of IPO … & more

MAJOR MARKET HIGHLIGHTS

from The Real Deal Miami https://therealdeal.com/2018/11/30/national-cheat-sheet-fed-warns-of-rising-commercial-real-estate-prices-airbnb-adds-amazon-exec-ahead-of-ipo-more/#new_tab via IFTTT

#The Real Deal Miami

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