˗ˏˋ𝗠𝗔𝗙𝗜𝗔 franchise loverˎˊ˗
She/her/ella | SPA/ENG 🍕
Just call me Vi, lol
Ig: viscalettt
̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶a̶l̶s̶o̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶t̶p̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶A̶O̶3̶
Vito Scaletta and Luca Trapani are so hot, if you're not Vito or Luca, don't talk to me /j
He admired her the way weary men admire candlelight in ruined cathedrals: quietly, almost fearfully, as though beauty of that sort was never meant to linger long in this world.
Black silk rested against her figure like midnight poured over warm bronze. A sable stole encircled her throat and shoulders, soft as winter breath, while the perfume she wore followed her through the room in slow haunting ribbons of bitter almond, dark vanilla, smoked jasmine, aged amber, and something faintly poisonous beneath it all, like crushed flowers left beside a gravestone after rain.
She unsettled him.
Not loudly. Never loudly.
It was in the way she looked at things too long, as if every object carried a memory. In the way her laughter arrived half a second too late, dreamy and distant, like music from another apartment drifting through open windows after midnight. She carried herself with elegance, yet there was always something wounded beneath it, hidden carefully beneath sharp wit, pretty gloves, and the practiced composure of a woman who had learned to survive disappointment gracefully.
> Vito Scaletta/Reader
> Vito has made plenty of mistakes in Empire Bay. Mistakes that have cost him more than he'd like to admit. He can't understand why someone else has to pay for his sins.
(takes place after Mafia 2 and before the events of Mafia 3)
【 wc: 3136 】
◃ previous ◃ ▐▐ ▹ next ▹
Vito hadn't stood in a church since before the war. He thought he'd burst into flames just walking up the steps, especially after that day.
Standing at the altar now, his hands were loose at his sides. He'd been zoning out, hoping that de-realization could save him from his fate. The priest beside him stared at the doors at the back of the church, waiting for the ceremony to commence quickly. In the pews, the Commission men sat with their heads in the clouds.
Vito had been fine with the consequences of the shit show he'd caused–forced to move, becoming a puppet for the Commission, and losing all autonomy. But to force an innocent woman to suffer with him? He couldn't bear that guilt.
Before he had left Empire Bay for New Bordeaux, Leo had given him an ultimatum. If he wanted to stay alive, he needed to get himself an insurance policy to keep him in line. That was all he'd known you as, a symbol of his disobedience.
The organ began playing, and the doors opened.
He hadn't known what to expect. Leo hadn't even given him a photograph. All he knew was your name and your purpose–as if that was all that made a person.
You walked down the aisle on Leo's arm, and Vito couldn't bring himself to look at you. His eyes darted between your dress, Leo, and the flower petals on the carpet. Looking at you would be putting a face to the name. He'd be accepting his fate, and Vito was never one to accept anything that easily.
He hadn't accepted his time in the war, having been released early. Same with prison. Maybe he could get out of this, too.
When you faced him at the altar, his eyes were fixed on your face. The first thing he'd noticed about you was the way you looked at him. The same indifference. But your eyes were laced with an emotion much more violent.
He'd have lost himself in them had he not reminded himself that you were simply the Commission's possession. This relationship wasn't born out of love, and you sure as hell didn't look too keen on becoming friends with him.
You were a trap. One he'd rather not fall into.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
What was he thinking?
He'd told you to get out. To leave. He was an idiot.
Vito had known from the beginning why you were there. Why had he expected any different? Maybe he'd grown to like you despite refusing to acknowledge it. If you wanted to hurt him, you could have done so a long time ago, with more than just a phone call.
He didn't think you'd actually leave. He couldn't fathom the possibility of you ever leaving. He'd grown too used to your presence in the house. The way the bathroom smelled faintly of your perfume every morning when he'd be getting ready to leave. Or how you'd hum in the kitchen in the middle of the night, the sound echoing down the hall to his office like a lullaby.
You hadn't been gone for more than ten minutes when he'd begun pacing. Rethinking every word he'd said to you. Sure, he was an asshole, but you had to know his words meant nothing. Right?
His mind wandered to the one place he hoped it wouldn't. What would Joe even say if he were here: You fucked up big time? Man up? Go after her?
He'd definitely say the third. He'd laugh in Vito's face and tell him no broad was worth this kind of hassle. Then he'd berate Vito for not leaving to find her.
But where would he even begin? New Bordeaux was a big city, and you'd barely seen half of it. You could be lost, kidnapped, or maybe even worse.
Finally coming out of his head, Vito began to wear his jacket as he walked to the front door. He was going to find you, apologize, and beg you to come back. He needed you to come back, even if you didn't need him. Just as he entered the hall, the front door clicked open.
You walked right past him, ignoring every explanation he'd tried to give you. Of course, you were mad; it was justified, of course, but he couldn't let you go to sleep thinking he'd left you to die. Sure, he'd done unspeakable things, but this would be too cruel, even for him.
He followed you into the bedroom. With the lights turned off, he watched from the opening of the ajar bedroom door as you pulled the covers over your body and let exhaustion take hold of you. If you didn't hate him before, you sure as shit did now. And it was his fault.
He took careful steps inside, making sure he wouldn't wake you. Then he sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to dip into the mattress too much. You always looked so peaceful when you slept.
His hand went to your hair, combing through it with your fingers. You were freezing.
Slowly, he walked to the dresser, took out another blanket, and laid it on top of you. He was never good at apologies, but maybe this could be a start.
He'd fallen asleep in his office that night, waking up to the sun in his face. He'd slept in long enough to wake up after you did. Usually, he'd be up before dawn, neatly cleaning up his side of the bed so that you wouldn't feel too uncomfortable knowing he was beside you.
Vito could hear you shuffling about the kitchen. Then he heard the familiar sound of keys jingling. The door opened, and then silence befell the house.
He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. He stood looking out the window of his office and watched you head into town. Putting on his jacket, he decided he'd follow you. Make sure you were safe this time.
Vito kept a half-block distance from you. This wasn't his first time surveilling someone, and yet the palms of his hands had grown too sweaty to be his. You hadn't looked back, instead keeping your head down and hands in your pockets as you walked to an underdeveloped side of town.
This wasn't his territory. Nowhere near it, in fact. Whatever it was you were up to, it couldn't have been for the Commission.
He watched you walk for at least half an hour before you stopped in front of a building with a hand-painted sign. Warm Hearts Neighborhood Kitchen.
He could tell you were uncertain now. Your footsteps faltered, and your lips remained parted. He began walking closer, hoping to confront you. Just as he came within a few feet of you, you walked inside with upright shoulders. He stopped mid-step.
This wasn't the kind of man he wanted to be, controlling and possessive. You weren't an object. You were a person. A person like his mother and sister. A person like Joe. Whatever business you had at a soup kitchen, it was better than what he'd been up to. You had a right to your secrets.
But he still needed you to be safe.
Vito waited across the street, going through at least three cigarettes before you'd finally come out of the building. Your exit was announced with the sound of laughter as mesmerizing as gold. He'd never heard anything like it, especially not from your mouth. His eyes found your face, eyes lit up in delight as you talked to another woman. You carried yourself with less reservation, like you weren't walking on glass. He liked what he saw, and he realized he liked seeing you happy.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
Vito didn't trust Sal Marcano's man as far as he could throw them, but he had to compromise. The Commission's presence in New Bordeaux was already quite lacking, and he couldn't expend these men to take on unnecessary tasks, lest the Commission come knocking on his door. So he found the most trustworthy Marcano guy he could, someone who responded to money better than loyalties–Dino.
Dino was to watch you anytime you left the house and report back to Vito. At the end of each day, Vito would stay up as late as he needed to poring over every detail in those reports. He didn't know exactly why he had such an interest in your life. Maybe because if anything happened to you, then it would reflect badly on him and the Commission.
But he never cared much for his organization, and his reputation was already in shambles thanks to his shenanigans with Joe. No, he wanted his eye on you for reasons he'd never say out loud. Reasons that maybe only Joe could discern. Yet, Joe wasn't here, and Vito wasn't about to raise the dead. So the truth continued to remain unspoken.
You both hadn't spoken for another two months. He monitored you patiently, from a distance, while you didn't seem to bat an eye toward him. Why would you? There wasn't much of an incentive for you in this marriage, and Vito hadn't exactly been inviting.
He'd been furious for a long time.
It had started long before his involvement in the Commission. He'd lived in poverty for most of his life, watched his father waste away trying to keep himself afloat, and came back to a different reality after the war. The only thing that had kept him steady was his best friend, Joe.
He couldn't imagine a life without the old fool. Even now, buried six feet under, Joe kept haunting his every move.
He wasn't angry at you. He was angry because of the bodies he had to bury and the sacrifices he had to make. He had nothing, but you didn't have much either. In a way, you and Vito were two sides of the same coin. Maybe it was about time he let his anger fade into something more productive.
Vito wasn't angry; he was lost. He knew how to find his way, but some paths are scarier than others.
After a year and a half since the arrangement between you two had been established, he had changed. Grown softer. He could acknowledge what your safety meant, at least, to himself. You were more than a trap; you were his. He cared for you to some capacity. Maybe if he told you the truth, you could forgive him. Maybe you wouldn't hate him anymore.
Tonight, he'd decided to tail you himself. You had a routine that you followed like clockwork. He made sure to leave the house a few minutes after you, keep his distance as you walked the commute to the kitchen, and sat at a bench across the street watching the joint till you finished.
As he waited, he mustered the courage to do something he never thought he would.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
You didn't scream. You fought.
Vito was already on his feet, running across the street as he watched your arms punch the masked man. To any ordinary person, you seemed like an easy target, but he saw the anger that you needed to let out. What better way to vent than through some exercise?
What followed was a violent, yet brief, altercation.
Vito had beaten the man to a pulp, barely registering the knife that dug into his side as he finished the job and turned to you. Nothing mattered in that moment except for your safety. He needed to make sure you were alright.
When he turned to face your shocked expression, his eyes scanned over you. You had one bruise on your wrist. His hand immediately grabbed it, rubbing his thumb on the uninjured skin. He was aware of the throbbing pain that began to worsen, but he couldn't care much for it. Not with you like this.
You looked at him in a strange way. It wasn't fear or anger. It was soft. Worry. You looked like you were worried about him. Your eyes weren't on his face; rather, they were trained on his abdomen. Vito followed your gaze till he saw the red on his white shirt. He was bleeding.
He looked back up at you, your hand still in his gentle hold, as he questioned, "How bad does it hurt?"
You blinked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
You had to act quickly; Vito would die soon. Without thinking, you ripped the end of your skirt, lifted Vito's bloody shirt, and tied it around his waist to keep pressure on the wound. Taking the arm on his uninjured side, you helped him limp forward.
He was heavier than he looked.
"I can walk," he said for the second time on your journey home.
"Vito." The way you said his name. Commanding him. It made him feel things he shouldn't.
He quietened down the rest of the walk. You could hear him huffing as he breathed, his weight growing heavier and heavier. All you could focus on was him. Whether the bandage would hold, whether the pain was too much for him to bear, whether he did actually care about you.
He'd asked you about your condition, as if you were the one bleeding. You didn't know what to make of that, so you shut the memory out of your mind. First things first, you had to get him home.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
By some miracle, you'd managed to drag Vito through the streets of New Bordeaux, up the stairs of your house, and into your shared kitchen. The shirt was completely soaked through. You unbuttoned it with deliberate care, not wanting the fabric to tug on his wound as you took it off.
The injury was quite ugly. However, it wasn't deep enough to be too big of a problem. You stitched the skin up and bandaged the exposed area well enough to forego a doctor's visit for now.
"How do you know how to do this?" Vito asked as you worked on his wound.
You stayed quiet for a moment before relenting, "Not my first rodeo."
"You saying I'm not the first guy you've had to save from bleeding out? I'm a little disappointed," Vito joked.
You weren't quite in the mood, "Galante got hurt too y'know. This ain't any different."
Vito couldn't make another sound. Not even as you poured antiseptic on the flesh. The pain felt numb compared to the way you resembled him to Leo. He wasn't like that; he swore he wouldn't be like that. Vito Scaletta was many things–a war hero, a felon, a murderer. But he was never the kind of guy to hurt a woman for his own benefit. He was his mother's son after all.
"You're afraid…of me." He began as you wrapped the bandage, "What'd Leo tell ya?"
You paused your action. "Empire Bay is a war zone, no thanks to you. Makes you wonder what kinda guy starts that."
"So, he didn't tell you anything, huh?"
"He didn't have to." You resumed bandaging him, pulling the material tighter against his waist to elicit some sort of reaction. He didn't even flinch.
"Look," his voice softened, and his register lowered, "I'm not–What happened in Empire was more than just a mistake. I get that, and trust me, I paid that price. But I need you to know–"
"I don't need to know." Knowing is what had gotten you in this mess, and you were damn sure you wouldn't get into anything worse now.
Finishing up with Vito, you quickly exited the bathroom with his bloody shirt. You would do laundry tomorrow and try your best to wash out the stain. Then, you'd forget all about this night, like you were supposed to.
Vito sat in the bathroom, confused by your abrupt departure. He didn't know what he said wrong, but he did do it. Vito needed to fix this before you left for good.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
The next morning, you were ambushed in the kitchen. Vito had blocked the entrance as soon as you entered, unrelenting in his stance as you urged him to move away from the doorway. When he didn't listen for the fourth time, you simply looked at him with sullen eyes.
"What do you want?" You began, your voice flat.
"I'm not Leo or anyone at the Commission, alright. I want you to trust me, and for that, you'll have to know things about me. Like, I'll have to know things about you."
He paused, gauging your reaction. You'd all but tuned him out, like last night had never happened.
Gently, he held his hand under your chin and lifted it to face him. "I fucked up in Empire. I don't plan on fucking up here. Hell, we've got a great thing going. I just…I don't want to hurt you."
You scoffed as he finished. "Hurt me? You've done a hell of a lot more than that." You slapped his hand away from you. "I'm in the middle of God knows where, paying off deeds, God knows what, as penance for your mistakes. And you think that after a year of silence, that saying this bullshit–these words that have absolutely no meaning–you can what? What do you hope to accomplish?"
Your eyes were alight with anger burning through them. Vito realized he'd already begun to lose you. God, he was stupid. All he could do was stand there and take it in–your frustration and his foolishness.
You hated the way he didn't flinch at your yelling. How he looked so unaffected by it all.
"You're right," he said. "There's no way to justify it, the way I acted. And you–you helped me despite me treating you that way. Maybe it was an obligation, or maybe, just maybe, a part of you feels the same. Like this could be something better than it is. The Commission ain't here. Neither is Leo. You're free to just be."
He stopped; that was the wrong word. He corrected, "That's not–I'm saying that I won't hurt you. I promise I won't. We're a team. Leo isn't your friend and neither is anyone else here. But me–I need you to trust me."
You swallowed.
With a raised brow, you scoffed, "Took you a year to say this?"
"I'm not good with words."
"Clearly." The corners of your mouth had moved involuntarily. You liked seeing him like this, as you controlled him. In a way, he made you feel better. Like you had some semblance of autonomy. Like you had some power over him.
You weren't ready to forgive him yet, but that didn't mean you weren't open to giving him a second chance. After all, as much as you hate the Commission, they did the same for you.
⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅∙ ∘☽༓☾∘ •⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅
A/N: Who doesn't love a man who yearns? I wanted to try my hand at writing dual perspectives, especially as starkly different as the one between Vito and the reader. I hope ya'll like it!
I'm also writing a part three to this so stay tuned!
> Vito Scaletta/Reader
> Vito doesn't know much about Joe's sister, but one off-handed encounter with you leaves him with more questions than answers. Unexpectedly hearing your voice on the telephone again, he can't help but want to hear more.
(based on this request)
【 wc: 2606 】
Vito Scaletta had learned to stop noticing things long ago. Observations led to questions he’d never be able to answer in his line of work, so he’d found it best to keep his head down until he needed to hold it up. The odors of an unchecked city, the cold of an especially cruel winter, and the guilt stemming from duty were all things he had no business involving himself in. Feeling was a luxury reserved for made men.
He was sitting at Joe’s kitchen table when you walked in.
Joe had called him over for lunch, which, by Joe’s standards, meant he needed help cleaning up his apartment with the prospect of scrounging up enough unexpired leftovers in a cluttered fridge to call a meal.
Joe had a tendency to be Vito’s absolute opposite. He was loud, chatty, and always had a broad on his arm. Yet, despite their stark difference, the two got along like brothers.
Continuing to flip through his newspaper, Vito heard a key turn on the door leading into Joe’s apartment. Joe was in the bathroom and seemed unbothered by the sound. Vito assumed it was probably one of the women who’d spent the night at the apartment. They probably returned to retrieve some item of clothing.
Heels clicked on the hardwood floor as they made their way inside. Vito heard a heavy paper bag being set down on the kitchen counter.
He looked up.
You were standing in the kitchen with your coat still on and your hair still disheveled from the wind blowing outside, looking at Vito.
“You must by Vito,” you remarked, recalling the vague descriptions of his best friend that Joe would tell you over the phone.
He didn’t answer you immediately, instead looking you over with curiosity.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “That’s me.”
You introduced yourself and continued to look at the man from a distance. When neither of you moved to shake hands, Vito raised a brow. You took it as a sign of skepticism, clarifying, “I'm Joe’s sister. He talks a lot about you.”
“Talks a lot about everybody,” Vito responded. You let out a chuckle, cut short as Vito finished, “Not much about you, though.”
You couldn’t tell if it was a dig at you or just a simple observation that he’d made, but you decided to answer, “Guess I’m just that special.”
Joe emerged from the bathroom at that moment like a force of nature, arms wide and voice ricocheting off the walls. “You’re early!”
He wrapped you in a hug that was tight enough to almost crack your ribs. Over Joe’s shoulder, your eyes met Vito’s again.
He looked away first.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
You stayed at the apartment for three days and saw Vito visit from dusk till dawn each day. You would have thought the two were unemployed with the amount of time they’d spent at the apartment. However, you’d hear the entrance door click in the dead of night, and you’d know Joe was out doing things he couldn’t tell you about. It wasn’t your place to question him, nor was it your place to stop him. Joe was your big brother, and as much as you wanted to protect him, his obligation to keep you safe was much bigger.
In the daytime, you’d grown quite accustomed to the sight of Vito lounging around the living room couch with his feet propped up on a coffee table and his hands holding onto a cigarette like he owned the place.
More than anything in the world, you desired the satisfaction of knowing what exactly your brother was up to. Though you knew not to question Joe, no one said anything about Vito.
On the evening of the second day of your stay, Joe had fallen asleep in his chair and left the two of you to talk quietly amongst yourselves.
You asked, “What do you actually do?”
“Same thing as Joe,” he answered, busying himself with his hands.
“Joe’s been telling me he’s in sales.”
“Yeah, we make lots of ‘em every day.”
You looked at him for a long moment over the rim of your coffee cup. “This isn’t an interrogation. I’m just asking.”
“And I’m answering.”
You huffed in frustration. This conversation was going nowhere.
“Do you like it–sales?” you questioned.
That wasn’t a question Vito had been asked before. Sure, he’d get questions about whether he was good at it, whether he was careful enough, whether he deserved to be there, and whether he had enough sense to follow orders. But he’d never been asked for his input. His feelings. Of course, they were never any of his business to begin with.
“Sometimes,” he answered. “Sometimes it’s just what it is.”
You nodded, accepting the response. His words satisfied your curiosity more than any real truth would have. Safety didn’t matter when it came to happiness. And if Vito was happy, then Joe would be tenfold. That was all you needed to know.
You quickly changed gears after that, asking Vito about his time in the army. Vito found himself talking about things he’d never thought he’d ever bring up, especially to a stranger like you. He described death and decay as well as the joy of freedom and the delight of little victories. You listened all the same at the edge of your seat.
Vito had left the apartment quieter than you’d ever seen him, but he was also happier in the same way. He had a smile he’d been trying to hide all evening plastered across his face as he left. You were strange to him in the scariest way.
He always kept his head down, but you made him want to look up at the sun. A part of him wanted to blind himself in an attempt to understand what exactly it was about you that made him feel like the world wasn’t black and white.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
Four months late, Vito was at Joe’s apartment when the phone rang.
Joe was in the bedroom looking for his favorite shirt among the pile of dirty laundry that had been accumulating for a week now. He hollered for Vito to answer the ringing machine in his stead.
Picking up the receiver, Vito said, “Yeah?”
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice spoke, “You aren’t Joe.”
His chest turned, hearing your voice. There was something so intriguing about it that made him want to hear more.
“It’s Vito,” he said. “Joe's getting dressed. He’s got a dinner date.”
“Vito. Right. Hi.” Your voice grew more chipper this time.
For lack of better words, Vito reciprocated, “Hey.”
That forced a chuckle out of you, and Vito found himself smiling without realizing it. When neither of you knew what to say next, Vito blurted out, “How are you?”
“Good. Just busy with work.” You droned on about specifics regarding your job. It all sounded mundane to you, but the more you spoke, the more you could hear Vito’s amusement at your suffering.
Vito ended the conversation by leaving you his number. You’d quickly scribbled the digits on your palm with a pen, contemplating whether you’d ever actually call him.
Turns out Vito was an even better conversationalist when he had the time.
You’d called Vito back a few days later, testing the waters. Under the guise that you couldn’t get a hold of Joe, you attempted to learn more about your brother’s best friend. One off-handed phone call turned into a near-weekly ritual of you both filling each other in on all kinds of things that didn’t matter. About Empire Bay in the winter. About a restaurant you’d been meaning to try out. About all kinds of small things that had built pieces of you.
A few months of these little conversations had culminated in this moment. Vito had been so absorbed in your conversation that he almost didn’t register it–a voice in the background on your end. It sounded like it belonged to another man standing pretty close to you.
His grip tightened on the receiver when he let his skepticism take control of him.
“Anyone with you?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him. He had no right to ask, no right to an answer, no right to you. But a part of him needed it.
“Just a friend,” you answered, easy and unbothered. “He’s driving me to the station tomorrow, so I made him come for dinner.”
You reduced your volume to a whisper, as if sharing a secret that only needed to be between the two of you. “He makes for terrible company, but he has a car.”
A friend. You had said it with an indifference someone would possess when meeting a stranger. But Vito didn’t hear that. He heard a man’s voice in your apartment. A man who’d been able to go somewhere he never had. A man who’d probably known you in a way Vito never could.
“Right,” his voice came out flat.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Fine. You want me to get Joe?”
A beat of unbearable silence for both of you ensued until you finally broke it. “No, it’s alright. Talk later?”
Vito didn’t have it in him to answer. Heat rose to his cheeks, and his knuckles had gone white from gripping the phone. He set down the receiver without another word. Putting on a coat, he trekked out of his apartment, hoping the winter air of Empire Bay could cool him down.
He shouldn't be upset. There was no reason for him to be.
Lighting a cigarette at the steps that led into his apartment building, all Vito could think about was you. He shouldn’t be upset, but he was. He would stay upset, because his feelings were finally coming to the surface.
Emotions were things he’d rather not confront, for with happiness came sadness, with love came guilt. He wasn’t strong enough for that.
Finishing the cigarette, he settled on a realization. As long as you were in the picture, he would never be fine.
·𐡸· ·༺ ··𐫱·· ༻· ·𐡷·
Vito knew you were coming–Joe had mentioned it three times in two weeks. He had not thought about your return constantly. He had not run your conversation through his head for the umpteenth time. And he had definitely not looked like what you would think when you saw him again–whether you would smile or frown, laugh or sigh.
When you walked into Joe’s apartment on a Thursday afternoon, Vito was sitting on the couch, looking at the door like he’d been anticipating your arrival for hours now.
He wasn’t one to show off his excitement, but his emotions got the better of him when he chirped, “Hey! Good trip?”
You looked at him as you answered, “Fine. Train was late.”
“They’re always late,” he joked, hoping it would kick off a conversation like it always had.
“That’s what I said.”
Joe was already talking over both of you, pulling your bags inside, making dinner arrangements, and listing off all the things he planned to do together with you in town. Vito let himself fade into the background of Joe’s enthusiasm, but his eyes stayed trained on you the entire time.
He was aware of when you laughed, when you went quiet to let Joe continue his tangents, and when you looked at Vito from across the table with an expression that was too emotionless. Things weren’t okay with you.
Was it because of how you’d left your last conversation hanging in uncertainty? Or was it because of him, your friend? Perhaps even boyfriend.
A sense of resentment brewed within Vito. It was unreasonable to hate a man he’d never met, but if it had created such a rift between the two of you, then maybe the anger wasn’t so unwarranted.
On the third night of your stay, Vito had slept over as well.
Well, he hadn’t actually slept. He couldn’t.
It wasn’t a new problem for him, as Empire Bay wasn’t the safest city on Earth for a guy like him. Voices always chattered in the alley below. There was always a foghorn from the harbor. And the fear of someone coming at him for revenge always lingered like a shadow.
He’d been sleeping in his trousers and undershirt on the couch, too tired to change into anything else. When he couldn’t close his eyes anymore, Vito headed to the balcony for a cigarette.
You were already standing there at the handrail, wearing a robe and slippers. You observed the Empire Bay skyline in all its glory–range lights illuminate dark waters and shadowed streets. The city was both a place of hope and dread, melding together into the mundane.
You turned your head when you heard Vito step onto the balcony. Looking back into the expanse of the city you sparked, “Joe doesn’t know I smoke.”
“He knows,” Vito responded.
You rolled your eyes. Like hell he’d know.
Vito leaned on the railing beside you, leaving a careful space between you both, and lit his own cigarette. For a few minutes, it felt as though you were the only people in the entire city, watching from above like your ruled it.
“It’s beautiful at night.” You broke the silence.
Vito chuckled in his head. He didn’t know anyone who’d call Empire Bay beautiful.
“You grew up here.” He added.
“I left when I was twelve. It’s not the same thing.”
Maybe that’s why Vito felt the way he did with you. You gave him another perspective. A fresh look at the world. One untainted by deeds that only the underprivileged are forced to bear.
“How about you? What do you see?” You gestured to the buildings ahead.
“Home.” He looked at you as he spoke.
When you felt a pair of eyes on you, you turned to Vito. Your eyes met his gaze and you couldn’t look away. He was thinking about something dangerous, and you realized exactly what it was.
You started, “Home doesn’t exist y’know.”
“Maybe not in a place. Maybe in people. A per–”
“Love isn’t real, Vito.”
He blinked.
“I don’t mean that to be–” you turned back to the railing. “I’ve seen what love does to people. Love brought me at the expense of Joe’s mother. Love brought a bastard to the world and destroyed a family. There’s a reason all Joe does is fuck around. He doesn’t believe in it either.”
You let out a sigh. “Love is just another word for lust in disguise.”
“Then maybe this isn’t love. I can’t put it into words, but what I feel isn’t passive. There’s something about you–”
“There’s always something. My body, my lips, my voice.”
“Your stupid humor and your fleeting presence. You're always gone before I can say goodbye, and you’re too kind to leave things on a bad note. You’re everything I’m not, and I need that to feel whole. So, maybe this is some kind of fulfillment.”
You stayed silent for a moment, contemplating his words. Then you laughed. “You are a desperate, desperate man, Vito.”
“Only for you.”
You reached over and took the practically gone cigarette from his fingers and dropped it over the railing along with yours.
“You’ve got two minutes, handsome. Show me what you got.”
He took your words as an invitation to shuffle closer to your body. You let him close the distance. He turned your head to face him with gentle fingers on your chin. You leaned into his touch, falling into a kiss you’d never thought you’d have.
For the first time, you’d fallen silent, and Vito seemed consumed by every emotion imaginable.
Maybe love was real.
⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅∙ ∘☽༓☾∘ •⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅
A/N: As always, let me know what y'all think of this story! I'm also working on more Vito content, so stay tuned :D
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