a memory, that faith that I cannot lose

by VoidBrat

Summary:

It’s almost normal to have weird folks wander in right at closing.

The thing is, these might be the weirdest.

He’s wiping down tables when the bell at the restaurant door rings, alerting him to a customer entering. He stands up straight, tucking the cleaning cloth back into his apron, before almost immediately cowering back.

Standing in the doorway is Don Sonnellino.

 

Or: Elliot is closing the pizzeria when a certain mafia boss (and his weird kid) wander in right before closing. Panic (both gay and in general) ensues. Also, Two Time is there and they’re precious.

Notes:

i am working on chapter two of the sebastianlings (tadpole lullaby) but PizzaDebt grabbed me by the throat. I also love baby Two Time so. Enjoy :3

No content warnings for this fic, it’s just very fluffy! The only thing I’d say is there’s some mentions of gun violence but it’s very brief. Elliot also briefly worries Two Time might be being trafficked and there’s references to a child being rescued from a cult.

I hope you guys like this :3!

Elliot is used to weird people coming into the pizzeria at closing.

Builder Brothers’ is housed in what some might consider a more shady part of town, in a place that would be better fit for another bar or speakeasy. He’s been asked before if, like many of the other businesses in this area, Builder Brothers’ is actually a front for a more unsavory kind of business.

He likes to think their pizza is better than a secret mafia front’s pizza would be, but that might be pride in the family business speaking. The family business being the restaurant. Not the mafia, like many people think.

Surprisingly, it’s not a bad place for a small business. Sure, more unsavory types come in at night, but Elliot prefers those to the people who come in during the day. Mobsters, escorts, and drunk gamblers might not be the best company, but they treat customer service workers a lot better than your average Joe. They all tip really well, too.

Sure, he’s had to get between a few drunken fights and send them back to the casino across the street, and they have to repair the windows every now and then when gunfights break out in the nearby alleyway, but it’s good money. And sure, they get a lot of weirdos in here, but Elliot doesn’t quite mind.

It’s almost normal to have weird folks wander in right at closing.

The thing is, these might be the weirdest.

He’s wiping down tables when the bell at the restaurant door rings, alerting him to a customer entering. He stands up straight, tucking the cleaning cloth back into his apron, before almost immediately cowering back.

Standing in the doorway is Don Sonnellino.

Elliot is not unfamiliar with the leader of the most infamous local mafia. It’s not the first time he’s frequented this establishment, though he’s not a common visitor. His infamy, though, has earned him a nickname among the chattier cooks - Mafioso, the king of this part of town.

Never to his face, of course - Elliot’s dad would fire on the spot anyone who attempted to insult their more high profile customers. In fact, those cooks often work the day shift, where they’re unlikely to come into contact with the more interesting patrons. But the kitchen is a breeding ground for gossip, so Elliot knows that by tomorrow morning there’ll be talk of the Mafioso stopping by right before the restaurant closes.

Elliot is quick to the counter, customer service smile plastered across his face in a way he hopes looks genuine. Admins, it’s almost 10 PM, he has a good book waiting at home, and he had been hoping to heaven that no one else would come in, but here he is preparing to serve the city’s most dangerous mafia boss.

It’s not the first time Mafioso has visited, of course, but usually Elliot’s father is there to do the talking. There’s a lot of things his dad isn’t, but he is protective, so Elliot’s usually shooed to the back or sent on delivery whenever someone potentially dangerous comes in. It’s a holdover from his younger years, something his dad never quite shook even though Elliot’s out of college and no longer lives with him.

This is his first time being face to face with a guy who kills people with the same grace that Elliot flips pizzas. It’s more than a little intimidating.

Mafioso’s figure doesn’t help - he’s shorter than Elliot thought, only a few inches taller than himself, but he’s broad, with wide shoulders and a muscular frame just barely visible under the sleek, fur-lined coat that probably costs more than Elliot’s car. He wears a fedora indoors, casting his eyes in shadow, but Elliot can see a dark brown glint beneath it. His hair is long, a paler blonde than Elliot’s own dirty shade, but it’s shot through with silver.

Which is odd, because he’s a lot younger than Elliot expected, probably not a year older than Elliot himself. His tired look and early grey ages him, though, as does the unshaven stubble dotting his face.

He looks exhausted, which leaves Elliot to wonder why he’s here instead of at home in that fancy mansion Elliot’s passed once or twice in delivery trips. Hell, if he’s got a hankering for pizza, why didn’t he call in for delivery? Surely the mafia gets pizza delivered.

Elliot’s not paid to wonder though, and he won’t be paid if he manages to offend the Don Sonnellino and gets himself killed. He smooths his smile back into place, wringing his hands on his apron to hopefully make them stop sweating. He opens his mouth, his scripted response ready on the tip of his tongue.

What comes out is “greetings and-a welcome to-a Builder Brothers’ pizza. We have orders, may I take your pizza?”

Shit.

His face goes red immediately. Mixing up the words would have been bad enough on its own, but the bad Italian accent? Where did that even come from? He knew he shouldn’t have watched the Godfather with Mia the other night - she didn’t even like it!

Mafioso’s face changes, and dear admins above, Elliot is not religious but he is praying that he doesn’t get shot dead right here and now. At least take him out back first so his dad doesn’t have to clean up the blood off the menu.

He’s so busy praying that he doesn’t notice the soft chuckling coming from Mafioso, until he realizes he’s not dead and that Mafioso isn’t offended, but quietly amused. He has a nice laugh, Elliot thinks in shock.

“I apologize for coming in so late,” Mafioso says politely, and oh no, he’s not even Italian. He has a lightly British accent, gruff but not exactly rough. “I can see you’re tired.”

“You’re British?” Oh admins. Please smite Elliot right now so he doesn’t have to offend this man who quite literally holds his life in his hands even more.

That laugh comes again, and now Mafioso is smiling, tired eyes lifting at the corners with amusement. “My nanny was. I picked it up from her, much to my father’s chagrin.”

“Oh, I, I get that,” Elliot murmurs in response. He can’t keep the shock out of his tone, no matter how hard he tries to force himself back into customer service mode. “I’m sorry. Like - genuinely. That was so rude. Um. Can I help you?”

It doesn’t help that he feels pinned in Mafioso’s gaze like a butterfly. His heart is fluttering in his chest like a butterfly, too. He worries he might pass out.

The smile falls from Mafioso’s face, and some part of Elliot wants to make him laugh again, but now is not the time for gay panic so he represses that thought very, very deeply in the back of his mind.

The tiredness is back, too, as Mafioso squares his shoulders. There’s an almost protective stature to him, like he’s hiding something precious in his coat. He glances around fervently, eyes sharp but glinting with worry under the shadow of his hat.

“I’m the last customer tonight, right?” He sounds almost afraid. Elliot does not want to meet whatever makes Mafioso afraid.

He just nods, nervously, looking around too to make sure they aren’t about to be jumped. “You, uh, you should be. It’s just me, and, and the cooks in the back, but they won’t bother you.”

He’s hit with the sudden realization that no one would come to save him should Mafioso decide he’s better off dead. The cooks know better than to interfere, and the only people around outside is the black car idling in front of the pizzeria that most likely contains Mafioso’s men.

But Mafioso does not decide to kill him, at least at this moment. Instead, he lets out a sigh, his shoulders falling in relief. It just serves to make him look more tired.

“Good. Good.” He starts to unzip his coat slowly, and Elliot thinks he might have thought too soon that Mafioso won’t kill him. The man doesn’t remove a gun, though, or a sword, or any other sort of weapon.

Instead, he reveals a small child tucked comfortably into his side, looking up at Elliot with wide, unblinking purple eyes.

Elliot barely restrains himself from cooing at the little thing. They’re tiny - no older than seven or eight, younger than Mia for sure. They clutch on to Mafioso like a lifeline, little fingers curled into the fancy suit he wears, definitely causing wrinkles, but Mafioso doesn’t seem to mind at all.

The kid is skinny, all angles. Elliot starts to worry. They don’t look like Mafioso, paper white with dark, curly hair at odds with Mafioso’s warm yellow skin and fair colored hair. Elliot fears for a moment that this is some sort of trafficking victim, but then he sees the way Mafioso cradles them, holds them with all the gentleness a mafia boss shouldn’t possess. He fixes Elliot with a stare not unlike a mother bear’s, daring him to do something, body tense once more like he’s seconds away from springing into action.

Elliot stands down, a placating smile playing across his face. “Hey there, little buddy.” It’s easier to talk to a kid than it is their intimidating and (Elliot cannot deny it anymore; there’s something really cute about a guy being protective over a little kid) devastatingly handsome mob boss dad. Uncle? Guardian, that much is clear.

“Hello,” they answer back, in a soft, precious voice that makes his heart nearly melt.

“What’s your name?” He asks, hoping that’s not something Mafiosos will see as threatening. “I’m Elliot.”

The child looks up at Mafioso for permission, who nods gently, a devastatingly soft expression on his face. They turn back to Elliot. “I’m Two Time, it is very nice to meet you.”

“Good manners, poppet,” Mafioso praises, his voice as gentle as his gaze. Two Time practically glows with pride. “Can you tell Mr. Elliot what you would like to eat?”

Two Time looks up at the menu, their brow furrowing in concentration. They tug a bit on Mafioso’s dress shirt, and he holds them up so they can see better. Elliot’s heart nearly melts - they’re dressed in an exact copy of Mafioso’s suit, like they’re a miniature mob boss themself.

“Just cheese bread.” They finally decide. “With no sauce on it. I don’t like ‘matos.”

Mafioso sighs a little, which causes Two Time to flinch. He softens immediately. “I’m not upset, dovie, I just - will you at least try some tomato sauce? Or a vegetable?”

They calm immediately, leaning against his chest in a way that shows Elliot that Mafioso is not the person they’re afraid of. Elliot vaguely remembers hearing about a fight between the Sonnellinos and some cult that was exposed for sacrificing children a few months ago. He doesn’t ask if Two Time is related to that, though, instead leaning down to Two Time’s level.

“Our tomato sauce is really good. It doesn’t even taste like tomatoes. And if you don’t like it, I can get you some cheesy bread too, free of charge.” The offer’s partially out of fear. He doesn’t want Mafioso to get angry with him for not providing something nutritious for this kid.

“Mm, maybe. As long as I can still have cheese bread if I do not like it.” They concede. “And I would very much like a fizzy drink please.”

Mafioso’s sigh is more playful this time, obviously fake. “Do you have anything decaffeinated? I need to get this bugger to bed at a normal time tonight.”

It’s oddly domestic, this dangerous man and his strangely eloquent child, and it weirdly puts Elliot at ease. “Yeah, I can get them a Citrus Splash. That has no caffeine.”

Two Time’s eyes widen in delight. “I adore Citrus Splash! Do you remember when you took me from the commune and we stopped at the place where you put gasoline in your car, and Consigliere allowed me to have sips of his Citrus Splash? I remember that.”

“Yeah, you definitely don’t need caffeine,” Mafioso chuckles fondly. He gives the pizzeria one more glance before gently setting Two Time down. “Could you find us a place to sit while I pay Mr. Elliot?”

They nod excitedly, running off to one of the comfortable old booths in the shop. Elliot recognizes it fondly as one of the ones Mia likes to draw at.

“Oh, away from the window, remember?” Mafioso calls back to them, a note of anxiety in his voice.

Elliot feels the odd urge to sooth him. “Don’t worry. We’re dead at this time of night. It’s too late for folks coming by to get pre-drink snacks, and too early for the ones staggering out of the bars. No one will hurt them.”

Mafioso gives him an odd look, but the tension falls from his shoulders once more. “Thank you.” He pulls an intricately stitched leather wallet from one of his pockets, leafing through it. He pointedly doesn’t look at Elliot. “I didn’t want to bring them out so late, but cheese bread is one of the few things I can get them to eat, and delivery puts an unnecessary target on the heads of your delivery men.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful line of reasoning. “Oh. Well - thank you. I hope they’ll eat the pizza with sauce - I sent a note for the cooks to make it with light sauce. They’ll get some vegetables in them, but it won’t have a weird texture.”

“Oh. That, that’s kind of you.” There’s a light flush to Mafioso’s face, and it makes a smile tug at the corners of Elliot’s mouth. “Here, keep the change. For getting the little bird to eat their vegetables.”

He hands Elliot a crisp 100R bill, and Elliot’s eyes widen. “Oh, this is far too much, Mr. Sonnellino. Let me get you change.”

“No, no, don’t sweat it.” Mafioso’s smile reaches his eyes. That’s surprising to Elliot. “And please, just call me Mafioso. I know my last name’s a mouthful.”

Elliot ducks his head; now it’s his turn to blush. “Ah, well, thank you, Mafioso. We’ll have the food out in a few.”

“Thank you.” Mafioso tips his hat to Elliot, who gets the odd feeling that his thanks is for more than just the food. He turns, coat swishing, and goes to sit beside his child.

Elliot can’t keep himself from watching them as the cooks work on their order. The bird nicknames begin to make sense when he notices the pair of wings nestled against Two Time’s back, a pure and fluffy white like a downy baby bird’s. They talk animatedly, a strange little tail wagging at their back as they wave their hands.

Mafioso watches them, fondness obvious in his gaze. He interjects here and there, but seems mostly content to listen to Two Time talk. Once, he reaches forward to gently adjust the collar of their dress shirt, an action that seems compulsive and out of habit.

Elliot finds his heart swelling. There’s just something so soft about the scene. It’s something he never expected to see, not from this side of town, not from the city’s most dangerous mafia boss. He brings their pizza and cheese bread to them once the cooks are done with it.

Mafioso gets up to leave, holding his coat open for Two Time to nestle themself back into it. Two Time shakes their head rapidly though, grabbing at a slice of pizza. “I must try it! So I know it is good!”

“Poppet, we need to go home. It’s late, and this man needs to close up.” Mafioso’s voice is tired but there is no less love in it.

“No, no, it’s alright!” Elliot doesn’t want them to leave on his behalf - doesn’t want to be the reason this sweet moment ends. “I want to see what they think of our famous tomato sauce.”

Mafioso acquiesces with that sigh that sounds more playful than annoyed. “Alright, alright. But just a bite - you know if you don’t like it, the boys’ll eat it, and we don’t want it to be cold for them.”

Two Time’s little face splits into a huge grin. They clasp their hands together and whisper a quick prayer under their breath, before they lift a slice to their mouth with a nervous hand.

“Do you remember how we try new things?” Mafioso prompts gently. “You can smell and touch it first, you don’t have to taste right away.”

“Oh, right!” Their smile returns as they set the pizza down. They give it an experimental touch, then a quick sniff, their eyebrows furrowing in concentration once more. “It feels and smells okay,” They tell Mafioso, “I think I can try it.”

He grins down at them, giving them a comforting pat on the head. “Good job, dove. I’m proud of you.”

Their face glows. They’re so distracted by the praise that they seem to stop worrying about the pizza, and lift it to their face again, before taking a tiny bite.

Mafioso and Elliot both watch with bated breath.

Somehow, Two Time’s eyes get impressively wider. They chew, swallow, and then look up at Elliot with pure wonder. “That is so good! It does not even taste like ‘matos!”

Elliot barely suppresses the urge to pump his fist in the air, while Mafioso lets out another sigh of relief. Two Time seems enamored by the praise, their tail wagging and wings fluffing up in a happy way.

“Good job, poppet.” Mafioso ruffles their hair, that soft grin on his face. “Now let’s get going, so you can eat the rest at home.”

“Okay!” They chirp, hopping up. “S’long as you tell Soldier he may not eat any of it. It is mine.” They’re deadly serious, but Mafioso chuckles a little.

“Alright, alright. Tell Elliot goodbye, alright? He was very kind to us today.”

The words make Elliot flush again, waving his hand like he can wave the kind words away. “Oh, it’s nothing -“

He’s cut off as a small, warm body barrels into him, wrapping their skinny arms around him in a hug.

“Two Time!” Mafioso gasps, his own face turning red. “We don’t hug strangers without asking!”

“Oh, right!” Two Time lets go of Elliot with an apologetic smile. “May I hug you, Mr. Elliot?”

Elliot wonders if his soft expression mirrors Mafioso’s. “Sure, bud.”

Warm hands wrap around him once more, but it’s brief before Two Time wiggles away to be lifted up and hidden in Mafioso’s coat once more. Mafioso holds them with one hand and lifts the pizza box and drink in the other. He’d make a good waiter if he wasn’t a mafia boss, Elliot thinks.

“Thank you again,” Mafioso murmurs as he passes him, that soft look still on his face. Elliot feels, weirdly, like it’s meant for him this time, and not Two Time.

His face is on fire. “Ah- you’re welcome. It was my pleasure? Yeah. Um, feel free to come back again?”

He’s an embarrassment and he knows it. He resists the urge to hide his face in his hands. “Sorry. I’m not great with people.”

“I think you may be selling yourself short a bit.” Mafioso says smoothly. Elliot tries to postpone the gay panic a little bit longer.

“Ah- well, thank you.” He ducks his head so hopefully Mafioso doesn’t see the blush turning him bright red. “You, ah, you should come around again. If the little one is hungry.”

For some reason, a bit of blush dusts Mafioso’s cheeks as well. “I, I may take you up on that offer.”

And with that, he’s gone, taking his strange softness and precious kid with him.

Elliot promptly turns off the open sign. With no one else in the dining room, he gay panics.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! I have a couple of ideas for this silly little au but I’m not promising anything.

However! Comments and kudos make me more likely to write more! Please leave one if you enjoyed!