Chapter Text
“Formaggio. Are you busy?”
Risotto listens to his subordinate loudly suck his teeth on the other end of the phone.
“I’m at a game, dude. I mean, it shouldn’t run real longer, these kids kinda suck- is it super important?”
Risotto lets out a short sigh, shaking his head to himself. “No. But hurry back when you’re done, we have things to discuss.”
“I need a riiiiiide- oh shit they’re playing again.” Formaggio hangs up on Risotto immediately, leaving him to take another long breath before he gets up from his desk. Another day, another praying for a better mafia paycheck, so that all of his team members didn’t spend their time on second jobs when he needed them.
After a quick glance into the state of the hideout’s living room, he decides to pick up Formaggio himself. Less time wasted.
If nothing else, at least they have their own parking lot next door that’s usually pretty open for them. When Risotto calls it “their” parking lot, he just means it’s the closest. If there’s a concert nearby, they lose that privilege for the night.
Risotto heads out to his car, climbing inside. It still reeks of cigarette smoke from sharing it with Prosciutto, but he doesn’t really care. He does leave a window down, though, opening the holder to put on his sunglasses before he tracks Formaggio’s phone and drives off.
He pulls up in time to hear Formaggio loudly blowing the whistle and corralling several kids away from the soccer field. Risotto eyes him from the car until he’s noticed, sooner by several suspicious parents than his teammate, so he gets out to catch his attention.
The sun is starting to set now, but Risotto keeps the shades on as he stands on the sidelines. He knows he probably looks like a creep, but better to get some side glares than for any kids to faint at the sight of his eyes. And Formaggio waving and grinning at him from across the field every 10 seconds probably makes the other adults less suspicious of him. He can hope.
The game finally ends, and Formaggio comes up to his boss with another grin. “Sorry to keep ya waitin’. You know you look like a stalker?”
Risotto just sighs. “Yes, I’m aware. But I believe I looked creepier waiting in the car.”
“Haha, in that piece of junk? Definitely.”
Risotto looks back at the car. It’s fine. It’s just not Ghiaccio’s goddamn Miata.
Formaggio snorts at Risotto’s reaction. “I’m just kidding you man, don’t look so offended.”
“I’m really not. Hurry up.”
The two of them head back to the car, Formaggio waving several kids off before he hops in, slamming the door loudly and sighing. “Goddamn, keeping a filter on some of those asshole parents feels worse than a stealth job sometimes.”
“I can’t imagine,” Risotto offers with a gentle hint of sympathy. He starts the car to head back to their hideout.
“Yeah, it’s no wonder they stopped letting Ghiaccio coach kids if I have a hard time not snapping…” Formaggio groans and sinks down in the seat without buckling in. Risotto reaches over and does it for him without looking away from the road. “Haha, you know he acts like he has a fuckin’ restraining order on me if we have to be at the same events? You should reprimand him for being mean to me.”
“Didn’t you two get in trouble for fighting over kids’ ice hockey?” Risotto asks with the most sincerity he can pretend to have over that fiasco.
Formaggio makes a face. “Touché. No survivors.”
“Don’t say that. It was a bunch of living ten year olds.”
“Sobbing ten year olds! And parents. Which is entirely not my fault,” Formaggio protests. “ Miracle neither of us got fired from that shit, though.”
Risotto lets out another long breath. “Yes, yes it is.”
Formaggio complains more on the drive back, mentioning a lot of names Risotto doesn’t know but certainly doesn’t like either. Out of as much sense of it as he can make, anyway. It’s not a long ride, though, and soon they get back to the base and head inside.
Melone looks up from Babyface on the loveseat when the two come in. “There you are~ is it time for the meeting?” Ghiaccio is next to him, laying down with his legs half over Melone’s lap, being used to prop up the laptop while he looks at his phone.
“Yes, go make sure everyone is ready,” Risotto instructs as he heads for his office, picking up the files he needs to go over with them and returning to the living room shortly. He sits down in his armchair and watches Melone push Ghiaccio’s legs away, get kicked in the face, go in for a kiss and get kicked again, then give up and put Babyface away to trot off out of the room.
Formaggio stretches out, popping his back with an annoyed groan before he spots Illuso emerging from the mirror world. “Heyyyy-”
Illuso scrunches his face up at Formaggio. “Did you just get back? Stop mooching rides and get a car, you bum.”
“Hey, you don’t have one either!” Formaggio shoots back, coming in for attention and getting shoved away with a disgusted noise. “Awww, don’t be like that, man-”
“Because I walk to work like a healthy person-” Illuso pushes him back again.
“I have a sports job, I don’t need to be any healthier!” Formaggio whines, still trying to grab him.
“God, shut the fuck up, you’re both bums.” Ghiaccio snaps from the loveseat, still looking at his phone.
“Yeah, okay, who’s banned from coaching kids?-” Formaggio snickers.
“You SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU GODDAMN-”
“Cut it out.” Risotto says derisively, cutting them off before another one-sided yelling match starts. Ghiaccio’s face twists up in irritation, but he grumbles and turns over to face away from them, controlling himself a little. Formaggio rolls his eyes, a little disappointed, but at least his comeback seemed to amuse Illuso enough that he’s allowed to sit with him on the couch now. He shrinks himself down to sit happily on Illuso’s shoulder like a parrot.
Melone comes back with Prosciutto and Pesci, while Sorbet and Gelato join on their own to sit on top of each other in the same armchair a moment later. Risotto’s eyes glaze over all of them for a few seconds before he launches into the subject matter, feeling assured that they were all doing well enough for the night.
“Heyyyy, I can get a ride tomorrow too, right?”
Formaggio is elbowing Risotto after the meeting before he can retreat to the safety of his office. He’s sure they can both hear Illuso groaning and mumbling an insult behind them, but Formaggio doesn’t react or care about it.
“I suppose, if Prosciutto doesn’t need to go anywhere,” Risotto answers.
“No where I can’t walk,” Prosciutto calls from across the room as he’s fussing with Pesci’s hair, “but you do need a new car.”
“‘s not my fault it got wrecked,” Formaggio grumbles, pretending to kick a rock that isn’t there.
Illuso shoves him from behind. “Yes, yes it is, asshole.”
Risotto puts a hand up, hoping they’ll at least let him get back to his own work before they start bickering again. “You can have a ride.”
“You’re the best, dude. Unlike anyone else.” Formaggio grins, clapping Risotto’s back cheerfully. Risotto can feel the boiling energy from Illuso, so he just nods and steps into his office to let Formaggio deal with the consequences of his actions for now.
Back to his desk, back to work until he’s needed again.