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Castelluccio | Holmes
Tales of Old
Sat Feb 18, 2006 10:36
66.244.88.49

“Jesus Christ. A fukkin’ diplomat.”

Vittorio smiled, knowing that the men would unhand him in a moment or two. If he were a more spiteful man with this side of the law, he could have toyed with the thought of taking up a lawsuit. But it was far too much hassle for him, having much better things to do with his time. But then things changed in a moment’s time.

“Thank you. Grazie! You saved my friend's life and I…” Blinking at the woman hugging his chest as if her life depended on it, Vittorio shot a confused glance towards Giulio, who could only shrug at the moment. It was when Luciana’s tears began that he became distinctly uncomfortable. At least her husband could handle her. “I don’t even know your name.” Ah-ha! The handcuffs finally came off, and he rubbed his wrists slightly to ease the ache.

“Vittorio Castelluccio.” Oh, he probably could have gone through all of this without telling anyone that name, but it did make things so much easier. The young woman seemed to still for a moment, looking at her husband and then beyond. So she did know of him! Had Matteo said something?

“Vittorio Castelluccio, è un honor per venirlo a contatto. Sono Luciana Holmes e questo è il mio marito, Caleb.” Refusing to give anything away via facial expressions at this point, he merely nodded, observing as Luciana’s husband pieced together what she said. The files claimed he had a burgeoning knowledge of Italian, and could hold his end up in a short conversation. Hell, Matteo had exclaimed surprise when recounting their wedding ceremony, for the American had managed the Italian flawlessly. “Il minimo che possa fare deve offrire una bevanda e un convenzionale li ringrazia per venire al mio sussidio. Ed il vostro socio, naturalmente.” It looked as if Giulio and Caleb were about to interject, but he could not pass this opportunity by.

“Your hospitality is heart-warming, Luciana.” Vittorio even went so far as to place a finger beneath the girl’s chin, lifting her head and inspecting her features until he was satisfied. For some reason, in the back of his mind, he had been convinced she was injured earlier. But… He could see nothing. It made him breathe easier. “It would be a pleasure. Though, if I may suggest?” Her nod followed, and the man smiled ever so slightly. “Perhaps at the Plaza? It is where we are staying, and I doubt any respectable establishment would allow a man to enter without his shirt…” Vittorio’s smile suddenly turned wry and amused.

“Oh! Of course!” Luciana did not seem to blush, but he thought she may have felt abashed. He wasn’t certain, for her emotions did not play across her features like most. Nor did her husband’s!

“Giulio, fetch a cab while the medicals check me—”

“No!” What? Three pairs of eyes turned toward Luciana, hues ranging from light gray to dark brown, but all with the same intensity. “We would be more than happy to give you a ride.” She paused, glancing towards her husband. “It’s the least we can do.” The man at her shoulder slowly nodded, and Vittorio forced back a smirk.

“You are too generous, Signa Holmes.”

Frankly, Vittorio had never believed he would be in this situation, or anything remotely close to it. No, not the brawl, which was always a possibility. But here he was, seated in the backseat of a heavily modified Jeep, with a CIA agent driving, the Medici scion seated beside him. Either he had pleased or angered God for being placed in such a situation and he resolved to find out very soon which it was.

The ride was mostly silent, Luciana posing a few questions to her husband, and worrying over her friend’s well-being. That was an admirable trait, and one he wholly expected in the girl. Once they reached the Plaza, Caleb insisted on parking the Jeep himself – which did not come at a surprise – and he insisted that Giulio escort the girl in the lobby so nothing could occur. Making himself presentable cost only a few moments, with a crisp shirt – the other one was likely long gone, nor did he mind – and cleansing his hands and face. There were only a few scratches along his jaw for all his troubles, though his knuckles had been bruised and bloodied, they would heal in time. A small price to pay, indeed.

A short while later, the four oddly matched people found themselves ensconced in a corner booth that was to Giulio and Caleb’s obvious liking, where both men could view the entrance of the bar without turning around. Oh, he knew that Luciana’s husband was a suspicious man, nor could Vittorio fault him for such a flaw considering his background. But things were about to become quite a bit more interesting…

“You look so much like your mother,” Vittorio finally confessed after the drinks had arrived, studying Luciana’s face. “I understand your worries, Mister Holmes,” he murmured as the man shifted. For propriety’s sake, the Italian’s hands remained resting flat on the tabletop as a show of good will. “I am not here for Luciana’s sake,” Vittorio slowly managed in his thick accent. Speaking in English was for Caleb’s benefit, nothing more. “I travel here for business.” But which business?

“Matteo would have been fiero…” Frowning, he searched for the correct word. “Very proud of you tonight, Luciana.” It was not a woman’s place to stay and fight, but she had done the correct thing. Pure luck that the two men had been in the vicinity. “I do not wish you to be uncomfortable, Mister Holmes,” Vittorio said, pinning the man with a look. “I will answer any question you wish.” Now Giulio’s alarm was up, noted by the wary glance he cast toward the Agent. He would not say anything that could have them in a world of trouble, so it was safe.

“I take it you are an… associate of his?” Smart agent.

“Si,” Vittorio agreed, drinking from the nearly full tumbler of whiskey. “Giulio here is my business partner. He manages most of my foreign accounts. But only I speak with Signore de Medici.” It was a way to keep Giulio out of the game that would be played, and nothing more than the truth at this point.

Questions went back and forth for some time, and normally he could please the agent’s curiosity concerning Luciana’s foreign family and all its counterparts, without giving any information that was condemning to either party. By the time the evening had concluded, the couple seemed more than amiable to speak openly with him, though he could have been wrong. Holmes’ years as an agent allowed him to employ facial expressions that would disarm a person as he went in for the kill; and Luciana’s countless times as an actress offered her the same ability for different reasons. But… No, he thought they were satisfied. It was the most he could hope for, considering Matteo would take his right eye if he did not treat the man’s granddaughter with the utmost respect she deserved.

Just as they were parting ways, Vittorio came up with his business card, and inked something on the back. Obviously his cell phone number, regardless of the international digits. And the front of the card?

Vittorio Castelluccio, U.N. appointed Italian Representative.




Devon thought he was going to be sick on the ride over to the hospital. Sirens blaring, jostled about in the back of the ambulance, watching two men work frantically upon Sonnet. Hell, he was even able to give a brief medical history when asked! Right down to her blood type, though that was knowledge from her last hospital… visit…

Oh God.

At the ER, he hadn’t been able to see Sonnet. Police officer or not, they kicked his happy ass out of the room to work on the woman. Well, he couldn’t complain too much. There wasn’t anything that he could help with, and her family would be arriving soon. Lucy would have called Ben and Hugh, and they would have rung Isabel in turn. It made him feel better, because he didn’t have to deliver the news. It was such a selfish thing, he knew that much. But he didn’t think he could have done it.

And then there was him; Michael. What did the man have against him? The two bickered back and forth, apparently not out of earshot for the three parents, for Devon soon found himself smacked on the back of the head by someone for acting in such an uncouth manner. Hey, those weren’t even his words!

Only once had he excused himself, getting coffee for everyone, and ringing up Lucy and Caleb. No, no updates on his end, but he had wanted to make sure Lucy was okay. Hell, he even apologized for taking off with the ambulance and not saying anything to them! Caleb seemed to be surprised by his mannerisms, but took it all in stride. A good thing too, because Devon felt like he could cry at the thought of both of them being injured by those… bastards! Never did he want to hurt a civilian, until now.

And the wee hours of morning came, Isabel resting her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped about her waist. Any other time it would have given him great discomfort to be in that pose, but now it felt appropriate. Hell, it wasn’t like he was going to cuddle up to Ben or Hugh, thank you very much! It gave him too much time to think, as well. Like why did Michael seem so familiar? Aside from a slight resemblance to his father. It gnawed at him, but everything flew out of his mind once the doctor returned, bloodied and tired.

Oh God, that was Sonnet’s blood.

“Sonnet is going to recover.” Collective sigh of relief that did not last very long. “It will take some time… Don’t expect her out of Intensive Care until the holidays are over. First of all, she had a fractured fourth rib on the left side…”

The words faded in Devon’s mind as his throat tightened. Vaguely he could feel Isabel clutching his hand, and he gave her as much comfort as he could. Shit, he wasn’t feeling very comforted at the moment either! Nor were they allowed to see Sonnet yet, not until midday when she came out of post operative wing of the hospital. Another sit and wait game. But he had things to do, like visit HQ and talk to the Chief about all of this. Hell, he had plenty of vacation and sick leave saved up, even after that… incident.

Besides, Sonnet would be fine. She had to be fine.

  • Fractured FairytalesHolmes | Tennyson, Fri Feb 17 23:46
    Giulio was old and frail. Not. The man's thin frame was wrought of steel not yet aged to the point of entropy. While she spoke hurriedly into the phone, once to her husband - words rushing out like a ... more
    • Tales of Old — Castelluccio | Holmes, Sat Feb 18 10:36
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        Devon felt worn… And tired. Seated behind the driving wheel in his car, he stared through the windshield at his precinct, not wanting to step foot inside. He couldn’t deal with the looks again. Of... more
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          • Answers.Vittorio Castelluccio, Mon Feb 20 17:24
            Ahem. Vittorio did not wish to tear his gaze away from Sonnet’s features, knowing whoever was standing in the doorway was likely of her family. What had happened to the grand scheme where he slipped... more
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                • Male BravadoBennett | Vittorio, Tue Feb 21 22:51
                  Done, done, done! Bennett refused to do a little happy jig once he was off stage, instead opting to shrug back into his suit jacket. A few of his peers offered congratulations, one even wide-eyed... more
                  • Surprise?Devon | Caleb, Tue Feb 21 23:39
                    God, he really was tired . Devon glanced from Sonnet’s prone form, to Michael seated across the way. The younger man had been casting him dirty glances throughout the morning, and then after... more
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