Chapter Text
Alberto loves his life in Portorosso, but it hadn’t been an easy start.
There’d been a lot of bumps in the road when Massimo had first taken him in as an unruly twelve-year-old, plenty of painfully awkward moments as Alberto struggled to find his feet and adjust to living life as a land-monster. For one thing, it had taken a long time to stop himself calling them that out loud, to stop immediately outing himself as something inherently different to them. He tended to let his mouth run away with him, and it had gotten him into plenty of trouble over the years.
It still does if he’s completely honest.
They’d managed to bypass the whole sea-monster thing without much incident, though, to his immense surprise. Not only did both Giulia and Massimo accept him without so much as an eyeblink, but they had also gone out of their way to ensure the rest of Portorosso did too. Most of the sea-monster hunting paraphernalia around the town disappeared almost overnight, including the horrible statue in the middle of the piazza that had rooted Alberto to the spot when he’d first seen it, an invisible hand closing tightly around his throat in fear.
The only other major stumbling point had been the issue his biological father posed. Alberto had held out hope in the beginning, insisting to Massimo and Giulia that he was grateful they were letting him stay with them for the time being, but that his father would be returning sometime soon. The two of them had just given each other a pitying look that he’d pretended not to see, and he returned each morning to that lonely tower on Isola del Mare to scratch another tally mark into a wall, and spend his day waiting.
His biological father never came back, of course, and Alberto always swam miserably back to the pescheria each night, defeated, disappointment and heartbreak blazing like fire in his veins. Neither Massimo nor Giulia would say anything, or ask why he was wasting so much time on a man who clearly had no intentions of returning. They just opened their door, let him back inside, and pretended not to notice the streaks of purple scales cutting tell-tale lines down his cheeks.
It had taken Alberto a full year of the same daily grind to finally admit his biological father had left and wasn’t coming back. That had been a particularly bad day. He hadn’t gone back to the pescheria that night, and had just curled up in the foetal position on the cold stone floor of the tower, crying himself into an exhausted sleep. He’d jerked awake at some ungodly time in the morning to find Massimo crouched before him, telling him it was time to come home.
“Home?” Alberto had repeated in a voice thick with the tears still clogging his throat. It just didn’t compute. If his own father didn’t want him, why would this random fisherman who, up until last year, had decorated the walls of his home with harpoons and newspaper clippings of supposed sea-monster sightings?
“You deserve much better than this, Alberto.” Massimo had said quietly but firmly, his tone stony with conviction as he pulled Alberto up against his chest. “You deserve a home, and a famiglia, and if you are willing, Giulietta and I would be honoured to welcome you into ours.”
Alberto had only been able to whine quietly in response as something in his chest finally snapped cleanly in two, and he’d burrowed his face into the soft give of Massimo’s woollen sweater as sobs wracked his body. Massimo just clutched him tighter, neither of them speaking, the only noise being the occasional sniffle from Alberto or the crash of waves against the island’s beach. It had taken a long time for Alberto to calm down.
“Thanks, Massimo.” He’d hiccoughed roughly, trying to scrub his face free of scales when he finally found himself able to pull back from the comforting hug.
“Certamente.” Massimo had responded as he straightened up from his position on the floor. “And when you are ready to, it would make me very happy if you called me ‘Papà’.”
That had almost set Alberto off again, but he managed to reign the fresh wave of tears in, shooting the fisherman a wobbly smile instead.
They moved the rest of his possessions across to the pescheria that night, and even though it was fast approaching three o’clock in the morning, Giulia was still sitting at the table when they walked in, absent-mindedly scratching Machiavelli beneath the chin. Her curls hung messily around her freckled face, and she looked bone-tired, but she still gave Alberto a warm smile as she came over to pluck the vespa poster from his arms.
“About time, fratello.” She’d said, the word striking Alberto directly in the chest and making his eyes swim all over again. Giulia had then breezed past him, heading for the stairs. “I’ll help you set up your room tomorrow.”
From then on he spent his days out at sea with Massimo helping with the daily catch, which in turn gave him an in with the other fishermen and women of Portorosso. Alberto was able to suggest more populated spots for them, or untangle their nets when they snagged on unseen rocks hidden beneath the waves. He remembers being surprised at just how quickly they’d welcomed him into their inner circle; people who before would have speared him on sight now called out warm greetings to him when they passed on the streets, or invited him to join them for meals, or asked for his help in moving something.
“Are there more like you out there somewhere, pesciolino?” One of the fishermen, Giacomo, had asked out of the blue one day soon after Alberto had moved into the pescheria as they threw their nets overboard.
As he spoke, he had gestured out at the endless carpet of sparkling ocean surrounding them on all sides. Alberto had followed his hand, wishing he had more to offer, but could only shrug helplessly.
“Mi dispiace, but I don’t know.” He had said apologetically. “The only world I knew was the island, and then here. There must be others, somewhere, but I’ve never seen anyone else like me.”
Giacomo had patted his shoulder, a grim expression on his face. “He never told you anything about your kind?”
Alberto hadn’t needed to ask who the fisherman was asking about. He knew Massimo had not told any of the others the details of just how he had ended up living at the pescheria, but it didn’t exactly take a genius to work it out. It wasn’t like Massimo went about adopting strays every day; it was bound to be a topic of conversation.
It probably helped that Giulia was a lot more vocal in her anger. While Massimo sat in contemplative silence and quietly simmered, Giulia was loud, explosive and fiery. She’d promised Alberto more than once as they walked home that if his biological father was ever unfortunate enough to cross her path, he’d find himself trampled beneath the wheels of her bike. And Portorosso wasn’t exactly a big place; word spread quickly, and before long the whole town knew the bare basics of what had happened to him.
He’d smiled bitterly at Giacomo, and shook his head. “No, not really. The things I know about sea-monsters I’ve mostly worked out for myself.” He’d turned away, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his tank top for something to do with his hands. “It wasn’t a good time.”
Giacomo had shaken his head, muttered what had sounded suspiciously like a series of swear words under his breath, and insisted Alberto take the extra sandwich he’d brought along for lunch.
So, despite a very rocky beginning, Alberto can honestly say he’s the happiest he’s ever been. He loves working at the pescheria, and at the beach as a lifeguard. He’s got a close-knit circle of friends in the fishing community, and almost everyone in Portorosso seems to like him, though that he mostly attributes to Massimo’s influence. His Papà is a man of very few words, but he commands a lot of respect around the town.
But most of all, Alberto loves his family.
Massimo is different in every way from the fleeting memories he has of his biological father. He’s intimidating and gruff but friendly with it, with a heart of solid gold. It had taken a bit of fumbling before they both learned how to communicate with one another – Alberto always says way too much while Massimo offers very little in return – but they eventually find a balance.
Alberto had struggled to name the feeling that swelled within him when he’d first come to live at the pescheria, but after a while he’d worked out what it was. Safe. He’d never been safe in his life – always on edge, always wondering where his next meal was coming from, always scared of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
He still says the wrong things now, but where before that had terrified him, now he knows that it’s okay to make mistakes, that things can be fixed no matter how damaged they seem to be. Nothing is ever broken beyond repair. He’s never going to be abandoned because he’s too much work to bother with ever again. Massimo was the one to teach him that, though it had taken a long time to drum it into his head.
And then there’s Giulia.
On most days, they get along like a house on fire. On others, they have moments of wanting to brutally murder one another. When Alberto says as much to Massimo, the man laughs long and loud, and finally explains that that’s fairly normal for siblings, particularly teenagers. There are times when she drives him up the wall, but deep down he knows that he loves her fiercely, and if anything happened to her, he’d fight fang and claw to make it right again.
Massimo teaches him how to work and to read and write, but it’s Giulia who really teaches him how to pass as a human. She’s the one he goes to when he needs something perfectly mundane explained to him, like how to use cutlery properly, or what a calendar is used for. Sure, she’ll tease him for it at times afterwards, but he also knows she’s loyal to the last breath and loves him just as much as he does her.
But there are times when he hates her.
Okay, no, that’s a complete lie. But there are definitely times when she makes him want to rip her favourite blue beanie from her head and leave it at the bottom of the ocean beneath a rock.
It starts innocently enough.
Alberto had come in one day from the back room where he’d been cutting up the fish for the next day’s deliveries, and Giulia had been reading one of her books at the kitchen table. She’d wrinkled her nose as soon as the door opened, pulling a face at him as he’d headed to the stove to make a start on lunch.
“Urgh, fratello, go shower first.” She’d groaned. “You reek of fish.” She’d paused then, turning a page of her book, before adding quietly but still audibly, “Well, more so than usual, anyway.”
Alberto had therefore felt perfectly justified in waiting until she went out to practice biking up the hills before taking one of the spare mackerel they had on ice and stuffing it inside her pillow. He’d made sure to close her bedroom door firmly behind him as he’d left so that the smell could permeate the room properly, and spent the rest of the day on the verge of giggles, waiting for the inevitable hissy fit that would certainly follow.
She didn’t disappoint.
Alberto had struggled to keep a straight face through dinner, speaking an octave or two too high when Giulia or Massimo addressed him, and mostly keeping quiet while Giulia described how her training for the Portorosso Cup was going. He’d immediately volunteered to do the cleaning up, an offer Giulia promptly jumped on when she announced she was going to have an early night so she could start training at the break of dawn in the morning.
Alberto had counted the creaks that spelled out her journey up the stairs, holding his breath and snickering as quietly as possible so as not to attract any questioning gazes from his Papà. He heard the distant slam of the bathroom door, and worked on schooling his expression into something as close to innocent as he could get as the sounds of Giulia making her way across the floorboards towards her bedroom filtered down into the kitchen.
There was a pregnant pause as the footsteps promptly stopped. Then, much heavier ones followed as Giulia presumably stomped into her room. Alberto could just picture her rampaging around there, the front of her shirt pulled up over her nose, searching for the source of the smell. A few moments passed before…
“ALBERTO!!”
Both he and Massimo spun around to face the stairs, though while Massimo looked equal parts shocked and confused, Alberto could barely hide his grin. Giulia swung back into the kitchen a beat later, brandishing the fish in her hand like a sword, her brown eyes flashing. For a moment, Alberto had been certain she was going to slap him with it, and he braced himself for as much. But then a wicked grin broke out across her face, and she’d nodded.
“That was good, fratello. I’ll give you that. But now it’s on.”
Massimo had sighed quietly under his breath, lifting his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please, both of you. Do not destroy our house.”
“Prometto, Papà.” Giulia had said sweetly. Then as soon as Massimo had turned his back, she’d caught Alberto’s eye and slowly dragged one of her fingers across her throat, her smile downright evil.
From then on, messing with one another in turn becomes a staple of living at the pescheria. They both spend the time Giulia is away for school scheming and devising new ideas for when she comes back home, much to Massimo’s exasperation. It’s something neither of them ever really grow out of, even after they both turn seventeen and eighteen, respectively. The years have proved neither of them is above roping in others from Portorosso to help, either.
“I thought maturity was supposed to come with age?” Guido comments dryly as he holds the bottom of the rickety stepladder Alberto is precariously perched on.
“This coming from the boy who believes in unicorns?” Alberto fires back without looking down, too focused on the task of carefully balancing a bowl of flour at the top of the door so that it’ll fall at the slightest push. Giulia is due home at any minute; there’s only so long Ciccio can keep her occupied before she gets suspicious.
Guido makes an indignant spluttering noise. “Look, up until you arrived I didn’t believe in sea-monsters either! But there’s living breathing proof right in front of me that they do!”
Alberto has to give him that one. “Fair.” He slowly peels his hands away from the sides of the bowl, letting loose a crow of triumph when it stays in place. “Okay, let’s get out of here before she gets back!”
He leaps from the ladder with a cry of thanks to Guido and hurries off towards the beach for his salvataggio shift. He’s learned over the years to get away from the zone of a prank as soon as it’s set up, because there’s not much that’s more of a give-away that he’s waiting for something to happen than loitering at the scene. It does mean he misses the reaction most of the time, but the knowledge that he’s pulled it off is satisfaction enough.
The shift turns out to be a fairly slow one. It’s an overcast day, thick grey clouds rolling overhead holding the promise of rain, so most people are avoiding the beach altogether. It means that when Giulia stamps towards him through the sand, flour clinging to her clothes and dying her blazing red hair a shocking white, he’s able to turn away from the sea to give her his full attention. He laughs until his stomach aches with it and Giulia stands there throughout, her arms folded. She’s trying to look angry, but he can see the slight tic in the corner of her mouth that gives away the fact she’s on the verge of laughing herself.
“Enjoy it while you can, Beto.” She warns when he’s finally done. “I’ve already got something in mind.”
“I look forward to it, sorellina.” He tells her, standing in the chair to give her a mock bow.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Is all she says in response before she turns on her heel and trudges back towards the pescheria, leaving a faintly white trail floating momentarily in the air behind her.
Alberto spends the rest of the summer on high alert, carefully locking his bedroom door each night and checking doorframes for waiting traps before he enters any room. Any time Giulia catches him at it she gives him a smug smile, but no sort of retaliation comes and soon it’s time for her to board the train back to Genova.
When she turns from their Papà and opens her arms to him on the platform Alberto hesitates, narrowing his eyes as he searches her small frame for a trick of some sort. She works out the reason for his pause in about a nanosecond, and rolls her eyes.
“Honestly, Beto, when have you known me to be so obvious? Just come here.”
“I dunno,” He says slowly, “Could be a double bluff.” But he approaches her anyway, and happily accepts the hug. When she pulls away, he experimentally runs his hand over his back, but feels nothing. A suspicion suddenly hits him. “Was your idea of revenge just to make me think you were going to do something?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” She grins at him, then she’s clambering onto the train, though she does lean out of the door to wave at them until the track curls around the corner and carries her out of sight.
Alberto stays guarded for the first week or so, because he absolutely wouldn’t put it past Giulia to ask one of her friends in Portorosso to carry out her plan while she’s away. But nothing happens, and after a month or so, Alberto half forgets about it. He goes back to planning new schemes for next summer in-between his shifts at the beach and pescheria, and even bounces a couple of ideas off of Giacomo when they go out fishing together.
And then Giulia comes to visit for a weekend shortly before Christmas.
Alberto walks into the house, watching as the delicious warmth coming from the kitchen turns the scales on his feet back into soft human flesh. Machiavelli comes to greet him, winding around his ankles and meowing until Alberto acquiesces and bends down to scoop the cat into his arms. He carries him through into the kitchen, murmuring nonsense into the soft fur brushing his face, when he glances up and sees Giulia sitting at the table.
He instantly freezes. Giulia is grinning at him in the same self-satisfied way she had when he’d gone for a swim early one morning two years back before he thought anyone else was awake, and had returned to the beach to find the bag with his clothes mysteriously missing. His sister was there in its place, looking altogether far too triumphant.
“Very funny, Giulia.” He’d grumbled, dropping his shoulders back beneath the waves and suddenly feeling much more self-conscious about his lack of clothes. “Give them back so I can get out.”
She’d pulled a face at him, an expression of remorse that was not at all convincing as she got to her feet. “Sorry, Beto. I thought you left that bag there by mistake, so I took it home. But I’ve got to run – I’ve got deliveries to do.”
“Giulia!”
But she'd just walked off, bringing up a hand to wave at him as she went. He’d been trapped there until Tommaso had come along, and the man had very graciously agreed to run up to the pescheria to bring him back a pair of shorts. He still reminds Alberto of the incident, cracking jokes about how fortunate for Alberto it had been that he’d decided to take an early morning stroll, because otherwise he’d have been stuck there much longer.
Seeing the same smirk sitting on Giulia’s face brings Alberto’s memory that she still hasn’t followed through on her promise of revenge for the flour crashing back. Machiavelli hops gracefully from his arms and onto the table, but Alberto doesn’t move. He gives the room a quick scan, but everything seems to be in its usual place.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” He says. “What did you do?”
Giulia’s smile only widens. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, Beto.”
But nothing happens that day, or the day after, or the one after that when Giulia goes back to Genova. Weeks fly by without anything happening, and it gets so bad that after a month and a half has gone by without any sort of retaliation, Alberto straight-up asks her when she calls one week.
“Are you actually just messing with my head?” He demands to know. “Because if you are, congratulations, it’s working.”
Giulia laughs. “I promise, that’s not it. But don’t rule it out for next time.”
And so he waits. He waits, and he waits, and he waits, but nothing happens. Winter melts into spring, and nothing happens. Then the weather brightens, the sun beats down on them once more, and the train carries Giulia back into Portorosso for another summer. And still, nothing happens.
And then he comes back to the house after finishing his deliveries, and steps on something that crinkles beneath his foot. He glances down.
It’s an envelope. That in itself isn’t unusual. Giulia receives the occasional note from one of her classmates who know she comes home during the summer, and Massimo is in regular correspondence with some fishermen from other coastal towns. What makes the sight of the letter odd is the fact it’s not for either of them.
It’s addressed to him.
Alberto eyes it first with confusion, then with apprehension. He never receives letters. Everyone he speaks to is already in Portorosso, and even when Giulia is away for school, she prefers phone calls. He’s never sent a letter in his life, so he can’t imagine where this one could have come from.
He scoops it off the floor and holds it uncertainly between his thumb and index finger. It feels light, but the envelope is thick, preventing him from reading the note encased within. But it’s definitely his name hand-written in elegant-looking flowing script across the front, so there isn’t some sort of mistake. It’s obviously meant for him. Curiosity mounting, Alberto tears open the envelope and shakes the letter within onto his palm.
He reads it once. Then he reads it again, and again for a third time, just to make sure he’s not misunderstanding what it’s saying. Then he promptly turns on his heel and dashes straight back outside.
He finally finds Giulia beneath the small grove of trees at the top of one of Portorosso’s many hills. She glances up from her book at the sound of his footsteps, and when she sees what he’s clutching, that same triumphant smile inks its way onto her face. It’s as good as confirmation that she’s behind this.
“Too far, Giulia.” He says once he’s close enough, and his voice comes out a little more high-pitched than he intends it to. “Way too far.”
She just laughs, setting her book aside, and shrugs her shoulders. “Filling in that application took so long, and I thought they’d never respond, but your reaction has made it completely worth it, fratello!”
Alberto waves the letter in her face. “It’s not!” He yelps. “You’re trying to set me up to ridicule myself on live television! Mio Dio, Giulia!”
The smile vanishes from her face then, and she frowns up at him. “I just filled in the application, Beto. You weren’t going to actually get chosen!”
“Oh, really?” He squeaks, and throws the letter into her lap. “Read it!”
She stares at him for a few moments while he struggles to gasp enough air into his lungs before she reaches for the letter and opens it. “Alberto Marcovaldo,” She reads aloud, her voice shaking a little now, “We are delighted to inform you that your application to join this year’s edition of Dancing on Ice has been accepted.”
She trails off into silence, her mouth dropping open as her eyes flick feverishly back and forth as she reads the rest of the letter. Alberto watches her, noting the way her entire face pales until every single one of her freckles pops, and when she finally meets his gaze again she says the one thing he’s been thinking on a loop since he read it for himself.
“Oh, merda.”