Chapter Text
Off the southern coast of Andalusia, the town of Cádiz nestles comfortably at the nation's edge, gazing out toward the sea. The sun rises and sinks, bathing the city in a rich pastel glow, dappling the streets in gold while shadows outline the labyrinth of broad domes and flat rooftops scattered casually across the skyline. The city seems built for trade, its streets spilling naturally toward the Mediterranean as if drawn by the call of the waves.
Tucked away on a quiet corner leading into the bustling heart of the city lies a modest coffee shop. Three simple words, "Buen Marido Café" ("Good Men Coffee"), are painted casually in large strokes on a wooden board as if the name had come from a friendly jest.
The café draws mostly regulars, with the occasional passerby pausing at the rich, wafting aroma of freshly ground coffee. Some shake their heads, bemused by the shop's curious name, but many linger under the wide white canopy, savoring a brief respite from the day's warmth.
Behind the counter a young server stands, brisk and cheerful, dressed in a fresh green dress with a clean white apron tied snugly around her waist. Her movements are swift and precise as she measures out rum or milk, her long chestnut hair bounces lightly as she calls out orders, chats heartily with regulars, or slides a cup across the counter. Her bright presence is a stark contrast to the lazy, hand-written scrawl of the menu above her.
"The owner? Oh, he's not in," she replies with a slightly exasperated smile when asked. For a brief moment, her expression tightens, as if recalling a memory, but her bright demeanor returns quickly. "He’d better be back before three, or he'll be climbing up to his apartment barehanded!"
"Aw, don’t be too hard on him, Beth! We love Toni’s spirit!" an older gentleman chuckles nearby, lifting his coffee cup. Other customers nod in agreement, tapping their cups in a playful toast. Elizabeth rolls her eyes, giving a resigned smile as she wonders if she’s served them coffee or rum, or both.
As the light receded behind the flaps of the café’s canopies, the owner finally appeared, a sea turtle clinging unceremoniously to the front pocket of his shirt. Tall and tan-skinned, Antonio stepped inside with a hearty laugh, his curious olive-green eyes lighting up as he took in the familiar scene. He barely managed two steps before nearly bumping into the bubbly young server, who quickly moved to intercept him.
“Antonio Fernández Carriedo!” she scolded, hands on her hips. “This is the *third* time this week you’ve skipped your shift! The customers are pouring in, and I can’t keep covering for you!”
The café burst into laughter, both amused and exasperated by this familiar scene. Antonio just scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Ah, Lizzie, the sun was too warm—I swear, I just *drifted* off for a minute. But look, I made a friend!”
He lifted the turtle for her inspection, his grin as bright as ever. Despite herself, Elizabeth leaned in to see, caught off guard by its tiny, curious gaze. She straightened up quickly, though, crossing her arms to feign anger. “You’re not getting off that easily.”
“This is the last time, *promise*!” Antonio said, setting the turtle gently on the counter. “Tell you what—take next week off. I’ll hold down the fort.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. After a long pause, she sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. But you’d better call me if *anything* happens.”
“Promise!” Antonio replied, already tying on a spare apron. His usual sunny enthusiasm overflowing. Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile, watching him cheerfully set to work. She was just supposed to be helping out, but with Antonio drifting through his days so easily, she sometimes felt like she was the one really running this place.
Two streets down, A dark-eyed, lean Italian boy scowled as he watched as his two subordinates, Marco and Dario moved their luggage to the third floor of their temporary flat. his gaze flickered absent-mindedly to the street as smoke blew out of his nostrils. Over the years, he found that nicotine eased him, and usually sent his brain to a happier place. But now he was as lucid as ever.
He was back.
He thought as his heart raced. Sun-warmed rooftops, flat and slanted; towering, intricate Gothic facades with church names that still made his head throb; bright flowers tucked among leafy plants on balconies and street corners.
On the surface, he was careful not to let the thoughts show. With his free hand, he waved at the thin air, seemingly annoyed.
“Mr. Feli-I mean Lovino-” Marco ventured, only to be stopped by a quick wave of Lovino’s hand.
“Feliciano.” He corrected. He tilted his head, lips pursing into a small smile. Marco’s eyes widened, at this angle, the young Vargas heirs looked almost *identical*, especially if they made an effort.
“You know the drill. We’re here on business. I don’t want another mistake.”
“Yes boss.” Marco nodded seriously, yet worry lingered in his eyes. He and Marco had been Feliciano’s subordinates until this mission. He knew they were similar in age, in fact, he was extremely impressed when he saw how capable Lovino was in combat. The older Vargas heir was usually more alert, yet ever since they landed two days ago on the coast of Southern Spain, he often caught him in deep reverie, or simply staring at the mundanities in the street in a daze.
Noticing Marco's hesitation, Lovino’s brows furrowed. Twisting his cigarette stub against the wall, he gave Marco a reassuring pat, meeting his downcast eyes. “You’ve got the day off. Take Dario and go into the city, hit the beach—don’t come back until sundown.”
“R-really, sir? Anything we should bring back for you?” Marco asked, a spark of excitement lighting up at the idea of exploring their surroundings.
“Don’t bother.” Lovino was already slipping into the cool shadows of the building, his footsteps fading up the stairs.
As he grabbed his partner, Dario, Marco glanced once more at the third-floor window, where Lovino’s study was. prior to his joining, he heard from older members of the organization that the Vargas heirs were sent abroad to live in an orphanage in Spain until they turned thirteen, for their own protection.
Aside from looking basically identical to each other, their personalities, however, were night to day. Lovino, the elder heir, was infamous for his hard edges and demanding character, supposedly impossible to handle. But somehow, Marco couldn’t shake the feeling that the rumors only scratched the surface.
He smiled as he tugged Dario down the crowded streets.