Chapter Text
Tartaglia lifts his head slightly from where he’s lying, arm draped softly over her. He looks over to make sure she’s sound asleep, making careful movements to get up without waking her. He shakes out the stiffness of his body, checking the time on his phone before he sends a message to Alexei.
Tartaglia: Everything is handled. I’m ready to go.
Alexei: On my way, Boss.
He leaves the room and turns down the hallway to enter his personal home office. He grabs the small key to his desk from the cup on the bookcase, unlocking the top drawer and taking his gun out. He checks to make sure there are bullets in the gun before he slips it into the waistband of his pants. He grabs his switchblade from the bookcase on his way out.
He locks his office door as he leaves, just in case she does wake up and starts looking around for him. He walks back to his bedroom to check one last time that she’s still sleeping. She’s curled up in the blankets, hair sprawled out over the pillow.
Tartaglia grabs his jacket from the couch where she put it, slipping it on. He stops by the door to put his shoes on, then straightens his jacket as he heads out of the penthouse.
Alexei arrives in a black unmarked car, parked along the back of the building. Tartaglia knocks on the window, signaling Alexei to unlock the door. He opens the door once Alexei unlocks it, sighing as he sits down.
“Are there cigarettes in here?”
Alexei takes out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, offering one to Tartaglia. He puts the cigarette between his lips, turning to ask for a lighter when Mikhail reaches forward from the backseat, lighter in hand. He takes the lighter. “Thanks.”
“Sure, Boss,” Alexei and Mikhail say in unison. Mikhail sounds more cheerful, while Alexei sounds serious, all business. Tartaglia takes the gun out of his waistband and puts it inside the glove compartment, puffing smoke as he does so.
“So, where are we heading, Alexei?”
“Golden Stars casino.” Alexei takes the back roads away from the penthouse before finally turning onto the main road further into the city. “I’ve got word from Viktor that Artyom is there, at a table.”
“Oh, good. This will be quick, then.” Tartaglia checks his messages, taking a drag from the cigarette.
“Are we going to talk to him at the table?”
“No. Too many people would listen. We’ll talk here, in the car.” Tartaglia sighs, locking his phone and slipping it into the pocket. “It’ll make it easier to dispose of him as well.”
“We’re not letting this guy go?” Mikhail asks, tilting his head.
“No. He’s avoided us long enough. If he has what he owes, then he can leave. If he doesn’t, well,” Tartaglia pauses, making a vague gesture with his hands. “He will be taken out like the rest of the trash.”
“Got it, Boss,” Mikhail nods, settling into the backseat.
“Just worry about the part you play tonight.” Tartaglia flicks some ash into the ash tray. He takes another drag. “Nothing else.”
“Understood.”
Tartaglia watches the building lights and neon signs pass as they finally start to approach their destination. Alexei pulls up along the curb toward the back of Golden Stars casino. Tartaglia snuffs out the cigarette and grabs a new one.
“Make sure you collect his earnings from the casino. His money is our money.”
Alexei and Mikhail exit the car, heading into the casino from the main entrance. It’s loud and full of smoke, patrons sitting at the slot machines with cigars in hand as they play. There are women and men flirting and drinking at the bar in the middle of the casino floor.
Viktor is playing a game of billiards with an older man, a large wad of money on the table. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. While the older man calculated his next move, Viktor makes a gesture at them to point them to the table Artyom was playing at.
Viktor continues his game as the two walk over to the poker table. None of the players seem to notice them walk up.
“Artyom?”
“Yeah?” The man grumbles, not even looking up from his cards. His opponents at the table ignore the other two men, some betting their chips, others groaning and folding their hands. “What do you want?”
“Come with us,” Alexei commands coldly.
“Go fuck yourself,” Artyom spat, waving them off. Mikhail scoffs, swiftly shoving the back of his head to slam his face against the card table. The other men at the table jump slightly, eyes widening as Mikhail grabs Artyom by the back of his shirt and drags him away from the table.
Artyom is spouting profanities as he’s dragged outside, and Alexei glances over the table once with an unreadable expression, before he turns to the dealer and makes a familiar gesture. “Confiscate his earnings. They belong to the Fatui now.”
Mikhail brings Artyom to the car, throwing him in the back seat and drawing a gun, pointing it at him as he slides in next to him. He finally realizes what’s going on as he sees the ginger in the front seat, lounging back and smoking a cigarette. “Mr. Tartaglia-“
Tartaglia clicks his tongue, shaking his head before he turns to look at him. “No, no. Don’t bother begging me for more time, or your life. As much as I love to hear it, I don’t have time, so let’s just make this quick, yeah?”
Artyom swallows the knot in his throat, sweat beading on his forehead. This was the very thing he was trying to avoid. But you can’t hide from the fatui forever. Your debts will always catch up with you eventually.
Alexei soon follows, getting into the driver seat and starting the car. Tartaglia turns away, tapping his fingers on the middle console. “You know where to go. Drive.”
Artyom watches the casino fade as they leave. Alexei turns off the main road to head towards the edge of town, near the forest. It was the closest dumpsite from where they were.
“You’re late on your payments, Artyom.” Tartaglia flicks some ash into the ashtray.
“I can explain-“
“I don’t want an explanation. I want what is owed,” Tartaglia sighs, taking a drag of his cigarette. He turns to look back at him, blowing the smoke in his face. “100 grand.”
“I don’t have it right now,” Artyom says with conviction. “I’m working on it!”
“By betting what you do have at the table?” Tartaglia scoffs, eyebrows narrowing.
“Not all of it! I can easily win more back!” Artyom notices the tree line getting bigger. He lets out a shaky breath that he hopes they don’t notice. “I already won more than I lost.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No!”
“And yet you still play me for a fool?” Tartaglia takes the cigarette and puts it out against the skin of Artyom’s hand, burning him. Artyom hisses in pain and reels back, feeling Mikhail’s gun press further into his side.
Alexei pulls over on the road next to the forest. It’s dark, not a person or light post in sight. Artyom can barely see the gangsters right in front of him. His heart sinks.
“You’re out of time. You need to pay what you promised us, or face the repercussions.”
“Mr. Tartaglia, just give me a little more time!” Artyom begs, heart rate spiking when Tartaglia flips his switchblade, pressing the tip against the bottom of his chin. He just barely nicks the skin.
“More time? You said the inheritance would be yours after the job was completed. We were merciful enough to give you a month to get us the money,” Tartaglia clicks his tongue, pressing the switchblade harder. Blood slowly trickles down the blade. “What happened to all that? Hm? Don’t tell me you already spent it all?”
“No! That bitch left me with nothing!” Artyom speaks through gritted teeth. “I’ve been trying to make that back for months-“
“Really? That’s not what I heard. Either way, you’ve had months while you were hiding from us to collect enough to pay back what you owe, as well as interest.” Tartaglia frowns, watching the blood bead off his blade. “Now you want to beg me for even more time? After fleeing your responsibilities for months, you want more time? That’s not happening.”
“I swear, I won’t run again!” Artyom pleads, eyes looking down at the blade pressing into his chin. “I was so close to making it all back! I just need a little more time-“
“If you don’t have our money, then you know what happens next,” Tartaglia withdraws the switchblade, making a gesture to Mikhail. “You don’t play by our rules, well, you get eliminated from the game.”
“NO! This isn’t fair!” Mikhail opens the door and grabs Artyom by the arm with his free hand. He practically drags him out of the backseat onto the dirt. Artyom starts cursing Tartaglia as he’s being pulled, venom lacing his words. “You’re a monster, Tartaglia! You offer support to the people so you can make us indebted to you, with payments so high we could never hope to pay it back!”
“Is that how you see it?” Tartaglia hums, turning away with a smirk on his face. “It’s just business, Artyom. We were upfront about what you owe for the service we provided for you since the moment we made the deal. You’re the one who tried to cheat us by taking our services without payment.”
Mikhail drags Artyom away from the car. Artyom is kicking at Mikhail as he’s brought further into the woods. Mikhail throws him to the ground, watching him stumble over the loose branches on the forest floor. There is a light dusting of snow that crunches beneath each step.
Artyom attempts to fight back, swinging wildly at Mikhail, who swiftly dodges and kicks out the back of Artyom’s legs. Artyom groans in pain as he collapses to the ground, Mikhail standing behind him.
“You’re not a very smart man, Artyom,” Mikhail pulls the hammer back, aiming at the back of his head while he’s slumped over. “If you had been, I think things would have turned out differently.”
“You’re a filthy dog, stooping so low to work for him,” Artyom spits, glaring over his shoulder. “You shestyorkas are so happy cleaning up shit, for what? Table scraps? Hope they pay you well, pig.”
Mikhail steps on his already injured leg, crushing it beneath his foot just to add insult to injury. “That’s really what you want your last words to be?”
“Go to hell.”
Mikhail fires the gun, watching Artyom crumple to the ground, blood pooling in the snow beneath him. Mikhail takes his phone out and sends a message to Ekaterina, requesting a clean-up crew to “dump spot C”. He walks by the body and points down to fire two additional bullets into him, to make sure he was dead.
Mikhail puts the gun away and climbs back up the hill from the forest to the car. He slides back into the back seat behind Tartaglia. “It’s done, Boss.”
“That was quick,” Tartaglia leans back as Alexei turns the car around to take him back to the penthouse. “He didn’t have much to say?”
“Just insults,” Mikhail hums.
“He groveled at my feet when he thought he still had a chance to be let go,” Tartaglia huffs, flipping his switchblade boredly. “The moment he realized that wasn’t happening, he decided to act tough. How pathetic. I might’ve had a little respect for the guy if he’d kept that tough attitude from the beginning.”
“Would you have heard him out if he had kept the attitude?”
“No. He’s been fleeing from us for months now since his payments were due. No doubt he would have been too slippery to get if we just let him go with a warning ,” Tartaglia makes a breaking bones gesture. “He probably would have fled Snezhnaya for Fontaine or Mondstadt.”
“Yeah, probably,” Mikhail sighs, putting his hands behind his head as he leans back. The buildings quickly come back into view as they drive.
“Ugh, that took longer than I hoped,” Tartaglia groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ And I ended up leaving empty-handed. What a waste of fucking time. I just hope she hasn’t noticed that I’m not there.”
“Why don’t you just pick up some late night takeout? If she asks, say you got hungry,” Mikhail shrugs, reaching forward to motion for a cigarette. Alexei doesn’t even turn away from the road as he passes him the pack.
“Yeah, I guess I could do that,” Tartaglia sighs, running a hand up through his hair as he yawns. “A lot of work, though. I’m tired.”
“We can stop on the way, sir, if that would be helpful.” Alexei says, turning back onto the main road into the city.
“Yes, please,” Tartaglia huffs, closing his eyes. “Just get whatever you think a Mondstadter would like.”
Alexei glances at Mikhail through the rearview, and Mikhail looks over at Alexei. Mikhail takes a drag of the cigarette, cracking the back window to blow out the smoke. “What do you think Mondstadters like, Alexei?”
“I don’t know,” Alexei shrugs, stopping at a red light.
“I heard of some fish dish they have in Mondstadt,” Tartaglia waves his hand lazily. “I think it’s fried? I don’t know. Just get something like that.”
“Fried fish… okay,” Alexei mumbles, turning off onto a smaller road. The smallest smirk tugs at his lips as he glances at Mikhail from the rearview mirror. “Mikhail, place an order at that one fish place we always go to.”
“Sure thing. What do you want, Boss?”
“Anything, I don’t care,” Tartaglia yawns, crossing his arms.
Mikhail calls to place the order as Alexei changes direction to take a short detour to pick up takeout. Tartaglia keeps his arms crossed and eyes closed to rest a little bit before getting home. He wasn’t sleeping, he was far too cautious for that. But a little rest wouldn’t hurt.
After a few minutes, Alexei pulls into the parking lot of a small seafood place, the only car there. The neon open sign glows in the window. Mikhail gets out of the car, tossing the cigarette butt to the ground and snuffing it out with the tip of his shoe. He opens the door and goes inside to pick up the takeout, while Alexei and Tartaglia wait for him.
The woman at the takeout counter greets him warmly. “Just you tonight, huh? Hehe, late night snack run?”
“Maybe I just missed you,” Mikhail leans forward against the counter, smiling fondly.
“Oh, yeah?” she smiles and turns to grab the bag. “Missed me and not just the food?”
“Maybe a little of both. But seeing you is easily the best part of coming here,“ he chuckles, running a hand up through his hair. She giggles and brushes a strand of hair out of her face, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. He takes the bag from her. “Have a good rest of your night, miss Ava.”
“You too, Misha!”
Mikhail gets back into the car, setting the food down on the seat next to him. Alexei backs the car up and starts to drive away from the little late night restaurant. “Have you ever had food from here before, Boss?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” Tartaglia opens his eyes and looks out the window at the passing street lights. “If I get takeout usually it’s on company time, and I have someone else pick it up for me. I never know the names of them.”
“I’m sure you and your girl will like it, Boss! It’s my favorite place to go when it’s late and I’m shitfaced,” Mikhail laughs, playfully nudging Alexei in the driver’s seat. “Alexei and I go all the time.”
“Yeah,” Alexei says simply. Tartaglia leans his head back against the head rest.
“A comfort food for you, huh?”
“Mmhm,” Mikhail smiles as he thinks of Miss Ava and her sweet laugh. “What’s your comfort restaurant, Boss?”
“I don’t have one,” Tartaglia shakes his head.
“Really?” Mikhail pesters, leaning forward to actually look at him. “Not a single place comes to mind?”
“No, not really.”
Mikhail hums, but leaves it at that. It’s not long before Alexei gets back to the parking lot of the penthouse, parking as close as he can to the entrance of the building.
Tartaglia grabs the gun from the glove box and gets out of the car, stretching by the door. Mikhail gets out as well, handing him the takeout bag. Under the light from the street lamps, blue glitter sparkles in some places on Tartaglia’s jacket.
“Eh, Boss?”
Tartaglia hums, raising a brow. Mikhail points to Tartaglia’s coat as he suppresses a smirk. “You, uh, have some glitter on your jacket.”
Tartaglia looks down, seeing the traces of blue glitter on his shirt and jacket, as well as a little on his pants. “Ah, yeah. It suits me, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it really does,” Mikhail can’t stop the smirk any longer, turning away from his boss. “You should wear glitter more often, Boss.”
Tartaglia laughs, waving him off as he walks back to his penthouse.
After he enters the penthouse, Tartaglia takes his shoes off at the door and puts the takeout bag on the counter in the kitchen. He takes off his jacket and heads down the hall, looking around the place to check if anything has been disturbed.
He takes a moment to unlock his office and put the gun and switchblade back where he found them, leaving the office and locking it once again. He quietly peeks around the door to his bedroom to see that she’s barely moved, turned to face the opposite way when he left. He sighs, smiling and shaking his head.
Tartaglia quietly crosses the room to stop at the bed, gently picking up the blankets to move them out of his way. He slides back into bed, wrapping one arm softly around her. He drapes the blankets back over them, closing his eyes to finally rest. She snuggles in closer, completely unaware he’d ever left to begin with.