The air between the two is tense. Tatsumi looked at Leone with venomous eyes. The woman noticed the change in his demeanor, from a naive newcomer to someone who had seen the horrors firsthand.
"I'm… I'm sorry, just stay away," Tatsumi apologized, his voice low as he took a step back and turned away, walking out of the market without another word.
Leone stood frozen, watching him disappear into the crowd. There was a genuine concern etched in her eyes.
"What happened to you?" she whispered to herself.
Back at the inn, Tatsumi pushed through the door with a heavy sigh and made his way straight to the kitchen. He unpacked the satchel carefully, placing the items Vito had requested one by one onto the table: soft goat cheese, a jar of thick honey, a pouch of dried berries, flour, rendered beast fat, eggs, fruit vinegar, and a small bundle of rare, candied root bark.
Gauri emerged from the back room, wiping sweat from his brow. He had just finished his turn at the oil press, arms sore from turning the massive millstone.
He noticed Tatsumi's expression immediately.
"Tatsumi… is something wrong?" he asked, stepping closer.
Tatsumi forced a weak grin and waved it off. "Nothing… I just saw some bad apples on the street."
Gauri hesitated, sensing there was more to it, but nodded. "Alright. I'll let Vito know you're back."
Tatsumi nodded silently, taking a seat as Gauri made his way upstairs.
Moments later, Genco appeared from behind the counter, his old eyes scanning the array of ingredients now laid out.
"What would Vito make this time?" the old innkeeper mused aloud.
Tatsumi shrugged, a hint of genuine curiosity breaking through his lingering frustration. "I don't know, Genco-san. But he said he'd be making something that reminded him of home."
Vito climbed down the stairs from his makeshift office, greeting Tatsumi with a warm hug as he inspected the ingredients, checking their quality and freshness one by one. His sharp eyes lingered on the goat cheese, the honey, the dried berries, and the rare bark Tatsumi had chosen. He turned to the boy with a grin.
"Well done, Tatsumi. You did my job exactly as I asked. These are perfect."
Tatsumi, still slightly shaken from his earlier encounter, managed a small smile. "Thank you... So, what are you making with all of these?"
Vito opened the jar of honey and inhaled deeply, the aroma of wildflowers and sun-bled sweetness filling the air. A gentle nostalgia crossed his features.
"Cannoli," he answered.
Tatsumi blinked. "Cannoli?"
"Yes," Vito said, walking toward the small counter. He set the jar down and reached for the goat cheese. "A dessert from my homeland. Crispy shells filled with sweetened cheese, flavored with honey and spices. Sometimes with fruit or even wine-soaked bark, depending on what we had. It is a memory of joy, of family, of simpler times."
He placed the ingredients carefully on the table. Genco and Gauri, drawn by the smell and the talk of sweets, stepped into the kitchen.
"What's it like?" Gauri asked curiously.
Vito smiled. "You'll see soon enough. But first, we must make the dough and the filling. Tatsumi, you'll help me prepare the shell. Gauri, get the press cleaned—we'll use the beast fat for frying. And Genco, heat up the stove. This will take some time."
The kitchen smelled of honey and spice, a sweet scent that gently wafted into the rest of the inn. The morning sun filtered through the shutters, casting golden lines across the table where the ingredients sat: goat cheese, thick honey, dried berries, flour, eggs, and the crystallized bark Tatsumi had bought.
Vito stood at the head of the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows and a white cloth tied around his waist. His demeanor was calm, but there was an unmistakable glint of pride in his eyes.
"Allora," he began, clapping his hands once. "Let me teach you boys something from my childhood. Something from Sicilia. We call it: cannoli."
Tatsumi, Gauri, and Genco stood around him, watching with curiosity. Gauri leaned against the counter, arms folded. Genco stood with a notepad he probably didn't need, and Tatsumi was already rolling up his sleeves, ready to work.
"First, the shell," Vito said, reaching for the flour. "You mix the flour with a bit of beast fat. Not too much. You want it crispy, not greasy. Then, an egg."
He cracked it cleanly and worked the dough with practiced hands. "You want to knead it until it's smooth, like leather. Then we let it rest. It needs to breathe, like us."
Genco chuckled. "Even dough gets a break before me."
"Because the dough doesn't complain," Vito shot back, grinning.
As the dough rested, he turned to the filling. "Tatsumi, Gauri. You take the goat cheese and mash it until it's soft. Then add honey. Not all of it. Enough to kiss the sweetness."
The two worked together, mashing and mixing. Tatsumi glanced at Gauri, but said nothing. The silence between them was quieter than before—less sharp.
"Good," Vito said, peering into the bowl. "Now, the berries. Chop them small, like your patience. And the bark. Grate it—just a little. That, my friends, is the secret."
As the filling chilled, Vito returned to the dough. He rolled it out and cut it into small ovals.
"Now, we shape them. Like little tubes. You roll them around these metal rods here. If we had no rods, we'd use sticks. Or spoons. You make do with what you have."
He showed them how to seal the ends with egg white. Genco followed with surprising dexterity.
"You've done this before, old man?" Gauri asked.
"When you've lived as long as I have, you either learn or starve," Genco replied.
The frying came next. One by one, the shells were dipped into hot oil, hissing and bubbling until golden brown. Vito pulled them out with care, setting them to cool.
"Let them cool, or the filling melts. Patience, ragazzi."
Finally, with the shells cooled and the filling ready, Vito filled a leather pouch and piped the mixture inside each tube. The smell was divine.
He handed the first one to Tatsumi. "For you, ragazzo."
Tatsumi took a bite—crisp, sweet, creamy. His eyes widened.
"This... tastes like a celebration."
The smell of freshly-cooked cannoli seeped out of the inn windows, drifting into the slums like a warm memory. It curled around corners and through alleys, catching the noses of a group of children rummaging through the dumpsters in search of anything edible.
"You smell that?" a scrappy boy with a patched shirt asked, sniffing the air like a hound.
"Yeah," replied another, pointing toward the direction of the scent. "It's coming from over there."
Like a trail of breadcrumbs, the aroma led them through winding streets and past crumbling tenements, until they found themselves standing at the doorstep of Genco's inn. They looked up at the aged wood and peeling paint, hesitant but hopeful.
Inside, Tatsumi heard the knock and opened the door to find the thin, wide-eyed children gathered in a silent group. Their clothes were ragged, their skin pale, and their expressions a painful mix of desperation and curiosity.
He paused, heart tugging at the sight.
They must've smelled the cannoli, he thought.
He turned and called out, "Vito-san! Genco-san! Gauri-san! You might want to see this."
The three men quickly came to the front. Vito's gaze darkened as he took in the scene before him—the frailty of the children, the hunger etched on their faces, the quiet hope in their eyes. Genco looked stricken. Gauri, silent.
Vito knelt to meet the eye level of a young girl who tugged at his coat. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Mister... can we have some? Just a bite?"
He gently brushed a strand of hair from her dirt-smudged face. "Of course, bambina. But first, you need to be cleaned and clothed properly."
He stood and turned to Genco. "Do we have spare clothes? I want to give them baths and dress them well."
Genco gave a sharp nod, his voice catching slightly. "We do. I'll bring them down."
Tatsumi watched as the children were slowly ushered inside. Gauri went to heat water. Vito turned back once more to glance at the children, his jaw set in grim reflection.
Is this what this Empire truly looks like? he thought. Starving children while the rich dine in decadence?
Vito and Gauri immediately took the children in, wasting no time. Thankfully, running water was still functioning at the inn, and that small mercy allowed them to give the kids a proper bath. The grime, sweat, and street filth slowly washed off their thin frames, revealing just how young and fragile they truly were beneath the layers of dirt and neglect.
Some of the children flinched at first touch, unused to kindness. Others cried softly as the warm water touched their skin, perhaps the first comfort they'd known in days.
After they were clean, Genco fetched spare clothes—mismatched and a little too big, but warm, dry, and without holes. The children changed with a mixture of awkwardness and relief. Some giggled shyly at one another's new, baggy attire, while others clutched their sleeves like precious treasure.
Once dressed, the children followed Genco down the hallway like ducklings trailing behind a parent, small feet padding against the wooden floor toward the warmly lit kitchen. There, on the counter, the last of the cannoli waited—sweet shells filled earlier that day, lovingly made by Vito and his crew.
Genco handed one to each of them with a soft word. To the well-fed, it might have been just a dessert, but to these hungry children, it was nothing short of a miracle. The sweet aroma filled the air, and the children stared at the treats in disbelief.
One girl took a tentative bite, her hands trembling from hunger. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sweetness and richness. Tears welled up in her eyes before she sniffled and looked up at Vito.
"Mister... thank you."
Vito, who had faced down armed soldiers, bartered with smugglers, and built a trade empire from nothing, found himself speechless. The quiet gratitude of a starving child struck him deeper than any deal he had ever made. He placed a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, unsure what to say, heart aching.
Gauri leaned closer to Genco and whispered, "Are there any abandoned houses around here? I don't want them wandering the slums and getting picked off by thugs in the middle of the night."
Genco nodded grimly, keeping his voice low. "There's one, just three houses down from the inn. Been empty for months. But be careful—it's probably being used by squatters or bandits."
Hearing what he needed, Gauri straightened. "Tatsumi," he called.
Tatsumi, already alert, turned from the children. "Yeah?"
"Come with me. Bring your blade."
Tatsumi nodded, pulling on his coat with a quiet understanding. There was no hesitation in his eyes—just purpose.
Vito saw Tatsumi and Gauri leave the inn.
"Genco, where are the two headed?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he looked out the window.
"Finding these kids a place to stay," Genco replied, wiping his hands on a towel.
Vito's gaze dropped to the sword strapped to Tatsumi's back and the pistol and knife holstered on Gauri's belt. It wasn't just a walk to a vacant house. He immediately understood what Gauri meant by finding a place—not just discovering it, but clearing it.
"Hmph," Vito murmured under his breath, half in admiration, half in concern. "They move like men who know what must be done."
He turned back to the kitchen where the children were still quietly enjoying their cannoli, unaware of the violence that might be necessary to secure their safety. Vito's hand tightened into a fist at his side. This world shouldn't ask so much of the young, he thought. And yet, here they were—two men, still so young themselves, willing to put their lives on the line for strangers.
"Be careful, you two," Vito muttered softly. Then, with a sigh, he began tidying up the kitchen, his movements slower now, his mind lingering on the grim reality that kindness always demanded a price in a world ruled by cruelty.
The abandoned house stood like a shadow at the edge of the slums—dilapidated, with broken shutters and a sagging roof, but still intact enough to provide shelter. Gauri approached first, pistol drawn, while Tatsumi unsheathed his sword as he followed closely behind.
From inside came the coarse sound of laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the unmistakable smell of filth and rot. Bandits. The kind who preyed on the helpless and hid in places no one cared enough to reclaim.
Gauri didn't waste time with warnings. He kicked the door open, and the noise inside stopped abruptly. Six men turned to them, half-drunk and startled, before reaching for weapons.
"This house belongs to us now," Gauri said coldly, his eyes narrowing as he took a step forward. "You've got one chance to walk out."
One of the bandits, a large man with a rusted axe and a smug expression, barked a laugh. "Or what, pretty boy? Wanna cut us in two with that pretty little sword of yours?"
Tatsumi merely chuckled under his breath, which quickly erupted into a full-blown laugh that echoed around the broken-down house.
"You know, for a 'pretty little sword' like this, it has some uses. For instance..."
There was a tense pause. Then, without warning, Tatsumi lunged at the thug with lightning speed and slashed deep into his midsection, blood spilling in a sudden burst.
"Cutting out filth like you."
The two bandits beside the fallen thug moved to draw their daggers, but Gauri was faster. He hurled his knife with deadly accuracy, burying it in one man's forehead. Before the second could even react, Gauri had drawn his pistol, wrapped in a thick cloth to muffle the sound, and shot the other in the eye.
"Three down," he muttered, already turning to scan the room.
Tatsumi moved swiftly, yanking Gauri's knife from the bandit's skull and tossing his own sword toward his partner. Gauri caught the weapon by the hilt, pivoted with graceful precision, and slashed clean through the neck of one of the two bandits sneaking up behind him.
"What... in the?" the second sneaking bandit stammered, caught off guard. Gauri didn't hesitate—he lunged forward and drove the blade deep into the man's chest, twisting slightly before yanking it free.
When the dust settled, the room was dead silent. The bodies of the bandits sprawled across the stained floorboards, a testament to the brutal efficiency of the two fighters. Gauri wiped his blade clean on a nearby rag and holstered his pistol, his expression unreadable.
Tatsumi approached the sole surviving bandit, who was crawling backward in terror, leaving a streak of blood and grime on the floor. He stepped on the man's back, pinning him down, and crouched low enough for his whisper to sting.
"Tell your friends to stay away from this house from now on... and if we find out you touched one of our inhabitants..."
He let the silence hang, then turned to Gauri, whose cold stare said everything else that needed to be said. The bandit scrambled to his feet, tripping over himself as he fled into the night.
Gauri didn't waste time. He moved swiftly through the ruined rooms, prying up floorboards and rifling through rickety drawers. Hidden in the filth, he uncovered a stash of coins, dried food, medical supplies, and other valuables—obvious spoils from past victims.
"We'll put these to better use," he muttered, packing the loot into a canvas sack. "Some of these can be sold on the black market at a reasonable price, maybe even traded for tools or blankets."
Tatsumi stayed behind, his eyes sweeping across the interior of the house. The place was a mess—filthy floors, cracked walls, and the stench of blood and mold. But it could be something more.
"Gauri, bring it all with you. When I'm done here, bring the kids."
Gauri gave a nod, slinging the sack over his shoulder and stepping out into the cold night.
Tatsumi rolled up his sleeves. Silently, with determined focus, he got to work—dragging out bodies one by one, stacking broken furniture in a corner, sweeping the floorboards, scrubbing old stains with well water from a rusted bucket. His hands grew raw, and his shoulders ached, but he didn't stop.
The night dragged on, and the house began to transform. Room by room, filth was replaced by the faint glimmer of order. He lit a few candles he found buried in a drawer, giving the room a soft glow. The once foul air began to clear. The sound of scraping, splashing, and dragging was the rhythm of purpose.