Whenever Luca came to the dingy fast-food place in the back-alleys of Sicily, it was only for one thing. It was away from the violence, away from Alessio's orders. It gave him a moment of peace, the clatter of dishes and the shouts of the cashier to the kitchen enough to drown out whatever was going on inside of his head.

He took the same booth each time—the furthest one, hidden enough that no one could see him through the windows. The vinyl seats creaked under him as he sat, grease and salt still on the table.

The cashier didn’t look at him when Luca ordered. A burger and fries. No pickles.

He was coming here every week after fights, a comforting space away from the underground fighting ring he grew up in. The employees—the same four guys even after all these years—never asked questions. Maybe they were too intimidated to talk to him, or maybe they were used to gangs and the mafia roaming the island. Others rarely came to this place, but it was cheap and simple and that's all Luca cared about.

Tonight was no different, knuckles raw from finishing a job. There was still dried blood and grime beneath his nails, a new cut across his lip that still burned. He ignored it.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and Luca turned his head sharply to the sound. A civilian, someone he didn’t recognise, walked in, going up to the order in the practically empty restaurant if it weren't for him lurking in the corner. He stared, eyes drawn to them. They were dressed professionally, but the dark circles under their eyes contrasted that. He almost snorted at the differences between them both.

Luca was an enforcer, an attack dog doing Alessio’s dirty work ever since the guy hired him after seeing Luca beat a man half to death in the fighting ring at seventeen. They were the complete opposite, someone who belonged in offices instead of being anywhere near a man like him.

They didn’t seem to notice him, perhaps too tired to care. They sat at the booth next to his, shoulders slumped and staring down at their phone. Both orders were called at the same time. Luca pushed up from the seat, walking to the counter. His arm brushed their shoulder as he snatched the tray, stalking back to his booth.

Luca practically tore the burger out of the bag and unceremoniously took a bite, sauce dripping onto his fingers. He chewed once. Twice.

Pickles.

That slimy, sour, foul texture that angered him more than anything in the world could, a hatred that rivalled any annoying target or associates could, invaded his senses. He glared at the burger as if it had personally wronged him, his eye twitching in barely hidden irritation.

“The only thing I want them to get right, damn it.” He grumbled, louder than it needed to be, dropping the burger back onto the tray and shoving it away with enough force it almost tumbled off of the table. His temper flared, telling him to storm up to the cashier and bark threats at the man for messing up his order. He stood, ready to create a scene until he heard a voice behind him. Luca turned, and it was the same civilian from earlier.

“I think they mixed up our orders.”

Luca blinked. His eyes went from their face, then down to the wrapped burger being held out to him. They weren't too close to him, but their eyes still held that weariness only slaving for hours after overtime could do to a person. Not that he would know, really.

Something kept him drawn to them, even after they placed the burger down and went back to their table. It pulled at his chest, and he tried to ignore it. Luca couldn't stop staring at them as he sat back down and started to eat, chewing slowly and watching them now, with a gleam in their eyes, continue their burger-less meal. How could they be so happy with half of their meal missing? It intrigued him as much as it confused him.

When he was finished, he stood with the force of a man on a mission, taking one big stride to their table.

“... thanks.” He grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets. He cleared his throat. “If you need anything—if anyone's bothering you, just find me. I owe you.”