The barbershop felt too small all at once.
Aurelio and Giulietta stared down at their phones, identical messages glowing on the screens like neon warning signs.
COME HOME. NOW.
Not please.
Not when you're done.
Not even where the hell are you?
Just NOW—which, in Mafia terms, was somewhere between a threat and an obituary.
Before either heir could process their impending doom, something slid under the barbershop door with a quiet skrrt.
A white envelope.
Unmarked.
Unwelcome.
Unfun.
Nicolo jumped like it was a venomous snake. "NOPE. No. I'm not touching that. Absolutely not."
Uncle Agnelli rolled his eyes, marched over, and snatched it off the floor like he was ripping a coupon from a magazine. "Minga…" he muttered, tearing it open.
The shop went dead silent.
Even the bodyguards—grown adults trained to fight, shoot, and intimidate—sat frozen like misbehaving schoolboys waiting to be called on next.
Everyone watched Uncle Agnelli's eyes move across the page.
His frown deepened.
His jaw tightened.
His mustache bristled.
That was how they knew they were in trouble. When the mustache moved, fate shifted.
"Uncle…" Nicolo asked, voice dropping an octave. "What is it?"
Agnelli didn't answer.
Aurelio felt something cold twist in his stomach. He braced a hand on the armrest of the barber chair. "Is it… bad?"
Giulietta swallowed, fingers tightening around her phone. "It's bad, isn't it?"
Agnelli finally looked up—slowly, dramatically, and with the expression of a man who had just read the world's worst Welp review.
"Your families," he said, voice low, "are already on their way."
The room sharply inhaled in unison.
Aurelio blanched. "My—my father's coming HERE?! To a barbershop?! THIS barbershop?! I'm so dead…"
Giulietta's face drained of color too. "My mother would never step foot in this part of town. Is she sending the aunties? Oh my god, she's sending the aunties…"
One of the Cavallo guards whispered a prayer.
A Bernardi guard swore under his breath.
Nicolo stared at the ceiling like he regretted every decision that had led him to this exact moment. "How did they even know they were both here!?"
Agnelli held up the note.
"It says," he read, "'Do not let either heir leave. We're coming to collect our children."
Silence.
Then—
"NOPE." Giulietta lunged for the door.
"ABSOLUTELY NOT." Aurelio bolted after her.
Chaos erupted instantly. Bodyguards from both families scrambled, tripping over chairs and each other as the heirs made a break for it like panicked raccoons fleeing a trash can explosion.
Agnelli sighed and pocketed the note.
"Children," he muttered. "All of them. Even the grown ones."
[At this point, the narrator would like to inform you that the universe has officially given up.]
The moment the last of the bodyguards stumbled out of the shop after the heirs—shouting half‑formed orders into their radios—Uncle Agnelli marched over and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED with a sharp tchk.
Then he locked the door.
Then the deadbolt.
Then the chain.
Nicolo blinked. "Uh… Uncle? You okay?"
Agnelli didn't answer.
Not until the final customer had been shooed out with a grumbled "We're closed! Vai, vai—go trim your own hair somewhere else, capisce?!"
Not until June, and the remaining barbers slipped into the back room with wide eyes and zero questions.
Not until the shop was empty except for the two of them.
Only then did Agnelli exhale—one long, shaky breath he hadn't allowed himself to release while the kids were still inside.
He pulled the envelope back out of his apron.
Nicolo frowned. "...That wasn't real, was it?"
Agnelli rubbed his face with both hands. "No," he admitted, voice low. "The part about their families coming? That was a lie."
Nicolo's eyes widened. "Uncle—why would you—?!"
"Because," Agnelli snapped, then dropped his voice low. "Because what was in that letter… è peggio. Much worse."
Nicolo swallowed. Loudly. "Worse than the aunties? That's… that's pretty bad, Uncle."
Agnelli ignored him, unfolding the page with more care than he'd shown ripping it open earlier. His mustache twitched—always a bad sign. "Ah, misca..."
"I don't want those kids knowing about this," he muttered. "Not yet. Not until I figure out what the hell to do."
Nicolo edged closer, peeking over his shoulder. "So what do we do? Do we at least inform the Bernardi and Cavallo family heads? Because personally, I like my head attached to my shoulders. And my chest whole. Very whole."
Agnelli hesitated.
A long, heavy silence filled the shop.
"…I might need to go to the Lupos," he finally said.
Nicolo recoiled like he'd been slapped. "The LUPOS?! Uncle, they're— they're the neutral family. They don't get involved with anything!"
"I know," Agnelli said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Which is why they're the only ones I can trust not to start a war over this."
He folded the letter again, slower this time, expression grim.
"Whatever's coming," he muttered, "is bigger than the Bernardis and the Cavallos. And if the Lupos don't step in to help keep this quiet…"
He trailed off, eyes clouded with something Nicolo had NEVER seen on him before:
Fear.
"…then those kids are as good as dead."
Nicolo went pale. "Oh. Oh, that's— yeah, okay, that's bad."
Agnelli slipped the letter back into his pocket and straightened his shoulders. "Not. A. Word," he warned.
Nicolo lifted both hands. "Mouth? Zipped. Glued. Stapled shut."
"Good." Agnelli grabbed his coat. "Lock up when I leave, eh? Don't need any break-ins. Too many eyes on this place already, capisce?"
Nicolo blinked. "Leave? Where are you going?"
Agnelli sighed, weary and ancient in that moment.
"To see a wolf."
Nicolo stood there a moment, absorbing everything that just happened when Agnelli stopped at the threshold, turning his head slightly over his shoulder.
"Oh, and tell the others in the back to go home, hm?"
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