For last week's b7friday Sopranos title challenge, a crackfic AU in which they're all Sicilian wiseguys in the Terra Nostra, with nods to the original Sopranos episode.
Mad Dog Avononi's lips peeled back from his teeth in wild joy as he mowed Feds down. He stood for a moment astride Ruggiero Biacco's bloody corpse, relishing his victory, though somewhat disappointed that FBI agent Servalani hadn't showed at the meet; he hated loose ends. He strode over and kicked one of the bodies. "Geddup. I know you weren't hit, Fingers. What, you completely pazz', falling the wrong way?"
Vila Restalezzi sat up. "Eh. Artistic licence."
"Shuddup and help me get Big Ruj outa here before the rest of his people show. That woman hadda be sending a message. Hurry up, we'll bury him in the woods."
It had snowed since they had arrived at Biacco's hideout. They dragged the corpse out of the flyer, then went round back to get the tools from the storage compartment. "Here." Avononi shoved a shovel at Restalezzi. "Get digging."
Restalezzi sighed and trudged back. "Eh! He's gone."
"Whaddaya mean, gone?" Avononi stared at the footprints leading off into the trees, accompanied by drops of blood, bright against the snow. "Madonn', the sucker was still alive? I plugged him three times. What is he, some sorta zombie? Never mind, he ain't gonna last long out here. Let's go."
Restalezzi scrambled back into the flyer. "Um, Mad Dog? He took the keys."
"So? That ever stopped you before."
"And the fuel tank's on empty. He musta holed it."
Avononi cursed as he got in with Restalezzi and closed the door.
Restalezzi was rooting through all the compartments within reach. "You'd think," he said morosely, "they'd keep these things stocked with emergency rations. Some procsciutt', a little mozzarell', a panino or two, is that too much to ask?"
"But no, whadda they got? Tomato sauce in little packets. What's that gonna go with? Bastards. That's just insulting and unfair to people who might want to use their fl--"
"What?" Restalezzi tore into a sauce sachet with his teeth.
"Out. I'm going to whack that sonnovabitch if it's the last thing I do. And you're coming with me."
"Fuhgeddaboudit," said Restalezzi, his mouth full of sauce.
Avononi kicked open the far door and pushed him out. "Get walking."
"The footprints just stop."
"Whaddaya mean, you fool?"
"Look. They just stop at that tree. He's disappeared."
Avononi rolled his eyes upwards to both express his opinion of Restalezzi and to see if Biacco was treed for the second time since they'd known each other, and thus missed Restalezzi's grin and wink, aimed behind him. A huge weight hit him in the back and carried him forwards into the snow.
"Well, if it ain't my old consigliere."
"Biacco, you fat f--"
"You were a good one too, but you make a lousy capo." Biacco flipped Avononi onto his back. "What you did to my people after I left, I don’t forgive. And you shot me."
Avononi stared up, straight into his own gun. "Not well enough, it seems."
"I was prepared. Body armor."
"So Pretty Boy was right. It was a setup."
"Oh, yes, it was a setup. But Tarrantino, Fingers here, Dayna Melanzan' and that new hitwoman you got, they were all in on it. They said you'd gone nuts and they wanted you gone, and I hafta say, trying to whack one of your own in that shuttle?" Biacco shook his head. "Making an alliance with that nutter Pink Zucchini Zucano? I didn't believe it till you tried to waste me. You not only lost the plot, you lost your honor." He pulled the trigger.
Restalezzi winced and looked away.
"Come on, Fingers." Biacco turned away, his scarred face only briefly sad. "And well done with the fuel readout. I'll make a made man of you yet."