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Title: Mafia Z Rating: PG-13 - NC-17 Pairing: Story centers around Piccolo and Gohan Disclaimer: I don't own DB, DBZ, DBS nor do I own the mafia. Summary: In a world of mob bosses, underground crime rings, and prohibition, Son Gohan lives a uniquely happy life with his father, Goku and his mother Chi-Chi - happy, until the day Don Vegeta calls upon his father for a job, and everything goes horribly wrong and he's taken hostage by a rival Family. Warnings: Stockholm Syndrom, Torture, Character Deaths, and for good measure, Piccolo/Gohan slash in Future chapters - torture~ Lots of fighting in this one. Inner turmoil. Gohan is essentially going through trauma. Nothing is what it seems~ Research - again, nothing is what it seems~ The Gold Fighter Vs. Gohan ~~~~~17~~~~~ ~~~~~7 Weeks Later~~~~~ The green fist connected and reopened the split lip Gohan got the other night. He moved with the punch though, reducing the damage by a fraction, but a fraction that kept him standing and

Title: Mafia Z Rating: PG-13 - NC-17 Pairing: Story centers around Piccolo and Gohan Disclaimer: I don't own DB, DBZ, DBS nor do I own the mafia. Summary: In a world of mob bosses, underground crime rings, and prohibition, Son Gohan lives a uniquely happy life with his father, Goku and his mother Chi-Chi - happy, until the day Don Vegeta calls upon his father for a job, and everything goes horribly wrong and he's taken hostage by a rival Family. Warnings: Stockholm Syndrom, Torture, Character Deaths, and for good measure, Piccolo/Gohan slash in Future chapters - torture~ Lots of fighting in this one. Inner turmoil. Gohan is essentially going through trauma. Nothing is what it seems~ ~~~~~*~~~~~ ~~~~~16~~~~~ Nail slipped the bank receipt into the inner pocket of his coat and placed his hat upon his head, nodded to the teller, and held his gaze. The man returned the nod, a glimmer in his blue eyes. He worked as both a professional business associate for many years, as well as a

Title: Mafia Z Rating: PG-13 - NC-17 Pairing: Story centers around Piccolo and Gohan Disclaimer: I don't own DB, DBZ, DBS nor do I own the mafia. Summary: In a world of mob bosses, underground crime rings, and prohibition, Son Gohan lives a uniquely happy life with his father, Goku and his mother Chi-Chi - happy, until the day Don Vegeta calls upon his father for a job, and everything goes horribly wrong and he's taken hostage by a rival Family. Warnings: Stockholm Syndrom, Torture, Character Deaths, and for good measure, Piccolo/Gohan slash in Future chapters - torture~ Lots of fighting in this one. Inner turmoil. Gohan is essentially going through trauma. Nothing is what it seems~ ~~~~~*~~~~~ ~~~~~15~~~~~ ~~~~~2 Weeks Later~~~~~ Piccolo frowned as the young man flushed and shied away from him, head bowed. He delivered his tea and butter cookies, then bowed and left his office without lingering to the side as was tradition; and all without looking at him. Dragging a hand down

Chapter 18 ~~~~~*~~~~~ Sunday He stood at the front of the congregation. His robes had survived, but that was only because they were in the church and not his home when it burned down. He felt naked in front of the town, bruised, battered, scarred, and branded, and he didn’t even have his personal Bible anymore to hold onto and take comfort in. He still bore the bruises of the town’s attempt on his life, and it was all too much to stand there and pretend. He had been silent for far longer than he intended - because what was he supposed to say? Their eyes cut into his person in a way he never felt before, like he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, but needed desperately to run from them. Donatello’s heart pounded faster, and he glanced up at the congregation, and noted that most of their eyes were lowered to him. It helped, but not enough to feel as if speaking to them—which used to be easy— was a feasible possibility for him. Yet, he watched as few dared to look at him. He didn’t know

Chapter 17 ~~~~~*~~~~~ Saturday - Morning Once Hun was dead, it had been easy enough to gather up the rest of the men. They folded like cheap cards as Raphael and his posse of townswomen tracked them down. Some got away, but for the most part, they caught and arrested fifteen men total and had them crammed together in the jail cells. The dead lay in the streets two deep and fifteen long, the dirt soaking up the blood, and the faces of the unwanted covered in burlap, while the beloved lay beneath crisp linen sheets There wasn’t supposed to be that many dead. His plan was supposed to save them. All of them. Not leave children motherless, or leave widowers looking haggard and confused as they returned with Bishop’s men to dead spouses and murdered children. Raphael reminded himself they lost only six of the brave women who fought, and the rest were the bandits. It was just six too many. By dawn, Raphael had helped settle the remaining people; yet, it still stuck in Raphael’s

Chapter 16 ~~~~~*~~~~~ Friday - Evening Leonardo frowned, dismounted from the black gelding and crunched patches of dead yellow grass under his boots. Joining Usagi, Leo squat down to look over the tracks his friend discovered. He pushed his hat back on his brow, wiped at the sweat away and squinted at the harsh light of the sun dipping closer to the earth, blistering hot, and readying itself for the night. Usagi caught his eye, his lips thin and jaw tight. They were thinking the same thing. Leo nodded and Usagi stood, looked back the way they came, and then forward to where the horse tracks in the dirt led. He slipped one of his sandals off and tested the edging of a horse track with his toe. The track filled in with dirt with barely any pressure at all. “Bishop-San, I do not believe these tracks are what they appear.” Usagi had his sandals back on and strode to Marshal Bishop’s side, his hand gripping the hilt of his blades. Leo stood, adjusting his hat a second time. He felt

Chapter 15 ~~~~~*~~~~~ Friday April saw them drag Donatello from the shed, battered and ruined, while the bandits forced her to dance with them, her hands bound and looped around their sweaty necks. The man whom she currently stumbled around with, she knew had participated in putting that look on Father Donatello’s face. She’d never seen a man look so frail, slack limbed, shoes trailing parallel lines in the dry dirt, and the confusion on his face as they shoved him into a saddle, she practically felt Donatello’s terror as a man slapped the horse’s rump into a gallop with two riders leading the way. She swallowed around the tight lump in her throat, her eyes burning hot and vision blurring, and the man laughed, his heavy hands grabbing her backside as he swung her around. “No need to cry, little lady. I’ll dance with ya again.” He said, a grin on his face and a sway to his hips against her own that was a little too close for comfort. She turned her face away from the sight of