Chapter Text
The Napoli train station had always held your fancy as a child. Every time you had been there, it was always brimming with life. The constant bustle of the people trying to get to their destinations, the vendors trying to coerce you into sampling their wares, and the plethora of sounds and smell that represents the proud city that you belong to. But most important of all was the train itself– sleek, and modern, and faster than anything you’ve ever seen before.
Coming from the rural parts of Napoli, you were easily captivated by any type of modern technology that the city had to offer. And a small smile tugged at your lips when you remembered how your younger self would beg Polpo to send you on faraway missions, just so you could have an excuse to hop on the steel carriage. He would always laugh you off, explaining how a little girl like you shouldn’t be scampering across Italia all alone.
But now that you’re all grown-up, the place that used to fascinate you so much suddenly felt so mundane and unimpressive; the very thing that used to give you such a sense of wonder, was now just another death trap that you must learn to overcome.
The station had been deserted by the time you got there, devoid of the usual crowd. Aside from the occasional workers carrying in the last pieces of luggage, there was not a soul in sight. Everyone else must have already boarded, considering that there are only five minutes left to spare before the train departs for Firenze. Even your team had gone ahead as well, securing a secluded area near the engineer’s compartment.
But you had lingered behind, leaning against the platform doors as you waited for Bruno. The brief privacy that the two of you shared in the van was immediately cut short by Abbacchio’s impatient complaints, exclaiming that all of you needed to hurry if you were to board the train on time. Since then, you had been waiting for an opportunity to talk to Bruno again. You wanted to pull him aside just for a second, to just have the chance to clear up some of the misunderstandings that is no doubt implanted in his mind.
But just like you knew he would, the first thing he did once you arrived was rush towards the place that the Boss had instructed him to go to.
Napoli station. Platform 6. The water fountain with the turtle.
All of you were expecting a secret compartment that would reveal a weapon or even a vehicle of some kind, but to your initial disappointment, there was nothing there. Even now, Bruno was still crouched in front of the fountain, desperately jamming the key into a lock it was never supposed to go to in the first place.
Stepping off the train, you approached his crouching form. If this is the only time you could get him alone, then you’re determined to make it count.
"Any luck?"
His head jerked up in surprise at the sudden intrusion; but upon realizing that it was just you, his body visibly relaxed– although the tension on his shoulders remained. “No. None of the locks here fit this key.”
There was only one compartment that a key could go through, and it was the one that he was crouched in front of for the last few minutes. Bruno continued to mess around with the keyhole, angling the key this way and that to try and make it fit, to no avail. It was obvious that he was getting more stressed out by the second, and you crouched next to him, holding his forearm to try and cease the erratic movements.
“I know this is barely the right time, but I want you to know that I wasn’t avoiding you.”
The hand holding the key stilled, startled at your sudden proclamation. “What?”
“I mean… Well- I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” The way he stared back at you expectantly had you stammering like a fool; and you sighed, awkwardly brushing the top of your head as you tried to think of the correct words to say. “I just… I could tell how uncomfortable I made you, and I only wanted to give you some space. I wasn’t trying to deliberately ignore or avoid you. I’d never do that.”
Bruno stared at you in silence for a few seconds, an unreadable look on his face. The stoicness in which he regarded you left you wondering that maybe he was avoiding you. Did you have it all backwards? But to your relief, his expression eventually mellowed out with a small smile. The curvature of his lips was still tinged with an underlying sadness that you wished you could just wave away. But how could you, when you were the source of his affliction?
“I must admit, that’s a relief to hear. When you kept avoiding my gaze earlier, I thought that you no longer want anything to do with me.”
“No. No. How could you think that?” You whispered, appalled by the mere idea. “I would always need you.”
‘But not in the way I wished you would.’ He thought bitterly.
“You know… You didn't have to avoid Abbacchio on my account."
The words that left him froze you in place. Bruno was still crouched over the water valve, fiddling with the key nonchalantly to avoid looking at your face.
What he said wasn’t a lie though. If it were any other day, you would have clung to Abbacchio— fussing over his injury or teasing him about how of all people, it was Giorno who ended up saving his life. But you steered clear of him the moment Bruno had rejoined all of you, mindful of the way he would look in both of your direction. Even when Abbacchio tried to initiate a conversation, tried to get to the bottom of your strange behavior– you forced yourself to turn him away.
"I just didn't want to hurt you." You whispered softly, glumly resting your head on top of your knees.
Surprisingly, Bruno lets out a laugh, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry about me, dolcezza. I am fine."
"But you’re not."
"Perhaps. But I am not made of glass. You don't need to walk on eggshells around me." The sudden sincerity of his smile caught you off guard, and your heart squeezed in your chest once more. "Besides, I am not embittered to the point of refusing to let both of my closest friends be happy just because my feelings were unreturned."
A shade of pink dusted your cheeks at the thought of being in a relationship with the melancholic man, but you blew off your girly thoughts with a scoff. "What made you so sure that I wouldn't get rejected instead?"
He stared at you with a touch of disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to gauge whether you were serious or not. “If you’re actually asking me that, then you really are one dense idiot."
"Excuse me?"
Your exchange was soon interrupted by hurried footsteps, and you raised your head to see Giorno leaning out of the train’s doorway, calling out to the both of you. “Bucciarati, (Y/N), the train is about to depart. I suggest that you both get on board.”
Upon Giorno’s reminder, Bruno suddenly remembered what he was supposed to be doing. The momentary calm he felt from your presence had suddenly washed away, replaced by the creeping panic brought by the fact that he still doesn’t know what the key is for. He had tried every keyhole, every single angle to try and get the key to fit– but still, nothing.
Bruno’s features glistened with the thin sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. “I know that… (Y/N), you go on ahead with Giorno and guard Trish…”
But you shook your head, picking yourself off the ground to stand by him in defiance. “Absolutely not. I’m going to wait for you right here.”
“This isn’t the time to argue, (Y/N)! You need to guard Trish!”
Giorno descended the steps in concern, although his hand still gripped the safety handrails. “Is anything the matter? I thought all we had to do was use the key and take whatever was inside…?”
“The drinking fountain at the platform… this is the only one, right?” He tried the keyhole again, and like all the times he had tried before– the key didn’t fit. Bruno slammed his fist on the ground in frustration. It wasn’t often that he loses his composure like this; but the ticking time limit, as well as the burden of carrying out the Boss’s orders, had left him grasping at straws. “We got the wrong place. We must have… This isn’t the right keyhole. Not that it makes any difference! This thing was never even locked in the first place! It’s just a water valve!”
Bruno flung the hatch open to show the both of you. Inside the small space was nothing but a rusty metal pipe, a small valve connecting it in the middle to control the water flow. There was nothing of value at all.
But the Boss isn’t the type of person who would make mistakes. If he said that he left something, then without a doubt, that item is hidden in this very area.
“Give me that!” You snatched the key out of his hand to inspect it. The metal itself was heavy and thick, and the pattern of the ridge was too distinctive for the key to be paired with a common lock. You saw Bruno stand up from the corner of your eye, pacing around the fountain in anxious circles while Giorno– in an attempt to be helpful– piped up with different suggestions.
“What about the lock around the fire hydrant, Bucciarati?”
“I already tried that! It won’t work! It’s not even the right shape!”
Squinting, you held the key up to reread the Boss’s instructions.
“Railway 6. The drinking fountain with the turtle.”
The lines on your forehead deepened as you scrutinized the cryptic message, eyes shifting downwards to watch the turtle slowly paddling towards you. Its long neck stretched out of its shell, and it roamed around the tile flooring, one slow step at a time.
'Well, at least you know for sure that you're definitely in the right place.'
But now that you think about it, why is there a turtle in here? Surely, the station does not normally keep reptiles in their drinking fountains. That is beyond unsanitary. Then does it mean that the Boss left it here for your team to find?
“It’s not here! It’s not at this drinking fountain! What am I supposed to open and obtain with that key?”
“Bucciarati, shall we wait for the next train then?”
Their urgent voices went in one ear and left in the other.
Focus.
The turtle. If the Boss left this turtle here specifically, then you're certain that its purpose would be something more than a mere landmark. You crouched down to inspect the animal closely; its pink maw was stretched wide in a lazy yawn, and you could swear there was impatience lurking behind those beady, little eyes. Now that you're looking at it up close, you noticed something very peculiar with its shell. At the very center, starting at the innermost hexagon, was a shallow groove in the shape of a key.
“Could it be…?”
“Bucciarati, there’s another train heading to Roma in fifteen minutes. Should we-“
“You know we can’t! The Boss told us to board this one. Besides, the enemy most likely knows that we're here. We don’t have any time to waste! Damn it! I know we got the right spot, so where is it?!"
Carefully, you placed the key into the indent; and to your absolute shock, the whole of your arm disappeared into the orb as if being pulled by an invisible force. The sensation wasn't painful at all, and you could still feel your arm on the other side— every finger, every joint. But when you tried moving the limb around, you felt nothing but empty air.
The turtle turned its head to playfully nip at your other hand, and you stared back at it in awe. The key you obtained wasn’t meant to retrieve the item, it was the item; and the turtle was the one who was supposed to unlock it.
When you pulled back, your arm reappeared in front of you with a pop.
Still crouching, you called out to Bruno who was a hair's breadth away from having a full-blown meltdown. "Calm down, mio dolce idiota." You teased, and his head snapped sharply in your direction. "Come, I've figured it out."
Two long stride was all it took before he was knelt down beside you, and without missing a beat, you grabbed his arm and shoved it into the turtle. A strangled noise escaped him, eyes widening a fraction as the key swallowed him up to his elbows.
"The turtle...?"
"Is a Stand user, yes."
Once it finally registered in his mind, he tucked the turtle in his arms, swiftly picking himself off the ground to run back aboard the train. You quickly followed, and when the both of you passed a bewildered Giorno, Bruno shoved him inside the turtle without a word.
The two of you headed to the engineer's cab where you knew everyone would be gathered. Apparently, the engineer was in cahoots with the Boss, and he gave you a sealed letter beforehand. Inside, in bold, cursive script were the Boss’s words:
“Hide it in here for maximum privacy.”
All of you had worn matching expressions of disbelief and confusion. Hide what? Not your team, that’s for sure. After all, there was no way all nine of you could ever fit in such a small space. The front of the train was only meant to hold a maximum of three people. But he couldn't provide any answers beyond that. Handing the envelope was the only thing he was told —and paid— to do, he said.
Well, it all makes sense now.
"Put your hand in and get inside the turtle, now!"
They all turned towards the sound of your voice, pressed up against each other in annoyance. Abbacchio leaned outside the doorway— either trying to escape the cramped room or the loud bickering of your remaining members, you couldn't tell.
Mista looked at the moving reptile with disgust. "What the- why?"
“Stop asking questions and just follow your orders, idiot!" Abbacchio scowled at him, shoving his hand into the turtle in a show of obedience, allowing himself to get sucked into the space within.
"Oi oi, he disappeared! Where did-"
"Shut it!"
Grabbing Mista by the ear, you shoved him head first into the turtle, and the rest shortly followed. Bruno locked the door behind him, hurriedly placing the turtle in a shadowy corner before coming in himself.
You glared at the very confused engineer before following suit. "Snitch on us, and I'll kill your family in front of you. Slowly and painfully."
You didn't wait for his response.
The menacing aura you had exuded from your threat was immediately humbled by your graceless fall.
You had no idea what to expect once you entered the turtle, but plummeting from a high-domed ceiling was certainly not on the forefront of your mind. With flailing limbs, you tried to steady your fall— to no avail, almost bringing down Abbacchio with you as you crashed into the very center of the room.
Everyone’s eyes were on you as you laid there in pain, back pressed against the carpeted flooring while you tried to soothe your aching backside.
“Why’d you fall so stupid looking? Karma is a bitch, eh? That’s what you get for being mean to me!" Mista guffawed, slapping his knees in between laughter as he stared at your sprawled out form. Like the rest of you, he was still on the floor, aching and dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events— although much, much more obnoxious.
With a groan, you rolled over to the side where a beautifully carved coffee table was placed. It was piled high with an array of books and magazines, and you're grateful for the Boss's attempt at alleviating the boredom of the long train ride. But most importantly, you thanked him for the exquisite hard-bound books that you know must have cost a fortune. It was thick and heavy, and the smooth leather cover yielded beneath your hands.
Throwing your arm back, you chucked a copy of 'La Divina Commedia' in Mista's direction, hitting him square in the face.
He went down like a ton of bricks.
“Ahhh damn it, my back fucking hurts.” You cursed, looking up the domed ceiling as you let the plush carpet claim your body.
It was rather interesting– the ceiling, that is. It looked to be made of clear glass, providing you an unobstructed view of the outside world. Although right now, the only thing you could see was a dark stretch of something— and you could only assume that the turtle was currently hiding underneath a chair or behind one of the many panels in the cab.
Abbacchio’s scowling face peered down at you, blocking your vision. “Get up.”
You raised a playful eyebrow at that, eyes shifting to look at him. "Oh? Think you can get away from ordering your leader around?"
Being the leader of your team wasn't really something you hold with much significance, although you have every intention of taking your job seriously, you just didn't think your promotion is as big a deal as everyone made it out to be. As far as you're concerned, the power dynamics between you and Bruno still haven't changed; the only difference is the both of you now have a fancier title to dangle in front of your team, as well as an additional load of paperwork to slave over.
Everyone else had already started to pick themselves off the ground; except for Mista who was still curled up on the floor, face clutched in his hands as he moaned in pain.
Fugo and Narancia were already engaged in conversation, talking a mile per second as they tried to figure out where you and their capo had taken them, while Bruno patiently tried to explain the mechanics of how this room came about. Meanwhile, Giorno — bless his gentlemanly heart — helped Trish off of the floor, guiding her to one of the many chairs that furbished the room.
Abbacchio clicked his tongue at you in an act of annoyance. You were still laying on the floor, and he towered over you, frowning. "Are you stupid? You'll hurt your back more if you stay like that."
People who barely know the man always assume that he's just stoic, an asshole, too indifferent to care, mean-spirited, etc.; and although the first one is true, (okay maybe the second too) you were far too used to his moodiness that you don't even find it in yourself to be offended. You've known Abbacchio long enough to know that behind his biting remarks, was the genuine concern that he just couldn't bring himself to actually project outwards.
'Stupid, moody, prideful idiot.'
Smirking, you reached your hands out towards the grumpy man. "Okay, but are you going to let Giorno 'out-gentleman' you?"
With a roll of his eyes, he pulled you to your feet, muttering about how he's just about had enough with your childish bullshit. But his actions always spoke louder than his words, and the way he held you close was a testament to that. His sharp stare softened into something gentler, and although you were already standing upright, his warm grip on your arm remained firm.
The both of you held into each other a little bit longer than necessary, and only when you bashfully suggested that perhaps you should both check out the room in more detail did he finally let go.
“Still, this is neat!” Narancia whooped as he flung himself into one of the armchairs, unknowingly dissipating the tension that shrouded the both of you. “This turtle’s like our very own spaceship!”
Although the room was not as large as the ones in your shared house, it was still big enough to hold the 8 of you. The room was centered around an exquisite coffee table, surrounded by a plush leather settee and complimenting armchairs; and on one corner of the room, was what looked like a small fridge with a small television on top.
Say what you want about the Boss of Passione, but you appreciated that he always tried to make his subordinates as comfortable as possible– well, hired someone to make his subordinates as comfortable as possible.
Standing by Narancia’s side was Fugo– who like you, was running his hands across the pristine white walls, muttering to himself as he inspected one of the many paintings that hung there. “This room is not an illusion, it’s a real room. The sofa and all the other furniture are definitely real…”
Abbacchio grumbled in agreement, crouching down to inspect the mini fridge. “There’s even cold drinks and stuff in here.”
“Whoa, they even got a TV!” Mista, who had already recovered from a book on the face barreled past you, clutching the portable device in his hands. He turned to look at you with absolute delight. “It’s even playing ‘Pretty Woman’! Oh man, it’s our favorite (Y/N).” He paused, scratching his head from the sudden question that crossed his mind. “Though you gotta wonder, how is this thing even getting power?"
Bruno hummed in thought, lowering himself elegantly over the seat in front of Trish. “I have no idea either. But it seems safe to say that the inside of the turtle is a real room with electricity running. Perhaps the Boss was kind enough to set it up for us.”
"Does it matter though? As long as we stay inside this turtle, we’ll definitely reach Venezia safely.” You replied, plopping down beside Mista whose eyes were now focused on the movie; but upon noticing you sitting there with him, he draped an arm on your shoulders to whisper conspiratorially.
"So? Tell me what happened. Come on, just me. I won’t tell anyone."
Hands dragging across your face, you throw your head back with a groan. Is watching a movie in peace really too much to ask? “What on earth are you on about this time, Mista?”
The infernal grin on his face stretched wider, and Mista tugged you closer, voice lowering discreetly. "I know something happened between you and Bucciarati. Come on, spill it to me. Your mega ultra favorite best bud."
“What the-“ You spluttered, caught off guard by his blatant prying. “How do you even know for certain that something happened?”
“Puh-lease, I have the eyes of an expert marksman. The instincts of a hawk.” Forming an ‘okay’ sign with his other hand, he looked at you through it, peering through the hole as if it was a sniper’s scope. “Lingering touches, avoiding each other’s glances, the two of you arguing and whispering like an old, married couple? Come on, I’m not that stupid.”
You shrugged his arm off with a scoff. "Honestly, you’re a worse gossip than an elderly lady. Nothing happened."
"That’s what you always say!"
If you have a single lira every time you roll your eyes around Mista, then you would have been rich enough to buy yourself the position of a capo multiple times over.
"You knows what's going to happen though?” Crossing your legs daintily, you implored him in your sweet voice. “You're going to get me, Trish, and your hard-working capo a nice, cold drink. How about that?"
"Why don't you get it yourself?" Mista harrumphed, still upset at the fact that you’re withholding such a juicy piece of information from him.
"Because you elbowed me on the face and this is how you will apologize, cagacazzo."
He tutted at you with a finger. "It was an accident and I did apologize-”
“No, you didn’t-!”
“Plus, you hit me with a book in the face! I call quits."
"Don’t ‘quits’ me- Ugh. Fine then.” You acquiesced, but only so you could pull out your trump card. “Then do it because I'm your leader and I'm ordering you to."
Utterly defeated, Mista lets out a drawn-out groan, dragging his feet behind him as he stood up to gather the drinks you asked for.
"Bullying Mista again?" Abbacchio remarked, his amused voice cutting the air.
He was sprawled on the settee across you, eyes closed in an attempt to catch a few winks of sleep. Joining him on what you had dubbed as the ‘nap couch’ was a curled up Fugo and Giorno. The two of them appeared to be already fast asleep, exhausted from this day’s events. Today had been rough on all of you, but it had been especially bad for the three of them, who had all taken their fair share of beating.
"I am not 'bullying' him." You quoted with your fingers, even though you know he couldn't see you.
The friendship you and Mista had built were more of an impish nature; the way you show your appreciation for each other comprises of sarcastic quips and no-good nonsense. But no matter how often he tried to push your buttons, or how much you’d try to get back at him for being the little shit that he was, the two of you remained thick as thieves. Even though the both of you often drive each other up the wall, at the end of the day, you know you would always be in each other’s corner.
Although Abbacchio's eyes remained closed, you could still see them rolling underneath. There was no more response after that, and he leaned back, arm propping his head up as he fully utilized the empty space beside him.
A small, assuming part of you wanted to think that he had saved that space for you; it was a habit of his, after all. He always claimed that it was because aside from Bucciarati, you were the only one who actually gave him some semblance of peace, and if he were to —in his own words— be forced to be around someone, then he'd rather it be you than the other insufferable idiots he was constantly surrounded with.
The pull this man held over you made you wanting to just stand up and go over there to lay beside him. To rest your head on his shoulder once more, to let his natural musk and the earthy scent of his perfume lull you back to sleep. The memory of it alone left you lethargic, and you wanted nothing more than to come back to the warmth of his almost embrace.
But you couldn't do that. Not in front of Bruno, at least. He was still sat across Trish, lazily flicking through an architectural magazine. Although he tried to reassure you that he was fine and you had no need for inhibitions, you knew better than to openly disrespect his feelings.
That didn't stop you from staring at him though.
If you were to describe Abbacchio with just one word, it would be anything except ordinary.
The long platinum locks draped across his shoulders (he would never let anyone touch it, but you always wondered whether it was as soft as it looked), coupled with the unnatural sunset eyes hidden beneath his lids, assured that he would be eye-catching wherever he would go. Add the fact that out of everyone in your group, the ex-cop has the best physique— chiseled and built like a roman god, his voice deep and commanding.
In other words, Leone Abbacchio had always been a gorgeous piece of work.
Even when you had first met him— and eventually, the new him– drunk and disoriented and drenched from the rain, the first thought that crossed your mind wasn’t pity or the usual kindness that you felt when you heard out Fugo’s tragic tale; instead, to your shame, what left your mind was a resounding ‘My god, he's still hot’.
The night air had been cold, and you gripped your umbrella as you fought shiver after shiver. The droning of Bruno’s voice had held your attention, soft and benevolent, as he tried to convince the broken man in front of you to take the olive branch he was extending towards him.
It was such a solemn moment that you felt guilty for the shameless way you had just checked him out. This man was suffering from the shackles he had put on himself, and you were supposed to assist in giving him the second chance he so desperately needed, not to fool around.
So you turned to him, beckoning him over with a soft smile, but your breath hitched in your throat when his eyes met yours– caught off guard at how his empty stare seemingly lightened up at the sight of you, devoid of recognition, but tinged with hope.
And although Abbacchio was definitely easy on the eyes, it wasn’t his looks that really drew you in– it was him. There was an air of mystery that constantly circulated around the man, hiding the righteous heart you know was still buried underneath all the layers of hurt and bitterness. Abbacchio's personality is as contradicting as the twilight sky he held within his gaze, and as complex as the constellations that adorned it.
He was an enigma, and you dedicated yourself to cracking his code.
Before long, Abbacchio had gone still and unmoving. His face was slack with sleep, smoothing out the harsh lines that usually accompanied his features. A small laugh escaped you as you stared at his sleeping form. Cute isn't usually a word you would associate with him, considering how stern and dour he normally is, but the small huffs of breath escaping his slightly pouted lips reminded you of a grumpy, sleeping cat.
His white hair cascaded around his face like a curtain; the long strands rested across his collarbone, eventually leading your eyes to his chest. The sculpted muscle rose and fell with every breath he took, and your tongue ran dry when you were reminded once again just how well-built Abbacchio was. In an attempt to tear your eyes away from his naked skin, your gaze trailed lower to the arm draped across his torso. His injured hand softly gripped the fabric of his overcoat, wrinkling and distorting the delicate lacing that ran across his che-
It seems that all roads lead back to Abbacchio's bare chest.
Still, you wondered if he had completely recovered by now. From this angle, you can’t tell whether Bruno’s zipper was still present on his wrist or not. It usually takes an hour or two for the limb to be fully reattached and functional, although the residual pain stayed a little longer than that. You wondered if it still hurt, and the sudden thought to press your lips against his wrist intruded your mind.
“Kiss the pain away, patatina.” Your mother would always tell you while she patched away the scrapes and wounds you collected from your adventures with Bruno.
But what had initially been an innocent thought quickly escalated as your mind went wild at the image of his skin against yours; the desire to feel the beating of his pulse against your lips, to leave a trail of kisses up his arm–
"Is there something on my face?" Abbacchio peeked at you lazily, one eye half-open.
A choked noise left you, face flushing a deep red from the rapidly inappropriate thoughts rushing through your mind. “I thought you were sleeping.”
He snorted. “I was going to. Until you decided to drill holes in my head with your eyes. So? What is it?”
Being caught staring was already bad enough, but after hearing Mista’s wolf-whistling, you wanted to offer yourself to the enemy and just straight up die.
There was no way that Mista just always happen to reappear in your most compromising moments, he had to be doing this on purpose. You quickly scanned your immediate surrounding, expecting a gold pixie-like creature to be listening in on you, relaying information to its user on when to best make his entrance.
Alas, there was none. And you were left wondering whether he really was just born under a lucky star like he always boasts to you about.
"Nothing. Uhm. You were just in front of me, that's all." You stammered awkwardly, biting the inside of your cheeks in embarrassment from being caught.
'God, what's wrong with me these days? Did I eat something bad? Am I sick?'
‘Lovesick, maybe.' A small voice whispered in your head, and you almost screamed in horror at the thought.
Abbacchio, completely unaware of your inner turmoil, simply grunted and went back to his original position– falling asleep for real this time.
"Damn. I mean no homo, but I guess I can’t blame you for ogling him.” Grinning, Mista handed you the cold drink that you had asked for. “Maybe I should double down on my bet with Fugo."
"Please. Just… I need you to stop talking."
“Aight, aight." Raising his hands in surrender, Mista backed away from you, heading back to the fridge to get himself another drink. "You know, maybe it’s coz we’re in a turtle. But it’s getting kind of steamy in here, don’t you think?”
“Ugh, I don't care. Move your big head. I can’t see the screen.”
Rolling his eyes, he crouched lower to give you an unobstructed view of the TV. “Oi Narancia, you want a drink too?”
Narancia was leaning against the wall, hands behind his head while he monitored the clear dome that acted as your window to the outside world. You had tasked him to keep watch for all of you, since with Aerosmith’s range and tracking, any suspicious individual that tried to approach the turtle should be easily dealt with.
“We only got cold drinks though.” Mista continued, listing out all the drinks currently available for consumption; but Narancia remained unresponsive, not even turning to acknowledge him.
“Hey, are you even listening?”
He finally blinked back to attention, hand cupping his ear as he leaned towards Mista. "Huhhh? What was that?"
The iconic shopping scene started playing, and you shushed the both of them, your focus completely on the movie. “Can the both of you pipe down? I’m trying to watch something here.”
Mista grumbled about how he wanted to watch it too, but dropped his voice anyways. "I said if you wanted to have a drink, Narancia! Actually, you’re looking pretty tired. Do you need some rest? I can take over guard duty for you if you want, I’m not that tired.”
Your eyes flit towards them. Now that you think about it, Narancia must have been feeling exhausted. Getting attacked and tortured while shrunk down to the size of a large rat sound like an awful experience, and although he did manage to rest for a little bit back in your temporary hideout, you doubted that it was enough.
“Just rest, Narancia. You did take quite the beating from Formaggio. Mista would take over for you.”
“Really? Thanks! Now that you mention it, my shoulders do feel pretty stiff." His shoulders were getting stiffer by the second, and he sat down on an ornate chair by the opposite end of the table, rotating his arm in a clockwise motion to try and loosen up the rigid joint. "And my back hurts too. I wish I could have some of your soup right now, (Y/N). Those were really easy on the stomach.”
Mista huffed, trying to choose between a can of cola or a bottle of apple juice. “Well, you can’t. We only have cold drinks here. You never listen do you?”
Aside from the drinks that the Boss had graciously provided, there was a platter of fresh fruits laid out on the table as well. “After this mission, you can have all the soup you could want. But for now, eat this.” You reached over to hand Narancia a banana. “Just to fill up your stomach with something."
Narancia gratefully took it from you with one hand, and swiped a magazine from the pile with the other. “Ahhhh, look at these gardens (Y/N). Now that Bucciarati is a capo, do you think we could afford to move to a bigger villa with a garden like this?”
He showed you the picture excitedly. It was a gorgeous property with an even more impressive landscaping. A fountain decorated the middle of the driveway, surrounded by topiaries cut in the shape of various animals. Arches of roses stood over the paved pathways, eventually leading to a vast hedge maze.
"Well, gambling and money-lending is one of the most profitable businesses in the organization. So I don't see why not." You replied, and Narancia grinned in excitement.
Once this mission is over, you would definitely talk to Bruno about this. If you combine his earnings as a capo as well as your increased salary, then you’re certain you could afford a bigger property in just a few months. The colonial home you currently share with your team was nothing to scoff out either, but who doesn't want to live in a lavish villa?
Narancia licked his finger to flip the page, and you scrunched your nose up in disgust. “Narancia, that’s disgusting. Stop licking your fingers to turn the pages. It's unsanitary.”
“Yeah man, I haven’t read that one yet!”
“Huh?!” He wheezed, looking at you and Mista in bewilderment. “Was I just doing that? No way!”
Another coughing fit violently racked his body, and you walked over to him in concern. Placing a hand on his back, you rubbed it in soothing circles. “Narancia, what’s the matter? Are you alright?”
There was no response aside from the dry hacking that left him. Worried that he might be choking, you asked Mista to fetch you a bottle of water; but before he could, something flew out of Narancia’s mouth in between coughs. It hung listlessly on the side of his lips, and you held his face in your hands to tilt it upwards. "What is that...?"
It was a string of some sort, pale red and glistening with a white bulb at the end
Your eyes widened when you realized that what just came out was his tooth.
Growing increasingly worried by his friend's strange behavior, Mista approached the both of you, cold bottle in hand. “Jeez, what’s wrong? And can’t you sit up straight? You look like a freak…” The teasing insults died on Mista's tongue when his eyes fell on the white enamel. “Is that… a tooth...?”
You gently took it in your fingers to inspect it, and Mista recoiled in disgust. It was definitely his tooth, dangling from a thin strand of muscle and tissue.
“(Y/N), there’s something wrong with this banana you gave me…” Narancia moaned, waving the fruit in front of you to get your attention. “It’s all dried up and hard as a rock…”
For a full minute, you and Mista just stared at each other, absolutely zero idea of what was going on. Was Narancia sick? Had he finally gone loopy from all the craziness that happened in his life? Or was this a delayed after-effect of Formaggio’s Stand?
Mista was the first to crack under the tense silence, nervous chuckles escaping him as he tried to rationalize what just happened. “Ohhh hahaha I get it!” He slapped a hand on his forehead, a shaky grin placed on his features. “Ha! That really surprised me. But seriously, that’s not funny. It really looked like a tooth came out of your mouth. That’s pretty gross dude.”
“Ah? What are you talking about, Mista? You’re speaking too quietlyyy…”
“Wait, Mista.” You gulped, watching in horror as Narancia’s skin suddenly started to wrinkle and sink on itself. “I don’t think… I don’t think he’s joking.”
It was as if someone was sucking the life out of him. The plump youthful glow of his skin shriveled up instantaneously, skin sagging and turning milky translucent in patches– revealing the green and blue veins running across his arms. Liver spots bloomed across his previously unblemished skin, and his midnight black hair faded to a dull gray before your very eyes. Even the banana he was holding had withered, crumbling into pieces like a dried up husk.
It was almost like Narancia was stuck in fast forward, forced to go through his entire life cycle at an exponential rate.
“I… I can’t eat this… I-it’s falling apart... They’re all dried up… All of the fruits in here…”
Horrified at his rapidly declining state, you tried to get him to sit back down. Is this the effect of an enemy’s Stand? If so, then it only meant that the rogue assassins had caught up with you after all; and like you had deduced, whoever they sent was waiting inside the train in an attempt to corner all of you.
“H-hey! What’s wrong with you?!! Your face is all messed up!” Mista pointed at him, voice loud enough to catch Bruno and Trish’s attention.
Narancia grabbed at a shell-shocked Mista, still complaining about how he couldn’t hear the both of you. The aging hasn’t stopped. Patches of his skin had become dry and taut as leather, outlining the skeleton underneath; and his gray hair continued to fade until it turned stark white, brittle and falling off in clumps.
“A Stand attack…” You warned. “It’s a Stand attack Bruno!”
The look of alarm on your face matched his. “I know! Is the enemy here?! In this train?!”
“What are you all yelling for…?” Still unaware of what was happening to him, Narancia scratched his head in confusion, uprooting a tuft of white hair in the process. “Huh? What’s this white stuff?! It’s on my head… Oh god, what just came off my head?!”
Grabbing his shaking fist in yours, you tried to soothe the oncoming panic. “Narancia, calm down. Look at me. This is an effect of an enemy Stand. It’s aging you! But you need to stay calm, we’ll stop it-“
“Huhhh??! I can’t hear a word you’re saying (Y/N)!”
You swallowed, repeating everything you had just said in a much louder voice.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Bruno was having a crisis of his own. “Are they coming for us?! Mista, check the dome!”
Giorno stirs from the couch, the cacophony of frantic voices rousing him from his sleep. “What’s happening? You’re all making quite a racket…” Giorno groaned, and when he raised his head to look at him, Bruno had the horrifying realization that he too had aged. “Is there… a problem, Bucciarati?”
Bucciarati stared at the terrible scene in front of him. One quick sweep of the couch told him that it wasn’t just Giorno who had been affected by the enemy’s abilities, but Fugo and Abbacchio as well.
“Y… You’ve aged!!”
If there is a list of the worst case scenarios that could have happened during this mission, this would have been pretty high up on the list. Just like he feared, the enemy had followed them into the train, faceless and hidden amongst the passengers. The team had been slimmed down to three people in an instant, and he needs to find a way to exterminate the vermin before all of your stamina was depleted.
Bruno had wanted to ask for your input. Nothing gets past the both of you when you put your heads together— but you were currently too occupied to notice him. Narancia was hyperventilating, gripping the edges of the table as he looked down at his reflection. The boy was screaming in denial, refusing to believe that the face staring back at him was his own; and you hovered over him, trying your best to calm him down.
"A… A Stand that makes you older? How old are we going to get…?" Mista held up his shaking hands. The skin had pulled and tightened across his palm, and he clenched it in frustration. “Giorno, Abbacchio, and even Fugo! Have they found out that we’re in the turtle?! Damn it!”
In the blink of an eye, Mista had his gun trained on the dome, his fingers dangerously close to pulling the trigger.
“Calm down Mista! Our cover hasn’t been blown yet! If they knew we were in the turtle, they would have attacked us directly.”
The gunslinger stiffened at his words. It is true that time is of the essence; even now Bruno could feel himself growing weaker, his vision blurring at the edges. But any reckless action could lead to death, and in a situation like this, dying is not an option.
“The fact that they haven’t attacked means they haven’t found us yet. Most likely, the enemy only knows we are somewhere on this train, and to find her,” Bucciarati turned to gesture at Trish, who was trying hard not to blame herself. “they’re attacking the whole train indiscriminately.”
“Unforgivable… Involving innocent civilians just to root us out?!” Your eyes were a little wider than usual, lips pulled back in a snarl. Narancia had fallen asleep (or passed out, he could no longer tell) on a chair, with you knelt in front of him. “You mean to say that the whole train is dying just because we happened to be here?!”
"That’s most likely the case, yes. They’re desperate. They’ll do anything. And they’ll do it calmly."
You grit your teeth at that. It is a given that you are no longer a stranger to violence– being on the giving and receiving end of it more times than you could count. Normal people use the term "kill or be killed" as allegories for their mundane rivalries or to justify their opportunist ways; whereas in your world, it is always to be taken literally.
Pull the trigger because you were ordered to, dispose of traitors before they put your own knife to your throat.
Death is as normal an occurrence in your job just as how overtime is normal to a salaryman. You have taken a handful of lives yourself, and even you admit that perishing from old age is better than most of the deaths you had encountered. But involving innocent bystanders, especially hundreds of them at once, is something you could never let slide. These people have families, they have their own individual lives and dreams, and taking that away for their play for power is something you could never forgive.
Bruno gave you a sideway glance. “At this point we only have two options. One, take Trish and escape. Two, find the enemy without knowing his effective range, and kill him!”
“Killing the enemy is the only real option here. We cannot afford to stop this train, it’s too dangerous. Their comrades must be trailing us by now, and getting Trish to Venezia is still our top priority.” You replied to him, but your eyes shifted to lock with Mista's, your stare unwavering. “Put a bullet in his head, and it would dispel the ability. If we do that, we can save everyone on this train.”
Mista let out a noise of agreement, pistol cocked and ready. “Assassination’s the surer bet, as long as we’re using my Sex Pistols.”
The air felt thin as the three of you looked at each other. There was not much time left, you know that. Even now, you see the lines deepening on both of their faces, and you know that they could see the same thing happening to you.
"Yes… That’s exactly right. But we don’t have much time… We’re aging at an incredible speed." Bruno said.
"Can’t you slow down the effects on their bodies, (Y/N)?"
An exasperated sigh left you. “You know my Stand doesn’t work like that, Mista.”
This would not be the first time you regret having such a selfish Stand. Although it is extremely useful for combat, you constantly wished that you could use its abilities with something or someone other than yourself. Narancia stirred in his sleep, and you rubbed his hand soothingly to try and get him back under.
He was looking worse for wear by the second, withering away like a dying tree. Narancia's fingers had been reduced to nothing but twigs, nails cracking and skin peeling away like dried barks. His back was curled in on itself, posture similar to that of an old crone, his spinal cord poking out of his skin.
“Mista, go! We’re running out of time!”
“Y-yeah…!” He gave Narancia’s shriveled form one last look before standing on top of a chair, arm reaching up to exit the turtle.
“Wait… Mista… You can’t go yet.” Giorno's voice stopped him, and he froze in place.
Mista looked at you for his orders. Any further delay could spell death not only for Narancia— but also Fugo, Giorno, Abbacchio and everyone else. Every second counts, and you have already wasted too much of it.
'Go.' You mouthed to him.
“No! You mustn’t go yet!” Giorno yelled. “There is one thing… we must investigate!”
Mista pulls back again, frustrated. “Dammit, what’s with your crazy talk, Giorno! Every millisecond counts here!”
He looms over him threateningly, but Bruno places a hand on his chest to stop him. “Let him talk, Mista!” He turned back towards Giorno. “What is it? What do we have to investigate?”
“Our aging speed, Bucciarati. Think about it, why are we aging faster than you are?”
Bruno’s brows furrowed at that. "Now that you mention it, my symptoms and Mista’s are relatively light. Trish and (Y/N) are aging even less… But why…?”
Whatever protest you had for the hold-up quickly faded away at his statement. You moved away from Narancia, hand gripping the sides of the table as you looked down at the polished wood. Your reflection stared back at you, and to your surprise, you looked mostly the same. The skin was still smooth and plump, and the only signs of aging you had was the deepened smile lines and crow's feet around your eyes.
Mista reached towards the ceiling once more. “Everyone just ages at different speeds! I’m going!”
This time, you were the one who stopped him. “Mista, wait! I feel like Giorno is on to something here.”
Although Giorno’s strength had withered away, the clever spark in his eyes hadn’t left him. “If the enemy is indiscriminately attacking everyone to kill them, then to do so, Trish would be in danger of dying as well. There must be a condition for the speed of aging. This is my theory. I think the enemy is distinguishing men and women through body temperature.” Everyone listened to him intently, and Giorno continued. “Women have more body fat, so their temperature doesn’t change much compared to men. I read that somewhere before. It’s a theory to explain why women age better than men. Did you feel the room getting hotter? With just a small change in temperature, it would distinguish the speed of aging. The men age quickly, but if it’s slower for Trish, then that’s fine.”
As your mind processed his theory, you couldn’t help the laugh that left you, one devoid of humor. “Thank you for walking us through that one, Giorno. Now that you put it that way, the enemy's ability isn’t as terrifying anymore.”
Everyone's eyes turned to look at you, but it was Bruno who spoke up first. “What are you trying to say?”
“Think about it, what was the difference between the four of us and them?" When he didn't answer, you pressed on. "It was the drinks! We were all drinking something cold, and in the process, continuously cooled down our bodies."
Picking up one of the abandoned glasses, you held a half-melted ice cube between your fingers. “So Giorno, you’re saying that the warmer the temperature, the faster you age, right? Then wouldn’t it be logical to think that by cooling yourself off, it would delay the aging process?” You pressed the ice cube on Narancia's cheek, and the effect was instantaneous. The skin surrounding the ice reverted back to its youthful self, and you stared at his half and half face in surprise. “Alright, slight error. It seems that cold temperature nullifies its ability completely.”
“Wh…What the?! Giorno, you were right! Cooling ourselves slows down our aging speed!” Mista exclaimed in shock, flinging the fridge door open to gather all of the remaining ice. "Cool everyone down! Put this ice on them and cool them down!”
"Stop, Mista! You have to take all that ice yourself!” Bruno commanded sternly.
Mista looks down at the ice tray in disappointment. There were only two ice cubes left, and it’s nowhere near enough for everyone, let alone himself. "Ah... There's only this much..."
For a brief moment Mista doubted if he could get the job done before all the ice melts. He is extremely confident in his abilities, and assassination is something he somehow excelled at, but the rapid time limit is getting him extremely anxious.
"Our plan to take out the enemy hasn’t changed. Mista, you’re going to take that ice and defeat the enemy before the ice melts and your Stand and stamina disappear.”
Pausing from applying the ice cube on Narancia’s face, you called out to Mista just before he could leave. “We’re counting on you. Stay safe, alright?”
He gave you a sharp nod, before leaping out of the turtle and out of your sight.
Although he tends to be nails on chalkboard annoying at times, you care deeply for the man, and you couldn’t help but worry for his safety. There was a bad feeling brewing in your gut, but one that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and you could only hope that he would successfully return like he always does.
Opening the fridge door, you propped Narancia in front of it, making sure that his head and limbs were resting comfortably. Most of the cold air was escaping into the room, but it was enough to slow down the aging and give him a little bit of relief.
You hand Trish the remaining ice in your glass. “Take this and cool yourself down with it.”
She hummed while listening, reaching to take the cup from you but refusing to say anything further than that. Trish’s expression was twisted in remorse, and you know that the girl must have been beating herself up over the whole ordeal. It’s hard not to feel responsible when hundreds of people’s lives are put on the line in pursuit of you.
Grabbing three of the coldest water bottle you could find, you turned to her. “Listen Trish, none of this is your fault. But if you want to help them, then fetch me that towel over there.”
The lifeless way she held herself was now replaced with a look of determination, and the both of you took turns splashing and wiping the others with the cold liquid. And although it did help decrease the aging for a little bit, it still wasn’t enough.
Drops of water fell on Abbacchio’s face from how hard you were clenching the damp cloth. The water wasn’t cold enough to do anything further, but at least their symptoms were no longer as severe. You sat on the couch, Abbacchio’s head laying on your lap– like the others, he had aged and wrinkled like a prune. Gently, you stroked his face, and you inhaled sharply as you watched the veins of your hand grow taut and more prominent.
“What do we do now, Bruno?”
Bucciarati was sat on the floor, slumped against one of the leather armchairs. He was aging faster than you, and you could tell from his lack of composure that his stamina is slowly depleting. “Now we wait.”
“But… what do we do if…?” Apprehension gnawed on you. It’s not like you don’t trust Mista’s ability to pull him through, but is it not logical to always have a contingency plan?
There was a pause, filled by the sound of Bruno’s labored breaths. “Then… we come out and kill the enemy ourselves.”
You shut your eyes tight, leaning back against the couch. The damp towel was still pressed against Abbacchio’s cheek, although you know that it would no longer do him any good. There was nothing else to do except pray that Mista would succeed. None of you can die yet. Abbacchio can’t die yet. There are still a couple of things that you wanted to tell him. One, the affections you harbored towards him; and the other, a memory you know had already been buried in the recesses of his mind.
That rainy night in the alley wasn’t the first time you had met each other– although Abbacchio certainly believe so. It made sense, you supposed, and you didn’t hold the lack of recognition against him. You had looked different when you first met; your hair was styled differently, and the color had been lighter than the one you now prefer.
The first time you truly met each other was a full year before Bruno had attempted to recruit him. He was still a wide-eyed green boy, filled with determination and the willingness to give his life in pursuit of peace and justice. Abbacchio’s police badge was still proudly pinned to his chest, and you were one of the dirty criminals that he was dedicated to punish behind bars.
There was something about the summers in Napoli that you particularly enjoyed, but the weather is the last thing in your mind right now as you trudged your usual route to the city's prison. The task that Polpo had assigned you was finally wrapped up, and you clutched yesterday's mission report tightly in your hands.
"Traitors are popping up like weeds lately, don't you think so too, (Y/N)? Won't you root them out for me?" That's what Polpo told you when he asked you to take care of his little problem for him.
And by ‘take care’, he absolutely meant murdering them in cold blood and disposing the body without it being traced back to you.
You trudged along the streets, trying not to feel sick from the dread you feel in your stomach. Meeting Polpo right now wouldn't be easy, and you only hoped that you could convince him of the truth you have rewritten.
It was an easy job, but it wasn't an easy decision to make. You had tracked the traitor all the way into the pier, where he skulked inside an abandoned warehouse. He used to be one of Polpo's men, a squad leader for a team of non-Stand users. The man, Mirtillo, was supposed to escort the goods to one of Polpo’s private establishments; but in a frenzy of greed, had decided to steal them and keep the profits to himself.
And when you steal from a capo, you can guarantee that someone would be sent to make an example out of you.
You were expecting smuggled goods, or even illegal drugs stashed in crates. But what had greeted you was a cluster of women— prostitutes, by the looks of it— shackled and chained in cages. Small wounds littered their bodies, and you could spot cigarette burns on their most sensitive areas. They were naked and gagged, and they reached out to you with muffled screams.
This was what was stolen from Polpo? And you were supposed to return it?
No, not it. Them.
The moment you let your guard down, Mirtillo had rounded on you immediately with a gun in hand. Time slowed down for a second, and before he knew it, the gun was skidding across the room. You could have shot him dead then, a Standless low-fry like him could have been taken out in seconds. But you let him pummel you with his fists. You thought that for all the things you have done that led you to this moment, you deserved it— and every blow you received felt like a penitence for your sins.
When you finally had enough, you knocked him unconscious in one swift move. It was almost comical at how quick he had dropped to the floor, and you lifted his legs up to drag him down into the basement. Poor guy never stood a chance, and when he had woken up from the pain, it was already too late, and you bagged his severed head in an iced container.
But that had been the easy part. The hard part was to figure out what to do with the women who even now, are wailing and crying in your direction, begging for help.
You didn't know whether the mistreatment had begun under Polpo's care or under Mirtillo and his sick, perversions. Loyalty and morality clashed in your mind. A soldier must always do what they have been told, but where will you draw the line between loyalty and blind obedience?
In the end, you couldn't bring yourself to fulfill the rest of Polpo's orders. You're not stupid. You know that Passione, among other things, dabble in sex trafficking; but you couldn't just leave them in this state, to be packaged like objects and passed along to the hands of their next abuser. Not when you can do something about it.
So you sold them. Because it was the only way you knew to save them without openly branding yourself with the mark of a traitor.
Under the guise of Mirtillo's identity, you proceeded with the business deal that he had struck that day, sending an anonymous tip to the station beforehand. You were not a religious person, but that day you had prayed so hard that the police would be able to make it in time.
The aftermath of your insubordination would be dealt with today. You would tweak the time of Mirtillo's death a little, and you would lie to Polpo that the women were already gone by the time you got there. The police had been involved, and there was nothing you could further do.
That’s how you found yourself walking the usual path to the Napoli prison.
The contacts you wore as a disguise for your earlier task made your eyes itch, and you fought the urge to tear it out. Your usual uniform was replaced by something more casual– after all, you needed to be inconspicuous if you didn't want the deed traced back to you. You had gone by Mirtillo's team's hideout earlier that day; his head was packaged in a pretty, bowed box, and written on a note was the words 'Punizione'.
It was a warning. A reminder that for people who cross the line and disobey their orders, only death awaits.
For all you know, it would be the same thing that awaits you.
A sharp whistle pulled you out of your thoughts, followed by a gruff voice yelling at someone to stop. Your paranoia urged you to run, but you quickly realized that the command was directed at the police dog barreling towards you.
You know better than to run from a clearly out of control K-9, so you braced yourself, expecting it to have sniffed the scent of blood that was still lingering on your clothes.
To your surprise, it ran past; but the relief you felt was short-lived when a dark figure bumped into you, sending the both of you crashing into the ground. The papers you had been holding slid off of its folder, scattering across the pavement.
“Damn it, look where you’re going, asshole!” You sat there on the concrete, scowling and aching from the sudden fall. The figure was on top of you, hand held out to the side as he tried to steady himself.
The first thing you noticed about him was his eyes. He had glowing sunset eyes, like a crystal that turns into different hues when you hold it up to the light— shifting from a deep lavender, and turning to liquid gold next. The second thing you noticed was his clothes. The peaked cap perched on top of his head, the navy blue of his uniform, and most importantly, the shiny badge pinned to his chest.
‘Un poliziotto locale.’
Your frown deepened.
Another man in a police uniform ran by. He had a bright, smiling face, and his eyes twinkled in amusement as he looked at both of your sprawled out forms. “Go ahead and take your break, Abbacchio. I’ll take care of it. See you in a bit.” He stifled a laugh when his eyes darted towards you, still pinned underneath his associate. “Or not.”
Embarrassed, 'Abbacchio' peeled himself away from you. He stood up to brush himself off, and held out a hand to help you. “My apologies, ma’am. Please ignore my partner. Are you… hurt…?” His dual-toned eyes fell on the darkening bruise on your jaw, and his deep voice grounded to a halt.
Glaring at him, you slapped his hands away. You don’t need this kind of setback right now. You were already feeling irritated and queasy from your indirect betrayal, and being questioned by the police is the last thing you needed today.
You hurried to gather the documents you had dropped, and he leaned down to help you. “No!” You snatched the paper he had picked up, quickly shoving it back in the folder. You'll be damned before you let a policeman, of all people, see the contents of that report. But you could tell that he was growing suspicious of your behavior, his black-painted lips downturned in a frown. “I meant, noooo, you didn’t have to do that for me. I was the one in the way officer.”
Tucking the folder under your arm, you turned to walk past him. “Good day.”
He grabbed your arm, and you bounced back from the sudden restraint. Your heart thundered in your chest. Did he see? Was I too suspicious? But the genuine concern on his face wasn’t something you expected. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that. But are you alright?”
“Uhm, yeah. Don’t worry, I fall down all the time.”
“No.” He insisted, gesturing at his own jaw. “Did someone do this to you? Because I can help you.”
Oh. So he was one of those cops. The ones who were too kind and wide-eyed for their own good. You laughed softly. “No. Like I said, I fall down all the time. This was just the latest consequence of my clumsiness, I guess.”
He grunted at that, and the both of you shuffled your feet awkwardly. Why are you even wasting your time here? You should just bid him a good day, hand your report to Polpo, try not to die, and then go back to the safety of your shared home where you know Bruno would be waiting.
Your mouth opened before you could think. “Was that your police dog? His first day of work, I assume?”
With the ice broken, he visibly relaxed, chuckling at their earlier ruckus. “Not a good start for his career, don't you think? No worries, my partner is chasing him down now.” He looked to the side in thought. “Actually... I was just about to go on my break, and I still feel bad for bumping into you like that. Would you let me buy you a cup of coffee as an apology, carina?”
You blinked back at him. Was he flirting with you? Now that you’re looking at him properly, he wasn’t bad-looking at all. No, scratch that– he was gorgeous. The lines of his cheekbones, his jaw, and his throat were well-defined, his nose tall and proud, and peeking underneath his hat were strands of unnatural silver styled in a standard crew cut.
His dichromatic eyes stared at you expectantly, black lips curved in a small, shy smile.
You really, really should be going. Just say no and walk away. Refuse. You mustn’t keep your capo waiting.
“Sure. Why not?”
There was just something so deliciously forbidden about trying to flirt with your cute, neighborhood, police officer.
The both of you made small talk while you walked. You asked him how his day went, and he admitted that it had been rough. Being a policeman wasn’t as easy as he thought, especially when most of the citizens he was trying to help tend to be ungrateful. You sympathized with his troubles, but when he asked how your day went, you held back a snort.
‘Utterly stressful. I coordinated an entrapment operation of my own. I just came back from disposing a traitor's body, and I mailed his severed head back to his friends. I lied and betrayed my capo's trust. And I am now shaking in my boots at the thought of being found out and executed.'
“It was pretty boring. I guess you were this day’s highlight for me.” You said instead.
He held the café door open for you, and you could see a flush of pink creeping up his neck.
He urged you to wait at a table while he gets your order, and when he came back with two cups and two plates of cornetti in hand, you sent him a teasing smile. “Is this a date, Mr. Officer?”
“Only if you wanted it to be.”
You laughed at that. He had said it in such a nonchalant manner that you were unsure whether he was being serious or simply riding in on your fun. Oh if only he knew who you are and what you do for a living, then he would have you bent over the table right now, arms handcuffed behind your back.
Although that’s not necessarily a bad thing either.
Abbacchio, as he had introduced himself, was surprisingly good company. He seemed smart, with a dry sense of humor that so far hadn't failed to make you laugh. And although you could tell that he was a little closed-off and introverted, he was a great listener— smiling and making appropriate comments as you regaled him with tales from your made up life.
“And that’s how I ended up passed out in my car halfway to Bari with three ducks in the backseat.”
“I could arrest you right now for drunk driving you know.” He rolled his eyes at you from behind his coffee cup. "How fast were you speeding again?”
“Sorry, but I exercise my right to remain silent.”
The beeper on his wrist went off, and you were surprised at how quickly the last 30 minutes had gone by. You were reluctant to let your time together finish, but you supposed that it was for the best. Abbacchio put his hat back on, standing up to brush away the stray crumbs that fell on his uniform. “Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to go.”
When he turned towards you, you noticed that the lipstick on his lips had rubbed off, revealing the light pink color underneath. “Wait.” You called out, pointing to your lips to try and get him to notice.
He tilted his head at you in confusion, and you pointed at your lips insistently, thin brows arched in annoyance.
“Do you… want me to kiss you?”
“What?! No!” You spluttered in embarrassment, cheeks heating up. “Fix your lipstick before you go.”
“Oh.” He chuckled lowly, producing a tube of lipstick and a compact mirror from his coat pocket, before reapplying it in an almost lazy manner. “Offer’s still on the table though.”
“Shut up.”
Once he was satisfied with how it looked, he snapped the compact shut. He would be leaving any moment now, and it seems that he was just waiting on you before he headed out in an act of politeness.
It would be a bad idea to ask. You really shouldn't. Just trust your gut and trust in their capabilities to get the job done. Getting involved with police outside the mafia’s payroll is always prohibited, and if someone were to see you and recognize you right now, then it would spell bad news not only for you, but him as well.
But again, your brain just seemed to stop working.
“Can I ask you something, Abbacchio?”
His brows furrowed, but he inclined his head in a silent signal for you to continue.
“The anonymous call you have gotten… About the women. The trafficked prostitutes.” You swallowed, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “What happened to that one?”
Abbacchio stiffened. His eyes grew sharper, narrowing at you in suspicion. “How do you know about that?”
“The thing is, I'm actually a journalist for a newspaper. For ‘La Repubblica’? I'm actually surprised you didn't recognize me." You lied, eyebrows raised expectantly as if this was something he should’ve known already. “Well, sources said you received a call yesterday. But did you manage to stop the boat before it left the marina?”
“How do you-?”
“I have my own contact in the station.” You interrupted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Journalists usually milled around the station in search for their latest scoop, and some of his fellow officers were actually getting paid on the down low to contact said journalist immediately if something big were to happen. It was a too common occurrence to safely lie about, but you could tell that he was still skeptical.
You had to know. You need to know that the risk you took wasn’t for naught.
Picking at the remaining half of your cornetti, you continued. “Okay, so I wasn't really tasked to cover this story, and this is more of a personal ‘want-to-know-basis’. But after my contact told me about it, I just had to know. I'm a sucker for good endings, and as a fellow woman, I want to know if we can really rely on the police to keep us safe." You cocked your head to the side. “Won’t you reassure me?”
The lies continued to flow out of you effortlessly, and his tense shoulders slacked a bit at your excuse, chest puffed out to prove your reservations wrong. “I’m not supposed to be saying this, but yes. We have arrested the criminal, and all of the women are now under our protection. I was the one who took that call, actually, but I wasn't among those who responded to the scene. So if you want to interview those who did, I could take you to the station now if you’d like…?”
“You were the one who received m- the tip?” You echoed back at him.
“Yes…?”
Maybe there really are no coincidences in this world. Everything that is and was were weaved together in the loom of fate, threads interconnected in ways you would never expect it to be. Him standing before you now is proof of that. What were the chances that the both of you would bump into each other?
He was your saving grace, and although he had done nothing but receive your call, he had been your gateway to redemption. The others responded immediately because he trusted in your tip. And you felt like through him, you had been given a chance to prove to yourself that you were something more than a mindless soldier. That despite the years' worth of sin that you have been drowning in, you still have the power to make a change and do the right thing.
Interestingly enough, that validation came from the one person who is likely to arrest you the first chance he could get.
Funny how life works.
“Thank you for the wonderful time.” You quickly gathered your things. “But I need to get going.”
You ran out of there, and he tried to chase after you, trying to ask for your name; but you ignored him, and soon he lost sight of you in the rush-hour crowd.
That was the last time you had seen him for a long time. Ever since that day, you avoided that avenue at all costs. He was a nice man, and he didn’t deserve to be entangled with the likes of you. When Bruno asked why you started taking a different route to the prison, you bitterly muttered that it had something to do with the police— although you didn't specify why.
"Why do you look so troubled?" Bruno was unbothered by your concern. "We can just pay them off to keep them quiet."
You looked at the sky thoughtfully. "No. Not this one, I think."
So imagine your surprise when Bruno hands you his personal file a year later, introducing him as the next person he was going to try and recruit.
Abbacchio had lost his bright smile, as well as the hopeful sparkle in his eyes. The blue uniform you had associated with him was replaced with a dark overcoat, and his now long hair spilled over his shoulders.
You didn’t know that he turned out to be a corrupt cop, and that his actions (as well as lack thereof) had indirectly caused the death of his own partner. Since then, he had been a shadow of his past self; but you know that buried inside was still the same righteous man you had met. Although you suppose that it hardly matters— it was the him now that you had fallen for anyways.
While you had been busy reminiscing, Trish was busy trying to cool down Giorno and Fugo. She was sat on the other end of the couch, carefully dabbing away at Giorno’s cheek. Remorse still lurked behind the glossy sheen of her emerald eyes, but despite that, she refused to be a liability.
“You don’t have to bother with them Trish, all the ice in that glass is yours.” Bruno said, reprimanding her gently.
With Narancia propped up and cooling down by the fridge, and you still wiping down Abbacchio, the only ones who are now still in immediate danger is Fugo and Giorno. Trish’s hand paused, hovering over Giorno’s face. The ice she had been holding had melted into nothingness, and the freezing water trickled down her fingertips, forming droplets that fell on his face like a youth serum.
“Don’t worry… about them.” He panted, struggling to keep himself upright. “Just cool yourself down… That small glass is all for you…”
“But… (Y/N) and I already tried fanning or rubbing them down with a wet towel, and they don’t work… Only ice has any effect. If I don’t do this-“
“Trish.” You called out, and she stopped. Her breathing was growing more ragged, and you could feel your strength failing as well. “I know you just want to help. Trust me, I want to save everyone just as much as you do. But you need to focus on keeping yourself safe. You’re not here because you wanted to be, but we’re here because we have a job to be done.”
“That’s right.” Bruno agreed, although Trish was still unconvinced. “And Mista’s going to take care of… the guy causing the aging...!”
The words left him when his eyes swept over the porcelain vase at the corner of the room. The roses that was previously bright and fragrant, was now crumbling into dust before your eyes. You ceased to breathe for a moment, your restless mind conjuring the worst possible scenarios. More than 10 minutes had already passed, and Mista should have wrapped up by now. So why had the aging not stopped yet?
“No… Mista’s gonna stop him.” Bruno swallowed, looking just as anxious as you. “Or else, we… we…”
Whatever he was going to say was cut off by Number 6 zooming towards him.
“Bucciaratiiii!” His high-pitched voice screamed, and in his hands were two large chips of ice. “Mista! Something happened to Mista!”
“What’s wrong, Number 6? Where’s Mista?!” The stand wailed louder at the mention of his user's name, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Carefully, you laid down Abbacchio's head on the couch before standing up to join them. The action caused you to stumble more than once, your legs numb from the lack of circulation.
"I turned on the AC before I came here, but take these ice with you!" He squeaked, flying towards Bruno to press an ice cube to his cheek. Bruno handed you the extra ice that Number 6 had brought, and you reached over to take it.
True to his words, you could feel the room's temperature dropping slowly. And thanks to the ice that he brought, you and Bruno had regained most of your strength.
"The enemy is on their way now Bucciarati! There are two enemies, not just one! The other guy's Stand was a fishing rod, and it could hook you. Watch out! Watch out for it! You both need to hide now!"
“Hide? We’re not going to hide.” Digging into the folds of your skirt, you unsheathed a small, sleek dagger, and handed it to Trish. "Take it. Just in case. But be careful not to cut yourself, it's laced with belladonna poison. Not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate your enemy."
You're not the type of person who relies on poison to murder or assassinate someone, but it sure is helpful when trying to render your enemy immobile.
Trish nodded resolutely, taking the dagger with shaking hands. You felt unbearably proud of her, and you gave her one last encouraging look before letting Bruno drag you out of the turtle, and through the zipper that he had created on the train's ceiling.
Just like Number 6 had warned you, the two enemies barged into the cabin just as the both of you slipped onto the roof. The metal plates separating you from the room muffled the noises they made, and you couldn't see nor hear what they were talking about. Although from the loud crashes coming from inside, you could tell that they were turning the whole cabin around in search of you and your team.
Just as Bruno was about to reopen his zipper to attack, a voice loud enough to be heard over the screeching engine, yelled.
"It's… It’s Bucciarati and (L/N) Fratello! They're both missing! Fra, they're not inside this turtle!"