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cannedbananabread · 5 months ago

Text

Nobody Does it Better- Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k - I need psychiatric help

CW: smut (of course), kinda rough sex, some violence, mafia treachery, religious symbolism (presented in the context of art)

Can also be read on ao3 (probably easier given how long this is)

A/N: From an ao3 request for capo Bruno paired with a fellow capo reader. Keep in mind that I have never been to Italy so any information about the setting comes from google and my brain lol. Also, while I'm pretty sure the design on Bruno's chest is supposed to be a lacy undershirt in the manga, it definitely looks like a tattoo in the anime and I think it's a bit more scandalous if it's a tattoo, so it's a tattoo here. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, I'm hoping to get through more requests sooooon!! Hopefully not quite so long as this one oops!

Rising to the rank of capo in Passione was no small feat, but you had done so in just a handful of years. Your home life had been one of dissonance and so it wasn’t any wonder that you had gone the unfortunate way of many of your peers, scrounging for survival in the streets. Starving and alone, you were entirely out of options that night several years ago when a plucky little boy around your age had found you, sick and shivering in a filthy, damp alleyway.

Delirious from fever, you were met with the impression that an angel had fallen to earth and rescued you from ruin, but reality had not been quite as kind. The boy offered you solace in the dusky hotel where he resided and saw to it that you were fed and taken care of. In the morning, with your lucidity having returned to you, it was quite apparent that the boy who had come to your rescue was a member of Passione and the very thought left you reproachful of even his most genuine assistance.

The extent of the power Passione had over Italy could not be overestimated. You knew that the shadow of that treacherous organization extended far beyond the edges of the little city you called home. You had known better than to involve yourself with something so unsavory; however hard up you were, you were not going to trade your life away just to end up the beast of burden to a faceless, unknowable entity who viewed you more as a number than a human.

The boy who had acted as your savior approached you with a stoic expression that made him appear far wiser than his meager years would’ve suggested but you only glared back at him with contempt burning in your eyes. You knew a debt to Passione was not one you could easily be free of, so before you even properly met the boy, you loathed him with all the fire in your soul. He tentatively handed you a glass of water which you accepted, only to promptly splash in his face. “Puttana, what did you do that for?”

“I know what you are,” you spat, rage bubbling in your chest until you reached your fatal boiling point, “goddamn mafioso, the world would be a better place without the likes of you in it. Whatever you brought me here for, I won’t do it!”

“You would be dead in the gutter if I hadn’t helped you stronza!”

“Bruno…” a deep, almost metallic-sounding voice bellowed, reverberating off the walls of the hotel room, “what did I tell you about bringing another ruffian into my home?”

“Polpo, sir, I—”

“Oh, a girl, Bruno, you dog you.”

“It’s not like that!” The boy shouted in vehement protest before shrinking back in fear of impending punishment for having spoken out of turn, “and besides, she was just leaving.”

You nodded silently to affirm his claim and made a quick, darting movement to escape. Polpo’s reputation preceded him; he was a cruel and cold capo who seized what he wanted through whatever means necessary and wherever he went, he was undoubtedly treated like a king but in practice, he was more akin to a tyrant. In the far recesses of your heart, you felt a pang of guilt for the boy; a mafioso he may be, but he had still come to your rescue without the hope of selfish gain. You bowed humbly to show your gratitude for the sanctuary you had been provided the night before, hoping the gesture would be enough to placate some of the man’s ire towards his subordinate, then you made another hasty attempt to make your exit, but your arm was caught in the capo’s massive, swollen hand. “And where is it that you are so eager to run off to, it’s clear that such a sickly thing has no home waiting for her, why not join me? It’s a generous offer, you would have food, shelter, and above all else, my protection, all I ask is that you pass one simple test.”

His booming voice struck something deeply within you, as though he had tapped into the very wiring of your brain and pulled something loose. Before him, you felt entirely powerless and it required all of your strength just to remain on your feet as he forced you to look into the black depths of his soulless eyes. “A-and if I were to refuse?” You stuttered, unable to hide the irresolution that quaked your entire frame.

“Hmm? Well, in that case, I suppose you would be of no use to me,” he said, forcing aloofness as he glanced over his fingernails. “Quite a shame too, I can’t say things tend to bode well for those who cross me.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as he uttered such a thinly veiled threat, you were foolish to even tenuously believe that he would let you walk free without the demand of some kind of restitution, in the face of him, you were left utterly bereft of words, so shaken that you couldn’t see beyond the immediate terror that drowned out any of your better senses.

“Think it over, someone like you could be quite an asset to this organization.”

“S-someone like me?” You asked and a dim hope arose that he might look favorably upon you and that you might find your freedom yet.

“Yes, someone that no one would ever come looking for, someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Someone expendable.”

There it was, your worst fears laid out before you as if by the wave of a hand, you had been stripped of all your resolve, forced to relinquish the last vestiges of personhood you had clung to so fiercely. “What do I have to do?”

A wicked sneer crawled across the corpulent man’s face and though you could not see what happened next, the ominous aura caused every inch of your skin to prickle with goosebumps and the acute sensation that followed was enough to make your body go limp. After that, the next thing you were able to recall was waking up in a warm bed feeling rather worse for wear, but the pin on your bedside table let you know that your initiation into Passione had been a success.

And so swore fealty to Passione, from then on your future was set in stone, you would not know any other life that wasn’t one of carnage and bloodshed. After a while, it became normal, more than that, you began to revel in it. What had once been stomach-churning acts of violence soon left you aglow with pride, you ruthlessly pursued anything you wanted, no sacrifice was too great, “all for the good of the organization,” you said as you rose effortlessly through the ranks, paying little heed to those you had stepped on to reach for higher and heights. Was it any wonder that you’d become a capo in only a few short years? Certainly not, and you were as respected by your subordinates as you were feared and in truth, any of you considered even your darkest of deeds to be worth the price now that you lived a life of luxury.

As the years passed, any thoughts of the boy that had come to your rescue had receded to only a dim recollection your mind could only laboriously conjure up, though your connection to him was not one you could so easily forget and every time you heard his name in passing, you were catapulted back in time, struck by a vision of tan skin, dark hair, and deep blue sunken eyes that looked upon you with violent contempt.

Bruno Bucciarati; you had not seen him in years and perhaps that was for the best, he had not been shy about his acrimonious feelings towards you and even though there was a part of you, deep in the reservoir of your cold, cold heart that still looked favorably upon him, you did not think the possibility of amends would be worth the risk of altercation.

But then, on a perfectly common day at the end of March, came the instructions for your latest assignment, direct from the hands of Percilo himself. You had been requested to undertake a special mission with the newly appointed capo with one clear goal in mind: eliminate the leader of the hitman team, Risotto Nero. So you were left with no other choice but to follow the orders that had been handed down to you, you could never violate a direct order from the Boss and live to tell about it. Armed with the knowledge that Bruno would be less than enthused by your presence, you arranged your travel plans and made a reservation under a false name at that little restaurant Bruno was so terribly fond of and planned to enter unannounced before he had a chance to deny you entry.

Seated at one of the quaint tables, you observed as a group of well-dressed civilians was led to their reserved table nearby which provided you with the perfect opportunity to ask the maitre-d’ if he could send for Bucciarati. While he complied graciously and assured you that he was in, instead of Bucciarati, a trio of vibrantly dressed, obstreperous youths emerged from the back of the restaurant and crowded your table.

“Are you the one who’s been asking for—” the blond dressed in a green suit asked before being interrupted by one of his friends.

“Who are you and why do you want to see Bucciarati?”

“Narancia, cool it, that’s not the way you talk to a guest. You gotta ask nicely and if they don’t comply, then, well, we have other means.” The third man said as he glanced at the purple handle of a pistol that stuck out of his waistband.

“Are you threatening me?” You asked, feigning an affectation of coyness as you looked up innocently from your menu.

“A threat? No, no, I like to think of this as more of a suggestion if anything.”

“And if I choose not to take your suggestion?”

“Well, you don’t have to, but I can’t say I’d be so eager to throw my life away,” he said with a shrug, letting his fingers over just over the handle, baiting you to continue your defiance.

“Aw, you think you could kill me? That’s adorable. Where did Bruno pick you up?” You simpered, folding your hands together in an offhand gesture to emphasize the meaninglessness of his threats.

“Listen, lady, just tell us what you want with Bucciarati, we’re not gonna fight you if we don’t have to,” he said at last, planting his hands firmly on the table, having given up any pretense towards a gunfight in the middle of the restaurant.

“I will only talk to Bruno, not whatever help he’s pulled together.”

“And what makes you think we’ll let you?”

“Oh, you will,” you said, standing up with a crazed look in your eye, ready to fight if necessary, but you reined in your temper just enough to keep the upper hand, “after all, he and I are old friends.”

“Doubt it,” the blond cut in, matching his tone to yours, “Bucciarati told us about the kinds of friends he had before and none of them are welcome here.”

“Well, that’s quite a shame then, because—” you began, but were cut off by a familiar voice slicing through the ensuing quarrel.

“What is going on out here? Mista, Narancia, Fugo, when I sent you to see who was asking for me, I explicitly told you to do so without disturbing the other guests!” Bucciarati shouted, a pair of other men flanking him as they entered the scene, the man to his left had silver hair and wore a long, dark coat, and to his right was a young blond with his hair tied back into a braid, dressed in a lurid pink suit.

“My, my, Bruno Bucciarati, as I live and breathe,” you said, a sly, coquettish titter to your voice as you collected yourself, he was certainly just as handsome as you remembered him, “can’t say I thought I’d ever see the day where they’d let you make capo, the Boss must really be desperate after what happened to ole Polpo.”

“You… I thought you knew better than to ever show your face around me again,” he sneered, several vulgar interjections from his colorful subordinates followed his declaration.

“Now, now, is that any way to treat a lady?” You asked, abandoning the table entirely and sauntering over to where he stood with the letter in hand. “And besides, I’m here because of my orders alone and these have been handed down from the top, if you care to have a look.”

He snatched the paper from your hand and read it over carefully. It was legit. Only a select few had ever been chosen directly by the Boss himself, but all were rewarded handsomely in both monetary compensation and under the banner of greater trust. As much Bruno did not want to tangle himself with any of the unsavory business you often dealt with, that added trust alone could prove essential to the long-term goals he and his newfound friend were aiming towards, “one last mission and then we go back to being strangers. I mean it, I don’t ever want to hear from you again, are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

The details were dealt with accordingly and you returned to your hotel to bide your time until your departure the following day. Meanwhile, Bucciarati discussed the matter in depth with his team, though all the while, a flurry of unwelcome emotions stewed relentlessly through his mind, as vivid and intolerable as the last time he laid eyes on you.

“Bucciarati, I think you should seriously reconsider accepting this mission, something about it seems strange,” Giorno said as he looked over the fragment of the letter you left in their care.

“You can’t be serious, stronzo! Bucciarati can’t just ignore a direct order from the Boss!” Abbacchio exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table with such ferocity it caused the dishes to rattle in their places.

“Listen, Giorno, I know you’re new here, but the Boss doesn’t hand out missions like this to just anyone,” Fugo said, more calmly than his cohort, but still in vehement opposition to anything that may create conflict between them and the Boss. And rightfully so, it would be a foolish endeavor to even think one stood a chance against such a fearsome adversary.

“Yes, they’re right Giorno, disagreeable as they are, orders are orders and I am determined to see this through.”

Giorno sighed and mulled over the arrangement before drawing his own conclusion and covertly hiding something in Bucciarati’s pocket. “Giorno, what is—”

“Take it for luck. It’s… insurance.” Bucciarati did not need to ask questions to understand where Giorno’s intentions lay, but he could not afford to disclose any further information and jeopardize the safety of his team.

“Come Bucciarati, the instructions say to meet at Napoli Centrale, I’ll drive you.”

“That won’t be necessary Fugo, I promised my old friend that I would meet her at her hotel.”

“Is it wise to disobey orders like that?”

“Perhaps not wise, but I doubt any harm will come of it. The Boss must be well aware of our history or else he would not have specifically paired us to work together.”

“Well, alright, you would know best, just promise that you’ll be safe… for all of us, we need you as our leader.”

“Thank you, Fugo, I will make it back from this, you have my word,” Bruno declared, his resolve was evident in the deep tone of his voice. One more mission, that’s all it would be. He would earn the Boss’s trust and then you would be out of his life for good.

It was early the next morning when there came three rapid knocks on the door of your hotel room and with all the swiftness of a cat, you glided to the door and pulled the chain through the lock so that you could open the door just enough to make sure your visitor had been invited. “So you came after all, Bruno, but really, how could you stay away?” You purred as you undid the chain and bade him inside with far greater amiability than he was likely to offer you.

“You know very well that I had no choice in the matter,” he spat, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with you… those damn eyes of yours, like sparkling jewels, they always hypnotized him.

“Come now Bruno, that hurts my feelings, and after all the things we’ve been through together, it’s quite a shame, I remember when you used to be so terribly fond of me.” You purred, dragging your index finger tediously down his exposed chest.

With an abruptness that startled you out of your cavalier disposition, he harshly gripped your wrist to stop the salacious pursuit of your hand. “You know very well that any fondness I once had for you died a long time ago.”

“Are you quite certain about that? I saw the way you were looking at me at the restaurant, I think there’s a part of you that still wants me like you did all those years ago.”

His brows furrowed together and, with the same suddenness with which he had grabbed your wrist, he pushed it away and took several steps away from you.

“Aw, Bruno, haven’t you realized that you shouldn't show your hand so early?” You snickered, drifting slowly over to him, your hips swaying with each purposeful step.

“Well, it’s not as though you ever made it a challenge.” He snapped, unamused by your performance.

“If that’s the case, then how come you were never able to seal the deal? We both know how desperately you wanted to.”

“It is very like you to think more highly of yourself than you deserve, but you must be misremembering.”

“Oh, am I misremembering the compromising position that Polpo caught us in that Easter?”

“That was before Milan.”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t even the least bit curious about what would have happened if Polpo hadn’t come back early,” you said, pressing your chin to his shoulder and whispering softly into his ear.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, drawing back from you and finally securing a seat in one of the finely quilted chairs, “even back then you tasted like a liar.” If looks could kill, you would have been dead, face down on the floor after the way he looked at you, full of hate, ire, and a deep desire for vengeance. And yet even for all the malice in his stare, it tickled you to know you still affected him so strongly. Had he truly cut you from his life with the same knife you had used to stab him in the back, he would not have been driven to such brutish, adolescent insults.

You smoothed out the skirt of your dress and sat in the chair opposite from him, quickly, but not without a degree of ceremony, you unfolded the remaining pages of the letter and spread them out in order upon the coffee table, “I suppose we should get down to business then, shall we?”

He made no reply but began to sift through the separate papers to familiarize himself with the administered task. A look of confusion sprung across his face when he reached the final sheet, “this can’t be all you were given.”

“For now, yeah, the rest of the mission will be waiting in an envelope behind The Birth of Venus then we just go from there.”

“You act like it’s that simple, thousands of people go to the Uffizi Gallery every single day!”

“And we will be among them, just leave everything up to me, I have a plan.”

“I will certainly not trust you with my life, not after last time, you will tell me exactly what you have devised and then we can decide what the best course of action is as a team.”

“A team? Well, in that case, perhaps I can accept those conditions.” You simpered, crossing one leg over the other, knowing full well it offered him a titillating view of your upper thigh. “Truth be told, Risotto and I were once… friends. I have some apprehensions about targeting him and his team, especially after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato.”

“This is precisely why they tell you not to mix business with pleasure, though I was certain you’d learned that lesson a long time ago.”

“Hm, I don’t recall you being the jealous type, Bruno, perhaps you have changed.”

“And unfortunately for us both, it appears that you have not.”

That cut a bit deeper than his previous affronts and you felt a bit of your playfulness recede, “I’m merely saying that while Risotto was an irrevocable fool for believing he stood a chance against the Boss, I think his motives are understandable, after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato, but they should have known better than to go poking around into the Boss’s identity.”

Bruno sat pensively as he considered the circumstances, “far be it from me to question the Boss’s absolute authority, but isn’t it a bit odd that he sent us to do a hitman’s job, that really isn’t either of our specialties.”

“Well, La Squadra was in charge of assassinations, I’m not sure he could get any one of them to defect from their leader. I suppose he trusts us more at any rate.”

“I’m sure he has plenty of other skilled assassins that would be better suited for the job than us if this job is really so important.”

“Well, you can consider it your initiation. Prove your loyalty now that you’re a capo.”

“Then why you?”

“Because of my relationship to Risotto of course. Listen, I know you aren’t fond of me, at least not anymore, but you know there isn’t a better person you could have been paired with for this mission. I know Risotto like the back of my hand, I’m wise to his tricks, I know how he thinks, and I’ve seen his Stand. I know all of his strengths and weaknesses, like it or not, you need me for this.”

“Fine then, but my previous request still stands, once this is over, you and I are strangers once again.”

“I agreed before, didn’t I?” You asked, resting your head on your folded hand to eye his movements more keenly. The stern, unwavering look on his face remained, as such you were forced to resort to far more efficacious means to restore the upper hand you so desired.

Without a word, you moved across the room with the same rhythmic sway of your hips that always seemed to catch Bruno’s eye and situated yourself before the only mirror your hotel room offered.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, aghast as he watched your dress flutter to the ground and pool around your feet.

“Don’t act as though it’s something you haven’t seen before,” you groaned, rummaging through the mess of your suitcase for the necessary garment until, at last, you found what you needed, an expensive sundress covered in a vibrant pattern of flowers and citrus fruits.

“And your previous attire was unsuitable?” He asked, that unflappable aplomb had been utterly laid to waste once he got a glimpse of your body.

“Naturally, we will be going to Florence, what better way to blend in than as tourists? Every member of La Squadra is a thoroughly trained assassin, this way we can hide amongst the throngs of couples on holiday and they will be none the wiser,” you explained as you stepped into the dress. “Now then, zip me up?”

“I never imagined you’d be capable of appearing so docile,” he mused, tugging the zipper up the length of your spine to where the hem of your dress sat between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t look so smug, I brought something for you to wear as well,” you said and handed him a tidy garment bag.

“You can’t expect me to wear this…” he said, recoiling as he unzipped the bag and caught sight of its sickeningly pastel colored contents.

“I do indeed, and as sexy as that suit is on you, we are aiming to be as inconspicuous as possible, so get changed, I promise you’ll look just as dashing in this little costume I’ve picked for you. Now hop to it.”

With disguises set and travel plans arranged, you boarded the train for Florence. The journey was long, several hours at least, but the journey across the Italian landscape was beautiful. Perhaps, had it not been for your addled mind, you would have been able to enjoy it more. Instead, you leaned your head against the window in your private car and watched as Bruno slept in the seat beside you. The tan suit and pale blue shirt suited him perfectly, in fact to any unknowing passerby, the two of you could have easily been mistaken for a young couple on a scenic ride through the countryside.

Baring that thought in mind, you felt nothing but contempt for the dismal shell of a life you had been living. Briefly, you wondered what might have been if young Bruno had been your savior all those years ago, but you couldn’t see past the immediate severity of what you had been rescued from. Even so, you never wanted this, but for all your dangerous desires, all the money and power you had amassed in so young a life, you knew that you could never be anything else but what you had already become. You were a murderer and no matter how you tried to couch it in the insistence of necessity, that it was a matter of your life or theirs, that they were no better than you, but no matter how you dressed it up, a murderer you would always be. Even if by some stroke of luck you managed to escape the grasp of Passione, you could never escape all you had done. Years of miserable deeds and back alley deals; it would all have to be paid for in time.

You gazed upon Bruno’s gentle face, his soft features and the glow of his tan skin always seemed somehow angelic especially in the warm light of the late morning sun, even when you had been young you’d always been struck by his appearance, he was beautiful and even beyond on that, you found him admirable, he was loyal and disciplined and merciful, all of the things you were not and it drew you to him like a moth to a flame. You wondered if he ever felt the same, dissatisfied, downcast, and disillusioned. You could recall all the nights you’d spent looking into his eyes as though you’d been twins, cut from the same cloth and doomed to the same forsaken end, but now you were not so sure. In spite of your unfathomable success, Bruno had eclipsed you somewhere in the years between. He had built a life for himself, one surrounded by friends who truly cared for him, seeing that ragtag group he’d assembled at his restaurant, you knew that he had found something that you had never been able to and you were then rendered certain that you could never again be equals. It was an appalling realization to face while stuck within the cramped walls of a train car when all you could do was stew in your dismay. Whatever you were to become, you could never be all that you wanted.

Florence, known as the birthplace of the Renaissance, has been home to many notable figures including authors Niccolo Machiavelli and Dante Alighieri as well as Renaissance masters such as Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Sandro Botticelli. In part due to the extensive commissions made by the eminent Medici family, it has been a thriving centre for history, art, and culture ever since. Many of the world’s seminal works of Italian art remain today in the many museums and chapels that line the streets, but none more recognizable than the great duomo of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, which prominently holds its place in the skyline, ever looming over the city like the crown marking a bygone dynasty.

And still, the city teems with life, attracting tourists from all walks of life, and that is precisely how you found yourself when the train rolled into the station on that bright afternoon.

Staying at one of the many charming little hotels, you unpacked your things and set up a makeshift base of operations where Bruno made you tediously go over the plans you had set ad nauseam; he wanted to hear every detail laid out for him in the exact order you intended for the umpteenth time, “again,” he said, the velvety timbre of his voice that you normally would have found dangerously alluring only grated on your nerves.

“We are going to the Uffizi Gallery as tourists, we will arrive just after one, when it should be the most crowded that way we can blend in seamlessly, then we will nonchalantly peruse the museum for several minutes so we don’t raise suspicion, finally, on my mark, you are going to position yourself at The Birth of Venus while I go across the hall and trip the security system, once the guards have rushed over to me, you grab the envelope and use your stand to make a swift exit. We reconvene here to figure out what needs to be done next, got it?”

“I am still finding it rather difficult to believe that you would willingly put yourself in the position to get caught, that is not how I remember you operating,” he said, though his words had been unabashedly smug, his tone was thoughtful as if he were sincerely trying to piece together the path your life had taken since you parted ways.

“Well, I just know that you are far better suited to retrieve the envelope than I am, plus, as pretty as you are, I’m sure I can do a better job of seducing the guards if need be.”

“And if the guard is a woman?”

“Ha! You act as though that would make a difference.”

“Your modesty has been dearly missed,” he said, rolling his eyes, though there was playfulness in his chides that had not been there the afternoon before.

“You know as well as anyone that my claims are not without merit.”

He let out a discontented sigh before he could manage a response, certainly, there was an inkling of truth, but did you always have to tout your wiles so audaciously? “ I was young and dumb then, I would not fall for your same tricks again.”

“Who said my tricks are the same? I have refined my craft since last we met, you could be falling for me as we speak, you might not even know it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He muttered before rising to his feet and tossing the sheets of paper containing your instructions onto the fire, “there, now that that’s done, we had better be off.”

So you walked, arm I’m arm through the piazza and made your way up the steps of the gallery where you seamlessly wove into the colorful menagerie of attendees that dispersed through the halls. Falling into an old routine, you walked up to a painting across the room and looked up at it with a thoughtful expression, “The Annunciation by Leonardo da Vinci,” you said, leaning closer to trace the intricate details of the diaphanous veil with you eyes, “imagine being so skilled that you can paint something sheer and gauzy like that.”

Bruno gave a little nod and followed the line of your gaze, “hm, I’ve never had the opportunity to see this one in person, quite impressive, far different from The Last Supper.”

“Now that’s one I’ve never seen in person.”

“That’s because you absconded Milan before we had the chance,” he said with that same grave intonation that he always summoned when he made reference to your duplicity.

“Not here,” you whispered tersely, giving his upper arm an emphatic squeeze, “here we are civilians and it’s imperative that we remain so. Now, let’s go.”

You left brusquely and escaped around the corner, forcing him to quicken his pace to follow after you. You continued through the bustling halls of the museum in silence, a jarring difference from the myriad of conversations from the other patrons that echoed liltingly through your ears as you wandered into each of the different rooms, passing the target of your mission several times and taking careful stock of the artwork that lined the accompanying walls.

“Don’t you think you’re taking your role as a tourist a bit too seriously?” He asked before glancing inconspicuously around the room.

“Hey, I paid for these tickets, I’m going to get my money’s worth and see the art! Won’t you indulge me a little bit, it’s not often I get to do things like this.”

“Well—”

“And think of it this way, if we do a sweep of the entire place, we can be sure no one from La Squadra is lying in wait for us.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose we can waste a few more minutes. Come along now,” he said, there was something suave about his voice as his strong hand found the small of your back as he effortlessly jockeyed you through the crowd. You felt your mind relinquish long-held apprehensions under the gentle force of his palm. So easy it was to let him take control, to let him handle you as though you were his own. Contentedly you accepted this subtle comfort as you soaked in the remaining minutes of quiet bliss.

“Hm, you know, I always preferred Primavera to The Birth of Venus.” You mused, staring up at the painting, your eyes flitted between the various allegorical figures

“Oh, is that so?”

“Definitely, the colors, the dresses, the setting, there’s something very idyllic about it; pleasant and dreamy, something that makes me feel like there’s still beauty in the world,” you quickly ceased your wistful longings, realizing you had spoken far too honestly than the moment called for, you quickly tried to divert the conversation elsewhere, “did you know the orange grove was meant to symbolize the Medici family?”

“That’s very interesting, I had no idea you were so well-versed in art.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know as much about me as you’d like to think you do.”

“Maybe so,” he murmured, twining his fingers with yours leading you to the stairs.

And so you meandered through the various rooms, hand in hadn’t while you prattled on about art and for one brief moment, you felt as though your life was normal, you felt, through all the depths of your desperation, that maybe, if your mission went well, that you could take whatever funds you acquired and run as far away from Italy as you were able, start over and never look back. Build the life you wanted from the rubble yours had crumbled into.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that,” Bruno said as you both looked at Caravaggio’s The Sacrifice of Isaac.

“Abraham or Isaac?”

The question went unanswered and you both stood in silence, staring at the scene brought to life by dramatically staged lighting that was so characteristic of Caravaggio’s works, feeling the moments tick away like grains of sand in an hourglass. “Now then, I believe it’s time for us to take our positions.” Bruno declared before taking his leave of you. It was a curious feeling, the way that his hand slipped from yours, the way the touch of his fingers lingered in the moments after as you walked in the opposite direction, ultimately landing yourself face to face with another recognizable painting. Judith Slaying Holofernes. Gentileschi’s gruesome and dynamic depiction left you to ponder how deep your resolution ran. If it came to it, could you ever posit yourself as Judith? It concerned you even further to realize that you did not know if you could.

Without any other time to think, you made your way across the room where The Birth of Venus housed and with Bruno already in place, you positioned yourself far enough away from him so that when the alarms went off, he could secure the envelope unnoticed. It was a simple task, some may say foolproof, all you had to do was reach across the threshold of the protective railing… all the world around you appeared to move in slow motion, all except for your racing heart, hammering hard against the walls of your chest. It was such an easy task, you had done far worse and yet, you hesitated. Quaking in your resolve, you made a move to look back at Bruno but before you could turn your head, someone knocked into you and sent you careening past the protective bar.

All at once, the alarm sounded, piercing the reticence of the serene gallery and then every guard in the vicinity was upon you. A swarm of quick steps and terse exchanges could be heard throughout the whole room as civilians began to gather around you to catch a glimpse of the commotion. Out of the corner of your eye, as you were assisted to your feet and escorted away via museum security, you were certain you saw Bruno quickly disappearing beyond the farthest wall, from there, you were able to breathe easy.

Bruno had made it back to the hotel with ease, your little spectacle had proved more than sufficient for him to make off with the next set of instructions unnoticed. So by the time you were released by security and made the journey back to the hotel, Bruno had already thoroughly read through the instructions and drawn several conclusions of his own. As you sheepishly slinked through the door, you found him seated in one of the comfortable chairs with his elbows resting lackadaisically against his knees.

“So it seems they let you go free without much trouble,” he drawled, straightening his posture and crossing one leg over the other.

“I told you that I can be very persuasive, did I not?” You said, muster greater confidence than you actually felt. He looked back at you without speaking, as if he were trying to reduce the veracity of your claims hidden in your shaky inflection. “So… what’s the next step, I assume you’ve read it without me.”

“I have and… here, see for yourself,” he shoved the folded sheets in your direction and watched keenly as you read through them.

“The duomo, huh? Can’t say I expected the likes of Risotto to be holed up in an ancient Cathedral, but I guess I can give him points for style,” you said, trying to disregard any apprehensions with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders.

“That is precisely what I thought… a very peculiar location for a safe house.”

“Regardless, I suppose we should devise a plan, it’ll be dark soon.”

“Listen to me, you said yourself that Risotto is a skilled assassin, why would he choose to hide himself in the most recognizable building in the entire city?”

“As you said, he’s incredibly skilled, he doesn’t need to be discreet.”

“That sounds ridiculous, even by your standards!”

“Everything else worked out, didn’t it? You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I will not blindly trust you, I’m telling you that there is something wrong with this entire mission.”

“That isn’t for us to decide, we shut up and we do our jobs, that’s all!”

“No, you aren’t understanding, don’t you think it’s a little odd that we spent the entire afternoon in public and not a single member of La Squadra came after us?”

“Yes, but—”

“You feel it too, I know you do. Just think for a moment, you have always been shrewd, you know that something here isn’t right!” He shouted, his hands grabbed harshly to your shoulders, holding you in place, so close to him that you could feel the heat radiating off of his impassioned frame.

“No! No, I won’t even consider it. We have to do this, this is what we do, this is what we signed up for when we became mafiosi. We have to see the mission through, we don’t have a choice!” You screamed, violently breaking yourself free of his restraint.

“You’re wrong, we always have a choice, we can walk away from this.”

“You’re far too naive, Bruno, you can’t possibly believe that, if we don’t go through with this, the full wrath of Passione will be after us, we wouldn’t even make it out of Italy before they had us killed or worse...”

“Why must you always be so damn stubborn?”

“Why must you always act like you know better than I do?”

“Because I do,” he said, a coolness to his voice that left you both standing frozen in place as if noncommittal in the face of what you both knew would follow.

Propelled by some invisible force far beyond the realm of your control, your lips crashed against each other, gnashing brutally in a battle for dominance that neither of you would concede so readily.

With ease not suggested by his lithe figure, he lifted you off the ground and pinned you securely against the nearest wall with such force that it caused the decorative print to rattle against the plaster. As if on command, your legs wrapped around his slender waist to draw him closer. With sufficient stability acquired, his hands were able to roam up your thighs, enough to hike your dress up past your hips. Your skin prickled with goosebumps under the urgency of his touches and a breathy whine caught in your throat and came out as a feeble squeak which in turn, only heightened his desire and the thin lace of your panties did not help matters either, “look at you…” he murmured, his cool façade hardly concealed the ardor that had stirred his disposition. Pulling your panties to the side, his fingers were able to explore between your folds, “you’re so wet,”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You purred, back arching against the wall when you felt his fingers slipping into you.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, pupils blown wide as saucers as he glared at you with a menacing, hungry look. Your plush walls clenched around his fingers, fuck, the way he looked at you, like he hated you, like he needed you, as if you were the only person in the world that could quell the raging fire within him— it was as though several years of unmet desires had unfolded right in front of you.

Not a sound of protest was made towards his brazen declaration and it took no more than an instant for him to throw you onto the tiny hotel bed. Before he could climb on top of you, you managed to shimmy out of your dress and toss the garishly colored fabric to the floor so that you were left in nothing but your lingerie as you lay back on the velvety comforter and watched as Bruno quickly undressed at the foot of the bed. Each discarded layer revealed more of his brilliant, tan skin, ever so lightly flushed from the ardent rush of your previous actions

Once his shirt had been cast away your eyes were able to trace the intricate line work of his tattoo down his chest to where it culminated in the outline of a heart just above his navel. The precarious position urged your eyes to wander lower as his hands moved pants to undo the button of his pants. The newfound freedom offered you an excellent view of his cock, which stood erect, firmly pressed to his abdomen. You sat up on your knees with hands folded between your legs and mouth slightly agape as you tried your best to comprehend the perfection that stood before you, there was something elegantly baroque in the man that stood before you, like a mixture of gold and marble, his statuesque frame, his svelte waist, the tantalizing taper of his long, curved cock. You traced the fine slope until you reached the pinnacle of his flared, swollen head which eagerly dripped glossy pearls of precum as he held firmly to the base of his shaft.

“On your back,” he commanded, then, before you even had a chance to comply, he climbed over you and pinned you flush against the mattress. You let out a shrill gasp of surprise when you felt his hard length rubbing against your aching sex, the thin, damp fabric of your panties was the only impedance between your two bodies.

Harsh and indelicate, he lifted your back to unclasp your bra, without much care or effort the scanty garment was tossed away and Bruno seized the opportunity to quickly explore the newly exposed skin. His teeth rasped against the swell of your breasts, leaving behind a pattern of oblong crimson marks. “Bruno,” you moaned, craning your neck back before hurriedly biting your lip to stop the indecent squeals as his lips close around your nipple, god, he hadn’t even fucked you yet, how could he have managed to unravel you so fast?

Without warning, the sensation stopped and you were left panting nearly delirious from even such paltry stimulation. Through your heavy-lidded gaze, you watched as Bruno repositioned himself at the foot of the bed, from where you lay, you could easily guess his next play and that assurance was enough to restore a bit of your confidence, “How long have you been dreaming about this moment?” You taunted, doing your best to maintain a semblance of control as he fluidly pulled you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.

“Were you not just moaning my name a minute ago?” He scolded, roughly pulling your legs apart and immediately hooking a finger under the lace band of your panties and rolling the sullied fabric down your legs. You gave a soft, approving mewl at the feeling of his warm breath against your cunt. In spite of your lewd appearance, there was something undeniably pretty about having you there in the position he had so many times imagined you in.

“Just fucking do it already!” You growled, teeth clenched to maintain an illusion of aplomb, but the frenzied look in your eyes betrayed you egregiously.

“Typical. Something doesn’t go your way so you behave like a brat, is that how you expect to be rewarded?” He teased, his mouth hovering millimeters above your throbbing pussy, so tantalizingly close, but never close enough to give in to the pleasure you wanted.

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop talking?”

“So demanding,” he purred, licking one long, arduous stripe along the entire length of your sex.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the meager sensation was enough to send a chill down your spine and leave you all but begging for more. He had intended to carry on teasing you for far longer, but the moment your honeyed taste filled his mouth, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to deny himself any longer.

He abandoned the façade of bravado in one heedless action and began frantically lashing his tongue over your cunt, drinking in the heavenly juices that poured for you all too freely with each of his reckless ministrations. The wet sounds that emanated from you were nothing short of vulgar as his skilled tongue easily parted your folds and dipped into your dripping cunt just enough to make you squirm in place, but her certainly wasn’t done with you. Once he had thoroughly enjoyed your taste, he quickly turned all of his attention to your neglected clit. The sensitive bud was hot and tender with need and even a perfunctory flick of his tongue is enough to send a jolt of electricity surging through you that only intensified when he began fervently lapping at your clit, drawing hasty, swirling patterns that made your head spin and your vision bleary. Shit, you should not have been as sensitive as you were, not that soon, but if he continued like that, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer.

“Tell me Bruno, do I still taste like a liar?” You asked through a slew of uninhibited groans that certainly made the question feel less mordant than you had intended it to be.

“A horrid, filthy, little liar,” he sneered, his lips forming the words against your needy cunt, even for all the malice he spoke, it only served to arouse your further, causing your hips to roll listlessly into his face, “an awful little liar.”

“Bruno… fuck!” You moaned, knitting your fingers into his silky black hair and tugging with such vehemence that you dislodged one of his hair clips.

He let out an inadvertent groan, either brought on by your taste alone or the strength of your grip on his hair, but that too only further drove you towards your inevitable peak. His tongue continued its relentless pursuit, maintaining the same diligent rhythm that had already rendered you delirious and you were no longer able to stifle any of the sultry moans that spilled from you, “Bruno, I’m— fuck, so close!”

Your hips sputter out, indecorously writhing to a hectic rhythm that made it difficult for him to maintain the consistent pace he had devised, but the sweet sounds of your pleasure were more than enough reinforcement for him to forge ahead. One hand spread across your pelvis in an attempt to quell your incessant thrashing. The restraint only caused the pressure to build until it became unsustainable, heat rushed to your core and the sensation you’d only tenuously been staving off snapped within you, leaving you awash with the brilliant glow of orgasm.

Satisfaction dripped off Bruno’s face as he cleaned your excess arousal off his lips, leering up at you, content to take in the vision of your panting form, only brought to such an agreeable state through his efforts. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so submissive,” he said as he pulled himself on top of you, the swollen top of his cock prodding shallowly into your entrance.

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, damn near docile as he sunk into you. Given how amply prepared you were, it only took one effortless glide for him to be fully buried within you. You let out a shaky whine against his neck when he bottomed out, a response he couldn’t help but feel was incongruously cute compared to your typically ruthless demeanor.

It was not long before he had established a steady rhythm. He had not allowed you any time to recover from your previous release and the sensation of him savagely fucking you quickly thrust you into overstimulation. In such a state, all you could do was scream out his name between an array of curses, all of which only urged him to continue more brutally, the strength of his grip was nearly bruising as he held your hips in place to keep you from wildly bucking beneath him. He pounded into you with such ferocity that it caused the headboard to clatter against the plaster wall. Your back arched, meeting him mid-thrust to pull him back down, your tight walls sucking him in so luxuriously that he could help but let out a choky moan into the crook of your neck. Fucking you, claiming you, ruining you, reality had eclipsed anything he had ever imagined when he would violently fuck his hand to the thought of you. The silky mewls and shrill screams you made each time he drove into you rendered him certain that your neighbors and very likely every patron on the entire floor knew how much you were enjoying his cock.

Overstimulated to the point of babbling, each thrust added a new sensation you were certain you could not handle. Lost in a haze of bliss, the line between pleasure and pain had blurred beyond comprehension and you were not sure if you couldn’t cum anymore or if you simply hadn’t stopped cumming.

Your nails scratched viciously into his back, leaving behind jagged claw marks that would last more than just the evening and serve as a reminder of the amorous affair. Bruno let out a hiss and dug his teeth into the supple skin of your shoulder.

In a quick, ungainly action, he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness caused you to let out a dejected whine for want of further stimulation, but he only knelt above you, frantically stroking the tip of his cock until he’d decorated your abdomen with sticky ribbons of cum then collapsed on the bed beside you, both more fucked out than either of you could remember.

The afterglow hung heavy in the air, lingering silently between you as reality flowed back in along with the unsettling feeling of irresolution. After you’d cleaned up the mess that had been left, You returned to the bed and covered your body with the blanket to placate the meekness that left you dithering over what needed to be said. From the window, you could see the outline of the great duomo, only faintly illuminated against the darkened sky, its imposing shadow loomed ominously over the streets, as though it were itself some great beast that would swallow you up if you dared tread further.

But before you could voice any apprehension, Bruno had left the bed and begun dressing, “well then, shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Something in the way he spoke seemed to banish all doubt from your mind, or at least enough to restore your confidence.

“Oh, I thought you were determined to abandon the mission?”

“I have my concerns, but you were right, we need to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve finally admitted who’s really in charge here.” You simpered, padding over to him with a characteristically feline strut.

Bruno caught you mid-step and drew your body firmly against his chest so that he was able to whisper directly into your ear, “oh cara mia, we both know it certainly wasn’t you,” he said, drawing out his words far more seductively than you could handle at present and punctuating the sentiment by nipping along your earlobe, “now, don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to.”

It had been far easier to access the duomo than you would have thought, even so late into the night you would have imagined a perpetual presence of security to make sure ne’er do wells, such as yourselves, did not get up to any chicanery on the premises, but that was not the case. It merely required the picking of a cheap lock on one if the auxiliary entrances and you were in.

The air hung every in the dark halls, but even so, there was something reverent about the hallowed halls of the imposing structure. A feeling of peril caused your stomach to churn violently, it wasn’t merely the sanctity of the space that filled you with an acute sense of danger, but the sudden realization that you were not alone in the darkened chamber. You made a quick motion to turn and alert Bruno, but before you could make a sound, a large hand was clamped over your mouth and you felt your strength give out under whatever force had apprehended you

When next you awoke, you found yourself in a windowless room, tied with your back to Bruno in metal chairs that had been affixed to the ground with heavy bolts to ensure no means of escape. “Bruno…” you whispered meekly, hardly able to muster the resolve to speak in such a dismal position, “Bruno, are you alright?”

“I believe so… but I’m afraid that… from the start… this whole mission was a setup.”

“I know, I— fuck, I should’ve listened, I just didn’t want to believe that…”

“Oh, isn’t that precious, our little saboteurs are awake,” an unfamiliar voice broke through the emptiness of the room and an odd-looking man dressed in a long white coat with emerald green hair that appeared almost harlequin alongside his makeup emerged from the darkness, flanked by his even stranger looking companion who walked threateningly on all fours.

“So, I take it the Boss sent you to get rid of us,” Bruno said, managing a far more assertive tone than you would have been able to muster.

“You could say that… you see, Passione is like a living organism, all the parts must function together to keep it alive, and much like our bodies have an immune system as a failsafe to fight off any unwanted pathogens, so must our little organization. You may consider me as such.” The green-haired man mused, partly to you, partly to his associate who looked upon him with awe as he spoke, as though his words contained some kind of sacred divination. “That’s why I’ve brought you here, to test a little invention of mine… you know, when here in Florence, I can’t help but recall Leonardo, he was more than just an artist, like me, he also dabbled in many inventions himself. I was always struck by his proclivity towards water, the water wheel, hydraulics… perhaps he would find some of my research… fascinating,” he gave another wicked grin, eyes dancing with delight at the thought of his malevolent intentions.

“What are you getting at?” Bruno demanded, breaking the man free from his wistful daydreams.

“All in due time,” he said, never wavering from that malicious grin that made your heart go cold with fear.

“You know, they say drowning is one of the most painful ways to die, I must say, I’m very excited to see for myself,” he declared boldly and burst into an uncontrollable fit of cackles and anticipatory groans, “Secco! Is the camera set up yet?”

The man sat up on his hind legs and gave a series of garbled hoops and excited cries as he thrashed to and fro in wild, ungainly gestures.

“Good boy, Secco, good boy! Now how about a treat?” He groped for something in his pocket as his strange companion eagerly lashed his long, serpentine tongue around his mouth, then darted with expert precision after what had been tossed his way. So nimble, he almost defied gravity as he snatched the sugar cubes out of the air and began to gnaw on them like a rabid animal.

“You’re sick,” you spat, brows furrowed with disgust and indignation.

A dreadful, malignant smirk settled across the green-haired man’s face as he knelt down to your level. A skilled hand dragged across your cheek, unexpectedly tender as he caressed your smooth skin, “is that what you think?” He asked, baring his teeth as he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, “on the contrary, dear girl, I am free. The same cannot be said for a weak little traitor such as yourself.”

You clamped your eyes shut, frantically shaking your head to dislodge his grip but to no avail, all of your efforts only earned you a forceful slap across your face that caused your cheek to burn, swollen and red from his violence. “You know, It’s useless to struggle, but then again, it’s so deliciously fun to watch you try!”

“Why not just use your Stand to kill us?”

“Oh you pretty little thing, that’s the best part! I don’t have to.”

You swallowed thickly, unable to summon any kind of response, before a man as cruel and sadistic as he, you were utterly helpless.

“And Bucciarati, I can see the gears turning in that head if yours, ‘once they leave, I’ll use my Stand to get us out of this,’ and while I admit that your Stand in particular is a bit of a nuisance, I would strongly advise against taking such a measure, you see, even with whatever evasive maneuvers you may attempt, we have ways assuring you do not get far.”

The quadrupedal man let out a series of gleeful howls as if to affirm his companion’s threats.

“Now, what will happen? Hmm, decisions, decisions. Will you lie down and die like the good dogs you are? Ah, or maybe perhaps you will pull one another down like crabs in a bucket. Or maybe one of the lovers will make a desperate attempt to save the other. Hmm… which will it be? I can’t endeavor to say.”

“Have you been watching us…?”

“Oh, my dear girl, our eyes haven’t left you since you departed from Napoli, any secrets you might’ve thought you had… well, rest assured that I have them very well kept,” he said, falling into a menacing laugh as he patted the handheld camera.

“Fucking sicko,” you snapped, indignantly writhing in your bindings in a futile attempt to free yourself.

“Aw, poor little puppy, all bark and no bite,” Cioccolata sneered, eyes darting for you over to Bruno, “She’s in love with you, you know?”

Violently, you bit your lip, how could you even begin to formulate a response? “Oh, by the looks of it I guess you didn’t know, well, it’s no matter.” He said, crossing the room and pulling a heavy lever. The loud, mechanical noise of machinery engaging could be heard through the ancient stone, “I look forward to the show, please do remember to smile for the camera.”

With that, both he and his companion took their leave through the only exit, a heavily barred metal door that you knew you wouldn’t have a chance of breaking through. And then you heard it, faint at first, but the distinct sound of running water caught your attention, open pipes on either side of the room flowed freely, splashing violently against the floor, faster and faster with each second that passed and only then did you fully understand the meaning of your captor’s threats. There were no exits, no windows, no vents, nothing to let the water out, you were trapped and the flow of the water only seemed to quicken as the flood reached your feet.

“Is this really how it all ends?” You asked, a vehement lamentation to no one in particular as you struggled restlessly in your bindings.

“It should be a few hours before it’s over our heads, maybe we can think of something in that time.”

“No, don’t you see that it’s hopeless, they must’ve had this planned for weeks, the only way out is through that door and they’re on the other side. They’re going to kill us one way or another… we lost.” You sank into silence and let the sound of the water drown out your other senses. It was sick indeed to force you to sit and contemplate your death for hours before it arrived, even sicker to derive some twisted satisfaction from it all. You were bested and there was nothing for you to do but wait for death to come and hope for your sake that it would come swiftly.

“He called you a traitor… what did you do?” Bruno asked, breaking the silence as the water crept up past your knees.

“How should I know, he’s obviously fucking crazy, he called you one too and I know for a fact that Bruno Bucciarati, Polpo’s finest little soldier, would never betray the big bad Boss.”

Bruno sat silent for a long time, he hadn’t planned on telling you the extent of his perfidy, but if you both were going to die anyway, it would be almost an act of confession. “He wasn’t lying…”

“Bruno… you didn’t…”

“Not me, Giorno.”

“ That little blond with the baby face? No, I can’t believe that.”

“I don’t know how he did it, but he did. He went to see Polpo in prison and the next I heard, the man was dead. I believe he intended to use my newfound privileges as capo to help me unmask the Boss, I guess it is all for nought now.”

“Why Bruno, you knew that would be a death sentence… why?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of seeing people… of seeing kids end up on the street, addicted to drugs… the same goddamn drugs the Boss sells, the same goddamn drugs my father was killed for and for what? Money, power? As if the Boss doesn’t already have more than enough of either. Those are people, good people, my people and they’re suffering and they’re dying and it’s my fault because I answer to the same power that signs their death warrants. I have to do something, I have to make things better, it’s my responsibility.”

“Bruno, you know that’s a damn pipe dream, you know you can’t take on the Boss!”

“I knew the risk when I took it, but I believe in Giorno, if there’s anyone out there that can usurp the Boss, it’s Giorno Giovanna!”

“How can you have such faith in someone you just met?”

“Because I have seen what he’s capable of, I’ve witnessed his brilliant determination, I believe that he will accomplish all he sets out to do, with or without me.”

You pondered his words carefully, had the sentiment not been so foolish, it would have been touching, but regardless, you felt it was too late for secrets as you felt the water rise past your abdomen.

“I’m the one who told Sorbetto and Gelato where they could find information about the Boss’s identity, I’m the reason they were killed.”

“That’s rich after all waxing on about the folly it would be to take him on. Tell me, how did you even come by such privileged information?”

“Last summer, I met a man on the French Riviera who told me that he knew the Boss’s identity, somehow he fought him and survived and… he wanted me to help him take out the Boss, I turned him down, told him no one could withstand the full force of Passione’s wrath. I guess I was right.”

“But you had no problem selling that information to Sorbetto and Gelato,” he said callously, adding insult to injury.

“Listen, what they do is their business, not mine, I have to look out for myself above anyone else.”

“Just as you always have,” he spat, vitriol spilling off his tongue with each pointed word, like a poisoned dagger to the heart.

“I… I didn’t want it to end like this… I thought… I thought if there was anyone who stood a chance against Diavolo, it would have been La Squadra. I only told them how they could get in contact with my informant, that was all. I thought they’d concoct a better plan, I thought maybe Risotto…”

“Diavolo… so that’s his name, huh? I guess it doesn’t matter now, poetic really, that I finally learn his identity, but I’m going to die before it can be of any use.”

Conversation ceased as you both fell silent, the soft hiss of the water filling the room was the only sound that could be heard, endlessly jeering at your helplessness. You glanced around the room in the hope that you could locate some weak point that could serve as an exit, but your search proved fruitless, and with the water already up to your chest, there seemed no other possibility than to accept your dismal defeat, certain that from wherever he watched, your captor took sadistic satisfaction in your inevitable surrender.

“Bruno…” you said, at last breaking the silence, though your voice was stifled and words had been muddled by your tears, “Bruno, it was my fault… in Milan, it was all my fault. It was a stupid risk to take and I almost got us both killed and then… and then I left you with the mess. I— Bruno, I’m so sorry, it was such a selfish thing to do, do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“If we make it out of here alive, you may consider yourself forgiven.”

You mustered a feeble sound of thanks through your sobs but any intelligent words had been long abandoned.

The water had risen to your neck, it would not take much longer for you to be swallowed up, perhaps Bruno could last a few extra minutes but what did it matter in the end? Your thoughts grew fuzzy from the great strain it was to keep your head above water. It wouldn’t be long, only a minute more and your head would be underwater.

It was then, at the moment when you were sure all hope had been dashed, when you had resigned yourself to the inevitability of your death, that a muffled clamor rose beyond the thick stone walls of your would-be tomb.

“How’s it going Narancia, we have to find Bucciarati and fast!”

“W-what’s going on?” You mumbled, struggling to make sense of the noises in your listless state.

“Got it! There should be two people in the next room!”

“Giorno! He must’ve been tracking us this whole time.” The thought had not occurred to Bucciarati until just then, but he had wisely held onto Giorno’s parting gift throughout the entire mission. It seemed like it had brought good luck after all.

“Stand aside, leave the rest to me,” the sound of crumbling masonry echoed loud across the receding water and the light that filtered in when the wall had been breached seemed almost blinding to your eyes. There, standing framed in a golden mandorla of new dawn light, was Giorno Giovanna, regal and determined as the dust settled around him, “Bucciarati, are you alright?”

What happened next was a blur, but someone pulled you from the water as Giorno gave Bruno a complete rundown of the situation, how Giorno had been able to track your location with the ladybug his Stand had imbued with life, how they had managed to kill the two men that held you captive, and their tentative plan to proceed now that they had fully defied the Boss. Of course, Bruno was all too eager to inform Giorno of all you had told him, the Boss’s identity, your secret informant, the inevitable defection of La Squadra. With everything looked at together, it was as though each piece of the puzzle had fallen perfectly into place and Giorno rejoiced in the miracle of timing.

It did not take long for a plan to be devised and with the added strength of La Squadra and the help of one eager Frenchman, it was only a matter of time before Diavolo was defeated and Giorno assumed his rightful position as the head of Passione.

“Tell me,” he said one average day only a few months after all had been said and done, “what is it that you truly want?”

“I want out of this life for good,” you answered readily, it was the truth after all.

“Is that all?” He asked, the drawl of his voice as sweet and commanding as it always was.

“Well, I suppose… I’d like to go to Milan,” you said, a curious diffidence had arisen in your voice as you stated your request.

“Then so it shall be,” he said with the gentlest of smiles that made him appear more like an angel than any man you’d ever seen before.

And as he ordained it, so it was.

“Well, is it everything you thought it would be?” Bruno asked, his hand in yours as you stood before The Last Supper.

“No— I mean yes… it’s marvelous, it’s incomprehensible… thank you for taking me.”

He gave a salacious purr as he kissed the back of your hand, “I couldn’t think of anyone better to accompany me.”

“It’s a little nostalgic being back here, don’t you think?”

“Well amore mio, for what it’s worth,” he began, moving his arm around your waist as you exited the church and began the walk back to that little hotel you stayed in what felt like a lifetime ago, “I have always loved Milan.”

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