Chapter Text
Passione’s mansion was always filled with noise, Narancia complaining about Fugo, the lingering scent of gunpowder clinging to Mista, and Giorno’s constant presence, which Abbacchio had noticed seemed to steal every second of Bruno’s attention.
The estate, which had once belonged to Diavolo himself, maintained a strange atmosphere, as if the walls still held traces of secrets, blood, and conspiracies.
Ever since they defeated Diavolo, Giorno had naturally assumed the highest position. The change had been inevitable. Still, he was just a teenager carrying the weight of a criminal organization that stretched across all of Italy, and Bruno had chosen to remain by his side as a mentor, determined to teach him what he had yet to fully understand.
Bruno’s loyalty to Passione’s new vision was nearly unbreakable, and Abbacchio couldn’t help noticing how that determination consumed his time.
When entire days passed without seeing each other, Bruno tried to make up for lost time by sharing shower time together. Even so, the gesture wasn’t enough for Abbacchio.
There was something hollow in the way their time together had been reduced to fleeting moments.
He truly tried to understand Bruno’s enthusiasm for helping Giorno become the head of a powerful criminal organization. He wanted to understand that almost religious faith in a better future for Italy. But in the end, Abbacchio only felt frustrated, jealous, and apathetic—though he would never admit it.
At times, he felt like a ghost wandering through the halls of a house that didn’t belong to him. The fact that the mansion that once belonged to Diavolo was so massive only made him feel smaller.
The place’s opulence wasn’t welcoming; instead, it deepened the loneliness that followed him as he walked through room after room.
There were still many left to inspect, and his first assignment had essentially been to search every corner of the mansion.
Giorno believed that, with Moody Blues’ help, they could uncover anything important. Bruno had confidently supported the idea, and in the end, Abbacchio began the inspection—motivated more by Bruno’s order than by Giorno’s suggestion.
It wasn’t that he distrusted the boy, but his obedience to Bruno remained the main driving force behind his actions.
They had been there for nearly a month, and he hadn’t even checked half of the mansion. In the property’s left wing, he had only found the repulsive acts of the few trusted men Diavolo had allowed to use the place before his fall.
He had expected to find safes filled with jewelry and money, or hidden compartments. Instead, all he found were drugged pigs abusing prostitutes.
Those scenes twisted his stomach, serving as a brutal reminder of the kind of world Bruno was trying to reform—and one they inevitably still belonged to.
With a long, heavy sigh, Abbacchio checked the time. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he was already tired of wandering.
«Just one more room, then I’m heading out to grab something to eat» he told himself.
As he walked toward the last room at the end of the hallway, Abbacchio considered asking Bruno to join him for lunch. He pulled out his phone and searched for Bruno’s contact.
«Want to have lunch together? My treat.»
He pressed send and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He wouldn’t lie to himself, he was genuinely eager to spend more time with Bruno. With the mission of eliminating those who distributed drugs to children and teenagers, Bruno spent almost the entire day outside, traveling between cities, meeting subordinates, and dismantling entire trafficking networks.
In the mornings, Abbacchio only saw him during breakfast, where they exchanged brief words over the team’s noise. Later, at night, he felt Bruno’s weight beside him in bed. That was their routine.
Abbacchio had thought that after confessing his feelings on San Giorgio Maggiore —and having them returned— things would change significantly.
He had imagined peaceful afternoons sharing hobbies, short trips away from everyday violence, or even fighting side by side. But those fantasies had been cut short by Bruno’s overwhelming mission to improve the country’s situation.
His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket, signaling an incoming message. He quickly pulled it out and, upon seeing Bruno’s name, tapped to read it.
Instead of the reply he expected, Abbacchio froze in front of the door, his hand tightening around the phone as disappointment dulled his excitement.
«Sorry, Leone. I’m too busy. Maybe later?»
He read it three more times, almost as if expecting the message to change, but the words remained the same. Bruno hadn’t even called him amore or Leon like he sometimes did. He hadn’t ended it with an I love you or offered another chance to meet.
Abbacchio really tried to understand. He knew Bruno was buried in work, but that didn’t justify not sparing him even a single minute.
With a frustrated sigh, Abbacchio put his phone away and entered the final room he needed to inspect. The weight of disappointment pressed against his chest as he pushed the door open halfheartedly.
There was only one window, letting in very little light, and the room was nearly empty except for a vacant bookshelf in one corner. The air smelled of confinement and accumulated dust.
Abbacchio summoned Moody Blues to handle the job. While his Stand rewound to the first trace of activity it could find, Abbacchio walked toward the window and pulled back the curtains. A gray cloud of dust immediately rose, forcing him to step back.
He waved his hands to clear the dust from his face, frowning in annoyance as he squinted to protect his eyes. He coughed lightly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand before observing the room again, now slightly brighter.
With better lighting, Abbacchio noticed more details. The walls were covered in bone-colored wallpaper with a strange design—keys. The handles resembled button shapes, a detail he found particularly odd and intriguing.
He slowly scanned the wall, trying to determine whether all the keys in the wallpaper were identical or if one was different until a raised section near the bottom caught his attention.
He approached and crouched down for a closer look. The floor creaked softly beneath his weight as he leaned forward, pressing one knee against the dusty surface. With the incoming light, he could clearly make out a square outline impossible to ignore.
He reached out, tracing the raised shape with his fingers. When he reached the bottom, he noticed the wallpaper was torn. Driven by curiosity, he scratched away part of it, revealing a narrow seam resembling a door.
Abbacchio thought it was strange, but considering it was Diavolo’s property, he wouldn’t be surprised if it led to a bunker or something similar.
If it was a door, then it needed a lock. Abbacchio carefully ran his fingers across the surface until he found a raised spot where a lock logically should be.
He scratched at it with his finger until a golden lock became visible. Abbacchio assumed the door must have its own key, so he pulled out the ring of keys Bruno had given him to open any door and tried them one by one, but none fit the lock’s shape.
With a tired sigh, Abbacchio glanced at Moody Blues, who was still searching for traces of anyone in the room, but it seemed there was nothing.
He dismissed the Stand —it would only waste time— and, now alone, his gaze settled on the bookshelf.
Abbacchio walked toward the piece of furniture and examined it carefully. It was dusty but still in good condition.
As if guided by an unseen voice, he opened the small doors at the bottom, revealing a small rag doll with button eyes that resembled him.
“What kind of joke is this?” he muttered to himself while inspecting the doll, which appeared otherwise ordinary.
The doll had white yarn hair, dark button eyes, and clothes that perfectly mimicked his own.
Abbacchio scoffed. If any of the others were trying to prank him, they were doing a terrible job.
He checked inside the bookshelf again, but there was nothing else. Just in case, he lifted his hand and felt along the top of the shelf. He didn’t expect to find anything, yet something small and cold brushed against his fingers.
When he grabbed it and brought it into view, Abbacchio realized it was a key, and immediately knew it was meant for the small door.
He set the doll aside and knelt in front of the door. Using the key, he tore away more wallpaper from the edges before inserting it into the lock, holding his breath.
When it clicked open, he expected to find cobwebs or something filthy, dark, and damp, but to his disappointment, there was only a brick wall.
Abbacchio chuckled to himself but didn’t dwell on it. He locked the door again, slipped the key into his pocket, grabbed the doll, and left the room.
Later that night, Abbacchio was resting in his room, reading a book before going to sleep, when the door opened and Bruno’s figure appeared.
When he saw Abbacchio, Bruno offered him a tired smile and walked over, sitting beside him at the edge of the bed.
His presence filled the room with a familiar warmth that Abbacchio, though he tried to hide it, had been waiting for all day.
“Hey, how are you doing?” Bruno asked.
Abbacchio looked up from his book and studied his face. Bruno looked more exhausted than usual. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and his hair —normally immaculate— showed slight signs of disarray. The sight stirred a mixture of tenderness and concern within Abbacchio.
“I should be asking you that. Rough day?” Abbacchio said, placing his hand on Bruno’s thigh, offering subtle, gentle strokes.
“Yeah. We’ve been restructuring Passione and getting rid of traitors. Do you think changing the name would be for the best? No, never mind. Tell me what you did today.”
Bruno’s tone wavered between reflection and fatigue. Abbacchio noticed the shift and understood that part of Bruno’s mind was still wandering through orders and internal conflicts.
Abbacchio smiled and shrugged.
“Same thing I’ve been doing since the beginning. Checking the entire mansion for anything interesting, but nothing really worth mentioning. Today I thought I’d finally find a real surprise, but it turned out to be a complete disappointment. There’s a room at the end of the left wing hallway with a small door. I thought it led somewhere, but all I found was brick.”
As he spoke, his tone grew slightly ironic, remembering the frustration he had felt hours earlier.
Bruno looked at him with surprise.
“Maybe if you remove the wall, you might find something behind it, don’t you think?”
Abbacchio thought about it for a moment and nodded slowly, considering the possibility.
“Probably. Another thing I found strange is that the wallpaper has a pattern of keys, and those keys are identical to the one that opens the door which, by the way, has a button-shaped handle.”
Abbacchio then opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out the key to show Bruno, who examined it carefully. He turned it between his fingers, studying every detail with focused attention.
Then his gaze drifted toward the inside of the drawer.
“And what’s that? Oh, Leone, is that a mini you?! Where did you get it? It’s adorable,” Bruno exclaimed as he pulled out the rag doll, a small replica of Abbacchio.
Bruno held the doll gently, observing it with a mixture of genuine surprise and amusement.
“I found that in the room too. I think it’s just the guys pulling a prank.”
Bruno examined the doll closely, tracing the buttons that imitated its eyes with his fingers.
“Prank or not, it’s cute. Don’t you think it deserves a companion?” Bruno said flirtatiously, hiding his mischievous smile behind the doll.
Abbacchio chuckled softly. He straightened up to wrap his arms around Bruno, then leaned back onto the bed with Bruno resting against his chest.
“Of course. Mini Abbacchio deserves company…”
A moment of silence followed, which Bruno broke with a quiet voice.
“I really wanted to go out to lunch with you today. I miss you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Bruno lifted his head to look at Abbacchio and pressed a kiss to his lips. The contact was brief, but sincere, carrying an unspoken apology.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get some rest. It’s late.”
Bruno nodded and rose heavily, heading toward the bathroom, not before blowing Leone a kiss.
Hours later, a shriek woke Abbacchio.
He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision in the darkness. The dim light barely outlined the shapes of the furniture, and the nighttime silence wrapped everything in calm. Beside him, Bruno’s slow, steady breathing showed he was still fast asleep, unaware of AAbbacchio’s interrupted rest.
He thought about ignoring the noise and going back to sleep. He closed his eyes, shifting under the sheets, trying to drift off again. But then the shriek echoed once more.
Abbacchio frowned and carefully sat up, trying not to wake Bruno. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he slid his feet onto the cold floor. The contact fully woke him, putting him on alert.
He leaned down and peeked under the bed, noticing a mouse that, the moment it saw him, darted away.
Abbacchio grumbled under his breath and stood to catch it, but the rodent escaped, slipping through the half-open door.
He wasn’t about to just let it go, so he followed it, no matter where the chase might lead.
Only when he saw it enter the same room he had inspected hours earlier did Abbacchio stop.
He was certain he had locked it, but now he found the door slightly open, with a blue glow seeping through the cracks.
His pulse quickened.
He gently pushed the door open further and noticed the light was coming from the doorway that had once been blocked by a brick wall. Next to it sat the rag doll that looked like him, as if it had been waiting.
The doll seemed to stare at him with its button eyes, abandoned on the floor like a silent invitation.
Abbacchio cautiously approached and crouched to look inside. To his surprise, it was a silky-looking tunnel, tinted blue and purple, moving like lungs as they breathed, as if the passage itself were alive.
A gust of wind brushed against his face, and on the other side, a small, similar door opened, revealing the mouse he had been chasing.
The animal paused for barely a second, as if waiting to be followed, before disappearing through the opening.
Abbacchio thought he might be under the attack of a Stand, and he knew that going alone might not end well, but curiosity began to itch at him like an unbearable scratch.
There was something about the phenomenon that pulled at him uneasily, as if an invisible force was dragging him forward.
So he decided to crawl into the tunnel.
Since it was straight and short, he reached the other side quickly.
He pushed the door open and peeked through, finding the same dull main hall of the mansion. The furniture, the lamps, and the large windows were all in place. But the smell of food was the only difference that made him react.
It was far too late for anyone to be awake cooking, but he still headed toward the kitchen.
The closer he got, the more he could hear someone humming along to jazz music. The melody was soothing, and the warm light spilling from the kitchen illuminated part of the hallway.
When Abbacchio peeked inside, he noticed Bruno’s silhouette with his back turned, seemingly mixing something in a bowl. The scene felt almost domestic, so different from the usual tension that surrounded their daily lives.
“Bruno? What are you doing up this late…?”
His question was abruptly cut off.
“You’re just in time for dinner, Leone,” Bruno said, turning around.
Abbacchio froze when he saw him. Instead of his clear, compassionate eyes, Bruno had two large, shiny black buttons. The polished surface of those artificial eyes reflected the kitchen light, creating a deep, striking gleam.
“Y-you’re not Bruno. He doesn’t have bu—”
“Buttons?” he finished for him, laughing gracefully. “Do you like them?” He tapped one of them twice with his finger before adding, “I’m your other Bruno, silly.”
Abbacchio took a step back. This Bruno wasn’t the Capo stressed over rebuilding a criminal organization; this Bruno wore a spotless apron and waited for him with a smile that hid no worries.
His posture was relaxed, and his presence radiated a comforting calm.
“Your Bruno is dealing with problems you don’t deserve to carry.”
The «other» Bruno stepped closer, gently caressing his cheek with cold but soft fingers. The touch made Abbacchio hold his breath, startled by the familiarity of the gesture.
“There are no problems here, and we don’t get calls from the organization either. It’s just us.”
Abbacchio looked at the table: there were only two plates. Giorno and the rest of the team were nowhere to be seen. Just the atmosphere he had longed for—the chance to have the full attention of the man he loved.
The warm lighting and the aroma of food stirred memories of moments they had rarely been able to share.
For a second, the shine of the buttons felt more comforting than the tired gaze of the real Bruno.
Abbacchio noticed that this Bruno had cooked for him and looked at him with devotion, something the real Bruno didn’t always do. The moment felt crafted from his desires and everything he had imagined during the lonely hours when Bruno spent long nights away.
This Bruno was too perfect.
“You can stay here forever,” the «other» Bruno promised, pulling a small sewing kit from his pocket, containing a silver needle and a pair of black buttons. “There’s just one small detail for you to become part of this world and for us to live in this eternal peace, where all my love and attention will be yours alone… You must let me sew button eyes onto you.”
Abbacchio stared at the small box and its contents, and the only thought running through his mind was that this «other» Bruno was far too perfect.