Chapter Text
he gang arrived home a little after two. Bruno, Fugo, and Narancia headed inside, while the other three busied themselves with the hostage.
Abbacchio and Mista opened the trunk to see Matteo weak from blood loss and his futile attempts to call for help from inside the car. The man cowered at the two scowling faces standing over him.
Abbacchio inserted his fingers into Matteo's eyes and pushed until the orbs popped. Blood streamed down from the now empty sockets. Matteo held his hands over the vacant holes, screaming and contorting his body.
The two men grabbed Matteo's thrashing form and dragged him to the outside entrance to the basement. Giorno shut the trunk and silently followed behind.
Matteo was thrown into a chair. His unintelligible pleas went unheard as Mista tied him tightly. The captive screamed and rocked in his chair, nearly toppling it over.
"Shut up!" Abbacchio yelled and backhanded Matteo across the face.
Giorno stepped forward, forcing Abbacchio to move back. The young don stood calm in front of the blubbering man.
"What made you think you could get away with going against my orders?" Giorno asked calmly. "Not only did you continue to engage in a business I clearly shut down, and I was explicit about the repercussions if disobeyed..."
Giorno leaned over so his lips were directly next to Matteo's ears. The man trembled when the hot air tickled his earlobe.
"But you also attacked my team, an offense I don't forgive," Giorno said.
"I-I did-didn't attack him...it was-it was..." Matteo replied.
"It was who?" Giorno prodded. He gripped a tuft of Matteo's thick hair. "I want to know the names of those in charge." He yanked the hair causing Matteo to yell. "If you cooperate I may just let you walk out of here alive."
"I can't-I don't know-I don't know his name," Matteo pleaded.
"You worked for someone and didn't know his name?" Giorno questioned.
"Sounds suspicious, I say I shoot out his knees," said Mista. The gunman twirled his pistol around his index finger.
"I don't remember!" Matteo blurted.
"You don't know, or you don't remember?" asked Giorno.
"I-uh...I don't...I don't re-remember," Matteo stammered.
Giorno stood up and said, "I see." He turned towards Abbacchio and said, "I think he may help to refresh his memory."
The metal pipe scraped across the table as Abbacchio picked it up.
He handed the pipe over to Mista and said, "You were the one they shot, so you should get the first swing."
Mista accepted the pipe and looked down at their victim, but to Mista he was nothing more than a human piñata.
As they entered the house Bruno, Narancia, and Fugo were greeted by a succulent smell that originated from the kitchen. Narancia wasted no time darting in the direction of that savory scent. The other two made their way into the kitchen to see Narancia already seated at the table with his hands folded.
At the stove Trish stirred a pot of spaghetti. She informed the boys that it would be a few more minutes, then turned her attention to the sauce before it boiled over.
Trish wasn't trained in the culinary arts, but since being taken in by Bucciarati she took it upon herself to learn, and thus far she found cooking enjoyable. There was the added bonus that whoever cooked was exempt from washing the dishes.
"Just you three?" Trish asked as she gathered plates from the cabinet.
"The others will join us after they finish collecting information from our prisoner," Bucciarati explained.
Trish hummed as she knew their methods of forcing out information.
"What if he doesn't tell 'em anything?" Narancia asked.
"He'll eventually break, they always do," Bruno said.
Trish stirred the noodles and tested one to find it to be the perfect consistency. She turned off the pot then plated seven lunches.
Bruno ordered the boys to wash their hands. Narancia hopped up and ran to the sink, nearly bumping into Trish who smacked him over the head with the serving spoon. Narancia fell on Fugo, who caught his balance by grasping the counter in front of the sink.
Fugo screamed at Narancia releasing an angry squeak that instantly silenced Narancia and Trish. The pink-haired girl dropped the spoon and stared at the blond boy.
"What was that?" she asked with a chuckle.
"Oh yeah, a stand took away Fugo's voice, and now he can only make that noise," Narancia explained then pushed Fugo out of the way with his shoulder.
Fugo crossed his arms and let out a heavy huff.
Trish's eyes met with Fugo's and she gave him a sympathetic smile then returned to plating the food.
Once all hands were washed, Trish set a plate in front of the three. Narancia twirled the noodles on his fork and slurped them, splattering marinara on the table. Fugo grimaced at the sight, but his groan escaped as a flat squeak. Narancia snickered and immediately choked on a noodle that slipped down his windpipe.
Serves you right, Fugo thought.
Trish sat down beside Narancia who gave her a thumbs up. Trish smiled at the compliment, feeling accomplished that her cooking skills had improved from the first dish she concocted, which the boys had complained was bland and cold.
Fifteen minutes passed with polite conversation of all save Fugo, who had no choice but to quietly listen. Narancia filled his plate with a second helping, which he justified by having been sent on two missions that day.
The basement door opened and the remaining members of the party made their entrance. Bruno ordered them to change before sitting, as bloody clothes were not permitted at the dinning table. Several minutes later the three returned and each grabbed a plate of lukewarm spaghetti from the counter, then stationed themselves in the vacant chairs.
Mista released the Sex Pistols from his gun and they attacked the food. Their human carefully ate around them, a skill he perfected over the year with his stand.
"Did he say anything useful?" Bruno asked.
"We had to break a few bones, but he eventually gave us a name: Aldo Morelli," Abbacchio said then took a long gulp of wine.
"I'll run it through the database," Bruno said and rose from his seat.
Fugo shook his head.
"Something wrong?" Bruno asked.
Fugo attempted to argue, but his vocal chords only managed that squeak.
Mista chuckled behind his hand. Trish turned away to hide the forming smile. Narancia shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, but spit it back into his plate when the laugh forced its way out.
At that Mista couldn't hold back his laughter and leaned back in his chair with his hands on his stomach.
"That's disgusting," Trish scolded Narancia.
Narancia pushed the plate away and put his face on the table, while his body shook with laughter. He pounded the table three times. Even Giorno cracked a smile, which forced Fugo up from his chair. He kicked the leg of the table closest to him, shaking all the dishes on top.
"Hey!" Trish yelled.
"What the hell, dude?" Mista spat.
Abbacchio grabbed his wine glass before any could spill, but still sent a glare towards Fugo.
"Fugo, calm down," Bruno said and put a hand on the boy's arm. Fugo shook the older man away, but Bruno persisted. He turned Fugo towards him and put a hand on each of his shoulders. "Breathe," he instructed.
Fugo fought for a moment, but eventually gave in as his capo guided him through an exercise of deep inhaling and exhaling. Fugo felt his temper calm.
"Now, is there something you want to share?" Bruno asked.
Fugo surveyed the kitchen and caught sight of a magnet notepad on the refrigerator. He tore off a sheet of paper and the pen from a drawer. He wrote down: That's not his name. It started with a P.
Bruno read the note then passed it on to the rest of the team.
"That lying son of a bitch," Mista snapped. "If he wasn't already dead, I'd bust his head in. Again."
"You killed our lead?" Bruno asked.
"It was an accident," Mista replied.
Bruno raised an eyebrow.
"Really, I didn't mean to hit him that hard, it just...happened," Mista answered.
"Either way he didn't provide us with anything useful. He knows what a stand is, but isn't a user himself, and refused to speak on his boss' stand ability," Giorno revealed. He turned to Fugo and asked, "Do you remember his name?"
Fugo shook his head.
"Would you remember if you saw it?" Bruno inquired.
Fugo nodded.
"Well, it will take longer, but I'll search for anyone in Passione who's name begins with a P," Bruno said. He asked Fugo, "First or last name?" to which the boy replied with a shrug.
Bruno took his leave and Fugo sat back down, still sour at Mista and Narancia.
"While Bucciarati searches for a lead, we'll need to track him down," Giorno said. "Abbacchio, once the fire fighters and the smoke clears out, I'll have you return to the restaurant and use your stand to track his movement. Fortunately no one escaped with the drugs, and hopefully the bodies burned beyond recognition."
"You burned the place down?" Trish asked.
"I did," Narancia bragged.
"To dispose of the drugs and their base," Giorno answered. "Bucciarati's reputation will keep anyone from mentioning we were there. Narancia, you and I will accompany Abbacchio."
"What about me?" Mista asked.
"I'll have you interrogate the cokeheads," Giorno said. "As much as I despise it, there is still dealing in this district. With the right persuasion they will provide the names of their dealers. We will move onto them, and hopefully someone will know the whereabouts of our target.
"Fugo, you will stay here to confirm our target once Bucciarati narrows down the list, you're the only one who saw his face up close," Giorno said. He looked to each of his teammates and ordered, "I want this man taken out today."
They all confirmed their understanding.
Narancia smiled at Fugo and said, "When we kill him your voice will go back to normal."
"I don't know, I kind of like this Fugo better," Mista teased.
Fugo glared at his teammate.
Mista pointed at Fugo and added, "His rants aren't nearly as irksome. They're actually kinda cute."
Fugo yelled at Mista, each word represented by a harsh squeak. He held his hands up by his face with his fingers tightly curved, and spat out a hissing squeak. He then smacked his palm with the side of his hand, accompanied with another squeak. Then he slammed his hands on the table and screamed a louder, more stressed squeak.
Fugo finished his tirade and stared at Mista and Narancia, his face red, and panting.
Mista looked at Narancia. The two burst into laughter. Narancia smacked his thigh and Mista pointed at the object of their ridicule.
"You sound like a kitten," Mista said in between laughs. "Trying to be fierce, but it's just too cute."
"More like a mouse," Narancia teased.
The heat rose in Fugo's face. His ears turned red.
Mista slapped Narancia on the shoulder and said, "We can buy him mouse ears."
Narancia gasped and looked over at the don. "Giorno, you can give him mouse ears, right? It'll be so cute."
Giorno stared dumbfounded for a moment. He coughed into his hand and said, "One, no, that's a waste of time and energy. Two, that sound more resembles the angry cry of species of frog from-"
"Angry cries, that is Fugo," Mista teased and laughed louder.
Abbacchio set his wine glass on the table and turned his head to chuckle.
"Um, guys," Trish said. She looked from Fugo back over to the laughing duo.
Narancia mimicked the squeaks while Mista held his stomach and gave a huge belly laugh. Narancia leaned his chair back and pointed at Mista while laughing. He leaned back too far and the chair fell over causing Mista to guffaw. Abbacchio chortled.
Narancia rolled on the floor, laughing so hard it impeded his ability to get up.
"Too bad his yelling didn't always sound like this," Mista said. "It's much more appealing to listen to."
Fugo jumped up from his seat and slung his plate across the kitchen. Narancia jumped and Trish shrieked. All laughter ceased. Seething, Fugo stood with his back hunched, teeth bared, and fists clenched.
Giorno gracefully stood up. He had seen this look in Fugo's eyes once before and though he hoped Fugo would not summon Purple Haze on his friends, he didn't want to take any chances.
"Fugo," Giorno spoke softly enough to get his subordinate's attention, but not escalate his temper further. "I think you need to leave the room."
Fugo straightened his posture and followed the don's commands. He rushed out of the kitchen, upstairs, and into his room. The others winced when they heard the door slam.
Narancia looked over at Mista and asked, "He did know we were just joking? Right?"
"I don't think so," Trish replied.
Once finished with lunch, everyone moved on to their assignments. Before heading out Narancia walked up to his and Fugo's shared room. He stood in front of the door with his fist ready to knock. Narancia loitered there for a moment, until Abbacchio called his name. The teen glanced back hoping Fugo would be okay then hurried downstairs when Abbacchio called for him in a more agitated tone.
A half hour passed with Bruno checking the databases, narrowing down the names, and removing those he knew personally. Fugo waited for Bruno to call for him, and decided to stay isolated until that moment.
Fugo sat on his bed, legs dangling over the side and hands clenching the comforter. He wanted to scream, but knew only that pesky noise would sound from his mouth. He leaned over with his head on the pillow and twisted from side to side, writhing with anger. He punched his pillow then tossed it to the floor.
He laid on his back and ran his fingers through his hair. He longed to hear his voice again.
Fugo shut his eyes and remembered the last time he had been forced into silence. At age thirteen that man invited him to his house because he saw potential and wanted to help him, or so he claimed. Then in the middle of a study session he beckoned him closer. He had draped a blanket over the both of them. When he began to touch, Fugo tried to protest, but the professor hushed him, and told him it was to be their secret to take to the grave.
A knock at the door broke Fugo from his thoughts. He felt a warm liquid on his cheeks and wiped it away to see the clear substance on his fingers. The knock resounded again followed by a female's voice asking permission to enter.
Fugo sat up and wiped away the tears from his face. He sniffed back clear mucus then hopped down from his bed to open the door.
The pink-haired girl stood outside his doorway. Violet eyes met with blue ones, and they engaged in a staring battle for what felt like decades. Fugo's gaze lowered to see she held a bowl in each hand with a spoon poking out.
Trish looked at Fugo's face to see his eyes puffy and his cheeks red, but elected not to comment. She walked into the room and sat down in the desk chair next to Fugo's bed. He sat on the floor next to her. Trish handed him a bowl which contained vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce and chunks of chopped strawberries.
"I had my tonsils removed when I was six," Trish said. "I wasn't able to talk for a week, but my mom gave me ice cream twice a day." She took a bite of her own ice cream. "I ended up with two cavities, but lucky for me that was before I lost my baby teeth."
Fugo wanted to tell her his condition was nothing like tonsillitis, that there was a chance he'd never regain his voice. However he wouldn't, even if he was capable of speech. He took a bite of the ice cream and swallowed, it soothed his parched throat due to all the yelling earlier.
He glanced into her bowl to see it bereft of any strawberries then recalled her mentioning twice before she wasn't a fan of the fruit. He scooped up two strawberry slices and popped them into his mouth. The taste was a bit bitter, but improved by the vanilla's sweetness.
"I'm just saying I know how hard it is not to talk," Trish said. She placed the empty bowl on the desk behind her. "When I couldn't talk all I could do was point and weakly squeak." She chuckled then said, "At least you have a strong squeak."
Fugo smiled at that comment. He stared into his bowl, not interested in any more sweets.
"But I imagine it's worse for you. You have important information and you can't tell anyone," Trish continued.
Fugo nodded, it had been that stand user's plan.
Fugo remembered how Matteo mocked him when he mentioned the stand. He wished he had been a part of the interrogation to get information about the stand user. He knew its abilities and likely how to reverse them.
He gritted his teeth at the image of Matteo's ugly face when he laughed. "Looks like Paride got you after all."
Fugo jumped up from his spot, startling Trish. She watched him dash out the door and his feet pounded down the stairs. The girl followed behind him.
Fugo threw open the door to Bruno's office causing the latter to rise and summon Sticky Fingers. Bruno calmed his breath upon seeing Fugo and Trish enter the office.
"What's the alarm?" Bruno asked.
Fugo ran up to the desk and let out a loud squeak. He shook his fists then grabbed a sticky note and a Sharpie from Bruno's pen cup, and wrote down the name: Paride.
Bruno returned to the laptop and typed in the name. Two results surfaced. Bruno selected the first only to discover that man was deceased. He selected the second name to see the face of a man still documented to be alive. He turned the computer towards Fugo who confirmed that to be the man who attacked him.
Bruno picked up the desk phone and pressed the speed dial for Giorno. After three rings the young don answered.
Bruno responded, "His name is Paride Regio. I'll pass this on to Mista."