Chapter Text
Although it had been from a distance, she had watched the calamity of it all. Walls crumbled, collapsing in on themselves. As the walls bore down on them, the people fell one by one. Some remained standing; others fled with tails in between their legs. Anarchy began. Those who remained revolted, clashing with those who held power. Blood was shed – she merely watched, silent as ever, as crimson blossomed.
However, the onslaught hadn’t lasted all that long. Vanquished, power slipped from the one who had held it. Those of the revolt – some of humble beginnings, and some of lesser ones – clambered upwards. As a single entity they clawed their way up, up, up, stretching for the power; such a power soon became theirs.
Finally, the dust settled. A calm descended upon the other folk, for order had been restored. She took a moment to fidget. Such tranquility, she knew, inspired change. And change it did. Piece by piece, their morals and their goals as a single group were rebuilt from the ground up. Some welcomed the shift. Some detested it. But none, though they may have thought it, went against the one in power. He was new and young and, frankly, led them better than the last. His word was law, and that was that. With his own hands he shaped them, his people, into what he wished them to be.
She found herself smiling. The change was a welcome thing, to her, at least. As a whole, the community became something much better than it had been before. At the same time, she too had found herself climbing upwards.
This group – Passione, her mafia, her home – became an unconventional thing. She found herself loving it more than she ever had. Her teeth flashed; in a snarl or in a grin, nobody would know.
Now, back in the current moment, she found herself crouched beneath the boss, head bowed to him in respect. Her chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm, hardly faltering when he offered her his hand. Gingerly she took it in her own, raising it to her lips; with obvious care, she kissed every one of his knuckles. She did not see it, but the boy perched in front of her – who was probably more of a man, by now – smiled.
Slowly he drew his hand back, slipping it from the young woman’s hold. She was neither reluctant nor relieved for him to take back his hand; she was indifferent, as usual. Folding his hands on his lap, the young man addressed the figure kneeling before him.
“Do you swear yourself to be loyal to Passione, and to be a person of honor? Do you swear obedience to the orders of those above you, and most importantly, the orders of your boss?” His voice was level, even, as he had clearly said these few lines before.
“I do.” Her voice was like that of his; smooth. Still she didn’t peer up at him. Wordlessly, she offered her hand to him, a sudden reversal of roles. Smiling, the boy allowed the back of her hand to rest in his palm. After motioning to someone standing to his right, they set a thin needle – a pin – into the palm of his other hand.
With a glint of metal, the young man swiped the pin across the young woman’s fingertip. She didn’t flinch, didn’t startle. He gave the place where he had pricked her a squeeze. The cut widened, and a single drop of blood cascaded down her fingertip, then down the side of her finger. Winking in the dim light, the drop wobbled, falling from her hand with an inaudible sound. Gently did the young man release his grip on her fingertip – no more blood was to fall. His lips pursed as he prepared himself to speak.
“Then, with this blood, you have once again become one of our family: one of Passione. As our blood spills, so does yours.”
He regarded the young woman with a curious light in his eyes. He watched as her head bowed even further at his words. When he was met with no resistance, he slid his hand from her palm, fingers gliding along the underside of her arm. His hand wandered along the gentle curve her shoulder, then alongside her neck, until he was able to tilt her chin upwards. It may have seemed to be an intimate gesture, but the young woman took it as anything but.
She, in turn, regarded him with the same curiosity, though it was mixed with a quiet confusion. Her head continued to face him even after his fingers dropped from the bottom of her chin.
“Can I trust you, not only as an associate, but as a member of my family –” He paused to fold his hands once more. “Teofila Barzetti?”
She, the one known as Teofila Barzetti, allowed a single eyebrow to quirk upwards. She had suspected that he knew her name, as he did with most of those involved in Passione. Her surname, however, wasn’t the easiest to find – but it was not that which held her attention. The question itself caught her off guard, if only somewhat. Teofila finally spoke.
“Trust is not a thing that is spoken of so easily,” she said, voice flat. “It is a thing that is earned.” Her head tilted to the side. “Yet, I can say that I will be loyal to you, Giorno Giovanna.” Giorno, her boss, and boss to all of Passione, smiled further at her; the smile barely reached his eyes.
“I look forward to working with you, Capo.” This time he used her formal title. Teofila instantly knew that, perhaps, she had struck a nerve, using his full name in such a manner. She pushed the thought to the very back of her mind; that was a piece of useful information, one she could use at a later date.
“Likewise, Boss.”
By the way he had looked upon her, Teofila figured that Giorno thought he knew many things about her. But, unfortunately for him, she knew more of him than he did of her. After all, that was her specialty – something that her boss would not soon forget.
La Squadra dello spionaggio had a leader anew.