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“Fugo,” says Giorno, “I have a mission for you.”
“Yes, boss.” Fugo waits briefly while Giorno pulls out a file.
“Investigate the territory the assassins hold for signs of drug selling or foul play. This is the information I have on them, for your review.” Giorno hands the fairly thin folder over to him. “Don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”
Fugo nods. He’s fairly sure he knows why he was chosen for this particular assignment. “I’ll be careful.”
“Thank you. You’re dismissed.”
Risotto Nero, capo. Stand: Metallica.
The file has more on Risotto than on any of his underlings, which doesn’t come as a surprise. It talks about his brother being killed by a drunk driver, him taking revenge at the age of eighteen, and joining the mafia at twenty-one. It talks about his rate of success in assassinations: currently 100%. Fugo imagines some of them were extremely dangerous targets, to send out the capo himself.
Prosciutto Cotto. Stand: Grateful Dead.
Prosciutto functions as basically second-in-command for this squad, noted here. His success rate is also remarkably high; it must have been aggravating to lose to Buccellati.
Illuso Gnocchi. Stand: Man In The Mirror.
The files have clearly been updated recently. They mention Illuso’s artificial hand, attached after Fugo’s fight with him.
Ghiaccio Candela. Stand: White Album.
Formaggio Acidino. Stand: Little Feet.
Pesci Palermitana. Stand: Beach Boy.
Melone Giallo. Stand: Baby Face.
There isn’t much Fugo is really interested in within these files, but he goes through them anyway, committing to memory places of birth and whatever information the previous boss had gathered on them.
There are also two files with faces that Fugo doesn’t recognize, stamped Deceased. Sorbet and Gelato. The notes request these files not to be removed.
On the streets, Fugo looks for signs of drug use. The towns are cleaner than they ever were during Diavolo’s reign. It’s not to say that there are no drugs at all, but Fugo only finds one or two dealers, and they’re not Passione.
Actually, he’s talking to the second one he’s found when he’s interrupted by a familiar voice. “Didn’t I see you here last week, kid?” Formaggio asks, leaning against an alley wall.
The drug dealer goes pale. “N-no sir! That must have been some other guy, I don’t know who you are-”
“Yeah, right. You suck at lying.” Formaggio crosses his arms. “You know Cosimo, used to operate three blocks from here? Showed up last week squashed flat?”
He gulps and nods.
“That guy used up all his chances even when I warned him twice. So here’s your second warning: I catch you selling drugs again, and you’re dead.”
The drug dealer starts to shake before bolting out of the alleyway.
Formaggio lets him run, turning instead to Fugo. “What brings you out here? Wanna grab a drink?”
“I’d like to, but…” This is attracting attention, damn it. “How many chances is the one on the corner of Bufala on?”
“That’s a new one, or else somebody moved. And I usually tell these kids’ parents on their second warning what they’re up to, so- I guess I’m too busy, you’re right. I’ll catch you some other time.” Formaggio heads the direction Fugo came from, and Fugo breathes a sigh of relief.
Apart from those two, he doesn’t see any drug dealers. No muggings either, even when the night gets late. Fugo stops at a bar just to check it out and notices the ‘free soda for designated drivers’ sign.
He gets the bartender’s attention. “How long have you had the designated driver policy?” he asks.
“Well, we… uh…” The bartender, a grown man, starts to sweat. “You know, the same time as every other bar around did. Got to keep up with the times and support safe driving.”
“Of course. And when was that?”
The bartender gives a date shortly after the assassins were assigned this territory. It must have been one of the first things Risotto took care of. Fugo suspects he left quite an impression.
The assassins’ territory seems like a good place to live. Giorno will find that most important.