Work Text:
As he lay on the ground, limp body only meters away from the boss' daughter, Trish Una, Bruno Buccellati thought about those who he'd spent his final few days with.
He thought of Leone, The stubborn man who wore purple lipstick-the man he'd come to adore. The man who refused to forget the past, but instead kept thinking about it until it made him sick.
He thought of Pannacotta, the first person he took in. The kid with a short temper who'd been expelled and disowned for beating a sleazy college professor with an encyclopedia.
He thought of Guido, the man who he'd thought wouldn't last two years in prison. The man who brought his ramblings on to the group's table with the persistent phobia of the number four.
He thought of Narancia, the kid who had a lot going for him, but associated with the wrong people. The immature seventeen-year-old boy who'd crack jokes and blast snoop dogg whenever he felt like it.
He thought of Giorno, the boy he'd tried to kill at first, and the first person who, at least on his team, he shared a common goal with. The boy who had this air of fate being on his side sometimes.
and He thought of Trish. He'd tried his hardest to protect her, only to end up dead. He knew it would come eventually, his death would, because when you devote your life to an organization like passione, it's to be expected. He just wasn't expecting it so soon.
His body was failing him and his vision was going dark.
his final breath was an apology.
He'd lived a short life.
At Twenty years old, Bruno Buccellati lay dead in the basement of the building on San Giorgio Maggiore island on April 2nd, 2001