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It had become a rough night for La Squadra di Esecuzioni.
Technically, every night was a rough night for La Squadra, given their ongoing struggle to survive through their scarce paychecks. However, that night was supposed to be their big break from poverty.
Their bonus, as the Boss claimed, would be "very affluent" and would keep them all financially stable until their next. If they completed their job and confirmed all of the targets' deaths, the pay would be wired straight to the Capo's bank account and it would be a done deal.
Receiving sufficient pay was a rarity to come by, so they already suspected their assignment would be very tedious. Not only that, but getting to the assigned location was costly in itself. The several hour long drive from Naples to Venice consumed much of their gasoline, they had to make several stops on the way for cheap food and restroom breaks, and by the time they arrived to the target location, they could only afford to settle in a small, one bed and one star motel room to preserve the rest of their money.
Granted, they could buy a room with at least two beds, but they still needed some leftover cash for gas and larder until they were awarded with their bonus. Only three of the men could fit on the bed— four was a hunch, if they were fine with curling up at the foot like the family pet. The rest of them settled for sleeping on the floor, in the desk chair, in the closet, or in the bathroom.
Each and every one of them prayed that their assignment would have a fair enough payoff for them to afford breathing with a peace of mind. And, as expected for such pay, the job was as difficult as they thought. Fifteen different targets had to be assassinated, whom most of them were indeed Stand Users, and with there already being little background information given on the enemy beforehand the assassins weren't able to survive without gaining a few cuts and scrapes.
Nevertheless, their job was a success, and while they took turns taking nice cold showers under the half functional showerhead and patching each other up with bandages, iron staples, and disinfectant, they whooped and hollered in celebration about the bountiful check that would soon be in their Capo's possession.
Right until they were given the unfortunate news.
Risotto, bless his heart, was a mostly calm and collected individual who would occasionally laugh or crack a smile here and there, but was always so caught up in being a blunt and serious leader that he seldom ever showed much emotion. The uproar of excitement within his subordinates aroused his own giddiness, and while he was in the middle of tending to Prosciutto's wounds, Formaggio jumped up and began to do a little dance. He turned to his Capo and shouted, "Come on! Dance with me, Riz!" and with no hesitation, also to Prosciutto's dismay, Risotto joined Formaggio on the carpet.
Lord knows they both couldn't dance to save their lives, but they, as in all of them, were the happiest men in the world, and didn't give a damn about how embarrassing it was to try and watch their Capo and his friend get down.
When Risotto sent Formaggio out to buy food, accompanied by a noise complaint from the room nextdoor, the rowdiness within them had died down, yet their contentment remained. Risotto sat down in the desk chair, the chair he offered to sleep in during the night, and pulled out his cellphone to give his Boss the confirmation phone call. With that call, their glorious high came with a bitter crash.
"You will no longer be getting paid for this assignment," was what swiftly wiped the wide and dimpled smile off of Risotto's face. "Something came up, and I can't afford to award you. I hope you understand."
Risotto was dead silent for a moment before he let out a nervous chuckle. Though he knew better, he wanted to believe what he heard was a joke, that it was some kind of funny prank the don decided to play on him.
"Excuse me, Boss, but I don't think I can understand," he responded. "We were already short on money when you offered the job, and you promised me that our award would even cover the cost for us to get back home. Are we supposed to stay in Venezia, then? Will we have another assignment here?"
"No. You must return to Napoli and remain on standby until I give you the next assignment."
Risotto let out a deep, exasperated sigh and shut his eyes to avoid the inevitably shifting expressions of his underlings. He thought himself a fool for thinking it could possibly be a joke. The Boss going back on his promises of great awards for their cooperation had happened several times before; only this time, the situation was far, far worse. They would be stuck in the poorest part of Venezia with no way to return home, and with not much money left to find their way around or to have any food to eat.
"How are we supposed to get back without any money?" he questioned, managing to keep a calm demeanor throughout his speech. "How are we supposed to survive the next few days without our income? If we won't have another opportunity here, then what are we supposed to do?"
"You will find your way," the Boss answered, all too simple for Risotto to bear. "Just make sure you've made it home by—"
Risotto tried to be nice, he tried to remain civil, but it was definitely not the right time and place for their Boss to choose to lay them all off, and the way he always, always made it seem as if living with inadequate income was as easy as riding a bicycle ground his gears to the point of fury. He nearly shoved the chair to the floor as he lurched out of it.
"Are you a fucking moron?! Are you that fucking dense?!" he yelled into the phone. "How in God's name will we 'find our way'?! That fucking bonus was our one way ticket back home! Now you're taking it away from us, hell, won't even fucking tell me why, you're just taking it, yet somehow we're still expected to—!"
"For the sake of your life and the lives of your recruits," the Boss interrupted, "I personally suggest that you watch your fucking tone when you speak to me, and that you know your goddamn place. Shut the fuck up and listen."
Although he lacked any more respect for the don, Risotto decided shut his mouth for their own safety. He sat back down in the chair and bitterly took in what the man behind the iron curtain had to say.
"You will receive no pay for this assignment, and that decision is final. Your next bonus will be offered to you within two weeks or less. Do as I say, and find your way back to Napoli within that time frame. I will take no fucking excuses if you aren't there by the time I proceed to contact you, and you know what happens to those who disobey me. Until next time, Nero."
He waited for a brief moment for any further opposition from his recruit, but when Risotto remained quiet, the Boss ended the call. The helpless assassin seemed to be perfectly standstill, almost to the point where they thought he was no longer breathing, before he made them all jolt in place by suddenly slamming the cell phone onto the desk with enough force to nearly smash it into several pieces.
Gelato took a deep breath before he asked, "We aren't getting paid, are we?"
Risotto could only muster a low "I'm sorry," and he turned his back to them to hide his shame.
The room fell silent once again. If they weren't in such a confined space, Ghiaccio would have screeched out his anger, but he instead settled for punching the lamp and knocking it off of its nightstand. Thankfully, he didn't manage to completely break the lamp, but as Illuso picked it back up he found that Ghiaccio left an unfixable dent in the lampshade.
Their moods shifted from sweet to sour, and they all groaned or muttered their disappointment, Sorbet even going as far as to curse God under his breath. Melone sat down beside Pesci and helped to console him before he was almost brought to tears.
Prosciutto left his seat on the edge of the bed to join Risotto's side. He placed his hands on his Capo's shoulders who, despite feeling the gentle massages of his second in command, did not turn around or remove the obscuring palms from his temples to regard him in any way. Prosciutto shifted through the hanging bells of his partner's ridiculous jester hat to plant a soft kiss on the back of his wounded neck.
"Are you alright?"
Risotto responded with a slow nod and a poorly hidden sniffle.
"None of this is your fault," Prosciutto reminded him. "None of us blame you for anything. We all love you, Risotto. I love you."
Deep down, Risotto knew that he wasn't the one to blame, but as their Capo, the one who offered to take care of them, put clothes on their backs, and promised to keep them under a stable roof, he couldn't help but feel responsible. He stuck with another unconvincing nod, yet still neglected to say a word back to him.
Prosciutto realized that he probably couldn't get through to him at that point, so he patted him on the shoulders and let him be. Prosciutto stepped out into the warm night, shut the door behind him, and spent several minutes outside to savor the unfulfilling buzz of two cigarettes.
Unknowing of the bleak cloud that hung over their musty motel room, Formaggio returned around thirty minutes later with the opposite attitude. He strutted into the cramped area with a bright smile, along with two pizza boxes in his left hand and the room's key card in his right.
"Yo! I'm back with the grub!" he announced.
"Quiet down, or we'll get another noise complaint!" Prosciutto reprimanded.
Not that Prosciutto actually gave a rat's ass about that shitty motel, its other occupants, or its employees. He was more concerned with Formaggio's boisterous attitude further irking Risotto's nerves.
"Ah, shit. My bad." Formaggio stepped further into the room and shut the door behind him, setting the boxes of pizza and key card onto the desk where Risotto sat. He pat Risotto on his back, thinking his current position was a sign of him taking a short nap, and once again announced his purchase. "I got us some pizza. It sure ain't the best, since it came from one of the most low budget places I could find, and trust me, the inside of that place was rank! Everybody here likes pepperonis, right? Are you guys still feeling hungry?"
"Not eating that garbage," Ghiaccio dismissed.
"Well I'm not forcing you, Blue." Formaggio glanced around with a puzzled look, noticing that there were some missing people. "Where's Sorbet and Gelato? Did they go take a walk, or something?"
"They've already fallen asleep in the bathtub," Melone said, as he got up from the floor to check out the pizza. "I guess they'll be missing out on the..." As he opened one of the boxes, he stared pitifully at the messy, greasy, and disarranged excuse of a pizza pie. "...Nevermind. They're not missing out on anything."
"Damn, they claimed the tub already? Oh, well, I guess the early bird gets the worm." Formaggio found a spot next to Illuso on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "It's weird that I don't see you jumping for joy at the sight of food. You want me to go grab you a slice?"
"No, thank you," Illuso replied. "The pizza probably tastes like cooked cardboard smothered in tomato sauce and toppings, but I lost my appetite before you came back, so it doesn't really matter either way."
Melone happened to take a bite from an unevenly cut thin slice of pizza and agreed to Illuso's statement with a wince. "Damn. It really does taste like cooked cardboard."
"Lost your appetite? You, losing your appetite?" Formaggio repeated in disbelief. "You haven't even eaten since our trip, Illuso. If you've caught some type of stomach bug, I can just walk to the store and shoplift a bottle of medicine for you. You'll start to feel hungrier after thirty minutes or so."
"Formaggio, I am perfectly fine. I don't want you going to the store to try and steal shit for me. The last thing I need is you getting arrested and getting manhandled after trying to run from the police."
"Eh, I dunno man." Formaggio shrugged his shoulders. "Little Feet makes it pretty easy to shoplift. Plus, you know I don't run from the police, baby. The police run from me! "
"You are such a fucking idiot," Illuso snorted.
"Ah, but you love it!" Formaggio cackled as he pulled Illuso into a tighter embrace. "No, but seriously, what's the matter with you? And why are you so mean mugged, anyway? Who put you in a bitchy mood this time? I bet it was old man Prosciutto over there. He tends to bitch so much that everybody else catches the bitch disease."
"Oh, please," the blonde scoffed, "more like the uomo misterioso mob boss. If you haven't noticed already, Formaggio— which, apparently you haven't, everybody is in a bitchy mood, and it's all because of him."
"Eh?" Formaggio glanced around the room for a moment, and soon enough noticed that not only Illuso, but everyone else seemed to be in bad spirits.
Prosciutto was furiously tapping his foot against the floor, a sign that he was itching for another cigarette to try and calm his nerves, but in order to conserve money he limited himself to only two a day. It was a horrendous idea since the very beginning.
Ghiaccio often carried a pissy demeanor, so it wasn't unusual to see him upset, but Melone wasn't always so quiet and Pesci wasn't always on the verge of crying. And though it was true that their dinner wasn't the best quality, only one of them moved to grab something to eat. None of them would dare deny a meal while they were in their right mind, so they've either gone completely mad from lack of fulfilling nutrients, or Formaggio had missed a sudden shitstorm while he was away.
"You said the boss has you guys all bitchy like this?" he asked. "What exactly did he do?"
"I'll tell you what he did. He made us drive all the way out here for that goddamm job, risk our lives for his ungrateful ass, and at the very last minute, he denied us our fucking pay," Ghiaccio seethed. "Didn't you see Risotto moping about it over there? Capo is beyond pissed, and I don't blame him one bit."
"Really?" All of a sudden, Formaggio started to feel guilty for thinking his pal was only dozing off on the desk. The realization of how serious their situation was also started to settle in, and he shook his head at their lack of luck. "Shit, man. We really aren't getting paid? This is tough."
"No shit, it's tough! We're literally fucking stuck in Venezia with no gas money for a trip back home! Then if we don't make it back to Napoli within two weeks, the Boss will blame it all on us when it's his fucking fault in the first damn place!" Ghiaccio began to furiously clench his fists. "God, just talking about it makes me so motherfucking angry! So angry, that it makes me wanna—!"
"Do not!" Prosciutto shouted, before Ghiaccio could land his fist into the drywall of the closet door. "Control yourself, Ghiaccio. We don't need any extra charges on the room's bill."
"Oh, come on, guys. It ain't all that bad," Formaggio opined. "We can just figure it out in the days to come, and we'll be back home before we know it."
Melone rolled his eyes as he took another bite of the terrible pizza. "Be realistic, Formaggio," he spoke with his mouthful. "We're all menaces to society and our only job refuses to pay us. There's a slim chance we would be able to find our way home within the deadline. If we did find another way, he would have someone out for our heads before we could even make all of the cash we needed."
"He's right," Prosciutto said with a cross of his arms, as he tried to control his jumpy leg. "We're more than likely fucked and dead where we stand, and there's little to nothing we can do about it."
Pesci started to whine again, telling them how he didn't want to die, and to comfort his younger brother Prosciutto lied through his teeth with a contradicting promise that they weren't going to. Pesci knew it was a lie, but chose to believe him, because it was the only resolution he could find for his fear.
Their pessimism was bumming him out, and they were being too glum for his liking, but Formaggio guessed it was best to keep his thoughts to himself. However, their moods weren't so easily swayable as they would be, and even Illuso, who was usually the first of all of them to be influenced by Formaggio's charm, remained distant and would hardly twitch his lips at one of his witty quips. Eventually, the ginger decided to give up and distracted himself with either the black and white television screen or the stained and peeling wallpaper, which were both excruciatingly boring for him. Being penniless may have sucked, but to him, a bunch of depressed sacks of friends were worse.
As the night got darker, they became drowsier, and all of them began to get ready for bed. All of them except for Risotto, who technically was already in his bed, but had not moved another inch since Prosciutto attempted to console him earlier.
Knowing that they wouldn't have much use for the single bed, they came prepared with their own blankets and pillows. As Formaggio dug through his suitcase of luggage for his own belongings, he suddenly came across an idea. The idea could either go as planned, or it could end up with him unintentionally getting a black eye, but in his opinion, it was still worth a shot.
Ghiaccio was in the middle of carrying his blanket and pillow to the closet so he could settle down and get some rest when he felt something both soft and rough whack him on his shoulder. He swiftly turned around and was met with Formaggio, who held a goofy grin and a pillow over his head.
"What the hell are you—"
Formaggio whacked him with the pillow again, this time on top of his curly hair, and managed to undo one of his perfectly patterned strands. By the second hit, Ghiaccio became a little more peeved. Flaring his nostrils when he was getting ticked off was one of his habits.
"Cut it out, you fucking buffoon!" Ghiaccio firmly shoved him away and turned back around to stomp off into the closet.
Thankfully, Formaggio didn't get punched in the eye, but he also failed to achieve his desired reaction. However, he wasn't planning to give up that easily.
The rest of them noticed him picking on Ghiaccio, and because it was far too late at night for them to have to try and handle one of Ghiaccio's explosions, Prosciutto was quick to start scolding him. "Formaggio, quit acting like a—"
"Shut up!" Formaggio ran over and whacked Prosciutto upside his head, and then whacked him again until he was stumbling back onto the bed. Pesci was about to ask if his brother was okay, until Formaggio hit him on top of his pineapple stem of hair, and though it should've hardly hurt him at all, he covered his head and squealed.
"Jesus, what the hell has gotten into you?" Illuso approached him and tried to snatch the pillow out of his hands, but instead the pillow had slapped him silly, and he failed to grab it in time.
"What's gotten into you? " Formaggio asked with a laugh, as he ran off to make his next attack.
Melone was sitting quietly on the floor, literally minding his own business, when he was bonked on the top of the head with Formaggio's pillow. Melone looked up with a raised brow, and mumbled, "What did I—" before Formaggio laughed and bonked him again.
"Alright, I've fucking had it!" Ghiaccio grabbed his pillow, jumped up from the closet, and hurled it as hard as he could at Formaggio's face. He put a great deal of horsepower into that one swing, and managed to stop the pillow massacre by nearly knocking Formaggio off of his feet.
Everyone believed that it would have literally knocked some sense into Formaggio, and Ghiaccio proceeded to chew him out for his lack of maturity, but stopped his grousing when Formaggio started to whoop and cheer.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about!" He tossed the pillow back to Ghiaccio, and began to advance on him with his own. "Let's go, Blue! Give me all you've got!"
"Wait, what are you— AGH!" Ghiaccio snarled and countered Formaggio's attack with another hurl to the face. "You ugly son of a bitch, stop fucking around! I'll put you in the fucking ground!"
"Hey! I ain't ugly!" Formaggio protested. "You're just mad 'cause I have a better haircut than you!"
"As if! Your head looks like the top of a fucking basketball!"
"So does your mama's, and you sure are talking a lot of shit for somebody who's losing the fight! Is this really all you've got?"
For achieving a throw that appeared as if it could give Formaggio brain damage, it was surprising that Ghiaccio was losing their fight, and the tanner assassin laughed as he continued to obliterate him with the pillow. It could have been the height advantage he had against Ghiaccio that was giving him the upperhand, but unfortunately for him, a new challenger joined the battle to provide Ghiaccio with protection. Melone commenced a sneak attack and began to beat Formaggio in the back of the head with his own weapon.
"Yo, wait a minute! That's cheating! THAT'S CHEATI—" Formaggio screamed as Melone and Ghiaccio proceeded to team up and assist each other into beating him to the floor. Unable to free himself from their attacks, he called out for help, and soon enough Illuso felt inclined to come to his rescue. Prosciutto watched with a chastising glare, his mouth slightly agape, as the four of them proceeded to behave like a group of elementary school children at a sleepover.
"Are they seriously having a fucking pillow fight?"
Risotto had been watching them since it started, and was finally acknowledging his comrades with a hint of curiosity. The four of them were making such a ruckus with their laughing and shouting, and would occasionally bump into some of the walls or fall to the floor, but regardless of what they were doing and how childish it could be, they all genuinely seemed to be happy. Even Ghiaccio, who was previously fired up and ready to explode because of Formaggio's assault, had a determined smirk on his face as he fought against his opponents with his pillow.
"It looks fun. I wanna join!" Pesci bubbled, but unfortunately for him, his brother wouldn't allow it.
"No! This is fucking juvenile, and they're gonna end up breaking something else if they don't quit. You're not joining anything. Stay in the bed."
Leaving Pesci to pout, he stood up from where he sat and walked over to their frantic tussling. When he forcefully snatched the pillow away from Formaggio's hands, the rest of them halted their game and gave him a strange look.
"Stop acting like a bunch of fucking kindergarteners!" He threw the pillow back at Formaggio, who caught it with a grunt. "This is not the time and place for your bullshit, Formaggio. Do you not understand the situation we're in? Has it not registered through your pebble of a brain that we can't afford a fucking hole through the wall? You're not sixteen anymore, and you haven't been for ten fucking years! Grow up already!"
The room fell silent as Formaggio blankly stared at the angered blonde in front of him. Expecting the ginger to finally quit with his childish antics, Prosciutto was instead met with a pillow to the face.
"Everybody! Get the old man!" Formaggio commanded, and Prosciutto watched in horror as all four of them proceeded to gang up on him with a barrage of pillows. Despite his muffled pleas, they all proceeded to beat him to a "pulp," and had him curled up against the floor in order to defend himself from their choice of stupidity and their desire to teach him a lesson.
And then, when they overheard that all too familiar laugh, they suddenly stopped their attack and averted their attention to their Capo. What they thought they were imagining turned out to be true. It was the baritone laugh of Risotto Nero.
Whenever Risotto was extremely upset, it was difficult for him even want to speak to anyone. Given if they weren't sharing one room together, he would react to his anger by isolating himself in another room or his office. Oddly enough, the sight of Prosciutto lying helpless against the carpet while the others towered over him with their pillows was just enough to bring him back into high spirits. As he howled in laughter, he flashed his whitened teeth and the dimples that everyone absolutely loved to see.
On the contrary, Prosciutto wasn't very delighted by his reaction.
"Oh, you think this is funny? The fucking nerve of you, Nero! When I tried to comfort you, you wouldn't say a word, but watching me get beat to near death with a bunch of pillows just cracks you up!"
"Prosciutto, stop being dramatic. If it was me in that situation, you would've thought it was funny too." Another chuckle left Risotto's throat as he stood up from the chair, and he walked around the bed to grab two pillows. "Here, get up." He walked back around and grabbed Prosciutto's hand, easily lifting him up from the floor. He handed his second in command one of the two pillows. "We're gonna get back at them for ganging up on you, and Pesci will join us."
"Three against twos? That ain't fair, Rizzy!" Formaggio exclaimed, as Pesci excitedly got up and ran over with a pillow of his own.
Prosciutto sucked his teeth in defiance. "Who said I wanted to be on your team anyway? Pesci and I can handle our own. You can be on a team by yourself, since everything's so funny to you. Laugh at that, shithead."
"Alright, fine. I can handle taking down all your teams one by one," the Capo boasted with a smirk. "No sweat."
"But can you handle taking us all down at once," Ghiaccio questioned, "in a battle of six against one?"
Risotto's eyebrows rose with his question, and he shook his head as he watched the six of them begin to advance on him with their pillows.
"Oh, Ghiaccio. You sly, sly dog."
"Take down the giant!" Formaggio yelled, and all of his underlings charged towards Risotto to try and take him down. He erupted into another fit of laughter as they launched their attack, and, he had to admit, they almost got him on the ground, but in the end he still had no problem dispersing their forces.
Eventually, each of them split back up into teams, excluding the lone star giant. For over thirty minutes, all seven of them were running around the room, hitting each other with pillows, and having the time of their lives. They were grateful they didn't manage to beat the stuffing out of their pillows, or else they would go the night without any cushioning.
"Stay close to me, Pesci! I got your back!"
"Okay, Fra'!"
"Illuso, you're the taller one! You're supposed to be— AGH!— protecting me!"
"You started the fight, love. I shouldn't be the one to finish it."
"Melone, we're in the middle of fighting for our fucking lives! Stop playing grab ass!"
"Sorry, Ghia."
"Look at you scrubs with your teams and strategies. You're nothing compared to me."
In unison, the rest of them chanted, "Take down the giant! Take down the giant!"
They wondered how Sorbet and Gelato managed to sleep through their pillow fight, but the couple sure was missing out on a fun time and bad pizza. Wherever Formaggio bought the pizza from was definitely not the ideal parlor, but as they say, beggars can't be choosers— and Risotto wasn't going to be a starving beggar, at that.
After their pillow fight came to a close, all of them decided to sit down, relax, and indulge in the slices of pizza, which were now cold from neglect and tasted far worse than they did when they were warmer.
Pesci was fast asleep in the bed already, leaving just enough space for Prosciutto and Illuso later on. Ghiaccio was curled up with Melone in the closet, both of them drifting off to sleep... though, Ghiaccio had to ignore his immense amount of discomfort considering two people weren't meant to fit in that one closet, and Melone was being too clingy to sleep on the floor as he said he would. Prosciutto was sitting on the edge of the bed with Risotto on the floor beneath him, and he played with the Capo's hair as he went on and on about how he "should stop wearing that damned hat all the time."
Risotto paid him no mind, and was instead busy observing Formaggio as he chattered with his partner Illuso. He was tearing his pizza apart while simultaneously talking and making jokes, and a goofy smile would shine on his face every time he succeeded in making Illuso laugh. Risotto couldn't help but grin himself as he watched Formaggio plant a tomato sauce filled kiss onto Illuso's cheek, and of course, Illuso would go on to bitch and grumble about his filthy mouth.
"Hey, Formaggio."
Though he didn't mean to, just for a moment, he would interrupt their bonding to ask his friend a question. Both the aforementioned and his partner looked back at Risotto, Illuso using his palm to wipe the tomato sauce away from his cheek.
"Hey, Rizzy," Formaggio greeted. "What's up?"
"You started the pillow fight for a reason, didn't you?" Risotto presumed. "What was that reason?"
Formaggio smiled and took a bite from the pizza crust in his hand. "To be honest, I just wanted to get the stick outta everybody's asses," he admitted. "You were upset, my boyfriend wouldn't talk to me, Pesci was crying, Prosciutto nearly had a stroke from nic withdrawals... I mean, the entire vibe of the room was making me feel like shit, too, but I didn't wanna feel like shit, and I didn't want you guys to feel like shit either! I wanted you all to forget about the stupid Boss holding out on our checks for a little while, even if it was only temporary."
Risotto nodded at his reply, and went on to express his feelings. "Despite any time we find ourselves in a heap of shit, you always maintain an optimistic outlook. That's what I've always admired about you, Formaggio."
"Man, what other choice do I have?" Formaggio joked. "You want me to mope like the emo bastard you are?"
The two men shared a laugh over Formaggio's remark. Prosciutto and Illuso joined in with a chuckle, and even Ghiaccio overheard them through his half consciousness and gave a small snort.
"No, but seriously, Riz. I've stuck with you through all types of hell. Before Passione, we were halfway living on the streets, sometimes we couch hopped and other times we were at the homeless shelter. Now, I gotta sleep in the bathroom with a gay couple, and those two jokers at least get the tub. I'm getting the cold ass floor! That sucks ass, man, I know it sucks ass, but I'm not gonna moan and groan about it 'cause shit could be far worse. I could be fucking dead, rotting in the ground with the worms and maggots eating me up. But right now, I'm alive and well with the only family I have left. No matter what, I'll do anything for my family. I'll die for each and every one of you if it meant you were safe and happy."
From the beginning, Formaggio always had an unconditional loyalty about him. Risotto appreciated that quality in his friend more than ever, and he knew he meant every word of what he said. If any of them were in immediate danger, Formaggio would be the first to try and take the bullet. There was, in fact, a large permanent scar located on Formaggio's knee cap from the time he protected Pesci from being stabbed with a knife.
The Capo reached his hand out, and Formaggio took it in his. They both maintained a firm grip on each other's hands, and exchanged small smiles between themselves, and then practiced the one unique handshake they would rehearse for years, one of the special things only exclusive to their everlasting bond.
"I love you, fratello, " Formaggio said. "Don't you ever forget that."
"I love you too, fratellino. "
"And I love you the most, Lulu!" Formaggio embraced Illuso and placed another kiss on his cheek, this time closer to the edge of his lips, and managed to leave more pizza residue in his wake. "Don't you ever forget that either."
"I love you too, but I don't love the way you eat like a toddler." Illuso grimaced as he wiped away more tomato sauce and pizza crumbs, but smiled and returned the kiss to Formaggio's forehead.
Risotto lifted his head up to look Prosciutto, but Prosciutto dismissed him before he could even say it. "I don't need you to tell me something I already know. What you've done for me all these years says it enough."
"And I'll say it anyway," Risotto objected. "I love you, Prosciutto."
"I love you too, teddy bear."
Right before the four of them decided to retire for the day, Formaggio's mind wandered off again, as his eyes gazed upon the ugly wallpaper of their room, though he still found it uninteresting. He pondered their current situation, their lack of funds in particular, and wondered if there was any possible way to turn things back around for them. They were given two weeks to figure it out amongst themselves, but it didn't take him long to realize something that was so ridiculously blatant, he was surprised someone as moronic as him could come across it on his own.
"Guys, hear me out real quick," he said aloud, grabbing the attention of the three other conscious hitmen. Risotto glanced up from the wood of the desk and saw that Formaggio was looking at him specifically. From the expression on his face, he could tell his friend had something important on his mind.
"Yes? Go ahead."
"We're elite assassins and Stand Users working for Passione. We're in one of the most notorious crime syndicates in Italy. Most of our money comes from the drugs, but a good portion of it comes from claimed territory. If we need the money... can't we just take over the motel and earn it that way? And, not only the motel, but almost every other business in this area?"
Risotto's eyes widened after hearing Formaggio's idea, and he exchanged the same look with Prosciutto, who was already situated in bed with Pesci and Illuso. Prosciutto then glimpsed over at Illuso, who raised an eyebrow at him, and Prosciutto looked back at Risotto, which went full circle right back at Formaggio.
After a few seconds of silence and rapid blinking, Risotto uttered, "Why the hell didn't I think of this before?"
"Sometimes Formaggio can be a complete idiot, and other times he can be an absolute genius," Prosciutto stated. "However, there's an issue with that idea. Our team is explicitly not allowed to control any territory, and though we've already figured out this area isn't yet claimed by any syndicate, word could get to the Boss that we've taken it over. The punishment we get for disobeying him may be far worse than death. How do you say we go about it?"
"Simple." Formaggio shrugged, and though it wasn't exactly as straightforward, it wouldn't be difficult for them either. "We just gotta make sure the bastard doesn't find out."
"Ding ding ding!" Formaggio unnecessarily imitated the sound of the desk bell he rang while attempting to get the attention of the desk clerk.
The clerk was a young man, looking to be about eighteen to twenty, who had a face riddled with acne. He was distracted by the pornographic magazine he was reading and the headphones blasting the walkman's current playlist into his ears. He didn't notice the motel guest smiling at him from behind the counter until a full minute of him goofily ringing the bell.
"Oh, shit!" Though Formaggio pretended not to notice anyway, the man quickly hid his magazine under the desk and pulled the headphones down from his ears. "Uhh, hi there! What can I help you with today?"
Formaggio eyed the young man's walkman, and then nodded towards it. "Whatcha listening to?"
"Wh... Um..." The man raised an eyebrow at him, as he wondered why a random motel guest was interested in his music. "Ice Cube?"
Formaggio's face immediately lit up at artist he mentioned. "Shit, really? Dude, I love Cube! Here, lemme have a listen. Which album is it?"
"...The Predator?" Bewildered, the man slowly took the headphones off of his neck and handed them over to Formaggio. Formaggio placed the headphones over his ears and heard a song all too familiar to him, one that reminded him of almost nine years ago, when he would ride his old, ragged, and stolen car around Naples and blast his personal taste of Western rap music out into the open streets.
"Oh, man! This song was my shit back in the day! I remember the exact day I shoplifted this album from the music store." He then proceeded to nod his head to the music, reciting it perfectly from his memory. "I gotta go 'cause I got me a drop-top, and if I hit the switch, I can make the asssss drop! Had to stop at a red light, lookin' in my mirror and not a—"
He stopped when he noticed the red eyes in the corner of the room and the almost transparent hand that was wagging its finger at him, a sign that he needed to get back to the task at hand. The figure then dissipated back into the background, and Formaggio coughed and handed the headphones back to the clerk.
"Woah, why'd you stop?" The clerk seemed to be astonished by his knowledge of rap music, and Formaggio felt guilty for not being able to impress him further. "That was amazing!"
"My bad. I just remembered why I was here, and I'm kinda short on time. Maybe I can rap another song for you later, yeah? But I need to speak to your manager about something real quick. Is he here today?"
"Yeah, in the backroom. I'll go get him." The clerk left the front desk and entered a side door to retrieve his manager. Formaggio waited patiently for them both as he drummed his fingers against the desk's countertop. He could hear parts of the short conversation between them, which pertained to his presence, before both the clerk and manager emerged a few seconds later.
"Good morning to you, sir. I'm the manager." The older, fatter, and balding man nodded at Formaggio, and he nodded back as common courtesy. "What do you need? If you're here to report a plumbing issue, just know that we've gotten several complaints about it today, and we're currently working very hard to fix it."
"Oh, no. I'd rather take a shit on the street than piss in the disgusting ass toilet in our motel bathroom." The manager took no offense to his crude statement, and instead laughed as he nodded in agreement. "Nah, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to discuss business, so let's cut to the chase. For about two weeks, you'll be giving me fifty percent of this motel's earnings, and in return I'll be giving you my mercy. Deal?"
The manager's wide smile was immediately wiped off of his face. "Excuse me?"
"I think I was as clear as I can be. Do we have a deal, or not?" Formaggio set his elbow against the front desk and reached his hand out for the manager to shake. He and his employee exchanged confused glances with each other, and then looked back at Formaggio with raised eyebrows.
"Is this some type of joke?" the manager sneered. "Get the hell out of here, kid."
Formaggio chuckled at his response and pulled his arm away from the desk. "Oh, well. I tried to be nice about it." His hand resurfaced with a small shafted item, and in one quick motion he flicked the small lever, revealing the sharp steel blade of the pocket knife. Both of the men behind the desk flinched at the sight, and the clerk started taking several steps backwards, his eyes widening at the weapon.
"Now, let me repeat myself. You'll be giving me fifty percent of your— Ah, ah, ah! I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Formaggio pointed the knife at the manager's right hand, which was discreetly trying to reach for the cellphone lying in his pocket. "Watch it, big guy. I suggest you cooperate if you want to keep all your fingers intact."
"Oh, to hell with you!" the man spat. "I would've called the police before you could even get your short ass over that desk to cut my fingers off!"
Formaggio scoffed. "Okay. Go ahead and try it, then. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Beads of sweat were visibly cascading down the man's temples, and the clerk had completely backed himself into a corner out of fear, but the manager tested his own precision and, in one quick motion, managed to pull the cellphone out of his pocket. The moment he pulled it out, however, came the unfortunate demise Formaggio predicted. Somehow, a blade had cut right through his fingers and thumb, and both his cellphone and his limbs fell to the floor. The man screeched as he clutched his bleeding and aching hand, as he tried to process exactly how all of that happened within milliseconds, without the guest standing behind the desk even moving a muscle.
"I applaud your bravery. If you agree to our deal, maybe I'll agree to help you with your severed fingers."
The manager shakily raised an eyebrow at Formaggio, who's lips hadn't moved either, other than letting out a long, disinterested yawn. He realized that the voice had come from behind him, and when he turned around, his body quivering with fear, he nearly fell over with a heart attack from the gothic clown towering over him.
"H... How did you...?"
"How did I get here? How did I do that? How did I come up with this sense of fashion? Whatever your question may be, the answer matters not." Risotto crossed his arms over his nearly bare chest. "What matters is the deal my friend has oh so politely offered to you, but since your first decision was to refuse, I must warn you; failure to comply with us will result in your untimely death. If you don't want to peacefully accept our proposition, we don't mind taking it by force. "
He waited a moment for an answer, but the manager remained as still as he could, whimpering along with his scary employee in the corner. With a sigh, Risotto realized he had to keep pushing him for a response.
"Don't just stare at me like a deer in the headlights, you're bleeding out all over this ugly carpet. If you happen to be going into shock, you'll be useless to us, so I might as well just kill you now. You have five seconds to answer."
"Deal! Deal! We have a deal!" the manager cried, all sudden and desperate to keep his life.
"Good!" Risotto smiled at the horrified man kneeling below him. "Contrary to what you may believe, especially because of my appearance, I never wanted to take your life nor did I want to harm you. Now, let's get you all fixed up."
The severed digits suddenly lifted themselves up from the ground and reattached to the man's palm, and he watched with every emotion imaginable as they somehow stapled themselves back to their base. Risotto started to go on about their deal, leading the manager and the frightened employee into the manager's back office, but Formaggio had long since stopped listening to them. In the midst of their conversation, he had grabbed the employee's headphones and put them back over his ears, resuming his head nodding and recitation to the song from his past.
"Drunk as hell, but no throwin' up. Halfway home, and my pager still blowin' up. Today I didn't even have to use my AK! I gotta say, it was a good day."