Chapter Text
It had been so, so simple. Deceptively so, almost as if the forces of fate itself had altered the entire universe to make it as such. But Giorno Giovanna did not dwell on things, and he was particularly keen on not dwelling on this one; Polpo was dead, and that’s all that mattered. His journey to achieving his dream had already begun, and all it took was a series of very convenient coincidences to make it happen… fate really had been treating him kindly, it seemed.
And now.. Bucciarati.
In such a short time, Giorno had already gained the gangster’s trust, and now that he was finally joining his gang he knew that trust would serve him well.
..and would eventually be Bucciarati’s downfall, he realised. The man was savvy. Sharp as a knife, and dangerously so. Yet he didn’t pick up on Giorno’s.. true intentions. Or perhaps he..?
Never mind that. He’d have plenty of time to get a read on Bucciarati before making his move. All it would take was more trust, he reiterated to himself. As he met up with the gangster again, Giorno’s thoughts drifted back to Polpo’s enigmatic words; how God would even forgive murder, or so he believed.
One, two..
If so, Giorno wondered, would He forgive two, three murders? Or possibly more? Giorno chuckled humorlessly at the irony behind the statement made by the dead gangster. There was nothing “forgivable” about what he was going to do. But it was necessary, or so he thought.
Giorno looked up and found himself at a restaurant. Strange headquarters for a gang but he wasn’t complaining. Bucciarati had brought him up to speed regarding everything about Passione, his own team being the last piece of the puzzle that Giorno was building in his head.
He was greeted by a group of four men sitting around a table; or rather, they seemingly refused to acknowledge him at all, clearly more interested in what they were doing before Giorno arrived. The boy merely bowed and took his seat, the cold expression on his face remaining unchanged even as the man next to him was clearly tampering with the tea. Then, he counted.
Five men in total, including Bucciarati.
Five men whose blood he’ll have on his hands.
The necessary price to pay.
--
“Giorno, why do you want to join the gang?”
“Drugs destroyed my family, my life.. It’s all I have at this point. Only the gang will accept me now.”
Giorno had lied and lied again until the story he’d concocted in his head sounded as convincing to him as the stand that stared back at him. Gold experience, silent as ever, gazed straight ahead with those same marble-like eyes, unblinking and lacking any shred of emotion. The same through which Giorno’s seen the atrocities Passione’s committed, that which Gold experience never flinched; only reacted when prompted.
Yet as he sat there, Giorno couldn’t help but search those marble eyes, seeking the meaning behind what he thought was...
Disappointment? Sorrow?
The stand almost seemed to cock his head ever so slightly; hardly noticeable, but very visible in the stillness that wafted between them within the tiny room of the safe hous-
A loud banging at his door roused Giorno from his daze with a start. He dismissed Gold experience and nearly stumbled off his bed, dusting his blazer off before answering the door. A man stood in the door frame.. for a moment. He barged in as soon as the door cracked open, his silver hair trailing behind him.
Abbacchio. He hadn’t introduced himself as the others did, Giorno having to pry his name from Bucciarati’s mouth instead. The man had simply responded to him with a glare that only intensified once Giorno learned his actual name and proceeded to use it freely, to his annoyance. One that continued to leer at the boy with every word he spoke and every action he took, as if he existed merely to spite Abbacchio every minute he lived.
Bucciarati may be his mark, but…
“Hey. Brat.”
Giorno looked up with as innocent an expression as he could muster. “Yes, sir?”
Abbacchio glowered at him a little more aggressively than he usually did, Giorno noted.
“...I know your game.”
The boy feigned surprise, but continued on as if he had sufficiently convinced the older man.
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. You know exactly what I’m getting at. And let me tell you- I know guys like you so well, and I despise them. Yeah, you think you can get by with just your charisma, what with how everyone seems so… captivated by you and your pretty words like you’re their savior or whatever the hell. But let me tell you- your little tricks you pulled on us at the table earlier won’t get you far. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at Bucciarati, that cold and vicious stare I’ve seen in too many punks I threw in jail. And how you seem to jump into a fight any chance you get, never taking orders like a dumb brat like you should. That.. deceptive way you seem to be worming into our life, gaining our ‘trust.’ I know what you want, and I’m here to warn you- you’re not getting it for as long as I live.”
Giorno held his breath but kept his gaze transfixed on Abbacchio; eyes of glass, heart of stone.
Feigned innocence no longer graced his features, yet he said nothing to confirm or deny Abbacchio’s accusations. Words went unspoken between them as all was said within the gazes they exchanged.
Abbacchio broke first, yet what prompted him would remain a mystery as a commotion rocked the safe house. Near the entrance, they both heard shouting and surmised from their tones that someone had gotten very hurt. Apparently, Narancia was back from his ‘mission’, and looking significantly worse for wear. He had failed, naturally, and that meant… from Bucciarati’s words… they needed to move. Immediately.
Giorno took one last glance at Abbacchio, who spared none and simply left in a huff. He followed a little further behind, a bit preoccupied. Thoughts drifted back to the older man’s words, about earlier that week. How easy it’d been. How easy… they had been.
--
--
Bucciarati was alone, finally.
Giorno spotted him one room over from the dining area that the gang were situated in, sitting cross-legged and sipping on his espresso like he hadn’t a care in the world. Or so he thought.
The boy scanned the room, the anxiety clear in his eyes. He took note of several items of interest to him; Knives. Wine bottles. Wine glasses . The remnants of a past patron’s meal. Chicken bones, to be exact. Something- anything can easily be used in his-
No. No, what was he thinking- it’s much too obvious.
Everything will leave evidence, he realised. Even if he’d used Gold experience to aid him, it was far too risky. He’d need something much more subtle than just grabbing a knife and plunging it to Bucciarati’s bac-
He heard a clink as Bucciarati set his drink down. The espresso..
Giorno turned his attention back to the drink that now sat on the man’s plate. Bucciarati carefully added one cube of.. sugar.
Sugar, that if he had swapped with.. something else would-
“Giorno?”
The boy shuddered and dropped the fork he hadn’t realised he’d picked up while lost in thought.
“What’s the matter?” Bucciarati spoke again when Giorno took too long to reply. He had his body now half-turned in the chair he sat, espresso quickly forgotten once he saw the concerned wrinkle in the boy’s face.
Giorno wracked his brain for an answer that wasn’t coming. Luckily for him, though, Bucciarati found something to prompt him with.
“Is the gang still giving you the cold shoulder? Haha, it seems I will have to apologise in advance for Abbacchio, you see he..”
Giorno shook his head, struck by inspiration. “Not at all, Bucciarati. It seems they’ve begun to warm up to me- well, except for Abbacchio as you said, but him aside, I feel that they’ve been quite accepting. Such that… I really wish to become, err, closer to them, if that’s possible. You see, sir, I haven’t had many friends in my life which makes it difficult for me to connect with others, if that makes sense. I would like to know how it’s done, exactly.”
Bucciarati chuckled at that, his shoulders visibly relaxing from hearing the young man’s (thankfully) juvenile concerns. “Well, I would say finding some form of common ground between you all is a good start. And fortunately, I can already think of one thing you can all connect on; being stand users with such diverse abilities, I’m sure there’s something there you can use to get closer to my team-”
Before he could say anything else, Bucciarati was interrupted by the phone ringing beside him. His face returned to its manager-like seriousness, as did the manner in which he sat. When he turned his attention back to Giorno to send him off, his tone invited no protest.
“I need to take this call. Giorno, think on what I just told you. I’m sure they’ll be willing to open up to you, but only if you do so first. You’ll be fine if you just be yourself.”
Satisfied, the boy turned on his heel but not before sparing a glance at the man on the phone. Bucciaratit sat there, his attention clearly elsewhere yet still with a commanding presence in the room. Far too attentive, and far from his espresso as well, it seems. No matter. He’ll get another chance some other time.
Back in the main dining area, the four men of Bucciarati’s team were still sitting around the table as Giorno had left them. The only difference being that Fugo, the one in green, seemed to be reading on his own now, having elected to ignore his loud, argumentative companions. Giorno approached them and they all looked up as if they’d just remembered he’d existed.
“Oh hey, Giorno.”
“GIORNO! Come here, show us that trick again! Please please…!”
The boy sat in the only available seat, which was unfortunately next to Abbacchio. The man immediately got up without a word, looked around and, realising with annoyance that he hadn’t many other options, sat down next to Fugo instead, now across from Giorno. He slipped his headphones back on and made his best effort to pretend he wasn’t actually there.
The boy to Giorno’s right, Narancia, snatched the now vacant chair, his face an obnoxious shade of glee. There was a rather mischievous glint in his eye as he reiterated his question.
“Giorno, that thing you showed us earlier- you know, with the tea? Like how did you- did you actually- was it your stand? Did it- did you-”
“For the love of god, Narancia, think before you speak. Please.” Fugo looked up from his book for only a moment to admonish the boy, returning just as quickly to his clearly more interesting text.
“Whatever, anyway-”
“He just wants to know whether you drank the piss or not!” It was Mista’s turn to right Narancia’s sinking ship. The man sat to Giorno’s left, and he had that same curious glint in his eyes as the other boy did.
“Well…” Giorno thought for a moment before he grabbed a teacup off the table. A little.. gloating never hurt anyone. Though he didn’t plan on showing off more of his power so soon, he thought back to Bucciarati’s words and realised the man was right; if he were to gain these people’s trust, he’d have to give them a reason to. Give a little, get a lot. And that’s exactly what he had in mind..
He turned the cup a few times in his hand before it began sprouting wings, a tail and finally a beak. The sparrow sat in his hand before flying up and away from him, only to land spectacularly on Abbacchio’s shoulder. His two companions oo’d and aw’d before the man swatted it away without glancing up from his lap even once, causing it to change back into the cup and smash onto the floor.
Giorno couldn’t suppress the smile that graced his lips as he observed Narancia’s and Mista’s reactions. The two chattered incessantly into his ear before Narancia could get his question out.
“Okay, but how did that- did you turn the piss into a bird too?”
“No, of course not you idiot. He must’ve-”
“Can you guys just let Giorno speak-”
"May I explain myself, now? ”
Everyone stopped to look at the boy as if drawn by the sound of his voice.
“Earlier, I’d turned my tooth into a jellyfish- see?” Giorno bared his teeth to punctuate this. “That allowed me to absorb my… ‘drink’. So no, I didn’t drink any piss. I.. certainly hope that didn’t disappoint any of you.”
“Uh, not really-”
“AWWWW…” Came Narancia’s cries. “I really hoped that, like, a bird’ll fly outta your mouth or something like those cool magic tricks I saw on TV.”
Giorno laughed nervously yet with slight annoyance to his tone.
“If it helps, Narancia, I can keep this in mind for the future.” He remarked, if only to pacify the dejected teen. “I’ll show you that magic trick you’re so interested in seeing someday..”
“Oh!” Narancia recovered in impressively quick fashion, only to shift the conversation elsewhere. “So you can turn stuff into animals? Is that what your stand does?”
“...in a way, yes.”
“‘In a way?’” Mista echoed. “Hmm, you’re a real mystery, Giorno.”
“In truth, not even I know the extent of my abilities. I am, therefore, a mystery to myself as well.”
Giorno said this with as cocky a smile he could muster, garnering two very humorously awe-stricken expressions from the boys in his audience. Abbacchio, meanwhile, seemed to lift his head slightly to raise his eyebrow at the boy. From the corner of his eye, he even spotted a reaction from Fugo, albeit it being a slight eye roll rather than anything positive.
Narancia immediately jumped at an opportunity that presented itself. Grabbing Giorno’s sleeve, he jabbed a finger towards Fugo’s pencil left haphazardly in the centre of the table. The glint in his eye turned much more malicious than before, though still with its playful edge.
Giorno nodded and reached for the pencil. A myriad of tiny feet sprung from the sides before the yellowed wood changed to brown and segmented itself. Soon enough, a newborn centipede had replaced the pencil and was now jittering a bit as it took in its surroundings.
From across the table, Fugo reached for his pencil as Narancia and Mista stifled the sound of their laughter through their hands. He inched his fingers closer until he barely brushed against the “pencil” before yelping and pulling his hand back. His companions’ laughter turned raucous as the centipede started crawling towards him to his horror. After letting it wriggle around a bit, drawing several more expletives out of Fugo’s mouth, Giorno finally deactivated his ability with a smirk before the centipede could crawl through more of Fugo’s belongings.
“Wh-What the hell, Giorno?!” The boy was grasping his hand as if the centipede had somehow bit him. He shot a glare towards his companions, now gasping for air from laughing excessively.
Giorno responded by leaning back in his seat to take it all in. As his two newfound friends continued laughing around him, he could only glance straight ahead with a smile; the kind of smile like he’d just won the keys to a Ferrari sitting right outside the door of the restaurant. Truly, this was the best of possible outcomes that could have occurred to him given who these people were. It really was so easy..
And yet he hadn’t noticed but.. Abbacchio was still eyeing him with interest. He noted Giorno’s response, the way he sat and especially the look on his face. None of which eased the sinking feeling he’d felt in his stomach the moment Giorno was introduced to the gang. Something about him was just.. not right. Like he was the wolf hidden among the pack of sheep that the shepherd tried so hard to stave off, not realising it had slipped in so easily.
He needed to tell someone. He needed to tell Bucciarati.
--
--
“For the last time, Abbacchio, I am not kicking Giorno off the team.”
“And for the last time, Bucciarati , that brat is TROUBLE.
Bucciarati paused mid-step while grabbing the last of his belongings to throw on their rental yacht. “And what makes you say that? What makes him any more troubling than the rest of our gang? ”
“The look in his eyes, that’s what.” Abbacchio grabbed the bag from his capo’s hands and threw it thoughtlessly onto the boat. “And, you know, his attitude.”
“...again, Abbacchio , how does this-”
“I said nothing when you invited Mista to our team. I kept my mouth shut when you brought in that nutjob , Fugo, despite my misgivings. I didn’t even protest when he came back with another kid and you just accepted him, no questions asked. Narancia doesn’t bother me, and neither do the other two. But this one - with all due respect, Bucciarati, you fucked up. Did it even cross your mind that this kid showed up immediately after we were investigating Luca’s death?”
Bucciarati flinched at the mention of Luca’s name and raised his hand to interject but Abbacchio cut him off before he could.
“Or how about the fact that IT JUST SO HAPPENED that Polpo died right after he joined us? Not at all? Actually, you want to know what makes him worse than the others? I’ll say it again- that attitude of his. His cocky, self-assured air, that false nicety. Like we have no reason to suspect him of any wrongdoing whatsoever. The fact that he’s so keen on showing himself off as if it means proving to us that ‘yes, I’m totally friendly and not out to kill you guys!’ Not like he just offed our former capo a minute ago.”
“You think he wants to kill us?”
Abbacchio looked like he was struggling to hold back the bite in his voice. “Bucciarati, think. Please. Why would he join us? Why kill our capo then worm his way into our ranks? Why get so close to you, in particular, then-”
“LEONE.”
Abbacchio immediately cut himself off with a slight bow of his head towards Bucciarati. His capo gave a quick glance around them before leaning in.
“I’m not naive , Abbacchio. I see the darkness in Giorno’s heart, and I forsee the.. potentially unsavory plans this boy has. And like you, I do find the timing of his appearance suspicious and far too convenient. But unlike you, Abbacchio, I also see the good in him- the side of Giorno that wants to do good, to not be tied to the mafia forever. You know what he told me, before he joined? That Passione is the reason why his life is the way it is- destroyed by drugs, violence.. I’m assuming by his family. Now, why would he join the very gang that he claims ruined his childhood forever? Simple- he wants retribution.”
“Meaning, he’ll kill us all. Ha!” Abbacchio spat. “So you do agree with me, then-”
Bucciarati gave him a dismissive hand wave. “No, not necessarily. Could be he’s taken issue with some but not all of Passione. Spared me just for that chance at finding this person or people, in fact. I truly don’t think he’s as cold-hearted as you think, Abbacchio. Just… misguided, perhaps. But I believe in him; believe that he can be changed. I can change him, as I’ve done with the others… and with you. So, please, Abbacchio- work with Giorno for the sake of our team, if only to keep him in check if you so desire. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him.”
“Bet your ass I’ll watch him. Closely. ” Came Abbacchio’s reply. Bucciarati responded with a satisfied nod; and just on cue, Narancia came bounding up to them, stereo in hand and happy as a clam. Taking this as a good enough spot to put a pause to their conversation, Bucciarati jumped onto the yacht and offered a hand to his second-in-command.
Several emotions flashed across Abbacchio’s face before he gave up on any of them and simply grabbed his capo’s hand. Another time, perhaps. Another day when they’re not running for their lives from a rogue group of mafia goons. He’ll get to the bottom of why his capo’s so keen on this brat.
And meanwhile, Bucciarati’s thoughts were similarly turbulent despite his lofty claims. As he sat on the yacht, he came to one solid conclusion; that in actuality, he truly didn’t know what Giorno’s exact goals were. Only that.. he killed Luca... possibly killed Polpo, too… hated drugs... and was.. oddly calm about the whole mafia deal. Put all those pieces together, and…?
He thought back to their conversation at the restaurant from the other day; or rather, everything that transpired around their little talk. He let out a wry chuckle at the memory.
“Now, what exactly were you planning to do with that fork, Giorno?”
--
--
Pompeii was truly a strange place.
An ancient city that was engulfed in volcanic ejecta- preserved perfectly, like its inhabitants and the architecture around them were frozen in time, ready to spring to life any moment now. The city laid in ruins but its history marched on, undeterred. Waiting.
Strange as that was, however, nothing compared to what Pompeii had in store that day for Giorno and his team. One of which involved.. this strange mirror he found, just hanging there, on a pillar. Pristine, like it made perfect sense for such a strange, mundane object to be sitting in the middle of an excavated site.
Stranger still was Fugo; the boy stared with intent at his reflection as if it were antagonizing him, somehow. Something was perturbing him about this mirror, and it wasn’t the fact that it sat so anachronistically against the ruins. What could be so interesting about it?, Giorno wondered.
He never got his answer, though. In a flash, Fugo was gone- having pushed him out and away from the strange mirror, then vanishing into thin air, like he’d been engulfed by his reflection. The two of them, Abbacchio included, were now down by one man. Already at a disadvantage, and the enemy hadn’t even shown themselves, Giorno realised with trepidation.
That trepidation soon turned to full-on fear once a stand did eventually show itself; a monstrous checkered purple.. thing with a stitched up mouth and a strange helmet with a visor over his face. It sat, hardly a metre away from Giorno, its head hunched over and breathing heavily. The boy hardly had time to react before Abbacchio shoved him away at the sight of the creature.
“Abbacchio, the enemy-”
“That’s Fugo’s stand,” Abbacchio said, guiding Giorno further away from it. “Purple Haze… why is it here, and yet Fugo is not? Something’s...”
He paused when he spotted the stand getting up. Purple Haze hadn’t noticed them yet, but Abbacchio still flinched at the sight of it moving so suddenly. Eerily so, like it were being remotely controlled.
“He can’t be far then,” came Giorno’s reply as he walked slowly towards Purple Haze. “It’s best we find him quick-”
"GIORNO, GET BACK! ”
The pair were interrupted by the stand suddenly flying into a fit of rage towards a nearby pillar. It exploded upon impact and scattered all around Purple Haze, the stand letting out a shrill scream as it continued its assault. Abbacchio shoved Giorno as far as his strength could allow then joined him behind a nearby pillar.
“Let me give you a little tip, brat. You stay away from that damn thing, you hear? I know I just said it’s Fugo’s stand, but that kid.. he literally has no control over that fucking thing, so you get close to it and you’re dead. Period. The fact that even I don’t want to get anywhere near it should tell ya a lot. Just saying.”
Giorno glanced warily at Purple Haze who, ironically, was now cleaning the drool it had accumulated on its arm, having sufficiently pummeled the pillar into nothing.
“And it’s ability is…?”
Abbacchio sighed, having resigned himself to working with this kid at his capo’s request, but not so eager on sharing much about his team. Yet this… was unavoidable.
“..it’s a virus. You get close to it once it punches something and you’re immediately infected. That thing can turn your insides to goo in seconds. I’ve yet to see a single living thing survive it.”
Giorno nodded, holding his chin in his hand as he mulled this over. “And its range?”
“Five metres. Further than that, and the virus just dies. We should be safe over here. Without Fugo, I don’t think Purple Haze will get very far so...”
Another nod. “Any weaknesses?”
“Light tends to-”
Abbacchio bit his tongue before he could go any further. He glared down at Giorno with a grimace as the gears in his head turned and turned, all in his attempt to come up with a response.
“...wouldn’t YOU like to know.”
“I only ask in case we need to subdue him.” The boy said as he stared back, his expression unwavering. “That is all. I’ve no idea what you’re insinuating, Abbacchio.”
“Whatever.”
The pair glanced back at the rogue stand. Another pillar erupted into shattered stone as Purple Haze continued punching his surroundings, not a care in the world. Soon enough, even the mirror had fallen victim to its assault; glass now littered the ruins, glittering like diamonds in the sunlight. Giorno observed all of this with interest, weighing his options as he looked back on his progress up until now. Of his new companions, he’d determined that two of them were the most malleable- the most eager to be led, to be molded to his whims; Mista and Narancia, the carefree gunman and his dimwitted friend. ...It was not hard to see why they, out of everyone, were seemingly already at Giorno’s feet; they simply could not fathom his true intentions. Not even close. Unlike…
It was enough to have these two. They were more than he could have hoped for, just the right personality traits that Giorno could bend to his will, then dispose of once he’d done what he’d set out to do. The others were collateral, extra players in this dangerous game he played and of no consequence to him. Abbacchio was already catching on, yes, but a man like him, with a non-combat stand- he might as well be standless. With patience, his time will come..
And Fugo was… Fugo. It wouldn’t take long for that boy to follow suit, but he was a different story. He was dangerous. From Abbacchio’s account, Fugo was not somebody Giorno could take on.
This was his only chance. There was clearly only one course of action he could take..
“Then it’s settled. We don’t know where Fugo is, and we can’t approach his stand to look for clues so that leaves us little choice here. Abbacchio, let’s go find that mosaic and-”
“The fuck did you just say?”
Giorno turned towards the older man and cleared his throat. A little louder, he said, “The mosaic. That was our objective. We should leave Fugo- for now- and find that-”
Abbacchio was suddenly barely a hair’s breadth from him, his finger jabbed straight into Giorno’s chest. His gaze was venomous as he glared down at the boy, appearing almost like a dog all chained up and ready to fight.
“I heard you loud and clear, you dumb brat. You fucking asshole. You..” Abbacchio swallowed and allowed himself a breath, jabbing his finger harder on Giorno’s chest. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, dumbass. But guess I was wasting my time- you really are a selfish prick, and stupid at that.”
Giorno blinked, once, twice then furrowed his brow.
“You’re not my fucking capo, you don’t get to order me around like that. Least of all, shitty ideas like leaving my own teammates behind- the fuck are you on?”
Giorno had opened his mouth to speak but found it useless as Abbacchio pressed on.
“We’re not leaving him here- yeah, I know, REALLY disappointing, right? That’s what you’re thinking, huh. Is Fugo too much for ya? Thought you could just leave him here, write him off then tell Bucciarati you tried oh so hard to save him? Well, too bad ‘cus.. YOU’RE going after him.”
He shoved the boy in the general direction of where Purple Haze now stood, still in a daze like it was struggling to connect to a weak signal, somewhere far away. Giorno stumbled, then turned his head back at Abbacchio once he regained his footing. “But, how-”
“Why the fuck you think I know? Figure it out. I’ll come around to pick up what’s left of you, if anything. Just as long as you get Fugo out of wherever he’s holed himself up at.”
Giorno gave him a curt nod, brow still furrowed as he lost himself to his thoughts again. Clearly, he hadn’t much of an option here… again. But this time, not to his favor.
He couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed a test he didn’t realise he had been taking, in the first place.