Work Text:
Ten days after defeating the former boss, the new boss of Passione showed up at Leone Abbacchio’s front door.
To be more precise, the new boss showed up at the front door of Bruno’s hospital room, where Leone was currently staying. He was released from his own hospital stay mere five days ago, and had moved straight from the ward in Sardinia to this one in Rome.
Bruno was still sleeping. Leone gave the visitor a dirty look, quietly walked to the hallway, and closed the door behind him.
“What do you want.”
Giorno—No. It’s Don Giorno now—sounded as composed as ever. “I need your assistance.”
Leone furrowed his brows. “As you can see, I’m taking care of Buccellati. I can’t just leave.”
As if on cue, a pink-haired girl popped out from behind Giorno like a stand. “Hi,” Trish greeted. “I’m here to take over.”
Leone stared incredulously at the girl who once proclaimed to drink nothing but French mineral water. “Do you know how to care for someone incapacitated?”
Trish lowered her gaze and stared at the cracks in the floor tiles. “Well… I was the one who took care of my mom before she passed.”
Fuck. Leone sighed quietly. He can’t handle children with tragic pasts. After telling Giorno to wait in the hall, he went back inside the room, grabbed a few things of his own, and came out holding a cup of pills.
“These are for this evening,” Leone said as he handed the cup to Trish. “Make sure he takes them after dinner. If dinner happens to contain beans, don’t let Sticky Fingers dump them in the zipper. Also don’t let him overexert himself; he can barely walk right now. Just listen to the doctors and nurses and things should be fine.”
Trish took the cup and nodded. She seemed hesitant, as if she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. Leone raised an eyebrow, and the girl flushed comically. “I… I’ll take good care of Buccellati. Don’t you worry!”
Got it. Another girl with a crush on Bruno. Who can blame her? It’s Bruno Buccellati. Leone suppressed the urge to ruffle her hair, gave the kid a quick wave instead, and left the hospital with his new boss.
“I know you’d rather not leave his side,” Giorno said quietly. “Thank you for willing to come with me.”
The young don seemed calm and collected, but Leone could tell something was off.
“I kissed the ring, didn’t I?”
Due to their injuries, Leone and Bruno missed the ceremony where everyone pledged loyalty to their new don. When Giorno first visited them, Bruno was still too weak to get up, so he simply kissed Giorno’s hand lying on his back. Leone, however, actually bent the knee and swore loyalty to the teenager he’d once hazed. He found himself surprisingly unperturbed by it. Narancia was alive. Bruno was alive. And it was all because of Giorno. The brat can ask him to do anything.
When they arrived at the parking lot, a nondescript black sedan rolled out and stopped in front of them. It took Leone two seconds to remember that he should open the car door for the boss. Giorno nodded appreciatively once he did, but didn’t voice his gratitude this time. Leone walked to the other side of the car and sat on the passenger seat. The driver was someone he didn’t recognize, which came as a small surprise. Somehow he imagined it would be Fugo. Which was stupid, of course. Now that the kid was made capo, there were much more important tasks for him to deal with.
“Where to, Boss?” The driver asked.
“Train station.”
Leone glanced back at Giorno. Were they heading back to Naples? If he was sought out specifically, they must have needed Moody Blues for something. With his new status as the boss, Giorno could have sent someone to fetch Leone. He didn’t need to personally bring Trish all the way out here. Was this some kind of secret investigation? Could the discontents be showing their true colors so soon?
“Don’t worry. I just need your help with a personal matter,” Giorno soothed, as if he could read Leone’s mind.
Leone humphed, turning his face to the window. He knew his poker face needed work, but letting a damn kid see through him like that was just embarrassing, even if said kid was technically his superior. He also couldn’t help but be curious—what kind of hidden past would he be asked to replay for a boy who dreamed of becoming a “gang-star” and made it come true?
When they reached the train station, the driver handed them two tickets and bid them farewell. Knowing there are people trusted by Giorno staying in Rome relaxed Leone a little bit. They boarded the express train, which would take about an hour to reach Naples. Leone was glad he put his CD player in his bag. He did not want to spend the whole ride with nothing to do but stare at Giorno. It seemed like the blond made plans for the ride, too. Giorno took out the flower on his lapel, and it turned into a thick book. Leone peered at the cover. It was The Betrothed—required reading for every high school student in Italy.
My mafia boss is doing his reading assignment. The thought made Leone giddy. He knew Giorno was still in school, but seeing him read Manzoni somehow made it more real—and more surreal. Recalling what Giorno said about needing help with a personal matter, Leone could only hope he wasn’t dragged away for some trivial teenager shit, like getting the number of the kid’s school crush.
When they arrived at Naples, Leone took a deep breath after getting off the train. The air smelled liked the sea. He didn’t realize he’d missed it so much. It was hard to believe he had only been gone for two weeks. With all the recent rapid changes, those days of enjoying a meal with the team at Libeccio seemed like a lifetime ago.
Out of habit, Leone walked toward the parking lot, but Giorno grabbed his arm.
“I didn’t tell anyone to pick us up. The place I want to go isn’t far from here. Do you mind walking with me?”
His tone was polite, courteous even, and it irritated Leone to no end. Seeing Giorno act beyond his age somehow always rubbed him the wrong way; even Fugo seemed more like a kid in comparison.
“Lead the way.”
Giorno seemed familiar with the neighborhood. He led Leone through several winding alleyways with the ease of someone who’d taken them countless times in the past, never stopping once until they’ve reached an old residential area.
The teen slowed his steps then, looking around on a street corner as if trying to recall something. After a moment, he dashed into an inconspicuous alley with no signs, waving his arms to beckon Leone over. “This is the place!”
Giorno managed to keep his voice even, but Leone could tell he was excited. He walked toward the teen curiously. “This is where you want Moody Blues to do the replay?”
“Yes,” answered Giorno. His voice sounded calmer, but his entire person thrummed with nervous energy. “May, eight years ago. I can’t remember the exact date, but this is definitely the place.”
Leone crossed his arms and leaned on the wall. “This alley looks deserted, but it seems unlikely only one person passed through here in an entire month. Don’t you have more search criteria?”
“The gun.” It only took Giorno half a second to blurt out his answer. “Find the man who was held at gunpoint.”
Leone felt his brows twist together. Eight years ago… Did this kid witness a shooting at age seven? He called out his stand and gave the order, then turned to stare at Giorno.
“Who exactly are we looking for?”
Leone didn’t expect a straight answer. The replay should take about four to five minutes, leaving him plenty of time to pry information out of the kid. But Giorno simply looked him in the eyes and said, “A gangster who saved me.”
“… Passione?”
Giorno shook his head. “I don’t know. He never told me these things.” With a pause, he added resignedly, “He never told me anything.”
Leone pushed himself off the wall to stand closer to the teen. “How did you meet him?”
Giorno told him the story of how he met the wounded gangster. “He thanked me for what I did and helped me with my troubles. I’m forever grateful to him.”
So that’s why the kid dreamed of becoming a gang-star. Yet something tells him that’s not the whole story. Leone narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What kind of troubles?”
“……” Giorno was uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment. “I’m… half-Japanese, actually. The other kids used to pick on me.”
He didn’t really look Asian, but Leone knew people often don’t need a reason to be cruel.
“So the gangster taught those kids a lesson?” He tried to imagine what he would do if it was Narancia, but his brain kept supplying him with images of Narancia and Fugo fighting like polecats.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Giorno lowered his gaze, “Maybe he just informed their parents, and their parents told them not to be bullies.”
Leone couldn’t picture Giorno as someone who’d let others bully him. He coughed awkwardly. “Hard to imagine what you were like back then.”
Unexpectedly, the teenager smiled. “I was just across the street that day. Replay me next if you want.”
Leone squinted at Giorno. Things didn’t work out so well the last time he tried to replay the boss. Moody Blues wasn’t a battle stand, but many would find its ability to reveal secrets intimidating. Was this a discreet warning not to investigate him?
Perhaps also realizing how his words could be interpreted, Giorno hurriedly added, “I want to see, too.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Moody Blues was morphing now. Soon, a man wearing a trench coat and a fedora appeared in front of them. With the timer on his forehead covered by the hat, he looked just like a real person.
Hold it! It was you! You killed my dad!
Suddenly, the crying voice of what was clearly a child came from behind them. Leone swirled around, only to find it was part of the replay.
Was it Giorno? No. He said he was across the street… Did his hero mafioso kill a man in front of his son?
More cursing. The cocking of a pistol. Then the man raised his hand, stopping his companion from firing.
Your old man was scum. He knew the rules but he didn’t care, peddling drugs to women and children… I had to take him out.
A man of tradition. Leone hummed, the gears turning quickly in his head. He could’ve belonged to one of the older gangs. But according to Bruno, Passione had a no-drug rule in its early years as well. It’s possible he was a member of the famiglia.
“Pause, please.” Giorno’s voice was still calm, but rough around the edges.
Leone stopped the replay.
The golden-haired teen took a careful step forward, then two, slowly moving toward his childhood hero. For the first time, Leone thought he looked his age.
“I did it.” He heard Giorno whisper. “No more drug deals in this city.”
Leone averted his gaze. This was private. He should give Giorno some space.
Moody Blue’s range allowed him to retreat back to the alley entrance, and Leone glanced around the neighborhood. This must be where Giorno grew up, low-rise apartment buildings with scattered graffiti on the walls. It's not fancy by any means, but one could do a lot worse in this city. If Giorno hadn’t met that gangster, he might be living the normal life of a normal high schooler.
And all of their fates would be different.
His reverie was broken by the feeling of his hand being held; a few seconds later, Leone felt a pressure on his fingertips—Giorno was taking that man’s fingerprints. When he walked back, the kid was putting the tools back in the toolbox. Then he turned the toolbox into a clam, before putting it in his pocket.
Leone wanted to tease him for not carrying a backpack like a normal person, but then he remembered Bruno, who had a zipper for everything on his person, and promptly shut his mouth.
“You can deactivate the replay now. Thank you.” Giorno said with a nod.
“You want to find this guy?”
If he was from another gang, the man was probably killed when Diavolo took power over Naples. If he was a member of Passione, things might be more complicated. Not everyone can hold firm to their initial beliefs. Leone knew this all too painfully.
Giorno remained quiet for a while. “I never saw him again after that day.”
Maybe he changed his name and fled to another city, but most likely, the man was dead. Such was the world of gangsters; anyone could die in the blink of an eye. Not even Diavolo can stay atop his apex of power forever.
Before Leone joined, Bruno had warned him. “I want you on my team,” he’d said, “but you have to think this through. Once the initiation ritual starts, there can be no turning back. You have to be ready to lay down your life.”
Leone couldn’t care less about his own life back then. But then he got to know Bruno and the team, and love had made him vulnerable. If Diavolo hadn’t sent him to the emergency room first, seeing Bruno and Narancia’s lives hanging by a thread probably would’ve done him in.
Everything in the gang reeked of death. Giorno, however, had the power to create life. Leone couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of having him as the new leader of the gang. But Giorno didn’t look like the don at the moment, just a fifteen-year-old who seemed a bit lost.
Leone patted him on the shoulder. “Run the prints through the database. If nothing turns up, I’ll come back and trace him with my stand.”
Giorno looked up with surprise, as though he never expected to receive such a kind offer from him. Leone felt his face flush. He was just about to say something rude before a man’s gruff voice interrupted him.
“Hey, Giorno! What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
Leone turned his head. A middle-aged man with dark hair stood by the alley entrance. He had a heavyset figure, burly and tall, probably only a bit shorter than Leone, but the years had left their marks on him. As he walked closer, Leone could see the grays in his hair, and the protruding beer belly that bounced with his steps.
“I pay for your tuition fee and this is how you repay me? What, you’re just gonna waste my hard-earned money? I’m not spending another lira on you. If you want money for food, go get a job!”
So this was Giorno’s… father? Leone looked back at the kid in disbelief. Giorno’s face was white, his jaws locked tight, as though the person standing a few feet away wasn’t an aging man, but a stand user more formidable than Diavolo.
When the man reached them, Giorno's face had become a blank mask. “Sir,” he said, voice dry.
The man snorted contemptuously, glancing up and down at Leone, disgust evident in his eyes when he saw his long hair and makeup. “Who’s this, your girlfriend?”
Leone clenched his fists.
“This is my friend,” Giorno said in a flat voice. “Please don’t insult him.”
“Hah! Only a freak like that would want to be friends with a freak like you,” the man sneered, then his face fell menacingly. “Now, just because I can’t lay hands on you doesn’t mean you get to bring filth here.” He turned and spat at Leone. “This is a good, respectable neighborhood. You’d better leave, ricchione.”
An incandescent rage flooded Leone’s vision as something clicked in his mind, like a missing puzzle piece finally being put back in place. The constant gauging of other people’s expressions, the strange calmness even when being yelled at, the lack of resistance when getting grabbed by the collar… He’d seen kids like that when he was on the force. He’d seen their bruises.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. Leone thought as he looked at Giorno, as if seeing him for the first time—even with the most powerful stand at his disposal, this was still a kid haunted by the past.
By the time he realized what he was doing, Leone’s fist had already connected with the man’s jaw. He didn’t put his full weight behind the punch, but it nevertheless sent the man rolling on the ground. Stepping on the man’s chest to stop his squirming, Leone looked up at Giorno. “How do you want to handle this, Boss?”
Startled, Giorno looked like he was just woken from a dream. “Leave him be. We have more important things to do.”
“As you wish.” Leone kicked the man out of his way, following Giorno out of the alley.
They walked in silence for a while before Giorno spoke up. “Thank you… for today.”
“I only did what I wanted to do.”
Giorno hummed. “Do you still want to see what I looked like back then?”
“Depends on whether you want it or not.”
The blond teen tilted his head as if in thought. “Can you treat me to some gelato?”
The non-sequitur question stopped Leone in his tracks. Is gelato a mafia code word? But then Giorno pointed to the gelateria right across the street. “I really like theirs.”
This conversation was now officially beyond Leone’s comprehension. He tried to point out simple facts. “You’re the boss. You can buy anything.”
“I know,” Giorno was grinning like a real fifteen-year-old now. “But it’s my birthday, so I deserve a treat, no?”
Correction. A sixteen-year-old.
“Fine. What flavor do you want.”
A minute later, Leone and Giorno were sitting on a bench, each holding a cone of gelato. To those passing by, there was just enough space for another person to sit between them.
“You know what, you were cute as a kid,” Leone said, turning to look at his own stand. “That bowl cut really suits you.”
Giorno didn’t even bother to respond, too busy enjoying his gelato. Leone smiled. In that moment, he looked just like the boy sitting next to him, slurping on his scoops of chocolate and pistachio.