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Bucciarati slammed into the window, feeling the give of the glass before hearing the shattering crack and feeling the broken pieces slice into his flesh.
"Sticky Fingers!' he gasped, using his Stand to grab hold just in time to keep himself from falling three stories down to the street below.
He didn't get the chance to recover before the man he was sent to take out grabbed hold of him and started to force him back out the window, one hand going for his throat.
"You think you can make a name for yourself in Passione, you little bastard?" the man sneered, shoving harder. Bruno's back sang with pain as he felt more glass dig into him. He attempted to get a foot up between them, but the man only pressed harder against him. Bruno dug his fingers for dear life into the windowsill, glass slicing through his palms. He could hear the sounds of Abbacchio fighting the other two in the room, heavy thuds of flesh hitting flesh. Abbacchio wasn't even using his Stand? Bruno couldn't even see what was going on, but they were in deep trouble.
And it was all his fault.
The man sneered down at Bruno as he continued to struggle and a dark red arm appeared from his own, waiting only a second before it plunged directly into Bruno's chest.
Bruno screamed at the agony, throwing his head back before he had the sense to manifest Sticky Fingers and use him to grab the other man's Stand.
"You think you can do anything with that pitiful Stand of yours?" Bucciarati's opponent sneered. "I'll crush your heart before you get the chance to try."
Bruno gritted his teeth, tightening Sticky Fingers' grip as the man made his Stand's fingers curl up inside his ribcage, touching his heart.
"I don't go down that easy," Bruno gasped back and punched the man's arm with Sticky Fingers. A zipper appeared around the limb and Bruno reached up with one hand to zip it off.
The man screamed as his Stand's arm detached as well. Bruno brought his foot up and kicked the man in the face, sending him flying backwards before he had Sticky Fingers break his neck in a swift move.
The two other goons that were left looked about ready to wet themselves, obviously not wanting to go up against anyone who could take down their seemingly unstoppable boss like that. They spent no time in fleeing the room. Bruno was pretty sure they wouldn't be a problem anymore.
Bruno glanced back at the boss and rubbed his throat, sure that there were bruises forming. He could still feel the Stand's incorporeal fingers groping inside his chest.
"Is that all of them, Abbacchio?" he asked roughly.
There was no reply.
Bruno suddenly spun around, looking for his second. "Abbacchio?"
Panic settled in as he didn't see the other man anywhere. The whole room was trashed, but Abbacchio didn't seem to be anywhere.
That was when he saw a pair of long legs sticking out from underneath a toppled bookcase.
"Abbacchio!" he cried and hurried over, limping slightly before he realized there was a huge piece of glass sticking out of his thigh. He roughly yanked it out, and blood gushed, staining his white suit red. He bit his lip but couldn't worry about that right now.
He used Sticky Fingers to help lift the bookcase off of Abbacchio and pulled his fallen companion out of the broken mess. Abbacchio was limp and unconscious. There was a large bruise on his forehead, not to mention multiple other injuries, some that looked like they had been made with knives.
Bruno reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Abbacchio, wake up!"
The ex-cop thankfully stirred and groaned, his eyes fluttering open, giving Bruno at least a small sense of relief.
"The hell?" he groaned, reaching up toward his head.
"Are you all right?" Bruno asked, helping him sit up and looking him over.
Abbacchio's eyes focused, looking around before he settled on Bruno and his eyes widened. "Are you? Dammit, Bucciarati, what the hell happened to you?"
Bruno looked down briefly and realized his suit was actually more red than white now. The sight for some reason made him woozy—or, maybe that was the blood loss.
"I'm fine. It's all taken care of."
"Then let's get the hell out of here," Abbacchio grunted, starting to push himself up, wincing as he looked down at his right hand that was swollen, the knuckles bleeding. He flexed it stiffly with a wince.
"Is it broken?" Bruno asked worriedly.
"Can't tell," Abbacchio grunted. "Just need some ice."
"Why didn't you use your Stand?"
Abbacchio snorted. "My Stand? It's not exactly made for combat like yours. I can do better on my own."
"Against a knife?" Bruno demanded, eyeing the bloody tears in Abbacchio's clothes.
"Scratches."
And perhaps he was right. Moody Blues was certainly useful, but it wasn't the strongest Stand. And while Abbacchio could certainly hold his own in a fight, he shouldn't have had to.
Bruno felt guilt crash over him. They shouldn't have been separated like that during the fight. They should have worked together. This wouldn't have happened if they had. It had just all turned to chaos too quickly, and it was all because he hadn't done his research properly. He'd been too confident. What an idiot. What if Abbacchio had gotten killed?
He shuddered and swallowed hard, feeling woozy again.
Abbacchio eyed him and pushed himself shakily to his feet, gritting his teeth together. "Come on, it's over. You can call in someone else to clean up, right? Let's get out of here before you bleed to death."
"Don't worry about it," Bruno muttered. "I'm fine. You're bleeding too."
Abbacchio rolled his eyes and limped toward the door, wrenching it open. Bruno kicked himself into gear and they exited the building. Bruno grabbed his phone and quickly called Fugo.
The young man showed up within a few minutes with the car, his eyes widened as he saw the two standing there.
"What happened? I thought you said you wouldn't need my help?"
"I didn't think we would," Bruno replied blandly, furious at himself. "I need you to help get stuff cleaned up. I'll be back once I bandage these injuries."
Fugo shook his head. "No. I'll drive you back, and then come and do it myself. You both look terrible."
Bruno wanted to argue, but really couldn't at this point. He climbed into the car stiffly, feeling instantly that there was still glass in his back. He bit his lip and shifted to a more comfortable position.
It wasn't a long way back to the large apartment the three of them were currently sharing. Fugo dropped them at the back door and the older two made their way up to the apartment.
"First aid kit is in the bathroom," Bruno said quietly as he made his way there, Abbacchio trailing behind him.
He winced as he bent over to pull the medical supplies from under the sink and heard Abbacchio make a small sound of surprise.
"You have glass sticking out of your back," he commented.
"I know," Bruno gritted out, setting the first aid kit on the counter.
"All right, I'll patch you up first, we need to get that cut in your thigh taken care of. It's still bleeding pretty badly."
Bruno opened his mouth to protest but the other man glowered at him so he carefully started to strip out of his suit, his hands leaving bloody stains on what white spots were left. He hissed as he peeled the fabric away from the wound on his thigh, easing the ruined trousers off before he shakily sat down on a small bench on one side of the bathroom, feeling blood trickle down his leg and back.
Abbacchio cursed and washed his hands before turning toward the first aid kit.
"Okay, let's get that closed up and then I'll get the glass out of you."
Bruno nodded, his hands wrecked for now. Abbacchio pulled out some tweezers, a suture kit, and butterfly bandages. He grabbed a cloth which he wet with warm water and alcohol and pressed it against the deep cut in Bucciarati's leg.
The dark-haired man flinched and hissed. "Damn, I-I think there's still glass in there."
Abbacchio lifted the cloth and prodded the wound, making Bruno squirm. He reached for the tweezers and opened the wound slightly before going in for the glass. A strangled sound escaped Bruno's throat, clenching his glass filled hands painfully as Abbacchio pulled it out.
"Got it," Abbacchio grunted and tossed the glass into a small tray he'd pulled out of the kit.
Bruno breathed through his nose, trying to steady himself.
"I don't think it's deep enough to need stitches," Abbacchio told him with relief after his examination. "But I'm going to clean it out so hold tight."
Bruno bit his lip and looked away while Abbacchio poured alcohol liberally over the cut. It burned and Bruno let out a sharp inhale but didn't allow himself any more expression of pain. After all, it was better that this was him. It was his fault they got into this situation after all.
Abbacchio put the alcohol down, dabbing the excess off with the cloth before he started to close the wound with the butterfly bandages. Then he grabbed some gauze and pressed some patches against the wound before wrapping some around his leg.
"Okay, time to get that glass out of you," Abbacchio said.
"Your hand…" Bruno commented.
"Is fine," Abbacchio said firmly, reaching for the tweezers again with his good hand. "I've had the crap beaten out of me multiple times, I can deal with it."
Bruno sighed, but conceded. Abbacchio grabbed his shoulder. "Bend over."
Bruno hunched so Abbacchio could more easily free the glass from his back and bit his lip as he felt the tweezers grope around under his shoulder blade to find the culprit. He flinched as Abbacchio pulled the shard free and went on to the next one. After pulling four large pieces of glass out of his back, Abbacchio grunted in satisfaction.
"That's all of them here. Anywhere else besides your hands?"
Bruno shook his head. "I don't think so."
Abbacchio nodded, quickly cleaning and bandaging the rest of the wounds littering his body before he turned to Bruno's hands that looked like an absolute mess.
"Merda," Abbacchio grunted, and took one of Bruno's hands by the wrist, pulling it over to the sink. He doused it in alcohol causing Bruno to gasp and then began to systematically pull tiny shards of glass out of his bloody palm.
The room was silent, neither of them talking. Just the clink of glass hitting the small tray and Abbacchio's sounds of concentration. Bruno tasted blood as he bit his lip.
Finally, when both hands were done and bandaged, Bruno pulled them away.
"Okay. Let me patch you up now," he told Abbacchio.
"I can wait for Fugo."
"No!" Bruno snapped and Abbacchio frowned at him. "You're injured and it's my responsibility to make sure my team are taken care of. So sit down and let me do that."
Abbacchio narrowed his eyes, but seemed to see that Bruno needed to do this for his own peace of mind. He sighed, stripping off his suit before he settled down with a wince opposite Bruno, back against the bathtub.
Bruno leaned forward and started to clean Abbacchio's injuries, horrified to see the amount of knife wounds he had gotten in the fight.
"I'm sorry." Bruno finally said, unable to keep his guilt bottled up any longer. "I didn't know. I didn't know he was a Stand user. I thought it would just be an easy job."
"Polpo didn't tell you," Abbacchio said.
"He shouldn't have had to. I was supposed to do research. That's my job." Bruno gritted out. "I could have gotten you killed."
Abbacchio pressed his lips together. "No, you wouldn't. You're not like that. Not like me."
The bitterness in his voice made Bruno's stomach turn. Did Abbacchio really have that much faith in him, while having so little in himself? That almost made it worse. That this man trusted him so much when he really shouldn't have.
"Maybe I'm not a good leader," Bruno said quietly. "I've been on my own for so long, perhaps I got too used to it. Maybe I don't deserve to have people under my command if I'm just going to put them in danger."
"Everyone makes mistakes, Bruno," Abbacchio told him with a sigh, wincing and shifting as Bruno cleaned out a wound in his side. "The point is that you learn from them. Some of us are too stupid to realize that. Trust me. You're not one of them."
He looked away and Bruno hated to see how much self-loathing the ex-cop showed, but it would do little good to reprimand him for it now. That would just make him a hypocrite.
"I'm not good with people taking hits for me," Bruno confessed. "I know that's part of being a leader and all, but…"
"I get it," Abbacchio said quietly and reluctantly surrendered his injured hand to Bucciarati who prodded it carefully, feeling for any broken bones. Abbacchio grunted, gritting his teeth. "I don't like people getting hurt on my behalf either. You don't have to get used to that. It doesn't make you a bad leader, it just makes you a decent person."
Bruno pressed his lips into a thin line, reaching for a bandage, satisfied that Abbacchio's hand was intact. He began to wrap it neatly, concentrating on the task at hand while he thought about his companion's words. Maybe Abbacchio was right, but that still didn't fix the fact that he'd made a mistake that day and had only been blessed that it hadn't cost him more. If he'd even just had Fugo come along instead of waiting with the car, it probably would have gone so much smoother. This was all on him.
"I'll get ice," he said and stood abruptly, heading to the kitchen to grab something from the freezer. On the way back, he hesitated and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses as well.
Abbacchio eyed him warily as he came back and handed him the ice pack as well as one of the glasses.
"So you're letting me drink again?" he asked skeptically.
"I prefer not to drink alone when I feel like this," Bruno told him sincerely, opening the bottle and pouring the wine into the glasses. He took a long drink, feeling the dark liquid burn down his throat and settle warmly in his stomach, easing some of the darkness inside.
"I suppose it's never a good idea to drink alone on the bathroom floor." Abbacchio agreed wryly and sipped his own wine, leaning back against the tub. They were silent, but words weren't really needed. Bruno was grateful to have Abbacchio and Fugo on his team—that was why he was so scared of losing them. He swallowed hard, looking down into the dark liquid as he felt the wine dulling the pain through his body.
"I'm not going anywhere, you know," Abbacchio said suddenly, causing him to look up. "So don't worry about it."
"You can't be sure," Bruno replied. "This life…anything could happen to you or Fugo—or me for that matter. And I would be powerless to stop it."
"Hey." Abbacchio kicked his ankle. "Enough. What happens happens. I won't blame you in the afterlife. Now drink your damn wine and forget about it for a little bit. You'll want a clear head when you go to report to Polpo."
Bruno took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Leone."
Abbacchio snorted and poured himself another glass. "Don't thank me yet. You may really have cracked if you're looking to me for advice."
Bruno smiled slightly with a wry chuckle but in all honesty, he did feel better. His famiglia was small but he would be lying if he said he didn't care for them like his own soul. And he would protect them with his very soul as well.
And maybe, hopefully, that would be enough.