Work Text:
Guido Mista liked to live simply.
Even as a kid, back when his head was always in the clouds, he never aimed for big accomplishments. He liked it when surprises came his way, but he never wanted them. A warm place to sleep and good food was all he wanted.
As his adolescence came in, Mista started to aim for higher goals. A cute girl to hang out with. A bit of extra money. A new set of darts. But while his peers aimed for the top spots in the sport’s team or straight A’s in the hardest class, Mista never wanted any of that.
Simple living was all he wanted.
Once he joined Passione, Mista’s limits on his simplicity were testing. Murder, drug trades, battles for power, everything his family worried he would get tangled into was a normal part of his daily life. The first few times he killed, it hurt. He cried himself to sleep.
But simple living was all he wanted. And in the end, Mista still went with it.
Bucciarati was the only person who could make Mista rethink his morals. Mista liked to live simply. Bucciarati liked to aim for higher goals. Mista did what he was told. Bucciarati brought justice to people, even when it was unneeded.
Bucciarati offered Mista dozens of chances. Chances to aim for higher goals. Chances to raise his standing. Mista never really wanted that. Life wasn’t hard, but he didn’t want it to change. Living simply was always easier.
So why, why now, with Bucciarati’s rotting corpse lying in the colosseum, does it hurt?
He’s killed so many people with families and lovers he never bothered to learn. His kills are maybe in the hundreds, but he never cared. This was what a simple life was supposed to bring him; No fear, no care.
Living simply wasn’t supposed to leave him with an ugly cry escaping from his lips and a pain stronger than anything he’s ever felt before.