Chapter Text
Fugo sighed as he attempted to scrub ghoul blood from across the front of his coat.
“You know, there are cleaner ways to kill things than with a battle axe—this isn’t the medieval period anymore.”
Ghiaccio snorted. “It’s damn effective, and I’m not going to throw away my favorite weapon just because you think it’s outdated!”
Formaggio laughed and jostled his teammate with an elbow. “I don’t know, I kinda like Fugo’s fancy equipment. It’s saved both our asses several times now.”
Fugo gave up trying to make himself look more presentable and tossed the rag back into the bucket he’d drawn from a public water pump. He was just going to Polpo’s after this anyway. “Well, regardless, it’s another hunt finished. Good work.”
“No problem.” Formaggio saluted. “You sure you’re good with the report?”
Fugo nodded. “Yes, I have some things I need to drop off with Capitano Polpo anyway.”
“Alright, see you later then.”
Formaggio and Ghiaccio got into their carriage and headed back to their headquarters while Fugo climbed into his, signaling the driver to head over to Polpo’s office. He reached into his bag and pulled out pen and paper to write up the report on the drive.
The sun was rising as Fugo stepped out of the carriage upon arrival at the townhouse, body aching. He was exhausted. The workload had been…well, unavoidably heavy recently and he’d been doing more physical hunting that his usual clerical duties allowed. He didn’t necessarily mind it, though. If nothing else, it helped to take his mind off of the things he would rather not think about.
The housekeeper let him in and Fugo made his way to Polpo’s office where the old Hunter was already up and enjoying his breakfast. Fugo knocked politely at the open door.
“I have reports, capitano.”
“Fugo, come in,” Polpo called, motioning toward the chair across from him. Fugo sat gratefully and didn’t have to ask before Polpo produced a second cup and poured some coffee into it, handing it across the desk. “How did the hunt go last night?”
“Without a hitch,” Fugo said. “I’ve detailed it in my report, but the ghoul nest has been taken care of and we recovered what bodies we could.”
“Hm,” Polpo hummed in satisfaction, glancing wryly at the blood on Fugo’s coat. “Very good then. Now…about those applications. What is your opinion?”
Fugo sighed, reaching into his bag to pull out the other stack of folders he had brought. “Capitano, if I may be frank, none of the men who applied are qualified for a position in a high incident city like Napoli. Most of them are freelance hunters who I refuse to work with as they’re no better than bounty hunters and rabble rousers, and the others are mostly farmers’ sons who want excitement. One man’s claim to fame is that he killed a ghoul once with a shovel. The fact is, that all of the truly qualified Hunters are already in positions they can’t afford to leave.”
Polpo sat back in his chair and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Surely anyone can be trained.”
“Well, of course, capitano, but at what cost to the organization?” He picked up his coffee and took a long drink. “If you might consider an alternative…I was thinking of recruiting a couple of the more able-bodied men from the Archives. They at least are familiar with the research and lore. Weapons training is a lot easier to get across than mindset.”
“Hmm,” Polpo nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. Yes, I will send word over there today and tell them that anyone interested should go to the mansion for an interview.” He pushed his chair back and stood up as Fugo scrambled to do the same. “You have a good head on your shoulders, Fugo. I trust you to make the right decisions.”
Fugo felt a worm of doubt squirm in his stomach but he swiftly shoved it away.
“Now, I’ll let you go and rest, but before you do, I have one more duty for you.”
Fugo frowned, curious as he watched Polpo head over to his wall safe and deftly crank the nob in the proper combination to open it. He turned around and presented a small box wrapped in paper and twine, sealed with Polpo’s wax crest.
“I need you to keep hold of this for a while,” the old Hunter said, handing the package over to Fugo. “Don’t tell anyone about it, not even anyone in the organization. Put it somewhere only you will be able to find it.”
Fugo stared down at the small unassuming package. “Of course, Capitano Polpo, but…”
“No,” the Hunter snapped firmly. “Don’t ask any questions. You take it home and you put it away until I tell you to open it, understand?”
Fugo nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” Polpo met his eyes, the black sclera unnerving to look at for too long. “The knowledge of that package’s existence does not leave this room. You will understand it’s importance before long.”
Fugo couldn’t help but be slightly unnerved as he tucked the box safely into his bag and gave Polpo a small bow before leaving the captain’s office.
The box weighed on him all the way back to the mansion. What could possibly be so important that Polpo had to swear him to such secrecy?
There was, of course, one thing, but Fugo didn’t want to think too much about that at the moment. Perhaps it was best he was left in the dark. After all, he had already chosen not to embroil himself in those affairs.
The mansion was too quiet as it always was these days. Risotto had offered him a room in their place but he had declined. It was easier to work long nights near his own bed with his own filing system. Even if he was the only one to sleep in the suddenly empty dormitory wing, haunted by the ghosts of his past on a nightly basis as he still imagined he could hear familiar footsteps up and down the hallway outside his room. Even though the staff milled around with little to do but make his meals and launder his clothing after hunts, they still seemed to have more purpose than he did. He’d made one of the maids into his secretary so he wouldn’t have to field calls and answer basic correspondence on top of everything else. She kept the office tidy, but she was ultimately too quiet. Everything was too quiet.
Fugo had never liked noise, but he found himself missing it more and more by the day. He could almost forget when he was with Risotto’s team; at least there was a familiarity to their banter, their camaraderie. But when he was the only one back at the mansion everything seemed to close in on him again like a cloying fog, threatening to choke him, to swallow him up if he delved too deep.
And yet the realist in him knew that one of these days he was going to have to face the fact that Bucciarati and the others would probably never come back. That he would never see them again. Providing, of course, that they were even still alive and hadn’t been silently done away with by the mysterious head of the Hunter’s organization. They were already as good as erased, excommunicated from the rest of their associates to live on the run; the Hunters hunted by something they could barely fathom.
Fugo knew he was a coward for running, for coming back. But he wasn’t dead yet.
For what that was worth.
He headed straight to his bedroom upon arriving back at the mansion, exhaustion pulling at him again. He grimly removed his bloody clothing and washed up in the basin, refusing to look at himself in the small mirror above it. He went back to his bag and pulled out the small package Polpo had entrusted him with, staring at it for a long moment.
He sighed and went to his armoire, rummaging to the back where he kept a lock box. He put the package inside and snapped it shut, firmly locking it. Out of sight, out of mind.
But when did that adage ever help him?
Fugo retreated to his bed, letting his hair down and pulling his glasses off before he collapsed wearily into the mattress. He was going to have to face reality someday, no matter how much it hurt. He just didn’t want it to be today.
~~~~~~~
Bucciarati found himself in the same place again. It was always the same. Endless dark hallways that he was constantly wandering, searching. Or perhaps running away from something, he didn’t know. He couldn’t even tell if he was in the same place or not, each hallway always looked the same. Dark, twisting, and eternal.
“Bucciarati.”
He whipped around, searching for the voice, seeing nothing.
“Where are you?” he gritted out.
“You know where I am. Just like I know where you are.”
A shiver went down his spine and he hurried down the hallway, trying to catch up with the voice. “Show yourself!”
A deep chuckle echoed through the halls and Bruno stopped, desperation and terror clashing together inside of him. He could feel the presence getting closer, and the anticipation made him want to scream, but he was completely frozen.
“It’s futile to run.”
The voice was whispered directly into his ear, freezing his blood in his veins.
“You will come to me eventually, Bucciarati.” A finger traced over the twin scars on his neck. “It’s an inevitability.”
Bucciarati shot out of sleep with a strangled cry, his hand going to the back of his neck. He shook uncontrollably, slumping forward over his knees with his head in his hands as he tried to calm his breathing.
He kept having these dreams. At first, he had dismissed them as paranoia, but he knew he could no longer do that. He had to face the reality that the Boss knew where he was, or could at least reach him if desired. He knew that victims of turning could experience psychic connections with the vampire who turned them, though usually it was within the early stages. But then, a Vampire Lord would undoubtedly have more power over his victims so Bruno didn’t know what to think; there weren’t enough case studies made public to prove anything. He just knew that the increase in dreams was not good and he couldn’t help but think that it was a result of them getting closer to finding the Boss’s identity.
He pushed himself out of bed and headed to the vanity where he bent to splash water over his face.
He glanced outside. It was nearly dawn already. As exhausted as he was, he didn’t want to go back to sleep so he got dressed and decided he would head into town to pick up breakfast and see if they had any of last week’s papers in from the surrounding cities.
He had been putting encrypted ads in any of the papers he could find over the past few weeks, using Hunter symbology to ask for help and information on their search. So far he had gotten no replies but he hadn’t given up hope yet.
Trish was already up with her sewing things in the parlor when he left and he gave her a brief smile. “Can’t sleep?”
She shrugged, looking up from her sewing. “It’s hard to sleep at night sometimes. I decided to just get up.”
“Yes, I can understand that.” He pulled on his broad hat and cloak before putting on his tinted glasses and heading outside. “Can I get you anything in town?”
“Strawberry pastry?” she asked shyly.
Bruno smiled with a soft chuckle. “Very well. Strawberry pastry.”
“Bucciarati…”
He glanced back with his hand on the doorknob, finding Trish watching him knowingly.
“Yes?”
“Nothing, you just look tired,” she admitted. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”
“No,” he confessed with a sigh. “I don’t think I will until we find your father.” A sudden chill went down his spine just mentioning him, but Bucciarati shook it off. “But we’re bound to come up with something soon. We have to.”
He left before Trish could reply and quickly hitched their tired old mule up to the cart and trundled into town.
He picked up the pastries and then headed to the printer’s where the shop boy greeted him with a friendly wave.
“Come for your papers, signore? They just came in yesterday.”
“Fantastic, thank you, Alfonsi.” Bucciarati paid him and headed back to the cart with the bundle under his arm, squinting against the quickly rising sun.
It heated his back uncomfortably on the way back to the house, and he knew he shouldn’t push so close, but he wasn’t going to keep from functioning. Plenty of vampires went out in the daytime. It was just…exhausting and made him crave the idea of curling up in a dark hole and sleeping for the rest of the day.
But he didn’t have the luxury of doing that. There would be no rest for him until their enemy was eradicated, and they still needed to come up with a solution for how to achieve that goal.
~~~~~~~
Trish stood in front of her small mirror, trying on the coat she was currently making, seeing where she needed to adjust it.
She was trying to distract herself with sewing. She was exhausted from lack of good sleep and on top of that, she was starting to feel the gnaw of hunger again—for blood. It seemed like old pig’s blood didn’t have the same staying power as fresh blood, at least to her. The team had started taking turns donating blood to her, Giorno and Bucciarati to pad the blood they got from the butcher. She hated asking for it, but knew it was also a need.
She sighed and slipped the garment off before starting to get dressed for the day upon hearing Bucciarati return.
Everyone else was already up by the time she got downstairs, talking amongst themselves and eating breakfast as Mista passed out coffee to everyone. She poured sugar and cream into her cup and took a sip but there was nothing satisfying about it. She sighed.
“You need to eat,” Giorno stated as he watched her expression.
Trish sighed again and set the cup aside. “Yes, I know, it’s just....”
Abbacchio gave her a look. “You had better eat, Trish. We don’t need another blood-drinker in denial over what they need.” He cast a pointed look at Bucciarati who looked away with a roll of his eyes.
“Oh, it’s my turn,” Narancia said, hurrying over and grabbing an extra cup before he pulled out his knife and rolled up his sleeve. “Unless you want it from the tap.” He slapped his arm with a grin.
Trish gave him a baleful look. “In the cup, please, Narancia.”
Narancia shrugged and made a quick cut in his forearm, blood dripping into the cup until he had a good portion. Mista helped him wrap his arm up as Narancia handed the cup to Trish.
“Thank you, Narancia,” she said a little self-consciously as she took the cup and put it to her lips.
The first sip brought a swirl of images to her mind: Narancia digging into the box of pastries, his hands instantly grabbing for the strawberry one—humming in satisfaction as he shoved it into his mouth…
“Narancia!” Trish snapped, eyes flying open. “Did you eat that strawberry pastry? Bucciarati got it for me!”
“Wait, you can tell that from drinking my blood?” Narancia asked, eyebrows raised. “Does it taste like strawberry?”
“No! You were thinking about how much you enjoyed it!”
Narancia looked at her with an odd expression and everyone else had also turned to look at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“You…what exactly did you say about Narancia’s blood?” Giorno asked her slowly.
Trish dabbed her mouth primly. “You know…how you can tell what someone’s thinking when you drink their blood…only if it’s fresh though, right?”
The other dhampir stared at her incredulously. “No…”
Trish huffed and turned to Bucciarati as he entered the kitchen again. “Bucciarati, aren’t you able to see people’s thoughts when you drink fresh blood from them?”
Bucciarati froze, blinked, and then said, “You…can you do that, Trish?”
She stared between him and Giorno, finally realizing that they had no idea what she was talking about. “So…you mean neither of you can do that? It’s not…normal?”
“No, not at all,” Giorno said, an odd look on his face that Trish couldn’t quite read. “Trish that’s not even normal for a dhampir power.”
She felt her heartbeat pick up in sudden panic. “What do you mean, it’s not normal for a dhampir power? How would you know anyway? They can’t all be logged!”
“Trish, it’s all right,” Bucciarati attempted, reaching out a hand to her.
“No, it’s obviously not!” she cried, pulling away as she slumped at the table, hands shaking. “Why can’t…why can’t I just be normal?” Her throat tightened as she fought against the welling emotions.
Bucciarati stepped forward and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his and holding onto them firmly. “Trish, none of us are normal. We are all oddities in society; that is just a product of this profession. You’re going to be different because of the powers your father has, and, in reality, this might actually help us find him.”
“How?” Trish asked, trying to keep her frustrated tears at bay.
“Because it might tell us something about his lineage and where he comes from, which, in turn, might help us track down where he is now.” He gave her an encouraging look, reaching up to touch her cheek. “So don’t worry about it, alright? It’s a gift, cara, not a curse.”
Trish nodded jerkily. “Okay…but…what if more things keep happening? I barely know how to control my manipulation power, and now this?”
“We’re here to help,” Giorno said. “You know that.”
“I know,” Trish exhaled shakily, trying to force a smile. “I just wish…I could see an end in sight.”
“Me too,” Bucciarati said softly as he straightened up again and placed the cup in front of her. “Please finish your blood though. I don’t want you starving yourself.”
Trish sighed and picked up the cup again. The memories weren’t as clear now. They didn’t last long, thankfully.
“Hey, um…I’m sorry for eating your pastry,” Narancia said tentatively.
Trish shot him a look. “I’m still mad about that, but you did give me your blood, so I guess we have to be even.”
“Hey, you are what you eat, right? So…” Mista waggled his eyebrows and Trish glowered at him too.
“I’ll get you another strawberry pastry next time I go into town,” Bucciarati promised her. “In the meantime, if any other powers crop up, please let someone know?”
Trish nodded and plucked another pastry from the box, picking at it. She honestly wasn’t that hungry anymore.
~~~~~~~
Bucciarati retired to the parlor, sitting down with the bundle of papers, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Despite his reassurances, he was just as worried as Trish was about her new power. He wasn’t sure if this was a case of her simply growing into her dhampir powers more, or, like his dreams, an indication that her father might be lurking closer than they thought.
Still, he hadn’t been lying when he’d said it might prove useful in tracing her lineage. If he had access to the Archives, that was, which he didn’t. The current closest Hunter’s archives would be in Rome, but it was far too dangerous to set foot there, especially since he knew that, whether the Boss was currently residing there or not, he had direct contacts in the city which would undoubtedly get the word out if they saw Bucciarati or any of his team within the city limits.
He briefly thought about sending a letter to Fugo, but didn’t want to embroil the young man in this unless he was forced to. He wasn’t even sure if Fugo would help. Risotto would be willing, he knew, but he couldn’t risk putting the Boss’s sights on the other man’s team either; in case their assistance would be needed later, it was best they stay out of the firing line for now.
He sighed, exhaustion pulling at him as he untied the bundle of papers, starting to sift through them.
As the pile dwindled, he thought it was going to be another pointless week, but his eye caught an ad in a Sardinian newspaper.
Sticky Fingers:
I have what you seek. I saw you on the train to Venice when you dropped the item. Allow me to return it over drinks at 3p.m. Thursday.
He shot up out of his seat. “Everyone!” he shouted. “We have a lead!”
Everyone quickly assembled in the parlor at his summons.
“What is it?” Giorno asked eagerly.
Bruno showed them all the ad. “This…I finally got a reply to my queries.”
“What does it mean?” Giorno asked, frowning at the message.
Abbacchio took the paper to read it. “He used Venice as a key word. Anyone in the know would realize that meant query about the Boss. Over drinks means water travel—and I’m assuming since this is a Sardinian paper that means Sardinia.
Mista took the paper and flipped through it. “There’s a 3 o’clock ferry to Sardinia on Thursday.” Bruno nodded in confirmation.
“Only question now is who’s going?” Mista asked.
Bruno opened his mouth to volunteer himself before the Boss’s words in his dream came back to him. He sighed and looked over to Abbacchio. “I want you to go, Abbacchio. I trust your discretion.”
Abbacchio nodded, but eyed Bucciarati suspiciously. “I’ll do it, of course, but I’m surprised you didn’t insist on going yourself. Though I guess crossing water isn’t so good for you anymore, is it?”
Bucciarati sighed and sat carefully on the couch. “That is true, it would likely weaken me, but…I can’t go because I’m afraid that…the Boss might know where I am.”
“What?” everyone demanded at the same time.
“He—he knows where we are right now?” Trish asked.
Bruno closed his eyes holding up his hand to keep the barrage of questions at bay. “Honestly, I’m not sure, but we can’t afford to take the chance now that we finally have a lead.”
“But how?” Abbacchio demanded. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been…dreaming about him,” Bruno admitted. “Obviously, we share a connection as he’s the vampire who turned me. He can at least find me in my dreams if nothing else. So…” He glanced at all of them. “The rest of us need to cause a distraction while Abbacchio goes to meet with our informant. I think we should head toward Rome.”
“Bucciarati, with all respect, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Giorno said slowly.
“I actually agree with him,” Abbacchio added. “That might put more heat on all of us than we need.”
“True, but I only need the Boss to think we’re going to Rome. By the time we get close enough you’ll already be on your way back to the mainland.” He met Abbacchio’s eyes firmly. “We can’t afford to let this opportunity go to waste, Abbacchio. This might be our only chance to find vital information. If it’s something we can use to take down the Boss—”
“I know,” Abbacchio cut in, taking a deep breath. “I realize that anything we do at this point is dangerous. I’m just reminding you to put caution before everything else.”
“I know,” Bruno said grimly. “Which is what I’m attempting to do.”
He nodded to everyone. “We’ll leave tomorrow, Abbacchio, you’ll accompany us until we near Rome and then head toward the coast.”
The other man nodded and Bruno turned to the others. “Everyone pack what you need. Depending on what we find out, I’m not sure when we’ll be back here.”
As everyone dispersed, Giorno pulled Bucciarati aside, a serious expression on his face.
“These dreams, Bucciarati, exactly what are you seeing?”
Bruno folded his arms over his chest before bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes. “It’s hard to explain…I’m usually in a castle or…something. Long, dark hallways. I can’t see his face, but he’s there, speaking to me. It’s more than just a dream, it’s like he’s speaking directly to me over a telephone line. A…telepathic connection.”
Giorno nodded slowly. “Vampires can communicate telepathically with those they turn, but usually it’s when they first bite their victims. Though with the Boss’s powers…”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Bruno agreed.
“How long has this been going on?”
He huffed a sigh. “A couple weeks.” Giorno opened his mouth to protest and Bruno put his hand up. “I realize how hypocritical that sounds after what I told Trish this morning, but, I genuinely didn’t think they were anything but nightmares until recently. The connection has gotten…stronger the last few nights. I fear that may mean the Boss is close.”
“But he’s only contacted you in your sleep so far?”
“Yes. So far. I have not felt any other draw to him. I’m of sound mine,” he assured the dhampir.
Giorno looked him over but nodded, seeming satisfied. “Then perhaps he is only able to place you when he can connect to your subconscious.”
“I’m not willing to bet on that,” Bruno said grimly, leaning back against the wall as he tapped his fingers anxiously against his arms. “Is there any way you think I could ward against his intrusion?”
Giorno rubbed his chin. “Nothing that wouldn’t directly hurt you. I suppose being on holy ground would keep him out of your head, but you’d be powered down. And we know holy ground does little to stop him since he was able to attack you and Trish with nearly full powers on San Giorgio.” He sighed. “His power is incredible and I don’t even think we’ve seen the half of it yet.”
“No,” Bruno mused darkly. He reached out to grip Giorno’s arm. “If it comes down to me having to flee to keep him away from the rest of you, promise me that you will do all in your power to protect Trish.
“Of course,” Giorno replied. “But I think that there will come a point where fleeing won’t matter and we’ll have no choice but to fight back.”
“Then let’s hope we have a solution by the time that day comes,” Bruno said. He pushed away from the wall decisively. “Come, we should go pack and get ready for travel tomorrow. We need to get Abbacchio to that ferry on time.”
Giorno nodded and parted as Bruno retreated to his room, closing the door. He packed what he could for the moment and then sat down on the bed, feeling exhaustion pull at him. Perhaps a small nap couldn’t hurt.
~~~~~~~
His small nap turned into him being shaken awake at dusk by Mista. He sat up quickly.
“What is it?” he demanded, instantly alert.
“Nothing. Just dinnertime,” the gunman replied with a small smile. “Everyone is planning on getting an early night since we’re leaving first thing.”
Bruno nodded. “Thank you, I’ll be down in a minute.”
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He’d slept in his makeup, the kohl slightly smeared around his eyes garishly now, but it was amazing how refreshed he felt after sleeping during the day. Without any more intrusions from the Boss to boot.
He freshened up and headed down to the table where everyone had already gathered. Mista handed out bowls as Bruno sat down, a glass of pig’s blood already set in his place.
Dinner was oddly silent, everyone appeared to be caught in their own thoughts. Bruno was no better, mulling over their best strategy for keeping all eyes on them while Abbacchio was meeting with their informant. Abbacchio would need at least a twenty-four-hour window to get to the meeting spot and back. Bruno was wondering if staying on the outskirts of the city would be enough or if it would tip the Boss off that they were planning something.
If he really could tell where Bruno was at all times.
“We’ll be leaving before dawn, so everyone try to get a few hours of sleep before then,” he said as they finished up dinner.
Once everyone dispersed for the night, Bruno headed outside to get some fresh air, and feel the moonlight on his skin. It was as good as he could get anymore and though it was no replacement for the warm sun he had laid under on his father’s boat in his youth, it was still a comforting friend he had gotten used to over the years.
He was surprised to pick up the sound of Abbacchio’s heartbeat coming to join him. The other man silently sat on the bench next to him before he inhaled deeply and asked, “Anything else you forgot to mention?”
Bruno felt a pinch of guilt. “Giorno already berated me for that.”
“Well, that’s twice I agree with him in a day then, which does not make me feel any better.”
“I genuinely didn’t think it was anything but paranoia at first.”
“You promised, Bruno.”
“Then allow me to write down a detailed journal of all my daily actions for your perusal, Leone, and you can decide what should be worried over or not,” he snapped. “I am still…figuring all this out on a daily basis. All I ask is that you have a little grace. I don’t currently have the luxury of asking other vampires my questions or looking through journals for research. I consciously choose not to instantly panic over every little thing because I don’t think I would ever get out of bed if I allowed myself to dwell on all of it.”
The look Abbacchio gave him was tired, but there was understanding there. “Alright. You’re right, and I apologize if I press too hard. I’m just…worried about what this connection might mean when we finally do go up against the Boss.”
Bruno looked down at his hands, threading his fingers together methodically. “I have wondered the same. But I will not let him use me against all of you. That I can promise.”
“And what if you have no choice?” Leone asked.
Bruno turned to look at him. “The entire time I was turning, I could have let myself slip, even just a little, let my guard down and given into any of the copious moments that arose to drink blood—from you, the others, even the ice chest—and I still didn’t. I feel comfortable in the fact that this doesn’t have that much hold over me, that he doesn’t. Because if he did, why not use it already? If he could control me, he would have turned my hand on all of you already.”
Abbacchio nodded slowly. “You are infernally stubborn,” he finally said.
Bucciarati huffed a wry laugh. “Finally coming in handy I suppose.”
“No, I’ve always admired that in you,” Abbacchio admitted. “After all, if you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
Bruno’s lips tugged in a genuine smile. “I wouldn’t be either.”
Abbacchio sighed and stared up at the moon. “We’re getting closer, Bruno, even I can feel that. We’ll finish this soon.”
“Yes…” Bruno said quietly. But at what cost? He wondered silently. A brief flash of memory came over him: a dark room smelling of incense, the old woman with her cards laid out on the table, the look in her eye one of genuine concern as she revealed what they meant. Had Bruno’s appointment with Death come on San Giorgio, or was it still following him because he had escaped it?
He thought of the old story about the man who had escaped death in Bagdad only to flee to his true fate in Samarra. He could only hope that if this was the case for him, he would be the one caught and not one of the others.
Abbacchio stood. “I’m going to go try to get a couple hours of sleep. What about you?”
Bruno glanced up at the moon again. “I think I’m going to rest on the journey tomorrow. I feel more comfortable sleeping during the day.”
Abbacchio nodded and headed inside.
Bruno sat contemplating things under the moonlight for a long while before he too retreated inside to wait out the rest of the night.
The next morning everyone assembled early, bags stacked by the door. There was a nervous energy running through everyone, understandably so.
“Mista, Narancia, go hitch up the cart and start loading everything in,” he told the two before looking around. “Where’s Trish?”
“Here, sorry, I had a few seems to finish.”
She came into the parlor wearing a long burgundy riding coat with a full skirt and small bustle on the back, over a pair of black trousers and high boots.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked as she spun around. “I wanted something a little more easy to move in for missions.”
“It looks very nice on you,” Giorno told her.
“Very fitting,” Bruno agreed with a small smile.
Trish beamed and added her bag to the pile. “Thank you, I’ve been working on it for weeks.”
Mista and Narancia pulled the cart around and loaded the rest of the stuff into it.
“Everyone ready?” Bruno asked.
They all nodded and piled into the cart, heading off to the next town where they would hire a carriage and horses to go the rest of the way.
Bruno looked up at the moon, slowly reaching the horizon and prayed that this would go well and the apprehension he was feeling was all in his imagination.
~~~~~~~
The young man made his way through the twisting halls of his master’s castle, until he came into his personal study, finding Diavolo brooding at his desk, drinking something from a glass that could deceptively look like wine.
“My lord.” The young man bowed deeply as he stopped in front of the desk. “I have returned with news.”
Diavolo’s eyes fell on him. “And what is it that you have to tell me?”
“Bucciarati and the others have been spotted, my lord; they’re heading toward Rome.”
Diavolo tapped his chin. “An odd move. Surely Bucciarati knows how many of my men reside there.”
“Well, one of his men plans to split off, my lord. He bought a ticket for the train running toward the western coast.”
Diavolo’s eyes narrowed, nodding slowly. “He’s the one I want you to follow, then.” He then smiled and reached out a hand to stroke his fingers lightly across the young man’s jaw. “You did well, Doppio. I know you will not fail me.”
The young man glowed with pride. “It will be done, my lord.”
Diavolo pulled his hand back and took a small vial out of a drawer, setting it on top of the desk before picking up a penknife.
Doppio watched, enthralled as his master’s blood poured into the vial.
When it was full Diavolo capped it off and handed it over the desk. “Take this; you may have need of it.”
Doppio took it with reverence, before he took his master’s hand, pressing his lips to it as he bowed deeply. “I will not fail you my lord.”
“I know you will not. You have always been my most loyal servant, my Doppio.”
~~~~~~~
“Are you sure you want to go alone, Abba?”
Abbacchio rolled his eyes at Narancia as his tucked only the bare minimum of hunting gear into his coat. “Yeah. It’s easier this way—you would attract too much attention.”
Narancia pouted. “Okay, but, please be careful, alright? I don’t feel good about us splitting up.”
“He’ll be fine, Narancia, you know Abbacchio can take care of himself,” Mista reassured the boy before slapping Abbacchio on the shoulder in farewell. “Good luck.”
Abbacchio nodded and turned toward Bucciarati. “Anything else I should be aware of?”
“I trust your judgement,” Bucciarati replied. “Just the obvious. Be cautious. I don’t think this is a trap but you can never be too careful.”
Abbacchio huffed and grabbed the hat he had borrowed from Mista, tugging it low over his forehead. He had kept all of his clothing as nondescript as possible, tucking away all of his hunting paraphernalia so it would not be visible. “Alright, I need to get going then.”
He hailed a cab from the hotel the others had set up at and headed toward the train station, getting there just in time to catch his train.
As he was making his way toward his seat, a slim figure coming from the opposite direction ran into him, all the items clutched in his arms falling to the ground.
Abbacchio bit back a curse. “Watch it!” he snapped.
“Ah—I’m so sorry, signore, my apologies.”
The misfortunate man was scrambling around at Abbacchio’s feet, snatching up the paper he had dropped as his other hand searched for something else. Abbacchio caught the glint of a pair of spectacles, and huffed as he bent to retrieve them, holding them in front of the neatly coiffed red head.
“Oh, thank you so much, signore, really, again, I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“No problem,” Abbacchio grunted and made his way past the man toward his seat. Probably some nervous clerk or secretary on his way to get chewed out by his boss, Abbacchio thought with brief amusement. He found his seat and sat down, only to feel eyes on him.
Abbacchio looked up briefly to see the clerk watching him over his shoulder, still standing in the middle of the aisle. As soon as Abbacchio’s head came up though, he quickly spun around and headed toward the front of the car.
Slightly unnerved by the interaction, Abbacchio tugged his hat low and leaned back in the seat, pretending to be asleep as he watched the train’s occupants, feeling just a bit on edge without knowing the exact reason.
He had to shake the feeling before it consumed him. He couldn’t afford to lose his edge now.
He turned to stare out the window, waiting for his stop as he watched the sun sink lower in the sky.