Chapter Text
“Join my team. Don’t be bound by your past.”
Is the last thing Abbachio hears before passing out in the middle of a rainy street next to a blurry silhouette. It sounded so crazy, he honestly thought he dreamed the whole thing after drinking a bit too much. But, Leone Abbachio was unfortunate enough to wake up in the real world because he nearly rolled off the sofa that he was lying on. Lying on would be wrong–more like bent in pretzel because he was definitely way too tall to be ’laying’ on this sofa.
After catching himself on the ottoman in front of him, he pushes himself up and starts to look around. It was a pretty cosy apartment. The guy(?) from before must have brought him in, Leone sort of remembers stumbling into a doorway at one point. There was a TV set, nice carpet and bookshelves filled to the brim with records. He gets up, and immediately lies back down because he feels so sore from that ‘rest’ on the sofa. Abbachio tries again because dammit his mother did not raise a quitter, but then again she also did not raise her son to be an alcoholic.
Judging by the light streaming through the windows it is still early morning, maybe closer to lunch. It’s nearly eleven am and he has just made it to his feet. Wonderful. Abbachio starts to move around, looking at the enormous collection of records lining the shelves. Luciano Pavarotti, Spaak, Nek…at least mystery man’s taste is good…
“Ahem” Abbacchio whips around to find…! A little kid? Well he’s not a first grader, he certainly looks like he’s middle school age. The boy sits at the kitchen table, papers strewn everywhere. He looks very pale, with lighter hair to match, red eyes, clothes and a small pair of strawberry earrings to match. He kind of looked like the polish flag. Ha.
“Hello?” Oh. Right. he has to respond.
“Hi. Who are you? Where am I?”
“Seriously?" The kid rolls his eyes. "You don’t know where you are? After everything Bucciratti went through-” He crosses his arms and glares at him.
“Who?”
“Bucciarati, my boss and the man you met the night before”
“And I am in-” Abbacchio continues.
“Bucciarati’s apartment” he cuts him off. Ok. That makes sense. But where the hell is this guy? Why is he leaving this (presumably) seventh grader alone?
“And you are..?”
“Fugo”
“Fugo…” he drags the last syllable so that ‘Fugo’ will hopefully give him more information. Something. literally anything besides that deadpan that he is giving him.
He furrowed his brow “Just Fugo.”
“How old are you?” Abbacchio didn't even have time to shut his mouth before the words split out.
“Why does that matter?” Now the kid looks even more annoyed. Abbacchio rolls his eyes, god this kid is pissing him off.
He sighs “Nevermind…” God Abbacchio needs a drink, it's only been a few hours but withdrawals are hitting like a truck.
“Wait for Bucciarati for further instruction. I’m doing work, don’t disturb me.” The seventh grader (?) glares at him before turning back to the kitchen table across the room. Was he watching him the whole time? He didnt really care, but that’s kind of fucking creepy.
Abbacchio isn't sure what to do for the next unspecified amount of time. He decides to go back to browsing the record collection. Only looking though. The kid looks like he’ll skin him alive if he so much as touches those records. And he really does not want to test that theory right now.
After resisting the urge to claw his face off. God he needs that drink, he's gonna lose it.
The door opens about an hour and a half later. In walks one of the most beautiful men he's ever seen. With short black hair, an impeccably tailored suit and black shoes. He waltzes through the door as if he’s not the most perfect man ever?? While holding two large bags of groceries.
“Hello Fugo, Leone” The beautiful man (Bucciarati?) says to them.
“Bucciarati” Fugo gets up and walks toward him, taking the bags out of his hands and setting them on the counter to be emptied.
“Hello Fugo, how was your day?”
“Fine”
“You must be Leone…or do you prefer Abbacchio?” Bucciarati turns to face him and Abbachio nearly forgets to respond because he was too busy staring at him rather than using his last brain cell. Maybe mom was right, alcohol really does fry your brain.
“Oh! uh.. Abbacchio is fine…" Abbachio finally remembers to respond. And he feels Fugo absolutely glare daggers into him. What is that kid’s deal anyways?
“Okay, Abbachio..do you remember what we talked about the night before? Or were you too inebriated to remember?” Bucciarati asks.
Shit. No way he had a full conversation with the most beautiful man in the world about god knows what. He somehow ended up in his apartment with his freaky kid? Sibling? Whatever they are? He has no idea what they talked about! It could be anything from his alcoholism, Bucciarati’s beautiful hair, his eyes…god forbid he talked about his time in the force!
“…” Abbachio didn’t respond. Fugo scoffs and rolls his eyes, he starts to put away the groceries, ignoring Abbacchio.
“That's fine, you were in…quite a state last night.” Bucciarati tries a small smile.
Oh god. Abbachio should just die now, this is more humiliating than anything he’s ever experienced.
“To be brief…I stumbled upon you in the alley of one of our bars. You were kicked out after drinking far too much and being unable to pay the tab. I saw you, paid your tab before you got hurt and took you here. When we met, you told me about how you were haunted by your past, and that you cannot escape it. Abbachio, I want to help you. Let me help you escape the past that haunts you. While we may work in the shadows, we bring those to the light and give them a purpose.” Bucciarati looks him in the eyes and Abbacchio cannot look away.
Abbachio does not know whether he should be happy or die of embarrassment. He bore his heart to a random man, incredibly drunk and still cannot process this being incredibly hungover.
“So in short…you want me to join you..policing drunk people in bars…?” Abbachio looks at Bucciarati with a perplexed expression. What has he signed up for ? A glorified AA councilor?
Bucciarati looks at him with wide eyes, a serious expression morphing into a large smile.
“hahaha! Oh Abbachio! You’re too much…! Hahaha!” Bucciarati clutches his sides, leaning forward. After laughing a few seconds he stands straight again, collects himself, and wipes an imaginary tear from his eye.
“Abbachio, I asked you to join Passione. Join my team.” Bruno turns back to him, looking him in the eyes with a sincere kindness that Abbachio cannot place.
“What!?!” Fugo whips his head around, slamming a can of soup onto the counter.
“Now Fugo…” Bucciarati softens his voice a bit.
“What do you mean join the team!? You want him to join!? He’s a pi-”
“Fugo!” Bucciarati says sternly. “That's enough.”
While Fugo and Bucciarati had a silent standoff, Abbachio was currently reeling. Passione? The mafia organisation? The thing that Abbachio swore to destroy as he took his oath? With high hopes and an almost childish naivete, he thought the force would protect others. When his partner’s life became disposable, Abbachio realised that he too was disposable. If the force is not just, what is? The entire police force was corrupt! Those bastards took bribes! Abbachio was expected to look the other way! Yanked out of his thoughts, Abbachio hears a curse and sees Fugo storm out of the kitchen, down the hallway and slam a door. Presumably, to sulk.
“I’m sorry about him…he doesn’t trust easily” Bucciarati turns to him. “I understand his apprehension given your…past” after saying that he looks away, a bit uncomfortable.
He must have found out Abbacchio was a police officer. Obviously he isn’t trusted. Why would a perfectly happy officer with both a salary and bribes ever willingly leave. He and Fugo probably think he’s some sort of spy.
“No I.. I left the force.” Abbachio says. He starts to tap his foot nervously as he continues. “I couldn’t continue after what happened to him.. there’s no justice in that godforsaken system and I’d be damned if I ever took a bribe again .”
“Well, you would be able to do much more at Passione. You can protect those important to you. Hurt those who have wronged others. The opportunity to be just.” Bruno looks back at him with hope in his eyes.
“I don’t give a damn about justice. The mafia is about as just as our legal system. I don’t care about right and wrong anymore. All I want is a purpose. If Passione promises me a purpose in my wasted life, I’ll do it until I die.” Abbachio meets Bucciarati’s eyes with a determined expression and a renewed fire in his eyes.
“Alright.” Bucciarati gives him a bittersweet smile.