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A pint of ice cream and a small bottle of honey.
What this was supposed to imply to La Squadra, you were not sure. But then again, Diavolo worked in mysterious ways. You were to just play messenger and deliver the items with no questions asked. If they were to raise inquiries, you would have no answers to offer.
Which, from you've gathered about La Squadra from both Doppio and your gang, means if you had no means of explaining what exactly Diavolo was requiring of the exiled group, you could very well be in some danger.
At the very least, Buccellati and Abbacchio were waiting for you outside of the prison should you need backup--but otherwise, you would be on your own. Both eyed you carefully from the car as you bid them farewell and made your way inside. Despite how you were bringing gifts inside one of Italy's top maximum security prisons--the very one that somehow remained successful with keeping La Squadra locked up--you weren't given much issue through security.
According to Doppio, this was all allegedly due to the influence of some extremely famous comic book artist from America, Ronald Kingsley Beck from a middle-of-nowhere town that sat on the border between Michigan and Ohio, Mohio. He was doing extensive research for his newest title on Italian gangs and flew all the way to the country for reference. Somehow, he got in touch with Doppio and was promised an personally typed-out letter from Diavolo regarding gang life if he could pull some strings at the Naples prison, allowing for lighter security checks for Passione members.
How a comic book artist was capable of this was beyond you, though when this supposedly occurred, it was right when Jotaro had to go to Morioh to handle some important matters. You also recalled that this occurred at the same time when Pink Dark Boy was put on hiatus, which was on the news for a while as no one knew what caused Rohan's decision.
Eased scrutiny from security and an extended 5 minutes to the typical visitation time of 15.
You were allowed in through security with a mere glance at your appearance. Not that you had a name tag with 'Passione employee' impinted on it, but you assumed this was due to that comic book artist's influence, which honestly seemed more like the work of a Stand. At the very least, it didn't seem too dangerous for now. You'd very much prefer to avoid a fight and get this ordeal over with.
It wasn't as though your Stand was weak and incompetent, but you weren't sure if you could possibly take on all of La Squadra by yourself.
The same prison guard who granted you access through security was the one who lead you to the visitor's room reserved for La Squadra. With each step, you felt tense and unnerved. Would anyone have an idea who you were, especially since you were alligned with the same gang that was responsible for their imprisonment? If so, would they realize that you were a triple agent? Were you to speak only to Risotto, or would his subordinates be present as well?
So many thoughts swirled around in your head, growing more muddled as you tried to think things through. It didn't help that on such a hot day, the entirety of the prison felt stuffy, even if everything was enclossed and shaded from the sun--it made you regret wearing the scarf, but you needed something to hide Giorno's hickeys still. Still, you kept your guard up--especially as you passed by cells full of leering and watchful prisoners--while your eyes peeked around, noting the layout of the prison should you ever need to make a break for it. The path to the visitor's room seemed endless and you found yourself gripping at the thermal bag that kept the ice cream from melting.
Eventually, you arrived at and stood before a large iron door, with the faint rusty discolorations aound it alluding to having been used to lock in criminals for centuries. The guard carefully opened the entrance for you, doing so while remarking without looking your way, "The visitor's room is at the end of the corridor, but you'll be passing by their cells. They don't take too kindly to guards being in the area, but there's security cameras inside, so we'll immediately come get you if things appear to be going wrong. They're a rough bunch, but oddly well-behaved nonetheless."
The vast darkness that loomed from within only heightened your apprehension. Still, all you had to do was just drop off the treats and go. And so, offering a nod and your thanks to the guard, you made your way inside.
Needless to say, hearing the iron door slam shut didn't make you feel any better as you attempted to blindly make your way through the darkness. Though, what honestly made you jump with surprise--a moment after the dim hallway lights switched on--was hearing a cheerful whistle from the cells.
It took a moment to readjust back to the lighting, but you immediately tensed once more as you heard,
"Ooo, what's this here? Ciao amore!"
Your head turned to face the cells and you froze as you saw the grinning face of a red-orange haired man, one whom you recognized to be Formaggio--Doppio was kind enough to offer you files on La Squadra while briefing you on your mission. His hands clutched onto the bars of the cell while his stare, lecherous and hungry, looked you over. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Why don't you come over to my bunk? I'll make sure you'll feel comfy as soon as you hit the mattress!" From the way he licked his lips, it seemed apparent that he hadn't been intimate with another person for quite some time.
From what you could make out, their cells didn't look to be any different than the ones you saw for the other prisoners. Albeit here, there were plenty of expensive items--clothes, furniture, entertainment systems--and other odd trinkets around that made it obvious that they weren't like the average criminal.
"Oi, are you talking shit?"
The loud, growly manner that question was said immediately told you that it was Ghiaccio. He appeared from the back of the cell. His eyes were narrowed while he adjusted his glasses, not being subtle about sizing you up. "And I can see this person's attractiveness clearly." He turned to his fellow gang member and hissed. "Formaggio, stop using idiotic idoims! If you're going to be a sleazy bastard, at least do so beautifully!" As an example, he turned towards you once more, and began speaking in the most harsh French you had ever heard. "Allons baiser comme des lapins."
"Both of you are all talk. If you really were thinking that, you'd have bedded sweetness over there by now. For me, at least."
"Wow fratellone, you're so cool!"
From the next cell over, you caught sight of styled blonde hair and green locks that reminded you of a pineapple. Without a doubt, this was Prosciutto and Pesci, respectively.
"You look more like dessert being offered to a starved vagabond. I wouldn't mind eating you all up."
At first you were unnerved that you didn't see anyone, but while squinting your eyes, you caught sight of a mirror hanging in Prosciutto's and Pesci's cell. The glass surface bore the reflection of an amused Illuso while he stared at you comfortably from his mirror world.
Ghiaccio slammed his face against his cell bars while trying to send a glare in response. "...Illuso, do I have to kinkshame you--"
His already irritated expression deepened right as the blonde you knew to be Melone slunk around his shoulder. Much like the others, he looked you over, though rather than eyeing you purely with lust, it was more like he was analyzing you for your merit.
"The Boss's lapdog or not, you look like someone worthy of being bred by my Stand...though, honestly, I wouldn't mind doing so myself. Denial does wonders to a person," he hummed with a wry smile.
By this point, you were more or less at ease. You weren't about to be friendly with them, of course, but their interactions with one another were like that of your gang--sans the desperation for any relief to their pent-up sexual frustration. Your hands squeezed the thermal bag once more as you tried to strengthen your composure, though you realized that you had been dawdling and wasting your visitation time with Risotto, something which Prosciutto seemed to note.
"Hey you. Risotto's already in the visitor's room since he was expecting you. Don't keep him waiting," he remarked, his tone cold and sharp.
"T-Thank you." You nodded before hurrying along.
Formaggio let out a whine, jumping in place. "No, amore, come back! Though I guess I'll settle for watching you go~" You could practically feel his eyes map out the shape of your ass as you walked ahead.
As you neared the end of the hall, you could see the door to the visitor' room, which appeared to be more modern compared to the iron entrance. Since you were more than aware that Risotto wasn't as warm and compassionate as Giorno, you braced yourself once more as you made your way inside.
Small was an understatement to describe the visitor's room, which looked more like the typical interrogation room seen in cop dramas. The lighting was only slightly better than the hallway, which wasn't saying much at all. There was no plexiglass to separate an inmate and whoever decided to show up. Just a tiny table with two chairs on opposite sides.
Just like Prosciutto said, Risotto was waiting for you. He was leaning back on his seat, his feet kicked up on the table. At your entrance, he didn't even bat an eye. He was indifferent, to say the least.
You almost didn't want to sit down, but that could be a sign of how you didn't trust him, and it could even give the impression further along the line that Giorno's group had taken on a weak member. Certainly, you wanted to make it clear that your gang was a force to be reckoned with.
Taking your seat, you set the thermal bag down. Risotto still refused to say anything, let alone look at you.
Holding back a sigh, you announced, "The Boss sends his regards." You proceeded to bring out the ice cream and honey and, to your relief, the former still seemed to be properly chilled, albeit covered in a thin sheet of frost. While you were neatly folding the bag away, you immediately became unnerved once you heard the low rumble of,
"Dessert...sweetness...la dolce vita."
Risotto was sitting normally now, one arm on the table while he inspected the treats with a scrutinizing look. "The honey and ice cream are not even standard food brands. They're from the finest artisans in the country..." He trailed off just as he proceeded to glare at you. "...and are each worth more than the average monthly salary,"
You remained quiet, unsure of what to say to this.
He slammed the jar of honey down onto the table like a judge's gavel, hissing out, "This is no mission, but a reminder. That bastard wants to rub it in our faces, how he can enjoy such luxuries while we're compelled to beg for his scraps so we can live, even if he's too much of a fucking coward to show his own."
Words failed to form, your response only being a stiff nod. You were just the messenger after all.
Though, what Risotto said next left you alarmed to no end. "How fitting that he's selected you to do this for him, given that you also hide who you really are."
"M-Me?" You repeated, fighting to hide back your genuine astonishment.
Risotto only snorted. "The moment I saw your face, I could tell...that it's only one of your masks."
In what felt like an instant, he was suddenly reaching over for you, cupping your face, the warmth emanating from his palm both unnerving and appealing. "If I were to unmask you..." He began, running a calloused thumb over your cheek, brushing over your lips. His hand ghosted downwards, stopping dangerously close to above your chest while he snatched a handful of your top. "If I were to rip off this disguise of yours, I wonder what I could expect to find."
While your mind was rambling nonsensical excuses mixed in with the truth, you remained quiet, only staring up at Risotto expectantly. Whatever ran through his head as he stared into your eyes at that moment, you wouldn't know, only that it brought a smirk to his face as he released you from his grip.
"Hmph, we have the same goal at the very least," he remarked while returning to his seat. His red eyes flashed at you as he motioned with his head for you to take off. " Go then. Go back to your group with whatever face you decide to show."
Once more, you nodded in silence as you proceeded to make your exit. You brought out your phone, both to check the time and to give yourself an excuse to not have to respond to even more of the jeers sent your way by La Squadra as they watched--and begged you not to leave. As soon as you walked through the iron door, you nearly broke into a full sprint all the way back to the car, where Buccellati and Abbacchio still remained.
As you heard the engine come to life, you put on your seatbelt before slumping back with a sigh, "Well, that was something."
"That took much longer than I would've expected for a simple drop-off, even if it was for La Squadra. Did something happen?" Buccellati queried, glancing back at you with both curiosity and concern.
"Nothing too bad. You were right though. La Squadra's pretty intense," you remarked. While the air conditioner was on full blast, you felt utterly scorched, your body still reeling in from your prison encounter and from returning to Naples' summer weather. Without a second thought, you reached for your scarf and pulled it off.
Your foundation had more or less been sweated off at this point, and it was at that moment that Buccellati's eyes widened and his expression became alarmed.
"Amore, what is that on your neck?"
You tensed.
Abbacchio's foot slammed down hard on the brake.