#lasquadraweek2020

You sat back in the bay window as you watched the water run down the window in streaks. The bottom window was open for you to hold your lit cigarette out and away from the kitchen behind you. The weather seemed to fit your mood perfectly- after everything you’d been through, everything you’d done- now you had no one to blame for your current situation other than yourself and the new level of self-loathing was taking a toll on your mental health.

Giorno Giovanna, despite his young age, held a cunning manner of getting what he wanted and luring you in with an innocent enough promise of freedom under a singular, seemingly doable, condition was how you ended up with a packed suitcase standing in front of your bedroom door.

What you had seen when your stand held onto Giorno’s soul was enough to warn you that you had sealed your own fate in the mafia. His father was someone...or rather, something... you’d thought belonged in the flights of fancy of Victorian era romance novels. His bloodline was as muddled and convoluted- his true identity of his father being hazy and unsure but you gave him direction into possible siblings and family he could have.

You believed that you did more than your fair share in finding the Speedwagon Foundation and Erina Pembleton’s descendants- how it connected with the name Jonathan Joestar.

But it wasn’t enough.

What’s worse, you had gotten what you wanted. Your team was healed and allowed to do as they pleased and had indeed disappeared from the mafia’a control- instead being used as nothing more than a tool to the Don and his team to get what he wanted.

You groaned, pinching the bridge between your eyes. Were you really being bossed around by a kid at this age?

The steady sound of a motor running outside your window among the near-silent street suddenly caught your attention.

If it was a car, it wasn’t big- in fact you wagered it was probably a motorcycle but why it was standing so close to the house you were close at, you were unsure.

You ditched the cigarette and stood up, slipping the revolver from your kitchen cabinet into your hand, double checking the bullets in the chamber before clicking it back into place and heading down the stairs to the front door.

Ever since you started helping Giorno you’ve had a myriad of people from rival gangs as well as some government-looking officials on your behind and as much as you hated the position you were in, the last thing you wanted to do was traverse more bullshit from anymore organizations.

Your door was locked but a bit too easy to pick. When the scratched in the door started you knew being on your guard was the right course of action. So you stepped closer to the wall and pulled back the hammer from the barrel.

Eventually the door clicked open and coming to stare at the end of your gun was a face you didn’t think you’d see again.

“Melone?” You frowned, not lowering the weapon.

You had heard through the grapevine that your old team had all retired and gone under the radar- so seeing Melone standing in front of you made your heart drop to your shoes. And yet...it felt so good to see a familiar face. You dropped your raised weapon to your side with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

The signature lustful smug slithered onto his face. “Am I not allowed to miss the most attractive person from my old team?”

You were about to roll your eyes but the comment only made you give a chuckle. “Oh please- I think Risotto takes that title a bit better than me.”

“Mmmm he is, but to me it’s like choosing pizza or cake.”

“Both good but for different occasions?” You sighed as you pushed the door shut behind him and grabbed a towel from the guest bathroom nearby.

“Exactly.”

You would usually not have stood for this bullshit, Melone’s lecherous comments wasn’t something you enjoyed but it felt good to see a familiar face until you led him to upstairs to towel off.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, knowing damn well he probably used BabyFace to track you.

His gaze was fixated on the suitcase outside your bedroom door.

“You’re leaving?”

You could only groan in response, stomping off back to the bay window.

“Y/n, I thought you were still working with the Don.”

“I am, they’re the reason I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

You gazed over at him as he approached.

“You know I can’t disclose that.”

He slid beside you on the seat as you lit your second cigarette- watching you as you angrily tossed the lighter across the floor. For a moment he let you sit there in silence, letting the itch to talk to him overwhelm you.

It did and with a frustrated puff of smoke you ran a hand through your hair. “I fucked up, Mel. I fucked up bad and there’s no one to blame except me.”

He didn’t respond- he was probably trying to get you to talk a bit more.

“I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I’m still stuck in this crap or that-“ you let out a hysterical laugh. “That I’m being pushed around by a kid almost 10 years younger than me.”

You wanted to pull your hair out and scream, raking your nails over your scalp and pulling the hair as you gazed down at you bend knee.

Melone’s hand wrapped around the wrist beside your head and gently pulled out. Your eyes shot up and for once in his life he seemed more somber than usual. “Y/n, relax.”

“You’re clean.” You realized out loud.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ve kinda been cut off when I left the mafia so you’re welcome to use my real name.”

“Who knows you’re here?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Stefan.” You were the one to grab hold of his wrist this time. “I’m not having you risk your freedom for some drugs.”

He gave a huff of laughter, his hand loosening from your wrist. “I know you don’t touch the mafia’s drug trade. I’m not here for drugs.”

For a moment you were just confused. Was he really here for you? You couldn’t believe it, not with his track record.

“So why...?”

He lounged back in his seat. “Is it so hard to believe I wanted to check up on my teammate?”

“You care?”

He seemed be taken aback for a moment, his gaze going down. “I know you think I was just half high all the time but I did appreciate you treating me with some dignity. Which is something I can’t say I experienced from the all of our old team. It wasn’t the drugs talking when I insisted you coming on missions with me.”

You sat there, kind of dumbfounded by it all. Melone off of drugs was definitely something you weren’t accustomed to- it seemed like his first thing in the mornings was to pop an ecstasy pill or two so to see him in front of you like this caught you off guard.

He cleared his throat and stood up, moving to the stacked wine rack.

“You’ve definitely not been here long, the wine rack is untouched.” He joked over his shoulder.

You got up and followed him as he was surveying the bottles. It was probably cruel of you to do what you did, you knew the only reason you were feeling anything for him, wanting to do anything with him was because you felt so alone and him coming to you, telling you he was still here, still cared about you...

You placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Stefan, I like you too.”

His eyes widened for a moment and for a split second you thought you had misread the signals but what came out of his mouth was what you knew you wanted.

“You don’t have to like me.”

He put the wine bottle back into the rack, your hands finding his wrists to hold in front of your chest.

“No, you don’t understand. I do like you. And...I’m sorry I just...” you gazed up at his odd colored eyes- seeing another part of him you’d never seen. Was it vulnerability? You suppose it was selfish but you wanted to find more, explore more, be surprised by this new side of him. “...really want to kiss you.”

His eyes lidded as he leaned down slightly to bring your noses together, face to face.

“Just say when you want to stop.”

You let out a sigh as you pressed yourself into him, lips meeting into an intense kiss.

You never did say stop. Not when you were peeling his wet clothes off of him, not when you were pushing each other into walls, not when you both dropped onto the bed and found bliss in each other’s bodies. Not even when you were holding each other, pressed into each other’s warmth under the sheets like you were each other’s lifeline. You swept away a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, pressing your hand against the side of his face.

He smiled so warmly at you, so beautifully that you had to return it but your forced smile soon turned into tears spilling over your face.

He brought his hands to your face and wiped away the tears from your eyes.

“I wish I could help.” He whispered.

All you could do was weep into his shoulder. You had said your pained goodbyes at the front door. Only when you walked back did you notice he had left a piece of paper with his number scribbled at your landline. It only made your heart ache so much worse.

That night you stood in the house with the lights off and your suitcase fully packed.

“Why don’t you fight back?” An echoing voice called from the living room couch. You’d recognized it as your own voice so you turned around and faced your stand sitting on the arm rest of the coach.

“Why do you exist if I don’t have a will to fight back?”

They scoffed, turning their head to the side to look down the only lit hallway. “I exist to keep you alive, that was the fighting spirit you had.”

You scowled at them, narrowing your eyes. “I’ve grown out of the ‘save the world’ mentality I had when I was a kid.”

“Have you? Didn’t you say you felt like you had more to give the world.”

You stomped closer to your stand who seemed as unbothered by your presence as you were by other people.

“I’m starting to think what I had in mind and what that actually means are two VERY different things.”

They only shrugged, “Perhaps you need to start reconsidering how you’ll be contributing.”

You hated having your stupid stand bring up the parts of you you didn’t want to talk about. It was of course true you just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

So you picked up the number Melone had given you on a piece of paper at the landline and turned it around in your hand. You wanted to see him, you wanted to see your team so bad yet it only dawned on you then the reason why.

They’d become your family. Prosciutto had said that it was because you were so used to being the only ones watching each other’s backs that it became habit but you suppose when you’re staring your death in the face it hurts too much to call each other family.

You pocketed the number in the jacket you’d be flying in tomorrow. It wasn’t a goodbye. That much you were determined to prove- even if it was for yourself.

“Will you please stop being a crybaby and let me take off the bandages already?”

You were busy finicking with Formaggio’s bandaged chest- the burns he had gotten over most of his body needed intensive care but he whined about it every step of the way.

“Hey hey! Come on, be gentle with me!”

Your gaze shot up to meet his cringing face. “I AM GENTLE!”

You moved quicker- opting to rip off the stained gauze from the burn ointment that peeled off the burnt skin with a sticky squelch.

“Would you rather have Melone do it?” You grumbled, more to yourself but he grabbed your wrist.

“No! Please no, you at least listen when I whine- he just ignores me.” In his eyes you could actually imagine seeing some form of desperate pleading so you sighed, continuing to gently remove the rest of the gauze.

“Can I put the air conditioning on for you while I prepare the soak?”

He looked so ashamed of himself as he nodded, you couldn’t help but feel a scrap of sympathy for him.

Now that everything was over with the Boss’s take down, you were left having to rehabilitate your team back to functioning people. Your stand could only heal so much- mostly keeping their souls attached to their bodies- but the physical healing you had to do yourself.

Formaggio could at least stand up and lead himself to the bath you had prepared for him but some of the others weren’t so lucky. Prosciutto took a particularly bitter hit at his pride with his busted right leg which you had no choice but to amputate so getting him clean was a particularly tense event you deeply dreaded.

You advised Formaggio to take his time in the bathroom as you changed the bedsheets but you knew he had limited mobility so you’d need to help him with his back.

Pesci wasn’t so lucky...he was in literal pieces, Illuso was still in the hospital you dumped him in while Melone was doing the research to find the cure for the disease still ravaging his system. Melone got off pretty well- you had recognized the snake that bit him and got him on anti-venom within a few minutes so he was back on his feet in a week- albeit a bit mute. Ghiacchio was holding on for dear life- you had replaced his windpipe but you’d be lucky if he wasn’t paralyzed from the neck down. Risotto was luckily just a few gunshot wounds heavier but they weren’t the only ones you had chained back to their bodies.

You slid down on the edge of the bath beside Formaggio to run some of the water over his back. His shoulders slumped. You understood why- they were all like this. They felt defeated- by their own sudden inability and you couldn’t reassure them that they were lucky enough to be alive, figuring you’d personally rather be dead than hanging on for dear life.

“You can help yourself right?”

He could only nod.

You got up and let him help himself, wrapping him back up in bandages and gauze before wrapping up the laundry and taking out the food from the freezer to thaw for his dinner. “Call me when you need me.”

Outside Formaggio’s apartment you popped the trunk of your car and tossed the second batch of laundry into the trunk. A few cars behind your own, another car door opened and out stepped a dirty blonde in a red suit.

You narrowed your eyes at him as he approached, suddenly noticing how young he was.

“What do you want, kid?”

You called back as he approached. The second he took a step too close to your liking you gave one back. “That’s close enough. What do you want?”

“You’re La Squadra’s healer, aren’t you?”

“What about it?”

“You saved some of my friends a few days ago.”

You couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow. “You worked under Bucciarati?”

“Yes- I do. Or rather, used to. Listen, I’ve been tracking you and this is the third time you’ve come here this week... what are you doing?”

You racked your brain for a second. Part of your stand’s ability- working with the chain that links soul to body allowed you to see some memories people held near the end of their lives.

The kid wrapped in flowers at the coliseum... that’s where you’ve seen his face before.

“Panacotta Fugo?” You guessed from the names you’d heard in the kid’s soul.

His eyes widened a bit. “Yes, how did you-“

“The kid I saved at the coliseum... you were in his memories. Could’ve sworn you were nowhere to be seen, though.”

At this point you were playing mind games with Fugo, you didn’t need more complications to your life.

“I’m trying to help you. You probably know Giorno-“

“That blonde kid that healed Abbachio.” Of course you were referencing the other man you had found on the beach after you helped Risotto.

“Yes, I‘ve come to understand that you’ve been working around the clock to heal your teammates. You can keep people alive but not heal them.” He seemed to be a bit annoyed by finding a new way to approach the subject he wanted to talk about without you changing the subject.

You leaned against the back door of your car. “Then you’ve also figured out why I didn’t come running to the new Don to heal my teammates.”

You refused to continue giving this kid more information so you popped the driver seat door open.

“Bucciarati owes you, as does Abbacchio, and Narancia. Surely that’s enough leverage for you to gain something out of the situation.” He said simply, trying to get closer which you answered with another step back.

You pondered the idea- thinking out loud. “Three wishes from the Don’s inner circle but nothing from the Don himself. Hmmmm.” You tapped your fingers against the roof of the car. “Still can’t figure out why YOU came to deliver this news.”

Fugo seemed to curl in on himself, casting his gaze down at the pavement beside him. “I’m grateful for you saving them when I was too much of a coward to even join them on their crusade. If it weren’t for you, half of them would be dead.”

“Hm. And what insurance do I have that this isn’t some kind of trap?”

Fugo’s gaze shot back up with shock in his eyes. “A trap? Why would you think this was a trap?”

You shrugged. “A traitorous group of skilled assassins? You’d be missing on a grand opportunity to weed out any dangers for the new Don.”

The realization dawned on Fugo’s face- it was clearly not something he had considered.

“Tell Bucciarati that I’ll be at Libechio’s tomorrow at noon for half an hour. I’ll bite from him.”

And with that you stepped into your car and left. You came to a final stop at Risotto’s apartment- trying to get the stubborn bastard to rest instead of trying to walk on his janky leg.

“You seem less patient.” He grumbled as you eventually plopped down on the couch with a groan.

“Yeah, I’m chewing through my own problems.”

He slid down in the seat across the living room from you. “Which would be...?”

“One of Bucciarati’s old underlings came to me- promising some shit about helping me.”

Risotto’s eyebrow shot up. “Help you with what?”

“Taking care of you guys, Ris. I can only heal you so much but the Don can actually fix you.”

“Why would he offer the help?”

You sighed- forgetting that you hadn’t told any of them about what you did after you got Risotto to safety.

“Because I offered mine. There’s three of them that got a new lease of life because of me.”

Risotto seemed to digest your words behind his curled up fist, propped up on his lap.

“I’m not stupid, Ris. I know how dangerous it is. So I figured I’ll talk to the ones that owe me, personally.”

He lifted his head a bit, frowning up at you. “And what would you ask the three of them?”

“Heal you guys fully, of course.”

“But three of them are indebted to you.”

It took you a moment to click what he was getting at.

“You’re implying I ask for three things.”

“You can finally leave the mafia.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Was it really how far you’d come? Had you come full circle? Was it time for you to finally do what you’ve been dying to for years?

You’d soon find out as you sat down at your table at Libechio’s with a hot plate of food- a commodity you’d been refusing yourself since Formaggio got burnt.

You’d just finished when Bucciarati walked in, unaccompanied for once.

“You look good for someone who used to be half dead.” You commented as you slid back in your seat, leaning one arm over the backrest with a cup of coffee in your other hand.

“I have you to thank for that.” He smiled warmly, sliding into the seat across from you.

You swirled your coffee in your cup, trying to get the sweetener at the bottom to dissolve into the black liquid.

“You were a weird case- it’s not often the chain gets broken and someone latches themselves back on.”

Bucciarati laughed, folding his hands over each other on the table. “You make it sound like you helped me out of curiosity.”

“You think I did it out of kindness?”

He tipped his head to one side, as if he was trying to understand you. “Why else would you?”

Ah, the billion lire question. You didn’t know why you ran down the beach to grab hold onto Abbachio’s soul until his team mates came over. You didn’t know why your first reaction to Narancia’s soul floating out of his body was to grab hold and wait until it could return to its body. You didn’t know why you desperately begged Bucciarati to zip his soul back together. But it didn’t change the fact that you did and it was Diavolo’s who was sent into oblivion.

It couldn’t possibly have been because you were a good person. Were you banking on having these debts paid out? You certainly weren’t thinking it at the time.

“I don’t know, in all honesty. Suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Bucciarati’s tea arrived a few moments later and as he was adding the sugar he came forward with the reason for your meeting.

“As far as you probably know, my team and I are indebted to you but you are, understandably, mistrustful about the olive branch offered to you.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement, however I’ve come to offer collateral for our dealings.”

Bucciarati seemed to freeze in place, his teacup halfway to his mouth as you leaned in.

“And what would that be?”

“Simply reverting you back to your previous state. It’s as simple as that.”

Bruno placed his teacup back into its saucer with a serious look on his face. “May I ask you a question, y/n?”

You leaned forward with your arm on the table. “Of course.”

“What is it that you’ll be asking of us?”

You took a steady breath. You were unsure if you were going to indulge in this but it was do or die at this stage.

“For Abbachio’s life, I want my team healed completely- all damage inflicted on them needs to be reverted. I know what Giorno’s stand is capable of and I know he can heal them- even restore limbs as far as my understanding goes.”

Bruno only nodded. “Understood.”

“Second...” the words got caught in your throat but with a shaky determination you uttered the words. “I want to disappear. I want nothing to do with this gang, ever again. My existence, as far as any of you are concerned, is unknown.”

With a slight reluctance he nodded. “And your last request?”

“My team get the last request to do whatever they want. Weather that be to earn the Don’s loyalty or chicken out like me, the decision is theirs. And I expect you to respect it.”

Bruno met your gaze head on, before giving a heavy sigh. “Your requests seem fair. But you’ll have to ask Giorno yourself.”

You left Libechio with Bruno, sitting down in the back seat as Fugo drove you there- his eyes glancing up at the rear view mirror to yours every now and again.

“How old are you, Fugo?” You eventually asked. You could tell he was young but if he had just been on verging on 21 or 22, you weren’t sure.

“17.”

Your jaw dropped a bit at that formation. “Ah, life’s done you dirty you and you, Bruno?”

“Turning 21 in a few months.”

“Fuck. You’re infants.” You huffed as you leaned your elbow against the door.

“You’re not that much older than us.”

You couldn’t help but throw your head back and laugh. “I passed 20 a long time ago. Back when things were much simpler.”

For a moment you rode in silence until you sat up and spoke to car as a whole. “Simply speaking as a coward and an unwilling participant in this bullshit, lemme ask- don’t you wish you were normal?”

You never did get an answer, not even a glance in the mirror from Fugo...

You didn’t say anything as you arrived at the villa, tiredly hauling yourself out of the car and following Bruno through the expansive hallways. You’d seen Giorno before- you knew he was young so you figured he and Fugo were the same age, or at least so you hoped- oh the team’s going to pop their stitches at hearing their ages.

You walked past Mista, the gunslinger that helped take down Ghiacchio, so you stopped in your tracks, turned to him and surveyed his face. “So that’s what you look like up close.”

Mista shrugged with a slight smile- was that... dare you say... personality?

He was about to open his mouth to say something to you but the baritone voice of Abbachio had you turning around to find him approaching you from a different hallway. “You know I never did catch your name.”

When you had held onto Abbachio’s soul on the beach, you had sensed some struggle within him- you recognized his story, understood what he was going through... but for men like him, coming back from the dead had two possible effects- either anger for refusing them the relief of death... or peace and clarity.

“You don’t need it. How’s life?” You smirked at him. He gestured for Mista to leave- which he did with a roll of his eyes so you and Leone were standing in the hallway alone.

“I wanted to ask you something... when I was dead, I saw things, people I’m pretty sure I would only have seen in the afterlife...”

“They’re real and chances were you were in the limbo between living and dead for the duration of the experience but I pulled you back.”

He glanced to the side, as if he was considering your words for a moment before nodding down the far end of the hallway where Bruno was standing, waiting for you. “He’s waiting.”

He spun around on his heel and walked away.

“Your friend really did forgive you, Abbachio. If you weren’t meant to come back I wouldn’t have been able to bring you back.” Was all you called back at him.

You walked past Bruno into the room Giorno was waiting, the door shutting behind you to leave you alone with the new Don, a bit on edge until his face emerged from the seat he was sitting in and you couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“So you’re the one I have to thank for my team’s survival.” He attempted to start the conversation.

You reached into your back pocket for your cigarettes and when you turned back to face him, his stand was at the ready.

“My my, no need to be on guard. I wasn’t part of the traitors.”

You brought a filter to your lips and walked towards the balcony, lighting the end without a word. “I’m guessing you’ve been briefed on my wishes?”

“I have- and I can agree to all of them.” He said as Golden Experienced de-materialized.

You hummed in content. Simply waiting for the ‘but’- it never came.

“No exceptions?”

“No, your requests are understandable and manageable. It’s you and your team’s motivations I wanted to know more on.”

You leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, tipping your head back to look up at the orange sky, painted by the setting sun.

“You mean why they were after Trish and Diavolo?”

“Yes.”

You picked your head up and took a drag from the cigarette between your fingers, letting the smoke dribble from your mouth.

“They wanted Trish to gain access to Diavolo. I wouldn’t have let them lay a hand on her. As for that bastard Diavolo, I suppose it was the shitty pay and the fact that they killed my brother and his husb-“ you forgot the marriage certificate was forged. “His lover.” You corrected yourself.

“So why wouldn’t you join in against the coop?”

You took another drag, hoping you could dull your own senses enough to not care about the words that came out of your mouth.

“I didn’t want to die. A stupid sentiment for a hitman but I felt like I can give still do good.”

“Then how did you end up in the gang in the first place?”

“My stupid, very dead brother. Whose killer you so graciously tossed into a garbage truck.”

Giorno actually laughed quietly at that, folding his arms over his chest as he joined you beside the balustrade.

“What did you do before it all?”

“I was a forensic pathologist, though I apprenticed as a mortician for many years.”

He nodded, gazing up at the sky with you.

“I admit, you’d have been a good addition to my own team but I understand your reasons for wanting to leave. There’s just one thing I ask of you- since it seems your stand can trace some things deep within a person’s soul...”

You didn’t completely think it’s fair, your part of the bargain was already done so you suppose you agreed on the terms simple because you were curious yourself... “What do you want to know?”

The irony of holding a funeral service for your brother wasn’t one you thought you’d have to endure but unfortunately for you, it wasn’t your choice.

You rose up from your seat on the chapel pew and started moving towards the back- passing by the rest of your squad who were scattered in their own pattern among their seats- most of them in pairs.

They were, however, the only ones who could attend- not like you and Sorbet had any other family that would grieve among you. That was a choice he had made, one which you were unfortunately dragged into.

The funeral processions went on as usual- with the caskets being carried out of the chapel and taken to the side-by-side graves. You and Risotto were tailing behind the two caskets being carried by the other members. It would have been nice if you felt sad or morose about the whole affair but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

All you felt was an uncontrollable rage you didn’t want to deal with, much less act on. Perhaps you were still in shock- the manner of your brother’s death seemed so bizarre you hardly believed it wasn’t some twisted trick he was pulling and at the same time you KNEW the cruelty of your Boss was displayed in those formalin glass cases. Gelato’s horrified expression almost surprised you more- that bastard never feared anything.

Risotto gently took hold of your shoulder and pressed you forward towards the lowering coffins. You had the honors of tossing the first handful of dirt.

You moved ahead, knelt down between the two graves and gently let the clumps of moistened dirt slip from your hands. The first handful for Sorbet was because you were family, but for Gelato-you had forged a marriage contract for the two of them to persuade the church to to let them be buried together. The mafia did many unspeakable things but threatening churches was not one of them- probably the Catholic guilt from their homes making itself known.

The rest of the team followed suit, bowing their heads in a prayer you knew had no use- neither one of them were going anywhere good after death.

When the grave keepers started shoveling the rest of the dirt on you didn’t wait to see them finish the job, you simply left to find a private corner to indulge yourself in a cigarette- a habit you thought you had broken.

You pulled the packet and lighter from your back pocket and soon found a particularly deep set angel statue with a wide base to slip onto, at the very back of the church- overlooking a courtyard you saw no purpose for other than looking good.

The first drag had just left your lips before you heard footsteps approaching. You’d recognize that stride anywhere. “Stop following me, Risotto.”

True to your prediction, Risotto rounded the corner on you and with a sigh he held out his hand. You’d caught him killing a cigarette in the alleyway behind the base once before, but you figured that was only because the pressure of looking for your brother was taking a toll on him. He took one of your cigarettes and lit it before returning your pack back to you- not uttering a word to you.

Illuso had once told you he had gotten a lead on how long Risotto had been in the mafia- more specifically La Squadra, you shuddered to hear the answer of 16. You’d only joined after wasting a few years away at medical school- unable to imagine your 16-year-old self killing people then. It takes time to become desensitized to this sort of thing. Maybe that was why all you felt was anger right now. And somehow you could laugh at the almost awkward question Risotto asked you.

“Holding up?”

“I’m fine. Can’t really say I feel anything...‘cept maybe rage.”

He only nodded, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. “I’m guessing we won’t be receiving any orders or any pay for a while.”

“It’s not the pay, Ris.”

You let the moment slip by for a second. You truly didn’t care about getting paid- you weren’t stupid. Most of you had some emergency nest eggs carved and duct taped into your mattresses.

“I’m mad at my brother.”

“You’re mad at your brother getting caught?”

“I’m mad that after all this time- years after he promised me he stopped gambling, he took the ultimate gamble and fucked us all over one more time.”

Risotto stepped to the other side of the statue base, leaning against it.

“And you believed him?”

“Stupidly, yes- I did. I thought he had what he wanted. The risk, the danger, the blood, guts and gore but it still wasn’t enough. Now I ask you, Risotto Nero- how are we supposed to move on? The Boss doesn’t trust us, we can’t disband or disappear, the money’s already running dry- all we are, are sitting ducks waiting to be slaughtered.”

Risotto didn’t say anything, those black and red eyes gazing back at you with the same cool anger you could only hope you held in your voice.

He stepped forward, held onto your arm and seemed to be using Metallica on both of you. When you gazed down at your own body you were becoming transparent. Eventually neither one of you could be discerned from the shadows. “I’m not going down without a fight.” He grumbled from where you could only guess his face was. “First opportunity I see, I’m going after the Boss myself.”

It would have been a lie if you said you weren’t surprised. Of all people to go after the Boss, Risotto was the one you least expected to act out.

Metallica wore off and you were back to watching Risotto take a drag from his cigarette. Of course you understood why- why wait to have your throat slit when you could do something to prevent the person from getting to you, it was only stupid because you were running towards the one holding them knife.

“I’m not gonna sugar-coat it, y/n. I know how it feels to lose family, blood family and I need to make one thing very clear.”

He killed the cigarette under his foot and then looked you straight on. “I couldn’t even wish to succeed at this mission without you.”

Life within La Squadra, or specifically Passione, had started off rather innocently a few years back. You had made it into a state mortuary- proud of how far you’d come on your own. By that time, Gelato had become the newest addition to the apartment you shared with your brother. Sorbet never disclosed to you what exactly he did but you’d had your suspicions that whatever it was, it was probably illegal. At the time, you didn’t care...by then you could pay for the apartment yourself, should he ever disappear. It wasn’t like you were THAT close.

It was just that one night, when he and Gelato came stumbling into the apartment- bloody, beaten and a little drunk when everything suddenly started to go downhill. Both of them had stab wounds littering their bodies and you initially wanted to take them to the hospital but they were adamant that you not even look at the phone to call for anyone else.

So you stitched them up yourself. Big mistake.

For no sooner than that same night you came back from work did you find another gang mate asking to be stitched up.

One right after the other- your time was spent with dissecting people during the day and stitching the living back together at night. Of course the gang couldn’t have you as a possible liability- possibly babbling about what awaited you when you got home so you ended up having to join, your job abandoned and because of Sorbet, you ended up in La Squadra as a medic. Or at least so you thought until they started bringing you along on missions so often that you ended up killing all on your own.

You suppose that’s why you felt like you couldn’t mourn Sorbet’s death- if not for him, you might have still been living a normal life.

“You mean my stand.” You narrowed your eyes at Risotto and for once he huffed a bit of laughter- the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe a bit of your brains on the side as well?”

In the stare off you two held for a second you were reminded of everything you had been through since Delivery day.

You couldn’t imagine having to send your brother’s body to the crematorium or anywhere in the state it was in. The responsibility to get it into presentable condition suddenly fell upon you...

It was labor intensive- you had to use a false structure- something resembling his original skeleton- that you could glue and stitch all his severed pieces back together. Dead bodies were not something new to you, he didn’t mean enough for you to care... yet it still made you vomit every time you had to roll the pieces back into the freezer to work on later.

By the time you had finished, Melone asked you what you’d think Sorbet would have wanted- cremation or burial.

You chose burial as a joke- knowing the vain bastard would rather be lowered into the ground in pieces than have his ashes mixed with anyone else’s, the exception being Gelato’s of course.

You just didn’t quite expect Risotto to take you seriously- needless to say it wasn’t an open casket though.

You broke off your gaze from Risotto with a sigh- looking out over the picture perfect grounds in front of you.

It was Risotto who spoke out eventually. “I can’t pretend to know what’s going on inside your head, y/n. The decision remains yours to make, I won’t coerce you. Just know that if we go to hell, we’re dragging the Boss with us.”

With that he walked away in the opposite direction he came from, leaving you to steep in his words.

You said nothing as you took your own cab to your apartment that was now halfway packed away in boxes- shoved into what you could now consider a spare bedroom so that you could at least plop down on the couch without having to run an obstacle race. Not like you wanted to have any reminders of the ghosts of your brother and his boyfriend.

However you soon came to understand that that was inevitable...

Every damn thing you came across in the apartment reminded you of them- the kitchen counter that hosted so many botched up people they had brought to you, the busted up microwave display Gelato had hit with a baseball bat... then you remembered the batch of unfolded laundry sitting in the basket that held more of their clothes than it did your own.

You shoved the apartment door shut behind you and with a groan slid down with your back against the door.

What exactly you were feeling, you were unsure. Were you truly mad at them? Or was that just a guise to hide how much your heart ached that you had lost all blood relative you had? You should be happy, shouldn’t you? He dragged you into this mess, didn’t he? You were stuck here until you’d eventually be killed by it- that was enough to hate him and rejoice at his passing but he remained the one person you’ve ever truly had by your side.

You curled in on your knees, banging your head against your knees in frustration.

“Well, I suppose I owe Risotto an apology.”

You peered up at Prosciutto who was now looking down his nose at you. Of all people to send to check up on you, Risotto chose him?

“What do you want?” You grumbled back at him.

He shrugged, nonchalantly gazing at the hallway around your apartment door. “Risotto tried to convince you of something at the church but I wanted to pitch an alternative to you- if you’re interested.”

You rose up and gave him a side-eye. “I haven’t decide on anything.”

“I’m aware, let’s talk.” He continued as he opened the door behind you, letting you slip in first.

“I’ll be frank dolcezza, nothing is going to bring your brother back and from what I’ve seen from you, you don’t want him back either.” He was talking over his shoulder at you.

“Where is this going, Pros?” You frowned back at him from the front door.

“I’m saying, fuck revenge and fuck your brother.” He turned around to talk to you head on. “You said it yourself- we’re sitting ducks until the Boss decides we’re not and we’re being paid worse than the dealers under some capos. What’s worse is there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“And how does that amount to repeating Sorbet’s mistake?”

Prosciutto sat down on the couch, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette holder. “See it this way, help take down the Boss and either die trying- getting out of the gang if we succeed. OR sit here, do nothing and wait to be taken out of the Boss.”

You took the now lit cigarette from his fingers and brought it to your own mouth. “I’m not stupid, Pros. You didn’t need to come here and explain everything to me like Pesci.”

You moved over to find the crystal ashtray from the kitchen.

“It’s my brother’s death I can’t quite seem to come to terms on.”

You returned the ashtray to the coffee table in front of Prosciutto, taking another drag before handing it back to him.

“Oh come on. What has that bastard ever done to help you?”

“He got me through my first years as a student...he was all I had after our parents died.” You blurted out as you slid off the arm rest of one of the couches to slouch into the single-seater. “Now you tell me- are you really mourning their deaths or are just scared of the message the Boss sent?”

Prosciutto seemed to mull that question over as his cigarette burned out slowly between his fingers.

“We’re mourning. I suppose if you depend on each other as much as we do- it becomes habit to care.”

He didn’t meet your gaze as he uttered those words- killing the cigarette in the ashtray before getting up and striding his way towards the door.

“What was that alternative you wanted to talk to me about?” You called back at him just as he was about to disappear out of sight.