#what-if

April 4, 2001, 5:00 PM, Sardegna "Hungryyyyy," Narancia mumbled into his knees, just audible as his chin was resting on them.

Bruno pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and brow furrowed. "I admit, espresso would do me good right now."

Mista agreed. "Woulda been nice if the turtle had infinite food in the fridge, huh." He spoke from under a magazine that was covering his entire head, as it was April 4th and his innate paranoia of the number 4 was striking dread into his heart. He barely wanted to move, and he didn't really want the others to move either.

"I'll go," Giorno volunteered after a glance around the turtle room, where the rest of his team were sprawled out in exhausted states across the multiple couches and, in Abbacchio's case, straight on his back on the floor in order to leave room for Bruno to stretch out his legs on one of the couch ends.

Trish glanced at Giorno. "You shouldn't go alone," she noted, but Bruno sat up even faster, with a hand out in a 'stop' gesture. "Yes, but I don't want you being the one going," he interjected, before Trish could so much as hint at moving off the couch. Ignoring Trish's frustrated glower and red-faced grumble as she crossed her arms over her chest, Bruno swept his gaze across the room but everyone else looked as tired as he felt.

"It's fine," Giorno insisted, already moving to climb on top of the table and starting to raise his arm to climb out of the turtle. "If I can't find anything outside that looks good, I'll come right back. Please stay and rest, everyone."

Abbacchio grumped from the floor. "Do you even have any money, brat? You haven't asked us what we want, either."

Giorno just grinned a little, a tiny glint of gold passing over his body. "Money's no issue, Abbacchio. And I think I've been around long enough to have judged everyone's tastes. Trust me, I've got this. And if I'm not back in 30 minutes, please don't waste any time looking for me."

He jumped up and vanished out of the turtle, leaving Abbacchio to grumble from the floor.

"Unreliable brat's just looking for a quick way out of this mess," the ex-cop grouched, before pressing his hand back over his eyes.

--

The group had planted Coco Jumbo in an alleyway next to a car covered in old, sun-baked rust and bleached parking tickets before climbing inside for a rest. It was hoped that if the car had been there that long, it wasn't going to move again for at least a few hours. Taking refuge under the car, the turtle had gone to sleep in the early April heat.

Giorno wedged and kicked his way out from between the turtle key and the undercarriage of the car, exhaling as he wriggled free, huffed out a deep breath and brushed road dust off his clothing. He could smell oil on himself, and grimaced - but at this point, they all needed a change of clothes and a long shower. The fresh air outside the turtle eased the dull throbbing threatening to build behind his eyes, so Giorno started out toward the lip of the alleyway, then peeked out to take lay of the land.

There was an open-air bar across and catty-corner from the alleyway - good enough. They'd have at least coffee and water, and probably some overpriced seafood starters. Giorno gave himself another quick pat down, straightened his back and headed for the barfront.

--

There was a brown-haired woman in a bartender's slacks, apron and button-up shirt working the barfront, her hair pulled back and a wry expression on her face as she dried a glass with a white towel before hanging it up. As Giorno approached, she clearly gave the teen a once-over and her expression turned stony.

Giorno, spotting this, put on a delicate smile and as he approached, his softest and sweetest tone. "Excuse me, ma'am, may I place an order to go? A carafe of coffee, a six-pack of water, and…" His fingers swept to the side, deftly picking up a menu and perusing. "A double starter plate with olives, pane carasau, sausage and cheese? A side of octopus, also. My boss sent me over," he added, with an apologetic tilt of his head, as if to say 'what can you do? I can only do what my boss tells me'. The barkeep pursed her lips at before flicking a hand at the barstools lined up along the outside of the street-facing counter. "Okay, kiddo. Wait here."

As she turned away to go take Giorno's food order inside, he calmly sent Gold Experience forward to rifle the till, causing half of the bills stored in the register to turn into tiny black ants, which began to wriggle out of the bottom of the machine. The sturdy and clever insects slipped down over the edge of the counter to crawl along its underside toward Giorno at his command. As he sat with his hands hidden in his lap below the counter, the ants unfurled back into bills in the shadows, falling into his waiting fingers.

He glanced at the mounted television overhead but quickly dismissed it - a news program, and nothing that interested him or concerned their mission. The calm warming breeze of the day wafted over him, and the ants had finished their wealth transfer with his newfound treasure slipped into his pants pocket out of sight.

He felt a hand thump heavily on his shoulder and stiffened immediately at the touch, but otherwise controlled his startle enough to twist about and look up (and up!) to see a stern-faced man in black with a strange jester's cap and the blackest eyes Giorno had ever seen looming down over him. In the black sclera were set ruby-red irises, and just a hint of silver hair could be seen peeking out at the man's forehead. He was big, tall, and strong - and unmistakably a Stand user, as Giorno picked up a deep and tell-tale resonance. Clearly, the man had seen his Stand effect on the register as well.

"That's a nice trick," the man commented, in a deep and rumbling basso profundo that sent an involuntary shiver down Giorno's spine he was glad his high pink collar concealed.

Giorno took half a breath to decide which way to jump, and realized that the man was scrutinizing him at least as much as he himself was scrutinizing the man. "If you'll have a seat, I don't mind spreading the wealth," he finally offered, guessing that the man had to be some kind of gangster. In fact, the low resonant voice almost reminded him of his old 'friend' from Napoli. The reminder gave Giorno a rare moment of pause. He wondered what his 'friend' would have thought to see him involved with Passione. But never mind, this wasn't the time to lose focus.

The man in black gave a little snort, and the edge of his stern, black-painted mouth lifted just a tick, and he sat down in the stool next to Giorno. His black leather clothing and his large body radiated passive heat that Giorno felt pressing on him from so close. Giorno gently tapped his right hand, with five of the stolen bills, against the dark man's thigh. He felt the bills being plucked from his fingers, and the exchange happened very quickly, so that very little sign of anything would have shown at the surface- the man didn't even look at him as he was doing it, instead picking up a menu with his other hand and perusing it in a pretense of normality.

Once the menu covered his face from outside view, the man spoke low to Giorno, almost in a purr. "Grazie. You've bought yourself some time. Now, I want to know: what brings you here?"

"Sight-seeing," Giorno countered at once, tossing his unexpected companion a sly smile. "The same as yourself, surely."

The man gave him another very thin quirk of a smile. They understood each other well, it seemed. "Of course." He reached his tanned left hand and flicked at Giorno's golden braid, which was showing some signs of ragged edges and coming undone. "You smell like oil and sweat," the dark man noted, "And I'm not sure what sight you'd be seeing that would cause that smell on an island. Unless you've been swimming under some particularly polluted seas." Giorno found his gaze caught and locked into a fierce red stare.

Before Giorno could respond, the bartender came back out, had noted Risotto's presence, and spoke to him, asking if he had anything to order as well. Risotto lowered his menu, asking for cappuchino and a cornetto, calm and steady. She nodded and went to get it, ducking back inside once more.

Giorno swallowed down a pulse of anxiety. If the bartender brought out his order, it would be immediately obvious to the other gangster that there was a group involved, and that Giorno was not alone. He pressed his lips closed, chewing on the inside of his lip as he tried to figure out how to distract the other gangster from noticing that. Although, unfortunately, perhaps he already had. Giorno really didn't want to get into a fight - the man was big and tough looking, and appeared to be very serious-minded as well. He had bought himself a limited amount of patience, as the man had warned him, with the Euros - but that wouldn't last long if the stranger was an enemy with a similar goal.

He had two choices: parlay or fight. He didn't really want to fight. He brought his hands up and placed them flat-down on the counter in front of himself, where the stranger could see them, see his gesture of non-aggression. He lifted his gaze, and hoped he sounded resolved. "There's a certain beach I'm interested in," he began, "Perhaps you know about it? Costa Smeralda is said to be very lovely this time of year."

The Stand user in black tilted his head, a small movement of his eyebrow. "Is that so."

Giorno was relieved to see the Stand user mirroring his actions, bringing both hands up onto the counter. "Funny. That also happens to be where I'm looking to visit."

"Perhaps we're going for the same reasons."

The bartender returned with Risotto's pastry and coffee, setting both before him. He slowly reached for the cup the way men in Westerns slowly reached toward their guns. Giorno's eyes shifted immediately to the coffee, perhaps anticipating it was about to be thrown in his face. But the man just heaved out a deep sigh, as if he'd been thwarted by Giorno's perception, and instead brought the cup to his own lips. "Risotto Nero," he said, finally. "Name."

Ah. Giorno let his shoulders ease back from his neck. "Giorno Giovanna," he answered, "I'm here on business, but I'm not alone."

"I didn't think you were," Risotto sighed. "Now we can do this the hard way or the easy way, Giovanna."

The hard way they both knew, and was pointless to ask about, but Giorno licked his lips. "What's the easy way?"

Risotto picked up his cornetto and tore it in half with a sharp, controlled gesture. "Tell me whatever else you've learned and I'll pretend I didn't see you today. And I won't follow you back to your hiding place and finish the job."

"I can't allow you to do that, Risotto," Giorno rejoined, "But as far as the other matter, I've already shared all we've learned. There is a clue on that beach and we intend to find it. But that's all we know." He paused, and then moved under a bolt of inspiration, speaking an earnest question, lifting his eyes to Risotto's. "At this point, is there any reason for us to be in opposition? Is there much left for you to gain working alone?"

Risotto frowned, and the muscles in his neck went tight. "There is," he answered, sternness returning to his face. "There's revenge." The last word was spoken with a pulse of heat and thunderous intensity. "Starting with the one, and ending with the others."

Giorno saw the woman coming back with his coffee and starter order, and quickly held up a finger as if to say, 'let's table that for a moment'. He accepted the packaged food gratefully, and returned some of the stolen bills right back to the bartender. Then he looked back at Risotto, and a grim weariness took hold of his heart.

"I understand your impulse, but I'm asking you to at least delay that impulse. For just a little while."

"And do what instead?" Risotto asked, now looking up at Giorno as the blond stood to gather the food.

Giorno turned his most charming smile toward the dark Stand user. "Help me carry this."

Risotto blinked. A dusting of pink flashed across his face for an instant, then was gone. "You're a strange one, Giorno Giovanna," he replied, uncertain.

"So I've been told." Giorno replied. Then he pushed the cardboard coffee carafe forward toward Risotto. "Are you coming?"

The conflict was clear on Risotto's face, but so was a tiny thread of curiosity. Grunting, finally, he growled. "Sit down. I want to finish eating first."

He pushed the plate of cornetto toward Giorno.