Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’d only taken two weeks off in the end: after some time ‘persuading’ the remaining active capos that Giorno Giovanna of all people either was the boss come out of hiding, the son of the old Boss, or was to be installed in the old Boss’ place (depending on their prior knowledge); Bruno had taken Leone to his father’s old house and they’d recovered from the events of early Spring out of the glaring spotlight, while still being just a call away if necessary. Narancia had bounced back from the jaws of death fairly quickly with help from an unusual source, but their fateful mission had taken a toll on the eldest pair that needed a little time to sort out. And Trish, it appeared, had just taken up a recording contract that her mother’s death had postponed and was currently out of the country. So they collapsed into each other after they both realised just how close both of them had come to death themselves over those tense few days leading up to the previous head of Passione’s brutal demise.

There had been over thirty calls in those first couple of days they’d been ‘unavailable unless it was urgent’ - especially when the old La Squadra leader Risotto had fucked off to who knows where - but things eventually settled down and the pestering reduced to roughly once a day.

At first it was positively idyllic: taking Bruno’s yacht out, enjoying each other’s company without a gaggle of kids (and their Stands) harassing them every ten minutes, and enjoying each other even more after the sun went down. And sometimes when the sun was up, too. After a time, however, Leone had started to realise that he needed other things to do and was getting positively stir-crazy; in the end, Bruno admitted that he was also getting bored, and slotted back into Passione as if he’d never left, in the position he’d gained that spring (although unofficially he had the ear of the Don more than most other capos did).

He’d been offered a capo position too, but he didn’t want that; it was enough to be allowed to stay at Bruno’s side in Napoli, and figure out what to do with his continued existence as he went. Especially since he had learned via his own brand of eavesdropping on the other Stand Users that just happened to show up in Rome at exactly the right time to help them, that in some kind of parallel universe, both he, Narancia and Bruno had died on the mission, and Fugo had just upped and left, leaving a third of their number and the old Boss’ teenage daughter to try and figure out how to do things on their own…

He hadn’t told Bruno this until four weeks had passed since the deed had been done in a quiet moment just before Giorno’s surprise birthday party, using it as ammunition alongside his ennui; of course they had to come back after that, using the christening of the new headquarters as an excuse. Presenting the new Boss - and Passione of course - with his very own mansion, and dropping in with housewarming/belated birthday gifts with the gang all there… even he had to admit that it had been nostalgic… if a touch embarrassing at times…

* * *

It was now the first of July, and all the soldatos and minor capos that had kept their heads down between Polpo’s ‘suicide’ and the dust settling after Rome were starting to come out of the woodwork. And yet quite a few soldatos and several capos didn’t. So he’d carved out a job for himself in the new order that suited his particular talents; a detective in all but name. He’d find the missing people that no-one else could, or wanted to find: those people disappeared by Passione to whom the Don wanted to make reparations to their families, and dig out members that were still in hiding, for various reasons.

The barefoot brat - a girl even younger than Trish that had been some sort of floating go-between in the old regime  - had found him… and had been annoying by grovelling about his capabilities and demanding to pay due respects to the one in charge…

After he brought her in, she’d flung herself at the new Don’s feet in a similar manner with some not-quite-bullshit story about how she’d worked her way up from the inside to kill someone from La Squadra who was now conveniently dead, and now owed them - big time - for that. As a gesture of good will, she’d divulged some decidedly flaky information as to the whereabouts of La Squadra’s old hideout: not the hideout itself, but a series of locations where she’d liaised with its leader which she hoped would be useful.

Well, Giovanna specified that Abbacchio would be the judge of that, apparently; it was his fifth assignment after their sabbatical to find out if Sheila E’s information was useful or not. And hopefully the first that didn’t involve killing anyone. The dead sister part of the story checked out at any rate…

The problem was, this scrappy, scar-faced girl could only remember what places she’d met him in, not what times. And standing around in a number of spots for several hours while he went through two year’s worth of recordings and then following a recording of Risotto Nero for several hours more to test out each single location he’d been given would get him precisely nowhere, knowing his luck; [Metallica]’s ability to disappear from view on top of that would put the final nail in the coffin (morbid pun intended).

Normally, they would have quizzed Risotto himself, but after he’d asked to be declared officially dead as far as Passione was concerned, he’d taken some freelance job under an unknown alias and disappeared off the face of the earth around two months ago, just after them beating the old Boss. Maybe he thought it was funny to not let the new and improving Passione - baby steps - know where their old hideout was; maybe it was out of loyalty to his old team and their possessions, maybe not. But those that remained still had due diligence to do, to make sure there wasn’t a stack of evidence lying around somewhere, that other criminal elements might stumble upon before Passione did.

Evidence that could lead to hidden members still loyal to the old regime. It was unlikely in this case, but-

It meant that he’d have to pound the streets manually and do some old-fashioned legwork: asking questions, leaving a calling card, showing passers by photos and hoping it jogged someone's memory, all to aid him in narrowing that huge area down, so he could at least find somewhere to start playing back one of the Hit Team in a more manageable timeframe.

The day had not gone well so far: barely anyone was talking, for a variety of excuses. He realised that this was because the area he was in was effectively La Squadra’s old turf, and a reputation like that was almost impossible to keep quiet, and slow to recede; some minor gangs in the area were still unsure whether all of the squad had left or not. The most he got were false rumours and empty threats.

* * *

Leone had noticed the young, one-eared tortoiseshell cat following him - or was it a calico? He could never remember - about five minutes after he’d left a piazza near the all-girls middle school (currently closed for the summer), where he’d shown pictures of the old La Squadra to gauge reactions while any grown-ups weren’t looking: younger children were (on the whole) more likely to have not learned how to hide emotions or lies, and also noticed many things adults didn’t give them credit for.

There were some positive sightings here: a small group of school-aged girls in summer dresses had seen the gang member that Narancia had fought - Formaggio - several times in or around this very area when they’d been hanging around after school together, but they were unsure where or when. And one of them had spotted Illuso - the member with the mirror Stand - before school one day, cussing at a running girl in their school blacks - although they couldn’t see just who it was as they had their back to them - running down the street after that girl with a bloody arm: the man, not the girl, they clarified; it was definitely before school started as they were on the way there themselves, but they couldn’t remember exactly where or when either, apart from it being ‘definitely Spring, but before Easter’ in one of the places where old Neapolis poked through, oh, and there might have been a statue…? Kids… he huffed to himself. Still, they were the best leads he’d had, and at least semi-confirmed that their flaky informant was (somewhat) on the level in this regard.

He let the cat follow him for the time being, doing as he had done for the rest of that morning; at lunch he stopped at a café, ordered a light snack and an iced drink, and cooled himself for a while in the shade. He saw the cat take up a station in the alley opposite for a long while, watching him whilst sitting on a fence and slowly swishing its tail from side to side. Then it seemed to lose interest and run off at bang on one-thirty: after he paid his bill, he went over to where the cat had sat, and used [Moody Blues], putting the cat recording into a fast reverse. He backtracked the cat to the time it had sat on the fence then set it off in reverse at five times its speed to begin with, and trotted to keep up with it on occasion.

After this had gone on for about fifteen minutes, and he’d picked up the location where the cat suddenly seemed to ‘switch on’ to him, mere minutes before he’d seen it, it seemed, just after he’d left those kids; he pushed backwards for nearly another hour and a half afterwards (over seven hours in realtime), seemingly revisiting every fence, alley and yard in the area…

… and found nothing. The cat hadn’t seemed to react to anyone else in its vicinity either: it just sort of perked up when he’d walked past it, just after he’d interviewed those girls… Keeping running after the playback of the random meanderings of this cat before stupid o’clock in the morning was just going to lead nowhere, and by this point he’d run out of forwards time too. He’d have to ruminate over the information he had and come back to the area again later. Hopefully with another pair of eyes, if he could persuade… ah, who was he kidding? This wasn’t the highest priority on the list at the moment; everyone else was busy on life-or-death missions.

But there was definitely something about that cat that set his intuition off in a way that suggested… what, exactly? Was the cat a Stand User? Possibly not, but it might be connected to one…? One who had been watching him before directing the cat to continue doing the same. He sighed and glanced around the neighbourhood in which he was currently standing: it was actually not that far away from where he had started to notice the cat in the first place… and if it wasn’t the selfsame cat on a car roof across the street, staring at him intently as it curled its tail in a question mark, then he was Dutch. 

What the hell. He was going to try something.

He took out his pictures and cautiously approached the cat, holding the photos clearly in front of him so the cat could see them. Calling out ‘here kitty’ felt inappropriate after the chase this animal had led him on, so he just stopped next to the beat up car and showed the picture on top of the pile, which happened to be Risotto Nero. And the cat reacted: it stood up and paced from side to side. Agitation maybe? No, there was almost a recognition, an anticipation there… he switched to another photo. And another. But there was no further reaction until the cat leapt backwards and spat at the penultimate portrait, its tail fluffed out like a squirrel’s. Score another hit for the fucking Mirror man… he thought bitterly.

The one after that the cat had an interesting reaction to: it was the last one - Formaggio’s: he realised he’d stacked them in reverse order of the team encountering them, then - and the cat came right up to it, sniffed, and bunted the picture, rubbing it with its face. It then seemed to ‘realise’ what it had done and ‘switched off’ again, jumping off the car and ducking down another alley before it could be questioned any further.

Well, that definitely wasn’t nothing, Leone thought as he made his way back to the villa. But how much further can I get with this kind of information…?

* * *

“What did you find, Abbacchio?”

Don Giovanna was sat at his usual chair behind the impressive desk in his personal office (that used to be a sumptuous music room but had been tastefully toned down like a lot of the décor in the mansion after they had taken it over), and Leone was pacing uneasily in front, a frustrated expression on his face: he knew he had something, but it was tantalisingly out of reach; there was little else he could do but report his little excursion as, well, not quite a failure, but if not that, then what…?

“Well, obviously no base,” the taller man began, “but over twenty people aged eight to eighty out of five times that many reacted in a significant manner to the photo canvassing; most were probably either too scared to talk, or have their own petty crime agenda going on. I don’t think it’s worth following up on those individuals just yet: it’ll stir up too much trouble in an area that is giving us fewer problems than others at the moment; we still have the drug trade to overthrow and those we can trust are spread too thinly. If you want me to stand exposed on every street corner for hours at a time to find a needle in a haystack, then I’ll want backup. We all know what nearly happened last time…”

“Thanks, Abbacchio,” The smile was polite, verging on warm, but not quite as tranquil as usual. That mention of drugs had struck a nerve. “That’ll be all for-”

“Oh, there was one thing…” Leone interrupted before the Don could dismiss this as a waste of time… maybe this Sheila E brat could be given a sliver of a chance by what had occurred that afternoon. And then she’d get more than she bargained for by trying to be a suck-up: let her find out the hard way…

“Yes?”

Ah, yes, the mission… “I was followed. By a cat.”

“You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t,” Leone noted flatly, then pursed his lips, launching into the day’s events, concluding with: “... after being led on a reverse wild goose chase it showed up again; to be honest, I think it was watching me use [Moody Blues].” He paused momentarily, wondering how stupid he’d sound, then ploughed ahead anyway. “And it reacted to the pictures in a way a cat normally wouldn’t.”

“You canvassed the cat?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You think there’s a Stand User in the area.” It wasn’t a question. I’m being taken seriously though…

“And I don’t think it’s the cat either, with the way it just switched on and off, like someone else was directing its attention towards things it wouldn’t normally interact with…” Leone replied, “But I looked into the possibilities before I came here: there’s no-one local with a Stand relating to cats, or scouting with any type of animal - apart from tangentially yours - on the books, and there’s no-one new that came forward in the last couple of months with that kind of Stand either… but the way that Polpo’s Stand worked-”

“Someone could’ve been caught by [Black Sabbath] unintentionally. There weren’t that many new soldatos that passed in the last year; you’d be looking at anyone between Mista and… hmm… myself. Anyone before that would have most likely been picked up already. And the janitor at my school died: I don’t think there was time for it to pounce out on another observer.”

Leone noted that pause, and the tiny amount of regret in Giorno’s voice at the mention of the janitor’s death, but instead of needling him about it, he took another tack: “Or… we have another natural born Stand User, like Trish.”

Giorno’s head-tilt conceded the possibility. “That could mean the Stand User is a relative of a pre-existing one. And makes me think of what Risotto said before he left regarding his old hideout: he insisted ‘there was nothing there that would point to any other member, past or present of Passione, that wasn’t accounted for - either dead or alive - or had left Italy already’. Telling the absolute truth, but omitting much, as Buccellati put it…”

“Maybe he was hiding someone there instead of a thing: someone that wasn’t Passione…” the investigator ventured.

“Were any of La Squadra old enough to have children old enough to wield a Stand themselves? Cousins, nieces or nephews, maybe…” the blond Don mused, “whoever it is, maybe he gifted the house to someone before he left; there could be a normal family living there now?”

“If he did that, he would have told us, and threatened us to keep well away, while still keeping the location secret. But if it were a Stand User…” Leone paused, and remembered something. “Risotto had a thing about not taking in underaged members to his team, unlike Br- Buccellati… he kind of had a point,” he added, side-eying the Don. “I think there’s a kid of middle-school age - my gut is telling me it’s a girl - prowling the streets of Napoli with a Stand related to cats; so I can see it being good for scouting as far as it goes. If that’s all it does. And she definitely knew something about Risotto, Formaggio, and possibly Illuso: there was a negative reaction to his picture…”

“Interesting… So, whoever it is, they’re not causing us any direct trouble just yet: they observed you for a time and didn’t do anything else apart from react to your canvassing as far as you saw.” After a quick reflection on that summary Abbacchio gave a hesitant nod; Giorno took the file in front of him and closed it, slipping it into a drawer in his desk and locking it: “I think this gets parked for now: we have other priorities at the moment, and I need all the people I can get looking at more pressing problems. Sorry, Abbacchio.”

“You’re taking me off the… mission?!” He’d been about to say the word ‘case’ but that sounded too policelike and settled for a more neutral word.

“No, that’s not what I was suggesting,” Giorno shook his head adamantly. “In fact, I think you’re probably the only person I know who could solve this little conundrum quietly. But… give it some time to percolate and see what shakes out naturally: if it is a kid, then sooner or later they’re going to slip up and we’ll deal with that when it happens; if the property was on a long lease, however, then it may still turn up on the market for rent or sale by then.”

“So, softly, softly, catchee utility bill final notice…”

“Exactly: we’ll keep a more passive reconnaissance on the area marked out by Sheila’s hazy recollections, and if something bizarre does happen, it will be inevitable that someone’s path - yours if you still want that - will cross with this Stand User, by the unwritten law… but we won’t push just yet: I’d prefer a Risotto that’s not on the warpath, wherever he is; I’ll respect his stance until either the end of the year, he shows up with an explanation, or something big enough happens that he’ll have to answer to me for keeping it quiet.”

“As long as I get an extra pair of feet to work it with me when that time comes, then fine…” Leone decided. “What’re you going to do with the barefoot brat?”

“As you said: her claim wasn’t quite bullshit, and did give you a lead to follow, if not immediately: I might have something coming up for her soon; she’ll either take care of it, or vice versa.”

And the Don smiled that smile of his: Leone still found the serene swan act as annoying as fuck, but he had to admit the boy had not seen anyone on the team wrong so far. And he knew from personal experience just how madly the kid’s legs were paddling underneath…

The cat would have to wait…

* * *

Chapter Text

“She finally made a move.”

“Hmm…?” Giorno looked up from the small quarantined cold frame in which he’d just potted another small sample of the ash seeds he was attempting to save – with Fugo’s prior help - ready for the winter, to find a strangely-satisfied Abbacchio waving the morning newspaper at him through the greenhouse window. “Who are we talking about here again?”

“The mission you put on hold back in the summer: that Stand User with the probable cat scouting abilities…” Leone jabbed the folded article with his spare index finger to emphasise his point. “She’s right here in the paper. Or at least, her handiwork is...”

His boss took the soiled gardening gloves off, placed them on a shelf near the cold frame and stepped out of the greenhouse, closing the glass door behind him. “You seem sure it’s her, then: what do we have to go on this time?”

“Surname, last known address and quite a bit more: definitely a kid, and the address suggests she went to the same school as the ones in the piazza I questioned.” He began to reread the smaller columns under the photos of a variety of cats mobbing a police station, both outside and in.

“Went? Where is she now? Are there any other leads in the article?”

Leone shook his head and sighed: “It looks as if the local police sat on the story for a couple of days until the parents could be, hmm, it says here, ‘given medical treatment and/or interrogated before being arrested themselves’. Seems like the kid might have used her Stand on one of them if this is to be believed.”

“That’s not a good start,” Giorno frowned, peering at the headline - Pedigree Pet Farm Busted by Bizarre Horde of Strays -  over the crook of his subordinate’s arm. “How badly injured were they?”

“Hmm, oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as I made it sound,” the silver-haired man responded as he smoothed the paper out and moved it so his boss didn’t need to be quite as close. “Reading between the lines of what a normal reporter or cop would find believable, it seems that she gathered a group of cats from outside an address near Sant’Anna's, somehow marched them all in formation with a growing number of strays to a nearby police station, where they-” he paused and voiced the next part verbatim: “caused mayhem; when several animal catchers were called in to resolve the situation, the cats evaded capture in a number of ways that was deemed very unusual behaviour for cats.”

“The reporter has an amused tone regarding the whole affair, judging by the language they’re using,” and the side of Giorno’s mouth twitched as he read aloud the next part himself: “The battalion of cats led both police and animal control officers a merry dance until leading them back to the unlocked address where a cache of illegally kept pedigree hairless Sphynx cats were found, and as further attempts were made to capture all the cats, a smaller contingent of boisterous felines set off for yet another house, where the cats were seen to open the door by themselves and mill around inside until authorities finally caught up with them and they scattered. An ambulance was called when it was discovered that one of the current occupants - a Mrs I Lini (26) - had suffered a mild asthma attack, and another unnamed girl (13) was missing. Police are advising locals not to approach any stray cats in the area until the matter has been dealt with.” The Don cut off a chuckle. “There’s a lot more happening here than has been reported, Abbacchio.”

Leone nodded, then added: “Only now there’s nearly fifty active cats.”

“I know, right?” Giorno’s eyes widened slightly then narrowed in thought, his only other reaction. “Far more than just the one scout which you encountered… either she’s been hiding what she can do, or she’s been getting more powerful in the last five months. Or both…”

“It’s possible some were counted twice, but some could also have been missed by witnesses. And that’s leaving out all the Sphynx cats, none of which were seen outside or behaving peculiarly.”

Giorno scrutinised the name again: “Lini… that’s not a family name I’m familiar with: are they affiliated with any group we know of?”

“Not that I can remember,” Leone shook his head after a few second’s thought. “Although that doesn’t exclude the possibility, given the small-time fraud exposed here. And now the ‘unnamed girl’ is at the centre of a missing person inquiry, although there doesn’t seem to be anything further on that here. There aren’t any pictures of the family either…”

“Presumably she’s being classed a runaway, given what happened to her moth- no, that can’t be right can it… the age between them is cutting it very fine. Could it be her aunt, or sister… or possibly stepmother?”

“Maybe…” There was something that was bothering both of them now, and it wasn’t just the age difference. Leone sighed and turned to his boss. “If we find her, how do you want to go about this? She may not want to listen to our side of things if she’s been coached against us in any way by La Squadra, or other rogue remnants of the Old Passione we haven’t dealt with.”

Giorno was first taken aback that Abbacchio of all people was asking his opinion, and then the full implication of possibly underestimating the mystery Stand User that Risotto’s disappearance had set in motion hit him. “I’m… not sure,” Leone furrowed his brow at the rare flicker of doubt on the Don’s face, but remained silent; he had learnt that pushing would make the boy clamp up worse than a crocodile with a mouthful of prey, and waited until he spoke again. “There’s something about this whole thing that feels very…”  a brief gap and a shrug, “… it feels as if we need to treat whoever we find with care. I can’t put my finger on why, but it seems like this is important, and I’m kicking myself for not reopening the file sooner. Risotto should have been tracked down but we had more pressing things to deal with in the last few months.”

“An admission of imperfection? Will wonders never cease!” Leone thought he’d been quite humorous and had even toned the sarcasm down a notch, but it seemed he’d poked something raw under the surface as Giorno stiffened and was almost scowling at him; it made him look his actual age for a second or two.

“Nobody’s perfect, Abbacchio: I prefer to keep my weaknesses to myself is all. If I in my role as Don let it be known that-”

“Loosen up, kid: you’ll not shatter into a million pieces if you make a mistake, as long as you trust a few good people around you to help pick up and glue back what bits got knocked off.”

Silence. Then: “Like yourself and Buccellati.”

God, he’s sharp… and brittle. “… Heh, yeah. Like I did with Buccellati. Eventually.” It took me a few goes to realise that, though… Leone sighed, more to himself than Giorno. “People forgive youth, as long as you don’t make the same mistake over and over, and since you keep repeating that you don’t like repeating yourself…”

“Point taken.” It wasn’t quite a smile. “So… going back to leads and so forth: I guess nothing’s come up about the hideout, then?”

Leone shook his head. “I was expecting for something property-related to pop up in the next few weeks - closer to Christmas - as it hasn’t done so far. The incident reported here doesn’t seem to tie into any location apart from the family home, the second house with the tax-dodging pedigree kitten farm, and the local police station, but if the girl’s gone to ground then it’s highly probable she’s using the hideout for its original purpose. And she’s had plenty of time to stock up on supplies if she had either money or any other skills we don’t know about.”

“It says there’s more on page seven,” Giorno indicated after quickly re-skimming the article and peering at the last column.

“Huh, I missed that…” Leone flipped the pages closer to the centre, realised he’d overdone it and ended up in the Obituaries; before he could flick back several sheets a picture caught his eye and everything stopped as he read the small paragraph below the face of an old dark-skinned man wearing a familiar style of cap.

“Abbacchio? What’s wrong?” Giorno moved closer again, glancing at the page his colleague had alighted on; the blond looked up at a frozen face that was paler than usual, and gingerly raised his hand to reach the taller man’s shoulder.

“It…” Leone cleared his throat and started again. “It says the funeral’s tomorrow afternoon on the second: the first Sunday of Advent.”

Giorno read the words and pondered on the quote under the death date. “Switzerland?”

“An old nickname of his: he had eccentric values and stood for no nonsense in his gym; no matter where you came from, if he felt like he could ‘handle’ you, you were in, and you left any affiliations at the door.” Leone hesitated a moment, wondering how much to divulge, then continued. “Before I lost my privileges, it was where I went to get my head straight as I was in the middle of torpedoing my old career. He threw me out when I kept turning up late: the final straw was when I badmouthed his own tame shit I caught him smoking while I was also completely tanked.” His head dipped a little. “I never got to apologise… Buccellati picked me up soon after that.”

“I did wonder where you learnt that vicious kick from…” Giorno gently inched the newspaper from his grip, and squeezed the shoulder under his hand: “If you feel the need to express your regrets to him by paying a visit then that’s fine. We can come back to this in a few days if the police haven’t found her by then.”

“I-“ Leone wanted to be angry but the feeling evaporated as soon as he looked into his boss’ eyes and saw the concern, but also there was a sense there that the Don was implying it was his decision to make. But something was at work again in his brain, tantalising him with its possibility. He’d noted the date of death on the obituary: it was early on the morning of the same evening that the stampede of cats had wreaked havoc at the police station and beyond. And he’d lived in pretty much the same area; something about that felt… too much of a coincidence to be one. “No,” he decided. “Someone needs to chase this down before any answers to our questions become too rehearsed,” he added. “I’ll go to the funeral as well, but I’ll need-”

“-Buccellati; of course,” Giorno smoothly interjected with the name at the top of Leone’s wishlist. “I agree: if there’s any deception or other gang-adjacent dealings going on in the area, then the pair of you will root it out between you. He’ll be back late tonight with Narancia from the parley with the Rotini twins in Bari, so I’ll leave the planning to you. I might know someone from the school, so we may gain another lead, or at least a psych profile from that direction; now we have a surname, do you want any other operatives apart from that?”

Leone realised he was being given the resources this time, due to the Don's perceived slip-up. “Set Fugo and that annoying guy in the hat on the paper trail today: family records, speeding tickets, any other shady business the Linis might be into; if they come up with anything before tomorrow morning, tell them to send what they have over. We might need the additional leverage.”

Giorno smiled faintly and nodded at the suggestion. “I’ll also put a few feelers out to anyone outside Italy who could have identified Nero’s M.O. If he were still here, we’d have crossed paths already, I’m sure of it…”

“Do we really want to owe them any favours, though?” They both knew which organisation he was referring to.

“We may not have a choice,” the Don replied, opening the greenhouse door and slipping his gardening gloves back on.

Leone nodded, knowing that the conversation was over. But he took the newspaper back all the same, and thumbed back to page seven. “Oh, the father’s thirty-nine, it seems; read into that what you will…”

* * *

Chapter Text

“Sorry, Mista,” Giorno apologised with a sincere grimace, “something came up.”

“Aww, c’mon… You promised after you’d finished gardening that we’d have the rest of the morning to ourselves,” the gunman tried not to moan like one of his [Pistols] but it was difficult; his shoulders slumped as he rounded his boss-turned-boyfriend’s desk, draped himself round Giorno’s shoulders and only then noticed the extra copy of that morning’s newspaper, which made him temporarily forget his woes as a smile broke through the previously almost-petulant expression. “Oh, that’s the cat thing, isn’t it: me and Narancia were having a laugh over the phone at the dumb goons they sent to corral them.”

“So you read it too?”

“A free paper’s a free paper: the comic strip isn’t too bad in this one either. Anyhow, it was when I was a kid - before we all moved to a bigger house - I used to live near the one they found all the cats in.” Mista pointed at the paragraph with the address of the kitten farm. “Sounds like it’s gone downhill since I was there, though: there was an old nonna who occasionally had kittens to trade for stuff, but these naked cats don’t seem to be her bag…  Anyhow: her cats are proof why the number four is a big no-no…”

“I don’t remember you telling me about any cats before,” Another facet of Mista’s early life would have been fascinating at a different time, but it was the fact about the old lady that piqued Giorno’s interest; a clue, maybe…?

“Huh? I’m sure I told people about that before… ah, no I didn’t tell you!” Mista smacked the side of his hat in realisation and it jingled a little. “That was just before you first came to Libeccio and I was bummed about there being four pieces of strawberry cake. Then Fugo and Narancia stabbed-”

There was a quiet knock at the door of Giorno's office; he shrugged at Mista apologetically. “You’ll have to tell me all about the cats and their significance after my meeting, Mista: I promise I’ll listen to your heart’s content.”

“Oh…” Mista sighed, realising with the formality of how his name was spoken that Giorno had the ‘Don Hat’ on, and his disappointment returned. “Is this the thing that came up?”

Giorno nodded. “It shouldn’t be too long: if I find anything out that’s useful, I’ll tell you in return; it’s a hastily arranged meeting with one of my tutors on the very same subject.”

“What, those cats in the newspaper? Huh… ok. I can wait… mmph!” Giorno had turned his head and kissed him fiercely, sealing with hungry lips the promise of more than just a talk. The blond broke off just as abruptly and pulled a face as there was a second, slightly louder knock. Mista sighed, this time with anticipation mixed into his expression and he straightened back up to let the tutor in.

 * * *

The small, bespectacled brunette with an old but spacious leather tote bag slung over her shoulder was ushered in by the gunman, who gave a wink, a grin and mouthed to Giorno ‘I’ll hold you to that’ behind the woman’s back before setting himself outside the door and closing it. The woman peered around with interest, then she stood absolutely still for a moment as she reacted with a small amount of surprise to an abstract painting of the bay with a dark, conical smudge representing Vesuvio on the horizon, on the wall to the left of her. After that slight distraction (which she thought might be deliberate), she made her way to the chair on the opposite side of the blond’s desk, letting the tote slide off her shoulder to the floor with a thump as she sat. She enquired in English (as was their usual custom during these meetings; a back-and-forth until someone stumbled, more like fencing than a conversation sometimes): "We're not sitting in the solarium this afternoon, Signor - ahem - Mr Giovanna? Was it my sister’s art that you wanted to share with me?"

So she had been thrown off-balance somewhat by encountering that art in this place… He replied politely, keeping the answer as short and simple as he could in what was technically his third language, although probably now his second, as his Japanese was very rusty; he would also need to brush up on that soon. "The north wing of the villa beyond this room is a building site at the moment, Ms Lepido; I decided to move our session to here. Less dust and paint. But… I did wonder if you agreed with where it was displayed."

The English tutor nodded slowly. "I think it works where it is, but art is subjective: as long as you like it there…” They both half-smiled at their opening verbal combat, yet Lepido countered first. “So… no Fugo today?"

"He's working with a colleague on another matter." That was a touch more 'businesslike' than I wanted it to sound, he realised immediately after speaking the words, except that it is business this time, he reminded himself. Still, that's no reason to put her too much on the defensive...

"I was surprised by your call to arrange a lesson at such short notice this morning: I don't normally do weekends but... paying double... I couldn't refuse..." She hesitated several times, glanced at the painting once again, then added with a note of caution evident in her voice. "This isn't a normal tutoring session, is it: this is calling in that favour…?"

"Very... astute of you." The pause was miniscule and for effect, rather than Giorno seemingly struggling to think of the correct word. "I recalled this morning that you gave one of your references as San Giuda - ah, St Jude’s - the middle school for girls. I was wondering if you would be able to tell me about one of the pupils there-"

Ms Lepido's face flicked rapidly from surprise to recognition, and then to concern. "I read the papers, Mr Giovanna; I listen to the gossip. I even had the police come round asking if I'd-" She broke off and scrutinised her well-paying student, searching for his motive. “What’s your interest in this… pupil…?”

So the police were interested enough to make a house call, hmm… “I take it that you know Miss Lini then?”

There was a pause as his tutor made a decision. “I do know her, but… before I say any more I need to know: what business do you have with Violetta Lini, Mr Giovanna? I’m not stupid: I know what you do for a living… and even though things seem to have been getting a little better around here for the last couple of months after those drug busts you seem to have had a hand in exposing-” Ms Lepido paused and looked him in the eyes directly: it was obvious that this young woman cared about her ex-pupil. “If she’s in trouble - over and above what I read about… what I guessed - then I’d rather not send any more her way; not her… family, the cops… or individuals such as yourself.”

And now I have a full name… and a lot of implied baggage… The way the tutor phrased that last part confirmed to Giorno that she did know more than she had told other people… and that hesitation about disclosing confidential information on the Lini family needed some skill to unpick; he decided to partially explain his own motives without divulging the details. After all, she owed Passione a favour… but that didn’t mean he had to be mean about it; she was doing her job was all. “She’s not in any trouble, Ms Lepido: that’s what I’m trying to avoid by talking to you. I wanted to find out as much as I could about Violetta before trying to find her myself. She ran into one of my colleagues around five months ago when he was investigating a lead on a group of people who used to be in a different branch of the organisation I work for. She… indirectly implied she had met one or more members of this group; we believe she came into contact with them early this year and may know information that could help us find assets they may have left behind.” There’s no point explaining Stands to someone who doesn’t have one… he left it at that.

“I know there’s more to this than you’re telling me, but… fine: I don’t mind talking about her time at school, as long as it doesn’t get back to anyone who can stop me tutoring. If you want details about her family life, then apart from those parts of it that directly affected her work or attitude at school, that’s something you’ll have to find elsewhere; I’m not a qualified social worker.”

“Fair enough,” Giorno agreed, knowing that the absence of information could sometimes reveal more than it appeared, “we’ll keep to school matters… So, how good is Violetta’s English; I am right in presuming you taught her?” he began.

The tutor tried to stifle a proud smile at this, but she couldn’t hide the admiration in her voice. “Good: very good. She’s not exactly a native speaker - Violetta let me know her mother was part English and Greek as well as Italian -  but she was one of the best students I’ve had the pleasure to teach, although that hasn’t been long; I had to set work that high school students would sometimes have trouble with, when I could get the resources, but most of the time she sat at the back of class and translated some old books that used to belong to her mother.”

Giorno noted both the slight hesitations whenever Ms Lepido slipped into a grey area and the usage of past tense where the mother was concerned, so he kept her away from those for the moment. “Better than mine or Fugo’s?”

“I’d say her English was a little better than yours when you started these sessions... at least it was at the end of last school year, back in June. That's when I quit to focus solely on private tuition, and I haven't seen her since.”

“And her other lessons?”

“I heard they were better than average for most unless she took a strong dislike to a teacher, one old nun in particular who still teaches Religious Studies even though she should have retired ten years ago, in my opinion; then she’d screw with them by either coming almost top or completely flunking it on purpose depending on her mood, if she didn’t need to pass it.”

Giorno raised an eyebrow at that, but continued his interview. “Any sports or other hobbies?”

“Good at most sports: again, depending on what she felt like… but she hated indoor gym; I think that was more about the gym kit and changing rooms than the lesson itself, though. And she absolutely detested the so-called not-a-uniform: she said it made her feel like an itchy maidservant being ‘pushed around by a pack of pious penguins’.” Their lips both quirked at that anecdote. “Her words, not mine, for an English lesson on alliteration. And you don’t need me to see that she loves cats; I think someone in law enforcement might know more on what exactly happened there, but I know Violetta is very passionate about animal welfare because that was evident in  her project on the Zoo. The lions in particular.”

Again there was more to everything than Ms Lepido would willingly recount, but the Don skipped to the next question rather than press her. “Any attendance or other school-related issues?”

“She seemed to have a few more bouts of sickness than the average pupil, but she kept up with the curriculum. Apparently there was some fuss when she started elementary school very late but I don’t know much about what happened before she started middle school.” The tutor paused and something made her eyes narrow, just a little. “Ah, there was a day off right at the end of March; someone called in claiming to be her father, and she had permission to cut any physical education when she returned the following week, right before the Easter vacation; some shoulder injury from falling on glass. At least the handwriting wasn’t hers, but… I didn’t press it because the school has this unspoken policy that’s hard to countermand. It doesn’t particularly like dealing with problematic families, especially that horrible stepmother of hers, as long as the work gets done… Come to think of it, she was quite agitated that whole week… but I was worried about my own international school interview - which I didn’t pass - so I put it down to my stress spilling over to her.”

“I see.” Giorno knew full well which week was being referred to.

“I did hear from a colleague who wanted advice that she started skipping school occasionally after I left; again, I don’t know the details. And then this…” her hand stretched out to indicate the newspaper and she exhaled through her nose. “There’s a lot you can’t do for a pupil, when you can see it bubbling under the surface but they won’t let you in; you’re not allowed to interfere unless there’s proof of-”

“Proof of what?” The blond didn’t like where this was going; he knew that he wasn’t the only one in the group that would draw parallels between this kid’s home life and their own if what was implied was true…

As he pondered the situation underneath a cloak of polite interest, the tutor tried to explain. “I mean, it’s hard to prove anything if it’s all verbal: one person’s word against another… and usually ‘hormonal teenage girls’ don’t get listened to. Something - I can speculate but I don’t know for certain - finally blew up that day. That she’s barely a teenager - that day also happens to be her birthday - and then she’s somehow attracting the scrutiny of your-”

“All I want to know now is if she’s safe, and whether she seeks you out,” Giorno smoothly intervened, sliding a card across the desk and the woman pulled it the rest of the way towards her; it was a different contact number than the one she had, she noticed. “This is a voicemail only line for Violetta, if she decides to do just that. To keep her out of any more trouble: one of the places she could be hiding belonged to a group of highly dangerous people - since dealt with, of course - but if they had contact with other undesirables that also know this location…” He left the sentence hanging and let the silence do its work.

“And you don’t know where this location is. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That is correct.”

“She doesn’t know my new address or number. I doubt she’ll make contact, given I left my old job at the school without giving much notice and she didn’t take it very well; I couldn’t tell her the real reason I left, could I?”

“Even so. If she does get in touch, let her know she’s not in trouble with us. How is your sister, by the way?” Giorno maintained his neutral mask as he seemingly changed the subject.

“Doing much better now you… intervened…” The tutor looked at the card on the table again. “They say she’ll be signed off in a few days; they were just keeping her under outpatient observation for the last couple of months to make sure she doesn’t have a relapse. I don’t know how you found a doctor who could help her, but… I’m grateful.”

Giorno smiled, more to himself than to his tutor. “Good talent shouldn’t go to waste: she’s a phenomenal artist, and you’re a brilliant teacher; once you’ve finished teaching me, I’d like to support your further studies to become a professor of education. The schools here would benefit greatly if someone like you were directing better trained teachers that could reach a child where parents or other authority figures have failed. I want to give Violetta the same opportunity: I think she has a talent that shouldn’t go to waste, and this recent business in the papers, well, it puts her at risk of things a young teenage girl shouldn’t even be having to think about.” 

“You make it sound like I failed her.”

“That was not my intent.” The Don shook his head at that accusation, and glanced at the newspaper again, smoothing out the paragraph with the confirmed-to-be stepmother’s name with his index finger. “I think you may have bought her time, from what you inferred over what you said: not once have you suggested that she should go home, and you probably know from experience of other problematic families that the earlier she ends up in the System the harder it is to escape certain outcomes. And yet, here we are, with an opportunity to help Violetta before things take a turn for the worse…”

Ms Lepido closed her eyes and admitted defeat, breaking her initial rule. “I worked out just how much she hates that woman. I managed to read a few pages of her real mother’s diaries and from what I could gather from the English parts I helped her decipher… it wasn’t easy going. The last few years for Violetta have been hard, and I don’t think I would have come through that in the same shape she has; I even offered to translate them for her but she wanted to do it herself.”

She trusts me just enough to let me know… “Stubborn as well?”

“Oh, you have no idea-”

“Oh, I think I might,” Giorno cut in with a wry smile and stood up, prompting the young woman to pick up her tote bag and copy that motion. “Thank you for your time: I have enough information to begin with. If you see her…?”

“I’ll let you know how she’s doing and pass on the message. If she reaches out to me…” Ms Lepido confirmed her assent by picking up the card and dropping it into her bag, and the Don escorted her out of his office to the front door. Mista had obviously been lounging against the wall, as when the door opened he sprang to attention, and stayed that way until Giorno returned and held the door open for him.

* * *

Chapter Text

Mista followed the officious-seeming Don back into his office and watched as the young man shook himself and relaxed into the more private Giorno he knew. The blond drew a key out of his pocket and locked the door behind them, to which the gunman chuckled quietly, playing along for the moment. “Seems a little extreme for hanging out together while enjoying a conversation about an old cat nonna, don’t ya think?” He winked like he had done before the meeting, a fresh smirk on his face made wider by the touch of Giorno’s arm snaking round his hip.

“We have around forty-five minutes till your [Pistols] start complaining about lunch, and another half hour for chatting about the cat-lady while we eat; the team meeting is at twelve-thirty, then I have another phone call directly after that. How much ‘hanging out’ do you think we can get done in that time?” Giorno pulled the gunman’s face towards him with his other hand on the back of his tanned neck; they stood almost nose to nose and Mista noticed he didn’t have to stoop quite as low as he used to, even accounting for the slightly higher heel on Giorno’s shoes.

“Mmm… I reckon we can do quite a lot of ‘hanging out’... uhhh, I mean…” The gunman felt his temperature - and something else - rise as the young Don’s voice moved further away from work; the arm around his waist slowly drew back across his hip and its hand wandered downwards until-

“Guido… If I deal with this…?” The hand brushed the bulge in Mista’s trousers and it twitched slightly. “Then maybe… I’d allow you to try a-” The hand that had held the key was now free and clasped the gunman’s right one, “…it’ll be easier to show you…” And he took Mista’s trigger finger and curled his fingers around it, sliding them up and down its length.

“Ohh… Anything you want, Boss-” Mista breathed.

“But no more than… just the one.” Giorno was insistent.

“I hear ya; I promised, didn’t I? We go at your pace…” It was endearing that when it came to talking about anything to do with anything approaching the deed itself, Giorno was still a little shy about using more direct terms; it might have been the slight age difference and their respective levels of experience in this area, but it made the gunman reciprocate with gentler words as well. “Are you sure you, uh, If I hit the right spot… we might get a bit… loud…?”

“This room still has the cork soundproofing, even after the renovation.” The blond blushed a little then. “As long as we don’t make as much noise as Buccellati and Abbacchio did…”

“Sure thing… ah, uh… if we’re trying that, then-?”

“Middle right drawer.”

“You always seem to think of everything.”

“Consider it… an early birthday gift. Since I can’t take the whole of Monday off to celebrate with you…”

“I’ll be back from my sister’s by the evening; you’d better not miss the party with the rest of the guys or-”

“I think I’d be in trouble with not just you if I did…”

“Cool.” Mista dipped the last centimetre between them and began to tease Giorno’s lips with little kisses, while fingering the top button of his boss’ silk shirt. “Do I get…” A kiss. “To open my…” Another kiss. “Birthday present now…?”

* * *

After waiting a moment for his breathing to normalise and for Mista to back off a little, Giorno swivelled his eyes over to the clock on the wall to the left. Five to twelve. Shit. Longer than planned. “Back to business, Mista.” His voice was clipped, the sentence terse as he hopped up, sans clothing, from the long, low (and modern) couch.

He inspected the shirt that Mista had ripped off and discarded so impulsively, and discovered - with some disappointed clucking noises and a sigh of resignation - a couple of very loose buttons; he used it to mop up the mess on his torso rather than put it back on, and gathered up the rest of his clothing in a neat bundle, shoes balancing on top.

The gunman shrugged, stretched and stood up himself, slipping his trousers back up and fastening them quickly; he didn’t need to clean up quite so much - Giorno had taken care of that - but he really needed to wash his hands… “Fuck: how we gonna sneak round the villa like this when-”

“No need.”

It isn’t like Giorno to be so sloppy, especially when there’s a whole afternoon of appointments of one kind or another, the gunman noted curiously. “Whaddya mean we don't need to go to a bathroom? Or even the kitchen to clean up?”

“Oh, that's right: you haven't seen this yet, have you; the builders already rearranged a few things while you were out of town." He jaunted with no small amount of confidence across the room - still naked, to which Mista sighed with appreciation at seeing this private display - removed a couple of books from the wall to ceiling bookshelf and something clicked in the wall behind. "I've always wanted one of these," he confided with an almost sultry sideways glance.

A door cunningly disguised as part of the bookcase - six shelves high and a metre wide - swung open and opened up into a utility and shower room with another door leading off to the left partially hidden behind a bead curtain, and it was as if a light turned on over Mista's head.

“Is this the old reading room? Wow! And there's even a refrigerator!" Mista sidled past his boss and cracked it open immediately with his clean hand, seeing that it was stocked with drinks and light bites.

“Part of it: there's a walk-in closet through there in the remaining third of the old room, leading back to the north corridor,” Giorno pointed at the space behind the shower to the other door, “There's another secret door on the other side of that wall constructed out of a cabinet for accessories. It's mostly for security reasons: to have another exit out of the office in addition to the window, but it also cuts down time to freshen up or grab a snack between meetings. After we clean up you can grab something you like and we'll take it back to the table in the office."

"Could I put some of my stuff in here later so the guys don't steal it?"

Giorno smiled at that. "I don't see why not. As long as anything that either has a strong odour or is already cooked, is in containers or packaging that have a good seal..."

"It's Narancia that leaves stuff open, not me. And does most of the stealing: he still has the mindset of a famished gerbillo as far as food goes; he should either be a lot taller or fatter, the amount he puts away…" After washing his hands and face thoroughly with the flower-scented soap and taking a long swig of water from the tap, the gunman chose a small unopened packet of cheese, two small tubs of tossed salad, a tiny packet of calamari in chilli oil for Giorno and a short, curved stick of chorizo for him. Well, mostly him… The [Pistols] appeared at the merest prospect of being fed, and to keep them busy, he found a drawer with cutlery and napkins and got them to take individual items through to the larger room. "Me - and my [Sex Pistols] - like to appreciate lunchtime more than that."

"If I recall, they also do their fair share of stealing..." Giorno remembered the incident with the truck.

"Only when they're actually hungry and I've been too distracted to sort it out before they get out of hand. Most of the time they just fight over it, but only because they care about getting the best parts; if they all get the same they're usually cool with it. Usually."

"If you could sort out the food and drink while I take a quick shower I'll be ready in a couple of minutes."

* * *

Mista and his Stand were setting the last touches to their light lunch served in the tubs as he hadn't found any plates; the [Pistols] renewed their chatter and he turned to see Giorno had reappeared through the bookshelf door in the same trousers and shoes but sporting a fresh, low-cut shirt and his hair in a twisted chignon. The dampness had already coalesced into a haze of tiny moths spread around his head; as they left through a high window that was open a crack they reverted to their original form. They hung in the fresh air as tiny droplets that dispersed swiftly in the light breeze.

"That was quick." He moved over to his boyfriend and reached across to smooth a stray wisp out of his eyes in admiration of its softness.

"I'll do my hair properly later."

"I dunno: I kinda like it like that: it sorta makes me want to undress you all over again..."

A pointed look and a tiny step backwards: the Don persona was returning. "And therefore it's highly impractical, given that you were supposed to tell me about your cat nonna over lunch."

"That's true..." They both sat on either side of the table and had half of the lunch to begin with, waiting until the [Pistols] had had their fill and disappeared again, then Mista began. "Ok, so when I was a kid, I had this friend who went to a nonna on our street to get himself a new kitten-"

"This would be the same street where they found this Sphynx cat breeding farm?"

"That's right, but what I remember is from around nine or so years ago, I think; those ugly hairless cats weren't popular back then. She kept several of the regular kind, fed a few strays that hung about, and wasn't particularly bothered about them mixing, so when she ended up with too many new ones, she usually gave them away or traded them either for things she needed, or a favour later." He took a pull on a bottle of beer and continued. "My friend told me he had the choice of four kittens - ugh - and the one he lifted out of the basket scratched his eye out, so that was really unlucky for him, yeah? Well, he was so mad that he killed it. He's not my friend now," the gunman added hurriedly when he saw his boyfriend scowl. “She pretty much threw him bodily out of the door and barred him from ever coming back in front of the whole street. He was persona non grata around there after that…”

"Can you remember anything else about this woman, Mista?" Giorno inquired after finishing a mouthful of salad to give himself a chance to calm down internally. "Family, other interesting visitors...?"

"Well, she had a son who we all knew as Mr Lini, but everyone our age just called her Nonna Gatta. He showed up once or twice a week with his wife and their preschooler kid, and sometimes they left the kid for the afternoon. She looked a bit frail, uh, the wife, that is. That's how I knew it was that place in the paper: Lini... it couldn't have been Nonna Gatta doing all that, though: Mamma told me a couple of years ago - before I joined Passione - that she'd died. Loads of people went to her funeral apparently ’cause everyone liked her."

They finished their lunch and Giorno stacked the tubs with the cheese and chorizo packaging inside one for the time being, then tried a final question, adding a more concise but complete explanation to Mista than he had to the tutor earlier. "Oh, do you know any details about the pre-schooler? I'm almost certain she's the missing kid in the article: and she's a Stand User; she's the one who made the cats act in that way."

"Really?" Mista's eyebrows shot up at that. "Actually, that makes a lot of sense now that I think about it... I mean, effectively being brought up in a house full of cats: it’s gonna colour your outlook isn’t it? And the newspaper report: one or two cats acting up, I can believe that could happen by itself. But that many? And opening doors and actively dodging the catchers? I shoulda known... how'd you work it out so quickly?"

"Abbacchio ran into one of her cats a few months ago when he was out looking for old Passione leads. We couldn't do much about it back then because-"

"-it was while we were trying to duct tape the rest of Passione back together while taking out the trash; yeah, I get it." He shrugged. "There's not much else I know about the kid… Ah, apart from she had these weird green eyes; like those yellowish-green apples you can get, but more... shiny, I guess… Odd, anyway; not like her parents at all," he mused.

"Hair colour?"

"Uh," he thought back for a moment, "darker than yours, but not as dark as light brown. But hair colour can change as you get older so it might not be that colour anymore."

But usually it gets darker, not like what happened to mine… "I'm hoping to acquire a photo later as there wasn't one in the paper, so we’ll eventually have an answer to that. It’s interesting that she stood out to you, even back then…”

“Mainly because she was related to the main memory about Nonna Gatta, though.” Mista shrugged. “Dunno if I’d remember her otherwise-”

The wall clock chimed the half-hour and a few seconds later there was a knock on the door.

“If I’m letting the rest of the guys in, I’ll need the key…” Mista reminded Giorno.

“Ah. Of course.” The Don reached into his pocket and tossed it over to the gunman, then quickly dashed into the utility room to dispose of the meal, sealing it behind himself as he returned before the rest of the team arrived. 

* * *

Chapter Text

It wasn't a full meeting as Buccellati and Narancia were still in transit, but it was their regular weekly catch-up and it always went ahead, no matter how busy the Don was. Fortunately most of the 'business as usual' topics this week were light or easily assigned, and soon the focus turned to the 'any other business' section.

It only had one item.

"Let's begin: I'd like to bring everyone up to speed on a new Stand User that has begun to make waves in the local area: we have a young adolescent girl - Violetta Lini - who seems to have acquired a Stand related to cats. She is currently reported as missing, but actually we believe she may have gone to ground on purpose after this incident in the local free paper." The Don flourished a fresh copy of the paper from that morning and set it on the desk. "I take it everyone's seen this." There was no dissent, so Giorno continued. "However, the added complication is that the most likely place she's hiding in is La Squadra's old hideout, which hasn't come to light even after nine months of on-and-off investigation. Mostly off, as I placed a lower priority on this mission in recent months due to other, more pressing issues directly affecting Passione. After today, this is being moved up the list; it's not what I'd classify as a life-or-death mission, but I'm briefing everyone in our inner circle in case they spot her while out on their usual business."

"What, so this brat's a secret new member of La Squadra is what you're saying? Gimme the mission so I can-"

"Did I say anyone could ask any questions yet, Sheila E?" He turned and glared at the only young woman in the room as she lounged on the windowsill behind his desk, bare feet swinging as they didn’t touch the polished wooden floor.

“No Boss, I-.” Sheila shrank back a little and looked genuinely worried that she had angered him; she tried to explain herself: “Only, it’s La Squadra, and-”

“Which is why I want to fill everyone in on the whole details before anyone goes off half-cocked with misconceptions. It’s not a given that she was a part of the organisation at all; any involvement with former gang members could be for a number of reasons: that’s why I asked for as complete a report as we could gather to share amongst our inner circle. Abbacchio,” he turned to the tall silver-haired man leaning against the wall next to the painting instead of taking the last chair directly in front of the desk. “Could you give a brief rundown of what you discovered back in July for the group, please…?”

* * *

After Abbacchio’s initial briefing and Giorno’s own account of the conversation between himself and his tutor, he turned to Fugo and Murolo, who were sitting on the couch; Fugo stood up first and consulted a small file.

“After you asked us to look into the family history we decided to split the work ‘accordingly’, given our other business as usual tasks; that was Murolo’s idea…” Fugo looked unhappy about having to stand up in front of the group for some reason. “I got the father and Murolo took that to mean he’d take on all the women. He said he… found the prospect… invigorating… so I left him to it as he can cover more ground with his Stand and other skills. So… Alfredo Lini…” he fidgeted with his file.

“Come on Fugo: it’s not a drugged up whack job you’re facing, it’s just us,” Sheila catcalled from her window perch; everyone glowered at her this time, Fugo especially. Still, it was enough to get the ball rolling…

“It’s because there’s so little to tell: it’s kind of embarrassing,” he began. “Alfredo Lini: born in 1962 to an Italian-American GI and a woman called Farina, née Pittaluga, his father died when he was fifteen and his mother took cleaning jobs to make ends meet, but they were never desperately poor, just occasionally short sometimes. He finished school and took a desk job at the airport stamping passports, where he met his first wife, Ofelia Vignola, who was a flight attendant before having a family. He’s pretty much done nothing else. No criminal activity himself: takes - or rather took - his daughter to church once a month; somehow I doubt he will tomorrow. That’s it.”

“What, nothing at all? Everybody’s done something…” Sheila looked unconvinced.

Fugo shook his head. “Not if you’re a normal person, no. Basically… the guy’s a dull as ditchwater workaholic: the most he’s ever done is get married twice; the first time to ensure their child wasn’t born out of wedlock, and the second… Well, Murolo will go into that. Even his parents were more interesting than him. Murolo seemingly has that covered too. Sorry I couldn’t find any more about him for you.” And he promptly sat down again, glad to be out of the limelight.

At which point, Murolo got to his feet, readjusted his hat, and set himself up centre stage as if he were the narrator of a play… And of course [All Along Watchtower] had to appear and give a succession of tableaux as Murolo spoke…

“So… first of all, the highlight of the show has to be Farina Lini, née Pittaluga, the matriarchal cat lady who used to clean churches and pretty much raised our unavailable urchin until several years ago when events stirred into motion…”

“Pittaluga... that's originally a Northern name, right?” Of course, the Don was allowed to interrupt.

"You'd be correct in your assumption, Boss," the man in the hat looked pleased at Giorno's deduction skills, "and also one associated with criminal operations, which leads me to the next part of my tale. Or at least it was, forty to sixty years ago, but it died out when new gangs moved in and the remaining few either affiliated with those new organisations, or ‘disappeared’. It seems Farina was protected by this shift as she’d previously eloped with some Allied Italian-American officer called Lini after the war. After a few years moving around Europe, they came back to Italia and settled in Napoli rather than return north: she had three stillbirths before having a single male child that survived to adulthood - Alfredo - and her husband died in the seventies. She had quite the little community operation going on until she began to decline in health a few years ago: all barter and favour-based; nothing actually illegal but a bit close to the edge if you squinted hard. And most people didn't, apart from this one jumped-up martinet around nine or ten years ago when there was some kerfuffle regarding an assault. Charges were dropped, but the officer at the time still filed a report, which involved a boy losing an eye-”

“Hey, that’s my-” Mista popped his head above the parapet for a millisecond and ducked it back just as quickly after the laser-eye-stare from Giorno. “Sorry, carry on,” he mumbled into his chest, and Murolo bowed slightly towards the gunman.

"Alfredo in turn had a single female child before his half-Italian, quarter-English, quarter-Greek wife Ofelia died from some autoimmune disorder - Ofelia’s father also died young so I assume it was for the same reasons - and he married again. Details are a bit sketchy on both those events, which is odd. Might be because she wasn’t born in Italia… The kid you're interested in was born in November thirteen years ago, and was around six weeks early, so they were in hospital for longer than a usual mother and baby. One other major medical issue before starting school: an accident causing burns to the upper torso; again, no details apart from mention of a plastic surgeon getting involved, and nothing medically significant since that we could find; it appears that some of the paperwork was mislaid when everyone started transferring old records over to digital format. In this case there’s more than the average amount lost, which could imply many things: I’ll leave it up to you to decide if you think it was incompetence or deliberate destroying of records. The grandmother died just over two years ago - the funeral of which was exactly two years before the kitten farm incident - and word on the street is that the year leading up to that is the one where both the kitten farm ramped up its output, and the grandmother began to decline in earnest, before Inganna took over the entire operation. Remotely, for the asthma reason. Ah, and until last week the kid was attending St Giuda's; that's a middle school for girls. Most of the older records there are handwritten by tech-illiterate nuns so apart from the minimum necessary for legal purposes, you’d have to visit in person to find out more."

"I know most of this already - apart from the hospital details - from other sources discussed earlier." Giorno inspected his nails and buffed an imaginary speck of dust away. "Tell us what you know about the stepmother."

Murolo shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. "Eh, well the thing about Inganna Lini, I can't tell you that much-"

"What do you mean: you can't?" A raised eyebrow.

"With certainty, I meant. That's the thing: she didn't legally exist until around seven years ago. Her identity's a bloody good one - enough to fool most laypeople and a good few officials too - but it's still a fake. I can only make speculations, if that’s worth your time..."

Giorno snorted with a tiny amount of impatience sneaking through his normally cool exterior. "Then tell me what you suspect about the stepmother, Murolo..."

"As you wish: what seems to fit my theories best is that she was involved in one of those prostitution rings that got busted some years ago before security was beefed up by the old boss... she's the right age for it, if that's the case. The authorities probably gave her and her remaining family - a single cousin, if he was even related to her to begin with - a new name et cetera, but she still couldn't completely get away from her old life. ‘Once you've wet your beak’, so to speak... Anyhow, the 'cousin' got caught up in some hit on a guy La Squadra had been assigned to eliminate; funnily enough, that was around two years ago too... I got hold of the post mortem reports: imagine seeing a guy explode from the inside by a sudden appearance of a cassonetto registered to a construction site from the other side of town, and then have said cassonetto fall on you? They couldn’t explain half the forensics so it was brushed under the carpet. Oh, and guess what they found in his house after they finally connected a couple of dots?" Murolo noted the thinly veiled restiveness of his audience and continued quickly. "Ehh... Cool boxes full of decomposing dead kittens, and some very fat snakes; turns out he was partly involved in this kitten farm by removing the monetarily worthless cats, and saving money on petfood at the same time. Although no-one made that connection at the time..."

There were varying faces of either disgust or displeasure at the mention of that around the room, but the Don motioned for Murolo to continue. "And at the same time, there were signs of a break-in to the upper storey bathroom: cops interviewed the neighbours and someone put a time on ‘shouting and a loud crash’ from his property - caused by a fallen shutter - and him running down the street screaming at someone to come back; that was around thirty minutes before estimated time of death. The police just used him to conveniently shift blame for the other crime onto him so they didn't have to poke too hard, by the look of it. Didn’t even bother taking prints… And Inganna got married very soon after that, giving herself an even more solid ID and a safety net to her side business."

"No wonder Violetta hates her..." Giorno muttered under his breath, then cleared his throat. "Hmm... from what Narancia described, that sounds like it was Formaggio's handiwork." Murolo confirmed that with a satisfied nod. "Could it be possible that this is the event that drew her into La Squadra's orbit? If she were in the area when this assassination happened, then there wouldn’t be that many other reasons for a schoolgirl and a gangster to strike up a relationship…"

“Well, I know that Formaggio kept a cat or two over the years so there’s your probable reason for a continued connection, if any…”

“So, is there anything else anyone would like to contribute before I call it?” The Don looked around the room at his diverse team.

"I think I can add something to this," Fugo noted quietly as the rest shook their heads. "When we were at Pompeii, Illuso had a bandaged arm."

"You're sure? I didn't spot that-" Abbacchio was intrigued at this new piece of information.

“He blabbed for longer in the Mirror than he needed to, when it was just him and me; I noticed one of his quilted sleeves was a little more padded than the other one, and he favoured that arm slightly. Not that I could do anything about it at the time: he was still far stronger than I was without our Stands, let alone when he summoned his, and I was separated from mine. That’s also the one he cut off after it got virused; I actually saw the bandage as his arm began to melt… If this was just after the time that your middle school girls spotted him chasing after what was most probably Violetta, then maybe she did that to him."

"She did only react to three of the pictures I showed her cat; his photo had the most negative reaction," the silver-haired man noted.

"I’m betting that means Formaggio found her first, and Risotto probably kept her a secret from the rest of the team after he was informed… and then somehow Illuso found out. Probably by spying on them or her..." Murolo chimed in with his theory:  "Illuso kept detailed records on his missions: the only good habit he had; they were all looking for Trish, and by extension, you, in that time period, just before Easter. My hypothesis is this: if he saw her use her Stand in the wild, and didn't know about her previously, then he would have wanted to update his records and confirm if she knew about Passione, or any other Stand Users. Possibly snatch her up into his Mirror-"

"- and eliminate her from his inquiries. Permanently if she turned out to be trouble, like my sister,” Sheila jumped in with her opinion too. “Which she seems to be if any of this is true: either she or one of her cats managed to land a blow before he could do a thing, and get away from him too; that's pretty damn agile, for a Stand User." Sheila E’s conjecture was laced with admiration at the possibility that someone else got one over her least favourite La Squadra member, but she was still wary.

"Cats are pretty agile... and then there's this break-in at her stepmother's cousin's house. If she climbed that wall herself two years ago, then that’s no small feat for a normal girl, but for a Stand User, even a potential one at that time…” Murolo let the sentence trail off so everyone else could fill it in mentally, then added one final note: “ A last piece of advice, if you'll permit it? I'd warn you not to underestimate her. Especially you, Sheila E: if she’s already up to this level of mischief with barely any help over the last nine months, and the smarts to not be caught so far…”

“-sounds like I’ve got a fuck-tonne of emotional baggage [Voodoo Child] can hit her with if she tries anything on-”

“No.” Giorno stood up at this point, drawing a line under any more speculation with a look. “We have to do our best to get this girl on side, not alienate her further; a cornered animal is flighty, and Murolo’s right: possibly dangerous, if we don’t handle things correctly. We don’t know what she was told by La Squadra, but it was probably enough to make her just as cautious about us as we are of any new Stand User who shows up out of the blue.” He eyeballed everyone one by one as he gave them instructions on how to proceed. “Mista: this afternoon take Sheila E round to her old meeting places physically and see if it jogs her memory with regards to any other information. Abbacchio: when Buccellati and Narancia return, brief them on this meeting and get ready to do what we already discussed this morning. Fugo: business as usual, but see if you can find out when Trish’s tour finishes; I’ve heard that she’s been asked to add some extra dates and I don’t know if that will affect anyone’s plans over the next month. Murolo: keep doing what you do.”

The team took their extra assignments and filed out of the office, but Giorno followed them to the door and delayed the last two members: “Mista: could you wait outside for me for a moment? Murolo… hang back for one last thing, please?”

* * *

Giorno began after he closed the door: “I could tell you were holding something back: your allusions to the timing of events were interesting…”

“Good: you caught that; I hoped you would… Still no photos of her: see if you can get Abbacchio and Buccellati to source one tomorrow… Something’s bugging me about this one and I need to have something I can grab onto. Especially with what your tutor added to the mix… Something’s bugging you, too…”

“Does it show that badly?”

“It’s the little things, Boss… Also, you realise I'm going to have to put this in my monthly report to-”

"Of course. Which I know isn't due for another three weeks… that’s part of what’s bugging me actually…”

"You're right: well, it'll take time to write… and Christmas is right around the corner too; I can imagine the wonks at the Foundation knocking off early and only getting round to reading the ‘sighs dramatically: oh no, not another banal day-to-day from the kook liaison in Passione’ transcript in the New Year.” A dramatic wrist to the forehead was replaced by a lazy grin. “I reckon you have around five or six weeks to play with until they become interested enough to stick their nose in. If they do…” He cocked his head and mulled that one over for a moment, before asking his boss like a co-conspirator : “d’you think they will? I do…”

Giorno nodded at his intel specialist. “I think they will too: it’s in the time window we were given. They’ll have someone running diligence checks the moment the words ‘New Stand User’ hits their database. It may be a good idea to make myself a little more… approachable… as far as my extended family is concerned: things are beginning to move on the wider stage, and trust is a commodity I intend to stockpile if events steer us towards a more uncertain future.” He opened the door and let Murolo out, who had nodded all the while to his Don’s suggestions, then beckoned his bodyguard back inside the office. “Mista, before you go with Sheila to retrace her steps, can you step inside for a moment?”

“Sure, no problem… uh, I thought you had a meeting now?”

“I do, but it’s only a call I’ve been putting off for a while; I want you to be here for it. Just to listen,” the Don added and moved over to the desk, picking the phone up and dialling a long number. After a moment’s wait, it picked up and there was a definite voice on the line, to which Giorno replied smoothly. “Ah, buonasera, Signora Kujo…”

Buonasera? Ah, there’s some sort of time difference… Mista listened to his boss’ side of the conversation which was a mixture of Italian and English, with a few words of Japanese thrown in for good measure. He could just about hear the crackle of an older woman’s voice when she raised her voice excitedly at some of the things that were said. The rapid-fire conversation in different languages made it harder to follow, but the bodyguard got the gist that an offer of some sort had been repeatedly made and declined in the past several months, and Giorno had finally decided to take this woman (with the same surname as the large gruff man associated with the Foundation and their win in Roma) up on it. And said as much after his boss had put the phone down.

“Yes. That would be his mother. She’s been trying to arrange a family gathering for a while, but several of… us… were being a little hardheaded…”

“Several…? Oh, the big guy too? Yeah, I can see that…”

“I can understand him being cautious as far as my complicated ancestry goes: I didn’t want to arrive if everyone else wasn’t on board with it.” He returned to his desk and began clearing away the files from the meeting. “And I wouldn’t be able to stay too long, just in case things back home go to hell.”

“But… family, right? Far better than your mother… right…?”

“Possibly, if I even dare to hope it goes well… Although anything would be better than her.” Maybe that’s how Violetta felt too…? He shrugged that off to deal with the matter at hand.

“Ah, but not Christmas: you promised we’d do our own kind of family stuff with ourselves… And the rest of the guys.” 

“I factored that in… I'd already refused her father’s birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas… so I arranged something more appropriate…” Giorno finally slipped the Don mask off and there was a hint of shy anticipation as he petitioned his boyfriend. “And they don’t mind me bringing a ‘plus one’, so… how do you fancy going with me to Japan just after New Year’s…?”

* * *

Chapter Text

The evening came and went, and Leone waited around the mansion until Buccellati came back with an exhausted Narancia in tow, who immediately waved everyone off and slouched up to a bedroom as soon as he got back; they both let him as it was plain that he wouldn’t remember most of the weekly briefing summary anyway.

“How was Bari?” he began.

“Fraught to begin with, although we managed to persuade the ‘twins’ - or quads now - they’d be better off supporting us, instead of being either dead or taken over by some other less scrupulous outfit.” Bruno shrugged and sighed. “Don’t know how long it’ll last, but it buys time for us to bring other assets to bear that can keep a better eye on them.”

“Told you they’d be flaky,” Leone murmured into his lover’s ear as he first checked no-one else was observing them, then snagged the younger yet more senior-placed man around the waist. “Glad they aren’t still here causing trouble, though. That Stand of theirs is a menace-”

“[Gemini Childe]?” Bruno gave a small smile. “That’s exactly why I thought it best to take Narancia along. And I was right: you can tell which one is real because they’re the only one that exhales the correct amount of carbon dioxide, instead of simulating the action. And as soon as they either exist for more than a couple of minutes, or take more than a certain amount of damage, they pop out of existence and another one shows up. Took us a while to figure that out, but we got there in the end; the copies are accurate down to the last freckle, and you can touch them and feel what appears to be real skin, but they aren’t really alive in the spiritual sense.” He gave his boyfriend a quick kiss to move things along. “How’s it been without me for a week?”

“Tolerable. Barely.” Leone pulled the newspaper out from a deep pocket in his coat. “You remember me mentioning that mission in July? The one regarding La Squadra’s base and the girl with the scouting stand?” He passed the paper over and Bruno began to read; after a couple of minutes he flipped to the second half of the article.

“Yes, you told me about the cat you 'interviewed'; many cats at once is a bump up... I wonder what triggered that display of power after so many months of relative inactivity?" After a pause to consider the article, he continued: "I know you were a little put out that you couldn't solve the issue back then: I take it that it’s back on the agenda now? Are you still assigned to this?”

The silver-haired man nodded, and took the paper back as they moved down the southern corridor to the kitchen. “Made it to the weekly briefing as well. In fact, it was almost the entire meeting. Apart from a bit about Trish; the tour was extended so she’ll be back later than planned.” He dropped the paper on the countertop, placed a kettle on the archaic stove and began to fill Bruno in on the details pertaining to the Linis as they waited for water to boil, then added thoughtfully: “He has what’s approaching an obsession with this one, it seems…”

“How so?”

“I don’t know… just… There's something about this kid that’s drawing his attention more than usual; it didn’t seem to affect him back in July. Or he hid it better…”

“You’re concerned about Giorno?” Leone scoffed at Bruno’s intuition, but didn’t deny it. “I’ll keep an eye on him as well, if you think that’s a good idea.”

“Sure, and then the kid’ll tell you off for caring too…” The older man sighed and pointed back at the paper on the counter to bring the subject back to the task at hand. “I’ll probably need help tomorrow with the parents though; you’re the one who can sniff out when someone’s not on the level.”

“Are we being ‘good cop, bad cop’, or ‘bad cop, worse cop’, this time?” Bruno smirked up at him, and Leone knew he wasn’t only talking about the Linis…

* * *

Except when the morning came around it was more like ‘neither cop’…

“So… her ‘legal guardians’ - for want of a better description - are both still here, yet they won’t let us in to interview either of them?” Leone hit the dashboard of their go-to nondescript minivan rental and snorted. They’d pulled up to the station where Lini and his wife were being held (or rather, the wife was still being held and Lini was hanging around like a forlorn puppy), and were warned by their low-ranking officers on the payroll that they had to wait. “It’s not usually that hard to get into this place.”

“For the moment: I’ll call upstairs and find out if we can get some leverage…” Bruno pulled his phone out from zipspace and called the mansion hotline, describing their situation. After a wait of around five minutes, then another minute of ‘Mmm-hmms’ and ‘Uh-huhs’, he put the phone away and rolled his eyes.

Leone saw that, and nudged his capo. “What did he say?”

“He's going to ‘drop in and talk to the Ispettore’, then we finally get to interview the parents. Because of the identity issues, it’s not technically these guys’ jurisdiction anymore. Or so they’re trying to claim. Murolo did some more digging as he wasn’t completely satisfied with his job so far… It seems that the ranking officer who arranged for Mrs Lini to acquire a new pseudonym died several years ago under suspicious circumstances. Now, usually that’s because someone who pushed back against Passione - albeit subtly in this case - became one of the old Boss’ targets. In this case, however, it seems that he only started getting noticed a while after that, but died before the deed could be arranged. He was cheating on his wife and overdid it in the seedy hotel where he went when he was ‘working late’. The authorities never found the mistress, but Murolo was betting it was a certain someone currently held here, who was probably showing him just how grateful she was…”

“It always surprises me how small a world it is,” Leone mused. “Not just for Stand Users either…”

“Well, anyhow, they’ve held off transferring her to some kind of immigration centre for a couple of hours but Giorno has to come in to finalise it; he was apparently told that the seniority of the man involved needed someone just as senior on our side. ‘A Capo's not enough, this time.’ It’s complete bullshit; they’re going to ask for some concessions, I know it,” Bruno sniffed dismissively. “Heh, they’ll find out Giorno’s no pushover.”

* * *

It was another half an hour before Don Giovanna pulled up in a sleek Alfa Romeo 166 V6 - provided by a private luxury taxi firm - and the driver got out to open the door for him. An officious-looking older officer came out to meet him, began to look down his nose at the precociousness of the brat before him, and-

Leone saw a brief golden flash from behind the lawman’s back, and as the Don gave the Ispettore a hard stare, something appeared to tighten around the older man’s neck, and his eyes bulged a little. After Giorno slowly and deliberately moved towards him without averting his gaze, the man suddenly relaxed and fell over himself to let everyone inside; Giorno followed the Ispettore, and the others were led to an interview room by a pair of officers they knew. One of them whispered to them:

“We let Signore Lini wait in the break room - he’s not being charged as long as he stays polite, since it seems he’s not the sharpest tool in the box as far as business goes and let his wife do what she pleased - until he finds out whether she’s allowed to leave; we have a spare interview room that may or may not be empty where you can also wait if you wish...?” The cop tapped his nose and the pair left them to it, stepping into another darkened observation room next to the room pointed out to them.

“Ah, so we can conveniently ‘find’ her with no apparent witnesses around…” Leone noted, then opened the door.

* * *

“Buongiorno, Signore Lini. I believe you wanted to see your wife?”

Lini turned and found himself face to face with a young man a little shorter than himself in a long brown cleaning coat, long hair in an up-do and scarf, and holding an empty bucket. Ah. Staff. "Yes. Is that possible? Are you even allowed to-"

"Well, I was supposed to pass on a message from the officer in charge that she's being interviewed right now, but they can let you wait for her in a side room nearby until she's finished. Some of the officers are wanting to take their break and they'd feel better if you were in a different area. I can show you where that is if you like: the officers who normally do this are a little preoccupied at the moment?"

"Uh... ok." Lini, not knowing any better, let himself be ushered from the break room and down a long corridor that bent and twisted round to a small, dark room where two uniformed officers stood either side of a metal chair onto which the young 'cleaner' shrugged off the coat and scarf and folded them over the backrest, revealing an expensive suit underneath. He promptly sat down and casually crossed one leg over the other, motioning for Lini to stand just behind and to his right.

“Wait... what's going on? What is this?” the border control officer wondered out loud with much confusion. But he couldn’t help but move to where he was directed; the compulsion from the young man’s demeanour was subtle, but firm.

They pointed at a bright window at the far end of the room, and Lini could see two men: one lounging against a wall, the other leaning over a table where a woman with a very small dressing on her left cheekbone was handcuffed. Lini’s heart jumped into his mouth as the young man put an elegant finger over his own lips, and began to speak quietly but clearly, and with a slight edge to his words. “That, Signore Lini, is your wife. And I wouldn’t want you to miss watching the very deep hole she’s about to dig for herself. Pay attention, and learn…”

* * *

Chapter Text

“...What we want to know is what happened to your stepdaughter after she supposedly ‘attacked’ you, Signora Lini. Almost four days is a long time for a middle-school girl to be missing, wouldn’t you agree?” Bruno sauntered around the table nonchalantly, coming to a stop right behind his quarry, so the woman had to turn to engage with him, putting her on the back foot.

Looking on, Leone saw that Inganna Lini gave her initial answer with a sulky curtness, but kept adding extra explanations which were only adding more fuel to the fire that his capo was stoking: “She’s stayed away for almost that long before. Usually during the holidays. With whoever would bother having her as a friend. ‘Fredo’s not usually there on weekdays so I’m the one that has to discipline her. She went too far this time and I had to-”

She’s trying to justify herself… But… There was something in the bottle-blonde woman’s defiant glare that was almost- Fear….? Recognition…? She is scared… She's just really good at hiding it. But what is she more scared of: the capo, or the kid…?

And the capo dutifully pressed that button… "You're sweating: just a little, but enough for me to know you're dodging the question.” Buccellati leaned over her, taking one of his fingers and running it down her temple. He made a show of sniffing it and then tasted the end, to which she made a disgusted face, before adopting a more calculating expression.

“So you're not here to shake me down for a cut in my earnings."

"Word is you stole that business from your mother-in-law..."

“She wasn't making any money out of it so I made it better.”

“You made it illegal.”

"Well excuse me if ‘illegal’ is all I know: you pack of hypocritical freaks owe me for that at the very least, after what you put me through.”

"Pack of freaks?" This was new…

"You know exactly who I mean. Passione." She spat that name out as if she'd just found half a worm in an apple. "Sick bastards. I don't do tricks anymore: I got out. Barely. A cop who was too kind for his own good a few years ago took a shine to me, pulled a few strings and let me stay in the country, as long as I didn't cause trouble... it's a shame he died of a heart attack while... well..." She pouted her lips suggestively.

"The new management doesn't condone that kind of thing anymore unless all the contracts are above minimum age and with consent; I also normally wouldn't give a shit about you 'causing trouble' with your side business. Except there's one problem: where's the girl?"

It was hard to look up at Bruno and answer his question with a dismissive sneer, but Inganna gave it a good go. "As I told the police: we had an argument in the morning before school and she was so willful I… temporarily lost my temper, and tried to slap a bit of sense into her. She hit me back - which I wasn’t expecting - and took off like she does sometimes. Scratched my cheek as well! I thought she'd gone to school and would cool off there... but she never came back; that afternoon I had a strange cat invasion! They weren't even my own cats! I have no idea how that could happen-"

"You're really bad at lying: the same cats entered a house that also belongs to your husband." 

"Ok OK!" The woman caved slightly. "Bitch tried to spite me - almost killed me - with her little stunt. She said she'd ruin me: take everything away from me and I just laughed; as if a skinny little scrap of nothing like her could ever do anything to me... I don't know how she did it, but I know it was her."

“One might wonder why you wanted to run a business where the merch could kill you…”

“That's the whole point of the Sphynx breed: they don't shed hair, and as long as you know what you're doing you can avoid the dander... if you keep them clean. And they're so desirable right now: you can sell one for more than I could have made in a month doing the shitty jobs I had to take after-" Inganna veered away from her past and moved back to the current question. "Getting them to breed true was taking longer than I thought... but if she was keeping poor breeding stock back for some kind of petty revenge for me trying to get her to admit she wasn't anyone special, and didn't deserve the roof over her head if she didn't toe the line, then-"

Leone interjected at that snide disclosure. "You don't appear to be dead, though..." His stance changed to imply that it would be less hassle to him if she had died.

The woman threw him a withering glare which didn't work so she huffed a little, before suggesting with another more dialled-back sneer: "Maybe she lost her nerve."

"And how do you figure that?"

"One of the cats..."  Inganna mumbled something that Leone couldn't quite hear from his position, but Bruno bent his head close to hers again and whispered something in her ear, at which point she stiffened, and she cleared her throat to speak more clearly. "One of the cats came over to look at me as my airways were closing up. It just... stared... at me for what seemed like forever. And then? It went to my bag and brought me my inhaler. After that, they all left at once. Just before the catchers and police came in and found me puffing away."

"At which point they arrested you for causing a disturbance-"

"-when it should have been that bitch."

"Violetta wasn't there, though, was she? And hadn't been since that morning, by your own admission. You were. And your ID didn't hold up under close scrutiny so it brought your whole operation crashing down when they tied the other property to you too. When it made them wonder just what else you'd been up to... or where you really came from and whether they'd have to deport you..."

"That was a different life: I clawed my way out of that cesspit by using my head and cashing in all my favours, and now you lot - same cesspit, different faces - want to drag me back into that? Or send me back to a country I barely remember? Hell no!"

"Then cooperate with us. Tell us where she might have gone and-"

Instead she went off on a tangent, but she was at least talking so they let her for the moment. "You know: I heard rumours about some of the clientele when I was in-" She still couldn't quite say it. "When I was... there. Some of the other workers and johns, they'd tell stories about some of the weirdos - monsters - they occasionally had to cater for, or bumped into downstairs. And one or two of them would disappear..." Her eyes glittered and she played what she thought was her trump card, "...you were just a kid, but I remember you."

"What?" It was barely there, but Leone saw the brief flicker of surprise on his partner's face before it became flat and hard. Hmm... I thought I was supposed to be the threat here; oh well. And he settled back to enjoy the show.

All Bruno did was give her enough rope by letting her continue to talk: "You were running errands for that blob who showed up every couple of months to get laid. Because no-one else who was legit would touch that fat fuck with a gondola oar. We had to line up and he'd pick one of us. Girl or boy: it didn't matter; they always had to have fair hair, and 'matching collars and cuffs'... he never picked me - he trundled right past me with a look of disdain - but some of the others were chosen..." She didn't disguise the look of hate on her face as she gazed directly into her interrogator's eyes. "He never chose you either, did he...?"

Bruno remained silent: Leone watched from the corner, knowing that this was definitely affecting the younger man in an unseen way and they'd need to address that later; the flat, hard expression was almost unchanged, and yet it was as if he was daring her to continue, implying: 'is this all you've got?' The ex-cop knew that they had both been through far worse than what the vindictive harpy was trying to needle with.

And eventually she gave way and had to fill the silence herself. "That's what it felt like when that cat looked at me: like I was nothing; just trash. Like I was... prey..." She sneered at the room in general, as if she was the one who was the victim. "That's how I knew it was her: she looked down at me like that more and more this last week, before that argument. Like she was somehow better than me. She'd been coddled and pandered to by that dozy old cunt for years because of some teeny tiny accident, and knew nothing about how hard life could be. How hard I'd had it. I tried to show her that life wasn't all roses and she had to pitch in if she wanted to get anything. At first I thought I was getting through to her when she handed over her bridesmaid's dress for me to sell, then offered to help with the business at half the pay one of my friends was doing it for, but instead she used the charity I showed her against me! She wrecked my income, my marriage, my whole life! Good riddance to her! And you? You make me sick! That bitch is gonna turn out like you, isn't she? She's a monster through and through; if it weren't for the fact she came as part of a package deal and all I had to do was hold my nerve and wait a couple of years before she was gone, I would have put the screws on to make her leave the picture far earlier. Like I did with-"

"Like you did with...?" Bruno's voice purred; it was encouraging. Conspiratorial. Dangerously gentle...

Inganna took the bait, desperate to show just how determined she was to rise to the top of her own insignificant pile to the man in front of her, and how much she despised him: a reminder of her past. And her 'fake' daughter: an obstacle in her new life. "'Fredo's mother didn't take much: she was so desperate to see her son, and upgrading her shitty barter scheme while undermining her support network was all it took to see her circling the drain. And his wife, well, all I had to do was pretend not to have noticed when-" Inganna's smug triumph faltered and was replaced by panic when she remembered that although she wasn't talking to the police and the conversation wasn't being recorded, that her interrogator had glanced at the mirror in the room several times in that last outpouring. Which meant someone else was watching... she promptly locked her previous laxity down and switched her tactic to blustering. "They haven't got anything concrete on me apart from a few unsigned permits: I want the police back in here right now! I know my rights! You can't do this to-"

"Oh, but I think you'll find we can." This time Bruno stared openly at the 'mirror', a confident air suffusing him as he stood up straight. "Signore Giovanna: did you hear all that?"

Leone stretched slightly at the mention of that. He's earlier than I expected... I wonder how much he witnessed...?

A young but serious voice came from the speaker on the wall. "I did. She's of no further use to us. Leave her to be dealt with by more mundane means; let them throw the book at her."

The bottle-blonde only now seemed to realise just how big a hole she'd dug for herself. "B-but... I can-"

"-but, but, but. Me, me, me." The young voice attained an edge of steel and dripped bitter sarcasm. "It's painfully obvious that you don't know Violetta's whereabouts, otherwise you would've used her like a bargaining chip in your feeble attempts to weasel out of incarceration. That ends. Now."

"B-but-"

"I don't care what you do after this as long as you don't try to pin anything on the girl: if you're smart, you'll likely only get a slap on the wrist by the authorities and not be allowed to breed cats for a number of years, but otherwise? You're not worth any more of my time. And all that implies." Silence filled the room; Leone could imagine it punctuated by a seemingly uncaring shrug.

"B-but-"

And last but not least," the Don uttered as the light came on in the other room, revealing the two uniformed cops who had left earlier, one on either side of a blond young man; this man sat towards the back and was still partially in shadow, with another shadow looming behind him near his right shoulder. "Now your husband also knows exactly what you are, if he didn't already. Or was fooling himself." The other figure stepped out from behind the blond youth's chair; it was Alfredo Lini.

Now that is the face of a laid-back good-natured sap finally admitting they've been had...

Violetta is not a monster." Leone detected a certain emphasis - a tone - from his boss, as if the woman weren't the only one he was trying to convince. "If she becomes one in future then the only one to blame is yourself; the only one she'll come after is you. She's more special than you could ever know. We'll try to keep her away from you... because if you dare lay a finger on - or cause any further trouble for her - you'll wish she never showed you a drop of mercy." A pause. "If we can find her, that is... the fact she's still 'at large' may make prison seem like the safer option. But I'll leave that up to you."

Click. The light went out in the viewing room, shrouding its occupants once again; there was the sound of a chair moving, a door opening and shutting, then silence.

Damn... that was cold... and oddly personal...

"I think we're done here, don't you?" Bruno came over to Leone as he mused on Giovanna’s continued interest, placing a hand on his shoulder, returning to the act of bad versus worse 'not-cops'. "Unless you have something to add?"

"No, the kid is right." The tall silver-haired man didn't elaborate on which kid, but used elements of both the Don's and Inganna's words to condemn the woman to her fate. "This piece-of-nothing trash is not worth any more of our time."

And they left her cuffed to the interview room table without another word; she screeched at them to come back as the uniforms filed in and made a show of turning the recording equipment back on. That had never been turned off in the first place...

* * *

Chapter Text

The Don had left already: the expensive taxi that had waited outside had driven off before they too left the building and stood waiting for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn.

“She rattled you,” Leone murmured quietly, drifting close to the spot where Bruno stood and then moving away to stand at his side; it was the most support he could show the other man in public without it being overdone in his mind.

“Hmm... A little, yes…” the capo noted softly after a moment of silence; only his eyes had shown any reaction to the question as they narrowed, then widened at the realisation of that fact, before admitting it to his partner.

“If you want to talk about it…” The older man’s gentle verbal prod was met with more silence to begin with, then a small hand movement to indicate the passage of time. “Ok… tonight, then… but no later,” Leone acceded, then with a sigh moved onto his own bugbear. "Did you see what I meant though, Bruno? Giovanna seems to have an interest over and above the usual 'new Stand User in town' issues. Although I confess that I want to see this through too; I don't like unfinished business, and having to leave the file open since summer..."

The dark haired man roused himself from his current funk, remembering several evenings of frustration that first week after Leone had been asked to 'park' his mission; he'd come to the capo to vent and restore his sense of patient observation. Frustration that had been replaced by a wistful regret as the war against the drugs trade had ramped up markedly in the following months, and then cut off suddenly very recently. More than one of their inner circle behind closed doors had wondered if Violetta would turn up in the middle of that, on either the wrong side or as a casualty… but thankfully, she hadn't. After all, the spectre of La Squadra and their 'patch' had a long enough shadow to have kept new or migrating criminal activity to a minimum... and inadvertently sheltered Violetta's stepmother at the same time... "Maybe..." Bruno ventured finally, "but Giorno doesn't usually indulge himself that way unless he has a very good reason. You mentioned he kept Murolo back... that he seems interested too?"

Leone nodded. "As seen by his very thorough briefing yesterday. I think his status as liaison between Passione and the Speedwagon Foundation is at play here."

"You think they've been asked to be notified if we find new Stand Users, don't you: that they’re looking for them too, right?"

"Well, wouldn't you? Polpo's Stand was indiscriminate to bystanders and there could still be several of those that haven't made themselves public. And we know what happened to some people who refused to join if they were discovered to have seen that freak show of a Stand.” Leone scowled: partly at the waste of talent, and also at the path forced on those that couldn’t (or dared not) refuse… “But we already discussed that any new Stand User in Italia that manifested power after he died would have to be one of at least two types:-

- be related to an existing Stand User, like Trish,

- spontaneously manifest a Stand: either as a child, or because of something like puberty, mastery of a skill, or trauma, like Polnareff and Abdul, or-"

"-or there's a third other type: maybe there’s another of those Arrows lurking around and they got hit by one.” Bruno finished for him. “We know they're very interested in those, especially with all the questions we got asked about both the ones our group have encountered…”

“No," Leone interjected as Bruno trailed off. "There'd be more instances of other Stand Users if that were the case, and no-one's made a play against the change of management so far. However," he added, "we never found out just how many Arrows there were, either; I’m guessing they have one or two of their own, we - courtesy of Giorno - have another, and presumably Polpo’s own method of utilising one was destroyed, otherwise we’d have been suddenly on the back foot with the police’s own brigade. But speculating on whether there are more than a handful opens a whole can of worms… Oh, apart from I think there might be one in the United States: going back to Roma and rethinking some of the replayed conversation, now you put forward the possibility of other Arrows, there may have been a couple of allusions to someone over there ringfenced by ‘a growing army of Stand Users’. It was… how did he put it… 'too late for them to do certain things and too early to do others'. If you thought that this Kujo guy looked almost permanently angry when he said a handful of words to us, then you should have seen him when he talked about this guy in private.”

"Nothing else you can infer from that slip?"

"No." Leone was resigned to the fact that there were some things even he wouldn't press... "You don't tend to go into details when everyone in the room knows what you're talking about. It'll be the same if I try to spy on Murolo's conversations too. And he'll know if I tried to, because I'm betting there's a semi-permanent Watch in any room where he thinks he'll have to say anything important. And that means I'm not going to bother. We've not run out of leads yet anyway."

"Ah, you're the... the, uh, the interviewers?" Lini had just stumbled blinking into the cold sunlight like a man just released from a spell, not solely a police station; he walked down the steps and timidly waved at the pair to get their attention. "I was told by the..." he faltered, not wanting to invoke certain ideas directly outside what was meant to be a place of Law; he settled for: "the young man inside... that I'd have to provide you with a photograph of Violetta and give you a tour of my house. I have to go home anyway to find one, although I don't think I have many recent ones. Ofelia was almost always the one that took them before, and Mamma had trouble with anything more complicated than a VCR. Inganna... she... mostly wanted photos of herself... I realise now just how that sounds." Lini deflated as he said that last part.

"Va bene, Signore Lini: I gather the police brought you here, so if we give you a lift...?"

* * *

"I'm sure we, uh, I, had at least one from the... the wedding... in here somewhere..." Lini was sitting at the kitchen table, struggling to find what he wanted in a large box of recent photo albums. "There was a professional photographer: Inganna wanted to look as good as she could so I paid through the nose for one… oh. Here’s one… it’s not very good, though…"

He handed over a group picture of the entire wedding party and pointed at a girl in the front row: Violetta was in an unfashionable mint green dress with white lace edging. The photo had been taken at the same time that she had turned her face to the side so all they could see was a length of thick dark blonde hair tamed only by an almost-matching light green hair band. And one of the shorter more matronly women stood next to her had raised her right arm to beckon at someone out of shot right across the girl’s nose and chin, otherwise they would have had a semi-useful profile shot.

“Is this the only one you have?”

“I’m sure there used to be more… one was taken of the three of us but…” the man closed his eyes and thought for a moment, “...there was an argument about it afterwards when we got the prints back; she claimed Violetta had ‘ruined the picture’. It wasn’t that bad, but it ended up folded in half and being a landscape of both our headshots, rather than a full portrait of the three of us.” He stood up and went over to a dresser in the corner, picking up a framed photograph of the two adults; he bent the metal pins housing the cardboard backing and slipped out the picture, unfolding it in the process. Lini handed it over with a noticeable effort. “Keep it: I can pester the photographer to redevelop individual negatives if I want more; maybe he’ll have better ones.”

“This is more than enough for now, Mr Lini,” Leone thanked him and took a glance at the bottom half of the photo, where the girl was kneeling sideways on a low bench, dress spread around while her father and new stepmother stood behind her. He could see why Inganna would have rejected the snap: Violetta had either accidentally or deliberately chosen the moment the camera captured the pose to look slightly bored and had begun to roll her eyes; he could see that afterwards the waspish woman most likely took that as the child mocking the whole affair. The photographer probably hadn’t seen that movement at the time, otherwise there would have been a couple more agreeable copies to choose from instead.

The silver-haired gangster made a positive noise, pocketed the picture, and touched Bruno on the shoulder, indicating the upper half of the house with his eyes. Bruno got the hint. “Is it alright for my colleague to have a look at your daughter’s room? To see if there are any clues as to where she might have gone?”

Lini shrugged his assent. “Be my guest. I’m not sure you’ll find anything useful as the police couldn’t either: it seems Violetta had stripped it almost bare of her belongings - barring the odd item of school clothing - without us knowing.”

“Have they followed up on her disappearance?” Bruno asked as his partner trudged up the stairs.

"We told them about her maternal grandmother in Greece - or Inganna did - and the officer took that as an excuse to not ask any more questions. They said they could only do so much because it’s classed as a domestic dispute: if Violetta doesn't want to come back, then...  I don't blame her. I suppose I haven't been a very good father over the last few years: I threw myself into my work when Ofelia was…” Lini was quiet for a moment as he held back several conflicting emotions; he sighed through his nose, and sorted the rest of the photos back into their box. “Then it seems Inganna slowly took over everything. Including me. I feel like such an idiot... she was there at the perfect time to be a nurse for my first wife, and then when she wanted to be with me afterwards-"

"-It was too good to be true?" the capo supplied.

"I realise that now... and it seems she had a hand in shortening both my Mamma's and Ofelia's lives, or at the very least, ignoring signs of a need for medical attention… Ofelia was so weak towards the end: she died due to complications after choking on a piece of food. There may not be a shred of proof that Inganna stood by and let it happen, but she damned herself back there with her own words; that terrible woman is not welcome here anymore."

“Good.” Leone caught the slight edge to Bruno’s voice as he came back down; he shrugged and made a winding motion with his hands.

“I was supposed to have been… going with her… to church today…” Lini stumbled into another long pause, fighting against his finally acknowledged feelings, then continued after wiping one of his eyes with a thumb. "...So... if Violetta doesn't come back if… when you find her, tell her I'm sorry. For everything. Oh," the soft-spoken father added, a little more life injected into his voice this time, "tell her that her Nonna left her house to her, not me; Inganna had me hide that from her because... well, at the time I thought it was because she wanted to stop a whole bunch of arguments but now I know it's because Inganna wanted it for herself. So, If Violetta wants it after everything, then it's hers to keep. Or sell. It's the least I can do."

Bruno smiled faintly at the attempt at reparations. "We'll arrange it, Signore Lini: I have someone who's very good at property and probate law. That’s all we need to know for now." He stood up from the kitchen stool and shook the man’s hand.

Lini nodded sadly afterwards, and gestured to the door. "If you're finished with me, could I have some time to call work and explain everything, and then clear up after the ‘gatt-astrophe’, please?"

"As you wish. And if Violetta decides to come back…?”

"I'll let you know. Although I'm not exactly sure why she's piqued your interest, I'm sure you won't tell me either; I'd rather not know anyway."

"We'll leave you to it, then." Leone murmured, passing a business card to the despondent man, and then followed his capo out of the house.

* * *

As they drove away in the van, [Moody Blues] materialised a few steps away from the front door, turned into their slightly built and pinafored quarry bundled up in a thin coat with a hood, and stormed angrily away in the direction of which they now knew to be the school. 

“It makes me wish one or the other of us was any good at art: we wouldn’t need a photograph then… Huh: you know what…?” Leone pondered, speeding up the recording as Bruno kept driving, “when she looked back over her shoulder and glowered like that she reminded me of something, but the hood isn’t helping…”

They tailed the simulacrum until it reached a currently open gate in a high stone wall, and made a dash across the playground to a large wooden hut.

Leone sighed at the confirmation when his Stand found it could go no further. “As I thought: the school. And then I can't follow for some reason after she enters the school gates, jumps onto that shed over there, then jumps onto something else too far for [Moody Blues] to follow that isn’t there now; Violetta's very clever to have curated all her recent movements with several layers of redundancy. All because she already knows about my Stand: she must have guessed that eventually I would find out what she looked like and where she lived - way before this week - and prepared accordingly.”

"I'm not sure what that means…” Bruno stated as he started the van again and turned it round in the street. “Could you elaborate?"

"This recording of Violetta is the latest one in which something significant happened - the argument - before she left the house. She didn’t come back after that, not even to direct all those cats. I checked while I was upstairs. This is completely different from when I know a unique timestamp that an event happened to which I can wind back to - one instance of a person's movements, like Narancia on the yacht until [Soft Machine] caught him - but think back to when I tried to track that teleporting fish Stand: I couldn't… Imagine it like a forensics scene where I'm dusting for prints. Her 'prints' are all over the place from different times, but once she leaves the house I don't know which ones are significant. In effect, I'm going to have to track every single one down individually from at least the last month, possibly longer. One where she leaves the house as normal, but then splits off somewhere else, halfway between. It doesn't stand out until then from the hundreds of other times. It's like finding a straw in a haystack before I narrow it down to a couple dozen divergence points, never mind a needle.”

“But she’s known about [Moody Blues] since July, Leone.”

The silver-haired man agreed with his partner as they continued to drive away from the school. “Then I'll have to go back more than a few months if I want to find a recording where she is less cautious; we'll have to come back when Signore Lini is either at work or elsewhere, and track the most promising leads then. And each trail will take time, even if I speed it up.”

"Huh, that could take days, weeks even… why not start now?"

“There's… somewhere I need to be later.”

"Oh, ok… actually… you look how I felt earlier,” Bruno realised, touching the taller man’s arm briefly. “Do you need to do this by yourself or can I come with you?"

"It's a funeral. But…” Leone hesitated, then realised if he let Bruno into this, then maybe he’d also have a better chance to enquire about what was bothering his partner later. “... yes, I'd prefer it if you came."

"Do we need to let people know-?"

"I cleared it with Giorno already."

Interesting: he rarely uses his first name...and now he’s used it twice since leaving the station. Bruno noted. "We - well, more of an I - should change into something more appropriate first, then."

"Agreed." The van made a left and began to drive back to the villa, as it was closer than the capo’s house, while Leone filled Bruno in regarding the memorial service’s details and why he felt he needed to go. When they got back to HQ, most of the inner circle were out - even Giorno - so after a quick lunch Bruno went to find some darker clothing before they set out again, almost back to the same part of town.

* * *

Chapter Text

The pair of gangsters sat at the back of Sant'Anna di Palazzo and listened to the priest’s solemn service, sprinkled with readings from the Bible and short speeches from people with a memory of the old martial artist to share.

Leone was actually quite impressed with the turnout: “I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here to see him off: there are a couple of rookie police officers and a pickpocket I recognise, and a whole group of people at the front wearing t-shirts with the same thing written on it; can you see what it is from here, Bruno?”

“It seems to be something along the lines of: ‘Amici dello Zoo di Napoli’. Hmm… one of them appears to be doing the next reading…”

The young woman that had approached the lectern opened a small book and began to read from it. “There have been many retellings of this story since Roman times, and it was one of Dante’s favourites; if you show mercy then you receive mercy in return, and eventually this may become friendship.

‘Androclus was a slave that had run away from his master, and while he was on the run, he sheltered in a cave. There he found a lion that normally would have attacked the man, but this lion was wounded. Androclus helped the lion by removing the thorn from its paw, and the lion became tame towards him. After that, the lion shared what he had caught in gratitude.

‘After several years of living in the wild, Androclus missed his home and decided to return to civilization. However, soon afterwards he was captured for still being a runaway, and sent to Roma to be devoured by wild animals at the Circus Maximus, witnessed by the Emperor Caligula himself. The most intimidating of these animals refused to kill him, and it was revealed that it was the same lion that Androclus helped and still held affection for him.

‘After being questioned by the Emperor, he was pardoned in recognition of the power of friendship and allowed to keep the lion; when he walked it among the shops and streets of Roma, Androclus was given money and the lion was showered with flowers. Everyone who met them afterwards exclaimed: “This is the lion, a man’s friend; and this is the man, a lion’s doctor.” ’

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Bruno whispered, eyes shining. “It reminds me of the time I found my own lion…”

Yes, it is beautiful, Leone thought to himself, and only nodded slightly in return because he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t tear up a little if he replied.

There was a brief pause and a sheet of paper was unfolded from the woman’s pocket and she read from it with care; it was obvious that this young woman had known the old trainer personally.

“Dante helped others, who in turn helped others too. At our Zoo, there was once a lioness called Contessa who needed our help. She had lost interest in eating, and became weak enough that the owners of the Zoo were considering putting her down. One Saturday afternoon in late March along with a few choice cuts of meat from a butcher’s shop, Dante brought a girl with him - a cat-whisperer - who discovered what no-one else had been able to. From just five minutes alone with Dante and the big cat, the girl found out that Contessa was suffering from a large blade of grass that had become stuck up her nose; it was masking the smell of her food so it was less appetising. Once our vet removed the obstruction then Contessa was almost back to her old self again, and wolfed the food down that Dante had brought. It meant that after she regained enough weight she could be moved to a larger enclosure at another zoo, like her cubs had been previously.”

A cat whisperer…? It couldn’t be… could it…?

The woman at the lectern then finished her speech. “The Friends will miss you, Dante. And we hope that wherever V is, she misses you too.”

Both Leone and Bruno side-eyed each other and mouthed the name ‘Violetta’ at the same time.

“After the service,” Bruno whispered. “We can ask to make sure.”

* * *

“Excuse me Signorina: may we have a word?” The young woman turned to see who it was and Leone quickly followed with his question. “I used to train with Dante several years ago at his dojo, so I came to pay my respects; I’m also trying to trace a missing girl, who I didn’t realise was connected to him until now.” Well, I had a hunch, but nothing concrete … “We think she’s the one mentioned in your dedication: could you tell us who you are and how you’re connected to both Dante and Violetta Lini?”

“Violetta? Oh, you mean V: is that her name?” The momentary confusion on the young woman’s face disappeared and she held out her hand. “I’m Amalia: I work part-time at the Zoo when I’m not studying for my zoology degree. Dante used to give me self-defence lessons because my Nonna insisted I should be able to take care of myself when I moved here. We met through the Amici… hang on a minute: why are you asking me and not the police? Is she in trouble…?”

Bruno nudged Leone and whispered: "The photo: maybe-?"

“We’ve been given this by her father so we can run a separate investigation to the local police.” Leone fished the picture from his inside pocket and showed only the folded half with Violetta.

Amalia only needed to scrutinise it for a second; her recognition of the girl was clear. "Yeah. That's her. Don't know what whoever was doing the dresses was thinking to give her that one to wear: it makes her eyes look more of an acid chartreuse than chrysoberyl, and it looks cheap, too. I’ve seen confirmation dresses nicer than that."

"That would be her new stepmother."

The zookeeper sniffed at that. “Well, that figures. She probably didn't want to be upstaged on her big day… so, V’s gone missing?”

Leone nodded slowly. “Yes: after an argument with the same woman. When did you last see her?”

The young woman thought for a moment. “That'd be... around six months ago? There wasn't any real reason for her to come after the last of the big cats were shipped out and she'd done her school project. Dante kept coming, but less often after that as he was getting a bit unsteady occasionally." Amalia looked at their faces and realised they didn't know what she was talking about. "Look: the Zoo's been neglected for years and it's only with the help of volunteers - Dante included - that it has lasted this long. If nothing gets done soon, then it'll close for good.  

Bruno interjected at that point: “I expect some wildlife protesters might think that wouldn’t be such a bad thing…”

She shook her head. “A lot of people think so, but it’s more complicated than that, especially when certain endangered or too-tame rescued animals can never go back to the wild. The city will lose something precious because all the money's been earmarked for projects that make politicians look good short term, or been siphoned off by whoever. Good zoos bring in tourists and are on the front line providing conservation awareness and knowledge about animals that you wouldn't normally get to see in a suburb of a major city. But it’s an old zoo: it needs major refurbishment that we just couldn’t afford by ourselves, so there are a lot of hard choices the staff have to make…"

She went back to the question they'd asked to finish it off. "The lion they helped - Contessa - was lucky she met this kid: the other zoo in France wouldn't have even considered her if she wasn't in tiptop shape. This zoo would've put her down otherwise. Dante's intervention..."

The young woman misted up a little at this point and she looked away and upwards to stall the tears. "It's a big blow to the volunteers and staff: he'd put a lot of his own money towards food and repairs, and helped us raise funds by word of mouth. It's weeks now, rather than months before it shuts. Ahem, well... his death... no-one had a clue he’d been covering up just how bad his Ménière's really was. V was the one that found him at the bottom of some steps, apparently: called both an ambulance and the Zoo to let us know, but that was by phone and nobody saw her."

The silver-haired mafioso wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to someone else who knew his old trainer well, so he left it at that, seeing how she probably wouldn’t know much more, apart from possibly an address for Dante’s gym; he’d changed locations since Leone had trained there. Unfortunately she didn’t:  the old trainer had usually visited her once or twice a month in her lunch break and they used an empty enclosure to practise in. "I see... Well, thanks for the information. I-"

There was a sudden crash and a chorus of yowling voices coming from the back of the church. The lady on the door hissed at the organist: "It's the ghost of Nonna Gatta! Quick: do what the cat’s note said!" before waving at them to change what they were playing; the Quarantaquattro Gatti song. Looking behind her, Leone could see a group of small creatures that were filing into the porch in single file; his brain made a strange, yet inevitable leap...

That's peculiar: the vast majority of these stray cats have varying shades of grey or black fur... oh my: they're funeral cats...

Bruno appeared to have come to a similar conclusion. "Is this what I think it is…? Is this... Violetta...?"

“She didn’t dare come in person so she paid her respects in the only way she could…” Leone got up from his pew and began to count as the line grew longer, eventually circling around the coffin until there was a ring three-deep with felines, apart from the last two cats. They sat down and gazed into the centre of the circle for around ten seconds, during which time people that had brought cameras had fished them out from pockets and started snapping. The cats, after some unseen signal, stretched as one and filtered out just as silently as they entered. Apart from a single black and white ‘tuxedo’ cat with a white ‘bib’ and ‘spats’ at the head of the parade, which looked to its right, straight at him; it cocked its head quizzically before snapping its head back to the same direction as the others.

“Forty-four cats, so roughly the same amount as the kitten mill incident. Just like the song. And she definitely let me know that she saw me,” Leone murmured softly.

They then changed formation to six lines of seven cats with the two left over separating to lead and tail the procession, trooping back past the onlookers, heads held high. The ex-cop waited until the last one had left the church and moved to the porch, Bruno a close shadow behind him as they were followed by several of the congregation that had kept their wits. The cats outside had already mostly disappeared; several bounding furry butts could be seen through the open wooden door, disappearing round corners, into holes and under parked cars. "[Moody Blues]!" He cast his Stand back through time ten seconds and acquired a dark grey cat with a white tail and ears in the last full row, then followed it carefully outside, where he saw it instantly 'switch off' and bolt for the nearest alley. There was no-one of appropriate age to be Violetta in sight.

"Ffff-" he stopped himself from swearing just in time, and re-entered the church instead, bumping into Bruno who’d been about to follow him out.

"No sign of Violetta?" the capo enquired.

"Nope. Just wanted to see what the cat did right outside the building. She was piloting the whole lot remotely, from heaven knows where. The reins on them were dropped as soon as they stepped outside, a row at a time.”

“So… are we finished here?”

“Not till I ask the doorwarden about that ‘Ghost of Nonna Gatta’ outburst…”

*

Two hours later they were back at the villa, in Giorno’s office, with Murolo lounging on the new couch. Leone first showed the unfolded photo of Violetta to the Don, then passed it over to the data specialist. “We got that photo for you, but it came with a few extras…”

* * *

Another couple of hours after the debriefing, and Murolo had slunk off to his demesne (or the old surveillance room, which he’d staunchly refused to have anyone else decorate apart from removing all the old rubbish, kitting it out with his own belongings and equipment), he returned with some additional information.

“It turns out that this particular church was one of those that Farina Lini - AKA Nonna Gatta - used to clean before she retired. There have been rumours for a while that the cats in the area have been a bit weird for the past few years, and especially… ornery… since she died.” He took his hat off and scratched his head before replacing it. “It’s probably the main reason why the locals have been attributing the phenomenon to a ghost rather than looking around for another explanation: Violetta’s nonna appears to be entering the local folklore, and in the meantime anyone who wasn’t even slightly aware of Stands, including some of our rank and file soldatos who live nearby, wasn’t attributing the increase in feline activity to anything other than her…”

“Nothing more than that?”

“Yup… that’s pretty much it,” Murolo shrugged expansively, “I went over most of the nonna’s background yesterday; this just adds a certain piquancy to it, is all. However, the boxer guy is almost non-existent on everyone’s radar apart from the people who interacted with him, apart from rumours and the word ‘Switzerland’. Until today, I thought he was a myth: it didn't occur to me that one of our own had any data on him; serves me right for not checking… If I had a last name then maybe I could do some digging-”

“How about we let sleeping lions lie this time?” Giorno put a stop to Murolo’s musings after assessing the ex-cop’s sour expression, his short command layered with multiple meanings.  “And the photo?”

“Still analysing it: her face-pulling doesn’t help me; of course, I have some theories, but…” he shrugged again, although this time it was more contained, maybe even a little furtive, “...they’re pretty wild, even for me. I think I’ll keep them to myself until I acquire more evidence.” Both Giorno and Abbacchio picked up on the barely-caught glance in the Don’s direction. “Excuse me: I have some reports to write up.” And the data analyst left the office whistling some tuneless ditty.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Buccellati chimed in. “What’s got his goat? He’s withholding information…”

“Personally, I think he has a suspicion about the case, but he doesn’t want to be proved wrong in front of me. Or certain other parties: not until he’s more certain about his theories.” Giorno stood up and got ready to leave himself. “I’ll let him have his way, for a while…”

Leone and Bruno glanced at each other after the Don left; in their minds was the unspoken knowledge that Murolo also wrote reports for another organisation that occasionally meddled in their affairs…

* * *

Forty-Four Cats

Chapter Text

Nothing.

There had been no sight, no sign, not even a sniff of the teenaged girl with the cat Stand for an entire month, apart from the occasional cat foraging for things a cat normally wouldn’t and leaving items in dead drops for other cats to pick up in highly inaccessible locations, so the chain was nigh-on impossible to follow for more than a few hours. Leone had made many unsuccessful attempts to follow both early and late cats, and earlier iterations of the girl’s movements via [Moody Blues] before July. He’d even caught Violetta’s forays to the Zoo, but only while she was there; the Cumana line defeated him like other transport had in the past.

To begin with, Giorno Giovanna had let his esoteric detective follow all the leads he could, but the wheels of progress throughout the organisation trundled on, and what was once the main thrust of the first couple of meetings after that first week of Advent slipped to second, third, and eventually a brief mention in AOB. Other concerns surfaced, and everyones’ time had been portioned out appropriately, leaving less and less time to devote manpower (mostly Leone, and occasionally Bruno), to finding Violetta. The sighting of a rare, strangely behaving cat was all they had to prove the girl was still alive; the lack of progress hung over both Leone and Giorno like a hazy day before the sun broke through: the mood detectable on the edges of the senses, with the added tension of having to wait for it to clear.

 * * *

Christmas had passed, and the old gang celebrated both separately and together, then New Year's Day arrived. And Giorno was faintly regretting organising a trip abroad while the issue remained unsolved behind him… 

“I'm reluctant to leave the mission's loose ends flapping around in the wind while we jet off to Japan. I'm not going to break my promise to go, but..." Giorno sighed, dropping his head back onto his pillow and putting a hand over his eyes. "I just have this... feeling... that something's going to happen while-”

“Like when you're in the bath and a postman comes with a package to sign?” Mista crawled back up the bed and flopped down beside his partner, kissing him on that hand and trailing down his face until leaving a longer kiss on his lips. “Giorno, it'll be ok even if you're not here. You have everyone else in your corner over this, and since we busted the guys running the more shady shit, things have really settled down over the last couple of months, even if it’s been busy. And you deserve a break,” he added, laying on his back again and putting his hands behind his head. "You've been pushing yourself so hard since you took over. Even a boss needs to kick back and relax sometimes.”

Giorno sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, “And you don't want to miss out on all the ‘relaxing’ we'll be doing in between landing and taking the train from Tokyo to Morioh…”

“It's a fair cop, boss.” Mista grinned and shrugged, his arms still up, which did interesting things to Giorno’s libido, but they didn’t have any more time for that now.

“You don't have to call me boss when we're in bed.”

“Maybe I want to…” Mista reached his arm out to caress the blond Don’s back, and he shivered and arched at the touch. Then Giorno shook himself both physically and mentally and stood up, folding that part of himself away.

“Come on,” he crisply announced, “we have to get to the airport.”

“Aww…. So soon?” Mista grumbled, but even he sat up, knowing that Giorno didn’t like to have to tell people twice.

“You know security has blown up since the terrorist attacks: we'll need another couple of hours to get clear of that, let alone the flight itself; it'll be the same at the other end too. With the time difference it'll be solidly into tomorrow afternoon before we get to be tourists for a few hours if we're not exhausted from the flight, then crash in the hotel. Meeting 'the folks' won't happen till the day after that, and-”

“It'll be fiiiine. We'll go there, check everything out, play nice with your relatives, and buy a bunch of wacky presents to bring back with us for the guys. No need to be so anxious about it-”

“I'm not anxious-”

Mista raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Yes you are: you've gone into super-planning mode with contingencies within contingencies; I'm the one that should be anxious: I can't take a weapon on the flight.” He wrapped his arm around his boss’ waist and gave it a brief squeeze. “Look, if things don't turn out like planned, we'll wing it. Or ask your cousins for a favour or something: I mean, yes they helped out - a little - in Roma, but our guys dealt with that horrible mask thing for them. And made it more convenient for them to ignore our little operation here. If you ask for a favour, then I bet they'll be more willing to ask you back when they want something done.” The gunman stood up and retrieved his hat from the bedside table, adding: “Anyhow, if we have to be leaving soon, I'd better grab a quick shower before you hog the bathroom- Oi! Turn it back, you fiend!” 

His hat was now a swarm of Periander metalmarks, and Giorno was actually giggling.

* * *

After a final ten-minute meeting where the Don of Passione handed over the reins (temporarily) to the remaining team and they were shooed out of the door to an impatiently waiting taxi (complete with blaring horn), Bruno shut the door of the villa and immediately called a second meeting.

Most of it was taken up by the need to arrange for Passione's cash assets to be exchanged to the new Euro notes as there was only a two-month grace period for most transactions and it was important that they didn't flood the system with suspicious amounts of money. Electronic business transactions had been dealt with already, but the word needed to go out from the bottom to the very top of the organisation, as a lot of operatives relied on rolls of banknotes for a variety of reasons. They also discussed offering a 'service' whereby they could earn a percentage of exchanged tender by acting as an unofficial exchange bureau for people who had stored their savings under the mattress and not in a bank; ordinary folks would be grateful, and they'd also extend the two-month period to their fee collections as a way to pay in old notes (plus a bit) until the financial landscape had settled.

As was usual over the last couple of weeks, Any Other Business consisted of Trish's announcement to cut her last show, meaning she'd be back a week earlier than advertised, bringing forward her visit to sometime mid-January instead of nearer the end.

And there was still no sign of Violetta, apart from occasional rumours of one or two cats at a time behaving strangely all over the city. Leone gave a report as to his final couple of weeks’ tailing activities that he’d purposely omitted from the previous meeting, to get their boss out of the door faster and not have him leave with even more concerns…

"Can't you find her with [Moody Blues], Abbacchio?" Narancia piped up from his cross-legged position on the floor.

Leone rolled his eyes. "We've been over this, Narancia- oh, you did miss the first meeting where we discussed Violetta's abilities, so - this time - I'll give you a pass: she has been way too wary of my known ability since July, and she's had time to plan against it. I've been able to follow more recent trails she's left from her house where I know she's been at a certain time, but it was either a totally mundane day where she went to school or church and back, or eventually she tricks the Stand into not being able to follow... more like [Clash]'s teleportation ability, but with movable props. I'd have to reacquire the location and timestamp each time... and nothing else would get done around here..."

"Huhh?"

Leone sighed and tried to explain in more simple terms to the shorter teenager, who still appeared to be confused. "I might have a location to start from, but I have so many times of origin, that tracking each and every single one either forwards or backwards at a different time of day where movable objects such as ladders, ropes, or cars are in different positions is almost impossible. Once I was following a trail and she went straight up the side of a building with zero handholds to an inaccessible rooftop.”

“What, she used a rope or something?”

“And pulled it up after herself, that’s what I guessed at the time; I could get a brief snapshot but [Moody Blues] couldn’t follow smoothly without handholds or a rope of their own,” the ex-cop agreed. “Or follow myself to get any impression over several metres up. Another time I was following a cat as far backwards as I could trace it, and I was literally playing reverse Frogger with it and then running parallel to a beach at high tide until it did the whole 'switching off' thing. Given she appears to be able to command a cat at a fairly long range, I had no idea where she was standing to do that; it was almost as bad as trying to track the other members of La Squadra backwards from their deaths. Have you tried getting your Stand to move backwards in a vehicle over a large distance? People begin to notice that kind of crap. There's more risk to me acting strangely in those cases: It was far easier getting [Moody Blues] to pilot a plane forwards while I just sat around and there was nothing for miles to crash into, but, say, if I had to drive a car or motorbike backwards at the correct speed along a busy road..."

"Yikes! I hadn't thought of that! Even doing it at midnight would still be dangerous around here: you could crash into all sorts of stuff..."

"Exactly. It's why we haven't found either La Squadra's old base or Violetta yet. I'm certain she jumped onto vehicles herself at various points to throw off the scent."

"Do you think after all this time that we're going to find her, though?" Fugo asked.

"I'd like to think so: there should be a landlord out there somewhere that may be coming to certain conclusions about a certain property they own... but anything could happen in the next month."

Bruno finished the meeting then: "I think the only thing we can do at this point is to keep an eye out as we have been so far, and continue with our usual tasks.”

* * *

So, Leone... what task have you assigned yourself today?"

Everyone else had left except Bruno and Leone: the capo was in the boss’ chair and his partner had perched on the edge of it as they waited for Fugo to return from the kitchen with a pot of coffee for the table.

"The rental ads: now it's the new year, there may be a couple of HMO properties that start showing up there: I can pose as a potential tenant and find out who the last people to live in them are. If nothing else, it'll cross them off the list."

"Fair enough. It'll take myself and Fugo the rest of the day to sort out these instructions so good luck," he waved his hand at the desk and gave his boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek before Leone left and after finding Fugo about to knock on the door, ushered the trainee legal assistant back in.

…

After half a day's search through a combination of newspapers, notice boards in shops local to the area, and even borrowing Bruno's new laptop for an hour (Giorno had bought one as an apology for cracking the case of his old device in Venezia when he’d thrown it, upon the capo’s return; Murolo had recovered the increasingly flaky data from the old laptop by 'ways and means' to copy over settings, confidential information and so on), to click through a growing number of online ads, Leone had a fairly substantial list of around twenty properties. Because like hell was he going to ask the IT department for help.

Especially the hat-wearing suck-up under Giorno's thumb: other things besides cream floated to the top, and he was still wary of a guy who had a finger in so many pies that at any point in the past he'd used that to stay afloat in an increasingly dangerous environment. I mean, kudos to the guy for sticking it out and surviving, but... he might seem genuine most of the time, but if for some reason Giovanna is ousted too, what's to stop him flipping again...? At least the barefoot brat is predictable and honest enough. Even though she's childishly annoying... and her weaknesses are a bit too easy to use against her if you know which buttons to push...

For the rest of the day he reached out to what landlords he could on the list and selected three likely candidates to see that very afternoon, spacing out the rest to occur between tomorrow and Befana in several days time according to their location and availability. Two remained unavailable so he tacked those onto the end of the list to deal with later. Knowing my luck, it'll be one of those...

The legwork over the next couple of days was painstaking yet methodical: the ex-cop pounded his new beat with purpose, even though the quarry was still tantalisingly out of reach.

Until the last name on his list - one of the previously unavailable landlords - actually got in contact with him instead.

“Pronto: this is Signore Positano. Is that a Signore Abbacchio? I was told by a, um, mutual colleague of ours that you were asking after me about an apartment…?”

So he’s Passione-affiliated, or at least adjacent… that makes things easier… I wonder why he didn’t step forward earlier…? “Could I speak to you about that now?”

“Sure thing, boss,” the voice seemed very eager on the other end of the line. “Only… it might be easier to explain if I showed you…”

* * *

Chapter Text

Abbacchio waited outside the apartment address in a cold drizzle with an umbrella borrowed from his partner until a balding, pudgy man of medium height and a slight limp showed up from down the street. He waved at the taller man and pointed towards the closed door and a shuttered shop between them. “I guess it’s you who’s, ahem, in contact with my brother?”

“Positano, I take it?” the silver-haired man enquired.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the balding man held a large hand out that was out of proportion to the rest of his body, but retracted it once it was clear that the gangster wasn’t interested.

“Just fill me in on the details quickly now I’m here: this isn’t the only job I have today. And it’s freezing.”

“Of course, signore: my brother owns the shop below and pays you protection for that; I own the apartment above, but it’s in my wife’s maiden name. We’ve been out of the country until last week seeing people in New York. Hadta come back when I found out the monthlies weren’t flowin’ as much as usual.” The landlord’s diction had picked up a slight accent from his stay abroad, it seemed. “She’s the brains of the outfit really, but she stayed to look after her mother-”

“Yeah, I’m not bothered about your life story, just the details about the apartment itself and what’s happened to it.” Abbacchio straightened up and crossed his arms, glaring at the landlord.

“Sure, sure: suit yourself; I take it you’re not one of the chatty ones that comes round to collect from Beniamino, then?” The tall silver-haired man stood there impassively. “Riiight… well: this here is my brother’s shop, and next to it is the door to the apartments. They’re on the five floors above: communal area and toilet first, then four floors of bedrooms. The bathroom’s on the middle floor.”

“And how do you run it?”

“Strictly off the books. That was the draw, y’see: it’s listed as a single house that the mother-in-law lives in, only she’s emigrated… but I sublet the separate rooms.” Positano waggled his hand then. “Or did, up until around five years ago, when some guy from Passione came round with a stack of cash and put a deposit down for the whole place, with a monthly rent drawn from a bank account that transfers to mine. Used to have nine guys in there to begin with, but still paid the same after they were down to seven several years back. Said they didn’t want any other guys in there who weren’t part of their group, so I let them.”

“And how did you keep in touch with them?”

“I didn’t, really: my brother useta get a note through the door when somethin’ needed fixin’, and I’d go in myself to do a spot of plumbing or one time, clean up a mirror someone had broken, replace a door panel that had busted… and another stack of cash was waiting for me when I showed up.”

So they had fights between themselves too, Abbacchio mused to himself, then held out the photos for the landlord to peruse. “Did you speak to any of them at all, when you showed up to do repairs?”

“They always made sure they’d be out so I could work on it alone, or with a couple of other handymen if I needed. The only guy I ever saw, right at the beginning, was that tall one there.” He stabbed Risotto's picture with a finger on the ‘there’. “Benni might have seen some of ‘em, but he’s not around to talk to till next month as he’s got his own troubles-”

Bingo! Abbacchio cut him off before he could go into any more of his family’s backstories; there was no need to follow up on other sightings now, as this was definitely the La Squadra base. Now to see if this is the place Violetta retreated to… “Ok, so, did you see anyone else hanging around? Say, any kids?”

“As I said, I’ve been away the last few months. And before then? Nothing at all: again, you’d hafta ask Benni. With the rent being set up to pay automatically, I only noticed because the last payment bounced, which means the feeder account is probably empty.”

“Ok, so you said you had something to show me: could you let me in now, so I can see what the problem is?”

“Now, that would’ve sounded like an idea,” Positano sighed dramatically, “Except for this…” The landlord had fished a couple of keys out from his pocket and stepped forwards to unlock the door, but the key only went a short way into the hole before the man grumbled under his breath, tried the key again while jiggling the handle a couple of times, and then tried to budge it with his shoulder. “Y’see, this is what I wanted to show you,” he turned to the gangster with a worried expression. “It appears someone has sabotaged the lock: worked perfectly fine in February, before I was away… This is the only door into the block as well: I was hoping that it was just stiff and that’s why I called right away, because I didn’t want any trouble with Passione when it’s-”

“What? How?” Abbacchio impatiently took the keys from the man and tried them himself. He pushed the key a little bit further than the landlord had with his own sheer strength, but didn’t want to force it in further, in case it snapped in the lock… He bent down to eyeball the keyhole and saw some kind of clear, hard residue in there. “Dammit: superglue!” He tried to barge the door open himself, but it was quite thick, and didn’t move a millimetre. “Fuck!”

“Hey hey! Don’t give me more work to do!” Positano tapped him on the shoulder, and took a couple of steps back when he saw the taller man’s face and he put his hands up to try to placate him. “Look, I can get stuff for that: I just wanted to show you the sitch first, yeah? I know a locksmith who's very handy with locks. He can be here in an hour or so, and we can get it open in two.”

Sheesh: all this could have been mentioned over the phone and I would have turned up with a guy myself, Abbacchio rolled his eyes in concert with his own thoughts. “And after that, would you let me in so I can investigate the inside?”

“Sure, no problem,” the landlord shrugged, “as long as I don’t hafta go in myself, because of all the stairs…” He tapped his leg at this point. “Also, just in case they’ve died; I don’t wanna be seein’ no corpses. After that is fine though: I can get a couple of guys in with better legs than mine to see what the damage is on the upper floors, and see if I can recover any losses by turning it around quickly…”

Oh, that’s a possibility, Abbacchio thought to himself. We never worked out what happened to Risotto after he bailed: it’s a very small possibility, but it’s a good excuse to be able to poke around the place myself and give it the ‘all clear’ before Positano gets in the way. Especially if the kid’s here… wait, if this is the only door, then she must be using a window to climb in and out of…

So… is she in, or out at the moment…? I haven’t seen any cats around, which is odd if she’s in: I would have expected some kind of guard on the place… and some kind of reaction already…

The tall gangster looked up at the storeys above him in the narrow street and noticed a lot of little balconies, more like large window boxes really, but no sign of life. Plenty of handholds, and an outside ledge is definitely a good place to hide ropes and other equipment to stop pursuit. I have to shoo this man away to do his job quickly, then I can have a look around with [Moody Blues], just to make sure. If she was never here, then we could still offer to rent the house ourselves, and set up a new group in it…

“Let me keep this key and I could investigate all the apartments myself, after the locksmith's work is done,” he offered. “Then I'll let you know if there are any problems afterwards. I’ve seen my fair share of corpses before… it might not be a good idea to hang around waiting for me though: just get the job done and retreat. There’s still a small possibility we have a rogue member on our hands and it would be unfortunate if folks just trying to make a living were in the vicinity if the worst happened… and afterwards, we may be able to offer you a deal on the place…”

Positano got the layered point the gangster was insinuating. “Ah… Sure thing, boss: I have a spare set of keys for the place and the rooms anyway;  I’ll go find my pal Magnani and he’ll have you in there in un batter d'occhio. I’ll call you when he’s done, yeah, if you wanna wait elsewhere while he’s working? And then you can snoop around all you like. I did say it might take a couple of hours, so, ciao…” And the chubbly landlord limped back down the street after Abbacchio agreed.

Once he was gone… “[Moody Blues]!”

First of all, Abbacchio checked the front door for any sign other than Positano. The landlord - as stated - was only there twice: once a few minutes ago and once early that morning. The time dialled back a month and there was a small figure in a hooded jacket that moved up to the door and reached towards the lock with some invisible item, then didn’t go through the door at all: they just left…  

It was strange how [Moody Blues] would clothe recorded individuals, but anything they didn’t usually wear or carry wasn’t replicated, which was why on the boat to Capri, the only evidence of Narancia’s headphones was the faint sound and his nodding movements. The same had happened here…

He froze the Stand at the timestamp currently on its head to have a good look.

Violetta! It was the girl they’d been looking for since last July. His patience had finally paid off…

The day after the funeral: Violetta set this up just in case, to buy herself time to escape if we found her there and then… but it’s been a month, and we didn’t, until now… Well that’s confirmation: I’ll not stand around any longer, just in case. He knew very well what almost happened last time he tried to look back more than a few months…

The main thing is that no-one else has used this door in a month either… Abbacchio realised. First, let’s leave this Positano to do his job; I can track her from here later as soon as I get some backup… I’m not waiting around outside, though: it’s suspicious, and getting cold…

He pulled out his phone and dialled the villa. “Hey, Bruno… you got some free time in a couple of hours after we have that late lunch you also promised me…? I’ve found the old La Squadra base…”

* * *

Chapter Text

The sky was darkening quickly, even for early January: thick clouds scudded over the hills and accumulated over the city, as a set of tyres splashed through a growing number of puddles in the backstreets of Napoli.

"Drop me off around a couple of side streets away and find somewhere not suspicious to park up, ok?" Leone directed Bruno as they approached what might be La Squadra's not-so-abandoned hideout in a minivan rental in a chilly, more biting rain than the earlier drizzle, which had come in from the north an hour ago as they were eating in Libeccio; their breath would have fogged up the windows if the heating hadn't been on full blast.

"Are you sure about going in alone?" His partner questioned the plan as they pulled up to a suitable parking spot a couple hundred metres down the hill near the start of Santa Chiara. "What if Violetta - if she’s there - gets spooked? Or worse..."

"She's interacted with me once already - albeit indirectly - so she might be willing to talk if I approach cautiously," the taller man replied. "Less so if she feels as if she's outnumbered, though; it's probably better if she doesn't know there's more than one of us to begin with, and I'll make less noise if I go in myself."

"And if-"

"If she gets away, I can always follow her [Moody Blues] recording. And if she isn’t there, I look around and find a recording we can follow, or stake the place out till she comes back. We can coordinate with these-" he added, handing over one of a pair of robust walkie talkies, "-and hopefully herd her to somewhere where she has no choice but to listen to us. You should come in from a different angle and head her off if she tries to bolt somewhere inaccessible to me: [Sticky Fingers] is far more applicable in a 3D environment and you can move that way much faster than I can; that's something she might not anticipate."

"If she does run, she knows it’s you - and your Stand - following her, though..."

"That's what I hope she realises: once I get a trace of her and the route isn’t too obtuse, then it's only a matter of time. That's why I haven't been pushing it today: I probably have a lot more stamina than a kid that's likely to have been awake all day; sooner or later she has to rest. And there's nowhere else she can go: it seems everyone she used to know is either incarcerated, dead, or otherwise unapproachable for a number of reasons."

Bruno attached the walkie talkie to a suction cradle on the dashboard and patted Leone's hand as he got out of the passenger seat. "I won't distract you by calling while you're in there: only let me know how things are going if you need it, and I'll move to match that, ok?" Leone nodded and began to walk up the hill.

-I'm walking up the hill, and it's actually starting to snow, Bruno. Over.- The voice of his partner crackled over the walkie talkie and Bruno chuckled to himself, then replied just as dryly: "Yeah, I noticed: I'm sitting in the minivan twiddling my thumbs, Leone. Over." To which there was a crackling: - Yeah, yeah, whatever. They work fine. Now shut up.-

* * *

Well, our landlord’s go-to locksmith seems to have sorted things out, Leone thought as he briefly used [Moody Blues] to check any comings or goings in a five metre radius of the door since the call from the landlord. Also, still no cats… or the kid; I don't know whether that's good or bad. Anyhow... He used the key he'd been given and it fit snugly into the degunked lock; it turned a little stiffly and he had to jiggle the key to each side a little before it opened properly.

Leone stepped over the threshold; inside it was almost dark. And like an icebox. There was a dim light coming through the gaps in mostly-drawn blinds and another faint light from somewhere off a balcony up the flights of stairs, but not enough to see by; he fished a small torch from his pocket and switched it on, sweeping it round his current position. Several takeout menus but no other post, he noted and moved into the kitchen, gently opening  the appliances and cupboards to get an idea of how recently they’d been used. Fairly clean but a little fusty... and the bins need emptying. Almost empty fridge... to be expected if it’s unpowered... Leone moved to the sink and carefully tested the water supply. Off, as he'd been told.

It must have been hard living here with no water or heating over the last couple of weeks, he mused, making sure to tighten the tap back to its original position.

Leone quietly stole further into the apartment; a couple of large bottles of water - one almost empty - sat on a low coffee table next to a burnt-out but still soft candle in a brass holder, and a battered TV was at the end furthest away from a long brown leather sofa. A nest of well-worn towels and mens' old clothing was arranged haphazardly both on the sofa and off it as if some had recently fallen down, but the core of fabric still had a modicum of residual heat as he placed his hand there to check. She was here recently… but how long ago…?

"[Moody Blues]," he breathed, and the lilac humanoid appeared within the cocoon of clothing, then after only a moment of scanning they morphed into a smaller, thinner figure swaddled in a huge red hoodie with the hood drawn up and black leggings - both with holes in - who seemed to be a lot paler than both the solitary photo previously provided and the latest recordings outside the Lini house and the door outside. The girl's breath was fast and shallow: what he could see of her sunken eyes remained closed as she held an (invisible) object up to her lips and reached out to place it back on the table where the opened bottle was. This is from only around ten minutes ago, he realised, looking at the display on the facsimile's forehead. He picked the bottle and sniffed at the contents, leaving [Moody Blues] to keep running. It is only water... good. He placed it back down in the same spot as before, and as he did so the Stand sat bolt upright and jumped out of the little nest, surprising him, then dashing past him until they were climbing the stairs on all fours. Leone sighed to himself and chided his lack of awareness: I should have expected some movement: after all, she's not here now...

There was a small sound from upstairs: a cough, maybe... Leone looked up at the Stand and their ascent paused, along with the timer. He cautiously slipped over to it himself, and then instructed [Moody] to proceed at half speed so he could follow in relative quiet.

As he got closer he could hear more sounds. That's retching, he surmised, full-knowing that particular sound; he cancelled the Stand just before it reached a room faintly lit by shades of warm yellow and orange. More candles, and also the very faint smell of vomit. He heard a sound of pouring water and stuck his head round the half-open door to what was revealed to be a small, freezing bathroom with the window open several centimetres and half-open shutters beyond that to diffuse the increasingly acrid smell.

There she is... as he took in the view a candle was snuffed out by a breeze and the light dimmed a little. The girl they'd been searching for since last summer was using a bucket to flush the toilet, and as she turned to place it (still part full) into the base of a shower unit, she let out a powerful, phlegm-filled sneeze. A paper napkin from a local restaurant was fished out from a pocket in her oversized hoodie and she blew her nose, but as she gave an experimental sniff (which still appeared to be fairly blocked), her neck swivelled instantly round to the tall goth's head and shoulders and she blinked once, like a small creature in the light of his torch, which he'd instinctively brought up in front of him to see better with.

"You...?! Merda!" And before he could react, the girl was charging the door, her eyes sparkling with a greenish-yellow gleam in the scant light of his torch as the remaining candles guttered out from a stiff gust of wind.

Leone ducked back out to avoid his head being trapped in the door, but she wasn't trying to attack or get past him; he realised too late that she had shoved the door shut and locked it. He knocked loudly on it: "Oh, for fuck's sake, kid: I just want to-"

There were some scraping sounds, which quickly faded into the general ambient noise of a Neapolitan winter evening.

"Violetta!" he called out in frustration, "Listen: I'm only here to ask some-"

Thud. Crash.

Screw this. He kicked the door open, breaking the lock in one blow, and rushed into the bathroom. The shutters and window were now wide open, and the wet snow blustered through what was now a bathroom with only himself in it.

Violetta Lini had left the hideout…

* * *

This window is over seven metres above the ground: surely she hasn't fallen... Leone carefully moved over to the shutters and glanced down to see a terracotta window box had been knocked off the narrow faux-balcony outside and had shattered on the narrow alley below, its contents spilling everywhere, but there was no sign of the girl. He cast his gaze upwards and finally to each side; around two metres to the left and a metre downwards, a slim figure could be seen reaching over to a lip of exposed brickwork that could only have been a centimetre wide. As he shone the torch over in that direction the suddenly highlighted form of the girl turned to him again and hissed; the spot caught her eyes again: this time they were an even paler yellow, and her wide pupils let the reflected retinas shine right back, just like a cat's. Any words he was about to say to try and coax her back in were temporarily lost when he saw the size of those canines...

Then she launched herself across a gap to the top of some metal piping and slid down with apparent ease, until her leap halfway down to the street betrayed a slight stumble and shake of the head before continuing down the narrow street westwards and dashing across the larger road at the junction into the Cloister Museum.

"[Moody Blues]," he barked, the Stand rematerialised and copied his own movements half a second behind his own passage, as he darted back down the stairs to the only exit he could use. Follow her trail: he mentally communicated as he locked the door, and once again the form of Violetta was before him, crouched on the cobbles. This time he took a little time to examine her more fully: her hood had fallen away so now he could see that this kid was very skinny and unwell to the point of feverishness. Gaunt even: he wasn't sure how she could still be standing until he thought back to all the times his own team had kept going when the shit hit the fan. Yup, Stand Users are all as stubborn as fuck... He grimaced and began jogging behind his Stand as he started it up at twice the speed of the girl.

Raising the walkie talkie to his mouth as he kept an eye on [Moody Blues] movements, he called his partner. "Bruno. Plan B: go southwest into the Quartieri Spagnoli before she realises we have a vehicle. You'll have to get ahead of her and double back."

"What happened?" Leone could hear the concern in his partner's tone, and the engine of the minivan roared in the background.

"Didn't stand still long enough to listen and climbed out of a third floor bathroom window. She's on foot but don't take [Sticky Fingers] for granted: she's almost as good vertically as horizontally, and she has quick reactions. Probably related to her Stand: remember what I said about the briefing last month, and Murolo’s sub-briefing about the snake house. And how well cats can climb. And she-" he cut himself off then, sighing deeply.

"Leone? If there's anything else I should know...?" Even more concern radiated from the device in his hand as he kept moving.

"Listen, there's something not right: I don't think she'll get too far in her condition and she knows that I can follow her pretty much anywhere, so there are limited options... but you never know: she might end up trying something and I want you to be ready, just in case..."

"What do you mean by condition? You didn't hurt her, did you-?"

"Of course not: what do you take me for?" That came out a bit more forceful than I meant it to... Keeping up with his Stand was getting harder as the streets became more slippery; the minor flurry of snow had already changed to a more annoying sleet. "No, she appears to be ill: she'd just finished vomiting in the bathroom when I found her, so she rushed me as a feint to lock the door and bolted straight out of the window before I could negotiate anything."

"I'm sorry I questioned you..." The sound of the engine died. "Look, I've parked up now by the church in the south of the Quartieri. The one we saw the cat procession in. Feed me the street names and I'll intercept, ok?"

"Sure."

* * *

Chapter Text

"She crossed the Via Toledo and went south about a minute ago: I'm catching up slowly, but it looks more and more like you'll have to intercept; if she goes high, [Moody Blues] can sometimes follow, you can definitely follow up and down buildings... but I can't, not reliably." Leone kept his partner informed over the walkie talkie as he jogged behind his Stand.

"You don't think she's going to go low: into the catacombs instead, do you?" Bruno’s voice crackled back.

"It's been really wet over the last few days and thinking back to last September's floods, it'll be wetter down there; not somewhere I'd like to be dashing around after tour hours, and most of the entrances are either capped or guarded in their own way. If [Moody Blues] does decide to go through an entrance then it would be better to stake out the remaining ones until either she comes out or a team goes in prepared; some of the tunnels are off-limits to the public. Also, the two closest public entrances are both behind you, and behind me: we can easily cut her off before either. Personally I'm just really hoping she doesn't."

"Not very rational..."

"More of an educated guess really… but like the cellar in the villa, parts of it aren't built for someone with my height in mind. She was on Vico Tre Regine fifty seconds ago, heading south," Leone added, then continued his previous thread of thought: "I'm not sure she's thinking quite rationally at the moment either: she's employed a few tricks to delay me but her tactics are currently based on getting away from one or two pursuers; I am quite sure the trail I'm following would normally be guaranteed to shake anyone off who doesn't have a special way of tracking. So we'd both better keep our wits about us, just in case she pulls a stunt like back at the school..."

"A tracking Stand... that's a very select list apart from yourself: Narancia's Stand is sometimes not specific enough. I wouldn't count Sheila's nose in that category either."

"Actually, there is a Stand that can track by scent - far better than Sheila E can sense - and once it has a lock on you it follows at sixty kilometres per hour. Giovanna mentioned it in passing on the phone a couple of days ago when both you and Fugo were out. He was considering hiring them to find the Lini girl if she didn't make an appearance, and was reconsidering when he found out its other effect: draining nutrients out of the tracked person when it caught up to them to heal the User; that’s definitely not a good idea if she’s sick already. Some bastard apparently stabbed him with one of those Arrows after he’d been in a nasty biker gang pile-up and it sort of shaped around what he most needed at the time."

"He's still working on this even when he's supposed to be on holiday with his new family?"

"He's..." Leone considered what to say, "...getting more concerned. He won't talk about it in detail, but there's something in his voice - in his whole demeanour - about this mission that's, I don't know, like he's drawn to it in some way... and Murolo appears to have been facilitating that too. I wouldn't be surprised if our acquaintances in the US and Japan were being kept in the loop as to our operations here, with Murolo as a go-between, given he sends monthly reports that apparently this time our Boss was asking him to file as close to Christmas as possible, to give him time to take a more personal interest before that Foundation sticks its nose in again. I bet he thought this Violetta business would be wrapped up by then-"

"But it wasn't, and we’re the ones wrapping it up," Bruno finished for him. "You decided to eavesdrop on him after all, then?"

"Why not? The paranoid bastard does it all the time with those sneaky cards of his… only while he was definitely a long way from the villa, though…" He crept along the next street quietly, aware that his Stand had stopped and he was drawing close. “It does mean that we’ll probably be getting one of theirs snooping over here once Giovanna gets back. Specifically around this mission, too.”

A sigh. "Leave speculation for later: where next?"

"Go north, then wait at the next crossroads; whichever landmark she ends up close to in this maze of streets - and thinks she can use against us - will be the decider, I think. There’s a couple I can think of right away: the nonna’s house and the deceased step-cousin’s are both around here…"

He rounded the corner where his Stand had previously turned left and found [Moody Blues] as an exhausted Violetta panting and holding herself up by an outstretched arm, palm flat against the wall; he sped up the timer for half a minute until the slight form started moving again. Only ten seconds ago... "I'm almost on top of her position: wait there until-" He looked down the street in the direction the Stand was travelling, stumbling a little and therefore continuing to use the building as a prop for most of the way.

And there she was: the real Violetta standing at the entrance of an alley; she looked back, saw both her copy and himself and hesitated for a brief second before entering the dark backstreet.

He closed to intercept, turned the last corner and saw she'd stopped around half way in, about ten metres away from a fence that split the alley into two, several metres high and without any discernible handholds. She looked behind herself again: the expression on her face was a kaleidoscope of resignation, fear, indecision... then a sudden determination, and her eyes gleamed again in that yellow, reflective way.

She's boxed herself in... But she deliberately chose this path: what is she hoping to accomplish here-? Leone stepped forward and cleared his throat, but he didn't get a chance to say anything as at this point Violetta began to move.

She backed up a little, then suddenly started running full tilt towards the high barrier; at the end of the sprint she crouched like a cat would and leapt through the air, combining the height of a world record high jumper with the speed of the long jump. She hit the fence at around two-thirds the way up with a thump, scrabbling to find a purchase on the slippery, sodden wood.

She isn't going to make it- he thought briefly, then saw that she hadn't dropped back to the ground at all. No, she was somehow clinging onto the fence and had started to climb upwards; every time she moved a hand or foot, the sound of splintering wet wood echoed through the alley.

Shit: this is her last card! If she can still climb that well while ill, then there are several additional places she can get to not far from here; this could have bought her enough time to cause a bottleneck... if it weren't for the fact she's definitely running on fumes now. And Bruno is likely near enough to enact a pincer movement...

"Quickly: turn right, then a sharp left and go north until you see her," he muttered in a low voice at the walkie talkie. "I'll be a little delayed, but not far behind."

"Copia."

The girl had climbed the last metre of fencing where she crouched on top for a second, then she dropped out of sight on the other side with a bit of a thud and a gasp; he approached the fence and inspected the fresh grooves cut into it.

Sorry kid: but you unwittingly gave me the means to follow you... still, this only works because I'm tall enough... "[Moody Blues]!" Leone recreated Violetta's leaping form at the exact moment she'd jumped up to the fence. Now he could see that she had materialised sharp claws from her fingernails; suspended in time in mid-air, her entire body stretched out and contorted more than a human child had any right to. Her shoes had also partially been absorbed into her feet, where claws also emerged from the end of the toes. And her ears had moved upwards and become more triangular in shape…

This could be so much more than a scouting Stand, he realised as he used the immobilised form of [Moody Blues] as an improvised ladder to follow the girl over the fence, pause at the top himself, then do the same in reverse on the other side. As he hopped off the time-locked Stand, he sped it back up again to witness an awkward landing from the copy, and the real deal less than five seconds ahead of him.

She glanced back yet again, a little shocked at the quick response to her last gambit and growled like a cat warning a rival on its territory that yes, it would fight if it had to... but then she shook her head; she'd decided to run again. Why? Except this time it was more of a stumbling hobble, and after a few seconds she lurched to a halt in front of his partner who had purposefully stepped out of another side street right in front of the now cornered girl.

Bruno was kind as usual, but firm in his first interaction with Violetta. "I think it's time to stop running away from your problems, don't you?"

At which point she promptly let loose a stream of projectile vomit all over his lower half and fell to the pavement in a crumpled heap.

* * *

Chapter Text

Click.

The girl twitched under the thin picnic blanket in her restless and fevered sleep; her breathing was shallow and only through her mouth, occasionally punctuated by a cough or groan.

Leone had been on guard for a few hours now; Bruno had taken the brunt of the kid’s projectile vomit after all, so once the capo had enlisted the help of a pair of lower-ranking soldatos to help the taller man carry the unconscious and sickly child into the mansion last night, he’d squelched off in the direction of his room to shower, change, and see if his black suede loafers were salvageable before resting for a while, as he’d promised to his partner they’d watch over the girl in shifts.

Snick. Click.

The sleety weather had finally cleared just after they had no need to be out in it; the rising moon - a waning quarter - had found this side of the house, and was beginning to stream in through the large windows of the previously disused waiting room on the ground floor. When she’d been brought in, the guards had placed her in the shabby area currently being used as a storeroom on a worn and wobbly, stained and bullet-ridden chaise-longue that had been stashed there along with other unwanted - or in this case, broken - furniture, and had then gone back to their positions. The idea of the chaise-longue and not an ordinary bed was to pad the backrest with old pillows so she couldn’t flop onto her back, throw up, then choke to death, as they didn’t know yet what had caused her to suddenly keel over like that. And if she continued to be sick, well, it wasn’t a piece of furniture anyone cared that much about anyway.

The fact that the villa was still under major refurbishment played a part too: other disused rooms - apart from this one - that weren’t either already in use, or had extra window security because they were on the ground floor, totalled one; unfortunately the ground floor suite of rooms in the annex were currently without a stick of furniture as the last of the decorating and plumbing had only finished the day before. The way in which the kid had dived out of a high window meant that none of the bedrooms upstairs were practical for containing her, and no-one had wanted to shove a child in the dank basement either. Especially Abbacchio, given his height.

They’d carefully taken off the girl’s sodden socks and giant hoodie and rubbed the rest of her down with an old towel with the remnants of her own shabby clothing still on; streaks of dirt and some kind of heavy residue that had given her hair several shades of different but drab colour, had leached into the absorbent material so much that it was doubtful that nothing short of bleaching the fabric would see it right. Or burning it. Not hair dye, but something similar, more temporary… Quite clever to hide your appearance like that, if you know people will be looking for you…

Lastly, an old picnic blanket was deployed after they laid her on the battered couch, as she was both shivering and warm. I suppose if she gets any worse, we may have to call a doctor out, but she seems the same so far… or perhaps even a little better as she hasn’t thrown up again yet.

Click-cli-click. Snick.

She twitched again: it became obvious that she was reacting to the sound of the folding wine key corkscrew he was fiddling with. A Christmas present from Bruno. He slipped it back into his pocket and it jingled against his other keys.

“Nonna…?” There was a raspy whisper - almost an exhalation - followed by another hoarse cough that reminded him of the aftermath of a particularly nasty bout of gastro some of the old team suffered from a couple of years ago when everything was far simpler; he picked up the bottle of water on the side table, cracked it open and slipped in a straw.

“Hey kid: you need to drink this; it’s water. You’ve lost a lot of fluids.” She didn’t seem to have heard him, but after a moment her cracked lips opened and shut, then opened again. Like a baby animal of some kind, he thought, and gently poked the end of the straw into her mouth. The girl's lips formed a tight seal around the tube and there was a weak sucking noise, followed by a swallow. Then a too-strong pull on the straw and the girl spluttered and coughed from sucking in too much at once; this was followed up by an almighty sneeze that pushed two globules of thick green snot out of her nostrils.

“Woah, careful,” Leone warned, bringing the bottle out of range until the coughing stopped. He fished a clean handkerchief from a pocket and began wiping away the mess before she could inadvertently sniff them back up again. “Take a deep breath and blow, or you’ll do the same again,” he murmured, folding the handkerchief and covering her nose, then pinching one nostril shut. It was a weak attempt, but it cleared more phlegm that was less thick. “The other side, now,” he added as he reversed position. This seemed to even clear more of the blockage, and he wiped until her nostrils seemed to be empty.

“More…”

Her lips began to smack together again and he decided to risk reintroducing the bottle. This time she was almost dainty with her slurps as she could now breathe a little easier through her nose as she sucked and swallowed; after several minutes of alternate slurping and pauses to rest and breathe, she’d had enough. As Leone replaced the cap with the straw inside, then put the bottle on the table for later, he saw that she’d managed just over half of the contents; she’d need to drink more at some point, but it was a start.

Her eyes had stayed closed the whole time, occasionally wincing and scrunching her eyelids when a moonbeam caught her face. Not knowing why he did so, he shuffled in the battered wicker chair so that the combined shadow fell across her body, and she relaxed into a deeper sleep than before.

Around an hour after that, Bruno gently opened the door and padded over in his slippers. The capo had slept, he was clean, but his hair was still a little damp, so he didn’t drape himself over Leone’s shoulders like usual when no-one was looking to kiss him on the lips; he just gave him a quick peck from the side instead. “How’s she been?” he murmured, “any more sickness?”

“Nothing so far,” the taller man replied just as quietly, “she called out for her nonna when she half woke up, and I managed to get her to take some water and blow her nose. She went back to sleep soon after that.” He stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. “I think it’s a combination of some kind of flu and a gastric bug or type of food poisoning, after watching her… If I’m not back in six hours, send someone to get me. Are we sending word…?”

Bruno knew what Leone meant: “If you mean Giorno, then let’s wait until tomorrow when everyone's awake this end: it’s still early over there - probably still dark - and they might not be up yet; I don’t want them to make a faux pas in front of you know who by skipping out early when we’ve handled everything. We’ll know more about her condition then… whether it is just a bad cold or the flu, or worse; they’ll be back in a couple of days anyway.”

“Sure. I just… think she’s going to be a handful is all… the more Stand Users we have on hand to deal with her-”

“Fine: I’ll do that at the end of this shift, then; half past five in the morning is sometime after lunch over there, I think.” Bruno smiled wearily as he perched on the edge of the battered wicker seat; Leone turned to give him one last look as he exited the storeroom, leaving the capo to take the next watch.

Or worse… of course, it is the season for getting some strain of cold or flu, Leone thought to himself as he ambled into the foyer and up the stairs to his bedroom, but there’s still the small possibility that it’s something more insidious, even though I said otherwise to Bruno to stop him worrying like he usually does.

From prior evidence and anecdotes, Violetta hadn’t seemed to him like one who would get involved in certain activities, but it had been weeks since her last true interaction with civilisation. Weeks between seeing her at the school that last time and being appalled by her deterioration when they finally saw her in the flesh that very evening; it seemed like she’d practically gone feral in the intervening time. Add resorting to living in an apartment where at some point in those weeks, the utilities had been cut off, and the gangster wondered how low she’d had to stoop to get those bottles of water and other items - with little to low money - before being caught; he remembered the almost-empty refrigerator…

I mean, Narancia was foraging through the trash after he’d been released from juvie… I was literally in the gutter with the cheapest kind of gut-rotting wine I could get my hands on… And she’s as young as Fugo was when he was implementing his dine-and-dash logic… I guess the cats might have been able to step in since.

But there were zero cats around this evening, because she was too ill to command them…

Leone hoped it was just the flu. And with that, he shrugged off his shoes and flung himself onto the bed.

* * *

Chapter Text

To all outward appearances it was two young Italian guys on a business trip sharing a twin room at the Morioh Grand Hotel. In reality for the majority of their stay, only one of the wide single beds had been used, even though Mista had jumped up and down on the other bed at the start of their short stay and flipped the covers down a little, ‘just in case the cleaners got nosy’. Their hosts - Giorno’s extended family - didn’t seem to care that they were an item at any rate, which was a bit of a relief to him when they had met.

Today was the last day before school and university started again here: the last term when things such as end of year exams were being revised for and assignments were expected. Consequently, it was the last chance for Giorno to meet up with the small group of Stand Users - one of which was a relative - before heading back to Tokyo for two more days. The first day was to call into the local Speedwagon Foundation office to meet one person who hadn’t been able to make the New(ish) Year gathering, and then they would be spending the final day sightseeing, before an evening flight back to Italia.

Jotaro Kujo had only been able to make it for two days: he came on his own, having spent Christmas in Japan already, but Mrs Kujo had persuaded him to stay a little longer. He’d left his daughter in the care of his ex-wife and her girlfriend for the second half of the winter holidays, and they’d gone back to the States to see people they knew there from their old college. His own other half, Kakyoin, had already flown back to Washington DC so they’d missed meeting him again (as he hadn’t been in Roma last year); he was coordinating with the Western branches about some ugly issue in the Adirondacks, apparently, and Mr Kujo had finally left on the previous day to join him, but the oceanographers route was a roundabout one, as he had to stop at several other destinations - one of which was Australia - to check in on a Bunyip sighting of all things, before heading back to the States.

Giorno had caught him staring off into the distance several times, before glancing at him. It was only after he’d left that he realised that every time, he’d been facing a sliver north of due west. And immediately after that realisation, that he’d been doing it too, on and off, for the last couple of days…. That’s where Napoli is… I feel like I should be there, not here. Calm yourself: it’s only for two more days, and then you can begin the search again…

Of course, it being their last full day in Morioh before travelling back to Tokyo early tomorrow, Josuke and his friends wanted to take them both to Tonio’s: apparently a small piece of Italian food heaven imported into the heart of Japan. Naturally, Giorno was intrigued.

However, the way that the other teenagers were acting made it obvious to Giorno that there was some kind of prank or surprise going to be involved, but he kept silent when the chef came to take their orders, and instructed Mista under his breath in Italian to go along with whatever the other ‘kids’ decided to spring on them. Unless it got weird, of course…

Tonio seemed to notice this and smiled, although Giorno saw it was tinged with sadness. “I’d recognise that accent anywhere,” he replied in the same dialect. “I read your file, courtesy of a mutual acquaintance, along with several others, when events came to light several months ago; I suppose I’d better let you in on what these miscreants are up to, or you may react to the situation adversely. Please: I’ll explain how I ascertain your order in Italian, and then I would prefer you see my Stand in action, to ensure no foul play is intended.”

Koichi couldn’t hide that he also understood what was being said, and blurted out loud: “See, Josuke, I told you it wouldn’t work…”

“Aww: no fun!” Josuke grumbled under his breath, and Tonio shot a glare at him, so the young man resigned himself to nibbling on the (free) breadsticks.

“Mutual? Jotaro Kujo, or someone else…?”

“Oh, I believe you’re seeing him tomorrow, aren't you?”

Ah. The medic from the Speedwagon Foundation: Keisei. “That is correct.”

“Would you like to accompany me to the kitchen, after I read everyone’s palms?”

“Of course. And my bodyguard?”

“He’s welcome too.” Tonio turned to the rest of the group. “Please show me your hands as usual, and then I will prepare your dishes.”

Everyone held a hand out for Tonio to inspect, and then he beckoned his fellow Italians to follow. He led them through to the kitchen, where Okuyasu was prepping vegetables. “You can join your friends now, Okuyasu: I can handle the rest.”

“Sweet!” The teenager opened a cupboard and placed his hair net and apron inside, then washed his hands and left.

The blond Don threw a glance through to the other room, and then back at the chef. “So you wanted to talk to us without the others hearing, is that right?”

“Yes: I know Koichi and Okuyasu both got to go to Napoli last year, but… let’s leave them as boys for a while longer, without knowing how dark the world really is… they’ve been through a lot, but not as much as you have, by all accounts.” Tonio set to finish chopping what Okuyasu had been persuaded to leave, and summoned his Stand in front of them: a curious set of tiny hybrid tomato-onions with little eyes, mouths and arms. This is [Pearl Jam]. I enhance the holistic healing properties of food with them; I can discern the deficiencies of people who I palmread and apply that to a recipe uniquely tailored for them. So far, I’ve managed to regrow bad teeth or cure IBS, by boosting the natural properties of superfoods. Currently I’m treating the kids to the right ingredients to induce a good night’s sleep and be ready for studies tomorrow.”

“And you feel the need to tell us this because…?” Mista wondered as his own Stand appeared, fascinated by another Stand that had multiple components, and of course, the close proximity of food.

“Partly because I could sense that you would be especially challenging,” Tonio replied with a smile, motioning towards the gunless gunman, “and your palm confirmed it: I’ve never met someone that fed their Stand before, so the effects may be a little different for you. I was planning to whip up something for [Sex Pistols] as well, you see.”

“And the rest? You could have mentioned this part at the table,” Giorno pushed.

“You’re right. But I wanted to prove to you that my Stand is purely beneficial. Because of what I have to say next.” The chef kept speaking as he deftly managed several starters at once, his Stand doing its thing. “One moment.” He left with the dishes on a large tray, and returned swiftly. Noises of appreciation, shock, and laughter filled the other room over the sound of frantic eating.

“I found out last Autumn that you’d indirectly had a hand in my brother’s demise,” he began quietly after a minute of clearing the surfaces to prepare the next dishes. “Now, I left Napoli because I wanted to follow my dream; at the time I couldn’t see a path in my home country where I could devote myself to the betterment of the whole food experience for people, as I would be looked upon as ‘just some aristo’ who wanted a ‘hobby’. My father couldn’t understand that I truly wanted to heal people with my food and disowned me. My younger brother understood my decision even less: I care so much, and he seemed to not care one iota about the people around him.”

Tonio was silent for a few more moments as he juggled the rest of the dishes, then took a long gulp of water from a glass to one side.

“Once I gained mastery of my cooking skills and gained a Stand soon afterwards, I realised that my dream had mostly come true, but I still seek to improve myself, as there are some things that even [Pearl Jam] can’t heal,” Tonio finally continued. “Yet.” And he sighed and smiled sadly again. “I wondered about how my family were doing, but I had no wish to have my success belittled on my return, so I stayed away. Even when there was your little change of management last year. And then I found out through the Foundation that there had been a joint operation in Napoli that my brother was at the very heart of: a man that had no dreams of his own, and he’d taken a path - and his own Stand - in the exact opposite direction of mine, like two sides of the same coin…”

Giorno remembered another Stand he’d encountered that was the complete opposite of his… and extrapolating from there - and from what he’d had described to him - realised that the only Stand he knew of that was the complete opposite to Tonio’s, and whose owner had come to an especially grisly end, was… Now he looked at the chef closely, imagined him with a different hat and longer hair, and there were a couple of similarities to the photo on a certain file he had seen…

“Massimo Volpe…”

Tonio nodded once. “My birth name was Antonio Volpe. I took my mother’s maiden name so I could kickstart my dream on my own terms.”

Giorno nodded gravely in return. “Then let us taste your dream and pay respects to it. I’m sorry your brother’s path led him away from you and to his doom, although I am not sorry that we stopped him from destroying more lives.”

*

“So… what was all that about?” Josuke asked bluntly when the three Italians came back from the kitchen, the chef with an even larger laden trolley this time. “I was expecting the rest of the food to take this long, but not all the conspiring… hey, you haven’t pranked our food, have you?”

“It would be an insult to my profession to not serve the very best food in my establishment,” Tonio chided his customer as he placed each plate down in front of the correct person. The smell of the tailored food meant that the diners tucked in immediately, and finally Giorno, Mista and the [Sex Pistols] got to experience just what the fuss was all about. 

* * *

After they’d finished the desserts and had various minor ailments corrected with a variety of wild special effects, Giorno excused himself from the table to use the restroom, and after freshening up, also did his periodic three-hourly check of his phones. Ever his shadow, Mista had followed him.

The extra burner phone - the one he’d given the number to his tutor to pass on - had the tiny envelope in the corner which signified a new voice message. Giorno frowned slightly as he began to play it back.

“Scusi, Signor Giovanna… It’s me.” It was his English tutor, Ms Lepido, instead. The fact she sounded upset, and was speaking in Italian rather than the usual English that their conversations were usually conducted in made Giorno stiffen with unease and pause the message, which Mista noticed.

“What’s up, Boss?”

The displaced Don was silent for a moment and checked no-one else was listening, then murmured in his bodyguard’s ear, “The line: the one I left open for a certain someone… the tutor’s using it.” 

“Oh? Didn’t you tell her to-”

“I did. Something must have happened.” Giorno slipped the door ajar and peeked back through to the tiny restaurant again, then back at Mista. “We’ll take our leave, I think, rather than stay for coffees; I want to listen to this when and where I can be sure there’s no-one else listening. I heard about that electricity Stand…”

“Sure thing. The beach, maybe?” Mista suggested. “It’ll be bitter, so apart from a couple of extreme walking enthusiasts, we should be clear. We’ll be able to spot people sneaking up on us, for sure.”

“Good enough. A bit of a walk from here, but we’ve already lost a couple of hours since she sent it, and it’ll be the early hours of the morning over there, so calling her back right now wouldn’t be helpful.”

So after they nipped back to the table, paid their share of the bill and made their farewells, they set off across town. Luckily it was low tide, so once they got to a sheltered spot from the brisk wind Giorno replayed the message from the beginning, his bodyguard keeping watch. This time he put it on the maximum volume so they could both listen; it sounded a little tinny coming from the tiny speaker but it was good enough…

“Scusi, Signor Giovanna… It’s me. I tried calling your office earlier, but as it wasn’t either yourself or Signor Fugo who answered - just some other man whose voice I didn’t recognise - I hung up. I’m sorry: I hesitated to tell anyone else as I wasn’t sure I wanted to pass on a message to someone who didn’t know… uh, anyway… I know you said this number was for her, but… I couldn’t sleep. You had to know…”

There was a pause of several seconds, and a couple of sighs, as if Ms Lepido was still unsure if she was doing the right thing.

“... but, I saw her yesterday morning when I was buying more stationery, and she saw me too. I tried to talk to her - I really did - but… she ran away from me. Normally I would have left it at that and waited till the next time I saw her…” Another pause. “She really didn’t look very well, though. Like she hadn’t had enough to eat, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in a couple of days. You know I mentioned she’d been off school sick a few times, well, she looked worse than when she came back from one of those. I’m really worried about her now, but I can't really go asking around about it or… well, you know…”

There was another longer pause. Then: “She dropped a small shopping bag when she ran too: I picked it up to see if there were any clues, but… it was only a tattered plastic bag about half full of the cheapest snacks and drinks you can buy. So, around, um, let me work it out, two to three Euros-worth in new money. I hoped I didn’t spook her so much that she was too far away to hear or see me, so I left it hanging on a street sign when no-one else was looking and cleared out for a few minutes. It was gone when I came back, but I can’t be sure she got it… Please, Signor… I’m really sorry… I’ll keep an eye out again, but… if she’s in this bad a state, I’m really worried…”

Click…

“I was right about being in the bath when the package showed up, Boss-” Mista muttered, not liking the fact his quip had been right. Because of course the bodyguard hit the nail on the head when he’d joked before they left; ‘la Legge di Murphy’ in action… just our luck…

Giorno also groaned inwardly, but on the surface he maintained decorum and pointed back towards the hotel. “We need to make sure we pack as much and as early as we can now, and be ready to move at a moment’s notice, Mista. I’ll call back to the villa as soon as we’ve done that to get a status report. Depending on whether there’s an update may change our plans…”

* * *

Chapter Text

Bruno had spent the last five hours watching over a sleeping Violetta: it was still dark, but there was a growing band of a lighter shade of blue-indigo on the south-eastern horizon. At some point during the night the dust sheets over the back of the chaise longue and other covered items had shifted slightly so they showed glimpses of gold-flocked velvet and paint, and hints of a stone shoulder sticking out from a tall shape behind the backrest. He couldn’t remember them moving, but it could have easily happened when they commandeered the room, or when Leone had been watching, and he just hadn’t noticed. Did I fall asleep for a while? I don’t think I did…

It seems we’ve picked up another stray… She must have found out that her stepmother had been sent to prison for two months while the authorities decided how to proceed on a possible deportation case, so why didn’t she go home?

The answer was as plain as day now he’d asked the question. Because she didn’t want us to find her… from what Leone had traced of her journeys that he could find, they never went anywhere near her father’s house since she left.

We know she had contact with at least two or three of La Squadra: if she wasn’t going home, then why was she continuing to hide in a city where she knew there were people who wanted to find her? And what did they tell-?

There was a knock at the door and the girl stirred a little, so to prevent another, Buccellati put his capo face on, straightened his clean suit and answered the door before they could knock again more loudly. He stepped through and pulled it to barely ajar behind him.

“Narancia? What’re you doing up at-?”

The short teenager grimaced and his eyes flicked sideways in the direction of the office. “Never went to bed, Buccellati: Fugo caught me sneaking back in at two a.m. and forced me to babysit the phones while he grabbed a nap. He said he’d be back by now, but the phone started ringing and it was Giorno!” Narancia pointed back down the hall in the direction his eyes had foreshadowed earlier.

Right: he’d been out with a group of newly-employed lower soldatos to show them the ropes and they’d all gone for drinks afterwards… I wonder what made Giorno call now instead of later; he knows the time difference…

“Giorno… damn, I was going to call him at the end of my watch, but-”

“How’s the girl? Fugo said she was sick…”

“She seems to be a bit better now, but she’s sleeping. Was there a message?”

“Oh, right!” Narancia clapped his hand to his head as the brain-jog put him back on track. “No, he’s still on the line waiting and wants either Abbacchio or you; he wouldn’t call back in a few minutes either.”

Must be serious, then… “I guess I’d better go see what he wants… Ok, Narancia: I know it’s more babysitting, but could you stand just inside the door here and watch over Violetta while I go answer the call? I don’t want to leave her alone just yet.”

“Sure thing, boss!”

“And keep quiet.”

Narancia mimed the act of zipping his mouth shut and locking it, grinned (which broke that illusion immediately), and opened the door; he leaned up against the wall, held a thumb up and pulled the door to almost shut again.

The capo strode quickly towards the Don’s office, opened the door wide without reclosing it, and noticed the phone receiver was lying on the desk, however, he switched the phone to speaker just in case Fugo came back in the meantime. “Pronto, Buccellati h-”

“I got a call from my tutor saying there had been a sighting, Buccellati,” Giorno’s voice launched straight into the issue on the other end of the line, “but Ms Lepido couldn’t get her to stand still long enough. She also said that Violetta looked very ill, so-”

“Giorno-”

The Don continued speaking though: “-I’ll be coming back early, if I can get a flight: I have a bad feeling about-”

“She’s here, Giorno!”

“Wha-?” Buccellati could hear Giorno forcibly stop himself from asking his capo to repeat himself (as that was something that the Don didn’t appreciate either), and waited for him to finish instead.

“We got a positive on the rentals - like you thought might happen - and she was there. There was a bit of a half-baked chase afterwards, given her current state, but she’s at the villa right now.”

“When?”

“Early yesterday evening, so in the early hours this morning your time. I was going to call you after my shift…”

“Current states and Shifts don’t sound good, Buccellati…”

“We’ve been taking it in turns to watch her. Myself and Abbacchio, that is… Narancia’s keeping watch while I’m talking to you. Your tutor was correct: she threw up all over me before collapsing, but she seems to be recovering from that. We don’t know what caused it just yet, though: she’s only been awake long enough for Abbacchio to get her to unblock her nose and take a little water;  it’s probably just the flu, but she’s been asleep ever since then. When Fugo wakes up I’m going to ask him to-”

There was a yowling kind of scream and the sound of a clattering thump that came through the open entrance to the office, and then a loud yell came from Narancia’s mouth.

“Buccellatiiiiiiii!”

It was even piercing enough for Giorno to hear it on the open line. “Buccellati?” His voice was dripping with additional concern now.

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes!” The capo ended the call and ran back to the storeroom, hoping that they didn’t have to send out another search party for the girl just yet. Narancia had opened the door wide but stood in the entrance and let him past while quickly filling him in on the details.

“She woke up, saw that stupid statue and threw herself off the couch, Buccellati! Her head bounced off a corner of the hexagon table too!”

The capo took in the state of affairs in the space of two blinks: there was a small smear of blood on both the table and Violetta’s forehead and she was on her back, tangled and struggling under several layers of fabric on the floor. 

“Go get Fugo, Narancia!” Buccellati barked with more than just a suggestion of urgency in his voice. “And tell him to bring a first aid kit.”

As Narancia pelted off to take the closest set of stairs he turned his attention back to the girl, whose efforts to extricate herself from both the picnic blanket (and one of the dust sheets that had also been pulled off the couch in the commotion) were weak and almost pitiful; her eyes were wild, yet unfocused, and it was clear that he would have to step in. At least she doesn’t seem to be in a state where she could run away again; better I reach in first to close that wound temporarily… “[Sticky Fingers], suture that head injury, then put her back on the couch for now; unzip the sheets after that.”

Buccellati’s Stand did just that; a blue and white arm deftly pulled the sections of excised material away and the capo tasked it to mend them too. He replaced the blanket over her supine form and flung the dust sheet over the statue.

“Urrghhh… where…? What was that…?” The girl was still a little dazed: she raised her hand to her head and ran a finger up and down the teeth of the zip there. 

Good: I might be able to talk with her a little if she has truly come out of her fever and other afflictions, whatever they were… “Violetta,” the capo began gently, “You hit your head on the table as you fell off the couch. My Stand’s keeping your wound together for now, but it’s only a temporary fix.”

Violetta’s eyes flashed for an instant with a yellow gleam as she tensed up, but they faded as she must have realised she was too frail to even raise her head from the pillow, and she huffed in irritation at her current inability to do anything.

“What’s that statua orrendo doing there…?” the girl resigned herself to asking, looking warily at the figure that loomed under its sheet. “Gave me a shock…”

“We’re currently in a storage room because we couldn’t put you anywhere else just yet,” Buccellati explained. “The decorators only left yesterday: we’re still moving furniture around.” He let that sink in.

She remained quiet for several moments, still running her fingers up and down the esoteric fastener. “I remember you… you were with him. In the church. The one with the long silver hair and the recording Stand.”

“That is correct.”

“In the street too. He got over that fence quickly…”

“There too, yes: he used your recording as a stepping stone. I only cut you off from running any further.”

“Smart. Might’ve made it if I wasn’t sick,” she attempted to be cocky, but the extra effort made her sneeze and then she had a bout of coughing.

“Perhaps. I hadn’t lifted a finger yet. Let's just say, my own Stand can do the reverse of what’s currently patching up your forehead. I’m glad I didn’t need to, though: that would have been a worse experience for you.” Buccellati smiled and handed a tissue over from the box on the table and she accepted it after a brief hesitation. “By the way, why did you run? And keep running…?”

Violetta blew her nose first, then he could see she was choosing her words carefully as she kept her answer simple, yet vague. “I was at a disadvantage… but I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to change to anything more basic than running. ‘Run first, only engage when you can be sure of the trade-off, and always have an escape route.’ That was what I was told: there was a thing … I wasn’t supposed to get involved. Too young… they didn’t want that for me while they were on the naughty list…”

She cocked her head a little more towards him, her mouth a thin line before she spoke again. “I’m at a real disadvantage now, but you haven’t killed me or anything yet, so I guess that’s a plus… I was told I should find out what happened eventually, I suppose. But… I wanted more control over the scenario: I wasn’t sure what to do. Especially over the last couple of weeks…”

She’s telling the truth so far… and somehow she knows that’s her best option… hmm… “Get involved in what…?”

Violetta narrowed her eyes then. “Nah: I know how this works. You have to tell me something now.”

Buccellati raised an eyebrow and sat back down in the wicker chair, folding his arms and sighing. “Ask me a question then, and I’ll see if I am able to answer it under the circumstances.” Her eyes narrowed further until he added: “I’ll let you keep asking until I can answer one, though… it’s only fair…”

“Fair enough…” The girl accepted the compromise with only a little reluctance. “Where’s Ris?”

Buccellati’s eyes widened, then he narrowed them too. Straight for the jugular, just like a cat; why am I not surprised…? “Am I right in thinking that you mean Risotto Nero?”

“I dunno: I just call him Ris. Never found out his full name. Super tall goth guy with red eyes, and black where the whites should be; kind of freaky-looking… pretty sure we can’t get mixed up on who it is now.” The girl’s eyes were wavering between that golden apple green and a paler yellow as she stared right at the capo. “You already know I know him because of the other guy waving those pictures around…So what did you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Buccellati raised his hands a little and shrugged. “After he realised where everyone stood last April, he helped us get close enough to depose the previous boss, but he took off soon after that, and we haven’t heard anything on his whereabouts since. In fact, I was going to ask you the same question. That’s why we were trying to find his secret hideout: to make sure he hadn’t left any loose ends that would be detrimental to the rest of the organisation. Leads on rogue members, other records…”

Violetta let out a palpable sigh of relief at the news that the leader of La Squadra Esecuzioni was only presumed missing instead of confirmed as dead. “Well, if there is anything like that, I haven’t found it,” the girl shrugged then added: “most of the stuff in there disappeared after a while; Ris probably swung by and took it while I was still-”

The door swung into the small room and Fugo entered with a white, metal container marked with a red cross. The girl was instantly on the alert when the door had opened, but she seemed to relax again as the young man with the vented suit approached the couch.

“Took me some time to understand what Narancia was being so… animated… about.” Fugo frowned at the girl in the bed in appraisal. “Doesn’t look like much of a cut, but I’ll clean and tape it up to be sure. And see if there’s likely to be any lingering concussion or illness.”

“I’m not concussed.”

“I’m around ninety percent sure you aren’t, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to check.” Fugo moved forwards and set the box on the side table, retrieving a small bottle of liquid, cotton balls and a strip of paper from within. “Face straight up, please… How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two. And your thumb is touching your right ring finger.” The girl rolled her eyes, yet complied with his request as Buccellati finally removed the zip. After some rudimentary first aid and the application of some medical adhesive strips to hold the wound shut, she nodded and locked eyes with the younger man. “I don’t feel sick anymore, either. Just a bit thirsty.”

“When was the last time you ate or drank?”

The girl made a face, then shuddered at something. “If this is only tomorrow, then… yesterday lunch was the last thing I ate. For drinks: a few hours after that, just before that silver-haired guy barged in… It was the first day after having a really bad cold - since just after Natale - that I could go out, and I couldn’t afford much, since I hadn’t had a chance to… restock properly.” She began to look a little evasive at that point. “I think I bought something I didn’t realise was… bad for my digestion…”

There’s something about the way she said that, Buccellati realised, so… she was ill, then she was still too ill to replenish her stores by probably using her cats, since we didn’t see any… then something she ate made her worse? “You’re right: it’s before dawn on the day after,” the capo supplied, without saying anything about the glossed over missed opportunities for petty larceny. “You’ve only been here one night.”

Fugo glanced at the capo, then the table, where he repacked the box; he picked up a closed but half-full bottle of water which had a straw still inside. “Did she-?”

Buccellati nodded. “Abbacchio got her to drink some last night while she was still a bit feverish.”

Fugo thought for a moment, then turned back to Violetta. “Given how much you’ve vomited, I’d like to see you drink some more water before we try solids, then, just in case you decide to bring that up too. And because you’re still very dehydrated.”

“I’m well aware of my particular problems, thank you,” The girl’s tone became a little snippy, then dialled back a little as she appeared to realise something as both Fugo scowled at her, and Buccellati nodded as if he had confirmation of something. “Anyhow, I’m almost sure I’ve seen you before somewhere, too…” she slyly added.

“I seriously doubt-”

“Huh: I remember now,” she kept going, a smirk on her lips. “You kicked a gate, watched me for a few seconds… and then jumped over the railings next to it. Interesting…”

“Wait… you’re that girl with the cat?!”

“Fugo, you actually saw her and didn’t think to-?” Buccellati stood to confront Fugo about his perceived slip-up but the paler young man bristled with anger at the very thought of being accused of something that wasn’t even his fault.

“Fuck off: this was back at the start of May last year; we didn’t even know about Violetta that long ago. Hell, we hadn’t even given Giorno his-” Fugo stopped suddenly and counted to five under his breath… then his brow furrowed in a different way, and he waved at the capo to get him to think too. “Ohh… you clever… baiting us to get more information, and distracting us from asking about you. Six to nine months ago that might actually have worked…”

“Fair play, Fugo,” Violetta’s smile wasn’t as impish this time; in fact it seemed to be a little more tired, and she closed her eyes for several seconds. “Fine: I’ll drink some more water. Because I’m not stupid.”

“Right,” Fugo replied, mollified a little by the girl’s stance; she appeared to have more than an idea of how ill she had been, and was currently willing to comply. He handed the bottle of water to Violetta - who reopened it and began to drink after taking the straw out - and picked up the first aid box. “I’d better go back to the office, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Actually, could you send Narancia back here for a few minutes, so I can continue a call?” Buccellati asked.

Fugo noted that the capo’s eyes had flickered over to the girl for a second. “I’ll let him know,” he replied, keeping the conversation to a minimum, and he walked briskly out of the storeroom.

A minute later, Narnacia stuck his head round the edge of the door. “Yes, Buccellati?”

“Stand here again for a few minutes. I’ll be back shortly.”

*

The capo left the phone on speaker mode like last time so Fugo could also contribute, and returned the last number that had dialed. After a single ring it was picked up.

“Buccellati. What happened?”

He could almost imagine Giorno’s tensed body at the other side of the world. “It’s nothing. Just the curse of that couch you won’t get rid of striking again. Violetta fell off it after the covers had slipped from what’s stored behind, is all. She’s at least talking a little, instead of keeping to herself. She doesn’t know about Risotto’s location, though, and doesn’t think there’s anything of note in the apartment, although we may spot something she hasn’t…”

“I still may return a little early if possible: the last meeting I have is tomorrow morning, and we’ve already packed everything we’re bringing back with us.” Giorno’s voice seemed a little more relaxed, but there was still an undercurrent of concern there…

“Just let us know if your plans change by text, then, in case we miss your call, or you’re in transit.”

*

When Buccellati came back to the small room across the foyer, Violetta had finished the other half of the water, and both she and Narancia were yawning. A lot. They did still notice his return, and she even acknowledged him with a twitch of her cheek.

She yawned again, blinked her eyes a few times, then seemed to remember something. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about your shoes: wasn’t deliberate… I noticed: they were suede. And nice…” Another yawn, and this time she closed her eyes for at least ten seconds, which made the capo wonder if she’d fallen asleep… but then she continued sleepily: “...dust them with bicarb and brush that off. After you get the worst off, let them dry, then brush them again… use a sponge dampened with white vinegar on the stubborn bits… then dry and brush them again to bring the nap back.”

“You seem to know a lot about that…” A warmth stole into Buccellati’s voice as he acknowledged the unsolicited advice.

“Suede’s a difficult material sometimes, but Nonna could clean anything within reason.” She shrugged, her eyes still closed. “And I don’t like it when something that’s fixable gets trashed; it’s wasteful.” And with that, she drifted back to sleep.

Ah, the irony that she unknowingly described her own situation, and how Giorno seems to be acting regarding her too… Bruno wondered to himself. Or was it deliberate…? It was definitely sincere, though… “Narancia?” The capo whispered.

“Yes, Buccellati?” the dark-haired teenager whispered back.

“Go get some sleep yourself.”

* * *