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Chapter Text

Abbacchio slumped at the bar with his head in his hands. Hands that were currently shaking. The glass rested in front of him, untouched as of now, but he was sure it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer…

“There you are.”

The voice sent an instant wave of guilt through him. He didn’t look up as the other man approached, leaning against the bar beside him. He couldn’t face how disappointed he would be when he realized everything he had done for Abbacchio had been pointless.

“You should leave before you undo all the progress you’ve made.”

Abbacchio felt a sudden anger run through him. “What the hell does it matter to you, anyway, what I do?”

He finally dropped his hands and faced Bucciarati and was surprised to find no disappointment, no pity, just a firm expression on his face.

“What does it matter? I recruited you specifically, and I would really not like to have to go through all the trouble of finding a replacement so soon.”

“Why the hell do you want me?” Abbacchio demanded, finally asking the question he had been wanting to this whole time. “I’m not good for anything. You’d be stupid not to see that!”

Bucciarati raised an eyebrow and Abbacchio realized he had just insulted him….great.

“I don’t believe that’s true, and if you do, then why haven’t you taken a drink yet?”

Abbacchio looked down at the untouched glass.

“What you’re doing is difficult, Abbacchio. And brave.”

He snorted. “What the hell is brave about my pitiful existence?”

“Because you are choosing existence,” Bucciarati insisted. “Leone…you’re one of the rare men in this world who have seen both sides. You’re not surprised by the evils of humanity, you know and accept that they exist, but I know deep down you still believe that there can be justice in the world.”

Abbacchio let out a scoff. “Really? Because I don’t think I believe in much of anything.”

“Really? Then why did you follow me that night?”

Abbacchio blinked, realizing he didn’t have an answer for that. He reached a shaky hand toward his drink, more in defiance than anything, but Bucciarati snatched it from him and quickly downed it himself in one gulp.

Abbacchio watched in shock as Bucciarati blinked, cringing, looking slightly light-headed as he set the glass firmly down on the bar. “Come on. Fugo is waiting on us for dinner.”

He turned around and headed out of the bar, not looking back. Abbacchio knew this was a test that he could either follow or not.

He sat there for a moment, considering, but nothing felt right here anymore. Not since Bucciarati had left.

So he pushed himself off the stool and followed the man out the door.

Chapter Text

“So…am I under arrest?”

Abbacchio glanced over at the kid in his passenger seat as he shifted nervously, while also trying to keep the blood from dripping out of his nose.

“I didn’t start the fight, you know!”

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow. “Did I cuff you?”

The kid considered for a moment. “No…”

Abbacchio turned back to the road, not saying anything else. He would let the kid squirm, but obviously he knew well enough that he was the victim.

“Um…if I’m not under arrest, you can drop me off anywhere, officer, sir.”

“That wouldn’t be very responsible of me, leaving a hurt kid on the street.”

He seemed to be getting more agitated. “It’s okay, really, you don’t need to take me home or anything—no one’s really gonna…look after me there anyway.”

Abbacchio’s heart panged slightly at that admission, but he hadn’t been planning on taking the kid home anyway.

He was silent until he pulled up at the familiar restaurant.

The kid’s eyes went wide, wary. “Hey, um…you know about this place?”

Abbacchio parked and opened his door. “Come on.”

The kid hesitated, but finally got out of the car. Abbacchio took his shoulder and steered his inside, heading toward the back to find Bucciarati at his usual table, talking with that blond kid Pannacotta.

The blond looked up the instant he saw Abbacchio and the kid and got up with a look of surprise and anger written across his face. “Narancia! What the hell happened this time?”

Bucciarati turned around quickly and his eyes widened. He got up and quickly checked Narancia over, taking in his bruises and cuts. “Narancia, I told you not to pick fights anymore,” he chided, clicking his tongue.

“I didn’t! Really Bucciarati! It was that bastard Riccardo who—”

Bucciarati gave him a look and pushed him toward Pannacotta. “Fugo, take him to the bathroom and help him clean up.”

As they left with Pannacotta scolding Narancia, Bucciarati turned to Abbacchio.

“Thank you for bringing him to me.”

“No problem. Is he officially one of yours then?”

Bucciarati sighed sadly and sank back down into the seat. “I suppose he is. I told him to go back home after he got out of the hospital, but he just kept coming back here, begging that I take him in.” He had a fond yet sad look on his face. “I just thought it would be better to keep an eye on him than to have him run off and get into even more trouble.”

Abbacchio nodded. “I think he’ll turn around, you can only be a good influence on him.”

Bucciarati smiled. “Well, thank you, Officer, that’s very kind of you to say.”

Abbacchio gave him a longsuffering look. “Just…make sure he doesn’t end up in jail again.”

Bucciarati sobered. “I will.” He motioned to one of the empty chairs. “Would you care to join us for lunch or…”

“I’m still on duty—besides…probably wouldn’t be a good idea to be seen fraternizing. But I’ll see you around.”

Bucciarati nodded and shared a brief look with Abbacchio before the police officer tipped his cap and turned to leave the restaurant and his secrets behind.

Chapter Text

The lights were low, mostly just the moonlight coming in from the open balcony. The soft scent of flowers blooming on the night breeze filled the air, accompanying the gentle scratch of the record player in the corner, as it played a slow song.

Leone held Carmen close to him, both of them swaying to the music. It was just them in their room on a little getaway, with nothing to stop them from dancing all night long If they wanted to.

“This was a good idea,” Leone murmured.

Carmen tilted her head up to smile at him. “Well, we haven’t had the chance to get away since our honeymoon. I thought it was about time.”

He smiled back and felt so lost in her eyes. He wanted to say so many things that he had no words for. How could he let this woman know just how much he loved her? How much she meant to him.

She seemed to be thinking similar thoughts because she leaned against him more heavily, resting her head on his chest as they continued swaying in each other’s arms. “Leone…”

“Hm?” he murmured.

She sighed softly. “I’m not so good with words. You know that. But I want…this last year has been the best of my life, because of you, and I…god, I wish I could tell you what I feel…”

He smiled and closed his eyes, fully taking in the press of her body against his own, her comfortable warmth. He thought of late nights coming home from dangerous and exhausting jobs, the comfort of having someone waiting, someone to tend his hurts. Of all the times it still felt like a dream waking up with Carmen beside him. Her quiet companionship when he just needed someone near, someone to understand that he didn’t always want to talk. Taking Rose to the park together, reminding him that he had a real life amidst the horrors he had seen and dealt with. Someone to hold him through his nightmares, to dry his tears. To laugh with him; the sharp jokes told behind people’s backs, only things they understood. He thought of their wedding, and how he had been nervous, but he had known he’d made the right decision as he looked into her eyes. He thought of just that morning when they had chosen to stay in bed, tangled up in each other until they’d cooled their sweat on the hotel’s satin sheets. He couldn’t imagine another person he would rather experience all of this with.

He slowed them to a stop and pulled away a fraction so he could look Carmen in the eye.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he told her quietly, a soft smile spreading over his lips. “I already know. Because I also love you more than anything.”

Carmen exhaled and leaned up on her toes to kiss him for a long moment.

“We’ve always been better at showing it, haven’t we?” she said, looking up at him from under her lashes.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Leone smirked and picked Carmen up in his arms with a knowing look as she giggled.

A new song started playing as he carried her over to the bed.

“Happy anniversary, bella,” he whispered as he lay her down.

“Happy anniversary, mi amore…”

Chapter Text

It didn’t matter how Abbacchio chose to look at the situation, there was only one conclusion he could come to:

He had fucked up. His first real solo job and he had completely failed.

He slumped in the corner of the rusty cage he was currently trapped in—though on second thought, it was probably less rusty than he had initially thought since it seemed quite sound when he tried to kick his way out. And that left a whole new connotation to the red stains on the metal.

He’d tried to stop the bleeding in his leg with strips of his shirt, but it had still soaked through. He was bleeding so much he could smell it, the sharp metallic tang of iron and fear, mixing with the fetid odor of older blood in his surroundings.

The space he was in, a hidden passage under the crypt he’d been investigating, was dark, but he could see the eerie eyeshine from the ghouls milling around, waiting for…something, as they cast hungry glances over at him.

Abbacchio snarled in fury, slamming his good foot into the door of the cage again. “What’s the matter? Am I still too fresh for you to eat?”

The ghouls snickered.

“You won’t be once ‘e’s done for ya,” one of them growled in a wicked glee, licking its lips.

What the hell could they have meant by that? Abbacchio looked around the stone catacomb. He had been here for at least two hours now, he thought. He wondered if Bucciarati would consider him missing at this point or just late. Would he and Fugo be out there looking for him?

Would they even go to the crypt first, or would they choose to look in the public houses instead?

Abbacchio felt his heart sinking at the thought. It was true that he had barely earned the loyalty of his new team, but he couldn’t deny that it was demoralizing to think they might not be coming for him. Even if it was deserved.

The ghouls suddenly started whispering amongst each other and Abbacchio felt a shift in the atmosphere as another figure entered the room, a lantern held up. Abbacchio could clearly see the red eyes indicating he was a vampire, and he curled his lip in disgust.

“I knew there was something else going on here,” he growled. “So what…can’t even hunt for yourself, fang?”

The vampire sneered, hanging the lantern on a hook set into the wall before he leaned down toward Abbacchio’s cage. “Bold words for a trapped and injured Hunter.”

Abbacchio snarled. “You think I’m going to let a blood-sucker intimidate me?”

“I don’t know, I think you already have.” The vampire smirked. “See, while someone like you might not understand, I see the beauty in the opportunity here. The ghouls get to feed their nest and I also get to eat without having to do any messy hunting.” He crouched next to the cage, grinning in a way that showed off his fangs. “It’s quite a good arrangement.”

Abbacchio reached for his crucifix, but realized the ghouls must have taken it with the rest of his weapons. He was defenseless and furious at the fear that was creeping through him.

“Oh, are you scared?” the vampire mocked.

Abbacchio glowered at him. “You wish.”

“Oh, I can smell it on you.” The vampire chuckled before his eyes traveled down to the soaked rags around Abbacchio’s thigh and he licked his lips.

Abbacchio’s heart skipped a beat as the vampire reached through the cage and suddenly dug his fingers into Abbacchio’s wound.

Abbacchio cried out in shock and agony, pressing as far back into the cage as he could as he watched the vampire slowly bring his bloody fingers to his lips.

“Stop!” Abbacchio croaked. “You don’t get to drink my blood, you fanged freak!”

The vampire chuckled as he licked his fingers. “This is actually the worst thing you could possibly imagine, isn’t it? How delightfully naïve. You humans are always so close-minded in your prejudice.”

Abbacchio shut his eyes briefly, trying not to remember what had happened to his partner, how Abbacchio had watched the man get turned, helpless to do anything, and how he had been forced to kill him before he…

Maybe…maybe he deserved this. Maybe it didn’t matter if Bucciarati and the others were out there looking for him. Not that they would care much if they found him now after he had fucked up so royally. Maybe Bucciarati would finally realize his mistake in recruiting Abbacchio to begin with.

The vampire motioned to one of the ghouls who brought him the key to Abbacchio’s cage and he opened it, reaching inside.

Abbacchio bared his teeth as he was dragged out and his hands were manacled. He fought as much as he could but a well-placed kick to his injured leg had stars bursting over his sight with dizzying agony.

He slumped against the wall as his hands were suspended above his head, panting. The vampire grabbed his chin and wrenched his head to one side to expose his neck.

“It’s always a pleasure to feed on a Hunter. A reminder that your kind don’t really have all that much power over us.”

“Don’t!” Abbacchio tried, embarrassed by his cowardice, before the vampire sank his fangs into Abbacchio’s neck. He cried out through gritted teeth, eyes fluttering at the sudden loss of blood, sick to his stomach.

He briefly thought about Bucciarati’s kindness, the way the man had firmly, yet compassionately dragged Abbacchio out of his personal gutter and into a new life. One with purpose. But what purpose did he serve now, nothing but a meal for the beasts he had sworn his revenge on?

As he felt his blood being drained, he started to feel desperate. If anyone’s out there, he pleaded. Bucciarati…if you’re out there. You were right. I don’t want to die. Especially not like this…

As if in answer to his prayers the sound of the ghouls screaming suddenly echoed through the catacombs. The vampire drew away to look around in confusion as something landed with a thump, a hiss hailing a mist that began to permeate the small space.

The vampire suddenly screamed, pulling back as his skin began to blister on contact. He raced down the hallway, only for his footsteps to stop suddenly with a meaty thump.

Abbacchio’s head lolled on his shoulders as he watched the vampire’s head roll to a stop at his feet, suddenly incredibly nauseous.

“Fugo, clear the rest of the tunnel, make sure there are no more victims.”

The commanding voice hailed a figure in blue and black, rushing over to Abbacchio as he sheathed his sword.

“Abbacchio!”

He blinked as firm hands found his face, lifting it up to inspect his throat. Bucciarati’s tongue clicked as he saw the wound. “You still with us?”

Abbacchio moaned, unable to form words right now.

More footsteps ran up. “It’s clear, Bucciarati.”

“Thank you. Help me get him down.”

Abbacchio was barely aware of Bucciarati and Fugo releasing his wrists from the manacles, until he slumped against them with a short cry, his leg collapsing.

The two Hunters took his weight easily enough between them.

“Damn, he looks awful, how much blood has he lost?”

“I’m not sure. Enough. I have to say, those holy water grenades worked out better than I could have hoped—good job, Fugo…”

Abbacchio listened to their back and forth as he tried not to vomit or pass out. He hadn’t felt this bad since he was getting over his drinking problem.

However, he still couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His prayers had apparently been answered after all. He had half expected his admission of wanting to live to doom him via the universe’s perverse obsession in fucking him over. But maybe it had more to do with having a team he could count on now.

“Easy, watch his leg,” Bucciarati cautioned Fugo as they made their way toward the carriage that would take them back to their headquarters.

He bit back a cry as he was maneuvered inside, but they carefully laid him down across one of the benches and Bucciarati tucked his cloak around him. Abbacchio hadn’t even realized he was shivering but he was cold…and grateful for the gesture.

“Abbacchio.”

He tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes to focus on Bucciarati as he hovered over him. “The vampire…he did not make you drink his blood?”

Abbacchio felt terror wash through him at the thought, but firmly shook his head. “He didn’t. You know I would have told you that.” He would have put a stake through his own heart if that had been the case.

Bucciarati nodded and went to sit down before Abbacchio worked up the courage.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucciarati frowned. “For what?”

Abbacchio stared at him incredulously. “For…for getting caught! You trusted me with the job and I—”

“Don’t,” Bucciarati cut in sharply, face stern. “That job was a death trap I didn’t expect. I never should have sent you in there alone. That one was on me; a move ill befitting a team leader.”

Abbacchio was shocked to hear Bucciarati admit to guilt, he tried to protest, but the other man reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “You did good, Abbacchio, accept my sincere apology to do better next time. Rest now, we’ll get you fixed up, soon enough.”

Abbacchio slumped onto the bench as Bucciarati knocked against the top of the carriage and sat beside Fugo. His eyes slid shut despite himself.

“Thank you…” he murmured.

He didn’t hear a reply, but it was enough that his team had come for him. Blood was indeed thicker than water, especially for those who spilled it together.

Chapter Text

New York, 1932

It was a quiet night. A bit surprising, honestly, what with all the growing tensions between various gangs—one of which I had, perhaps foolishly, gotten myself embroiled with.

I lit up a cigarette as I stepped out of the restaurant I had come to frequent as of late. The back room had become a little too familiar to me, filled with smoke and discussion, broken up only by the asinine arguments of the young rips my new ‘business partner’ seemed intent on surrounding himself with.

I’d asked him once why he took in a bunch of kids who were more likely to shoot themselves in the foot than enforce protection in his territory and he’d told me firmly that they were good kids. Good kids. Heh. None of us were very good, but that was just what Bucciarati was like, seeing the best in people. He’d tried to do the same to me and I had promptly told him that he was being an idiot. Not that it stopped him, but he’s stubborn like that.

Still, I guess he wasn’t wrong. They weren’t bad kids, they’d just been dealt bad hands—much like the rest of us. Except that new Giovanna prick. I’d thought Fugo was a smug little shit when I first met him but he doesn’t hold a candle to the new blond-haired bastard Bucciarati had picked up. I wasn’t usually in the habit of questioning his judgement, but I was coming close with this one.

I exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night air before tucking my hand into my pocket. I wished for a moment that I hadn’t started attempting to replace my nightcap with a smoke to varying effect. I could really use one tonight.

Bucciarati had a good heart despite his chosen profession, and I knew he wanted change as much as the rest of us did. But I just got the feeling in my soul that Giovanna and his grand ideas were going to cause trouble one of these days—with the certainty that I would somehow be dragged along with it.

I wasn’t entirely wrong, if not slightly mistaken in my original judgement. If anything, Giorno Giovanna was a harbinger with an angel’s countenance, heralding the devil close on our heels. Because it was that night, about a week after Giovanna joined Bucciarati’s team that she showed up.

She was waiting in my office when I got back after the meeting. I never locked the door in case a client needed to get inside—all my important paperwork was hidden in the back of my closet in my apartment and I had been grateful for my constant paranoia on more than one occassion.

She was young, that was the first thing I noticed, couldn’t be older than sixteen and her clothing was expensive and well put together; a gold and emerald necklace around her neck that I could tell even in the dim lighting wasn’t paste.

But it was her eyes that struck me most of all. As emerald as the stone around her neck holding a look of desperation and fear that would have caught the attention of Bucciarati a mile away. She was in some kind of trouble—the bad kind. She wasn’t one of my usual clients who came to me about stolen possessions or a cheating lover. She was terrified, running from something, and I thought for a moment that I should send her out the door before she could tell me what it was.

But she spoke up, voice firm, with a tremor that only one as trained in human mannerisms as I am could detect. “Are you…Mr. Abbacchio?”

“I am,” I replied, in a little bit of defeat. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

She shifted, uncomfortable, worrying her gloved hands in her lap. “Mr. Abbacchio, I hope I can trust you to be discreet?”

I pulled my overcoat off and sat down in my chair across the desk from her, tucking a new cigarette between my lips as I reached for my lighter. “I have no one to tell, miss. Not even a secretary to pry into your business.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly but her hands still twisted in her lap. “Mr. Abbacchio…I believe that my father… is trying to kill me.”

I pause briefly in my movements, before I collect myself again and flick my lighter into life, inhaling deeply as the cigarette tip glows red. “That’s quite the accusation. Do you have any proof of that?”

“I have no physical proof but I…I heard him over the phone today, telling someone that…that he wanted me…taken care of.”

She was shaking. I got up slowly to pull the bottle of brandy out of my file cabinet. I poured some into a glass and headed around the desk to press it into her hands. “Are you sure that was the intent?”

She nodded firmly. “I’m positive. I believe the man on the other end of the line asked the same thing and my father said, ‘no, I want her dead. I want… to be sure.’” She was shaking so hard now she could barely hold the glass as she brought it to her lips, taking a bracing drink.

I leaned back on the desk, arms folded over my chest. “Who is your father?”

She looked down, still shaking. “You’re just a private detective, right?” she asked. “You’re not…affiliated with anyone?”

“I work for myself,” Abbacchio said, wondering if he could count Bucciarati as an ‘affiliation’ and decided that explanation would complicate things. At the end of the day Bucciarati and his gang were my clients, not my co-workers. “If I may ask, why exactly are you concerned about that?”

“Because,” she whispered. “My father…is a very powerful man.”

I nodded. “I gathered as much from your appearance.”

She looked down, hugging her coat closer to her. She had probably put on her least fancy dress to come here thinking she could hide. I felt another wave of pity for her, she was just a kid, after all. A terrified kid.

“What’s his name, sweetheart?”

She shook her head. “His name means nothing. You wouldn’t know him by that. No one does.”

I felt unease run through me as I bent to meet her eyes. “Who is he?”

She let out a half sob. “He—he’s the head of the mafia branch—Passione. The Boss. Don Diavolo. He named himself after the devil, Mr. Abbacchio. That’s the kind of man he is.”

I was still processing the information when her eyes finally snapped up to me with a new look of desperation. “His men are looking for me and they want to kill me. I don’t have anywhere to go, please, Mr. Abbacchio, please help me!”

The tears in her eyes had me pulling out a handkerchief, handing it over.

“I can’t,” I told her simply. I knew I was sealing my fate, whatever that may be, as she looked up at me in shock and hopelessness and I continued. “But…I know someone who can.”

Chapter Text

Leone couldn’t stop staring at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t quite believe this was actually happening; it all felt like a dream.

Probably because it had been a dream for as long as he could remember. And now his childhood longing to become a police officer was now finally coming to fruition.

He felt like a child again, in his crisp new uniform, felt like a pretender in a way. Like he was wearing a costume.

He certainly didn’t look like himself. He’d gotten used to the cut hair, the bare face from when he had been at police academy but he looked like a child playing dress up now in full uniform. But he had a badge of his own—a solid metal shield over his heart, it was no cereal box plaything. The gun at his belt was not full of darts, but more weighty ammunition with heavier consequences. Today was the end of all of those past years of playing cops and robbers in the school yard. His achievement had finally been realized and he couldn’t be more ecstatic.

He straightened his shoulders, trying to feel less like an imposter, and took a deep breath, reaching for his hat.

He checked the time and realized with a curse that he was going to be late for his first day if he didn’t get his shit in gear.

He hurried down the stairs and grabbed his keys from the table by the door. “Um, I’m heading out,” he called, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Not yet you aren’t,” his mother said, hurrying from the kitchen, her face breaking out in a grin as she saw him. “Look at you! So handsome.”

“Mom, seriously,” Leone huffed, face flaming as she cupped his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss the side of his head.

“You’ll do fantastic on your first day, darling,” she told him confidently.

Sylvia hurried down the stairs, about to head out the door for school. “Wow, you look like a real police officer, Leo.”

“I am, dummy,” he snipped at his younger sister.

She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him before her face softened. “You look cool.”

Leone huffed a laugh and accepted the hug she gave him. “Thanks, Sylvie.”

“Trying to leave without saying goodbye?”

Leone glanced up to see his dad coming out of the office with a small smile on his face. Leone straightened up, yet again self-conscious. “I was gonna say goodbye…”

“Come here, let me look at you.” His father took him by the shoulders and looked him up and down. He sighed and Leone felt a brief moment of trepidation that he would go back on his encouragement of Leone’s career path and tell him he was disappointed.

But he met his son’s eyes with a smile and squeezed his shoulders firmly. “I’m proud of you, Leone. Now go make a good impression on your first day.”

Leone nodded and impulsively hugged his father. “Thanks, Dad.”

As he pulled away, he tugged his hat on, finally feeling reality seeping in and realizing that it was even better than he could have thought of in his wildest dreams. He smiled at his family and headed out the door on his new journey.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t remember where he had been before this. It was such a strange feeling that Abbacchio didn’t know what to do with. It was like there was some sense of urgency in the back of his mind, scratching at him to pay attention, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

He stared down at the fork in his hand, the half-eaten plate of pasta, the glass of wine sitting beside his hand. What the hell had he been doing? And where were the others? Were they supposed to meet him here?

He heard a grunt and looked up to see a man coming out from under the table next to him, placing several pieces of broken glass on the table. Abbacchio’s stomach twisted slightly at the sight of the all too familiar uniform the man wore.

But that wasn’t the only thing familiar about him either. His face…it also started to scratch at the back of Abbacchio’s mind. But again he couldn’t tell why.

“Hey,” he called suddenly. “What are you doing?”

The man looked up in surprise. “I’m collecting evidence. I apologize if I’ve disturbed you.”

“No, it’s just…” Abbacchio shook his head. He hesitated a moment, before he pushed his chair back. “Hey, can I help at all?”

“You really shouldn’t, Leone.”

Abbacchio stopped, frozen in place. “You…how do you know my name?”

The man finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a sad smile. “You don’t remember me?”

And it was then that Abbacchio did remember him. Images of blood and shame, tearing through him like the bullet that had taken this man’s life.

“It—it’s you,” he gasped, staggering, propping himself up against the table. “How…what is this?”

The man, his partner—his dead partner—straightened up and gave him a kind look. “You don’t know? You haven’t figured it out yet?”

Abbacchio’s breathing quickened into panicked gasps, his whole body shaking. “No…no, this isn’t…I’m not….”

“Not quite, no,” his partner said kindly. “You have a choice, Leone. I was sent here to tell you that.”

Tears started to fall from his eyes. “I don’t understand,” he pleaded.

“You have a choice, Leone,” his partner said again. “Stay here with me, help me with this investigation, or go back to your mission.”

The mission. And like that Abbacchio realized what he had forgotten. Moody Blues rewinding the place of the photograph, searching for the Boss’s face. Kids playing soccer. He’d reached for the ball to get it out of a tree for them and then…

Abbacchio’s choked. Blood dribbled from between his lips and he reached down to grasp his chest, only to find…nothing but mauled meat and bone.

He collapsed to his knees with a wheeze and his partner knelt in front of him, grabbing his shoulders to keep him steady.

“It’s not your time yet, Leone. You still have a duty to do.”

“But I…failed,” he choked out in a bubble of blood.

“No, you didn’t,” the other man insisted, still holding him up. “You didn’t fail. And you don’t belong here. Listen.”

Abbacchio shut his eyes, dizzy, as he could hear shouting in the distance, voices screaming his name, pleading with him. He blinked his eyes open again and his partner was smiling encouragingly at him.

“Go. Go to them, Leone.”

“But…”

He squeezed his shoulders hard. “I’ll see you again some other time, my old friend. Go now!”

He shoved him hard, and Abbacchio fell back for what felt like an eternity until his back hit something hard and solid and he gasped, lurching up.

Giorno and Mista reeled back.

“Holy shit!” Mista cried, eyes wide in horror. Giorno’s eyes were red with tears that soon turned to genuine awe.

“Abba!”

Abbacchio collapsed backward again as Narancia flung himself at him, sobbing.

“Careful, careful, Narancia!” Giorno cried. “He’s still not completely healed.”

“But he’s alive,” Narancia sobbed and pulled back to look at Abbacchio. “You’re alive.”

Abbacchio stared at him, still processing the pain in his chest with each breath, the coppery taste in his mouth, between his teeth. He was alive. He must be. He was in too much pain to be dead. It was odd too, because he thought he’d had a strange dream…

“Leone.”

Bucciarati pushed through the others, staring at him for a long moment, eyes wide, lip bleeding. Then he surged forward and yanked Abbacchio into his arms hard enough to make the mostly dead man wheeze.

That seemed to be an invitation for the rest of them to envelope him, even Giorno—Abbacchio was too tired to care at the moment, and it seemed the kid had saved his life and all.

Outside of all the bodies surrounding him, he caught a movement off to the side and turned slightly to look.

He saw the lone figure of a familiar policeman standing there watching, a soft smile on his face as he waved. Abbacchio blinked and he disappeared just like that, as if he had all been simply a part of Abbacchio’s imagination all along.

Bucciarati finally broke the embrace, pulling back with a surreptitious swipe of his eyes. “I’m sorry, but we need to be going. The Boss is close, and we now have his face, thanks to Moody Blues.” He met Abbacchio’s eyes with a nod. “You did well, Abbacchio. You should get some rest in the turtle while you can.”

Abbacchio nodded in agreement. Despite their urgent situation, he couldn’t help but feel somehow at peace. He was now positive that no matter what was to come, he was right where he was supposed to be.