Abbacchio wonders if his luck really is the worst in the world.
Perhaps the good of his luck had already been spent a few months ago, with the Diavolo incident. He had suffered major injuries along with Narancia and Bucciarati, they were all blessed enough to survive.
He felt the ache of an unforgettable wound in his stomach. Salty wind, dusty rocks, ocean mist, all spoiled and contaminated with the metallic smell of blood. He tasted it in his mouth, his skin was slick with shock, painted with red. Someone was calling his name, tension and despair filling the air. His body laid bonelessly on the rocks, a golden glow banishing peace and forcing his body to be complete again—
Something nags at his mind, like a forgotten dream with a bad ending. He heard a young, yet majestic voice.
"Abbacchio, are you listening to me?"
He was startled out of his thoughts. Graciousness would be in order, if not for the identity of his savior. That golden brat.
Even after taking up a higher ranking, Giorno still seemed too naive for Abbacchio's tastes. Even during the week of their coup, Abbacchio never got along with the young gangster, and did not see him worthy of his high position. But it wasn't his place to argue. Bucciarati insisted that Giorno would take a high role on the team after defeating the previous Don. The others felt the same; Trish, Narancia, and Mista felt no hesitation towards the matter, they had already fully trusted Giorno, and deemed him worthy of the position.
'Are they incapable of seeing the bigger picture?' Abbacchio wondered.
No matter what luck somehow carried Giorno through their treacherous journey, he was still a kid. Just a naive, 15 year old kid. A mere teenager. He didn't know what real pain was like. He couldn't know. The pain of being abandoned like Narancia, or pressured like Fugo. The utter heartbreak of having your life turned inside out through horrible situations-like him, Bucciarati, or Mista. No, Giorno was a perfect inexperienced brat with a brave face and an untouchable demeanor. Never faltering, always brave, always perfect. Disobeying or improvising selfishly without a single thought, only to have it be swept under the rug. The ends justify the means; That is the phrase that describes Giorno's entire existence. It really pissed him off.
"Abbacchio." Giorno said flatly.
Abbacchio's eyebrow twitched.
"I heard you the first time." Abbacchio growled under his breath. "What is it?" His purple eyes squinted with annoyance.
"We're parking. The location is a five minute walk ahead." Giorno said shortly. He must have sensed Abbacchio's hostility. The car rolled to a stop. They were in a dirt lot off the side of the road.
'Lets just get this idiotic mission over with' Abbacchio thought. He exited the car, and closed the door.
~1 Hour Prior~
Abbachio rested comfortably in his room. The team had settled themselves in a comfortable home following the chaotic aftermath of Diavolo. The sizable abode contained 6 bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, two bathrooms, and a living room. The house itself was designed by Bucciarati to accommodate the team, operating as a small, casual base. They called it, "The Rest House". All bedrooms remained upstairs, with a large bathroom also included in the hall. The kitchen, dining room, living room, and second bathroom occupied the ground floor. Abbachio sat within his own room by the staircase, a phone pressed to his ear.
"There's been reports of a massive drug stash yet to be eliminated by our efforts," Bucciarati's strong voice echoed over the phone. "We received an anonymous tip that a lone-party has been making deals in a dense forest, located 20 kilometers away. We've been supplied with coordinates. Apparently one of our distribution managers caught word through desperate citizens who were unwilling to be admitted at Passione's newly established rehabilitation centers. I want you to figure out the identity of the culprit drug team, and deal with them accordingly."
Abbacchio sighed, leaning back in his creaking chair. "More drugs? You'd think these people would learn their lesson by now. Was Diavolo not a strong enough example?" He shuddered at the memories.
Bucciarati's voice remained unwavering, despite some obvious frustration. "Many people find themselves unable to change from the old ways of Passione. They feel...as if the only rules that matter, are the ones they followed when they initially joined." A quick breath was heard over the line. "Regardless, I need you to go to the alleged exchange spot, and use Moody Blues to find our culprits. The path you'll be taking consists of old roads and relatively unused trails, with trees on all sides. The path ends with a dirt lot, and you'll travel on foot into the clearing. That is where the deals reportedly take place. A car is on its way for you now." Bruno finished.
Abbacchio got up from the chair in his room, sighing, phone still in hand. The job seemed simple enough. In fact, it was similar to many he has already had beforehand, still under Bucciarati's lead. Go to a location, use Moody Blues to identify suspects/gather information, and report it back. Simple enough, usually not dangerous. He gathered his things, while Bucciarati's voice reintroduced itself through his phone.
"There's one more thing. You won't be going alone."
Abbacchio paused.
This...was odd. He is never usually sent with another member of the team for these particular missions. Noise echoed up the staircase next to his dim room. He heard the familiar sounds of Narancia and Mista downstairs. Abbacchio took a moment to assess everyone's current location.
Trish was out with her friends for the night. The golden child was out of the house as well. Bucciarati remained at his own private base, since he was a Capo (this did not stop him from constantly visiting), while Mista and Narancia were evidently in the living room.
He wondered who would be accompanying him. He tended to complete these missions alone, for many reasons. More people means more attention. It also means more potential for unnecessary harm. Nonetheless, he went alone because there would be no reason to bring a partner. Apparently, today was an outlier. He waited for Bucciarati to continue. A tension filled pause remained, until the determined capo finally spoke.
"I'm sending you with Giorno." It was spoken quickly and carefully.
Frustration and annoyance quickly rose through Abbacchio's veins regardless, his fists clenched, nostrils flared.
" What are you sending me with that naive brat for? He's just going to get in my way! I don't need some damn little kid to interf-"
" Abbacchio ."
Bucciarati's tone held no room for conflict.
Abbacchio reluctantly sealed his lips, letting the capo speak.
"I know you aren't fond of Giorno, but my mind is made up. His abilities will be a necessary accompaniment for your mission. We aren't sure if the culprits will be there, or how many there are. They aren't expecting us. Furthermore, we are not sure if any stand users will be present," Bruno explained. "It shouldn't take long. He's already on his way anyway."
Abbacchio hunched with reluctant acceptance. Damn that capo.
"... Fine . I'll go with the brat." He said softly.
There was no point in arguing. He had no chance of overpowering the determined capo's word; Bucciarati's proud smile could already be sensed over the phone.
"Thanks, Leone, I appreciate it. But please remember," The capo lectured, "Giorno is a part of this team. You've seen the others and how they feel about him. I am not saying that you have to like him, and I am not forcing you to be friends with him. But please, try to work together. He's willing to help, and you shouldn't treat him like a mere child. Don't compromise the mission over your distaste towards him. All you need to do is gather the information, be on the lookout for danger, and safely return back to the house. I have no doubt that you two can get this accomplished. He should be there soon." Another beat. Abbacchio's eyes focused on the floor.
"...Alright. You have my word. I'll try not to beat the shit out of him."
Abbacchio hung up the phone, and left the room. Mista questioned him as he walked down the stairs and towards the front door. Before the nosy gunslinger could hear a response, Abbacchio loudly shut the door behind himself.
"What's his problem?" Narancia asked from the couch, legs resting on the coffee table. Coco Jumbo looked at him thoughtfully. Mista sat back on the other chair by the TV.
"Who knows. He's probably just pissed he got assigned a mission while we get to relax here at the house." Mista replied casually. "Now pass me the remote!"