15 SETTEMBRE 2000, 18:17

MILANO, ITALIA

METROPOLITANA DI MILANO

"Something on your mind?" Bucciarati asked.

Abbacchio shrugged. "Remind me again why those brats wanted us out of the house so badly?"

The squad leader adjusted his grip on the handrail. "Fugo said something about the three of them wanting to practice their Torture Dance. They didn't want to do it while we were there for some reason."

Of course they didn't. "Good luck doing it outside. It's the middle of fucking suburbia," Abbacchio pointed out. "God knows how many noise complaints they'd get."

Bucciarati shrugged. "If that's the case, then I'll straighten things out with the neighbours. But I think the closest houses are a good couple hundred metres or so from where we are, so they should be fine."

Abbacchio gave him a short nod before remembering something. "I would have expected that ginger-haired hellion to take it easy after the last lecture we gave him," he grumbled.

"Fugo reassured me that he'd only be supervising."

Abbacchio facepalmed, immediately imagining how everything could go wrong. "That's not gonna go well."

"If Mista and Narancia decide to push his buttons, then yeah," Bucciarati conceded. "But I think I can trust those three to keep a lid on it."

Abbacchio shook his head. "You have more optimism in that area than I do, Bucciarati."

The squad leader gave him a knowing smile. Abbacchio's mind flashed back to the events from earlier that day.

He and Fugo had returned to the public library to make some headway on translating the Hungarian assassin's note. Neither of them spoke of the Cape York incident, but what Abbacchio had read in the article had left him with a nauseated feeling in his stomach. It was no wonder that Fugo had ended up with a mental breakdown...especially given what he knew about Sabbatini's very much justified fear of Purple Haze.

Abbacchio could only hope that Fugo didn't blame himself too much for what happened in his battle against Terminal Frost.

Ultimately, they had only been able to completely translate the second sentence in the message: "He must not find out the truth." That had been mainly through context clues, because Hungarian verb conjugations were actually a pain in the ass in Abbacchio's opinion. They were also able to partially translate the first sentence, but it had been the latter part: "replay the past."

Either way, that cemented the fact Abbacchio had been the one that the asshat with the bomb Stand was hired to kill.

The two had alerted Bucciarati to this fact after they'd returned to the safe house. The squad leader had not been thrilled with this information, but that was to be expected. The five of them had dinner, and the team's resident brats had insisted on having the house to themselves not long afterwards so they could practice their Torture Dance without any comments from the peanut gallery.

"You two should probably hang out for a bit," Narancia suggested. "You know, take the night off."

Abbacchio snorted. "Seriously?"

Mista nodded. "Bucciarati's always lecturing us to take care of ourselves. He should follow his own advice. Just saying."

"It's a good suggestion," Bucciarati responded after a moment. "Sure."

Abbacchio hadn't been so optimistic. "What makes you think they won't burn the house down?"

Fugo folded his arms. "Last I saw, you were the one whose breakfast caught on fire because you were too busy making googly-eyes at Bucciarati as he was walking down the stairs."

Abbacchio's face reddened. "I WAS NOT!"

Mista and Narancia snickered.

Abbacchio didn't dare look Bucciarati's way as he let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I know when to take a hint."

Fucking teenagers.

He and Bucciarati had gone out only a few minutes later, not speaking much on the way over to the station. That experience had been awkward as all hell.

And now they were on the metro, looking to explore various parts of the city.

Their stop was announced a couple of minutes later. Bucciarati and Abbacchio got off the train, walking over to a map on the concourse.

"There's a café nearby," Bucciarati noted, glancing at the goth. "Do you want to get something to drink?"

"Sure," Abbacchio responded. I certainly wouldn't mind some caffeine right now.

They exited the station, walking towards the café Bucciarati had pointed out. It was right next to an alley, and it seemed to be a decent place.

There was just one problem.

Abbacchio took one look inside, groaning. "There's a line."

I. Hate. Lines.

Bucciarati glanced up at him. "Tell you what: I'll get our drinks. You wait out here so you don't go batshit crazy inside. Does that sound good?"

The goth relaxed. "That sounds wonderful, actually." He raised an eyebrow. "Why do you insist on spoiling me this much? You know I'm never going to get very far in this life."

Bucciarati looked him dead in the eye. "Rank only goes but so far. We may be soldati, but we're still human. We still deserve to treat each other with decency, no matter how fucked up our lives are. Even if that does mean spending some time together one-on-one and potentially getting a few smart-ass remarks from the kids, but that's beside the point."

Abbacchio smiled for the first time that evening. "Oh, there'll be more than a few if they walk in on us doing...adult stuff."

"That's what the basement is for," Bucciarati quipped, a playful expression on his face.

"That's not what I meant!" Abbacchio protested indignantly, blushing. He knew Bucciarati was only giving him a hard time, though. "Smart-ass."

Bucciarati laughed. His expression soon schooled itself into one that was somewhat more professional. "Any preferences?"

"Caffè corretto," Abbacchio responded almost immediately.

Bucciarati pursed his lips. "All right," he accepted. "But next time, we're getting something without booze in it."

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow. "We?"

Bucciarati's cheeks went pink. "I was planning on having whatever it was that you were getting," he admitted. "But, hey, it's been a crazy past several days. I can go for a caffè corretto." He smiled. "I'll be back soon!"

Bucciarati entered the café, the door closing shut behind him. Abbacchio walked over to the side of the building closest to the alley, away from the outdoor seating. He leaned against the brick, glancing up at the sunset that was starting to form. It really was quite beautiful.

He also had the unsettling feeling that he was being watched.

15 SETTEMBRE 2000, 18:32

MILANO, ITALIA

The evening had started out normal enough.

Sergio, Rafael, and Alessandra had decided to make their own separate errands before going to work. Alessandra had gone back to her house in the Hinterland to pick up a few things before returning back to the guys' flat. She was still crashing at their place because she wasn't ready to go back to an empty home. Not with her parents out of town on a business trip, and certainly not with the death of her younger brother being so recent.

Neither of the guys could fault her for that.

Rafael had gone to the grocery store. Sergio, meanwhile, had gone to the library to return the books the three of them had checked out because, based on what they knew from Helena, they were practically useless anyway. He'd taken the metro back, and, after noticing that he'd had some time to kill before he had to catch the train for work, went to the gelato place for a snack. Half an hour later, Sergio found himself walking down the alley next to a cozy, highly frequented café that he and Rafael often went to before work when something caught his eye.

No, not something. Someone.

A young man was leaning against the wall, staring up at the sunset. His long, white hair stretched several centimetres past his shoulders and was adorned with a light purple headpiece. His black tunic (or what Sergio thought was a tunic) was laced at the front, complete with gold accents on the edges and a belt with a large "A" hanging on the side in the same colour as the accents, the letter enclosed in a circle. The rest of his outfit was black, as was his lipstick.

He also looked...vaguely familiar.

Sergio took a closer look, just to make certain.

Sure enough, underneath all of the goth makeup, he recognised the man he'd drunkenly nicknamed "Legolas". His mind flashed back to that time in Club Galassia and-

It's him. It's got to be.

Even though he had been on the dance floor at the time, he'd seen how a humanoid Stand with an '80s-style aesthetic had hovered close to the white-haired man, the time dial on the forehead rewinding to different points in time like a DVD player. Sergio could see it, though he hadn't thought much of it.

But now…

"Well well well, if it isn't one of Diana's bitch-boys."

Sergio turned, seeing a man around his age with hair dyed neon green, armed with a dagger. A Stand hovered on his back like armour, covering his head, arms, and upper torso.

Ugh. This is just great.

I didn't even think to check to see if I was being followed.

"Let me guess," Sergio said bluntly. "Your head honcho sent you."

A crooked grin spread across the enemy Stand user's face. "Yep. If you're here, then I can only assume that Cavalieri di Cydonia is also interested in the man who can replay the past."

Sergio folded his arms. "Your point?"

The green-haired man's lips curled into a snarl. "The target is ours. Not yours. So fuck off."

Sergio summoned Blue Lamp. "Not happening." He pointed at his rival. "You seem to know who I am, so who the fuck are you?"

Green Hair smirked. "The name's Nataniele Lastra. Since I'll be killing you here, De Rosa, I'll let you in on a little secret about my Stand." He gestured to the apparition on his upper body. "Dancing On Glass has the ability to shatter any organic thing he touches. Except me, of course, since I'm the user. I can and will end you with a single blow."

Sergio scoffed. "I've got work soon, so I'd like to survive this battle, thank you very much."

"What you like doesn't matter," Lastra retorted. He swung a punch, Dancing On Glass's fist coming in for what would be a solid right hook. Sergio moved out of the way, and the strike went wide. Lastra attacked again, and again, and Sergio dodged both times.

The fourth was a sneak attack that the barista had been unprepared for. Blue Lamp shielded him from it, morphing back into his humanoid form to fire some sort of spontaneous light pulse that caught the enemy off-guard. Not just the enemy, but his user as well.

"Okay," Sergio said slowly, wide-eyed, as he looked at his Stand. "That's a new one."

So...Blue Lamp doesn't just morph in and out of a bioluminescent gaseous state and into a solidic one and act as an auditory shield against Alessandra's Stand. He can create, manipulate, and control light. I'll have to admit, that's pretty cool.

Now I just need to figure out how to use this newfound information to stay alive for as long as possible.

Sergio's eyes narrowed. Blue Lamp's defensive capabilities were superior to his offensive ones. Which was great for survival...but not so great if he was in a situation similar to the fight against those vampires.

You can't just rely on your Stand, you know, he reminded himself. Use your brain. Think!

Sergio racked his brain for clues. Okay. Based on what that Lastra guy said earlier, it looks as though his Stand can somehow alter the chemical composition of carbon-based structures so quickly that they lose their integrity and are left as fragile as glass. That can definitely kill someone, especially given how unstable the necessary chemical reactions would be.

But I think Blue Lamp will be okay so long as he keeps using light to protect us. One hit on me, though, and it's all over.

Sergio blinked. "I don't think I've ever been so grateful for the insanity that was O-chem in my entire life."

Lastra tilted his head to the side. "Come again?"

A shit-eating grin spread across the barista's face. He doesn't know. Oh, this is gonna be fun! "Since you let me in on a secret about your Stand, I'll let you in on a little secret about me, pal. I have a biochemistry degree."

"So what?!"

"I understand how your Stand works," Sergio taunted in a sing-song voice.

Rather than scare his opponent, it only served to antagonise him. "How?" Lastra snarled. "How the fuck do you understand?"

Sergio smirked, feeling a lot more confident than he had earlier. "I'm not telling you."

Lastra got even more pissed at that. "Bastardo! Tell me! Dimmi, sei figlio di puttana!"

I think I'm probably enjoying this a little too much. But, hey, screw it. I think it's hilarious. "No."

Lastra let out a roar of frustration. "Dancing On Glass, shatter him!"

Fun time's over. Sergio dodged the Stand's fists, taking note that Dancing On Glass could only move as fast as his user...which made sense, considering that the Stand was practically attached to the green-haired asshole. Because of this, Lastra's attacks were relatively slow.

Slow, but highly lethal, as demonstrated when an unfortunate stray cat got hit and shattered all over the place. Sergio recoiled, sickened, but he had to keep Lastra from going anywhere near Legolas. He had to protect the goth from this guy. No matter what.

Sergio still wasn't entirely sure what made him go out of his way to protect someone who was all but a complete stranger to him. Human decency? Likely. His own survival? Definitely, though he didn't want anyone to die.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Signor Shatter-Happy over here.

Blue Lamp shone a bright light Lastra's way. Sergio's aim was to blind him enough to cause him to withdraw his Stand. Seemed simple enough.

Lastra held his dagger in front of his face, and Murphy's Law kicked into effect.

The light that was supposed to blind the enemy...was reflected back Sergio's way. And he didn't have enough time to protect himself from it.

To Sergio, it seemed as though someone had taken a photo of him and left the flash on the camera when they had done so. That was the only way he could describe the sensation.

"Cazzo," he hissed, trying to blink out the whiteness and black dots that obscured his vision.

That backfired.

And I can't. Fucking. See.

"How do you like the taste of your own medicine, De Rosa?" Lastra taunted. His voice sounded relatively close in front of him...shit, how many metres? Sergio couldn't tell.

Blue Lamp, for the love of God, do something!

Sergio blinked. Fortunately, the blindness was only temporary, but he was still left blinking dark spots out of his eyes. His vision started to get clearer, and he saw that Lastra was practically on top of him.

"Not good," the barista muttered. He ducked, and Dancing On Glass missed him by maybe twelve centimetres or so. Either way, it was too close for comfort.

But he did notice something that could be of use.

Lastra's lower body is not protected by his Stand. It's vulnerable.

I just have to go for the legs…

Or the balls. But I think I'll be luckier to get his legs.

He shifted his weight, preparing to tackle the enemy Stand user.

Okay, now I just need to-

The unfamiliar sound of a retro-style dial tone stopped Sergio in his tracks. It was both parts calming and chilling at the same time.

The hell was that?

The barista turned, straightening, seeing Legolas and his Stand.

And boy did he look pissed.

"Honestly," the goth muttered, tone lethal. "I decide to avoid the line and wait for my girlfriend to finish getting coffee, and instead I find a couple of chucklefucks in the middle of a Stand battle over me." Legolas shook his head. "Fucking unbelievable."

I have to warn him. "Don't let his Stand touch you!" Sergio shouted. "You'll shatter!"

That earned him a kick to the chest from Lastra. "So you've taken his side, huh?"

"My orders were not to lay a finger on him!" Sergio retorted, pain evident in his voice. "Which your boss clearly doesn't give a shit about!"

"Step aside!" Lastra snapped.

Sergio shook his head. "I already told you, not gonna happen. Besides, weren't you planning on killing me anyway?"

Lastra's Stand resumed his rampage. Sergio ducked, and a wood crate shattered like glass where the enemy's fist made contact just centimetres from his head. Shards went flying, which Blue Lamp swiftly shielded his user from.

Sergio glanced at Legolas. The goth looked to be a good few years younger than him-late teens or early twenties, if the barista had to guess. Probably the latter.

But that detail was merely a trivial observation.

"You should probably go find your girlfriend," Sergio advised.

Legolas shrugged. "Aida will be fine." His eyes narrowed. "Besides, I have a bone to pick with whoever sent him and another assassin after me." He jabbed a finger in Sergio's direction. "And don't think that you'll be getting out of this scot-free, either, De Rosa. You seem privy to what's going on, and you're clearly being a lot more cooperative than this asshat and the Hungarian who preceded him. I want answers."

"If we survive this, I'll tell you everything I know," Sergio responded.

He hadn't just said that to cover his own ass; he remembered the dynamic between Legolas and Aida. Whatever their bond was, it was certainly a lot deeper than simply being boyfriend and girlfriend. Sergio had no idea what Aida's Stand was, but it was liable to come after him should he somehow fuck up and get her boyfriend killed. And then he'd likely have Rafael get on his case for fucking up, and likely end up with Alessandra siccing her bird army Stand on him as well for letting a stranger die on his watch.

No. That was not desirable.

From the looks of things, Legolas could probably handle himself pretty well in a fight.

Lastra looked up at the goth, a homicidal glint in his eyes as he smirked at him. "You've got balls, coming out here to join this...party. It is you, isn't it? The one De Rosa's boss doesn't want him to touch?"

Legolas tilted his head to the side. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"One of my colleagues, Eötvös Győző, was killed while searching for a man who could replay the past," Lastra explained. "The boss wasn't too pleased to learn of his demise. He decided that I should be the next to find and eliminate him. Based on how I tailed De Rosa to this place, and how he is fighting so hard to keep me away from you, I can only assume that I've found my target."

Legolas's lips curled into a snarl. "Moody Blues."

The goth's Stand landed a kick to Lastra's chest, catching him by surprise as he staggered backwards. The enemy's dagger fell to the concrete with a clatter. Lastra moved to grab the weapon, but Legolas kicked it out of his reach.

Sergio decided to go ahead and initiate a modified version of the plan he was going to use right before Legolas and his Stand had joined the fray. The barista used Blue Lamp as a diversion to temporarily blind Lastra (which thankfully worked this time) before going in to take out his legs. Sergio kicked Lastra in the right knee, causing the enemy Stand user to let out a roar of pain.

Dancing On Glass flickered.

Legolas seized the opportunity to kick Lastra in the balls. The enemy let out a grunt of pain, dropping to his knees as his Stand went away entirely. Sergio and Blue Lamp stood over him, bright light hovering over the Stand's fingertips.

Legolas's own Stand vanished, and he picked up Lastra's dagger, walking over to the green-haired asshole with an annoyed expression on his face. "I'm gonna give you one minute to explain why you decided this farce was such a good idea," he warned.

Lastra sneered. "Wouldn't you like to know, zuccola?"

Legolas's expression darkened. He grabbed the man's hair, forcibly pulling his head back. "Your time just got cut in half."

Lastra smirked. "You're not local, are you?"

"No," Legolas confirmed. "Your point?"

"I'll leave you with this: You don't know what you just stepped into. Eötvös and I aren't the only ones who are coming. Do you seriously think you can turn to Cavalieri di Cydonia and idiots like De Rosa for protection? I wouldn't even try it; for all I know the bitch who leads it might change her mind and send assassins after you as well. But that won't matter, because this ends right here, right now. My boss will reward us handsomely when we come back with your head," Lastra gloated, spitting on the ground.

"Oh really?" Legolas asked, voice cold. "Well, I happen to have a message for him." Without hesitation, and without mercy, the goth slit Lastra's throat, light fading from the green-haired asshole's eyes. Legolas released him, blood splattering on the goth's clothes and pooling around the corpse as it landed face-first on the concrete.

Sergio took a step back, surprisingly lacking the urge to vomit this time. To be fair, this was a lot less nauseating than witnessing the brutal degree to which Alessandra's Stand had killed those vampires.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't left with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

Because he was.

Legolas clearly noticed the barista's reaction. "You don't look so good."

Sergio straightened, withdrawing his Stand. "This is only the second time I saw someone die in front of me," he confessed. "The first was when I saw this girl that I have a crush on use her bird army Stand to make a couple of people's heads explode."

Legolas recoiled, a look of revulsion on his face. "Yech."

Sergio nodded. "Yeah. Not fun. I still like her, but now I'm scared of pissing her off."

"If you want advice on how to handle pissed-off Stand users, you can come talk to me later," Legolas said, wiping the bloody dagger with a handkerchief before glancing back up at the barista. "Anyway, you said you'd tell me what you knew."

"Yeah. Right." Sergio pulled out his mobile phone, opening the previous night's group text. "These were the orders I received last night."

Legolas took the phone, skimming the message. He groaned. "Cazzo." The goth returned the device, looking Sergio dead in the eye. "So what's the deal between you and Green Hair, anyway?"

Sergio shrugged. "We're from rival organisations. Never met the guy before tonight."

Legolas folded his arms. "Mafia?"

"No," Sergio responded, shaking his head. "Mine isn't, anyway. The other dude's people have had a history of causing trouble for local mafiosi for the past several decades. Their organisation is known as 'Il Vuoto.'"

Legolas's brow furrowed. "Interesting name."

"Yeah," Sergio agreed. "But, apart from that and the fact that my boss and his boss absolutely despise each other, that's pretty much all I really know about our rivals."

"That, and the fact that his boss apparently wants my head on a plate."

"Point."

"So, what does your organisation do?" Legolas asked after a moment.

Sergio blinked. "Well, it's called Cavalieri di Cydonia. Picture it as a cross between a homeless shelter, a research institute, and a black market. I'm just a courier. We don't do drugs, if that's what you're thinking," he added quickly after seeing the goth's expression darken. "I joined not long after I moved here. I only met the boss once, and she's a bit of a character."

"How so?"

"Her morality is somewhat questionable, but she's got some degree of honour and decency. She looks out for her people, even going so far as to get to know everybody by name, but apparently she can be ruthless if those she cares about are potentially in danger."

Legolas snorted. "She kinda reminds me of Aida a bit." The dark expression was still there. "But I think she does view me as a threat, given how she evidently wants to go about this."

"Yeah," Sergio admitted. "Apparently she got wind of your Stand and believes that your ability to replay past events will jeopardise the safety of her organisation."

"Given how she's got at least one archnemesis out there, I'm not surprised," Legolas responded. "I can only presume that the other syndicate wants me dead for the same reason." There was a weariness to the goth's eyes that Sergio hadn't seen before, which sparked some curiosity.

"Huh."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. Sergio proceeded with his question. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Twenty." He blinked, expression guarded. "Why?"

"I thought you looked younger than me, but your eyes seem to be so much older."

Legolas sighed, practically confirming that theory via a tired and uncomfortable look on his face. "I used to be a cop. Emphasis on used to be. Some...some bad shit happened."

Sergio held up his hands in a defensive position. "Okay, I was just wondering. You don't have to get into it."

"Yeah, I'd rather not."

The barista made his decision. He didn't care what would happen at this point, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

He could only hope Diana agreed with him if she got wind of this.

"I want to help you," Sergio said firmly. "And you're not going to be talking me out of it because I'm going to do my damnedest to keep those bastardi off of your ass regardless. Yours, and Aida's."

Legolas sighed. "Fine," he said after a moment. "But let me ask you something."

"Go on."

"You've seen people die, but have you actually killed someone?" Legolas asked seriously.

"I haven't," Sergio admitted.

The goth's expression was masklike. "I'm not saying that the fact that you haven't taken a life before is a bad thing. It's not. But, unfortunately, De Rosa, this game is about survival. You live, or you die. And sometimes you'll be the one that will be ending another person's existence. That's the nature of the beast. It's called reality. What will you hope to gain if you succeed? A few more people saved? What will you lose if you fail? No, let me rephrase that. Regardless of whether you succeed or not, there's also the very real chance that you could lose it all. Your life. Your future. That girl with the bird colony Stand that you have a crush on. Your friends. Family. Your home. Safety. Security. Everything. Are Aida and I really worth risking all of that over?"

Sergio didn't even have to think about his answer. "Yes."

Legolas's eyes widened in surprise. He closed them after a moment, exhaling, before opening them again. "All right. How do you want to go about this?"

"We should use some kind of code," Sergio advised. "Your Stand-Moody Blues, was it?"

Legolas nodded.

"I can text you coordinates and a date and time for you to go to and have Moody Blues replay what had happened at that point," Sergio said. "Otherwise, I'll just text you like any other person would."

"Sounds good." Legolas blinked. "It would also be a good idea to use aliases to keep the enemy off our trail. Since we seem to have this whole Lord of the Rings vibe going on, I'll just stick with 'Legolas.' You're 'Frodo.'"

Sergio gave him a deadpan look. "Do I look like a Hobbit to you?"

Legolas gestured to his head. "It's the hair."

Point. "That makes sense."

"What were you even doing out here, anyway?" Legolas asked, changing the subject. "Something tells me this was all just a coincidence."

"It was," Sergio admitted. "I was actually on my way to work. Speaking of…" He checked his watch. 18:47. Damn, he really had to go. "I have a train to catch."

Legolas dropped his arms to his sides. "De Rosa."

"Yeah?"

"What will happen if your boss finds out about this?"

Sergio shrugged. "If I had to guess, I'd probably get my head chewed off for potentially doing something stupid. It's not like I've betrayed her-if anything, it's more of a benefit to her than a hindrance. I could convince her that you're on our side."

"I'd advise against that last part," Legolas cautioned. "If something goes wrong, and it probably will, you'd be putting innocent people at risk. Your boss would be the least of our worries. We'd be facing the wrath of those who we care about-and I'm pretty sure you don't want that crush of yours to blow your head off."

No, I most certainly do NOT. "Good point," Segio acquiesced. "Thanks for the warning. I really do need to get going, though."

Legolas nodded. "May I?"

Sergio handed the goth his mobile. Legolas took out his own mobile as well, using both phones for something before returning Sergio's device to him. "See you around."

The two went their separate ways. Sergio walked a faster pace than normal to the station. He technically had until 19:15 to clock in, but he always liked to get to Bar Rustico early.

That habit had become a necessity after the Stone Mask incident.

He soon made his way onto the platform, glancing down at his phone to pass the time. He had one notification, from an unfamiliar number.

[Nome sconosciuto]: Questo è Legolas.

Sergio saved the number to his contacts list, under "Legolas", before sending a reply.

[Me]: Frodo qui. Grazie per avermi ascoltato prima.

Sergio's train pulled in a moment later. He pocketed his phone, entering the high-speed mode of public transportation as soon as the door opened. Legolas's words echoed through his mind as he grabbed onto the handrail.

This game is about survival. You live, or you die. And sometimes you'll be the one that will be ending another person's existence.

Sergio was no stranger to fighting; he'd gotten some training in that area through Cavalieri di Cydonia, not to mention experience in dealing with the occasional rowdy drunk patrons and in the fight against those vampires.

But did he have the nerve to kill?

15 SETTEMBRE 2000, 18:51

MILANO, ITALIA

"Two caffè corretto, to-go!"

Finally. Bucciarati walked over to the counter, grabbing his and Abbacchio's drinks. It was a good thing the goth had waited outside, because the line inside was long enough for him to have gone ballistic from impatience after only a couple of minutes. He exited the building, finding his squadmate sitting at one of the outdoor tables.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," Bucciarati apologised. "The line was even more insane than I'd imagined."

Abbacchio snorted. "Maybe it's just as well I didn't go in." But his tone carried a bite that Bucciarati did not like one bit.

Something's up.

The squad leader raised an eyebrow. "What happened while I was gone?" He took a closer look at Abbacchio's clothes, frowning. "Why are you covered in blood?"

Abbacchio sipped his coffee. "It's not mine, don't worry."

Bucciarati gave him a noncommittal look.

The ex-cop sighed. "There was another assassin. I took care of him."

And by "took care of him" you mean you killed him, judging by the amount of blood on your clothes. Bucciarati's brow furrowed. "That's the second one in less than three days," he remarked. "Whoever's doing this must really want you dead."

"Yeah. Especially since there are apparently two underground organisations after me."

"Two?!" Bucciarati asked, alarmed. He relented, but only slightly. "Rival gangs?"

"No idea. One isn't mafia-affiliated; the other, I'm not so sure about," Abbacchio admitted. "But they're definitely local."

"Mannaggia."

"Tell me about it."

Bucciarati took a swig of his own drink. "I take it you were able to question the enemy?"

"Yeah," Abbacchio responded. "But most of the information I actually got out of De Rosa."

Bucciarati raised an eyebrow. "Sergio De Rosa?"

"Yep," Abbacchio confirmed. "Turns out he's a Stand user."

"Huh." Bucciarati tucked some hair behind his ear. "I'll have to admit, I didn't see that coming."

Then again, did he? His mind flashed back to that night in Club Galassia. Even though Bucciarati had been inebriated at the time, his sobriety had been enough to have recalled seeing luminescent blue smoke around De Rosa. He'd chalked it up to the neon lights, but the sight had been enough to cause Sticky Fingers to start to manifest. Had that actually been De Rosa's Stand?

That's something to ask about later.

"And what of him?" Bucciarati asked. Him, referring to De Rosa.

Abbacchio moved some hair out of his face. "He's now my informant."

"That's a start." Bucciarati looked at him curiously. "Does he know?"

"That we're Passione? No; I didn't say anything. I stuck with our aliases from the last encounter we had with him...though he still insisted on calling me 'Legolas' for some reason."

Bucciarati let out a soft laugh. "I'm pretty sure he forgot your name after the x number of drinks he'd consumed."

Abbacchio folded his arms. "How did that even come about, anyway?"

"I told him that you and I were dating in order to mitigate the potential risk of him flirting with me," Bucciarati admitted. "And then he was like, 'The guy who looks like Legolas?' I guess that stuck even after he sobered up."

Abbacchio let out a sharp bark of laughter. "That's actually hilarious." He took another sip of his beverage. Bucciarati schooled his expression into one more reserved for business-as-usual on missions.

Time to get to work.

"So," Bucciarati queried, "What do you think we're looking at here?"

Abbacchio placed his coffee back on the table. "If I had to guess, I think I might have accidentally escalated a turf war between a couple of rival syndicates."

Curious choice of words. "Escalated. Not started?"

Abbacchio shook his head. "No. Apparently De Rosa's boss and that assassin's boss already really hate each other to begin with. What's even more interesting is that the assassin's organisation has a history of making trouble for the mafia."

Now that's definitely interesting. "How much of a history?"

"Several decades, at least."

Bucciarati took a particularly long swig of the alcoholic coffee beverage before speaking again. "Polpo's gonna love that," he muttered sarcastically.

"Do you think Carbone had somehow managed to get himself mixed up with either of these syndicates?" Abbacchio asked.

"Probably," Bucciarati responded. Likely. "More than likely," he amended. His brow furrowed. "But which one?"

DANCING ON GLASS

User: Nataniele Lastra

Stats

I. Destructive Power: A

II. Speed: D

III. Range: Null

IV: Persistence: A

V: Precision: D

VI: Development Potential: E

Note

Dancing On Glass is physically attached to his user in a manner not dissimilar to Stands like Mandom and 20th Century Boy. Thus, even though this particular Stand has offensive capabilities, there is no real range here to speak of.