Risotto laid awake next to Prosciutto; his phone said it was almost four in the morning. He was always the first in the house awake, followed by Pesci or Prosciutto. This morning, however, he was awake earlier than usual. He'd dreamt of his cousin again, saw the car veering out of control as Damien pushed him out of the way. The flash of the license plate in his mind as the car sped away: BK-022EZ.

He didn't usually stay the night in Prosciutto's bed but he had been feeling particularly anxious all day. Fugo's outburst at the mixer hadn't helped. As he looked at the clock again he saw it was October 14th, his cousin's birthday.

"Can't sleep?" Risotto turned to see Prosciutto watching him. His blond hair was loose around his face. Prosciutto reached a hand out to stroke his cheek but Risotto looked back up at the ceiling. He scooted closer to lay on Risotto's chest. "Damien?" Risotto ran his fingers through Prosciutto's hair as they laid there.

"It's the fourteenth," was all Risotto said.

"Did you dream about it again?" Prosciutto asked quietly.

"Yeah."

Risotto felt empty again. Prosciutto was the only thing in his life, besides killing, that held that all-consuming ennui at bay. Things had certainly improved since he'd confessed his feelings for Prosciutto, a part of him had revived inside himself that he'd thought had died with Damien that night. He'd lost his best friend to the insolence of a drunken man, one that after careful planning, Risotto had eliminated. That loss weighed heavily upon him. He still longed for his older cousin's counsel and friendship when things got particularly tough. He'd found a similar admiration for Prosciutto, except it had turned into more than just friendship.

"Are you worried about the mission?" Prosciutto asked to the darkness.

"I don't like sending you in there, especially without me to back you up," Risotto admitted.

"I have Pesci, I'll be fine," Prosciutto said. "Not to mention Ghiaccio and Melone."

"I know, but I'd rather go with you and leave Sorbet and Gelato in charge here. But with Gelato out of commission, and Sorbet's information necessary in the field, it's the best configuration I could come up with. Staying was the best option," Risotto said quietly. He continued to run his fingers through the blond strands.

"Riz, I'll be fine," Prosciutto said again. He laid his hand under his cheek. He stroked Risotto's chest with his other hand.

"That's what you said when I left you at the train station," Risotto sighed.

"This is different."

"Is it?" Risotto asked himself more than Prosciutto. "We're just as blind."

"There are a lot more of us this time going," argued Prosciutto.

"Doesn't mean casualties don't happen," he countered.

"Pesci's a lot stronger than he used to be," Prosciutto stated. "He's grown since my death. He goes right for the heart now. No prompting."

"Yeah. He's definitely improved." Risotto put his other arm behind his head. "You do good work."

"That's because I'm the best at what I do," Prosciutto said smugly. Risotto smirked. He loved that confidence. It was what always put his mind at ease when Prosciutto went on a job alone. He would never falter in the field. If he committed to something, he would follow through without hesitation. He knew he shouldn't dwell on this, on any of it, but Risotto had been confident about the last attempt too. But he was sending most of them with this time, way more than he would normally for something like this. No chance of failure. Maybe it was the lingering anxiety from his dream that made him feel this way.

He usually got up around five anyway and he knew he wasn't going back to sleep now. He shifted and Prosciutto lifted his head so Risotto could sit up. He took the phone off the nightstand and looked at it again. Almost four-thirty.

"You're getting up?" Prosciutto asked. "What time is it?"

"Too early. Just go back to sleep. I'm just going to look over some stuff."

"Fine," Prosciutto sighed. He knew not to argue because once Risotto had made up his mind there was no swaying him otherwise. Risotto turned back and kissed him.

"See you in a few hours," Risotto whispered as he stroked Prosciutto's cheek.

"I love you," Prosciutto said and looked at him seriously.

"Love you too." Risotto kissed him again and stood up.

"Hey, don't think about it too much. It's just another day," Prosciutto said and Risotto nodded. He tried not to.

Damien would have been thirty-five today.

He walked towards the door as Prosciutto snuggled back into his pillow. Upon closing the door behind him, he saw something in his peripheral vision down the hall. He turned his head to see Gelato sitting outside his room with his arms around his knees. Risotto wasn't sure if he should go say something to him or leave him be. Gelato didn't seem to be very fond of Risotto these days and it might do more harm than good. Gelato glanced over and Risotto merely nodded as he turned and headed back towards the stairs.

He saw a sleeping form on the couch and recalled Fugo's presence in the house. He hoped that letting him on this mission wouldn't be a decision he'd regret later. Giorno seemed insistent on having the kid go along but ultimately left the decision up to Risotto. If he flips his lid again, at least Ghiaccio will be there. Also, he'll probably take out a lot of the target's men in the process. Risotto decided this was also something that shouldn't be worried about. He continued walking to his room and got dressed and then poured over files in the den until the rest of the house awoke.

Sorbet found too much space in his bed upon waking. He was alone. He sat up and looked around, no Gelato. He tossed the covers off in a flurry and hurried to the door, pulling it open. He looked down the hall to the bathroom and saw the door open. Maybe he was downstairs? He peered over the railing and only saw Fugo asleep on the couch. He turned around and saw Gelato sitting on the floor next to the door.

"What are you doing out here?" Sorbet asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Gelato said. "Risotto's up too." Sorbet knelt down in front of him.

"Don't you want to at least come back in the room? It's warmer in bed," Sorbet said as he stroked Gelato's face.

"You're not gonna come back," Gelato said.

"Gelly, I'm going to come back."

"But what if you don't?" Gelato looked up into Sorbet's eyes.

"Isn't that all the more reason you should come back into the room and cuddle me then?" Sorbet smiled as he stroked his face. Gelato sighed and took his hand and Sorbet pulled him to his feet. He kissed Gelato's hand and led him back into the room. They crawled back into the bed and snuggled in close. It was five-thirty and there was still plenty of time to lay together before Sorbet needed to get ready. They could even have sex if Gelato was in the mood for it. He wasn't holding his breath though.

Gelato lay staring at the ceiling. Sorbet had fallen back asleep on his chest, pinning him in place, but now, Gelato wouldn't have been able to get out of bed even if he'd wanted to. Everything hurt. It was a kind of pain that began as psychological only for the body to take on the physical signs that the brain was inputting. His muscles hurt from the constant tension in his body. His mind's inability to stop left him even more exhausted. His chest hurt more than anything else. It was a strange heat surging with each beat of his heart but it felt hollow. Anxiety mixed with deep sadness. Gelato couldn't have put it into words. Expression wasn't in his nature unless it was through a blade.

His switchblade. Sorbet had taken it from him after his attempt the other day. He reached into his empty pocket several times in the last 48 hours, seeking out its comforting weight. Whenever he felt anxiety he would reach into his pocket and open the blade to run his fingertip along the sharp edge. Not to cut, just as reassurance that if shit hit the fan, he had a means of protecting himself. An odd item for a person to find comfort in, but to Gelato, it was what the blade meant. It was a gift from his uncle. His uncle was the only other person in the world other than Sorbet that he believed he could trust with his entire being, which was impressive because Gelato didn't trust anyone. His paranoia was too severe to try.

His uncle had given him the blade on his sixteenth birthday, a little over a year before he would be kicked out onto the streets. Perhaps his uncle knew what was coming. Gelato had never been what someone would call "stable." He was the child that would say menacing things to other kids and hold their faces into the snowbank until they couldn't breathe. He'd been raised in staunch Catholicism and attended an all boy's school. His sadistic tendencies isolated him from those around him but he still managed to find a boy to lose his virginity to. That boy broke things off not long after calling Gelato "manipulative and abusive." It was true that Gelato quickly became obsessive with people that showed him very little affection. He would cut others off from that person in an attempt to keep those affections to himself. Sorbet had been the first person he'd met to be unfazed by this behavior, embraced it even.

Gelato had had a long talk with his uncle that day. He had told him all of his impulses and dark desires. It had been his one and only time of "crying for help." Gelato knew that his behavior was considered "abnormal" but he didn't understand how to be any other way. That was also the day he came out for the first time to someone. His uncle listened to him in silence until Gelato had spoken everything in his heart. He anticipated being rebuked for his urges, both of the flesh and for blood. However, his uncle confided in him that he too had been hiding. He'd been married to a woman for twenty years but was seeing men on the side.

His uncle had always been a dour person and perhaps that was why Gelato had always been so drawn to him more than any of his other family, but this new admission gave him hope. A false hope as it turned out, but hope nonetheless. If his uncle was gay too then it couldn't be all wrong. His uncle instructed him, as he handed him the switchblade, that should the dark urges come back, he should take it out on animals instead. So he did. There were many missing pet posters in his neighborhood the final year he lived in that house.

It all came to a head however at Christmas. One of his female cousins had made a flippant comment about how Gelato would never find a girlfriend, and he corrected her. God, why he did that, still to this day, he would never know. He told her that he didn't like girls and that he'd already had a boyfriend before.

And everything stopped.

There was yelling and crying after that. His parents and grandparents lamenting how he was straying from God and how this behavior would lead him on a path straight to hell. He chuckled at that. If they could see the things I've done since. But at the time he could only feel fury. There wasn't even enough sadness in his heart for tears to manifest, just rage. And he'd blurted it out. The one thing he would regret forever.

He'd outed his uncle.

The chaos of that night had been total. He'd proceeded to break his cousin's arm in two places, as she screamed and begged, only for Gelato to be decked in the face by his brother. That fight had broken a table and two lamps. But that hadn't been the only collateral of that night's events. Two days later, he'd received news that his uncle had killed himself. His wife had been so distraught that she took the kids away from him out of fear that his sexuality would somehow endanger their immortal souls. The entire family had turned their back on him and he couldn't handle the guilt. He'd hung himself from his ceiling fan.

After that, Gelato had been blamed for destroying the family and was told to leave and never come back. He wandered the streets of Napoli alone with only his switchblade and a backpack. There was no one left to talk him down and so he killed his first person that night, a homeless man who had tried to take his backpack. He'd buried the blade in his throat and revelled in the warmth that spilled down his arm. He took what little possessions the man had on him, particularly his coat. He burrowed inside it and slept that night under playground equipment. Thankfully, there were no drug deals going down at that time so he was safe, for now.

Gelato needed money and the first time he realized how he could get it was on his knees at a truck stop. It wasn't that bad honestly and he'd made twenty dollars in ten minutes. After that, he'd begun asking for more money for different tiers of service. One of those times, a client of his had mentioned stripping to him as an opportunity when Gelato had complained about money. He figured it was worth a shot. He applied, claiming he was eighteen when he clearly was not, but they all turned a blind eye, obviously aware of his plight. They'd had many like him come through over the years and the owner had a soft spot for just such cases. The banging blowjob Gelato gave him during his interview helped too. That had earned him a roof to live under.

It was during this time that Gelato first met Sorbet. He had finished work and was out prowling the streets to make some more easy money when a man ran into him. He'd just turned eighteen yesterday and his buddies had taken him out to get some piercings. He'd gotten some before but the one he wanted for work he couldn't get until he turned eighteen. Getting his dick pierced hadn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would. He knew it was going to take some time to heal, but that wouldn't affect his work much. The things he got paid to do most were getting other people off, not himself. He walked up and down alleys that he knew were common meet-up spots looking for clients.

A man ran into him from behind and almost knocked him over. Within seconds he was being held at gunpoint. Gelato was confused by what was happening and immediately reached his hand into his pocket.

"What do you want from me?" Gelato asked as he gripped his switchblade. Another man halted in front of them. He was dressed nicely and had black hair styled to a point. He looked like the kind of man that Gelato had come out tonight looking for.

"I'll kill this kid," the man behind him said.

"Doesn't mean I won't kill you either way. The Boss isn't happy with you," the man said in a low voice. He added with a smile, "Also, the Boss didn't say I had to make it quick."

Gelato looked at the man's eyes. He saw the same look Gelato had seen in the mirror for years. He'd never seen that look in another person before.

"Kill the boy and I'll make sure I have fun killing you." He likes it too. I wonder if he also gets turned on by killing?

Gelato's heart sped up as his mind raced. He needed to get out of this situation so he could talk to this man. He needed to know him, wanted this man on top of him at night. He needed those eyes to look at him and no one else.

Gelato glanced at the man with the gun and saw he was sweating. The gun shook against his temple. He was panicking as he stared at the man. Gelato thought this was his chance, the gunman would never expect when grabbing a teen as a hostage that he'd grabbed the most homicidal maniac in Napoli. He opened the blade in his pocket and slowly removed his hand so as not to alert the man. Once he had the blade free, the man had removed the gun from his head in fear. There was something about the man in front of them that made him so terrified. His eyes were glowing blue and Gelato thought he was just seeing things. I have to talk to him.

Gelato jammed his switchblade into the gunman's thigh. He relished the screams as Gelato spun around on him. He held up his blade and plunged it into the man's neck as they toppled to the ground. He straddled the gunman as he stabbed. The sputtering and gurgling that came from his throat as he began to choke on his own blood excited Gelato. He pulled the blade out and slowly turned to look at the man. He cocked his head as he gazed into those blue-gray eyes. He stood up and sauntered over to his "savior."

"Thanks for saving me," Gelato purred. The man regarded him a moment, looking at Gelato's blood-stained clothes.

"I think you handled that yourself pretty well." He lowered his eyelids.

"I may not look like much, but I know how to have a good time," Gelato intimated.

"I think you look pretty good from where I'm standing," the man said, raising a brow, as he put his hand on his hip. He was flirting back, a good sign.

"So what's your name, bello?" Gelato smiled and ran a finger under the man's chin.

"Sorbet."

"I'm Gelato," Gelato said flirtatiously and rested the blade against his lip. "I work down at L'Amore. You should come by and see me sometime."

"Unfortunately, I don't get out much."

"Not even to kill a man?" Gelato licked his lip and briefly touched the blade. Sorbet swallowed as he watched. "That was what you were about to do, right? Are you Passione?"

"I am. I'm an assassin." Sorbet cleared his throat.

"Well, fuck, just take me right here, then." Gelato winked and Sorbet smiled awkwardly.

"I'm on the clock."

"Too bad. Maybe you could come to see me on the clock," Gelato said as he leaned in close and ran his finger down Sorbet's exposed chest. Based on the blush that crept into Sorbet's cheeks, Gelato assumed Sorbet was probably still in the closet and wouldn't go to a gay strip club. So he added, "Except Thursdays. That's my day off. I can usually be found at Polvere di Stelle on those nights if that makes you more comfortable." His hand continued traveling down his abdomen teasingly to rest on Sorbet's belt. Gelato gave it an amorous tug.

"I guess we'll have to see…" Sorbet licked his lips dryly.

"Yeah, I bet we will," Gelato murmured as he stepped in close to Sorbet. He closed his eyes as Gelato moved in to kiss him. Just then there was a scream behind them. The man had tried to get up and flee but was punched back by seemingly nothing and landed on his neck. There was a loud crunch and then stillness. A blond man in a suit walked into the alleyway. Sorbet took a step back and Gelato let go of his belt.

"Wondered where you went. Who's this?" The blond man nodded at Gelato. Gelato turned to face the newcomer.

"Sorbet here saved me." Gelato turned back to Sorbet and winked at him. Sorbet tried to keep his face neutral but it clearly softened at Gelato's gaze.

"Got in the crossfire. No other casualties," Sorbet said in a professional tone.

"Did you stab him?" The blond asked as he poked the cadaver with his shoe.

"A little." Gelato shrugged, smirking. The blond looked back up and raised his brow.

"You call this a little?" He looked back down at all of the blood. "It looks like your work, Sorbet."

"Not this time. It was all him."

"Damn, maybe you should work for Riz." And he did, after about two months or so. He loved working for La Squadra just as Sorbet had. Those early days had been wild and passionate in everything Gelato did, but as he laid here with his lover asleep in his neck, he barely remembered what it was like to feel anything but this hollowness. Five months of imitating life, of his lungs taking in oxygen and his heart pumping blood through his body. Five long months of sleepless nights and dread in his stomach. It wasn't living, despite what he'd had Sorbet believing.

Gelato kissed Sorbet's head as he longed for his switchblade.