16 SETTEMBRE 2000, 21:17

MILANO, ITALIA

Bzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz-

"Helena, your phone's going off!" Margherita hollered.

Helena put her notebook on the counter. "Yeah, I know; I can hear it." She reached for her mobile, answering it. "Hello?"

"Buonasera, Signora Sabbatini. It's Bucciarati."

"Bucciarati, hey," she responded, leaning against the counter. "What can I do for you?"

"I heard from Abbacchio that Domenico De Luca said that you and your flatmate wanted to do dinner with everyone," the mafioso responded.

"Yeah, we do," Helena confirmed. "Margherita and I have off tomorrow night, since it'll be Sunday, so, would that work?"

"It should," Bucciarati said. "When and where did you have in mind?"

"Trattoria Mario," Helena responded. "It's in the Navigli District. Hang on a sec." She shifted the receiver. "Hey, Margherita?"

"Yeah?" the human asked.

"I've got Bucciarati on the phone. What time do you want to have dinner tomorrow?"

"Sunset's at 19:30, so 19:45 to 20:00-ish should be doable."

"Let's go with the later of the two, just to be safe," Helena responded. Terminal Frost can protect me somewhat against sunlight in the later part of the day, but I'd rather not push my luck.

"Done."

"Grazie." Helena repositioned the receiver. "Is 20:00 tomorrow night okay with you all?"

"Yes," Bucciarati responded after a few seconds.

Helena beamed. "Great! I'll text Domenico and let him know. See you all then!"

"Alrighty."

Bucciarati hung up. Helena opened her messages, texting Domenico.

[Me]: Bucciarati dice che la cena alle 20.00 funziona domani. Trattoria Mario

Helena hit "send", pocketing her mobile.

She and Margherita were currently in their lab, and had been doing some routine equipment inspections when Bucciarati had called.

The phone buzzed again. Helena pulled it out of her pocket, seeing that Domenico had responded.

[Domenico De Luca]: Ok. Ci vediamo domani

Okay. Good. Helena re-pocketed her mobile, satisfied.

"Hey, Helena?"

She looked up, seeing a nervous expression on Margherita's face. "What?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"There's something in your hair," the human remarked.

Helena froze. What? "I don't feel anything…"

Several of her raven locks suddenly twisted. Helena looked down, eyes widening upon seeing what looked suspiciously like a large, animalistic beak. One that wasn't avian.

The vampire screamed, spooked.

A large, tentacley parasite jettisoned itself from her hair, lunging straight at Margherita.

The human herpetologist's eyes widened. "OVERDRIVE!"

Hamon from her left hand made contact with the parasite just as one of the tentacles had started to enter and snake up that same arm. The creature disintegrated, its ashes falling to the laboratory floor.

"What the fuck was that?!" Helena asked, shaken.

"No idea," Margherita responded. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Me neither." Helena walked over to her flatmate. "Are you hurt?"

Margherita looked down at her arm. "It did leave a bit of a mark," she admitted, gesturing to a puncture wound in her arm. "It doesn't look to be bleeding, but I'll need to go clean it out regardless."

"Doesn't Hamon repel poison or something like that?" Helena wondered.

"Something like that," Margherita responded. "But I'll feel a lot better after having used either iodine or hydrogen peroxide as an antiseptic than having to rely on my breathing."

"Fair enough."

Margherita blinked. "So...what should we do about our uninvited guest here?"

The vampire knelt down, examining the parasite's ashes. "I want to study it," she said after a moment.

"You want to study it?" Margherita echoed, incredulous.

"Yeah," Helena confirmed. "Where there's one, chances are there could be more of them. We can already infer that it goes after humans. But what we don't know is, what does it do? How lethal is it? Is there any way to counteract its effects? Does it go after reptiles as well? If that's the case, then we may have to quarantine the lab."

Margherita nodded. "That is a very valid point," she conceded. "I'll help you. But after I get this thing cleaned out."

"Great."

The human clutched her arm. "This is going to be an interesting week."

Helena smiled. "Look on the bright side. At least we have dinner to look forward to tomorrow."

17 SETTEMBRE 2000, 19:51

MILANO, ITALIA

METROPOLITANA DI MILANO

"Are we there yet?" Narancia complained.

"Does it look like we're there yet?" Fugo retorted.

Mista sighed, leaning against the nearby pole. "Does anyone know how many more stops we have?" We've been on this train for the past fifteen minutes, and I am bored. He glanced over at Abbacchio, eyes narrowing. At least you did the smart thing and brought something to do.

And by "something to do," Mista saw that meant the goth listening to his headphones and portable CD player, completely engrossed in whatever music was playing while Bucciarati sat next to him, completely ignoring personal space.

Which Abbacchio apparently did not seem to mind.

Mista shook his head, a small smile on his face. They might not be fucking, but there does look to be something going on between them.

What, I have no idea.

"We've got about another three stops to go overall," Bucciarati responded, checking the metro's on-board line map. "But we don't have that much longer to wait."

"That's good," the gunslinger responded.

Given that Man 'O' War was still in a bit of a wrecked state, Bucciarati had thought it best to take the metro over to Trattoria Mario. Not that Mista minded; city traffic was a pain in the ass to drive in.

"Next stop: Navigli District," the speaker announced over the intercom a few minutes later.

Finally.

Mista stretched. Bucciarati nudged Abbacchio, who promptly took off his headphones. "Yeah?"

"It's almost our stop," Bucciarati said gently.

Abbacchio pressed a button on his CD player. "It's about fucking time."

The train soon came to a halt. "Now arriving at: Navigli District."

The two adult gangsters stood.

"Doors opening."

La Squadra Guardie del Corpo exited the metro, walking towards a map on the concourse.

"Ah," Bucciarati said, pointing at a dot on the map. "Trattoria Mario. There it is."

"At least it's not that far away," Fugo noted.

Number 2 climbed out from underneath Mista's hat. "How much longer until dinner, Mista? The other Pistols and I are getting kinda hungry."

"It's going to be a little bit," Mista responded. "I'll let you all know when it's time for you to eat."

Number 2 beamed. "Grazie, Mista!" The Pistol dismissed himself on his own accord.

"Let's go," Bucciarati said.

The five exited the station, walking about a block-and-a-half in the nighttime weather before they arrived at Trattoria Mario.

Mista saw two women waiting outside the establishment. One, whom he recognised as Helena Sabbatini, was waving to them. The other was a woman around Narancia's height (but slightly shorter) with short, blonde hair. Daggers seemed to appear in her brown eyes the moment she saw the squad leader approaching.

"Bucciarati," the blonde said curtly.

"Genovese," the squad leader acknowledged in a similar tone.

Sabbatini rolled her eyes. "Come on, Margherita. You're still salty about that?"

"I'm hungry. And, look. We may be allies, but that doesn't mean I have to like him right away."

"I'd say the feeling's mutual, considering you tied me up and held a gun to my head while I was unconscious," Bucciarati retorted stiffly.

"This is getting off to a great start," Narancia muttered sarcastically.

Genovese glared at him. "You have got to be kidding me. You again?"

That voice. It's definitely familiar.

Mista's mind flashed back to that night he, Fugo, and Narancia had encountered a female scythe-wielding stranger with the ability to run on water. The voice was the same.

But, seriously?

"You're the Reaper?!" Mista spluttered.

"Obviously," Genovese said coolly. "Huh. 'The Reaper.' That actually has a nice ring to it. Which one of you brats came up with it?"

"I did," Fugo responded.

Sabbatini raised an eyebrow. "You guys know each other?"

Genovese snorted. "I offed some perv by Naviglio Pavese a couple of weeks back and the next thing I know I've got these idiots chasing after me." She gestured to the three youngest members of Bucciarati's squad.

The vampire facepalmed. "Let me get this straight: You attempted to smite three Stand users, without me?"

"They wouldn't leave me alone!"

"For the record, she did kick our asses with some weird energy thingy," Mista pointed out.

"It's called 'Hamon', first of all," Genovese retorted. "Secondly, it's not just some 'weird energy thingy.'" She used air quotes on the last part to emphasise.

I don't know about that. "It kind of is."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Abbacchio butted in, rolling his eyes. "Where the hell is the last member of our party?"

"Domenico's on his way," Sabbatini responded. "He texted me earlier; apparently his train's running late due to line maintenance."

"That can't be helped."

"We'll give him ten more minutes," Bucciarati decided. "Then we're heading in."

"Sounds good to me," Mista responded. The sooner the Pistols get fed, the better off the rest of us will be.

A brown-skinned man with round glasses, a moustache, and a short beard ran towards them a minute or so later, long hair tied up into a bun. "Ciao! Sorry I'm late!"

"You're good," Sabbatini reassured him. "I already told them."

The man exhaled. "That's a relief."

"Let's head in," Genovese butted in. "I don't know about you lot, but I'm starving!"

"So are we," Mista muttered.

They entered the establishment. Sabbatini walked up to a hostess' podium.

"Table for eight, per favore," she requested.

The hostess smiled. "Of course. Right this way."

They followed her to the establishment's second storey, guided to a private area with a table set for eight.

"Grazie, Signorina," Bucciarati acknowledged.

The hostess nodded, heading back to the ground floor. Everyone took their seats. Fugo sat across from Sabbatini, Abbacchio sat across from Genovese, Bucciarati sat across from Man-Bun Guy, and Narancia sat across from Mista. Abbacchio and Bucciarati sat next to each other, which came as no surprise to the gunslinger. A waiter came over soon after, and everyone ordered their food. Mista got pizza, partly so he could appease the Pistols when he eventually summoned them.

"All right," Sabbatini said after the waiter left. "Now that everyone's here, we should probably go around and introduce ourselves."

"I'll start," the guy with the man-bun volunteered. "Domenico De Luca."

"Helena Sabbatini," the vampire said next.

"Margherita Genovese," said her flatmate.

"Bruno Bucciarati," Bucciarati said.

"Huh," De Luca responded, glancing at Abbacchio, who sent him a gesture that said, "don't say a fucking thing". The civilian looked to have gotten the message, winking at him.

I wonder what that's about.

Probably none of my business.

Bucciarati, fortunately, appeared to let it slide.

"Leone Abbacchio," the goth said next.

"Pannacotta Fugo," Fugo added.

"Guido Mista," Mista said quickly. I am NOT going to be the eighth person. Two times four is eight.

"Narancia Ghirga," Narancia said, finishing off the introductions.

"Cool," De Luca responded. "Anyone got anything interesting they want to share? Whatever it is that everyone does for a living is off-limits, just so we're clear."

"Thank God," Abbacchio muttered.

Sabbatini blinked. "I'm a vampire now."

De Luca started, eyes wide. "E-fucking-scuse me?"

"Yeah, vampires are real," Genovese deadpanned.

"I know that," De Luca muttered. He glanced at Sabbatini. "You're not like that one guy who allegedly trashed Cairo back in the late '80s now, are you?"

"If you're wondering if I'm that fucked in the head, the answer is no. I didn't become a vampire willingly."

"That's something." De Luca turned. "Anyone else?"

Fugo shrugged. "My hair just turned white overnight a couple of nights ago. Does that count?"

"It most certainly does," De Luca said, frowning. "You weren't pushing it too much, were you?"

Fugo glared at him. "It wasn't my idea to get attacked by some jackass with a bomb Stand."

"I can vouch for that," Sabbatini said.

"We know," Mista said. "Fugo, Narancia, and I all saw you fighting buck naked."

Genovese snorted. "Don't get me started on what happened afterwards. No, actually I will talk about that."

Sabbatini's face went red. "Margherita, you little shit-"

De Luca folded his arms. "This, I want to hear."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Domenico."

Genovese smirked, gesturing to her flatmate. "This girl just shows up at work wearing nothing but stilettos and a dead guy's Bulova wristwatch and trenchcoat, sits through a meeting, and then decides it would be a good idea to flash me while we're in the office like nobody's business."

Sabbatini gave her a death glare. "I will fucking kill you."

Genovese blinked. "I have Hamon."

"I have a Stand that can easily wipe out everyone within a twenty-metre radius."

"I have Hamon."

"And I have a Stand whose virus is going to kill both of you in under thirty seconds if you don't shut the fuck up," Fugo snapped.

"Not to mention the rest of us," Mista grumbled.

"Please don't bring Purple Haze out," Bucciarati said sternly. "The same goes for Terminal Frost."

"I wasn't actually planning on it," Fugo responded.

"Good," Abbacchio said.

"But what did that have to do with my hair turning white?"

"Your body likely went through a lot of stress over the past several years," De Luca surmised. "As for the past week or so, it probably just spent so much effort trying to heal itself that the telomeres in your hair cells got the brunt of it and lost their pigmentation. I didn't go to med school, so don't quote me on that. That's just my take on it."

"Don't you have a Master's in neurobiology?" Genovese asked.

"Comparative Neurobiology. I mostly specialised in aquatic animals, like dolphins. Humans are hard as fuck to understand."

Sabbatini snorted. "That's a mood."

Fugo snickered.

The vampire gave him a grin in return.

Fugo returned his gaze to De Luca after a moment. "Do you know how long this'll last?"

De Luca frowned. "I'd hate to say it, but it's permanent."

Narancia's jaw dropped. "Wait? Really?"

"Yep."

Fugo groaned. "Fuck."

Sabbatini gave him a small smile. "I think it looks nice. That hair colour, I mean. On both you and Leone. It reminds me of fresh snow."

Mista glanced at Fugo, seeing an expression on his face that looked either embarrassed or self-conscious. Or both. He couldn't tell.

"Thanks," the white-haired teen responded.

"It's not bad," Abbacchio added.

"No, it isn't," De Luca agreed. "You look like a fucking Istar. And I mean that in a good way."

Abbacchio facepalmed. "You're not the first person in Milan who's told me I look like a Lord of the Rings character."

"Well, if Gandalf was younger and wore black lipstick…" Mista responded, conjuring up the mental image of Abbacchio in a wizard costume, and chuckling at the absurdity of it.

"Oh, sure," Abbacchio said sarcastically. "Let me grow a long beard and get back to you on that."

Narancia's face scrunched up. "Please don't."

"Or you could buy a fake one from the store," Fugo suggested.

"And a wizard costume," Mista added, acting upon voicing the absurd mental image from earlier in the conversation.

"But which would he be?" Narancia wondered. "Abbacchio the Grey, or Abbacchio the White?"

"I thought you didn't like reading stuff," Fugo said to the raven-haired teenager.

"Not unless it's something I'm really interested in," Narancia responded. "But you'd pretty much have to be living under a rock not to be familiar with The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings."

"Well, you're not wrong."

Mista glanced at the squad leader. "So, Bucciarati, what do you think?"

The squad leader looked at Abbacchio, smiling. "I think he'd look great either way."

Abbacchio gave Bucciarati a sly look. "Maybe you should just let me surprise you."

"Maybe I should."

Narancia groaned. "Ugh, get a room already!"

To Mista's surprise, Abbacchio actually seemed to be considering that option. "Well, given our neighbour, we might have to."

"Oh God," Bucciarati groaned, putting his head in his hands.

De Luca tilted his head curiously. "Do I want to know?"

Abbacchio sighed. "This was yesterday afternoon. Bucciarati can tell you better than I can."

Bucciarati pulled a face. "Long story short, we got a house call by this woman named Filippa Carlaco, who lives down the street from where we're staying and she mistook me and Abbacchio for being wife and husband."

"It was hilarious," Narancia snickered.

"For you three hellions, maybe," Abbacchio retorted.

"Do any of you happen to know anything about her?" Bucciarati asked, directing the question towards the three civilians present.

"I know of her, but I haven't personally met her," Genovese responded. "She's a local socialite who works as a dancer down at Club Stella. Her stage name is 'Sirena Azzurra.' But she's more known for her side gig as a dominatrix."

Abbacchio choked on his water. Bucciarati looked up, eyes wide. "Seriously?"

"I'm dead serious."

"How the fuck do you even know this, anyway?" Abbacchio asked, drinking another sip of the beverage.

"I like to go clubbing to take some of the tension off from work," Genovese explained. "So, needless to say, I'm well-versed in the Milanese nightlife." She tilted her head to the side. "If Carlaco is trying to make an effort to get to know you, mainly because you're living within relatively close proximity of her, then you need to amp up your game. Play the part. Don't fuck it up."

"No pressure," Bucciarati surmised. "Got it."

A random question popped into Mista's mind (as random questions often do). He turned to the vampire, changing the subject. "Hey, Helena."

Sabbatini raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"May I ask you a scientific question?" Mista queried.

"By all means, ask," the vampire responded.

Okay. "So...what would sex be like?" Mista asked.

The entire group gave him a strange look. The gunslinger shrugged. "Hey. I'm just saying."

Sabbatini frowned. "Well…"

Abbacchio noticed, groaning. "Don't encourage him."

The vampire shrugged, ignoring the goth. "I mean, I can say that it's not quite the same as it is when being human."

Mista's eyes widened. "Oh my...I was kidding. But you actually-?"

All three teenagers turned their gazes on her.

Narancia frowned. "Sex with a vampire? I wonder how that works..."

"Probably the same as it does with humans," Fugo responded. "Otherwise...well, you know. It wouldn't work."

Mista smiled thoughtfully. "I guess vampires really do like to live it up in the dark."

Genovese facepalmed. "Is he always this weird?"

"Most of the time, yeah," Narancia responded. "And, no, I'd rather you didn't go into the details about that stuff. I actually don't want to know."

"Well, you can blame Mista for bringing that shit up," Fugo pointed out.

Mista grinned. "You're welcome. And, for the record, Narancia, that's not the weirdest conversation topic I've talked about before."

But I can make it weirder if you guys'll let me.

Which you probably won't.

"Oh dear God," Genovese groaned, putting her head in her hands. "I need some wine."

Mista glanced at the three adults who had not partaken in this conversation. "You guys are being awfully quiet."

De Luca gave the conversants a fulminating look. "I really did not need to know about your sex life, Helena."

"You're my friend; you were bound to hear about it eventually," Sabbatini retorted. "And, for the record, it was only a couple of one night stands. That's it. I killed the second guy because he was being a dick."

"Being a dick or-"

"Personality-wise, you ass," Sabbatini responded, rolling her eyes. "He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when I wanted to stop in the middle of it, so I offed him."

"Good," Fugo and Mista said at the same time, both teens' voices dark.

Abbacchio and Bucciarati exchanged glances with each other, evidently trying to avoid getting dragged into this conversation.

"Moving on," Genovese said, changing the subject. "This is to the adults at the table: Have any of you all had weird alcohol stories?"

There was no response for several seconds.

We've got one.

"You should tell them about July," Mista snarked, giving Abbacchio and Bucciarati a knowing look.

"Oh God," Abbacchio muttered.

De Luca raised an eyebrow. "What happened in July?"

Abbacchio sighed. "Long story short, Bucciarati and I tried making homemade cocktails. We fucked up the first Sgroppino batch and added too much vodka, and this idiot-" he gestured to Bucciarati "-decided it would be a good idea to finish off the screwed-up version and got himself wasted. Not to mention a hell of a hangover the following day."

"Fascinating," Sabbatini responded. "What kind of drunk do you guys get?"

"Horny drunk," Bucciarati admitted.

Abbacchio shrugged. "Just...drunk. I have a higher tolerance than he does."

"I bet mine's higher than yours," Genovese smirked.

"Don't push your luck."

"Relax; we took the train up, so it's not like we're driving anytime soon."

A waiter approached with their food, momentarily pausing the conversation. He took out a pad and pen.

"What would you like to drink?" The waiter asked.

"I'll have some Marsala, please," Genovese responded.

"I'll have the same," Abbacchio added.

Everyone else ordered more water.

The waiter left. Bucciarati gave Abbacchio an exasperated look. "This isn't a pissing contest, Leone."

The goth shrugged.

Genovese smirked. "What are you, chicken?"

Abbacchio's eyes blazed, the look of a challenge on his face. "Oh. It's on."

Bucciarati facepalmed.

"That shit's strong, you know," Sabbatini chided. "It's got like, what? Twenty percent alcohol content or something like that?"

"Yep," Genovese confirmed. "I'm not fucking around here."

"Neither am I," Abbacchio retorted.

"Idiots," Bucciarati muttered.

"Winner pays for the alcohol," De Luca said firmly. "Loser gets to buy dessert for everyone."

"Fine by me," Genovese responded.

"I'm personally betting on Abbacchio," Mista remarked. He cut a slice from his pizza, summoning the Pistols. "Here you go!"

The Stand appeared, excitedly consuming the slice of pizza.

De Luca watched the scene curiously. The group's resident vampire's eyes widened, a large smile gracing her face.

"Awwwwwwww!" Sabbatini fawned. "They're so adorable!"

"Who are you calling, 'adorable'?" Number 3 demanded, though Mista saw that all six Pistols were blushing.

And felt that he, himself, was blushing a bit as well.

"This is my Stand, Sex Pistols," Mista explained. "I'm glad you like them."

Genovese's eyes were wide. "The pizza just ate itself…"

"No; his Stand ate it," Sabbatini corrected.

"You're not a Stand user, right?" Abbacchio asked.

"That's correct," Genovese confirmed. "But I've got Hamon, which none of you have, so I guess that compensates for some of that."

"You'd better not let Professoressa Izzi hear you say that around her," Sabbatini warned.

Genovese flinched.

"She's one of our former professors," De Luca explained. "And she's Margherita's Hamon instructor."

Mista raised an eyebrow. "What exactly is Hamon, anyway?"

"It's an energy source operating on the ultraviolet spectrum and is controlled by one's breathing," Genovese described. "It's sort of like a martial arts technique. But that doesn't mean to say that Stand users and Hamon users are mutually exclusive of one another. Believe it or not, there's actually a small number of Hamon wielders who are also Stand users."

"Like Professoressa Izzi," Sabbatini supplied.

"And a real estate guy named Joseph Joestar," De Luca added. "But those are the only two I know of off the top of my head."

"Interesting," Bucciarati responded. "Can we see it?"

Sabbatini turned as white as a sheet.

"Maybe some other time," Genovese responded, gesturing to Sabbatini. "Vampires are extremely sensitive to the ultraviolet spectrum. Hamon is actually quite lethal to them."

"And by that, she means it's usually fatal to vampires," the vampire added, giving her flatmate the side-eye.

"Gotcha," Bucciarati responded. "I understand."

The waiter returned with a bottle of Marsala and a couple of wine glasses, pouring the beverage for Genovese and Abbacchio. Both thanked him before he left.

De Luca pulled out his mobile, opening the stopwatch setting on his phone. "Okay. I'm ready when you are."

"Salve," Abbacchio toasted.

"Salve," Genovese responded.

"Three, two, one, go!" De Luca hit a button on his mobile's keypad, and the stopwatch started to go.

Abbacchio and Genovese began to consume their alcohol. Mista, Sex Pistols, and Narancia were cheering on Abbacchio (with cries of, "Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!") while Sabbatini and Fugo looked on with casual indifference. Bucciarati shook his head, probably wondering what he did to end up with half his squad acting like complete idiots, but Mista caught a smile on the squad leader's face.

Yeah, you're enjoying this, aren't you, Bucciarati?

Genovese downed her glass in about twenty seconds, according to the stopwatch on De Luca's mobile.

Thirty seconds in, Abbacchio was still only halfway into his own glass.

"Come on," Number 6 goaded. "Chug it!"

Abbacchio scrunched his face up. "No. I can't finish it."

Mista's jaw dropped in disbelief.

It's a good thing I didn't bet money on this.

"Looks like you're buying all of us dessert, Abbacchio!" Narancia crowed.

"Don't go too overboard, Narancia," the goth warned. "You're already being hyper enough as it is."

"I'm not being hyper!"

"I'm calling bull on this one."

"I'll have whatever it is you're getting, Abbacchio," Bucciarati told Abbacchio.

"Probably something that doesn't involve the word, 'privacy,'" Mista whispered to Narancia, using air quotes on the last word. The raven-haired teen snickered.

Fugo shook his head. "Oh, for crying out loud."

Genovese eyed Abbacchio's wine glass. "You gonna finish that?"

Abbacchio frowned. "No."

"May I?"

The goth rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, just drink it already."

"Well, somebody's a sore loser," Genovese tutted, downing the rest of Abbacchio's glass in a few seconds. "Man, I needed that."

"Somebody with an alcohol tolerance higher than Abbacchio," Mista remarked. "I have to admit, I didn't see that coming."

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Are you calling me a lightweight, Guido Mista?"

"Nope," the gunslinger backtracked hastily.

"That's what I thought."

The waiter came back with the dessert menu. Everyone ordered something (and, yes, Bucciarati did get the same thing as Abbacchio) and the man left a moment later, but not before apologetically informing them that their final course would take about 45 minutes to make due to the large quantity of the order. Bucciarati said he was fine with this, and that there was no need for the staff to worry.

At least the Pistols have already been fed, Mista thought.

"I need some fresh air," Sabbatini announced. She got up, heading for the stairs. Everyone watched, and Mista had to admit that he, Fugo, and Narancia were somewhat mesmerized by the vampire's gait, as evidenced by the entranced looks on the others' faces.

"Damn hormones," Mista muttered under his breath, feeling his ears go hot with embarrassment.

Fugo stood. "I'm also going to get some air."

Mista gulped. The last time Fugo and Sabbatini had been alone together, it had been in a fight with their monstrous Stands and had ended with the former getting seriously injured.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Narancia asked.

"I'll be fine," Fugo reassured him.

Abbacchio snorted. "You'd better hope she doesn't kill you this time."

Mista blinked. "If you die, can I have your strawberry earrings?"

Fugo glared at the gunslinger. "Absolutely fucking not."

And with that, the white-haired teen left to follow Sabbatini up the stairs.