Author Note: Greetings again, lovely readers. If you have not read any of my other stories, you can either jump in here or read "Living on a Prayer" for some backstory & motivations. I'll be posting more chapters here as they come together. I also have an ongoing Giorno-era continuation of this plot called "Hold Back the River." You can find those stories and more on my author page.

You'll notice that I write Abbacchio and Bucciarati a bit older than their canon ages because they make more sense that way. I'm also using some non-canon motivations and slightly expanded abilities, mostly referenced from the video game or extrapolated from the original story. No trigger warnings beyond what's in the canon JoJo. Heads up, gay ships ahead - but isn't that canon in Part 5? :P

Enjoy, stay safe, get vaccinated!

Burning Down the House

(Abbacchio)

"Hm." Illuso carefully tucked the ribbon between the pages of the little black book before closing it and handing it back to me. "How old are Tiziano and Squalo, would you say?"

"Not something I'd ask them. Definitely younger than me – twenty-four. I wouldn't think that they're any older than Bruno. Nineteen."

Illuso shook his head. Crossed and re-crossed his arms. Courage was never his strong suit, but it was clear that what he'd read did not sit well with him. The neat columns of initials and dates – dates going back a decade. Prices. All written in the patient, self-satisfied hand of the late Nicolas Brasato, capo mafioso and patron over many of the younger set in Passione.

"My daughter is eight," Illuso said quietly. "Her favorite things are unicorns and puppies. She sleeps with four teddy bears. Every one of these sick fucks needs to die. Every last one. If you're serious about going after them, I'm in. One hundred percent."

"Have you discussed it with Risotto?"

"Doesn't matter."

"I think you'll quickly find that it does, my friend."

"Of course. But he won't change my mind. I'll change his, one way or another."

I gave him a long look. I knew Risotto well. Knew his fragile trust and his mercurial moods. Even though he'd shown surprising enthusiasm for this cause of mine, that enthusiasm could quickly turn sour if I began making demands on Illuso's time. Yes, I knew exactly how covetous Risotto could be of his consort's time and attentions.

"Don't let him get jealous," I warned.

Illuso gave a dry laugh and showed me his cheek. "See this one? I think it'll heal up nicely. This one says, 'Don't let Zo get jealous.'"

"Already? Friend, you can't let him do that. You saw where that leads."

"'Let.' Such an ambitious little word." He saw my expression and laughed again, freer this time. "Listen, it's nothing I can't handle. You never met my wife. And this time, at least I have the mirror realm to protect my little girl. And at least he's worth it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, man! Are you kidding? He's a ten and you know it."

I did know it. Risotto at his best was a fucking epiphany. The honeymoon was short but arguably worth it. Depending on whether you valued your life, of course.

"You want me to talk to him?" Just offering made my skin crawl, but I had to. "We need you. I can't pretend we don't. We need you unfettered and without restraint."

"Ooh, without restraint? That's how I like it." Illuso's laugh was warm like honey. I could have listened to him laugh all day. Wish I had. "Hey, if you think it'll help, man. I'll take all the help I can get."

"Yeah. He still uses the same phone?"

"Same damn brick! I keep telling him to get one of those new Razors, he never listens. Risotto with a Razor? Sounds about right, doesn't it?"

Less funny once you'd spent two years with the man, but I let it go. I'd gotten shockingly good at letting it go.

"So you're fucking Illuso now. Is that what I'm meant to gather here?"

"No, Zo." I raked a hand through my hair, grateful for the distance a phone call gave me. "Try listening to the words I say. There really isn't any subtext here."

"You think you can talk to me that way, just because Julian's Karma is protecting you? You goddamn whore, why did I ever look at you? With your fucking maiden skin and your spider silk hair and those fingers – I should have fucking known! Nothing but a filthy faggot WHORE! Everything you fucking touch turns filthy! You know that?"

While Zo ranted on, I did my police academy box breaths – the kind that were supposed to save my partner six years ago – until I'd done ten of them. I was thinking that at least Zo was a whole phone line away and I wasn't in immediate danger. "Zo, let's try this again–"

"You think you're safe, don't you, faggot? I can tell from the fact that you think you can fucking talk to me! You're not. Why would you fucking think that? I've got my eye on you right now. If you move three meters to the left, you'll be in my range."

I couldn't help it. My eyes darted to the left and I stumbled to the right, into the street. A car swerved around me, honking.

Laughter exploded over the phone line – nothing like Illuso's honey-and-wine laugh. This laughter had blades in it, all the way down the throat.

"That's more like it," Zo whispered. "That's the stuff. Leone, I fucking love you. You wanna know why? Because you are so damn easy. That's why. I love it. Love it. What was it you wanted from me again?"

God. Fucking. Damn it! So he was watching me – invisibly, from somewhere nearby – and more importantly, he was playing with me. And Zo's play could very easily turn lethal. I wasn't much attached to the whole premise of staying alive, but right now, I had my heart set on hunting down everyone who had ever caused Bruno any pain. That required at least another year or two of living. So add that to the list I was begging from my vicious ex.

"Okay, you got me," I said. Yeah, all in good fun. Zo hugged that edge between humor and rage like it was his lost twin sister. "You got me, Zo! Just like you always did. Just like old times, right, amore mio?"

"You think you can still call me that?"

Suddenly no edge at all. I froze. That dull, toneless voice was the last thing I'd heard before several incidents of major blood loss. I didn't believe I could even draw breath to speak past this obscene fear, but deep in my subconscious – deep in the emotional intuition that was given over to Moody Blues – an instinct kicked in.

"I still love you, Zo." The bitter, heartfelt confession turned my stomach, but it was not false. "It's sick, after everything you did to me, but it's true. I loved you heart and soul. I never did anything to wrong you, either. Just a few unfortunate coincidences that fueled your paranoia and that's all it took to turn you against me. Nothing I did healed your trust. I wasn't planning to give up – not until Julianna stole me out of your keeping. I'll admit I enjoy not living in fear of my life from day to day, but I do miss you. Zo, there's no one like you and I'll miss you to the day I die."

A long breath over the line – the same long breath that might have announced the conclusion of our lovemaking or his satisfaction with a flawless assassination – and I knew I was safe. For now.

"Miss you, too, babe." Another, shorter whooshing breath.

"Wait, are you back to cigarettes, love? We talked about this."

"Well, since you left… I've been feeling pretty down, you know?"

"Zo, you kept trying to kill me."

"Did I? If I'd been trying, you'd be much more dead."

I sighed. Put that grief back into Moody Blues' collection for some other time. "Okay. I didn't call you to rehash the past."

"Could have fooled me."

Let it go. Let it go. "Yeah, sorry about that. Zo, you're so patient. I like that about you. Listen, you heard what I wanted from Illuso. Just transportation. Basic. But you haven't heard about your part in this plan."

Wait. Wait and see, because his mood could change in a heartbeat.

One heartbeat. Another. No fever in my blood yet. No tang of iron in my mouth yet. Had he been lying about how close he was? No, because he saw me step into the street. He had a line of sight, at least. Karma Chameleon's Curse ability should still be protecting me…

I drew another quieting breath, trying to slow my thoughts.

"Go on."

Okay, impatient Zo. I could deal with impatient Zo. He was a lot less dangerous than toneless Zo. I spoke in a rush, because his mood demanded it.

"I know about The Others, Zo. I know how your uncle died. I know you want your sister back. I want to help you. That's why I called."

That was not why I called, but it was why Zo should spare my life. Same thing?

"I'm listening," he growled.

"I have a hit list for you."

A pause. "Does it damage my position in Passione?"

Hm. "If carried out well? No. It's just pocket-change in public officials that Nicolas was blackmailing. A minor risk if you or your team are implicated, but nothing you can't shrug off."

"Sounds dull. Leave it with a love note where you're standing right now. I'll think it over."

Moody Zo. I could deal with moody Zo. Still better than toneless Zo.

"You got it, my lost love." Gratefully, shakily, I pressed the button to hang up.

I got down on my knees in the middle of the Naples sidewalk – moody Zo appreciates such melodrama and I knew he had me in his sights. I jotted down one of the leftover sonnets I'd dreamed up for him, way back in year one, and a list of names. Then I tucked it under a rock at the edge of the gutter and got the fuck out of there. With my life, small comfort that it was.

"He's the worst. The. Worst."

I would have begged to differ, but there was no point sharing my drama around. Instead, I swirled my wine and raised an eyebrow invitingly.

"You wanna know the first thing he did after we fought our way out of the brothel?" Squalo paused to wave his empty glass at the sommelier. "He dragged me along to meet with fucking Nicolas! Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm not sure I see the problem," I said. Rather archly, I think.

"You don't – Abbacchio! You're joking me! I wanted to get us the shit out of this country! Off the, off the crap-fucked continent! I said we go to America – Australia – hella Brazil! Wherever it takes to get away from God-be-damned, mother-loving Passione!"

"You really need to stop drinking, child. Yes, another, please."

"The crap, I do! I'm serious. I'm so ass-damn serious! With his lies and my teeth? We could be halfway around the world by now, living like kings! And here we are, serving the same shit-nugget bastards that screwed us in the first God-fucking place!"

"Ouch. Work on your swearing fluency and learn to appreciate your partner's foresight."

That earned an approving smirk from Tiziano, who was "sharing" a tiramisu cake with Bruno – a dubious prospect even before several cups of amaretto-laced coffee had graced the table. "Thank you, Abbacchio. I keep telling him, deserters are traitors and traitors – hey!"

I cast Blues on Bruno's other side, tapped his shoulder; when he glanced away, I ate the last bite off his fork. Tiziano hid a massive grin behind a delicate hand.

"Leone! I was eating that!"

"So was Tiz! Don't take the last bite, if it's so unfair."

"That's – okay, that's fair. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Bruno. It's a café. We'll order more."

He hunched his shoulders and glanced away, unreasonably upset about cake and at a loss to hide it. Nothing like the man he is today. Nineteen-year-old Bruno was a fucking mess about food and care and trust – all things that had been in direly short supply throughout his teen years in Passione.

I slid my hands around his waist and planted a kiss in the soft spot by his ear. He gave me a look he usually reserves for morning coffee, so I cupped his cheek and kissed him until his hand tightened on my knee. The little noise he made had me thinking of rushing us home to spread him out on a bed and fill my senses with his pleasures…

I looked up to find Squalo watching us with unguarded hunger while Tiziano cut his eyes at him. Bad news. Those two were decidedly exclusive and, last I knew, quite satisfied with that fact. I eased away from Bruno with a last whisper in his ear that left him gasping after me like I was the stolen bite of cake.

A bashful waiter had come to clear our collection of cups and plates.

"Two more tiramisu and another cappuccino for my friend, please," I told him.

Friend. I was getting a lot of mileage from that word.

The young man nodded and hurried away. I shrugged and watched Squalo and Tiziano navigate how to hold hands at a sidewalk café table, while Bruno lounged across half of me. Believe it or not, before Bruno, I'd never been openly gay, either; it was Bruno's particular blend of shamelessness and need that drew me out.

"So tell us already," Tiziano said, finally pulling Squalo's hand under the table, "where does the project stand? Did you get the support you wanted?"

"Enough to get started," I said. "My colleague for transportation is in."

Squalo pumped his fist in the air. Tiziano just smiled wider.

"Not sure yet about the, ah, cutlery expert," I continued. "He gave us cover for Nicolas, but he's very temperamental. Especially when it's me asking. I made him an offer, so we'll see. Bruno, where do we stand with your recruit?"

The recruit was Fugo, though all I knew so far was that he was fifteen, homeless, and trying to quit heroin, which he'd lied about to Bruno. Also that he was fending off Bruno's affections with admirable fortitude. Blues has always come in handy for establishing backstory, of course.

"We don't exactly stand with him," Bruno said, shrugging against me. "More sort of off to the side where we can keep an eye on him. He's young but sharp. Comes with a noteworthy temper. No prior loyalties, no mafia ambitions… a blank slate, but of course he won't be for long. He did manifest a stand, and it's – well. I think he's better training on other skills."

Tiziano raised his eyebrows at that. "Wouldn't you say that any stand can be effective, given proper strategy?"

"It's a special case," I interjected. "Bruno, anything particular he's skilled in?"

Bruno gave me a look. "Maybe chemistry?"

"I think he meant in terms of weaponry," Tiziano said, lowering his voice.

"Not this one. He's a nerd through and through, as far as I can tell."

"I'll work with him," I said, turning over one of Zo's throwing knives in my pocket.

"Why are we working with this bastard at all?" Squalo asked, swirling his wine glass round and round so that miniaturized Clash had a current to swim against. "Not to be a downer, but – am I fucking missing something here?"

Oh, certainly, but I wasn't about to embarrass Bruno like that.

"He's fierce about this project," Bruno said, then realized how ridiculous that sounded. "Not that I told him much. I mentioned we were going after child traffickers and you should have seen his face. Like he'd glimpsed redemption. I'm not taking that away from him."

"Okay," I said. "If you told him that, we can't let him go. We'll figure out where he fits in."

Further reserves of tiramisu arrived. Bruno recovered his poise and Tiziano finally got a share. Squalo teased his stand with a fork, fencing with it in the wine glass and forcing it to breach higher and higher to retaliate. Blues hummed forgotten colors in my mind, summery yellows and blues. Contentment.

For just an hour, my world was livable.