Three figures bowed sorrowfully over the body of Buccellati lying dead in the Colosseum. Trish sat beside the ex-capo with her legs neatly folded under her. Unable to move or speak, she knew what she fought to keep within would not stop if even one tear was to squeeze out of her. Her fight ended with Mista's inconsolable wails. Trish buried her face in Mista's shoulder, hoping to hide her own sobs, though it proved difficult with how much her friend was moving around. Mista had given up on shaking Buccellati awake and was now intent on bloodying his own knuckles by striking the ground with his fist. His cries had descended into an array of choked words that none of them could understand.

Buccellati was the one who brought them all together and was the glue that had kept their little group from drifting apart. They felt lost without him, as if the next breeze would scatter them like paper down the street.

"If we had been faster getting back…," Mista said once they all had time to calm down from the initial shock. "If he hadn't been shot…"

"It's not your fault, Mista." Giorno was the only one standing. He was the calmest of the three, having been given the 'benefit' of a head start on grieving. Though just as upset as his friends, he nonetheless swallowed his tears down. Crying wouldn't solve anything, but maybe actions or words could. He knelt to the ground beside the crumpled Trish facing away while holding onto Mista while Mista held onto Buccellati's sleeve.

"It is my fault! I'm the one who shot him!" Mista's tears returned and threatened to drown out his wavering voice. "I must have accidentally hit something vital. Sex Pistols, which one of you did this?" the bullets were violently shaken from their gun.

"Not me!"

"We didn't do this, Mista!"

"It wasn't us!"

"We only shot his legs! Only non-vitals!" the tiny bullets wailed back.

"Buccellati was already dead before you shot him," Giorno said cautiously. He was not looking forward to this conversation, but his friends deserved to finally know what happened.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Mista cried in confusion, not in the mood for Giorno's habit of spouting cryptic shit before bothering to explain anything. When Giorno didn't immediately respond, Mista slowly ran his hands over his own face and sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little on edge, see? Buccellati was like a brother to me. He saved me from jail, we've been through a lot together, and…" Mista paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve. "I know it's not your fault, but saying weird shit while wearing such a calm expression while the rest of us are falling apart is just... you don't even seem that surprised or upset, which pissed me off."

Giorno swallowed hard and looked down at his hands resting on the ground. There was a long pause before he began, "Back when we were dropping Trish off at the tower and Buccellati first faced the Boss, he was killed by a massive hole through the chest. I healed him with Gold Experience, but it was too late. His soul barely hung on while his body decayed. He tried to keep it a secret, but I saw him not notice exposed bones on his hand or nails piercing his palms. His body was cold and he didn't bleed, though he still "lived." Later, while driving with him, I found he had no pulse and he told me- "

"What?" Mista blinked incredulously and slowly got to his trembling feet. This was all so much, so fast. "What are you talking about? I never saw any of that. How could something like that be possible?"

"It's true," Trish spoke up. Giorno and Mista turned to look at her. "I saw Buccellati's leg sliced open on the plane like a split sausage. He didn't bleed or notice the wound was even there. I thought it was a trick of the light or part of the strange Stands I'd just begun to see."

"Like I said, it's not your fault, Mista. Buccellati was already dead when-" Giorno began again.

"So you're telling me – You're telling me that you knew Buccellati was dying this entire time and you said nothing?" hot tears ran faster down Mista's face. Buccellati was dead. One of the most important people in all their lives was dead. And yet Giorno's face remained a little too composed while discussing these secrets, these horrible secrets that Buccellati should have told them about - "Why didn't he tell us? Why did he only tell you? We could have all helped him!" Mista's voice nearly broke.

"Buccellati told me not to tell anyon-"

"IF I KNEW HE WAS DYING, I NEVER WOULD HAVE SHOT HIM!" Mista roared. With tears in his eyes, he grabbed the front of Giorno's shirt. "DAMN YOU, he could still be alive IF YOU FUCKING SAID SOMETHING!"

"Mista, you still don't get it. He was already – " Giorno now looked a little more shaken. His chest ached even though his mind and body felt like they were disconnecting from each other. He could barely breathe as he faced the torrent of emotions pouring out of Mista. Giorno felt them too, but could only express them with a simple bowed head. Besides, as upset as Giorno was, he knew it didn't compare to what Mista was feeling. His heart, though trapped in his chest, went out to him. Giorno had developed a strong bond with Buccellati and his gang after knowing them for about a week. Giorno had lost a lot of friends, but Mista, who was in the gang much longer, lost his family. To make matters worse, none of them were brave enough yet to mention Narancia who was lying only yards away.

"FUCK!" Mista let Giorno go. The gunman spun away on his heel and anxiously scratched his hair under his hat while he tried to calm down. That's when a memory surfaced of Abbacchio confiding in Mista his suspicions about the new recruit. How "that 15-year old brat" had not only been the last person to see Polpo and receive a Stand from him, but according to the testimonies of Polpo's prison guards, a young blond kid had left the prison minutes before the fat capo offed himself. Back then, no one but Buccellati knew exactly what Giorno's Stand did and Abbacchio suspected someone used the kid to help assassinate Polpo. Abbacchio's theory back then was that Giorno had mind control powers and was hypnotizing Buccellati. Mista was relieved when they discovered Giorno's powers were gardening and amphibians instead because he genuinely liked the lucky guy. However, that seed of doubt had still sprouted during the final battle when they all suspected each other of being possessed by King Crimson. Mista had accused Giorno of potentially hiding and lying about his powers back then. That moment made him realize just how little they really knew about Giorno. Slowly, Mista turned to face the kid again. "Is there anything else you're hiding?"

Under normal circumstances, Giorno would have been able to keep his cool. Lie through his teeth and tell Mista "There's nothing else." Instead, the toll from seeing Buccellati dead was too much and he guiltily looked to the side, breaking eye contact with Mista for a second. It was a second too long.

"I knew something was fishy about you!" Mista aimed his gun at Giorno's head. This was familiar to all of them, a callback to when Mista threatened to blow off Giorno's limbs while they were chasing Silver Chariot Requiem. 'And why should we trust you? I've got no way of knowing what your ability can do!' 'I can't trust you!' Mista had said. They obviously had a few trust issues to work out.

Giorno stared at Mista, a darkening expression crossing his features. They only knew each other for a short time, but Giorno was certain Mista wouldn't fire. The guy was upset and it wasn't completely unwarranted. Giorno considered how much more upset Mista would be if he knew the rest. How Giorno convinced Bruno to betray and destroy the Boss with him from the very beginning. This was all his fault. Bruno had warned Giorno he wasn't going to protect him if anyone discovered his plan. Giorno had accepted the possibility of fighting Stand users who retaliated against traitors like him while Bruno stood silently by. He didn't think he'd be facing someone he had learned to trust and respect while standing over Buccellati's dead body.

"STOP!" Trish jumped to her feet. "We're all upset, we're all grieving, but this isn't going to solve anything! Mista, put down the gun."

Mista's response was to grunt and draw in an exceptionally loud sniffle.

"I can soften every bullet you fire, rendering your Stand ineffective. You know my Stand is fast enough, I've done it before. Now put it down before I make you put it down."

Mista slowly lowered his gun. "I wasn't actually going to shoot him," he grumbled. "I was just throwing a bit of weight around to get some answers, you know? It's what we do in the gang." Though it was an excuse, he sounded ashamed.

Trish sighed in relief and then turned to Giorno, "And you! If you are hiding something from us, you need to tell us. Right now!"

A small turtle suddenly hobbled into view. "This turtle can't walk very fast and Giorno set me down too far away," Polnareff complained. "What did I miss?"