Author Note: Second-person narration is from one character to another, as if they are retelling their stories. Changes in narrator are marked. Trigger warning for relationship violence.

This was intended as the last chapter in a larger part 5 backstory collection, but I've decided to post each "chapter" separately since they are episodic and quite long. Heads up, everyone is gay (but I'm pretty sure that's canon). If you have three hours to binge read, you can find all seven chapters and a preview of a Giorno-era retelling under my author name.

Master of Puppets

(Bucciarati)

The rest of your squad was already stationed around us. A flicker of eyes betrayed them as he walked into the plaza, and the way their shoulders tensed. An old man playing chess with a stranger. A fashionable young woman reading the paper, turning the pages carefully with her inch-long crimson nails. Two students gossiping as they passed a soccer ball back and forth. One after another, their bland expressions froze. They thought their glances were surreptitious, but it was obvious how scared he had them.

You glinted in the sun. That was the first thing I noticed – not your dead eyes, your flat expression, the way your feet dragged. The glitter of a dozen piercings, framing your face like silver moonbeams before the soft halo of your hair. Your gaze slid over me and stopped.

Did he notice? Did he retaliate for that instant of connection you stole? Or was it simple spite, habit, braggadocio? His hand twitched and the gossamer steel chain clipped to your ear snapped tight.

I saw it in your eyes, what he never saw: a thunderclap of pure rage, instantly muffled.

With a practiced twist, you jerked his lead off your ear, spilling three asymmetric drops of blood on the paving as you paced beside him, cold as winter fog.

You looked dead ahead as he paused, looped his arm around your shoulder and leaned in as if sharing some confidence. When his hand came away, I saw the chain was stouter and fell now from within your upturned collar. His fingers twining through your hair told me everything.

As the plaza exploded into screams and civilians diving for cover, and as my fists dissipated the chessplayer into harmless ribbons, I watched you split in two: your body chained, your shadow emancipated. In an instant, your captor had a double, drawing fire from my team lead. Each bullet opened twin holes in your twin bodies; your stunt-double stand spouted realistic blood, but your corresponding wounds welled with silver, plugged and bloodless. My teammate's chest exploded as a starburst of needles emerged from his heart. One less insult on my dignity. I threw him at your leader, where he gagged blood onto the man's sleek leather boots.

Your eyes followed as I zipped open the opponent before me and slipped into her skin like a tight-fitting dress. Without comment, you carried on your brass-knuckled assault on my team's tank – a brutal giant of a man who lifted you by the skull with one hand, laughing.

Before he could smash your face to the pavement, I found a dagger in my host's hip-high boot and she managed her stiletto heels for me as we lunged to bury her dagger to the hilt in the giant's neck. Because I knew that man's physique all too well, I hung on the dagger with two hands and sawed it sideways and down, dragging through muscle, jugular, trachea. The spray of hot blood stinging my host's eyes felt like baptism. She landed like a kitten on her toes, and I pulled you clear as the giant slammed to the pavement.

Without acknowledging me, you yanked your chain from under his corpse, gathering the thick loops of it in one hand, then flew to the defense of your captor as he dropped my team lead only to face an onslaught of invisible slicing blows from our sniper.

Filled with wonder, I snow-angeled backward into the terrified civilians crouching behind a statue and shrugged off my host's skin. Innocent to her survival, I opened a way through the pavement into the sewer that ran below it, and I was away.

After that fight, I knew three things:

One. The man who held your leash was pure evil and the enemy of the honor rising in my heart.

Two. Homosexuality was no longer a fate I would blindly swallow, thrust upon me by the ill intentions of the world. Rather, I would plunge into it fists first, unzipping any barrier that stood in my way to reach the sweet, bursting heart of it and claim a love of my own.

Three. You were the specter who would haunt me until I could clasp your soul with gentle fingers and raise you from your bondage. No lesser deed would suffice, and I could not rest until it was done.

It was with these three thoughts chasing each other through my head that I took my leave from my doomed team and sped for Sicily to report my survival to a higher authority.

"Risotto Nero."

"Am I supposed to know you?"

"Bruno Bucciarati. We work for the same employer."

"Oh, right – I do know you. You're that little fag who snuck away while we were slaughtering your team. Are you back to get your throat slit? Better late than never."

"No. I was planning to thank you – I never liked that team. But since you feel that way, I guess I'll save my breath."

"You have three seconds to get the hell away from me. After that, your life is forfeit."

"Why the melodrama? I'm on your no-kill list. You don't even know what I'm here to discuss."

"Doesn't matter. I don't deal with faggots."

"That's convenient, then. I'm taking Leone Abbacchio off your hands."

"How dare you speak so high-handedly, you fucking–"

"Don't say it again. Have some goddamn self-respect. I'm going solo and I need a partner. Abbacchio's stand is intriguing and he must be loyal to a fault if he'd still come to your defense in a fight like that, after all you've done to him."

"Idiot. My stand was holding his wounds shut. If he let me die, he would have bled out."

"So you don't even believe in his love anymore. God, I hate men like you. You're wasting him on your fucking ego. Just let him go. I can make something of him."

"I would sooner see him dead."

"Damn. Do you even hear yourself?"

"If you make a single move toward him, I will cut him down in front of your eyes."

"You can't. Your squad will collapse."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"It's a fact. They're already on their last legs from what they see you doing. Every single one of them blew their cover the second you walked onto the scene that day. They're petrified of you. I took down what's-his-face while his guard was to you. If you kill your own lover, or place him in harm's way–"

"How dare you imply–! Leone and I are not–"

"Lovers? Have you told him that?"

"Listen, you freak. You don't know a thing about me, or about Leone, or about my team."

"I know what I saw. If you harm him in any way, your team will mutiny or disappear on you. You know it, too. Save face. Send Abbacchio with me. I'll make it worth your while."

"With what?"

He looked me up and down pointedly. Scornfully.

I returned his disdain. "You didn't ask why I'm no-kill. I'm lucrative. Anything you need stolen, smuggled, or acquired, I can do it. Impersonation, espionage. Or I can pick up some of the workload. I don't know of a single team in Passione who are making quota."

"You're fucking hilarious, you know that? Do you even know what our squad does?"

"Execution squad. I know my team got hit-listed, obviously."

"And you think you can help us?"

"If you won't make a deal with me, just say so."

"This conversation is over."

"I'm still taking Leone Abbacchio from you. No one should live that way. Last chance to make it look like your decision."

He spun on his toes, a miasma of power rising off him, but I wasn't there.

"Show me."

That's all you said that rainy night when I finally found you alone and relayed that dire conversation.

You made me bring you to the exact spot on the boulevard where I had accosted him, and in that flat voice, you asked for the date and time. I gave it, and your stand sprang to life.

His long coat, his strange choice of headgear, the oh-so-hetero leather straps he wore bare-chested – right down to the menace in his dark and oddly glowing eyes, your stand recreated Risotto Nero to a level of detail I would have thought impossible. Soundless, he mimed the events of our interview, hostility building in his bunched shoulders until that final lunge. Then I watched what I had not before; bereft of his prey, he cast baleful glances up and down the paved way, then closed his eyes to withdraw to an inner focus.

"How does he locate his targets?" I asked you.

"Magnetism," you replied, pre-occupied. "Again."

Quick as a flash, your stand reappeared at the start of the path we had walked and the pantomime began again. On the midnight sidewalk lit monotone by sodium streetlamps, you paced beside the figure of your master again and again, eyes glued to his pouting lips as they dripped scorn and ghostly insults.

I folded myself into a shadow and watched you dance with your stand. You tangoed backward as he stalked forward, nearly and never quite touching. Replayed, he was impervious to you, oblivious to you – but was that so unfamiliar? Your attention riveted to him as if locked in a deathmatch, the cords in your neck knotting and pulling. He disappeared and you rushed back to find him once more, and everything repeated. Nothing new.

"Enough," I said. I instantly regretted my tone, but you didn't seem to have heard. I took your arm as gently as I could. "Come on. You know exactly what he said. You must have seen enough."

You were dazed, swaying on your feet as I pulled you out of your rhythm. You ran a hand back through your hair, mussing it about like you always do. Your stand halted in an attitude of incredulous humor – fucking hilarious, he had called me – one of the only moments that face had not been lined with rage.

"It wasn't always like this," you murmured, though not to me.

You brushed a stray bell of his black jester's cap away from his face and it tinkled merrily. Like a trick of the light, the face shifted into an expression of startled wonder, hesitant delight; lips slightly parted, he seemed on the point of asking a question that might have changed fate.

"What was he about to ask you?"

You shook your head, dismissed your stand. "He didn't say it. I'll never know."

The midnight sidewalk hemmed in by shadows felt suddenly very private, in the absence of that imposing figure.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know." You took a few unsteady steps, then stopped again like a wound-down toy. You folded in on yourself – long arms, long neck, long hair all crumpling into one compact ball of misery. Rigid, rocking, silent. I can't read lips, I don't know what you were repeating to yourself. I hope you've forgotten.

Years, years ago, my father wrapped me in his arms and rocked me as I sobbed over my mother leaving us. He had no words, and his tears were warm and damp in my hair. He held me long after I needed it, his breath still ragged as I chewed my lip and squinted at the future. That's why I put my arms around you that night and silently gazed over your shoulder while grief rattled through your chest.

When you caught your breath at last, I didn't let go, because I remembered.

"Come away with me," I said. "We'll go anywhere, start a new life."

"Why?"

"Because I love you and he doesn't."

It was obvious to me. It was always obvious, but stated so bluntly, I think it shocked you to your core. You pulled away.

"How can you love me? You don't know me. You don't want to get mixed up with me. Besides, he'll just kill me."

I reached for your face and ran my fingers over the uneven, lumpen jewelry embedded on the stubbled curve of your cheek. It was the earnest set of your eyes, the silver rays of your hair, the noble lines of your bearing even as you bore impossible burdens. I loved you like the tide loves the moon and I knew I would follow you.

"Would he really do it, do you know?"

"Absolutely," you said, a hand absently rising to your chest. "In a heartbeat."

It would take fully a year before you would trust me enough to tell me about the twin steel fishhooks he had left embedded in your heart – his precaution against your potential rebellion. It would take hours for Sticky Fingers to lift them out of the pulsing muscle.

"I'll get you away from him. I promise. I swear on my life."

You laughed, startling me, splitting the night.

"Why?" you gasped. "Why?"

"Because I love you."

"But why?"

"I told you. I'm done with teams and capos and the constant abuse. I'm going solo and I need a partner. You're a good man, I can tell. Something I've never had. I want you, I want you like I've never wanted anyone! You're too good to leave here, I won't leave you here."

"No," you said, shaking your head. "No, I'm staying."

I suppose I've always been unruly. The more you wanted to clear me from your head, the more I wanted back into it. I pushed my hands into the roots of your silver hair, as if I could get tangled there and never be dislodged. I kissed your cheek, but softly, softly, the way I had always wanted to be kissed.

"You're crazy," I said. "He'll kill you if you stay, too. Or he'll get you killed. Sooner or later. You must know that by now. Do you want to die?"

You looked at me with strange coin eyes, as if your thoughts were foreign currency that I couldn't cash.

"No," I told you. "The answer to that is no."

I pressed my face to yours as if the will to live were contagious, kissed you as if I could breathe the spirit of life into you, pulled you tight into my arms like a sailor who knows nothing about CPR.

As if street-theater CPR really worked, you shuddered first, then came awake with a jolt. I saw again the intensity that had flashed so briefly across your face that day in the plaza. I saw the lightning, but you left me waiting for the thunder.

"You crazy kid," you said, disentangling yourself. "You can't throw yourself at strangers like this. You're gonna get hurt."

"I've been hurt. This is me doing something about it. I'm starting on a better life and I'm taking you with me."

"Yeah, that's not happening. I'm the antithesis of better life and Risotto meant what he said. He really will kill me if I leave him, and just a hunch but I think he has enough knives for you, too. Even if you're a no-kill, that won't save you from his anger."

"I'm working on a plan. You don't know yet what I'm capable of. I'm very good at stealing things, and my heart is set on stealing you. I have to leave for a few days to get things ready, but when I come back – say you'll come with me."

"Buccellati, my answer is no. I'm a curse and I won't let a sweet kid like you fall into my shadows. It's been real but I have to go."

"Back to your abusive boyfriend and a squad where your skills are outrageously useless?"

"Sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles."

"I'm coming back for you. Change your mind!"

You pulled me into your arms and my heart sang. I felt your body stir against me as your lips worked over my cheek, my temple, my forehead. I waited with my eyes closed but you only put one finger to my lips. Sweet impulses stole through me, but you were so sad and dignified.

"You're beautiful," you whispered. "I hope you find what you're looking for, darling."

Then you set me firmly on my feet and walked away without another word.

So I took that as encouragement, albeit with some mixed messages. I set to work on my plan. Several plans, of course.

My superiors in Sicily initially stonewalled my attempts to requisition you. No one wanted Risotto Nero for an enemy, and despite a respectable seven years in Passione, I was considered absurdly junior at age nineteen. But, with a little digging, I collected enough blackmail to make my case. After meeting Risotto, I was certain he would ignore the papers, but these might be enough to protect me from retaliation through official channels.

Most of the favors I tried to call in were deceased. Typical Passione problems. So instead I set about interviewing everyone I could find for descriptions of Risotto Nero's abilities. The stories I gathered turned my stomach. It was immediately obvious that I wouldn't survive a fight with him, even if I could have withstood the political fall-out of killing mafia royalty like him. Maybe with a sniper, maybe with a remote stand, maybe a trap, a ruse, a bomb… My ideas were endless, but nothing within my reach.

Whenever I got discouraged that week, I closed my eyes and summoned that moment in your arms, your lips soft on my face, your words the sweetest ever spoken to me.

No amount of one-night stands, insipid and lopsided relationships had prepared me for the wild rush of you. Darling – you called me darling. My fate hung on that word. I knew that I would throw myself at you like waves crashing on the shore until someday, inevitably, you would cave. Youth is optimism, so I naturally assumed that "someday" would come within a week or two.

(Abbacchio)

Your eyes are sapphire like the brightest

Gleam of sun on restless wave

No haze can hide you, no star need guide you

Wind and current, time and tide

Obey your dexterous hand – and I

Unnatural, I must look away

I hate to admit it, but your assumption wasn't wrong. Halfway home, I already wanted to go back and find you. Risotto's words had utterly shaken me, and your kindness was a welcome escape. For a few dreamy minutes, I imagined waking up to your sea blue eyes, your face in my hands. Your wiry body, your eagerness – so alive, so alive, so alive…

Not for long. When I arrived home, I saw from the outside that the lights were all out. I proceeded with caution. As I approached the door, I queried Moody Blues for the location of Risotto Nero one second previous. I instantly learned that he was waiting for me just behind the door. As I queried back through time, I learned that he had waited there for the past five hours, sometimes standing and sometimes pacing, ever since I missed my curfew at eight o'clock. I knew that I was already within his range and he would have magnetically sensed my presence. It was a bad situation, but hesitating would only make it worse.

I opened the door and stepped in.

I was on fire with dread, waiting for the prickle of his stand in my veins, nothing but blades and needles in my mind. But nothing came. I turned on the light and glimpsed the room in disarray, his shock-white hair tousled without his bell cap, his eyes full of hurt – before he closed his hand over mine and turned the lights out again. The door clicked shut behind me. The only light was a distant street lamp, throwing prison bars of dull orange through the blinds.

Risotto sulked in front of me, dangerously close.

"Well?" he asked.

"I'm sorry for being late, love," I said, as evenly as I could. Between the tension I felt and the damp, chilly night, my teeth would start chattering any minute. "I went to investigate… an unusual lead."

"Don't lie to me."

"You know I never could."

"It was that boy."

"I want to explain, love. I don't want you to worry."

"It's too late for that! You left me waiting for five hours, Leone. What am I supposed to think?"

"We didn't do anything. You know I'm not unfaithful."

"Do I know that, babe? Is that something I know?"

"Yeah. Listen, he told me what you said to him. I couldn't believe it, so I made him take me to the spot. Moody Blues…"

"Go on."

"Zo, you said exactly what he said you said. That… That you'd kill me, before you'd let me leave you."

"I thought we were clear on that."

"When you say you're gonna kill me, or that you wish I was dead… I always told myself that you were venting. That you didn't mean it. Zo, you said it to a stranger and you definitely meant it. I saw your face. How can you hate me this much when we're this close?"

"See? This is our problem! You don't listen to me, babe, and then you get upset later when you find out what I was always trying to tell you. If you were there for me in the first place, we wouldn't be here now!"

"Okay. Okay, Zo. I love you. Tell me how to be there for you."

"You could start by coming home on time!"

"Love, I told you, I'm sorry about that but I needed to know–"

"And I needed you here. What's more important to you?"

"I'm sorry, I'm still so shaken up–"

"No, you're going to have to make these choices. I need commitment from you. For all I'm risking and giving up to be with you? You need to decide if you're going to be here. I can't keep waiting for you while you're out wandering God knows where with some boy, Bucciarati or–"

"Buccellati. It's a type of cookies."

"Why the fuck do you care what his name is?"

"Zo, I don't, I'm just being precise. Everyone has food names, haven't you noticed?"

"If you don't care about him, why are you crying?"

"I'm not, I'm sorry, I'll stop–"

"You're supposed to be happy with me! We're supposed to be good for each other. Is this really what we've come to? I waited all night for you, worrying about you, and you were out walking the streets with someone new, and you think you should be the one crying? Take an objective look at the situation, Leone. Who exactly got hurt here?"

"Zo, Zo, sweetheart, I told you I'm sorry. I told him no. After I replayed your conversation – he asked me to leave with him and I told him no. I don't want someone new, love, I just want us to be better."

"He asked you to leave with him? How long has this been going on? I'll fucking kill him. I should have done it the moment I saw him."

"Zo, can you listen for a second? I already told him no."

"That doesn't matter. How many times have you seen him?"

"This is the first time. Well, technically the second because–"

"I can't believe you! Babe! How could you go behind my back like this? How could you risk everything we have? I'm trying so hard to make this relationship work when I'm not even – and you want to go out there and destroy everything we've made together?"

"Risotto, I think you're losing control here. Can you slow down? Remember what happened the last time you lost control with your powers?"

"We always come back to my powers, don't we? Why can't you accept me for who I am?"

"I love you, Zo, I really do. For all that you are and aren't. I just don't want to be your voodoo doll tonight! It didn't go well last time. What the hell am I supposed to tell them in the emergency room – I fell on my pet porcupine again?"

"And now you're making fun of me?"

"No! Sweetheart, please, I'm done fighting with you. I'm sorry, sorry for everything, it can be my fault, just please calm down."

"You always do this–"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry, Zo. I don't mean to be this way. It's all my fault and I'll try to do better. Tell me how to do better."

"Come home on time. We have a curfew for a reason."

"Okay. Yeah, I'm not gonna miss curfew again. I don't want to keep you waiting."

"And don't talk to new people. We're exclusive, babe, you know that."

"I do know that. I love that we're just for each other. I'm sorry I let you worry about that."

"And stop seeing him! Jesus Christ, Leone, how could you?"

"I'm not seeing him. I'm not, I'm not. All I meant was that day we took out Meringa's team, he was there, so technically I saw him once before. You saw him, too. And then he found me tonight, and I only listened because it was about you. About us. And I couldn't believe what he was telling me, and then I couldn't believe what you were saying in my replay, so it took a while to wrap my head around this and get myself home. But I'm not seeing him. I'm not seeing

anyone else and I never will be. All I want is you, and you and me the way we used to be."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, babe, but we're never going to be that way if you keep scaring me like this."

"I know, love. I'm sorry. I didn't think it was wrong at the time, but now I can see how much I've hurt you, and I'm truly sorry. What can I do to make this better?"

"I need to feel like us again. I need you, Leone."

"Oh, Zo, not tonight, please. Let me just hold you. I'll kiss you until you know how much I love you."

"You always say no."

"Love, I don't always say no. But I'm still so upset tonight."

"You think you're the one who's upset here?"

"No, love, I know. You're more upset. Can we wait till tomorrow morning? Please, I want to hold you and kiss your face tonight. You crazy, gorgeous thing."

"Don't give me that. If you really cared, you'd want what I want."

"Okay. Okay, Zo. You know I can never say no to you."

"I wish you knew that. It would save us so much trouble."

"Yeah, I guess so. Just… please don't use your abilities on me this time? That pins-and-needles feeling when you're warming up–"

"But I love feeling the glitter in your blood. You light up, I can sense every vein–"

"But Zo, it hurts. And I'm afraid of dying."

"You like it when I hurt you, though."

"Maybe sometimes. Not like that, not tonight. Please?"

"No promises. You left me waiting a long time. I need what I need."

"Okay. If that's what it takes to make things right with you."

"You're perfect, Leone. You're just what I need."

"Leone? Honey, what happened to your arms?"

It was a rainy afternoon in March, a few days after you found me. The squad were gathered in our favorite café, sipping espressos and waiting for Risotto to arrive with our list for the week. I sat carefully apart from the others, but Juliana made a beeline for me.

"Oh, these slings. It's just my shoulders. Nothing to worry about, Jewels. I'm fine, just waiting for it to heal."

"What. Happened."

"Don't sit here. Zo won't want you talking with me, remember?"

"Screw what Zo wants. Did he do this to you, honey?"

I felt the rest of the squad's eyes on me, all conversations on pause. They were all dying to know. At the table beside me, our new recruit Prosciutto pretended to be unusually absorbed in his panini. By the wall opposite, I noticed Sorbet's fretful fingers had already shredded a paper napkin. He reached for another, but Gelato closed his hand over his friend's, his eyes resting quietly on me. Pecorino worked on a crossword, his pencil scratching the only sound in the café's front room. Illuso, another new addition, drummed his fingers on the table and eyed the window as if one with the rain. I wondered briefly what his stand was; I had never seen him in action, but his eyes were kind. It was hard to imagine a man like that wielding knives and razor blades… A man like that, what would his hands be like?

Juliana tilted his head, demanding an answer.

"It's my fault," I told him. "I was out past curfew and I was talking to another man."

"That was a yes or no question, doll." Juliana tapped one of my slings lightly. "Zo did this: yes or no?"

"…Yes. But after I upset him, and I was squirming around too much while we were, you know, in bed, so he just dropped a couple tent pegs through my shoulders. You know how he can be impulsive, and his stand makes it so easy to overdo it. No fractures, no organ damage, just torn muscle."

Opposite, I noticed Sorbet and Gelato exchange a look. Pecorino's pencil stopped scratching.

"Wow," Juliana said. "I just threw up a little in my mouth. Leone, that's completely unacceptable. This is the second time this month that you've gone to the emergency room for something he did to you."

"I know. I'm working on it. He just has so many rules, it's hard not to provoke him."

"No. Fucking no! You're working on his anger issues? It's your fault he put you in the hospital for two days? Do you even see how fucked up this is?"

"I make things worse for him. He's already setting aside a lot just to be with me, since you know he's not actually gay. I guess it's a surprise we've kept it together this long."

"Oh, bull shit." Juliana slapped the table with one manicured hand. "You realize I'm also a man, right? I just look good in a dress. He didn't have any problem dating me, and it's not like you held a gun to his head either, honey. He chose you. In fact, as far as I know, Zo's entire history has been men. He's just embarrassed about it. If anything, he's making progress with you. He won't actually hold your hand in public, but at least he's willing to hold your chains. That's progress, right?"

Self-conscious, I checked that the fine chain dripping from my ear was tucked back with my hair. "Jewels, was he like this with you? Nervous, paranoid, easily hurt?"

"Controlling, vicious? Absolutely, but not half of what he's been to you. He always said I didn't take his feelings seriously, and he's right, I didn't – because they're mostly power grabs. Guilt trips and shit. Fuck that, right? So I let him cry himself to sleep sometimes. He's a big boy, he can handle it. I never agreed to any of his rules. Every day was like survival, but he never hit me or used stand abilities on me. Right until the end – he hit me once and that was it, I walked."

"How do you walk away when you love someone?"

"Is love what you're feeling, though? Or is he selling you a contradiction?"

That's exactly when the man himself walked in the door, rain flecking darker black on the black fabric of his shoulders and cap. I realized an instant too late that taking the seat nearest the door may have shielded me from the squad's attention earlier, but now it afforded me zero protection from my lover.

"Leone! You know you're not talking to anyone today!"

"I'm sorry, Risotto, I tried not to–"

"Oh, shut up, Zo," Juliana said breezily, looping an arm around my waist. "You can't control who talks to who."

I extracted myself carefully, under my lover's glare.

"You two were talking about me, weren't you? Julian?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. We were talking about how many serious injuries you've been inflicting on your lover."

Risotto bristled. "We are not lovers!"

"Zo. You can't lie about that to me. We dated. We fucked. I'm gay, and you're gay. If you think that makes you any less–"

"How dare you say that in front of my squad!"

Juliana was on his feet behind me, facing Risotto over my head. "Do you think the truth can hurt worse than – than this? What the hell world are you living in, Zo? You can't. Do. This!"

"You told him, Leone?"

"I'm sorry–!"

"I guessed! Everyone guessed! Isn't it fucking obvious? And you're facing me, Risotto Nero. Not your broken doll of a lover. Not the team you're holding hostage to your self-hatred. Don't look at him. Don't look at them! Your eyes are on me, I am talking to you."

"How dare you. How dare you address me this way, Julian. I'm your team lead."

"And I'm your ex! I'm your second-in-command, I'm your better judgment. And I say you're destroying the team we both worked to create. They can't watch you do this every day!"

"I am in charge. I have the right–"

"You don't have the right to do this! Not to Leone, not to anyone! Your team shouldn't have to see you this way – oh, Risotto, how low will you fall?"

I was never certain what happened next. Risotto stepped toward me, Juliana stepped protectively in front of me, and Risotto's hands landed on his shoulders. Juliana's stand flashed briefly in front of my eyes, a blur of red and green scales, then Juliana was tripping sideways on his stiletto heels, landing in the center of the café's floor, bleeding from ten thousand pinpricks. In an instant, his skin was coated in a thin red lather. Gelato was kneeling at his side immediately, Risotto on the other side a breath later.

"Oh, shit, I didn't even mean to–" Zo gasped.

Juliana sat up and pushed them both away. He took the handful of gauze that Gelato had produced from his ever-present first aid kit and patted down his face, chest, arms, thighs.

Over their heads, I met Sorbet's petrified eyes.

"Get out. Go now!" he mouthed at me.

I glanced at the door – but where would I go to? Where would Risotto not pursue me, for his pride, his control, his sheer madness? I shook my head.

Illuso signaled me, pointing urgently at the window behind me. The glass was latched shut and barred with a fancy iron grille. The fluorescent-lit café reflected there, as real and inescapable as the scene before me. What did he mean for me to do? Idiot.

"Julian," Zo said, reaching for his former lover. "I'm sorry. I honestly just lost control. I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

"No," Juliana said. He stood up, kicked a high heel back on, and glanced around at our squad. "It's not safe here. I can't keep you guys safe any longer. I'm out."

Heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor, he walked straight to me, leaned over me to grab his bag from the seat beside me, and whispered in my ear, "I'll send help."

Then he was out the door, his elegant perfume drifting a farewell behind him.

Risotto said nothing. He didn't raise a blade in Juliana's throat. He didn't tangle his legs with iron chains. He didn't throw the blood back at him, a revenge of a million needles. He watched silently while his ex, his second-in-command, his better judgment – all that I would be to you, years later – walked out of our lives.

"Risotto," Pecorino said into the waiting silence. His older voice was dry and kind. "That's enough hot-bloodedness. You young people never know what you've found until it's been destroyed. Our team, our squad – we're special. We're one of the few gay teams in Passione. You know that most of Passione is violently homophobic, and young gay men like you fellows don't stand a chance. As soon as people find out, you're being kicked around or kept as secret lovers or blackmailed for your last dime – what have you. But every so often, it happens that the majority of a team are gay, and especially so if their team lead is also gay, and then – we have a chance to stand together. We can trust each other. We can be who we are, without shame and without fear.

"Risotto, that's the team you've brought together. You and Juliana, picking the recruits you thought most trustworthy, those with hidden potential whom others overlooked. There is no need to pretend anymore, since you have earned the highest accolades for your team's work. Since we are the strongest, the deadliest force in Passione. There is no one left to impress, no one whose derision can threaten us now. And so you have a great opportunity before you, Risotto Nero. A great decision to make.

"We are La Squadra. What will that mean? Risotto, our team lead. Our someday capo. Tell us who we are. Tell us who you will be."

Risotto's eyes were wide, shocked. He looked at each squad member as if measuring them in a new light.

Gelato spoke first. "It's true. We wanted to join your team because we heard you and Juliana – well, it was a rumor, but we took a chance. We've been so badly treated everywhere else. We thought if the rumors were true, you might treat us better."

Sorbet didn't nod, didn't confirm. He only watched with frozen eyes.

Prosciutto, newest to the team, cleared his throat next. "Juliana recruited me. She saw me working with my old team. It was… unacceptable. She said I could do better here. I would have confided in you, but… if you'll forgive my saying so, it's difficult to trust a man who does such things."

He gestured in my direction. I sat still as a prisoner, feeling Risotto's guilt and shame pile onto my shoulders like so many chains.

"And you?" Risotto turned to Illuso, where he sat beside Pecorino, a grin growing on his face.

"Well, I just joined because Risotto Nero is the hottest man alive. But then I got the impression that he would dice me up and feed me to the dogs in the gutter if I said as much. So you know, if you guys never see me again, that's where I ended up. But I live my life without regrets – whatever happens, it will have been worth it."

Risotto's expression was priceless. I think I've never seen him so robbed of words.

"And you know about me," Pecorino said, finishing the round. "I joined you when my partner died two years ago. I'm too old to work solo anymore. I thought this team was a safe bet, but it's been a rocky ride so far.

"You and Juliana were like a house on fire, Risotto. I was glad when you broke up. But I can't say I like what you've done with your new relationship. I can't say that I like it at all. My heart goes out to you, Leone Abbacchio. You're a stronger man than I."

Fear must have winked in my eyes, because across the room, Sorbet stood up and spoke at last in his sweet, soft voice. Gelato looked up at him, pride in his eyes.

"It's between you and Juliana, Risotto. We joined this team to follow you, a great leader. You succeed in whatever you set your hand to. But you intimidate us – you must know that, after everything you've said. You said anyone gay in the mafia deserves what they get, you torture your own lover. Juliana is ordinary, simple, but he kept us safe. He stood up to you at your worst moments. He knew who we were. We have a choice to make: will we follow Risotto in his greatness, or will we follow Juliana who raises us up?"

"What can you do to persuade us, Risotto?" Gelato said. "We're not false in our hearts. We want to be loyal to you. But you must see that you've made that difficult."

Risotto's eyes made the round again: Sorbet and Gelato holding hands, their knuckles white with pressure, Illuso still sporting a wolfish grin, Pecorino in his quiet dignity, me with both arms in slings and a mask of stone, Prosciutto gazing back with his reserved manners, his quiet arrogance.

"I'm sorry," Risotto said at last. "I'm sorry to my team for all that I've said. The rest of Passione is exactly as bad as Pecorino describes it. Well, I suppose you all know that. But Julian and I, we fled Sicily in fear of our lives when we came here. Our superiors – no, it's not worth telling the story. Anyway, we had to scrabble and fight for everything we built here. I suppose my greatest mistake was in not knowing when that fight ended – when I'd won. This team, our squad – this is the prize, isn't it? This is what I fought for. And now I've almost destroyed it with my pride and my paranoia. Julian is right. I owe you guys better than this.

"We are La Squadra Esecuzioni. That's going to mean something." He fumbled, but the words still came out clearly: "We are a gay team, and we are the strongest team in Passione. I'm proud of who we are. Everything will be different from now on, I promise."

His eyes, lighting on me however briefly, told an entirely different story. There was no bottom to the rage, the shame, the fear in his eyes in that moment.

That's not what the others saw. It was all for me. It would only ever be for me.

"Well, if that's the verdict, I'm staying," said Illuso genially. But his eyes fogged with worry as he glanced my way.

"Let's see how it goes," said Prosciutto coolly.

"Alright, heart?" Gelato murmured. Sorbet nodded, bashful as ever. "Then let's stay. If it gets better…"

"Thank you." Pecorino stood, reaching out his hand to shake Risotto's and to clasp his shoulder. I think the older man whispered something in his ear, as Risotto's face was briefly thunderous – before clearing as he faced the team again from beside me. His bells jangled, as jarring as his hand between my injured shoulders.

"Gentlemen, we have our next targets…"

For the rest of La Squadra, that was the end of a rough beginning. For me, it was the beginning of the end.

(Bucciarati)

Juliana came to me like a dream. The kind of dream that disturbs your sleep and leaves you questioning what's real.

"Buccellati, sweetie, it's time to wake up."

"No…" I remember pulling the hotel's cool down comforter up around my face, then sneezing violently as something musty tickled my nose. Fur?

"That's the spirit." The woman perched on my bed was as fine as a stick insect. She toyed with a white fox pelt wrapped over her bare shoulders. Even in the dim light from the streetlamps outside, her mermaid dress glittered outlandishly. She patted my leg urgently through the covers. "Rise and shine!"

I slammed Sticky Finger's fist into the bed, slicing open a wide void between myself and this stranger. Sticky Fingers faced off against her while I scrambled free of the bedsheets.

She laughed, a charming and disbelieving tinkerbell sound. Not her real laugh, I decided.

"Don't act so startled," she told me, raising a stand of her own: a long-bodied lizard coiled over the fox pelt on her shoulders. "Tell me, don't you usually have beautiful women waking you up at all hours of the night? A face like yours, sugar, you must get this all the time."

"Not women, no. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"Ignoring all my flirtations? Smart cookie." The lizard-stand's eyes tilted toward me on independently moving cones of flesh. Like her dress, its scales glittered in the low light. "But you're being rude, you know. We've met. Don't you know me?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't. Enlighten me."

"Enlighten you! My pleasure. Darling, you're from Meringa's team. I had a hand in killing those men. And you had a bit more than a hand in me, or don't you remember?"

"Oh! You were the scarlet woman–"

"Oh, sweetie, language, please!"

"I didn't mean – I admired your color coordination, is what I meant. But weren't you blonde then?"

"Don't they have hair dye in your country, then?"

I laughed. Despite my misgivings, I liked Juliana's style. And I was fairly certain Sticky Fingers would be faster than her lizard. "What are you here for? Revenge?"

"Men – always assuming these violent intentions! No, honey, I'm here to make common cause with you."

"Common cause? What are you–?"

"Risotto Nero wants both of us dead. And both of us want Leone Abbacchio alive, if I'm not mistaken. Didn't I notice you noticing him, that fateful day when we met? I'm sure you didn't turn on your teammate and save Leone's life for no reason."

"What's your interest in Leone Abbacchio?"

"He's my teammate, of course. My junior. As second-in-command, it's been my privilege to protect my team from Risotto's… madness. I don't know what else to call it. But in the end, I failed them. I've been failing Leone for two years now, and his situation has gone beyond dire. We need to get him out of there; there's no telling how long we have."

"I'm working on it! But I've just gone solo. I don't have many resources at hand, and most of the people I thought I'd call on have died. I don't know what I'll do."

"Oh, darling, you're already perfect. I didn't come here without researching your ability. You're a master smuggler, are you not?"

"I'd rather be known as a master thief, but either way…"

"Either way, you can spirit Leone away in the night, right? Given the opportunity?"

"Yes, easily, but I'm very worried about Risotto Nero. He's deadly."

"That's precise. Let me worry about Zo. I've ridden that carousel enough times to know what I'm in for. With my Karma Chameleon and Leone's Moody Blues, we can hold him off long enough for you to sneak Leone out of there."

"Are you sure? Abbacchio's stand doesn't seem useful for combat."

"Oh, he manages well enough. But that's not the plan this time. Blues will be our decoy."

"And Karma Chameleon? What does your stand do? If you don't mind my saying so, it doesn't look… fast."

The lizard coiled its short tail lazily around her arm, its green scales warming to gold and red highlights.

"Well, that's all in how you look at the matter. Karma never hurries, but it comes to each of us in time."

"I'm not really one for philosophy. Can't you tell me what it does?"

"I don't normally reveal my stand to strangers, you know. But for a sweet boy like you? Well. Ordinarily, Karma simply reflects damage and effects onto the attacker. That's not enough to stop someone like Zo, of course. He's a berserker; be prepared for that. So I'll be using Karma's Curse ability. If Karma touches blood innocently shed, I can ward those who shed it against any harmful action, direct or indirect, by those who spilled it. Immediately. Indefinitely. Until such time as the warded wrong the cursed, or until I lay another curse."

"What a unique ability… Was that how you were protecting the team, like you said?"

"Yes, precisely. But Zo exploited every loophole. I laid my curse when he slaughtered our previous team – froze their blood to iron in an instant. Imagine, all of them lying about my feet. I'd had myself warded from the start; that's the only reason he didn't kill me with the rest. Well. All it took was my finger brushing a trickle of cold iron where it had burst from a man's temple, and I laid the curse that Zo could not harm his team.

"But I thought of it in those terms: his team. Leone was protected when he was with Zo in the capacity of team member, but not when he was present only as a lover. And Zo found he could shift this definition solely with his own perspective of matters. I could feel him edging around the curse in other places, too; practicing seeing our teammates as friends, rivals, potential enemies. Seeing me strictly as his ex or his second, rather than a member of the team. Yesterday, my curse gave way. I'm not sure how; I stepped forward defensively, and somehow that 'wronged' him. I'm not clear on how – men are so complicated, don't you find, my dear?"

"I suppose we are. So that's the plan? Provoke Risotto enough that he spills Leone's blood, then curse him to renew the protection on Leone? And you need me to get us all the hell out of there before he retaliates against either of us?"

"Ah, you do catch on quickly. Yes, but ideally Risotto will use an area attack and I can use blood from all three of us. I must cast this curse specifically; that one will squirm his way out of any general classification I might use, so this time, I must be as specific as possible. And darling, it's essential that you understand this: the blood must be spilled innocently. The victims I shield must have been wronged with no provocation. The moment any one of us wrongs him, by any stretch of the word, my curse will lift. Do you understand that?"

"That's very clear, thank you."

"We'll have to rely on Zo's natural unreasonableness to lead him to harm Leone."

"Unprovoked? That might take quite some time."

"Oh, hardly. Not those two. Or don't you know?"

"He said he'd kill Leone if he tried to leave… Do you mean…?"

"Oh, sugar. There's so much you don't know. Leone's a secretive man; it's not my place to share his confidences. For now, take my word: we won't be waiting long."

"And the getaway plan?"

"Well, sweetie, if I land my curse as planned, all three of us will be warded. All we need to do is leave peaceably without incurring any wrongs against Risotto. He knows this; he won't be able to take actions that harm us, nor prompt anyone else to harm us. But he might bar the way or try to trap us there in some harmless way."

"But with my Sticky Fingers…"

"Exactly. I'm so glad you happened into me, that day. The timing was most fortuitous."

"But what if you can't ward all three of us? Or what if Leone won't leave with us?"

"Those are definite possibilities. I will admit to you, my true objective is to lay a new protection on Leone. I owe him that much, after all he's suffered on my team. If he won't come with us, well – that's his choice and we'll have to leave him. If we're unwarded, you take Leone and get the hell out as fast as possible. I'll stay and deal with Zo."

"How's that supposed to work? You said a minute ago that Karma's reflective ability won't hold him back. We should fight our way out together – Sticky Fingers can do some real damage. You'd be surprised."

"No. That's exactly what we mustn't do. The moment I attack Zo, or that an ally attacks him on my behalf, my curse against him lifts. There's absolutely no point if I lift my own curse."

"So, what? If you can't ward yourself, you plan to die there?"

"Don't call it a plan. That sounds so definite. I told you I broke up with Zo; I have no illusions that he holds any lingering affections for me. Not after the hell I've given him since, as second-in-command. No. But I know him well. I know all the right buttons to press. I can't defeat him, but I can hold his attention for the extra instant you might need to get out of his range. He's damn stubborn and he will throw a parting shot at you if he's able."

"But if you die, isn't Karma released immediately? Nothing will stop him from hunting us down. He's the leader of La Squadra Esecuzioni. Where would we ever be safe from him?"

"No, treat. No, Karma is for the target's lifetime, not for mine."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I know it in my bones. The same as you know exactly where those zippers open onto, don't you? It's not something you could explain, but you know."

"Yes. I understand. But still… Don't plan to die. That's no way to live."

"You're quite the young poet, aren't you? Don't fret. I don't plan to. Only, if it happens, it happens. Que sera, sera."

"Come on. I hardly know you! I can't let you lay down your life for…"

"It's not for you. Leone took my place in Zo's affections, and he's had it so much worse than I ever did. He's an honorable young man – you have excellent taste. And I can see there's something right about you. If I could do one thing for Leone, it should be this one. Putting him into your hands. It might be the last chance for him. I'm ready. I've lived well, except for this one thing. I'll do whatever it takes to right this wrong."

"You're incredible. I haven't met someone like you since… since my first team in Passione. For just a few months, there was one man who protected me for my own sake. That was years back. I don't even know your name!"

"Juliana Marzapane. Or Julian, when I'm less fancy."

"Oh. Are you… between genders?"

"What a sweet way to put it. No, sugar, I'm much simpler than that. I'm still fond of life as a man – I just like to look my best. And I like that look of surprise, exactly once from each new face. Come visit me sometime, if we both survive this heist. I have some excellent gowns that would fit you, I think. From my younger days."

"That's a tempting offer. I may take you up on it."

"I hope you do. There's value in wearing one signature look, but I can see you're not one for cookie-cutter fashion. You have style. Why not have some fun putting the icing on top?"

"Fun? That's been a long time coming."

"I'll say. This mafia life isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it, sweetie? Now fix this gap in the bed, would you? There's three hours left before dawn. You didn't make yourself easy to find and these heels are merciless! Oh, I'm sorry, treat, are you shy?"

Juliana had slipped out of her – his dress before I thought to look away. I have no idea what my face said in that moment. What I felt was not an emotion but a whirlpool.

"No. No, not at all. But you just mean – to sleep, right?"

"Oh, sex? No, sweetie, not tonight. I'm beat. Besides, don't you think you're a bit young for me? Pretty, though – oh, no touching? No problem. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just something you said. It's – it's nothing. Nothing at all."

"It's really not. You know, Karma also plays tricks with your luck. Bad men tend to find themselves on the pointy end of poetic justice. Deserving orphans tend to find their fortunes, after meeting me. I can't read your past – nothing like that. It's more like sensing an aura. You're no innocent, but you're not one of the bad ones. People have been cruel to you and you've lost more than you've won. I can't see any clearer than that. But on a wild guess, I'm going to say we have a few things in common and you won't lack for empathy when I tell you that I'm cautious about new relationships."

"I don't want to talk about it, thanks."

"Just as well. Sleep's calling my name. Well. Here's to a better tomorrow, Buccellati."

"It's Bucciarati."

"So all my cookie-oriented puns and pet names went right past you?"

"That's right."

"Well damn."

It was Illuso who helped us locate you. Juliana found him leaving his mother's house on a Sunday afternoon – the best time to catch him without Risotto finding out.

"Juliana! Thank goodness you came back. Risotto's been – you have no idea."

"Oh, I have some idea. Is everyone safe?"

"The team, yes. We're better than ever on that front. Probably thanks to you for walking out on him. It really made a statement. Pecorino… well, listen, Risotto apologized and he's out to us now, and the whole team, too. All that tension is gone. We're safe. But Juliana! Risotto's been on this weird manic kick for a week now."

"Oh, no. Tell me."

"He's crazy happy, like this wild energy, no judgment, and you can tell he's just breaking apart under the surface. Juliana, is it true – the rumor about him?"

"Zo has more rumors than any man I know. Which one?"

"About his last team. Before Pecorino. That he murdered them."

"That rumor. Yes. One act from his stand and they died on the spot."

"Good God… So when you said we weren't safe…"

"Zo is not a safe person at the best of times, but his mania is far worse than his misery. If he can't get stable in the next week, we need to neutralize him and get the rest of you far away. Right now, though, Leone is our priority. Illuso, what can you tell me?"

"Well… Risotto told us he let Abbacchio go. At first we all believed it, but no one's seen him at all since the day you left, Juliana. Prosciutto pointed out the problem first – cynical guy, really: he said, just because Abbacchio's gone doesn't mean he's fine. We have absolutely no idea where he is and if he's… you know, if he's even alive now."

An old door opened in my mind – the door onto pitch darkness, the door that locks. Are we too late? Sticky Fingers flamed at my fingertips, reminding me that doors and locks meant nothing anymore.

"Sorbet is going nuts worrying about him," Illuso was saying, his hands spread in helplessness. "Gelato and I have been searching, but… You know Abbacchio was our tracker. We don't know where to look! And if Risotto finds out we even doubt him, we are one-hundred-ten percent dead. Juliana, what do we do?"

"You've tried Zo's apartment?"

"Yes, Gelato helped me locate it. Nothing – I haven't even seen Risotto there once."

"Okay, he has a house, too. His uncle's. He hates it – I never knew why. That's way out in Caesarea. I don't think anyone else knows about that one."

"No. Do you have anything from there?"

"I don't. I know the way there driving, but that won't help your stand, will it?"

"I can search every mirror in Caesarea, but it would take days. Maybe it's not a real emergency, but the way Sorbet keeps talking about it, it feels like we don't have days."

"You don't have days," I said.

"I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?"

"Illuso, this is Bucciarati. He's a no-kill master thief leftover from Meringa's team. He's madly in love with Leone and he's going to help us steal him."

I smiled. No one had ever called me by my self-styled title before. It felt so right. Ah, those were the days – long before Polpo.

"Slow down with the 'us,'" Illuso said. "I just want to know the man isn't dead."

"That's fine, honey. Risotto won't know it was you that found him, I promise. We've got everything we need besides that."

"What would help you find him?" I asked.

"If you had anything from his person. The mirror realm is endless, but if I have something to match… It's like finding the right puzzle piece – choosing the right reflection."

"We could raid Zo's apartment and find something of Leone's. You said he hasn't been there in a while."

"Absolutely not. You know how paranoid that man is! Buccellati, did Abbacchio give anything to you?"

"No, nothing. We only talked briefly. He gave me nothing except…"

"Except what?"

I had stopped because I felt so stupid saying it. It was so glib. "Only a kiss."

Juliana snorted. "Okay, Romeo. Thank you for that. Illuso, can you use it?"

"I need something I can hold and look at. But maybe… Tell me: Are you his?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I can usually reunite people with their belongings. It's a long shot, but would you say that you belong to him?"

"We only talked once…"

"But Juliana says you're madly in love. Was that irony?"

"It's more true than I like to admit. But I have no idea if he even remembers me."

"Hm. But you would claim him? If you search for a lost belonging in my realm, you will usually find it."

"Yes. If you really want to know… I want him more than anything. He's my love."

"That's the spirit, doll. Illuso, what do you think?"

"I can use it."

"Okay, we're in business! You want to do this now?"

"You know what? Sure. I'm meeting Pecorino for drinks in an hour, so that's an alibi. You guys just have to wait until then to go spring him, okay?"

"You got it, kiddo. What do you need from us?"

"Hold this." Illuso handed Juliana a pocket mirror. He took my hand and turned us to face Juliana, then adjusted how Juliana held the mirror so we could both see our faces. "Ready?"

I nodded.

Then nothing happened at all.

But when I turned to look around, all the house numbers and street signs were written backward. Illuso was grinning at me.

"Welcome to my kingdom," he said.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the Neapolitan suburb. It blinked out like the image on a television screen – or rather, on a hundred thousand floating screens. Mirrors. Windows. Puddle surfaces stretching away from our feet, overlapping and stitching together a silvery, multiply reflecting surface not unlike the ocean. Overhead, the gleam of wine glasses as they might hang over a bar. The flicker of a reflection on a skylight. Glass over glass, like the cathedral ceiling of some vast, ethereal, and pretentious train station.

"All the reflecting surfaces of Napoli," Illuso said with a sweeping gesture. "And beyond."

"Do we have to walk to Caesarea? That would take hours!" I was thinking of my voids, which run parallel to real space and map onto it meter for meter.

Illuso laughed, warm and earnest. "Space is immaterial here. And if we overstay our welcome, so, my friend, are we. Let's begin. Now tell me… You've lost something. Something very valuable to you. Where would you begin to look for it?"

I looked at the whole galaxy of floating reflections, dazzled for the moment. None of them reflected us, or each other. Each one opened onto its own scene: sky, street, houses, kitchen, the face of a woman applying makeup, a distorted close-up of a bug that must have been poised over a dewdrop.

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

"That's not true. Forget Napoli. Forget the mirrors. In a moment, they'll all show the same image. It will be his face. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that the one image you're searching for?"

"It's your stand. Can't you help me?"

"I've searched already. But I hardly know Abbacchio. I had only joined the team for a week when all this happened and he disappeared. You know his heart well enough to say you love him. You have a kiss to remember him by. Focus on that. Dwell on it. Haven't you already spent hours wishing, reliving, recreating his face? Daydreaming? I know I would. Do it now. Do it here and we'll find the right window. Don't you want to look in at his window?"

I laughed, because that's the way Illuso poked fun. You had to laugh, even if the circumstances were dire.

"Come on," he said. "Give me your best fantasy."

I'd kept your words close at hand, like a worry stone. You're beautiful. I hope you find what you're looking for, darling. Your finger on my lips. Your hand pressing my waist to you. Your hips, your chest, surely I imagined the heartbeat. How gently your lips moved across my cheek, gentler than any before – how pure your blessing.

I hope you find what you're looking for… The obscure misery suffused in your eyes. I was puzzled by it, entranced, enchanted, enamored. The blunt angles of your face. The pale radiance of your hair. How it tangled around my fingers – how I longed for you.

Where were you now? Locked door, snug walls, splinters from the bare wood, the timeless darkness… No. You might be anywhere. Locked door, six feet of wet earth packed on top… No. That nightmare was never my reality. Sticky Fingers burned within me: never again.

Where were you now? I tried again. Some window, somewhere, would open onto your face. Pinched with worry or flat with despair. Your moonlight hair mussed by your nervous fingers. At your core, a spark of life that rejected this treatment – the spark that lit off thunderstrokes of fury, when you seemed at last alive. I didn't know yet that your spark of inner fire burned for truth, for a knife-sharp sense of right and wrong that would sometimes cut against me, but I knew that I loved this about you. I loved you from the first.

"There!" Illuso cried. "You've got him!"

I opened my eyes, never having realized that I had closed them.

He was pointing at a window away to our right. It opened onto the room where you slept. Your eyes were closed in troubled sleep, your head pillowed on heavy iron chains that gleamed in the light of sunset. I breathed relief – you were somewhere with light.

In an instant, every mirror, window, water surface, glimmer and gleam reflected your face: your drawn cheeks and dark-circled eyes repeated a thousand-fold – closer and closer. An instant later, the reflections shifted to show your surroundings. The mirror edges and window frames faded, and the illusion was perfect: we could have been standing in the room with you, except that every book title on the shelf was written backward.

"Leone! Leone Abbacchio!" I cried. At last, you were so close!

You appeared to be curled up on a nest of silver and lead-gray chains, which were piled knee-high on the floor below a window. White curtains draped above you. Outside, vibrant trees tossed their leaves, suggesting a park. The room was nobly furnished in dark wood: glass-fronted bookcases with volumes titled in gold, a writing desk and elegant wooden chair, a low glass table resting before a creamy upholstered loveseat. The walls were unadorned, white with matching dark wood trim.

In contrast to the room's spare décor, every flat surface was populated with a gleaming, elaborate city of silvery razor blades – stacked edge-on-edge like one house of cards after another. The coffee table appeared to hold a scale model of Napoli, with a city center rising to chest height and suburbs spreading across the entire table surface. The structures on the desk were more inventive, rising in fantastic arches and curvaceous alien walls. Exiled from the desk's surface, a jotting pad with a hotel's letterhead and a matching ballpoint pen lay on the chair. The paper was filled with dense, spidery handwriting – my first glimpse of what would become a familiar sight. It was the only thing of yours in a whole house of his. The incredible structures of stacked blades continued on the bookshelves. Not one blade lay out of place.

That's when I noticed the litter of razor blades on the floor. I could not tell whether there was carpet or hardwood, so complete was the layer of blades.

I raised Sticky Fingers and cut a void to walk through – a straight path to you. No blood on you, thank God! No obvious bruises. Your chest rose and fell steadily and I thanked the Lord again in silent prayer. Whatever your circumstances, you lived. I knelt on the pile of chains to reach you.

"Leone!" I grabbed your shoulder, but my fingers passed through you just as if you were a ghost. "What? What is this?"

Illuso stood at the center of the room, smiling his beatific smile. "I haven't called him into the mirror realm yet. If I do that, he'll go missing from the real room. If Risotto is around, he'll notice right away. I could as well sign my death warrant."

"Why stop short? Go ahead – let's steal him now. Your mirror realm can take us far away in an instant, can't it? We can go to Argentina, or – or Japan, or Korea. I've been, I can make our way. No one will know us. Juliana can deal with Risotto as she planned to."

"You know exactly why we can't do that. The only reason a kid like you knows your way around Argentina is because Passione operates there. We won't last a week if Risotto puts out a warrant for us. Juliana is our only hope."

"Okay. Okay, but Risotto isn't here now. At least pull Leone in for a minute – I want to make sure he's okay."

"You can see that easily enough from here."

"I want to talk to him! He's been waiting here – whatever this place is – alone for a week. We should tell him help is on the way. Give him hope!"

"That's exactly what we shouldn't do. What if he tells Risotto?"

"He won't. He wouldn't. That'd be nuts."

"Nuts is right. Do you know this man? He definitely, definitely would. The last time Risotto sent him to the hospital, he came back apologizing and telling us it was his own fault."

"The last time…?"

"All I'm saying is, this one's pretty far gone. If you're thinking he's going to act sane, don't count on it."

"Okay. That's a fair warning. You're right, we should be cautious; the stakes are high. Can we at least confirm where we are? If you don't want to be involved, then Juliana and I need to find it on our own later."

"Are you worried about that? I was assuming this was the uncle's house in Caesarea. Juliana said he knows the way."

"But what if it's not?"

"Okay. We'll take something small from here, and if Jewels doesn't recognize the description of this place, then we'll come back and figure it out."

"One of these razor blades? There's a million, I can't imagine anyone would miss one."

"Oh, imagine it. You plainly do not know Risotto Nero. Even if those aren't coated in Metallica to let him track down intruders, he will totally fly off the chain if a single piece of his pattern is disturbed. The reckless mood he's been in lately… No, this will do. Much safer."

Illuso took the hotel notepad and tore off the page of your writing, then replaced it carefully beside the pen.

"Are you all set?" he asked me. "Let's go."

I leaned in close to you, close enough to see that your eyelids flickered in uneasy sleep, that your breath ran quick and shallow. I ran one finger down the fine silvery chain that fell from your ear. "Not much longer, my love."

It felt so good to call you that, so good to promise you a better life.

In a blink, the room dissolved around us and the thousand reflecting surfaces of Caesarea flickered, then showed the Napoli street where we'd left Juliana. Just like that, we were back.

(Abbacchio)

Long, hazy, barren days of guilt

Days of guilt

Grief stretches like the ocean at my feet

Lifetimes ago, I had a boat, I sailed searching for my love

Lost, lifetimes ago, on the endless sea.

But the storm that raged, the cutting winds, the waves that dashed me on the rocks

The storm has stolen that boat from me

And memory, and memory.

The grinning storm left a haze that shrouds the sun, that blinds the stars,

That hides my islands, lost on the horizon of my heaving grief.

Was he a good man, my lost Ulysses?

Like the moon eclipsed, he stands

Behind another, a shining beacon never more,

I've lost his light forever. All I recall

Are doldrum days

Before the storm.

And so my fate, to sit beside the roiling, ever restive sea

And contemplate the starless sky

And dream a boat that was a lie

And dream of islands lost to me

And mourn a man lost at sea

Whose face I never more will see

As darkness takes my memories

Those days in Risotto's country home were the strangest I ever spent. He wasn't even violent toward me, though I lived in fear that his mood would shift. He simply wasn't himself.

Mornings, he prowled through those rooms like a caged tiger, padding barefoot on the whorled patterns of blades – swirls of razors in the sitting room, houndstoothed knives in the kitchen, crosshatched needles on the stairs. His feet never disturbed them and he never bled. He muttered. Now and then, he might fling himself onto the pitiless furniture, one hand pinching his eyes or massaging his temples, the other braiding out a chain with fervent fingers.

"Leone! They hate me! I can't go back – I can't, I can't, I can't!"

"The team don't hate you, Zo. Remember yesterday? You guys hit all your targets and went out for drinks. You said it was great. You were so happy. Remember?"

"Superficial, trivial, inane! I see it in their eyes, I can hear it whispering in their thoughts. Oh, babe, what will I do? I have nowhere else to turn! I have no one left!"

"You have me, love. You have here."

But that was the wrong thing to say. I'd forgotten about the story of his sister, of course. He dissolved into tears – loud, gasping, howling tears of misery and rage. Twisting spires of black iron erupted from his fists like Zeus's lightning bolts and he flung them away from him, spearing an innocent footrest and shattering the glass front of a bookcase. Silver tears spattered his sleeves, hissing as they cooled and solidified.

I should have held him. This was the hideous, rotting core of our relationship: my fear of him. Was it justified? Arguably. A tantrum like this could easily turn to a lightning storm of ferrokinesis. My only warning would be a moment's prickling in my veins, and then anything could happen. I had absorbed my fair share of needle punctures in the course of comforting this lover. For my partner before him, I would have braved any number of pains without hesitation – but Risotto put my heart in my throat. The reaction was visceral. I no longer fought it.

"Even you," he moaned. "You don't love me."

"I do, Zo! I always will."

"You don't! I wouldn't feel so empty, if you did. I wouldn't feel like a ghost."

"Please, Zo… I want to love you, I'm just so scared of dying."

"I wouldn't. I never would! Not you, Leone. You're not like the others. See how long you've lasted already? You really try. I know you do. You're nothing like the others."

Tears already drying – steel filigree down his face – he was suddenly all slinky affection, draping off the loveseat to gaze at me upside-down. With one languid hand, he reached out and stroked my bare wrist. But my blood had run cold. Others? Risotto had never spoken of any previous relationships besides Juliana. See how long you've lasted…

"Oh, Zo." My mouth was dry – I licked my lips. If I wanted to live, the only option was to cheer him up. Get him out of the house and on with his day. I took his hand in mine. "Who wouldn't love you? I don't know what crazy, blind, self-centered numbskulls you met before, but I can't imagine anyone passing you up. You know how lucky I feel every day that I wake up next to you? Hella lucky, that's how."

That produced a giggle, so I kept going – turning his mood like the wheel on a bank vault.

"Yeah. And you know what else? I bet the squad feel the same about you. Remember what Pecorino said?" Black and white, the day Juliana left leapt from my memory in sharp silhouettes. "The highest accolades! No one left to impress! You remember what Gelato said? A great leader. Risotto in his greatness. And Illuso called you the hottest man alive – I really can't see that he's wrong."

His fingers had crept up to the soft skin in my elbow by now, stroking and clinging. I felt cold as a corpse, but I made myself step toward him. Ignoring the stabbing pains in the soles of my feet. Ignoring the screaming in my head.

"Zo, they're waiting for you, you know. So what'll it be? Will you let me keep you from your team who need you? Or am I the one you'll keep waiting today?"

My love, my jailer batted silver-coated lashes at me and bit his lip in a way that used to get my attention. For a moment, I was afraid I would have to make good on my offer. But when his fingers slid down to my wrist, he left a cold bracelet resting there – smooth as butter, colder, stiffer. A few cells of his stand, Metallica, slithered over its gleaming surface.

"I'm sorry, babe. I've got to leave for the day. I'm already late enough as it is. I don't want them speculating… no. No, no, no. They don't think that anymore. I told them I let you go. If that's not good enough for them, then fuck 'em."

"Zo, you're their leader. Your word should be all they need." He had lied about me? Did everyone think I was fine? Did anyone know where I was?

"You're right. You're right, that's all there is. Oh, Leone, I wish I could stay home with you! You're so perfect. You're all I need."

By now, those were words to set my teeth on edge. But I just leaned in and brushed my lips over his hair, just right. I whispered in his ear, exactly as if I meant it – "Tonight, love. Don't make me wait any longer."

I felt a shiver go through him and I reflected that he had probably been misinterpreting my shivers for some months now.

"Stay here," he told me quite unnecessarily. "Don't touch my things. And don't worry about food – I'll bring you something this time, I promise."

"Alright, Zo." As if it didn't matter. "Hey. Take care of yourself, love. Make it a good day. Don't sweat the petty stuff–"

"And don't pet the sweaty stuff."

He grinned. It was a joke from year one. One more memory sacrificed to this new reality. I gritted my teeth.

Risotto pulled on his jester's cap and leaned in to kiss my cheek, then strode out – blades and needles and glass shards settling back into perfect patterns in his wake. The door clicked behind him and I was utterly, blessedly alone.

Alone. Did no one in the world know where I was?

That day, I found out that he had cut the phone lines. He had nailed the windows shut. The doors all opened, but my new tracking bracelet did not slide off my wrist. There was still nothing in the kitchen but canned water and a jar of expired pickles. Even if I dared to walk to a store, he had left me no money. I drank two cans of water to fill my stomach and pondered my fate.

Your face came back to me, fragile as a dream. Your body in my arms, stick thin. Damn, child, did you even eat in those days? I called up Moody Blues and replayed your words on mute, lip reading – I'm coming back for you. Change your mind! Were you? Had I? The light in your eyes was so earnest. What would it mean if I let myself care about you? What was hope?

I watched the trees twist in the restless wind, always reaching after something that slipped past them, always reaching their limit first.

I spent the day casting Moody Blues back into the days before Risotto. Those memories were fragmented like a scratched record. Moody Blues skipped and looped and blurred and faded out. Tears pricked my eyes. If I could only recall my partner's face, I thought maybe I could get my heart right. Make a damn decision. Break free of this horrible fate. But like in a dream, every time I set Moody Blues onto him, his face eluded me. It was a memory where his back was turned. Or it was only a glimpse in the light of streetlamps, could have been anyone. An instant where his voice came back to me so strong and clear – and yet I'd been looking down at a report or cutting vegetables in our kitchen, so I couldn't shape him properly in the replay. I didn't bother reaching for kisses or other touches anymore, since these dissolved immediately into pins and needles, panic.

I wrote him another letter.

If I ever got out of there, I vowed, I would head straight to Florence and walk our streets – retrieve every minute of him. Maybe if I'd kept my word to myself – well, never mind, beloved. You know that I didn't and that was my choice.

(Bucciarati)

The road to Caesarea felt endless. Juliana drove his own car, reasoning that Risotto would suspect his involvement anyway. He threw on a mixtape of bad American rock from the eighties and sang along in a husky alto voice that took my breath away. He flirted with me relentlessly, taking his eyes off the road to raise the stakes on the sappiest love songs – but always stopping just short of touch. I loved every minute of his attention. But still the road dragged for me, as my mind kept returning to your worry-bruised face dozing on a pile of chains.

When we parked and the music cut off, Juliana blew out a long breath.

"Okay. Okay, this is it, Bucciarati. Whatever happens – happens."

I nodded. My throat was dry. The stories about Risotto Nero left no doubt about what happened to his enemies.

"Wait." Juliana reached delicately across me to find pen and paper in the glovebox. He scribbled something and handed it to me. "That's my address. It's the attic room above this sweet old lady. Rumor might say I didn't make it out of this fight, but check for me there anyway, please. Risotto likes people to believe in his legend."

"I can do that."

"And… If I don't make it, can you will my assets to my landlady? She's a doll, really. No one could deserve a windfall more. Except the clothes. Take whatever you like. Some of those things – you'll be resplendent, darling. Truly."

I nodded again, then I reached toward him. I thought I was going for a handshake, but it turned into a hug – awkward, across the front seat of a car. He patted my shoulder and pulled away with a smile.

"Thank you," I told him. "For all this."

"It's an honor to know you," he said. I was never sure why.

Then he left the key in the ignition and got out of the car. I followed. We walked to the house and rang the bell.

(Abbacchio)

My heart was in my throat, thinking it was Zo home early. That's why I choked up as soon as I saw it was you and Juliana on my doorstep. A human face has never looked so promising. I immediately wrapped you in my arms – stupid, as if we knew each other, as if I had any reason to trust you. But I did. I had, instantly.

"Come in, come in," I whispered, glancing wildly up and down the dusty farm road. "He could be here any second! Are you mad? Why did you come here?"

"We're here to rescue you," you said. I could tell you regretted it instantly, but you did nothing to undercut those stupidly romantic words. I liked that about you.

"Careful!" I said. "Don't mess up his patterns!"

I gestured at the needles that our feet inevitably stirred on the floor. Fretful, I bent down and tried to comb them back into the swirling pattern he liked. I saw the pity on your faces, you and Juliana both, and I flushed. "Sorry. I can't help it. It sets him off, you know?"

"Never apologize," Juliana said, taking my arm and steering me down the hall. He shut the front door behind us. "Doll, where would he expect to find you if I was rescuing you?"

"Oh… Living room, where I'm supposed to be. Arguing with you. I won't go. You know that. I can't. He'll only kill me. It doesn't matter how far I run, he'll get me for sure. Why would you bring him into this, Jewels? I don't want to put anyone else at risk."

"That's fine, Leone honey, just fine. You play this straight. That's all you've got to do. Then you replay me when you hear him getting home. This is exactly what I want him to walk in on. Okay? And when I say run, you just take Bucciarati's hand here and run like hell wherever he takes you. Got that?"

"It's Buccellati," I corrected, nonsensically. "It's a type of cookies. From Sicily."

"No, it's Bucciarati," you told me. "And you're feverish! Are you ill?"

"Cut!" Juliana told us, waving his hands. "This is not convincing rescuer material. Leone, you take your place, exactly where you think you're supposed to be. Bucciarati, you find a place to hide comfortably near him. Yes, exactly. No, Leone, stop fixing the razor blades. I parked my car, he'll know it was me and not you. He has to know I tried to interfere and you turned me down, said you'd stay. Just like you did. And I left in a huff so I'm not here anymore. Got that? Okay, scene!"

Juliana argued with me about leaving for what felt like hours. He kept checking his watch, saying "cut!" and "scene!" and starting over. On a better day, I would have put two and two together, but not that day. It just felt like an extension of the arguments running through my own head. I stopped believing Juliana was real, believed I was talking to the part of my own psyche that had absorbed his warm, reasonable voice.

"But we have to leave now," he told me for the eighth time.

"No!" I cried, my head spinning. What about you? You had disappeared into the wall behind my bed of coiled chain, but your delighted blue eyes kept meeting me at the threshold in my mind. "It's not safe! I love him and I can't put him through this!"

"Perfect," Juliana told me accusingly. "That's just perfect! But while you're sparing his feelings, you know he won't spare your life, right?"

"Who? Buccellati would never – oh, you mean Zo."

Juliana's face registered surprise, then glee that turned instantly to frustration.

"Fine," he spat, stomping a stilleto'd heel into a spray of razors. "Fine. I hope you're alive when I come check on you next week."

With that, he spun and stalked out the door, slamming it. I heard the car start and the wheels squeal away down the road. I sat puzzled in the silence. Had that been real? Had I imagined Juliana? Had I imagined you?

The storm of feelings inside me was all too real. I was lowering my head into arms when I heard the grate of a key in the front door.

"Zo?" I called.

"Play it!" you hissed, peeking out of the wall above my shoulder. "Now!"

"Buccellati?"

"No! Use your stand! Quick! Play back the last conversation with Juliana! Go!"

"Leone? Babe?"

Zo expected me to meet him at the door. I glanced back at you – you were sealing the wall shut, but one look at your face sealed my fate. Moody Blues clicked on, playing Juliana from two minutes ago.

"Quick, you have to come with me!" Juliana urged, with all the persuasion power of a worn-out VHS tape. "It's not safe to stay here, with Zo in the mood he's in. You know that, right, Leone?"

Zo came to stand in the doorway, one hand on his hip, betrayal in his eyes.

"Zo, it's not what it looks like," I told him, the words tumbling out before I knew them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

I was talking over myself. I hadn't muted the replay! The charade was over.

"He was here," Zo said coolly, looping an arm around Moody Blues chest, a blade to its throat. I felt the steel whisper as if against my own skin. I froze Blues in its replay. Zo quirked a cold smile at me. "Oh, did you think your lookalike stand could fool me? Not for an instant, babe. No blood in those veins. Why were you trying to fool me, though? That's what really interests me."

"I wasn't, Zo! Sweetheart, I honestly wasn't. I was just puzzling over what he said."

"Thinking of leaving me, babe?"

"Not in a million years! What he said – what he said about your mood. You know I've been worried about you. So worried, this whole week."

God, I was choking up. It was true; my heart had been in my throat every day since we came to this horrid house, and Zo's mood was the cause of it.

I had to get the replay started again. Whatever you and Jewels had planned, it required the replay straight through to the squeal of tires departing. Your lives might depend on it. I held my arms open and gave Zo my best wide-eyed pout.

He took the bait. A moment later, my deadly lover was ensconced in my arms, his head snuggled under my chin. The knife blade was gone.

"You're both right," he murmured. "I haven't felt like myself at all this week, Leone. Thank God I have you."

His clinging fingers raised goosebumps on my arms.

My stand stuttered back into replay–

"No!" my voice cried in the replay. "It's not safe! I love him and I can't put him through this!"

That elicited a nuzzle from Zo. "Aww…"

"Perfect. That's just perfect! But while you're sparing his feelings, you know he won't spare your life, right?"
Zo stiffened. We both knew it was true.

"Who? Buccellati would never – oh, you mean Zo."

Those words were electric. Zo sprang up from my lap, his eyes on fire.

"Fine. Fine! I hope you're alive when I come check on you next week."

Juliana's image stomped and spun round, stormed out. The door slammed, the car tires squealed. My stand winked out.

Zo gaped at me.

He worked his mouth a couple times before forming actual words. "Who did you mean? You 'love him,' you 'can't put him through this?'"

"What?" I blinked, knowing what I'd meant, baffled how Zo could still be confused.

"Him or me?" He leapt forward like a cat; his hands wrapped around my throat and lifted. "You love him, or you love me?"

Impossible to speak; he was forcing my jaw closed. It hardly mattered. Panic drove all words from my mind. I wanted to wrestle his hands off me, but I was terrified of his metallic retaliation. I froze like a lamb in the grip of a wolf.

"ANSWER ME!"

I held his gaze because it was all I had left. For a long minute, maybe more than a minute, he held me on tiptoes – the highest he could lift my greater bulk. Then he seemed to drink his fill of my helplessness. My legs refused to support me, so he lowered me onto the bed of chains he'd prepared for me when we moved in, soothing my cheek with his fingers. Each stroke left a trail of sparks in my blood – Zo's iron glitter.

He knelt on the bladed floor before me, gazing up into my eyes.

"There now, Leone. I know you would never mean that, babe. You must have been confused. It must have been a slip of the tongue. Tell me you love me. Tell me you're mine forever. Tell me you're sorry, and all this can go away."

So tempting. I would have lied, with conviction and without hesitation, if only the words would come back. But they weren't back, and might not be back for hours. You always thought it was my voice that left me, times like these – you thought I could mouth something to you, or write something down, if I chose to. Zo thought so, too. And sometimes I do, when the words are back but I still feel clammed up. But in the moment, I can't even do that. It's the words themselves that leave. I'm left with only impressions, feelings, snips of memory. Single words float past like clouds across a night sky. I groped for these, with less than stellar results.

"Ghost," I whispered, taking Risotto's hand in mine. "Lies."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "What game are you playing?"

I shook my head urgently, making huge eyes at him. "Perfect."

"You're babbling, babe. Just answer me: Whom do you love, me or him?"

His words wheeled through my head: love, me, him. It should have been so easy to reach out and grab the right one. But I knew I was playing Russian roulette. "Love."

He slapped me. It stung, but it was his hand without rings; it didn't bleed, it wouldn't welt up. "You know the right answer. Stop playing with my heart, Leone."

"Me." It was simply the next word. I hadn't even meant to speak.

Zo slapped me with his ringed hand and I felt warm blood tickle my cheek. The tension was so high, that tiny tickle was unbearable.

"Him," I gasped, clapping my hands to my mouth instantly. It wasn't purposeful speech; after two years together, Zo should have known that. It was simply a loose word in my brain, fired through my mouth under pressure. But like any gunshot, I was liable for its effects.

Zo's fury expressed itself in wave after wave of ferrokinesis. My blood was on fire. I curled into a ball, arms protecting my face, throat, and chest. The razors blanketing the floor rose up like a flock of birds and circled the room at speed, excoriating the walls and furniture. I felt ribbons of my pants and jacket curl away and fresh trickles of blood roll down my skin. Behind me, there was movement – then a hand in mine, pulling me up. A hail of metal across my skin, a yell, then blessed motionless darkness. And we were running.

(Bucciarati)

I couldn't understand why you wouldn't talk. It would have been so easy to give him the answers he wanted, or the answers that would have provoked him. Risotto made it so damn obvious. But you – you gave him neither! I understand now, of course. Those weren't words. Those were just echoes, not unlike your stand's replay ability.

The echoes did their job better than anything you could have produced on purpose.

When you answered "love" and he slapped you, I made to leap out of the wall, but Juliana held me back. He'd circled the car back and arrived just after Risotto; I had pulled him into the wall from outside the house. We barely made it into position before your replay hit the good part.

"Me," you said. Utter nonsense. Risotto slapped you again and I saw the blood. I turned to Juliana but he shook his head. I saw his reasoning: by the time he reached that tiny trickle, Risotto would have had time to kill us several times over.

"Him," you whispered at last, and Risotto let loose with his powers. I felt it in my blood – unbearable, a fever heat.

"Now!" Juliana hissed into my ear, and we sprang from the wall into the maelstrom of blades.

Juliana's stand was on his arm, reaching for you. Your skin was painted with ribbons of blood. Karma took one delicate lick and Juliana declaimed: "For this man and all he chooses to protect, I lay Karma's curse on the one who has harmed him!"

Small steel razor blades were hurtling around the room, slicing across our clothes and skin. Juliana and I had our backs turned to it, our arms shielding us as best we could. You were curled up on a heap of chains, your clothes shredded and bloodied. My only thought was to remove you from this hell.

As I grabbed your hand, I heard Risotto cackle behind me. My blood hit the boiling point and I thought it was over. But as your head came up and your hand gripped mine, the razors froze in mid-air around us. The heat in my blood passed as quickly as it had come.

One scream from behind us as we ran into the void I'd torn in the wall – I turned back for Juliana, but I saw a fountain of blood as he fell to the floor and Risotto's eyes on me.

"Zo!" you yelled.

I sealed the wall behind us and pelted forward. Two more voids would get us to the car. There it was. I let you go by the passenger door and ran to open the driver's door. But like in a nightmare, you stood motionless, baffled by a simple car door.

As I ran back around to get you into the car, the front door banged open and Risotto stalked out. The blood spatter on his face didn't soften his fury any. He raised both hands and the car shuddered like it would splinter into a thousand pieces – and it might have, but Karma's curse held. As soon as I touched it, the tremor passed and the metal was peaceful.

"Where are you taking him?" Risotto snarled.

I faced him calmly, placing my fate in Karma. Nothing else would save me now, after all. "Napoli. My father left me a small house in the south suburb. I thought we'd go there first."

"Hah! You have a shit ton of nerve, telling me that! I'll find you. I'll never let you go. I may not be able to kill either of you, but just wait and see. Wait and see what happens to those who cross Risotto Nero!"

"Thank you," I said, not knowing where the words came from. "I'll do that. Good day, sir."

Risotto stood by at precisely the distance Karma seemed to allow while I helped you into the car. Your eyes were on him the entire time. I helped you remember how to bend your knees. I buckled your seat belt. I closed your door, then opened it and locked it for good measure before closing it again.

"Zo," you croaked one more time.

"Please," Risotto said at last, as I went to the driver's side. "Please, you don't understand us at all. Don't take him from me. He's all I have. I've been good to this one. See how long I've kept him alive? He's nothing like the others."

Risotto advanced a step, finding Karma's boundary again.

"Others?" I echoed, implications rolling like thunder.

"Please," he said again, choking up. "I wanted this to be forever."

I shook my head. I didn't have words for this. I got in the car and drove without looking back.

In a perfect world, I would have gone first to find Illuso and begged him to check on Juliana.

In a perfect world, I would have stopped at the first house and called the police. Called for an ambulance. Called any one of my contacts in Passione to report this fresh horror.

But honestly, who would have stood a chance against Risotto's rage? And what were the chances that Juliana had survived the first instant after a blow that fountained blood like that? By the time you and I were away, he must have bled out already.

That's what I told myself the next day when I introduced myself to his landlady and checked his attic apartment. The dresses he'd left me were truly stunning. I gazed out the window a long, long time, then took his notebooks and the dresses that might fit. I forged a will for him, leaving everything to his landlady, and left it with a missing person report at the police headquarters.

I recited the same mantra in the weeks that followed, when I wondered again and again if Risotto had saved Juliana's life only to subject him to a lifetime of torment. Illuso did check the house at my request; no signs of Juliana. It was all gone as if it had never been – the blood, the blades, the chains. We tried tracking using one of Juliana's journals, but Illuso kept drawing a blank. He told me that meant Juliana was most likely deceased, but I heard the tiny percent chance left open by "most likely." If he survived, no one knew where Risotto kept him. That tiny chance haunts me to this day.

I told myself Juliana was strong and resourceful. I told myself he had the power to protect himself by recasting Karma's curse – as long as Risotto was careless enough to let him bleed. I told myself that at the worst, we all have the power to die. But I knew from experience that none of those things might matter, in the worst of circumstances.

I told myself to put it behind me. There was nothing more I could do, after all. And it was Risotto's actions, not mine, that had doomed my beautiful new friend.

(Abbacchio)

You were staring at me, chin propped up on one elbow, the first morning that I woke up next to you. Mid-morning light streamed through the window, gilding your black hair and leaving your face in soft blue shadows.

The two-room cottage your father had left you was dusty, unused for five years, you said, because your patron and several team leads had conspired to keep the news of the inheritance from you. I coughed before I was able to speak.

"What the hell are you staring at, beautiful?"

You handed me a half-drunk glass of water. "Would you believe me if I said the love of my life?"

I snorted. "It's too early for that kind of crap. Thank you."

You reached for me. "I know what I want, and what I want is you. I've loved far too many people and I've never felt this way for anyone. It's love, I'm sure of it."

I caught your hand. "Kid, you don't even know me. I appreciate what you did, but you don't want to get mixed up with me. I'm bad news."

"How's that?"

"A, I'm miserable. I always have been and recent years have not improved on that. And B, I'm going to be the Execution Squad's top target for the next however long it takes me to die."

"They can't do it," you told me, bright as the day. "Karma's curse prevents Risotto from causing harm to us, even signaling another person to do it."

"But if he inspires someone? If he implies to someone that it would be in their best interests, and they attack us of their own free will?"

You thought it over. "I don't know. But that's all the more reason we should stick together. You think Risotto blames me any less than you? Besides. I told you, I need a partner."

"That brings us to C. I can't protect you. My stand is useless in combat."

"Who said I needed protecting? And anyway, Juliana implied that wasn't true. She said you managed."

"He. Jewels loved being beautiful, but he said he'd always be a man at heart. He loved contradictions. Did he die back there?"

You dropped your head onto the pillow, sending a swirl of dust motes into the morning light. "I think so. I saw her – him, go down. There was a lot of blood."

I was silent, trying to sort through yesterday's events. I had seen everything through an orange haze of panic. It felt like a fever dream. Disconnected. "I should have protected him."

"You couldn't have."

"I mean under Karma's curse. I got you protected. I should have considered Juliana protected, too."

"I'm surprised you got me. You were so confused, and the world was full of razors and blood."

"Juliana was incredible. You didn't know him. I can't believe I couldn't save him."

"Leone, don't blame yourself. He knew it was a risk. We talked about it beforehand and he said whatever happens, happens. He said he had lived well and if there was one more thing he could do, it would be to set you free."

"He really said all that?"

"Yes. In as many words."

"Huh. And who the hell said you could call me Leone?"

You just smiled. "It's your name, isn't it?"

"Leone Abbacchio."

I held out my hand. You took it and kissed it.

"Bruno Bucciarati. Not Buccellati. Unlike many people, I have a real last name."

"And a total disregard for boundaries, I see."

I stood up and reached for a shirt, then remembered why I'd shed my shirt and jacket last night – they were tattered and stiff with blood. I settled for hitching up the less-than-shredded pants I still wore, tightening the belt. Zo had preferred it settled loosely around my hips rather than fulfilling a belt's God-given purpose.

"The jewelry you wear," you said, still blinking up at me from your pillow. "You don't take it off to sleep? Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"These?" I ran a hand across the fat steel nuggets embedded in my face. "They don't come off. They're his, not mine."

The revulsion on your face suited me very well. Well enough to show you more.

"These, too."

I turned and arched my back so you could get a good look at the steel rings lying under my skin – wrapped around my ribs, linked into my spine. You looked properly horrified when I looked back at you.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered.

"What the hell are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry I didn't meet you any sooner. I'm sorry no one came for you."

I sank back onto the bed, taking in your sad, honest eyes. Cool and bright as the ocean. Your brows like gulls sailing high above their troubles. Your lips looked soft, tempting…

I shook my head. "I don't deserve a sweet, bright thing like you. How could I pull you into my shadows? Thanks for getting me out of there, but I've got to get going."

You reached across the bed and played with my fingers, like you hadn't heard a word I said.

"I can take them off for you, you know. My stand unzips things. It won't hurt."

That was true. How else was I planning to get rid of the awful things?

"Yeah. I mean, damn, I've been dying to get these off. Please. Thanks."

You did the new bracelet first. Two zippers and it fell away in two perfect semicircles. Your stand knelt beside you on the bed, reaching through you, more synchronized than Blues and me. I wondered if you two talked to each other, or if you were a unified whole. The lumps in my face took more effort. They were like icebergs, with more of the shape below the skin than what showed on the surface. Damned uncomfortable, but I'd learned to ignore them. It was bliss to feel my own face again, smooth and whole.

The rings came off my ears easily enough. I was nervous when you started working on the rings around my ribs, but your zippers peeled the skin back painlessly and your stand delicately picked each ring apart and lifted it from me. Still, it took all my nerve to let you work behind my back. I kept expecting the stabbing pains Zo would give me whenever we made love.

I was shaking by the time you finished those. You thought we were done, but the worst wasn't over. I held your hand and stared into your questioning eyes a long, long moment before shucking my pants and letting you work out those problems.

"Damn," you swore, fingers hovering carefully.

"Just fix it," I whispered.

"Are these shackles?" you asked, zipping and re-zipping to peel back the skin from the rusting bands that circled my thighs.

"He could stop me or make me walk," I murmured. "Or pin me in place. With his magnetic powers. That's what those are for."

"Like a puppet," you said, and we both regretted it.

I rubbed my aching head. It was terrible to trust anyone with this, much less someone I'd just met. I don't think you ever understood that.

"All done," you told me at last. "At least, I think so."

I nodded, swimming through another silent space. I ran my hands everywhere that used to host his metal, just to be sure, then retrieved my clothes. What little I had of them. Damn, I needed a shirt! I wanted to get up and walk out, but the shakes were too bad. Without consulting you, I wrapped an arm around you and buried my face in your shoulder. It felt like the only thing that would help.

"Leone…" you whispered, gathering me into your arms.

I was glad now that you'd chosen my first name. It washed over me, the gladness, sparse rays of light in my overcast life. I'm not one to rush into things, but all my first feelings about you were rushing back. You were as pure and dazzling as the light on the ocean. I had to admit to myself that I wanted you. I tightened my arm around you and kissed the nearest skin, which was at your collarbone. You wriggled and that eased my heart. You were so innocent. I thought so then, and even if I was a little mistaken, it was still mostly true.

You tilted my face up and found my lips with yours. Normally I hate that kind of treatment, but your kisses were the delicate, hesitant kind – the kind that leave space to pull away and come back for more. I touched your cheek and liked the joy that lit off in your eyes.

When your hands started to wander down to my waist, I whispered no and that was enough. You brought them back to safer territories. In my eyes, it was a small miracle. That was the moment when I first let myself love you. Taking your face in my hands, I leaned in and gave you my real kisses – warm, patient things that slowly open you up and tease out your pleasures. When I let up, you fell back with a sigh, lips still parted.

"No one kisses that way," you gasped.

"You're too young to know."

I was smiling. In the quiet of this room and the light of the morning, horror had at last retreated – though Zo's misshapen jewelry glittered on the windowsill. Did the last cells of his Metallica still crawl there? I had to dispose of those before they touched other metal, or he'd be tracking me forever.

"I'm hardly that," you said quietly. "So what do you say now? Are we partners?"

"Lovers. Partners takes time." I laced my fingers through yours. "Let's try it. But listen. If things get rough – I never want to make the mistakes I made with Risotto."

"I'm nothing like him," you scoffed.

"You don't know. We started a lot like this, and anyway, it takes two to fuck up that badly. I'm never gonna live that way again. If we get like that, I'm ending it. Okay?"

You contemplated my face for a long moment. "I never want to lose you."

"Kid, it is way too early for statements like that."

"Never too early, and don't call me kid."

"But if we get that way–"

"I understand." You pulled me down for another long kiss. "What about breakfast?"

We spent a sparkling morning together, the kind I'd forgotten about. You found me some of your dad's old things to wear and walked us to a corner store that had coffee and pastries. I wolfed down four on a days-empty stomach, then walked around with a stomachache for the next hour. I wanted to throw Zo's metal into the ocean; you tried to coax me onto a tiny rowboat that pitched and rolled on every ripple, but I stood firm and we tossed the offending items off the end of a long pier instead. It was delightful to win an argument with no tears and no pain. I wrapped my hands around your concerningly slim waist and kissed you until we both needed something more.

Then you left me resting at the cottage while you checked Juliana's apartment. I'd done almost nothing in the last days, shut up in that bizarre house, but it felt like I'd been running marathons. I was in and out of sleep for hours.

When I was wakeful, I thought long and hard of all the ways I could safely learn Juliana's whereabouts. I thought of ways to capture bargaining points to get Zo off our cases. Even if he couldn't cause harm to us, he would surely undermine our careers in Passione, which might prove equally deadly in its own way. And then as my other thoughts fell into place, I thought of ways to please you. I sat in the window to watch the last of the sun glitter on the sea until you came home, and I thought at last of a beautiful, caring relationship. A future worth living for. It was the first time in years and I still struggled to deserve it – but you deserved it, and I thought that might be enough for me.