"It's a trap. It has to be."
"Gee, what gave it away?" came Abbacchio's sarcastic drawl. "Was it the completely on-the nail timing that couldn't be more perfect? The one hundred percent trustworthiness of that random asshole Bruno shouldn't've helped in the first place? Or oh, maybe it's the sheer and utter lack of plausibility?"
"What's-"
"It means believability, Narancia." Bucciarati sounded like he was struggling to find the patience to deal with Narancia's dumb questions. "And that was unnecessary, Abbacchio." No patience for dad either.
"It's fine, Bucciarati," Giorno told them both. "It was a little redundant of me, I'm sure we were all thinking the same thing."
The message had come when they'd been about to leave Venezia. Everyone was on edge after Narancia had dealt with Tiziano and Squalo since none of them had expected such a quick response to their betrayal.
Mista shot another nervous glance at Giorno, whose pink suit was starting to look more red than pink at this point. He knew the blond could take care of himself, but he'd almost died. Again. Narancia had just happened to be able to take care of it. And now that he thought of it, Mista was pretty certain Giorno was probably the one aside from Bucciarati with the biggest target on his back. He'd have to be more vigilant.
A hawk had been approaching them, carrying something in its talons, and Mista had instantly shot it out of the sky with one clean hit through the skull. Narancia had yelled at him for killing the thing, but he wasn't about to take any chances.
What Bucciarati had pulled from its claws was a rolled-up letter, marked with the seal of Passione, and after using Gold Experience to make sure there was nothing alive inside it, they'd had Moody Blues replay the person who had touched the letter last.
"Capo Fillippo." Bucciarati sounded shocked, and really Mista couldn't blame him. He was still pissed at that asshole for wasting his one damn day off just to look for some chick who wasn't even grateful! He'd found her right before she got on the boat and kept her from sentencing her whole fucking family to death and what was the thanks he got? A pig! She'd called him a pig! At least Trish had stopped at 'smelly!'
As Bucciarati read over the letter, he felt a brush against his arm and turned to see Giorno beside him, the blond leaning up to whisper in his ear, "Fillippo?"
Ignoring the way Giorno's breath felt so damn good against Mista's skin, he replied quietly, "The capo in Piombino. He's one shady asshole but he owes Bucciarati a favor."
"I see." Giorno's green eyes flashed in the morning sunlight and Mista could tell he was thinking about something that was probably too complicated for Mista to want to bother knowing.
"What does it say, Bucciarati?" Abbacchio sounded impatient, but then again the guy always sounded impatient. It didn't help his headphones had broken sometime during the commotion of the past few days and he'd been on his last nerve ever since. The gleeful grin he'd had when they beat the shit out of that random dude had been unmistakeable.
"He has information on the Boss."
"What?!"
"Impossible!" Abbacchio's cry drowned out Narancia and Mista's shock, his indignant tone booming through the small alleyway they were crowded into. "There's no fucking way a guy like that would have anything remotely useful!"
"I agree, of course, but he's saying he does, and it does sound compelling. He's asking to meet up to repay the favor he owes."
"How the fuck does he know about this anyway?! There's no way, Bucciarati."
"I admit, I'm skeptical as well," Bucciarati agreed. "However, he does indeed owe me a favor. And I imagine that word has spread by now, especially since we've already dealt with two of the Boss' elite guards."
"Exactly." It was Giorno who spoke up this time, and four heads turned to stare at him in surprise. Abbacchio just looked plain pissed, but Bucciarati seemed intrigued. Which he probably was, Mista thought, Bucciarati had seemed like he'd enjoyed hearing Giorno's thoughts and ideas before. Like a mom proud of her son.
"As you've said, Bucciarati, word has gotten around. The likelihood of this man hearing of our betrayal and choosing to aid us is extremely low, even if he owes you. I believe someone must have gotten to him first."
Bucciarati was nodding along, looking pretty damn pleased with Giorno, until the blond said, "And that is exactly why we should go." Mista was fairly certain he'd never seen Bucciarati look that damn surprised ever. Not even when a drunken Abbacchio showed up naked that one time to a big dinner Bucciarati threw for his twentieth birthday.
"This was not supposed to be a private affair, Leone," he'd told the drunk-off-his-ass man as Fugo had tried to get Narancia out of the room without uncovering the smaller boy's eyes while Mista just laughed hysterically. Seeing as the alternative was to cry, he'd decided to just enjoy the experience and avoid mental scarring from thinking too hard. Though he still didn't really get Bucciarati's attraction to the guy, Mista had to admit, Abbacchio was hung.
"You trying to tell us to get ourselves killed?" Abbacchio's low growl snapped Mista out of his reminiscence, the goth taking a step towards the blond, who was still standing firm beside Mista. He didn't seem to have a shred of doubt on his face.
"Of course not," Giorno answered, "But I do believe we could gain some information by going. If he is indeed being forced to send this message by the Boss, then surely others who know the Boss will be there. They would be assuming we would fall into the trap, should we go. In fact, it would make perfect sense to use the fact that they believe we will fall for it against them."
"That's idiotic. You're idiotic."
"Abbacchio, not now," Bucciarati groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose before forcing a strained smile on his face as he rested a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Giorno, I understand your point, however I think it's more prudent to pursue the lead that's more solid."
"What do prunes have to do with anything?"
"Nothing, Narancia, nothing at all. Just… go check on Trish, will you? She might need some support right now."
Narancia nodded fervently and darted into the turtle, clearly eager to go talk to the pink-haired girl even more now that he'd found something in common with her- even if it was a super depressing thing. Now that the biggest distraction was out of their hair momentarily, the remaining four were able to get back to the matter at hand.
"Bucciarati, I think Giorno's right." Blatantly ignoring Abbacchio's disgusted scoff, Mista continued when Bucciarati nodded for him to go ahead. "Whoever the fuck's waiting for us ain't gonna just hang around when we're no-shows. If we go now and take care of 'em, don't that mean less guys for us to take down later?"
"And we would have the element of surprise on our side this time," Giorno added, "Since they wouldn't be expecting us to know of their plot."
"I do think that could be beneficial…" the man trailed off, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "However, we can't rule out the possibility of them thinking this far ahead as well. We don't know the capabilities of the men the Boss has at his personal aide."
"I thought of that as well," Giorno explained, gesturing to the four of them, "but I believe it would be more useful for us to attempt to use their own plot against them, rather than wait for a counterattack that could catch us unaware."
"…Alright." Before Abbacchio could argue any further, Bucciarati quickly continued, "But we won't all be going. It's far too dangerous to risk all of us; therefore, we will split up. I shall go to Piombino myself-"
"Bullshit, no fucking way!"
"-because I was personally requested for by the note. I'm sorry Leone, it can't be helped."
"Then I'm going with you!"
"You can't do that either. We need you here with the turtle and Trish in order to go to Sardegnia in case something happens to me. Without your Moody Blues, we lose our only other lead."
Abbacchio looked really fucking pissed, but the fact that he didn't say anything back and just clicked his tongue said that he understood. He may hate the orders, but Abbacchio would never go against Bucciarati's words.
"You can't go alone." Giorno's voice sounded oddly strained, as if he was trying to imply something that Mista just didn't get. From the look on Bucciarati's face, it was pretty damn clear. They were hiding something. Big fucking shock. "I can-"
"No. We can't risk losing your Stand either, Giorno. Mista, you'll come with me."
"Aye aye, sir," Mista agreed, saluting the capo from where he lounged against a wooden crate. He'd been expecting that anyway, especially since it sounded like they were gonna rely on surprise and taking quick action. Pistols would be great for that.
Abbacchio and Giorno both looked like they wanted to argue more but held their tongues after Bucciarati shot them his patented Mom Look.
"…You need to be careful." Giorno's words were directed at both of them but he was looking at Mista as he said it, and the gunman wasn't sure whether to be tickled that Giorno was worried for him or annoyed that the blond didn't trust him to be safe.
"Of course. No unnecessary risks." Again, a look in his direction, and Mista scowled.
"Hey, I am too, uh, riskless!"
Abbacchio scoffed. "I think you mean reckless."
"I know exactly what I said, thank you very much, asshole." The goth glowered at him but didn't say anything more as Mista stuck his tongue out at him. When Abbacchio stepped towards him, Mista quickly leapt backwards out of reach, darting behind Bucciarati's shoulders. "Mooom, tell dad to stop bullying me."
Abbacchio looked ready to commit filicide, but his murderous glare softened as Bucciarati's stoic facade cracked just enough to let a small smile escape. Giorno's laughter was muffled behind a fist pressed to his lips.
"Alright, everyone get in the turtle." As he held out the reptile, Bucciarati placed a hand on Mista's head, rubbing it in a way that mimicked ruffling his hair if it hadn't been buried under a beanie. "I'll find a place to hide Coco Jumbo; in the meantime, you three relay the decision to Trish and Narancia."
Abbacchio disappeared inside after whispering something unintelligible to Bucciarati. Giorno passed Mista; as he did so, he brushed a hand against the gunman's shoulder and squeezed it so quickly that Mista would've thought maybe he'd just imagined it if it hadn't been for the soft smile on the blond's face.
Mista was the last to disappear into the turtle, and as he was pulled inside, he heard Bucciarati say quietly, "Thank you, Mista."
Mista didn't really think he'd done anything to be thanked for, but hey, when your capo thanks you, you gladly accept it. Besides, he was pretty sure he knew what Bucciarati meant.
