A Risotto centric piece today! I wanted to play around a little with his background in this one.

Unforgiven

Day 14: Die a Hero of Become a Villain

(failed escape, 'I'll be right behind you')

Even though he sees himself as a professional, Risotto realizes he shouldn't have taken a mission on the anniversary of his cousin's death.

It was not often Risotto was distracted on a mission. He should not have been. He was a professional after all, at least he was supposed to be, but today, well…he would have rather stayed home today. But they needed the work and so here he was.

"Target's sighted," he heard Prosciutto's voice crackle over the walky-talkys they were using. Risotto winced, glad there was no one else around at the moment.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"I'm moving in to take out the outliers."

"Good. I'll meet you out back when I'm done." Risotto tucked the walky-talky away and called up Metallica to shift him into invisibility.

He slipped into the club, seeing the decrepit bodies left in the wake of Grateful Dead. Risotto could feel his teammate's powers tugging on him as well, and hurried toward the office where his target resided: a bookie who had overstepped his bounds with Passione's money. The Boss had told them to take him out.

It could have waited until tomorrow, Risotto muttered silently. It's not like the guy was going anywhere.

He got to the office and pushed the door open silently, slipping inside.

The man wasn't there.

He looked around to see if there was another room, but there was nothing.

He grabbed the walky-talky. "Where is he? He's not in the office."

"I saw him go in there!" Prosciutto hissed. "Wait…" There was some feedback and then a hurried whisper. "Risotto, you have to get out of there."

Risotto refrained from asking more in case he could be heard, and went to step out of the office.

"Over here, Boss, I told you, something weird's going on!"

"What the hell happened?"

Risotto could see his target, and he slipped closer. He needed to get the man in range but if he moved too much…

He tripped over one of the bodies on the floor that had been lying half under a table, bumping his knee into a chair.

Shit. The bookie and his lacky spun around and Risotto froze, trusting in his ability to stay invisible to them. However, the longer he stayed here the more Grateful Dead was also affecting him. He shifted a hand, manipulating Metallica to form a blade in the target's throat, just enough to slice through his jugular.

"Hey, what's that?!"

The bookie had just started to choke, eyes widening, when his guard spun directly toward Risotto, gun raised.

Risotto swore and dashed to the side as the gunshot rang out, completely losing his concentration on his assassination attempt. The bullet grazed his arm and he gritted his teeth, using Metallica to form staples out of the blood to keep it from creating a trail and closing the wound.

"What the hell was that?"

Risotto dashed around a corner and ran into Prosciutto who was coming the opposite way, his own gun in hand.

"What happened?"

"Guard spotted me before I could take him out," Risotto said in disgust. He was really off his game today. Should have sent one of the others.

"It's fine, just leave and I'll up Grateful Dead's power and finish them off."

"Formaggio only has a couple more minutes before he'll be forced to leave the meetup spot," Risotto reminded him.

Prosciutto shook his head as he stopped and called out his Stand again. "It's fine. Go. I'll be right behind you."

Risotto stopped in his tracks, breath catching in his throat. Of all the days for someone to say that to him.

Prosciutto looked at him like he was insane.

"Risotto, go! I told you I'll be right there!"

But he couldn't move. He had been putting off thinking about it all day for the sake of the mission, but now he couldn't avoid it. He was suddenly fourteen again, standing on that street corner, listening to the screech of tires that proceeded the dull thud of bodily impact…

"Risotto! You'll die too if you stay here!"

A door slammed and as they spun to look, a gunshot rang out.

Prosciutto reeled back, blood spraying across the wall as he fell.

"Prosc—"

Risotto snapped back to himself and disassembled the nearest guard's gun with Metallica. The man cried out as the pieces fell to the ground but before Risotto could do the same to the others, another man came at him with a taser. It stopped Risotto in his tracks, crying out as the current ripped through his body. He was forced to one knee, unable to keep his hold on Metallica. It was enough of a distraction for one of the guards to step in and slam his gun into the back of Risotto's head, turning everything from red to black.

XXX

Risotto woke with a groan, forcing his head upright. He found that his hands were locked behind him bound to a shelf in some storage room.

Prosciutto was lying across from him and Risotto balked at the sight of blood that covered his suit, and splashed across his chest and face.

"I'll be right behind you."

Risotto squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. He was a professional. He couldn't act like this.

Think. He snapped at himself. He's tied up, isn't he? Who bothers with tying up a dead man.

Risotto shifted until he could stretch a long leg across the space and nudge Prosciutto with his foot. Relief flooded through him as the blonde's face scrunched up in pain and he shifted, a soft exhale of pain escaping from him.

"Prosciutto," Risotto called.

Blue eyes opened, glancing around before they landed on Risotto. Prosciutto shifted as if he were trying to sit up and winced with a groan, the task appearing to be both difficult and painful.

"Where are you hit?"

"Just my shoulder," Prosciutto grunted, leaning back against the shelves he was tied to and closing his eyes briefly.

Risotto sat back, a little relieved that his teammate was conscious and lucid, if not in pain. He summoned Metallica, an action which made his head hurt and let part of the colony Stand make their way toward Prosciutto's shoulder to start stitching together the bullet wound to keep him from bleeding out more.

"I apologize for what happened back there. That was on me," Risotto said.

The blond tsked and curled his lip. "Why the hell didn't you get out of here when I told you to?"

Risotto just looked away, shaking his head, which made him wince.

"Risotto! What is wrong with you? You seem abnormally distracted today," Prosciutto snapped.

"I know," Risotto grunted. "Don't worry about it."

Prosciutto gave him a look. "You're the one who always stresses to not work hurt, angry, or distracted. You don't take your own advice."

"I was fine until…"

"Until what?"

Risotto chewed the inside of his cheek as Prosciutto stared at him, waiting for some kind of answer. When it didn't come he huffed a sigh, shifting again with a wince.

"Look, I don't want to pry or anything, but I like to know when my teammates aren't in the proper headspace, so—"

"It's the anniversary of my cousin's death today," Risotto bit out.

Prosciutto blinked and stared at him. Risotto knew he was not obligated to go on, but he also owed Prosciutto an actual explanation.

"He was killed by a drunk driver when I was fourteen. He was…he was like an older brother to me." Risotto took a deep breath. "The last thing I heard him say was 'I'll be right behind you'."

Prosciutto deflated slightly. "I'm sorry," he said.

Risotto shook his head. "It was a long time ago, I shouldn't have let it get to me today."

"No, it's understandable. The subconscious tends to trigger things even when you consciously don't want it to—no matter your training." He sighed. "I won't judge you for it."

"You should. I got you shot, and now we're locked up in here."

"They're metal cuffs," Prosciutto pointed out.

Risotto finally came back to reality and got Metallica to work. Within a couple minutes they were both free. The blow to his head was a bit debilitating at the moment—he probably had a concussion—but he would worry about that later.

He reached down to help Prosciutto to his feet without putting strain on his injured shoulder. He helped him turn his jacket into a makeshift sling to keep the injury in place.

"Let's finish the job then."

It did not take them long to take out the remaining bodyguards and the bookie. They weren't exactly suspecting their prisoners to escape so quickly and with Grateful Dead debilitating them, Risotto made short work of the whole group.

"I'll call Formaggio and let him know what happened, we might still be able to meet him for a pickup," Prosciutto said as they walked out of the club, making their way down the street.

After making the call, they found a bench to sit down on, both of them obviously feeling their injuries. Risotto glanced over to make sure Prosciutto wasn't still bleeding, but it seemed Metallica had done their job. Now they would just have to make sure it was cleaned out. Melone would handle that, though there would likely be quite a bit of protest from Prosciutto's end.

Prosciutto pulled out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes and pulled one out with his teeth. "You have a lighter?"

Risotto pulled one from his pocket and flicked it as Prosciutto leaned in, lighting the cigarette before he leaned back, watching the trails of smoke float off.

They were silent for a few moments then Prosciutto pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, tucked between the fingers of his good hand and said, "Your cousin—did you ever find out who did it?"

Risotto nodded, jaw tight. "The driver was convicted. I killed him when he got out of jail. He was my first."

Prosciutto nodded in understanding. He passed the cigarette to Risotto but the silver-haired man shook his head.

Prosciutto took another long drag himself and exhaled slowly before he said, "The man who wronged me was my first too. I think it's that way for a lot of us."

Risotto made a small sound of agreement, then looked up, spotting Formaggio's car coming down the street toward them.

"I think you should take the rest of the day off, Boss," Prosciutto told Risotto as he stood and stamped out the cigarette.

Risotto took a deep breath, staring up at the sky. It had actually been a long time since he had gone to visit his cousin's grave. He was probably due.

"I think that sounds like a good idea."