And now it's time for the conclusion, but this isn't quite the end of the angst yet.

You can find the art I did for this on my Tumblr at: lady-wallace

Part Two

Day 29: What Doesn't Kill Me

(defiance, 'better me than you')

Abbacchio sat with his head leaning back against the stone wall of Mascarpone's cellar, trying to figure out what he was going to do. He didn't even know what he'd agreed to yet.

He ran a hand over his face, before yanking his tie off and unbuttoning his collar—no need to keep up pretenses now.

He glanced down at Bucciarati who was still curled up tightly, head resting against Abbacchio's thigh. He was still shivering even though Abbacchio had given him his coat and clammy sweat was beading his brow.

Bucciarati stirred and let out a soft groan, pulling his knees in tighter to his chest.

"Hey, you doing any better?" Abbacchio asked helplessly, because what the hell else could he say right now? At least he hadn't coughed up any more blood since he'd drunk the antidote.

Bucciarati grunted and finally opened his eyes, craning his head back slightly. "Less like my insides are on fire."

Abbacchio cringed but Bucciarati shifted, pushing himself up onto an elbow with a groan. Abbacchio grabbed his shoulder and helped him sit up against the wall beside him. It seemed like a monumental effort, but soon Bucciarati was upright, head tipped back as he breathed through his nose, shoulder steadied against Abbacchio's.

"You shouldn't have agreed that easily," Bucciarati finally said once he had his breath back. "We have no idea what he has planned now."

"With all respect, Bucciarati, I wasn't about to watch you throw your guts up just for him to kill both of us anyway," Abbacchio snapped. "What I did was buy us time to figure something else out. If we don't show up in a couple more hours, Fugo will be alerting Polpo, and our disappearance will be proof enough that Mascarpone is dirty. Polpo will give the command for him to be taken out and that will be the end of it."

Bucciarati sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't say anything, perhaps he was too tired to argue, or maybe he was admitting that Abbacchio was right here. He didn't like undermining Bucciarati's authority, but at the same time, he really wished the man would have a little more respect for self-preservation.

"Sorry I dragged you into this," Bucciarati finally murmured, almost too quietly for Abbacchio to hear.

Abbacchio turned to the other man, seeing him staring at the ceiling. "You don't have to be sorry, it's part of the job. We almost had it too…"

Bucciarati shook his head. "Mascarpone knew this whole time. He was just playing along as well. Honestly, I should have tried a different approach. I just didn't think he would have caught on so soon." He coughed, cringing, before he rested his head back against the wall.

Abbacchio watched him worriedly. "You should probably try to get some rest before…whatever comes next."

Bucciarati sighed. "I appreciate the sentiment but that's unlikely."

Abbacchio shrugged in agreement before he stared around the room. Maybe, if they could find some way to escape the cellar…

They wouldn't get the chance though, because the sound of the door opening from above brought them both back on the alert. Mascarpone opened the door to their makeshift prison and strode in with Tetrazzini and a couple of his bodyguards behind him.

"Feeling better, Bucciarati?" he asked with false cheeriness.

Bucciarati and Abbacchio both glowered at him, and he simply shrugged, the pleasant demeanor gone with it.

"As inconvenient as it was, having you poking your nose into my business, it's actually turned out for the better," Mascarpone said.

"What exactly is your plan?" Bucciarati demanded.

Mascarpone smiled. "There is a very important shipment coming in tonight, gentlemen. And I have been wracking my brains as to how I would get my hands on it, but it turns out that now that I have you two in my pocket, I essentially have a free pass. After all…" He didn't even try to keep the sneer out of his voice now. "Everyone in Passione loves and trusts Bruno Bucciarati, Polpo's favorite."

Abbacchio frowned. So that's all this was about? Some contraband from the docks?

"What exactly is in this shipment?" Bucciarati asked suspiciously.

"That is none of your concern," Mascarpone said. "Just items for business." He glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. "Now, time's ticking away. Which one of you is going to be my errand boy?"

Bucciarati instantly spoke up. "I will."

"Bucciarati, you can barely walk," Abbacchio reminded him before pushing himself to his feet, facing Mascarpone defiantly. "I'll do it."

Bucciarati sighed tiredly but Abbacchio ignored him.

"I'll admit he's probably the better candidate," Mascarpone nodded. "But does he hold your authority, Bucciarati?"

"They know Abbacchio's with me," Bucciarati said firmly before glancing briefly at Abbacchio.

He nodded, pressing his lips into a firm line. They did know him at the docks, that's where he had started out working, seeing in the shipments. Which also meant that he might be able to get a message to someone there, if it was the normal guys…

"So Abbacchio will be going to the docks, which means you'll stay here as collateral, Bucciarati," Mascarpone said.

Bucciarati glowered at him but didn't say anything.

Mascarpone turned to Tetrazzini. "You'll go with Abbacchio."

The man nodded.

"Bit first," Mascarpone added, "I want you to activate your little failsafe. That way we know they'll play fair."

Tetrazzini smirked sadistically. He stepped toward them and Abbacchio braced himself, not sure what to expect.

"Rainbow Connection," the man said and Stand energy rippled around him as a figure appeared between Abbacchio and Bucciarati, hands slamming against their chests.

Abbacchio gave a shout of shock as sudden agony slammed through his body. He staggered back against the wall, before it finally stopped and he blinked his eyes open, hearing Bucciarati groan below him.

"The hell?" Abbacchio choked out as he yanked the collar of his shirt open and saw that there was now a mark right above his heart.

"My Stand ability can link two people together on a physical level," Tetrazzini said, striding forward.

"What do you mean?" Bucciarati demanded, again attempting to push himself upright, legs shaking.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," Tetrazzini said and stepped up to Abbacchio before back-handing him across the face.

Abbacchio's head spun around, cheek stinging, but he was shocked to hear Bucciarati cry out as well and when he glanced over, the other man had his hand pressed to his cheek where Abbacchio got slapped.

"You know what this means, correct?" Mascarpone said as he motioned his guards forward. "Any foolish move you make, Abbacchio, will be both punishment to you and to your boss here."

The guards grabbed Bucciarati, hauling him up and pushing him into a chair Tetrazzini brought over, starting to tie him to the arms and legs.

"And the same can be said for the opposite." Mascarpone nodded to one of his men who stepped forward and slammed a fist into Bucciarati's stomach.

Abbacchio clearly felt the impact, staggering back as Bucciarati doubled over, and pain shot though his core. He had to catch his breath before he turned to glower at Mascarpone.

"You're both sick bastards, you know that?"

"If you think this makes any difference…" Bucciarati gritted out before Mascarpone turned to him with a smirk.

"Then what?" Mascarpone demanded, snapping his fingers at one of his guards who took out a gun, pointing it directly at Bucciarati's head. Abbacchio started forward but Tetrazzini shoved him back against the wall. "I can end you now and be done with it—and your loyal dog along with you. One bullet, two pests. Tell me, Bucciarati, would you be okay with that? There's no self-sacrificing here. You either take my generous offer, or I tell my man to splatter both of your brains here in the next second—and frankly I would rather not have to clean up the mess."

Bucciarati glowered at him for another long second before he sighed and turned his head down, jaw clenched.

Mascarpone nodded and his goon lowered the gun. "Good boy," he said mockingly. "Now, Tetrazzini, you two get going. There's only an hour before the shipment arrives."

"Come on," Tetrazzini said, hand clamped firmly around Abbacchio's upper arm as he led him toward the door. "And don't try anything funny."

"I get it," Abbacchio snapped, before glancing back one last time at Bucciarati. The man was staring at him intently and Abbacchio swallowed hard. He knew what Bucciarati wanted him to do, but he just wasn't sure he would be able to get everything to work out in his favor. If he had to die, he would much rather not take Bucciarati out with him.

The air was chilly out that night as they pulled up at the docks. Tetrazzini locked the doors as he put the car into park so Abbacchio couldn't get out, and pulled out a gun, angling it toward one of Abbacchio's legs.

"Listen up. Your job is to go in there and make nice with the guys who are working the docks tonight. I know they know you work with Bucciarati. I don't care what you have to say to get them to trust you, but if you even think of drawing suspicion to us, I'll shoot your knee out and then I'll do the other one. So if you feel like crippling you and your boss for life, be my guest."

Abbacchio clenched his jaw, fists tightening. Tetrazzini pressed the gun against his leg, pushing hard enough to bruise as he reached out and grabbed Abbacchio's ponytail.

"Stop wasting time, stronzo! You gonna play along or not?"

Abbacchio glowered at him. "Fine."

Tetrazzini grunted and shoved him hard against the door before unlocking the car and getting out. "Come on then."

Abbacchio got out and followed the man toward the area where the new shipments were unloaded. A few of the dock workers were there, unloading crates, and they looked up, suspicious, before they recognized Abbacchio.

"Oh, Abbacchio, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"Hey, Angelo," Abbacchio greeted, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. "We had a change of orders last minute and one of these shipments needs to get out of here tonight."

"Understood," the man nodded. So damn trusting. His eyes went to Tetrazzini. "Who's this?"

Abbacchio could practically feel the tension from the Stand user, but he didn't let it get to him. "Him? New recruit."

"Ah, well, let me go get the boys and we'll start getting these loaded up," Angelo said as he turned to call to the other men.

Tetrazzini's hand clamped onto Abbacchio's shoulder. "Smooth. You would do best to keep that up." He handed him a piece of paper. "This is the destination for the shipment."

Abbacchio glanced at the paper before he slipped it into his pocket. If he could get the location back to show to Passione then they would have even more proof of Mascarpone's betrayal.

"Come on then, let's go move some crates," Abbacchio muttered, heading toward Angelo and the others.

Tetrazzini glowered at him, but hurried to catch up, obviously not wanting to let Abbacchio out of his sight. That was fine, he wouldn't be able to keep that up for long without gathering suspicion from the others. Abbacchio was certain to get at least one moment to get a message to Angelo.

They moved the crates systematically. They were incredibly heavy, and Abbacchio couldn't figure out what they were supposed to be. Probably not drugs in this quantity. So what kind of contraband could Mascarpone be getting into port?

One of the crates was partially damaged on the top and Abbacchio glanced over his shoulder to see Tetrazzini struggling out of the container with another crate.

He took the opportunity to peek inside.

Guns. It was guns.

Was that Mascarpone's move then? Going into the arms trade?

Abbacchio exhaled slowly, looking around again as he tried to catch Angelo. He couldn't be seen talking to him, but if he could somehow slip him a message…

He reached in his pocket and rummaged around for something, but he hadn't even put a backup lipstick in his pocket that night. He looked around, and finally saw a clipboard and pencil sitting on one of the crates. He dashed for it and scratched out a quick message before stuffing it into his pocket and helping one of the men with another crate.

He waited for an opportunity to get a second with Angelo where Tetrazzini wasn't watching him, but just when he thought he had found it, planning on stuffing the note into the man's pocket as he passed, Tetrazzini appeared out of nowhere.

"Abbacchio, a quick word?"

Abbacchio effected nonchalance but knew he was in trouble as Tetrazzini led him around the side of the container out of sight of the other men.

Abbacchio couldn't even get a word in before Tetrazzini buried a fist into his stomach and shoved him up against the container face-first. Stars burst behind Abbacchio's eyes and he barely got a breather before Tetrazzini slammed a fist into his lower back then used it to press him hard against the container, rummaging through his pockets before he found the note.

"Cute. But stupid."

Abbacchio growled, but barely got a breather before Tetrazzini slammed a knee up between his legs, then again for good measure.

Abbacchio's eyes rolled as he gasped for breath. Tetrazzini stepped back suddenly and Abbacchio's legs gave out. Once he was on his knees the other Stand user buried his foot several times into Abbacchio's stomach and ribs.

"Try anything like that again and I'll use bullets next time."

Abbacchio gagged, curling an arm around his aching stomach. Tetrazzini grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him upright. "Get up and get back to work before they get suspicious."

Abbacchio staggered to his feet, gritting his teeth. He almost decked Tetrazzini right there, but the man was already walking away.

Abbacchio spat on the ground and stumbled after him, trying not to make it too obvious that he had just been assaulted.

He needed to figure something out quickly. They were running out of time.

The pain that assaulted him all of a sudden left Bucciarati gasping for breath, eyes wide in shock. And it just kept getting worse, centered around his stomach and groin.

Mascarpone watched him with a sneer. "Looks like your dog isn't playing along, Bucciarati."

Bucciarati gritted his teeth, biting back a groan as he glowered up at Mascarpone. "You know, this whole elaborate plot of yours—it made me think you were smart, cunning. But really you're just an idiot."

Mascarpone's face twitched. "And why would you say that?"

"Because you still think you can get away with this," Bucciarati turned to the side and spat, saliva still slightly tinted with blood. "By tomorrow you'll be a fugitive if not dead. La Squadra will undoubtedly be sent out. We were only here for information gathering to figure out where your money was coming from. I didn't see the books, but I would guess that your profit comes from overseas sales since there hasn't been an increase of anything locally. So, what is it? Drugs? Guns? Or have you gone into the flesh trade?"

Mascarpone set down the glass of wine he had been drinking. "I'm just a business man, Bucciarati. I'm no worse than anyone else in Passione."

"That's not the point," Bucciarati snapped. "The point is that you betrayed the Boss's trust. You betrayed the famiglia, and you'll be excommunicated as such."

"Stupid boy," Mascarpone spat suddenly, pushing away from the table he had been leaning against to come and stand in front of Bucciarati. "You're still so naïve to think that Passione is all powerful? They only pretend to be because they flaunt power. But soon I'll be creating my own empire. You have no idea what I've set up here. Polpo, Pericolo, and the other Capos are of the old school of running things and it will be their downfall. I have modified my business to change with the times. Giving people what they really want. Anyone is welcome to join me if they would like. Even you, Bucciarati."

Bucciarati's lip curled. "I'd rather die than betray the famiglia for the likes of you. You're exactly what I joined Passione to fight against."

Mascarpone gave him a hard look. "Then you are indeed more foolish than I thought." He glanced at his watch. "They're taking a while. Why don't we give Abbacchio some incentive."

Mascarpone motioned to one of the bodyguards that flanked Bucciarati. "The shoulder should be good enough."

Bucciarati's eyes widened as he watched the man take out his pistol and level it at his shoulder.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space but the pain that tore through his shoulder was worse. Bucciarati let out a hoarse scream, curling forward against his restraints.

Mascarpone stepped forward and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back up.

"Let that be a lesson, Bucciarati. No one gets anywhere in this life without spilling a little blood."

Abbacchio was just setting another crate into the transport vehicle when pain ripped through his shoulder and he dropped it the last few inches, unable to completely bite back the cry of surprise.

"Hey, what the hell?" Angelo demanded. "Are you okay?"

Abbacchio grabbed his shoulder, unable to help himself as he gritted his teeth. "Yeah, fine, I just…"

"Is your injury flaring up again?" Tetrazzini appeared at his side in an instant. "I told you should shouldn't be lifting this stuff. It's not completely healed yet."

"You didn't tell me you were injured," Angelo said in concern. "The rest of us have got this, why don't you go sit this out?"

Abbacchio gritted his teeth, but couldn't really protest. Tetrazzini followed him over to a pile of crates where Abbacchio took a seat, pulling his shirt aside to look at his shoulder. It wasn't bleeding, but it was black and blue like it had been completely mangled.

"Looks like the boss is getting a little impatient," Tetrazzini said.

Either that or Bucciarati had pissed him off, Abbacchio thought wryly. "They can only move the crates so quickly," he reminded.

Tetrazzini folded his arms across his chest and turned back toward the container where the men were loading the last crate. "Looks like they're done now. Go give them the address so I can call it in to the boss."

Abbacchio pushed himself to his feet again and took the paper from his pocket. Tetrazzini grabbed his wrist, inspecting the paper closely before he nodded, shoving Abbacchio forward. "Remember. No funny business or I go for the legs next."

Abbacchio growled but headed back over to Angelo. "Here's the address for this shipment," he said, handing the paper over. "Thanks for the help."

Angelo nodded. "Sure thing. See you tomorrow as usual?"

"Yeah," Abbacchio said. If he survived that long.

They watched Angelo and the others finish loading the truck and set off to take the shipment to Mascarpone's warehouse.

That was when Abbacchio made his move. He spun and slammed his fist into the side of Tetrazzini's face, surprising the man before he rushed forward and leapt toward the back of the truck. Just as he was about to grab onto it, though, a gunshot ricocheted and he dashed to the side instead, cursing, as he rolled behind a container. Well, plan A failed, but in reality, if he had run, Tetrazzini probably would have just called Mascarpone and killed both of them. Plan B was always a better option.

So Abbacchio pushed himself to his feet and rushed between the containers and equipment as Tetrazzini pursued him. He didn't send off any more shots, but Abbacchio could hear him swearing as he tried to keep track of him between the containers.

Abbacchio came to a skidding stop as he reached the canal, staring down at the long drop to the dark water below. He could risk it, but he would rather take his chances by taking Tetrazzini out. If he injured himself in the fall, he didn't want Bucciarati to have to experience second hand drowning. That would be a nice fuck you after everything else.

"Thinking of jumping? I wouldn't."

Abbacchio turned to see Tetrazzini standing behind him with his gun out, but held nonchalantly at his side as if he wasn't at all worried about Abbacchio escaping. "That was a stupid move you pulled back there. You know I could shoot you right now and poor Bucciarati will die back at the mansion."

"Yeah, I've heard your spiel," Abbacchio grunted, gritting his teeth. "But you're overconfident. Your Stand sucks ass. You can't use it for combat, it's only good for what—hostage negotiations? Manipulation? Did you have a beg a job from Mascarpone because the rest of Passione didn't think you were worth having around?"

Tetrazzini's face twitched and he brought the gun up. "Shut up, you piece of shit, you're just as useless! At least I wasn't some disgraced cop who got my partner killed! Looks like you're going to continue that trend tonight unless you shut your damn mouth!"

Abbacchio smirked, split lip reopening and painting his teeth red. "Try it. I'm not done yet, asshole, and neither is Bucciarati. Your boss, though? He's finished. And so are you."

Tetrazzini snarled and brought the gun up.

"Moody Blues!"

Abbacchio's Stand appeared behind the man and kicked the backs of his knees out. Tetrazzini cried out, staggering as he let off a wild shot.

Abbacchio barreled in, tackling the man all the way to the ground as he slammed a fist into his face. Tetrazzini struggled, trying to buck Abbacchio off, but Abbacchio was slightly bigger and stronger than the other man. He grappled with his gun, but he was at a disadvantage as soon as Tetrazzini slammed a fist into his injured shoulder.

Abbacchio yelled in pain, faltering for just a second. Long enough for Tetrazzini to try and regain control on his gun.

He didn't quite get there, accidently kicking it out of Abbacchio's hand to skitter across the ground instead.

Tetrazzini swore, kicking Abbacchio back before he made a dive for it.

But Abbacchio brought out Moody Blues again and had his Stand kick the gun back toward him.

He caught it and staggered to his feet, leveling it at Tetrazzini.

"I'm guessing the bond only works as long as the Stand user is still alive, correct?" Abbacchio asked darkly.

Tetrazzini's eyes widened and he looked like he was about to bolt, but Abbacchio didn't even bother hesitating. He got off two shots and then added a third for good measure.

Tetrazzini collapsed limply on the docks, blood pooling around him, eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky.

Abbacchio grunted as he felt something tugging at his chest and he opened his shirt to see the mark disappearing. He breathed a sigh of relief and tucked the gun away before glancing over at Moody Blues who still stood beside him.

"I guess we make a pretty good tag team," he admitted.

His Stand made a pleased sounding whirr before dissipating.

Abbacchio turned back to Tetrazzini and riffled in his pockets until he found the car keys and a phone. Then he raced back to where they had parked and jumped in the car, dialing the number for their apartment.

Fugo picked up almost instantly. "Hello?"

"Kid, it's me," Abbacchio said, wincing as he turned the car one-handed, peeling out of the shipyard.

"Where the hell have you been? Are you two all right?" Fugo demanded.

"It was a trap, Mascarpone still has Bucciarati, so listen, you gotta alert the rest of the organization. Tell them Mascarpone is trying to do an arms deal and he has a bunch of illegal weapons heading to this address." He recited the address that had been on the paper he'd handed off to Angelo. "I'm going back to the mansion to get Bruno out of there."

He knew Fugo would be pissed that he hung up, but he trusted the kid to know what to do. His only concern at the moment was getting back to the mansion before Mascarpone figured out the gig was up.

Mascarpone sat smoking a cigar, the smoke cloying in the close quarters of the cellar. Bucciarati tried not to cough as he sat, slumped, in the chair. His clothes were tacky with dried blood and there was no comfortable position with his injured shoulder and the restraints. It would be easy enough to use Sticky Fingers to untie himself, but bullets were faster and if he got shot then so would Abbacchio. And they might not aim for the shoulder this time.

Mascarpone glanced at his watch, a furrow on his brow. Bucciarati noticed and took some pleasure in his impatience.

"I'm guessing they should have checked in by now?" he quipped.

Mascarpone glowered at him. "Don't be cute. You really think I'm going to let you live after everything you've seen? Tetrazzini had orders to dump Abbacchio in the canal after he was finished. If you're lucky he'll do it with a headshot so you don't have to drown too."

"I think you underestimate Abbacchio," Bucciarati said at the same moment he felt a flare of pain in his shoulder. Blood dripped from it again and he shifted slightly, several other spots on his body flaring with pain. He honestly didn't know whether that was good or bad.

"I make it a point not to underestimate anyone. However, I also think you're too soft to cut it in this business. Too many principals cloud your judgement, Bucciarati."

"That's where you're wrong," Bruno said, glancing up at him. "My compassion and pity ends with the innocent. I feel little remorse taking out the scum in this city. I'm no saint, Mascarpone. None of us can claim to be. But sometimes the bad have to step up to protect the good from those worse than us, and that is where I choose to stand."

Something tugged on his chest, a slightly burning sensation, and he cast his eyes briefly down seeing, not another wound appear but instead the symbol dissipating. He let out a silent exhale and turned back to Mascarpone, new confidence overcoming him.

The man sneered but finally turned to one of his men. "Call Tetrazzini and see what the hell is taking him so long."

The man nodded and pulled out his phone, stepping away. Bucciarati called out Sticky Fingers. Without any other Stand users around, no one would be able to see what he was doing before it was too late.

"Boss, the signal is busy."

"Try again!" Mascarpone snapped.

The guard dialed the number again, but shook his head after a few minutes. "He's not picking up."

"This is ridiculous," Mascarpone snapped and turned to the other guard. "Watch him, I'll be back." He snapped his fingers at the guard with the phone and the two of them left the cellar.

Perfect.

Bucciarati allowed his Stand to free him, unzipping the ropes easily enough.

The remaining guard turned to him in shock, but Sticky Fingers was behind him before he could reach for his gun and unzipped both of his arms and legs, leaving the man to fall on the ground in pieces, a shocked cry escaping his lips.

Bruno staggered to his feet, body still aching, head spinning, but he was alive, and he wasn't going to get Abbacchio killed if he screwed up now. He bent to retrieve the gun from the man's holster and ignored his shocked stare as he turned and made his way up the stairs.

He could hear Mascarpone on the phone in his office and crept closer, gun held at his side, Sticky Fingers rippling just under his skin, albeit a little more weakly than usual.

"No, I'm telling you, something doesn't feel right. Get down to the docks now and send someone to the warehouse," Mascarpone snapped before there was the sound of him punching in another number on the phone. "Rossi? Yeah, call Canali. You two might want to lay low for a while…. I don't know yet, I'm trying to figure that out!"

He slammed the phone down and turned to the other bodyguard who was in the office with him.

"Tell Ricci to end him now. We need to clean this up as quickly as possible."

The guard stepped out of the office, only to be met with Sticky Fingers who instantly decapitated him.

The man's head and body fell separately, eyes surprised and staring at the wall as Bucciarati stepped forward.

"I think Ricci will find that a difficult task to complete," Bucciarati said.

Mascarpone stared at him with a blank expression. "Perhaps I did underestimate you after all."

"It's over, Mascarpone," Bucciarati told him firmly. "I'm sure Abbacchio has already alerted the famiglia about your betrayal." He pulled his collar open to show nothing but his own tattoos where the mark from Rainbow Connection should have been. "Even if you kill me now, you won't be stopping anything."

Mascarpone held his hands out. "So what now; do you kill me?"

"Execution is the only thing in your future," Bucciarati told him. "But I also think you deserve to have your say in front of the other capos."

Mascarpone snorted. "So, what? You take me in and they torture me for information? You want to know who else is in this? I'm not going to talk."

Bucciarati pressed his lips together firmly. "It's possible the Boss will consider exile if you agree to reveal the rest of your associates. We already have a dossier on those suspected of working with you. I doubt all of them would be so tight-lipped if tracked down and put in the same position."

Mascarpone gritted his teeth. "You're an insufferable little bastard. I'm sorry I didn't kill you when I had the chance."

Bucciarati stared at him balefully. "You won't consider a deal, then?"

"I'm dead anyway, aren't I?"

Bucciarati shrugged. "Then I suppose your fate has been decided."

Abbacchio screeched to a stop in front of the house. Their back-up didn't seem to have gotten here yet, but that wasn't going to stop him. Abbacchio raced to the door, Tetrazzini's gun in hand. He realized he didn't know how many bullets it had left but he was going to make them count no matter what.

He was surprised to find the door unlocked and reminded himself to proceed with caution, listening for the sounds of a fight. A sudden terror overcame him when he thought about the possibility that no one was even here anymore. That maybe Mascarpone had fled, taking Bucciarati with him—or simply killing him before he left.

But Abbacchio had to believe his leader was smarter than that, and, sure enough, he could hear voices further inside the mansion, coming from the direction of Mascarpone's office.

"You won't consider a deal?" Bucciarati's voice.

"I'm dead anyway, aren't I?"

"Then I suppose your fate has been decided."

Abbacchio came into view, seeing Bucciarati standing in the doorway of the office, facing Mascarpone. There was a beheaded bodyguard in the hallway and Abbacchio stepped over the body to stand beside Bucciarati, leveling his own gun at Mascarpone.

"Sorry it took me so long to get back," Abbacchio muttered blandly.

Bucciarati glanced at him. "You got here just in time." He turned back to Mascarpone motioning to the desk with his gun. "First of all, I'd like that accounts books back."

Mascarpone glowered, but raised his hands in seeming defeat and moved around his desk. Bucciarati and Abbacchio stepped further into the office, guns still trained on him.

Mascarpone opened the drawer and pulled out the book, tossing it onto the desk. "Here. Happy?"

Bucciarati lowered his gun and reached out to take the book, flipping it open.

It was that moment of distraction that had Mascarpone making his move.

Abbacchio saw him the instant his hand went back into the drawer. He fired, but there was only an unsatisfying click. Empty!

Bucciarati's hand went for his own gun, but it would be too late. It was always too late. That night back in the dark store flashed in front of Abbacchio's eyes. His hesitation, the gunshot, his partner falling limply on the ground in front of him…

So Abbacchio did the only thing he could as Mascarpone raised his gun and fired off a shot.

He jumped in front of Bucciarati.

A numbing impact slammed into his back, and for a second all he could focus on as he fell forward were Bucciarati's wide eyes.

"Leone," Bucciarati breathed, catching him, hand pressing against the wet, warm spot on his back.

Abbacchio choked back the blood bubbling up in his throat. "'M so'rry," he gulped before he collapsed, full weight supported by Bucciarati, while at the same time, still acting as a shield for him.

"Sticky Fingers!"

The too-distant shout preceded an inhuman scream before it was cut short by a sudden gurgle, and there was the sound of heavy chunks hitting the ground.

They both fell heavily, Abbacchio's knees giving out.

"God, Abbacchio, don't do this," Bucciarati was pleading with him. "Stay with me! Hey!" He slapped him across the face but Abbacchio no longer had the strength to respond. So Bucciarati simply cradled Abbacchio's head against his chest, his other hand pressing firmly to the wound. Abbacchio could feel an uncomfortable tugging there, forcing the wound together.

"Stay with me, Abbacchio! That's an order, dammit!"

Part of him wanted to obey, but he was just so tired. He couldn't stop his eyes from sliding shut and drifting off to someplace the pain couldn't touch him.

Abbacchio couldn't tell where he was when he started to regain consciousness, and that was a feeling he hadn't been used to for a while. There was pain lurking there in the light and he wasn't really looking forward to greeting it again. However, he could tell that he was otherwise comfortable, dry, warm, so he wasn't left out in some back alley or anything. That was a plus.

He decided to try and open his eyes and if he didn't like it, he could always seek out unconsciousness again.

He peeled his eyes open and was instantly assaulted by too much light. He squeezed his eyes shut again and groaned, trying to reach up to cover them but his hands were heavy.

"Abbacchio?"

The voice was familiar but he couldn't quite place it. He had a feeling it wouldn't stop bothering him until he opened his eyes though, so he did, and a dark head and blue eyes filtered in, leaning forward eagerly.

"Bucc…rati," Abbacchio managed, tongue heavy. His mouth was also dry he realized as he tried to lick his chapped lips.

There was a sigh of relief, and the figure shifted. Bucciarati reached toward a side table and leaned forward, pressing a straw to Abbacchio's lips.

"Drink," he said.

Abbacchio took the straw in his mouth and took several sips, feeling the cool water wash over his insides, taking away a lingering metallic taste.

They weren't in the apartment, he noticed. Obviously, they were in a hospital. Because he had almost died.

When he'd had his share, he lay back with his eyes closed for a minute before he felt brave enough to open then again. By the light coming in from the windows, it was about mid-morning. He wasn't sure if it was the consecutive day or not, though.

"How long?" he croaked.

Bucciarati frowned. "It was just last night," he said. "How do you feel?"

Abbacchio swallowed, taking stock of his body. He knew he had been given a heavy dose of painkillers, but there was still a slight tug of pain centered under his right shoulder blade every time he took a moderately deep breath.

"Like shit," he finally said.

Bucciarati didn't look amused, simply sat there with dark circles under his eyes only adding to his already bruised face as if he hadn't slept at all. He probably hadn't.

"What about you?" Abbacchio asked.

"I'll be fine," Bucciarati replied quickly, tiredly, as he played with the edge of the sling that was currently keeping his injured shoulder still.

"Bullshit."

"I didn't get shot in the back."

"No, you didn't because I took the bullet for you," Abbacchio found himself saying before he could stop himself. He didn't really have the energy for this conversation right now, but they might as well get it over with, especially when they were both probably more inclined to be honest.

"You should not have done that, Abbacchio," Bucciarati said firmly. "If the others hadn't showed up when they did…" He trailed off and shook his head, jaw so tight, Abbacchio thought he could hear his bones creaking. "You could have died."

"It was better me than you," Abbacchio told him sincerely.

"No, it wasn't!" Bucciarati snapped, voice rising as anger flared up over his face. "Don't say that!"

"Why not?" Abbacchio sighed tiredly. "It's true."

"No one's life is worth more than another—especially mine," Bucciarati added before looking away, clenching his hands in his lap.

That pissed Abbacchio off more than he thought it would. "Why the hell do you value your life so little?" he demanded. "You're the one who insisted that life was worth living when I was at my lowest, can't you take your own fucking advice once in a while?"

"It's not like that, it's my job to see to the well-being of my team first," Bucciarati gritted out. "My own life doesn't come into the equation."

"That's not how the rest of us see it, don't you get it?" Abbacchio's lungs tightened, the pain flaring up again and he had to stop to take a several shallow breaths to try and calm himself down. "Why the hell are you so bent of self-destruction?"

"I'm not. I told you it wasn't like that."

"Then why the hell are we not allowed to protect you, Bucciarati?"

"Because I…" Bucciarati hesitated, mouth wavering, before he pressed it closed and tried again. "Because I hate it when people get hurt for my sake. There's nothing that feels worse than that. And this is the second time I've had to sit in a hospital while someone I cared about was in surgery not knowing whether they would make it."

His hands clenched in his lap and he looked away.

"It was…my father was attacked by drug dealers when I was thirteen. The only reason he even came into contact with them is because he started to take tourists out on his boat for extra money. Extra money for me, because he wanted me to have an education. If it wasn't for me, he never would have been out there in the first place." He swallowed hard and Abbacchio watched, heart sinking further as he could see Bucciarati's lips trembling. "He died last year. Never fully recovered from the injuries. I know I can't afford to have these kinds of sentiments in this line of work but I can't…" he paused, voice choked. "I can't help it. Sometimes I just feel this crushing guilt. It's not the people I kill in the line of duty, it's the collateral. The innocents that lose their lives when I screw up. That feeling only increases tenfold when it's someone close to me."

Abbacchio watched him for a long second as Bucciarati tried not to fall apart. This was a side of him he rarely saw, the carefully cultivated mask cracking, leaving behind the raw, ugly, pieces underneath. This was a Bucciarati Abbacchio could relate to.

"I'm sorry, Bruno," he said. The more familiar name felt a bit strange on his tongue, but it just seemed too formal to call this version of the man Bucciarati. "I didn't know about your father."

"I didn't tell you," Bruno replied simply.

"For the record, he sounded like a good man."

"He was."

They were silent for a long moment before Abbacchio took a deep breath and continued. "I do understand where you're coming from, you know. More than you think. It's not easy to watch someone take a bullet for you, and I'm sorry I put you through that. But if it came down to it, I'd do it again."

Bucciarati sighed, eyes fluttering shut briefly. "I must seem ungrateful."

"A little," Abbacchio quipped.

There was a slight upturn to one side of Bucciarati's mouth. "I'm not, though. To know that someone cares enough to give their life for me…I don't know how to process that."

"You don't have to," Abbacchio assured him, feeling a little self-conscious now. "Just accept that you have someone to watch your back. I know I do. It's only fair that I repay the favor. After all, you already saved my life." He wet his lips. "You're the only one who was willing to take a chance on me when I thought my life was over. I still don't know how to process that either, but I appreciate it. Even if I still think you're dumb for taking that chance with me."

"I may be dumb about some things, but I like to think I have a good judge of human character," Bucciarati replied, sitting up a little straighter. "And it seems I was right."

Abbacchio snorted, but luckily the pain meds kept him from feeling the embarrassment he likely would have otherwise.

There was a knock on the door and they both looked up to see Fugo peek his head in.

"Oh good, you're both looking a lot better," he said as he came into the room, casting a relieved glance at Abbacchio.

"I'd hate to see what I looked like before then," Abbacchio muttered.

"How is everything progressing?" Bruno asked Fugo.

The young teen folded his arms over his chest. "The Capos and the Boss have been informed about the situation. Currently, every known associate of Mascarpone is being rounded up and questioned. I would say this will probably be seen to by the end of the week."

Bucciarati nodded. "Keep me up to date as things progress."

"Of course," Fugo said, before his brows lowered. "I believe you promised you would sleep."

Bucciarati sighed, glancing over to the second bed in the room somewhat sheepishly. "I was waiting for your report."

"Well, you have it, and Abbacchio seems to be doing fine, so you really should rest now. I'm not leaving until you get in that bed."

Bucciarati gave the teen a look of fond exasperation as Abbacchio openly smirked. Bucciarati pushed himself stiffly from the chair, and glanced down at Abbacchio.

"Do you need anything else?"

Abbacchio shook his head tiredly. "No, I'm just going to take the opportunity to get a drug-induced sleep now that everything's over."

Bucciarati gave a small smile. "Thank you, Leone," he said quietly, and there was true sincerity in his eyes that was both thanks and apology.

He then finally made his way to the other bed under Fugo's watchful eye and sank down, letting out a soft groan. Fugo pulled the blanket over him.

"I'll be back later," he promised. "Try not to break out of here before then."

Bucciarati grunted, and Fugo turned to wave briefly to Abbacchio before he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Abbacchio closed his eyes with a soft exhale. Bucciarati seemed to already be nearly asleep and Abbacchio let the sound of his even breathing lull him back into sleep himself.

He was under no delusion that this life would be easy, but he didn't really care about that. Knowing you had a famiglia who cared about you was all that he ever asked for and as long as he knew he had a place among a chosen few, then he was sure that he could find contentment in that.