Chapter Two
Abbacchio fought the urge to struggle. He didn't know what Caruso's Stand power actually was, but if it kept them from going much farther than the building, there wasn't much point in running. As much as he hated it, it was better to comply and have time to figure out a plan, than to rush in and just get himself shot.
He wasn't sure Giorno would agree, but the kid didn't exactly have a choice at the moment either.
Abbacchio was seething. This was all the brat's fault. Why couldn't he have just let Abbacchio take the lead? This wouldn't have happened if Giorno hadn't provoked the bastard.
Once they were back inside the warehouse, they were taken down a flight of stairs toward the basement floor.
This was where everything seemed to be happening. They passed through several different rooms, a kitchen, and a cafeteria area, until they got to a large spot that had a lot of gym equipment in it and several more toughs who Abbacchio presumed were the fighters.
"Gentlemen, come greet the new recruits," Caruso said, waving his hand behind him at Abbacchio and Giorno.
A mountain of a man stood up from where he had been bench-pressing 200lbs easily and sneered. "You've gotta be joking, Boss. This kid is one of your new recruits?"
"He'll make for good entertainment," Caruso smirked. "The customers like to see a bloodbath every once in a while."
Abbacchio yanked against his captors again and this time they actually released him, Giorno too.
"Well, boys? Are you going to give them our traditional greeting?"
The fighters started to form a ring around Abbacchio and Giorno, cracking their knuckles. There were at least eight of them—were they meant to fight all of them at once?
"This is your debut performance," Caruso told his captives. "Your audition, if you will, so show me what you've got."
The fighters pressed in and Abbacchio could see Giorno's Stand aura out of the corner of his eye.
"Oh, and…" Caruso said, pulling out a gun and leveling it at Giorno's head. "Stands are not allowed here. If you use one I'll put a bullet between your pretty eyes."
Giorno glowered at him, but retracted his Stand. Abbacchio cursed under his breath.
"Hope you can fight, kid," he muttered.
Giorno pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn't get the chance to answer before they were literally set upon by all the fighters at once.
Abbacchio fell instinctively into a crouch, hands coming up in defense. He deflected the first blow and slammed a fist into one of the men's noses, causing him to stagger back. A well-aimed stomp to another's instep and he had enough time to block another blow before he took one to the shoulder.
He wasn't exactly polished, but he could usually hold his own in a fight. He'd been in countless bar brawls, which had taught him to fight dirty to win, and thanks to sparring sessions with Bucciarati, he'd worked on his stance and footwork more.
Going up against this many trained fighters at once though, he was out of his league. His short window of advantage quickly disappeared and soon he was taking more blows than he was returning. A particularly brutal, meaty fist to the side of the head, had him staggering to the side, cheek numb and seeing stars.
As much trouble as he was having though, Giorno seemed to be having an even worse time of it. Abbacchio caught several flashes of him out of the corner of his eye. Giorno's stance was crap, and though he was quick, he had little to no weight behind his punches, leaving them pretty much useless against opponents who were, at the least, twice his weight.
He went down pretty quickly and Abbacchio could only watch him receive two brutally punishing kicks to the stomach before he had to step in, slamming his knee up into one of his opponents' groins to give himself time to get over to the kid and stand over him while Giorno stupidly tried to get up.
"Come on, brat, do I have to do everything?" Abbacchio grunted, grabbing the back of Giorno's coat and hauling him to his feet.
Caruso stepped forward. "That's enough, boys. I've seen what I need to."
The fighters instantly stepped back, leaving Abbacchio and Giorno standing there as Caruso strode toward them.
Abbacchio gritted his teeth against the pain singing in his body, glancing briefly sideways at Giorno. Kid looked awful, swaying on his feet, clothes ripped. He slowly reached up to wipe blood from under his nose on the back of his hand.
Caruso snorted. "As I suspected, you like to talk big, but you're just what you look like. An upstart brat who thinks he's too good for everyone else."
Giorno glowered at him but it was half-hearted. He looked pretty pitiful.
"You, on the other hand, have some potential," Caruso told Abbacchio. "I can tell you're mean, I like that. We don't have rules once you get into the ring unless I specifically tell you to do something. The audience likes a man who doesn't pull punches."
Abbacchio spat a gob of blood on the floor. "Yeah, I can tell. You've got nothing but a bunch of glorified bruisers here."
One of the fighters sneered, stepping forward with his fists clenched, but Caruso held up a hand to keep him back.
"Think you'll fit right in then, Abbacchio," Caruso said with a knowing smirk.
Abbacchio glowered, slightly unnerved that Caruso had known who he was the whole time, but he shook it off.
Caruso nodded to one of the fighters who stepped forward, rubbing his knuckles. "This is my head fighter, Drago. When I'm not here, you'll take orders from him."
The man nodded to Caruso who clapped him on the shoulder. "Show them to the dormitories so they can get cleaned up."
Drago grunted, jerking his head to one side to indicate Abbacchio and Giorno follow him. They did so warily, discovering that off the gym there was another large room with cheap looking beds set up in rows.
"Showers are over there," Drago grunted, pointing. "There's some clothes in that closet that don't belong to anyone in particular so just pick something that fits. There's bandages and medical supplies in there as well. We don't have a medic so you'll have to deal with any injuries yourself."
He stopped at the back corner and pointed to a couple bunks. "You'll sleep here."
"Great," Abbacchio grunted as he looked as the stained sheets.
"As for rules," Drago said darkly. "Like Caruso said, I'm in charge of the fighters, you do what I tell you. Meals are three times a day—you miss it you don't eat. You fight when you're told to fight and otherwise you can do what you want as long as you stay out of other people's business. That mark on your shoulder means you physically can't leave this place so don't even try it, you wouldn't like to find out what happens. Oh, and, you're Stand users, right?"
"What's that to you?" Abbacchio grunted.
Drago snorted. "Nothing. It doesn't mean anything here. Unless you try to use them, then you'll be severely punished. Understand?"
Abbacchio just glowered at him, pissed off at this whole situation. Drago glared back, and finally snorted.
"Go clean up. Oh, and kid," he reached out and grabbed Giorno's disheveled braid, giving it a rough yank. "You might want to lose the pretty hair."
Giorno pulled away. "Thank you, but I think I'll keep it."
"Your funeral," Drago grunted and left the dormitory, leaving them alone for the time being.
Abbacchio sighed and went over to the cupboard where Drago had said the first aid stuff was. He pulled it open, finding stacks of clothes and a large first aid kit. He rummaged through the clothes, wrinkling his nose before he pulled out a tank top and a pair of black pants that would fit.
"Here," he tossed the first aid kit toward Giorno who caught it a bit clumsily. "I'll try to find something clean to fit you."
Giorno slumped down on the cot, opening the kit and rummaging through it.
"How long do you think it will take the others to figure out what happened to us?" Giorno asked.
Abbacchio huffed. "Hopefully not long." He glowered at the pile of clothes, not sure if he would even be able to find anything to fit the skinny kid among the offerings.
He finally pulled out some pants that would probably fit and grabbed the smallest shirt, turning back to Giorno who was attempting to rub blood from his face but was mostly just smearing it everywhere. Abbacchio sighed, tossing the clothes onto the cot next to him and heading into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it before he came back out.
"Here, your face is a mess," he grunted.
Giorno sheepishly accepted the damp towel, having an easier time of getting the blood off with it.
"You know the point of fighting is to not block everything with your face, right?"
"Yes, I'm aware," Giorno replied stiffly, rubbing some blood from his chest that had dripped from his nose.
Abbacchio grabbed a wet towel for himself too, yanking his coat off before checking over his bruises. He hurt, but there was nothing too bad. The inside of his mouth was cut up but he hadn't lost any teeth. He spit into the sink before reaching behind him and feeling the strange brand on his shoulder. There weren't any mirrors in the shower room though, so he huffed an annoyed breath and went back out to Giorno, after putting on his clean clothes.
The kid looked a little better with most of the blood cleaned off at least, though he would have some pretty impressive bruises. Abbacchio pointed at his shoulder. "Can I see it?"
Giorno's eyes shot up quickly, shoulders stiffening before Abbacchio rolled his eyes, clarifying, "The brand. I can't see mine."
"Oh, yes," Giorno murmured and carefully unzipped his coat, pulling it down over one shoulder, barely revealing the brand.
Abbacchio huffed and reached out to grab his collar, pulling it further down. "Come on, kid, you're gonna have to get past being shy here…" he trailed off as he felt Giorno freeze completely, and realized that he had revealed more than just the brand—where the hell had the kid gotten those scars on his back?
He quickly swallowed down his surprise. It wasn't any of his business anyway. Instead, he poked the brand, seeing that it was slightly raised flesh in a circle with a TATR inscribed inside.
"Huh, must be his Stand name," Abbacchio mused.
Giorno swallowed hard before he turned around, using that as an excuse to pull away and slip his coat back on. "Can I see yours?"
Abbacchio huffed, pulling his hair out of the way so Giorno could see the mark on his shoulder.
"I wonder how far the range is," Giorno mused.
"I'm guessing however far Caruso wants. He apparently doesn't have to be here for it to be affective so it might be some kind of automatic ranged Stand with a set location. I don't think it's a good idea to try and run out the door to find out what happens though."
Giorno nodded in agreement and picked up the clean clothes, looking at them balefully. He sighed and finally started to pull his coat off, pointedly keeping his back turned away from Abbacchio. Abbacchio pressed his lips together and turned away to dig through the first aid stuff, leaving Giorno a little privacy. The thought of those scars and the likelihood of there only being more was still rattling around in his head though. The ones he had seen didn't look fresh. They looked like they far predated his joining Passione so they obviously weren't something he'd gotten in a fight.
Which only left one conclusion and one that Abbacchio didn't want to think about.
He pulled out some band-aids for the kid's face and turned back around as Giorno was trying to keep the sweatpants around his hips.
"God, kid, can you be scrawnier?" Abbacchio snipped.
Giorno's cheeks reddened slightly. Abbacchio sighed, feeling a little bad. After all, he'd been pretty scrawny at that age too. He rummaged through the first aid bag again and pulled out needle and thread. "Here."
Giorno took it gratefully and started to take in the seams on the pants. The shirt was also too loose but it at least looked like it would stay on.
When Giorno was done sewing his pants, Abbacchio pulled out the bandaids. "Here," he muttered, taping a couple to the still oozing cuts on Giorno's face. He sat there passively, looking even more pitiful with the bandaids covering his cheek and forehead.
"Look, I know you think it's my fault this happened," Giorno finally said, all in one breath. "But, we had to investigate."
Abbacchio huffed in annoyance. Yeah, maybe he did blame the kid, but at the same time, he wasn't so petty as to think that this wouldn't have happened even if Giorno hadn't taunted Caruso. "Look, kid, could you have handled this whole situation better? Hell yes. But this ended up being way bigger than we expected. No one's really to blame here." He had to force the last words out, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. Maybe the sight of the kid getting the shit beat out of him had softened him just a little bit.
Giorno looked up, surprise on his face before it turned to a somewhat depressed expression.
"Next time though," Abbacchio added quickly, "If I tell you to let me handle something, let me handle it. I know you want to be the big bad Mafia boss, but you have to have a little diplomacy when dealing with bastards like Caruso. Take this as a lesson."
Giorno nodded silently, looking away, hands pressed between his knees as his shoulders hunched. Abbacchio cursed inwardly. Did the kid have to look this pitiful?
There was nothing to do here; all the fighters were still in the gym and Abbacchio definitely didn't want to go associate with them, so he started looking around the basement portion of the building.
It was actually quite extensive. In addition to the gym and dormitories, there was a mess room and kitchen as well as a couple other separate bedrooms that Abbacchio assumed were Drago's and maybe other privileged fighters.
He was just about to poke through some back rooms when he heard a bell ring and figured it was probably best to get back to the dormitory so he didn't get caught snooping. He hadn't been told not to, but figured it probably wouldn't be well received. He'd save that for another day.
Giorno was looking around when he got back to the dormitory, looking almost grateful when Abbacchio reappeared, still sitting on his bunk where Abbacchio had left him as the other fighters changed clothes and cleaned up.
"That's the dinner bell," one grunted to Abbacchio.
Giorno followed him as they went with the others toward the mess hall. Everyone formed a line, one of the fighters straight up shoving Giorno out of the way, knocking the kid back several steps.
"You wait your turn, whelp," he snarled. "You've barely earned the right to eat."
Giorno pressed his lips together, but waited behind the man, grabbing his tray when they got up to the line.
By the time they reached the man dishing out food, one of the other fighters pushed in front of Giorno again, knocking him back against Abbacchio. The goth grunted as Giorno stepped on his foot.
"I'll have seconds tonight," the fighter grinned at the cook as the man dished out another hefty helping onto his plate.
Abbacchio rolled his eyes. He thought he was done with the grade school bullshit.
Giorno finally extended his plate, getting a baleful look from the cook who slopped the food onto the tray instead of the plate on top of it. Giorno glanced down at it, opening his mouth as if to say something.
"What's wrong, you got your food didn't you, princess?" the cook snapped.
Giorno closed his mouth, jaw tight. "Yes, thank you."
"Get out of here then."
Giorno hurriedly headed toward one of the unoccupied tables and Abbacchio accepted his portion of the disgusting slop, eyes turned away from the kid for two seconds, when he heard a crash.
"Watch it!" one of the men growled.
Abbaccio glanced over with a sigh to see Giorno's tray of food on the ground, the fighters laughing at him as their companion made his way back for seconds.
Abbacchio rolled his eyes as Giorno bent to clean up the food with a napkin and silently turned back for more. The cook was already picking up the pot though.
"There ain't any left," he snapped.
Giorno bit his lip and hurriedly went to dispose of his tray before taking a seat at the unoccupied table.
Abbacchio made his way toward him, slumping down before pushing his tray across the table to Giorno. The boy looked up in surprise.
"Take it," he grunted. "It's not like I want to eat this crap."
Giorno just stared at it before he glanced back up at Abbacchio. "You're sure?"
Abbacchio snorted. "You need it more than I do."
Giorno carefully picked up the fork, watching Abbacchio as if he would go back on his offer any second, but when he made no move, Giorno finally took a bite of the food (stew?) and made a slightly displeased face.
"You're not missing anything," he told Abbacchio.
Abbacchio fought back a smirk at that one. "I'm sure I'm not." He sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. "Look, you can't let them push you around. You need to stand up for yourself."
Giorno shrugged. "What good will it do? Without Gold, I actually can't hold my own against them, and they don't care that I'm the Don. It's easier just to not make trouble."
Abbaccio stared at him incredulously. "That sure as hell isn't the attitude you had when you were taunting Caruso earlier."
Giorno looked down, trailing the fork through the slop. "I still had the upper hand then—I thought. But I do know when it's better to stay quiet."
Abbacchio was unwillingly reminded of the scars he'd seen on Giorno's back and felt a little sick. He cursed inwardly and leaned across the table.
"Look, kid—"
"Gentlemen!"
Both Abbacchio and Giorno's heads snapped up to see Caruso standing in the doorway to the mess hall.
"There's going to be a fight tonight so get yourselves ready!" He walked over to Giorno and Abbacchio's table as well. "That means you too. We're gonna see what you can really do tonight."
Abbacchio caught the smirk in the man's voice and sighed heavily.
He was not looking forward to this.