Author's Note: Hello there and welcome to yet another JoJo fic. This one features Giorno Giovanna and takes place ten years after Vento Aurea but before Stone Ocean.


"Everything will be all right, little one."

Two golden orbs floated above him glowing softly through the darkness. Hands reached for him, but he was not afraid. When her powerful fingers went around his little body, they were strong but tender. The warmth of her palms seeped through his thin pajamas into his skin ceasing his trembling from the cold the threadbare blanket could not ward off. Carefully lifting him from his lonely crib, she placed him on her hip.

His fingers tangled into the softness of her sunflower yellow hair streaming down from her head like curls of ribbon. The dual circles of radiant light hovering over him were her auric eyes which looked into his with friendliness and pity. Her skin was so white it seemed to exude its own luminosity dispelling the darkness further.

"Angel," he mumbled in his little baby voice, pulling on the silken threads of her hair.

She chuckled, her lips as red as the petals of a rose stretched and lifted at the corners into a smile. Her hand stroked his head, smoothing down his black hair.

"I'm no angel, little one." She sighed heavily. Her eyes seemed to dim with sadness as her smile faded. "I'm quite the opposite actually."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"But I would never, ever, harm you," she promised, rubbing the tip of her nose across the round little bump of his nose.

"Angel, angel, angel," he babbled repeatedly making her laugh lightly again.

"Awww," she cooed, cradling his head in the crook of her neck while she embraced him.

Little Haruno squealed with delight. This feeling of being safe and secure - loved - was a foreign concept to him. One he had never felt from his own mother.

"You're a sweet boy. A good boy, Haruno Shiobana. You will be an amazing man some day and do great things," she prophesied over him.

Such a soft and kind voice. If only he could hear her just one more time with his own ears rather than inside of his head.

She was real. I know she was real and not just a phantom I made up in my head, Giorno reminded himself as he had so many times to believe he was not recalling a manufactured memory or a dream.

Giorno Giovanna sighed, pulling himself out of the past and back into the present. He brushed invisible lint from the shoulder of his black tuxedo as if to whisk away the remnants of the recollection.

"Are you sure you want to go to this tonight?" inquired his best friend and second in command, Guido Mista. "it's not too late to turn around and go back home."

"Yeah. I want to go. I was personally invited and should make an appearance," he replied, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Besides, it's a charity event for the orphanage."

"You could have just sent a check," Guido countered, his eyes flickering from the road to his friend. "You get invited to every event where someone wants a hand out. You're the most philanthropic mafioso in all of Italy."

"Philanthropic?" repeated Giorno, casting a sidelong glimpse at his friend. "Where did you learn such a big word?"

"Shut up," he muttered in return only slightly miffed by his boss's insult. "You know I read a lot."

"Yes, you do. How did you like that new book? I can't believe you read those kinds of romance novels."

"Eh, it's predictable. Boy meets girl, girl hates boy therefore he hates her in return and then somehow they fall love. It's stupid, but I like it."

"I kind of feel the same way about romance in general."

"Obviously," Guido muttered, turning the car onto the next street. "That's why you're twenty five and still single."

"Hmph," Giorno scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "You're even older than me and still single. Don't criticize."

"I'm not."

The usually nondescript two story square concrete building of the art gallery sat at the end of the street ahead of them. Tonight the building itself along with every tree and bush on the exterior was covered with millions of tiny lights that looked like a star had shattered and sprinkled over the premises. Shiny black cars lining the semicircular driveway reflected the lights as the occupants waited to be let out to walk up the actual red carpet laid over the stairs and leading to the open front glass doors of the building.

"Holy shit," Guido murmured, pulling up to wait their turn in line for the valet. "I can't believe there is such a big turn out."

"Apparently I'm not the only philanthropist in Naples," Giorno returned receiving a scathing side eye.

As expected, men wearing tuxedos and women wearing evening gowns, furs, and jewels, stepped out of the cars. It was as much a social event, if not more so, than a fundraiser.

Unlike many of them, Giorno did not come here to be seen. He came here to see, to seek possible allies as well as potential enemies, in addition to giving money to a good cause. Keeping a close eye on the people around him, both 'good' guys and 'bad,' had enabled him to take many strides toward his dream.

Once inside, they were immediately handed a glass of champagne and ushered into the first gallery that contained the permanent exhibits. Giorno worked his way through the rooms and people, greeting many, chit chatting with a few but not stopping to converse for any length of time.

Guido stayed with him at all times, only a few feet away except for the man became distracted by a beautiful woman. As much as he appreciated his friend and underboss, the man who had acted as his personal protector for many years now, it could became stifling and downright annoying to be hovered over and watched like a child.

"Mr. Giovanna," the gallery director greeted him warmly, offering him another glass of champagne. "So glad you could make it tonight."

"You know I wouldn't miss an opportunity to help the children," Giorno rejoined, taking the flute but not drinking the bubbling gold contents. He had already had three glasses.

"Yes, and that is exactly why I invited you," the man laughed heartily. "Thank you so much for being such a generous patron of my little gallery on a regular basis as well. Your donations have gone to fund art classes and buy supplies for those who would not otherwise be able to afford it."

"Glad to hear it. I do love to support the arts," he said, raising his glass in a one sided toast.

"Have you seen the special exhibit upstairs?" the gallery director asked, extending his arm in a flourish toward the wide staircase leading to the second floor.

"No, not yet."

Giorno glanced over his shoulder. Guido was engaged in conversation with a pretty brunette with a short hemline and long legs. The man never could resist a lovely lady for at least a friendly chat. He would take advantage of this opportunity and steal a blessed few minutes alone.

"But I think I will head up there now," he declared, thankful the man did not follow as he headed toward the stairs. He needed a break from talking and just wanted a moment to be quiet and think - to actually enjoy the art displays.

Like the first floor, the entire second floor was separated into different rooms, a specific themed gallery. He bypassed the rooms teeming with people. Miraculously, he found a small room with no people at all in it. He felt like he had discovered a haven, a quiet hideaway from the hubbub and hobnobbing.

Only a single painting was hung in this miniscule room that was more of a dead-end hallway. There were no lights except for a lone, dim bare bulb hanging from the ceiling on a long wire. The massive six feet tall by three feet wide canvas hung on the wall at the end of the long and narrow corridor like room. The background of the canvas was painted entirely black making it seem like the walls on either side were closing in on him. All he could see was that damn painting as if time and space and his own body no longer existed.

There were two ochre colored ovals vaguely resembling eyes with a vertical pupil in the middle of the desolate black expanse drawing him forward for a closer look. Lower on the painting there were two hands, the fingers reaching out but slightly curled in a beckoning gesture. His feet continued to shuffle forward while he stared at those grasping hands. He felt as if he was being pulled forward, the hyper realistic hands, the talon like nails painted ruby red, giving him the impression they might pop right out of the painting to grab him when he came close enough.

Giorno gulped to push down the lump forming in his throat. He recognized those eyes and hands. They were nothing to be afraid of, and he had found solace in both of them once.

What the hell is this?, he wondered, taking a step back. Why am I thinking about her after all these years? Why am I remembering a person I'm not even sure existed? Why is this happening? Is this the work of a Stand user?

He backed up another step, his eyes flickering back up to the strange luminescent yellow eyes. A pleasant sensation warmed him from head to toe as if warm water was being poured over his head. If there was a Stand or its user around, the feeling would not be so comforting.

"You're a sweet boy. A good boy, Haruno Shiobana. You will be an amazing man some day and do great things."

He jumped when the words of the past floated back to him so clearly he would swear he heard them spoken out loud. Backing away from the painting without taking his eyes off of those realistic hands straight from his memory, he held his breath until the suffocating little corridor opened back up into the bigger common area between the numerous rooms.

"What did you think of it?"

"What?" Giorno gasped, pivoting on the heel of his black Italian leather wingtip to see the woman who had asked the question.

Her straw colored hair had been swept back on the right side and secured against her head with a sequined barrette that looked like a peacock's tail. The rest cascaded over her shoulder and down her chest in a shimmering flow of spiral curls. It looked as soft and fluffy as cotton candy making him want to run his fingers through it.

She wore a strapless dress of a deep rich blue velvet, so dark it was almost black. The fabric clung to her hour glass shape all the way to the floor. She wore shoes with pencil thin sky high heels and a single strap of diamond like jewels across her toes. Her toenails were painted a blood red color. Her fingernails were short and square but free of nail polish.

When his eyes moved back up to her face, her crimson lips lifted at the corners into a smile. Her amber eyes gleamed when they met his.

"Did you like the painting?" she inquired.

"Uhm...I'm definitely intrigued by it," he responded noncommittally. "Are you the artist?"

"I am," she confirmed, smoothing her fingertip over the top of her ear as if to push back a nonexistent flyaway strand of hair. Her flawless porcelain cheeks warmed with a color similar to that of a frilly pink carnation.

"Where did you get your inspiration for it?"

"Oh," she began, lowering her gaze to the floor as she clasped her hands behind her back. "From a dream."

"From a dream?" Giorno repeated skeptically, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"A sweet dream from the past. Wouldn't you agree?"

Wouldn't you agree? That was an odd question to ask, he thought as her eyes reconnected with his.

Her golden eyes mesmerized him, rendering him mute. There was a hum, like a million bees, filling his brain and deafening his ears as he continued to hold her entrancing gaze. His mind was muddled, confused, leaving him unable to think, to form a coherent sentence.

What the hell is happening to me?

"Giorno!" Guido's voice cut through the buzz in his head.

Giorno closed his eyes for a second for rid himself of the residual hum and to stop his head from spinning. When he opened them again, the mysterious woman was gone.

"Hey, Giorno! I wondered where you've been hiding," Guido said, coming to stand beside him. His eyebrows drew together, meeting at the bridge of his nose while his mouth dropped into a deep frown. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think maybe I did."