And here we go...


Chapter Three

Giorno woke, feeling like he had been asleep for years.

He felt a full-body disorientation, confused about where he was and why it felt so strange.

He blinked, rolling over on a lumpy mattress, scratchy blanket falling mostly off of him as if it wasn't even big enough to cover him completely. The room was dark, and it took him a moment to place where he was.

Home. He was home.

Or, well, the place he had lived with his mother and stepfather—he'd only ever called it 'home' because he had never had anything else to compare it to. Which was strange, because Giorno could have sworn he had fallen asleep somewhere else, even though for some reason, he didn't exactly know where. School, he decided. It must have been his dorm room he was thinking about.

Still, that didn't explain why he was here now.

As he more fully regained consciousness and sat up, a dull headache settling behind his eyes, he realized he hadn't been mistaken. This room was even smaller than his tiny school dorm, dark, filthy. His bed was nothing more than an old mattress on the floor, stained with unknown substances even before it had been given to him, and he had only added more stains to it, mostly blood from the beatings his stepfather administrated at every whim.

With that thought, Giorno's eyes traveled subconsciously toward a corner of the room where the wall was marred from the strikes of his stepfather's belt when they missed Giorno in the man's drunken stupor.

He shuddered, rubbing his face with his hands. Why the hell was he back here? He had specifically worked on three separate cons in order to have enough money to pay the school to stay in his dorm all summer again. How had he ended up back in his own personal hell?

He pushed himself up, looking around for any of his personal effects. But there was nothing, not even his school uniform in the closet. Just a bunch of his old tattered clothes that wouldn't even fit properly anymore. He felt heavy and slightly dizzy, and now panic was settling in as he began to feel closed in, terrified to be back here. Especially when he didn't even know what had happened.

Trying to calm his breathing and take a couple deep breaths, he crossed toward the door, pulling the creaky old thing that had half broken hinges open and venturing out into the house. He made his way downstairs. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of here and back to school without anyone noticing. Although he would have to figure out a way to get back there. He didn't know where his wallet was. Most likely it had been confiscated by his mother so she could use whatever money he had in there. But if he could just get out of here, he could almost forgive them stealing his money.

But he wouldn't be that lucky.

"Oh, you're finally awake."

Giorno stopped, whipping his head around to see his mother lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in her hand, a book in her lap.

Giorno swallowed, chancing a question as he stepped further into the room. "Um…what am I doing here?" he asked.

Something strange crossed her face, almost like panic, which was very odd, but she schooled it quickly, clearing her throat. "You were sick," she said abruptly. "We had to come get you from school. You've been asleep for a couple days, ever since we brought you back here."

For some reason, Giorno didn't feel that was the entire truth, but…he did feel like he had been sick. Weak, dizzy…it would make sense. After all, it would only be normal for the school to call a child's parents if they were to fall ill. Still, he didn't remember getting sick either…

"Oh," he said.

"Oh?" she asked. "That's all you have to say about it? After we had to drive all the way over there to pick your ass up because they refused to just keep you in the infirmary?"

Giorno swallowed hard, face going blank. Watching all his freedom the past year and a half he'd had at school, finding his confidence and independence, all fly out the window in the face of his mother once again.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he said quietly.

She snorted, taking a long drink of wine. "That's always what it is with you. One thing after another."

Giorno started to retreat, deciding it was best to remove himself, but at that moment, the front door opened and Giorno spun around to see his stepfather come through the door.

He cursed as he saw Giorno standing there, probably looking like a deer in the headlights. "Oh, fantastic, the little shit is finally awake."

Giorno raised his chin slightly. "I don't have to stay here."

"What have I told you about talking to me when I don't address you?" the man snapped and Giorno couldn't help but flinch. He could smell the alcohol on the man's breath and knew he would have to tread carefully. "Why don't you make yourself useful and get in the kitchen. Make us dinner."

Giorno bit his lip, but he took the opportunity to retreat gladly. He could stand making dinner. As long as he would be left alone.

He just really wished he knew how he had ended up here without having any memory of it. Of his mother coming to get him from school. There was something eating at him. Something telling him that he should be anywhere but here. That this just wasn't right. But the headache pounding in his skull kept him from thinking too much about it, and he simply went on to prepare dinner from the meager supplies he had to work with.


Fugo was starting to get annoyed. He had a giant pile of paperwork to get through, some of which Giorno had forgotten to sign, and the blond still hadn't returned from whatever errand he had been running.

It was all good and fine if it was a mission, but just because he was the don didn't mean he should get to go jaunt around town when there was work to be done. The least he could have done was signed the proper papers so Fugo could do something with them.

He got up to get a fresh cup of tea, checking the time. It was 5:30 already. Giorno had been gone for nearly six hours now. That was a long time for a jaunt around town.

A vague worry began to form in Fugo's gut. While all of them were pretty capable of taking care of themselves, he remembered Giorno briefly mentioning family problems before he rushed out. The odd thing was that in the six months since Giorno had joined them, he had never said so much as a word about his family, or really much at all about his past—at least not to Fugo. To be honest, he'd never really thought too much about where Giorno had come from. Fugo himself didn't really want any more to do with his family than they did with him, but…maybe that wasn't the case for Giorno. Fugo found himself hoping that it wasn't anything too serious. Their young don had been acting a little off the last couple days. A family problem would definitely explain that.

However, if it was only family matters holding Giorno up, then at least it was to be assumed that he was safe physically at least and he would likely turn back up when he was done with whatever he was dealing with.

Fugo decided he would try not to snap at Giorno when he got back for not signing the papers. If he was really going through family shit, then Fugo wanted to be the last person to add more grief on his shoulders. He knew all too well what family problems could do.

While he was making more tea, he heard the front door open and looked up as Bucciarati stepped into the kitchen, looking tired from a day full of meetings.

"Oh, hello, Bucciarati, would you like some tea?" Fugo asked him.

Bucciarati sighed with a tired smile and leaned back against the counter. "That would be great, Fugo, thank you."

Fugo poured out another cup of hot water and dipped the teabag into it, handing the mug to their capo. Bucciarati took it, dunking the teabag up and down.

"Did you get those propositions finalized and filed today, Fugo?" he asked, looking a little pleading. "A couple of them really need to go through."

"I finished as many as I could, but Giorno left before he signed all of them," Fugo replied, his frustration returning.

Bucciarati frowned. "Giorno left? Where did he go?"

Fugo shrugged. "He didn't say, but he's not back yet. I thought he might have talked to you about something."

"No, he didn't say anything to me," Bucciarati said, the worried frown still sitting between his eyes. Trish came into the room, and he glanced toward her. "Trish? Do you know where Giorno went today? Did he tell you anything?"

She glanced at him and shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him since breakfast. Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm sure it's fine. You know how he is," Bucciarati said with a small smile that did little to cover his obvious worry. "He probably remembered something or thought of something that needed to be done and just went and did it."

Fugo nodded, already taking his tea back to the office. "I'm sure he'll be back by dinner time."

He hoped so, anyway. He didn't know why he had a strange feeling about this.


Giorno was not back by dinner time. Bucciarati asked Mista to hold dinner but after thirty minutes of Giorno still not showing up, and Narancia and Abbacchio both complaining about being starving, he told them to eat, and just saved a plate of food for their missing Don. He tried calling Giorno, but his phone rang from his desk drawer, Giorno having obviously forgotten to bring it with him wherever he went. Bucciarati didn't know whether that worried him more or not. Giorno was a bit absent minded sometimes, especially with all the duties put on his young shoulders. He had been known to walk off without his phone or wallet when he was focused on something else. Still, of course he had to forget it now when none of them seemed to have any clue as to where he was.

"Did he say anything to you at all?" Bucciarati asked Fugo, trying to keep the worry and increasing desperation out of his voice. "Did he get a phone call before he left or anything?"

Fugo furrowed his brow. "He was watching the clock all morning, like he was waiting for something. And then he finally got up, and said he was going out. He said…" he hesitated, but seemed to decide to push forward. "He did say it was some sort of family matter but that was all."

Everyone at the table stopped chewing and looked over at Fugo. Even Bucciarati was surprised to hear that. Giorno had never spoken to him about his family, and Bruno had never wanted to pry into the boy's life. He had just assumed he didn't have anyone, considering how he had been living, and how quickly he had decided to just up and leave, going to join their gang. Was it possible he still had family in the city and had just kept it from everyone? And if that was the case, then why was this the first time anything had come up?

A part of Bruno could understand that; after all, if they were only civilians, he could see why Giorno might not want them to get involved in Passione business. But if he had a mother or father or even another relative out there, the thought of them being even more worried than Bruno was now that Giorno never came home was almost heartbreaking. His own father had been distressed enough when he had found out about Bruno joining Passione, he couldn't imagine how his father would have felt if he had left without any warning at all.

"Well, family matters suck," Narancia said with a look of sympathy. "He might be a while." He glanced up with the others toward Bruno, seeming to seek his council in this matter.

Bruno pressed his lips together. "Narancia's right. Any trouble involving family could take a bit to sort out. We'll just have to trust that Giorno will come back when he's ready. He can take care of himself." Though even as he said that, Bruno fended off all the memories of having to carry Giorno's bleeding body out of a fight, anxious bedside vigils when he was unconscious or too weak to heal himself. Yes, Giorno was smart, and he was a skilled fighter, but he was also reckless, and sixteen, and, Don or not, Bruno couldn't help but think of him as the child he was.

However, his words seemed to at least give the others some peace of mind, and at the moment, that was good enough for Bruno. He caught Abbacchio and Fugo glancing his way, however, and knew better than to think he was fooling them. He ignored the looks, picking up his fork and forced himself to eat, knowing instinctively that Giorno's plate would long be cold by the time he got back.


Giorno did what he could with the food, but he wasn't exactly the best cook. Not that it would matter if he was. He put together a thin soup that tasted pretty bland, but it was better than nothing, and was about all he thought his stomach could take at the moment anyway.

When it was finished, he cut some dry bread that felt like it was days old and turned off the stove, filling a small bowl for himself and grabbing a piece of bread before leaving the kitchen.

He could hear his mother and stepfather talking in the living room still and tried to move as quietly as possible.

"This is a nice place," his mother said.

"It's huge, we don't need all that space, the townhouse will be fine."

"Okay, fine, but remember, we have the brat to take care of it. Or we could just hire a maid."

"And I told you we need to be careful flinging money around that quickly," Giovanna hissed.

"Whatever," Giorno's mother replied.

"We'll get a new place eventually. Why don't you just redecorate this one first?"

"I suppose."

Giorno furrowed his brow, wondering what they could be talking about. Were they moving? How could they have afforded it? From the sound of it, it seemed like Giovanna had recently come into money—probably by nefarious means.

He took a deep breath and poked his head around the corner. "There's food ready in the kitchen," he said quietly.

"And where are you off to then?" his stepfather demanded.

"Just…to lie down," Giorno replied, already moving toward the stairs.

The man snorted. "Always skulking around."

Giorno hurriedly retreated up the stairs and settled himself onto his mattress to eat. The soup was terrible. He was sure he would be confronted about it. But what else could he do right now? At least the broth made it easier to eat the bread.

When Giorno finished, he lay down on the disgusting mattress again, curling up under the too-small, too thin blanket. He was at least tired enough that it didn't really bother him. He must still be tired from the sickness since he fell asleep very quickly, despite everything.

His dream was full of blurred faces that he was certain he should know because they felt so familiar, so inviting. And yet, for the life of him, he couldn't recall a single one to memory.


Bruno sat in the office long after midnight, slumped over his desk, head propped in one hand as he held the phone to his ear.

"Yes, I know it's late, but I just want to know if you saw Don Giovanna today….Okay, yes, thank you."

He dropped the phone back into the receiver and lowered his head into both hands, sighing heavily. He tilted his head so he could see the clock and saw that it was almost 2:30 now. The others had all reluctantly gone to bed a couple hours ago, but Giorno still wasn't home.

"God, Giorno," Bruno whispered to himself, a prayer. "Please don't do this to me."

The door to the office opened and Bruno spun around, hoping, for a moment, that Giorno had finally found his way back, but it was just Abbacchio bearing two cups.

Bruno slumped back down, running a hand over his face. "What are you doing up?"

Abbacchio snorted. "You actually think I'm gonna sleep? Especially when I know you're down here, worried out of your mind?"

Bruno sighed and gratefully accepted the cup of fresh coffee the goth handed him. "I just don't understand. If he planned on being gone this long, why wouldn't he have said anything? I just know something must have happened to him…"

Abbacchio pulled the chair from his own desk over and sat on it backwards, facing Bruno as he took a sip of coffee. "I understand coming to that conclusion, but Giorno's also an independent kid. And you know how bad he is at asking for advice. If this was something personal, I'm not at all surprised he never mentioned it."

"I know that, but I just wish he'd call, dammit!" Bruno snapped, fist clenching on the desk. "He can't actually think it's okay to just stay out past midnight without anyone knowing where he is!"

Abbacchio rubbed a hand tiredly down his face. "Look, Bruno, I get how you feel, but the reality is that Giorno is probably going to walk in the door tomorrow, acting like nothing happened. And then you can chew him out for it but it's probably not going to keep him from doing it again."

Bruno leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know…I know I shouldn't worry so much, but he'd just a kid."

"And he's reckless, I get it," Abbacchio said kindly. "Narancia wasn't much different when he first got here."

"Narancia listened though," Bruno sighed, then shrugged, amending, "He learned his lessons, at least. Giorno forgets. When he gets his mind set on something all caution gets thrown to the wind."

"Mm-hm," Abbacchio hummed a little wryly into his coffee. "Reminds me of someone."

Bruno saw his pointed look and chose to ignore it, reaching for the coffee and taking a long drink.

"If the kid's still not back by tomorrow, I'll use Moody Blues to try and trace him, but remember that whatever had him venturing out of the house, is probably something he didn't want anyone else to know about, or felt too embarrassed to share. He might be mad if you poke into it."

"And if he's in trouble?"

"If he's in trouble, I'll be the first one to help you get him out of it," Abbacchio said with a sigh. "You know that."

Bruno slumped, giving the other man a grateful look, already reaching for the phone again.

"Come on, Bruno, you can't call informants at this time of night. You're just gonna piss them off."

"I have to do something," Bruno said.

Abbacchio sighed and got up, heading to the living room before he came back with a wooden box.

"It's been a long time since we've played chess. I'll stay up with you in case the kid comes back before morning."

Bruno fidgeted, but recognized the gesture for what it was, remembering the nights where none of them could sleep, when Abbacchio was fighting with withdrawals, when Fugo was just having a bad night, the chess board had been set, a welcome distraction. It might not work perfectly, but it was better than nothing.

"You're white," Abbacchio said as he began to set up the board. Bruno took his pieces and did the same, trying to believe that Giorno was on his way home even that minute. But as the hours stretched into dawn, that chance began to look less and less likely.