Chapter Eight

Giorno was woken before dawn on the morning of the dinner party by his mother knocking on his door.

"Giorno! Are you not up already? We have too much to do for you to stay in bed all day!"

Giorno blinked slowly, sitting up, bruises aching, mouth dry. It was still too dark to see anything so he turned his light on to get dressed, still exhausted when he shuffled downstairs. He felt heavy and tired that day, more so than usual. A slight headache pounding behind his eyes as well as an annoying scratchiness in his throat. He really hoped he wasn't starting to get sick. Again. That would just make everything worse; though he wouldn't be surprised with the amount of stress he had been under lately.

"We have to clean the whole house before tonight!" his mother told him, instantly shoving the vacuum cleaner into his hands.

Giorno winced, knowing his stepfather would be furious if he was woken this early, but he wasn't going to argue—it was possible the man wasn't even home after all; he had a habit of staying out all night.

What his mother meant by 'we', of course, was Giorno doing the cleaning, while she primped and fixed pillows just right on the new couch and chairs and messed around with the center piece she had made for the dining room table. It was a horribly gaudy piece in Giorno's opinion. He hated silk flowers, but he didn't care enough to tell her that she should get real ones.

Giorno felt that the cleaning of the entire floor was an exercise in futility, knowing full well that however fancy his mother expected this dinner party to be, her and Giovanna only had a particular kind of friend, and the night would certainly end in too much consumption of alcohol, which he would undoubtedly be cleaning off the floor again tomorrow. Just the thought of doing this all again the next day when the house was actually dirty was enough to make his already aching body even more tired.

He was partly glad that his mother had demanded he get started so early because it was the afternoon before he was finished to her standards and by then, he had to start on a couple of the dishes for dinner.

"Please make it look good," his mother pleaded.

"I'll try," Giorno told her.

"Well, try harder!" she snapped before storming out and headed up to start deciding what dress to wear. Giorno listened as she modeled them for her husband until she found one that she liked.

Giorno was currently making bread, which he had never done before, but actually found he rather enjoyed doing. Kneading the dough was actually pretty therapeutic. In fact, as long as he was left alone, he really didn't mind cooking that much.

He was getting close to being done when his mother came sweeping into the kitchen in a fancy dress Giorno hadn't seen before.

"Giorno! Go change!" she snapped. "The guests will be here soon! And don't forget to put makeup on your face!"

Giorno bit his lip, left the pots on simmer, hoping nothing would go wrong, and hurried upstairs to change his shirt, quickly using his mother's makeup on his bruised face that had now turned a sickly yellow. His stomach growled sickly; he hadn't had time to eat more than some bread that day and he probably wouldn't have time to eat much else that night.

By the time he rushed back downstairs, one of the first couples were arriving and his mother and stepfather greeted them with the utmost courtesy. Giorno wanted to gag. This was the man he remembered from when his mother had first met Giovanna. The man who had conned both of them into thinking it would be better to move to Italy and live with him. But Giorno should have known that only a horrible man could be attracted to such a horrible woman.

He hurried back into the kitchen, glad to have an excuse to stay out of the way as more guests arrived, fawning over the new décor and from the sound of clinking glass, already getting an early start to the drinking.

Giorno just continued cooking though, until his mother poked her head in.

"How much longer? Everyone's here!"

"The first course is ready," Giorno told her, motioning to the soup.

She huffed. "Why didn't you say so! Get it dished up, and served!"

Giorno glanced back at the lamb that was nearly done in the oven, really hoping that it wasn't going to overcook. He didn't have a thermometer to test it like the recipe suggested so he had been watching it. But he didn't want to keep his mother, and in turn his stepfather, waiting so he grabbed the bowls out of the cupboard as he heard his mother call everyone to the table. The kitchen was really hot and Giorno felt suffocated from standing over the stove for so long, head pounding even more than it had been. His throat was starting to feel sore rather than just scratchy and he was pretty certain now that he was getting sick. All he needed was to get through that night though. That was all. Then he could lay down and sleep.

He grabbed the bowls and started to dish the soup out, serving it with the bread, which had turned out surprisingly well, grabbing two at a time and bringing them out to the table.

"Wow, did you hire a chef for the evening?" one of the women asked, seeming impressed, already tipsy.

"Oh, that's just my son," Giorno's mother said dismissively.

"Wow, I didn't know your son could cook."

"Oh, he's been learning," she replied as his stepfather snorted and Giorno wanted to grit his teeth, but he dropped off the last of the soup and retreated into the kitchen.

Giorno grabbed the lambchops out of the oven and winced as he saw some of them were just slightly burned on the edges, but hopefully the sauce would hide that.

He didn't know why he was worried, honestly. With the amount they were drinking no one would be able to care by the third course.

Giorno took that moment to sit down and drink some water, grabbing a small bowl of soup for himself. He thought it would feel good on his throat, but it was too warm, making the rest of him feel even hotter. His body was starting to ache all over. The thick makeup, even on only half of his face, was starting to feel suffocating but he didn't dare wipe it off.

The sound of more chatter, laughter and wine bottles being opened, continued as Giorno gathered the mostly empty bowls and started to serve the next course. The laughter was all so loud, making his head pound even more. Someone jostled him on his way behind a chair and he nearly dropped the plates he was carrying. He felt his stepfather's eyes land on him instantly, one second joking with his guests, the next vicious, boring into Giorno as if daring him to mess up. Giorno swallowed hard, shaking slightly as he set the last two plates down, one of them in front of Giovanna.

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

Giorno stared at his stepfather's hand around his wrist instead of looking up at his eyes. "Go get another bottle of wine," he growled, his breath already heavy with alcohol.

Giorno nodded and swiftly retreated to the kitchen.

He dug through the bottom cupboard for more wine, finding only three bottles left. He pulled one out and hurried back with it.

"Oh, Giorno, you can't serve that one with lamb!" his mother snapped as she saw what he had. "Go get a red! It will go better with the next course."

"Sorry," Giorno said, hurrying back.

"And we're ready for more food! So, bring it out, boy!" one of the men shouted after him as everyone laughed drunkenly.

Giorno hurriedly prepared the next plates, taking the lamb and vegetables he had prepared and trying to arrange them neatly. It wasn't very easy while his hands were shaking. He couldn't get them to stop. He was feeling slightly dizzy from the constant heat, and just wanted to sit down for ten minutes outside where he could breathe. After he served this course, he could do that. He was sure he would have time before the dessert.

He started to bring the lamb into the dining room.

It was bound to happen at some point. Too many drunken people did not mix well with dexterity and because Giorno was also not feeling as sharp as usual, he wasn't able to avoid the impending disaster.

He delivered all the plates successfully until he got to his mother and stepfather. He leaned over to put them down just as someone elbowed him in the hip amid inebriated gesturing. Giorno pitched forward, unable to catch himself with his hands full. One of the plates landed on the table, and the other fell out of his hand, landing directly in his mother's lap before falling to the floor with a crash.

A gasp went around the table as his mother shrieked.

"You little brat! Look what you did to my new dress! You're going to be paying for this!" she screamed, jumping up. Two of the other women got up and surrounded her, bemoaning the fate of the dress before pulling her away, suggesting ways they could get it clean.

Giorno felt weak, he numbly found his way around the table and crouched to start cleaning the mess up with trembling hands when his stepfather suddenly scraped his chair back.

"You little shit," he snarled. "You think you can just sit there and not apologize to your mother?"

Giorno's heart pounded in his ears, the sound drowning the background noise into a dull roar as he took off the apron he had been wearing and used it to put all the pieces of broken plate in. He breathed heavily, head swimming. He ignored his stepfather because if he didn't concentrate fully on breathing, he was sure he would pass out.

"Did you hear me, you insolent waste of space?" Giovanna snarled and reached down, yanking Giorno up by his collar.

Giorno finally turned to look at him, shrinking from the fury he saw there.

"Yes," he murmured. The other people at the table were all watching like this was some kind of drama on tv. Giorno felt sick.

Giovanna shoved him back down hard and Giorno's knees hit several of the shards of plate, cutting through his pants and into his skin. He felt the sharp pain, blood seeping into the fabric of his pants.

"You clean that up, boy, and when you're done, I'm going to teach you a lesson," came the cold promise.

Giorno shook as he cleaned up the rest of the plate, bundling it into the apron as his stepfather loomed over him. As soon as he had finished and straightened up again, Giovanna grabbed the apron in one hand, and Giorno in the other, hauling him out of the room. He threw the apron into the kitchen and started to drag Giorno up the stairs.

"It was an accident," Giorno tried, not knowing why he bothered. He could hear his mother still crying over her dress from the bathroom. "I'm sorry."

Giovanna's fist buried itself into Giorno's stomach and he collapsed on the stairs before the man practically dragged him up the rest of the way.

"You think I give a fuck? You're a clumsy shit on the best of days. How many times am I gonna have to beat you so you'll learn?"

Giorno took a shuddering breath, trying to find his feet before he was thrown into his room.

Giovanna already had his belt off and Giorno cried out as the man struck him across the face with it. The buckle caught him under the eye and Giorno felt blood pouring down the side of his face.

"Give me my damn shirt back," Giovanna growled before he practically ripped it off of Giorno and shoved him so hard against the wall that Giorno struck his head and slid to his knees, head aching, his world spinning.

Giovanna didn't wait another second though. He went in hard with the belt, the leather cracking over and over across Giorno's back, the blows so heavy he was forced to the ground, unable to keep his footing. Some blows hit him in the face, others wrapped around him to leave bloody welts on his ribs and stomach. More blows followed across his legs. No part of him was spared and Giovanna didn't seem to care whether it was the leather or the buckle that hit Giorno. All he could do was lay there on the ground and sob out babbled 'sorrys', too weak to fight back—and knowing it would only make it worse anyway. The only thing he could do was curl up and protect his head with his arms, which proceeded to be struck with stinging blows.

"That's what you get, you little shit," Giovanna snarled. "I never wanted you back here to begin with and all you've done is cause trouble. If you're not going to make yourself useful, I'll kick you out on the street. I will. You want me to do that? Hm? Leave you out there to pick through the trash for food or maybe even sell yourself for money? Would you prefer that?"

Giorno sobbed into the floor. Giovanna reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up. "Well? Is that what you want, you little prick?!"

"N-no," Giorno sobbed breathlessly, before his head was slammed back into the floor.

"I didn't think so," Giovanna snarled. "So, clean up your damn act!" he kicked him in the side once more and then Giorno finally heard him walk away. The door slammed shut and Giorno collapsed completely with some relief, his whole body trembling.

He didn't bother to crawl to his bed, he couldn't find the energy to do so. Everything hurt so bad, the only thing he could do was sob quietly into the floor, curling up in the corner.

Part of him hoped he would just die there that night in his sleep, put him out of his misery. But another part of him knew there was something better out there. He knew it for certain.

He just wished he could remember what it was.


"How are there still Stand users we haven't tangled with yet?" Narancia groaned as he and Abbacchio and Mista got out of the car after, yet another, unsuccessful trip.

Abbacchio pressed his lips into a flat line and stretched his back out as they walked back toward the house. He'd fallen asleep at his desk last night while they were going through files and it had not done him any favors.

"We're not doing anything else until there's coffee," he grunted.

"Agreed," Mista said tiredly.

"Yeah, we could all use some," Narancia said. "The circles under your eyes, compliment your lipstick really well, Abba."

"Shut up, brat," Abbacchio replied half-heartedly as he unlocked the door and headed straight for the kitchen. Bucciarati and the others must have still been out looking into their list of leads for the day. He put on the coffee as Narancia and Mista sank wearily down at the kitchen table.

They were all exhausted. The Stand angle was a good one, Abbacchio was sure of it, but at the same time, they were not getting very far with it.

He sat and watched the coffee brew until he was startled by a ringing. It took his exhausted mind a second to process it was coming from his pocket. He fumbled for his phone and answered the call.

"Abbacchio."

He listened for a minute and grabbed a piece of paper, snapping at Narancia before the teen scrambled to get him a pen.

"What was the address? And you say he's usually there? Okay, thanks."

"What was that?" Mista asked, perked up a little.

Abbacchio was already calling Bucciarati. "One of my informants just called in," he told the others before Bruno picked up the phone. "Hey, listen, I got a tip that might turn out to be a good one. We're back at the house so meet us here first."

When they had all reconvened, they decided that Abbacchio, Bucciarati, Narancia and Mista would go look into this Stand user while Trish and Fugo stayed back at the house to field any more calls they got.

"So, get this," Abbacchio said as they drove to the location. "My informant said that apparently he knew this guy whose fiancé went missing out of the blue, no reason to run away—reportedly—and then he sees her randomly two months later on the street and she acts like she doesn't recognize him at all."

Narancia leaned forward from the back. "That really sounds like our encounter with Giorno!"

Bucciarati glanced over at Abbacchio. "It is similar, but how does this corelate to a Stand user?"

"Well, the guy wanted answers so he went to confront the girl's parents and all they said was that he wasn't allowed to see her again, and that it wouldn't matter anyway, because she wouldn't know who he was. When he told the story to my informant trying to get help, he started looking into it, and found that the girl's parents had paid a pretty big chunk of money to some guy before it happened. After a little digging, he found there was someone up for hire for that kind of thing."

"And he hangs out at this pub?" Mista asked.

"Reportedly."

Bucciarati pressed his lips together, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Let's not let this one get away, boys. This might be our best lead on where Giorno is."

They all nodded solemnly as they pulled up at the back of the pub.

"Abbacchio, with me," Bucciarati said. "Mista, Narancia, you two cover the front and back in case he tries to bolt. If you have to shoot, aim for the legs."

The two saluted and went to get into position as Abbacchio followed Bruno to the front.

The pub was dark inside, probably on purpose so no one could see any real distinguishing features of anyone they were talking to. It wasn't so dark that the occupants didn't peg them as Mafiosi the instant they walked in the door, though.

Conversations stopped, people hunched over their drinks. A man at the bar quietly got up and slunk out of the building.

Abbacchio scanned the others until he saw someone matching the description they had been given. He nudged Bucciarati and nodded to the corner where a man sat wearing a large hat.

Bucciarati nodded back and they headed in that direction, effectively hemming the man in as he looked up at them with a curious smile.

"Signori," he said levelly. "Can I help you?"

"I hear you're the man to see if you want people to forget things," Bruno said levelly.

A small nod. "It's been said. Tell me, Capo, do you need someone to forget something?"

"Let's not talk here," Bruno said, nodding toward the door.

The man shrugged and stood, eyeing Abbacchio from under his hat as the goth waited for him to pass before taking up position behind him, keeping him pointedly between him and Bucciarati. Abbacchio really hoped he wouldn't try to bolt as soon as they got outside…

The sunlight made Abbacchio blink after the dark interior of the pub, and they led the man back around to where they had parked the van.

"Well, signore?" the Stand user asked.

Mista and Narancia appeared, and now the man was trapped between all of them and the van. He started to glance around, looking nervous.

"We have a few questions," Bucciarati said firmly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a picture of Giorno. "Do you recognize this boy?"

The man's only reply was to chuckle, and Abbacchio saw his body ripple with Stand power.

"Hey!" Abbacchio shouted in alarm as something shot out from behind the Stand user.

Bucciarati was faster though. Sticky Fingers appeared and grabbed hold of the ropy tentacle before it could strike Bucciarati.

Narancia had his knife whipped out and Abbacchio and Mista grabbed the man, slamming him against the van and wrenching his arms behind him, tying them tightly. He grunted, his Stand dissipating.

"Looks like we'll be taking this conversation elsewhere," Bucciarati said darkly, nodding to the others. "Get him in the van."

The man struggled, his hat falling off. "I didn't do anything! All I do is get paid to make people forget things. After that, whatever happens can't be blamed on me!"

Abbacchio slammed his head into the side of the van, dazing him. "Shut up. You'll have time to talk later."

They heaved him into the back of the van, with Narancia keeping a close eye on him, knife held ready, as they drove back home. This was going to be a long night.


Giorno swam through pain and fevered delirium, alternating between shivering and sweating on the hard floor. He didn't wake fully until an undetermined time later when he was roused by someone slamming open his door, and coming over to kick him in the hip.

"Why the hell aren't you up yet? The house is a shitshow. The least you can do after last night is drag your ass out of bed and start cleaning it up."

Giorno instinctively curled into himself, but only received another kick for his trouble.

"Up now, or I'm just going to throw you out in the street!" Giovanna snarled.

Giorno finally found the energy to push himself up into a sitting position as his stepfather spit on the ground beside him and turned around to leave the room.

Giorno felt horrible. His head swimming, throat nasty. He coughed, feeling the congestion that had settled in his chest as he slept.

It took monumental effort for Giorno to get to his feet. His body ached from the beating and the fever. He knew he had blood crusted across his skin, but he couldn't be bothered to clean himself now. He'd take a nice shower later. Right now, he didn't have time.

He shivered and pulled his shirt on, feeling it scrape across his raw skin as he made his way slowly down the stairs.

The house was trashed. Giorno had no idea what had happened after he had passed out last night, but it was horrible. Glasses and pillows were strewn around the living room, multiple stains on the brand-new upholstery. The dining room was a disaster. Stains littered the table and the floor, sticky from wine spilled. Food was everywhere too, as well as dirty dishes. The kitchen was even worse. Giorno obviously hadn't been able to clean up, and no one else had either. There was just a mass of dishes and pots and pans in the sink, caked in food that wouldn't want to come off.

Giorno's body protested and he just wanted to sit down. His head was swimming with fever and just the act of getting up made him sick to his stomach. The sight of all the gross dishes only made him even more nauseous.

He had to start somewhere though, so he muffled a cough in his elbow and went to start retrieving all the dishes and cups around the house. His body was almost too stiff to move, but he somehow managed.

As he was trying to tidy the dining room, his mother came in, arms folded over her chest, her eyes looking red and blood-shot.

"You ruined everything!" she snapped. "I couldn't even have one nice dinner because of you! Why do you always do this?"

"I'm sorry," Giorno said, not knowing what else to say. There wasn't anything he could say. It had just been an accident. Not that that had ever mattered when it came to his mother or stepfather.

"I can't believe you sometimes!" she cried and hurried out, sounding like she was on the verge of tears again.

Giorno couldn't be bothered to care.

His back ached as he continued. His head was pounding, and a congested cough had started in earnest. His throat was really sore, and he swallowed sickly. He wanted some tea, but the thought of putting anything in his stomach made it flip sickly.

He was shaking from exhaustion by the time he started the dishes, and forced himself to sit for a few minutes and drink some water. He slumped in the chair, leaning against the table, the cool wood feeling really nice on his fevered cheek. He closed his eyes. Maybe a couple minutes…

"Are you actually just sitting there instead of doing anything?"

Giorno jumped as his stepfather came in, cigarette balanced in his mouth. The smell overwhelmed Giorno's senses and made bile rise in his throat, his already queasy stomach rebelling.

He raised a hand to his mouth and nose, trying to block out the smell.

"What's the matter? You don't like this?" Giovanna purposefully leaned close, blowing smoke into Giorno's face.

Giorno's eyes watered, swallowing thickly, turning away.

"Go do the damn dishes!"

Giorno pushed himself up, desperate to get as far away from the smoke as he could, but Giovanna followed him, setting the cigarette on the counter as he bent to dig through the bottom cabinet where he kept his liquor.

"Where the hell is everything?"

"It all got drunk last night," Giorno murmured.

Giovanna stood, glowering at him. "Is that so?" He picked up the cigarette and took a long drag of it before blowing it into Giorno's face again.

That was all he could take. His stomach rebelled finally at the acrid stench and all he could do was turn aside, vomiting onto the floor.

Giorno collapsed to his knees, choking up what little he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours, trembling from exertion.

"You little prick," Giovanna snarled in disgust, kicking him in the side so that Giorno tumbled onto his elbows. "You clean that up!"

But Giorno's stomach just rebelled again and he doubled over coughing up nothing but bile.

"Disgusting," his stepfather snarled, stepping on the back of his neck. Giorno collapsed, his cheek pressed into the puddle of his own vomit, the smell making his stomach flip again. He tried to hold his breath.

Giovanna leaned down and put his cigarette out against Giorno's shoulder, burning a hole through his sleeve and into his skin. Giorno flinched but didn't have the strength to make a sound.

"Useless piece of shit. Absolutely useless," he growled, pressing Giorno's face down once more before he straightened and left the room, flicking the cigarette butt onto the floor.

Giorno just barely had enough energy to roll out of his own vomit before he just lay there, eyes stinging as he stared up at the ceiling.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

Giorno wished he could just die there.