Is this...a rescue?
Chapter Nine
It was a long day. Bucciarati was not a fan of time-intensive torture sessions, but this bastard was smug and a lot tougher than they had bargained for. Even after a couple hours of Abbacchio and Narancia tag-teaming with fists and knives, he hadn't given up anything.
"You really think you're gonna get out of here?" Abbacchio snarled at him, shaking him by a hunk of his hair. "You keep whining about refusing to ruin your integrity but it's not gonna do you any good!"
"All you can hope for now, is a quick death," Narancia added, brandishing his bloody knife.
The Stand user still had the gall to smirk. "Exactly. You're just gonna kill me anyway. What's the point?"
"So why the hell do you care so much?" Abbacchio snarled. "A fucking kid is in danger and you sit there smirking like an asshole!"
He shrugged, spitting a gob of blood close to Abbacchio's feet. "I hate Passione, so any time I get the chance to screw you bastards over, that's a good day for me."
Abbacchio grabbed the middle finger of his right hand and wrenched it backwards with a snap. The Stand user cried out, curling into himself before Abbacchio drove the hand he was wearing a pair of knuckle dusters on into his ribs.
"You think this is funny?! Who. Has. The. Kid?!" Abbacchio snapped.
Wheezing, the man simply shrugged again.
"You bastard!" Narancia screamed, lunging forward, but Bucciarati quickly stepped in, grabbing him by the shoulder.
"Enough, let's leave him for a while," he said. He had a headache, and they were getting nowhere.
They left the downstairs bathroom where they had been doing the interrogation, and Narancia reluctantly folded his knife up as Abbacchio took his knuckle dusters off and put them back in his pocket.
"We need a different tactic," he growled. "I could beat on him all day, but it's not gonna say anything."
Bucciarati pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know. That's why I want him to cool off a little. This might take longer than I expected."
"But Giorno's out there, brainwashed!" Narancia cried. "They could be doing anything to him! We need to find him now!"
"Trust me, Narancia, I feel the same way," Bruno said quietly. "But this man is our only lead, and we can't afford to mess this up or we might never find Giorno." He squeezed the teen's shoulder. "Go take a break. Get something to eat."
Narancia nodded dejectedly as he went to the kitchen. Bruno glanced up as Fugo appeared.
"Anything?" the blond asked.
"Bastard has tight lips," Abbacchio grunted.
Fugo pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Well, I'm still not having any luck on any other angle, so I think this is all we have right now."
"He'll break eventually. Everyone does," Bruno said darkly. He certainly wasn't going to let him win.
"What if we just kill him?" Fugo said suddenly. "I would assume that would release Giorno from his hold, and if he remembers who he is…"
"Without knowing Giorno's current position, that could actually put him in more danger. We have no idea what his situation is, or whether he would even be able to escape on his own even with Gold Experience," Bruno said. "We can't afford to try that until we know Giorno's location."
Fugo nodded in acquiescence. Bruno glanced at his watch. "We've been at this for three hours now. Let's get something to eat and give him time to think."
Fugo and Abbacchio nodded, and they all followed Narancia to the kitchen.
It was nerve-wracking to wait between interrogation sessions. Bucciarati hated it. But he also knew that there was a lot of strategy involved in situations like this.
Usually though, he didn't have one of his own kids lost and stuck in god knows what situation, with everything hinging on them getting information out of their prisoner.
Bucciarati was tired. Plain and simple. He would not be able to sleep until Giorno was returned to him though. Especially when they were so close.
They gave it three hours and then went back to start the interrogation again.
They took shifts through the night, working the bastard over. Pausing only to give him a cold shower as a wakeup call when he passed out, and yet he was still determined to be tight lipped.
Bucciarati observed the entire time, watching the hours tick away through the night until finally, sometime in the early morning before dawn, he stepped up, arms folded, as he stared down at his exhausted captive, ready to finish this.
"All this time, and my men still couldn't break you," he said calmly. "I'm actually rather impressed. Or, I would be, if I wasn't working on a time limit." He summoned Sticky Fingers but purposefully behind the man. A zipper appeared in his throat and started to slowly unzip. The man's eyes flew open.
"W-what the…"
Bruno reached out and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head to one side as the zipper opened, only leaving his head attached by one small strip. He leaned close.
"I only need your head, you know. All I care about is that you can talk. How about I just take it off and have my men go burn your body?" he asked coldly. "Oh, and don't worry. You'll still be alive. It's one of Sticky Finger's best tricks.
The man's eyes were wide with genuine terror now, but he still didn't say anything.
"No? How about we start with one of your arms then? Just to show you I'm not bluffing."
Sticky Fingers swiftly reached out and detached one of the Stand users' arms. It fell to the floor with a thud. He cried out.
Bruno casually kicked the limb behind him. "Narancia, Fugo, take this out back and burn it. Oh, and he'll still be able to feel it, just so you know."
"You—you're a fucking freak!" the man gasped.
"Maybe a leg too," Bruno added, unzipping one of the man's legs at the knee. "Boys, you can take this as well."
"Stop! Stop! Okay, just…hold on!" the man shrieked, panting heavily. Bucciarati reattached his head partly and let go of his hair, standing back to listen. The man's throat bobbed above the zipper. "Okay, look, it was just this random couple okay? They looked like nobodies!"
"What were their names?" Bruno asked.
"I—Giovanna, it's Giovanna. Husband and wife. Wanted me to brainwash their kid—your new Don."
"Are you sure they were his parents?" Bucciarati asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
"Yeah, I mean, the lady said they were," the man said. "What does it matter? I told you who it was…"
"Why did they want him?"
"Well, first they just wanted money from him. But they were stupid enough to walk into the bar asking if anyone wanted to help them blackmail the Don of Passione. I told them I had a better way to do it. They got him to come meet them—Café Bianca, if you want to know that too—and I fixed his memories so that he never knew he joined Passione or had a Stand, and they took his credit cards and bank information to use as they wanted."
"And as far as you know, he's still with them?"
"I don't go around checking up on my clients. I got paid, and I got out," the man spat. "I just told them they probably wanted to keep him on the down-low."
"Where is he, then?" Narancia jumped in.
"I don't know, seriously, I never went to their house," he whined.
"I need that information," Bucciarati said, trying to hold back his anxiety, slowly pulling the zipper on the man's neck open again.
"Look! I don't know where they live, but someone must. All you have to do is go to every bar in the vicinity and say you're looking for Giovanna. Someone's going to know, and I doubt anyone will be opposed to giving him up."
"One more thing… Giorno's memories…release them."
The man smirked slightly again. "I can't. Once I do my thing, it's permanent except…" he paled, realizing what he had almost said.
"Unless you die," Abbacchio said matter-of-factly, folding his arms over his chest.
"No, that's not true!" the man tried to protest, but Bucciarati was already stepping away from him, nodding to Mista who was lurking back with the others.
"Mista, I want you and Narancia to take him to our usual drop site and deal with him.
"Yes, Bucciarati," they replied darkly.
"Hey! You can't do this!" The man protested, but Abbacchio simply strode over and slammed a fist into his jaw before ripping a piece of his ruined shirt off and jamming it into his mouth.
"When you're done with that, boys, I want you to head out to the part of town Giorno's likely to be and start looking into all the bars. Abbacchio and I will do the same. Fugo," Bruno turned to the blond. "I want you and Trish to stay here, call as many of the bars as you can. If you can get an address, call us. Trish." He turned to the girl who had come down the stairs to see what was going on. "Please make sure Giorno's room is clean and have something for him to eat—soup would probably be good since it will keep. Also…get the first aid kit out. We don't know what kind of condition he might be in. When you're done with that, help Fugo with the calls."
"Okay," Trish nodded. "Please, bring him back!"
"We will. We're not coming back until Giorno is with us," Bruno said firmly.
Mista and Narancia were already hauling the Stand user off and Bruno was heading toward the office. He reached into his desk and pulled out his pistol, then grabbed Abbacchio's for him, tossing it to the ex-cop as he headed back toward the door, grabbing his keys.
"Let's go," he said. "Let's bring Giorno home."
Giorno somehow managed to clean up the kitchen good enough for passing, then stumbled back up to his room, hoping no one would try to get him to do anything for the rest of the day.
He spent the afternoon and night tossing in fevered slumber, his dreams getting more and more frantic and bizarre.
Then at some point in the early morning, there was a shift. Blank faces he had been chasing in his dreams for the past few weeks surfaced, fully formed, memories flooded in, with names to go with the faces. Bucciarati, Mista, Trish, Abbacchio, Narancia, Fugo…and even himself: Don Giovanna. The feeling of happiness, of belonging, of family. It was such a nice dream, Giorno didn't want to wake up from it.
And all the while, this gold light burned at the back of his mind, a constant comfort, like his own personal sun, lighting his way and keeping him warm.
Except he was too warm, and that was partly the problem. The dreams swirled into something darker. Blood on the floor of a church, blood on the beach, a body impaled on a railing—his body, but not his at the same time…a golden arrow, and a golden light, putting everything back together.
A chance meeting, bumping into his mother on the street, a letter stealing his breath from his lungs. Getting on a train, going to put an end to everything and then…
And then…
And then there was nothing. Nothing but everything that had come before.
Giorno gasped, pulling himself from these dreams with a new clarity.
Despite the fever burning in his body messing with his head, he realized why he had felt so wrong about this whole situation.
It was wrong. He wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't his family anymore, he had a new family. One who actually treated him like family. He shouldn't be here. He didn't belong here anymore.
"G-Gold," Giorno croaked, a congested cough forcing him to curl onto his bed.
His Stand flickered before him briefly, a look of concern on Gold's face as he reached out toward Giorno. Giorno reached a shaky hand back, but a wave of dizziness stole his Stand away. He was even too weak to summon Gold fully right now.
But something had happened, obviously. He must have been under the hold of a Stand, and if that was the case, if he remembered now, maybe that meant the others were looking for him. Maybe they knew where he was. Maybe they were coming…
And then more flashes of memory came back. The woman outside the store. Giorno couldn't recall her name in his currently muddled mind, but he knew her, had helped her not long ago. And…and Narancia! Giorno had seen Narancia without recognizing him, and then, somehow, he'd lost him too. Or gotten himself lost.
The thought nearly broke him and he pushed himself up shakily, succumbing to a coughing fit again before he made it to his feet, staggering toward the door.
He had to confront his mother and stepfather. He had to know what they had done. He had to get out of here…he just wasn't sure he could make it that far.
He made it to the door, a small victory, and staggered down the stairs, gripping the handrail tightly, knees shaking.
His mother and stepfather were watching television in the living room when Giorno appeared, gripping the doorframe to keep himself upright, head swimming.
"What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded.
They looked up and his stepfather sneered at him. "You think we got you sick? You were always such a weak little thing. Why don't you go finish what you didn't get to yesterday?"
"No," Giorno said, trembling even more. "I remember now," he breathed, coughing, chest tight, before he got his breath back. "I remember everything, so…whatever you did…it's not working anymore."
His mother's eyes widened and she suddenly grabbed her husband's hand. "What? What do you mean?"
Giorno was already moving toward the door, using all his concentration just to stay on his feet. "I mean I'm leaving. I'm going back to my real home."
"You're not going anywhere."
His stepfather was suddenly on his feet and lunging at Giorno.
"Gold—" Giorno tried to call his Stand but a coughing fit, followed by another spell of dizziness sent him to his knees, and though he could feel Gold again, he could tell his Stand was as weak as he was. If he could even summon him at all, Giorno doubted he would be able to do anything.
Giovanna already had him by the back of his shirt anyway, and was dragging him back toward the stairs. "You think I'm going to let you ruin all of this for us? No. You're just an unwanted brat who doesn't deserve your supposedly high and mighty position. You think if your mafia men saw you now that they would still respect you? I don't think so. You should be grateful I'm not letting you go back there like this."
Giorno struggled weakly as he was practically dragged up the stairs. Listening to his mother wail.
"What are we going to do now?" she demanded, obviously terrified.
Giovanna got upstairs and threw Giorno back into his room, where Giorno collapsed to his hands and knees. "I'm gonna go find that bastard and see what the hell he's trying to pull. He said we wouldn't have any trouble with this; what a load of shit. I should never have trusted him."
He then slammed the door shut. Giorno threw himself toward it, trying to get back out, but the sound of a lock clicking in the door finalized his position. Before he could even think of trying to use Gold to manipulate the lock, he doubled over with a vicious coughing fit, unable to breathe.
Completely exhausted and feeling even more defeated than before, he crawled back onto the filthy mattress and collapsed.
The search was on in full force. Bucciarati and Abbacchio drove directly to the area Fugo had quickly triangulated using the spot Narancia had spotted Giorno, the bar they had found the Stand user in, and the place Giorno had met with his parents when he had been kidnapped. After they found the area, it was just a matter of systematically going to every bar and asking if anyone there knew Giovanna and where he lived.
Bruno and Abbacchio returned to the car after checking one street, both tight-jawed and getting more and more anxious.
"Still nothing," Abbacchio grunted.
"We're only on the outside circle," Bruno replied. "And Mista called, him and Narancia are on their way here now as well. They're going to start on the other side."
Abbacchio nodded as he started the car and drove to the next central location.
It went like that for a while, drive to a location, get out, sprint to each bar on the street, ask their questions, run back, repeat. The entire time Bruno couldn't get the thought out of his head that Giorno's own parents had done this to him. For money. It was disgusting.
Even more worrying to Bruno was the fact that though Giorno should have remembered everything by now, including his Stand power, he hadn't so much as called any of them. That, to Bruno, could only mean that he wasn't able to, which sent a million horrible scenarios crashing through his head.
They were getting further into their circle and Bruno hoped that one of these bars would be the place that finally gave up the information they so desperately needed.
And then finally, finally, he walked into a sleazy bar and went up to the bartender, demanding, "You know a man by the name of Giovanna?"
The man looked over at him, distaste clear in his expression. "What about the bastard?"
Bruno huffed a small sigh of relief. "You know where he lives?"
The man pursed his lips for too long of a second.
"I need to know! Now!" Bruno demanded, slapping his hand onto the bar.
The man took a brief step back. "Apologies signore, let me see if I still have his address in the back. Had to send his tab at one point. He doesn't come back here anymore."
"Hurry," Bruno urged darkly and the man jogged to the back where the sounds of shuffling papers and curses had Bruno nearly jumping out of his skin in anxious anticipation.
"Ah, here it is," the man said, returning with a slip of paper.
Bruno practically jumped over the bar to snag it. "And this is his current residence?"
"Yes, as far as I know."
Bruno didn't stop to reply, simply ran out of the bar, glancing down the street to see Abbacchio coming the other direction.
"Abbacchio!" he shouted, waving the paper. "I have it."
Abbacchio picked up his pace and they practically sprinted back to the car, slamming the doors as Bucciarati handed the slip of paper to Abbacchio who glanced at it and tore off down the street.
"I'm calling Mista and Narancia," Bruno said, grabbing his phone, barely able to dial with how shaky his hands were.
The phone was picked up almost instantly. "Yeah?"
"Mista, it's me, we have Giorno's location," he said.
"Thank god," Mista breathed. "Where?"
Bruno gave him the address. "Meet us there when you can, but we're not going to wait for backup."
"Understood," Mista replied.
"Call Fugo and Trish and let them know," Bruno added and ended the call.
He glanced over at Abbacchio, seeing his hands tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. Bruno ran a hand over his mouth, his stomach tied in knots.
"What if he's not there?" he whispered almost to himself.
Abbacchio shot him a look. "Don't say that."
"I'm sorry, it's just…this whole time I've felt like we were chasing a ghost."
"He'll be there and we'll bring the kid home," Abbacchio said firmly. "And if not, we'll tear this city apart looking for him."
Bruno exhaled slowly and nodded.
They turned down a street with cramped houses, most of which looked broken down and unkempt. Bruno watched the numbers until finally they got to the right one.
"There," he said, pointing. "That's it."
Abbacchio pulled over to the side of the street and threw the car into park. They both sat there for a moment looking at the house.
"Leone," Bruno said firmly, staring at the door. "By all accounts, they're just civilians."
"Your point?" Abbacchio growled.
Bruno glanced over at him meaningfully. "I don't think we need to use our Stands for this one."
He heard Abbacchio's knuckles crack. "No. I don't think we do."
They got out of the car and went to the door. Bruno wanted to kick it open, but his last vestiges of decorum came out and he settled for knocking heavily instead.
No one answered. So he knocked again, and again. Finally, he was getting ready to make a new door with Sticky Fingers when he heard someone unlock the bolt and open it cautiously.
And realized they were met with the woman they had seen from Moody Blues' replay. Giorno's mother.
"Signora Giovanna?" Bruno asked, unable to keep the gall from his voice.
In an instant, her eyes darted from their stern faces to their suits and she suddenly paled, making to slam the door shut.
Abbacchio was quick though, shoving his boot between the door and the jam, shouldering his way in.
The woman jumped back with a shriek. "Stay out! You have no right to be here!"
"Where's the boy?" Abbacchio demanded.
"W-what boy?!" she cried, tears already running down her face as she tried to put a chair between her and the two Mafiosi. "Please, my husband isn't home!"
"Your son!" Bruno spat. "Giorno. Where is he?"
Mrs. Giovanna paled further, her knees shaking. "Oh god, please don't hurt me, I didn't mean it…I was just trying—"
"I don't give a shit about you, just tell me where he is!" Bruno demanded.
The woman sobbed. "Up-upstairs—he's upstairs! Don't hurt me, please!"
"Show us," Abbacchio growled, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her toward the stairs as Bruno glanced around.
"Very nice furniture, Signora, is it new?" he asked snidely.
She just sobbed, and when they got to the top of the stairs, she pointed down the hall. "He's in there," she said.
Bruno rushed to the last door, grabbing the knob, and rattling it with no success. He fumed. "You locked him in?" he demanded.
"My-my husband did…he just…we didn't want him to leave…"
Bruno fought against the fury boiling inside of him, wanting to worry about Giorno first. He called out Sticky Fingers and punched the door, opening a zipper through to the other side. Mrs. Giovanna screamed in shock as he stepped through, and Abbacchio shoved her through after him.
What Bruno saw on the other side nearly had him on his knees.
The room was tiny, and dark. While the rest of the house had obviously had a makeover, this room looked no better than a dungeon. The walls were drab and peeling, and in one corner, there were marks. Many, many marks. The kind that would have been made by something like a belt. Abbacchio obviously saw it too, because his grip on Mrs. Giovanna tightened enough for her to cry out in pain. The only furniture at all was a filthy looking mattress, on top of which lay a pitiful figure, trembling and flushed.
Everything else flew out the window for Bruno as his eyes finally landed on the boy, and he rushed the few steps, collapsing to his knees beside him.
"Giorno," he breathed. "Oh god, Giorno…."
He reached out to touch a bruise-mottled cheek, feeling the heat of a vicious fever, his heart only breaking further.
But Giorno stirred and his eyes cracked open, dull green, and lifeless. "Bu-Buccia-rati?" he murmured.
Bruno fought against the wetness threatening in his eyes and ran his hand through Giorno's hair—god, it really had been hacked off, a few curls attempting to form across a sweaty forehead.
Abbacchio threw the sniveling woman to the ground as he came over to crouch beside Giorno too.
"Don't worry, kid, we're gonna bring you home now," he said.
Giorno choked on a sob and then started coughing, curling up under a too-small blanket that slid off of his shoulders.
The horrors kept coming. Bruno caught sight of the back of his shirt which had rust-colored stains seeping through it. Abbacchio saw it too, and pulled the blanket down, carefully peeling the shirt up and away from Giorno's back.
Giorno whimpered as the air hit his tender, fevered skin.
"Holy shit," Abbacchio murmured, fury on his face.
Bruno wanted to throw up. Giorno's back was littered with signs of abuse. Marks that matched those on the wall in the corner. Some still bleeding sluggishly, red and inflamed from rubbing against his shirt and probably a lack of treatment. Dried blood crusted them, fresh ones cut across older ones. On top of that were several cigarette burns, large bruises, and just general signs of neglect that were unforgivable.
"My god, Leone," Bruno breathed, before he stood and turned to the woman cowering on the floor.
"How dare you?" he demanded, advancing on her. "You call yourself a mother?"
She tried to shrink away, shaking her head, but Bucciarati reached down and grabbed her, hauling her to her feet and forcing her to look at Giorno.
"My husband—!"
"You and your husband are both responsible for this!" Bruno shouted, yanking her toward the corner, forcing her to face the marked-up wall. "Look at that! That's years' worth of beatings! And you what? Just sat back and let it happen?"
"It's not my fault! I never wanted him anyway!" the woman cried.
"And you think that's any reason to abuse a kid?" Abbacchio demanded, crouched protectively over Giorno.
"It's not my fault!"
Bruno threw her to the floor where she collapsed in a sobbing puddle, unable to help the disgusted curl of his lip. "Well, Signora, you don't have to worry about him anymore. In fact, he's coming back home with me, so I suppose your wish has finally come true."
"What the hell is this? What are you doing here?"
Bucciarati turned toward the door, hackles instantly rising. "Giovanna, I presume?" he asked darkly.
"Get the hell out of my—!"
Bruno didn't wait for him to finish, simply threw a punch, catching the man right in the jaw and causing him to stagger back against the doorjamb.
"How dare you?" Bruno demanded, not waiting for him to recover, simply going in and throwing a continuous stream of sharp punches that Giovanna fought to deflect. "You attack the Don of Passione, you steal his money, and you treat him, a child, like this?"
Bucciarati kicked him hard in the knee, sending the man down with a howl. Bruno kicked him in the gut for good measure before he brushed hair out of his face, hands aching, knuckled bleeding. The pain felt good. He was then drawn back to Giorno who had started coughing again, seeming unable to stop this time.
"You—you bastard!" Giovanna snarled, staggering to his feet, spitting out a gob of blood before lunging at Bruno's back. "How dare you—"
But Abbacchio was there in a second, decking the man with a single punch, before grabbing him around the throat, and slamming him against the wall.
"You're the bastard here," he snarled. "Who the hell gave you the right to treat a kid like that, hm? You fucking waste of space."
"It's the brat whose useless," Giovanna croaked, clawing at Abbacchio's hands. "Can't even make damn food right, or help his mother around the house. He deserved everything he got, always getting into everyone's business—"
"Shut your fucking mouth," Abbacchio snarled. "That's no excuse to beat a kid." He glanced down, and grabbed Giovanna's belt, startling to unbuckle it. "This is what you used, isn't it?"
"W-What the hell are you doing?" the man demanded as Abbacchio slammed him against the wall harder, ripping his belt from the loops before doubling it up.
Abbacchio whipped the belt across his face, dropping the man before he started wailing on him with the belt, the cracks and screams echoing around the room.
"Stop! Stop!" Giovanna pleaded.
"Stop? Are you fucking kidding me right now? You bastard!" Abbacchio snarled. "I doubt you ever stopped when you were beating the kid. You think I'm gonna give you any mercy, you prick? I'm not on the side of the law anymore, so I can do whatever the hell I want! No one's gonna stop me from taking out a shitstain like you this time!"
Giovanna tried to crawl out the door to get away from Abbacchio's punishing blows, but Bruno was on his feet, following to kick the man in the side before stepping on the back of his neck, making sure he stayed put as Abbacchio continued the beating. Sweat was breaking out across Abbacchio's face, the belt tearing holes in Giovanna's shirt, the fibers mixing with blood as the man's back was destroyed.
The man's screaming, accompanied by his wife's wails were far too satisfying to Bucciarati's ears. Giovanna scrabbled at his feet, clutching Bucciarati's ankle as he pressed his face against his foot smearing blood on his leather shoe.
"Please, please, I'll pay the money back, just—just stop this! I'll do anything!"
"You actually think this is about the money?" Bucciarati demanded, voice trembling with fury as Abbacchio finally stopped the beating, throwing the belt to one side and pressing the heel of his boot into the man's back, grinding down on the raw flesh.
"It's not the money I came for. I came for Giorno. You see," Bruno continued, pulling the gun from inside his coat. "You messed with my famiglia. Giorno doesn't belong to you anymore—he's mine. Not your family—mine. And I protect my own. So, you understand why I can't chance that you'll come after him again?"
"No!" the man screamed and struggled, as Abbacchio pushed harder and Bucciarati freed his foot from the man's grasp and cocked his gun, the woman shrieking out terrified sobs again.
"Wait."
The weak voice had Bruno turning instantly to the doorway of the room where Giorno stood, sagging.
"Don't," he said tiredly, sinking to his knees. "He's not worth it."
"Giorno," Bucciarati said before he caught sight of a flicker of Gold Experience and saw something shift on the floor, slithering away into the darkness. The belt was gone.
"Kid, are you sure?" Abbacchio asked breathlessly, eyes flashing, before Bruno caught his eye and a look passed between them. Abbacchio seemed to understand and nodded, stepping back.
Giorno nodded, coughing and slumping further, shoulder braced against the doorjamb. "I just want to go home," he said in a small voice.
Something broke in Bucciarati's chest and he instantly put the gun away, kicking his foot free of Giovanna's grasp again before he stepped over the disgusting man to crouch beside Giorno, gently helping him to his feet. "Come on, then, caro raggazo, let's go home."
A sob burst from Giorno's throat, quickly turning to a cough as he sagged. "Sorry," he whispered."
"Shh." Bruno didn't waste another second, simply gathering the boy into his arms and picking him up, taking his slight weight completely. Giorno's arms wound around his neck, pressing his face into Bruno's shoulder as the capo started to carry him down the stairs.
Abbacchio kicked Giovanna in the head for good measure. "Useless piece of shit," he muttered before he followed them out.
"Where do you want him?" Abbacchio asked as they made it out to the car.
"In the back, I've got him," Bruno replied quietly.
Abbacchio rushed to open the back door. "Here, let me take him for a second while you get in."
Mista and Narancia pulled up just at the moment Bruno shifted Giorno into Abbacchio's arms, and screeched to a halt right behind their car.
"Giorno!" Narancia screamed, barreling out of the car. "You found him?"
"We did," Abbacchio replied, bending awkwardly to hand Giorno in to Bruno who positioned himself so he could hold Giorno against his chest in the backseat in what would hopefully be, if not comfortable, at least a position that would not hurt Giorno more.
"We found him," he told Narancia, who peeked into the car, eyes wide. "You and Mista get home, we'll be right behind you. Run a bath for him when you do, please."
"Yeah," Narancia said, hurrying back to the car.
"Do you need a clean-up?" Mista asked, nodding to the house.
"No," Bruno called. "Let's just get Giorno home."
The boy in question was huddled against Bruno, one hand firmly gripping his suit, shaking, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body from the fever. Abbacchio grabbed a blanket from the trunk of the car and leaned inside to wrap it around Giorno before he got behind the wheel and started driving back. Bruno stroked a hand through Giorno's short, viciously chopped hair, fury building and building. Now that he had him in his arms he could also feel how thin he was. Bones pressing against Bruno where they shouldn't have been. Even with all the stress and sleepless nights back home, Giorno had still filled out with good meals provided by all of them. The fact that he had lost so much weight in a month had to mean he had hardly been eating anything.
Just the thought of him wasting away, worked like some kind of servant, living in fear of being beaten, in such horrendous quarters forced bile up into Bruno's throat. The injuries, the too-small clothes—all to steal money to play at being a little higher than they were. People like that disgusted Bruno most of all.
What was worse is that he had never known just how bad it was. But he should have guessed. He should have guessed from the start. The fact Giorno had never mentioned his family, should have been a major giveaway. There had never been any fond childhood anecdotes, or talk of his mother's favorite recipes. At most Bruno might have assumed he had been an orphan, but it was so much worse than that, because it was his own mother who didn't want anything to do with him and allowed her husband to treat the boy like a piece of trash.
Another coughing fit from Giorno pulled Bruno from those thoughts. Giorno curled up, whimpering before Bruno rubbed his chest gently.
"M'sorry," Giorno murmured almost like it was habit.
"Don't apologize," Bruno told him, brushing his hair back again. "You never have to apologize for things you can't control ever again."
Giorno choked, sniffling as he buried his face back against Bruno's shoulder. "Knew you'd come for me."
"Of course, Giorno," Bruno said, his heart breaking impossibly further, kissing the top of his head. "Now let's just get you home."
