"New blood joins this earth
And quickly he's subdued
Through constant pain disgrace
The young boy learns their rules
With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on he's known
A vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they'll take away"

"Gather what you need then meet me in the living room. Don't go into the dining room."

Giorno knew why he wasn't to go into the dining room. That was where his father's body was. As he gathered the things he needed, or didn't want to leave behind. Giorno wondered, why did he feel…nothing? It was like there was an empty hole in his life now. Once filled by that man. The man that had been in his life for as long as he could remember. His sudden removal was taking time to process. He'd just been with him minutes before. Despite the clear implication that Risotto had indeed killed him, a flitter of disbelief remained. A small part of him felt that if he were to leave this room, he'd still be there to yell at him and force him to go back into his room.

His hand paused as he was about to grab another of his shirts from a drawer. Was that why he felt so off? It was difficult to tell. His mind was still a hive of various details that had occurred one after another.

After the last of his clothes, that he wanted to take, were neatly packed into his backpack Giorno's eyes drifted back to his door Risotto had left through. The fact he knew his name was almost fantastical, he'd never thought he'd learn it. Now, he was going to take him in. Take him away from this place. Not to mention killed his father…there was too much to process at once, but he had a more solid feeling about this particular detail.

He wanted to go with him. He wanted to leave.

Refreshed in his resolve, Giorno packed quicker.

Risotto's usually methodical and collected mind was, similarly, flooded in thoughts as he returned to the dining room. He'd sincerely and earnestly hoped things had held over from his previous visit. That the parents were still behaving as they should be. Whether or not the few locals he'd paid were still being generous was relatively inconsequential, as they had less of a direct impact in Giorno's life. The sight of the kids still being friendly had given him hope that what he'd done had remained in his absence. Of course, that hadn't turned out not to be.

Metallica's cries rose in his mind like a backup chorus to his emotions, anger simmered in his veins again when the corpse came back into view. Risotto admitted to himself, he'd killed Giorno's father-in-law out of anger. He hadn't like the man since he found out of his abuse towards Giorno-for not being his son. It struck a worn nerve in him.

Then to have him throw his mistake in his face? He'd snapped and acted, driven on emotional impulse. Something, he hadn't done in a long time. Not since his first kill. Though, at least, that time he'd planned for that one. His execution had just been more…passionate, than expected.

Regardless, Risotto was sure the murder wouldn't be traced to him. Even if authorities did find out that he'd been killed by items tearing their way out of him, there'd be slim to no chances of them finding out how. Giorno being taken couldn't be linked back to him either. No one knew of their fateful meeting-least no one he was aware of. Passione had a habit of finding out things they shouldn't know. The gang always knew. Even still, the gang likely wouldn't care. If anything it'd be taken as an eventual recruit.

Even still, he felt so uncertain about what he was doing. He'd wanted to avoid Giorno getting involved with this lifestyle. A life taking the lives of others was not a good one, to say the least. The child's life had been hard enough early on, joining the underworld would only make it worse. Now, with him taking Giorno in? It was nearly unavoidable.

He could, at best, hold it off till he was older. Preferably till he was an adult and better fit to handle what societies underbelly would throw at him.

Even after going over the thoughts in his head, Risotto's feelings were unresolved while he pilfered the father's wallet from his pocket. Might as well get some extra funds if he was going to raise a child. He was sure to wear his black leather gloves, that were on his person, before doing so. Risotto flipped the wallet open with his thumb, extracted the money from inside, and tossed the remains back onto the body.

His mind kept reminding himself of the fact that he, an assassin; with who knows how many bodies to his career, was going to raise a child-while he took what valuables he could from around the home. All of which were put into a bag he found in the parent's room. It was a carry-on bag, allowing him to take more than originally thought he'd be able to. He might actually keep this for himself for later missions.

Risotto stopped himself, he was side tracking himself from the fact of the matter. He was going to have to raise a child. Aside from the essentials, he didn't know the first thing about child rearing. It was the exact opposite of his job. He was proficient in taking lives, not helping one properly develop. He exhaled shallowly. This was a whole new territory for him.

He looked around the home, as if some pointer or answer would show itself. Nothing did.

Enough stalling, Risotto told himself. He'd gathered enough, time to move on. The sight of the dinner plate on the table; however, caused him to take a brief detour into the kitchen before he headed to meet up with his new ward.

When he arrived back in the living room he saw Giorno was on the couch, staring at a photo of his family that was on the wall next to it. The boy didn't notice his arrival. His footsteps were very quiet despite his stature, due to sheer practice. Invisibility was effective, but not if his movements were clumsy and loud.

The sight of the father in the picture reminded him he'd forgotten to break down the metal constructs he'd created. A pang of indignation flickered in his emotions. He could leave the kill odd but not right outlandish, that could draw too much attention to it. Risotto rounded the room and raised a hand in the air, Metallica's cries strengthened as it went to work. In the dining room, the nails and box cutter blade began to seemingly dissolve into a silver liquid before being reassimilated into the blood and corpse. The end result was still a gored body but was like the objects had never existed in the first place.

Risotto looked back to the child as his hand drifted back to his side. He looked to be deep in thought, almost transfixed on the photo. On his back was a school bag and another bag sat next to him. He was ready to leave. At least, looked that way, but the focus on the photo suggested otherwise.

Giorno's expression was blank, devoid of emotion. As a child it made him look sedated or uncanny. Usually Risotto didn't have trouble reading people, the ones he did were few and far between. Sorbet was one, he was rather analytical about things and didn't let emotions that he didn't want shown stray to the surface. It was a part of why him and Risotto got along so well. The other was Illuso on occasion but even then it was usually a tell something was on his mind. What it was exactly was the tedious part to sus out.

For a child to accomplish this was almost unnatural, but Risotto reminded himself this had resulted from his upbringing. It had been necessary for him to learn to be this way, in order to avoid as much abuse as possible.

"Do you want to take the photo with you?" His voice finally got the boy to take his eyes off the family portrait. If only for a moment, before he looked back and spoke but didn't answer the assassin's question.

"That's a photo we took when mother and I first moved here after their marriage." Giorno explained. He didn't wait for Risotto to respond and continued, "Two days after father started to hit me. Before that I noticed he was acting different towards me. He mentioned how he'd wanted kids of his own, even though I was there. He snapped at me over small things. I thought I'd done something wrong, but I didn't understand what…He'd been nice to me before he married my Mom…"

Risotto stood in silence as the kid poured out his thoughts to him. He glanced to the door, he couldn't hear anyone approaching, for now. So long as he felt they were in the clear, he'd let him work through his thoughts. The smoother Giorno felt about this the better.

"He was using me to get together with mother," Giorno looked back to Risotto, hurt beginning to show through cracks in his expression as he asked, "wasn't he?"

"Seems that way." Risotto answered with a somber undertone.

Giorno looked down, taking the answer in, before he looked back to the assassin, "Are you going to kill my Mom?"

The change in subject taken in stride, Risotto's answer was almost offhanded, "She isn't present at the moment."

His neither yes nor no answer was received as well as his previous response. Giorno took a moment to process it then spoke again as he got up, "I'm ready to go."

There was a brief pause. Risotto asked, "And the photo?"

Giorno merely shook his head.

Risotto nodded and went over to the child, as he picked up his second bag, knelt down and picked him up. Giorno was surprised by this but didn't fight it. The assassin felt the child's eyes on him as he walked them over to the balcony door, clearly curious about what he was going to do. They couldn't exit through the front door. The halls could have cameras. He could try and turn them both invisible, but the bags would be difficult without excess iron material to work with. Not that it would likely tire him out quickly, trying to hold all of that at once. Keeping himself invisible was simple. Another person he hadn't done before. He was sure he could, but he was uncertain of how long it'd hold. He didn't want to risk exhausting himself while carrying the child.

However, he got an idea as he opened the balcony door. He'd enact his plan once they were on the ground floor. He turned his dark eyes to Giorno, "Hold on."

Giorno eyes widen a moment as he realized what they were about to do. He gripped onto the adult and nodded curtly. Risotto blinked, inwardly a bit surprised by the amount of trust given. They were about to drop down from a considerable height and he was willing to go with it. Mentally he shook himself from the stupor. Risotto swung himself over to the side of the rail, lowered himself to the bottom and dropped down. He joints stung momentarily from the landing, but he straightened himself out and walked it off. He'd prepared himself and had practice enough that the damage was minimized far as it could be. The drop hadn't been that far up, dangerous only if someone didn't have a clue how to do it properly.

"I'm going to need you to stay quiet till I reach my car. I'll explain how later." He began to move the bags he was carrying around in his hands.

Giorno stayed quiet as told and waited to see what he was going to do exactly. The jump down had been a brief thrill for him, so he was curious to see what else the assassin had up his sleeve. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Giorno felt something strange go over the surface of his skin. It wasn't breeze. A strange ghostly sensation that enveloped him then was instantaneously gone. To Giorno's surprise, he couldn't see himself anymore. His mouth hung open a moment, but right after closed it upon recalling Risotto's instruction.

With proper positioning of the belongings and him being invisible, Risotto appeared to be merely carrying bags. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The walk to the car went on for a while. Giorno watched as other people walked right by them, not even giving Risotto a passing glance. Assured of his invisibility he relaxed and enjoyed the ride. He couldn't ever recall his father carrying him like this, perhaps his mother did when he was very young, but all he could recall from that time was dark nights left alone. Him terrified, gnawing on his nails in a dark room, wanting comfort that wouldn't come. He still had trouble with dark rooms at night. They brought him back to those memories, as if he was reliving them all over again.

This brought forth the question of would his mother care he was gone? Would she be upset to see he'd been taken away by a killer? Or would she be glade he was no longer her concern? The train of thought began to build a welling feeling of distress in him. Out of reflex he clung closer to Risotto to get some form of comfort. The action caused the assassin to glance at him, but with the boy being invisible he was unable to see his tense expression. Mind flooded with revelation, Giorno sorted through the thoughts in search of how to handle it. Neither of his caregivers ever wanted him, but now, now he was free of them.

Why should he let himself be guilted over getting a new chance at life, with a new guardian that showed care and appreciation for him? He wouldn't. He wasn't going to let the thought of them ruin his new lease on life.

His emotions didn't lift completely, but Giorno was able to relax for the remainder of being carried.

The car ride to the hotel was quiet. Giorno sat in the backseat, watching the buildings go by. Occasionally he'd look at the rearview mirror to look at the driver, Risotto. The man would then notice, look back for a moment, then focus on driving. They'd been doing this off and on, back and forth between the two of them. It wasn't from tension, or awkwardness, neither of them seemed to know what to make of the sudden new situation. Silently they both acknowledged this. Less frequently than himself, Giorno had seen Risotto glance back at him through the mirror but never lingered longer than that.

"Risotto," The driver hummed that he'd heard, prompting Giorno to continue, "I don't feel anything for father's death…is that, how I'm supposed to feel?"

A pause lingered in the air as the assassin thought over how to respond. His emotions towards death had been numbed for years. The last recollection of him feeling anything over a loss was former comrades that died during their missions. He recalled the sting, but even then, he hardly knew the man. By then, Risotto had learned to tell whether a new member would stick, simple tells like sloppiness, frequent injury, lack of skill refinement, etc. There was a "trial period" of time before he and the other members of La Squadra would bother to get to know new members. After all, death was a part of their job. It was senseless to try and get to know people if they couldn't last a few months. Further, it prevented the death of new recruits from effecting the other's performance in their own missions.

Giorno however was not a seasoned hitman. The look of turmoil in his eyes was muted, kept mostly below the surface, but still evident. Far as Risotto could tell, the boy was taking things well…as a child of his age could. He had expected the boy to question how he'd turned invisible, but he'd seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. Unsure how to appropriately coax the thoughts out, he waited. Thankfully, it paid off.

"Did you ever feel anything for him?" Risotto responded. His tone level but softened to hopefully help the child. The result wasn't immediate but Giorno did speak again. His voice quiet, if it wasn't for the quiet air in the car Risotto might've had trouble hearing him otherwise.

"I wanted to once…but I wasn't his son." Giorno stared down at the floor of the car. The hurt and longing was evident.

Risotto took a moment to nod, he understood that a little too well. "Then how you feel is fair. He gave you no care, leaving nothing to grieve over." A faint, ghost of a smile settled itself onto the child's face. The reassurance doing its work to settle the boy. Dark eyes turned back to the road he added, "That aside, you weren't the one to kill him. The blood isn't on your hands."

Giorno nodded. He didn't bother to question if Risotto felt anything about killing his step-father. Still the child felt curiosity prompt him to ask, "Have you ever felt like that? Felt nothing for a death, but should've?"

"Yes, once." Risotto answered to the boy's surprise. Predicting the child would want him to elaborate, he added, "It was my first kill."

A vision of blood everywhere. Him hunched over a body, knife in hand, in a dark alley way. His breath ragged while covered in sweat from over exertion. The night he got his revenge on the man that murdered Arborio.

There must have been some remanence of tension in his voice as Giorno got the cue not to press further into the subject. Or perhaps he noticed his grip on the steering wheel tighten slightly. Either or, the boy changed the subject to the one Risotto had first anticipated.

"Oh," a short pause, "You, said you'd explain how you turned me invisible."

Risotto's stiff hold on the wheel lightened back to normal, mind preoccupied with a less sore subject, "I possess what is called a stand. Said to be the personification of the soul or fighting spirit. It grants me abilities over iron. I used it to manipulate the iron in your body to reflect light, making you invisible."

"Are there other's with stands?" Giorno expression shifted in curious awe. An improvement over his previous muted and conflicted one.

"Yes, all of Passione possess stands." Risotto answered with a nod.

"How do you get a stand?" The boy sat up straighter, his intrigue now in full effect and display.

Risotto knew the reason behind it, he'd noticed the boy's interest in the criminal underworld. It'd been part of the reason he'd kept his distance. It was no place for a child. However, with the current situation, it was unavoidable. So he had no reason to hide the ways of how a stand is gained. Though he was unsure of the chance of Giorno getting one himself. If he did gain one, by whatever means, it was more likely for the better.

"There are a variety of ways," Risotto began, "some have it since birth, some gain it through their bloodline. If one member of a family gains one the others have a chance of manifesting their own. Most members of Passione gain their stands through being pierced by an arrow during the initiation test."

"An arrow?" Giorno blinked in confusion. Surely it had to be special in some way, but he was unable to think of what exactly.

Risotto thought back to when he first joined and spoke with the Capo that welcomed him into the gang, who later appointed him the head of the execution squadron. "I am not fully aware of its origins. Capo Plopo said that it'd been uncovered in Egypt. How it works and why, I am unsure."

Giorno took note of the information he'd just been given. Would he be able to gain a stand? The fact that the entrance exam gave the possibility of one held promise, but that would have to wait for now. "Was that how you gained your stand?"

"No, it manifested during a hit. Prior I'd been noticing odd occurrences but thought nothing of it." That was another moment Risotto recalled with clear clarity.

Naturally it'd be shocking for anyone to see various, warped, bits of metal to burst forth from someone's skin out of nowhere. The sight right after had been the man hacking up sharp, shrapnel-like bits of metal before he collapsed on the ground, twitching until death took hold. Unused to such sights, that'd become commonplace soon, he'd sat against a wall, injured, gun clutched in hand, shocked.

"So you were born with one?" Giorno probed. He then tilted his head to the side, about to ask another question, when a pang of discomfort came from his stomach. This went ignored in favor of feeding his desire to better understand these supernatural gifts, "Why are they called stands?"

"The potential for one." Risotto corrected. When Giorno gave a shift of discomfort and glance towards his middle he pointed off to the side with his left hand, "In the bag I took, there's some food for you."

A look of surprise flashed across Giorno's face before he pulled over the carry-on bag from the seat beside him. With a bit of searching he pulled out a plastic bag that had an apple, tangerine, and a bottled water.

"It should hold you over till we get to the hotel." Giorno's hunger addressed, Risotto went back to explaining stands, "They're referred to as stands due to the fact they, typically, manifest as separate entities beside the user. That can usually only be seen by other stand users."

Giorno frowned slightly, his idea to ask to see Risotto's stand quickly put to rest. He'd just have to wait till he obtained one of his own. For the moment, his desire to learn more about stands was satiated with the option of food presented right in front of him. He took the apple from the bag and smiled appreciatively, "Thank you, Risotto."

A hum was received in response as Giorno began to eat the snack provided to him.

Author's Note:

I've decided to work on this AU/What-if story when ever I'm able to, after getting some more inspiration. My aim is to update once a month, at least ten pages per. This way I'm not over shooting things. If I get more done in between, it'll be added to the monthly buffer.

This chapter was mostly transitional, dealing with both Giorno's and Risotto's feelings on the whole situation. At to be expected, Giorno is ready to take this new development by the horns-well, as well as child can. Risotto...is conflicted. Next chapter will divluge more of his background. I plan on doing that with all the members of La Squadra, similarly to how it was done for Bruno's team to show why they are so loyal to each other and in particular-to Risotto. Then how Giorno's addition to the group will effect the dynamic.

Added song lyrics to the start of the previous and this chapter. It's meant to fit the mood of the chapter, least that's the aim.

Let me know what you think, how this story will be different from the cannon (what will or won't happen)! Also, hint, look up the developmental potential for each of their stands.