"Blurring lines of right and wrong
Far too late for frail amends."

Risotto's hotel room was sizable with a small kitchenette, bathroom, TV, desk, couch, couple chairs, and a bed. This caused Giorno to question whether him being taken in had been planned or not. He felt it hadn't.

The act of sneaking him in had been done much the same as before, by way of invisibility. Once inside the room Giorno hid his things away in the closet while Risotto ordered room service. Once done he took in his surroundings a little more. It'd been a while since he'd been in a hotel. He last recollections were of when his mother and him moved to Italy and on his parent's honeymoon trip. The memories were tainted with his recent realizations. He shook it off. That was behind him now. Literally and metaphorically.

He rested his arms on the side of the bed and watched, while Risotto thanked the person on the other end of the phone before hanging up. The adult sat down on the opposite side of the bed and pulled off his jester hat, showing his silver to be on the short side aside from the front bangs. The back appeared be more closely shaved.

"The food should arrive in thirty minutes. I'm not sure what you like so I chose basic dishes." Risotto said as he turned his head to the boy.

Giorno wasn't the least bothered by that and responded in understanding, "Thank you."

Risotto nodded.

Now with the moment available, Giorno took it to ask a pressing question that'd been on his mind since he'd left home. "Where are we going? To your home?"

"Yes, then I will introduce you to my team." Risotto answered. With Giorno now under his care, it was mandatory that he get to know the rest of La Squadra. He would meet them all one way or another. A meeting would get it taken care of all at once. While there was no concern of his men treating Giorno poorly, he knew this would cause a stir something one way or another. Inwardly he sighed, the reactions should be something to see...

"Team?" Giorno questioned. "Are you a Capo?"

"No, I serve under Capo Polpo. I have command of a group but no territory of my own." This seemed to slightly surprise the boy. Had Giorno thought the sway he'd had over those around him meant he held a position of importance? The lack of territory control was a subject of issue among him and his men, mainly Sorbet and Gelato. Thus far, he'd disregarded it. They were the best hitmen in all of Passione. It was only a matter of time that their work would garner them recognition. They just had to be patient and keep at their work.

"What are the members of your team like?"

The question caused a slight pause from Risotto. He'd never had to describe his men to anyone before. Least not to a child. There were many ways to put his team, but he disliked to talk for long lengths of time. Today was the most Risotto had talked in a while. However, Giorno being drastically displaced because of his action left the boy at a right for information. So, Risotto put his preferences aside and answered in as few words as he could managed.

"They are skilled and the best in our field of work." Several shouting matches cropped up in his memory. Formaggio vs Illuso due to their rivalry. Prosciutto because of his strict and harsh mentorship of Pesci. Illuso and Prosciutto over rank in the group. All the while Gelato sat back to watch the various shows with clear amusement. Thankfully, Sorbet had no interest in squabbles. Risotto rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "If not loud at times."

While Giorno took note of the second part for later, he was more interested in the first segment. Skills in what? His mind immediately went back to what'd happened to his late father-in-law. Risotto had killed him so quickly and silently, that he'd been none the wiser until he'd heard his footsteps. That in mind, Giorno suspected Risotto had let him hear his approach. The quiet then sudden noise drew him to the conclusion. Coupled with the fact he was to meet similarly skilled individuals left him with a sudden feeling of intimidation.

"Hitmen? Is that what your team is?" He kept his daunted emotion below the surface. Weakness had long been taught to never be shown. In the world of the mafia that was surely enforced even more rigidly.

"Correct." The boy's perceptiveness was impressive for his age, but Risotto was more experienced.

"You're apprehensive." Giorno stiffened. He hadn't hidden his emotions well enough. He attempted to read Risotto but got nothing other than the man's stoicism. Concerns of disapproval were put to rest when Risotto continued, tone carrying hints of reassurance, "They will not harm you. The manner of how we met is already known to them."

Giorno's posture loosened with this knowledge. A good word was already put in for him. Nervousness was still present but didn't grip him as firmly. He wondered how they would take him. Would they share his curiosity or tolerate him only for Risotto? He'd said they were loud sometimes. From yelling at one another or boisterous comradery? He could ask more questions but it would be better to wait and see, words could only do so much to portray a people.

Giorno uttered a noise of understanding and nodded.

Risotto examined the boy's expression and found his nerves to be settled enough. He stood up from the bed, it shifting notably. "I'm going to take a quick shower. If the food comes early, hide. Understood?"

The boy nodded again. Dark eyes stayed on him a moment longer before the assassin headed to the bathroom area. He unfastened his trench coat, draped it onto a nearby spare chair, and removed his shoes before disappearing into the half bath.

Once the door shut behind the adult, Giorno's eyes drifted over to the jester hat on the nightstand. He crawled across the bed, draped his legs over the side and picked it up. Firstly, he noticed the orbs at the end were notably solid, definitely not hollow. He'd already noticed they lacked bells inside while being carried. Secondly, the letters on them spelled Risotto's name from the right to left. Inspection done, Giorno played with the tails of the curious hat. He'd never seen another like it in real life, only in pictures.

Risotto didn't really need a shower, he taken one after his mission was completed. What he really needed was a moment to relax his nerves. Giorno's question in the car had dug up a memory that refused to simply be buried again. He'd kept himself distracted with the child's presence but could only hold it off for so long. It refused to be ignored. Old embers of frustration and hatred came back to life. Metallica's cries filled his ears as the stand stirred in his veins to the point that he felt himself tremble.

His revenge had hardly been a spur of a moment. He'd had four long years to plan it out. Four years to train and prepare. Arborio's killer, Maialino Spiedo, was by no means a small man. Relying on rage alone would've been a foolish endeavor. In the four-year span, between his prison sentence and his release, he'd grown considerably in height and strength. During that time, Risotto also began to dip himself into the underground world through fighting rings. The vicious blood sport forced him to hone his fighting instinct or go home battered, possibly with broken bones. The first few goes had been brutal. He hadn't been prepared but he learned quickly. It was through there that he met Prosciutto for the first time. He supplied him his gun and switchblade he used for the kill. In exchange for a good amount of money of course. Unmarked guns didn't come cheap.

"Your putting yourself through this hell, all for one guy?" Prosciutto had remarked later, while Risotto was treating some cuts from a fight. By then he had gotten better, but not good enough. At least not to himself.

Risotto only replied with a simple, "Yes."

A momentary pause while Prosciutto took in the answer, by now he was used to the other's simple and to the point responses. They were at Prosciutto's and Pesci's small rundown apartment, Risotto in their bathroom treating himself. The blond laughed lightly, admitting, "Well, I can't say you aren't committed."

He'd always been this way, methodical. If he was going to do something, he was going to do it correctly and to the best of his ability. Arborio had been the one to get him to ease up, but she wasn't here anymore.

The shower faded away from his focus. It was the day that began his life as a killer.

Heat in his veins fueled his restrained anger that consumed him to his core. It'd been this way for the whole month, leading up to this anticipated day. The day he was going to end Maialino. He'd been unable to focus on anything else, other than what he'd planned so long for. It showed despite his efforts to keep it concealed, causing concern from the few around him. He dismissed their worries. Risotto had been hesitant at first to trust anyone, he'd only ever trusted Arborio prior but Prosciutto had shown a level of understanding and cut him some deals. Even in the present day, only Prosciutto knew the details of his first kill.

It was late at night when he found him. He'd been stalking him for a while now. Much as he'd wanted to, it'd be too suspicious for him to die right after being freed. That'd leave him as a prime suspect. It'd been months now. He'd memorized his routine. He knew when he'd be alone and he could wait no longer.

He watched him from down the street from between cars and strangers that milled about. Currently he was heading home from his job, a pawnshop that he owned. A seedy looking little business stuck between better looking businesses, an open cafe and a bookstore. As he stalked the man, he found out his pawnshop was a front for selling drugs. This didn't surprise Risotto much, but the fact that he sold to children did. The abhorrent man became only more disgusting in his eyes, driving him further to rid the world of him.

Currently, he was heading out to go get drunk.

Risotto couldn't believe his eyes when he first saw him get wasted on the very same weekend of his release. One would think, causing the death of a young person due to being drunk at the wheel would encourage someone to be sober, yet that wasn't the case here. Risotto heart raced and he held his breath when he'd saw him get into his car. His unsaid prayer was seemingly answered as the man hadn't hit another person-luckily. Between the several episodes of drunk driving and selling drugs to kids, it was clear he had no respect for the lives of others.

The cool night air was filled with only ambient noise. The parking lot for the bar was a walk away from the establishment itself. Hidden behind the building and the backs of others. The bar was packed, noise could be heard from it even at this distance. The bar entrance was actually a stairway to the basement of the building. The main floor was a restaurant owned by the same people. What was important was that the it was steep enough that Risotto couldn't be seen as he broke into Maialino's car. His situation was further helped by the fact there were cars situated around to further hide him. He was free to pick the side door lock and slip inside before any of the other car owners returned.

Risotto waited patiently on the floor of the backseat for Maialino to return. For his size it was cramped, but his hatred for the man made it easy to ignore his discomfort. Inside the car was not much warmer than outside but his black hoodie and leathers glove kept him from being frigid. His heart pounded in anticipation, Risotto had waited so long for this and there wasn't a doubt in his mind on if he could go through with this. He just needed to stay focused and stick to his plan. He'd learned a lot about Maialino in his time stalking him, he had a firm grasp on how he'd react to things. Nothing would be able to surprise him or throw him off guard.

Without a watch, Risotto didn't know for how long he had waited but, to him, it seemed like Mailaino returned earlier than expected. Perhaps it was his desire to end the man's life or something had happened in the bar. The man was muttering to himself about money, seemed like he hadn't brought enough to continue to binge. By the sounds of his words he wasn't absolutely plastered, but still had more than one drink in his system. This worked in Risotto's benefit. The more coherent he was the better.

Maialino started his car and began to drive away from the parking area. Risotto remained where he was. The man hadn't even looked in the back seat of his car, he had no reason to. In his inebriated state, he likely didn't catch the outline of dark clothing. From where he was, Risotto looked out the adjacent window that he faced to tell where they were. By the looks of the buildings that sped by, Maialino was heading home. He wouldn't be making it there. The route he took was a lesser used one, meaning less witnesses.

Once Risotto felt they were isolated enough from wandering eyes, he began to execute his plan. He took out the gun and put it to Maialino's side. The man to stiffened and give an exclamation of surprise. Risotto ignored this and ordered, "Make a left at the next turn."

"Who the hell-when did you-" Maialino stopped his when he felt the barrel of the gun press firmly into his side. He gritted his teeth and complied. Through the rearview mirror Risotto could see he was attempting to get a look at him. He kept himself mostly hidden behind the seat. At best he could see his arm shoulder and the edge of his hood. If he made any move to grab at him, he'd shoot, it was risky but the attempt would risky in of itself. Either way, the chance of Maialino doing so was low. He was cornered at the moment and he knew it. At best he'd try something when they got out of the car.

"Turn right at the intersection." Risotto instructed. Inwardly, he wanted to yell and scream out his hatred, but getting emotion would cause him to lose his focus. If that happened, he could leave an opening. He couldn't let that happen.

Maialino begrudgingly complied, but attempted to pry some information out of his unwanted passenger, "Who the fuck are you?"

"No questions. You'll see when we get out." Risotto shortly replied. Maialino twitched in agitation, a growl under his breath. The continual pressure of the gun in his side forced him to comply, at least for a short while.

After more directions from Risotto, Maialino began to slowly become more uneasy. They were headed towards a bad side of the city. The less up kept, rundown, crime ridden side. The desired outcome of this encounter was becoming clearer to him. Maialino attempted to pry for information again, "Are you a druggie, competitor? What?"

"Quiet. Turn now." Risotto ordered, cocking the gun's safety as one final warning. Maialino's neck stiffened, the vein's in his neck showing beneath the skin. The simple sound of a click was enough to evoke further fear from his captive. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat and alcohol from the man, he smelled putrid. Risotto shook it off, soon they'd be at their destination.

Said destination was a dead-end alleyway. It once went all the way through but the two buildings on opposite sides were bought and merged together. The business that was created for it had recently gone under and the building was waiting to be sold. For the moment, it may as well be abandoned. The alleyway that led up to the back door was only occupied by a dumpster and random trash littered about. In the dark of the night, the brick walls looked to be a dark grey with the silver moonlight leaving them a silvery blue-grey. It was like a city entrance to a tomb.

Reluctantly, Maialino stopped his car and turned it off at Risotto's orders. He scowled apprehensively and opened his mouth to ask what the bastard in his back seat wanted next. His words were instantly cut off by a gun shot. Maialino howled in agony and reflexively gripped his leg. While he bucked and thrashed wildly in his seat, Risotto got out from the back. He calmly walked over to the driver's seat and opened it. Maialino had been shouting and swearing up a storm in the meantime, Risotto ignored what he said. When the side door was opened, he snapped his attention to it. The sight of a gun pointed at his face drained the color from his sweat decorated complexion.

"Get out." Risotto ordered coldly. Face still mostly hidden by his hood.

"You shot me in the fucking leg! How the fucking hell do you expect me to move?" Maialino yelled in response. His hands tightly gripping the bullet wound that was just above his kneecap.

Risotto's neutral expression cracked with an annoyed twitch of his lips and a faint growl. He reached in and grabbed the drunkard by the back of his shirt. Roughly he yanked him out of the driver seat and tossed him to the ground. His partially inebriated state left him at a disadvantage to resist the motion, he gasped as his shoulder met the cold, hard, concrete ground. He was given no reprieve as he was kicked forward away from the door. The thud of the driver door being shut was accompanied by an emotionless order, "Limp or crawl, I don't care which-move."

The gun still pointed directly at him and his attacker surprisingly tall, Maialino halfway dragged his way to the back door of the building. He didn't know where he was. The feeling of isolation and helplessness continued to build inside him. He didn't know who this person was and there were many reasons someone would want it in for him, but not knowing left a terrifying unknown he didn't like. If he knew then, maybe, he'd be able to talk his way out of this.

The inside of the building looked like a gutted-out husk of what it once was. All furnishings were removed, the walls were stripped bare. Dust was already collecting and spiderwebs were the only sort of decoration present. One of the front windows was boarded up, due to what looked to be a broken window. The other had a blind pulled down. Done so by Risotto in preparation for this moment.

Without warning, Risotto shot Maialino in the shoulder. The man fell back hard onto the ground, blood splattering on the ground around his shoulder. He writhed and clutched his shoulder that was blistering with hot pain. He could feel the bullet lodged inside. A shadow fell over him, distracting the man from his injury. Maialino looked up to see his attacker had pulled down his hood. Mid-length grey hair stood out wildly, bangs over grey eyes.

"Do you remember me?" Risotto questioned. The tone he carried made it sound like a thinly veiled threat. The blank expression lined with panic answered him without words. His anger flared to the surface of his face, Risotto scowled, "Four years ago."

Maialino's eyes widened, his mind went back to the trial that'd put him in jail. He recalled a boy sitting on the prosecution's side that had glared at him all throughout the proceedings. Dread filled the pit of his stomach and eyes. He swallowed thickly, "You're the brother of that girl..."

Arborio and he had considered each other as siblings so the statement wasn't off. Risotto glowered at Maialino coldly, "That's right."

He said nothing else to that. No declaration that he was going to kill him. He was already dead in Risotto's eyes. He'd been dead for years. He wouldn't let his words waver or distract him. All that mattered was enacting the deed. No words were needed for that.

His resolve must have shown as Maialino face became grim and frantic as he put away the gun. The safety put back in place. He scrambled back as Risotto stepped forward and pulled out a pocket knife. The sight of blade getting flicked out in a smooth motion was the final straw to break Maialino. Words spilled from his mouth in a desperate attempt to save his hide, "E-easy! No! Don't do anything drastic now! It-it was an accident! I-I've had a hard life and I drink to cope, surely you can understand that! You wouldn't want to become a murder like me, would you? What would she think?"

Risotto stilled for a moment. He'd thought about that repeatedly. Arborio had always chided him when he got into fights with those that picked on her. The hostility he'd faced at home had led him to have a short fuse towards anyone who threated Arborio. Once he'd drawn blood by busting the other kid's nose. He probably would've gotten into more fights, if it hadn't been for her. It didn't take much thought to come to the conclusion that she wouldn't approve of what he was about to do.

The hatred and anger in his veins wouldn't allow him to let it go. Risotto needed vengeance for what had been taken from him. She was gone. He'd never see her again. This miserable, pathetic excuse for a man before him didn't deserve to live for taking such an innocent, pure life. The justice in place had failed to provide proper punishment. It'd failed him and forced himself to endure this cretin's continued existence. He'd correct that mistake.

"I've had a hard life as well...I've never known my parents, my uncle died, and my aunt is a drunk." Risotto answered evenly as he looked down at the knife in his hand. Maialino's fearful expression lightened, thinking he'd managed something. This belief was quickly crushed when Risotto's even expression broke apart and contorted into murderous hatred. He spat venom at the object of his rage, "And you took away the only good thing in it!"

In an instant, Risotto lunged at the man before he could protest, the knife was plunged right into his throat. Blinded by long brewed anger he kept stabbing. The blood in his veins was brought to a full boil and demanded this man pay. All he saw was red. All he felt was the rage inside that guided his viscous swings. Cries of pain, anguish, and anger punctuated each strike but eventually each faded away, leaving only the sounds of the knife striking flesh. Maialino's attempts to struggle against Risotto were weak. His inebriation and gunshot wounds made them pointless against the enraged onslaught. By the time Risotto's anger petered out and his focus returned, he was exhausted, sweat coated him, and his breath was labored. The image before him was red. Blood had soaked through and stained the torn-up clothing of Maialino, a white shirt stained to a wine red, the brown jacket a deep crimson. The shirt was torn to ribbons with numerous stab wounds. On the other hand, the jacket being sturdier bared a few well-defined holes.

The number of cuts and stabs shocked Risotto. He'd plan on several stab wounds but this was more than even he had thought himself capable of. He couldn't really recall what stab came after the first one. What shocked him was the stabs to the face and tongue. Risotto hadn't thought himself capable of such mutilation. In his rage, he hadn't even second guessed himself for a split second. His hands and knife were utterly coated in blood with his hoodie baring splatters all over the front and sleeves.

He pulled himself up to his feet as he attempted to process what had occurred. This was it. He'd gotten his revenge. Yet, despite the level of savagery he now found himself capable of, he felt...nothing.

His shock had been fleeting gone moments after it appeared. He'd done what he needed to. His emotion had gotten the better of him. He'd work to keep it in line, that was all that needed to be done. What concerned him more was the lack of emotion he felt. Risotto hadn't really thought of how achieving his revenge would make him feel afterwards. All that had mattered was Maialino's death. Nothing else. Now that it was done, there was a numb emptiness in its place.

It didn't feel right. It felt off. Shouldn't he feel some catharsis? He didn't feel any better or any worse. Risotto pondered if there was something wrong with him that kept him from feeling anything as a result of committing this crime. He frowned, in some way Maialino was right. He had become like him in a sense, he felt nothing for the loss of another's life. Even with that thought, he still felt nothing.

Risotto wiped his knife off on his hoodie then put it away. With some hefting he hauled the corpse into the trunk of his own car. He grabbed up a change of clothing he'd stored in the empty building, changed quickly into the new clothes. Stored the bloodied clothing into a black bag and tied it off in a knot before tossing it into the trunk with the body. Afterwards it was just a matter of driving to the location he was going to dump the body. During the drive he felt mechanically focused yet strangely detached to everything that was around him.

The emptiness had settled itself in him nicely. Risotto accepted this new state of being, if this was the outcome of his revenge-so be it.

Later, he knocked on the door to Prosciutto's apartment. There was a call from inside and a moment later the young mafioso answered the door. He only looked at the tired Risotto for a second before he stepped aside from the door and nodded for him to come inside. The two went into the living room, Risotto taking a seat on the old, worn-out brown sofa while Prosciutto stood beside a small coffee table. The building was outdated and barely up kept, just enough to keep it livable. Risotto knew Prosciutto was bothered by his living conditions but Risotto, himself, wasn't. Particularly with how tired he felt currently.

"Considering how it's nearly morning..." Prosciutto stated with an offhanded yawn. He raised a brow when a look of surprised confusion surfaced on his friend's face.

"It's that late?" Risotto questioned. He'd assume it'd be past twelve but he hadn't thought that he'd lost track of time that badly.

"Early actually." Prosciutto corrected. Risotto rubbed his face in an attempt to gather his bearings while the mafioso continued, "Only reason I'm up is because it's hard to not hear everything in this damn apartment."

"Sorry for bothering you." He apologized. Prosciutto shrugged it off.

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it. I'll get back to sleep easy enough." He eyed Risotto a moment, then asked what he knew to be the reason for his oddly timed arrival, "So, you finally decided to do that bastard in, hm?"

"Yes." Risotto answered. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money and held it out to the mafioso. "Here, the money for his car and from his wallet as promised."

Soon as the cash came out, Prosciutto's eyes lit up. He took the money and briskly thumb through it, "Not bad, about as much as I figured for that model. Least he kept it decently enough." He looked back to Risotto, "He have anything good on him?"

Risotto fished back into his clean replacement hoodie. "He had a couple of rings and a necklace on. I can't say what their worth anything."

Once the jewelry was handed over, Prosciutto looked it over with a critical eye. He tilted his head as he held them in his hand, "Nothing too special. Gold looks real, diamond too. I should be able to get some good cash for this."

"Good." Risotto said as he rubbed the side of his head, his exhaustion was beginning to weigh on him. His shoulders beginning to sag he lifted his head back up. "I have a couple of things to ask of you."

Brow arched inquiringly. Prosciutto asked in turn, "What's that?"

"Can I sleep here? I've never felt this exhausted before." Risotto's tone was limp. His body was ready to give into the need to sleep at any moment.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've slummed here." Prosciutto stated casually, not bothered by the idea. He leaned to the side and put the hand with the jewelry on his side. "You don't need to ask at this point."

"I dislike assuming." Came Risotto's half-muttered reply.

Used to his company's meticulous behavior by this point, Prosciutto accepted the response and resumed, "And the second request of yours?"

"Help me establish myself as a hitman."

Surprise flashed across Prosciutto's cerulean-blue eyes. For the moment of the declaration being made the tiredness was gone and in its place was firm conviction. Prosciutto looked the other man over, "Bit of a jump after killing one guy. What caused this?"

"I learned that I felt nothing for killing a person. I believe that's a good mindset for that sort of occupation."

"Can't argue that."

The sounds of knocking snapped Risotto out of his recollection. A call was dampened by the sound of the shower and the closed door. He recalled the room service ordered and shut off the shower. He cracked the door to the half-bath open and called out, "One moment."

Briskly he dried himself off and pulled his pants on. While still drying off with a towel Risotto strode across the room, as he did, he noticed he couldn't immediately see Giorno. That noted he was free to open the door. The stewardward outside appeared surprised by his appearance that filled the doorway.

"Sorry, I was in the shower." Risotto stated as he rubbed the back of his neck with the towel.

"No problem at all. Just take these off my hands." The steward held out two covered plates.

"Of course." Risotto took up the two plates. "My thanks."

"Enjoy! And have a good night sir."

After a nod of acknowledgment, Risotto shut the door with his heel as he turned away a covered dish still in each hand. Outside eyes now gone, he looked around for the child's whereabouts. There were a couple places he could effectively be hiding. No sight of feet under the curtains took away one, which was good as people outside the building could've spotted him. The others were in the closet or behind some form of furniture amd he had a feeling as to which one.

"Giorno, come chose your meal." He was none too surprised when the young boy popped up from the behind the bed. It was a boxed bed so it wasn't possible to see him from the door. He'd been too preoccupied with answering the door to take notice as he passed by. What he hadn't expected was his hat sitting on Giorno's head. The sight caught him so off-guard that he stood there, staring. Risotto blinked when he realized he was doing this, mentally shook his head and refocused himself.

He placed the two dishes down on the coffee table before he removed the metal covers. One was polenta with tomato sauce and a few medium-sized meatballs and the other was carbonara with bits of bacon.

By the time Risotto looked back to the boy, expecting him to have moved over, he saw Giorno had only taken a couple of steps towards the end of the bed. A pensive and hesitant expression was on his face. Small hand wringing one of the hat tails while the other clenched one. It looked like he was contemplating taking it off. At the same time, he carefully eyed Risotto, who inched a brow upward at this. What was he trying to read him for? Surely, he didn't suspect him doing something to the food. Had he chosen not one but two dishes he didn't like?

"Giorno, what's wrong?" The question got the boy's fidgeting hand to go still. Giorno's hands dropped from the hat tails and held them to his chest.

"Are...you upset that I played with your hat?" His words came slowly and were weighted with caution.

It was a simple question, yet Risotto was left openly puzzled by it. Out of all things, why would something so innocuous bother him? It wasn't as if Giorno was trying to pull it apart. Yes, he liked it but he wasn't that possessive. His brows furrowed in confusion as he answered, "No, why do you ask?"

Giorno's eyes fell. "Father didn't like me touching his things…"

A faint noise of understanding escaped past Risotto's lips. The realization somber but lined up to the poor treatment he was aware of. He ran a hand through his bangs, trying to work out a response in a timely manner. What he should say was obvious. Yet he found himself carefully picking out his words. This was an abused child, not one of his men. If things weren't done properly there could be more issues down the line, mentally and emotionally.

"I see." Risotto sat down on the burgundy couch that was off to the side of the coffee table. He looked to Giorno, tone calm and soft, "If I didn't want you to touch something, I will tell you. You can wear my hat. It doesn't bother me. If I want it back, I'll ask. I won't get angry at you for something unimportant."

From where he sat, Risotto saw Giorno's face lighten. There was still traces of unease, but trauma couldn't be wiped away in a single night. The air between them lifted, Risotto again motioned to the food and invited him over. "Come, let's eat."

Giorno nodded. It still took a bit for him to work himself up to move beyond the end of the bed, but once he got moving his steps became readily surer. Between the polenta and carbonara, he chose the pasta. He watched Risotto's reaction to his decision and only began to eat when the adult simply took up the other plate. His green eyes peered watchfully at the other while he twirled up and ate his food. Gradually he settled his focus on his meal and a comfortable silence only broken up by the clinking of utensils against a plate.

"We will need to head to bed soon." Risotto stated midway through the meal. "The drive isn't long but I'd like to get you settled and rested before I introduce you to my men."

"Okay" Giorno responded between a bite.

"Speaking of, would rather I stay on the recliner chair?" A look of confusion he received prompted him to explain, "I don't want cause any discomfort and prevent proper rest."

"No, I'll be fine." The response was quick and certain. So much so that it threw Risotto off a little. The moment when he'd readied to drop down from the balcony flickered through his thoughts. Risotto cut that strain of thought short. He wasn't willing to put stock into such a thing so soon. The boy hadn't even been with him for a full day. Risotto focused on the child in front of him, his fork put down for the moment. A small smile formed on Giorno's face. "You're the only one that's ever cared for me. I feel safe with you."

Speechlessness held Risotto firmly. Trust outside of his group wasn't something he came by. His mere appearance caused people to stray away from him. Black and red eyes was more than enough to do that. Demon and monster were labels often applied to him by those that he was about to kill, or the rare few that had heard of him. He nearly wanted to toss this up to the child not wanting to offend him. What stopped him was the composure the boy held. His unease and fearfulness from before had been fully banished.

Risotto picked up his fork and conceded, "Very well. If you change your mind let me know."

Giorno didn't wind up changing his mind. Time went by, one last offer was made by Risotto but it was dismissed as simply as the first. There was something that bothered Giorno, but the assassin's presence wasn't it. On contrary, the boy hoped that his presence would help him.

As he laid on his back he stared up at the ceiling. Anxious worry welled up inside him. The time was coming, traces of darkness held his attention. One at a time the lights were flicked off like a count down. By the time he felt Risotto's weight to the side of him, the darkness was all around him. Its presence pressed down on him with a weight it didn't have. His young heartbeat quickly as a rabbit. Giorno tired to force his fear back but it quickly overpowered him quickly.

He was even younger. Alone in his room and trembling on his bed, blanket wrapped around him as he held himself tightly. He wanted someone to hold him, but no one would. His parents only ever yelled at him for disrupting their sleep and told him to grow up. He had to hold himself. It did little to sooth him.

Giorno didn't know why he was like this. He'd always been this way from what he'd heard through his mother's rants. It wasn't that he felt there were monsters in the dark. No, it was the darkness itself. With it's crushing weight that made it feel like it was closing in, closer and closer, till squeezed the life out of him.

While it crushed him, he could only stare out into its depths. The vast, nebulous void of pitch black that seemingly had erased the rest of the room with its arrival. Giorno knew he wasn't sitting afloat in nothingness. He insistently reminded himself about this, but his fear consistently overrode this.

Alone. It showed him how alone he was. During the day, his parents wanted nothing to do with him. The other children mocked him for his different ethnicity and loneliness. Night only showcased this in it's full effect.

He was alone. No one would comfort him. Sometimes he cried, tears staining his blanket. Eventually, he'd fall asleep to dream of more darkness. Nothing.

Something draped over him and Giorno was jerked back to the present. He hadn't realized it but he'd been trembling. His mind had been too caught in the same fear from another place and time. For a scarce moment, he didn't know where he was. It was the red numbers from the alarm clock on the bedside table that helped him recollect. The dim light may have not staved off his fear but at least it helped in some way. Now he knew what laid over his side.

For once, Giorno felt calm in the dark. He stopped shaking and settled down. His own arm embraced Risotto's before he fell asleep with a soft smile.

Author Notes:

I contemplated whether to include the bit about Maialino selling drugs to kids for a short but. I went with it to stick to the JoJo tradition of making the bad guy as bad as possible before quickly killing them off lol. Also, on Risotto not being a capo. I've looked it up and as far as I can tell he's officially never referred to as one. Capos have territory control. The whole deal between La Squadra and the boss is because Diavolo wouldn't give them territory control, give Risotto a promotion essentially. Similar to Bruno before he was promoted, he's just a team leader. I mention this because people tend to call him Capo, so just to avoid confusion.

As for Risotto's hair and eye color in the flashback, like he said in chapter one, things changed.

Next chapter, Giorno meets the rest of the current La Sqaudra roster!