Eyes cracked open. Eyesight bleary, everything looked like smears of colors and shades, reds, dark and light greys, putrid greens, luminescent yellow. Although everything was unclear, pristine vision wasn't needed. Everything would look the same as it had for...however long he'd been stuck in this hell.

Once more, for an uncounted time, he strained against chains that kept him bound. Again, to no avail. Intense heat that pounded down on him kept him weak. The minor effort caused him to breath heavily in exhaustion. Sweat poured from him and he slumped back against the metal pipes behind him, chains rattled from the sudden movement as if frightened. Absently he stared out, at the blank walls, at dried blood around him. He grounded his teeth, body shaking, before he lunged forward and let out a furious scream.

He hated them. He hated all of them. If he ever got free, it'd been the end of them. They'd pay for everything they took from him.

"Giorno, read chapter five and six. When you have completed doing so, I want you to write a comprehensive summary of both, development of the characters from the previous chapter, write down examples of the literary techniques we've discussed, and your general thoughts." Sorbet instructed as he wrote just that down on a chalk board. Once done he looked over at the now ten-year-old boy that sat at the desk in the center of his study. The room had been rearranged somewhat to make the study into a makeshift schoolroom. Both the chalkboard and wooden desk had been stolen from an upscale school's storage room-with the help of Formaggio's stand, Little Feet. The boy nodded dutifully and opened the book, "The Secret Garden". Chalk stick put down Sorbet sat down at his desk. "When you're finished, we will discuss your answers."

"Yes Mr. Buio." Giorno customarily responded, eyes on the pages. He'd asked for Sorbet's last name when he'd been told that the man would be teaching him. The token of respect had been noted by the man, though it made him no less strict a teacher. If anything, his straight A's had prompted the assassin to give him a harder lesson plan.

As he'd said, "Sharp minds need more challenges, or they'll dull from a lack of adequate stimulation and become slothful."

Giorno didn't mind it. This personal one on one education was something he looked forward to. The engagement between him and his new teacher wasn't like anything he'd seen from previous educators. He'd hadn't had bad teachers per say, though his last one hadn't done anything to really help him put an end to the bullying he'd endured. The best that'd been given was a metaphorical slap on the wrist or a slight telling off, which only made things worse for him after school. Once he'd had rocks thrown at him, he'd ran and they'd laughed. Despite this, Giorno did somewhat miss being surrounded by peers. If only faintly.

If he were to compare which company he enjoyed more between his new life and previous life...his new life would win by a good margin. He hadn't considered his old group of friends actually friends. They'd been bought. Giorno was grateful that Risotto had paid them off to be kind, he'd never be ungrateful that the harassment had been put a stop to. It had been like he'd been given a taste of what having real friends was like. It was sweet, but the core was made of plastic.

Now, he had a better idea of it. In the year he'd been with Risotto, Giorno had settled nicely with the squadron of assassins. As Illuso had predicted, Formaggio was the one he'd been sent to stay with most when Risotto went out on missions. He'd quickly come to think of the hitman as a friend. At best he'd stayed with him for barely a month cumulatively. Giorno had come to love his Russian Blue, Blu. Naturally it'd been apprehensive of a new person, at first, but warmed up quickly to him. Surprisingly so, from what Fromaggio had said when it already began to purr and nuzzle him, towards the end of the first day.

"Gelato, I'm in the middle of a schooling session." Giorno's focus on his work was interrupted by the firm tone of his teacher. He glanced back and saw the other household member peeking into the room with a rather coy smile on his face. As Giorno had seen before, Sorbet's words only seemed to usher the other man in.

While this was nothing new, Giorno couldn't help but watch it play out from the edge of his vision. He'd long since learned what Formaggio meant by the two being "really close". It was interesting to see, what Giorno saw, a more genuine relationship playout before him. He didn't see any actual love between his father-in-law and his mother. Nothing aside from physical interest anyway. The two of them didn't act affectionate, unless one wanted something from the other. Money for his mother and sexual favors for his father-in-law. They did go out on occasions, but those were infrequent. It wasn't like Gelato and Sorbet, who seemed inseparable.

"You know I love when you act like this." Gelato crooned as he strode his way over to the desk. Hands holding the edge of the desk he looked at Sorbet with a clear want in his hazel eyes.

"I am aware." Sorbet responded. He gestured back to Giorno. Whom immediately looked back to his book in an attempt to portray focus. It didn't work. "As I said, I'm in the middle of a teaching and this is a disruption."

The back and forth brought Giorno's thoughts to the day he found out the two men were an item. It'd also been during one of his class sessions. At the time, it'd been less than a weeks' worth of visits to the two's house and a few months into his stay with Risotto. He recalled they'd been going over mathematics at the moment, when Gelato entered the room. Sorbet, like currently, tried to dismiss his lover from the room only further heat his interest.

"You aren't going to leave, are you?" Sorbet questioned in a more rhetorical manner than genuine.

"Not until you at least give me a little something." Gelato put a finger to his bottom lip and smirked coyly.

The clear implication was what caused a click of realization to go off in Giorno's head. He lifted his head up and words popped right out. "You two are a couple?"

Sorbet and Gelato's attention turned to the boy; the moment interrupted. Giorno had a look of wide-eyed realization and youthfully proud of his own discovery. He'd been wondering what Formaggio had meant and now he'd figured it out on his own.

"Yes, and?" There was an unexpected edge of warning in Gelato's tone. Sorbet looked to his partner, watching his expression carefully.

Confusion held sway over Giorno only briefly. "Formaggio said you were close. I realize what he meant now." He creased a brow thoughtfully, "I'm not sure why no one told me earlier..."

"That's nothing to worry about Giorno." Sorbet stated. The boy's innocent naivety clear as day to him. He put a hand gently onto Gelato's and explained, "To put simply, we're selective about who we tell about our relationship. Of course, you were bound to find out. Risotto did mention that to me, but I saw no problem with it." He looked at Gelato as he said this. This seemed to settle whatever had upset the blond, enough that he eased his shoulders back. Sorbet looked back to Giorno inquiringly. "What do you think about us being a couple, Giorno?"

Giorno blinked a couple of times. He didn't understand exactly why any couple would ask him his opinion on being together. It was clear he was missing some sort of context. Certain he'd learn what context that was eventually, Giorno responded honestly. "Well, you two clearly love each other." He thought back to his previous home, voice duller. "More genuinely than my parents. They only really seemed to use each other. So, I think you're great together."

Next thing Giorno knew was Gelato suddenly wrapped his arms around him from the side. The sudden contact almost made him jump but it was quickly stalled by the blonde's declaration.

"I've made up my mind, Sorbet, let's keep him!"

Giorno was left bewildered.

Sorbet sighed. "Gelato, we can't do that. He's leader's kid..."

Ever since then, Gelato was overjoyed to have him come over to their home. Initially he was accepting, but now the hitman practically integrated him into his life completely. During breaks, he took him out and about, to get something to eat, or out back into his garden. Where Giorno found out that all the plants in the home were grown by the hitman as a personal hobby. He also found out during an outing, when he voiced a concerned about being recognized by someone, he'd been filed as a missing person, Gelato was the most kill happy of the squadron. His reply to his concern was, "Then I'll just have to kill that person. Nothing to worry about."

While the tone he said it in was, unnervingly, chipper, Giorno hadn't felt remotely threatened by the man. It was more so briefly alarming. The care was genuine. That, and nothing had actually come from the declaration, as of yet.

Sorbet, while not as open about it, also seemed to have warmed up to him. He asked him about how he was doing frequently and made sure he was comfortable, on the one occasion he stayed in the home over night. He was the busier of the two, often working away in his office, particularly because he was working on his curriculum, but it didn't feel as cold as compared to his previous caregivers. During one occasion, Giorno peeked into his office to see what he was doing. Even with how quiet he'd thought his approach had been the hitman picked up on, stopped what he was doing and asked,

"Is there something you need Giorno?"

"Oh, no, I was just wondering what you were doing."

"Hm, just working on next week's lessons. Would you like to have some tea? I believe I could use a break."

The memory caused Giorno to smile. It was a small moment, nothing in the grand scheme of things really, but the consideration shown by the more stoic of the couple warmed him. Killers as they were, he'd come to see that the group held genuine care for one another. The comradery was clear, even between the rivalry of Illuso and Formaggio. Now he'd been brought into that and was better for it.

No longer did he worry about abuse or neglect. Aside from some form of tension between him and Illuso, Giorno had little to worry about. The possibility of cops or retaliation from other gangs drifted in and out of his thoughts from time to time, but never lingered long. What helped was Risotto telling him that not even other members of Passione know of their whereabouts, or who the members of La Squadra di Esecuzione were. The only ones who knew them were the enigmatic Boss, their capo Polpo, and a scant number of others (though even then complete information on all of them was unlikely). Even if there was an attack of them directly the fact that all of them had powers. Even if he didn't know what all of them were yet, Giorno felt there was little concern.

They touted that they're the best hitmen in Passione after all.

Even with a lack of threat from the group itself, it'd taken Giorno a while to adjust to not having to worry about beatings. Particularly with multiple adult men to get used to. Constantly, he watched his own behavior and behavior of them. Only issue had been with Proscuitto's violent outbursts in his mentorship of Pesci, which led to a recoil from Giorno and a subsequent lecture on the behavior from Risotto. The problem calmed down after that, albeit at least from what Giorno had seen.

Emotionally, physically, and mentally, the year had allowed Giorno to heal and develop. Scars remained, but faded. His stoic expression changed more often, his reserve and cautious persona shed a few layers. Generally, was a happier child. His hair had grown out from the choppy bowl cut in this time. Risotto had asked if he wanted the hair cut back to the style but Giorno declined. It'd been his mother that'd always cut it that way, as it was the easiest to get done, not Giorno's own personal preference.

His life had been improved for the better again by Risotto Nero.

As he read through the book, Giorno felt an eagerness for the hitman leader's return and picked up the pace of his reading. Sooner he got done with his work, the sooner he could be ready for Risotto to come retrieve him. Instead of the man having to wait for him to finish. They'd likely linger around Sorbet and Gelato's home, but Giorno wanted to spend as much time as he could with his new caregiver.

"Chained and shadowed to be left behind

...

Join or be conquered the law of the land
What will befall you"

Two years ago...

The silence of the apartment complex, pale orange halls was disrupted Risotto's footsteps as he walked towards his home. He'd completed a hit and was ready to check in for the night. Tomorrow, he'd contact his patron for the rest of his payment. He dug a hand into his jacket pocket for his keys when he spotted something jutting out from entrance. Risotto held pause at the odd sight of an envelope wedged between the door and the frame, right above the silver doorknob.

Perplexed by this, Risotto walked up to it as he pulled out his keys. He took the object from its resting place and checked to see who the sender was. Somewhat not surprisingly, there was no name or address marked on it. All that was written on it was his name at the top left corner. The back provided no further clues either. He looked at it a moment longer before he entered his home, feeling an air of unease follow him as she shut the door behind him.

As he headed to his small living room, Risotto picked up a letter opener from the foyer table. He cleanly sliced the envelope open once he sat himself down on the couch. Inside he pulled out what he saw to be a letter,

"Dear Mr. Nero,

This may come as an unexpected, and sudden, surprise, but our organization is always on the lookout for gifted individuals to add to our ranks. You've no doubt heard of our organization, Passione, especially with our rise to power here in Napoli. Our continued growth in size and influence, is what leads us to be on the lookout for those with skills such yourself. As with any large group we have our fair share of issues as it were. Both from within and outside. Issues that need to be dealt with.

Recently, I've been tasked with putting together a squadron of problem solvers of sorts and you've been on our radar for some time now. Pristine performance records are hard to come by, as is professionalism in such a, if you don't mind me saying, dirty job. It'd be such a waste to see our competitors make you an offer first. Especially with your recent development.

I could say more, but some things are much better discussed in person. I'm sure you can understand that. If you are intrigued, come visit me at the following address. Be sure to bring this letter and envelop with you as a token of proof.

Sincerely,

Polpo Giallo"

Letter put back into the envelope, Risotto sat where he was to take in the words of the letter. Flattery aside, it was clear to him there was an underlying show of power and threat to it. They'd been watching him, without his knowledge. Even with his cautious nature they'd monitored him perfectly. He hadn't even suspected anything.

He also got a feeling not answering the letter would be dangerous. It was never a good idea to ignore a formal message from the mafia. Especially when they were able to keep an eye on him so easily.

Then, they knew of his 'development'.

Risotto looked down at his hand. At his willing, metallic ghastly forms emerged up from within his palm, thin banded arms waving aimlessly. These...whatever they were, had made themselves known for over a month now. It still unsettled him to know things were living inside him, but the creatures had only proven to be beneficial to him. While they could say "load" the entities didn't seem sentient, that he could tell, and did whatever he willed them to without a moment's hesitation.

Concern of some strange form of parasite still lingered though. He needed answers. Unknowns were dangerous. This left him to wonder, why would the mafia know what these things were?

Prosciutto did mention once that there were rumors of Passione members having strange powers...Risotto thought. He pulled out the unmarked gun he had in his holster. The same one his friend had provided him to kill Maialino. He hadn't seen the mafioso in over a year, after he and his brother managed to move out of the rundown apartment.

I wonder how they're doing. He pulled out the managinze and said himself, "I should clean this."

The next day,

Risotto stood before a prison and peered out at it from behind sunglasses. He'd looked up the address the night before and had been surprised to see what it was attached to. Now he wondered what sort of gangster had enough pull to put together a squadron, while inside a prison. No other way to find out. He headed inside, past a green door beside the much larger metal gate, and was greeted with an odd reception area. Immediately ahead of him was an iron-barred gate, with another just beyond it. In front of it was a pair of guards with semi-automatic rifles at the ready.

"Who are you here to visit?" Questioned the staff member behind the reception desk. He was a shorter, squat man that appeared to be in his early forties. Behind him Risotto noticed several cameras. Most of which were on the hall beyond the gate. Another darker hall and a cell with something large and yellow in it. Last there was one focused on the reception area. The machines gave off a low hum that accompanied the buzz of the fluorescent lights above them.

A reminder for him to be on his best behavior. At least in front of the prison staff. Risotto had no record, not even a speeding ticket but the reaction was natural. Legalities aside, he was a criminal.

"I'm here to visit Polpo." Risotto answered once he stood in front of the reception desk.

A displeased look crossed the man's face and he motioned to a green bin in front of him. "Deposit all accessories in the bin there, from all your pockets. Watches, wallets, glasses, and anything else that you have. Then proceed forward to the body check, please."

His weapons in his car, Risotto walked over and emptied out his pockets. Wallet, keys, and some loose change was dropped into the bin. The man behind the desk eyed him. After a moment he realized what he meant. Carefully he took off his sunglasses, and put them into the bin as well. Glad his bangs partly obscured his eyes, he waited for the okay to move along. The man eyed him once more then jerked his thumb over towards the armed guards.

A loud buzzer went off as the barred gate was mechanically pulled open with a series of clanks. It fully drew back with a loud metal, shuddering, slam. Risotto walked through towards the solitary guard beyond it. As he passed by the two-armed guards he noticed the camera mounted above the gate and on the one beyond it. The gate slammed shut behind him once he made it to the body check station.

Risotto held his arms up as the guardsman began to pat him down and issued instructions. "Beyond this gate is Polpo, prisoner N-28. Once it opens, proceed down the hallway and you'll be at his cell. There is a thick bullet-proof glass, but you'll be able to speak with him no problem. You'll be prohibited from touching the glass and taking or giving anything to the prisoner. 15 minutes is your allotted time for visitation. The gate will shut behind you but if there is any sign of trouble, just give a shout."

Chech complete, the second gate pulled open with another loud buzz and a thick metal door with a barred slot was beyond that.

"I won't be going to a visitation room?" Risotto questioned as he headed over to the iron-door.

All the guard said in response was. "You'll see why once you meet him."

Puzzled, Risotto continued onward. The gate shut behind him and the iron door soon after with a heavier, thunderous slam. What followed it was a hollow silence.

The hall beyond it was a short one, but strangely decorated with stone heads carved into the walls. Mouths partially opened, eyes wide, as if they trying to say something, or were about to scream. It left an ominous and menacing atmosphere for such a short, shadowed hall. As Risotto headed towards the light, let in from the cell beyond the sheet of bullet-proof glass, he left an odd weight in the air.

A loud, jovial, deep voice halted his advance. "Right on time. Visitation only recently began. You didn't keep me waiting, Risotto Nero. Very, very good. First impressions are important. Especially with the position I'm about to offer you. Now come here were I can see you. So, we may get formally introduced to one another. We'll be getting to know each other well in time, I'm sure."

How did he know it was me? I haven't even gotten within view from the other side of the glass. It wasn't often Risotto felt intimidation but he approached the sheet of glass with cautious steps.

Risotto didn't have any idea of what this mafioso would look like, but what lay beyond the glass was not within his realm of imagination. The man was monstrously huge in height and girth. There was only a head's length between the man and the ceiling, not helped by the strange stalks that decorated his hat like it were a pin-cushion. Half of the cell was occupied by Polpo's mass alone. Though it was quickly evident the man lived rather comfortably despite the cramped conditions.

While there was no bed, from what he could see, there was a small desk with a pen, paper, clock, and lamp. The toilet and sink hardly looked bad as one would expect for a prison. Built into the wall was various amenities, TV, radio, VHS and DVD player, violin, toys, books, and a fridge packed with expensive foods and wines. Behind him on the wall were two paintings. It was less of a prison cell and more of a compact hotel suite. All this told him that the cameras and instructions was only for appearances.

"You live comfortably." Risotto stated as he stood before Polpo. His gaze drawn to the other's similar eyes. Was that a sign that he also had something dwelling inside him? If so, the rumor Prosciutto told him was true.

"Oh, I certainly do. No denying that." The capo twirled a glass of wine in hand. "The only thing I cannot do from within here is go to see art I so admire in person. Sculptures, paintings, chapels, and museums our homeland is rich in the way of art. Photographs don't do justice the beauty of being there in person, but I do have a couple of my own paintings. A Van Gogh and Gaugins. But I'm not deluded enough to not be aware a body, such as mine, would leave me vulnerable outside the safety of this cell. I do envy young and physical adept such as yourself, but I find myself too content with my ways."

He downed the rest of his win in a single go and sighed in a pleased manner. "Buuhuu, since you've shown up, I believe that you're interested in the offer I made to you?"

"As you said, it is better discussed in person." From a hidden pocket on the inside of his black leather jacket Risotto pulled out the envelope, with the letter inside. He slid it through an open tray slot in the door to Polpo's cell.

A deep chortle came from the engorged man. In a mix of a roll and lean, he moved over to the tray on his end of the door and took up the envelop. Polpo sighed from exertion and eased himself back against the pale, smooth, concrete wall of his room. He briefly checked the letter inside and was pleased to see it was the one he sent. "Good, can't let this clutter up space. I prefer to burn my rubbish."

Burn? Risotto failed to see how he'd accomplish such a task. Among the things in his cell, a lighter was not one he spotted.

"With my limited space, I need to keep things organized. Needless clutter frustrates me and makes me bite my nails." Polpo uttered as he began to do just that. Confused by the needless information Risotto looked at him with a pinched brow. Only to gawk in abject horror at the man gnawing off his right index and ring finger bit by bit. Risotto was left speechless and could only watch the bloody show before him. Blood was smeared all over Polp's bloated face and large hand. The sound of teeth slicing flesh and crunching bone, stomach churning. He almost felt entranced, unable to speak.

A click of a switch snapped Risotto back into focus, and quickly into bewildered confusion. In Polpo's hand was now an elaborate, silver, expensive looking lighter. All five fingers, fine and accounted for. No blood to be seen anywhere on the fancily, yellow clothed prisoner.

Polpo lit the letter on fire from the bottom. Let it burn to the point more than half was in flames, then nonchalantly tossed it over into the toilet at the other end of the cell. His aim was good as the torched paper sailed right into the bowl. The orange glow of the flames was visible for a short while afterwards before the water extinguished. Both it and whatever was left of the evidence, gone.

The ticking sound of the desk clock permeated the thoughtful silence Risotto found himself in. He knew what he'd seen. No way his mind could make something like that on the spot. He hadn't had anything that'd throw his senses off like this.

"Is this your 'development'?" He questioned.

"Buhuuuuh, perceptive. Part of it yes." Polpo answered as he clicked the lighter off. "Normally, for those without one, I'd give a trail that may entail facing the actual thing. However, you already have an effective gift, so there is no need."

"Then tell me, what are these things?" Risotto held his hand out for Polpo to see.

"Things?" Polpo echoed, emphasizing the s. Movement on Risotto's hand drew the capo in and an open expression of surprise appeared on his face at the sight of the small ghoulish figures. He folded his body over, neck craned over his folds, to get a better look. He tilted his head in intrigue and exclaimed. "Fufufu, this is a new one. Colony stands are rare, but this is the first time I've seen one like this."

Risotto retracted his hand towards his chest as Polpo sat back and poured himself another glass of wine. "What you've developed is called a stand. A manifestation of your soul. Your fighting spirit. If your concerned for your health, you needn't worry. You've had your stand for over a month now, yes?" Risotto nodded slowly. "If you couldn't handle your stand, you'd be dead by now, in most cases, and you look to be in good health."

While Risotto was unnerved that the man had knowledge of how long this stand had revealed itself, he couldn't help but feel a weight of concern be lifted off his shoulder. Least now he didn't have to worry about these things eating him from the inside out.

"It's customary for users to name their stands. What will you call yours?" Polpo inquired before a quick sip of wine.

"Metallica." Risotto answered without a second's thought. He closed his hand and felt the colony stand recede back into his veins.

"Fitting." Polpo remarked. A knowing glint in his similarly dark eyes. "Now then," He clicked. "Onto business. Our time together is short. The position I have to offer you is a significant one. The Boss has tasked me to make an elite group of hitmen stand users. This will be the first special unit under my authority. A momentous moment for the both of us, as I want you to lead this group: La Squadra di Esecuzione."

To this, Risotto was floored. "Me?"

"Buuhuuhuu, yes, of course, you will need to prove yourself. I cannot not simply just hand you a leadership role, even with your skill and stand. You see, because of my situation, trust..." Polpo held a moment of pause, pondering how to justly put what he had to say. He continued as he offhandely swirled his wine. "Trust is what is most valuable to me. I need to be able to know that you will do what is asked of you without me being there. Especially for those who will be under my direct authority. Trust is the most valuable and precious thing in this world. Disrespecting my trust is to tarnish my name, a most heinous act in my eyes." The look of warning in Polpo's black and green eyes were clear as he bored them down into Risotto's. Sheer size difference between the two amplified the effect. "And as it were, a team leader under me has done just that. He has taken a cut of money that belonged to me. He's a manager at one of one of the casinos I have control of. He's taken my trust for granted and I will not turn a blind eye to such treason.

He's a stand user as well, a good one at that. This is your test. Defeat a leader to become a leader, cleanse this stain from my territory. Understood?"

"Understood. How will the hit details be given?" Risotto questioned. By now he was almost eager to get going. This was big. The biggest opportunity he'd been given in his life. The added possible challenge of facing another with an ability would break of the monotony of his hits. While also allowing him to see how well his, newly dubbed, Metallica faired against other stands.

"The details will be waiting for you when you arrive home. You will not be given any details on the specifics of stands. A leader should be able to adapt quickly, don't you agree?"

"I do." He nodded, feeling a bit more of a thrill towards the unknown.

"Once your job is complete, return to me here and we'll have a drink to celebrate, buuhuu." Polpo chortled with a raise of his wine glass.

"Oh, through the mist and the madness
We are trying to get the message to you"

1996, Present day...

"It's been a while, Capo Polpo." Risotto greeted as he walked into the familiar prison hall of mafia officer. The man hadn't changed at all since he'd last seen him or since he'd first met him. He still wore the same two layered, yellow, tunic with elaborate lace at the end. The pale blue lipstick was still the same shade as well.

"Too long, but you know how things are." Polpo returned from the other side of the glass. From his hidden fridge he offered the hitman a glass of wine, which Risotto courteously accepted with a bow of his head and thanks. Between stuffing grapes into his mouth, right off the bushel, Polop requested, "How about we catch up a bit before we get to business?"

"Of course, Capo." Risotto took the sip of the rich wine. It was a strain far too opulent for his blood, but a glass once in a blue moon during his check-ins with his capo wasn't something to turn up. He was essentially a guest in what may as well be Polpo's home. It was simply good manners.

"Excuse my nosiness, but I couldn't help but be curious at the word that you've taken a child into your care." Polpo casually said before he washed down the grapes. Used to the ever-present eye of the organization, Risotto was unphased by sudden mention. Polpo arched a brow as he looked his black clad subordinate over. "You don't exactly seem like the type to like children, Risotto."

"I have no aversion to them." He responded honestly. Well aware of how his appearance would lead one to think this.

Polpo hummed thoughtfully as he leaned against the wall of his cell. "Have you, checked if he has a stand?"

Risotto paused mid-drink. "No Capo, why?"

He knew why Polpo was asking, but he had to keep face. The man was in charge of recruitment. The fact that Giorno was a child mattered little to him. He kept his exterior calm as the huge Polpo leaned over him from beyond the glass and pointed down to him. "I'm certain you've heard that stand users are drawn to each other, seemingly by fate itself. The fact the child was drawn into your life, in of itself, is sign he may possess one"

"I see, yes I have heard of that. I'll test him when I'm next with him." This seemed to settle Polpo on the matter as he moved the conversation on. Risotto didn't plan on actually testing Giorno.

"Good, won't hurt to do so. That aside, I've noticed since Formaggio joined that none of the recruits I've assigned to your squadron survived past two weeks."

Risotto nodded, unaffected by the losses. "Yes, we seemed to have a run of bad luck in that regard. We cleaned up after their failures. I'm sure your aware."

"Fufu, yes, I'm aware of your trial period. It's been effective in weeding out the weak." Polpo flicked out his fingers as if dispelling dust. "You and the rest of your men's performances speak for themselves. So long as your men keep that up, the loss of failures is nothing to me, buuhuu." He put what was left of the bushel into his mouth and pulled the main stem from his teeth, picking the rest of it clean with gluttonous efficiency. Risotto minded himself with his wine as Polpo noisily mashed the mess with his teeth and gulped it down. He sighed, pleased. "It still is unfortunate though. How are the rest of your men?"

"They're managing well. Though, Formaggio is getting antsy with the lack of work assigned to him. Otherwise no real issue to report." Risotto stated. Hopefully the little mention would get more work pushed towards the ginger's way. If so, it'd put the rivalry between him and Illuso on more even terms, and get him to refine his skill more. He came back injured too often for Risotto's liking. It was concerning. Lack of practice would do him no good.

"Good, good. The assignment I have for your men will solve that problem there." Polpo announced with a grin. A sharp look of attention from his subordinate led Polpo to further exposit. "One of our rival gangs here in Napoli, La Meravigli, has made a push to figure out stands." The normally affable expression of Polpo soured to one of restrained anger. "By killing off low ranking members of our organization and taking their children who have stands. This action can't go responded to." His mounting anger began to cause his body to shake, barely held back. "The Boss is outraged and wants them to be put in their proper place. Your squadron is tasked to locate where they're keeping their captives, those children belong to Passione, and retrieve them. Kill anyone in the process, enough bodies piled up should teach them a lesson."

The mental image settled the giant. Polpo snickered in dark amusement. "Your squadron has quite the paycheck coming in." A recollection and he added, "Oh, and a traitor is suspected to be the cause of this. If you discover any, punish them. Such a disrespect towards the Boss will not be tolerated. To remain on top, we must be the only ones with stands."

Risotto looked into the red liquid in his glass. Silently he swigged the rest of it down and placed it on the tray on his side of the cell door. As he walked away, Risotto accepted the task. "Understood, capo, consider it done."

"Buuhuuhuuu, I'm certain it is."Polpolaughed. He while away on his wine with an all too pleased smirk on his face.

Author's Note:

Honestly, if Risotto didn't know what a stand was when he first saw his stand...that could've been terrifying, considering it lives inside him. Yeah, I plan on writing that scene out.

Next chapter might be a bit long, might need to break it up we'll see. Going to be placing the song lyrics in more appropriate places from now on, think it works better. Again, in a month unless something happens