Part Two

Bucciarati watched in horror as Fugo collapsed on the floor in front of him, Abbacchio also tilting sideways to lay across the bench, mostly empty cup falling from his hand.

"The hell?" Mista cried, teapot still clutched in his hand as he stared in shock at his comrades.

"Don't!" Bruno commanded as he rushed over to take the cup out of Trish's startled hands. "Did you drink any?"

"I—n-no," she stuttered, eyes wide.

He turned to grab the empty coffee carafe and opened it up, reaching in to feel against the bottom. A grainy texture caught on his finger and he pulled it out, sticking it to his tongue before he spat. "A heavy sleeping draught," he said darkly. "It appears someone knows we're on the train after all."

"What's our next move then?" Mista asked.

Bucciarati looked around at their fallen teammates, before he knelt and pressed his fingers to the pulse in Narancia's throat. It was slow, but strong. He didn't think there would be any lasting damage, though there was no telling when they would wake up.

"We need to track down our attackers before they can make their next move," he said decisively. "Did you see anything suspicious?"

"No, what about you?"

Bucciarati shook his head as he started closing all the shades on the windows. "Nothing that stood out."

"What about the people outside the door earlier?" Trish asked suddenly.

Bucciarati frowned and turned to Mista who snapped his fingers.

"Oh, I mean, maybe?"

"Who was outside the door?" Bucciarati asked.

Mista shrugged. "Just a couple—you know. They weren't doing anything decent for a public area."

"A classic tactic," Bucciarati muttered. "Did you see what they looked like then?"

"I don't know, Fugo got a better look than I did. One was blond and the other was a redhead I think."

Something sparked in the back of Bucciarati's mind at the description. If his suspicions were confirmed this wouldn't be good. "We need to try and track them down then," he said and reached for the case he had brought with his sword stored in it, belting it around his waist along with several silver daggers. Mista likewise was arming himself. "Try not to cause too much public disturbance."

"What about Trish?" Mista asked, glancing toward the girl.

Bucciarati saw the look of terror on her face as she currently knelt by Narancia tucking his discarded coat under his head, obviously trying to keep herself busy.

"Trish, you will have to stay here and not leave this car, understand?" Bucciarati said firmly.

"W-what? But I—"

"You'll be safer here than with either of us if we're hunting." Bruno turned to Mista's gun case and pulled out a small derringer, checking to make sure it was loaded. "Have you ever fired a gun before, Signorina?"

"What? No!"

He pushed it into her hand. "It's easy. You just point and squeeze the trigger."

Her hand shook as she held the gun, but she heaved a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

"We'll be back as soon as we can," Bruno assured her and turned to Mista. "Take the side toward the back of the train, I'll head toward the front."

Mista saluted and turned around to the other side of the car. Bruno cast one last look toward Trish as she sat on the floor beside Narancia, the pistol held firmly in her hands, before he turned around and headed out of the car himself.

The next two cars held private cabins. Bucciarati glanced through the small windows to each, looking for anyone matching the vague descriptions Mista had given.

Suspicion began to grow as he failed to find anyone matching the descriptions, wondering if perhaps they had jumped to conclusions and they should be looking for someone else—the staff member who had brought the refreshment, perhaps. Still, no one could get to their car without passing either him or Mista, so Trish should in theory be safe…

Bruno crossed to another car, this one for dining. Several people were there ordering tea or dinner, but none of them seemed to have ulterior motives.

A figure moving ahead to the next car caught Bucciarati's eye then, long ash blond hair swung loose down the stranger's back. He frowned and followed along, coming out into the next car, which was oddly empty at the moment. Empty even of the man who should be there.

Bucciarati spun in an instant, drawing his sword and leaping back as the man came at him with a glinting snarl, falling into a crouch where Bruno had been standing.

"Well, the famous Bucciarati," the man said, licking his lips as he straightened up. "I feel honored that you'll be my opponent. I've heard a lot about you."

Bucciarati stared back firmly. "May I know the name of my opponent?"

The man—rather, the vampire—bowed deeply before straightening up and tossing his hair over his shoulder. "Tiziano, my dear Hunter. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

Bruno set his jaw. He had. Tiziano and his partner Squalo were known mercenaries, belonging to no vampire families and working for anyone willing to pay. He'd never met them personally, but their descriptions had been passed around. It seemed his suspicions were indeed confirmed.

"I assume you and your partner decided that the girl would be a profitable target," he said in disgust.

"Not quite," the vampire smirked, him and Bucciarati still eyeing each other up, waiting for a moment to strike. "We were hired specifically for the job. But, in case you're wondering, yes it was very profitable—and will be even more so should we deliver the goods as promised."

Bucciarati seethed inwardly and was about to reach for one of his daggers for a surprise hit, when the door behind them opened and he glanced back just for one second to see one of the train staff come through with a rolling cart. Then when he looked back, all that was left of Tiziano was a blast of displaced wind as he went back through the door.

"Shit," Bruno muttered, hurrying through after him, catching Tiziano in the next car, throwing open a window.

"Try to catch me, Bucciarati," he smirked as he scrambled through and up to the top of the train.

Bruno had little choice but to follow, knowing he had to stop the vampire before he could get back to the car with Trish.


Mista found himself making his way through the kitchen car, startling several of the cooks, and then on to the baggage cars beyond when he didn't see any lurking enemies there.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath. "Anyone could be hiding bloody anywhere in here—Just my luck."

He kept his gun held in front of him, at the ready, as he proceeded cautiously through the dark car. There were only a couple skylights, letting in the dim light from the rising moon. For as long as he had been a Hunter, he still hated enclosed spaces like this—too many possibilities for the enemy to jump out at him.

Maybe he would be lucky though and their quarry was on the other end of the train—of course that would mean that Bucciarati was facing two of them alone…

A sudden shift from a stack of luggage, had Mista spinning around, heart racing as he swung his gun in the direction of the sound. He stood, frozen in place for a long moment as only the sound of the train on the tracks rattled in his brain and then something came out of the shadows at his feet.

"Eagh!" he screamed, leaping back with his gun pointed at it. But it was just a rat.

"Ugh, rats, I hate those little buggers," Mista muttered under his breath, shivering.

He was about to resume his search, planning on heading into the next car down, when the lightest step behind him had him turning.

He only got halfway there when an arm wrapped around his neck and the glint of a blade in the dim light preceded three lightning-fast blows to his body.

Mista let out a strangled cry, as he was swiftly disarmed, gun flung away into the dark as his attacker leaned in close.

"Nice try, Hunter. Next time, maybe you'll have better luck." He shoved Mista onto his face in a pile of luggage and licked the blade clean as he strode back toward the direction of their private car.

"No! You bastard…" Mista groaned, trying to push himself up, but the numb of shock from his injuries gave way to agonizing pain as blood poured down his side at a rapid pace, making him dizzy.

He barely got to his knees, scrambling for his gun before he collapsed again and shot.

The bullet landed low, but he still caught his assailant in the calf, causing him to stagger with a spurt of blood.

The vampire growled and spun, dagger spinning through the air to land with a solid thunk in the meat of Mista's shoulder.

He collapsed backwards with a groan, eyes fluttering as he could only watch with fading vision while the enemy limped off toward Trish and their unconscious team.


Bucciarati climbed onto the top of the train, spotting his quarry escaping at speed, already leaping to the next car.

He gritted his teeth and sprinted after him, ripping one of his daggers free and sending it flying.

It caught in Tiziano's shoulder, not enough to do harm, but enough to stagger him, cause him to falter and slow down to rip it out with an oath. Enough time for Bucciarati to leap across the cars himself and catch up to the vampire.

Tiziano spun around with a sneer, tossing the dagger into the night, favoring his shoulder. "Bastard Hunter," he snarled and came forward to meet Bucciarati as the Hunter raised his sword in preparation to swing.

Tiziano dodged the blow and ducked, kicking upward. The blow struck Bruno firmly in the hip, the force sending him flying backwards with a grunt as he crashed onto the top of the car and rolled, barely stopping himself before he fell between the cars.

Tiziano was on him before he could get back up, kicking him in the head. Bucciarati reeled, clutching at the bar on top of the car as he struck out with his sword. The vampire dodged the blow to his legs again and slammed his foot down on Bucciarati's wrist, trapping his blade before kicking him viciously in the ribs with his free foot.

"Pathetic human. You think you're good enough to defeat me?"

Bruno cringed as another blow landed brutally to his middle, then released his hold on the train and reached for another dagger.

He darted in, slicing the blade across the back of Tiziano's heel, severing his Achilles tendon. The vampire staggered in shock and Bruno lunged upward, silver slicing a path across the vampire's torso.

Tiziano cried out and leapt back, blood pouring from the injury as Bruno regained his feet.

"Alright, playtime is over," Tiziano growled and lunged.

Bruno dodged several blows, but Tiziano was injured and mean, survival instinct kicking in, and he rushed Bucciarati heedlessly, grabbing him around the throat and throwing him halfway across the train car.

Bucciarati crashed with a grunt and rolled, scrambling frantically to grab onto something as he felt himself going over the side.

His hands found the bar at the top of the ladder at the expense of his sword. He glanced quickly down at the join between the two cars, the tracks flicking by quickly below.

Then Tizziano was on him, slamming the heel of his foot into Bucciarati's arms to try and dislodge his grip. Bruno simply gritted his teeth and held on, waiting for an opportunity.

"You know, I truly expected more from someone so infamous in your circle," Tiziano sneered. "Many tales I have heard about the great Hunter Bucciarati, how he killed three vampires as a child with his bare hands. And yet here you are, barely able to take down one. Makes you wonder, doesn't it, why you were the one chosen to guard the girl?"

Bucciarati's eyes flicked upward, taking in the route ahead and…ah, that would work nicely. If he could just keep Tiziano talking…

"We were chosen specifically because my team is known to be proficient," Bucciarati said firmly.

Tiziano laughed. "And yet most of them were taken out in one go with some drugged coffee. It doesn't matter much now. I'm sure my partner has already killed your man and retrieved the girl. Now it's only a matter of time before—"

Bruno ducked his head as he was suddenly enveloped in darkness and a wash of blood. When the train left the tunnel, he quickly pulled himself back up to the top and stared down at Tiziano's headless body crumpled on the roof of the train.

"It seems the stories about your cunning were exaggerated as well," he muttered, picking up his sword and piercing the vampire's heart before kicking the corpse off the moving train.

That was one down, now he had to go see how Mista was fairing with the other…


Mista gasped awake, reserved adrenaline surging through his body as he suddenly realized he couldn't be lying there bleeding out.

"Gah," he moaned as he fumbled in his pockets, feeling for a small flask as he took stock of his injuries.

The dagger still stuck in his shoulder was obvious. Aside from that, the rest of the pain was concentrated around his right side where he thought he had been stabbed at least three times.

"Shit," he gritted out as he shifted, feeling the sticky blood underneath of him. He fished the flask out of his pocket finally and shakily pulled it open, yanking his shirt and waistcoat up to expose the stab wounds in his flesh.

"Turns out this was a good idea after all, Giorno," he muttered as he poured some of the flask's contents onto the wounds.

It burned like hell and Mista let out a muffled cry of pain, gritting his teeth together. It had been Giorno's idea to give him a flask of his blood for emergencies—given all the times Mista tended to get injured on missions.

Now for the part that would really hurt—Mista let the blood work on his other wounds while he turned to the dagger in his shoulder. There was nothing for it but to simply pull it out.

He grasped the hilt with his shaky hand and tugged.

A strangled yell was ripped from his throat as he shakily tossed the dagger aside, breathing deeply for a few seconds to make sure he didn't pass out before he poured the rest of Giorno's blood over the hole in his shoulder.

He lay there in burning agony for a few long moments, feeling Giorno's blood do its work, closing up the injuries and keeping him from bleeding out.

Once he was sure he could move without the risk of reopening everything, he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position before pushing himself to his feet. Everything still hurt like hell, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter. He had to get to Trish before that vampire was able to figure out how to get her off the train.


Trish knelt in the middle of the train car, trying to keep away from any of the doors and windows, trying to keep herself from panicking. The unconscious bodies of the majority of her guards lay around her, only lending more terror to her already horrifying situation. If the other two weren't able to stop the attackers, then what?

She turned back to tending Narancia, who seemed to have drunk the most of any of them, a sheen of clammy sweat forming on his brow. He looked to be the youngest and he had been kind helping her earlier. She felt awful that this had happened—all because of her. If any of these men were killed…

A soft moan sounded out and she quickly turned to see Giorno, the blond twitching slightly.

"Are—are you awake?" she asked tentatively.

But Giorno didn't wake, eyes falling shut completely again before he stilled.

Trish took a shuddering breath, refusing to cry. She just wanted all of this to be over.

The door to the back of the train opened and she spun around, hoping to see the gunman Mista appear, but terror surged through her as she saw a red-headed man in a dark blue suit limping in. He smirked as he saw her, showing off fangs.

"Ah, there's my little prize. Come here, Signorina, don't be shy."

Trish raised the pistol Bucciarati had given her, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "Don't come any closer," she snapped.

The vampire only grinned harder and laughed. "Is that all they gave you? Do you really think that will do anything to me, pretty one?"

Trish squeezed her eyes shut as she squeezed the trigger. The loud blast was followed by a stutter in the cruel chuckle and she opened her eyes in shock to see a red hole in the vampire's chest.

"Alright, that's enough playing nice." He reached up to the wound and dug the bullet out with a cringe, tossing it aside. "Time to finish the job," the vampire snarled and leapt toward her.

Trish gasped, trying to raise the pistol again, fingers fumbling to pull back the hammer, but the vampire was too quick, grabbing her wrist and twisting until she was forced to drop the weapon with a sharp cry. He hauled her to her feet, hand wrapped around her throat as he pulled her back against him.

"Get off me!" Trish snarled, struggling, trying to stomp on his feet.

Giorno stirred again and this time opened his eyes slowly, blinking upward. "You—what…?"

"Shut your mouth, half-blood," Trish's captor snapped, kicking him in the jaw and sending Giorno rolling over limply. "Now, pretty one, time to go. I'm sure my partner has finished off the other Hunter by now. Our only orders were to see you gotten rid of, but I'm sure no one will mind if we have a little fun first—I am very thirsty, especially after you put that consecrated iron in me."

"No!" Trish tried, struggling as he leaned over, mouth close, fangs scraping her bare neck. "Someone help, please!"

"I'll have to ask you to leave the young lady alone."

Trish looked up with relief to see Bucciarati standing in the open doorway of the train car, before horror washed over her upon seeing him covered in blood. But the sight of him also seemed to freeze her captor in place.

"Squalo, I assume," Bucciarati addressed the vampire. "I'm afraid your partner is dead. Met with an unfortunate accident while we were going under the bridge."

Squalo's grip on Trish tightened. "You bastard!" he snarled.

"Careful," Bucciarati snapped, pointing his sword toward the vampire. "You wouldn't want to make me more angry than I already am. Believe me."

Squalo only chuckled, pulling Trish back more tightly against him, locking an arm over her throat. "So what? You won't be able to kill me before I take her out and all your efforts would be in vain anyway."

Bucciarati raised an eyebrow. "And risk losing your prize money? I doubt you'd do that."

"Wrong!" Squalo smirked. "We already got the money up front. We were never meant to bring the girl in—only to make sure she never saw the light of day again."

Trish shivered, but saw something cross Bucciarati's face in that moment that made her realize he had not expected this.

But their exchange had allowed her a moment to retrieve the small knife she kept hidden in her stocking and she violently stabbed it backwards. Squalo cried out in surprise as her dagger hit home and Trish yanked free of the vampire's loosened grip.

The door at the other end of the car slammed open at the same time Squalo cried out and Bucciarati surged toward Trish. "Get down!" he cried.

Trish was thrown to the floor of the train car as gunshots rang out, leaving Squalo staggering into one of the windows.

Bucciarati was up in a second and when Trish looked up again, it was to see Mista staggering toward him with his gun leveled at the vampire.

Squalo made another move, but Bucciarati was there in a flash, driving his sword directly through the vampire's heart with so much force, he shattered the window with the impact of Squalo's body against it.

The vampire clawed at the window frame, coughing blood, as he tried to gain the upper hand. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Bucciarati," Squalo snarled. "You've damned your whole team taking on this mission."

"I would be more worried about your own damnation at the moment," Bucciarati told him, before he drew his sword out and raised it over his head. "Arrivederci."

Trish turned quickly as the sword descended, but glanced up in time to see Bucciarati kicking the vampire's headless corpse out of the window.

"Check the others," Bucciarati told Mista as he wiped his sword clean and sheathed it before coming to crouch beside Trish. "Are you okay?"

She took several long, shuddering breaths, still clutching the bloody dagger in her hand before she finally looked up at Bucciarati and demanded. "What the hell is going on? Why is this happening?!"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Bucciarati told her calmly, as he offered her a handkerchief before he realized that it had blood on it. He pursed his lips and instead took off one of his gloves and offered her his clean hand to help her to her feet. "I deeply apologize for not getting here before he got to you."

"Yeah, me too," Mista said, hand pressed to his side and blood covering the whole front of his waistcoat. Trish felt suddenly faint. The sight and smell of so much blood making her dizzy.

She dropped the knife and pushed Bucciarati's hand to one side, staggering to her feet herself. She went to collapse into one of the seats, hugging herself tightly, shaking.

Bucciarati picked up her knife and cleaned it carefully before placing it on the table next to her.

"You handled yourself well," he told her. "That was quick thinking."

"I know a little about defending myself," Trish said stiffly. "Apparently that's a good thing."

"Yes, it is," Bucciarati said with a small, kind smile. "You will be safer once you are under your father's protection. And now that we know there are hired killers out for you, I assure you we will be more diligent."

Trish didn't reply. She simply sat there, staring at the knife in front of her and wondering what else could possibly happen to her now. It seemed like her whole world was falling apart around her and she was simply homesick for a place and time that she would never be able to return to.


After making sure Trish was okay, Bucciarati tended to Mista's injuries, making sure Giorno's backup blood was doing its job, before he forced the gunman to rest and went to see to the rest of their teammates, trying to rouse them.

By the time they neared Florence, everyone was recovering, fighting off the effects of the drugs with some strong coffee that hadn't been laced with anything.

Bucciarati sat with his own cup, nursing bruises as he contemplated Squalo's words again. What point would there be to killing Trish as opposed to using her as a bargaining chip? Her could possibly want her dead without the possibility of ransom? He didn't see the sense in it and felt like he was missing something very important.

They were careful to check the area around the station before letting Trish off, and went directly to hire a carriage to the nearest hotel.

"What's next?" Mista asked tiredly as they paid for their rooms.

"We await our next orders," Bucciarati told him.

The secrecy was a little more understandable after the events on the train, but still, Bruno decided that he would feel better once this was all over.

He approached Trish, taking her carpet bag from Narancia. "Trish, I'm afraid we can't in good conscious allow you to stay alone tonight, so we will be taking turns at keeping watch in your room."

Trish opened her mouth briefly but her shoulders slumped and she seemed too tired to put up any argument. She simply followed Bucciarati upstairs after he'd handed out the room keys to everyone else. "I'll take first watch so the rest of you can get a little sleep. Abbacchio you'll be up next."

The other man nodded as he took the key to his room and trudged off after the others.

Bucciarati took a second to wash any traces of blood off before he went to knock on Trish's door.

"You can come in," she said.

She was already curled up in the bed as he came in and set his bag down on the desk in one corner of the room.

"If it will bother you, I can turn the lamp off," he told her.

"No," Trish said quickly, then looked away. "You—you can leave it on. It's not going to bother me."

She then turned her back and huddled under the blankets as Bruno took a seat at the desk, pulling out several things to work on while he kept watch.

He had no idea what the next bit of their journey would entail, but he hoped that it might bring some peace to the sleepless young woman lying in the nearby bed.


After a night of only a few poor hours snatched before dawn, Bucciarati was up and heading down to the front desk of the hotel.

"Ah, Signore," the concierge called to him before he'd even made an inquiry. "A letter was left for you this morning."

Bucciarati took it and returned to the others who had all gathered in one of the rooms, groggy but present.

"We've received a message," he said, holding up the paper. "We're to meet someone at a nearby café, who will be passing along our next orders."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger stuff?" Narancia asked. "Isn't that a little overkill?"

"I'm sure the Boss has his reasons," Bucciarati told the young Hunter firmly. "Abbacchio, Giorno, I want you to accompany me. The rest of you stay here until we get back. Keep an eye on Trish."

"Of course," Mista replied.

"Let's go."

The three left the hotel and made their way to the café that had been named in the note.

"How do we know who we're supposed to meet?" Giorno asked as he looked around at the breakfast crowd.

Bucciarati went to the front of the café and the host asked his name. Upon Bucciarati's reply, they were led to a private room in the back where a man sat drinking cappuccino.

"Ah, Bucciarati, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Capitano Pericolo," Bruno replied in surprise, reaching out to shake the old man's hand. He looked the same as Bruno remembered from his training days. Short and stocky, but possessing a deceptive amount of strength. One eye was scarred, milky and sightless, but that made the man no less perceptive to his surroundings.

"Please, sit," Pericolo said, motioning to the table. His eyes fell on Giorno as they all took their seats. "You must be Bucciarati's dhampir. I haven't had the chance to meet you yet."

Giorno nodded. "It's a pleasure, Capitano. I've heard a lot about you."

"I'm sure a lot of it exaggerated," Pericolo said with some amusement, before he turned serious. "I heard about your brush with Squalo and Tiziano. You did well in defending the girl."

Bruno nodded, though he still felt they could have done more. "I'm told you have our next orders."

Pericolo nodded, reaching for his cup again. "I do. You are to travel to Venice by another train that will be leaving in a little over an hour. Once there, you will deliver the girl directly to her father."

Bruno and the others all failed to hide their surprise.

"You mean the Boss is actually going to be there?" Abbacchio asked incredulously.

Pericolo spread his hands. "I am only relaying the directions I was told; I am not privy to all the details."

Bruno frowned again, but nodded. "It will be done."

"Good. I will let you go now. I have already purchased the tickets for your team." He plucked the train tickets from his jacket and handed them over to Abbacchio. "Keep an eye out. There is no reason to suspect that Squalo and Tiziano were the only ones after the girl." He pulled another envelope out of his pocket and handed it directly to Bucciarati. "These are your instructions. Do not open them until you get to Venice."

"Understood," Bruno muttered as he got up and Abbacchio and Giorno followed him, heading toward the door. "Thank you, Capitano," he held out his hand for the older Hunter to shake again.

"Bucciarati," Pericolo said quietly as he took Bruno's hand firmly in his, pulling him in to speak in confidence. "I strongly advise you to use caution as you finish this mission."

"Of course we will, Trish's safety is of our utmost concern—"

"No, my boy, I mean," Pericolo's voice lowered further, barely audible. "That the Boss may not be what he seems. There was a reason Nero's informants were taken out."

Bucciarati felt a wash of ice through his veins, staring directly into Pericolo's mis-matched eyes. "You know about that?"

The man nodded and finally released his hand. "Go with caution. That is all I can tell you. Goodspeed, boy."

Bucciarati pulled away and hurried after the others who both gave him a look.

"Bucciarati?" Giorno asked hesitantly. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course." He shook himself. "Come, we need to get back to the others to prepare to leave for Venice."

"Bucciarati, I know I'm not the only one who doesn't like this," Abbacchio muttered. "You're thinking the same thing, aren't you?"

Bucciarati sighed, and decided to admit some truth. "I do think the secrecy is strange, but we can only follow orders at this point. By the end of the day, our mission should be concluded and Trish will hopefully be safe."

"Hopefully?" Abbacchio asked with an eyebrow raised.

"She will be," Bucciarati amended, though without much conviction. "Come, let's go."

Giorno and Abbacchio hesitated a step behind him and he gritted his teeth, wondering just how this mission would end.