Mista and the Forbidden Number

Guido Mista had a problem.

A very, very, very big problem.

You see, he had an enormous irrational fear. One that had plagued him his entire life. A fear that his teammates and enemies liked to exploit.

Guido Mista was afraid of the number "4".

For years, he'd tried to suppress his terror when the number appeared. He went out of his way to avoid it. But when he joined the Mafia, it started showing up even more. People were talking about money, and money meant numbers. And numbers meant 4. So there.

As he sat in the Passione common room one day, Mista was approached by Bucciarati. Bucciarati calmly took a seat by Mista, producing a box of doughnuts from a zipper-dimension in his knee, as if it was perfectly NORMAL to do that.

"Would you like a doughnut, Mista?" he asked, setting the doughnuts on the table. "They're freshly cooked. Help yourself!" Bucciarati said with a smile, gesturing to the cardboard box full of warm, deep-fried pastries. "I bought these for Abbacchio, you know," he continued, "but he said they were much too greasy."

"Ha-ha," Mista agreed weakly, eyeing the doughnut box. A quartet of doughnuts lurked on the box's bottom, radiating an aura of bad luck. Who knows what's going to happen if I eat one? Sweat dripped down his brow. Maybe I'll choke. Maybe I'll get sick. But if I don't, it'd be really rude!

Suddenly, Narancia waltzed into the room carrying a plastic bag full of vegetables. "I'm ba – Oh boy! Mister Bucciarati! Did you get us DOUGHNUTS?" he exclaimed in rapturous delight. "Can I have one? Pleeeeease?" he whined like a begging puppy.

"Of course, Narancia." Bucciarati took the bag of vegetables from the boy and unzipped a portal to the kitchen before entering the portal. The zucchini and tomatoes sank into the zipperplane as Narancia sprang on his unsuspecting prey. He gobbled it down, allowing cinnamon sugar to rain on the table. Mista let out the breath he'd been holding in with a whoosh.

He could handle a trio of doughnuts.

Bucciarati reappeared as Narancia skipped out of the common room, off to do goodness knows what. He sat down by Mista, taking a sip of coffee. "Mista," he said without preamble. "I've noticed that you seem to feel…uneasy…when anything involving the number 4 shows up. Is there any cause for this or…"

"Not really…" Mista fidgeted in his seat. "I don't know, OK? It's just been that way since I was a kid. The number "4" makes me anxious for some reason."

"Did any traumatic incidents involving the…aforementioned number occur in your past?" Bucciarati asked calmly. "Don't worry, you don't have to elaborate. I know it's uncomfortable to do so."

"N-ooo…?" Mista racked his brain, but he couldn't find anything. "I guess it's just an irrational fear. It wasn't brought on by PTSD or anything like that. See, I know in my mind that there's no such thing as bad luck, but it still worries me every time I see a "4". It'd be nice not to feel that way all the time."

"So, it's just an irrational fear, hmmm…" Bucciarati sipped his coffee meditatively. "And you don't want it, correct? I could help you, if you want." The senior gang member sat back, stirring his cup of coffee absentmindedly.

"You could?" Mista felt his entire face light up.

"Of course!" Bucciarati smiled. "Through the power of exposure therapy, you'll eventually become numb to the feelings of fear." He handed Mista a chocolate-covered doughnut. "Why don't you have a doughnut while I prepare? It might help you relax."

"Thanks, Bucciarati," Mista said. He bit into chocolatey bliss as the older man made his exit via zipper. Mista was just a tad worried, though. Wasn't exposure therapy, like, when they locked you in a room with your greatest fear until you weren't scared? Suddenly, he didn't feel hungry anymore.

The door swung open and Bucciarati re-entered. "I've brought a volunteer to help," he said calmly. Mista stiffened. What was that behind him…? He could make out a large orange shape, all angles and lines.

"I refuse to do this!" somebody shouted.

"Come, come, Leone," Bucciarati pleaded, turning to speak to the orange shape. "It's not the end of the world!" Abbachio muttered something profane, and Mista heard a smack, a yell of "ARI!" and the familiar sound of a zipper separating. "Don't disrespect your leader!" Bucciarati shouted. The door shut.

Abbacchio shrieked another swear word as he tumbled out of the zipperplane into the center of the common room, landing square on top of the table. And Mista's half-eaten chocolate doughnut. He sat up, allowing Mista to notice that he was wearing a hastily made costume in the shape of a giant "4". Mista tried not to laugh or scream. His least favorite person combined with his least favorite number – what in the heck was going on? Maybe he'd eaten a little too much pasta last night.

"Guido Mista!" Abbacchio shouted crankily. "You put Bruno up to this, didn't you? Now I've been forced to wear this outlandish costume, on top of having to deal with that no-good scoundrel Giorno Giovanna for an entire morning! I WILL speak to the Boss about this, mark my words!"

Mista wasn't sure what to say. A giggle crawled out of his mouth unbidden. "I swear to heaven, Signore Abbacchio, I didn't mean-" He bit his lip to stop himself from breaking out in chuckles. "I didn't – didn't!" The laughter overflowed and he doubled over in a cacophony of mirth. "I can't! You look so hilarious!" he gasped, clutching his ribs.

"Did it work?" Bucciarati poked his head out of a zipper portal in the coffee table. "My goodness, that was fast." He stifled a chortle of his own.

"Bruno!" Abbacchio hissed. "Why must I be subjected to this constant humiliation?" His face was turning beet red, making Mista laugh even harder. Mista was having trouble breathing; he was so caught up in the hilarity that tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Bruno!" Abbacchio yelled again, charging at Bucciarati, who promptly retreated into the zipperplane. "I'll kill you for this!" Just then, the common room's door opened. Fugo and Narancia entered, followed by Giorno, who looked confused. The trio burst out laughing.

"Oh my gosh!" Narancia squealed. "Fugo! Get – tee hee – the camera! This is priceless!"

Even the serious Fugo was amused by a badly costumed Abbacchio. He dashed to his room to retrieve the camera, snorts escaping his mouth along the way. Giorno tried to regain his composure and failed miserably. Mista was rolling on the floor laughing.

"AAAAUGGH!" Abbacchio screamed. "I'll kill you all!" he fumed dangerously, shredding the hideous orange costume. But everyone was laughing too hard to pay any attention to him.

And Mista was never afraid of the number 4 again.