The day started uneventfully when Abbacchio returned home from work. He let Alessia leave and took over the task of calming Liliana for her nap. He made himself a cup of tea and he placed a pack of ice on his swollen knuckles. Small injuries from beating up idiots who thought they could take protection money intended for Passione were commonplace. Sometimes the pain lasted slightly longer if he needed to attend to Liliana soon afterwards. Today was no different, as the four-month-old was extremely delighted to see her papa and stubbornly against falling asleep.
He could spend the rest of his day relaxing. Liliana would definitely wake up and be very clingy, but she wouldn't be much trouble if she was in his hold. Maybe he could watch an auto race if it was airing on television; the Formula One season was nearing its end. It would give him some entertainment and possibly lull his daughter to sleep.
The goal of spending the remainder of the day unwinding was ruined the moment Abbacchio heard Liliana release a weak cry. A quiet cry might be seen as a sigh of relief, but Liliana was not a quiet baby. Abbacchio knew she was stubborn, escalating her wails if her problems were not solved within seconds of her waking up. A meek cry by her had never occurred in her four-month existence. Something was wrong.
Her eyes were shut as she whined from her crib. Abbacchio panicked when he saw her flushed face. Oh god was she sick?
"What's the matter, Lili?" Abbacchio kept his voice relaxed as he picked up his daughter. "It's alright, I got you."
As he cupped her head, his hand felt unusually warm. Liliana pitifully curled against him, releasing more whines like she was pleading with him to end her fever.
But maybe Abbacchio was overthinking. Perhaps Liliana decided to be mellow for the evening. Babies behaved quite randomly, so maybe she was adding a new aspect to her personality. Then he wouldn't have to care for a sick baby.
The panic returned once he placed his hand on her forehead, which emitted a temperature much hotter than he wanted.
"Fuck," he muttered, shoulders sagging but perking back up when Liliana fussed more. "Oh god I'm sorry. Let's try to figure this out."
Liliana limited her actions. She kept her head on Abbacchio's shoulder, sometimes looking up at him with wide eyes or looking at nothing particular with the most dissatisfied pout. Little hands smacked his upper chest and tugged the laces of his overcoat. He wanted to change into something less distracting so she would be easier to calm down, but he knew that Liliana wouldn't be pleased if she wasn't in his hold.
"Alright, you've got a low fever," Abbacchio commented as he removed the thermometer from his daughter's mouth. "You're at about 38 degrees. It could be much worse. You'll be fine… Liliana, I know that probably wasn't very comfortable, but you don't have to kick me when I'm trying to help you."
She responded with an angry babble, eyes squinted and nose scrunched. It was certainly cute, but Abbacchio couldn't help but wonder.
"Please don't tell me that you're gonna become easily angered like me."
Abbacchio tried not to overly stress himself. Simply holding Liliana and seeing her sad expressions didn't help his self-esteem much. And going to the hospital would be a risk. He was certain that Lili never had a happy experience during her checkups, and he wanted to keep his emotions in control when in public. Her fever was not a concerning level at the moment. Abbacchio hoped that her temperature wouldn't rise and prompt a hospital visit. Both father and daughter would certainly have a restless night if that was the case.
He didn't want a repeat of being on the verge of a panic attack. He told Bucciarati that he would do better looking after himself, and Abbacchio would never disappoint him.
Sitting down on the living room couch, Abbacchio winced as Liliana kicked his rubs when he reached for the television remote.
"Give me a minute Lili. I think a Formula One race is on. It's one of the few things that brings me happiness."
Shit. Less than ten minutes since she woke up with a fever and he was already focusing on the negatives. Sometimes he wondered how Liliana could love him unconditionally when he considered himself an emotional mess.
But maybe he could use this opportunity to make Liliana interested in racecars. Watching the Formula One races was one of the only things that could make his child-self smile. He could temporarily forget that he had no family, hardly any friends, and an immense sense of loneliness. Abbacchio never thought that a sport could create such feelings. With the happy life he wanted for Liliana, maybe she would grow to enjoy racing purely for its entertainment value. But perhaps she was much too young to realize that.
She fussed in boredom while Abbacchio watched the race, and since he wasn't familiar with any standard lullabies, he hummed whatever indie or alternative song popped in his head. He felt ridiculous not giving his daughter a regular lullaby, but she definitely liked it.
An hour later, Abbacchio let out a sigh of relief when he felt her warm breath hitting his neck. He smiled at her relaxed face and put her in the crib. Whoever won the race did not matter for once.
"Abbacchio? Abbacchio, are you alright?"
A lazy grunt escaped Abbacchio's lips as he gained consciousness. Someone was lightly poking and shaking his left shoulder; something else of weight sat on his right.
His vision was hazy when he opened his eyes. He looked down when his eyesight was clear. Liliana was laid gently on his shoulder, drooling slightly onto his pajamas. She was in a deep sleep, dainty hands clinging onto his shirt.
Abbacchio grunted again as he gazed toward the right. A discarded children's book laid on this thigh. He couldn't bother to recall the plot of the book. Hell, he wasn't sure that it even had a plot. It was written for infants, and he only read such books because Liliana liked to hear his voice.
Wait, when and why did he fall asleep in the rocking chair? And why was he reading to Liliana presumably during the middle of the night?
"Abbacchio? Oh, you're waking up now."
He finally looked at the source of the voice. Alessia was standing above the little family, removing her hand from Abbacchio's shoulder once she realized he was awake. She appeared confused at the sight in front of her. Perhaps she was wondering why he was asleep when she arrived.
Huh? Since when did he oversleep? Abbacchio had a consistent body clock, and if that did not rouse him from slumber, Liliana certainly would.
Her fever persisted through the night, he then remembered. It never rose above thirty-eight degrees, but it was not a pleasant experience for the little girl. Abbacchio couldn't recall how long she had been crying for, as the night was a blur of whines and comforting shushes, but she must have stopped a few hours ago, and perhaps he fell asleep around the same time.
"Sorry about that, Alessia," he finally spoke. "She had a low fever last night and refused to sleep. I think I got her to sleep after reading to her."
Abbacchio placed the book on the dresser next to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to fully wake his body. Liliana was undisturbed by his moments, continuing to blissfully slumber on his shoulder.
"Oh no, poor thing," Alessia responded with pity. "That explains why she looks like she's in such a deep sleep. If you don't mind me asking, how much sleep did you get?"
"I don't know, probably two to three hours."
"Well, that's not ideal. How about I take Liliana while you prepare for work? If you feel comfortable with going, of course."
Abbacchio felt the lack of sleep in his bones. Despite that, he felt wide awake. He wouldn't fall back asleep now. Knowing his luck, the exhaustion would hit him the moment he entered Libeccio's.
Perhaps his body was not in the right state for the typical day of a Passione member. He considered staying home for the day. Alessia's face, however, made him remember that Liliana would be in safe hands. She wanted to be in the medical field, afterall, and the opportunity to care for a sick child was making her visibly eager despite her attempts to appear neutral.
"I should be fine to go to work," answered Abbacchio. "Hopefully I'll feel more awake after washing my face and putting on some actual clothes."
Liliana released a light grunt as she was passed into Alessia's hold. The babysitter hummed in pity as she felt the baby's forehead.
"Doesn't seem like too high of a fever. If it gets any higher or doesn't go away in the next few hours, I'll let you know and be sure to take her to a hospital."
"Please do if that happens."
Abbacchio's sleep-ridden eyes gazed at his daughter. At least she would be in good hands while he fought to stay awake. As overprotective as he was, Abbacchio knew he wasn't in the best condition to care for a sick baby.
That also meant that he probably wasn't in the right state to beat someone up if today's work required it.
…
"Hmm, you're looking pretty dead inside."
"Ugggghhhh."
"You're such a great conversationalist, Abbacchio."
Abbacchio didn't bother to lift his head where it lazily laid on the table. The moment he sat down at the claimed table at Libecco's, his body slumped. He didn't know when his morning coffee – curtiosuly made by Alessia – would wake up his body, but he hoped it would be soon so he could manage his temper while Fugo made pointed quips.
Goddamn teenagers for being the cheekiest people in existence.
"You're not even trying to fight sleep. Looks like Liliana finally tired you out. I was wondering when you would reach that stage of fatherhood."
"Fugo, what are you talking about– oh god, Abbacchio, you're looking… rough."
Bucciarati's voice entered the scene. Abbacchio didn't want to appear so utterly exhausted in front of his superior, but at least Fugo's comments wouldn't be as brazen.
"Baby is sick," Abbacchio mumbled, still not moving his head. "She got a fever last night and cried a lot. Wouldn't let me sleep."
"Oh no," Bucciarati responded with genuine concern. "Is Liliana doing alright?"
"It's a low fever. Shouldn't be bad but I think I'm raising a fussy child."
"Well that's a relief. Still not great, but at least she's not too sick. Poor girl."
"How many hours of sleep are you running on?" asked Fugo.
"Two or three," answered Abbacchio, an angry edge to his grumble. What was Fugo planning?
"That's a new record for you."
"But Liliana's four months old," Bucciarati interrupted. "Shouldn't she be sleeping through the night?"
"Tell that to her. Even without the fever, 'sleeping through the night' still means that she'll wake me up with a scream at three in the morning."
"Never thought you would speak so lowly of your infant daughter," Abbacchio knew that Fugo had the stupidest smirk on his face right now. "And the longer sleep might not last for long. She's gonna start teething in two months or so, and we can't have you continue spending your mornings acting like a zombie."
"Hey Fugo, is it possible for Purple Haze to punch you in the face to break a capsule and dissolve your fucking smug ass?"
"Abbacchio, please don't," cautioned Bucciarati.
"Bucciarati, inject coffee into my veins. I'm begging."
"There you are!" proclaimed a new voice, higher pitched and more childish than anyone on the team. "I've been waiting for this moment for months!"
Oh god, who was this? Abbacchio lifted his head with a groan. He didn't want to interact with some random kid that decided to cause trouble to the wrong people.
There stood a teenager with dark clothes, a yellow-odorned skirt around his waist, and messy black hair that was barely tamed by an orange bandana. He appeared rather short for his age, even the edges of his face were exceedingly soft. Despite his gangly stature, his proud grin shined brightly.
Abbacchio still had no idea who this kid was. He looked at the expressions of Bucciarati and Fugo, both their mouths agape and eyes wide in shock and realization. If they could remember who the kid was, then Abbacchio was certain he should have too. He was confident that his memory was the most efficient of the team.
"Narancia?" Bucciarati broke the silence, attempting to steady his words and appear more anchored. "What are you doing here? Is there a special occasion?"
Narancia. Why did that name seem familiar?
"Hell yeah there is!" the kid, Narancia exclaimed, bouncing on his heels like an overactive toddler. "Today's my first day as a member of your team!"
Bucciarati was stunned into silence as Fugo approached Narancia with heavy steps. Too much was happening at once for Abbacchio to process what exactly was happening.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Fugo gritted. "You were supposed to return to school after your eye infection healed. Bucciarati already told you that he doesn't want you to join Passione. Why aren't you with your dad?"
"It was summer break by the time it healed," answered Narancia, his voice bordering on a whiny tone. "I tried to get a tutor, but I couldn't understand anything that came out of his mouth. Adding and subtracting fractions is stupid anyway. When am I gonna use that in real life? And my dad wasn't paying attention to shit. Didn't even care when I came back. Bitch."
If Abbacchio had a complete knowledge of what was being discussed, then he would surely be entertained by Fugo frothing at the mouth upon hearing that Narancia didn't understand the importance of simple math. Bucciarati, meanwhile, stared at Narancia with pity, his focus clearly on the latter part of his statements.
Everything was coming together now. Abbacchio was not present at Libecco's on the day that Fugo discovered a malnourished boy, bandages poorly wrapped around his eye eating from the trash. He must have spent a good portion of the day investigating some criminal in Naples that was annoying Polpo, as he missed the initial meeting with Narancia where he must have described his life for possibly hours. Abbacchio only knew about him through hearsay and never had a reason to personally visit the kid.
"Hey! You wouldn't let me join the gang but you let this guy join after you visited me!" Narancia squinted his eyes and pointed at Abbacchio in an accusatory manner. "Where the hell was this guy when I followed you guys around two months ago? Uh… ah shit, forget I said that."
"You followed us?" Bucciarati finally voiced his anger. "Do you know how dangerous that could have been?"
If Abbacchio wasn't so deep in thought, he would have addressed the concern that the seemingly unintelligent Narancia managed to follow Bucciarati and Fugo without suspicion.
He would have scoffed at the notion that his presence was unmemorable for Narancia, but if he never saw Abbacchio during his search, then he didn't know about his daughter.
When asked, Bucciarati said that Abbacchio was injured and in recovery for a two and a half month period of time. The idea of paternity leave in Passione was laughable and seen as a weakness, so it would certainly put a target on the backs of Bucciarati's squad. Not to mention the danger placed upon a little girl who never asked for her father, her only caregiver, to be a mafioso.
This Narancia character didn't look like the type that could keep secrets. He proved that seconds ago. He could be having a regular conversation, and randomly let it slip that a member of Bucciarati's respected team was caring for a literal baby.
While Abbacchio observed the chaotic scene in front of him, he was relieved that he could focus on other matters and not the secret of Liliana.
"What exactly are you trying to gain by coming here?" Abbacchio decided to make his voice heard, standing up like he didn't have dark bags under his eyes. "Did you think you could come to us claiming that you're joining the gang without any issues? That we would just welcome you with open arms?"
Narancia's confidence visibly shrunk as Abbacchio approached him. The default expression of an irate, vexxed scowl accompanied with someone of such a tall, intimidating stature was utterly terrifying to those that lay witness to it. Abbacchio fully recognized that his appearance was always off putting and occasionally threatening, which certainly had its advantages in the mafia.
Abbacchio glared at Narancia, causing the kid to stumble over his words, as if suddenly losing his voice. He meekly reached down into his pocket, fumbling for something in there.
His docile expression disappeared, replaced by a grin once he successfully found the object in his pocket. A fist appeared out of his pocket, and Narancia slammed it onto the table. He unclenched his hand to reveal a golden badge, patterned with intricate nodes.
"Take a look at this shit!" Narancia shouted, not caring about the worried glances he was receiving from Libecco's other customers.
Bucciarati would have scolded the kid for causing a scene, but he was far more distracted by the fact that Narancia was carrying Polpo's badge.
Abbacchio almost choked on his own breath. How did this kid manage to find Polpo? Did he gain a Stand?
"How did you find this?" Bucciarati now approached Narancia, his expression consisting of anger and confusion. "What happened?"
"That's why he followed you and Fugo," said Abbacchio, connecting the dots. "He wanted to know how to join Passione. And he actually succeeded. Who would have thought that was possible?"
"Hey! I have street smarts!" Narancia defended himself, his figure once again becoming meek when meeting Abbacchio's glare. "Anyway I don't really understand the test that fat nutcase gave me. The flame went out so I relit it, and then an arrow appeared out of nowhere and stabbed me. Hurt like a bitch too. On the bright side, I can now summon this tiny plane! It's pretty cool."
"A Stand," said Bucciarati, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You now have a Stand. What am I supposed to do now?"
Abbacchio would have questioned why Narancia's Stand was not a humanoid figure but rather a fucking plane, but he figured that how he obtained the Stand was the more pressing matter, though he would save that question for later because he really wanted to know the answer.
When hearing the tale of Narancia, Abbacchio understood why Bucciarati didn't want the kid to join Passione. A life in a gang was not for the faint of heart. Narancia had seen a peak, but he had an opportunity to walk away and rebuild his life. Bucciarati must have seen hope in the kid to get so angry when Narancia mentioned becoming a mafioso in that hospital room.
But maybe Narancia recognized that staying with his father and going to school would give him nothing but misery and hopelessness. Granted, he was a fifteen-year-old that hadn't fully developed his critical thinking skills, but perhaps his instincts were strong enough to guide him.
Abbacchio could see the conflict of emotions on Bucciarati's face. Should he tell Narancia to live out his childhood and build himself a happy life, even though he clearly wasn't very intelligent? Or maybe he could overcome the trauma associated with the crimes of the mafia? The more likely chain of events would be that Narancia would not be mentally prepared for the daily duties of Team Bucciarati.
It was shocking to see so much despair in Bucciarati's expression. Abbacchio swore that he could see tears in the corner of his eyes. Bucciarati was never one to wallow in his emotions for more than a few minutes. Something about this situation must have triggered this response. Perhaps Bucciarati was hiding his own trauma. No matter the reason, Bucciarati appeared incapable of making a rational decision.
Abbacchio recognized his strong dislike of children that weren't his daughter, so he was surprising himself by the intriguing feeling he had toward Narancia. He would even say that he was impressed.
Despite vowing to follow the requests and rules of omnipotent leaders, Abbacchio decided to take command.
"You must have some skill to find Polpo, so maybe you can make yourself useful with us," Abbacchio said with a smirk, though he returned to a scowl. "Though I do recommend you lower your damn voice when talking about Stands."
"Abbacchio you can't be serious," Fugo retorted, pointing and wild gesturing toward Narancia. "He was given good advice by Bucciarati and didn't follow through! He should just go back home!"
"Maybe he should," Abbacchio shrugged his shoulders, making Fugo confused about his nonchalant response. "I can't really say what's best for the kid. I just met him. I do have to give him credit for finding Polpo without our help. He seems like a dumbass, but he appears to have some uses. His Stand could come in handy.
"And if we refuse, we're sending him home to a neglectful father. Surprised that he hasn't been reported for child neglect if he didn't notice that his son was in the hospital for several weeks. He should soon, if Narancia returns, which means he'll be thrown around foster homes for the next few years. And given this kid's mouth, he may mention us, and we'll be complicit."
Narancia stared at Abbacchio with wide eyes. Until now, he most likely didn't consider the consequences if he was rejected from Passione.
"But it's not my place to make this decision," Abbacchio turned to Bucciarati, tilting his head. "I may have my opinions, but the decision is yours, Bucciarati. What should we do with Narancia?"
Bucciarati stood still, staring at Abbacchio before glancing at Narancia. He squinted his eyes in contemplation, the sorrow previously clouding them now gone. Perhaps he needed that simple push to fully comprehend Narancia's situation.
With a sigh, Bucciarati made his decision.
"Narancia, let's go somewhere quieter. You can show us your Stand there."
Narancia returned to bouncing on his heels, smiling way too wide and innocent for someone his age. Maybe he was too immature to join Passione.
"Does that mean I'm part of the team?" asked Narancia hopefully.
"Consider it another test. I still don't know what you can offer to the team. Fugo, let the hostess know that we'll be leaving earlier than intended. Abbacchio will check to make sure no one overheard too much. You two should know where to meet me and Narancia when you're done."
Bucciarati led Narancia to the exit, giving Abbacchio a thankful grin before leaving.
Passione had a grip on many businesses. It was easy to conduct gang-related activities out in the open and have regular people not even bat an eye. Most businesses were afraid of the consequences if they reported. For the people of Naples, they respected Bucciarati enough not to say a word.
Despite knowing this, Bucciarati was still cautious with the issue of Narancia's Stand. There was an area near Libecco's with many dark areas that no sensible person would dare step onto.
Fugo and Abbacchio both knew where to go once they finished Bucciarati's orders. They didn't say a word to one another as they walked. They both weren't great conversationalists anyway, and Abbacchio figured that Fugo would find something to be furious about.
Whatever they could have been talking about would have been disrupted by the surprising sight before them when they arrived at their destination.
Narancia wasn't lying about the appearance of his Stand. A miniature fighting plane was flying in the sky. Bucciarati observed with an indifferent expression, most likely thinking about its possible uses.
Several bullets were fired at the ground. It took a few seconds for Abbacchio to realize that it was the Stand that shot them. Bucciarati continued to look on unfazed as Fugo scratched his head in confusion.
"What the fuck is this kid like for the representation of his soul to be a fighter plane?" Abbacchio asked himself aloud.
Bucciarati appeared more exhausted as the day continued. There was a visible worry on his face, probably hoping that his team wouldn't run into more trouble than usual with their new, highly energetic teammate.
It didn't help that Narancia had never-ending questions. He fairly wanted to know what they did daily, so that question was answered without a problem. Narancia stayed silent for short periods, but he always piped up with questions regarding the members of the team whenever they popped into his mind.
Bucciarati kept reminding him to stay focused on the job. Abbacchio would send him glares whenever his attention went to him. Narancia figured that Abbacchio wasn't fond of other people and didn't like to share his secrets, which was true.
Both adults were lucky that questions about Fugo sparked a conversation with the two teenagers. Despite being on the verge of an argument multiple times during their talk, they remained civil, feeding off one another's energy like good friends.
By the end of the day, Fugo and Narancia left together, as Narancia had no place to stay. It was surprising how quickly Fugo suggested that Narancia stay with him until he found a safe residence. Maybe Fugo was relieved that he finally had the opportunity to interact with someone that actually acted like a teenager. Despite their ages, Bucciarati and Abbacchio acted very grown up since one led a subsection of the mafia and the other had a history of depression and who was also a father. They occasionally made good company, but they couldn't compare to someone near Fugo's age.
As the new younger members of the team left, Abbacchio looked at Bucciarati as he blinked away exhaustion. He himself was tired after a long, sleepless night with Liliana, but something about Bucciarati's worn-out expression made him think that he could help make his day better.
Without thinking, Abbacchio put his hand on Bucciarati's shoulder and gave him a grin once he turned to face him.
"Hey Bucciarati, wanna go to my place for a drink?"
The liquor cabinet in his kitchen had not been touched in eight months. The lock and shelves were collecting dust.
Quitting his drinking was a quick decision, and Abbacchio figured he wouldn't stop drinking forever, but only in small intervals. Sometimes he felt like a large glass of wine after a rough night of crying with Liliana. That feeling was quickly put aside when he remembered that he was her sole caretaker. He couldn't afford to accidentally get drunk when she could need him at any moment.
It was much safer for Liliana if her father had someone to watch his drink. Bucciarati knew him well enough to know when he should stop.
"Look at how big you've gotten."
Bucciarati laid Liliana on his lap, supporting her back with his arm. Liliana originally stared at Abbacchio as he tied his hair in a ponytail in the kitchen – Bucciarati wondered why he randomly changed his hairstyle but didn't question it – and was preparing to cry for him to hold her. She was distracted by Bucciarati's voice, and stared at him with wide, curious eyes.
"Your papa has some good genes if you're this pretty" he cooed to Liliana, ruffling her wavy hair and earning a giggle from her. "And you seem much happier than what I heard this morning."
"Hopefully she'll sleep through the night tonight," Abbacchio said from the kitchen. "I have some sleep to catch up on."
"Maybe not. She seems way too happy to sleep right now."
Liliana suddenly reached for Bucciarati's face. Bucciarati didn't think anything about his face was particularly interesting, but he knew that babies were fascinated by the strangest of things and figured that Liliana must have noticed some small detail.
A bright smile appeared on his face as Liliana squealed upon being lifted close to him.
"Now what's so interesting about my face, angioletta. You're such a curious little one– Ow!"
Liliana had decided to grab his hair and tug on it for fun. One of her little hands held onto one of his hairclips, fascinated by its shininess, or that's what Bucciarati assumed. He had no idea why one hand continued to tug on his hair.
"Uh, Liliana, would you mind letting go?" Bucciarati pleaded, trying to place the baby down, but she had an iron grip and wouldn't stop babbling nonsense and giggling at her own mischief. "Since when have you been able to babble?"
"Lili!" exclaimed Abbacchio as he entered the living room, carrying two glasses of red wine. "I've told you to stop doing that!"
As Abbacchio placed the glasses on the table, Bucciarati finally understood why his hair was tied back.
"Is this a repeat offense?" Bucciarati questioned over the loud baby babbles.
"Yes," answered Abbacchio with a sigh, flinching in memory of the times where Liliana was relentless with her grip on his hair. "I didn't think she would do this with you since your hair is much shorter than mine. I don't know why she finds it so damn entertaining. I do know how to stop her. Stay still."
All it took for the tugging to stop was for Abbacchio to summon the arms of Moody Blues to tickle Liliana's underarms. She unwilliningly let go with a giggle, falling into her father's open arms. Once she realized that she was separated from her beloved activity, she let out a hefty, angry whine.
"Thank you," said Bucciarati as he attempted not to laugh at how much Liliana's angry expression looked exactly like Abbacchio.
"It's no problem," Abbacchio responded, giving Liliana a pacifier to stop any potential wails. "I don't know why she finds playing with hair so much fun. I'll get her a toy to distract her for now, she has so damn many after all."
"Is she… is she able to see Moody Blues?"
"Not all at. Well, she hasn't done anything to show that she can see it. I don't think she has a Stand. I don't know exactly how people born with Stands got them, but if it's through genes, then she shouldn't have one. I got hit with that arrow after she was… you know… conceived… so she probably will never develop a Stand. I'm actually pretty glad about that. Stand users seem to always run into trouble, so at least she can be a normal girl. Well, as normal a life with me as her dad."
Liliana, forever blissful as her baby self, hit a rattle against Abbacchio's thigh.
"Yeah, it's not easy being a kid with a Stand," Bucciarati responded. "That's why I was apprehensive about Narancia joining. I didn't think he was capable of handling the stress like Fugo was. He's extremely childish, but if he was able to find Polpo, find us, then maybe he has a chance."
"I mean he was a bit annoying today. I'll have to see if he keeps getting under my nerves."
"I have to say, Leone, you handled yourself pretty well today. I knew you have the ability to take sudden command over a situation, and today you showed that. I wasn't lying all those months ago when I said that once the team got bigger that I wanted you as my second-in-command."
"Wait, you remember that? I thought you may have forgotten. After all, I think you wanted to find other people after I joined, but then…"
Abbacchio absent-mindedly rubbed his daughter's head. Despite his deep love for her, he did feel guilty for dragging Bucciarati into his mess of a period. He was unable to handle the consequences of his actions by himself like a regular adult. It took too long for him to learn that he couldn't forget about his shitty life through sex and alcohol.
"Leone, I prepared myself for these moments because I knew that the people I recruit aren't going to have easy lives. And it's not like I was desperate for members. I discovered Fugo and you seemingly back to back, I was quite lucky about that. I will say that what slowed down recruitment is very adorable."
Bucciarati picked up a stuffed caterpillar from the floor and presented it to Liliana. The infant dropped her rattle, eagerly grabbing the new toy with a giggle. Bucciarati responded with a warm smile, even though he had no familial relation to the baby in front of him. It was inspiring to see how considerate and caring he was toward Liliana, toward Abbacchio.
He had done so much for this small family despite not being obligated to. Abbacchio had no family except for his daughter, so Bucciarati had to give a large amount of assistance. He could have refused or not volunteered to help, but he didn't. He was always willing to help no matter the situation.
There had to be some way to thank Bucciarati. Some way to show gratitude.
"Would you mind if I named her after you?" Abbacchio blurted.
"Huh?"
It was rare to see Bucciarati speechless, especially more than once in a single day. This Thursday was not a predictable one for Bucciarati.
He attempted to speak several times, but his words were trapped. With a sigh, Bucciarati asked for clarification.
"What do you mean by that? Liliana already has a name."
"Well, she has a first name. Until two weeks ago, she didn't have any middle names. I don't know why Italy is so serious about naming after family, but I know it's tradition for most. I actually gave her one: Violetta. I got the purple part of my eyes from my mom, so I thought that I could make one of her middle names have some connection to our family."
"That's very sweet of you, Leone. You've chosen a beautiful name. It suits her. I still don't understand why you want to name her after me."
"Are you kidding me, Bruno? You've done so much for me and Liliana. I was such a mess from the moment we met. You saw how I was when I found out Elisabetta was pregnant. You were there to reassure me from the beginning. You were so calm when I told you that Lili was literally left at my doorstep. I never wanted to ask for too much, but you're so damn selfless. I can't thank you enough. I just wanted some way to show that I'm grateful, and now I can't think of any other way."
Bucciarati glanced back and forth between father and daughter several times before looking away. His breaths were long and exaggerated, his eyes not focused on anything particular. He wasn't offended by Abbacchio's request. It just wasn't what he was expecting.
Sure, the people of Naples were thankful for his help, often offering free food and services. But naming a living human being after him? He never thought praise could reach such a high level.
"If it's too much pressure, I can do a variant of Bruna. Perhaps Brunella? She'll have a lengthy full name, but I think it's pretty. It fits her, well, as much as a name can fit a baby."
Liliana Violetta Brunella Abbacchio.
It was rather lengthy, Abbacchio said it himself, but Bucciarati couldn't deny that it was beautiful. It was funny thinking about such a small being holding a long, elegant name. But perhaps, as all babies typically do, would grow more into it with time.
But Bucciarati couldn't consider this well-deserved. Sure, he helped Abbacchio more times than he could count, but he always assumed a thank you would be given in the form of service. Being a namesake for his daughter wasn't his place, Bucciarati told himself. He couldn't invade the space of the little family in front of him. They were all they had, and Bucciarati wasn't about to place himself in the middle. As much as he cared for both of them, as much as he was thankful for Abbacchio's presence, this wasn't something he could agree to, under any circumstances–
A tiny hand tugged on his pants. He looked at the source, seeing Liliana pulling the white fabric, her toy once again fallen on the floor. Once she realized that she had his attention, she gave Bucciarati a giggle, tugging on his pants with more enthusiasm.
There was no way Liliana recognized the situation and was telling Bucciarati, in her own way, that she would be honored to be named after him.
Bucciarati couldn't say no to that adorable face.
"Alright, Brunella it is," Bucciarati finally answered. "Thank you for this honor, Leone."
Abbacchio widened his eyes, not expecting Bucciarati to give in so quickly. He let out a sigh of relief and gave Bucciarati an affectionate smile. He adjusted Liliana's position on his lap, the girl letting out a squeal of surprise and delight in response.
"Thank you, Bruno. Thank you from both of us."