Bucciarati put his ear against the door, searching for any sound that indicated that he might interrupt an activity in the small apartment. When no sound entered his ear, he knocked on the door.

Abbacchio shook his head in exhaustion as he opened the door. He must have been more fatigued than usual, as he set aside his conventional, dramatic clothing for an extremely low-cut t-shirt and cargo pants. Both were black, so at least the outfit had some semblance to his goth style.

Bucciarati noted his tiresome state, but goddamn did he look attractive as well.

"Sorry for intruding on an off-day," explained Bucciarati, praying internally that his cheeks were not bright red. "But as I was walking through town, I overheard some gossip about a recent court case. Polpo had also caught wind, even managed to get the police report and some court documents. I might have Fugo review the latter."

"I'm familiar with how court documents are formatted," commented Abbacchio as he scratched the back of his head. "I liked to read them back when I was at the academy. Thought it would give me an edge in handling cases. Didn't really have the chance to put it to use thou-"

A rattle randomly appeared by his feet.

Bucciarati, eyes on the colorful toy, raised an eyebrow. Where did that come from?

"Lili, not now," said an exasperated Abbacchio.

Liliana? What did the random appearance of the rattle have to do with her?

Abbacchio shook his head as he turned to face his daughter, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucciarati raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. He expected to see Liliana with a heavy pout, perhaps glaring at her father for not being entertained by her concept of fun.

She must have been positioned behind some furniture, as Bucciarati couldn't see her. That or Abbacchio's larger than average frame and height blocked the sight of her at any angle.

"She's started throwing things and has been doing it a lot today," Abbacchio explained, leading Bucciarati into the apartment. "Had to take her to the doctors for an emergency checkup this morning and they gave her six vaccines. Screamed for about an hour and has been fussy the whole day. I'm probably not gonna get a lot of sleep tonight."

"Emergency checkup?" Bucciarati said with a jolt. "Is she okay? Did something happen - oh?"

The baby sat up on the floor. Her bottom laid on a baby rug, surrounded by a circle of toys. She was not laying on her back or stomach, nor was she having a hand to support her back.

Liliana managed to sit up all on her own. Not that it was of any importance to her. She was too focused on being grumpy and annoying her father.

Bucciarati would have laughed at her all-too-familiar pout, but another change with Liliana that diverted his attention.

Her once dark violet eyes were no longer one color. Similar to Abbacchio, the bottom half of her irises were a different color altogether. But it wasn't the deep yellow that transformed Abbacchio's eyes into a beautiful sunset that Bucciarati could not look away from. Rather, it was a light shade of green.

"Those eyes right there were the cause for emergency," Abbacchio explained, not needing to ask what Bucciarati was questioning in his head. "She woke up crying, like usual, and when she opened her eyes I almost dropped her. I thought the green meant she was sick, but the doctor said she is perfectly healthy. She just has heterochromia, like me."

"Oh, so that's why your eyes are like that," commented Bucciarati. "But why did hers not appear until now?"

"Apparently, babies' eyes can change like crazy in the first six months. Since Lili's eyes were a dark blue when she was born, I thought they would only change once, but she proved me wrong. Eye color is usually finalized by now, so I won't be waking up to surprises anytime soon."

"Elisabetta's eyes were green, correct? The purple and green suit her well. Very pretty and unique."

Bucciarati knelt to better discern the change, a warm smile forming on his face when Liliana made eye contact with him. She bounced from her spot on the floor, making him widen his eyes in shock.

Was she excited to see him? She barely knew him, so her enthusiasm had to be misplaced, right?

Oh god, the foreign warmth in his chest has returned, and he could feel his heart flutter as she reached her tiny hand out with a giggle. The baby moved into a crawling position with such eagerness that was immediately extinguished by her lack of balance, her head hitting the carpet with a "thud", her cries then filling the air.

"Oh no, I…" Bucciarati sputtered out as Abbacchio rushed to comfort his daughter. "I didn't mean to get her excited. Really, Leone, I'm sorry for the trouble I-"

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault," interrupted Abbacchio, attempting to comfort Bucciarati and quell Liliana's cries. "She's just a bit enthusiastic about stuff and doesn't know her limits. Shhh, Lili, it's gonna be alright. There's no bump on your head at all. It was just a small fall. Shhh, you're alright, Papa's here, principessa."

The softer, paternal side of Abbacchio was heartfelt, almost charming, but it was not a sight for non-familial eyes like Bucciarati.

"It sounds like she's had a long day, so I'll take my leave," Bucciarati, placing the file on the kitchen table. "Me and you will visit the scene of the crime tomorrow. I want to see the replay before deciding if he will be a good fit for the team."

Abbacchio perked up, temporarily distracted from Liliana's whines, though his hand instinctively cupped her head that tearfully nuzzled into his neck while her dainty hands gripped his shirt.

"Did you find a new member?"

Bucciarati simply responded with a smirk. "We'll have to see."

He turned to exit, feigning a relaxed, smug composure as he heard Abbacchio bounce a whining Liliana in his arms.

"I know, I know, today hasn't been great for you. Let's try for a nap. Shhhhh, it's okay, Liliana."

Closing the door and walking down the steps, a shaky hand reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

"I know that so far, I'm the only member of the team you actually recruited, but your selection process sure is strange."

"Hmm?" Bucciarati hummed in question, looking at Abbacchio as they walked. "How so?"

"You seem to find interest in people once the police make a file of them," Abbacchio explained. "Then again, you only showed interest in this kid once he got sentenced. He's had a reputation in the Naples police department for being arrested for the stupidest shit. I arrested him myself at least two times."

"You did? I don't know why I didn't consider that…"

"It's fine. This Mista kid isn't exactly the smartest. I remember arresting him once for beating the shit out of a guy for not liking a Clint Eastwood movie. He was more concerned with that guy's opinions rather than the fact that he was being put in handcuffs. I trust you, Bruno, but I'm confused about what you see in this kid."

"Well," Bucciarati trailed off, hopping on his heels once reaching the street corner. "If Moody Blues's replay is what I think it is, I think we may add a marksman to our ranks."

With a raised eyebrow, Abbacchio summoned Moody Blues.

"Alright, just need the date and time."

A zipper randomly spawned on Bucciarati's palm. He knew the police file was there, but it was buried under other items. Akin to a clown car, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, the wrapper of a caramel candy, and a stuffed animal out of the mystical-like incision in the center of his hand.

"Oh, I meant to give this to Liliana the other day," Bucciarati realized nonchalantly, handing Abbacchio the plush as he returned his focus to his palm. "A stall at a seaside market was selling homemade toys, and I noticed several of them on the floor of your apartment. I'm sure one more to the collection wouldn't hurt. Oh! There it is!"

"Uhh, thanks?" Abbacchio muttered, taciturnly hoping that no bystander lay witness to the sight – more specifically, what non Stand users would see with regular eyes – of a respected mafioso pulling objects out of thin air.

Bucciarati, ever indifferent to his peculiar, occasionally standoffish mannerisms, read the recount of the incident in search of a specific time.

"Alright, so on May 1st, a gunshot was heard at 1:44. Have Moody Blues begin the replay two minutes before the first gunshot was reported. That should give us a better understanding of the story. While we wait, want a smoke?"

Abbacchio considered himself the peculiar one for being charmed by the eccentricity and insouciance of his superior.

A cigarette already laid between Bucciarati's lips. Abbacchio was an irregular smoker; he bought a pack ten months ago, and only three cigarettes of the twenty remained. Besides his lungs, there was no harm in indulging a casual smoke with a friend.

"I've noticed that you haven't smoked as much as you used to before Liliana was born," said Bucciarati as he lit his cigarette, watching Moody Blues prepare the replay. "Well, you were more of a casual smoker, but you've cut back a lot."

"Eh, it's easy to push back a sudden crave for a smoke when you've got a screaming baby to focus on," Abbacchio responded with a shrug. "I sometimes have one before me and Fugo go off those hits Polpo assigns us."

"Hmm, you have better self-control than me. Sometimes I wish that- Oh there he is!"

Moody Blues completed its transformation. Abbacchio never thought he would see Guido Mista again, but here his figure was: average height and build despite a life of poverty, begrimed, unwashed clothes and a beanie hiding his unkempt hair.

The replay of Mista stared at a scene in front of him with a confused expression. Abbacchio could hear the pained grunts of a woman and a man yelling, presumably at Mista.

"The only testimony about the scene was given by Mista," Bucciarati explained as he took a drag of his cigarette. "He went on a midnight walk and stumbled upon three men assaulting a woman. Said woman was never found by the police, not even at the hospital."

"The cops are pretty inconsistent with sex crimes," said Abbacchio, watching Mista grab an invisible figure. "Not a lot of assaults and rapes are reported. Fucking stupid cops…"

Two voices entered the scene, followed by a gunshot.

"There's the first shot," Abbacchio said, observing how Mista somehow avoided the bullet. "Looks like it was a pretty solid shot from one of the guys. Aimed right for the torso. Can't believe this kid managed to dodge it."

"He successfully dodged all other shots too. Do you remember if any of his prior arrests involved use of a firearm?"

"No. He always was arrested for beating the shit out of people with no apparent reason. He never seemed like the kind of guy to have connections to anyone else involved with crime, so I'm assuming no previous use of any type of weapon."

"No previous use… still, I'm rather curious about his pose and aim when firing. I have a hunch."

Said hunch was most likely regarding the impeccable marksmanship skills of a kid who had never held a gun before. Watching Mista hold the firearm reminded Abbacchio of his days in the police academy.

"So, what do you have in mind for this kid?" asked Abbacchio, dropping his finished cigarette to the ground. "Do you think his Stand might involve a gun or something? Do you want to put his aim to use?"

"Depending on if he passes Polpo's test, then I would like to further test his gun-work. What interests me is his instinct. He seems to be quick on his feet in stressful situations. Plus, there is a kind heart in there.

"He has a minimum sentence of fifteen years. With his simple-minded personality, I'm worried that he will only last a year or two. Mista never had the best start in life since his family has lived in poverty for generations. One set of grandparents are Greek immigrants, and migrants are exactly given a fair chance. The rescission after the war was brutal, and not everyone was able to recover. Not everyone is born with a fair deck of cards, and some don't even have the opportunity to make changes. He deserves a chance, Leone."

Abbacchio merely nodded. Bucciarati's ability to see the best in people who were at their lowest was the utmost admirable. The glistening hope in those sapphire eyes was a beautiful sight.

"If you think he can do well in Passione, then I won't stop you from recruiting him," he said. "However, you will definitely have to pull some strings to get him released. The system won't be excited to end a decades-long sentence only a few months in."

Bucciarati hummed in acknowledgment, and Abbacchio could feel a strange flutter in his chest at the simple action. How Bucciarati made the most basic of expressions charming was astounding.

"I'm glad I have your trust," spoke Bucciarati. "Though I think you have some more insight that would be useful. Once this replay is over, would you be interested in a drink?"

"Did Bucciarati take Abbacchio with him because he's annoyed with us?"

"What? No! Narancia, if Bucciarati decides he wants a specific person to accompany him, that means he needs their Stand."

"Oh," Narancia responded, leaning his back against the brick wall from where he sat on the ground and circled his finger against the stone. "I guess that makes sense."

Fugo released an exhausted sigh. "Are you worried about something?"

Narancia perked up, frantically. "No! Well… I was just thinkin'. Bucciarati and Abbacchio, they're like three years older than us, and yet they're so serious all the time. Maybe it's weird because they are adults but still teenagers, ya know? I thought people their age were wild and ready to party, but they act like they're forty or somethin'!"

While usually one to scold Narancia for his strange thoughts, Fugo could only nod in agreement. He too wondered about the heightened maturity of his superiors. If it was apparent enough for Narancia to notice, then it must have been obvious.

"For as long as I've known them, Bucciarati and Abbacchio have always been quite the serious types. I know a bit about Abbacchio before he joined Passione, but not much. I imagine that he had some trauma that occurred years before. He'd never tell us about it though, he's such a private person, especially now with Liliana in the picture."

"Yeah… he won't even show me a picture of her, or even let me call her Lili whenever I ask 'bout her. Wait! If he's a dad, then shouldn't he be more carefree? I mean, since he's nineteen and all, he should know how to have fun. I bet he talks to her in a baby voice. I bet!"

"Have fun? Narancia, he's a single parent who has never mentioned family. He's doing it all alone. Abbacchio can't just drop what he's doing and go party. Becoming a parent takes sacrifice, and Abbacchio pretty much sacrificed his youth."

Abbacchio was never one for childish activity. His face had a permanent scowl, occasionally replaced by the faintest of grins when on missions. That gave his life purpose.

Perhaps, eventually, he would have discovered joy in other aspects, going to caffés and returning to his apartment for a hookup or perhaps forming last friendships where he would spend late nights drinking and going from club to club.

The journey from childhood to adulthood was cut short for Abbacchio due to the addition of Liliana. Parenthood was a path to selflessness, and Abbacchio walked on it with complaints.

"Damn."

Narancia leaned back further into the wall, looking up at the bright Naples sky in comtemplation.

"Guess he had to grow up quickly. I kinda feel bad because he can't really do what others his age are doin', but he clearly loves his daughter, so he has that. I'm still confused about Bucciarati. Isn't he only, like, a few months younger than Abbacchio? What's his deal?"

"I actually… I actually don't know…" Fugo's voice drifted away.

On that fateful December day in Libeccio's, when Bucciarati turned to face Fugo for the first time, the sight was unforgettable. His hair was finely cut, white suit crisp and finely tailored. Most notably, his determined eyes, a striking contrast to his soft face. His cheeks were full, almost cheurbic, a perfect match to his smooth chin.

It was the last remains of his innocence, Fugo realized. As months passed, the remains of his naivety were replaced with a sharpness, his face now consisting of sharp angles.

The violent, bleak world he had witnessed did not waiver the small speck of hope in his eyes. It gave him the effortless grace to offer kindness to others but never himself. Bucciarati was much too selfless to do so.

"I think…" Fugo spoke again. "I don't know for certain, but I think similar to Abbacchio, Bucciarati has been through a lot. And that is all the information we need. We don't need to know exactly what happened. We can speculate, but he is our superior, it's not right for us to ask him."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," responded Narancia with a sigh. "But it still doesn't really explain why Abbacchio won't tell me shit about his kid."

"For god's sake, Narancia! That wasn't what I was- UGH!"

Fugo began rambling as he angrily stomped in circles. It had been two months since Narancia joined and he already knew how to push his buttons precisely, even though he was probably too idiotic to recognize it.

"You want to know about her so bad, huh? Well if you weren't such a fucking idiotic cagna, you would have noticed that he has a picture of her in his wallet!"

"What!" Narancia stood up, pointing an accusatory finger at Fugo. "You mean to tell me he's had a picture of her in his wallet this entire time?! How did I not notice? Why didn't anyone tell me? Motherfucker!"

"Tell you? Why the fuck would someone tell you? You're such a stronzo!"

Like clockwork, the teenagers yelled nonsense at one another for several minutes. Once they walked home, they laughed and pushed one another like old friends.

He studied the plush fox in his hand, the bright red fur straining his tired eyes. It looked rather homely with visible stitches and lustrous button eyes. Although not the creative type, Abbacchio imagined someone spending their leisure designing and sewing it with love, excited about the day when the plush would find its forever home. That hope was slightly tarnished by the almost definite possibility that Liliana would slobber all over it, but the intent for the creation would continue to be thoughtful.

It was adorable, certainly, but definitely out of place in a taverna. The juxtaposition when Abbacchio placed the plush next to his glass of Pinot was comical.

"Before you meet Mista, you should know that he has a lot of… quirks," Abbacchio said while preparing to take a sip.

"Hmmm?" mused Bucciarati, setting down his glass of Barolo. "Quirks? Will that factor into how he works?"

"Maybe. Just know that he's extremely superstitious. Once, when he was in the back of my police car, he freaked out when a black cat crossed the street. He also has this weird fear of the number four. Keep pleading with me not to put him in the fourth jail cell, then explained something about the fourth kitten in a litter stratching someone's eye out. One of his little sisters came by the station to scold him for bothering us with his phobias."

"That's certainly not what I expected. Then again, with our line of work, oddity is an everyday occurrence… Huh?"

Bucciarati reached into his back pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper with a phone number scribbled across.

"Looks like I have an admirer."

"Really?" Abbacchio tilted his head to view the note. "How high school. By the way, you probably shouldn't look behind you, I can hear someone giggling waiting for you to turn around. Wait, I have one too."

"We must be standing out," responded Bucciarati, looking at Abbacchio's note, which had a different number written neatly"In a good way, of course. I'm never really prepared for these situations myself. I usually randomly meet a woman, and, well, the rest is obvious. These forms of pick-ups are outside my expertise."

"Have you ever flirted? That's what I used to do before I joined Passione. I was pretty good, worked on both women and men… Wait!"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Did he just come out to Bucciarati, his superior?

Fuck. He never revealed his sexuality to anyone, too afraid of the biphobic remarks he knew would be spoken. It would happen now. Buccarati would scold Abbacchio and tell him that his feelings were invalid, stupid.

All the progress in finding passion in his work, financially supporting him and his daughter, would disappear within a blink…

"Oh. So you actually indulge in those feelings?" Bucciarati curiously asked. "I mean, everyone has some attraction to the same sex, but we tend to ignore them. I commend you for-"

"Wait. Wait. Bruno, what do you mean by 'everyone has some attraction to the same sex'?"

It couldn't be. Was Bucciarati also…

"Everyone is attracted to both men and women, and I suppose other gender identities as well. But we choose who to focus our attraction on. It's simple, really."

Holy shit.

"Bruno, not everyone feels that way," Abbacchio explained. "Sexual attraction, it's complex. Most people are purely attracted to the opposite sex. Some are attracted to the same sex. Some, like me, are attracted to both. Based on what you are saying, and I'm sorry if this is wrong, but you might be bisexual, like me, or maybe pansexual."

Bucciarati looked at Abbacchio with wide eyes, absorbing the new information like a child in their first year of school.

"So, not everyone has these feelings for both sexes? It's not just straight and gay?"

"Uh, no, it's not just those two," Abbacchio shook his head, frantically worrying that Bucciarati would now be furious at him for accusing him of being a sexuality other than straight. He had to escape this. "Listen, Bruno, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up."

"No, Leone, it's fine," Bucciarati said with a reassuring gesture of his hands. "I just have a lot to think about. I'll probably thank you for this later. Don't worry about this, please."

Abbacchio continued to stare at Bucciarati, waiting for him to change his mind and yell at him for his insolence right then and there. But his smile was so warm and comforting. He was telling the truth.

"Okay, okay," Abbacchio reassured himself. "If you say so."

"Sorry for interrupting your train of thought earlier," said Bucciarati. "Let's continue. Have you considered going back into dating?"

"Pffff. Like anyone is gonna go on a second date with a guy with a kid."

"Don't say that! People love young, handsome single dads. It's charming."

"Yeah, people say that, but they wouldn't follow through. Listen, Bruno, in a relationship, you make your partner your number one priority until you have kids with them, in which you both agree to make them the new number one. With Lili, I can't do that. I have the most important person to me set. We're a package deal. I can't put as much time into romance as I could before she was born."

"That's nonsense, Leone! I'm sure there's someone out there that understands and still wants that relationship."

"Maybe, but… I would have to actually pursue a relationship to do that. Going out without Liliana, leaving her behind for the small chance I meet someone, I can't do that to her. I can't throw her aside for a romance that will inevitably end and try all over again. I'm her dad, dammit, I won't drop that title for a hookup. I love her too much for that. My little girl…"

Abbacchio reached into the pocket of his pants to pull out his wallet. He opened it, staring at a recently taken photo of Liliana. She was fussy for most of yesterday, but she was calm for brief windows. After waking up from her nap, she was in a playful mode. Putting his Polaroid to use, Abbacchio took a picture of her playing with her toys, looking at her father with a bright smile while giggling hysterically.

"Her eyes are perfect for her," Bucciarati commented, looking at the picture with the same fondness as Abbacchio. "Hopefully she's been feeling better?"

"Much better. She's been struggling with baby food, though. She lets me feed her with no complaints, but she'll only let Alessia bottle-feed her, which is okay since she shouldn't be reliant on that mush by now, but it makes progress difficult."

"She's stubborn, just like her papa."

Abbacchio blushed. "I don't want Lili to feel like she is a burden. Romance would be nice, but I have other responsibilities. It will definitely be hard, but me and Liliana will be fine, just the two of us."

Bucciarati gave a graceful, kind nod. He took one last sip of his wine before standing up."

"I think it's time we take our leave. It's getting close to the end of the work day. Before I go, I wanted to ask, do you think Mista will recognize you and will it be a problem."

The platinum-haired man laughed in response.

"Bruno, you've seen pictures of me from my time on the force. I look completely different. Plus, Mista isn't the smartest guy. I doubt he'll notice. It shouldn't be a problem if he does. I don't know if I ever told her, but I recognized Fugo when we first met. My partner was the one who arrested him a year and a half ago."

A year and a half ago, right around the time he graduated from the academy. Months later, in December, Lampone died because of him.

Decemeber 3rd, that was only days away.

The first aniversary was soon.

How could he have forgot-

"Leone, are you alright?"

Abbacchio shook his head at Bucciarati's voice of concern. He took a deep breath, briefly attempting to compose himself as he answered.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. I was about to say, if Mista ever annoys me, I'll just tell him how many syllables are in his name."

Bucciarati turned his head in confusion. He directed his attention to his fingers, counting down until he reached that fateful number.

"Leone! Don't you dare!"

After a long day of walking and talking, Abbacchio was glad to be home, spending the rest of his day relaxing despite Liliana being her dramatic self.

"You really need to start letting Alessia feed you," Abbacchio jokingly scolded his baby girl as he wiped her cheurbic face with a bib. "You don't want to consume formula forever."

"Baa, aaa," muttered Liliana, kicking her legs in the air while she sat in her high chair.

"Is that right?"

He removed his daughter's messy bib, placing it in the laundry basket. He glanced at Moody Blues, who entered the kitchen with a box.

"There it is," he said as he dismissed his Stand. "Alright, Lili, I haven't looked in this box in years, but a bunch of my old stuff should be in here."

He searched through the box, pushing back worn cassette tapes, unlabeled CDs, and books he read during his school years. Somewhere, they should have been a yearbook from his senior year – possibly part of his junior year, as he did graduate a year early – the last documented example of his hopeful self.

Liliana attempted to grab the box, seemingly interested in its content. To keep her entertained, Abbacchio rustled her wavy hair.

"Here we are. Class of 1997."

Having the first six letters of his last name consist of the first three letters of the alphabet, it was extremely easy to find his yearbook picture.

And there he was, the first student listed out of hundreds.

Like his present self, the high school-aged Abbacchio was gloomy. Not even the cheery commands of the photographer could lift the corners of his lips. His hair was freshly trimmed and eyes decorated with eyeliner. Though only two years ago, he looked so young, so innocent.

If only he knew what was to come.

"You've really aged up Papa, principessa," Abbacchio commented. "Maybe I should get my hair cut, just to change things up. What do you think, Liliana?"

He lifted the book close to Liliana's tiny face, pointing at his portrait. The baby merely blinked at the page in front of her, sniffling and then releasing a loud wail.

Hectically throwing the book onto the table, Abbacchio lifted his daughter from her seat and comforted her.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I was just joking! I won't change my hair! I'll keep it just as it is for you, Lili. Don't worry, I'm not changing my appearance. Nothing will happen to Papa, I promise."

She quieted her cries into whimpers, wrapping her arms around his neck for serenity, like she was telling him to protect her from his former self. Abbacchio continued to soothe her by patting her little back and gently stroking her hair.

"It's alright, Liliana. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Damn, you really do control so many aspects of my life."

Translations:
- caffé = Italian bar
- cagna = bitch
- stronzo = asshole