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Chapter Text

The year was 2001. Naples. For decades, Italy had spiraled downhill as a result of the economic issues and an increase of drugs that had skyrocketed beyond control, which the Italian Mafia took advantage of. One of these cartels was known as Passione. Founded in the 1980s by “a man with a thousand names”, who took hold of the drug trade and Passione became one of the most powerful gangs in all of Italy. However, within Passione itself, oppression and underpayment were the norms, followed by rebellion. Those who rebelled were silenced. They were treated like the lowest of scum. This went on for years, until an ambitious golden-haired boy worked up the ranks, overthrew the Boss, and took control of the gang. His goal was to cease the drug trade and restore virtue within the mafia. Since that day, he became the new boss and Passione had begun to run smoothly...
 

....But whatever happened to the “lowest of scum” aforementioned? Their team was called La Squadra Esecuzioni, the group specialized in assassinations. Sadly, they had lost their lives while trying to overtake the boss, being stopped by the golden-haired boy before they could reach their goal. Their bodies were never recovered. Right after their deaths, the previous boss had their “funerals” to which no one from the familia dared to pay their respects. Except for themselves.

It was at the Cimitero di Poggioreale. It was a dark summer noon. The sky was gray and the whole area seemed to be barren of people. Despite it being early summer, some of the trees’ leaves we’re starting to fall off from the branches. Upon a high hill, nine headstones were lined next to each other, with a small plaque in front of them, decorated with illustrations of flying cherubs around the text of the plaque. It read, “I nostri uomini appassionati che hanno combattuto... “ On the tombstones, the names of the fallen members were chiseled in. The crunching of leaves could be heard as footsteps hiked up the hill. Seven men stepped forward. They stood there in silence as they stared at their graves.

“So, here we are. At our funerals,” Illuso said as he reread to himself their names and the memorial that were forever engraved into the stones. “Our Passionate Men”. It felt like a total slap in the face.

“Yeah. Not like anyone will miss us,” Formaggio agreed dryly. That left a sour taste in his mouth. Usually, he was one to crack pretty dark jokes, but even he wasn’t in the mood.

“This has to be a sick joke,” replied Ghiaccio, his voice filled with contempt at the memorial.

“I guess we got pretty lucky, after what we’ve been through,” added Pesci. The youngest of the group and the most innocent of them. He tried to muster as much optimism as he possibly could. Even if well intentioned, it wasn’t always well timed.

“Yeah, if you want to say that.” Their heads turned as Melone pointed solemnly to the last two headstones on the very right. “Sorbet” and “Gelato”. The two members who were missing. The ones that started it all. Every day that passed, the team missed them more and more. It had been over two years and they still had so many questions surrounding their friends’ deaths. But ever since that terrible day, the team would be constantly reminded by their capo of what was to come if they couldn’t move on.

“Forget about Sorbet and Gelato or you’ll meet the same fate as them. Failure means certain death so take heed.”

They would never forget that.

Pesci’s face fell with shame until his comrade, Prosciutto, lightly patted his back.

“Thanks bro,” sniffled Pesci, Prosciutto responded with a nod. Prosciutto looked at the dozens of graves out in the distance. Stone-faced as always. He was familiar with death, so it didn’t get to him very often, he was an assassin after all. But as much he didn’t like to admit to it, he felt his heart drop to his stomach when those two died. The previous few years had warped his idea of death. Before then, the fear of death was practically nonexistent to him. What mattered the most was to complete the mission. They were assassins, they practically worked with Death on a regular basis. But as much as a traitor as they were, Death turned around and took two of their very own. But now wasn’t the time to fall over and break down. Even if Prosciutto wasn’t the leader of La Squadra, he still had to set an example, he had to be there for his comrades, even if it meant swallowing his pain.

Prosciutto turned to his capo, “What are your orders, Risotto...?”

Risotto Nero was quiet. Despite his stoic composure, his mind raced with countless thoughts. He and his men have gone through several years of fear and suffering. At what cost? That chance to take down the boss and claim what should’ve been theirs was taken from them. Despite faking their deaths, most of the team almost got killed in the line of action. Not only they lost their income, but they also don’t even have jobs. They only had whatever is in their pockets and the clothes on their backs. They lost everything that they stood for, so, what now?

“Risotto...?”

Risotto snapped back into reality, his eyes met with his confidante’s gaze. Prosciutto’s face was serious but had small traces of desperation. The next thing Risotto knew, everyone was turning their heads to him, relying on him on what to do now. His next order would be so pivotal, that it would determine their futures.

After failing to kidnap the Boss’ daughter, Trish Una, the group relocated. They settled in a small cottage near Pedesina, notable for being one of the smallest towns in Northern Italy, with only 41 inhabitants, including La Squadra. A perfect place to hide. It was so peaceful and so far no one had blown their cover. Risotto would have loved to stay there with his friends until they grew old, but it would still be a risk to live in Italy when you’re a mafia member who betrayed your familia and didn’t even change your identity. Passione may not have realized they’re alive, but God forbid if one of them stepped into the public and the mafia saw them, they sure would be fucked. Risotto didn’t want to put his men in that position. Oh, how he cares so much for them.

“We leave. Now.”

That’s all he said before turning around and heading for the cemetery’s exit, the others turned to each other, confused.

“That’s it? Leave!?” Ghiaccio questioned loudly. “Can’t you be more specific!? Leave where to? Naples? Rome? The Alps!? And what will become of us?” His voice grew more confused and irritated. “Yeah, let’s run to the Alps and waste the rest of our lives as hermits, that sounds great, eh Risotto?”

Risotto ceased walking, still facing away from the rest of the group.

“We leave. Italy. Now.”

Leave. Italy.

Those words echoed through their ears and they all froze where they stood. In their 7 years of working in Passione and all the deep shit they’ve been through, it never got to the point where they had to leave the homeland. This was all very new to them. Even Ghiaccio grew quiet, he felt the anxiety rush to his brain but he tried to remain as calm as he could.
“And don’t ever question my authority. You may be my comrade, but I am still your superior.”

Ghiaccio swallowed hard. “But where?”

Risotto paused.

“Anywhere but here,” he spoke sternly. “We can’t stay here anymore, not if we want to be caught. They may think we’re dead now, but Passione sniffs out traitors like bloodhounds. Since we’re in Naples, there should be a dock nearby, we’ll take one of the boats and head out. Anyone who protests can stay behind.”

And with that, Risotto continued to head out from the cemetery, while the rest of his men followed...

————————————————————————

While the clouds finally dispersed, the sky began to turn dark azure from orange as the sun fell into the horizon. Its bright rays bounced against the dark sea. The boat’s motor ripped through the waves so as the men’s eardrums, while the faint cry of gulls echoed in the distance. Besides an occasional throat clear, the men were dead silent. Their minds were still filled with countless thoughts and questions. It didn’t help that their nostrils were engulfed by the scent of brine, which only added to their adrenaline.

Risotto stood on the edge of the boat. He looked out in the direction of whatever destination he had in mind. He felt a somber relief as he felt the cool sea breeze course through his hat and hair. It reminded him of home.

The sound of gagging cut him off from his daydream. Risotto and the others turned to face Ghiaccio as he was upchucking overboard for the 30th time since they’ve been at sea and they didn’t doubt it’d be his last. He lifted his head from the back of the boat. Poor man’s face was beet red and his eyes were wet from the constant straining.

“FOR THE LOVE OF HELL, HOW LONG WILL WE HAVE TO STAY ON THIS FUCKING BOAT?! I HAVEN’T STOPPED PUKING SINCE WE GOT ON HERE,” Ghiaccio loudly complained.

Here we go again.

“Please, you’ve been through worst,” replied Prosciutto as he was being squished into Pesci to avoid getting puke on him. Thankfully, the boat was able to carry the 7 of them, but there was limited wiggle room. Not only that, the boat began to reek of vomit. “Hey Ghiaccio, you might want to stop puking for at least one damn second,” Formaggio plugged his nose. “We’re trying to escape Passione, not give them a trail to find us.” Risotto turned his head back out to the ocean.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make a few stops along the way, our boat won’t last where we’re going. But don’t make yourselves too comfortable. Those stops we’ll be scarce. The sooner we get to our destination, the better.”

“But what exactly is our destination,” questioned Prosciutto. There was no trace of sarcasm in his tone. On the contrary, his voice was genuine, a touch bit concerned. He looked to his capo, his question was answered with moments of silence until Risotto eventually spoke.

“America.”

Chapter Text

Oh, how they wished they were taking a plane, or a yacht or they’d be grateful to just be in a boat with elbow space. But none of them dared brought that up to Risotto, they already knew why. Not only did Passione have control over drugs and gambling, but many sanctions had turfs all over Italy, especially the airports. Sure it wasn’t impossible to steal a plane, but Risotto made it quite clear that he didn’t want to put themselves in a risky position to be outed. All they could do was just wait and sulk.

Another hot day passed and they all sat with their arms crossed, grumbling to themselves, except Risotto and Pesci. Usually, Pesci sulked like the rest of the other guys, but today he felt different. He had this sudden burst of optimism. “Hey guys,” Pesci chirped, pairs of disgruntled eyes met him, he faltered a bit but proceeded.

“Think of it like this! Many Italians in the early 20th century faced problems in the homeland and also had to make a grueling trip to America. Sure, it was hard, but many immigrants overcame what was thrown at them, I think we’ll be okay!” Pesci waited for a response.

“Just shut up already,” Ghiaccio spoke brusquely. “Dumbass. Nobody here wants to hear your shitty fairytale bullshit.” “Look, Pesci,” Illuso started bluntly. “If you read a goddamn book for once, half of those people DIED, many didn’t even make it to their destination.” “And might I add,” said Formaggio, butting in. “Most of us are pretty confident that a majority of Italian immigrants, weren’t being chased by the mafia, unlike us.”

Pesci cowered into his seat further as the glares of his teammates grew more intimidating. Not even his Fratello backed him up, Prosciutto said nothing, just glowered at him.

“Pesci’s right.”

Their heads turned to Risotto, who stood by the end of the boat. “Whatever might come our way might be good. Maybe the 5 of you should be a little more positive like him. Where we will be, won’t be like Italy.” But they did have a reason to be uncertain. They may have left Italy, but the mafia resided EVERYWHERE, even in America. Passione could’ve been waiting right there once they got off and could take them right back to Italy or just finish La Squadra on the spot... if La Squadra even made it to America. They were lucky they didn’t hit any storms along the way, but a little rain could turn into a full-fledged storm. Or, if the currents got too rough, they could capsize and drown. This concept, along with being on the boat for weeks, started to test their sanity and their morale was gradually dropping. If it weren’t for Risotto and the few stops in-between, they would’ve gone delirious and eaten a man by now.

Later that day, the men still grumbled to themselves. Pesci stayed quiet this time, he learned his lesson for speaking up. What did he expect? He viewed Risotto by the end of the boat, looking out as usual. Pensive as usual. Pesci got up from his seat and gingerly walked close to where Risotto stood, making sure not to trip over one of the guys and get a “well-deserved” beating by them. It wasn’t all that much room though, as Pesci was practically almost smooshed up against Risotto’s thigh, but his capo didn’t notice or simply didn’t care.

“Risotto,” Pesci spoke meekly.

“Yes, Pesci...?

“Are you afraid?” Risotto looked down at Pesci, his gaze pleading for an answer. Risotto furrowed his eyebrows and looked back out the waves.

“No. I’m not. Are you?”

Pesci stuttered. “Are you gonna yell at me if I say yes?”

There was a pause.

“... No. I won’t.”

“Then yes, I am... I’m sorry.”

“Strange,” he turned his head back to the smaller man. “You seemed so excited before...”
“I know, but I’ve never been to another country before, running for my life, to say the least...” Pesci started to doubt his excitement before. Risotto just stared at him. Pesci was easy to read, his face was now filled with dread.

“We’ll be fine Pesci. I’ll make sure if it.”

Risotto and Pesci stood there in silence. Pesci gradually relaxed again. It amazed him that all this time, he didn’t fully look out at the sea. It was beautiful. He dared say, soothing. He was too busy being worried or seasick to fully appreciate the grandeur of the rolling waves. Now he understood why Risotto was always looking out instead of having to deal with the rest of them bickering.

Risotto sighed. “Doesn’t this feel great, Pesci?” Pesci nodded as the salty sea breeze brushed against their faces. Pesci's eyes met the sky as he heard a faint mewing overhead. Black-tailed gulls glided through the clouds and towards the direction that the group was headed. It was a silly thought, but Pesci mused about what the gulls were flying away from. Maybe, they too were flying to a better place to live.

“I promise. Once we get to America, I’ll take you to the docks every morning and we’ll watch the waves as the sun rises. Would you like that?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” It wasn’t often Pesci saw Risotto so calm. With all the burdens he had to carry to make sure all of them were safe and content, it relieved Pesci to see his capo take a breather for once. Or was he? Risotto was as expressive as stone. He couldn’t always tell what mood his capo was really in. He might’ve seemed fine, but he could’ve been faking it so Pesci wouldn’t be more terrified. God, Pesci hoped he was wrong.

Thud.

The noise brought Risotto and Pesci to attention, they looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Risotto looked around, something was off.

Thud.

The noise was louder and stronger. Pesci wobbled, he was just about to fall into the water before Risotto grabbed him by the collar and threw him inside the boat.

“Melone. Check the engine,” ordered Risotto.

Melone inspected the engine. All looked to be in order. “The engine seems stable, with no signs of corrosion or any missing pieces.”
“It can’t be the engine,” Risotto thought “If it were the engine, it would be sputtering or slowing down the boat. It’s like the thudding is following us.”

THUD.

Melone turned away from the engine and sat facing the others. He stared out, his face was pale as a corpse’s. He tried to speak, but whatever horror he just witnessed had him stuttering. “What’s wrong,” Risotto asked.

“Shark.”

Risotto’s eyes widened as he and the others looked out. A huge gray fin circled their boat. The shark flipped out of the water. It was a great white shark, it was long and plump, must’ve been about 20 feet long. It was the largest shark Risotto had ever seen in his entire life. The shark circled closer, then quickly, it rammed into their boat. The men teetered, trying to get a hold of anything to avoid going overboard.

“It’s gonna capsize our boat if we don’t do something,” shouted Formaggio.

“Everyone stay close to the center of the boat,” ordered Risotto. “I’ll take care of this.” Risotto went to step forward but froze in thought. While he can take out the great white with ease, there’s a risk. To attack the shark would also indirectly hurt his friends too. This was his ultimatum. He continued forward. A familiar force within him coursed through his veins and a blue aura surrounded him.

“Come forth, Metallica,” he hissed. Needles pricked all over the shark’s flesh. The great white roared in agony. However, instead of growing weaker, it had become so aggressive it thrashed itself in the red cold water, causing giant waves to crash against the dinghy. “Shit,” thought Risotto. How is this thing still alive!? He even made sure spikes were poking the heart and brain of this beast. “I have to be careful. I could up the iron manipulation just a tad more, but the others are in a 5-meter radius. Sure, the shark is going to feel the fullest effect of my stand, but since the boat is relatively small, the men are huddled too close to me, roughly 2 to 3 meters. That means they’re in danger of the effects of Metallica and-“

A quick scratching sound zipped behind him, followed by a few yelps. Some of the team noticed they were getting random cuts all over their arms or any skin being exposed. Prosciutto grunted as his arm felt like it was getting sliced from his forearm down to his wrist. He pushed his sleeve up and saw the long slash, oozing with blood.

“What the hell?”

There was a pebble-sized lump at the end of the cut. He picked it out of his wrist, it looked shiny and brittle. Then as if a solid brick called “realization” planted him in the face. It was his iron. Metallica was behind the cuts- and this was only a minor effect of its ability, despite not being Risotto’s targets. If Risotto had multiple targets but just focused on one for too much, yes the other targets won’t be as affected, but could still experience slight side effects. Not only that, a single iron pebble could block or even break a vein, or in a worse situation- an artery.

“Risotto, we have to think of a different strategy,” Prosciutto called out to Risotto. “You’re going to kill us if you dial up your Stand’s power!”

Prosciutto was right. Ideally. This wasn’t one of Risotto’s most thought-out plans, but this was a life or death situation, they didn’t have time to just sit and think until one of them had an imaginary lightbulb flickering over their head. Besides, not that Risotto wanted to, but he’d rather have the others have a few scratches than all of them become shark food. He was losing focus, just a little more.

“Risotto, please!”

“Risotto, you gotta stop!”

Their cuts ran deeper into their skin, more iron deposits started to form in their wounds. The team was now pleading for him to stop, but he only replied by ignoring them. Almost there.

“Yo, screw this!” Formaggio ran passed Risotto and jumped off the boat towards the shark. An aura similar to Risotto’s radiated around Formaggio. A robotic humanoid figure, clad in purple armor emerged from his side. This was his Stand.

“Eat this bitch! Little Feet!”

The purple figure raised its arm, with a noticeably large index finger. Its arm came down and slashed the face of the beast. The shark bellowed as one of its eyes was pierced. Formaggio wrapped his body on top of the shark while Little Feet kept attacking. Slash, slash, slash. The shark’s blood gushed faster. But the shark wasn’t giving up, it jerked back and forth, Formaggio was riding rodeo on this beast.

“Formaggio!” They all cried out. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

“I can kill this thing,” shouted Formaggio, in between breaths. “If I can- just reach its throat- I can kill it instantly!” With that said, the shark lunged out of the water, with Formaggio still on its back. However, he started to lose his balance and Formaggio was just barely grasping its dorsal fin. If this shark was going to fall onto its back, he would be crushed. “Welp. At least I’m going out in style,” he thought.

“Beach Boy!”

The string of a fishing rod zipped passed the boat and wrapped around Formaggio’s waist, still in midair. The others veered around and saw a very regretful Pesci gripping the rod of his Stand for dear life. “I got you Formaggio,” Pesci cried out. He tugged on the fishing rod, but before Formaggio can be reeled back to safety, the shark’s weight shifted on its back, a Formaggio predicted. This caused Formaggio and the string fixed around his waist, to be pushed further down. The force of the string being pulled yanked Pesci off of his feet and almost sent him flying into the shark’s mouth if it wasn’t for Prosciutto grabbing him by the ankles.

“HELP ME, BRO,” screeched Pesci as his limbs felt they were about to be stretched out of his sockets. Prosciutto turned to the rest of the group who complied by staying put. “What are you three staring at!? Stop gawking and help me pull him back in,” barked Prosciutto. Ghiaccio, Melone, and Illuso rushed to his aid and helped pull Pesci back in. The great white thrashed on its back and was able to roll over on its belly. Fortunately, Formaggio was still clinging to it and still alive. Unfortunately, the shark was just as alive and kept flailing and rolling, resulting in the boat being pulled in every direction and the poor man being almost dunked to death.

The others looked over for Risotto for help. But he was nowhere in sight. Did he fall off the boat? Which was weird, they heard no struggle or a cry for help. But now wasn’t the time to ponder the whereabouts of their leader, currently, they were at the mercy of this ferocious fish. They could finally see the blood-covered shark growing weaker, bits of flesh and carnage ripped off from its body. This would be all over soon. In a pinch, the shark stopped floundering in one place. Instead, the shark swam at high speeds, dragging the others, Pesci, and Formaggio with it. It would swim straight, then sharply turn, it was a water skiing trip from Hell. This went on and on until something they noticed that they didn’t see before. Land. It felt like everything surrounding them had slowed down. They found land. It wasn’t America, it was an isolated little island and it was from a distance. But it meant refuge, it was so close but still very far, it felt like they were being taunted. They had to kill this thing.

The shark then came to a screeching halt. This gave them time to pull Pesci back in and they were able to pull Formaggio out of the water. Poor guy was barely alive and was coughing up pints of salt water, but thankfully he was breathing. The shark bobbled on its side and the crew noticed something was sticking out of the side of its stomach. It looked like a stick, but upon further observation, it was a harpoon, an iron harpoon. It wasn’t there before and there wasn’t another human in sight. A splash and a thud behind them bounced the dingy. Another shark!? Please God No! They all turned to see a dripping black cloak standing on the very end of the boat. It was heaving and in hand, held a long iron spear. It was Risotto. They gawked in awe.

“Now I understand what he did,” Prosciutto to himself, amazed. “He must’ve jumped into the ocean and gathered enough iron particles to make full-fledged harpoons!” Brilliant. Without a word, Risotto rushed passed the others and with one step off the ledge, he was in the air with the spear overhead. In one last attempt, the shark circled to face Risotto with its mouth wide open. Risotto shouted as he brought the spear down.
 
To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

It was deep within the dusk of night. The embers of the bonfire flew into the sky, just before dispersing into thin air. The scent of burnt wood and smoke filled the area, pungent enough to cover the smell of the shark’s carcass. Most of the men surrounded the warm fire and satiated their appetites with the shark flesh. Rough and briny, bits of sand would get stuck between their teeth. Not the best thing they ever ate, but it was better than Formaggio’s cooking- or nothing at all. It wasn’t that bad though. The gentle sea breeze felt nice as it blew by them, passing the abundance of swaying palm trees that rattled throughout the night. They had a pretty view as well, as small waves softly crept onto the wet sand of the beach.

“You know,” Illuso said while he took another bite. “Why bother even going to America? Over here is quiet. Not a damn person will ever find us. We can just live here for the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah,” Melone replied nonchalantly. “All we would have to worry about is finding food every day. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be on the menu for tomorrow.”

Illuso would normally laugh that off as a joke... if it was said by someone other than Melone. Melone had a twisted sense of humor. And it didn’t help that Melone had a deadpan expression when he said things like that. It was hard to tell whether he was kidding around or being serious. Illuso only just stared back at his morsel in silent horror.

Hours passed and the night grew darker, the fire was still going, and the soft crackling became louder than before. Ghiaccio was fast asleep, Melone was busy inspecting the boat’s condition, Illuso chatted with Prosciutto and Pesci, Formaggio watched the waves fall as his toes dug under the dampened sand, and Risotto sat on a boulder, watching the others from afar.

“Oh god-,” Formaggio suddenly cried out in a panic. The others jumped up abruptly. What was it? Another shark? An enemy Stand User? A shark Stand User!? “Oh man, I totally forgot!” Formaggio’s hands grasped the grayish fuzz on his head, he turned to Illuso and rushed towards him. “Man, please tell me you still have her!” .... Her? Who’s this “her”? The rest of the team didn’t understand what he meant. Formaggio hadn’t been with a woman in years. Poor man, the salt water must’ve got to his brain...

Despite the craziness, Formaggio was spewing out, Illuso calmly rummaged through his pockets for a moment. He yelped as a sharp pinch jolted from his index finger to his spine. Illuso shot the shorter man a death glare and showed his injured finger to him.

“She’s fine.”

A minuscule dot appeared on his digit. Formaggio squealed with relief as he plucked it off Illuso. “Oh Baby! I thought I lost you forever!” He enlarged the dot and it turned out to be a startled gray cat. Illuso rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you decided to bring that stupid cat with us.”

“She is NOT stupid,” Formaggio argued as he cradled his precious pet who kept angrily swiping at him. “I couldn’t just leave her behind! She’s my everything, my sweet lil’ baby!” As they continued arguing, Pesci nudged Prosciutto’s arm.

“Hey, bro, I’m really sorry about before, when I made everyone mad about that story... and almost getting everyone killed...”

Prosciutto sighed, “Pesci, about the first thing. Don’t take it personally. This is all new to us, even for me, so everybody is anxious.” Both men stared intently at the fire. The embers flying were almost hypnotic. “Y’know,” Prosciutto began, “Even if we make it over there, we don’t know how we’re going to adapt to this new lifestyle. I can’t blame them for feeling restless, we need to expect the unexpected.”

“Oh yeah, right...”

“But- I should apologize as well. You were just trying to help. I should’ve been the better man and backed you up.” Pesci smiled warmly in response. “Thanks, bro.”

“On the downside,” Prosciutto said blankly, Pesci’s face turned puzzled. “Because you saved Formaggio, now we have to hear more of his idiotic blabbering.” Both of them chuckled.

“Melone, a status report on the boat,” called out Risotto. “Di Molto,” Melone replied cheerfully.“Everything looks normal for the most part. Luckily the boat had minimum damage done to it, despite our little escapade before.” Risotto only nodded. Pesci's eyes fixated on the black-cloaked man, whose back was hunched as he sat alone on the rock. He looked very bothered. Must’ve been because of the whole shark situation. The green-haired boy got up and nervously shuffled to Risotto, his capo’s back facing him. “Hey Risotto, are you okay,” Pesci asked softly.

“Don’t worry about me, Pesci,” Risotto replied with a hushed voice. Pesci nodded and went to head back to his Fratello.

“Yo Risotto, you’re not talking about me, are you?!” Formaggio called out a few yards away. He ran up to his capo with a big doofy grin, in contrast to his leader’s serious disposition. “Listen, if this is about the little stunt with the shark- I’m sorry. I just thought if I could get to its throat, it would’ve been an instant kill, that’s all.” Formaggio’s response was only met with the silent treatment, Risotto didn’t even look at him. “If it makes you feel any better, everyone’s fine, me included! Maybe a little water in the ears, but I feel great! Can’t be helped by you being upset about it!” Risotto continued to ignore him. Formaggio proceeded to pick up his cat. “Do you wanna pet my pussy,” he joked.

“Nobody here wants to listen to your double entendres,” called out Illuso across the shore. Risotto remained quiet. Formaggio shrugged, “Well I tried everything. You’re a tough egg to crack, Riz. I think you just worry about us too much,” Formaggio playfully ruffled Risotto’s gray hair before heading back. Capo jumped to his feet, his shoes planted firm into the sand. His balled fists shook aggressively at his sides.

“You think this is some joke,” his voice boomed, which startled everyone, including Formaggio, who immediately regretted everything he said up to this point. “Your little stunt almost cost our lives! You deliberately disobeyed me and now you’re playing it off as if it wasn’t a big deal! I shouldn’t have to tell a grown man like you this kind of tripe!” Formaggio dipped his head in embarrassment, he tried to cover any sign of shame with his hand in vain. Behind him, he heard Illuso snickering. He kind of wished that shark killed him before. “As for the rest of you!” His attention directed to the other members, “Have you all turned soft? You rather risk losing your lives over a few scratches!? I ordered you all to do one simple thing, yet that couldn’t even be done. It’s child’s play!”

The crowd went mute, it was like that for a couple of minutes as their leader gave them the ultimate death glare of their lives. Eventually, Risotto’s face softened and he cleared his throat. He was back to his calm, serious self, almost like the whole situation minutes prior never happened. “We’re going to leave early in the morning, which will be in a few hours. All of you, get rest. I have a feeling we aren’t going to see land for a very long time after we leave here.”

With that being an order, all the men came around the campfire and were out. Risotto watched them drift off to sleep. After a while, he exhaled and treaded to the snooze pile, where he laid on his back and scooted over to be closer to a snoring Formaggio. Risotto’s eyes followed the flickering specks of light that danced across the black sky. He couldn’t sleep at all. He wouldn’t tell Pesci this, let alone any of the others. But what happened earlier, really did scare him. “I thought you were a goner. I never want to lose you. Any of you.”

————————————————————————

The Sun emerged from the horizon, the men let out big yawns as they stretched their limbs. It was time to bounce out of there. “Man, I slept like a baby,” Formaggio piped jovially, as he shook the sand from his orange leather jacket.

“Hey, watch it,” Pesci cried out, trying to shield his face from the sand flying everywhere.

“Oops. Sorry, little man!” Formaggio chuckled, slinging his arm over Pesci’s shoulder. “It could’ve been worse. If I was in a lesser mood, I would’ve dumped all that sand down your cute, little throat and made you into a stuffed animal.” His cheerful grin transformed into a sinister smile. Pesci gulped hard. “I’m just messing with ya,” Formaggio laughed, slapping Pesci’s back as he said that. Pesci could only respond by nervously laughing at his friend’s “joke”. At least it wasn’t Melone who said it.

Prosciutto got up to crack his joints. His back was killing him. He hoped that if they ever made it to America, they’ll have some nice beds to sleep on. He went to fix his little blonde buns when his attention was then focused on the hulking lump of a capo that sat in front of him. His capo let out a low snore as his body expanded and shrunk as he slowly breathed. Prosciutto got up slowly to Risotto and lightly shook his shoulder.

“Capo, it’s morning. It’s time to go.”

Risotto’s red pupils shot out from their sockets, his head whipped so fast that it made Prosciutto jump backward. “Risotto, it’s just me.” After a second of gathering his surroundings, Risotto yawned and rubbed his groggy eyes.

“God, you look tired. How long did you sleep last night?”

“10 minutes.”

Risotto slunk towards the water, followed by his teammate. He bent down. Prosciutto was right, he did look tired. His eyes were puffy and he could see the bags under them in the reflection of the waves. And his neck. He felt achy for having it lay on his collarbone. Try as he might’ve, no matter how many times he cracked it, he just couldn’t loosen the stiffness from his neck.

“Maybe we should stay another hour or two, so you can get some rest,” Prosciutto suggested.

“No-,” said Risotto. “We can’t waste time. If we keep procrastinating, by the time we leave it will be dark again.” And with that said, they were back on the boat.

After the island disappeared in the distance, the silence returned. Somehow, it felt even quieter than before, everyone glanced at anything that wasn’t another human being. The men were in thought of what happened last night when Risotto lashed out at them. What did he expect? It was a life or death situation! They couldn’t just stand there while they almost turned into shark dinner. Did he not realize that it would’ve been more of a hindrance if they didn’t help at all? And what would’ve been the outcome had Formaggio not intervened? On the other hand, some of them were regretful of disobeying his orders. Risotto wouldn’t just yell at them if it wasn’t warranted. Their decisions probably wouldn’t risk anyone’s lives had they just listened to their capo. He was their leader for a reason. It could’ve been way less messy as well.

They were lucky to have a leader like Risotto. It was like during this whole trip, he was trying to keep them from harm’s way, despite their living conditions. But some took notice, these conditions started to take a toll on him too. The bags under his eyes had grown deeper, he pretty much hadn’t slept since they left the island and his voice was more agitated, even in a normal conversation. Or, in petty situations that wouldn’t normally bother him, he would look like he’d explode into a fit of anger.

On one grueling day as the crew grumbled for food, Formaggio was too busy cooing and cradling his dear pet, much to Illuso’s annoyance. “Is that cat the only thing you care about? Do you not care that we’re all going to starve on this boat?”

Formaggio just stared at Illuso and went back to his feline companion. “Don’t listen to him,” whispered Formaggio to his cat. “He’s a big meanie! He’s just mad ‘cause he’s a stinky man and everyone on this boat hates him.” Illuso was unamused by his teammate’s barrage of taunts.

“Well, if you really don’t care about anything else,” began Illuso. Without another word, he snatched the startled cat out of Formaggio’s grasp. “It’s my dinner now!”

“Give her back, she’s not food!”

“Or what, Formaggio? What are ya gonna do? Start crying?”

“Stop holding her that way! She doesn’t like that!” Formaggio lunged to retrieve his cat, just for Illuso to hold the feline over his head. Formaggio jumped for her but to no avail. The cat scrambled to catch its claws onto something before it could get tossed into the water. Its shriek was so blaring, that it could’ve made the entire ocean tremble.

“BOTH OF YOU, THAT’S ENOUGH!”

They turned to see an angered Risotto. Oh no, not again. “You-,“ He pointed to Illuso, “Give him back his damn cat!” Illuso harshly pushed the cat back into Formaggio’s chest, who grunted from the impact. “And if you’re so hungry. Here.” Risotto threw his hand into the sea. A moment later he pulled it out from the saltwater and in his palm was a meek little mackerel. He threw the fish on the floor by Illuso’s feet, Illuso blankly stared at the fish as it floundered helplessly to breathe.

“That’s your dinner.”

After that, Risotto went back to his business, all the while grumbling about the two grown men acting like petulant children. Risotto never acted this way when breaking up fights. But it did get the job done since the two gangsters finally did shut up for the time being. Formaggio patted his traumatized cat who clung to his jacket while Illuso crossed his arms, with his nose in the air.

“Hmph. It was just a joke,” mumbled Illuso.

The humid day turned into a humid night and that night would reset into another equally humid day. This would go on and on for what felt like another month or so. The men slumped all over the boat, they were sick of the endless torture of the hot weather, the starvation, the seasickness, the bickering. How much longer did they have until reaching America?

It was the afternoon of a July day. Or was it August? The intensely muggy day had the men once again taken their shirts off and fanning themselves with their hands. Illuso was slouched on his seat, lazily picking his teeth with a fish bone. There wasn’t anything better to do, especially in this heat. His eyes slowly gazed until he noticed Melone hunched over. He looked like he was throwing up over the boat, but Illuso heard no gagging. His eyes focused, it looked like Melone was holding something.

“Oi Melone. What are you doing?”

Melone didn’t respond, instead, Illuso heard panicked rummaging that was coming from his masked comrade. Illuso stood up and marched to him. “Don’t fucking ignore me! I said what are you doing?” He grabbed his teammate by the shoulder and spun him around. Melone had a nervous expression on his face, what stuck out to Illuso was a tiny blotch of brown melted goop on the corner of Melone’s mouth.

“What the-?”

Illuso smudged his finger on the corner of Melone’s lips. “Come on, man. Please don’t tell me you lost your mind to the point you would actually eat-,” Illuso then whiffed the substance. Thankfully, it wasn’t what he thought it was. On the contrary, it smelled sweet like cocoa. His eyes darted to Melone’s tiny knapsack, which looked heavy on the bottom. Then, it hit him.

“Are you hiding chocolate,” shouted Illuso.

“N-No I’m not,” stuttered Melone.

“Then what’s in the bag?”

“Nothing important.”

“Really? Well, then you don’t mind if I take a quick peek inside your bag, friend,” Illuso asked suspiciously. Melone slowly shook his head, still looking nervous. As soon as Illuso opened the bag, already then candy wrappers flew out of the bag and all over the boat. Digging away the remaining wrappers, Illuso finally found it. It was a huge pile of chocolate, from little bonbons eloquently decorated with bows to ginormous chocolate bars that any brat would want to get their grubby little hands on. Illuso slowly turned to face Melone, his face twisted with utter disgust. The color of Melone’s skin turned from pink to white in seconds, he gulped hard.

“YOU...,” Illuso hissed. “YOU HAD FOOD ALL THIS TIME AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE FUCKING COURTESY TO LEND ANY OF IT WHILE WE SIT HERE LIKE STARVING DOGS!?”

Illuso slammed the knapsack into Melone’s gut, the latter clinching the bag for dear life as more candy wrappers flew into the sea. “Careful! You almost made me spill everything out of the bag,” protested Melone.

“Risotto specifically said not to bring extra food onto the boat!”

“Like some bag of chocolate is going to weigh down the entire boat,” argued Melone.

“That’s not the point,” Illuso said angrily. “While we are almost starving to death, you were hogging food and not even offering any of us a bite!”

“What’s this about hogging food,” squawked Ghiaccio. This also caught the attention of the rest of the crew, except Risotto who was finally able to get some sleep. Illuso pointed to Melone in a condemning manner. “Fucking Chocolate-Burglar over here had been stashing food all this time and never bothered to share any of it with us!”

The others glared at Melone and stepped toward him. At this point, all of the teammates circled the purple-haired man, who cowered further into his seat. “Hey Melly, aren’t we friends? If so, why are you hiding stuff from us, like necessities?” Asked Formaggio with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah Melone, be a pal and fucking answer why you’ve been stashing food,” seethed Ghiaccio.

“Look fellas, I’m really sorry,” Melone responded genuinely, as in genuine fear. “The last seaport we’ve been to, I bought more than I expected. I thought I could finish it back at the hotel, but I still had a lot of it and I didn’t want it to go to waste. I wouldn’t care about sharing it with anyone but if Risotto found out, he would’ve tossed all of it into the sea. I panicked and I just tried to finish it discreetly.”

“Oh Melone,” Prosciutto said softly as he put his hand on Melone’s shoulder, just to immediately grip it with full force. “That has to be the dumbest excuse I ever heard coming from you.”

“If you were that scared of Risotto throwing out your candy bag, don’t worry we won’t let that happen,” said Illuso. “We’ll just throw you out and keep the bag in your place!”

“Wait what!?”

Before he could figure out what was happening, Melone was grabbed by his arms by Prosciutto and Pesci and his ankles by Formaggio and Ghiaccio. Melone was hoisted into the air and was being carried over to the side of the dinghy. He struggled and pleaded for them to stop but they dismissed his protests. When they got to the edge, Illuso had the men’s undivided attention. “On the count of 3, we’ll throw him overboard!” The men gripped harder, Melone hissed as they dug their nails into his wrists and ankles. For every count, they tauntingly swung Melone’s body closer to the edge.

“1....

2....”

Illuso paused deliberately, watching the men so eagerly waiting on the last count. In the back of all of their minds, they wondered what the fuck were they doing? They wouldn’t seriously be fighting over some candy, right? But then again, they couldn’t stop. Melone knew what he was getting into. He saw all of them complaining about food while he secretly ate away at his stash when he could’ve been sharing it with them. He was supposed to be their friend. Sure he was weird, but they cared about him, and yet for a “friend” to watch them suffer while he greedily guzzled down his food. That was unforgivable.

“3!”

Melone clenched his eyes as the crew were about to fling him over the dinghy until-

“HAVE YOU ALL LOST YOUR MINDS!?”

Risotto stomped towards them as he rubbed one of his tired eyes. “I FINALLY GET SOLACE FOR ONE MOMENT AND WITHIN THAT TIME, ALL OF YOU ARE TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER!?” Immediately a wave of fear and guilt engulfed all of them. But in the back of their minds they were relieved Risotto intervened before they could do anything regrettable. But that feeling was instantly shattered upon realizing that Risotto was beyond pissed, even more so than the shark situation. Usually, when Risotto got mad, it was only for a few moments, but this time was different. There was a glint in Risotto’s eyes, not the familiar “get angry one second, then calm down the next”. This was the look of an unforgiving man.

“Drop him.”

The men released the purple-haired man who flopped onto his belly. Once he sat up, he nursed his wrists that drew some blood from the grips of his teammates.

“What’s in the fucking bag,” Risotto pointed to the contents that spilled out of the knapsack. Illuso picked it up by the strap and shakily showed it to Risotto.

“Food.”

“You were about to kill a man over. Fucking. Candy!?”

The men coughed anxiously and avoided their capo’s gaze. Risotto’s rage grew tenfold. “Is no one going to answer me,” snarled Risotto. Prosciutto sighed and spoke up, his gaze still looking to the floor. “As much as I hate to admit it, yes. We almost threw Melone overboard for something as trivial as chocolate. We lost our senses and we have no excuses whatsoever.”

“Anyone else?”

No one else dared to speak up. Risotto’s wrathful glare turned to Melone. “I told you, not to bring any crap onto this boat and you disobeyed me.” Melone was still on the floor, his head hung low and his entire self trembled violently. “I’m sorry, Risotto.”

“Is that all you can say,” boomed Risotto.

Melone nodded.

“You’re lucky that I woke up in time. That bag almost cost your life.”

“I know,” Melone whispered.

With that, Risotto flung the bag across the sea. It was thrown so far that no one heard it hit the water. Risotto still stood firm in his spot, while the others stared back at their capo. He was quiet now, but he was still fuming. They were hoping his face would soften like normal and he would go back to his typical serious Risotto-self. But he didn’t. He stared icily at them for a half hour, but it felt longer. After what felt like an eternity, Risotto slowly spun around and sat where he was before, his face still unfazed. Nobody bothered Risotto for the next couple of days...
 
To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

About a week passed. The sky was dark as soot and most of the men were asleep on the floor. Prosciutto wormed side to side for a more comfortable position but to no avail. He sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He envied the others for being able to sleep through such intolerable conditions. He glanced over to check his capo. Still awake. He could tell; Risotto had a deafening snore when he’d be in a deep sleep, which the others compared to the “growl of a demon dog from Hell”. Whatever the hell they meant by that? He hadn’t heard it in a while so Prosciutto was sort of concerned. Overall though, Risotto seemed okay. No one had spoken to him for what felt like a week, they all promised each other to be on their best behavior.

But despite the absence of arguments or attempts to not throw anyone overboard, Risotto still gave them the silent treatment. Prosciutto wobbly stood up and once he found his footing, he ambled to the side where Risotto sat, stopping right behind his crouched back. Risotto didn’t look behind him or motioned at all, yet he sensed that his confidante was right behind him.

“I don’t blame you for being mad at us.”

No reply. Not a surprise. The only sound that filled the air were the waves that slowly rolled under their boat. But Prosciutto knew better, he wasn’t going to twist Risotto’s arm into having a conversation, in hopes that he would forgive them for almost murdering Melone over some candy bars. In truth, Prosciutto couldn’t blame him for being upset with them. The men had understood from the get-go that their morale had begun to drop and then some. But to attempt murder on one of their own? Unforgivable.

“If you’re not ready to talk, I understand.” Prosciutto went to go back to his sleep spot on the floor. “What was going through your heads that day?” Prosciutto spun around, somewhat shocked to hear his capo’s voice for what felt like a millennium, though his voice was a bit more hoarse than he recalled. Risotto still faced away from his blonde-haired comrade, but it was a start. Prosciutto walked back to his leader, this time when he came close, he sat by Risotto with his legs crossed. Prosciutto pondered what to say. He would be blunt on any occasion, but for all 7 years he has been under Risotto’s wing, he’s never seen his capo in such an emotional state, even when Sorbet and Gelato had… What if he was too blunt? Risotto could lash out or he could go back to giving him the cold shoulder, Prosciutto didn’t want to ruin such progress.

“Please don’t let me repeat myself,” Risotto whispered, yet still was a warning.

“Food was our only thought,” replied Prosciutto, nonchalantly.

“I understand that, but almost at the cost of our friend?”

“We were selfish and unfortunately, we took it out on Melone. He didn’t deserve that. He had no fault in this.”

“I agree with you on the selfish part, but don’t pretend to be so compassionate, Prosciutto. Melone didn’t deserve to drown, yet he is just as at fault as the rest of you.”

Prosciutto tilted his head to get a better look at his capo’s visage. It was worse than he expected. The bags under his eyes tripled-sized than before, Risotto looked like he could barely squint them with his face looking so puffy due to lack of rest. His black sclera showed remnants of rage from the week ago, but besides that, his eyes lazily gazed at the water, almost looking disinterested- a lack of a better term, empty. Prosciutto felt a twinge of pity that ached within his heart. He hated to see his friend like this.

“Is there anything we could do to help out,” asked Prosciutto.

“You can start by not killing each other on this boat.”

“Well, so far so good,” Prosciutto replied, scratching the back of his neck. He felt the fibers of his hair tickle his fingers, it didn’t occur to him before that his hair had become undone. He checked his reflection in the water. He looked just as terrible. Not just his ratty hair, but his face too. His cheeks began to sink into his face and his eyes were surrounded by dark rings that made him look like a starved raccoon. He couldn’t believe for a second that this visage once belonged to an intimidatingly confident assassin. And he thought he could present himself like this to his superior, he felt embarrassed.

“I know we’re in a tough situation right now,” started Risotto, Prosciutto’s attention focused back on his capo. “I know you men are suffering. You’re hungry, you’re humiliated, and even scared. Even someone as stoic as you. You may not show it as much as the others, but you’re just as restless about this as they are.”

“And what about you?”

“My emotions don’t matter in a time like this. What’s more important is for me to make sure the six of you don’t go delirious and are kept safe once we make it to America.”

“I see.” Prosciutto paused, he sensed the tension between him and capo simmering down. He spoke up again.

“Do you think we might be close to America at this point?” Prosciutto asked curiously.

“Likely.”

Prosciutto glanced at his wristwatch. The band was encrusted in metallic silver, words were etched around the clock of the watch. It had since stopped ticking and he should’ve dumped it. It meant a lot to him, however, as it previously belonged to someone that he knew. But he should’ve forgotten that. He fruitlessly tapped at the clock. It had to be about 12 or 1 in the morning. “Do you happen to know what time it is right now?”

Risotto hummed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a watch, but from what the stars say.” Risotto brought his hand out to the open sky. “Find the Big Dipper and then you’ll find the North Star,” he mumbled to himself. After gliding his hand around and some calculations in his head, he turned to his comrade. “I’m guessing 8 or 9 pm.”

Prosciutto’s eyes widened. Was he that off? Had he been only asleep for about an hour!? “Yeah, you weren’t asleep for that long,” said Risotto. “You should go back to bed.” Prosciutto nodded silently and went back on the floor next to a snoring, drooling Pesci. Prosciutto groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Hours passed, it was early dawn and the men were still fast asleep. Thankfully for Prosciutto, he was able to get some shuteye. He started to dream. Surrounding his perspective were huge tongues of fire that licked the walls. By Prosciutto’s feet were two silhouettes that laid lifeless on the floor. He recognized them as his parents. Wretched people. They deserved whatever came of them. He sure hoped this place was Hell. He turned around to retrieve something, he couldn’t remember what it was but he knew it was something important to him. But as Prosciutto turned, he came face-to-face with another silhouette. This one was about the same stature as him. There was something familiar about them, but Prosciutto couldn’t put his finger on it. When he realized who they were, the figure pushed him and he banged the back of his head on the floor.

Prosciutto woke with a start, he grunted. He felt a twinge of pain behind his head as if someone slapped the back of it. His hand comforted the pained area. He groggily noticed the others awoke startlingly. Must’ve been a large wave that rolled under the boat, having it drop unexpectedly. They scrambled like headless chickens as they tried to recollect where they were, still hazy from sleep. Prosciutto thought it was an amusing sight. However, his focus changed to his surroundings. He must’ve been going crazy too. His vision was still fuzzy but no matter how much he squinted, little brights specks that changed in color scattered everywhere.

“Good. You’re all awake.” Risotto said. “Because we’re here.”

It took a moment for those words to register in their minds. We’re. Here. Here. We. Their eyes bulged out of their dumbfounded faces. It must’ve been a dream come true! They finally made it! The men cheered. Some of them stood amazed, others laughed joyfully with tears streaming down their faces and some hugged each other tightly for dear life. They were so thankful that despite those last grueling months that each of them was still in one piece.

“We’re sorry for almost killing you,” sobbed Illuso dramatically, wrapping his arms around Melone. “We’ll never do it again buddy, we promise,” cried Formaggio with the same intensity as Illuso, with Melone smooshed in the middle. Melone responded with an awkward cough.

“Is this New York City?” Prosciutto asked astoundingly.

“Yes.” Risotto replied. “We’re drifting into the New York Harbor right now. We’re going into Manhattan soon and that’s where we’ll likely stay from now on.”

They were in awe, from the massive buildings to the many bright lights that flashed in the early morning sky. There were vast cities in Italy, but nothing compared to this! They dared even say, this place was just as lively as Rome- or Vatican City! They wondered what Manhattan was like. What was their house going to be like? The endless possibilities raced through all their minds. They bet it was going to be big enough for seven men with a beautiful view. They could finally rest easy in some nice soft beds, instead of a hard, crooked floor on a boat. This was their new home now.

What a bittersweet thought.

Chapter Text

Culture shock.

That was the only emotion that they could best describe in those moments. Seven pairs of feet walked down the jagged, narrow sidewalk with several other pedestrians pushing and nudging within the chaotic streets of Manhattan. It was quite a hectic sight. Cars piled behind each other while waiting for the traffic light. They beeped and honked until the light had signaled green, then drivers would speed away with their tires dragging against the asphalt ground, creating the most ear-splitting screech that fell upon the men’s eardrums.

They weren’t all too fazed by that, however. On the contrary, they were still fixated on the monumental buildings that felt like they towered miles over their heads. A bit too fixated, as Melone was so entranced by the skyscrapers, his footing inched off the sidewalk, then-

BEEEEEP!

A car came racing towards him. Thankfully, Prosciutto saw the vehicle just in time and pulled Melone by the shoulder before he could’ve been flattened. “Hey watch where you’re walking, dumbass!” The driver shouted from his window, his fist shook in the air. Prosciutto glared at Melone for his recklessness and told him to stay in the middle. After that incident, they all went back to gazing overhead.

And it wasn’t just the skyscrapers that caught their attention either, some of the guys pointed out the little markets, charming cafes, and the tons of diverse restaurants that were all smooshed right next to each other. The colorful signs above the joints made them even more enticing. Passing by, half of the men peered into the windows of the restaurants, there were cuisines that they’d never seen, let alone tried! There were so many to choose from! It all looked so mouthwatering! Too bad they didn’t have the money...

“Where are we gonna go to eat? I’m hungry,” Pesci complained, clutching his rumbling tummy. He did have a point. Their main concerns were finding a place to eat and where they were going to sleep that night.

“Hang in a little longer, Pesci,” replied Prosciutto. “The first thing we should do is find somewhere to stay, then we’ll think of food.”

“But where do we start?” Asked Illuso. “I mean, we’ve been wandering on the streets for hours and the only buildings we’ve seen are all business-related.”

Ghiaccio spoke up. “Then we’ll ask around.” Ghiaccio noticed a young woman walking right passed them. He curtly grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around, meeting her confused gaze. “Hey Miss, could you tell us where to find the nearest apartments?” The woman looked even more confused, a tad bit afraid as she shielded herself with her purse. “S-Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re s-saying.” She backed away and hurried off.

“What’s her deal?” He questioned out loud. Why was she so scared? He just asked a simple question. He saw someone else walking by, a buff, serious-looking man chatting with, Ghiaccio assumed, his girlfriend. The gangster tried to beckon them. “Excuse me, do you guys happen to know the nearest-?” The man aggressively turned to him with a fierce look, “No, fuck you! I’m not giving you any of my money! Brainless hobo!” The man stormed off with his girlfriend following him. Ghiaccio stood there stunned, then the rage began to boil within him. He had no clue what that guy just told him, but who did that guy think he was to talk to someone like Ghiaccio that way? He’d show him. Ghiaccio went to march towards that man until a hand from behind stopped him in his tracks. “Wait Ghiaccio,” urged Melone. “I don’t think most of these people understand what we’re saying.”

That’s right. With all the shit they’ve been through, they completely forgot about the language barrier. They all glanced at each other. This was going to be harder than they expected. They barely knew any other languages besides Italian, the only other being Risotto, who spoke barely passable English.

“What about you, Ghiaccio? You’re always going off about languages and accuracy of book titles and all that jazz,” questioned Formaggio.

“That doesn’t mean I know how to speak fluently in every single language known to man! If anything I can only speak a few sentences in English... And what does jazz music have to do with any of this!?”

“Well, then thanks, Mr. Venezia,” sneered Illuso. “You are quite the help.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey guys,” piped Pesci who was down the block, he was looking up excitedly. “Look over here!” The group hurried to Pesci, when they got there, they understood why he was wonderstruck. The building appeared to be a ginormous hotel, the exterior was a pristine, creamy white and the sign had literal five golden stars arched almost on top of the building as if they were for the whole world to see. They awed at the towering beauty.

“This is it, fellas,” squealed Formaggio. “Our ticket to paradise.”

“Wait a sec, dumbass,” said Illuso. “First off, we’re broke. How are we gonna go in there if we have no money? I swear, if I open my wallet right now, the only thing that’d be coming out of it is a single swarming moth! And look at us! We’re a mess, we look like bumpkins!” They eyed each other up and down, their clothes were dirtied and tattered.

“Illuso,” started Risotto. “We might’ve lost everything and it’s true, we don’t have any money. However, we’ve gotten this far and I am not afraid to try anything at this point.”

“I’ll come along,” said Prosciutto as he stepped forward. “If there’s one thing I haven’t lost, it’s sheer persuasion. Risotto and I are going to go in there and give those people a piece of our minds.” With that said, the two men confidently walked into the ritzy hotel.

“Good luck with that, Teacher’s Pet,” grumbled Illuso. Five minutes passed and the two men walked back out.

“So, how did it go?” Illuso asked sarcastically.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out what the hotel manager said to us, but I think Risotto understood well,” replied Prosciutto. The others glanced at Risotto for a response, whose expression was completely blank.

“He told us something on the lines of never to come back and if we did, the police will put holes through us.”

Formaggio laughed. “What? Get the police involved? Doubt it! Sounds to me like that guy just barks and doesn’t bite! You’re not gonna let some peasant tell you what to do, right Risotto?”

Risotto did have to agree, to some extent. If that manager had any sort of resolve, he wouldn’t have to resort to such threats. But then again, they were in a brand new place, surely it wouldn’t be a great start if the police were on their asses. It was his responsibility to keep them safe. No, he didn’t want to take the risk.

“Let’s head out, men.”

————————————————————————

“Can we pleeeeaase go somewhere to eat? I’m starving,” whined Pesci.

“Quit your bitching,” snapped Ghiaccio. “Besides, it’s not like we have any money to spend on food anyway.”

The crew hadn’t stopped walking since they left the snooty hotel. However, it wasn’t just Pesci who began to feel the pangs within his growling stomach. At some point, they had to find a place to rest or to eat, to say the least. The hours of the day were beginning to dwindle, yet there was still enough light before the day would turn dark.

“I don’t know about you guys,” sighed Formaggio as he laid his hands on his abdomen. “But I’m starting to get pretty hungry too.”

“Me too,” nodded Melone.

“Well I don’t see any of you guys trying to make a buck for dinner tonight,” said an aggravated Illuso, crossing his arms. He wouldn’t admit it, but he too was also feeling the hunger setting in. “Great. I guess we’re just going to have to starve.”

That’s when an idea struck Formaggio and a huge grin curled up so high, that it reached to his ears. He walked away from the group, who simply eyed him bewilderingly. What’s gotten into him? Formaggio looked around and finally spotted his targets. He noticed two guys walking in his direction and he approached them with a confident saunter.

“FELLAS!” He excitedly jumped in front of them, like he knew these strangers as buddies for years and was just fooling around with them. The two guys exchanged bemused glances, but before they could attempt to walk away from this madman, he raised a finger. “Observe!” He motioned his hands with exaggerated movements, twiddling his fingers in the air as if he was attempting to perform some magic trick. The two men gawked at him with utter confusion while the rest of the hitmen gawked at him with utter disappointment. Illuso palmed his face, if he thought their dignity was already in ruins, it had to be this idiot to prove him wrong.

Following a few more cringeworthy moments of the hitman performing what otherworldly ritual he had in mind, he jerked his open palm to the strangers. They curiously looked down and noticed a minuscule gray ball dashing around his hand. Another moment passed, he brought his hand back to himself, and after a few utters under his breath, out popped in his arms a fully grown feline. The strangers’ eyes bugged out of their sockets! It’s like he somehow magically grew the pea-sized ball into a cat! The guys laughed and clapped, one of them was kind enough to reach into his wallet and hand Formaggio a five-dollar bill.

“Grazie! Grazie!” Formaggio said as he cheerfully waved goodbye to them. He spun around to see the rest of his friends with very disappointed looks, some shaking their heads disapprovingly. “All your dignity pissed away, just for a few dollars?” Illuso asked unamused. Formaggio replied with a chuckle. “And his wallet.” Their jaws dropped.

“H-How did-!? Did you use your Stand to-!?”

“You can thank me later,” Formaggio replied with his hand motioning dismissively, his smug grin grew larger. “But you don’t need to know how I did it, just know that I just saved all your hungry asses from starving tonight!”

“Well Formaggio, to be quite honest, I’m impressed. Good job,” said Prosciutto, genuinely. The crew looked inside the wallet; 400 dollars (enough for food and a hotel room), a driver’s license (they didn’t need that), and a used wrapper (DEFINITELY didn’t need that). After picking out every penny from the wallet, they discarded the empty wallet on the ground. One of them spotted a fast food joint with an annoyingly colorful burger mascot on the sign of the restaurant. The mascot had a propeller hat and the happiest shit-eating grin anyone had ever seen.

The Hitman Team entered the restaurant and just like the sign, its interior was just as obnoxiously full of color. The menu, the walls, and the seats were all colored with blinding reds, blues, and yellows. In front of the counter stood a plump, cheerful-looking girl with an embarrassing striped outfit and propeller hat in the same colors aforementioned.

Risotto approached the smiling cashier. “Hi, there!” The cashier spoke in a cheerfully grating voice. Risotto observed the girl. Despite her happy-go-lucky demeanor, deep down she was dead inside. “Welcome to Burger Billy’s Burger Palace! How can I help you today, sir?” Risotto scanned the menu. The cheeseburger looked decent.

“Cheeseburger.” His voice boomed.

“Excellent choice, sir! But which meal would you prefer?” The cashier inquired patiently. Risotto’s eyes moved back to the menu. Shit, there was a shit-ton of burgers. He couldn’t tell some of them apart, some only having the difference of having no cheese or pickles. And the names they gave their meals didn’t help either! Burger Billy’s Best Burger, Burger Billy’s Best CHEESEBurger, Burger Billy’s Quarter Pounder à la Mode, Billy Junior’s Patty, Billy Junior Junior’s Patty. This was debilitating his brain into mush.

“Uhhhh....”

“Come on man! Quit holding up the line!” Risotto could sense the impatient frustration behind him as the line began to increase in size.

After what felt like an eternity, Risotto decided what he wanted. Instead of trying to pronounce the complex meal name, he simply pointed at the menu. The cashier gave him a slightly concerned look as she turned cautiously to make sure she wouldn’t bump her head into his arm that surpassed her. When she looked at his finger which was almost touching the menu, she finally understood. “Oh! You want the Burger Billy’s Best Cheeseburger?” Risotto gave her a small smile and nodded, making the bells of his hat jingle as they bounced. “Al-righty! And would you like just one?”

“Sev-en.” 

“Wait! But I want a salad,” Ghiaccio exclaimed, before Melone clapped his hands around Ghiaccio’s mouth, shushing him. The cashier put the order in and Risotto paid her 27 dollars.

“Al-right! Your food will be ready shortly!”
The men took a booth as they waited for meals to be done. They sighed with relief as they finally rested their feet for a few minutes, except Ghiaccio who was ranting on about not getting a salad. Risotto’s attention was then turned to the back of the counter, he could see sweaty workers rushing around the kitchen, like headless poultry. The workers flipped burgers and deep-fried the fries with difficulty. A man marched from the back door into the kitchen. He was a middle-aged man, beginning to bald, and a permanent scowl plastered on his face.

“Come on people! We gotta work faster on those burgers! Faster, faster, faster! I don’t pay you people just to slack off!”

Risotto’s gaze then shifted to the angry customers that the poor cashier had to take care of. The girl continuously apologized for the wait and thanked them all for their patience. The customers merely sneered and barked their orders at her. In his peripheral vision, Risotto noticed two women staring directly at him, whispering to one another. He couldn’t fully make out what they were saying, but some of those words caught his attention. Stupid. Learn English. Slow. Wop. Risotto turned his head towards the women, their eyes widened and immediately they silenced themselves. Risotto stared blankly at the women for a couple of seconds, then returned to face his comrades. He wasn’t going to let a few bigoted bitches get under his skin, that was the last thing he was worried about at the moment. Right now, it was dinner time.

A waitress brought over their cheeseburgers to their booth. They didn’t look as appetizing as the picture on the menu made it out to be. They were huge chunks of beef that were drenched in butter and grease. Even the buns were drenched with grease and slipping off the patty. But this beat shark flesh anytime.

“What the hell even is this,” complained Ghiaccio loudly.

“Dinner.” Risotto replied as he took a bite into his burger.

“Yeah, I see that! But are you guys blind!? This shit is disgusting! I’m gonna have a heart attack if I look at it any longer!” Ghiaccio pushed the tray away.

“Well gee thanks Ghiaccio, the offer is quite appreciated,” Formaggio said smugly as he went to grab the burger off the tray before Ghiaccio swiftly swiped it back.

“Paws off!”

“Well if you don’t want him taking your food, just suck it up and eat it,” said Prosciutto. Ghiaccio grumbled as he bit into his dinner. It tasted just how it looked and almost felt nauseous, but he knew it was conventionally better than to go hungry.

“I don’t mind it at all, actually I like it,” Pesci said delightfully.

“Oh well, good for you. Would you like a cookie and a toy with that,” sneered Ghiaccio. Pesci looked down ashamed. Though a cookie sounded kind of good right about then.

“At least someone’s being grateful for being fed, unlike you,” remarked Prosciutto. After minutes of finishing their meals and bickering, the group exited the restaurant, and off they went to search for a hotel.

The Sun was beginning to set and still no luck for a place to sleep. Drowsiness began to set in, it would’ve taken hold of them if it wasn’t for every step they took that sent a shooting sensation from their feet up to their legs. It was at this point that they started to believe they were going to have to sleep on a bench or an alleyway until one of the men pointed to a sign that arched over their heads.

“Lit-tle It-aly.”

Little Italy! Finally, maybe a place where it would feel like home, maybe similar cuisine, people who speak the same tongue as them, maybe a nice hotel to sleep in. And sure enough, they found one! It looked somewhat dreary from the outside, but they shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Within the hotel, there were at least some beds to sleep on. The group stepped into the hotel. It looked even more dreary than the outside of it. It looked disheveled with the lights flickering as fast as a hummingbird’s wings and papers and filth scattered the floor, it looked like no one had clean the floor in ages. The walls were enveloped in puke-green wallpaper and the emerald tiles below it were chipped.

At the desk was a short man. Like the manager from the restaurant, he was balding but worse. He didn’t look too pleased to be interrupted by some weary men in need of a place to sleep. The man sighed impatiently. “Lemme guess. Staying for the night?” They all nodded. The man handed Risotto a key. “Room is on the second floor to your left.” Risotto politely nodded.

The group made it to the second floor. Risotto turned the key and jiggled the doorknob. After a bit of difficulty, the door that led to their apartment opened. To their disappointment, it was a small room. Dirty and dark. In the “living room” there laid an old busted couch with a small chipped coffee table with a few dated magazines from what appeared to be from the 60s. Across the table was a small dusty television. Formaggio went to play around with the TV. Most of the channels were static, the only ones that had any quality only displayed shows from years before they were even sperm.

The others investigated the other rooms. Ghiaccio and Prosciutto checked the kitchen area where there were heaps of mold found behind the microwave and in the cabinets. They both winced with disgust. “Do these guys even have room service?” Prosciutto questioned loudly.

“I know what I’m buying with the rest of the money. Cleaning supplies.” Ghiaccio plugged his nose as the stench of mold and miasma became too much for him.

Illuso and Melone stepped into the bathroom. Just like the kitchen, it was coated with mold and dust. Illuso couldn’t even see his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he regrettably wiped his normal hand over it and a thick coat of dust engulfed it. Illuso panicked and shook the dust off him. “Hey! At least we have a shower,” said Melone, a bit enthusiastically. However, opening the shower curtain, the purple-haired man regretted saying that as he jumped back startlingly. Countless earwigs and cockroaches swarmed all over the tiled wall. Maybe turning on the shower might help get rid of the nasty buggers? Melone fiddled with the shower knobs until he was able to turn it on. However, instead of water coming out, a stream of sludge poured over the man who struggled to turn the shower off. With a bit of difficulty, Melone turned it off. Showering was off the table tonight.

Risotto and Pesci checked the bedroom. Inconveniently, there was only one bedroom, so the men would have limited privacy. The room was covered in dust. Pesci then spotted the bed and he eagerly walked to it. When he tried to lay on it, the mattress springs were poking out and it almost felt like laying on a bed of spikes. The others poked their heads into the room to see the only bed in the entire hotel room.

“The bed is mine,” declared Formaggio. “I did steal so everyone could eat.”

“What!?” Shouted Ghiaccio. “That doesn’t mean shit, my back hurts like a fucking bitch! Let me sleep on the bed tonight!”

“I’ll beat you in a game of Morra for the bed,” challenged Formaggio.

“What are you a fucking child!?” Argued Ghiaccio.

The next thing they knew, everyone was arguing about the bed, naming excuse after excuse as to why they deserved to sleep in it. “All of you stop!” Risotto commanded. “If we all have a reason to think one of us is more deserving to sleep in the bed, then we can simply compromise.” By the end of the night, all seven men were smooshed uncomfortably side-by-side on the mattress.

“Hey, can someone make some room?” Asked Melone, who was laying on the edge. Illuso, who laid beside him, replied by literally kicking him off the bed.

“Gah!”

Melone tumbled off, his face meeting the floor. As he landed with a thud, the others scooted where his space was.

“Hey, y’know. The carpet feels more comfortable than the mattress.”
 
To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

Morning rolled by and Risotto was half asleep. Like any other night, he had much difficulty getting a solid amount of rest. He would doze off and within an hour or so, was back to being wide awake. Didn’t help that he shared a rinky-dink little bed with six other grown men. Or in this case, five, since Melone preferred the carpet over the bed. The last time he checked the alarm clock before nodding off was 2 in the morning. He shifted onto his side, facing the window when a beam of sunlight hit his face. He groaned and rolled back to the other side, his eyes groggily opened. “Strange. The bed feels roomier than I recalled,” he thought to himself.

His vision focused and he tilted his head both ways. Everyone was gone. Curiously, he got up. Risotto was about to plant his feet on the floor when he stubbed his foot into something fleshy, followed by a pained groan beneath him. He looked down to see Melone still in the same spot since last night. Despite being kicked hard in the rib cage, Melone went back to snoring, his body laid curled and contorted like a cat’s. To avoid further injury, Risotto stepped over him and out of the bedroom.

Entering the living room, he spotted the rest of his team, who were also still very asleep. Illuso curled up on the sofa, almost taking up half of it with Prosciutto and Pesci pushed to the very end. Pesci’s head nuzzled into Prosciutto’s neck, whose head rested over the side of his shoulder to avoid his face being buried within the forest that is Pesci’s hair. Risotto didn’t notice prior, but there was an armchair next to the TV, which Ghiaccio had taken. And Risotto thought he snored loud. It was way worse considering Ghiaccio’s mouth was wide open, tongue flopped over his lower lip. Amusingly, he still had his glasses on, albeit crooked. The man was so exhausted that he didn’t have the energy to put his glasses to the side. And before he questioned where Formaggio was, his eyes focused on the carpet, where he saw the man had shrunk himself and was sleeping on a pillow that was tossed in the middle of the floor.

Risotto watched them for what felt like an hour. The scene was filled with nothing but the sound of snoring and the ticking of the clock that rested on the wall of their shabby, little living room. And Risotto took in every second of it. It was unusual. He felt relieved, almost at peace. Even in this dirty place, he was glad to be free from the distress that followed his team for months. Everyone looked so tranquil, even if it was going to last for a few more minutes. It felt like an excruciating large boulder rolled off his shoulders. No more Passione. No more humiliation. No more treacherous traveling. No more sharks. This was the life he wanted to live. Just him, with his friends. In solace. He even considered going back to sleep, but that idea was short-lived. They were low on money. Sure, they still had some cash from that guy’s wallet, but it was going to dwindle fast if they depended on it to support themselves. They would at least have enough money for another night to sleep and for food to fill themselves. He had to make the best out of the situation.

He was going to look for a job.

Just for the day, he would let the others relax, but he was going to take this opportunity to go job hunting. He looked around for a pen and paper to scribble down a note for his team.

————————————————————————

Prosciutto was the first to wake up, he cracked his neck side to side to ease the stiffness. He then nudged Pesci, who at first didn’t respond. Pesci slept like a rock, saliva began to dribble down his chin. Prosciutto poked him harder but instead of waking up, Pesci toppled over onto Illuso’s legs. Illuso’s eyes snapped wide open and pulled his head up to see his teammate drooling all over his ankles. Angrily, he kicked Pesci in the mouth, which woke not only him but the rest of the others as well.

“You didn’t have to wake me up like that,” he cried, tearfully nursing his swollen lips.

“Then don’t feel my legs ever again, you lil’ troll,” shouted Illuso.

“But I-I wasn’t!”

“Hey, guys. Where’s Risotto?” Prosciutto questioned. The group scanned the whole room, yet no sign of their capo. “Do you think maybe he’s out?” One of them asked. But there wasn’t a note in sight. Risotto wouldn’t just simply forget to tell them and leave them out of the blue.

“Maybe he got so fed up with us, he ran off.”

What a silly concept! For Risotto to just simply run for the hills would be so out-of-character. The men laughed off the joke, which gradually diminished to nervous chuckling and then, dead silence. What if he did leave them behind? What if he was sick of dealing with them? From day one on the boat all they did was complain and fight with one another, and Risotto had to always break them up. They did him less good to stress him out so much. The man never got any sleep because of them! And they remembered how he began to act up later on. They all exchanged worried looks with one another. They abruptly got up and went to check the other rooms.

“He’s not in the bedroom.”

“Not in the bathroom.”

“He isn’t down the hall!”

As the minutes went on and with no sign of Risotto, the rest of the team became increasingly panicky. In the midst of the fussing, however, Prosciutto remained calm, more so than the others. He couldn’t think that their capo would just walk out on them, leaving them to fend for themselves. It wasn’t like him. Risotto considered them all to be his family. Prosciutto looked around in the kitchen. Still no Risotto, but after a bit more of scanning the room, something did catch his eye. On the dust-coated counter, there was a message crudely written in the soot, as if someone used their finger to write in it. Prosciutto read the message to himself:

“Going out to look for a job. Probably won’t be back until tonight.”

Signed, Risotto.

Prosciutto chuckled to himself. He didn’t know what was funnier; his friends frantically freaking out that their capo would leave them in the dust, or the fact that his capo had such difficulty finding a pen and paper that he had to resort to the dust on the counter to write a message for them.

“All of you can stop panicking.”

The others ceased. They scurried over to the dining area to where Prosciutto was. “Where is he?”

“Out.” Prosciutto replied, pointing to the dusty message on the counter. “He did leave a note for us. All of you were frantic over nothing.” The others nervously laughed, except Illuso. The brunette scoffed. “Of course not! I knew Risotto wasn’t going to leave us, unlike you pussies.”

“I don’t know, Illuso,” teased Formaggio. “You looked as pale as a sheet of paper when you were trying to find him in the bathroom.”

“Yeah. Call it a hunch, but I could’ve sworn you were on the brink of tears over the thought of our dear, dear capo never coming back,” sneered Ghiaccio. The others chuckled at Illuso’s embarrassment, who just stood with hands on his hips as he rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.”

The teasing eventually subsided. The six teammates sat by the dining room table. Now that they knew where Risotto was, what were they going to do for the rest of the day? It’s not like they planned on doing anything productive, let alone anything.

“I guess first things first, we should get ourselves cleaned up,” voiced Prosciutto. “Of course, our shower doesn’t work. But that doesn’t give us an excuse not to find an alternative. I think we smell just as bad, if not worse, than the room.”

“Yeah, I’m with ya on that, big bro” agreed Pesci.

“If we’re gonna clean anything first, it’s this fucking place,” objected Ghiaccio. “Look around! I wouldn’t want to stay in this room for another second knowing I’m inhaling mold!”

“I agree,” nodded Melone.

“I understand, Ghiaccio,” Prosciutto spoke calmly. Ghiaccio rolled his eyes in response. “This place is an absolute slum. But we’re on a budget. Sure, we can go get some disinfectants, but we’re going to need to try to save some money for food and housing. Just because Risotto is looking for jobs, I wouldn’t count on him getting one right away, especially if he reeks of 3-week-old fish mix with armpit sweat that has accumulated for months.”

“Yeah man,” Formaggio turned to face Ghiaccio. “I agree with Prosciutto can we like, take a shower first? I’m starting to get nauseous of my own odor.”

“So you’d rather die of mold poisoning than wait another day to take a shower,” questioned Ghiaccio with an extremely annoyed tone.

“How the fuck are you not bothered by your stench,” argued Formaggio. “You smell like a mint that’s been left in a morgue!”

“Why would an idiot bring a mint into a morgue in the first place?”

“If that mint was named Ghiaccio, I would bring it and leave it there in a fucking heartbeat!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“YOU NEVER MAKE ANY SENSE!”

“SINCE WHEN DO I NEVER MAKE ANY SENSE!?”

“GEE POINDEXTER, IF YOU’RE SO SMART, WHY DON’T YOU WHIP OUT YOUR CALCULATOR, AND CALCULATE HOW MANY FUCKS I EVER GAVE OF WHAT YOU THOUGHT?”

“EITHER WAY, I SMELL WAY BETTER THAN YOU! EVEN YOUR FUCKING CAT SMELLS BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Gentlemen, please,” boomed Prosciutto. “Can’t we talk without having one argument for just a minute?” The two men silenced, not breaking eye contact as they gave each other death glares.

“Sure. Whatever you say, suck-up,” scowled Ghiaccio.

“Maybe we can ask our neighbors if we can use their showers. Maybe theirs are working,” said Pesci.

“I don’t see why not,” shrugged Illuso, followed by the others. With that said, the team got up and headed out of the kitchen, except Ghiaccio, who was still seated at the table, his head slumped into his crossed arms.

“Nobody ever fucking listens to me,” grumbled Ghiaccio.

“Hey, if you wanna sit and bitch like the rotting tic tac you are, that’s your decision buddy,” Formaggio shouted from the other room. Ghiaccio groaned in defeat. He begrudgingly got up and followed his team into the halls. The men began knocking on people’s doors. No responses came to some, while others had people open the doors, just to immediately shut them close on the teammates’ faces before any of them can utter a word.

“We don’t want anything,” some of the neighbors said.

Formaggio was probably the “luckiest” out of the bunch. This time someone did answer the door. When he knocked on a door, it opened, and out came an older woman. She was large and looked disheveled with her hair in a knotty bun and the strap of her tank top fell down her shoulder. She had a cigarette pursed between her lips. She blew the cigarette smoke away from Formaggio’s direction.

“What...?”

Formaggio opened his mouth before he shut it quickly. Fuck, how do you say shower in English again? The woman looked down at him, looking more and more impatient.

“Sh-Shower?” He asked awkwardly followed by a nervous chuckle.

“What about it?” She asked curtly.

“Can u-use shower?”

The woman looked Formaggio up and down, her face twisted with contempt. “Fuck no! I wouldn’t want your grubby hands touching my shower even if you paid me!” He couldn’t fully get what she was saying, but Formaggio could tell it was a no.

“Shower broken...”

“Well if your shower’s broken, that’s your problem, not mine.” She slammed the door. He turned to his teammates and shook his head with disappointment. He then turned to Pesci with a more annoyed look, “This was a colossally terrible idea, Pesci.”

Pesci looked down in shame, dragging his foot around the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know everyone would respond so meanly.”

“There’s got to be another place we can go to take a shower,” pondered Prosciutto, his finger tapping his chin.

“Maybe there’s a public pool nearby,” suggested Formaggio.

“Yeah, but if there was, there’s going to be a fee. We shouldn’t waste our money when we could probably bathe for free.”

“What about the harbor?” Questioned Melone. The others hesitated to give their opinions. It was quite a walk and it would be kind of pointless to bathe in saltwater when they already smelled of saltwater.

“Why would you want to bathe in even more saltwater? That’s simply pointless, stronzo,” barked Ghiaccio.

“I mean, don’t know if it matters to you guys,” started Melone. “But the Upper Bay isn’t just made of saltwater, it’s brackish. Meaning the water is diluted with salt and freshwater. So at least we’d be cleaner than just sitting in saltwater.” After a bit of reluctance, Prosciutto nodded his head in approval. “Alright fellas, we’re heading to the harbor.”

————————————————————————

It was already passed noon and Risotto hadn’t found a smidge of luck in finding a job, not even getting a single interview. He had found a few help wanted signs and went to a couple of business owners, asking for job applications. Most of them shooed him away for a slew of reasons:
-
-
“ Oh, I’m sorry! Currently, we aren’t looking for anyone in the position you’re interested in. Sorry~!”
-
-
“Well for starters, what are you even wearing....?”
-
-
“You need to speak English before you can get a job here.”
-
-
“You’re gonna scare my customers away if you come into work smelling like a gutted halibut!”
-
-
“Our policy forbids hiring people who wear contact lenses. You would need to take them out.”

“They aren’t contacts”, replied Risotto.

“...Oh.”

-
-

Part of him wanted to throw in the towel for the day, but then he remembered that they were practically broke, so he ventured on. “I’m sure they had no problem finding that note,” thought Risotto, referring to the writing he left on the counter. It astonished him that there was almost no paper in that entire hotel! Emphasis on “almost”. When Risotto went downstairs to ask the hotel owner if they could stay another night, he also asked if there was any paper he could use. Despite noticing a few pieces of printer paper scattered on the owner’s desk, the owner replied with:

“If you get a job, not only you could pay rent here, but you can buy all the paper you want.”

That thought made him increasingly more motivated. Not because of the paper of course. If he could get a job and if that guy said was true, he would give his team a place to live. And from there, maybe they could clean it up, maybe buy some new pieces of furniture. They could take out the carpet and wallpaper and put up something nicer. And why stop there? There were seven of them. If the others can find jobs, maybe the owner would be kind enough to have some of them rent out the room next to theirs.

Another half hour passed, Risotto searched the area until he saw something promising. There was a sign, which was now familiar to him.

HELP WANTED

Risotto looked up and down at the store. It looked like a typical shop, but it seemed bigger compared to the smaller businesses he came across. It seemed like a respectable store, it looked very clean and was bustling with customers. This time he was going to be more prepared. He looked down at his clothes. The cape of his black trench coat was now matted brown with months of grime. He hadn’t come across a dry cleaner since he left the hotel, nor was there one in sight. He tried tucking it into his pants, but it bunched into awkward clumps.

Then he got an idea. He dusted his cape from the belt down, with dirt. With the iron particles stuck onto his clothes, he summoned his stand. This caused the cape of his trench coat to disappear. He checked his reflection in the window, the front looked good! Without the cape, Risotto’s coat just looks like a normal shirt. It was a decent start until he heard a strangled scream coming from behind him. He turned to see a little school boy- roughly around 5 or 6 years old. Behind him were a group of kids that were about the same age as him, they huddled behind him with fear plastered on their faces. The petrified boy pointed his shaky little finger at Risotto.

“His butt disappeared!”

“I’m scared!”

“Run away!”

The kids darted away, screaming at the top of their lungs. Risotto was a bit perplexed as to what they meant by that until he saw the reflection of his backside. Some of the iron from his cape must’ve rubbed off onto his pants because there were transparent spots covering the back of him, most notably his buttocks. It looked like he was cut in half from the waist. Risotto stared at his reflection with zero expression. He recalled back his stand. He then wandered into an alleyway next to the store. Was this the same person that was once feared by many, now just an utter fool? A leader who had the undivided respect from his comrades, now having to babysit them because they couldn’t go a moment without throwing a tantrum over something trivial?

In a fit of frustration, Risotto grabbed the cape where it met his belt and with one quick movement, tore it off completely. Enraged, he threw it at the wall. The cape bounced off the brick and fell onto the ground into a shredded heap. Risotto stared at it intently for a few minutes. He pictured himself as the now rumpled piece of cloth. Once part of something much more honorable, now below one’s feet; ruined.

Eventually, Risotto shook off the feeling and left the alley. He shouldn’t let his anger get the best of him or harp on the past. He always told his men to never let the past or their emotions get in the way of their objectives, no matter how big or small the mission was. He must do the same. He peered at his reflection through the mirror again. The rip in his coat didn’t look that bad, it looked pretty decent. Risotto then took out the pins that connected his coat to the straps that covered his chest. He pulled his coat inwards so it hid his bare chest and he refastened the pins. Once he finished fixing his shirt, he removed his hat to fix his silvery hair. He took a closer look at himself. This was the new him. This was his new life. He stepped into the store.

————————————————————————

The team made it to the harbor. It took roughly about an hour on foot to get there, but they made it to the docks. It was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of boats, ranging from the size of decently large yachts to minuscule motorboats. “Hey guys, look!” Formaggio pointed.

“Our boat is still here!”

“I’m surprised,” said Melone, taking off his circle motif suit. “Wouldn’t the owners of the docks get rid of it? Or make us pay a fine? It’s not like we registered it here. I mean, as a matter of fact, we did steal it from another country.”

“No matter,” replied Prosciutto taking out his buns. “It’s not under any of our names, we should be okay.”

“Yeah, don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Eyepatch,” responded Formaggio, eagerly ripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. “I’m ready to get my bath on.”

“Maybe don’t hastily bite off more than you can chew,” said Prosciutto sternly. “We don’t have many options but this isn’t like the beach. You could easily get swept away by a current, at least slowly warm up to the water before diving in like a madman.”

Before his words can go through Formaggio’s thick skull, let alone the other teammates, Formaggio, Melone, and Ghiaccio were stripped buck naked, leaping into the water without a care. Prosciutto sighed. And Ghiaccio thought nobody listened to him. At least Prosciutto was grateful to have Pesci, who had a few more brain cells than the others. Prosciutto joined Pesci by the edge of the pier, they dangled their feet into the cool water as they watched the three stooges playing in the harbor. The three gangsters were more than just bathing, they were splashing huge waves at one another, giggling like a bunch of school girls.

“Di molto! I guess you feel better now that you’re in the water,” said a delighted Melone to Ghiaccio, who crossed his arms, pretending to revert to his grouchy self.

“Yeah well, I’m only doing this so Formaggio can get off my back about how much I reeked before.” Formaggio crept behind the swirly-haired man, then proceeded to squeeze his fingers into Ghiaccio’s sides, making him jump.

“I don’t know man, you seem a lot giddier now that we’re swimming,” chuckled Formaggio, putting an arm around his icy comrade. “Come on admit it, you’re having fun~!”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ll let bygones be bygones, for this time only.”

The three continued to spray water at each other until Formaggio peered over the dock, and passed Prosciutto and Pesci. In the distance, he noticed Illuso. Instead of swimming with them, he was still fully clothed and looked uncomfortable. “Hey Smelly, why don’t you come in? The water’s great!” Shouted Formaggio, swinging his arm in a beckoning motion, only for Illuso to look more irritated.

“I will. Just not around you guys,” replied Illuso curtly.

“Why not?”

Illuso hesitated. “Because I don’t need three obnoxious children bugging me while I bathe myself.”

“Fine, swim by yourself!”

With a huff, Illuso stormed off into the distance to find a quieter place to swim. “Wimp. Seriously, what’s up with him,” Formaggio murmured under his breath.

”Perhaps he’s self-conscious,” wondered Melone.

Formaggio scoffed. “Illuso? Self-conscious? You’ve been working with that cocky prick for how long, Melone? The man is so great at bragging about himself, I would consider it his greatest talent.”

“I don’t know,” replied Melone. “He looked uncomfortable, even nervous.”

Formaggio dismissively shrugged. “Well whatever he’s tense about, he can suck it up.”

“Whatever, let’s just get back to swimming,” said Ghiaccio.

An hour passed and nothing hadn’t much changed. The three gangsters swam about with Prosciutto and Pesci had ultimately decided to sunbathe, and Illuso bathing a mile away from them. Formaggio initially coaxed Pesci into coming in, but Pesci chickened out because Prosciutto had warned them of the possibility of being swept by a current if he didn’t take his time. Prosciutto had a few instances when he was taking in the sun, but most of the time he was surveying Illuso from afar to make sure he was okay. He too had noticed his friend becoming strangely distant since they’ve made it to the Upper Bay. Before Illuso went swimming, Prosciutto was going to ask what was the matter. But knowing Illuso, he would normally come back with a snarky remark or a simple “I’m fine”. It’s not like he’s afraid of going swimming since he climbed into the bay with no sweat.

Melone and Ghiaccio were splashing around when something caressed Melone’s thigh. He first jumped but realized it was probably Ghiaccio’s foot that accidentally touched him. “Ooh, Ghiaccio. You’re such a card,” Melone jokingly flirted.

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb, that was your foot on my leg.”

“Dude, that wasn’t me. I wouldn’t be able to touch you at this distance,” Ghiaccio replied seriously. The mysterious thing brushed up on both Melone and Ghiaccio’s legs. Maybe it was Formaggio playing a joke on them. They turned to find Formaggio next to them, his expression looked as if he saw a ghost.

“I felt that too....”

They stared anxiously at the ripples of water to observe what sort of creature might’ve touched them. The ocean was too murky to see anything. Perhaps it was a fish? However, most fish just come and go, this one was actively pursuing them. The mysterious creature swam into their legs a third time, this time it took a nibble on Formaggio’s ankle. It only stung a bit but it nevertheless made the man leap out of his skin.

“SHARK!”

The men scrambled about in the water, bumping into one another, accidentally dunking each other. Prosciutto and Pesci saw the commotion and urged them to swim back to the dock. The gangsters noticed a nearby buoy that was closer than the dock. “Fuck that!” Formaggio cried out, the three rushed to the buoy instead for safety. They clung their nude bodies to it for dear life. After recollecting themselves, they spotted at a distance their fellow comrade seated on a buoy as well. They could tell, he look horrified, wrapping his nude body with his arms.

“Oi Illuso!” Shouted Formaggio. “Did you see the shark too?” Illuso was even more mortified to have his teammates see him like this; naked, cold, and vulnerable. Good thing there was a huge gap between him and his friends.

“Hey bro, maybe I should use my Beach Boy to reel them back here-.”

“Y’know what Pesci?” Prosciutto replied, with a small smirk on his face. “Maybe just wait a few more minutes.”

“Huh? But why?”

“To give these guys a bit of a valuable lesson for recklessly heading into something before taking precaution.” They looked back at the three, whose heads hung low with defeat. It was a semi-amusing sight. Minutes became an hour. “I think you guys are good. You can swim back now,” shouted Prosciutto.

“I volunteer Melone to test the waters first,” piped Formaggio.

“Wimp,” retorted Melone, followed by Formaggio comically pushing the skinny man off the buoy, ungraciously floundering into the water.

————————————————————————

The Hitman Team lay in their living room completely soggy, sweaty, and irritated. Today’s objective was sort of a failure, since two out of the six men didn’t get to bathe, the others almost turned into shark food, again; they couldn’t get to clean their apartment, and their shower was still broken. A knock from the door was followed by the knob jiggling. Risotto entered the living room and greeted his fellow teammates. Some of them sighed with relief.

“I’m back.”

“So how was your job hunting spree?”

“What happened to your coat!?”

“Did you get into a scuffle?”

Risotto stood motionless. “I found a job.” Every face in the room lit up. They gathered around their capo with excitement in their eyes.

“Wow! Really?”

“That was fast!”

“Good job, Risotto!”

“We’re proud of you!”

Risotto’s lips curled into a small smile. He was glad to see his friends happy that he got a job, now he didn’t have to worry about being so broke now. Not only that, he spoke to the owner downstairs and as promised, the grouch had let them stay as long as Risotto paid rent.

“So what are you?” Ghiaccio asked excitedly.

“A mechanic?”

“A businessman?”

“A doctor?”

“No,” Risotto replied abruptly. “I’m a hiring manager.” They awed excitedly.

“Just got a job and already a manager? Awesome!” Pesci chirped.

“Where? Where?” Asked Ghiaccio, becoming progressively more excited.

“At a grocery store...”

The light in their eyes began to dull. “Really? A grocery store?” Ghiaccio asked disappointingly.

“Quit it, guys. I think that’s a great job, Risotto,” declared Prosciutto. “I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah Risotto! That’s super cool,” said Pesci happily. “When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. At 6 in the morning.”

“Well, you should head to bed then. I would say shower too, but the shower’s still busted.”

“No it’s not,” said Risotto.

“Wha-!?”

“I spoke with the owner just before I came upstairs, he said give the shower about 10 minutes and it then works normally.” They wished one of them asked the grump sooner. The others slowly glanced at each other with exasperated looks, then back at their capo, who noticed most of them were soaking wet.
“Why are all you dripping wet?”

“Don’t ask,” grumbled Illuso. “Just go to bed, Risotto.” Risotto went to turn towards the bedroom but abruptly stopped. “Aren’t you guys coming to bed too?”

“Don’t worry about us,” said Prosciutto. “We’ll focus on showering, but you take the bed tonight. You deserve it more than any of us.” The others nodded in agreement.

“Really?”

“Of course. After all, you do so much for us. The least we could do is to lend the bed to you.” Risotto stared at them, smiled warmly, and walked to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

“OCTOBER 7TH!? WE JUST GOT TO AMERICA AND IT’S ALREADY AUTUMN!?”

Ghiaccio shouted with disbelief as his pupils skimmed the top of the newspaper. Indeed it was October. His eyes weren’t deceiving him. It was about a week since the Hitman Team settled in Manhattan and it didn’t occur to them at all what day it was. The days were still warm and sunny, it was a shock to them that they only had three months left until the year ended. It shocked some of the others more.

“To think- we had half a year before we left Italy. And now we had an entire THREE MONTHS! THREE MONTHS! Pissed away,” Ghiaccio lamented.

“We get it,” Formaggio groaned as he chomped on his bagel. “Time flies. It can’t be helped. Now, why don’t you drop the paper and clam up? We’re trying to enjoy some peace and quiet around here.”

“Formaggio has a point,” Prosciutto added. “There’s no point in losing a nerve over something you can’t control. Put down the newspaper and join us for breakfast.”

“HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I’M LOSING A NERVE?! I HAVE A WHOLE BILLION FUNCTIONAL NERVES ON ME! I DON’T THINK I’LL BE LOSING ANY OF THEM ANYTIME SOON! AND EVEN IF I DID, BREAKFAST ISN’T GOING TO MAGICALLY GENERATE NEW NERVES, DIPSHIT!”

“Once again, he has to take things too literally,” lamented Prosciutto to himself. One of these days, he’s going to rip that shrill larynx out of that big mouth of his.

“Just be quiet and eat. Now,” Prosciutto’s voice raised a tad louder, like a father warning his child before they got into bigger trouble. Ghiaccio grunted with exasperation and plopped himself in a chair. He snatched a bagel and ripped a piece of it with his teeth, all the while staring daggers at Prosciutto. The blonde man glanced back at his icy teammate, his eyes became slits. They glared at each other without a noise, except Formaggio’s loud chewing, who darted his eyes in anticipation to see who would be the one to strangle the other first. A few moments later, Prosciutto simmered down back to his calm state of mind.

“I’m surprised you haven’t woken up the others yet,” Prosciutto said coolly, sipping his tea. His eyes shifted to the living room where Illuso, Pesci, and Melone slept. He heard them snoring from a distance.

“I’ll say. With a voice like that, you could be splitting people’s heads open. Quite a talent, if I say so myself,” teased Formaggio. Ghiaccio huffed, his fingers tapped impatiently on the table. A couple more minutes passed and Ghiaccio’s fingers tap louder and more erratic. Finally, he snapped.

“What are we doing!?”

Formaggio and Prosciutto stared bemusedly at Ghiaccio. “...Eating?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I mean what are we doing?” His eyebrows furrowed, and his face looked frustrated with traces of anxiousness. “Is this how we’re going to live from now on? We should be out there being assassins, not playing house.”

Formaggio looked down, his face too had changed to unease with the uncertainty of their future. Maybe Ghiaccio was right. They were alive, but that wasn’t their motto as assassins. Prior, they had held to the idea of fighting to the very end, even if it meant losing a limb, or a life. They would’ve done just that, hadn’t Risotto ordered them to escape. Prosciutto exhaled.

“It’s not like our lives were that much easier, Ghiaccio. Remember, we weren’t well liked and we weren’t paid well. No matter how hard or how well we accomplished our jobs, we were no more than the scum on the bottom of the Boss’s shoe. We might have an opportunity to find something better here. A better job perhaps. Have you looked for a job yet?”

Ghiaccio hesitated, he turned away from Prosciutto. “No.”

“Then maybe you should start,” replied Prosciutto. “Risotto had told us that they’re hiring at his job. He would be more than happy if you tried to apply there.”

Ghiaccio remained unsure to answer. “I don’t know. I don’t think customer service and myself go “hand and hand”.”

“Have you ever worked in retail before?” Prosciutto inquired.

“No. And I wouldn’t dream of working anywhere like that!” Ghiaccio said as he crossed his arms, like a petulant child not getting his way.

“So you don’t want to work with me, Ghiaccio?”

They glanced over. Their capo walked out of the bathroom, still combing the knots out of his silvery hair. He looked like an almost completely different man. His hat and coat were ditched over his brand new work clothes. He wore a sickly dull purple polo with black slacks and black work shoes. His short metallic hair was parted on the left of his face. It looked neater and even shinier. The only trait that remained consistent was his deep black eyes with the scleras colored bloody red.

“Heading out already,” asked Formaggio, his mouth stuffed with bread.

“Yes,” Risotto replied as he put the comb down on the table. He towered above little Ghiaccio. His black eyes peered into his comrade’s.

“So as I asked. You don’t want to work with me?” Ghiaccio didn’t sense any hints of anger in Risotto’s face or his voice, it was his typical calm, unintentionally intimating stare. On the contrary, Ghiaccio noticed a sense of disappointment that twinkled in Risotto’s eyes. Now he felt kind of guilty, he didn’t want to be on Risotto’s shit list again BUT, he also didn’t want to get his arm twisted into something he didn’t want to do. Ghiaccio tried to come up with some excuse without having to get sucked into saying he’d work at the grocery store.

“It’s not that-,” Ghiaccio began abruptly.

“If you feel uneasy working with customers, they have jobs that are less customer-oriented,” Risotto explained. “You can work with the maintenance team. Nobody bothers you unless something spills. Or you can work on the floor stocking shelves. That would be better for you than being a cashier.”

“THOSE SOUND LIKE TERRIBLE JOBS,” Ghiaccio thought to himself. “I’ll be damned if I have clean after customers who are too dumb to shit on the toilet correctly.”

He glanced back at Risotto. His face remained cool but his eyes were practically begging Ghiaccio to take the job. Ghiaccio relented. “Fine. I’ll think about it,” he grumbled. Risotto’s eyes went from crestfallen to ecstatic, his lips curled into a small smile. “Okay. Just let me know if you want an application and I will give the other managers a good word for you too.”

“Thanks,” Ghiaccio grunted, internally shocked that Risotto was capable of pulling off puppy-dog eyes.

“But before you go applying,” Risotto looked at the other two still seated at the table. “If you all are going to get jobs, we’re going to have to get you all IDs. And I know someone who can do it for you for free.”

“Getting a fake ID? Sounds pretty risky,” commented Prosciutto.

“It is,” replied Risotto. “But the man who did mine had done an excellent job.” He rummaged through his pants pocket, pulling out his faux driver’s license for his friends. Formaggio took the ID, reading the information out loud for everyone to hear. “Giacomo Sordino. Age 30. Lives on 130 Mulberry Street in Manhattan, New York.”

“You’re all going to change your names as well, just in case any undercover spy from Passione will try to track us. They’re going to have a harder time spotting us if we do this right. I also suggest with whatever money you earn, you use some of it to change your appearance. Whether it means dying your hair a different color or even wearing an eye patch. Whatever it might be, do it. We cannot be caught. Do I make myself clear?”

The men nodded. “After my shift, I will take all of you to the man. Also, have this.” He took out something from behind him and tossed it towards the dining table. Ghiaccio caught it. It was a book with the title, “Merriam-Webster’s Italiano-Inglese”.

“You bought us a dictionary?” Ghiaccio asked unamused.

“I suggest you use it,” said Risotto, turning to the door. “It will make your life a whole lot easier.” After that, he said goodbye and closed the door behind him.

The moment the door closed shut, Ghiaccio tossed the book aside. How could he possibly have been persuaded into saying almost yes to this? Had he gone soft? Damn that Risotto Nero! He does respect his capo, but that charade he pulled was downright unacceptable. Ghiaccio threw his face into his hands as cried out in exasperation.

“Don’t be so embarrassed, Ghiaccino,” Formaggio teasingly cooed. “I think you did a nice thing for dear ol’ Risotto.”

“Yeah,” said Prosciutto. “He looked pretty content. It takes a lot to make Risotto smile, let alone make him happy.”

Ghiaccio gritted his teeth. “Shut up the both of you! And NEVER call me Ghiaccino,” he shouted at Formaggio, who only sniggered at Ghiaccio’s chagrin. Ghiaccio then turned to Prosciutto. “And as for you! Going back to our previous conversation, for someone who always stuck to our motto, you’ve seemed as of late to blindly listen to Risotto in doing quite the opposite. Aren’t you at least a little annoyed by Capo that he threw everything that we had out the window for a life, void of everything but “peace and quiet”? A boring life, might I add. Is that how you want to live, Prosciutto?”

It was now Prosciutto’s turn to hesitate, his eyes narrowed into slits again yet he focused on breathing slowly. He wasn’t going to give Ghiaccio the benefit of riling him up, but he wasn’t going to get away with him shit talking their boss. “I agree. I would follow that motto down to my very grave. But I would follow Risotto to my grave as well. He is my capo and my friend. Even if I don’t agree with every decision he makes, I will follow his orders no matter what. And I’m aware as of lately, Risotto has been extremely protective of us, but we’re family. The only family he has left. And right now, his orders are for us to keep ourselves safe from harm, there’s no need to fight if we don’t have anyone to fight. And if this idea of life is so unbearable for you, well, you could’ve stayed behind while we sailed away from Italy, just like what Risotto told you...”

“Shut up,” Ghiaccio growled, his teeth clenched, making an ungodly grinding that pained Formaggio’s ears. He hated how this blonde-haired pretty boy always had the balls to challenge him.

“You say you respect our capo, and yet you turn around and bad mouth him when he can’t hear you. Ever thought of doing that to his face,” Prosciutto continuously egged his comrade.

“I SAID SHUT UP,” Ghiaccio sprang from his chair, his hand balled into a fist which he brought up close to Prosciutto’s cheek. Despite his violent outburst, Prosciutto didn’t jump back or widen his eyes in shock, his eyes were still focused and his demeanor was calm. “Do it. Punch me,” he replied coolly, “You know I’m right.” Ghiaccio’s fist began to falter. Ultimately, he let out a frustrated grunt and he withdrew his hand from his teammate’s face. Ghiaccio then stormed to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going,” exclaimed Formaggio.

“ANYWHERE THAT’S AWAY FROM HIM,” Ghiaccio screamed, his finger pointed behind him at Prosciutto, yet his face remained towards the door. He slammed it so hard that they were sure the entire building shook. Surprisingly, the little munchkin of a hotel owner didn’t come upstairs to bang on the door and inquire to them why they were making so much noise. There was complete silence until the two remaining men heard feet shuffling coming toward them. Out from the living room were the three other members, they were slumped over and their eyes were barely open, yet keen enough to walk towards the table, and not the wall.

“Can you guys not slam doors while we’re trying to sleep? It’s too fucking early,” Illuso said lazily as he rubbed his eyes.

“It’s 9 o'clock,” replied Formaggio, showing his wristwatch to the rest of the gang.

“Who asked you?” Illuso weakly barked back, still a bit hazy from sleep.

————————————————————————

It was 8:30 at night, it was pitch black. The seven men were walking down an area that was unfamiliar to most of them, except Risotto. It was far from where they lived, roughly over two and a half hours on foot. The neighborhoods were way sketchier too. While it did have huge buildings and a multitude of shops like the rest of New York City, and sure, there were already some shady people they’ve encountered around their block. This area just looked more “decrepit”.

Some people were sleeping on benches or playing craps with each other, simply minding their own business. Other people wearing tethered clothing, would approach the team and offer them cigarettes or mixtapes for money, Formaggio was tempted by the cigarettes but was pulled by the collar by his fellow teammates to keep walking. There were even drunken pedestrians wandering in the middle of the streets, some of them fighting each other in the middle of oncoming traffic, almost closed to getting hit if it weren’t for the cars paying attention to the road.

“Welcome to Harlem,” said Risotto.

“Reminds me of home,” Formaggio exclaimed.

“God, who would want to live here?” Murmured Illuso with disgust.

“It wasn’t this bad when I first stumbled here,” replied Risotto. “But it was also daytime.”

“Also, I wouldn’t just dismiss it simply as a ghetto,” Melone stated matter-of-factly. “I read up a little bit about Harlem. In 1658, it was originally a Dutch colony named after a city in the Netherlands. By the early 20th century, it became the center of a cultural movement that revived African American music, fashion, and dance which was known as “The Harlem Renaissance.” It’s rather a monumental town. Which is a shame really since after World War II, crime and poverty hit Harlem hard.”

“Gee thanks, Mr. History Buff,” replied Illuso sarcastically. “Not that I would’ve minded living here in the ’30s. All I was just saying was how I wouldn’t want to live in a place where drunks would try to fight me while I’m on my way to the grocery store.”

“Oh, okay,” Melone said blankly, his head tilted slightly down.

“I liked your fact, Melone,” Pesci innocently commented.

Risotto had stopped in his tracks. The others had stopped as well. In front of them was a complex. Despite how big it was, it was dirty, the lights were off, and seemed like not a single soul inhabited the place. “This is it,” their capo proclaimed. Prosciutto was the first to disperse from the team and up the stairs, he was inches away from the door. He knocked on it and after a few moments of waiting, the door creaked open just an inch, but Prosciutto can make out that it was a skinny young man behind the door. The young man looked agitated. “What do you want,” he hissed.

“We need fake IDs,” Prosciutto stated curtly.

The man sneered, “You need one? It’s gonna cost ya.”

“But they’re free.”

The man’s smirk changed into a glower. “I told ya, man! It’s gonna cost ya a lot. I run a business here! Now piss off before I get mad!”
Before anything could escalate, Risotto stomped towards the door. His head held high, chest puffed out, and his eyes shot the man a menacing glare. The man behind the door recognized that familiar face from anywhere and he cowered slightly, his gaze shifted back to Prosciutto, who was tapping his foot impatiently. The man gave him a meek smile.

“On second thought. Y’all get a 100% discount, my treat!” He laughed nervously.

————————————————————————

“Hey ‘Luso, check out my sweet pic,” boasted Formaggio, shoving his picture into his teammate’s face. “Sexy, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, for a cockroach’s standards,” Illuso answered dryly. “But I mean if you really want to sink your teeth into something-.”

“Can’t you two take this seriously?” Ordered Prosciutto, “We aren’t trading baseball cards here!”

“More like dick pics, knowing those two,” Ghiaccio rolled his eyes. The others laughed including Formaggio, while Illuso shot a scowl at him. They were wrapping it up with Pesci’s picture, who combed his hair over his head like he was taking his 3rd Grade picture when Melone had approached the man.

“So tell me. How do you make these so quickly? Doesn’t it typically take a few weeks to develop a fake license?”

“Ah, that my good sir, is quite the secret,” the man boasted confidently. “Fake IDs are at an all-time high demand. Therefore, I gotta make ‘em fast for the people. All I can say is, that this is my unique talent. Not only that, I got the right men and the right equipment to shorten the process way quicker.”

“I hope he doesn’t mean he’s some sort of Stand User,” Melone thought to himself. “If so, he’d be quite a shit one.”

“And ‘cause of your big, hulking friend over there,” the man added, glancing anxiously at Risotto. “Not only ya guys gotta 100% discount tonight if ya ever need passports, plane licenses, even birth certificates, I’m your guy! Free of charge too! Just don’t sell me out to the police, please...”

The next two and a half hours were torture for their poor, sore feet. They at least made it back to their place before falling over from the pain. Thankfully, they weren’t stopped by any more strangers or creeps on the way home. It was already after midnight, however. Risotto had to be at work at 6 in the morning that day. The others were concerned that he wouldn’t get as much sleep, but their capo dismissed their concerns.

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably only get a few hours of sleep anyway.”

“Do you want me to make you coffee in the morning?” Prosciutto asked.

“No, coffee only makes me more agitated, but I appreciate the offer.” Risotto then took a hot shower and afterward, he ambled to the bedroom. Once he closed the door behind, everyone had quickly turned to Pesci, who exchanged them a puzzled look. They scrambled onto the couch where he was sitting.

“Hey Pesci,” Formaggio said eagerly, leaning closer to a perplexed Pesci. “We haven’t seen how your picture came out.” Pesci’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot! I didn’t get a good look at it before ‘cause it was too dark to see,” Pesci said excitedly as he dug for his license in his back pocket, everyone moved closer in, just as excited as he was. It all came crashing down when Pesci pulled it out. His excitement turned into sheer horror while the others roared with laughter. In his photo, Pesci’s smile was uneven, one corner higher than the other and his eyes had one half-open and the other completely shut.

“What’s with your face,” laughed Formaggio, snatching his license while Pesci reached out for it in vain.

“Give it back!”

“You look like you sneezed while on canapa,” Melone giggled.

“I can’t believe I blinked... can we go back, please, Bro?” Pleaded Pesci, his face turned red as a tomato.

“No. It’s too late, some other time Pesci,” said Prosciutto, who was serious before but now couldn’t help stifling a chuckle. Even he could admit that the picture looked rather silly. They laughed for another 20 minutes, the more they laughed, the more Pesci felt embarrassed, and the more Pesci felt embarrassed, the more he felt like he was going to cry. Prosciutto then calmed the others down, not only because Pesci was on the verge of tears but more so, as not to wake up their capo from his slumber.

“Okay, okay, enough joking. Give him back his ID.”

Formaggio sighed and begrudgingly handed Pesci back his license, who was still red with embarrassment. “Don’t be so ashamed mi amico,” teased Illuso. “Keep looking that red, you might end up becoming the mascot of the Tomato Convention.”

Pesci’s face tinged the deepest color crimson, despite Illuso’s joke wasn’t that funny, let alone good. The others could only stifle an awkward cough as a response. Formaggio sniffed the air, then sniffed close to Illuso’s face.

“What the hell are you doing, you weirdo?” Illuso asked.

“Phew!” Formaggio head jerked back, his face twisted in disgust, plugging his nose with his hand. “Fuck man! Your breath stinks just as bad as your humor!” His grimace turned into a sly grin. The men laughed along with Formaggio. While his joke was horrendously corny, that was just to be expected because it was Formaggio. Plus, it was a pretty good comeback. Even Pesci laughed and pointed at Illuso, no longer humiliated from the earlier ridiculing that was directed at him. Illuso scoffed.

“Ha ha ha, what a hilarious roast from the King of Corn himself,” Illuso said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Thank you, thank you, my trusted fool,” Formaggio mockingly bowed. “And don’t fret about what I said before, your face is enough to make anyone laugh.” Everyone roared harder except Illuso, who chuckled with a small smirk on his face.

“I guess that makes two of us then.”

Before either of them could continue barraging the other with taunts, Prosciutto once again calmed all of them down. “Everyone quiet down, our capo is trying to sleep.” Gradually, the others simmered down. However, instead of going to sleep, they stayed up for hours, entertaining themselves with casual bantering and switched on the television just for the hell of it. For an hour they were glued to whatever was on. They switched the channel when what appeared on the TV; was an old, cheap-looking Spaghetti Western movie, no surprise it was in black and white. They got to the scene where what appeared to be the hero facing off the big baddie, the hero giving his big speech, something along the lines of feeling lucky that he was going to blow his enemy’s brains out. Despite that, it was all dubbed in English, with no subtitles whatsoever. Melone grabbed the dictionary off the coffee table, he flipped through the pages to see if he could decipher what they were saying. The gang could understand bits of what was said, yet it was still difficult to comprehend. Words that they recognized, winded being false cognates, slang words that couldn’t be at all translated with the book, finding that one word can change the entire context of a sentence. It was becoming a frustrating game of charades.

After a few more minutes of pointlessly translating the movie, they threw in the towel. Prosciutto got up from his seat and turned the television off. When he returned to sit, the banter had ceased. They all just silently glanced at each other, then at the TV, then at the book, then back at each other. Some of them awkwardly cleared their throats, others fidgeted slightly in their seats. Pesci fiddled with the collar of his black jumpsuit.

“Do you think we’ll be able to find good jobs, Big Bro?”

Prosciutto shrugged. “Hopefully. We won’t know unless we try.”

“But, how we’ll be able to get jobs if we can’t watch a movie without understanding it?”

“Pesci, you’re worrying over something extremely trivial,” replied his superior as he fixed one of his hair buns. “Learning a new language isn’t going to be overnight, but we’re all going to get it at some point. That’s why Risotto bought us that dictionary. When you get a job, why don’t you save some of your earnings and buy some more books to teach yourself?”

“But, what if I read all those books and I still can’t get it? I don’t want people to-,”

“Who cares what other people think,” butted in Formaggio, his posture leaned towards the coffee table, with his arms draped over his knees. “Screw them if they think otherwise. Pesci, you’re not THAT dumb. If Prosciutto and I think you’ll get it, you’ll get it.”

“Gee thanks,” Pesci said as he wiped his nose, sounding slightly insulted by Formaggio’s prior remark. Formaggio leisurely sat back on the couch, his arm slumped over the couch’s arm, he had a bored expression on his face. “Well, I’m ready to move on to the next conversation.” Then his face lit up with excitement.

“Speaking of “earnings”. There was this pretty sweet red convertible that I walked by not too long ago. It was brand spanking new and it had my name written all over it! When I start racking money, it’s gonna be smooth sailing for me and that babe!”

Illuso chuckled, “As if, that car would be driving the other direction if it laid its high beams on you.”

“Keep talking man. What are you gonna do with your money?” Formaggio pointed to Illuso’s gloved hand. “Maybe replace that dirty glove to cover that thing you call a “hand”.” Illuso rubbed his chin as if he was actually considering getting a new glove.

“Maybe so, but I guess while I’m at it, I think I’ll go get a new jacket. Some new shoes and slacks would be great too. I hope they have a Gucci or Versace store close by. Maybe treat myself to some chocolate cake from one of those patisseries.”

“I’ll second you on that,” Melone said dreamily. “We should also get that key lime pie too. And the chocolate strawberries.” He started to salivate.

“Or,” Ghiaccio began. “You dumbasses can save your money, instead of spending all of it on stupid shit!”

“Man, talk about boring! And weren’t you the same guy who was complaining earlier about our new lives being so boring,” Formaggio rolled his eyes over Ghiaccio’s hypocrisy. Ghiaccio’s face zoomed close to Formaggio’s, absolutely seething with annoyance.

“That’s not being boring! That’s being not a total dumbass, unlike you!” Formaggio smiled and playfully patted Ghiaccio’s head, much to Ghiaccio’s ever-growing displeasure. “Now, now, sweetie,” Formaggio cooed jokingly, pinching Ghiaccio’s cheek. “Don’t get so flustered. If it’s a porno mag you want, you should’ve just said so. We’ll only laugh at you harder.”

“Ghiaccio’s right.”

They turned to look at Prosciutto. “We aren’t even employed, and yet you three stooges are already deciding how you’re going to waste your paychecks on materialistic crap. We should be using our money on basic needs, such as food, and I don’t mean cakes or pies. Yeah, Risotto said we should change our clothes, but I don’t think we need anything lavish right this second. And whatever money we don’t use, we’ll save it. We can use it later for something more important like rent or new appliances to replace that’s anything broken, like the dishwasher.”

“And...” Ghiaccio added as if Prosciutto was forgetting something.

“And besides food and clothes... we need cleaning supplies.”

“Finally, something we agree on for once,” Ghiaccio crossed his arms.

“So for now, let’s first worry about finding employment, then we’ll discuss pay. We should start looking later this morning.” The men glanced over to the clock, it was 3 in the morning. It was already a new day and Risotto has to work in three hours. They turned off the light and they nestled on the living room furniture. Then it was decided, that they were all going job hunting!

————————————————————————

2 Weeks Later...

“So how is the job hunting going for you men?” Risotto inquired at the dinner table. The rest of the gang frowned.

“Terrible.”

“How so?”

“It’s like no employer wants to take us. It’s either, “You don’t fit into our criteria for the position” or they lie by saying they’ll call us back for a second interview,” complained Illuso as he waved his dinner fork dramatically as he spoke.

“Well. That’s why it’s called “job hunting”,” said Risotto. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

“I get that,” Illuso replied unamused. “But it’s been two fucking weeks and no one here has gotten even a gig, unlike you who got a job in less than a day!” He dropped his fork and rested his hands on his hips. Realizing the lack of regard in his statement, Risotto looked down pensively, his eyes met the meager meal on his dinner plate.

“My apologies,” his voice was low.

On the other end of the table, Melone cleared his voice, catching everyone else’s undivided attention. “That’s not completely true,” he began with hesitation. “Ghiaccio and I had jobs.” The rest of them were awed in confusion.

“Really?” The gang asked in unison. The two teammates nodded.

“That’s weird then, why didn’t you two say anything about it to us,” asked Illuso, who was genuinely surprised. Melone’s eyes darted away as if he was trying to hide something to avoid embarrassment.

“Well, we HAD jobs.”

“We only had them for a day,” Ghiaccio added, who was shielding his face with the table.

“Well, what happened?” Illuso raised an eyebrow.

The two men reluctantly said a word. Melone exhaled, “I’ll go first. So, I applied as a model at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On the flyer it said I would be a still life model for classes, I thought it only said just to show up.”

“And...” Illuso said as he motioned his hand for Melone to get to the point.

“And that’s what I did.... just, without clothes.”

With that said, Formaggio almost laughed out loud before he remembered he was mid-drinking his water, so he cupped his mouth and after one huge gulp, he proceeded to laugh. Pesci’s jaw was dropped, and he winced with the disturbing mental image of a bony, nude Melone in his mind. Pesci glanced at his capo, who didn’t emote at all, probably still registering what idiot thing Melone had accomplished. Illuso and Prosciutto were unimpressed, either one was pinching the bridge of his nose or shaking their heads with disapproval. They weren’t even surprised at that point since that was something Melone would do. Melone slumped further into his seat, his cheeks turned rosy. Ghiaccio reinforced his growing shame by slapping his face into the table again.

“Well that’s what you get for not reading the entire flyer,” rebuked Prosciutto.

“I know,” Melone mumbled. “But can you blame me? Isn’t that what most models at art galleries do anyways?”

“Yes,” replied Prosciutto. “As in, yes, I can blame you for your lack of attentiveness.”

“Hey it could’a been worse,” Formaggio exclaimed, “You could’a accidentally posed nude in front of a bunch of kids.”

“Except, they were all geriatrics.”

Formaggio blinked, suddenly he once again exploded into a fit of laughter. He banged his fist into the table, the man looked like he was about to fall out of his chair. Melone, on the other hand, wanted to curl up in a ball and die. When Formaggio could contain himself, he spoke up. “Tell me, Melone,” he giggled, wiping a tear from under his eye. “Did a geezer have a heart attack when they saw you in all your glory?”

“No.” Melone turned his head away. “But the art instructor’s mother did, she was part of the class.” That time, Formaggio fell out of his chair, rolling on the floor in a fit of hysterics. The others observed him foundering like a fish out of water. After a few moments of judging Formaggio, they turned back to the pair, Melone had his hands covering his face. It had to be one of the most humiliating moments of his life. Prosciutto peered to Ghiaccio, who’s face was still planted on the table.

“What about you? Were you an accomplice with your partner in crime? Or...”

Ghiaccio mumbled. “I rwuz uh crown.”

“Speak up, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Uh crown.” Prosciutto looked over to the rest of his comrades if they understood what the icy grump was saying, they either shrugged or shook their heads no and Formaggio was still too occupied laughing at Melone’s misfortune. Prosciutto grabbed Ghiaccio by the curl of his hair and pulled him up. “You want to repeat that again,” Prosciutto asked, his tone becoming increasingly irritated. Ghiaccio grunted with aggravation.

“A clown,” he exclaimed. “I was a fucking clown for a little kid’s birthday party!” The others snickered, which Ghiaccio wasn’t surprised about. “Aww Ghiaccino, why would you try to be something you already are? And to make that into a career too? How desperate,” Illuso jeered, reaching over as he said that, honking Ghiaccio’s nose. Ghiaccio slapped his hand away.

“I WAS!” Ghiaccio screamed angrily.

“And how did that go? Were the kids too much for ya,” asked Illuso, still with a snarky tone. Ghiaccio hesitated, he simply gazed in front of him. All he remembered was himself, still bedecked with his clown costume and makeup and even a rainbow afro, sitting on the curb; emotionless, while the kid’s house behind him was set ablaze.

“Yeah...”

Illuso slowly backed away and sat on his seat, slightly disturbed but immediately shook it off, his attention went back to Risotto. “So I rest my case. We have had little to no luck, whatsoever.” Illuso waited for an answer, he had hoped Risotto would give some advice or inspirational words that would motivate them out of this funk, but instead, he had this to say.

“Have any of you applied for my job,” he questioned. All of them stalled to respond, some of them exchanged frowns with each other, and even Prosciutto was looking down at his plate in silence. Risotto sighed disappointingly.

“Well, I can’t force any of you to apply at the store. But I do expect you all to get jobs soon. Even with my salary, I barely have enough for rent, the electric bill, appliances, and on top of feeding all seven of us, along with clothes and such. Not only that, but that little pest from downstairs has been asking for more rent money, now that we basically live here. If I were any of you, I would apply there just to get on your feet. If you all want as well, apply to different departments, just to get your feel. And I’ll be around if you need help or anything. Sleep on it, right Ghiaccio?”

Ghiaccio froze up when he heard his name, then immediately grumbled to himself angrily about how Risotto shouldn’t put him in the limelight. And why the fuck would they “sleep” on a decision? It’s not a pillow. It’s not even remotely tangible! After helping each other with cleaning the dishes and putting everything away, it was decided that Prosciutto and Pesci would take the bed that night. Showers were taken, teeth were brushed with age-old toothbrushes that the motel supplied, and it was then off to bed for all of them.

Hours passed. In the bedroom, Prosciutto was fast asleep, while Pesci stared at the ceiling. What happened at dinner stuck out to him. No, not just a naked Melone giving old people heart attacks or Ghiaccio already possibly committing murder, yet it was when Risotto asked everyone about working with him. Everyone seemed so uncomfortable with the idea of working there. Was it really that bad? Were the customers mean? Were the managers awful? Were the hours abhorrently long? He tapped his friend’s arm.

“Bro,” Pesci whispered. “Hey. Hey Bro.”

Prosciutto jerked his arm and turned on his side. “What is it, Pesci,” he yawned.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep. But I wanted to ask you. Why was everybody so uncomfortable when Risotto brought up his job? Is it that bad?”

“I don’t know, Pesci. Just get some rest,” Prosciutto rubbed his eyes, he was about to close them again before Pesci beckoned him by nudging his shoulder, and his eyes slowly creaked open.

“I just don’t get it, y’know,” Pesci twiddled the edge of the thin blanket. “Wouldn’t the guys be more comfortable working at the same place with Risotto than not?”

“Maybe that might be it,” Prosciutto replied sleepily. Pesci looked at him confused. Was Risotto the real reason why they didn’t want to work there?

“Why wouldn’t the others want to work with Risotto? We already work with him, so what’s the problem?”

“Listen, Pesci,” said his friend, before yawning again. “It’s not like we hate working with Risotto or anything, we all care about him. He’s always been protective of us. But lately, the others think Risotto has been a little “too protective.” It’s starting to smother them a bit. I understand where they’re coming from though. They just want some space, that’s all.”

“Hey Bro,” Pesci said with concern. “Do you think I smother you?”

Prosciutto hummed dreamily. “In a sense. But not in the same way as Risotto. I think a lot of what happened months ago kind of warped his perspective. Like he needs to make sure we’re all safe and sound, 24/7.”

Pesci ceased playing with the strands of the blanket and looked back up at the ceiling. A sense of determination flared within his belly. He smiled confidently and with a loud whisper. “Y’know what Bro? I’m gonna take that job! Not only that will make Risotto happy, but I can show him, and prove to him that I can take care of myself there. I’ll try not to be scared or ask too many questions. Then he’ll see I can do it by myself and maybe he won’t feel the need to be so protective of us! Yeah! I think that’ll be a great idea! What do you think, bro?”

He turned to face Prosciutto. To his surprise, Prosciutto went back to snoring away. Pesci smiled and turned back onto his back, his determination growing ever stronger.

“I’m gonna do it!”

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

“So tell me, out of all the candidates applying for this position, why should we hire you?”

“Uh, well....”

Pesci anxiously tugged on his collar, his forehead soaked with sweat. It didn’t help that he didn’t have much to buy a decent outfit, so he had to use Prosciutto’s two-piece suit. Since it was a custom fit, the suit looked shapeless and was tight in certain places. The collar was practically choking him! His pupils met contact with everything in the office but the hiring manager. This was way harder than he imagined. How wasn’t he able to confidently answer a few questions, yet was able to get into the Mafia just for watching a lit lighter for 24 hours? God, he was going to bomb this interview! He was a failure! What would Risotto think of him if he walked into this office at that very moment!? Thankfully it never happened, but Pesci still felt like he was seconds away from dying of shame.

Despite being hired as the manager who interviewed the would-be new employees, Risotto didn’t interview Pesci, but rather, it was somebody different. He was a disproportionately short man, way shorter than Pesci. He had large brim glasses with possibly the thickest lenses that any person could ever imagine. His visage was baby-faced while simultaneously having crow’s feet that spread from the corners of his eyes. His hairline had receded, with the rest of his dark, curly locks just barely touching the shoulders of his grey suit, reminiscent of a cocker spaniel’s ears. His expressions ranged from stoic boredom to stoic impatience. The manager’s hands interlocked, his thumbs rubbing the other.

“You know, Mr.,” the manager squinted at Pesci’s fake name on his license. “Dionisio. I feel quite slighted that you can’t answer my question without having the consideration to look at me.” His brusque words brought Pesci back to his attention. “Oh! I-I’m sorry.”

“Now, will you do the honor of answering my previous question,” the manager asked with a deadpan tone.

“W-Well, um... W-While I have things t-t-to work. My English’s b-bad. But! I-I’m very patient and nice. Can’t remem-mber the last time I y-y-yelled at people. I w-want to make the s-store a nice place...”

The manager remained unamused. “So you mean to tell me, despite your English being not so eloquent, you view yourself as an even-tempered and pleasant worker and you believe that your influence will make the store a better place for customers and associates alike?”

“I can barely comprehend half the gibberish this guy is spewing,” Pesci whispered to himself. Nevertheless, Pesci nodded fervently. The hiring manager scribbled a few notes in his book. His half-lidded gaze met with Pesci’s, who made an effort not to subconsciously look away.

“Next question.” Pesci gulped. “I see you share the same last name with our fellow hiring manager, Giacomo. Coincidence? Or are you two by any means related?”

“Y-Yes!” Pesci lied excitedly, barely jumping out of his chair upon hearing his capo’s pseudo name. “He’s my brother!” The manager’s scowl deepened. Upon realizing his error, Pesci calmly took his seat again. He cleared his voice. “I-I don’t accep- expect to see him. If I have trouble, I’ll try to f-f-find a way on my own.”

The manager’s expression softened, and with no word, he scribbled more into his notepad. The lack of conversation made Pesci clench his pants tighter, he wasn’t certain what this man will say next. Would he ask more gut-wrenching questions? Would he tell him to get out? His mouth was sealed completely shut but he could still taste the sweat that dribbled down his lips. The scribbling ceased, the button of the pen clicked and Pesci saw it settled by the corner of the desk. He noticed that just like the rest of the office, the desk was organized and extremely barren, not a single trinket or sentiment in sight, just the notepad, the pen, and the man’s nameplate. He tried to make out what it read. “Jeffrey Buggle”. There was a piece of paper that was taped at the end of his name.

“Do Not Call Me Jeff”

Mr. Buggle pushed back the bridge of his glasses. “Our policy does forbid relatives from working at the same store. We don’t want any family issues to intervene in the workplace, especially if it affects the morale of the company. However, because you two are in different departments, we will let the situation slide. But just because he’s your brother, there shall be no favoritism on his part. In this store, he will view you as an employee, nothing more.”

Pesci nodded in agreement. “D-Don’t worry. I will make sure of it!”

“Well, I do hope so. I’m giving you this chance because you seem like the kind of person who will keep a promise. That’s what I want to see in an employee. And of course, if you have questions or concerns relating to work, you can ask me as well.”

Pesci smiled with relief. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr.- uhh,” he checked back at the nameplate. “J-Jeffrey?”

“It’s Mr. Buggle, for now,” he spoke apathetically, hopping out of his normal-sized revolving chair to show Pesci the exit. “As we develop our business relationship further, then you may start referring to me as Jeffrey.” Pesci was at the doorway when he turned to face down towards Mr. Buggle. He was still astonished by how short-statured his higher-up was. Pesci could’ve stacked two Mr. Buggles and they would still barely get to the same height as him.

“You are free to go. And as for your drug test, it showed no signs of anything in your system. Good, good. I would usually have your background check done in a few weeks, but it came back earlier than I expected. You’re squeaky clean. I couldn’t find a single thing about you at all. It’s like you started a brand new life. Orientation will be on the 12th. 9 am sharp. Don’t be late. Look presentable. We expect you to start working as soon as possible.” He shut the door, the wood coming almost intimately acquainted with Pesci’s face. The puzzled boy stood in his tracks, his eyebrows furrowed. Did he actually get the job? For a couple of minutes, he kept replaying in his mind the last sentences Mr. Buggle said to him.

“Orientation on the 12th. Don’t be late.”

“Don’t be late.”

“Don’t be late.”

It finally sunk in and Pesci’s eyes widened, his mouth formed an “o” which stretched itself into a wide grin. He got the job! He wanted to shout about the good news but remembered there were other offices with people minding their business and he didn’t want to make a fuss. Rather, he turned on his heel, and with a spring in his step, he walked down the corridor, the grin still plastered between his cheeks.

He whispered to himself, squeaking like a mouse, “You got the job! You did it! You’re so cool, Pesci!”

————————————————————————

“Hey, go easy on the salt!”

“Can’t help it! No matter how much salt I use, it still tastes bland!”

All seven of them were seated around the dining room table. Grits were on the menu, yet again. Formaggio was hogging up the condiment before Prosciutto barked at him. The others just silently watched them with increasing aggravation as they tried to presume eating. “Fine,” Formaggio cried out, almost throwing the salt shaker at his familiar. “Gah! Why does it have to be this slop every fuckin’ night!” Formaggio complained as he threw his arms in the air.

“H-Hey, g-guys,” Pesci said shyly, his beckoning was completely cast off by everyone, including his “Big Bro” Prosciutto. “Because we’re financially low Formaggio, don’t be an ingrate. Just because it’s grits, be happy that you have a meal in your belly instead of starving every night. We got to save every dollar, every quarter, even every penny we can.”

“Uh, guys..?”

Pesci was once again cut off short when Formaggio jumped out of his chair, almost pouncing on Prosciutto if it weren’t for him slamming his palms on the table. “I’m not a fuckin’ ingrate! I just hate having to eat the same tedious shit every night. Maybe try to mix it up for once.” He sat back down in his seat, his lips puckered into a pout. “Or maybe become a better cook.”

“If that’s the case,” Prosciutto spoke calmly. “Once you win the jackpot, THEN maybe you could buy your own food. The rest of the money will go into our savings. Knowing you, you’d spend all that money in the blink of an eye.”

“Yo shut up man!”

“Point proven.”

“GUYS!”

The rest of the team turned their attention to the boy with the spiky green hair. The two other men ceased arguing and turned their heads as well, yet kept their fiery dispositions. “What now, Pesci,” Formaggio spouted sharply. Pesci crouched submissively, his head sandwiched between his shoulders like a scared turtle. Mustering up the confidence, his shoulders relaxed. Pesci cleared his throat as he thought of what to say. He spoke, “None of you asked about how my interview went today!”

“Your what?” Ghiaccio asked raising an eyebrow, his tone was curt yet genuine.

“My job interview,” Pesci repeated. “I was interviewed at the grocery store where Risotto works!” Formaggio responded by letting out an annoyed sigh. Was this the reason he had to interrupt his argument with “Pretty Boy” who sat across the table from him? He was about to prove a major point before that little twerp had to butt in. Contrarily, Prosciutto’s face eased, he had completely forgotten that Pesci’s interview was today. “Oh right, so how did it go?”

Before he spoke, Pesci smiled from ear to ear, just like when he left Buggle’s office, he was practically tensing with excitement. “I got it,” Pesci squealed enthusiastically. The next thing they knew, Pesci was buzzing about how the interview went. “And Mr. Buggle was like, “Well, answer my question”,” he said as he put on his most deadpan impression of the manager before proceeding. “A-And I was like super nervous like the, “Oh my god, I’m gonna fail” kinda nervous. But! I made a promise to him that I’d try my best to get around a-and... I guess that satisfied him enough to give me the job.”

“That’s great. I’m very proud of you, Pesci,” congratulated Prosciutto, softly patting his friend on the back. “I’m glad you were able to accomplish this all on your own.”

“Thanks, bro!” Pesci set his eyes to the end of the table where Risotto sat, his capo’s eyes looking down at his plate. “Ya hear that Risotto? I’m gonna be working with you! We’ll be work-buddies!” Pesci waited for Risotto to be super excited, but instead, Risotto hesitated to respond. He continued to look down as he brought the glass of water to his lips, then slowly brought it back onto the table. Risotto blinked. “That’s good, Pesci.” His words were dry as sandpaper. Pesci’s smile faltered. He expected his boss’s response would’ve been something more “warmly”. His eyes shifted to Formaggio who was still sulking in his chair, which gave Pesci an idea.

“Don’t worry about eating grits anymore, Formaggio. Once I start my job, I’ll buy us better dinners. And I’ll help with paying rent!”

Formaggio suppressed a chuckle. This was too much. The thought of Pesci playing breadwinner was cute as it was ridiculous. He stopped himself from jeering the boy when he noticed Prosciutto and Risotto shooting daggers in his direction. At this point, he was tired of arguing for the night. Turning to Pesci, he used all his might to pull off the most genuine fake smile he humanly could. “The sentiment is appreciated,” Formaggio said, his voice strained through his teeth.

“Just don’t bite off more than you can chew,” Prosciutto warned. “This is your first job in America, you’re probably going to be paid less than Risotto. Just keep a realistic mindset.” Pesci nodded, the realization of not racking up the big bucks for the team was a bit of a bummer, but he wasn’t going to let that rain on his parade.

“So what department will you be working at?” Melone asked. Pesci’s eyes lit up, his smile grew wide again. He was hoping one of them would ask that at some point.

“The bakery!” Pesci beamed.

None of them were surprised. Then again, they couldn’t see Pesci working as a cashier or anything related to customer service. He’d be running for the hills within a day of working there.

“You applied at the bakery?” Ghiaccio scoffed. “Aren’t you a little too old to be playing with Easy-Bake ovens?”

“I’m not that old,” Pesci protested, his voice became immediately defensive. “I’m not even old enough to buy alcohol yet.”

“So you’re insinuating that you’re a baby,” taunted Illuso.

“I am not a baby!”

“Pesci, don’t let them get to you,” Prosciutto said sternly. Pesci’s lips were sealed shut, but behind them, he was gritting his teeth. The nerve of these guys whom he called “friends”. Some friends. He thought they would be happy for him, but instead, they were simply roasting him. Not like they had any jobs better than his. They didn’t even have jobs.

“Uh oh~,” Illuso mocked, still taking the piss out of the situation. “The baby wooks gwumpy, he wooks wike he’s gonna cwy. I think he needs a wittle nappy.” Illuso placed one hand over his other hand, lifting them to the side of his head in a sleeping position, making an exaggerated snore. The others busted out laughing, as in only, Formaggio, Ghiaccio, Melone, and Illuso himself. Pesci had about enough, he sprang from his seat and stomped to the bedroom.

“Pesci!” Prosciutto called out. Pesci turned, trying his hardest not to let the tears fall from his face, he didn’t want to give the others the benefit of seeing him break. “I’m still proud of you...” The others laughed harder, Pesci proceeded to storm into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Illuso wiped a tear from his face and elbowed Melone, “That was the most fun I had all night, right guys?” Their fun was cut short by their capo’s death glare, they all ceased smiling. “He’s not the only baby that I see in this room. You four should be ashamed of yourselves.” The four teammates huffed with indignation. They were just having a little fun...

“Oh come on,” Illuso said with a peeved tone. “If Pesci can’t grow a thick skin around us, how is he going to be like when he has to work with other people...?

————————————————————————

It was about 9 pm that night. Roughly about two hours since Pesci had been severely roasted by his “friends”. His face and the bed were drenched in tears and snot. He clasped his fingers over his lips, trying not to sob too loud, so he wouldn’t get the attention of the others. “Why did the others have to be so mean to me? It’s not like I did anything to them. It’s not like I spit in their grits. Maybe I should do that next time...”

His thought was cut off by the bedroom door slowly creaking open. Hastily, he turned away from the door, wiping off any sign of tear or booger as quickly as he could. He could sense that there was light from the dining room and engulfed in that light was a silhouette of one of the teammates. He bet it was either Illuso or Ghiaccio going to rub it in his face some more about being a crybaby. “Ever h-heard of knocking b-before entering,” Pesci replied, trying to sound curt but was blubbering in between words.

“Can I come in?” The voice wasn’t gruff like Illuso’s, or whiny like Ghiaccio’s, it was a voice that was smooth as honey with a hint of rasp from cigarette smoke. Pesci’s eyes lit up a bit as he could identify the voice belonging to no other than Prosciutto. Pesci, still looking away, nodded quietly. Prosciutto cautiously closed the door behind him, the entire room once again being overtaken by dusk. As he seated himself on the edge, the springs of the mattress squeaked loudly.

“Bro, do you think I’m a baby?” Whimpered Pesci.

Prosciutto replied with a sigh while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pesci, you can’t let them get to you. They push your buttons because they know it’ll get a rise from you.”

Pesci could feel the tears seeping from his droopy, red eyes. Add salt to the wound, why don’t you? It was like his bro was siding with those jerks over him. “Their taunts were uncalled for... But Illuso was right, you need to grow a thick skin.”

“Please bro, not you too!” Pesci whined, beginning to get aggravated.

“It’s the truth! What do you want me to do? Lie to you? Yeah, that’ll get you far in life,” Prosciutto argued.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to discourage me from this job.”

“I’m not discouraging you! All I’m saying is you need a backbone! I don’t know how many times I have told you this. How are you going to react if a customer makes one snide comment about you? You’re going to have to deal with customer after customer after customer. Some will be pleasant enough, while others will act not so kind to you, and crying about it won’t solve anything. That’s just how it is. You need to be prepared when that time comes.” Pesci slunk his head over in defeat. He was too upset and too annoyed to have to deal with this talk tonight.

“That’s not the only thing I’m upset about,” Pesci mumbled.

“Not only that? Okay then Pesci, enlighten me! What else are you upset about tonight?” Prosciutto was getting impatient, his arms folded in his chest. He was getting sick of having these talks with Pesci, especially when he would vent about things like this, yet never tried to improve on himself. Pesci faced Prosciutto, his eyes were teary, and would occasionally sniffle.

“Why do the others still hate me so much?” Pesci asked surprisingly clear, despite still obviously on the verge of tears again. “I’ve been with you guys for several years and I still stick out like a sore thumb. Try as I might to fit in, they always find a way to shit on me. I don’t even know what Risotto thinks of me half the time. He’s just so hard to read! He promised me when we were still out at sea, he’d take me to the docks every morning. But here we are and we haven’t done that, I’m sure he just said that ‘cause I was afraid before. What if he didn’t mean it?”

Prosciutto frowned, his eyebrows that were prior knitted, now relaxed and lowered. His eyelids looked a little heavy. Prosciutto lightly rested his hand on Pesci’s shoulder. He exhaled. “Oh, Pesci. They don’t hate you. They love you and they love teasing you too. Look, if I’m being honest, they should’ve supported you, instead of acting like a couple of dicks about it. And don’t worry, Risotto quickly put them in their places right after you left the table. But I’d be lying if I said they didn’t care for you at all. That time when you almost died fighting off Bucciarati? Everyone was worried about you!”

“Really?” Pesci sniffled.

“Of course! We didn’t think you’d make it, but you pulled yourself together, and here we are now. They wouldn’t know what to do without you, Pesci. But you need to let these things roll off your back. If you can do that, you’ll be on the right track to becoming more confident and you’ll probably get along with them more too.” Pesci wiped his nose again. He had started to feel more at ease knowing his teammates did like him. There was one more thing that bothered him in the back of his mind.

“Hey Bro.”

“Yes, Pesci?”

“Why wasn’t Risotto happy when I told him I got the job?”

Prosciutto looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Of course, he’s happy for you.”

“Then why didn’t he act like he was?”

“I mean, keep in mind Pesci. Risotto was never the “emotional” type. We’ve worked with him for how many years now? Do you ever recall him laughing or crying, or even smiling a lot in front of us?”

“Oh... I guess you’re right...I just thought he’d give a little smile or something.”

“I’m certain that he’s very eager to have you work at the grocery store... However,” Prosciutto’s eyes grew pensive, his chin rested in his hand. “He was a little... concerned about you.”

Pesci raised an eyebrow. “Concerned about me? Why?”

“Just what we were discussing before, about you growing thicker skin. He just felt that maybe you’d feel too overwhelmed all by yourself.” Pesci looked down. Did his capo think of him so lowly? He had gotten this far with getting this job, he couldn’t possibly turn back now. Most importantly because they needed the money. Pesci looked at his friend again.

“You can tell him not to worry about me. I won’t learn how to do things by myself if you guys always hold my hand. I’ll try not to listen to what customers say if they try to work me up. I’ll figure things out on my own!” Prosciutto’s pupils widened with amazement with how Pesci turned a 180 so quickly. Sure, it was likely short-lived confidence, or maybe, this time was different. Nevertheless, Prosciutto grinned knowing his little brother was stepping in the right direction.

“That’s my boy!” He slapped Pesci’s back, a tad too hard as it made a loud “thwup” followed by an “oof” that came from Pesci. The pain was sharp, but it subsided a second later. They both laughed. “And to answer your first question, I don’t think you’re a baby. If you take the right path, you’ll turn out to be an assertive young man. Now I’m thinking, maybe on your birthday this winter, we’ll celebrate with your first drink. I don’t advise you to go too crazy for your first time but knowing you, I know you won’t. What would you want to drink? Beer? Liquor? Maybe tequila?”

Pesci had to ponder for a moment, those all sounded strong. Strong drinks tasted really gross to him and upset his stomach, but he didn’t want to get berated by Prosciutto for coming off like a pussy. “Uhhh, h-how about a spiked cider?”

“Hmmm, that’s a start.”

For the next few days, Pesci had begun to mentally prepare himself for his orientation. He didn’t have a lot of time, only a couple of days left. He would stand in front of the bathroom mirror for hours, replaying the exact words he told Prosciutto.

“I’ll figure things out on my own. I’ll figure things out on my own...”

As for the rest of La Squadra, they pretty much kept to themselves. They didn’t pick on Pesci or for that matter, spoke to him. He mused that Risotto must’ve put them in their places that night. Perhaps Risotto told them to dial down with the pranks for now, at least until after orientation so Pesci wouldn’t be doubled with stress... Who knows?

————————————————————————

The day was Friday. The 12th of October. Pesci gingerly pushed the door open that led to the office that Orientation took place. It was a dull, grayish blue, yet decently spacious room filled with so many people that were practically elbow-to-elbow with one another. Some can be seen bantering with each other as if they’ve been buddies for years. There were so many new recruits, young and old alike. He could faintly hear a radio playing whatever generic pop tune that was considered “trendy” at the time. Next to the crowd, was a long table filled with snacks and drinks. Paper plates with half-eaten cookies, popcorn, brownies galore. It was also littered with red plastic cups that had fruity-pink punch, some of them even bedecked with the little Hawaiian umbrellas. Above the table were unnecessarily huge banners with colorful bubbled print in permanent marker that read:

“WELCOME NEW ASSOCIATES”

“Classy,” he thought.

Pesci took a long inhale through his nose. He was nervous, but he remembered what Prosciutto and others told him. If he was going to work with new people, he should at least make some friends. This would be his goal, his newfound resolve. Pesci let out a huge exhale and then made his way into the crowd.

“Hi, I’m Dionisio,” he said, mustering up all the courage he could find within himself. It didn’t catch too many people’s attention, but the ones who did notice turned their backs on him. “Don’t let ‘em deter you! Try again.” “I’m Dionisio, nice to meet y-,” Pesci spoke with a bit more confidence, waving his hand, but others still turned their attention away from him. “Maybe with a little more spunk.” “Heyy, Dionisio’s the name,” he said, pointing finger guns at a fellow recruit, making them visibly uncomfortable.

Head hung low, Pesci dispersed from the group towards the table. When he seated himself, he cupped his head into his palms. Not a single person took interest in him. He made himself into a major fool. Dammit! This was never going to work. No matter how hard he tried, he was always going to be the eternal screw-up.

He went to pour himself some juice when he noticed something- or someone. In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw a familiar face sitting at the end corner of the table. Legs crossed; a cup in one hand, the other supported the side of their face with their elbow rested on the table. They seemed pensive like they were contemplating whether to stay or leave the vicinity. Curiously, Pesci cautiously headed towards the “stranger”. It had to be him, but he wanted to make sure. He didn’t want to assume it was him and then winded up being a completely different person. God, that’d be mind-numbingly embarrassing. Once he approached them, Pesci was practically towering over them, they were completely unfazed by this, however.

“Bro...?”

The man looked above. He gave Pesci a small smile. “Why hello Dionisio. Fancy seeing you here on time.” Pesci rattled his head trying to gather his senses. Was he dreaming? He rubbed his eyes just to make sure the early morning haze wasn’t playing tricks on him. Nope, it was indeed Prosciutto. Then what was he doing here? If he was here to give Pesci another pep talk, he should’ve done so at the apartment. “Bro, what are you doing here? You’re gonna get in trouble if they catch you back here,” Pesci sputtered. Prosciutto stood up, turning his head over his shoulder, away from Pesci. “Well, we work here now.”

“Huh? Did you get a job? Here!? And why didn’t you tell me- wai- WE?!”

Pesci cocked his head to the side as he realized why Prosciutto was looking away from him. Behind Prosciutto was the rest of the gang huddled in one smaller circle. They were casually talking, some of them with plates in hand. This was becoming so surreal to Pesci. He had several questions.

“H-How did you guys get jobs here? And so quickly too!?”

Prosciutto’s smile dissipated. He solemnly looked down at his cup, swishing the pink punch into a mini whirlpool. He slowly sipped it before speaking. “After our talk that night, Risotto had huddled the rest of us into a “meeting” if you want to call it that. He said we desperately needed to find jobs soon. Long story short, he pushed us to apply here. I understand why he did it though. Rent is getting high and Risotto is barely making enough to support us. We can’t always rely on him with everything so he had given Mr. Buggle a really good word about all of us and he was able to get us into Orientation with you on time. Ideally, I would’ve wanted you to get a feel working at a place by yourself, but it is what it is.”

Pesci hummed. He thought it made sense as to why Risotto was putting his foot down. Having to pay rent combined with paying for food, clothes and other needs is just one of many stresses his capo had to take care of. It was going to take more than just Pesci to help Risotto with the finances. With the other five being employed, it was going to be a lot easier for Risotto. Yet, Pesci could tell something was... off. Prosciutto seemed slow answering Pesci’s question. He seemed cautious about what to say as if there was more to why they were there than he was leading on. Pesci gulped. Did he want to know the real reason? If there was a real reason, what if he was just overthinking it?

“Bro?” Pesci inquired meekly. “Do you think Risotto just wants all of us here because-?”

“HEY PINEAPPLE HEAD!” Formaggio shouted out loud, waving at Pesci, who in turn, turned bright pink.

“You don’t have to shout! You’re only a few feet away from us, right Prosciut-?”

“Did you forget, Dionisio? That’s not the name you refer to me as. For now on, you will call me by my name, Girolamo.” Pesci cocked his head in confusion.

“... You mean the name that is on your fake-? EEP!” Before Pesci could finish uttering his last word, his lips were pinched shut by Prosciutto’s index finger and thumb. “You’re making this harder than it already seems,” Prosciutto hissed quietly. “We no longer go by those names. In the public eye, my name is Girolamo Sordino and your name is Dionisio Sordino. We are biological brothers. These are our new identities. Remember that.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I just forgot! “Pesci whimpered, mumbling his words since his lips were still stretched and pinched together. Without another word, Prosciutto released his lips, not before they snapped back comically into Pesci’s face.

The lip smack had brought the attention of the others. Formaggio was the first to walk up to the duo. “What’s this? Are we introducing ourselves? I’ll start!” Jokingly, he extended his hand out to Pesci. “Piacere, little guy! The name’s Giorgio!” Pesci looked at his friend confusedly as he rubbed his tender lips. Was he serious? If they were supposed to be brothers, why would they present themselves to each other as if they were strangers? Formaggio beckoned his hand, “C’mon man, shake on it. You wouldn’t leave a kind stranger hanging, right?” Hesitantly, Pesci played along and interlocked his hand with Formaggio’s. “Uhh, how do you do?”

“Seriously, put a little more pep in your step,” said Formaggio disappointedly. “The guys back in AA acted more lively than you.” Out of nowhere, three more hands were stretched out in front of Pesci’s face. “Oh, come on Dionisio! Just like Giorgio said, you wouldn’t just ignore a couple of nice guys. That’s just not like you to be so rude,” teased Ghiaccio. Irked, Pesci squinted his eyes, yet regardless still went ahead with their stupid shenanigans. First, he shook Ghiaccio’s, “Nice to meet you-.”

“Giovanni. Sir Giovanni to you,” Ghiaccio said with a wide shit-eating grin. It wasn’t often Ghiaccio smiled. But when he did, it was always something that made him cocky. Pesci was confident that this time was because he forgot to use their fake names. Whatever the reason was, Pesci wanted to smash those pearly whites in. Next was Illuso, “Lemme guess, Gio-.”

“Michelangelo.”

The change of the name pattern surprised Pesci. “Oh, I was expecting another Gio name.”

“Of course, you would,” jeered Illuso. “‘Cause y’know, you’re always so predictable.”

Finally, Melone’s. “And you are...?”

“Edmundo.”

“That’s not even Italian!” Pesci responded bluntly, turning away from him hastily. “D-Do you not like it?” Asked Melone, pretending to sound crushed. “Aw Dionisio, look what’ve you done,” Formaggio spun Pesci around, pointing at Melone who was hunched over and making loud weeping noises. “You’ve shattered Edmundo’s heart into a million smithereens all because you were so concerned about the ethnicity of his name. That’s Giovanni’s job!” He grasped Pesci’s shoulders tight and pulled him close, he spoke lowly, “The only way you can mend his psychological wound is to do one simple thing...” Formaggio pulled him closer, so close that their noses were practically almost touching each other. “Hug him.”

“Bw- what!?”

“You must Dionisio! It is the only way. Now, go forth! Embrace your fallen brethren,” Formaggio said dramatically, his hand resting on his forehead to further exaggerate his pose. Pesci grunted with dismay. He marched right up to Melone, swung him around, and gave him a big ol’ hug. “Oh~, my hero,” Melone professed, at top volume. What happened next made Pesci almost upchuck.

“And now, we pucker.”

Unexpectedly, Melone leaned towards Pesci, puckering his lips and making kissy noises and lustful moans. He was centimeters away before Pesci instinctively pushed him off.

“Bleughh, gross!”

Despite their lips never meeting halfway, Pesci tried his best to clean his mouth of any trace of Melone cooties as much as he could. He gulped his drink and swished the fruit punch fervently. As he did that, he overheard behind him the four dopes busting out laughing. “Aww c’mon man, aren’t your sides hurting yet,” Illuso chuckled, smacking Pesci behind the back, luckily Pesci swallowed his drink in time, he dreaded the thought if, God forbid he sprayed it on some poor bystander. “Yeah, just a little fun that we miss having with you,” Formaggio harshly ruffled Pesci’s hair. “Yeah, I guess,” Pesci said, straining his face to avoid looking too embarrassed.

The others were about to continue their charade until the music abruptly stopped, which was replaced with the clomping of high heels that gradually became louder as it approached the room. The whole crowd saw what appeared to be a silhouette emerging from the doorway. The figure was that of a young woman. As she walked toward the center of the room, the team got a better view of her appearance. She was tall, perhaps taller than Risotto, with a willowy physique. Her hair was dark with a small glint of blue from the room. It was tied into a straight ponytail that fell past her back. Both sides of her face had long strands of hair that looped and were fixated between pink, spherical clips. She wore a long-sleeved lilac shirt underneath her more vibrant violet vest. Without any word, her icy blue stare was firmly embedded in the eyes of La Squadra, who silently stared back at her. Pesci felt petrified. She looked so professional and immaculate, yet so daunting. She must’ve been the boss. He could sense the others feeling rather intimidated as well, their mouths agape and their skin became clammy. Was this somebody they could trust, or somebody that could put them through a living hell?

“WOW! SO MANY NEW RECRUITS TODAY! I AM SO EXCI~~~TED!” The woman beamed loudly, clapping her hands together.
 
 
...Well, that wasn’t the response they were expecting. Pesci watched in awe as this cold, professional woman that was staring them down two seconds ago, was now excitedly shaking hands and giving massive hugs to the new workers. The others’ mouths were still split but more so due to the perplexing situation. They couldn’t tell whether this woman was trusting or not. She could’ve been on to them. For all they know, this all could’ve been a facade. Maybe she was trying to butter them up and once they head to the mines she’d show her true colors. The woman caught notice of the dumbstruck bunch again, this time she happily sprang towards them. “Oh. My. Stars! Aren’t you the legendary Sordino Brothers that I’ve had the benefit of hearing about?”

Prosciutto was the first to speak up. “Yes, we are. Girolamo. A pleasure to meet-.” Unexpectedly, the woman yanked Prosciutto’s hand and shook it hard. “Ohhhh yes! Girolamo! I’ve heard so many spectacular things about you! Welcome to the team~!” Once she let go, Prosciutto winced at his crushed hand. Quite a tight grip she had. Next was Formaggio, “And you must be Giorgio! I’ve heard you’re the comedian of the clan! I cannot wait for you to tell me some of those knee-slapping jokes of yours!” Formaggio replied with a sheepish laugh, a drop of sweat beaded down his temple. “Aw well, I wouldn’t consider them THAT funny.” Said Formaggio, acting strangely more humble than usual.

“And you must be Michelangelo? Tell me, were you named after Michelangelo? Like, THE Michelangelo!? Because I absolutely love his work!” Illuso fidgeted where he stood. This girl was giving him the weirdest vibes. However, instead of replying with a snide remark, he uncomfortably rubbed the back of his head with his gloved hand. “Uhh, I don’t think so...”

By the time he said that however, she already turned her attention over to Melone. “And you must be Edmundo. Don’t be shy put it there!” Her arm snapped right in front Melone, he looked at her hand, then cautiously brought his arm out, “Nice to meet you.” Unsurprisingly, his hand was severely squeezed when she grasped it, his arm flopped all over like a wet noodle. “I love that shade of purple, by the way,” she commented, pointing to his long, straight hair that fell past his right shoulder.

“Maybe we can share hair tips some time!”

“Uh, sure...”

She then whipped her head around to see Ghiaccio. “And you must be Giovanni! I am HEAD. OVER. HEELS with that name! Have any pet names? Gio? Gianni? Giogio?” She went to affectionately pinch Ghiaccio’s cheek, just before he rudely pushed her wrist away. “Don’t.” She refrained from doing so, yet didn’t seem at all unsettled by the new associate’s cold response. She resumed her happy-go-lucky disposition, “Aww okay!”

She looked down to see the final and shortest brother. “And how can I forget you? You’re even cuter up in person!” Pesci’s face flushed a deep red, but not out of distress. On the contrary, he began to giggle uncontrollably and twisted his spiky green locks between his fingers. “Hehehe s-stop it! Y-You don’t mean that!”

“Oh Sugar! Of course, I do!” She sounded motherly, tenderly patting the top of his noggin.

“Well thanks!”

“And so polite! I think we got a keeper,” she chirped in a sing-song voice. Suddenly, she paused, looking surprised, she placed her dark-tanned hand to her gaped mouth. “OH! Where are my manners? I’ve been so caught up meeting you all, that I’ve completely forgotten to introduce myself! My name is Ashanti! I am the Front-End Assistant Manager!”

“Front. End?” Pesci asked curiously.

“I look over the front of the store! I help with the cashiers if they need help with a coupon or you’ll see me help out at the Courtesy Desk if we have a long line or I’ll lend a hand counting the money with the bookkeeper. I’m all about helping you guys and our trusted customers! So,” She turned to Formaggio with an ear-to-ear grin. “I can’t wait to work with you, our newest cashier! Any questions or concerns~?”

Formaggio’s eye twitched. “Where’s the little boy’s room?” Ashanti blinked and then giggled. She pointed to the exit. “Down the hall, go down the stairs and it will be right next to the door that leads to the basement.” As he went to walk out, Illuso ran right by him. “Lemme follow you, little brother.” Illuso winked.

The two hitmen paced down the hall with Formaggio taking the lead. It felt longer than they anticipated. “Lemme guess. You don’t actually need to go, do you?” Illuso asked. From the front, Formaggio grumbled. “I just needed to leave that room. I felt like I was getting...”

“Smothered?”

“Thank you!”

Illuso walked to Formaggio’s side, keeping up with the shorter man’s step. “I’m with ya on this one. That Ashanti... she gives me the creeps.” Formaggio’s eyes darted to the side. “Yeah well lucky for you, you don’t have to work with her. I think this was a terrible idea.”

“Well y’know Risotto, he’s not gonna let you leave that easily. Not like you have another job to fall back on.” They began descending the stairs, where they spotted the restroom. “I’m sure he didn’t want us to work here JUST to pay the bills. I’m certain he wanted us to just babysit that lil’ shit.”

“Pesci...?”

“Who else!?” Formaggio snapped. “I’m fond of the lil’ guy, but you were right about him. He’s gotta do things by himself. We may be in different departments, but if Risotto just keeps us bunched together, Pesci’s never going to put on his big boy pants. He’s just going to stay as a fuckin’ mammone for life.” As he finished speaking, Formaggio bumped into someone that was coming up the stairs. He hesitated but turned around to the person, who casually kept ascending the stairway. They were a short, rotund lady. She had a pale white pixie cut. She looked to be in her late 60’s or early 70’s “Hey, sorry ‘bout that...”

The older woman slowly turned towards them, her wrinkles told them that she wasn’t so forgiving. “You should watch where you’re walking.” Her voice was loud and sharp for someone who could be their granny. “And keep it down too, I could hear your ranting from a mile away.” And with that, she walked away. The two bewildered hitmen looked at each other, then headed to the bathroom. After minutes of hanging out there, they headed back to the Orientation Room. “What a bitch,” spoke Formaggio. “Who does that crotchety old hag think she is? Barking orders to someone three times bigger than her. Pssh. Asshole.” Illuso replied with a short hum.

Entering the room, it’s like their stomachs dropped ten miles down below the ground. In the center of the room, right next to Ashanti was the rude old lady they encountered not too long ago. Ashanti held a microphone to her lips. “And here she is! The Lady-of-the-hour, no. LADY-OF-THE-CENTURY! Our beloved Front-End Head Supervisor. JANIS~!”

Formaggio felt as if his eyes had inflated into two bulging balloons and were going to pop out of his sockets. Illuso looked at Formaggio smugly, childishly patting the shorter gangster on the head. “I guess lucky for me... I don’t have to work with her.”

Chapter Text

Ashanti gleefully handed the mic over to the short, serious woman. Janis tapped it and began to speak into it. “I see a lot of faces today. Good, very good. Just what I like to see. Anyways, welcome to our store, ShopSmart Mart...”

Illuso tried to hold back a snicker; emphasis on “tried”. “ShopSmart? Seriously? That’s the name they were going for?” He whispered out loud to Formaggio, who was still in a horrified trance over the fact the woman standing before them was going to be his boss. “Please. A 3-year-old can come up with something far less redundant.” Regardless of Illuso’s scathing commentary, Janis didn’t seem to notice. She proceeded.

“Many of you already know, but as for the rest of you who don’t understand what I’m talking about... Pay attention. Today’s your orientation, yet we expect you to work as soon as possible, just like what Mr. Buggle told you in your interview.” She pointed to Mr. Buggle who was standing towards the back of the room, giving a disinterested wave. “Of course, you might be wondering to yourselves, “Well, what about my training? Shouldn’t I watch some videos before I start...?” Well, I got some news for you... you won’t need such inane activities. In this store, the best training you’ll ever get is by doing it yourself. We can’t afford our new associates wasting time taking notes from a computer, when they can be learning far more just by simply doing their job over and over again...”

“My God, her wrinkles,” Illuso continued to comment, strangely fascinated by Janis’ saggy cheeks as they bounced and jiggled when she talked. Every few words, there was a visible amount of spittle that flew out of her mouth, to the point there was a light coating of saliva on the microphone. “What on earth is keeping this woman together?”

“...I have been working at this store for 35+ years now, practically since it opened. I didn’t have the technology that you modern-day youths take for granted these days...”

“35 years, eh? I had no idea pugs can live for that long.”

“...Didn’t even get a how-to guide. It was just me and my two bare hands and I went right to work. This work ethic has contributed me to become an extremely reliant and skilled member of our store...”

“And don’t forget modest.”

“...Therefore, I don’t want to hear any complaints or excuses, or I will gladly show you the door. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, Admiral,” Illuso gave a mocking salute before elbowing Formaggio in the gut. “Ya taking notes soldier?” Formaggio let out an exasperated groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does it have to be her,” he lamented. “Aww poor Giorgio,” Illuso said mockingly. “It’s like how the saying goes, “You get what you get and you don’t get upset.” “

“...But don’t worry,” Janis carried on. “Fortunately for all of you, you won’t be alone. Our veteran workers in your respective departments will be more than happy to guide you along the way. And with that said, l will conclude my speech.” All, except Ashanti, slowly clapped, some looking at the person beside them in confusion as to what they just witnessed. Ashanti was the only person invested in the speech, clapping with loud enthusiasm, only stopping to push away a tear from her eyelash, “Such passion in her voice. Her words never fail to make me so emotional. This is why I love Orientation Day.”

“Now then, the time has come to bring you to your departments. I will escort all the floor and scanning associates, while Ashanti will take all the Front-End associates. Also,” Janis gestured her finger and out from the crowd, two girls walked towards her. One of the girls was about the same height as Janis, she had wavy brunette hair that fell past her shoulders, and sported a pair of glasses. The other girl was taller, had short, straight blonde hair, and her face was covered with light freckles. They both looked to be around their late teens to early twenties. “This is Shania and Avril, they too will be escorting you to your departments. Shania will take those who’ll be in the Deli, Fish, and Meat Departments. Avril will take those who’ll be in the Produce section and the Bakery.”

Having said that, the huge group of associates was being filed into smaller groups, as well as the Hitman Team. Prosciutto and Ghiaccio went with Janis’ group, followed by Formaggio and Melone going with Ashanti, Illuso with Shania, and leaving only Pesci with Avril. Just as he was exiting the room, Prosciutto felt a tug on his arm, just to find Pesci clinging on to him for dear life. Pesci’s pleading eyes began to tear up.

“Please don’t leave yet Bro! I don’t think I could do this by myself! Maybe this was a bad idea after all.”

Prosciutto brushed off Pesci’s hand. “Quit acting like a toddler. That night, you promised me that you’d work without any help. Keep that promise! Be confident.” Prosciutto walked out the room, leaving Pesci hanging his head in defeat.

“Aw, man. I’m so screwed...”

————————————————————————

“This way, this way. Come along.”

Janis marched in front of her group, while the rest of them walked behind slowly. If they walked even a tad faster they were sure to leave her and her tiny legs in the dust. The store inside felt strangely huge, it seem rather small from the exterior. They strolled through the dozens of colorful aisles jammed with foods and goods galore, from the cereals to the toiletries to lastly, the frozen delights. The aisles themselves were huge, the shelves looked roughly about 7 ft high and 45 ft long. While wide-eyed newbies goggled in awe over the store’s structure, Prosciutto and Ghiaccio could’ve cared less.

“This is where pretty much all of you will be. Consider this your wide open range. The other area you’ll be working half the time is in the back. You will be unpacking and sorting products in their correct places. As for customers,” Janis stopped abruptly, turning her heel to face Prosciutto. “Mr. Girolamo, if I was a customer asking you where the milk was, how would you help me?”

Prosciutto stared back with half-lidded eyes. He understood that she wanted him to know what he was supposed to do, but honestly, for her to loudly call on him out of the whole group. What was this, primary school? Like he was studying for some big test or something? Yet he wasn’t afraid of this loud-mouthed little woman. He figured she was trying to see if she could mess with him on the spot and how he’d react. After a moment's delay, he spoke in his thick accent.

“I’d walk you to the frozen aisle where I’d show you where the milk is. I’d ask if you need help with anything else. If you said no, I’d assure you that if you had any more questions, I’d be around the area. Lastly, I’d thank you for shopping at our store.”

“DING! DING! DING! Someone’s been doing his homework. I’d give you a gold star, but this isn’t preschool.”

“I’m flattered.” Prosciutto replied flatly.

Janis clapped her hands together. “If you see a customer in need of help, DO NOT point them in the general direction. Rather, take them to that location and show them exactly where the product is. Don’t assume that that’s the end though, people. Ask them if they need help finding any other items. Remember, customers, are vital. They’re the blood that circulates through the veins of our store. Without them, we wouldn’t have this place running at all.”

Janis led them away from the frozen aisles into the back. In contrast to the brightly lit store with a shiny white floor, the backroom was dimly lit. Gray walls, gray floor, it reminisced of a coal mine. Workers pushed cart loads of boxes to and from the back. They were sweaty and exhausted. Some of them drove on forklifts and other machinery. Loud beeps and boops echoed throughout the wide, spacious warehouse. The group followed Janis to a corridor that felt like forever walking through it. Not much of a scenic view. Overhead were large shelves, pallets full of boxes upon boxes upon boxes. When they reached the end of the corridor, there was a quaint, little office with a small see-through window.

Janis turned the doorknob and then beckoned all of them to follow. The whole group gingerly tried to fit through the door, with only a few peeking out of the office. What did she expect? About twenty people were trying to fit into a small room. Prosciutto and Ghiaccio pushed their way into the front. There, they saw a man sitting in a swivel chair, his back facing them. They could only tell from the back of him was his long, bushy, light auburn hair that was pulled into a ponytail, with a red bandana covering his scalp. He was shaking something in his fist, too preoccupied to notice the 20-something people standing right behind him. Janis nudged her way to the front of the group before making a sharp throat-clearing noise that caught the guy’s attention.

The man had a beard that was as long as his ponytail. He too, was also long when he stood up from his chair and was as thin as a string bean. His clothes had grease spots and he smelt of rotting pizza mixed with other foul stenches. The man’s face had a big, dopey smile.

“Janiiiiiiiiiiiisss! You wanna see my new globe? Got this baby today,” he said as he shook a miniature snow globe in his hand. “Trying to add more to my collection.”

Janis look displeased, her arms crossed over her chest. “That’s great and all, Kovic. But did you forget? While we were touring the recruits, you were too busy playing with your cheap, little knick-knacks to formally introduce yourself to your new team.” The other manager focused his glasses before giving a pleasantly surprised look at the crowd as if they somehow magically appeared before him.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh. I see now. Welcome one and all to the family. My name’s Hank. You may call me Hank, Hankers, Hank Man, Hanky-Panky-!“

“Get to the point, Kovic.” Janis barked.

“I’m Assistant Manager of the back! So gnarly seeing new faces. You guys remind me of my snow globes. New additions to my family!” Hank extended his arms out and walked to the recruits, firstly to Ghiaccio.

“Welcome to the family, brother!”

Hank gave Ghiaccio a tight embrace. The smells coming from this man were revolting. Ghiaccio went beet red with rage as he felt tears streaming down his cheeks from this man’s noxious odor. He wanted to squeeze the man back, but not lovingly. “This guy is one second away from turning into a frozen statue,” Ghiaccio said to himself. “If you guys need a snack or two, feel free to take some pizza.” Their gazes shifted to a few pizza boxes right on the desks, the top box was wide open. It looked a few days old to the point where flies were buzzing around it. The sight made Ghiaccio nauseous. He looked at Prosciutto with pleading eyes, as if he were telling him, “Don’t just stand there! Help me get this fucker off!” Prosciutto could only do was shrug, in response, Ghiaccio clenched his teeth with pure rage.

Janis faced Prosciutto. “Now then. Now that they reached their department, it’s time for me to take you to yours.”

“Just me?” He asked with a hint of puzzlement in his tone.

She replied coldly. “Uh, yeah just you. You’re the only one that applied for the scanning position, did you not?”

“Do workers tend not to apply for my position,” he asked curiously. With no word, Janis began to walk off with Prosciutto following not far behind, catching up to her side. Walking back down the tediously long corridor, there was zero conversation between the two. Prosciutto was by all means not interested in making small talk. But something weird he noticed in his peripheral vision. She was observing him. He could sense her eyes moving up and down until he’d jerk his head and she would whip her eyes away. She did that a few times.

Eventually, they walked back to the front of the store where the door that led to the same hallway where Buggle’s office and the Orientation Room were in. They passed a couple of offices until they reached the right one. The Scanning Office. The door was already open so they peeked inside. In it was only one person. Odd, Prosciutto figured there would’ve been more workers in there, but whatever. The worker that was in the office was an old, balding man with white, wispy strands of hair falling down his neck. He seemed to be working hard on the tags.

“Frank,” Janis called out. “You have a newcomer.” Frank seemed somewhat annoyed being interrupted from his work. Silently, he went up to the pair. “This is Frank,” Janis stated. “He’s the one in charge of printing and changing the tags. He will be your supervisor. You two get along now.” Janis left the room, leaving Prosciutto with this brooding figure. Nevertheless, Prosciutto lent his hand out.

“A pleasure to meet you, Frank. The name’s Girolamo.”

Frank glowered at the man’s hand. Instead of shaking it, he coldly stared at it for a moment then went back to whatever he was doing. Prosciutto frowned, yet was unperturbed. “You two get along now”. This might’ve been tougher than he expected.

————————————————————————

“I am just soooo excited for today! Are you guys excited!? Because I am SOOOOOOO excited!”

It didn’t take long to reach the Front End since the hallway from the Orientation Room led right to it. So far nothing informative was said, besides Ashanti blabbering on and on about how excited she was. Unlike Janis’ group, Ashanti’s was way smaller, only consisting of Formaggio, Melone, and two other cashiers. Ashanti led the group to the registers.

“Now, can anybody tell me what the registers are for? Come on now, don’t be shy!” Melone quirked an eyebrow. What was this, kindergarten? What a colossally dumb question to ask. It was quite the no-brainer. Melone raised his arm.

“It’s quite simple. A register is used for recording transactions at a point of sale. Not only that, it calculates how much money is going in and out of the till.”

“VERY GOOD, EDMUNDO! YOU’RE SO SMART!” Ashanti clapped her hands with a wide-open smile. Melone cringed. How was this woman so weird to the point it made Melone of all people, uncomfortable?

“You know what you earned?” Ashanti asked jovially.

“A raise?” Formaggio asked sarcastically. Ashanti laughed.

“No, silly!” Ashanti opened her vest pocket, it was a paper full of cutesy-looking stickers. She peeled one off. “Eddy just won himself a free adorable sticker. Just a reminder that he’s a superstar!”

Ashanti inched the sticker that stuck to her finger close to Melone’s face. Melone tried to slowly pull his head away, yet her finger followed. He’d be damned if he was going to be treated like some 5-year-old brat. He started to feel embarrassed. It was worse since it was right in front of everyone, which included Formaggio.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Melone protested. “Anyone with common sense would’ve guessed that right-.”

“BOOP!”

Ashanti had landed her target. Melone crossed his eyes to see that the sticker was stuck to the tip of his nose. It was a fruity-looking character with a big, goofy grin. Melone took a whiff. Grape.

“I looove scented stickers! I figured the grape sticker fitted you so well! ‘Cause y’know, your purple aesthetic!” Ashanti chuckled. Melone felt flustered, even Formaggio was trying to hold back any laughter at his friend’s chagrin. Ashanti led Formaggio and the two recruits to some of the more experienced cashiers. Formaggio was paired with a younger cashier. As Melone went with Ashanti, Formaggio nudged his arm and winked. “Smell ya later, Signor Uva.”

Ashanti and Melone walked passed all the registers and the front desk. There was a door that led behind the counter. Ashanti turned the knob and escorted Melone through it. “So this is where you’ll be!” Ashanti pointed to another door. “This door leads to the Cash Office. We do have another associate who works in Customer Service, so you guys will take turns working the front desk while the other counts the money.” She opened the door to reveal the other associate who was busy putting the money into the tills. “Lesley! I’d like you to meet Eddy, he’ll be working at the Courtesy Desk! I know you’ll take great care of him!” The young man turned over to them, his half-lidded eyes gazed Melone up and down. Melone couldn’t tell if the guy was unimpressed or half-asleep. “Make yourself at home.” Ashanti smiled and then made her way out the door. Lesley pushed back his glasses, and stiffly held out his hand. “A pleasure.” Melone shook it. “Yes. A pleasure to meet you.” After shaking, Lesley tapped his nose. “You got a little uhh…” Upon realization, Melone forgot that the sticker was still on his nose, to which he quickly flicked off.

————————————————————————

Illuso was already becoming “well-acquainted” with his group. He already hated them. He thanked the Lord that most of these associates weren’t in his department, they were mostly working in Meat and Seafood. They were all relatively young compared to him, not to forget severely obnoxious as well. They would talk too loud to each other or constantly walk on the back of his shoes. And Shania was no better. She was a royal bitch. As they got closer to the Deli, she noticed his gloved hand.

“Why are you wearing a glove only on one hand?”

“Pssh. Why do you care..?”

Not saying a word, she attempted to pull it off by the glove’s fingertips, not before Illuso pulled his hand away. “Woah! Woah! Woah! If you’re gonna touch me, take me out to dinner first. But seriously, I don’t appreciate nosy brats feeling me up without my permission.”

Shania’s demeanor changed from curious to catty. “Geez sorry,” she replied, annoyed. “But for your information, you can’t wear something like that here. Take it off before we get to your department.” Illuso didn’t reply, only slipping his gloved hand into his pant pocket, balling it into a fist, except his middle finger.

After Illuso was left with the Deli team, things didn’t get better. He didn’t bother introducing himself, not as it mattered. An older lady approached him and pointed to his head.

“Where’s your hairnet?” She asked brusquely.
“Don’t have one yet.”

“You can’t be working here without one!”

“Okay, is there any laying around I can borrow?” He asked. He was beginning to get aggravated.

“No! You need your own hairnet!”

Illuso heard a couple of the older workers snickering behind him. One geezer even remarked, “Maybe we can cut it all off. Like how I looked when I joined the Army.” He made a snipping gesture towards Illuso’s head.

“Touch my hair and you’re a dead man.” He grumbled through his gritted teeth. After some minutes, they pointed to him a box of freshly new hairnets. So the lousy bitch argued with him over nothing. It took a bit to get all of his hair into the net, his hair was incredibly long and thick and every time he thought he got all of it in, a chunk of hair would peek out from the bottom followed by the net popping off his head. The one lady barked at him to hurry up while the others kept laughing.

Once his hair stayed put, he was ready to start. The training wasn’t that hard at all, the slicer wasn’t that intimidating either. However, it was extremely fast-paced, which Illuso didn’t mind and he quickly adapted to the environment. Over time though, the more yelling and mocking he endured, it was becoming harder for him to focus. Some of the workers kept making comments about his hair, which led to other attributes about him. His height, his “funny accent”, and so on.

Normally, he could laugh it off and shoot back a witty remark and all would’ve been swell. But Risotto thought otherwise. That night when Pesci ran crying out of the dining room, Risotto had a one-on-one talk with Illuso:

“You need to filter what you say.”

“ “Filter what I say..?” Oh Risotto, you’re such a comedian.”

“Listen to me. Your mouth speaks what your brain thinks. You never consider the gravity of your words. If you act up on the job, you’re going to get fired.”

As much as he thought Risotto was being too sensitive about the ordeal, Illuso nevertheless obeyed Risotto’s orders. But it happened to be a lot more frustrating than he imagined. This was going to be his “new” team, for God knows how long. Great.

————————————————————————

“Do you think I’ll be okay? Is it easy to slip up?” Pesci had a thousand questions spilling from his lips ever since he left the room, with Avril’s migraine tensing the more Pesci talked. She tried to keep up with her sweet facade before she could lose it. The bakery was the last stop. There wasn’t a worker in sight. Pesci’s anxiety was going through the roof. What if he had to work by himself? He thought there were going to be people there to help him, just like what Janis mentioned in the speech earlier.

“Uh… is it a good idea to have me here by myself? I don’t know anything about baking. Should I wait somewhere else until someone comes back to train me?”

“You’ll do fine,” Avril said before giving Pesci a harsh nudge from behind. “Have fun!”

Pesci was all alone. Pesci gulped as he walked passed the counter where it seemed to get dimmer. His nose was filled with the scent of dish soap and baked goods. In the back, he saw three tables lined next to each other. To Pesci’s surprise, there was a worker there after all. He was a slightly pudgy, middle-aged man. Had a notably thick push broom mustache. He wore a cap that had the ShopSmart brand on it. Pesci noticed there were three trays in front of the guy. The worker looked up from the trays. Pesci waved awkwardly.

“Uhhh.. hello.”

“Oh hi. Are you my trainee?”

“I, think so?”

The man chuckled. “Well then put it there stranger. My name’s Nick.”

“Dionisio.”

“Dionisio? What a funky name. Sounds like a fancy brand of fine wine. My kinda guy.”

Pesci smiled. Nick pointed to a tray of dough that was molded into what looked to be bagels. “Stay for a while and help with these bagels. Just dip the tops into the sesame seeds. After you’re done, put them on the rack with the others. I’ll put them in the oven later.” Pesci put on a pair of nitrile gloves.

For an hour, Pesci helped with prepping the food. It was surprisingly not that bad. Pesci sighed to himself in relief. He thought maybe he was just overthinking like always. Nick seemed like an okay guy too. Pesci didn’t notice before, underneath the front counter behind the glass window were the cakes, all in different colors and flavors, bedecked with toppings of cream, fruits, and chocolate shreds. They were beautiful.

“You made all those?” Pesci asked in awe, pointing to the cakes.

“Oh yeah. I’ve been doing this for ages, way before you were born I’m sure. It’s always been my passion. I’ve been all over baking for celebrities, like Gianni Versace, President Nixon, I even made a cake for the Queen of England one time.”

“You must be famous,” Pesci said amazed.

“Yeah well, all I can say is it was fun. Maybe not the one time with the Queen. They watched me like a horde of hawks the entire time I made that cake. Too bad I didn’t get a bite of it. At least the Queen thought it was good.”

For the remainder of his shift, Pesci helped Nick with the rest of their tasks. Prepping bagels, decorating cakes, packing pies in plastic containers, and finally cleaning the dishes. Pesci was feeling good. Nothing horrendous happened. Maybe a couple of minor slip-ups, but no damage was done. And Nick was cool about it, he seemed sweet and Pesci was intrigued about his life stories as a baker.

They were almost done for the day. They realized they made an excess of dough, so Nick figured to store the extra dough in the freezer. They stack all the trays on a metal shelf. Nick had a huge plastic bag that he threw over the whole shelf.

“Need any help?” Pesci inquired.

Nick shot him an ominous glare. Pesci was confused. Did he offend him somehow? All he asked was if he needed help. They locked eyes for what felt like an eternity before Nick proudly professed.

“They don’t call me Captain Condom for nothing, ya know!” He declared, laughing harder. Pesci let out an uncomfortable laugh. That wasn’t what he was expecting. At least it was a joke?

————————————————————————

For the most part, Melone thought the training was a breeze. Lesley explained how to ring up items and how to refund transactions. He warned Melone not to forget to ask for the discount card or it was immediate termination. Also to push customers into applying for cards if they didn’t have one. Lesley proceeded with another warning not to let customers share their discount cards with other customers, which too could lead to immediate termination. Lesley warned about other trivial rules. Eating or sleeping on the job? Immediate termination. Leaving your area for a moment? Immediate termination. This register is short of 10 cents? AUTOMATIC TERMINATION.

Melone thought those were a lot of rules to follow but he wasn’t worried. He was good with computers and he figured as long as he was careful with the money and acted polite to the customers, this job was going to be a cakewalk. For the time being, he was ringing up items while Lesley was in the back counting money.

Whenever there wasn’t a customer in sight, Melone would check the sales in the circular. Not because he cared for the customers’ convenience, but because having nothing to do was a bore. He slowly scanned through the circular to see if anything caught his eye. At one point, Lesley left the side door open that led to the registers. Melone turned his vision to see his good ol’ friend Formaggio, who was still being trained by the same cashier. To Melone’s amusement, Formaggio appeared to be struggling a bit. The cashier kept telling him the exact instructions, just for Formaggio to look comically annoyed as he tried his might to complete the instruction.

Melone giggled to himself. “That’s what you get for making fun of your friend. Karma’s a bitch, Formaggio.”

“Did I miss the punchline?” A towering shadow caught Melone’s attention. He focused his eyes to see a hulking man with a shit-eating, smug grin plastered on his chiseled, prickly face. There was a name tag on his chest. Angel. He kept smugly smiling at Melone, his hand resting on the counter, dangerously close to Melone’s hand.

“Can I help you?” Asked a puzzled Melone.

“I don’t know… can you help me?” The man repeated the question.

“That’s what I just asked,” Melone said suspiciously. The man brought up a few items onto the counter.

“Could you ring me up, please?” He asked with a sultry tone.

“Sure.” Melone silently scanned his food, minding his own. The man began to speak.

“It’s just my lunch.” He said as if he was bragging about it. “I would’ve done it easily myself at Self-Checkout. But the line was so long and I needed to clock in...”

That was a lie. Melone knew that for the whole time he was at the desk, the line at the self-checkout machines was barely a squiggle. Most customers were either coming to him or the other cashiers. Surely this guy had other motives besides getting his lunch rung up.

“… But I noticed you had no line and on top of that, you looked so pitifully bored. So hey, it worked out for the both of us, didn’t it?”

“I was pitifully bored and now I’d like to get back to that.” That was what Melone wanted to say, but of course, Melone deemed it foolish to say anything confrontational to the guy four times bigger than him, on the first day on the job nonetheless. He just kept ringing his things as the man kept running his mouth, with Melone replying with a “huh uh” or giving an indifferent nod.

“Alright, you’re all set.”

“I’m Angel, by the way,” Angel said, his voice still sultry. “What’s yours?”

Melone didn’t bother answering this time, he was getting peeved that this weirdo wasn’t leaving him alone. Now he had a line because this guy insisted on talking to him and the customers behind him were getting antsy. He began to help the next customer on the line. What did that guy want from him anyway?

“Okay, I’ll catch ya on the flip-side then… cutie~!”

Cutie…? That made Melone jump from his seat. He wasn’t expecting to hear that. He guessed he got his answer.

————————————————————————

“Dinner’s ready.” Risotto handed each member plate of noodles. He found a few packages of noodles from the store, they were surprisingly cheap. He threw all the packages in one pot. Instead of using the seasonings that came in the packages, he opted for butter since he thought the seasoning was too salty. Once the noodles were boiled, he bathed the noodles in the butter.

“It’s nothing spectacular,” Risotto said indifferently. “But I’m sure all of you can agree that this is better than grits every night.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Formaggio said as he leisurely sipped his drink.

“Especially your cat,” Illuso chimed in. “I speak on behalf of it. You’ve been bringing that shit downstairs for it to eat every night. Poor thing’s gonna have intestinal problems.”

“Yo!” Formaggio piped defensively. “She’s gotta eat something! I’ve tried the brand of cat food that the store has, but she hates it. So I give her whatever’s on my plate. On top of that, she’s not used to fending for herself outside. That asshole downstairs says no pets were allowed. Pshh, he can go sit and spin for all I care.”

“Either way, you’re gonna have to break it to Kitty that buttered noodles are now on the menu.” Illuso smirked.

“Changing the subject,” Risotto began. “How did everyone’s day go?”

“Uhhhh…” That’s all they could utter.

“I’m taking that as a “not good”?”

“Sure thing it was,” complained Ghiaccio loudly. “It was TERRIBLE! That Kovic is a fucking slob and half the time it sounded like he didn’t even know what the hell he was saying. All he wanted to do was get in a circle and sing Kumbaya! And all he likes to talk about is his stupid snow globe collection. He’s a useless manager!”

Risotto quietly nodded. He could understand Ghiaccio’s points. Hank was far from a decent manager and always seemed quite “out of it” all of the time. “Could it be him?” Risotto thought to himself.

“Well,” Prosciutto proceeded. “Turns out I’m the only one in scanning, besides Frank. He doesn’t seem to fancy me at all. I’m not bothered by it though. If that’s just how he is, then whatever.”

“Agreed, don’t let someone like Frank get to you. He’s just an old, downtrodden bag of bones. Keep focusing on your work.” Risotto pondered as he rubbed his chin, “Maybe it’s Frank?” He looked stumped.

“Trust me. You don’t want to work at the Deli. All they did today was laugh at me for existing.”

“Illuso, that’s terrible.”

“Well, if you didn’t want me to “filter” myself, I wouldn’t have cared that much…” Risotto guessed he should’ve seen that one coming. “Could it be one person, or perhaps an entire group?”

“God, the registers are so fuckin’ complicated,” lamented Formaggio. “The brat told me exactly what I was supposed to do, I did it… and I was STILL getting it wrong somehow!”

“I disagree, the registers were pretty easy to navigate,” Melone stated.

“Shut it, Poindexter,” Formaggio barked. “I’m sure your day was positively peachy, wasn’t it?” Melone lazily dragged his fork into his noodles.

“It was… fine.”

“My day was not too bad,” Pesci chimed in happily. “I daresay, it was decent. My manager was kinda cool. His name’s Nick. He said he’s going to teach me how to make cakes when I’m comfortable.”

“Well, I’m glad you found a buddy you can play with your EasyBake Oven now,” jeered Ghiaccio.

“I’m glad at least someone had a good day,” remarked Risotto. “But keep an eye on someone like him, Pesci.” Pesci frowned. “I’m not saying you should hate him or start disobeying him, but don’t let your guard down. Sometimes the nicest people wind up being the worst. Just try to protect yourself.” Pesci didn’t understand what Risotto was saying. First, Risotto’s glad Pesci had a great day, just to tell him Nick shouldn’t be trusted? Why was Risotto acting so strange since the discussion of work was brought up? Pesci tried to change the topic, but he couldn’t think of what to say. His head tilted close to the edge of his bowl. He huffed sadly.

“It stinks that we can’t talk to you at work Risotto.” Pesci sighed.

“What do you mean by that...?”

Pesci twiddled his thumbs. “Well, I mean, Mr. Buggle said I shouldn’t come to you a lot since we’re all “brothers” and that family working together is forbidden and-.”

“Don’t listen to what he says.” Pesci looked at Risotto wide-eyed, bewildered. “All those things he says is a pile of rubbish. Even if that policy was real, Buggle would never follow that rule. No one would. The store’s short-staffed and workers are coming and going like a revolving door. He only said that so he wouldn’t lose face. Pesci, if you ever need anything, never hesitate to come to me. That goes for the rest of you.” Everyone else began to notice Risotto was speaking in a low, hush tone to himself, his face went from stoic to stressed. “…It could be that damn Buggle. Maybe he knows what’s up and is trying to separate my men from me, then when the moment is right…” His face was beading with sweat.

“Hey, hey, snap outta it, Riz!” Formaggio snapped his fingers which brought Risotto back to reality. “You okay man? You’re scaring us…” Everyone peered at Risotto with apprehension, the scene became quiet.

“What’s going on Risotto?” Pesci begged, becoming more scared and restless by the minute, the longer his capo remained silent. “If you’re quiet or you remain hesitant to answer, surely something’s wrong.” Risotto settled, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“My apologies everyone. Though I should confess, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to tell you all, when the time was more appropriate. But since we’re all working together, it’s time that I tell you my secret. Ever since I started working at the store, I could sense something was off. A strange aura that my stand was picking up. Like it was trying to tell me something. I didn’t want to jump to any paranoid conclusion so soon, so I kept it in the back of my head. I scoped around the store, but I had no luck finding anything… until today. The feeling came back and it was stronger than ever. And it was coming from the same room you six were in. The Orientation Room. I can’t tell what, or who exactly it’s coming from, but it’s coming from the grocery store. That I’m certain about. Since you are all acquainted in your departments, and with your coworkers, you’ve already done most of your jobs.”

“Risotto, what are you getting at?” Inquired Prosciutto, he looked calm but his heart was filled with dread.

“I’m saying that we’re all in danger…

…There’s a Stand User among them. And they’re coming after us!”
 
To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

“There’s a Stand User among them! And they’re coming after us!”

The group gasped in disbelief. The air became so chilling, that it was as if they were frozen in their seats. All of them tried to register what they just heard. Yet despite that, it was hard to digest all the disbelief and dread. After recollecting his thoughts, Prosciutto was the first to shake off the initial shock. “Are you positive about this, Risotto?”

“I’m certain of it. I felt it right when I passed the room. It was stronger than ever.”

“You decided to tell us this NOW!?” Ghiaccio asked furiously.

“Yes.” Risotto kept his composure. “As I said, I wasn’t certain what I was sensing was the power of a Stand or not. But today, I felt it while you were in Orientation. The force was so impenetrable, that I can no longer ignore it. I can confidently say at this point on, we have a Stand User on our hands.”

“What are we gonna do now?” Pesci questioned, he was panicky. “We just got here! Does this mean we have to leave!?” Risotto exhaled. Yet again, he was slow to respond. He slowly broke away his eye contact with them.

“I’ve considered it. The possibility of a Stand User on our tails is risky. But so far I was only able to detect one. So at the very moment, running away isn’t going to be an option just yet.”

“Better not!” Formaggio exclaimed. “We’re assassins! We don’t run away from fights!”

Ghiaccio gritted his teeth. “Yeah, we just got here! We’re not gonna let some pathetic little dirt-wipe get in our way!” Risotto didn’t reply to either statement.

“Hey wait. If that’s the case, I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary,” Melone pointed out.

“Yeah me neither,” added Pesci. “Aren’t Stand Users usually drawn to other Stand Users? ‘Cause I didn’t notice anything.”

“Anyone else?” The others shook their heads. Risotto cupped his chin. It had to be anyone. “Where were you all standing?”

“By the punch table,” answered Pesci.

“Hmm. Perhaps they must’ve been by the exit. Can any of you recount who was by the door?”

Ghiaccio protested. “What kinda question is that!? There were dozens of people that came through that door. It could be anyone! The only two that might’ve seemed suspicious were Janis and Ashanti, but with nothing to go by, they’re just as guilty as the rest of the store. If we have a Stand User on our asses, we need to exterminate them quickly as possible!” He pointed to Prosciutto. “I say Prosciutto should use his Grateful Dead to age all those retail rejects into dried-up husks, then we might find the enemy easier.”

“No. That’s too risky,” Risotto replied.

“That’s too risky for you!?” Ghiaccio argued, jumping out of his seat. “No, no, no. RISKY is doing absolutely nothing but walking around with bullseyes on our chests going to every person and saying, “Hit me”!”

“It’s a flawed plan,” Prosciutto spoke calmly, his arms crossed. “Workers come and go throughout the day. Not only that, people don’t work every day, so the Stand User might not be there if I try to summon my Stand. Sure, I could use my Grateful Dead all day if I have to. Not a problem for me. But here’s the thing, it’s a grocery store. It’s different compared to a running train where people are trapped inside. If we’re going to leave a trail, the public can take notice and if the authorities, or worse, the Stand User might find out, we’re as good as dead.” Ghiaccio’s lips curled, showing his gritted snarl. Balling a fist, Ghiaccio opened his trap to get the last word but shifted to Risotto, who was calm but his eyes were pointed daggers. Straining his fist, Ghiaccio ultimately plopped back into his seat.

“Pfft, fine whatever.”

Risotto broke the silence. “… Ghiaccio, you mentioned Kovic before? Did anything seem off about him?”

Ghiaccio let out a snarky laugh. “Kovic? Him!? HA! Anybody but him. The only thing “off” about that guy is his noxious stench. But seriously, he wasn’t at Orientation, he was in the back of the store playing with his toys, so he doesn’t match your description. Besides, I don’t think his three brain cells can tell the difference between an orange and an apple, let alone being a tactical Long-Range Stand User that’s out to get us.”

“Hmm, then I suppose Kovic isn’t the culprit, but then again… can’t be too careful…”

“What about Frank?” Considered Prosciutto. “He wasn’t in the same room as us, but his office was right next to the Orientation Room.”

“Definitely a possibility. We’ll keep him as one of our main suspects.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but to be blunt, Ashanti gave me the creeps,” mentioned Formaggio. “When she came in, she looked directly right at us with this cold stare then BOOM-! She’s all giddy and rainbows and shit. Doesn’t anybody think that’s an itty bit suspicious?”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Risotto concurred. “Her cheery nature could be a facade. But I’ve had interacted with her a couple of times and not once had I felt anything from her. I always concluded she was just an eccentric workaholic who adores her job to the extreme. No matter. We’ll keep an eye on her for sure.”

“And Janis?”

“Same with Janis. I haven’t felt anything from her yet. She may be a mean hag, but she’s like that with everyone she talks to. But I’ll look into her as well.”

Illuso interjected. “Good. ‘Cause I can smell a shifty bitch from a mile away. Her story could be nothing but a ruse. Maybe the whole store knows about the skeletons in her closet, yet everyone stays quiet outta fear of her. She could be hiding it really well, that’s probably why nobody sensed anything but you!”

Risotto gestured his hand forward to silence everyone. “I said I’ll keep an eye on her. We need to keep an open mind. For all we know, it might not even be a manager, it could be a newbie associate. There might not be just one Stand User. There can be multiple Stand Users. If we focus on only one person, we might become blindsided. But I see this as a good thing. There are seven of us. Therefore, if we all keep a lookout for anything out of the ordinary, we can easily weed out the Enemy Stand sooner.”

“Now you’re talkin’!” Formaggio replied eagerly, a blazing motivation coursed through his veins. He excitedly planted his fist into his other hand. “Now that the fun’s begun, I can’t wait to turn that fucker into a grape so we can stomp ‘em ‘til they’re a little red spot on the floor.”

“As if,” snorted Illuso. “On the contrary, you’re good-for-nothing Stand would let the enemy get away.” With a cheeky grin, Formaggio got up into Illuso’s face. “And who are you supposed to be? Risotto’s deputy? If I see the Stand User, I’ll kill them however the fuck I want!”

“Formaggio stop. Leave that part to me…” Risotto spoke in an impassive voice, and Formaggio’s grin diminished. “Your task is to keep guard of your surroundings. If you see the Stand User, tell me. I will take them out quickly. Another thing, when we do assassinate the Stand User, we have to dispose of the body quietly and discreetly. We absolutely cannot leave a trail. If we do, we might be attracting more suspecting Stand Users around the area. That’s also why I’ll be the only one getting rid of the body. Is that clear to everyone?” Without any word, the others compliantly nodded.

“Are you all working tomorrow?” Risotto inquired. Once again, they nodded. “Good, I’ll be there too. We can start our mission then.” He got and took everyone’s half-eaten dinners. He placed all the plates in a pile on the table before speaking. “Another thing, I don’t know how much I need to stress this to you all, but I highly suggest is to start changing your appearances, so you can blend in with the crowd easier.” He looked at Prosciutto. “Prosciutto. Tonight is your turn to help me with the kitchen.” Prosciutto nodded. He got up from his seat and followed Risotto into the kitchen to clean. The rest watched as the two gangsters left the table. Melone spoke up.

“Who wants me to dye their hair tonight? Any takers?”

———————————————————————

Prosciutto made sure everything in the kitchen was clean. The table was wiped off of any grime and the dishes were completely dried by hand; to hell with the old, busted dishwasher. Now that all the chores were finished, Prosciutto decided he needed a smoke break. He escorted himself out of the room, down the stairs, passed the lobby, then finally he was outside. The breeze was cool and crisp, Prosciutto took in a breath of fresh air. It wasn’t too late that night but it was already pitch black. The street was bustling, yet it wasn’t chaotic. If anything, the whole scene felt calming, almost therapeutic.

Out of his pocket, Prosciutto took out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Pall Mall. Full Strength. As he lit the tip, a hand beckoned in his peripheral vision. It was Formaggio. Of all the people who had to ruin his ideal moment, it had to be him.

“Oi, gimme a cig.”

Prosciutto begrudgingly held out the pack of cigarettes. Formaggio plucked a cigarette out of the box and held it in between his lips.

“Lighter.”

Prosciutto made a small audible grunt. What was he? His maid? While he was at it, he might as well wipe his ass too. Without looking at Formaggio, Prosciutto brought the small flame of the lighter to the tip of the cigarette and lit it. Formaggio took a deep inhale and blew a few puffs, the heavy smoke hazed their eyesight. When it subsided, the pair stood there. Neither of them uttered a single word to each other, only admiring the night sky that had been brightened by the street lights.

“Pall Mall?” Formaggio suddenly spoke.

“Yeah. What about it?”

Formaggio shrugged. “Dunno. Thought you were more of a Marlboro kinda guy. Marlboro cigs are way stronger than these.”

“Pall Mall’s cheaper.” Prosciutto said, never breaking his gaze to the sky.

Formaggio shrugged. “Just sayin’, I know I need a good strong one to keep me goin’ through the day.”

“Why are you out here?” Prosciutto inquired, his voice was stern.

Formaggio cocked an eyebrow and in a teasing tone, “What? Can I not? Does my face bother you, Prosciutto?”

“Is it what Risotto said bothering you?”

“Heh. What are you talkin’ about?” He replied.

“You’re pissed because of what Risotto said. That’s why you came outside badgering me for a cig? Well, aren’t I right?” Eyebrows knitted, and Formaggio flicked his cigarette at the ground.

“We were driven away from our own home. We almost died traveling across the Atlantic. We changed our own identities. We went from feared assassins to a couple of lowlifes. Every day is paying the bills, paying the rent, paying the appliances. We finally get some action in this new, boring world… just for Risotto to tell us to stand around and look pretty… Of course I’m pissed… why shouldn’t I be?”

Prosciutto’s eyes narrowed, he plucked the cigarette from his lips and drew out a long exhale of smoke before turning his icy stare to Formaggio. “First off, Risotto never said to “stand around and look pretty”, he told us to keep a lookout for anything suspicious. Don’t put words in his mouth. And FYI, Illuso has a point. Just because we have a mission, that doesn’t mean you can run head first into it. Depending on who we’re dealing with, your Stand might not be suited for the job. But if you fight without a second thought about having a plan, that’s how a mission gets botched. You know that well as much as I…”

“But don’t you see?” Formaggio asked, almost sounding like he was pleading. He took a step closer to Prosciutto. “Isn’t our motto to stand our ground, whether it means losing our lives? And you know that well as much as I. You used to follow that to a T.”

“And I still do. But that doesn’t mean I run foolishly into danger. Unlike you, Risotto has a plan and it is OUR part of the mission to consider his orders.”

“But it’s different. He acts like he’s some helicopter mom to us.” He looked to his feet, kicking a cloud of dust into the air. “It’s like he doesn’t trust us.”

“Maybe you don’t trust Risotto.”

Formaggio whipped his head. “Fuck did you say?”

“I didn’t stutter,” replied Prosciutto sternly. “You heard me well. You don’t trust Risotto.”

“Listen here-!”

“Oh no, you listen. Risotto is our capo for a reason. He knows what he’s doing. If anyone can take out a target with such careful preciseness, it’s him. On the other hand, if it was you, you’d be the one taken out. Like when you almost died fighting off that toy plane.”

With no hesitation, Formaggio lifted Prosciutto by the lapels of his suit. With all of his strength, he pushed Prosciutto into a concrete wall, making the latter hit his back. The two locked eyes, Formaggio’s ferocious glare versus Prosciutto’s cool, collected gaze. Nevertheless, Prosciutto was far from fazed by Formaggio’s rage. “What’s the matter? Getting defensive? Do you think pushing me into a corner is really going to scare me, Formaggio? Or are you just trying to prove to me that I’m right?”

Formaggio glowered at him before grunting in annoyance, dropping Prosciutto from his grasp. Prosciutto picked himself up and nonchalantly patted his suit. “You know, if you ever want to fight me again, bring Ghiaccio next time. It’ll be more interesting. But I won’t go easy on either of you.”

“Up yours! To think it was a good idea to come downstairs to have a smoke. Fuckin’ asshole.” Formaggio stormed back into the building, all the while lamenting under his breath. Prosciutto watched his teammate enter the building with zero sympathy for him. He took another cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

“God bless your soul, Risotto Nero. How patient you are to deal with six handfuls. Some harder to handle than others…”

Prosciutto hung around the front of the building for another hour or so. The temperature was beginning to drop. When he had his fill and no more cigarettes left, he went back inside. He walked up the stairs that led to their apartment room. As he opened the door, he was met with an offputting surprise. “Hey Bro!” Pesci ran up to greet him. Prosciutto looked at him bewildered. There was something off about Pesci’s appearance.

“Pesci, your hair… it’s so… blond.”

“Yeah, bro! Melone is dyeing everyone’s hair! We started right after dinner,” Pesci piped, happily showing off his new doo. “Thought no better color other than my bro’s hair color. And since we’re under the guise of brothers, it makes perfect sense, am I right?”

Prosciutto completely forgot he was outside for some time. Nonetheless, he wasn’t too sure about Pesci’s new look. Prosciutto cleared his throat. “It looks… interesting, Pesci.”

Pesci’s smile completely turned upside down. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised by the sudden look.” He said, running his fingers into his little bro’s damp platinum blond mohawk. “But I’m glad you took Risotto’s words into consideration.” He noticed Formaggio close by, sulking on the couch.

“Unlike some who’d rather do nothing but mope,” Prosciutto spoke, making sure Formaggio heard him loud and clear.

Formaggio sulked further, his eyebrows strained and his shoulders closed in between his head. “Keep talking, or I’ll leave a hole in that pretty, lil’ overbite of yours,” Formaggio murmured.

“Are you thinking of dyeing your hair tonight too, Bro,” Pesci asked innocently, which brought Prosciutto back to his attention.

He hummed. “I should. I didn’t think out which color to choose.”

“Maybe you should color it red,” Ghiaccio interjected. “It’ll look like your hair’s on fire.” Ghiaccio and Formaggio chuckled.

Prosciutto scowled at the gangster, who was kneeled by the television surfing through channels. “Hey, you. I don’t see your hair a different shade.”

Ghiaccio didn’t look up from the TV. “I’ll change something else other than my hair. Melone bought shitty hair dye before we left work and all the colors look gross. Only a moron with no common OR fashion sense would dye their hair piss yellow.” Realizing that insult was directed at him, Pesci’s eyes began to water. He sniffled. But before anybody could give a response, a shriek startled them.

“GAAAHHHHH! MELONE YOU ASS! YOU GOT DYE IN MY EYES! I TOLD YOU I COULD’VE DONE IT MYSELF!” Some of the men rushed to the bathroom. Illuso was bent over, with his face in the running sink. Melone was standing right beside him, with a towel in hand.

“Stop making a fuss, it’s only temporary dye. It’s not like you’re going to go blind. Run your eyes in water for 10 or 15 minutes and you’ll be fine.”

“I would’ve been fine if you had let me done it myself,” Illuso hissed.

“It wouldn’t have looked as good if I didn’t help you,” insisted Melone.

“Help? All you did was the opposite of help! You didn’t even buy the color I wanted! I only wanted black dye.”

“Hmph. Well, I think this color will look better on you.”

The two gangsters continued to argue. They were so focused on fighting, that they didn’t bother to notice their friends standing by the doorframe. The others exchanged bemused glances, then headed back to the living area to watch some television. Tried as they might’ve, the arguing between Illuso and Melone drained the sound coming from the TV. This kept up for another hour until finally… blissful silence. In the bathroom, Illuso was rinsing off the dye residue out of his hair. Melone handed him the towel for Illuso to snatch from him. He dried his hair fervently. Once that was done, he looked into the mirror, his freshly damp locks had a dark, navy blue tinge to it.

“See, what did I tell you?” It looks di molto!”

“…If di molto is codeword for stupid. Then yes. Yes, it is.” Illuso replied in a deadpan manner.

The others peered as Illuso begrudgingly walked into the living area and slumped on the couch. All of them had dumbfounded written on their faces. Formaggio smiled cheekily, much to Illuso’s chagrin. “Say, why so glum, chum? I think this might be a good look for ya.”

“That’s what I was telling him! But he doesn’t believe me,” Melone called out from the bathroom.

“Ya still in there, Melone? Hope you’re not having too much fun in there!” Formaggio shouted back.

“Real funny. I’m doing my hair now and then I have to clean up the bathroom. Unless the two people I generously dyed their hair for them would so eagerly like to help me clean up their messes. That would be greatly appreciated!” Pesci and Illuso reciprocated glances.

“Nope!”

“No thanks!”

“My apologies to get off topic,” Prosciutto interrupted. “But has anyone seen Risotto?”

“He’s on top of the roof,” Melone called out again.

“Why is he on top of the roof?” Prosciutto asked, nonplussed.

“Something about “patrolling” the area. He said don’t check up on him.”

“Oh. I see.” Prosciutto didn’t further question his capo’s actions, rather he took a spot on the couch with his teammates, watching whatever was playing on the TV. Yet despite that, he couldn’t push the little noise in the back of his head. A “bothersome” little noise. The kind of sound that constantly nags you that something isn’t right. But, if Risotto said not to bother him, then it was probably best to let him do whatever he needs to do instead of meddling in his business.

———————————————————————

Risotto seated himself firmly on the edge of the roof, like a gargoyle guarding a sacred structure. Stagnant. His feet were suspended over the edge. Looking down, Risotto could see the street. It was later in the night, had to be around 10 pm, yet it seemed more alive than a few hours before. It was dazzling.

“Focus.” Risotto talked to himself. “You didn’t come up here to distract yourself. You have a Stand User stalking you and your friends. Now isn’t the time to dilly-dally. If you let your guard down, then this time your team will surely be dead.”

Risotto pensively tapped on the concrete. What if this person already knows about them? Maybe they already know where they live? If that’s the case, then maybe Risotto can spot them. But the city is like the ocean; spacious and full of life. Perhaps the enemy is using that to their full advantage to hide. To think things were looking up, just for this creep to waltz into their lives, taking away any solace they felt for once in a long time. It didn’t matter if they were a friend or foe, it didn’t change the fact that they were indeed a Stand User. And if they had any balls to intervene, they would be swiftly ended. “I will find this Stand User, even if it means getting no sleep every night. As long as my men are safe…”
 
To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

7:37 am. Pesci was sound asleep on the sofa. He turned over on his side when the brightness of the television screen woke him up. One eye lazily opened, then the other. He groaned. What time was it? His eyes squinted at the clock. 7:37. 7:38.

“Oh shit!”

He hobbled off the sofa and ran around the apartment to get ready, it was about a 25-minute hike to the store. He barely had time for breakfast, he grabbed an apple from the fruit basket that was placed on the counter. He balanced the fruit in between his teeth and rushed into the bedroom to put on his work outfit. The managers passed around work outfits right before they left work yesterday. It was a purple polo shirt with long sleeves. Not a vibrant violet, more like a desaturated, dull puce. Risotto told them that the store had a specific “aesthetic” that everyone needed to follow and the guidelines for employee apparel were strict. Nothing flashy, nothing vibrant. Just... bland. “Humble” as the managers put it. Pesci thought that rule was a bit of a stretch, but he had more important things to attend to.

He called out, “Bro? Risotto? Where is everyone? Aw man, don’t tell me they left without me! The nerve of those guys!”

Once he got everything together, he ran out the door. Forget about cleaning after himself, he had no time to lose! He rushed down the hall, almost bumping into the hotel owner. “No running ya lil’ brat!” He shouted, shaking his fist. Pesci meant to turn his head to apologize, but he couldn’t waste a millisecond. His shift was going to start at 8. “Why couldn’t anyone have the time to wake me up!? Dammit!”

He made it through the front and rushed down the sidewalk, bumping through any pedestrian that accidentally got in his way. “Excuse me! Sorry! Need to get by! Sorry, sorry!”

“Hey!”

“Watch it, jerk!”

“Hey, idiot! Look where you’re going!”

Pesci was steaming with embarrassment. In the world of the Mafia back in Italy, he already would’ve had 20 hits on him and countless enemies, he thought. The store was located a few blocks away from where they lived, by foot it would take 25 minutes to reach it. Maybe 15 or 20 by running. By the second block, he was almost out of it. He wasn’t that good of a runner, to begin with, his lungs felt like they were collapsing. Every heave was sharp like his lungs were going to snap off from his trachea and fall to the pit of his chest. He wiped his forehead which left a coat of sweat on the palm of his hand. “Aw man, I’m already looking like a mess…” Pesci shook himself back to his main objective: Getting to work on time. “No. I can’t worry about that right now. I need to make it there!” He resumed running.

———————————————————————

7:58. 7:59. He made it to the automatic doors. To his surprise, it was a full house. Lines trailed passed the registers into the aisles. People were practically sandwiched in between each other. Pesci could’ve sworn he saw two ladies arguing about who got in line first. He slowed his pace so he wouldn’t get the attention of anyone. He could only imagine the gut-wrenching embarrassment he would experience if a coworker or customer laid their eyes on him. A hot mess of an employee. As he fast walked to the punch clock, he managed to slick his unkempt hair back and tidied the cuffs of his shirt. He just barely made it on time. Now only he had to do was punch in and-

“WHAAAAA-?” Pesci was mortified. There were about 12 workers lined in front of the punch clock. “THERE’S A LINE!? YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!” The workers on the line looked at him bewildered. “What’s his problem?” One of them murmured. Pesci got on the line, his heart pounded profusely. He felt the sweat dripping off his face again. It didn’t take too long however and Pesci was in front of the punch clock. He inserted his punch card, when he took it out, it stamped the current time. 8:03.

“No…” Pesci sunk his head in defeat. “My second day on the job and I’m already late… I’m such a loser…” Unbeknownst to him, footsteps approached him. “You’re only 3 minutes late. If you were 10 minutes late, they’d write you up. You’ll be fine.”

Pesci sniffled, wiping his nose. He turned to face the voice. “O-Oh really? Thanks-,” Pesci could’ve sworn his mouth dropped to the ground, like in those old cartoons. The familiar voice came from a tall, buff man with a similar-looking polo, to the one he was wearing. He had short, dusty black hair, excluding a few gray strands. What Pesci found most peculiar about the employee was he wore a pair of black specs so dark that they obscured his eyes. It took Pesci a second to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Ri-, I mean uh, Giacomo!?”

Risotto casually pushed his sunglasses up. “Good morning Dionisio.”

“Ehrm, good morning. I didn’t recognize you for a second.” He twiddled his fingers.

“Have you forgotten our conversation last night?” Risotto tapped his sunglasses.

“No, no. I remember. It’s just that… I don’t remember seeing Edmundo dye your hair.”

“That’s because he didn’t. I bought my own hair dye and I did it myself. I did it when you were all asleep.” It showed. It wasn’t godawful, but Risotto really should’ve let Melone do it for him. Besides that, his appearance didn’t look half bad, Risotto indeed accomplished the objective.

“It doesn’t look too bad though. If anything, you look really cool. If you wore a black trench coat, you’d look like Keanu Reeves from The Matrix.” Risotto blinked. “Thank you. Now, let’s get you to your department.” After a moment of sliding around eager customers in the front, they ambled over to the bakery. Pesci eagerly looked up at his capo. However, Risotto was set in one and only one direction, there was no attempt to make eye contact, let alone make conversation. It was like Pesci wasn’t even there. Maybe he was the one being weird? What if he was staring too much? Was he coming off too clingy? Perhaps he was reading too deep into it. Regardless, the silence was beginning to get awkward.

Pesci broke the ice. “Why are there so many customers today? Is there an event going on?”

“Coupons.” Risotto uttered.

“Eh?”

“Every Saturday, the weekly circular gets renewed. Since we’re starting a new week of sales and coupons, people are rushing to the store before we’re sold out.”

“Seems kinda, unnecessary?”

“Oh it is, but it’s nifty if you’re a customer. You get to save a decent amount of money versus paying the full price. We got a circular in the mail not long ago. All of us should take advantage of them. Not to say you should go crazy, but I encourage you to conserve your savings as much as possible.“

“Oh, sure… Hey, Giacomo?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you dye your hair more often?” Pesci questioned innocently. Risotto paused, then he answered.

“I don’t normally dye my hair because… I don’t need to. It wouldn’t be necessary for me to color my hair anything outlandish, then I’d stick out easier. I chose black since it’s a natural hair color, of course. But even then, after less than a day all the dye comes out, then it’s back to square one.”

“Less than a day!?”

“Correct.”

Pesci pondered for an alternative. If Risotto dyed his hair every day, it’ll dry out quicker and turn brittle. “Maybe… go bald?”

Risotto took a minute to let that sink into his head, he tapped his chin. “… No.” He continued. “But it’s times like this where I wish my hair stayed black like it used to be. It would save the trouble.”

“Wait- Your hair used to be black? I thought it was always gray!”

“Yes, almost my entire life I’ve had black hair… But, that was a long time ago.”

“Oh.” Pesci looked at the floor, then back at Risotto. “Was that before you got your-?”

“HEY, YOU TWO!”

Pesci startlingly spun around, whilst Risotto turned his head over his shoulder. It was Janis and she was marching right up to them. The store was filled with noise coming from every direction, yet her stomp was so crisp it could’ve been heard from the other side. Pesci swore that if she had put the tiniest bit more force, Janis would’ve put craters into the floor. Pesci’s stomach ached with dread, he looked at Risotto, who looked completely emotionless. Janis pointed her finger close to their faces, making Pesci flinch slightly.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” She asked accusingly. Pesci tried to speak up, but all he did was sputter gibberish.

“Well, uh, you see, I, and him. He was walking me over-!”

“I don’t wanna hear that nonsense! I’m not paying you two slackers to dilly dally while the rest of us work our butts off! Today is Saturday!” Her voice changed to a mocking timbre. “And do you know what that means? Oh yeah, that’s right! We have new sales today and customers expect us to cater to their every need. Is that clear?” Pesci nodded violently.

“He got lost,” Risotto lied. “He needed help finding his department so I was directing him where to go and he had questions relating to today’s sales. He wasn’t slacking off.”

“Is that so?” Janis began, resting her hands on her hips. “In that case, he’s a big boy. He can figure that out by his lonesome himself. And as for you, Mister,” she directed her scolding at Risotto. “You have a lot of paperwork to take care of and people to interview, yet I only see you wandering the aisles like you own the place! And those sunglasses. Do you think you’re at the beach or something? Take ‘em off! You look like a joke!”

“But I’ve already told you, Janis.” Risotto replied cooly. “I have an eye condition. I have growths on the conjunctiva of my eyes. The doctor calls them pingueculae. They’re not cancerous, thankfully, but they can occur if the eyes come in contact with too much UV light. That’s why my doctor recommended I wear these-.”

“Gimme those!” Janis swiped the glasses off his face. Pesci tensed. He didn’t like this one bit. What was her deal? To his surprise, as she ripped his glasses away, Risotto’s eyes were closed shut. Nice save.

“You think I’m gonna believe that load of tripe you call a sob story? Think again, bub. Buuut, I’ll believe you… if you open your eyes, so I can see them myself.” She said in a mocking tone, dangling his glasses like keys in front of a baby’s face.

“Janis,” Risotto stood his ground, he opened his palm out. “May I please have my glasses back? I would be harming my eyes if I have to open them. I also spoke to Mr. Buggle in regards to my condition. You can consult with him if you don’t believe me.” Janis sighed contemptuously.

“Whatever. Just take them.” As she said that, she brought back the specs right by his hand… just to drop them. She mockingly cupped her hands to her face. “Ohhh whoops, it looks like I dropped them. Oh, so sorry. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt if you took a lil’ peek just to pick ‘em up.” She slid her foot next to the sunglasses. “Or better yet, you might as well waste your whole day trying to find them.” With a flick of her ankle, she swiftly kicked them under an aisle shelf.

Pesci gasped. He was so taken aback by what had happened, that it was like he swallowed his tongue. Janis chuckled, then she scowled at Pesci again. “If I don’t see your ass in your department in 3 minutes, that’s an automatic writeup. Got it?”

“Uh, will do!” Cowered Pesci.

“Then hup, two!” With a huff, Janis vanished into the crowd of customers. Pesci felt a shiver run down his spine, all the while Risotto’s hand still extended, as if he was still waiting for Janis to give his sunglasses back. The sunglasses! Pesci’s attention was directed at Risotto’s glasses that were under the shelf. Pesci rushed towards and frantically felt around for them. “Crap, they must be more than 3 feet under this shelf, I can’t feel anything but dust. Wait-! Hold on-! Ha! Got ‘em!” He hurried over to his friend and fixed the slanted specs back on Risotto’s face.

“Thank you, Dionisio.”

Pesci glanced back where Janis had walked off. “Don’t mention it… You were right about her. She’s a frickin’ bitch! Giacomo, has she always been this mean to you?”

“She’s like that with everyone,” sighed Risotto. “But don’t worry about me. What she says doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“That shouldn’t be the case though,” exclaimed Pesci. “She’s a manager. Shouldn’t it be her responsibility to be a role model, a leader to those around her? She should take some notes from you! She has no excuse to treat anyone like that!”

“Ideally. But don’t waste your energy dwelling on what she said,” Risotto replied with a calm, yet stern voice. He pushed his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “At some point, you just have to grow a thick skin. The more you apply that perspective to your thinking, the easier you’ll let things roll off your back. That’s something you need to learn. Take it from me.”

Pesci went quiet. He felt as though he should’ve been ashamed for speaking up like that. All he wanted was to stick up for his friend. Yet, he couldn’t get a word out of his mouth. He sheepishly rubbed his arm. “I, uh… okay.”

“Ignore people like her, Dionisio. You’ll be a happier, more confident person if you do. Now I need to go.” Pesci sadly watched as Risotto abruptly walked away. He didn’t even say goodbye to him. Pesci didn’t harp on it too long though, as he remembered where he needed to go. He hurried towards the bakery.

When he got there, it was empty. Pesci nervously peeked by the counter. No Nick. No workers. He checked by the cleaning station, then by the freezer. No one. Pesci was all alone. He glanced by the counter, there weren’t any beckoning customers and he noted there were some dirty trays in the sink. “Hmm. I guess I’ll just do the dishes until I get a customer. Maybe it’ll be quiet over here today.” Pesci found a pair of latex gloves, he then got to work using the retractable faucet to hose off the trays. It took a few minutes, but Pesci made sure to do a thorough job to ensure not a single crumb was left on them. Besides, he found it quite satisfying watching pieces of icing and cake-bits rocket off as he squeezed the faucet handle.

“Hello? HELLOOO!?” A voice followed by a disgruntled sigh caught Pesci off from his cleaning. He guessed it was likely an upset customer approaching him to complain about something. He let the dish fall to the bottom of the water and went to investigate. He peeked passed the counter. To his surprise, the voice came from Nick.

“Oh hey Nick,” greeted Pesci. “What’s up?”

“Are you the only one here?” Nick interrogated.

“Erm, yeah. I was doing the-.”

“Then are you waiting for an invitation?” He snapped as he pointed to an empty rack. “Those bagels aren’t gonna package themselves ya know? Get to it. Why do you think I left a list for you!?” A list? Pesci glanced behind him. To his horror, on one of the tables, there was a list of things to do and he was completely unaware of it. Pesci shrunk himself like a scared turtle. But Pesci knew something was weird. This easygoing man whom he just met a day ago took a complete 180 like he was a completely different person. Even if he didn’t notice the list, he would’ve thought Nick would’ve shrugged it off.

“Uhh, do you still want me to finish those dishes in the sink?” Asked Pesci meekly.

“Wait, what? There are dishes in the sink!? Didn’t I tell you to finish them before you left yesterday?” Nick snarled.

“I-I dunno. I did ‘em yesterday b-but when I came in, there were more.” Nick gave an exasperated grunt, rolling his eyes. “Whatever! I’ll do them!” He took a small plastic bag and shoved it at Pesci. “You take care of what I told you to do!”

“Uh, okay!” Pesci didn’t think the task seemed hard. However, Nick just stood there with his arms folded over his chest. It made Pesci feel like he was on the spot, his hands quaked with anxiety. He would toss in about 5 or 6 bagels into each bag and then tie it up, placing it on the rack. Nick would throw criticisms like, “You’re being too cautious. It doesn’t have to look like some art piece from the Louvre!” and “I wouldn’t sell anything THIS sloppy-looking.” After a while, Nick got fed up. “Y’know what? I WILL finish these. You stay in the back and finish those damn dishes.”

Pesci dragged his feet back to the sink. He felt less enthusiastic about doing the dishes now. It wasn’t passed 8:30 and he was already having a crummy day. First, he overslept, then he was yelled at by Janis just to be scolded by Nick, who didn’t seem like the angry type, and he wouldn’t be done until 4 o'clock…

———————————————————————

It was almost noon. Prosciutto had finished printing a batch of tags and was out to bring them to the front. Besides the silent tension between him and Frank, the job was easy, albeit tedious. If some old signs and tags had to be changed, Frank would print them out and let Prosciutto swap the old tags with the new ones.

Prosciutto turned to Frank with the stack of tags in his arms. “Hey. After this batch, I’m gonna take my lunch break.” Frank didn’t acknowledge him, which didn’t come as a surprise to Prosciutto. As he was about to exit, Prosciutto noticed another huge stack of tags next to Frank. “Would you like me to take care of these too?” Prosciutto asked, reaching over to grab the pile. To his astonishment, Frank grabbed his wrist. Tightly. Harshly. “They’re mine.” The old man hissed. Prosciutto didn’t say a word, he pulled his wrist back, glaring back at Frank who resumed his work as if nothing happened. “Be the bigger man,” Prosciutto thought to himself. “It’s not worth getting into a fight.”

“Okay then,” said Prosciutto. He exited the office. It took about half an hour to switch the old tags with the new ones. Once he finished his task, he clocked out for lunch. He went out for a smoke break. As he got to the front, he noticed Pesci crouched on the ground, looking depressed. “What are you doing?” When Pesci noticed Prosciutto he whipped away from him. “Are you having stomach pains? What’s wrong?” When he turned his little brother around, he realized Pesci’s eyes were glassy. Prosciutto let out an annoyed grunt.

“What is it this time?”

“Nothing,” Pesci fibbed.

“Don’t lie to me,” Prosciutto warned. “I know when you’re upset. You squint your eyes when you’re trying not to cry. What happened?”

Pesci frowned, then rubbed his eyes. There was no point in hiding, he was an easy guy to read. Pesci whimpered, then out came the waterworks. He bawled. “Giacomo and I got yelled at by Janis a-a-and Nick was yelling at me throughout the whole day! I-I thought he was cool, Bro! I swear! It’s so weird! Nick seems like a different person today! He-He seems fine when customers are around but he kept getting mad at everything I did! He’s like Jekyll and Hyde! I-I don’t know what went wrong!” Prosciutto was silent. His eyes shifted left to right, right to left. He looked like he was in thought. “Erratic temperament? Acts normal when others are around? Peculiar.”

“Bro…?” Pesci ceased crying. Prosciutto brought Pesci up to his face.

“Listen,” Prosciutto whispered. “Remember our little talk last night? Don’t. Trust. Anyone here. Capiche?”

“What? Do you think Nick is the Stand-?”Prosciutto cupped Pesci’s mouth, he looked around again, then back at Pesci. “I’m not certain,” he replied, still whispering. “But from what you’re telling me, he sounds a little suspicious. Or the big baby didn’t have his morning coffee yet and he’s using you as his personal punching bag. I don’t know. Besides the point, keep an eye on him. Remember this… “Keep your friends close. Your enemies closer”.” Pesci gulped. He didn’t like where this was going.

“Got it, bro…”

“Good. Now I gotta go back inside. My break is almost over.” He went to leave.

“Wait, bro! Before you go, there’s something I forgot to ask you,” urged Pesci.

“Yes, what is it?”

Pesci walked closer to him. Real close to his face. Whatever it was, it seemed urgent, almost intimate. Prosciutto was all ears…

“Girolamo… HOW CAN YOU GUYS LEAVE ME BEHIND TODAY? I WAS ALMOST LATE TO WORK! I WOKE UP AT 7:37! IT WAS A MIRACLE THAT I WAS ABLE TO GET TO WORK ON TIME!”

Prosciutto took a step back. Not only he was surprised by his friend’s sudden frantic outburst, but his ears rung from Pesci yelling too close to them. He immediately took back control of the situation. “Hey, take it easy! No need for you to throw a tantrum in public!” Like a switch, Pesci shrunk in dismay.

“Urgh, sorry bro.”

“Anyways. We didn’t leave you behind. I’m not your alarm clock, but I had the decency to be nice enough to wake you up. But you told me, “Five more minutes, Bro.” So, I trusted you to get yourself ready.” Prosciutto then turn to walk away. As he did, he added, “Oh, and FYI, had you used those “five more minutes” more sparingly, you could’ve used the bus instead of running to work. Just saying.”

Prosciutto had headed back inside. The hour had already flown by, but he guessed that was the case when you’re scolding your scatterbrained friend to not rely on you as his clock. On his way, he noticed Ashanti. She was looking right at him, her arms on her hips, her foot tapping on the floor. Had she been waiting for him? Prosciutto knew right off the bat something happened. He nodded his head at her, “Good day, Ashanti.” He intended to walk past her, but she stepped right in front of him. She was displeased.

“Is something the matter?” He questioned politely, yet suspiciously.

“You tell me.” She gestured for him to follow her. He wasn’t sure why she was mad, but he was about to find out. She led him over to one of the tags on the shelf.

“What’s this?” She asked strictly, pointing to the tag. Prosciutto looked closely at it. Didn’t seem out of the ordinary until realization crept over him. It was… an old tag? He remembered taking this one off specifically. It was for a brand of canned fruit. The old price was 89 cents for a can, but for this week the new price was $1.29. Yet his eyes weren’t playing any tricks, it read 89 cents. He remembered changing this one, but it didn’t seem much of a big deal to make a fuss out of it. Prosciutto lifted himself. “Oh, I see. My apologies. I guess I rushed myself and missed one. It won’t happen again.”

“Missed one?” Ashanti asked, puzzled. “More like you missed the entire store! This wasn’t the only tag you left on and I’ve been getting complaints from customers that the prices are wrong!” She pointed to a couple of other tags. They too had the old tags left on them. Prosciutto felt his stomach churn. Now, something was wrong. He couldn’t imagine those 30 minutes were only a figment of his imagination. He figured foul play was involved.

Ashanti groaned, she cupped her hand on her forehead. “Look, I like you. I think you and your brothers are cool guys. But I don’t tolerate laziness just as much as the next guy.” She clasped her hands in an exaggerated praying motion. “Please, please, please, please, PLEASE, don’t do this again. If this happens a second time, I have no choice but to write you up... I’m just glad Frank brought this up to my attention amidst the confusion and angry complaints.”

Frank? Now everything was starting to make sense. “Perhaps Frank might’ve been behind this mess. The extra stack of tags? They were old tags! He must’ve printed them and then once I left for lunch, he switched them when nobody was looking! That bastard!”

Prosciutto spoke. “Now, hold on a second! I’m confident that I changed these. Perhaps possibly someone might’ve messed around with the tags to pull some sick prank? Maybe we should look through the security footage and see if-!”

“And now you’re pinning blame on others?” Ashanti rubbed her temple. “Look, just… clean up the mess you made. I don’t want to write you up for talking back either.” With a huff, she angrily walked away. Prosciutto put his palm to his face. What more could he have done? He couldn’t fret at that moment, he had to clean up the “mess” that “he” made.

He went back to the Scanning Office. Big surprise, Frank was there. He was printing out more tags. That’s when Prosciutto noted that the stack that Frank had next to him was missing. “Heard you goofed off on the job… too bad.” Frank turned his head just the slightest. He was smirking. Prosciutto eyes widened with rage.

“Guess you’re on your way…”

Oh, it’s on.

———————————————————————

“So, how’s the Back-End?” Melone casually asked Ghiaccio, who was leaning on the courtesy counter, his fingers dancing erratically on the countertop.

“Whaddyu think…?” Ghiaccio grimaced.

“Is it that bad?” He asked while he skimmed through that day’s circular.

“Yes, it’s bad! It’s really, really bad!” He continued to rage. “That asshole Kovic! This morning, I asked him what he wanted me to work on for today!”

“And…?”

“AND!? Instead, he went on a long fuckin’ tangent about how two years ago, his stupid butterfly magnet collection got stolen from him. Like I’d care? Then afterward, the dumbass thought it was smart to sneak behind and surprise hug me. Ever since then, people have been asking me if I rolled in the garbage! ‘Cause I reek!”

Melone sniffed the air around them. He sniffed a bit closer to Ghiaccio. He briefly paused, then went back to reading. “Not much of a difference to me.”

Ghiaccio slammed a fist onto the desk, causing Melone to jump. “This is serious! What’s worse is the workers in the back encourage his behavior! They think it’s funny!”

“On the contrary, knowing you, you take everything too seriously. Kovic may be intellectually stunted and physically putrid, but he’s harmless. It’s not like he’s purposely trying to make your day a living hell. Maybe, you know… take a joke?”

Ghiaccio grunted “Take a joke? TAKE A JOKE? WHERE AM I TAKING THE JOKE? ON A WALK? WHERE’S THE LOGIC IN THAT? MAYBE I DON’T WANT TO TAKE IT ANYWHERE! MAYBE I WANT TO TRAP IT IN A BOX UNTIL IT TAKES ITS LAST GODDAMN BREATH!”

A mousy voice squeaked. “Excuse me? Sorry to bother you guys!”

“WHAT!?” Ghiaccio shouted.

Their attention turned to one of their coworkers. The female coworker flinched at Ghiaccio’s outburst. Melone remembered her as one of the new cashiers that were with them on the tour yesterday. He never got a good look at her face as it was covered with a surgical mask, but she seemed rather young and didn’t look older than a high schooler. In her hand was an open box of surgical masks. Her arm quivered as she brought the box closer to them.

“Here take one. Or two, if you like!” She beckoned them both. Ghiaccio calmed a bit from before as he took one in his hand, observing it closely.

“What are these for?” Ghiaccio asked. He then looked at the girl suspiciously. “Are you sick or somethin’?”

“Oh no, no, no. Not at all.” The girl cashier defensively waved her hands in front of her. She seemed red with discomfiture. Gripping her ponytail, she tried to compose herself. “Sorry if I made it seem like that. You don’t have to take one. Please. Actually… Janis made me do this. She said something about a month ago chemicals and debris had been circulating all over the city and breathing it all in would be harmful. I’ve just been asking around if anybody would like to take one.”

The two men looked at each other and then back at the girl. “O-kay?”

“No seriously. Look.” She pointed to a few other workers walking by, a few of them with their faces covered. “As I said, you don’t have to take one. But it’s at your own risk… and Janis will yell at me too. BUT that’s beside the point. I just don’t want to see anyone get sick, that’s all…”

The men stared at the box for another second. “Well,” Melone said to Ghiaccio. “You are always going on about breathing in the mold at our apartment. It wouldn’t hurt, I suppose…?”

“Bah, I guess you’re right.”

“Also,” she added in a genuine, cheerful voice. “Since everyone’s saying you smell like garbage, maybe it can help mask the smell for you!”

Ghiaccio jerked his head. “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” He balled his fists. “Eep!” Her face turned paper white and realizing what she said, she fearfully took off.

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

“That’s right, you better run! Or I’ll throw you in the trash!”

Melone sighed. “See, what did I tell you? Even the smallest provocation gets you mad. Going back to our discussion, I’m not saying you should be friends with Kovic, all I’m saying is you shouldn’t let such trivial things get to you.”

“Then if you’re so unbothered by his antics, why don’t you work with him and I’ll take your place here?” Melone chuckled at the proposition. Ghiaccio cocked a brow.

“You would hate it up here just as much as the back. One key attribute you need in customer service is the patience of a saint. You have to help customers nonstop. I had this old man earlier call me every known synonym for “stupid” all because he insisted his produce was on sale until I showed him that he was looking at last week’s circular. Unlike you, I stay calm and explain to them why they’re wrong. You solve your problems by bashing their heads in. What can I say? Patience is just something you lack, hehehe.” Ghiaccio grabbed Melone by the sleeves and shook him. “LISTEN HERE, SHITHEAD! DON’T YOU EVER UNDERESTIMATE ME! IF WE WERE HOME, I’D PUNCH YOU ‘TIL YOU TURN PRETTY! GOT THAT? GOT THAAAAAAAT?”

“Hey now. That’s no way to speak to a lady.” A voice breathed right into Ghiaccio’s ear.

“Huh?”

Melone’s skin pricked. It was Angel. Ghiaccio turned his head. Who was this hulking gorilla and what did he say? “What did you just call- Hey!” Ghiaccio asked before being abruptly shoved off from Melone. When there was a distance between them, Angel approached Melone. “Are you okay, darling? Did he hurt you? Show me where it hurts.” Before Melone could protest, Angel pulled him over the counter.

“Aww, you poor thing,” Angel cooed as he massaged the spots where Ghiaccio had gripped his hands around. Melone caught sight of this tiny-brained ape’s eyes zigzagging up and down. Was he checking him out? Angel lovingly caressed Melone’s hair. “Did you color your hair? I thought you looked good in purple, but you’re even cuter in pink.” Both assassins were dumbfounded as they were stupefied by the situation. Ghiaccio confusedly looked at Melone as if Melone knew more about what was unfolding before them. In response, Melone could only do was awkwardly shrug. “Let me take care of him for you, ‘kay?”

“But-.” Melone protested just to be shushed by Angel.

“Don’t worry, I got this.”

Angel whipped his head at Ghiaccio. “What’s your deal, dick? Manhandling a lady like that? If you’d squeezed her any harder, she could’ve shattered into a million pieces. I don’t stand for assholes harassing young ladies like that. If I catch you touching her that way again, well, see what happens.” Angel finished his speech by giving Ghiaccio a sharp poke in the ribcage.

Ghiaccio clutched his chest. “Heh. Heheh. Hahahahahaha.”

“You think this is funny!?” cried Angel, becoming increasingly angrier.

“Hehehe.” Ghiaccio wiped his eye. “Man! You are a dunce! Don’t waste your time getting your, how you Americans put it, “jockstrap in a twist”. I get what that means, I guess. You’re overly pissed. But what for? THAT specimen there?” He pointed at Melone, who seemed to take slight offense to that comment. “Wow! I should be kicking your ass for making me say something so brainless. But I’m more entertained by the thought of you thinking that there is a woman you’re holding. Hmph. Dream on. Hahahahahahaha! See Edmundo, I can take a joke!”

Puzzled, Angel turned to face Melone. He eyed the man up and down; registering all the details, before making an astonishing discovery. His eyes bulged from his sockets. He was mortified.

“You’re… YOU’RE A DUDE!?!?” Angel screamed.

“Of course I am! Did you honestly think I was a woman!?” Melone exclaimed, visibly annoyed.

“It’s just-!”

“Just what?” Melone asked impatiently.

“Yeah, Romeo! Care to explain?” Ghiaccio interjected.

“Just, look at you. You’re-, you’re-! Gahhh!”Angel covered his eyes in shame as if he walked into an occupied toilet stall.

“What? Ya got some problem with him having a dick, you fuckin’ pig!?”

———————————————————————

It was 4 pm. It was time to punch out. Ghiaccio and Melone had just finished clocking out and headed for the exit.

“Thanks for standing up for me back there.” Said Melone.

Ghiaccio chuckled in a dismissive tone. “Yeah, well. It’s not like I insulted him out of the goodness of my own heart. I’d insult you too if I had the chance.”

“Right… And it’s not “jockstrap in a twist” by the way,” corrected Melone. “Indeed, Americans usually refer to it as “panties in a twist” or “panties in a bunch”. Just thought I’d help you expand your vocabulary of idioms.”

Ghiaccio began to get aggressive again. “Yeah, yeah. So fricken’ what? Jockstrap? Panties? Knickers? Thong? They’re all the same thing! They’re underwear! And what’s the difference whether it’s in a twist or a bunch? IT’S THE SAME THING! IT FEELS UNCOMFORTABLE!”

Melone chuckled like none of it bothered him. “Okay, okay, just calm down. You shouting underwear in public is not a smart idea if someone takes it out of context.”

“IT’S YOUR FAULT! YOU’RE THE ONE THAT FELT COCKY ENOUGH TO CORRECT ME ON IT!”

“Then we’ll settle that you’re right and I’m wrong,” Melone replied rather smugly. “… Just whatever floats your boat.”

“Asshole!” Ghiaccio would’ve plunged onto Melone for saying something so daring. That’s when heard that familiar whimper he grew to resent.

“Guyyys… wait up. Bro isn’t done with work yet and I don’t want to walk by myself.” Pesci slowly trailed behind the two hitmen. He felt defeated. He was holding back crying but snot was dripping down his face. Begrudgingly, Ghiaccio made room for Pesci to wiggle through. They saw that Pesci seemed down in the dumps, in contrast to the previous day.

“What’s wrong?” Melone asked coldly.

“Yeah, what is it this time?” Ghiaccio rolled his eyes.

Pesci sniffled. “Just, having a rough day today. Nick was yelling at me for every small thing I did.”

“So I guess you guys aren’t friends anymore? Want me to call off the play date?” Ghiaccio taunted. Why did Ghiaccio have to be so mean all the time? Pesci questioned himself. As they were stepping past the doors, a voice called out.

“Dionisio!”

Pesci turned to see Nick waving for his attention. He was by the door that would lead to the offices. He hesitated, looking back at the other two as if he was expecting them to say something.

“Hurry!” Ghiaccio motioned Pesci to make it quick.

Melone called out. “Don’t take too long or we’ll leave you behind.”

Pesci groaned. To think he was done for the day? What did he do wrong this time? Pesci slumped across the Front End registers to get to Nick. When he got to Nick, he looked at his face. No furrowed brows or disapproving frown. On the contrary, Nick looked rather sad. “I’m sorry if I was hard on you today. I don’t want you to feel down or anything. You are a real good worker. I just want you to improve every day.”

“Uhh yeah.” Pesci wasn’t sure what to think. Was this supposed to make him feel better?

“And I must confess,” said Nick, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I forgot to have my morning coffee.” He pointed at himself. “So this big baby here was cranky all day.”

“I understand,” Pesci replied. He guessed he can forgive Nick then. It turned out to be quite hectic where he was. He could imagine not being in a great mood if he had no energy on top of the stress of work.

“Maybe I should walk around with a bib and diaper from now on. Add in a pacifier to shut me up too,” Nick joked. Pesci cringed at the thought of a middle-aged man wearing such infantile clothing. But being polite, Pesci forced a laugh.

Nick smiled and pointed. “Heyyyy! There’s a smile! That’s what I wanna see!” He gave a hearty laugh. He patted Pesci’s shoulder. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye now, Dion. Can I call you Dion? It reminds me of my all-time favorite singer.”

Pesci nodded. “Oh yeah! You mean Dion DiMucci? Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. He’s from Dion and the Belmonts. I like their music too.”

“Ah, you’re an old soul. I like that! I guess we’re like two peas in a pod. Listen, Dion. Have an awesome day! Keep your chin up and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Yeah, you as well.” Pesci gave Nick a warm smile and waved goodbye. He headed back to his two friends, who were waiting by the door.

“So what happened?” Melone inquired.

“He said sorry. So I guess we’re good.”

“So you guys kissed it out?” Ghiaccio asked teasingly.

“Should we arrange the marriage ceremony?” Added Melone, he had a sly grin.

“YOU GUYS ARE SOO WEIRD!” Pesci blushed embarrassingly.

———————————————————————

“I’m home.”

Risotto turned the doorknob open. He was relieved to see everyone was present in the living room. It wasn’t until he discerned that there was a wide range of mixed feelings in the room. They were all lounging together. Prosciutto was fixing the TV while Pesci and Formaggio were sprawled on the carpet floor. Formaggio had his arms crossed over his head with a prideful grin on his face. Someone must’ve had a good day? Pesci was fidgeting his hands together, he looked preoccupied picking the bits of dust out of the carpet.

Then on the couch, there were Ghiaccio, Melone, and Illuso. Ghiaccio was curled up in a fetal position, grumbling to himself as he was reading a book. Upon a closer look, it was the dictionary that Risotto gave them a while ago. Illuso’s arms were crossed over his chest, he was focused on the television screen, and he had noticeable scowl. Melone was by the arm of the couch, his head was facing away from Risotto. He seemed in thought. It was hard to tell what he was thinking.

“Could someone give me a hand?” Risotto spoke loudly, interrupting the scene. Six heads simultaneously turned to him. Risotto had a huge bag in one arm. Formaggio tilted his head at the couch.

“Illuso?” He spoke with a conceited smile. “Why don’t you give Risotto a HAND, will ya?”

Illuso looked down at Formaggio, annoyed. “You do it. You’re not doing anything.”

“I got it.” Prosciutto paused fixing the TV to help his capo. When he took the bag, an aroma of garlic and soy sauce filled his nose. Soon it filled the whole room.

“Is this dinner?” Prosciutto asked. Risotto gave a small nod.

“Oooh, what is it?” Illuso beamed.

“A treat.” Risotto replied. “I saved some money so we can have takeout tonight. I figured we live close to so many restaurants we could try something new. I found this joint when I was wandering around Chinatown and the food looked promising, so that’s where I bought tonight’s dinner.”

The other members crawled over to the huge paper bag, taking out box after box, then they headed to the table. Opening the boxes, they found rice of varying shades ranging from brown to white. Within the bag were smaller bags. Thin, paper white bags with a red ribbon wrapped neatly around the opening of the bags. In these packages were spring rolls that were greasy to the touch and cheesy crab rangoons that were stuffed to the brim with filling. In the bigger containers, the entrees; beef, chicken, duck, noodles, and seafood, all drenched in soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil, seasoned and garnished with scallions, sesame seeds, and water chestnuts; to just name a few. All for the cost of $30. For any typical American family, the meal wasn’t anything to write home about, but for the Hitmen Team, it was a blessing from God. Way better than grits or lightly buttered noodles any day… Well, at least for most of them.

“Again with the greasy foods,” lamented Ghiaccio as a slimy noodle slipped through the crevices of his fork. “Do American people really eat like shit?”

“Why don’t you stop pissing yourself and eat like a normal person?” Illuso retorted snippily.

Taking his comment with A LOT of salt, Ghiaccio slapped his hand on the table. “I’M NOT PISSING MYSELF!” He declared, then reluctantly went back to chowing on his lo mein.

“Mm! This is really good Risotto.” Pesci beamed, before taking in a whole steamed dumpling in one gulp. “We should go there more often.”

“Now, now,” Prosciutto said, occupied getting the last piece of rice out of the box. “As much as I agree with your statement Pesci, getting takeout every so often will not only be the death of our wallets but our waistlines too. That’s why Risotto called it a “treat”.” Pesci chuckled, amused by Prosciutto’s response.

For the next hour, they swapped containers, getting every last morsel out of every container. As they dined, they noticed that Formaggio hadn’t eaten a single crumb of food since they started dinner. The guy usually had a decent appetite and didn’t seem to be in a bad mood. No, not at all.

“What’s the matter? You’re not hungry?” Prosciutto inquired.

“Nah. I’m pretty stuffed. For once.” Smirking, Formaggio casually pushed his plate away from him.

Prosciutto scowled at his friend. “Risotto went out of his way to buy us something we don’t normally get, just for you to spoil your appetite?”

Formaggio nonchalantly shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting to. Janis and Ashanti treated me.”

“Janis and Ashanti? Are we thinking of the same people?” Ghiaccio asked in disbelief. “You mean to tell me those two witches treated YOU, of all idiots, to lunch?”

“Yep! And it was worth it!” He confidently declared, leisurely rubbing his full belly. “Y’know at first I thought this job was really stupid, but I guess I’m pretty awesome at it. I just did my usual schtick, I struck up conversations, and cracked a couple of jokes. Customers think I’m funny. What can I say? And then out of nowhere, those two came up to me.”

———————————————————————

In his flashback, Formaggio had just finished ringing up a customer. He must’ve said a funny joke or story because the customer was all smiles and waving goodbye. Right after that, Janis and Ashanti walked right up to him. They too were all smiles.

“Giorgio! I knew you were an outgoing guy, but you’re a natural social butterfly!” Ashanti beamed.

“Really? Aw shucks, thanks.” Formaggio forced a smile.

“No really, we mean it!” Janis replied joyfully, her wrinkly cheeks pulled like stage curtains to reveal her pearly white dentures. “A hardworking, diligent worker is something we always appreciate. You can’t find people with that kind of work ethic anywhere these days!”

“Is that so?” Formaggio questioned.

Janis proceeded. “Of course! Workers these days are just so lazy. They insist on wanting the shortest possible shifts yet they demand their pay to be raised to the highest degree. Unfair, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, I can agree with that.” Formaggio nodded.

“But I’m not concerned about you. You proved that you’re a great worker. Keep it up and you will be going places. I’ll even throw in a few more shifts for ya. Money is money, right?”

“Wait, for real? Thanks!” Formaggio piped happily.

“Of course, dear. If you keep this up ‘til the end of the week you’ll be “Cashier of the “Month”!” Janis proclaimed.

“Already? Neat!”

“I think this calls for a celebration!” Ashanti announced with a sing-song chirp. “How about this? For lunch, Janis and I will buy a whole pizza pie! Just for you! Our treat!”

“And how can I say no to an offer like that?”

“Excellent!” Ashanti clapped her hands together. “You can shut your light and follow us to the back. And we have a TV in the back so you can watch while you eat! Just keep it PG, ‘kay?” To Formaggio, this was like a dream come true. Through the trials and tribulations he endured, he was finally being rewarded properly. He followed right behind them before stopping.

“Hey, Janis!” Janis stopped and turned around. “Sorry for bumping into you yesterday. No hard feelings, right?”

With no word, Janis stared him down. She had quite an intimidating expression. Formaggio gulped. He should’ve kept his big mouth shut. “Water under the bridge, they say! No harm done!” Janis cheerfully replied, before turning her heel and proceeding to walk.

———————————————————————

Outside of his flashback, the team looked completely baffled. “Wait-,” Illuso interrupted.

“What?”

“ …You had pizza? And you didn’t bother sharing any with us?” Illuso sounded offended.

“Are you “Cashier of the Month”?” Formaggio rudely asked.

“No.”

“That’s what I thought, peasant.” Formaggio smugly grinned.

“How are you already “Cashier of the Month?” You’ve only been working there for two days.” Prosciutto asked suspiciously.

“I guess I’m just that great.” Formaggio bragged, shrugging.

“A slice of pizza would’ve been nice… than a face full of boloney.” Illuso trailed off the last part. Their attention shifted to Illuso.

“What happened?” Risotto asked sternly.

———————————————————————

“Hey, you. Can you help that customer? They want a sample!” The older lady barked at Illuso. Illuso shrugged. He went over to the counter. It was a woman with her young daughter.

“Good morning, madam. How can I help you today?” Illuso asked in a disinterested voice.

“Yes hi.” The woman pointed to the display case. “Can I get a sample ooooooffffff… the 33% Lower Sodium Bologna? Thinly sliced?” Without batting an eye, Illuso took the hunk of meat out of the display case and lifted it onto the slicer. As he was about to slice a piece, the woman shrieked, startling him.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?”

Illuso looked at the lady genuinely confused. “Getting you a sample?” He responded in a bewildered tone. “NO! I MEAN THAT!” She pointed to his hand. It was the hand with the velvety glove, which was covered with a bigger, plastic glove.

“WHY ARE YOU SERVING ME AND MY DAUGHTER FOOD WITH THAT THING ON YOUR HAND!? WE DON’T KNOW WHERE THAT’S BEEN! THAT’S DISGUSTING!”

“Okay, ma’am. You seriously need to calm down.” Illuso said bluntly. “You can voice your complaints without making me go deaf.” The woman was turning red while her daughter looked at his hand curiously. Seeing this, Illuso extended his hand over the counter to the little tyke, the toddler grabbing his digits with her tiny hands.

“See? Your kid is more polite than you are. Here kiddo, go ahead. My hand doesn’t bite.” The daughter grabbed the piece of cold cut from him until-

WHOOSH!

Illuso pulled his hand away from the girl. He crouched backward and let out a strangled cry. The girl looked to see that not only was she holding the piece of baloney, but Illuso’s plastic and velvet glove too. Out from Illuso, he pulled his hand out, revealing a solid iron hand.

“GAHHHHH! YOU MONSTER! YOU PULLED THE SKIN RIGHT OFF MY HAND! HOW COULD YOU? AHHHHHHH!” The daughter bursted into wailing. Illuso then cackled at his sick joke, just for the lady to grab the gloves and bologna that was dropped on the floor.

“ASSHOLE!” She threw them right in his face.

———————————————————————

Formaggio was pounding a fist on the table, he swore he almost couldn’t breathe from all the laughing. “Wow, man. That’s sick even coming from you!” He continued to laugh.

Risotto shot daggers at Illuso. “I told you to not start any trouble.”

“Whatever Riz. That lady started it.” Illuso sounded uncaring, prompting his leg over his knee. “I was only trying to help her, but she just had to make a big stink about my hand.”

“Admittedly, you deserved all of what came to you.” Prosciutto glowered.

“Yeah,” agreed Melone.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Illuso said coldly, waving haughtily. “You babies can go cry me a river.”

“Uh oh. Better be careful calling Melone a baby or his boyfriend will come beating at our door.” Ghiaccio heckled, poking Melone as he said that, with Melone having an unamused look on his face.

“Boyfriend?” Risotto asked perplexed.

“It’s… nothing.” Melone replied flatly, trying to resume eating.

“Seriously? Did he upset you that much?”
Ghiaccio asked. Melone ignored him, eating the remaining tofu crumbs on his plate. Ghiaccio was in shock. “Wow! You are creeped out by him! That’s not like you, Melone! Typically, you’re the one doing all the creeping!”

“What are you two going on about?” Prosciutto asked, sounding slightly irked.

“I’m surprised no one knows about it but me. There was this guy who thought Melone was a girl and was putting the moves on him…” The others heard about Melone’s “little situation”. Ghiaccio kept going on and on, Formaggio and Illuso held back snickering while Risotto, Prosciutto, and Pesci looked at Melone, who was lowering his face to cover his growing embarrassment. “You should’ve seen the guy’s face when I told him the love of his life had a dick! Fuckin’ dumbass! What was his name again? An-? Ang-? Angel? Angel! That’s his name! Then he tried to fight me! What a fuckin’ dipstick!”

“Wait, Angel?” Pesci questioned. “Oh! I know him. He’s the other bakery manager, besides Nick. I thought he was nice. He was trying to give me tickets to a concert, but I declined. He wasn’t weird around me.”

“Well you’re not much of a hot girl, that’s why Pesci.” Formaggio teased. “Neither is Melone, but perhaps the guy has low standards.”

“Melone, is this true?” Prosciutto asked seriously, with a faint trace of worry in his voice. “Is this guy honestly harassing you?”

“Who cares?” Ghiaccio replied to Prosciutto. “Melone will be fine. If it really bothered him, he can just creep out the guy back. That’s what Melone’s good at, remember?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Risotto boomed. “I don’t want any of my men getting harassed.” He turned to Melone. “Melone. If this guy is bothering you, don’t be afraid to tell me. I will speak to him myself.”

Melone let out a scornful laugh. “I told you guys I’m fine. I don’t see why all of you are making such a big deal out of nothing. Now he knows I’m a guy so he’ll avoid me from now on.”

“Why are you getting sensitive about it then-?”Illuso prodded.

“I’m not being sensitive!”

Illuso defensively brought his hands up and rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

Melone exhaled, composing himself. “Trust me. He’s not bothering me. The whole situation just caught me off guard, okay? And today was long and stressful. I’m gonna go shower now.” Melone took his plate, dropped it in the sink, and closed the bathroom door. Everyone sat there in awkward silence. Some were fiddling with their utensils. Slowly, one by one, the others too left the table, cleaning off their dishes and going back to the living room.

Later in the night, Prosciutto was trying his best to sleep, yet Pesci was tossing about on his side, occasionally bumping into Prosciutto’s back. Finally, he had enough. “Pesci.” Prosciutto snapped in a hushed voice, so he wouldn’t wake anyone else.Pesci spun over to Prosciutto. “Pesci, can you quit rustling in your sleep? It’s making me stay up and I have to go in early tomorrow.”

“Sorry, bro…” Pesci whispered. “I can’t sleep either.”

“Why? ‘Cause of Nick?” Prosciutto asked, slightly agitated.

“No… It’s ‘cause of Melone.”

Prosciutto rubbed his eyes. “What did he say to you this time?”

“Nothing… Bro, what do you think of Melone?” Pesci asked.

“Why are you asking me at a time like this?”

“Just tell me and I’ll leave you alone.” Pesci insisted.

Prosciutto grunted. “What do you think of him?”

“Well, he’s weird. He creeps me out sometimes. I don’t like his Stand. But he’s not as mean as Illuso or Ghiaccio. And Risotto says we’re all part of one family. But it looked like nobody felt bad for Melone during dinner.”

“There you go, you just answered your question.” Said Prosciutto, looking up at the ceiling.

Pesci joined looking up at the ceiling. He had difficulty responding to Prosciutto’s last remark. “I just thought. Knowing you. Maybe you had a more mature opinion about him, than the others, at least.”

“I don’t know what you mean by “mature” in this context, Pesci. I can’t blame the others for how they feel about him. I can tell you this though. He’s come a long way ever since we’ve met him. Before you met him, he was just… a husk. Empty. No feeling at all. Like some otherworldly being that looks human, but wasn’t. I think Risotto liked that about him. For an assassin, at least. Doesn’t get caught up in his own emotions. Just gets the job done. As the years went by and we got to know him more, he began to open up. Or perhaps, he “acted” like he was opening up… But his Stand… A Stand is a manifestation of one’s psyche. It goes to show how twisted of a man Melone truly is. The workings of Babyface are unique as they are terrifying. The lack of empathy it holds for human life is quite impressive. But that goes back to Melone. No matter how much he’s come along. No matter how much he’s improved. No matter how much he masks his true feelings over the artificial ones he displays in front of us. As long as he is part of this family… he will never be fully integrated into it. We will never truly accept him for who he is…”

———————————————————————

It was roughly midnight. It would be closing time for the store. The skeleton crew was being escorted out to the front doors. All but two people were left in the store alone. Janis and Ashanti. They were lounging in Janis’ Office. Janis was pouring two glasses of water. One for her, the other for her assistant. Ashanti sat in one of the chairs, too preoccupied looking at her manicure.

“Ashanti, you can go home now. You don’t have to come in until Monday,” Janis said, handing her a glass.

“Don’t be silly, silly!” Ashanti replied playfully, waving a hand up and down. “You know I’ll swing by tomorrow anyway!”

“…Right.”

“So, how is that new “recruit”?”

“You mean Giacomo?”

“Duh! Who else?”

“ … An absolute handful. A wart. A useless boulder.”

“Oh really? Do tell!” Ashanti insisted as she sipped her water.

Janis clenched her teeth just at the thought of that man. “Seriously. I have to tell him all the time to get back to his job, but he wanders around the aisles. He’s an absolute slacker! A menace! If there’s anyone that will be the death of the store, it’s him!”

“Uh-huh! Uh-huh,” Ashanti nodded.

“And his brothers! Gahh his brothers! I can’t comprehend why my idiot husband insists on Buggle hiring all these- these greasers! These absolute buffoons! Sure it’s to boost his public image! That’s all he wants! But next thing you’ll know, the store is going to be overrun by foreigners who don’t even speak a lick of English!

“Yes, yes. Of course!”

“I have to keep an eye on some of them. That Michelangelo. He made a whole scene at the Deli today! We don’t need an angry mother and a traumatized child on our asses! And Giovanni. The blue-haired one! I told him countless times along with Pinky that they can’t keep their hair colored like that. It violates the rules! And they laugh at me like what I tell them doesn’t matter! Gahhh it pisses me off so much!”

“No, no, no! Don’t let them get to you, sweetie!” Ashanti cooed, giving her superior a tight hug. “You know I’ll whip them into shape if you need me to! I’ll do it!”

“Yes… It’s not worth it. They’re a bunch of freaks.” Janis calmed down, but something crossed her mind. “Y’know what’s odd?”

“What is it, dearie?” Asked Ashanti.

Janis mused. “They say they’re all brothers, yet, they don’t look alike at all. Sure, they could be half-brothers? Maybe their mother was such a whore and slept around with different guidos? Who knows? But I don’t see any resemblance. Like, nothing at all!”

“Yeah! You’re right!”

“Yes. And today! Giacomo was going about his stupid condition with his eyes. I’m sure he’s lying about having one. Does he think he can get dibs for faking a disability? But on the other hand, why does he insist on hiding his eyes? … He must be hiding something more than we already know. I don’t know what exactly it is… but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
 
To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

It was a new day…

“ARE YOU BLIND? Does this look like Swiss to you!? You gave me White Cheddar!”

“I’ve been waiting for almost 20 minutes and my cold cuts aren’t done yet!? I’m outta here!”

“Does this store stoop so low to hire a bunch of incompetent morons?”

“You gotta slice it thinner than that!”

Illuso stressfully tended to the slicer. There was a huge line of disgruntled customers before him. In the back of the Deli, he couldn’t help overhearing his coworkers whisper to one another. He should’ve been more focused on the slicer than them…

“Why are we getting yelled at when it’s just him that’s screwing everything up?”

“Beats me.”

SHIT! The blade hit the knuckle of his iron hand. His hand was okay until the glove almost got caught between the blade. He pulled it away in time. Thank heavens. He really wasn’t in the mood to lose an arm as well.

“And he’s trying to get himself killed too,” his coworker chuckled to the other.

Illuso called over his shoulder. “How about instead of standing there looking bored, one of you can come up here and help me with the line, eh?”

“Aw sorry, we got floor duty today! Tryin’ to find that dang mop,” the first coworker lied.

“You got this man, you’re a natural,” said the other, containing his laughter. Illuso groaned, he brought his attention back to the slicer and the angry customers.

“C’mon, hurry up!”

“I should’ve gotten my cold cuts 15 minutes ago!”

“You’re so slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Hey, Giovanni!” A group of Ghiaccio’s coworkers called out to him down the aisle. They waved to get him to notice but he ignored them. He was more engrossed with doing his job than bothering to entertain those snotty-nosed douchebags. He was unpacking some cans and putting them in their respective places on the shelf. Surely they’d realize he was doing something important and would leave him alone.

“Hey! Hey Giovanni!”

“Hey man!”

“We wanna tell ya something!”

They approached closer. Their voices became increasingly ear-splitting and obnoxious. Ghiaccio scrunched his face, trying desperately to overcome the urge to break their teeth with the can of Spam he was holding. Yet, they were relentless. At this point, they were practically shouting in his ear.

“Hey, Giovanni!”

“Hey, Giovanni, Hey!”

“Giovanniiiiiiii!”

Ghiaccio slammed the can onto the shelf. The impact was so hard the entire shelf vibrated. He whipped around.

“What do you want!?” He barked. They flinched back, but the group still giggled to themselves. “Hey, chillax man.”

“Yeah, yeah. We wanted to tell you a joke!” Ghiaccio grunted. They stopped him from working just for a measly joke!? “We think you’re gonna like this one. It’s a real knee-slapper. You ready?”

“Waiting for you…” One of the workers cleared his throat. “What do you call an Italian with no hands?”

“…”

“…Mute.”

Ghiaccio was dumbfounded, then his angry demeanor came back. He pushed his face centimeters close to the silly goober who said the joke. “THAT WAS THE CRAPPIEST JOKE I EVER HEARD! HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT A MUTE ITALIANO SOUNDS LIKE? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME? ALL ITALIANOS WHO HAVE NO HANDS ARE MUTE? IF I WAS YOUR MOTHER, I’D SLAP MYSELF FOR BIRTHING SUCH A MORON AS YOURSELF!”

The trio roared laughing, one of them managed to laugh so hard he fell on the floor. They were anything but deterred by such remarks. They picked themselves up and made their way to the back. They waved back at Ghiaccio, who was looking back at them, fuming.

“Thanks for the laugh, Gio!”

“It’s so fun to fuck with that guy,” one of them said in a hushed voice, still loud enough for Ghiaccio to hear. That comment made him steam further. With rage, he kicked the box that still had some cans inside. He winced as he felt his toes crack on impact.

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

Prosciutto finished sticking all the tags on the shelves. He double-checked that none of them tampered. He even brought Janis and Ashanti over to prove to them that he did them. They approved, albeit sounded like he was wasting their time by bringing them over.

“Yeah, yeah, you can go home,” Janis replied, virtually shooing him away. He stopped by the office to notify Frank, who of course, was seated by his computer.

“Hey, Frank. I’m done for the day, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No you’re not,” Frank replied sharply, pointing to a towering stack of tags. “I made those for you. They’re expected to be out by today.” Prosciutto looked at the stack then back at Frank. He knew this old-timer was up to something. Prosciutto asked calmly, “Did you just make these? Also, I practically switched all the tags in the store. I don’t where else I could put these.”

Frank turned around in his swivel chair and locked eyes with Prosciutto. This was the first time besides Orientation that Prosciutto got a good look at Frank. His cheeks were hollow and flabby. Liver spots bedecked his nose and across his forehead. His face was naked except for small wisps of hair on his bald scalp that already looked so flimsy, that if you lightly blew on them they would fly away. All in all, he looked like an ordinary old man. But there was something about his eyes. His eyes were dark and steely. Very cold. Freezing. Like there was barely a shred of compassion in them.

“You do realize I could write you up for insubordination… get them done. Now.” His voice wasn’t soft and withered, rather it was jagged and booming. Prosciutto was losing his patience with this asshole. But he knew better. Following Risotto’s orders were infinitely more important than setting this old man straight. “Sure.” Prosciutto heaved the heavy stack, balancing it in both hands.

“I don’t wanna see your face back here until those tags are finished.”

Prosciutto carried the entire stack throughout the aisles. He passed the staring glances of other coworkers, yet not a single one offered any help. “This is ridiculous.” Prosciutto grumbled. He found an empty, unoccupied cart, he dropped the stack and went to tagging. After 30 minutes, he made zero progress. It dawned on him that the tags Frank printed were the same ones Prosciutto put on before he was about to leave.

“That bastard!” Prosciutto grunted to himself. At this rate, he didn’t give a shit if he got written up, this asshole was getting a kick out of wasting HIS time! Prosciutto scurried back to the office. “Hey, Frank! What’s the big idea? If you gotta problem with me, let’s settle this like… adults?” Frank was nowhere to be found.

“Keep it down! Why are you shouting? And why are you still here?” Janis was standing by the doorframe, her foot was tapping impatiently. Prosciutto collected himself and turned around. “Frank told me to finish another stack of tags before I left… but they’re the same ones that I did. Where is he?”

“He left. 30 minutes ago.” She answered scathingly as if he was supposed to know that. “Guess you gotta finish what you started.” She then left. Prosciutto sighed until something caught his attention. It was a piece of paper that was folded next to Frank’s computer. Prosciutto opened the paper open. It read:

“There are 3 more stacks you have to get done.”

Three? Prosciutto twisted his head to the table. There were three more stacks, more gargantuan than the one he was assigned. Prosciutto stared at them like this was just some trippy dream. And no one to back him up, he was uncertain what to do. It was either finish something he already finished and waste his time or risk getting in trouble for nothing?

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Okayyy. Sayyy CHEESE!” Formaggio smiled wide. It’s been about a week and he was officially Cashier of the Month. His teammates thought it was impossible but he couldn’t wait to shove it in their faces when he’d get home. Ashanti focused the camera on him before getting a good shot.

*click*

“Merci~! It came out great!” Ashanti applauded. “Now, shoot me a pose! Superstar!”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t,” Formaggio replied, trying to sound humble.

“Oh please, one more!” She pleaded.

“Hehe, nahhh.” He tried to play it cool, but he honestly liked the attention.

“I’ll be in it with you,” she coaxed. She handed the camera to Janis. She bounced over to Formaggio, getting very close to him. She wrapped an arm over his shoulder and made a peace sign with the other hand. Formaggio was a bit stunned. Not just because she was so willing to get in the picture with him. Not just because she was unnaturally taller than him. But because she was so unnaturally tall, her chest was too close to his face for comfort. Again, he tried to play it cool and shot an awkward smile to the camera.

*click*

“Oooo! Lemme see! Lemme see!” Ashanti rushed to get ahold of the camera. She fiddled with the camera’s buttons and after a moment, she found the picture. “Awwwwww! Giorgio, look at you! You look positively adorable in this!” She showed the picture to Formaggio. He cringed when he realized he looked way dumber than he anticipated. His face was flushed and his smile was gaped open. But no matter. This job was the best thing that ever happened to him. And to have a hot manager pressing her rack in your face was only the cherry on top!

“Keep up the good work and I’ll take more pictures with you~.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

Hey, you got another one.” Lesley threw a little bag on the desk. Melone picked it up. It was a small plastic pouch wrapped nicely with pink ribbon. In the bag was a sugar cookie and some Hershey Kisses. “Another one? Jesus…” This was like the fifth one this week. He can likely guess who it’s from. On the other hand, he figured Angel would’ve left him alone now knowing Melone was a guy. Angel didn’t like guys... right?

“You know, you can’t keep doing this. You’re gonna get in massive amounts of trouble if they catch you.” Lesley said accusingly.

“What are you talking about?” Melone asked with genuine confusion. “You mean like, accepting food? Because I don’t even want this.” Melone flung the bag in the trash.

“I don’t mean just that,” Lesley replied. “I mean you and Angel. You guys gotta stop.” Melone froze. Him and Angel? Melone glared at Lesley suspiciously.

“What do you mean by that? What about us?”

“Don’t play dumb, Edmundo. Everyone knows about you and Angel. I don’t know what you see in him anyway.” Melone froze in shock. Did he hear him right? Was this real?

“Wait, hold on! Do people honestly think Angel and I are dating!?” Melone panicked. “No. No, no, no. This is all a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lesley said, his tone displayed otherwise. “That’s so weird you say that ‘cause Angel confirmed you guys were an item.”

“No that’s silly,” Melone denied. “I don’t like him! I told him I was a guy. I haven’t seen him flirt with a single guy here!”

Lesley just rolled his eyes, he made his way to the Cash Office, “And by the way, you have a line now. You better help them or someone’s gonna make a complaint.” He left Melone to fend for himself to take care of the disgruntled customers. Melone couldn’t do anything but groan.

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“So, where do you see yourself in 5 years?” Risotto asked the interviewee. The teenage boy sat there, melting with sweat. He wasn’t nervous about the interview itself. He’s done tons of them before. No, what made him scared was the man of monstrous stature before him. The man had to be over 6, no, 7 feet! And his arms were bulging. Could easily snap him in half like a twig. The black hair and the rugged frown didn’t make him any less threatening. He didn’t understand the sunglasses at first, but just the sheer unknown of what he might’ve looked like without them almost made the boy shit bricks. What if they were bloodshot and full of murderous rage? What if he had no eyes?

“Uhh… uhhh…” The teen mumbled, scared if he chose the wrong answer, it would lead to his funeral. “Here, of course. I’m uh, very devoted when it comes to my job. I-I never hop around uh, careers. If I wanna uh, get my foot out the door and into the real world, this would be the time.” The teen gave an uncomfortable wince that was supposed to be a smile.

“I see. Very interesting.” Risotto replied cooly. He wrote down a couple of notes, then looked at the boy, who flinched. “I think you’re pretty much on your way, young man. Now before you go, I would like to get some signatures first.”

“Signatures. Phew, okay, that’s not so bad. I guess I’m in the clear,” the boy sighed with relief. Risotto picked up a few documents and was about to hand them to the teen.

“Okay, first just, -ow.” The edge of the paper sliced Risotto’s index finger. It didn’t hurt that much, however, the cut was rather long and a few drops of blood splattered on the bottom of the paper. Of course, they just so happened to land on the signature line. But he wouldn’t want to be held accountable for letting someone sign a document covered in blood. That would be unprofessional and unsanitary.

“Oh dear, let me just-.” Faster than he could finish his sentence, the boy was no longer there, the only thing that remained was the chair that slowly spun in place. The boy bolted down the hall screaming, his arms up in the air. A few more interviewees were being led by Ashanti. The boy stopped next to them. “HE WANTED ME TO SIGN A BLOOD CONTRACT! I ALMOST SOLD MY SOUL TO THE DEVIL!” He took one of the recruits by the shoulders and shook her. “GET OUT OF HERE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!” Afraid, the boy and the other recruits ran out in fear. Ashanti tried to call back to them, yet it was fruitless.

She stomped over to Risotto’s office. As she stood by the door, Risotto was casually wrapping a bandaid around his finger as if what just happened, never happened. “What about a blood contract?” She inquired furiously. Risotto blinked.

“… I got a paper cut,” He responded innocently. “I was going to make another copy for him to sign. But before I could, he ran off. Good thing it didn’t work out, he seemed too neurotic anyway.” Ashanti could do nothing but clench her teeth.

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“C’mon Dion! You’re not getting paid to stand around doing nothing!” Nick shouted. Pesci frantically pulled all the trays from the dishwasher. “I need those trays, stat!” Pesci piled all the trays into one, tall pile.

“Okay! Coming!”

Pesci brought the trays over to where Nick was. Before them, were rows of raw dough twisted into assorted bagels and pretzels. “Uh, here you go.” He put the pile on the table.

“You think you’re done? Help me get these on the trays, goddammit!” Pesci helped Nick place the dough in their respective groups. It took about 10 minutes, but they accomplished it. Then right into the oven, they went. But before Pesci could take a breather, Nick gave him more orders. “Now I need you to box some pies into the plastic containers. And when you’re done, take ‘em to the table next to the bagel rack. Got it?”

“Yeah. Will do.”

Pesci grabbed the pie containers over to the table. He felt like he was on maximum overdrive as he plopped a pie in each plastic tray. Nick bellowed, “Don’t drop the pies like that! If you ruin them, no one’s gonna buy them!” Pesci heeded the message, he tried to be more cautious yet still manage to go at a quick speed.

Once he covered the tops of the packages, he printed a few price tags and slapped them on the pies. “They look sloppy!” Nick squawked. Pesci tried to carefully peel off the stickers in vain, most of the time the sticker would get half stuck and would rip. Pesci squeaked. “Aw, man! Can this day get any worse?”

“Dion! Hurry up with those pies!” Nick urged. Panicking, Pesci patted the stickers neatly and quickly as possible. He balanced a couple of pies in his arms and rushed to the front. He was about to make it to the table, which was when his left leg gave out under him. Then his right leg-

*CRASH*

It took roughly five seconds from everything being fine to becoming disastrous, all because of a puddle of water. Half of the pies were smooshed, Pesci’s face planted to the floor, and his knee throbbed with pain. Nick ran to see the commotion. Pesci moaned, he rolled up his pant leg to see that his knee was already turning blue.

“The pies!” Nick cried out. It looked like a murder scene. Thankfully some of the pies survived the incident. Pesci cowered when Nick shot him an unforgiving glare. “Nick, I-I’m sor-!”

“Get cleaned up,” Nick interrupted, picking up a saved pie. “And go cry about it later. This is what happens when you rush.” Pesci watched Nick run back into the kitchen. Pesci sunk his head in shame. There he saw the puddle.

“But… it wasn’t my fault.” Pesci’s eyes watered. He began to whimper.

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“You’re so slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Hey Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks you have to get done.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up the good work!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one? Jesus…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT OF HERE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Go cry about it later…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“You’re so slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Hey Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks you have to get done.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up the good work!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one? Jesus…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT OF HERE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Go cry about it later…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“You’re so slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Hey Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks you have to get done.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up the good work!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one? Jesus…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT OF HERE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Go cry about it later…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one?”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Cry about it…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one?”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Cry about it…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one?”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Cry about it…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one?”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Cry about it…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one?”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Cry about it…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Slow!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Giovanni!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Three more stacks.”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Keep up!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Another one?”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“GET OUT!”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

“Cry about it…”

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

———————————————————————

It was a new day…

Ghiaccio’s fist shattered through the coffee table, catching everyone’s attention. Prosciutto frowned. “You’re paying for that.”

“GAAAH! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I CAN’T STAND TO BE IN THAT GODDAMN STORE FOR ANOTHER SECOND LONGER! THIS IS HOPELESS!”

“How long have we been working there,” Illuso bemoaned. “It feels like ages.” Melone scanned through the calendar on the wall. When he turned around, it didn’t look promising.

“Today’s the 30th.”

“We’ve only been there for not even three weeks!?” Illuso exclaimed. He slumped to the floor, he grabbed his face in defeat. “This job’s gonna be the end of me.”

“Damn… Maybe if you guys did your job right, you’d be having a great time. Like me.” Formaggio bragged, his sly smile said everything. The rest responded by glaring at him. He didn’t give a damn in the world what they felt. “Just speakin’ the truth. They make me feel like I’m useful doing my job, unlike you guys.”

“That’s because you NEVER do your job,” Ghiaccio argued. Formaggio simply gave him a nonchalant shrug.

“Both of you, cut it out,” Prosciutto intervened, he looked at Formaggio. “A job isn’t supposed to be fun. The point of a job is getting it accomplished and getting paid. Validation or not, neither our nor their approval should sway you from doing your job or not.”

Formaggio folded his arms. “Why are you only yelling at me for this? Hell, I’m making the most money out of all of us! I’m getting more hours AND a bonus.”

“Bonus?” The others asked in unison. Formaggio shoved his fist in his pocket. He looked both ways, making sure Risotto wasn’t around. Out of his pocket, he opened his fist. In his palm was a wad of cash. The others gathered around with Formaggio looking smug again. “I racked up about $200 this week just with tips alone. Last week I almost got up to $400. I’m making a killing with this job!”

“But wait, didn’t Risotto say we weren’t supposed to accept tips?” Pesci asked anxiously.

“Yeah, you cheat! While we’re busting our asses, you’re practically stealing money.” Ghiaccio pointed accusingly.

Formaggio scoffed. “Why do you guys give a crap if what I’m doing is immoral? We’re assassins. I’d do anything to make ends meet. I was the one that saved your starving asses by stealing money! Where’s my thank you!?”

“And what’re gonna do with all that money, Formaggio?” Challenged Ghiaccio. “Pitch in for groceries? Rent? No! You’re gonna spend it all on booze and whores!”

“Enough, both of you,” Prosciutto said, getting in between them again. Pesci noticed a little vein bulging on Prosciutto’s temple. “Don’t lose your cool, bro…” Prosciutto straightened his back. “We’ll discuss this when Risotto gets home.”

“Dude, c’mon! You’re not seriously gonna snitch on me, right?” Formaggio begged.

Prosciutto scowled him. “You should know better than to negotiate like a child. I’m gonna go in the bedroom.”

“But it’s only 7 o'clock.” Illuso pointed out.
That didn’t stop Prosciutto from going inside the bedroom. Once the door was behind him, Prosciutto tried to make sure he didn’t slam the door. He casually, yet carefully pushed the door shut. Once it was closed, he relaxed his back on the door. He stood like that for a few moments then he let out a huge sigh. It came out low, yet agitated. He soothed his temples and he could feel his back slide down the door and onto the floor. He sat there for an hour.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

October 31st. Halloween night. Illuso and Ghiaccio were slumped on the couch. They had to endure another insufferably long day of work and they couldn’t be bothered. Melone and Prosciutto were rapping up washing the dishes. It was 8 o'clock and neither, Risotto, Formaggio, nor Pesci were home yet. The three bowls of chickpea soup on the table were beginning to get cold. They had no choice but to pack the remaining leftovers inside a plastic container and into the fridge. Prosciutto was on his sixth plate, squirting just enough dish soap where it was not too little but not too much where it would waste the soap. He scrubbed all the icky bits off, before giving the dish one last run under hot water.

*Plink. Plink. Plink*

*SQUEAK*

“Hmm…”

*Plink. Plink. Plink*

Prosciutto shifted his gaze on Melone who was preoccupied washing a plate. He had such weird “rituals” when it came to cleaning. If there was a piece of food stuck on a plate, Melone would scrub it off with a sponge as any normal person would. But then he would tap the plate. Three times, Prosciutto counted. Always three times. After that, Melone would wipe the plate with the soaked sponge. He would examine it for a moment, then repeat.

*Plink. Plink. Plink*

*SQUEAK*

“It looks clean, you know,” spoke Prosciutto, breaking Melone’s concentration.

“Hmm?”

“I said it looks clean. Now get to the next one. I’m doing all the work here.” Melone shrugged, putting the plate to the side.

“Then you’ll complain that they’re dirty the next day,” Melone replied in a low, nonchalant voice.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” Melone blurted, scrubbing the plate with a quicker speed.

*KNOCK, KNOCK*

“I’ll get it,” called out Melone. He swiftly sauntered to the door. He assumed it was the hotel manager issuing a complaint about whatever it was this time. He opened the door but to his surprise, it wasn’t the short man, but three of them, way smaller and younger. They all wore cheap, outlandish-looking costumes, so outlandish that they even put some of the other teammates’ clothes to shame. One was a princess, one was what looked to be a robot but it looked like he was just one big cardboard box, and the last one was a dinosaur. They gleamed at Melone, lifting their arms to reveal empty pillowcases.

The kids shouted, “TRICK OR TREAT!” They waited in anticipation for their bags to be filled with sweets. Melone blinked. “Uhhhh…?”

The kids’ smiles gradually dissipated. “Nice costumes?” He remarked, still somewhat confused about what they wanted from him.

“Look, man! We just want some candy!” The robot boy demanded impatiently, his empty hand extended. “Oh! This must be a tradition American kids participate in,” Melone thought. While he was aware of what Halloween was, back in Italy, it wasn’t as celebrated as it was in the United States.

“Oh, well, sorry to burst your bubble, kids. But I don’t have any candy for you.” The kids booed in unison. “Now why don’t you kids run along and find another room to ask-?”. As he went to close the door, the robot boy blocked the door from closing. “C’mon, I know you got candy some… where? Uh, who are you supposed to be?” The boy asked as he shifted his eyes up and down at the funny-looking man.

“Myself,” Melone said truthfully.

“What’s with the stupid mask?” The robot boy pointed to Melone’s purple mask.

“Are you the Hamburglar?” The princess asked innocently.

“No,” Melone replied flatly.

“You dummy! The Hamburglar isn’t purple!” The boy shot back rudely.

“Theeeeeeeen… are you Grimace?” The girl asked again.

“… No.”

“Grimace doesn’t have pink hair, let alone have hair!”

“He’s Barney!” The little dinosaur kid cheeped loudly. Melone looked at them with an annoyed look.

“I don’t have time for this.” He tried to close the door again but was stopped, yet again, by the robot boy.

“I don’t care who you’re supposed to be, you’re hiding sweets and I know it!”

“I told you I don’t have anything,” Melone insisted.

“Liar!”

“Yeah, liar!” The other two kids blurted.

“Look, I don’t have any chocolate. But I’ll give you some apples if you go away.”

“Yuck! Apples!?” The boy said with disgust. “What do I look like, a vegetarian?”

“Yeah, apples are gross!” The girl said, sticking her tongue out. “Gross!” The little dinosaur repeated, also sticking his tongue out in contempt. The robot boy was now trying to pry the door open, with Melone trying to grapple the door shut.

“Hey Face-ache, what are you doing? Close the damn door!” Ghiaccio shouted at Melone from the living room. Melone then scoldingly snatched the door from the kid.

“Now look, you brats. I told you this once and I won’t repeat myself. If you insist on harassing me for candy, I will call your parents. And I will make damn sure they’ll stuff your bags with apples to the very brim. Do you understand?” The robot seethed while the two smaller kids quivered by that threat. With no other words, the kids made their way down the hall.

“We’ll be back… Face-ache.” The boy pointed two fingers at his eyes, then pointed one finger at Melone, after which he scurried along. “Finally. I thought they’d never leave.” He murmured to himself as he locked the door. He plopped himself onto the couch.

“What were you doing? Trying to fight some kids?” Illuso asked suspiciously. Melone let out a small groan.

“They thought we had candy here. When I told them we had nothing, one of them almost broke down the door to infiltrate the apartment... kid must’ve been on some kinda chocolate-laced steroids.” Ghiaccio and Illuso couldn’t help but snicker, making Melone feel a tiny vein pop in his temple.

“You mean to tell me you almost lost fending off a preschooler? Wow, Melone, you’re weak as hell! Dunno what Risotto saw in you as “assassin material”.” Ghiaccio chuckled condescendingly.

“That seems to be quite a common theme with Melone, isn’t it?” Illuso added. The two other gangsters busted laughing at their teammate’s misfortune. Unamused, Melone stood up and was about to make his way back to the kitchen.

“If you'll excuse me, I’m going to help Prosciutto finish the dishes.” The other two jokingly urged him to come back.

“Hey, hey, don’t run off so soon, lovey. We’re only playing,” Illuso beckoned.

Melone turned around, curling his lip at the smug man, then he shrugged. “Hmph. No matter. Why those kids came to our door for candy is beyond me. They don’t look like they’re from around here. If that’s the case, why would they come to a rundown place like this? They wouldn’t be getting much…”

“Beats me,” shrugged Illuso. “Y’know kids these days. They’re always looking for trouble in any nook and cranny they come across.” As he said that, the trio heard a noise coming from outside. It sounded like shouting. Illuso, followed Ghiaccio and Melone, rushing to the bedroom window to investigate. Down below, they saw what looked to be thousands of people marching down the street.

“A mob?” Ghiaccio asked out loud.

“Is there a riot going on?” Illuso questioned. Upon closer look, the mob wasn’t shouting out of anger or didn’t appear aggressive at all. Rather, they were cheering and laughing with one another. Most of them were wearing costumes you wouldn’t normally see on an ordinary day. There were clowns, nuns, demons, angels, vampires, zombie doctors, literally anything the mind could think of. They also noticed a couple of food vendors, and coming into view were oversized rod puppets and massive floats of iconic characters were about to turn down their street.

“No! It’s a parade! Di Molto!” Melone exclaimed. They all beamed excitedly. For the first time since living in New York, they’ve finally seen something worth looking at. “Let’s check it out!” Illuso said as he and the other two went for the front door, not before Prosciutto called out to them from the kitchen.

“What do you three think you’re doing?”

“There’s a parade on our street. We wanna go!” Ghiaccio called back.

“You mean the village parade?” Prosciutto inquired.

“Wait, you knew about it?” Melone asked, surprised.

Prosciutto nodded. “Yes, there was a flyer in the break room at work. I’m astonished you three weren’t aware of it,” he said impassively.

“Well sooorry, we were just having so much fun from the work that was piled on us, we didn't notice it,” Illuso replied discourteously, sticking his nose in the air.

“I don’t think you should go.” Prosciutto said.

“What?”

“Seriously man?”

“Yeah, c’mon Prosciutto! Live a little! Come down with us!” Urged Illuso.

“May I remind you that we all have work tomorrow? If I were you three, I wouldn’t waste sleep over some little parade,” Prosciutto replied sternly, drying the last plate and placing it back in the cabinet.

“It’s not little though-,” Melone protested.

“It’s HUGE!” Ghiaccio exclaimed.

“I said no.”

“AW COME ON!” They cried in unison.

“By the way, I’ve been cleaning almost the whole kitchen for about an hour. I have three grown man-babies standing around whining over a dumb parade than helping me with the apartment.”

“Can’t we just have this one day?” Illuso complained. “When have we done anything “fun” for the past- what, like? A year or so? All we’ve done is work and go home, work and go home. A bit redundant if I say so myself. And might I remind YOU that we were stuck at sea for months!? I like to think we should get some little reward for our past troubles.” Ghiaccio and Melone nodded in agreement.

Prosciutto eye-rolled. He stuffed his hand into his pant pocket. “Fine. You three can go out.” The three men’s faces brightened as he said that.

“But.”

Their smiles deflated. Prosciutto took out from his pant pocket a couple of bucks. “I want you three to run some errands. One of you can go to the video rental shop and get some movies. It’s not too far, just some blocks away. As for the other two, I want you to shop for some ingredients. You three can decide for yourselves who wants to-.”

“YOINK!” Illuso swiped half of the money from Prosciutto’s fingers. “Don’t worry fellas. I’ll take the hard task of getting those movies.” He said smugly, before skipping towards the front door.

“Pfft, jerk. Didn’t even give us a chance to decide.” Ghiaccio muttered. Prosciutto then handed both gangsters the rest of the money and a list. Melone scanned through the shopping list. “Ale… raisins… dried cherries… mace… clove… nutmeg… sherry… saffron?”

“The hell are you making?” Ghiaccio asked curiously. “Frankenstein’s Monster?”

“Dessert.” Prosciutto replied flatly. “You don’t have to get the saffron though. That’s only for food coloring.”

“Well whatever it is, it sounds like crap,” Ghiaccio said rudely. “I’m not gonna go waste my time going to the store so you can make some shitty dessert nobody’s gonna eat. Why didn’t you ask Igor to do it for you? I’m certain he would’ve loved to help whatever mess you’re planning on making.”

“Oh that’s fine,” Prosciutto said nonchalantly, crossing his arms. “Just figured you guys deserved a “little reward”. Such a shame, honestly. You guys are always treated like mules. When is there any other opportunity where I would offer you something like this?”

“Geugh! Fine! We’ll go!” Ghiaccio relented, throwing his arms in the air.

”And while you’re there, you might as well buy some candy so Melone doesn’t have to lose to another toddler,” Prosciutto added.

“I don’t think it’ll be necessary. Those kids coming to our door was nothing more than a fluke.” Melone insisted.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK*

The sound came from the front door. Prosciutto glanced at Melone, one eyebrow raised. “Perhaps it’s Illuso? He just left, maybe he forgot something?” Melone reasoned.

“Better be.” Ghiaccio marched to the door, swinging it wide open. “Was the task too hard for you, Il-?”

*SPLAT*

“ACK!” Something goopy was all over Ghiaccio. It took a moment before he realized there were broken bits of eggshell mixed with egg yolk splattered all over his shirt and pants. In front of him were three kids, they were dressed as a princess, a dinosaur, and a box. With them was another kid who was considerably taller and older, and in his arm was a carton full of eggs.
“How’d you like them apples, Face-ache?” The older boy mocked as he threw another egg, with the three younger kids standing there, pointing and laughing. Ghiaccio was beyond pissed. So pissed that he could’ve sizzled the broken yolks into scrambled eggs.

“These… aren’t… APPLES!” Ghiaccio screeched.

Prosciutto and Melone followed behind to see the commotion. To their horror, the four kids brought friends. A whole crowd of kids behind them, their arms charged full of eggs and toilet paper. And with Ghiaccio in maximum rage mode, there was no telling who was going to die first. Prosciutto glared at Melone. He groaned in defeat. “We’ll go get the candy…”

———————————————————————

“Let’s go you two.” Risotto waited in front of the self-checkout machines. They all had a long, busy day. Since it was a “holiday”, they had an influx of customers grabbing last-minute candy and other goodies. Risotto was supposed to leave around 6 o’clock, yet Janis insisted that he needed to stay. He recalled what she said: “You have ten more interviews to go through. Maybe if you didn’t take your sweet time, you’d be leaving at 6.” He worked a total of twelve hours that day. Not that he couldn’t do it on a regular schedule, but he was exhausted. His feet were aching from walking all day, he had a killer headache, and he was starving. The last thing he ate was a sandwich around noon, but he knew Prosciutto made dinner. Best to wait than to spoil his appetite, he thought. He would’ve guessed Formaggio and Pesci were just as eager to leave as he was. Despite that, they were too busy rummaging through a box of rubber Halloween masks in the candy aisle.

“This one?” Formaggio presented, putting on a Shatner mask over his head. Pesci shook his head. “Nah, nah! Too recognizable.”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Formaggio ecstatically picked up another mask. It was an oversized chicken mask. It was too big for him. When he wore it over himself, it flopped to the side. Formaggio clucked and pecked towards Pesci. Pesci let out a chuckle.

“Hehe. I like it.”

“Great! It’s now yours!”

“Huh? Wai-!”

Before he could protest, Formaggio threw on the chicken mask over his head. Pesci struggled, he tried to use his arms to push it off, but his “friend” was pulling the ends of the mask down and it was difficult to breathe. “Did you like my impression before? It was supposed to be you,” Formaggio teased as Pesci thrashed his arms about. “Keep flapping your arms like that or everyone might think you’re a real chicken!”

“Giorgio! Dionisio! Let’s go!” Risotto uttered impatiently.

Hastily, Formaggio pulled out a mask from the bottom of the box. It was a red plastic demon mask. This would do. “C’mon Dion! You’re holdin’ us up,” teased Formaggio, yanking Pesci by the collar.

“Ready for action,” Formaggio piped confidently.

Risotto had a somewhat puzzled look. “Are you getting that?” He asked Pesci, in regards to the chicken mask that was still on his head.

“N-.”

“HE LOVES IT,” Formaggio declared.

Pesci almost ripped the mask off. “I hate it…”

“C’mon man. Where’s your sense of spirit? Have ya seen what the freaks are wearing outside? I assure you, you’re gonna stick out like a square if you don’t wear it.” Formaggio insisted, all the while having a sly grin on his face.

“I don’t know… can I go back and get another one?” Pesci pleaded.

“I don’t feel like waiting any longer. Either get that or get nothing.” Risotto’s ultimatum was met with Pesci murmuring sadly, begrudgingly putting the mask back on.

“Now that’s the spirit, Chicken Boy!” Formaggio laughed, patting Pesci hard on the back. “Hey! Since it’s on the way home, can we watch the parade?” Formaggio asked cheerfully.

“Not for long please,” Risotto stated. “Five minutes. Tops.”

They went to one of the machines, Pesci scanned his mask first, then Formaggio. However, it appeared the barcode was not scanning. “What? Craaaap.” Formaggio was about to ask the cashier on duty for help, but Risotto was already ahead of him. He walked up to the cashier, who was busy chatting up with the other employees. They didn’t realize that a giant shadow was towering over them. Risotto cleared his throat, making some of the other coworkers jump. One of them urgently nudged the cashier to turn around. As she faced the giant man, her face turned pale. 

“Excuse me, miss. Could you help us out, please?” He asked in a low, polite voice, which somehow made him more intimidating. She blushed, followed by a nod. It didn’t take long. She was able to key in the skew manually, all the while glancing at Risotto from time to time. “Thank you,” said Risotto. She nodded silently, then retreated to her group.

Pesci whispered right in Formaggio’s ear. “Man, Risotto doesn’t need a mask or a costume to be scary. Pretty much everyone’s afraid of him.”

Formaggio chuckled. “I wouldn’t say “everyone”.” He pointed at the cashier. She was facing away, yet they could undoubtedly see her cheeks were rosy and she was smiling nervously. Once they got their receipt, they were out the door. Unbeknownst to them, however, outside was just as, if not, more packed than inside the store. There was a large group huddled by the front.

“Wonder what all the fuss is about?” Formaggio said curiously. As they hurried closer, they saw a perky, middle-aged news reporter standing right next to Janis. “Good evening boys and ghouls, I’m Diane Hart. Coming to you! Live! I’m standing here with the lively ShopMart assistant manager, Janis Ann Presley. We are both equally anticipating tonight’s Greenwich Village Halloween Parade! Good evening Janis! Bustling tonight, are we? We were told that Halloween is your favorite holiday all year round, is that correct?”

Janis stretched her mouth into a smile. “Oh yes, yes, of course! I absolutely adore this time of year! Just love seeing those youngsters ecstatic with their mouths full of chocolate!”

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more! Say, are you dressing up for tonight’s parade?” The news reporter inquired. Janis put her hand to her cheek, “Ohhhhh sadly not tonight. I promised my workers I’d stay back to help out. Would’ve loved to if I could. Buuuut I dressed up my lil’ Pookie and got the cutest picture of him.” She whipped out a photograph of her pet pug, practically shoving it into the camera lens. The dog was bedecked with an angel dress and wings, along with a papier-mâché halo. Not even he looked impressed.

“Oh absolutely precious!” The news reporter cooed, and the crowd around them also admired the pooch in the polaroid.

“Yeugh. He has her smile,” Pesci grumbled.

“Your puppy must be so grateful to have a parent like yourself,” the news reporter chimed.

“Aw, you’re making me blush, dearie! Buuuut I can’t take all the credit. My loving husband was the one who saved him from the streets~.”

“Beautiful story! Two great parents, ladies and gentlemen!” The crowd applauded except for the three men.

“Uhhhh, where the hell is this conversation leading to?” Formaggio whispered to Risotto. “I thought this was about the village parade, not Janis’s whole life story.”

“I have no idea…” Risotto uttered back.

“He’s just a wonderful man, ya know. Kind, smart, very handsome. He’s 6 feet tall and doesn’t even look past 30!” Janis fawned. The interview dragged on and on for about another 5 minutes, even the news lady did a quick check at her wristwatch.

“This is getting weird. I think we should go,” Pesci suggested.

“Good idea,” replied Risotto.

The news reporter interrupted the blabbermouth with a cheerful tone, cupping her hands together. “Well, we gotta start wrapping things up. Thank you Janis for your time!” As Janis was about to thank the news lady, three familiar faces caught her eye.

“Oh, I’m sorry dearie for wasting your time. But, may I add one more thing before you go?” Janis asked sweetly, almost grandmotherly.

“Sure thing! What’s up?” The news lady asked. Janis cleared her voice and pointed at the crowd, right at Risotto. Everybody looked directly at him.

“I’d love to dedicate this moment to one of my most hardworking, most favorite employees ever, Giacomo Sordino!” The news lady and everyone else applauded minus Risotto, Pesci, and Formaggio who exchanged confused glances. “Just tonight, he was supposed to leave at 6. But because we got so busy, he offered to stay back. He worked a twelve-hour shift today!”

“Wow! What a champ!” The news lady remarked. She stepped towards the man with the microphone in her hand. “I’d pass out on the floor after ten hours! So Mr. Giacomo, sir, sounds to me like you have an awesome, caring boss, am I right?”

He stared at the microphone. He thought up a hundred things he could’ve said about Janis, albeit less “flattering” and more so… “realistic”. No, now wasn’t the time to act petty. Risotto sensed a vibe about her. Like she was keeping an eye on him and his friends. It was most ideal not to let his own selfish feelings get the better of him, especially if it meant putting his team in a rough position. It felt like a whole minute of awkward silence had passed as everybody keenly anticipated a reply.

“Yes.” His voice was strained like a gun was to his temple.

“That’s wonderful,” the news reporter chirped. The crowd clapped again and Janis beamed with crocodile tears of joy.

“Oh, Giacomo! That makes me so glad to hear! Excuse me, Ms. Hart? Since we still have the cameras rolling, can my employee and I get a picture together?”

“And how can we say no to that?” The news reporter gestured Risotto front and center. He awkwardly scuttled towards Janis. Once he got to the eye of the storm, both he and Janis locked eyes. Tension bubbled. He read her face, behind that sweet grandma façade, was something much more devious. Unexpectedly, Janis reached up, sunk her fingers into his shoulder, and yanked him down to her level. He was pretty much down on his knees. She then overlapped her arms over his, bringing him close into a tight side hug. His face was dangerously close to her toothy, almost psychotically wide grin.

“Smile!”

Dozens of cameras clicked, followed by flashes of light. Despite wearing his sunglasses, the flashes were nonetheless blinding. Janis shifted her eyes to the side. She could almost see over his sunglasses. Her smile became more callous. She thought, “Kyehehe. Now that you’re at my level, I can get a peek of what you’re hiding behind those sunglasses- what the?”

To her astonishment, from behind his glasses, his eyes were still closed shut. “HE’S STILL CLOSING HIS EYES EVEN WITH SHADES ON? HE’S RELENTLESS!” Nevertheless, she wouldn’t lose her cool. She whispered in his ear. “Y’know, they told you to smile.” She squeezed his side, hoping it would catch him off guard.

“What are you doing?” Risotto asked sternly, his eyes still shut.

“Guess you’re not the ticklish type,” Janis teased, almost sounding sultry. “Just wanted to see that smile of yours, is all.”

“You want me to open my eyes. You’re trying to make me open them by startling me. It’s not going to happen. Nice try though.” Infuriated, Janis sunk her sharp claws deep inside his side. It stung, but Risotto wasn’t going to give her the benefit of giving her a reaction.

She hissed through her teeth, “Listen to me, you little shit! Don’t you dare challenge me! No matter what you are in this fucking place, I will always be above you! Sass me like that again and I won’t hesitate to report your ass for insubordination! And I will not let you go until you smile for that fucking camera! Got it!?”

Risotto stalled. The fact that this fucking relic had the gall to talk down to him so disrespectfully was truly abysmal. Physically, she was no match for him. He could’ve bitten her head clean off like an animal cracker. Easily. But as much as he desired to cuss her out, he knew it would’ve landed him and his team in a rough patch.

“Go on,” Janis whispered impatiently, jabbing her syringe-like fingernail hard into his rib. Risotto twisted the corners of his mouth. It was an “attempt”. It looked more like a wince than a genuine smile.

“There, see? Wasn’t so hard,” Janis said in a patronizing voice, soothing the spot where she prodded. “It’s a nice look on you. You should try doing it more often.” In the crowd, Formaggio and Pesci understood what was unfolding before them yet couldn’t do anything but spectate.

“Such a heartwarming friendship between manager and employee! A wholesome way to end the night, ladies and gents! Stayed tuned for the upcoming village parade! I’m Diane Hart, signing off!”

———————————————————————

“C’mon already! You’re already slow as it is!” Ghiaccio shouted down the sidewalk to Melone, who was too busy window shopping in front of a boutique they were passing by. “The sooner we can get those damn groceries, the better!”

“Alright, alright.” Melone finally caught up, then they resumed walking. Melone inquired, “Why are you in such a rush? You were practically begging to go out before. Don’t you want to take in the scenery? I’m sure once we get back to our apartment, we’re not going back out.”

“Pssh. I would be if it wasn’t for that pompous asshole making us run these stupid chores for him. He should’ve bought the food when he was leaving work. Dumbass. Sometimes I think that idiot’s brain was replaced with a toaster or something…” Ghiaccio trailed off from his rant to find Melone no longer by his side. “Huh? Where do you go?” He looked around until he spotted Melone a few yards behind him, looking at a window full of televisions. “Wow. So vintage, yet such impeccable screen quality. And this one! This one has a DVD player. Di Molto!”

“Goddamnit man!” Ghiaccio marched over to his comrade. “Sometimes I think your brain IS the toaster,” Ghiaccio vented as he grabbed Melone by the wrist and was about to drag him away until Melone pointed at the window.

“Wait.”

Ghiaccio ceased. Both of them noticed on one of the mini TVs, that the News channel was broadcasting a familiar section of town with two recognizable faces. One of them was a tall, black-haired man with black shades.

“Oi! That’s Risotto! The hell is he with Janis for?” Upon a closer look, while Janis smiled as if she won the lottery, Risotto was on his knees and was noticeably uncomfortable. “What the actual hell?” As the broadcast was coming to an end, Risotto wiggled out of Janis’s hug. She scowled at him before her attention was back on the camera, giving it a superficial simper, then it went right to commercial. Melone stared at the screen, then he spoke. “I saw that look.” His voice was apathetic. “Are people seriously that stupid? She’s pulling a front and it shows. She wants everyone to think she’s this sweet little ol’ grandma, but you can tell from her eyes. Her eyes tell her she acts like that only for positive attention. And somehow, it works to her advantage… I hate her. Do you agree?”

He faced Ghiaccio, expecting the latter to agree with him. But to his surprise, Ghiaccio only leered at him. His icy blue irises struck Melone cold from the inside out. He wasn’t happy, nor was he his usual pissed off-self. He looked dead serious. Melone shivered, somehow Ghiaccio was more frightening when he was serious than being a ticking time bomb of pure anger.

“Melone… you’re a hypocrite.”

Melone was taken aback. Where the hell did that come from? Did he offend him? His throat constricted as if someone was choking him. “…Eh?” Was the only response he could’ve thought of.

“I didn’t stutter.” Ghiaccio turned away, then walked off. He didn’t even storm off or flounce angrily, just… walked away. Melone quickly followed behind.

“So, what? You do like her?” Melone asked with genuine confusion.

“Of course not. Anyone with a brain wouldn’t be friends with that shrew. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a fucking hypocrite,” Ghiaccio retorted, without batting an eye at his comrade.

Melone froze where he stood. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t play dumb, man.” The anger began to build up again. “Since when did you ever like going to parades? Or window shopping? Or “scenic views”? Afraid of some dumb hunk flirting with you? Please! You never cared about those things! You’re always engulfed in that dumb computer of yours to care. You’re mechanical. You can’t feel. That’s the real you. Therefore you’re no better than Janis. So stop pretending you’re something else so the others might like you…”

“Yeesh… a slap across the face sounded much more refreshing than this,” Melone mused in his mind. Ghiaccio turned his heel around to face his teammate. “AND CAN YOU STOP SLAPPING ME OVER THE HEAD!? THAT’S REALLY PISSING ME OFF! LIKE YOU DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY OR SOMETHIN’!?”. There was a 10-foot distance between them. How could he have put his hands on him if they were physically far apart? He didn’t even see anyone touch Ghiaccio. This guy must be losing it.

“Uh… I’ve been standing here since you started ranting. I haven’t touched you at all.”

“Then what the hell was hitting me?” Ghiaccio frantically looked around. He looked up. Nothing.

“Perhaps it’s going to rain?” Melone suggested, reaching his palm to the sky.

“That was no raindrop!” Ghiaccio insisted. “That was an open hand that swatted across the back of my head!”

“Peculiar,” Melone let out a hum. “Maybe it was a ghost?”

“There’s no such things as ghosts, dipshit! I’m being honest here! I felt something!”

“Well I guess that doesn’t explain the white hand floating by your shoulder,” Melone pointed next to the side of Ghiaccio’s face.

“Wha-!?” Ghiaccio zipped his head. There was nothing. His head zipped at Melone, who was trying his best to suppress a cheeky grin with not much success.

“YOU DICK! SO YOU WERE HITTING ME!” Ghiaccio almost leaped on Melone, he proceeded to repeatedly beat at Melone’s arms and ribcage.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! That last part was a joke, but I wasn’t slapping you before!” Melone insisted, attempting to shield himself in vain, knowing well he was going to be bruised all over for the next couple of weeks.

“Whatever! Let’s just get those stupid groceries!” Ghiaccio stormed off with Melone pacing behind. Still, they couldn’t figure out what, or who was hitting Ghiaccio…

———————————————————————

The men ambled further down one of the many bustling roads of Greenwich Village. The district was as urban as the rest of Manhattan, yet Risotto found it rather homey. A mix of foliage huddled close to the radiantly bright street lamps that lined down the very end. A slew of scents hit him all at once. He could smell the sweetness of pastries from the little café the trio had just passed, the savory and spice from the food trucks scattered about, and the dull hint of sweat and beer coming from the overtly excited pedestrians in their flamboyant attires. People were joking and drunkenly dancing with each other, all around having a fun time. Risotto glanced down at his two friends bantering, they too looked like they were having fun, all the while with their gimmicky masks on. For a moment, he completely forgot about his achy feet and back.

Formaggio lifted his mask up. “Hey, what the hell was that back there?” He looked up at his capo, snapping Risotto from his daydream. He was referring to the public display Janis was brewing 15 minutes earlier.

“Yeah it almost looked like she had you in a headlock,” Pesci added, his voice cracked with concern. Risotto didn’t give them much of an answer other than a shrug. “Was she hurting you? It looked like she was trying to stab you with those claws of hers.”

Risotto reassured Pesci by patting his shoulder. His voice was calm, almost blasé. “Not even a bruise. I’ll get over it.”

“Dunno why she didn’t have the two of us in the picture,” said Formaggio, crossing his arms.

“Erm, don’t you mean “three” of us?” Pesci corrected.

“No. I meant two. ‘Cause Riz is part of management and I’m a great worker! We deserved to be considered valued employees. You, however, only contribute to being a liability.”

“HEY!” Pesci cried out defensively.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Formaggio grumbled. “Would’ve been better if it was Ashanti anyway…”

“Eh? Why do you say that?” Pesci questioned.

“Really dude? C’mon! Have you not gotten a good look at her? She’s a total knockout!”

Pesci itched the top of his head. “But I thought you said she was creepy-.”

Formaggio pushed a finger against Pesci’s lips, making a shushing noise. “Say? Remember the whole premise of Pinocchio? Where the puppet wants to be a “real boy”?” He wrapped his arm around Pesci’s shoulder. “Except in real life, he wouldn’t achieve it through good behavior or fairytale bullshit. No! Getting up close to a cracking pair of titties is what makes Pinocchio a real man! So ya see my boy, once you become a real man, then come talk to me.” He affectionately patted the boy on the cheek. Pesci didn’t know how to react to that…

Once they entered the heart of the street, they noticed the masses of people were beginning to get thicker. The shouts and cheers from the crowd were ear-bludgeoning. The trio nudged and pushed their way through until they reached the steel barricades where they got a great view of the spectacle. The scene was beyond jaw-dropping.

The first thing they saw was what looked to be a pile of ashes. They were perplexed by what they were looking at but after a moment, something sprung forth from it. Being controlled by several puppeteers, its wings spread open, revealing itself to be a life-sized puppet of a baby phoenix. The puppet looked to be lit internally, giving the illusion that it was glowing from the flames. It ascended to the sky. Subsequently, it swept side to side, occasionally sweeping over the crowd, almost grazing their heads. Pesci flinched from the unexpectedness of its wings coming centimeters from the hairs on his scalp. Though, once he recovered from the surprise, he clapped happily. Risotto was passed impressed with the puppet’s design. It must’ve taken a whole team and a month’s worth of time to complete it. His eyes followed the puppet beast until it was no longer in his view. It was like he was hypnotized by it. It was beautiful.

Following the fiery bird were more gigantic floats and puppets, all of whom were just extravagant as the phoenix. Some were exaggeratedly grotesque, others were highly amusing. Giant skeletons and other beastly puppets waved to the masses. Formaggio urged Pesci to jump and give one of them a high-five, which Pesci was too nervous to do. Groups of bands with short kilts marched down the road while playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”, on their bagpipes. Some less orthodox bands wore more casual attire, nevertheless fervently beating their drums and strumming their guitars to an excitedly rhythmic tune. One float had a man dressed as Elvis Presley singing his classics while the jubilant crowd shouted in praise.

In-between the floats, were goers adorned in creative-looking costumes. Some were dressed as traditional horror-themed covered in blood and scars, or slashers, like Jason Voorhees and Ghostface, wielding plastic weapons from the dollar store. Other costumes were much more good-natured, like the typical angels with people dressed as their sheep and cartoony, crime-fighting superheroes, and their diabolically, evil counterparts. And then there were those people that dressed up in something one might find less conventional. Those were the ones that made Formaggio laugh the hardest. Presumably controversial and political figures with small puppet limbs crouched behind an equally small jail cell. One person dressed like a model, but purposely made the chest and bottom disproportionally bigger than the rest of their body, so as they proudly strolled by, those said features jiggled immensely. At least one grown man was running around with nothing but a diaper and rattle. That one made Formaggio slap his knee. “Hey look, it’s you in 20 years!” He elbowed Pesci in the chest, making Pesci’s face flush.

What should’ve been five minutes was stretched to a half hour. At this point, the rancid tang of alcohol was becoming nauseating for Risotto and every step felt like pointed knives puncturing his soles. Hunching over only eased the soreness temporarily but after some time, he felt no relief. It was Formaggio’s turn to be worried. “Hey man, you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah… I just need to sit.” In the corner of his eye, Formaggio saw a part of the street that was more spacious, yet there were no benches or chairs in sight. He signaled the other two to follow him. He guided them right to the curb.

“It’s not much, but it’s something.” Risotto gradually lowered himself onto the curb. He grunted as the pain shot up from his lower back to his spine. It lasted for a moment before it subsided.

“Thank you…” Risotto sighed.

Formaggio also spotted a nearby food truck. “Tell you what, big guy! How about I buy you some dinner?”

“Please do not splurge your money, especially on me for that matter,” Risotto scolded. As he said that, his stomach gurgled. Formaggio shot a smirk at his capo. Risotto insisted. “We have dinner back home. We can wait.”

“C’mon, you worked twelve hours today! Twelve freaking hours! If ya wait any longer, you’ll be seeing stars! It’s on me!” Formaggio flipped open his wallet. “Don’t worry though. I’ve been picking up more shifts at work. And don’t try to pay me back. Nothing wrong with spoiling yourself once in a while, man.”

Risotto watched as Formaggio hurried to the food stand. It was Halal-themed. “Oi! Can I get… three gyros… two lambs and one chicken? Wait, wait, wait! Lamb over rice sounds really good. On second thought, scratch the chicken gyro! Can I get two lamb gyros and one tray of lamb over rice?”

“Formaggio… you lovable fool,” Risotto pitied, shaking his head. A minute later and Formaggio came back with their food. The gyros were hot, steaming right through the tin foil. “One for the mammone,” he tauntingly wagged the gyro in Pesci’s face, who swiped it out of his hand. “And one for you, big boy.” He winked, handing it over to Risotto. Risotto placed the gyro on his lap. Once all seated, Formaggio wasted no time, he peeled the plastic container off and proceeded to massacre his dinner.

After a few minutes, Risotto still hadn’t taken a bite and didn’t even bother removing the foil off of it. Rather, he found himself attentively studying the gyro. It was warm but wasn’t as piping hot as it was minutes ago. It did smell quite good. He peered over his side. Pesci was casually chewing on his gyro, while Formaggio was incessantly going to town.

“So tasty~,” they said dreamily, in unison.

Risotto looked down at his gyro. The aluminum mirrored back his reflection, a much more crumpled version of himself. He was about to unfold the tinfoil, but something in him made him stop. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry? What’s stopping you? Eat it already.”

“But…”

“Why don’t you like this? Look around you. You’re supposed to be having fun. They’re happy. You’re happy. Isn’t this what you wanted? You want to move on.”

“No. A Stand User is tracking us this very minute. What’s there to be happy about? The moment I turn my back, they’ll be lying on the ground. Dead.”

“Why are you like this? You’re out of harm’s way and yet you can’t even enjoy the smaller things in life. Always looking at the negativity of the situation…”

“Do you hear yourself, you damn fool? How dare you consider your needs more important than your men's! Selfish is what you are…”

“Pull yourself together.”

He remembered the phoenix. He replayed the memory of the phoenix in his head. Play, rewind, and repeat. Something about it put him at ease. Was it the design? Perhaps it is the message behind it? He hadn’t felt so tranquil in so long. There was a quote, he recalled. He almost forgot about it. It was recited years ago by someone whom he used to cherish:

“When we confront our demons, we smile back at them. Take a moment to laugh and forget your troubles. Even for a second. And in the end, you’ll be the one to deliver the final laugh.”

He peered at his gyro again, which was now lukewarm. Cautiously, he ripped the ends of the foil and out came the honeyed aroma of lamb meat. He glanced one more time at his teammates. A gentle smile crossed his lips. He took a slow bite. Then another one. And another one, but more eager. He caught the attention of his two friends, but by the time they turned, he was three-fourths done with his dinner. Formaggio giggled. “I had a feeling you were hungry, big guy.” In a matter of seconds, the gyro was erased from existence.

“Thank you, Formaggio,” said Risotto, before a hiccup crept. He proceeded to wipe his hands and mouth with a napkin. His feet, back, and now his stomach was feeling exceedingly better. But he felt a twinge of guilt since Prosciutto slaved over a hot stove and now they were too full to think of food, or so he thought.

“I think we can call it quits.” They got up to make their way home. In the corner of his vision, Pesci saw a couple of kids. They were with their parents at someone’s door. They too were dressed for the occasion and had pillowcases in their hands.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” They shouted enthusiastically. The owner complimented on all their costumes and handed them sweets. But it was the sweets that caught Pesci’s attention. The owner handed out the largest chocolate bars he’s ever witnessed, even bigger than the ones Melone had on the boat. Not only that, the other candies he was familiar with were doubled the size as well. In another house he saw, the owner was giving out chocolate chip cookies and rice treats. He squealed to himself. “DID THAT GIRL JUST GET MONEY!?” He watched in awe as a little kid picked from her candy-bag, a crisp ten-dollar bill. He looked at the plastic bag that he got from the grocery store, which gave him an idea. He tugged on Risotto’s shirt. Trying to pull off the best puppy dog look he could, he looked up at his capo. “Hey Boss, can we get candy?”

Risotto raised an eyebrow, to which Pesci pointed at one of the doors where there were trick-or-treaters at. Formaggio chortled. “Seriously? You wanna go trick-or-treating? What are you, a toddler?”

“But I saw some kids with these huge candy bars and cookies and money! That doesn’t come around every day! Please, guys! Just for a little bit!” Pesci begged, locking his hands and making a praying motion. Formaggio snickered, “Knowing your luck, you’ll be coming home with a dead cockroach and a bag stuffed with Necco Wafers.”

“Sure,” Risotto replied, catching Formaggio off guard.

Pesci squawked happily. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He wanted to give Risotto a big hug but figured that would’ve been pushing it. Instead, he rushed excitedly to the nearest door, with Formaggio not too far behind. “Hey hold up, Chicken Boy! Don’t forget your mask!” Risotto cooly walked at the heels of Formaggio.

They reached a house. Pesci hastily knocked on the door and out came a middle-aged woman with a huge bowl of candy. “TRICK OR, uh, TREAT!” The woman was delighted until she got a better look at them. Why were there three grown men standing at her door with cheap masks obscuring their faces with a single bag right up to her? Was this a robbery?

She nervously laughed. “Uhhh, aren’t you boys a tad too old for trick-or-treating?” Pesci’s heart shattered into a trillion pieces. Formaggio was right, he was too old to be going around asking for sweet treats. Only babies do that. He thought of turning around and leaving dejected until Risotto stepped passed them, towering over the lady. He boomed in a low tune:

“Deca, deca, come to the door, and give to the messenger of Death...”

The lady broke into a cold sweat. Her predictions were coming true, this was a robbery! However, because she faltered to satisfy the man’s demands, he boomed again.

“Deca, deca, under the door… the wife’s head in smithereens.”

Immediately after he said that she poured the bowl’s contents right into the plastic bag, not breaking eye contact with him at all. The bag became five pounds heavier. When the entire bowl was emptied, she ran for her purse.

Pesci looked down at his bag. He was elated. All the treats in it looked potentially promising. Formaggio and Risotto turned around down the porch steps, with Pesci waving at the lady. “Thank you!” Then he scurried off.

“Woah! That was insane, Riz!” Formaggio exclaimed.

“Isn’t that what trick-or-treating is though?” Risotto asked. “If someone fails to give you a treat, you have no choice but to threaten to trick them, no?”

“Threatening her with a terrible fate, more like it. But this got me more in the candy-swiping spirit.” Formaggio rubbed his hands together, he had a mischievous grin. “We should do a couple more houses! Whaddya say?” He looked at Risotto and Pesci, with the latter eagerly nodding. Risotto’s feet and back were beginning to bother him again. Yet despite that, he nodded. The things he did for love.

———————————————————————

“Stupid, crummy store.” Illuso lamented, a bag of video cassettes in his. He made his way down the road. There were a decent amount of people around him, but it wasn’t as populated as 6th Avenue. At this rate, he was too fed up to go to that dumb parade anymore. Just by the look of the video rental store, it looked unkempt and desolate. Yet apparently, they get so much attention, that this night just so happened that virtually almost all the videos were rented out for Halloween. “That’s bullshit,” Illuso vented. “There wasn’t a soul in sight when I got there.”

He wasn’t even sure what he got from there. The VHS covers were white blanks with very little description on them. The rental clerk insisted they were horror movies, but he could’ve just told him that so he would leave. Illuso promised himself if they were anything but horror flicks, he would march right back to that store and knock the son of a bitch’s teeth out.

“These flicks better be worth the time I wasted.”

He was edging the corner of the block. He was almost home. Finally. He was getting tired anyway. Besides the distant cheering coming from the event, the block was rather quiet. He could hear the sound of background banter and the pitter-patter of shoes on the asphalt. It was rather soothing.

Something changed, however. It seemed subtle at first glance, but it took a moment for Illuso to come to fully realize something was terribly wrong. “There’s a pair of feet walking behind me. Almost synchronizing with my step. For all, I know it could be a mugger, or. Oh no. They’re getting louder. They’re inches away from me now. Four no, three inches. Two inches. I could feel their breath down my neck. Maybe if I change my pace.” He walked a little faster. So did they. “Yep. I’m being followed.” He felt his brain rushing, his skin prickled with goosebumps and his hands felt clammy.

“Don’t panic,” Illuso reassured himself. “Whatever you do. Do not run or attack. They’ll realize you know what’s up and they could strike and it’s foolish to dive into a fight if you’re oblivious about your enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. But if they dare attack first, you’ll make your move. But most importantly, do not walk back to the apartment. You don’t know who this is or what they’re capable of and if you leave a trail for them, they could go after not just you, but the others.” He refocused his breathing. Just a few yards in front of him, there was a large group of pedestrians. “Hold on. Maybe if I blend myself into that crowd of people, I can escape from whoever’s following me. One way or another, they’re not gonna follow me home!”

Illuso had reached the end of the street, but instead of turning the corner, he strolled into the middle of the road, right into the huge group full of partygoers. It tripped up the stalker, as Illuso no longer felt panting from behind anymore. He heard an inaudible gasp and their foot clomped awkwardly as if they lost balance. They were expecting him to turn down that corner. He didn’t look back though. He wormed his way through the crowd, shoving any drunk asshole to block the stalker from his path.

Nonetheless, they were hot on his trail, but that wasn’t going to stop Illuso anytime soon. He would have to throw every drunk at this creep before they’d catch him. The stalker was getting closer again. Desperation was setting in as Illuso used the rest of his strength to bring down bodies, some of them being twice his weight, to use as barricades. He was getting exhausted. They were inches away now. He was prepared for anything that was about to happen, even if it cost his own life. A hand grabbed ahold of his shoulder. “That’s it.” Illuso darted around with his metallic hand molded into a fist.

“EAT THIS!”

His fist was cushioned by an open hand. To his surprise, it wasn’t a stalker. It was his capo. “No need to get violent, it’s just me,” said Risotto, throwing Illuso’s hand to the side. Illuso stared, but his muscles relaxed.

He exhaled, “Then maybe don’t silently follow me around like you’re gonna off me.”

“What? You walked passed me a moment ago and that’s when I placed my hand on your shoulder.”

Illuso’s eyes widened. “So that wasn’t you.” He looked around, they were trapped within the ocean of people. “Shit. I should’ve gotten a better look, now they could attack from anywhere.”

“Just calm down,” said Risotto. “What happened?”

“When I was coming down the street, someone started to follow me,” Illuso explained. “I tried to lose sight of them by merging into the crowd. I think it could’ve been-.”

“The Stand User.” Risotto scanned the area. He couldn’t sense anything that a Stand User was around. Either they left the premise or were doing an incredibly good job of hiding. He turned back at Illuso. “Do you have a description of their appearance?”

“Hardly,” sighed Illuso. “But they have a rough estimate height of 5’11 since I practically felt them breathing down my throat. But the last time I knew they were following me was right before I went into the crowd.”

Risotto hummed. “That’s barely a start.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Formaggio approached, followed by Pesci, who was almost dragging his bag full of candy.

”Brace yourself, men. We might uncover the Stand User tonight.”

With that information, Formaggio’s jaw dropped which turned into glee, while Pesci’s face twisted in terror. “This night keeps getting better and better,” Formaggio exclaimed.

———————————————————————

1 HOUR LATER…

Back at the apartment, Prosciutto guarded the group of scoundrels that vandalized his front door. The kids had buckets of soapy water, scrubbing the walls and floors with sponges and mops. “That’s right, get every centimeter clean. Trust me, I’m not shy about punishing bad children, even if they’re not mine.”

The cardboard robot rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it, mister. Just don’t forget our deal.”

“I won’t.” Out from the shadows, Melone and Ghiaccio slumped down the hall, their arms were full of grocery bags. “Ah, took you two long enough.”

“Here.” Ghiaccio pushed a bag into Prosciutto. “Hope you’re happy, ‘cause we found every damn ingredient on that list.”

“Thank you,” replied Prosciutto, turning to Melone, who attempted to slink away into the living room. “And the candy?”

Being caught red-handed, Melone cringed with dread. He was hoping Prosciutto wouldn’t ask about it because when they got to the candy aisle, it was completely barren. Not a single sweet in sight, not even licorice. He thought kids hated licorice. “Well, uh, you see, we…”

“Guhhh, I’m so tired!” The three gangsters glanced over to see the rest of their squad trodding down the hall. They were tuckered out. Even Risotto looked like he was about to collapse on an unsuspecting child. Melone turned his attention to the bag Pesci was carrying. It was overflowing with candy! Just enough for those snotty punks. “Di Molto, Pesci!” He hurried over to his teammate. “Mwuah! Thank you! Thank you! Mwuah! Mwuah! You’re a lifesaver!” He said as he peppered kisses all over Pesci’s face. Pesci was no longer tired anymore, but he felt… rightfully unclean.

Melone grabbed the bag, handing out as much candy to satisfy the beasts. The kids gathered around, greedily snatching any chocolate they could get their hands on. Once they obtained their handfuls, they scurried away from the scene, with Melone gleefully shouting back. “Di Molto! Di Molto Halloween!”

“He seems happy,” commented Prosciutto to Ghiaccio.

“If you wanna say that,” Ghiaccio responded, folding his arms.

Pesci slumped over to Melone, his voice cracked. “Why would you do that? Do you have any idea how much candy you wasted? That was my candy!” Pesci sounded like he was about to burst into sobs, which didn’t dishearten Melone at all.

“Pipe it, crybaby. You didn’t need that candy anyway,” Ghiaccio cruelly exclaimed.

“Agreed,” nodded Prosciutto. “What were you three doing all night? Your dinner’s in the fridge.”

“Aww thanks for the offer, P.” Formaggio let out a yawn, patting his belly. “But I had such a long night, I’m too exhausted to eat anything.”

“That wasn’t an offer.” He then scolded Risotto. “And what about you? Care to explain?”

“Apologies. Formaggio treated us to dinner,” Risotto answered truthfully. “I’ll eat it for lunch tomorrow.”

Prosciutto shook his head. “Fine… You know what, Pesci? I’m making dessert, you can have some but you have to help me bake it.” His little brother gleamed.

“Uh, yeah sure!”

“Prosciutto,” Risotto began. “We need to talk once we get inside. It’s related to the Stand User…”

———————————————————————

“So you guys let the Stand User get away?” Ghiaccio asked. “You had them right in the palm of your hand!”

“Well thank that asshole over there,” Formaggio pointed his thumb at Illuso. “If he got a look of ‘em, we could’ve bagged ‘em with no doubt.”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Illuso argued. “Besides, Risotto couldn’t sense any Stand User in the surrounding area. I think they chickened out once we were surrounded by other people. We searched the area for an entire hour before calling it quits.”

“It seems the Stand User does best in quieter places. Perhaps outside of work, they’re hiding in alleyways or something more isolated,” Melone proposed.

“If that’s the case, then why are they following us at work?” Formaggio interjected.

“Probably trying to get as much dirt as possible,” Illuso answered, sipping his tea. “Why do you think they haven’t attacked us yet? They’re trying to find a good opportunity to strike. But I don’t think they’re going to attack us there. They’ll want to attack when we’re vulnerable, like at home. But as long as we’re surrounded by people, they’re not going to do anything. But that’s my theory.”

“Did they find out where we lived?” Asked Melone.

Illuso shook his head. “To be frank, I hope not. We waited for an hour until we thought the coast was clear.”

“Well, if they aren’t going to attack us at work, we should make a move. I think we should lure them out, then corner them. Come on Risotto, what is your input on this?” Ghiaccio asked his capo, who was seated on the loveseat. His head was tilted back and his chest heaved. The room vibrated. Risotto was out cold. All that walking did a number on him, he didn’t even have the chance to remove his shoes. His snoring was so strong, that the quake caused Illuso’s teacup to titter over the edge of the coffee table, which was saved by Illuso. To avoid any more possible damage, Formaggio tenderly placed a pillow over his capo’s face to deafen the rumble. “Nighty-night, sweet prince.”

Formaggio returned to his comrades. “Let’s call it a night. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Until then, let’s unwind and watch some horror flicks!” Formaggio eagerly approached the plastic bag containing the video cassettes, before being interrupted by Ghiaccio.

“Call it a night!? CALL IT A NIGHT!? There’s a killer madman out to get us and you’re more worried about discussing it tomorrow? What if there won’t be a tomorrow? They’ll kill us in our sleep before we get to talk-!”

“Buh, buh, buh, buh, buh, buh!” Formaggio had rudely cut him off. “It can’t be helped to fret over something at this second. Let’s all just relax and watch some movies, okay? Okay.”

He pushed one of the videotapes into the VCR. The four assassins scooted on the couch together. The movie began. It was very grainy, almost like a home video. They couldn’t figure out what exactly they were looking at. It wasn’t until they heard a background voice urging a woman to push, followed by screaming. It was that very moment they understood what was happening. After that, the scene was a complete mess. Everyone, except Melone, made hurling noises.

“Sick! Illuso, what the fuck kinda movie did you get!?” Formaggio queried, cupping his mouth to avoid upchucking everywhere.

Illuso, who was also just as disgusted as the others, shrugged. “I-I don’t know! The guy said this was supposed to be a horror film!” He checked the cover. The print was so minuscule, that he almost missed it. It read, “Happy Birthday Timmy!”. An enraged Illuso threw the cover to the other end of the living room. “That piece of shit! He sold me a literal home video of some bitch popping a brat out of her lemon!”

“So… now what?” Melone asked. The four of them silently swapped glances as the video resumed playing.

“Last one to puke gets the bed tonight,” Formaggio challenged. The others stared at the man.

“Fold,” said Illuso.

“I’m out,” Ghiaccio stated. The two assassins walked into the dining room, leaving Formaggio and Melone in the living room.

“Pussies!” Formaggio shouted snarkily.

Not like they cared. They seated themselves at the table. Their attention shifted to the duo finishing up baking. Prosciutto and Pesci placed the tray into the oven, then proceeded to close the oven door.

“What are you two making?” Illuso questioned.

“Soul cakes,” answered Prosciutto.

“Isn’t it too early to make those? Aren’t they supposed to be made for the day after tomorrow? Y’know, for All SOULS Day?” Ghiaccio rebuked, pushing his glasses over his nose bridge.

“Typically, but who says by law we can’t?” Prosciutto cooly retorted.

“I actually can’t recall the last time I ate one of those,” mused Illuso, fiddling with a piece of his hair. “But as a kid, I ate them at any opportunity I could.”

“Look, bro!” Pesci pointed inside the oven. “The cakes are already rising! I loved eating these when I was a bambino. My nonna used to sing me a song whenever she’d make these.” He then sang a little tune. “Soul, a soul, a soul cake, please good missus a soul cake. An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, any good thing to make us all merry. One for Peter, two for Paul, Three for Him who made us all!”

“Tch. What a stupid song,” Ghiaccio grumbled.

Just then, they heard gagging coming from the living room. “Is everything alright in there?” Prosciutto called forth.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. That was Melone.” Formaggio gagged, trying his hardest not to spill the contents of his stomach, while Melone sat there completely stonefaced, totally unbothered by the movie.

“Sounds to me like Melone’s gonna win,” joked Illuso.

“As if! And it doesn’t matter if he wins, he’d just take the floor over the bed!”

Once everything settled, the crew went back to whatever they were doing. Ghiaccio and Illuso bantered, Prosciutto was sprucing the kitchen again, and Pesci was occupied with keeping an eye on the cakes. Out of the blue, Illuso went silent. Something had crossed his mind about what happened earlier.

“Hey, guys.” The others turned to him. He looked downwards into his cup. He looked a bit distressed. “I was thinking. About earlier today. I’m aware I didn’t get to see the stalker, but I think I might’ve picked up a clue. It wouldn’t be much and I could be wrong, but hear me out. I confidently think whoever was following me was indeed the Stand User. That being said, I think our perp is female. Why do I think this? When I went into the crowd, I thought I heard them gasp. An adult women’s average pitch range is about 165 to 255 Hertz. While a man’s is way lower, roughly 85 to 155 Hertz. The pitch sounded much higher. So we’re either dealing with a girl or a young child. However, given the fact they were almost my size, it’s less possible it was a child with that height.”

“That’s a possibility,” Prosciutto remarked. “But it’s still iffy to think your stalker might’ve been the Stand User. Not saying they’re not, but there isn’t much substantial evidence to “confidently” point out that that was them.”

“That leads to my next point. “Right after I tripped her up. She whispered something. It was too fast at the time to decipher what she said but replaying it in my head, I think I understood what she was saying.”

“Well, what?”

“… Too soon.”

Somehow, the room felt weirdly chilly, as if Ghiaccio’s summoned his White Album. Whatever it was, it sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. If this was true, did the Stand User already figure them out? If so, would they be ready to strike? Did they know where they lived? Was it time to book it? Were they gonna fight? It went very quiet, which made their anxiety churn. The oven timer let out a shrill ring, making everyone jump.

“The cakes are done,” Pesci said, he wasn’t sure to be happy, given the news he just received. He took them out and place them on top of the oven to cool. Prosciutto peeked into the living to check on everyone. Formaggio was losing miserably at his bet with Melone, of course. Risotto was still fast asleep. Knowing him, he would be awake early in the morning. He came back into the kitchen.

“It’ll be okay,” Prosciutto calmly announced to everyone. “Risotto will make sure of it. Knowing him, he’s going to guard our home like a hawk. And once he finds this Stand User, their fate will be sealed.” The others began to feel more composed. Prosciutto was right. While they couldn’t identify who the Stand User was just yet, whoever they were, couldn’t be compared to the driving force that was Risotto Nero.

At this point, the cakes were done cooling off. They were light and puffy, with lines of raisins intersecting down the center, making a cross on top of the cake. One by one, the cakes were taken from the plate. Pesci took a chunk off his cake. “Bro! You never fail to disappoint! These are so good!”

“Hmm, what do you know? These are good.” Illuso commented. “You can taste the spice from the nutmeg but it’s not overpowering. The sweetness from the raisins and dried cherries balance it out perfectly.”

“Ehh, I guess they’re okay,” grumbled Ghiaccio as he took another bite. Illuso took two more and left for the living room. Whether he was offering each to Melone and Formaggio or just grabbed two more for himself, was debatable. Only an extra cake remained left. Prosciutto was about to eat his, but then he put it back on the tray. Pesci took notice of this.

“What’s the matter, bro? Don’t you wanna try one? They’re delicious.”

“I was, but then I thought about it. Not that we celebrate Soul’s Day, but since we don’t, this would be a good time to celebrate the ones we…”

“Oh. I get what you’re saying, bro…”

The two friends gazed at the cakes on the counter. Then Prosciutto nudged his younger teammate. “Let’s go inside.” Pesci nodded, leaving the two cakes by themselves.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

Risotto slowly stirred from his slumber, stretching his arms and letting out a drawn-out yawn. He felt rejuvenated. He hadn’t slept like that in ages. Risotto fluttered his eyes open, only for his heart to sink, like an anchor descending into the abyss. “No… no way… I’m seeing things.” Risotto jumped out of his chair. His friends’ bodies were scattered from the living room to the kitchen. They all lay facing down. Shards of glass were everywhere, and a faint sound of a car siren was going off outside. He hurried to Prosciutto’s body as it was the closest to him. He felt for any pulses in his neck and wrists. No sign of life.

“Prosciutto! Prosciutto! Get up!” He begged, only to receive no answer. Prosciutto’s head tilted to the side, leading Risotto to a horrifying discovery. If it weren’t for his clothes and hair, Prosciutto wouldn’t have been identifiable. The skin of his face was peeled away, leaving behind a bloody crimson skull. Whoever committed the flaying must’ve been an “amateur” in carrying out the horrid act, as bits of muscle and an eye remained intact on the skull. Or possibly this was done on purpose, and their goal was to make the corpse look so horribly mutilated, that it would frighten Risotto?

To add insult to injury, he was fast asleep during all of this. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what his poor men went through, pleading in agony for him to wake up as they were being brutally tortured. He didn’t have time to mourn, he needed to find the bastard who was responsible for this. Something loomed in the corner. He wasn’t alone. A callous laugh made him whirl behind himself, as he did, the front door slammed shut.

“Show yourself!” Risotto called out, despite not his mouth not moving. It was like he could hear his words out loud. When no response was given, he booked to the door. When he got to the hall, it was empty. It looked narrow and dim as if the corners were being swallowed by a black void. It was cold. Not in the sense that someone meddled with the thermostat, but it was a lack of a better term… cold. It was like every step you took felt like protruding ice shards spiking up your legs. Something within Risotto rattled his insides. He was genuinely afraid.

“It” must’ve known this, its mocking laughter echoed down the corridor. It was louder and crueler. It seemed to beckon Risotto to come to find it. Risotto ran down the hall, his rage boiled. It seemed like the minutes stretched into hours as Risotto was chasing down the monster. He ran faster and faster, but he somehow couldn’t reach the dark. Clarity made him realize that the hall shouldn’t have been this long, he should’ve reached the elevator sometime ago. He looked at his legs, they were somehow slowing down, his arms too. The laugh was trailing off, it was getting farther from him. He used every bit of his energy and fury to pick up his pace but to no avail. The harder he tried, the longer the hallway became. His movements were getting slower and slower, becoming more snail-like, until he was completely paralyzed.

“Coward!” He tried to scream, but no sound came out of him. He struggled yet his immobility didn’t falter. He felt like a chained beast at a circus. His furor was replaced with humiliation. The ugly laugh was almost inaudible but its intensity never ceased. It rang through his ears, whispering cruel nothings to him.

“No… no… wait… come back… come back…”
 
 
 

“COME BACK!” He shouted, reaching his hand out. This time he heard himself. However, he was no longer in the corridor. Rather yet, he was back in the living room. There was no blood, no shattered glass, and his men were stirring in their sleep. Nothing but tranquil silence. Prosciutto entered from the kitchen, he was in his night attire and he looked irritated. He yawned. “Why are you shouting? Don’t you know what time it is?”

Risotto rose from his chair. He slowly trodded, then darted over to Prosciutto. He grasped Prosciutto by his cheeks, catching his teammate by surprise. Risotto tilted Prosciutto’s head in different directions, observing every corner of his face, making sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Once Risotto was done inspecting, he let go of his teammate’s face. He exhaled with relief.

“Let me guess. Bad dream?” Prosciutto inquired. Risotto nodded. “Well, you’re awake now, so no need to worry.” Prosciutto walked back into the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Make it three.” Risotto leisurely followed behind. He sat at the table. Prosciutto handed him a mug filled with black roast coffee. “Did you want creamer or anything?” Asked Prosciutto, putting a slice of bread into the toaster.

“This is fine. Thank you.” He took a sip of his coffee. He wasn’t the kind to drink it often as coffee usually made him agitated all day. This time, however, he would make an exception. The sharp, earthy taste of the black roast gave him a burst of energy. It was piping hot, just how he preferred it. No need for cream or sugar to hinder the taste, or give him a sweet rush. As long as he could function efficiently throughout his entire shift, that mattered the most.

Prosciutto brought over a plate of toast, and he too sat himself down. The two men ate quietly for an undistinguished amount of time. Nothing but the sounds of crunching and sipping filled the air. Prosciutto broke the silence. “While you were asleep, Illuso brought up some important information regarding the encounter last night.”

Risotto gently brought his mug down on the table. “Go on.”

“As you already know, Illuso believes he indeed came in contact with the Stand User. Later last night when we were in the kitchen, he disclosed some more information. He suspected she whispered “too soon” before fleeing the premises.”

“She?” Risotto asked.

“He suspects the individual to be a woman,” Prosciutto explained. “He said their voice was on the higher side and didn’t sound like a man’s voice at all. Their height is supposedly about 5’10. We could eliminate Janis or Angel as our culprit. We suspect she’s averse to bustling crowds as you saw before, she didn’t seem to follow Illuso into the crowd of partygoers. Granted, the evidence Illuso mentioned is perhaps too vague to confidently point to a Stand User. Therefore, I believe we shouldn’t close our options just yet. But it’s odd. There’s something about this person that… troubles me.”

*RING* *RING* *RING*

The phone on the wall began to ring. Risotto picked himself up from his chair. He put the phone to his ear. “Hello…?” At first, nobody on the other line replied. He was about to hang up before a familiar voice spoke, he put the phone back to his ear. Prosciutto tried to comprehend who it was and what the conversation they were having with Risotto was.

“A meeting? At 4 in the morning? But it’s 3:35 right now,” Risotto questioned, turning to the clock on the stove. The voice became harsh when he said that. Prosciutto realized who Risotto was speaking to.

“Okay. I understand.” He hung the phone back on the wall.

“Janis, I presume?” Prosciutto asked, his capo nodded. Risotto swigged the rest of the contents from his cup, then quickly walked to the bathroom to get dressed. It took no more than five minutes before Risotto was ready for the day.

“Should we discuss this before-?” Prosciutto asked, watching Risotto exit the door.

Like a speeding bullet, Risotto was gone. He didn’t even stop to say goodbye. No matter. Prosciutto sighed, walking back to the dining room. He picked up Risotto’s mug and brought it to the sink. He filled half the mug with sink water, watching it pensively as the remnants of coffee fused with the water. He couldn’t imagine the amount of crap management gives him.

———————————————————————

“Alright, alright. Everyone settle down. We’re just going to have to start without him.” Janis announced to the department supervisors, gesturing her hands to quiet them down. It was 4:10 am, less than two hours before the store opened. The managers consisted of Ashanti, Nick, Angel, Frank, Kovic, and a few others were disgruntled and groggy, but since Janis called them all in, they knew they couldn’t compromise with her. Just in the nick of time, there was a knock on the door. It opened. It was Risotto.

“Took you long enough. Overslept much?” Janis scolded, expecting an answer.

“Sorry.” Risotto didn’t bat an eye at Janis, he casually took a seat. He discerned there were glares shooting him from all directions, but he wasn’t troubled by them. Janis cleared her throat, she slowly waltzed around the table, her hands folded behind her back. “So I’ve gathered you all for an important meeting this morning. Last night bombed. An absolute disaster.” She snaked behind everyone’s seat, like a predator cornering its prey. “Our sales and revenue dropped more than last year’s Halloween! I’ve had at least three complaints last night about not having enough registers opened.” She gradually made a full stop behind Risotto. “One could ask… why?”

Risotto faced upwards to see her displeased face looking down at him. The room got really quiet. Risotto pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Was there something I am at fault for, Janis?” Risotto asked.

“Don’t act innocent. If you were doing your job right and not dilly-dallying all the time, we could’ve had more interviews. And if we’d had more interviews, we’d have more hirees. And more hirees means more help. And more help means more happy customers. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sure.” Risotto gave Janis a small nod.

Somehow that was the wrong answer as Janis twisted her face in contempt. “You’re not taking me seriously, are you? You think I’m a joke?” Even Ashanti, who was sitting beside Risotto, was giving him side-eye.

“Whatever made you jump to that conclusion?” Risotto inquired calmly. “All I said was I agree with you.”

“Well, your tone speaks otherwise. You givin’ me an attitude?”

“Of course not,” he replied flatly.

“Why you-!”

“Janis. Let’s move on to the next issue, shall we?” Buggle interjected. 

Janis scowled at Buggle, then back at Risotto. “As I was saying. Our goal is to hire more people. Next thing you know Thanksgiving will be around the corner, followed by Christmas which will begin our Christmas Can Can Blowout. We’re going to need as much help as possible.” The managers, along with Buggle, nodded in agreement. “Now onto more “pressing issues”. I know I just told you all that we need all the help we can get. That being said, we should find it in the right places. What I mean by that is it appears the people we’ve hired this past month seem, as one might describe their work ethic to be… lackluster. Truth be told, some of them aren’t hitting certain milestones I expect them to hit by now. And as someone like myself who believes work ethic should be placed above all else, that simply won’t do. I could think of at least five, no, six employees on the chopping block.” For a second, Risotto felt his upper lip quiver. Janis noticed this from the corner of her eye. She was surprised. To think that a big ape could emote anything besides unfeeling apathy, was surreal to see this “breakthrough”. That dumb wall was beginning to crack. She smirked.

Kovic raised his hand. He spoke with a lazy drawl, “C’mon Janiiiis.” Her smile dissipated when she realized he was talking. “Don’t you think you’re being too harsh on the newbies? Some of them are just lil’ birdies barely leaving the nest yet. Maybe they need some time, like a sunflower seed in a big plant world. Hehe, big plant world…” Janis paid no heed to Kovic’s ridiculous analogies.

“I mean think about it. If we keep these slackers running amuck in our store, what are we gaining from it? Nothing. We’ll be losing customers AND sales for the store. We cannot afford that! Next thing you know we’d be cutting everyone’s hours? Why should our veteran workers get the short end of the stick? Why should they do most of the work while these novices stand around twiddling their fingers? Not in my store! If I see any of these recruits slacking on the job, or can’t even complete the simplest of tasks, I will not hesitate to put on my best outfit and kindly escort them out of the store…”

“Train them.”

All attention was directed at Risotto. Janis flushed with anger again. “Train them? What do you mean by “train them”? Training them again isn’t going to solve the issue. That’ll only be a waste of time.”

“What about training videos? Training books? Anything.” Risotto suggested. “For someone who insists on hiring people from the right places, you seem to be against training them properly.”

“Excuse me?”

“All I’m saying is some of them might not be as hands-on as other workers. Perhaps they need another outlet? Let them take notes. Assure them that it’s okay to make mistakes from time to time. This should be said for all your workers, not just the new ones.”

“Are you for real? Ha! Don’t be absurd.” Janis laughed dismissively. “You honestly think a couple of slideshows is going to make a few bad employees give two shits about becoming better ones? Dream on it.”

“If you don’t want to take that route, that’s fine. But then you should communicate with them,” Risotto challenged. “If you’re going to consider them as your “valued workers”, get to know them. Find out what their flaws are. Take Giorgio, for example. He can be on the slow side. And I don’t mean he’s scatterbrained, he’s literally on the slow side and he can goof off more than he should. But once you push him, he can be a dedicated worker. But you flattering him with pizza and scented stickers without giving him any constructive criticism will just make him lazy and spoiled. Once you get passed that, then try to communicate with him. Build him up, don’t bring him down. If you apply those things, he can blossom into a great worker.”

“So what are you implying?” Janis said accusingly, along with Ashanti shooting him a dirty look. “That Ashanti and I aren’t “training” employees the “right way”? Are you pinning the blame on us?” She walked over behind Ashanti, placing her hands on the woman’s shoulders. Ashanti looked up at her higher up, giving her a gracious smile. “I’ll have you know that I personally trained Ashanti myself. I showed her the ins and outs of this store. She’s worked in every department. Was promoted from a cashier, to shift lead, to Front-End Assistant Manager. All at the ripe age of 16. That was eight years ago. She never takes no for an answer and she’s always listening to what I tell her to do.” Ashanti looked back at Risotto, her smile was self-congratulatory. Janis strolled back at Risotto, she too wore a shit-eating grin. “Do you honestly think I’d give her that position if she wasn’t qualified for it?”

“I see.” He turned to Ashanti. “Ashanti. Tell me. How long can you recall the last time anyone has stolen from this store?”

Ashanti initially looked rather stunned by that question. She rubbed her chin. “Let’s see… never.” Janis gave another smug glance at him.

“Wait.”

They both turned their heads, Janis looked more dumbfounded. Ashanti hesitated but proceeded slowly as if she was caught in a lie. “Now that I’m recollecting, there was once when I was still a cashier, which was about… eight years ago.”

“Impressive. Impeccable, even.” Risotto commented. “How did you handle the situation? Did you stop them?”

“Are we seriously wasting precious time playing lawyer?” Janis complained while the others listened attentively.

“Of course not!” Ashanti laughed nervously. “Chasing or fighting someone who’s stealing is totally prohibited. That’s just common sense! I wouldn’t put my life at risk over some Christmas ham. Who knows? That person could’ve laid a finger on me or worse!”

“I understand.” Risotto pushed his shades up. “I give you kudos for not putting yourself in senseless danger. So, what did you do? Did you report the incident to Janis? Did you even ask if they had a receipt?”

“I, uh.” Ashanti glanced at the other managers, then at an irate Janis, who was shaking her head disapprovingly. She felt embarrassingly crimson. She sighed in defeat. “No.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because. Because… I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask for a receipt if it meant escalating the situation. Nobody told me I could do that. And I was too afraid to report it if it meant getting reprimanded.” She let out another sigh. “I’m so sorry, Janis.” She hid her head in shame.

Risotto continued. “And what if Giorgio was in that very position you were in? Could you blame him for not knowing what to do? Would you reprimand him for not doing what he could’ve done? The very thing you dreaded Janis would’ve done if she had found out?”

“Oh!” Ashanti lowered her head, clenching her chest. Risotto raised a brow. What’s with her? It wasn’t like he was trying to make the girl cry or anything of that sort.

“This is getting ridiculous!” Janis snapped at Risotto. “Don’t you see what you’re doing!? You’re making a whole scene!”

“How am I?” Risotto questioned. “My goals for this store are the same as yours. You don’t have to listen to me, I don’t call the shots here. But since this store means a lot to you, taking advice would be vital for the store’s sake.”

Janis pushed her face right into his. She looked like a raging bull. She seethed, “I know what you’re doing. Really, I am. You’re just saying these things so your precious baby brothers can stay out of trouble. You think you’re gonna “save the day” just ‘cause you’re their big brother or something? But just know this, mister. I’m smarter than you. I’m righter than you. I’ve worked too long here to be pushed by the likes of some dumb stud like yourself. You’ve been a thorn in my side since day uno! You’re just as much on the chopping block as they are. And once I terminate your contract, I will take immense satisfaction seeing all your homeless asses lined on the concrete sidewalk, begging folks for whatever scraps they have.”

They glared at each other down. His lip quivered again, this time it was more obvious and less controlled. Janis smiled wickedly. She whispered in his ear. “What’s the matter? Did I hit a nerve?” The room went quiet. Nobody else intervened. Now that he noticed, besides Kovic, nobody spoke up since this whole meeting began. Not a soul in the room dared to speak up or suggest anything to Janis. Perhaps this was the reason why. Were they afraid if they spoke up, that Janis would catch them out of line and bully them into submission? Abruptly, Risotto stood tall, catching Janis by surprise. He collected himself and his face no longer read any signs of anger. The others looked at him in awe.

“What is the point of this meeting?” Risotto asked with a strong, straightforward voice. “Seriously, what are you trying to get out of this?” Janis noticed the other managers whispering to one another.

“Would anyone like to share with the class!?” Janis demanded, and the others quickly diminished in their seats. “Well?”

Buggle casually raised his hand. “Janis, he has a point. Was the purpose of this meeting to compromise a way to boost the store’s sales or to lash out at Giacomo for his supposed incompetence? If it’s the latter, then we’re just wasting our time.” The others muttered and nodded in agreement.

Viciously, Janis slammed her fists into the table, making everyone sink into their seats. “AM I CONVERSING WITH A BUNCH OF BRAINLESS MONKEYS!? ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO SIDE WITH THIS IDIOT?” Nobody dared to speak up at that time. They knew this would happen if they tried to talk some sense into her. “We’re going to end this here. All in favor of booting this deadbeat, say aye!” Janis raised her hand, followed by Ashanti, who hastily raised her hand high.

“Janis, let’s be adults here.” Buggle firmly insisted.

“ALL IN FAVOR, SAY AYE!” Janis declared louder, purposely draining out whatever Buggle said. Another manager in the back of the room hesitantly raised her hand. “Anybody else?” Nobody said a word, except a faint cough in the back. “All in favor of keeping this clown, say aye.” Risotto went to raise his hand, just for it to be swatted away by Janis. “You’re on trial! Your vote doesn’t count,” she snarled.

Buggle was the first to raise his hand, next was Nick, followed by Kovic, then Angel. One by one, the other managers raised their hands. The vote was a landslide. “WHA-!?” Janis shouted.

Buggle cleared his throat. “Janis. For the reasons you explained before, Giacomo shouldn’t be exiled from this store. For what it’s worth, Giacomo has a decent work ethic. And don’t forget that it was your husband, the store owner, that gave me the approval to hire him. If you have an issue about this, that is a discussion between you and the store owner, not us.” Risotto gandered at Janis, who looked like she was on the verge of exploding. She was practically clawing at the table, leaving claw dents in it. “Now, are there any actual issues we need to discuss?” Buggle asked.

“No!” Janis said, trying not to burst.

“Are we done with this meeting then?” Buggle asked in his typical disinterested tone of voice.

“… Yes!” She squeaked.

“Okay then.” The other managers got up and made their way to the exit. Ashanti went over to soothe the irate Janis. Buggle walked up to Risotto. “You’re lucky, young man,” Buggle stated. “Now I expect you to learn from this incident. Stay on top of your duties and no more wandering the aisles.”

Risotto simply nodded. He knew the man didn’t say that from the bottom of his heart, yet he, along with the others did save his ass from getting fired. Risotto admitted he had a bit more respect for Buggle than before. “Thank you,” Risotto said. Buggle ignored him, along with the others, who shifted their gaze away from him.

Risotto was the third last one in the room, besides Janis and Ashanti. Risotto went to leave, before turning behind him. “Janis,” he called out.

“What do you want now?” She hissed.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the compliment earlier,” he said.

“What compliment? I didn’t compliment you!”

“…You called me a stud.”

Janis went red with shock and embarrassment. He was right, she did, albeit accidentally. “W-What? I didn’t call you that,” she lied. “Well, I did. But you’re taking it out of context! I called you a dumb stud! That’s not a compliment, that’s an insult!” Risotto didn’t further argue on the matter. Rather, he smiled at her. It wasn’t callous or self-satisfying. It was a genuinely warm smile. He then exited the room. Janis felt her chest suddenly pound loudly. Her face grew redder. That was the first time she’s ever seen him smile. If she wasn’t pissed off before, she was sure as hell now.

———————————————————————

4 HOURS LATER…

The grocery store was already set into motion and the workers were in position. The store was lit with fluorescent yellow bulbs and ever so faintly, Be My Baby by The Ronettes, was playing over the radio. There was a decently huge crowd shopping for their basic needs, such as milk and bread, along with the discounted Halloween candy on Clearance. Formaggio strolled in for his shift, confident as ever. He punched his time card in and ambled over to grab his till.

“Good morning~! My star pupil!” Ashanti greeted.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Formaggio said, playfully pointing a finger gun at her, making a clicking noise with his tongue. As he was walking past her, she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Wait Giorgio, we need to talk.” Her voice sounded somewhat concerned, but it didn’t worry Formaggio too much.

“Sure, what’s up?” He smiled. Ashanti gestured for him to follow her. She led him to the podium that was located in the center of the registers. Once they got there, without another word, she handed him what looked to be a document.

“Ooh, what’s this? An acceptance letter to Yale?” Formaggio joked as he scanned his eyes through the paper. Gradually his grin diminished until it was nothing but a frown. When he finished, he felt as if his heart was ripped out of his chest. “Y-You’re giving me a write-up?”

“Now, now Giorgio. Don’t take this the wrong way,” Ashanti attempted to calm him down.

“And what’s this?” He pointed at an excerpt of the document. He read it out loud, “Not meeting expectations required for the job? Is goofing off more than he should? What’s the meaning of all this!?”

“Oh, honey.” Ashanti brought a hand to his cheek. “Let me explain, okay? We had a meeting earlier this morning and one of the managers felt you weren’t hitting the milestones as expected for a cashier. Janis and I tried to argue that that wasn’t true. I wish I could’ve done more, but there wasn’t much we could’ve done…” She looked down, crestfallen.

“Oh…” He felt a knot in his stomach.

“I know this might be tough for you. We had no other choice. But don’t fret! It’s not the end of the world. Just as long as you don’t get two more write-ups in the next 12 months, they can’t fire you.”

“But that’s a whole year! And I’ve been here for barely a month!” He said frustratingly, covering his face with his hands. “I’m screwed…”

“It’ll be fine… well, if it wasn’t for your brother, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened- oops!” She brought her hand to her lips like she accidentally let the cat out of the bag.

Formaggio perked up. “My brother? You mean, Giacomo?” He asked suspiciously, starting to piece together what went down earlier. “What did he say about me?”

“Ohhhh well, I can’t say too much. Y’know, it’s a confidential policy. But between you and me.” She came closer, murmuring in his ear. “He was the one that said you were on the “slow side”. If that rings any bells.” Formaggio gritted his teeth. His anxiety was replaced by a rage that boiled so hot, that it could’ve evaporated his whole being. “Not only that, he said he caught you goofing off more than once. But I don’t think you’re like that, Giorgio.”

“That bastard!” Formaggio fumed. How could his own boss talk down to him like that?

“It doesn’t matter,” Ashanti shrugged. “What matters is you can prove him wrong! We can get through this together! It’s like they say, “Communication is key~”!”

Formaggio hesitated. “But how can I prove that? You guys said I’m fine the way I am. Should I just keep doing what I’ve been doing? Or is this gonna land me with another write-up?”

“Weeell, if you honestly think you can’t work something out, then, maybe your brother had a good reason for voicing those concerns. Maybe you’re not cut out to be Cashier of the Month. I’d hate to do that to you…”

Formaggio hung over in shame. He made all this progress and now he’s being shoved four steps backwards. But he got so well-acquainted with Ashanti and Janis, that he didn’t want to disappoint them. With a burst of determination, he shot up at her. “I’ll do it.”

“That’s my boy!” Ashanti praised, patting him on the back. “Now go out there and make me proud, superstar~!” Formaggio strode to retrieve a till. While he was determined to prove that shithead Risotto wrong, deep down, he was hurt. He was used to the guys poking fun at him. As assassins, “useless” was thrown around so often at him he wanted to believe he was numb to it. Though admittedly he resented his teammates, to a small extent. But Risotto. He’d expect if Risotto had a problem, he’d say it to his face. Yet, he would’ve never guessed Risotto had the gall to trash mouth him to a bunch of hoity-toity pricks that weren’t his friends. Formaggio no longer felt that confidence like he had when he clocked in. He felt dejected and sluggish, to the point that that was on his mind all day.

—————————————————————-

12 PM.

“Here. Another pile.” Frank plopped a stack of tags on the table. This was the 5th stack of the day. Prosciutto thought these were never-ending. It was already noon.

“Sure. After this one, could I go on my break?” Prosciutto asked.

“Just take care of it. Now!” Frank replied harshly, turning back on his chair to resume whatever he was doing.

Prosciutto rolled his eyes before dropping the stack into a cart and pushing it out of the room. Another day, another dollar… more like another unnecessary stack he had to complete by himself. And big surprise, the tags were the same exact ones he put out before. As he reached down the hall, Janis popped her head out.

“Hey, you!” Janis called out. “We need to talk.” Prosciutto followed her out to the floor towards the aisles. “Come on, come on! I’m not waiting for you to catch up.” They got to an aisle where Ashanti was, she too looked mad. “Uh oh,” Prosciutto thought. He could only wonder what this was about.

Ashanti pointed to the tag in front of a box of crackers. Sure enough, the tag was mismatched with an older tag. “This again?” Ashanti scolded. Prosciutto stared at the tag. He wondered how Frank kept switching them behind his back. He knew Frank hated him from the very start and none of these idiots had the brains to hear him out. Prosciutto was getting real tired of this bullshit.

“Please. You have to believe me. I’m not leaving these on here-.”

Ashanti cut him off with a stroke of her hand. “Save it! This has been going on for long enough. We’re beyond sick of this, Girolamo!” As Ashanti kept ranting, Prosciutto kneeled closer to the tag. Besides being mismatched, something was off about it. The price sticker looked thicker as if it had a whole other layer under it. This could be his chance to prove himself innocent.

“… And as much as this pains me, I have to be stern! I shouldn’t have to tell you this more than once! I have no choice but to discipline you up for your reckless-!”

“You guys don’t check the tags, do you?”

“Eh?”

He beckoned both of them to come closer. They kneeled. “I’ve told you both, now hear me out. Someone has been switching the tags whenever I replace them with a new one. Furthermore, whoever’s been playing this little charade appears to be getting lazy.” As Prosciutto said this, he peeled over the sticker to reveal another sticker.

“What the-?” Ashanti couldn’t believe her eyes.

“That’s the new price tag for this week’s sale!” Janis gasped with disbelief. “It was being covered by the old tag!”

Prosciutto stood firm and looked them in the eye. “Now, if you two don’t want this to happen again, my suggestion is to look back through the security footage and find the real culprit.” He crumpled the sticker in his hand and flicked it by their feet. Janis didn’t like the tone of this haughty hack. Regardless, she knew this had to be put to a stop, so she grumbled to herself as she stomped her way to retrieve the security footage, leaving Prosciutto and Ashanti to themselves.

Ashanti turned to Prosciutto, she looked like she was on the brink of tears. “Oh, Girolamo! I’m so, so, so sorry for ever doubting you!” She interlocked his hands with hers. She looked at his pale, baby blue eyes. “Let me do anything to make it up to you! Just name it! A pizza party? Longer lunch breaks? … A night out?” As she mentioned the last option, she squeezed his hands sensually.

Prosciutto didn’t buy any of it. “That won’t be necessary,” he said as he casually shook his hands from her grasp. “All I ask is for you and Janis to investigate the incident… And perhaps discuss it with Frank. He might know a thing or two if you catch my drift.”

“Will do.” She nodded, before catching up with Janis.

Once he accomplished his chores, Prosciutto clocked out for his lunch break. He was walking down the corridor when he heard shouting in one of the offices. The shouting came from the office that belonged to Janis. Her office door wasn’t completely closed, just a crack of light was only visible. Curious, Prosciutto peeked through the crack. Behind the door was what looked to be Janis loudly reprimanding someone seated in front of her, with Ashanti standing beside her, her hands resting at her sides in a displeased manner. The person being screamed at was none other than Frank.

“Heh. Serves him right.” Prosciutto walked to his locker to grab his cigarettes. At that moment he realized he wasn’t in the mood for a smoke. He was quite hungry. He recalled a quaint, little diner down the block from the store. He left his cigarettes in his locker and made his way outside.

It didn’t take long to reach the diner. He entered the premises, which made a loud ring as he opened the door. The diner didn’t look anything special, it looked rather adequate. It had its typical booths and the food displays didn’t look that eye-catching. He sat in one of the booths. He reached for a menu and looked through it. The food sounded like your typical burgers and waffles and home fries. The vending machine from ShopSmart had more variety than this place.

Standing above him was a waitress. She looked to be in her 30s, with sandy-colored hair pulled in a messy ponytail. She had noticeable bags under her eyes. “What will it be?” She asked in a coarse tone, too preoccupied scribbling something in her notepad to look at him. “Great customer service”, he thought sarcastically to himself. Prosciutto looked down at his menu, the closest thing that looked appetizing was the grilled steak with some kind of sauce poured over it. The name of the food item was rather long, so instead of trying to read it out loud, he lazily pointed at it.

“What will it be?” She asked again, her voice growing impatient. Was she blind? Prosciutto tapped the picture of the item again, this time a little harder. Unimpressed, the waitress bent forward to look at the menu. “Sorry sir, I don’t speak Morse code.” This bitch. “It seems you want the Grilled Sirloin Steak with Red Wine Sauce, hmm?” Prosciutto gave a disgruntled nod. She scribbled the order in her notepad. “Okay. It’ll be out in a few.” The waitress walked to the back. A while later, his food came out. Presentation, mediocre. Smell, mediocre. Taste… okay, he admitted it wasn’t half-bad, but still “mediocre”. If he wasn’t so damn hungry, he might’ve not finished it, but he did. He paid for his food, yet didn’t bother tipping the waitress. He left the diner.

As he was about to clock back in, he felt odd. It was a chill that ran from the back of his head to the heels of his feet. He knew someone was staring at him. Whoever they were, they were standing by the door that led to the hallway. He could tell they were trying not to be seen. He heard the door creak open, then hastily closed shut. He recalled what Risotto instructed them, “Your task is to keep guard of your surroundings. If you see the Stand User, tell me.” He was tempted to look over his shoulder, even follow them. At least if he did he could give Risotto a physical description of the perp. No. They could be trying to lure him into a trap. Perhaps it was best to report it to Risotto than to give in to his instincts.

The timing couldn’t have been any better as he saw Risotto heading over to him. “Giacomo.” Prosciutto greeted his friend. “Listen, I need to tell you something. It’s urgent.”

“Alright, walk with me. I have to head back to my office.” Risotto continued to walk in the direction of the door.

“I think I might’ve found our person,” Prosciutto explained. 

Risotto whipped his head. “Are you sure?”

“No, not really,” replied Prosciutto. “But someone was stalking me the moment I came back from lunch. I didn’t get a glimpse of their face. Whoever they are, they’re right behind that door.” Cautiously, Risotto jiggled the knob and the door slowly creaked. He and Prosciutto peeked their heads out. The narrow hall was empty of any human activity. When Risotto gave the okay, the two men warily skulked down the offices. In every dark office, they’d encounter, they’d flick the light switch and quickly scouted the room, before switching it off upon realizing it was empty. They did that to every unoccupied office until they were all investigated. When the coast was clear, they retreated to Risotto’s office.

“I couldn’t tell if there was anyone there,” said Risotto, taking a seat at his desk. “However, I will keep my eyes peeled. Let the others be aware, just to be safe.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Prosciutto said, before exiting the office. He headed back to his department. However, every couple of steps, he’d glance behind his shoulder. He knew damn well somebody was lurking back there.

*CRASH*

He couldn’t register what was going on as he was in complete shock, but the next thing he knew, Prosciutto’s feet were suspended over the floor with his back thrust into the wall. Facing him was Frank. The look on his face was pure, unadulterated rage. “You…” Frank panted. He was so mad, Prosciutto could’ve sworn that smoke was burning out of his ears and nose, like a heated furnace. For an old man, he was quite strong for his age as he picked Prosciutto up by his shirt with very little struggle. Frank threatened Prosciutto in a low hiss, “If I ever catch you snitching on me again, I’ll make your life a living hell! If you think it’s bad now, find out what I’m capable of!” He slammed Prosciutto further into the wall. “Wanna know why there’s nobody in this department? It’s ‘cause of me! Young folk can’t handle a bastard like myself! I push ‘em to their very limits until they can’t take it anymore and quit! And y’know what? It’s so damn satisfying to see ‘em fail. Every. Single. One of them. And you’re next on my list…”

Despite Frank’s aggressive threats, Prosciutto wasn’t afraid. He’s encountered scarier people in the past and he’s come out almost unscathed. Just after a moment of staring each other down, Frank dropped Prosciutto, making him land on his feet. “For someone your age,” Prosciutto began. “You’re quite immature. But if you insist on making my life unbearable, I dare you to do your worst.”

Frank bared his teeth. “My pleasure.” Prosciutto watched on as Frank stomped into his office. Frank abruptly stopped at the doorframe. “And what were you and Giacomo doing snooping around the offices? You wouldn’t want me to tell Janis you were trying to steal or something, no?”

“Giacomo misplaced some paperwork he had with him,” Prosciutto lied. “I was trying to help him find it.”

“Is that so? You two were creeping around the hall as if you were trying not to get caught. Or maybe yet, you were trying to find someone. How suspicious?” He flicked the office light and entered the room. Prosciutto sighed to himself. It sucked that he had to work with an asshole like Frank. But that notion was quickly shoved to the back-burner upon Prosciutto coming to the realization that made his stomach churn. Where could’ve Frank been if he saw Prosciutto and Risotto in the offices? And how did he know they were looking for someone? There wasn’t a single soul in the offices at that time…

———————————————————————

“Shhh. Here he comes.” The trio of boys was at the corner of Self-Checkout, snickering to themselves when Ghiaccio came walking by with a huge cardboard box full of cans. One by one, they walked right beside him, they too were carrying large boxes. Ghiaccio didn’t bother giving them the benefit of acknowledging them as he learned that that only fueled them to annoy him more.

“What’s that Gio?” One boy asked as he dropped his box on top of Ghiaccio’s, making it increasingly heavy for him. “You’re willing to hold my box too? Gee, you shouldn’t have!”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ghiaccio grunted, trying not to drop the boxes.

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have!” The second boy stocked his box on top of the growing pile, followed by the third boy practically throwing his on the tippy top. The pile of boxes teetered to one side.

“Yeah, yeah! You’re such a pal!” The third boy whacked him across his back, much to his friends’ amusement and to Ghiaccio’s annoyance.

“Knock it off!” Barked Ghiaccio, not before one of the boys dragged a finger up his spine, causing him to shiver. “Nyeh!”

“Aww ain’t that cute?” His coworker teased, the other two giggling. All three of them began to poke and stroke his arms, sides, and back, all the while he was desperately holding back his laughter. “H-Hey, don’t!” Ghiaccio tried to evade their ambush, yet they harassed him throughout the store. Customers and associates alike were beginning to notice the racket coming from the four employees.

“C’mon man, we’ll leave you alone. But you gotta smile for us.” One of them prodded. “You’re always grouching ‘bout something! Smiling will make you feel better!”

“Smile my ass,” Ghiaccio thought. He wasn’t about to lose the last shred of dignity he had, even if the tickling was far from bearable. However, luck wasn’t on his side that day as he stepped on a huge puddle on the floor. He slipped, causing him to fling the boxes in the air and fall on his back. Since the boxes weren’t completely closed, cans were thrown in every direction. Ghiaccio let out a moan as the pain shot up his spine, before gasping upon recognizing a can of baked beans was coming right at him, smacking him in the face. Then another, and another. Before long, he was buried under a pile of cans.

He was surrounded by onlookers, including some of his teammates, yet none of them dared to help him up. On the contrary, the trio of assholes wasn’t done harassing the lad. They circled over his can-covered body, then proceeded to barrage him with more tickling. This time Ghiaccio relented. His hollering echoed throughout the store, causing more people to circle him. His face was a deep shade of red and his cheeks were stained with tears. He thrashed and kicked, yet couldn’t get those idiots to stop. It got to a point where his laughter advanced into agonized screaming. It sounded like he was being gutted to death.

“HAHAHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

After what felt like forever, the boys finally ceased the tickling. Ghiaccio flopped and gasped for air. When he sat, he looked like a mess. His blue curls were unkempt, his clothes were rumpled, and his face was still rosy and moist from the waterworks. To his horror, he found his glasses broken and shattered, possibly from either the cans denting his face or when he was thrashing around before. Didn’t matter, they were far from repairable. To add insult to injury, the trio rolled on the floor, cackling at the mess they made. They also gathered some people to join in, some of them were mockingly imitating his laugh.

“Look at him! What a train wreck!” He heard one of them say.

“Giovanni is such a loser!” Another one jeered.

Ghiaccio was no longer red from his prior little episode. It was now replaced with unbridled humiliation and anger. There was no way to go back from this. Ghiaccio sunk his fingernails into the floor, he was panting and growling like a rabid animal. The more they laughed, the more livid he became. A thin layer of ice was forming around his fingers. He pulled his left hand back, creating a fist. And in his fist, the ice was formed and stretched into a long, sharp spike. With an angry roar and whatever energy he had left, Ghiaccio flung the spike at the boys. It soared through the air.

“What the-?!”

Before they could comprehend what was happening, the spike was inches away from their faces. The boys shouted and ducked for cover. The ice shard whirled right passed them and was heading for the door. Risotto opened the door, before almost being amicably greeted by an icy lance that was about to impale his face. Just in the nick of time, Risotto tilted his head to the side. The spike stuck straight into the wall. Risotto was far from harmed, but the shock and contempt on his face told Ghiaccio otherwise.

“The hell did he do?” Someone from the crowd shouted in awe.

“What is that thing?” A customer pointed at the ice in the door.

“Looks like glass! Wait, no, it’s melting. It’s ice!”

———————————————————————

Ghiaccio and Risotto plodded down the corridor. It was dead silent, except the echoes from their footsteps. Not a word was exchanged between the two men. Ghiaccio would occasionally glance up at his boss, but Risotto just kept looking forward, as if his comrade wasn’t there beside him. Saying Risotto was mad would’ve been an understatement. He wasn’t aggressively angry like he was on the boat, but the younger man knew that Risotto was far from pleased. He’d admit what he did was very risky to unleash his Stand like that. But it wasn’t his fault! Those dicknoodles were harassing him and he lost control for a second. They descended the stairs to the restroom.

“Ris-.”

“Don’t call me that.” Risotto cut him off. The adrenaline from earlier was making Ghiaccio slip up his thoughts. For once, he kept his mouth shut.

“I brought you down here for a reason. Now clean yourself up. You look ridiculous.” Risotto walked into one of the stalls. Ghiaccio gazed at his reflection. Risotto was right, he looked like a joke. Ghiaccio patted his curls down and fixed his attire. He splashed some water on his face and dried it with a paper towel. He looked better, for the most part, save for his glasses, which have seen better days. One of the toilets roared as it flushed. Risotto walked out of the stall. He stood beside Ghiaccio, washing his hands. Ghiaccio fixated his gaze on his boss, hoping the man would say something instead of treating him like he was invisible.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” Ghiaccio said firmly.

“I didn’t say it was,” Risotto said as he wiped his hands on a paper towel. “But that doesn’t excuse how you dealt the situation. You know better than to go on a frenzy over a couple of idiots.”

“But-, they were the ones who made a whole scene!” Ghiaccio blamed.

“So did you. Listen, since I have you here, this would be the perfect time to tell you. Girolamo sensed “you know who” hiding somewhere in the hallway. We couldn’t find them at that time, but I’ll further investigate the area. Make sure you keep guard when you’re walking down the hall by yourself.”

“So… he “sensed” them?” Ghiaccio almost let out a cackle. “How was he so sure that anyone was standing by the door? How can you trust his word? The man is in his late-20s and is already going senile. If anything, he’s just going to make us run in circles.”

“Knowing Girolamo, he wouldn’t waste our time if his intuition was anything less. And he sure doesn’t let his emotions get the best of him.” How dare Risotto compare him to that big-foreheaded piece of shit? Ghiaccio felt like he was punched in the gut. “But I digress, I’m going to scope the area no matter what.”

Ghiaccio crossed his arms and pouted, like a sulking child. “Why do you always have to take his side?”

Risotto’s lip quivered. “… Perhaps my judgment was off. If you’re not going to take any of this seriously, maybe you aren’t cut out here.” Risotto went for the exit.

Ghiaccio felt red again. “Hey man, I’m sorry. Okay?” Risotto ignored the shorter man. “Giacomo…?” He reached out for his capo’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. “Please. Please don’t leave… I’ll listen.” Ghiaccio strained, squeezing harder. “Be honest with me, boss… will I always be a disappointment to you? I know this is coming out of nowhere, but don’t turn your back on me. I’ve worked for you for several fucking years. I contribute my allowance for a roof over our heads and food to eat. I even applied at this goddamn place to make you happy. I’ve done everything to make up for my past mistakes. But whenever I fuck up, I’m back to square one. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry… How many times do I have to apologize? Please, Giacomo… Will I ever be good enough for you…?” His voice was desperate. Risotto didn’t respond, nor seemed to react at all. Risotto felt guilt in the bottom of his stomach, yet coddling his teammate for his behavior wasn’t the right course of action. Why did Ghiaccio always have to be so headstrong? He let out a small huff before exiting the bathroom, leaving Ghiaccio to himself.

———————————————————————

Clunk… clunk… clunk…

Ghiaccio and Melone were seated at one of the tables in the Break Room. Ghiaccio repeatedly clunked his head against the edge of the table, while Melone ate some trail mix and helplessly watched on. Not like Ghiaccio cared if he intervened or not, he was numb to the pain and it wasn’t like Melone did all that much when Ghiaccio needed his help.

“Want some?” Melone offered some peanuts to his teammate.

“I’m not hungry,” Ghiaccio fibbed, lazily slapping Melone’s hand away.

“Fine. But if you wait after your lunch break, you’ll regret it.” He popped the peanuts into his mouth.

“I do so much for the familia. Why doesn’t he get that? This has been the only time I slipped up at this job and he still treats me like I’m a disappointment. It’s like he hasn’t gotten over what happened… before we left Italy.” He rested his cheek on his arm.

“Well, maybe the first step is to control your emotions… and not to be so stubborn… and not to put people down by insulting them.” Melone listed, making Ghiaccio annoyed.

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Ghiaccio sighed exasperatedly.

“My point is you have to work on yourself if you want to make amends with Giacomo. I mean c’mon, outing yourself like that isn’t going to put you in his favor.”

“It’s gonna be hard trying to keep my cool with those assholes around. I told Kovic countless times that those lil’ turds keep pulling stunts like that, but he plays it off like it’s no big deal ‘cause “they’re kids”. I’d probably be better off in a different part of the store.”

“Did my ears deceive me?” A smiling Ashanti loomed behind his shoulder, making Ghiaccio jump. “Did you just say you’d like to switch departments?”

Ghiaccio startlingly twisted around. “What’s with you people and zero personal space!? Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Ashanti giggled. “Relax silly. I couldn’t help but overhear your dire situation.”

“How much did you hear?” He sounded like he was about to pounce at her and rip her to ribbons.

“Just the part about the bullies and Kovic,” she said shaking her head. “I honestly don’t get how anyone could entrust Kovic running the Back-End. He’s so incompetent and disorganized.”

“Pssh. You’re telling me…”

“Half of his team doesn’t know what they’re doing. But you. You’re different. I see how you work, you’re always doing an excellent job.”

Ghiaccio rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause I give a shit about my job.”

“And that’s why I came to ask you this. How would you like to work for the Front-End?” Ashanti asked in a saturated, sugary sweet voice. Ghiaccio thought she was on drugs.

“What are you fuckin’ nuts? Do you think working with customers every second of the day is gonna be exponentially better than dealing with the morons in the back? Don’t make me laugh.” Ghiaccio went to turn around before Ashanti grabbed him by the cheeks and forcibly spun him around.

“Oh please, oh please, oh please?” She was centimeters close to his face. “You’d be a great addition! Janis thinks you’re awesome too!”

“You can start by letting go of my face.” She let go of his face. However, she held his hand, bringing it close to her chest. “What the…?”

“Just promise me this.” Her eyes looked watery. “Just sleep on it, will you? You’re a great asset to this store. It would be a real shame if you didn’t take the offer, but I can’t force you to do it. But if you happen to take it, you won’t regret it! Everyone up there is so much friendlier. We have pizza parties and we get to participate in fun events where you could win gift cards. Trust me, the Front-End is oodles of fun!” She pulled him in closer, her tone became serious. “And if I catch anyone bullying you, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Sounds too good to be true. On the other hand, he so desperately wanted to leave the Back-End. It would be great to no longer have to deal with that headache that was Hank Kovic and his goonies. “Fine. I’ll reconsider it,” Ghiaccio rolled his eyes again.

“Wonderful!” Ashanti squealed, clapping her hands together.

“But wouldn’t there be an issue? I have two brothers working up there. Giorgio is on register and Edmundo works at Customer Service. Buggle said family members aren’t allowed to work in the same department, let alone the same store.”

“Oh, pish posh! That man says the weirdest things sometimes, it’s laughable!” Ashanti made a dismissive hand gesture. “Besides, you’re a great worker. I trust you not to dawdle on the job! By the way…” She pulled him in again, staring deep into his eyes. “I heard about what happened earlier. Don’t worry your pretty lil’ curls about those clowns, I’ll make extra sure they get punished properly, and might I add…” She brushed her lips passed his cheek, her hot breath hit his earlobe. “You gotta cute laugh.” She chuckled before wiggling a finger under his chin. He scrunched his nose in contempt, yet that didn’t faze her.

She left the two men to themselves. Ghiaccio was sincerely creeped out while Melone stared blankly, before speaking up. “She’s… fascinating.”

“That’s an understatement. What a weirdo,” Ghiaccio replied.

“But perhaps this might be a great opportunity for you to take advantage of,” said Melone.

“Seriously? You’re siding with the weirdo?”

“Not necessarily. But this could be your chance to practice keeping your emotions in check and prove to Giacomo that you’re improving on yourself. Who knows? This could help you two make amends.”

Ghiaccio sighed. He figured that made sense. Maybe he should reconsider the offer, especially if it meant making Risotto proud of him.

———————————————————————

Back at the apartment, Prosciutto, Pesci, Risotto, and Illuso gathered around the dining room table. Prosciutto had a pencil and a piece of looseleaf paper in hand. There was a list of names of the ShopSmart associates jotted down on one side. Some of the names had question marks next to them, while others were circled darker than the rest. The other side was a physical description and diagram of the supposed Stand User, this included possible age, height, and weight and some extra notes jotted down.

“So I know you think the Stand User might be female, but,” he tapped his pencil next to Frank’s name. “I’m starting to believe the Stand User might be Frank. We found nobody down the corridor, yet somehow he had a plain view of us. Unless he was stalking us through a vent, he would’ve had to stand right in front of us to see what we were doing. On top of that, all the back offices were vacant, we checked all of them. We didn’t see him in any of them. And he’s roughly the same height as our perp.”

Illuso scratched the side of his head. “Yeah but, the perp’s voice sounded like it belonged to a woman. Frank’s voice is too deep, and if he attempted to pull a woman’s voice, it wouldn’t sound like one. I don’t think it’s him.”

“Maybe it’s Ashanti?” Risotto proposed. “She’s a bit more on the taller side, but she’s not too far from your height, Illuso. Or, it could be both Janis AND Ashanti? Janis is the one pulling the strings while Ashanti does the dirty work.” The men nodded in unison, Prosciutto scribbled another note down.

Just then the door opened to reveal Melone and Ghiaccio. “We’re home,” Melone called out. Risotto stared at Ghiaccio, then at Melone. He gave a silent nod before returning to the discussion.

“Where’s Formaggio? I thought you three were walking home together?” Prosciutto questioned as he scratched his pencil on the paper.

“We were, but he decided to take another route home,” explained Melone.

“Another route?” Risotto asked.

“Yeah. He looked mad too. We asked him what was wrong, but he completely brushed us off.”

Risotto rose from his chair, he was immediately distressed. “We have a Stand User lurking around and you two foolishly let him walk on his own? He could be dead by now!”

“Not like we can force him to come with us!” Ghiaccio raised his voice. “He’s a grown-ass man! If he wants to get lost in the city, that’s his fault, not ours!”

“Keep calm, Risotto.” Prosciutto attempted to diffuse the situation. “I’m sure Formaggio is okay. If he’s not back in a few hours, we’ll go search for him.”

Hours ticked by and nobody heard from Formaggio. Anxiety was setting within Risotto. He must’ve had a really bad day if he was out for this long. Or what if he did fall victim to the Stand User? He should’ve scolded Melone and Ghiaccio more for letting him wander off by himself. It was getting close to 9 o'clock. Still no sign of Formaggio.

“That’s it. I’m going to go find him.” Risotto got up, but as he made his way to the door, it flung right open. It was Formaggio, everyone got up. He marched right in, he had a sour look on his face. Risotto approached him sternly. “Formaggio, do you realize what time it is?”

“Buzz off, asshole! I don’t wanna hear it from you.” He pushed his arm past Risotto. He walked to the bedroom before he was grabbed by the forearm.

“Hey! Watch your tongue!” Prosciutto chided. “The hell were you doing all this time? We were worried sick for your sorry ass!” Instantly, a bitter scent came from Formaggio’s breath. Prosciutto knew exactly where he was. “Are you drunk?”

“So what if I am?” Formaggio slurred, jabbing his finger at Prosciutto’s chest. “Like any of you ever cared ‘bout my wellbeing.”

“What are you even talking about?” Prosciutto asked, dumbfounded.

“You must be pulling my leg! You seriously don’t get what I’m talking ‘bout!?” He pointed at Risotto in an incriminating manner. “Why don’cha ask the man himself?”

“Formaggio, I…” Risotto couldn’t find the words as he was equally confused as the others. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re upset about. Was it something I said?”

“Something you said? SOMETHING YOU SAID!?” Now he was enraged. The others were ready to tackle him if he tried to lay a finger on any of them. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pant pocket and thrust it in Risotto’s face. “WHAT DO YOU THINK!?”

Risotto scanned his eyes through the paper. So it appeared he got a disciplinary form. He knew something like this would happen. Janis and Ashanti stroked his ego so much, only to have one little screw-up completely throw him off. “Oh Formaggio, that’s too bad. I’m sorry you got a write-up today.”

“HOW CAN YOU BE SORRY IF YOU GAVE IT TO ME!?”

“… Huh?” The alcohol must’ve shriveled his brain. “Formaggio, I didn’t write this to you. Look, this isn’t even my handwriting.” He showed him the document, the penmanship was flowery and cursive, far neater than Risotto’s by a long shot.

“I’m not stupid! Of course, you didn’t write it, dumbass! You were the one that told the whole meeting that I was slow and didn’t take anything seriously! Ashanti told me this!” Risotto’s eyes widened. The meeting. He did say something on those lines, but Ashanti twisted his critique to make it seem like he was insulting him!

“I meeeeean. Risotto isn’t wrong for saying that,” Illuso butted in. “Everyone here knows your Stand is slow as a snail on pot and you goof off more than anyone here. I’m not trying to put you down this time, buddy boy. But those are the facts.” He ended his statement with an indifferent shrug.

“Formaggio, please understand. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. If anything, Ashanti had misinformed you. I told them they should be taking the time to know your strengths and weaknesses, rather than spoiling you like a child. You’re not a bad worker, Formaggio. I mean that wholeheartedly.”

Formaggio’s face softened, before fiercely shredding the document. “Nothing you say will fix it now! Thanks to you, I already got a strike. If I get two more, I’ll be jobless!”

“Just take it easy, you’ll be okay.” Risotto reached over to try to calm him down, but Formaggio swatted at him.

“Get away from me! I’ll be in the bedroom!” Formaggio stormed to the bedroom door.

“But it’s my turn tonight!” Illuso argued.

“Oh, boo hoo!”

Formaggio slammed it shut. The others stared at it uncomfortably for some time, before dispersing into the living room. Prosciutto patted Risotto on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Talk to him in the morning when he’s sobered up. You just can’t reason with a heavily drunk man.”

Hours passed and everyone, except Risotto and Prosciutto, was asleep. Prosciutto had just taken his shower when he noticed Risotto staring blankly at the TV. Prosciutto approached him to find that he was looking at the channel guide.

“Prosciutto.” He spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

“Yes, boss?”

“What was troubling you earlier this morning? About the Stand User?”

Prosciutto looked down, he completely forgot about it. “Honestly looking back, I could’ve been overthinking it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Okay… when Illuso said he walked right into the crowd instead of turning the corner, he tripped up the perp.”

“Go on.”

“Unless our guy is a major klutz, how could Illuso trip up the perp so badly? He didn’t make any sudden movements to catch our guy off guard, he walked straight into the crowd.”

“Prosciutto, what are you saying?”

“The perp was expecting him to turn down our road...”

Risotto felt ice cold. He hoped this was a joke. However, his friend’s face showed no signs of playful mischief. He didn’t want to believe it either. Could it be, that the Stand User already found out where they lived…?
 
To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

That night, Risotto didn’t get any sleep…

It was 2 am.

Risotto sat on the roof of the complex. He scouted the perimeter for anyone suspicious lurking in the area. His eyes darted at one person. Then another. And another.

No, it isn’t you.

No.

No. Not you.

No.

Not you.

No.

Nope.

No.

Dammit!

He surveyed the entire hotel. He wasn’t going to let his guard down, even if it meant losing sleep. Not for a second! Plus, he didn’t mind staying up. If he wanted to get some shuteye, there was no way he was going to have a peaceful sleep knowing their stalker was likely aware of their location.

So far he found… nothing. He descended the stairs that led to the entrance, just in case they’d try to enter through there. He wandered there for hours. Still nothing. The night was transitioning to early morning. The birds were chirping and the dark shade of the sky was getting lighter. Risotto made his way back into the hotel. There, he saw the hotel owner, now his “landlord”, seated at his desk.

“Lemme guess? Couldn’t sleep?” The owner questioned, not a shred of care in his voice. Risotto silently shook his head. “Oh well. We all have those nights. Just as long as it doesn’t hinder paying your rent on time, that’s all I care.”

Gee. Thanks. Risotto paid no heed to the owner’s thoughtless words. He had bigger fish to fry. It was 5 in the morning. Granted, his shift was at 8 am that day, but that didn’t stop him from starting his morning routine a tad sooner. He entered the living room. Everyone was fast asleep. His ears perked when he heard moans coming from the snooze pile.

“No… no… please stop…”

Someone was having a bad dream. Risotto gingerly stepped over his teammates, ensuring he didn’t accidentally step on one of them. As Risotto got closer, he realized where the source of the noise was coming from. His teammate was a few meters away from the others. He was doused in sweat and was thrashing his fists as he shifted his body into a fetal position. “He’s having another one of his night terrors.” Risotto pitied his teammate. Risotto tiptoed over to his head and whispered in his ear.

“Illuso. Illuso wake up.”

Illuso gasped startlingly as he sprung up in a panic. He was panting heavily. He darted his head until he was familiar with his surroundings, that’s when his breathing calmed. Illuso clenched his chest as if his heart would burst out from it.

“You were having a night terror. Are you okay?” Risotto asked.

“For fuck’s sake, Risotto! You scared the shit outta me!” Illuso hissed.

“My apologies. I thought if I nudged you awake, I could’ve triggered you into a state of distress worse than this.” Risotto reasoned calmly. It occurred to him that Illuso’s eyes looked glassy, but he didn’t say anything. Illuso swiped his face with his left hand, his forehead was slick with sweat. His cheeks were warm to the touch.

“You’re right. Forget what I said...”

“Don’t be sorry.” Risotto replied. They stood still for a mere moment before Risotto broke the silence. “Would you like some breakfast? I’ll whip up something for you.”

It wasn’t like Illuso had many options to choose from. He would’ve made a sly remark as a response to Risotto’s offer, but he wasn’t in the mood. “Sure.” Illuso picked himself up from the floor and sat at the kitchen table.

“What do you want?” Asked Risotto, looking through the refrigerator. Illuso recalled there was still bread to make toast he could have, or he could have a bowl of the blandest cereal in the world that was packed in the cabinet, or maybe just a have a measly piece of fruit.

“I’ll take an apple,” Illuso replied flatly.

“That’s it?” Risotto asked surprisedly. “I can make you toast if you want. Prosciutto bought oatmeal the other day if you'd rather have that. Really, I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine.” Illuso picked an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” He lied. Illuso stared at the fruit. It was red and dull, with no shine to it. Slowly, he took a bite out of it. Not sour, but not very sweet. It was pretty bland. A few bites in, he saw a few soft brown spots. Hiding its insecurities from the outside world.

“You should wash that.” Risotto advised.

“Who are you? My mother?” Illuso took another bite. “I won’t croak over one unwashed apple.”

“Suit yourself.” Risotto brought over a bowl of oatmeal and he too sat across from his teammate. Risotto observed his comrade a little more. His eyes were glassy, even a little puffy-looking. He didn’t have that typical mischievous glint in his gaze. Risotto knew that whatever Illuso dreamed about, it was eating him up. “Is there something you want to talk about?” Risotto gently asked.

Illuso averted his eyes from his capo. He spoke gruffly, “There isn’t anything to talk about. You know my whole life story, down to the nitty-gritty details. What more do you wanna know?”

Risotto was correct. He could read Illuso like a book. If he was unbothered, he wouldn’t have gotten defensive, or better yet, bring up his past. “I understand. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Illuso’s expression changed. His brows furrowed and sloped outwards. He caressed the apple with his thumb. He looked troubled again. His eyes met Risotto’s. “Did the others hear me?”

“No.”

“Okay, good.”

The bedroom door swiveled open. Formaggio let out a whine as he entered the kitchen. He clutched his head for it was pounding. He groggily passed his teammates.

“Good morning, Formaggio.” Risotto greeted.

“Yeah, hey. Where’s the aspirin?” Formaggio murmured. Risotto opened a cabinet where the bottle of aspirin was. He handed the bottle to Formaggio. His teammate snatched the bottle from him. Didn’t even say thank you.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Risotto asked. Formaggio ignored him.

“I’m having lunch.” Risotto watched perplexed as Formaggio struggled to open the bag of bread. It was far from lunchtime, wasn’t even 6 o’clock yet. It appeared to be that Formaggio was having a major hangover, so Risotto figured he would go along with his comrade’s antics.

“Okay? Did you want any help making your sandwich?”

“Excuse me? THIS isn’t a sandwich!” Formaggio shot back rudely, sitting at the table, and shooting daggers at his boss.

“So… you’re just going to have two slices of plain bread with nothing on it?” Risotto asked, still very confused.

“Gotta problem ‘bout that?” Formaggio’s mouth was muffled as it was stuffed with bread, completely ignoring Illuso’s disgusted reaction.

“No…? Did you at least want something to wash it down? Here, I’ll make you some tea. It’ll ease your headache.” As he said that, Formaggio sprung out of his seat and stomped to the refrigerator.

“No! I don’t need your damn tea! I’ll just have some milk! Gimme that!” Formaggio swiped the gallon of milk out of Risotto’s hand. With a single motion, he twisted the cap off and chugged the milk down his gullet, not breaking eye contact with Risotto. Milk splashed all over the floor.

“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Illuso exclaimed.

Formaggio’s eyes widened when he felt the milk was going down the wrong pipe. Involuntarily, he gagged and spat all the contents from his mouth onto the floor, some of it spilled out of his nose. More milk and soggy, mushy bread splattered around his feet.

“EW!” Illuso cried. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE THIS WAY!?”

“That’s it.” This was the last straw for Risotto, he nudged his teammate into a seat. He cut to the chase. “Why are you being like this? Is this because of what happened yesterday?”

“Oh, so it finally donned on you?” Formaggio retorted. Was he serious? Risotto had just about enough with this. What was this, high school?

“Formaggio, I’m not going to repeat myself. I didn’t write that about you. I didn’t tell anyone to write you up. What I said in that meeting was twisted by Ashanti. SHE probably was the one who wrote that.”

“She couldn’t have,” Formaggio sulked, crossing his arms. “She was the one who told me everything.”

“Why would you put any of your trust in her?”

“That’s not the only thing he wants to put in her,” Illuso said with a low chuckle.

“Illuso,” Risotto warned.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“You’re both wrong,” Formaggio said flustered. “It’s not like that at all… ever since I started there, she’s treated me like an equal. She makes me feel like I’m doing something right for once.”

“Man, are you seriously that far up your ass?” Illuso butted in. “You do remember she could be the suspected Stand User, correct? Just because you think she’s hot or nice, doesn’t mean she isn’t trying to play with your head.” Formaggio let out a small, frustrated grunt, but then hesitantly nodded. “There ya go. I knew ya still had a couple more brain cells left in there.” Illuso playfully patted Formaggio’s head.

“Doesn’t mean Risotto is off the hook.” Formaggio chided.

“Sorry Riz, I tried.” Illuso shrugged indifferently.

Risotto pinched the bridge of his nose. “Formaggio, I don’t know what else to tell you. You don’t have to take my apology, but you can’t mope about this forever.” He swore to God it felt like he was squabbling with a child. “The least you can do is to not rely on Ashanti. She’s still a main suspect and I don’t want you to be swayed by her.”

“Fine. Whatever man. I just wanna get ready…” Formaggio dawdled over to the bathroom, his back arched. His brains were still throbbing and felt like the argument went nowhere. He’d admit Risotto had a point. Maybe he was losing sight of their main objective. He shouldn’t put so much confidence in Ashanti. To them, she was an enemy. It might not’ve been entirely Risotto’s fault either, but it didn’t make him feel any less hurt that he said those things. Being slow? True, to a degree. But it still hurt. And what would he gain if he expressed that to the team? Nothing. He was already labeled as “useless”. He’d be branded as “weak”, a “crybaby”. He’d be the lowest trash of the trash…

Risotto looked on as Formaggio slumped to the bathroom. He knew Ashanti and Janis were trying to manipulate Formaggio, but he didn’t expect him to be this impacted by it. They weren’t just spoiling Formaggio, they were building his trust, just so they could burn him and redirect the blame on Risotto. Time for an intervention.

———————————————————————

Ghiaccio had just clocked into his shift that morning. Another day, another idiot he had to put up with. What made his day worst was he had to work without his glasses. Sure, his eyesight wasn’t god-awfully abysmal, he could get around without them for the most part. That being said, because of his nearsightedness, it was more difficult for him to refocus his eyes on things from far away, and his subconscious habit to strain his eyes for too long welcomed migraines that’d live rent-free until he’d head to bed. “This sucks…” Ghiaccio complained to himself. Could this day get any worse?

“GIOVANNI~~~!”

Yep. It already did.

He spun around to see Ashanti cheerfully skipping over to him. No time to make a run for it, he had no choice but to brace for impact. “Hiiiiii, Mr. Giovanni~!” Ashanti chirped in her annoyingly syrupy, sing-song voice. Was it too late to call out?

“Hi…” Ghiaccio went to leave, but Ashanti followed closely behind.

“Soooooo? Any decisions yet? Are you gonna board the fun train to Front-End Land?”

Oh yeah… he promised to rethink her offer to join the Front-End. He should’ve punched himself in the face for even considering the prospect. “Uh well, not really.” On the other hand, the idea of being anywhere than around Kovic was quite tempting. He lied, “I was caught up with some errands yesterday, I completely forgot about it.”

“Gyaaaa! Gio! You gotta make a decision! You just gotta! The anticipation! It’s eating me from the inside out!” Ashanti squealed. What is with this girl? Why of all people, did it have to be him that she was so keen to keep so badly? She must be onto something…

“You’re being overdramatic! And unless you have a tapeworm named “Anticipation”, it can’t physically eat you from the inside out! That’s not how biology works! Do you hear yourself sometimes!?”

Ashanti tittered. “I’m only messing with you, silly goose. You’re just so fun to tease,” she said, playfully twirling her finger in Ghiaccio’s curls.

“I told you not to touch me,” Ghiaccio replied angrily, pulling away from Ashanti.

“I’m sorry, but sometimes, I can’t resist!” Ashanti laughed. “Curls are my kryptonite! Oh! I almost forgot! I got you a lil’ something.”

Ghiaccio wondered if he heard her right. SHE got HIM something? “You got me something…? Psh, isn’t it common sense that bribing workers with gifts can land you getting fired?”

“Oh shush!” Ashanti waved dismissively. “I didn’t buy you a car or anything. Think of this as compensation for yesterday. Just take it! Believe me, you’ll need it.” She pulled from her vest pocket a quaint, rectangular box, adorned with a frilly pink bow on it. She handed it to the shorter man, who eyed it carefully, then looked at her suspiciously. With a smile, she nodded and signaled her hand up as if she was telling him to open it. Ghiaccio exhaled. He lifted the top off. To his surprise, she was right, he would need this. A pair of glasses. Almost identical to his original pair, only the rims were colored a bright, rich orange, instead of the fiery red he was familiar with.

“I got you glasses! Welp, to be honest, they used to be mine,” Ashanti laughed sheepishly. “I don’t use them anymore ‘cause I wear contacts. But why throw them out when I could regift them to someone who needs them more than I do.” Ghiaccio remarked to himself that these look in decent shape. “May I?” Ashanti asked.

“May you what?” Ghiaccio said confusedly.

“May I put them on you, silly? I want to see you with them on.” He didn’t tell her he’d accept them and now she wants to dress him up like he was a fucking Barbie doll!? Before he could protest, Ashanti swiveled behind him and took the tips of the glasses in her fingers. “Now here we go…” She fixed the glasses over his eyes, peered around, and gasped.

“Oh! My!! Stars!!! My prediction was on the nose! You look even more handsome with these on!” She squealed.

Ghiaccio adjusted the glasses. These weren’t half-bad. The prescription for these was almost on par with the one he had for his other pair. Guess he’ll take these, it sure was better than nothing. “… Thanks.”

“You’re always welcome, sweetie,” Ashanti smiled as she ruffled his curls again. Ghiaccio felt a vein pop from his temple.

“KNOCK. IT. OFF.”

He wondered what Melone would do if he wanted to get a chick off his back…

———————————————————————

“What do you mean I’m not in there!?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But the phone number you gave me isn’t in the system,” Melone replied unenthusiastically. The lady in front of him just so happened to forget her discount card and every phone number she gave him was met with an error on his computer. “However, I can try to find it through your driver’s license.”

“It’s my husband’s,” the woman stated.

“Is your husband present with you? I just need to key in the information on his driver’s license and then your discount should automatically come on your transaction.”

The woman gave him a flabbergasted look as if he asked her to hand all her money to him. “Why do you need HIS information? I’ll have you know my husband is a renowned officer of the NYPD! Everybody loves him! He should get a discount for that alone!”

“Whoop dee doo, good for him. But him being an officer doesn’t mean he’s above the store policies.” Melone wished he could’ve spit that back at her. He leaned his head to see behind her a line of disgruntled customers. He spoke out loud calmly, “Ma’am, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve tried every number you gave me and nothing pops up. If the account is under him, I need to look it up with his driver’s license.”

“She can use mine.” One of the customers behind the lady offered. She continuously thanked the customer a bazillion times. He almost handed her his discount card before Melone held his palm up.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

The woman looked like she blew a fuse. He hated this fucking job. “Why. Not!?”

Melone mustered all of his patience. He replied courteously, “Due to our digital coupon policy, digital coupons are used only once. If I put his discount card under your order, his coupons will be on your receipt, not his. Therefore, he misses out on his coupons and my job will be jeopardized as my managers will view this incident as me being careless.”

She stomped her foot and pouted like a child not getting their way. “That’s such a stupid policy! A baby can come up with a better explanation than your excuse of an excuse! You’re holding up the line and I still didn’t get my discount! And FYI, the only reason you guys ask for our licenses is to snoop through our personal information, which I think is sketchy!”

The lady went off on Melone for minutes on end. Melone attempted not to argue back, as he knew the snitch in the Cash Office would rat him out to Janis. The corners of his mouth fidgeted and his face began to strain from holding back. “Do you have any other phone numbers?” He asked, desperately trying not to take the woman by the neck and shake her.

“Try this one.” She gave him a completely different phone number. To his surprise, this one worked. Di fucking molto. “It’s my cousin’s,” she said.

“Your… cousin’s?” Melone could’ve sworn a vein in his temple popped.

“Uh yeah, my cousin’s. He shops here too you know.” The lady said insolently. Not an ounce of graciousness came from her, she didn’t even thank him or acted the least bit polite. Whatever. She got her damn discount. Melone could’ve cared less, he just wanted the stronza to get out of his hair. He totaled the order.

“That’ll be $27.31. With tax.”

The woman plopped her suitcase-sized pocketbook on the desk. She rummaged through the insides of her purse, which looked like a messy pile of random receipts and makeup. She managed to squander the 27 dollars but seemed to struggle to find any change. The people behind her were getting testy again. “Hang on, hang on. I should have it,” the lady replied rudely at Melone as if he was the one giving her an attitude.

While that was happening, the door swung open. It was Lesley with a pile of tills in his arms. “Just so we’re clear, there was a grocery basket on the ground outside by the door. I could’ve tripped on it. That’s a safety violation.” Lesley complained as he heaved the tills onto the counter.

“O-kay?” Melone uttered. “I didn’t leave it there, so, I don’t know why you’re telling me this…”

In his peripheral vision, Lesley spotted a bag of cold cuts laying on the desk. He slammed it right next to Melone. “And I told you to page a Deli worker to bring this back! The desk is gonna smell like turkey and we’ll get complaints!”

“I did, like three times. I’m sure the Deli is aware of it,” Melone acknowledged. “They’re probably either busy or just don’t care at the moment.”

“Page ‘em again!” Lesley demanded.

“I’m helping customers right this second. Your hands aren’t full, why don’t you page them? All it takes is a second.”

“You think I have all the time in the world?” Lesley scolded, immediately picking up the tills and kicking the door open to the Cash Office. “I have money to count! How ‘bout you stop making excuses and just do it, Ed?” The door slammed behind him.

Melone groaned to himself. He swore working with that guy was like tiptoeing over eggshells. Regardless, he stepped over to the phone, dialed #-3-5, and with a tap of his finger, tested if he could hear it over the intercom. Once he heard the tapping, he brought the phone to his lips. “Can I get an available Deli associate to the Front Desk for your returns? Once again, can I get an available Deli associate to the Front Desk for your returns…? Thank you.”

Time to play the waiting game… again. He waltzed back to the lady who struggled to find her change. “Just… one more… cent!”

Melone sighed in defeat. “It’s fine.”

“Wait, seriously?” The customer sounded shocked.

“It’s just a penny. I’m sure I’ll find one laying on the ground somewhere.” Melone rolled his eyes as he cashed in the money. A penny doesn’t sound like a big deal, but if Lesley’s stories weren’t exaggerated by Lesley himself, workers in the past were seriously reprimanded or straight up fired for being a few cents short. Perhaps one of his colleagues might have a spare cent they could give up?

The lady’s mouth gaped. “You’re… you’re… YOU’RE SO KIND~!” The customer exclaimed joyfully as if she won the Mega Million jackpot. Melone was justifiably baffled. She went from an unreasonable, rabid bitch to sweet as honey pie in a mere moment. “You’re a sweetheart! An angel! Your parents must’ve raised you right!”

“Whatever. It’s not anything to fuss about.” Melone handed her the receipt.

“And humble!” She exclaimed. “What’s your name? Edmundo. You’re the best! My lil’ guardian angel Eddy! Where’s your manager? I wanna tell them how great you are!”

“That won’t be necessary.” Melone shooed the customer away until she was out of sight. Not like this day could get any more annoying. “Next.” He signaled the next person in line to step forward. The next customer was a middle-aged man. “How’re we doing today, sir?” The man ignored Melone. Melone rang up the items and totaled the order. “Are you paying with cash or card?”

The man spoke. “What was your name again?” He squinted at Melone’s name tag. “Edmun-do? Listen, Ed, now don’t take this the wrong way, but.” Oh boy. The man brought his index finger up to Melone’s eyes. “Why the mask?”

Melone changed the subject. “Cash or card?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Tell me. Why are you wearing a mask? Don’t you feel any shame when people stare at you? I’d be embarrassed if I were you.”

“Cash? Or card?” Melone asked again, his voice growing impatient.

Right out of the blue, Illuso entered behind the desk. Melone was relieved to see him. “Hey, I was coming over, I was helping a customer. I heard you overhead like four times.”

“Sorry, I figured you were busy. I was only listening to what Lesley said.” Melone handed him the cold cuts. “Here.”

“Awww,” Illuso grunted, he recognized that specific package. “This was the honey-glazed turkey I sliced for that granny an hour ago. I remember ‘cause she wanted it cut practically into ribbons. Eh, whatevs, guess this is my lunch for today.” As Illuso made his way around the desk, the customer grabbed the hem of his sleeve.

“Can you talk to him?” The customer whined, still tugging on his sleeve, making Illuso jerk his arm back.

“Huh?”

“His mask!” The man pointed at Melone. “Tell him to take off that mask! I told him to but he keeps ignoring me! He looks ridiculous!”

Illuso was about to snark back before Risotto’s warning echoed through his mind. “You never consider the gravity of your words. If you act up on the job, you’re going to get fired.” Was jeopardizing his job more important than complying and making his teammate take off his facial accessory? Illuso glanced at his comrade, his lips curled upward. “Why does he have to take it off? Is it going to ruin your day if he doesn’t?”

“You think this is some kind of funny joke, clown? I ask you something politely and you decide to laugh in my face?” The customer argued, poking the taller man in the midriff. “Have him take it off!” This only motivated Illuso to push harder.

“Answer me this. Does that mask scare you? Did it snub you at a party? Or did it murder your mother in cold blood? I guess it doesn’t matter now that I ask it. Either scenario makes you look hilariously pathetic, hehehe.”

“You know what, I don’t need this.” The man aggressively pushed all the items off the desk. Jars smashed and produce mashed all over the floor. Nevertheless, it didn’t deter Illuso, who was chuckling to himself as he watched the man-baby throw a tantrum. When his meltdown was over, the customer pushed right up to Illuso. “Hope you and your stuck-up friend have fun cleaning the mess I made. You just lost yourself a customer, smartass. I’ll just go to that bodega across the street!”

“Oh no! The horror! You don’t think we’ll find another one, right?” Illuso cupped his cheeks, pretending to be scared. The guy let out an exasperated squawk before vamoosing. Illuso looked on with a cheeky smirk as the guy marched off rambling to himself. He turned to Melone. “You’re welcome, creeper.”

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned that Giacomo will find out you went head-to-head with a customer?” Melone questioned plainly as he rang up the next customer. “You’re already on his shitlist.”

Illuso leisurely leaned himself on the counter. “True. Counterpoint. I was sticking up for you. I did you and him a favor, really.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. You tend to overdo it sometimes.”

“Overdo it? Well then, if that’s the way you think, that'll be the last time I back your ass up in anything.”

“HEY MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! LET ME PASS, YOU DUMB BOULDER!”

The two gangsters were startled by the sound of shouting. They and the remaining customers whirled around to see the man from before squabbling with another worker who was none other than Angel. Angel was physically blocking the exit.

“I saw everything! I’m not moving until you go back and apologize to him!”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY! HE’S THE ONE THAT STARTED IT! HEY- HEY- HEY PUT ME DOWN!”

Angel yanked the man by the collar and strolled over to Customer Service. The customer begged and struggled, yet Angel didn’t budge. Illuso and Melone’s eyes widened with amazement at how strong he was. He just picked the guy up with no sweat! Angel suspended the man over Melone’s head. “Now, what did you want to say to him?” He asked threateningly, lifting the guy even higher off the ground. The man looked like he was about to piss his pants.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Okay? Now please let me go! I’m afraid of heights!”

Angel dropped the man to his feet. “And if I ever, ever, EVER catch you berating him like that again, I won’t be so merciful next time.”

The man cowered. “Okay, okay!” He picked himself up and ran away.

Angel faced Melone. “Oh, Eddy!” He made his way around the desk. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt or anything are you? Don’t worry, he won’t bother you again.” He took a step forward, causing Melone to step back.

“Why are you doing this?” Melone demanded an answer.

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Angel boasted. “I was strolling by when I saw that dirtbag make a scene. I knew I had to step in.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Melone was sounding annoyed again. “I meant why do you keep coming for me? You remember I’m a guy, right? You keep sneaking snacks by my desk and you’re spreading rumors that we’re a couple! Why?”

Angel smirked and let out a hearty laugh. “I know you’re a guy, silly. You’re so funny!” He grabbed his hands, interlocking his digits in between Melone’s. “I’ll admit, I was kinda put off when you confessed that you were a dude. But then I thought about it. It shouldn’t matter if you pack a little extra down there, what truly matters is a person’s heart and soul, right? And how can I resist? You’re the whole package! You’re just so smart and shy. And adorable! So adorable!”

Welp… this was a twist.

Melone tried to free his hands from Angel’s grip, only for Angel to “tenderly” squeeze them tighter. Melone wasn’t one to feel uncomfortable in situations like this. It wasn’t like he was unfamiliar with touching or being touched. He had his fair share of licking someone’s skin, but that was only to know their blood type for his Stand. It wasn’t like he got off to such an act. He was a professional, after all. If he’d got punched, kicked, or slapped because of it, can’t be helped. No reason to cry over it, he’d walk off the pain. As long as he got the job completed with exceeding results, that was more important to him. But this man before him was different. Angel seemed more than just a pervert with zero awareness. He seemed… smarter than he looked. Behind that dumb facade was someone that was just as insidious as him, maybe more. This was a man who would commit heinous acts on a body. And that’s what Angel wanted to do to him. A balance of stupefaction and disgust swelled within Melone, making him cringe. For whatever reason, Ghiaccio’s words rung through his brain. “You’re a hypocrite.” He couldn’t comprehend why that crossed his mind at a time like this. Nevertheless, Melone shook the thought out of his mind.

“And I only make those cookies ‘cause you love snacking on them,” Angel cooed, affectionately booping Melone’s nose. “I’d knew you’d like ‘em. Sugar cookies are my favorite too~.”

“But I haven’t touched them,” Melone urged.

“Then where are they?” Angel teasingly challenged, pinching Melone’s chin and bringing it closer to his face. “Too embarrassed to admit you like ‘em so much? C’mon, you can say it. The best way to a person’s heart is through their stomach.” He winked.

“Aww, how romantic. Dare I say, disgustingly cheesy.” Illuso mocked, slowly clapping. “Goodness gracious! You two haven’t tied the knot yet and yet, you’re already bickering like an old married couple. What a “shame” I have to rain on the parade. Unfortunately for you big fella, you’re out of his league.”

“And you must be?” Angel asked suspiciously.

“His brother,” Illuso stated.

“His brother?” He looked Illuso up and down. “You don’t look related to him.”

“Of course, I don’t. I was blessed with the better genes. He’s, put it nicely, ehhh, so-so.”

“Well looky here, brother,” Angel sputtered, spittle flying right below Illuso’s eye. “If you were a good “brother”, you wouldn’t be speaking for him. He can’t even fathom his surroundings, he’s been through a traumatic experience, right Eddy?”

“Uhhh,” Melone uttered.

“See! Completely speechless!” Angel menacingly approached Illuso. The man was exceptionally tall, was about an inch or two taller than Illuso and with his stocky build, he was a walking brick wall. Angel firmly clutched Illuso’s right shoulder, making the latter’s face contort in disdain. “Now why don’t you skip back to your department, or I’ll mop the floor with your fugly face?”

Illuso’s eye twitched. If this asshole doesn’t remove his deformed, dirt-encrusted hand in the next immediately, it was going to get viciously chewed off. Memories from the past washed over him like a tidal wave. No. Now wasn’t the time to harp. With a huff, he pushed Angel’s hand away. “Fine. And might I add?” Illuso's mischievous grin returned. “Those cookies were scrumptious. Maybe you should make ‘em for me ‘stead of the one who throws ‘em out or gives ‘em away.”

———————————————————————

Illuso was halfway to the Deli, the honey-glazed turkey folded under his arm. “Who does that dirtbag think he is?” He thought. That brick-brain was lucky Illuso didn’t cut off his hand as he did with his own. “I guess now I understand why Melone’s spooked by that guy. He doesn’t know when to give and ugh, don’t even want to know where those sticky fingers been.” The thought of Angel putting his hand on him sent tingles down his spine. “I’d rather die of septic shock than have him feel me up again. I’ll have to wash my shoulder after work… burn it off for good measure.” He was about to take a shortcut down an aisle. The candy aisle. But when he turned the corner, something caught his attention.

The aisle was exceptionally hectic. People were preoccupied looking through the shelves or bantering with one another. That wasn’t what caught his eye. What did, were the crumpled wrappers and partially eaten sweet treats trailing down the center of the floor. This trail led to a small figure, standing in the epicenter of the madness. Before him, was a small girl, no older than five years old. Half of her face was shielded with long, black bangs. It looked like she was wearing a bowl over her head, only her nose and lips peeked out. In her hair was a flower, the petals were a deep shade of crimson, and reminisced of spider legs. Just as peculiar as her face was her outfit. Out of place for the scene. She was meticulously dressed in a refined, violet robe with red floral illustrations embroidered into it. She also wore traditional-looking sandals that were a foot off the ground. “A girl? And why in a Japanese kimono? She sticks out like a sore thumb, and yet no one seems to take notice of her. It’s like she’s invisible to everyone but me.”

Illuso blinked to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, pinching his side to be extra sure. Nope, he wasn’t dreaming any of this. Her lips smacked slowly and in her tiny grasp was a freshly opened candy wrapper. “So she’s the thief who trashed the floor with candy!” When he stepped forward, he felt a shooting chill from head to foot. Something about this girl was unnatural. He couldn’t figure out why. It was just a kid, after all. Whatever it was, it made him freeze on the spot. Her aura was otherworldly, he could best describe it as threatening. Whoever she was, her motive being there was anything but well-intentioned.

Her arms hugged something that Illuso initially couldn’t put his finger on. He could tell it was circular, but that was about it. The object slipped from her clutches and bobbled on the ground. The bouncing turned to rolling and it was heading toward Illuso. The ball finally made a slow halt, bumping the toe of Illuso’s shoe. He paused before picking it up and observing every inch of it. “Oh. It’s just a ball.” It wasn’t any standard ball he’s ever seen. It was a Temari ball, a child’s plaything. They were originally made of silk fabric from old kimonos. This one in particular had strips of brilliant reds and purples woven into beautifully intricate shapes and patterns.

When Illuso looked up, to his shock, the girl was gone. “What the-? Where did she go!?” She had vanished into thin air! Still with the toy in hand, Illuso cautiously entered the aisle, darting his head side-to-side. Maybe she was hiding behind a person or a shelf, but when he peered between customers, he found no one. “Could it be? Was she possibly the- no, no! I remember that day clearly. Whoever was behind me had to be the Stand User. This girl doesn’t match any physical traits with our perp. But her aura. My hunch tells me she isn’t some typical kid.” He exited the candy section. He wasn’t certain what to do then. He figured probably was best to leave the toy in the lost-and-found cubby and go back to his department.

As he was about to resume his path, he felt a tug on his pant leg. He peered down. It was her. The little girl in the kimono. A sweat drop trickled down his cheek. “Play it cool. Don’t let her sense any fear in you.” The girl extended her little palms overhead. As she did that, she hopped in place, making a distinct “clomp” with her sandals. Initially perplexed about what she was trying to accomplish, Illuso understood she was feebly reaching for the ball. He smirked. To think he was admittedly intimidated by a child, who no longer had that menacing aura anymore. “Oh, what do we have here? Someone must’ve enjoyed too many sweets that they dropped their precious toy that I found. I suppose I should give it back to you, hmm?” He lowered the ball closer to her height, but as she tried to take it, he swiftly lifted it higher. “However, naughty children who steal food shouldn’t be rewarded with playthings presented to them. When you have the cash to pay for the candy you ate, then I might be generous enough to give this back.” The child continued to hop, with fruitless results. “What’s that? You don’t have the money? Oh, that won’t be an issue. I can hand you an application sheet and you can start tomorrow~.” The child no longer jumped, rather, she rolled Illuso’s pant leg up and proceeded to gnaw at his shin. An ungodly pain rippled up his leg.

“YEOWCH!”

Illuso flung the ball, flying so high it barely scraped the ceiling before falling right into the girl’s arms. “Why you lil’ cunt!” Illuso cursed out as he cradled his leg. He didn’t give a shit if she was a kid, he was going to rain hell on her for biting him. But when he looked down, she had vanished again. “What the hell is going on? Am I fucking losing it!?” No, he couldn’t be dreaming, that bite had to be real! He checked his ankle. There were visible teeth marks, sharp enough that the skin broke causing blood to dribble down his leg.

“I gotta go find Risotto.”

———————————————————————

Risotto was sitting at his office desk skimming through some documents when his attention shifted to the door knocking. “Hey, it’s me,” Illuso said as he entered, only to be met with Risotto’s brooding stare, there was an angry glint behind those sunglasses. Illuso could only predict what Risotto was mad about.

“I’ve been notified about your little “episode” that happened not too long ago.” He was calm, yet stern.

“Yeah, yeah, say what you want! If it’s about that customer? News flash! He started it by throwing a fit over Edmundo’s stupid mask!”

“I don’t care who started it!” Risotto raised his tone. “I’ve had just about enough with this insolence! I gave you a simple order!”

“But-!”

“And you’ve made zero attempts to follow it!”

“I-!”

“You acting out is doing us no good except putting us in the limelight!”

“Okay! Okay! It’s always my fault! There!?” Illuso barked, it was more or less a genuine apology. “I wasn’t going out of my way to argue with the guy! He pulled me over-!”

“Cut the crap!” Risotto snapped harshly. “You know well as much as I what you were doing! You’re an adult! You know the boundaries between right and wrong! I understand you started today on a bad note, but that is no excuse to start trouble by taking it out on others!”

Illuso sulked. “Fine! God!” He grew quiet.

Risotto felt this time it was warranted to reprimand his colleague. Didn’t matter if it was in the store or at home, he was Illuso’s superior. Hell, Risotto believed he was being merciful. He could’ve written Illuso up or given him a good ol’ fashioned, mafioso-style beating. Okay, the latter option was a smidge out there. Risotto composed himself. “Please. If something is troubling you, tell me, and I’ll try to assist as much as possible. But you gotta work with me here.” Illuso shifted his gaze away from his capo, folding his arms. Risotto slanted his eyebrows.

“Trust me. I wasn’t trying to start anything. I’m… s-s-s-sor-sor-ry. I’m. Sorry.” Illuso’s apology was forced, yet genuine as if he never apologized in all his years of existing. It must be a difficult life to have such a massively swelled ego, that you can't bring yourself to admit failure.

Risotto exhaled. “Just don’t do it again. That’s all I ask from you.”

“Fine. As for Angel, I was only trying to stand up for-.”

“Angel? What about Angel?” Risotto asked with sincere confusion. “I wasn’t notified anything about him.”

Illuso replied seriously. “For real now? Surprise, surprise that everyone turned a blind eye to that. He was harassing Edmundo, putting his hands on him and shit. I told him to fuck off, that Ed wasn’t interested in him and he proceeded to grab my shoulder and threatened to assault me. Not to mention HE manhandled the SAME CUSTOMER for yelling at Edmundo and me over the mask situation and despite that, I’m framed as the bad guy!”

Risotto flushed a light pink. He was steaming, this time not at Illuso. First, Formaggio, and now Illuso and Melone were having issues with management. He pondered if Angel was exploiting others and abusing the system due to his managerial position. Regardless, he’d get to the bottom of it. He jotted some notes in his notepad. “Thank you for telling me. How long has he been treating you like this?”

“Just today. This was the first time we interacted.” Hold the phone! He was forgetting why he came there for. “Just hold that thought. The reason why I’m in your office isn’t because of Angel.” Risotto ceased writing. “Have you noticed a girl lurking around the store? And I don’t mean any ordinary girl.” Risotto cocked an eyebrow. “She was wearing these traditional Japanese clothes. She was acting very strange too. Like, she was standing in the middle of the aisle staring me down and she trashed the floor with candy wrappers. And look! She bit my leg too!” He lifted his leg onto the desk. Risotto shifted his head as he observed the wound. He gazed up at Illuso as if Illuso had three heads.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at?” Stunned, Illuso looked at his ankle. There was nothing there. No teeth marks. No blood. It was like it healed itself!

“I swear I’m not making this up!” Illuso pleaded. Risotto was hesitant. “Look, I don’t know if this kid is our perp. But something about her is otherworldly. Who knows? Maybe she’s an informant? Possibly in cahoots with our guy!?”

Risotto tapped his chin. It was rather peculiar. He wouldn’t suspect his teammate to stoop so low as to lie about the Stand User’s whereabouts to save face. Illuso was very serious about the ordeal, Risotto could normally tell whether Illuso was fucking around with him or being truthfully sincere. “Let’s look at the security footage.” The two men hurried over to the Security Office. There, Risotto backtracked where the incident occurred. “Tell me again where and when this all happened?” Risotto questioned.

“Aisle 3. The Candy Section. Happened roughly 11:35 am.” Risotto rewound the footage until they saw the image of Illuso walking to the location, that’s when he pressed play. They viewed Illuso do exactly what proceeded when he encountered the girl. It was unnerving to see himself in bird’s eye view, seeing himself freeze when he saw her and cautiously stumbling into the aisle. The only difference was… there was no girl in a kimono there. Nowhere in sight. To say Illuso was disturbed was an understatement. There was no way he could’ve imagined all that up. What was weirder was instead of Illuso holding the ball he found, it appeared as if he was cupping the air.

“I don’t see anyone.” Risotto stated flatly.

“That can’t be. I saw her standing right there.” Illuso insisted, pointing to the center of the aisle. Risotto fast-forwarded the tape to see his comrade exiting the area, that was when he purportedly came in contact with the child. Still no girl. Only Illuso peculiarly gestured to himself and spoke to the air around him, then reacted in pain when he claimed to have gotten bit. The footage ended. There were no words exchanged. Risotto lifted his head to face his mortified teammate. This couldn’t be some sick joke Illuso was pulling.

“Please! You have to trust me, Giacomo!” Illuso begged excessively. “I know what I saw! And what I saw was a creepy kid; a demon, looking back at me. It’s aware something’s up! That’s why it didn’t pester anybody but me! Customers didn’t even seem to notice that she was right there! Please, you have to believe me!”

Risotto took a second to process what was happening. “… It’s okay. I believe you.” Illuso perked up. “Those candy wrappers… something about them piqued my interest. For all we know, a child could’ve snacked on some while shopping with mom and dad. Not sure if it’s the same kid you’re describing though. But I’m curious.” Risotto rewound the footage, this time going long before Illuso’s encounter.

11:00:00 am. Same location. No wrappers were littered on the floor.

11:00:30. Still no wrappers. Risotto eyed attentively to see any changes with the footage.

11:10:04. Nothing.

11:20:24. Nothing.

11:30:14. Nothing.

11:40:52. The screen abruptly went to static, making the two men jump.

11:41:00. The static stopped. The tape resumed where it was but this time, a whole pile of wrappers scattered to the center of the floor. “What the devil?” Risotto murmured to himself. Risotto replayed the footage again to make sure it didn’t glitch out. The same thing happened. It would go to static for a couple of seconds, then it played as normal, but with discarded wrappers and half-eaten candy everywhere. No customer seemed to take notice of this. Not only that, there were no children in the area. How could the floor go from no ounce of dirt to become littered with heaps of candy in eight seconds? No ordinary child, let alone an adult, could consume that many sweets in such little time. It would have to take more than a minute to make that much of a mess.

Illuso could hear a loud thumping coming from Risotto’s chest. With a sigh, he turned to Illuso. “Something is very wrong.” His voice was still, yet ominous. “I’m going to investigate more into this. For now, just resume working. If you see anything, tell me. Warn the others.” Illuso nodded and left, leaving Risotto in the dark, empty room, the only light illuminating was the flickering from the recording. They could very well be dealing with a demon.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

Janis sat alone in her headquarters, grumbling to herself as she ardently doodled on her desk. Crudely childlike in style, the illustrations’ content ranged from plain random sketches to outright brutal scenes, most centered around Risotto. One was him being crushed by a train, another of him being electrocuted by a thundercloud, and most notably of him having his head forcibly ripped from his body by Janis; added with blood trickling down his neck and Janis smiling with glee. “Nyehehehe! That would show him. Too bad we have a law against first-degree murder. Sigh, a gal can dream.”

She sipped from a plastic cup as she marveled at her masterpieces. Not due to the quality of them, but it was great to let off some heavy steam. No shock to anyone with a fully functioning brain that Janis was a lady of many grudges. When it came to “Giacomo”, however, it was unlike anything she experienced before. It was a one-of-kind hatred she held specially for him. From the moment Buggle introduced her to that foreigner, she easily accepted the fact that she despised him. He was everything she looked down on as an employee. Inexperienced. Testosterone-filled. Fresh in the neighborhood and worse of all... privileged. Couldn’t have put in any more than the bare minimum and got everything handed on a silver platter. She, on the other hand, had no choice but to begin from the bottom up, like any other diligent employee. She worked her ass to the bone for over 35 years to get where she was. How long did it take him…? BARELY A DAY! She blamed her husband, this was all his fault! She pondered what she even saw in that idiot. Should’ve divorced his ass a long time ago. It didn’t take a genius to comprehend that he only hired that lowlife nobody to boost the store’s status.

ShopSmart Mart was quite a popular joint for the urban community to pay for their groceries. Folks from all over came and went there to shop, but the main demographic around those streets was inhabited by Italian people. No shit it’ll look good for the company to have one of “them” working there. THAT WASN’T THE POINT! Out of all the braindead wops her half-baked husband could’ve chosen, he decided on the village idiot of the bunch. It pissed her off so much! She hated both of them, especially Giacomo. He must’ve felt so smug to get to where he was, tailing behind her on the social ladder. That smile. That damn hideous grin he gave her. The mental image raged in her mind every second of the day, every day. From dawn, she woke to dusk she slept. He wouldn’t even leave her alone in her dreams, he was always present. It was a constant replaying of the same thought. Her hate for him was so potent, that it was obsessive. One of these days, she’ll surely make him suffer for everything he has done to her. She didn’t forget what happened at the meeting. She was obviously in the right, yet everyone sided with him, Buggle too. She’ll subject him to the most excruciating hells known to man. Whether he or his stupid brothers were to be fired, hurt, or no longer existed, it didn’t bother her in any way, she wanted to see those losers descend into despair. The moment Giacomo would snap would be the happiest day of her life…

“Did you hear what happened yesterday morning?”

“At the meeting?”

“Uh, duh! What else? Giacomo sassed Janis the whole time and got away with it.”

“Get outta here!”

“Forreal! Shanti told me everything! Rumor has it he acts this way ‘cause he’s the apple of Mr. Presley’s eye. Talk about favoritism.”

“No kidding. Teacher’s pet should be more careful. Don’t wanna get on Janis’s bad side.”

“I know right? He doesn’t know when to stop. He’s so bad… but, like, in a hot way.”

“Yesss girl, you read my mind! That man’s hunkalicious!” A faint conversation outside her office made her do a double take. Did her ears deceive her? Did she hear someone admitting that that demon spawn was by any means, attractive? Outrageous!

“He’s got that biker gang aesthetic about him, y’know what I’m saying?”

“For real! I wanna marry those abs. You think he owns a Harley?”

“He has to! It’s written all over him! Wonder what he smells like?” Avril mused dreamily.

“Hmm. Raindrops and leather?”

“I was thinking more on the lines of vanilla bean and lavender.”

“Oooooh,” they exclaimed in unison.

“Hey, ding-a-lings!” Janis shouted from her doorframe, startling the two girls. Her tone turned callous. “Oh, pardon me, did I intrude on an important conversation?“

“N-No! M-Miss Janis!” Shania yelped.

“Yeah! We were… Uhm, talking about, schoolwork!” Avril lied.

“You don’t say?” Janis asked suspiciously, her eyes turning into slits. “Silly me. I must have so much cotton in my ears that I misheard you. I could’ve sworn I overheard you two discussing a certain, “Giacomo” if I’m not mistaken?”

The two girls turned into stiff boards, twisting their heads side-to-side. “Nope! Far from it! Guy’s nothing more than a tool and a slacker! Right, Shanny?”

“Yeah, yeah, right Avril! Not worth wasting energy talking ‘bout that degenerate!”

“In fact! Shanny was praising how awesome of a boss you are! We’re truly grateful, right Shania?”

“Uhh, yea-! Yeah! This store wouldn’t run the same without you! You’re not like the other managers! You’re the best manager any worker could ever ask for, Miss Janis!”

Janis’s lips twisted into a content, yet cocky gloat. “Good. That’s more like it.” She slung her arms around them, harshly pulling them close to her wrinkly visage. “Do you realize how absolutely relieved I am to hear that, girls? For a second I was so concerned that you two were… fantasizing about him. Oh, but where are my wits? Marrying his abs? Smelling like lavender? Pfft! Absolutely outrageous, am I right? Ohohohoho! You girls know better than to tangle with a brute like him. He’s a terrible influence, after all. Just speaking his name should be regarded as a curse to the soul.” She yanked them closer to her. She tweeted softly, “Therefore, can you, my star pupils, do me this one incy, wincy, teeny, tiny favor, pretty please?” They nodded frightfully. Her voice became a low boom. “… Don’t ever bring that name up, again.”

“Y-Yes ma’am!” They cried in unison.

“Now back to work!” She barked, pushing them away. With their backs still stiff, they trooped down the corridor, their tempo matched with a soldier’s march. Janis shook her head disapprovingly as she watched the two morons’ frames grow smaller until they were no longer in sight. Janis lamented to herself. “What is with these youths nowadays? Going gaga over some “bad boy” when they could be using their energy to, oh, I don’t know, do their jobs. I heard what they said clearly. “Marrying his abs”? Hah! That’s a knee-slapper. I can’t seem to get my head wrapped around those lunes. What do they see in that bozo? He’s nothing to write home about. I for one, wouldn’t be caught dead walking arm-in-arm with a dumb ape with a shriveled-up lima bean brain.” Unbeknownst to her as she was so wrapped up in her thoughts, a towering shadow stood centimeters behind her.

“Janis…?” A deep, hoarse voice casually called to her, making her jump a foot off the ground.

“GAHHHHH!” She flailed her arms overhead.

“Pipe down. It’s only me.” Risotto said as he tried to calm her down. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Janis squeezed her chest, her heart thumped madly; typically overdramatic. “Were you raised in a barn!? Don’t you know any better than to eavesdrop on a conversation? Your mother should wallow in shame for raising an unruly son like yourself!”

Her insults didn’t waver Risotto. “I need to have a word with you.”

“Oh, what? Have you decided the job’s too hard for you? Are you planning on quitting? Oh, pathetic wittle thing,” she mocked.

“It’s in regards to our management,” Risotto replied sternly.

“Gah, wasting my time as usual.” She grudgingly rolled her eyes before signaling him to her office. “Come on in.” He took a spot in front of her desk. The seat was snug so he was hunched in an uncomfortable position. He wished he could’ve taken Janis’s seat, it would’ve been enough room for himself since it was practically a throne for her. Janis took her seat. They exchanged looks before Janis spoke impatiently. “Go on, I don’t have all day.”

“Ehem,” Risotto began. “It has come to my attention that some members of our management have taken a couple of…” As he explained this, his sight shifted down to see her hand making a repetitive motion. She was drawing something on her desk. It was a person’s face being crossed out over and over again. They were drawn with sunglasses. Wait, was that supposed to be him? Her gaze didn’t falter as she illustrated her desk. She didn’t miss a beat.

Janis was too preoccupied to care about this idiot’s problem. Seeing his stupid face in her office was enough to make her belly boil. Before long, he ceased speaking. His eyes no longer met hers. She discerned that something caught his attention. A few inches down her face. No way. Was he seriously ogling at her…?

“My eyes are up here, Mr. Sordino.”

Risotto’s eyes shot up to meet Janis’s. “Apologies. Was… a little distracted.” His brow curled up when he noticed the other drawings of him getting savagely maimed.

“Pervert!” Janis fumed in her head. “I knew he was a weirdo, but this has taken to a whole new level! I should call him out for his behavior. Why stop there? I can end his entire career right here and now! How dare he stoop so low as to make googly eyes at a superior’s bust!” At that precise moment, she peered down. “Oh… the drawing. He must’ve gotten distracted by me sketching on my desk. Pfft, he got lucky, this time.”

“… Members of management have taken a couple of “liberties” with our associates. And I don’t say that lightly. Angel has been targeting and making advances on one of the customer service representatives, along with threatening a Deli worker to get into a physical altercation with them. On top of that, he blocked a customer from exiting the store and then proceeded to manhandle them. These incidents happened within a five-minute timeframe. All occurred an hour and a half ago.”

Janis dropped her pen on the wooden surface. She looked unimpressed. “And who were these associates that complained about Angel?” She was prodding him again, just like what she did at the meeting.

Risotto stated flatly, “They wished to remain anonymous.”

“How chivalrous of you.” She smirked. “Frankly, I heard about the whole escapade prior to our little discussion. Your dear, troublemaking brothers got involved with Angel, was it? Am I in the ballpark?” Risotto refused to respond. Behind his closed lips, he abstained from clenching his teeth. “Heavens me, I couldn’t be more right, huh? Another textbook example of you prioritizing your brothers’ fragile egos over the company’s name. What do you gotta say for yourself?”

He replied coldly. “This doesn’t concern me. You have a flight risk on your hands going about causing chaos throughout the store. Aren’t you bothered by any of that?”

“You’re overreacting. Angel has been a great asset to our community for years. Customers and staff, including myself, have enjoyed his baked sweets and he has displayed an impeccable character. What can I say? Angel’s an ideal worker. But it appears ever since your brothers got hired, he’s been getting a frightful amount of complaints. Coincidence, hmm?”

Risotto retorted, “Those same people won’t appreciate him invading their personal space. Look at the security footage, he willingly grabbed a man by the collar. We’ll lose customers because of him. When that happens, sales will drop. Wasn’t this a huge issue you passed around at the meeting?”

Janis waved him off dismissively. “Now you’re just pulling excuses out of your butt. Sounds to me that those two were the ones targeting Angel and you’re covering up for them.”

“Excuse me?” For a man who didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, with the occasional angry outburst, Risotto was visibly taken aback. There was no way she could’ve said all that with a straight face. She had to be pulling his leg. Seems like Angel could’ve set the entire place in flames, and Janis would still turn the other cheek if it was Risotto who warned her. Try as he might’ve, he couldn’t reason with this woman. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t caught sight of it… who am I kidding, I’m not. Given how messy their breakup was, Ed likely-.”

“Breakup? What do mean by “breakup”?”

“Let me finish, will ya? Sheesh! As I was saying, Ed was spiteful over Angel leaving him for another gal, so I believe he and-.”

“Save the gossip. I don’t care about that part. The only thing I care about is the blatant lies surrounding that notion. Whoever told you that is lying through their teeth. Edmundo never got with Angel, let alone expressed a shrivel of interest in him. He’s repulsed by him.”

“Oh, so you’re accusing Angel of being a liar? How professional of you to point fingers at innocent victims. Did it occur to you that it was Angel who confided in me about the incident? Rather hear it from the first-person source than someone who doesn’t have a trace of what he’s saying.” She gave him a smug wink. Risotto felt a hearth in his chest that was turning into an unwavering fire. His lip trembled. This shrew. She was testing his patience now. No matter how severe the problem was, she’d side with anyone but him. Even when he had a solid case, she’d warp it into something else and redirect all the blame onto him.

“Take it easy, Risotto.” He warned himself. “She’s throwing you for a loop. Being the bad cop won’t resolve anything, it’ll only give her that sweet power rush she’s trying to dig out from you. You have a few options on the table. Think them through wisely. Getting defensive won’t do you any justice, so scratch that one off. Back to square one. You could stay neutral on this one. Say something like, “Well, you should speak to them yourself. They’re grown men, you can get their sides of the story and play it by ear.” No. Knowing her, she’d twist the situation, just like what she and Ashanti did to Formaggio. Last thing you want is for three of your men to be at odds with you at a crucial time like this. The best course of action would be the more passive approach. Just reiterate what you said the first time, if she doesn’t listen, take it up with the store owner. Get him involved and he might settle on a resolution between all parties.”

Janis was brimming with smug satisfaction. She could tell he was beginning to get tense from her words. “He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna burst. I saw that upper lip quake. Never seen anyone react with a strange quirk like that, I must admit. It’s rather cu-, hm… I mean, it’s rather pleasing to see him crumbling to my feet.” She was anticipating this lowlife to lose his cool. “I’m waiting for an answer, love.” … Why did she call him that? Um, besides the point. Only a matter of moments before he’d explode into a heap of rage.

Yet, he didn’t.

Risotto proceeded with placid composure. “All I’m saying is, as a manager who cares for the goodness of this company, you should be taking this more seriously. You letting Angel do whatever he pleases doesn’t account for the store’s reputation.”

Janis scowled. “Hmph. And what do you plan on doing if I don’t?” What happened next was something she far from expected.

He slowly brought his hand right to his ear. Taking his sunglasses by the tip, he hastily ripped them off. What? He did it. He took them off! But why was he taking them off at a time like this? Who cares? She finally caught him red-handed and was about to discover what truly was hiding beneath those shades. He fluttered his eyes open. The frames of his eyes were sliced almonds, there was no indication of flaws, wrinkles, or deformities. On the contrary, they were radiantly white and youthful. Janis awed in wonder. For someone who had eye problems, they looked well in shape. They sparkled under the LED light overhead. Speaking of, the room glowed brighter. Janis felt lightheaded, her heart thumped faster. The longer she stared into them, the dizzier she felt, or was it dizziness? It felt rather nice. It was a warmness in the back of her head, like that tipsy feeling when you have one too many glasses of wine. She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to look away. His irises. She was drowning in those deep-ocean blues. He got up and closed in on her, their faces were centimeters away from each other. His nose breath was warm. Janis blushed. “Wait, what are you do-!?” He brought his finger to her lips, promptly shushing her.

“I can do so many things to you…” He hushed in her ear.

“H-HUH!?” Janis scrambled out of her seat, hitting herself on the desk and knocking her knickknacks off in the process. His voice echoed through her mind. It was threatening, yet enticing. He was turning the tables on her. And what did he mean by “doing things”? Like, interrogate her? Force her against her will? No. Was he… Was he flirting with her!? She shuffled to the wall, plastering her back against it. Her head was racing. All of this was happening so quickly. “WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING!?”

“… I said I’d take it up with the owner.” To say that Risotto was perplexed was an understatement. He didn’t do anything and out of the blue, Janis was thrashing about and spouting delusional nothings. Maybe he should call for help. The retirement home might have a spot for her.

“Snap out of it!” Janis slapped herself silly, her cheeks jiggling from the impact. She almost collapsed if it weren’t for her desk breaking her fall. Risotto couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be mortified or not. Was this the work of a Stand User? If so, they must’ve not been very bright since they picked the wrong target. When Janis gathered her bearings, everything looked normal. The lights were dim, no more sparkles, and the man in front of her was seated, with the glasses on, and looking very dumbstruck. “Oh. Right…” She sheepishly stood there. Did she imagine all that up? There was no way she did, it felt too real! “Did I- Did I dream all that up? Am I going mad?” If she hallucinated all of that, why did she hallucinate such a compromising scene!? Her face steamed at the idea. Was it, did she have a-? NO! It had to be something underlying.

“My blood pressure! My blood pressure must be going through the roof! Water! I need water!” A panicked Janis floundered to the water dispenser. She shakily grabbed a plastic cup and pushed the button for cold water.

“Janis…?”

“Stop talking!” She swigged half the cup before splashing the rest in her face, then poured herself another cup. Risotto hurried to her attention.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“EEEP!” A startled Janis lost the grip of the cup, spilling it on Risotto. He was fine, but his shirt was completely drenched. Tears of water trickled down his toned muscles. To Janis’s horror, his polo clung to his chest, easier to see every crevice of his well-built abs.

“Calm down, it’s just water.” Risotto said, trying to wipe the droplets of water off his damp neck. Very. Sensually. Janis gaped her mouth as if she was screaming with no sound.

“GET. OUT. OUT!” She screeched, pointing to the door.

“But why…?”

“WE’RE DONE WITH THIS DISCUSSION!” She forced him out of her office, slamming her door just shy of smacking Risotto in the face with it. This day couldn’t get any more bizarre. Janis clenched the doorknob as if her life depended on it. What was this? What was this feeling? She was panting hard, but water wouldn’t suffice. She desperately looked around for the nearest object to stuff her face into and release all her emotions. There was a stuffed bear on her desk that Ashanti gifted her one year. Better than nothing. She took the plush and screamed into it. “No this can’t be happening! I have to wake up from this nightmare! No, no, no, this has to be my imagination! He’s so gross! Why do I feel like this!? Why do I like this? Ew, ew, ew! He tried to seduce me! Anyone with a brain wouldn’t touch that beast with a 100-foot pole! There’s no way in hell I can ever-! I-! I-! I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM SO FUCKING MUCH! HE’S AN ABSOLUTE EYESORE! A FUCKING FREAK! SO HOW COME I’M- I’M- I’M- FALLING FOR HIM!? GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Outside, Risotto gawked at Janis’s door, in a complete state of bafflement. Other than her unintelligible screeching and swearing, he couldn’t make out what was said. He was highly aware she could be belligerent when addressing an issue, but he didn’t expect her to react this badly. What a waste of time.

“… Thanks for nothing.” A disgruntled Risotto murmured before trudging away, Janis’s screaming was growing distant, but still loud enough to be heard. What was up with her? She was coherent one second, but became jumpy and disoriented the next. And now she was shouting utter nonsense to herself in her office. It was like she was hallucinating. Risotto wondered if it had anything to do with her old age. No, that couldn’t be. True, she was no spring chicken but something about it seemed sketchy to simply write it off as failing health. “Could it be…? Is this the Stand User’s ability…?”

———————————————————————

“What’s taking him so long?” Prosciutto peered out through the bedroom window. Risotto’s shift ended at 5 o’clock that evening, the clock was about to strike eight. He was supposed to grab a couple of groceries and order some takeout, it shouldn’t have taken him that long to walk home. Did Janis ask him to stay back for a few hours? It was a possibility. If that was the case, Risotto would’ve phoned them to let them know.

“Do you see him, bro?” Pesci asked, who was seated on the corner of the bed. He too was getting restless that Risotto hadn’t made it home yet.

“No. I don’t see him.”

“Do you think… the Stand User got to him?” Pesci hiccuped anxiously.

“If so, he would’ve got the Stand User first. Just be patient, Pesci.”

“But you called the store and nobody picked up!”

“I said be patient.” Prosciutto spoke harsher. Not that he’d admit it out loud, but Prosciutto too was feeling concerned. What if his capo encountered the Stand User and was too busy fighting to reach out for help? Needless to say, Prosciutto would’ve rounded up the whole team to track him down and assist him in assassinating the bastard, and/or, die trying. Much more productive than being his underling’s therapist.

“Okay… I’m sorry, bro…” Pesci said gloomily.

“It’s whatever, Pesci…”

“I just had a really bad day is all,” Pesci whimpered, dragging his foot in circles on the floor.

Like he doesn’t say that every day. “What happened this time?” Prosciutto asked in a deadpan tone.

“Well, it all started…”

Here we go again…

———————————————————————

The shift was almost over and Pesci was replenishing the tables with trays filled with pies and cookies. All he had to do was to ensure the department floors were free of any crumbs or garbage, the tables were fully stocked with goodies, and he’d be free to leave.

“Excuse me, young man… Can you help me please…?” A raspy voice cooed. Pesci turned to see an elderly woman by one of the tables. She had a sweet charm to her but looked like she could croak any moment then. She rattled with every step she took with her cane.

“Oh no, let me come to you. Uhh, how can I help you today?”

She slowly twisted her head around. She seemed lost. “Oh dearie me, I must’ve walked in the wrong section. Young man, could you help me find the milk?”

“Oh, I’m sorry ma’am,” Pesci tried to explain politely. “The dairy section is on the other side of the store. Walk straight down to the last aisle. You can’t miss it.”

“Oh, I see.” She sounded disappointed. “I’m sorry to be such a bother to you, dearie. You seem like a hardworking, young man. Can you walk down there with me and help me grab it? These old bones don’t work like they used to.” She let out a tired laugh. Pesci didn’t mind such an easy task. Unfortunately, Nick went off on him for the previous time he left to assist someone. Pesci thought getting reprimanded for trying to help a customer was stupid. Wasn’t that his job? It was only for a damn minute. It wasn’t like he was a cashier who physically couldn’t leave their station. He felt bad to make her get it herself. “I understand if you can’t right now, dearie. The milk isn’t for me anyway. I look after 10 stray kittens where I live. Those whippersnappers can’t get enough of the stuff.” She just had to pull the kitten card, didn’t she? Pesci could feel his arteries clog with so much sugary sweetness this old lady was radiating. Now he felt a million times more sorry. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Shania and Avril, their backs turned from him.

“Don’t worry. Stay put, let me find someone who can take you there.”

“Oh thank you, you’re a sweetheart.” The old woman graciously nodded.

Pesci waddled over to the two girls, they were too preoccupied chatting with each other to notice him. “Hey, excuse me, guys? Can you do me a favor, uh, if you don’t mind?” His voice was low and sheepish. His plea didn’t break their conversation. He hated to be confrontational, but he didn’t want to break a promise. He pushed forward. “Hey, this customer needs some help, could one of you bring her to the dairy aisle? I’m not allowed to leave my department…” His voice trailed off. They glanced behind themselves, before turning back to their discussion. Did- Did they just fucking ignore him? And in front of a customer!? It wasn’t like he was fond of the store’s regulars as most of them were plenty unpleasant, but this grandma’s furbabies were on the line. They needed a champion!

“HEY DON’T IGNORE ME!” He blurted. “THIS CUSTOMER NEEDS ASSISTANCE! HELP HER!”

The girls menacingly rotated around, shooting sharp daggers that caused Pesci to involuntarily flinch. Admittedly, he came off a smidge blunt. Surely they’ll listen now and aid the poor lady. “Oh, Dion~!” Shania beamed cheerfully, snagging Pesci’s left shoulder.

“Which do you prefer? The ocean or the mountainside?” Avril snagged his right shoulder, in the same happy tone. What were they getting at? It was creeping him out.

“Uhhh, I reckon the ocean sounds nice.”

They pulled themselves to each ear and whispered. “Becauseifyoudarespeaktousagainwe’llfuckingkillyou.We’rebetterthanyouineveryimaginableway,you’realowlifepeasant.We’llfuckinggutyoulikeafishandtakeyourbodytotheoceananddumpyouthere.Nobodywillfindorinfactcaretofindyourbody.You’renothingmorethanadiseased-riddenrat.You’reapeasant,youknowthat?Peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant,peasant…”

Suffice it to say, those kittens didn’t get their milk.

———————————————————————

“So your day turned sour ‘cause a couple of girls belittled you?” Prosciutto reiterated back to Pesci. The downcast delinquent nodded with a sniffle. Prosciutto wanted to slap his forehead on the window sill. “Can’t believe I gave him the benefit of spilling this tripe.”

“Have some sympathy bro, I was only being helpful. Those girls didn’t have to be so nasty!” Pesci cried out. “I let that poor lady down.”

“Jesus Pesci, you’re crying over nothing. By the time that hag got her milk, she would’ve been six feet underground. Get over it.”

“But, bro!” Pesci whined.

“No buts.”

“What did you expect me to do? Kill ‘em? Yeah, like that won’t blow up our cover!”

Like a whip, Prosciutto lashed around to confront his friend. “We may be under the guise of civilians, but we’re assassins by mentality. You proved to me time and time that you can be hardened, so a couple of jibes shouldn’t make you lose your cool…” Pesci tucked his head down submissively. He looked as pathetic as a dog whose tail tangled between its legs. “Sometimes I swear you’ve regressed to the mammone who willingly sucks his mom’s teat.” That last part Prosciutto grumbled to himself, but loud enough for Pesci to catch it. Regressed? Is that what he thinks of him? For once, he’d push himself out of his comfort zone, applied for a job by himself, and work in an area BY HIMSELF... to be told he downgraded to a mama’s boy’s level? So be it, Mr. “Step-on-Your-Little-Brother’s-Heart-‘Til-It’s-Nothing-More-Than-Mush”. Pesci turned his back away from his superior. He wished he could’ve called him out for being a jerk, but Pesci knew better than that. If anything, it’ll lead to Prosciutto gifting him another lengthy roast and a can of whoop-ass.

“Uh oh, someone call whine-one-one, we need a WAH-mbulance, stat.” Formaggio mocked the two gangsters as he draped himself on the doorframe. Hitting his head on the window sill seemed tempting for Prosciutto once again.

“What do you want? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”

“Middle of what? All I see is a has-been hogging up the nice view and some little bitch boy whose feewings got hurt.” Pesci shot him a dirty look. “Take it from me, bud. You think you had a shit day, you got a slap on the wrist. As for moi, every customer I helped gave me flak for one reason or another. Do you have any clue how people react when they’re told their coupons expired three weeks ago? Complete. Lunatics.” Formaggio flopped himself on the dingy mattress, it squeaked with every jiggle.

“Quite a different story you were telling us days before,” said Prosciutto. “Perhaps being a cashier wasn’t all that cracked up to be after all.”

“It was good at first. If I’m being honest, it was a thousand times better than working as an off-the-books hitman.” Formaggio recalled fondly, before rolling on his stomach. “Funny how it conveniently changed when our dear ol’ rat of a “brother” squealed on me.”

“Risotto is no rat and he didn’t “squeal” on you. The only rat I see is Ashanti, and by extension, yourself. We told you countless times he didn’t get you into trouble. How many more times do we have to get in that thick skull of yours for you to finally get the memo?”

“Uh-huh sure, but if he kept his damn trap shut at the meeting, none of this would’ve happened.”

“You throwing him under the bus isn’t going to resolve anything. We have more important things to worry about, like the Stand User. Does that ring a bell?”

“Stand User this. Stand User that. Real hilarious that a capo senses an enemy not far behind, but can’t find any concrete clues to point out who it is. Or better yet, if there is a Stand User at all. We’ve been living here for barely a month and no one seems to find any lead in this mystery. Phooey on Illuso’s encounter! Could’ve been a fucking mugger. You know those things exist, right?”

Prosciutto argued back. “For all we know, it could’ve been a mugger. But Risotto isn’t a dunce. He wouldn’t throw the possibility so loosely if he wasn’t sure it was an enemy Stand or not. Have more faith in him instead of shitting on him for something so trivial.”

“Golly. Why am I not surprised that Risotto’s protégé would come to his defense? Heh. While you’re at it, you should get on one knee and pop the question to him already.” Formaggio fell on one knee and gestured with an invisible engagement box in hand. “Oh my precious fucking capo, will you go to the prom with me?” He flittered his eyes derisively.

Prosciutto confessed he liked Formaggio better when he was drunk. He let out a huff. “Enough games. You’re acting like a child.”

“That’s the best comeback you got, bitch?” Formaggio stomped over to the other with his aggressively puffed-out chest.

“Why would I need to make a better comeback? I already told you to man up and you refused to listen.”

“Bro’s gotta point, just admit you were wrong and move on,” Pesci exclaimed.

“Clam it, dumbass.” Formaggio shot back gruffly. Pesci recoiled from the harshness of his words. “Always trying to sound tough any chance ya get. You’re all talk, you know that? Fuckin’ lil’ wimp. Stay outta my business.”

“CAN YOU IDIOTS SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE IN YOUR HOPELESS LIVES!? FUCK!” Ghiaccio, funnily enough, was foaming at the mouth as he entered the bedroom. “I have you three arguing over stupid shit in one ear and Tweedle-Idiot and Tweedle-Moron complaining about dinner in the other. Where the hell is Risotto!?”

“I’m not sure,” Prosciutto’s anger dialed down tenfold. “For all we know, he might’ve stayed back.”

“Call him!” Ghiaccio demanded harshly. “I’m feeling famished too! I can’t watch any television to get my mind off either! Melone’s been greedy with the TV, but he doesn’t put any fucking thing on! I’m serious! He’ll just keep switching channels ‘cause he claims it helps him not think of eating! But he’s been doing it for over an hour and I’m getting real sick and tired of it! Call Risotto! Oi, are you paying any fucking attention!?”

Prosciutto squinted his eyes in confusion. “Your glasses… I thought you trashed them the other day.”

What…? Shit. The glasses. The ones Ashanti gifted him. Ghiaccio kept them on to avoid a one-way ticket to migraine-mania but haplessly forgot he was wearing them. “I did, they- HEY WAIT! DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT! CALL RISOTTO NOW DAMMIT!”

“Nah, he’s right.” Formaggio caressed his chin, eyeing the suspiciously neat-looking lens. “These aren’t the ones you broke. The pair you’re wearing is tinted orange. Where did you get these? And how did you find a pair with the right prescription?”

“Haven’t you heard? His new best friend Ashanti gave them to him!” Illuso’s voice echoed from the living room.

“No!” Ghiaccio shouted, getting red-faced.

“He let her put them on him as well! How scandalous!”

“HE’S LYING!” Ghiaccio persisted, yet nobody fell for his deception. He growled, “Fuck! … Fine. Yes… Ashanti handed me these… I didn’t want ‘em! She made me wear ‘em!”

“Why the hell are you accepting bribes? Are you out of your goddamn mind…?” Prosciutto berated Ghiaccio. “Do you have any thoughts about where those might’ve been?”

“HELLOOOO? Do you fucking recall!?” Ghiaccio fanned his hand over his eyes. “I need glasses to function. Can’t you remember anything right, grandpa? And before you ask, yes, I took the liberty of examining them and found nothing out of the ordinary. No booby traps. No Stand manipulation. Nada. They’re just a plain pair of glasses.”

“So… you keeping them?” Formaggio asked.

“Well-, I-, for now of course! But once I get better ones, they’re getting tossed in the garbage.”

“I’d keep those if I were you. Didn’t you like, go through three pairs this year alone?” Formaggio quipped.

“SHUT UP! NONE OF THOSE TIMES WERE MY FAULT!” He pushed the thug by the shoulder.

“Damn Vani, no need to get all worked up. I’m only speakin’ the truth. Plus, they look good on ya. All the chicks AND dicks will come racing for your sexy ass now.” In reply, Formaggio was roundhouse-kicked in the rear-end. He let out a yowl before spilling into giggles.

“Don’t ever call me that again, jizzstain…”

“Geez, I’m fuckin’ with ya, I’m fuckin’ with ya, man! I thought we were friends.” Formaggio had his hands up in defense, but he was all smiles and giggling like a schoolgirl.

Ghiaccio hissed. “What’re you saying? No shit we’re friends, that’s why I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Well, at least Formaggio seems to be back in high spirits.” Prosciutto dragged his breath. Seems to be he had decided to put aside the sulking act and was returning to his loony, idiotic self.

“I’m home.” Risotto called out from the front door. Dinner time.

“FINALLY!” The guys dispersed from the bedroom to the living room. Prosciutto turned over his shoulder, he found Formaggio hesitantly lurking behind the group. Perhaps he spoke too soon? The others giddily made haste over to their boss, hoping to see what kind of delicacy he brought home this time. Wouldn’t mind getting Chinese again, the sensation of rich flavors of garlic and soy over stir-fried meats and noodles danced on their tongues. Didn’t mind a change of pace either. There were plenty of Italian restaurants on their road, surely they can have a little taste of home. Screw Ghiaccio on how “inaccurate” the food was, they could eat a whole horse right then and there! Yet despite their excitement, it all came crashing down when they saw in Risotto’s arm a meager paper bag.

Illuso had a sour look. “Where’s dinner?”

Risotto shook the brown paper bag. “In here.” They took turns peeking into the grocery bag. There were the items that Prosciutto requested and a bunch of packages full of… ramen. Lots and lots of ramen. Not even the brand they usually ate, it was a blander, watered-down knockoff that none of them liked. Safe to say, they were far from pleased.

“Hey, what gives? You said you were getting takeout. Who the fuck you trying to fool?” Ghiaccio griped accusingly.

“Yes, I’m aware.” Risotto began.

“We’ve been starving for hours, only for you to buy a shitty dollars’ worth of ramen!? You expect us to eat this crap?” Illuso snarled.

“No.”

“We were beginning to believe something bad happened to you!” Melone exclaimed.

“I’m unscathed.”

“That’s all you have to say!? What the hell happened Risotto? Why didn’t you come home?” Pesci asked exasperatedly, he didn’t want to imagine the prospect of his capo dilly-dallying down the streets of Manhattan while the rest of them rotted away from starvation, but he too felt cheated out of dinner.

“Yes, Risotto. What happened?” Prosciutto impatiently tapped his foot.

Risotto slowly swallowed, he was dreading to confess this, but wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to do him or his team any good. They all demanded an answer and they deserve one. “Gather ‘round.” They circled him. “Earlier afternoon, I had a little chat with Janis about the incident with Angel.” He fixated his gaze on Melone and Illuso.

Melone’s eyes widened. He was surprised, but not in a good way. “W-Wait. I didn’t permit you to talk to her about that. How’d you find out in the first place?”

“I told him.” Illuso flatly responded.

“Eh? Why would you do that?” Melone was getting flustered. “I don’t want more people finding out what he did!”

“Everyone’s bound to catch sight of what happened. Hell, I thought Risotto already knew.“

“You could’ve confided in me first before telling him!”

“Why do you give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks? You couldn’t care less when you say and do creepy shit around us. How is this any different?”

“Cut it out, both of you.” Risotto silenced their bickering. “We’re getting off track. Anywho, things were being handled. Nothing out of the ordinary, I just wanted to set things straight with her. But that’s when she began exhibiting very strange behavior. I can’t pinpoint what tipped Janis off, but when I told her I’d get the store owner involved, that’s when she acted out. And I don’t mean her typical crabby bitchiness, I mean she was falling into things and shouting at thin air. She looked terrified, almost like she was possessed by a demon.”

“Or a Stand User?” Pesci was shaking in his boots.

“Then what?” Prosciutto inquired.

“I was called in by Buggle. According to him and Janis, I had verbally assaulted and made some sort of advance towards her. None of that couldn’t be farther from the truth, yet somehow she didn’t sound like she was fabricating anything. I can’t describe it but the way she spoke, her tone was authentic. By account, Janis was in such disarray, that when Ashanti found her in her state, she thought Janis had suffered a stroke and almost called the hospital. I was reprimanded for putting her in such a distressing position. They told me it was my fault for being too harsh on her. Therefore, they withhold my day’s worth of payment as punishment.”

“What!?” Prosciutto exclaimed.

“You can’t be serious! They can’t dock your pay like it’s no biggie!” Ghiaccio bellowed. “They’re a fucking union!”

“I tried fighting it. Why do you think I took so long to get home? Try as I may, they weren’t going down without a squabble. In the end, it was a major blow to my wallet. I understand you guys are sick of processed noodles, but I have to squander enough money for rent and then some. I’m sorry to disappoint you all. I’ll admit I should’ve given you notice before leaving work.” The others looked down shamefully. Unbridled contempt was replaced with pangs of guilt. Poor Risotto. They were so blinded with selfish hunger that the notion of his paycheck being snatched away by insecure overseers was barely an inkling. Even the grudgeful Formaggio felt sorry for his boss.

“It’s fine.” Prosciutto reached over and rested his hand on Risotto’s shoulder. “We’ll whip up something to eat.” He picked up a pack of ramen and inspected it intensively. “Hmmm. We have some parsley in the fridge. A little bit of garlic and oil could do the trick. Hm. I might have an idea.”

“For once.” Ghiaccio shot sarcastically.

“Instead of boiling the pasta in the microwave and adding the flavoring on it as per usual, we can replace the seasoning with richer ingredients. It’ll be like spaghetti.”

“What do we got to lose,” shrugged Risotto.

“You have got to be kidding me! This has to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever come up with! That’s gonna taste like complete crap.” Ghiaccio lifted his nose and turned away. “And who said anything about “we”? Good luck eating turd by yourself. I’m ordering Chinese.”

“I’m too drained to get up.” Melone sighed, who went back to being seated on the floor, flipping the channels on the TV. “Let Formaggio or Illuso help you.”

“Count me out. I’ll eat it. But if I help, I’ll only set the apartment aflame.” Illuso excused.

“Ditto.” Formaggio nodded.

Illuso also added. “It wouldn’t make any sense to have seven idiots making one dish that would take less than half an hour to make with very few ingredients needed. One person is enough. Just speaking facts.”

“Very well. Whoever agrees with Mr. Freeze or is too lazy to help, you’re on your own. But I’m not making anything for any of you but myself.” Prosciutto switched the stove on.

“Hey wait! You’re not dead set on eating all that by yourself, right?” Formaggio exclaimed loudly.

“Can’t say I will. Risotto went a little overboard with the ramen and I am not one to indulge in gluttonous tendencies... but I can’t promise leftovers either. What to do, what to do.”

The two hitmen exchanged quick glances. “Outta my sight, short-stack. You’re in my way.” Illuso pushed his elbow over Formaggio’s chest, with Formaggio applying the same technique to Illuso.

“Likewise, dicktits.” Nudging turned to shoving, cussing under each other’s while practically on top of each other.

“Let’s get a move on, children!” Prosciutto urged.

“HEY! WHAT ABOUT THE CHINESE FOOD!?” Ghiaccio shouted as he was dialing the phone number.

“We don’t wanna waste another hour of waiting,” Illuso replied. “You can order it yourself.”

“Yeah, we’re having what Prosciutto’s making.” The two hitmen returned to stepping on each other’s feet. Ghiaccio furiously ram the telephone back on the mount, then flounced to the kitchen all the while grumbling expletives under his breath.

Risotto went to follow closely behind but peered down before almost tripping on the lump on the carpet. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, yes. Just a second.” Melone replied indifferently, he was fiddling with every button on the television, skipping channels and toying with the volume.

“I know the whole Angel thing is eating you up inside.”

Melone’s fingers faltered. He rested his hands on his lap. He finally settled on a channel.

“Pay heed. Angel’s been spreading rumors over the status of your relationship with him. He claims what came about today all started when he ended things with you. Not sure if that was brought up to your attention.” A breakup!? What’s next in this soap opera? This guy was going to be the end of him. Risotto continued, “Report to me if you come upon any more of this tittle-tattle and by all means, do not approach him for any disclosed reason. If he harasses you, do not give him your undivided attention. You go to me and I will deal with him. That is an order.” Melone chewed his chapped lips. The last thing he’d ask for was Risotto stepping in like he was some overprotective father. He wouldn’t want this even as a last resort. “Don’t worry Melone, I’m going to take care of this. You’re the victim, not him. As for that scumbag, we’ll cross that bridge once I reach out to the boss. Now get up, we’re prepping dinner.” Melone stared as Risotto followed the others into the kitchen. The former hung his back over his shoulders. There was no way to argue out of this. This was not di molto. Not di molto at all.

———————————————————————

“Okay,” Prosciutto instructed, toweling his hands dry. “Let’s wash up and figure out who’s doing what. I’ll add water to the pot. Since there are 10 packs we’ll split them into trips. Five and five, make sense. So I’m going to add 4 quarts of water for the first trip. Pesci, you’ll throw the ramen into the pot when the water begins to bubble. Formaggio and Ghiaccio, you’ll be tasked with chopping up the garlic and parsley and…”

“ …The hell is that noise coming from?” Their ears perked. It was a fast-paced, repetitive jingle. Somebody was blasting music. Their heads turned to the living room, where the source was coming from. It was coming from the TV. Oh! Melone left the TV on a music channel! Granted, it broadcasted classic oldies from the 50s and 60s, but nobody was troubled enough to turn it off.

“Music’s not half bad,” Pesci spoke, ripping the ramen bags open. “I can dig some Dion DeMucci right about now.”

“Gyehehe! Oh Nick, you charmer! Serenade me under the moonlight with some Dion Demucci! Then we’ll head back to my place for some freshly-baked cookies and warm milk!” Ghiaccio jeered in a high-pitched girly voice whilst the others laughed, except Pesci.

“HEY SHUT UP! HE WASN’T EVEN BROUGHT UP IN DISCUSSION!”

———————————————————————

“Hmmm. AHA!” Formaggio drew a large kitchen knife out of the drawer. “‘Tis a beauty. Now that’s what I call a knife!”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! You’re supposed to be cutting garlic, not carving pumpkins! Hand me that before you lose a leg! Try this for size…” Ghiaccio plucked the knife and lent Formaggio an itty bitty razor blade in its stead. “I think this suits you better, Formaggio. In more ways than one, gyehehehe.”

The latter shot him a cheeky grin. “Humph. At least it has a good personality… and I know how to use it.”

“That’s not what your exes told me.” The two glared long and hard before busting out laughing.

———————————————————————

Everyone was working efficiently on their assigned tasks, or rather yet, almost everyone. “Oi! Is it my job to stand around and look pretty? What the hell do I do?”

“Standing around AND looking pretty? Ohohoho Illuso! You say the funniest crap!” Formaggio punched him in the arm.

“Your task is to BE QUIET!” Ghiaccio added.

“I don’t know,” Prosciutto shrugged. “Start bringing out the plates, napkins, and silverware.”

“Yeah, stupid! Be a doll and go grab the napkins!” Formaggio laughed.

“Very well.”

Illuso pulled out the dinner utensils that were stored in the cabinets and cupboards. “Napkin.” He placed a napkin on the counter. “Fork.” He placed a fork on a chair. “Cup.” He crowned it on Pesci’s scalp, covering all his messy, spiked hair under it. “Fork.” He tugged Melone’s mask back, tucked the fork in it, and let it snap back fixed to his head. “Plate.” He balanced it evenly on Risotto’s noggin.

“‘Fuck are you doing?” Prosciutto asked in an annoyed tone.

“Bringing out the dinner utensils.”

“On the dinner table…”

“Well, you didn’t specify where.” He approached Formaggio’s face, veiling his face with a napkin. “Don’t mind me, just wiping up this total mess. There, all cleaned up.”

“Such a relief, what a better view from before.”

That little quip made Illuso’s temple pulsate. “Napkin! Napkin! Napkin! Napkin! Napkin! Napkin!” He forced napkin after napkin down Formaggio’s gullet.

“Idiots! Don’t waste the napkins!” Ghiaccio barked.

———————————————————————

“Wait for it. Aaaaaaand… now!” Prosciutto gave Pesci a nod of approval. Pesci plopped the ramen into the pot, pack by pack. It was satisfyingly fascinating to witness the bubbles gradually dissolving the dried noodles into wet, springy curls. Pesci was overly ecstatic to get a taste of this odd delicacy that none of them ever tried, yet was so familiar to their native cuisine. What better way to describe the best of both worlds? In his peripheral view, he had the sensation that Risotto was roaming passed him, but soon realized his capo was standing over his shoulder. Pesci shivered from the long awkward silence of his superior judging his technique.

“Looking steady.”

Risotto coolly strolled away without a second thought. Before long, Pesci’s cheeks were feeling warm to the touch. His heart leaped from the fuzzy feeling of Risotto’s praise. Pesci internally squealed. Turns out that day wasn’t so awful after all. Everything he went through was worth it if it meant hearing his boss’s words of encouragement. His cheeks were burning.

“Oi Pesci, your face is getting roasted. Steer clear from the steam if you don’t wanna turn into a damn tomato.”

“Hehehehehgefedebiehegegehe. Got it, bro.” Pesci sheepishly coiled a finger through a tuft of his hair.

The steam must’ve clogged his brain too…

———————————————————————

Illuso clapped his hands together. All the dinner utensils and plates were correctly placed on the table. He felt accomplished.

“Hold on… I’m missing a plate.” Now where did he stash that plate, it wasn’t like he would leave it somewhere that even he could lose it. When he went to turn to ask the others, he almost bumped into his capo. He found it. The plate was still balanced perfectly on Risotto’s head.

Illuso couldn’t help but bust a chuckle. “Um, you don’t have to keep wearing that.”

“I believe I’ve grown fond of it. It makes me look, influential.” He said all of that with a straight face. Either Risotto was being truthful, or indeed had a sense of humor, or was used to his men getting into stupid shenanigans that he somewhat grew tolerant and would play along… he probably just liked the look, but Illuso was humored the sentiment.

———————————————————————

*CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!*

Ghiaccio was on a roll slicing and dicing the parsley into bite-sized pieces. A bit too much on a roll, for every time he brought the knife down on the cutting board made the apartment quake.

“Hey Vani, don’t put too many onions in the sauce now,” Formaggio snickered as he was busy slicing the garlic clove.

“Next time you call me that, I’ll turn you into snakeskin boots and chuck 'em’ into the garbage compactor! I promise you!”

“Nah! Nah! Nah! All I’m sayin’ is “don’t put too many onions in the sauce”.” His snickering grew louder, enunciating his words as if they had a greater meaning to them.

“The recipe doesn’t call for onions! Are you trying to test me!? Are you drunk again!?!?”

“C’mon, you should know what I’m talking about! It’s a reference!”

“I have better things to tend to than to entertain you with your hocus-pocus riddles… like making myself food so I won’t starve to death. Y’know what they say Formaggio, “survival of the smartest”.” Once his case was rested, Ghiaccio resumed his dinner duties.

Formaggio grumbled. “Sure ain’t smart enough to get a Goodfellas reference… and everyone knows it’s “survival of the fittest”- not the smartest, bitchfucker.” Formaggio couldn’t help but notice Melone staring off into deep space while the frying pan, he was supposed to be eyeing, was sputtering oil. “Oi, Melone!” The latter jumped. “Yo, Melone! Check it!” Formaggio held out a sliver of garlic. “Whatcha think? Pretty impressive, right? At this rate, I could replace Illuso and rule the Deli with this kinda expertise!”

“That’s nice, Formaggio…” Didn’t sound the faintest interested.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” Formaggio asked.

“Nothing.” He spoke blankly. Fucking liar.

“Ya ain’t foolin’ me.” Formaggio snaked his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Awww, is that big ol’ meanie Angel picking on my sweet baby brother again?” Melone gawked at him with a surly frown, as if he asked this doofus to step into the matter. “Man, that guy thinks he’s all that. Bet he ain’t shit.” Formaggio brought his fists to his eyes and let out a feeble wail. “Wahhh look at me, I’m Angel! And I have to blow dicks at bus stations to get what I want! Ohh wahhhh, boo hoo hoo!” Admittedly, that tidbit made him feel a smidge better. “Oh! I think I spot a smile~!”

“Be serious.” Melone suppressed a snort in vain, trying to push his friend away, which was also in vain.

“Can ya blame me? Nothing makes me happier than seeing my baby bro’s pwecious wittle face light up.” He playfully stretched his teammate’s cheek. Speaking of, the room seemed oddly brighter… and smokier.

“THE PAN’S ON FIRE!” Their heads snapped to the pan, which was set ablaze with oil splattering in every direction.

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

———————————————————————

“I’LL be on pan duty.” Prosciutto berated the two careless men. Nobody got hurt and thankfully it was only the pan that was barely scorched, but that didn’t make Prosciutto any less angry. “I can’t turn my back for one second without you two causing chaos.”

“We’re sorry, sir…” The two men apologized unenthusiastically like two school boys caught red-handed by their headmistress.

———————————————————————

Risotto volunteered to finish the final step so as long as Prosciutto wasn’t going to have an aneurysm from taking care of five grown manchildren. Time to add the ingredients together. First the garlic, the shreds practically melted into the oil, it was almost magical. He sprinkled some salt and pepper, just for that extra kick. By then, the ramen noodles had completely softened, which were promptly strained in the colander, and right into the pan, it went. Teaspoons of ramen water didn’t hurt a soul. And with a few stirs and flips, the noodles became amicably intimate with the other contents and gradually fused into each other. A little lemon for some zing, but the parsley was what brought out the big guns, which is why Risotto did a splash of it. His teammates gathered around the stove, gandering at their magnum opus.

“Ooooh, that smells surprisingly good.” The fused aroma of garlic and oil filled the room. Not too pungent, not too faint. Illuso licked his lips.

“I’ll say,” Prosciutto mutually acknowledged. “Hope it tastes just as good as it smells.”

“Wish we had some chili flakes,” Ghiaccio added.

“Maybe next time,” Risotto replied. “But I think adding the lemon, pepper, and parsley gave it enough kick.”

“So you’re saying that…”

“Yep, dinner’s ready,” Risotto declared.

“WE DID IT!” They cheered in unison. After several trials and tribulations, dinner was served. And it only took them… let’s just say, longer than it should’ve been. But to be quite honest, they were so engaged in cooking and each other’s presence that their empty bellies were the last thing they were concerned about.

Risotto instructed his team to take a seat at the dining table. He approached each member with the pan, taking a fork he twirled it into the noodles in the shape of a nest, then carefully set it on each member’s plate. They coined the name, “Ramen Aglio e Olio” or “Spaghetti al ramen”, for short.

“Ooooh nice presentation, thank you Chef Risotto,” Pesci said gleefully.

“You didn’t have to serve us first” Prosciutto humbly told Risotto. “We should’ve served you if anything.”

“I don’t mind. Plus, I have a whole system planned out.” Once the whole team had a share in their creation, Risotto made a plate for himself and joined the others in the dining room. “Does anybody wanna say anything before we eat?”

“I do!” Illuso clasped his hands and spoke in an exaggeratedly grand voice. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you Lord for this exquisite masterpiece of a meal that we bestowed upon ourselves.“ Everybody unimpressively stared at him. Was he serious? “And dear God please make sure that while we dine on this delectable dish, no BUGS will crawl from under our plates and into Pesci’s elephant ears.” He reached over next to Pesci, twiddling his fingers at the boy’s earlobe.

“Jesus, knock it off.” Irked, he tried to block Illuso’s hand away from him.

“OH FUCK! ONE POKED OUT OF YOUR EAR!” Illuso shouted.

“HUH!?” Pesci clutched his ear. There was something in it. He yanked it out, it was small and green. He hopped back in his chair. “Wait a minute.” The thing didn’t move at all, he squinted at the specimen. “This is just a piece of parsley.” Illuso must’ve stuffed it in his ear. Pesci stared daggers at the man, who was condescendingly chortling at him.

“Real mature, both of you.” Prosciutto shook his head disapprovingly.

Risotto grew impatient. “If you two don’t mind, can we start eating?”

“Fine.”

“He started it.” They stuck their tongues at each other.

Formaggio was the first to taste the noodles. Everybody watched on in anticipation, he stiffly nibbled a noodle. He gasped, making the others clutch their chairs. Was it that bad? Did they honestly waste almost an hour just for it to taste like shit? Was the Chinese restaurant still open?

“MMMMMMMMMmmmm ♡ ♡ ♡ ~~~!” What a turn of events. He liked it. No, he adored it! They sighed in relief, they didn’t have to worry about going hungry! Formaggio dove into his plate, albeit sloppily. Making moans and wet slurping noises that were rewarded with disgusted glares from his peers. He let out a huge belch. “Got any more?” The food was gone without a trace.

This prompted the others to take a bite of their morsels. They were strongly pleased with the results. Alike his teammates, Risotto was just as delighted. “Oh shit. This is good.”

“Mmm yeah.” Ghiaccio chewed. “You were right. The parsley and pepper did give it spice.”

“The oil and garlic do go hand-in-hand with each other. It’s the backbone of this dish,” Melone took another piece.

“The ramen takes some time to get used to, but it warmed up to me. This was worth the wait,” Illuso stuffed a forkful of noodles.

“Yummy! I’m on cloud nine!” Pesci remarked dreamily.

“I can safely say this has to be the best thing we’ve eaten since dwelling in this godforsaken city.” Prosciutto raised his cup. “Cheers, anyone?”

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

“YUMMMM! THIS SHIT IS SOO GOOD!” Formaggio was stuffing his face with more ramen. To everyone’s horror, the bowl was three-fourths empty.

“GAHHH! YOU ATE ALMOST THE ENTIRE BOWL! FORMAGGIO, YOU GREEDY BASTARD! SHARING IS CARING!” Illuso grabbed hold of his neck while everybody else jumped to intervene.

———————————————————————

The entertainment didn’t stop there. Oh no, the night was filled with chatter and jokes. There was no real excuse to hang loose, but they ended the day with a good meal, so why not?

“Boss, you seem to be in better spirits,” Prosciutto pointed out.

“A little bit. To tell you the truth, I’m still bothered about the whole pay issue.”

“I’m sure you’ll pull through.”

“Yes. We’ll see.”

“Uh-huh well,” Ghiaccio said with a surly smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that bigass ate the store out of money. Mr. Presley would have no choice but to put her to work under a circus tent.” The group erupted into laughter, even Risotto let out a small chuckle.

“Say Mr. Casanova,” Formaggio called to Ghiaccio.

“Who me?”

“Yeah you,” he grinned from ear to ear. “Meaning to ask, since Ashanti’s been buying you trinkets, are you guys official?”

“Me AND Ashanti!?” Ghiaccio gagged. “Hell no! That’s fuckin’ nasty.”

“C’mon man, you can’t tell me you guys haven’t smooched yet?”

“I wouldn’t bang that weirdo if you paid me!”

“Oh look, he’s blushing!” Illuso poked his comrade’s red hot cheek, much to Ghiaccio’s dismay. “Isn’t Ghiaccino the cutest? Getting flustered over his newfound crush. How sweet.”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop!” Ghiaccio flailed his arms. “Should be a crime to sleep with the fuckin’ enemy. Are you guys missing half your brains or what?”

“I don’t know, you might be right. But hey, I’d be happy if you got with any lady or dude or whatever you’re into,” said Formaggio.

“Hehe, assassins don’t love,” Ghiaccio replied coldly. “Rather be buried alive than going steady with some brainless bimbo.”

“Fine by me, killjoy,” Formaggio shifted to Pesci. “What about you, Pesci? Anyone at the store tickles your fancy?”

“Oh I,” Pesci, being caught off guard, giggled nervously. “I-I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Let me make this easier for you.” Illuso leaned in with a smirk. “Are girls your fix? Or do you bat for the other team?”

“I-I haven’t thought of that either,” Pesci scratched the back of his head. “I reckon that it depends on the personality. As long as they treat me nicely, that’s all I care.”

“Ain’t he a charmer?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ghiaccio stuck his nose up. “It’s obvious Pesci has a grandpa fetish. Why do you think he hangs with Prosciutto all the time?” The group exploded into hysterics.

“YUCK! I don’t see Prosciutto in THAT light.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? YOU TWO SLEEP IN THE SAME BED!”

“Not by choice! Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! Why you gotta spoil my appetite!?”

“Yeah, Pesci,” Formaggio’s mouth curled to the side. “Not worth it, the man hasn’t been with a whore in ages. Dick’s dry as a desert.”

“Shall we test that theory?” Prosciutto challenged.

“Hope ya got tons of lube!”

“Oi Risotto, did you ever do that thing I told you about?” Illuso piped.

“Hmm?” Risotto hummed as he took a sip from his cup.

“That thing. Ya know, that thing! It was, um…” Weird. He wasn’t one to be so forgetful but was having a difficult time remembering what it was. “It was a- umm, was hmm, a gir- oh yeah, a girl!”

“Um, I don’t recall anything about a girl.”

“Ya gotta. It was… a little girl. Who was dressed all in… blue? No, maybe green? Oh wait, it was red!” Risotto shook his head. “She was wearing a red… a red… costume? No, no, no. Wearing a… pinafore? I think it was a pinafore.”

Risotto shook his head again. “I can’t say I remember being informed any of this. So what was she doing? Is she a Stand User? Was she in the store, or did you encounter her on the street? Do you remember any other physical traits that stuck out to you?”

Illuso thought long and hard. How was this slipping so easily from his mind, he had a perfect memory. But alas, he couldn’t confidently recall the girl’s actions. “I… I can’t remember.”

“Are you sure they were a Stand User?”

“I, uh… no.”

“Oh. I need a little more info to investigate. I’ll see if I could look into it. If you encounter the girl again, please report back to me.”

“Okay…”

“Yo, ya got some food on your face,” Formaggio pointed out.

“Huh? Where?” Illuso felt around but didn’t find anything.

“Right here.” Formaggio slapped a forkful of sauce on his own cheek. Illuso cringed with disgust.

“Stop playing with your food,” ordered Prosciutto.

“What? I’m just saying he’s got food right here in this area.” He splattered more sauce on his chin.

“You’re such a revolting slob.”

“Now you got food on YOUR face,” Pesci chuckled.

“Me? Where?” Formaggio pretending to be confused.

“There!” Pesci pointed.

“That’s preposterous, Pesci!” Formaggio slapped the fork on his forehead. “I would know when I’d have food on my face!”

Illuso began giggling which turned into laughing. “Now you just created a bigger mess!”

“Huh?” Formaggio was practically caking the sauce all over his face. “You guys must be fucking with me! There’s nothing here!” He was met with mixed responses, some were annoyed that he was acting like a toddler and the others were cackling and inciting his behavior. After cleaning the dishes, the party kept rocking. They were bantering and singing to the music, a conga line was forming between Formaggio, Pesci, Illuso, and Melone. It all ended when Formaggio picked up each conga member and spun them ‘til they were drunk with dizziness.

They could worry about their troubles at the crack of dawn. But something was… off. A tingly sensation disturbed Illuso throughout the night. He retained the memory of telling Risotto something urgent. He tried his best, but it was like an itch on his back he couldn’t reach…

… Meh. Illuso shrugged it off. Perhaps it was all in his imagination.

———————————————————————

7 AM.

Illuso burst from the bed sheets. His heart was drumming 100 beats per minute. Was it morning already? 7:01. Phew. Every instance he drifted into a deep sleep, there was that aching feeling that urged him to wake up. But the nightmares were becoming more intense. He didn’t want to harp about it. He rubbed his eyes to rid of the fuzzy vision. His fingers were damp. He didn’t want to harp about it. He found solace in that he was off that day, so he could spend it however he wanted.

He wrapped his robe around and retired to the living room. As he stepped foot into the room, his teammates had long been awake. Melone was seated in the armchair casually reading a book, Formaggio laid strewn out on the sofa, and the two bastard brothers zipped their jackets about to leave for their early shifts. He recalled that Ghiaccio and Risotto had left around 5 AM for their opening shifts.

“Oooohhhhhh… oooohhhh…” Formaggio clenched his stomach, obviously uncomfortable.

“Oi, had too much fun last night?” Illuso ridiculed.

“Ooowwww... screw you. My stomach’s been acting up since I went to bed last night and my face feels like it’s on fire.”

“Might’ve been what we ate the night before.” Prosciutto suggested.

“No duh, Sherlock. The hell was in that food?” His stomach gurgled. The sharp pain shot up his abdomen, coiling himself in a fetal position.

“Did you try taking a shit? I know that makes me feel better when I eat too much.” Pesci questioned.

Formaggio sighed in defeat. “I tried… it didn’t work.”

“Must’ve bit off more than you could chew with that meager gut of yours,” Illuso continued being a jerkass. “Couldn’t compete with your ravenous appetite, but we all pigged out to a varying degree, yet the rest of us are standing like it’s a cakewalk.”

“Don’t… say… cake.” He pulled a cushion over his head. Melone coaxed him to remove the pillow from his face. He rested the back of his hand on his friend’s forehead.

“Well, you’re right about your face. It’s worryingly hot. Could someone find me a thermometer and a bag of ice?” Pesci scanned the medicine cabinet and spotted the thermometer. Prosciutto went into the freezer to collect as much ice as possible.

“Here.” Prosciutto handed Melone a bag of ice.

“Found it!” Pesci presented him with the thermometer.

“Thank you, you two.” He placed the thermometer between Formaggio’s lips. It beeped, signaling Melone to pull it out. “It appears your body temperature is 102.4 degrees Fahrenheit… not a good sign.”

“Looks like you came down with a stomach virus,” Prosciutto stated.

“Fucking great…”

“Aren’t you working this evening?” Pesci asked. “You’re gonna have to call out.”

Formaggio’s eyes widened with panic. He forgot all about his closing shift, he was supposed to start at 6 o’clock. “You’re right! Oh no, no, no. I can’t miss work today! I just got a strike! If I can’t go, I’ll get another one!” He glared at the smug asshole who’ve look not a shred sorry for his predicament. He recollected that he pranked Pesci with that piece of parsley right before they ate. He must’ve tainted his food with God knows what just to get a laugh out of it. “I swear man, you better not’ve poisoned my fucking food! If you were behind any of this, I’ll fucking shrink myself and tie your intestines into pretzel knots!”

Illuso was hardly afraid, instead, he let out an airy chuckle. “Oh please, quit crying. Number 1. I didn’t lay a finger on the food, I was in charge of setting the table, remember? And 2, I wouldn’t dream of poisoning you. If I did, Risotto would coerce me into paying your funeral bill with my allowance and I just can’t have that. In conclusion, you feeling like crap is entirely your fault- not mine. Should’ve considered the fact that going for not seconds, not thirds, but FIFTHS wasn’t the brightest of ideas. But hey, can’t go far to reason with a guy who thinks with his stomach over his brain.”

“Why you-!” Another large growl sent Formaggio into painful hysterics.

“Call them Formaggio. You’re too damn sick to go to work,” Prosciutto said sternly.

“But Prosciutto!”

“I mean it! It’s not like you frequently call in sick anyway. They’ll understand. I’m certain the last thing they want is you going full-Exorcist all over customers. But do it now before it’s too late.”

“Ughhhh, fine.” Formaggio weakly shuffled to the phone. He dialed the number and held the phone to his ear. An automated voice assured him to please hold for the next representative, it then cut to the sappiest, most cacophonous elevator music he ever heard. The others too waited in anticipation. The song repeated itself five times in three minutes. Formaggio thought this was ridiculous, he’d be fine to go to work. He dealt with bigger scraps as an assassin, yet was being ordered to rest over a silly virus. What a load of-. All of a sudden, he felt a cold sweat. Something felt different, he was getting anxious about this new feeling. His abdomen rumbled, and the pain was more unbearable than before. His cheeks drained into a pale-ish green color. Then, the contents erupted up his esophagus. “Oh fuck…” His cheeks swelled in size, like a chipmunk’s. Thank Christ he put his hand over his mouth in time. He frantically flailed the phone around. “SOMEONE TAKE THE DAMN PHONE! I’M GONNA BLOW CHUNKS!” He ungraciously hurled the phone at Melone before sprinting to the toilet. Melone held it to his ear, the music stopped and was now ringing.

“This is Janis from ShopMart Mart, how may I direct your call?”

“Hello, Janis. This is Edmundo.”

“… Who?”

“Um… Edmundo Sordino… I work at Customer Service… I’m Giorgio’s younger brother.”

“Ah. What do you want?”

“I’m calling for Giorgio, he came down with a stomach bug and needs to stay home.”

“Well you can’t be calling for him,” Janis scolded him in a way that best describes a parent scolding their misbehaved child. “I need to hear it from HIM, not YOU. Now, where is he?”

“In the bathroom doing his business… if you’re catching on.” In the background, it can be heard Formaggio violently vomiting and crying out in agony, so gut wrenching it made Janis momentarily speechless. “As I was saying, he’s going to have to stay put. He’s incapable to get up unless he’s running to the restroom.”

“No matter, just have him take a Tums and he’ll be good as new.”

“Janis… he can’t come in. He’s throwing up everywhere.”

“And? I don’t see what the fuss is all about. It’s just a little virus, I came to work with a slew of viruses and flus throughout my career and I’m still breathing. He needs to come in.”

Was she pulling his leg? “Janis, I don’t believe you realize the severity of the situation. Giorgio’s not doing well. He has a high fever and his stomach cramps are through the roof. This isn’t a simple case of agita. He has to rest and take in as many fluids as needed.”

“And who do you think you are? His doctor, or his mother? I. NEED. HIM. FOR. TONIGHT. PERIOD!”

Melone was getting increasingly frustrated, the others could read it on his face. “How ‘bout this? I’ll let you cross-train Michelangelo as a cashier for tonight, he can take over for Giorgio. He may not be on the schedule, but he’s been dying for more hours.”

“MORE HOURS MY ASS!” Illuso rebutted.

“You have got to be fucking with me right now?” Janis grunted. Not on your life, the hitman thought. “Why do you men ALWAYS have to make my life way more difficult than it already is? I wake up early in the morning and open an entire backbreaking store, just so your dunce of a brother can play hooky like the slacker he is!”

Melone almost dropped the phone. This was the very woman who gave Formaggio the title of “Cashier of the Month”, and yet had the nerve to berate him for being highly ill. How she’d react if he was hospitalized with serious injuries? Spit in his face? The one time he’d acknowledge Formaggio’s favorite quote to recite; “Can’t be helped”. “I assure you, Janis. Giorgio doesn’t want to miss work tonight, but it would be foolish if he went. He can get other workers and customers sick and then you’ll have more workers calling out. Since I’m off today I can take Giorgio to the doctor’s later and we can give you a doctor’s note when he comes back. Does that sound fair?”

A sharp noise of a phone being slammed on the other line. It went dead quiet, the men passed around with stunned looks. Formaggio slumped to the doorway leading to the living room, he was gasping while he wiped a bit of vomit from the corner of his mouth.

“Am I in the clear?” He heaved.

“She... hung up.”

“Real fucking funny, Melone. What did she ACTUALLY say?”

“Umm, Formaggio,” Pesci replied timidly. “Melone’s telling the truth.”

The fear in his eyes came back. Formaggio began hyperventilating. “No, no, no, no! I knew this would happen! I’m gonna be toast! What do I do!? Do I go to work, or am I gonna get fired!? What am I gonna do!? What am I gonna fuckin’ do!?”

“Formaggio. Formaggio! Just relax…” Prosciutto grabbed his comrade by the shoulders firmly, but not rough enough to elicit pain. He looked him right in the eyes. “Easy, easy. You’re going to be okay. You stay put. That broad doesn’t know what she’s spewing. I would call again in an hour or so. I’ll tell Risotto what happened.”

Formaggio managed to calm himself but was still upset. “This bites.”

“Just suck it up. You need the rest to regain your energy. Melone, get him to a walk-in as soon as you can. Illuso, you stay and help out.”

Illuso scrunched his nose. “Why me? Ya got Melone to do that stuff. He doesn’t need a second pair of arms.”

“Oh no, just ‘cause you’re off doesn’t equal a get-out-of-jail-free card. Pesci and I have to start our shifts soon and Melone’s off from work, but you don’t see him whining like a bitch. So how about you take the role of Nurse Illuso, instead of doing jackshit? Gives you an excuse to get out of the house.”

“Pfft. Whatever you say, Risotto Junior, hehehe.”

Prosciutto and Pesci were stepping out the door, Prosciutto stopped at the doorway and turned around. “Also Illuso, I almost forgot. Make sure you clean out the hair in the drain that rightfully belongs to you. Every time I step into the shower, it’s like standing on a carpet.” Prosciutto and Pesci exited. Illuso stood in the middle of the room, face slightly blushed and a mixture of surprised but mostly annoyed. Melone slung Formaggio’s arm over his shoulder.

“Come, Maggio, we’re taking you to a doctor’s office.”

“But I hate the doctors!” Formaggio complained.

“Yeah well, I hate spending my day off with you, but we can’t always get what we want.”

———————————————————————

Taking Formaggio to the clinic was more or less an adventure. They rode the bus which was a terrible choice, but alas, the only choice. The fetid stench of weed and sweat stimulated the urge to gag, therefore, they had to bring whatever bag they could find; plastic, then paper as a last option. The clinic was no better. Formaggio was holding up the line for the restroom and people were getting fed up. There was a point where Formaggio, being dehydrated and delirious, almost mistook a baby carriage for a garbage can. Illuso had to tackle him quarterback-style.

Fortunately, their objective was accomplished and the doctor prescribed a heaping dose of sleep and water. They were given a doctor’s note, though Formaggio was instructed to stay home for at least two days. Now that he was at home resting with Illuso, Melone headed to the store so he could deliver the doctor’s note. Janis was nowhere in sight, but he spotted Ashanti. Probably best to give it to the lesser of two evils.

“Excuse me, Ashanti?”

“Hiiiiiii Eddy-Bear!”

“Don’t call me that… anyhow, I wanted to give you this.” He gave her the letter. “It’s a doctor’s note for Giorgio, he’s been feeling under the weather. The doctor told him to rest for two days.”

“Oh no! I hope he’s okay!”

“So that won’t be a problem?”

“No, no! Not at all! Things happen!” She happily assured him.

“Good. Considering Janis yelled at me and called my brother a “slacker”, I was uncertain if we’d have an issue.”

“Who? Janis? She yelled at you? Ohohohohohohohoho!” She waved her hand dismissively. What the hell was she laughing at?
“That lady! She’s such a jokester!”

“She wasn’t joking… she meant everything she said…”

“Oh, no, no! You’re mistaken! Janis loves shooting the shit with her fellow cashiers. She didn’t mean any of it! It was all in good fun!”

“She hung up on me when I informed her Giorgio wasn’t coming in. You call that shooting the shit?”

“Ohoho! No harm done! As long you got the note to us, everything will be hunky-dory!”

“… Right.” It was fruitless to argue back and forth. Besides, he did what he came there for.

She chirped. “See? All is good! Say, since I got you here, do you have a minute?”

“Hmm.”

“Your brother, Giovanni. You know, swirly-haired, thick lens, cute as a button.”

“I’m highly aware who you’re referring to. I’ve known him for 22 years. What about him?”

“Oh, well, you see, he hasn’t given me a clear-cut answer to my proposition. I was wondering. You are his brother and I’m sure you must miss him dearly at work.”

“No, not really. Try living with him, especially if you care less about going deaf.”

“AHAHAHAHA! Oh, Eddy, you’re soooo funny. You must get that from Giorgio! But for real, I would lovey-lovey-love Giovanni to work as a cashier! I can see right through him and that boy’s got unwavering potential! Wouldn’t it be so cool to have him work right beside you and Giorgio? You guys would be three peas in a pod! The Dynamic Trio! The Three Musketeers! Buuut, I think he’s a lil’ shy. I get it, it’s a big step going from one department to another! Or at least that’s my theory. How about it? Why don’t you give him that lil’ push he needs?” She brushed Melone’s bangs over his ear. “My, my, Eddy. You have the prettiest eyes. Why must you cover your right eye with equally gorgeous hair…?”

Melone was cueing what was going on. He couldn’t fully comprehend her obsession with Ghiaccio or what his eyes and hair had to do with anything. But if she were the Stand User, she was picking off the strongest first. Except for their leader, Ghiaccio was the most versatile member of their team. Incapacitating him would mean one less force to protect the group and if that was true, then he too would have to be extra cautious.

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” he replied in a deadpan voice. “But I can’t speak for him. For what it seems, it doesn’t sound like he’s all too thrilled to switch positions but if you must, you can discuss it with him about that.”

Ashanti’s eyes turned into beady slits, Melone noted the dark circles under her eyes. Her expression twisted into a warm smile. “Oh of course! Hohoho! Has my brain run for the hills? You’re right! Totally makes sense for me to talk to him rather than his own flesh and blood! So sorry to waste your time! And thank you for the note, I’ll leave this in Janis’s mailbox! You run along now, m’kay?”

“Yes, I will take my leave. Good day.” Melone paced away.

Stand User or civilian, that girl was up to no good. Whatever, now that he got that out of the way, he could buy a few things for Formaggio. Bland foods are what he needed. Alcohol and fried fatty foods were a no-go. Melone dropped in his basket a box of crackers, peppermint tea, a package of skinless chicken cuts, a ginger root, and some clear broth. The Produce Section was where he wandered the most, examining through every fruit, vegetable, and legume if they were deemed too bruised or worthy enough to keep.

“Hmmm must avoid any acidic fruits. Oranges and lemons are off the table.” He picked up a cantaloupe. Nice and round, firm, and with no brown or soft spots. Promising. He sniffed it, far from unpleasing. Overall, it was a sweet, yet fairly faint aroma. “You might need a day or two to ripen, little one. But you will do.” He put it in the basket. As he turned around, he collided with something hard. He couldn’t determine what he hit, but he could only guess a display board. He tumbled back and landed on his bum.

“Woah there, haha! You alright, klutzy? Did I scare you?” He recognized that voice, it made his stomach drop. That demon Angel. Angel offered him a hand but Melone picked himself up. “I couldn’t make out if it was you or not. You’re dressed so casual, haha, I had to come closer and see if it was you.” By then, Melone was already walking away, but it wasn’t long before Angel caught up to him. “So whatcha been up to?”

“Running errands for someone,” Melone replied curtly.

Angel’s expression changed, he was visibly troubled. “Oh, so like, you gotta boyfriend or something?”

“No. My brother’s sick. I’m taking care of him.”

Angel’s face relaxed. “Oh, I figured… need a hand?”

“No.”

Melone tried to walk around him to no avail. The entire trip to the self-checkout registers was just the blithering moron trampling on Melone’s heels, rambling on and on about nonsensical things like how cool he was when he did x, y, and z thinking he’d impress the younger man, or go on a long tangent on how Melone looked so stinkin’ adorable in his current getup. It was a dime-a-dozen maroon sweater that Illuso allowed him to borrow, it wasn’t much to write home about. Melone hoped that once he made it to the registers, the testa di cazzo would go on his merry way. WRONG! Angel didn’t leave him alone, instead, he persisted the conversation longer. At this juncture, Angel was conversing with himself. Melone could’ve placed a mirror in front of the moron and he’d still keep talking. That’s not all, after paying for his groceries Angel was still following Melone past the store’s exit.

“… And I said, what did ya mean ya forgot the soap?” Angel hollered at his joke. Melone was in no mood to look at his face any longer.

“Okay. I gotta go.” He walked away for the third time, unsurprisingly stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, how ‘bout I walk you home!” Angel asserted.

“What? No! You’re on the clock.” Melone was boggled by how delusional this man was.

“Nah, I insist. I’m a gentleman and these streets ain’t safe for a little guy like yourself.”

“I ride the bus. I’ll be okay.”

“That’s even worse! Trust me, I’ll keep you safe and sound.”

“I said no!”

“If that’s so, what’ll happen if some asshole…,” Angel swiped the groceries out of Melone’s arms. “Mugs you?”

“Angel! Give that back!”

“Oh yeah? You’re gonna have to reach for ‘em if you want ‘em back.” He tauntingly shook the bag in the smaller man’s face. Melone desperately reached for the bait, but whenever he got too close, Angel would pull it over his head. The scene had gotten the attention of random pedestrians. If Melone wasn’t mad before, he was ticked now.

“Enough, Angel!” Melone raised his voice, not his usual timbre.

“Take it easy, honey. I’ll give ‘em back to you… for a small price.” He had a toothy grin that made Melone understood where this was heading.

“For fuck’s sake. What…?”

“Well y’know, I’m a simple man. All I ask from you is a little peck. A kiss. Not on the cheek though, on the lips. Four, no- five seconds! Fair trade?”

Adrenaline was pumping through the assassin’s veins. This was the physiological mechanism as old as the Stone Age. The fight-or-flight response. Risotto was nowhere to be found, not like Melone changed his mind, but now he was backed into a corner. He was undeniably scrawny to take down the behemoth, plus it didn’t help that he wasn’t the confrontational type. If he had the chance to bring out his Stand, time was not on his side. He needed a blood sample and a host for the junior to incubate. With that said, he was no pussy like Pesci and he wouldn’t let his physical flaws overcome him. If he did what Angel asked, he’d only let him win and open doors for more “favors”. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m not going to repeat myself. I wouldn’t dare to kiss you. I’d rather go blind than commit such a filthy act upon my lips. While we are on the topic of discussion, let me make this clear for you, got it? I am not your boyfriend. I never had, nor will I ever be interested in your affections. If you think clinging to me 24/7 is endearing, you guessed wrong! I don’t want your damn cookies, I don’t want you choke-holding assholes as an expression of “love”, and I ESPECIALLY don’t want any more rumors coming out of your goddamn trap that we’re an item! We never were! And as a simple man, all I ask from you is to drop my groceries this instant and to leave me al-!”

*POW*

Without warning, Angel threw his fist at him. For a flash, Melone saw his short existence raced through his eyes. Favorably for him, the punch missed him by a centimeter. His relief was short-lived when he turned to the side of him. To his speechless horror, he discovered the light-post was struck leaving behind a ginormous dent that bent it in a weird shape.

“Such superhuman strength…”

Angel had dropped his jolly ego, which was replaced with a more menacing leer. “Oho, is that how it’s gonna be? I shower you with gifts and love, and for what? So you can step on my heart like it’s a disgusting roach? Stuck-up twat. Here.” He slammed the bag into the concrete, then kicked the bag at Melone. He scanned through the contents, half the items were beyond damaged. “I only gave you the best I could offer. I thought you were different, but boy, was I wrong! You’re just like the rest of ‘em! Gold-digging parasitic leech. What’s the matter, ugly? Can’t find a date?”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey what’s all the commotion?” A nearby police officer intervened.

“He-!”

“Yes, officer!” Angel pointed accusingly at the younger man. “That guy tried to up and run without paying his groceries!”

“W-What? No, I-!”

“Young man, those are some serious accusations. Do you have a receipt?” Melone hastily peeked through his pant pockets. Where did that stupid receipt run off to? In his line of sight, he saw behind the cop, Angel with his fist out. He blew something unidentifiable away from his palm. It appeared to be tiny, white shreds of… paper. Melone gulped. The police officer tapped his baton over his shoulder. “You’re in big trouble, buster.”

Only one constant thing on his mind left. Flight. The officer swung his baton but missed by a hair. Like the wind, Melone scrambled like there was no tomorrow. He ran as quick as humanly possible, not minding the beeps of ongoing cars and pedestrians on the road. Was the cop chasing him? He didn’t dare look behind him. It’d be foolish to stay and take down two burly men. After what felt like a half hour of sprinting, Melone skirted down behind an alleyway, where he clambered into a garbage tote. Peeping under the lid, he spotted no cop or Angel. Best to stay hidden for a time before walking into the public eye when you have a target on your back, then disclose the info to Risotto. He had an aching suspicion about Angel, he predicted his public ego was nothing more than a charade. But he noted that about Ashanti, and Janis too. So who was it? Was it Ashanti, or was it, Angel? Or was it all of them!? His mind was racing, nonetheless, he couldn’t decipher who was the real malefactor. Who was the Stand User?

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

Melone remained seated at the kitchen table, his head sunk below his shoulder blades, his eyes glued to the table’s surface. He could only predict who Risotto was speaking to on the other line. The seconds dragged into minutes. The longest minutes of Melone’s short existence. While his peers retreated to the den after dinner, he was held back awaiting whatever fate was coming to him.

“Okay, thank you… goodbye.” Risotto ended the call, gently placing the phone back on the wall. He approached Melone. “That was the NYPD. No, you’re not in trouble. They compiled the security footage from today and found that you paid for the groceries. As for Angel, I don’t know if the police or the store will reprimand him for filing a false report, but what matters most is they’re not going to press charges against you and you won’t lose your job.” The news did not cheer Melone at all, rather, he seemed preoccupied nudging his fork a centimeter back and forth, left and right. “What’s bothering you? Aren’t you relieved you’re not going to jail?”

Melone fumbled. “… I didn’t approach him.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m not mad at you if that’s what you’re troubled about. You were backed into a corner. The situation wasn’t in your favor. That said, I wish you could’ve called me that you were going to grab a couple of things. I would’ve helped you get what you needed and sent you on your way. But it’s in the past. The matter’s been resolved and moving forward, I will use whatever power I have to deal with Angel.”

“…”

“So is that not what’s troubling you…?”

“…”

“It’s Angel, isn’t it? Are you threatened by him…?”

“That’s a ridiculous notion. Of course not. He doesn’t scare me…”

“That’s fine, then why are you so perturbed?”

“I’d rather not set it to music. I don’t think you’d take my response too well.”

“How do you know how I’m going to react if I don’t have the slightest clue what it is? Now c’mon, why don’t you want to talk about it?”

Melone’s grip on the fork tightened. “Why do you want to talk about it?” He subconsciously tapped the fork against his plate, making a distinct, stinging “clink”.

“Why are you blocking my question with another question?”

“Why are you prodding me for an answer I don’t desire to give?” The tapping became harsher, which was testing Risotto’s eardrums.

“Melone.” Risotto warned. “Hold your tongue. Whatever you’re feeling, it’ll do you good to get off your chest.”

“I don’t feel. How do you know what’s good for me?” The hell did he mean by that? And what was with the blatant sass? Melone never talked back to Risotto that way before. This only further secured the fact that something was bothering him. The clanking was now unbearable…

Risotto yanked the fork out of his subordinate’s hand and threw it, it skidded to the opposite side of the table. “Melone, this insolence is dwindling my patience. I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, that’s just it… I don’t want your help…” He extended his arm to reach back for the utensil. His words left Risotto in a phase of confusion.

“Melone, I… I’m not sure I’m following you.”

“Risotto, please. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you. This is my problem. I don’t need you or the others holding my hand every instance someone wrongs me. Do you recall how disastrous it was when you took it up with Janis? Nothing came out of it but your paycheck getting docked. Please, Risotto. This incessant coddling is going to be a hindrance rather than a good thing. An adult like myself has dealt with deeper shit before, an ex-mafioso no less than that. Therefore I have confidence I can handle myself.”

“If running from an enemy is your definition of handling yourself, then you’re as good as dead. My intention isn’t to treat you like a child, but to resolve this issue in the most non-confrontational way imaginable. You shouldn’t be going solo on a mission anyway. If you have a problem, we’ll solve it together. Like a team. You have to trust me on this.”

“But do you trust me, capo? Do you think I’m not competent on my own? If I had the time and resources, Angel wouldn’t stand a chance against my Baby Face.”

“It’s him I don’t trust, not you. I acknowledge you, Melone. It seems degrading to divulge this seeming schoolyard drama to the store owner. I get it, it’s demoralizing. But I can’t chance you getting in the middle of the crossfire. Not you, not Illuso, not the others. You asserted that his suave temperament is nothing but a mere hoax. He struck you when you were most vulnerable. Now, what if I decided to leave you to your own devices? What if he cornered you down an alley and there was no time to reach me or the others for assistance? It’d be foolish of me to separate you from the group. I made that mistake before and I won’t dare to repeat that fault twice.”

“Risotto, please-.”

“My decision is final. Now retire to the living room this instant. I don’t have the energy to debate with you on this.” Melone said no more. He stiffly pushed himself from his seat and left the dining room. He quietly sat himself on the armchair. It was him, Ghiaccio who was busy toying with the TV’s settings, and Formaggio resting on the couch.

“So how’d it go?” Ghiaccio asked, sitting crisscrossed on the carpet floor.

Melone stared at him blankly, sharply inhaling through his nose then letting out a frustrated sigh. “They’re not pressing charges.”

“O-kay? If that’s true, why do you look like the opposite of relieved…?”

Great. First his boss, now his associate wants to snoop in his business. Melone knew better. If he kept silent, Ghiaccio would find one way or another to extract that information out of him, which usually translated to being in for a world of pain if he didn’t comply. “I told him not to involve himself in my affairs.”

“Risotto?”

“… Yes.”

“And?”

“… He wouldn’t budge.”

Ghiaccio let out a half laugh. “What can I say? That’s Risotto for ya. Breathing down the team’s neck since 1994 and onward. He’s only gotten downhill since. Kinda gullible of you to expect any other reaction from him.”

Melone proceeded to vent. “I didn’t plan on spilling my thoughts to him, he kept prodding me until I relented. And for what? Angel’s my problem, not his. I can take care of myself, goddammit. I’m getting real sick of this wretched mollycoddling.”

“Woo, wouldn’t wanna cross paths with you. But in all honesty, good luck with that. He’s right about one thing. It’ll take eight of your juniors to take down THAT behemoth. You got seriously lucky he missed your face.”

“You don’t see it either, do you?”

“Huh?”

“That punch. I believe the miscalculation was done on purpose.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. That punch was far from accidental. When he struck the lamppost, he was demonstrating the extent of his strength. You should’ve seen it. Quite a dent to behold. If that lamppost was my face, I’d already be underground. He made it a point to shut me up.“

“Heh. No wonder why you’re always cowering behind the desk when he skips by.”

“Not quite. Angel doesn’t scare me. But something about him is… off. Weeks before, when he waltzed over to me, my neck broke out into goosebumps. I never get goosebumps. It’s like this strong, uneasy aura radiating off him. It hits differently than your average Stand User. I can’t put it into words. He’s a fascinating specimen. Behind that big ego and bulging muscles, he must have a weakness. Something I can use against him. That’s why I ought to do my own investigating. But with Risotto having a tight leash on us… it’s little to no possibility.”

“Hmmph. Ain’t that the truth?”

“Oh. Meaning to mention, Ashanti was asking for you today.”

Ghiaccio croaked in an annoyed tone. “When is she not asking for me? Let me guess, about joining the Front-End?”

Melone nodded. “As much as I concur that Kovic is a brainless scrub if I were you I wouldn’t take up her offer. When I presented her Formaggio’s note from the doctor, she twisted my arm in hopes I’d pressure you into saying yes to her proposal.”

“You better have told her no.” Ghiaccio’s voice raised.

“You bet I told her no.”

Ghiaccio scoffed. “Good. She’s so fucking obnoxious. I don’t get it. Out of all the brainless tools from that godforsaken place, why did she pick me to take part in her freaking cult?”

“Suspicious, is it not?” Melone mused. “That’s what I was considering… she’s a prime suspect after all, hence why I wouldn’t be so shocked by the possibility of her picking off the more valued players one by one. If that’s her plot, she’ll render our group defenseless.”

“Or, have you two birdbrains considered she might have a gross kink for angry gremlin men?” The two gangsters glowered at the man laying on the couch, snickering mischievously to himself.

Ghiaccio rolled his eyes. “Pfft. Whaddyu know?”

With a smirk, Formaggio shrugged nonchalantly. “To be honest, I don’t. I’d feel sorry if she did. Can’t help that. What I do know is that if she’s our guy, you’re doing a craptastic job of hiding your identity.”

“The fuck are you saying!?” Ghiaccio barked.

“The truth.” Formaggio continued, his tone blunter than prior. “Not like we could afford plastic surgery but look at you, you haven’t changed the slightest since Naples. The hair, the face, that nasty attitude. If anyone’s gonna give our dirty lil’ secret away, it's your sorry ass. And I thought I didn’t take my job seriously.”

“Like hell I’d heed to a sad excuse of human waste as yourself! You haven’t done jackshit either! And don’t fucking dare tell me tattooing yourself with a black sharpie counts as a disguise!” He points at Formaggio’s neck, which once had intricate, wavy black designs that connected from his collarbone to his right shoulder, which were now smeared due to the humidity in the air.

Unruffled by those stinging remarks, Formaggio casually shrugged again. “Any plan is better than no plan, Four-Eyes.”

“Hmmm. Hmmmmmmmm,” Melone rubbed his chin, closely eyeing Ghiaccio, rather too close for comfort. “He does have a point,” he concluded.

“Are you serious!? Oh sure, take Chrome-Dome’s side, will ya? While you’re at it, why don’t you throw me to the dogs ‘cause I’m the fucking problem, right!?”

“Pipe down, will ya? Don’t take it so personally, I was only trying to help. I swear you’re such a drama queen sometimes,” Formaggio huffed.
Ghiaccio craned his neck. Formaggio and Melone swore up and down they could’ve heard his neck crunch in several places. “What- did you call me…!?” He seethed.

“Uhhh… a drama queen?”

His voice started low but it was enough to fill one’s soul with dread. “Drama… queen? Let’s start with the first part. “Drama”. Makes perfect sense. I’m a pretty passionate guy. My outbursts aren’t to be trifled with. I’ve broken windows, destroyed furniture, shattered bones, ruptured organs, you name it… let’s move on to that second bit. “Queen”. A queen is a female monarch, an authoritative figure who rules a country with an iron fist. The key word in that sentence is “female”, ya catching on?” Hastily, he yanked Formaggio by the shirt. He shook him so violently, Formaggio felt another trip to the bathroom coming on. Ghiaccio reached to a screeching crescendo. “SO WHY WOULD YOU ADD QUEEN TO THE END OF THE PHRASE? I’M NOT EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT FEMININE! WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME A DRAMA KING INSTEAD!? THAT WOULD’VE SOUNDED A THOUSAND TIMES SMARTER! AM I A JOKE TO YOU!? ARE YOU INFERRING I HAVE A WOMANLY FIGURE!? THAT MY HIPS ARE THE CHILDBEARING TYPE!? SCREW YOU! REGARDLESS IF YOU’RE SICK, I CAN STILL KICK YOUR ASS RIGHT HERE! RIGHT NOW!”

“Will you girls keep it down? Why is it always you three getting into trouble?” Upon hearing Illuso’s cacophonous rat voice coming from the bathroom, Ghiaccio threw the shithead onto the couch.

“We? Trouble? Says the homicidal clown who doused my food with only Heaven knows what.”

“Say Formaggio, speaking of food, I’m still feeling rather peckish. Since you charred the frying pan last night and your fever’s gotten a degree hotter, how’s about I crack myself an egg on that massive forehead of yours?”

“Haha, you’re funny,” Formaggio replied, displeased. “You must’ve thought of that one for weeks. What a comedian.”

“Why thank you! You know, I find you rather agreeable when you’re ill. I’m starting to like you more this way.” Illuso entered the living room, in his hand was a spoon and an unknown bottle that Formaggio has never seen before.

“Yo, what’s that?” He asked suspiciously, curling into the couch cushion. “Is this round two of poisoning me!?”

“This? Why, you silly boy. Mehehehe. Silly, silly, sack of shit. It’s Kaopectate. It’s a remedy for your indigestion. I’ve taken it once and I must confess it tastes reminiscent of sewage water, but take a spoonful and your belly will feel like a million bucks in no time.”

Formaggio whined. “Why couldn’t you buy a pill alternative? I hate drinking liquid medicine!”

Illuso clicked his tongue as he poured the contents into the bowl of the spoon. “That doesn’t sound like someone who wants to get better. The longer you wait, the longer you gotta stay out from work.”

“Doc said I’ll be good with a lil’ sleep and hydration. I don’t need any stinkin’ medicine. For your information, I feel better already. Hell, I could head back to work at the crack of dawn.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Illuso tutted once more. “What’ll Risotto think of you sneaking to work with an upset tummy?”

“He shouldn’t care,” Formaggio replied flatly. “I’m a big boy. I can do whatever the fuck I please.”

“Ah true, but this is Risotto we’re talkin’. Cut your losses, little man. You’re not going anywhere.”

Formaggio groaned despairingly. Even if Illuso got the spoon into his mouth, he was going to gag it out. It was inevitable. Or that’s what he believed to believe, but nobody fell for that ridiculous excuse. He was just being difficult. He folded his lips into his mouth.

“Formaggio, open!” Illuso commanded, bringing the spoon to his friend’s lips with the latter frantically shaking his head disapprovingly. “I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice. Ghiaccio.” He snapped his fingers and Ghiaccio came circling one side of the couch, pinning Formaggio’s arms to his sides and leaving only his legs free and kicking.

“Quit acting like a bitch baby! It’s just a spoonful! Swallow it down like a real mafioso!”

The two gangsters struggled to keep Formaggio still without having the medicine spill all over the couch. Illuso used his whole physical power to pry the spoon through his lips, but Formaggio was indeed a hardass so that method was out the window. But they weren’t about to throw in the towel. If he was going to act like a stubborn little shit, then so be it. That meant putting him through a series of trials until he relented…

“What the-! Where’d he go!?” The two of them peered down and in an instant, Formaggio was no longer under their clutches. It was like he vanished into thin air. “That pint-sized prick! Don’t tell me he shrunk himself!? Fucking coward!” They scouted all over the den. Not under the cushions, not behind the TV, they squinted intensively down at the carpet… who were they kidding? For all they know, he could’ve turned himself microscopic. Who was being the drama queen now? A heartless assassin can’t take on a tablespoon of medicine? Pitiful.

“It’s true. My fever’s getting higher and my insides are on fire, but I’ll be damned if I gotta stay bedridden any longer. It’s just a stupid stomachache anyway, I’ve survived worse scuffles. Thank Mother of God there was enough energy in me to shrink myself down.” Peering under the flap of the couch’s foot was an ant-sized Formaggio, who was quite entertained watching the two big, brainless boneheads fruitlessly search for him. “Hehehe. You can’t get this on paper view! Good luck with your lil’ scavenger hunt, fellas. ‘Cause you’re gonna need it.” Gingerly, he stepped a foot away from the couch. Looking in both directions, all seemed clear. “All I have to do is just keep myself on the lowdown until tomorrow morning. Then I can- GAHH! HEY!” He was startled by a loud “clank” below his feet which was muffled by the carpet. In a flash, his whole environment turned opaque, like he was looking through an oversized window. To his shock and horror, peering overhead was his dear, darling boss, coming into focus from the side view. Risotto was 185 cm, but through Formaggio’s perspective, he was kaiju-sized. The miniature man sprinted to escape his captor but didn’t get very far, running away did nothing but body-slamming himself right into the glassy wall. He was trapped under a cup!

Risotto replied sternly, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Formaggio blurted. “Risotto! How did you-!?”

“You shouldn’t be using your Stand ability unless the time calls for it. Use it when it’s only necessary.”

“But-!”

“My hands are tied right now. I have to run downstairs to talk to the guy about our rent. Unshrink yourself and take your medicine. We can do this all night, Formaggio.” As much as he didn’t want to admit he was wrong, the bite-sized bastard unwillingly accepted his fate… but that didn’t mean he was going to be easy to deal with. For the next hour, Illuso and Ghiaccio did everything they could to make him take his medicine.

They tried bargaining…

“Go on, say ahh!”

Nope.

“C’mon man. A little sip.” The long-haired man pleaded.

Once again, Formaggio unsurprisingly shook his head “no”. Illuso was running low on patience. He went to wring his hands around that twig neck of his before refraining. No. Losing his cool wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He had to stand his ground. Illuso forcibly stretched the rim of his lips into a toothy, albeit unhinged grin. He “tenderly” stroked the grayish fuzz on his teammate’s head. “Formaggio, my dear. My best friend. My buddy ol’ pal. The apple of my eye. You know I’d take a bullet for you, right? I only ask you this one teensy favor. If you be a good boy, I’ll be so kind to lend you the bed for an extra night.”

“Hmmm.” Formaggio hummed through his lips which were still shut closed.

“And I’m just getting started. I’ll also let you use the TV to your lil’ heart’s content. Who gives a rat’s ass if my show’s on? It’s all yours!” Formaggio cocked a brow and smirked. He demanded more. Illuso grumbled in desperation. “I’ll even throw in my box of pudding pops. Happy…?” The hitman’s face lit up. Just as it seemed they settled on an agreement…

“Oh wait, those were yours?” Melone spoke. “If I recall, I had the last one.”

Illuso slowly rotated his gaze over his shoulder. He had a dash of murderous rage in his anguished eyes. He darted over to Melone, yanking him by the fabric of his sweater and shaking him silly. “Bastardo! The fuck do you mean you had the last one!? That was an unopened box!”

They tried deprivation…

“You give?”

“Mm-mmm”

“Suit yourself.” Illuso clamped his friend’s nostrils shut. Formaggio nearly gaped his mouth wide open for air. “There. Now you have no choice but to open that damn pie-hole to breathe.” Despite this new dilemma, Formaggio wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He remained steadfast, going as far as to turn a deep red, then into a light purple, and ultimately to a pale blue.

“Anytime Maggio…” Illuso said impatiently.

“Um, I’m sure it’s just as tempting for you as it is for me,” added Ghiaccio. “But I think the goal here isn’t to asphyxiate him to death.”

“Pfft, he’ll walk it off.” They looked below to find their teammate as white as a sheet of paper. Ghiaccio shot Illuso a frown. “Gah! Fine!”

They tried physical stimulation…

“Tchh, you’ve done it now, stronzo. You’ve asked for this. Time to pull out the big guns.” Illuso wiggled his fingers menacingly closer and closer toward Formaggio. No matter how much he squirmed in his restraints, his attempts were futile. Formaggio had no other option than watch on in sheer terror as his teammate brought down that gloved monstrosity, bracing for only God knows what unspeakable horrors were in store for him…

“Tickle, wickle, wickle!”

Illuso used his free hand to skitter his fingertips under his teammate’s chin and underarms. The sensation was unbearable! Formaggio kept a straight face, he wasn’t going to go down like this. He lasted for five seconds. The results were promising and it seemed to do the trick hadn’t Formaggio thrashed too hard, roundhouse-kicking Illuso on the side of the head. His sight went black.

They tried violence…

“Here. Let me try.”

If it didn’t involve Illuso getting booted in the head again, then gladly. He voluntarily stepped to the side, handing the reigns over to his ice-cold crony. Without warning, Ghiaccio jammed his thumbs straight down into Formaggio’s sockets. The pain was immeasurable, one could describe it as two icicles being driven into each eyeball. Despite wailing out in agony, Formaggio didn’t dare to part his lips.

“Merda! I was sure that would work,” Ghiaccio growled disappointedly.

“Gentlemen, please.” Melone leaped to his feet. “You two are going at this all wrong.”

“Say what now, Mr. Stand-And-Do-Nothing-But-Eat-My-Goddamn-Pudding-Pops?” Illuso intrusively dug his finger into Melone’s midriff. “If you’re so right, would you like to show the class how to approach this the “right way”?”

“Observe.” Melone sat on the edge of the couch cushion. He cautiously took hold of his comrade’s shoulders and drew him up, he noted Formaggio’s upper body was as stiff as a coffin. He pressed the veins trailing down Formaggio’s throat. Melone’s movements were clinical as they were borderline rough like he’s done this millions of times. “110 beats. Just by touching your neck, your pulse is 110 beats per minute. You’re anything but calm. Fear not, Formaggio. You have no need to ingest that garbage juice.”

“Fucking kidding!?” Illuso and Ghiaccio cried out in unison, prompting Melone to shush them. He turned back to Formaggio.

“Yes, you made it a point to get enough rest and fluids and what do you know? It paid off. You’ve done well. Frankly, drinking that syrup wouldn’t do much of a difference. On the contrary, it might make you sicker. What I prescribe to you is to keep doing what you’re doing and in no time, you’ll be back on your feet, right? Nod with me if you get what I’m saying.” His teammate gingerly nodded along with him. The former’s breathing slowed, his stiff shoulders loosened and slouched. Melone placed his thumb on Formaggio’s neck, smack dab on the carotid artery. “90 beats per minute. You’re calming down. Di molto.” He remarked placidly. “Feel better?” Melone asked, affectionately caressing his friend’s cheek, Formaggio replied with a smirk and a nod. “Excellent.”

*THWACK*

Melone, using the side of his hand, struck Formaggio’s jugular with a swift, yet brutal chop, sending the latter floundering onto the couch. An instant later his body went limp. He was knocked out cold. “Hurry! Pour it down his gullet before he wakes up!”

Illuso sprung into action, he pried the idiot’s mouth wide and plunged the spoon through his lips. SUCCESS! It trickled down the back of his throat and down into the depths of his stomach it went. They all breathed a sigh of relief. “How come you didn’t intervene sooner?” Illuso asked Melone, slightly displeased knowing well the last hour could’ve been avoided if the latter stepped in rather than watching them fail miserably.

“I would’ve, but alas, a certain someone couldn’t get over the fact I ate the last of his dessert.”

“Just a dessert!? Now you listen to me, cucker! I didn’t spend my hard-earned cash on those things just for you to suck ‘em down! They were expensive as fuck, y’know!”

Melone was by no means troubled by this news. “Sorry, I guess. What can I say? I need a sweet fix time-to-time.”

“You coulda got your sweet fix by gargling on some dick!”

“Forget it,” piped Ghiaccio. “What’s done is done. So what if he ate your stupid ice creams? That crap is for babies, like Pesci. What’s more important is we got the lil’ jerk to take his medicine. Mission accomplished. Now can we all shut up and do something more productive?”

“If clicking the channels to something better is considered productive, then sure… By the way, what were you three fighting over before I came into the living room?”

“It doesn’t concern you!” He hissed nastily.

“Oh! Formaggio suggested that Ghiaccio should change his getup.” Melone spoke matter-of-factly, garnering a dirty look from his not-so-calm companion, which Melone didn’t seem to mind.

Illuso folded his arms over his chest, his expression was anything but impressed. “I mean, as much as I can’t stand the twerp, he brings up a strong point. Are you trying to get us killed?”

“As if!” Ghiaccio aggressively stamped his shoe. “In case you haven’t noticed, I DID take the time out of my day to get a dye job like you asshats!”

“Really? I could hardly make out you did.” Illuso eyed closely at his teammate’s curls but sincerely couldn’t tell the difference.

“Can’t you see, idiota? It’s a shade darker!”

“I would’ve been none the wiser,” Illuso replied, straight-faced.

“Maybe you should try a different color? A cool teal or deep azure blue would complement you well,” Melone proposed.

“Those are asinine!”

“Well if you’re not going to change the color, you should at least try to shake it up with the hairdo.”

“Yes,” agreed Melone. “How about you try looser curls, perhaps ringlets? Or a perm? Oh! Have you considered going out of your comfort zone? I can assist you, I have so many ideas of what we can do!”

“RINGLETS? A PERM!?!? AM I A PUNCHLINE TO YOU GUYS!?” He then whirled around, cutting Melone with his tongue. “AND ASSIST MY ASS! I WOULDN’T BE CAUGHT DEAD GETTING YOUR GRUBBY HANDS IN MY HAIR! AND WHY DO YOU GET GIDDY WHEN HAIR’S INVOLVED? IS THIS ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR ABSTRACT FETISHES!?”

“I don’t know, man. Buy a wig or something.” Illuso rested his fingertips on his temple. For someone who wanted them to shut up and “do something productive”, he sure loved puncturing their eardrums with his harpy screech. “Even Prosciutto’s been dropping his signature buns, he’s been letting his hair down. Change might not be your favorite thing in the world, but we’re all trying to step in.”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one! What about him?” He directed his icy sharp finger at Melone. He spoke cholerically, “This bastard wears that same old mask 24/7/365, yet I don’t see any of you telling him to take it off!”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” replied Melone defensively.

“Hate to say it, Melone. But he’s not wrong,” said Illuso.

“But I…”

“Yeah, dickhead! If you’re gonna dictate me how I should look, take off the mask first! Don’t get why you’re so attached to that thing. Is it a security blanket to you?”

“Don’t be silly. This is not a security blanket. I wear it because when I commit to a mission, I want to obscure my face as much as humanly possible. The mask represents anonymity. My confidence soars that when I conceal myself, no one can trace back to who committed such a crime. Just by gazing upon my visage, no soul can tell who I am. Therefore I am less likely to be caught in the act of completing my objective and that is why to this day I wear it…”

“… So it’s a security blanket.” The two hitmen affirmed in unison.

“It is not!”

“Melone, if you honestly believe you’re hiding your identity with that thing, you’d have better results wearing a paper bag over your head,” Illuso replied smugly.

“Or clown makeup,” Ghiaccio’s quip had the two men chuckling. Noting Melone being displeased was an understatement.

“An honorable assassin wouldn’t dream of wearing a paper bag, what do you take me for?” Melone huffed.

“Whatever you say, Linus, hahaha,” Ghiaccio joked, another wave of giggles erupting from him and Illuso.

“Good grief.”

“Hehe, hey Ghiaccio. You should take your own advice. For now on, cover your face with clown makeup!” Ghiaccio’s humorous disposition switched off like a light. “Not that it hides your identity from the Stand User, but it suits you perfectly!”

“Why you skinny whore-!”

An argument ensued which escalated into a screaming match from all sides, particularly Ghiaccio and Illuso. Their arguing had woke a lethargic Formaggio from his stunned slumber. He wobbled on his feet, his vision was so fuzzy he couldn’t distinguish anything but amorphous blobs. The room was engulfed in ear-splitting shrieks. It ticked him off to no end. Throughout it all, he can distinguish a faint giggling from yards away, like it was coming from the other room. “H-Huh?” The laugh roared louder. His vision was improving but not by much. The silhouette was standing tall, about 6’2, and their hair was long and brunette. No way, he couldn’t fathom the scene, it had to be a dream. Before Formaggio knew it, his eyesight refocused to an extraordinary degree. 21/20 vision. Standing in the dining room facing back at him, he soon discovered it was Illuso who was behind the noise. He’s seen this bastard smug, but this time his face was pure animosity. His laughter evolved into hollering. Formaggio was passed the point of being angry, he was fuming. If the animalistic urge to bite his neck and rip out his veins with his teeth wasn’t ever so enticing before, it sure as hell was now. “You fucking traitor! I figured you were behind this! You think poisoning your friend is hilarious!? I’ll show you!”

Formaggio limped over to the dining room, completely ignoring the fight that was transpiring in the living room. With every step he took, Illuso’s ridiculing became more and more intense. Formaggio’s voice dropped to a low, hoarse growl. “Ever since I laid my eyes on you on that fateful day, I’ve always wished to bash your stupid brains in for treating me like dirt.” The others took notice of their teammate being awake and they ceased fighting. They were confused, being almost disturbed by Formaggio’s zombified state, the way he tumbled as he trod, and his mindless grumbling was more or less chilling.

“The hell is he blabbering about?” Illuso questioned, cocking a brow.

“No clue,” Melone replied quietly.

“I didn’t grab the wrong bottle, did I?” Illuso checked the label. Sure enough, it was the right stuff. “No way. The label’s correct and I gave him an adequate dose, but why’s he acting so strange? He’s completely zonked.”

“Oi. Why’s he going for the mop?” Ghiaccio pointed to the mop resting on the wall, to which their comrade was dragging himself to. In his rage, Formaggio seized the end of the mop. He ferociously twisted it 360 degrees and in one jerk of the wrist, he yanked the yarns from the wooden handle and pelted the tangled threads on the ground. “WHO’S LAUGHING NOW, BITCH? CAN’T LAUGH IF YOUR FUCKING HEAD’S BEEN RIPPED OFF YOUR BODY!” The others looked on in silent astonishment as their friend who was habitually goofy, yet good-natured, was uncharacteristically swinging and breaking off what used to be the mop’s stick. Under the circumstance that the stick was a living, breathing human, the walls would’ve been painted red with blood and organs. “CAN’T RUN AWAY WHEN YOUR SPINE’S BEEN SPLINTERED IN HALF! ILLUSO!”

Illuso? Why was he calling the mop Illuso? His teammate was standing meters away from him as he destroyed whatever was left of the mop. Was Formaggio possessed or going mental? “Are my eyes and ears playing tricks on me? Does he actually think the mop is me?” Illuso frightfully wondered, inching away from the ensuing madness. “Does… does he wholeheartedly wish to do those things to me? To kill me? What the actual hell is going on?”

Enough was enough, Ghiaccio stomped towards his gore-thirsty team member and spun him so their eyes met. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? That floor mop wasn’t cheap!” Bearing his teeth like a rabid animal, Formaggio wounded his fist and landed a mother-of-all punch that sent Ghiaccio hurling toward the opposite wall.

“Ghiaccio!” Illuso and Melone gasped. They sped over to their fallen friend. “Are you okay?” Melone lifted his shoulder. He was fine, but a bluish tinge was beginning to form on his left cheek.

Ghiaccio heaved. “That bastard… had no idea he could pack such a punch. But two can play at this game!” Formaggio threw his head back and let out a guttural groan. Not of anger, but pain.

“My stomach… it hurts. Ow… the pain… it’s piercing… did I get stabbed or what? My legs… I… can’t feel my legs…” No matter how hard he kept his legs straight, his knees buckled violently and he collapsed on the hard wooden floor. Curiously, the three men circled his body to get a better look at this strange phenomenon. In a pinch, their curiosity was soon replaced with dread. Formaggio’s flesh turned a clammy pale color and it moistened with sweat. His panting gradually quickened. It developed into a wheeze. He was losing oxygen. As they thought the situation couldn’t get any more bizarre, a yellowish liquid came forth out of Formaggio’s mouth, streaming out like a running faucet. And it didn’t stop, it just kept pouring and pouring out. Within moments, yellow puddles stretched across the floor. This wasn’t the medicine that Illuso gave him. It was his stomach bile. Melone frantically pressed the back of his hand to his teammate’s forehead. “He’s cold to the touch. He’s losing color!”

“Oh shit!”

“Get Risotto!”

“Someone call 911!”

“Risottooo!”

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

“Guys!? What’s happening to me!?”

Formaggio desperately called out to his teammates. However, not a peep came from his windpipe and he soon found himself slipping further and further out of consciousness like he was being dragged to the deepest depths of some unknown abyss. Is this what it’s like to push daisies? Was this how he was going down in history? In front of his friends? He was freezing. Could’ve curled himself into a ball if he could move, let alone shiver. His sight was coming and going. Sinking further. Drowning. His lungs bloated and full of whatever was coming out of him. This was it. He was going to die. How did he realize this? This was different. He’s heard from first-person accounts that folks who’ve suffered near-death experiences claimed every second of their lives flashed before them before ultimately cheating Death itself. As a hitman, he had his fair share of close calls and life flashes too. His mind flashed to the minute he was pushed out of his mom’s cooch, to completing his first step, crashing his first bike, failing his diploma, knocking his first bitch up, etcetera, etcetera. Formaggio’s mind didn’t flash back to those vital moments of his life as it did before. No, it projected something exponentially more terrifying. The future. He vividly pictured the doctor notifying his friends that their loved one couldn’t be saved and wasn’t coming back. Fast-forwarding to his friends peering down at him in his open casket, his corpse exhibiting faint regressions of decomposition. They’d muse how much of a disappointment he was, dying over something so silly as choking on one’s vomit. His vision segued to him underground in his cramped, airtight coffin, his body gradually decaying before him. His skin and muscles rotted to the bone. Maggots and worms chewing off any reminisce of what used to be his face. His face. It was an unnaturally pale blue. Besides the insects, his cheeks and under his eyes were entirely sunken in. Time had passed. For how long? How long was he dead? This wasn’t making any sense! He took every effort to scream and shout and make any loud noise in hopes of someone coming to the rescue. Nothing. He tried to bring up his fists or summon his Stand to break open the coffin door. He was paralyzed. Stiff. For all he knew, rigor mortis could’ve very well set in. It was too late for any soul to save him from this hell. Nobody could help even if they pushed to. His time was up. A lot sooner than he would’ve liked. There was no opportunity to say goodbye to his friends or make amends with Risotto. Why was he scared? Hitmen don’t cower in the face of Death. They fight to the very end. He couldn’t run or hide from this. He couldn’t do anything but succumb to this fate as he lay there frozen in time, Nature’s presence eroding whatever was left of his image. This was his fate. Everyone’s fate. It couldn’t be helped.

And then…

Pitch black…

———————————————————————

At peace.

That was the best way to describe this newfound awareness. No longer was Formaggio writhing in pain from his stomach or troubled by the loss of his existence. A cold feeling swept over him, but not the sharp, deathly chill he experienced beforehand. Rather, it was refreshing, like a sea breeze on a summer day. It was a sweet sensation. His back softly bobbed against the ground. It was as if he was… floating?

He peeked his eyes open. He can see! No more darkness, for it was replaced by an intensely brilliant ray of light that beamed over him. It would’ve completely decimated his eyeballs had they not’ve been protected by a weird teal, almost transparent liquid that swirled and bubbled his eyesight. It seemed almost nostalgic. Was he… underwater? Shallow water, to be exact. He tried to move. This time he was able to lift his head from the water. Once that goal had been achieved, he felt more comfortable sitting himself up. His face! In a panic, he checked his reflection in the water. To his greater relief, not a trace of decay, no sunken cheekbones, and no worms or maggots feasting on his flesh like an all-you-can-eat buffet! Just as gorgeous as he was when he took his last breath. Surprisingly, the saltwater didn’t burn his eyes or made his clothes uncomfortably cling to his body. But if he wasn’t alive, would the laws of physics apply to the afterlife? Who knows? But he did know that he was no longer stretched out on the kitchen floor. Better yet, he didn’t have a clue where he was.

The day was warm and the brightness of the Sun lit up the sky’s bluish hue. Wispy white clouds hovered high overhead and just below was a soaring flock of seagulls squawking away. The small tides gently fell against Formaggio’s back. The smaller ones pushed passed him, flooding up the smooth, sandy ground of a seashore. He had to wonder. Was this Heaven? “The” Heaven? Things weren’t adding up. A sinful man like him should be drowning in lakes of fire, not enjoying a day at the beach. Perhaps those holier-than-thou bible-thumping scholars had it all mixed up.

“Helloooo?”

“Risotto…?”

“Illuso…?

“Melone…?

“Anybody around?”

Utter silence. The only things he found on the shore were a couple of scattered palm trees and a vacant beach chair under a striped umbrella. Formaggio straightened himself up and walked over to the chair. His feet met the sand, the ground slightly damp but tepid from the Sun’s heat. When he made it to the chair, he turn to glance at the scene again. The sea was vast and clear like one would see on a brochure for those expensive-ass cruises to the Bahamas, far prettier than the murky, trash-filled ocean of New York, by a long shot.

With a hollow sigh, he leisurely slumped into the chair. This was the life, er- afterlife. All his troubles melted away. No more job, no more Stand User, no more rent, all it had to take was to die. He couldn’t even be bothered whether his friends were grieving or not. “Can’t be helped. I’m positive they’re happy I’m finally outta their hair anyway. Plus, I have a beach all to myself. It’s a win-win.” The shade from the umbrella, the faint salty aroma of the sea, the warmth of the sand over his ankles. He took it all in. This was Paradiso. His Paradiso.

“Hmm, this is great and all, but I wish alcohol wasn’t forbidden in Heaven, ‘cause I could go for a beer right about now.” When he said that, he felt something icy and wet in his left palm. What he saw made his jaw drop. In hand, was a nice cold one. Eagerly, he took a swig. The beer went smoothly down his gullet, it was so brisk and not too bitter. It burned just right. “Man, it’s great to be dead!”

“Hmm?”

Shifting his head to the right of him, a few yards away he spotted something he hasn’t seen since he got there. A newcomer. A young woman. Had to be more or less his age. Quite the looker if you asked him. Why was it always the good-looking ones to get offed first? She sure dressed for the occasion. It looked like a frilly bikini of some sort she was wearing. Could it be her death was drowning-related? She was kneeling on a dune, looking out to the ocean, seemingly entranced by its beauty and hardly noticing the man sitting close by. To say the day kept getting better and better for Formaggio was an understatement. He can reside in his heaven with a bottle in one hand and a cute beach babe in the other. Crossing his fingers that there’d be more to come.

Pursing his lips into an “o” shape, he let out a high-pitched warble. Her ears perked. When she glanced over, he got a better look at her appearance. Her pale complexion had no faults, it gleamed brightly like a diamond. Bright olive eyes. Ruby lips. She had long hair. Really, really, long red hair. It was pulled into one thick braid that draped down her back and snaked onto the sand. Each lock was puffed out like a bubble. Sweet, he hit the jackpot! He made two clicks with his tongue and shot her a wink. At first, the girl did nothing. She gandered; confused, yet intrigued. Then it donned on her. She whistled back at him, made two tongue clicks, and winked. Formaggio took note that she didn’t copy him to reciprocate his flirty intentions. On the contrary, she wore a blank expression and her movements were verbatim to his. It seemed like a greeting.

No more fooling around. Formaggio got up from his spot and approached the mystery woman. The sand was looser and warmer than before. He kneeled “extra cozy” beside her. She didn’t mind at all, still very much engrossed by the rolling waves. “Nice view, am I right?” Formaggio purred, giving her another cheeky wink. No response. He was invisible to her. Geez, tough crowd, he thought. What did she take him for? A ghost? Perhaps a nonchalant approach could get a conversation going. “So, what do you dead folk normally do for fun here?”

“Hmm?” She turned again. Finally, a breakthrough. “Dead… folk?”

“Uh yeah, dead. Croaked. Taken out. Daisies pushed. No longer alive- kinda dead.”

“Dead? Dead…” She tapped her finger to her chin. “I don’t know. I don’t know that word.” She returned her gaze to the ocean. Poor thing. Must be in denial.

So… now what?

“‘Kay chump, pull yourself together,” Formaggio affirmed in his mind. “You’ve encountered bigger bimbos in the past, but don’t throw in the towel yet. If you do, you’ll miss out big time on some heavenly coitus! First thing that comes to mind! Anything!” The crashing sea swells. That’ll do. “I can hear those waves for hours,” he sighed, laying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head. “Don’t you agree?”

“… I don’t hear anything…” She replied flatly.

“Oh, I see how it is, hehehe!” Formaggio thrusted himself up. The girl instinctively flinched. Did this chick think she can play hard to get and get away with it? “Only a major blockhead living under a boulder wouldn’t catch the sound of the sea. ‘You telling me you’ve never heard the ocean before? Or are you fucking with me? You must be fucking with me.” Sure had the time of his afterlife toying with her features, bopping her nose and stretching her cheeks.

“I’ve seen them before!” The lady cried out defensively, slapping his hands away. The sudden reaction had Formaggio withdrawing from her. She wasn’t strong by any means but his fingertips stung from the slap. “I’m not dumb! Got it? I’ve seen pictures of them in my storybooks, okay?” She cupped her palms over her eyes. Her outburst simmered. “Y-You don’t have to be so mean to m-me. Why are you so mean…?” Her frustration dropped to a pitiful stammer. Reminded him how a child speaks after a tantrum subsides, fully coming to the gravity of their actions. Oh, this chick was dead serious. Formaggio settled back down, this time sitting cross-legged. He rubbed the back of his head. Should he laugh or feel sorry for this sheltered attitude? Or was it airheadedness? Kind of hard to tell at this point. “It’s not like my ears are broken,” she fumbled. “Right now, the only things I can pick up are your voice and mine. Who knew the ocean had a voice? Does everything have a voice?”

“Geez lady, you’re a trip. Must’ve dropped your brain out your ear before dippin’ your toes in the water.”

A whimper bubbled from her lips followed by a sharp sniffle. Just terrific, he made her cry. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. Formaggio was beginning to get peeved, but he didn’t want to lose his chance of getting to first base. He wrapped his arms over her curled back and pulled her into his chest. It was an awkward hug, to say the least. “Hey, hey, don’t cry! I was pushing your buttons is all. C’mon, no need for the waterworks. Beautiful babes shouldn’t waste their energy and $50 mascara blubbering over petty quips.” Who’d expect that when you die, you’re assigned as an eternal babysitter for the stupid? Not Formaggio.

“Huh? What?” The lady ceased her bitch crying. “Beautiful? You think I’m… beautiful?”

“Uhm, sure.”

Her moist eyes bore into his. She blinked, paused, then blinked again. Her whole face reddened like a cherry tomato. Lips pursed into a smile. That one word sent her into a fit of giddy squeals. Beautiful. Nobody had ever addressed her in that way before. She happily bounced up and down in his lap. Well, this was certainly peaches and cream. Whatever. Formaggio was grateful he got her to stop crying. “Little too excited there, eh? Now that’s what I call a 180. Phew,” he reclined his back on the sand, the lady laying right on top of him. “We hardly reached the first base and I’m already pooped. You’re quite the handful, cara. Cute, but a handful.”

She giggled again. “Ooo are those, what were they called again…? Oh, clouds!” She dragged her index finger to the sky. “They’re so puffy! Like in my storybooks!” Formaggio cocked his head down at his chest. “Storybooks?” He mused to himself. “Reminds me of a certain manchild I used to live with. A crybaby who drowns himself in milk and cries for an hour over stubbing his toe going up the stairs. They’d be the best of friends if Pesci drops dead anytime soon.” Thoughts aside, Formaggio wasn’t going to question it. He’d play it cool so as long as the woman wouldn’t have another meltdown and he’d be rewarded with some divine consensual fun later.

“They’re cool, right?” He pointed to a cloud. “That one looks like hmm… a cat.”

“Oh, you’re right!” She clapped. “I’ve seen a cat in my storybooks too!”

“Right.” He turned to another cloud. “And that one looks like… a banana!”

“Oohhhh, I know what that is!” She chirped.

“No kidding! Let me guess, you saw one in your storybooks?”

“Yeah!” They both laughed, for different reasons. Odd to admit, but Formaggio was starting to warm up to the eccentric stranger. Her gullibility was somehow charming, mostly because he had a riot fucking around with her and seeing her react so straightforwardly.

“And that one looks like… a Matador Red 1957 Chevy Bel Air Convertible!”

Her face twisted in confusion. “… That’s a weird word. I never heard that one before… what’s a Maud-ador Nine-teenth Fifty-Seven Cheddy Hot Air Concherj-uhhhhhh…?”

Formaggio snickered. “I’m guessing that ISN’T in any of your storybooks. It’s a car.”

“A car? What’s that?”

“It’s like uh, a machine that takes you places.” Couldn’t believe he was educating a 20-something-year-old dead chick what the definition of a motor vehicle was.

“Hm?”

“You know…” Spotting a nearby stick, he doodled a misshapen diagram of a car into the sand with it. “It’s like a little room with chairs in it and below the chairs are some wheels that move the room anywhere you wanna go. Now I ain’t no mechanic, but can’t forget to mention the steering wheel and the gas pedal and the brake system. They may sound trivial, but you’d be surprised how vital they are. Those things help you reach your destination. Yeah, that sums up what a car is.” The girl marveled at such a technological concept. A room that takes you places? Beyond words! Why, if she could get her hands on one of those, that could be her ticket to escaping her ro-…

This man. Who was he? Had to be someone with the utmost importance being so knowledgeable of things. She’s never seen such a phenomenon in her whole existence… until now. Her face flushed again. Formaggio lowly chuckled, leaning down with his lips puckered. “Now how’s about we take a break from this car talk and discuss something a bit more… dirt- HEY!” An unexpected sensation trailed up his cheek. It was wet and coarse like a soaked piece of sandpaper. He spotted the lady’s tongue peeking from her lips.

“DID YOU JUST LICK MY FACE!?”

Instead of apologizing or refraining, she licked him again. While aware he had his fair share of kinky interests, this was not one of them. Formaggio used whatever energy to shove her off but she surprisingly overpowered him. She straddled on top of his chest and resumed the tongue bath. “Gah! Quit it! You’re tickling me!” He sputtered between words. He pushed her chest by crossing his arms into an “X” shape, but his attempt to remove her was futile. “I’m all for trying new things, but I appreciate we’d take this session further down south if you get the idea…!” Formaggio’s vision faded, it was that sinking feeling he felt prior. Formaggio’s vision gradually waned into darkness, it was that sinking feeling he felt prior. Not the frantic feeling of dying, but more like slowly waking from a dream.

“No stop… hehehe… cut it out~… weirdo, you’re not a…”

“Cat.”

His eyes blinked open. Staring back at him wasn’t human. Indeed, it was a cat. No less a familiar one. His gray baby. Her little tongue poked out. “Awww, my pretty girl!” Formaggio scooped his pet by her underbelly and smooshed her into an embrace, much to the cat’s dismay. “I missed you so muuuch~! I thought I’d never see you again!” He exclaimed as he peppered her with kisses. Once he finished giving his cat some one-sided smoochin’, he came to the realization that he was no longer on the beach. It was a lot darker than he recollected and he wasn’t chilling on the warm sandy dunes, but in a bed instead. The cries of seagulls were replaced with boops and beeps of machinery. “Hold the phone. This ain’t the beach.”

“You’re in the hospital.”

Formaggio recognized that voice from anywhere. In the darkest corner of the room, a shadowy figure stood next to the window. Was he seeing straight? Formaggio rubbed his eyes and refocused them. Nope, they weren’t fooling him. The moonlight shined to reveal bits of the figure’s face.

“B-Boss!”

Risotto leisurely approached the bed. “Glad you’re awake. You gave us all a scare.”

“You croaked too!?” Formaggio blurted.

“… What?”

Was he… alive? No way! This had to be a dream! A sick trick God was playing on him! He couldn’t possibly be alive and breathing. Formaggio saw it with his own eyes! He was lying there lifeless in his coffin! There was no chance in hell he could’ve imagined all that! He grabbed the edges of his face, then patted around his cheeks and pinched his earlobes and nose. There was physical feeling in his face. Still, this was too surreal to be true.

“I-I’m dead! I saw it! You guys- you guys were there paying your respects! I remember it like it was yesterday! And- I was in the ground rotting to the bone! There were maggots! And bugs! They were chewing at my face! Everything went black! Then I reached Heaven! I met a hot lady there! And- and! I have to get up!”

“No! I wouldn’t-!”

Formaggio didn’t pay heed to Risotto’s warnings, he scrambled out of bed but couldn’t get his footing and he tumbled onto the frigid vinyl tiling. It didn’t take long for him to notice there was something wrong with him from the waist down.

“M-My legs! I can’t feel anything! DID YOU BRING ME BACK TO THE DEAD OR SOMETHIN’!? I CAN’T FEEL MY FUCKING LEGS! THIS IS SOME EVIL DEAD TYPE SHIT!”

“Breathe.” Risotto grazed his hand on top of his teammate’s fuzzy noggin. “Deep breaths. Panicking won’t do you any good. Everything will be fine, but you gotta let me explain what happened.” Formaggio inhaled and heaved a few times. His throat had a lasting burning pain. Kind of felt like someone shoved a hot tube down his esophagus. Was it from beforehand when he was throwing up bile? After a couple of minutes of taking big breaths, Risotto hoisted him up bridal-style and lowered him back on the bed. He then held Formaggio’s annoyed cat in his arms and handed her to his teammate, receiving an angry swat and a hiss for putting her in such a distasteful position. It didn’t bother Risotto in the slightest. “Here. I figured bringing Baby would ease your nerves.”

“How did you get her in? I don’t suppose pets are allowed in the hospital.” Despite how dark the room was, Formaggio could see Risotto’s hands and wrists covered in fresh claw marks.

“With this.” Risotto took a small, shiny object from his jacket pocket. It was a broken piece of glass. “We learned the hard way that your cat dislikes being picked up. Lu found this on the ground when the ambulance drove you to the ICU. We kept her hidden inside the Mirror World for the time being.”

“Oh…”

“Anyways, let me set things straight. You never died. Far from it. The medical staff found that your intestines had some blockage so the doctor performed an emergency gastric lavage to relieve it.”

“Break it down, man. I don’t speak fancy medical jargon.”

“They pumped your stomach.” Welp, that explained the throat irritation. “They were also able to collect a sample of your stomach acid.”

“‘Kay. So what did they find?”

“Nothing yet. That’s what we’re boggled about. The doctor thought originally you were having complications from the stomach flu until the others told him about the Kaopectate. They said you were limping around the apartment and smashing shit. We have zero clue what was going through that head of yours. You must’ve been experiencing bouts of hallucinations, which is why the others were worried they might’ve OD’d you. By the time I ran up to you, you were passed out on the floor, choking on your vomit.” Risotto paused, pushing his sunglasses up his face. “So no definite results yet, but the doctor has a theory. Whatever was in your system must’ve been from the day before, the stomach medicine you were given wasn’t the cause. Alas, that’s not a good thing. If it was the medicine, he could’ve gotten all of it out but because so much time had passed, your body absorbed the contents that made you ill. Doc said he’s never seen a case like yours in his entire career.”

“So just to recap. You’re saying whatever I ingested sometime before today caused the hallucinations and the-.”

“Paralysis. Yes. Don’t freak out. The doctor guarantees it’s only temporary. When you were checked in, your legs were completely flaccid but after the medical team stabilized you, they saw faint signs of movement in your legs and ankles. You’ll have full use of them, but the doctor anticipates it could take a few days to fully heal and since your results are coming back inconclusive, he would like to do more testing. In the meantime, he insists you stay the next few nights. We’ll check up on you every day until you make a complete recovery.”

Formaggio shot straight up from his pillow. “Next few nights!? But I’ll miss more work! They’ll fire me!”

“Take it easy.” Risotto nudged him back down. “I made a call to the store in regards to the issue. According to Buggle, I have to hand Janis a hospital note every day until they release you. They can’t touch you as long as I can show proof to her. As it should, this was out of your control.”

Formaggio sighed reluctantly. “Alright… but… what about pay? In fact, how much were the hospital expenses? It’s not like we’re covered by insurance or anything…” Risotto hesitated to reply. “Boss,” Formaggio spoke with grave concern. “How much was all this?”

“The hospital bill read… over 6,000 dollars.”

“6,000 dollars!?”

“For three days. That’s if you can make a quick recovery.”

“Three days!? Christ on a stick…” He buried his frustration into his pillow. “First they snatch your paycheck and now I put the whole team into debt!” Slowly lifting his face, he hissed, “And that tub of lard had the gall to call us fuckin’ slackers...”

Risotto settled on the edge of the bed. “What’s done is done. Being angry won’t fix anything. It can’t be helped. Does that ring a bell?”

Formaggio’s eyes turned into tiny slits. “… I’ve witnessed how she treats you… how can you stand there and let her walk all over you? You think your worth is less than a flight of stairs?”

“None of this is new. We’ve dealt with people like her in the past. Besides, her insults hold no weight to me. Believe me, it’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is.” Formaggio averted his eyes away from his friend, looking at his right hand that was hooked onto an IV. “In all my years of being a hitman, we’ve been pushed and shoved and treated like the scum of the earth. The second we push back, they wring us by the neck. Now all of a sudden you think this is all fine and dandy? We’ve put our asses on the line with little to no payoff. Stop pretending it’s okay. You know it isn’t. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair…” Formaggio circled figure-eights into the grayish tufts covering Baby’s belly. He contemplated, “To think… things were looking up. That’s why I’m pissed. Part of me was beginning to get sentimental about this new life. That sweet taste of freedom that was ours for the taking. To be rewarded, to be acknowledged that you did something right for once in your life...” He shook his head. “But it was all a load of blarney, was it?”

Risotto was bereft of speech. This was the same goofy man with the most hang-loose temperament he knew for almost seven long years. He wouldn’t expect Formaggio, of all his teammates, to be so outspoken about their grievances. Ghiaccio was the one to take that cake.

“It’s unfortunate, really. Guess I gotta agree, crying like a bitch won’t do me any good. Can’t be helped. You must think I’m the biggest jackass for how I treated you over that stupid writeup.”

“Once a jackass, always a jackass.” Risotto deadpanned, Formaggio replied to that with a half-chuckle. “Tell you the truth… I prayed moving here was going to work out in our favor. You men have been through thick and thin the last couple years. I never wished for it to be this way. It’s better to resume life in ignorant bliss than to be stuck between the past and the now. I wanted to give you the quietest life imaginable. It doesn’t seem like it right this second, but once we off the perp, things will settle down for sure. I even thought about treating you all when this is over. It can be dinner or a beach day. Really don’t care what we do, but I wholeheartedly believe you deserve something for all your hard work.”

“Goddammit man… why… why are you being so real with me?” Formaggio gawked at his friend. “All this time I’ve been a complete and utter jerkwad to you and you could’ve been better off leaving my dumbass on the floor to die…”

“Because the only things we have left are each other. If we lose one more per-... if we lose anyone from our team, our foundation will crumble and we’d be in utter shambles and I can’t afford that. What I’m saying is, none of you are replaceable.”

Formaggio lowered his eyes down to his hand. The fact that his team went out of their way to save him, to check up on him, to even get his freakin’ cat for him… if they genuinely didn’t care, they would’ve let him lay there and succumb to his illness. Fuck… he was a jackass. An ungrateful jackass. And how did he repay them? By handing them a whopping 6000 dollars worth of hospital fees on a fucking platter. Hell, couldn’t even spare the price of getting a silver one. It would take ten paychecks to scarcely reach 1,500 bucks. And that was just the icing on the shit cake. He would get to rest easy while the others had to get up every sunrise and endure 9 to 12 hours of being browbeaten by a two-inch tyrant and her army of dick-riding asskissers. His heart burned. Not of anguish, but resolve. A resolve hotter than any sun known to man. With his head lifted and his chest puffed out, he declared:

“Risotto Nero. Starting now, things will be different. I’ve owed you debt since the day we met. It’s my turn to return the favor. I’ll be damned if you gotta squander a single penny on me and if you do, I’ll beat your ass and/or die trying. Just you fucking wait, when I leave this godforsaken hospital you bet your whole life I’m gonna work longer and harder. I’ll demand extra hours! I’ll look into getting a second job! I can even squeeze in overnights! If I make extra dough, I’ll pitch in for rent! Food! Anything! That’s a promise!”

“… That’s the spirit.”

———————————————————————

As Risotto and Formaggio resumed their heart-to-heart chat, most of co. achingly waited down in the hospital’s lobby. It was stupid of Risotto to drag them there. It had to be the early hours of the new day, they should’ve stayed back at the apartment to get some shuteye. Pesci killed some time with a very shocking tabloid magazine, Melone was slumped in his seat snoozing away, and Ghiaccio lowly cursed under his breath with a makeshift ice pack held close to his cheek. Prosciutto joined them after finishing some quick business in the restroom.

“How bad is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…?”

“Show me!” He gripped Ghiaccio’s wrist and twisted it back to reveal the bruise. Way worse than he expected. Not only Ghiaccio’s cheek was swollen and severely purple, but it spread underneath his bottom lid. Formaggio was one centimeter shy of blasting their teammate’s eye out of existence. “Merda. He gave you a good shiner. Quite a relief your glasses weren’t crushed this time.”

Ghiaccio jerked his hand back. “Gotta hand it to the bastard. ‘Guess being single and lonely truly has its perks.”

“You’re lucky. If he bopped ya any higher, you’d be left with nothing but a big gaping hole where your eye used to sit…”

“Heh. Big whoop. I’ll just purchase some flashy fake eye. No one will be none the wiser. You would know, right Captain Forehead?”

One of the overnight nurses approached the crew. “Do you boys need anything?” She asked Ghiaccio. “Would you like me to grab you more ice?”

“Boys? Who you callin’ boys? Do we look like a bunch of kindergarteners to you, lady? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something? Buzz off!” Ghiaccio gritted his teeth, he was in no mood to be babied by anyone.

Prosciutto turned to face the nurse. “Don’t mind the grump. He’s late for his beauty nap. We’re fine, thank you…”

“Gah! How much longer is he gonna be up there?” Ghiaccio whined. “It’s not like the dingbat’s awake or anything. God, our boss better not be talking to himself. This sucks! I wanna go home!”

“You don’t know that, he could be awake by now,” Prosciutto glared, slipping a slap right in the back of Ghiaccio’s head. “And can you quit bitching? Like that’s gonna make him come down sooner. Hell, Boss offered to take you upstairs with him, but you decided to stay down with us and pout over not getting your 8-hour siesta.”

“You act like this is all my fault!” Ghiaccio argued. “Don’t point that high and mighty finger of yours at me just because I’d rather not clock in tomorrow feeling like shit, thank you.”

“Well, you can start by taking notes.” Prosciutto pointed at Melone, whose body slid off the chair with his head now on the seat and his bum on the floor. Despite the uncomfortable-looking position, he snored away.

“Hmph, whatever.”

“Unless of course, the real reason you didn’t go up with our boss is ‘cause you’re too afraid to be in the same room with him?”

“No!” Ghiaccio crossed his arms and sulked. He murmured, “It’s complicated…”

———————————————————————

Risotto tenderly closed the door behind him. Before he closed it completely, he got one last view of his friend who tuckered himself out and was fast asleep again. The sentimental scene was cut short when Baby resumed hissing and spitting at him. Risotto carefully held the cat under his jacket and made the trip down the dull blue corridor where nurses rushed to and fro, oblivious to the very livid feline trying and failing to break loose from the man’s jacket. Risotto cringed a little when the cat got a good swipe at his chest. It would’ve been far easier doing this in Formaggio’s room, but Illuso was in no mood to interact close to Formaggio, despite hanging inside the Mirror World. The pungent scent of urine filled his nostrils. Risotto spotted a nearby bathroom. When he entered the latrines, the stench became worse. He pushed a stall door and promptly walked into it. He pulled out the glassy shard and the cat, who was even more hostile than before.

Risotto tapped the mirror shard twice, then to avoid the same fate from his prior accident, he delicately slipped the feline in front of the mirror shard and without a hitch, the cat was snatched from the other side. He tapped the shard again. “You can come out now,” he whispered. “I’m in a bathroom stall.” His whispers were met with silence. “Are you still moping? He didn’t mean any of it. Just come out already.” After a still minute, Illuso’s hand steadily came out of the shard, followed by his arm, then the top of his head. Little by little, he pulled himself out until he flopped onto the floor. Lifting his head, Risotto almost shuddered upon the sight of a ginormous scratch crossing from one side of Illuso’s mug to the other. “I’m beginning to like his cat more than him.”

“Relax. He wasn’t thinking straight.” Risotto held Illuso by the forearm and helped him up. Opening the stall door, he gestured for the taller man to step out first.

“I AM relaxed. It’s just… you had to be there to understand.” They exited the bathroom and headed down the hallway. Illuso continued to rant. “Why only me? Mentioned nothing about Officer Grammar or the Masked Nuisance, just me. Might I add he didn’t just break the damn thing, he obliterated it. That little maniac was filled with bloodlust. Tearing my head off this, cracking my spine in half that.” He grew eerily quiet. “I knew he couldn’t stand me but goddamn… what other things does he wanna do to me…? You don’t suppose he’d-?”

“He would never!” Risotto abruptly cut him off. His face and tone were grave, appeared as if Illuso slapped him across the face. A moment later, Risotto simmered. “Trust me. He cares about you. A whole lot. When I told him what you guys told me, he was riddled with guilt. Even if he was the type of guy to plan on hurting you or the others, he’d have to get to me first.”

“Sure…” They were about to reach the elevator but something made Illuso freeze. Instinctively, he surged around. There wasn’t a patient or nurse in sight. No patient calling out for assistance, no sound of footsteps coming from staff, and he didn’t even see any doctors around the perimeter.

“What’s wrong?” Risotto asked.

“Have you noticed this place got painfully quiet out of nowhere? Or is it just me…?” Illuso darted his eyes. The pit of his stomach churned. Risotto nodded in agreement.

“Yes, it did get silent. Get behind me.”

Risotto gradually took a couple of steps forward, he too felt a sudden chill. No way could’ve been Ghiaccio’s ability, but it was like someone blasted the air conditioning to oblivion. Then… laughter. It echoed far down the hall. It wasn’t contemptuous, rather it was childlike. They interpreted that it belonged to a young girl. It was followed by a sound that reminded them of a horse’s hooves on a hard surface. Risotto swore it was coming from…

“Formaggio.”

Risotto sprinted down the hall. “Hurry! It’s coming from Formaggio’s room!” Illuso followed his capo as they made it down to Formaggio’s room in hot pursuit. They busted down the door, expecting someone or something to attack their friend. But to both men’s shock, there was nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Formaggio was out cold, his vitals appeared normal. His heart rate would’ve been elevated had this unforeseen force harmed him in any way.

“Search the room,” Risotto ordered. Illuso flicked the light switch on. The men scouted for anything suspicious. Nothing behind the curtain, not under the bed, not by the monitors. Even the laughter and clomping had ceased. They inspected Formaggio’s body. Risotto felt his forehead, no fever or anything alarming. His skin wasn’t cold or pale. No signs of distress. He was… normal. It was like their minds made it all up. They shut off the lights and closed the door behind them. They made it back to the elevator not a word from either of them. They entered it, Risotto pushed a button, and they descended.

Illuso was the first to speak “… Why were we in Formaggio’s room again?”

“… What are you even talking about…?”

———————————————————————

Another day, another dollar they say. It was the early dawn of the next day. ShopSmart Mart was filled to the brim with customers. Cashiers painstakingly pushed food items under the scanner like there was no tomorrow. Regulars were moping and doping over the lines being too long and the occasional know-it-all soccer mom shouting for the manager over her expired coupon not scanning through. And where was Ashanti or Janis in a time like this? There they were, casually strolling down the back hallway surrounded by the offices, far from all the chaos.

“Soooooo? How’s my favorite person feeling today?”

“Ha! Like a million bucks! Took a day but I feel back to my old self! No! Better even! I feel like a new woman!”

Ashanti squealed joyously. “Kyahhh~! I’m so relieved to hear that! You can’t fathom how worried I was! I slaved over a hot stove all night making my momma’s famous chicken noodle soup just for you and only youuu~! It’s no problem though, I saved all of it in some Tupperware so you can eat it whenever you like~!” Out of thin air, Ashanti held out a ginormous container of soup.

“… Yes sirree, I’m a fighter! Came to work with this stupid bug! No longer that my stomach feels like it’s turning inside out and no longer do I yearn for any shred of affection for that man! I’m cured!” That very moment, the plastic container crashed on the floor, spilling all its contents everywhere. Ashanti rushed to Janis in a panic.

“Wha-? Huh? Affection!? You mean Giacomo!? HIM!? Y-You didn’t tell me anything about fawning over him! He’s terrible. He’s the sole reason you were feeling so sick!” That jerk made her freaking steam. One of these days, Ashanti was going to rip his damn head clean off for hurting Lady Janis on that terrible, fateful day.

“Oh hush, silly girl. What’s gotten into you overreacting like that? Did you turn off your hearing or what? I just said I didn’t like him. You make it sound as if I planned on running away with that bozo. Geez… you must not trust me or something.”

Phew, what a relief. Ashanti giggled abashedly. “Oh, right. Haha, sorry, Miss Janis. Not at all. You just caught me off guard is all.”

“Bah, typical you. Always a thousand what-if scenarios racing through that noggin of yours. You couldn’t last a day without me, sweetheart.”

“Hehehe, aw shucks.” Passing by an office, the phone began to ring. “I’ll get it~!” Ashanti skipped to the phone and picked it up. She chirped. “This is Ashanti~~! How may I direct your call~? Huh- uh. Huh- uh. Yeah. Oh… okay.” She hung up the phone. Her bubbly disposition faded, it was replaced by a stern, almost cold glare. “Another worker. Another worker in the hospital. Such a shame.”

“Oh, great. Let me guess, in the ER for sneezing softly? Gimme a break…” They exited the hallway and into the Front-End area. “No one can know.” She spoke gruffly to her subordinate. Ashanti nodded. Janis was the first to lead away, leaving Ashanti in her tracks. The girl quickly noted a familiar swirly-haired man standing some yards away from her perimeter, his back towards her. She exhaled and forced her mouth back into her irritatingly iconic smile.

“Oh yoohooooooo! Gio-kins!” She sprung her heel over to her associate. “Just the boy I wanted to see! Have you finally made a decision for- GAHH!” She spun Ghiaccio around, just to be welcomed by his bulging, discolored cheek. She jumped a couple of inches back. “Oh my gawd! What happened to you?” She held his face and checked him all over. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Were you jumped? Was it the guys who were bullying you? It had to be the guys who were bullying you! Would you like some soup?” Ghiaccio went to protest, but he was cut off by a spoon driven into his mouth. ‘The hell did she get the spoon from!? He spat out the soupy contents.

“Sorry, it’s a little cold.”

“I don’t want your goddamn soup! Leave me alone!” He stormed off but Ashanti grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back. “Please, tell me what happened! I want to help! Seeing you in such a state makes me anxious! Please tell me. Please, please, please!”

“If I tell you, will you leave me the fuck alone?”

“Language… but yes.”

He bluffed. “I tripped…”

“On a fist?” She asked innocently.

“No!”

“That doesn’t look like a bruise you get from falling.” She remarked suspiciously, cocking an eyebrow. Dammit! He didn’t want anyone to know he got slugged by his teammate who was far less superior in terms of combat. He’d die of embarrassment! “To tell you the truth… I was walking home with my brother and this asshole tried stealing his purse. I chased after the mugger who took my brother’s purse but I tripped on a porch railing. Don’t ask how, it doesn’t matter. I whaled the guy and got the stupid purse back. The end. Happy now?”

Ashanti looked like she was about to cry. She wrapped her slender arms around Ghiaccio and pulled him into a tight squeeze. “Oh my gawd~! You’re so brave! So, so, so brave! It takes a lot of guts to stand up to a bully like that! You’re a hero, Giogio!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, can you let go now?” Ashanti released him but left her hand on his shoulder. “Can I go?” Ghiaccio asked impatiently.

“One more thing.” Ashanti moved in and planted a kiss on his bruised cheek. Wasn’t a peck either. Like a three-second smooch. She pulled herself up and giggled. “Just a little reward for “my” hero.” She turned her heel, happily humming away. Behind Ghiaccio, he made out what sounded like jeering. Oh, brother, he didn’t need to turn around to know those were the same three annoying brats harassing him since day one.

“Hey, careful man! She’s taken!”

“If ya ask nicely, he might lend her to you for the night!”

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t hog her! We wanna piece too! Don’t be greedy!”

Ghiaccio was steaming red. A slew of emotions twisted his stomach. Embarrassed because he was being mocked in public. Disgusted because that slag had the balls to press those filthy, wretched lips to his cheek. Angry… because he was fucking embarrassed, that’s why! He marched over to the Courtesy Desk. “Oi!” He called out to his teammate. “Where do we keep the gallons of bleach?”

“Uhh, Aisle 12…” Melone pointed down the aisle. “Why?”

“Asking for a customer,” he grumbled, marching over to the aisle.

———————————————————————

“Geez fellas, I’m really glad you’re here.” Formaggio beamed. The day turned into evening and the others came back to the hospital to visit their friend. Formaggio’s health and mood improved immensely. No more stomach cramps or vomiting episodes, his fever broke, and he even began getting feeling in his feet and legs again.

“We’re glad to be here too.” Prosciutto patted him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, me too, but can we leave tonight at a decent curfew and NOT at two in the morning?” Ghiaccio complained, letting out a huge yawn.

“We won’t this time,” assured Risotto, as he turned back to Formaggio. “We’re all very relieved that you’re making a speedy recovery.”

Formaggio tilted his head to the side, he saw a certain long-haired son of a bitch brooding by the doorframe. “Well, almost everyone.” Illuso huffed, rolling his eyes. Jesus, was he honestly that bothered about yesterday? “Dude, I said I was sorry. You can’t stay mad at me forever.” The taller man continued to ignore him. “Pfft, fine. Stay mad, you’ll come around.”

“Look what the nurse gave us?” Melone chirped, bringing over a metal tray. “Dinner time!”

“Thank the lord, I am starving,” Formaggio exclaimed. Melone placed the tray in front of his teammate. Formaggio’s giddiness was replaced with sheer disappointment. That night’s menu called for: Goopy, fart-green pea stew and bottled water. He stared at it hesitantly for some time.

“What did you expect? It’s hospital food, not Lombardi’s-on-the-Bay. Go on, eat.” Prosciutto adjured, pushing the tray closer. Formaggio shakily picked the tray of soup to his lips. He counted backward.

“3… 2… 1.” He downed it like a shot of Fireball. Initially okay, his face contorted from the godawful flavor. “Gahhh! That was so gross! I bet swamp water tastes like fine wine compared to this! I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy!” He frantically chugged his water as if his life depended on it.

“My god, you’re such a drama queen,” Prosciutto swiped a bit of the stew with his finger and smacked his lips. “See it’s-,” the aftertaste hit his tastebuds. It was the most wretched thing he had ever tasted. Regardless, he kept his composure. “It’s not *hic* half bad.”

Later into the night, Formaggio recalled what he had seen during his little scare. “You guys should’ve seen it! The shore was so breathtaking! It was great! The water, the sand, the beer! It felt all too real and it was all mine! Oh! And I met a hottie with a body! Pretty damn ditzy, but hey, I like women like I like my champagne; bubbly.”

“I’m sure she likes you like she likes her champagne; locked in a cellar,” Ghiaccio cackled as he slapped the tray, the others joining in too, even Formaggio agreed it was funny.

“Good one, asshole,” Formaggio smugly grinned. “Who would’ve thought you had a sense of humor?”

“Not to break up the good vibes, but I need to ask you a few things before we hit the road.” Risotto spoke up.

“Sure, man.”

“Can you recollect everything that you ate from the day before you collapsed? Something stuck out to me last night. When we got back to the apartment, I recalled the other day when Janis tweaked out. The thing I’m most intrigued about are the hallucinations. Such aggression. It sounded like what you experienced. Perhaps both cases are connected somehow? But we should start with what you ingested leading up to your episode. Do you remember what you ate?”

“Hmm,” Formaggio thought long and hard. Not like it was a long time ago, but he wanted to recall as accurately as possible. “Let’s see. For breakfast that day I had, milk and bread… for lunch, I stopped by that food truck that parks by our work sometimes. Y’know the one that steams all their shit in beer? Yeah, that one. I bought myself a chili dog with a side of cajun fries. Didn’t finish all of it, I left it in the fridge. Finally, for dinner, we had that ramen spaghetti stuff. That was it.”

“Alright. Can you recall drinking anything that day?”

“Just water.”

“Very well.” Risotto lifted himself from his seat. “We’re gonna hit the road. You were a big help listing everything you ate. While you rest up here, I’m going to investigate what made you sick.” He faced Melone. “I’m gonna need your assistance. Will your Stand be able to analyze the components within samples that aren’t human DNA? Could it track possible chemicals in contaminated food?”

“I suppose so,” Melone scratched his head. “My Stand mostly focuses on analyzing a person’s genetics beneficial to creating the perfect homunculus. It wouldn’t hurt to try though.”

“Then it’s settled.” The team was about to leave in an orderly fashion before Formaggio beckoned them to return.

“Hey wait, I gotta ask.” Risotto approached the bed. “Why were you staring at me over my bed last night? It was pretty creepy…”

“What? What are you talking about? I don’t remember this.”

“I do. I fell asleep sometime after one in the morning. I woke up and the clock struck three. I wasn’t completely awake. The room was dark and my sight was super fuzzy, but I could tell it was you. It had to be you. There isn’t another soul I know whose eyes are black. They were the only thing I could make out perfectly. I called out to you, but you ignored me. You only kept lurking overhead. It felt like a good 10 minutes before I drifted back to sleep. It was weird. Another thing, I tried squinting my eyes to see better, I don’t how you hid them but I couldn’t see your arms. You had no limbs. Your arms were gone. I woke up later that morning and I found this strange ashy powder all over my bedsheets. What in the world were you doing while I was snoozing, Ris? Ris? Ris…?”

Formaggio shifted his head to see the others’ faces flush sickly pale. How could it have been Risotto, if they left the hospital at 2 am? Reality slowly began to set in, the mortifying truth made his intestines twist. That thing he encountered the night before was not his capo. Whoever it was, or whatever it was, it certainly didn’t have innocent intentions. Just what in God’s name was following them…?

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

Another sleepless night for Risotto. Big friggin’ whoop-dee-do. No matter. By the crack of dawn, he was back on the bus heading to the hospital. His stomach was torn with contention. Formaggio was in no shape to come home and needed more testing done, but whatever happened the night before was… it was… what was it again? No. Something was wrong. Very wrong. How was he forgetting so much recently? Could it be from stress? Not a chance. He had long been acquainted with high levels of stress since the age of fourteen. Things weren’t adding up. There was no time to sit back and relax. He had to get to the bottom of this. “You’re over-exerting yourself. He’ll be fine.” It didn’t matter how many times he repeated that in his head, there was that wretched feeling that once he make it to the room, he’d find his friend under a cold white sheet. The next block was the hospital. That was Risotto’s cue. He pulled the string to signal the bus to let him off. Once he stepped off the bus, he was already by the front entrance. He inhaled deeply then entered slowly until he reached the front desk. “Excuse me. I usually come in during the evening, but I’m visiting my brother. Last name, Sordino.”

“I’m gonna need more than just a last name, sweetheart.” The receptionist responded nonchalantly. She was more concerned about filing paperwork than giving the man her undivided attention.

“First name, Giorgio.”

“Oh, right… he’s not here.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re not mistaken.” She flipped through the papers and pulled out a file. She read it out loud to him, “Name, Giorgio Sordino. Age, 27. Stayed in Room B-206 on the fourth floor… yep, he checked out this morning.”

“Checked out? He hasn’t even stayed for the three nights. Who on earth checked him out?”

“Himself.”

“What!?”

“Oh yeah. You’re Giacomo, are you? He was right, you do look like Keanu Reeves. Anyway, he told me to give you this.” She handed Risotto a sheet of paper. On it was a note: “Hey champ! Couldn’t reach ya sooner, my bad. Phones aren’t working here. By the time you get this, I’ll be clocked in. See you at work ;)!” This was no forged note, this was Formaggio written all over. He recognized the penmanship from anywhere, surprisingly neat for someone as crude as his teammate.

For a split second, Risotto breathed a sigh of relief that his friend was alive and well, but that feeling quickly dissipated when his mind registered the fact that Formaggio had the fucking BALLS to just waltz right out of the hospital without any thought of telling him nor his teammates. Scratch that, the HOSPITAL had the fucking balls to just let him leave! They were the ones that told them their friend needed more testing and not like the staff called the house phone to alert anyone that they were going to release him sooner. Not only that, Risotto doubted Formaggio just miraculously recovered overnight. His legs were still pretty weak the night before. Who knows? What if Formaggio collapsed on his way to work and couldn’t get himself up?

“Do you remember what time he was discharged?”

“6 on the dot.” The nurse blew a bubble with her gum, making a loud “pop”.

Risotto got a glimpse of the clock overhead. 8:04. He then looked over his shoulder to the automatic doors that led to the outside world. He had no choice but to chase after his teammate. He could only cross his fingers that Formaggio made it to work unscathed.

“Son of a bitch…”

———————————————————————

It was like any other normal day at the grocery store. The doors slid open to reveal none other than Formaggio. It took some time to arrive there from the hospital. Good thing the others brought a spare work outfit for him, the other was stained with bile and it’s not like he could work in a hospital gown. A tad too scandalous for such a puritan place. He craned his neck to the left of him, then to the right. Bingo. He spotted the podium. They should be there.

“Oh, it’s on.”

With a reignited sense of burning spirit, he confidently pushed forward. Granted, his legs were far from fully recovered, so his footing was as graceful as a drunken waddle. A few passing judgmental looks were upon him, but Formaggio took none of it to heart. He pushed through. There they were. Janis and Ashanti. Casually laughing and chitchatting by the podium. Ashanti was the first to spot him.

“Oh, Giorgioooo! The man we were looking for~! How’re ya doin’, sugar~? Heard you had a mighty fall the other night~~! We were beginning to think you were never coming back~!”

“Here.” He pressed the paper into her chest. “It’s my hospital notice. I was released this morning. I can come back to work.”

“Goody, goody! You’re just in time!” Ashanti picked up a shiny pin-back button from the podium desk. She took Formaggio by the wrist and placed it right in his open mitt. “We’re so excited to announce that our annual Christmas Can-Can Blowout Spectacular Sale has commenced for the winter season~!”

“Winter season? It’s the beginning of November. Don’t you guys normally start that sale after Christmas? That’s what the other cashiers told me.”

“Silly willy! Of course, it is, you’re such a clever boy! Unfortunately, we had a slight change of plans! We gotta start BEFORE the holidays from now on! That’s A-OKAY! Nothin’ wrong kickin’ off the sale sooner! You know what they say: “Early rabbit catches the carrot~!”

“I thought it was, “Early bird catches the worm”.”

“Hehehe. You’re so funny, Giorgio! Always tickling my funny bone! Ehehehe!”

“I wasn’t trying to be fun-.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves. The Christmas Can-Can Blowout Spectacular Sale will be in session until December 15th! But you might be wondering, “Gee Ashanti, what’s the sale about?” and I’m happy you asked! During this sale, our tin cans drop by five cents! Five whole cents! So instead of a dollar a can, it’s 95¢ a can! People go bananas for that kind of price! Our goal every year is to meet a million dollars worth of canned foods! You heard that right! One million dollars! But in cans! It doesn’t matter what’s in the cans. It can be vegetables, fruits, soups, Spam! You name it! As long as its contents are in a metal cylinder, it counts!”

“‘Kay. What’s in it for me?” Probably win something as useful as a dead rat or win a free t-shirt that reads “ShopSmart’s #1 Dicksucker” on it.

“The sales rep who sells the most cans by the end of the last day will be compensated with a $3000 bonus in their paycheck~!”

Formaggio choked on his breath. “Say what now-?”

“No sirree, I didn’t stutter! Three thousand smackaroonies!” With that kind of money, he could pay off most of his hospital bills! Thank Mother Mary he didn’t stay for another night. Since he smooth-talked the staff into discharging him sooner he’d just have to pay $4000 instead of the original $6000. This was perfect!

It was too good to be true…

“Catch?”

“No catch! You just have to sell enough cans to reach 1st place! But fair warning, this year we got a full team of highly persuasive sales folk. It’s anyone’s call! That sorta prize isn’t anything to scoff at. You can pay off your mortgage, or student loans.” She leaned over to his ear, her breath grazed his lobe making him shudder. “Might help pay off a hospital bill or two. Whaddya say? Think you can handle the competition, my superstar?”

“… I accept.”

“Very, very good! First things first! This’ll only take a moment’s worth of your time, but I need your undivided attention so we can explain the rules! Rule Number 1!”

“Put the pin on.” Janis butted in.

“It’s super vital to remember we need to be all good sports here.”

“Put the pin on.”

“That means whether you win or lose, we expect all of you to keep a smile on those adorable lil’ faces. Sure, we make this competitive, but we want you all to have a swell time.”

“Put the pin on.”

“Rule Number 2!” Ashanti zoomed in too close for comfort. “NO! CHEATING! VERY, VERY, IMPORTANT RULE!”

“Put the pin on.” Was Janis still nagging him over that? It was getting on Formaggio’s nerves.

“Cheaters! No bueno! Nuh-uh! You’re not a cheater, Giorgio, are you?” Formaggio shook his head. “Do you like cheaters?” He shook his head again. “Correct answer! Nobody likes a cheater! And y’know what happens to cheaters? They get disqualified. We don’t wanna have any Dishonest Davies running around gettin’ into trouble. It’ll ruin all the fun.”

“Put the pin on.”

“OKAY! Geez, I’m putting it on!” Formaggio grumbled as he struggled to pin the button to his shirt, but was able to latch it to the hook. “There. Happy?”

“Took you long enough. To think you were deaf or something,” Janis turned and walked away. She called back, “And don’t interrupt Ashanti, she’s addressing something important. Don’t expect her to tell you it twice.” Formaggio was left dumbfounded. He looked up at Ashanti whose smile was brimming widely. She didn’t appear to be disturbed by her superior’s outwardly rude behavior nor made any comment on the matter. He couldn’t decide what irked him more.

“And finally! Rule Number 3!”

“Which is?”

Ashanti clasped her hands together. “HAVE FUUUUUUN!! Now pick up your caboose and sell some cans!”

“Aight, aight.” Formaggio went to clock in.

“Giorgio, wait!”

“What now? Another write-up?” Formaggio snarked sarcastically.

“Oh no, no, no, sweetums! You’re doing fantastic! So fantastic, that Janis and I want to “promote” you!”

“Promote me? Like, to a manager?”

“Oh noooo! Not yet, at least! We’d like you to work by the Self-Checkout!” She gestured at the Self-Checkout area. Formaggio took note of the cashier struggling back and forth assisting disgruntled customers while tending to the glitchy registers screens. “It’s a speedy position, but since we’re oh-so-confident that you can take on pretty much the world, this should be easy as pie for you!”

“Uhh, sure I guess. Just one setback.” He pointed to his legs. “I’m still recovering from the waist down. My legs are somewhat numb and they flop around when I walk. If I’m gonna be thrown into this, can I have a chair to sit on until I feel better?”

“Yeaaahhhhhh, uhmmmmmm, we couuuld, buuuuut we need you always on your feet. It’s just store policy. We cooooouuuuld give you one, but we expect you to help customers tooooo. Like, if they see you sitting instead of helping them, they might guess you’re slackin’ on the job and that wouldn’t look good, for you or the store. Y’know what I’m saying?”

“It’s just until I feel better. The doctor said I should be better in a few days. I don’t mind doing it otherwise.”

“If you insist! Not a problem! Oh, this is so exciting! You’re gonna be a great asset at Self-Checkout! I just know it!” She slung her arm over his shoulder and strutted to the machines. As she rambled on and on about it, Formaggio couldn’t be bothered by what she had to say, the only thing on his mind was what the fuck did he get himself into. But hey, if it was going to increase his paycheck, then so be it!

“It isn’t hard at all! Ya just have to be quick on your feet and put your memory to the test!” She tapped the computers at a super-sonic speed. Formaggio looked on in stupefied awe. “There, see? You can do it! Try not to have too much fun, ‘kaaaay?” She pranced away, leaving Formaggio at the mercy of impatient regulars and the malfunctioning computers.

“Hey! Can you help me?” One customer barked.

“Coming!” Formaggio paced over to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to scan my bananas and the machine won’t wooork,” the customer complained. “These registers are pieces of shit! Why do I have to do the cashier’s job?” Formaggio knew exactly why it wasn’t working, most fruits and vegetables didn’t scan, they get weighed into the system. He tapped the code in and within an instant, the bananas popped up on the order.

“Ooooh thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Formaggio limped back to his post before hearing the same customer cry out in anguish. He paced back to her as quickly as he could.

“Now my apples aren’t scanning!”

Formaggio pointed out, “Oh, they’re the same as the bananas. You have to key in the code on the sticker and it’ll go through.”

“But I don’t know how to do thaaat! Plus, it’s your job to help me. Why should I do your job for you?” Formaggio’s eyelid twitched, it’s not like he could tell the customer “no” or “piss off”. Begrudgingly, Formaggio keyed in the code and just like the bananas, the apples showed up on the register. “Ooooh thank you.”

“Anything else?” Formaggio asked.

“Nope, that’ll be it.”

Formaggio, once again, limped back to his post.

“WAIT!”

Formaggio could scream! He paced back to her as quickly as he could. “What happened?”

The customer held out her bag of apples. “I forgot. I don’t like this brand of apples. Can you take ‘em off for me please?” The poor gangster did his best not to strangle the brainless broad. It was his job and he had to be there for another nine hours. He tapped the screen to remove the apples but the machine didn’t do anything. Oh great, the screen was frozen. Ashanti didn’t show him how to fix the register when it froze. He pressed every button to see in hopes a miracle would happen.

“Hey, a little help here!” Another customer cried out.

“It says it’s waiting for you,” a different one remarked snidely.

“Can’t you hurry up? Why are those apples still on my order?” The lady was getting impatient.

“Jesus… what the fuck did I get myself into?”

———————————————————————

It had been only an hour since Melone had punched in but it felt like eight whole hours had dragged on. He did a double-take at the clock. 9:10. “For goodness sake, how is it only been an hour? I’ve been helping customers nonstop, wouldn’t that make time fly faster?”

“Hey.” Lesley entered through the door. “Janis wants you to put some throwbacks away, I’ll watch over the desk.” He pushed the door another inch open, revealing to Melone a shopping cart overflowing with fruit and other produce. “Have fun.” Melone did not comment, but rather he simply pushed the cart to the rightful department. Perhaps this might’ve been a beneficial time killer. Truth be told he couldn’t get his eyes off the clock so restocking items could strip some minutes off the harrowing shift. Downside? Right next to the Produce Section was… the Bakery. No matter. Angel hadn’t spoken to Melone since the incident that took place days prior. Maybe he hates him? Good, let it be that way. He’d rather have the guy hate his guts than continue serenading him with cookies and crappy love notes.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii~!”

He spoke too soon.

Oh great, what does he want now? There was no sign of Risotto anywhere. Plan B. Walk away. “Wait, wait, wait, wait-! Don’t go!” Angel chased close behind. “Come back! I just wanna talk!”

“Does it look like I’m interested in talking? I don’t have time for this.”

“Come back! Please don’t be mad! I came over to apologize!” Angel got close enough to reach and successfully caught Melone’s wrist. The smaller man was abruptly pulled back like someone latched a shackle with an anchor to the end of it. Melone did his best to shake off Angel’s grip, but the more he did, Angel squeezed tighter. “Please… hear me out. I beg you.” He humbly removed his cap, revealing much of his patterned baldness. “It was just… the heat of the moment. To hear you say you didn’t love me. Those words… just, tore me up inside. I was hurt. Honest to God hurt. But I’d never dream of hurting a gentle soul like you. None of what I said was true, I was only upset for the moment. You are beyond words, Eddy. Truly beyond words.”

“Right…” Melone remarked suspiciously.

“And about that breakup rumor. Janis made it all up, not me. You gotta be careful with Janis, she pits workers against each other. She likes to start fights. Longtime friendships and couples were broken up ‘cause of her. But I would never do that. I hate drama! So we’re cool, yeah? You wanna be my friend, do you, Edmundo? Please say yes! Don’t think of me as a jerk! I can’t let Mr. Presley find out what happened.”

Melone was too stunned to speak. Not because he was touched by Angel’s “kind” words, but was so utterly shocked at how desperate this guy was. It was almost laughable. He wouldn’t think twice about befriending this troll, let alone trust anything he said. “Wait! I know what’ll change your mind! Stay put, little buddy!” Angel instructed before running out of the store. He rushed to the back where the parking lot was located. He scrambled for his car keys and hopped in the backseat of his car.

“Where is it? It’s around here somewhere… aha!” He opened the glove compartment and in it was a small box coated with wisps of dust. With exceeding precaution, he peeked open the top lid, and inside it was an impeccably crafted pearl bracelet. “This was my dear ol’ meemaw’s heirloom. Passed down from generation to generation. Not a soul can turn down something this remarkable, not even Edmundo.” He scurried back to the store, practically skipping like a schoolgirl. “Oho, Angel you’re a genius! Once he sets his eyes on this beauty, he’ll be all over you! He’ll be like, “Wow, Angel! You’re so considerate and kind and awesome! I’m starting to change my mind about you! I think you and I would be a perfect… match”?”

Where was his little buddy? He told him to wait in that exact spot. He stretched his head around to find a glimpse of his pink-haired prince. “Sugar-Pie-Honeybunch? Come out wherever you are.” But it appeared that Eddy was replaced by a bigger man with black hair, sunglasses, and a bad case of resting bitch face syndrome. It took him a hot second to realize who it was.

“Oh- heyy!” Angel stuttered, swiftly hiding the bracelet behind his thigh. “Funny meeting you here, stranger! Thought you’d be hangin’ in your office! How’s Giorgio doin’? Heard he was back on his feet! My heart goes out to the poor fella, really!”

“… Why aren’t you in your department?” Risotto spotted something sparkly in Angel’s grip. It looked like a piece of jewelry. He could imagine who the gift was intended for. If this was Angel’s idea of covering up evidence, he wasn’t doing a particularly swell job at it. Not only the man before Risotto was a relentless cuck, but a moron as well. “What is that?” Risotto pointed a crooked finger at the ornament, a twinge of contempt in his tone.

“Crap!” Angel’s face broke into a cold sweat. If the jacked Matrix knockoff found out about the blossoming romance between him and the forbidden fruit that is his beautiful brother, he’d be fucked in the keyhole for sure. He had to act natural. “Oh, this? Uhh, it’s… for you! Surprise!” He forced a toothy smile in hopes that would sway the man. Plot twist, Risotto wasn’t buying it… at all. “No, I’m being real! Here!” Angel tugged Risotto’s hand forward by the pinky and laced the pearly trinket around his wrist, constantly shifting his sight up to Risotto and then back down as if any second he’d be murdered on the spot. It felt like an eternity until there was a “snap” and the bracelet was tweaked securely around Risotto’s wrist. “Aaand, presto! I was right, haha! See? It complements you so well! Totally brings out your inner daffodil!” Risotto inspected the bracelet, then fixated his look at Angel. How sentimental of him.

“Get back to work,” Risotto uttered gruffly.

“Anything for you, my darling cherub~.”

“Now.”

In his panicked state, Angel jogged back to his station, nearly knocking into a crate full of pears. Risotto could only do was to shake his head disapprovingly at such desperate stupidity. “That guy sure doesn’t give up no matter the cost.” He took another look at the pearls. They had an exquisitely pinkish-cream tinge to them. Buttery smooth. No bumps or blemishes. Immaculately pristine. Simply perfect… a little too perfect for Risotto’s liking. “I’m curious. I could make a fortune by selling this off to a pawnbroker. Before I do that, it must pass a little test.” He parted his lips open. He brought a pearl into his mouth, letting it graze past his tooth. “Just as I suspected. It’s a fake. Real pearls have a gritty texture to them, whereas faux pearls are smooth all around. Also, these pearls are all the same, down to the size and roundness, real pearls will almost always be different from one another. Their flaws are what makes them so valuable. How disappointing, but what did I expect from someone like Angel? His grandmother could’ve bought it from the dollar store and he couldn’t possibly tell the difference. Hmph, useless junk.” Passing a nearby trashcan, Risotto chucked the pearls into the garbage.

“Now where’s that mad lad…?”

Risotto scanned the registers. It didn’t take long to track Formaggio, who was uncomfortably bending his side on the main register by the Self-Checkout. His friend shot him a wink and waved to him. “What’s up, chum? What’s crackin’?”

Risotto quickened his pace over to him. Formaggio could tell behind those sunglasses that Risotto was far from pleased. “Have you lost your mind? Why are you here?”

“To make mula.”

“You’re killing me, dammit. Look at you. You’re struggling to keep yourself up.”

“You’re overreacting, man. I’m fine.” As he declared this, Formaggio lost his footing and was about to fall forward hadn’t Risotto caught his forearm.

“No, you’re not. You need to rest,” Risotto insisted.

“Over my dead body! Who are you? My dad?” Formaggio yanked his arm away.

“The closest you ever had to one. I’m being serious, you should’ve stayed there for the three days. We still don’t know what triggered the blockage.”

“Stay my ass! I did ya a favor, mate. Because I left a day early, I dropped the bill down to $4000 or somethin’.“

“Did me a favor? Leaving the hospital and not telling us is not a favor.”

“Did you read the damn note? I told you the phones weren’t working!”

“So you decided leaving anyway was a smart plan?”

“What’s it to ya? Don’t you see I’m tryin’ to do what’s right? Besides, I hated it there. The food sucked balls and the TV was broken. The other reason I left was that shit I told you last night. Actually… what did I tell you guys last night?” Formaggio pensively scratched his chin. “It had to be something creepy, creepy enough to wanna leave. Eh, doesn’t matter. Isn’t Eddy taking care of everything as we speak?”

“He’s collecting everything he can. And what you said DOES matter.”

“Pssh, no it doesn’t. Must’ve been a dumb dream I had.”

Risotto grabbed Formaggio by the shirt and pulled him close to his face. Risotto hissed lowly, “Yes it does! Listen to me, I have no idea what’s going on. My memory’s been shot for almost a week and it appears it’s taking effect on you and the others. Whatever it is, I think something’s upon us.”

“You don’t think it could be you-know-who?”

“… I believe so.” From the sound of his voice, Risotto wasn’t joking around. When was he ever, though?

“… Is it bad that I’m getting numb to hearing that every time we make hardly a breakthrough…?”

“WOAH HEY!” Their discussion was short-lived, as Janis stomped over to the two assassins. It prompted Risotto to release his comrade, leaving deep crinkle marks on Formaggio’s polo. She snarled, “What’s this!? Slacking on the job as usual?”

“We’re having a conversation,” Risotto spoke bluntly.

“Save it for later! We have more urgent things to tend to.” She swiveled her neck towards Formaggio. “Don’t come crying to me when you lose the competition over petty chit-chat.”

“It’s no problem, I already made $200,” Formaggio beamed confidently.

“Oh yeah, Mr. Hotshot? Says the one in last place.” She flicked her index finger to the wall. There was a huge chart with all the employees’ names and the sum of how much they made. The cashier in the lead had made over $2000 worth of cans. Where did Formaggio stand? Way, way below, down to the bottom of the board. That alone made his heart stop, Janis smirked. “What’s wrong? All the color in your face vanished. Don’t get cocky. Got nothing to spit back, little twerp? Hehehe, little twerp. Suits you well.” She trudged away. That burning spirit Formaggio felt earlier had returned, this time hotter than ever.

“Bring it, bitch.”

———————————————————————

“Hey, Frank. Ya in here? I’m going to lunch.” Prosciutto entered the office, but Frank was nowhere to be seen. Odd. The gangster didn’t seem too concerned by it, Frank was likely slapping the wrong tags on the shelves again. Unfortunately for Prosciutto, he had to report to Frank whenever he was going to punch out for his lunch or a smoke break. Speaking of a smoke break. “Where did those damn cigarettes run off to? I didn’t leave ‘em home. I last saw them in my locker, but when I went to grab ‘em, it was like they vanished into thin air. Damn.” He checked his pant pockets one more time. Who was he kidding? If they were in his pockets, he would’ve felt the wholeass pack pressing against his butt cheek.

It’d be fruitless to stand around waiting for him, Prosciutto would have to look for Frank elsewhere. He desired soon, he was itching for a hit right about then. “Hmm?” When he was about to leave, he saw something peculiar. On Frank’s computer desk lay a pack of cigarettes. Nothing too out of the ordinary, at first glance Prosciutto suspected they belonged to Frank, but taking another step closer the pack looked rather familiar. Pall Mall, the ones he smoked. The box had a piece of tape with the name “Girolamo” written on it with black marker. Hold up, that was HIS pack.

“My cigs!” Prosciutto checked the interior, not a single cigarette was missing. The box wasn’t damaged, it looked okay. The main question was how did it get on Frank’s desk? Prosciutto never laid a finger on his desk, he knew exactly how that’d play out. Was Frank stealing his belongings? Or worse, was he taking his belongings to frame him somehow? The thought was cut short when someone seized his left wrist, yanking it up in the air, and twisting it around his back.

“Look at that. Snooping around as always.” It was Frank.

“Let go,” Prosciutto commanded calmly. Frank should’ve known better by then, physical violence didn’t scare him in the slightest, but he was testing Prosciutto’s patience yet again.

“Don’t touch my stuff,” his rival snarled.

“Oh yeah? Does this have your name on it?” Prosciutto pulled out the box of cigarettes. “How’s about you don’t touch MY stuff?” For his final resort, Frank twisted the hitman’s arm so hard, Prosciutto sworn he heard his forearm make a “crunch” noise. It made him wince, but Prosciutto was no wimp. He didn’t cry out nor begged for the pain to end, that was what Frank wanted. Not getting the desired reaction, Frank withdrew. Prosciutto did a quick shake of his wrist, then it was good as new. “Why did you take my cigs?”

“You dropped them,” Frank lied.

“No. I left them in my usual spot. Like a weasel, you somehow snuck into my locker and stole them. If your plan was to frame me for something else, it was an idiot move to leave them in a place where I can see them.”

“Hey! What’s this about cigarettes I’m hearing?” Janis poked her head from behind the doorframe. Nosy cunt. Of course, she’d stick her neck out when drama was involved. Quickly, Frank spoke up first, “I caught Girolamo smoking inside the office.”

“WHAT!?” She screeched.

“Not true,” Prosciutto remarked bluntly.

“But they’re in your hand. You’re calling Frank a liar!?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it!” She demanded.

“Does the room smell like smoke to you?”

Janis took heavy whiffs for a straight minute. Finally, she reached a verdict. “… Don’t do it again.” Why wasn’t Prosciutto surprised by that response? She said nothing further and left the two men to their own devices. Frank shot him a weaselly smirk. Guess he won the battle this time.

“… I’m going to lunch.” Prosciutto took his pack and walked away. Forget the smoke! Despite being in fine condition, for all he knew Frank could’ve laced rat poison in them. Better be safe than sorry. He dropped the cigarettes into the nearest trashcan. He exited the store and crossed the road to the diner. There was nothing better around the block. The other diners and delis were crap, even the food trucks. How Formaggio could stomach such schlop was beyond his understanding. Admittedly, the food at the diner was decent at best, everything else about it was meh. Prosciutto pushed the door open, being “welcomed” by the piercing ding of the doorbell. This time he sat by the counter. It didn’t take long for a presence to come towering over him.

“What will it be?” It was the same tired, sandy-haired waitress from the time before. She twisted his arm to speak up the last time he came in. Why was it such a big deal? It wasn’t like he ignored her completely, he pointed to what he wanted. Was she a control freak or was she someone so deprived of social interaction that a client telling her what they were ordering sufficed her need for attention? Perhaps she was a lonely soul. Not like she’d get any luck being friends with him. He didn’t meddle or trust anybody outside his squad. Call it a hunch, but even she could be the Stand User.

“What will it be?”

Huh? That was weird. For some reason, she sounded much clearer to him. She said the same thing. Same meaning, same curt tone, but it was… different this time. It threw him off a bit. His eyes glanced up from the menu to the waitress.

“… You speak Italian?”

With a faint smile, she nodded. “Glad to hear you talk out loud. Ya know it’s impolite to ignore someone asking you important things.”

“Hmph.” Prosciutto slid his crossed arms leisurely over the counter. “What if I couldn’t make out what you were asking me? Egotistical of you to assume I only speak one language.”

She did not attempt to suppress her self-assured smirk. “Please. You like to mutter. When you’re off in La-La Land, you have a habit of mumbling under your breath. Both in my first and second language. I’ve worked in this joint for five years, my dear. I know a thing or two when it comes to someone struggling to get a word out versus someone who simply refuses to cooperate. And you sir, fit in with the last category of grumps I see daily.”

“Huh… well played.” It wasn’t often Prosciutto got checkmated like that.

“Now are you just gonna sit there and waste my time or are you gonna get something? ‘Cause, ACTUAL hungry customers are waiting to order.” She flipped to a new page in her notepad.

Quite the spitfire, was she? “Surprise me. As a veteran waitress, you must have some sort of recommendation for such an indecisive grump like myself.”

“Sounds like a challenge to me.” She scribbled on her pad. “You’re in for a treat. I’ll have it out for you soon, “sir”.”

“Can’t wait.”

She entered the kitchen. Once she was completely gone, Prosciutto noticed a busgirl coming around the counter, wiping it down and collecting dirty plates. “Excuse me,” Prosciutto beckoned the busgirl, prompting the woman to drop her load and hurried over to him. “Hi! Can I help you?”

The gangster leaned over to her. He asked softly, “How long has that waitress been working here?” She glanced at the kitchen. “Oh, you mean Dee Dee? For five years. Why? Was she being rude to you?”

“… No, no. Was just wondering.” So she might’ve not been a Stand User after all. Sure, not like he saw her at his job or had that typical Stand aura shrouding her, but sometimes it’s the last person you least expect. Safe to say, she was in the clear. Just a run-of-the-mill waitress wasting her years in a miserable diner… well, not like he was any better.

He heard her bellow out, “Hey! One “Triple-Dog-Decker-Everything-On-the-Menu-Special” for the gentleman sitting by the counter! Today’s his birthday and he’s huuuuuungry!”

It wasn’t his birthday…

“Huh!?”

Not even five minutes had passed when all the chefs, waitresses, and bussers poured out of the kitchen with plates full of steaming food fresh from the stove. Burgers, sandwiches, hotdogs, home fries, pancakes, and lastly, a huge birthday cake that was enough to feed a family for months. To say Prosciutto was startled would’ve been an understatement. How the fuck did they cook all that shit in less than 5 minutes? He couldn’t eat all that, in 30 minutes no less! The staff clapped joyously and chanted loudly, “HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! IT’S. YOUR. BIRTHDAY! HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! HOORAYYYYYY!” One worker tied a lobster bib around his neck, while another snapped a party hat on his head.

The waitress came by with the birthday cake. She wore the giddiest, smuggest expression on her face. Prosciutto whispered to her, “I can’t eat all this.”

“Well, you asked for a recommendation, did ya? I was only following directions. Since you were so indecisive on what to choose on the menu, I had you choose the WHOLE menu.”

“Oh God, how much is this going to be?” He winced at the impending death of his wallet.

“You picked the entire menu, hun. Let’s just say, it’s gonna be a fortune.”

Thirty minutes of eating against his will and a mountainous pile of leftover boxes later, Prosciutto was stuffed. He wouldn’t confess it out loud, but the food was pretty good. Then given to him was the bill. It was the moment he dreaded. He slowly opened it and to his shock…

“Twenty dollars?”

Twenty dollars? TWENTY DOLLARS!? It had to be a sick prank. He had to do a double take. Not $200? Not $2000? He ate the entire menu for only twenty dollars!?

“Yep. Twenty dollars.” The waitress confirmed, she was wiping down the counter. “Y’know the fortune thing was a joke. You knew that, right? I’m not that cruel.” She smiled at him, far doe-like than her previous snide. “It’s called a special for a reason, haha. We don’t normally give it to anyone unless it’s their birthday, but I was feeling nice today. On the plus side, you don’t have to go grocery shopping anymore. That last part was a joke, but I hope you enjoyed the food. For every dragging second I deal with unpleasant jerks, it’s always worthwhile seeing a customer enjoying themselves. There’s no denying that you’re a grouch and I don’t expect us to be pals or anything, but it does make me glad to hear you talk, so… I appreciate it.”

Abruptly, the man got up and left. No thank you for the meal. No gracious words. Her eyes followed him pulling the door open while he balanced his leftovers in one arm and then he was gone. The waitress sighed. Her hope for the guy to come around pretty much evaporated. Oh well, she could only say. She understood from experience that not everyone she’d met would treat her warmly. That was life. She picked up his bill but something green fell out of it. She plucked it off the floor. It was $5. It was her tip. Last time he didn’t tip her. She smiled. This could be a sign after all.

———————————————————————

The weeks flew faster than any of the hitmen could fathom, particularly Formaggio. Since his first day back from the emergency unit, he was putting 120% into every task he took on. Assisting customers, ringing up cans, working the Self-Checkout, whatever it was, he performed them as best as he could, and then some. His stomach would ache time and time again, plus his legs didn’t show signs of improving. Not to the point of rushing to the hospital. He simply concluded that it was stress from pushing himself to his very limit. He didn’t have time for a moment’s rest, the only thing on his mind was earning as much cash to pay off his debt. That prize money was gonna be his!

Ashanti wasn’t wrong when she said the competition was high. He found it difficult for the first week to make it past 29th place, even Melone was in 14th. When Formaggio approached his teammate about how he was able to keep up in the ranking system, Melone shrugged. “I don’t know, I wasn’t trying.” What was he doing wrong? Was he too pushy? Was he not pushy enough? He believed forcing a customer to buy their product would piss them off and backfire. Selling those damn cans was like pulling a child’s crusty tooth out.

A few examples:

———————————————————————

EXAMPLE #1: “THE INDECISIVE“

Formaggio would set the scene. He’d be cleaning and prepping his register, making sure the snacks and magazines were neat and presentable and the conveyor belt was wiped clear of grime and muck. And then, a customer would come up and casually place their groceries on the conveyor belt.

“Good day sir,” Formaggio greeted the customer enthusiastically. “Nice day we’re having. We’re currently selling our cans at 95 cents for a limited time, would you be interested in looking at our selection?” He’d pull out a wide variety of cans.

The customer eyed attentively at one of the cans, “Ohhhh, are these 100% organically grown peaches?”

“You bet!” Formaggio replied assertively. “Freshly picked from the finest groves of Georgia! Interested in some?”

The man pushed, “But are they like, reaaaally 100% organically grown?”

“Yep! Says so on the can,” Formaggio pointed to the fine print on the can’s exterior.

“But, are you suuuuuuure they’re 100% organic?”

“Sure, whatever, are you interested or NOT?” One could tell from the cashier’s tone that he was getting slightly irritated from such mundane indecisiveness.

“Oh, I’m good! I already got peaches at home,” the oaf beamed with zero awareness of what he had said.

———————————————————————

EXAMPLE #2: “THE DISMISSIVE”

Another customer comes to put her stuff on the conveyor belt. From the top!

“Good day, ma’am!” Formaggio greeted ever so eagerly. “We’re currently selling-.”

“No.” The lady rudely interjected.

“But… you didn’t let me finish what I said.”

“You were gonna sell me something. I don’t care what you’re advertising, I ain’t interested.” The snob lifted her nose. “And why are there only TWO registers open? You guys need more people to work here…”

“True, but we’re always hiring. If you know someone in need of employment, we’d be happy to have them-.”

“Not until this ramshackle store gets its act together! Not interested.”

———————————————————————

EXAMPLE #3: “THE FRIVOLOUS”

Okay… one last go.

“Good afternoon sir,” Formaggio greeted.

“Hey there! Ya workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” The customer jabbed. Formaggio was HARDLY amused, but he let out an awkward chuckle. And his team thought HE sucked at making puns.

“We’re currently selling cans at 95 cents for a limited time. Care to take one?”

The older man took one of the cans and eyed it carefully, “There’s a dent in this one, must be free!”

Formaggio held back the urge to cringe, but due to the store promoting “exceptional customer service” he had no choice but to entertain the waste of space in front of his register. “Oh- OHHHHHHHH! Ahahahaha, ya got me there! Ya got me!” The two men shared an uncomfortable exchange of laughter, one laughing at his joke while the other did for the sake of his paycheck. “Would ya like a bag, sir?”

“Nah, I already got one at home.” Oof, his poor wife, Formaggio thought. But hey, at least the guy seemed to have a sense of humor, couldn’t hurt shooting the shit right back at him. It was all good fun, no?

“Aha good joke! Where did ya come up with that one? Couples therapy?” Formaggio rolled his back as he heaved a lung, it was the funniest comeback he came up with all day. When his giggle fit subsided, he turned back to the customer, who did not reciprocate the joke. On the contrary, he stared at Formaggio with cold eyes.

“What… did you just say?” The man sounded like he was about to explode.

“Hehehe uh, couples therapy? Hehe?” After a moment of silence, the middle-aged man lunged over the cash register.

“I’LL SEND YOU TO THERAPY, YA LIL’ TWIT!”

———————————————————————

Yes, indeed it was a shit show. Favorably, after a week of fruitless attempts, Formaggio began to see results. 30th, then 29th, passed 27th, hit 20th, so on and so forth. By then, November withered. The days turned colder, and December rolled around. The store flourished in business, customers were grabbing their seasoned hams and eggnog for the big day on the 25th. It was the 10th so it was right around the corner. What else was around the corner? The end of the annual Christmas Can-Can Blow… uhh, the sale was almost over! There was no time to lose, Formaggio scanned cans down his register like there was no tomorrow.

“Wow, he’s really in the zone.” Illuso chatted with Melone by the desk, observing their teammate from afar. He had to admit he was impressed by how Formaggio was taking the whole thing seriously. The goofball wasn’t goofing off for once! If only he can make him not goof off cleaning their bathroom…

“I’ll say.” Melone went back to reading a magazine he took from one of the shelves.

“Sooooo, find anything new? Y’know, what caused his paralysis and shit?”

“No,” Melone replied plainly. “It’s taking forever for the bile results to get back. While I was waiting, I tested everything that he listed. And what do you know? There wasn’t a single match from anything. I got a sample from the leftover ramen in the bowl. Glad for once that nobody did the dishes that night. Still, couldn’t find a trace of anything suspicious. The chili dog that he bought from the food truck? Nothing. Same with the fries. As for the bread and milk, the bread’s results came back unremarkable and the milk hadn’t expired nor was tampered with.”

“He said he was drinking water too. Did you check our tap water?”

“Yep. Was shockingly in good condition considering the sludge that comes out of our faucet.”

“Shit, this a lost cause! We’ll never get to the bottom of this.”

“Weird hearing this from the guy who cannot stand Giorgio’s guts. Plus I thought you were still pissed at him over the mop incident.”

Illuso stammered, “I am. But… I wouldn’t wish death on the guy. I mean, if something happened to him, Giacomo would be devastated.”

“So you’re saying for the first time you acknowledge Giorgio as your brother?”

Illuso huffed, turning his back from his teammate and crossing his arms. “Only doing it for the sake of our boss.”

“Awww, I knew sooner or later you two would be the best of friends,” Melone playfully toyed with the ends of Illuso’s ponytail.

“Oh, shut up,” Illuso groaned.

Lesley kicked the door open. He directed his attention at Illuso. “Hey, what is he doing here? He should be in his department, not goofing around reading magazines. If Janis catches you-!”

“Cork it, Bootleg John Lennon. I was about to head back. By the way, you look horrid, which isn’t saying much.”

“Yes. Are you alright, Lesley?” Melone asked, more or less concerned.

Lesley was paler than his usual self. His complexion was clammy and he was sweating so profusely, the strands of his hair were clinging into clumps. He threw on his jacket. “It’s whatever. I’m sure it’s a stomach bug. I went to take a whizz but I mistook the women’s restroom for the men’s. Trust me, I’m not a perv, but I could’ve sworn I read the sign that it was the men’s room. Janis gave me the thumbs up to leave early so I’m going to urgent care. But I’m not leaving until HE goes back to his post.”

Instead of following orders, Illuso cheekily draped himself on the desk. “Please, stay as long as you like. If ya start puking, we’re making you clean it.”

“Screw you, dude!” Lesley left in a huff. “You think you’re so hilarious or something.”

“Try not to mistake the little girls room for the exit!” Illuso called out. While Illuso hollered his lungs out, Melone couldn’t help but wonder. Lesley’s symptoms sound scarily similar to Formaggio’s.

“Have you noticed something?”

Illuso stopped. “Eh? What?”

“It only donned on me now… we’ve been short-staffed as of recently.”

“And? What’s your point? This place has been and always will be short-staffed. Workers come, workers go, this place is a revolving door.”

“Half the Front-End has been calling out… a little birdy told me some have landed in the hospital with severe… stomach cramps… those people haven’t been to work since.” Could it be that, whatever Formaggio had consumed, they were looking in the wrong place this whole time?

———————————————————————

The hours were dwindling, and Formaggio was close to ending his shift. He was wiping the Self-Checkout registers for the 80th time that day. He peered at the bulletin board. 4th place. He was close. So, so close. Maybe he can ask to stay an extra hour? They’d probably say no. He was hitting overtime and Ashanti insisted the store couldn’t “afford” to have their workers go past their times.

Everything was smooth sailing until Formaggio spotted a guy coming down one of the aisles. What stuck out to him the most was that he kept looking behind him with a cart full of snacks. The man tiptoed over to one of the Self-Checkout registers. So far so good. He scanned one item, then another, but then he put his money in the machine. Granted, he could’ve bought those items from another line and must’ve gone back for more things, however, Formaggio didn’t recognize the guy at all and he was keeping an eye out the entire day. Also, glancing behind his shoulder every two nanoseconds didn’t make him appear any less sneaky. The man was about to pace-walk outta there. That was when the gangster stepped in. “Excuse me, sir, would you like some help with those groceries?” Formaggio offered.

The man shifted his eyes. He seemed startled by such an amicable approach. Right off the bat, Formaggio could tell this guy was up to no good. The man got slightly defensive, “Uh, no. While you were busy daydreaming, I did it all by myself.” Yep, this dude was sketchy. Any normal person would respond with “no thanks” or merely disregard his aid by ignoring him.

“No problemo. May I see your receipt?”

The customer went to bark something mean-spirited but stopped himself, then tentatively handed Formaggio the receipt. The gangster studied it carefully… only two items were rung up. Lemonade and a box of Pop-tarts. He was right on the nose. This guy was shoplifting! So he identified a thief, what was he supposed to do now?

Formaggio had to confess, he seriously had no inkling how to tackle the situation. He couldn’t recall his training on what to do and what not to do when witnessing theft. Accusing the guy was a no-brainer of what NOT to do, yeah. But what if the guy were to make a run for it with the stolen items? Was he supposed to chase after him? Or was he supposed to stay back and twiddle his thumbs? Would he get in trouble if he stayed put? If he was being honest, he’d pitied the guy if he was swiping essentials like water or toilet paper, that’d be understandable. But he didn’t see any damn toilet paper in that cart, probably squashed under all the bottles of beer and boxes of Oreos. The best advice he was provided was to be “the most helpful he can be” which was supposed to deter a shoplifter. Soooo, he’d play it smart by playing dumb.

“You rung up everything in the cart…?”

“Yeah. Says so on the receipt.”

As much as it pained his face, Formaggio gave his best customer service smile. “Oh sorry, sir. Not everything got scanned. See? Only two items were bought. Don’t worry, not your fault! These machines have seen better days.”

“Oh…”

“That’s okay, I got your back, bud! Lemme help you out!” Formaggio began passing some items under the scanner. Just when he thought he got everything under control, the customer took a chunk of unscanned groceries and dumped them with the scanned ones, mixing them for good measure.

“H-Hey! What are you doing?” Formaggio exclaimed.

“Don’t touch my food,” the customer yapped, putting everything back in his cart. Aw biscuits, to deem he had everything running smoothly. That’s when Janis was passing by the area. Should he ask for her assistance? What did he have to lose to report a crime in progress to a manager? Sure, Janis couldn’t bear the sight of him, but he’d give her the benefit of the doubt that she’d take care of something as serious as someone trying to steal. “Hey, Janis!” Formaggio struggled over to her. He hushed his voice so the thief couldn’t overhear their conversation. “Hey real talk, that guy over there is trying to smuggle food out of the store. What exactly is the protocol for us to follow?”

“You’re asking ME that? No, no, no, to call that a stupid question would be an insult to stupid questions! Dunno why Ashanti addresses you as “Mr. Superstar” if you haven’t picked up the most basic of basic rules ever known to man.”

Formaggio pleaded, “C’mon Janis, now’s not the time to be a stinker- I mean, this is not a good time. Help me out here, will ya? I can’t call him out on it. What am I supposed to do? Just tell me so I don’t have to ask you again.”

Janis didn’t take that response too kindly. Thick smoke puffed from her nostrils like a chimney, she burned hot, and all the veins in her face were visibly pulsating. “Now look here, ya dingbat. Who the fuck do you think you are bossing ME around? You think you’re better than me!? Huh? HUH??”

“I-I’m not bossing you around, I’m asking a question. How do you expect me to know these things if I was never shown what to do?”

No chance of rationalizing with her. Janis went on a full-on frenzy. Heads turned as the assassin was being torn down like a stick of string cheese by the pint-sized pipsqueak. If there was one thing Janis was exceptional at doing, it was verbally cutting someone so deep, that not even stitches could mend the wounds. She hurled insult after insult, even going as far as claiming his mother and father never loved him. Formaggio wasn’t one to reduce to tears or become overwhelmed by insignificant tripe. He was far from shedding a tear, but the feeling of a thousand eyes from a massive crowd blinking and staring at him while some pompous cagna shouted at him for being dumb and pathetic and useless… it wasn’t just upsetting, it was degrading.

Coincidentally, Risotto was making his way back inside the store. He had just come back from his lunch break when he saw the commotion. Why was Janis poking her finger at Formaggio’s chest so aggressively? Why was a man beside them slowly tucking in a box of cookies under his shirt? Uh oh… time to intervene.

“AND IF YOU DON’T USE THAT LAST BRAIN CELL TO FIX THE PROBLEM, YOU’RE GONE!” That’s how she ended it. Once Janis simmered from her toddler-esque tirade, she left the poor employee without allowing him to hear him out. What did Formaggio learn from asking? Nothing, nothing at all. The thief was shockingly still inside the building, with half his cart empty and his shirt bulking in awkward places. Must’ve been Idiot’s first rodeo. “Hey man. Sorry ‘bout that. Thanks for waiting so patiently. Let me help you out.” Formaggio went to pick up another item, and that was when the customer twisted his wrist.

“Oi! Let go of me!” The thief struggled to pull the box out of his hand, whilst Formaggio did the same. They tussled over it for a time, boxes were dropping out of the guy’s shirt. The floor was a mess. Formaggio bet he looked ridiculous, but like hell, he wasn’t going to get fired. They were practically wrestling for it, it was a stalemate. Should he have called out his Stand? Too risky. Or was it? “C’mon m-man! I-I’m only trying to help,” Formaggio strained.

“I’m not gonna tell you twice, asshole. TOUCH MY FOOD AND YOU’RE A DEAD MAN!” In one sudden motion, the thief shoved Formaggio hard in his chest. Everyone and everything surrounding them came to a halt. Seconds dwindled to a snail’s pace. Formaggio witnessed his feet soar over his view, there was no time to root them back to the ground or use his hands to break his fall. This was gonna hurt… bad. His back was the first to slam hard on impact, followed by the back of his dome bashing against the flat, freezing floor. Here came the pain, it shot out to every nerve from head to toe. He groaned loudly. There was no way of getting up, his legs were out-of-commission, yet again. What was worse was he lay there, staring at the ceiling for some time, and yet no one came. Shit, customers were walking over his body… like the garbage they’d leave for him to clean. Was that what he was to everyone… trash?

As for the thief, he was about to run home free until he rammed his cart into Risotto. The man gulped. The six-foot dude looked like a fee-fi-fo-freakin’ giant compared to him! The thug mustered all the courage he had. “Hey, you! Outta my way! Scram!” Massive mistake. At the distance where he stood, Risotto could see his fallen brother sprawled on the ground, he gradually craned his head downwards at the thief, staring devil’s daggers right through the insignificant piece of filth’s soul. Risotto grabbed the other side of the cart. He spoke in a low, almost ominous rumble.

“... This is my food.”

Those words shook the thief to his core. Finally, he released his grimy mitts off the cart. Risotto had achieved saving the shopping cart full of stolen goods, plus the goods the thief had bought.

”Have a good day, sir,” the now-humble crook meekly bleated, going as far as bowing his head.

“... Never come back.”

The thief hurried off. Unbeknownst to him, he earned a light scratch from his scuffle with the cashier. He hopped in his car and sped off. Weird though, he couldn’t recall having so much difficulty reaching his foot to hit the gas pedal…

Back inside, Risotto walked over to his comrade, still laying helpless on the floor. “Take my hand,” he extended his hand out. Formaggio never in his life clung to someone’s hand so instantaneously. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah… I think.”

Formaggio shuddered when he patted the bump from behind his noggin, it was throbbing and turning blue. He was hauled up, wobbling as he was finding his balance. To find stability, he leaned his full weight on his capo. “Sorry man, don’t mean to take up your personal space.”

“You should’ve let him leave.”

“Hmm?” Aw shucks, did that mean he was getting fired?

“You heard me… you’ve risked your life dozens of times for our family… a cart full of fructose corn syrup shouldn’t be one of those times.”

As stated above, Formaggio wasn’t quick to cry. Except if there was ever a time he’d break down, it’d be right there, standing in the presence of the one who meant the most to him. By all means, he didn’t, he used the last of his energy not to shed a tear. The prior weeks had been physically and emotionally taxing on his mind and body, and yet despite all the stress and heartache, he was dead set to prove that he was not a weak link. But after being brutally berated by some bossy broad, it was refreshing to get some recognition in the end. Daresay, it was pretty sweet for his capo to tell him that… until Janis came from behind and ruined the moment.

———————————————————————

“What was that shameless display?! How come every time you, or him, or your five stooge brothers come in, there’s always an issue? You called that quality service!?” There were five people cramped in Buggle’s office; Risotto, Formaggio, Janis, Ashanti, and Buggle himself. It was the fifth time that Janis made him rewind and replay the snippet of Risotto seizing the cart from the crook. “I can’t believe this!” Janis paced to and fro. “Making a scene in front of a live audience! Scaring away a customer! This has been an absolute headache, a nightmare!”

“Janis, he was-,” Formaggio tried to explain.

“Z-Z-ZIP IT!” She shushed him. “I don’t wanna hear a peep outta you! Can’t believe we had faith in you as our top employee. An absolute disgrace. You make me sick.”

“Don’t you dare throw him under the bus!” Risotto objected. “This all happened because neither you nor Ashanti trained the Front properly and when that time came, the right course of action wasn’t followed.”

“RIGHT COURSE OF ACTION!? Ohohoho! Don’t let me get started on YOU!” She rebuked Risotto. “Who was that taking the cart away from the customer? Couldn’t have been me, or Ashanti. It was YOU and only YOU! Who was the troublemaker who caused a whole riot in the conference room on said topic? DING, DING, DING! NO SHIT! IT WAS YOU! Can’t even follow your own advice.” She spun towards Buggle. “Is it finally time we blast these neanderthals back to the Stone Age?” Buggle delayed his response, receiving an impatient “Well!?” from Janis.

“Do you have anything to say about that?” He solemnly challenged Risotto. “Going back on your word doesn’t look good, Mr. Sordino. You know that, do you?”

“Penalize me however you please. I will take accountability for my grievance but don’t push any blame onto Giorgio. He was ignorant of company’s protocol because he wasn’t trained accordingly. He assisted the customer, that’s what he was advised to do. When it continued to escalate, he pressed a manager for help, but rather than Janis diffusing the issue with him, she belittled him for asking questions.” Risotto began reprimanding the pug-faced woman. “You failed to resolve the problem and sure enough, Giorgio got injured.” He turned his friend’s head around, revealing the bump had grown to the size of a baseball and bluer in only a matter of an hour. “This could’ve been avoided if you put your employee’s well-being over your massive ego. This is far from his fault, it’s yours.”

“Buh! Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something THAT inconsequential. Not my fault he got pushed and growing a titty out of his head.”

“Janis.” Mr. Buggle switched his attention from Risotto to her. “Have you forgotten our discussion? Our meeting was on November 1st, which was a month and a half ago. It’s your and Ashanti’s responsibility to provide the Front with up-to-date regulations. This is a matter of utmost importance, theft is not something to be taken lightly. If we keep continuing down this hole of miscommunication, criminals will steal right under our noses and if we’re dwindling our items in stock versus what’s recorded in our inventory, shrinkage will shoot right up. We have jumped from 1.44% to a whopping 3% in terms of shrinkage due to administrative errors and product damage. While those numbers seem minimal, it’s quite the contrary. It’s the equivalent of billions of dollars being flushed down the drain. Plop shoplifting on top of the shrink pile, now visualize how much we’re losing then. We’re practically killing our store. I’ll end this debate with an optimistic note, we can reduce shrink by training our employees on the ins and outs of dealing with theft, Janis you prefer teaching more “hands-on”, so this wouldn’t be hard for you one bit. I expect the two of you to discuss this with our Front-End workers before the end of the year. Therefore, Giorgio, you’re off the hook. This time.”

“Thank you! Someone gets it!” Formaggio threw his hands up. He didn’t give a rat’s butt about the shrink spiel, he was just glad somebody with a brain acknowledged it wasn’t his fault, besides Risotto.

“Can’t say the same for Giacomo,” Buggle continued. “Since you knowingly violated our terms of policy, you will be disciplined. No, your employment will not be terminated since this is your first offense, so what I’m going to do is have you sign a disciplinary form. You have two more chances after this. I hope you learned your lesson, young man.”

“What?” For once Risotto anticipated the loss of employment. Not like he was complaining.

“WHAAAT!?” On the other hand, Janis was. “NO! NO! NO! HE NEEDS TO BE GONE! THEY AAALL NEED TO GO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS, BUGGLE! WHY MUST YOU SIDE WITH THAT ABSOLUTE BOZO ANY CHANCE YOU GET!?”

“I am not siding with anyone,” he stated clearly. “As a hiring manager and part of HR, I must remain neutral, or what the hip young generation says nowadays, “playing Switzerland”. Ergo, when someone’s in the wrong, I tell them they’re wrong and I punish them accordingly.” He wished he no longer participated in this preschooler squabble but being acquainted with the dynamic duo that is Janis and Ashanti for so long, all he was aware was it wouldn’t end well for him if he were to object.

“Oh Mr. Buggle,” Ashanti spoke in her over-the-top cutesy voice, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I have the uttermost respect for you, sir~. Always so wise and kind, putting those over your personal needs~. But you must reconsider this decision, I perceive you’re unfairly leaning on one side over the other~. Might I jog your memory that this isn’t Giacomo’s first offense? He put our dear, darling Janis into a tizzy and you know how sensitive she can be~. Ohh, the poor thing was almost rushed to the hospital~! A grievance so wicked calls for a harsher penalty, no?”

“That won’t be necessary, I remember it all too well. His paycheck was docked. That was a decent enough punishment in my book.”

“Please, Jeffrey…” She dug her nails into his collarbone. “You must… reconsider...” As Buggle saw her visage, her face flashed into the embodiment of a she-demon. The fury glistened in her eyes, her mouth twisted into a leering gape. He gulped hard on his saliva. It was for a mere flash, but with all that hidden rage within, it was undeniably scary. Janis was one facet, someone who easily blew up in people’s faces and screamed and thrashed to get her way. But Ashanti… Buggle had no inkling what she was capable of doing to someone who got on her bad side.

“I suppose my judgment was made in haste. My apologies Giacomo, but running the issue through my head twice over, you should be given the correct punishment. We must all follow the theft policy, on the clock or off. Employees who give chase or apprehend a shoplifter get fired soon after. Still, I won’t fire you, but you’ll be signing two disciplinary forms instead of one.” Everyone had different reactions in response to that. Formaggio was aghast, Ashanti reverted to her smiley self, Janis sulked(she wanted him fired so badly), and all that was left was Risotto, who dipped his head in acceptance.

“So that means I’m down to one chance?” Risotto asked.

“I’m afraid so… and we’re going to have to reduce your pay yet again.”

“What!? You can’t do that! That’s bullshit!” Formaggio objected, he was visibly upset. “We’re already struggling to keep a roof over our heads!”

“Sorry, son.” Buggle shrugged, unmoved by his outburst. “I don’t make the rules, I only enforce them. I anticipate that now you two have been thoroughly informed, that this little “accident” will not occur twice, am I clear on that?”

“But he-!”

“Yes sir.” Risotto nodded, stopping Formaggio from further arguing over the verdict.

“OOOOOOOoooooooooooo… ooooooooOOOOOOOOoooooooo…OooooOOOOOOooooooooooo…”

What was that noise? It was startling. All five of them peered at the door, they exchanged worried glances. Somebody was in pain and it was coming from outside the hall. Buggle cautiously twisted the knob and peeked out the crack. He made out a tall, skinny boy dragging himself on the wall, he was clutching his stomach. He was wearing a jacket but one of the sleeves was sliding off his arm, his outfit underneath was company brand. Janis pushed her way out to get a better view.

“Lesley!” Janis exclaimed angrily, spinning the sick boy around. “You were supposed to leave hours ago! Are you working off the clock?”

“Whaaaaaaaat do you meeeeeeean?” His vowels were slurred. “I’m waaaaaaaaaalking to the dooooctor’s, moooooom. I goooot to gooo to the doooooctor’s.”

“H-Huh? Do I look like your mother? Snap out of it, you blithering idiot!” Was he intoxicated? His belly gurgled, and he let out a horrid moan.

“I don’t…”

“I don’t…”

“I don’t feel so- BLAAAGHHHJHHHHJJHHH!” Yellow slime poured from Lesley’s gob, missing Janis by a hair. The remaining employees watched in horror as the boy crumpled his body into a fetal position and shivered violently on the floor. “Ow. M-My legs are sore.”

“No…” The realization hit Risotto and Formaggio swiftly. Abdominal pain? Hallucinations? Yellow bile? The same symptoms Formaggio had experienced that time beforehand!

“OooooooooooOooOOOOOOOOOooooo…
OoooooOOOOOOOoooOOOOOOooooo…
oooOooooOOOOOOOOOooooooOOOOO…
OOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOooooOOOO…”

More distressed wailing echoed, it was a chorus. It wasn’t coming from the hallway, it was coming from the Front-End. Risotto and Formaggio rushed out of the hall. “Whatever’s going on, we gotta alert the others!”

“Right!”

They almost broke down the door. What they witnessed came right of out a horror scene from a zombie flick. Employees were crouched over, mindlessly shuffling themselves around the store. Some sat on the floor struggling to get up while others were laying motionless, face first in puddles of vomit. Bile. It was everywhere. The store was flooded with the stuff! The other managers made it to the door before letting out a loud gasp. Ashanti ran to the nearest phone, only for Janis to stop her by yanking her ponytail.

“What are you doing!?” Janis barked.

“C-Calling 911!” Ashanti responded worriedly.

“NO! NO ONE CAN FIND OUT ABOUT THIS!”

“B-But!”

“WE MADE A PROMISE!”

“Janis, be sensible!” Buggle exclaimed.

While the managers argued over the next course of action, Formaggio limped to one of the cashiers. It was the cashier with the surgical mask, she was seated leaning next to her register. She was panting and her clothes and hair were coated with crusty yellow bits. “Hey! What happened? Are you alright?”

“I don’t know…” The masked girl whimpered. “My stomach was hurting like crazy all day today. I was afraid if I called out, Janis would get mad at me so I came in. But then my legs began aching and then,” she coughed violently, which was followed by a waterfall of saliva jetting out. Since her mask was on, not only it was completely soaked but the jet of saliva spewed in all directions, Formaggio thankfully dodged it from hitting him.

Risotto searched high and low for his teammates. This couldn’t be happening. So the whole time they were snooping to find what caused Formaggio’s illness wasn’t from their home or a food truck, it had to be here! But where could he have started? They work in a goddamn grocery store for fuck’s sake, it could’ve been from anything! But since everyone was getting sick with the same ailments, there was a chance for a lead. He questioned those who were inflicted with the illness. “What did you eat today?”

“Burger.”

“Salad.”

“A sandwich.”

“Cereal.”

No! He was getting different answers! He pressed them to think long and hard about what they ate, there was a trace linking everything together, he just knew it. “Really think. What did eat today that could’ve made you sick?”

“Hotdog.”

“Ice cream.”

“Nachos.”

“A chocolate bar.”

No! No! No! This wasn’t making a lick of sense! It had to be something here! Risotto peered down at his feet, the vomit was seeping into his shoes. It was disgustingly warm and watery. Wait! Water! Risotto’s eyes widened, he had a lightbulb moment! He was asking the wrong questions this whole time. It wasn’t what they were eating, it was what they were drinking! “Quickly! Tell me! What did you drink today?”

“Water.”

“Water.”

“I had water.”

“We took some distilled water from Janis’ room. Please don’t tell her.”

“Water from here.”

“Giorgio!” Risotto called out, Formaggio was yards behind him. “Did you drink the distilled water from here?”

“Yeah…!”

This was it! They did it! They found the source! The moment of triumph came to an abrupt halt when from a distance Risotto could see the only department untouched by the puke plague. The Bakery. His heart suddenly dropped. Pesci, who seemed oblivious to his surroundings, was parched from a hard day’s work. He picked up a plastic cup, happily humming to himself as he filled the whole cup with the sweet, sweet, clear nectar from the distiller. Risotto had no time. Faster than a speeding bullet, Risotto charged over to his teammate. Pesci licked his thirsty lips.

Risotto wasn’t going to make it!

He was bringing the cup to his mouth!

Dammit, there was no time!

“DON’T DRINK THE WATER!” Risotto screeched.

His screaming startled the boy, who lost his grip on the cup and it went all over the floor. Pesci stared vacantly at the spill. What sin had he committed in his existence to not get his way for once? Was he fated to never get his way? He reckoned if he was thirsty, he had no choice but to drink his tears. Risotto heaved in relief, “Oh, thank god. You’re safe…”

“That was THE LAST CUP, MAN!” Pesci flipped. They heard a crash, then a scream. Next thing they realized, customers were running in flocks out of the store. “What’s happening!?” Pesci cried out.

“No time! Round up the others! Make sure they don’t drink the water!”

“What’s wrong with the wat-?”

“JUST GO!” Pesci hurried as fast as he could. Risotto rushed back up to the Front-End. More and more employees were doubling over. Some of them seemed… lifeless. Once Risotto made it to the Front, the faint sounds of an ambulance were becoming louder and louder. Workers were being plopped onto stretchers and rushed away. Risotto saw his friends huddled together, they were being checked out by a paramedic. At least they were safe. He turned back around to gaze at the immense chaos that was unfolding before them. It was Hell.

———————————————————————

FIVE DAYS LATER…

Almost a week had passed since the puke pandemonium had happened. The store had to be wiped clean from ceiling to floor. Poor janitors. Should’ve gotten a raise for that, but likely didn’t. And the poor Hitman Team as well. Those who weren’t exhibiting signs of sickness had to remain working, which meant wasting away for nine hours with the putrid scent of vomit living rent-free in their nostrils. Strangely, the team didn’t hear much news about the chaos, not from their coworkers, their managers, not even news outlets. All they knew was Janis and her husband were using all the power they had to push the incident under the rug. What if there was a news article written about the disaster? What if a health inspector barged into the premises? They’d have to close the shop! No, no, no! That wouldn’t simply do!

Fortunately, those who were affected didn’t suffer anything fatal, one of them came back to work a few days later. Still though, there were so many things left unanswered. What caused their drinking water to be tainted? Was there someone behind it? Why was Janis so keen on keeping it under wraps? Was it for reputation, or something far more sinister? From that day forward, nobody from the ShopSmart Mart knew what caused the water to go stale… except for the hitmen, of course.

“Di Molto! I found a match!” Melone exclaimed excitedly. The others gathered around his laptop, which was also his Stand, Babyface. They awed excitedly as Melone tapped a few keys on his Stand. “Yes, there!” The screen displayed the results from the vomit samples Melone had picked up from the store, they were all eerily similar. “It was very easy once I had enough DNA samples to compare to Formaggio’s. Once I logged them in Babyface’s database, all of them came back with remarkable results!”

“This is so cool!” Pesci piped. “But gross…”

“Well, I’m just grateful we solved the case,” Prosciutto turned to Formaggio. “How’re your legs?”

“Better!” Formaggio replied happily, wiggling his leggies freely. “Feel like a new man!”

“That’s not all…” Everyone’s attention was back on Melone. “I found something rather eery in all the samples that are crucial to my research. I have a theory… I believe someone was trying to poison the staff.”

“How so?” Illuso asked.

“By the power of genetics!” Melone clicked a few more keys. He then pointed at the screen. “See here? This was the sample I took from Formaggio’s chili dog. I swabbed off the saliva from it and the only DNA I found was one set, Formaggio’s set. Nothing out of the ordinary. Now take a look here, here are the results from Formaggio’s vomit. What did I come across? Two sets of DNA. One from Formaggio and another from an unidentified person. To further prove this, here are the samples from the water I brought back from the store. There.”

“Damn, it’s the same DNA from this unknown guy,” Ghiaccio gaped.

“Not as unknown as you might believe. While I can’t put an identity on our culprit, I can look into their genetic makeup. Here. XX chromosomes. Their blood type is A Positive. They’re of European and/or Northern African descent. As for their age, I can’t tell the range but it does show they are positively an adult.”

“So you’re saying this person of interest is likely an adult woman?” Risotto queried.

“Very likely.”

“Okay, okay, genetics is cool and all, I guess.” Illuso butted. “But the real question here is how did some lady’s DNA get into everyone’s systems?”

“So I studied the water samples and I found moderate doses of protein. And I mean DOZENS of enzymes including mucins, immunoglobulins, histatins, and cystatins. But the major enzyme I found was a-Amylase also known as “alpha Amylase”-.”

“Geez man, spit it out already,” Illuso cut him rudely.

“Well… that’s it. You can find all these proteins in… human saliva.” The team simultaneously gagged and choked by that revelation. Formaggio felt the urge to throw up again, this time for an entirely different reason. “NASTY! SO ALL THIS TIME I’VE BEEN GULPING SOME RANDOM BITCH’S SPIT!?”

“… Yes.”

“THAT’S THE LAST TIME I’M DRINKING ANYTHING FROM THAT FUCKIN’ PLACE!”

“Hey, wait a sec. How come Formaggio was the only one to get sick while all of us came out fine?” Pesci asked. “I only drank the store’s water twice, but still.”

“Or how can human saliva cause a man to become paralyzed?” Prosciutto added.

“Simple. We consumed it in smaller doses,” Melone answered. “Unlike Formaggio, who drinks like a thirsty hound dog on a hot August day, he had higher doses in his body, which slowly over time made him sick. To answer the follow-up question… I’m still trying to figure that out. Right now, I cannot connect the dots to that mystery.”

“Aight, aight, problem solved!” Formaggio grabbed his jacket and opened the front door. “Okay, bye guys. I’ll be leaving y’all in the dust. Can’t be late for the fiesta at the store.” He just didn’t want to hear any more spit talk.

———————————————————————

It was late that evening, it was starting to snow right outside the store’s doors. There indeed was a party going on. It was originally for the Front-End only but since most of the Front was left in the intensive care unit, other departments were welcome to come. All the workers were huddled in the Orientation Room. Music was blasting, there were cakes, cookies, and other snacks on the table. There was a punch bowl but everyone avoided it like the plague.

“Okay, kiddies!” Ashanti announced, waving her arms to beckon everyone to come around her. Chipper as always, almost like none of the events prior ever happened. “Gather, gather! Just wanna give my two cents before revealing the winners of this year’s Christmas Can-Can Blowout Spectacular Sale~!”

“More like Christmas Can-Can BLOWJOB Spectacular Sale,” Ghiaccio mocked, his friends concurred by chuckling at his comment.

“This company is so proud of each and every one of you! You’ve worked so long and hard this year, we wouldn’t have gotten far without any of you! Like, all of you are irreplaceable! You are my family! Cheers~! And now here are the runner-ups! Everyone from 30th to 4th wins a FREE T-SHIRT!” She clapped enthusiastically while Janis came with a box of t-shirts, mumbling to herself how stupid this was. Instead of handing each person a t-shirt like a decent person, she carelessly tossed the shirts over their heads. Melone was given an extra-large shirt.

“This one’s not my size,” Melone stated casually.

“NO BACKSIES!” Janis scolded.

He turned to another worker. “Wanna trade?”

“NO TRADING EITHER!”

With a sigh, Melone threw on the shirt. It looked like a dress on him. He read the text. “I’m. A. Super-star.” There was a star with an adorably sickening face on it. “Wow. It matches my eyes. Yay.” Melone remarked unenthusiastically.

“Okay! Third place goes to L!” Barely anyone clapped. The masked girl skipped over to claim her prize. “You win… a friend!” Ashanti beamed as Janis brought out a cage with a rabid squirrel trying to claw its way out. “Meet your new buddy~!”

The squirrel lunged to take a bite out of the girl’s finger. “Uhhh, I don’t think he likes me,” the girl said worriedly.

“Don’t be silly. “Chomp” means “I love you” in squirrel.” Janis spun the girl by the shoulders and pushed her away. “Now play nice with him!”

“Second place goes to Crosby!” A few guys in the back whistled and clapped. The blonde-haired cashier ambled for his prize. “Here ya go, champ! A gift card!”

“… This is just $10 to Bed Bath & Beyond,” the boy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, and you’re welcome!” Janis smiled as endearing as a roach.

“Whatever…”

“Are you sure about this, Magg?” Ghiaccio whispered in his teammate’s ear. “All these prizes look cheap as fuck. How do you expect them to go from a $10 gift card to 3000 bucks?”

“I’m positive, dude. That’s what Janis and Ashanti told me.”

“O-kay, whatever you say.”

“Alrighty, y’all! In this very envelope, holds our champion right here!” Ashanti shook an envelope that contained the winner’s name in it. This was it. This was the moment Formaggio was waiting for! There was no other name to be called but his! He could see it now. It wasn’t just about winning or paying off most of his hospital bills. Of course, the latter was important, he needed to pay off his debt. But the sheer astonishment on his buddies’ faces when he pulled off something right for once, then they’d cheer him on… that’d make him feel like a millionaire.

Ashanti ripped the top of the envelope. “And the winner of the Christmas Can-Can Blowout Spectacular Sale is…!”

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

“Giorgio~!”

…

…

…

That name. That name echoed from one ear out the other. It was as if someone took a mallet and with full force, split Formaggio’s brain in two. Not like he wasn’t expecting it, everybody else had gotten their prizes but him, and yet, the news dropped on him like a bombshell and he stood there in a stupor. “I believe his brain exploded from the shock, hehehe,” Illuso murmured amusedly to Ghiaccio.

Formaggio snapped out of his daze when the entire room erupted into a round of applause. It wasn’t just clapping, no, it was a standing ovation! No way was this real, he had to be dreaming! They were cheering him on, chanting his name in fervor. Looking from behind his shoulder, even his friends were rejoicing! They were whistling and clapping… and then there was Risotto. Risotto… his smile… that damn smile… it was faint yet there was a warmth to it…

“Well done,” Risotto mouthed, holding a thumbs up.

He did it…

He actually did it…

HE WON!

“YEAH! HAHAHAHA! WOOOO!” Grabbing the closest person in view, Formaggio took Melone by the hand and spun him into a crazed waltz. He then let go of the dizzy man and pulled Ghiaccio by his face and pecked each cheek, receiving a shove from his disgusted comrade. “Bleugh! Don’t kiss me!” Formaggio let out a belly laugh and embraced each and every one of his brothers, whether they liked it or not.

“C’mon, ya crazy kid! Get over here and claim ya prize!” Ashanti giddily waved him over in her direction. With a squeal, Formaggio pranced over to the lanky woman. Once he was excitedly fidgeting in front of her, she took both his hands and slid his fingers in between hers. “Giorgio, you’ve been such a vital member of our family. You made such a vast difference for our community and you’ve touched so many hearts. With that, we want to show you how gracious we are by bestowing you this gift. A gift that’ll help you…” She glanced straight at his teammates, grinning. “As well as your brothers.” Risotto frowned. Something about the glint in her smirk… he had a weird feeling in his gut.

“Therefore I, Ashanti...”

“Yeah?” Formaggio barely could contain himself. This was it!

“Front-End Assistant Manager of ShopSmart Mart…”

“Yeah? Yeah? Out with it already!” A shit ton of mula is just around the corner, baby!

“Award you, Giorgio of the Sordino Clan…”

“Say iiiiiitttt!”

“A free turkey!”

…’ The fuck did she say?

The whole room grew dead silent. The eye before the storm. The music that was blaring “All I Want For Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey, was abruptly cut. No one said a word minus an awkward cough here and there. The Hitman Team’s jaws dropped, but not in a good way. The color in their faces drained and they all became ghostly white. Formaggio’s smile turned crooked.

“… And?” He asked anxiously, expecting something more.

“That’s it! Good job!” She shot him a thumbs up. Formaggio heard a snap. Sounded like a string. No, it wasn’t a literal piece of string being tugged to the point of splitting. It was his psyche.

“… WHAT!?” His excitement was drowned out by a wave of unrelenting fury. “‘THE HELL YOU MEAN “THAT’S IT”? YOU SAID IF I WON, I’D WIN 3000 BUCKS! YOU PROMISED! YOU FUCKING PROMISED! WHERE IS IT!?” The crowd goggled at the spectacle unfolding before them. Never in anyone’s life had beheld someone so easygoing as Formaggio bucking their arms so aggressively and gnashing their teeth like a crazed beast… that was everyone’s cue to take a step back, some even clung to one another in case they’d get dragged into the raging tornado. “ALL THAT WORK-! ALL THAT WORK FOR A FUCKING TURKEY!?”

“Good god,” Melone whispered, in complete bewilderment.

“Holy shit,” said Illuso, murmuring in his teammate’s ear. “He’s chewing them out real good… about time.”

“This is nuts! Should we intervene, bro? Bro?” Pesci glanced up at Prosciutto, who was too appalled to utter a reply.

“I FOUGHT TOOTH AND NAIL FOR THIS GODDAMN SHITHOLE, AND WHAT DID I WIN!?” He lifted the packaged poultry high over his head. “IT’S NOT EVEN A TURKEY! IT’S NO THICKER THAN A DAMN CIGARETTE! MY HAND’S GOT MORE MEAT THAN THIS SHIT!”

“Why you little! How dare you act so ungrateful! I should smack you for such insolence-!” Janis rolled up her sleeve and was about to stomp over to commit the act, but was blocked by Ashanti’s arm. Unlike her superior, the young assistant manager appeared cool-headed and wasn’t at all fazed by Formaggio’s tantrum.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH? I’VE BEEN MOCKED, IGNORED, BLAMED, AND PUSHED! LITERALLY!” He swiveled his head, with the back of it still being grotesquely swollen and purple. “MY BRUISE HASN’T EVEN HEALED YET! WHILE YOU TWO SLACKED OFF BY THE PODIUM AND CHITTY-CHITTY-CHATTED YOUR ASSES OFF, I WAS BUSY BEING SMACKED AROUND BY THOSE GOONS YOU CALL YOUR LOYAL CUSTOMERS! AND THIS IS THE FUCKING THANKS I GET!? A TURKEY!? I COULD FUCKING BUY ONE ANYTIME I WANT TO! ASSHOLES!”

Ashanti peered down at the angry man. Her eyes were half-lidded and showed no signs of fear. “… Giorgio.” Ashanti lovingly patted the top of Formaggio’s fuzz. “Giorgio, Giorgio, Giorgio… where on Earth did you hear all this nonsense from?” Her voice was serious, yet nurturing. Borderline condescending.

“Ergh-? YOU! YOU TOLD ME THAT!” Formaggio accused. No longer was he playing these dumbass games. He remembered it as clear as day: “The sales rep who sells the most cans by the end of the last day will be compensated with a $3000 bonus in their paycheck~!” There was not a chance he was going insane, she was!

“Me?” Ashanti tapped the tip of her chin as if she was pondering long and hard. “No~. That couldn’t be possible~. You must’ve dreamt it all up. I don’t recall mentioning that aforementioned sum of cash at the gathering.”

“Gathering?”

“Ohhhh, that’s right!” She cupped her hands on both cheeks, feigning shock. “Now my memory’s coming back! That was when you called out sick. Oh, you poor, poor thing! You just so happened to miss the superly duper important gathering we had with the Front-End staff. No wonder why you’re getting yourself all jumbled up. You see Giorgie, every single rep was informed-.”

“I wasn’t.” Melone had cut in.

“Every single rep was informed,” Ashanti spoke, pitching the volume of her voice higher. “Of the prizes for those who’d win. First place winner would’ve won a del-icious turkey to share with the family on Christmas. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Right, you guys?” She questioned loudly to the audience.

“Yeah, I remember hearing that,” one cashier nodded.

“Me too,” another one agreed. One by one more people joined the discussion, nodding to one another in regards to Ashanti’s claim. Formaggio turned around to find someone, anyone who could back him up. Alas, all his coworkers were siding with that big-headed liar! He looked to his family, surely they’d have his back. To his dismay, they stood there uncomfortably, either shrugging their shoulders or shaking their heads. Risotto was hard-pressed staring daggers at the two managers, his gut instinct being justified.

“I dunno, man. We knew nothing about this “gathering”. Everything we were told came from you,” Illuso said to Formaggio, cringing while shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t help ya.”

Formaggio blushed with embarrassment, it felt like those bad dreams where he’d come into work wearing nothing but his boxers. The only differences were that his clothes were intact and this wasn’t a dream.

“See? Everyone in this room agrees with me. You just got your facts wrong, is all~.”

“N-No, it was you who told me-!”

“Oh Giorgio,” she draped an arm over him, pulling him closer to her. “Let’s walk a bit, ‘kay? Don’t be so hard on yourself, I get that you’re flustered. It’s fine, you can trust me. We all have hiccups here and there. Look at it like this, even if we wanted to give a valuable employee like yourself three thousand dollarydoos, we simply couldn’t afford it. We need to ensure every single worker gets an equal wage, it’s only fair. Everything else goes into the store’s bills. It’s outrageously criminal, we barely can scrape enough to give to charity! But that’s just how things work here. You get it, do you?”

“B-But-!”

“I knew you’d understand! After all, we’re always looking out for you. We cherish every one of our members, including you, Giorgio. You know the dealio, personal pizza parties, cashier of the month, TV privileges, two loving and supportive managers.” Her pearly whites split wider. “Why, it sounds like you have it good here. Great, even. I don’t get why you’re so bent outta shape getting your hands on $3000 anyway. You can be making a fortune accepting tips from your regulars. You’re good at that, wouldn’t you agree, my superstar~?” She spilled the beans loud enough for Formaggio’s teammates to overhear, fixating their scowls at him. His face burned so hot, he reckoned he was going to go up in flames. “Now then, will you end this meltdown of yours and be a good sport~? I hope so. We don’t have room for scrooge behavior and it wouldn’t be fair to shame your brothers by putting on a show, no~?”

“Um...” Formaggio tried hard as he could to find a good comeback or something to sling back at her, but no matter how much brainpower he used, there was static.

“Good, good.” She patted his head, plopping the “turkey” in his arms. “Now run along back to your bros! I’m sure they’ll be more than happy having a free meal for a night or two.” She shifted her attention to the crowd, proclaiming cheerfully, “Thank you one and all for participating in this fun-tastic event! We can hardly wait for next year for what’s to come! Just a reminder, our store will be closed for five days straight!” All of the employees looked at each other with bewildered faces. No one mentioned anything about a five-day vacation! Sounded great on paper, but a minority of workers objected to the news. They wouldn’t be compensated for it and they had bills to pay and mouths to feed! Despite their complaints and objections, Ashanti raised her voice louder. “Yes! Starting tomorrow, you guys will be off! You all did so well this year, you deserve a break! That’s it for announcements! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Kwanza! And I hope everyone has a Hap-py New Ye-ar~!”

Formaggio remained rooted where he stood, frozen like a statue, his gaze rested on his “prize”. He was there but wasn’t. People spoke, but it was incoherent background noise. He did it. He won. But at what cost? He wasn’t going to take a $3000 home tonight, only his would-be dinner and his shattered pride. Was he a fool for believing he’d win it big? To think he did something right for once. She said there wasn’t a catch. But that begged the question, why would he trust her to begin with? She was the one who wrote him up and threw Risotto under the bus. The worst part was he believed her over his best friend. Illuso was right, he was far up his ass. As the saying goes, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on…”.

“Hey,” Prosciutto placed a hand on his shoulder, snapping Formaggio back to his senses. “Let’s bounce.”

“But-.”

“Now. And clean yourself up, your lip is bleeding.” It took Formaggio a full second to figure out what his comrade meant by that until he felt something warm trickling down his chin. He swiped the warmness with his fingers and found that his fingertips were coated red. Moving his fingers up to his bottom lip, he felt a slight twinge. While in his prior state, Formaggio bit his lip so hard, he drew blood. Prosciutto walked up to his boss. It was time to leave. “Ready?”

Risotto peered down at him, then squinted at the door. “You guys move towards the exit. I gotta settle some things with “you-know-who”.” The man hastily exited the room where he spotted the older woman begrudgingly carrying an armful of boxes down the hall.

“You.” Risotto expected her to brush him off and keep walking. That wasn’t the case shockingly. Granted, he could determine that she was rolling her eyes at him before setting the boxes on the floor and pivoting around to face him. He took another step towards her. “What have you done?”

“‘The hell you mean “what have “I” done”?” Janis scoffed dismissively, using air quotes to emphasize her question. “Not my fault your scatterbrained brother embarrassed himself in front of everyone. He shouldn’t be throwing his issues at us like we’re the problem.”

“You told him if he won, he’d get the bonus.”

“… And your point is?” She tapped her foot.

“You fed him lies that if he won after the sale was over, he’d be able to pay off three-fourths of his hospital bills. You knew damn well by feeding him that mental garbage, he was gonna do whatever it took to win, even if it meant putting his physical and emotional state on the line… and he did. Lying to him was your opportunity to overwork him for bigger and better profit.”

“Hey, hey! Listen!” She directed her chubby finger in proximity to his nose. “Don’t put words in my mouth, wise-ass. I didn’t say SQUAT to him, capiche? That was Shanti. Wanna take it up with someone, take it up with her. And by the way, she hates your guts so if you wanna fight her on the matter, good luck with that.” She scathingly flicked his bangs, almost missing his sunglasses. However, that act of defiance didn’t scare Risotto, who pushed further. “I don’t care which one of you lied, both of you are just as guilty as the other. He set out to prove time and time again that he was a worthy employee and yet, the only thing he earned for his hard work was a damn turkey? The squirrel in the cage was a better prize. He’s not even getting worker’s compensation despite being assaulted on the job.”

“Welp, he can take plenty of siestas for that empty, little noggin of his now he has five days off.” She heaved the boxes to her bust. “You’re welcome for that.” She began to saunter away.

“How saintly of you,” Risotto remarked. Behind those sunglasses, his set of black voids turned into slits. “And so sudden to inform us as well.”

“‘The fuck does that mean?” Janis grew defensive. “You’re saying you don’t want a break? I offer letting you and brothers rest and you’re not gonna accept my gift? Talk about biting the hand that feeds you, grinch.”

“We have to work,” Risotto pressed sternly. “Five days of no work is losing a whole paycheck’s worth of food and rent. We can’t afford to miss even a day’s worth of work and it’s not like we have side jobs to soften the blow.”

“Well look on the bright side, you dunderheads can work your saggy asses off all you want on Christmas.”

“So you deny your workers hours before the holidays just to overwork them on Christmas?” Even a twisted crime syndicate such as Passione had given the familia the time off to be with their loved ones. It was the holiest day of the year after all, according to the former Passione boss.

“Of course, we don’t. What was going through that empty skull of yours when she announced you were getting five days off? Helloooo? Is anyone in there? We need everyone locked and loaded for the most wonderful time of the year. Shoppers are gonna be busy making last-minute purchases and we’re expected to aid them. It’s a Christmas miracle that we have enough staff this year!”

“It’s on the customers for shopping at the very last second. How should that be a minimum wage worker’s problem?”

“Then I can’t help you, Giacomo. I don’t have an inkling what you want! How can I help you if you don’t have a clue what YOU want?” She poked her fingernail hard into his chest, getting more aggressive as she continued to berate him. “You’re really pissing me off, dicknoodle! I hand you vacation days, yet you bitch and moan that you need more hours. I hand you more hours, but then you bitch and moan about working on a holiday! Pick a side, ‘cause you’re fucking confusing me, you idiot! Was a 30-pound brick dropped on your head when you were an infant or were you born the mental runt of the litter? It always falls on me running this place while my moron of a husband sits his ass, eating cheese and crackers all day with a bunch of rich idiots as dumb as him! And on top of having to run the store AND hear you complain over the smallest things, I have to use up my precious free time prepping for this stupid annual New Year’s ball for you incompetent dolts that I’m supposed to refer to as my management!”

“… Erm? New Year’s ball? What?”

Her peepers popped out of her skull. “Aw, shit.” Realizing her fuck-up, Janis facepalmed her jiggly face. That bozo wasn’t supposed to know… technically speaking he was, but she preferred NOT to disclose that info to him. Alas, there was no point hiding it from him now. She groaned, then spoke hesitantly, “Yeah… my husband’s throwing a ball for management. He does this for every New Year’s at the Crest Hollow Country Club in Woodbury located on the island. That place is not to be trifled with, it’s VERY upscale. Only the ritziest of socialites from all around go there to dine and carouse.”

“Hmm. Sounds exhilarating. Odd that I didn’t catch wind of it sooner.” Risotto crossed his arms, he understood exactly why he wasn’t aware of it.

“Yeah- uh, I,” Janis grumbled.

“Thanks, but I’m gonna have to turn down the offer.” Janis would’ve been clicking her heels right then and there knowing she wouldn’t have to worry about that soap-for-brains buffoon showing his ugly mug to the ball.

“Oohhhhh that’s too baaad,” Janis acted sorry. She wasn’t fooling anyone nor was she aiming to seem believable. “Yeaaah, you need your own transportation to make it to this party. I’m aware you can’t afford a vehicle due to your financial rut. So sad you boys can’t make it.”

That was far from the truth, though. A bit of trivia about Mr. Presley is that he wasn’t the kind of man to force his staff to drive through the heavy traffic of Manhattan to Long Island, which could take up to two hours. Mr. Presley would rent a few limousines for the managers to ride to-and-from the party, especially since most of them wind up getting tipsy anyway. “So, are we finished chitchatting? ‘Cause I’m holding three boxes full of junk and my arms are turning into jelly,” Janis tapped her foot impatiently again.

Every aching day his self-restraint lessened with every snark that crone spouted at him. He couldn’t stand swallowing his pride, but it was fruitless to waste his energy arguing over the $3000 paycheck or the unpaid time off, or the worker’s comp. It wasn’t fair, but what did he expect to reason with someone who couldn’t reason if her life depended on it? If he pushed any further, he could step out of line, and that pompous witch would take the slightest opportunity to take away his job, or worst, his friends’ jobs.

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“And FYI, guess you didn’t take my advice about smiling more. It shows, your hair has seen better days. Maybe if you didn’t carry the burden of raising a bunch of manbabies, you wouldn’t be greying at your age.” Janis sneered, pointing at the strands of silver peeking through his black bangs. That woman had no room to speak. Risotto made no reply to that and made his way down the hallway.

The dye thing was getting out of hand for him. Risotto would dye his hair every morning and yet the color would just “fall out” and within a day or two, it would revert to its metallic shine. He fully understood that it was one of many side effects caused by his Stand, but it didn’t make the coloring process any less annoying. Though, that was the least of his problems…

Risotto remembered it well like it was yesterday. The aftermath of the “puke pandemonium”, precisely a day after. Risotto had confided with Buggle in his office. “He can’t get worker’s comp?”

“There’s not much I can do,” Buggle stated. “Not enough proof.”

“Not enough proof? It just happened yesterday and it’s on the security cameras,” Risotto insisted impatiently. “He just needs the proper forms to file the claim. This process shouldn’t be the equivalent of pulling teeth out of a little brat’s mouth.”

Buggle leaned over his office desk and whispered, “You want my honest word? There won’t be any claim because there is no footage.”

“What does that mean?”

“Simply put, Janis discarded the tapes. No footage, no proof that it happened.”

That bitch.

“And you’re just going to give her a slap on the wrist and call it a day?” Risotto inquired. “Is she even allowed to do that?”

“Trust me. From the bottom of my heart, all I ever wanted was for Giorgio to get approved for worker’s comp. Really, I do. But once Janis gets involved in affairs such as this, any control you had in the situation is swiftly taken by her. She always calls the shots. I could discuss the matter with Mr. Presley, but that would do nothing but put a target on my back.” Buggle hopped off his chair and escorted Risotto out of his office. “Crossing her is a death sentence, Giacomo. If you value your employment as you value your brothers, my advice is to stay low and turn the other cheek.” Risotto was a step out of the door before he turned to the smaller man once more.

“Please. There has to be another way around this.”

“Sorry. When you’re the store owner’s wife you can do no wrong.” Buggle firmly shut the door.

Risotto discovered something new that day. Omitting Ashanti, the entire staff hated Janis. There was absolutely nothing redeemable about her. Her personality, her attitude, her voice, EVERYTHING. One would beg the question, if the majority despised such a villain, why was she still around in her position for over 35 years? The answer was quite simple. As long as her husband sided with her judgment, she was untouchable. It wouldn’t matter if Risotto went to Buggle, Mr. Presley, or even the goddang labor union, they’d either side with her, be too scared to confront her, or wouldn’t look twice into the issue. She was untouchable. Untouchable. That word rang loud through his conscious and every time it did, the urge to leave a dent in the wall became all the more enticing.

———————————————————————

The bus ride home was a lack of a better term, somber. The only inhabitants on the bus were the seven exhausted mafiosi and the disgruntled bus driver. Hardly any words were exchanged, the only noises present were the harsh whistling of a December breeze, the churning of the bus’s wheels, and Pesci’s snuffling as he napped on Prosciutto’s shoulder. Some of the guys were either zoning out at the dark, cold sky from the window or looking down at whatever filth was scattered on the floor.

“Pesci, get up,” Prosciutto nudged the younger man, a few shakes later Pesci was groggily coming back from his nap. “We’re almost home.”

“One more minute…” Pesci whined weakly.

“No, now. I told you we weren’t gonna stay on the bus for long.”

“Awww…”

Formaggio sat at the back of the bus, sulking, with his temple to the window. They got away with it. Two loving and supportive managers... two loving and supportive managers his ass! “Lousy twats… hope they rot in hell for all eternity,” he seethed to himself. They made an ass out of him in front of a live studio audience. Was his misfortune just a punchline to them? Might as well use a laugh track every instance he fucked up miserably. He was played like a fucking fiddle, he felt… dirty. His eyes grazed from the window to his friends seated a few rows down. Sure, part of him felt slighted that nobody spoke up on his behalf, with Melone making a feeble attempt to speak up. Then again, he’d be lying if he denied that he relayed the info to them. It wasn’t like they were in on it…

“Hey, guys!” Formaggio mustered all the shattered bits of optimism he had left in his heart. “Why do you all look so glum? Look, I wanted to get that prize money real bad, but hey, perhaps this turned out to be a good thing? I got dinner for the next two days! We won’t have to worry about getting takeout!” Their undivided attention was short-lived and within time, they turned back to what they resumed before. “Or better yet? We don’t have to starve. Looky here!” He pulled from his lap the bag that contained the shriveled turkey for them to behold. “It’s no high-quality roast, but I sure got something worth the while. Everything worked out, ‘cause I won! Right guys? Right?”

“Give it a rest, man,” Illuso spoke gruffly. “We’re not small-brained cave folk. We get it. You’re angry. I’d be angry too if I was in your shoes. But just… quit it.”

“Well… yeah, I won’t lie, I’m a bit ticked… but I still won! I didn’t walk out empty-handed. Is that good enough? Aren’t you guys proud?”

“You heard him… enough already,” Prosciutto turned around. From the way he spoke, he wasn’t having it. “First you worked yourself like an ass when you were instructed to rest. Then you embarrassed us publicly with your little episode over money that you were gonna splurge on booze rather than the debt you owe. And now you’re desperately fishing for sympathy for your paper-thin ego because, in the end, you lost. That’s pathetic behavior coming from someone who claims he doesn’t give a crap about anything.”

“I-, I-. No. Well, if you guys stood up for me back there, I wouldn’t be so mad!” Formaggio raised his voice. “I worked my fuckin’ ass off. And this is the fuckin’ thanks I get!?”

“So it’s our fault you’ve been behaving like an idiot child? True, they lied to you. What did you expect? Those harlots were never on our side to begin with. Why would you believe any of the tripe they regurgitate out their foul mouths? Only a pompous dumbass would, and now you’re paying for it!”

“Who’re you callin’ a pompous dumbass? You’re telling me taking initiative makes me a dumbass? I shouldn’t have to be the one sittin’ my ass in a dingy hospital room while you work to the bone and pay off my bills for me! I tried to do what was right and yet y’all are gawkin’ at me as if I’m the villain here!”

“I don’t have the time and crayons to explain this to you, so let me make this short and sweet for that smooth brain of yours. You’re not a dumbass because you took initiative, you’re a dumbass because you never learn from your mistakes. You fuck up and then you get pissed at us when we don’t take you seriously and that automatically makes us the bad guys.”

The desperate gangster veered his attention to his boss, whose back was facing him. “C’mon man, you’re on my side, right? Back at the hospital, you knew I was committed to working longer and harder. I got more hours and I got more money. Sure, I couldn’t find a second job like I said I would, and yeah, I could’ve contributed more to rent, but I went out of my comfort zone to prove that I wasn’t a screwup. Ya gotta give me that.” Risotto heard him loud and clear, yet didn't turn around and interject. His body was hunched over, one could deduce he was finding his words but couldn’t figure out how to express them verbally. “Boss…” Formaggio pleaded. Finally, Risotto slowly twisted around and went to open his mouth which was a promising breakthrough for Formaggio, but whatever was going through his head, he caught himself and turned away. “Come on, mate! Say something! Help me out here!” Formaggio pleaded again.

“Man, just shut the fuck up already! Jesus Christ…” Ghiaccio grunted. So this was how it was going to be? Feeling defeated, Formaggio relented and slumped back into his seat further, no other word was exchanged. Not even his best friend stood up for him. “Bro… that was a little uncalled for, don’t ya think?” A concerned Pesci twisted over his shoulder. If looks could kill, Formaggio could’ve killed the duo on the spot how his green glare dug into them. “He looks even madder now.” Prosciutto took an inhale in and sighed, simmering down immensely. “It’s fine, it’s just Formaggio. One way or another, he has to get out of this rut. He needs to…”

———————————————————————

5 DAYS LATER…

“Oy! Are you done in there!? I gotta pee!” Melone furiously rattled the doorknob that led to the sanctuary that was the toilet.

“He’s still in there?“ Prosciutto asked, slightly annoyed because he so desperately needed to rinse himself of five days' worth of stink. The blonde gangster was getting sick and tired of using the kitchen sink as his personal bath. Let’s just say that washing their bodily grime off when there were dirty dishes stacked in mountainous piles was a recipe for disaster. And to make matters go from bad to worse, all their hair products, including the shampoo, the conditioner, the hair gel, and the blow dryer, were stuck with Mr. Mope-and-Dope. “‘The hell is he doing in there?”

What was behind the door was a rather pitiful scene. The room was shrouded with fog from the running shower, to a suffocating degree. In one corner of the bathtub, there lay their teammate nestled into a ball, softly sobbing to himself. When they came home that eventful night, Formaggio crept inside the bathroom and locked himself in there. For days, he made it a point to isolate himself from his so-called “friends”.

“I can’t take this!” Ghiaccio declared, jumping off the couch and marching up to the door. “Maggio! Open the damn door! You can’t stay a depressed mess forever ya know, and you can’t be hogging all the hot water either!” Ghiaccio joined Melone banging down the barrier in vain. “No use in ignoring us. Prosciutto told you not to trust that tall glass of bimbo, but unsurprisingly, you don’t listen. No one told you to be so gullible.”

“Can you, for the love of God, piss off?” Formaggio shouted back. “I want to be left alone!”

“As if I’m gonna go away!” Ghiaccio argued back. “I gotta shit! Get your moody ass out of there and let us use it!”

“Yeah! I gotta go too!” Pesci protested.

“And I have to shower!” Prosciutto added. Despite the four men’s growing frustrations, Formaggio did not heed their demands seriously. Ghiaccio punched the door so hard, he could’ve put a hole through it. “C’mon, ya blubbering idiot! Open up!”

“Should’ve thought of that when you decided to crush your friend’s heart into dust,” Formaggio insisted. “But what can I expect from someone good at crushing things, Sir Goes-Through-Fifty-Pairs-of-Prescription-Glasses-In-One-Year!”

“Why you lil’ tit-biscuit,” Ghiaccio hissed viciously, “IT WAS ONLY THREE THIS YEAR! IF YOU DON’T GET OUT IN THE COUNT OF THREE, WE’RE ALL GONNA DO OUR BUSINESS ON THE GODDAMN FLOOR AND YOU’LL BE CLEANING IT UP ‘CAUSE YOU KNOW WHY? YOU KNOW WHY, FORMAGGIO? ‘CAUSE IT’LL BE ALL YOUR FAULT!” No response. No response equaled an accepted challenge. “THAT’S IT! I’M COUNTING DOWN, FORMAGGIO! I’M NOT DICKING AROUND THIS TIME! UNO…!”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up! I didn’t sign up for this! You’re not serious about taking a dump on the floor, right? We’re not cats, dammit!” Pesci objected.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH! THIS IS THE ONLY WAY HE’S GONNA GET OUT! IF NOT, HOPE YOU GOT EXTRA NEWSPAPERS! DUE…!”

“Ghiaccio, so help me God if you’re planning on doing what we think you’re doing,” Prosciutto snapped angrily.

“YOU THINK I’D FAVOR THE FLOOR OVER THE DAMN TOILET!? LIKE HELL, BUT I’M A DESPERATE MAN! FORMAGGIO, UNLOCK THIS FUCKING DOOR! DUE…!”

“YOU’RE MAD FOR SAYING THAT!” Prosciutto sprung from his spot. “IF YOU TAKE A CRAP ON THE FUCKING CARPET, *YOU’RE* CLEANING IT UP!”

“DUE…! DUE E MEZZO!” Despite his do-or-die attitude, one could tell Ghiaccio wasn’t seriously committed to going through with such a plan, but hoped the threat would scare his teammate enough into opening the entryway for them.

“Do it, pussy. You won’t,” Formaggio egged.

“PUSSY!? THAT DOES IT!”

“FORMAGGIO PLEASE! DON’T TEST HIM! JUST DO WHAT HE SAYS! HE’S NOT BLUFFING!” Melone pleaded, sliding his legs onto the floor, still squeezing the doorknob for dear life.

“MELONE’S RIGHT! I’M GONNA DO IT!”

“FORMAGGIO PLEASE!”

“I HATE IT HERE!” Pesci cried out in anguish.

“TRE!”

“FORMAGGIOOOO!” The horrified men screamed out. At this point, all Formaggio could hear was an octet of fists pounding in unison. When hope was seemingly lost, Risotto and Illuso sauntered into the living room as if nothing was going on. They paused and gawped as their teammates’ banging came to a halt and faced their boss with crazed looks.

“WHERE THE BLOODY FUCK HAVE YOU FUCKERS BEEN!?” Ghiaccio exclaimed.

“Washroom,” Risotto uttered casually.

“… WASHROOM!? I-!? HOW DID YOU-!? DID YOU PISS OUT OF THE FUCKING WINDOW!? THERE’S ONLY ONE WASHROOM IN THIS DAMN APARTMENT!”

“We used the toilet in the Mirror World. Remember that shard we brought to the hospital? We kept it in the bedroom. So in any case someone is occupying the bathroom in the real world, the other can do their business in the Mirror World’s equivalent. Same with the bedroom. You would just have to ask Illuso for access to it.” Ghiaccio went to shout something but stopped. Rethinking what his leader had told him, that idea was no kidding, ingenious. “... Anyways, can you PLEASE tell this overdramatic sad sack to get FUCK out of the little boy's room? My asshole’s about to give out if I wait a second longer!”

Risotto ordered his taller teammate, “Escort the others to the Mirror World. I’m going to have a little heart-to-heart chat with your “brother”.” With an annoyed sigh, Illuso beckoned the others to follow him for which they sprinted to the other room, almost flattening the mirror man into a pancake. The only souls left in the room were Risotto and Formaggio. “Enough of this behavior, Formaggio. Unlock the door.”

“You and what army?”

“I don’t need an army when I can break down a door with one kick. Up and at ‘em, mister. I’m not playing this game.” Risotto pressed his ear to the door. He held it there for a minute, but couldn’t make out any rustling or movement other than the running water. Risotto was midway winding his leg to blast the door down when he heard the shower head turn off, then there was a “click” and the door eerily creaked open. Risotto made a small, yet audible gasp when his eyes met his teammate’s ghoulish visage.

Five days can transform a man’s appearance, that was for sure. In this case, it wasn’t for the best. Formaggio was drenched from head to toe, leaving a wet trail from where he stood under the doorframe, all the way to the tub. At least he had the courtesy to put his pants on, otherwise, his chest and feet were bare. His hands and feet had pruned from running them underwater for days. The whites of his eyes didn’t look so well either, they were glassy and tinged a raw pink. Below Formaggio’s squint were black bags beginning to form and it seemed he slimmed down a few pounds. Risotto rubbed his temple. “No more, Formaggio. You can be upset all you want, but a hunger strike isn’t gonna solve the issue. You need to get a grip and get past this. What good are you gonna get living in these conditions?”

“I haven’t.”

“What?”

“I. Haven’t.”

“What do you mean by that? Explain.”

“I haven’t been starving myself.” Pulling out from his pant pocket was a candy wrapper that tumbled out of his fingertips and fell right in between them.

“Lemme guess? Instead of unlocking the door ‘cause churning the lock would’ve been loud enough for everyone to hear, you’ve been shrinking yourself to fit right under the crannies to secretly smuggle snacks into the bathroom?”

“If you say so,” Formaggio shrugged. “At least I’m eating.”

“You say that like it’s a better alternative,” Risotto admonished. “You can’t live on junk food forever, you’ll get yourself sick.”

“Whatever you say, Dad,” Formaggio replied in a sarcastic tone, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Hey, ya know while we’re at it, why don’t we take this father-son talk outside over a game a catch?”

“Formaggio,” Risotto warned sternly. When the man made an effort to move away, Risotto pushed his hand up against the wall. “I don’t appreciate this sass, young man. I’d say grounding you sounds like an alternative option right now, but that’ll be giving you what you want.”

“Young man? Grounding? Don’t talk to me like I’m five, for fuck’s sake. I’M ALMOST YOUR AGE!”

“We’re getting off topic.” Both men took a minute breather before Risotto finally got back on topic. “If you’re mad that we didn’t have your back at the party, we tried to stick up for you.”

“Hmph. You call standing around “sticking up for me”? Bull.”

Risotto got sterner. “I confronted Janis after the party and she wouldn’t budge. She ratted Ashanti out and insisted that I deal the issue with her and let’s face it, look what happened when you squared up to her. She didn’t listen to you and if I did, it’d be like arguing with a brick wall. And why is that? Because she doesn’t give a damn and she will never give a damn. Even Melone attempted to speak up and you know what happened? She brushed him off too.”

“…”

Risotto’s demeanor changed, his features softened. “I’m worried about you. These months have been a rollercoaster for you all, but more so for you. You’re not acting like your usual self. A lot of shit happened and I commend you for keeping your chin up through all of it, but then something changed. You’ve been pessimistic and bitter and you’ve been avoiding the others and myself. I’m afraid if you keep down this path, then… I don’t entirely know. What I do know is the more you give into these emotions, the deeper the grave you’re digging. I can’t stand by idly and let you suffer. Believe me, I’ve been down that path. The aggression, the frustration, the sadness. All those emotions I let fester and take control over me and it made me the man I am today. Not keeping them in check was the cause of my past shortcomings and I’m only to blame. Please acknowledge my words Formaggio, don’t ever take it to heart when I get hard on you. I respect you just as much as Prosciutto or Illuso or Ghiaccio or anybody else in this household. Do I make myself clear?”

“… Why didn’t you back me up when we were on the bus…? You were about to say something but then stopped yourself…”

“Tell you the truth, I was in no mood to take sides that night, but that doesn’t mean Prosciutto had some decent takes. Don’t get me started on your meltdown, you’re at a level of maturity to understand that that sort of behavior is out of line. While I’m glad you kept your promise to take extra hours, you should’ve given yourself time to heal first. But because you didn’t, you put yourself in a position of unnecessary emotional and physical strain. Also, you were so devoted to working longer shifts, you abandoned your cleaning duties, and let me tell you, Prosciutto doesn’t appreciate taking role as maid. There’s always room for you to improve, that’s what we all want from you, not just Prosciutto.”

Formaggio aimed to change the subject. “… What’s going on with the worker’s comp thing?”

Risotto dreaded he might’ve asked that question. “… I’ve been fighting Buggle so you can move forward getting worker’s comp.”

“And…?”

“Janis threw out the security footage from that day. So whatever proof we have is hearsay and the bruise you got from the ordeal.” Formaggio stood stiff then meandered to the couch, where he crouched and covered his face with both hands. “That bitch is gonna be the end of me.”

“Leave it to me,” assured Risotto, resting his huge hand on his teammate’s shoulder. “Just take it easy, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you get everything for that claim. Hang in there, okay?”

“Okay, boss.”

“Now I gotta make some phone calls, I don’t wanna find yourself back in the bathroom,” Risotto said half-jokingly.

“Roger.” Risotto exited the den, leaving Formaggio with a load of thoughts and questions swirling around in his mind.

———————————————————————

Prosciutto and Pesci were the last ones in the mirror bathroom. The young man was patiently seated on the toilet seat while his mentor was finishing washing the conditioner out of his hair. “Hey, bro?”

“What is it, mate?”

“Since my 21st birthday’s coming up and I’d gotten the day off, can we do something special for it?”

Prosciutto poked his face past the shower curtain. “Hmm, we wouldn’t be doing anything during the day ‘cause they have the rest of us working Christmas Eve. Besides that, I don’t see why we couldn’t celebrate it at night. What did you have in mind?”

“Weeell, I was thinking,” Pesci looked down sheepishly, pushing his two index fingers together. “It’s been two and a half months since we moved here and New York City is so, so pretty, bro. We haven’t done much exploring other than taking the bus to work. I was wondering…” He looked up with hopeful eyes. “Can we go out for my birthday? It doesn’t matter where we go I don’t care about that, I just wanna go out and see something new. I promise to be good and not be annoying to deal with. Please? This would be the best birthday/Christmas gift a fella could ever ask for.”

Prosciutto was afraid his little brother would pitch an idea like that. Their leader was quite adamant about keeping the team in one room. Exception for work, they were not to separate and venture off into the public, which could give the enemy an advantage point to ambush and off them one by one.

“Let’s discuss this with Risotto. Who knows? He might let this one slide for your cumpleanno.”

———————————————————————

“No. Absolutely not.”

“WHAT!? Noo! That’s not fair! Come on Risottoooo…!” The rookie cried out in despair.

“Pesci,” his leader explained sternly. “It’s one thing if the seven of us are present together, but all of us have to work late into the night. I understand you’ve had a streak of bad birthdays, but I can’t have you wandering the streets by yourself, it’ll be too dangerous.”

“Noooo! I can take care of myself, I swear! Please Risotto! I only turn 21 once! I promise to come back before curfew and I’ll do extra chores around the apartment too! Pretty please! Bro, do something!” The boy begged, dropping to his knees and praying to the heavens for a turnaround.

“Pesci cut the crybaby shit! You’re not gonna get what you want if you whine like that!” The blonde turned to his leader. “Capo, could you possibly reconsider this? It’s for his birthday after all. I get off in the afternoon, I’ll take him out. If things go awry, I’ll protect the boy with every fiber of my whole being.”

“No. I trust that you’ll keep Pesci safe, but for now, I want us to stay in a group. Knowing the Stand User can be lurking anywhere, being in a pack is safer.”

“B-But Risotto…!” Pesci objected.

“No buts. I’m sorry Pesci. If we didn’t have to work I’d say sure, but this isn’t a good time. We’ll celebrate it with a late dinner like normal, but I can assure you once we all get the same day off, we’ll take you out exploring. Whatever you want to do. You will lead, and we will follow. It’ll be your gift from me to you.”

“Sound good, Pesci?” Prosciutto prodded his not-so-thrilled little underling to answer Risotto’s proposition.

“And when will that be?” Pesci let out a groan.

Risotto exhaled deeply. “I’d be lying if I told you in the near future. I’m 99% certain Janis won’t give me the day off even if I request it, but just know it’s on our bucket list.”

“So the answer is “no”,” the boy crossed his arms, his face soured into a pout.

“No, the answer is “not anytime soon”, but we’re gonna plan it,” Prosciutto admonished.

“Hmph, next year… like you guys promise me every single time. “Next year will be better! Next year will be better!””

“Pesci Umbrino!” His blonde comrade barked. “You’re in for it if you dare play this game! Now you can keep acting like an ungrateful punk and you get nothing or grow a pair! Take your pick!”

“Fine. Whatever you say…” The younger assassin trudged towards the bedroom and slammed it behind him, not before looking at Prosciutto square in the face and letting out a disdainful huff.

“Oooh, the little-.” Prosciutto bolted from his seat and was about to go after his bratty friend. “Spoiled prick! We do so much for him and yet he has the balls to give us attitude when he doesn’t get his way? I’ll break the door down and staple his nuts to the goddamn wall! Sounds like a fine birthday present to me!”

“Let him go, Prosciutto,” Risotto commanded his friend to stop by patting the couch cushion. “Sit down. It’s not worth the trouble.” Begrudgingly, Prosciutto fell back on the couch cushion. “You know he’s never had the best luck with birthdays,” Risotto added.

“Yes, yes, I’m aware…” Prosciutto sighed. “Oh, Pesci…”

———————————————————————

“Damn you Prosciutto! Damn you Risotto! Why they gotta be so frickin’ annoying about everything? I’m a big boy, I can do whatever the heck I want!” It had been an hour since Pesci barricaded himself in the bedroom, pacing to and fro, delivering a tirade to an audience of himself. “I can keep myself safe! Gahhh, it’s so stupid! I just want a happy 21st! It’s not fair! I don’t ask much from this family! Every year, it’s always the same! “Oh Pesci, you can’t leave the house! The world is a cruel, terrible place, Pesci! You’re too much of a spaz to survive all alone”! Then I joined stupid Passione just for my new family to tell me the same frickin’ thing! I almost died when we had to go on a mission in the middle of my birthday party! Is there something wrong with me or am I cursed to celebrate every year… boarded up… away from the world...? Shit Risotto! Why you gotta be like this? Why you gotta be so paranoid? You’re such an asshole…!” Upon hearing his own words, Pesci settled down. His anger that was bubbling beforehand had subsided and been replaced with shame as he awkwardly rubbed his hands together. “Aw shucks, I take it back… I’m being too hard on the guy. Maybe Bro was right… I am a wimpy punk. Risotto is a good leader. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t live to see another birthday. He’s only protecting us from the Stand User…” Pesci slumped his rear on the side of the bed. “But we’ve been running in circles tracking this perp and still no leads… why didn’t I feel a presence that day? Am I too dense to sense when an enemy is near? But nobody felt a thing besides Risotto. What if there’s no Stand User? What if Risotto made it all up? Would Risotto lie about something so serious? If so, why? Ah!” He slapped the sides of his face. “No, no! You gotta a lot of nerve saying dumb crap like that, Pesci! Risotto would never do such a thing… right?”

*Tap, tap, tap*

A faint, sharp clank startled the boy so that he scrambled off the bed. It sounded like a small animal, maybe a rodent was hitting its body against glass with full force. It was coming from the bedroom window. Cautiously, Pesci turned his head over to the window to find… absolutely nothing. Nothing was there. Whatever the sound was, it stopped anyway. The knots in his stomach untangled and he breathed in relief. “Heh. Just my imagination.”

*Tap, tap, tap*

“Pesci...! Pesci…! Psssst Pesci! Open the window! Let me in!”

“Huh!?”

This was no longer his imagination. First tapping, now voices? He slung his head over his shoulder. There was nothing visible there, yet there was definitely someone there. Pesci tiptoed over to the source. He peeked down and from outside the window, there was a person no smaller than his thumb that was thumping their microscopic fist against the surface. “Y-Yo, open up! Brrrr! I-It’s your ol’ pal F-Formaggio!” Spotting his bug-sized friend shivering in the December cold, Pesci slid the window up, letting his friend hop into the slightly warmer room and grow back to his original size. Pesci found solace seeing his friend out of his self-seclusion but upon a closer look, there were dark spots under his teammate’s eyes and he looked a bit slimmer than he recalled. Despite it being on the cusp of Winter, Formaggio wore just a thin green sweat jacket and baggy jeans.

“Are you insane? You could catch a cold! W-What were you doing freezing your ass outside?” Pesci stammered.

“Sneaking out. Just coming back for a thicker coat.”

“Ohhhh okay, hope you stay warm…” It took longer for Pesci to realize what his teammate just stated. That’s when it dawned on him. “I MEAN WHAT DID YOU SAY!? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MARBLES!? WHY ARE YOU-?”

Formaggio cupped the little stinker’s lips with his right hand and bringing his finger from his left hand up to his own lips, he shushed Pesci. “Shhhhh! Don’t blow my cover, man. This is our lil’ secret, got it?” Pesci slowly nodded “yes”. “I’ve been sneaking out for a while now. Y’know when it’s my turn to use the bed?” Pesci nodded again. “Yep! You guys believe I’m hittin’ the sheets, but what I’ve really been doing is hittin’ the streets and by God, y’all are missing out.”

Formaggio removed his hand from his teammate’s mouth. “MISSING OUT!?” Pesci blurted, once more being hastily silenced by Formaggio’s open palm.

“Shhhh! Uh-huh, yeah!” Formaggio’s voice came to a whisper. “You have to see it to believe it, my guy! The city lights! The food! The bridges! Sneaking out was the best fuckin’ decision I’ve ever made. Manhattan is the perfect place to escape from your troubles. Away from those overbearing fucks from that shithole we call a job. I’ve originally been going solo but I overheard you begging Ris to take you out on your birthday. If he can’t take you out, I will.”

“W-Wait! You don’t mean-!”

“Yeah c’mon P-Brain, join me!” As he exclaimed this, Formaggio opened the closet and threw on a green parka. “Think of it as quality bonding time with your big bro Maggio. Stick with me and you’ll be seeing all kinds of neat stuff. I got it all mapped out. Oh! That reminds me! There’s this chicken sandwich shop that I’ve been dying to go back to, we can stop there for a bite! Just after we eat, I gotta grab some stuff and then we can check out more places. So you comin’?”

“But… Risotto doesn’t want us to go out unless we’re going to work.“

“Pffft! Say, answer something for me, will ya Pesci? You’d rather heed to Prude-sciutto and Helicopter Goth or the coolest guy to ever grace the planet? Do you wanna waste your days cooped up in this drab, dirty shack or do you wanna LIVE?”

“I… uh.” The offer was admittedly tempting.

Formaggio patted Pesci on the cheek. “Trust me bud, we’ll have a grand ol’ time.”

“Oh… I don’t know… I mean, we go back to work tomorrow. Like, how long were we planning to stay out? Aren’t you gonna be sleepy? A-And Bro and Risotto will be on our asses if they catch us sneaking out. I’m already on their bad list…”

“Don’t worry your precious lil’ noggin ‘bout it, kiddo,” assured Formaggio confidently as he ruffled the unkempt, blondish pile on top of his friend’s head. “It’ll be an hour, okay? Just an hour. I got it all figured out. They won’t even know we left.” Formaggio slid the window open, and a puff of breeze grazed over the younger teammate’s face. “So… you comin’ or nah?” Pesci had to make a decision, quickly. Either take the chance and have a mind-blowing experience, but risk the possibility of getting caught and enduring the mother of all ass-whoopings, or take the mature route and decline the offer for he will avoid oncoming trouble but will lose out exploring something new. He understood well what the right choice was.

———————————————————————

10 pm. It was Formaggio’s turn to take the bed yet no sign of Pesci coming out. Only God knows how that’ll play out. Ghiaccio was curled into a fetal position on one side of the couch and Risotto slept in the armchair. Illuso and Melone slipped into the shard hours before crashing in the Mirror World’s version of their apartment. The last one awake was Prosciutto. He had been tossing and turning on the floor so he pushed Ghiaccio’s legs aside to get room. For the following hours, he was mindlessly skipping through channels of static and reruns of “I Love Lucy”.

Admittedly, he caught himself nodding off several times, yet there was that bothersome feeling in the back of his mind that was holding him back from getting a full night’s rest. “Maybe I should *yawn* talk to him… no… he’s gotta learn to be grateful… coddling him every time he doesn’t *yawn* get his way won’t help him in the long run.” Prosciutto’s head tilted back and for half an hour, he was out.

Fire. He was trapped in a room of fire. Two limp bodies sprawled on the floor. His parents. Total scumbags. To hell with them. He clambered to retrieve something. What was it again? No clue, all he remembered was it was important. A black silhouette blocked his path. To his horror, he recognized who it was. Before he could do anything, the silhouette knocked him off his feet. Falling… falling… falling. That feeling like one goes down a rollercoaster and then…

Prosciutto jerked himself awake, shooting himself up from the couch had caused his sight to swirl. Thank goodness he didn’t wake his boss up or the beast curled on the couch. Just a nightmare, or a memory he blocked out a long time ago. He brought his wrist to his vision, examining the silvery watch, a memento that once belonged to a boy he fondly recalled from his childhood. “… I gotta straighten things out with him.” He wobbled to his feet. He turned over his shoulder just to be safe he didn’t wake the others before shuffling over to the door. He turned the doorknob and surprisingly, the lock wasn’t secured and with a small push, the door creaked open.

“Pesci…? Formaggio…?“ Prosciutto drew out a long yawn. He focused his pupils on the old, rickety bed. Under the blankets were two massive lumps huddled next to each other, snoring and whistling away. Prosciutto thought the scene was rather endearing. It was a breath of fresh air seeing those two get along for once. Prosciutto approached slowly until he cushioned his rump on the side of the bed where his “little brother” was sleeping.

“Pesci… Pesci…” The gangster nudged his friend’s shoulder, there was no reaction other than the continuous snoring. “Hmm, I don’t recall him being such a heavy sleeper.” Persisting further, Prosciutto coaxed a little more until there was a sharp “click” that he didn’t take notice, due to his drowsiness. Whatever he did differently, it got his friend to stop snoring. “Hey, you’re up. Can we talk?” No response. “Pesci, please don’t ignore me…” He spoke sleepily as he caressed his hand on his little friend’s back. “I wanna chat about what happened earlier. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you back there. To be frank, I’d be snappy too if I was in your shoes. You’ve had a bad streak when it comes to birthdays and this one’s no different. I… I’m sorry. Just… please understand we only do what we do because we love you. Heh, I’m certain that sounds like a load of cheese, but I mean it. Risotto isn’t going the extra mile to ruin your excitement, he just wants to keep you safe ‘til tensions subside. It’s the seven of us versus the world and we gotta look out for each other, protect each other, even if it means having to make a couple of personal sacrifices. It’s a hard pill to swallow, I get it, but sometimes it has to be done. That doesn’t mean we’ll never do anything fun it just has to be on a day we’re all available.” When all was said and done, yet again he was only given bitter silence as a reply. Prosciutto repressed any urge to react negatively, raising his voice or using physical harm wasn’t going to do him any justice. Rather, he leaned over the lump and wistfully gave him a warm embrace. There was another sharp “click” but the assassin was too tired to notice. “Even though we’re not born with the same blood, you’ll always be my little brother. Don’t ever forget that. I love you, Pesci.” And then… snoring. It woke Prosciutto up a bit since the whistling was right to his ear. Pesci had returned to his sound slumber. The former let out a small, tired chuckle and he planted a kiss on top of the lump’s head. “Sweet dreams.”

As Prosciutto shifted his weight off, that’s when he heard the lump beside Pesci having, what he assumed to be, an adventurous dream. He tenderly rubbed the sleepyhead’s fuzzy noggin, which was still obscured under the blankets. “You too, Formaggio. I love you.” Cautiously heading back to the living room, the blonde gangster remembered on the nightstand was the mirror shard. Tapping on the surface, Prosciutto spoke groggily, “Goodnight Illuso. Goodnight Melone. Don’t think I forgot about you two. I love you, you knuckleheads.”

Before he could slump back on the pillowy cushions, Prosciutto looked back at his sleepy boss. “Goodnight Risotto. I love you as well, old friend.” Then he peered down at his rival. “You too, you lil’ stinker. You’re a pain in the ass, but I love you just as much as everyone else.” He affectionately tugged on Ghiaccio’s toe before the latter in his tired state pulled his foot back. Prosciutto climbed onto his sanctuary and in seconds, was out like a lamp. Before he drifted into a deep sleep, he wondered what Pesci was dreaming about.

———————————————————————

“Mmm! Mmmmmm! Mmmm!!” Pesci exclaimed joyfully as he munched down on his sandwich. He was sitting in a booth, with his teammate seated in front of him. The time was 10 pm. Pesci understood what the right choice was… that didn’t mean it was the one he chose. “So good~! The chicken is so… so mouthwatering! Hot damn! This is the best sandwich I’ve had in ages!”

“See I told you!” Formaggio exclaimed. “What’s best ‘bout this place is they let you choose whatever toppings you want on it AND it’s open 24 hours. Aren’t you glad you tagged along with me?”

“Mmm! What did you put on this again?” Pesci asked, sucking gravy off each of his stubby fingers. “It’s like crack!”

“Let’s see. They start with the bread for the sub. I’m a bit of a vanilla man myself, so I just pick a plain white sub, no need to get crazy with what kind of bread you’re gonna get when you’re gonna have a fuckton of toppings. Anyways, there’s the chicken cutlet, the powerhouse of the meal. Wanna know how they make it so juicy? Here’s the kicker, they practically dip it in a vat full of gravy for 10 minutes straight. Then I top it off with a heaping pile of seasoned curlies, more gravy, mozzarella, a lil’ more gravy didn’t hurt anyone, a bit o’ salt for zing, a bit o’ pepper for kick, and a fried egg. Slap that baby together and voila! That’s how the “Sloppy Maggio” was born, named after yours truly.” The man did a quick bow.

“Wow… you must like gravy.” Pesci took another huge morsel. A trail of egg yolk and gravy began to stick to the corners of his pie-hole.

“Who doesn’t? I could inject that shit into my veins. It’s THAT good. You bet if I won the jackpot, I’d be backstroking in a pool of that heavenly nectar.”

“Mmmm! You’re like… a food genius! Why, you could’ve been like a master chef or food connoisseur in a past life! If we didn’t have to work at the grocery store anymore, I could see you opening up your own restaurant, Formaggio… Formaggio?” Right away Pesci figured something was off. Formaggio’s cheerful expression contorted into shit-your-pants dread. Was it something the former said? The weird part was he didn’t appear to stare directly at Pesci, but behind Pesci.

Formaggio’s mouth twisted and curled silently. Pesci was initially puzzled what his fellow gangster was trying to accomplish, it was as if he was speaking but someone dialed the volume down to mute. It took Pesci a full minute to understand what he was mouthing. “Don’t. Turn. Around.” Without moving his head, Pesci darted his pupils to the large window that stretched down the wall behind his teammate, there was something unusual that he caught in his peripheral vision. In the reflection, two figures were seated at a table at a distance from theirs. Pesci’s mind began to race. “I can’t get a decent look at their faces. Those damn menus in their hands are blocking my view, but I can tell they share super slim physiques and they’re both wearing matching grey tracksuits. That’s a start. Something tells me that they don’t wanna be seen.” Pesci squinted at the reflection a little harder, he was able to make out that one of the figures was peeking in between the paper menus but upon meeting eye contact, they hid themselves behind their menu again. Almost immediately, a cold sweat rolled down the side of Pesci’s cheek. “Shit! Are we being followed? But, how? Formaggio shrunk us long before we made it outta the apartment. There’s no way anyone could’ve tracked us down! Couldn’t be Risotto, he’s too buff and beefy. Is it Sciutto? If so, who’s the other guy? Wait! What if it’s the Stand User? Oh god, oh god! What if it’s TWO Stand Users? Oh man, this is bad, this is bad! We’re so toast!”

“Should we start planning our next move? Should we call Risotto?” Pesci murmured to his teammate, but by the time he knew it, Formaggio was gone from the booth and was approaching their table. “Wait no! What’re you doin’ Formaggio!? Formaggio!! Awww, this isn’t gonna end well.”

The man casually strolled by the table whistling a happy tune, seeming oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. “Boy howdy, I could go for some dessert right about now. Oh, look! Here’s that darn dessert menu!” Formaggio pinched the top of one of the menus and yoinked it out of the one figure’s grasp, leaving them vulnerable and nowhere to hide. The figure lowered their head which sported a plain, grey cap and covered their face with their hands as a last resort to shield their identity. Tried as they might, it wasn’t working. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Oooh, what’s this? Key-lime pie? Sounds scrumdiddlyumptious! That’s your all-time favorite.” Pesci saw Formaggio bringing his finger by the person’s ear and stretching back what appeared to be some kind of purple elastic. “Wouldn’t you say so, Melone?” Pesci witnessed Formaggio releasing the elastic, creating a loud “snap” as it whipped the person’s ear on contact, followed by a high-pitched yelp. “Ow, ow,” the slim man pressed against his reddened ear.

“I was right!” Formaggio swiped Melone’s cap off, all of his locks that were tucked under had tumbled just above his shoulders. It was noted his hair was an inch shorter and was no longer hot pink, but a warm strawberry-blonde hue. The other unknown figure grunted in exasperation, putting down their menu to reveal they were none other than Illuso. Formaggio was speechless, not only had they somehow found them, but they were killing the vibe. “Nice disguises. What are you too dunces doing here? Scratch that, how the hell did you find us!?”

“Told you to ditch the mask,” Illuso muttered, giving Melone a good whack on the arm.

“Answer the question!” Formaggio barked impatiently.

Illuso stood out of his chair, his slim form towering over the latter by a few inches. “Have you forgotten something back at the apartment? Hint, a certain object that was standing on the dresser in the bedroom.” The gangster was baffled by what the slimy son of a bitch meant until he realized something crucial that blew his cover.

“Aw, crap.” He justifiably facepalmed himself.

“Yeah, the mirror shard,” Illuso scoffed, flicking the other assassin on the nose. “You thought you were slick sneaking out behind poor Risotto’s back. And woo boy, did I have a great view of you two idioti pulling off the dumbest plan of the century. Seeing you shrink Pesci down was as entertaining as watching molasses dry, should’ve gotten some popcorn for the occasion. Guess I’m not the only dunce here, aren’t I? Wait ‘til Risotto AND Prosciutto get a load of this!”

“No, no, no, no!” Such a threat had Pesci scrambling toward the three men. Almost immediately, tears streamed down his cheeks as he dropped to his knees and begged, “Please Illuso! Please Melone! Don’t rat me out to Prosciutto! Please, please, please! I beg you! He’s still pissed off at me from earlier and if he found out I snuck out, I’ll be a goner for sure!”

“Pfft, pathetic,” Illuso rolled his eyes.

“Hey wait a minute! What about you two?” Inquired Formaggio.

“Tch, what about us?” The taller man challenged.

“If you came all this way in search of us, why didn’t you alert Risotto that we escaped through the window?”

“Well, what if we DID tell him?”

“No, you didn’t,” Formaggio refuted. “If you relayed that info to him, he would’ve found us himself, he wouldn’t let you guys wander the city for your leisure. I see what’s going on here, yeah… you were itchin’ to come along with us so YOU snuck out too!”

“Outrageous,” the gangster stuck his nose up in contempt.

“Oh, is it? Then if I were to take this quarter from my pant pocket and insert it into the payphone standing right outside the restaurant and call up the boss, he’s gonna be okay with you two out and about, hmmm?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the long-haired assassin hissed. Smirking, Formaggio pulled out a coin from his pants, strolled out of the sandwich shop and towards the payphone and ever so slowly, inched the coin into the coin slot, not breaking a single second of eye contact between him and Illuso. “Looks like the jig’s up,” Melone shrugged, accepting his fate.

The coin was a sliver away from being inserted until Illuso busted out of the shop. “Alright, alright… yes, we snuck out too.” Formaggio let out an airy, satisfied chuckle, tucking the quarter back in his pocket. Illuso continued, “Can you blame us? Every aching moment it’s been “get up, work all day, go to bed, get up, work all day, go to bed, get up, work all day, go to bed, etcetera, etcetera. We’re in the big stinkin’ city for corn’s sake and yet, he makes us stay locked up in a cramp prison cell. We need a break too, ya know?”

“As long as you don’t spill the beans to Ris, my lips are sealed. Can’t believe I’m doing this, but… you and Melone can tag along. On one condition. I call the shots tonight, I lead, you follow. I don’t mind suggestions but if ya start nagging, I’m leaving you on the corner. Do we have a deal?” Formaggio stretched his hand out. Illuso looked at the open palm hesitantly and then at his teammate.

“… Fine.” He grabbed it with his gloved hand and both men shook in agreement. “Where to first, ringleader?”

“Oh, you’re in for a treat.”

———————————————————————

And so their journey began! Where were they going? No one knew. Formaggio kept his lips zipped and didn’t disclose to them what the first location was. They had been meandering down an unforetold path for what felt like ages, missing out on the wonders of every shop they passed. Every minute that ticked by, Illuso was becoming slightly more antsy. “Sooo, do you mind telling us where we’re heading? ‘Cause we’ve been mindlessly wandering for a half hour and it’s not like we have all the time in the world.”

“Didn’t I tell ya if you start gettin’ fussy, I was gonna drop your ass?” Formaggio shushed, seeming very honest to go through with that plan if his teammate didn’t decide to shut up. “It’s a surprise, you’re just gonna have to hush and see for yourself.”

“Look at these four.” The four gangsters heard a car horn that blasted so loud it could’ve split their eardrums open. It was grating but they brushed it off, assuming it was from some unrelated road rage going on in the middle of traffic. A few quiet moments went by, and the honking kicked up again, this time louder and more persistent like it was begging them to look at it. Finally, they relented and turned their heads. Right next to them was a convertible that was cruising at their pace, in it were two smug douchebags in the front seats, and in the back were two women, assuming to be their girlfriends or whatever, who were just as smug and annoying as their male counterparts. They were dolled up and looked like they just came back from clubbing hard at a rave or a party.

“Heyyy gaanng, looking for trouble? Wanna hop in this bad boy?” The driver called out to them, making sure he was loud enough for them to hear. The assassins didn’t comment, instead, they kept walking on the curb. The people in the car were talking and giggling to each other about how rude it was for the men to ignore them. “Hey, y’all don’t speak English or somethin’? I asked you guys a question! Pretty unsavory of you to just leave me hangin’!” The driver laughed, still blaring his car horn at them.

“Look at the lil’ guy,” one of the women directed her attention at Pesci, who was beginning to look visibly nervous. “Hey cutie! You look like a freak in the sheets! If you come with us and be a good boy, I’ll sure as hell give you a once-in-a-lifetime experience!” She held up both her breasts in each hand to ensure that the boy was watching and crudely squeezed them. Her friends thought it was funny, but Pesci didn’t. “Just ignore them, Pesh,” reassured Formaggio, his voice filled with contempt. “Don’t give those dipshits the benefit of your time, don’t even acknowledge them. They just want a reaction outta you.”

“C’mon chumps, don’t be a bunch of killjoys! We’re just havin’ a lil’ fun is all!” The driver eyed lewdly at the two gangsters who were falling behind; the slender one with the long, navy-blue hair and the comparably shorter one with the frail figure who was adorning a purple mask. Safe to say, whatever this man and his buddies had in mind, it wasn’t in the best of intentions. “How ‘bout this?” The driver bargained to Formaggio. “We’ll take those two off your hands and we’ll leave ya alone. Don’t worry, we’ll bring them back before curfew, we just wanna show ‘em a good time ‘round town.” The last straw was when the driver snuck his hand out of the moving vehicle and was about to leave a vile imprint on Melone’s rear end. Thankfully, Illuso saw this act unfolding just in time and slapped the hand away from his friend’s butt.

“Woah! Temper, temper!” The driver tutted, wagging his finger at the taller gangster. “That’s no way to act towards a gentleman who’s offering you a good time. You don’t get out often, do you honeybuns?” Good thing Illuso had a high perception. Not only he saved his friend from a world of embarrassment, but he could make out that despite the belligerent behavior, he didn’t sniff out the stench of alcohol on them nor did they slur their sentences. They weren’t drunks, they were just annoying, yet sober pests. Illuso looked over his shoulder at his teammates who had just enough of this bullshit and were ready to duke it out, but he had other plans. He sensually leaned on the driver’s door and purred, “Good time, eh? Well, well, can’t say no to that. If you’re up for some real fun, I know the perfect place where I can give you a “once-in-a-lifetime experience”.”

“Wooo baby, I like the sound of that!” The entitled man triumphantly fist-bumped the air. “And what’s this “perfect place” you speak of, hun?”

“IT’S CALLED A HOSPITAL, DICK!” Illuso flicked the purple glove off his hand and in one fast motion, whammed his iron knuckles square in the guy’s nose. The girls in the back screeched in horror as the man’s nose was crumpled and crooked in random places. It was like Illuso punched a tomato, his hand was drenched in blood and the rest of it splattered on the dashboard and windshield. “WAHHHHH MY NOSE! MY NOSE! YOU BROKE MY NOSE! WAHHHHHH MOOOOOOOMMY!” The driver bawled, cupping the bloody disaster with his hands. The woman who harassed Pesci prior had lunged out of her seat and wrung her arms around Illuso’s neck in an attempt to put him in a headlock. “Hey, asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you!? That’s fucking assault! We’re calling the police on your ass!” In another fast motion, Illuso brought his hand down like a hammer and uppercut the woman in the ribcage. She bent backward in her seat and cried out in agony.

“Oh great, you got your disgusting blood on my hand. What’re ya gonna say to that?” The taller teammate nonchalantly tugged on the guy’s polo like it was a napkin and wiped the blood clean off his shiny, metal fingers. “Hehehe, a broken nose and some shattered ribs. How unfortunate, hahaha. Hope you assholes have the cash for a decent enough surgeon to fix those atrocities. Might have to sell that “bad boy” of yours if you want that schnozzle lookin’ pretty like before.” Illuso picked up his glove and sauntered from the crime scene, leaving the two uninjured pests to tend to the ones hollering for 9-1-1. “Wahahaha! Illuso you beast, you’re amazing!” Formaggio joyfully clapped. “Now that’s what I call an iron fist!” Now that that issue has been resolved, they could get back to their journey.

———————————————————————

“Here we are, fellas! Mecca! Isn’t it beautiful?” Formaggio proudly declared, inhaling loudly as if he hiked 100 miles to this wondrous destination. Four pairs of pupils peered up at the flickering LED sign in bold letters that read, “SMOKE SHOP”.

“A tobacco shop!?” Illuso was beginning to get red in the face. “You mean to tell us you dragged our asses for 40 minutes, got us harassed by a couple of lowlifes, dirtied my hand with that very lowlife’s blood to a crusty-ass smoke shop when we hit like, five of them on every block coming here? You call this a mecca!? Not by a long shot!”

“Say no more, my 6-ft. friend. You’re about to be enlightened like no other. All thanks to me!”

“Why is it legal for you to be an idiot but illegal for me to shove you into oncoming traffic…?”

Formaggio swung the door open. To say it was a shop was an understatement, more like a room. A very cramped room. A mixture of faint tobacco smoke and cheap lemon cleaner fused into an unbearably musty scent. On their left side were colorful snacks jammed onto one shelf which stood adjacent to the walk-in cooler of beer on the wall. On the other side was the register and below it was a glass display with smoking paraphernalia galore. Filter trays, rolling trays, stash jars, lighters, grinders, this place had the goods! On the wall behind the counter were shelves over shelves of tobacco merchandise. Marlboro, Pall Mall, Camel, and not just the popular brand names, they also had cigars, chewing tobacco, the list went on. Spotting by the register was a young pretty thing, roughly in her 20s-30s, busy wiping down the counter with disinfectant.

“Howdy, howdy patata,” Formaggio shot the cashier a quick wink.

The woman returned the favor with a sultry look. “Hola, amor~. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up tonight. I see you brought some friends this time.”

“Oh, these dorks? They’re my bros.” He leaned into her ear to whisper, “Don’t ask how they look different from me, let’s just say our dad gets around. A. LOT.”

“Hehe, you’re such a kidder,” the cashier gave him a lighthearted nudge. “So how can I help you boys tonight?”

“The us(ual). Marlboro Lights. Menthol. Pretty please? And say, got any more of those “special cigarettes”? They were phenomenal and wanna have the guys try ‘em out!”

“There’s one last box in the back, I’ll get it for ya,” the cashier walked to the back of the store to retrieve it.

“That’s why you’re the best, darlin’!” Formaggio called out, followed by an infatuated sigh.

“Hey, I’m starving,” Melone grumbled, clutching his gurgling tummy, instantly killing Formaggio’s vibe. “After this, could we go grab some dinner?”

“We literally met up with you guys at a restaurant. Why didn’t you order any food from there?” Formaggio asked annoyedly.

“Sorry. I was hoping we could find some hibachi restaurants around the area. I was itching for some sushi.”

“Sushi’s not on the menu. Here, grab some Poptarts or somethin’.” The hitman took a $5 bill from his wallet and flicked it in his teammate’s face. Wait a minute. Poptarts. Snacks. The gears in Formaggio’s dusty brain began to crank and his face lit up. “Hey… actually, grab as many snacks from here as you can, ‘cause we’re gonna need ‘em for later.”

“Later? What are we doing later?” Illuso inquired suspiciously.

“Trust me. We’re gonna need ‘em and I know the best place to have them, you’ll see.” The four men gathered as many snacks as they could wrap their arms around. Also when no one was looking, Illuso snagged a 24-pack of beer. Nothing wrong with indulging yourself before going back to another early shift working laboriously at the Deli. When the dispensary girl came back with the box, she was stunned to find a mountainous pile of tasty treats lying on her counter. “We’ll take these as well!”
Formaggio chirped.

After a few minutes of scanning the pile and stuffing the items in a plastic bag, they were ready and set to go on their next quest. “And remember,” the pretty cashier warned Formaggio. “The “special cigs” are our little secret, okay amor? If word gets out to the police, they’ll shut down my business.”

“Oh, of course, mi pastelita. You have my word.” He went to steal a peck, but she was quicker and thus, he winded up smooching his receipt instead of a pair of luscious lips. “Not on the clock, Mr. Giorgio.” She smirked, handing him the receipt. “We’ll save the canoodling after you take me out to dinner, hopefully sometime soon.” The gangster grew hot, suppressing the bubbling urge to giggle like a schoolgirl after that smooth one-liner. He quickly glanced down at his trousers to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself further. “Okay c’mon guys! We gotta go!” He wrapped his arms around the other three and hurried them out of the shop.

“What did she mean by the police finding out!?”

“Quiet P-Brain!”

———————————————————————

After leaving the smoke shop, the four men went along on their journey. Lots of laughter, banter, and mischief. First Illuso wanted to check out an old antique shop a few blocks down. There were a bunch of cool things they found from there, ranging from old-fashioned, rustic furniture to porcelain knickknacks that would’ve been popular back in the 1930s. “Hey, guys! Check this.”

Pesci hobbled around to find a tall figure with a painted crimson face and an elongated nose glaring down at him. The boy let a startled cry. “Gah!! What the heck!?”

“Pipe down, ya big baby. It’s just me,” Illuso scoffed as he removed the red mask from his face.

“Yeah, there’s nothing to be ‘fraid of, Pesh. It’s just Lu without his makeup on,” Formaggio snickered.

“Di molto! A tengu mask!” Melone exclaimed excitedly.

“A what-y mask?” Pesci inquired curiously.

“A tengu mask, you uncultured dope,” Illuso was about to explain. “A tengu mask is a-.”

“Oh! Oh! May I?” Melone giddily interjected, like a kid in class who knows the answer to Question 2 on the math test.

“Sure, knock yourself out, brother.”

“Ahem. A tengu is a mythical being found in Shinto belief. The name translates to “Heavenly Sentinel” or “Heavenly Dog”, which is ironic since they were far from dog-like. They were believed to have bird-like attributes but there was another subspecies of Tengu referred to as “Daitengu” which resembled less like birds and more like red men in monk’s clothing. They were usually depicted with red wings and a giant, phallic-like sniffer, just like the mask Illuso’s holding.”

“You just find the weirdest trivia known to man, do you?” Illuso shook his head side to side.

“I just think it’s neat.”

“Well, you’re in luck ‘cause I found a box of these “treasures”.” With a squeal, Melone snatched the box and rummaged through its contents. “Di molto! A bunch of Noh masks! Gasp! An okame mask! Mine! Gasp! A kasshiki mask! Here Pesci! Gasp! A hyottoko mask! This one reminds me of you, Maggio!” The masked man handed each teammate a Noh mask. Formaggio cocked his head as he examined his. The visage of a man whose mouth was comically puckered and skewered to the side like he ate something sour. Was he supposed to feel complimented?

“Uh.. thanks Mel, I’m flattered?”

“Yes! Yes! You’re very welcome! And no need to worry about the charge, since I picked them out for you, I’ll pay for all of them!”

After their trip to the antique store, Melone suggested going to the NYC Public Library, yet it closed hours before. Not a problem when you’re a team of Stand Users! Once they found a crack on the library’s wall big enough for a measly mouse to crawl into, Formaggio had Little Feet shrink them down to the size of a marble and they snuck through the crack. But before they got into the vicinity, Illuso pointed out something crucial. “Hold up, what if there are guards on night duty?”

“All good. Leave it to the man himself.” Formaggio had it all planned out. He directed his smirk at the clueless Pesci.

“Hehe, erm, why’re you guys lookin’ at me for?” The little gangster flustered. The plan was simple, at least according to Formaggio. The first part of the plan was to use Pesci’s Beach Boy to slither around the premises and sense if any guards are around. Hearing such an ambitious plan, Pesci began to second-guess himself. Would he have enough fishline to go through the entire library? What if he couldn’t? What if he’d be the reason they’d get caught? What if his big bro saw his mugshot on the news? What would he think of him then? It took a bit of coaxing from the others but Pesci took a deep big boy breath and summoned his Stand. Through the crack, Beach Boy infiltrated the library’s floors. Keep in mind, this was the 2nd largest public library in the U.S. and 4th largest in the world. Beach Boy slithered through room after room, under tables, and zig-zagged around shelves and shelves of books. To Pesci’s surprise, there was not a soul on the premises. Odd considering it was a really big library, he would’ve thought there would’ve been a team of highly trained guards on duty… maybe it was a holiday?

“Feel anything?” The group asked anxiously.

“Surprisingly, no. Not even a single heartbeat.”

“Sweet, let’s move men!” Formaggio waved his friends to move on out.

“What about security cameras?” Illuso insisted. “It seems like I’m the one asking the age-old questions. If they spot us, we’re as good as dead.”

“Ah, and right you are! But there’s one more trick up my sleeve, old bean!” Formaggio slowly turned to face Pesci. The latter gulped. Not again. “Part two of my plan. Beach Boy will zip around all the security cameras, ensnaring them in its line, and BAM! Give ‘em a little tug and those nasty Peeping Toms will crash onto the floor! Pesci, don’t stress about those weird dome cameras on the ceilings, I had Little Feet punch ‘em out ‘til they were nothin’ but dust.”

They went ahead with the plan. Beach Boy wrapped itself around the security cameras and when given the cue, Pesci yanked the line and the cameras broke off from the wall, all falling to their deaths. Suffice to say, they had a leisurely time going on a reading spree. Illuso was fancying himself a crime novel, Melone was gushing to no one about the most inane and obscure facts found in a 1,000-page encyclopedia he picked up, Pesci was enjoying himself a comic book about superheroes, and Formaggio wandered up and down the sections of any chance there was an “adult” section he could sink his teeth into. Once they had their fill, they promptly put the books back into their respective places and hurried on out of there.

“Hey Pesh, where did you wanna stop at?” Formaggio questioned eagerly as they were climbing through the crack they had previously came through.

“Me?” Pesci bit his lip pensively. He didn’t have much in mind, except a certain park he had plans to see with Prosciutto. “Don’t laugh but I wanted to go check out Central Park. It looks really pretty.”

“No way! Forreal? Wow!” Formaggio exclaimed in disbelief. Not the kind of disbelief that he thought Pesci’s idea was unforgivingly stupid, but disbelief in that it was unexpected, in a good way. “You must’ve read my mind, my dude. That’s the last place I was gonna take you guys to, but we can make that our next destination. Onwards! To Central Park!”

———————————————————————

Central Park.

One of, if not, the largest public park in all of Manhattan. It’s located within the heart of New York City, stretching across 840 acres of land and smack dab between 5th and 8th Avenue…

It was reaching 1 o’clock when they made it to the park. Upon entering, it was like a picturesque dream. Sweeping hills, bridges crossing over vast bodies of lakes, and paths that stretched in every direction. There wasn’t another human in sight. No assholes arguing with one another, no screaming babies in their faces, no cyclists yelling at them to move out of their way, no vendors invasively prodding them to ride the horse-drawn carriage, nothing but the sound of nature called upon them. Birds whistled lowly in the trees, the whooshing of the lakes’ currents, the pitter-patter of their feet hitting the concrete trail. It was their domain. They walked some kilometers before Formaggio signaled them to stop. “There.” He pointed at the peak of a massive boulder on top of a steep hill. “That’s the spot.”

He led the crew up the hill and once they reached the top, stretching his feet out and puffing his chest out, the gangster declared in a proud voice. “I declare this hill, Mt. Formaggio!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you and your mountains,” Illuso interjected rudely. “What did you wanna have us “try” again?”

“OH! Right! Gather ‘round children. You’re about to witness what true enlightenment is like… with this!” Out from the plastic bag, he pulled out the pack of “special cigarettes” from the shop. They were in a bright yellow box decorated with lightning bolts and bold letters on the front that spelled out: “ELECTRIC FEEL”. “Cigarettes? Please,” Illuso was far from amused. “The best feeling I get from a smoke break is feeling more tense than before.”

“On the contrary, mon ami,” Formaggio tamped the pack against his palm and then removed one out from the pack and held it between his lips. “This puppy will make you feel wonders.” He took out a lighter from his pant pocket. After a few clicks, a small flame was produced. As he sucked the “cigarette” like a straw, he brought the flame up to it, and with little effort, it was lit. Shutting his eyes, he pulled a little smoke into his mouth, held it in, and drew it out through his nostrils. When he fluttered his peepers open, the whites of them turned light pink and he had a big, relaxed, dopey smile plastered between his dimples. “Now THAT’S the good shit.”

“Let me see the pack!” Illuso yoinked it off the grass and squinted closely at the fine print. “Directions, no… aha, ingredients… fused… with… can-na-bis… CANNABIS!?” His eyeballs could’ve popped out of his skull. He whipped his head at his comrade, who took another hit of the “cigarette”. “Are you tryin’ to get us high on weed!?”

“Yeah… surprise!” Formaggio shimmied his hands in celebration. “Now who wants a hit?”

“Christ on a stick! Maggio, are you nuts!? They’ll be on you like bloodhounds! If you get caught at work, they’ll fire you! If you get caught by the police, they’ll arrest you! If you get caught at home, Risotto and Prosciutto will PHYSICALLY! KILL! YOU!”

“Chillax, chillax. That’s why they’re manufactured to look like cigs and not rolled-up blunts, assholes like Janis and the po-po will be none the wiser. As for the stink, chica sold me this strong-smelling body spray for a quarter a pop, she instructed me to give myself a couple of spritzes whenever I take a smoke. It’s like magic. I’ll be alright and so will you.”

“Did you hear anything Illuso told you!? It’s illegal!” Pesci cried out in terror.

“Meh, give it 20 years.”

“We’re assassins! We don’t indulge in abusing drugs!” The taller man argued.

“I’ll take a hit,” Melone replied lowly.

“MELONE!” Illuso and Pesci shouted in unison.

“What? I’ve been feeling the pressure from work lately and I need to relax. I’ll at least try it before I knock it.”

“See? Melone’s not a pussy. ‘Atta boy! Tough as nails!” Formaggio rummaged through the plastic bag. “I got two kinds, bud. Which one tickles your fancy? Wanna get stimulated with the sativa or get mellow-jello with the indica?”

“Hmmm, I’ll take the sativa, please.”

“Good choice~.”

“This is unbelievable,” Illuso smacked his forehead. “You guys are a flock of morons! Especially you, Formaggio! Prosciutto was right, you never learn from your mistakes! We’re far from home and you two are getting high off your asses! By god, I could scream! And now I gotta babysit you three turds until we go to work in six hours. Think Luso, think. What would Prosciutto do in a situation like this? Hmmmm. Pesci, what would Prosciutto do in a situation like this…? Pesci…?” The boy was nowhere to be found. Illuso searched all over but to no avail.

“There, there. Take all of it in, mate. It ain’t so bad,” Formaggio coached the boy as he brought the lighter to his lips. Pesci was doing well and was doing everything correctly, until he reached the inhaling part where he sucked in too much fumes, causing him to hack up a lung. Illuso felt his lower jaw drop to the ground. “No way! No way this is happening!”

“C’mon man, don’t be a square. What’s one little hit gonna do to ya? Just give it a chance. You have no idea what you’re missing~.” Illuso put his hands on his hips and adamantly turned away. “Not in a million years.” But there was that small voice in his brain telling him to take a chance. He admitted to himself, he was pretty tense about work and just visualizing being back at the apartment was giving him a bad case of cabin fever. But the smell! He couldn’t afford to get caught red-handed! On the other hand, Formaggio did say they have stuff to cover it up. Just a small hit, that was it.

Ten minutes after Illuso smoked the cig, he didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. No uncontrollable giggles, no voracious appetite, no sleepiness in the slightest. He was beginning to suspect he might’ve had a high tolerance to marijuana. He inhaled another fat hit just to see if he’d feel anything. Then 20 minutes passed, nothing. Took another hit. 30 minutes passed, nothing. Another hit. 35 minutes passed, still no- OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! The sensation thwacked him hard like a boxing glove to the face and he fell backward. The sensation was heavy but when it subsided, his head felt fuzzy and light on his shoulders, his vision slowed down tremendously to the point he could see each frame of movement when he wiggled his fingers in front of his sight. All the troubles that plagued his mind, were washed away and forgotten. He was floating over cloud nine.

Time slowed and the others began to exhibit effects from the THC. The first twenty minutes after getting high, Pesci and Melone got so euphoric they were pulling dance moves with each other while the other two gangsters sat cross-legged in the grass, laughing and clapping at their performance. The partying gradually settled, Formaggio and Illuso laid on the peak, asking each other a thousand questions about the wonders of life, Pesci was beginning to feel a wee famished and winded up devouring half their snacks, and Melone was so zonked that watching a leaf flutter off a tree had him rolling in the snow hollering his ass off.

Back at the top of the hill, Illuso brought his hand up to the starry sky, “Yeah that one is cool, but my favorite constellation is Ophiucus. Such a shame nobody talks about it, I mean it’s some bloke clutching a snake by the throat. What’s not badass about that?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, I respect that.”

“Magg.” His comrade rolled onto his side. “I don’t normally get all sentimental but I’m sincerely glad you let us tag along with you. Tonight’s been a ride. An enjoyable ride.”

“Glad to hear that. It’s a nice change of pace that we’re not at each other’s throats. Just two buds. High as kites. Not havin’ a care in the world. Would love to do this more often. To get away from everything. Away from the store, away from Janis, away from Ri… from the apartment. No one wants to be cooped up in that cage forever.”

“Meaning to ask, where on Earth did you get all that junk from? You know, the stuff you put in the bed to make makeshift dummies of you and Pesh.”

“Elementary, my dear Lu. The dump. One night when I snuck out, I passed the garbage dump and found a bowling ball and a shit ton of tarp. I used the ball as my head and stuffed the tarp in a black trash bag and used it as my body. I shrunk all of it into my back pocket for safekeeping. To get the illusion of being sound asleep, I recorded myself snoring my little heart out the night before. Then I deshrunk the stuff, tucked the tape recorder into the bag of tarp, fixed everything perfectly in place, and covered it with layers of comforters.”

“Oh. That’s, pretty clever coming from you.”

“Yeah… I’m a clever boy…” Keep in mind, Formaggio believed he sounded like a professor from some prestigious university when he declared those words.

After a moment of no conversation, Illuso broke the ice. “Sooo, how long have you and girly been goin’ steady?”

“Going steady? Not a chance. We haven’t even made it official yet.”

“Why is that?” The taller guy asked in a rather shocked tone. “You seem to like her a lot.”

“Hmmm, I think she’s playin’ hard to get. Wants to make it a game of cat and mouse, ya know? It can be torture sometimes.”

“I hear ya, brother. That’s why nowadays I keep the cockles of my heart more or less room temperature.”

“That’s a weird way to put it, is that a quote from a movie or something?”

“I just mean I avoid it. Not worth the heartache.”

“You mean like, you avoid romance entirely? Did someone scorn you or cheated on you in the past?”

Realizing where this conversation was heading, Illuso backpedaled, “Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I just meant uh… serious relationships are too… are too… when you’re with a person you cherish from the moon and back, you wanna put in the time and effort to make them happy. But me. I’m not qualified because I don’t have either of those attributes to my character. I can’t put in the time for a relationship ‘cause I never have the time. Same with effort, why bother being in a relationship if you can’t put in the effort to make it work?”

“I guess you make a point…” Formaggio scratched his head trying to make sense of that ideology. “At least you’re honest.”

“Uhh, yeah. Erm, thanks…”

“Don’t mention it.” The atmosphere soured a tad, it was Formaggio’s turn to rev up a conversation. “Do you ever wonder if we’ll ever find the Stand User?”

“I’m not holding my breath, but Risotto will take care of it one way or another.“

“It’s just weird… I haven’t felt that tingle. The tingle that shoots up your spine when another Stand User is drawing close. Stand Users attract other Stand Users, right? Been working at that joint for months, yet haven’t felt even a teensy bit of Stand energy. Pesci’s haven’t. Melone’s haven’t. It’s just all speculation, you get what I’m saying?”

“Not me,” Illuso proclaimed.

“You honestly believe you encountered our guy that night, do you?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” the taller comrade heaved his chest up. “My hunch tells me it was them. They must be a short-range Stand User too. Why else were they breathing down my neck that night? I’m certain if they were a long-range User, they would’ve snagged us with their ability by now.”

“But did you feel it though? The tingling sensation?”

“I… no. But I was more focused on the fact I was being stalked much less focused on the energy they were radiating.”

“See what I mean? Like I said… it’s just weird that the team senses little to no tingle… except Risotto.”

“What are you tryna say?” Illuso quirked a brow.

Formaggio went to speak but a pair of eyes stalking over the peak’s edge startled the two men. “For fuck’s sake, Melone. Don’t scare us like that,” admonished Illuso. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear you two discussing the Stand User.” The THC was beginning to lose its effect on him, safe to say he was almost back to his normal self. “I thought perhaps we could play a game.”

“Huh?”

“Play a game? How is playing shoots and ladders gonna get us one step closer to the culprit?” Formaggio grumbled.

“Not shoots and ladders,” Melone corrected. “It’s more reminiscent of a ritual. If we can’t locate the Stand User with our powers, perhaps we must look to a higher power for our aid.”

“Ritual, my ass. Sounds like a load of hocus-pocus bullshit to me,” the taller man scoffed.

“Wow, Melone, who knew you were the superstitious type?”

“Not exactly,” the masked man shrugged. “Do I believe this ritual will likely fail? Absolutely. 100%. It’s just an urban legend-turned-into-game made by children to prank their friends after all.”

“Then why do you insist on playing it?” Illuso questioned suspiciously.

“I like to keep my options open…”

Formaggio was just as suspicious. “Is this going to help us track down the Stand User or you said that mumbo-jumbo to get us to play with you ‘cause you’re bored?”

Melone hung his head sheepishly and twiddled the tips of his fingers. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Whaddya say, partner?” Illuso posed the question to Formaggio.

“Sure. What do we got to lose?” The latter squinted over the peak of the hill, he spotted the youngest gangster about a meter away, occupied eating the remaining poptart out of the box. “Oi Pesci! Wanna get into some hi-jinx?”

“Coming! Just a little parched…” Pesci scrambled for a drink to quench his thirst but his search was fruitless. When all hope was lost, he spotted an unopened case of soda beside the bag. “Ah, sweet nectar!” He took a can and without bothering to read the label, he chugged down its contents. It was cold and refreshing but it BURNED.

“Pesci! Hurry up!” Illuso hissed impatiently.

“I’m on my way!” Pesci threw the can like it was a shot put and sprinted up the steep hill. Once he made it back to the base, everyone was present. “Alrighty then. So how do you play this game?”

“First things first, I need a hair comb.” Pesci fished into his pocket and presented it to his masked comrade. “We’re gonna need face coverings, which works out perfectly since we got those Noh masks from the antique store. How to play, we stand at the middle of the crossroads.”

“And then what?” Illuso piped.

“We wait.”

“Of course, we’d let you pick the game. So tell me, what are we waiting for?”

“Not much “what” we’re waiting for, but “who” we’re waiting for. What will happen is after I read out the chant, a “stranger” is supposed to approach us. If it’s someone one of us is acquainted with, the game has failed. If otherwise, we must put on our masks right away and keep them on, then when the moment is right, we can ask them for our fortune. We must be civil. If they refuse or ignore us, we must leave them be. If otherwise, we must thank them for their time and the game will be completed. Any questions?”

A queasy Pesci shakily raised his arm. “Is this some kind of Ouija board type of shit?”

“You could make the comparison,” answered Melone.

“Then hard pass! I think it’s time we called it quits and head home, guys. I don’t wanna have a weird demon or ghost following us back to our apartment.” Pesci made it midway down the hill before he heard jeering above him.

“What’s the matter, Pesci? Scared of lil’ ol Casper?”

“Aw look, he’s quaking in his boots~!”

“Be careful getting home on foot, love! Don’t let the Goo Goo Muck sneak up and eat ya!”

“You guys suck!” The boy bellowed back at them. “Fine, I’ll come along!’

The quartet wandered further into the heart of the park. Through the thick foliage, they spotted a narrow intersection that was dimly lit by a single streetlamp. Melone instructed everyone to get into position. “Everybody ready?” The others hesitantly nodded in unison. The masked man drew out Pesci’s hair comb and strummed the teeth with his fingertips. He chanted the phrase:

“Tsuji-ura, Tsuji-ura, grant me a true response.”

The four assassins peeked down each path. No one came. Nothing but the faint noise of Pesci’s stomach gurgling. Melone chanted a second time:

“Tsuji-ura, Tsuji-ura, grant me a true response.”

Still no one. Pesci’s tummy gurgled louder and he bent over a bit. Was it nerves or was it a bad combination of chips, sweets, and soda? Nevertheless, Melone chanted thrice, a little louder than the last two times:

“Tsuji-ura, Tsuji-ura, grant me a true response!”

Suddenly, a flash of lightning and a crashing clap of thunder made the group hop back. They raised their heads to the sky, expecting to be welcomed by soft rainfall but it didn’t happen. Coincidence or not, things were getting exhilarating. They eyed eagerly at one another then straight down the crossroads. The moment of truth…

No one.

Oh well, it was to be expected, but it was worth a shot. The park was enveloped by the noises of nature once more. Illuso was the first to put his two cents in, “Well that was a bust.”

*Clomp*

*Clomp*

*Clomp*

Something echoed from a distance had locked their legs in place. They weren’t alone. The heavy, rhythmic clomping was edging closer to their direction. Sounded like… shoes hitting the pavement. Wooden shoes, to be specific. “Men. Now’s the time to cover your faces.” As cued, the assassins whipped out their masks and tied them on securely. The shoes were getting louder and louder, and so was Pesci’s belly. “Guys I don’t feel so good,” he whimpered, prompting the others to shush him. The shoes were practically a few yards away from them. A girl. No older than five. Her hair was shaped into a round bowl, with her bangs hiding her features from the nose up. How could she see through all that hair was anyone’s guess? Illuso squinted his eyes hard on the mysterious child. Had he met her in the past? No, that was bullshit. No one close to him had any children, yet her presence seemed so familiar. What stuck to him the most was her garb. A deep, violet kimono with long, flowing sleeves and red floral designs etched into it. Carrying in her hands was a toy. A Temari ball. On her feet were wooden sandals with noticeably stretched-out heels.

Melone gingerly approached the young girl. “Hello. Please give us our fortune.” Who was he kidding? The little brat was likely going to look at him funny and run away or call him something childish like a “poopy nose”, but what had happened next sent him into a cold sweat.

The child calmly lifted her head to meet his gaze and parted her lips. She drawled, “彼らは常に見ているので、目に注意してください.” Her voice. That wasn’t the voice that belonged to a child. The pitch suited more for a grown man much less a preschooler and even then, she sounded uncomfortably rigid. How she droned her speech, one could mistake it to be artificial. The best way Melone could describe such a voice was that it belonged within the corroded larynx of the undead. It didn’t stop there, he jotted in his head that when she spoke, her lips and tongue were eerily unmoving, and yet she enunciated her words remarkably clear. Unless she was a trained ventriloquist, most people couldn’t perfect such a technique.

“Um, thank you for your time,” Melone gave a quick bow. With no other word, the kimono girl clomped away. She would’ve journeyed further if it weren’t for another voice to stop her in her tracks. “So you’re not gonna explain to us what you just said?”

“Illuso, what’re you doing?”

“Dude, shut up. Melone told you to leave ‘em be,” Formaggio urged his disgruntled comrade. Despite their protests to calm down the man to stop harassing the poor girl, Illuso was in no mood to heed that tripe. “I’ll leave the punk alone once she decides to elucidate what she meant. I need answers! I don’t speak Japanese and y’all don’t either. For all we know she could’ve said smack talk about our mothers!”

“You hate your mom so why does it matter? Just cut the crap!”

“So you’re just gonna ignore me, freak?” The assassin stomped closer to the girl. “Just what are you?” The kimono girl turned to face the beet-colored man and said, “地獄ちゃん.”

“You’re really getting on my nerves, bitch! You know as much as I that you can understand me perfectly and yet you still insist on being a stubborn ass!” Illuso grabbed a handful of her hair and hoisted the emotionless girl up, her sandals dangled a few feet above the pavement. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, no! Put her down Illuso! Put her down!” The two gangsters ran over and coaxed him to cease this mistreatment. He argued and pulled out every excuse from the book and in return, they argued back at him which escalated into a screaming match from all three corners, all the while the little girl was still clinging by the hair. The fighting was cut short when all of a sudden, they heard gagging followed by a splatter. To their shock, the fourth member whom they threw to the side while they were busy having their debacle. Pesci had crouched over and brownish-green fluid blasted out from his pipe like a fire hydrant. Unfortunately for the boy, since he hadn’t removed his mask, the puke was trapped in it and dripped onto his coat and pants.

“Pesci, are you okay?” Formaggio hurried over to teammate, followed by Melone, Illuso steadied the girl down before walking over to his team.

“Aw man, aw man!” Pesci lifted his mask to see the damage. “Oh no, no, no! Bro’s gonna kill me.” Pesci and the girl’s gazes interlocked. What a peculiar kid, he confessed to himself.

“Don’t worry man, we’ll find a laundromat before we head home. It’s okay, everything will fall into place.”

“What did you eat?” Melone questioned.

“U-Uhm, I had a chicken sandwich, some chips, a box of Poptarts, candy, soda.”

“Did you say soda?” Illuso blurted.

“Yeah. The soda we got from the tobacco shop.”

“Pesci, you twerp! That wasn’t soda, that was booze! MY BOOZE! WHO SAID YOU CAN TAKE MY STUFF AND HAVE THE BALLS TO NOT ASK ME PERMISSION!?” Illuso pledged to himself that one of those days, he was going to succeed in strangling the little shithead.

“ゲーム.” The girl piped, fiddling with her toy. All eyes were on her. “Pardon?” Formaggio spoke up, not like he was going to understand her response anyway. “ゲームをする.” She clomped towards the boy seated in his own vomit. She took her tiny hand into his and with a faint squeeze, Pesci vanished into thin air and so did she, leaving nothing but an ashy powder that littered where they stood. No puff of smoke, no fading out, just… disappeared in a flash.

“Huh!? What the fuck!?”

“Where’d he go? He was standing right there! Pesciii?”

“What in God’s name has she done to him!? Pesci? Where did she go? Pesci, where are you!?”

In a panic, the remaining three gangsters searched high and low around the bushes and foliage. They prayed it was a sick joke and Pesci was somewhere in a bush, but he disappeared right in front of their faces! How were they going to work without him? People were bound to ask questions. Was he still alive? Was he forever fated to be trapped in another dimension and no way to get out? How were they going to break the news to Prosciutto and Risotto?

They were so screwed…

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

Five minutes…

Ten minutes…

Fifteen minutes…

Precious minutes flew by since Pesci was taken away by that… girl, whatever she was. The remaining assassins scouted in a last-ditch attempt to salvage their taken teammate, having a sliver of expectation that he’d be close by and this was merely a sick prank pulled by the creepy kid. They shouted his name in fruitless vain; the only reply they received was the rustling of the wind. He wasn’t hidden behind trees, (thank sweet baby Jesus) he wasn’t found eight feet underwater, and no sight of him inside nor around the tunnels.

“God-fucking-dammit! There’s no way this is real! It’s a joke! It’s gotta be!” For good measure, Formaggio pulled back some bushes, perhaps he didn’t look hard enough and his teammate was hiding beneath them. He was just around the corner. He was okay. He had to be okay…

No. There wasn’t a trace of Pesci anywhere. Formaggio’s mind was racing at subsonic speeds, questions piled one after another. Where could their friend vanish to? Was he alive and well or was he dead as can be? Who was the girl in the Japanese kimono? What did she want with them? Out of the whole group, why did she choose to kidnap Pesci? Whoever she was, she was by no means an ally. To say their outing was a disaster was an understatement. Not only did they have to come clean to their boss that they snuck out without permission, but they lost their teammate in the process. “Thanks a lot, dipstick! What’s your fucking issue?” Formaggio rushed over and shoved his blue-haired teammate as hard as he could. “You got some nerve, do you? Tossing that kid around like she was your afternoon salad! You just had to go apeshit and now she took Pesci as her playmate! This is all your fault!”

“My fault!?” In response, Illuso defensively shoved back. “Don’t point fingers at me! If your sorry ass didn’t sneak out and dragged the little jerk off along, he’d be home catching z’s right now!”

Formaggio pushed him harder, before throwing his arm around the other’s neck, securely trapping him in a headlock. “Don’t call him a jerk off, jerk off! He was having the time of his life, right before you were juggling that kid like a hacky sack! Had I known sooner you’d be a crybaby sore loser, I wouldn’t have participated in that stupid game with you!”

“Don’t look at me, none of this was my doing… look at Melone.”

“Me!?”

“Me?” Illuso mockingly repeated before pointing at his teammate accusingly. “Yeah, you! What gives? You said that “ritual” was gonna fail and look what happened, you opened a portal for traveling spirits to wander into! What do ya gotta say to that, hmm? HMMM?”

Instead of resorting to spitting back a cheeky comeback, all Melone could do was uncomfortably shrug. “Like I expected playing a made-up children’s game could summon the dead. Regardless, I thought I was direct when I informed you to leave the spirit alone and yet, you did the very thing I warned you NOT to do.”

“Woah, woah, wait a sec. How do we know whoever that was was a spirit?” All gazes were back on Formaggio. “For all we know that kid could be an enemy Stand User, maybe THE Stand User.”

“That thing!?” Illuso rebuked, who was still trapped in the headlock. “Did you fall outta the crazy tree and bump your head!? Don’t be ridiculous! There’s no way in hell that freakshow is our guy!”

“Ya got any better ideas, string bean? Bold talk from the dickworm who “saw” the Stand User yet was too much of a pussy to turn around to get a glimpse of their face!”

“Fucking douche! Don’t you dare challenge me ‘cause I will sweep you!”

“You wanna lose again? Come at me, cum swabber!”

Another screaming match commenced as the two man-babies debated over the identity of the little girl, which quickly turned to who was the righter one. Melone stood by quietly, clever enough not to take either side. On one hand, Formaggio might’ve been onto something. Some creeper had been hot on their trail since the day they began working at the grocery store, it was a surely plausible theory that the girl could very well be a Stand User.

That was one more question solved… right?

There was an air about the girl that was… off, to say the least. It didn’t sit well with Melone to hastily pass the child off as nothing more than a Stand User. He contemplated, “Something’s not right here. There’s no denying that the child had an ominous presence and I’ve had my fair share of encounters with more “eccentric” characters from my previous career, but this feeling… this feeling is new. Surely I was the closest to the girl when we encountered her. I didn’t sense the aura of a mere Stand User— that tingle of fight-or-flight that I’m well familiar with. That wasn’t it. There’s something about that girl that’s so unnatural that I’ve never felt in all my life until now. I… I can’t put it into words.”

Peering down at his feet, there were scattered bits of ashy powder sprinkled unevenly on the edge of the concrete path. It was the only thing left behind by the girl with the kimono. The longer he stared at it, the more contempt he felt like it was a receipt left to prove she had cruelly taken their vulnerable teammate, mocking them that there was nothing they could do about it. “This powder… why does it seem so recognizable?… One of the others mentioned an ashy powder before… where did they find it again? In the kitchen? No, not there. In the bed? Rings a bell. So they must’ve discovered this in the bedroom? But I don’t recall finding any foreign substance on our mattress. If we did, both ‘Sciutto and Boss would’ve had a fit. Think Melone think. Your memory is usually superb, why is it giving up on you all of a sudden…? Wait, it’s coming back now.” He pressed two fingers on each temple and rubbed it in a circular motion. “Think harder! C’mon, let those gears turn. Warmer… warmer. C’mon...” After digging deeper. And deeper. And deeper. And deeper than that, he finally made a breakthrough. “Di Molto! Now I remember! Formaggio woke up with powder on him during his stay at the hospital. No time for a pat on the shoulder, could it be that this was the same powder he found in his bed?”

Observing a little longer, he found his eyes following scattered ash next to the epicenter of where Pesci vanished and then he found a little more ash, then a little more than that, and more. Next thing he knew, the ash had strayed off into the grass. It became a trail. Could he have found a clue that could help them find their missing friend? The man gingerly followed the uneven trail off the concrete path into a grassy area. He walked a couple of yards away from his other teammates, who were still bickering to their hearts’ content. Beginning to wonder if the trail would ever stop, the trail was abruptly cut off and looking up from the ground, Melone came face-to-face with the trunk of an old, withered tree. A fine relic, indeed. To his bewilderment, somebody etched a message into the trunk with a knife of some sort. It was in a language he wasn’t quite fluent in. The message was written in Japanese. “Well this is peachy, got my hopes up thinking I had a breakthrough. Should’ve borrowed “Japanese For Dummies” from the library had I known we’d be thrown into this predicament. Still, a very peculiar sight.” He went to graze his fingertips into the cuts but when he did, his vision flashed.

“Ahh!” Startled by the sudden change, Melone recoiled, catching himself before he could trip on one of the tree’s fat roots. “W-What? My eyes!” He blinked fast. Everything looked to be normal. No diminished acuity, no blind spots, nor pain, if anything his vision was a solid 20/20. But just because his sight was perfect, that didn’t mean something wasn’t out of the ordinary. Reluctantly gazing back at the tree trunk, the carvings seemed different. No, it was still written in Japanese the characters were still the same, yet somehow the text seemed all too familiar to him. “Hold on. No way. I can… I can… I gotta alert the others.”

Back at the road, the two disgruntled men’s scuffle turned physical, grappling each other into headlocks and twisting into one another like a human jungle gym, all the while verbally duking it out with each other. “Why is it whenever I have a good time, ya gotta take that happiness and rip it into a million pieces?” Formaggio snarled, trying his darndest to knee the slippery fucker in the gut. Illuso slit back with his tongue, “Why do you lack the brain cells to listen to anyone and always have to run headfirst into the stupidest shenanigans?”

“Not my problem you decided to hop on the bandwagon, guess that makes you as brainless as me!” That quip made an angered Illuso throw his iron fist, landing the punch right into Formaggio’s rear end. The latter let out a pitiful yelp, leaving him with a sore and bruised butt cheek. “Ratboy!”

“Tennisball Head!”

“Ratboy!”

“Tennisball Head!”

“Guys! Come here! You might wanna see this!” They looked in the direction of their teammate’s voice, then at each other. It sounded urgent. Their little “debate” can wait for later. Formaggio released Illuso’s head and the two walked together without making another grumble. They came across their teammate who was standing next to an old relic of a tree, he appeared to look troubled. “Look.” Melone beckoned them to the trunk when they noticed an unusual message chipped into it.

“What the hell are we seeing?” Illuso scoffed. “Oooh, you carved words into a tree. Color me impressed. I haven’t seen a cooler trick since the time Pesci made his tooth disappear by accidentally swallowing it.”

“Bring your hand out.” Melone guided Illuso’s left hand to the trunk and let it lightly chafe the edges of the bark. Just like what Melone experienced, Illuso too found his vision slightly altered than before. “Gah! What the hell? Am I still high? Impossible! I can… I can read what’s on the tree!”

“Huh?” Copying his teammates, Formaggio hesitantly rested his open palm on the carvings, “Woah, what the-? I can read it too! Shit, this is bonkers! Either we just unearthed the Rosetta Tree or that girl is behind all this! It has to be that girl! No doubt in my mind, she’s gotta have some sorta Stand power, I just know it!” He moved his index character to each character and slowly read the text out loud. “Go to… building… ten floors… bring Choco Bitz… 3 am.” He slowly shifted to the one who discovered the anomaly. “What in the fresh titty…?”

“Yeah, what kind of cryptic bullshit is this?” Illuso questioned as well. “And Choco Bitz? Like, the brand of candy?”

“It’s quite simple,” said Melone, his voice brimming with certainty but with a hint of dread. “Hunt down a building with ten floors and bring a snack by 3 in the morning… she’s giving us instructions.”

Formaggio’s eyes popped out bigger than a pop-eyed goldfish. “Wait, you don’t mean?”

“I believe we should do as she says and find our refuge for the night...”

“You’re not fucking serious, are you?” Illuso chimed. “Are we actually entertaining the idea of letting this little she-demon force us to do her bidding?”

The masked assassin shook his head. “I’m very serious, and if we wanna find Pesci before anyone finds us, we should get a move on.” With a nod from all parties, the three turned back to face the tree again but when they did, the carved message on the tree was no longer in sight and the bark appeared to be untouched. So back to Central Park’s entrance, they hurried. Since they were on the move, the trek back was cut down to 15 minutes, they were still coming off their highs and they were getting tired. Hopefully, the game revolved around taking a refreshing snooze because they were about to pass out on the ground.

“Find building, 10 floors, bring Choco Bitz, 3 am. Find building, 10 floors, bring Choco Bitz, by 3 am…” Melone repeated the instructions in his head. “Find building, 10 floors, bring Choco Bitz, 3 am. Find building, 6 floors, bring Choco Bitz, 5 am.” Melone halted in his tracks. “Huh? No, no! We’re finding a building with 10 floors by 3 am! And bring what again? Ah! Candy! Erm… which candy did she ask us to bring? M&Ms? Jolly Ranchers? Ugh, why has my memory been so bad? Is it ‘cause I’m getting off my high?” An unopened box slipped out of his pocket and hit the dirt. Melone picked up the box and read it out loud. “… Choco Bitz. Ah right, that was the snack.” He tenderly tucked into his pant pocket and resumed to the entrance. “Good thing I bought it at the smoke shop, it would’ve passed right over my head if I didn’t.”

Finally, they made it back to the entrance, and that’s when Formaggio checked his wristwatch. “Aw crap, look at the time. C’mon, we need to save the rest of our energy to bounce back home.” Illuso turned around and looked at him as if the man grew two extra heads. “Woah hey, what? You’re crazy. We can’t go home yet.”

“Huh? I start my shift in five hours from now, I’m past the point of getting any substantial beauty rest, sure, but we gotta head home before Boss catches us.”

“Hey, fuzznuts!” Illuso smacked the shorter man on the back of the nape. “Did you lose your brain back inside the park? We can’t go home without Pesci or we’ll be sleeping with the fishes!”

“Pesci?… Oh yeah! Where did the little knucklehead run off to?”

“He… uh… where did he go? Hmmm. We were playing that game, you know, that game… whatever the premise was wasn’t important. Just know we were playing that game and he hasn’t turned up since...”

“Oh yeah! We were having a nice, rousing game of hide-and-seek!” Formaggio chuckled before cupping his hands to his lips and shouting out, “‘Kay P-Brain, you win! It’s time to head home! Pesci~! Come out, come out, wherever you are~!”

Melone could feel the dread in his stomach become a pound heavier as he craned around to find his friends lost in their newfound confusion. How did they forget what happened? So it wasn’t solely his memory that was becoming faulty. What in the world was going on? A theory crossed Melone’s mind. What if this “girl” wasn’t a Stand User after all? The kimono, the toy, the ashy powder, demanding games and candy. Could it be the girl was indeed a…? “No, no, Melone. Don’t be silly. She couldn’t be “that”. No way. You’re not superstitious.” He tried to persuade himself otherwise, repeating to himself over and over that it couldn’t be “that”. He was a logical man, while he found the supernatural to be intriguing, he didn’t believe such folktales were accurate in the slightest. “… But what if she is “that”?” His thoughts made him torn. “Stop it. Do you hear yourself? Her? Being “that”? That idea is beyond far-fetched, it’s laughable. Then again, I have my doubts, lots of doubts. There are too many parallels, I’d be a fool to simply ignore the details. If she’s truly what I think she is, maybe there’s a way to put her out of commission…” He called out to his friends. “No. We were not playing hide-and-seek and we are not going home. Our objective is to find a 10-story building before 3 o’clock. That’s what the girl expects us to do. Remember? The little girl with the kimono? The one we summoned at the crossroads which is how Pesci went missing.” The other men scratched their heads, it took some time before it fully hit them.

“Bastard’s right! How did we forget in such little time?”

“It must’ve been the stupid weed you gave us. Smoke some dope, become a dope. The perfect motto for an idiot like you.”

“Enough… it’s not the marijuana we took earlier. I’m starting to wrap my head around what’s going on… she’s playing mind tricks on us. She’s purposely making us forget the objective at hand so we lose and abort “Operation: Save Pesci”. Maggio, how much time do we have?”

“45 minutes.”

“Okay… we have some time.” He extended his arm with his thumb out, beckoning a taxi.

“Time for what?” Illuso squinted his eyes, suspicious of what his companion meant by that.

“To the library!”

———————————————————————

“Guhh, this isn’t getting us anywhere.” Illuso moaned, he and Formaggio slumped themselves on one of the hardwood tables, lazily eyeing Melone do all the work. “Shouldn’t we be doing what the creepy bitch said to do instead of wasting our energy watching you read…? Hellooo, amico? Is anyone in there? Borrowing library books can wait another time.”

“Where is it? Where is it, dammit?” Melone was on a book-throwing rampage, carelessly tossing them over his shoulders like there was no tomorrow, which could very well be the case. “It’s gotta be here somewhere, I just read it hours before… ah, found it!” He threw down a textbook on the table, causing the others to stir. The front cover was a smorgasbord of beasts and ghouls that didn’t look like your typical spooky mummies and vampires but instead ranged from giant skeletons to horned demon men to long-necked women to aquatic critters. The title was huge with calligraphic font and it read out, “The Encyclopedia of Yokai, Yurei, and Other Japanese Monsters.”

Formaggio cocked a brow, he too was becoming aggravated with whatever precious minutes they had left being slowly pissed away. “Man, this isn’t a time for spooky stories.”

“Au contraire, mon frere.” Their teammate licked his finger and thumbed through until he reached the final chapters. “If this is in alphabetical order, then it’s all the way in the back. Let’s see… Zenko… Zennyo Ryuo… shit, must’ve passed it, let’s go back a few pages, shall we? Hmmm… hmmmmmm… ah yes! Di molto! This is it!” He slid the book to the others. Scanning the contents, the first thing that stuck out to them was an image of a little girl, almost a carbon copy of the one they encountered earlier, down to the same age, same bowl cut, same old-fashioned attire, even down to the same toy she held in hand; a Temari ball. The stark contrast was the little girl had plump, rosy cheeks with an endearingly mischievous smile to boot, while the girl they met was pale as paper and dead inside.

“This my friends is a zashiki-warashi, also known as a “parlor child”. A spirit. These little rascals are allegedly sighted in Japan, typically in the parlors of house owners. While they get a kick out of pulling pranks on their unsuspecting hosts, they are otherwise harmless, even revered as gods of luck. It is said that if a zashiki-warashi takes refuge in one’s household and is cared for, the owner will become prosperous and financially stable. On the other hand, let’s say this spirit wasn’t treated with the utmost care, it could decide to depart from the residence, leaving the host in shambles with all-around bad luck…”

“So you’re saying we’re dealing with a ghost…?”

“Far more than a ghost, a yokai to be exact. If you’re not following what I’m saying, then I’ll elucidate. Yokai are a class of supernatural entities that personify unexplained phenomena that occur in our everyday lives. A tengu would be considered a yokai as well. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Melone, you must’ve lost your mind...””

“You have,” the others chimed in unison.

“That’s not the point. Trust me, I’m very hesitant on this theory. My point is we’re not completely ruling the Stand User theory just yet. That being said, since the parallels are to a T, my hypothesis will stand until otherwise, pun unintended.”

“Soooo, to backtrack Formaggio’s question, we’re not dealing with a ghost nor a Stand User, but a supernatural phenomenon that doesn’t necessarily apply to the living nor the dead?”

“Precisely. But if I’m correct, parlor children don’t cause harm, they simply enjoy getting a kick out of pranking oblivious folks and just want a buddy to play with.”

“Back up, back up, back up, back up! You call that THING harmless? She spirited Pesci away to the farthest depths of who-knows-where and now she wants to make us its bitches! You call that “just a prank”!? How’re we gonna break the news to Boss if we vanish too? That’s no kid, that thing is a demon! We’re dealing with a fucking demon, people!” Demon… demon… this was sounding more and more familiar to Illuso like he was having a case of déjà vu.

“Maybe if you didn’t provoke the “demon” by tossing her willy-nilly like a rag doll, Pesci would still be here and we wouldn’t be caught up in this predicament, now would we?” Formaggio asserted. “Besides, Mel might be up to something. Maybe she is a zucchini-araki after all and if we figure out who and what this girl is, we can find some sort of hidden weakness or some way to defeat her.”

“Whatever… you bozos might have a lead. But if I recall, those whats-their-names are supposed to be “cheerful” and “fun-loving”, the one we saw was nowhere as nice as the kid in the book. Not to mention, would anyone with a brain really consider kidnapping as a form of “playful shenanigans”? Why was she significantly more sinister than her book counterpart? Tell me that.”

“… Tell you the truth, it’s anyone’s guess.” Melone hovered his index finger over the page. “Hopefully the trip here wasn’t an utter waste. Let’s see… any way to “defeat” a corrupt zashiki-warashi? Hmm, hmm. Crap, says nothing about getting rid of one, only how to attract one for good luck.” He mumbled a verse out loud. “If one were to play a game with a zashiki-warashi and win, said person may be rewarded with long-lasting prosperity, whether it be wealth, friendship, love, and/or longevity.”

“So that’s it?” The taller man asked. “It’s basically telling us we have to keep playing with her until we win? I guess flamethrowers and knives are off the table. What happens if we lose?”

“Doesn’t say…”

“Fuck me, this isn’t getting us anywhere!” In a fit of annoyance over not getting sleep and squandering time, Illuso slammed his hands onto the table. “I’ll be damned if I have to be some hellish brat’s plaything! No way, no how, no thank you!” The air had suddenly gone thick. Their ears perked when they could’ve sworn they heard something from a distance. It was a noise like faint chattering and laughter of… children. Who in their right mind would let a bunch of preschoolers play in an empty library in the middle of the night? It was getting increasingly harsh and soon enough it was echoing off the library’s walls.

Melone closed the book. “I don’t think we have a choice in the matter. Stand User or Yokai or none of the above, if we’re going to get to the bottom of this and find Pesci before anyone finds out he’s missing, we must abide by her rules. We must play the game.” He made his way to the crack in the wall where they had entered from. “Formaggio, I’d like to be shrunken again, please. The sooner we search for our location, the better.” Without another utterance, Formaggio followed over to the wall, leaving Illuso behind. “I guess we’re just going to leave this place a mess. Surely we won’t be caught at all.”

“Let’s get a move on, string-bean boy. You’re holdin’ us up!”

Off they went again, hoping to encounter the building sometime soon. Melone was hiking up the street still repeating the instructions to himself, however, Illuso and Formaggio were trailing back, their legs were jelly and they couldn’t keep their eyes focused. “Man…” Formaggio yawned, “This sidewalk’s lookin’ a lil’ extra comfy right ‘bout now. Why don’t we take a break?”

“Stay diligent, men,” Melone bellowed back to them. “We must keep our eyes peeled, who knows how long we’ll be looking for this place but we must stay on task, otherwise we might… miss it.” Towering over them was a narrow building, roughly 10 stories. The address number was 444. Unlike the neighboring skyscrapers that were composed of steel and reinforced concrete, this one was made of black brick. He noted it had an “antiquated” look to it. Funny thing was, Melone swore they passed the area earlier and didn’t see a building such as the one he was gawking at, it was as if it was built from the bottom up in only a few hours. “Oh, look at that. This must be it… Better now than never.” The trio made it through the slide doors into the building’s lobby. There was nobody at the desk. Come to think of it, there didn’t seem to be a soul in sight.

The taller assassin approached the desk. Peering over the counter there didn’t seem to be any workers crouching under. Like hell he was gonna wait by and look pretty, he began impatiently slamming the bell. “Helloooo? Some paying customers would like a room for the night. Anyone competent enough here?” No one came. “Pfft, talk about great customer service. Now what do we do?”

“Uh, guys?” An anxious Formaggio spoke, for some reason he was facing the wall. Whatever he was staring at, it sure woke him from his drowsiness. “I think I found a clue.” The other two walked over to where he was. At first glance, it seemed nothing more than red graffiti sprayed all over the wall. Rude of someone to waltz on in and vandalize the place, but nothing out of the realms of ordinary per se. Yet doing a double take, it was a message written in Japanese characters. This was their next set of assignments. “You guys ready?” Melone asked. At the count of three, they placed their hands on the wall. Like before, the characters became clear to them. “Go up the stairs to the second floor.”

“Cool, let’s move.” The trio hopped up the flight of stairs without a second guess. The moment they reached the top, they were greeted with the hum-buzz of swamp fluorescent lights that lit the narrow hall that stretched out before them. The assassins were on high alert for the next sign, but they couldn’t help but be surprised how the hotel seemed larger than its exterior, housing rows and rows of doors. By the hall’s end, they came across a present waiting for them; two sets of room keys hanging on a key rack with a graffitied message next to it.

“One takes the elevator… One takes Room 646… One takes Room 464…”

“I see…” Melone nodded. “She wants us to separate. We all must choose where we’re crashing for the night. Two of us will take the rooms while the other has to take the elevator. We should decide this with the utmost caution and maturity… one, two, three, not it!”

“Not it!”

“Not it- Gahh, you guys suck!”

It was decided. Illuso would be the one to take the elevator, much to his dismay and to the others’ relief. “Alright, now that Illuso’s stuck with elevator duty,” Melone held the two keys out in front of Formaggio’s view. “Which one would you fancy? Room 646 or 464?”

“Hmmm, 464.” He snatched the keys from him. “Not that it matters, but I wouldn’t be caught dead napping in an elevator. Thanks for taking one for the team, man.”

“Bastards,” Illuso hissed.

“C’mon slowpoke,” Formaggio kicked up his feet. “You waitin’ for an invitation or what? We’re checking out our rooms.”

“Don’t need to rub it in…”

Going up a few more flights, they reached the fourth floor. Formaggio wasn’t eager about whatever was in store for him, but he was in pure bliss that he was able to have a bed to sleep on. That all changed when he unlocked the door, that’s when it all came crashing down. “You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me…”

“What? What’s the matter?” Popping their heads into the room, the others spotted what had caused their teammate to be so distressed. Spread across the TV set, the dressers, the nightstand, inside the closet, and even by the corners of the floor, a hoard of dolls were lined in an orderly fashion.

Lots…

And lots…

Of dolls…

And these weren’t your run-of-the-mill Barbies or Raggedy Anns, these had an antique look to them and given their traditional garbs, they appeared to be imported from Japan. Some were in the image of young women, fashioned in elaborately patterned kimonos and hair styled back in resemblance to hair worn by a geisha. Others took the form of chubby-cheeked youngsters and babies; some standing, some laying on their bellies, they too wore attire similar to their taller counterparts. The little girl dolls wore kimonos and had their hair cut into short bobs, while the little boy dolls wore suits of armor with their hair ceremoniously pulled back into topknots. They all huddled close to one another and faced the center of the room… aka, the bed.

“Oh. What pretty dolls.”

“These? Pretty!? Hell nah! These things are hideous as fuck! Why do you get assigned a normal room but I have to spend a night with the creepy doll cult? I wanna switch!”

“Suck it up buttercup, no need to be a drama queen, sheesh. It’s just for the night. Don’t tell me you’re planning on chickening out over a bunch of dumb playthings?”

Their teammate protested further, “Are we not looking at the same thing? I’ve seen roadkill on the sidewalk far cuter than these things! No way in hell I’m letting these ‘lil fuckers watch me sleep!” Melone and Illuso entered the maze of dolls, navigating over the tiny figures under their feet to avoid damaging them. It was rather strange that a room such as this would accommodate so many of them and yet, there seemed to be no one occupying the room. Who owned the dolls and why were they left there in the first place? Truth be told, getting a better look at these displays, both men began to understand why Formaggio found them so unwelcoming. Melone had encountered these sets of dolls in the past, he viewed them as elegant works that were meticulously crafted by hand, a prime example of utmost craftsmanship, and any diehard Japanatic would kill to get their hands on such a collector’s item. But, there was intense energy coming off of these dolls that even he was beginning to get the creeps. Could it be that a portion of them had drilled their black beady pupils into their souls, silently judging them from afar? Could it be their ghostly pale faces were crafted asymmetrically which gave them an uncanny valley look to them? They must’ve seen better days, their ceramic faces and fingers were beginning to crack and chip off and their once radiant kimonos became dull and stained with grease.

Standing on top of the television set, one figurine stuck out from the rest, it was hard for the three men to ignore it. It stood a whopping 76 cm, towering amongst the others who stood no taller than a shampoo bottle. There were no cracks nor smudges found on its complexion, no grease marks or dirt stains on its robes, it appeared brand-spanking new. The uchikake, or its outermost robe was a deep lavender which running down the bottom changed to a pale yellow with splashes of lotus petals woven into it. Underneath its robe was heavy layers of colorful, expensive silks. Its hair was fastened similar to the others, but it was heavily decorated with extravagant hair pins that were handmade with tortoiseshell and flower petals. Melone deduced, “This one’s different. Its clothing and hair were way more decorated than the rest, it could even give a Christmas tree a run for its money. This one isn’t supposed to resemble a geisha like the others. It’s an oiran, a high-class courtesan that outranks a geisha. Perhaps we stumbled across their “leader”.”
Formaggio crept closer, it was apparent that the ol’ gal was indeed a grand sight. He grimaced, for some strange reason the longer he stared at it, the more difficult it was to keep his eyes on it. The doll was made to look like it was smiling with its lips parted and teeth visible, but due to its uncanny appearance, it was by no means an award-winning smile. It didn’t seem happy to see him. On the contrary, there was a growing hint of mocking satisfaction. Suffice it to say, the contempt was mutual.

“Yeah, no. I don’t give a monkey’s ass, I’m not sleeping in this damn room! YO!” He cupped the rims of his lips and shouted at the ceiling. “YOU BETTER LISTEN AND LISTEN WELL! I AIN’T SLEEPIN’ WITH YOUR LIL’ DEMON DOLLIES! EITHER PUT ‘EM IN ANOTHER HELLHOLE FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO DEAL WITH ‘EM OR I’M SWITCHING ROOMS! YOU HEAR ME?” When he received no answer he stomped by the TV set. Noticing a doll seated on the edge, he promptly yanked it up by the arm. “YOU KNOW WHAT? I GOTTA BETTER PLACE TO PUT ‘EM!” He stomped his way over to an open window.

“Stop Maggio, you can’t!” Melone stepped in front of the window with his hands up. “You could cost us the game!”

The agitated gangster elbowed his comrade to the side. “Cost the game, my ass! She crossed the line with this one! If this is how she gets her sick kicks sacrificing me to her doll cult, well, I’ll give her something to laugh at!” Before he could do anything with the dolly, the television spontaneously turned on. All three stood frozen like statues as the blare of TV static echoed throughout the whole building. “Was either of you fiddling with the remote before…?” Formaggio asked in confused awe, the others silently shook their heads, they were just as entranced as he was by the sudden occurrence.

After a while of taking in the static, Illuso was the first to speak. “Sounds to me she’s made up her mind. Put it back and follow directions. We can’t afford to be another man short.” Making a relenting grunt, Formaggio placed the doll back where it perched, that’s when his shoe made a “thud” sound. He blinked down at his foot, there was a little black diary. “That wasn’t there before.” He picked it up and flipped through it. In it, someone had left a brief diary entry. The ink was smudged yet readable.

“Lay supine… look at the corners three times… counterclockwise… cross your arms at the chest… repeat the phrase… on beiro kya mashironi sowaka… three times… imagine her… get too close and uncross your arms… go to bed… don’t speak to her… don’t let her whisper in your right ear… - - ake - ig - t - and…” The last instruction was heavily damaged. What did it say? Scratch that, what did any of this nonsense mean? It was like some rando cut words out of a Sears catalog and glued them together like some fucked up collage. Formaggio flipped back but the pages turned completely blank. “Dammit!” He tossed the book down on the floor. The trio stood around awkwardly for a little while longer.

“I should… get going.” Illuso tiptoed over to the doorframe, closely followed by Melone, not before resting his hand on Formaggio’s shoulder blade and wistfully giving him a couple of words of encouragement. “Sleep well. Stay strong and good luck.”

“Hey guys,” Formaggio urged, making the two turn back. “In case we don’t make it out… just wanna let you know… I lo-… um.” He itched his face, having much hesitation about what he yearned to say to them both. “What I wanted to say is… goodnight…” They nodded and walked off, leaving Formaggio behind with all unblinking eyes on him.

The two gangsters returned to Melone’s hotel room. Illuso dropped his remaining teammate off where they discovered a similar book with a series of tasks for the masked man to endure. They wished each other goodnight a second time, then Illuso took the empty stairs down to the main lobby. Wherever the damn elevator was located it sure was hiding in plain sight, as if it wasn’t designed to be used by patrons, but by the staff instead. Despite that, none of them saw a single employee since they stepped foot inside the possible haunted hotel. While the complex seemed to be in okay shape, minus the dim, sickly-yellow lights, not a breath nor a step could be heard throughout the whole stinkin’ place. The tall man shook himself focused. There was no time to dwell on the anxiety of taking refuge in such a ghost town, his objective was to find the elevator, win the game, rescue the pathetic pipsqueak, and get the fuck home. Nevertheless, he had to wonder. If they were to succeed in finding Pesci, would he be safe and sound? If anything, was the goal of the game even finding their teammate? The kid demanded that they play with her, there was no mention of a bargain or prize to be awarded to them if they win. Clock was ticking, they needed to find their comrade, even if it meant dying trying. He was Prosciutto’s boy, and God forbid if they couldn’t reach him in time or reach him at all, the sourpuss’s heart would be crushed to smithereens and the three of them would be at the mercy of their superiors, that was if they made it out alive.

Luckily, he managed to find the elevator in a secluded area away from the lobby desk. Right before he hopped into whatever the devious little hellspawn had in store for him, he scattered the remaining Choco Bitz outside the empty elevator. “Alrighty, let’s get this show on the road.” Taking a breath in and with one heavy step forward, he entered his confinement. Thankfully, the elevator had enough elbow room for two so he wasn’t super cramped in there. He situated himself in the center, expecting the next line of instructions to be handed to him. “Okay, I’m in. Now what?” Turning his head around, he couldn’t see anything that remotely looked like instructions. Nothing. No ominous message written in graffiti, no crude cuts on the door, not even a note scribbled on loose leaf paper taped to the wall. “This is ridiculous. Don’t tell me this bitch tricked me into being forever trapped in a smelly elevator with no way out.” He threw his head back in frustration when he saw it. Above the doors was a message on the LED screen that presented the following numbers:

“4TH… 2ND… 6TH… 2ND… 10TH…”

“That’s it? Can’t you enlighten me further? Would be nice for context clue or two. Are these my winning lottery numbers? Fourth what? What does any of that mean?” No more messages were spelled out, that was all he was going to get. He huffed, arguing with the little fiend would’ve been pointless so he stood there sulking. That’s when he had a light-bulb moment. “Oh, I see. Haha, Illuso you silly goober! “Fourth” stands for the fourth floor. I have to bounce around different floors to win. Hehehe, that’s too easy! Game’s gonna be a piece of cake. Now… how did the order go again?” He moved over to the panel full of buttons, he recited each number with the corresponding button he pressed. “4th. 2nd. 6th. 2nd… 4th?” The cab began to rumble and crank, then ever-so-slowly Illuso felt the platform under his feet rising steadily. First stop, the fourth floor. The elevator couldn’t have dragged any slower, it felt like a freakin’ eternity as the first floor inched to the second floor, followed by the third floor. Once he reached the fourth floor, the room paused, then descended back down at a tortoise’s pace to the second floor, doing so for the 6th, 2nd, and 4th floors as well. “Guhh, a snail stuck in a glue trap would’ve gotten the task done far quicker. No matter, I reached the last floor, I won.”

However, before the doors could release him from his prison, another message on the LED screen popped up overhead. “TRY AGAIN”. “Try again? ‘The hell do you mean try again? I did the order right. Not my fault you picked a faulty elevator to play this mindless game.” That wasn’t a good enough answer. The cab rumbled and the walls began to clank and ping. Uh oh, that didn’t sound pleasant at all. As the rattling in the walls became more profound, the lights spontaneously went out. What was worse, the platform that supported his feet was now inches below them. He was beyond puzzled until he came to the reality that he was floating in the air because the elevator was dropping at an exceeding rate. Illuso grabbed the nearest handle and clung for dear life.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

It was over for him. Death by drop tower being mechanically controlled by the world’s cutest hellspawn. The ride came to a screeching halt and the impact of the hard stop caused Illuso to have his body slammed onto the floor. He was fine, inflicted with a bruised ribcage and a pounding heart, but otherwise fine. The man gradually picked himself up from the, hacking up a lung here and there. To his dismay, when he looked up at the panel, the screen read, “1ST”. He was back on the first floor. “WHAT? NOOO! I have redo it again!? This bullshit is rigged!” He recollected his thoughts, the floors were 4th, 2nd, 6th, 2nd, and 4th all together in that order! “This idiot kid must’ve flunked kindergarten because she doesn’t know squat how to count.” He was fuming with rage, which didn’t ease the pain in his ribs. “Ow, ow, goddammit. My lungs feel like they’ve been caved in with a motherflippin’ baseball bat. Gotta be a 10 on the pain scale. Hold the phone… ten…” He pondered on that number, now that he really thought about it, wasn’t there a 10th floor in the list? “God-fucking-dammiiiit. I did screw up… whatever, I just wasn’t ready. I’ll get it right this time. 4th. 3rd. 6th. 2nd. 10th.” And once again, the elevator slowly rose and he was on path to victory…

———————————————————————

2:55 am

“Alrighty… here we go.” He didn’t have a moment to lose. Formaggio spread his share of the sweets on the floor, then crawled back on the bed laying in the supine position. He gazed up at the north-left corner of the ceiling, resting it there for a solid ten seconds before gradually shifting his eyes to the north-right corner, then the south-right corner, and lastly, the south-left corner. He did the same process again and again, a total of three times. He drew an exhale out and crossed his forearms over his chest. “So far, so good… now what was the thing I had to say again?” The shrill static roared louder.

He spoke out, slightly unconfident, “On beiro kya mashironi sowaka… on beiro kya mashironi sowaka… on beiro kya mashironi sowaka…” He clenched his eyes shut.

A lady… he imagined a lady standing by the screaming television. She was gangly; had long, unkempt hair as black as the night. She wore a white kimono, it would’ve looked decent on her if it didn’t have blood splattered on it. Her face didn’t look all that better either. Her skin was sickly pale, the same color as a person who just died. Cheeks were sunken in like she hadn’t eaten in weeks… and her eyes. They were wide as saucers with deep, dark circles under them. As for her lips and gums, the best way to describe them is as they appeared… frostbitten. They were just as black as her hair. She moved closer to the foot of his bed, wobbling with every step and as she walked, her head bobbed side-to-side, never breaking eye contact with him. Formaggio visualized her kneeling on top of the bed by his feet, then straddling over his knees. Finally, he visualized those huge discs of hers looking down right at him only centimeters away, close enough to feel her breath brush against his face. Formaggio stopped visualizing and uncrossed his arms. His heart was beating like a jackhammer on turbo mode.

He clapped twice, triggering the ceiling light to turn off. He sighed, “Time to head on over to Dreamville.” He squinted his tired eyes shut. “Everything’s gonna be a-okay. You’re gonna beat this game, save your ol’ pal, and get back to a normal life. Just imagine somethin’ that’ll calm your nerves. The beach? Your kitty? Mom? Sheesh, I said somethin’ relaxing, not depressing.” He peeped one eye at the Oiran doll. Perhaps it was him or the dark but its features looked more devious, like it was keeping a secret that he didn’t know about. “They’re just a bunch of dumb dolls. You’re not scared of ‘em. If they try to harm you, just gladly escort ‘em out the window. Easy peasy. You can do this… you can do this…” He flopped and rolled on his belly, but no matter what comfy position he was in, the damn TV was still playing the same damn static. He vowed to Christ Almighty he’d smash that thing with his bare hands if he wasn’t so focused on sleeping. “Don’t get yourself all worked up, just ignore it and get some shuteye. Gee, must’ve been up for some time now. What time is it?” He peeked at the clock.

2:59 am.

“Only four minutes? ONLY FOUR FUCKING MINUTES!? More like four hours! Geez, this is going to be a long-ass night. Good lord…” Formaggio prayed, his breathing quickened. The static, the dolls, the demon girl, he could feel their presence, laughing and taunting him. He swore it, he wasn’t going mad. He wrapped his pillow around his ears and head, yet it did little to deafen the noise. “Dammit, why am I awake? Shit, I feel dizzy and my blood pressure’s through the roof! What if it’s that girl? That damn girl. She’s the one that’s behind all this. She’s keeping me from sleeping so I’d fucking lose! No, she’s not making me feel this way. What if it’s me? Am I, am I having a panic attack? Why? Why now? Why ever? I don’t panic! This is bullshit! What if I can’t sleep? What if I lose? Pesci, I’m sorry lil’ buddy. It should’ve been me, not you. Fuck, this is hopeless…” Formaggio rolled on his back, drowning in defeat as he felt a million beady eyes judging him from afar. His final thoughts before passing out were two people he longed for the most right then. His two comrades, the two that were no longer with them. “You guys… it’s been a hot minute… I wanna see you, speak to you… like old times before you were... If you boneheads are up there, wherever you are, please give me strength.” The TV shut off. And like that, he was out.

3:00 am.

The game had begun.

———————————————————————

Meanwhile at Melone’s room…

First things first…

Melone slipped his tracksuit completely off and folded it neatly onto the bottom corner of his bed. Once he was buck naked, he took a few steps toward the dull luminescence of the bathroom. Before he could enter, however, he cut his footing short at the doorframe. He gazed heavily at the sink, moving slowly to the toilet and then finally, the bathtub. He moved his foot back a step. “Maybe taking on a high-risk challenge like this wasn’t the most ideal…”. But deep down, this is what he had to do he couldn’t pull the coward card and turn back. He had to rescue his teammate. If it meant sacrificing his own life, then so be it. This was his resolve. He took a deep exhale, then entered. He was in her world now.

Next step. Approach the tub. Melone slinked towards the possible death trap, if he moved quicker he’d increase the probability of him slipping on the tile floor and breaking his neck. Before he commenced the ritual, he quietly got down on his knees. His hunch told him it might’ve been a good idea to kneel by the tub instead of standing in it, for safety’s sake. He twisted the first knob to the right and the second knob to the left. The pouring water dwindled until nothing but a few drops trickled into the pool. Gradually picking himself up, he went over to the wall and flicked the light switch off, welcoming the pitch black that engulfed the entire room. Everything was ready to commence.

Third step. Get in. Dipping one foot in, Melone tested the water. It wasn’t scorching hot, or freezing cold. He slipped his other foot in and carefully sat in the middle of the bathtub, in the dark, facing the faucet. Time to wash up. Closing his eyes as per the ritual, Melone submerged his whole head into the water. He did this a few times before it was soaked enough to start washing. He chanted the phrase:

“Daruma-san fell down.”

First attempt was nothing but a whisper.

“Daruma-san fell down.”

That time, he was a smidge more confident.

“Daruma-san fell down.”

He chanted the phrase over and over, squeezing his eyes so hard they could’ve been squished into pulp. As he was finishing getting the bits of muck out of his hair, his mind began to wander. He pictured the faucet from his point of view, the same faucet he was facing towards. The scene changed to a young woman entering the room, she looked to be in her late teens or early 20s. She was struggling to turn the shower on, no matter how much she jiggled and twisted the rusty shower knob, it wouldn’t budge. She became visibly frustrated, getting more and more aggressive with her twisting. Suddenly, as she twisted the knob with a force of 1,000 suns, it turned a complete 360 degrees and a jet of moldy slime gushed out of the tap. It surprised the young woman, causing her to slip and lose her footing and then… a guttural scream. Instead of falling backward, she had somehow fallen forward right onto the faucet’s diverter, bludgeoning the right portion of her face. The woman wailed and pleaded for help, hoping someone, anyone, would hear her desperate calls and come rescue her. Tragically, being she was the only person in the room, she was too far from any good Samaritan to respond to her distress. Helpless and running out of options, she used whatever strength she had left to heave herself off, but the diverter was wedged into her face, being stuck between bone and muscle. She wasn’t going anywhere. The harder she tugged, the more blood had spilled and her screams of agony were progressively more pained. Finally, she was able to pull herself free and threw herself over the tub’s edge, her body going fully limp. The tap was smothered in blood and on the end of the diverter was a pink, fleshy morsel that she had left behind. It was her eye.

All Melone thought to himself during the whole scene was… mother of Christ. Why? Off all things he could’ve daydreamed of, why did it have to be that? Secondly, how was he capable to envision an image like that? An image that appeared too real for him. The grisly details on the eye, the texture of the blood, and the woman’s frantic screams, all seemed too authentic to have been made up from his imagination. Or maybe, did he actually just witness a woman accidentally gouging herself on the faucet and was part of the ritual? The gory image of the limp woman left his mind when Melone began to feel sudden movement in the tub followed by the soft, muffled swishing of water behind him. When he registered what was happening, something cold was placed on both his shoulders. It caused a chill to prickle up his back, not the sensation one would feel refreshed after jumping through a sprinkler on a humid day, but a heavy, discomforting chill that made his whole body become blanketed with goosebumps. Keeping his peepers shut, he could make out the cold objects resting upon him were flat and calloused, and curving over his collarbone were five slender appendages. Fingers. He fought every urge to open his eyes or look over his shoulder, if he did otherwise, who knows what could happen to him. To his horror, the bony fingers were leisurely riding up his collarbone to the sides of his neck. Before the thing could commit the unspeakable to him, he had this to say:

“Why did you fall in the bath…?”

He hitched his breath, praying that the creature wouldn’t shred him to ribbons or flay him alive or feast on his bones; the possibilities were endless. Eventually, the fingers released their hold and the swishing subsided. Melone remained stunned in his spot for a little while longer until the coast was clear. Still keeping his eyes closed, Melone cautiously navigated himself out of the tub and shuffled the hell out of there. Forget cleaning the floor up or draining out the water, he wasn’t going to spend another second in that hell pit. He shut the door behind him and despite being nude and drenched, he floundered onto the bed and entombed himself in the comforter’s slightly soaked embrace. He uttered silently, “Go to sleep, go to sleep, just go to sleep…” For the game wasn’t over, it would pick right back up in the crack of dawn which wasn’t too far ahead. The combination of his heavy breathing and being stuck in a completely saturated comforter made everything so...

———————————————————————

Humid. It was practically dripping in the bedroom. Formaggio stirred on one side and then the other before he groggily poked one eye open after the other. “Hmm, where am I again? Oh yeah, the hotel. Good thing I gotta bit of shuteye. How long was I napping?” He lifted the digital clock from the nightstand. Odd, he recalled it working before he drifted to sleep. Was he losing it? No, that wasn’t right, it must’ve been busted. He shook it in hopes that would undo the glitch, but alas, it remain unchanged. 12 am. No way did the time go backward and it was midnight, it should’ve been morning by then. Looking up, he made another chilling discovery. All the dolls that were previously stalking him from afar were turned away from him and gazing at the walls as if they were shielding themselves from witnessing something about to unfold. “Hold up. They weren’t like that before, someone’s been in my room.” The humidity was rising, despite it being December. That stacked with the lack of sleep was giving him a pounding headache. No luck using a ceiling fan because there was none in the room. He needed fresh air, stat. He pulled himself up from the bed but when he when jerked the window open, he was being sucked into the abyss outside. Quick thinking was on his side and he was able to shut the window close before he could be pulled out. “This is wack. I can’t see peanuts ‘cause It’s too dark outside, there’s no lights or buildings or anything. It looks like we’re in outer space. I must be dreaming! Wait… am I dreaming?” He pinched his side. It stung, but it was enough to startle him awake. “Guess I’m not. I gotta go find Mel and Lu. If anyone comes to my room pulling these messed up pranks on me, it was most definitely those dickweeds. Dream or not, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

Formaggio kicked his shoes on and exited the room faster than anyone can say “It’s a trap”. Surprisingly, the hall’s lights were shut off, nearly almost impossible to navigate through without tripping oneself up. Nevertheless, the gangster charged through the darkness and skipped up the stairs. He got up to the fifth floor, but before he could reach the sixth floor to Melone’s room, he caught something in the corner of his eye. What he encountered turned the skilled assassin into a deer in headlights.

Fixed to the other side of the hall, a person staring directly at him, stock-still as a cardboard cutout. It wasn’t Melone nor Illuso, the stranger stood even taller than Illuso by a mere few inches. Their eyes were like two huge moons and the position of them were noticeably asymmetrical. That’s when everything else clicked. The unkempt hair. The blood-stained dress. The ghoulish visage. The frostbitten lips and gums. It was the woman he had imagined in his thoughts from prior.

They glared each other down like it was high noon. Formaggio couldn’t put his tongue on it, but his gut was telling him that he shouldn’t talk to nor be near this woman. She just stood there… watching. Out of nowhere and still not breaking eye contact, the woman teetered down the hall. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, so whenever her bare feet hit the floor, it made a gross “slap, slap, slap”. She was unsteady as a broken wind-up toy and when she stepped forward, her head would bob to the left and another step it would bob to the right. By the time she hit the middle point of the hall, her speed accelerated which was the gangster’s cue to get the fuck out of there. Shaking off the fear, Formaggio darted up the stairs.

Ten stairs left… twenty stairs left… thirty stairs left… why were the stairs receding? No matter how fast he ran, more stairs were being added. “Shit this is bad! That bitch is gonna catch me! Let’s try something different!” Instead of running each step, Formaggio began skipping over two stairs at a time. Shockingly, it looked to be working and he was almost at the top which was when he hit his shoe on the third-to-last stair making him tumble backward in the process. The pitter-patter of her feet was getting faster, he sprang back up hearing her trailing up the stairs. Finally, he arrived at the sixth floor, Melone’s room should’ve been smack dab in the middle. He was close in…

CRACK!

Shooting his head up the ceiling, a chunk of debris was about to tumble down onto him. He successfully ducked and dodged smaller bits of the ceiling but then a larger chunk was falling right below him and he wasn’t going to be swift enough to avoid it. “Woah! I’m gonna get crushed! I got nothing to lose! Little Feet!” Phasing from thin air, his purple robotic Stand emerged. It hovered on top of its master like a shield and using its knuckles and its large scythe of a finger it swung them at high speeds, effectively deflecting the oncoming debris. Once the ceiling scrap was cleared, Formaggio disengaged his Stand and made it to Melone’s front door.

To his dismay, when he jiggled the knob, it was found to be locked. “Open up, bud! It’s me! Help me! I’m being chased by some batshit zombie! This isn’t a good time to keep your door locked! Look, I’m sorry I was ever mean to you, you’re a cool guy! I mean it! Even cooler than Risotto and Prosciutto combined!” That was a lie. “Just open uuuuppp!” To even greater dismay, he received no response. The lady was coming up the stairs, her footsteps were getting louder and quicker by the second. “What am I gonna do? Fuck me, she’s coming up!” The lady pulled up to the sixth floor, she peered down the hall in search of the man, however, he was nowhere to be seen. Must’ve run posthaste to the next floor, therefore she proceeded to waddle to that destination, little did she seem to know that he was still in that very hall. Right before the lady made it upstairs, Formaggio had found a crack in the wall and shrunk himself in there. “Nice thinking man,” he heaved to himself. “If this crack wasn’t there it would’ve been the end of the road for me. Aight ol’ chap, you’ve evaded her for now, but what am I really supposed to do here? The instructions are coming back to me, I can’t talk to her or let her whisper in my right ear. But I can’t recall for the life of me what I’m supposed to accomplish. How do I win this fucked up game of tag? I can’t stay in here forever though, I gotta make a plan.” He took refuge in there for a little longer before safely proceeding out, strolling back to where the fallen debris was and gathering up some pebbles in his pocket. That’s when the faint pitter-patter was coming down the staircase. She had found him.

Instead of running away like before, Formaggio idly waited for the lady to come for her prize. “Long time, no see,” he thought to himself. She wobbled faster and faster, only a few feet away from him to which… he threw a pebble at her… which instantaneously grew back into a giant piece of metal scrap slamming into her and knocking her to the ground, leaving her incapacitated. That was when Formaggio resumed sprinting on out of there, “Woo! Once again you’ve proved your worth!” He declared in his head. “Strength and speed may not be Little Feet’s forte in some aspects, but that doesn’t mean it’s worthless when it’s paired with an adept Stand User like myself. When Little Feet deflected the raining debris from earlier, I had it shrink some of the pieces to use as projectiles. Yeah, yeah, those puppies take their sweet time to fully shrink, but once they’re ready for action, I’m unstoppable!”

His triumph was tainted when the lady got right back up and continued to chase after him, not a scratch on her. “Oh, she wants more, huh? Okay puttana, let’s dance!” He tossed more pebbles out of his pockets causing them to revert to their monster sizes, either caving her face in or temporarily blocking her path. He ran out soon enough, but it mattered not since he was approaching close to the staircase, but instead of running down on them in fear they will recede again, he sat his butt on the handrail and slid down. “Next stop, back to my room.”

He glided the rail down to the fifth floor and finally, the last stop, the fourth floor. He still didn’t have a plan for how to stop this lady-zombie-monster-thing, but he had a last resort. “Gotta make it back to my room, I hope to God that book is still there. Dunno it’ll work, but what did I got to lose?” He sprinted down and got to his door. Unfortunately, some dastardly bastard must’ve secured it shut when he left the room to confront his friends over the doll situation. “Dammit. Two can play at that game!” He shrunk himself to the size of a speck and effortlessly wiggled under the door.

“I’m back. Now… gotta retrieve that book!” He recollected throwing down on the floor by the side of his bed but he checked all four sides and under the bed for good measure, alas, there was nothing. Growing desperate by the minute he pulled and pushed things off the shelves and out of the nightstand, yet still couldn’t find even a page. “Where is it? I didn’t bring it with me or chucked it out the window! It’s nearby, it’s gotta be!” The pitter-patter was inching closer to the door, his heart dropped. “No, I can’t lose to that thing! Don’t give up, dammit!” Just when he was losing hope, he saw it. He found the black diary! Where was it? In the Oiran doll’s grasp. How did it get there? He had no time to ponder, he had to get that book from it. He attempted to yank the book but was thrown off by the doll’s apparent strength. The little fucker wasn’t going down without a fight. Shamelessly, the gangster was playing a heated game of tug o’ war with a non-sentient doll over a book.

If things weren’t going to shit already, there came a pounding on the door. “Christ on a bike! She’s here!” Formaggio hauled the book as forceful as he could and thank heavens, it was freed from the doll’s firm grasp. Just in time too, the knob was being violently shaken. Quickly, Formaggio scrambled under the bed. “Shit, shit, fuck, dick, ass, fuck, titties, shit!”

The door ominously squealed as it was pushed open. The assassin cupped his hand over his mouth in order to hush his heavy breathing. Frantically, Formaggio pushed the pages in desperate need of any sign of a miracle just to find that the pages were bone-white blank. He dreaded this would happen. Looking away from the diary’s contents, he peeked under the bed’s curtain to see the lady’s feet alongside the bed. He wasn’t accepting defeat just yet, Formaggio was reaching the end of the book when he discovered something. A miracle. The very last page was a small command. “Shake your left hand.”

“Sure, okay!”

He shook his left hand with exceeding fervor. Everything in the room was getting hot. His headache came back twice as bad like his temples were being squeezed to the point of his brain exploding. “Woah!” He snapped up. His sight was fuzzy like he just woke up from a nap. When he finally gathered his surroundings, he realized he was under the covers. The dolls, albeit creepy, were placed in their original positions and the outside wasn’t engulfed in darkness. He checked the digital clock. 3:30 am. “Heh… Heh. Heh. Heh. Hey, I did it! I won! I thought I was a goner, but here I am!” He slumped back on his pillow, relieved that the whole ordeal was over. “I’m gonna take another catnap, I’ll check on the guys in a little bit. I’ll see you soon, Pesci.”

Still, though, he had to wonder one thing. What did “- - ake - ig - t - and” stand for? Not that it mattered at that point, but it was weird to have included it in the diary and not needing to use it during the scuffle. “Don’t work yourself up about it. It’s aaaall in the past.”

“- - ake - ig - t - and.”

“Shake right hand.”

All the color in his face evaporated. When he rolled on his right side the last thing he got a glimpse of before he blacked out, was this:

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

“Who are you running from?”

Was a question that rang through Risotto’s mind as he sprinted into an abyss that was foreign to him. An agonized moan from behind him was trudging nearer and nearer. That’s what he was running from, but what was it? Or, who was it? Who was behind this madness? Where was he running to? How long could he keep up outstripping whatever the fuck was chasing him? He sprinted at such full speed, that his arms swung in the air like spaghetti noodles. He couldn’t see a damn thing. In the midst of the chaos, he tripped on his heel and tumbled…

*SPLASH*

Right into something wet. A puddle? No, his head was submerged under it. Lucky for him he was able to catch his footing and sprung right up before he would succumb to drowning. It was a lake. A lake of what? He had no idea, there was not a hint of light to see, but the lake’s texture was soupy with gritty chunks that bobbed to the top like watery oatmeal. And the smell… so pungent enough to fill his nostrils with its distinct reek. Bile. He hastily pulled himself up, the lake had to be only three feet high enveloping only his legs, not a shadow of a doubt he’d drown in the stuff. But before he could flee further, he doubled over in pain. His stomach cramped violently and his legs buckled, good thing he caught himself before he could timber down into the bile like a falling oak tree. Was this an anxiety attack? Impossible!

Every inch of his being felt fuzzy, he was going to faint. He held his fingers to his face. What good would that do for him? They were clammy, they were turning warm, they were on fire! He howled, it wasn’t a flame that caused the pain, it was whatever was in the muck he fell into. First, his fingertips and fingernails dripped slowly off his bone like wax candles, followed by the flesh and muscle of his fingers and then the rest of his hands, leaving behind only a heap of oozing skeletal digits. That wasn’t all, his face began to tingle and turn warm, and then came the scorching burn. Risotto clutched his face in hopes squeezing it would negate the excruciating pain, yet he found no relief. Where his cheeks once sat had eroded into hollow shells and his nose was nothing more than bubbled cartilage, the only remaining part of him was his skull.

“Risottooo, are you there?” A voice gurgled, it was followed by another hush, pained voice. Then another… and another…

“It hurts…”

“Boss… help us.”

“Save me, Risottooo…”

Risotto’s wheezing quickened. “Don’t turn around,” he pleaded to himself. His brain told him to stop, but his legs commanded him otherwise. “Don’t turn around… Don’t turn around… Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around! Don’t turn around! Don’t turn around! Don’t turn-!”

The scene came right out of a horror flick. His whole team, all six members, melted and fused into one massive pile of disfigured flesh. It was like some fucked up experiment gone wrong, a Frankenstein’s monster. Arms and legs flailed and kicked in all directions, their heads jerked erratically as the halves of their faces excruciatingly meshed into one another’s while the other halves melted off to reveal the freshly naked carnage. Their dreadful wails of pain echoed throughout the hollow void, begging their savior over and over to relieve their tormented suffering and bring upon them sweet release. It was all too much to bear, Risotto hurled to his knees ravaged by an overwhelming guilt he could not comprehend.

It was too late. The moaning was nearing, Risotto had no time to save his fallen men, he had no time to run nor hide. The thing crawled on top of him, its jaws just inches from his throat, the hot air from its nostrils made the hairs on his body go stiff straight, like it froze them in place. Bringing its large lips to his trembling ear, the thing let out another piercing bellow that could’ve split his eardrum into two, so deafening enough to rattle Risotto out of the deep, dark void and back to his living room.

Without giving a second hesitation, he flicked his head up from the not-so-comfy armchair, which was far from soothing his achy neck. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings and every breath he took was deep and rapid. That didn’t matter. When he scanned the premises… nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Sure enough, he was back at the apartment. Of course, if they were in any real danger, the two snoozy teammates who were cuddling each other on the couch would’ve been just as alert as he was.

“Ugh, shit… another nightmare…” First thing he did was to satiate his stiff neck by cracking it to one side while rubbing the leftover eye crusties until they were no longer a bother. Once he felt better, he cocked his head over at the clock. 4 AM. “‘Guess no use in going back to sleep. Talk about a fever dream. Must’ve been the cold pizza from last night.” Noticing a loose leaf note lying flat on the floor, Risotto lazily picked it up by its corner. He slowly inched his eyes from one side to the other, figuring the handwriting belonged to him. The note is jotted as follows:

“STAND USER”

-Female (Possibly)

-Blood Type: A

-Age: Unknown

-European/North African Descent = ?

“Just who are you? I need a sign. Soon.” Risotto looked over to the door that led to the bedroom, where it contained the rest of his friends who should’ve been fast asleep. The dream he had was still very fresh and he couldn’t help but let it continue to flash that dreadful image. “Maybe I should…? Get it together, it was all in your head. A dream. Giving into your paranoid assumptions will only get you so far.” Precious minutes waned as the man sat in the rigid armchair, having a one-man debate about whether to check on his teammates or not, before finally succumbing to his decision. He heaved himself off the chair and shuffled by the bedroom door. He didn’t have to put his ear to it because as he approached closer, the door was practically vibrating from the heavy snoring coming from the two occupants on the other side. “Good, they’re okay.”

Risotto drew out a breath and became more at ease. “See? You’re overreacting over nothing. Your men are here with you and out of harm’s way.” Admittedly, his inconsistent sleep schedule was becoming extremely daunting for him. Even a big, tough leader of a bunch of hitmen needed shuteye too. He was extremely exhausted, his anxieties either keeping him awake or scaring him awake. Hell, this wasn’t the first time in that night. He spooked himself in the earlier hours of the night, just to find no posable threat, shrugging it off and going back to sleep. This was becoming a nightly rinse-and-repeat routine for him. Yet still, this time felt rather different, he couldn’t shake off the unwavering sensation that there was something horribly wrong. Perhaps a meager breakfast would satiate his nerves? He dragged his feet over to the kitchen. Reaching the counter, he grabbed the bag of Wonderbread and as he was about to plop an ol’ stodgy slice into the toaster, an indistinguishable noise perked his ears.

“Merr… merr… merr…”

A drawn-out, pitiful mewl. Risotto couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The crying came from the depths of the cold, dark morning so it was muffled from where he was. “It’s probably nothing… then again, I should- no, you’re doing it again…! But… I’ve had this unprecedented dread since the moment I got up.” The only way he was going to get to the bottom of the mystery was to check through the window… which was located where the decoys were. Risotto lumbered back over to the door and with quiet precision, steadily entered the bedroom. The sound of sweet slumber was heavier than he ever anticipated coming from both Formaggio and Pesci, who knew they could snore as quietly as a chorus of buzz saws. “Focus.” Risotto made his way to the window. Whatever or whoever was making that noise sounded more despairing like it was calling out for help. He jerked the window open, suddenly a harsh chill entered the room and he’d admit, even he shuddered as the snowy breeze tingled up his spine.

When he peered over the window, he was only met with a shadowy silhouette, it was still difficult to make out just by looks alone but it was clearer to hear. On the dresser, there laid a flashlight which so happened to be next to the mirror shard. Risotto picked up the flashlight and hovered back to the window, shining it directly at the silhouette. A grayish fuzzball; a British Shorthair, propping its front paws on the wall while it wailed and licked its chops.

“Meow… meow… meow…”

“Oh, it’s just Baby. Why’s she crying this early in the morning? I’d reckon she’d be used to by now the morning routine of Formaggio feeding her before his early shift. Unless… he forgot to feed her last night?” Risotto set the flashlight on the window sill and approached the lump swathed in heavy covers. He nudged his comrade thrice, doing his best to alert him without disrupting Pesci or the others conked inside the shard. “Formaggio, get up and feed your cat…” That should’ve been enough to elicit a groan of acknowledgment or shifting under covers yet his teammate continued to rattle like a congested elephant. “Hey, did you hear me? Come on now…” Still nothing. Come to think of it, Risotto found it concerning that despite the vibrato of his friends’ heavy snoring, they barely moved a muscle, as if they were lifeless statues cloaked under the blankets. “Formaggio…?” Risotto reached for the hem of the covers. This was it, the jig was up. He’d discover the tape recorder attached to the decoys his teammate had set up the night before and they’d all be figuratively fucked in their keyholes. Risotto seized a clump of blankets in his fist and was about to tug them off to reveal what was underneath it, when suddenly…

*RING* *RING* *RING*

“I wonder who that could be calling me at this hour? Better grab it before the whole team starts complaining.” Risotto sighed, he unhanded the sheets and lumbered over to the phone. “Good morning Janis,” he slurred, followed up by a more or less begrudging yawn. “Huh-uh… huh-uh… will be there… no, I’m not playing hard to get, I just woke up… okay… see you soon. Bye.”

From a distance, he could still hear the meowing coming from the outside and Risotto reconsidered getting a certain assassin snoring like a cicada on steroids, out of bed. Baby was his pet after all and it was his responsibility to take care of her, especially since the others were nice enough to pitch in to feed her while he sat isolated in the bathroom for days on end. He went back into the room and peered down the window, the gray kitty was still standing on her hind paws with her front paws supported by the wall, her eyes were pleading for nom-noms. It was like she was telling him, “Hey meatbag! Yeah, you! You look competent enough to come and spare me a bite! I’m so freaking hungry, I could eat a whole dang horse! Help a sister out, will ya?” He’ll let this one slide… again.

“Guess it’s my turn to feed you...”

———————————————————————

Meanwhile in the elevator.

“Okay, I’ve got this figured out,” Illuso declared, gleaming with confidence. “A bit banged up. Lost a tooth or two. No big deal, these are minor scratches I can walk off. Victory’s just around the corner and when I find that little brat, I’ll squeeze the life outta her and chuck her outta the highest skyscraper in New York! She deserves it for putting me and my boys through all this wanton turmoil!" He punched in the numbers. “Alright, so it’s… 4th.. 2nd… yaaawwn.” Almost immediately before he could succumb to fatigue, Illuso abruptly shook his head. “Don’t fall asleep now, you fool! You’re this close to winning! Shit, how much time has passed…?”

There wasn’t a clock in the elevator and the wristwatch he wore appeared to stop operating from the get-go. “Now’s not the time to be asking mundane questions. 4th. 2nd. 6th… yawn… 7th… argh, no!” Illuso vigorously slapped himself silly. “Stop falling asleep!”

“4th!”

“2nd!”

“6th!”

“2nd…!”

“6th! 2nd!”

“6th…! 2nd…!”

“6th… 2nd… snore…” The lack of rest proved too overwhelming for the assassin, slumping over onto the button panel, pressing the button for the 8th floor instead…

———————————————————————

The sun was beginning to poke out from the horizon, yet it was still very early dawn. Melone lay nestled in the cocoon of comforters when a dim light from the window hit his face. He groggily stirred, smacking his lips and uncurling himself from the fetal position. “Yawn… what a night.” The assassin wiggled out of his makeshift cocoon. He was free but when he got a look in the mirror, he looked anything but a beautiful butterfly. Before he could rub the sand from his eyes or fix his unkempt hair, he pressed his finger at the shooting pain in his temple. “Ow, ow, it feels like someone slung a sledgehammer to my head…” That’s when he noticed the cool, damp comforter beneath his body. “What the-? Why’s the bed soaked? Did I piss myself or something…?” He looked down. “Where are my clothes!? Why am I buck naked…?” Perhaps it was his brain trying to register the previous events from the night before but no matter how hard he thought, no results were reaped. “Was I drugged? All seems to be in order. Kidneys are intact. Where even am I?” That was until he turned his gaze towards the bathroom door, which was still locked shut. “Oh, right.”

That’s when everything came together… Pesci. Formaggio. Illuso. The creepy kimono girl. The game… he was far from out of the woods. “If the game is still going, then that means I gotta seek out the next clue.” It didn’t take long for him to find it, as he shifted his head over his right shoulder, laying on top of the bedside table was a sullen black diary. “Convenient.” Melone plucked it off the surface and flipped carefully through its contents. “There appears to be a pattern. The host of these games hands us one chance to look over the instructions before quickly snatching them away. If I flip through too impulsively, I could pass the instructions and if I try to go back, they vanish. Diligence is a virtue.” Sure enough, after painstakingly turning every page there was something written in it, it was towards the end of the diary. Only three words. Scribbled, yet intelligible. “One-Eye will follow.” After being flipped forward then backwards, the written side returned to a fresh blank-white page.

“”One-Eye” will follow? That’s it?” He squinted at the page quizzically, carefully turning the page behind it if there was any continuation, but alas that was the only piece of info he was going to get. “I’m not getting much out of this. One-Eye?” He rested his chin on his fist in pensive thought. He had one guess as to who this “One-Eye” was, then he looked at the door again. The encounter in the bathtub. The restless movement of the tub water. The feeling of an otherworldly presence blowing its breath down his neck. And those fingers. Those deathly freezing claws that could’ve crushed his pencil-thin neck with the slightest grip. “I didn’t get a look at their face, but could it be possible the creature I encountered last night very well be the “One-Eye”? Wait a minute, that vision I had… with that girl in the tub… is she?” A chill sent him into a fit of shivers, just like when he sat nude and vulnerable in the bathroom at the mercy of a supernatural being with likely bad intentions. “No matter, nothing like a rousing challenge of tag or Red Light, Green Light to start the day. Come to think of it, what time is it?” On the other side of the bed was a dresser with a digital clock. 7:15 AM. “Crap, better get a move on. We’ll settle this at work.” He hopped off the wet bed and threw on his grey tracksuit. It was used and blotched with a small grease stain but he didn’t come equipped with his usual work attire, so it will do. With one last look in the mirror, he licked his hand to slick back his hair and rubbed whatever sand was left in the corners of his sleepy eyes. He slipped on his sneakers and gave the room one last look before reluctantly shutting the door.

It came as no surprise when Melone set foot into the hallway, there was not a person in sight. No clients, no staff, not even room service, he was only met with the unbearable humming coming from the bilious yellow lights. Melone couldn’t recall the corridor being this long before, it almost felt… endless. He squinted down until he could see the corner of the hall, then he shifted to the other side. Indeed, he was all alone. Taking the first step was a bit unsteady as if he was anticipating a rabid demon to come ambush or possess him. Soon enough, he cautiously meandered down the never-ending hall, the only sound accompanying him besides the insipid buzzing were his footsteps that slightly echoed as they cuffed the floor. The further he strayed from his former haven, the more beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He swore the anxiety within was so excruciating, it could’ve swelled to his throat and out through his mouth like a massive bubble.

Coming up to his right, there were the elevator doors. “Wonder what Illuso’s been up to?” However, he soon found a large sign chained across the doors. “OUT OF ORDER”. “Well that answers several questions,” he replied in dismay. “Guess I’ll go check on Formaggio. Out of order… does that mean Illuso’s still in the game or…?” He didn’t dare try to imagine the worst possible scenario, another negative notion would’ve made his stomach split. “Stay on task.” After what felt like a lifetime wasted walking down the wretched corridor, Melone made it to the stairs, where he was momentarily gladdened that his feet didn’t give out on him before reaching there. Checkpoint acquired; next stop, Formaggio.

Walking down the fourth floor somehow felt longer than the sixth floor. At this point, the nagging aches in Melone’s legs were getting to him but he didn’t have the choice to sit and take a break, not if it meant costing him the game. Then there it was. Room 464. Cautiously, Melone tapped the door with his knuckle. “Hey, Formaggio. It’s me, Melone, we have to head to work…” No reply. Either he was sleeping or worse. He knocked a little quicker. “Maggio, are you in there…? Maggio…?” He reckoned peeking through the peephole, but he had seen too many horror movies to know that’ll cost him an eye. To his surprise and ever-growing anxiety, the doorknob wasn’t locked so he was able to slip inside with ease. He wished he didn’t step foot in there but when he did, his heart almost stopped.

The entire room was completely deserted. No dolls, no furniture, hell, even the wallpaper and carpet were unceremoniously ripped off from the walls and floor. It was like the room was in mid-renovation but was abandoned some time ago. Worst of all, there wasn’t a trace of his teammate anywhere. Was there a possibility that his teammate came out unscathed and strolled down to work with Pesci by his side? Very unlikely, but then again, Formaggio did leave the hospital without notifying anyone from the team. That hope was instantly shattered into a million pieces when Melone noticed he got his foot stuck on something he noted as puffy and green. It was a coat; Formaggio’s parka. “Oh, Formaggio…” He sorrowfully gathered the coat into his arms and bowed his head into it for the loss of his friend. To think they almost lost him weeks prior and now he was gone for good. Sure, he was a stubborn ass and didn’t take most things seriously, nevertheless, he was part of their familia. The assassin couldn’t linger around the room and grieve, however, for in the distance he could make out a repetitive tip-tapping. He listened in. It was light at first, like water trickling from a leaky faucet. Each drop became heavier and heavier and soon it no longer sounded like water but the sound of wet feet smacking the floor. He wasn’t alone anymore.

“I gotta get out of here.” Melone threw on his friend’s coat for safekeeping and hurried out of the room. When the vicinity was cleared of any danger, he took the opportunity to speedwalk down the hall. Just like last time, it took forever to reach the stairs. It was like every time he sought out the exit, the stairs would recede further into the distance. The odds were stacked against and the footsteps were becoming more apparent and were catching up to him. “What is this madness? I can hear footsteps but I don’t see anyone.” Once he reached the stairway, he was met with the thirty steps below. Whoever was stalking him, was now on the same floor. Would he have enough time to run the stairs? He was wasting valuable seconds just pondering his next course of action. Screw it, instead of descending like any average person would, he threw his whole weight and took the biggest flying leap.

Ten steps…

Twenty steps…

Was he going to make it over thirty…?

Yes, he did. Perfectly on his feet. While he sustained some shooting pain from the ankles down, had he miscalculated the distance of the stairs or if his stance was an inch off, could’ve resulted in him being splattered on the floor. Still, he had about three more flights to hurdle over. “Sorry legs. I’ll make it up to you later.” He sprinted to the next set of stairs and performed another leap. Another perfect landing, however, the pain was worsening causing him to limp, slowing him considerably down. Still, though, it wasn’t over yet, he couldn’t give up. He had to do this for himself, for Pesci, for Formaggio, and for Illuso. It took him longer but he reached the next checkpoint. His energy was gradually dwindling, he was sweating a whole river and was wheezing hard from the exhaustion and pain. Melone made a pathetic attempt to get a running start then jumped, this time slipping on the 25th step, causing his foot to roll inwards. The shooting cramp was unbearable which didn’t help when he slipped, it sent him spiraling down the remaining steps and landing face-first on the ground.

Melone used whatever strength was left to heave himself up, but it proved to be a staggering task for his body, only being able to slump over the last step before giving out. “Fucking shit. Must… keep going… ow! I can’t press any further. The pain… My body’s too weak to move. My Stand can’t do anything to protect me, I don’t have time! I’m screwed! No, I refuse to go out like this…” The footsteps were coming down the stairs. The assassin weakly pulled his head up, which was when he spotted graffiti on the wall. “A gift from Heaven above?” With newfound spirit, Melone walked with his hands whilst dragging his legs towards the wall and quite forcefully, smacked his hand on top of the message. Immediately, he understood what was written. He clenched his eyelids shut and not holding back, he cried out:

“TOMARE! STOOOOP!”

And just like that, the pitter-patter went completely dead. Melone lifted an eye open. The invisible presence was there, but whatever he called forth must’ve frozen the presence in place. For once, he was relieved to relish in the lone sound of humming lights. The footsteps were gone… for the nonce. The masked man took the opportunity to scramble up and run out of there like hell. It pained him to leave his teammates behind, but he couldn’t take any chances. Finally, he reached the lobby and barreled through the exit.

“Keke.. kehaha… DI MOLTO! Thank the Lord I’m alive! Kehahaha! D-Di molto!” Triumphant, Melone dropped to his knees and let out an airy cackle, from his brush with certain death he was almost delirious. Pedestrians who came across the eccentric man gawked at him like he was losing his marbles, either pulling their loved ones to the side or deliberately veering around him. Once his fit of chuckles had subsided, he exhaled deeply. “This child’s really testing my patience. Ow,” he shifted his weight on his right foot and then his left foot, the lingering cramps becoming considerably intolerable. “Besides busting my feet up, I came out okay.” He peered over to check out the black-bricked hotel one last time. “That child. Had she pulled any more tricks, I would’ve been shit out of luck. But, the graffiti… that was a divine intervention. What are you, child? Are you good or wicked? Are we playmates to you, or puppets?” Would he be bestowed a sign to answer that? One could only dream. Didn’t matter, his next objective was to make it to his shift before he suffered the wrath of Janis. Guess he was walking to work empty-handed…

———————————————————————

Back at the apartment, Prosciutto was in the middle of throwing on his trench coat. Risotto had left earlier than usual and so did Ghiaccio, therefore it was his responsibility to wake the others and walk them to work. “Strange,” Prosciutto muttered, eyeing the bedroom door. “Haven’t seen neither four come out to get ready.” The assassin took a step into the room, where all seemed innocuous enough. Formaggio and Pesci were in bed and Illuso and Melone must’ve still been in the shard. Prosciutto tapped the glass, “Hey, you two. Did you set your alarm? Wake up.” No response. “Fine. Don’t come crying to me that you both overslept.”

With that fruitless attempt, Prosciutto approached the bed. “Hey Pesci, it’s time to start the day.” To his bemusement, Pesci wasn’t getting up either. No way he could’ve been THAT exhausted. Prosciutto came to the conclusion that his friend must be fake snoring so he could leave the room. That annoyed the blonde assassin to no end. “Boy, you better cut the crap. I said I was sorry. You can’t miss work ‘cause you’re in a bad mood, now get up! You too, Formaggio!” When he shook “Pesci”, there was a “click” noise and then the snoring stopped. “Did I just hear that right?” Prosciutto pressed a certain spot and another “click” resumed the snoring. Was that… a tape recorder!?

“Pesci…? Pesci…! PESCI!”

RIP! WHOOSH! RIP! WHOOSH!

Each and every sheet was catapulted across the room until the bed was stripped of all its dignity. Prosciutto could’ve dropped dead at the sudden revelation that his best friend, whom he believed was peacefully sleeping, was nowhere on the bed but rather in his stead, a bowling ball, a heap of tarp, and of course, a tape recorder. And by the looks of it, there was another set of objects fixed in place to resemble a sleeping body. Prosciutto could only deduce what happened the night before.

“WHAT THE FUUUUCK!?”

———————————————————————

8 AM. The ripe time for the grocery store to be packed with customers. Melone butted his head through the doors, double glancing in both directions to avoid any oncoming trouble. “All seems clear. Keep calm and carry on, Melone. Just focus on the task at hand. As long as you don’t stick out to anyone, you should be fine.”

“Edward.”

“There goes Janis,” Melone murmured to himself. “Pissed off as always. Can never make that woman happy. I feel sorry for the poor sap who’s getting yelled at this early.”

“Edward!”

“She’s getting louder, oh she definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Whoever’s she mad at, isn’t taking her crap seriously today and you can tell.”

“EDWARD!”

“Wait, why does it sound like she’s getting closer?”

“EDWARD!!!!!”

Right in his ear. Startlingly, Melone whirled around to face the pissy pipsqueak, who was already red in the face. “Oh, good morning Janis,” he greeted politely. “I didn’t realize you were addressing me. I would like to correct you that my name’s Edmundo, not Edward, so that’s why I didn’t respond…”

“Are you lost or…?” Janis eyed him up and down, right off the bat she wasn’t amused.

“Lost? Not lost at all. I was about to clock in and head to my station. I’m sorry, but I’m not following what you’re asking me?”

What’s this?” She motioned her hands up and down to signal she was referring to his current getup. “Are you going out for a run? Why aren’t you in uniform? I’d expect a slob coming in like this, not an employee of mine! And where are those dunderheads that you call your brothers? They’re two seconds late and I don’t see them in sight.”

“Aw man, I was dreading this question would come,” he thought to himself. “The only exception is I was expecting to be asked this by my actual boss, which is more or less frightening than Janis. Irrelevant point. How the hell am I going to explain this madness that occurred only hours before?” He conjured up a scenario if he spoke the truth. “Yeah, sooooooo, basically we summoned a yokai that kidnapped Dion, and the rest of us got roped into playing games to win him back… buuuuuut, it doesn’t seem to go all too well and my other brothers are surely dead and gone…” Like anyone would believe that, a barnacle growing on the back of my knee would be a more believable story.”

“We~ll? I’m wai-ting~…” She was getting redder by the minute. He had to lie fast if he wanted to keep his skin.

“Erm, you see, well, basically it’s quite a long, uhh…” As he was coming up with a tall tale of some sort, his nerves began to tingle, reminiscent of Peter Parker’s “Spider-Sense”. She was here. Where? He experimented. When he leaned his head to Janis’s left side, he couldn’t see her, but he found that when he leaned his head to Janis’s right side… bingo. Standing in the middle of the roaring crowd, a woman with hair that was long and tangled, blood covering her clothes, and couldn’t forget, her left eye glaring right at him.

“Quite a long? A long what?” Janis’s grating voice snapped him back to attention. It was going to be a long day.

Melone sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “They’re… running a little behind is all…”

“That’s it? That was the punchline!?”

“Uh, yes.”

She exploded. “Great, we’re down three people. Just what I need.” Melone took this opportunity to stealthily tiptoe out of there. “Don’t think I forgot about YOU, mister!” To believe he had a chance of escaping. “Do you have any idea how unprofessional you look? I would’ve hired someone all decked up in clown makeup rather than a joke like you, at least they’d put their brain to good use and do their job right! And this-!” She motioned her finger up to his eye level. “You’re still wearing that ratty thing!? I thought I was generous to let you keep that fugly mask on for a day or two, but now you’re ruining the store’s good name by strolling into the store looking like a dope. You know what that means, right bub?”

“I have to sign a disciplinary form.” Melone stumbled and mumbled his words.

Janis inched forward, got on her tippy toes, and cupped her hand to her ear, speaking with taunting condescension. “Speak up~! I can’t hear you~!”

“I have to sign a disciplinary form.” He spoke a little louder, with defeat in his voice. He mused that it would’ve been funnier to catch her off guard by screaming in her ear, but that would’ve meant double the disciplinary forms to sign.

“Hmph. To think a spineless fool came from such a rowdy bunch, we need more submissive employees like you.” She spoke down to him like he was a brainless child. “Awww no need for the long face, you should take that as a badge of honor, Edward.”

“It’s Edmun-.”

Her patronizing gloat changed into a vicious hiss. “I said. You should take that as a compliment. Ed-ward.”

“Right. Thanks…”

“Good boy. I’ll make you sign it later, now get outta my face.” She shooed him away. Couldn’t expect anything less from an immature old fart with a Napoleon complex. But he pushed that thought to the back burner. How was he going to work diligently if some evil being was trying to catch him? If he was being honest, how was he going to beat her?

“Hey!” Melone turned around to find a man sporting a veteran’s cap approaching his direction. Old age must’ve been catching up to him as the man had a slight uneasy gait, and had to be about in his late 60s to early 70s. “Do you work here? Can’t tell if you work here or got lost running the marathon. Can you help me?”

Melone did not approve of the customer’s attitude and would’ve lied to him that he was a customer hadn’t it been for Janis standing in close proximity, eyeing him down like a hawk eyeing its prey. All Melone could do was sigh in defeat, “How may I service you today?”

“This store’s too cluttered, I can’t find a damn bag of charcoal anywhere! Is that too hard to ask?” He had to confess, that Melone was unsure where that item was located. He tilted his head to scratch his chin, but when he did he could detect over the customer’s right shoulder that One-Eye was nearing closer. Panicked, Melone pointed in a random direction. “Aisle 3.” The customer turned around, letting Melone swiftly escape. “This is gonna be a nightmare! I got to figure out how I can keep this bitch from reaching me! That phrase. What was that phrase again?” The gangster slowed to a stop. Where did he run to? “Bakery”. Uh oh.

“Hey Angel,” Melone jumped upon hearing that name, he hid behind the closest wall. There he was, that tall glass of crap margarita. Craparita. Preoccupied prepping cupcakes. “Angel, have you seen Dion?” Nick questioned.

“Heh, you mean No-Neck? Not a chance. Kid probably couldn’t handle the heat and took a left turn to Albuquerque.” Just as Melone dreaded, Pesci never returned home either. This was a complete disaster! “Ah! Hey! Keep that thing away from me, will ya?” Melone peeked over curiously, for his most hated enemy was recoiling in fright.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me right now. This is a goddamn syringe, Angel.” In his hand, Nick held out a syringe made to squirt jams and fillings into donuts.

“Yeah, yeah, I can see what it is! But you should be the one to know that sharp things give me the willies! Don’t get me started on needles! Gahh, they’re the worst!” The big man squealed. “It looks like a freakin’ needle for Mary’s sake!”

“Look, I don’t like boosters as much as the next fella,” Nick retorted. “But this is not a needle, it’s a freakin’ syringe whose only use is to squeeze out custard. Don’t be such a big baby.”

“I’m not crazy! It’s thin, it’s sharp, and its job is to penetrate surfaces! It’s exactly a needle!”

“Ooooh, oh noooo! The haunted syringe is flying towards you and’ll fill you with its creaaaaam. So scaaaarryyyy!” Nick flew the syringe like an airplane.

“Kyahhh! I told you to steer clear away from me! Get away! Get away!” Melone couldn’t believe his eyes! This mammoth of a man was so scared of the thing that he was climbing inside the cabinet, pushing out the pots and pans just to make enough room to hide. Now, Melone understood very well that needles are a common fear in many people for a multitude of reasons. It could be due to the uncomfortable pinch, it could be an extent of anxiety towards doctors, or possibly stem from childhood trauma. It wasn’t necessarily bad that one would be anxious around such sharp toys, but he admitted that it was quite satisfying to see Angel react the way he was acting. Nick sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. “I have no idea why they ever hired you…”

“Tch, whatever man. I’m gonna take a smoke break.”

“You do you…” Angel left in a huff, followed by Nick who shrugged and walked off. The coast seemed to be clear, with no sign assholes or ghostly cagnas detected. Melone came around and gandered about the bakery. This was his first time being in the area, not like he was missing much. The place looked like a murder scene with jam, he presumed either raspberry or strawberry, splattered and flicked across the room. There was a stale stench of disinfectants and desserts. Speaking of desserts, there was a mountain of pies and cakes, ready for display. Like a curious kid in a candy shop, Melone popped his head into the freezer room, where breads and bagels would incubate until the perfect time for consumption.

“You like what you see?” Melone gasped when he felt a hand twirl him around and was pressed into Angel’s chest, suffocating in the stench of cigarettes and discounted cologne on his shirt. “Fancy seeing you in these parts of town,” the big brute purred. “How was my lil’ friend’s winter vacation? Love the dye job, by the way.” He tried to caress the shorter man’s cheek, but his affections were swiftly evaded.

“Just passing by… I’m busy delivering… something important.” Melone took a chance to slip away but was easily blocked by the bigger man.

“Woah there! Delivery service, you say? Tell me, what’s this “important” thing you have to deliver, hmm?”

“It’s… it’s confidential!” Melone blurted.

“Confidential? I ain’t no dummy, Eddy. I caught you checking me out from afar.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Then tell me,” Angel’s questioning turned intense. “Why are you around here for? You skulking around here is quite suspicious.”

“Okay fine… I’m looking for my brother, Dion. He was running late and as I made my way with my delivery, I came by to check if he made it to work safely. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh, Dion. That cute lil’ pipsqueak. Such a caring big brother, aren’t ya?” Angel let out a hearty laugh, which frightened Melone since there was nothing relatively humorous about that. “But let’s be real, Ed. That’s an utter fabrication and you know it, I can read you like a book.”

“Pardon? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s obvious, smartypants. It’s so obvious, it hurts. But you’re cute, so I’ll go along and entertain you. You’re obsessed with me, that’s really why you’re here.”

“What!? Are you nuts? No, I’m not!” Melone cried out.

“Sure you are. I knew if I kept throwing myself at you, it would’ve been a matter of time before that cold shoulder would’ve melted and you’d reciprocate.” Any opportunity Melone would rebuke such claims, Angel would purposely cut him off. “It’s fine, you don’t have to be shy about it, I’ve been dreaming for this day to come and you know what?” There was a look in his eyes, a sparkle fueled by lust. “Nick’s in a meeting… and he won’t get out in another hour or so… it’ll be the two of us. Alone. That gives us a lot of time to… well, you’re smart. You can catch my drift. No one’s gotta find out. It’ll be… confidential between us.” Angel made one last effort to lustfully fondle Melone’s cheek, to which the latter successfully blocked him.

“Enough. Angel, there’s isn’t an “us”.” Melone declared. He was groggy, he was stressed, and he was humiliated. He didn’t have the time and energy to trifle with that deviant. “There will never be an “us”. Now I have to go back to my desk. Please, let me through.”

No surprise, instead of being a decent person and letting him go, Angel became instantly belligerent. “You better listen!” He jabbed the younger man in the chest. Melone noted that this was the first instance of Angel ever getting physical with him. “I’m pouring my love out for you! I can’t wrap my head around why you’re always so ungrateful! When will you EVER get another opportunity like this? Don’t you wanna do it with someone who’ll protect you? Someone who treats you like a king? Someone who ACTUALLY loves you!?” The bigger man aggressively mowed forward, pushing the assassin farther and farther back into the freezer room. “I’m the only one here who truly gets you, Ed. More so than your fake-ass brothers. The faces they make when you aren’t looking. They’re disgusted by you, they think you’re a freak. But not me… it’s us versus the world!” He tried to pull away, but unfortunately for Melone, he was not metaphorically, but literally backed into a wall. He was by himself in the freezer room, at the mercy of a man with nasty intentions. “Now, let’s toss this mask aside so I can get a better look at that pretty lil’ face.”

“Get away from him.” They both turned around. To the gangster’s relief, it wasn’t the monster inside the freezer but his teammate, Prosciutto.

“Psh beat it. Can’t you see we're in the middle of something here?” Prosciutto ignored the bigger man, grabbing his teammate by the wrist and pulling him around so he was behind him. Melone’s wrist throbbed from it being tugged on, but he’d take that over whatever Angel had in mind. “Nice work, buzzkill. Way to ruin the moment,” Angel bellyached, aggressively poking Prosciutto’s shoulder.

“Sorry you feel that way.” The blonde gangster used all the strength in his right hand to drive the manager into the wall with such force, that it caused the creep to crash into a sheet pan rack full of frozen fritters. Prosciutto picked him up by the collar and forced him onto the icy wall. “You better keep those pants on before I glue them to your dick and thighs, imagine it as a makeshift chastity belt. Is this where you commit your filthy acts? Now get this into that thick cranium. If you ever so lay a finger on him again, I’ll break it off and use it like a lucky rabbit’s foot.” With his free hand, Prosciutto took hold of Angel’s left index finger and twisted it 180 degrees backward, until there was a loud, crispy “snap” that sent Angel into hysterics.

Despite towering over both men in physical height, Angel was visibly intimidated by Melone’s confident comrade who was but a few inches shorter in comparison. In a feeble attempt to frighten him off, Angel threatened him, “Oh yeah? And? Wait ‘til Janis gets a load of this. You won’t be laughing once she boots your ass!”

“Good, tell her everything. I don’t fucking care if I get fired. Tell her how I easily cornered you and fucked up your finger. Tell her all the times you used this place to molest poor, unsuspecting employees. Go ahead, make my day…”

After minutes of the most intense staring match Melone has ever witnessed between two participants, Angel relented. “‘Kay, fine. Just get off. Fucking limp dick.” He smacked Prosciutto’s hands away and stormed out of the freezer room. They waited until the hulking mass of muscle was completely out of their sight before Melone could sigh an air of relief. “Thank you. You’re a real lifesaver, my friend. If you weren’t there, Angel would’ve surely-.” It took Melone longer than he should’ve realized that he was being pinned to the wall by the very person who saved him minutes prior from a deeply disturbed predator.

“Where is he…?” Prosciutto seethed.

“Wha-Whatever do you mean?” Melone stuttered, praying to the heavens he’d be saved by a second intervention.

“Don’t play dumb, you fool.” Prosciutto gripped both the assassin’s shoulders and threw the back of his head against the hard wall, causing Melone to hitch his breath. “Where’s Dion? While we’re at it, Giorgio’s missing too and I haven’t seen Michelangelo since last night. Where’s everyone?”

“They… must’ve overslept, I haven’t seen them. I’m sure they’re on their way as we speak.”

Unsatisfied by that answer, Melone’s head was rammed into the wall again. “Bullshit. No way you could’ve let yourself out of the Mirror Dimension without Michel’s permission. Three of our men have gone missing and you are the last person to see them alive. Do you have any idea how dire the situation is? Now start talking, you’re hiding something from me and I can smell you… hold the phone, I can smell something on you.” Prosciutto began to sniff Melone’s chest up then up to his collarbone. “What a familiar aroma, yet not something that I recognize from the apartment. Wait, oh my god, you didn’t.” He pulled Melone closer and took a whiff of his breath. “IS THAT MARIJUANA I SMELL ON YOU!?”

Crap. The weed. Melone was too zonked out of his mind to use any of the perfumes Formaggio bought to mask the pungent scent. If he thought he could get away from the retribution that was about to unfold, at this point it was inescapable. “O-Of course not. Come on, who do you take me for? A drug addict?”

“And who do you take me for? A dumbass?”Prosciutto shoved the other’s back onto the wall. “Where did you have the time to get your hands on weed?” Melone winced at the pain but it soon didn’t matter, neither was Prosciutto’s interrogation. His skin began to shed a coat of sweat when he soon discovered there was a third presence in the freezer room. Melone leaned to Prosciutto’s right side. One-Eye. “Hey, are you listening? Hello? ‘The hell are you looking at?” Prosciutto smacked his teammate out of his trance to no avail.

“I need a sign, quick.” Melone thought. “This is bad, really bad! Why can’t I remember that phrase!? That thing’s inching ever so closer to us and if it catches me, I’ll be damned for eternity and Prosciutto’s in the middle of it all, and who knows what that monster will make of him.” Melone scanned the room for anything, anything that could combat the one-eyed creature. Before he could lose further hope, there was an unintelligent black spot on the wall, or so he thought. A message signed in ink. It was hard to make out due to its position on the opposite wall and the ice that stuck to the wall made it look jagged. It was impossible to touch the wall, but lucky for him, the gears in his head cranked back up. It was a curt, yet simple phrase.

“TOMARE!”

In an instant, the lady stood frozen like a grotesque one-eyed statue. “What? Are you speaking to me? What’s gotten into you?” Now was his chance, Melone checked his teammate off of him and ran out of the freezer.

“Fuck! Get back here!” Prosciutto called out.

“Sorry! I’ll explain later!” Melone replied. “Okay, that thing’s outta my hair for the time being, but what do I do now? I need time before it gives chase again! Every time I use that phrase, it becomes less and less effective. There’s gotta be more clues somewhere! Gotta be! Dammit! I’ve only been given minimal instructions on how to play this wretched game and I’ve been thrown to the dogs!” Not paying attention to where he was running, he accidentally bumped into the cashier with the face mask. “Gahh!” His body went completely cold. He was drenched with water.

The poor girl was horrified, she looked like she just dishonored his mother. “Oh my god! Are you okay? I’m so, so sorry! Here, let me get you dry!” The girl took out a paper towel and went to dry him off.

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m okay.” Melone kept evading her assistance.

“No, no, please! I insist! This is all my fault!”

“I mean it, I don’t need your help!”

“I must!”

“Get away from me!” Melone pushed the cashier to the ground, causing her to cry. He had no time to pardon himself or console the girl, he could sense One-Eye had become unfrozen and his only objective was to run. The crowd was less of a benefit and more of a hindrance for him, he couldn’t whip up a plan with the ensuing chaos surrounding him. “The offices! I haven’t checked where the offices are!”

“Ya got a lot of nerve disrespecting your elders, boy!” Melone was snagged by the shoulder by the old man from prior. “Hey, I’m talking to you! You made me walk in circles! I couldn’t find what I came here for!” The disrespectful customer squeezed Melone and twisted him around to give him a verbal thrashing he wouldn’t soon forget, but instead he was met with a cold, unblinking teal glare. Melone said nothing at first, only staring the old man down, then he uttered, “Got a lot of nerve still being alive. Hope you savor a slow, painful death…”

The customer tripped backward, taken aback by the sudden coldness of the worker’s words. “Are you-? Are you threatening me?”

Melone gripped the geezer’s shoulders and pulled the man closer to him, still stone-faced. All the customer could think of was what the hell was wrong with this weirdo. All of a sudden, Melone’s demeanor transitioned to a more peppy, albeit creepy manner, “… I would’ve meant it word-by-word if I was some crazed, heartless killer~. Now you have a fantastic day, okay~?” He gave the old man a patronizing pat on the cheek before giving him a small shove and strutting away. “Jesus, I thought that guy would never get off my back.”

Finally, he made it to the offices. Whatever room that was unoccupied he thoroughly surveyed, down to the very cracks in the walls. Suffice it to say, all the rooms there had zero clues. “This isn’t working! I can’t find anything useful and she’s getting close again!” There was one last place he didn’t look. The little boy’s room. What did he have to lose? He scurried down the hall and descended the stairs. Screw the pangs in his feet, he couldn’t afford to go at a comfortable pace. Once he quarantined himself from the outside, he flew into one of the stalls and hid. Whether the lights were out or what, the bathroom was pitch black. That wouldn’t stop him. He patted down the stalls to feel for any messages. Despite locking the door, a presence lingered inside the room. She found him. The assassin sneakily slithered under each stall to hunt for any instructions, but still no hope. One last resort. As foolish as it was to crawl out into the open, that was what he did, and sprung up to the sinks. He felt around the mirror and the counter but when fumbled his way to the faucet, that’s when felt a message. Using the rest of his resolve, Melone dramatically brought his hand down in a chopping motion. “Kitta! I cut you loose…!”

For a moment, everything went completely silent. The presence had left. It was Melone’s cue to sigh in unsaid solitude. The lights flickered back on. To Melone’s horror, looking in the mirror, he spotted the woman, standing centimeters behind him with her hand firmly on his throat. The spell had no effect, for she knew too well he was attempting to end the game, therefore catching him in the act of cheating. Her grasp tightened and she uttered in a low, perverted yet perfectly articulated voice. “Who are you running from?”

———————————————————————

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

“Hey, it’s Girolamo. I need to speak with you.” Prosciutto waited for the okay to come in. Who did that little twit think he was running away from him? He’d make sure they resume their interrogation session after work.

“You can come in.”

The blonde rammed the door with his fist and entered the office, right away his eyes fell on his boss, who was filing his paperwork into a giant folder. “Can you not be so loud? I have a pounding headache.” He took a moment to remove his sunglasses to rub the fatigue from his eyes. “I apologize for not being able to speak sooner, Janis called for a last-minute meeting with management…”

“Hold that thought. This is urgent.”

“Go on,” Risotto said as he stapled the paperwork together, too out of it to notice he accidentally stapled the papers to his cuff.

Prosciutto took no time to ramble. “It’s about Dion. I think he snuck out last night. He hasn’t showed up to work. He was supposed to clock in HOURS ago and when I went to the bedroom to wake him up, he was missing. So was Giorgio. And Michelangelo. I stopped Ed earlier to ask what the hell is going on but…” Prosciutto cut himself short. Risotto was still, too still. His eyes were not focused on him but rather they were shut. That’s when a little gurgle bubbled from his capo’s lips. “Hey!” Prosciutto snapped his fingers next to Risotto’s ear. “You’re dozing off.” His friend’s breathing hitched from the snap and his eyes creaked open. “No, no, I’m listening.” Risotto moaned, slowly pushing his sunglasses back on.

“Okay then. Repeat what I said.” Prosciutto challenged.

“You said… um…”

“Dammit boss, this is serious!” Prosciutto held back further scolding his comrade by pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Let’s start from the beginning. What do you need to discuss that’s urgent?”

“It’s Dion, he-!” Examining Risotto up and down once more, it dawned on Prosciutto that his boss was about to collapse from exhaustion. Those tired black holes, the clumps of silver strands that poked out from his disheveled head, and the way he moved it was like he was operating in slow motion. Prosciutto frowned, his eyebrows furrowed flat. Not an emotion he normally reveled in… pity. He reconsidered his words carefully. “I… uhm… I’ve been thinking. Dion’s still angry from last night…”

“Okay? Did you guys talk since your fight?”

“More like tried. He’s been… blowing me off.”

“Alright then. I’ll go talk to him.” A bit more alert, Risotto stood up quickly and went for the door.

“No!” Prosciutto exclaimed, sounding a bit too stirred up for his liking.

“Excuse me?”

“No, I mean… your orders were that we should be all together and whatnot and I would never fall out of line with your commands, but… we’re behind Christmas shopping and-.”

“I’m sorry, Gir.” Risotto cut him off abruptly. “But I simply do not have the time tonight. We’ll save it once I complete all my projects, which might take a while.” Risotto was stepping out the door to which he was promptly blocked off by Prosciutto.

“That’s the thing,” Prosciutto led his capo back into his office and motioned him to sit. “You’re already swamped with interviews and paperwork and Janis. Just go home and get a good night’s sleep and I’ll do the shopping and bring the boy with me. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

Risotto looked at him like he was pulling his leg. “Hard no.”

“Look,” Prosciutto asserted, putting his hands on Risotto’s desk and leaning in. “I don’t make a lot of requests but I felt I was too hard with Dion and I wanna make it up to him. I swear on my parents’ graves, this will be the last time I ask anything from you. Please, boss.”

“You’re smart enough to recognize the consequences of such a request. It’s not safe for the two of you to run off by yourselves.”

“It won’t be! In fact, I overheard Giorgio, Edmundo, and Michelangelo wanting to visit Times Square. There’s a lot of stores and restaurants there and if I take ‘em, they’ll get their itch scratched.”

“And Giovanni?”

“Pfft, does Giovanni look like the kinda guy to be the shopping-type?” Prosciutto asked dismissively. “The boy prefers to stay home, not go out and socialize. Not for nothing, I believe this could be a good opportunity for the two of you to have some quality… brotherly bonding. Chat, watch a movie together, resolve some undisclosed tension.” His boss took a moment to gather his thoughts, first tentatively looking at his comrade then scratching his chin pensively. “Make it so. Just this once.”

“Grazie. This means a lot, boss. I owe you big time,” Prosciutto sighed with relief like a heavy anvil was lifted off from his shoulders, leaving Risotto even more confused. “That’s all I needed to say. I shall head back to work, thank you again!” Prosciutto reached the door before coming to a halt.

“Before you go,” Risotto called out. “You must promise me something.”

“Anything.” Of course, he wasn’t getting out of there scot-free without a catch.

“Make sure you call me every now and then. Like every hour, no, every half-hour, just wherever you are, keep me in the loop of your location. Even if you have to borrow the restaurant’s phone or use a pay phone, just keep me updated in case something happens so I can come and get you… and that’s a direct order…”

“So be it.” Prosciutto closed the door ever discreetly to avoid disturbing his capo further. Once the door was shut, Prosciutto could’ve smacked his forehead against it. What the shit did he just get himself into!?

———————————————————————

Meanwhile in the elevator… again.

“Alright. Huff, huff… no more dicking around… huff, huff, I got it! Nothing could go wrong this time!” Illuso weakly jammed the combination. How many attempts since he started? Twenty? Twenty-one? The last time he counted it was twenty. He was losing count again and for all he knew the number of tries might’ve reached passed fifty. He wasn’t looking so hot either. He sustained multiple bruises, a swollen eye, the tooth count bumped up to four, and a few fractured ribs. Nonetheless, the battered man kept on pushing forward. “4th. 2nd. 6th. 2nd… 10th?”

And just like the last fifty or so times, the cab jerked upwards to the next level. He banged out all the floors and was able to reach the second-to-last floor with not another scratch on him, all he had to do was make it alive by the 10th floor to end the dreadful game once and for all! But before he can proudly declare victory, without warning the elevator came to a bumpy stop. “Eh? What the hell? Did I make it to the 10th floor?” He looked up to see the LED panel. “5th floor? Well, that can’t be right, I pushed for the 10th floor.”

Instantaneously, the doors veered open. The man gulped for he didn’t know what was about to unfold but if he needed to defend his life, he would do it at any cost. He went into a combative stance if some knife-wielding fucker tried to shank him, they’d get an automatic iron fist to the face. There was… nobody there, that was until he peered at the floor. From behind the doors, an orange tabby poked its head and let a squeaky mew. It entered the premises, purring and curling its body affectionately around Illuso’s ankles, and then just as it entered, the cat quickly departed the elevator, leaving Illuso with his mouth comically gaped. “What the fuck was that shit!? Bah, whatever.”

llluso pressed the button to see if maybe the game had glitched. The aggravation was beginning to get the best of him and soon he was smashing the button panel with his right fist. “Come on, you stupid contraption! I put the correct order in! I won it fair and square! There wasn’t anything in the rules that said I gotta restart if a dumb cat were to barge in! Go up! Go up!” But to poor Illuso’s dismay, the cab didn’t budge, his chance for triumph was once again thwarted by Murphy’s Law. The LED screen flashed the message, “TRY AGAIN”. A message he was too unfortunate to be familiar with. “Dear god,” he whimpered. He braced himself for what was to come. Just on cue, the walls began to rumble and the lights went out.

“Not again…”

———————————————————————

It was getting late and Prosciutto found very little success in his search for his comrades. He was seated at his “favorite” diner, which he meant very loosely. The waitress poured the steaming dark stream of coffee into his mug until he lifted his open palm to signal that the cup was full to his liking. “Thank you.”

“You seem glummer than usual,” the waitress tilted her head quizzically. “Come to think of it, I’ve never served you this late in the evening.”

Prosciutto wasn’t in the mood to waste his time. “What do you wanna know…?”

“No need to be rude about it. You know, I could’ve put a dead fly in your coffee out of spite, but I’m not that kind of person.” Upon realizing her regular wasn’t his usual grumpy mood, her tone softened. “Forgive me, didn’t mean to come off snarky. But if something’s bugging you, I mean, if something’s troubling you, I’m all ears.”

“I-.”

“Hang on. Before you go any further, gimme one moment.” She paced behind the counter, placing the half-full pitcher by the coffee machine, and entered the back room, leaving Prosciutto to his own worries. Why bother waiting for this woman? He could just get up and leave, screw the bill. Yet he didn’t, instead, he rested his gaze out through the large window beside him, as the wind blew louder and the snow fell harder, he muttered, “Where could you possibly be? It’s not like you to up and run. How could I have left you out of my sight? If you weren’t such a goddamn baby, none of this…! No… I shouldn’t say stuff like that. Not at this time. I’m sorry. Pesci… I just want you back where you’re safe…”

“Phew, sorry ‘bout that.” The waitress came back, the only thing that was missing from her was her coffee-stained apron.

“Um…”

“Oh, it’s fine.” She asserted. “I’m off the clock. There shouldn’t be any more interruptions, you can tell me as much as you want.” Squinting his eyes into little slits, he grumbled, “Why do you wanna hear my problems so badly? Are you that bored?”

“Please hun,” she took a seat in front of him, looking him dead in the face. “I’m no licensed therapist and I’m gonna go on a hunch and say we ain’t besties so I don’t expect you to sob about your whole life story, but you look like you need to blow off some steam and vent. There’s this air about you, I dunno… like you take the time to help out others with their baggage but you never let those people help you with your baggage. So, what’s eating you…?”

“Damn. Persistent woman.” He lowered his eyes to his cup of Joe. His reflection. Once a cut-throat mercenary of murder, now an average Joe being pestered by some commoner who cares too much about the details of his personal frustrations. “What’s her deal? What is she getting out of for snooping through my business? If I hadn’t known better, she was attempting to gain as much info on me and what’s she gonna do if she got her hands on it? Find my address? Blackmail me? Follow me home and chop me up into a million pieces?” He peered up from his drink. Being at eye level with her, there was a different look to her. It was her eyes. They didn’t look any different from the times before, the same chalky blue eyeshadow smudged on those same tired lids, but something about them made him curious. They didn’t appear unfeeling nor judgmental, but rather doe-like, worried even. Either she was showing actual concern for him or she was an excellent actor. “Five years of employment at this ramshackle restaurant. That’s a pretty solid alibi there. My assumptions of her being the Stand User may have been unfounded. Still, even if she’s not a suspect, she’s just an unsuspecting citizen who shouldn’t get tied up in your problems...” After careful deliberation, Prosciutto spoke. “My little brother… he ran away.”

“My god! Th- That’s terrible, I’m so sorry! What are you doing here then?”

“Does it look like I’m enjoying my stay here?” His voice slightly grew defensive. “It’s not like I was stopping by for an hour-long therapy session, just needed an energy booster,” he pointed to his coffee cup, “And a phone to keep tabs with my older brother.” Prosciutto calmed, he knew too well that lashing out wasn’t going to help him in the long run. “But anyways, we had a spat yesterday night. It was about his birthday. The boy hasn’t had a good birthday as far as he could remember and we couldn’t make any arrangements to celebrate on his big day. So, he got upset over it. There was some heated back and forth between us and he locked himself in our bedroom. I may have dropped the hammer too hard this time… I get it. Longing for a normal birthday is a gift in itself. But when I checked on him this morning, he wasn’t in bed and he hasn’t shown up to work.”

“Did you file a missing persons report?”

“As if those crooks you call your law enforcement would be of any use. The boy’s 20 going on 21. He’s by law an adult. All they’re gonna say is because he left on his accord, it’s outta their hands.”

“Hmm, you have a point. I’m sure he’ll pop up somehow. I mean, I’ve never dealt with having a sibling but from what you’re telling me, he loves you a whole lot. I don’t mean any harm in asking this but could it be possible he ran away for attention? I’m certain I got it all wrong, but I’m also certain once he reflects on things and runs out of money, he’ll come back to you with open arms.”

“That’s the thing, he’s never left home before. At all. It isn’t second nature to him. My fratellino isn’t street smart enough to navigate himself across a whole stinkin’ city. He could be on the other side of Manhattan by now. Cold. Stranded. Frightened. Dead on the sidewalk.”

“No! Don’t say stuff like that!” She urged. Heck, even Prosciutto had no clue where all that absurd nonsense was coming from, it made him sound like a worrisome mother… perhaps Risotto’s paranoia was rubbing off on him. “But it’s true. He’s never left our side since the day I… since he was born. There’s no way he could fend for himself and when I thought things couldn’t get worse, my three stooge brothers just… vanished without a trace and I don’t know what to make of it. Two of them never showed up to work and the other must’ve been high ‘cause he reeked of kush, then he disappeared. Had they gone out to find Dion? Were the four of them doing something without my knowledge? Everyone’s been acting so strange and I’ve gotten zero info. Now as their big brother, it’s my responsibility to bring them home. Well, I think it is my responsibility. My older brother… that’s a different story. I was going to tell him about it…”

“Then what…? You didn’t tell him, didn’t you…?”

“You wouldn’t understand, if I blurted anything out to him he’d be a total wreck. That’s why I lied, that I was gonna do some Christmas shopping instead of coming home after work. There was some pushback,” he muttered, then took a sip of his coffee. “But it was a miracle he relented.”

“You really should’ve been honest with him. He’s your brother. He has the right to know.”

“My fratello, Giacomo… he’s been… dealing with a lot of demons recently. Scratch that, he’s always had, but he puts everyone’s safety first over his wellbeing. He can’t go one night without scaring himself shitless and he runs on very little sleep, then when he’s not waking up every hour he endures ridiculously long shifts, mistreatment from higher-ups, receives very little income which gets taken away every time he makes a lil’ whoopsie and has to raise six hungry manchildren… do you see where I’m getting at? The man’s too overworked and he won’t admit it and if he doesn’t stop soon, he’ll drop dead by the age of 40.” Prosciutto rubbed his forehead. “The responsible, selfish part of me would tell him everything ‘cause I know he’d risk life and limb to search those streets until he finds every last one of them… but he’s going through so much to make our way of living much more comfortable at the cost of his happiness… I… I can’t drop that on him…”

“I’m sorry. That does sound like a lot to handle…” She reached out to hold his hand in consolation but when she inched towards him, he flinched his hands away. “Easy Dee, don’t push it,” she thought, retracting her hands back to her side of the table. “In charge of six brothers, wow. I commend you, you must have the patience of a saint. Though, I wouldn’t mind a sibling or two to keep me company.”

“Heh, if I find ‘em alive, you can have ‘em. Just keep ‘em out of bright lights, don’t get ‘em wet, and don’t feed ‘em right after midnight.” Prosciutto finished the last few drops of his before setting it to the side

“Hehe, that’s the spirit. Do you feel a little more at ease now that you got that off your chest?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess so…”

“Daina.” A woman with more mature features poked her head from the back. “If you wanna enjoy your break, take it outside. Don’t bother the customers.” Prosciutto could sense a flash of irritation arising from the waitress, he could tell she was suppressing the urge to stick her tongue or roll her eyes at her assumed manager. “Yes. Ma’am.” The older woman said nothing else, disappearing into the back once more, leaving the waitress to grumble, “Maybe you should start bothering the customers, I’m sure you’ll make a friend for once.”

“Daina?” The gangster arched an eyebrow. “Thought your name was Deedee.”

The waitress turned over to him, her eyes were filled with wonder, as if she was surprised he would be interested enough to ask her that sort of question. “It is… kinda. My real name’s Daina, but folks call me Deedee. Short and sweet for those who can’t use their brain. Too hard for patrons to remember. “Oh, hey Deena!” “What’s happening, Donna?” “Working hard or hardly working, Dolores?”. Just… Deedee is fine. Uh, anywho, I’ll let you get back to your coffee break. But before I go, here,” she scribbled a note in her pad. She handed the note to Prosciutto. “That’s my phone number. I don’t get off until 11 tonight, but if you need a hand finding your brothers, just give me a holler.”

“That won’t be necessary… but thank you.” Prosciutto nodded in acknowledgment.

“Anytime. Good luck.” She nodded back with a warm smile, yet he couldn’t help but hear a hint of sadness when she wished him farewell. Prosciutto eyed the note. “Yeah… I’m gonna need it.” His attention turned to the window again, a thin coat of snow was beginning to cover the surface of it, making it more difficult to see outside.

———————————————————————

“Pant… pant… fuck…” Illuso staggered from his previous fall. The man was broken both physically and mentally. He suffered from two bruised eyes, multiple fractures all over his body, and half of his teeth spilled across the floor. It wouldn’t come as a surprise that he also sustained a minor concussion, to say the least, the man was an absolute mess. “Is that the best you can…?” He foolishly droned before fainting on the floor. He was too weak to get up. Instead of accepting defeat gracefully, he flailed and thrashed his limbs in the air and wailed like a spoiled sore loser. “ARGGGHH! JUST! LET! ME! WIIIIN! GAHHHHH! FUCK! FUCKING SHIT! Arrgh! Just a crumb…? Is all I ask… hnnggggg, I’m so pathetiiiiic.” He feebly wiggled his wormy body to the control panel. “C’mon Lu… get your head in the game and be a fucking man! You can do this. You can fucking do this. Pant… pant… 4th… pant… 2nd… pant… 6th… pant, pant… 2nd… 10th.” He pinched his eyes, bracing for the oncoming disaster that awaited him, it was only a matter of time before his heart was going to give out.

Rumble. Ascension. Stop. Descent. Stop. Ascension. Stop. Descent. Illuso peeked his eye up at the LED screen. He had already reached the fourth checkpoint with no issue. His breathing quickened with excitement. Was this is it? His moment of triumph he was owed 100 times before. He watched attentively as the screen passed each floor.

6th… 7th… 8th… 9th… 10th.

“YAHOOOO!” Illuso sprang up like a sprout, throwing a victorious fist in the air. He had beaten the game, now he only had to do was to escape the sad, stinky, disgusting, putrid room with its smudged-up metal-paneled walls and radioactive piss-colored light and claim his rightful prize… and Pesci. His celebration was cut short, however, when a new message popped up on the screen. “5TH FLOOR.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” Turning instantly red with another tantrum was not too far away. “YOU STRUNG ME ALONG THROUGH ALL THAT JUST TO PSYCH ME OUT!?” Illuso was about to go berserk and tear the control panel off the wall, but his logic stepped in. “Chill Lu, you got this far in the game. Don’t ruin this for yourself.” With his nerves consoled, he swallowed his pride and pressed the button for the fifth floor, albeit hard. Down the elevator, it went. It was a good time for Illuso to pat down his damp, bloodied clothes and comb the knots from his ragged locks. “Gotta look in tip-top shape when I’m handed my trophy.”

No surprise the elevator draaaagged, but eventually Illuso survived the harrowing trip down the fifth floor. The metal doors slid open, ominously slower than before. To Illuso’s complete and utter disappointment, a woman in an orange dress with a wide-brimmed hat was waiting patiently to board the elevator. He would have to restart the WHOLE process. Without a grunt or greeting, the lady entered. That was when her face peeked from under her hat.

There they waited, side by side. Short and shallow breaths were all he took, his heart fluttered so fast it could’ve flown out from his chest. This was not from excitement but from fear. Illuso’s instincts discouraged him from looking at the woman, let alone striking up a friendly conversation with her, all for good reason. The woman standing next to him was not human.

Illuso shifted his quivering eyes to the LED screen, another message had filled the screen. “1ST FLOOR.” Ever so hastily, he jammed the button for the first floor. It took him an extra second, but it was suspicious that the message had spelled out “1st floor,” unlike the previous times it spelled out “try again”. But just as he thought things couldn’t turn to greater shit, instead of going downward to the bottom floor, the elevator had a mind of its own and began to go up. “What the-!?” Did he somehow damage the controls? Was the demonic kiddo dicking around with him for laughs? What if this was part of the ritual and everything he was doing was right? Whatever the case may have been, all he could do was hopelessly watch on as the LED screen passed every floor and then it stopped. The 10th floor. Once again, the metal doors pulled to their respective sides.

Next thing he knew, Illuso was embraced by overpowering darkness, so much so that not even the yellow light from the elevator was strong enough to shine through. Unlike the previous floors, this one was particularly different. It was not a hall with rows of doors going as far as he could see, but a shadowy black open space. There didn’t appear to be any life or dead residing there. He had two options: Keep the creepy ghost lady company or venture into this new world. After a whole day of enduring many injuries and almost going insane, Illuso exited out of the elevator. Before venturing too far, the ghost woman, who was still inside the elevator, beckoned the man. Despite her unnatural stature and her adult physique, she spoke in a high, child-like voice and asked him, “Where are you going?” It was safe to assume she was attempting to trick him, so Illuso pressed forward and ignored the woman.

“Hellooooo?” Illuso cupped his hands in the shape of a megaphone. “Anybody here? Hellooooo? You haven’t forgotten my prize, riiiight?” In the left corner of his vision, he detected on the wall, a phone. Curious to see if he could call up Risotto, he edged closer to it. He pulled the phone to his ear, dialed his home number, and… no results. No beeps, no ringing, no chance. “Bah, broken,” he slammed it back on the wall.

For ages, Illuso wandered around the shadow realm for what felt like a long enough time to grow a full beard. Suddenly, something else caught his eye. A mirror! Did he find a loophole? He summoned forth his enigmatic Stand, Man in the Mirror, a grey humanoid with a diamond-patterned hood that obscured its face. It wore a black screw-studded leotard that opened in the middle to reveal its grey chest. Its most noticeable feature was its large, vibrantly orange goggles. “Take me to the Mirror World. Pronto,” Illuso commanded. That plan was immediately foiled when MitM made an effort to put its hand through the mirror but to no avail. Each attempt to push its arm through proved to be useless. “Gahh! Is the mirror broken too!? Can never have shit go right for once!” He called back his Stand. “What a place. It has the same kind of properties as Man in the Mirror. Devoid of life. Can’t interact with phones or anything here, not even the Mirror World. Such a bummer… huh?”

From a distance, he could see something was blocking his path. Taking a few more steps, it was becoming easier to make out what it was. Fleshy. It wasn’t something… but someone! Yes! It was a person! Small tubby guy. Short blonde hair. Dull blue jacket. He was lying motionless on his stomach. If Illuso hadn’t known better, the guy looked sort of like…

“There you are ya lil’ stinkweed!” Illuso cried out. He ran over to Pesci, yanking him up by the arm and pulling him up to his feet. “We’ve been looking high and low for you! Enough hide-and-seek, let’s hightail it out of here!” Alarmingly, Pesci floundered back on the floor. “Dammit Pesci, no time for a nap! I gotta bring you home before I get absolutely crucified!” Despite Illuso’s protests, Pesci did not seem to care, or even listen. “Pesci?” Illuso swallowed a hard lump. Something was missing on the boy. “Where are his ears?” He asked himself. When Illuso turned his teammate around to get a look at his dribbling face, he was met with a gruesome discovery…

His eyes and tongue were taken…

“AAAAHHHH!”

Being taken hold of by terror, Illuso accidentally dropped Pesci’s limp body to the floor. The tall man recoiled back, only to have tripped on something like a log and collapsed to the ground. Illuso scrambled to figure out what had caused him to trip, it had somehow gotten darker and he was beginning to panic. When he whipped his face to the left, he shrieked again for he came face-to-face with another lifeless body. It was the stiff body of Formaggio, and next to him was Melone. They too were missing their sensory organs. Were they dead? Who in their right mind could have harvested their organs?

“Do you like them? I made them pretty…” Illuso recognized that voice from anywhere. That grating zombified voice. From the shadows, it was her. The girl in the kimono.

“You,” Illuso hissed lowly. “What the hell have you done to them!?”

“Don’t worry… they’re just sleeping…” She assured. Like their first encounter, whenever the girl spoke, her lips did not sync with her words. They did not curl or pucker like a normal set of lips, they sat there unmoving, only slightly vibrating whenever she made noise. How she did that, Illuso had no fucking clue, nor did he fucking care. The young girl pulled Pesci up to her level. “They are not dead, nor in pain. I removed their eyes so they couldn’t find the way out and I also removed their tongues so they couldn’t call out for help. And their ears… I took them too so they couldn’t hear you call their names. Isn’t that right…?” Like a macabre puppeteer, she moved Pesci’s lifeless head up and down, as if he was nodding in agreement.

“Get your grubby mitts off them, you little witch!”

“Temper, temper.” She cheekily tutted.

“Don’t you “temper, temper” me, girl!” Illuso grabbed her by the collar and shook her like a baby violently shaking a rattle. The girl didn’t show a shred of submission or care to run away. “How fucking dare you!? Turning my friends into… into… hollow shells! Bring them back! Turn them back as once they were, you little bitch!!” Illuso halted as the girl threw her head forward to reveal a growth back of her neck. He couldn’t discern what it was but it was an amorphous white shape, like a marshmallow was poking out from her nape.

“Will do,” she nodded. That was easy. “You did succeed in finding the Spirit World, I applaud you. Now you must complete one last task.”

“One last task?” He asked suspiciously.

“Let’s play a game.”

“NO! NO MORE GODDAMN GAMES!” Illuso angrily shook her. “I WON! THEY ARE MY PRIZES! I HAVE THE RIGHT TO TAKE THEM HOME!” The white shape began to grow, it grew from a marshmallow to a mini pillow. It was unnerving Illuso, to say the least.

“How will you take them home if you can’t leave?” Illuso was about to refute that question, but she wasn’t wrong. Sure, he made it there, but there was no way to escape this bratty bitch’s clutches. “It’s very mean to leave so hastily when you’re having a playdate... I’ve been waiting for you and your companions for quite some time, long before our meet-up at the park. Like when I checked up on you at work or when your friend was sick in the hospital, I kept him company. He was a cute sleeper. I like you all. If there’s one truth about friendship, is that friendship is based on “spontaneous affection”. If two people are drawn together by the most impossible means, they are bound by the strings of Fate. And do you know what friendships require to bloom and flourish? Sacrifice. If you succeed in beating me, I will simply let you and your friends go. That is a sacrifice I’m willing to make… but, if you lose or if I catch you cheating, you will remain by my side and become my friend. Forever.” The longer the girl negotiated, the larger the growth was becoming. As it emerged out of the girl, its form took the shape of the body of a bisque doll and the texture of its “skin” was folding and dimpling. Was it… smiling at him? Where its eyes should’ve been were deep black pits. Hanging on the top of its head was a shaggy, black pelt that he assumed was its hair. It had no arms and its legs were the child. It laughed at him, it spoke callously to him with that zombified voice. “Is that a sacrifice you’re willing to make?”

Illuso was too speechless to make a peep. He was too focused trying to rack his tuckered-out brain on what the fuck was going on! That weird doll thing. Was that the real Stand User, or the girl? Was this all a setup? A ruse to lure him to an unspeakable fate? “Following us? How could I be so dumb not to detect them sooner? Wait, now it makes sense! The girl was the same kid I encountered at work! That’s why she stuck out to me and yet I couldn’t put a face on her! This thing was messing around with our memory so none of us would’ve caught on!” Perhaps that wasn’t important at that moment, his eyes fell on his teammates who were stripped of their bodies and their autonomy. He clenched his fists tight. He couldn’t just back down. If this beast believes that they are bound by the strings of Fate, then they could go shove it up their ass! “I accept your deal.”

“Done.” The little girl clapped her hands together. Illuso’s ear perked up, he could hear innocuous giggling from afar. It grew deafening like it was coming from the walls. Which is what exactly happened. Emerging from the walls was about a double-dozen of little creatures, coming into a circle formation around Illuso and his friends. They were youngsters. Practically identical to the kimono girl with how young they looked and the robes they wore. One key difference was unlike the kimono girl, these little a—holes wore masks that were indistinguishable from the ones Melone bought at the antique store. If Melone was still awake, he would’ve pointed out that these nasty little boogers were “oni”. A fancy way of saying demons.

The white doll-parasite-thing preached loudly. “Come forth, my friends. Let us open the eyes of this newcomer to our joyous world. We spend our days living freely with toys and sweets, isolating ourselves from an Earth of fear and vice. This is your new home. Welcome to my「WONDERLAND」.”

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

PREVIOUSLY ON SANGUE E FERRO…

“I like you all. If there’s one truth about friendship, is that friendship is based on “spontaneous affection”. If two people are drawn together by the most impossible means, they are bound by the strings of Fate. And do you know what friendships require to bloom and flourish? Sacrifice. If you succeed in beating me, I will simply let you and your friends go. That is a sacrifice I’m willing to make… but, if you lose or if I catch you cheating, you will remain by my side and become my friend. Forever.” The longer the girl negotiated, the larger the growth was becoming. As it emerged out of the girl, its form took the shape of the body of a bisque doll, and the texture of its “skin” was folding and dimpling. Was it… smiling at Illuso?

It laughed at him, it spoke callously to him with that zombified voice. “Is that a sacrifice you’re willing to make?”

Was that the real Stand User, or the girl?

“I accept your deal.”

“Done.” The little girl clapped her hands together. Illuso’s ear perked up, he could hear innocuous giggling from afar. It grew deafening like it was coming from the walls. Emerging from the walls was about a double-dozen of little creatures, coming into a circle formation around Illuso and his friends. They were youngsters. Practically identical to the kimono girl with how young they looked and the robes they wore. One key difference was unlike the kimono girl, these little a—holes wore masks that made them appear as “oni”.

“Come forth, my friends. Let us open the eyes of this newcomer to our joyous world. We spend our days living freely with toys and sweets, isolating ourselves from an Earth of fear and vice. This is your new home. Welcome to my「WONDERLAND」.”

The kids held out their tiny hands and joined them together, similar to how young children held each other’s hands while playing “Ring Around the Rosie”. That was exactly what it looked like. Illuso was trapped. What were they planning to do to him? Ambush him? Sure, he can take on a bunch of kids, but these were kids with likely supernatural powers. For all he knew, the potency of their powers could surpass the strength of his Stand or any Stand for that matter.

“Here are the rules,” The Parasite spoke loudly. “As you stand in the center, the little ones will dance in circles and sing you a little song. You cannot open your eyes while they’re singing. You automatically forfeit yourself from the game. When they stop, you must figure out which one’s behind you. You cannot turn around, you just have to use your better judgment. If you falter, you lose. If you guess incorrectly, you will be stripped of your most valued possessions.” What did they mean by most “valued possessions”? “But I’m fair. If you guess correctly, I will give you back your friends’ eyes and ears and tongues. After all, that’s what friends are for.”

“Alright. Ready when you are.”

“Splendid! Now take a long look at your opponents! Let Round One commence!” Without a word, the main child shook her temari ball to signal the start of the game. Illuso took a breath, his eyes shut tightly in anticipation as he waited for the game to start. After a moment of stillness, he began to hear the slow trample of small feet followed by a soft chant:

“Kagome, kagome… Kago no nakano tori wa…”

“Okay Lu, follow the sound of their steps and the pitch of their voices. Their voices sound almost identical, but they’re still indistinguishable. The kid in the pink kimono is singing an octave higher than the others and as for the punk with the yellow clothes, his voice is a smidge deeper…”

“Itsu, itsu deyaru… Yoake no ban ni…”

“Aha! I got it!”

“Tsuru to kame ga subetta… Ushirono shoumen da are…” The chanting had ceased. “Soooo? Who’s behind you?” The parasite asked Illuso smugly, almost certain the man wouldn’t guess correctly.

“… It’s the girl with the pink kimono.” He gradually peeked his eyes open and tilted his head down to find the child in a the pink kimono standing inches in front of him. Just like the others, she gave Illuso the creeps. Her mask was a red-faced demon with golden horns and smiled with golden teeth.“Correct! Here.” She held out her little palm and gave Illuso two small trinkets. They were round and wet, almost slipping out of his grasp. Marbles? He observed them closer to his face. They had little red veins around tealish-green irises. They were Melone’s eyes. He grimaced, before putting them safe in his back pocket.

“Onto Round Two!” Just like before, the main girl rattled her ball. Illuso smirked, his cockiness had grown and he was confident he had this game in the bag, or so he thought. The children began to move again, this time, however, in the opposite direction. It took Illuso aback, but he shook off the initial surprise. “Focus, dammit. Of course, they’re gonna psych you out. Just listen to their voices.”

“Kagome, kagome. Kago no nakano tori wa…” Their singing grew stronger, almost enough to sting Illuso’s ears. Still, this could be used to his advantage.

“Good. If they sing louder, it’ll be easier to distinguish which voices belong to each kid. Now listen closely, who’s behind me…?”

“Itsu, itsu deyaru. Yoake no ban ni. Tsuru to kame ga subetta. Ushirono shoumen da are!”

“Who’s behind you?”

“The boy in the yellow robes?” He spotted the boy standing in front of him. His mask was a pink-faced monkey. Illuso breathed out in relief, he must’ve guessed right. “Nuh-uh! You were wrong,” the boy happily chirped. Illuso’s felt his heart stop dead. In a moment of weakness, the shock overcame him and he almost tumbled backward like his equilibrium was imbalanced. Nausea swept over him. Something was wrong, very wrong. Not just because he just lost the round, but because there was something physically wrong with him. All of a sudden he couldn’t hear anything out of his left ear. When put his hand up to it, however…

“Where’s my ear!? It’s… It’s gone! There’s not an ounce of blood, but my ear’s gone missing!”

The boy in front of him held something in between his fingers. “Thank you for the prize.” Illuso almost screamed, the boy was gleefully dangling his ear right in front of his very eyes. How was it possible!? Illuso didn’t see the boy or anyone approaching him, nor did he experience any feeling or pain when his ear was removed.

“Already down? No one likes a quitter. We’re just about to start Round Three!” Now he understood what they meant by stripping of his “valuable possessions”…

They were going to strip him of his body parts every time he lost.

———————————————————————

“I’m home.” After another day of staying back at the hellhole, Risotto finally made it back to the solace that was his apartment. It was almost nine at night, a new record. He crept inside the living room, just in case he disrupted the beast from his slumber. There, he spotted Ghiaccio sulking on the couch with his legs prepped on the coffee table. Initially, Risotto thought he was busying himself with a movie, but as he approached the TV screen, he found that he was watching nothing but static. “I take that you didn’t have a good day off?” Instead of responding to his boss’s question, Ghiaccio shot him a puzzled expression, tilting his head to one side of Risotto, then jerking his head to the other side.

“Where are the others?” His curly-haired assassin asked suspiciously.

The question was met with hesitation from Risotto at first. As much as he was ashamed to give a lame answer there was no use in resisting. Relenting, he took a deep inhale and replied, “Prosciutto took them shopping.”

“Whaaat!?” Ghiaccio hopped from the couch. “‘The hell do you mean they’re out shopping!?” Without letting his boss get a word in, the curly-haired assassin was soon pacing in circles and going into rant mode. “You just let them go!? What the hell were you thinking? I thought the deal was for us to stay in a group and not separate. Hellooo? Remember? Rabid Stand User on the loose?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Risotto’s voice raised. “Trust me, I didn’t want them to go either, but Prosciutto was weirdly persistent about going out all of a sudden. It’s not like him, but I think he’s guilty about upsetting Pesci. Good thing there are five of them instead of two and Prosciutto’s been keeping tabs with me since. He should be calling me back soon. As long as he can do that then it should be fine, I guess.” The affirmation seemed to calm Ghiaccio enough to stop pacing, however, he was soon back to sulking with his arms across his chest.

“Puh! Whatever. Why weren’t we invited?” He huffed. “We’re part of this familia too. Guess they’re too cool to invite the whole team.”

“I couldn’t go because of my schedule being booked. As for you, Prosciutto figured you’d rather stay home than go out with them.”

“Heh. Typical Mr. Know-it-All. Believes he knows my whole life story and everything in between…”

“So, would that mean you would’ve tried for once to get along with him?” Risotto posed the question like it was a challenge, yet shocker, Ghiaccio straight up ignored him. “Besides,” Risotto added. “He brought up an interesting point. He brought up that since it’ll only be the two of us, we should take the opportunity for some old-fashioned bonding time. Don’t you agree?”

Ghiaccio quickly spun around, almost as if he was taken aback by such a proposition. “O-Oh! Uh, sure…”

“Very well. What do you wanna watch?” He slumped his achy back on the couch as he flipped through the channels. Strangely, a lot of the channels that normally played something just showed static. Then again, their TV was a relic from the sixties so he didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary.

“Don’t care. Anything. Just not another episode of The Honeymooners.”

“You got it.” Risotto mused that it would be a good time to break the ice, no pun intended. “If it were up to me, I don’t mind putting on a Spaghetti western.”

Ghiaccio perked up with sudden interest.“You? Spaghetti westerns? Heh, had no clue that the King of Doom fancied cowboy movies. What a weird combo.”

“They’re kinda nostalgic. Watched a lot of them growing up, but everyone knows that.” Ghiaccio didn’t. As seconds turned to minutes, every channel they flipped through was an ongoing marathon of static. Risotto was getting a little annoyed at this point and even Ghiaccio was beginning to get antsy, squirming in his seat and grumbling something inaudible under his breath. “Come to think of it… Americans sure have a dumb way of naming genres of Italian film. Spaghetti westerns… Spaghetti westerns…?”

“Why do I set myself up like this?”Risotto muttered, knowing what was about to take place. Guess it was too late to settle for a board game. As predicted, his teammate, face redder than a cherry, had sunk his claws into a poor, defenseless pillow. Behind closed lips was a low growl and the churning of teeth. “WAS THE GUY TASKED WITH COMING UP WITH THAT NAME DRUNK ON THE JOB!? WHY IS IT CALLED SPAGHETTI WESTERNS, HUH? I DON’T RECALL ANY OUTLAWS EATING SPAGHETTI IN THE OLD WEST! DO AMERICANS THINK THEY’RE CLEVER NAMING ITALIAN-BASED SUBGENRES AFTER FOODS? ARE WE, AS ITALIANS, ONLY GOOD ENOUGH TO BE RECOGNIZED SOLELY ON OUR CUISINE!? FUCK, I FIND THAT SO INSULTING!” Ghiaccio’s lamentations blossomed into a loud, passionate rage, so loud and passionate that Risotto grew concerned someone would come busting down their door to complain about the noise. “BUT HEY, WHY STOP THERE!? WHY NOT START CALLING SCARY ITALIAN MOVIES, “LINGUINI HORROR” OR ROMANTIC COMEDIES, “MOZZARELLA ROMANCES”? IT’S ASININE!”

“Oh, this looks good.” Risotto selected a channel before Ghiaccio could continue his frenzied rant and strangle the poor pillow any tighter. Thank God, Ghiaccio’s anger dialed down to a low, begrudging grumble as he was seemingly preoccupied with whatever flick was on. “Prosciutto, wherever you are… please call soon.”

———————————————————————

“Nope! You were wrong!” The child sang merrily. A rush of nausea overwhelmed Illuso again, this time it was too much and he lost his footing, gracelessly flopping on the floor right beside the rest of his comrades.

“Awww, too bad~! You were on a roll before,” The Parasite chuckled condescendingly, followed by the other kids pointing and laughing at the fallen fellow. All Illuso could do was lean back to face the demon and panted out, “Fuck you.” Immediately after, his right ear was taken away, rendering him completely deaf. “Tut, tut! No need to be a sore loser. Pick yourself up, the fourth round is about to begin.” Unbeknownst to the assassin, the ball had been rattled.

“Merda!” Illuso murmured to himself. “How am I supposed to keep playing if I can’t even tell if it started? If I open my eyes, I’ll lose the game and without my hearing, I’m a goner! I… gotta… get… hnng!” The dizziness was unbearable, he couldn’t even pick himself up with his jelly arms floundering like crazy. “Damn, this is humiliating. But I can’t throw in the towel. Not to a bunch of preschoolers! I gotta get myself up from the ground. Wait, the ground! The kids… They haven’t moved yet.” Illuso had a lightbulb moment. “I might have a Plan B. The ground will slightly vibrate in response to human movement. A foot, for example. Much like vocal cords, a person’s foot has a unique voice, right down to the pitch and frequency. Fuck standing up, feeling the ground is my ticket for survival!”

He extended his left hand out and patiently waited for a sign from the Earth. Sure enough, his predictions proved correct. He began to experience pulses from all around him. “Good job, ya devilishly smart bastard. Just concentrate… concentrate…” There was one pulse that stuck out to him the most. It was clunky and slow, not catching the same tempo as the others. Surprise, surprise, it reached behind him. The pulses had ceased, they were finished with their turn. It was now his turn, the moment of truth.

“Who’s behind you?”

“The girl with the orange kimono…” He weakly peered up, coming face to face with the girl with the brightly citrus-colored attire. Unlike her kin, her hair passed down her shoulders and her mask was that of a white fox. “Nope. Wasn’t me.” Another surge of nausea overpowered him. Illuso did everything in his power to fight back, blinking profusely to counter the dizziness which only made it worse. However, he was met with a gruesome discovery. When he tried to focus on the girl, half of his vision went black.

“Aww, such a shame. You were sooooo close.” The Parasite laughed, and the rest of the kids chimed in as well. “Finally, it’s time for me to collect your most precious valuables… your eyes. Starting off… with your left eye.”

“Dammit, I was sure it was her! This can’t be right! They must be pulling something! Shit, what am I gonna do now? Hnngh! Get it together, you gotta fight to the very end. Stand your ground… at least until someone can rescue us…”

———————————————————————

Third. Time.

This was the third freakin’ time Prosciutto hopped on the subway. There he entered once more, being hit with a foul stench one would describe as a mix-mash of urine, weed, and a two week old hotdog. The subway bell signaled and the doors slid shut. No surprise, all the seats were loaded so he had no choice but to stand on his dog-tired feet for the rest of the ride.

How much longer would he be able to withstand before he was to find these twat-stains? The cold was his enemy, and so was his empty stomach, his achy joints, and let’s not forget the most excruciating migraine he had felt in forever. All he yearned to do was go home and take the longest nap that put hibernating bears to shame. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t go home without finding those nincompoops whom he called his “friends”… and that was if he’d find them alive.

“I’ve had about enough of these ungrateful morons, if they wanted to get lost so bad I should just let them freeze. This all started ‘cause of Pesci. All because of his stupid birthday! Buh! I wasn’t even THAT pushy with him. Not my fault he couldn’t take no for an answer. I didn’t shut him down ‘cause I fucking felt like it, and neither did Risotto. I didn’t raise a drama queen, no sirree. He’s lucky I’m nice enough to go out in the bitter cold for his sorry bastard-ass. Besides, I’ve been harder on him. Way, way harder on him.” His mind zoned out to all the times when he had rightfully reprimanded the little twerp. Like the time when Pesci practically pissed himself on the train when he almost killed the enemy or the time Pesci “accidentally” flushed Prosciutto’s toothbrush down the toilet. Or how could he forget the moment that trumped them all? It was the very beginning of their friendship. It was Pesci’s first mission…

———————————————————————

“You buffoon!” Prosciutto snapped at his subordinate.

“P-Prosciutto, please! I can explain!” The boy stammered with his hands held up submissively and his knees buckling madly.

“How could you have let the target ALMOST get away?” Prosciutto pointed at the plastic tarp that contained the corpse of the man they were sent to eliminate. “You had him right in the palm of your hand!”

“Aww Prosciutto, I’m so sorry!”

“Quiet,” the man berated. “Save your damn apology! You better be thankful I got the guy before he could’ve escaped! How could you’ve screwed up this badly on your first mission!? We have to work together as a team, you can’t cower at the very second you have hold of the enemy!”

“I-I don’t know what else to say. I-I’m just… just…”

“You’re what? What are you feeling? Tell me, for fuck’s sake!”

“Scared, okay!?” The poor boy snapped back. “I’m scared and you’re scaring me!” Mortified upon realizing what he said and who he said it to, he cupped his mouth as if he blurted a curse word. Unfortunately, speaking the truth wasn’t the best remedy for the situation, for all it did was make Prosciutto further on the verge of exploding.

“I’m scaring you…? I’M SCARING YOU!? What you just witnessed was peanuts, I repeat, PEANUTS compared to what we deal with on a regular Tuesday! Now, you wanna see something that’s seriously frightening!? Here! I’m about to give you a reality check, Pesci Umbrino!” He grabbed the young boy and shoved his face inches away from the plastic tarp. Prosciutto squeezed the newbie’s arms tight to signal him to unzip the tarp and when he did, Pesci was met with the dead man’s gruesome visage. The target’s skin was drained of all its color and was shriveled like a raisin, likely as a result of The Grateful Dead’s age-accelerating ability. His eyes were glazed over and bulging out with his mouth gaped making him look like a fish. “THIS will be you the next time you fuck up! Do you hear me? DO YOU WANT THAT?”

“Ah… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

———————————————————————

“Holy fuck…” Prosciutto hummed. He made a lot of regrettable decisions and yet to that day, he would consider that one the second most regrettable decision of his life. But before he could wallow in self-pity, he quickly shook it off. “Stay focused. They gotta be okay. Don’t waste the rest of your energy on negative memories or what-ifs. You’ll find them safe and sound and you’ll bring them home. That is your mission. No matter the cost. Pesci...” He tried to reminisce of “happier” times…

———————————————————————

Hours after taking out the target, Prosciutto and Pesci were reporting back to the hideout to retrieve their payments. The car ride was quiet, yet tense with Prosciutto giving the cold shoulder and Pesci being justifiably traumatized from prior events. After a few hours of agonized silence, they made it to the hideout. Prosciutto ordered the latter to wait in the car while he picked up their checks. One million lire each. What a joke. Prosciutto knew deep down it wasn’t Risotto’s fault, but how were they supposed to get by with very little income? The stray dogs roaming the Neapolitan streets were kings compared to them. He needed a smoke, but he was down to his second-to-last cigarette and he already had his limit for the day. “Just keep your cool,” he reminded himself, swooping back his blonde bangs to the side. “Stand up straight and take it in stride.” He left the hideout and casually climbed in the driver’s seat. He was about to put the key in ignition before he peered over his side to see his underling keeping himself entertained by busying himself with the fibers of his jacket. Less “entertained” and more like “using all of his mental fortitude not to cry”.

“Hey.”

“‘Sup.” Pesci tried to play it cool, almost too cool, nonchalantly turning his back away from his superior, but this facade dropped quickly once his superior shot him a scowl. “I mean, hi.”

“Here, your paycheck.” He handed the boy the slip. Pesci took it, albeit with a bit of hesitation.

“Thanks.”

Prosciutto twisted the key and the car revved up. But instead of putting the car in drive, he looked over at Pesci. “By the way, I want to apologize for earlier. Don’t get used to me coddling you every time after I have a “big ol’ meanie moment”, but I will confess… I lost my cool back there. It was uncalled for.”
Pesci gave him a look that read, “Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.”But instead of expressing that out loud, he simply nodded in acknowledgment. “What you saw today was just a taste of what we go through. I get that you haven’t been exposed to the horrors of our world, which is why I was tasked to keep you under my wing.“

“Yeah, um, don’t sweat it. It’s whatever.”

“Can you drop the act?” Prosciutto grew stern again, making the boy jump. “No, it’s not “whatever”. Being part of the mafia isn’t some small deal, especially for someone like you who’s been a shut-in all his life. You’re a little fish jumping into a bigger pond- no, an ocean.” Before he could proceed further, Prosciutto was making the boy tense up, so he took a breather before speaking. “Let’s try this again,” he became calmer. “As mafiosi, our first response isn’t to run and hide like scared children clutching their bedsheets hoping the big, bad bogeyman in the closet will go away. Our first response is to shoot the bogeyman through his brain, or crush his joints with a crowbar, or stab his beating heart. Do whatever it takes to kill him. Kill. Murder. Assassinate. Exterminate. All those words share a common meaning… and that is to put an end to a poor sap’s life, no matter the cost. That is Passione Rule #1. Do you understand why I have to be so tough about it? In this cruel world, you may find yourself in peril. You could lose your life in the line of duty or worse, witness your friends die right in front of your very eyes and it’s my responsibility to prepare you for that.”

“But, it’s temporary, right?” Pesci quivered anxiously, the thought of being trapped with these homicidal freaks for the rest of his life could’ve made his little heart go puny-pop at the drop of a hat. “Once your contract is complete and you pay all your dues, you’re off the hook, right? Right?”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works. Once you join Passione, you sell your soul to the devil. You can’t leave unless you betray the big man, but there are consequences to that which I wouldn’t recommend unless you have a death wish. This is your life, your world. The world of hitmen.”

“So I’m… trapped, again? I went from being trapped in my house to being trapped in the mob. And not just any mob, a mob with killer freakazoids with superpowers!?”

“Freakazoid is a strong word. But regardless, it was for your own good. The police would’ve been hot on your tail and would’ve thrown you in the slammer. But not to worry, you’re part of a team of “freakazoids” that specialize in hits of all kinds. As long as you stick to our motto, you’ll be okay.”

“Which is?”

“Never let go of the enemy, no matter what, even it costs your arm or your leg or both.”

“Ugghhh…” Pesci hunched over. “My stomach… my lower stomach’s killing me. It’s not the kinda pain when you have the shits. Ugghh, I’m feeling lightheaded and my heart’s pounding…“

“You’re stressed. You’re getting yourself worked up, that’s why you aren’t feeling so hot. Did you eat? Drink water? You didn’t pack lunch, didn’t you?”

“What makes you say that I didn’t? What if I did?” Upon saying that, his stomach gurgled, giving away his not-so-solid alibi.

“Stress and hunger are a no-go. Here, I was saving this for later.” Prosciutto said with a sigh. He popped open his glove compartment and placed something wrapped in tinfoil on the Pesci’s lap. “Take half. You need protein in your system.“ The boy unfolded the foil. It was a sandwich.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Pesci moped.

“It’s not an offer, it’s an order,” Prosciutto replied sternly, stuffing the half into the boy’s hand. “I’m not driving you around in my car while you’re passed out. You don’t need a full stomach, but you should never go into a mission without the energy to take out the target. That’d be foolish and that’s Passione Rule #2. Mangia! Hope you like chickpeas.” Pesci skeptically inspected the sandwich, it didn’t look particularly scrumptious. But then he stopped and turned to his superior. “Why… did you decide to work with me?”

“That wasn’t up to me. It was an order by Risotto himself.”

“Ris-otto?”

“Our leader.”

“Oh, you mean Nero. Our… capo? Whatever jargon you guys use.”

“That would be Polpo- that blithering boob you met at the prison. Risotto’s not officially part of the caporegime, but if it were up to me, I’d take Risotto as a capo over the rest of those deceitful scumbags. Anyways, he ordered me to keep a watchful eye on you. You’re inexperienced, yes, but you have loads of potential.”

“Potential? How? I screwed up my first mission…”

“That’s why he paired us together, so you won’t fail the second mission, or the third.” He checked his silvery watch. Not to check the time, but rather a reminder of someone he once loved. “I have faith that you can succeed, you just need to work on your confidence. Don’t repeat this out loud, but you remind me of someone that I used to know.”

“Really?” Pesci’s face lit up with curiosity.

“Yeah. My little brother. He was about your age. Bit of a crybaby. He was book smart, but lacked common sense.”Pesci squinted his eyes at him for his unnecessarily harsh critiques. “He was very intelligent. So, so intelligent… like you. I know you don’t see it, but you are very smart and even though the others joke about your Stand, I think you can bring out its fullest potential. I genuinely mean that.” Pesci noted to himself there must’ve been something sentimental about that watch. Prosciutto almost appeared sad, not the kind of sadness that he would ugly-cry at the drop of a dime, but there was a sense of longing. Perhaps his brother gave it to him as a gift? “If only I could’ve brought that out of him more, but…”

“But what?”

“Hmm? Um, never mind. Just finish eating.”

An order was an order. Pesci took a nibble on the crust, then another one with some filling. His eyes grew wide with a sudden revelation. It was… delicious. There wasn’t a lot of filling but it was so flavorful and crunchy from the chickpeas. Forget about taking his time, he was practically diving his face into the sandwich like he hadn’t eaten in 17 years. Didn’t even occur to him that his fervent scarfing was making a mess, much to Prosciutto’s dismay.

“Hey, hey! Chew your food before you start choking,” warned Prosciutto, patting off the crumbs that somehow got on his leg.

Pesci didn’t seem to take heed, he was on cloud nine! Order was restored in the world, even for just a millisecond. He was now a man whose newfound responsibility was to put his life on the line 24/7 just to be paid with crumbs. No need to get buddy-buddy with his teammates since they’ll likely be shot dead the next day. He’d have no shoulder to cry on, because “crying is for thumb-sucking, diaper-wearing crybabies”. He’d have no roof over his head, would have no choice but to sleep under a newspaper while the hungry rats chew on his ears, and no mother or father to run back to with open arms. “Mama…”

“Are you paying attention to me? Stop eating like you’re an… animal.”

“Sniff.” A tear rolled down, then another, followed by two more. It didn’t take long for Pesci to become an active waterfall. “Waaaahhhh… waaaaahhhhhh…” He clutched his wet face, never mind that he was embarrassed for having a vulnerable moment in public, but he had to swallow the fact that he could never go back to his old way of life. As for Prosciutto, he just sat there and silently watched the newbie spill out his emotions. Normally, he would’ve shamed him for showing weakness. He would act no different towards the rest of his teammates if they dropped on their asses and bawled like helpless infants. But not this time. He just… sat there.

Of course, he wouldn’t cuddle the boy nor sugarcoat his words to ease his pain. Not only would that condition him to be soft and unfit as an assassin, but Prosciutto would be outright lying. Things wouldn’t always turn out okay in the end. That was far from the truth. That was simply life. Prosciutto was once in the boy’s shoes and he’d confess it was a hard pill to swallow, but he did it, they all did it, and Pesci was no different. The Game of Life is cruel and unforgiving and nobody wins until they close their eyes for good.

“We’re gonna have to head to our next mission. We’ll discuss things with Risotto tonight or tomorrow morning. As for sleeping arrangements, you’ll probably stay with me. It isn’t much, but I can pull my couch into a cot so you’ll have something to sleep on. Just as long as you clean after yourself, I won’t be on your ass too much.” He put the car in drive and they set sail for their next destination.

Everything went quiet again, not as tense as before. Pesci’s crying had reduced to a hiccup. His face was moistened from his tears and snot. Keeping his eyes on the road, Prosciutto opened his glove compartment and handed Pesci a tissue. “Thank you, Prosciutto. You’re a good friend.”

Good friend. Why did those words stick out to him? They were just acquainted not too long ago and yet, according to this wide-eyed newbie, Prosciutto already earned the title of a “good friend”. He would’ve scolded him for being too trusting, a fault that could land him in a world of trouble. Then again, the lad hadn’t seen the light of day for 17 years and hadn’t made a single meaningful bond besides his mother. He’d let it slide… for then. Little did Prosciutto know for the years to come, the same cowardly kid who sat sniveling in the passenger’s seat would become his best friend and little brother…

———————————————————————

A “ding” from the subway bell perked Prosciutto out of his daydream. It was his stop. The cab came to a gradual halt, then the doors hissed open. To hell with his migraine, to hell with his tired soles, and to hell with his empty stomach. He wouldn’t stop searching for his friends until he dropped dead from exhaustion.

———————————————————————

“Back in formation, children~! The fifth round is about to start!” The kids closed the circle with joining hands. The ball was shaken once more. All eyes were on Illuso, who was shamelessly sprawled on the floor. The song began once more…

“Kagome, kagome…”

“Pull yourself together, dammit. Y-You may have lost both ears and your left eye, but you've managed this far with one eye and your tongue. Just keep concentrating. You can win this…”

“Kago no nakano tori wa…”

“But still, there was no way I was wrong. That brat was behind me. I felt it! Isn’t the purpose of this game to guess who’s behind you? It’s like almost this game is…”

“Itsu, itsu deyaru…”

“This game is rigged! That misshapen bedroll fucking lied to me! I was right all along! That kid was behind me! It doesn’t make any sense. Regardless if I guessed right, if I stay in this circle I’m gonna lose. How the hell am I gonna win AND find the remaining ears and eyes?”

“Yoake no ban ni…”

“Looks like it’s none of the kids in the circle who have them but hold on. Speaking of that creepy bedroll… That girl, the one with the ball… Despite not being part of the circle, she’s standing behind me.”

“Tsuru to kame ga subetta…”

“There’s a chance I could be wrong, but I got nothing else to lose.”

“Ushirono shoumen da are…”

“I got it!”

The children went silent. Their movements ceased. Their turn was over. Illuso struggled once more to heave himself up and despite his body feeling as heavy as an anchor and his head spinning like a relentless top, he managed to pull himself up to his feet.

“Soooo, who’s behind you? Any day now~,” The Parasite tittered, its lips curled up in a self-satisfying grin. “Gehehehe, that’s right. You can’t hear me.”

Still keeping his eyes closed, Illuso rushed out of the circle over to the girl and the Parasite. He snapped his right eye open. “IT’S YOU!” Illuso seized the temari ball and with all his strength, he slammed it into the ground and with a swift raise of his leg, brought it down with a brutal stomp. The ball cracked and split underneath his heel, spilling out his friends’ stolen eyes, ears, and tongues. “I beat you! You fucking cheater!” The crowd of children gasped, some of them ducking for what was to come.

“M-My ball!” The mortified scream came from the little girl. The first time Illuso heard a shred of emotion coming from her. Unlike before, she sounded like a normal girl at her age. That being said, he couldn’t stand around and dwell on that fact for long. She was distracted, so he needed to act, quickly.

Looking down, there were the remaining eyes and ears strewn across the floor. Illuso glanced back at his unconscious teammates. How the hell was he going to carry all three of them at once? He could barely carry himself in his condition.

He dug around and spotted a nearby ear. The lobe was noticeably larger than a typical one; it belonged to Pesci. “If I attach this back on Pesci, could it be possible he would wake up?” He wondered as he pocketed the rest of the body parts into his pants. “Alright, how am I gonna do this?” Illuso brought the ear to the limp boy’s head. Just like a puzzle piece, the ear had magically attached back in place. “Pesci! Pesci! Can you hear me?” Pesci’s head jerked upwards, twisting himself in a sweat when it occurred to him that his sight was replaced with darkness and was frantically touching where his missing eyes should’ve been. “Pesh! It’s me, Illuso! Don’t panic, listen to my voice! I’ll explain everything later, in the meantime I need you to use Beach Boy to tie Formaggio and Melone to our backs.” In spite of the distress, Pesci acknowledged his teammate’s instructions with a quick nod. They threw their unconscious friends over themselves and from his index finger, Pesci released the hook and line of his Stand to swiftly secure them to their backs. “Get to the elevator! Go! Go! Go!”

“YOU HORRIBLE CHEAT! HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY FRIENDSHIP FOR GRANTED! AFTER THEEEEEM!” The demon parasite barked at the girl, who sorrowfully cradled the remnants of her beloved toy that was so cruelly smashed into smithereens. Her tears quickly evaporated when a heated fury took over her. That was their cue to book it. They sped down corridor after corridor. Right turn. Left turn. Right turn. Up the hall. Down the hall. Up it, again. Were they heading in the right direction? For all Illuso knew, they could’ve been running deeper into the Shadow World.

“Don’t look back! Don’t look back! Don’t look back!” Illuso still couldn’t hear a damn thing. On another note, he couldn’t sense footsteps from behind either. Perhaps they outran the girl and her kid cult or better, she gave up on the chase and found a new toy. He looked back. Mortifyingly, the girl was no longer running, but had levitated off the ground and was speeding towards them. If either him or Pesci’s were to lessen their paces, they were going to be goners for sure and sure enough, Pesci was beginning to fall behind. “Don’t you dare give up, dammit! Keep running!” The taller teammate commanded, but he had to wonder, how long until they were going to reach the exit? He too, was starting to show signs of exhaustion. Labored breathing, heart beating a mile a minute, achy joints, the list went on. Didn’t help he was carrying a 180-pound comatose man while being physically fucked up. The girl was creeping up closer and closer, her rage was becoming more and more apparent. Illuso was starting to feel guilty for destroying her favorite plaything and “cheating” at the game. The chances of her being merciful to them were slim to none. “Fuck! What am I thinking? They’re the ones that weren’t playing fair!” He didn’t feel sorry for long, however, when he spotted a familiar sanctuary straight ahead.

“The elevator! C’mon Pesci!” Illuso cried out in relief. Only another minute before they’d return inside the refuge and be done with this nightmare. Just one more minute…

More like two minutes…

Maybe, five minutes…

Ten minutes…?

No matter how fast they were running, they couldn’t seem to catch up to the elevator. If anything, the elevator was distancing itself from them. “This can’t be! It’s receding backward! No! I’m too young to become a demon’s Ken doll, dammit!” He had one more plan up his sleeve. “Since your User doesn’t have a tongue to speak with, I’ll do the honors for him. Straight ahead, Beach Boy!” Upon command, the hook zipped straight toward the elevator while still making sure Formaggio and Melone were still safely around their backs. Fortunately for the gang, while it took some yard's worth of line, the hook successfully pierced through its doors and snagged itself onto the control panel. “You’re not going anywhere! Hang tight, Pesci. Your Stand is our only hope!” But Illuso had to come up with another plan. The elevator was still distancing itself from them, but now pulling yards and yards of fishing line at an exceeding rate and it was going to be a matter of time before Pesci would run out. “This is gonna hurt. Sorry Pesh, hold on tight.” For his final plan, Illuso kicked his and Pesci’s feet off the ground. The high speeds from the elevator dragged them off the floor, sending them flying into the air… straight into the doors.

“WOAAAAAHHHHHH!”

*CRASH*

“Ooh… ow…” Illuso found himself back on the floor, stretched out and in immeasurable pain. Not only was his head spinning but he may or may not have made his concussion worse. He rolled his head up to find his surroundings. Thankfully, the elevator was no longer receding, the others were unharmed for the most part, and all their body parts were still in his pocket. Hadn’t it been for the rage-filled little she-devil with a demonic mass flying after them, he would’ve slumped back from exhaustion. “Shit! She’s almost here! Get up! Get up!” Illuso urged Pesci whilst he desperately jammed the button. It took a hot minute but the doors creaked and Illuso hauled his friends in. “Okay, okay, keep a clear mind. What was the order again? Was it this one? O-Or this one?”

“YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” The Parasite can be heard from a mile away. “WHEN I’M THROUGH WITH YOU, I’LL BE WRITING YOUR EULOGY WITH YOUR INTESTINES!”

“Uhh, this one?” Illuso pressed another button, but to his dismay, the doors weren’t shutting. “Why isn’t this working? Wait! Now it’s coming back! 4th! 2nd! 6th! 2nd! 10th!” He pushed out the order with complete accuracy, but alas, the doors were still not closing. The girl and her demon parasite halved their distance and in an instant, would catch them and tear their bodies limb from limb. Dread was setting in. The tall gangster appeared down at his blind teammate giving his two unconscious friends a tight embrace, like he was accepting their brutal fates. “Fanculo!” Illuso punched the control panel in frustration. “What do you want from us? I… I’m all out of plans. What the hell am I supposed to do?” He winced at his arms and legs, which were splintered in random places. Bloody drool was trickling down the corners of his swollen lips, making small pools on the floor. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like with his bruised eye sockets, face smeared with blood, and shattered nose. Squinting his lone bloodshot eye, the girl was only a couple of feet away. He bared his chipped teeth. “Not give up like a pussy! Alright, you wanna go? Come at me! I’m not afraid of you, you lil’ turd! How’s about we try something new, eh? I’ll put in the order backward! 10th.”

The girl brought her hands out.

“2nd.”

“SIC ‘EM!” The Parasite howled.

“6th.”

Pesci hugged Formaggio and Melone tighter.

“2nd.”

The girl lunged into the elevator.

“4th.”

She wrapped her hands around Illuso’s neck and attempted to choke him. “I WON! YOU BELONG TO ME…!” The Parasite declared triumphantly.

*DING*

“Huh?” The noise caught the Parasite by surprise but before it could register what it was, the metallic doors began to creak close. To make matters more unfortunate, the Parasite was still outside of the elevator. “Oh no! Pull me in! Pull me in! You moron! Pull me in before the- AHHHH!”

*CRUNCH*

It was too late. As the doors shut, they crushed the lower half of its body, severing itself from the girl’s neck. The cab rumbled and dropped downwards, leaving the parasite behind in its realm.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The Parasite’s bellows of anguish echoed as the group descended back to their reality and before long, the echo regressed to a ringing in Pesci’s good ear, then dispersed into nothing.

Illuso slumped back on the ground. He would’ve cheered that they have survived but there was another problem. The girl was in the cab. Before he could whip up another idea, his minded faded before he blacked out.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

PREVIOUSLY ON SANGUE E FERRO…

While being hunted down by a levitating preschooler and the “companion” growing out of her neck whilst carrying his more-or-less unconscious teammates, Illuso desperately chased the elevator that was his ticket for any chance of survival. After some trial and error, Illuso and co. managed to reach the elevator but not before their adversaries caught up to them.

“I WON! YOU ALL BELONG TO ME…!” The Parasite declared triumphantly.

*DING*

“Huh?” The noise caught the Parasite by surprise but before it could register what it was, the metallic doors began to creak close. To make matters more unfortunate, the Parasite was still outside of the elevator. “Oh no! Pull me in! Pull me in! You moron! Pull me in before the- AHHHH!” Its screams were bloodcurdling.

*CRUNCH*

It was too late. As the doors shut, they pinned the lower half of its body. However, with the doors not knowing any better, they continued to push… and push… until ultimately, severing the Parasite from the girl’s neck. “HELP! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” The Parasite sobbed in agony. “PULL ME IN! WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING ME? I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

The cab rumbled and dropped downwards, leaving the Parasite behind in its realm.“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The Parasite’s bellows of anguish echoed as the group descended back to their reality and before long, the echo regressed to a ringing in Pesci’s good ear, then dispersed into nothing.

The air was still. Illuso’s whole body was stiff and he stood like he was petrified into stone. It felt like forever to register the previous moments that just occurred. But it didn’t matter anymore, he had won the game. He felt light, almost serene like weights were unchained from his feet. Speaking of, when he shifted his footing barely a smidge, he began to wobble until his feet lost complete control and he slumped backward. “Ow…” Most times he would just pick himself back up, but due to his extreme exhaustion, he welcomed this feeling. It was the feeling of doing strenuous yard work for an entire Saturday and then when it was all done, retreating to the refuge that was the couch and taking the best nap one could ever take. He could’ve done just that if there wasn’t for one teensy problem… the girl was trapped inside with them.

Just because the Parasite was gone, that didn’t mean she was any less of a threat. She turned towards him, surely still enraged at him for breaking her precious ball. In a last-ditch to detain her, he called his Stand. “Man in the Mir- COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!” He felt small fingers fiddling where his pant pockets were. When he peered down, she was picking out the remaining ears and eyes and discarding the pieces onto the floor like they were litter. “Don’t! Those don’t belong to you!” Illuso protested weakly before succumbing to another violent coughing fit, this time the bitter tang of blood filled his mouth. He was too weak to fight back, let alone speak. All he could was lay on his back like a helpless turtle and count the number of times his chest heaved when he let out a wheeze. A silhouette lingered over his limp body, trapped between their fingers was what Illuso assumed to be an eyeball; perhaps his eyeball. All of a sudden, lightheadedness took a strong hold on him. He meant to snark something but the articulation of his speech became jelly and his nasty remark was nothing but nonsensical babble. His surroundings around him were getting darker and darker.

“So this is it,” he thought. “This is how I’m gonna die. My bones are broken. I’m coughing up blood. My left eye and both my ears are being taken again. Never would I’ve thought that I’d be pushing daisies at the tender age of 29 by the doing of a homicidal kindergartener. All this hard work and in the end, I lost. No fair. Heh, can’t cheat death this time around, can’t I? Time and time, I dodged any bullet that came my way. So, why can’t I achieve it again? It wasn’t destiny nor dumb luck that saved my ass from losing the game, or becoming a child’s puppet, or staying with those wretched devils that raised me since I was in diapers, or being blasted out of existence by a disease-infested Stand and its wimpy User. No… it was all my choice. I did those things by myself. My choices are what made me live. But still, such a shame to think there could’ve been much more to accomplish. Overthrowing the Boss… Reaping the glory... Reunion… Eugenia…” That last thing. A product of a bad memory. It was small, yet sharp; a zap. An electrical jolt that shocked him to his senses.

His world was dark, but gradually Illuso was regaining consciousness. He began to make out lights, shadows, and shapes, albeit blurry, like he was looking through ice. “Hmm… hmm!” Illuso found himself on his back, cushioned by pillowy snow and blanketed by fallen leaves. “Ugh, ah! Cold, cold, cold!” As he was lifting himself, a golfball-sized pile of snow somehow fell down his shirt which caused him to fly to a stand. He didn’t recall feeling this vigorous when he was practically on his deathbed not too long ago. “My achin’ head… Ugh, where am I? I’m not in the elevator anymore…” He blinked a few beats to rid of the nagging dizziness. “Wait. My eyes! I-I can see! And my voice! Haha! I can hear again!” He pinched the lobes, all the while squealing giddily as he trailed his fingers up the shell of his ears. “They’re back!” But just to make sure he wasn’t being fooled by an illusion or dream, he reached to the closet tree and knocked on its bark, creating a low, “thud, thud, thud.” “Yep, not losing it. Okay. Okay, so I’m not stuck in that freakin’ hell-evator anymore, so this is…”

Illuso wandered around through the tall, tangly woods. It was so dense that any poor soul could lose their way and never get out. Finally, he could spot what appeared to be light, so he peeked through some bushes. There, streetlights shined over concrete paths that intersected and stretched down as far as he could see. “We’re back… at the Crossroads. Yeah, it’s coming back to me. Central Park. This was the same area we lost… gasp! Pesci!”

Illuso whipped behind and ran back into the forest. His mind started to race in circles. What if his pals were trapped in that elevator for all eternity? What if he was spared and they were killed on the spot? Or worse, dragged back to that shadowy hellscape and forced to be living dolls? Or what if they were lost in the forest, decaying in a marshy bog? Thankfully, his teammates were just a couple yards from him, and even more thankfully, they lay sound asleep, perfectly intact. “Thank… Jesus.”Pesci was the first to flutter his eyes open. He let out a huge stretch whilst scratching the side of his leg. “Mmm. Is it morning already?”

“Ya lil’ stinker!”Illuso came colliding into the pipsqueak Pesci, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him in a life-ending embrace. “Thought you were a goner!”

“Of course not! Why would I be? Also, can you let me go before I become a goner? I-I can’t breathe!” He coughed and spat and was turning a deep shade of blue before Illuso released him.

“Holy crap!” Formaggio had woken up, alongside Melone. “Talk about a fever dream! That was the worst high I’ve ever experienced. What the fuck were in those weed sticks? Shrooms, or somethin’?”

“Brrr! P-Promise us to check the labels before you go bu-bu-bu-buying something so potent,” Melone murmured, cradling himself for warmth. “We cou-cou-could’ve died by hypothermia and we would’ve been t-t-too stoned to realize it!”

“You said it best, brother,” Formaggio nodded. “Phew, I tell ya though. That was the wildest dream I’ve ever had. You were all in it and- and a crazy kid in Japanese clothes was chasing after us, forcing us to play all these… these, weird games…!”

A low voice brushed against his ear. “It wasn’t a dream.” Formaggio’s breath hitched and he turned around to find a familiar face. The Girl in the Purple Kimono. The four huddled together with Melone swiping the nearest tree branch off the ground and directing the sharpest point at the girl’s bangs.

“You!” Illuso snarled. “This little charade’s over! It’s four against one! I don’t give a damn if you walk and talk like a five-year-old, I’m not above gouging your eye out like how you stole mine back there! I won’t repeat myself! Scram before we call out our Stands! Now!”Who was Illuso joking? Using threats of violence wasn’t going to drive off the little shit that easily. Instead, she tilted her head to the side in a sincere manner. “… Stands?”

Melone lowered the tree branch. He couldn’t remember when the girl’s voice suddenly changed. Prior, it sounded deep and zombie-like, but in that moment she sounded like a normal girl of her demographic.

“Don’t drop your defense! You wanna die first?” Illuso smacked Melone’s arm. “And as for you, stupid brat! Quit playing innocent! We’ve been using our Stands this whole time you’ve been terrorizing us!” Unbeknownst to Illuso who was too passionate in his tirade, Formaggio took it upon himself to summon Little Feet. The Stand stealthily hovered behind the girl and waved its hand over her face to elicit any reaction. No response.

“What the?” Illuso stopped. “She’s not responding to Little Feet’s movements.” With a nod from Formaggio, Little Feet gave the girl a quick scratch on the cheek. “Eek!” The little girl scanned around the area, but couldn’t find the source of her scratch.

“She can’t see Stands. So that creep attacking us back in the Shadow World, wasn’t her ability after all?” Illuso went back to interrogating her. “If you’re not a Stand User, then what do you want with us? Who or what in the hell are you!? Fucking answer me!”

“Here… a present.”

Reaching from her kimono she pulled out a “present” and delicately placed it into his slender palm. It was a piece of hard candy, neatly twisted in crimson plastic. It was noticeably large, almost the size of his fist. Illuso bared his teeth. “I don’t want your shitty candy! I want answers!”

“Open it,” she commanded.

“Psh!” Despite believing it to be a potential trap, Illuso untwisted the plastic to reveal what was underneath it. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It was a flat rectangular silk pouch with a red string attached to it. Quite ornate. The silk was dyed red and decorated with gold prayers.“What is it?”

“Woah!” Melone pushed himself to get a better look. “That’s an omamori!”

“An oma-whaty? Is it gonna explode!?”

“Here, give me.” Illuso handed him the omamori, who brought it up for the others to see. “It’s an amulet! A good luck charm! You can find these babies being sold at Shinto shrines or Buddhist temples. Their purpose is to ward off evil and bring fortune to those who bear them. Quite a beauty to behold. But… why are you gifting this to us?”

The girl spoke nonchalantly. “You won the game.”

“A good luck charm? We almost died for a good luck charm!? Oof!” Formaggio was about lament hadn’t it been for Melone elbowing him in the gut, reminding him whom he was lamenting to. “I mean, uh, thanks, kid.”

The girl shook her head “no”. “Thank you.”

“Huh? For what?” Formaggio asked. “For playing with you?” She shook her head a second time and pointed to the spot where the creature had emerged from.

“Ohhh, I see. That thing growing out of ya. You mean to tell us that wasn’t originally part of ya?”

She hung her head like she was hiding a secret and was too ashamed to admit it. “It spied on me… said it had candy… said it wanted to be my friend… then it made me kidnap people… said we’ll have more friends… more friends, more games to play.” The assassins exchanged looks. Illuso wasn’t buying any of it and only yearned to go home, while Pesci looked like he was about to cry and even Formaggio pitied the defenseless kid. All that left was Melone who watched the girl and pensively computed the information.

“Well then,” he began. “This changes things doesn’t it?” He stepped towards the girl, lowering himself to match her height. “Perhaps we have misjudged you. Spiriting our teammate away was uncalled for, but you are a victim as much as we are.” He then pulled himself up and rested his hands on his sides. “But you are free… and so are we. So I’d suggest we end things here and go our separate ways.”

The girl replied with a nod. “Very well…”

Melone returned it with a nod back. “Take care.”

“We wish you luck,” Pesci smiled as he waved goodbye. “Hope you find friends who are nicer to you.”

“Yeah, yeah, friendship is magical, yadda, yadda, yadda! Let’s just go home!” Illuso barked impatiently. The four of them huddled close and made their way out of the woods, not before Formaggio called back to the girl. “Don’t mind the sourpuss! He may be mean, but he’s a big softie and a crybaby!”

“That’s not true! Take that back!”

“Wait.” The group turned around. “Before I let you go… there is something that I must remind you of… when we met on these roads… I delivered you a warning…”

“Warning? What warning?” It took them a second to figure out what she was talking about. It dawned on them that she was referring to the fortune Illuso wanted to know so badly about, so much so he yanked her by the hair and shook her.

The girl spoke but the distance where they were made it impossible for them to listen, which didn’t help that the cold gust obscured her voice further. As much as they dreaded it, they crept closer and closer back to where she was until they were inches in front of her. That was when she got louder. The more gradual her voice became, the faster she spoke and the faster she spoke, the more heated she got, like she was in a hypnotic trance. She swayed from side to side. She was no longer speaking, but chanting fervently. “Beware the eyes for they are always watching… beware the eyes for they are always watching… beware the eyes for they are always watching…” Suddenly, she ceased. “Because if you don’t…”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The four men shrieked bloody murder. Like hell were they staying any longer! They booked it out of the woods, leaving the girl with the mischievous smile behind for good.

The group scrambled down the woods. Unfortunately for the other three assassins, Illuso didn’t have a moment to inform them of the denseness of the forest. Every branch, leaf, and animal that got into Formaggio’s sight was immediately punted into the air. Pesci was losing speed, the others were too fast and his shoes were constantly being ensnared by roots or slipping in a concoction of mud and icy slosh. Melone attempted to alert the others about Pesci, but his breathing was too shallow for him to utter a word. Thorns and pines scratched and slashed at Illuso’s hands and cheeks, he was sure he was a bloody mess, but that was the least of his issues. Once Illuso, Formaggio, and Melone made it out of the woods and into the open, they didn’t dare to look back or stop running, their hands and hair whipping in the wind and screaming their heads off when…

“OOF!” Formaggio miscalculated his stepping and incidentally tackled a poor stranger to the asphalt. “Aw shit, sorry man!” When the others caught up, they noticed the stranger with his blonde hair completely messed up had a peculiar musk to him they were all familiar with. Cigarette smoke. “Prosciutto!” The others cried out in unison before running to him in incoherent weeping.

“Thank god! A familiar face!”

“We’re so happy to see you!”

“Where the FUCK have you dickheads been!?” Prosciutto snapped. “Do you have any idea how many hours I’ve been trekking in this godforsaken blizzard to come find you dopes!? Why are you all banged up and dirty? Were you mugged!? Oh my god, what’s Risotto gonna think when we get back!? Oh no! I forgot to call him! Dammit! Shit, I’m so screwed! And where the hell is-?”There was a rustle from behind and out from the foliage was a heaving Pesci, leaves in his hair and scratches across his face. “Pesci!” Prosciutto gasped. Pesci squealed in terror. To think he just ran from danger, he was met with the actual danger.

Upon realizing his fratello charging after him and about to deliver his retribution, the younger assassin held his hands out, flinching for whatever punishment was about to unfold. “Okay bro, before you rip me a new one you deserve to know the whole truth and only but the truth. I don’t expect you to go easy on me, but I am a man now and I-! Oh.” He was cut off by… a warm embrace.

“Pescino…” Prosciutto sighed gladly, squeezing the boy tight and stroking the blonde tuff on the boy’s head sentimentally.

Pesci couldn’t decide whether to be shocked by the out-of-left-field response or gladdened he wasn’t getting his face pummeled to a pulp. “Wait, huh? What?” The younger man uttered. “Did I skip a chapter? Aren’t you gonna yell at me? Bash my head into a tree? Feed me to the squirrels? Not even a gentle punch in the face!?”He glanced over to his teammates for an explanation, yet they either shrugged or shook their heads in disbelief. They too were amazed by Prosciutto’s sudden reaction.

“For fuck’s sake, you had me worried sick! I was growing more certain that I’d find you in a body bag. Don’t ever, EVER do that again!”

Tears began to well up and the boy was figuring out what to say in response. “You… came all this way to find me?”

“Of course I did. You think I’d let you succumb to the cold or be turned into squirrel dinner?”

“So, you’re not mad at me?” Pesci sniffled.

Prosciutto clamped his little friend by the cheeks and hissed, “Oh, you have NO idea how pissed off I am. You ran away from home over a BIRTHDAY…” With that said, he softened again and hugged Pesci once more. “But I’m just happy you’re safe.” Prosciutto shifted to the other three who were standing around awkwardly, the softness in his eyes melted away and they were greeted with his typical sternness. “As for you three, what the hell were you doing disappearing into the night and not reporting back to Risotto?”

“Finding the little guy in your stead,” Formaggio spoke, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head.

“It took some trial and error, but we managed to find him in one piece,” Melone added matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, see? We knew the lil’ guy wouldn’t get too far. No harm done,” Illuso further remarked, playfully nudging Prosciutto in the arm in hopes if he played it off nonchalantly they’d receive just a slap on the wrist. “So we’re cool, right? We’re off the hook?”

“Oh no, you’re ALL grounded,” Prosciutto replied, hardly amused. Upon hearing the verdict, the four of them frowned. “When we get home, no television for a year and I want someone on dish duty, another on laundry duty, one on cooking duty, and one on toilet duty...”

“Fooor the weekend?”

“Week?

“A month?”

“A year,” Prosciutto scowled.

“Whaat? No!” Formaggio and Illuso whined in unison.

“I made up my mind. Now let’s go home, I’m still shocked we haven’t been frozen into popsicles. It’s so cold out here.” He placed his arm around Pesci and guided him to the park’s exit.

“Poor, poor princess,” Illuso spoke in a nasally voice. “Aww look at me, I’m Prosciutto~. I’m freezing in my boots and I’m late for my midnight ciggy. Wah, wah, wah!”

“I can hear you,” Prosciutto called back. “Keep walking!”

“Hey, hey, now just wait a darn minute!” Formaggio called out.

“Excuse me?” Prosciutto turned around.

“Are your hearing aids on? ‘Cause I didn’t stutter, booboo. Why on Earth would Risotto let just little ol’ you come and find us?”

“Because he didn’t, I went on my own volition. So… I lied to him. I told him we went holiday shopping. The poor man has a lot on his plate, I didn’t want to stress him out further.”

“Oho!” Formaggio crossed his arms. “Guess Mr. Perfect ain’t so perfect after all. And what are you gonna do if I relay this info to the big guy? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind making Ghiaccio his right-hand man instead of a no-good, lying cheat like yourself.”

“Know your place, worm. I should slap you silly for being so selfish. I did what I did that poor man is hanging by a thread. He put a roof over our heads, for Pete’s sake! He’s sacrificed so much for us, all of us, especially you Formaggio! Don’t forget he had your back when you were in the hospital, and when you got assaulted at work, AND almost lost his job for stopping the guy who assaulted you and how do you repay him? By playing hooky and smoking kush with your little pals!” Prosciutto shot daggers at Melone, whose gaze shifted to his feet and a drop of sweat beaded down his temple. “Don’t think I forgot about you, druggie.” The other two members turned to him in absolute horror.

“Judas!” Illuso cried out.

“How could you throw us under the bus like that?” Formaggio outraged.

“I didn’t mean to! It’s not like I went out of my to tattle on anyone! I was too zooted! My memory went blank and I forgot to use the spray. He… smelled it on me.”

“You didn’t tell him about Pesci hitting the bottle, didja?” Formaggio spilled. God forbid if news broke that the pipsqueak got himself sloshed, their heads would be displayed by the fireplace as a memento of their idiocy!

“WHAT!?” Prosciutto roared.

“No,” Melone murmured.

“Oops.” Formaggio slapped his forehead.

All Illuso could do was shake his head disapprovingly. “You two are the biggest fucking donuts in the world.”

“So that’s why you smell like a drunk!” The blonde shouted at Pesci, who had taken the opportunity to clamber up a tree.

“Look on the bright side,” Illuso shrugged nonchalantly. The kid had his first alcoholic drink. He’s a man now.”

“A man now!? Would a man take accountability for his actions or would he run up a tree like a pathetic kitten and get stuck there?”

“Broooo, I’m sooorryyyy,” Pesci wept.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, everybody chill! The boy is safe. That’s all that matters. Now that we’re on the same page, I have a proposition,” Formaggio extended his hand out to Prosciutto. “Since we found Pesci, we won’t rat you out to Risotto about going behind his back AND we’ll do all the chores that need to be done, just as long as you keep our “escapades” our lil’ secret. Shake it on?”

As much as he didn’t want to give the doofus the satisfaction of letting him off the hook, Prosciutto ultimately shook on it.“Fine.”

“Pleasure doin’ business, pardner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suddenly, he took Formaggio by the wrist and yanked him close, whispering harshly, “But if you ever pull this stunt again, I won’t hesitate to use Grateful Dead on your ass.”

“Say no more!” Formaggio raised his hand to his forehead in a goofy salute. With that, Prosciutto threw his wrist and stomped away. “Thanks, man. We owe it all to ya!”

“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll use it now.”

“Heh, jokes on him,” chuckled Formaggio lowly to his teammates. “We’re surrounded by snow.”

“LET’S GO!” The assassin’s command prompted the other three to shuffle behind.

———————————————————————

BACK AT HOME…

“Nah, ya see. Look at his build.” Ghiaccio paused the television, pointing at the villain in the so-bad-it’s-good cowboy flick they were pleasantly surprised to be so fascinated with. “The actor doesn’t look bad, he just doesn’t fit the role is all.”

“True,” said Risotto. “I think the actor who played the bodyguard would’ve fit the role of bad guy a lot better.”

“Right? And that voice! Gahh! A voice like that shouldn’t be coming from a big baddie! It’s too whiny and goofy! Maybe the comic relief or a side character, but not the main villain!”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Popcorn?” Ghiaccio handed a bowl of buttery puffs over to his boss.

“Hmm, alright. Just a little taste.” He picked a handful and returned the bowl to Ghiaccio. “Not a huge fan of popcorn. But I don’t mind it occasionally.”

“I hear ya,” Ghiaccio chewed on a puff. “Popcorn isn’t my go-to either, the kernels getting stuck in my teeth bring down the experience for me. Corn is better on the cob or in a can, but popcorn isn’t the WORST, per se. I can’t comprehend folks who enjoy milk and corn cereal. Bleugh! How gross!”

“You mean Corn Pops? I mean, the cereal tastes fine. It’s sweet, but it’s nothing to write home about. Also, you do realize they grind the corn into cornmeal before they sell it in stores? You don’t just find a piece of corn floating in your milk.”

“Hmph, I know that! Like yeah, it tastes sweet, but you’re still technically eating corn with milk. Just the idea doesn’t sit right with me. Like you wouldn’t chow down on cream of corn with a tall glass of milk? Or sardines with orange juice? Or chocolate gateau with vodka?”

“Hmm, perhaps I see your point.”

“… I’m not gonna lie, Risotto. Tonight was much more eventful than I imagined… but, in a good way.”

“Yeah, I’m glad.”

“We should… do this more often.”

“If only I wasn’t so swamped with constant work. Otherwise, yes… we should.”

“Heh, look at the time,” he glanced over at the clock. “Way past bedtime. Guess when you’re having fun, you forget the world keeps spinning. Don’t stop for anything.”

“Two!? Oh no, Prosciutto!” Risotto jumped off the couch and hurried to the bedroom. “He hasn’t called in hours. Shit, I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Don’t tell me we’re going out this late,” Ghiaccio lamented, following Risotto into the kitchen. “Must’ve lost track of time. I’m sure they’ll be strolling through that door right now as we speak.”

“Two in the morning? On a work night? Something’s fishy and I gotta get out there.” Risotto threw on his trench coat.

“Risotto-!”

“What!?” Risotto snapped.

“Can you let me speak, dammit!? As I was saying, I… why are you staring over my shoulder?” His boss didn’t say a word, he appeared uncharacteristically more perturbed than normal. “What’s that?” Risotto pointed behind Ghiaccio. The blue-haired gangster turned around to discover something seated at the farthest chair at the dinner table. Ghiaccio was taken aback by its sudden appearance. “Did you bring that in here, Ghiaccio?”

“Hell nah,” the assassin winced. “I dunno what it is but it’s got a bad vibe about it. Maybe it belongs to the others? Though if I were you, I would trash it.” Just on cue, the lock on the front door churned and the door creaked. Five pairs of footsteps tiptoed through the living room, having false hope that Risotto was asleep and unaware of their tardiness. “Had fun?” Risotto flicked the light to help the culprits see better. Woo boy, he did not sound happy. “So much fun that you forgot to call me? It’s almost two in the morning and I haven’t heard from you in hours. I was beginning to suspect all of you were dead.”

“My apologies, boss,” Prosciutto spoke up. “I have no excuses to give you. You have every right to be angry.”

“I am, you’re right. But I’m also disappointed.”

“Right…”

“What’s that?” Risotto pointed at Melone’s suit. Unbeknownst to the others, there was red string poking out of his pocket. He pulled it out to reveal the amulet. “Oh, this? It’s an omamori,” explained Melone. “It’s a good luck charm. I got this at the… at the…? Hmm, where did I get this from?”

“Yeah, where did you get that from?” Formaggio inquired like he had never seen it in his life.

“Hope you didn’t pick it up off the ground,” Illuso replied in disgust. “There could be a hypodermic needle hiding in it. Ya never know.”

“Maybe you bought it from the antique shop?” Pesci suggested as he was in awe at its beauty.

“Hmm, you might be right, Pesci. But I don’t remember buying it. In fact, I don’t remember how I even acquired it. How peculiar.”

“Guys,” Risotto sharply cut off the conversation. “I honestly don’t care at this point, what’s important is that you had a curfew and you broke it. I expected the better from you and you went against my orders. I’m disappointed in all of you. As much as it pains me, I gotta put a tight leash on the five of you. When I say we stay as a team, we stay as a team. This includes working together, going out together, and even staying home together.” That was a worse punishment than scrubbing the toilet for the whole year. It was unfair, but they all snuck out. They could argue and beg all they wanted, but Risotto wouldn’t back down without a fight. “Also,” Risotto continued. “Can anyone speak up on who brought that creepy thing into our apartment?” The five gangsters exchanged puzzled looks with one another. What was he talking about?

“Um, sir, what thing?” Prosciutto questioned. Risotto beckoned them towards to dining area, so they followed him until they reached their destination. Risotto then directed his gaze to the other side of the table. “That.” He was right. There did appear to be something occupying the last chair. It looked small and ornate and trapped in a glass box. Risotto went over and lifted it onto the table. “It wasn’t here this morning. I came across this before you came in. I don’t recall buying it and neither does Ghiaccio. It had to be one of you five. Now who’s the culprit?”

Upon getting a better look at the inanimate thing, there was indeed something striking about it. Formaggio and Illuso glanced at each other uncomfortably. It looked… like they had seen it from somewhere, but they couldn’t put their fingers on it. It was a doll. Not a Raggedy Ann, not a Barbie, but a very old antique doll. Its skin was made out of a pale porcelain and its hair was cut into a short, clean bob. It was dressed in a purple Japanese kimono with crimson petals.

“No way…” Melone’s voice quivered, he appeared to be frozen in an anxious state. His clammy cheeks broke out in goosebumps and his temples dripped with sweat. Despite his teammates’ protests, he took an unsteady step towards the box. “What a… what a…” He opened the glass box and took hold of the little doll. He gazed at her beady stare and her sweet smile.

“Um, Melone? Are you okay?”

“What a… what a… fascinating specimen!” He declared joyfully.

“Uhh… what?” His teammates uttered in unison.

“What an exquisite doll! She’s in great condition! The quality of her kimono! The clean porcelain skin! I love it! I love it! Prosciutto, did you buy her for me? Is this my gift!? Di Molto! What an incredible Christmas present! I’ll cherish it forever and ever! Grazie! Grazie mille! Grazie infinite!”

“Uh, sure Melone. You’re welcome?” Prosciutto couldn’t recall buying a single present that day, but he was too astounded by Melone’s sudden mood shift that he didn’t dwell on the detail for too long. He didn’t even know Melone cared for dolls.

———————————————————————

CHRISTMAS EVE… PESCI’S 21ST BIRTHDAY

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late for work,” Risotto called out whilst throwing on his jacket.

“I’m ready.” Prosciutto followed, he had a dark purple trench coat, plush gloves, and earmuffs. “Ya comin’, birthday boy?”

“Bro, are you sure all these layers are necessary?” Out from the bedroom, Pesci hobbled towards them like a bloated penguin, bundled up in thick parkas and at least three scarves wrapped around his neck. “I feel like I’m gonna die of heatstroke and these scarves are itchy!”

“Don’t wanna get that tree trunk of yours to get cold,” taunted Illuso, pointing at the boy’s sizable neck.

“Aww, bro!”

“Yes, I’m positive. Temperatures are dropping by the minute. Don’t want you catching a cold on your birthday.”

“Aww, okay.” With that, Pesci waddled his way out the door in defeat.

“All bundled and ready to go, sir!” Formaggio beamed, raising a salute.

“Ghiaccio, you good?”

“Yep.”

“Melone, are you ready…?” Risotto boomed. “Melone…?” It didn’t take long to discover that the lanky man was leisurely seated by the dining table. He had a ruler in one hand and his doll in the other. “Intrigante. Such a fascinating discovery.”

“Um, dude.” Formaggio nudged his teammate’s shoulder. “Not a good time to play with your doll. We gotta hike it for the bus. Does that ring a bell for ya?”

“I’m not playing with her, you silly oaf. I believe I just discovered an unexplainable phenomenon. Take a look. Go on.” He beckoned his teammate to look at the ruler. Formaggio stared at him like he had three heads, but he did as he was told and got on his knees. “Now, my fellow colleague, please read out what the measurements say.”

“Um, three inches…?”

“PRECISELY!” He declared to the heavens, almost sending his team into a fit of heart attacks. “Only a couple of hours before the measurements read two and three-fourths! Do you get what I’m saying?”

“May-be?”

“Her hair is growing! It’s unexplainable! It’s impossible! It makes me more intrigued about her.” Melone lovingly hugged his doll like it was his flesh and blood, not before Ghiaccio yoinked it away from him. “I dunno. this thing could be a Stand. It can explain this I got a gut feeling about it…” He squinted at it suspiciously, then handed to it Risotto. “What are your thoughts?” Risotto inspected ever so cautiously. If it was a Stand, any touch could activate it and they could be all doomed.

“… It’s just a doll. There’s no Stand energy coming from it.” He delivered the doll back to Melone. “Put it away. We can’t miss the bus.” Despite being ordered to put the doll down, Melone took his scarf and wrapped it around the doll’s neck, then placed her back in her display box. “We’re ready.”

“Or… do that.” Risotto couldn’t fully comprehend what he just witnessed. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Guess it’s “Bring-Your-Child-to-Work-Day,” Formaggio smirked.

After trekking down the snowy block they had finally reached the bus stop… just to be told the next one would be coming in the next hour. They couldn’t wait that long so they had no better choice but to make it to work on foot. For the rest of their journey, the team had chastised Melone for making them late for the bus and if it weren’t for him playing with his doll, there wouldn’t be snow trapped in their boots and getting their socks wet. However, their feet would be wet no longer since the store was in plain sight. There, they spotted Janis at the front, presumably opening the shop.

“Good day, Janis,” greeted Risotto casually, which changed into confusion when he noticed she was, with great difficulty, barricading the front doors with a multitude of locks and chains. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m closing shop.”

“Closing shop? Like, for good?” Formaggio asked with the biggest smile.

“No, ya dolt! I mean for the day!” She whirled around. “If you MUST know, last night was an absolute DISASTER! The store was running smoothly and then out of the blue, the lights went out. Drove the whole store into chaos! Problem was faulty wiring or a dumb rat chewed all the wires or something. Whatever, it’s irrelevant. The real problem is my husband, being the “saint” that he is, decided to close the store for Christmas and Christmas Eve. Buh! Like we were closed five days straight, this store can’t afford to drop in sales because that blockhead thinks everyone deserves a vacation.”

“So what does that entail for us?”

“Do I gotta spell it out for you? Get out of my hair and go home!” That caused the team to whine and boo and for good measure, Ghiaccio threw a half-assed snowball in Melone’s face for making them trek in the cold for nothing. “Also…” Janis continued.

“Also what?” Risotto quirked a brow.

“I need you to come to the ball on New Year’s Eve.”

“Janis, I told you. I can’t make it.”

“No. I NEED you to come.” Quite a forceful way to ask a favor. “Before you start yapping my ear off with a bunch of stupid inquiries, let me elaborate. A bunch of my husband’s colleagues are coming to the venue and my husband… needs a representative from the store. It’s YOUR job to stroll around with him and gush to his rich friends how great the store is running and how well everyone is getting along.”

Was… she talking about him? “Representative? Why me? Wouldn’t you be a better choice to represent the store? You are his wife and co-supervisor. Or the very least, Ashanti? She seems to bring the pep to the store’s step.”

“He just doesn’t want us to. So supportive of him, am I right? For some oddball reason, he’s obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed with me?”

“Yes. He’s completely head over heels for you. No, I don’t mean there’s wedding bells involved, he just wants you and only you to snack on aged cheese with him and praise the business to those old farts. When I broke the news you weren’t coming, he dropped to his knees and BEGGED me to persuade you to come. I guess I can see his reasoning. You have an inspiring story to tell.”

“A… story?”

“Picture it. A simple low-class immigrant who had nothing but the clothes on his back, going from job to job, struggling to feed his six baby brothers. He was down on his luck when suddenly, a shining bright light appeared in front of his very eyes. No, not the store’s LED sign. That light… was hope.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” Illuso chuckled. He had to give her props, it was the most ridiculously hilarious thing he heard all day.

“He came in with open arms. Worked himself to the bone. Some days were great, some days were rough, coming home to an empty refrigerator and a broken spirit. But he never gave up! Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. He worked harder, he worked smarter! Pushing up the ranks from a wide-eyed employee to a wise old teacher.”

“I’m only 28…”

“AAAND speaking of which, let’s not forget he couldn’t do it without the love and support of his teachers, such as yours truly. Suffice it to say, this determined, yet simple man not only became a manager or a mentor… but a member of the ShopSmart Mart family. Aaaand, roll the credits. A sensational tale of rags-to-riches that’ll tug the heartstrings of even the most hardened of robber barons.”

“I mean we’re not exactly getting rich off of slicing ham every day or scraping gum off the walls,” Ghiaccio snarked.

“I mean rich in heart, got it? Look, the objective here is to smile and say good things about the store. Easy. Don’t worry about transportation, he ordered a limo for you. Oh! Don’t forget to look sharp either.” She pressed her pug-looking face to his and threatened, “and if you step out of line, or if you back out the last second, I will personally end you. Sooooo, do we have ourselves a deal?”

“Yes. On one condition.” He motioned his thumb over his shoulder. “They come with me.”

“WHAT!? No, no, no, no, no, no, no! It’s one thing to have you there, but all seven of you? I’d rather dive head first off a cliff!”

“Then the deal’s off. He won’t have a representative.”

“Then I’ll fire you!”

“Eh-hem. May I say a few words?” Prosciutto chimed into the conversation. Risotto and Janis glanced at each other, then at Prosciutto. “Thank you.”The blonde strutted up to the prickly witch. “Janis, sweetie. Let me put this into perspective. Are you positively sure you wanna do that? Fire one of your most valued managers? Right before the holidays? Will that look good for your husband and his business? What will his rich friends think?”

“Fine… I’ll let this slide. One time. One. Time. Uno. Timero. Oh, almost forgot.” She turned her heel towards Formaggio, Melone, Illuso, and Pesci. “I have something for you four,” she pulled from her pant pocket four slips. “This is for compensation. Dunno how or why, but this is for yesterday.” She went to give them to Risotto, but at the last second she gripped onto them and it took some elbow grease for Risotto to rip them from her hand. “Don’t forget, limo’s picking you up at 7 pm on New Year’s Eve. And remember, if any of you step out of line, you’re all fired!”

“Fair enough,” Risotto shrugged and turned to Prosciutto. “It hasn’t been a day and you’re already on my shit list.”

“If you’re referring to failing to call you and coming home late, I’ll be more than willing to admit fault for that. But keep in mind, you said we gotta stay as a team wherever we go. Therefooore, I just helped you get the seven of us on Santa’s Nice List.” Risotto couldn’t argue with that. Their conversation was cut short but a sudden yelp that came from Formaggio.

“Wooo! $500! My dumbass doesn’t remember a single damn thing from yesterday, but I must’ve done something pretty neat enough for some extra allowance. I’ll take it! Wait… hold the phone.” It had only occurred to Formaggio that his thumb was blocking the rest of the full amount and when moved his thumb, it revealed another zero. His mouth could’ve dropped to his boots. “There’s no way. I… I must be losing my marbles. Quick, read this! Tell me I’m goin’ mad!” Formaggio passed his check to his boss. Risotto observed it, then his eyebrows perked up in astonishment. “You’re not.” Risotto handed him back his check. “I ain’t? Holy hell! I hit the mother load!” Formaggio exclaimed. “$5000! Hahahaha! It’s a dream come true!”

“This can’t be,” Illuso exclaimed in disbelief. “My check! It says $5000 too.”

“Me three!” Melone added.

“Me four!” Pesci piped. The four assassins slowly looked up at each other. This had to be a trick. They must’ve been trapped in a dream world or something of that sort, or at the very least a cruel prank pulled by none other than Janis. No, they couldn’t deny it, it was indeed the real deal. Before long, they huddled in a circle formation and danced, all the while squealing giddily like a bunch of schoolgirls. “Can you believe this, fellas? 5,000 dollars each! That’s 20,000 dollars right there! I can pay off my hospital bills!”

“Di molto! We don’t have to worry about rent!” He embraced his doll through the glass display.

“We can get ourselves a Christmas tree!” Pesci hummed dreamily, he could already smell the fresh pine scent filling his nostrils and fantasizing a strong, lively tree bedecked with strikingly festive decor in the corner of their dank apartment.

“Janis, ya heavenly godsend! Maybe there is a good bone in that wee body after all! Hell, I could even kiss you!” Illuso beamed before rudely remarking, “Buuuut you look like you have a disease, so, I’ll pass.”

“Hmph, sure ain’t missing much,” Janis grumbled. “And don’t thank me, thank my husband. Merry-fuckin’-Christmas…” She huffed before waddling down the snowy sidewalk, leaving the seven employees in the godforsaken cold.

“Now what?” Prosciutto inquired his leader. “If the store’s closed, that means we got nothing to do but to spruce the apartment which shouldn’t take the whole day.”

“You’re right. How much shopping did you get done?”

“Frankly, not much,” Prosciutto rubbed his cheek. “We ate and spent the rest of the night in Central Park. I would like to point out that if the seven of us are expected to show up to this snooty lil’ party, we’re gonna need some fitted suits.”

“Very well,” Risotto sighed. “I guess I do owe Pesci a birthday present. A promise is a promise.” He brought everyone back with a clap. “Saddle up men, we’re going shopping.”

“WOO, CHRISTMAS SHOPPING!”

“But first,” Prosciutto began, they were dreading there’d be a catch and sure enough there was. “We’ll stop by the bank to cash in the checks. THEN, you four will wrap up the rest of the chores, which will include cleaning the dishes, mopping the floors, taking out the trash, and vacuuming the living room. When you get those tasks completed, we’ll go out.”

“Awww…” The four grown men whined. “C’mon! ‘Tis the season!” Illuso cried out. “You don’t have to kill the vibe by being such a scrooge!”

“Nope! No bellyaching! ‘Tis the season and if you bitch and moan, you’ll find yourself with nothing but coal. Know why? ‘Cause Santa’s got eyes on every side of his head and he’s. Watching. Your. Every. Move. Comprende…?”

The smug bastard grinned nonchalantly. “Whatever you say, Mother Dearest…”

“C’mon, race ya home!” Formaggio playfully challenged his long-haired friend. “Last one’s gotta cough up $1,000!”

“Have fun losing, loser,” laughed Illuso, stuffing a generous pile of snow into his friend’s hood and flipping it over his fuzzy head. “That toilet’s callin’ your name!”

“Haha hey, no cheating!”

To Be Continued…