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“What’s going on?”
Under hasty breaths, Buccellati could be seen holding Trish’s unconscious body, over the stairs leading to the harbor at San Giorgio Maggiore’s church. His teammates, observing his pale skin and trembling hands, could only wonder why he’d had to bring her back. Their missions’ objective had been to take her to the Boss, which had left them confused: except for Giorno, who had managed to witness only a fraction of what Buccellati had been through.
“What happened, Buccellati? Explain yourself! What have you done!?”
With tension all over their faces, and concern on their eyes, the team watched as Buccellati finished composing himself, leaving Trish’s body on a small wooden boat, anchored near the stairs. Buccellati’s attempts to keep his cool were futile, yet he showed no signs of sweating, which seemed to be a side effect of Gold Experience’s frantic healing.
Buccellati and Giorno looked at each, before the capo turned towards his team, taking a deep breath. “I know you have questions. I’ll cut to the chase,” he said with a calm voice, much to their worries. “I can’t explain everything right now. We don’t have time, and danger will be closing in.”
As if trying to hide away his pain and dizziness, Buccellati scowled, his expression turning serious. “I’ve returned with Trish because I betrayed the Boss!” He exclaimed. “I will be parting with you all here, because… If you come with me, you’ll be branded as traitors as well!”
Fugo brought a hand to his forehead, watching in awe as Buccellati stood in front of the team, determined to hunt down the Boss. Becoming a traitor in Passione meant death in most occasions: one only had to see what had happened to the Assassination Team two years ago. If they had lost two members solely for attempting to investigate the Bosses’ identity, then Fugo didn’t even want to know what his own team could face in the future.
He had heard tales about the Boss’s Elite Guards before. They were a small unit, though not to be underestimated. However, around the same time those two members from the Assassination Team had been murdered, there had been rumors of a team of gangsters that would make any assassin look tame. Fugo hoped they were irrelevant enough for the Boss to not have to resort to them.
“Buccellati,” Abbacchio asked, frowning back at him, hands on hips as he walked towards his capo. “What’s gotten into you? What even happened in there!?”
“I– No, we should explain, Buccellati,” Giorno said, as he gulped down some saliva, anxious about whether Gold Experience’s healing had been enough. “It would be helpful for everyone to know–”
A furious Abbacchio grabbed Giorno’s suit from its neck, pulling the younger man closer to him, ready to reprimand him. “And what’s up with you!? You can’t just go around like that, disrespecting your capo’s orders!”
Mista interjected, attempting to pull Abbacchio away from Giorno. “Hey, calm down! I think we should just let them explain what exactly went down with the Boss,” he commented, as Abbacchio huffed at Giorno, withdrawing his hand from Giorno’s clothes. “Perhaps… Perhaps, there’s a good reason as to why all of this is happening.”
Narancia couldn't bring himself to say anything. Instead, he stared at Trish's body, dumbfounded, with heavy breathing. He didn't even want to think about what could have happened to her.
“Buccellati,” Fugo spoke, as he slowly approached his capo. “You look pale,” he commented, noticing a small piece of cloth that had been torn off his capo's shoulder. “Was your shoulder injured?”
After looking at Fugo, Buccellati suddenly fell to the floor, as dizziness took over his body, feeling the remnants of his blood pressure drop. The rest of the team watched, perturbed, as their capo attempted to stand up on his own: both Giorno and Fugo noticed that he'd punctured his hand with a small screw on the floor.
When they noticed that no blood was coming out of his wound, they rushed towards him, as Fugo helped him stand up. Giorno watched, distraught, as he tried to find the correct words to break out the news to the rest of the team.
“...Thank you,” Buccellati gasped for air.
“Giorno,” Fugo turned towards the younger teenager. “Please, do tell us… What happened?”
The team watched in anticipation as Giorno mustered enough courage to speak to them. Though, before Giorno could say anything, Buccellati raised his head, attempting to moisten his dried up lips.
“The Boss,” he raised his voice steadily, gaining the attention of his subordinates. “He wanted us to bring Trish to him… Because he wanted to kill her.”
There were no words.
Narancia felt his stomach drop as Buccellati finished talking. His heart skipped a beat, and a knot formed on his throat: he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Trish hadn't been exactly warm towards the team, though he'd started trusting her over the short time they had spent together.
Abbacchio and Mista stared at Buccellati in shock. Much like Narancia, they hadn't exactly gotten along with Trish, yet had warmed up to her along the week. They had been lied to: the Boss had never intended to reunite with Trish in the first place.
Fugo's eyelids twitched as he supported Buccellati’s body, feeling his strength drop for a small moment. “What do you mean… Kill her?”
“Listen,” Buccellati spoke again. “This is just what I think, but… The Boss is trying to hide his identity, as if to completely erase himself from existence. Trish is his daughter. He wants her gone because of their bond.”
Giorno started to tremble, his coping mechanism acting up, keeping himself from tearing up. “Buccellati confronted the Boss. That's why I headed towards the church. I sensed that something was wrong.”
Abbacchio lowered his eyes. Though he was still mad at Giorno for disobeying an order, it didn’t take him too long to realize the true severity of the situation. It had become clear to him, as well as the rest of the team, that the Boss had attacked Buccellati: and, given the capo’s delicate state, it seemed that he had overwhelmed the team in terms of strength.
Mista removed his hat, his sweat-soaked curly hair no longer hidden by the accessory, and shook his head, his dark eyes darting over to Trish and then towards his capo. “I can’t believe the Boss would lie to us like that… Though, it makes sense,” he paused. “If what Buccellati’s saying is true, then he would absolutely want his daughter gone.”
Narancia was still unable to bring himself to speak. He was far too shocked by what had happened, as well as Buccellati and Giorno’s words: in a way, he could relate to Trish. Their families had given up on them, and their closer acquaintances had betrayed them in some way. He feared the day the team would have to break out the bad news to her, and how she might react to such a confession.
Fugo pressed his eyes shut. His initial choice, purely driven by his logic, would be to not betray the Boss, and to keep himself away from danger, even if it meant abandoning his team. However, Buccellati and the rest of his teammates had been everything he’d known for the last three years, and he sure as hell didn’t want to go back to his shaky life outside of Passione.
He crossed his arms, and looked at Narancia for a brief moment. His friend simply stood there, frozen, unable to acknowledge him or his other teammates. Narancia had always been the more emotional of the two, despite the many lessons which Fugo had attempted to teach him regarding logical thinking: it was no surprise that he couldn’t find the correct words to say, or that he was barely reacting at all. Fugo felt his heart sinking even more by thinking about that.
Buccellati cleared his throat, a sharp pain running across his body as he lowered himself towards the boat, taking a seat close to Trish. He turned to his team, staring at them with pure resolve on his eyes. “I won’t loathe you if you choose not to join me… I know it’s a difficult choice for all of you,” he paused, as he brought a hand to his forehead, its surface cold to the touch. “I’ll give you some time to think, as I assume the Boss won’t attack us if we’re in a group. But, when you’re ready, get on the boat with us.”
For several moments, there was pure silence, only broken by the sounds of distant birds and gentle breezes. It was clear to Buccellati that Giorno would be getting on the boat: after all, his team had been unknowingly following Giorno’s goal, and the young teenager had healed him after his brief encounter with the Boss.
After some time, Abbacchio walked down the steps, his sight set on Buccellati, not bothering to look at Giorno or the others.
“I am a man without a home… I’m an outcast, just like the rest of you. But,” he briefly paused, “even if nobody gets on this boat, I will… I swore loyalty to this organization, yet I can’t go back to having a normal life, knowing everything I’ve been doing these years.”
Buccellati grabbed the turtle, ready to place Trish inside of it. “Abbacchio…”
“I know it’s foolish of me to say this, but… I feel at home when I’m by your side, Buccellati,” Abbacchio continued as he got on the boat, much to the team’s shock, and Giorno’s relief. “If you’re going down, I might as well follow you.”
Showing a trivial smile, Giorno commended his superior. “Abbacchio–”
Abbacchio scowled back at him. “And just what are you smiling at, Giorno Giovanna?”
Giorno ignored Abbacchio’s comment, then looked at Fugo, and immediately understood how he was feeling. To him, it was likely that Fugo would lecture his teammates, regardless of the position they chose: Giorno didn’t know what Fugo’s story with Buccellati was, though he could sense that the teenager cared enough about himself to do something as foolish as going on a suicide mission.
The two locked eyes for a fleeting moment, then looked away. Giorno had become so focused on Fugo and his possible reaction, that he hadn’t noticed Mista walking up to the boat.
“Let’s say you manage to take down the Boss,” he talked, stretching his shoulders as he stepped towards Giorno, and whispered. “I know what kind of person Buccellati is. He’s all talk, yet, he wouldn’t get into a fight he could lose. That’s how confident he is,” he chuckled, then rose his voice towards Buccellati. “We’ve already been through hell and back, whatwith those pesky assassins. Something tells me we can do this. We will escape Venezia alive, even if it’s by the skin of our feet.”
Somehow, Mista had managed to read Fugo’s exact thoughts. The younger teenager had supposed that they would not be making it out of Venezia alive: to him, at least one person would be losing their life. Fugo thought of Abbacchio and Mista as fools for joining Buccellati and Giorno, especially for a goal as moronic as overthrowing the gang. He wanted to scream at them, to berate them over their choice, for choosing to risk their lives for a girl whose musical taste they didn’t even know.
And yet, something was stirring inside of Fugo’s mind.
As much as he resented his comrades and their idiotic choices, Fugo didn’t just want to stand there. He didn’t want to voice his thoughts, pointless as they were, and simply observe as his teammates left him behind: Fugo had accepted that Narancia would join them at some point. Fugo knew well that the rest of the team would ignore his words, his own choice, if he dared to talk.
What had initially been a perfect, logical thought, had started turning into something else.
The idea of abandoning a young girl, whose own father had attempted to murder, because Fugo had barely spoken to her, frightened the teenager. After all, he’d rescued Narancia from the streets, despite his apparent anonymity. He’d seen Narancia eat rotten food, attempting to survive by himself in a town that cared nothing for him. Even Fugo, who had been abandoned by his family after defending himself, had experienced something similar.
Fugo brought his hand over his neck, just shy of his carotid artery, to feel his own quivering pulse. Betraying the Boss didn’t make any sense to him, but neither did abandoning someone whose life was in danger for daring to exist. It simply didn’t sit right with him. If I helped Narancia, then, why not Trish? , he thought.
He watched Abbacchio bicker with Mista and Giorno as his thoughts began to solidify. Meanwhile, Narancia had grabbed his head in confusion, which Fugo hadn’t taken long to notice. As much as it hurt him to, Fugo had to be frank with his friend.
“Narancia,” Fugo spoke softly, as he adjusted his hair. “I know… I know what you’re thinking.”
A frightened Narancia withdrew his arms from his head, looking at Fugo with desperation in his eyes. “W-What’s it now?”
“You can relate to Trish, right?”
Narancia took some moments to respond. “Kind of… I mean, she… She was just abandoned by someone she was meant to trust,” he lowered his eyes, occasionally shifting them towards the younger teenager. “My friends abandoned me too, and so did my dad… I know how she must be feeling.”
Fugo recalled the day the two of them met, adding to his misery. “You know, Narancia… I had first thought this whole ordeal about protecting her meant nothing. After all, we’d only known her for a couple of minutes.”
Before Buccellati got the boat’s motor started, Giorno signaled at him to pay attention to Fugo and Narancia.
“That’s why… I didn’t like Buccellati’s idea of becoming traitors at first,” Fugo continued, speaking louder, enough for the team to hear him. “It would be like placing permanent targets on our backs… We’d be shunned by the entire gang, and the Boss would surely send member after member to take us out.”
“I, well,” Narancia murmured, then raised his voice. “I just don’t want to leave Trish alone! Even if it means putting our lives on the line… I want to keep protecting her.”
“I knew you would say that, Narancia,” Fugo paused, then continued, taking on a more firm stance. “I also knew that I would be ignored if I voiced my initial thoughts, so… I watched how the rest of the team reacted, and, chose to think about it some more. I didn’t want to just make a hasty choice, like I always do.”
Buccellati recomposed himself, and stood up with Giorno’s help, much to Abbacchio’s discontent. “Fugo.”
“I’ve known Buccellati for longer than most of you have, and I knew he would do something like this. Making a choice between betraying my team or the entire gang proved to be quite a challenge, but… I think I’ve made a decision.”
As Narancia gradually calmed down, Fugo took one step towards the boat, determined, which the older teenager noticed.
“This is not what I was planning on doing, but I can’t keep running away from everything, like I always do,” Fugo stated, just a step from getting on the boat. “This is no longer about staying loyal to the Boss, or the gang… This is about my loyalty to my capo, and my teammates,” he continued, as he got on the boat, next to Trish. “For as long as I’m here, I’m your ally.”
Buccellati’s eyes lightened up, as if Fugo’s words just now had brought him back from the dead, much like Giorno’s healing. His smile was soft, yet bright: it had managed to bring back hope to the entire team, even to Narancia, who had been left shaking after the incident.
As Giorno helped Buccellati settle down on the boat again, Narancia walked up to him, his expression less fearful than before. Fugo’s words had done a number on him, and, alongside his own will to protect Trish and his comrades, Narancia had made his final choice.
“This might sound silly, but,” Narancia spoke out loud, “that wound on Trish’s wrist… That’s my wound too. We were both betrayed by people we were meant to trust, so… I won’t abandon her, or my team for that matter!”
Fugo couldn’t help but to crack a smile at Narancia’s sheer determination. After Narancia boarded the boat, Giorno joined them shortly afterwards, after using Gold Experience to sense that there was nobody around to ambush them. Though, according to Buccellati, the Boss would likely ignore them if they were on a group: chances are that he had left the church already.
After the entire team adjusted themselves to the small boat, Buccellati started the engine, and guided the team towards their next location. Fugo watched as the church became smaller and smaller the more they advanced: he then turned towards his teammates, still unsure of what could’ve happened with Buccellati, though resolved nonetheless.
Even if it had hurt at first, Fugo hadn’t regretted his choice.