summary; since enji took you, you’ve only really missed one thing; your houseplants. no, wait, not the houseplants themselves. you miss the control you had over them.
a/n; for @neroesecuzioni. thank you for supporting the blm global network! commission a fic here
tw; kidnapping, dub-con, nsfw
word count; 3.4k
🌱
Before Enji took you, all you had for company were your houseplants. Some hanging from the ceiling, spilling over the terracotta pots, other taller than you were with broad, glossy leaves. Some of them were tiny little succulents, pointy and dainty and smaller than the palm of your hand. All of them healthy and fresh and most importantly, alive. Alive by your hand and love. You miss them, the products of your hard work and love.
“Enji?” He grunts out a sound of acknowledgement, though his eyes don’t leave the laptop screen in front of him.
“What happened to my houseplants?” At your question he finally looks up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.
“What?” You fidget with the phone in your hand, debating whether or not to drop the subject and go back to pinning ideas for house decor. Something masochistic in you urges you on.
“My houseplants. You know the ones I used to have all over my apartment? Are they still there or?” You let your question trail off, tone light and neutral, but you can see a muscle in Enji’s jaw twitch. He doesn’t like talking about your life before him. Sometimes you forget you had a life before him.
“The movers probably threw them out. Just put it on the card if you want to buy more.” His gaze is already back on the laptop screen, and while you wish he would’ve said more you can’t expect the number one pro hero to pull himself away from his work to answer your silly questions about some plants.
You busy yourself with picking out the perfect plants to keep in a bathroom, imagining how cute they’ll look hanging from the ceiling and juxtaposed against the white tile of the shower wall. Leaves falling on the bathroom floor shouldn’t be a problem, but even if they do? Well, you do have to leave your mark in this house somehow. How else would you let Enji know that you’re living here?
God, I had the most vivid dream where I was a client that accidentally seduced Bruno and Leone by being my annoying self when I'm babysitting my god daughter and did it give me inspirations I didn't need? Absolutely.
The conference room in the Passione headquarters was barren with small windows and harsh white lights. You lounged in the leather office chair at the table, already regretting making a deal with Giorno. The convincing little shit.
You crossed your legs and waited.
La Squadra di Esecuzioni had said they’d meet you at headquarters if only to assess the proposal you sent to Giorno. The deal you’d cut them was nearly too perfect for people in their field. A steady flow of money wasn’t always guaranteed for the mafia, especially assassins. It was nearly perfect, if their client wasn’t you.
The sun blazed through the large airport windows and the soft, hazy morning mist descended upon Naples. You hadn’t been in the since your last photo shoot for some jewellery line two years ago but you heard news about an old friend while preparing a home base for your art exploits in Europe.
The little kid you once saved from a beating after a pick-pocketing incident in Naples when he was ten and still had black hair was now the Don of the Passione and blond if your sources were right. You had meant to visit him two years ago but he was a hard kid to track down and meet within a time span of three days. However, now, you had all the time in the world with your current job as an artist and you were going to buy him an espresso like you promised all those years ago.
You tapped the screen of your phone and hummed.
I didn’t know you turned blond, you sent a text message and signed it with your typical Devil Yin attached to let him know it was you.
Your luggage trembled as you traversed through the bustling airport, looking for a sign with your name on it. The private driver you hired had given you explicit instructions.
A tall man with silvery hair and in his fifties stood among the small crowds waiting for other passengers but held a small sign with your name written boldly in black. You shot him a friendly smile and waved. He bowed his head and tucked away the sign, gesturing for you to follow him.
“Hello, sir. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”
“Not at all, young miss,” he answered as he led you to a black car, “please, hand me your luggage. I trust your flight went well?”
“As well as any fourteen hour flight can go,” you replied wryly.
He opened the door for you and you slipped into the backseat, crossing your legs. The silky fabric of your pants pressed into your skin and you itched to get out of them to let your body breath after the stale plane air.
“Still the villa in Napoli, miss?”
“Yes, take your time. I still need to decompress from the trip and car rides are perfect for that.”
Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you pulled it out.
How did you know that?
You smiled and typed out quickly. I just do. Remember that espresso I promised you six years ago? You’re old enough to drink one now, don’t you think?
I accept your offer. Where are you staying? I’ll send a car over.
You texted him the address to your villa and told him to meet you at lunch. That would give you enough time to decompress, get ready, and unpack half of your things. You were staying in Italy for a while, after all.
///
A black sedan with a polite but distant driver picked you up thirty minutes before noon and deposited you in front of a little cafe tucked in between a bakery and a bookstore. You walked in, the sharp but comforting scent of espresso wafted and curled around you.
A blond head of dramatic curls peeked out from a booth along with a shock of black-blue hair.
“I, Giorno Giovanna, will be a Gangstar!” The kid proclaimed.
That looked enough like a dramatic Gangstar to you.
“Giorno Giovanna?” you asked.
The boy turned around and sharp turquoise eyes landed on you. “It’s really you, Yin.”
“The one and only.” Your gaze slid to the man sitting beside him and you blinked. “Bruno Buccellati?”
“Devil Yin,” he greeted, a welcoming smile on his face. “It’s been a while.”
“…well, it seems like I’m caught as a disadvantage,” you said, “may I sit?”
“Yes, of course.” Giorno waved his hand. “Actually, you decided to visit at a good time.”
You sat down across from them and scrutinised the two. They were well put together with expensive suits, styled hair, and gleaming jewellery. “I’ve heard. Don of the Passione at sixteen is quite a feat. You really did become a Gangstar. Congratulations.”
Giorno smiled. “Thank you, but that’s not why your visit is…fortunate.”
“I assume the reason is why you’re here as well, signore Buccellati,” you said, guarded.
Buccellati smiled. “Perhaps Bruno would be best, signorina Yin.”
That wasn’t actually your name but you didn’t comment further, scanning the cafe. A red-patterned hat caught your eye, peeking out from another booth, and another booth with a familiar looking man with long silver hair caught your eye.
The presence of the Capo of Squadra Guardie del corpo along with his team was either a very good thing or a very bad thing and you sure hoped it was the former. You did not want to get shot at when you were trying to buy an espresso for a brat you met six years ago. You didn’t even know if this was a good idea considering the pendulum could swing any way and you wouldn’t know it.
“Hello!” A waitress swanned in, smiling prettily. “Is there anything I can get for you today?”
“A caffè lungo,” you said, staring at the two men across from you.
Giorno smiled charmingly at the waitress. “The same as her.”
“A caffè macchiato,” Bruno said.
You narrowed your eyes at them when the waitress disappeared with your orders.
“Now, why is Leone Abbacchio, signore Buccellati’s right hand man, and some strange teenager with a stand also in this cafe?” You leaned back. “I guess this isn’t the casual meeting I proposed?”
Giorno and Bruno exchanged glances and a smile cracked the blond’s facade.
“Still as perceptive as ever,” he said.
“And that’s not an answer.”
Bruno leaned forward, hands brace on the table. “We have a proposal for you, signorina Yin.”
“Listen, I’m just here to buy Giorno the espresso I promised he could have when he turned sixteen the last time we met. Not for any business with the Passione.”
He smiled, amused and infinitely a softer charm compared to the teenager beside him.
“Come work for me in the Passione as an assassin,” Giorno said lowly. Calm, steady, and self-assured, and the turquoise eyes intense as he stared at you.
You looked at the waitress reappearing with your drinks, waiting for her to set them down and leave their presence once more. She probably knew they were the mafia with how quickly she scurried away.
“No,” you said and pushed Giorno’s drink at him while sliding the macchiato towards Bruno. The man accepted it graciously but your gaze didn’t leave Giorno’s unchanging expression.
“No?” he asked calmly.
“I quit the business, Giorno.” You shook your head and slid your phone across the table towards him with one of your galleries from Seattle, Washington. “I’m a painter and model now with a lot of money in stocks. I can’t go around assassinating people without drawing attention to myself. I put that life behind me for a reason.”
“We need someone of your calibre especially after the power change,” he insisted. “Our assassination team lost two members before the change in power. They need a new but experienced hand and with your skills, their repertoire would expand. The amount of missions would increase for them.”
You tilted your head. “…I’ll give you twenty minutes to give me the full story and another five to convince me.”
He smirked.
///
You cradled your empty cup, staring into the ceramic.
“That’s a ride,” you finally said. “A very, very long ride with too many lane changes and things going downhill but I don’t see what this has to do with you wanting me to become an assassin.”
“La Squadra Esecuzoni were being underutilised by Diavolo and we don’t want them to feel the same as they had beneath him,” Bruno explained.
“You’re afraid they’ll rebel.” You set down the cup. “And that’s not something you can afford right now. Aren’t they satisfied with the territory you’ve given them?”
“No,” Giorno said, leaning forward on folded hands. “They want more after helping us overthrow Diavolo.”
“I won’t become an assassin again,” you said.
Giorno’s expression furrowed and Bruno’s shoulders tensed, ever so slightly, but they wouldn’t force you to bend to their will. They were too nice for that.
“But… I think there’s a way I can help you.”
“Without becoming an assassin?” Bruno asked.
“I have a job in mind for them. How do they feel about being bodyguards?” You set your hands on the table between you. “I might need some while I’m here.”
“Bodyguards?” Giorno blinked.
“Did you know I was held hostage a few months ago by some pirates in the Indian Ocean? None of my friends answered my texts for two weeks. It really hurt my feelings.”
The two men in front of you exchanged looks.
///
It was rare for Risotto to call a team meeting nowadays. The last time had been hunting down Diavolo with Buccellati’s squad but he was dead and Giorno hadn’t done anything yet.
Risotto sat at the head of their conference table in their new headquarters.
“The Boss has a new mission for us,” he announced. Red eyes surveyed their reactions. “As bodyguards to an important client.”
"What the fuck?” Ghiaccio said. “We’re fucking assassins and he’s sending us as bodyguards? Who the fuck does he think he is? Is he downgrading us?”
“Buccellati’s squad can’t handle it?” Prosciutto raised an eyebrow.
“We have no choice but to accept.” Risotto slid a document into the centre of the table. “It’s a long term contract. Two of us at all times. Cash salary.”
“Di molto,” Melone breathed, eyes wide. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Holy shit.” Formaggio leaned forward to look closer at the papers. “Who the fuck are we protecting? A princess?”
“Is that a clause for vacation pay?” Illuso asked, incredulous. “They’re offering hitmen vacation pay?”
Prosciutto ran his fingers over the numbers, brows furrowed. “How did Giovanna secure something like this?”
Pesci’s eyes flickered between the other members then his black eyes landing on his mentor and asked nervously, “This is good… right, bro?”
Prosciutto didn’t answer, deep in thought as he leafed through the papers.
“Why the fuck is he giving us this mission instead of Buccellati’s squad? They’re meant for guarding. What’s Giovanna planning?” Ghiaccio scowled, arms crossed. “He would not give us something like this without leverage.”
“Giovanna said the client specifically requested us.” Risotto’s deep voice interrupted him before he could fall into a rant.
Ghiaccio adjusted his red glasses and smoothed his blue curls.
“Giorno said the client wants us to meet them at Passione headquarters.” Risotto folded his hands over the table, the black sclera of his eyes emphasised the red of his gaze. The resolve in his eyes silencing the rest of the members’ protests. “I will take Prosciutto and Illuso with me.”
“This is a hard offer to turn down,” Melone said.
“Do you have to say something we already know?” Illuso sighed.
///
Summary: La Squadra Esecuzioni ends up helping Bruno’s squad defeat Diavolo and everyone lives but the journey hasn’t even begun. Giorno becomes Don of the Passione and revolutionises the mafia but La Squadra finds themselves underutilized despite the new territory they’ve been given. At least, until you, an old friend of Giorno’s, takes a trip back to Naples. What they never expect is that you’re a whirlwind in disguise and they can’t help but get caught in your restless winds.
This entire storyline takes place in the year 2020 and everyone is alive. I can’t write a story without modern day technology or memes. Yes, this is a shitty first chapter. It might get better from here on out but we’re trying to establish a snappy first base for the zero attention span squad (me, that squad is me.)
Summary: If you stayed tonight, then you would stay tomorrow, and the day after that, and who knows how many week or months it would become? No. He never looked back and you would do the same.
(ao3 link)
You pressed your back against the warm window glazed by sunlight and rolled the white gold ring adorning your middle finger, unable to look at the sapphire that resembled his eyes.
Prosciutto was on a long-term mission, two weeks if he had estimated correctly, and you were alone in your apartment once again after a day in the office and the farewell party your coworkers threw in your name. You had put in the paperwork for a transfer two weeks ago to another branch and today you had received the confirmation for a position as an art director in Nice, France.
The movers had already packed your things into a truck on it's way to a storage unit in Nice.
All that was left in the apartment was you and his things and what a bitter taste it left in your mouth.
You had never thought you'd leave him but after he came home late one night, buzzed and in a slightly wrinkled suit, smelling of perfume that you didn't recognise, the possibility grew. The tiny snowball had rolled down the hill into something much larger as the past few months passed by.
Maybe you should've kept your eyes averted but you couldn't and what had turned up after your friend investigated might've not surprised you but it had hurt.
It had hurt a lot more than you ever thought it would.
Your entire world torn asunder.
You had kept a serious relationship with Prosciutto for two long years, moving in together after one year together. You had become his confidant, his best friend, and accepted him thoroughly despite being a hitman. That fact about him hadn't surprised or bothered you a bit. You had told him you loved him, perhaps a bit too prematurely for your tastes, but when he had said it with his eyes shining, hand pressed against the small of your back, you had believed him. The words left your mouth incidentally but you had meant them.
A stupid, irrational action in hindsight.
The thought spurred you on to take off your ring and set it on the white marble kitchen island.
Well, you weren't married luckily and a break up like this was cleaner than a divorce. Somehow, the dark thought comforted you more than anything else had. A careful man like him with changing tastes wouldn't have settled down so early on anyway and it was a dead-end anyhow.
You glanced at the sun high in the summer sky, sunset closing in once night would arrive.
This was the first mission in two months where he'd be gone for a week or longer. The first long term mission since you found out about his...indiscretions and your only chance to disappear before he could try to stop you. This was your only chance.
The thoughts didn't weaken the hurt you held deep in your heart and had yet to let go of. His late night kisses and passions had never managed to give you any comfort.
You tore off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and set down a stack of papers beside the note you had written.
On your way out, you turned off the lights and set down the key on the sleek entryway table you had built together before locking the door and shutting it behind you.
You didn't look back once.
///
He ran his fingers through his loose hair as he pulled off his shoes.
The two week long mission barely lasted longer than three days and he had turned down any invitations to go out drinking. All he wanted to do was go home, eat a warm meal, take a shower, and rest in your gentle embrace for hours before falling asleep. He tossed his shoes into the drawers by the entryway table and walked into the living room.
Prosciutto frowned as he looked around.
The apartment was clean, the white marble glistening as usual, but the little touches you had added to make the place cosier and softer were gone. Candles, blankets, decorations, and photos vanished. It was as if he was looking in the lifeless showroom the apartment once had been before you added your warmth into your shared home. Perhaps you were going to make changes again despite having done it four months ago.
He called out your name softly and strolled to the master bedroom when there was no answer.
Were you asleep? It was rather late but you were a light sleeper and he had stumbled in, slightly off-balance due to a knee injury. You would've normally woken up to greet him despite the time.
The bed was clean and almost iron-pressed with sharp lines. Untouched. You were not curled up on your side, deeply asleep and angelic as you always were.
A deep dread settled in his stomach as he began to walk around the apartment, searching for any sign of life.
The walk-in closet you shared was emptied of your things. Your vanity was missing. Every single product you meticulously kept in hand were gone. Your robe. Your favourite electronics. Your sketchbooks. Journals. Pictures. Everything of yours was missing.
There were no signs of you living in the apartment.
What the fuck? Where had you gone? Why the fuck did you leave while he was on a mission? He tore through the entire apartment until he reached the kitchen. The only things out of place in painstakingly organised house were the things left on the kitchen island. There was a torn piece of paper, the promise ring he had given you, and a tiny stack of other papers.
Goodbye.
That was all that was written on the torn piece of paper underneath the white-gold ring with a sapphire nestled among little diamonds and by a stack of other papers.
He flipped over the stack of papers and paled. The first was a photo of him at a bar kissing a scantily-clad girl, his face barely obscured and a drink in hand. The next one was him leading the girl away. He hadn't remembered exactly who the girl was or what happened besides another night spent in a hotel room before he dragged himself home after cleaning himself up, an excuse of researching for an assignment quick on his tongue.
Prosciutto knew better than to think you wouldn't have suspected something but he...he had thought you loved him and perhaps it would've made you less likely to suspect him of anything but that was a foolish sentiment, wasn't it?
Now, all he had was an empty apartment and nothing left of you.
Well, nothing but photos of him kissing a girl he barely remembered, a single scrap of paper with only the word 'goodbye', and the ring he had given you were the only vestiges left in the apartment. You hadn't even left your scent behind, covered by the floral air freshener you kept around to cover up the scent of his smoking.
He crumpled the photo in his hand and shakily took out his phone, dialling your number. He picked up the ring he had given you, the memory fresh in his mind. Your gentle smile at his promise, the softness of your breath and the way you had pressed your face into his chest after sharing a bed together.
There had to be a way to fix this.
///
The cooling air of the hotel room brushed against your bare legs as you stirred your condensed milk into your tea, pen in your other hand as you smoothly wrote over the paper.
You were finalising the final details on your new apartment's lease in Nice, France when your phone rang and you held it, glancing at Prosciutto's name flashing on the screen but it was one in the morning. Long past the time you were supposed to be asleep and he would understand if you didn't manage to answer your phone in time. He had a mission to complete. You set your phone on silent and continued to sign the paperwork on your temporary desk.
You fantasised about your new life waiting for you in France; the idea of furnishing a new place only for you sounded fantastic and going to cafes everyday. Maybe you could pursue a new hobby.
Your phone kept vibrating and flashing and you frowned. He normally hung up by now out of consideration.
You sighed and picked up. "Hello? How's your mission going?"
"Where are you?" he asked, voice harsh and rough through the phone.
You set your pen down and swallowed. "...you're home."
"I am," he said, laughing humorlessly. "And I come home to find it empty of everything of yours. Including you."
"Well then, if you know why then I don't know why you've decided to call."
"Come back." You gritted your teeth at his softer tone flowing through the phone, your eyes burning. "Come back, amore. We can fix this."
You breathed in softly. "And if I don't want to?"
He didn't respond.
"This isn't something I can forgive and if I stayed I would've resented you forever for it," you pressed on. "You can have all the girls you want in the world if I leave, Prosciutto. This is the best option for us and it'll be better for you and you can have the life you want."
"The best option? You can't decide that alone, amore. Come back to our home and we can talk and decide together."
"I didn't decide alone," you said flatly and ignored the end. He didn't get to say that to you after what he did. "You did before me and I made my choice after that."
He made that noise that he always did when his frustration began to build into unmanageable levels and you panicked.
"Bye, Prosciutto. There's no point in talking about this any longer—"
"Don't," he said, almost pleading.
"—I hope you live a happy life."
You hung up and threw your phone onto the bed, grasping your pen with more vigour than before as you continued to sign away on your lease papers. It continued to vibrate on the bed and you added another thing onto your list; a new phone and a new phone number. Your flight was in three days. Your transfer had already gone through. He was probably going to be sent on a mission again within those days and once he returned from it, you would be gone.
The conference room in the Passione headquarters was barren with small windows and harsh white lights. You lounged in the leather office chair at the table, already regretting making a deal with Giorno. The convincing little shit.
You crossed your legs and waited.
La Squadra di Esecuzioni had said they’d meet you at headquarters if only to assess the proposal you sent to Giorno. The deal you’d cut them was nearly too perfect for people in their field. A steady flow of money wasn’t always guaranteed for the mafia, especially assassins. It was nearly perfect, if their client wasn’t you.
The conference room doors opened and you blinked when three men walked through.
Three extremely attractive men walked in.
No one warned you about that.
Two were giants in their own right and would tower over you even in heels while the other was tall but dwarfed by the others in comparison. They were all built like Grecian statues and wore outfits on par with Buccellati’s gang’s penchant for flashiness.
In the center was a man with tanned skin, deep rep eyes, and silver hair hidden beneath a hat with bells. His serious but serene expression rested on you with a weight you were used to. To his left was a taller man with a much deeper tan and deep brown locks tied into several pigtails but his plum purple eyes sparked with a mischief. His outfit looked...a little strange but you forgave it considering it clung to every inch of him. The man to the right was the shortest with bright blond hair tied back into several little buns and he wore a fashionable suit complimenting his blue eyes. Despite being the shortest of the three of them, he looked the sternest.
Armani, you surmised.
“Hello.” You stood up to greet them. “La Squadra di Esecuzioni. I’m your client... people in the business know me as Devil Yin but you can just call me Yin.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” the man at the centre said, eyes surveying you. “My name is Risotto Nero. The Capo of La Squadra di Esecuzioni. This is Prosciutto and Illuso.”
Prosciutto? Risotto?
Well, Bruno had Pannacotta and you couldn’t exactly rag on anyone when people still referred to you as Devil Yin.
“It’s a pleasure. Take a seat. I trust you have some questions considering my proposal isn’t....one of your typical assignments.”
They all sat on the opposite end of the conference table and settled in, all of them guarded and packed. They all carried some type of weapon on them along with their stands.
“You’ve requested us as your bodyguards,” Risotto said, eyes intent, “are you aware of our position in the Passione?”
“You’re assassins,” you acknowledged, “and stand users. I’m well acquainted with the inner workings of the Passione.”
“There are squads dedicated to protection and guarding. Why did you ask for us?” Prosciutto asked, his shoulders tensed beneath the sleek indigo suit
“The squad is ran by Bruno Buccellati, I’m well aware,” you said and decided to drop the bomb. “I’m friends with Giorno.”
The three of them exchanged glances.
“Friends with Don Giorno?” Illuso asked flatly.
“Long before he came into contact with the Passione,” you said, “I also know Buccellati.”
“You would not prefer Buccellati’s squad as your protection detail?” Risotto rested his arms on the table.
You tried not to run your eyes along the defined muscles on his arm. It was a terribly difficult thing to do.
“I’ve had Buccellati as a bodyguard before and while we are...friends, it is not an arrangement I’d prefer. I’d be scolded the entire time for my lifestyle,” you said breezily. “I hope some of you don’t sleep early. I typically don’t get home until four in the morning but I have rooms in my villa for you to stay in when you’re guarding me overnight.”
“What do you need guarding from?” Prosciutto’s eyes narrowed.
“Kidnapping, being held hostage, someone trying to steal my art from the studio, those kinds of things. It’s pretty mundane.” You shrugged. “Giorno didn’t appreciate the fact I was held hostage a few months ago and insisted I take on some bodyguards. I offered a payment plan for the whole group since I know your specialties might be needed for different hits outside of my schedule. As long as there’s two of you for most of the time, I don’t mind whatever you do outside of guarding me.”
“And the pay?” Risotto’s deep voice filled the quiet room.
You didn’t know what you regretted more; stepping foot into Italy, contacting Giorno, or thinking of this idea.
“As outlined in the contract. Two hundred dollars per hour per guard on a twenty-four hour detail. I’ll even pay overtime if someone clocks in more hours than they’re supposed to and you’ve seen the clause about vacation pay? I’d also prefer if you’re able to allow two members travel around Europe or to the Americas on short notice when needed.”
Anything to get Giorno off your back about becoming an assassin again when you finally got out of the business.
"And you can afford us?" Risotto asked.
"I thought you'd ask that." You stood up and reached under the table. The men tensed but you brought out a few briefcases and set them down on the table. You slid them over. "Here's two-hundred sixty-nine thousand dollars in payment for the first month to split between your seven members."
The three of them flipped open the briefcases and scanned through the euros.
"So, do we have a deal?"
Risotto glanced at his companions before he gave an imperceptible nod.
“Fantastic, here’s my schedule on a daily basis and the addresses of the places I’ll be frequenting. The safest trade-off times would be nine in the morning, five in the evening, and one in the morning and you can start tomorrow if your team is ready." You slid over a folder towards them.
“It would be best if you met the team beforehand,” Risotto said after he finished flipping through the papers.
///
La Squadra di Esecuzioni’s headquarters was a discreet series of townhouses connected together, hidden behind walls, gates, and bushes. The pale stone exteriors were a little worn by time but the iron gates were polished despite age dulling the metal slightly.
You walked along the paved path towards the front door obscured by foliage, behind Risotto, Illuso, and Prosciutto. They opened double-layered iron-wrought doors to a barren entryway.
You frowned as you looked around. This place had so much untouched potential with the stone floors and walls; a house like this would cost a fortune to make today but there were few decorations and even fewer signs of life. It was as if no one had inhabited this place in years and from what you knew, La Squadra lived here.
Risotto lead you to a larger room with threadbare couches where four other men lounged.
“This is our long-term client,” Risotto said, tone brooking for no arguments. “Become familiar with her. Formaggio, Melone, you begin with her tomorrow at nine in the morning. I’ll give everyone their schedules tonight.”
“You can call me Yin,” you said and stepped up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The man with a buzzed grey-blue hair and a playful smirk leaned deep into the couch. His studded jacket clung to his lean muscles as he flexed subtly and winked at you. “Well, if you had said we’d be guarding such a cute girl, I wouldn’t have argued at all. I’m Formaggio, babe. You’ll be spending the day with me tomorrow.”
“...hello?” you said.
“Don’t mind him.” A man with pale lilac hair and bright blue eyes framed by thick lashes smiled at you and took your hand into his, placing a kiss onto your knuckles. “I’m Melone. It’s rare we have such a beautiful woman for a client. I’ll also be guarding you tomorrow.”
“Thank you?” You pulled your hand out of his. How were you supposed to introduce yourself to fellow assassins outside of the job and not across rooftops or while on the run? “I hope we’ll get along.”
Prosciutto clicked his tongue. “Pesci, Ghiaccio, introduce yourself.”
A man with neon green hair styled upwards and black eyes shining with hesitance stepped up. “H-hello, I’m Pesci! It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” you said, sending him a gentle smile.
The last man on the end of the couch scowled harshly, the red glasses perched on his nose contrasted against his bright blue hair and barely obscured his black eyes.
“I’m Ghiaccio,” he mumbled reluctantly.
“And now you’ve met all of us,” Illuso said, smirking as he looked down at you. “Regretting your decision yet?”
“Better than being kidnapped,” you said and turned to Melone and Formaggio, handing them a sheet of paper. “Well, here’s the address to meet me at tomorrow. I hope you bring yourself something to prevent boredom...I’m not really doing anything interesting as of yet.”
///
Prosciutto rested in the chair across from Risotto in his office, long legs crossed as he leaned in the chair.
He rolled a cigarette between his two fingers.
“Do you think Giovanna is planning something?” he asked lowly, meeting Risotto's black and red gaze.
His Capo folded his hands on his desk bare of anything besides pens, paperwork, and a laptop. “Be prepared for anything. We’ll warn the others tonight.”
He ran his tongue along his overbite.
///
The sun gleamed through the front door of your villa.
You waited in your entryway for your newly hired bodyguards, already dressed for the day in sleek black leggings beneath a loose, blue one-shoulder sweater and a black lace tank top.
A knock sounded at the door five minutes before nine.
You opened the door to Formaggio and Melone. The former was dressed similarly to yesterday in studded clothes, leather pants, and a half-open top from the bottom. The latter, however, was dressed in a skin tight purple outfit revealing a lot of skin unlike the long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants from yesterday. Somehow, you were the only normal looking one in this trio.
Formaggio whistled as he looked into your home and ran his eyes over you. "Hello, hello."
“Uh, hello, welcome to my home? Sorry, I’d offer refreshments but the driver is arriving in five minutes.”
“It’s not a problem, babe.” Formaggio grinned. “We’re all ready to go.”
“We always come prepared, bella.” Melone rested his hip against the door, lips curled almost like a cat. “We’ll be given a tour of your home another time, yes?”
"If you'd like?" you said. "Oh, there's the driver. We better go."
///
The driver parked outside of a large apartment building near an old library close to the heart of Naples.
Your bodyguards followed you out and into the building, past the security already patrolling, and you took the elevator to your new studio.
It was a second-floor, concrete loft you bought to convert into a studio and there were already boxes of furniture, unfinished seating, and decorations sitting on palettes inside. The small kitchen was tucked beneath the stairs leading to the second floor. A drink fridge with a clear door was the most prominent feature besides the bar counter on the opposite side.
"This will be the most boring job you've ever had I hope you know,” you said idly as you dragged a sofa off the palette. "At least until my brand of luck turns up. Hold on, please take a seat on the bar stools. I'll have the sitting area built soon."
"Your brand of luck?" Formaggio grinned. "Want a hand, babe?"
You sent him a dry look. "Have you ever had to learn archery to prevent a Prince of Brunei from marrying your friend while being held hostage in his palace?"
"And he didn't want to marry you, cara?" Melone leaned over your shoulder, voice barely a murmur.
"Not at all," you said idly as you set down the couch on it's back and flounced back to the kitchen. "Hold on, do you have a drink preference? I don't think there's much besides iced coffee and flavoured sparkling water."
"Aren't we your bodyguards?" Melone asked, lips tugging into a smile.
You blinked. "I guess Risotto didn't explain everything? Your team is just a precautionary measure but really, this is a way you're making quick money unless another Prince decides I'm a good morsel to kidnap. Oh, we have fruit juices as well."
"We'll get our own drinks, babe." Formaggio leaned against the bar counter. "You didn't answer my question though, need any help? Looks like a lot of work for someone like you."
You hummed and went back to the sofa to start attached the legs from the box it came with. "Not right now."
You glanced at the two men's heavy gazes following you and went back to building the sitting area. You weren't sure what to make of them but they definitely were better than becoming an assassin again when you could be an artist.
///
(ao3 link)
Author Notes: I normally write fiction that’s more literary but this is purely here for self indulgence so if you see something that you squint your eyes at....skim over it. We’re in horny hours.
The sun blazed through the large airport windows and the soft, hazy morning mist descended upon Naples. You hadn’t been in the since your last photo shoot for some jewellery line two years ago but you heard news about an old friend while preparing a home base for your art exploits in Europe.
The little kid you once saved from a beating after a pick-pocketing incident in Naples when he was ten and still had black hair was now the Don of the Passione and blond if your sources were right. You had meant to visit him two years ago but he was a hard kid to track down and meet within a time span of three days. However, now, you had all the time in the world with your current job as an artist and you were going to buy him an espresso like you promised all those years ago.
You tapped the screen of your phone and hummed.
I didn’t know you turned blond, you sent a text message and signed it with your typical Devil Yin attached to let him know it was you.
Your luggage trembled as you traversed through the bustling airport, looking for a sign with your name on it. The private driver you hired had given you explicit instructions.
A tall man with silvery hair and in his fifties stood among the small crowds waiting for other passengers but held a small sign with your name written boldly in black. You shot him a friendly smile and waved. He bowed his head and tucked away the sign, gesturing for you to follow him.
“Hello, sir. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”
“Not at all, young miss,” he answered as he led you to a black car, “please, hand me your luggage. I trust your flight went well?”
“As well as any fourteen hour flight can go,” you replied wryly.
He opened the door for you and you slipped into the backseat, crossing your legs. The silky fabric of your pants pressed into your skin and you itched to get out of them to let your body breath after the stale plane air.
“Still the villa in Napoli, miss?”
“Yes, take your time. I still need to decompress from the trip and car rides are perfect for that.”
Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you pulled it out.
How did you know that?
You smiled and typed out quickly. I just do. Remember that espresso I promised you six years ago? You’re old enough to drink one now, don’t you think?
I accept your offer. Where are you staying? I’ll send a car over.
You texted him the address to your villa and told him to meet you at lunch. That would give you enough time to decompress, get ready, and unpack half of your things. You were staying in Italy for a while, after all.
///
A black sedan with a polite but distant driver picked you up thirty minutes before noon and deposited you in front of a little cafe tucked in between a bakery and a bookstore. You walked in, the sharp but comforting scent of espresso wafted and curled around you.
A blond head of dramatic curls peeked out from a booth along with a shock of black-blue hair.
“I, Giorno Giovanna, will be a Gangstar!” The kid proclaimed.
That looked enough like a dramatic Gangstar to you.
“Giorno Giovanna?” you asked.
The boy turned around and sharp turquoise eyes landed on you. “It’s really you, Yin.”
“The one and only.” Your gaze slid to the man sitting beside him and you blinked. “Bruno Buccellati?”
“Devil Yin,” he greeted, a welcoming smile on his face. “It’s been a while.”
“...well, it seems like I’m caught as a disadvantage,” you said, “may I sit?”
“Yes, of course.” Giorno waved his hand. “Actually, you decided to visit at a good time.”
You sat down across from them and scrutinised the two. They were well put together with expensive suits, styled hair, and gleaming jewellery. “I’ve heard. Don of the Passione at sixteen is quite a feat. You really did become a Gangstar. Congratulations.”
Giorno smiled. “Thank you, but that’s not why your visit is...fortunate.”
“I assume the reason is why you’re here as well, signore Buccellati,” you said, guarded.
Buccellati smiled. “Perhaps Bruno would be best, signorina Yin.”
That wasn’t actually your name but you didn’t comment further, scanning the cafe. A red-patterned hat caught your eye, peeking out from another booth, and another booth with a familiar looking man with long silver hair caught your eye.
The presence of the Capo of Squadra Guardie del corpo along with his team was either a very good thing or a very bad thing and you sure hoped it was the former. You did not want to get shot at when you were trying to buy an espresso for a brat you met six years ago. You didn’t even know if this was a good idea considering the pendulum could swing any way and you wouldn’t know it.
“Hello!” A waitress swanned in, smiling prettily. “Is there anything I can get for you today?”
“A caffè lungo,” you said, staring at the two men across from you.
Giorno smiled charmingly at the waitress. “The same as her.”
“A caffè macchiato,” Bruno said.
You narrowed your eyes at them when the waitress disappeared with your orders.
“Now, why is Leone Abbacchio, signore Buccellati’s right hand man, and some strange teenager with a stand also in this cafe?” You leaned back. “I guess this isn’t the casual meeting I proposed?”
Giorno and Bruno exchanged glances and a smile cracked the blond’s facade.
“Still as perceptive as ever,” he said.
“And that’s not an answer.”
Bruno leaned forward, hands brace on the table. “We have a proposal for you, signorina Yin.”
“Listen, I’m just here to buy Giorno the espresso I promised he could have when he turned sixteen the last time we met. Not for any business with the Passione.”
He smiled, amused and infinitely a softer charm compared to the teenager beside him.
“Come work for me in the Passione as an assassin,” Giorno said lowly. Calm, steady, and self-assured, and the turquoise eyes intense as he stared at you.
You looked at the waitress reappearing with your drinks, waiting for her to set them down and leave their presence once more. She probably knew they were the mafia with how quickly she scurried away.
“No,” you said and pushed Giorno’s drink at him while sliding the macchiato towards Bruno. The man accepted it graciously but your gaze didn’t leave Giorno’s unchanging expression.
“No?” he asked calmly.
“I quit the business, Giorno.” You shook your head and slid your phone across the table towards him with one of your galleries from Seattle, Washington. “I’m a painter and model now with a lot of money in stocks. I can’t go around assassinating people without drawing attention to myself. I put that life behind me for a reason.”
"We need someone of your calibre especially after the power change," he insisted. "Our assassination team lost two members before the change in power. They need a new but experienced hand and with your skills, their repertoire would expand. The amount of missions would increase for them."
You tilted your head. “...I’ll give you twenty minutes to give me the full story and another five to convince me.”
He smirked.
///
You cradled your empty cup, staring into the ceramic.
“That’s a ride,” you finally said. “A very, very long ride with too many lane changes and things going downhill but I don’t see what this has to do with you wanting me to become an assassin.”
“La Squadra Esecuzoni were being underutilised by Diavolo and we don’t want them to feel the same as they had beneath him,” Bruno explained.
“You’re afraid they’ll rebel.” You set down the cup. “And that’s not something you can afford right now. Aren’t they satisfied with the territory you’ve given them?”
“No,” Giorno said, leaning forward on folded hands. “They want more after helping us overthrow Diavolo.”
“I won’t become an assassin again,” you said.
Giorno’s expression furrowed and Bruno’s shoulders tensed, ever so slightly, but they wouldn’t force you to bend to their will. They were too nice for that.
“But... I think there’s a way I can help you.”
“Without becoming an assassin?” Bruno asked.
"I have a job in mind for them. How do they feel about being bodyguards?" You set your hands on the table between you. “I might need some while I’m here.”
“Bodyguards?” Giorno blinked.
“Did you know I was held hostage a few months ago by some pirates in the Indian Ocean? None of my friends answered my texts for two weeks. It really hurt my feelings.”
The two men in front of you exchanged looks.
///
It was rare for Risotto to call a team meeting nowadays. The last time had been hunting down Diavolo with Buccellati's squad but he was dead and Giorno hadn’t done anything yet.
Risotto sat at the head of their conference table in their new headquarters.
"The Boss has a new mission for us,” he announced. Red eyes surveyed their reactions. “As bodyguards to an important client.”
"What the fuck?" Ghiaccio said. "We're fucking assassins and he's sending us as bodyguards? Who the fuck does he think he is? Is he downgrading us?"
“Buccellati’s squad can’t handle it?” Prosciutto raised an eyebrow.
"We have no choice but to accept." Risotto slid a document into the centre of the table. “It’s a long term contract. Two of us at all times. Cash salary.”
“Di molto,” Melone breathed, eyes wide. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Holy shit.” Formaggio leaned forward to look closer at the papers. “Who the fuck are we protecting? A princess?”
“Is that a clause for vacation pay?” Illuso asked, incredulous. “They’re offering hitmen vacation pay?”
Prosciutto ran his fingers over the numbers, brows furrowed. “How did Giovanna secure something like this?”
Pesci’s eyes flickered between the other members then his black eyes landing on his mentor and asked nervously, “This is good... right, bro?”
Prosciutto didn’t answer, deep in thought as he leafed through the papers.
“Why the fuck is he giving us this mission instead of Buccellati’s squad? They’re meant for guarding. What’s Giovanna planning?” Ghiaccio scowled, arms crossed. “He would not give us something like this without leverage.”
“Giovanna said the client specifically requested us.” Risotto’s deep voice interrupted him before he could fall into a rant.
Ghiaccio adjusted his red glasses and smoothed his blue curls.
“Giorno said the client wants us to meet them at Passione headquarters.” Risotto folded his hands over the table, the black sclera of his eyes emphasised the red of his gaze. The resolve in his eyes silencing the rest of the members’ protests. “I will take Prosciutto and Illuso with me.”
“This is a hard offer to turn down,” Melone said.
“Do you have to say something we already know?” Illuso sighed.
///
Summary: La Squadra Esecuzioni ends up helping Bruno’s squad defeat Diavolo and everyone lives but the journey hasn’t even begun. Giorno becomes Don of the Passione and revolutionises the mafia but La Squadra finds themselves underutilized despite the new territory they've been given. At least, until you, an old friend of Giorno’s, takes a trip back to Naples. What they never expect is that you're a whirlwind in disguise and they can't help but get caught in your restless winds.
This entire storyline takes place in the year 2020 and everyone is alive. I can’t write a story without modern day technology or memes. Yes, this is a shitty first chapter. It might get better from here on out but we’re trying to establish a snappy first base for the zero attention span squad (me, that squad is me.)
