(Bruno Bucciarati x Obsessive!LaSquandra!Reader)
La Squadra’s oddball assassin finally crosses paths with the man she admires most.
You’d been told a hundred times you weren’t normal.
“Stop acting so weird,” Ghiaccio would snap, like it was his job to scold you. “People are gonna think you’re touched in the head.”
While Risotto and the others were cold, efficient, and brutal, you were… offbeat. Peculiar. Dangerous in a way no one could put into words. You giggled too much during missions, wore a little too much enthusiasm on your sleeve, and had the unsettling habit of obsessing over people you found “fascinating.”
Your current fascination? Bruno Bucciarati.
“Focus on the job,” Risotto grunted one day as you lingered near the edge of a rooftop, binoculars pointed at a group of Passione operatives far below. His group.
“I am focused,” you said, entirely too chipper for someone stalking her enemies. “I just think he’s neat.”
“Who?” Risotto asked, though his tone made it clear he already knew.
You grinned and pointed toward Bruno as he moved with quiet command. “Him.”
It happened during a rare clash between La Squadra and Bruno’s team. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but you tagged along, hiding behind Risotto with a bounce in your step that made him consider taping your mouth shut.
The moment you saw him—Bruno—you stopped dead. Everything about him captivated you. The calm confidence, the sharp blue of his eyes, the way his crisp white suit stayed spotless no matter the chaos around him.
So, naturally, you stopped fighting.
Risotto turned to see you staring, unblinking, as Bruno took down one of your teammates.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Risotto barked.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you watched as Bruno turned toward you, his gaze catching yours.
For a second, he faltered. Why isn’t she attacking? you imagined him thinking.
Then his brow furrowed. “Are you with them?”
You gave the most innocent smile you could muster. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His confusion deepened, but there was no time to press further. Risotto grabbed your arm, muttering a curse under his breath as he dragged you away. “You’re a liability.”
Ever since that day, Bruno Bucciarati had taken up residence in your mind. He was your new muse. A puzzle— A riddle you’d love to solve.
It was no surprise when La Squadra caught you stitching his initials into your gloves or muttering about how “perfect” his zipper stand was.
“You’re obsessed,” Prosciutto said bluntly one evening, watching you draw little doodles of Bruno in the margins of your notebook.
“I’m dedicated,” you corrected with a grin.
“Dedicated to someone who’s our enemy?”
You shrugged, unbothered. “Details.”
You didn’t expect to run into him again so soon. It was an ambush gone wrong—a setup La Squadra hadn’t anticipated. The streets of Naples were chaotic with fleeing civilians, gunfire echoing through the alleys.
You were separated from your group, stumbling into a side street, when you felt a zipper tear through the ground beneath you.
You fell. Hard. In more ways than one.
By the time you blinked the dust out of your eyes, Bruno Bucciarati stood over you, calm and unreadable as always.
“You again,” he said, his voice even.
You gave a sheepish laugh, wincing as you sat up. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Why are you following us?” he asked sharply.
“I’m not following you,” you said, though your expression gave you away instantly.
Bruno sighed, rubbing his temple. “I don’t understand you. Are you a threat, or just a fool?”
“Neither!” you chirped, offering him your most innocent smile. “I’m just… drawn to you.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” you said softly, sitting up straighter, “that I admire you. I’ve seen the way you lead your team. You care about them. You’re not like the others in Passione—you’re better. You’re good.”
For the first time, Bruno hesitated.
He didn’t know how to process someone from an enemy faction—La Squadra, no less—speaking about him like that. It wasn’t flattery; there was no deceit in your tone. You genuinely believed it.
“You sound like you’ve been studying me.”
“Oh, I have,” you replied lightly, grinning wider when his shoulders stiffened just a hair. “Not in a creepy way.” A pause. “Well, maybe a little creepy.”
Bruno didn’t reply, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. Measuring. Calculating.
“You don’t get it,” you said, tone lilting and sing-song. “You’re like a riddle. Something to pick apart. I love riddles.”
“You’re wasting time,” he said flatly.
“You’re still standing here,” you countered, taking another slow step forward. “Why is that, I wonder? Could it be because you’re curious about me, too?”
Bruno didn’t answer, but the silence said enough.
“You are,” he replied without hesitation.
That made you laugh, high and breathless, like he’d just paid you a compliment. “I know! I bet most people you meet are boring. You don’t even look at them. But you’re looking at me now.”
“Because you’re a threat.”
“I’m a distraction,” you corrected, voice sing-song again as you pointed at him like you were sharing a secret. “But don’t worry—I’m not going to kill you.”
“That’s generous,” he said dryly.
“I know, right?” You beamed at him, eyes glinting. “We could’ve been friends in another life, you know. Or maybe something more fun. You’re so my type.”
Bruno blinked once, the barest crack in his composure. You giggled, taking a step back.
“Don’t worry,” you teased, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I won’t tell your boss.”
The corridor echoed with the sound of Risotto’s voice—low and curt, calling your name, knowing you wandered too far. Your grin flickered, lips tugging into a faint pout.
“Looks like that’s my cue.”
Bruno didn’t move. Didn’t try to stop you. You tilted your head one last time, studying him like you wanted to commit his face to memory.
“See you next time, Bucciarati.” Your voice dropped to a low hum as you slipped back into the shadows. “Try not to miss me too much.”
Bruno didn’t respond, he didn’t call after you. Didn’t follow. But you knew he was watching. As soon as you disappeared into the shadows, he exhaled and shook his head.
And that thought made you smile all the way home.
“You’re weird,” Ghiaccio snapped the next day, watching you grin into your coffee like you won something precious.
“I know,” you replied dreamily, chin resting on your palm. “It’s what makes me interesting.”
Melone snorted. “And what’s got you in such a good mood?”
You didn’t answer, twirling a spoon between your fingers as you hummed a soft, familiar tune.
It wasn’t every day someone held your attention. But he was special.
And you couldn’t wait for the next time you crossed paths.
