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Never before had you felt quite so out of your element. You knew that you didn't belong here and it felt as if everyone else knew that as well. While you had made certain to follow the dress code, even going out and buying a new dress when you had a couple that would have worked, everyone seemed to be staring at you as if you had wandered in off the street by mistake. But you had been invited just the same as them. Maybe they could tell that you couldn’t afford the dress you were wearing, having gotten it on clearance a couple of days ago.
It didn't help that you didn't know as much as a single person here. The president of the group that you were here representing had bailed at the last minute, leaving you to go alone. Getting her text a couple of hours ago hadn't surprised you in the slightest. Over the course of the few months that you had the displeasure of knowing her, you had quickly learned how unreliable she was and had gotten into the habit of assuming that she wasn't going to show up.
But your president not showing up didn't change anything tonight. Though the two of you had been supposed to come to the event together, you didn't need her. You weren't being arrogant in your thinking; what you had come to the gallery to do didn't need two people. In fact you didn't need to be either. You had come out of respect for the person who was running the event and to thank them.
Although you were at the gallery collecting an award, the entire event was nothing more than a photo op. You were there to pick up a meaningless envelope, the cheque having been sent and cashed weeks ago, and to serve as a backdrop for the photographs that the single sanctioned journalist would take. While the thought of being invited just to provide some scenery might have bothered you, receiving a twenty million lire contribution to your club was more than enough to change your mind. You couldn’t possibly mind being expected to show up and socialize, and occasionally clap after that donation circumstances. But apparently showing up was too much for some people.
You would be lying if you said that you had joined the "Association for the Appreciation of Ancient Artefacts" solely out of your love of anthropology. It looked fantastic on a resume, especially since you were the vice president. While it hadn’t been your intention to become the vice president of the club, you had been thrust into the role. With the majority of the group’s members have graduated the year before the group was effectively being rebuilt from the ground up.
While you wouldn’t be a part of the club for long, beginning your fourth and final year, that didn’t mean you were going to contribute any less. Though you would have preferred something out of the limelight like maybe the treasurer, that role was immediately snapped up by someone who shared the same idea as you. The group didn't necessarily need a vice president when there were so few people but when the girl who had announced herself president decided that you were to be her vice president you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. It would look better on your resume as you often reminded yourself.
But for the amount of work that you were doing you wouldn’t have minded the title of president. You were the one organizing the meetings, the one sending the emails, and the one applying for grants and awards, the last of which was how you had ended up at the gallery tonight.
Scrolling around online a couple of months ago you had happened across a philanthropic group which was taking applications for grants for various projects. While you knew that the odds of being selected for one of the fifty grants were slim to none, it wouldn’t hurt to apply and the application wasn’t too long.
Having immediately forgotten about the grant after submitting it, you were shocked to find out no less than three months later than your group had been chosen. The money transferred almost immediately, your presence at an event to thank the donor was appreciated but not required. You could hardly decline, no matter how badly you didn’t want to go.
While you didn’t know when the event was supposed to end, you were counting down the minutes until it did. The champagne in your glass had gone flat, leaving with you with even less of a reason to drink it. You had been keeping an eye out for a server carrying a tray of empty flutes so you could get rid of the half-empty glass but hadn’t seen anyone for awhile. It seemed as if things were gearing up again for yet another drawn-out speech.
Much to the dismay to nearly everyone in the gallery, a couple of men had made speeches earlier. They had been painfully dry and generic and somehow worse than what you had been expecting. Lost in thought, you studied the oil painting that was hanging behind the podium where yet another man was giving a speech. All you could think, aside from how nice the painting was, was that even the man giving the speech must be bored. Although he wasn’t reading the speech from cue cards or a teleprompter or anything like that, there wasn’t an ounce of enthusiasm in his voice.
Despite introducing himself to the crowd all the man had given was his name and not his title, leaving you slightly confused as to who he was. After learning that you had won the grant you had looked up the group online and had found nearly nothing. It was as if the organization had appeared out of thin air, just for this event. It was admittedly suspicious, but you weren’t sketched out enough not to attend. The money went through and the event was being held at a rather prestigious gallery. If anything, the event was poorly organized, with not enough effort having been put into publicity.
“Don’t like the champagne?”
Although you heard the man’s quiet question it didn’t register with you. Except for the few words you had exchanged with a server, you hadn’t said anything since arriving at the gallery. You had come alone and there was no reason for any of the other guests to be speaking with you. You didn’t know anyone here. Maybe, just to have someone to talk to, having the president here with you wouldn’t have been so bad.
“Don’t care for the champagne?” Much to your surprise, whoever was speaking had been speaking to you. Lingering by a group of people that you didn’t know just so that it wouldn’t seem like you were alone, you had been hoping to be left alone. There wasn’t too much of the evening left, and you had nearly made it to the end without being bothered.
Slowly, you turned around to face whoever had been speaking to you. More than just looking over, you had to look up to see the man who had spoken with you. Staring at you with a hint of a smile, the blonde man motioned towards your glass with his. The same flat champagne was still in your glass. Looking at the glass, then back at him, you remembered that he had asked you a question and was presumably waiting for the answer.
“I don’t drink very often,” you laughed, like you needed to give an explanation.
“Here,” the man said, before taking the glass from you. Doing nothing more than holding the glass out to the side, a server came over and whisked it away. It was as simple as that. Not used to these sort of events, you didn’t know the etiquette. While it was frustrating to know that you could have been free of the glass an hour ago if you had only known what to do, you were glad it was gone.
“Giorno,” he told you, offering you his hand. Carrying a clutch in your other hand, getting rid of the glass meant that you now had a free hand to offer him. Meeting you in a solid handshake, you gave him your name. He nodded slowly, almost approvingly. The name suited you, as did the dress you were wearing. He couldn’t help but notice how well it fit you.
“What are you here for?” Giorno asked, speaking quietly so as to not detract from the speech the man was giving. As if anyone was listening anyway.
“My society won a grant.” Not even pretending to be listening to the speech, the two of you were facing each other instead of towards the podium.
“It’s for the appreciation of ancient artefacts,” you clarified hastily. Your initial response hadn’t been helpful whatsoever, nor had it contributed to the conversation. Everyone was here because they won grants.
“Artefacts?” Giorno echoed, asking out of nothing more than curiosity.
“Mainly Roman artefacts. I’m studying anthropology.” Giorno nodded, as if he were only learning that now. That wasn't what he would have expected if he didn’t already know better.
Of all of the careers and interests he had heard from women, while yours wasn’t the most interesting, Giorno couldn’t help but find himself drawn in. There had been a sort of humble excitement in what you had said. You knew it wasn’t a thrilling field to study but you were thrilled to be studying it. It was refreshing.
Both of you clapped as the man left the podium. Usually applause was meant for the end of a speech because of its content, however in this case the applause was to celebrate the end of the speech.
“Sometimes we help out at the museums,” you added softly, as the sound of clapping fell away. Although you had spoken because you had felt the need to fill the silence between him and you, once you had begun to speak you changed your mind immediately, causing your voice to grow more and more quiet by the word.
“It’s been too long since I’ve visited a museum,” Giorno said. Though he had turned away from you to applaud he had turned back towards you to speak, causing you to notice his braid. Although it was a rather loose braid, there didn’t seem to be a single hair of place. You didn’t know how you hadn’t noticed earlier. You must have been too focused on the other details of his hair to notice, mainly the curls in the front.
“I’d love to--”
A hand yanked on Giorno’s sleeve, interrupting the thought. A short, tan girl had appeared next to him without either of you noticing. Giorno leaned down as she stood up on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. As he straightened up, he did nothing more than shake his head. When the girl tugged on his sleeve again, trying to get his attention, Giorno shook his head again. She should be able to see that he was busy.
Although he had begun philanthropic work almost a decade ago now, Giorno had never liked the act of giving out the grants. He liked seeing the excitement and appreciation of the people that won the grants, and he liked seeing the results of the grants, the projects and pieces of art that the money funded. Yet Giorno didn’t like the events that went along with the grants.
He had liked the first few events and hadn’t minded going and giving speeches, but they had quickly grown boring. Instead of every event he attended the occasional event here and there, whenever he was in the mood, or whenever one of its attendees caught his eye. Though it had once been important to show up to each event to keep up appearances, there was no need now. The accountants of Passione had managed to smooth out all the problems that went along with money laundering, and it was rare to find a police officer that hadn’t been paid off. Giorno didn’t have to be as hands-on as he had needed to be in the first few years following the restructuring of Passione.
Finally, perhaps realizing that Giorno wasn’t alone, the girl relented and disappeared into the crowd after a curt “excuse me”. Though the matter was pressing, she could afford to give him another few minutes.
“Have you been to the Capitoline Museums?” Giorno asked, as if he had never been interrupted.
“A couple of years ago,” you admitted. It seemed embarrassing for an anthropology major to not have visited many museums recently but your studies had been taking up most of your free time. The last museum that you had visited was the Borghese Gallery, having gone with your society to look at a new exhibit. That had been several weeks ago now.
“Why don’t we go tomorrow?” Giorno asked. “If you’re free.”
With how he was looking at you and how badly you wanted to go to the gallery you couldn’t help but agree. After working out when the two of you would meet, Giorno reached out and took your hand into his. Looking down at you as he lifted it up to meet his lips, he smiled before he pressed a kiss onto the back of your hand. The gentle smile he gave you made you blush more than the kiss did.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Giorno said, before letting go of your hand and turning away. Somehow, despite him never saying a word, Giorno had been able to sense that his friend had returned. For Sheila to bother him for a second time meant that there was a serious issue. Something had happened that required his direct intervention. Whatever the problem was, the interruption was unfortunate. He had been enjoying himself at an event for once, having found someone who was as appealing in person as they were on paper.
Though his hand had been warm, what you had noticed more than anything else was how you could feel a sort of underlying strength. More than just physical strength, you got a sense of confidence just from his hand. You had felt it when the two of you had shaken hands as well. You couldn’t help but be envious. A good, firm handshake was something that you had never had.
When Giorno turned back to look at you, something you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t watching him, you realized that you hadn’t asked him what he was here for. All the two of you had talked about was anthropology, your interest and not his. While Giorno had seen interested in it, you didn’t know what he was here to pick up his grant for. It had been self-centered not to ask, although you wouldn’t say that you weren’t curious. You would him to ask him tomorrow.
---
While you arrived early to the museum, having overestimated how long it would take you to get there on foot, you were surprised to find Giorno waiting for you inside, once you passed by a couple of museum guards. Hanging in the entrance of the museum, Giorno was looking up at a large piece of artwork that was hanging on the wall. Though you didn’t recognize the piece, you remembered having seen it before during your last visit. That was something that you appreciated about historical pieces and that drew you to them. They were constant and while new details may come to light, the piece itself would never change. People were much less predictable.
Though you looked up at the art as you walked towards Giorno, he smiled as he looked over and saw that it was you. The sound of your footsteps was enough for him to know that it was you. There would be very few other people in the museum today, if any.
“You look stunning,” he told you. Taking your hand to kiss it, he held for a moment before bowing down. Though you tried your best not to blush, you could feel your cheeks burning. Turning towards the painting when he let go of your hand, Giorno couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself.
The two of you chatted quietly, though even your whispers felt too loud for the otherwise silent museum. Discussing nothing more than the painting you were looking up at together, the two of you soon ran out of things to discuss. Going further into the museum would give you more things to talk about.
Taking the lead, Giorno guided you up the central stairs of the museum and into an exhibit. Though Giorno offered his hand to support you up the stairs you didn’t need it. Although the heels you were wearing were tall, you had no complaints about them other than how they clicked against each stair as you went. They weren’t too difficult to walk in, just loud.
As the two of you entered the first room of the museum, your hand brushed against Giorno’s once, and then again as you went to look at a display case. Just like the painting in the entrance of the museum, you remembered what was in this case. Pieces and fragments of broken jewelry were spread out in the case. While not all of each necklace or bracelet was there, there was enough to give you an idea of what it had once looked like hundreds of years ago.
Instead of looking at what was in the display case Giorno watched you as you looked the pieces over and then moved onto another case. It was quiet enough that the two of you could hear each other breathing and while Giorno could hear yours, you were more focused on the artefacts than you were him. You didn’t notice when Giorno tried taking your hand into his for a third time, pulling away your hand just as his fingers began to wrap around yours. There was more to see in this museum than these pieces.
“What were you at the event for?” you asked as the two of you were wandering the halls. “I forgot to ask.” Though there was the occasional painting or statue off to the side of the wide hallway, none of them were particularly interesting. They were some of the less impressive pieces, placed there to fill empty space and break up the monotony of the otherwise empty halls.
“Just business.” Giorno didn’t want to linger on the topic of work, and so you kept your thoughts to yourself. Nodding thoughtfully, you remembered that there had been several reasons to apply for the grant. You had applied for your society but you could have applied for a grant to help start a business or something along those lines. It had been months ago now, and you couldn’t quite remember.
As you were about to go on to ask more about his business, Giorno pointed out a glazed pot sitting on a low pillar. Although most people wouldn’t think too much of such a plain-looking pot, you knew better than to overlook seemingly uninteresting objects and apparently Giorno did as well. Leaning into the glass case, your nose almost touched the glass. While you couldn’t touch it, the clay pot behind the glass was tauntingly close.
Both looking at the pot together, you wondered if Giorno knew the significance of the pot. Though you knew an approximate history of pots such as this thanks to you studies, the museum had given nothing more than the approximate age of the pot and where it had been discovered.
As you were turning towards Giorno to say something about the pot, just to fill the silence, you found that he had the same idea. Your eyes, half-cast towards him, saw that his were closed as he began to lean in towards you. You took a quick step backwards, narrowly dodging him.
Giorno and you exchanged a look as he stepped back away from the pot and straightened up. Staring at him, you saw nothing other than a hint of confusion. Your reaction wasn’t all what he had been expecting.
Aside from that slight confusion nothing had changed, although you couldn’t help but feel that you had done something wrong when you had leaned away. Or maybe it was Giorno who felt he was in the wrong. He wouldn’t quite look at you. Though you wanted to explain that you weren’t upset and that he had only surprised you, you found yourself unable to. You didn’t know why you felt as if you owed him an explanation. The two of you only had met last night.
Giorno was the first to move, gesturing for you to follow him. It was better to continue on than it was to linger. Neither of you said anything as you continued into another room of the museum. Unable to bring yourself to say anything you wished that Giorno would say something, even if just a quick comment about something in the museum. But although he occasionally stopped for a better look at a statue or a smaller artefact, he stayed quiet. The effortlessness that had been there the night before had been lost. You couldn’t help but feel as if it were your fault. You understood why he had misinterpreted the situation. You had been the one to lean in close next to him, but it had been for no reason other than to get a better look at the pot.
Both Giorno and you tried to save things with the occasional comment, it was clear that leaning away had changed the dynamic. Conversation had been difficult before, but now there was hardly anything being said.
When the two of you left the room you were in, you realized that you were back in the entrance of the museum. Although there were many other smaller rooms and hallways that you hadn’t ventured down, you had done a full loop of the museum. Standing at the top of a large set of stairs, you were seeing the entrance from a different angle now and could see the large painting better now.
As you looked down at the entrance you realized that aside from the museum staff you hadn’t seen a single person during the hour or two that you had spent in the museum. Though at first you thought that you must have seen someone even just a couple of people, after giving it more thought you realized that you truly hadn’t seen anyone, not even in passing. It was almost surreal. The weather wasn’t bad and it wasn’t a holiday, both things that might have explained how empty the museum was. It was eerily empty.
Seemingly the only two people in the museum, you heard Giorno walk toward you, his footprints echoing due to the high, vaulted ceiling.
“I’d love to take you out to dinner,” he murmured, having come to a stop mere inches away from you.
Though the two of you could have kept going, returning to the exhibits that you had missed, the date had come to its natural end. You couldn’t help but feel relieved. Things hadn’t been going as smoothly as you would have liked. The atmosphere had changed when you had leaned away from Giorno, and had never recovered.
“I had a great time but I--”
“Is tomorrow evening alright?” Though Giorno cut you off with his question, you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset. It didn’t seem intentional. You could hear nothing except enthusiasm in his words.
It wasn’t as if you had anything planned for tomorrow. The semester had just started a couple of days ago and aside from a couple of small assignments, you didn’t have much work yet. You had no real excuse not to go except for a lack of desire. But it wouldn’t hurt to go out on one more date and you found it difficult to say no, especially since there wasn’t any reason to decline. Nothing bad had happened, things had just been somewhat awkward.
“Alright,” you agreed, to which Giorno responded with the name of the restaurant where you would be having dinner. The two of you worked out a time to meet, or rather you agreed to the time that Giorno had decided on. Everything had already been arranged. It was a rather popular restaurant. You couldn’t just wander in without a reservation.
While Giorno offered to pick you up, the restaurant he had chosen for you was close to your apartment. It wouldn’t be much of a walk, or a taxi ride if the weather was bad and you could scrounge up the money. You wouldn’t have minded taking Giorno up on his offer of a ride but you were afraid of it being too awkward, especially if traffic was bad and you were stuck together for awhile. Walking was your best option.
Just like at the museum, Giorno was waiting for you at the restaurant. More familiar with the area than you had been yesterday, you weren’t as early.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Giorno said, as he guided you to the table. There were two wine glasses with table, both already full. The glass on the side of the table that Giorno sat you down at was white, and his was red. You were impressed. Somehow he had known that you preferred white.
Giorno and you chatted for a couple minutes before you realized that you didn’t have a menu and that you hadn’t seen a waiter. It had been Giorno who had shown you to the table. Just as you were about to interrupt the flow of the conversation by asking where the waiter was, your meals were brought out and were placed before you on the table. A plate of cacciucco for you and asparagus orzotto verde for Giorno. While it wasn’t quite what you would have chosen for yourself but you tried not to let it bother you. It saved you from having to decide.
“Seeing the Capitoline Museums again was lovely,” you said, resisting the urge to whisper. “Did you have a favourite piece?” Although it was a restaurant and not a library, you felt as if you needed to be quiet. For as popular a restaurant as it was, it was surprisingly empty. A few of the other tables were occupied but it was hardly packed as you would have expected it to be. There was a woman sitting alone off to the side and a pair of men were chatting quietly behind Giorno, but aside from them the restaurant was empty. Sometimes when there was an important football match, the city would go quiet for a couple hours as people filled the stadiums or gathered in their living rooms around the television. It must have been one of those nights. You didn’t follow football.
“The jewelry was impressive.” Whether Giorno was simply saying something that he thought you would like to hear, or whether his interest was genuine didn’t matter. He didn’t elaborate, preferring to turn the question back to you.
In spite of how much the two of you spoke, it didn’t seem as if you gotten anywhere. Giorno was reluctant to reveal much about himself, despite how interested he was in you. He had no problem listening to your interests and your life, but whenever you tried to ask him similar questions he managed to dodge them. Although you knew he ran a business, you had no idea as to what sort of business it was.
Somehow just as bad as if he had wanted to only talk about himself, you couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong. There wasn’t anything wrong with the dates he was taking you out on or the questions he was asking. There was something wrong with why he was doing what he was doing. Perhaps afraid of revealing some flaw that would surely show itself later, Giorno was distant at best, preferring to focus on you rather than himself. Your friend Bellini had dated an amazingly kind man for months only to discover that he was up to his neck in gambling debt. Though you didn’t know the problem here was, you trusted your gut enough to know that something wasn’t right.
Reaching a hand across the table for yours, Giorno locked eyes with you. The look that he was giving you with his amber eyes made it nearly impossible for you to look away. The exact expression was difficult to describe, the closest being that of muted excitement. Your hand settled in his like it had been pulled there by gravity.
“I had a great time yesterday,” Giorno told you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. Just like at the gallery two nights ago, his hand was warm and reassuring. It made you regret having to break the bad news to him even more.
“I don’t think--”
“I’d like to continue seeing you.” Though he finished with a soft smile, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change your mind.
“I don’t think I’m ready to start anything right now,” you continued, this time refusing to be spoken over. Though he wanted to say something, Giorno let you finish. But even once you had finished speaking, he didn’t say anything.
There was a long pause where neither of you spoke.
“I understand,” he muttered. Though he hadn’t drank much of it over the course of dinner, Giorno took a mouthful of his wine before he continued on.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, (name),” he said, reaching out for your hand for the last time. When you gave him your hand with the intent to shake his hand, Giorno grabbed your hand and kissed it. As disappointed as he was, he wouldn’t ever let it show. No emotion would show unless he wanted it to.
He and you having parted ways, Giorno took a sip of his wine. While you had finished yours earlier, he hadn’t drank much of his. Sheila, having been eating alone just a couple of tables away, brought her own half-empty glass over and sat where you had been seated. Just like he had at the gallery two nights ago, Giorno paid Sheila no mind, nor did he turn pay Mista and Fugo any mind when they got up and came over. All of Giorno’s thoughts were centered around you and when he would see you again.
---
Kept busy by both your schoolwork and the society, it took no time for you to forget about the event that you had gone to and your dates with Giorno. Before you knew it, three weeks had passed by and it was time to begin to worry about midterms. You had no room in your mind to worry about anything other than your grades and even then you were nearing the point where you couldn’t bring yourself to care that much anymore. Having spent so many hours poring over papers and studying although your first midterm was tomorrow you found yourself poking around online instead of reviewing your notes.
The phone you had tossed onto your bed as to not distract yourself with texting rang, pulling your focus away from the article you were reading online. You couldn’t help but breath a laugh as you reached for the phone, fully aware of the irony. But you deserved a break. You had been doing nothing aside from studying these past few weeks.
“Is this (name)?” a man asked when you picked up. Although they had given you no opportunity to introduce yourself, you could hear the irritation in his voice.
“Who is this?” you replied. You didn’t often get calls on your cellphone.
“Nocello,” he said, taking his time to reply. You frowned. You didn’t recognize his name and yet he knew yours. You must know him from somewhere. As you tried your best to place his name, the man continued on. “Are you sitting down?”
You were. Sitting at your desk with your textbook spread out in front of you, you told the man to continue.
“Mela was in an accident a couple days ago,” Nocello told you. Having practiced what he would say to prevent himself from becoming too emotional, he spoke in a slow and steady manner. “And she didn’t make it.”
It had been a long time since you had heard that name. Although she was your cousin you hardly knew her. You hadn’t heard from her, let alone seen her in years now. Her parents, your aunt and uncle, had died several years ago and with your close family not particularly close, the two of you had fallen out of contact with each other.
“I’m so sorry,” was all you could think to say. You didn’t know who Mela was to Nocello, but you could only assume that they were close.
“Thank you for letting me know,” you said quietly, before wincing. Not knowing what to say, you had spoken without thinking. If you put some thought into it you would have said something nice about it, even if it wasn’t true.
“I have other people to call,” Nocello muttered brusquely, before abruptly ending the call. Although it was a rather sudden end to the call, you couldn’t hold it against him. Although grief was personal and each person dealt with it differently, a week wasn’t enough time to recover from a sudden death like that.
As awful as it was, you couldn’t help but be relieved upon hearing that the funeral was over. Although you didn’t hadn’t known Mela well, you would have felt obligated to go. But the costs associated with attending the funeral would have put you back at least half a million lire. With hardly enough money to feed yourself you couldn’t afford to take a trip right now even if it was for a funeral.
You snapped your cellphone shut and set it down on your desk. As much as you dreaded it, you knew you needed to get back to your review.
Several days later and several midterms later, you got a knock at your door. If it had been your landlord coming around to check something or a neighbour asking to use your phone, you would have known. The knock would have softer, making you question whether you had heard knocking at all. The knocking at your door this afternoon was much harsher and was unmistakable as much.
Not without checking through the peephole, you opened the door. While you didn’t recognize the man, he was well-dressed. Dressed in an orange suit, it didn’t seem as if he was selling anything.
“(name)?” the man asked, to which you nodded. “Do you have a moment to talk?” His voice seemed familiar, although only vaguely, like you had heard it in passing.
“What’s this about?” While you were hesitant to talk with the man, he knew your name. You couldn’t decide whether that was reassuring or whether it bothered you.
“It’s about Mela."
“Oh, I already heard.” Though you didn’t ask, you assumed the man in front of you to be Nocello. For whatever reason you didn’t expect him to look the way he did, with long unkempt blonde hair that hung in front of his face.
“About her debt?” he snapped, as if you should know. When you frowned but didn’t say anything, he continued. “Your cousin had a gambling problem.”
“I had no idea,” you muttered. “That’s terrible.” You were hesitant to say anything more. While you didn’t know where the conversation was going, you had a feeling it wasn’t anywhere good. You didn’t appreciate the tone that the man was taking with you.
“She managed to accumulate a rather large debt with Passione before her passing,” he told you. “About hundred million lire.”
“Now, this is a rather difficult situation,” he went on to say, “but such a debt can’t be forgotten. And you’re her next of kin.”
“I don’t have a hundred million lire,” you stated, matter of fact. You didn't lose a second to hesitation. Even if you had inherited her debt, you couldn't afford to pay it off. You barely had a hundred thousand lire to your name. The state of your fridge reflected that. A million would be difficult enough to pay off, let alone a hundred million.
“That’s fine,” he assured you. “We can discuss your payment later.” Digging something out of his pocket, the man handed it to you. It was nothing more than a scrap of paper with an address on it. With the message relayed and the piece of paper with the address in your hands, Fugo was glad that the job was done. He hadn’t wanted to do this job anyway, especially after having the job of calling you pawned off on him by Mista. It had put him into a worse mood than usual.
“I wouldn’t put dealing with this off,” he warned you, but you didn’t need to be warned. Although you knew that they had no right passing your late cousin’s debt onto you, it wasn’t as if you could argue with them. The man was from Passione, a name that you had heard countless times over the past several years.
Without saying anything else the man excused himself, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You had only learned of Mela’s death a week ago and now you found yourself entangled in her debts. As informal as the paper you had been given was, you knew that it was authentic. Passione didn’t take impersonators lightly.
Everyone knew that Passione controlled more than the streets. They had the police in their pocket and above that some of the lower levels of government. Once Passione had its claws in you there wasn’t anything that you could do about it. You couldn’t help but wonder whether Mela’s death had really been an honest accident. If Passione had decided to cut its losses upon realizing that she couldn’t pay, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that they could do the same thing to you.
And so despite how you knew that you shouldn’t go to the address you had been given in the hopes of pleading your case to them, you found yourself with few other options. If you didn’t show up within whatever they deemed an acceptable amount of time, there would be consequences. Looking up the address online told you that it was a residential address. It was a rather nice building but nothing too extravagant. It didn’t seem like the type of building that would house a gang.
Even in person the building didn’t seem to suit its purpose. The atmosphere of the building was far too relaxed to be that of a gang, but perhaps that was how Passione had become the most successful gang in Italy. It was less conspicuous than its rivals had been. Knocking on the front door of the house felt like you were looking to meet with a friend, not a gang.
“(name).” It was the man from earlier who greeted you. This time, though it was he who was answering the door, his demeanour was the same. He would rather not be dealing with you. The feeling was mutual.
“I don’t handle payment directly,” he told you, as you followed him into the building. For a gang as wealthy and successful as Passione, you were surprised by how minimal the decor was. There was the occasional painting or ornament, but aside from that the walls were bare.
Stopping at a rather small room just as empty as all of the others that you had passed, the man showed you inside. There were two sofas facing each other with a low coffee table sitting between them, all of which were intricately built pieces. The table looked like carved mahogany or a similarly expensive material, and both of the sofas were covered in black fabric.
As you turned back towards the man who had shown you in, he told you wait here before closing the door and disappearing. Reluctant to sit down on what was clearly an expensive piece of furniture, you lingered by the door for a couple of minutes before giving in. You had no idea how long you would be waiting. Considering how many people had debts with Passione, you could be waiting awhile.
Sitting down on the sofa closer to the door, you ran your hand across the cushion as if to smooth it out. What you were feeling could be nothing other than velvet, much softer than your skirt and the patterned rug that was spread out over the hardwood floor. You would have liked to slip your feet out of the flats you were wearing even if just for a moment, but couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.
Like you were smoothing out a napkin that you had spread across your lap, you kept running your hand across the sofa. You couldn’t get comfortable. If you had been wearing a watch, you felt as if you would have been able to hear it ticking. The digital display of your cellphone told you that time was passing but it was completely silent. Half-considering shooting a text to a friend, you closed your phone, deciding against it. Even if it would help you pass the time, you knew that you would get halfway through a conversation before whoever you were waiting for showed up.
You turned and looked out the window which was opposite the door. It was a tall, thin window but had no curtains, giving you a clear view of the city. There wasn’t much to see. Summer had been left behind weeks ago now and autumn had wasted no time settling into the city. Though the trees still had their leaves, the smaller plants had dried up and died.
Just as you were beginning to allow yourself to get comfortable on the sofa, you heard the doorknob click open although the door itself didn’t creak or whine. You turned slowly to greet whoever had come to discuss your debt but froze without standing up. Though you knew it would be polite to stand up and introduce yourself, you couldn’t bring yourself to. And there wasn’t a need to introduce yourself.
“Giorno?” It took you longer than you would have liked to speak, giving him plenty of time to get settled next to you on the sofa. It wasn’t as if you needed to ask. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that it was him. Dressed similarly but not the same as he had been the night the two of you had met, Giorno was looking at you in the same way that he always did. Neutral, almost bordering on a smile.
“I’m glad to see you again,” Giorno said. Unsure as to whether you wanted to give him a “likewise”, you didn’t say anything.
Though the sofa was long enough to fit several people, Giorno had sat close enough that his knee was touching yours. You let go of the phone that you had been gripping as he slipped his fingers between it and your phone. Your phone fell into your lap as Giorno lifted your hand, moving it more slowly than he had any time before. A breath warmed your skin before his lips set a kiss against the back of your hand. While you tried not to raise your eyes and look, when you did your eyes met his. The intensity with which he was staring at you took you by surprise. Up until now you hadn’t seen him show such raw emotion. He almost seemed upset.
As the time passed, as did the point when Giorno should have let go of your hand. Holding it loosely yet with enough intent that it would be difficult for you to pull your hand away, he was running his thumb across the back of your hand. For a mild-mannered man, his hand was surprisingly calloused. But his thumb wasn’t rough as it touched you, just textured.
You half-expected him to pull your hand back up to give it another kiss but he never did. Though time itself seemed to have frozen as he held your hand, eventually it thawed. As content as Giorno was with things as they were, there was business to attend to.
“I wish the circumstances were different," he murmured, “but it’s a rather large debt." Giorno hadn't needed to say that to confirm your suspicions. Though you hadn't allowed yourself to believe it, you had known that he hadn't wandered in coincidentally. He was the person that you had been waiting for.
“I’ll pay it back,” you told him, not bothering with any of the haggling you had planned. You wouldn’t worsen things by groveling. “Once I graduate I--”
“You don’t need to worry about that.” Maybe for once it was for the best that Giorno didn’t let you finish. Nothing you would have said would be meaningful. All you would have given Giorno were excuses as to why you couldn’t repay the debt right now. If this had been your first encounter with him, maybe your thoughts would have been more clear and maybe you would have been able to articulate yourself better. But you knew Giorno and that was making processing what was happening was more difficult than you would have expected it to be.
“I’ll take care of it for you.” He was looking at you as he had asked a question and was waiting for a reply. But no question had been asked, leaving you at a loss.
“I’d appreciate that.” The words were forced and sounded unnatural even to you.
Having had never let go of your hand, Giorno remembered that he was holding it and loosened his firm hold on you. Though you tried pulling your hand away from his, he had only loosened his grip and hadn’t let go. Instead of freeing your hand, you tried putting some distance between the two of you by scooting backwards, however slightly. The extra inch or two didn’t help. There wasn’t anywhere for you to go. At some point you must have begun to lean away from him, leaving no space for when you made a conscious effort to get away.
All you could do when Giorno leaned in towards you was raise a hand to separate the two of you. It didn’t do as much as you would have liked. Your touch did nothing more than encourage him to move closer towards you. Your foot skidded against the rug but instead of it getting you anywhere, it came out of your shoe. Your other shoe joined the first as Giorno set a hand on your waist.
Though part of you knew that you could keep trying to squirm away from him, or arch your hand against his chest and remind him that you had fingernails, you couldn’t bring yourself to. The faint scent of cologne, the warmth of his breath against your skin, his fingers digging into your side. It was all so overwhelming. Barely loud enough to be heard, you gasped as Giorno pressed a kiss against your neck. As forward as he was, the kiss was surprisingly chaste. Just chaste enough that you let him keep going without any complaints.
“Giorno.” Hearing his name sighed in such a way was more than he could ask for. Although you had said his name before it had never been like that. But as nice as it sounded and as much as it drove him forward, it shouldn't have taken so long to hear. He would have liked to have heard it in the museum, or even at dinner. There was nothing wrong with playing hard to get, but you had taken it too far. Much further than any other woman had. Maybe that was why Giorno hadn’t grown bored with you like he had the others.
Although you weren’t comfortable with how Giorno had let himself fall on top of you, it was easy to forget your discomfort with what he was doing. But your complacency waned as the kisses against your neck turned into bites. A hand sliding up your side with obvious intent was the final straw.
“I can come up with the money,” you offered. Though you wanted to follow it up with something, anything, just to give yourself some time to think, you hesitated for too long and lost the nerve. Even as you felt a hand reach for the zipper at your side, your inability to act kept you frozen in place.
“There’s no need for that,” Giorno told you, his fingers tugging on the zipper. Though you wished that it would catch and get stuck like it had so many times in the past, the zipper parted effortlessly. “Everything’s already been arranged.”
Gathering up the fabric of your skirt, he pulled it down to reveal the entirety of your legs. He had seen your legs underneath your dress the night the two of you had met but he could only imagine what you would like wearing less. He was unwrapping the gift he had been looking forward to for weeks, and it was as satisfying as he had expected it to be. The gifts of art and centuries old vintage from men looking to earn his favour had grown boring. You were anything but.
With your skirt pulled low enough that it wasn’t in the way, he went back up for your shirt. He felt you tense as he grabbed at your shirt, and when you didn’t relax he raised his eyes to meet yours. The look in his eyes told you that was easier to let him undress you than it was to fight it. You averted your eyes, not wanting to see him, but that didn’t matter. Seeing your reaction was more than enough. Giorno watched your face rather than what he was revealing as he brought your shirt up over your head.
As Giorno slipped his hand between your back and the sofa, he couldn’t help but prefer how your skin felt to the velvet. He could feel the muscles of your back as you tried to kept yourself still, not wanting to react to his touch. It was hard not to sigh as your bra was taken away and a pair of hands went straight to your bare breasts. Even though you wouldn’t admit it, not even to yourself, they knew what they were doing. It wasn’t their first time.
Although Giorno would have gladly traded his hands for his mouth, you had kept him waiting too long for that. Maybe you would be more deserving of it next time. Right now, while Giorno took away his hands he didn’t replace them with anything. Moving his attention away from you, he began unbuttoning his shirt. There was no fumbling or even a finger out of place as he moved down the row of buttons.
Refusing not to just lay there and watch you began to raise a knee, just to have something to separate the two of you. A hand set against your thigh stopped you where you were, and you let your leg fall back down onto the sofa. It wasn't as if it would stop him.
You kept your eyes focused on his as he continued to undress, as if not seeing it would make things less real. It didn't help. You heard his clothes falling onto the floor and you felt the sofa move as Giorno turned his attention back towards you. Your last attempt at shying away was thwarted as he pulled you underneath him. His hand went straight to your hip and dragged down the last piece of fabric that stood in his way. If he noticed how it was damp, he didn’t say anything. You couldn’t help but feel that Giorno knowing that you, or rather your body, had liked how he had been touching it made things worse.
But as sudden as the action was, it wasn't desperate or uncoordinated. It was a single smooth action carried out with nothing but confidence. He didn’t have to think about what he was doing, having already thought everything through. As stiff as your legs had gone and as unnecessarily difficult as it was to get your underwear down your legs, once it was out of the way there was nothing stopping Giorno except for how your legs resisted being parted.
Flinching before even the tip of his cock had touched you only made it worse when it did. Scraping a foot against the sofa, you tried to move away from Giorno but didn’t get anywhere. Even if you had tried something more drastic to escape the burn that you were already feeling, it wouldn’t have done any good. Half-inside of you already, Giorno was heavy and had no trouble keeping you still.
The sigh that you had let out in frustration turned into a whine as you realized that he wasn't stopping. Though you had hoped that he would start slowly, your hope had been in vain.
It hurt. Not the fingers that were straining to draw red lines onto his back or your back as you tried to twist away from him, but how he driving his cock into you. Like it was somehow hurting him, Giorno let out a short breath alongside each inch that you took. You found your breaths matching his, until finally there was nothing more for you to take. Although the immediate pain began to fade, the pressure didn’t let up.
Almost forgetting what was happening and just glad to have found some respite, you let yourself relax too much. It hurt more when Giorno began to move. Though it wasn’t strictly painful, it was enough to earn a complaint.
“Giorno, I don’t--”
Looking down at you, Giorno couldn’t help but lean in for the kiss that he had been robbed of at the museum. A long and deep kiss, it was better than anything he would have gotten at the museum. Your fingers tried to pull him away from you, to no avail. Giorno pulled away from you when he decided that the kiss had come to its end.
“No one backs out of a deal with Passione,” he murmured, more of a statement than a reply. “Especially not with its don.” Even without the look he was giving you, the last word that he spoke would have been enough. Your intuition had been right but it had been far too late. But even if your doubts had surfaced earlier, you doubted that you would have been able to change anything. Nothing and no one was out of Passione’s reach.
The small amount of resistance that you had disappeared, leaving nothing but exhaustion. Your hands that had been digging into Giorno’s back went limp and did nothing more than hold him. The room silent other than the sound of your body meeting his, you could hear the grumbles that he was trying to keep in his throat. Each time he thrusted his hips forward, although he would try to keep the sound down, the occasional growl slipped through. Among the sounds he was making, you caught your name more than a couple of times.
“Giorno,” you whined, finding your voice again. Saying his name did nothing, although you didn’t expect it to. And yet you said it again, and then for a third time. What Giorno was doing was drawing his name from your lips time and time again. Somehow he knew the angle at which to move and how deep to go, and wasn’t relenting whatsoever. If he was hearing your pleas, he wasn’t acknowledging them.
He didn’t acknowledge how you tried to raise your legs to push him away, nor did he acknowledge how your fingers began to arch against his back again, although much less strength than before. As weak as the actions were, he barely felt them. All that he cared to feel was how you were beginning to tighten around him, especially as he began to put even more force behind his thrusts.
His hair beginning to ever so slightly fall of place, Giorno looked down at you and your eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards his. You caught sight of his eyes with their same constant identity before you forced yourself to turn away. The very same legs which had been trying to push him away moments earlier stretched out to draw him down upon you.
Better than anything you had said or done up to now, it was how you whined his name as you came that was what Giorno had been needing. Well-earned, it was better than any other time that he had heard his name.
“(name),” he sighed, returning the favour. Your name, whispered in a low voice, sounded too good. About to interrupt him with a final plea to pull out, Giorno snapped his hips against you, earning a groan from the both of you. Feeling Giorno finish inside you was nothing more than salt poured on a fresh wound.
You breathed a sigh of relief as Giorno pulled out of you, even though it felt as if he were still buried deep inside of you. When you went to move you found that your legs weren’t quite listening to you, their movements just slightly off. Though Giorno sat up for a moment, he promptly settled back down next to you. He had no intention of leaving, nor letting you leave. Not now, and not ever. Letting you slip away was a mistake that he wouldn’t make twice.
He had known that there was something interesting about you when he had read the file that had been presented to him. Though it had started out of boredom and curiosity, Giorno had grown to enjoy reading about the lives of the people who got involved with Passione. While you had become involved with the gang indirectly after applying for a grant, a file had been prepared for security. Though the grants were nothing more than a means to clean money, precautions had to be taken.
Although it had been fate that had guided his hand to pick up your file, Giorno had arranged the rest. Feeling your warmth beside him told him that it had been the right decision. He could feel your chest rise and fall every couple of seconds or so, and it was contagious. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt at such peace. It had been years ago. All the dreams that he had been working towards fulfilled long ago, he couldn’t help but feel as if you were what he had been missing.
You sighed as Giorno pulled you into his arms. His broad arms held you tightly as his hands ran across your skin. Just as his hand felt hot against you, Giorno felt the warmth of your chest and couldn’t help how his hands roamed. His hands ran across your breasts but didn’t linger. He wasn’t touching you for any reason except to feel you.
Though you could feel that his cum was running out of you, there was nothing you could do. The sofa could pay someone’s rent for at least a year, but Giorno didn’t care. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the sofa or that it was something that could be easily replaced, but rather that you were more important.
Giorno went to press a kiss against the side of your head, and was relieved when you didn’t recoil. Although you didn’t turn to meet him, you let him kiss you, which he did at his own leisure. He had the luxury of time now. There wasn’t anywhere else that you needed to be. Italy belonged to Passione and its don, and so did you.