DaHaloChick

It had been a long, long few weeks for Passione. Giorno had used the time to manage the fallout from his battle with Claudio to the best of his ability. The easiest part of that had been dealing with the police. All he had to do was send along a nice stack of incriminating information about Claudio and his associates, along with an equally nice stack of money, and a battle for the fate of one of of Italy’s most notorious groups of criminals became a sad story of a druggie accidentally blowing himself and his friends up in an abandoned hotel while attempting to cook up a batch of illegal substances. As soon as the story faded from the headlines, Giorno would get to work fixing up that hotel to start turning a profit. The next thing he had needed to do was soothe the frayed nerves of his famiglia. Giorno had decided that the best way to go about it was to simply put the truth out there: traitors had been found within their ranks and had been disposed of, and now that they were gone, it

Bruno watched in horror as Sienna flung herself at Claudio, blood trailing in her wake from the injury she had taken. One she had taken protecting him. He felt himself get pulled along by Giorno. “We have to move!” Bruno felt himself tremble. The fears he and Abbacchio had harbored before were coming to fruition right in front of their eyes. Giorno was their priority, but… He felt his heart break as he turned towards the group of men, still firing at Sienna as she attacked Claudio. Giorno was their priority. Sienna was going to die. “We can’t--” A loud crash rang out as the doors to the suite burst open, the ornate metal clanging loudly. Bullets flew, followed by the cries of Claudio’s men as they were decimated by an unexpected onslaught of bullets. They tried to fight back, but they had wasted too much ammo on Passione’s loyal men. In front of the doorway, a sizable squad of men and women stood, fully armed. At the front was a tall, almost lanky man, with shoulder-length

Giorno watched Aerosmith from the back seat of the car, hovering just out of line of sight from the hotel. He turned his attention back to his cell phone. “What do you see, Narancia?” “There’s a lot of them, but it’s hard to get an exact count from this angle. I don’t think there’s any of the roof, though.” The Don hummed in thought. He needed an accurate count of what he was dealing with, and he was betting on there being very few, if any, other Stand users in there aside from Claudio and Sal. “Go for it.” He heard the whirring of Aerosmith’s propellers as it ascended, then got more distant as it headed towards the building. Several long minutes later, Narancia spoke. “I’m counting 15...20...I think that’s it.” “In the entire building?” “No, Giorno, that’s just the first floor. The others don’t look as busy as the others, but everyone’s moving around. They seem busy.” “Or they’re doing security rounds,” Bruno mused. “Can you tell if any of them are near the windows?” “Yeah, I

Only a few short days passed before Giorno got the call from Corruccio. Claudio was making his move. He had gathered the vast majority of his men, a mixture of both Passione traitors and Forza mafiosi, and was heading back into Napoli. He had no idea how many of the men Claudio was leaving behind were staying put because they were too loyal to Corruccio and Claudio didn’t trust them, or how many of them had been left to keep an eye on Curricio himself. He had assured Giorno that the matter would be dealt with by the time Claudio was dead. Corruccio had readily given up the address of the place that Claudo was heading to, and confirmed that Ciro and his men were on their way. Despite all of the ways he knew this could go wrong, Giorno knew he had to simply put his doubts aside and trust the man on that front. Claudio’s destination was an abandoned hotel in Napoli, not too far from where Giorno lived. The name had sounded familiar, so Giorno decided to pull up the files Diavolo had

“You’re sure about this?” Abbacchio asked, looking at Giorno warily. The Don nodded. “I am.” He looked at Bruno expectantly. The Capo's gaze fell upon his men. “I agree with Giorno that Corruccio is very serious about working with us. He was very forthcoming, and the information he gave us in return for our intel all checked out with Marsala.” “You mean the info that she could verify,” Mista retorted. “She said she has no idea how he got his hands on some of it.” “He’s been working with Claudio directly,” Bruno reminded him, “If she could find that information herself, we wouldn’t have needed him to give it to us.” Mista reluctantly agreed. “That’s all well and good,” Fugo said, “But how exactly are we going to actually do this?” “According to Corruccio’s intel, Claudio has amassed a force large enough to make him confident that he can take us all out.” Giorno held up a finger. “However, we have some key factors on our side. The biggest one, of course, is that he has no idea that

Allegra placed a bunch of plates filled with food onto the table, which was really two tables pushed together, with a smile. “Let me know if you guys want more. I’ll get you guys some refills on your drinks, too.” “I’ll help, babe,” Formaggio said, standing and walking over to the bar with her. They talked as she mixed the drinks they had ordered, smiling and laughing the entire time. Prosciutto could scarcely believe his eyes. Formaggio was known for enjoying one-night stands, or dating women for short amounts of time. He often said it was easier that way, because their unpredictable schedules would inevitably cause problems. It appeared that he didn’t have that concern anymore. Allegra didn’t know every detail about what they did, of course, but he hoped she knew enough to understand when those times that he would be scarce came. Formaggio was clearly smitten, and she appeared to be just as taken by him. It was an odd thing, to see one of their own in such a position. Prosciutto

Formaggio couldn’t deny his nervousness as he parked in the parking lot of Zaffiro. It had been about a week since he had spoken to Allegra, but she had texted him a few hours earlier, asking him to stop by the bar around closing time. He hadn’t expected her to reach out, if he was being honest with himself. The past week had seemed to fly by, as they were working closely with Giorno to monitor and contain the spats popping up between Passione and their traitors. It had started off as small scuffles, hits and jabs at individuals, but by week’s end, things had intensified. Just last night, he and the others had gone out to dinner at a restaurant so that they could tail two groups of the bastards to their hideouts and eliminate them. These traitors were pretty good at laying low, but had gotten sloppy when they had taken down a group of loyal Passione members a few days prior. It had been the perfect distraction from wrestling with how he was going to handle Allegra, but now, she

Allegra clung to Formaggio as she clumsily opened her front door, feeling almost too tired to even do that. He pushed the door open, helping her in. She turned and flicked on the light switch, illuminating the room. He immediately went over to her couch, gently sitting her down onto it. “There’s a small set of cabinets in the bathroom,” she instructed, “First door on the left over there. There should be a first aid kit.” He gave Allegra an appraising look. She had been near hysterical as they had left the warehouse, but had started to become calm and more focused on the way back to her apartment. She was in survival mode, he could tell, and that collected demeanor would only last for so long. He found the first aid kit easily enough, then rushed to her kitchen to grab a bowl of water and a hand towel, then came back to her to start tending to her wounds. Most of them were bruises, which he couldn’t do anything about, but he wanted to make sure that the cuts that littered her body

“It’s that warehouse, the last one on the left,” Marsala said, pointing to the aforementioned warehouse. Formaggio didn’t see any indication that the warehouse was occupied from here, but he trusted Marsala’s abilities enough to take her word for it. “How are we doing this, boss?” he asked, turning to the taller man. Risotto thought that over for a moment. “I will go on ahead and scout out the immediate area; they won’t see me as long as I use Metallica. Marsala, take the others around back, quietly, and I’ll meet you there.” Marsala watched in awe as Risotto activated his Stand and disappeared. She had discerned a little bit of what their abilities were by context clues in conversations alone, but watching one of her fellow assassins in action was impressive. Taking a breath, she summoned November Rain. Her Stand was almost like a tiny lamia, as it’s bottom half was a dark gray, shiny serpent’s tail. The upper half was humanoid, but continued the dark shine that its tail

Soon after he swore his fealty to Giorno, Fugo took his belongings from his hideout and moved into the Don’s villa. Seeing his friends again had been both refreshing and surprising. Bruno, who had greeted Fugo with a hug and a warm welcome back, was still his determined yet gentle self, and his relationship with Abbacchio seemed more solid than ever. The latter man had clearly changed, having become less cold, more emotional. He had expected Abbacchio to barely trust him upon his return, but he had simply given Fugo a smirk and a stiff pat to his shoulder. Mista had grinned and slung an arm around him, giving him a knowing wink. Mista had been his contact from Giorno once the blonde man had found him, so he had seen Mista several times already since Diavolo’s defeat, and his immediate acceptance wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was Narancia. When he arrived, the younger man was in the kitchen, studying. When he saw Fugo, the two of them stared at each other for a few seconds