Chapter Text
The damn near-overbearing heat of the Italian summer had quelled to a soft simmer as the sun fully set for the day. 'Don Giovanna' had just finished up some of his official duties and was now relaxed in his favourite chair in his office. He was reading some pretentious classic in a language that Mista could not understand. The gunslinger simply couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Giorno had been a kid practically living on the streets for half of his life but he'd still managed to learn fucking Russian.
He was an outlier to the whole system. An anachronism.
-Which was probably why he made such a good boss.
For the better part of two years… There had been peace.
...Well, as much peace as one could possibly get in the goddamn mafia.
After Giorno had usurped the role from Diavolo- many aspects of Passione had changed dramatically. The most predominant of such being the mass halt to drug dealing. In Bucciarati’s honour, it had been the first thing Giorno had enacted as boss. It would have been what the former Capo had done… And Giorno had followed that man with great loyalty. It was only natural.
Nevertheless, after the initial ‘change in management,’ during the summer of 2001, things had settled down quite a bit. Giorno was, to the required extent, content.
Which meant that it was due time for trouble to come knocking at the door.
...Except that it didn’t.
No- this time trouble decided it would crash through the window.
It all happened in rapid succession, the abruptly loud sound of shattered glass- the large thump of the body that had caused it- Giorno and Mista’s mutual (and valid) reaction of great alarm...
They were on the third floor. This sort of thing just wasn’t possible if one regarded it with normal logistics...
...But, unfortunately, with the existence of stands- anything was possible.
Giorno sincerely hopes that it isn’t another stand attack. He really does.
Perhaps some hotshot had installed a catapult on the mansion grounds and was testing out its range?
Unlikely, but Giorno liked to think of himself as an optimist.
Despite Mista’s vehement protests- Giorno approaches the body, laid out in a sea of broken glass. It was large- male, very muscular and extremely pale.
“He has to be dead.” Giorno inspects. “He certainly looks dead.”
Mista moves, kicking the side of the man. “How the fuck did he get up here?”
Giorno gives him a look, one that says that he ought to not play with dead bodies- before turning the man over to get a better look. He wanted to see if there were any injuries- any indicator of what the hell had just happened here. He couldn’t very well investigate anything if all he had to work on was an unmoving back, after all.
In doing so, Giorno uncovers the face of a man that seemed oddly... familiar to him.
“Holy shit, Giorno, he looks like you!”
Indeed he did.
This peculiar blonde man had a striking resemblance to Giorno, most definitely.
...Which meant that it was likely a targeted attack. Typical. The moment Giorno became the leader to Passione he was Mr Popular.
...Though he did much prefer shameless grovelling as opposed to threats.
Especially of this calibre.
“Did some enemy organisation pick off a relative I didn’t know about and send me their corpse as a warning?” Giorno muses, a hand on his chin. He inspects his surroundings with a keen eye.
The glass shards had spread everywhere throughout the room, which meant that the corpse had to have been flung at a very high speed from quite far away... Perplexing.
“Giorno…?” Mista says from behind him.
“...And how did they get him up here? A man of such stature- and at this height…”
“Giorno?”
“And surely there was a better way to get a message across then-”
“Giorno!”
Irritated, Giorno looks up at the other. “What is it, Mista?"
“The corpse is moving.”
"Oh."
Within an instant, Giorno has a million different thoughts running through his head- but just one hypothesis. One he hadn't thought about until now.
Alabaster skin, curling blonde hair- enormous stature. An appearance of death- but inherently life-like…?
Cazzo.
“Mista you need to get out of here now.”
Mista’s eyes widen in surprise. Giorno can practically see the man digging his claws into the floor. “What?! You-”
“Out! Now!” He shouts at the other as Dio rises from unconsciousness. He rarely shouted.
Mista, having finally realised that Giorno truly meant his words- exits the room in a flash. The gunslinger was loyal to a tee and Giorno could tell that it killed him to leave- but he’s truly glad that he listened above anything else. Mista was a worthy adversary.
The sound of the slamming door brings him down from his thoughts.
Giorno didn’t know a whole lot about his father. Aside from the polaroid he had seen many years ago now- there hadn’t been a whole lot to go off of. His mother hated to speak of him- and asking about it usually resulted in a beating. Naturally, he'd quickly learnt it was better not to ask. It was futile, anyhow, all he had ever really gleaned from her responses was that he encaptured a mysterious allure of danger and seduction and left without so much as a note the same night.
He was an elusive guy- most definitely. And Giorno’s almost certain that he was very very dangerous.
“Dio,” Giorno says the name carefully, predominantly unsure of what exactly to do in this situation.
What did he want? Why was he here?
Dio regards him with a regal air- something entirely beyond the realm of pompous. He looks him over with a cursory glance. He doesn’t speak.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Giorno continues, feeling a slight tremble in his hands. As a child, he had idolised the thought of having a father- a strong role model to look up to. Someone to bring him to piano lessons and to teach him how to shoot. He’d never had any of that.
...And he thinks he can see why now.
Dio wasn’t human. That was for certain.
Sure, there was stand users- and they, Giorno supposed, weren’t completely human. But this… This was on a whole new level.
Dio was supernatural.
“Giorno Giovanna.” His name on Dio’s lips is chilling. It sets his instincts aflame. “I require your assistance.”