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The beauty of Metallica was that it completely negated the old tool bag Risotto used to carry around.
All he needed to do was extend his arm forward, call forth his stand, and watch as his target coughed up a pair of cuffs, followed by today’s weapon of choice.
Today, it was a Kaiser blade.
Perhaps a little flashy, but it was well worth the iron supplements he needed to pop beforehand. Targets always started singing like sparrows the moment the light flashed across the flat end of the blade.
Lucio Vongole was hanging from his wrists thanks to the B Negative iron he’d coughed up before promptly passing out.
To Risotto, Vongole was little more than just the target of the week- another contract thrown on his desk. Maybe a ticket to better jobs and maybe a crew of his own someday.
To the Boss, Vongole was the man who’d been extorting some of the famiglia members and coming away with hundreds of thousands of lira over the past month.
Turns out, ‘Father’ Vongole was holding confession on Thursday evenings with the actual priest bound and locked up in the sacristy. Mafioso sins made for excellent blackmail material.
The man predictably had been insisting on his innocence ever since he came to, and that someone else had been running around Naples using his name.
Even if that was true, Risotto wasn’t being paid to think.
And the man had started to piss him off after he’d accused Risotto of being possessed.
“No human has eyes like that!” Vongole spat at him, and Risotto retaliated by forcing him to hack up needles. “Did the devil send you?”
“No, just the boss,” Prosciutto added flatly.
Risotto turned his head slightly to where the blond man stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a bored expression. He still wasn’t sure why the younger man was assigned as his plus-one for the assignment.
“Let me have a turn,” Prosciutto said, eyes locked on Risotto’s, even as Vongole started thrashing and hollering.
Risotto waved his hand, and Metallica formed a weight on Vongole’s tongue to shut him up. “It’s fine.”
Prosciutto narrowed his eyes. “Why, don’t you trust me?”
Risotto opened his mouth to speak, but Prosciutto waved him off. “I don’t care that you’re my capo now, there are more effective ways to get answers.”
Capo?
The taller man nodded, too stunned to speak.
“Thank you.” Prosciutto jutted his chin towards the door. “It’s safer to watch.”
A stand manifested behind him, although based on Vongole’s glazed-over expression, the man couldn’t see the green mist starting to curl around him.
Prosciutto whispered in Vongole’s ear. His voice croaked, skin thinned rapidly, and red hair greyed, the smoke growing thicker by the second.
By the time Prosciutto straightened up and turned to face Risotto, there was nothing more than a skeleton hanging by its wrists.
“Money’s on Capri,” the blonde said, smoothing down the front of his suit. “Lead the way, capo.”