After getting his wounds to stop bleeding, they encouraged Prosciutto to get some rest. But he found it to be impossible. He was exhausted, sure. Not so long ago he had to carry an almost dead Mista outside the house where the medical team came to their aid as soon as Prosciutto gave them a call. They moved quickly, thankfully. Mista was far gone by the time he closed his eyes. Still, something else kept him from sleeping. The feeling of regret, of things that were broken and lost like his pride. The only glue that held him together, nowhere to be seen. This is what it took to make him crumble down and the thought of it was driving him crazy. He wanted to be whole again but the process was going to take him a long time of getting used to, time that he didn't even know if he would have.
Now, in the middle of a made-up hospital room, he sighed at what he had left. Although this was no appropriate time to mourn for his injuries. Prosciutto was used to pain. He understood it and even commuted with it from time to time, old wounds coming to haunt him as if the ghosts of the people he had killed appeared before him. The dead were never that grateful, but he sure hoped they were. That night, he was merciless. Saw them scream in agony as life abandoned them by force, blood still stuck to a few strands of his long hair. They didn't do a good job of combing it. Blond streaks decorating his chest, like bandages.
"You're awake."
Prosciutto turned to see the white curtains pulled apart as the Boss entered his room. He was smiling out of courtesy but the gentleness of his walk towards him calmed him down. He was there as a friend. Prosciutto scoffed.
"Still feel like shit though."
"You slept for a while."
"Did I?" Prosciutto honestly couldn't remember. But the Boss wouldn't lie. He looked tired, even worse than he did. He probably didn't sleep at all.
"You did. You needed to."
"It was kinda difficult, you know..." Prosciutto patted the top of the bed and was reminded of the leg he lost. Armigio cut it clean in an instant, the bastard didn't even let him react. Bruno's expression didn't change, there was just a change of light inside his eyes coming from his pupils. Prosciutto snickered.
"Stop looking at me that way, Bruno. You know I hate pity."
"I don't pity you."
"You better."
He knew only a fool would bite the hand that feeds, but Bruno didn't flinch. There was going to be no answer from him.
"Is the kid ok?"
As expected, he didn't answer that question either.
"He got it bad, huh."
"We managed to stabilize him but they couldn't promise he would make it." A tinge of fear came from the Boss's voice. It sounded strange coming from him, but Prosciutto could agree that even though death was nothing new for them, having it so close to home was nerve-wracking, to say the least.
"They say infections could appear at any time. So they have to keep him in check."
Prosciutto nodded slightly, unable to believe the kid could be gone for real. When he got to him he wasn't conscious at all, barely breathing but with a warmth on his skin that didn't belong there. As if his body was clinging to life, even if his mind started to dissipate into nothing.
"Did Giorno heal him?"
"If he didn't he wouldn't be alive."
There was no other option for Mista because Bruno wouldn't have been able to stop Giorno even if he wanted to. As the doctors started treating his wounds, Giorno entered the room with his eyes covered in a veil of tears. They didn't even have to tell him for him to start. As Gold Experience left his body before he touched Mista, Giorno reached to the depths of his soul to look for some anchors, something to keep himself together. Bruno could see that he found absolutely nothing except the cold of those hands he was touching. And he held to them for dear life, tighter than he ever thought he would.
They didn't let him stay, much to his demise. Mista needed time to heal on his own and Giorno had to be escorted out, put in a room as close as possible to the wounded. Bruno didn't see his heir cry and as much as he wanted him to do so, his sorrows were put away again. So much pain was going to eventually spill, it was a matter of time. And whoever was there to collect the drops of bitter wine would be the one to drink it all.
"He'll be fine then, don't worry so much."
The assassin was completely sure of that, smirking slightly, his fingers urging for a cigarette. He ignored Bruno's sigh, long and deep enough to be mistaken for the beginning of a scream.
"I know you're tired, Prosciutto. And I know that maybe it's not the best moment to talk about what happened, but I do need to know."
"Don't worry about that, Boss." The assassin nodded, lost in a strange trance of fake energy and disposition that even though it wasn't the perfect humor to get information from, it was good enough. "I'm the perfect mood to talk right now."
Bruno obliged and lowered his head so Prosciutto could begin as he took a sit on the edge of the bed. The assassin didn't hold back.
"That bastard..." Prosciutto cursed under his breath and pursed his lips together, pray of his feelings and regrets.
"What a nasty stand." He muttered and held his tongue in place as if what he saw yesterday was still happening in his head, and the action reflected on his eyes, the putrid bodies of the men that tried to get to him falling into pieces of old meat. He saw the shadow of Armigio, the impact of the sharp edge on his leg, the thought that he could've cut him in half. He blinked way more times than he needed to.
"He was able to use the shadows as a weapon. That's how he got my leg. But he had to project his own shadow using light, so...that's why Mista got him too. The idiot couldn't keep his shadow in two different places."
Bruno nodded. They weren't sure Armigio was a stand user, the man was good at hiding it and managed to keep it that way until that moment. His death, at least, was a good reminder to every potential traitor of what would happen to them if they tried. The bullet holes in his neck had to be part of something bigger.
They had to be a reminder to themselves as well.
"He's alive thanks to you, Prosciutto."
"No. We're alive thanks to him. Your man has guts, shooting himself in the shoulder like that..." Bruno winced as he remembered, the wound called for his eyes first as it looked like the most painful one, resting right on top of his heart. "Uncalled for, but appreciated if that's what he needed to do."
He said nothing to Prosciutto as he slowly sighed. Bruno would have been lying if he said there wasn't a slight suspicion that he did that out of desperation. He pictured him with the steady hands that characterized him holding his gun and inhaling the smoke. Maybe he didn't even feel the pain. Sometimes, getting things out of your own heart needs blunt trauma.
"It was wise to not tell him, Bruno." Prosciutto interrupted his thoughts again. Collected, The Boss positioned his hands over his legs and nodded. There was no way he would tell Mista that the man he was going to go kill was responsible for his memory loss. Keeping him in the shadows was safer than throwing him emotional baggage that he wouldn't have been able to carry.
"I wasn't planning on doing it."
"Just as expected from our Boss."
There was nothing much to say about it, except that this meant Passione's problems would ease up for now. The job surely already spread around and word of the Boss' orders to finish the traitor would help them clean the table. It was a long time since Bruno forgot about the fear of rising his fingers. Orders were orders and the life of his men, of his family, depended on his cold choices.