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Chapter Text

He'd 'borrowed' a rental car and property from a tourist in Amalfi and told them to go visit Bari for a week, and driven into the north-east outskirts of Napoli looking for the little shop that the file had described. It was surprisingly easy to find, given that the directions to it were bogus: one of his marks appeared to be brilliant at landmarks but not directions, and so luckily he'd spotted the quaint old newspaper shop with the distinctive sign before he'd even started to look for it, right on the main street of the feeder-village.

In the back of the car he parked up just into a side alley close to the shop was a large reinforced paper shopping bag filled with a variety of things that had been either given to him or was on a list to buy locally, and he'd managed almost everything in Amalfi, apart from a very niche pair of stockings that were frankly impossible to source at such short notice. Instead, he added one of his own creations that he'd done for the Speedwagon Foundation on a 'special commission' (later enhanced by one of Jotaro's friends he had never met and given back to him with the file) and he stuck it with the fashion magazine he'd also been given. He had an inkling that the one who had requested these items in the first place was purposely reeling off a list of ridiculous diva-esque things to be given to her so whoever had the task to supply them would be more worried about that than just how scared she was.

The file said that she wouldn't manifest her Stand for a few days yet, so of course she'd be scared: she'd lost her only known relative, been whisked away by an old man who said her father was still alive, the head of a mafia organisation and wanted to meet her, but had to go about seeing him in the most perverse way imaginable while being escorted by a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears gangsters not much older than her, to the opposite end of the country... and murdered. Of course, the head of Passione hadn't told them that part...

Trish Una's ludicrous shopping list was about to get one of the escort team's members into a whole lot of trouble. But it would also provide him with an interesting opportunity...

He was to observe this 'trouble', assess the situation, and possibly convince the cause of it to stop what he was doing and come join a different team. Until meeting the man in question, he had no idea whether they would be worth saving.

Correction: he would have no idea whether the man in question was worth going to all this trouble for, as all people had at least some worth. Even if it was to serve as a warning to others to not do the same and end up dead. After all, his time was a valuable commodity.

However, what was worth it to him was on a whole different scale to what the average person thought; after all, he was the Great Rohan Kishibe: mangaka extraordinaire and Stand User of the versatile and potentially most useful ability for a person such as him to wield, [Heaven's Door]. If he needed to convince foreign assassins that it was in their best interests to join Team Jotaro, then he was going to succeed in the attempt, and do it with style.

And maybe if the subject matter piqued his interest he'd get a few new ideas for his manga along the way...

* * *

Chapter Text

The heat was getting more intense in the road as Rohan waited with the temporary instruction on himself that he was invisible - well, more kind of not worth the effort of noticing - to all the people in the suburb; the mangaka winced as an explosion happened very close to his location, but knew he had to tough it out until the right moment.

The spider torture was interesting, but… Ugh: this is worse than when that idiot Okuyasu gets going… the boy’s winning, and he uses that [Aerosmith] Stand ferociously, but there’s no finesse or precision there. The detector isn’t bad, however, and used quite skilfully… hmm, it reminds me of Keisei’s goggles in a way… Oh, what on earth is this ridiculous stunt he’s pulled now?!

He watched for another minute until he saw the pair of combatants facing up against one another: he was almost certain that this was the final pass, so he began walking slowly over to them, still mentally unseen but checking the environment to make sure there were no other bystanders present, waiting for the right time to step in.

Oh great: now they’re comparing Stand Speeds like boobs in an anime show… Right: this is getting out of hand. I’ll have to step in now. “[Heaven’s Door]!”

Rohan’s Stand materialised and tapped the pair lightly on successive shoulders, ordering them to be unable to harm the mangaka in any way, and to freeze in place for the time being. He had a quick skim through the short teen’s life and found a few interesting and characterful events which he’d think about incorporating into a character later when he had more time. He then edited certain key details of the fight in the young man, and added a new narrative: one in which he won and burnt his assailant to death, picked up a new car he found in an alley and drove back with the items he had bought in the back seat, remembering nothing about his encounter with the mangaka.

That’s one idiot done, so let’s get this guy out of sight and have a longer perusal of his life story…

Rohan gave an instruction to the injured older man to follow him into another alley which led to another car he’d paid for that morning and stashed far enough away from the scheduled fight to be safe. He ordered the man to shrink himself down to the size of a small dog. Still unable to move otherwise, Rohan picked the now tiny man up from the ground and placed him in a pet carrier he’d had ready for just such an occasion; he carefully placed the box on the passenger seat with a seatbelt around it.

Driving the car eastwards across the country until he got to the small port of Baratella, he scoped the small harbour for a suitable motorboat; he paid for that in full with the car and the remainder of the money he had been given by the Speedwagon Foundation.

Writing into himself an instruction where he gained the ability to sail the new vehicle, he set about making the craft ready for travel. By the time he was done it was around lunchtime; he left the port and headed north along the coast. When he found a suitable deserted bay he stopped and dropped anchor.

Rohan settled cross-legged onto a bed in the small cabin with a mug of tea from a flask, and extracted the man - who had since fallen asleep, or fallen unconscious - from the pet carrier, and set him up on the bedside table, taking care not to wake him just yet.

Half an hour should be enough time to see whether he’ll be amenable, he judged, then opened up the man to see what he could find out.

* * *

Chapter Text

Rohan rifled through Formaggio’s early life - ah, unconscious it is… - finding a few initial facts that were an absolute goldmine of information. He was especially interested in how the man had got his Stand in the first place and how he’d dragged another person in by his unfortunate actions… and how the young shoplifter had graduated into the local underworld, first as a soldato, then as an assassin; how others underestimated his powers, his love of cats, and-

What's this, though...?

Farei qualsiasi cosa per la mia gattina furbetta

Is [Heaven’s Door] translating this correctly? The mangaka flicked to the next page to compare, and flicked back again. Yeah, that’s right: how curious… He read it again to make sure.

I would do anything for my sly kitten

Rohan flipped forwards to the next page again and continued to read. Wait: the kid’s a Stand User too…? Excellent: we have leverage, should things go south… hmm, her circumstances read right out of a Dickensian novel. Still, she can sit tight in Napoli till we’re done, and maybe…

Going back to his subject, he continued to read.

So this is it: how do I get a message to her now? No-one else is gonna feed my cat but her. Guess I knew this was gonna happen someday... I'm sorry, kid; can't be helped… I wish I could’ve taken you away from all that bullshit, found a better job myself. But it’s too late: this pipsqueak’s gonna brute force it and win, the bastard…

What? What?!

What’s this other guy doing?! Why can’t I-? What has he done to me?!

Shit! I’m even more screwed now: this guy is a master…

There were a few more incoherent and pained thoughts that Rohan gleaned, but he’d found out enough to make a decision, slightly coloured by the man’s recognition of [Heaven’s Door]’s prowess, and the chance to see a story unfold that he might not otherwise have done…

As the soon-to-be ex-assassin slept (although not ex- in the way he’d thought several hours ago), Rohan carefully wrote into Formaggio’s subconscious thoughts so that they’d be forefront of his mind upon waking (although not quite yet: Rohan still had to get the man fixed up, and soon).

I’m still alive. I’m still alive!! Why am I not dead, though?! There’s obviously a reason for this. But why? If it doesn’t betray any of my teammates, I’m going to carefully consider the offer put before me. No-one has to get hurt, and maybe if I’m trustworthy enough they’ll do something about my other concerns too…

That’s vague enough he can leap to his own conclusions and not know he’s been found out, Rohan nodded to himself with satisfaction. Now all I have to do is get him treated in a way that doesn’t get us all found out, or he might still be in trouble… and I might be, too… He tried to use his phone but there were no bars on the signal strength display. Even Formaggio’s phone had no signal, but there were several recent messages on there that he could read after gleaning the password from his prisoner. 

I can at least send a text from it to this cat-girl he keeps thinking about: then his pet won’t starve… Hah! I’m getting soft: it must be that ambulance driver’s fault. Nevertheless, he sent the text and replaced the phone into Formaggio’s back pocket…

{ F: I regret to inform you that }
{ I will not be returning for the }
{ foreseeable future. If ever…. }
{ I’m sorry but this is goodbye }
{ All the best, Formaggio.       }

{ PS: Please Look After The Cat }

Grumbling to himself under his breath while making sure the paralysis instruction still held (just in case the gangster woke up while he was gone), Rohan then set off for the nearest port - Margherita Tirana - to get a signal for his own phone and make a couple of calls.

As he entered the B&B which claimed it had good phone reception, Rohan took out his phone again and dialled a number.

* * *

Chapter Text

“Kujo here. This had better be good.”

Rohan could hear gulls in the background ambience of the call, and the sound of cutlery tinkling on plates, and wondered where the oceanographer was. A seafront cafe? “I disabled him and I drove him to the east coast, far away from the action; he’s on a boat with me, and by now, the kid has the other car and items. This one’s injured though…”

“How badly?”

“He isn’t totally burned to a crisp as I was told to avoid that outcome, but he’s still somewhat burnt and riddled with tiny bullets. I didn’t order him to shrink down too far so he wouldn’t die of blood loss, but there's only so much you can do with a box of sticking plasters.”

“So… Do you think he’ll be useful?”

“Mr Kujo,” Rohan snapped testily through gritted teeth. “Are you doubting my skills? My mark has been prepared appropriately for when he eventually wakes, and he will ask the right questions; how dare you imply-”

“Tch… Yare yare,” the mangaka heard Jotaro tut and mutter. “Fine. Call the number I’m sending you. I think he may have a solution to your problem by now. And he’s on an island off Venezia; you should be able to reach it before all the trouble starts there… I’ll text you a number.”

And the professor hung up.

Blunt as usual. But he didn’t stick around long enough for me to tell him the rest… Ah, but here’s the number… and a set of coordinates… So he made a second call…

After a few rings, a man’s voice answered in flawless but less formal Italian than Rohan’s own imbued skills. “Pronto…?”

The mangaka used the same language to continue the conversation as he recognised the older man’s voice from his brief stay in Morioh a couple of years earlier. The man who bore the brunt of an attack meant for me… “Ah, Caesar. I take it you’ve done your part, then?”

“I retrieved my target yesterday before the goons following her noticed a thing. We’re on Air Supplena Island at the moment with a couple of Hamon User teachers and apprentices. Why do you ask?”

“Can you leave anytime soon?”

“Doesn’t seem like it for a couple of days. Not till the fuss dies down and our persons of interest leave the vicinity. Why?”

“My mark’s injured. Jotaro said you might be able to help.”

“Can you get here before dawn tomorrow?”

“I have a motorboat and I’ve been to Venezia before. It shouldn’t be a problem for me.”

“Good. It seems we’ll be able to convince two Stand Users with one meeting then: the girl has a Stand that can heal injuries and diseases; she’s a little flighty, especially when the couple of Hamon Users that also have Stands here - that is, myself and Sasha - showed her what we can do… and she found out her nonna was killed on purpose just to get her here…”

“Wait… she’s the one who’s-?”

“Si. This is as good a place as any to sit out of the action until the deal is done: I'm getting too old for much more than this kind of excitement anymore, even with Hamon…”

“And now the Speedwagon Foundation has another healer on their books… very clever…”

“We wouldn’t have picked her up at all if Jotaro hadn’t overheard one of the Napoli kids talking about her in the reptile Stand. At least she doesn’t have to go through all that this time, especially since we’re also hopefully keeping the ‘gangster boyband’ together… if the plan works, that is…”

“How does he plan on doing that? Keisei didn’t know…”

“Jotaro has a guy who can mess with circadian rhythms… he didn’t tell me much more about the rest of the plan, though: only to stay out of the way of the current Boss of Passione for another couple of days until we’re sure he and all his goons have left the vicinity.”

“Of course he has a guy. But that only kicks the can forwards,” Rohan pointed out. “I already surmised that Jotaro did manage to work a plan out - otherwise we wouldn’t be doing this - and I know we have our parts successfully completed, but for everything to go right from now on would be nothing short of a miracle.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been praying it all works; some divine assistance wouldn’t go amiss right now… anyhow, I won’t keep you, as you’ll be hard pressed to make it here if we keep on chatting.”

“I’ll see you in around twelve hours, then.”

* * *

It was a couple of hours past midnight when Rohan reached his destination: the air was cool and the half moon was just enough to light Rohan’s route to his destination, just a bit further northeast up the coast from Venezia.  The motorboat powered down to a quiet chug as it headed towards the small pair of islands linked by a wooden walkway and docked where a pair of small speed boats were moored at a small jetty on the larger of the two islands.

The mangaka grabbed the prepared pet carrier with his charge reinterred inside, and jumped off the motorboat onto the wooden boards of the pier; looking around the island, what caught his attention first was the high tower in the centre, rising above all the other buildings like an ancient beacon of some kind. I could just sit here, get out a notepad and start sketching all day long… I wonder why I didn’t hear about this island the last time I was here…? It would have been exactly what I needed…

The second thing was a trio of people waiting in a small courtyard nearby: two unknown women - the older one wearing a cap, the other around her late teens - and one man who he recognised instantly.

“Buongiorno, Rohan!” Caesar Zeppeli waved and enthusiastically gestured at him to close the distance. He pointed at the teenage girl and she performed a kind of polite deference that reminded him of service personnel. “This is Coni, and we think she’ll be able to help you…”

* * *

Chapter Text

There was something covering his head, but there was enough light coming through the rough, loose fabric that he could see the end of his nose if he squinted; that and the annoying itchiness right at its tip made him realise:

I’m… still alive…

The thought was groggy and half-formed: everything hurt like a bitch, but not quite as much as when he’d been caught out by that insane teenager from Buccellati’s team. Formaggio realised the reason he couldn’t see: there was (obviously) some kind of cloth or bag over his head, but he could feel a hard chair of some kind through the seat of his jeans; his hands were firmly tied behind him and looped into the backrest so he couldn’t move them more than a few millimetres.

And he felt… odd… as if his skin had peeled away from his body and was flapping loose in the light breeze. But at that particular moment - even if he was some kind of prisoner - irritating sensations like that weren’t important…

I’m still alive!!  

What he also remembered from before was that somehow [Little Feet] had been deactivated by that man who had shown up out of nowhere and marched him off: burnt, bleeding and right under the nose of that Narancia kid; then he’d been forced to use his power on himself, and been locked in a cat carrier of all things. A Stand, perhaps? That would explain a lot of things… At some point after that, he’d lost track of time. Until now…

Why am I not dead, though?! There’s obviously a reason for this. But why?

He tried to think logically but it was difficult in his condition, and with no real clues to go on: the thin Japanese guy in the odd designer clothing who captured me instead of killing me obviously wasn’t a part of Buccellati’s group, otherwise they would have teamed up; hell, they probably don’t work for Passione either at this rate. Unless the Boss has shipped in someone special for this… nah, the Boss would’ve made sure I was dead…  he swallowed nervously as he listened to a series of puzzling sounds and movements off to one side.

Then Formaggio heard what he assumed was the Japanese man clear his throat and shift position until the voice came from a position roughly a metre or two in front of him. “We’ve healed you up just enough so we can talk. You won’t be able to use your Stand against us, or to escape.”

We? Formaggio cleared his throat and hesitated, then ventured a few words. “I… got that already. Are you Passione, or an independent contractor?”

“Neither. I write and illustrate what you would call fumetti, or manga in my own tongue.” Formaggio concentrated on the voice; it was light, almost nasal, but spoke perfect, if formal Italian. “Occasionally I offer my rather select services to a third party, and they currently have an interest in affairs in this part of the world… so, here I am. Speaking to you. How fortunate am I to get an opportunity like this…?”

How fortunate he is…? Sounds so cock-sure of himself. Definitely a Stand User… “Riiiight… you’re not working for the Boss, then?”

“Absolutely not.” The voice seemed to be both amused and disgusted at the very idea.

“Then why did you interfere? We’re gonna kill him or die trying! If you don’t like him and you guys are ‘interested’ in local affairs, then let me go and I’ll get rid of him for you!”

“No need: the bodyguard team will end up doing that, although over half of them don’t know it yet.” 

“They’re going to-?” That sounded smug… This is news to me. Did Risotto know? “But… if we knew that, then-”

“You would have approached them? Maybe under different circumstances that might have worked… but you didn’t, and this is where we are…” The voice turned aside then and began speaking to either himself, or someone yet unseen. “It's a waste of resources when perfectly good Stand Users get pitted against each other like that, when - if they had known half of what we know - they could very well have teamed up to defeat him.” The Japanese man returned his attention to his captive. “You’re almost all languishing at the ‘die trying’ step: you divided your forces and concentrated on the wrong targets.”

“Wait…” What?! Is that a bluff, or…? “But they were escorting his daughter right to him!”

“So he could murder her on the quiet, I’ve been told,” Formaggio’s face under the bag contorted with shock and confusion at his captor’s revelation, who kept on speaking. “Even if you followed along behind and waited for the handover, she’d still be either just as dead or in the same boat as the other traitors; the big bad Boss is so scared about his skeletons coming out of the closet, he’s prepared to do away with his own progeny from a one night stand a little over sixteen years ago to keep anyone else from having a clue as to how to defeat him. A clue that your little Squadra was trying to find out… by capturing her yourselves. Only… that hasn’t worked out so well for you, has it?”

Formaggio tensed on his chair, leaning as far forwards as he could (which wasn’t far). “How the fuck do you know about that? Only La Sq-”

“How we know is not your concern right now. You should be thanking me that you aren’t dead; I was watching that fight very carefully, and there’s only so far skill and experience will take you against brute force and sheer dumb luck.” The voice sniffed dismissively at this point. “And believe me when I say I know all about overpowered idiots…”

“So what’s your angle, stepping in and spiriting me away from the action?” I gotta keep talking while I can, see if I can figure out why this guy wants to talk to me outa all the guys… and what the actual fuck is going on… “If you’re not working for him, then maybe you could keep out of our way, or help us get revenge for killing two of our colleagues: they were… trying to find him to complain - aggressively - in person, about how we were being treated compared to all the other cells…”

“Ah, so that’s why… it’s an interesting motivation, revenge; so many stories revolve around it… usually to a bad end…” The fumetti artist interjected, paused, then sighed in such a way that filled Formaggio with a sense of foreboding. “So: it already appears that you knew how he reacted to anyone even having an inkling of his identity, but you didn’t realise just how far he’d go. Even when you’d already been burnt once…”

“Oi, answer the fucking question!”

“Or what?”

Let’s see how amused he stays after I do this… “I bet you haven’t thought about me biting through my own tongue, huh? I may not be able to get out of whatever restrictions you appear to have put on me and my Stand, but-” I’ll do it too- Formaggio tensed again, in anticipation of the bite down…

The man snorted at the threat. “Did you forget we have a healer? You’d succeed in making yourself look both stupid and ridiculous for a minute or two, and my friend would then heal that injury and you’d be back at square one.”

“Huh, I’ve not been at square one since before that fight with the other-”

“Fine. Heal him up the rest of the way: I suppose we’d better offer an olive branch now or we’ll never get anywhere…” The voice briefly sounded a little more petulant, as if he’d wanted to spend a few more minutes toying with the gangster… just like he had with the kid, Formaggio realised… and then he heard someone else step forwards and whisper something inaudible.

A curious sensation washed over Formaggio’s body at that point: it enveloped him like a hug and he could hear a squeaking noise; after a few seconds all his aches and hurts were gone. Well, apart from the ache in his arms caused by the uncomfortable position he was in.

…then the Japanese man’s voice became more businesslike. “There. Are you satisfied now?”

Formaggio remained quiet, but sat back in the chair and cocked his head in a way that he hoped would signal that he’d listen. For a while…

His captor seemed to take that as a sign to continue. “Very well, the answer to your question is this: I’ve been told that I can offer you a way out. The organisation I am currently assisting agrees that Passione should be under new management. But you may not like our terms.” A moment of silence followed that spoke more than the latest sentence the man uttered, letting the last seven words sink right into the captive gangster’s bones. “Let this happen - walk away from Passione - and we may be able to help you begin a new life elsewhere. One where you’d be paid well for, shall we say, freelance work, should the need arise. And you get a blank slate, a new ID… whatever you need to get a foot on the ladder. One where the old you is thought of as dead; no-one would likely pursue you from your old life.”

“Freelance work like what you’re doing right now?” A strange thought bloomed in Formaggio’s brain at that phrase: If it doesn’t betray any of my teammates, I’m going to carefully consider the offer put before me. No-one has to get hurt, and maybe if I’m trustworthy enough they’ll do something about my other concerns too… Other concerns…? Ah… oh shit…

“If the Boss dies… then…” The gangster thought for a while, feeling like a set of cogs had been set in motion in his brain.

A way out? What did we want after we killed the old Boss? To be in charge, that’s what!
But… uneasy lies the head and all that. It’s only a matter of time before some up-and-comer took us out, too… The life of a gangster is usually not very long at all…
All we really wanted was to be respected - and paid properly - for what we do. Like the other teams…
But… a way out of Passione?
So what he’s really offering is a choice between being under the thumb of a new Boss we may not like, or… a fresh start…? Just how powerful is this ‘organisation’...?

However… There’s more than just my life on the line now… Formaggio came to a decision that would change his life. “...then please, help me and my team out, and I’ll do… um, not quite anything, but-”

The fumetti writer gave another sigh. “I’m afraid it’s a little too late for most of your team by now. As I said before: it’s a shame when two opposing forces meet with such resolve, who would have worked well together; it was inevitable that some casualties would occur. Unfortunately, the casualties were all on your side.”

“No…” Formaggio couldn’t believe his ears for a moment. Then he could. The man was right: they’d split up to cover more ground, and the other team had just wanted it more; he’d seen that with Narancia… Even though they didn’t seem to know anything about what the man in front of him claimed regarding the old Boss’ daughter… He didn’t have to tell me that, but he did… it seems believable…

“You’re the only one in your team so far we could get to in time without too many witnesses, or disproportionate risks to ourselves,” the man added quietly. “I could have decided not to intervene, left you to your Fate. But you interested me, because you care about something else, someone else… ”

V… oh no…

“She’s just a- Don’t you fucking dare-!” Formaggio began before he could stop himself. “Ahh… shit…” He struggled in the restraints for a moment before he remembered that he would still be at a disadvantage afterwards, if he could even get free; he sagged back against his bindings, visibly deflated but still distressed.

“We try not to harm children, Mr Formaggio. I even sent a text from your phone so she could take care of your pet. There’s no-one in Napoli now that could hurt her at this point either, above what happens in normal daily life.”

“How do you know so much…? Wait… is this part of your Stand, too? Fuck, sono fottuto…”

“I have gathered enough information to make you this discretionary offer. I don’t know if my current employer will do anything about your friend, although I imagine they might want to observe her for a while. They have more than a passing interest in any Stand User that comes to their attention, not just Italian ones.”

“Please, she’s not a part of this at all: her homelife is a bit shit, but at least she has one. My own boss wouldn’t have wanted to see her get involved either…”

“I see that y-”

“Wait!” Formaggio sat up straight again, practically begging at this point. Mostly dead means slightly alive, right…? “You’re sure La Squadra are… they’re all-”

“Almost. Your leader’s still at large: Risotto Nero, yes? We were thinking of making an overture to him too, if we can get to him before your old Boss most likely kills him. And probably half of the other team, before they eventually succeed. Your leader may be in a position to assist in the delivery of your revenge, if he so wishes.”

“He’s definitely still alive?”

“As of this moment, yes. If there’s anything you want to pass on, to make him consider a similar offer to yours, then-”

The assassin sighed in relief. “Then… let him know I’m alive… and I took your deal. Because of her… but only as long as you keep her out of this fucking fiasco. And keep an eye on her too: she’s-” He somehow knows about everything, including V… I have to keep her safe: she’s not even thirteen yet. But we took her under our wing… What will happen to her if we’re not there…? She did say she’d try and stay put till she was at least fourteen… right…? There’s always Switzerland, right…? “She’s still learning… and she… she got it without-”

“Cats. I see…”

Something about the way the Japanese man said that… He only learns what I know myself! It is his Stand… Somehow he can both read and control the narrative, like one of his fumetti… that’s how he’s controlling me!  Maybe it was because he was used to his own body changing, but Formaggio realised the strange flapping sounds and the sensation on his skin that came again afterwards, had him feeling more like a human and less like an object to be scrutinised.

His captor’s voice dripped with satisfaction: “I was right to not judge this particular book by its questionable cover… Sit tight for a moment, then, Mr Formaggio, and I’ll confer with my employers to see what I can arrange…”

The now former member of La Squadra di Esecuzioni had no choice but to wait as the sounds of several different footsteps faded into the distance. Formaggio wondered if he’d done the right thing… but he realised that he wouldn’t be able to go home anytime soon.

He cared enough to send a message to her… maybe it won’t be so bad being ‘dead’ after all…

* * *

Chapter Text

Epilogue

“Kujo here.”

“We got him, as long as we keep the leverage safe, and out of harm’s way. We might even be able to use the same leverage on Risotto Nero as well.”

“Good… what kind of leverage?”

This is what I was going to tell you before you hung up last time.”

“What is it, Rohan?”

“There’s a natural User in Napoli. A girl aged twelve and not part of the gang; she’s the leverage… you told us all to look out for others who fit your criteria. She’s around a few months shy of the tail end of your window, it seems…”

“Yare yare… ok. Punch out with him to New York at the same time as Caesar and the healer, then. We can send him on a couple of trial run missions to see if we can trust him more fully later on. And send me an email with the full details as soon as possible: this girl’s probably not going anywhere just yet and our hands are currently full; I’ll decide what to do with her after we finish up in Roma…”

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