Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

prologue

Most little kids wanted to be doctors and veterinarians, police officers and firefighters, or even famous. You never had any interest in any of that. With a strong sense of righteousness and a need to belong, maybe one of those careers would be for you.

That's what people would think. But that's not what would happen.

You wanted to be a part of something bigger, stronger, and mightier than some middle aged woman who watches little kids puke in trash cans for a living.

No, you wanted to be a gangster.

~ ~ ~
As a kiddo, you moved around Italy often with your aunt. Your parents had died of strange causes when you were the young age of 9. You had moved in with your aunt, and because of her 'interesting' job, the two of you frequently moved around.

At 13, you had found out the secret to her job. Late at night, you had awoken to a loud noise, along with a voice you had never heard before. You shot out of bed at the sound of a phone, thinking it could be school calling to cancel or a call from a friend. Tiptoeing around the one floor apartment, you found out it was neither. As your eyes adjusted you were able to see your aunt sitting anxiously at the kitchen table and the salt shaker snatched off the table.

The strange voice called out a "hello?" You froze up, but the person continued on the one-sided conversation.

Continuing on toward the kitchen, a floorboard creaked under your weight, and two sets of eyes darted towards your figure. One pair way your aunt's panicked eyes, and the other were two you swore were glowing green.

You turned and raced back to your small bedroom, and hid under the covers until either sleep or the sun would come.

The next morning you confidently charged out of your bedroom, clad in shorts and one of your father's very old shirts. You demanded to know who the person in the kitchen was the night before, but your demeanor softened when your caregiver threw you a warning look.

After a few minutes of puppy eyes, she explained that he was a man from work. You pestered her with questions and she avoided every one of them. She grew annoyed of your inquiries and excuses of 'I don't care if it's dangerous' and 'I won't tell anyone'.

She explained that she, the sweetest woman in the world; was a member of the Italian mafia.

And you wanted in.
~~~~~~~
Reluctantly, she agreed to help you. But only after you turned 21.

After you celebrated your achievement of living halfway to 42, you met with Polpo, accepting his lighter test and manifesting a stand.

You were thrilled, to be part of something so big and powerful. It was exhilarating.

You had gotten a place with a group of powerful assassins, which was perfect for your stand, Puppeteer. You had earned this, and you were certain that you'd love your new role of a Passione assassin.

Chapter Text

You weren't sure what you expected.

For an organization that killed people for money, it would definitely be cooler if they lived in a four story mansion decked with floor to ceiling artillery. You weren't at all in front of a cool mansion. You stood on the doorstep of an old brick apartment.

Every brick was a faded shade of red, decorated in cracks, bumps, and mysterious stains. Finding no door bell, you resorted to knocking on the door.

Three knocks.

No response. You tried again.

Five knocks. Nothing.

After twelve or so raps on the door, someone finally answered. Reluctantly.

The door opened slightly, revealing a tall blond man with half a deck of cards in his hands. He rifled through them, scowling. He didn't even look at you.

"Are you lost?" The question itself sounded concerned, but his attitude didn't.

"No. Can I come in?"

He was about to close the door with an agitated sigh. A random chick on his gang's doorstep with no reason to be there should have been concerning. For him it was more irritating, as he focused on the cards in front of him.

"Pro, who's there?" A new voice came from inside the building, and a tan hand reached to keep the door open. From outside you could see a curious look on his face. The minute he saw you, it twisted into what must have been his version of a smirk.

"Hey pretty lady, what are you doing here?" Was what came out of the redhead's upturned lips. Pro, as he called him the man before, was gone.

You stumbled over your words as you finally had a question you could somewhat answer.

"I'm part of your team. Let me in." He gave you a questioning look.

"Are you su- hey!" he questioned you, getting cut off when you pushed open the door and stormed past him, into the apartment. He brought out what must have been his stand, but it looked more like an alien-robot.

Puppeteer always seemed to know when trouble was near. Your hand turned from skin and bones into wood and joints. Taking a few steps away from the man, web-like strings attached themselves to the tan male in front of you, and he froze.

"What the hell?" He yelled, alerting three other men in the corner of the apartment. One of them was the blond from before, and he stood up from the table, calmly approaching you.

Your other hand let go of your suitcase and let it fall to the floor. The blond, Pro, was frozen in place by Puppeteer like the man before.

The two men went back to their seats at the table, resuming their card game.

The redhead was struggling against your ability, grunting and yelling curses. The blond, however was the opposite. He held your gaze, and you were very tempted to look away because of the intensity of it.

He spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child. Or scolding one. "Let me go."

You said nothing, holding them in place. The red headed man shouted louder over him.

"Prosciutto, do something! She has a stand"

You mentally jotted down the name.

Prosciutto, was indeed trying to do something, but the redhead ignored him.

"Retract your stand. Now."

Prosciutto spoke again, possibly even colder this time. You noticed the men from the table were no longer at the table, but approaching you. Catching a flash of light behind your shoulder, you threw your right arm back, taking the redhead along with it. You cringed as a loud crash of glass and the thump of bodies echoed through the tense room.

"Y/N."

You swiveled your head from the two men and the shattered mirror to the voice. A very tall man stood at least 7 feet away from you, but you could feel the power radiating from him.

"Let go of them." There was something about the tall, bulky man that made you want to obey him. Your hands fell to your sides, turning back to your normal skin.

Groans and complaints came from behind you, from the man from before. He talked so much you had already memorized what his voice sounded like. He finally noticed the giant in front of you.

"Risotto! Who the hell is that!"

He really needed to stop yelling.

"Your teammate," responded Risotto.

The redhead looked at you apologetically. You shrugged in response. Turning, you extended your hand to the man on the floor. The other had already brought himself to his feet, speaking with the long-haired man while running his fingers through his own pigtails.

The man on the floor took your hand in one of his, but used the other to stand.

"Formaggio," he said.

"What?" You questioned, wondering why he was trying to make small talk about cheese.

"That's my name," you held back a chuckle, and smiled at him, telling him your name. You smiled at him and he scratched the back of his head nervously, letting go of your hand.

"Sorry I threw you into the wall," you laughed lightly, and turning your head in embarrassment. You notice the other men had returned to their spots from before, Risotto had disappeared, and Prosciutto was sitting with the two other men that you still didn't know the names of.

"We should do it again sometime," his demeanor changed so suddenly, maybe it was a good sign as he no longer viewed you as a stranger or enemy. He winked at you, his right eye just closing slightly less than his left. It counted as a wink.

"Welcome to the team," he said, and with that he left you in the middle of the apartment, and returned to the circular table covered in cards.

You weren't that great at first impressions.

Chapter Text

You still stood in the middle of the room after all that had happened. Luckily, Formaggio was fine and your stand did little damage to him and the wall. (Surprisingly.)

Scanning the main room, you saw miscellaneous posters from movies and bands, along with a couple of holes in the wall. They really complimented the place. Or maybe the scattered chip bags did.

A very tall man came into your field of vision and snapped you out of criticising the boys' cleaning skills. He had green hair and a face that could kill, but he managed to give you a warm smile and a little wave.

Either he was very friendly, or just knew you were coming.

He crossed the room and sat on the tiny couch across from the door. You had been too curious to even notice how long you were standing there. You decided to follow the man over to the couch in front of a huge box TV.

A chair creaked from behind you, but you ignored it and sat down by the man with the green hair.

Prosciutto stood up and walked over to the couch, to make sure the man didn't make a cool of himself in front of a pretty girl. Or, just to get a second impression of said girl.

You gave the green haired man a smile from the other side of the couch and he gave a small one back.

"Hey." You began. He looked up at you intently.

"I'm y/n."

He nodded at you and looked down at his hands, then back up at you.

"Pesci."

"Nice to meet you, Pesci," you said to him. It was best to be polite, right? Not that fighting with your teammates upon first meeting was polite. But, you can at least try to be friendly now.

The couch cushions behind you was pushed down with a new weight, and drew your attention to the man behind you. It was the blond man from before. Hopefully he would be a bit nicer on the second impression.

"We haven't properly met, have we?" His voice was deep and smooth, if you listened to him longer you'd probably get goosebumps.

"I haven't really properly met anyone yet." You replied quickly, but from the way he rolled his eyes, that wasn't the answer he was looking for.

He furrowed his eyebrows as if pondering his next action. The blond then thrust his hands into his pockets and gave you a nod.

"What's your name, then?" He asked coolly. He always seemed to be professional.

"Y/n. You?"

"Prosciutto."

You nodded at him, to show you understood. You muttered out another 'nice to meet you,' but he probably didn't hear you. The man turned from you to sit on another chair angled towards the television.

Pesci fidgeted beside you, fumbling with the remote and scanning through the channels. Occasionally he would look at you, seemingly to ask for your opinion of the channel, but you didn't mind what he put on. As long as you didn't have to keep up with the introductions.

These men were assassins, but they were even intimidating off the job.

After about five minutes of Pesci messing with the TV, Prosciutto barked at him to give him the remote. Both you and Pesci winced at his tone.

Prosciutto held the remote in his hand, pressed a few buttons and eventually settled on some news channel. Standing up, you stretch your arms and legs, deciding to explore.

Both men looked up as you left, their eyes following your body, but then returning to the television.

You began to make a mental map of the house. The first room was the living room (you guessed.) It includes the couch, television and a large poker table.

Heading in the direction of the poker table, you saw Formaggio again, along with the two other men from before. Formaggio turned to look at you, giving you a cheeky smile and grasping your wrist. His grip was surprisingly gentle.

"Why don't you introduce yourself, amore?" He asked, with another of his cheesy smiles. You were beginning to believe he did this quite often.

You looked to the other two men, one of them was moving his lilac-blond hair from his eyes to get a better look at you. He had one eyebrow cocked and gave you a bit of a flirty expression.

The other man held your gaze quietly but intensely. He gave you a nod and his eyes glinted with just a hint of playfulness. He gestured for you to go on.

The man with the purple mask and light hair gave you a once over. He then spoke up.

"Go ahead, tesoro," he told you with a tilt of his head and another glance over you.

You shifted under his heavy gaze and cleared your throat.

"Hello, I'm Y/n. I'll be working with you all from now on."

Formaggio spoke up from beside you, "pretty name for a pretty girl, huh?"

He'd probably used that line on every girl he'd just met, but it still managed to charm you. Just a little.

The purple haired man stood in a dramatic fashion, and leaned over to you.

"My name's Melone, but you could call me the love o-"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence as Formaggio pushed him back into his chair. Melone glared at Formaggio then turned to smile at you, and adjusting himself back in his chair. You chuckled behind your hand at the exchange but the brunette man caught you laughing.

"The name's Illuso," he said to you. You recalled he was the one who Formaggio had fallen on top of after your stand attack. You offered a smile and he gave a playful one back.

Formaggio still held on your wrist as you swiveled out of his grip. He pouted like a little boy and joked for you to stay at the table with them. You shake your head and turn to continue your adventure through the house.

You passed the table with the three men, and stumbled into the kitchen. The counters were cluttered, and this room had even less decor than the first. You continued to scan the room, taking in as much as possible. You were going to be living here anyway.

Wait, they had three toasters?

Pondering the odd amount of toasters, you barely noticed yet another man calling to you.

"Hello?" You could tell he was annoyed and you turned to him slowly.

He sat at a small table with only one chair, his legs crossed over each other and holding an abnormally large book.

He adjusted his bright red glasses and took another breath to speak. Probably to get your attention again.

"Hi!" you blurted. You really didn't want another one of these guys yelling at you. And he definitely looked like he wanted to.

"Why are you in my house?" He asked you quizzically.

"I live here."

"No you don't" the blue haired man told you dismissively.

"Yes I do."

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do!"

"Shut up and get out of my kitchen!" He barked.

Oops.

He gave you an icy glare and gazed back at his book. Maybe you'd pushed him too much, or he just had an incredibly bad temper.

"Wait, I have a stand, I'm with you guys."

You extended your hand, revealing Puppeteer. The texture of wood began to show from your fingertips, traveling up your wrist.

Now you had his attention.

The man looked up at you this time, and his eyebrows were still turnt downward, but he managed to look curious.

Silver strands dangled from your fingers, and twisted on their own like vines, trying to attach themselves to something. The strings glittered when it hit the light, reflecting it back at you.

"Well, what can it do?"

He was definitely curious now but he acted like he wasn't. The man has a stand too, and you guessed it was a powerful one by how cocky he was towards your stand.

"I can control things," you retorted. Damn, now it sounded lame. You knew Puppeteer was powerful, but its name and explanation wasn't as cool as you'd like it to be.

He rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses again. The man sighed and tucked his hand under his chin.

"What's its name?" He asked coolly, not holding back his scowl at all.

"I call it the Puppeteer."

He chuckled at that.

"Seriously?" he practically shouted at you, but with a hint of amusement in his tone.

You stood still and nodded. Your hand came back to your side, and Puppeteer's pattern disappeared from your hand.

He readjusted himself in his chair and cleared his throat.

"What's your name, then?" He asked curtly, his eyes back to scanning his book again.

"Y/N"

"Ok." He replied. You didn't want to push him again, but you wanted to know his name. You spoke to him shyly.

"What's your name?"

"Ghiaccio. Now get out of the kitchen."

And that was your cue to leave.