The Living Purgatory [ VARIOUS JJBA x reader]

18- Bruno Shmuno

(You all chose: Go after Bucciarati and his team!)

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"What do you mean he isn't here?" Manny asked, his small hands playing with Mariah's sunglasses absently.

You pulled back your shovel from the ground, swinging it around your back and carrying it much like a guitar player would. "I mean he isn't fucking here, like at all. There's no remnant, no haunting, nothing."

It's been hours since you've landed in Rome, Italy, and there had yet to be a sign of Bruno Bucciarati. 

You had even attempted to try 'anchoring', where you send up your shovel into the clouds and enter what you assumed was hades melting pot to fish out a certain soul, though it was all in vain.

"The file said that eye-witnesses saw him pass on, but that cant be true if he's no where around here! This is even the last place he was seen, and we've already visited that stupid fucking bell tower! Where the hell is he!"

Your rage wouldn't go unnoticed, a few passerby eyeing you cautiously before picking up their pace and speeding off as to not be seen. One of these passerby, purely by chance, had stood around too long and caught wind of who you were yelling about, and approached you with a friendly smile.

"Bucciarati, where in the shit are you!" You screeched, jolting violently when a foreign hand was placed upon your shoulder. "Who the fuck-"

Turning around, your face met the round brown eyes of a rather... Bizzare stranger.

Unlike everyone else that passed through Italy in normal fucking clothes, this bitch wore a bright purple cropped sweater with random white lines crossing over its fabric, tiger print pants making him look like he just came out of a 2002 german music video.

The strangers beanie matched his sweater awfully, an arrow in its center pointing down at his face- god fucking hell, what was that stank ass sm-?

was... was it him?

As unassuming as possible, you took in a deep breath of the air around him, cringing and stumbling back a few feet when a horrible aroma assaulted your nose.

Hells, it was him! Did this guy even know what a bar of soap was?!

"Excuse me, that name you said just now, what was it?"

Through tearing eyes and a fit of coughs, you looked back to the stranger and raised an eyebrow. It felt as if you were just tear-gassed. "Wh-what? What name?"

"The one you had just yelled before I came over, what was it?" His voice was a sort of low and threatening, but at the same time, curious and innocent.

"No clue what you're talking about, man."

"Yes, you do." 

"No, I motherfucking dont. Now run along and go to whatever gay strip club you're late for, I'm busy."

"Busy doing what? I'm dying to know."

"You'll be dying in a few fucking minutes if you dont leave me the hell alone."

The stranger chuckled under his breath, extending a (disgusting) hand towards you with the other brushing against his gun sitting in the pit of his pants. Shit- when did he have a gun? You hadn't noticed before.

"Guido Mista, right hand of the don of Passione. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Uhh..." You shook his hand, rather oblivious to the meaning of the word 'don' since, after all, mastering a shit ton of foreign languages (especially Italian) was tough. You're just a little Canadian trying to survive. "(Y/n) (L/n), right hand of (Y/n) (L/n). Pleased to meet you too, I guess."