escape | vento aureo

i. cirillo

Don't panic now . . . My breathing hitches as I push open the bakery's glass door. I'm hit with a blast of cool air from the fan right next to the entrance. The dimly lit interior blinds me for a brief moment, a sharp contrast to the brightness outside. When my eyes adjust, I notice a young woman standing behind the counter. She has striking blue eyes that bore into me, sizing me up. "Buonasera," she says in a monotone voice.

I repeat the greeting back to her as I pretend to browse the store. I take mental notes of my surroundings, making an escape route in case this goes downhill. My mind flicks back to the image of my target, an older gentleman of Oriental descent. He's in this bakery somewhere. According to our informant, the man stays in the back room during the daylight hours. I have quite a bit of time before the sun sets, but there's no point in waiting.

I gather the strength to approach the counter. The woman, her face bored, reads a book. I'm at least six inches taller than her, but a height difference won't mean much against a gun or Stand attack. I stick my hands in my pockets, ready to summon Escape if she pulls something. "Signorina, I'm looking for Cirillo. Is he here?"

She snaps to attention, glaring at me. Her face then relaxes, but it's too late to cover over her initial reaction. "Don't know him."

I raise an eyebrow. "I think you do. You're his stepdaughter after all." My eyes glance at the door behind her. That must be the back room the informant was talking about.

Her face hardens. "You don't know what you're talking about. Leave before I call the cops or deck your ass myself."

"I'm not leaving until I speak with him. And judging by your reaction, I'd say he's here. Call the cops if you want, but I've done nothing wrong." I resist the urge to cross my arms.

She purses her lips. "I'm assuming you're from Cuore? I know you guys have had it out for him for quite a while."

"I'm not with any organization. Or the government, or the authorities."

Her face twists in confusion. "Then why the hell are you here?"

"That's for me to discuss with Cirillo." I tilt my chin up a bit, almost looking down on her.

She doesn't flinch at my attempt to intimidate her. Instead, she sighs. "Stay right here. If I see you've moved an inch when I return, I'll put a bullet between your eyes." She pushes off the counter and rushes to the door I'd been eyeing earlier. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

This Cirillo guy is the key to my entire mission. If he turns me away or simply refuses to see me, I'll never get a chance to join or even get remotely close to the organization. Word travels fast in Passione. He's reportedly a strange man, and I shouldn't expect anything.

The woman emerges, a man following her. It's Cirillo, though he looks much more worn-out than he did in the photo. His dark eyes watch me intently. When he's right behind the counter, he asks, "Why are you here, signorina?"

"You're Signore Cirillo, correct? A capo for Passione?"

"Perhaps."

I nod in understanding. "Of course. My name is Quinn. I'm going to be straightforward and say that I would like to join Passione, and you're the only capo I know."

He gives me a small smile. "Straightforwardness. That's something the world doesn't have enough of. I am Cirillo, and yes, I'm a capo. Pleasure to meet you, Quinn." He turns to the blue-eyed woman. "Marissa, please go into the back room and wait." Once she's done so and shut the door behind her, he turns his attention back to me. "Have to keep her safe the best I can, you know? Though I've been failing recently. Now, what skills can you offer our organization? I'm not particularly interested in why you want to join, so I won't be asking you."

Guess that long-winded story I came up with last night is useless now. "For starters, I speak several languages. I have a military background, so I know my way around guns and different forms of fighting. I also have . . . another ability."

"A Stand ability perhaps?"

My jaw nearly drops at the suddenness of his question. "Um--"

"I'll take that as a yes. That's good; that means I won't have to stab you today."

So that's what they're using the arrows for . . . "I take it that there are quite a few Stand users in Passione?"

"That is correct, Signorina Quinn. And if you want to join, you'll have to prove yourself by beating the hell out of one of them."

My eyebrows furrow. "Fight a Stand user? That's all I have to do?"

"Well, you have to win, of course. Are you that confident in your Stand?"

"Yes, I am." A bit of anxiety flutters in my gut. The Speedwagon Foundation ensured that I had plenty of practice fighting Stand users. I stayed in a little Japanese town for three weeks, fighting Stand users (getting my ass handed to me a good portion of the time) and becoming well-versed in the different types of Stands. Mine is better for covert operations rather than combat. However, my ability to think on my feet makes up the difference.

"Good." He takes a blank piece of receipt paper and writes down an address. "Be here at nine tonight. Come alone."

I stick the paper in my pocket. "Thank you for your help, Signore Cirillo."

"I'm not done with you, Quinn."

"Pardon?"

He points to the side of my head, more specifically to the long, red braid draped over my shoulder. "We'll have to do something about that. Marissa! You have a new client! Get your cosmetology stuff ready."

"But this is a bakery--?"

"The back room's gotta be for something right?" He gives me a weak smile. "I'll explain afterward. Not a word to my daughter."