I Wanted to Know More About You

Bruno dressed in black for the second time in his life, and it was Abbacchio’s favorite color. Except Abbacchio wouldn’t be there to tell him how nice he looked. Bruno looked outside the window and saw the rain pouring on the calm waters causing ripples. He took an umbrella with him, the same umbrella he used to shelter Abbacchio from the rain from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Bruno headed to the door, but as his arm reached the doorknob, his eyes were teary. He withdrew his arm and returned to his bedroom to get his sunglasses. Now it was time to go.

When Bruno opened the door, he saw a bulletproof car outside his house and heard Narancia’s Aerosmith flying around patrolling his house. Mista, now a capo, got out of the vehicle.

“Boss, we should hurry,” the gunslinger said.

“No one will hurt me here.”

Perhaps maybe the drug dealers, but nobody welcomed them in Naples. Bruno and Giorno, the consigliere, made sure of that. He saw the blond boy and Trish when he got into the car.

“Any signs of Fugo?” Bruno asked.

“No,” Giorno replied.

He sighed and gazed out the window, seeing the empty streets. Once Mista found a parking spot, Bruno rented a boat to travel to Sardinia. He made sure to avoid Notorious B.I.G., making the trip longer. They made it safely, hopped off the ship, and rented a car to drive to the beach where Abbacchio died.

A patch of yellow flowers covered the spot where Abbacchio had lain. Abbacchio hardly knew anyone. It was just Bruno, Narancia, Trish, Mista, Giorno, and Fugo, but Fugo was still missing. The five present stood at his grave. Everyone, except Narancia, who was uncontrollably sobbing, gave a silent prayer. Trish cried minutes later with the black-haired boy.

They stood there, getting soaking wet, except for Giorno and Bruno. Then it was time for lunch, and Mista, Trish, and Narancia left to dry up and get lunch.

“Bucciarati, we should leave,” Giorno said.

Bruno didn’t listen because he was lost in thought, thinking of what could’ve been had he lived. He should’ve stood near Abbacchio’s side. Abbacchio should be alive in Naples, and maybe Fugo would’ve returned. And perhaps he would’ve made him consigliere instead of Giorno.

And maybe he and Abbacchio would’ve had more time together. Bruno thought he was the only mature one around his age in the group, and it would be nice to be alone with him instead of at the restaurant. Maybe they could watch movies, like Sling Blade, that one movie Abbacchio wanted to watch with him. Abbacchio and Fugo watched it together and tried to invite Bruno to watch, but the boss needed Bruno’s stand for a mission.

They were always busy and hardly got to know each other. Bruno knew his favorite actor, foods, musician, and athlete, but he didn’t know his other favorite things or what he did outside of missions.

The wind blew, moving the flowers slightly and grabbing Bruno’s attention. What was his favorite flower if he had one? There were so many things he wanted to know. He bit his lips, and a tear traveled down his cheeks.

“Bucciarati, it’s getting cold,” Giorno said.

This time he heard the blond. He probably looked pathetic right now.

“Boss?”

“I—we should leave,” Bruno responded.

“I think that’s best.”