Chapter Text
The mayor’s wife was getting re-dressed when a knock sounded at the bedroom door. Dio watched as she looked at it, wide-eyed, as if she was worried it was her husband on the other side. If he was the sort of man to knock on the door when his wife cheated on him, Dio understood why she’d been so eager to climb into his bed.
“Who is it?” Dio asked loudly.
“Kakyoin,” came the muffled reply.
“Come in.”
Kakyoin had seen everything and more during the years he’d worked for Dio, and he’d never said a word. This little affair would be safe with him.
Kakyoin stepped through the door with a grave look on his face.
“What is it?” Dio asked. Kakyoin knew better than to disturb him at times like this.
“I received a phone call,” Kakyoin started. He glanced at the mayor’s wife, who was fixing her makeup in the mirror opposite the bed and pretending she wasn’t listening to their conversation. Whatever information Kakyoin had, he decided it wasn’t secret enough to be kept away from outsider’s ears.
Kakyoin turned back to Dio, leaned in a little.
“Demetra Giovanna is dead,” he told him.
Dio took a moment to think. He knew the name, but it didn’t ring a clear bell. Whoever she was, she had apparently been important enough for Kakyoin to barge into Dio’s bedroom when he had company.
“Who?” Dio asked.
“Giorno’s mother,” Kakyoin said. “You know, your–”
“Yes, I know,” Dio interrupted him.
Giorno Giovanna.
His son. He remembered: cute kid, dark hair, big blue eyes. How old was he now? He had to be a teenager, at least.
The mayor’s wife looked over her shoulder, displeased with having the attention taken away from her, but still curious about this bit of information.
Dio rose from the bed, unconcerned by his nudity. Everyone in the room had seen him naked at one point or another. He put on his robe and walked up behind the mayor’s wife, put his hands on her hips, leaned in and kissed her neck.
“My dear,” he said, “I’m afraid I have some things to deal with.”
“Is everything alright?” she asked, turning around, looking deep into his eyes.
“I do not know,” he said. “Normally, I would follow you to the door, but…”
“I understand,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. He kissed her back.
She gathered her things – her heels and her purse – and disappeared through the door. Kakyoin looked after her.
“What happened?” Dio asked.
“Car accident,” Kakyoin said. “The police called me; they’re trying to reach you. Giorno is at the station. You’re his next of kin.”
Dio sighed.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Do you want me to go get him?” Kakyoin asked.
“No, I’ll do it,” Dio said, walking over to his closet to find something to wear. “Does he have any other family? Brothers, sisters?”
“Just his grandparents. They’re next in line, if you don’t want to take him in.”
“I’m uncertain I have much say in the matter, legally.”
He most definitely had a say in the matter, as the state was – or at least pretended to be – overbearingly concerned with children’s best interest, and disinterested parents weren’t on that list. But he might be interested; he needed to inspect the goods before making such a decision.
Dio pulled a black turtleneck on, then picked out a tan suit. If he was going to the police station, he would do best to dress up. The place was crawling with Joestars, and he never passed up an opportunity to flaunt his wealth in front of them.
The cat was out of the bag now. He’d kept his son a secret from them, from everyone except his most trusted friends, but that secrecy ended today.
Oh well. It had been bound to come out eventually.
“Find out what you can about Giorno while I’m gone,” he instructed Kakyoin while putting his suit on. “I want to know everything about him. If he’s going to live here, I can’t have any surprises.”
“Of course,” Kakyoin said. “Anything else?”
“It’s Wednesday. Arrange for the staff to come by another day. I think I should be alone with him tonight, to make it easier on him.”
With those words, Dio left his bedroom and descended the stairs, picked out his shoes and snatched the car keys from the key cabinet. When he stepped outside, he took a moment to let the sun wash over his face and breathed deeply. It was October and the air had turned crisp.
The drive to the station wasn’t long and hardly gave Dio any time to think. This certainly was a strange situation. He’d never met Giorno before, only seen him in the picture given to him by Demetra. And that one time he’d swung by the playground to watch him, when Giorno was around four years old. He remembered that time vividly.
Giorno had been standing by himself, looking down at his feet, and not played with the other children. And then, one of the older boys had approached him and a fight had broken out. The older boy had even kicked Giorno in the face. Dio remembered how excited he’d been for a second, to see how Giorno would react, if he’d fly into a rage like Dio often had as a child, if he’d stand up and fight.
He hadn’t. He had just crawled back to his feet and walked away, not even wiping the blood off his face. It had been so disappointing. Dio had barely believed that he’d sired such a weak child. After that, he hadn’t had any inclination to visit Giorno again.
And now? He had to admit that he was curious to see what had become of the boy. Many years had passed since the incident at the playground. Perhaps he’d grown a backbone in that time.
Dio drove into the police station’s parking lot and parked his car, then checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror before exiting.
Walking into the police station, all eyes were on him. He glanced around the busy bottom floor, but he would hardly recognise Giorno after all these years. Then, he spotted a familiar figure descending the stairs: Joseph Joestar. Dio smiled at him.
“Joseph,” he greeted. “Long time, no see.”
“What are you doing here, Dio?” Joseph snapped.
“I’m here to pick up my son,” Dio informed him.
“Your son?!” Joseph repeated, still as daft as when Dio had first met him.
“Yes, Joseph. You don’t hold ownership over fatherhood, I’m afraid. Now, where is he?” Dio asked, giving the room another glance.
“Over here,” came a voice.
Dio looked over to the source of the voice. He recognised the young officer it belonged to; Josuke Higashikata, Joseph’s own bastard son. This really was a family business.
Josuke only held his attention for a split second before it turned to the young man sitting in the chair opposite him, who had turned around in his seat to look at Dio.
There was no doubt this was Giorno, despite the fact that he looked nothing like he had when Dio last saw him. He’d really grown up; his dark hair was now long and blonde, and his blue eyes rested on high cheekbones and were framed by sharp eyebrows. He resembled Dio a lot more now.
And, Dio couldn’t help but notice, he was strikingly beautiful. His interest was definitely piqued.
Dio walked towards Giorno, who stood up to meet him.
“Hello. Giorno, correct?” Dio said, although he didn’t really need to ask.
“Yes,” Giorno confirmed with a nod.
“My name is Dio. I’m your father,” Dio introduced himself.
Giorno was looking at him, unreadable expression on his face.
“Come with me,” Dio said after a beat of silence and motioned towards the door.
Once they were back in the car, the silence grew between them. Dio knew condolences were in order, and offered them accordingly.
When they stopped at a red light, Dio glanced at the boy in the passenger seat. This unknown boy, who looked so much like him.
“You could stay with your grandparents, if you’d like,” he said.
Like the condolences, the offer was a formality, and an inquiry in how close Giorno was with his grandparents. Demetra hadn’t been on good terms with them when they were lovers, but that might’ve changed when she became a single mother. Either way, it would be best to map out Giorno’s life – if Dio decided to keep him around, some parts might have to be strangled.
“I don’t want that,” Giorno said.
“No? Why not?” Dio asked.
“They’re a bit… old-fashioned.”
Dio smiled. One look at Giorno had told him he didn’t fit the word old-fashioned.
“I guess you’re with me then,” he said and continued driving as the streetlight turned green.
He noticed Giorno studying his face. He waited; something was on Giorno’s mind.
“Did you know I existed?” Giorno asked at last.
“Yes,” Dio answered. “Did you mother tell you I didn’t?”
Giorno looked out the window, waited a beat before answering.
“She told me she didn’t know who you were.”
That annoyed him, even though he was grateful that she hadn’t run her mouth to the Joestars.
“Oh, she knew. I’ve paid child support your whole life.”
Not that it was noticeable. A tiny fraction of his fortune that disappeared every month without inconveniencing him.
“Then why…” Giorno trailed off.
Dio was quiet for a moment. Then, he decided to tell Giorno the truth.
“Don’t take this personally, Giorno,” he started, “but I’ve never really had an interest in being a father. At least not when you were younger; I’m not really a diaper guy. I was expecting to come see you eventually, now that you’re older, but the moment hadn’t presented itself before now.”
It had presented itself many times, he just hadn’t had the urge to see his weak son. Giorno didn’t need to know that part of the truth.
Giorno was quiet beside him, contemplating his words. He started toying with the latch on the glove compartment, flicking at it until it opened and Dio’s gun fell into his lap.
Giorno straightened up and stared at it, then stared at him. Dio felt irritation lick at his insides. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted children; they were always touching things they shouldn’t.
“Put that back, please,” he said.
The rest of the car ride went by in a tense silence. Dio pulled up outside of the building where Demetra and Giorno shared an apartment. It was a shabby part of town, hardly befitting of the son of Dio. Maybe befitting of the son of Demetra, though.
“Let’s get what you need for the next few days. We’ll come back for the rest later,” Dio said and stepped out of the car.
The apartment was worse than he’d expected. Dirty, dusty, overflowing with junk of all sorts. A subtle smell of sewage hung in the air.
While Giorno packed his belongings, Dio stayed in the hallway; he had no desire to venture further inside. The only interesting thing to look at was the collection of photos on the wall. His eyes panned over Demetra’s face. He hadn’t seen her in years, he hardly remembered what she looked like. She was beautiful. A waste really, to have her die so young.
After getting what Giorno needed for the next few days, they were off to Dio’s home. Seeing Giorno’s eyes widen at the sight of the house was rewarding; he’d had nothing, and here Dio was with everything he could ever wish for. His amazement carried with him as they entered the house, his eyes flickering all over every room they entered. Not having the staff here had been a good call – Giorno looked overwhelmed.
After disposing of Giorno in the guest room that would now be his, Dio walked up to his study and called Kakyoin.
“Hello?” Kakyoin answered on the second ring.
“It’s me,” Dio said. “What have you found?”
“There’s not much,” Kakyoin said. “He’s a good student, only thing he’s gotten in trouble with is the science club.”
“Science club?”
“He also participated in his school’s anti-drug campaign last term.”
Dio thought he could hear a faint teasing in Kakyoin’s voice. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from his son, but science clubs and anti-drug campaigns weren’t at the top of the list.
“What else?” Dio asked. There had to be something else.
“Nothing concrete. He’s been arrested for shoplifting but released without any charges. He also has some loose ties to a local criminal gang through his friends; Bruno Bucciarati, Leone Abbacchio and Guido Mista. Do you want me to look into them?”
Now they were getting somewhere.
“Hm. Yes, do,” he said before hanging up.
After working for a couple of hours, Dio went downstairs to set the table in the dining room for two. He usually didn’t do these things himself. Even when he ate alone, the staff would set the table.
Tonight, he was making veal confit with dill and rosemary. He hadn’t asked if Giorno was vegan or had any allergies, but he supposed the boy would tell him. There was a bottle of Zinfandel in the cupboard that he had meant to pair with the veal, which he now forewent; it was best to keep a clear head.
A pair of footsteps came pattering at exactly seven o’clock, which was the dinnertime Dio had set. Giorno emerged from the dark hallway into the softly lit kitchen.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Dio told him. “You can go sit down if you want.”
Giorno looked around the room, like he was looking for something.
“The dining room is to the left,” Dio added, taking pity on him.
The dinner was rather quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Giorno was equally enamoured with his cooking as with the house.
Dio noticed that he was being studied by Giorno from across the table, but pretended not to. Of course he was curious; he wasn’t the only one. Giorno was clearly his son – he saw many features in his face that were familiar from his reflection.
The only thing that didn’t belong to him or Demetra was his eyes. Dio had light amber eyes and Demetra had had brown ones, but Giorno’s eyes were blue as the deep sea. They reminded him of someone else – Jonathan. It would seem that his history was so entwined with the Joestars that even his own son couldn’t escape bearing a mark of them. It annoyed him; his son was supposed to be only his.
Still, there Jonathan’s eyes were, looking back at him from across the table.
***
For the first time in a very long time, Dio was distracted from his work. More than once had he caught his thoughts straying to his mysterious son, now living with him. There was something about him that Dio couldn’t quite place, which made him interesting. Giorno was him and very much not-him at the same time.
Dio was more eager this time around to claim him as his own.
Giorno was quiet and polite, but he no longer held any of the timidity that had defined him as a child. Dio wasn’t sure what had happened to him, but he had clearly come out stronger on the other side.
Having Giorno around was… nice. He wasn’t a loud or bothersome person, but his mere presence pleasantly filled Dio’s home like the song of a bird.
Once the funeral and the complete move from his old apartment were done and over with, Giorno settled in like he had just been waiting for a spot in Dio’s life.
Dio hadn’t seen Giorno cry yet, hadn’t even seen him emerge from his room with red and puffy eyes. He tried to remember Demetra, and if she’d been someone worth crying over. She’d been a fun party girl, up for anything. He remembered warm, sweaty nights spent between her thighs. They’d had a good time together, which abruptly ended with a positive pregnancy test. He’d known it was over then – she had too, and not kicked up a fuss. There was no extra space in the heart of a mother; a child came first, no matter what. Dio had no use for such tepid affections.
From what he’d been able to gather though, Demetra’s affection for her son had been rather tepid as well. Dio wanted to get to know Giorno and see what would’ve cost him a mother’s love. So far, nothing stood out; Giorno was pleasant to look at and to deal with. But he was also hiding – Dio could tell he was holding back, constantly polishing whatever he let escape his mouth. He recognised that hiding from himself.
Perhaps this boy was more his son than he’d anticipated.
Kakyoin’s research into Giorno’s friends hadn’t yielded much, except for a couple of criminal records of little interest – nothing more on file than petty theft and a couple of extortions.
One of his friends was worth keeping an eye on though, and not because of his record; Guido Mista. Giorno had brought him home one day, and Dio could sense immediately what kind of friendship the two of them had. Like with his grandparents, Dio mapped out which friends were important, and which might have snared Giorno’s loyalty.
This Mista also had a gun in the backseat of his car, Dio noted as he walked past the unfamiliar piece of junk parked in front of the house. The gun was fully visible through the windows, which told him that its owner was either incredibly bold or incredibly stupid. When he shook hands with Mista in the hallway, he was tempted to pigeonhole him in the latter.
The thought that this man – with his mismatched clothes and dirty fingernails – had touched his son bothered him. The son of Dio was worth more, although he wouldn’t pretend that he hadn’t slept with far more unsightly people when needed.
The impromptu guardianship he’d been settled with wasn’t all good though. He was forced to censor himself, in his own home; things that previously could be discussed over dinner were now whispered behind closed doors. All because of Giorno. Dio would have been careful around him either way, but he clearly had no qualms spending time with shady people – there was no telling what he was actually hiding, or how dangerous he could be.
Dio didn’t let his guard down around just anyone, and for good reason. A man like him had many enemies and no natural allies – not even someone he’d personally created.
Dio tried to find out what he could from Giorno through their shared conversations over dinner, through quietly watching him mill around the house, but Giorno was slippery, never getting caught in the traps he set. It was at once annoying and fascinating.
And so, Dio decided it was time for a more hands-on approach. It was time for a test.
One morning when the agenda was more or less empty, he joined Giorno for breakfast. All this time he’d kept the scar that marred his throat hidden, but now he looked forward to seeing Giorno’s reaction to it.
Giorno didn’t look up from his food at first. Dio brushed his hair out of the way, making sure the boy would see.
A clatter of porcelain.
“What happened to your neck?!” Giorno asked, having set his teacup down on the saucer with careless force.
Now this was a reaction. Giorno, usually so collected, now losing control of not just his tone, but also his movements.
“Hm?” Dio glanced at him with feigned nonchalance. “Oh, you mean this.”
He touched his scar, the familiar ridge bumping against his fingertips.
“What happened?” Giorno repeated, demanding.
“Someone tried to strangle me with a steel wire,” he said, pretending it was nothing, that it hadn’t almost cost him his life.
He sat down next to Giorno at the kitchen island, sipped his tea and reached for a magazine.
“Why? When? Are you okay?” Giorno asked in rapid succession, seemingly unable to stop the questions from leaving his lips. It was incredibly sweet, the worry that had crept into his voice.
Dio chuckled.
“Years ago. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s been settled,” he said.
Giorno was quiet for a moment; his eyes were burning against Dio’s skin as he felt his studying gaze.
“Are you a criminal?” Giorno asked.
Dio put his teacup down. Giorno was bolder than he’d thought.
“What makes you think that?” he asked calmly.
“The gun in your car, for starters,” Giorno said.
“I’m in a dangerous line of work. People get angrier at lawyers and legal advisors than you’d think. I’m just prepared to defend myself,” he explained.
It was a diaphanous explanation at best, and Giorno heeded it no mind.
“What about the police? They didn’t seem to enjoy your company too much.”
Dio sighed theatrically. This test was turning into a cat-and-mouse game.
“Sometimes they spend months building a case or tracking someone down only for me to help them get off scot-free. It’s simply a case of professional rivalry.”
To his surprise, Giorno didn’t press the issue – he just picked up his teacup again, but there was a twitch to his eyebrow that revealed he wasn’t happy with their conversation.
“Why are you so prepared to believe the worst of me?” Dio asked after a few moments, and then, slyly, he continued. “Have I not treated you well?”
“It was a question, not a judgement,” Giorno replied instantly. “And you have treated me flawlessly. I’m very grateful.”
How diplomatic. Dio raised his teacup to his lips, masking his smile before uttering his next comment.
“And still you accuse me of being a criminal.”
“I don’t mind if you are,” Giorno said easily. “I don’t have a problem with that sort of thing. My record isn’t exactly squeaky clean either.”
“Oh?” Dio thought about the scarce record Kakyoin had tracked down of both Giorno and his friends. “What did you do? Did you deal drugs?”
“No. I would never–” Giorno cut himself off. “You don’t deal drugs, do you?”
Dio snorted.
“Of course not; I’m a legal advisor,” he teased.
He didn’t deal drugs, that much was true, but he found it a strange hill to die on.
Before Giorno had a chance to press him further, the front gate intercom rang. Dio walked over to the receiver in the hallway, answering it.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Hol Horse,” a familiar voice answered.
Dio let out a sigh before pressing the button to open the gate.
“Come in.”
When Hol Horse walked through the door, he was wearing his signature cowboy hat and had a cigarette pressed between his lips.
“Put that cigarette out,” Dio said without saying hello. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
He hated the smell of cigarettes; his father had been a chain-smoking drunk, and every time he felt the vile stench it reminded him of the old man’s repulsive breath.
“Sorry, sorry!” Hol Horse said and put the cigarette out against the bottom of one of his boots.
“What are you doing here?” Dio asked.
“I just–”
Hol Horse quieted, his eyes flickering to something behind Dio’s shoulder. He followed his line of sight and saw Giorno, who stood in the kitchen doorway. He had temporarily forgotten about him.
“Let’s talk in my study,” he told Hol Horse, and led the way up the staircase.
When the door to the study had closed behind them, Dio turned to face Hol Horse.
“Who was that?” Hol Horse asked.
“My son,” Dio answered shortly.
“You son?!” Hol Horse said, incredulous.
“Now, tell me, why are you here?” Dio prompted, swiftly changing the subject to what actually mattered.
Hol Horse was not supposed to be here – he was supposed to be tracking down a target.
“He got away from me,” Hol Horse said. Dio raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “He boarded a plane bound for Bogotá.”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t follow him?”
“That’s- that’s halfway across the world,” Hol Horse reasoned, looking sceptical.
“That does not matter. I ordered you to track him down, so track him down,” Dio said.
Hol Horse licked his lips.
“You don’t pay me enough for that,” he said.
Dio couldn’t help but smile. Hol Horse truly was a mercenary through and through.
“Fine,” he said, “I’ll pay for your expenses in Bogotá, and the plane ticket.”
Hol Horse nodded.
“Very well, sir.”
Always so polite after negotiations.
Dio stepped close to him; he was a tall man, but Dio still towered over him. He stared intensely down at him.
“Then go. And do not disappoint me.”
He could see his own face reflected in Hol Horse’s shiny, fearful eyes. Hol Horse had disappointed him before and gotten mighty reprimanded for it. It was a mistake he was not going to make again.
When Hol Horse had left the room, Dio sat down at his desk and opened his computer. The next flight to Bogotá would leave in an hour and a half. If Hol Horse went straight to the airport, he’d catch it.
Once he walked downstairs again, he saw that Giorno’s shoes and jacket were gone, which meant he’d already left for school. Pity. Dio would’ve liked to continue their sparring conversation. He thought about Giorno’s words; either Giorno was posturing, or whatever he had done couldn’t be found in any existent record. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, but just how close had it ended up?
A while later, Hol Horse called. Dio sighed.
“Why are you not on a plane right now?” he asked, foregoing a greeting.
“Ah, sorry boss. Driving your kid to school took some time, but–”
“You drove him to school?” Dio interrupted.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Dio asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“He asked me to,” Hol Horse answered, like the simpleton he was.
“Let me remind you, Hol Horse, who you answer to; it is me, not my son,” he told him.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?”
“You were supposed to say no. He’s fifteen years old, what could he do?” Dio sighed again, loudly so that Hol Horse would hear him. “The next flight to Bogotá is tonight, with a layover in New York. Make sure you catch it.”
“Well, I- uh, there’s a problem.”
Dio squeezed his phone harder.
“What?”
“My passport. It’s flagged.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier, you imbecile?” Dio asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.
“Honestly, it slipped my mind,” Hol Horse said. “I haven’t travelled in a while.”
Dio wondered why he bothered with Hol Horse sometimes, but reminded himself that he was a heartless cutthroat who would never be hindered by his conscience. That quality was worth a lot of money, and a lot of patience.
“I’ll handle it. Just board that plane.”
Dio hung up and took a deep breath. What was Giorno doing? Had he somehow overheard their conversation and tried to sabotage Hol Horse’s already delayed mission?
In the weeks that he’d lived there, he’d always taken the bus, never once asking Dio or Kakyoin to drive him. So why would he suddenly ask Hol Horse, of all people?
That would have to wait. The most important thing right then was to make sure Hol Horse arrived in Bogotá.
Dio flicked through his phonebook until he found the number for his contact at Interpol and dialled it. Whatever the reason Hol Horse’s passport was flagged, it was nothing a phone call couldn’t solve.
He continued to work the rest of the day with one eye on the clock, waiting for Giorno to come home.
Giorno did not arrive until after dark. Dio had been waiting for him, and as he heard the front door open and close, he soundlessly walked into the kitchen. Chances were that Giorno would want something to eat, and then he’d confront him.
His prediction proved correct, as Giorno padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge, having no difficulty navigating his way through the darkness. Dio had purposely left the house unlit.
“Giorno,” he spoke, making the boy jump.
Giorno looked around the room, searching for him. The light from the fridge lit up the kitchen for a moment, but its door soon slid shut. He made no move to reveal himself from his spot by the glass cabinet, but Giorno’s eyes soon adjusted to the darkness, and he turned to face him. His eyes scanned Dio up and down, taking in his stance, his expression, reminding Dio of a deer in headlights.
“Oh, you scared me,” Giorno said and placed his hand over his heart.
“You’re home late,” Dio said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, sorry, I should have texted–”
“Where were you?” Dio cut him off.
He couldn’t afford to disregard the potential threat Giorno posed. From experience he knew how dangerous it could be to let a strange boy into one’s home; granted, he’d been the danger back then, when he infiltrated the Joestars, but he was wise enough to learn from others’ mistakes.
“Science club,” Giorno said. “We have an attendance list, if you don’t believe me.”
“Hmm…”
Dio pushed off the cabinet and stepped closer to Giorno, who took a step back. He took another step closer, and this time Giorno stood his ground, boldly raising his chin to keep eye contact.
“Hol Horse told me you made him drive you to school,” Dio stated.
“Yes,” Giorno admitted.
“Why?”
“Why not? He had a car and–”
“Tell me,” Dio interrupted, and put one of his hands down on the kitchen island, “exactly what it is that you’re doing.”
He put his other hand flat against the cupboard over the kitchen counter, trapping Giorno. He could take a step back and flee, should he want to, but that would mean turning his back to Dio – a risky move, when Dio was in this mood.
Giorno swallowed, barely noticeable. His face revealed nothing, but his eyes… Dio knew the eyes of a prey when he saw them.
“Nothing!” Giorno blurted, loud in the otherwise quiet house. “I’m just… trying to get to know you.”
Dio tilted his head to the side, considering the boy before him, considering if he was playing a part.
“You’re not exactly forthcoming,” he continued. “I was trying to see what putting your name in my mouth could do.”
“So you’re curious about me, is that it?” Dio asked.
“Yes.”
Giorno kept eye contact with him as Dio studied him in silence, trying to figure out if the boy was genuine or not. He certainly seemed genuine. Dio decided to let him go for tonight and relaxed, removing his hand from the cupboard. Giorno looked relieved.
Dio took a step closer, invading Giorno’s personal space and curled a hand around the back of his neck. He felt Giorno tense up against him, but he didn’t care; he smiled down at him.
“I see. I’m sorry I’ve been so withdrawn,” Dio said. “I will let you get close.”
He leaned in and kissed Giorno’s forehead, like he was sealing a deal. He then let go of Giorno and slipped past him.
“I will be in my room if you need me,” he said.
“Okay,” Giorno replied.
Dio stopped in the doorway, deciding to let Giorno know that he wasn’t the only one testing the waters – the only one watching.
“Oh, and by the way,” he said, and Giorno turned around. “Tell your friend Mista that if he’s going to keep a gun in his car, he shouldn’t leave it out in the open for anyone to see.”
Dio retreated to his room. Giorno seemed genuine alright, but it was best to keep an eye on him. It would seem there were depths to his son that he didn’t know, and it stoked his curiosity.
***
Vanilla Ice called from Cairo the next morning.
“How are negotiations going?” Dio asked, taking a sip from his coffee cup.
“It’s going well, but Enya wants to meet with you in person,” Vanilla Ice informed him.
Always straight to the point. That’s what he liked about Vanilla Ice.
Dio walked over to the window and pulled aside the heavy velvet curtain. A thin powder of snow lay on the ground – the first concrete sign of the approaching winter. And there, as he’d predicted, Giorno left the house, heading for the bus.
“I can’t,” he told Vanilla Ice. “Either settle the deal yourself or invite her to come here.”
“Sir, she’s a very old woman. I don’t believe she’d like to travel more than necessary.”
“I’m needed at home,” Dio said, studying the faint footprints Giorno had left behind in the snow. “I can’t just leave Giorno here alone.”
If it was because Giorno was his young, recently motherless son, or because Dio didn’t trust him, was unclear.