JJBA x Readers Volume 2

La Squadra Coffee Table Interrogation

Hands bound by cable ties, you were slammed onto the coffee table by the blonde one with a yelp, presented before a large man in black and bells. Whimpering, you swayed to stop the pain flashing in your chest.
"What's this?" Risotto asked, patiently looking to Pesci for his answer. The grass locked assassin shook nervously, praying that he and Prosciutto's hunch was right. You had a small company, eternalising small things in glass boxes or shapes such as ashes or jewellery. Trinkets to remind one of something that may not last in the everyday world. The glass panes the gang had received had inevitably been traced back to you through the signature on your work. Sat in a large, mud-coloured armchair with studded buttons, the giant leant forward to get a closer look at you.
"This woman," Prosciutto began, roughly grasping a fistful of your hair to pull you back upright again. "Makes those glass trinkets." Tears collected in your eyes as you stared at the capo, politely sat in his distressed throne. Your scalp stung like a wound in chlorine, the older Italian gripping rather hard on your strands. Risotto asked your name, unsurprised when you didn't reply. Releasing your hair, your chin was taken instead and squeezed, lips squishing together like a jelly sweet between a child's fingers. "My Darling, when the Capo speaks to you, you reply; got that?" His tone was sickly sweet, a slight huskiness from years of smoking giving it a sultriness you couldn't deny.
"I told you, I've never heard of your stupid ice-cream buddies--" Thwacking your jaw into the coffee table, the edge caught your mouth, knocking your teeth back into your lips and splitting them. Blood spilled onto the mahogany, pooling into a ruby, spit-like puddle before their master.
"Hold on," Nero commanded. Stalling them, you were left to catch your breath, chest heaving as you grimaced through shooting pain. Reaching his hand out, your chin was tilted up, busted lip exposed to the light above. "My Dear, my colleagues tell me that these panels have your name on them. Therefore, you have some knowledge of the commissioner." His thumb traced your lips smoothly, mouth slightly ajar. "It would be such a waste of a pretty face if I had to mangle it just to get such simple information". Your breathing hitched, the gothic killer noting this before producing something cutting to tear right through the rosy skin. You hissed in torment as it ripped down the strong bonds of flesh just above your chin, alarmed when something hard hit the surface of the table. Peering down, you saw nothing but blood trickling onto the wood, running down as if there was invisible surface, rectangular in shape.
The brute sat back and observed your reaction as you searched for what cut you, concluding you weren't a stand user. "Tell us who commissioned those glass panes or leave here in a bodybag; your choice."
His words made your legs turn to jelly, shock forcing you to lean back onto Grateful Dead's user. Pushing you forward so you lost your balance, he was warned not to be so rough with you.
Melone stepped in, pulling you up from the table gently with his leathery glove, the material squelching as he did it. The lustful, lavender lecher grinned at your lower form, imagining how your legs and feet must look without your clothes. He loved interrogations, especially with women like you.
"I-I don't know," you fretted, losing your composure a little. "I didn't make them. I don't know why you're asking me." Bringing the panes to your attention, all lined up in the room, their golden, decorated frames were a dead giveaway besides your mark being upon them. Formaggio appeared from a shadowy corner, carrying with him one of the very slabs they were referring to. Navigating it in his arms, your signature was presented before you, shining as the engraving swept the light.
"So you mean to tell me if I take your cards out of your purse, your signature won't match this one?" You strained your eyes staring at it, frowning in despair at the feline fawner's voice. "Which is on every single frame, by the way."
"Who requested these grotesque works?" Risotto asked, tone serious.
"I-I-I can't tell you that," you stammered, heart speeding up from anxiety. You were just about to speak again when something blunt jammed out of your cheek, forcing its way through until finally popping a hole in your epidermis. You couldn't see it, but there was definitely something cold and hard in your face, sticking out. Metallica's user had materialised a metal skewer, its blunt end pushing through from the inside. Crying, you begged the white-haired beast not to make you say it. "Nothing you can do to me is as demoralising and horrific as what he did to me. I'm begging!"
"Oh, so it's a he? What's his name?"
"I can't tell you, he'll do far worse than kill me, please don't--!" Screaming out in agony as he pushed his stand further into your cheek, its other end piercing through your nose, you began to pant through tears, pain getting the better of you. Suddenly, the implement was pulled completely out of your face, whatever it was, and Risotto hummed as he let it fall to the floor with a ghostly clang.
"Hmm, guess forcing a metal skewer to pierce your face isn't enough to make you talk. Pesci," he called, alerting the youngest member of the squad. Stumbling forward, he stopped beside you, your emotions overwhelming him. "Make her talk."

You were released from Melone's hold and allowed to stand up properly. The phantom fisherman faltered, unsure where to start. Shying away, much needed words of encouragement came from his blonde colleague.
"Tie her up with your stand, if she moves, she dies." Sniggers filled the room, your nerves going into overload. Palming his fishing rod, you could only see smoke like apparitions despite being unable to truly make them out. Gradually, your body felt tighter and tighter, your throat closing up and sanguine pouring from your chest, soaking your shirt all of a sudden.
"If you try to escape, Beach Boy will automatically find your heart and rip it to shreds."
"Beach Boy...?" You were genuinely confused, talk of stands not being something you had engaged in. Another member, a dark and handsome giant by the name of Illuso, joined the party. He stalked you slowly, his bronze, bewitching gaze unnerving you. Pushing an ebony bang from his face, you were looked down on, your

"He threatened me if I didn't"