Anger Management [Meloghia]

Chapter 20: Processing

Regardless of Bucciarati's warnings, Abbacchio had already had three drinks after ten minutes of festivities. He hated all this political bullshit. They had to kiss ass to several politicians this year to help fund them. Abbacchio shook his head and took another sip. Taking out drugs had been a bad move. That was the idealism of a stupid fifteen-year-old boy gifted with too much power, and, unfortunately, Bucciarati had jumped on board with it. Abbaccchio had tried discussing the problems with the plan several times with Fugo who merely gritted his teeth and recited the same spiel given by Giorno. If this continues, Giorno is going to bankrupt Passione unless we get some serious income from these politicians, and Bruno's too blinded by the "golden" dream to see it.

Abbacchio growled to himself as he took another sip. He walked around the venue looking for Bucciarati. The talks weren't for another hour yet. This day was going to be long as hell, and he wasn't nearly drunk enough yet to handle it. He saw Mista at the bar with Formaggio and overheard them talking loudly.

"—heard a little of it from Giorno yesterday, but he was pretty exhausted," Mista said as he took a drink.

"Well, Gelato's gone off the deep end. It's all cause Risotto wouldn't let him go on the damn mission. He started taking shots at Riz and Ghiaccio. Started raving about dying and how he remembered shit from the other side." Abbacchio stopped mid-drink and listened intently.

"Bro, that's intense," Mista's eyes were wide. "Do you think he really saw something?"

"I don't know. I know none of the rest of us did. He's always been short a few screws though. I mean last night should be proof enough." Formaggio downed the last of his beer.

Abbacchio froze. He didn't know who Gelato was but someone else had experienced the same thing. When Abbacchio died, he saw his partner and made peace with himself. It was a wonderful feeling, that peace. He certainly missed Bucciarati but the feeling was distant from him like he would be fine in the knowledge he would see him again eventually. Everything was fine and assured. Safe. Then Giorno had brought him back after they'd defeated the Boss. He was delighted to see Bucciarati, but ever since coming back, he'd felt an emptiness inside him. It was an emptiness that grew every day, a weariness with life. He'd made several plans to kill himself but never followed through with any of them. He knew that Bucciarati would suffer and he didn't want to do that to him.

The rest of their conversation quickly turned to girls and Abbacchio was no longer interested. He continued to meander through the crowd with his mind racing. He found Bucciarati talking to Risotto and Prosciutto.

"Abbacchio," Risotto nodded.

"Risotto. Prosciutto." He nodded back. Prosciutto smiled.

"They were just updating me on the mission progress," Bucciarati explained and Abbacchio nodded.

"We're going in tomorrow to clear out the last of them," Risotto said. "I will contact you both when the mission is completed."

"Good. Giorno will be happy to have the last of that band eliminated," Bucciarati said and Prosciutto looked away to scan the rest of the room.

"Something wrong?" Risotto nudged him.

"I just don't know where Pesci went. He doesn't do well in loud crowded spaces," Prosciutto's face was hard but Abbacchio could tell he was worried.

"I bet he hasn't gone far. He's probably wherever Illuso is," Risotto said and put a hand on Prosciutto's back.

"Yeah, you're right." Prosciutto chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"I assume Sorbet and Gelato didn't come?" Bucciarati asked.

"You assume correctly," Prosciutto said. Gelato, he must be a part of La Squadra then.