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applepiesupreme · 3 months ago

Text

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 31

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/149765467

Chef Ecco had arranged for them to be picked up from the restaurant in the morning and they were driven to Bronte’s mansion in several horse carriages. She watched her colleagues, each looking more nervous than the other and she herself felt nervous, too. This kind of job was a career changer – evil or not, Angelo Bronte was an important man and he had invited a plethora of important guests, the biggest names in the city. It was the perfect opportunity to make an impression. But...somewhere in the very back of her mind she had begun to wonder if she really wanted to make one.

She had barely slept the night before, anxious about the frutta martorana she had crafted, anxious about being around Chef Ecco, and (despite putting up a brave face about it to Arthur) anxious about being around Cosa Nostra. But there was a splinter in her, somewhere deep and hidden, that she felt now itching, needling her and she picked at it relentlessly, curious what she was concealing from her own self.

For a while now she had been struggling with doubts regarding the direction of her career. As much as she enjoyed crafting food at Antoine's, a part of her was listless about it. For one thing, her experiences at Antoine's had soured her ambitions to climb up the ladder of social strata. Food was her passion but this kind of food - expensive, fine food inevitably pushed her closer to folks that were...well you could say of a certain kind. Most were nice enough, true, but some were also inevitably people like Bronte and Ecco: men who could build you up or erase you with a flick of their wrists. Was it really possible to stay out of their orbits, stay out of their influence and still make a career in this field, especially as a woman of her background? It seemed less and less likely.

The second reason was more complicated, more subtle and evaded her grasp for a long time. She had grown aware that something was missing from her work at Antoine's, something vital and essential. Like salt from a meal or cold missing from ice cream. Then last week she had taken a bowl of spaghetti with meatballs over to Jack and he had jumped with joy and it had hit her: no matter how masterful, how creative, how stupendous her food would be at Antoine's, nobody there would ever be as excited to eat it as Jack was. She had walked back to their tent mulling over this and sat watching Arthur slurping the noodles like some savage and had asked him if he liked her food or he simply ate it because it was there.

He gave her an incredulous look. "Course I like yer food," was the flowery prose of a retort. And then, as he was piling himself an enormous second plate: "Gonna ask me if the sky is blue?" She contemplated that until he forked one of the meatballs she had been pushing around on her plate to get her attention and threw it in his mouth. "Ya spinnin' in yer head again?" Savigne shrugged. "I'm just...wrestling with some things." His eyebrows shot up with amusement. "Ya keep poutin' like that, gonna have to wrestle me later." "God, you're insufferable," she snorted. "Settle down." "Don' look so damn fine then," he chewed with a grin. "That's the last thing on my mind right now," she grumbled. "What ya said yesterday," he drawled. "Think I changed yer mind on that." "Seriously, Arthur?" "The day before, too." She pursed her lips and ignored him. "And before that," he said smugly. "Christ on a cross! I'm thinking about my career right now." He hummed and slurped his spaghetti. "Why, don' like yer fancy job no more?" "I wouldn't call it fancy," she chuckled. "I'm just a cook. Dime a dozen," she mumbled and winced when the phrase made her skin crawl. "This ball makin’ ya twitchy?” "No. Maybe. I don't know," she ran her hands over her face. Then she rose to stand behind him, flapped open his napkin and tucked it into his shirt. She squeezed his shoulders before she took the fork off his hand and the untouched spoon. “Observe, my love.” His head swiveled slightly in her direction with the endearment but he watched her twirl the pasta on the fork against the spoon without splattering it. “Just in case it’s served in a posh place. Or…you know…you want to eat it without wearing it.” He took the cutlery from her and gave her a scrutinizing look as she came around to sit on her chair again. "Gonna tell me what's goin' on with ya? Been goin' on with ya?" He said as he practiced the move. She thought of Arthur telling her to look away and striding to the Murfree, a blade at hand and a storm in his eyes. Nobody cared about a Murfree, but Chef Ecco? The whole city would go wild; it might even make the national news! Maybe he could evade the law regardless as he had done all his life. But maybe this would be the time he bit off more than he could chew and it would be her fault. You can never tell your boyfriend Sarah whispered in her mind. "Maybe I'm tired of Saint Denis," she sighed and cupped her chin, watching him eat. "Maybe that cabin needs to be far, far away from here." "Fine by me. Long as it ain't Tahiti," Arthur grumbled. "Tahiti? What's in Tahiti?" "Rest of them fools," he said, jabbing his head to the gang behind him. She laughed at that. "That's the plan? Even for Dutch, that's crazy."

But that night she had lied in bed, thinking about their conversation and it occurred to her how many people were pulled in the wake of the nonsense of charismatic men. How easy it was to laugh at Dutch and all the fools who would follow him off a cliff when she herself was allowing herself to be dragged into ever deeper waters by Ecco. I can't let this happen, she thought. I didn't come this far and work this hard so I can be humiliated and hurt and discarded by some monster. If Arthur has broken free, so can I.

She pushed these thoughts away as the carriage slowed and they arrived at the mansion. They were guided to the kitchen like baby ducks in a row and she gawked around, stunned by the wealth. It felt like she had been transported into a different world. The kitchen was almost the size of Antoine’s and spotless. There were a number of cooks running around, preparing lunch and dinner for Mr Bronte. They weren’t assigned to help with the food for the ball – that was the job of Ecco's team.

They were introduced, familiarized with the kitchen and the available tools and where everything was, then they had to wait a bit for lunch preparations to be over before they could go in and start the food for the evening.

Savigne didn’t have much to do on her end – her frutta martorana had to be prepared ahead of time and she had done most of the work. She just had to put in the finishing touches so the colors would stand out vibrant when the time came. So she helped others with their assignments.

Chef Ecco arrived a lot later, towards late afternoon and she spotted him walking about in the garden with Mr. Bronte from afar. They seemed to be having a jovial conversation and she soured on him even further. It was unclear if he was just being chummy with Bronte for his own career advancement or if he really liked the guy, but there was no doubt in her mind that they were more alike than apart.

It was her first time seeing Mr. Bronte and maybe it was knowing what he was and what he had done regarding Jack, but she immediately grew to dislike him. He had that grandiose, bellicose air to him that most men of his stature did but he also seemed to be overdoing it. His mansion was a reflection of him – big and showy but to the point of drifting into tacky, self-aggrandizing, everything for the distinct urge to impress others. She recognized the fellow immigrant in him always trying to compensate for the fact that he had arrived on a stinking ship like everyone else and was now obsessed with proving to folks that he was just as good, if not better than them.

She startled when Sarah chirped next to her: "Are they arguing?"

She turned to the two men, gesticulating in Italian. "Unfortunately no," she said drily.

A moment passed as the women watched the two men. "Are you okay, Savigne?"

"Not really," Savigne said, unable to look at her, feeling that weird shame again as if somehow what was happening was her own fault.

Sarah didn't say anything but inched closer until their shoulders touched.

"Some men," the blond girl sighed, looking out the window, "just want to take something from you and that's all they want. Then they're done. They move on to the next thing and they let you be."

Savigne watched the jovial back patting as the two men headed down the garden path. "Not everything is theirs to take," she droned.

"If such men are told no, then they want to take everything from you," was the careful response. They both looked on even though the garden was empty now.

Savigne shrugged as if to say 'so what'.

"Did you hear about Estelle?"

"No, what happened?" Savigne blinked out of her stupor.

"Heard she couldn't find a job in Saint Denis. Not even as a dishwasher. A few places accepted her but then...she was mysteriously let go the next day."

Savigne thought on this. "America is a big country."

"Sure. But some men have a long reach." Sarah turned to lock eyes then. "Don't think less of me for saying it. You're an excellent cook, that's why I'm here talking to you. Be careful."

She went back to the kitchen and focused on her job and before she knew it, it was evening and the buzz in the kitchen intensified. Savigne was used to it – there was always stress in the kitchen with the arrival of mealtime. Things had to be pre-arranged so everything could roll out smoothly and on time, because if there was an cardinal sin in this business, it wasn’t so much the taste of the food they were serving, but the nerve to waste some important person’s time.

She pondered if she would run into Arthur and the rest and dismissed it as unlikely – they were going to be with the guests and she wasn’t going to step out of the kitchen for the most part. Still, she was curious. And apprehensive. Whatever the Van der Linde gang was up to, it could be safely surmised that it was no good and she hated the fact that Arthur, in his ripe old age still hung around this nonsense. She knew at this point he had his doubts about the whole thing, she knew he harbored some resentment for what the gang was doing and she knew he meant to leave it all behind, but he sure as hell was taking his sweet time about it! They all were. Even Hosea, who was the most vocal about the state of things, was still hanging around, idling about in Dutch’s shadow instead of putting his foot down.

She eyed the time. The ball was going to start soon but the general air in the kitchen was collected. Things were moving about quickly and the staff Chef Ecco had brought over was used to the hectic pace of a kitchen and nobody was running around like their head was on fire.

She went to the fridge and looked over her frutta martorana. It looked excellent to her, especially that mandarin that she had constructed, half peeled and looking as real as the fruit itself, but self-doubt was always close to her heart and she bit her lip, eyes crawling over the pastry with apprehension.

“They look magnificent!” Chef Ecco proclaimed behind her and made her flinch.

His arm swung around her back, patting affectionately. Savigne scurried out of his reach, trying to be subtle about it but he saw her panic and rather than surprised or angry, he was amused.

“They’re excellent, Savigne. You have outdone yourself. Don’t be surprised if you get some calling cards delivered to you after tonight.”

She nodded politely and closed the fridge door.

“How are things upstairs?” she managed to break the awkward silence that set in.

“People are arriving. It’s going to be a big one.”

“Where do you want me?” she cleared her throat, eyeing the kitchen.

“You’ll find something to do,” he mused, smiling at her. “I know I don’t have to order you around.” His tone implied that he enjoyed doing it anyway.

She was about to step away when he said “Tell you what,” and glided into her personal space, “why don’t you take a break at some point and just go up and see what they think?”

“Would that be…appropriate?”

“Sure!” he waved his arm about dismissively. “Why not? You’re not a servant, you’re a cook! My cook,” he said eyes hungry. “Take your cap and apron off and go up and walk about the tables, see what folks are saying.”

She looked down at her pristine uniform. With or without a cap, she wasn’t really dressed for the occasion.

He guessed what she was thinking and laughed. “Don’t have to attend the ball!” he grinned. “Just go about and see what it’s all like. If anyone tries to usher you out, you better take their name. Nobody pushes my staff around." Another pat on her back, the palm on her shoulder blade lingering a tad too long, and he was gone.

Savigne exhaled with relief and rolled her shoulders to shake off the residue of his touch.

A few hours later the ball was in full swing and the kitchen was even calmer than before. Everything that was to be served had been prepared and was now just being carried upstairs. Bronte’s own staff was handling the serving, so there wasn’t much left to do for the cooks themselves. Ecco was right – this kind of event was in a way easier. It was front loaded and required a lot of preparation, but once that was done, the pace dropped off very steeply and there was a lot of time for rest.

Having tasted food all day she didn’t feel hungry, but she was now eager to stroll upstairs and see what a ball was like. She removed her cap and her apron, smoothed her dazzlingly white, clean uniform and decided to take the offer.

Upstairs was a a completely different world. The entire mansion had come alive with light and laughter. She walked among the guests, a little stupefied, absorbing the splendor. It was as if every beautiful person in Saint Denis was here today. Tuxedos pristine, dresses sublime, hair shaped meticulously, just the right amount of make-up, voices tuned to that polite, low tone interspersed with the tinkling of laughter here and there… She glided through the crowds, feeling invisible and, in a way, liberated because this way she was able to observe people she rarely encountered as if they were an exotic species while they hardly noticed her. She grew a little bolder and snatched a glass of champagne from one of the tables and strolled along the long laid out table, checking on the food to see what had been eaten the most and what remained relatively untouched.

The buffet tables were regularly visited by the patrons and her frutta martorana was in the center of the spectacle, displayed like a work of art. She saw several people looking at it, pointing at it, almost afraid to touch it. It put a grin on her face and a surge of pride swept through her.

“Miss Ricci?”

She turned to her name and for a moment had no idea who this man was. He looked very different dressed up, hair slicked back, beard trimmed down. Then it came to her: “Mr. Dunham?”

He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. He stepped closer to extend his hand. His aftershave was excellent – noticeable but just the right amount of subtle.

“Well at least I made an impression,” he said. She laughed and shook his hand, looking him over.

“You would have made one today if you hadn’t already,” she complimented him. A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks and she thought it cute.

“Should have known the excellent food meant you were in the kitchen,” he said. His grey eyes were twinkling, reflecting the lights around them.

“I only made the frutta martorana,” she responded, brushing her skirt and taking a sip from her champagne. “Can’t claim ownership of the excellent food.”

“Which one is that?”

She pointed to the display with her champagne glass and almost chocked on a mouthful of it when she spotted Arthur there, staring at her with the ghost of a grin. He looked…well immaculate. She had to admit he cleaned up extremely well, and somehow a tuxedo looked even better on him than his usual clothes did, which was saying something. His hair was shorter and slightly combed back with pomade and the beard was trimmed professionally. The way his broad shoulders sat within the sharp corners of the stiff jacket and his trousers hugged his slim hips did something funny to her stomach. All in all, he looked like one of the heroes Mary Beth’s stupid books fawned about for pages. She stared at him, mesmerized all over again by that animalistic quality, that magnetism he had, the way he filled space and had a weight to his presence and thought no wonder I fell for him. Even if she hadn't known who he was, seeing him here in this setting where he stood out like a tiger among cats, it was near impossible to not notice him.

“My my,” she heard Dunham and felt his shoulder brush against hers as he walked around her to approach the display. She blinked away from Arthur’s gaze, closed her mouth and followed.

“Well this is quite something!” Mr. Dunham said, circling the pastry table and Savigne tried to concentrate on him and ignore Arthur who was standing just a few feet away. “What is it?”

“Oh,” she said lightly, wetting her lips and trying to get her pulse rate under control, “it’s sweets made of marzipan. It’s very popular in Sicily. Traditional. We thought Mr Bronte would enjoy something from back home.” The way her heart was speeding up with his silhouette in the periphery of her vision, you’d think she wasn’t sleeping next to this man every night.

“Miss Ricci?”

“Hmmm? I’m sorry. My mind went…”

“…somewhere else for a moment,” the lawyer finished, grinning again. “I remember.”

She chuckled. “Sorry. I do that.”

He waved it away. Somehow even his wave was elegant.

“I was asking how you made it. This looks…well, spectacular!”

“Oh,” she grinned. “Thank you. It’s just…more sculpting than baking to be honest.” In the corner of her eye, Arthur stepped closer to them and her heart did a jolt.

“But see here,” he pointed to the mandarin she had crafted, half peeled, the peel standing away from the fruit to show the inner slices, down to the detail of white flesh webbing, “you’re telling me this is desert and not a fruit?”

She laughed and shrugged in humble confirmation.

“Well I can’t eat that!” he protested with mock outrage. “It would be a crime!”

“But…” she objected, the compliment shading her cheeks. It had been a long time since a man had earnestly complimented her. Sure, flattery was a simple and effortless thing, but there was a reason why it worked - everyone liked to be buttered up a bit now and then. Receiving it from him now so abundantly when she rarely got any from Arthur or Luther made her head spin a little.

“Oh no I couldn’t,” he said, enchanted by her shyness.

“‘Scuse me,” came from beside them as Arthur’s big hand closed on the mandarin and retrieved it to plop it on his plate.

She froze with surprise. Mr. Dunham was about to turn around to assess whose hand that had been when Savigne quickly spoke up: "You know," she said, giving Arthur a 'what are you doing?' look as he shot back a 'what are you doing?’ one of his own. "In some cultures food is served just as a spectacle, not even meant to be eaten."

"Interesting.” The lawyer followed her as she stepped down the line.

"Yes. There are formal Japanese meals for example that are insanely pretty. They're paraded around and served but are meant to just be looked at. Sort of to show off the skill of the cook and, by association, the wealth of the host who can afford him."

"Why, that's fascinating," Mr. Dunham said, his grey eyes locked on her.

"Try the grapes," she suggested.

Arthur advanced and plucked the grapes away to stack them on his plate, too.

She gave him an incensed 'Seriously?' look. He responded with that brash and unfazed azure gaze.

Mr. Dunham turned again to see who it was but before he could, she quickly touched his arm to divert his attention back to her. "So you're back in Saint Denis!"

Savigne was relieved when it worked. "Oh yes! I actually travel back and forth quite a bit now. Lots of business here and business is good for us lawyers."

She took a sip from her drink, gave Arthur a withering gaze over Mr Dunham's shoulder which was promptly ignored. She moved down the table further and the blond man followed and, to her chagrin, so did Arthur.

“How’s New York?”

“New York is New York. It’s the heart of this country and I daresay, the world. But…there’s a charm to Saint Denis I’ve grown quite fond of.” His eyes danced with bold mischief.

She feigned ignorance, bowed her lips and hummed. “How about that.”

They glided down the long table but he barely sampled anything, intensely focused on her.

"You didn't call on me, Miss Ricci," he said at last, voice a little more somber. "I have to say I was disappointed about that."

She smiled. "I was busy. I remember warning you about that.”

He grinned as if caught in a lie. "You did. But, guess I was hoping anyway. Are you still busy by any chance?"

Before she could respond, “So Miss,” interjected Arthur from behind him, his tone denoting that he had enough of the playful banter between them, “heard ya say you made these.”

Savigne blinked at him, caught off guard. She managed a late “Yes.”

Mr. Dunham turned and scrutinized Arthur, who stood at least a head taller and twice as broad. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

Arthur threw one of the grapes in his mouth, chewed on it thoughtfully, then gave Savigne a long, intense look while he ran a tongue over his teeth.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Well? Do you like it? Sir?”

“Reminds me of somethin’,” he said. “Tryin’ to remember where I ate it.” He licked his lips. “Think I had somethin’ similar…”

She sipped her champagne, amused.

“…in the Bayou.”

The champagne shot out of her nose as she coughed violently. Mr. Dunham quickly came to her side to politely pet her shoulder which, of course, did nothing.

Arthur broke into a grin and shouldered him aside. “Here, lemme.” His big hand slapped on her back not quite hard but hefty enough to dislodge the champagne that had gone into her airway and she wheezed and swallowed, recovering.

“Thanks,” she croaked, eyes watery. “It’s an…acquired taste,” she coughed, placing her glass on the table to brush the droplets off her skirts. His palm remained on her back.

"In the Bayou, you say?" the lawyer picked up the conversation. "I really can't imagine they have anything there that can compare.”

"There's this little bird..." Arthur began.

"Please, try one!" Savigne hastily urged Mr. Dunham, voice still raw.

Mr. Dunham picked a peach. She tried to inconspicuously push Arthur’s southward gliding hand away as they watched the lawyer carefully slice a piece off, fork it into his mouth and chew with narrowed eyes.

“It’s marzipan and sugar,” she explained.

The blond man hummed, thoughtful. “Very…interesting.”

Savigne carefully slapped at the hand that had resumed its journey to her butt. “It’s a little old fashioned, I know.”

“Very unique, I must say,” the lawyer stated. Then his eyes glided up to Arthur at Savigne’s side. “I’ve never been to the Bayou, Mr…?

“Kilgore,” Arthur said smoothly.

What a name, Savigne thought and bit her lip.

"What's to do over there?"

“The fishing is good. Gotta use the right bait of course.”

The grab on her butt cheek made her jump and dance away as she shot Arthur a glare of warning.

“You, Miss Ricci?”

"Me what? Sorry."

"Have you been to the Bayou?"

“Once,” she said curtly.

“If ya ever wanna go again…” Arthur said to her with a smug grin. “…’m yer man. Would be a…” his eyes crawled over her body, “…pleasure.”

It was inexcusable, the way he was looking at her - so bold and unapologetic that even Mr. Dunham noticed it and took a step closer to her.

“Would you like to take a walk in the garden, Miss Ricci?” he said, offering his arm.

This displeased Arthur greatly and she saw the amusement drain from his eyes.

“I should probably head back to the kit-” she started.

“What time ya done?” was Arthur’s drawl as his eyes flicked to her.

“Excuse me sir, that’s awfully direct,” the lawyer said frostily.

“I care ‘bout what ya think, I’ll ask ya,” was the hard response.

“You’re making the lady uncomfortable. I feel obliged to-.”

“Oblige somewhere else.”

The speed with which the amicable interaction dissolved rendered her speechless for a moment. A tension shot up between the two men as she looked from one to the other, nervous where this was going. It was very unusual for Arthur to act this brash but there was no doubt in her mind that he had recognized Dunham from the train station and had a bone to pick because of it. Mr. Dunham, on the other hand, had barely noticed Arthur back then so the odds of recognizing him in his current attire were slim to none.

"I think it's time I head back..." she tried, but the men had advanced to a stage of the duel where she was merely a prop for their stupid power play, so they ignored her.

“You're quite forgetting yourself, Mr. Kilgore," the blond man huffed with indignation and offered his arm to her again. "Miss Ricci?

“Ya stick that twig out again, ‘m gonna break it.”

Both Dunham and Savigne gaped at Arthur for a moment.

“Gentlemen…” she sputtered when she found her voice again.

“There’s clearly only one of those here!” was the lawyer's smooth interjection.

“Ya got the ‘gentle’ part right, tell ya that,” Arthur growled as he drew himself up and gave the other man a dismissive head to toe.

“You sir are a brute. That’s no way to behave around a lady.”

“Lady ain't complainin', is she? Go on, take yer fancy ass outta here.”

“Ar- Mister Kilgore!” she gasped, scandalized.

“How inappropr-” tried the lawyer.

“Bag it.”

“Sir, I’m about to call someone.”

“Who? Yer mommy?”

“Jesus!” Savigne muttered and nervously ran a hand over her forehead.

“That’s it! I invite you to step outside with me!”

“Thought ya’d never ask,” Arthur said and roughly threw his plate on the table.

“Absolutely not!” Savigne stepped between them. For a lawyer, Dunham seemed surprisingly stupid. Arthur could crack this man’s skull with one hand while playing cards with the other. She glared at Arthur. “I will be very cross if there’s a fight,” she hissed, pressing on each word.

He never looked away from the other man as he rolled a shoulder. “Won’ be much of a fight. Miss.”

“Erik, please!" She was hoping that the use of his first name would compel the lawyer but all it did was irritate Arthur whose eyes now blazed at her.

“Miss Ricci, I assure you, I’m not a meek man.”

“Pushin’ them papers made ya this big?” was Arthur’s tease.

“I'm quite good at boxing!”

He got a snort as a response. “Might wanna have these then,” Arthur fished his black velvet gloves out of his pocket and flung them at the other man’s chest. “So ya don’ crack yer pretty nails.”

“Gentlemen!”

She never thought she’d be this happy to see Dutch stroll over and almost sobbed with relief.

“What’s going on here?” was his smooth question.

“This...man was bothering the lady,” spat the lawyer as if leaving the 'gentle' out was some great insult. “We were about to step away.”

“Nobody was bothering anybody,” Savigne seethed, giving both men a heated look. “And I don’t think either of you gave a damn about me.”

“Tacitus, shame on you,” Dutch drawled. “We can’t brawl here, this is not a saloon.”

Arthur flexed his fingers. “Man here wonders what Saint Denis cobblestone taste like,” he said mildly, “‘m obliged to help.”

“Really unfortunate how all manner of folk get invited to these events now,” sniffed the lawyer.

“Ya hear this mewlin'?” Arthur asked Dutch.

“I think we have more important things to attend to,” Dutch said and glared at her as if she was responsible for this nonsense. He gripped Arthur’s arm but the bigger man refused to move.

The hiss of “Tacitus” was ignored.

“Goodbye,” was Dunham’s gloat and Arthur’s face darkened.

“You know what - I’ll see myself out. Good night to both of you,” Savigne spat and practically stomped off. Before she walked back indoors she looked over and Dunham was watching her with disappointment while Dutch had managed to wrestle the bigger man away.

“Unbelievable,” she hissed to herself. Silly peacocks, all of them, strutting around and sporting their tail fans at any given opportunity.

Things tapered off and Savigne changed her clothes and headed out so she could sneak away before Chef Ecco turned up. The hour was late and even bustling Saint Denis was somewhat empty. She cringed at the idea of riding back to camp this late, through all those dark forests and deserted paths. Maybe it was better to stay in a hotel in town today. But she hadn't told Arthur and if she didn't turn up he would surely come looking for her. She crossed the street and a dark shadow detached itself from the rest of the darkness under a store awning and glided closer.

She waited, apprehensive, until she recognized his gait and relaxed.

“Was just thinking about you,” she said as he walked closer to stand in front of her. He smiled and placed a hand on her lower back. “Maybe we can stay at a hotel.”

He jerked her forward roughly and she stumbled into him, next thing she knew he was kissing her. Not a chaste kiss on the cheek either - a passionate, full on one that she would never expect from him in the middle of a city street - regardless how sparsely populated it was at the moment. She reflexively pushed against him and of course putting up that kind of fight just made Arthur more eager to overpower her. He swung her around and her back was pushed against the wall as he deepened the kiss, boxing her in between his arms, his body flush against hers.

Breathless, she relented, retrieving her hands and placing them on the wall in a show of surrender. It worked, he softened the kiss and eventually pulled back, but his hands glided down her chest and palmed her buttocks, implying that his reprieve was temporary.

“What was all that nonsense earlier?” she panted.

“Should be thankin’ me,” he sighed into her neck as he left a trail of kisses. “For savin’ ya from that prick.”

“Thank you for saving this helpless maiden,” she sighed dramatically.

“That’s better,” he kissed her. “Now to my reward.” He took her hand and walked her through the dark streets of Saint Denis, to the background music of drunken yowling, ranting and peals of laughter.

They arrived at a hotel that was still lively with lights blazing and music drifting from the main hall.

“Gimme yer best room,” Arthur slapped his billfold on the desk. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Certainly sir,” the man flipped the book around for Arthur to sign. “We have a room with a double bed and extra large private tub ensuite.

Arthur grunted in approval as he grabbed the key. Then he paused and asked “The bed have a headboard?”

“Of course,” the clerk scoffed as if the alternative was unthinkable.

Arthur grabbed her hand again and pulled her up the stairs behind him. Several of the rooms had chatter and laughter drifting out as they walked past them. And a few of them lusty moans and cries of pleasure.

“Wow,” she cleared her throat.

“Ya can sing better than these fools,” he grinned at her. She opened her mouth to argue but he was faster: “And, believe me, ya will.”

She shook him awake early next morning. “Arthur.”

He grunted to say he’s awake.

“I need you to get me something.”

His brows furrowed. “What ya need?”

“There is this thing called beigel, I need one.”

“The hell is that?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s like a pastry, but savory.”

He cracked open an eye. “Ya want breakfast, we can order room service.”

“No I want beigel with lox.” He took a deep breath and rose on his elbow to look at her as if she had spoken in tongues.

”Please?” she pleaded, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Fine,” he sighed and rose to sit up at the edge, the covers pooling around his waist and exposing his naked chest. “Ya dream ‘bout it or somethin’?”

“I guess. I’m craving it something fierce.” He paused and gave her a look over his shoulder. “Think it’s because I’m going to bleed soon,” she explained, a little abashed.

He cracked his neck and got on his feet and started to get dressed. “Where they sell this thing?”

“The Jewish quarter. Three blocks up, an avenue over.” She watched him dress in his tuxedo from last night. “I want extra onions.”

He hummed as he reached for his satchel. “Ya sure they open on Sunday?”

“Yeah, it’s the Jewish quarter. It’s this round thing with a hole in the middle, they sell it on sticks. Don’t get the wrong thing!” she called quietly as he headed to the door. “With lox! And extra…”

“I got it, woman,” he grumbled and added “Don’ take a bath without me,” as he exited the room and headed for the stairs.

Saint Denis was calm and quiet under an overcast sky and the drizzle of rain. He decided he liked the city better like this. He passed people walking by quickly under the mist of rain and missed his hat. It was chillier now that Fall was here but perfect weather to him. He strolled up the avenue as the city slumbered around him, not yet ready to recover from the lively Saturday celebrations and he wasn’t the only one stumbling around in their nice clothes from the previous night, either.

Once he arrived at the neighborhood which was livelier than the rest of the city, he asked around and was guided to a small hole in the wall shop and proceeded to buy three, curious what this food was.

As he was heading back to the hotel a store window caught his eye and he crossed the street to look at the jewelery on display. It surprised him to see a man behind the counter at this early hour but he took it as a sign and entered.

Arthur walked in, rolled his shoulders and looked around. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior and glided over the assortment of pendants, necklaces, tiaras, brooches, swaying and clinking softly in the wake of the breeze that followed him in. It had started to rain in earnest and he was the only customer. It was, by all accounts, too early for this kind of shopping.

The man behind the counter didn’t push and merely glanced over before he dived back into his newspaper. There was a strong, warm smell of coffee in the air.

“Late night?” observed the man, looking over his tuxedo when Arthur approached the counter.

He grunted and dug into his satchel and retrieved the slender ring and carefully placed it on the counter.

“Don’ need this no more,” he sighed.

The man placed an oversized lens in front of an eye and picked it up and took his time inspecting. “Charming,” he nodded thoughtfully before the big owl eye behind the lens blinked at him and a polite “I’m sorry, son” was added at the implication. His tone was more neutral when he continued: “I can take it off your hands.” He went to the cash register but he saw something in Arthur’s eyes and shuffled back over. “Anything else you need, young man?”

“Need another ring,” was the gravely response.

The man hesitated. “She didn’t like it or…?”

“No. That business is over. Need a new one.”

“Ah I see. Well…what did you have in mind? Something similar?”

“Different.”

“Anything specific she likes? A certain color…a certain gem?”

He thought on this for a moment.

“Somethin’…Italian.”

The man hummed and scratched one oversized ear. “That’s not a request we get every day. But I do have some interesting rings.”

He went to the back and was gone a while and Arthur watched people through the store window running around under their umbrellas, trying to jump around puddles. Horses clopped by, their legs and underside splattered with mud.

When the man shuffled back in, he had a tray at hand. The navy velvet underlining was old and dusty. On it, two dozen rings displayed like artifacts.

“We have old, we have new, we have diamond or white gold. Anything catch your eye? I have more in the back.”

Arthur bent over and gave the rings a cursory inspection. They looked like any other ring to him. He staightened, dissatisfied.

“Something more…unique.”

The store owner gave him a narrow eyed hum and took the tray back, then returned with another. He wordlessly places the tray in front of him and withdrew a little.

The blue eyes carefully glided over each, then paused on one. “What’s this?”

“That there is a cameo,” the man said, pulling it out of its clasp and dropping it into Arthur’s large palm.

“What’s that?”

“A carving of seashells. It’s very Italian. Romans used to wear these.”

“Ya got more o’these?”

A nod and the man shuffled off again. Arthur held the ring against the dim light from the large store window. Rose colored background, on it the ivory profile of a woman with gentle lines and wispy details. It looked very pretty and quite different from the rings he had stuffed into the camp box over the years.

“How about these, son?”

The tray held only five rings but that was four too many. His eyes immediately snapped to the second to last on the row. “That one,” he pointed.

“You have good taste.” It was dropped into his palm and he returned the other ring. An oval head, about the size of a corn kernel, deep blue background. The band slim and elegant. On it the ephemeral white image of a lady and a horse, the mane of the horse flowing and her skirts slightly blowing as she was reaching out a tiny hand to pet it.

“This one,” he said, voice raspy with fascination. “Perfect.”

The man nodded, pleased. “I’m obliged to admit that it’s not very valuable,’ he said. “In case she…gets disappointed. Cameos rarely are unless they’re antiques. But it’s very pretty and unique.”

“She won’ care,” he said, turning it between his fingers. “Seashells, huh?”

“Seashells. The value is the craftsmanship.”

“Italian. Horse. Ocean blue. Seashells…” he noted and looked up to the jeweler to clarify: “She came on a ship.” He was astonished at his luck and at this point, tempted to call it fate. “It’s made for’er. I’ll take it.”

The man nodded and produced a small box and placed the ring in it. “I still owe you the difference,” he said and moved to the cash register.

“It’s fine,” Arthur said dismissively and pocketed the ring.

“How about a ring for yourself instead then?”

“I got one. From before.” He hesitated. “But…thinkin’ might be better I get a new one.”

“I agree,” the man said. “It's a new journey. Requires a new vessel.”

The store owner offered his congratulations when he left and headed back to the hotel, grinning for no apparent reason. He marveled a little how that elusive thing he had thought was forever beyond his reach was here now, so close he could almost taste it:

Family.

And not one cobbled together out of circumstances or convenience, but a proper family - chosen. Asked for and accepted. After thirty-six years of living and doing, it was maybe the only mark he would leave in this world, the only deed he could point at and boast about. Six months ago he was telling Hosea it wasn’t in the cards for him and today he had bought a ring. Sure, some of it was luck. But this was no whimsical luck of a bullet missing by inches - he had chased it, fought for it, clawed at it, so it was as much an accomplishment as it was luck and yes, he was proud of it. Don’t fuck this up, he thought. Not again. Just hold the course. Don’t do nothing stupid. If he held steady, surely she would accept.

He was superstitious about counting his chickens before they hatched, wary that allowing himself to daydream about it would invite the ire of the universe and with it, all the bad luck he was owed for the life he had led, but couldn’t resist the temptation today and very carefully, almost shyly allowed himself to revel in the feeling of being loved and wanted. Of being needed. Someone in this world loved him, wanted him - the concept seemed absurd. Not because he was a skilled shooter or a loyal enforcer, not because he added money to the box or took risks - someone loved him despite those things and didn’t expect anything from him but his company.

When he entered the room she was standing by the window, bed cover draped over her naked shoulders like a cape.

”You were gone for a while. Did you find it?” she said, running over.

”Did,” he said as she practically ripped the bag off his hands and scrambled to sit at the table.

She fished out one beigel and bit into it, moaning with pleasure.

”The hell gotten into you?” he chuckled, peeling off his jacket.

”Dis ow yu luk wen yu eat,” she mumbled around her food and comically scrunched her face and chomped with exaggerated fury.

He laughed and sat across from her and they ate to the sound of the rain on the windowpane. The hotel started to wake up but slowly, lazily.

”Oh my god,” she groaned, caressing her tummy and leaning back on the chair when she had devoured the beigel, for the first time finishing a meal before he did. “That hit the spot. Thank you.” Then she found the third one in the bag. “You’re going to eat this, or…?”

”Go ahead,” he grimaced. “Think ‘m good.”

He got up and went to the connected room and started to fill the tub while he undressed, hanging his clothes on the hooks on the wall. When it was done and the temperature of the water adjusted, he sank in with a groan and she came in, threw the covers off her shoulders and gingerly sat between his legs. He sat back and lit the complimentary cigar placed on a tray beside the tub and she groaned with pleasure and leaned back into his chest. There were no windows in this room but there was a skylight and they listened to the rain drumming on it as he smoked and she dozed off and woke up intermittently.

“Quiet Sunday,” she mumbled at last. “Must be the rain,” and shifted to settle more comfortably between his legs.

His free hand untangled her locks and glided over her shoulders and her breasts as he smoked. He thought of the ring in his satchel and all the quiet mornings in the future. The sense of loss and rudderless drifting that always used to fill him at the idea of the absence of the gang, of Dutch and Hosea and Grimshaw and the conversations at the camp fire didn’t come. Maybe because he had been gradually weaned off it these past six months, or maybe because it felt due, earned like a deserved retirement after a lifetime of work, but he was ready for it - eager even.

Eager for peace and quiet and days spent in the unhurried pleasure of simple tasks. Eager to watch the sun set on his porch somewhere and listen to her preparing dinner inside. To set his own agenda instead of following one set for him. To come up with little chores around the cabin to keep himself busy.

For as long as he could remember, he had coasted like a log in the river of life. Always moving, carried by the current. Sometimes caught in an eddy, a little enclave for a while, but eventually pushed out again to be rolled along. Always living off crates, sleeping in tents. He tried to imagine actually having a place of his own that was permanent and worth getting attached to. He tried to imagine waking up in the same room, looking at the same view out of the same window every single day and watch the seasons change. He tried to imagine things being in cupboards and shelves, hung on walls, his clothes in closets. He tried to imagine having a routine not for a week or a month but for years. To meet people in towns and to actually expect to meet them again.

Dutch always said there was freedom in the nomad life and there was. But he had been doing it for over twenty years now and it didn’t feel as illustrious as it did when he was younger. Hosea was right - this was a young man’s life. Maybe there was freedom in drifting, but there was comfort and peace in growing roots and he was ready, hungry to grow roots.

“This is nice,” she sighed, hands gliding up the incline of his thighs to settle on his knees. “I think you’re right - we do need that large tub in the cabin.”

He wiped the hair off her shoulder to kiss it. The rain intensified and they sat there until the water became tepid. Then they drained some of it and refilled it with hot water and sat some more. The cigar smelled woody and toasty, the soap bubbles fresh and floral.

“Wish this day would never end,” she whispered. "It's perfect."

There was a quiet, delicious heat in his chest that he didn’t recognize.

"Wish that, too," he sighed.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan smut #low honor arthur morgan #mid honor arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fluff #smut #fanfic #dom arthur morgan

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igot-sarang-ggg · 2 years ago

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Hey there :) please could I request a one shot of Bruno bucciarati saving the reader from an enemy mafioso or her family and inducting her into his gang (before the events of golden wind) and what would the other guys reactions to her be. Could there be hints of romance please 💙💙💙

Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took me so long post. Hope you enjoy the story

The Bakers Daughter (Bruno Bucciarati x Reader)

Masterlist

Small Summary: You work as a baker at a company owned by your father. when your father doesn't pay what he owes the boss hes given some time to round enough money to pay but instead he runs away and leaves you to clean up his mess

Small mentions: SPOILERS, near-death f!reader, blood, getting tortured, mention of la squadra spell check is out the window..

I never thought today would be my last day on this earth. Life's so cruel...

My eyes began to blur as I took my last breath. An image of Bucciarati came to mind, why am I thinking of him at a time like this? It seemed like he was swimming towards me, "Bru-no." How did this have to happen to me?

It was a day like any other, opening the bakery, helping customers, and what I loved the most baking! The bell on the door rang, "Welcome what can I get for you today?" I greeted a young man that walked in, he had a bowl cut for his hairstyle but it suited him nicely. He's been coming here every Saturday for the past few months. "Good morning Y/n, I'll have the usual."

"Ah yes, we'll have that out for you in a bit. Would you like anything else, sir?" I started to write down his total, "What would you recommend?" I pointed to the display of cookies and cakes, "We do have other sweet options like Frutta Martorana, Zeppole, and many others to name a few." he scanned the deserts in front of him. "Do you have strawberry shortcake?"

"Yes, we do, how many slices would you like on the cake?" I walked over to the dessert display and took out the cake he requested. "Twelve slices if that's alright." I smiled at him, "Sure thing." After cutting the cake I around up his total, "Okay that will be thirty dollars with seventy-three cents." He handed me two bills, "You can keep the change."

"Okay, thank you. Your sweets will be out in a few minutes mister..." I wanted to say his name but forgot we never exchanged our names, he knew my name cause I wore a name tag. "Bruno Bucciarati." I've heard that name before, most of the people in town talk about a guy named Bruno and how he always tries to help people in any way he can even though he's a Mafioso. "If you don't mind me asking what brings you to this part of town?"

"I had some business to attend to. Plus you guys do make some delicious desserts. I enjoy supporting companies such as yours."

"I see. Well, thank you for liking our deserts." As I packed up the deserts Bruno requested, the bell rang again, "Hi welcome what can I get..." When I looked up there were these two men, they'd been coming here for the past few months to speak with my father. They gave me a look, and I already knew what it meant. "He's in the back." The silver hair man walked in first and then the blonde guy followed. I continued packing the deserts and handed them to Bruno. "Here you go."

"Thank you. By safe Y/n... I'll come to visit the shop in a few days. My friends really enjoy your deserts." He took the box of deserts and left. We hadn't been getting a lot of business lately ever since those men started showing up. "This is a warning you better have it all by Thursday or else we're coming for you." They both left the bakery. I went to check up on my father he was on the ground crying. I knew that he was running his business with the Mafia but now it seems he's gotten himself into some serious issues. That's why mom left him when I was younger he's gotten into some sort of debt and now he has to pay the conscious.

Thursday came but those men didn't show, instead, Bucciarati came to the bakery. "Bucciarati it's nice to see you again. Do you want the usual?" I started to pull out some cookies. "Yes, thank you. How's business going?" He handed me the money, "Quite slow. Not a lot of people have been coming here lately." I handed him his change "I see."

"So what made you stop by, you usually come in on Saturdays." I started preparing the box and filling them with his order, "I like visiting you... Plus my friends and I wanted some sweets." He wanted to visit me? "Well, I'm glad you're here to visit and that you and your friends enjoy our deserts." I handed him the box he reached out for it and our hands touched slightly. "I'll come by another day. Hopefully, my friends can come with me so you can meet them." He smiled at me and then left.

A few days passed and those men showed up again, this time they had five other men with them. "Hey beautiful, where's your father? We have some business to handle with him." The man with the red leather coat spoke. That morning my father had left with a suitcase and said he would be back in a few days. "I'm sorry boys but he's not here. He went out early this morning." I took out some fresh baked goods handing them to the group, "Would you like some sweets or would you like to order something?" The man with blue hair and red glasses slapped the tray of sweets from my hand, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt.

"What do you take us for some idiots? Did you seriously just offer us some sweets? Your father owes us money and if he isn't going to pay us then we-" The blonde hair man pushed him away from me and covered the man's mouth, "You'll have to excuse him, he's a bit... Crazy and hot-headed." He faced the group of men with him. "Y/n here works for her father but doesn't know about him working for us."

"I see... She'll be perfect for baby face though. Her eyes, lips, her features would be a perfect fit." The one with purple hair spoke he grabbed my face I could see a glow in his eyes, something wasn't right. "Melone stand down... We can use this to our advantage." The silver-haired man spoke, pushing Melone away from me. "Formaggio use Little feet. Illuso knock her out." Before I could even say anything I was now small, the size of what felt like a Barbie doll. I was standing on top of the counter. I quickly jumped off and tried making a run for the door. As I ran to the door I could hear the men laughing, someone picked me up by my shirt "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE PLEASE LET ME GO!" Tears began to fall as I realized that today might be my final day, the one they called Illuso hit me and everything was now dark.

The sound of water splashing echoed in my ear along with people talking from a distance.

"Wake up sweetheart." My head hurt, and there was a sharp pain in my throat; as if someone was holding a knife to it from the inside of my body. I tried moving but couldn't, my arms and legs were tied up to a chair. We were at a lake from what I could gather. "You're probably wondering what's going on or who we are... We're La Squadra, I'm Risotto. Your father owes us money, the boss isn't too pleased with him since he hasn't paid his dues. We warned him on our last visit that if he doesn't pay up then we'll kill him... But seeing as he's a no-show we'll have to kill you instead." I tried struggling against the ropes but it was no use, "Fight all you want, you won't make it out alive."

Looking at the group of men standing in front of me the blue hair man was holding a camera. "Your fathers next after you die. It seems your father took what little money he could and made a run for it; leaving you to clean up the mess he made." Why would he do this to me? "Once we get him we'll make him watch this video that records your very last moments here on earth. Being tortured by us and then drowning to death."

Tears slid down as they began to hit me. My screams were muffled due to the gag in my mouth, the pain was too much. I began coughing and felt something burst out of my throat. 'How am I still alive? How am I still breathing?!' I thought to myself. "Dump her in" Risotto gave the order and they pushed me into the water behind. I sank quickly; I kept trying to break free from the rope I wasn't gonna die down here not like this.

I was running out of oxygen. I looked up from where I fell seeing a dim light shine from the surface above. I'll just have to accept the fact that this is the end for me. "Y/n!" An image of Bruno came to mind, 'Why am I thinking of him at a time like this?' My head was now cloudy, my eyes blurry, and I couldn't move any part of my body. The last thing I remember seeing was a silhouette swimming toward me.

Where am I? My eyesight was still blurry I could only see a figure standing in front of me. Their mouth was moving but I couldn't hear a thing.

"Y/-"

"Y/n..."

"Y/N please wake up!"

I stood up coughing, "Y/n you're awake! I'm so glad!" The man hugged me. "Bruno?" He pulled away from the hug, it was Bruno. "Yes, it's me. I'm gonna take you somewhere safe... Stay with me okay!" He picked me up and started running, "Why did they do this to you?!"

"My father... The mafia... Money..." I couldn't formulate the words that I needed. I felt tired to speak. "Y/n please stay with me. I'll get you to a doctor but I need you to stay awake." He looked down at me and kept running the sounds of his footsteps began to fade.

When I came to I was in the hospital, Bruno was sitting in a chair sleeping next to the bed. How long has he been here?

"Bruno..." I whispered his name lightly shaking his arm. He opens his eyes, "Good you're awake. How are you feeling? Do you remember anything?"

"I'm okay. The last thing I remember was drowning... How did you find me?" He stood up walked toward the window looked outside and then walked back to me. He spoke in a hushed tone, "I've been keeping an eye on the bakery. Your father requested that I watched in case something were to happen to you. When you were thrown into the water I used my stand to rescue you." Stand? "What's a stand?" I asked him. "I'll explain later. The doctor will be coming here in a bit, when they ask you if you remember anything about the situation you were just in say that you don't remember, and if they ask where you used to work or how you know me tell them that you worked at Libeccio as a waiter." The door then opened a doctor and nurse walked in, Bruno excuse himself and left. They had asked me the same questions Bruno told me to answer, "Seems you may have some sort of amnesia, but it doesn't seem to serve. We'll be discharging you today. Bucciarati Said he'll take you in his care for a bit until you're able to recover." The doctor walked to the door, "We'll run some tests before you go and get the paperwork ready for you."

When they handed me the paperwork I noticed the name on it was wrong, I was gonna say something about it but I guess Bruno noticed and stopped me. We walked out of the hospital and towards his car, "I had to give you a fake name in case they worked for those men." I chuckled, "I get that but," I looked at the name that was written, "Why name me Uovo Sodo (Boiled Egg)?" He smiled and then chuckled, "I'm not so good at naming things, let's just leave it at that."

I started living with Bruno for a bit since I couldn't go home. He asked me if I wanted to join him and become a mafioso and join his team. He explained to me that he wanted to get rid of the mafia, drugs, and bad people like those men who tried to kill me. I agreed to join his team. He set a meeting with Polpo and soon after I joined Bruno's team.

We entered Libeccio I felt a bit nervous. Bruno placed his hand on my shoulder, "They're over there, in the back." I was still hesitant to walk over, "Don't be scared. Trust me they'll like you just as much as I do." He kissed my cheek and took my hand leading me to the group of men, he then let go. "Guys I want you to meet Y/n. She'll be joining our team from now on. Y/n this is Leone Abbacchio, Guido Mista, Fugo Pannacotta, and Narancia Ghirga."

"Woah a girl is joining!?" Narancia spoke. "She's kinda cute. This could be fun." Mista stated... I'll make a mental note to not get so close to him. Fugo stood up taking out his hand, "It's nice to meet you Y/n." I shook his hand, "Likewise."

Abbacchio removed his headphones and crossed his arms, "So this is Y/n, the girl that was legally declared dead not too long ago, huh? How'd you cheat death?" The others seemed confused, I guess Bruno only told Abbacchio what had happened... or he was properly assigned to confirm my death. "Yes, that's me. If it weren't for Bruno I wouldn't be here. I almost drowned to death." I stood in front of the group seeing them look at me with pure amazement.

"Really how? Grab a seat tell us." Narancia Seemed excited to hear about my near-death experience and the other seemed interested as well. I told them everything that had happened. "All I want is to get rid of people like those men and help in any way I can to accomplish that."

After a month I became close friends with Mista, Narancia, and Fugo, they started calling me big sis. However, it did take some time to gain the trust of Abbacchio. Every so often he invites me to drink wine with him and Bruno. And as for Bruno, he and I have become close. Mista has teased me about how Bruno stares at me when I speak or when I'm helping Fugo torture Narancia. I've noticed too.

"I just got a call Leaky-eye Luca was found dead near the airport. I have to get going, I'll be back in a bit." Bruno singled me over to him; we both walked out of Libeccio.

"What is it, Bruno?" I asked him. "We both know time is short for the both of us. After I come back from investigating Luca's death, would you like to go on a date with me?" I smiled so brightly, "Yes, I would." I hugged him feeling so happy and like the luckiest girl alive he hugged me back. "Wonderful, I'll be back shortly okay." We pulled away from the hug a bit and that was when he kissed me for the first time. My heart raced as it felt like time had stopped for us two. "See you soon." He smiled, "Good luck Bruno." We said our goodbyes and he left.

Soon after Giorno Giovanna joined our group, nothing went as planned once he joined.

Request for One-shot are open!

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