Chapter Text
Well, Melone was spending a typical afternoon sitting in Risotto’s office, thumbing through a file on a new target. And while he skimmed, Risotto was discussing the target aloud, “He’s an assassin for a smaller gang, and, as far as we know, not a stand user. Taken out some little people in Passione, but… intel thinks he may start to set his sights higher. They want you to–”
“Nip this in the bud?” Melone didn’t look up from the papers.
Risotto nodded, “Yes, and leave no trace of him, as if he never existed. He’s a hard man to track, nothing about a home or any places he frequents. Except–”
Melone interrupted with a small gasp as he turned the page. Photographs on photographs of this man in frilly costumes, singing, making dramatic hand gestures. Brochures of performances he’d been in, a list of every role he’d played, when he’d played them, and–
“He’s a tenor,” Melone read aloud, a smile spreading across his face.
“Yes,” said Risotto. “Highly connected to the opera scene, beloved by the public. So intel says.”
“Well, everyone needs a hobby.” He then took out the last thing in the file: tickets to see Orfeo ed Euridice that Saturday night. Tickets. “Oh, there’s two.”
“You’re not going alone.”
A sly smile spread across Melone’s face, “Why, Riz, I never thought you’d–”
“I’m not going with you,” he said, very matter-of-fact.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Risotto spoke up, “It’s open.”
And in walked a hesitant Prosciutto, muttering a small apology about being late, something about Pesci asking about… bla bla bla… he trailed off as he met eyes with Melone. The latter gave a little wink, to which the former responded with an eye roll.
“Prosciutto,” Risotto addressed him, taking his attention away from Melone. “You’ll be assisting Melone on his next hit. Simple job, non stand user, any other useful details are in that file. This Saturday, you both will attend an opera. I know you’re more… acquainted with that scene?”
Prosciutto hesitated slightly before responding, “In a way, yes.”
“Good!” said Risotto. “Get in, draw blood, enjoy the show, make sure he doesn’t see curtain call. Understood?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Melone responded, sorting all of the photographs and documents back into the file, sans the two tickets. He stood, picking it up, and, before leaving, pressed it against Prosciutto’s chest. His voice was quiet when he said, “I’ll see you this Saturday.”
Prosciutto took the file from him and sarcastically replied, “It’s a date.”
Melone tilted his head, “Promise?”