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English
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Part 7 of The Daily Lives of Passione
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Published:
2020-03-16
Completed:
2023-05-22
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158,192
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45/45
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Anger Management

Summary:

Bucciarati has decided to put Fugo in Anger Management after stabbing Narancia with a fork. At his first session, he's surprised to find Ghiaccio has also been forced to attend.

Main relationships: Fugo & Ghiaccio, Meloghia, Sorlato

Notes:

This seems long overdue, putting these two in therapy. Lol.

EDIT: I would highly recommend reading La Squadra Redemption before this piece since it is the Prequel for the events to come. Things will make more sense.

Twitter: @waywardinmate
Nsfw twitter: @wsinmate
Tumblr: waywardinmate

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: The First Session

Chapter Text

Fugo was pissed, but what else was new? Well, Ghiaccio being at the meeting was unexpected. He wasn’t surprised to see him here, the assassin had as much anger inside him as Fugo held, he probably needed to be here as much as Fugo did. He was more shocked that the assassin would actually admit to having a problem. Or he was forced here like I was. He could imagine Risotto being so over it and forcing Ghiaccio to go to get a hold of himself. He wondered if he’d been attending these sessions or if this was also his first time. 

Ghiaccio sat forward on the metal folding chair with his elbows resting on his knees. His teeth were clenched as he listened to the leader speaking to the group. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel. Fugo sat up straight and crossed his arms. The man, who introduced himself as Franco, was spouting stuff about the purpose of the sessions.

“Each week we are going to talk as a group. About anything. Tell us what pissed you off this week and we’ll talk about why. Anger is a symptom. So finding the cause of each episode and addressing it head-on will help you manage anger. Anger doesn’t just hurt us, it hurts those around us.” He noticed Ghiaccio look down at his feet. Had he hurt someone too? Fugo had stabbed Narancia. That was enough for Bucciarati to force him to go. 

“To say that we’re going to cure your anger here is hubris. Each person is different. For some, anger is a symptom of a chemical imbalance in the brain called Depression. For others, genetics may have gifted you with a short fuse. Either way, our goal is that at the end of the class, we’ll have equipped you with a repertoire of strategies you can use to help you cope with that anger.” 

Fugo scowled. He’d always been an angry child. There was just a burning rage inside him for as long as he could remember. He didn’t think there was really any changing it. Breathing and counting to ten had never worked before and it wasn’t going to work now. He didn’t want to be here. 

“Now, I think we can start by talking a little bit about ourselves and why we’re here. We don’t have to bear our souls tonight guys, so don’t get too worried.” Some people laughed in uneasy relief. “Why don’t we just go around the circle?” He looked to the woman next to him and gestured. She looked incredibly nervous to be put on the spot. 

“Okay, well, hi. My name is Andréa Pelosi. I’m here because of my girlfriend. I get really angry about dumb shit and take it out on her. Not physically but verbally.” Ghiaccio scoffed as he listened. “I don’t really know why I get so angry but I just want to punch and break things.” Fugo could relate. He was verbal too in his anger but always found a physical outlet, if his stand was any indication of that. “Yeah, so that’s me.”

“Thanks for sharing Andréa,” Franco said. Other people introduced themselves and Fugo was disgusted by some of them: husbands beating their wives, mothers abusing their kids, drug addicts. It was finally his turn.

“I’m Pannacotta Fugo. I’m here at the suggestion of friends.” He left it brief and nodded his head.

“Welcome, Pannacotta,” the group said. There were four more introductions that went much the same. Ghiaccio was next in the rotation.

“Name’s Ghiaccio Bianchi. I’m only here because I’m being forced to be here.”

“Welcome, Ghiaccio. And why are you forced to be here?” Franco asked.

“Because my team is made up of a bunch of sensitive little bitches,” he snapped. Fugo thought of a number of words to describe the members of Esecuzioni and ‘sensitive’ was not among them. “They all think I have anger issues hence why I’m sitting here.”

“And do you have anger issues?” Franco prodded.

“Of course I fucking don’t! I’m always calm!” Ghiaccio yelled. Fugo snickered and Ghiaccio turned on him. “You got something to say, Pannacotta?” 

“It’s ironic for someone claiming no anger issues to be yelling at the group right now.” 

“Shut the fuck up. What do you know about me?” he barked.

“Just what Prosciutto tells me.” Fugo raised a brow. He knew that would get a rise out of him.

“Prosciutto doesn’t know shit!” Ghiaccio’s eyes bulged.

“Alright, guys, let’s settle down,” Franco interrupted. 

“I bet Melone does.” Fugo decided to venture a guess. That clearly hit a nerve.

“Listen, you bastard, I don’t know what you think you know, but I’ve never hurt anyone.” His eyes said ‘outside of work’ which Fugo already knew. Passione members couldn’t exactly speak freely in the general populace. “...Unlike you, if Narancia’s face is any indication of that.” The familiar spark ignited. He’d been pissed earlier but not like this. This was the same spark of blinding rage that took hold of him when he’d stabbed Narancia. The kind of rage that left him in a violet fugue where he couldn’t recall details later. 

He vaguely recalled lunging out of his seat towards Ghiaccio but the rest was lost to the purple haze in his brain. He didn’t come to his senses again until he was being dragged down a hallway towards the door. The cold air rushed into his head as the front door opened. He turned to see Franco there looking at him with a hand latched to his arm. He felt bad that he’d lost his cool especially to someone like Ghiaccio.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay. I know. Just go clear your head,” Franco nodded. “You can still come back next week. I was gonna tell everyone else this, but I’ll tell you now. I want you to keep a journal from now on every time you get angry. We can talk about it together later but I want you to try to figure out why something made you angry, okay?” He handed Fugo a journal. “Why not start with right now?”

Fugo took the journal and walked out.

 

***************************

 

Ghiaccio walked out of the building towards the parking lot. At least his nose had stopped bleeding. Fuck Pannacotta. That trust fund bitch thought he knew everything. He saw the Ferrari convertible waiting for him. He could see Melone sitting in the front passenger seat, typing away on his laptop surely. He sighed. He still wasn’t comfortable being around him, Melone was the reason he was here in the first place. He’d gone to Risotto after their last intense fight and he agreed that Ghiaccio’s temper was affecting his ability to do his job properly. That really pissed him off since he always had a cool head when it came to a job. He’d never lost control when sent on assignment, only when it came to Melone. He often lost his shit over stuff Melone did. Ghiaccio walked around the car and jumped over the door into the driver’s seat tossing the journal he was given in the back. Melone looked up as he turned on the car. 

“So how did it go?” He asked in a sing-song voice. Ghiaccio just stepped on the gas and drove. “What happened to your face?”

“Pannacotta.”

“Fugo was there?” Melone laughed and clapped his hands. “Looks like Bucciarati had the same idea Risotto had.”

“You mean your idea,” Ghiaccio said.

“Look, we're partners; we have to work together.”

“Fuck off.”

“I just don’t know how to handle you anymore.” Melone was usually the most chill of the group when it came to Ghiaccio. While everyone else would argue back with him, Melone usually just let things roll off his back and smiled when Ghiaccio got mad. So it felt like a stab in the back when he discovered that Melone was the one to suggest this to Risotto. 

“You could start by talking to me!” Ghiaccio yelled.

“How can I talk to you when you hate me?” Melone asked and Ghiaccio felt sick. 

“I don’t hate you.” That was true, he liked talking to Melone more than the others. But he still thought he was gross.

“Sure seems like it,” Melone said flatly.

“I just don’t understand if there was a problem then say it to my face, damn it!” Ghiaccio barked.

“You can’t be reasoned with when you get mad,” Melone snapped back.

“I’m the most reasonable person. It pisses me off when things are without reason!” It was true, he noticed that he got particularly angry when things weren’t logical or didn’t make sense. There was nothing wrong with him, it was the rest of the world’s chaos that needed to be brought in line.

“Whatever.” Melone rested his cheek on his palm and looked out the window. Ghiaccio was taken aback by that reaction. He expected Melone to either keep teasing him with sexual innuendo or say something flippant to piss off Ghiaccio. He never just disengaged. Something was weighing on his partner. Even though there was nothing physically weighing him down and thoughts cannot have literal weight. Fuck these stupid phrases. He’d have asked Melone right then why the phrase was so fucking pointless if he hadn’t already been arguing with him at that moment. Maybe he was still upset about the fight two days ago. He may have taken things too far, but nothing he’d said was untrue. Besides, Melone had started it by being creepy as fuck. 

Ghiaccio had woken up and gone to the bathroom without socks. His first mistake. When he came out of the bathroom, he ran into Melone who gave his feet the creepiest look. He looked like he might drool, he could also see his partner was clearly aroused.

“What the fuck, seriously? Get away from me!” Ghiaccio shoved Melone farther away from him. “Creep.”

“I can’t help it, sorry,” Melone giggled sheepishly. 

“You’re such a freak.”

“Plenty of people like feet,” He said as he shrugged.

“It’s not fucking right. It’s such a gross part of the body.”

“But it’s not, the shape of them, so slender and angular. Most toes are so straight. Your toes have a natural curl to them which is so beautiful.” His face was becoming lost in fantasy and his tongue peeked out of his mouth. 

Ghiaccio snapped.

“You’re such a sick, lascivious fuck! You never stop hitting on anything that moves and you can’t even fight properly! You just hole up somewhere and hope someone does the heavy lifting for you! And impregnating women?—Even your stand is gross and everyone thinks it. You’re a rapist on top of being a fetishist! You’re the scum of the earth and belong in the dirt to be trodden upon. But god forbid, that would be too good an existence for you! You’d be perfectly erect at even the thought of being under my foot, and I want you as far from my feet as fucking possible!” Ghiaccio screamed. 

Everyone was up by now and in the hall watching the scene unfold. Melone was frozen to the spot staring at Ghiaccio. His eyes darted to the side to see everyone waiting to see what would happen. The looks on their faces made it clear that they thought the same but were too uncomfortable to voice it. Melone tried to speak but couldn’t find words. Instead, he turned and went to his room locking the door behind him. 

No one saw him for several hours after that. The next time he saw him, Melone was leaving Risotto’s office. He glanced at Ghiaccio and quickly turned away. He’d later be informed, upon Risotto’s orders, that he was going to Anger Management classes. He knew it was Melone immediately. It was so out of the blue for it to have not been.

“Are you still sulking?” Ghiaccio asked flatly. Melone didn’t respond. “Look nothing I said was untrue.”

“I’m not a rapist!” Melone turned to him and yelled.

“You impregnate women against their will.”

“Babyface doesn’t use penetration! It’s not rape!” Melone insisted.

“Anything unwanted is rape, there doesn’t have to be penetration! No means no,” Ghiaccio snapped.

“But touching isn’t sex,” Melone said defensively.

“Touching, grinding, even words. It’s all sexual abuse,” Ghiaccio said. Ghiaccio noticed he got very quiet. He looked over to see Melone just staring at him. His eye looked glassy.

“Hey…” Ghiaccio backtracked. Melone just turned away. 

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

 

**************************

 

Fugo sat down and started to write about his earlier incident with Ghiaccio. He understood how this process was supposed to work, he’d read many psychology textbooks while he was in University. Sometimes the unconscious would come out in writing. In that analysis and organizing of events in a logical way, cause and effect could be more easily determined in order to aid in prevention. He thought it couldn’t hurt. He’d tried once to keep a journal but he’d only done it for a week before losing interest.

Today was my first time going to Anger Management. I wasn’t there long before getting into a fight with Ghiaccio who was also there. The argument started with Ghiaccio saying he wasn’t angry while he clearly was. I suppose I may have instigated it by saying that his team talks about him behind his back. I wasn’t really angry at this point just amused by him. He is angry more often than I am. I have better control over it. At least until I can’t remember anything.

Ghiaccio argued with me saying that he doesn’t hurt anyone like I do. He mentioned Narancia’s face and I blacked out. I know I get physically violent which I regret but something inside me can’t control it. I guess that’s why I’m here in the first place. 

So why did I get mad? Well, obviously him mentioning me hurting Narancia pissed me off. But he’s right, I did. Maybe because he doesn’t know me, or the situation. I like Narancia, I would never intentionally hurt him. I blacked out when I stabbed him. I came to within the next second when he had the knife to my throat. At least Narancia isn’t going to stand for the abuse which I’m glad for. He’ll keep me in check.

I suppose the deeper question is why? Why did his pointing it out make me angry? Is it because I, myself, don’t want to admit I have the problem? No one’s really talked to me about my anger before. It is the reason I’m in Passione in the first place. After I attacked my professor and got arrested, my parents dumped me after buying off my freedom. That pissed me off too. They weren’t buying my freedom, they were paying people off to protect their reputation. I’m a stain on their name. 

But it’s their fault. They forced me to go to university at such a young age. They pushed me to be the greatest son, something they could pour their hopes into. My father in particular. I almost stabbed him once but managed to shake the purple haze before I did it. (The purple haze is what I call the fugue state I go into. That’s why I named my stand that. I feel there’s no better way to describe it than that.) 

My father was friends with the professor. He made me go to his house for that special dinner. 

Fugo stopped writing. He did blame his father for all of it. He’s the reason that Fugo was currently on the path he was on. His father forced him into his studies, forced him to go to university, forced him to go to his professor’s house, and forced him to keep going even though Fugo begged him not to. His father never listened. He didn’t want to hear it.

His father didn’t care.

Maybe my anger stems from my father. All the reasons I hate him. He cared more about what I could be than what I am. I just wanted him to listen. Because no one else would.

I just want someone to listen.

Fugo closed the notebook feeling a bit lighter.

 

**********************

 

Ghiaccio stormed into Risotto’s office when he got home. He was talking to Prosciutto when he interrupted loudly with the slam of the door.

“Ghiaccio,” Risotto said calmly.

“Alright, listen. My anger has never gotten in the way of the job! It’s fucking bullshit! I’m cool-headed, literally! It’s not fair that you’re making me go but not Melone! If I have to go to therapy then so does Melone! That bitch is more fucked up than I am and you know it!” Ghiaccio screamed. Risotto glanced at Prosciutto who glanced back.

“I agree.”

“You do?” Ghiaccio faltered. He thought he would need to put up more of a fight.

“I was actually just discussing that with Prosciutto. I think Melone needs to see a specialist. We may be assassins but mental health in the field is important to a successful job. I can’t have my team wrapped up in their own heads. Like you said, I need my men ‘cool-headed,’ and right now I don’t think either of you are. Which is why you will both be attending sessions,” Risotto explained. 

That went surprisingly well. Ghiaccio did think that Melone needed help but he just didn’t think Risotto would support him in this. Well, why wouldn’t he? If he agreed with Melone about me, he HAS to side with me about Melone. That guy is just too fucked up not to be in therapy. He also felt it was justice going to Risotto about Melone since he’d done it to Ghiaccio. He hoped it pissed him off too. He headed up to his room and closed the door. 

He got on his computer and searched the internet for a while to unwind. He read a number of news articles so he knew what was going on; it was important to be informed about the latest news as a hitman. He then checked the scores from the latest hockey game that he’d missed. Damn it! Asiago lost again. He watched some of the game highlights online when he heard a knock at his door. He glanced over to see the door opening. Didn’t even wait for an answer, must be Melone. On cue, Melone poked his head in.

“Hey, you left this in the back of the car.” He held up the notebook. 

“Just put it over there.” He gestured to the bed. Melone set it on the end of the bed and then crossed his arms.

“So Risotto talked to me. I’m assuming that was your doing?” Melone asked.

“Now you know how it feels. Sucks when your partner goes behind your back, doesn’t it?” Ghiaccio continued to stare at the screen.

“Is that why you're so pissed? I wasn’t going behind your back.”

“Sure fucking felt like it,” Ghiaccio mumbled. 

“I worry about you,” Melone said.

“Funny way of showing it.” 

“You’ve been a lot angrier than usual in the last few months. Like Fugo levels of anger. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around you, just waiting to set you off. It’s putting me on edge.” Hm, maybe that’s why Risotto thought it was a problem. Is it affecting Melone’s work? Anger doesn’t just hurt us, it hurts those around us. He’d thought that phrase was stupid when the group leader said it but now he thought he was understanding what he meant by it. Ghiaccio chewed on his cheek absently. He had been getting angrier more often at Melone lately than anyone else. Why was that?

“Well, I’m going on Friday so you can rest easy knowing that someone will fix me.” Melone turned and walked out before Ghiaccio could say anything else. That comment made him mad. He tried going back to what he was doing but he was already fuming too much. He glanced over at the bed. They’d given him the stupid journal to write in when he was angry. He thought writing about his feelings was fucking bullshit. He didn’t need this.

He opened the journal and continued chewing on his cheek. He rolled his eyes and grabbed a pencil from his desk. 

I was told to write in this fucking journal about why I get mad. So why am I mad right now? Melone. He went behind my back and got Risotto to make me go to therapy. He fucking betrayed me. 

Betrayed. That would imply that he felt trust in his partner. Well, of course, there has to be some level of trust in someone you work so closely with. Even if it was someone like Melone. 

I guess I trusted Melone which is the real reason I was so mad before. Even though Melone is disgusting, he’s still the only one I feel like understands me the most. No one else knows my triggers the way Melone does. He usually knows how to diffuse me too. But he just said he feels like he’s walking on eggshells now around me. Why do we “walk on eggshells” when we are trying not to make someone upset? Maybe it makes a sound but not enough of one to make someone angry. It’s a stupid phrase. I never noticed anything different but he says I’m angrier than usual. Does he really think I’m changing? 

Just now I told Risotto to make Melone go to therapy, a taste of his own medicine. I hate that phrase too. I get that medicine is bitter, but why is he just giving out medicine in the first place? Medicine is supposed to be a good thing but when we use the phrase it means revenge or something bad. Medicine shouldn’t be administered if it’s harmful, then it’s called poison. What the fuck? 

Anyway, Melone said, “you can rest easy knowing that someone will fix me.” Nothing is rested or easy about this situation. He needs help but saying it like that… he needs fixed … It makes me feel like an asshole. Why do I feel like an asshole? He is fucking broken, I mean who in the fuck thinks that feet are sexy? They are fucking sweaty and gross and dirty. And his stand? Stands are reflections of our souls, or at least that’s what Risotto said. I guess that makes all of us fucked up when you think about it. Especially Risotto, himself. Melone got really upset when I called him a rapist. I seriously don’t think he’d ever thought about it before, which scares the shit out of me. 

He closed the journal and set it on the nightstand. It was Wednesday, he had another week until he had to go back to the meeting. A week of writing down every time he got mad. Living with Melone, he’d probably fill out the journal before next week. He decided to call it a night and got ready for bed.