Your heart practically dropped into your stomach when one of Mista’s bullets rushed back to the team, breaking the news that he was wounded—badly. The only shred of comfort you could cling to was the fact that his Stand was still alive, which meant he was too.

You shoved some ice into your pockets, hoping it would help slow down Prosciutto’s Stand and give you a moment to catch your breath. It would also help cool Mista down, which you desperately needed. Then, without wasting another second, you followed Bucciarati into the chaos. He was taking care of the fighting while you sneaked off toward the car where Mista was—desperately rushing to his side.

When you finally reached him, the sight that greeted you made your stomach churn. It was as bad as you'd feared. Three bullet holes marred his head, and you had no idea how they hadn’t pierced his brain—how the hell was he even alive? There was another wound in his shoulder, bleeding steadily, and his body was burning with feverish heat, likely due to the panic coursing through him. The fever was only making matters worse, accelerating the aging process. With Giorno still out of commission and Bucciarati fighting, every second counted.