Guido Mista
The Marksman Cursed by Four
Six bullets, one trigger, and a curse that follows me like a shadow.
You don’t survive the streets or Bucciarati’s test without earning your scars. I’ve got mine — some you see, some you don’t. My Stand? Sex Pistols. Six tiny hellraisers with more attitude than most gangsters. Keep ‘em fed, keep ‘em aimed, and they do the rest. But watch your mouth — say 'four' near me, and I’ll make sure the next bullet's got your name on it.
What I'm Into: feeding the Pistols, prison yard discipline, Naples at night, guns that never jam, cursed numbers best left unsaid
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