[If he had any inkling that Jotaro feared similarity to Dio - in his power or his anger - Giorno would tell him now that he's proven similarity impossible. I'm not going to use it to put myself above other people, he says, and Giorno is reminded more of Bruno than of anyone else, with his staunch dedication to doing the right thing even under awful circumstances.]

[It would bother him, of course. Any reminder of Diavolo makes him feel sick, sick and angry, makes him remember all the deaths in his family, all the unnecessary pain. It makes him remember, too, the way Diavolo died, and kept dying, and will keep dying - though he isn't in Italy anymore, Diavolo will continue to die, forever and ever until the end of time.]

[His expression sets into something hard and too-old, but he nods all the same.]

I understand. But if I asked you to do that, I wouldn't respect myself. I have to face what he was every day, back home. I won't push away all reminders of him here and make myself weak.

[Sacrifices of comfort are commonplace to him now. It doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate the gesture; it's just that he can't accept it.]

[He does take Jotaro's hand in his, though, and shakes it. He has a politician's handshake, perfectly firm, dry-palmed, so impeccably timed that it's almost possible to ignore how small and thin-fingered his hand is, like a child's.]

I'm done. Whatever there is here . . . I don't think it's as important as anything you could show me.