This is what I remember, every time someone defends him. That whole night, everything he did. Who even thinks of something like that? How fucked up do you have to be?

[He scrubs at his eyes with the back of one hand, yanking the knife free of the wood with the other; it's in deep, and takes some effort to work it free.]

Jonathan came here thinking that bastard was dead and he wasn't, he waited a hundred damn years for us and then he came back, so I had to kill him and it was supposed to be done with, and now we're all here and he's back again, and I don't know why it won't just...

[But then he stops, seeming to realize he's said more than he might've intended to, in words raw and miserable and more emotional than rational by a long shot. And when he does, there's a moment where his expression just turns vulnerable and bewildered, like the fact that those feelings had come out at all is an astonishment and an uncertain miracle.]

If he's alive, he's a threat. I can't see it any other way, Giorno.