Francesca
The Beast of London.
Everyone knew that name.
He had the guise of a businessman, but the word on the street was that he was a Mafia boss.
Someone passed him a chair and he sat close to me.
I noticed he had tattoos on his hand and my heart skipped a beat at the skull with the word la morte inscribed beside it.
Death.
How appropriate.
Rumour had it he was the worst criminal in the city.
People constantly vanished around him.
However, no one ever made it to the police and these were all allegations that couldn’t be proved.
He was going to whack me because I stupidly sold drugs in his nightclub. I made my rounds to all the major nightclubs.
How was I supposed to know who owned what?
“I won't come back,”
I said as I looked at his other hand.
He had a dagger tattoo with Omertà on it—the Mafia code of silence.
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” I said.
The brute that brought me upstairs snorted. “She can't control her tongue, boss,”
he scoffed.
I pursed my lips to prevent myself from replying to him.
“What are those pills?”
the Beast asked.
“Uh, Viagra. Did you need some? I can give you the friends and family discount,”
I said before I cringed and closed my eyes.
Oddio. Oh God.
I was going to get myself killed, but I was also about to piss myself with fear, yet my goddamned mouth wouldn't behave. It happened to me in stressful situations. My mind turned to mush, and my words fucked up.
“Did she say Viagra?”
someone asked.
I opened one eye to see the Beast had a dumbfounded look on his face before a deep frown furrowed his eyebrows together.
“Viagra is a pill that helps—”
I started to say.
“I fucking know what it is,”
he roared so vehemently that I felt a spray of spit hit my face.
Ewwww. That shit was nasty.
“Everyone get the fuck out of my office. NOW!”
he yelled.
I stared at a pulsating vein on the side of his forehead.
He could have a heart attack any moment, but as I took in his physique and age, I realised that it might not be possible.
His dark hair had no grey, and he looked too young to have a heart condition. I could try a brazen escape.
I sat up and tried to get up when he pushed me back.
“Not fucking you. You sit here and don't move an inch,”
he snarled waving his gun around like a lunatic.
“I might pee myself but you have plastic on the—oh,”
I said but stopped because I knew why he had plastic sheets out.
I’d watched Dexter too many times, not to know.
“Please don't kill her,”
one of the men said.
Come to think of it, the man looked like the Beast. Perhaps they were brothers. Sadly, they all left, and I swallowed several times, trying to keep my rum and Coke from spraying all over him.
He took a deep breath and I noticed a tattoo on his neck, but his shirt covered it.
“Why are you selling Viagra in my club?”
“I’m a budding entrepreneur, but I’m also broke. It keeps your customers happy. I have several regulars here,”
I said with a smile.
It quickly faded when his face began to turn red.
“It isn't an illegal substance,”
I blurted out. “I’m sorry. You can take the rest of it. A gift for your girlfriend or wife when you can’t—I mean just for fun.”
“I don't need Viagra to fuck,”
he spat out. “Where is the rest of it? There is no way you only have a few pills.”
“In my boots,”
I said, cringing at the fact that I brought so much with me, but it was Friday night, most of my customers bought extra for the entire weekend.
He dropped to his knees and began to search around my ankles until he found the pills stuffed in my socks. It was kinda funny having the Beast kneeling in front of me. I took them out of the packaging and into small bags to easily distribute them.
“Any more?”
he asked, holding four small bags of blue pills.
“Maybe if you untie my—”
“Where are they?”
he gritted out.
“You should consider a mindfulness coach, it helps with—”
I shut my mouth when he lifted his gun.
“In my bra,”
I said sullenly.
“Fucking unbelievable,”
he muttered as he put the gun beside me before he pulled my top down.
He paused to look at my dark green lace bra. My cheeks burned because it was an expensive lace bra from my undeclared income. The lace was so delicate it was practically see through. I closed my eyes while he fished out more bags.
There was a hesitation before he pulled my top back up, but I kept my eyes shut because I had one more stash.
“Was that the last of it?”
he asked with his voice a little calmer.
I grimaced and he sighed.
“Where is it?”
he asked while I took a good hard look at myself and how I ended up here.
“Uh, just tucked into the front of my jeans,”
I said quietly.
I felt him unbutton my jeans before he tugged on the zipper.
I opened my eyes but hadn't realised he was so close to my face.
His eyes were a mixture of green and hazel, with tiny flecks of yellow in them, but he certainly didn't look like a beast.
The rough stubble on his jaw made it look more chiselled and his lips were full and well defined. So kissable.
He pulled the last few bags from my jeans and threw them on the pile beside the gun.
I noticed that he didn't zip me back up.
He sat on his chair again to look at me.
“Do I need to conduct a cavity search?”
he asked with sarcasm dripping from his asshole mouth.
Ugh, why did I think his mouth was kissable. Pretty men were high maintenance and most likely whores.
“No, that was the last of them,”
I said, glaring at him.
“Where do you get your pills from?”
he asked, resting his hands on the chair like it was his throne.
“I have a supplier in Europe,”
I said, deliberately keeping my answer vague.
His eyes narrowed on me.
“What age are you and why don't you have a proper job?”
He had the cheek being a criminal bastard. I heard he was a wealthy one, but he was still a criminal bastard.
“I have three jobs. London isn't cheap. I’m twenty-four.”
“The fact is Francesca you came into my club selling this shit and that can't go unpunished. If you put yourself into this position, then you need to learn that actions have consequences,”
he said as he leaned into his chair.
“What do you mean consequences? You have taken everything from me,”
I said with a frown.
I hope he didn't expect me to push real drugs for him. Fuck!
“You will wait for my instructions,”
he said before he stood up.
He picked up all of my pills and his gun and strode to his desk.
My eye-line was obscured when he moved onto the far side of the room and behind his screen.
He was as big as the stupid smelly oaf that dragged me up here.
He wore a dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt.
I couldn't deny that he looked and smelled like a sexy bad boy, but I didn't need this kind of complication in my life.
Especially not one that could get me killed. Is this why women wrote to criminals in prison?
“I expect you to keep your mouth shut about tonight and you will stop selling Viagra to men,”
he said as he stood up holding my small purple phone.
“Can I sell it to girlfriends and wives? If you think about it, I’m helping my sisters get laid.”
“No, you fucking can't, and if I get a single whiff of you peddling any more of this shit, I will take up Nero’s offer.”
Sheesh. All he had to say was no.
When he came over, he held the phone to my face before he turned it back and began to tap away on my phone. I opened my mouth to protest but decided I’d done enough damage tonight.
“I will message you with further instructions,”
he said before holding his phone next to mine and tapping away on them.
“I won't do anything illegal or immoral,”
I said because my Nonno would kill me. He didn't know about my side hustle.
“You will do as I ask without questioning me,”
he snapped at me.
I think it was probably for the best that he kept the Viagra, the uptight bastard needed something to take the edge off.
If I was lucky with his blood pressure and the pills, he could drop dead.
I smiled when I thought of him in his coffin with an erection tenting his trousers.
A dead hard one.
When I looked at him, he stared at me as if I were the lunatic. My amusement vanished when he approached me with a knife in his hands.
“I faint at the sight of blood,”
I lied in a blind panic.
He didn't say anything but put his arms around me, and I could smell his aftershave. It didn't smell like dog piss. I leaned in to inhale it in.
“Are you smelling me?”
he asked, but I could hear his amusement.
“Just checking that you didn't smell like dog—never mind,”
I said quickly, remembering the knife in his hand.
He cut the plastic ties, and I brought my hands around to see they were almost purple.
That big hairy, smelly bastard. What was his name? Nero. I hoped he tripped and fell on a knife and stabbed his dick off. No amount of Viagra would fix that shit.