Vincent

Cunt

"Vincent?" I questioned, shaking his shoulder. It was dark in my room and I couldn't tell if he was awake.

"Hmm?" he mumbled as I sat up, reaching over to my blinds to open them. The light the moon gave off was better than having nothing at all.

"What are you doing?" I asked, looking down at him.

"Lay back down, Lex. Sleep."

"But..." I mumbled, as he softly tugged my arm. I slowly sank back down on the bed, laying down next to him.

"I'll be leaving at two, just lay with me," he grumbled and I turned to look at the clock. It was ten. Usually, mobsters stayed out later. They worked at night- mainly.

I didn't know what to say but selfishly, I turned next to him, allowing him to pull me closer. He was playing with the strands of my hair for a while until he broke the silence. "He's a fucking dick."

It didn't take long for me to realize he was talking about Conor. "I know," I whispered. Mentioning Conor made me feel bad. I felt bad that I was lying with my ex-boyfriend while I was making an effort to have a relationship with Conor. Yes, Vincent and I had an extremely abnormal relationship but... I don't know....

At that moment, my mind wandered to that whore. I know that I hate her, for obvious reasons (she stole my man, shoved me, and flaunted her ring in my face) but I felt bad for her. I was sympathetic. How did she feel? Was he usually with her at ten? Did she think that he was away? Working? Did she think he was lying with another woman? Did she know? Did she know what he said behind closed doors?

I know I hate her but I felt sympathetic. Was she in my spot? Was she feeling the same way I did when he left me for those months? Alone and sad? Did she create distractions like I did?

I know I hate her but I felt empathetic. Was she awake? Was she by the phone, hoping he'd call? Was Conor? Was he wondering about me? While I laid with Vincent? While I lied about what my tattoo said?

Top echelon. That's what Vincent and my dad would be consider that with their families. Renze would also be considered that given his position. In that mafia, once a man was married, ESPECIALLY (and I cannot stress that enough) a made man, they could NOT (AND I MEAN NOT) get divorced. Like ever. It didn't happen. Ever. Especially top echelons. It just didn't happen. If Vincent and that whore- God forbid- ever did get married, I would never be able to legally call him mine. Ever wonder why in those mob movies, once the wife found out he was cheating on her (as if she wasn't on him), she never ended things? It's because it couldn't happen. It was truly until death did them part.

Even more so, to be in the family (mafia, not actual family), with my dad's and obviously Vincent's, you had to be 100% Italian. If- please, for the love of God- Vincent and I ever got married and we had kids (they would be so cute! Please let that happen!), they could never be involved because I wasn't completely Italian. Unlike my brother, my mother was American.

Vincent and I couldn't have kids because I couldn't give him someone to take over his business. That whore could. She was Italian.

"Vince?" I called.

"Lex?"

"Is she at your apartment?" I asked.

"No, she's with Luca. Don't worry about it."

"Don't you feel bad?" I asked again.

"No. She just wants the ring and she has it," he admitted.

"Isn't this wrong?"

"What's wrong? We're not doing anything."

Again, silence settled over us. My hand came to rest on his chest.