Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"We were made for each other, she just didn't know it yet."
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- H A R L A N - E M E R I C - M A R C H E T T I -
"How is she doing now?" Tommy asked as he skimmed through a newspaper lying in my office as I made my way towards my chair.
"Fine." I grumbled and sank into the comfortable chair, rubbing my temples at the slight headache that was a result of the vase being cracked over my head like a fucking egg.
"Wait, what happened to your head?" He looked up with a frown when I grunted.
"Did she do that?" He asked and I hummed in response when he broke out laughing, slapping his thigh and nearly falling off the couch.
Just then Ramiro entered with a mug in his hand and stopped short when he saw me holding my head and then Tommy laughing his ass off as I grunted in annoyance.
"What happened here?" Ramiro sat down, looking between the two of us curiously then my head once more, probably trying to be polite by not mentioning it. Or he feared what I'd do to him if he did.
"Miro, get this, Arlo got beaten up by none other than... drumroll please... Azalea!" He threw his hands up dramatically and Ramiro cracked up as well.
"What the actual fuck? How?" He asked.
"Hit me with a vase and tried to run away." I told them and Ramiro's smile only widened as he took out his phone and put it to his ear.
"Roberto, I'm not proud of it, but I owe you fifty dollars. She hit him with a fucking vase and tried to run away." He said and could briefly hear the sound of laughter filtering in through the phone and grunted in frustration.
"If you find this so funny, I'll crack your heads open too then we'll see how you two cry babies react." I spat and they immediately shut up.
"I'll call you back later." Ramiro whispered into the phone quietly and put it back in his pocket, smiling at me sheepishly.
"What have you found about Blanc?" I asked, sifting through the file on my desk, disappointed at the lack of information in it.
"Nothing much except for the fact he had two children, one of whom is his second in command—"
"Gabriel?" I interrupted Tommy who nodded once.
"Yes, him. The other son has nothing to do with his father's business." He finished and hesitated a bit when I raised a brow at him.
"There's more." I concluded and he gave a shrug, as if not sure himself.
"Maybe. There's a rumour that he had a daughter." He said and I frowned, leaning back in my chair.
