𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 | VMINKOOK

Lady In Yellow

A/n: warning mature...

"I caught wind of a plan the American government is working on," mister Bianchi said, holding his large belly as though it would fall off his body if he didn't. "It has some kind of vague code name, but the idea is simple. What they wanna do is they wanna get the blacks addicted to opioids to decrease the negro population. Now I'm saying cannabis, coke, heroin, you name it. They want it mass produced and given only to the negros. There's a bunch a cops out in California who'll turn a blind eye as long you specify who you're working for. I say we grab this opportunity and join the cause."

I looked to my father, who only nodded as though he was already aware of this idea.

It was my first mafiosi meeting in Calabria. My first gathering with every leader in the family, and the atmosphere inside the club was filled with smoke and distrust.

I was able to follow along with everything quite well, but none of the leaders appreciated me being present. That was obvious enough.

"Is... is that really true? I asked, swallowing thickly. "But-- but with slavery being abolished in 1865, doesn't that mean--"

"It means jack shit, piccolo Park," Bianchi sighed, rolling his eyes at me. "Don't you know anything about the human race?"

My father calmly placed his hand on my shoulder and leaned in. "The opioid wars of 1839, mio figlio. Remember when I told you that history can never help but be repeated? England got the Chinese military addicted to opioids to gain control over them. It isn't a typical war-crime, but that's why it is perfect. It flies under the radar until it hits, and the aftershock makes the target fall to their knees."

I furrowed my brows as I tried to make sense of it all. "But... hasn't society decided they want to move toward desegregation?"

"Fuck no," Bianchi laughed, his belly shaking. "Have you lost your mind kid? If there's one thing people don't like, it's people who are different. People who look different, sound different, act different. They might pretend it isn't the case, but humans are always gonna pick their own kind. That's just the way it is."

I narrowed my eyes at Bianchi and grabbed my chin, pretending to listen when all I really wanted was to stab his eye in with the pen in my breastpocket. The man had to stop calling me a kid. He didn't know the first thing about me. I hadn't been a kid in a long fucking time.

After the meeting, a pretty decent jazz band began to play at the bar where the gathering was held and the leaders all dispersed across the room.

Anthony came over, and together we kicked back a few drinks and lit up a cigarette. I stared at the smoke as it twirled up into the air and sighed at the emptiness inside me. Taehyung stopped smoking once Jungkook came to work at the house, causing me to cut back on the tobacco as well. But when I was in Calabria, everyone smoked, and choosing not to was just... odd.

"You came all the way to Italy just for that stupid meeting, huh?" Anthony asked. "How was it? Did they discuss anything worthwhile?"

I pushed my toungue against the inside of my cheek and raised my brows. "They... underestimate us."

Anthony chuckled, scratching the orange scruff on his chin. "Tell me something I don't know, hm? My father still calls me a boy."

"We've tortured and killed, and still they look at us like we're a couple of boyscouts."

A woman walked past Anthony and I, her long hair braided into two pigtails, and a yellow dress hugging her figure in all the right ways. She had alluring green eyes, which glinted when she looked over at us, and she owned a sort of natural beauty you couldn't help but stare at for a while.