Farfalla

10.) Pride

There is a large oval shaped table taking up the room, four men all finely dressed are sitting down. Cigar smoke fills the room. Some of the men have scantily dressed women on their laps, running their hands over the lapels of their suits and probably promising to suck their old man dìcks after this.

I've never felt like I was in a movie until I met Vincenzo. Every moment is something that you would see on a TV screen. The dimly lit room, the fedora's resting on the table, cigars in hand, a surplus of women. It's a scene you would find in an old movie about Italian gangsters. But this is real. There are powerful men sitting before me. True Italian gangsters in the flesh. Their families must date back several generations.

What's funny is, I still don't give a fùck.

I strut into the room and plop into a chair. I made a loud noise. Everyone stops and turns to face me.

"What? Is there a problem? Could you pass that?" I point to the cigar in one of their hands. "My stress levels are allll the way up here and I could really use a hit." My hand shoots to the sky. And they all continue to eye me. I raise an eyebrow and wait.

"I'll take something stronger if you have it. I'm not picky."

One man, the only young one in the group, with brunette hair and green eyes grins. He opens up the left side of his suit and pulls out a joint and a lighter. He is directly across from me at the table and our eyes are locked on each other. He keeps grinning and raises his eyebrow back at me, in challenge.

I lean up across the table, getting up close to the pretty boy. My body bends over the wood, displaying my áss and breásts to the group. He puts the joint in my mouth and lights it. Our eyes never leaving each other's. He bites his lip and retreats back to his seat.

I take my first inhale and lower back down to the seat. Pretty boy chuckles, his voice deep and smooth.

"My kind of girl." He murmurs. I smirk and he puts his hand out to take mine.

"Cyrus." I shake his hand, his grip gentle in mine.

I pull it away from my mouth and exhale, nodding at him.

He clears his throat, "And you are...?"

"Oh no. You see, that's part of my image, the mysterious girl with no name to put to a face."

He purses his lips and furrows his brow. He then cocks his head to the left.

I hear an annoyed snort sound throughout the room and I remember that we are not alone.

Vincenzo stomps over to me, literally stomps, and rips the marijuaná from my lips. Tearing it in half and throwing it on the ground. Everyone in the room watches him and becomes quizzical of his actions.

"You're here to entertain and do whatever the fùck I say. Understand?" He whispers harshly in my hear, his broad chest pressed against my shoulder. I roll my eyes at him, what is his deal? I can't smoke one without having to deal with him, this just got great.

"Thank you, Cyrus." I completely ignore Vince, and return to staring at Cyrus. He smiles and nods. His teeth perfectly aligned and light twinkling in his eyes.

Sorrentino clears his throat and the tension dies. Sort of. "Anyway, take a seat gentlemen." He gestures for Vince and Mario to sit, and they oblige.

Servers appear out of nowhere and begin to pass around small glasses of whiskey. Vincenzo is seated on my left and Mario is on my right, with his arm casually around my shoulders. The rest of the men are either occupied by the alcohol in their hands or a women in their lap. The heads of each family banter and speak for awhile before I grow bored. I need this to speed up so I can go retrieve the information and get the hell out of here.