Hennessey

1 - Rude

1 - Rude

The door to the apartment slammed open as you fell from your sleeping spot on the couch with yelp. Your sweater got caught on a splinter poking out of the coffee table as your big brother, Katsuro (or Kat), slammed the apartment door, out of breath with what appeared to be blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Kat?” you called groggily, trying to remove your sweater from the table without damaging it. “What happened?”

“I PROMISE I DIDN’T KILL ANYONE!” he shrieked. You stood up after you were finally free of the antique coffee table.

“WHAT THE HELL KIND OF RESPONSE IS THAT!?” you shrieked back. Katsuro locked the apartment door and raced down the small hallway to the only bathroom to wash himself. You shrugged as a horrible headache ran through your head. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the headache could split your skull in half.

You, YN LN, lived with your brother, Katsuro LN, in Goding, a city on the east coast of America. You lived in a rather shady part of the neighborhood. Your brother was six years older than you, and had been watching out for you ever since your parents disappeared.

But then again, most of the time it felt like you were watching him instead of vice versa. Kat was a troublemaker, and was forced to change his name a few times to get away from the bastards trying to kill him. Luckily, LN was a common last name in the city of nearly four million people.

You were sixteen and working a job at a restaurant called The Waterfront Rouge. It was downtown, where all the richest people lived and worked. In Goding, the drastically different demographics so close was nearly unbelievable. One street could have three murders and seven burglaries in a week, while only one street over there’s office buildings full of employees that haven’t missed a single day of work since the 60’s.

It was incredible.

After pounding on the bathroom door for what felt like hours to try an coax Kat out to confess what dumbass mistake he made this time, you had to get ready for work. You did up the buttons of your dress shirt. You straightened your red tie and put on your black vest that was part of your uniform.

With your brother still in the bathroom and you were nearly late, you raced out the door with your out backpack that acted as your purse slung over your shoulder. As you raced out the cracked front door of your apartment and down the overgrown sidewalk, you passed a lime green lamborghini. You didn’t loo twice at it, though. Even as much as it was a poor neighborhood, there were some douchebags living down the street who wasted all their money to impress cheap and drunk sluts.

You raced through the town, rushing through back alleys and over closed dumpsters to get to work quicker. With all of the short cuts, you arrived at the back door of the Waterfront Rouge.

Racing through the back door and nearly launching your bag into your designated locker and raced to grab your metal name tag. As you raced by and grabbed a scorching hot tray of plates, you rushed out the either way swinging door. You had gotten used to the pain, however. Your hands might as well have been made of stone now. You recognized the order and the plate from a couple that came every single Thursday night and ordered the same meals every night.

They were eighty years old and really sweet. They paid you extra tips when you smiled a little more. Yeah, they sometimes got your name wrong for their granddaughter’s name. But you didn’t really mind. They were nice, and they paid well.

“Here you go, Nancy,” you said, sliding the caesar salad with a side of gluten free toast to the elder woman in a blue lace blouse with pearls. “And here you are, Earl.” You set the well done new york strip steak in front of the elderly man and the couple smiled at you.

“Thank you, Beth, dear,” said Nancy.

“You’re welcome!” You smiled and walked away to get the next order.

Meanwhile, at the Goding airport, a private jet was landing on the runway. Cornelius Angelio ‘Angel’ Cosimo was landing in Goding with a disgusted grimace on his face. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

What was he doing in a sad little hell hole like this? The answer was simple: looking for his betrothed. Since she was born, the daughter of the LN family was Angel’s betrothed. Now they were both eighteen and it was time to marry her.

He wasn’t excited, and he was deadly bored. He didn’t want to meet this LN girl, but he sighed and decided to put up with it. Miranda LN was expected to be a god damn princess. So why was her address in such a sketchy neighborhood?

Angel got out of the jet and into a waiting limo, his eyes trained on his cellphone in his hands. A game played on the phone and casted brightly coloured lights onto his pale face and bleach blonde hair. His deep brown eyes were unamused, as they always were, and his strong jawline and roman nose made him look distinguished.

Yes, Angel Cosimo turned heads everywhere he went, especially if anyone knew who he was. Cosimo Incorporated was his father’s company, Cornelio Cosimo. His mother, Corinna Cosimo, was a fashion designer and Angel constantly did photoshoots for her men’s lines. This gained him attention in the modelling world.

Cosimo Fashions was spreading globally from their home in Italy, and Cosimo Incorporated had many fingers in many pies, covering everything from real estate to digital device manufacturing. If you could buy it, Cosimo Incorporated made it.

And Angel was to take over his father’s company soon after graduation. He had been attending a boarding school in England for most of his life, so he spoke english perfectly and had a posh accent.

According to his sources, his fiance was supposed to be at some small restaurant that was supposed to pass as fancy in this stupid little town. So he entered through the front doors with a loud bang. Instantly, people’s eyes turned to him and the two buff body guards on either side of him. In less than a second, muttered permeated through the room like a breeze.

“That’s a Cosimo”, the muttering said. A shaking waitress with long black hair in a braid lead him silently to a table in the corner of the restaurant. The candlelit ambiance of the room was calming enough, I suppose. Angel huffed into his seat.

“Why would the daughter of the LN Digital Manufacturer’s be in a dump like this?” Angel asked the bodyguard to his right in disgust. The body builder didn’t answer. His job was really to look pretty and threatening. He wasn’t hired for his brains. But Angel was often lonely, so he asked rhetorical questions to the guards and sometimes got a grunt or groan in return.

A small waitress approached the table in her uniform. Unlike everyone else in the room, she wasn’t shaking or scared. She immediately took out the paper pad from a pocket on her apron and began taking their orders.

“What can I get you?” she asked, looking at the bodyguard to his left first. The big man was at a loss of what to do. Should he… should he order? Uh… what was he supposed to do? The (h/c) girl smiled at the silent statue of a man. “I’d suggest the steak alfredo, personally. I think it’s one of the best-”

“Shut up and leave us be,” spat Angel. The waitress turned her (e/c) eyes to him with a passive aggressive glare.

“I’m doing my job, sir. Now would you like to order or starve?” All sound in the room came to a halt. The waitress gave Angel a cold look, not glaring but not smiling.