Mafia Flower // Harry Styles

6

     The low voice of Mr. Styles echoed off his office's walls. He seemed to be speaking with someone on the phone. I was passing by his office after I finshed my lunch. Mr. Styles glanced up at me from his desk. He curled his finger gesturing for me to come closer. I entered his modern office which was lit up by the sun that shined through the large windows. His eyes and rings sparkled under the sun. Of course, he was attired in a suit. He concluded the phone call and hung up.

"That was your father on the phone. He was asking how you were doing," Mr. Styles informed me as he set down his phone on his glass desk and began organizing the jumbled paper on his desk.

"What did you tell him?" I asked curiously and calmy as I watched him place paper into a folder.

"I told him you were fine."

"He didn't want to talk to me? Or my mother?" I asked as I was dissapointed and crossed my arms. Of course, my parents didn't want to talk to me personally. They had little-to-no interest in communicating with me since my birth. Our family love was all for show but behind closed doors it wasn't there.

"No," he said and glanced up at me.

"Don't take it personally, love. They're probably busy." He added.

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "They're always busy."

"Yes," Mr. Styles sighed as he plopped down in his cushioned leather chair. "That's what happens when you run several businesses."

He opened his laptop and began typing as his eyes flickered across the screen.

"One day I might be busy running a business as I am expected to but...I have no idea how," I expressed my thoughts after I sat in a chair nearby his desk.

I gazed at the photographs that fit perfectly into sleek picture frames on Mr. Styles's desk. One happy photo with his mother and sister sitting in front of a lit Christmas tree, one casual photo with a friend holding up peace signs, and one solemn photo of him and an older man both in suits...sat at the edge of his desk.

"How did you take on your father's business when he passed...?" I asked, trying to be as respectful as possible and not to upset him.

He sighed and closed his laptop before he told me, "He taught me from a young age how to run the business." He played with his pen and continued, "He raised me to be his legacy and I always wanted to make him proud. So, here I am."

"My father expects me to be his legacy as well but...he hasn't taught how to run it," I told him as I leaned against the chair with my legs crossed.

Mr. Styles studied me for a second before he said, "Just how sheltered were you, love?"

I responded, "Hey, I am not that sheltered. I am aware of the drug business."

"Uh-huh. Is that all?" Mr. Styles leaned back with an amused smile on his face.

"No...Maybe..." I responded quietly.

"So, what was it like growing up as the famous mobster's beautiful daughter? Raised by the nanny? Handed everything on a silver platter?"

I blushed and answered confidentaly, "Yes, and you forgot about boarding school."

I let out a little giggle and asked, "What was your childhood like, Mr. Styles?"

Mr. Styles paused in thought while looking at the photograph in front of him and the older gentleman. Then, his eyes flickered to me.

"Are you sure...you want to hear that story?"

I nodded three times quickly. I wanted to know more about this mysterious man. His rings, scars, and tattoos all held a variety of stories. They piqued my interest. I may have been bored because of how long I'd been kept inside this apartment but I craved to know more. 

He chuckled and continued, "It's a sh*tty, long story..."

"I have time," I told him and made myself comfortable in the cushioned chair in front of his desk.

He began, "I was born in London. My family moved to New York when I was twelve."

"Why did you decide to become a criminal?"

Harry scrunched his brows in thought, his eyes unfocused, and he chewed on his pen in thought. He hesitated before explaining, "My mother told my father I wasn't his biological son. She cheated on him and kept it a secret for so long. Ever since then, he looked at me different. So, my father raised me with tough-love. I think that's because I was his bastard son....but I always wanted to make him proud. I looked up to him. He was the man I wanted to be. So, when he asked me to be his hitman I agreed."

My lips parted in shock. I studied him with this new information.

"You're a hitman?" I asked in disbelief. I knew he had commited illegal acts but I wasn't sure he had killed people.

He continued, "I started when I was a teen. I haven't done any hits since my father passed away about six months ago when I was twenty-four."

"Have you done hits for my father before?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"How could you...I mean...How do you...?" I hesitated to complete my sentences.

He kicked his feet up on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He stuck his pen between his front teeth as he thought about his answer for a minute. He withdrew his pen from his pink lips and answered, "Trust me. The people I killed weren't exactly innocent. They were criminals, rapists, scammers...not good people."

"Would you kill me?...If someone hired you to do it?"

"No." He took no time to answer.

"Why?"

"Because you're innocent."

I stood up from the chair and placed my hands on the front of his desk as I leaned forward. "And what if I'm not innocent anymore?"

"Sophia, I wouldn't kill you. You're father wouldn't allow that anyway," he told me.

"That's a relief," I laughed nervously. I pushed myself off of his desk and turned to exit his office. Just as I was about to leave, he said my name which caused me to turn around.

"You really wanna learn about this business?"

I nodded slowly.

"I'll show you the Styles business tonight. I can show you the cruel and cold side of this world. You'll see how cut-throat this business is."