𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔀𝓮'𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰

Chapter 02.

❝ Work not Play❞

‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙　02　˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙‧̍̊

//R// words• 4,014

"his dad is a mafia boss"
richie blinks twice.
and then he laughs,
"honestly big bill you never could tell a lie, maybe get some better material"
he laughs as he wipes a fake tear

bill stares at him. and so does stan. and so does ben.

"you're serious?"

"why would we lie about that?" stan questions

a mafia boss. what the fuck. that's all richie can say. well, he's seen and done a lot of things in life but never had he ever expected to go to the same school as a mafia bosses kid.

"so what? he's rich and his dad works in illegal crime so everyone gets on their knees for him?" richies dad has always told him the richest person is the one who is not a prisoner of greed and popularity. he's met a few people that are ran by money, they don't stay in his life long.

"no, people l-like him because he's... eddie. there's no other w-way to describe it." bill simplifies. he met eddie in middle school, a story for another time. "if anything people are afraid of h-his dad, and his awful mother."

huh. richie hardly believes it.

until he looks into those bambi eyes.

he bites

//E//

"no, Scotty, you can't come over"

he felt like a broken record. frustration built up as he struggled to find his house key on his lanyard. and Scotty yelling in his ear didn't help.

"why. do you not want me to see something?"

"what? no! my dad wants me home and i have rehearsal tonight—"

"don't argue."

his keys jangle as they hit the cement step outside his front door. he sighs and rubs a stressed hand through his hair.

"i'm sorry, babe, but please i have to go—"

the line goes silent.

great, he'll get something for that later, as if the bruise on his face the night before rehearsal wasn't enough. he sighs and finally pushes the door open.

he hardly ever keeps food in his fridge in the pool house so after school he heads into the main house kitchen. his afternoon pills are left on the counter as usual, his mom still at the school and his father... somewhere. he's never sure of where.

he swallows the two pills dry, going into the fridge to look for a snack. just as he's about to lean down and grab an apple from the crisper, a record scratches and loud music begins to play from the living room. he cocks an eyebrow and slowly closes the fridge. to his knowledge, no on was supposed to be home, and his parents definitely would not be playing Frank Sinatra that loud on a Monday afternoon.