mostly mobsters

victoria | 1

It's 2 in the morning, and I'm still standing over this utter arse hole, Blake Daniels. His forehead is covered with beads of sweat, his hair a mess and his wrists quite obviously in pain from the blisters the rope is causing. He knows I know that he knows so maybe instead of making us wait 7 and a half bloody hours he just tells me the itty-bitty secret. It would make my job and life a lot easier, and probably his too. His eyes flutter around my small interrogation office, showing me how panicked he is. He should be, especially for making me wait this long.

"Are you actually going to speak or do i have to shove a knife through your hand?" I say, hoping to encourage him to speak. He looks at me and his words falter.

"I- Welll, um- Ye, wait no-" He mumbles but its too late, I'm already grabbing and brandishing my knife which makes him wriggle in his little chair. Jesus Christ, Men. They really are scared of anything. He gasps for air and shuts his eyes, holding his breath. I wait a moment, in confusion.

"What the actual fuck are you doing?" I question, glancing at him then to the relatively small knife in my hand.

"I- uh-" he stumbles over his words- if you can even count those as words. I give up. I'll just get someone else to do this, i'm tired.

"Fair enough," I say, driving the knife into the middle of his (relatively small) hand. He shrieks as i pull it out. Pathetic. Must not have a decent pain threshold. "Oh shit, my bad, man. My hand must of slipped." I say putting the now grimy knife into my pocket. I call out for the security to come pick him up, Harold, a very tall man who took this job as he recently moved from Nigeria. He's a very smart, analytical person. Has a decent sense of humour, so that's cool. He scares me sometimes, which is saying something, since I'm a Leo. I start to leave the room and walk towards my office, where my security is standing outside. I smile at both of them as I open my door.

After a few minutes of me organising my desk I hear a sharp knock on the door. Micheal walks in. I don't know that much about him, he's pretty quiet. I think he came from Slough. I forgot his second name. They arrive swiftly and take him away once i give them the nod, while Mr Daniels is whining away about his little hand. Seriously! It's actually tiny. Smaller then mine. Then Harold turns around and tells me i have a visitor. Fucks sake, if this is who i think it is, I'm actually going to lob the expensive vase at his head.
"Harold, please do not tell me it's who I think it is." I whine, as he picks the vase up, looking at me.

"Please don't chuck this one at the wall too, Victoria. They're expensive. I'm pretty sure Micheal is still concussed from last time." We both look at Micheal and a pang of guilt hits my heart.

"Micheal, I'm actually so sorry for that time. I was aiming at Eric. Love you really" I say, and he smiles.

"It's okay. I survived. I think." Micheal says, breaking our tension a bit more. Harold nods towards the door  and I tell him to bring whoever needs to talk at this ungodly hour and he shuffles out, and i hear in-distinctive chatter. A few moments later i hear footsteps and my door opens to real,( FUCKS SAKE ) Eric Bronts.

"Hello gorgeous!" he smiles, pulling a hand through his ratty brown hair.

"Can you actually fuck yourself right off a cliff, fanny face?" I respond. Eric is about a few years older than me and works for the rival gang/mafia/club/mob, however you like to call them. He sighs then flops down into the black wheel chair opposite my desk.

"You're as lovely as ever, Vic. Viccy. Tori. Toria. ViccyT. Vi-"

"Please kindly shut up." I say turning my back from the utter monstrosity in my room.

He gasps again, but a much more theatrical and audible one then before. I roll my eyes and move towards my windows, where i look out to see the outline of London in the night.